by Jean Johnson
Robert had moved up from his own hovercar ride, the one still disgorging Maria and Ba’oul. Like the rest of them, he was wearing knee-length shorts and a tee shirt, the former dyed in colorful flower patterns and the latter sporting some logo for a Texan college. He had on a leather cowboy hat, not one of the woven ones more popular in the Isles, battered and sun-faded and clearly much-loved. Tugging on the brim and tightening the drawstring to make sure the wind wouldn’t catch it wrong while the hovercar lifted off again, he addressed Li’eth’s question.
“You have to realize, Your Highness, we’re all celebrities right now. This is their first in-person glimpse of people who were born on another world, and the heroic crew that rescued you from certain death. Heck, even I feel a little giddy about all this from time to time, and I’m in the thick of it.
“But five years from now? If we expand our contact and keep exchanging visitors at a steadily increasing rate? This won’t be nearly so exciting for everyone. And ten years from now, you V’Dan will be old news. After all, you look like us,” the pilot added, flashing Li’eth and V’kol a grin. “You’ll be old and boring news compared to the real aliens that are out there. Assuming any can safely visit.”
“Most can visit our world,” V’kol told him. His shirt was sleeveless and brightly patterned in shades of yellow and orange and pink, while his shorts were plain beige. They didn’t look too bad with his hot-pink marks spiraling around his arms. “I don’t see why they cannot visit yours, with the appropriate precautions in the beginning. Now, I believe, Ambassador, you said you were going to give us surfing lessons?”
Jackie shaded her eyes, peering at the pop-up tents that had been staked firmly into the sand a short distance away. She pointed. “First, we go greet my family and see how the food is coming along. My brother-in-law said he’d started digging the roasting pits before dawn. One pit for the boar, and another for a pair of roasted turkeys, and a third for pit-roasted fish, for those who are on religious or dietary restrictions. We don’t want to go in the water if the food’s almost ready. Well, the first course of it, at any rate. This is an all-afternoon lu’au. The boar will be served later, since it takes the longest to cook.”
By diet, she meant members of the security teams, since the V’Dan didn’t seem to have any restrictions. Some of those guards were dressed in tactical gear for combat, while some were dressed for the beach; the plan was to rotate them out on overlapping shifts so that the Space Force security specialists could have some time relaxing at the party as well as spending time guarding their V’Dan guests. When the last of their nonsecurity group came up, being Sonam, Shi’ol, and Brad, Jackie raised her voice a little.
“We’re now going to go meet up with my ‘ohana, which is Hawai’ian for family, and several of their neighbors, plus some important locals. My mother, if you will recall, is the Lieutenant Governor of Oceania, which is sort of like a junior version of Governor, the executive position of government for the region. But this is a lu’au, not a formal meeting, so there will be no formal clothes, no formal speeches, and no formal behavior, save for two things:
“Politeness is, as ever, at the top of the list of how to behave, as is refraining from leaving garbage on the beach. It is all one and the same: It is polite to enter a place, to behave politely within it, and to leave it as pleasant or more so than you first found it. Also, please remember what I told you about the na lei which you will be offered, the flower-and-leaf garlands. You need not wear them, but if you do not wish to wear them, or wish to take them off, please leave them on a tree branch near those awnings.
“It is considered rude in Hawai’ian culture to just toss them in the trash. You can fetch them back later, or you can leave them there, as it is proper to either dry them, burn them, or let them return to the environment from which they came. Some will be leaves, some will be flowers, some a mix of both. If your lei has a lot of yellow flowers, it is because the flower species, Sida fallax, symbolically represents this particular island. There will be flowers representing the other islands, too.
“So remember, hang them on one of the trees within the perimeter if you do not want to wear them, even if it’s just for a little while. Or, if you prefer, there will be a table under one of the tents with a box where you can put your lei permanently; Any that are left on the trees at the end of the day and those put in the box will be carefully unmade and the flowers and leaves distributed free to all those people out there, one per person, so that they can have a memento of your visit in exchange for the courtesy of letting us have this section of the beach to ourselves.”
(That’s a nice touch,) Li’eth praised. (Giving all those people a little keepsake like that.)
(It was Grandmother’s idea,) Jackie confessed. She turned and started leading the way toward the others, gesturing with a sweep of her hand for them to follow.
(Is that the one who will demand I recite a long line of my ancestors?) he asked.
(The very one. I think I saw her in a blue-and-white dress in one of the tents. She said she’d save a seat for Master Sonam.)
He raised his brows. (Hints of a romance?)
(No, just the courtesy of one elder to another. Grandma always gets the best seat on the beach, as the eldest of the family.) Nearly to the shade tents, she called out, “Aloha, ‘ohana! I bring visitors.”
Just as the people under the awning looked up to reply in greeting, several shouts and yells erupted from their right, from farther down the beach. Jackie moved out warily. Sure enough, a pair—no, a trio—of yelling teenagers were trying to dodge around the security guards. Teens, or maybe college-aged youths. Sighing, Jackie held up her hand and concentrated.
Six suntanned feet left the sand, kicking and spraying grains in startlement. The trio of boys hollered, this time in fright, not in excitement. She twisted them upside down, making their heads dangle and the blood rush to their face. Two of them stopped yelling, eyes wide with fright, while the third screamed for help. It was difficult to move herself on the uneven surface of the beach while hefting all three in the air, but she closed the distance between them and fixed the youths with a stern look.
“Do I have your attention?” she asked, coming to a stop in both mind and body. The last one ceased yelling and panted, blinking at her. His dark braid dangled and swayed in the breeze. Jackie met his gaze, and those of his companion. “. . . Yes? I have your attention? Good. This is a private party. It is meant to show our visitors the hospitality of O’ahu. Yelling and party-crashing is something a child does.”
A twist of her hand, a turn of her mind, and the trio righted, two stocky and heavily tanned, one skinny and somewhat sunburned.
“By doing so, by alarming the security team, you are not showing our honored guests respect. A day at the beach is meant to be relaxing. Being yelled at by overexcited children is not relaxing. Apologize, and step back beyond the barriers—and no, you do not get to be introduced, and you do not get to shake their hands,” she added, since that thought was very strongly uppermost on the two left youths’ minds. One of them might even have a touch of telepathy or empathy, it was that strong.
The skinny teenager wrinkled his nose. “But we—”
She cut him off flatly. “No. You did not act in a mature manner. You could have asked if we would like to meet you. The answer might have been yes. Now, it is no. Apologize, and leave.”
A voice spoke up in Hawai’ian from behind her. “You should be more gentle, Grandchild. They are just children trying to have fun.”
She glanced at her ancestress. She didn’t have time to explain the complexity of the problem, nor were there quite the right words for it in Hawai’ian. “Grandmother, the V’Dan respect maturity. Anything childish reduces our honor in their eyes. Please do not encourage their immaturity.”
Leilani Kapule folded her aged arms across her chest, while two of the three youths blushed, understanding Jackie’s chiding words. “Hmmph.”
Great. My own grandmother hm
mphs at me.
(All grandparents do that to the youngest generations,) Li’eth commiserated, overhearing her thought. He joined her, his shorts red and flowered, his shirt white and loose, thin enough to show some of the stripes through the soft knit. The shorts had a similar pattern to her red sarong dress. “You heard the Ambassador,” he stated, hands on his hips. “Apologize, and leave.”
“Pupule,” the middle-sized tanned male breathed, his brown eyes wide as he stared at Li’eth. He continued in Terranglo, clearly overwhelmed. “The prince talked to me . . . !”
“I—I was just trying to get them to stop,” the biggest of the trio said, stammering in his anxiety. “I didn’t think it’d be respectful to—to crash your lu’au. I apologize for myself and my friends.”
(Should I acknowledge him?) Li’eth asked her, undercurrents of thought pointing out that the young man was trying to take some responsibility, show some maturity.
(No hand-shaking, but you can ask his name,) she returned, adding, (Just don’t publicly thwart my authority/decisions.)
“What’s your name?” Li’eth asked the tallest of the three, while the guards stood close behind, watching the moment play out. (You know I wouldn’t.)
“K-Kapa’a, sir,” the tallest stammered. “I’m Kapa’a.” He poked his thumb to his left. “These are my friends, Steve, and Lars.”
The slightly sunburned Caucasian puffed up his chest. “I share my name with the geophysicist!”
Li’eth turned to him. “You have not apologized, young one. Do so now, or say nothing at all, as the Ambassador instructed you.”
Lars swallowed. Steve quickly cleared his throat, bobbing a bow as he spoke up before his friend got to it. “Sorry, sir. Highness, sir. Ma’am.”
“Yeah. Sorry,” Lars added. “Excitement, and all.” He tried peering past them at the other V’Dan on the beach behind them. They were busy being introduced by Master Sonam and receiving the various garlands that had been prepared for them.
“Thank you for apologizing. You may go.” Jackie flicked her hand, motioning for the trio to leave. Steve pulled Lars away, while the guards parted to let them pass. Li’eth held up his hand toward Kapa’a, the tallest and most respectful.
“Because of things beyond your people’s control, my people will have a problem viewing yours as mature. At least, until we come to know each other better. But your prompt apology is mature. You are young, but you are a man. I believe the Terranglo phrase is ‘keep up the good work’?” He smiled, glancing briefly at Jackie. She smiled back, dipping her head in confirmation.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Kapa’a said, grinning. “Uh . . . welcome to O’ahu! I hope you have a great time, here.” He backed up a few steps, stumbled a little on the sand, then turned and hurried after his friends.
“Crisis averted,” Li’eth muttered in V’Dan, turning back toward the tent. Or rather, toward the short, wrinkled, stout, tanned but unmarked woman with gray hair swept up in a braid-wrapped bun and a periwinkle-and-white-flowered dress rippling in the sea breeze. He dipped his head politely toward Jackie’s family matriarch. Her grandmother eyed him in return, then hmmphed a second time before giving him a curt nod.
Jackie subtly herded her ancestress and Li’eth back toward the tent. She spoke aloud, addressing the group. “My apologies for the interruption. Since the rest of you have been introduced—and thank you, Master Sonam, for doing so—please allow me to make the final one. Everyone, this is His Highness, Li’eth V’Daania and captain of these fine officers. Li’eth, I give you the matriarch of my mother’s family, Leilani Kaimana Kapule, who owns the blue house behind these tents—if you need to use the bathrooms, just go up the path behind this tent, and someone in the house will show you where to go from there; there will be guards inside all day long, if nothing else.
“Behind her is her son-in-law, my father, Jean-Jacques MacKenzie,” she added, gesturing at the tallish, graying man in dark shorts and a blue-flowered shirt. “Next is my mother Lily Kapule-MacKenzie in the green dress, and behind her in the brown shorts and no shirt is her boss, the—hey!
“No surfing until I’ve made introductions, Your Honor,” Jackie added sternly, waggling her finger at the dark-skinned woman who had a surfboard tucked under her arm. Jackie had caught her in the act of trying to sneak past behind the others’ backs with the board. “You can play after you’ve been introduced. Li’eth, this is Her Honor, Governor Amara de la Couer. She has been the Polynesian champion long-distance pipe surfer for her age category for three of the last four years, as well as the Governor of Oceania . . . which is why she wants to go play.
“Next, we have her husband . . .”
—
It had been a long, surprisingly fun, tiring afternoon. The sun rode low on the horizon to one side, and their moon, Luna, could be seen rising opposite. With the tide well on its way out, the party was winding down. Exhausted from learning how to surf, from playing frizz-bee and volleyball . . . and introducing them to the concept of guanjiball, which his officers had all helped in explaining, demonstrating, and teaching these enthusiastic Terrans how to play . . . Li’eth was happy just to sit on a sandy, dusty pillow set out on the beach above the tideline, and sip at a fizzy, tangy, fruit-flavored drink, which for some odd, incomprehensible Terran reason was called a cooler.
He had been offered beer earlier, which was a bitter sort of alcohol—Li’eth had no idea why these Terrans were enamored of bitter drinks—but Sonam had already warned him it would be wiser to keep a clear head by steering away from alcohol. As far as he knew, the cooler drink was some sort of fruit-flavored soda, flavored liquid filled with compressed carbon-dioxide gas.
The belching was amusingly different, even enjoyable . . . but only because there was no formality in the moment. It would never, ever catch on back home. At least, not in the highest Tiers of society.
Wisps of Ba’oul’s voice drifted Li’eth’s way, something about how the moon here was so big and solitary, and marked like a face, compared to seeing the much smaller, littlest-fingernail-sized dots back on V’Dan, or the thin but glowing rings of Tai-mat, their most dramatic colonyworld.
He didn’t hear V’kol approach, not between the wind, the surf, and the laughter of the group with Ba’oul a little ways away, but he did sense his friend’s aura approaching, shades of green and blue with streaks of cream. Dropping onto the sand next to him, V’kol set down a couple extra bottles, twisted off the cap of the one still in his hand, and spoke under his breath. Or as much as the evening wind would allow.
“You do realize that going home will be nothing like this,” the gunner stated, gesturing with the bottle once it was open. It smelled of something just as fruity as Li’eth’s drink when the wind tossed some of that opening hiss Li’eth’s way. V’kol clarified his meaning. “This . . . openness. This warmth, and welcoming, and the casualness, the relaxation of it all. I may be a commoner, but even I know what the Imperial Court is like. You get it in miniature at Second Tier in the military, and in spades around the First Tiers.”
“The Terran Ambassador will be able to handle it,” Li’eth stated. He had to put it that way because he didn’t know, and wouldn’t know, until after tomorrow’s special meeting of the Council who that Ambassador would be. Jackie had explained that the Council normally met only five days a week, with two days off before five on again, but the special Saturday session was being called specifically to address their Gestalt and its impact on the diplomatic embassy the Terrans wanted to send to his homeworld, so as not to disrupt the normal functioning of their government.
V’kol, in the midst of drinking down his own soda, quickly lowered it, shaking is head. “Oh, no, not her. She’s wonderful. Magnificent, if you can get past the lack of marks that keep screaming in my head to not think anything personal about her. She’s part of the warmth of these people.”
“If not her, then what did you mean?” Li’eth asked . . . and got poked in the shoulder by the gunnery officer�
�s finger.
“You. I got to know Li’eth Ma’an-uq’en on board the T’un Tunn. I’m going to mourn your having to go back to being His Imperial Highness, Kah’raman V’Daania. All stuffy, proper, concerned with the Empire—which you properly should be,” V’kol allowed. “But I am going to miss the man who sat in a tavern on planetside leave with me, using your ability to see auras and read motives to help me rake in enough money at kaskat to pay for my mother’s new Spring Temple robes as her birthing-day gift.”
“I’m beginning to regret that,” Li’eth stated dryly. He drank down a good part of his cooler before catching V’kol’s suspicious look. “It’s that monk, Master Sonam. He told me I can’t use my gifts to cheat at gambling. Even if I did not benefit from it, it’s still cheating.”
“He’s a sly ba’chok,” V’kol agreed. “He had me asking where the universe came from, the ‘Big Bang’ as they call it, if not as an act of miraculous wishing power from some god.” He tipped back his own drink. “I was forced in the end to tell him I don’t know where the First Spark came from. What triggered it. He asked me if I could prove it wasn’t a god. I asked him if he could prove it was. He said that we’re able to intelligently question our own origin, in polite discussion, and that is a profound set of miracles entirely on their own, given the contentiousness of the Human species. Whether or not we believe in gods.”
“And at that point . . . ?” Li’eth asked, curious to know what his atheist friend thought.
“I couldn’t come up with anything better than that as a rejoinder, and he made me clean his quarters for losing the bet. This was back in quarantine, before we started traveling all over.” Lifting his bottle, he saluted Li’eth with it, drank, and sighed. Everything now had a distinct golden cast to it, one that was tinging toward orange. “Sunset on yet another alien world. Given the fossils we’ve seen, the many theories proposed by their top scientists after centuries of investigation and pondering . . . welcome to the Motherworld of our species. Welcome—aloha, as they say, a warm welcome full of love, openness, and honor . . . which is what we will not get nearly enough of, back home. Not from our government. So . . . aloha, and good-bye.”
