by Jean Johnson
“As far as I know, nobody is intending to fight you,” Li’eth told her. “At least, nobody associated with the Empire.”
She smiled. “We know. But you forgot one thing. You yourself told our generals during one of your debriefings that the Salik have been known to attack the heart of your Empire. The very planet that we’re headed to. We’re not yet ready to enter into any real war effort on our part, but each one of these ships is ready to fight.”
“That’s not exactly reassuring, making me think about fifteen fully armed ships heading toward my home planet,” Li’eth warned her.
“It’s not a threat,” Jackie reassured him.
“And I don’t take it as one. But it is still a possibility,” he told her. Silently, he added, (I may know better, but others may still take it as a threat. This is not going to be easy. Establishing an embassy, gaining the respect your people deserve, and being given the leeway our Gestalt bond requires.)
(Some say that those things in life that are easily won are easily forgotten and little valued. Those things that are hard-fought and hard-won are cherished all the more for the pains taken or endured to acquire them.) She meant, he knew, their own personal relationship as two Human beings, not just prince and envoy or even psychic partners. Pausing to mutter into her headset pickup, Jackie waited for a reply, nodded, and murmured thanks, then addressed the burgundy-striped man at her side. Aloud, so the others could hear. “Sometimes, diplomacy is the art of saying ‘nice doggy’ while reaching for a big stick. Sometimes it’s just walking softly, but still carrying a big stick. And sometimes, it’s just carrying a stick to ward off random attackers, should any leap out of the shadows. We’re just trying to have the tools on hand to cover a wide range of possibilities, that’s all.”
“I’ll be sure to reassure my mother of that,” he muttered. (And of the fact I cannot stand the thought of having to part company from you once our time in V’Dan quarantine is through. Hopefully I can make it clear to her that parting us permanently is not an option.)
She grinned and touched a couple of controls. “You do that. Robert?”
“Yo,” the pilot called out, not stopping in the task of going down through his preflight checklist.
“The loading shuttle has been redocked with the MacArthur’s spindle. We are clear for departure when ready.”
“Thirty more seconds . . . and we’ll be done with the preflight . . . Give the station an aloha from us and a thanks for the sweet ride.”
“You got it.” One hand touched the controls, switching channels so she could discuss things with Orbital Control. The other reached over and covered Li’eth’s fingers for a moment.
He turned them over, twining them with hers.
“MacArthur Station, this is the Al . . . the Embassy 1,” Jackie asserted, correcting herself at the last moment. “We are ready for departure.”
A touch of her controls broadcast the reply to the whole cabin. “Embassy 1, you are cleared for departure. Good luck, and godspeed.”
Peering to her right, she caught a glimpse of the Earth as Robert activated the insystem thrusters, sending them gliding forward, away from the station and its orbit around the planet. It would likely be months, if not years, before she saw her birthworld in person again. If things went well.
“Aloha oe, Earth.”
“Aloha oe, Embassy 1.”
Li’eth squeezed her fingers in comfort, and hoped she would like his world and his people, as much as he had grown to like hers. He hoped they would like her, too. Eventually.
READ ON FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT THE NEXT BOOK IN JEAN JOHNSON’S FIRST SALIK WAR SERIES
THE V’DAN
AVAILABLE IN JANUARY 2016
FROM ACE BOOKS!
APRIL 24, 2287 C.E.
DEMBER 17, 9507 V.D.S.
TUPSF EMBASSY 1, V’DAN SYSTEM
Getting changed in zero gravity was not easy. Clothing did not “fall naturally into place,” but had to be tugged this way and that. Hemlines remained rumpled unless pulled straight and tucked into waistbands and so forth. And a skirt? Forget it. Forget all skirt-like objects in the weightlessness of insystem space. Jacaranda MacKenzie wished to dress in a formal outfit to properly represent the people of the Terran United Planets, but she was not doing so in a skirt in zero G.
They did have an illusion of microgravity on board the Embassy 1, but only because the ship was gradually slowing down in its approach to the planet V’Dan. That meant anyone or anything unsecured had a habit of “drifting” forward into bulkheads and doors. Jackie was somewhat used to zero gravity maneuvers and could sort of brace herself telekinetically, but that did nothing for hemlines. Or fellow travelers.
“Ah, sorry!” Ayinda muttered for the third time as she swayed and bumped into Jackie’s back. “Sorry, Jackie . . . At least we won’t have to deal with this for much longer. Right?”
“They did promise us quarantine facilities with full artificial gravity,” Jackie replied, adjusting her cuffs. Today’s outfit was light blue shirt, dark blue coat and slacks, light blue socks, and dark blue shoes. Slip-ons, no trying to fuss with fasteners or old-fashioned laces in space.
“Sí,” Maria de la Santoya agreed, speaking in Spanish. “But from what I learned from our guests, the facilities are military-grade at best. No paintings, no cushions, no artworks, no colors . . .”
“Speak in V’Dan,” Jackie reminded her. Everyone on this expedition spoke V’Dan, the language of their forthcoming hosts. She and a handful of other telepathic polyglots had spent hours and days transferring the language over and over just to ensure everyone who came along would be able to speak, read, and write in their host nation’s tongue. Perhaps not with complete fluency, which would only come with practice, but Jackie was good at psychic language transference.
They also all spoke Terranglo, obviously, but Jackie had wisely suggested a third language. Maria would have preferred Spanish—Terranglo was predominantly English with some Spanish mixed in—but for security reasons, Mandarin had been selected. Mandarin was not in the least bit related to the European languages underlying Terranglo. The phonetically written form of Mandarin had been transferred in its full, but so had a good chunk of classic ideographic Mandarin as well.
“Sorry,” Maria apologized. “I think first in Spanish, not in V’Dan. I’ll be very bored in quarantine when I am not working, if the quarters are as dull as we were warned. Unless they exaggerated.”
“From what I gathered, they are indeed that dull. We will have the equally dubious joys of learning V’Dan etiquette while stuck in cramped quarters,” Jackie added, sorting through her bags of jewelry.
Adding a necklace was also not a good idea in zero G, but Jackie did have a pin formed from the ideogram for Double Happiness crafted from silver and a rich blue cloissonné. Deciding it would suit the neckline of her blouse, Jackie started to pin it on. An inbound blob of brown and black warned her in time to quickly angle pin and hand out of reach even as she flung up her arm to physically cushion the woman drifting her way.
“Sorry!” Lieutenant Jasmine Buraq apologized, quickly twisting and grabbing at the nearest handles. “My toes slipped out of the grips when the ship altered speed.”
“No harm done, but everyone hold on just in case while I pin this thing on my shirt,” Jackie said. “I don’t need to go into this first meeting bleeding.”
Jasmine twisted around, orienting herself upside down to the other woman. “Let me get that for you, since we don’t have a mirror in here. Centered, right? Got it . . . It goes a little weird with the silver oak leaves,” she added as her fingers worked deftly. “But not too badly. There, centered. At least, upside down.”
“I have to remind the grunts somehow that I’m still a superior officer,” Jackie countered mildly. Her own toes were firmly lodged under a set of hand grips. The ship braked again, though this time to the side, making everything first sway, then feel briefly heavier as their bodies pressed against the ship.
Commander Robert Graves’ voice came over the speakers in the crew cabin. “Sorry for the rough maneuvers, folks. We’re getting some last minute changes in our approach vectors from our hosts. ETA to buckle-up time, ten minutes.”
“Lock and Web, ladies,” Jasmine reminded the others in the crew. There were five guards on this ship, not including herself, three of whom were women. All of them, Jackie included, started packing away everything that was floating and bumping against the cabin walls. It wasn’t as if there was anyone else available to do it; while they were a fairly large expedition compared to the usual skeletal scoutship crews, everyone had to be their own janitor as well as whatever other role they were meant to fill.
For safety’s sake, the embassy staff, guard contingent, and their V’Dan guests had been broken up across several ships. Rosa McCrary, former Premiere and Jackie’s backup for the post of Ambassador, was on a different ship just in case one of their vessels emerged from hyperspace and smacked into an as-yet untracked asteroid or something. It was a very, very small possibility given the vastness of space and the fact that they had done some previous astronomical surveys along the route, but nobody wanted to take chances by placing all their important people on one ship.
The last time that had happened, it had been on the Councilor One. Jackie’s own grandfather had died, along with a lot of other Councilors. Several safety laws had been enacted since then, some of them common sense, and some of them perhaps a bit redundant and old-fashioned, but ones that had saved lives.
The only exception to that rule was placing Imperial Prince Kah’raman Li’eth V’Daania on the same ship as the premiere Terran ambassador, Jacaranda MacKenzie. That was a necessity, because Li’eth and Jackie were in the earliest confirmed stages of forming a Gestalt bond, a sort of psychic quantum entanglement of their minds and mental powers.
Separating a Gestalt pair brought on mental, emotional, and even physical distress, something that the Terrans had learned over nearly two centuries of scientific study of verifiable psi phenomena. It could be done for short distances and for short durations, but that was it. Putting the thirdborn child of the Empress of V’Dan through unnecessary torment was not considered diplomatically appropriate, and so onto the Embassy 1 he went.
He, of course, was changing in one of the other long, rectangular cabins, bumping elbows with some of the men. Just as she turned to pull herself out of the crew quarters, Jackie heard with both her ears and her mind his exclamation of pain.
“. . . Ai!” (Saints take you!)
( . . . ?) Jackie queried. She got an impression of someone’s foot having shoved—accidentally—against his face. At least he knew it was an accident; the soldier’s quick, almost babbled apology was sincere.
(I will be deeply grateful for the day when your people install artificial gravity on all your Saints-be-damned ships,) Li’eth groused. (No offense meant; I know you lack our tech, just as we lack yours.)
Jackie, mindful of the others waiting for her to move, pulled herself through the doorway and hovered in the middle passage out of the way while Ayinda and the rest scattered to find their assigned docking seats. She had to wait for Li’eth, since she had the aisle seat for their place in the cockpit. Waiting patiently, she could sense him putting away a few last items and latching the cupboards. (None taken, don’t worry. Even I could wish for artificial gravity—whup!)
The ship swayed again, and she had to clutch at the handgrips, steadying herself with her mind. The others yelped, and there was at least one thump of flesh into bulkheads that she could hear. Luckily, no one seemed hurt.
“Again my apologies, folks,” their pilot called out over the intercom. “Apparently, they’re having to calibrate the automated defenses to accept us as ‘friendlies’ on their Friend-or-Foe targeting programs. That means a lot of quick responses to course changes, to prove we’re willing to go wherever they tell us.”
(I could wish your people weren’t at war, so such things wouldn’t be necessary,) Jackie sighed.
(You wish it?) he challenged dryly. Pulling himself through the hatchway, he reached out a hand to her. She touched it in brief physical reassurance, then caught his lightly shod foot and helped him angle his way into the cockpit. “Swimming” after him, she pulled herself into the foremost cabin, waited for him to strap himself into his seat, then followed suit.
The intercom activated again after three more minutes and two more course changes. “Lieutenant Buraq to Commander Graves; all cabins are secure. I repeat, all cabins are secure. I am the last thing Locked and Webbed.”
“Understood, Lieutenant. ETA to docking . . . roughly fifteen minutes at this rate,” Robert stated, checking his instrument overlays on the main viewscreen. “But better slow than sorry.”
“Better secured than sorry,” Jasmine returned. “Buraq out.”
Li’eth, peering through the viewports beyond the transparent piloting screens, pointed. He leaned in close to Jackie, gripping their shared console so that he didn’t twist the wrong way in his seat. “There it is! V’Dan, Motherworld of the Empire . . . if not the Motherworld of our race,” he allowed. “That’s the night side, and . . . from the outlines, that’s Ashuul, the main continent of what we call the eastern hemisphere. Autumn and Winter Temples are located there. The Winter Palace, too, which is where we’ll be headed after quarantine. Winter came early this year, so you’ll miss out on the autumn holy days, but by the time we get out of quarantine, it should be in time to see the winter festivals getting started.”
Ayinda, strapped into the navigator’s seat, pointed slightly to the right of dead ahead. “There it is, people. Dusk Army Station. Our home away from . . . embassy, I guess, since we’re already away from home.”
Jackie settled her headset over her ear and turned it on to the channel Robert was monitoring. She had already announced their presence in the system two hours ago, when they had been about fifteen light-minutes out from the planet, and had confirmed among themselves the safe arrival of all fifteen Embassy class ships. Nothing but traffic lane course corrections reached her ears.
The Terran version of quarantine had only needed to deal with just over a dozen people at most: five V’Dan guests, six original Terran crewmembers, and three additional guests, being two pathologists and a psi trainer. Then again, they had primitive wheel-spun space stations that were rather small compared to the bulk of the station that lay almost directly ahead. The V’Dan had more than four hundred years of space exploration and colonization, plus artificial gravity.
Dusk Army looked like a hamburger to Jackie. A giant metal hamburger, nothing more than a cylinder ridged and ringed along the sides in place of meat patty and vegetables, with domes at either end representing the buns. Tiny oblongs of light were windows; even tinier pinpricks were sources of light. “Anyone know where we’ll be parking?”
Her quip was taken seriously. Robert lifted his chin at their destination. “They’re not used to so many small ships needing to go into quarantine all at once. They have enough space for the 1 and two more of our sized ships in the quarantine section’s hangar bay, but the rest will have to stack and rack on three docking gantries.”
(Stack and rack?) Li’eth asked, glancing at Jackie for enlightenment. (I didn’t even think to ask where all these ships will park.)
(These ships have dorsal and ventral airlocks—the ones on the topside and the underbelly normally aren’t used save in an emergency, or for stack and rack parking,) she explained, dredging the details out of her memory. It was from her training days shortly before the Aloha 9 had encountered the Salik warship holding Li’eth and his crew. (In the event of an emergency, a line of ships can be linked up airlock to airlock, each one parking at a right-angle to the one below it, belly to back. The tailfin just clears the wings. You can stack them left-right-left-right, or in a left-hand or right-hand spiral, or even nose-to-toes, alternating the opposite way.)
(Why do I get the feeling there’s a story behind that desig
n?) Li’eth asked her.
(Because you’re getting better at reading subthoughts?) Jackie offered. Her eyes were on the station they were approaching, but her inner thoughts were on her training lectures. (There was a bad case of carbon dioxide scrubbers on three of the earliest Aloha models. One of them went to the rescue of the other . . . and then their atmo-scrubber broke down, which required calling in a third ship. There was a lot of awkward maneuvering, of coupling and decoupling. None of the hulls were damaged, but all three sets of pilots and copilots complained so much to the design teams that they wrapped up production on the Aloha models and immediately modified the next generation to include stackable airlocks.
(Don’t worry,) she added in reassurance, catching his own subthoughts. (All of those scrubbers were replaced and all of the replacement parts as well, with the new ones triple-checked before being installed. The last of the Aloha Class came into use round about the time I was recalled to active duty.)
(And your people put together fifteen new ships in just a couple of months?) Li’eth asked her, impressed.
(It didn’t take that much to redesign the hulls,) she countered. (The airlocks were already a long-proven design leftover from modular supply depot construction. The exact same type of depots we stopped at for resupply on the way here, in fact. Even the 1, here, was already under construction when the hatchways were added for modification. The body’s thicker, the wings a little broader, but it’s still modular construction. The hardest part was rerouting the conduits, and even that wasn’t all that difficult.)
(Duly noted. I suppose I should remind myself that your ships are a fraction of the size of ours. Ours can take anywhere from half a year to two years to build,) Li’eth admitted. (But then again, they’re a lot bigger, and they don’t make you feel sick each time they travel from star system to star system.)
