First Salik War 2: The V'Dan

by Jean Johnson

  “The sprays of blue flowers draped around it are actual drawings of jacaranda flowers, which is where my first, or given, name comes from. The black pointy triangles surrounding those things are not triangles. They are the teeth of a shark, which is a fierce predator in the waters around the Hawai’ian Islands, the land of my mother’s mother’s people. In the custom of my mother’s people, a shark is seen as a powerful creature, and its teeth in a plain black tattoo means ‘protection.’

  “There are three rings of shark’s teeth around the Radiant Eye and the jacaranda flowers because three times now I have faced off and sent fleeing the greatest enemy of my people, protecting our home system from their attacks. The center of my protective strength lies in my mental abilities, as represented by the Radiant Eye, yet I am also free to be as delicate and beautiful as a subtropical flower.

  “These tattoos are filled with rich cultural and personal meaning. They are not meant to be color slathered on my skin in order to help others discern my physical age. I already have adult secondary sexual characteristics for that.” At his blank look, she clarified bluntly, “I have breasts for that. I don’t need a tattoo to show my age.”

  He blushed and looked away.

  Darian stripped off his outer shirt, rolled up the short sleeve of his tee shirt, and twisted in his seat, displaying his own bicep. “My skin is a bit dark to see it easily, but if you look carefully, you can see that I, too, have a tattoo of the Radiant Eye.”

  “Why don’t you introduce yourself?” Clees urged him.

  “Right. I am Lieutenant First Class Darian Johnston—the equivalent of a Leftenant Superior—and I am a telepath, Rank 9, a xenopath of Rank 8, and I have a mix of talents that allow me to sense the history of an object and write down what its users were thinking about, if they ever thought about anything strongly. I can do this even in languages I myself do not know, and give a sense of what the symbols mean, if not an exact translation. I enjoy working with the military and plan to keep with it for as long as I am physically fit and mentally able. I guess you could call it my hobby as well as my career, because I love what I do.”

  A nod from Clees, and Min introduced herself next. “I am Lieutenant Junior Grade Min Wang-Kurakawa. My rank is a fancy version of ‘ensign fresh out of the Academy,’ since before we left Earth, I had not yet served six months and am thus not eligible for any promotions just yet—Terran regulations state that you have to serve six months in a particular type of duty post before advancements can be considered, and this post is very different from the last one.

  “I am also a Rank 9 telepath, though I cannot communicate with aliens. I can, however, communicate with and understand machines,” she added, flicking her almond-brown eyes over to her dark-skinned colleague. “Darian and I have been attempting to arrange for access to any chunks of Salik machinery that might contain important information. At the very least, I can link minds with him, and he can then draw diagrams of what I myself can sense, but not articulate or explain. I am hoping to learn the language of the Salik with the help of one of my xenopathic colleagues, either Darian, Aixa, or Jackie, so that I can more directly translate what I’ll be sensing. But that requires capturing and interrogating one,” she finished.

  “And a hobby or an interest?” Clees prompted her.

  Min blushed a little. “Right. I like dogs. They’re descendants of four-legged, domesticated, pack-minded predators known as wolves. They’re very kind and sweet and can be quite clever when well trained. If I were a xenopath, I’d have gone into the military’s animal-handling corps, what we call K-9. The letter-and-number combination is a homophone—sounds similar to—the word canine, which is a fancy scientific name for the dog family.”

  “We have dogs on V’Dan,” Te-los reassured her, smiling. “I prefer the company of hunting gats, myself, but we do have dogs here at the Winter Palace.”

  “I, ah, I suppose that makes sense, if you only left ten thousand years ago, and our joint ancestors domesticated wolves into dogs around twenty to twenty-five thousand years ago,” Min allowed, blushing a little more. She cleared her throat and regained her composure, once more an officer and not an awkward young lady. “I hope I’ll have the chance to see some of your dogs, Highness.”

  “Next?” Clees prompted.

  “Ja, ja,” Aixa dismissed. “I am Aixa Winkler, and I do not eat meat from animals smarter than a dumb fish because I am a powerful xenopath, Rank 11, as well as a xenoempath, Rank 7—which means I sense the emotions as well as the thoughts of many land animals and even some birds—and I have a degree in biology. I also have the ability to sense changes in the weather. We have been here only for a few days, but I can tell that we will most likely have heavy snowfall by tonight. So you had better travel carefully if you are going anywhere tonight.

  “Unfortunately, I am only a metrosentient, meaning I can sense and determine the weather. I am not a metrokinetic, which is someone who can actually do something about the weather. Which is a pity because I am getting old enough that my joints will soon be aching with every little change in temperature, air pressure, and humidity,” she added dryly. “As for hobbies, I both knit and crochet, which is where you take some yarn and either a pair of stiff long rods or a hooked tool, and you use them to hook together loops . . . yes, you have hands raised?” she observed as over half a dozen did just that. “So you know what crocheting is? Good. We shall have to exchange patterns at some point—yes, Darian?”

  He lowered the hand he had raised. “I crochet sometimes, too. Mostly little hats for prenatal infants. One of the sergeants on the first ship I served on showed us all how to do it, and taught us how to do it for a good cause.”

  “That’s good to know,” Clees praised him. He turned to a priestess who had hesitantly taken a seat on two cushions she had stacked together on the floor. “And you? Tell us about yourself.”

  “I am Junior Priestess Mel-thanth of the Spring Temple . . . and I am affected by the emotions of others,” she said. “Which is why I chose to sit on the floor, away from the others. It . . . isn’t personal.”

  “We will be able to help you with that,” Clees reassured her gently.

  That seemed to cheer up the somewhat shy young woman. “I, ah, also can sometimes see glimpses of the future in my dreams. I keep a journal by my bed, and write in it every morning. My teachers in the Spring Temple tell me that all the best of the foreseer Saints did that, in case they dreamed of something that would someday come true.”

  “We can help with that as well,” Aixa told her. “Writing down one’s visions and dreams in a journal is indeed the first step. Eventually, we will be able to show you how to dream lucidly, remember everything, and even guide your dreams a little . . . though it is a delicate balance between remembering vividly as you navigate a precognitive dream, and guiding yourself right out of the dream and into waking up enough that your own thoughts and preferences don’t start interfering with those delicate, foreordained visions . . . but we can teach you.”

  “Precognition, or visions of the future, foreseeing events before they happen, is the single most difficult psychic ability to master,” Clees agreed. “That is not because it is difficult to remember the visions with enough clarity to write down the details accurately . . . though that is a part of it. No, the hardest part of precognition is that the future is mutable. It shifts with each of the actions we undertake. Some things can be changed, other things will happen anyway. It is not always clear to see what is happening right now and determine if it will help or harm something that might or might not happen tomorrow.”

  “Do you have any interests or hobbies, Mel-thanth?” Jackie asked, curious.

  “I collect sand from places I’ve never been. I suppose that seems strange to you, but I have my friends and family collect sand from the beaches and lakes and rivers they visit,” the young woman amended. “I have little jars of sand from five different wo
rlds, a jar from each of our three moons—I’m Sh’nai, not a Trinitist, but I still wanted some from the moons—and from several places around V’Dan, including from the Necropolis of Dawn. I’m hoping . . . that is . . .”

  Jackie smiled. “I’ll see if we can have some sand shipped from Earth—the Motherworld of our species—and perhaps some from Mars, and from our own moon. I cannot guarantee any, but I will put in a request for it. And I don’t think that’s strange at all. You must be very busy with your holy work here in the capital if you cannot travel yourself, so it makes sense that you ask your friends and family to gather it for you.”

  She nodded shyly.

  “Next?” Clees prompted, before the young priestess could gush over the generous offer. Checking herself, Mel-thanth politely turned to the next V’Dan psi to be introduced, as did everyone else.

  MAY 24, 2287 C.E.

  JANVA 17, 9508 V.D.S.

  The felinoid on the other end of the screen, Count Daachen, flicked his whiskers forward, a positive sign from what Jackie had been told, but his silver-and-gray-mottled ears still flicked forward and back in uncertainty. “This call is coming frrrom the V’Dan homeworrrld?”

  “Yes, Your Excellency,” Jackie confirmed. This communication link suffered from a five-second lag, meaning a ten-second turnaround.

  Once again, she was in the main communications room of the government wing, the chamber that had the most important messages processed from around the planet, from the local moons, and eventually from each colony and station within the system if it wasn’t delivered by insystem mail couriers. The technicians were eager to integrate Terran hyperrelay communications into their systems as swiftly as possible, but they were also capable of discretion, which meant keeping to their own work, aside from an occasional glance toward the Terran in their midst. The Terran and the Solarican, technically.

  The Solarican at her side, War Lord Krrrnang, flicked his own cream-and-ginger ears. “Rrrzach mauwfren yaah krrihl vzhnoken trraah.”

  The count—or at least the V’Dan equivalent; it was some sort of system-lord who oversaw the colony Embassy 8 had reached a little while ago—flicked his shades-of-gray ears sharply forward at whatever the War Lord had said, golden eyes widening. “Sharrrull?”

  Krrrnang nodded solemnly.

  Count Daachen flicked his ears back and switched back to V’Dan. “It is good to knnow these things. Where shall we put this . . . device?”

  “The V’Dan military suggests a stationary location, rather than a circling orbit. Things in orbit tend to get noticed and shot down by the Salik,” Li’eth stated. “Particularly when they move.”

  “It must, however, be an airless location. The communication device requires vacuum to function properly,” Jackie clarified. “My people will place it if you can give us V’Dan-Standard coordinates for your system.”

  “You have put juvenniles in charrrge of this new technology, Imperrrial Prrrinnce?” Daachen asked politely.

  Almost politely. Jackie bared her teeth. She knew that was an impolite thing to do in Solarican terms, but his comment was equally impolite. “We are a different group from the V’Dan, Excellency. Separate, with our own culture and our own government as well as our own technology. This technology is ours. It does not belong to the V’Dan. Nor will it belong to you. The device must not be tampered with to learn its secrets, or it will explode.”

  “You should nnnot put the conntrol of explosives inn the hands of chilldrren, Highness,” the count stated, ears flicking back and staying back.

  “You insult our allies, Count Daachen,” Li’eth replied coldly. “I told you they are not V’Dan. You insult them as if they were. You will apologize to the Grand High Ambassador.”

  One ear twitched, but the count didn’t speak immediately. Jackie narrowed her eyes. “The fact that we are even having this conversation is proof of the value of an alliance with my non-V’Dan nation. It is its own proof that you should treat us as what we are: adults who should be respected for our willingness to share our non-V’Dan technology. But if you dislike the idea of nearly instantaneous conversation with other star systems, and all the military advantages it brings, my people will be happy to remove our communications array from your system and leave you to your fate.”

  “I do nnnnot deal with chillldren. I willl speak with the one who has authorrrity overr you.”

  “Krraach vann garrach llarr!” the War Lord ordered. Immediately, the two Solaricans got into a shouting, hissing, snarling match that actually made them sound like cats.

  Seeing the male at her side bristling—literally, his fur was starting to stand out on his snarling face and his tensing arms—Jackie reached over and touched him. “Enough. Calm yourself, War Lord. Calm yourself, Count. There is an easy way to handle this matter.”

  Considering that what the alien had said was exactly what he had said to Captain Li on board the Embassy 8, Jackie checked the console of the workstation and pressed the button that opened the audio link to the ship.

  “Captain Li, you are instructed to rebroadcast the conversation we have just had with Count Daachen on all local communication wavelengths, all the way through these orders to you. You will then remove the communications probe from System Nephrit 113 and continue to the next inhabited system, where you will offer that probe to them instead. You will also explain to them that, due to the insults given by Count Daachen of the Solarican nation to our sovereign Terran nation, the Nephrit System has been denied access to our communications technology for the foreseeable future.”

  “You cannnnot do that!” Daachen asserted. As he started ranting again, Li’eth reached over and turned down the volume on his channel.

  “To the people of the Nephrit System, as the Grand High Ambassador of the Terran nation, I can only state that this is the consequence of your local leader’s decision to repeatedly insult a potential ally, and his refusal to apologize when directed to do so by a high-ranking officer of the Solarican nation. Please understand that this was not the wish or the intention of the Terran nation. We came in peace to offer you an immense advantage over the Salik, our mutual enemies. We expected to receive a reasonable amount of respect for our generosity. We will not, however, tolerate disrespect.

  “You may bring your concerns to the Terran embassy, which is located at the Winter Palace on V’Dan, but please understand that the V’Dan government has no authority over the Terran government. The Solarican government has no authority over the Terran government or our technology, either. You will respect us as a separate nation, you will respect us as adults, and you will need to find a legal way to either get Count Daachen to show us a great deal of respect on top of several apologies for his repeated insults, or you will need to find a legal way to remove Count Daachen from power and place someone into his position who has far more intelligence, forethought, and compassion for your people. I hope, in the meantime, that the Salik do not choose to target your system. As the V’Dan say, I will not hold my breath.

  “I am Jacaranda MacKenzie, Grand High Ambassador of the Terran nation, and I accept the consequences to the Terran nation of my decisions in this matter. I expect nothing less for Count Daachen on the consequences of his decisions to the Solarican nation. These are your orders, Captain Li. Please carry them out,” she finished.

  “Acknowledged, Ambassador. Embassy 8 out.”

  Reaching for the controls again, Jackie ended the communications link with the main colony settlement in the Nephrit System.

  “You have teeth annd clllaws, Grand High Ambassador,” Krrrnang stated quietly. Jackie quickly checked his face; his ears were back, but his whiskers forward. There were several things about the Solaricans that were uncatlike—their limbs, their faces, their ability to speak—but ear, whisker, and tail postures were oddly not among them. Then again, they did quirk their brows like a Human, narrow their eyes when angry . . . purse their lips when th
ey smiled, as not everything was alike.

  “They’re called fingernails, and they’re not so magnificent as your own . . . but yes, I can wield them hard enough to scratch and draw blood,” she said. “When provoked.”

  “You may ennnd up scrrratching yourrself,” he warned her.

  “I am employing something called the prisoner’s dilemma. One variation of it goes like this: If one person offers a bargain and the other cooperates in honesty, both profit by it. If one person offers a bargain and lies to the other, then the liar gains, and the target suffers a loss. If that one person offers an honest bargain and the other lies, then the offerer loses, and the liar gains. If both lie, both lose. In some versions, both know the rules, but neither can communicate with each other. In other variations, they know the rules and can communicate both before and after any exchange.”

  “It is a commonnn thrread in most Alllliance species that cooperrationn brrrings greaterr rewarrds,” Krrrnang agreed.

  “True. But life involves more than just two players, and the way to get ahead in the game lies in playing multiple rounds with multiple people,” Jackie told him. “The rule to succeed in most instances is to always open negotiations honestly and fairly. If they cooperate with you with equal honor, then you both profit by it. If they are dishonest or cheat, you punish them on the second round. If they correct their behavior and turn honest in their dealings, you immediately are honest and honorable with them as their reward. If they continue to lie and cheat, you cut them off and move on to the next person.