“I thought Captain Serrado didn’t want Commander Baldassar to know of their bond,” Micah said in a low voice.
“That’s what she told me.” But a warmron? Here, of all places? They couldn’t have made a more public announcement of their status if they’d spoken to a journalist.
Tal was at a loss. She didn’t want to walk into this, but every eye in the room was now on the two Gaians and there was no way to carry on as if this weren’t happening.
She rose from her chair and stepped next to Lhyn’s, pausing while Captain Serrado said something. Lhyn nodded and lifted her head, her eyes streaming as she looked up.
“Lancer Tal,” she said in a tremulous voice, “I am so sorry. So sorry.”
Tal frowned. “For what?”
Lhyn shook her head, unable to speak, and instead pointed at the report screen. Tal followed her gesture, then realized the issue.
“You’re blaming yourself for our dead?”
Fresh tears flowed as Lhyn closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and visibly steeled herself. “I chose my team. I handpicked them. Interviewed all of them, made the final hiring decisions. The person who sold you to the Voloth…I brought him here. It was my mistake. Ek—Captain Serrado and her crew saved you from the worst of it, but at the cost of her ship and three of her crew, and now this. Ten dead in five ticks! Six more this morning. Shippers only know how many in that village, and those burned bodies…oh, stars, the children. I did this.”
Tal considered for a moment, then reached around, pulled her chair over, and sat in front of the distraught woman. “If you’re to blame, then I should be furious with you. Alsea has paid a terrible price to stop this invader, and you say the culprit sits in front of me now.”
Lhyn nodded, her grief acquiring a sheen of apprehension. Next to her, the captain and commander were radiating watchful protectiveness, though the captain’s was an order of magnitude stronger.
Tal held up her hand. “If you touch palms with me now, I can show you how I feel about your role in this. Do you have the courage to find out?”
Lhyn’s eyes widened as she looked from Tal’s hand to her face and back again. Straightening in her chair, she slowly reached out, making a tentative connection that Tal immediately solidified, intertwining their fingers and closing hers down. She waited until Lhyn reciprocated, then said, “This is my view of you.”
Without breaking their gaze, she projected her appreciation of Lhyn’s kindness and lack of judgment, her enjoyment of their conversations so far, and most of all her gratitude for the stroke of brilliance that had saved a lost cause this night.
Lhyn’s misery was rapidly submerged under a sense of wonder. Even now, the scientist inside was taking back control, reacting not only to the emotions being projected but to the fact of the projection itself.
“Incredible,” Lhyn whispered.
Yes, there she was.
“And true,” said Tal. “Emotions cannot be manufactured. There can be no lies in a physical connection like this. Alsea owes you a tremendous debt. You’re a scholar, not a warrior, and I know from your emotions that you’ve never been involved in an action like this. So perhaps you don’t understand what those numbers really mean. They mean that we have done the impossible tonight, with far fewer casualties than we had any right to expect. We vanquished a pitiless enemy, because you found the key. I am not furious with you, Lhyn. I’m grateful.”
“I believe you. I can feel it. It’s…it’s beautiful! And the implications for your culture—I’ve only been studying half of what you are.”
Sidetracked already, and Tal hadn’t even finished what she wanted to say. She tightened her grip, bringing Lhyn’s attention back to the moment. “As a leader, you must take responsibility for those who serve under you. But there is a difference between responsibility and fault. You may be responsible for the man who sold us, but what he did is not your fault. And you have done everything you could to repair the damage. It is enough.” She released their hands and added, “There is one more thing, and I want you to translate this.”
Lhyn nodded.
Raising her voice slightly, Tal said, “Until last night, we didn’t know there were others like us in the universe. So we don’t have words in our vocabulary to describe you. But we do have a word to describe an alien who weeps for Alsean dead.”
As Lhyn translated, Tal looked from her to the commander, then locked eyes with Captain Serrado. “We would use the same word to describe aliens who rejoice with us in our victory, a victory they helped make possible.”
Pausing again, she made sure that every eye in the room was on them before smiling at the Gaians. “We call them friends.”
* * *
And that, Micah thought, was why Tal was Lancer and Shantu was not. Only Tal could take a sticky cultural situation and turn it into a defensive political weapon. By calling the Gaians friends, in this room and after that battle, she had staked out a position that Shantu and the High Council would find difficult to assail. How could they justify a takeover of the Caphenon when its captain and commander had shared in tonight’s victory? And by pointing out that Lhyn Rivers had wept for Alsean dead, Tal had reframed her. No longer just an alien, she was now an ally with a demonstrated emotional connection to Alsea. Not even Shantu could be insensible to that.
When Tal looked up at him, he allowed the smile that had been tugging at his lips to come to the surface and gave her a slight nod. She nodded back, then spoke with Lhyn in a quieter voice before picking up her chair and returning it to its place. “Colonel Debrett,” she said as she stood behind the chair, “I know the rest of this operation is in capable hands. Tomorrow, when your pilots have returned and have had time to rest, I would like to address them personally. In the meantime, give them my thanks for their exemplary actions, and tell them that the spirits at the base commissary are free tonight.”
“That might make them happier than anything else you could offer,” Debrett said with a grin. “I should warn you that your office will be getting a big invoice.”
“I’ll be disappointed if it is not record-breaking.”
“Then I will tell them to do their best.”
“Tell them they already have.”
Debrett nodded, bid farewell to the rest of them, and disconnected. All but one of the other screens went dark shortly afterward, as did the holographic display. The only thing remaining was the tracking screen, now showing the locations of the downed transports and the current fatality list. Micah knew the numbers were going to increase by leaps and bounds as the night wore on and the militia continued their grisly duty. He felt sorry for those warriors, who had enjoyed none of the sense of victory from tonight’s battle, but were faced with the worst of the losses. But even they did not have the hardest job. That would go to the mental healers, who would be tasked with contacting next of kin as the bodies were identified. And Aldirk would have to help coordinate a state funeral for the warrior dead, as well as any civilian dead whose families wished to take part in the public pyre lighting.
Tal may have shut down the strategy room, but the repercussions of tonight’s battle would ripple across Alsea for a long time to come.
Colonel Razine stepped up and offered her forearm in farewell. “It was a good night’s work.”
“Yes, it was. May it never be repeated,” he said, gripping her arm.
“Words for Fahla.” Razine tucked her reader card in its pouch and looked over his shoulder at the Gaians. “That was quite a statement Lancer Tal just made. I suspect not everyone on the Council will agree with her.”
“Lancer Tal could say that water is wet and not everyone on the Council would agree with her.”
A knowing smile crossed her face. “True. And it would be difficult to argue that these aliens did not save our necks from the sword.”
Colonel Northcliff joined them and gripped arms with Micah as she said, “Not difficult, impossible. And I do find it ironic that the scholar saw what a roomful of high
ly trained warriors did not.”
“I for one am not enjoying that irony.” Shantu stepped up and offered his arm. “While I’m grateful to the Gaians for their help tonight, we should all be embarrassed by our failure.”
“We didn’t fail, Shantu.” Micah managed not to roll his eyes. “Or did you miss the part where we blew that ground pounder to dust?”
“A feat we needed alien help to accomplish. Does that not seem a failure to you?”
“Considering that the ground pounder was also alien, no.” Northcliff didn’t bother disguising her impatience. “Lancer Tal expected us to do our best, and we did. I doubt she was expecting omnipotence.”
“Don’t worry, Shantu,” said Razine. “Lancer Tal didn’t think of it either, so you haven’t lost any face.”
“That is not what concerns me. I am concerned by the fact that we have apparently developed a dependence on aliens. First we’re told we need them to fight off the next Voloth attack. Then we’re told we need them to fight off one single Voloth ground pounder. Then we find out that we didn’t need them at all, if only one of us had thought of the shield issue. But we failed to do so.”
“If you think we still don’t need them for the next Voloth attack, you’re not living on the same planet I am,” Micah said. “It took the entire Whitesun fleet and a carefully planned ambush to knock out just one of those things. What are we supposed to do against five hundred?”
“Shall we clear out the room and find better things to do?” Tal had joined them. “I hear an evenmeal calling my name. And Shantu,” she added, “the High Council meeting will be tomorrow, not tonight.”
“What? Why?”
“Because our only mechanical translator is still on its way back from Port Calerna, and our only living one is tapped out for the day. Lhyn Rivers is not capable of translating for the duration of a High Council meeting. She has done enough.”
Even Shantu had to admit the truth of that, and grudgingly accepted a delay until the next evening. Micah watched him offer a forearm to the Gaians on his way out, making the minimal nod toward courtesy and apparently incapable of summoning a smile.
“That is one ungrateful warrior,” he said.
“Indeed,” said Northcliff. “He takes caste pride to new heights.”
“There’s a difference between pride and arrogance,” Razine observed. “My first oath holder used to say it was the hardest lesson for a warrior to learn.”
“And some of us never do.” Micah watched Shantu depart with a swirl of his cloak, and wondered why the man had been so impatient to leave. Eager to get out of the presence of aliens, perhaps? But it was a politically inept move, when the smarter play would have been to ingratiate himself with the Gaians, or at least make the appearance of approachability. Then again, Shantu had never been a true politician.
“Speaking of warrior pride,” said Tal, “I’d be grateful if the press somehow found out about the part our Gaian friends had in tonight’s events. But it shouldn’t come from me. Or you,” she added, looking at Micah.
“That doesn’t leave many options,” Razine said. “Colonel Northcliff, would you like to join me for a well-deserved evenmeal out? Perhaps at a very public restaurant where our conversation might be overheard?”
“That sounds perfect,” Northcliff said. “Have you any place in mind?”
“Of course. Though we’ll need to change into dress uniform to make the proper impression.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to go straight from directing a battle in your current uniform?” Micah asked. “It would be more authentic.”
Razine arched a brow. “That is why you’re in charge of the Lancer’s security rather than the Investigative Force. In my line of work, appearances are half the battle. And this,” she swept her hand down her uniform, “is not the correct appearance to draw eyes and ears.”
“I didn’t think you were concerned about eyes. Just ears.”
“Ah, but where the eyes go, the ears follow.”
“Spoken like a scholar.” Micah couldn’t resist poking her just a bit.
But the smile she gave him was smoothly polished. “Of course. One cannot head the AIF with pure warrior instincts. Those who best fill this uniform carry a fine blend of warrior and scholar. Much like the uniform of the Lancer,” she added, turning to Tal. “At least, when it’s worn properly.”
“I shall assume you mean I’m wearing it properly,” Tal said with a smooth smile of her own. “But I think we’ve left our guests out of the conversation long enough. Colonel Razine, Colonel Northcliff, I wish you an excellent evenmeal and an even better evening of judiciously spread gossip.”
They moved toward the Gaians, where Razine and Northcliff said their good-byes before setting out for their next task of the evening. It occurred to Micah that for someone like Razine, the battle strategies never ended. They just occupied different guises and locations.
Upon learning of the High Council rescheduling, Lhyn Rivers showed her relief in the slackening of her posture, and Micah noted that her responses seemed to slow after that. He recognized the signs. She’d been running on willpower alone, and now that the need for action had been removed, her energy had drained away. It was quite a contrast to the captain and commander, both of whom seemed energized by the battle. Their eyes were bright and they followed every word with close attention. He had no doubt that if another ground pounder suddenly appeared, Captain Serrado and Commander Baldassar would be more than ready to reactivate the strategy room.
Tal suggested that they all move to the base’s formal dining room, where they could share a quiet meal before returning the Gaians to Blacksun Healing Center. This was met with general approval and the captain’s fervent statement that she was more than ready to be released from her leg case and the mobile chair. For some reason, her frustration made Micah like her more. As they left the strategy room behind, he puzzled over that until the answer came to him. Captain Serrado was acting like an Alsean warrior, chafing at any physical restriction and anxious to get back to duty. It almost passed belief that he could be walking beside an alien and find her behavioral patterns not only familiar, but easily recognizable as belonging to the warrior caste.
He wondered about the four Voloth crew they’d just blown to pieces. Did they have recognizable behaviors, too?
The memory of a burning village and charred bodies made him shake his head. Whatever the Voloth might have in common with Alseans or Gaians was negated by their barbarity. Perhaps their Seeder gods were an analogue to Fahla, but if so, their manner of worship was twisted beyond recognition. Surely Fahla knew this and had protected Alsea, making certain that the right ship survived last night’s battle.
And if that was the case, then learning about and befriending these Gaians wasn’t just good strategy. It was a moral requirement.
Chapter 26
Listening to a leg
“Are you ready?”
Ekatya stifled her first answer, which was Of course, you idiot, and merely said yes. Who wouldn’t be ready to get out of this leg case?
“Very good. This will not hurt.”
She watched intently as Healer Wellernal cracked open the case and lifted off the top half. He held up a hand and spoke.
“Please do not move your leg yet,” the translator said. “It will be another tick or two.”
Ekatya nodded, once again feeling unsettled by the contrast between the healer’s voice and the feminine tones of the translator. With male speakers she preferred Lhyn’s non-simultaneous translation, which was less jarring. But she was grateful to have the device at all, which was newly returned from its trip to the bottom of the continent and currently her only translation option. Lhyn was napping in her own room, having barely managed to stay awake through their dinner—or evenmeal, as the Alseans called it. Ekatya had never seen her so tired before, not even after an all-nighter working on one of her articles. She suspected that everything was crashing down on her all at once. Until the battle, Lh
yn’s intellectual excitement had both fueled her and kept her distracted. She hadn’t really let herself feel. But seeing the footage of the burned village and watching the Alseans fight so courageously against an enemy they hadn’t even heard of until today—that had hit Lhyn in a place nothing else could. It had jarred her so far out of her comfort zone that she’d gone to the other extreme, feeling too much all at once. Ekatya had seen it before, in young officers getting their first taste of failure that bore real-life consequences. But Lhyn wasn’t an officer, and she wasn’t trained for battle.
She was also stubborn as a mule, insisting that she be woken for her own case removal. Ekatya was more than tempted to let her sleep the rest of the night and deal with her ire in the morning.
Healer Wellernal finished scanning her leg with a small, cylindrical device and put it back in his coat pocket. Then he rested his hand on her calf and closed his eyes.
Ekatya held back her question, managing with some effort to stay quiet until he opened his eyes again and smiled at her.
“Your leg has healed perfectly. You may lift it from the case.”
She hesitated, not ready to believe it could be that easy. But the healer was waiting, and with no effort at all she pulled up her leg and held it straight.
“Stars and Shippers,” she whispered as she turned it this way and that.
His smile broadened. “I must admit, it’s a rare treat to have a patient so appreciative of my work. Usually I hear complaints about how long it takes.”
“You won’t hear any such complaint from me.” Ekatya couldn’t have stopped the grin on her face if she’d tried. “This is phenomenal. There is no such medtech in all the Protectorate. Can I walk on it?”
“Please do.”
She slid off the bed, landing on her good leg and only gradually taking the weight on the other. Not even a twinge. She took a careful step, then another, and then walked around the room in delight. “I feel like I could run!”