City of Ruins - [Diving Universe 02]

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  “My captain would like you and Fahd only,” the lieutenant says. At least I think she said Al-Nasir’s first name. She mangled it terribly.

  “That’s not our custom,” I say. “I go with my team.”

  She looks at Al-Nasir. I can’t tell if she wants him to convince me otherwise or if she doesn’t understand me.

  “Boss wants all of us to go with her,” he says to the lieutenant.

  “I understood that,” she says without frustration, even though I can see it in her eyes. “I do not know the word ‘custom.’”

  “Now you see what we’ve been doing?” Al-Nasir says to me. “It seems fine, and then we hit a word that we can’t translate.”

  “I have no idea how we’ll have a meeting, then,” I say.

  She looks at me. She understood that.

  “I am a—” And then she says another word I do not know. “I learn— Again, a mystery word. “—and I am good at it. But I cannot learn—” A third unknown word. “It is too much to learn in a short period of time. So, we have a—” I’m getting really frustrated with this. I’m suddenly quite happy that Al-Nasir has taken point on it. “—and it can figure out—” I glance at Al-Nasir. He’s staring at her as if he’s getting some of this. “—faster than I can.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, letting my frustration show. “I didn’t understand that at all.”

  “I think she said they have a computer program that will help us communicate,” Al-Nasir says.

  She looks at him, then at me.

  “Maybe we should wait until we understand each other better,” I say. Much as I want to get inside that ship, I don’t want to do it on their terms. I want my team to come with me. I want us to be safe.

  She sighs and looks at her hands. Then she glances at the ship, then she looks at me and leans forward just a bit.

  “We have waiting too long,” she says, and the grammatical mistake makes me relax a little. She’s not scary brilliant, just good with languages, like Al-Nasir. Unlike me.

  “We need to know things,” she says, “and we cannot get that—” Another word, but this time I can guess. “Information,” “knowledge,” whatever those things are that she needed to know. “—from our—” And as she says that last word she looks at the consoles.

  “You need information?” I ask, looking back and forth between her and Al-Nasir, to make sure we both understand correctly. “From us?”

  She nods.

  “And you need it now,” I say.

  She nods again.

  “Why not two weeks ago?” I ask.

  “We cannot understand enough then,” she says. “This is the first time we can talk clearly. With you and my captain. And the help of the—”

  This time I recognize the word she used. She used it before.

  “That computer program or computer or whatever,” Al-Nasir says.

  “You’re sure of the translation?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “I’m not sure of anything, Boss.”

  “Can you bring the—” I try to say the word she used, mangle it, wave my hand, and then look at Al-Nasir. He says it, and I continue. “Can you bring it out here?”

  “No,” she says. “A small—” And she mimes handheld while she says another word. “—is not good enough yet.”

  She’s convincing me. Or maybe I’m easy to convince. I really want to go in there.

  “Why only two of us?” I ask.

  Al-Nasir starts to rephrase the question, but she waves him off.

  “We are a—” Another of those unknown words.

  Al-Nasir fills in. “Military, I think.”

  “—ship,” she says. “We do not let most people inside her. Only leaders.”

  A military vessel that only allows people inside who are military or heads of state. My stomach twists. Apparently I was wrong about the origin of the ship after all.

  “I thought you were a Dignity Vessel,” I say.

  She starts and repeats, “Dignity Vessel?”

  “Part of the Fleet?”

  She relaxes a bit. “We are part of the Fleet.”

  “And the Fleet is military?” I ask.

  Al-Nasir says the word she used, but I don’t wait for her answer.

  “What government do you represent?” I am suddenly worried. Are they a part of the Empire now? Has the Empire acquired enough Dignity Vessels that they are actually using them?

  “Government?” she asks slowly. She bites her lip. She’s not sure she understands me. “We are govern us. We belong to no other country. We are the country.”

  “The Fleet governs itself?” I ask.

  She nods.

  “The military serves only the Fleet?” I ask.

  She nods again.

  “Who runs the Fleet?” I ask, trying to get to it a third way.

  “The Fleet has a ship of leaders,” she says. “Ours is not that ship.”

  I let out a small breath. I hope I’m understanding her right.

  “No one hurts us,” I say. “We leave when we want to.”

  “Yes,” she says. “Tomorrow, then?”

  I can tell she has said that phrase countless times to Al-Nasir.

  “Yes,” I say, and clasp my hands together so that they don’t shake.

  Tomorrow I will go inside my first working Dignity Vessel. Tomorrow I may get some answers of my own.

  * * * *

  FIFTY-SIX

  C

  oop was nervous. He hadn’t expected to be. He barely slept, thinking about the upcoming meeting.

  So much could go wrong.

  He was trusting, when he wasn’t sure he should.

  According to first-contact protocols, if he were actually following them, he was making a large mistake. He should know who the people he was talking to were, how they fit into their society, and what their society was.

  All he knew about them was that there were seven of them, their spokesman had said yes when Perkins asked him if they were explorers, and they seemed to be technologically behind.

  But he knew nothing for certain, and that fed his nerves.

  Although that wasn’t the only cause. He worried about what the woman might tell him.

  He spent the morning overseeing the preparation for the meeting. He used the formal briefing room, one usually reserved for heads of state. This briefing room had state-of-the-art screens and sideboards for meals should a meeting go late. The crew kept the table that dominated the room polished so that the fake wood shone. The chairs surrounding the table had padding and could actually be adjusted for the sitter’s comfort.

  Coop hated this room—he wasn’t a formal man—but he was taking no chances here.

  The communications team, led by Mae, had set up the translation programs, with a receptor near each seat. Even if someone spoke softly, something would pick up the sound and translate it. Mae’s team would monitor the entire conversation in real time in the communication’s array.

  Perkins would be in the briefing room itself to facilitate the translations. She would have a chip in her ear so that she could hear any corrections or alterations Mae made to the translations, although Mae had already told Coop she wouldn’t actively participate in the conversation.

  Perkins seemed as nervous as Coop. She double-, triple-, and quadruple-checked the systems, then went early to the airlock just in case their guests arrived early.

  He had his personal chef make some pastries and lay out various snacks. He set out bottles of wine he had picked up at Starbase Kappa. He also had flavored waters cooling on a sideboard, and various hot liquids on the other side of the room.

  He wore his dress uniform. He posted two guards inside the room as a show of force, and had several others standing by. But he still planned to meet the woman and Al-Nasir with only Perkins at his side.

  He adjusted everything as he waited, the bottles of wine, the dishes, even the chairs. He had the screens on so that he could monitor the repair room. He would watch the woman make her way to the
briefing room, as if her movements might give him a clue to her personality.

  It unnerved him that he knew nothing about her. He wasn’t even certain of her name. Perkins called her cagey, as if she thought about every statement, and he got the sense that Perkins didn’t much like her.

  Her team seemed to respect her, though, and it didn’t seem to be a respect based on fear.

  He had to trust that as well.

  He knew her voice better than anything else. He had listened to her conversation with Perkins in the communications array with the linguists. The conversation showed confusion, but it also showed thought.

  And it had caught everyone’s attention when the woman used the phrase “Dignity Vessel.”

  Dignity Vessel was the original name of the ships in the Fleet. The name came from the Fleet’s original mission, to bring peace and dignity throughout the known universe.

  The Fleet never did bring peace. They focused more on justice. And they did try to restore dignity where there was none.

  But they didn’t call themselves Dignity Vessels, although the words were still part of the ships’ identification numbers. That these people knew what Dignity Vessels were gave Coop hope that less time had passed than he feared.

  A movement caught his eye.

  The outsiders had entered the repair room, all seven of them, none of them in environmental suits. The woman looked different. She wore something flowing, a dresslike top over a pair of tight-fitting pants. Her shoes remained practical, however.

  Her companion, Al-Nasir, wore a white shirt and black pants, almost looking like a member of Coop’s crew in casual dress. Everyone else on the team dressed as they had before, as if they expected to work.

  The five who would stay in the repair room wore their masks. The woman and Al-Nasir did not.

  Coop watched them, no longer pacing.

  The other problem he had with this meeting was one of intent. He knew what he needed from her. He needed to know who she was, and who her people were. But that was secondary to the history lesson she could give him.

  He had never gone into a meeting like this needing something. Usually he’d been the mediator or the person who could grant someone else’s wishes.

  This time, the woman had that control.

  She could leave at any moment, and take her answers with her.

  And he had no idea how—or even if—he could stop her.

  * * * *

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  I

  feel like an idiot. Ilona and the historians convinced me to dress as if I were meeting with the head of the Vaycehnese government, which I have. I brought one very dressy outfit (which, honestly, is all I own), for just that sort of meeting, and now I’m wearing it in the room I should be exploring.

  I miss my environmental suit. I feel more like myself when I wear that.

  I’m not carrying my laser pistol, although we discussed it. I don’t want to go into this meeting armed. Al-Nasir and I are already outnumbered just by the lieutenant and her people. If there are more—and there is at least one, this mysterious captain—then we’re seriously outnumbered.

  A laser pistol won’t save me.

  I am, however, carrying Karl’s knife. It’s strapped around my waist. I doubt they’ll let me bring it inside the ship, but I’m going to try. I’m going to tell them it’s ceremonial, which it is. I keep the knife close, for sentimental reasons and as a reminder that things can go wrong.

  We’re inside the room. The others are going to wait. Seager and Quinte will guard the door. They’re to leave as quickly as they can if it looks like thing: have gone badly. Rea, DeVries, and Kersting will continue our not-so-great investigation of the room. I’m sure they’ll attract minders, and that’s all right

  Al-Nasir stands beside me. He keeps rubbing the palms of his hands together. He’s afraid he’ll screw up the translations. I figure if the conversation doesn’t seem to be going well, I’m going to leave. The Dignity Vessel people can try to stop me if they want to. But I’ve asked for respect, and I’m going to continue to demand it.

  I wish we had a translation program, too, but my people couldn’t put one together yet. I’m rather astonished that the Dignity Vessel people have. Stone believes—and I actually agree—that this is a sign of a full complement of crew on the ship itself. If five people work on something, they, by definition work slower than fifty. A group doesn’t have downtime. They can work more efficiently.

  The ship’s door opens as we approach. The staircase lowers, and then two men in those black uniforms emerge. They walk to the base of the stairs and move to the side. Either they’re going to guard the ship or they’re going to escort us.

  They each extend a hand. The person on the right extends his right hand and the person on the left extends his left. It’s choreographed, formal, and immediately sets a tone.

  Ilona was right to make me dress up—much as I hate it.

  “You ready?” I ask Al-Nasir.

  He nods, then takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. We head into the ship, me first.

  We’d argued about that. Everyone wanted me to go second, as if that makes a difference. If something goes wrong, I’m going to be in the same amount of trouble whether I hit the danger first or I hit it second.

  Besides, my going first shows leadership, and that’s what I need to do here.

  As I put my foot on the first stair, my heart rate increases. I am going inside a working Dignity Vessel.

  The first time I went inside one, I had to lower myself through a hatch, with all of my suit lights on. I felt like a tourist then, nervous on her first dive, and Squishy warned me that I’d get the gids.

  She was right.

  If I were wearing a suit, I’d have the gids now.

  I step inside the door into the airlock. It’s familiar and unfamiliar. We have this part of the ship on two different Dignity Vessels, but neither of those vessels work. Here there are lights in places I don’t expect them, circular lights on either side that are clearly assessing me and the kind of threat I pose.

  Al-Nasir comes up beside me, and as he does, the door closes. The lights grow brighter.

  The interior door opens, revealing a bright corridor and the lieutenant, standing just inside it. She’s wearing her black uniform, her hands clasped behind her back.

  She’s nervous, too.

  With the lights on and the environmental system working, the corridor seems bigger than it actually is. This one now holds me, Al-Nasir, the lieutenant, and two guards.

  “Welcome,” she says, speaking a Standard so clear that it startles me.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  She smiles. “Please come with me.”

  She’s practiced this part. That’s all right. I’ve practiced a few phrases too. I hope I can pull it off.

  We walk too quickly through the corridor. I want to go slowly, like we would if we were diving.

  I want to mark each intersection, take note of every turn. I want to examine doorways and the ceiling, and figure out exactly what the glowing panels are.

  Our feet tap against the floor. The sound seems odd, dampened somehow, not at all what I’m used to when I go into one of the Dignity Vessels.

  We go up two levels. I make a map in my head, compare it to what I know. We’re heading toward the cockpit, but I have a hunch we’re not going there. We’re going to one of two large rooms that I believe to be conference rooms. One is just off the cockpit, and I can’t imagine a captain bringing strangers there.

  The other is one level down, and several meters away. That’s the one I would use, and as we turn right, that’s the one we’re headed to.

  I don’t say anything. I’m too busy looking at things—the black walls, just like the walls in the caves; the writing that is missing in my Dignity Vessels; and the cleanliness that comes from constant maintenance.

  None of the ships we’ve found have these smooth black walls. I suspect that beneath them is the gray metal we�
�re used to, with the rivets and the welded parts. This blackness is something new, or it’s something that doesn’t last when a ship loses power for centuries.

  We reach the door to the conference room. The door is closed. There are no guards outside it.