It felt good to be moving at last. Second would miss the sound of a warship in transit when it came time to claim a new world. He associated it with potentials, excitement, competence... everything the Navy symbolized for him and the males he was leading out of the Empire. Inciting them to rebel against the Emperor would have been difficult. Inviting them to break away from the Empire to found a new one?
Such daring had not been seen in far too long. Not since the original consolidation on the homeworld had there been such audacity. Conquering aliens did not provoke the same awe and eagerness as founding a new nation. It had become too easy, killing the freaks. And killing other Chatcaava palled after one did it enough. Why scrabble for scraps with one's nestbrothers when one could tear one's birthright from the universe itself? What more exhilarating fight than one for survival against Nature?
All they needed to do was to escape the retribution of whatever Emperor seized the throne in Second's absence. Distance might not be enough. That was why they had to bring the aliens into the war. The reports Second had received before departing Apex-East had made it clear that the aliens were either too timid to attack first, or unaware of the Chatcaava's plans, or worse than either, biding their time to see who survived the civil war before making their move. None of that served Second's aims. He needed chaos, something that would last for long enough for him to become established wherever he and his fleet landed.
The aliens should be grateful, he thought. The attack would galvanize them into action. It might even save them, if they were canny enough to make the right alliances. It would certainly inform them that there would be no sitting out this duel... and if they didn't realize that, then learning it at the price Second was prepared to charge them was, by any standards, a bargain.
It was a pity he would not be present to receive their gratitude. But for the best, as he would not be there to accept their rage, either.
As Staff-Prime predicted, his command officers arrived several hours later with plans for three separate high priority alien targets. They repaired to a larger room for the presentations and discussion; Second allowed them to make their arguments, to him and to each other, and asked questions to spur the conversation. He enjoyed this stage of military action, which felt like a license to imagine what he would do if he could do whatever he pleased, and succeed. This session, against unprepared and complacent aliens, felt even more indulgent. There was no bad choice. Only many good choices.
With that in mind, Second selected one of them and told them to keep the others fresh in case they needed or wanted alternatives. Afterwards, a rating brought a beast from one of the ship tenders accompanying them, and they killed together and shared the resulting feast. Talk then was casual, but Second liked the energy and camaraderie in even the most banal of their conversations. His commanders were good males, trusted one another. They would make excellent members of the new government, or the new military, whichever they decided pleased them best.
Over postprandial drinks, one of his commanders said, "We will probably lose some number to the fight. They'll want to stay and collect plunder from the wreckage."
"Let them," Second said. "If they survive, they'll rejoin us, knowing plunder would be confiscated in the Empire. If they die, more bodies for the aliens to find."
"And use to blame the Empire for their troubles," said another commander, to the hissing chuckles of his peers.
"I do not anticipate much disobedience," the third commander said. "We know we are moving on to more interesting hunts."
"Every male a lord," said the first, raising his cup to Second.
"And as much territory as we can hold," Second agreed.
They left him to begin implementing the plan. The fleet had flirted with the border for days now. Crossing it would be the work of a day, perhaps two, if the aliens redeployed. Second doubted they would. The pirate diversion arranged by the Lord of the Twelveworld had been effective: most of the alien ships had concentrated further coreward. They had not left their tender underbelly completely uncovered, but they knew the size of the Chatcaavan navy, and thought they knew the Chatcaavan style of fighting. They expected the Navy to crush them with numbers, because they could. Why come in stealth, when it was so patently unnecessary?
Second cleaned his talons before leaving the table.
His quarters, in keeping with his status, were larger than anyone else's in the fleet. That did not make them large enough for the three females he'd assigned himself as the core of his new harem. At least, not for his taste, given how little he liked their fluttering. But he'd known he would have to grant dispensation for his commanders to keep some number of females on their ships, rather than leaving them on the transport with the others, and it would have created talk had he not also claimed his share. He had chosen his three for their obedience and passivity, gotten two of them with child to prove his virility, and then left them in his quarters with the instruction to stay out of his way.
Just one last thing to do, and then they could coast off this wind and grasp their futures.
He thought he would have trouble sleeping, knowing how close they were to the turning point, but he was wrong. He didn't even object when he woke up and found two of his females crammed onto his bed with him. They were warm at least. From the cocoon between them, he called, "Open channel to bridge."
"Channel open."
"Apex-Fleet. Status."
"We are an hour from go, Apex-Fleet. Will you join us?"
How to respond? To leap from his bed and arrive on the bridge to oversee what was essentially a side mission would grant too much importance to the operation. "I think you can handle it without my oversight."
He could hear the grin in the male's voice. "Understood, Apex-Fleet."
"Close the channel," Second said. One of the females lifted her head; he put a hand on her nose and pushed it down. "Go back to sleep."
She murmured her acquiescence and drowsed off. He considered rising and having a drink, watching the feed from the privacy of his quarters. Decided he was as uninterested in the mission as he'd pretended to be and woke the second female, who had yet to catch his get.
The best thing about her job, in Sehvi's opinion, was the commute. Visiting cities was fine; she liked the bustle, the chance to observe the Alliance's multiple species interacting, the ability to get a truly superior cup of kerinne at one of the coffee shops nestled in the research park's outermost building. She liked shopping in stores where she could touch things, and see lots of them in the same place: the colors pleased her, and the textures, and the sense of plenty. She liked her planetary hosts, even though the Tam-illee couldn't resist poking their noses into the family lives of everyone they befriended. Sehvi could appreciate a family-oriented culture.
But if she'd had to live in the city, she would have gone crazy. Her cozy, rural house gave her a sense of peace and connectedness to the universe that she wouldn't have traded for anything. And since her job benefits had included a personal Pad, she didn't have to live near a Pad hub station to go to work in the morning. She could step over the Pad into the capital and trot to work, and then go back at night, with no time lost, and no compromises over how far she'd wanted to get from other people. She was home in less than minutes, unless like today she'd decided to wander through the nearby city market, just for the pleasure of seeing all the booths and tents.
Kovihs had thought her a little odd when he'd first met her, but the country life had won him over, particularly once the boys arrived. They had space to play in, and all the wonders of the natural world to fascinate them. They were growing into strong youths with bright eyes that could judge a distance... that was more than Sehvi could say for most of her peers, who for some reason preferred to live more circumscribed lives.
To each their own, she guessed. She was grateful she didn't have to join them.
As she stood in line for the public Pad, she thought about how excited she was about her possible future. From Vasiht'h's descrip
tions, the Eldritch world would be even more rural than her manufactured existence here on Tam-ley. More like a pioneer endeavor. If he was right, and his partner would want to return home and take all of them along, she would not only have all the wilderness her heart could take, but she and her family would be able to partake in the building of a civilization. What an adventure that would be! A proper adventure, not just for her but her brother and their entire family. She'd always felt there was something waiting for her down the road... some reason she felt so strongly about the skills she'd learned. What Glaseah really grew up interested in reproduction, after all? But midwifery was an important skill in marginal communities, and Sehvi had never heard of a more marginal community than the Eldritch.
Two people in front of her now. A harried father, carrying a toddler and tugging an older child by the hand. He was rich, by Tam-illee standards-all the people around them were smiling, indulgent.
Hopefully Sehvi and Vasiht'h would be able to move their joint household to the Eldritch homeworld soon. They had only to wait until Vasiht'h's partner got home from... whatever it was he felt he had to do. Or maybe they could leave before? Hadn't Vasiht'h said he'd met the Eldritch Queen? And Jahir's mother, and his cousin? Surely he knew enough Eldritch to vouch for him if he wanted to arrive before Jahir. The more Sehvi considered it, the more she liked it. She hadn't had a chance to call her brother for a while... she'd have to do that when she got home, see what he said.
One person now. A Karaka'An felid, looking for her tag and reading off her destination. A tourist, maybe: she was heading for one of the museums.
She'd have to call Vasiht'h tonight, see what he thought of the idea. If he liked it, she could talk it over with Kovihs. See how fast they could wrap up the loose ends here. Some of their research projects could be finished remotely. Possibly most of them? She'd consult him, see what his schedule was like. The boys, of course, would be thrilled. They loved their uncle, and while they liked their home they were always asking her what it was like other places.
"Destination?" the Pad station asked her.
Sehvi waved her hand through the reader. "Home please."
"Tunnel open. Please step through."
Sehvi never knew what made her look at the sky. She also never knew what made her stop looking and dive through the tunnel.
All she knew is that it saved her life, as did her insistence on moving to the country, so far from work that she needed a Pad to make the commute feasible.
The tunnel closed. Abruptly. She fell out of it into her foyer and discovered half her tail missing before the pain hit her, and then the pain didn't matter because the sky tore in half. She heard her boys howling and ran for them. "Don't look!" she yelled. "Don't look at it, don't!" Two of them thumped into her, grabbing her. The last followed. They buried their heads against her torso and she hugged them tightly, shielding their eyes. She didn't think to protect their ears, or their limbs, which is how her youngest broke a leg when the floor bucked them off like an animal in pain. She heard the crashing of her plates from the kitchen, thought she would have to make another shopping trip. Touch the ceramics with her fingers. Feel the glaze. Make new choices.
The world convulsed a second time and Sehvi curled herself around her children, and screamed.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Queen dreamed of children, and monsters, and sometimes the monsters became children, and sometimes the children grew beneath her skin and came out monsters. Did it distress her? It should have, but she felt nothing beyond the writhing of her body in fever. She no less than these twisted creatures was unnatural; that they were kin proceeded as naturally as bones growing and blood flowing. It was coded into the universe: you are sacred, and profane, accept, accept, accept.
She had longed for answers, and crossed this shore in search of them, and felt them all around her and yet she could not touch them. It was not yet time, or perhaps it was always time, and she had not yet burned away the nonessentials, stripped herself clean enough, soiled enough, to open her soul to them.
She burned, twisted, found no home. Where can I rest?
Nowhere yet
Nowhere yet
She accepted, and fell backwards into the liminal space between the holy and the unspeakable.
It felt like years before Sediryl stepped into the quarters assigned to her. It had only been four hours, which is how long it had taken for the pirate ships to line up and begin moving toward the system limit. She hadn't been willing to relax her vigil until the first of them had passed into the Well; it wasn't until half of them had gone that she realized there was no reason they should end up where they'd been ordered to go. Kamaney had promised riches and a nation-presumably Crispin had reinforced that promise while issuing their new orders. But would they believe, knowing they were now attacking the Chatcaava, widely held to be far more dangerous than any Pelted fleet?
She could no longer keep going without sleep, however, so she gave up her vigil in the state room. She wasn't glad to find herself confronting Qora and Vasiht'h and the Queen's mute body.
"I need to shower," she said, to forestall any conversation, and thankfully they let her pass.
Showering was so normal it almost restored her equilibrium. Her hair was still leaking pink water, but she pretended it was dye and scrubbed herself until her skin and scalp ached. Then she leaned against the wall while the water drizzled on her and thought about crying.
She didn't, though. She was too tired.
Wrapping herself in a towel, she left the bathroom and announced, "We're on our way."
"That's good?" Vasiht'h said.
"I'll call it good when we're actually shooting Chatcaava and winning," Sediryl said. "Because it'll mean whatever deserters have abandoned me haven't made it impossible for us to complete our mission." She ran a hand through her wet hair. "And that I'm not dead because of a mutiny. That too."
"One step at a time," Vasiht'h said.
"How is she?" Sediryl glanced at the Queen.
"About the same."
Sediryl nodded. "I'm going to lie down. I get the feeling I'm going to need to threaten a lot of people to keep this outfit together, and I'm not going to convince anyone I mean it if I'm falling asleep on my desk."
"Do you think it'll work?" Vasiht'h asked.
"As long as Crispin is willing to shoot some people for me to make my threats stick." When Vasiht'h glanced up at the ceiling, she said, weary, "It's no use pretending he's not listening. But I'm not going to coddle him either. He's not stupid. He knows I don't trust him. Acting like I do would be a lie, and not a very believable one."
Vasiht'h sighed. "If you're sure."
"As much as I can be." She missed Maia, but saying so would have been a bad idea. That was her life lately: one bad idea after another, and Goddess knew if she would come out of it alive. Sediryl stood. "Tell me if her condition changes."
"Of course, arii."
She nodded and strode into the bedroom, wanting only to change into something clean and put her head down.
Except when she turned, she wasn't alone.
"Can I help you?" she asked, trying not to sound as irritated as she was.
"Actually I am here to help you," Qora answered, unperturbed. His tone remained even, and on his face was one of those small smiles that seemed to find absurdity in every corner of the universe.
"I don't need a priest," Sediryl said.
"Certainly not a Faulfenzair one," Qora agreed. "I am not here to serve as a religious guide."
Then what do you want? she almost asked, and quelled herself in time. "So you are here... for what?"
"To teach you to dance."
Sediryl pressed her hand to her brow and dragged it slowly down her face, praying for patience. Maybe that was the Faulfenzair's goal... to induce her to make more frequent pleas for divine help by being as provoking as possible. "I already know how to dance."
"Not as my people do," Qora said, all politeness. "As meditation, and pr
ayer." When she eyed him mutinously, he said, "I perceive you are in need of a calmer mind, alet. Allow me to teach you some strategies for achieving this."
"I already have coping mechanisms, thank you."
"And they appear to be working so well."
Sarcasm from an alien, no matter how humorously couched, was too much for her. She snapped, "They're keeping me on my feet, aren't they?" And then she flinched. "I'm sorry. I didn't..." She stopped and ground her teeth.
"Your coping mechanisms," Qora said, "have been sufficient for your life thus far. This situation is far beyond anything they have ever been called on to handle, however. Learning an alien language may be a useful distraction."
"An alien language?" she asked, curious despite herself. "I thought you wanted to teach me to dance."
"Faulfenzair dance is a form of speech." Qora stretched himself into a pose that elongated his compact body, his arms at different heights and twisted in a way that made her think of flames. "This is ‘fire,' for instance."
Fascinated, Sediryl said, "What is ‘help'?"
He fell-it looked like he was dropping-but he caught himself before he hit the floor in an open crouch, arms spread and turned up, face twisted to one side.
"Oh," she said, because she had no idea what to say.
"A sentence," he said. He straightened into a new pose. "The God's name." Dropped into the crouch again. "Help." Open arms now, an arched back. "The People. Do you perceive each word?"
"Yes?"
"Now, watch." He repeated the three poses, and each time, moved faster, until it became art, a body beseeching. God help your people. God help your people.
"Now," Qora said. "You make the first word."
She went on her toes and reached upward, but instead of God, she thought of fire. Fire that killed and cleansed. Fire that had defended her from pirates; fire that had brought screams pouring from their tortured throats.
From Ruins Page 7
