Chapter 68
Celestial stone rising
“History loves a cycle,” Micah said quietly. “But this has to be the shortest one I’ve seen.”
Tal nodded; it was indeed a familiar scene. Once again they were standing on the landing pad at Blacksun Base, waiting for the crew of the Caphenon to leave. And just like before, one Gaian was staying behind.
“I wish I could stay with you,” Lhyn was saying to Commander Kameha. “I’m so envious.”
“But you’ll come back, yes? Because I’ll miss our trips to the market.”
Lhyn laughed and gave him a warmron, an odd sight given her great height and his diminutive stature. But Tal understood Gaian warmrons far better now, having received them on a nightly basis as she, Ekatya, and Lhyn made the most of their remaining time. She watched this one with a smile.
Retaining Commander Kameha as her new Chief of Advanced Technology had been an enormous coup, raising her status in a Council that hadn’t entirely forgiven her for breaking Fahla’s covenant. It seemed that saving the planet wasn’t a good enough excuse for some, and she was fighting a public relations battle. Having the Gaian chief engineer at her side while she made the announcement was the political highlight of the moon, and Kameha had been overwhelmed by the enthusiastic reception. All one hundred and eighty ministers plus the six caste Primes pounded on their wooden armrests in a cacophony of approval, and Prime Builder Eroles immediately invited Kameha to join her caste as an honorary member. Prime Scholar Yaserka bounced up right afterward, issuing a counterinvitation for him to join the scholars. Hoping to keep the moment from devolving into an argument, Tal suggested that Chief Kameha take some time to consider his options. But he shook his head and informed the Council that he already knew where he belonged.
“In twenty cycles I’ve never gotten my fingernails completely clean,” he said. “I’m a builder at heart.”
Now he stood out from his former shipmates as they took turns saying good-bye. The Gaians were all back in uniform, having given up the Alsean clothing most of them had adopted over the past moon. But Kameha wore a formal Alsean suit, his light blue caste color prominent in the half cape that rustled in the breeze. Tal was certain Eroles had arranged for that outfit; the woman was positively gleeful about her new caste member. Not only that, but she seemed to think Tal had something to do with Kameha’s choice. As a result, she’d dropped her vocal protests against Tal’s use of emergency powers.
Aldirk was right: intent counted for nothing in politics. Usually, that worked against her, but every now and then fortune smiled instead.
“How’s she taking it?” Micah asked as Ekatya stepped in to give her chief a warmron.
“She’s happy for him. And a little envious, like Lhyn.” And already mourning the absence of a friend, though Tal would not reveal what Ekatya had not voiced. But she and Kameha shared a long history; such things were not easily replaced.
“She doesn’t mind that you poached him off her crew?”
“I did not—” Too late, Tal saw his broad grin and thumped an elbow into his ribs. “I’ll have you know that my considerable powers of persuasion were not required. He was happy for the invitation and said he’s ready for something more challenging than repairing starships. The idea of helping us come up to Protectorate levels appeals to his sense of adventure. Besides, he’s very intrigued by our nanotechnology.”
“And yet the first thing you have him doing is directing the repairs to the Caphenon.”
“Yes, but I don’t think it will take him long to train our engineers. Then he can get started on what he really wants to build.”
“The space elevators.”
Tal nodded. “We won’t be depending on the Gaians for long.”
Ekatya had separated from Kameha and was now striding toward Tal and Micah. “Are you ready?”
“I am,” Tal said. “Micah’s a bit nervous, though. You might need to hold his hand.”
“Certainly. Colonel Micah?” Ekatya held out her hand with a straight face.
“I assure you that will not be necessary. Lancer Tal is merely using me as a proxy for her own fear, since admitting to it would be political suicide.”
“I must have misheard, then. I thought you called this shuttle a rattlebucket held together with string.”
Ekatya smiled. “It doesn’t look like much, does it? But Fleet tested it for three days before shipping it over here. If I’m trusting Lhyn in that, you can be certain it’s safe.”
While the shuttle was large enough to carry the Gaians as passengers, it had no space sufficient for the three bodies that had been in cold storage for the past moon and a half. Since a second trip would be required, Ekatya had invited Tal to fly up with them and see the ship. She hadn’t needed to ask twice.
They followed her aboard, where a grizzled man with a spectacular bush of white facial hair waved at them from the pilot’s seat and spoke a stream of Common.
“He’s thrilled to have you on board and says not to worry, he won’t let Candini touch anything.”
“As if I’d want to,” Candini said from the copilot’s seat. “Have you seen this control board? Analogue switches!”
“But I notice you couldn’t resist sitting up front,” Tal said.
“Because I have to make sure he doesn’t kill us.”
The pilot said something else, prompting a snappy reply from Candini, and Ekatya rolled her eyes. “You don’t want to know. Here, let me help you strap in.”
It wasn’t like any transport Tal had ever seen. The seats were bolted directly onto the sides of the windowless fuselage, one on each side of a narrow aisle, and all of the gear went onto segmented overhead shelves with heavy netting holding it in place. The other Gaians were already in their places, with what looked like padded metal bars making a cage around their upper bodies.
Ekatya directed her to one of the empty seats in front and pulled down the metal harness, locking her in place. After settling Micah across the aisle, she said something to the pilot and slipped into the seat behind Tal.
A swaying motion told Tal they’d lifted off, and then an invisible hand pressed her in place as they lurched upward.
“Continal would have had something to say about those skills,” she called over to Micah. “I wish to Fahla he could be here.”
“He went to the best Return possible,” Micah answered.
“I know. That doesn’t make it any easier. And can you not find any pilots over the age of twenty-six? I swear you’re picking them out of first cycle training.”
“I found one who was fifty and you complained about her, too.”
“She was too nervous.”
“Has it occurred to you that the common denominator in all of these too-nervous pilots is you? You scare them.”
“Then they’re not right for the position.”
Whatever Micah said next was lost in the roar of engines, and the hand that had pressed on Tal’s chest earlier was now trying to shove her right through the back of the seat and into Ekatya’s lap. She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing for what felt like a quarter hantick, until both the pressure and the roar abruptly eased. For a few moments she enjoyed the relief of not feeling crushed, and the next thing she knew her feet were floating up.
“Stars and Shippers, this thing doesn’t even have gravity plating!” Ekatya said from behind her. Raising her voice, she called, “All right, everyone, it’s going to be rough when we pass into the shuttle bay. The ship will be on full gravity, so we’ll be going from null to full in the blink of an eye. When I tell you, hook your feet under those rungs and wrap your hands around the armrests. Make sure your head is resting against the seat back and for the love of flight, please don’t get sick.”
Switching to her own language, she called up to the pilot. His reply was respectful on the surface, but there were waves of amusement coming off him, and Tal knew he’d intentionally neglected to mention the lack of gravity.
Her
only complaint about her first-ever experience with weightlessness was that it didn’t last long enough. She’d have given much to release her harness and test her personal flying skills inside the shuttle. Since that wasn’t an option she played with her wristcom instead, taking it off her wrist and lightly batting it this way and that.
“Are you twelve?” Micah asked from across the aisle.
Tal grinned at him. “At the moment, yes.”
All too soon the pilot called out a warning, which Ekatya repeated in High Alsean. Tal refastened her wristcom and positioned herself as she’d been instructed, right before a ten-story building fell on top of her. For a few pipticks she couldn’t even get her lungs to work, since they were squished down in the bottoms of her boots. Then her body rebelled and she clenched her teeth against what felt like her entire collection of internal organs as they crawled up her throat and tried to get out. The gagging sounds from behind her indicated that she wasn’t the only one.
Though the pilot was smart enough to not laugh out loud, his mirth stood out against the emotional background. Tal was ready to kill him until her internal organs returned to their rightful places and she could sense his subtler emotions. He was a pilot from another time, feeling used up and done until he’d gotten the call to rescue another generation of warriors. Knowing that he had the stamina to withstand something these youngsters couldn’t…well, if Tal were in his place she’d be laughing inside as well.
Disembarking took considerable time, as each of the Gaians stopped to touch palms with her and Micah and say good-bye. Tal found it more difficult than she’d expected, especially when Candini offered a warrior’s arm-clasp and a toothy grin.
“When you get those shuttles built and you need someone to train your pilots, call me,” she said. “Because you’ll want the best.”
“Good thing I already know her. And speaking of the best, I never did find out how you landed the Caphenon with no engines. It must have been like dropping a stone from orbit.”
“Thrusters,” Candini said. “All the residual power of an overheated fusion core channeled through a hundred thrusters around the edges of the ship. It didn’t do much to slow our descent, but it gave me just enough control to miss Blacksun and keep the bow pointed forward while we were sliding.”
“Not only that,” Ekatya interjected, “but she kept the bow up until we’d come to a complete stop. Then she finally let it touch down. If she’d lost control of our pitch in that slide, we’d probably have been spread over several square lengths in very small pieces. It was the most virtuoso flying I’ve ever seen.”
Candini blushed, a rare outward confirmation of the emotions she normally kept hidden. “Just doing my job.”
“Then I’m deeply grateful that Captain Serrado knows how to find the best. Not only did you save my city, but you left me with a beautiful ship, a fortress, and a scientific laboratory all in one. All we have to do is a little reassembly.”
The biggest surprise was when Trooper Blunt stopped in front of her. She was the last one off the shuttle, and Tal had expected her to slip out with the other members of her weapons team. Instead she held up her palm and closed her fingers around Tal’s, a bold act for the shy young woman.
“I just wanted to thank you for saving the plants,” she said. “I know you must have so many other things to worry about that are probably much more important, but it really meant a lot to me that you saved them, too. Every time I went back aboard after the battle, I expected to see the orchids starting to die. But you had people in there watering them by hand.”
Tal smiled. “When he believed he was leaving, Commander Kameha made me promise I’d take good care of the Caphenon. Those plants are one of the ship’s systems, just like the fusion core. They were included in my promise.” She leaned in and added in a lower tone, “Besides, the producer caste would have had my head if I’d let the one part of that ship they claimed rights to wither away and die.”
“So it was political?”
“Don’t let her fool you,” Ekatya said. “She has a Filessian orchid in her office. And she was insistent that I find one of our gardeners to put on the quantum com with her Prime Producer. I believe a total transfer of care instructions took place.”
“Which one?” Blunt asked. “The orchid in your office, I mean.”
“The purple one that turns yellow. You were right, it’s beautiful. I can see why it’s your favorite.”
“You remember that?”
“Of course.”
Poor Blunt was so overwhelmed at the thought that she stammered her way through their farewell and chased after her shipmates as soon as she could. But when she reached them, her back straightened and she had an extra spring in her step.
“You are one Hades of a politician,” Ekatya said. “It can’t possibly benefit you to remember some personal detail about my most junior weapons officer, but you just sent her out of here walking on air.”
“One never knows when goodwill might pay off. Besides, Blunt did more for us than she’ll ever realize. Now I believe you promised us a tour of the ship?”
“She’s always going to wonder what you meant by that,” Micah murmured as they followed Ekatya down the ramp.
“I know. Serves her right for leaving us.”
The shuttle bay was smaller than the Caphenon’s, as was the rest of the ship. The captain—a stocky man with a square jaw and a rarely seen smile—toured them around with pride, but Tal couldn’t help comparing everything she saw with the Caphenon. So far as she could tell, the only claim this ship had to superiority was that it hadn’t been crashed. She thought Trooper Blunt would be particularly unhappy with the lack of orchids. The plantings on this ship seemed limited to practical oxygen exchange; aesthetics and a pleasant floral scent weren’t a consideration. But while the Caphenon smelled fresh even with half its systems offline, the air here smelled faintly metallic, a constant reminder that she was in an artificial environment.
Then they entered a lounge area with floor-to-ceiling windows, and Tal stopped in her tracks. Micah was equally stunned.
There was Alsea, blue and white and impossibly beautiful, just as she’d seen it in countless satellite images. But this was the real thing. She was really here.
“Incredible,” Micah breathed.
Tal nodded silently in assent, barely aware of the conversation around her as Ekatya took up the slack. She managed to drag her eyes away long enough to touch the captain’s palm when he offered it, but didn’t even notice when he left.
“Good thing you saved this for the end of the tour,” Lhyn said. “They’re not going anywhere now.”
“Not unless it’s a global emergency.” Tal walked up to the window to rest her hand on it. From here, without the rest of the room or the window’s frame in view, it felt as if there was nothing between her and space. For a moment she fiercely envied Ekatya, who had spent her life seeing things like this in places Tal would never go.
But then she focused on the great jewel of her planet, unconquered and pristine beneath them, and felt a peace settle over her. This was her home; protecting it was her highest duty. Seeing it from here served only to reinforce the rightness of so many decisions, from choosing the warrior caste to breaking Fahla’s covenant. She might never be tyree, but perhaps that was Fahla’s plan. Her life partner was there, hanging in space, a prize the Voloth had failed to take. A prize she would spend her life guarding.
They stayed in the lounge for a hantick, drinking something fizzy from the bar and trying to remember everything that needed to be said. Micah was mostly quiet, his gaze rarely leaving the view. When Ekatya and Lhyn invited Tal to see their quarters, she told him to stay there and enjoy it.
“I cannot,” he said staunchly. “My place is with you, especially on an alien ship.”
“I’m not at risk, Micah. I’ll be with Captain Serrado. Take a moment for yourself; you won’t get one like it for some time to come.”
“Colonel Micah, she’s p
erfectly safe here. But even if she weren’t, I assure you that I would defend her with my life.”
“Me too,” Lhyn said, which made both Tal and Micah smile.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
“I’m sure.” Besides, his true wish was as clear as a summer sky. She would not have him standing in a windowless corridor, guarding a closed door, when he could sit here and enjoy such a view.
He acquiesced, which spoke to the strength of his desires, and Ekatya led them out of the lounge. They walked down an unremarkable corridor, into a magnetic lift, and down an equally unremarkable corridor to a door that looked like any other. After confirming Ekatya’s voice command with the ship’s system, the door slid open.
“It’s not a suite in the State House, but they’re the nicest quarters on the ship other than the captain’s,” she said as they entered the utilitarian room.
Tal thought it was pleasant enough, though decorated far too blandly for her tastes. But it was an outside suite with actual windows, and that alone made it prime real estate. She found the placement of the sofa baffling, however: under the windows and facing inward, not outward. If she had these quarters, flipping that around would be the first thing on her agenda. How could anyone sit here and not look out?
“Andira,” Lhyn said, “we didn’t really ask you here to see our quarters.”
That got her full attention, and when she focused on their emotions, she knew. “One last Sharing?”
Ekatya threaded her fingers through Lhyn’s. “Yes, but…we’ve been talking, and we have an unusual request. You’ve always linked us together, but you’ve never Shared yourself.”
A chill ran down her spine. “It was never about me.”
“But it should be,” Lhyn said. “Lanaril Shared with me when we were still strangers. I consider you one of my closest friends now, yet I’ve never had that with you.”
“It finally occurred to us that we’ve been selfish,” Ekatya added. “You always made it about us, always so careful to hold yourself out of it. From what I understand, and from what Lhyn says, that’s not a true Sharing. You’re not getting the benefit.”
The Caphenon Page 53
