Catalyst

  She took the small box from the pocket of her dress uniform, opened it, and held it out.

  They both gasped.

  “Is that…?”

  “Oh, Seeders…”

  Ensign Bellows’s mother burst into tears, while his father reached out with trembling hands to take the box. “A White Star?” he breathed. “My son earned a White Star?”

  “For sacrificing himself to save the lives of others, yes. And not just a few others. Billions of them. Your son helped to prevent a planetary genocide. He saved more than four billion people. I am so sorry that you lost him and that his life was so short. But he was a brilliant officer, and he gave his life for a cause so great that there are truly no words to express it. That medal is the closest Fleet can come to it.”

  He looked up at her with tears brimming in his eyes, and she felt her own throat tighten.

  “You should be very, very proud of him,” she said gently. “As his captain, I am extremely proud of his performance under pressure and his service to the best ideals of Fleet.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, then finished, “And I will never forget him.”

  CHAPTER 35:

  Grace

  Alsea, present day

  When Ekatya finally went silent, Lanaril stared at her in wonder. She had related the tale in a matter-of-fact tone, distancing herself from the events she was describing. But her emotions told another story, filling in an entire tapestry between the threads she had spun with her words. There was a depth and richness here that Lanaril had never even suspected—though she should have. After all, this was Lhyn’s tyree, and Fahla never gave that gift without reason.

  The squeaking of a seat cushion caught her attention as Andira rose from the wide chair she shared with Salomen. She crossed the room, pulled Ekatya up, and enveloped her in a warmron in front of Fahla and everyone in the cabin.

  Lanaril cast a nervous glance around. She knew the Gaians viewed warmrons differently, but still…!

  Chief Kameha was looking on with respect and a slight sense of embarrassment. It was clear that he saw nothing wrong with the warmron but felt that he was intruding on the women’s privacy by watching.

  Colonel Micah and the Opah men shifted in their chairs with spikes of shock and discomfort. Nikin looked at his sister with an appalled expression, but Salomen watched her tyree in the arms of another with a perfectly calm face, her eyes betraying nothing and her front as impenetrable as always.

  Lhyn radiated a complicated mixture of love and grief—and an inexplicable warmth of approval.

  “I understand why you didn’t tell me,” Andira said quietly. “I wouldn’t have said anything, either.”

  Ekatya buried her face in Andira’s throat as relief came off her in waves. “Thank you.”

  “And I grieve that loss with you. It was so unnecessary.”

  Ekatya nodded, the sorrow which had accompanied her story growing so intense that Lanaril could hardly bear to be in the same room with it. But it was tempered by something else: a profound sense of belonging, as if she had been waiting for this moment for a very long time.

  Andira put a hand on the back of Ekatya’s head, holding it against her own as her eyes drifted shut. Her bright blonde hair contrasted sharply with Ekatya’s black, and they looked the very picture of a bonded couple.

  Lanaril glanced at Salomen, who still appeared perfectly calm, then back at the extraordinary scene before her.

  Andira’s eyes were open again, staring right into Lanaril’s, and their ice-blue depths held an expression of fierce protectiveness. In that moment, Lanaril knew that Ekatya had not told the whole story. She had offered a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why she would have wanted to learn more about her tyree bond from the only Alsean she saw as a friend, but this was more than friendship. It was even more than the intimacy of lovers. It was…

  No. It could not be that.

  Salomen rose from her chair, walked to the embracing couple, and rested a hand on Andira’s back. Andira released Ekatya, who took a step back and looked up at Salomen with guilt hanging heavy on her shoulders.

  “I don’t have Andira’s experience with your customs,” Salomen said. “But she told me once that the Gaians did one thing far better than we, and then she showed me what she meant. Of course, that did get us into a great deal of trouble.”

  Her quip alleviated some of the tightness in the air; by now everyone there had heard the story of how Andira and Salomen had started their bonding process prematurely.

  “But I think I’m safe from creating a divine tyree bond with you, so…may I?” Salomen opened her arms, and Ekatya stepped into her without hesitation. Her guilt dropped away as she was enfolded in a second warmron.

  With that single gesture, Salomen defused any remaining tension. Her father and brother were still startled, but their spiky discomfort now dissolved into a bemused acceptance. Colonel Micah relaxed completely, a small smile on his lips as he watched. Chief Kameha’s embarrassment had vanished, and Lhyn’s previous approval had morphed into outright gratitude.

  When the two women stepped apart, Salomen reached for Andira’s hand without looking. “You have honored us and our family with your story. You don’t know our traditions, and we would certainly have understood had you held back from this one. But you didn’t, and I’m grateful. Do you know why?”

  Ekatya shook her head, then cleared her throat and spoke in a slightly hoarse voice. “Because you’ve learned more than you ever wanted to know about the pale underbelly of Protectorate politics?”

  “No, that’s me,” Andira said. “I’ve learned more tonight than in a cycle of meetings with Ambassador Solvassen.”

  “And to think Elin Frank was our ambassador for a moon.” Colonel Micah emptied his glass and set it on the side table. “I can hardly imagine how much damage he might have caused.”

  “Oh, he wouldn’t have stayed long, even if we hadn’t ejected him. The kind of wealth and connections Ekatya was describing? He couldn’t manage that out here. He was just here to set up his network, and then he would have gone home.” Andira was about to say more but quieted down when Ekatya looked at her with raised eyebrows.

  Turning to Salomen, Ekatya said, “Why are you grateful?”

  “You’re much more polite than certain others in this room,” Salomen said in a whisper designed to carry to every corner. In a normal voice she added, “Because you proved me right. And as any of my family will tell you, I love to be proven right.” While her father and brother made sounds of amused agreement, she laid her other hand on the center of Ekatya’s chest. “I said you had a good heart. But I think I understated it—you have a great heart.”

  “True words,” Shikal said. “What you did for those poor grieving parents…” He trailed off, his gaze moving between his daughter and son.

  “What you did showed the grace of Fahla herself.” Lanaril rose from her chair and held up both palms.

  Ekatya swung around, her startled gaze going to the gesture they had not yet shared.

  “Creating new families is not always easy,” Lanaril said. “But you would be a credit to any fortunate enough to have you.”

  Hesitantly, Ekatya brought up her hands.

  As they interlaced their fingers, Lanaril continued, “You held one favor from a very powerful man. Favors are currency. You spent yours not on yourself, but to bring comfort to two people you did not even know. That was a beautiful act of grace, and I honor it.”

  “Well said.” Andira smiled at them.

  Ekatya was studying Lanaril, her expression calm while her emotions veered between doubt and a strong desire to believe, all flavored by the unease that stood between them. “Thank you,” she said. “From the Lead Templar of Blacksun, that’s a testament I will treasure.”

  So diplomatic.

  “This is not the Lead Templar speaking to the
Fleet captain. This is Lanaril speaking to Ekatya.” She let go, sensing that she had pushed as far as she could.

  Ekatya nodded, then turned to her tyree. “Should we finish this tomorrow?”

  “Oh, no. I didn’t sit here and watch you relive that just so I can go to bed and dread doing the same thing for a whole day.” Lowering her voice to a whisper, Lhyn added, “If I don’t do it now, I don’t know when I will.”

  “Okay.” Ekatya stooped down to drop a kiss on her forehead.

  Lhyn held her in place with a hand around the back of her leg. “But…I don’t think I can do it like you did. Not in front of everyone. I thought I could, but…”

  “You’re in control of your own story.” Ekatya’s voice was soft, keeping their exchange at this end of the room. “You decide what you want to do. Who you want to tell.”

  “Lanaril,” Lhyn said immediately. “And Andira and Salomen.”

  Andira crouched in front of her. “Would you prefer to do this in our cabin? The view is beautiful when the moons are out.”

  Lanaril’s heart nearly broke at the grateful relief pouring off Lhyn.

  “That would be… Yes, I’d like that.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do.” Andira faced the others and spoke in a louder tone. “If we leave you here alone, can we trust that this place will still be standing tomorrow?”

  “It will have to be,” Colonel Micah said. “Aldirk paid an immense guarantee to reserve this resort. If we destroy a cabin, I’ll never hear the end of the whining about the costs.”

  “I believe we might destroy a few bottles of spirits, however.” Shikal’s eyes were twinkling.

  “You mean a few more bottles of spirits,” said Nikin.

  Chief Kameha was already making his way toward the cabinets, giving Ekatya a short nod as he went. She nodded back, and Lanaril marveled at the perfect understanding that existed between them. Those two nods had been a full communication, complete with emotions expressed and understood on both sides. Lhyn often spoke of the importance of what she called “body cues” and teased her about her dependence on empathy, but only now was she beginning to realize how much these sonsales aliens could share with each other despite their empathic blindness.

  With a comment about leaving the men to their preferred method of destruction, Salomen led the way out. The night air was heavy with the scents of flowers that did not bloom during the day, and tonight a chorus of insects sang high up in the trees. Fianna had mentioned something about them earlier—a courtship that only occurred for a few ninedays each cycle.

  Andira and Salomen stepped onto the path to the Bonding Bower, which obligingly lit up all the way to the base of the delwyn tree. Lanaril was right behind them, but Ekatya and Lhyn paused on the deck. Lhyn was looking back toward the door.

  “Kameha will tell them,” Ekatya said.

  “He will? When did you ask him?”

  “This afternoon.”

  “But how did you know?”

  “I didn’t. I wanted you to have options.”

  Lhyn made a soft sound in her throat. “You’re perfect.”

  “Not yet.” Ekatya smiled up at her. “But I keep trying.”

  “That’s what makes you perfect.” Lhyn caught her hand and tugged her down the steps.

  The group was halfway across the clearing when Andira said, “I have a question, Ekatya.”

  “Missiles away.”

  Andira laughed. “That’s one I haven’t heard in quite some time. What a joy to hear it again.”

  “What, Fleet speak?” Lhyn’s emotional balance was more stable now. “I thought you appreciated a higher level of language.”

  “Hey.” Ekatya elbowed her gently. “You’re supposed to appreciate the cultural richness of a distinct dialect. What is it, Andira?”

  “It was only two days after I called you at Quinton Shipyards that Parser sprang his trap on me. That was the day he showed Elin Frank the vid of me nearly killing him in a holding cell. But based on what you’ve said, Frank was in custody by then. How did Parser talk to him?”

  “Because Elin Frank has more money than all the Shippers and Seeders put together. People like that don’t wait for their trials in prison the way others do. He was under house arrest. I’m sure one of his lawyers gave him access to a quantum com, even though he wasn’t supposed to have it. He wouldn’t have stopped running his empire just because he couldn’t go anywhere.”

  Andira turned and walked backward as she said, “Fahla does have a sense of humor. Two of the biggest blindworms in the galaxy were talking to each other about their greatness while one was in custody and the other was about to be.”

  “It does work out sometimes,” Lhyn said.

  “It does.” Ekatya wrapped an arm around her waist.

  They climbed the winding steps around the great delwyn tree and crossed the wooden deck, their footsteps sounding like a small herd of winden. Salomen slid open the glass door and led them into the cabin, a space Lanaril found familiar given her two afternoons with Fianna.

  While she and Salomen poured drinks, Andira and Ekatya rearranged the chairs, creating an intimate circle with three chairs facing the sofa and the low table between them. Before long, the table was covered with glasses and bottles, and Lhyn was snuggled up to Ekatya on the sofa. Lanaril, Andira, and Salomen took their places.

  “Here it is at last.” Lhyn’s nervous smile was the tip of an iceberg of apprehension. “I’ve been looking forward to this and dreading it at the same time. I want you to know, but it’s not an easy story.”

  “Tell it at your own pace,” Lanaril said. The level of anxiety rolling off both Lhyn and Ekatya was making her own heart beat faster.

  “Take all night if you need to,” Andira added. “None of us are going anywhere.”

  Lhyn looked down into the depths of her glass. “Um. What I meant is that it won’t be an easy story for you to hear. I’m through it, and I’m all right now—” She stopped. “Well, mostly all right. Given what you saw earlier this evening, you probably have your doubts. But it’s much better than it used to be, and getting easier all the time. It got much easier the moment I set foot on Alsea. Just remember that.”

  CHAPTER 36:

  Question and answer

  Qwonix, 2.75 stellar months earlier (2 Alsean moons)

  As the applause swelled, Lhyn gratefully sipped the water that had been left for her at the podium. After an hour and a half of speaking, her throat was as dry as a desert planet. But her keynote speech had been well received, and the three thousand people packed into the auditorium—the largest by far at the conference center housing this year’s Anthropology Consortium meeting—were showing no signs of leaving. Everyone seemed eager to stay for the question-and-answer period.

  At last the applause died down enough for her to start the final part of her obligation. Twenty minutes of this, half an hour at most, and then she could enjoy a nice dinner with colleagues and retire to her hotel room to relax. Tomorrow she would be on the dawn shuttle to Tlahana Station, where she would transfer to a second shuttle, and three days after that she would be stepping onto the Phoenix.

  She could not wait. Walking away from Ekatya after their two weeks together at Quinton Shipyards had been twice as hard as walking away from her the day before her shakedown cruise. Her career with the Institute was over; she could no longer tolerate year-long communications blackouts. The very idea of going that long without seeing Ekatya made her feel panicky.

  Alsea was calling her with a lifetime’s worth of learning, and Ekatya’s new assignment was the final piece to the puzzle. Lhyn could live part-time on Alsea and part-time on the Phoenix, which was now tasked with protecting Alsea and the sector of space in which it was located.

  All that stood between her and her new life was thirty minutes of questions.

  There were many
raised hands to choose from, and she pointed at random to a man by the center aisle. He stood up, prompting the mic controller to drop a microphone from the ceiling. It hovered just above and in front of his head.

  “What were the effects of your immersion in the Alsean culture, both on the culture itself and your interpretations of it?”

  She had bet herself that would be one of the first questions.

  “It’s true that my study of the Alsean culture was like no other, due to my complete access. But it’s also true that the Alseans experienced a Pulsar-class ship crashing on their planet, a ground pounder murdering their citizenry, and a full Voloth invasion. Those were such dramatic events, with such far-reaching cultural consequences, that I believe my presence made no comparative difference. As to the effects on my interpretation…” She paused. “We’ve been debating the Non-Interference Act for a very long time, and it’s no secret that I’ve always championed the ideal of open access.”

  Shouts of “Yes!” and a swell of applause swept the room. This had been a contentious subject for her entire career. Many attendees sat in their seats, silent and frowning while others applauded, but she had a new outlook on this topic and no patience left for what she strongly felt was the wrong side.

  “I never believed that a culture could be fully explored from orbital distance,” she said when the room had quieted. “We throttle science at the source and then convince ourselves that our conclusions are objective and complete. How can they be when we don’t even know what we missed?”

  Over the murmurs of agreement, she added, “It’s valid to say that my immersion affected my interpretation, precisely because I was able to see the Alsean culture so clearly from the ground. Far more clearly than I had during my previous ten months in orbit. It also affected me personally. Contact with the Alsean people changed my way of thinking.”