“Pardon me,” Margaret said. Parveen blocked her path to the door. Whether she intended it or not, Parveen was in Margaret’s way and did not move.
“I was hoping you would have milk tea with me.”
“Parveen,” Margaret said, letting fall the last shred of civil veneer, “You are the last person I want to have tea with.”
The old woman smiled, said, “Margaret, I feel the same way, but what harm is there in one cup of tea?”
“I am not in the mood for your games.”
“And I am not in the mood to play them. Sit or do not. You have not much left to lose.”
Margaret considered the logic and judged it sound. “I don’t like milk. No sugar,” she said, and sat without taking her eyes off the old woman, who hummed as she worked.
“Cardamom?” Parveen asked. Margaret glared at the back of the old woman’s head and said nothing.
When the water steamed, she brought the kettle to the table. With great care, she poured it carefully over a strainer balanced over a teapot. The scent of cardamom and assam tea filled Margaret’s nostrils and she relaxed in spite of herself. They sat for a minute or two in silence while the tea steeped, then Mother Parveen poured two cups.
“This is rather hearty tea,” Parveen said, “But is still sweet when the water is at the right temperature.”
“I recognize the scent,” Margaret said, taking her cup. She blew across the brim to cool it and to get closer to the aroma. She put it down without sipping as Parveen sat taking great care with cream and sugar.
“The thing about this tea —”
“I’m going to stop you right there. Don’t give me the folksy wisdom business. Don’t act like the sweet old woman now, because you’ve been far less than kind to me since I married your son. I believe you still consider me beneath this family, when all I have done was try to honor your values and traditions. I’ve done everything in my power to earn my place in this family.”
“And you have been treated unfairly.” Parveen said.
Margaret could not tell whether this was a question or a statement. She sensed a trap, so she said nothing.
Parveen continued. “We never stop growing up. It comes in stages, but much farther apart as we age. You just witnessed my Son’s latest growth event. I believe I am about to have a growth spurt of my own.” Parveen sipped her tea, and Margaret studied her.
A staring contest lasted until Mother Parveen conceded. “Because of my own jealousy and ego, I have not treated you fairly. It is time for me to accept you fully into this family.”
Behind her hard stare, Margaret softened. She struggled to maintain her stony facade, said, “It’s too late.”
“That is a choice you can make. Take my Son’s offer.”
“If you think I’m going —” Margaret began, but Parveen shook her head violently and brought an index finger to her lips.
Margaret grit her teeth, replied, “I understand that this is ‘sensitive’ which is all the more reason I am inclined to deny that offer.”
“You have some time to decide,” Parveen said, taking on the aspect of a poker player. She called Margaret’s bluff. “I will send for your answer in the garden when the time comes.”
“Thank you for the tea,” Margaret said, rising from the table with cool deliberation. She paused for a moment, took a single sip, then moved at a controlled pace to the moonlit gardens where she strolled slowly along, staring at her feet.
Each garden stone became one more star, and each step another blinkpoint translation. Margaret decided that she would go with Abhay. It was her only way to get back into space where she belonged.
28
The Protector was already halfway through the heliosphere when Sslolg’s crippled warship reached Kelgar 7. He followed the increasingly desperate transmissions begging for assistance with a proportional amount of rage. Those transmissions stopped hours before Sslolg reached the station. Most of the anger he felt was focused internally. This was one more painful reminder of his foolishness. He lost a battle that should have been easily won, and in the process, caused the loss of a valuable military installation. He did not look forward to reporting the events to his superiors.
“Alpha Commander,” Gholss announced in grave tones. “We are within range.”
“Send an advance party to search the station for explosive devices,” Sslolg announced. Soon after the Insectoids left his ship, alert crew discovered several crudely-improvised explosive devices. Had those devices gone off, Sslolg might not have a ship at all.
Making matters worse was the fact that Sslolg’s orders did not carry out as quickly as they should. He noticed distinctly sidelong glances after every order. His failure produced doubt among the crew. Sslolg appeared weak. Somehow, he could not bring himself to make an example out of a random crew member as he should have. This only compounded his weakness.
Sslolg confirmed the execution of his latest order by watching the holo schematic. Dots representing shuttle deployment spread out from the symbol for his warship and headed toward the station. He surveyed the bridge, then ordered, “Clear the bridge! Everyone out until further notice.”
In a state of confusion, the crew filed dutifully from the bridge. Only Gholss did not move. He backed away warily and stood alert and careful to avoid signs of aggression.
“You are within your rights to challenge me, so I thought it best to give you the opportunity now, before the war begins,” Sslolg said.
Gholss flexed and relaxed the newly-grown hand while he stood otherwise motionless. His eyes fixed like a targeting scanner on Sslolg’s chest, counting breaths.
“Well,” Sslolg asked impatiently. “What will it be?”
Gholss said nothing. Instead, with two fingers, he carefully removed his side arm by its grip. With head bowed, he took two, slow steps toward his Alpha and placed the weapon on a nearby console. He turned his head up again and locked eyes with his commander. “I would rather you shoot me, Alpha Commander Sslolg.”
It was Sslolg’s turn to stand motionless. He said, “I do not understand.”
“You wish me to challenge you? Then I will, but not in the traditional way. You taught me the value of changing tradition when necessary. My life is yours, Alpha leader, so kill me if you must, but hear what I must tell you. Hear the truth I discovered because of you!
You met with defeat. I accept this. We are alive to learn from it, but now you are willing to risk your command. For what reason? Do you feel you should be punished? Removed? Do not compound your foolishness with more foolishness. How would a power struggle now serve the Battle Plan? How would a fight between us bring glory?
I am angry with you for this mistake. Until you offered me this challenge, my respect for you was undiminished. If you want that respect back, then learn from this mistake. I beg you to let me stand by your side and fight to overcome this defeat. This is the greater measure of glory.”
Sslolg remained fixed to the spot. He repeated the words of his Second over again in his mind until they took firm root in his memory. Without breaking eye contact, he carefully picked up the side arm and offered it to Gholss handle first. The muzzle pointed directly at his primary heart as Gholss took the weapon and placed it back in its holster.
“It appears we have work to do,” Sslolg said. Before Gholss called back the bridge crew, Sslolg seized him by the shoulders, said, “For your courage, wisdom and friendship, you have my undying gratitude.”
Gholss seized his shoulders in return and the two stood that way for a moment.
“Bridge Crew,” Gholss ordered, “return to stations.”
It took a few moments for the crew to settle back to their stations. Sslolg surveyed them with new eyes.
“General call to all crew,” Sslolg said. The ship computer relayed his voice to every crew member. “The defeat met here today is not the fault of this fine crew. The fault is mine.” Across the ship, all activity ceased. The bridge crew held its breath. An Alpha was never know
n to speak this way. Sslolg continued. “Our survival in the face of my grave error is due entirely to the actions of this crew. Today we forge a new tradition. Today the Alpha pledges his service to you. I will never make a mistake like this again. My command is absolute, but the meat of victory belongs to us all in equal portion. Carry on.”
Motion slowly returned to the bridge crew. Sslolg strode over to his operations officer, who stood upright with downcast eyes.
“You will continue to advise this command. Your diligence is appreciated.”
“Yes, Alpha!” Ops replied. His ringing enthusiasm echoed across the bridge.
Sslolg turned back to his holo pedestal and studied mission progress.
“Captain,” one of the engineers said, “The station is still serviceable, but I estimate reinforcements will not arrive for several months. May I suggest that we salvage as many supplies and spare parts as we can, then destroy the station?”
Gholss cast a quizzical expression at his Alpha. Sslolg took a moment to consider the suggestion.
“Ops,” Sslolg asked, “What is the projected arrival time of reinforcements.”
“Two moon cycles,” Alpha, Ops replied.
“Engineer, this is a sound plan. Make it happen,” Sslolg said. The engineer froze.
“You heard the Alpha, Engineer!” Gholss barked.
When the engineer did not move, Sslolg forced himself calm, then explained, “You suggested this, now it is your responsibility. Gather the necessary ranks under your authority and get to work. Report directly to your First Officer regarding the status of your mission.”
The engineer needed no more prompting. He jumped up from his station and ran from the bridge.
“Changes,” Sslolg said to Gholss as the officer walked over and stood shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the holo pedestal.
***
Margaret decided to give Abhay one more chance. Her decision, in part, was based on practical concerns. On her own, she had no way to leave the planet. Traveling with Abhay, Parveen, the Forest Child ambassador and a small group of guards provided at least, some small opportunity to escape on her own. Three days into her journey yielded an escape plan. Margaret hacked ship systems to give her access to one of the small escape shuttles fixed to the hull.
The vessel that carried them belonged to the Forest Children. This particular ship was an antique, stripped of all transponders and modern identification devices. The Ambassador smuggled it aboard a much larger, habitat-class passenger liner. How the Ambassador managed to pull off such a feat escaped Margaret. She understood that hiding an entire spacecraft inside another, then launching it from said spacecraft, was a feat of deception that would make Drexler and Reggie green with envy. It drove Margaret to distraction that the Ambassador would not explain how he did it.
“I will find out eventually, Ambassador Dhohal,” Margaret said, while leaning back against the human-style bench. She took another spoonful of vegetable soup and fixed the Dhohal with a critical eye. Her perpetual investigation of the smuggled ship became a good-natured game between them.
“My dear, friend,” Dhohal replied in his deep-throated voice, “you are misguided if you believe that an operation which deceived thousands will reveal itself to you. In fact, I find your hubris alarming.”
Margaret almost choked on her soup. She grew up with Forest Children. Her father recruited many for the crew over the years. Margaret always delighted in their nearly universal jovial natures. Being an ambassador, Dhohal was even more endearing than most. Being simian and origin, Humans and Forest Children shared a certain kinship.
“I know I should be insulted, but your skill with words is just … Dazzling.”
It was the Ambassador’s turn to laugh. He set down the sugar cane that he ground between his flat, broad teeth in order to laugh properly.
“And you will not succeed with guile, either.”
“Don’t be too sure of that,” Margaret replied.
Abhay walked through the compartment, pretending to have some business in the stern. “Good evening, Margaret,” he said, in a tentative voice.
Margaret softened, said, “Good evening.” It was more than she said to him in the past thirty hours. Dhohal resumed chewing on his sugar cane and studied both Humans.
When Abhay disappeared, Margaret turned to Dhohal, said, “I can tell you want to say something.”
“Am I that transparent?”
“To me, you are. Should I remind you again that I grew up around your people?”
“No need, friend Margaret. I feel this from you.”
“It always surprises me that creatures so large as you are so sensitive.”
Dhohal chuckled, with a sound that resembled distant thunder, “And I have always wondered why Humans equate outward appearance with inner nature.”
“Evolution, probably,” Margaret replied.
“Yes, the old human… what is that Human expression … ‘scapegoat.’ The universe built you this way.”
“We Humans have another expression to describe what you’re doing now. It’s called ‘passive aggression.’ I know you want to say something, so go right on ahead.”
Dhohal considered his position, said, “Very well then. It is obvious to me that your mating bond is still strong, yet you continue to perpetuate rivalry. This is senseless.”
“What makes you think I still want to be mated to that bastard?” Margaret barked.
“Humans have a talent for identifying and using many forms of aggression. Your violent speech does not hide the truth from me. You still love him. The sooner you forgive; the sooner you will heal.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Margaret said, arms akimbo.
“Oh, I am very sure. Would you like to know why?”
“Thrill me,” Margaret, with her face draped in smugness.
“Because you have had several opportunities enact your escape plan. The fact that you worked so hard to compromise my computer system, yet have not escaped, tells me that you want to be here.”
Margaret turned from smug to outraged as the realization washed over her. Dhohal knew her plan all along. “You asshole!” Margaret said in a low growl. She regretted it instantly, as her words obviously wounded Dhohal. She was too angry to back down, so she stomped away.
Abhay poked his head back in the cabin when he was sure Margaret was not coming back. “Now you know what I’m dealing with,” he said.
“From your behavior, I also understand what she is dealing with. Eavesdropping is considered rude by your kind and mine alike,” Dhohal said with a haughty air.
“Hey, don’t take it out on me because she stung you.”
Dhohal learned to sigh from Humans, and he did so. “You are my old friend; she is my new friend. I am caught between you now. Sit.”
Abhay sat, said, “Sorry, Dhohal. Humans are difficult.”
“Yes,” Dhohal said, “In a strange way, this is why I love your family, including your wife.”
“When we arrive at Medina 3,” Abhay said, “I am afraid she will leave me. The Saudis will give her asylum if she asks.”
“This is quite possible,” Dhohal said, crushing the sugarcane with his powerful jaws. “You have a few weeks to convince her otherwise.” He ground the cane with, slow, circular motion.
***
“Reggie, I need your route calculation yesterday,” Drexler said. He tapped his fingers impatiently on his desk and watched the stars streaking by through the narrow rectangular bulkhead of his cabin. The desk he sat behind belonged to his father. He remembered hiding under it when he was a child. Even now, the desk felt like a safe place.
“My compute stack is very large right now, Drexler,” Reggie responded.
“That won’t change whether you are all whiny or not. We passed termination shock hours ago. We are in free space, so we need to blink. I need to get us to New Detroit, and pronto.”
“I really don’t understand what you hope to accomplish there.”
“For
one, to get rid of the crew that doesn’t want to be here. Secondly, Harvard owes me favors. Lots of favors.”
“And I really don’t understand why you think Harvard will do anything for you, even if he does owe you favors.”
“Trust me, we go way back. He has to help us.”
Reggie did not reply. Instead, a comm alert icon appeared on the display scroll unfurled on Drexler’s desk. “This is not tagged. Who is this from?” Drexler asked.
“Open the channel and find out,” Reggie said.
Drexler grit his teeth, opened the channel, said, “This is Captain Drexler Fleetfoot. Who is calling?” He held his breath for a moment, hoping the authorities had not found him. It would be just like Reggie to slip in a threatening call when least expected.
A synthesized voice came over his comm implant. “This is Fourseven, of The Protector. We are Insectoids, and we are searching for you.”
“Well, you found me. What do you want?”
A pause stretched out through space. “We just left the Kelgar 7 station, where we came under attack. You are in danger. We will rendezvous with you.”
Drexler muted the channel. To Reggie he said, “Can you detect that ship?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me all you know about it.”
“Hold,” Reggie said. It took him a full minute to gather information. He said, “Protector is a Guardian Class warship belonging to the Queen Protector’s Hive. It saw heavy action in the last days of the Silicoid Wars. Its weapons and defensive fields are at full strength, though it has taken some damage.”
“What the hell is a ‘Queen Protector’?”
“One of the military classes of Insectoids. The Queen Protector is tasked with managing threats to the Insectoid homeworld as a whole. It has a place in the top tiers of Insectoid governing hierarchy.”
“What does this mean?”
“It means you ignore her request at your peril.”
“Shit,” Drexler said, “Thanks,” and he un-muted the channel, said, “Very well, Protector, we will reduce speed. Intercept at will.” With the channel closed, Drexler said, “Reggie, give preference to flight calculations, I don’t care which stations complain.”
Fleetfoot Interstellar: Fleetfoot Interstellar Series, Book 1 Page 24
