by Diana Palmer
Her father said the cat statues were religious objects. No wonder they were everywhere on Memcache. She’d noticed that Mekashe was uncomfortable when she screamed at the virtual galot at his villa. She groaned inwardly. She’d made a complete fool of herself, cost her father the position of his dreams, set diplomatic relations back a hundred years, lost Mekashe...
She walked to the wall and touched a button, opening the view to space. Stars in their various colors flew by as the starliner headed back toward Terravega. This would be a quick trip, too. This ship was the fastest in the fleet. Their passage had been arranged and paid for by the diplomatic service. Apparently, they were anxious to get the Duponts home before they could make things worse. Before Jasmine could make things worse.
She heard a faint purring sound and looked down. The little Nagaashe was looking up at her with pretty blue eyes.
She reached down and coaxed it into her cupped hands. She lifted it to her face and felt it purr as it rubbed its head against her cheek. It wasn’t until then that she realized she was crying.
“I’ve ruined everything,” she whispered. “Everything!”
The little creature just purred softly, the sound comforting in the silence of her cabin.
* * *
THEY WERE MET at the spaceport by a delegation, headed by Councilman Vickers, the presidential adviser who’d championed Professor Dupont’s appointment by the president for the position, against many protests.
“I’m so sorry,” Professor Dupont said heavily.
Vickers glanced from him to Jasmine, who was visibly subdued. “So are we,” he said quietly. “It was a magnificent opportunity for us, to have ties to the Cehn-Tahr Empire. It would have been a boost to our economy to open trade with the hundred and ten worlds they embrace. Many exotic products would have found their way to our shops, including some medicines that would have delighted the medical sector.”
“Yes.” Dupont was lost for words.
Jasmine started to speak, but Vickers gave her a look of such distaste that she shut her mouth and flushed.
“We’ll speak later,” he told her father. “For now, get some rest while I try to save as many political heads as I can—mine included.”
“I had great hopes,” Dupont choked out.
“So did we all.”
The delegation left them at the spaceport. Jasmine felt worse by the minute when she began to realize the trouble she’d made not only for her father, but for her planet.
“It’s not all so bad,” she tried to comfort him on the way back to the house they still owned. “I mean, you can always go back to teaching.”
He didn’t look at her. “Do you think so?” he asked in a subdued tone.
“Of course. It will be all right,” she added softly. “Really, it will.”
* * *
IT WASN’T. THE Tri-D news was full of the ambassador’s expulsion from Memcache the very next day. His failure was punctuated by a statement from the ambassadorial service that the wrong person had obviously been chosen for such an important position. It should have been a career politician, they stated, as they’d said when Councilman Vickers insisted on appointing an academic to the job and convinced the president to go along. Vickers had lost his position, along with all the councilmen who’d approved Professor Dupont’s appointment.
On and on it went. Day by day, Professor Dupont grew more despondent. He’d stopped going out at all, having been subjected to verbal abuse almost everywhere he went. He’d tried to take Jasmine to the opera, to cheer her up, when they’d been stopped at the door by two angry women with ties to the embassy.
Jasmine was in tears when they came home. She went to her room and refused to leave it.
Things got worse. Her father tried to get his old teaching job back, only to be told that considering his notoriety at the moment, the university felt that it would place them in an untenable position. They had the good name of their institution to consider, was their final word.
* * *
IN THE WEEKS that followed, every attempt he made to find a teaching job was thwarted by the ongoing publicity. It never stopped. The public outrage was horrendous. Imagine, one commentator said, having one person destroy all hopes of a new era in interplanetary relations. And all because his daughter couldn’t keep her mouth shut.
Professor Dupont had tried to shield Jasmine from what people were saying, but he couldn’t do it. She felt the guilt like an invading disease. Especially when her father’s small savings were used up and they faced the loss of their home.
“I’ll get a job,” she said firmly.
He just looked at her, morose and sad and quiet. His pride was shattered. His future was gone. He had no desire to do anything.
She got a copy of the digital want ads and started looking for a suitable position. Only to realize that she didn’t know how to do anything. She had no skills, no education past secondary school, and unskilled labor was limited to supervising robotic workers. She couldn’t even do that, having no robotic training.
* * *
DEPRESSED, WORRIED AND dejected, she went back home after a terrible dead end of job seeking and found medics and law enforcement in the front yard.
She saw them bringing out a still form in an ambutube, covered in white fabric, with blood coming through where the head would be.
“Daddy!” she screamed.
One of the law-enforcement officials caught her before she could get to the ambutube. “It’s too late,” he said in a gruff tone. “He’s gone.”
“When? How?”
“He killed himself,” came the quiet reply.
He was saying something else, but Jasmine couldn’t really hear it. She fainted.
* * *
MEKASHE WENT ABOUT his duties with a heavy heart. He held no animosity toward Tresar or the emperor, especially now that he knew how impossible it would have been for him to have a life with Jasmine.
Still, the feelings he had for her were stubborn. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing her beautiful face, hearing her laugh, watching her explore the places he’d taken her with the joy and fascination of a young child. She colored his dreams, haunted him waking and sleeping.
Tresar noticed his sadness and apologized once again for the misery his reaction to Jasmine’s outburst had caused.
Mekashe put a big hand on his shoulder and managed a smile for his friend. “Karamesh,” he said simply. Fate.
Tresar nodded after a minute. “Karamesh.”
* * *
THE EMPEROR ALSO noticed Mekashe’s preoccupation. He looked as if he never slept. His mischievous personality had gone forever. He was solemn, quiet, devoted to duty and his men, but the job became his life.
Tnurat called him into his office at the Dectat one afternoon. To Mekashe’s surprise, Rhemun was sitting in a chair beside the desk where the emperor was seated.
“If we had one other officer present, I would expect to be court-martialed,” Mekashe said with a faint flash of green humor in his eyes.
“Nothing so dire.” The emperor chuckled. “No, it is another matter entirely. Now that Rhemun has two small children, his mate has become overanxious about having him in command of a warship.”
Mekashe smiled. “Dr. Mallory has a point,” he replied with a glance at Rhemun.
The commander of the Holconcom stood up to greet his best friend. “She does,” Rhemun replied. “Kipling is now an adolescent, and he and Dtimun’s son, Komak, are finding many things to occupy them that my mate is unable to prevent. The boy is the pride of my house, but he needs a strong hand. Edris is too soft with him.”
“Not to mention that your daughter is without equal at finding dangerous things to explore,” Mekashe mused.
The emperor chuckled. “Indeed. My granddaughter uncovered a store of nag-tassles in a bag stored in a clo
set at the Fortress,” he said, meaning the home he had once shared with Lady Caneese, his mate. It was now occupied by Dtimun, Madeline and their sons. “It has been there for a century or more, undisturbed.”
“Until Larisse pushed a button and ignited the lot,” Rhemun said, shaking his head. “It took two hours of bathing to neutralize the smell. And I fear your son’s closet,” he told the emperor, “will never be the same again, despite the hazard crew’s best efforts.”
“It was simple enough to reconstruct the closet,” came the amused reply. “I think Larisse has the makings of a scientist, like her grandmother. My mate is unsurpassed in biochemistry.”
“I must agree,” Rhemun said. “She and Madeline Ruszel are working on some secret project that they will not share with any of us.”
“Most likely a new form of anesthetic,” the emperor said. “Rognan is helping them by combing the forest for rare herbs.”
“At least he can still fly,” Rhemun mused, “even if one leg is less than functional.”
The emperor nodded. “Meg-Ravens are fascinating to observe. Rognan has been with me since Dtimun was born, over two and a half centuries ago.” He got to his feet. “But I digress. I asked you here,” he told Mekashe, “because Rhemun would very much like to trade places with you.”
For a few seconds, Mekashe thought of wild things like sensor nets, like the ones humans had believed that the Cehn-Tahr of the Holconcom had employed to keep their true form secret from the humans with whom they served. Actually, the shape-shifting ability was due to the genetic tampering of millennia ago, along with the use of microcyborgs to stabilize their humanoid forms.
“Not literally.” Rhemun chuckled as he saw his friend’s expression.
“How sad,” Mekashe teased. “I would like a child. Two would be magnificent.”
“Bond with someone and make your own” was the quick reply, just as quickly regretted. Rhemun grimaced and started to apologize, but Mekashe just shook his head and smiled.
“What he means,” the emperor interrupted, “is that he would like to return to the kehmatemer. Which would leave his position as commander of the Holconcom to you, as next in line in Clan status. How would you feel about that?”
Mekashe took a deep breath. “Two weeks ago, I would have resisted with all my heart,” he confessed. “However, now I think an assignment aboard a warship suits my mood. And since I already know the officers and men, it will be like a homecoming.”
Rhemun beamed. “I thought you might approve.”
The emperor smiled, as well. “I think it will be good for you,” he told Mekashe. He drew in a breath. “I deeply regret the result of my anger,” he added heavily. “I did not foresee the firestorm of hatred that would follow Professor Dupont and his daughter back to Terravega.”
Mekashe knew what he meant. He’d seen the vids, raging about the loss of a valuable diplomatic station. In fact, it had disturbed him so greatly to think of those gentle people suffering such anger that he’d stopped watching the news at all.
“They were both sensitive, in many ways. Jasmine was very young. And very spoiled,” he added reluctantly.
“Life will be hard for her, without her father,” the emperor agreed.
“Without her father?” Mekashe exclaimed.
The emperor’s face was lined with his regrets. “Professor Dupont committed suicide. The pressure was more than he could bear, especially when he was unable to return to an academic career because of his notoriety.”
Mekashe closed his eyes and groaned inwardly. That kind, gentle man, who’d loved music and books. It had never occurred to him that the humans would be so cruel. And poor Jasmine, alone, completely alone, with no other family to console her.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. The emperor searched his eyes. “You did not know.”
“No,” Mekashe said. “I stopped watching news vids some time ago.” He paused. “I became close to Jasmine’s father. We played chess almost every day. He was a good, kind person. I will mourn him.”
The emperor’s hand fell away and he turned. “As I grow older, I begin to see many faults in myself. More than I imagined. The humans are vicious with their own kind. If I had been less judgmental, less rigid, perhaps there might have been another way to save face without destroying a family.”
Mekashe didn’t reply. He stared at his highly polished black boots. “It has been our way for centuries,” he said finally. “The offense was legitimate.”
The emperor turned. “Your young friend had only seen eighteen summers,” he told Mekashe.
The other alien was shocked. He’d never considered age. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask how old she was. She seemed mature at times, and almost juvenile at others. But to him, whose life span had already covered more than two and a half centuries, the contrast was alarming.
“I had no idea,” he said after a minute.
“Compared to us, with our lives measured in centuries, she was a child,” the emperor said sadly. “Children make outbursts. They say things without understanding the effect they have. If the ambassador himself had said such things, perhaps I would have been justified. But this punishment was unjust. And I regret it most fervently.”
Neither of his relatives knew quite what to say. That he was upset was quite obvious, and that was rare. The emperor was widely known for his lack of facial expression when he wanted to conceal his true feelings.
“I have had consultation with the Dectat,” he said after a minute, turning to them. “We are debating other methods of dealing with offenses by aliens on Memcache. Less drastic ones. It is too late for Professor Dupont. But it may ensure that another diplomat does not suffer the same fate.”
“That is gracious of you,” Mekashe said.
“Quite gracious,” Rhemun seconded.
The emperor took a breath and forced a smile. “So,” he said to Mekashe. “When would you like to assume command of the Holconcom?”
Mekashe and Rhemun traded smiles. “As soon as possible, I would think,” Mekashe said.
“As soon as possible,” Rhemun agreed.
* * *
IT TOOK WEEKS to deal with her father’s loss, with the funeral, with the horrible aftermath of the publicity that had led him to take his own life. She turned nineteen in the interim and hardly noticed the addition of an extra year—in fact, she didn’t even celebrate it. She had barely scraped up enough credits for a meager funeral. Oddly, there had been a stranger at the facility who asked to see the body before it was cremated to take a tissue sample. She asked the director if he was a government official. The director only said that it was routine these days, but he didn’t meet her eyes as he said it.
The funeral was badly attended. Jasmine and two friends from school and her mother’s best friend were the only attendees. Professor Dupont’s colleagues stayed away, perhaps concerned that the taint of his disgrace might rub off on them. It only made Jasmine more bitter, if that was possible. The happy, thoughtless girl had become a cold, angry woman. The loss of her only parent was devastating.
* * *
SHE GAVE A harsh interview to a single member of the Tri-D press and told the reporter without reservation that she held all the news media accountable for her father’s suicide. They had blood on their hands that would never wash away, she added bitterly. Their constant harping on his disgrace, their ongoing commentary, had made it impossible for him to find work, leaving him despondent and destitute. He was unable to show his face in public without being verbally assaulted anywhere he went.
And how would the reporter like that? she added viciously. How would he like being harassed and harangued on the nightly news for weeks, with no relief from the hounding publicity?
He had no answer. When he gave the story online, he didn’t cut one single word of her diatribe. In fact, he seemed to agree with her. It was after that when s
he discovered that she could go outside without having people yell at her about her father’s disgrace.
The only concession she’d made was not to mention the Cehn-Tahr or the part they had played in her father’s destruction. The emperor had great power and his reach was far, even into the Tri-Galaxy Council. Enraging him would accomplish nothing, except to make her life even harder. Nevertheless, she blamed him for her father’s death. She blamed all the Cehn-Tahr, with their rigid culture that punished words.
Her father’s suicide was a turning point for her, in many ways. The publicity went away. Another story sent the newspeople rushing after a disgraced theatrical figure who had given his child up for adoption after his wife’s death. He was treated as badly as poor Professor Dupont had been. Jasmine felt sorry for him and hoped that he wouldn’t take the same path.
* * *
SHE CONSIDERED A PROFESSION, because there was nothing left of her father’s small estate. She grimaced as she surveyed her expensive wardrobe, which had eaten up the advance the embassy had given him for expenses. She’d bought pretty things to wear for Mekashe. For Mekashe, who’d betrayed her, who’d turned his back on her, who hadn’t even looked at her that last day at the reception.
She blamed the Cehn-Tahr for all her misery. There had been a tentative offer from a politician on behalf of the Cehn-Tahr government, the offer of a scholarship. She’d turned away, after telling him that she would cheerfully starve to death before she would accept a single credit from the government that had sent her father home to die.
She’d wanted badly to follow in her late mother’s footsteps and become a physician. But she had no money for the training that she would require. It was expensive. There were grants, certainly, but when she stood the preliminary tests, her scores were not high enough to merit scholarships. She had a diploma from secondary school, but her focus had been on fun and fashion, not on any difficult subjects like chemistry or physics or even languages, which would have helped her get into college.
