Before her loan to the Alliance Fleet, Maureen Lovelace had spent twenty-seven years in the Terran Navy’s uniform. As a senior non-com she’d logged countless hours playing shepherd to freshly minted officers...enough that her transfer had come with a high-ranking “pony saddle,” what naval personnel had dubbed officer commissions in the Pelted’s topsy-turvy system. Whatever the case, she was the UAV Songlance’s NOTC—New Officer Training Coordinator—which meant all the newbies came through her office. And in all her years, she’d rarely seen a file quite like Forrest’s. The young woman standing at attention in front of Lovelace’s desk was the newest member of the Songlance’s crew and she didn’t look old enough to have accrued the comments appended to her file.
“At ease,” she said. “Lieutenant Forrest. Welcome aboard.”
“Thank you, sir,” the woman said.
“You’re the seniormost officer we’re taking on at this stop,” Lovelace continued. “Lieutenant Shandreis is on family leave and we needed to replace him. Since you’re command track we’re going to put you on the usual full-ship rotation, but initially you’ll be handling his duty.” She tilted her head. “Your file says you have some facility with non-humans—you managed the security detail for a diplomatic visit to the Phoenix, yes?”
“Last cruise, yes, sir.”
“The Diamondwing didn’t have a water environment, did it?”
“No, sir.”
“Can you swim?”
The woman’s ears flicked back, but her reply was confident. “Yes, sir, though it’s been a while.”
“Brush up,” Lovelace said. “For your first rotation you’ll be serving as our liaison to the aliens. That’s mostly the Naysha and Platies, though we also have a small Flitzbe clod—they’re part of the Medical department. Your SKXA score indicates you should be capable of handling the task.”
Actually, Forrest’s Stanley-Kerrileu Xenophilia Average indicated she was more than capable, but the lieutenant wouldn’t know it until she was promoted to a position that involved staffing her own ship. Fleet’s Logistics & Personnel division was very tight-fisted about releasing what it deemed sensitive material despite how flat the Fleet’s command structure was. Lovelace had been on loan for three years and she still wasn’t sure how they made a military work with only six ranks. She suspected the answer was “fine, until a war broke out.”
“Until you move to your next rotation you’ll be reporting to me for everything but your bridge duties,” Lovelace continued. “Your schedule’s been tagged for you, and you’ll have the liaison’s quarters until you’re done with the assignment. Don’t let anyone twit you about their size. Just because your roommates are on the other side of a glass wall doesn’t mean you’re not bunking with them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any questions?”
“No, sir.”
“All right, go check into your quarters. We’re glad to have you, Forrest. You came recommended.”
For the first time since she entered the cabin, the woman hesitated. Lovelace was glad to see it; she liked to see confidence in young officers, but she distrusted perfection. That pause made Alysha Forrest seem—well, human was the wrong word, despite the Pelted’s origins. Genuine, then.
“I’m glad to be here, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
Once she was alone, Lovelace folded her arms and leaned against her desk. She could have asked the First Commander to assign one of the Songlance’s existing lieutenants to the liaison spot; for the grade, it was the most coveted position on a hybrid ship. Time logged with aliens always looked good on personnel records, and the administrative skills honed bridging such disparate worlds were prized among senior staff. In fact, it would be a miracle if Forrest’s assignment didn’t cause a certain amount of friction among her peers. That was why Lovelace had argued for it. She was an old hand by Pelted standards; she’d seen records like Forrest’s before. Someone was shepherding her career, and it would be better for the Fleet to find out sooner rather than later if her patron was doing it for the right reasons.
The Pelted didn’t have a war yet, though you wouldn’t know it with the level of piracy on the border and in the neutral territory bordering it. But Lovelace gave it less than ten years before the Chatcaava brought them one, and when they did—well. They wouldn’t need any trophy officers in positions of responsibility. There had been many reasons to accept the assignment to the Pelted Fleet, but the one that had finally convinced Lovelace had been the same one that had seen her enlist in the first place: she wanted to protect humanity. And if the Chatcaava chewed through the Alliance, they’d make short work of Earth.
* * *
Alysha Forrest drew in a slow breath and then headed for her new quarters, using her data tablet to map the route. Like her last ship, the Diamondwing, the Songlance was a battlecruiser; unlike the Diamondwing, the Songlance had been built around a network of tunnels for the aquatics, changing the ship’s layout—and its feel. Instead of plants, the corridors had unexpected windows into the water environment, and the movement of fish in her peripheral vision was far more distracting than she’d anticipated. Particularly because she kept reading the water habitat as larger than the air-breathing one because of how frequently she spotted it; from her study of the schematics, she knew it comprised less than a tenth of the ship’s volume, but it looked like so much more.
She’d been proud of her promotion; she’d spent only three years on the Diamondwing, and to move from it to another battlecruiser was superlative luck. But she’d also felt a frisson of nervousness over moving somewhere so different. And ending up as the alien liaison...
They were doing it on purpose. They had to be. They weren’t sure of her so they were throwing her into the deep end of the pool. Literally. Alysha glanced one more time at the clear wall looking into the blue and saw herself: the wary look in pale eyes that belied the ease in her shoulders and the set of her ears. Well, she’d lived through worse than the prospect of her new shipmates’ jealousies. She could do this too, and would. Relaxing, she continued on her way.
The liaison’s quarters were on a different deck than the lieutenants’ berths. Alysha let herself in and stopped short at the size of the place; she’d bunked with eight ensigns in an equivalent space on the Diamondwing, and that room hadn’t had the floor-to-ceiling window onto the main tank. As she watched, the distant shadow of a Naysha cut across the vista, disappearing behind the bulkhead that abutted her bathroom.
The room held the expected bunk and desk. It also had what looked like a floor pillow with a bank of adjustable lamps. For the Flitzbe, she assumed, though what it would be like to look after them she had no idea. They didn’t talk and there was some debate still over just how sentient they were. She’d had no idea there were any on Fleet ships at all. She checked the schedule on her data tablet; she was due to meet the Naysha after dinner, so she had time to start reading on her responsibilities. She had only just settled into that when the door chime rang.
“Come in?” She set the tablet aside as the door slid open for an Aera with a pelt the shocking red of embers, edged in sandy fur that also rimmed his hare-like ears with their decorative tufts. He wore a lieutenant’s braid on his nametag, though he was too far for her to read it.
“Hail the newbie!” the Aera said. “We came to say ‘welcome aboard.’ I’m Jae’en and this behind me...” He paused, looked past his shoulder and rolled his eyes. Reaching over, he grabbed the arm of another man and pulled him into sight: Harat-Shariin, from the gray stripes and rounded ears, but surprisingly retiring. “And this is Valery.”
“Hello,” the tigraine said, his voice a soft baritone. He folded his hands behind his back and added, “It’s nice to meet you.”
“And you,” Alysha said, bemused. “I’m Alysha Forrest.”
“See? She doesn’t bite. Anyway, we wanted to invite you to the weekly skullbash—that’s our informal get-together. Us, I mean, all the lieutenants. Not at the same time, that would take a big hall. But all of us on the same shift—we’re on the same shift—so we can, you know. Coordinate. Because we already coordinate with our counterparts in the department on different shifts, so we thought we should talk cross-department. Except you, you don’t have someone covering your other shifts. You’re it.”
Alysha said, slowly, “I...think I followed all that.”
“Oh good,” Jae’en said with a grin. “Because I don’t think I could have repeated it. Anyway, you’ll come? Next session’s tomorrow night. Everyone brings a late night snack.”
“I’ll be there,” she promised.
“Good, great.” Jae’en’s grin spread. “And it’s nice to see another Pelted face. Can I just say? Great. Fewer problems adding to the Old and Proud.”
Alysha’s ears pinned back before she could stop them. “You have problems here?”
The Aera’s long ears drooped. “Ah, well, not problems, you know. Just...” He glanced at his Harat-Shar companion, who twitched his shoulders and looked away. Jae’en sighed. “It’s not problems, more like... “
“Like what?” Alysha prompted when he trailed off.
The Harat-Shar said, “You’ll see when you run into him. He’s on our shift.”
“Him?”
* * *
Valery nodded. “Beringwaite.”
An hour later, Alysha stood at the ramp leading into the water environment, her breathing mask in hand and a trembling tension in her body. She was aware of it, of her own distraction, and knew the cause: she’d met Mike Beringwaite during a leadership retreat a year and a half ago, and the experience had been a difficult one. She hadn’t been aware he was assigned to Songlance; she wondered if he knew she’d joined the ship on the layover at Starbase Ana. Would he make trouble? Better to ask, was he already making trouble…
But she had a job to do. She glanced at the ensign standing at the lockers. “Anything I should know?”
“If you haven’t been in a water environment yet,” the ensign said, “don’t expect it to be like a pool. And avoid the navigation chamber.”
Shandreis had said the same thing in the notes he’d left behind for his replacement, in very strong terms: the navigation chamber, where the Platies interfaced with the ship’s systems, was off-limits to land-based aliens unless the chamber was in maintenance mode. The currents in it were too strong. Alysha tried to imagine the Platies she’d met being capable of navigating currents too strong for someone bipedal to manage and failed. She’d never seen a baby Platy but the adults she’d seen on viseo were the length of her arm and as thin as a pancake.
“All right,” Alysha said. “I’m entering the environment.”
“Aye, sir. Lieutenant Forrest, logged entry at… mark 2029.”
Alysha pulled the mask up and stepped into the water, then dove into the bridging chamber.
The ensign had been understating matters. The water was nothing like a pool’s. It was denser than anything Alysha had ever swum through, and warm, and though the filter in the mask converted the water passing through it into something she could breathe, it didn’t remove the smells... and the water smelled... alive. She paused beneath the surface to allow herself a moment to orient, then pushed through the bridging chamber’s egress into the habitat proper, where one of the shadows was growing more distinct. It resolved into a gray and orange-striped Naysha who fluked toward her lazily and stopped in place, fins idling. From the coloration, this was Ensign Sar, whom Alysha’s predecessor had indicated was the Naysha liaison to the air-breathers.
Sar signed, /You are new? You replace Shandreis?/
It had been a while since she’d learned sign, but it came back to her. The computer could have translated with visual projections, but she preferred the practice, no matter how much that limited her vocabulary initially. /That’s right. Alysha Forrest—I joined at Ana./
The Naysha considered her with lambent fuchsia eyes, each the size of a fist. /You sign well./
Alysha smiled. /Thank you. I like languages./
Sar grinned. /We will teach you new words. You have read about us?/
Alysha nodded. /Five Naysha, two in navigation, two in sciences, one in engineering. And four Platies./ She cocked her head, then swiped at some of the hair that was floating in her way. /I was surprised. So few Platies./
/It is a concern to us,/ Sar signed. /Only because we worry about Hood’s successor. Hood is not concerned, though, and there are back-up navigational systems if something happens to him./
/Can I meet him?/ Alysha asked.
/You wish to?/ Sar’s signs had been fluid until this exchange, and the choppiness felt like surprise. /Shandreis did not./
/Why wouldn’t I?/ Alysha asked.
/Hood frightens people. Many people do not like the Platies./ Sar tilted her head. /Many people do not like us, either. They say we are not Pelted enough./
Alysha looked at Sar. The Naysha had been engineered to recall the human legends of mermaids, and their bodies were streamlined combinations of human torsos and densely muscled delphine bodies. But they had fishlike skin and their faces were elongated and strange and mostly eyes. Many people found their near-humanness distressing.
/You are Naysha,/ she replied at last. /I don’t see why anyone should measure you to any other standard./ And, keeping her motions smaller, /You are closer to true-alien than anything else the humans made. That is something beautiful./
Sar held her hands palm-out, an expression of surprise. Then signed, /I have never seen such a thing expressed to me./ More firmly, each gesture emphatic, /Come./
Alysha followed. The water environment intersected with the dry in several locations, in chambers large enough to allow the aquatics the space to meet with their compatriots on land. There were few other rooms of similar size. The navigation chamber was off-limits, but there were also sleeping compartments and an area designed for recreation and general meeting space. Alysha followed Sar through the tunnels until they reached that space, and found it wound through with colored ropes from which floated banners and hammock-like pouches. There were computer displays projected along one wall, currently dim, and hand-holds were built into the bulkheads with emergency equipment lockers.
As she entered, Alysha was encircled by a rush of three glimmering creatures, each the length of her forearm. They whirled around her waist and then spun away, dashing through a helical pattern. Sar clapped her hands and signed, /They are excited. A new guest. I will ask them to return./
Though she watched carefully, Alysha couldn’t tell how Sar summoned the Platies. But the three slalomed back, their bodies rippling. One of them was dark green with an iridescent edge, another a velvety black sprinkled with white patches. The third was a sun-bright pink. Sar shepherded them toward Alysha.
/Here they are. The crew call them Al, Nighttime and Pinky./
Nighttime and Pinky were self-explanatory. But—/Al?/
/Short for Algae, I am afraid./
Alysha blinked, then smiled ruefully.
/You may touch them if you wish. They allow./
/I won’t hurt them?/ She watched them twine around her. /They look so fragile./
/They are not! Go ahead./
Hesitant, she held out a hand, and Nighttime passed under it, grazing her palm. The Platy felt frictionless and dense, and she shivered.
/Good?/ Sar asked.
/Strange,/ Alysha said. /But yes. Tell them I said thank you?/
/They know. They always know those things./
Alysha glanced at the creatures. /Sar? Aren’t there four? Where’s Hood?/
A shadow gathered behind the Naysha, who signed, /Don’t be afraid./
The last Platy, the Songlance’s alien navigator, flowed over Sar’s head and coasted around her, and he was easily the length of a Recurve-class shuttle. Alysha froze as he wove beneath her and back around Sar, like an enormous curtain, one large enough for a theater. At least now she knew why the currents in the navigation chamber were so powerful. /I... had no idea they grew so large,/ she signed, her hands finally unlocking.
/They do not stop growing until they die,/ Sar answered. The Naysha peered at her, translucent eyelids narrowing her gaze. /You are disturbed?/
/Surprised,/ Alysha said. Tried to remember the word she wanted, formed the noun when she couldn’t remember the adjective. /Awe. I feel awe./
/Awe!/ The Naysha straightened. /I think you might touch him, if you wanted./
/I can’t imagine,/ Alysha began, but Hood rippled under Sar and up to her, brushing against her side. Her hands trailed over his skin, slick and dark, and then he passed behind her, the wave of it pushing her toward the Naysha. /How... how does he even fit in the tunnels!/
Sar laughed, a big open-mouthed grin and closed eyes, hands flapping with amusement. /He rolls himself. You’ll see. If you come this way. Will you? Most liaisons stay in the bridging chamber. We go to them./
/I’ll come,/ Alysha said.
/Good. Then swim with us. I will introduce you to the others. They are on-duty. You will make the trip to their stations?/
/Of course./
Sar grinned again. /I think we shall give you a name. I will ask the Platies and the others./
/A name?/
/Something faster to sign than spelling out your name letter by letter,/ Sar replied. /We will think about it./ A gape-mouthed grin, almost a laugh. /Promise it will not be ‘algae’ or ‘pinky.’/
/I hope not,/ Alysha said, grinning back.
/This way./
They found the remaining Naysha at their duty stations, where Alysha made their acquaintance and asked if there was anything she could do for them… but none of them had complaints. As she swam back toward the bridging chamber, Alysha paused to ask, /Is that true? They don’t need anything? Or are they being polite?/
/We have few needs,/ Sar replied, hands flashing. She swam a ways longer, then paused to turn enough to sign. /We are glad to be here. There are few ships with water environments. We know the only reason why there are any spaces for Naysha at all in the Fleet is so that we can serve the Platies./ The Naysha shrugged, then added, /It is our opportunity. We are glad of it./
/But I can’t do my job unless you are honest with me about your needs,/ Alysha replied. /Promise if you have any, you will say so./
/We had one,/ Sar signed, emphatic gestures. /Someone who would come into the water with us./ A gape-mouthed grin. /Here you are./
/Here I am,/ Alysha agreed. /And I will come back every shift./
/Good. Then we are content./
* * *
Alysha hauled herself up out of the water environment, expecting the usual sense of sodden weight and instead feeling lighter. She paused at the top of the stairs, dripping and frowning, until the ensign interrupted her thoughts by reporting, “Lieutenant Forrest, logged exit, mark 2204.” The computer chimed its acceptance, and then the ensign turned to her, ears flicked back. “Sir? That took a while. Was there a problem?”
“What? No,” Alysha said. “No, I was just meeting everyone.”
The ensign’s expression wasn’t quite skeptical. Confused, maybe. Had she been that confused on her first tour of duty? She couldn’t remember, and found that funny… as if she was so old. Alysha went to towel off and change and see if she could locate her Flitzbe clod.
On her way toward the Medplex, she considered Sar’s final commentary. Platy navigators could cut Well travel times anywhere from ten to thirty-five percent, depending on the individual, which made a ship guided by one faster than any other ship in its class. But maintaining the integrity of the water environment and protecting it from the sort of damage Fleet warships were designed to absorb made it impractical to commission more than a handful of their type. Alysha had never thought about what that meant for Naysha who wanted to join Fleet. What would it be like to have her own desire to protect the Alliance and so few opportunities?
Her skin stippled with gooseflesh and she rubbed her arm, wrinkling the sleeve of her uniform. Well, she had a job to do. Even if the Naysha of the Songlance weren’t complainers, she would do her best by them. Which brought her to the doors of the Medplex, which slid open just in time for her to trip over a tumbling, bouncing army of round fuzzy aliens. She managed to get her feet under her again, but she did bump into the healer-assist shooing them out, a human woman with hair the deep brown of chestnuts and a look of perpetual amusement on her face.
“Oh, hey, watch your feet—“ The healer-assist clasped her by the shoulders and held her upright. “Wait until they roll past you. There you go.”
Alysha said, “Those are my wards!”
The human laughed. “Then I guess you’d better follow them. I just told them they’re off duty. They need food, they’re sagging around the edges.”
“And I just put them under a lamp, right?” Alysha asked, wide-eyed.
“Yep. And pet them. They can hear us, or it might as well be hearing, though it’s not auditory as far as we know. Maybe they sense our thoughts? Goddess knows. But no matter what they can do, we can’t get anything from them unless we’re touching them. So do a lot of touching.” The healer-assist turned her around. “Go on. They know the way back, but it helps to have someone leading so no one falls over them, the way you did.”
“Right!” Alysha said, trying to keep her ears from pinning back. She jogged after the rapidly rolling aliens.
Behind her, the healer-assist called, “Come back with them in the morning! They’ll wake you up! You’ll do fine, don’t worry!”
“Thanks!” Alysha answered, hopping over a few of her charges until she could get in front of them. The largest Flitzbe in the group was only a foot tall and there were several much smaller ones, and it was very hard to tell how many of them there were when they were weaving in and out of one another’s paths. She hoped desperately they were all accounted for; she couldn’t imagine searching the ship for a single alien the length of her hand with no mouth, eyes or ears. That would be a fine way to start her first day on her new ship… by losing a Flitzbe.
Alysha sighed, and smiled, amused. If anyone had told her she’d be playing escort to a group of furry beachballs with her shiny new commission, she would have laughed. And she laughed now, because it was still funny.