Without a Front

  Tal tapped the symbol and watched it give way to the smiling face of Ekatya.

  “Well met, stranger,” Ekatya said.

  “Well met.” Tal’s own smile was out of proportion to the banality of their greeting. “I haven’t seen you in a moon. Where are you?”

  “At the Quinton Shipyards. I’m overseeing the final preparations, and Lhyn’s joining me in three days for the ceremony. Shippers, I wish you could be here for this.”

  “I wish I could, too.”

  “She’s beautiful, Andira.” Ekatya’s dark blue eyes were glowing with happiness. “Absolutely beautiful, and I still can’t quite believe she’s mine. Have I thanked you for that lately?”

  “At least six times.”

  “Make it seven. I took photos during my tour today. Want to see?”

  “Of course I want to see. Let me get set up.” Tal carried the pad back to her chair, set it on the side table, and tapped it to bring up the larger virtual screen. She oriented it to face her and sat back with her glass of spirits in hand. “I’m ready.”

  “Okay. This is from the observation deck.”

  Ekatya vanished, and in her place was a sleek silver ship crouched inside the protective arms of a space dock. It looked like the Caphenon in every way, except it had no crash damage and its hullskin was perfect, reflecting the lights that shone from the dock. Tiny craft could be seen buzzing around it—though, of course, tiny was relative. Those craft were probably half the size of Tal’s state transport.

  “I never saw the Caphenon look like that,” Tal said. “It really is gorgeous.”

  “I know.” Ekatya’s voice was light. “And she’s not an it. She’s a she. Get your terminology right.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Ekatya laughed. “I’ll make a Fleeter out of you yet. We just have to work on the obeying orders part.”

  “You’ll be working on that for a long time.”

  The image shifted again, and now she was looking at a closer view.

  “This is from the dock ferry. I was being taken out to the shuttle bay.”

  “Ferry? You mean you can’t just walk aboard from the space dock?”

  “I could if I wanted to spend half a hantick walking. One of the privileges of being a captain is that I can request a dock ferry to take me on the scenic route.” Now the gigantic engine cradle filled the screen, emblazoned with the name of Ekatya’s new Pulsar-class ship.

  Tal translated the Common letters and sounded it out. “Pho…nix?”

  “Phoenix. Just pretend the o isn’t there.”

  “That isn’t what you told me it would be called.”

  “She.”

  “She,” Tal repeated.

  “I won’t give up on you. Yes, Fleet changed the name. It’s unusual, but not unheard of. And in this case, it’s perfect. A phoenix is an old Gaian legend, a bird that was associated with the sun. It lived a thousand cycles or more, and when it died, it died like a star shedding its outer layers: kaboom. Then it was resurrected from the ashes of its old body to start life anew.”

  Tal sucked in a breath. “She’s the resurrection of the Caphenon.”

  Ekatya reappeared on the screen, her face alight with pleasure. “You are trainable!”

  For a moment Tal’s heart ached to see such joy in her friend. In the short time they had together on Alsea, there wasn’t much occasion for joy. She wished she could have been the one putting that expression on Ekatya’s face.

  Then again…wasn’t she? Ekatya had command of that ship because Tal had pulled every negotiating trick she knew to get it.

  They chatted about the ship, the upcoming launch ceremony, and Lhyn’s latest activities, and when they had exhausted Ekatya’s life, they turned to Alsea.

  “I’m about to pull out my hair with the matter printers,” Tal said.

  “I thought the delegate meetings were going well?”

  “They are—to a point. Remember that producer I told you about, the one who replaced an original delegate and lied about it?”

  “You mean the one you said was opinionated, outspoken, argumentative, and generally a thorn in your side?”

  “Did I say all that?” Tal was a little embarrassed now, hearing such a description quoted back to her. Not that it wasn’t true.

  “Mm-hm. I had the impression of a woman twice as tall as you and four times as wide, red in the face from shouting, and her hair standing on end.”

  Tal laughed. “Wrong, wrong, and wrong. But entertaining to be sure. Actually, she’s quite attractive when she’s not driving me insane. And extremely intelligent—she makes every other delegate in that meeting look as if they have the brains of a dokker. Half the time I want to throw her out, but I can’t because she’s the smartest person in the room…besides me.” She ignored Ekatya’s knowing grin. “And hardworking, too. She’s made it a policy to meet with her community of producers before and after every delegate meeting, so she can share what she learned in the State House. Then she records all of their questions and input and brings it back to our next meeting. It’s been so useful that I asked the other delegates to do the same thing.”

  “The other producer delegates?”

  “No, all of them. In all the caste meetings.”

  Ekatya whistled. “Bet they hate her now.”

  “Probably, but she wouldn’t care. At any rate, it’s very effective. We’re getting closer and closer to consensus, and last moon the warriors and the crafters said they were done. I think the builders will probably say the same next nineday.”

  “So you have half the castes signed on? That sounds like good news to me. Why are you pulling out your hair?”

  “Because the other half are digging in their heels, and out of all of them, the producers are the worst. And it’s because of Delegate Opah!”

  “The opinionated one?”

  “Yes! The producers are still afraid of the matter printers. I think I could have talked them around by now, but that woman is obdurate. She’s resistant to every line of logic.” Tal hesitated. “No, that’s not fair. She does listen to logic. If I can make a good enough argument, she’ll generally concede, but there are two or three obstacles I simply cannot talk my way around. I’ve tried and tried, for four moons now. I’m at my wits’ end. And she’s not just a delegate; she’s also a major landholder in Blacksun Basin. Her opinion carries far too much weight in her caste. I don’t think I’ll ever convince them until I can convince her, and I just don’t know how to do it.”

  “Hm.” Ekatya looked thoughtful. “Well, if nothing you’ve tried has worked so far, then it’s time to think outside the box.”

  “I can tell this is one of those visual Gaian sayings, but I have no idea what it means.”

  “It means, stop thinking like a Lancer asserting her power over a producer. Think outside your normal methods. If you were a Lead Guard again, having this discussion with a landholder, would you approach it a different way?”

  “Yes, I’d throw up my hands and walk away.”

  Ekatya snorted. “This from the woman who figured out how to breach a ground pounder’s shielding. That was thinking outside the box. Nobody even considered that possibility, but you did.”

  Tal paused. “You mean think about it tactically.”

  “Well…yes, if that’s what works. Since diplomacy is off the list and so is logical debate.”

  “Hm.”

  “I recognize that look,” Ekatya said. “Delegate Opah is probably in trouble now. When is your next meeting?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Oh, yes. She’s in trouble.”

  CHAPTER 27

  The producer’s challenge

  In the producer delegate meeting the next day, it took less than twenty ticks before Tal and Delegate Opah were once again arguing the issue of sustainability. To Tal this was
no issue at all, but she could not convince the producers, especially Opah, no matter how reasoned her argument. And on this late summer day, the heat coming through the large windows pushed already-tenuous tempers to the fraying point.

  “You cannot do that; it would destroy our profitability!” Opah’s face was flushed and her voice was louder than necessary. “There must be limitations to the output of the matter printers. Why can’t you see that?”

  “What I see is a bigger picture.” Tal was so irritated that it took conscious effort to keep her front intact. “You look at this from a circumscribed perspective; I’m looking from a broader viewpoint. You’re all too focused on your caste’s interests—you’re not seeing the flock for the birds.”

  “Oh, I think we’re seeing the flock quite well!” Opah was almost shouting now. “What we’re seeing is that you’re willing to sacrifice our caste to the interest of the others. The merchants will certainly benefit if the producers have no pricing leverage!”

  “You could not be more wrong!” Tal’s own voice rose. “Why do you think I’ve spent a cycle meeting with every single caste? So I can decide which ones to throw away?”

  “It would certainly be the effective way of doing it!”

  The other delegates watched in nervous silence. Their emotional state finally got through to Tal, who forced herself to relax in her chair. “Then I open the floor to you,” she said calmly. “Tell us how you would resolve this issue.”

  “I don’t have a solution; that’s the problem!” Opah slapped her palm on the table. “If I did, we wouldn’t be arguing over this. I just know that what you’re proposing will be the death of us. And you can’t seem to see that, because you sit here in your magical dome with your privileged lifestyle and you have no idea what we working Alseans face in our daily lives. If you ever worked a holding, you wouldn’t be trying to shove this ridiculous policy down our throats. You’d see for yourself why we need protection.”

  Her magical dome?

  Tal was seething now. Opah always pushed her, but this was too much. She was just about to say something she would regret when she remembered Ekatya’s advice. Stop thinking like a Lancer. Think outside your normal methods.

  The idea came out of nowhere. It was too outrageous to consider—which was exactly why it might work.

  In a voice that nearly purred, Tal said, “Delegate Opah, your disrespect has crossed the line.”

  The room electrified as every delegate sat up straight. Opah stared, her anger rapidly dissipating into apprehension.

  “I make you a formal challenge,” Tal continued. “You say I know nothing about your daily life, and I know for a fact that you have not the slightest conception of mine. So we will trade. I’ll work with you on your holding for a nineday, and you’ll accompany me in my workday for the same period of time. Do you accept?”

  Everyone held their breath.

  “No,” Opah said.

  The collective expulsion of air was audible, but the delegates tensed up when Opah spoke again.

  “A nineday won’t teach you anything about the life of a producer. You’d need to work with us for a cycle. But since it would be impossible for you to leave your position for that long, I propose a moon. That will see us through the harvest, and you’ll at least get a glimpse of what it means to work for every cintek that we earn.”

  Tal considered it. She knew Opah expected her to back down; after all, a moon was a long time. But it had been almost ten moons since her vacation, and every one of them had been nonstop work punctuated by crises. The idea of getting out of Blacksun, even if it was just to work on a holding nearby, was very appealing.

  Plus, Aldirk and Micah would both have coronary seizures.

  The last thought made her smile, and she saw Opah’s brows draw together.

  “I accept.”

  Opah’s mouth dropped open. “You do?”

  “I do. When shall I arrive at your holding?”

  “Ah…” Her emotional front, never a challenge to Tal in the best of times, slipped entirely. Opah was shocked and dismayed; she had bluffed and lost. “Well, I…I will need time to notify my family, and make a room ready for you—”

  “And for my Guards,” Tal added.

  “Your Guards? How many?” The dismay grew.

  Tal pretended to think. “Since your holding is so close to Blacksun, I shouldn’t need more than twenty.” That was double the number she actually planned to take, but she was enjoying herself.

  “Twenty? I haven’t room for twenty guests!”

  “Twenty-one; surely you haven’t forgotten me?”

  “You did not mention twenty Guards when you proposed this!”

  “Then you withdraw from the challenge?”

  The question galvanized Opah; in a moment her emotions coalesced into a solid determination.

  “No, I do not. I will find housing for your twenty Guards. You may plan your arrival for the first day of next moon.” Her smile was not friendly. “You might also wish to bring your personal masseuse, Lancer Tal. On a holding, we work for our livings.”

  “I would expect nothing less. And you may wish to borrow my personal masseuse when your turn arrives. That magical dome existence you expect will also involve a training mission, and there will be no accommodation made for one who finds her legs unused to walking twenty lengths or her back unused to sleeping on the ground afterward.”

  “You cannot frighten me with such stories. I walk several lengths every day on my holding, and I’ve slept under the stars many a night. I suspect you don’t lead nearly as active an existence as you portray.”

  “Then it will be my very great pleasure to show you the truth.”

  The air sizzled between them, and for the first time in many moons, Tal had something to look forward to. No matter what happened, it was going to be entertaining. At best, she would win over the producers. At worst, she would be exactly where she was right now, having lost nothing—but Salomen Opah would have to publicly admit that she was wrong about the magical dome existence. That alone would be worth the price of entrance.

  CHAPTER 28

  Field of conflict

  “Are you trying to kill me?” Micah could not believe his ears. How could she be so reckless? He thought they were past this; she hadn’t done anything this idiotic since before her vacation.

  “Micah—”

  “Could you at least have considered the ramifications before agreeing to such folly? I cannot believe this. What were you thinking? How am I supposed to protect you while you run around a holding with a woman who believes you’re out to destroy her caste? You will be sleeping in the house of your enemy, for Fahla’s sake!”

  Tal watched calmly as he paced her office. “She’s not an enemy. Her voice is simply louder than her thought.”

  “Voices can cause a great deal of damage. They can incite action.”

  “Then don’t you think it would be more dangerous not to do this? What better way to silence that voice, and all others who might take up the cry, than by actively proving it wrong? I’m truly at an impasse with the producers. Almost a full cycle of meetings and they still don’t trust my intentions. Something has to change, and my instinct tells me this could be it.”

  He stopped pacing and stood in front of her desk, hands on his hips. “Is that all it is? Or are you running again?”

  For a moment there was fire in her eyes, but then she shook her head. “I suppose it’s going to take a few more moons before you stop worrying about that. I’m fine, Micah. Yes, I spoke with Ekatya last night, and no, that’s not why I’m doing this. Although she did give me the idea, in a way. It’s been an entire cycle since she left—I’m past that. But I need a break, and I need to get out of Blacksun. So maybe I can hit two targets with one throw.”

  He sighed. “You realize that every gray hair on my head is thanks to you.?
??

  “You say that every time I put a foot off the line. And I can still recall my first days in your unit; you had gray hair then.”

  “Yes, and I acquired every strand of it the moment I learned that Andira Shaldone Tal had been assigned to me.” He collapsed into the chair and looked at her beseechingly. “If I cannot inspire sense in you, can I at least inspire caution? Please take this situation seriously. Your security will be difficult to safeguard in that environment. You must allow me to do my job.”

  “I promise. I think you’re overstating the danger, but I’ll do as you ask.”

  “Thank you.” Relieved to have an actual promise, Micah relaxed. Then he began to chuckle. “You told her you were bringing twenty Guards?”

  Tal grinned. “I did.”

  “Poor woman.”

  Micah was in Tal’s office the next day when she finally told Opah that she would in fact require only ten Guards. The producer’s relief was obvious even over the vidcom.

  It wasn’t until Tal ended the call that her composure broke and she laughed. “Did you see her face? Fahla, but that was worth the wait.”

  “This looks more like the kind of stunt you’d pull on me. Why are you tormenting her?”

  “Because she tormented me first. I’ve spent four moons fighting her in those delegate meetings, and believe me, this is the first time I’ve ever had the upper hand. She set up the field of conflict; now she must let the battle play out.”

  Micah had already run a thorough background check on Opah and was no longer concerned about any danger she might pose. But the check hadn’t satisfied his curiosity about how a producer had managed to get so far under Tal’s skin when many others had tried and failed. Never would he have imagined Tal issuing a challenge like this, much less accepting a counterchallenge that increased the difficulty by a factor of four.

  Now he listened to her humming contentedly as she pulled up a file for him and wondered about her word choices. A conflict, a battle—and she seemed delighted at the prospect.

  Ever since the invasion, Tal had been enmeshed in difficult decisions, negotiations, and compromises where her options tended to range from bad to worse. Nothing could be checked off and forgotten; everything had long-lasting ramifications. But this challenge would have a beginning and an end. It would have a winner and a loser.