“Isolationists,” Kylie said dismissively.
I didn’t say anything. In my head I counted off the seven days that remained before I launched for Vardesh Prime. How many more protests would happen in that time? And how many would it take before the Council—or the Vardeshi—started to pay attention? I reminded myself that the Vardeshi themselves were divided on the topic of the alliance. Surely they weren’t expecting the entire human race to welcome them with open arms. Still, the knowledge that there were people on my world who thought we should reject their overture rankled. As if we could do better. As if a partnership with us wouldn’t be a massive step down for them in every possible way. For us to refuse them would be so … the word that came to mind was insolent. An instant after I thought it, I wanted to laugh. Maybe I was more of a Vaku than I’d thought.
As I got out of the car in front of the training complex, I caught sight of the man who stood waiting for us, and surprise drove all other thoughts temporarily from my mind. It was Councillor Seidel. I had passed him once or twice in the halls of the Villiger Center, but we hadn’t spoken since the day of my interview with the Vardeshi.
“Avery,” he said. “Welcome back. I trust you had a pleasant day in the city?”
“It was perfect. Thank you.”
He smiled slightly. “I’m glad to hear it. There’s a matter I’d like to discuss with you. Privately, if possible.”
“'Night,” said Kylie. “Thanks for the day off.”
Elena scooped up my shopping bags. “I’ll take these back to your dormitory for you.”
When they had both gone, the councillor gestured to the far side of the green, where a gravel path led to the vineyards. “Shall we walk?”
“Sure.” We went down the steps to the green. I could see that Seidel was preparing to speak. I preempted him. “Elena told us about the protest in Bern. Do you think there will be others?”
“Of course.” I glanced over in surprise. He said, “Nothing on this scale ever happens cleanly. You shouldn’t let the news concern you. Those who hold decision-making power in the Council are almost universally in favor of the alliance. But it would be naïve to think that the promise of interspecies cooperation would speak to everyone on Earth in the same way that it speaks to you and me. You’re American. Think about your own countrymen who reject vaccines for their children. Some people simply will not be helped.”
“Some people are idiots,” I said.
“Precisely. We live in a society that embraces free speech. The protesters have the right to express themselves. Thus far the unrest has been on par with our predictions.”
“You were expecting people to protest?”
Seidel said again, “Of course.”
“The launch won’t be affected?”
“Absolutely not.”
I nodded, marginally reassured. He said, “Avery, the reason I wanted to see you is that the Vardeshi have proposed an adjustment to the terms of the exchange. This adjustment applies only to you. As you know, the role of the Strangers”—I was amused to hear that he had adopted the nickname as well—“is to live among the Vardeshi, observe their culture, and teach them about our own. You’re basically passengers on their ships. You’ll work among them, but not with them.”
I nodded, then, realizing that it was dark, said, “Right.”
“In light of your unique abilities, Commander Vekesh has—”
“Vekesh?” I couldn't help interrupting.
“Yes. The commander of the ship you’ll be traveling on. Apparently he’s proposed to his superiors that you be given additional responsibilities. There have been some changes to his crew complement, and he’s looking to fill a low-ranking position on the Pinion. The vacant position seems to be effectively a service role. The word he used was novi.”
“That’s the lowest rank in the hierarchy of their fleet,” I said. “I don’t know any more than that. Aren’t there plenty of Vardeshi in this region of space who could be brought in to fill the vacancy, even on short notice? Or couldn’t we pick someone up along the way?”
“That’s precisely what I said. Vekesh thinks his people will have no difficulty training you to carry out the duties of a novi, which are apparently quite simple. He sees no reason why a fluent Vardeshi speaker should sit idly by as an observer instead of contributing to the work of the crew. In his own words, it’s a waste of resources. His superiors seem to agree with him. They’ve granted provisional approval to the idea.”
“And the Council?”
“The Council has also given provisional approval. Pending your acceptance, of course.”
“These things happen fast,” I said.
“They do. So what do you think?”
We were passing under one of the lamps that intermittently lit the path, and I could see his expression clearly. I thought I detected an eagerness there beneath his habitual reserve. “You want me to do it,” I said.
His reply was swift. “Of course. This offer represents an unprecedented level of intimacy with their people. You’re already our strongest asset. You proved that in the interview. But think how much more you’ll be able to learn if you’re actually working alongside them. It’s an incredible opportunity for you. And, by extension, for Earth.”
“Tell me how it would work.”
He nodded. “The term of the contract is one standard Earth year. You would be employed by the Vardeshi stellar fleet, like anyone else who works on their ships. You’d be ranked in their hierarchy, you’d wear their uniform, you’d answer to their officers, just like any other novi. But your primary allegiance would be to Earth. The contract grants you the right to refuse any command that violates your ethical obligation to Earth. And you and the Vardeshi both have the right to terminate your employment at any time without penalty. Naturally, the contract is being examined by every legal expert on the planet—Earth, that is—but so far, it appears legitimate.” He smiled. “And it goes without saying that you won’t be signing anything that’s not in English. We don’t want to accidentally sell you to the Vardeshi as a slave.”
“No,” I said emphatically. “We don’t want that.”
“The contract also guarantees you safe and humane working conditions. You’ll be exempt from any duties or punishments that violate those expectations. So if, for example, they’re accustomed to beating their officers for incompetence, they won’t be allowed to do that to you. And your duties will be adjusted to fit the requirements of your schedule. One rest day out of every four, thirteen hours between shifts, and so on. Everything you’ve been told during training still applies.”
I took a deep breath. “Well, in that case . . . Where do I sign?”
Seidel smiled again. “I’ll make the call. Congratulations—Novi Alcott.”
It took me a long time to fall asleep that night. My thoughts veered wildly between exhilaration and terror. I had just begun to feel comfortable with the thought of living among the Vardeshi. Now I was going to be working among them—and for them. Had it been a mistake to accept their offer? What if our lawyers overlooked some small but crucial line of the contract and I did end up enslaved, or shoved out an airlock for insubordination? What if the commander was wrong about my capacity to learn the duties of a novi, and I made a fool of myself—or, worse, did actual damage to the ship or its crew? What if I just couldn’t handle the workload? It would be mortifying to fail and be relegated to a mere observer after serving, however briefly, as a crew member. Everyone on both sides of the alliance would know I had failed to make the grade.
Then again . . . They had chosen me. And now they had promoted me. Vekesh or one of his officers must have seen something in our brief interview—even if it was only my facility with their language—that made them think I was capable of doing this work. And the councillor was right: this was an extraordinary opportunity. To live among them not as an outsider, an observer, but as a comrade. A peer. If there was any chance, however slight, that I could rise to their expectations, th
en I had to take it. I would have accepted the offer on any terms. It wasn’t in me to refuse. When the Vardeshi had chosen me a week ago, I thought I had gotten what I wanted. Now I knew better. This was what I wanted, what I had wanted from the beginning. To belong.
And maybe, I thought as I drifted off to sleep, it was all a colossal joke, and the novi’s role was even more menial than they had told us, and I had just agreed to spend the next year cleaning alien toilets.
CHAPTER SIX
The Strangers were predictably jealous of my new title. I didn’t tell them about it myself; I didn’t have to. I arrived at breakfast the next morning to find them already discussing it.
“Come on, Avery,” Kylie said as I sat down. “A rank and a uniform? Are you going to have all the luck? Fucking leave something for the rest of us, can’t you?”
I shrugged and repeated my final waking thought of the night before. Kylie scoffed. “Right. They’re transporting you halfway across the known universe to be a bloody janitor.”
“Well, they could be. Councillor Seidel did say it was ‘effectively a service role.’”
“Avery Alcott,” Scott murmured. “Bringing harmony to the galaxy, one toilet at a time.”
I pointed a French toast stick at him. “That’s Novi Alcott to you.”
Rajani said skeptically, “So they’re just going to hand you a uniform and hope for the best? An alien civilian, with no relevant training and no clue about their policies or procedures? Are they giving you a sidearm too?”
“No sidearms,” Scott said. “They don’t carry weapons on board. Their fleet is quasi-military at best. Their ships are only armed enough to destroy asteroids in their path. They covered all this in yesterday’s briefing, you know.” I thought there was an unwarranted edge to his tone. Judging from the sharp look Rajani gave him, she thought so too.
In an attempt to smooth things over, I said, “Anyway, it looks like I won’t be completely untrained.” And I filled them in on what Elena had just told me: that arrangements had been made for a member of the Pinion’s crew to spend the day prior to launch training me in the rudiments of my tasks as a novi.
“Which crew member? Do you know?” I understood Scott’s interest; he had been one of the men interviewed during the morning sessions with the Pinion’s crew.
“Not yet. But it probably won’t be a senior officer.”
“Not Saresh, then?” Kylie teased.
I rolled my eyes. “You’re as bad as Elena. If it’s Saresh, I’ll find a way to introduce you, I promise.”
“Don’t count on it,” Rajani said. “Whoever it is, they’re not just going to let him wander around the facility. Quarantine procedures will be airtight until we know more about the risk of cross-species contagion.”
Kylie waved a hand. “Whatever. I’ll spy on him through a window. I don’t care, I just want to see one!”
“They’re not fairies,” Scott said testily. “And you’ll be seeing plenty of them soon enough. It’s not like you’re going to be stuck on an orbit crawler.” He glanced at his watch and pushed his chair back from the table. “First session in five, people.”
After he had gone, I looked inquiringly at Kylie. She shrugged. “Preliminary assignments come out at the end of the week. There’s a new arrival who’s supposedly tearing it up in one of the other training groups—some kind of linguistic savant, I guess. Scott’s worried. For no reason, but try telling him that.”
I made a face. “Maybe I shouldn’t have talked so much about my thing.”
“Don’t worry about it. He knows he’s not competing with you.” She looked thoughtful. “Not any more.”
As I rose to carry my tray to the dish room, Rajani caught my wrist. She was frowning. “Listen, Avery, I know you’re excited. But you know what they say about things that seem too good to be true. Be careful, okay? You’re not like the rest of the Strangers. We’re paranoid assholes. We had to be to get here. You’re a different breed—a gentle soul. And you can bet the Vardeshi saw that in the interview. They may be from another planet, but they’re not blind. They may be trying to take advantage of you somehow. Don’t let them. Even if it means . . .”
“Being a paranoid asshole?” I nodded. “I’ll try. Seriously.”
My final training sessions had a perfunctory feel to them. I had learned as much Krav Maga as I could in two weeks, which to me was a depressingly inadequate amount. My food and gear were packed and ready for transport onto the Pinion. Anton had numbed my right wrist with an anesthetic spray and inserted a tiny medical transmitter under the skin. A second transmitter had been inserted on my left hip, below the line of my underwear. Anton had checked a dozen times to make sure both devices were functioning properly, which they were, sending a constant stream of medical telemetry to designated locations in the cloud and the Villiger Center’s data banks.
Tristan was finally satisfied that I would be able to at least approximate our covert signals under real strain. “Don’t worry about getting the codes wrong,” he said, deadpan as ever, at the conclusion of our last session. “The important thing is to keep sending messages. We know the Vardeshi have glitches in their communications network. No message doesn’t automatically mean there’s a problem. Silence isn’t a signal.”
I thanked him and left. The hours seemed suddenly to be accelerating toward the moment of my departure. I had the same unsettling feeling I’d had on the flight over from California of being a fixed point at the center of a vastly complex machine, a maze of tiny whirring parts ceaselessly clicking over. The sensation wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but it was peculiar.
The next day was the one set aside for me to see my parents. The visit didn’t go as badly as I’d anticipated. I wondered if someone—possibly Dr. Okoye—had cautioned them against upsetting me so close to launch. They didn't question me or make me feel guilty or urge me to change my mind. I showed them around the facility, and they made polite comments about it, and equally polite conversation with the Strangers we met on our way. We toured the local winery and had dinner at a little bistro in the village. To me it all felt as perfunctory as my last few training sessions. There was a hollowness to our interactions, a sense of artifice about the day, with its carefully composed itinerary. Inside, I was counting the hours until tomorrow, when my real training started, and from then until the next day. Launch day.
The good-byes were real. I hadn’t expected that. After dinner, we walked along the main street of the village to the end of the sidewalk and back again. It took only a few minutes; there wasn’t much to see, only a cluster of storefronts, a café, a train station. The café was warmly lit and inviting, the other buildings dark and shuttered. When we returned to the restaurant, the inevitable black sedans were waiting by the curb: one to take me back to the Villiger Center, one to take my parents to the airport. My father began to cry. I had never seen him cry before, and I was horrified. I looked at my mother. She wasn’t crying. She was looking at me. Her expression was sad and intent at the same time. I understood. She was trying to fix my face in her mind. She was afraid she would never see me again.
She said quietly, “Avery, the hardest thing about being a parent isn’t the sleepless nights or the tuition bills. It’s that you have to trust so many people. So many strangers. And the leaps of faith just keep getting bigger. First day of school. First sleepover. First boyfriend. First trip abroad.”
“First trip offworld?” There was a catch in my voice: a laugh, maybe, or a sob.
“You have to believe, over and over again, that other people mean no harm to your child. And you have to do it knowing all the while that we live in an imperfect world.” She sighed. “At least all the people we had to trust before were human.”
“I trust the Vardeshi,” I said.
“You made that choice for all of us. Without asking us.” There were still tears on my father’s face, but his voice was steady.
“Dad . . . I can’t promise you that everything’s going to be fine. I do
n’t know that. But I do know that absolutely everything I’ve done has been leading up to this. I’m not saying it’s meant to be. I hate all that destiny garbage. You know that. But Dr. Sawyer picked me, and the Vardeshi asked for me, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to walk away from them just because I’m scared.”
“So you are scared,” said my mother.
“Of course I’m scared! How could I not be? Jesus, Mom, they’re aliens!”
“Well, good. I was afraid you’d lost all your common sense.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, but she wrapped me in a tight embrace and held me for a long time.
At breakfast the next morning I was nearly silent. The Strangers were preoccupied too. That evening they would receive their assignments to the various ships and starhavens the Vardeshi had designated as suitable for human habitation. Immediately following breakfast, they would be assessed on the linguistic progress they had made in two weeks of intensive TrueFluent sessions. Language skill wasn’t the only or the most important predictor of placement, but it was the only one that could still be altered. The Strangers knew this morning’s examination was their last chance to climb (or fall) in the rankings. I wasn’t surprised to see that most of them were bent over their notes. Scott and Rajani were studying together, at least at first. Halfway through breakfast, their collaboration degenerated into an argument. I listened for a few moments and then asked diffidently if they wanted a third opinion. By the time Elena arrived to collect me twenty minutes later, the discussion had turned into a full-on review session. It took me a few moments to process what she was saying.
“He’s here,” she repeated. “Zai? Zhey? I’m probably saying it wrong. The officer from the Pinion?”
“He’s here? Already? I thought he was coming at nine!”
“Apparently he wanted to get started. He’s waiting for you in the conference wing.”
I leapt to my feet and started stacking dishes on my tray. Elena waved a hand. “Don’t worry about that, someone will take care of it. Are you ready?”
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