“When will we know for sure?”
“I’d say, give it a week. If he’s not running a fever and the wound itself appears to be mending without gangrene or other complications, then he’ll be okay.”
“Will you consent to travel with him until that time?”
“Wait, what?” I said.
“Padre,” the Queen Mother said, “I would like you to stay on with me. Be my companion as I visit the other staging bases. To plead my case.”
“I’m no good to you,” I said. “Nobody on your side cares what a lone man would say.”
“It’s not for their benefit that I want you to remain,” she said.
“It’s not?”
“No. Padre—Harrison—it may sound odd, but I have come to consider you . . . I think of you as my friend.”
I stared at her. The only mantis who’d ever said that to me had been the Professor.
Shelby’s eyes were wide, and she looked from the Queen Mother, to me, and back again.
I swallowed hard, then said, “I’m honored.”
“Will you consent?” the Queen Mother asked my doctor.
“Sure,” Shelby said.
“Thank you,” The Queen Mother said. “The sooner he can be made ready to travel, the better.”
“Are you in too much pain to walk?” Shelby asked me.
“I made it to the toilet and back. Hurts like hell now that the meds have worn off, but not so bad I can’t manage. It would be better if I could get the top half of this suit off.”
“Forty-eight hours,” Shelby said.
“Okay,” I said.
Then I looked back at the Queen Mother.
“It’s an agreement.”
CHAPTER 56
THIRTEEN WEEKS LATER, I WAS IN ORBIT AROUND EARTH.
It took a long time for the Queen Mother to convince her forces, and longer than that to convince Fleet that the Queen Mother’s overtures of peace were sincere. Several human planets had been destroyed, along with several mantis worlds. And hundreds of ships. For the first time, the fight had not been one-way.
Millions were dead. Mantis and human. Past a certain point, body count ceased to matter. What mattered now was that the Queen Mother and her top officers were getting ready to meet with Fleet Command and its top officers—with the intention of signing not just a cease-fire but a permanent treaty of nonaggression.
My uniform had been stitched, cleaned, and prepared for the occasion by my mantis aides. They’d managed to get almost all of the blood out of the fabric—both mine and Adanaho’s. There remained just a vague discoloring of some of the lighter piping.
Adanaho herself rested in a stasis casket. The mantes had spared no effort preparing the body. The transparent lid of the casket showed Adanaho in a flowing one-piece gown woven from traditional mantis silks. I’d told them how to go about it. They’d wanted her presented to Fleet Command with as much dignity as could be mustered—a token of their good will, and also in honor of Adanaho’s act of sacrifice in defense of the Queen Mother.
I stood staring at Adanaho’s face while our mantis shuttle maneuvered through Earth orbit in order to dock with the Fleet space station on the far side of the world. Thankfully there was gravity. Something I hoped human engineers would replicate soon. We’d done so well with other aspects of mantis tech.
The Queen Mother stood next to me. No disc. A small package of electronics had instead been attached to her thorax, with flexible straps: a translator box and speaker grill for communications.
The mantis guards at the hatches did have discs, polished and bright. The guards themselves were rigid with respect.
“She was too young,” I said sadly, not daring to touch the captain’s casket. Adanaho looked pristine now. Immaculate. I didn’t want to disrespect what she’d accomplished, by treating the casket like mere furniture. I had decided it was a kind of monument, both to the horrible bloodshed which had taken place, and to the new shoots of fresh possibility which had sprouted amidst the ashes.
“And I am too old,” said the Queen Mother. “Age has made me cynical. I once thought the one you called Professor to be an eccentric. And now it is I who find myself transformed beyond reckoning.”
“Do you miss your carriage?” I asked.
“Oh yes, all the time,” she said. “But after our recovery from the planet’s surface, you were right. It became apparent to me that there could be no going back. Not for me. Your captain was also correct. Our carriages have come to define us in ways we neither understand nor suspect. It took having mine ripped away from me to make me see what we mantes have lost in the long time since we first achieved sapience.”
“And what is it you think you’re regaining?”
The Queen Mother considered my question for a moment, then she said, “Illumination.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Oh?”
“If I understand the human use of the term, it means an emergence into a state of deeper understanding—of the universe, of the self, of the meaning of both.”
“That’s one way to look at it,” I said. “What will you do now?”
“Once the treaty is signed and reparations meted out, I will call the Quorum of the Select together and the new Queen Mother will be permanently installed. She helped me when I needed her help to effect the new peace. She’s earned her seat.”
“So, you’re just . . . quitting?” I said, surprised.
“I must. Already I am an oddity among my people. They need someone who can lead them during this transition, and it cannot be me.”
“But the treaty is your idea,” I said. “You said it yourself once. What if the new Queen Mother decides to throw it away and restart the war?”
“We do not behave so rashly, despite what you may think, Padre. It took us a long time to reach the conclusion that war must be renewed. It would take an even longer time for us to reach the conclusion that the new peace must be destroyed. There is an additional human name circulating in the Quorum now. The heroism of Captain Adanaho—for my sake, and for the reclamation of the cease-fire—will live eternally in the memories of the mantes.”
I bowed my head, eyes closed, remembering the captain’s last words to me. They’d hit me in a place so deep I’d not even known it existed. And whether she knew it or not, the captain had bound me to this alien who now stood at my side—the matriarch of all I’d once feared.
I also remembered the Professor. The one who’d originally sought me out of curiosity, and upon whom so much had depended in the long run. That he’d died trying to protect the three of us—Adanaho, the Queen Mother, and myself—only seemed to cement the unspoken pact. Blood for blood. The life of a mantis hero for the life of a human heroine, each given freely so that there might be a future for both races.
If I had anything to say about it, the Professor’s prominence in human lore would be every bit as great as Adanaho’s was becoming among the aliens.
Aliens. I smiled slightly and shook my head. Time to get that word out of my system. The mantes had proven to be every bit as human as any woman or man I’d ever known. To include their capacity for regret, and a longing for redemption.
“And once you’re free of responsibility,” I said to the Queen Mother, “where will you go? Home?”
“No,” she said. “I will need time to properly dwell upon what has happened; what is happening. I do not yet fully comprehend what it is I am becoming without the carriage. I cannot say I am regressing, nor am I standing still. I feel as if I am pupating all over again. Only this time it’s happening inside of me. In my mind. In my . . . soul?”
I arched an eyebrow at her use of the word. But said nothing.
“I will need,” she continued, “a place of quiet refuge. Somewhere I can meditate. I think that’s the right human word? I feel as if I am seeing the world and everything in it for the first time, all over again. I must be free of distractions. And I will need to be in contact with someone of whom I can ask questions. Many questions.”
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“There must be many planets in mantis territory suitable for this,” I said.
“No,” she replied. “Only one.”
“One?”
“Yes. It’s a sparse world. Not much to look at, really. Upon which there is a single, modest chapel.”
A tiny thrill went up my spine.
“And I expect you’ll be wanting me to go with you,” I said.
“Only if you wish it. I cannot compel you to do this thing. You have come far enough, out of necessity. This thing I now ask . . . humbly out of desire for your continued companionship.”
I thought about it for a long moment.
“It’s okay. I’d have gone back to Purgatory even if you didn’t ask. But not before I’ve had a chance to visit Earth again, and make proper goodbyes to the many people I left behind during the first war.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
“No, Padre, thank you.”
“It’s going to be difficult,” I said. “This journey you’re proposing to take. In all the thousands of years of human history, countless men and women have walked the same path. The results have not always been good ones. There can be no guarantees. You might get frustrated. Or worse.”
“That is why I will need you, to be my guide.”
“But I’m just—”
“Padre, what did Captain Adanaho tell you? What would her spirit say if it could speak to you now?”
I looked through the lid of the casket.
“That I can’t put off the inevitable,” I said.
“Then we shall walk the path together?” the Queen Mother asked.
“Yes, I think we’ll have to.”
“Good.”
A small chime in the compartment alerted us to the fact that the mantis shuttle was on final approach for dock. I took another long look through the top of the casket, then straightened my uniform and followed the Queen Mother out into the corridor that led to the gangway hatch.
CHAPTER 57
EARTH.
It had been a long time since I’d stood on my home planet’s surface. Things were just as crowded as I remembered them being. The Fleet put me down in Los Angeles, and from Los Angeles I caught a train to the Bay Area. There were several old friends in San Francisco with whom I wanted to catch up. But even more importantly, there was a person specifically from my POW days I needed to see. She’d been one of the first ones to go home when the Fleet returned to Purgatory in the wake of the original armistice. And she was the closest thing to a friend I’d had during our time behind The Wall.
I found her in Oakland. Living in a small apartment listed in the Fleet registry.
Not the best high rise I’d ever seen, but not the worst. The elevator took me up to the eighty-seventh floor. I pushed the buzzer button next to the front door’s key card slot.
I heard someone approach the door on the other side. For a moment the light coming through the peephole was occluded, then the door’s locks snapped open and the door swung inward.
“Harry,” she said, her eyes wide. “What the hell are you doing back on Earth?”
“Good to see you too, Diane,” I said. “A lot’s happened since I saw you last. May I please come in?”
“Sure,” she said, and moved out the way while beckoning me in with her free arm. I noticed immediately that she’d dedicated the entryway wall space to a giant floor-to-ceiling tile mural. The scene depicted was of a beach at sunset: white sand, dark blue waves, and an orange-to-yellow sun half-submerged behind a glistening horizon.
“Nice,” I said. “Who did it?”
“Me,” she said.
“I didn’t know you had the skill.”
“There wasn’t much of a chance for me to show it off when we were on Purgatory. Harry, it’s been years. What’s going on with you that you needed to sleuth me out?”
“You know about the new treaty with the mantes?”
“I’m not part of active-duty Fleet anymore, but I’ve still got my hand in via Fleet Reserve. I know Fleet ceased offensive ops after the mantes’ leadership called a truce. Your name kept coming up in the nonclassified reports. When the reports said the treaty signing would be held in Earth orbit I wondered if you’d finally decided to come back. Got a place to stay yet? If you want I can talk to this building’s manager. There’s some lovely balcony units available on some of the other floors.”
“I won’t be staying,” I said. “There’s other business that’s come up. I wanted to talk to you about it before I do anything else.”
“Take a seat,” she said, gesturing to one of the two small sofas that made an L-shape in the apartment’s small living room.
“Do you want anything to drink?” she asked.
“No thanks,” I said.
She sat down across from me, her hands straightening and smoothing the lower half of her plaid day robe. Her ordinarily wavy hair was pulled up in a tight bun, out of which the occasional unruly lock projected. There were extra lines on her face which hadn’t been there before, and she seemed less effervescent than I remembered. Had times been hard? A quick eyeball scan of the apartment told me she was doing as well as could be expected, financially. Fleet made sure all of us former POWs got back pay for time served. Not a massive amount of money. But enough to get a fresh start. Was Diane Fulbright doing anything else with herself now that she’d officially transitioned to civilian life on a full-time basis? Or was she staying on with the Reserve just long enough to earn a pension?
I decided these questions could wait until later.
“The Professor is dead,” I said.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “When war broke out again I figured anyone and everyone involved in crosscultural contact was at risk. Until news of the treaty arrived, I feared you and the Professor both might be in a lot of trouble, if not dead already. When the news said that a human identified as ‘Padre’ had been instrumental in getting the top mantis in the Quorum of the Select to agree to talks, it was impossible to not think of you first. Heck of a way to get into the history books, Harry.”
“Yeah, about that. History’s not quite done with me yet. The Professor gave his life to protect me and the top mantis, someone the Professor called the Queen Mother. She’s passing her mantle to a new Queen Mother, and also decided to pick up where he left off. She wants me to go back to Purgatory with her.”
Diane stared at me, one eyebrow raised.
“Are you?” she asked.
“I think I have to,” I said.
“Why?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Okay then, let’s have a drink—whether you feel like it or not.”
Moments later I had a wide-rimmed glass in my hand, with a pungent bit of amber liquor flowing around in the glass’s bottom. I took a quick swig—fire to the throat!—and set the glass on Diane’s little wooden coffee table.
Then I told her everything that had happened. About how the Fleet had commissioned me as a Warrant Officer. About how the Professor’s inquiries into human religion had hit dead ends. About how Captain Adanaho had sought me out at the request of Fleet Command, and the subsequent and dramatic events which had followed on.
Diane listened carefully, occasionally taking the barest of sips from her own glass. When I was done with my story she shook her head and smiled ruefully at me.
“You’re damned lucky to be alive,” she said.
“Yes,” I admitted. “That thought has crossed my mind many times.”
“Did you pay your respects to Adanaho’s family yet?”
“No,” I said, squirming on the sofa cushions. “I honestly don’t know how to go about it. Her aunt is the only one she was close to, or so it sounded like to me. I don’t have a name nor an address, though I am sure I could find it through the Fleet registry; just like I found you. More than that, though, I wouldn’t know what to say. Adanaho’s aunt doesn’t know me from Adam. Fleet’s having the body interred during a very highbrow cer
emony to mark the official transition from wartime to peacetime. That’s in a few days. Should I wait until then? Maybe her aunt will show up for the event?”
“You sound like you’re afraid,” Diane observed.
“Yeah, I am, actually,” I said.
“Of what?”
“Captain Adanaho died believing in me. Told me I’d been chosen, whatever that’s supposed to mean.”
“Seems pretty obvious to me,” Diane said with a small smile.
“Oh?”
“You’re the olive branch, man. The peace-bringer. Some people think that can’t have been by accident.”
I made a sour face.
“Like I told the captain before she died, nobody has any idea how much pressure’s been put on me over the years. The man who pulled the rabbit out of his hat. Now, twice.”
“That’s true. When I got back to Earth you’d already become something of a low-level historical celebrity. When people found out I knew you from our years together on Purgatory they always asked me about you. I tried to tell them you were just a regular guy who did what he thought was right in the moment. Most people accepted this at face value. But not all.”
“Well, Adanaho was in the latter category,” I said. “She seemed to think there was a higher power at work, through me.”
“Is that so bad?”
“Yeah, it’s bad!” I said, standing up and pacing across Diane’s living room to the galley kitchen. “Pilgrims used to come to the chapel and expect me to be some kind of guru. Always, they went away disappointed. You know me, and you know how I worked. I was never a preacher. I only kept the chapel open so that people could come in—”
“—and find their own answers,” Diane finished for me. “Yeah, yeah, Harry, you’ve laid that line on me a hundred times before. It’s a good line. Really, it is. Because I know you believe it.”
“A line?” I said, feeling the heat rise under my collar.
She grimaced, realizing she’d upset me.
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