Torchship Captain

by Karl K Gallagher

  “Yes, I’d be delighted,” said Guo.

  “After that I’m afraid you’ll have to play tourist for a few days,” said Ping. “We’ve barely had time to start looking at the documents you transmitted. I want to be fully studied up before we meet to discuss the proposal.”

  ***

  A white gi and trousers were laid on the chair in Guo’s room when he woke to gentle music. He dressed and left the room. Lian was in the hallway in a similar outfit, also barefoot.

  They walked out of their quarters. It was one of five buildings making a loose hexagon. The open side faced east. A glow on the horizon hinted that dawn was close. Dozens of people were standing on the lawn east of the covered walkways connecting the buildings.

  Lian began introducing Guo to the others. Everyone wore exercise clothes. Some in gis, some in loose tunics. One was in a Fusion Navy PT uniform. Guo recognized him as the admiral on the Elder Council.

  Looking over the crowd he recognized several other Elders. He’d studied their dossiers on the trip here. Ping was here. It looked like all of them might be in the gathering.

  When the first light of the sun peeked through the trees a young woman walked east a few meters then turned to face the crowd. People began forming into evenly spaced lines. All conversation had stopped. Guo wasn’t sure where to stand. As the grid formed around him there was an obvious space left. He stepped into it, now a double-arm interval from Lian and a judicial expert on his other side.

  The exercise leader stood relaxed, almost at attention. Everyone matched her. She swept her arms up, then pivoted on her feet to face south. Guo mirrored her, a beat behind the rest. They held the pose for a long ten-count, then bent knees and leveled the arms. That pose was held for a ten-count as well.

  Lagging behind the others frustrated Guo. Everyone else seemed to anticipate the leader’s changes, matching her precisely. They knew which pose would be next. He’d taken T’ai Chi classes on multiple worlds, including this one, but they were classes. The instructor would tell students what to do. He’d also chosen ones focused on the self-defense side of the art. This . . . was hardly even exercise. More a whole body meditation.

  The thirteenth pose was a repeat of the first one. The one after was also a repeat. Guo realized there was a cycle, which is why everyone could anticipate it so well. This would have been useful for him if he’d tried to remember the earlier poses. Instead he was starting each change late and jerking his movements to catch up to the rest. Everyone else moved as a single being with many bodies, and he was twitching inside it like a tumor.

  The start of the third cycle eased him a bit. He half-remembered the pose which let him anticipate some of the motions. More importantly he’d learned to watch whoever he was facing at the time and let his body match theirs. Eyes guided limbs, while the brain stayed out of the way.

  That left him free to fret about looking bad in front of the people he needed to impress. But at least he wasn’t looking as bad now.

  Three or four more cycles went by. He’d stopped counting, just flowing with the motions. He’d learned to not anticipate, just to flow, being one cell in the being. His arms moved with everyone’s arms. He turned with everyone. They were all together.

  It was a shock when the young woman returned to standing straight and bowed to everyone. The practitioners all bowed back. Guo only lagged an instant in his bow. The grid dissolved, some trotting off to work, others resuming conversations.

  He’d broken a sweat at some point without noticing. However long they’d been at this—the sun was well clear of the trees—it had added up to real exercise. He was tired, but without the ache of calisthenics.

  “This way, Ambassador Kwan,” said Lian. One of the tables by the walkways had been set up with a light meal of rice and dumplings.

  “Please, call me Guo. I’m just a temporary ambassador.”

  “As you wish.” She broke open a dumpling and took a bite.

  Guo sipped his tea. “Do we do that every morning?”

  She gave him a demure smile, still dazzling in that face. “Yes.”

  Dammit, I’m at war with these people. I need to not think of them as ‘we.’ I’m a terrible ambassador.

  ***

  “I can’t see arranged marriages working in modern times,” said Guo, dubious about the latest Revivalist custom.

  “My parents’ marriage was arranged. Not by their parents, by the leaders of the local Revivalist group,” countered Lian. “They’re very happy together.”

  “Marrying someone not knowing anything about them has to be a handicap.” Guo’d come closer to that than he liked to think.

  “Oh, we know lots about each other. My sister was reading profiles and work portfolios for every candidate our parents suggested. She’s comfortable with her husband.”

  “Doesn’t leave much room for chemistry between people.”

  “The heart gets a veto. But it’s an important decision. The brain should have the first vote.” She looked out the window of the autocar. “Here we are.”

  The car stopped well clear of the gardens. Guo stepped out, then held Lian’s hand to help her out after him.

  The ground between the buildings was crowded with people. A few were stacking the last of the sod slices by the corner to be taken away. Some men with sledges and picks were breaking up the sidewalks. Others were taking plants off pallets and tucking them into holes in the bare ground. Another group with trowels was preparing for the next batch of plants.

  “They’re certainly enthusiastic,” said Guo. “Who are they?”

  “Brand new apprentice gardeners. Formerly stipend collectors with no reason to leave their rooms.” Lian waved at the two brick-shaped buildings. At five stories tall they were as big as any Guo had seen on Tiantan.

  He couldn’t spot a foreman. “Who’s in charge?”

  “No one. They had two weeks apprenticing elsewhere and then came home to create their own garden. It’s a completely collective project, consensus driven. Look.”

  A bucket held HUD glasses for anyone who needed them. Lian put one on Guo then took one for herself.

  He looked over the site. As Lian pulled up the consensus, multicolored lines and labels appeared marking out a mix of flowers and vegetable beds. The strength of lines varied, with the thinnest overlapping unreadably.

  “What’s that spot?” Guo pointed at a tangle.

  “That’s a dispute over the final design. It’s being left unresolved while they work on the agreed-upon parts.”

  “Just postponing the decision?”

  “More that they’re working to increase their weight in the consensus.” Lian highlighted the overlay of the flowerbeds being filled in. She expanded it to show who supported that decision. Each name further expanded to what work they’d done and how difficult it was.

  “Interesting. The more dirty your hands are the more of a say you have.” Guo appreciated the elegance of the feedback mechanism.

  “Yes. But it’s diluted by how much you’ve pushed for different parts, so if someone tried to control the whole garden they’d wind up with little influence on each bit.”

  Guo dropped his HUD back in the bucket. He caught one of the flower planters as she headed back to the stack of pallets. “Excuse me, do you have time for a few questions?”

  “Of course, sir.” She kept her eyes low. Likely his ambassador suit was intimidating her.

  “I'm visiting from off-world and I’m curious about this project. Did you volunteer for this?”

  “Oh, yes. There were more volunteers then they had openings as gardeners. And not all the volunteers chosen passed the gardening class. I’m very fortunate to be here.”

  He wasn’t sure how to get at what he was looking for without offending his eavesdropping hosts. “Do you like the flowers you’re putting in?”

  “The peonies are a symbol bringing success for our venture.” Her voice lowered a bit. “I didn’t pick them, but working to put them in gives me more l
everage on the third stage plan. I want some carrots to supplement our rations.” She went on to explain the bargain she was negotiating with the other vegetable fans in detail.

  When she paused for breath Guo quickly said, “Thank you, I wish you all success in your plans. I should let you get back to work.”

  “Thank you. It’s nice to be doing something that makes a difference in the real world. Enjoy your stay on Tiantan, sir.” She trotted off to get more peonies.

  “Convinced we’re not enslaving them?” said Lian in a teasing tone.

  “Mostly,” said Guo seriously. “It’s so damn inefficient doing this kind of work by hand though. Look, you’ve got the gardenbots that used to maintain this just sitting out as junk. You could recycle those. Or send them to Akiak. We’d pay good money for bots that are sturdy enough to handle our weather.”

  She led him back toward the autocar. “They’re not there as junk. It’s a statement. We value the former stipend receivers more than we do robots. We’d rather have them do the work and throw the bots away than use bots and let their tenements be a trash heap of people.”

  “This isn’t value. They’re destroying value. They’re probably burning more calories doing the work than they’ll grow in their garden. We’d starve on Akiak if we grew food like this.”

  “You’re too poor to waste people’s labor. This is a rich world, and we’ve been wasting those people’s labor their whole lives. We shouldn’t measure the wealth of Tiantan in tons of food produced but the character of our people.” Lian waved behind her at the gardeners. “They’re building character. They have pride now. A work ethic. Results they can show to others. To hell with efficient production of vegetables.”

  “Are you putting all the stipend kids to gardening?”

  “We’re finding work for all of them. There’s a whole department devoted to finding useful, fulfilling work. Until then some are doing make work, yes. They’re earning their meals.”

  Guo opened the door for her. “What about the ones who refuse to work?”

  “Their meals aren’t very tasty.”

  “Coercing stipend kids into service is what blew things up on Pintoy.”

  “When society is attacked it has a right to defend itself.”

  The autocar started moving as soon as Guo had his belt fastened. “How many died when society defended itself here?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  A blatant lie. Lian was more like Mitchie every day.

  ***

  That night was the banquet honoring the winners of the annual Tiantan poetry competition. All the Elders attended. Guo discovered his ambassadorial rank made him ex officio an Elder for such events.

  Lian gave him enough warning to read all the winners and most of the finalists. It didn’t help him as much as he’d hoped. Guo appreciated good poems. Critiquing them had developed into a profession with its own dialect. His dinner conversation stuck to polite praise. Expressing his honest opinion of the pretentious microanalysis of his tablemates would be . . . undiplomatic.

  After dinner and the awards Guo found a chance to buttonhole Daifu Ping.

  “Yes, I’ve read it all. It’s a fascinating proposal. But I can’t open any negotiation on it until the Elders have come to a consensus. Many of them are busier than I am. Once they’ve gotten through it and formed their opinions we’ll meet and discuss it. Then we’ll be ready to talk to you.”

  “Surely you have some initial reactions of your own,” Guo pressed.

  Ping took a sip of his wine. “Well. One issue I will be bringing up with my colleagues: extradition. As written someone can commit a crime and escape punishment by fleeing to another jurisdiction. We need to bring back those due punishment, or in debt, or committed to perform a service.”

  “Thank you, I’ll think on that,” said Guo.

  “Remember, it’s not the loss of the individual that matters. It’s the loss of trust. If a group can’t count on its members to stick around, none of them will bond strongly to each other.” Ping turned to greet an approaching scholar, who promptly began lobbying him to support a pet project.

  Guo thought on the Daifu’s words. Incorporating some version of the Fugitive Slave Act into the treaty violated his principles. But if the alternative was the Harmony feeling it needed to establish control over all its neighbors for its own survival . . . maybe he needed to convince the Elders they could win when people vote with their feet. Though offering Shishi’s tradition of pedestrian elections as an example would not win them over.

  ***

  “Welcome aboard, Mr. Ambassador,” said Lt. Commander Snyder. “Making sure we haven’t left without you?”

  “No, just wanted to have an hour of not being lied to, and maybe practice my English a little.” Guo shook hands with the destroyer’s commander, then the XO and bosun.

  “Well, no stories from you, Chief. He’s not in the mood,” the XO said.

  The bosun sniffed in disdain.

  Snyder led them to the wardroom.

  Guo perked up at the scent of coffee. After two weeks of nothing but tea even the Defense Force’s coffee was a pleasant change.

  Once they all had cups the XO asked, “What kind of lies are they inflicting on you? Desires for peace and coexistence?”

  Guo sipped his drink, enjoying the sugar’s softening of its bite. “Haven’t gotten to those yet. They’re still giving me a runaround on why they can’t respond to the proposal. Latest is that the Elders are too overscheduled to find time to discuss it together.”

  He stared into the cup. “They’re stalling and I don’t know why. They should be moving fast to strike before the Committee of Public Safety has its ship crews trained up.”

  “Maybe they’re planning a strike instead of negotiations?” asked Snyder.

  “That’s what I expected when I arrived. But they’re putting too much work into softening me up if they’re not going to talk to me at all.” He took another swallow. “I hope the wait isn’t too frustrating for you.”

  “Not at all,” said the commander.

  “The men are enjoying their shore leave time,” added the XO.

  The bosun translated that as, “The whores are cheap.”

  “I’m sure,” said Guo. “They’re charging just enough to maintain their cover identities.”

  “You think they’re all intelligence agents?” asked the XO.

  “Everyone you talk to in Porttown is a professional agent or is accepting a retainer to report all their observations. They’ve been wrapping me in continuous surveillance.”

  “We’ve enforced a strict policy against locals coming on board.”

  “Good.” Guo drank down the last of his cup. “If you gentlemen will forgive me I need to consult the references in my cabin.”

  Once in the locked stateroom Guo didn’t touch the shelf of books or secure datasheet. He sat at his desk with blank paper and a pen.

  Any message he sent through interstellar mail would be read by Harmony Intelligence, and multiple factions of the CPS. He didn’t have any news to report on his mission but he wanted to reach out to his wife. Writing her a letter then burning it in a candle felt romantic but there was undoubtedly a camera which could read every stroke of his pen in the guest quarters.

  Here he could write a private letter to Mitchie, even though he’d have to hand deliver it to her. He filled three pages in English with complaints about Ping, descriptions of the better tourist spots, and a professional critique of Harmony Intelligence’s methods.

  Then he switched to a calligraphy pen and took a fresh sheet. Mitchie appreciated his love poems for the effort he put in rather than the beauty of their language. But there were some feelings he couldn’t express in English.

  The characters flowed down the page as he poured out his passion. The brushstrokes were perfect with no need for thought. Then he stopped in horror. He’d written “soft brown eyes.”

  Mitchie’s eyes were green.

  He tore the poe
m into tiny bits.

  ***

  Elder Wang kept his remarks brief. Guo nodded at the paean to virtuous behavior. Instead of calling for dessert to be served Wang gave his place to Admiral Chang, the Harmony’s Minister of War.

  Chang ordered, “Brigadier Li, front and center!”

  A middle aged officer strode forward from a table in the back.

  Guo noted that the only change they’d made to the Marine uniform was replacing the Fusion’s lithium atom with the Harmony’s yin-yang.

  Admiral Chang read from a scroll. “Brigadier Li inspired his troops to end dissention on Franklin. Former Planetary Director Walter Sponaugle was tracked down in his marshy lair, captured, tried, and executed. The rebel guerrillas have been dispersed. Franklin now looks forward to peaceful membership in the Harmony. Therefore Brigadier Li is declared a Virtuous Exemplar.”

  The Marine bowed as the red ribbon was draped around his neck.

  Guo did not join in the thunderous applause. Lian clapped with the rest for a moment, stopping when she noticed his expression.

  When the officers returned to their seats Guo muttered, “The son of a bitch should be court martialed for incompetence.”

  Master Su raised an eyebrow. “You think he lost too many men in the pursuit?”

  “Oh, it’s bad enough he lost hundreds to ambushes in the swamps. I’m talking about turning the man into a martyr.”

  Lian and the others at the table stared at their empty plates. Treason was not what they expected for after-dinner conversation.

  “Having their leader killed will demoralize the rebels.”

  Guo shook his head. “Li turned Sponaugle into a legend. They’ll be singing about him generations from now.”

  “As a villain,” countered Su. He thanked the waiter placing a bowl of sherbet before him.

  “Think on how this looks in Anglophone culture. He was born to wealth, used it to gain power, then lost it all. Rather than give up he learned to fight, bled the invaders, then died as a martyr for his people. That’s a combination of Robin of Locksley and Jesus of Nazareth. You couldn’t ask for a more powerful inspiration to young Anglophone men.”