“Good, because you’re not what I expected either. Funny how we all look so different without our public image, isn’t it?”
“True words.”
“And that’s what I love about my job. When people come to me, they show me who they really are. Somewhat different from your job, I suspect.”
“Even truer words. But I might have a little more insight into the sort of honesty you experience after spending a day and a half with the Gaians. They have no fronts at all. Everything they feel is there for the taking. It doesn’t even require a surface skim; they just bombard you with their emotions. And yet they’re all sonsales.”
“All of them?”
“The entire race. Every alien out there, on many different worlds. They’re all sonsales. Fahla gave her gift only to us.”
Lanaril sat back against her chair with a muted thump. “Great Goddess. I never thought—well, who would have—but this is—” She stopped and gathered herself. “I have so many questions.”
“And there’s one Gaian in particular who would love to answer them, if you don’t mind answering a thousand of hers in turn. She’s fluent in High Alsean, so there won’t be any barrier to an exchange of knowledge.”
“Are you suggesting that you’d allow me to meet her?” She was so excited at the thought that it took her a moment to see the pain in Andira’s expression. “Wait. This thing you have to do, that you’re so worried about—it has to do with this Gaian, doesn’t it?”
“She’s been betrayed twice already, and I’m about to make it three times. The third will be the worst of all.”
Lanaril reached out to rest her hand atop Andira’s, absorbing her distress. “Tell me.”
She did, and it was a story that took Lanaril’s breath away. She’d had no idea of the truth behind yesterday’s emergency announcement or that their world was so close to annihilation. Andira’s desperate plan was all that stood between Alsea and a horrifying fate, but it was a plan that required her to sacrifice her personal honor.
“Is there any moral law older than the law of self-determination?” Andira asked, her voice rough. “We put people who break that law five levels underground.”
“You have a warrant. You’re not breaking the law.”
“I’m not breaking Alsean law. But I’m breaking Fahla’s. Warrants are for criminals—or at least people we can reasonably assume have some guilt. This woman is an innocent. And if I die in the next battle, I won’t have had time to make up for it. There won’t be any redemption.”
“Oh, Andira.” Lanaril squeezed her hand. “That’s not how it works. Do you think that Fahla would just dismiss your entire life prior to this act? That wouldn’t give people much incentive to live with honor, knowing that it would all be moot after the very next slip.”
“It’s hardly a slip.”
“It’s not a slip at all. You have to do this. Fahla protects us, and she clearly protected us from that Voloth invader. But we can’t just sit back and expect her to do all the work. That would make us unworthy, and then what would be the point of saving us? Self-determination also includes saving ourselves. Fahla gave us her gifts for a reason.”
“Do you really believe that? The ends justify the means? We made the greatest warrior in our history an outcaste because he acted on that belief.”
“That’s a politician’s argument, conflating two very different situations.”
“How are they different? He united the seven kingdoms under the Alsean banner. He brought peace after generations of war.”
“Yes, and who did he do that for? Me? You? The baker who made his bread? He did it for himself. For power. Are you seeking power now? You already have it, Lancer Tal.”
The use of her title brought Andira’s eyes up. “And I’d give it up right now if it would save Alsea.”
“Then there’s your answer. It’s not about the act, it’s about the motive behind it. You’re acting on our behalf. Your motive is unimpeachable, and that’s what Fahla sees.”
She held Andira’s gaze, projecting her own conviction. This woman had burdens enough; she didn’t need a crisis of faith on top of them.
Andira was the first to look away, picking up her empty glass and holding it out. “Might I ask for a refill?”
“Of course you may.” Lanaril took the glass to the sideboard, understanding that her guest needed a little time to think. She neatened up the stack of books next to the fruit bowl before slowly pouring the water, and when she turned around, Andira was standing in front of the window.
“You have a lovely view,” she said as Lanaril came up beside her. “Though I imagine it’s a bit nicer with glass instead of construction sheeting.”
“I think you have a better one.” Lanaril handed her the drink. “You get to see this beautiful temple. I just see the top of the State House over the trees in the park.”
Andira smiled. “Your pride is showing. Thank you for this,” she added, and sipped the water.
“You’re welcome. And my pride is entirely justifiable. Only the Lead Templar of Whitemoon could lay claim to a more beautiful temple, and even then I’d have to remind him that Blacksun Temple is bigger.”
Andira sputtered and hastily took the glass away from her mouth. “I would give much to hear that argument.” She put the glass on the windowsill and turned. “I’m grateful for your words. You’ve given me hope that perhaps I can make peace with this. But I might be coming back to speak with you in a few days.”
“You’re welcome any time. You always have been.”
“Thank you. I, ah, haven’t made a habit of speaking to religious scholars…”
“I noticed,” said Lanaril dryly, and Andira chuckled.
“Well, it seems I’ve been denying myself a good debate partner. Despite the topic, I’ve enjoyed our discussion.”
“As have I. But I’ve enjoyed getting to know Andira Tal more. You ought to come out from behind that public persona more often.”
“There aren’t many places I can safely do that.”
“You can do it right here.”
Andira nodded and held up her hand. “Until next time, then.”
It was when Lanaril touched her palm and realized just how deeply her dread still went that the idea struck. Intertwining their fingers and closing her own, she held Andira in place and said, “Let me do it.”
“What?”
“The Gaian is coming here to speak with me, is she not? It’s the perfect time.”
Andira went still, her expression turning to stone even as the shock radiated through their palm touch. “I’d ask if you had any idea what you’re saying, but…you do. Why would you take this on yourself?”
“Because I’m a child of Fahla as well. This is a fight for all of us. I’m not a warrior, but this particular battle is in here, not out there.” She laid her other hand over Andira’s heart. “And it just might be that the scholar in this room is better equipped to fight that battle than the warrior.”
Andira shook her head. “I’m the Lancer. It’s my responsibility—”
“—to do what only you can do. Not the things that others can do for you.” Lanaril released their hands and stepped back. “Don’t be selfish.”
“Don’t be selfish? As if I want to take…” She trailed off. “There’s no glory in this, if that’s what you seek.”
“Spoken like a warrior. I seek no glory. Besides,” Lanaril added, indicating the room around them, “I’m already the Lead Templar of Blacksun. How much more glory do I need? This is not about honor, or glory, or a place in the songs of our children’s children. It’s about sharing burdens and doing what needs to be done. You have a task that needs to be done. I can do it more easily than you. Let me.”
Once again she held Andira’s gaze, but this time neither of them looked away. At last Andira inclined her head.
“You’ve convinced me. I’ll have your name put on the warrant.”
“You will? I mean…” She paused in the face of And
ira’s knowing look. “I’m surprised. Pleased, but surprised.”
“As I said, you’re good at debating. I accept your points. And I’m grateful for your willingness to take this burden.” She glanced at the clock. “I must go. You’ll be hearing from Colonel Razine of the Alsean Investigative Force.”
“I look forward to it.”
“If you tell her that, she’ll wonder why for days.”
Lanaril smiled. “You really aren’t what I was expecting, Andira.” She walked her guest to the door and paused before opening it. “I forgot to ask. Why the scholar and not the captain?”
“Because the captain would be far harder to turn. It would be an even greater betrayal. And it’s not necessary; to have one is to have the other. They’re tyrees.” Andira opened the door. “But they don’t know it, and I don’t think we should tell them. Until next time, Lead Templar.”
She strode down the hall without a backward glance, leaving a shocked Lanaril staring after her.
“Tyrees,” she whispered to herself as she closed the door. “Alien tyrees. Oh, Fahla, what have you done?”
Chapter 35
A few things
“I’m not sure you’re going to fit through there.” Ekatya eyed the narrow gap.
“Sure I will,” Baldassar said. “It’s just a matter of shrinking the rib cage.” He pressed himself between the bulkhead and the debris, took in several deep breaths, then exhaled and pulled himself into the gap—and promptly got stuck. Ekatya was just thinking she’d have to yank him back when he grunted, jerked his body, and popped out on the other side. Brushing himself off, he gave her a triumphant grin. “Told you.”
“It’s a good thing these uniforms don’t have buttons anymore,” she said, slipping through with far less effort. “You’d have lost every one of them.”
They were the last ones to make the trek to their personal quarters. Ekatya hadn’t had time until now, after spending the day working with Lhyn on their two reports, and Baldassar had refused to go until he’d seen the rest of the crew safely back from what they were calling “retrieval missions.” Ekatya wasn’t sure what was left to retrieve from her quarters, given Lhyn’s description of their condition.
“I could never understand the point of buttons on a duty uniform anyway.” He led the way around a pile of ceiling tiles. “Seems like they’re designed for getting caught on things, or sucked in. Or messing up the magnetic balance of calibrated equipment. The Alseans love them, though. The ones on Lancer Tal’s uniform yesterday nearly blinded me.”
“That was her dress uniform. I gave her a little ribbing for it this morning.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Are you sure it’s wise to be teasing her?”
“Are you worried?”
“Well…you’ve only known her for two days, and she does have total power over us. I’d hate to see you break some taboo you don’t know about and get us all thrown into the Alsean version of a brig.”
“Dr. Rivers says they don’t have brigs, they have dungeons.”
When he stopped to stare, she couldn’t keep a straight face.
“Kidding, Commander. I think we’re safe. They know our intent, after all. It’s hard to get angry at a tease if you know it’s well-meant.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
He set off again, rounding a corner a few meters later. Ekatya followed him into a length of corridor so clear of damage that she could almost have convinced herself that the last two days were a nightmare, and her ship was intact. Almost, that is, if it weren’t for the tilted floor.
But at least now she and Baldassar could walk side by side, which made the conversation easier.
“It’s rather amazing to imagine a culture without misunderstandings or the ability to obfuscate,” he said. “Doesn’t it make you wonder why they even need a warrior caste? I mean, just think about how many of our past wars happened because one side didn’t believe the other’s intent, or did believe it but was taken advantage of.”
“Don’t forget they can still deceive each other. It just takes a certain level of empathic strength to do it. Besides, many of our wars happened precisely because each side knew what the other intended. Things like territory and resource grabs start wars regardless of any understanding.”
“We do tend to find a lot to fight over.”
“That’s for damned sure. And the warrior caste isn’t limited to soldiers. That just happens to be all we’ve met so far. According to Dr. Rivers, it includes the other protective services as well, like firefighting, rescue work, law enforcement…and a whole category of jobs that are considered physically dangerous. She says one of the most popular broadcasts right now is a fictional story about a warrior who rescues and rehabilitates injured predatory species.”
“Now that is not what I’d have expected. A cuddly warrior.”
She smiled. “Just a suggestion, Commander: I wouldn’t use that particular phrase with any of our new friends.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
They came around a curve and were stopped by a tangle of debris making a maze out of the corridor where their quarters were located. Ekatya shook her head and began weaving through it. “It’s a fascinating culture,” she said. “I wish we had time for more exchange and less panicked report writing.”
“Do you think you can save it? Will the reports be enough?”
Her earlier humor abruptly vanished. “I hope to the skies that we can. The fact that we’re even having to fight for it makes me sick.”
“Me too. But you can’t dismiss those five worlds.”
“We don’t even know what’s on those five worlds. Dr. Rivers says they haven’t been studied. Or at least, she’s completely unaware of them, which is the same thing as saying they haven’t been studied.”
“By us. Apparently the Voloth have studied them.”
“Oh, yes, and the Voloth are so trustworthy. I just finished a crash course in exactly what the Alseans have to offer, and it’s considerable. What if those five civilizations are still using stone tools?”
“They’re still civilizations, though. Does their level of development matter?”
She glanced over in surprise. “What’s the point of the Non-Interference Act if the level of development doesn’t matter?”
He sighed. “I know. I’m just…not comfortable with this. You may not believe in the Seeders, but I do, and everything I was taught says we’re not supposed to play their role. We don’t have their knowledge or their ability to see what will be. These kinds of decisions aren’t ours to make.”
“Unfortunately, they seem to have left it up to us.”
“I can’t believe that’s true.” He shoved a half-attached section of bulkhead to the side, gesturing for her to pass before stepping forward and letting it fall back behind them. “There’s a right choice; we just have to figure out which one it is. The real danger is missing the sign, or misinterpreting it. But it will be there, for those who have the eyes to see.”
“Sometimes, Commander, I really do wish I had your faith.” She pushed her way past a dangling conduit and stopped in front of her quarters. “Well, time to see what’s left of it.”
“Good luck.” He moved down the hall toward his own door.
Ekatya tapped the lock panel and watched her door slide open. “And that’s probably the only thing that isn’t broken,” she muttered to herself. Taking a step inside, she stared in dismay at the disaster that used to be her home. The door slid quietly shut behind her, sealing her in, and she found herself very near tears.
Since the moment she’d known the fate of Lhyn and her crew, her every waking thought had been taken up with the things she needed to do, the things she wished she’d done, replays of the battle, replays and dissections of the conversations she’d had with Lhyn and Lancer Tal, and every other mental demand that cycled endlessly through her brain. But here in her quarters, truly alone for the first time in days, she felt more weary than she could ever remember.
She picked her way over to the sofa, shoved off the largest pieces of debris, sat down and buried her face in her hands. If she was going to cry, best to just get it over with so she could move on to the next item on her list.
But the tears refused to come, hovering maddeningly just out of reach, and she dropped her hands with a huff of frustration. She couldn’t relax enough to cry. There was too much to do and think about. Soon Lancer Tal would be sending someone to collect her and Lhyn for the High Council meeting, and she needed to check in with Kameha, who had taken Torado with him to muscle their way to the shuttle bay and see about launching their remaining shuttle. If all went well, they’d fly it over to Blacksun Base tonight and end their dependence on the Alseans for transportation, not to mention that she really wanted access to the shuttle’s quantum com. Of course, she hadn’t yet asked the Lancer for permission to park an alien shuttle at the base…
She shook her head. If she kept on at this rate, she’d still be sitting here when Baldassar came by on his way back.
Another piece of debris clattered to the floor when she rose, and she kicked it aside on her way to the bedroom. In the doorway, she looked at the unmade bed and remembered Lhyn smiling at her from that very pillow as she’d left her quarters to start what should have been just another duty shift. All she’d been thinking about then was putting in her time and coming straight back here, hopefully to spend another evening with Lhyn. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine that when she returned, it would be for the last time.
She pushed a hanging cable out of the way and crossed over to the wall drawers, opening them one after another and creating a slowly growing pile of items on the floor. The palm-sized hologram base with all of her family photos. The soft pouch holding her kasmet game pieces, a gift from her grandfather when she turned sixteen. Rather prosaically, four pairs of underwear because she’d be damned if she’d wear this generically-sized Fleet-issued pair one more minute than necessary. Four pairs of her comfortable, soft socks for the same reason. A fifth pair of each went onto the bed, along with one of the uniforms she’d had tailored at Station Erebderis. A second tailored uniform joined the pile.