When every head in the room turned to her, Ekatya knew where Lhyn’s explanation had just landed. She was preparing herself for a difficult translation session when a light tap sounded at the door. Colonel Micah got up to open it, revealing an Alsean soldier who spoke a few short sentences.
“Lieutenant Candini is back,” Lhyn said quietly.
Ekatya watched the soldier touch his fist to his chest and retreat back down the corridor. “And just in time, apparently. I only got to use your translator for half a minute before giving it up again. It’s been a glaring absence, believe me. Why didn’t you make two?”
“Count your blessings. You’re lucky I made one.”
The Lancer’s medic entered the room with Candini right behind her. Both of them looked grimy and exhausted, and Candini’s spiky red hair was dull with dust. She’d also added scrapes on her hands to the collection on her face.
The medic stood at attention, bringing both of her fists together at her sternum before speaking to Lancer Tal in low tones. Interesting, Ekatya thought. One fist for a superior officer and two for the Lancer?
Candini reached across the table to hand the translator to Ekatya. “Thank you, Captain. I’m sure you missed this, but it was invaluable.”
“You needed it far more than I. Well done, Lieutenant. You helped to save nine lives this night.”
She’d meant it as a commendation, but Candini was too sharp. “Nine? Oh, no. Who else didn’t make it?”
“Trooper Shelley. The Alsean doctors did all they could, but she lost too much blood.”
Candini shook her head and began to walk around the table, but was stopped by the medic. This time her voice was loud enough for the translator to pick up. “I have to get back to my unit, Telorana. You’re making the flight in the Lancer’s personal cabin.” She leaned closer. “And I’m red with envy about it.”
“I’ll tell you what it was like,” Candini said, and they clasped each other’s forearms briefly before the medic vanished out the door.
As Candini pulled out the seat next to Lhyn, Ekatya caught her eye. “Looks like you’ve been our best diplomat so far. You’re on a first name basis already.” It was odd, hearing the translator begin speaking before she’d finished. What she wouldn’t give for an Alsean language chip in her node.
The two Alseans looked on with interest as Candini shrugged. “Kind of hard to stay formal when you spend six hours climbing through a wreck together. Especially with people who are risking their necks to save people they didn’t even know existed before now.”
“Guard Dewar is one of the best medics in the Alsean Defense Force,” said Lancer Tal. “We lend her out on a regular basis to emergency response teams. And Guard Corlander was a firefighter before he was sponsored into the ADF. Your people have been in the best of care.”
“I never doubted that,” Ekatya said. “We’re deeply grateful, and impressed by Alsean courage and compassion.”
“It seems that you and your people make the greater claim to both this day. Why would you risk your ship to save a planet that is not part of your Protectorate?” The Lancer’s gaze was suddenly intense, and Ekatya had a feeling that she was being tested.
“Because it was the right thing to do,” she said. “Why would you risk your people to save a group of aliens?”
The Lancer smiled. “Because it was the right thing to do.”
Ekatya smiled back, drawn to this woman despite herself. Her experience as a Fleet captain told her one thing, but her instincts were telling her another, and Lhyn seemed to be in love with Alsea in general and the Lancer’s leadership in particular. Perhaps it was time to trust her instincts.
“Prepare for liftoff,” said a male voice over an intercom, and Ekatya heard the unmistakable sound of shuttle engines spooling up. Somehow it didn’t matter what the engineering or fuel source, all shuttle engines were recognizable. She glanced over at the wide seats by the windows, wondering if they should be belted in.
“Continal is a smooth pilot,” Lancer Tal said, apparently reading her mind. “We’ll be fine here. Tell us, what would have happened this night had you not interfered?”
Ekatya took another sip of water before beginning. “The ship we destroyed in your atmosphere belonged to a race called the Voloth. A long time ago they were signatories to the Protectorate, but they were impatient with our rate of territorial expansion. So they seceded and established their own territory, and took the easy way of doing it.”
“I told them about the Expansionists,” Lhyn said.
Ekatya felt a slight jar when the transport left the ground, but almost no sense of acceleration as it began to move. Lancer Tal was right, her pilot was smooth.
“The Voloth are the most…aggressive of the Expansionists,” she continued. “We’ve been fighting them since my grandfather’s days, trying to push our boundaries out and protect as many planets as we can. What happens to the planets they take over is sickening, because they aren’t content with corralling the natives on reservations or establishing an apartheid government and employing them as servants. They enslave them. Sometimes, if the planet is rich in resources but not in a good strategic location, they force the natives to strip their own worlds of all resources and then leave them there to die. But if the planet is suitable for colonization, the Voloth kill as many natives as they feel necessary and ship the rest off for slave labor, usually in mining and manufacturing operations.”
The Alseans were listening carefully to the translator, which finished a few seconds after Ekatya stopped. They shared a brief look of horror before Lancer Tal said, “And do they consider Alsea…suitable?” She almost stumbled over the word, her disgust palpable.
Ekatya hesitated, trying to find the right words, but there was no way to make this seem any less dire than it was.
“Alsea is located right outside the border of Protectorate space. That plus its pristine environment make it extremely desirable for colonization. With this planet, the Voloth would have an outpost practically in our backyard.”
The Alseans looked at each other again, then at her with matching expressions of understanding.
“They’ll be back,” said Colonel Micah. “Won’t they?”
Ekatya nodded reluctantly. “Your planet is an enormous prize. They thought they could take you with a single invasion group, but they weren’t expecting me to be here. When they—”
“A single invasion group?” Lancer Tal interrupted. “There was more than the ship you destroyed in our atmosphere?”
“A group consists of an orbital invader and two destroyer escorts,” Ekatya said. “We took care of the destroyers first. But we didn’t get to the orbital invader until it was nearly too late.”
“You destroyed three ships.”
“Yes.”
“Are there any other ships in your group?”
“No.”
Lancer Tal nodded, gesturing for her to continue.
“When the Voloth realize the invasion failed, they’ll send another force, but so will the Protectorate. There will be another battle; the only question is which force gets here first. I hope and believe it will be the Protectorate for two reasons. One, my ship was sent as an emergency response to Lhyn’s call for help. The Protectorate knew Alsea was in danger eight of your days ago. Two, I sent out a call for additional assistance before the battle began, the moment I realized the Voloth had already gotten an invasion group out here. But the Voloth had no idea that they would meet any resistance until I blew up their first destroyer. Even then, the captain of the orbital invader had every reason to believe his mission would be successful. By the time we could get past that second destroyer, the orbital invader was already in position. His ship almost certainly notified the Voloth homeworld of the battle, but I’m not sure it ever had a chance to relay the news of its failure.”
She stopped to let the translator catch up and marveled at the calm of these two Alseans, who were hearing information that would send most people running for the exits. Then again, why was she surprised? They apparently hadn’t batted an eyelash when the Caphenon had nearly dropped on top of their heads.
But perhaps the Lancer was more disturbed than she let on, because she picked up her water flask and drank for the first time since their meeting had begun. Ekatya, who knew something about hiding emotion with action, watched in sympathy.
Lancer Tal set her flask down. “This…orbital invader, you call it. I assume the name refers to an orbital insertion of the invading force?”
“Yes, it’s designed specifically for a hostile planetary takeover. It carries four wings of fifty fighters each, but those are usually reserved for the second wave. Its drop bays hold five hundred mobile heavy weapon platforms that we call ground pounders. They call them pacifiers.”
“Pacifiers,” Lancer Tal repeated. “As in, pacifying a resistant population?” She turned to the colonel and added, “Well, at least we know the Voloth are capable of irony.”
“Conquerors can always afford humor at a victim’s expense,” Colonel Micah said.
“And that’s exactly what they are, conquerors.” Ekatya had seen the aftermath too many times to keep the anger out of her voice. “Their pacifiers ruthlessly destroy not just any resistance, but also all infrastructure and even large population centers. Each one of them is nearly the size of your medical transport. They’re heavily armored, shielded, and loaded with a small ship’s worth of armaments. And from what Lhyn has told me of your weapons capability, I don’t think anything on Alsea could take one of them down.”
Colonel Micah visibly bristled. “Do not underestimate the skill and courage of the warrior caste.”
“I assure you I do not. That was merely a technological assessment, not an aspersion on your people’s courage.”
“Micah,” said Lancer Tal quietly. “Five hundred of them.”
They looked at each other again, and the colonel seemed to deflate. “Great Goddess,” he said in the same low tone.
After a pause, Lancer Tal asked, “What happened to the rest of your crew?”
“They evacuated when our fusion core overloaded. The only way to prevent a core breach was to shut down the reaction, which meant shutting down our engines. But we were already deep inside your gravity well at that point; shutting down the engines meant a certain crash. So I kept a skeleton crew to ride the Caphenon down, and ordered everyone else off.”
It took an exercise of will to not look at Lhyn. Oddly, it was the Lancer who looked over, watching Lhyn for a moment before returning her gaze to Ekatya. A tiny smile played over her face, and Ekatya felt a chill run down her spine. If she were a betting woman, she’d lay good odds that Lancer Tal knew exactly what Lhyn had done. But that was impossible.
The smile vanished as the Lancer leaned forward, crossing her hands in front of her on the table. “We haven’t found a sustainable means of fusion, though it has not been for lack of effort. But I know enough about it to understand that a reaction strong enough to propel a ship the size of yours, at faster-than-light speeds, would have to be the energetic equivalent of a small star. And shutting down such a reaction would not result in instant cooling. Am I correct?”
“Yes.” Ekatya wished now more than ever that she’d had time to be fully debriefed on Alsean science and technology. They were clearly more advanced than she’d realized.
“Then wouldn’t it have been safer for you to evacuate as well, and get far out of range of a possible detonation, than to ride it down and hope to survive a crash?”
“Safer, yes. But the orbital invader was still in action, and I could not allow it to drop its ground pounders. I kept my best weapons team on board, and they managed the kill shot. At that point, I would have abandoned ship if we’d had time, but…we didn’t.”
Lancer Tal’s gaze never wavered, but something in it made her nervous.
“Captain Serrado, you are not speaking the truth. You never had any intention of abandoning ship.”
“What?” Lhyn burst out. “Ekatya! Is that true?”
Ekatya could not look away from those ice-blue eyes, which seemed to know everything about her whether she wished it or not. Her throat blocked her voice, preventing any response, but the silence in the room grew louder and more crushing until she was forced to break it.
“Yes,” she said.
“Oh my fucking stars,” said Lhyn. “I cannot believe—yes, I can believe it. And you were mad at me? This is why I stayed!”
“I couldn’t leave!” Ekatya’s voice was loud enough to stop Lhyn in mid-rant. “The Caphenon was headed straight for their largest city; it would have killed a million people. I couldn’t let that happen.”
“She’s right.” Lieutenant Candini spoke for the first time. “If we’d abandoned ship then, the Caphenon would have gone nose-first right into the middle of that city, and probably blown the armories in the process. The fusion core was still hot, too. We’d have done the Voloth’s work for them.”
“I ordered Lieutenant Candini to use everything she had to put us down outside that city. And she did. There was no other choice, Lhyn. Not one that I could live with.”
Lhyn’s anger faded from her expression. “Of course it was the right choice. But now you have to live with something else, don’t you?”
Ekatya was too aware of the others in the room to answer that question, but Lhyn’s eyes went soft as she reached under the table to lay a gentle hand on her leg. The small, private gesture of understanding nearly breached her control, and she had to blink several times before she could look back at the Lancer—who apparently had not moved a micrometer and was still drilling a hole through her with those all-seeing eyes.
At last she nodded and stood up. The room was hushed with expectation as she walked around the table and stood beside Ekatya’s chair. Then she went down on one knee and held up both of her hands, palms outward.
“Captain Ekatya Serrado,” she said in formal tones, “Alsea owes you a debt we can never repay. But if there is anything in my power to give you in payment for what you have done, please name it now, and I will do my utmost to provide it.”
“Shippers,” Lhyn whispered. “Ekatya, touch her palms. Do it now.”
She did, settling their hands together and watching as Lancer Tal intertwined their fingers and closed hers down. It seemed oddly intimate, but she was enough of a diplomat to let herself relax into it. Still, she wasn’t sure if she should close her own fingers or not.
Lhyn murmured something in Alsean to the Lancer, who nodded and patiently waited, still in her kneeling position, while Lhyn explained in low tones.
“She has just given you a gesture reserved for family or the closest of friends. This is the highest honor you could possibly receive, Ekatya. I doubt she’s done this with more than a dozen people in her entire life, and that would include her parents. And she kneels before no one. Take this seriously.”
Startled, Ekatya reflexively closed her fingers, looking into the light blue eyes that no longer seemed icy. She felt suffused with a warmth, a pride in what she had done. There had never been a question that it was the right thing to do, but in this moment she felt at ease with it. Yes, there had been fatalities. Yes, they were entirely her responsibility. But three was a ridiculously small number compared to the million or more her skeleton crew had saved.
Three fatalities, she thought, and knew what her favor would be.
“I would ask one thing.”
“Name it,” the Lancer answered as soon as she understood.
“I ask for a memorial with full honors for Ensign O’Sullivan, Trooper Cuthbroad, and Trooper Shelley. When we take their bodies home, they’ll be buried with military honors, but it won’t be commensurate to their courage and sacrifice. They’ll just be three of many who have died in the line of duty. I want them to be recognized.”
Lancer Tal released her hands and stood. “We would be proud to provide a state funeral.”
“Not a funeral. A memorial. I can’t leave their bodies here.”
“Agreed, then. A memorial with full state honors.”
“Thank you.” She felt something ease inside, but that still left the biggest question of the day. As the Lancer walked back to her chair, Ekatya asked, “How did you know?”
Lancer Tal took her seat gracefully, crossed her hands in front of her again, and said, “Your emotions did not match your words.”
Lhyn gasped, her hands going to her face. “I knew it! You are empaths!” Her glee was entirely inappropriate to the moment, but there was no stopping her. “That was driving me crazy. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone back and forth, wondering if I was nuts for even thinking it. Holy Shippers, this is going to blow the whole damned roof off next year’s Anthropology Consortium meeting!”
The Lancer’s smile expanded into a full grin. “You, on the other hand, have no difference at all between your words and your emotions.”
Ekatya was reeling. Empaths? That was a myth, a relic of science fiction and overheated philosophy discussions. Modern science had conclusively established that such abilities were physically impossible. Empaths did not exist.
But she’d already known, hadn’t she? The way the Alseans had seemed to understand what she and her crew needed, even without a common language. Their instant acceptance, almost without question, that Ekatya was not dangerous to them. She remembered twenty weapons pointed at her and the Lancer shouting at them to stop, before she had managed a single word through the translator.
“You knew we meant no harm before I ever said it, didn’t you?”
Lancer Tal nodded. “All I sensed from any of you was fear. It took some time before I realized that it was fear for your injured shipmates. But you were never a threat.” She paused, then added, “Not to us, that is. Apparently you are a grave threat indeed to the Voloth.”
Ekatya barely registered the words, her mind too busy going over every interaction she’d had with Lancer Tal since the moment she’d seen the woman step into view. And then her face grew hot when she remembered the Lancer touching her hand as she lay on the cot, losing her mind worrying about Lhyn and the one fatality she knew of at that point.
Lancer Tal, damn her, saw everything. Even as Ekatya was thinking it, the woman spoke.
“Micah, please escort Lieutenant Candini and Lhyn Rivers to the main cabin. I wish to speak with Captain Serrado alone.”
“Oh, no,” Lhyn said as Colonel Micah rose from his chair. “You’re not going to talk about this without me here. You can’t. Ekatya, please!”
“She can stay,” Ekatya said. Her voice sounded thick to her ears.
“Very well.” Lancer Tal’s gaze never wavered as chairs moved and bodies followed each other into the hall. When the door slid shut, she stayed silent, waiting.
Even that was fuel to Ekatya’s ire. Was nothing in her mind private?
“What did you do to me in that field?” she said through gritted teeth. “I felt it. You changed something in my head.”
Whatever Lancer Tal had been expecting, it wasn’t that. For half a second she looked shocked before she could mask it. “I changed nothing. That’s not—Captain, I assure you that you haven’t been forced in any way.”
Ekatya shook her head. “I felt different after you touched me. Don’t tell me that was a coincidence.”
“No, it wasn’t, but I would never do what you’re thinking. Forced empathic control is a violation of our highest law, unless there’s consent or a warrant. Am I to understand that none of you can sense emotion?”
Lhyn, who had been watching with wide eyes, answered for her. “Not any Gaian race yet discovered. You’re the first.”
“Incredible,” the Lancer murmured. “An entire galaxy of sonsales.”
The word didn’t translate, and Lhyn looked confused. “What does sonsales mean?”
“It means a person who is blind, but not in the visual sense. Blind to emotions. Among my people it’s considered a terrible burden, very limiting. Even the most ungifted Alseans can still sense their blood kin, but sonsales can sense nothing.”
“Then yes, we’re all sonsales,” Lhyn said. “But we’ve never considered it a burden because we never knew any other way.”
“And we appreciate having privacy inside our heads.” Ekatya was not letting the Lancer off that easily. “I’m still waiting for an explanation.”
Judging by her expression, Lancer Tal wasn’t used to giving them. “If you felt your privacy was violated, I apologize. That was not my intent. I was…” She paused, for once seeming less than sure of herself. “Sharing my own emotions. To help you. It wasn’t meant as an intrusion.”
Sharing her emotions? What did that mean?
But Lancer Tal was looking at her as if she’d said more than was necessary, and Ekatya went over the memory again. Yes, she’d felt different. She’d been worrying herself into a black hole and then—
She blinked in sudden understanding and saw the Lancer’s immediate relief. Apparently, her emotions were like big blazing lights to this woman.
“You calmed me down,” she said. “I was thinking you were the leader of an entire world and you were taking the time to hold my hand so I wouldn’t crack. I was sure you understood me, even though we couldn’t communicate.” Because she had understood. Great galaxies, this was going to take some getting used to.
Lancer Tal nodded. “Yes. That was my intent.”
And she had done that for someone she didn’t know? An alien she didn’t know? Ekatya was beginning to think that Alsean culture was like no other she had yet encountered. Empathic abilities must change the game considerably.
“Then I thank you for your kindness,” she said. “And I regret my accusation. It was based on ignorance, but that’s not a very good excuse.”
“I hope it is, because I claim it for myself as well. We all knew you couldn’t front, but it never occurred to me that you also had no experience with sharing emotion. Alseans experience that from infancy. Please understand, we have very strict laws governing emotional privacy. I would never invade yours without your consent. When I offered my hand, and you took it, I read that as consent. Any Alsean would.”
Lhyn blew out a breath. “Wow. Just…wow. Not only are you empathic, but you can project your emotions as well? And you learn this from infancy? To Hades with the AC meeting, I’m going to get a book out of this! What does it mean to front?”
Normally Ekatya enjoyed Lhyn’s enthusiasm for her research, but the anger she had only just managed to bank was still too close to the surface, and her lover had chosen the wrong moment to intrude.
“Do you know why she felt the need to calm me down?” she asked sharply. “Because I was lying there worrying myself sick about you. Because you were supposed to be safe in an escape pod, getting picked up by your own ship. Not on mine, getting your brains splattered across the nearest bulkhead.”
Lhyn at least had the grace to look abashed. “I know. You have the right to be angry, and I’m sorry I worried you, but—“
Holding up a hand, Ekatya said, “Don’t end an apology with ‘but.’ After that word it’s no longer an apology.”
“Can we talk about this somewhere else?” Lhyn asked in a lower tone, indicating the Lancer with a slight head movement.
“What’s the point? She knows everything we’re feeling anyway.”
It was strange how having her emotions practically printed on her forehead changed her attitude. Normally she’d rather do a hull walk without a space suit than let a stranger see into her private life. But knowing that Lancer Tal felt everything…why bother hiding what had already been seen?
Lancer Tal spoke into the charged silence. “Perhaps we should move to the window seats. They’re more comfortable, and you might enjoy seeing the view you missed on your way down.”
It was a blatant redirection, but Ekatya took it nonetheless. She began to push back her chair, pausing when Lhyn nearly leaped out of her own to help. Soon they were settled in the cushy window seats, and she had to admit it was a definite improvement. They were traveling over what appeared to be an endless expanse of cultivated fields, interspersed with threaded corridors of wild areas. Lhyn had said that the Alseans had a fascinating blend of agrarian and high-tech culture, and she could certainly see it now.
What a horror to imagine this bucolic landscape churned up by ground pounders, its people enslaved. What would slavery do to an empathic species?
She looked at the Lancer, sitting across from them with the translator at her side, and asked, “You shared your emotions with me twice, didn’t you?”
“Twice?” Lhyn perked up. “When was the second time?”
“Five minutes ago.” Ekatya held her hands palm outward to illustrate and only then made the connection. “This isn’t just consent, is it? It requires physical touch.”
“Not necessarily. A high empath can share emotions without touch, but it’s extraordinarily difficult, and there are limitations to what can be shared. A physical connection acts as a conduit.”
“You’re a high empath,” Ekatya guessed.
“Yes, I am. It’s something of a prerequisite for the title.” A small smile broke her serious demeanor as she added, “I cannot imagine navigating the tangled webs of self-interest and deceit in our Council Chamber without it.”
“There have certainly been times when I wished for something like that. Though my fantasies usually leaned toward telepathy.”
The Lancer chuckled. “There are no telepaths on Alsea, nor would I wish for that myself. Where would the challenge be in interpreting emotion if you could simply reach in and see where it came from?”
“You have to interpret?” Lhyn wanted to know. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Lancer Tal’s gaze grew intent, and Ekatya thought with some satisfaction that it was about time somebody else was on the other end of that look.
“You bear a heavy guilt, Lhyn Rivers. But why? Is it because you know you caused Captain Serrado emotional harm by not evacuating? Or because someone under your command, someone you were responsible for, sold us to the Voloth? Or is it for some reason I’m not aware of? I can feel your emotion, but that doesn’t mean I know the cause.”
Lhyn looked down at her lap. “Emotional harm?” she repeated, and turned to Ekatya. “It sounds so much more damaging when she puts it that way.”
“I spent the night in Tartarus,” Ekatya said bluntly. “The only good thing about it was that when I finally broke down, none of my staff were there to see it.”
From the corner of her eye she saw the Lancer nod, as if she had just confirmed a theory. But her attention was held by Lhyn, who was looking at her with a new awareness.
“I apologize,” Lhyn said. “I disobeyed your order and probably interfered with your focus in a battle situation. It was a split-second decision, I did it on instinct, and my instinct was to stay with you. I didn’t think beyond that.”
No excuses this time, no buts. Just an acknowledgment, and it wasn’t until now that Ekatya realized how much she’d needed it.
“Thank you,” she said. “I accept your apology. And for the record, while I hope to never go through another night like that one, I’m extremely glad you’re here now.”
As they smiled at each other, it occurred to her that she didn’t need empathic talent to know what Lhyn was feeling. Perhaps that was the true value of a relationship like theirs.
When they faced forward again, Lancer Tal was watching them with clear enjoyment. Ekatya had no idea why, and a moment later she wasn’t sure she’d seen it at all, so quickly did the Alsean turn serious.
“I hope you both understand that if it were in my power, I would be taking you to our healing center for surgery and a long, relaxing recovery. But the information you’ve shared has only proven that we need to learn a great deal more from you. As soon as you’re able, I’d like you to conduct a full debriefing with my High Council. The Voloth will return, and we need to prepare.”
As if there were anything the Alseans could do to prepare for that. The only preparation they could make was to hope the Protectorate forces arrived first; otherwise it would be a slaughter. But Ekatya was not about to say that out loud.
“I understand. We’re prepared to speak to your High Council as soon as your healers can get us into mobile stabilizers.”
That apparently didn’t translate, so she explained the concept of setting the bones and wrapping them to keep them from shifting during the long regeneration process. The Lancer looked surprised, then amused.
“I believe our healers can do better than that,” she said. “And after the night we’ve all had, we could benefit from a few hanticks of rest. There’s no need for a debriefing before this evening. It will take me that long to assemble the High Council anyway.”
“A hantick is slightly less than one and a half stellar hours,” Lhyn explained. “And that does sound rather nice. Though what I’ve really been dreaming about is a hot shower.”
“Now that, I’m certain we can provide.” Lancer Tal shifted slightly, leaning forward. “What will happen to the person who sold us?”
Lhyn met Ekatya’s eyes and shook her head. She couldn’t answer.
“Ordinarily, I’d be taking him into custody and turning him over to the Protectorate Enforcement Agency,” Ekatya said. “What he did is an offense against the entire Protectorate, not just one planet, so the penalty would have been very high. But in this case…” She hesitated.
“You have no ship.”
“No, that’s not the issue. I have no prisoner.” Ekatya watched Lhyn’s eyes close. “He was spaced.”
“She won’t know what that means,” Lhyn murmured. “There’s no Alsean word for it.”
Of course there wouldn’t be.
“I mean,” Ekatya said, “someone, or more likely a group of people, took him from his quarters where he’d been secured, put him into an airlock, and opened it to space. And somehow none of the security cameras on the ship managed to record it.”
If she expected horror in this compassionate alien, she didn’t see it. Instead there was a barely-hidden glint as Lancer Tal said, “He was executed.”
“Yes. Without trial. Which means that legally, he was murdered. But there’s no evidence and no witnesses, so the captain of Lhyn’s ship can’t do a thing about it.”
“Which means some of my own team are murderers,” Lhyn said.
“You don’t know that. It could have been the crew.”
“So you keep saying. But I don’t think the crew would have been so righteous.”
“And this distresses you,” Lancer Tal said. “Your trust was betrayed not once, but twice.”
“Yes, that’s it exactly. The first was shocking enough. Unthinkable, really. The second…” She trailed off.
Ekatya resisted the urge to offer physical comfort, but then remembered who was sitting across from them. The Lancer already knew how she felt about Lhyn; there was nothing to hide.
Lhyn’s astonishment when she openly caressed her hand was strong enough to chase away the shadows in her eyes, and Ekatya smiled, her mission accomplished. “I’m feeling a little envious of the Alseans right now,” she said, intertwining their fingers. “Imagine if I could just show you how I feel.”
“I think you just did.”
Lancer Tal said something so quietly that the translator didn’t pick it up, and by the look on Lhyn’s face, she’d missed it too. Ekatya was just about to ask when she realized that a city skyline had appeared on the horizon. Squeezing Lhyn’s hand, she tipped her head toward the window. “I’m a lot happier to be coming toward your city now than I was a few hours ago,” she said.
The Lancer turned in her seat to look. “And I’m happy to be returning at all.”
Lhyn said nothing, but her eyes were the size of saucers. Ekatya could only imagine what was galloping through that brain of hers. It wasn’t often that she had the opportunity to directly confirm or improve her studies of a pre-FTL culture.
Nor did it take her long to ask her first question. “Why is it called Blacksun? I never figured that out.”
“It was founded by the Wandering King,” Lancer Tal said. “He was the first to cross the mountains that ring the valley, and when he came over the final pass and saw the valley for the first time, he barely got a glimpse before everything went dark. It was a total solar eclipse.”
“A black sun,” Ekatya said in understanding.
“Exactly. So he called the valley Blacksun Basin, and when he founded the city, the name was already chosen.”
Lhyn was soaking it up. “And Whitesun?”
Lancer Tal smiled. “It has always been the great rival of Blacksun. The queen who founded it hated Blacksun, though I think in truth she hated the family that ruled it. She was determined that in her city she’d fix everything that was wrong with this one, including the name.”
“So she chose a name that was the exact opposite,” Lhyn said. “This is fantastic. Is that what happened with Redmoon and Whitemoon as well?”
“Redmoon is named for a relatively rare event, when both of our moons go into eclipse and Alsea, Sonalia, and Eusaltin are all lined up together. When that happens, it appears as if we have only one moon—a red moon.”
“Of course,” Ekatya said, though Lhyn looked baffled. “Because it’s reflecting the light from Alsea’s atmosphere instead of from your star.”
Lancer Tal nodded. “But Redmoon and Whitemoon aren’t rivals. They were founded by members of the same family, and historically they were allies more often than not.”
“Would it be possible for me to have access to the etymology of your place-names?” Lhyn asked. “It would fill in so many blanks in our understanding of your culture and history.”
Lancer Tal laughed, a full laugh that transformed her face and posture. “In my wildest fantasies, I never imagined aliens landing on our planet and asking me for an etymology of our place-names. Yes, of course you can have access. And I can’t wait to hear what you ask for next.”
She didn’t have to wait long. Lhyn peppered her with questions and Ekatya listened with half an ear, more interested in the view. As they drew nearer to the city, she realized that many of the buildings were domes, with two groups at the center rising well above the rest. Those groups were encircled by six smaller domes, which were still larger than most of the others in the city. Streets radiated out from the center like strands of a spider web, making it obvious where the power resided.
Then they were crossing the outskirts, and she could look down onto the city streets. They sparkled like diamonds in the early morning light.
“Great Goddess, Aldirk was right,” Lancer Tal said. “Half the windows in the city must have shattered.”
That was glass?
Of course it was. The sonic shockwave would have been ground-shaking.
“Will that cause difficulty for your people?” Ekatya asked. “Are they going to be exposed to weather issues while the repairs are made?”
“Not immediately. We’re still in the last moons of summer. But autumn in Blacksun Basin means the beginning of the rains, usually an entire moon’s worth at the start. We can only hope to get all of the temporary covers done before then. Replacing all of that glass—” She shook her head. “It will be two moons at least.”
“I would be glad to offer any assistance,” Ekatya said, before remembering that she no longer had much of a crew. “I mean…perhaps we can help you with materials.”
The Lancer looked at her quizzically. “Don’t tell me you happen to carry glass cargo in a warship.”
“No, but we can create the materials you need.”
Lhyn’s expression was just this side of dumbfounded. “You really did mean a full debriefing, didn’t you?”
The Lancer had that intent look again, but whatever she’d been about to say was interrupted by the pilot announcing their approach to Blacksun Healing Center. As soon as the translator finished, she said, “I must warn you that the healing center has been cordoned off by warriors. It’s not meant to intimidate, but as you might imagine, keeping you a secret will be impossible. I’ll have to make a planetary announcement later this morning, and after that the public will likely be ten deep outside the healing center grounds. The warriors are there to protect you.”
And this, Ekatya knew, was the true danger of an uncontrolled first contact situation. Not the leaders, but the public, with their fears backed by huge numbers. She sincerely hoped Lancer Tal had the power and charisma to talk her people down.
The landing was just as soft as the takeoff had been, and when she, Lhyn, and Lieutenant Candini had collected at the base of the ramp, they found themselves in the center of an entire unit of what Ekatya now knew were the Lancer’s elite Guards. Like Lancer Tal, they were all dressed in a combat uniform whose colors she was certain had been varying shades of greens and grays before, but which were now evenly dark, blending in with the bricked landing pad they were walking across. She hadn’t even noticed when the Lancer’s uniform had changed, but somehow, the fabric altered which wavelengths it reflected. Filing that away for a future Q&A session, she concentrated on crutching her way toward the large arch that gave access to the healing center’s main dome.
“Really, Ekatya, would it kill you to accept their offer?” Lhyn said.
“I am not going to be wheeled in to see my crew.”
“You are the most stubborn woman I have ever known.”
“Go easy on her,” Candini said. “That stubbornness is the reason the Voloth were vaporized instead of this city. And how much stubbornness does it take to refuse to evacuate when ordered?”
That shut Lhyn down, though Ekatya bumped her with her shoulder, letting her know she was no longer angry. In the crowd they were moving with, it could have been seen as an accident, but Lhyn’s expression smoothed out.
They passed through the arch and into a high-ceilinged room suffused with a sharp, bitter scent. Disinfectant, Ekatya guessed. Some things truly were universal.
A very tall, thin man in a dark blue uniform stood waiting. He bowed his head before the Lancer, but did not touch his fists to his chest. “Lancer Tal, I’m glad to see you safe.”
“Thank you, Healer Wellernal. May I introduce you to your last three patients: Captain Serrado, Lhyn Rivers, and Lieutenant Candini.”
The moment she understood, Candini said, “I’m not a patient. I’m fine.”
Ekatya looked at her pilot’s torn, filthy uniform and the scrapes on her hands and face. “You may be in the best shape of all of us, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t use a bit of cleaning and antiseptic. Let them check you out, Lieutenant. That’s an order.”
“Yes, Captain,” Candini grumbled.
Healer Wellernal glanced from her to the Lancer. “Even among aliens, we can recognize the warrior caste.”
“Then you’re upholding a fine tradition.” Lancer Tal smiled at Candini. “Perhaps I can provide incentive for undergoing a healer’s examination by promising a hot shower and soft bed at the end of it?”
“Throw in a hot meal and you have a deal.”
“There you have it,” Lancer Tal told the healer. “You just have to understand warrior priorities. Give us the proper incentive and we’re perfectly cooperative.”
Ekatya recognized the diplomatic technique in that “us,” but even knowing what the Lancer was doing didn’t prevent her from feeling a sense of solidarity. Judging by Candini’s unconsciously straightened spine, she was similarly affected.
The healer turned towards Ekatya and Lhyn and spoke more slowly, giving the translator enough time for a simultaneous translation. “Captain Serrado, Lhyn Rivers, the surgery teams are waiting for you. Based on our healers’ field reports, I believe I can promise that you will both be fully mobile by the end of the day. Complete recovery will take another nineday, but as long as you limit your physical activities, you should barely notice the remainder of your recovery.”
Ekatya felt her jaw loosen again; it seemed to be a rather common occurrence today. “I’m sorry, did you mean the end of this day?” Was it a translation error?
He seemed to share her confusion. “Yes. Is that not acceptable? I apologize if you’re accustomed to more rapid healing techniques. Please believe you are getting the best care we can offer.”
“I believe you. We don’t have the technology to heal broken bones that quickly. On my homeworld, I’d be on these crutches for two weeks at least. It appears we could learn a great deal from you.”
Lhyn nudged her. “Told you. They may be pre-FTL, but in other ways they’re extremely advanced.”
“You did tell me,” Ekatya agreed. She didn’t like to think she’d been prejudiced, but the Alseans continued to surprise her. Just as soon as she had checked on her crew and was out of surgery, she was going to pick Lhyn’s brain of every detail. It was time to stop playing catch-up.
“The captain will want to see her crew first,” Lancer Tal said. “Give her any information she asks for on their condition and treatment plan.” She stepped in front of Ekatya and held up her palm. “I cannot stay, but you’re in good hands here. I’ll return as soon as I’m able.”
Ekatya met her palm touch, noting that once again it was a single hand. “Thank you, Lancer Tal. For everything.”
“It is we who owe thanks to you.” She moved to Lhyn, touching palms with her and smiling. “And you, my scholar friend, are so full of questions that I’m not certain how you have not burst open with them. Be assured that I have quite a few of my own. When you’re healed, and we’re all a bit more rested, we’re going to have a long conversation.”
Lhyn’s grin was ear to ear. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Candini was uncharacteristically shy when her turn came. “Lancer Tal, it has been an honor,” she said as they touched palms.
The Lancer looked at her for a moment. “I’m a pilot as well, Lieutenant. I’d be very interested to hear how you managed to land a ship that isn’t designed to land. Perhaps we can speak of that later?”
Brightening, Candini agreed. Then the Lancer was gone, taking half of her elite Guards with her. The other half stood patiently waiting.
“Damn,” Candini said. “That good-looking, and she’s a pilot too?”