"No scars," said a tired male voice from her left side. Gretchen rolled her head sideways.
Captain Hadeishi was lying in an adjoining bed. He too was under a quilt decorated with oak leaves and cherry blossoms, wiry arms lying across his stomach. Seeing him without his uniform struck Anderssen as being particularly indecent, a feeling made more so by the sight of his muscular bare arms. Despite a lingering air of exhaustion, he struck Gretchen as being as clean, trim and at-attention as ever. Even on his back in a hospital bed.
"Our medical team does good work," he said, allowing her a small, warm smile. "Our esteemed judge is already up and about, though he did not suffer nearly so much damage as either of us."
"What…" Gretchen coughed, clearing her throat, and realized the crushing pain in her chest was gone as well. "…happened to you?"
Hadeishi turned back the quilts, revealing a huge patch of dermaseal covering his left chest, shoulder and arm. "Depleted uranium flechette burst at close range," he said, considering the repaired wound with a pensive, sad expression. "Very foolish. My death would have precipitated even more violence."
"Why…" Gretchen stopped, wondering if she were allowed to question a Fleet captain on his own ship — for this was most obviously the Cornuelle. Even before being gutted, the Palenque had never boasted such a clean, efficient, advanced medical bay as this.
"Did I put myself in front of a gun?" Hadeishi shook his head, amused with himself. "Because my father used to tell me stories about the samurai in their days of glory, before the Empire and the treaties of Unity and gunpowder. They would have ridden alone into the enemy fortress and challenged the rival lord to single combat. There could have been a great deal of bushido in what I did. As I said, very foolish."
"You lived." Gretchen wondered if she could ask for more blankets. Her bare skin felt cold and exposed without the snug, warm embrace of her z-suit. She tried to take a drink from the water tube, but found her mouth closing on empty air.
"There is water." Hadeishi pointed at a table beside her. There was a cup — plastic, half-full — and a little sick-shrine of offerings. Origami animals and paper flowers, Grandpa Carl's battered old multitool, a bar of "Ek Chuah"-brand chocolate and a fresh, shining 3v of three little children smiling up from a watery-green pool.
"Where did this come from?" Gretchen felt her heart lurch, knowing the original had been blasted away into nothingness with the Gagarin.
"Your exec sent the xocoatl and the picture over from the Palenque." Hadeishi's expression had become composed and polite again, but his eyes were shining. "The origami is from Gunso Fitzsimmons, though I did not know he had learned to make such fine examples himself. I suspect — " he visibly suppressed a merry grin "- he begged them from communications technician three Tiss-tzin, who is noted among the crew for her nimble fingers."
"That is very sweet." Gretchen ran her hand across the surface of the 3v. The electropaper was fresh and thick and carrying a full charge. Pressing her lips together and blinking back tears, she pressed the upper right corner of the picture.
Mom! Mom! We're mermaids! Mermaids!
Am not, I'm a merman!
She moved her finger away and the bouncing, splashing figures stilled. I'll see you soon, she promised them. I'm coming home.
"What about you?" Gretchen lifted her head, trying to see if the captain had anything on his side table. It was bare, save for a matching half-full glass of water. "Nothing?"
"I believe there were cupcakes," Hadeishi said, rather solemnly. "From Marine Heicho Felix, in apology for getting me shot while we were aboard the Turan. But I was asleep when she brought them by. I think," his eyebrows narrowed in suspicion, "Fitzsimmons ate them."
"Oh." Gretchen pressed the 3v against her breast. For a wonder, she didn't feel at all tired or sleepy. "That was rude. He's in the brig then?"
The passage leading into the number one boat bay was cold in comparison to the medical pod. Gretchen shivered a little, rubbing her arms. Fitzsimmons had tried to loan her a heavy leather pilot's jacket for the trip across to the Palenque, but she'd refused. The Marine spent enough time loitering around, all charming and friendly, without her borrowing his clothes. I've been down that road before, she thought, stepping over the sill into the cavernous, echoing space of the bay itself. Next it's audiotracks and 3v recordings and before you know it, they're snoring in your ear late on Sunday mornings.
One husband was enough, she thought, patting the sidebag filled with her paltry collection of personal effects. Most of the things in the bag had accumulated while she was recuperating in medical. Some photos, including a new one of the Gagarin and a dupe of the Rossiyan icon Russovsky had left behind, presents from the Company scientists: an ink-brush drawing of Magdalena on rice paper from Sho-sa Kosho: and instructions from the Cornuelle's doctor.
The crewman guiding her through the maze of the ship turned. "This is your shuttle, ma'am. Have a safe flight."
"Thank you." Gretchen nodded and walked across the open expanse of the deck, following a painted walkway. The military shuttle loomed up before her, back-swept wings sleek and dark, the tail fins glossy and shining with the snake-eagle-arrow glyph of the Fleet. A raptor where our Company shuttles are fat brown hens.
"Anderssen-tzin."
Hummingbird stepped out from beneath the wing. Gretchen slowed to a halt, surprised and pleased to see him. "Hello, Crow! How are you doing? They said you'd been released from medical early."
The nauallis did not respond to her light tone, his face a chiseled mask. Instead he looked from side to side as if making sure none of the crewmen working in the bay were near enough to overhear. "You will have to file a report," he said in a stiff, rather cool tone. "I suggest you mention as few details about our foray to the surface as possible. Any scientific data you wish to relate is, of course, up to you. I would restrain any speculation about the life-forms on the planet to that which can be proven."
Gretchen felt her good humor — and living instead of dying usually made her very cheerful — fade in the face of this cold reception. Her eyes narrowed and she looked him up and down very slowly. He seemed larger in a cream-colored mantlelike shirt, pleated dark trousers and civilian shoes. In the z-suit he'd seemed small and wiry, lean enough to survive in the desert. Now he looks like a Company lawyer, she decided and the last of her cheerfulness disappeared.
"I guess I'm not a copy," she said in a dry tone. He nodded very slightly in answer.
Long absent from her thoughts, a memory of the cylinder-book surfaced. Considering the prize in retrospect, she weighed, judged and decided the secrets inside the ancient device would not be unlocked by her. The decision — made in an instant — left her oddly peaceful. The kids will still have shoes, even if they're not imported leather.
"The matter of your life aside, I understand," she said in an equally formal tone. "My report will reflect the professionalism and excellence of all Fleet and government personnel involved in the operation. I will take equal care with any conclusions which may affect the security of the Empire."
Hummingbird nodded, unfazed by the withering glare she'd turned on him.
"Is there anything else you wanted to know?"
He shook his head, hands clasped behind his back.
"I have one question for you, Huitziloxoctic-tzin." Gretchen matched his formal posture, realizing with a tiny bite of delight she was noticeably taller than he was. She tilted her head a little to the side, pinning him with a considering expression. "My medband has been taken away. When I get a new one on the Palenque or on Ctesiphon Station or at my next dig, will I find there is some kind of exotic drug in my system?"
The nauallis's expression did not change, but there was a dark flicker in his eyes.
"I've not experienced any unusual effects of sight since I woke up." Her lips parted slightly, showing white teeth. "Even when I settle my mind and let my thoughts become calm. Now, my memory has been damaged, but I haven't forgotten everything that
happened down on the planet. Did you really think I was so untrustworthy you needed to drug me? Did you really think I would tell anyone you'd broken tradition to show me this tiny, paltry bit of your precious knowledge?"
Hummingbird did not respond, his face becoming even more still, more masklike. Disgusted, Gretchen turned away and climbed the steps into the shuttle. A crewman inside the door directed her forward and the pressure door levered up with a hiss to close with a solid, heavy thud.
Settling into her seat for the thirty-minute flight to the Palenque, Gretchen rolled her shoulders and let out a long, angry hiss. Against all expectation, she'd thought Hummingbird might trust her just a little. Stupid old fool. Did he think I'd blab to everyone what I saw, what I did? I work for a bureaucracy too.
And that thought crushed the rest of her lightheartedness. She rubbed her left eye, feeling an incipient twinge. Reports. Oh, the reports I will have to file. Company property, loss of — one Temple-class starship gutted, one completely equipped base camp abandoned, two Midge-class ultralights destroyed, two Komodo-class shuttles severely damaged, ten Company staff dead in the line of duty — data recovered, minimal. Artifacts recovered — none. Opportunities for follow-up research — none, system sealed by Imperial interdict. Chances for staff to publish data and gain tenure, university position or even a publication byline — none, data sealed by order, Imperial Office of the Tlachialoni — the Mirror-Which-Reveals.
Sullenly, she stared out the window, though the sight of the Palenque drawing closer did not lift the gloom weighing on her. Maybe I should tell someone what happened…not the Company, maybe a 3v'zine like Temple of Truth or the Xonocatl. Then I'd have a few quills to shake in my hand.
Ctesiphon Station, Just Within Imperial Mйxica Space
This time they had docked in the Fleet section of the docking ring of the enormous station. Everything was clean and shipshape, with deckhands and loading trucks to help them haul their gear from the Palenque. Even the air was quiet and cool, without the humid cattle mob of the commercial landing. Parker, Magdalena and Bandao were waiting at the end of the lock tunnel. The pilot was puffing on a tabac with a blissful expression on his face.
"Pack-leader! You look cheerful for a change." Magdalena grinned, showing only the tiniest points of sharp white teeth. The Hesht had a truly enormous travel bag slung over her shoulder. Anderssen had not asked what was inside, but suspected some equipment listed on the Palenque manifest as "destroyed" had actually survived. Her own tool belt and z-suit gear had been replaced in the same way. The Company was notoriously bad at honoring requests for replacing equipment lost on dig or survey — which resulted in endemic pilfering by all the dig crews.
"I'm off that tub, my initial reports are done," Gretchen said, waving a cloud of tabac smoke away from her face, "and we can go someplace on station where I can buy us all real food for dinner at a real restaurant."
"Damn." Parker stubbed out his tabac. "Do you think they have steaks here? Like, real ones? I mean — you know — Maggie's probably missing food that bleeds."
He ducked away, laughing, though the Hesht's claws were only half-extended in a cub's strike.
"Maybe." Gretchen put her arm around the man's shoulder and raised her eyes to the bulkhead arching overhead, stretching out her hand toward some glorious, unimaginable future. "Maybe we can even get mashed potatoes made from…potatoes!"
"Aw, boss, you're going to make me cry." Parker rubbed his eyes. Gretchen squeezed his shoulder in sympathy. "Next you'll say something crazy like they have real butter."
"Everyone have their gear?" Gretchen looked around out of habit, making sure no one had been left behind and everyone had their baggage and shoes and hats. As she did, Bandao caught her eye and pointed down the curving platform.
Anderssen turned and a smile lit her face. Sho-sa Kosho approached, sword blade straight in a spotless white Fleet uniform. Gretchen bowed very politely as she came up. "Konnichi-wa, Kosho-sana."
"Good morning, Doctor Anderssen." The officer returned her bow. "I am glad to see you and your team together again."
Everyone else bowed politely, and even Parker had the sense to remain silent while their oyabun spoke to the Imperial officer.
"Thanks to the generous hospitality of the Fleet, Sho-sa, we are all in excellent health and spirits."
"Good." Kosho nodded to the others, then stepped aside, hand on Gretchen's elbow. With a meter of polite space between them and her subordinates, the Sho-sa's expression changed. "Chu-sa Hadeishi requests a favor," Kosho said, watching her intently. "A common acquaintance is waiting, a little ways away, and would like to speak to you again."
Gretchen frowned. "Need I guess who? Will he offer me an apology?"
"What passes for one from his mouth would not be acceptable in polite society." Kosho's calm face did not reflect the venom implied by her tone. "I will inform him you had already left when I arrived."
For a moment, Anderssen groped to speak, stunned into silence by the angry glitter exposed in the Nisei officer's eyes. After a moment, the sho-sa stepped back and settled into a pose of polite attention. The movement broke Gretchen out of her paralysis and she managed to squeak out a "No."
Clasping both hands in front of her body, Anderssen made a small bow. "I — we — are in your debt. I would be happy to speak with the chu-sa's acquaintance."
Not very far away proved to be a conference room around the corner. Kosho ushered Gretchen into the rectangular room — cold gray walls, recessed lighting, tatami mats — and closed the hatch firmly behind her. Within, Hummingbird was kneeling beside a low teak-colored table. A leather jacket worked with subdued glyphs lay over his usual civilian attire. Gretchen's attention, however, was not fixed on details of his dress, but a massive gypsum panel covering the rear wall of the room. A low-cut bas-relief showed a pair of short-bodied lions leaping at a crowned man standing in a chariot. The king held a bow raised, one arrow already lodged in the throat of the first lion. Every line of the ancient carving gleamed with meticulous, superbly carved life.
How did that get here? Gretchen was nonplussed by the sight. Then she focused on the nauallis instead of the graven slab.
The old Mйxica inclined his head in greeting, but said nothing. As usual, his face was composed and expressionless. In this clear, directionless lighting, his eyes were flat chips of jadite. In comparison, Hadeishi's face — the chu-sa was standing a polite distance away — positively gleamed with welcome, though a 3v would not have captured the warmth in his eyes.
Gretchen set down her bag, removed her shoes and watched with mild curiosity as Hadeishi made a careful circuit of the room, and then placed a small black box on the table in front of the nauallis. The Fleet captain retired to the far corner of the room and knelt with his back politely turned.
"Anderssen-tzin." Hummingbird seemed to relax, though he remained as straight-backed as ever. His mouth was tight. "I must…apologize for speaking impolitely on the ship."
Gretchen did not bother to hide her surprise and she saw Hadeishi jerk minutely. "Apology accepted."
Hummingbird nodded and the grooves beside his mouth grew deeper. Gretchen stared at him in interest. Words were trying to come out, but the old man was having a hard time giving them breath. "Is there something else?"
"Yes." The old man shifted slightly. "I would like you to come with me. Though there is no precedent for a nauallis to take a female student, the situation — "
"No." Gretchen crossed her arms. "I have already thought about this. I have no desire to become a judge or nauallis or brujo or whatever you are. You showed me a glimpse of your world — and I'll admit the thought is seductive — but I don't want to spend even more time away from my family, from my children. So thank you for the thought, but I will not go with you."
Hummingbird became entirely still. He did not blink or otherwise show surprise, but the strength of his astonishment gave the air in the room an almost electric charge. Hadeishi had given up being po
lite and turned away from his careful examination of the Assyrian panel, watching both of them with open interest.
The old man's teeth clicked softly. "It is very dangerous for you to go on without training."
"I guessed." Gretchen reached for her shoes. "So I'm not going to go on. If I understand all of this properly, if I do not exercise the sight then my mind will forget what to do. Long-accustomed patterns will reassert themselves."
"You'd knowingly blind yourself?" Hummingbird's bronzed skin was turning a queer pale color.
"I choose to go down a different path, Crow." Gretchen's eyes narrowed in a glare. "Your way is fraught with danger and sacrifice. I have given up enough already. I'm not going to abandon my children or the profession I love." She pointed away from him with one hand. "Seeing past a shadow on a wall for an instant does not require me to step around the screen. You shouldn't presume others will follow your path simply because it is secret."
Hummingbird was frankly speechless. Clearing his throat softly to draw their attention, Hadeishi bowed to Gretchen. His expression was very composed, but Anderssen suspected he was fairly agog himself and wondered how quickly this story would circulate through the Fleet. Perhaps never; the captain seems to be a very circumspect man.
"Thank you for your time, Doctor Anderssen. Have a safe journey."
"Thank you, Chu-sa Hadeishi."
Gretchen turned to the old Mexica, who was staring at her with growing fury radiating from his weathered old face. "Don't worry," she said, bowing to him. "Though I nearly lost my life, I regret nothing that happened there." A grin flashed. "I certainly won't forget. Good day, gentlemen. Safe journey."
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