by Jean Johnson
“The War Prince would like to know how much of a break you need,” Li’eth relayed, still speaking in Terranglo.
“At least two hours,” Darian replied, rubbing at his brow. “And I will need a cold compress, and some of the special antimigraine tea we brought with us on the Embassy ships.”
“I remembered to pack a large tin in my personal bags,” Jackie reassured him. “We’ll share a cup in the officers’ lounge.”
“War Prince Naguarr wishes to commend both of you for your efforts,” Li’eth added, still speaking Terranglo. “He has ordered a feast in the V’Dan style for this evening . . . if your stomachs can handle it. Gentle foods, he promises, nothing too spicy and almost entirely vegetables, with some imported V’Dan fish for meat.”
Darian switched to Solarican, bowing toward the mirrored window with his hands pressed together, one inverted over the other with the fingertips curled together, in the formal Solarican style learned from their protocol lessons all the way back in quarantine many months before. “Your Highness has more courtesy in your tail-tip than most people have in their whole leg. Thank you for those menu choices.”
He even managed to roll the Rs properly, using the back of his tongue rather than trilling with the tip.
“Your accent is delightful, meioa, for a non-Solarican,” the War Prince stated through the intercom.
“It is one of our tasks as translators to speak as clearly as we can, if we can speak in that language,” Darian demurred. “I’d be just as careful in K’Kattan if I could.”
“They find this world a little too cold for their joints, but they will appreciate the courtesy of it on other worlds,” Naguarr replied. “Enjoy your meal, meioas.”
NOVEMBER 1, 2287 C.E.
JUNA 23, 9508 V.D.S.
SAFEST BREATH STATION
BEAUTIFUL-BLUE ORBIT, SUGAI SYSTEM
To reassure the colormood sensitivities of their hosts, Li’eth wore his most formal uniform, shipped with V’kol specifically for this occasion. Cloth of gold and cream predominated, edged with the bare minimum of scarlet. It looked good with his blond-and-burgundy hair braided back from his face, baring the lightning-jagged streaks of his jungen angling down across his eye and cheek from his hairline.
This uniform did not bear the solid brass squares of a Grand Captain, however; instead, the shoulders of the fitted coat bore the golden swords with tiny crimson rubies of the War Prince. It came with a matching coronet, mostly solid gold—and thus heavy on his brow, though thankfully padded along the inner edge for a modicum of comfort. Four rubies sat along the ornate quillons of the swords forming each half of the circlet, and a ruby half the size of his mother’s formed the conjoined pommel-nut at the center in front.
V’kol—now officially elevated to the rank of Captain Kos’q—and three others representing the V’Dan military were clad in cream versions of his cloth-of-gold uniform. All three V’Dan bore frogging in gold across their fronts; two had the ornate knotwork of Admirals of the Fleet, and the last wore the plainer stripes and loops of a General of planet-bound troops.
(I have no idea how Mother can bear the weight of her version of this circlet,) Li’eth complained silently, stifling a sigh. (I’ve only had this thing on for half an hour, and it’s already threatening to give me a headache.)
(Use a tiny touch of telekinesis?) Jackie suggested, reflexively checking the buttons of her Special Forces Dress Grays. She looked over at her fellow Terrans, two of whom had been shipped to Beautiful-Blue specifically for this meeting. The newest of those two, Major Dewi Tang-Smith, stood near the water dispenser provided for their comfort in her Army Dress Greens, her formal hijab tucked under her uniform cap, chatting with the other two Terrans in the room: Admiral Nayak in his Navy Dress Blues and Lieutenant Paea in Marine Corps Dress Browns respectively. They responded to her conversation quietly. Between the four of them, including Jackie, each officer represented one of the four Branches in color though both Jackie and Admiral Nayak had multiple colors striping their uniform sleeves and pant legs.
Their most formal uniforms, their Dress Blacks, would not be used while they were here as guests of the Gatsugi Collective. While the Terrans had the phrase “wearing your heart on your sleeve” to indicate blatant displays of emotional words and actions, the Gatsugi had the saying “wearing your heart on your hide,” meaning that their emotions literally changed the color of their skin. Blues, greens, browns, and grays were reasonably acceptable colors.
Black, alas, was the color a Gatsugi’s skin turned when they died. Black was the color for death. Perhaps another day they could wear their most formal uniforms, once the Gatsugi got used to the Terrans, but for now, it had been deemed culturally insensitive to wear black.
Admittedly, this was primarily a meeting of the heads of the various Alliance military forces more than their government leadership, but still, it would not do to be a figurehead of death among allies. Among potential allies, rather. The Terrans had managed to negotiate a number of treaties with the V’Dan, even winning a huge set of concessions from the Eternal Empress.
Unfortunately, while many individuals of the various other races and their governments were getting along mostly fine with Terran Humans, their governments officially did not yet consider the Terrans full members of this Alliance. They welcomed Terran assistance in their war efforts with open limbs, but seemed rather reluctant about ratifying the Terran charter. Ostensibly, this meeting was taking place on board the main military space station in orbit around the Gatsugi Motherworld so that they wouldn’t have to slow everything down with a more formal greeting ceremony, the rituals for which could last up to two weeks down on the planet’s surface. Then again, if they did that, they’d probably have to acknowledge the Terrans as a member nation.
Jackie knew instinctively that the Gatsugi and the rest of the Alliance were stalling on accepting the Terrans as a nonmilitary, nonwartime power among them. One of Jackie’s duties as the Ambassador while here would be to try to clear that up. She didn’t know how to do that in the bare handful of days they would be here, but at least there were high-ranked government representatives in attendance as well as high-ranked military leaders.
(I don’t know why I’m fussing with my buttons,) she sent, sighing in frustration. (When I started all of this, nearly a year ago, I had put on pounds from civilian life. I couldn’t breathe deeply in my original old uniform, before the new ones back then were issued. Now, I’m not only two dress sizes smaller, I’m almost a third size smaller. I’m burning through more calories psychically than I’ve been able to eat.)
(The only reason why this coat fits me at all is because it was tailored off the measurements taken just five days before my sister flung me off-world,) he reminded her. (And even then, it’s starting to get loose. I blame the military food we’ve been eating. Between the relatively bland fare on board the V’Goro and your overseasoned zero-gravity food packs, it hasn’t been the same as a real meal served up back home.)
She started to reply, but the door to their waiting room opened, and the last member of the V’Dan delegation entered. Lifting her gaze to his face to identify him, Jackie offered a polite smile. “Grand General Ma’touk.”
“Grand High Ambassador,” he replied politely. They had started out a bit rocky with the jungen culture between them, but the V’Dan officer with the burgundy rosettes had successfully adjusted his thinking early on and treated his markless allies with respect. And with courtesy, for he politely asked, “How is Lieutenant Commander Buraq faring? Were the doctors on the V’Goro able to successfully begin cloning her arm?”
“They already have the bones growing,” Jackie admitted. “We’ll see how it goes from there, whether or not her body will reject a V’Dan-grown version. She’s on her second bionic arm in the meantime.”
“Her second?” he asked, brows rising. He gave a nod to Admiral Nayak, who had drifted their w
ay. “What was wrong with the first? . . . Admiral.”
“Grand General,” Nayak replied smoothly.
“Her first one had male ligature instead of female,” Li’eth explained. “We’ve had a lot of meioa-es losing arms in the last few fights, so there weren’t any appropriate spares. The wrong prosthetic ended up putting too much stress on the tissues of Buraq’s shoulder and upper torso, so she’s had to do without until late yesterday.”
“Thankfully, the workshops on the V’Goro have retooled a spare so that it bends in the right way for her physiology,” Jackie said. “We were told that subtle but wrongful stresses on the flesh as it heals can throw off a limb graft and wreck a patient’s recovery.”
“I have been lucky never to have lost a limb,” Ma’touk murmured. “She has my sympathies, though.”
“The Ambassador and I will pass them along,” Admiral Nayak stated. “I was hoping to have a moment of your time after the meeting to discuss sending more V’Dan instructors to Earth to help train our soldiers for handling your style of spacecraft.”
The door opened again before Ma’Touk could answer. A yellow-tufted Gatsugi soldier in a gray uniform beckoned them forward with his—her?—two left arms.
“Gentles/Meioas/Most Honored Guests,” the alien stated. “Please/Please come with/accompany me. It is time/You are summoned/requested/required in/at the Stern Gray Battle Room/Planning Chamber.”
Jackie gestured with one of her hands in a way that indicated her willingness to comply. He flushed blue in pleasure and replied with one of his three-fingered hands, thumb swirling in a gesture of gratitude. It amused her, linguistically. (Their multiple layerings of meaning is awkward when spoken, but it does soothe them when we communicate gesturally as well as verbally.)
(You do realize I don’t speak Gatsugi, right?) Li’eth retorted. He adjusted his coronet one last time, following her out of the room.
(You don’t . . . ? Oh. Li’eth, I’m sorry; I apologize,) she sent back. (We live in the backs of each other’s minds so much, unless we’re actively walling each other out, I assumed you knew it, too.)
(You automatically wall me out when you’re doing a language transfer,) he told her. (Completely. Which is actually fine because I don’t know how to separate out personalities from information gathering to the extent that you do. I’d rather get the language from you after it’s been properly filtered.)
(I’ll schedule some days where I can give you Solarican, Tlassian, Gatsugi, and Choya,) she promised. (If you want K’Katta, you’ll have to schedule it with Darian. I’m beginning to like them as individuals . . . but as a species, they still unnerve me. I got K’Katta secondhand from Aixa, but Darian can do it as well.
(. . . That is to say, I still have a problem with their appearance,) Jackie explained herself firmly; he could still feel her unease, but her subthoughts swirled with determination to overcome it someday. (They have nothing to do with my phobias. I will not blame them when the flaw is mine alone.)
He clasped her hand, fingers lacing together with hers. (That is one of the many reasons why I love you, your kindness and courtesy coupled to your willpower. I think you make me want to be a far better man than Imperial culture would ever encourage . . . and no being smug over your cultural “superiority.”)
(Sorry. I do try to keep in mind your people have every right to be different.)
(I know. And mostly, you respect that, and that is deeply appreciated,) he admitted. (We are still new in many ways to each other, despite our link. We are still learning.)
They didn’t have to walk very far. Just as he finished sharing that, the four-armed alien gestured for them to enter a large room. Rather than a single table that would be shared, there were instead tables and seats for every oxygen-breathing, carbon-based life-form in the room, all arranged so that they faced each other and a dark-glazed window set in the wall.
Around the perimeter, Gatsugi soldiers stood, each clad in a sober gray uniform decorated with silver insignia. Each cluster of occupied tables held a delegation: the Gatsugi delegation, Solaricans, Tlassians, Choya, and the K’Katta. Barely visible through the smoky glass of the window, the Chinsoiy lounged on strange, slanted boards. The two curved tables that were not occupied had been pushed together, with seating for everyone crowded behind the pair.
Li’eth and Jackie both slowed at the odd sight, which meant the men and women following them also slowed. (I think we have a problem,) he sent to her. (Each group should be separate, to indicate separate governments. For that matter, we technically should not have been left in the same room while we waited for everyone to arrive and assemble.)
(I thought it was a courtesy to our Gestalt, not separating us in the waiting area . . . but I do believe you are right.) Switching to V’Dan, she stated aloud, “Captain Paea, please separate out one of those two tables for the Terran delegation.”
(Agreed,) Li’eth confirmed. “Captain Kos’q, please assist him in separating a table for the V’Dan delegation.”
Both males moved to do so, one muscular and tanned, his black hair short-cropped in the style of the Marines Space Force. The other, with his lighter skin streaked in hot-pink spirals, his light brown hair braided back from his face and shoulders. The tables scraped across the floor, and a flustered Gatsugi staff member hurried forward, all four arms fluttering in negation gestures.
“Please/Please/Please don’t move/adjust the tables/seating. Keep/Keep them/the furnishings/groupings together/associated, meioas!” the blue-tufted alien protested. “Delegates/Representatives must/need stay/remain together/together!”
(I don’t think so,) Li’eth snorted mentally, aware of the undertones of pride in his statement. Out loud, he said, “We are separate/distinctly different governments, meioa. We will/will/will sit apart.”
“We are agreed/in concurrence,” Jackie added, gesturing with both hands, one in a mix of polite if mild apology, the other in firm assertion. “We are most happy/blue when we are distinct/separate.”
“This/You cannot/mustn’t do that!” the Gatsugi fussed, hurrying forward to tug at each table, trying to haul them back together even as Simon and V’kol removed the innermost two chairs from the gap between. The alien flushed what had to be a frustrated muddy red. “V’Dan/Terran are/must be one/the same!”
Jackie and Li’eth glanced at each other, then looked at their highest-ranked officers to gauge their reactions. Grand General Ma’touk—one of the generals Jackie had met with frequently during her time on the V’Dan homeworld—cleared his throat, stepped forward, and pulled the V’Dan side table away from the Terran table with a loud, firm scrape. Admiral Nayak, barely missing a beat, moved forward and did the exact same just a moment behind him.
The Gatsugi turned a mottled brownish yellow, all four hands fluttering in distress signs, muttering and mumbling in some dialect Jackie did not know. On the bright side, the fuss over the tables was more annoying than her discomfort over the appearance of the K’Katta moving in the room.
One of the figures beyond the dark window stirred, and a voice came through the intercom. “Energy waste equals adjusting tables. Needed is unity. Success requires unity. Why separating you do this?”
A quick mental check between Li’eth and Jackie had him deferring the answer to her. He did so visually, releasing her fingers and gesturing toward her. Nodding, Jackie stepped up to the center of the right-hand table. Her lessons in the protocols for speaking to the Chinsoiy included the advice to keep her sentences short to avoid ambiguity. “We separate our two governments because we are separate, meioa. To push us together will not work. V’Dan are not Terrans. The Terrans are not the V’Dan. They do not speak for us. We do not speak for them. They do not control us. We do not control them. We are separate.”
“You same species are. Unity is peace.”
“If that were truth, meioa,” Li’eth stated, “then the V’Dan Empir
e would rule everyone. Or the Solarican Empire would rule everyone. Or the Gatsugi Collective. But the Gatsugi do not rule over the V’Dan, and they do not rule over you. You do not rule over us, and you do not rule over the K’Katta.”
“You same species are,” the Chinsoiy insisted. “Same species is unity.”
“No. It isn’t,” Jackie countered.
One of the K’Katta delegates, swathed in brown sashes a few shades lighter than his dark not-fur, chittered. His translator box went to work, using a pleasant neutral-male voice to recite his meaning in V’Dan. “I believe what Fearsome Leader Siirrlak is trying to explain is that when the Salik first reached into space, they competed themselves into space and attempted to solicit aid from the Alliance races to fight with them against each of their factions. Such behavior is appalling. We rightfully insisted that they settle their grievances with each other and unite under a single government system.”
“I think it is fairrrlly obviousss the Ssallik willl always fight,” one of the Tlassian delegates stated, the one with the reddest-scaled hide and a more practical, more uniform-like cut to his garments. “Ourr fllaw was inssisting they unite among themsellvesss. Thisss freed them to focus theirr innate aggrrressionss on the resst of usss insstead of each other.”
“We/The Alliance cannot/cannot/cannot afford internecine/civil war/infighting among/with its selves/governments,” one of the Gatsugi leaders asserted. The fussy gray-clad Gatsugi nodded—a common Human and Gatsugi gesture—and started dragging the tables back together again.
Li’eth lifted his hand and spread his fingers. The tables scraped apart under the force of his telekinesis, making the fussy alien skip back and blink his big black eyes at the furniture. “You assume, gentlemeioas, that the Terrans and the V’Dan will fight each other.”
“You nearrrrly came to blows,” a Solarican with sleek white fur and golden eyes pointed out. “Terrrrans cut off theirr communications offerrrings.”
