by Jean Johnson
“I still don’t really get that,” Jackie told the jungen specialist. “I understand in theory what a caste system is, but Terrans evolved beyond that over a hundred years ago. We learned to acknowledge that all kinds of work can be worthy of doing, whether it’s being a Councilor, or being a janitor. The idea of being stuck in a Tier is incomprehensible to me.”
“There is some mobility,” Qua reassured her. “Most everyone in the Fourth and Fifth Tiers can move upward to the Third. That is, if they have the intelligence to master the high education levels and expert trade skills required. My family has more Fifth Tier workers—unskilled labor—than Fourth Tier, but here I am, clearly a member of the Third. Ambition, skill, and intelligence is all that is needed.”
“I think the Ambassador grasps all of that,” Kuna’mi told her companion, eyeing Jackie sideways. “I believe what she is looking for is the historical basis for the system, yes?”
“Yes, and why it’s held together so long,” Jackie said, grateful the markless woman understood what she really wanted to know. Then she wondered if the tightly shielded woman understood too well. She didn’t think her mind was open to general skimming . . .
“Part of it lies in the fact that the Empire has taken pains for millennia to express its appreciation for all of its members,” Kuna’mi told them. “There have been a few times when an emperor or empress—or even nobles serving as regional governors—have failed to do so, and the eventual uprisings of discontent have been stressed ever since as something to be avoided by a smart ruler. Acknowledging that every job is important in its own way, whether it’s skilled or unskilled, certainly helps. And each month gets one day to celebrate the hard work and accomplishments of the Fifth Tier, one to celebrate the Fourth, one to celebrate the Third, and one to collectively celebrate the efforts of the Second, First, and Imperial Tiers.”
“Those always take place on Firstrest Day,” Qua explained.
“¿Sábado, sí?” Maria whispered to Jackie.
“Sí,” she confirmed. At the bemused look from the two doctors, Jackie explained. “We call Firstrest Day Saturday, or Sábado in Dr. de la Santoya’s native language.”
“Thank you for explaining. The other reasons for the system’s working include that, for a very long time, those who earned the rank of noble became governors and overseers of regions,” Kuna’mi continued. “Even the most alien of governments understands the sheer inertia of bureaucracy. To keep it from bogging down in nepotism, official government positions require a competency test, and as a corollary, noble parents are encouraged to pick the child that best can handle being their heir, and not just whoever is firstborn. That helps ensure the likelihood that an heir will make a competent head of the bloodline.”
“That would reduce the number of idiotas being put in charge, yes,” Maria agreed.
“I’m not certain what idiotas is, but I think I can guess the context,” Qua quipped. “And yes, it does help. Even in the Third and lower Tiers, we pick heirs we hope will be trustworthy.”
“One of the things that helps the lower Tiers accept the superiority of the higher Tiers is that those of even the highest Tier can fall to the very bottom of the heap,” Kuna’mi said next. “There’s nothing like a chance to feel superior to someone who used to be higher ranked than you, to help stroke the ego in our species.” She tipped her head to the side, acknowledging, “A cynical observation, but still a truthful one for many.”
“It’s said that the High One’s reign was free of castes, that everything She did when rewarding a subject was based upon their merit,” Qua offered. “Whereas the War King came from a culture with a caste system—two castes, warriors above, workers below. Somehow, the merging of the two eventually evolved into the five Tiers we have today—technically, six; no insult was meant, Your Highness.”
“None taken,” Li’eth reassured her.
“Well, while it is interesting to learn more about how your culture is arranged, I have ‘cultures’ that need to be watched,” Maria stated. The other two doctors gave her blank looks.
Jackie came to her rescue. “In our language, the word culture means not only the social rules and expectations for a specific group of people, but also refers to cultivating bacteria and so forth, taking samples and figuring out how to make them grow, that sort of thing. It’s a pun.”
“Ah, right. Puns. I didn’t realize the word could be used like that since you said it in V’Dan. I should go help you as well—To-mi, if the Ambassador has some time right now, why don’t you get her to give you one of those language transfers everyone is talking about?” Qua offered to her colleague. “I’ve already had one from that nice older woman, Aixa. It’s been very helpful.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Kuna’mi demurred, smiling.
Oh, this is interesting, Jackie thought. She smiled back. “I would think that it would be very necessary. You are the foremost authority on the jungen virus. My people will want to interview you thoroughly to reassure us that we won’t get stripes or spots if we don’t want any.”
“Oh, I don’t think they’d go that far,” the markless woman tried again, shaking her head. “You’ll have plenty of people exchanging all sorts of knowledge, soon. And I’ll be needed to stay here, to monitor the version we’re giving your people.”
“I don’t invoke my social rank very often these days,” Li’eth stated. “But I am going to order you to sit with the Grand High Ambassador, Doctor. Learning Terranglo will only add to your authority and your ability to convey information. It will also increase the prestige of the Empire—you do have the time for it right now, Jackie?”
“Of course—if you’ll excuse us, Doctors?” she added to Qua and de la Santoya. Both women nodded and took themselves out of the conference room. Jackie sent privately to Li’eth, (I take it you’re having some of the same suspicions as I am?)
(Yes. She’s most likely a Feyori in disguise,) he said.
(I’m not a Feyori,) a third mental voice stated. Kuna’mi’s voice. She met their brief, sharp looks with a polite, mild smile. (Or, not exactly. I was also hoping to simply smooth things over, but otherwise stay out of the spotlight.) Gesturing at the chairs of the conference table, she said out loud, “If we’re going to do this, perhaps we should sit down? Will you be joining us, Your Highness? I’m sure it might turn out to be helpful someday if you learn, or at least can observe, how language transfers work.”
“I don’t have anything else to do,” he murmured, and moved to take a seat.
Since the table in this room was reasonably narrow, Jackie seated herself at one end, and the two V’Dan flanked her in the nearest chairs, Li’eth to her right and Kuna’mi to her left. “Join hands, please, and relax your minds. Breathe deeply four times with me, to help clear stress and open up your thoughts to contact . . .”
Kuna’mi breathed deep, let it out . . . and chuckled mentally. (I haven’t heard those words in a very long time. I’ve said them, but I haven’t heard them.)
(You’re the Immortal, aren’t you?) Li’eth asked the doctor, suspicion crystallizing sharply in his subthoughts. (If you’re not a Feyori shaped like a V’Dan, then you can only be the Immortal. She was said to be the child of two half-breeds.)
(Very clever of you to remember that. It’s an obscure bit of history. And yes, I am, which is why I wanted to help the Terrans transition through this meeting with the jungen virus but did not want to catch royal attention,) the woman confessed.
Jackie was still a bit skeptical, but she could feel the awe and reverence in her Gestalt partner. (So what does that mean, you’re Immortal?)
(It means I cannot be killed. Not by accident, not by old age. I can appear to age . . . if I put some thought and effort into it,) she allowed. (But slay me, and a handful of seconds later, I pop back to life. Since I really do not enjoy the whole painful dying part, that usually puts me in a bad
mood, so I wouldn’t recommend testing the theory empirically.)
(Of course not—and you wish to remain unacknowledged because you made a promise to my ancestor to stay out of V’Dan politics,) Li’eth said next. (Correct?)
(Correct. When I originally created the jungen virus, it was not the one I already had within me. That one was based on the version I gave your people, Ambassador,) the doctor told them. (The original was a viral agent endemic to V’Dan.)
(Call me Jackie, please,) Jackie said.
(Call me To-mi, then. Don’t call me Shey, young man,) she added, cutting off the rise of Li’eth’s subthoughts. (Discretion is key. As I was saying, the original one given over ninety-five centuries ago was a native beast. My equipment was primitive at best when it came time to genetically manipulate it so that it could alter the genes of a Human host appropriately. That’s how it got a little messed up, adding in the marks. I knew that would happen, though, so I wasn’t overly concerned about it. The current version is based on tweaking that followed the version I was given, roughly four hundred years into the future.)
Jackie and Li’eth exchanged looks. They returned their gazes to the woman on the left side of the table, both with arched brows.
(Mind your physical reactions, children,) the Immortal chided. (Remember, everything we do in quarantine is being recorded, and will be analyzed. I don’t need a transfer of Terranglo because I already speak it, but we will have to sit here for a handful of hours.)
(I should’ve visited the washroom,) Li’eth quipped dryly. (If that is so, isn’t the version you speak four hundred years out of date? A linguistic anachronism?)
(Not by that much. I only left Earth a few months after the Councilor One tragedy,) To-mi told them. (I knew from my history lessons that moving back to V’Dan at that time would give me the chance to set myself up for the single most vital First Contact moment in the Alliance. That was in 2265 Terran Standard, which gave me twenty-two years to establish an identity, slog through biology and medical lessons, gain my certificates, and become the foremost expert on jungen in the entire Empire. In other words, the person that would be tapped to help adapt Terran biology to handle V’Dan histaminic overloads.)
(That is what you think is the most vital part of this whole First Contact situation?) Li’eth asked, somewhat incredulous. (Allergies?)
(I have learned over the millennia that what is truly important is often seemingly insignificant. Without this very real biological hurdle being negated, Terrans will not be able to attend most Alliance meetings—which are held in V’Dan-friendly spaces. They will not be able to colonize other worlds—again, with the aid of previously established colonial knowledge thanks to the V’Dan—and so on and so forth. Your soldiers won’t be able to serve on V’Dan ships or V’Dan planets, you won’t be able to communicate in person . . . I see you get my point, yes?)
(I see the merit in it, yes,) Jackie agreed. (Our booster shots have kept us ahead of histaminic reactions to the pollen in the air here in quarantine, but that’s in a relatively sterile environment. We get some exposure through the life-support bays where food is grown and carbon dioxide recycled into oxygen through the plants. But on your homeworld, where there are no artificial controls throttling down the pollen counts . . . it would be a medical nightmare.)
(That, and I am the authority on jungen,) To-mi agreed. (On the bright side, most allergic reactions will be quelled to a very bearable, even ignorable level, if not outright eradicated. The common cold will rarely induce runny noses or sneezing fits—at the cost of increased fatigue and fever risks,) she allowed. (But that’s endurable. And both worlds will open up a host of new trade venues for spices, herbs, vegetables, meats, all manner of new foods, as well as plant-based objects. And you’ll find some M-class worlds where the local agriculture will flourish under a combination of V’Dan and Terran sources and efforts. Eventually.)
Jackie wasn’t completely convinced. (You say you’re the Immortal. But how—)
(—Can I prove it?) To-mi finished for her. (I am not going to kill myself to prove it. Nor can I tell you all that much about the future—no, I cannot, for two important reasons.)
(Oh, really?) Li’eth challenged her, lifting a brow.
(Yes, really. The first is obvious. I really shouldn’t interfere too much. This is your timeline. Your galaxy-shaking First Contact and all its associated events. Besides, you’re both grown-ups,) the Immortal added. (You’re smart enough to make good decisions. I’ll only step in if things start to get out of hand.)
(And the second reason?) Jackie asked. (Or was that it?)
(The second reason is that I am carrying around over fourteen thousand years of memories in my head. I was taught a lot of Terran and V’Dan history—with what I thought at the time was a rather odd emphasis on certain events,) she added in an aside. (The people who helped raise me are, or rather, will be followers of the Prophet of a Thousand Years. I didn’t know what I was when they started educating me. But they could only do so from known historical records. A lot of this stuff is unknown, even by me, because history often gets reduced to what the Terrans call sound-bites, little snippets of information only so large, and no more.
(Some of this, I know exactly what will happen. Some of it, I have only a thin veil of information. Some of it, I know nothing about. I’m sorry if that disappoints you, children, but that is the way things are.)
(. . . I don’t know how anyone could keep fourteen centuries’ worth of memories straight, let alone fourteen thousand,) Jackie mused in the quiet that fell between them.
(It isn’t easy. There’s a special way I can kill and revive myself that brings all the memories flooding back, but . . . it takes a long time to sort through all those memories, so I try to do it only once every fifty or so years,) To-mi confessed. (At this point, it takes me almost two weeks to sort through everything, and add to my records. Eventually, I hope to share everything I know . . . but it’ll be after my original life span ends. I don’t know what will happen to my body when “I” am born in the future. The closer I get to that era, the more nervous I get. Two objects cannot occupy the same point in space at the same moment in time. I don’t know if one sentient being can occupy the same span in the timestreams, even if I take pains never to encounter myself.)
(I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t feel too much sympathy for that problem,) Li’eth told her. (I’m still trying to accept the idea that I am holding hands with the Immortal High One, First Empress of V’Dan.)
(It’s about as likely as your holding hands with your Gestalt mate, so try not to let it slow you down,) To-mi told him tartly. (And yes, I did know about that in advance.)
(Tell me something. If you are the Immortal, why reveal it to us? Li’eth said that when his ancestor won, you agreed to step down from V’Dan politics,) Jackie asked next. (Why reveal it to a member of the Imperial Family?)
(Because you aren’t the sort of woman to let something like this go. I realized I had forgotten to disguise my training from you when you reminded me of your abilities—again, millennia’s worth of forgetfulness, here,) To-mi said, sighing. (And when I did remember, I could tell that you saw through my attempts. Which meant once you compared it to the expelled shit they call training in this era, you’d question me. I waited until you brought it up, however, to see if you even would, and in particular, how you might bring it up.
(This version is reasonably discreet . . . and I do admit it will allow me to speak Terranglo right away. As long as you don’t tell everyone who and what I am, I’ll be fine,) she concluded.
(Something is bothering me,) Li’eth stated. (Your mental voice . . . your tone, the words you pick . . . they’re different from when you speak aloud.)
(Of course they are. When I speak aloud, I am playing the role of Dr. To-mi Kuna’mi. And when I speak telepathically, I am playing another role. The weight of my true thoughts would unnerv
e both of you.)
(I am not sure I completely believe her,) Li’eth sent to Jackie as privately as he could. It didn’t seem to help.
(If I were you, Highness, I wouldn’t believe me, either. If you want proof, I’m afraid you will have to wait until we are not being watched by security equipment,) To-mi pointed out. (Your physical reactions would be at odds with what you’d normally display during a language transfer.)
(How strong a telepath are you?) Jackie asked.
(I haven’t been tested in ages, young lady. Eons, technically. I’ve spent the last couple hundred years avoiding KI machines and painstakingly learning how not to set them off by sheer proximity for those times when I do have to use my gifts.) To-mi paused, then offered, (I could teach you the trick of it, if you like.)
(That would be unethical,) Jackie declined. She didn’t even have to think about it. (And I would rather you didn’t teach it to anyone else . . . though for security’s sake, you should tell me what its weaknesses are.)
(It’s just a particular sort of mental shield, a way of concentrating that cages kinetic-inergy waves and reflects them back toward the center. It’s not easy to maintain for great lengths of time, and the smaller the shield, the shorter the duration because of that reflected pressure, but it has gotten me in and out of Psi League training facilities,) To-mi said.
(That begs the question of why, if you have such exacting, Terran-style training,) Li’eth asked, (haven’t you taught it to my people?)
(Your ancestor.) That rather flat, mental assertion came with a distinct overtone of dislike, disappointment, and distaste. (The stubborn, goat-brained, anti-anything-Immortal did his best to try to wipe out the Sh’nai faith, starting with my very-well-trained priesthood. His own psis weren’t nearly as well trained. It was all I could do to preserve the majority of the history books, the rituals. By the time I realized he was specifically targeting the gifted and destroying their training scrolls first and foremost, it was too late.
