by Jean Johnson
When he had first left the Summer Palace for officer’s training, there had been a number of decorations throughout the training facilities and dormitories, but everything had seemed inordinately plain compared to what he had known growing up. When he reached space and his first assignment, the austerity of an actual Imperial Fleet ship was downright ascetic, a shock of cultural blandness. Seeing all the strange artworks the Terrans put into their quarantine, the little touches here and there and everywhere in their tour of Terran locations, had been a bit of a reverse culture shock in turn. Not just because it existed but because it was so different.
The austere settings of V’Dan quarantine had drained away some of his tolerance for such things. He felt like the chamber was too busy even though it was virtually unchanged from all the years he had passed through it on a daily basis before his induction into the Army. However, his mother had changed more than this room, with its treasures stretching back for generations, centuries, even millennia for some of them.
It wasn’t just the gold-and-scarlet War Queen regalia instead of the flowing dresses she had favored prior to his departure and the start of the war. It was those little lines at the corners of her eyes. The thin strands of silver threaded through her gold-and-burgundy hair. The frown line that pinched together between her brows. The doubt shadowing her aura, like thin gray veils that sucked the color out of anything they passed over.
Finally, she lifted and flicked her hand, curling her fingers inward in a sideways sweep that invited him not only to stand but to come to her. Li’eth immediately did so. Hana’ka rose to meet him, opening her arms. Relieved that he wasn’t in full disgrace, Li’eth embraced her, clinging to his mother. A corner of his mind marveled at how short she felt compared to him, but then part of him insisted she was still his tall, strong, proud mother from when he was young. Back when he had been a mere boy who had to physically as well as emotionally look up to her.
He eased his grip when she pulled back, only to have her hand cup his striped cheek. Her gray eyes searched his for a long moment, the one that matched hers, and the one that had been colored by jungen fever.
“Did they hurt you?” she demanded softly.
Li’eth blinked, unsure what she had heard. “The Terrans? Of course not. They’ve been very—”
“—I meant the Salik,” his mother corrected. Her thumb brushed his cheekbone, stroking the finger-wide stripe that reached down into the upper edge of his slowly growing stubble. “Did they find out who you were?”
“No. I had applied a fresh coat of plasflesh just that morning. My beard grew out, but enough of the stripe was concealed,” he reassured her. A memory flashed through his head, of a hand, severed from its owner. “They tormented me, eating one of my bridge crew in front of me—a piece of her—but they didn’t touch me.”
Hana’ka gripped both of his cheeks. “I will kill them,” she promised, mother to son, not just Empress to subject. “I put off your going into the military for the longest time because . . . because of the prophecies. When your ship was lost . . .” She blinked, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. Hardening her gaze, she looked at him sternly. “I cannot withdraw you from the military, but I am going to post you far from their reach—”
“—I cannot leave the Grand High Ambassador,” Li’eth reminded her. He didn’t mean to, but he could sense her underthoughts, transient images of some remote moon outpost at the farthest edge of V’Dan territory from Salik predations.
Her hands slipped from his face, dropping to grip his shoulders, and her worried determination slumped into disgruntlement. “Kah’raman, whatever you think this is . . .”
“It is a holy pairing,” he asserted, dropping his hands and stepping back, forcing her to let go of him. “Does it not say in the Book of Saints, the Teachings of Saint Wa’cuna, that when the enemy of surf and sky rains fire upon the Eternal Home, the Holy Pair shall cast those fires aside? I am a pyrokinetic, Mother, with hands that now burn with holy fire. A fire that is finally under my own control. Look.”
Lifting his hand palm up, he concentrated. Heat welled under his skin for a moment, then it leaped up a thumb’s length, forming a bright spark that became for just two breaths an intense, golden-white flame. He extinguished it, since burning the very air was difficult.
“Since when has any holy fire-caller summoned and extinguished flame upon command?” Lifting his other hand, he frowned in concentration, and lit the air for another two seconds. Returning his gaze to her startled face, Li’eth said earnestly. “Not in seven hundred years, Empress. Not since the blighted reign of Emperor Kah’hiak, when his successor, Empress Na’tosha had Saint Gile’an on her side to help her overthrow her mad cousin . . . and even then, Saint Gile’an had to invoke emotion to evoke his gifts. I am perfectly calm, and I can still call fire.
“These Terrans have skills and training beyond anything anyone but the Immortal herself could imagine. They have machines that can detect holy energies, Empress,” he added, invoking her title to remind her that he wasn’t making these assertions for his own sake though his own happiness was at stake. “With those machines to monitor their efforts, they have developed training systems that work. I have only had a few months’ worth of training—the presentation in two days’ time, the Grand High Ambassador has trained in her abilities for years, and it will leave the entire Empire breathless.
“Together, we are that prophesied holy pairing. And that means I must stay by her side. Even if it weren’t for the massive amount of data the Terrans have collected on why physically and psychologically it isn’t a good reason to be parted, the prophecy says we will save V’Dan. Since we are at war, and we will need their help in winning it, you should appoint me as our military liaison to the Terrans,” he told her. “For the good of the Empire and the good of the Alliance, we need them on our side, we need them to cooperate, and we need them to share their technologies.”
His mother turned away from him. She stared unseeing at the stone mosaics on the wall framing the window overlooking the inner gardens, at the artworks of thousands of years carefully displayed and dusted by countless loyal servants. Perhaps even at the elegant porcelain ewer his sister Mah’nami had broken and been forced to learn how to repair, as punishment for her carelessness. Li’eth waited for her to answer his suggestion.
“. . . You expect me to put my trust in an intangible prophecy that never once mentioned that these people, these Second Empire members, are children.”
“They are not children, Empress. And maybe that is why it was never mentioned,” Li’eth pointed out. Hana’ka turned to face her son, and he nodded. “Yes, Mother. It wasn’t mentioned because their markless states do not matter. They are adults, they are mature, they are skilled in many ways, and they possess technology no one else in the known galaxy has. Advantages no one else can access, let alone duplicate . . . unless we become their allies.
“We need to become their friends,” he coaxed her. “Their Ambassador and I are perfectly poised to build that understanding, that alliance, and that friendship, because of our holy pairing. We have every reason because of the bond between us to want to encourage cooperation between our two nations.”
She eyed him a long moment before crossing her arms and turning slightly away. “I do not understand their data. This . . . siy-kihk science of theirs. Such things have always been the realm of saints and priests, of mysticism and prayers, and not the purview of women and men of science.”
Li’eth was not used to seeing his mother being stubborn like this, save for certain moments, deep in the privacy of the innermost chambers of the Imperial Wing . . . when his father was right and his mother was wrong. Biting his lip to keep from laughing—she hated knowing she was in the wrong, and it wouldn’t be proper to show any sense of triumph—Li’eth spread his hands. “They have made it into a science. They also have an interesting saying that applies to this moment, Mothe
r.”
“What?” she asked, skeptical.
“A sufficiently advanced science can look like magic to the uneducated . . . until they have learned the secrets of that advanced science,” he told her.
“I am told they do not even have artificial gravity,” she pointed out, freeing a hand to gesture upward, toward the stars. “How advanced could they be?”
“Neither did we when we met the K’Katta,” he reminded her. “I have a question for you. Why is my sister Ah’nan the Imperial Grand High Ambassador to the Alliance, and my sister Mah’nami is not?”
“Because Imperial Princess Mah’nami is gifted at comprehending advanced mathematics, while Imperial Princess Ah’nan is gifted at comprehending cultures and languages.” She didn’t have to append an of course to her statement. It was implicit in her tone.
“Yet Ah’nan could learn through hard work and extra study to be better at math, and Mah’nami could learn through hard work and extra study to be better at alien languages. They are like the Terrans and the V’Dan in that respect,” he said.
“Your analogy is imprecise . . . but it is not flawed,” Hana’ka allowed. Not too grudgingly, either. Dragging in a deep breath, she relaxed her folded arms, letting them drop to her sides. “Do you really think they can be of any use in our war with the Salik?”
“I believe it. They are very different, and in those great and many differences, Empress,” he informed her, “the Salik will not understand what they face until it is too late. That, and being able to communicate near instantly across the whole of the known galaxy will be unbelievably useful,” Li’eth allowed. He tucked his hands behind his back and strolled over to see if he could spot the joint where the ewer had been repaired.
“They only occupy one star system, from what you’ve told me in your reports,” she reminded him, trailing in his wake. “Their fleet appears to be remarkably small.”
“They produced more than thirty new ships during the time we spent on Earth, and those are the ones I know about. A few of them were as big as the Ambassador’s vessel, the rest the same size as the smaller ones.”
“Oh, well, such a marvelous fleet of thirty tiny, ungravitied ships in just a handful of months. Praise V’Neh, V’Yah, and U’Veh for watching over us all with their munificence!” Hana’ka caroled sarcastically, lifting her palms in mock-Trinitist prayer.
“We were on Earth for only a few weeks, Mother. They have seven-day weeks like we do, even if their days are a bit shorter,” he added. “I am certain I was not informed of just how many ships they actually have in production. I am also told that because of their own prophecies—short-term as opposed to long-term, but still tangible—that they have been increasing their production capacity for months beforehand, of both ships and the probe-things that contain their communications gear. And they have been recruiting and training new soldiers.”
“Which they will cram onto their tiny ships,” his mother scoffed. “Or should we send some of our transit guards with pugil sticks to help pack them in properly?”
“Soldiers we should send our largest ships to pick up,” Li’eth countered. “They are terribly overcrowded, Mother. They hold lottery drawings to see if a particular couple can have a third child. Promise them land and resources on a V’Dan colonyworld in exchange for fighting for us on the ground, and they will cram in themselves. Quite eagerly, I think.”
“It would do no good to pack Terrans onto our ships,” she told him. “That’d just be more food for the Salik once they’ve disabled our vessels. They would have to train for months to grasp V’Dan technology.”
“I meant, transport them and put them on the ground,” Li’eth countered. “We just need to use our much larger ships to transport them. Once they’re on the ground, they can fight without needing to know how to fly our ships. All they’ll need is to know how to fight on that particular planet or moon, or on a space station to help defend it. That can be taught to them in transit.”
“You may have a point. But I’m not sure we can spare that many ships for transporting all those troops,” Hana’ka muttered grimly. She reached up to touch the spot where her daughter had broken the gem-studded flask, then lowered her hand. “Our fleet is scattered all over the place right now, trying to transport our own troops . . . and we cannot evacuate the colonies that are falling to the enemy’s ground-based advance.”
“Then let their ships serve in place of ours—they don’t need to be large in a fight when they can be fast and maneuverable,” he reminded her. “And their weapons don’t have to be plentiful. Their military leader—the title is strange, they call him an ‘Admiral-General’ of all things—he informed me that they can use nonradioactive bombs capable of destroying entire cities—he said this not to threaten us,” Li’eth added quickly as she turned to him, her cheeks flushing red and her eyes narrowing. “He said it was to inform me as a courtesy that their fleet may be literally small in both the size of each ship and their numbers, but that they can deliver very powerful blows to our enemies.
“He also stressed he would not recommend using these water-bombs of theirs anywhere other than in the depths of space, so as not to damage our living spaces.”
“And you believe him?” the Empress asked her son.
“I have reason to believe that I have not been given lies. They have withheld information, as is their right, but they have not lied,” Li’eth stated. “Certainly, I am better at reading auras now than I ever was, and his aura held no deception.”
She eyed him up and down before moving away. “I wonder if you are somehow now contaminated by the beliefs of these people, that you advocate for them.”
“I advocate for our people,” Li’eth asserted, following her.
“Does your holy partner know that?” Hana’ka asked dryly.
“She does, and she approves of it. Just as she advocates for her people. She is also wise enough not to press when I tell her I cannot give her certain information. Just as I am courteous in kind about not prying further when told I cannot be told.” For a moment, when she settled onto her chair again, he thought she would have him kneel. But his mother flicked her hand to the side, offering him one of the other, slightly less ornate, seats. “It is called diplomacy, Empress. I learned it well.”
“Yes, your Nanny did a good job of raising you, didn’t he?” she agreed. Bracing her chin on her fingertips, she tapped her jawline. “Why would they give the position of Grand High Ambassador to someone who is bound in a holy pairing? Particularly when they say it will only bind the two of you tighter together?”
“Maybe they really do want an alliance with us, and see this as a means to ensnare our cooperation,” he offered.
“But if you two are a holy pairing, which they agree is like a holy marriage, you could sway her into coaxing her people into giving us far more concessions than we could give them,” Hana’ka pointed out.
Li’eth smiled at that. Smiled, and shook his head. “No, she wouldn’t. She has more iron in her than all the metal at the core of our world. She is honorable beyond all contestation, Eternity. Honorable, and honest. She put her career on the line, presenting that very possibility before her people’s highest levels of government. They have faith she will represent them better than anyone else. It also may help that she has the former leader of their nation as her Assistant Ambassador.”
“The what of the what?” Hana’ka asked her son, giving him her full, if confused, attention.
“You didn’t read the report I sent on that?” Li’eth asked.
“I have a lot of reports to read. Mostly, I read the summaries,” his mother confessed. Her fingertips tapped on the curled, carved armrest of her chair. “I barely have time to read those, either. Every time a new ship comes into the home space, blaring the latest in bad news, I have a thousand fires to extinguish and a thousand wounds to bandage on the morale of the Empire.”
“Assistant Ambassador Rosa McCrary was, up until the start of their current year, the Premiere of the Terran United Planets Council. She was your equal for I think five years,” Li’eth told her.
“For five years? Did someone depose her? Why isn’t she in exile, or under lock and key?” Hana’ka asked.
“They elected her to serve a five-year term,” he explained. “Their whole government is a . . . a cross between people rising to power based on education level—they all have to pass strenuous tests in understanding science and such—and their willingness to serve as a part of the bureaucracy—but with stiff penalties for bribery and corruption—and having the freely voted confidence of the people backing them. It’s all very confusing, but at the same time sort of like what the Valley of the Artisans has for its government.”
Hana’ka wrinkled her nose. “Bah. Giving people a say in their government doesn’t always work out for the best. Particularly when they are not trained from birth for it.”
“She does come from a bloodline with government officials in it. Her mother is the assistant governor for the region that she herself served as Councilor—their governors execute the laws, seeing that they are carried out, while their Councilors listen to the people and make or change the laws,” Li’eth explained. “And her grandfather was a Councilor of a different region before he perished with many others in an attack by insurgents of some sort.”
“So not everyone in their Empire thinks their government is perfect,” the Empress mused, smirking a little.
“Neither are we,” Li’eth reminded her. “The Imperial bloodline has remained in the hands of the descendants of War King Kah’el for five thousand years, yes, but sometimes it has been jostled to the right or the left by a few ranks of relationship.”
