“I remember.” It had been one of the most magical evenings of her life.
“Well, imagine doing that with someone you’ve just met. Instead of spending days or weeks or months building up the trust for it, you just connect your minds and share. And there it is, all the honesty and truth that we sonsales stumble over ourselves trying to put into words. It doesn’t need to be put into words, because words can’t describe it. It’s a huge rush straight to the emotional center of your brain. I just met Lanaril this morning, yet in some ways it feels as if I’ve known her for years.”
“Lanaril?”
“She said it was hard to stand on title and ceremony after a Sharing. And it really is. I don’t know, maybe I’m just not equipped to make the proper separation after something like that, but I can’t look at her in the same way now. Before we Shared, she was the Lead Templar, someone I didn’t know but liked on sight and was very happy to speak with. Afterwards, she was Lanaril, a friend I knew very well. It’s…hard to explain. But I didn’t want to leave. We talked for almost three hours afterwards, and I’d have stayed the rest of the day if she hadn’t had an appointment. I’d Share with her again in a heartbeat if she offered. Honestly, I’m a little depressed right now at the thought that it was probably the first and last Sharing I’ll ever have.”
Ekatya couldn’t relate, but she could see that Lhyn had experienced something profound. “I’m glad you had such a wonderful opportunity. No one deserves it more.”
“Thank you. I just wish you could experience it too.” Her expression hardened. “Actually, I think we need to ship the entire negotiation team out here so they can experience it. Maybe that would clear their heads. Did you get the same vibe from their response that I did?”
They’d finally heard back from the treaty negotiation team late last night. There had been separate messages for her and Lhyn, and while she hadn’t seen Lhyn’s, hers had given her a definite sense of the direction the team was going. It had also included Protectorate mining surveys of the five planets, which confirmed the Voloth claim.
“If your vibe said they don’t believe us about the empathy, then yes.”
“That’s it. They think I’ve gone native and lost all sense of perspective, and you’re suffering from a head injury.”
“I told Admiral Tsao I was fine.”
“And she probably believed you. That doesn’t mean the negotiators do. It looks to me like they have a vested interest in accepting the Voloth’s offer. They don’t want to hear from us that they should rethink it.”
Ekatya sighed. “I’m a little worried about that, too.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“What do you mean? We’ve done what we can.”
“That’s dokshin. Of course we haven’t. I’ve got my team looking into those five worlds, because I don’t trust the Assembly when it says they’re worth the exchange, and I especially don’t trust the Voloth on it. And I’m going to submit another report incorporating what I learned today. Fuck them if they don’t believe us about the empathy; they should pay attention when I tell them the Alseans are hybrids.”
“They’re what?”
“They’re hybrids. I should have seen it sooner. We’ve never found empathy in any other Gaian race, and we’ve never found a radically different reproductive system. I would dearly love to examine Alsean DNA, but we can’t get to your medbay and if we used Alsean equipment I wouldn’t know how to read the results. But Lanaril told me their creation myth, and I don’t think it’s a myth at all.”
Ekatya could barely believe this, but Lhyn had been right about so many things. She set down her drink and said, “Tell me.”
“Well, the first part is pretty standard. Fahla created Alsea, she populated the planet with all of its plants and animals, the usual. Where it differs is that her favorite creation wasn’t the Alseans. It was an ocean-dwelling species. That’s the species she loved, the one she gave her greatest gifts to. She gave them empathy and the ability to choose when and how to procreate—sound familiar?—and told them to build their cities in the sea. She said they should pursue beauty and knowledge to the highest levels, so they did. And they did it with a single-mindedness that precluded reproduction, because having and raising children interfered with what they wanted. Plus they lived for hundreds of cycles, so why worry about having kids when they were young? Plenty of time for that later.
“Except when later came, and they finally got around to trying to have children, it was too late. They no longer had the ability. They cried out to Fahla to save them, but when she came, she wept over them and said she couldn’t give back the time they had wasted. What she could do was give them new bodies so they could live again. She would give them a second chance. But the cost was steep: they would have to give up their homes and leave the sea forever. They would have to live on land.
“They agreed, and Fahla kept her word. She gave them new bodies that walked on two legs instead of swimming, and this time she shortened their lifespans so that they would never again forget how important it was to have families. And they haven’t.”
Ekatya’s head was spinning. “So you think—what, exactly? That after the Shippers dropped the Alseans here, they hybridized with some local species? I’m not a biologist, but isn’t the possibility of that about zero point zero one percent?”
“Under natural circumstances, yes. But I don’t think they were just dropped off like the rest of us. I think Fahla is a Shipper. Except we’d have to call her a Seeder, because she really did interfere with Alsean development. Or maybe she’s just the representation of a whole group of interfering aliens, I don’t know, but I’d bet everything I own that Alsea was already home to an advanced species when the original Gaians were brought here, and those Gaians were subjected to genetic experimentation with the DNA of that species. The story of the natives forgetting to reproduce—what if there was some sort of disease that destroyed their reproductive ability? Or maybe they polluted their environment too much, and it interfered with hormone production. It could be any number of things. The fact is, they’re gone, and the Alseans are here now, with a creation myth that says they weren’t the first. And everything we know about them proves they aren’t like any other Gaian race.”
“Great galaxies. That’s…mind-blowing.”
“I know. The Alseans could be our biggest clue yet to who the Shippers really were.”
“So you have a report to write.”
“I do. But what if that’s still not enough? It might come down to you.”
“Me? I don’t have that much power. My career is already on thin ice. All I can do is tell Admiral Tsao what I know and what you’ve learned.”
Lhyn gave her a look that said her intelligence had just undergone a sudden decline. “Of course you have that much power. Not in the Assembly, not in Fleet, here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“In six days that personnel ship will be here to pick everyone up. You’re planning to destroy the Caphenon when you go. If it comes to that—if we have to leave because the Assembly gives Alsea away—don’t do it. Leave the ship for the Alseans. It’s the only chance they’ll have against the Voloth.”
“Are you insane?” Ekatya gaped at her before getting her reaction under control. “That is not possible.”
“Why not?”
Sometimes she forgot just how different they really were, and how out of touch Lhyn was with everything it meant to be Fleet.
“First of all, it would mean not just throwing my career away, but quite likely my freedom as well. If you think Fleet wouldn’t court-martial and jail a decorated captain for aiding and abetting the enemy, then you’ve been in too many communications blackouts. And yes, that is exactly how they’d see it,” she added when Lhyn would have spoken. “Disobeying a direct order is bad enough. Disobeying it when I’m already in trouble is worse. But leaving the Protectorate’s most advanced ship design for the Voloth to pick apart? I’d never tak
e another breath of fresh air as long as I lived.”
Lhyn set her jaw stubbornly. “You’re assuming the Voloth would win.”
“Of course they’d win. I know you love these people, and it’s true they’re a lot more advanced than I gave them credit for, but they’re no match against the Voloth. You saw what it took for them to neutralize one ground pounder; how do you think they could possibly handle five hundred? Or even a thousand, if the Voloth decide to bring two invasion groups instead of one? Not to mention their fighters.”
“By using the Caphenon’s weapons!”
“Lhyn…” She sighed. “The Caphenon is dead and broken. It’s built for space warfare, not atmospheric or ground warfare. It could fire missiles, yes, but those missiles aren’t designed to overcome gravity and atmospheric drag. They wouldn’t reach orbit, so they couldn’t be used against the Voloth ships, and if the Alseans tried to use them against Voloth fighters without tying in the defensive targeting system, the fighters would dodge them and laugh. The rail guns would fare better for manual targeting of fighters and ground pounders, but only those within range, and how many Alseans are checked out on those weapons? Zero. And—”
“You could train them,” Lhyn interrupted.
“Oh, for the love of flight.” Ekatya dropped her head to the couch back and stared at the ceiling. “I can’t believe you’re serious.”
“I am dead serious. If you’re so worried about the Voloth winning, or the Alseans not being able to use the Caphenon, then stay here and help them! If the alternative is going home to a court-martial, why not?”
“Because that’s not the alternative! I obey my orders, I keep the Caphenon out of Voloth hands, and I go home to get another ship.”
Lhyn looked at her aghast. “That’s no alternative at all! That’s—that’s abandoning these people! How can you even think of it? The Alseans are the most important Gaian race ever found, with the exception of yours. Besides that, they’re wonderful people with a beautiful culture. They saved you, they saved me, they saved every one of your crew when most races would have either feared us, tried to kill us, or stuck us in a holding cell while they took over the ship. If the Assembly votes the way we think it will, you might be all that stands between them and utter destruction. And you’d just fly away?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Yes, it fucking well is!” Lhyn stood up, her fists clenched at her sides. “I have studied these people for ten months and barely scratched the surface of who and what they are. In three days of personal contact, I’ve learned more than I could have dreamed—more than I could have in five years of floating up there, watching broadcasts. They are the discovery of a lifetime, and I can’t fathom how you could turn your back on that. And we’re the reason they’re in danger in the first place! How am I supposed to live with the fact that I brought them to the Voloth’s attention and then merrily flew away, waving good-bye as the first ground pounders landed?”
Damn it all, she should have seen that coming.
“This is not your fault,” she said gently.
Lhyn glared at her, opened her mouth, and then shut it again as the tears came to her eyes. “Of course it’s my fault. And I can’t help them, other than writing another report that will probably get ignored. You’re the only one who can.”
Ekatya rose and pulled her into her arms. “Lancer Tal herself told you, showed you that it’s not your fault. Remember what she said about the difference between responsibility and fault?”
“I remember,” Lhyn whispered, holding on tight. “It helped then, but it doesn’t help now. And it really won’t help if that becomes a memory of a dead woman.”
“We might be getting upset over nothing. We don’t know how the Assembly will vote.”
“But we both have the same feeling about it. Don’t try to comfort me with a lie; it’s really not effective.”
Only Lhyn could sound like an academic even when she was in tears.
“You know, we’re forgetting one thing in all this. There are five other civilizations at risk.”
“Right, five others far outside Protectorate space that we haven’t studied. Would you trade a brand new Pulsar-class ship for nothing more than the promise of five shuttles?”
“You don’t know that they’re shuttles. They could be just as important as the Alseans. There are cities on those worlds.”
Lhyn broke her hold and stepped back. “I’ve been studying Gaian races my entire life. Trust me when I tell you that the likelihood of the Voloth giving us five civilizations as important as this one is somewhere in the minus range.”
“I do trust you, but that doesn’t mean those civilizations aren’t worth saving. Of course you feel passionately about the Alseans; you’ve spent most of the last year studying them. What if you’d spent most of the last year studying one of those five?”
“That would depend on what I learned. You’re trying to draw an equivalency here, but there isn’t one. There is simply no other known race in the galaxy like the Alseans. They are unique. And we can’t leave them to the Voloth.”
“But it’s not our decision. We’re not the ones in charge. I understand how you feel, and I share it, believe me I share it, but we don’t have the whole picture. We don’t know what else the Voloth are offering the negotiation team. At the very least, it’s going to be a peace treaty. Putting an end to border skirmishes will save thousands upon thousands of lives.”
“There are five hundred million lives on Alsea.”
“And what if the Voloth agree to hand over their new weapon? What if Alsea is the price for the entire Protectorate to remain safe from Voloth invasion? How many billions of lives is that?” When Lhyn was silent, she added, “I am not going to leave the Caphenon. It can’t be allowed to fall into Voloth hands. I’m sorry, but it’s the right thing to do, even if it doesn’t look like it from here. And it’s my duty.”
“It’s not the right thing, and fuck your duty. You bent regulations to come after me and keep me safe, so don’t tell me you’re always bound by your duty. I’m horrified that you’d risk your career for one person, but not for five hundred million of them.”
“I didn’t risk my career for one person; I risked it for you,” Ekatya snapped. “And if you think protecting you wasn’t my duty, think again. You’re a citizen of the Protectorate. Saving the Alseans was my duty as well, even if it wasn’t strictly in my orders, because they were under consideration for incorporation into Protectorate territory. If the Assembly votes against that, then I’ll have a new duty, which I will also fulfill to the best of my ability.”
“But you don’t—”
“That’s what I do!” Ekatya’s voice rose. “It’s how the system has to work. If my orders are to leave Alsea, then yes, I will hate those orders just as much as you do and I will regret their necessity every day of my life, but it won’t be the first time I upheld orders I hated and it won’t be the last.”
She stopped, breathing hard and trying to control her anger before it could dig a wider gulf between them. Lhyn’s caustic dismissal of the entire framework of her life had made that gulf too broad already.
Lhyn shook her head, the twin red spots in her cheeks betraying her own anger. “You told Lancer Tal that if you were given an immoral order, you had right of refusal. But you’re not even considering refusing. If you don’t think leaving Alsea to the Voloth is immoral, then I really can’t imagine what it would take. She wouldn’t just meekly obey like this.”
“I am not Lancer Tal!”
“You certainly aren’t.” Lhyn’s tone left no doubt that Ekatya was diminished by the comparison. “And the fact that you believe what you’re saying makes me wonder if I ever really knew you.”
Ekatya was so stunned that she could only watch as Lhyn turned and walked to the door.
“I won’t be around tomorrow. I have appointments at the university and then I’ll be starting my archival research in the caste houses. That will probably take days.
After all, I’ve got to record as much as I can before you let the Voloth blow it all up.”
“Lhyn—”
“Good night, Ekatya.” The door closed behind her before Ekatya could say another word.
Chapter 43
Mission’s end
For the next three days no one saw Lhyn except at breakfast and dinner, where she ate quickly, made very little conversation—none at all with Ekatya—and left as soon as she could. She was a woman possessed, driven to learn and record as much as she could before the Alsean civilization vanished. The only time she wasn’t studying was when she sat in the shuttle to upload her results and talk to her team about what she needed to prioritize next.
After the third night alone, Ekatya took a risk and skulked over to Lhyn’s room. If any of her crew knocked on her door while she was gone, she’d have a hard time explaining why she didn’t answer, but at this point her rift with Lhyn was more important than hiding their relationship. Lhyn let her in and let her stay, and for a while Ekatya hoped that she’d come to her senses. That little fantasy was extinguished when they had a roaring fight before breakfast the next morning. It was much worse than the first one, with Lhyn pulling out every stop, to the point of actually threatening to stay behind when Ekatya and her crew left. Such an obvious ultimatum pushed Ekatya past her own breaking point. After informing Lhyn that she didn’t appreciate being manipulated for someone else’s definition of right, she stomped back to her quarters and barely remembered not to slam the door.
Lhyn vanished for the next two days, not even showing up for meals. But her ID appeared on the shuttle’s com records every evening, so Ekatya knew she was still out there, studying everything she could and sending it on to her team. She was also spending time with Lancer Tal. According to Candini, two nights in a row the Lancer had flown Lhyn to the base in her personal transport, the one she piloted herself when she wasn’t with her Guards.