Wreaths of Empire

by Andrew M. Seddon

  Dead silence stretched into a long moment.

  Jade’s fingers tightened on the arms of her chair as she stared straight ahead. It seemed only yesterday that she had walked into that detention cell aboard Retribution. She could remember her feelings, the alien scent, the harsh whispering of Nahanni’s breath through nostrils that were mere holes in a nightmare face—

  “Lafrey!” Admiral Stalker hissed.

  She jerked to, noticing the admiral had risen to his feet. “Sorry, sir.”

  “Whom do I address first?”

  “Talk at the one who addresses you, but to the one on the right hand side as you’re looking over. That will be the ambassador. Mention yourself first and Member Maricic last. The others however you like.”

  Jade made a conscious effort to keep her mind in the present. This wasn’t the time for her concentration to wander. She studied the negotiating team’s counterparts.

  Unlike ship-keeper Nahanni on board Retribution, these aliens had no need to wear protective equipment, since their side of the chamber provided the required thinner atmosphere, higher temperature, and lower gravity.

  Each wore a robe-like garment loose around the upper body, but tighter lower down. The color came through the partition as a muddy brown, but Jade had no doubt that seen under ultraviolet, far richer colors would prevail.

  She was half surprised to find that she could actually discern slight differences between the aliens. One had marginally larger auditory openings, another minimally darker skin. She detected subtle variations in skull contour. But all could have been twins of Nahanni.

  One of the Gara’nesh rose to its gangling legs. “I Chashsa Sharra-n’ila-Surri phaolohi Juhha.”

  The translation issued moments later over her implant, dry, lacking the soft sibilants of the Gara’nesh tongue: “This one is Sharra-n’ila-Surri, Fleet-keeper.”

  Fleet-keeper—roughly equivalent to an admiral.

  “This one brings greetings to the representatives of the Hegemony from the people of the Gara’nesh. This one speaks for Halaffi-tr’af-Writhha, Ambassador of the Suzerainty, and all who accompany her.”

  ‘Ambassador’ was a similarly approximate translation of a word that lacked an exact counterpart. ‘Speaker-between’ or ‘intermediary’ might have been closer renditions.

  Sharra paused, bent slightly at the waist, leaning towards the left.

  Stalker cleared his throat. “I am First Admiral Charles Stalker, and I greet Ambassador Halaffi, Fleet-keeper Sharra and all who are with them on behalf of myself, Fleet Admiral Gellner, First Admiral Koharski, Sector Governor Travers and Member Georgia Maricic of the Central Committee of the Terran Hegemony. It is an honor and a privilege to be able to address representatives of such a worthy adversary, an adversary with whom we hope to reach a common understanding and agreement, that our two peoples may henceforth live in peace.”

  The Gara’nesh murmured softly among themselves, vocalizations that the translators didn’t pick up.

  “So far, so good, Admiral,” Jade whispered.

  “We would be honored if Ambassador Halaffi would speak first,” Stalker concluded, and sat back down.

  Fleet-keeper Sharra turned towards Halaffi as if seeking direction. The ambassador made a slight movement of a four-fingered hand and rose.

  “This one is Halaffi-tr’af-Writha, to whom the people of the Gara’nesh have entrusted the conduct of this meeting. The people have many grievances against those who call themselves Terrans…”

  The ambassador launched into a long list of battles, skirmishes, border violations and incidents dating back to the early decades of the war. Despite herself, Jade found it difficult to concentrate on the recital. She had studied the history of the war extensively in preparation. But study couldn’t compare with personal experience.

  And she’d had that. For a moment, she found herself back in Retribution’s detention cell, talking to an alien who had no right to be there.

  “Who is more to blame,” Nahanni asked, “those who begin a war or those who refuse to stop it?”

  “I suppose both are to blame,” Jade replied. “I’m not sure one is worse than the other.”

  “But which can be changed?”

  “Only the second.”

  Only the second. How true.

  She listened to Halaffi’s recital of battles and skirmishes.

  Cousineau 7, 2498

  Miller’s Homestead, 2510

  Haagen, 2517

  Margan 2, 2530

  Felton 114, 2542

  Farhope, 2548

  On and on.

  Jade ran her eyes around the members of the negotiating team. Travers leaned back, scratching a mole on the side of his neck. Stalker seemed absorbed in Halaffi’s speech, making copious notes. Seen in profile, Maricic was expressionless. Gellner looked profoundly bored. Koharski she couldn’t see. Iverson wore a non-committal expression.

  Finally, Ambassador Halaffi concluded. “What does the Member Maricic have to say about these grievances?”

  Halaffi resumed her seat. Georgia Maricic rose gracefully to her feet, and ran her hands along her sides to smooth out wrinkles in her gown. If the blunt recitation of the ambassador angered her, Jade certainly couldn’t tell it from the Member’s expression.

  Maricic leaned forward, hands resting on her console. “Every disagreement has two sides,” she said. “And no argument can be solved unless both are heard. We have listened to Ambassador Halaffi’s version of the war. Now I will tell you ours.”

  Maricic began a long discourse which paralleled that of the Gara’nesh ambassador. To Jade’s mind, Maricic seemed equally determined not to leave any incident unmentioned. Once again, the war was relived in painful detail.

  Convoys ambushed, passenger liners destroyed, cargo freighters disappearing without a trace. Colonies wiped out. As if trying to scrape an existence on a new world wasn’t hard enough already, settlers found themselves ill-prepared in the face of alien attack.

  None of Jade’s relatives had died, but plenty of other people had.

  Jade sighed. In those long-gone days, she and Nahanni had talked of peace in the aftermath of battle.

  “What is peace?” Nahanni asked.

  “The absence of war, I suppose,” Jade replied.

  Nahanni made the Gara’nesh sign of negation—a vertical motion of his hand with the thumb and fourth finger touching and the other two extended. “That is merely the absence of hostilities. Peace is more.”

  “How?”

  “Peace begins when one recognizes one’s true position with the First One. Only then can true peace with others occur.”

  Jade shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “You will, one day.”

  “I don’t know if I can.” Was the alien talking religion or metaphysics with her?

  “For there to be peace, you must.”

  “You don't know what you're asking.”

  “This one does. Because this one had to learn, too.”

  Jade folded her hands. She had come a long way since those days of her youth. Years of studying the Gara’nesh language had given her insights into their culture that few possessed. She’d studied the history of human-Gara’nesh relations, and when she’d achieved high enough security clearance, had devoured volumes of translated interrogations of Gara’nesh prisoners. That was why Admiral Stalker had selected her to be his advisor.

  Maricic droned on.

  If the opening speeches were anything to go by, it was going to be a long day. And a long conference.

  Troy Kuchera was already present when Jade arrived for dinner just after seven o’clock, sitting at the same booth they’d occupied the previous night. She eased through the crowded dining room.

  He looked up as she slid into the seat across from him. His face broke into a welcoming grin. “I thought maybe the exalted air you’ve been breathing had made you forget me.”

  He was so nice, Jade thought. Just the way he smiled wheneve
r he saw her made her quivery inside…She wondered how many other pulses he’d raised. Surely more than hers. She forced the thoughts aside.

  She said, “I’m only twenty minutes late. Not bad.”

  “Female time—” he teased.

  “Watch it, Kuchera,” she said with mock severity. “It seems to me you stood me up once—”

  “Never!”

  “The Luummi botanical gardens, remember?”

  “I—” Kuchera gulped. “I had a good reason.”

  “So you said at the time. Changed your story?”

  “Are you hungry?” Kuchera asked.

  Jade stifled a yawn. “Moderately.”

  “I went ahead and ordered for us.”

  “Fine. What is it tonight?”

  Kuchera licked his lips. “An exotic vegetable soufflé. Vegetables from ten worlds, according to the menu, although I’ve only been able to identify six.”

  “Talk about compulsive," Jade laughed. “I’ll see if I can help you out.”

  “Drink, first? Paradise Star? Shipwrecker? Better yet, a Black Hole.”

  Jade shook her head. “Virgin. Alcohol’s a risk- clouds the mind, slows the reflexes-”

  “There are antidotes.”

  “I don’t trust them.”

  "A pair of virgin Paradise Stars, then.”

  They made small talk until drinks arrived, barely in advance of the meal. At the sound of a chime, Troy pulled out the soufflés. They were, Jade thought, visual feasts, riots of colors arranged in diagonal strips across the plate. Jade bent over and sniffed.

  “No fair,” Kuchera said.

  “You didn’t say I had to identify them by taste,” Jade retorted. “Windward field greens, to start.”

  “Too simple.”

  They began to eat.

  “So?” Kuchera prompted after a few minutes.

  Jade paused, her hand halfway to her mouth. “Turnip and carrots from Earth, greening from Pritchard, hillweed is Weston, I think, and Greatmount onion—that’s another easy one.”

  Kuchera finished chewing and swallowed. “Not what I meant. The negotiations.”

  Jade took a long swallow of the honey-colored Paradise Star before answering. She searched in a pocket and passed a computer wafer over to Kuchera.

  “Just for you. Specialty of the house.”

  His eyes gleamed. “A scoop?”

  “No, background files.” Jade laughed at the disappointed look on his face. “Sorry, it’s what I’ve got at the moment.”

  “Real bundle of laughs, you are,” Kuchera sulked.

  “It’s mostly public knowledge concerning the participants, but it may save you research time. And I do have something else.”

  Kuchera was wary. “What?”

  “Clearance to my office. Not the whole conference center, mind you. Just my office, straight in and straight out.”

  “You don’t like meeting over dinner?”

  Jade filled her fork with something purple. “It’s great, but it’s not exactly a private place for confidential conversations. What’s this?”

  “Seaweed. From Blue. Confidential?” He waved the chip. “You call background info confidential?”

  “Ugh. I hate seaweed.” Jade dropped the limp purple strand back onto her plate. “You know what I mean. I might have better stuff as we go along.”

  “I hope so. I’m a historian turned propaganda writer turned biographer,” Kuchera said. “Stats are like soy—you can make anything you want out of them, but it all tastes the same. I need exotic materials.” He finished his drink and ordered another.

  “Did you get the Lesser Moltern yellowleaf?” Jade asked.

  Kuchera tapped his temple. “Missed that one.”

  “Eight,” Jade continued. “We’re making progress.”

  “Like I said before, I want to use the peace negotiations as a frame for the biography,” Kuchera said. “Episodes of Stalker’s life and work interspersed with flashes from the conference. So tell me about today’s session?”

  “I can’t help you with the other three, although that tasteless indigo stuff deserves to be from Last Chance.” Jade cleaned off her plate and pushed it away. “OK. One word summary: Boring.”

  “That’s it?” Kuchera dropped into a lecturing tone. “Chapter One: Scene: The joint conference center on Covenant. According to a naval spokesperson who wished to remain anonymous, the first session was boring. Now, on to Chapter Two. Birth.” He rolled his eyes. “I can see it now—I’ll be given an assignment writing recruiting posters for the ice mines on New Pluto.”

  Jade closed her eyes, shaking with mirth. “You do have a way with words, Troy.”

  "Yeah, but I still need raw material to work with.”

  She opened her eyelids. "If you insist. Ready for notes?”

  “Ready.” Kuchera picked up a holocorder from the seat beside him and activated it.

  “After introductory comments from Fleet-keeper Sharra and Admiral Stalker who was chosen to open the session, Gara’nesh Ambassador Halaffi-tr’af-Writhha launched into a hideously detailed description of the war from the Gara’nesh perspective. After which, Member Maricic replied at equal length. Admiral Stalker made closing remarks. End of day.”

  Kuchera stared. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. What did you expect for a first session?”

  “I don’t know, but—”

  “Something more than a rehash? At least the two sides are talking.”

  “What were you doing while all this excitement was occurring?”

  “I—” She bit her lip. “I was living in the past.”

  Kuchera clicked off the holocorder and leaned forward. He touched her elbow. “Tell me about it?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  “You used to say I was a good listener. If something’s bothering you, it’ll do you good to let it out.”

  “It’s personal.”

  “All the more reason not to keep it bottled up.”

  Jade studied Kuchera’s face. Every line radiated concern. She longed to trust him. He’d never given her any reason not to trust him.

  And it was all on her service record anyway—something he could dig out if he were so inclined.

  She closed her eyes and began to speak, telling Kuchera of the battle of Felton 114 and its aftermath—her rescue of alien captain Nahanni-or’a-Hhurn.

  “By the time Colonel Reichert had finished with me, Nahanni had already been removed from the brig to Reichert’s shuttle,” she concluded.

  Kuchera whistled softly. “That was the last you saw of Nahanni?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened to you?”

  Jade rubbed moisture from her eyes.

  “Admiral Shissler chewed me out royally and commended me at one and the same time. Command gave me a medal for bringing Retribution home.”

  “Really?”

  “Star Cluster. I’ll show it to you sometime.” Troy, she recollected, had never seen her wearing her dress uniform. “Shissler must have learned Nahanni’s fate, but she never mentioned anything to me. I was assigned to Gellner’s office—he was a second admiral then—as a staffer. The rest, as they say, is history.”

  “That’s some story!” Kuchera said.

  “You’re the only person I’ve told, besides my mother.”

  “I appreciate that. So these negotiations really mean a lot to you.”

  She nodded. More than Kuchera could know.

  She rose. “Look Troy, if it’s OK with you I’ll leave you to wade through those background files. There’s some other work I have to do.”

  “Get some rest,” he said, standing.

  She sniffed. “Not likely.”

  Jade returned to her own quarters. Once the door was closed and the privacy screens active, she extracted Nate’s wafer from a concealed pocket. She’d carried it on her person at all times, along with several others, never leaving it unguarded.

  As she handled the wafer, Watford’s dying
words rang in her ears.

  They lie. Don't want peace. Don’t bel—

  Don’t believe?

  Don’t believe whom? Or what?

  She inserted the wafer into her computer and began to work. Very quickly she discovered that whether because of his wounds, or because his ship’s computers were failing and unreliable, the files on the wafer showed damage. Some sections were coded, others weren’t. Words, sentences, and occasionally whole paragraphs were missing or unintelligible.

  Almost as quickly, she learned that decoding was going to be a tedious process. Watford had so arranged it that human input was needed at every step along the decoding process. Add to that the fact that she had to work on the low-budget Hazlett-16 which her Covenant facilities contained. She wished she had the vastly more powerful Wyman 2700 from her office on Windward, or the computer system on board Starwind. Rick Emmers would have made short work of the files, but Jade felt decoding them was something she had to do herself. Nate Watford had given them to her, after all. It was the least she could do.

  She worked steadily. But the more she deciphered, the more her disquiet increased, feeding the adrenalin that forced her to persevere.

  Her mind whirled at the incredible tale that unfolded. It read like fiction, beginning with a chance meeting with a free-trader and ending with hints of an immensely powerful weapon and deception at the negotiating table. But not a whisper of where or whom, although the Gara’nesh clothing that Watford had been wearing gave a strong hint.

  As the final sentence of Nate Watford’s message flashed on screen, she leaned back limply.

  …I can't do any more, so I'm giving this to you. The fate of the Hegemony—perhaps of the entire human species—is in your hands. Sorry, Jade, but I don't know what else to do. Nate. END

  “Oh, Nate,” she murmured. “What in Heaven have you handed me?”

  Troy Kuchera stretched out on his bed, bouncing lightly until he found a comfortable position. He folded his hands behind his neck and stared upwards, trying to sort out his feelings. A strange mixture of contentment and confusion vied for supremacy.

  “You confuse me just as much now as you did then, Jade,” he said to himself.

  He had prayed long and hard. Prayed to get this assignment. Prayed to meet her again. Gone out and celebrated when he received official confirmation that he’d beaten out the other candidates.