“I think the Lancer would have let her,” Ekatya confided. “She’s got that woman wrapped around her finger.”
“I do not.” Lhyn’s cheeks pinked. “She understands me, that’s all. She’s half scholar, you know.”
“She’s also half warrior.”
“Yes, well, you can talk to that half.”
“I still haven’t gotten to talk to the pilot half,” Candini said.
Ekatya sat back and listened to the conversation around her, smiling at her crew members as they boarded and inevitably joined in. The hum of voices didn’t slow as the transport lifted off, and for a moment it felt as if they were all on leave, taking public transport to their next stop on the tour.
The next stop was the healing center, where she was delighted to find Lieutenant Hmongyon and Trooper Mauji Mauji waiting on the landing pad, just as Healer Wellernal had promised. They were still in mobile chairs, but looked alert and healthy, which by itself was a miracle. Only two days ago Mauji Mauji had been cut out from beneath a girder and nearly died in engineering, yet here he was, grinning up at her as she and Baldassar came down the ramp to collect them.
“It’s good to see you out of bed, Trooper,” she said. “Last time I saw you, there was a bit more hardware attached to you.”
“Thank you, Captain. I feel great. The Alseans have taken really good care of me.”
“Yes, they have.” Ekatya smiled at the assistant healer behind his chair and held out her hand. “Well met, and thank you for bringing my crew out.”
“Well met, Captain Serrado.” The assistant politely touched palms and exchanged a few pleasantries with her while Baldassar spoke with Hmongyon and her own assistant healer. At a pause in the conversation, she caught Baldassar’s eye and without a word they exchanged places. Touching palms with Hmongyon’s assistant healer, she reflected that sometimes a well-oiled team might as well be empathic.
After getting a few last-minute instructions from the assistant healers, most of which boiled down to “don’t tire them out,” she and Baldassar wheeled their remaining two crew members up the ramp and into the transport, which erupted with shouts and applause. Mauji Mauji slapped the hands of his shipmates as he was pushed down the aisle, and Hmongyon’s white teeth gleamed against her olive skin as she turned her head from side to side, greeting the others in a quieter but no less happy manner. Ekatya felt her shoulders ease a bit more as she locked Hmongyon’s chair in place near the rear of the cabin and watched Baldassar do the same with Mauji Mauji. They straightened and grinned at each other, and Ekatya knew they were thinking the same thing: all of their shuttles were back in the bay.
Once again the transport lifted off, flying back to the center of Blacksun to pick up its last passengers. Lhyn provided a running commentary for everyone’s benefit as they soared over the park with its domed buildings and spectacular landscaping.
“The big group of domes in the middle, with the wall all around its park—that’s the State House. The one over on the other side is Blacksun Temple, with the bell tower next to it. And the six domes making a circle around them are the six caste houses. Every city of any size has all six caste houses, but smaller towns may only have one or two, depending on the population and which castes are most represented. Of course the caste houses here are the biggest of all, just like the temple is. Lancer Tal says the unofficial motto of Blacksun is ‘Ours is bigger.’” She stopped when everyone in the transport laughed. “What? Oh, come on, take your heads out of the waste sump! They don’t even have…what you’re thinking of. Never mind.”
“Wait, what?” Candini asked. She glanced around and lowered her voice. “What the Hades are you saying? They don’t have reproductive organs?”
“Of course they have reproductive organs, you drive stick jockey. They do reproduce, after all. They just don’t have organs like ours.”
“But how is that possible? Every Gaian race has the same basic design!”
“The Alseans are different. In more ways than one.”
Candini looked at Ekatya. “Did you know this?”
“Not until they told me in the healing center.”
“Well, what do they have?”
Ekatya rested her forehead in her hand. “‘Join the Fleet,’ they said. ‘See the galaxy, meet new races.’ They never mentioned that I’d be giving sex education lessons to my crew.”
Baldassar laughed behind her. “They didn’t mention that to me, either. Dr. Rivers, isn’t there some version of Alsean pornography we can all watch for the educational value?”
“Oh, my fucking stars,” Lhyn said. “No!”
“I don’t need—” Candini stopped as she caught sight of the group waiting for them on the State House landing pad. “Wow.”
Ekatya leaned over to look out the window. The Lancer’s Guards were drawn up into a perfectly square formation, standing at attention in red dress uniforms with buttons so polished that the reflections were blinding her from here. In front of them stood the Lancer, also at attention, in a uniform different than the three versions Ekatya had previously seen. Apparently, there was a dress uniform, and then there was a dress uniform.
The transport settled to the ground, and Ekatya heard Candini suck in a breath as Lancer Tal strode toward the ramp.
“My heart,” Candini whispered.
“Great Seeders,” Baldassar mumbled at the same time.
Unlike her Guards, the Lancer was in solid black, with a full-length crimson cape rippling out behind her as she moved. A matching crimson sash went from her left shoulder to her right hip, and where it ended there was a cylindrical handle of some sort attached to her belt. Her blonde hair was swept up and back in a complicated twist, and a thin circlet of silver sat on her brow, holding a small shield at its center. As she drew closer, Ekatya realized that what she had thought was solid-colored material was actually black-on-black embroidery: the Lancer’s uniform was covered with images that told the same kinds of stories that the carvings had in the Council Chamber.
The door to the transport opened, and Lancer Tal swept inside with her head high and a regal air about her. Ekatya’s crew fell into a dead silence as they stared.
“Well met,” Lancer Tal said, her gaze taking in the crew. “Today we welcome you as honorary Alseans, while we mourn our dead together and celebrate their Return. I know we don’t share the same deity, but surely your gods and our goddess must be in company today, while their children find common ground in their loss.”
She looked at Ekatya, who realized that the ceremonial part of the memorial was starting earlier than she’d expected. Standing, she extended her palm. “Well met, Lancer Tal. We are greatly honored to be Alseans, even for a day, and look forward to sharing both our sorrow and our joy in this ceremony.”
Their palms touched and the Lancer nodded, a slight smile gracing her face. “May our fallen Return together.”
Ekatya had no idea what to say to that, but she was fortunately spared the necessity when the Lancer released her hand and turned to the door.
“Guards!” she called.
In perfect synchrony, the entire squadron of Guards brought their feet together, bowed their heads, and thumped their fists to their chests. The man on the front left edge of the square raised his head and stepped forward; it was Gehrain. The woman next to him waited a beat, then raised her head and smoothly moved in behind him. One by one, every Guard joined the line, marching toward the transport with a precision that left Ekatya beyond impressed.
She was suddenly very glad that she’d asked her crew to retrieve fresh uniforms from their quarters when they’d gathered their belongings yesterday. At least they were all clean and matching, which was about the best she could ask for given the situation. But they were still a sorry group compared to the gleaming magnificence of Lancer Tal and her Guards.
The Guards marched up the ramp and silently filed into the transport, peeling off to take their seats from the front to the back. They were still at attention even
when they sat, their spines stiff and their faces resolutely forward. The Caphenon crew didn’t even try to speak to them, instead absorbing their serious mien.
Ekatya remembered that the conversation immediately prior to this had been about sexual organs and pornography, and for one wild moment she thought she might crack up at the sheer incongruity of it all. Instead she stood next to the Lancer, watching the parade of Guards and feeling more and more sober as they filed past. When they had all taken their seats, Lancer Tal ordered her pilot to lift off, then met Ekatya’s eyes and indicated her private cabin with a slight incline of her head. Ekatya followed.
In the cabin, Lancer Tal went straight to her conference table, where a package sat in the center. A single pull undid the string that tied it, and the package fell open to reveal a folded square of crimson cloth. She picked it up and shook it out, revealing a cape that matched her own.
“Captain Serrado, I know your access to personal items was somewhat limited, so I took the liberty of having this made for you. I guessed you wouldn’t be so impractical as to bring out a dress uniform when you were only allowing yourself a single bag.”
“You guessed right,” Ekatya said. “Only two days and you already know me that well? I should probably be worried about that.”
“Don’t be. May I?”
She nodded. It wasn’t as if she had any idea how to put on a cape, after all. They weren’t exactly part of the Fleet uniform.
The Lancer moved behind her and settled the heavy cloth on her shoulders. Walking back around front, she leaned in and fastened the chain and clasp. It felt oddly intimate, particularly when she rested her hand on the closed clasp for a moment, her palm warm against Ekatya’s upper chest. Then she stepped back, looked her up and down, and smiled.
“You may not look entirely Alsean,” she said, pointing at her own facial ridges, “but you definitely look less Gaian.”
The strange thing was, Ekatya felt like it. She certainly didn’t feel fully Fleet at the moment. “Thank you. It’s nice to know I won’t stick out like a sore thumb when I give the eulogy.”
“A sore thumb?”
“Old saying.”
“Really, you Gaians are amazingly visual.”
They sat in the decadent seats by the windows, and Ekatya listened closely while Lancer Tal gave her a quick rundown on what to expect in terms of her own involvement. By the time they landed she had a much better grasp of the logistics and felt certain that she could at least hold up her end. But she hadn’t had time to ask about the rest of the ceremony, so when Lhyn wanted details as they filed off the transport, she could only shrug her shoulders.
Candini elbowed her when she stepped off the ramp. “You look exceptionally non-Fleet, Captain. In a good way, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Very nice indeed,” Baldassar commented, and Ekatya began to feel self-conscious. But then Lhyn leaned in and growled softly in her ear.
Ekatya decided that she liked the cape just fine.
They’d landed just outside Blacksun, in a field that Lhyn had said was used for the annual Games, a worldwide sporting competition, as well as smaller cultural events. Permanent seating rose in curving tiers on opposite sides of the field, while the north and south ends were open. The low roar of thousands of conversations filled the air.
“Do you know how many people it seats?” she asked Lhyn.
“Fifty thousand.”
“Great galaxies. I’m giving a eulogy to fifty thousand aliens.”
“No, you’re not. You’re giving a eulogy to fifty thousand friends.”
When her crew had gathered around her, Ekatya told them what to expect and urged them to step smart when they followed the Lancer and her Guards onto the field.
“Or roll smart,” Hmongyon said.
“I’ve got that covered.” Torado stood behind her chair and gave a salute. Ennserhofen matched it as he stood behind Mauji Mauji’s chair.
Ekatya was about to comment on their piloting skills when Lancer Tal came up behind her and tapped her shoulder.
“We’re moving,” she said, and set off without waiting for a response. Ekatya hustled to catch up.
They were on a wide brick path that curved away from the landing pad and ran between two lines of trees to the back side of the eastern stands. Then it turned and paralleled the stands, going past one archway after another through which Ekatya glimpsed people hurrying to take their seats. A few stragglers were still arriving, walking in twos and threes along the paths that intersected this one and ended at the archways. Their group garnered a lot of stares, but everyone was polite and quite a few saluted Lancer Tal with what Ekatya now recognized was the unique salute of a warrior to the Lancer.
At last they reached the south edge of the stands, where the path opened into a plaza and the field came into view.
Twenty-three wooden platforms on stilts made a grand circle around the field, each hung with the red flag of the warrior caste and surrounded by artfully arranged lengths of wood. Beside each of the pyres was a rack holding a lit torch. Ekatya couldn’t see the bodies that lay atop the pyres—or, in the case of those who had been vaporized, the life-sized facsimiles—but they would be visible from the stands. Special sections of the stands were reserved for the families, Lancer Tal had told her, so that each family would have the best view of their loved one.
Three raised platforms sat in the middle of the field, festooned with banners of different colors. Two of them had multiple tiers, while the one in the center was full of empty chairs surrounding a raised dais in its center. One of the tiered platforms was also empty, but the other held what looked like a hundred musicians, all wearing long white tunics over navy-blue pants and a colored sash at the waist. Different musicians wore different-colored sashes, but they were all either blue, yellow, or green.
Those were the colors on the flag of the crafter caste, Ekatya remembered. They’d seen the caste flags outside the State House and again in the Council Chamber, and while all of the other castes had a solid-colored background on their flags, that of the crafters bore three bars of color. Lancer Tal had said that the crafters were always a caste apart.
Ekatya looked back at the pyres, draped in the red color of the warrior caste, and then down at the heavy crimson cape around her shoulders. It was the same shade. Not only was she an honorary Alsean today, but she was pretty sure that Lancer Tal had made her an honorary member of the warrior caste as well.
On the top level of the symphony platform were the enormous chimes she’d seen in Healer Wellernal’s image, and she looked around curiously for his bondmate. Ah, there she was, arranging what appeared to be a rack of different types of mallets.
Baldassar pointed at the platform. “What are those?”
“Long bells,” said Ekatya and Lhyn at the same time.
Lhyn looked over. “How do you know about them?”
“Healer Wellernal. His bondmate, Chrysaltin, plays them for the Blacksun Symphony. That’s her up there.”
“Did you notice that the heaviest, most difficult-to-move instrument is on the top level?” Baldassar asked.
“If they’re lower, they overwhelm the other musicians,” Lancer Tal said without turning around. “Ah, there are the Voices.”
“The what?” Lhyn asked, before answering herself a second later as a group of identically dressed Alseans walked toward the empty tiered platform. “The Voices of the Deep! They’re here!”
This time Lancer Tal did turn, smiling at Lhyn. “You’re a fan?”
“Oh, yes. If I weren’t a language specialist, I’d be a music specialist. The Voices are spectacular.”
“Yes, they are. And if you’re this excited about the Voices, I suspect you’re going to be thrilled with the soloist.”
“Who is it?”
Lancer Tal turned back to the field, but Ekatya could hear the smile in her voice when she said, “I think you deserve the joy of a surprise, Lhyn Rivers.”
Lhy
n grumbled about wanting to know right now, but subsided as she watched the new group mount the platform and spread out along its levels.
“Is anyone going to explain to the rest of us culture-challenged Gaians who the Voices of the Deep are?” Ekatya asked.
“Probably the best choir on Alsea,” Lhyn answered. “Though the Whitemoon Temple Singers might argue about that.”
“The Whitemoon Temple Singers are good,” Lancer Tal agreed. “But not as good as the Voices.”
Ekatya was about to ask if this was one of those discussions that could get her into trouble in a bar, when she became aware of a low hum. The noise in the stands quieted, making the hum seem louder, and eventually she realized that it was coming from the Voices. They were still moving along their platform, still finding their places, but they’d already begun singing. It started as a single sustained note, going on and on, far past the ability of any one breath. The singers were working in groups, staggering their voices so that when any group took a breath, several others were sustaining the note. It was seamless and a very effective method of drawing attention to the field.
Without any coordination that she could see—didn’t they have a director?—the hum changed, climbing in register as the last singers settled into their places and turned. Then they all opened their mouths for a roaring crescendo of sound that shut off as abruptly as it had started.
The stands were silent.
A deep gong drew Ekatya’s attention to the symphony platform. Chrysaltin stood in front of the largest of her long bells, a sizable mallet in her hand. When the reverberations died down she hit it again.
Lancer Tal raised her arm over her head.
On the third gong, the Lancer dropped her arm and stepped forward. Gehrain led the Guards behind her in a perfect formation of six across as the symphony struck up a fanfare, all horns and deep drums marking the pace.
The Caphenon Page 31
