Given the Caphenon’s smooth and rounded appearance, Tal hadn’t known what to expect in a Protectorate fighter. But Candini’s aerodynamic craft was a recognizable design, with a pointed nose and wings for lift. It looked sleek and fast, exuded danger, and Tal itched to climb in and try it out herself. And four times the speed of sound? Great Mother.
“You are one lucky dokker,” she said. “Want to trade places with me?”
Lead Guard Tesseron reluctantly tore his eyes away from the fighter, now slipping around the transport to park by the ramp, and gave her an enormous grin. “With all due respect, Lancer Tal, not in fifty cycles. This is the chance of a lifetime.”
She turned to Micah. “I’ve worked hard all my life. Shouldn’t I get a chance like this, too?”
“Even I want a shot at it,” he said. “And I can’t fly.”
“Told you that you should have learned.” She held out her forearm to Tesseron. “May Fahla fly with you.”
“Thank you, Lancer.” He released her, gripped forearms with Micah, then pulled his headset from his pocket and slipped it over his ear. Tal and her Guards were already on the emergency military channel, and when Tesseron activated his headset, every wristcom in the transport vibrated.
“You’re on,” she said.
With a nod, he turned and ran down the ramp. Candini already had the fighter’s door open and was waiting outside. She greeted him with a forearm clasp and practically shoved him into the copilot’s seat, snapping his harness herself to save time. A moment later she was in her own seat and the door was closing. Tal wasn’t certain it had latched before the fighter lifted off again, quickly gaining altitude until it rocketed away with a sudden roar. Ten pipticks later she couldn’t even make out a dot.
“Impressive,” said Micah.
“Damn, I want to fly that.” She shook her head as she lifted her wrist. “Continal, get us back to Blacksun Base, top speed.”
“Yes, Lancer.” The transport was already in motion before he finished speaking. She took Candini’s seat next to Lhyn, while Micah sat on the other side of Captain Serrado.
“My apologies, Lhyn. We were interrupted earlier. You were saying something about translators?”
Lhyn gave her a rueful smile. “No need for an apology; it’s not as if you don’t have a few things going on. But yes, Ekatya is getting a little tired of depending on translators, even if one of them is me. She thinks highly enough of Alsean medtech to ask your healers to perform a simple cranial surgery on her and her crew.”
Tal wasn’t sure she’d heard that right. “A cranial surgery? For what?”
“To put an Alsean language chip into their nodes. Your healing medtech is ahead of ours, but we’ve gotten very good at cybernetics. We’ve developed a way to interface between the brain’s language center and an artificial language database. The node is the physical interface; it sits up against the skull right here.” She pointed just behind her ear. “The skull plating is very thick here, and it’s protected by the ear. Anyway, the node—well, it’s actually a lingual implant, but everyone calls it a node—is really just the hardware. The language chips are the important part. They hold the database and the software that enables translation.”
“Then the translator Captain Serrado was using is a crude form of what you carry in your heads?”
“No, not at all. Nothing I do is crude.”
Tal smiled. Coming from Lhyn, that was a statement of fact. She couldn’t detect any untoward pride, just certainty. “Let me restate. If her translator is similar to these…nodes, why is it so much larger?”
“Because it needs a vocal interface and sound amplification. That’s a whole different hardware system. Nodes can be much smaller because they only need to interface with neural bundles. The language chip itself is tiny. I could fit ten of them on my fingertip.”
“And that’s why you speak fluent High Alsean? Because you have one?”
Of all the ways that she might have caused offense, she would not have expected this to be it.
“I don’t have a node, Lancer Tal. My language skills are my own. And even if I did have a node, it would only account for two languages. I speak thirty-eight fluently and can get along quite well in fifteen more.”
After a momentary failure of her own language, Tal managed to say, “You have a gift from Fahla herself.”
Mollified, Lhyn settled back in her seat. “I don’t know about Fahla, but it certainly is a gift. It’s why I do what I do. Learning a language can’t be separated from learning a culture, not if you want to get it right. And I have to tell you, I loved learning High Alsean. It’s musical and one of the most elegant languages I’ve ever run across. You make Common sound almost harsh.”
“I would say thank you, but since I had nothing to do with it…”
“Actually, when I said you, I meant you personally. There are a lot of regional accents and dialects across Alsea, but every time I listened to you on a broadcast, I thought your phrasing and pronunciation should be standardized. And now I do believe I have embarrassed the Lancer of Alsea.”
Putting a hand to her warm cheek, Tal said, “Perhaps a little. But thank you for giving me something to be vain about.”
They shared a smile before Lhyn said, “Anyway, it turns out that while the node’s hardware is capable of handling any number of languages, the average Gaian brain isn’t. Every additional language exponentially increases the complexity of the connections, because it’s not just the knowledge of the language being sent, but also the neural signals for physical speech. After two languages, signals start getting crossed and you end up with errors. And because this isn’t organic knowledge, the person having issues doesn’t even realize it.”
“That makes sense. You referred to a language called Common before. I assume that’s a universal trade language?”
“Exactly. Which means most Gaians speak at least three languages: their native tongue, Common, and a third of their choosing. What Ekatya and Commander Baldassar want to do is pull out their second language chip and replace it with an Alsean chip. I can program the chips, and Ekatya asked her engineers to salvage the equipment from her ship. So once things calm down a little bit, we can show your healers how it all works and they can replace the chips.”
“Remarkable. And quite an advantage for a space-faring species.”
“It’s a huge advantage, though of course I find three languages rather limiting.”
Tal smiled. “I believe you.”
“Speaking of limiting, I haven’t had nearly enough time to ask you questions. Do you mind…?”
“Not at all. Now is a good time, actually. We can’t do anything else until we arrive at Blacksun Base. Ask away.”
“Great.” Lhyn sat upright, drilling Tal with the force of her attention. “First question: what is a front?”
“Ah, yes, you asked this once before. It’s an emotional block. One of the first things a high empath is taught is how to front her emotions from others. The second thing we’re taught is how to break through the fronts of others less strong. So you can imagine that there’s considerable incentive to develop a strong front.”
Lhyn’s eyes were wide. “I certainly can. Do only high empaths have this ability?”
Tal had to think about how to answer this one. “It’s not that we’re the only ones to have the ability. All adult Alseans have a front, but not all of them can attain any real strength with it. I have what we call a perfect front, which means that no one with a lower empathic rating can break it. If I don’t wish others to know what I’m feeling, they won’t. Gehrain also has a perfect front, as do most of my Guards, and since they’re chosen in part for their empathic strength, they’re fairly impervious. And all healers must have perfect fronts.”
“Oh! I hadn’t thought about that. Yes, I can see where that would be necessary. How fascinating.” Lhyn considered for a moment. “I can also see where it could be necessary for certain warriors to have perfect fronts. Anyone working on a covert mission, for instance.” At Tal’s nod, she continued, “And besides the healers, there must be any number of scholar caste professions requiring that ability. Lawyers and adjudicators. Mental healers. Negotiators…so this is why you shunt the high empaths into the warrior and scholar castes.”
“It is. But as you’ve seen, the result is not ideal, despite all of our laws mandating caste equality.”
“Yes, I’ve seen it. But you said adults. Children don’t have fronts?”
Tal shook her head. “That’s one of the things we love about them. There’s a tremendous innocence in being so open with one’s emotions.”
“Do you think of us as children?”
“I…” Tal hesitated, trying to think of a diplomatic way to answer, and was startled at the burst of satisfaction from Lhyn.
“I knew it! This is so intriguing. Of course you would, none of us have any fronts at all. We must seem like a strange mix of children and technologically advanced adults.”
“That’s an excellent description.” Tal gave up on diplomacy; Lhyn didn’t need it.
“Can you stop sensing emotions if you don’t want to? I mean, doesn’t it get overwhelming being around us when we can’t control ourselves?”
Amused, Tal said, “You haven’t felt overwhelming until you’ve been in a Council session. One hundred and eighty Alseans, only a fraction of whom are high empaths, and most of whom get emotional at some point or another. Some of them exceptionally so. Yes, I can block what comes in as well as what goes out.”
“Are you blocking us now?”
“There’s no need. You’re not feeling anything I would want to block. And it does take effort, so I’d rather not if I don’t have to.”
“Have you ever blocked us?”
“Yes.”
Lhyn waited impatiently.
“Well?” she asked, as Tal remained silent. “When?”
“When Captain Serrado learned you’d been found alive.”
Lhyn’s posture changed along with her emotions, but all she said was, “Ouch. I walked right into that one.”
Tal inclined her head, giving the Gaian time to recover.
“I just realized something,” Lhyn said. “We’ve known you for less than one day, and yet you know us better than almost anyone else in our lives. In the important ways, I mean. And in some ways I think you might understand Ekatya better than I do.”
“There is a great deal of truth in emotions. Why do you think high empaths spend so much time learning to front them?” Tal asked wryly. “Those who can hide the truth often have an advantage over those who cannot. But at the other end of the scale, the trust involved in openly sharing emotions is a gift that separates true friends from false, family from strangers, and bondmates from lovers. That you and Captain Serrado share so freely with me…” She paused, trying to find the right words. “Even though you’re not choosing to do it, I can’t help but receive it as a gift. It implies a trust that I’m compelled to return. I listened to Captain Serrado’s emotions last night because it was tactically sound. I stopped when it became an invasion of her privacy.”
“Shek,” Lhyn said. “We need those language chips. Ekatya should be part of this conversation.”
“I look forward to that.”
“So does she. I’m quite shocked that she’s allowing your healers to do the procedure. That says a lot about how much she wants to communicate with you directly. Of course,” she added with a smile, “it may also have something to do with the fact that my physical science and engineering knowledge is a tiny bit behind my cultural understanding.”
“With fifty-three languages packed in there, I hardly see how you have room for anything else.” Tal enjoyed Lhyn’s amusement, then realized they had arrived at the outskirts of Blacksun. She held up her hand, stopping Lhyn just as she was opening her mouth, and said, “We’re halfway to the base. It’s my turn.”
“But…” Lhyn’s posture slumped. “I suppose that’s fair.”
“How would your ship produce enough glass to repair every window in this city?”
“Now you really need Ekatya. I’m sorry, Lancer Tal, I don’t know how it works. I just tell it what I want and wait for it to appear.”
“Appear?”
“We call them matter printers. They convert matter from one form to another, and then print it in whatever pattern we ask for. Within the limitations of what’s programmed into the system, that is.”
“Where does your source matter come from?”
“Er…it has something to do with our sewage and recycling? Really, you’re out of my range here. You’ll have to ask Ekatya. I wish I could be more helpful.”
“That’s all right, you’ve already confirmed my theory. It’s a fascinating technology.”
“I guess it is.” She shrugged. “It’s such a normal part of my life that I don’t really think about it.”
Tal could only imagine what other miraculous technologies were merely a normal part of her life. Speaking of which…
“How do you travel faster than light?” she asked. “According to our scholars, that’s an absolute speed limit.”
“Okay, that’s it.” Lhyn got up from her seat and pointed at it. “You sit here.”
Tal stared at her, and a moment later Lhyn’s cheeks reddened.
“Right. Let’s pretend I didn’t just say that. Lancer Tal, if you wouldn’t mind taking my seat, I’ll act as a bridge between you and Ekatya, and you can ask her these questions.” She stepped into the aisle and crouched down, holding an armrest for stability, and looked over at Tal expectantly.
Hiding her smile, Tal switched seats. “Does Captain Serrado know that she’s about to be bombarded with questions?”
“Not yet.” Lhyn held a quick conversation with the captain, who appeared happy to oblige. She leaned toward the aisle, an expectant look in her dark blue eyes, and said something to Tal.
“She says ‘missiles away.’ Which means—”
“I think I’ve got that one by inference,” said Tal. “And I’m asking her the same question I just asked you.”
“Oh. Sorry, hold on.” Lhyn spoke a single question in her language, and the captain looked thoughtful. Behind her, Commander Baldassar said something. His face was carefully blank, but Tal could sense his disapproval. She guessed that FTL technology came under the category of things not to be discussed with backwards aliens.
The captain responded without looking at him, and his disapproval deepened. Tal kept her own expression blank, but she was enjoying the byplay. Then Captain Serrado gave quite a long answer, which made Lhyn’s forehead crease.
“I’ll start with the caveat that you’re going to want to repeat this conversation once Ek—Captain Serrado has her Alsean chip in,” she said with a quick glance at Baldassar. “Or with Commander Kameha; he’s her chief engineer. But she says to tell you there are actually two methods of FTL travel. The first is what we call surfing. We have a drive that compresses the fabric of spacetime in front of the ship, while expanding it behind the ship. The ship rides the differential between the compressed and expanded parts of spacetime, like a surfer rides a breaking wave.”
“But how do you avoid the consequences of breaking the speed limit?” Tal asked. “It shouldn’t be possible.”
“I hadn’t gotten to that yet. The trick is that the ship itself stays in normal spacetime. It’s protected by a bubble that keeps the altered spacetime outside. So even though the bubble is traveling faster than light, the ship and the people in it are not. Did that make sense to you? Because it didn’t to me.”
Tal chuckled. “It did, actually. How is the bubble produced?”
“Lancer Tal, there are limitations to my translation abilities, and that question goes right past them. You really have to wait until you can speak to the captain directly. But she did say that the shape of the bubble affects how much energy it takes to create it, and that’s one of the reasons our ships are shaped the way they are.”
“One of the reasons?”
“Right. The other reason has to do with the second method of FTL travel, which isn’t really FTL travel.” She saw the expression on Tal’s face and grinned. “This is what you get for asking an anthropologist about propulsion theory. I did warn you.”
“Yes, you did. But I’m impatient.”
“Let me just make sure I have this right.” Lhyn held another conversation with the captain, and Tal was interested to see Commander Baldassar drawn into it despite himself. He may have disapproved of sharing FTL tech with Alseans, but apparently he couldn’t stand the idea of inaccuracy in the data being passed on.
Lhyn shook her head as she turned back. “At this rate I’m going to need a headache med. There are different layers of space, and what you see when you look up is just the top layer. That’s the part we need FTL propulsion for, because the distances are so vast. But if you can get below that into the base layer, you don’t need—”
Tal’s wristcom vibrated, and she held up a finger to stop Lhyn. There was only one person who should be on this frequency right now, and she didn’t think Tesseron would be calling with good news.
“Lancer Tal, we’ve got a problem.”
Switching the sound output to her wristcom, she held it near Lhyn and asked, “What kind of problem?”
“Lieutenant Candini is losing flight controls. She doesn’t know why and says they should be in perfect condition, because she tested them during her preflight check. But they’re not responding properly.”
And at four times the speed of sound, any play at all in the flight controls could mean one of the fastest deaths in Alsean history. She watched Lhyn translate to Captain Serrado and asked, “Is it a speed issue?”
“She doesn’t think so. We’ve already slowed to the speed of sound and the situation is not improving. In fact, it seems to be getting worse. We’re going to have to land.”
“Where?”
“I think we can make Port Calerna.”
The southern edge of Argolis, then. That left a wide swath of ocean and half of Pallea between the weapons on that fighter and the ground pounder. “Hold,” she said, and turned to Captain Serrado. “I don’t suppose your weaponry can be easily removed from the fighter?”
Lhyn translated, and the captain shook her head as she answered.
“No, it’s too integrated. Wait, Commander Baldassar is offering to fly another fighter out.”
“We don’t have time. We’ve already lost seventy ticks.” And it would be at least another forty or fifty ticks before they could get back to the Caphenon, send Baldassar up the ladder, and launch another fighter. No, they would have to use the assets they had on site.
“She says the same thing. Lancer Tal, what do we do now?”
I have no idea, was Tal’s first thought. And though she knew the question had been Lhyn’s, it was the captain she faced as she straightened her spine and said, “Now we come up with another plan.”