The embarrassment wafting off all four of them was a sharp contrast to the barely stifled amusement of their crewmates, including the captain. Tal was having a hard time not laughing herself. Instead she clapped Torado on the shoulder and said, “Treasure that camaraderie. It’s worth everything.”
He ducked his head and nodded.
Stepping back, Tal said, “Alsea owes all of you a debt. You saved us from an enemy we would never have seen coming, and then you saved us from your own ship, at great personal risk. Any repayment we could make would pale in comparison to your deeds, but at the very least, I can get you more comfortable quarters for the duration of your stay. You’ve each been assigned guest officer quarters at Blacksun Base. I’d have preferred to house you in the diplomatic quarters at the State House, but we seem to be short a few windows there.”
“The sonic shockwave from the Caphenon blew out half the windows in the city,” Serrado said, to the surprise of all the crew except Lhyn and Candini. “Since we haven’t any need for a weapons team at the moment, I want the four of you to work the cargo matter printers and see if we can help the Alseans replace some of that glass.”
Roris accepted the assignment for her team. “As long as they still work. And we’ll need specifications from the Alseans.”
“I’ll check them after we get the com relay going,” Kameha offered.
“And I’ll be happy to provide those specifications, along with a liaison from the builder caste.” Tal was already wondering how she could get a team of engineers in on the process.
“Chief, the matter printers are your third priority after you verify safe passage in the habitat ring.” Captain Serrado’s expression grew serious. “If Commander Kameha gives the all clear, we can retrieve our most important personal possessions from our quarters. We’ll probably never go back to that part of the ship, so make today count. And brace yourself for the possibility that some or all of us won’t be able to reach our quarters at all.”
“Obviously, we cannot replace anything of personal value that you may have lost,” Tal said. “But we can help with your practical needs. When you arrive at your base quarters this evening, each of you will find a credit chip loaded with cinteks. Base personnel will show you how to use them and take you wherever you may wish to go in the city. I think you’ll find that you have enough cinteks to purchase anything you need. And if you see anything you want but don’t need, buy that too.”
Serrado gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you. That’s very generous, and we all appreciate it.”
“It is a tiny repayment of a very large debt, Captain.” Tal glanced at the wrists that she could see. “Are you all wearing your wristcoms?”
“Yes, I distributed those last night,” Baldassar said. “And we’ve tested them out on each other, so we’re all familiar with them.”
“Thank you for that as well,” added Captain Serrado. “It’s taken a great load off my mind to have crew communications back.”
“You’re welcome. It’s a load off my mind as well. Blacksun is a big place; I don’t want to lose any of you in the markets tonight.” Tal turned to her Guards. “Allow me to introduce two of the Guards whose names are pre-programmed into your wristcoms: Lead Guard Gehrain and Guard Corlander. Some of you may recognize them; they were part of the team that spent the night in your ship.”
“Of course we recognize Lead Guard Gehrain.” Roris stepped forward and offered her palm. “You broke down the door to the weapons room. We never knew your name.”
“Well met,” Gehrain said. “And I’m pleased to see all of you looking much better than you did then.”
“Especially me,” Torado said, touching palms in his turn. “I was a bit woozy, but I seem to remember you carrying me part of the way.”
“Yes, we’re sorry you had to carry the heaviest one of us.” Ennserhofen grinned. “Too bad it wasn’t Blunt.”
Gehrain had to lean down to touch palms with Blunt. “You would certainly have been easier to carry. But it seems you were too smart to let yourself get hurt.”
“Ha!” Roris bumped Torado. “He only just met you and he knows you already.”
“Thank you for helping us, Lead Guard Gehrain,” said Blunt shyly. “You made a big impression.”
Tal stifled a smile as Gehrain flushed. Blunt’s attraction was almost physically palpable to their senses, but she would surely have died of embarrassment if she’d known. Poor Gehrain was going to have to tread carefully around this one.
“Guard Corlander.” Kameha moved to the front of the group. “I’m not entirely certain, but are you the one who pulled that ceiling panel off of me?”
“Yes, that was me.” Corlander held up a hand in greeting. “I’m glad to see you looking well.”
“I was more than glad to see you that night. Though considerably surprised; I wasn’t expecting to see an Alsean in my engine room.”
“Understandable. I wasn’t expecting to see an alien ship outside my city.”
Kameha chuckled. “I suppose not. Though you Alseans do take things in stride. Nobody seems to be very shocked at the idea of aliens.” He looked around as all three Alseans made similar sounds of amusement.
“Believe me, we’re shocked,” Tal said. “But you’ve been dealing with high empaths. We’ve spent our lives controlling our emotions. If you go out to the markets this evening, you’ll see all the shock you could wish. Prepare to be stared at.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I’m used to that.”
“Because you often make contact with other races?” Corlander asked.
Though Kameha didn’t show it on his face, his instant suspicion felt like an old and well-nursed emotion. “No, because of this,” he said, gesturing at his body.
Tal looked questioningly at the captain, who stepped in.
“They don’t understand, Chief. And they’re not judging you.” She turned toward Tal and her Guards. “Commander Kameha comes from a planet on the far outskirts of the Protectorate. His people don’t often leave home, and it’s even more rare that any of them join Fleet.”
By now the chief engineer’s suspicion had faded. “I’m from Gortok. It’s a high-mass planet with gravity almost one and a half times the Gaian norm. We’re all short and dense.”
“I think I may have confused you by calling all of us Gaians,” Lhyn said. “We do use that word to mean all humanoids in general, but more specifically it means those who come from the planet Gaia. Most of us don’t. My home planet is Allendohan, and our gravity is four-fifths the Gaian norm. Which is why we tend to be tall and slender.”
Tal and her Guards exchanged glances. “We never thought about how growing up on different planets might affect physiology,” she said. “Your Protectorate must have quite a diversity of body types.”
“It does,” Serrado agreed. “But as enlightened as we like to think we are, the truth is that we still look askance at anything different from what we’re used to. And Commander Kameha is different.”
Tal met the chief engineer’s eyes. “Your difference here is that you’re alien, not that you’re from Gortok. Alseans will stare at you and everyone else in this room in exactly the same way.”
Kameha gave her an odd little bow, then reached over and took a surprised Lhyn’s hand in his own. “In that case, Dr. Rivers, may I invite you to come to the markets with me? It would be such a pleasure to have people look at me the same way they look at you.”
Chapter 28
Base space
Ekatya walked up the ramp of the Lancer’s transport and reflected that it was practically feeling like home now. Amazing what a person could get used to.
“Lancer Tal,” she said as they stepped inside, “may I speak with you privately?”
“Certainly. Micah, OIC please.”
Colonel Micah, who had joined their group in front of the healing center, nodded and moved back onto the ramp.
Ekatya followed the Lancer across the main cabin and down the corridor to her private cabin
. “OIC. Officer in charge?”
Lancer Tal keyed open the door and walked in. “Close. Officer in command.”
“Some things really are universal. At least in the military.” Ekatya settled into the cushy seat by the window with a sigh of pleasure. “Except these. If I still had a ship, I’d be asking you for a flight seat like this. The command chair on my bridge isn’t half so comfortable.”
“Probably because you’re not encouraged to fall asleep in your command chair.”
They smiled at each other, and Ekatya was reminded again of how much they had in common. Which was why she needed to get this out of the way.
“I owe you an apology.”
Lancer Tal looked at her in silence, and it took Ekatya a moment to realize that she wasn’t going to say the usual platitudes like No, you don’t, or I can’t think why. She already knew why.
Sitting up a bit straighter—these seats really did encourage slumping—she said, “Lhyn told me about your conversation yesterday evening, when you were discussing the ethics of listening to emotions. She was very affected by the fact that you blocked mine when I learned she was alive. As was I, because it hadn’t occurred to me that you would do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re the first empathic race we’ve ever dealt with, or even heard of, and I’m operating in total ignorance. The only thing I’ve figured out so far is that I can’t apply standard expectations to you, and my past diplomatic experience isn’t worth much. Past experience told me that you’d use every advantage you had. Refraining from reading my emotions went against that. You valued my privacy over a tactical advantage.”
Lancer Tal shook her head. “Not that I don’t appreciate this view of me, but the truth is that if there had been a tactical advantage, I would have continued to listen to your emotions. There was no advantage to invading something so private.”
“You’re proving my point. And I repaid your courtesy by accusing you of what is probably the worst crime Alseans can commit. Not only that, but I did it immediately after you gave me what Lhyn said was the highest sign of your respect. I’m ashamed of that. Besides the fact that it was a diplomatic error, it was…well, less than I expect of myself. I apologize for making such a rush to judgment.”
“Thank you. I accept your apology. And since you’re giving me the gift of such direct honesty, I’ll do the same. You’re right, illegal mental coercion is the worst crime Alseans can commit, and to be accused of that was…” She trailed off, then finished, “Distressing.”
“I thought you said you were being honest. That was only halfway there.”
“Has our empathy become contagious?”
“No, but you were shocked when I made that accusation, and you called it ‘forcing.’ We also criminalize non-consensual acts, and besides the legal punishment, most Gaian cultures have very strong taboos against them. If anyone accused me of doing something like that…I’d be angry. It would be a personal insult.” Ekatya saw the confirmation in the Lancer’s expression and added, “I’m just glad that if I had to insult someone, I was at least smart enough to insult the best diplomat in the room.”
Lancer Tal chuckled. “Well put, and probably the nicest apology I’ve ever received.” She tilted her head. “You said we’re the first empathic race you’ve dealt with. You’re the first race of any kind we’ve dealt with, and I didn’t know what to expect either. But even if I’d already known there were aliens out there, I still wouldn’t have expected to meet one whose integrity shines more brightly than many in my acquaintance. You’re a credit to your race, Captain.”
Ekatya cursed the heat she could feel rising in her cheeks. “I’m turning red, aren’t I?”
“You are. Do Gaians not speak the truth about what they see in each other?”
She had to think about it. “It varies from one population to another. But for the majority of us…no, not really. We tend to be good at pointing out each other’s flaws and not so eager to point out the better traits. Maybe it all comes down to competition. We all want to think we’re better than the others, and we don’t want to give up any status or advantage.”
“Don’t imagine for a moment that Alseans aren’t just as competitive. But some things are harder to do when the emotional truth is there for anyone to see. Anyone powerful enough, that is.”
“You know, Lhyn is practically birthing a brick over the cultural ramifications of your empathy. She’s dying to get—” Ekatya paused at the rising mirth showing on the Lancer’s face. “What?”
“Birthing a brick?”
She had to chuckle. “Old saying. Do I need to explain it?”
“No, but I’m going to write that one down. It sounds quite uncomfortable.”
It broke any remaining tension between them, and Ekatya felt more at ease than she had since first sighting this planet on her bridge display. “I have more where that came from, if you want to start a list.”
“I only wish we had the time.”
“So do I. And it’s not often I wish I could stay longer on a planet, doing diplomatic duty.”
The warmth shining out of those light eyes made Ekatya think that perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing having her emotions read. It was nice being able to leave things unsaid and know they weren’t unheard.
“We might be past diplomacy at this point,” Lancer Tal said. “Besides, I’m more interested in our informational exchange. Aren’t you?”
“Now that I’m done apologizing, yes. And speaking of such an exchange, you failed to mention that Alsean medtech isn’t just tech.” She saw the Lancer’s confusion and added, “The empathic projection.”
Her face cleared. “Of course. It’s such an integral part that I didn’t even think about it.”
“It’ll be a bit difficult to export that as part of a treaty exchange of technology.”
“True, but the empathic projection isn’t always used. For one thing, only the best healers can manage it. For another, it requires a significant effort. So it’s normally reserved for more critical cases, and sometimes for children.”
“And aliens.”
“Those too.”
“I didn’t get a chance to ask before all of the healers vanished to watch the chip swaps, but can you tell me how long my leg would have taken to heal without empathic projection?”
“It varies depending on the injury or illness. But they tell me that in general, empathic projection halves the healing time.”
“So you normally heal broken bones in two days instead of one? However will I sell such a disappointment to the Protectorate?” She shook her head with a smile. “You’re still far ahead of us. This is good; I’ve got something to work with.”
“In that case, it’s my turn.”
“Missiles away.”
The Lancer had opened her mouth to speak, but at this she paused and chuckled. “Are all of your sayings so visual?”
“Probably. And that’s a question for Lhyn.”
“Right. Then here’s one for you. How does your FTL work in that second layer of space? And what is that layer, and how do you get to it?”
“I thought you said one question. Is this the holcat issue?” They both smiled at the reference, and Ekatya pulled her new pad from its pocket on her jacket sleeve. “Our version of your reader card,” she said, holding it up. “But I think I like yours better. It seems less fragile.”
“You lost yours in the crash,” Lancer Tal guessed. “That must have come with your shiny new uniform. Your chief engineer certainly looks out for you.”
“He does. Kameha and I go way back. We met when I was a commander and he was a lieutenant. I thought he was a pompous ass and he thought I had my head up mine.”
“Sounds like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” The Lancer looked as if she was trying not to laugh.
“A rocky beginning, yes. I think we were both overcompensating in our own ways. But that was a long time ago, and now he’s only pompous some of the time.” S
he stood up and switched seats, sitting next to her companion so they could both see the pad.
“Nice,” Lancer Tal said when the virtual screen popped into existence just above the pad. “Portable device, large screen. A different way of doing the same thing.”
“Yes, but ours don’t handle getting banged around very well. Yours looks practically unbreakable.”
“It is. That’s generally a necessity of design for my caste.”
Ekatya remembered Healer Wellernal’s comment about warriors. “I can see that. Now about your questions.” She activated the third dimension on the virtual screen and drew a cone shape, with the narrow end pointing down to the pad. Indicating the wide top, she said, “This is normal space. It’s huge. You have to have FTL technology to get anywhere, and by anywhere I mean even in your own star system. The distances are too vast for anything else to be viable.”
“I understand that. So what you call base space is this part underneath?” Lancer Tal pointed at the lower part of the cone.
“Right. It’s another dimension of space, connected to it but compressed. So up here, the distance between Point A and Point B is this.” She drew two dots on opposite sides of the top of the cone and a line connecting them. “But if you can get down here to base space, the distance between those same two points is far smaller.” Again she drew two dots, one on either side of the cone’s point. They were so close they nearly touched each other. “So the trick is to start from here, at Point A, drop into base space, fly to the other side, and then go back up to normal space to Point B.” She drew the lines to illustrate. “And there you are, clear across this huge expanse of space up on the top, but all you did was hop from one point to the other down here at the bottom.”
Lancer Tal was staring at the display in fascination. “That’s incredible. If any Alsean has conceived of such a thing, I haven’t yet heard about it. What is the difference in travel time?”
“A factor of ten thousand.”
A shocked gaze met hers. “Are you joking? No, you’re not, I can feel it. But…Great Mother, this is beyond anything we’ve even imagined could be possible. Ten thousand? How long would it take you to go from one side of the galaxy to the other?”