Yes, I actually did pity the Salik, back when I was in the Navy. By their own arrogance, their own pride, their own species-centric blindness, they condemned themselves. One way or another, they were bent on a course of self-destruction. Those races who do understand and value cooperation between each other’s kinds are stronger because of our cooperation. Stronger because of our diversity, though the Salik looked upon it as species impurity.
I’ve always pitied them. Always felt sorry for them, knowing what I knew. Neither did I hate them for clinging so stubbornly to their nature and their beliefs; I just felt sorry for them. And I’ll point out how I went out of my way to try to warn them, even as I did what I had to do. The rest…well, they were the ones who were choosing to go to war.
Good or bad, right or wrong, all of us must live with the consequences of our choices.
~Ia
AUGUST 27, 2495 T.S.
BANQUET HALL OF THE GRAND COMMANDERS
SALLHA
They chained her up about a third of the way back from the dais holding the highest-ranked members of the top brass. Everything else she had done would have earned her a frame at the back of the room, but blowing up a capital ship as she had, well…she was up here. Ia wasn’t “worthy” enough to be their most prized meal, a fellow Human who would be set free in a contemptuous gesture of superiority to “fight” for survival against their Grand High General, but she was worthy enough to be here. That was the important part.
She did her best to ignore the swerving eyes and licking, smacking lips of the Salik generals nearest her while the others were brought into the hall and chained into the eating frames. They hissed and burbled in quiet little comments, studying her limbs hungrily, but none of them uncurled a tentacle-hand her way. No one would eat any of the prisoners until the Grand High General—the actual term in Sallhash was difficult to translate—had caught and taken the first bite out of his prey.
Instead, she filled the time by closing her eyes against the vision-straining hues of the blue green light shining down from the great glass globe overhead. Turning her attention inward and up, Ia focused on the locks of the manacles holding her arms straight up, her feet barely touching the floor. Some of the others struggled, some sobbed or hissed, and a few chittered. Announcements of each captor’s “crimes” against the Salik gurgled through the hall, inducing temporary lulls in the aliens’ various incidental conversations. The noise of nearly a thousand nostril-flaps whistling and all those lips smacking followed each introduction, since the Salik had no hands to clap in applause like some of the other races.
The headache came back as the first psychic captive was led into the chamber. Wincing slightly—the pain wasn’t serious, but it was noticeable—Ia peered over her shoulder, trying to find the source of the annoyance. The Solarican being carried into the room, wrists and ankles tied to a pole like some sort of primitive tribal sacrifice, had a strange contraption strapped to her head. It was connected via cables to a heavy box being wheeled by a Salik guard behind her. Warily, Ia probed toward the box electrokinetically. Her headache immediately increased.
That’s very strange…That’s a machine! How is a machine able to give me a psi-induced headache?
She probed warily, precognitively, dipping just far enough into the timestreams to see the fog spreading outward as an aura-overlay on the real world. Specifically, from the crown-thing on the alien’s head, not from the box, though the box and its cables did radiate a bit of mist-glow uncertainty. So…if they’ve put this thing on her head, and I know from when we get out of this that she’s a Seer, their term for someone with psychic abilities…then the machine is generating some sort of…of psychic-ability dampening field?
That made sense. That made a horrible lot of sense. It also made sense as to why blowing up a capital ship armed with one of those things placed her so close to the dais, rather than at the back of the room for all her other crimes against the Salik nation. The generation of that much psi-nullifying energy, enough to block her abilities, would have indeed required the resources of a capital ship. By comparison, this little machine was a mere nuisance.
Until they brought in the second psi, and a third, and a fourth. Each machine ramped up her headache and spread another patch of fog into her mental awareness of the large underground hall. Quickly, before the fields grew too pervasive, Ia wrapped her hands around the chains holding her up and unlatched the manacles at wrists and ankles. She carefully held still, not wanting anyone to realize she was free, but unlocked herself subtly all the same.
One of the machines passed close by her eating frame. Carefully craning her head, Ia studied it. The head-thing was firmly strapped onto the crested skull of the priest-caste Tlassian. The machine had the usual sucker-controlled buttons, smooth and seamless, and very difficult to pull up on telekinetically. By its very nature, the machine itself would no doubt block any electrokinetic attempts to interfere with it, and probably—
—Aha! It’s plugged in! That’s how they can fit on all the different skull caps, for different alien head configurations. The machines are the same, but the helmets are interchangeable, and it’s the helms that cause the radiation effect. Biting her lip to keep from crowing, Ia focused on her pain to clear the joy out of her nerves. Pleasure could be just as distracting as fear, and the next few minutes would be vital. Mindful of her loosened manacles, she looked around the chamber, identifying the exact placement of each of the anti-psi machines and the sockets for their suppression helmets.
This would not be that much different from playing the wall harp back home. A little harder thanks to the fog, but not by too much. Confident she knew of each plug’s placement, Ia relaxed. Instead of wrapping her mind around a dozen or so picks, she wrapped them instead around the base of each wire. The strain of holding on to them in spite of the fields’ dampening qualities was about as bad as the strain of holding herself up by her chains without moving. Bearable, but not something she’d care to do forever. She closed her eyes and rested as much as she could, given the two problems at hand, balancing tension with what would look to her captors like resignation.
An extra-long speech in Sallhash warned her that the parade of prisoner-meals was coming to an end. Opening her eyes, she watched the Salik guards carry in yet another pole-bound prisoner. This one was their last prisoner, the greatest enemy the frogtopusses had managed to get their slimy tentacles around.
The naked, struggling, grey-haired and grim-faced woman was none other than the long-missing Admiral Jenka Viega, former Fleet Commander of the Blockade. Viega had been presumed killed while traveling on an OTL courier over four months ago. Despite her long captivity, she looked as if she had kept her middle-aged body fit and her spirit strong, judging by the curses she flung in Spanish and the flexing of her muscles against her bonds.
Her fighting spirit seemed to rouse some of the other captives. Several strained against their bonds, craning their necks to look at the woman. Breathing deep, readying herself, Ia watched as the admiral was set on the platform and her ankles were unbound. Ia knew the older woman was just waiting for her wrists to be freed before she intended to lash out, and hopefully take down the Grand High General before she died. Ia didn’t intend to give the older woman that chance.
“Excuse me, meioas!” she called out, tightening her gut to project her voice over the hubbub in the hall.
Ia let go of the chains, freeing her hands from their restraints, kicking her legs to shake off the ankle cuffs binding her feet to the floor. The Salik around her hissed in surprise, too stunned by her sudden escape to move. Without hesitation, Ia turned her drop into a bound, striding quickly straight for the main platform. Hisses followed her progress, with some of the aliens rising from their cushion-seats.
Given that Sallha’s gravity was barely.71Gs Standard, Ia reached the platform in mere moments. The Grand High General hissed and gurgled at her approach, no doubt something about personally eating the guards who hadn’t secured her chains. She spoke again as he started to raise one set of tentacles in her direction.
“I hope you don’t mind, General, but I went to a lot of trouble and expense to attend this little party. I am here to try to save your lives,” Ia told him firmly, letting her volume echo her statement off the ceiling and walls.
Her words arrested him in mid-command. Curling his digits, he licked his lips. “Hhheww…wish to sssave our livvesss?”
Silence fell. Those Salik who had risen sank back onto their seats. Once again, alien psychology was now on her side, playing into her hands. With such a bold, bold statement, Ia had proven herself worthy in their eyes to face up to their leader…though perhaps not yet worthy of being eaten by him.
Chin up, shoulders level, Ia returned the taller alien’s gaze calmly. “Yes. I do wish to save you. I am here to give you Deep Warnings, as your people put it. If you insist on going to war with us in the next few years, your entire race will perish. Generals, workers, males, females, tadpole-children and kraken-crones, all of them will vanish from the future of this galaxy. Knowing that will happen, I could not in good conscience remain silent, thus I arranged to be captured and brought here.
“You will perish to the last scrap of your species’ existence,” Ia stated, holding his swivel-eyed gaze. “Your rivers will run dry, your lakes will lie still, your waterworks will cease to drip, and the roar of your oceans will be silenced forever, if you go to war in the next few years. You have my Prophetic Stamp on that.”
The Grand High General snorted. He wheezed through his nostril-flaps, eyes flicking this way and that before refocusing on Ia’s face. “Hhheww are misstakenn, Hhhuman. We go to war in the nexst fffew hoursss!”
Ia ignored the alien version of laughter gusting through the hall. Instead, she yanked on the plugs of every machine within her grasp. If their headaches were anything like hers, the sudden cessation of pain in the other psychics’ brains would force them to take a few moments to recover. Prepared for it, Ia ignored the backlashing ache in her own head. Focusing while the Salik around her mocked her words in babbles and hisses, she shifted her mind to target every single weapon being carried by the ten guards on the platform, followed by every manacle within range. It would strain her abilities, and she would have to unlock the whole room in a series of waves, but it was the best she could do.
She knew the Grand High General was permitting her to speak as a show of power over such insolent prey. She needed that arrogance, because she had to try to warn them, to salve the burning of her own conscience before taking up the burdens of her coming duties. When the laughter-wheezing finally died down, Ia spoke again.
“…So. You will not change your mind? Even knowing that it guarantees the destruction of all of your people, and all your worlds, leaving you nothing more than a fading, pitied memory?”
He uncurled a tentacle at her, wiggling the tip in admonition. “There isss nothing hhew can do to usss. We are mighty! And hhhyouuu are prey.”
Holding up one finger upright toward him—the Human gesture was ironically similar to the Salik version of please wait—Ia looked over her shoulder at Admiral Viega. “For the record, sir, I did try to warn them. I honestly tried. Please stand witness to this, in the coming years?”
Viega frowned in puzzlement. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted. Not by the scornful whistle-laugh of the head of the Salik military and his fellows, but by another set of sounds. The clanking and locking of every door around them, sealing them into this room. Hard on the heels of that came other sound.
Stunner pistols flew out of holsters and pop-popped out of suckered grips. They flew into suddenly freed fingers as manacles snapped and clattered. Solaricans roared, K’kattas chattered, and Gatsugi keened, some flushing rage-violet, others staying a sickly yellow-fear. Salik leaped up high and slammed down on their freed meals from overhead—only to find themselves batted off-target by Ia’s mind, and more, aided by the other psis in the room. All of this took energy, some of which she siphoned from the crystal still encircling her leg, softening it so it could flow up her shin.
“Hhhheewww!” the Grand High General hissed, crouching in preparation to spring onto Ia. “Hhheww did thissss!”
Humans screamed, in rage and in pain—and the shadows in the room danced abruptly under the billowing pillars of bright yellow red fire that erupted. The other psis were rousing and fighting back. Chaos now ruled the hall. “Hhhew willll die!”
He leaped at her. Liquid crystal darted up from her leg to her fist, hardening just in time for her to punch him in the mouth. Not in time to stop the force of his pounce, but enough to break his sharpened teeth and thrust him, mouth and body, off to the side. Landing hard on her back, Ia grunted and rolled, using the momentum of her fall to haul her heels over her head.
Shoving back to her feet, she reshaped the blob cupping her fingers. She knew this banquet was being recorded and broadcast, and spat out one of the few words she knew she could pronounce in Sallhash. “Pthaachsz!”
Toothless.
Pupils dilating wide at the insult, the Grand High General spat blood from his mouth and reared up to leap at her again. Ia swung back her sword in preparation for a coup de grace.
“Lieutenant!”
The warning came too late. Weight struck her from behind. Teeth clamped into her left shoulder in aching, piercing, concentration-shaking pain. Clenching her jaw, Ia swung anyway, beheading the leader of the Salik forces. His body, caught midleap, knocked into hers, staggering her back into the Salik general literally trying to chew off her arm.
Stunnerfire washed over both of them. Ia squeaked as his jaws locked tighter, body sagging in electrostatic-induced slumber. Gasping against the pain, she slashed awkwardly over her right shoulder, hooking her wrist as hard as she could to make sure the monofractal edge cut through his skull without cutting into her own flesh. Scuffling forward as his body sagged, she aimed a second, even more awkward strike. It swept from behind her head, severing most of his body from his face. A third twist let her cut off the last bit of flesh holding his body to his jaws. That freed her just in time to turn and slash, gutting the next Salik.
Whirling to face the rest, she found them slumped unconscious on the dais. The Fleet Admiral spun around as well, facing into the bloodied crowd. A frustrated growl escaped her. “I can’t hit them without…Gaaah! Why can’t this be a laser?”
There wasn’t time for subtlety. What Ia needed was a hundred small shards, and the nearest source was the great globe of the light-fixture overhead. It was a magnificent piece, stained and shaped to replicate the many islands and seas of Sallha. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder but wincing in regret for the chandelier’s loss, Ia flung her telekinetic might at the great globe from two sides, like two giant, invisible hands bashing together.
Glass crashed and fell. She caught most of it, the larger, sharper chunks, and sent them flying through the air like oversized harp picks. Instead of plucking strings, however, she plucked out throats. It was a sickening symphony of spattering, splattering red. Bodies fell, and the sounds of combat faded. Drawing in a deep breath, she shouted to catch the attention of the survivors.
“Listen up!” Heads turned her way. “We have two minutes to grab all the survivors and get the hell out of here before the Salik send in their reinforcements! Search for survivors—you know what’ll happen if they get left behind! Find people, and move toward that door!”
She pointed with her sword, and seared a line of electricity across the upper edge of its metal frame. Those who were still on their feet scrambled to look for survivors. Fire still crackled and seared, spouting up from the bodies of the fallen Salik off to one side of the huge hall. Ia stabbed for the pyrokinetic’s mind with her own; now was not the time to let him go rogue. As it was, he was perilously close to self-combustion, with the very air around his naked frame showing wisps of smoke.
(Control yourself, Michaels! Lock down your gifts; we don’t have time for you to burn down their world just yet!) Out loud, Ia added more orders to the rest. “Tllaanva, Ssthikit, grab one of those damn anti-psi boxes, and keep your helmets with you,” she ordered a pair of priest-caste Tlassians. They flattened their spiked crests in dismay, but moved as she asked. Ia addressed the other psis. “Everyone, keep your helmets! We need to know what those things are and how they’re made—move it, people! One minute.”
“I trust you know what you’re doing, Lieutenant Ia?” Admiral Viega muttered, following Ia as she moved across the blood-slicked platform toward the stunned bodies of the high generals. “Because unless you can pull off an even bigger miracle than this…”
Ia slashed through the spines and throats of the sleeping generals, making absolutely sure each one was dead. She didn’t bother to ask how the admiral knew her name. The reputation that had earned her a place at this banquet had been earned among her fellow Terrans, and earned long before the four months that Viega had been missing.
“Trust me, sir,” she muttered, teeth clenching as the swiping of her right arm shifted her left shoulder painfully. “I know exactly how to get us out of here—done. Move it, Admiral!”
Turning away from the last of the bodies, she sprinted off the dais, heading for the indicated doors. Running wasn’t easy, not with her left arm clenched across her bare ribs, though turning her sword into a bracelet helped free her good arm for balance. Overturned end tables and scattered cushions were the least of their hazards; broken glass mingled with bloodied bodies, most of them Salik but not all. Ia detoured toward a stunner-slumbering body trapped between two throat-gouged enemies.
Heaving the unconscious Gatsugi out of the pile with her good arm, she dragged him as far as two of the Solaricans, a pair who looked like they were about to turn catatonic with shock at the gore and death surrounding them, and dropped him at their feet.
“You two, carry him. Don’t let him die here,” she ordered.
They flicked their ears back at that thought and quickly stooped, heaving the alien into a carrying position. One was missing half her tail, the other bore Salik teeth marks on his arms and shoulder, his body-fur streaked and matted with blood, but they picked up the unconscious Gatsugi without hesitation.
“The doorr is lllocked!” one of the other felinoids called out. “We’re trrapped in here!”
“No, we’re not!” Ia called back, freeing another sleeping, injured Alliance member from the blood and gore strewn across the floor. Viega quickly took over, directing a pair of muzzled Tlassian warrior-castes to grab and lift the curled-up K’katta. “The door is still locked because I locked it. There are fifteen guards piled up behind it, and we need to be ready before it’s opened.”
“How can we be ready for something like that?” one of the other Humans demanded. “We’re naked, some of us can barely walk, most of us are bleeding, and only a few of us have weapons!”
“I’ll be ready for it,” Ia promised him. “I’m going to open the door, kill the guards, and then we’re going to run about half a klick. Do not let anyone get left behind—don’t touch that!” she added as one of her fellow Humans reached for the segment of head and jaws still clinging to her left shoulder. “One of his teeth is right next to my brachial artery. Pull it out and you’ll kill me. I’d rather not die today—get that Solarican!”
Pointing off to the side, she gestured for two of the survivors to grab the dazed felinoid standing alone amid a pile of throat-gouged bodies. Not waiting to see them comply, she carefully shifted the bracelet off her wrist and over to her left hand, then curled her arm up at the elbow just enough for her needs. The movements shifted the teeth jammed into her shoulder, but they were necessary. Subtly spinning the glob of crysium in her grip, she nodded at the Tlassian by the door.
“Ready? Open it in three…two…one…!”
The lock snapped open with an audible clack. Startled, the Tlassian grabbed the edge of the door and heaved. So did Ia, but with her mind instead of her muscles. The spinning glob of crysium snapped up and out in a shield, catching the laserfire aimed their way, glowing brightly where the laser from their weapons struck the nearly transparent pink material.
Everyone flinched back, except for Ia. Her attention was spent on absorbing that energy, preventing the thin shield from overloading. The only place to store it, however, was inside herself. The strands of her white hair started to rise away from her face, triggered by the conversion of photonic to kinetic to electric energy.
“Dios mio,” she heard Viega mutter. “What in God’s Name is that stuff?”
“Now is not the time, Admiral!” Counting down to zero, Ia twisted her whole body to shift the shield aside, since she couldn’t move her left arm that much, and flung out her right arm. Tendrils of miniature lightning cracked down the corridor in reply before swerving back. More laserfire scored on the shield, bright yellow and overcharged, darker orange and ugly. Somewhere in the corridors beyond, more guards were headed their way. They were running out of time.
Time.
The timestreams dragged her briefly under. For one moment, she ignored the lasers brightening the shield not just in dots of light, but in broadening patches of peach gold color. Instead, she saw with her inner eyes a much larger box being hauled up from below, grey and ugly with the hint of impending, future mist, though it was not yet active. But the box had to come up an elevator shaft, and in that shaft were safety cables and safety latches, and a host of interior safety fields.
Ia ruthlessly ripped them out, drawing on her tenuous, laser-peppered shield for enough energy to work at that distance. The startled whistles and gurgling skreels of the crew hauling that box into the elevator couldn’t be heard at this distance, but the faintest of crashes as it dropped did vibrate through the floor. Twisting the shield aside, this time Ia grabbed and flung shards of bloodied glass with her mind. Bodies gurgled and dropped as the slivers darted past, while doors slammed shut in their wake.
Breathing hard from the effort, Ia gathered her energy. “Right…That should do it. Everybody, move out! Viega, Jophuran, Michaels, Chong, form a rearguard. Krraul, K’sith, you’re on point with me. No one gets left behind!”
The pain in her shoulder grew steadily worse. Ia had at least two splinters of glass in her right foot, making her half run, half lurch. She had only the one bite wound, but it stank of blood, both Salik and Human, as well as other things. Slowly, the shock-locked muscles of the general’s jaws relaxed, allowing more of her own vital fluid to seep free.
They reached a bank of elevators, and an emergency stairwell next to it. Sweat beaded on her skin as they jogged further down into the depths of the complex. Her head swam from the effort of keeping doors and shafts sealed shut against the advance of the furious Salik forces trying to get at them. Her teeth ached, clenched tightly against the urge to groan, and her skin crawled, hyperaware of each drop of blood she was losing.
Somewhere out there, lesser generals were tracking their progress. Somewhere out there, orders were being given to set the docking bays to self-destruct. Somewhere out there, Salik technicians flung Sallhash curses at Ia’s blood-streaked white hair as she slid doors open and shut, navigating them almost sightlessly all the way to the hidden gantries of two courier ships. Both were visible through the thick plexi windows looking into the vast bay, suspended from gantries above rows of similar ships.
One was entirely Salik in design, while the other was a captured V’Dan vessel. Unlocking both of them with a thought, Ia turned and started pushing bodies randomly toward the open doors with her good hand. “Get inside and strap yourselves down! Use every space you can think of! We have only two pilots, and not enough time to look for a third ship! No one gets left behind, got that?”
Admiral Viega pushed herself forward through the limping, bleeding bodies. She almost grabbed Ia’s injured arm, but caught herself in time. Instead, she demanded, “Who is the other pilot?”
“You are, sir,” Ia told her superior, flicking her hand to point people to either side. Most of her attention was focused on counter-commanding the frantic coding of the hidden base’s technicians, but she spared enough awareness to look Viega in the eyes.
Viega returned that stare with fierce embarrassment, hissing, “Lieutenant, I haven’t piloted an OTL ship in fifteen years.”
“Sir, do you trust me?” Ia asked. Viega blinked. Ia repeated her question with terse emphasis. “Do you trust me?”
“I…Yes, I do,” Viega finally swore.
Before she could babble anything about Ia having gotten them this far, Ia clapped her fingertips to the side of the admiral’s grey-haired head, holding it in place. “Then trust me, and this will work.”
Stabbing into the older woman’s mind, Ia laid the patterns of what must be done. Thus, and there. This and that…and just enough V’Dan to cope with these counter-possibilities. It took maybe five, six seconds of real time, though in the speed of the timestreams, Ia spent more than a minute to lay her contingencies. Releasing Viega, she nodded.
“Take K’sith with you,” Ia ordered, lifting her chin at the V’Dan male helping sort the escapees into the two different ships. “He knows the comm and ops, and can be your backup, even though he isn’t a pilot. Do everything exactly as I have showed you, and you’ll get everyone out of here. Now, get to your ship!”
Viega turned to go, then turned back with a scowl. “Would you stop ordering me around?”
“Would you stop lagging behind?” Ia shot back. She cut off the former Fleet Admiral with a flick of her hand. “You know as well as I do, sir, that the officer in charge of a rescue mission is the only officer in charge of said mission! Now get in the V’Dan ship and get ready to undock. I can only hold off the Salik techs for another five minutes before they burn enough holes through their own blast-doors to manually blow up this place!”
A tight smile quirked the corner of the older woman’s mouth. “If we weren’t in the middle of a rescue operation, you’d be perilously close to insubordination, Lieutenant.”
“Well, I’m in a lot of pain right now, sir, so I’m perilously close to not caring. Go!” Ia ordered, lifting her chin sharply in the direction of the last of the bloodied bodies boarding the ship to her left. Turning, she counted heads, making sure the last of the stragglers got on board.
Everyone was making sure that everyone else got on board. Herding each other, reassuring each other. Bloodied, battered, scared, but working together. The possibility of freedom had snapped even the worst of them out of their fear-generated stupors, leaving only the unconscious unable to help effect their own rescue. More stunned bodies had been found than the ones Ia had dug out—almost all of them, in fact.
Almost.
But I could only save the most important souls, the…the ones with the greatest impact…No time. No time for this! Gritting her teeth against the ache of regret, she scrubbed with the back of her right hand at the tears blurring her tired vision and followed the last of the escapees into the Salik-built courier.
Turning at the airlock, she called across to Viega, “Remember, Admiral, you have to go first. I’m the only thing keeping the enemy at bay!”
A flip of her hand was Viega’s only reply. Ia let her go. Her head was starting to ache badly, enough that it was noticeable against the pain in her foot and the agony of her shoulder. Mist was beginning to close in again, and—the mist. Ia stopped in the airlock, eyes widening. They…they’re cobbling together another mass anti-psi generator. It’s going to block everything I do!
Her head swam with snatches of possibilities. Forcing herself to move, attention more on skimming the timestreams than on her physical surroundings, she fumbled her way into the cockpit. Her best choice—the one that would buy everyone in the Alliance the most time—was deceptively simple. This entire underground base was wired to explode in the event of discovery by Alliance forces. All she had to do was trigger every last one of those devices…and then hold off the final leap of the detonating electrons.
The trick was doing it under the onslaught of increasing interference from those infernal creations, holding on just long enough for all of them to escape.
Somehow, she made it to the pilot’s seat, half blind from the massive division of her attention span. The Salik version of seating wasn’t comfortable, more like straddling an awkwardly curved bench than anything else, but at least the restraint harness was the same four-point strap system. The only problem was, she couldn’t do it manually, not with the Salik jaws still clamped to her shoulder.
“Hey, aren’t you going to strap in?” That came from the Human seated behind her and to her left. To either side sat one of the rescued Solaricans—the one with the bloodied, half-eaten tail, using her own weight for a compression bandage on its end—and the V’Dan, still wearing one of the anti-psi crowns strapped to his head.
“I can’t move my left arm,” Ia muttered. “And I can’t exactly spare the attention. I’m juggling chain saws, tap-dancing on coals, and yodeling before a tone-deaf audience, here.”
“I’ll do it.” Unstrapping himself, he leaned over her position, carefully strapping in three of the four points. The chunk of severed head cupping her shoulder interfered too much with the fourth strap to have placed it. The psi grimaced, but didn’t try to latch that strap. “Sorry, meioa; I’m a xenopath, not a biokinetic—hang on, I’m almost out of your way…”
Ia didn’t have to be able to see the console to activate it, let alone reach it. Not that touching it would have mattered; it was designed for Salik suckers, after all. Pulling and pushing telekinetically on the controls, Ia started the engines, then activated the comm system, hooking it into the other vessel so she could address everyone.
“This is Lieutenant Ia. All hands strap in or wedge yourselves flat against an aft wall. We have to slingshot out of here, in order to achieve sufficient speed for OTL escape velocity. Acceleration forces will exceed 12Gs Standard for a minimum five seconds. Most of you will pass out. Some of you will suffer broken bones. I repeat, wedge yourself flat against an aft wall if you are unable to find secure seating. We have room for two K’katta on the aft wall of the cockpit in the Salik vessel. Admiral Viega, launch the second you are ready. Ia out.”
The door to the cockpit slid open. Two K’katta scuttled inside and climbed up the back wall, using both the freefall handholds and the projecting corners of the various instruments to cling to the surface. Their multilegged knees projected past the edges of two of the three seats, with their torsos not quite wedged in place.
The V’Dan, strapped back into his seat, winced and lifted a hand to his metal-wrapped brow. “Sh’kathek v’shakk! It’s coming back—that machine is coming back online. I’m not even plugged into it, and it’s getting to me!”
She could feel her control starting to waver, her sphere of influence slipping at the farthest edges. Ia flicked on the comm again. “Viega, you have three seconds to launch, mark!”
The other ship disengaged from its docking pylons. So did Ia’s. Unlike the V’Dan vessel, which dropped down onto the launch cradle on automatic, Ia piloted her ship manually. Or rather, in a mix of telekinetics and electrokinetics. Positioning it right behind the V’Dan vessel, she fired the forward pair of grapples, clamping onto the back of the other ship. That caused both ships to jolt, but the launch cradle holding the V’Dan ship didn’t show any signs of strain.
“Lieutenant, what the hell are you doing?” Viega demanded over the comm. “You are not the reincarnation of Shikoku Yama!”
“No time, Admiral,” Ia shot back, warming the thrusters. The edges of effective range on her psychic abilities slipped further, contracting abruptly. She pushed as hard as she could to the front, striving to hold off the enemy long enough for them to escape. “Launch!”
Light flared beyond the observation windows. Both ships finished descending into the launch tunnel and started moving forward, one by machinery, the other by tow and by thruster fields. The ping-ting-tang vibrating back down the cables to the Salik vessel rose in volume, an eerie aural counterpoint to the thrumming of the engines. If those cables snapped at the wrong moment up ahead, what she had done to the Salik capital ship would be done to them. Yet if she accelerated too much at the wrong moment, she would drive the nose of this ship up the backside of the other, cracking both vessels wide open. The probabilities were not all that good.
Surrendering to the racing flow of Time, Ia let her precognition pull her under. The cradle snapped forward, launching the V’Dan vessel. The Salik ship roared with the pulse of attitude jets as well as thruster fields, the twin cables jerking the ship that much father. A frantic corner of her mind programmed the controls with autopilot instructions, but most of the rest was focused on holding back the explosions brightening the windows of the observation bays.
Behind them, the windows exploded, billowing atmosphere and fire into the launch tunnel they had just left. Giving up, Ia released her hold on the self-destruct mechanisms; it was too late to stop their escape. They launched into the great chamber, thrust so hard at the end by the cradle that the edges of Ia’s physical vision blackened and drained.
“Opening the rift!” Viega shouted over the comm, her voice showing the strain of her fight to stay conscious under the heavy pull of their velocity. Sparks shot forward from the lead ship, arrowing in and impacting together in a collision of spinning, exotic, highly charged particles. Both ships, one flying right behind the other, cables ever so slightly slack, vanished into the swirling maw that opened in the middle of the vast, vacuum-drained chamber.
Time warped and jolted. Nausea and fever flushed through Ia’s body, forcing blood out through her teeth-punctured wounds, weakening her in a head-spinning rush. It wasn’t a lengthy jump; maybe five seconds at most, just far enough to get them to the next star system.
Ia had implanted the exact coordinates for one of the nearest Blockade Fleet stations in Viega’s mind, one that had the facilities to treat all the races of the Alliance. She had also programmed her ship to reverse its thrusters the moment they emerged, slowing both vessels before they could race past the giant, spine-covered, ceristeel-plated egg. Thankfully, the cables held; they creaked and groaned, the strain vibrating palpably between the two vessels, but they held.
She knew they had to get the ships docked. The problem was that the cabin spun every time she opened her eyes, making it difficult for Ia to concentrate. Waves of heat flushed through her body, leaving behind contracting muscles that shuddered and ached. Spots studded her skin, and her shoulder was visibly swollen and red. Everything hurt so much, she wanted to cry. But there were over three dozen sentients crammed into this ship, many of them suffering from OTL-shocked injuries of their own.
There was no way the others on board could dock this ship; it would be too dangerous for them to try. Struggling against the disorientation, the fever and exhaustion, Ia focused her thoughts down onto the exact sequence of steps needed. The first step was closing her eyes to block out the distraction of sight. She could hear Viega broadcasting on the comms that they were two ships full of escapees in need of immediate medical aid, so that was one of her other concerns handled.
The next step was to release the grappling clamps; if things went sour, and there was too high a probability that they would, the last thing Viega would need was a deadheaded ship right on her tail, not if it had been fifteen years since the other woman had last piloted anything. A flick of Ia’s mind managed that much, leaving the cables trailing ahead of them, but the effort increased the dizziness in her head. Belatedly, Ia realized most of her kinetic inergy, the fuel for her gifts, was pouring into her biokinesis, trying to keep her septic infection at bay.
Slag…this is going to cost me…Focusing tighter, she opened the comm, broadcasting to the Solarican Battle Platform. “This is Lieutenant First Grade Ia…TUPSF-Navy, requesting emergency sentientarian aid. I am…I am piloting the Salik vessel. I am going to attempt to dock at Krrim Rau…gantry 17, but I will need help. I am injured and suffering…from OTL-accelerated septic shock. Some sort of…Sallha-native bacteria.”
Her concentration wavered. Every time she shuddered, the force of her contracting muscles ground the teeth of that lower jaw deeper into her shoulder blade. Ia struggled to remember what she was supposed to be doing.
“We have…thirty-eight injured on board this vessel. I repeat, I am…dock at Krrim Rau 17, and…need grappling.” Nausea welled up, threatening to escape her throat in a most unpleasant manner. She swallowed, panting. “I…don’t feel so good…”
“Lieutenant, hang in there!” she heard Viega order. “You dock that ship, Lieutenant Ia! You hear me? That’s an order, sailor!”
A hand cupped her forehead. It was the V’Dan male, offering her a very precious, very intimate gift. (Take my energy; I offer it freely. If you’re strong enough to do everything you just did for us,) he told her, (then I know you can take it and use it—take it! I’m Pathic, not Kinetic. It’s a Saints-damned Salik ship. I can’t fly this thing for you!)
“Lieutenant, you are deadheading past the Solarican Warstation! Don’t you dare give up on me, Bloody Mary, not here, not now! Stop your drifting and dock that goddamn ship!”
Ia latched onto the KI of her fellow psychic. Vaguely aware of his unrestrained state, she flexed the dregs of her third strongest gift, her electrokinesis. The thrusters hummed in a faint, pulsing rumble, altering their drift.
“Sallik Courrrier, this is Warstation Nnying Yanh. Corrrect yourr course to Krrim Rau 22,” the Battle Platform instructed her, naming a different docking gantry. “We have salllvage crew already in place for that gantrry. Slow speed and preparrre for grappling.”
Another nudge of her mind swayed them in that direction. It took most of her strength—hers and the inner energy donated from the V’Dan at her side—to slow the courier. The moment everything lined up, Ia poured all of her spare energy into her mental walls. The V’Dan took that as his signal to let go of her forehead, moving back to his chair.
He grunted as the grapple pods struck the courier, jolting it hard enough to knock him into the waiting alien seat. The blow also dug the teeth into Ia’s upper back a little harder. Teeth clenched tight, muffling her groan, Ia forced her body to stop trying to heal itself. As life-threatening as septic shock might be, leaving her precognitive gifts unlocked and unguarded was the far greater threat. Physicians and paraphysicians would have to physically touch her to treat her injuries and cleanse the bacteria infecting her blood. She could not, dared not allow the timeplains to drag them under, not while she wasn’t coherent.
Even with modern medicine throttling the death rate down to a fraction of a percent, it still would take weeks to recover from sepsis. Knowing the Solaricans would reel in her ship, that she and the others would receive enough medical care to survive, Ia focused on wrapping her mind into a tight, protective little shell. It took the last dregs of her strength, but that was alright. She had successfully saved all the lives that she could, and that was all that mattered.
For the moment, the timestreams were safe. For the moment, she could rest.
SEPTEMBER 1, 2495 T.S.
SOLARICAN WARSTATION NNYING YANH
SALHAIT SYSTEM
Nnnyaaao, wann yan sieeeeh,
Llun guon yiell-yoowoou
Iiieh! Iiieh! Rrrral ff’tah
Kundieh, kundieeeh, ff’tah
Gun rr’liiiehh nyielloouuu!
Twaaan l’ooo wau-urgahhh
Llun guon yan-miii-iiiehhh
Iiieh! Iiieh! Rrrra—
“What the hell is that infernal racket, Lieutenant?”
Expecting his arrival, Ia looked up to see Rear Admiral Duj, commanding officer of Battle Platform Mad Jack, standing in the doorway of her infirmary room. Behind him were two aides, plus the Solarican doctor treating Ia’s condition. The noise he referred to was not the faint hum of the dialysis machine, nor the rhythmic beeping of the scanners monitoring her condition. The yowling he referred to came from the radio commchannel built into the frame of her infirmary bed.
“It’s Solarican singing, sir.” Arm somewhat hampered by the intravenous tubing strapped to it, Ia politely turned off the broadcast she had been enjoying.
Between the feeds for the dialysis machine on her right arm and the regen-packs strapped to her left, she didn’t have much mobility at the moment. At least the cuff of her crysium bracelet-and-sword was back down around her right ankle once more. Ia lifted her burdened arm a little higher in indication before lowering it back to her gown-covered lap.
“Please forgive me for not saluting, Admiral. I’m a little tied up at the moment. Or rather, tied down,” Ia quipped. “Unfortunately, modern medicine can’t cure everything immediately.”
“You’re forgiven,” he stated crisply, approaching her bed. “But only for that much. After reviewing all the reports we’ve collected over the last five days regarding your little escapade, you are in so much trouble, soldier, that I cannot…even…Doctor, why are you growling at me?”
“You arrre about to strrress my patient, Humann,” the Solarican answered, his voice low, his mane half fluffed. “I have finnally contrrolled her blood prrressure. You will nnot aggravate it.”
“It’s okay, Doctor Miian,” Ia reassured the alien. She didn’t pretend ignorance as to the purpose of the admiral’s visit. The time for pretending was finally over, even if there was still some need for discretion on certain subjects. “He’s just posturing. He can’t actually do anything to me.”
That earned her a hard look from her superior. “You are perilously—”
“Perilously close to insubordination,” Ia interrupted him. “Yes, sir, I’ve heard that before. Specifically while rescuing your superior, Admiral Viega. Would you like to know what that song was about?” she asked, changing the subject. From the blink Duj gave her, it threw him out of his plans to half threaten her. She forged ahead while he was still trying to shift mental gears to keep up with her. “That was a war song. In specific, a war song about me. It’s one of the highest points of praise a Solarican can bestow upon another, to compose and perform a song praising their deeds.
“In specific, it was the fifth brand-new song I’ve heard about me since I woke up today, Admiral,” she stated dryly. “That’s not counting the three from yesterday, and the three the day before that. I don’t know if there were any others before that point, since I was still a bit out of it from the sepsis-fever. But that still makes eleven songs, and the day is barely half over. What that means, Admiral, is that I am a war hero to these people.
“In the face of such open and widespread admiration, not to mention the doctor’s legitimately expressed concerns,” Ia told him, nodding briefly at the waiting, ginger-colored physician, “perhaps it would be more diplomatically useful if you dropped the posturing and spoke only of what really brought you all the way out here from your post, sir?”
For a moment, it looked as if the rear admiral’s blood pressure would be a concern, rather than hers. He drew in a deep breath after a few seconds, letting it out slowly before he spoke.
“Very well. If you insist on playing it that way, Lieutenant, I am here to interrogate you on exactly what you did on Sallha, and how you did it. You are charged with Fatality One, Committing a Civilian Crime, via the failure to register your abilities as a psychic, and…Why are you laughing, Lieutenant?” he asked her, dark brown eyes narrowing. “Do you think these accusations are a joke?”
Chuckling, Ia shook her head, rustling the synthetic fibers stuffed into the Solarican-style pillow supporting her head. This wasn’t the best time for her sense of humor to rear itself, but she did find it amusing. Sobering slightly, she smiled wryly. “Oh, but I am registered, Admiral. I have been registered as a psychic since I was a young child. And that registry is listed in my military records. I listed it the day I joined the Space Force as a recruit in the Marines. It’s hardly my fault that the details behind that listing have been overlooked for so long.”
His mouth opened and closed. For a moment, Duj was utterly speechless, then he flipped open the lid of his arm unit, no doubt to call up her file.
“You’ll find what you seek under my religious affiliations, sir. As you will see, I am listed in my Service file as an ordained priestess of the Witan Order, Zenobian Sect, as duly registered on my homeworld. By charter, all duly ordained members of the Zenobian Sect, whether they’re naturally psychic or simply trained, must undergo basic psi training as well as religious instruction. To maintain their rank in the Order—including my rank—we must undergo the same yearly ethical exams required of all duly registered psychics…whether or not we have any.
“By the Terran charter, as a psychic, I am required to be registered with a duly authorized organization. Such as the Witan Order, which includes its subsects. By the Space Force charter, I am required to list proof of that registration on my Service record…which I have done…and by both charters, I am required to undergo yearly ethical examinations. Which are all on record with my Order, undertaken and filed every nine to eleven months, depending on when I could meet up with my examiners. Those examinations place me well within the mandatory once-a-year examinations required by law.”
He swapped his attention between her file and her face as she spoke, a frown pinching his dusky brow.
“For the record, sir—and you can subpoena those records from the Zenobian Sect, if you like,” Ia added, “I have undergone yearly ethical testing since I was a young child. Admittedly I had to have my fellow psis come out from Sanctuary to meet with me for my yearly examinations once I enlisted, but I have been duly examined each and every year…and I have passed my ethical examinations, each and every year. Any court—civilian or military—would be forced to drop that charge the moment they looked at all the facts of the matter. Fatality One does not apply, sir.”
“But you cannot deny that you have hidden your abilities from your superiors,” Admiral Duj countered.
Ia flicked another glance at the Solarican. “Not from all of them, sir. But with respect, sir, that’s a matter of internal security. It is not something that should be discussed while I am under constant surveillance by foreign medical service—and before you try to arrange it, Admiral, no, I cannot be moved back to the Mad Jack just yet. I cannot even walk to the head on my own without the risk of falling down, right now.”
“Sepsis is too danngerrous to meddle with durinng the rrrecovery phase,” the Solarican doctor growled. Admiral Duj turned to face the felinoid as he continued. “If she is not fully curred before leaving our constant surrveilllance and care, she could rrrrelapse and nnot know it untilll it is too late. I will not be the doctorrr who allowed the Herrrro of the Banquet to die because I did nnot do my job.”
“Doctor Miian is considered one of the foremost specialists in Human medicine within the entire Blockade Fleet,” Ia stated quietly. “Even among Human doctors, he has a stellar reputation for successfully treating our kind. As soon as the medical staff realized how bad my condition was, they put him on my case, as well as five of the others. Any doctor on board the Mad Jack who knows anything about this doctor’s reputation would agree that we’re in extremely competent hands…and they will tell you that in cases of OTL-accelerated bacteremia sepsis, there is no such thing as being too cautious or too careful.”
“We arrre still growinng her a new pair of kidneys, and have alrrready replaced her spleen,” Miian stated, lacing his claw-tipped fingers in front of his chest. He licked his lips and attempted to speak more clearly in Terranglo, though some of the rolled consonants still came through. “The next trransplant will take place in two days. Thenn she will undergo a two-day rrrecovery period before beginning physical therrapy. Given she is a heavyworrlder like us, the rrrecovery rate is more than double the stanndard, as we will be moving her to the grrravity acclimation ward to slowly help her rrregain her strength. Her healllth must be carrrefully monitored to make sure she does nnot rrelapse.”
Duj glanced between the Solarican in the doorway and the Human on the bed. His two aides were carefully looking elsewhere, trying not to catch their superior’s attention. Duj finally focused his attention on Ia. “Do not assume you will escape that interrogation, Lieutenant. You will recover.”
“I know that, sir…but it won’t be conducted by you, Admiral,” she told him. There was no need right now to keep silent on the facts of the near future, and a need to prove to the rear admiral that she knew that near future. “The Terran Space Force has already received two requests for intergovernmental recognition of my actions on Sallha, including a directive from the Empress of the Solaricans. More are coming in from the other alien governments as we speak. Four days from now, arrangements will be made across the diplomatic channels for an Alliance-wide commendation ceremony, which will take place in eight days.
“Six days from now, the Command Staff of the Space Force will order me to report to them in person on Earth as soon as I am healthy enough to travel, to give them a full accounting of all my actions, and in specific, all my motivations for joining the Space Force. But I probably won’t be judged healthy enough to endure the rigors of travel for at least two more weeks beyond the ceremony, and not back to my full health for a month. Your visit is appreciated, and a testament to your willingness to defend the letter of Space Force law, sir,” she concluded, closing her eyes. “But your orders as they currently stand will not be the same by the time I’m healthy enough to be questioned.”
“You seem to be responding just fine to my questions right now,” he pointed out.
A snort escaped her. Ia pried open her eyes again, glancing his way. “My will is astronomically strong, Admiral, but my reserves are dangerously low. Just because I lasted all seven days of Marine Corps Hell Week doesn’t mean I didn’t pay for it by the end. I was healthy at the time, back in Basic. This time, I’m most definitely not. I have maybe ten more minutes before I’ll end up falling asleep again…and that’s pretty much all I have been doing.”
The machine whirring at her side beeped. The Solarican physician stepped around the admiral, moving close enough to read the report. “Twelve morre Terran minutes Stanndard, then this session of dialysis will be complete. Would you like anything to eat beforre your nap?”
“No, thanks. I’m not hungry,” Ia demurred.
The dialysis was important for keeping her blood clean. It even balanced her endocrine system, keeping her relatively healthy. But the on-off cycle of blood cleansing exhausted her energy reserves and left her feeling slightly nauseated. However, the doctor’s ears lowered and his eyes narrowed, fixing her with a stern look that translated fairly well across the species boundary.
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine. A glass of juice and some crackers.”
Rumbling in his native tongue, the Solarican doctor murmured instructions into the headset clipped around one pointed ear. “They will be herre in thrree minutes, along with cheese for prrrotein. You will eat it all, to regain your strrrength. I must check on the otherrrs soon, but you will eat firrst.”
“The others?” Duj asked, curious.
“The pyrrrokinetic is still sufferring from psi-induced feverr. Until a Human parapsychologist arrives and begins the healing of his emotional wounnds, it is all our Seers can do to contain his gifts,” Miian explained. “The sergeant is still in physical therrapy, learning how to walk with a prrosthetic while his foot is being rrregenerated, but will be released soon. The other thrree are rrecovering from sepsis trauma. Llieutenant Ia’s case was worrsened by KI shock, from exercising too many Seer gifts all at once, but she is nnot the worst of my sepsis cases. She, at lleast, is mostly intact.
“I must ask you to go now, Admirrral,” he added. “So long as yourrr Warstationn is in the same system, you will have opportunnnities to come back and speak with my patient. But forrr now, she is my patiennt. Yourr authority overr her has been temporarily superseded.”
Irritated but thwarted, Admiral Duj gave Ia one last, dark look and left, his aides following in his wake. The Solarican busied himself with checking her monitors as the trio of Humans left.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Ia murmured. She thought about reaching for the bed controls, but she hadn’t lied; the treatments required for her illness were wearing her out. “Could you turn the comm radio back on? I was enjoying the music.”
Doctor Miian sneezed in Solarican-style humor. “Now I knnnow you’re delirious. Verrry few Humans like Solarrrican-style singing.”
“I like all kinds of music,” she murmured. “There haven’t been a lot of opportunities for enjoying it in the last few years, not on Blockade Patrol. Even when we were on Leave, there’ve been precious few minutes for anything fun.”
“Funn?” he asked, checking her pulse with the pads of his fingers, mindful of his claws. “Funn, like what?”
“I miss singing. I miss playing music simply for the pure pleasure of it. Even in the Marines, we got to sing. But not on Blockade Patrol.” Her brow creased in memory. “Now, I can’t help but think of what I did to all those Salik throats, plucking them out like…like demented harp strings.”
“We have rrreceived a rrequest for a visit frrom a Chaplain Bennjamin,” the Solarican observed. “She says she is worried for yourrr mental and emotionnal health. She is rregistered as a psychologist as well as a prrriestess. Perhaps you shoullld see her?”
Ia sighed and stared up at the ceiling, where some Solarican nurse, in a fit of whimsy, had hung a miniature ball of string. “Perhaps I should. But not until after I’ve received my new kidn—Ungh!”
“What?” Miian asked, bending over Ia in concern. “Wherrre does it hurrt?”
She grimaced, unable to lift a hand to her head, thanks to the tangle of tubes strapping her down. “They’re—oww—playing with that damned machine again. Trying to figure it out. I wish they’d stop. I won’t be the only one with a headache. Every Seer and psychic within sixty kesat of that thing will be hurting.”
“You knnow what it is?” he asked her, ears flicking in curiosity.
“Oh, thank god, they shut it off again,” she muttered, relaxing as the headache vanished. “No, I don’t know what it is. But I do know something of what it does. That thing is more dangerous to the Alliance than even I can foresee. The only weapon we have against it…is knowledge…” Ia yawned, tiredness creeping up on her again.
“No falling asleep, Humann,” her doctor admonished her a few moments later, nudging her right shoulder. The left one was still encased in a sleeve of regeneration packs, patiently removing the last of the scars from her multiple puncture wounds. “Wake up, your snnack has arrrived.”
Dragging in a deep breath, Ia opened her eyes. She sat up a little more and reached for the items on the tray the brindle-furred nurse was swinging into place. Nauseated or not, she had to eat to refuel her body. The Command Staff would be expecting her to head their way in roughly fourteen days. She needed to be ready to travel in just under eleven.
Sipping at her juice, Ia let her mind drift back to the anti-psi machine. “I’ll need to take it with me.”
“Take what?” her physician asked as she ate.
“The machine we brought back—Nnyam ma’fau krrruu, k’in krramzhann l’ingh rruowel mnaa,” she added, shaping the words as best she could.
Miian snorted, watching her bite into another of the cheese-topped crackers the nurse had brought. “Yourrr accent is almost as atrocious as yourr claim. What makes you thinnk we’ll let you take it as yourrr warr-prize?”
“I destroyed an entire enemy encampment the size of this Warstation,” Ia reminded him. “I personally cut off the head of their Grand High General, an act witnessed by many of the survivors, all of whom I rescued personally. I am responsible for the deaths of hundreds of high-ranked enemy officers. I have struck a blow so hard and deep into the chest of our enemy, it will take them almost a year—a Solarican Standard year, never mind a Terran—to recover. I have done such great acts of courage and valor, I have earned the right to be ranked as a War Princess, with all the privileges, power, and wealth such a position entails by Solarican law. Even as a foreigner and an alien, I have earned that much. It isn’t official yet, but it will be. Yet all I want is that box, and at least one of the Human-shaped headsets to play with.”
“I will pass along your rrrequest,” he murmured. “But I cannnnot guarantee it will be honorred.”
“Tell them they have my personal word of honor that I will make sure all findings are shared with the Royal Seer’s Council regarding that machine,” Ia told him, picking up her cup again. The tangle of tubing forced her to move carefully, but she still managed to salute him with it. “Remind them that this is the same code of honor that made damned sure I rescued every single being that I could, backed by the same determination that blew up that installation. They have my word of honor, meioa.”
“I will lllet them know,” he murmured. “But firrrst, you must eat. That is an orrder. Even a Warrr Prinncess must obey herrr physiciann when she is ill.”
Tired but knowing he was right, Ia picked up the next cracker on her plate.