by Sarah Zettel
Arron licked his lips. “I want to talk to you about the relocation schedule.”
Lynn's spine stiffened. “Why?” she asked sharply before she could stop herself.
Arron hesitated. “I've been asked to by members of the Getesaph Parliament.”
Lynn stared out the window for a minute. A long, rusty freighter hauled its way out of the harbor toward the open sea. The rain had let up temporarily, too, she noticed.
“I've been working very hard to make it known that the relocation schedule is nonnegotiable. By anybody. If I cave on that, I'm opening the project up to all kinds of problems.”
“That's a very smart stance.” Arron leaned forward and planted his elbows on his thighs. “If I didn't believe they had a legitimate worry, I wouldn't be here.”
Lynn's hand went automatically to her forehead and smacked against her faceplate. She grimaced, and was glad to see Arron's face remain impassive. “Every single one of the Great Families has a legitimate worry about all the others.”
He spread his hands. “Again, I can't argue with you, but you've got to admit, the Getesaph have a special degree of worry about the t'Theria.”
“It works the other way, too.” She'd had three letters from Praeis detailing her meetings with members of the Council and the noble families. All of them were carried by a squad-mother named Neys, who looked a little more tired each time Lynn saw her. Progress was slow, but steady, Praeis assured her. The Queens-of-All had actually attended the last meeting, and useful discussion was carried on. But the fact that the Getesaph had set the Confederation in motion was hanging over everything like a ticking nuclear bomb.
“I'm not saying it's not a two-way.” Arron looked toward the windows and watched something out there for a while, maybe the waves, maybe the ship. “I'm just saying the Getesaph are asking.”
Lynn rubbed her hands back and forth along her thighs, feeling the cloth of her trousers wrinkle and smooth under her gloved palms. “And I'm telling you, I'm not listening to whoever's asking. I run the risk of jeopardizing the entire relocation if I do.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “This is a really awful way to start our speaking acquaintance up again.” Her heart had jumped when she'd seen Arron. Not with repressed love, or anything like that. They'd finished that part of the dance a long time ago. But she'd been overwhelmed by sheer friendship. She'd only seen David inbody once since they'd landed, and she had no other old friends in Bioverse. Here was one, and she didn't want to disappoint him. Never mind the knot he'd tied in the web. Never mind that for as long as she could get away with it. It hurt her saying no, but it would hurt much more than if she gave in.
Arron leaned back. “You've got your managerial face on, Lynn.”
This time her smile was tight. “What do you know about my managerial face?”
“I've seen you use it on study groups.” He smiled, but the expression quickly faded. “Lynn, the Getesaph are scared. Badly. The Parliament's actually heading for a split because some of them are so scared.”
Lynn looked at her organic-sheathed fingertips, then she looked back at Arron's wide, green eyes. This could be one of their university arguments.
“Everybody's scared, Arron. This is not something they've ever done before. I've got the t'Therians going berserk just because it was the Getesaph who contacted us first. They think there must be some kind of conspiracy going on between the Getesaph and the Humans.”
Arron rubbed his hands together in silence for a moment. “Are they so scared they might pull out?”
Stunned, Lynn sat there, unable to say anything. Outside, the waves crashed against the cliffs, and crashed again.
“The Getesaph told you that?”
Arron nodded slowly.
“Damn!” The word jerked Lynn to her feet. She paced to the window and pounded her fist against the glass. “Damn! Damn! Damn!”
Behind her back, Arron said nothing.
She whirled around and planted both hands on her comm station. “Claude, open up my station. I want a list of all grievance committee reports about the pacing of the schedule put in by any Getesaph citizens or representatives. Fast display.” She dropped her voice to subvocal. “Record and sort, by method of input, by social hierarchy. Parliament members first.” She could have had Claude do that, of course, but she wanted the information stored with her in case she needed it.
The information scrolled by on the comm-station screen so fast it was nothing but a blur of amber and black. Lynn stared at the blur without blinking. She used the pause between her implant seeing and her implant sorting to try to get a grip on her breathing and her whirl of thoughts. Something was wrong, something was very wrong. If the Getesaph were this concerned, they should have caught it by now.
A chime sounded in her ear, indicating the sort was finished. “Display,” she murmured.
The reports scrolled by her right eye. There was nothing from the Parliament, just a dozen complaints from citizens worried about being separated from family.
“End display.” The words vanished.
“Well,” she lifted her voice, and turned back to Arron, “they haven't exactly inundated us with complaints.”
“It probably has something to do with where you're headquartered.”
Lynn gaped at him. “You can't be serious. It's only one base. We've got plenty of people stationed out in the Hundred Isles.”
“Yes, but you're the head of the relocation.” His gaze darted around the room, as if he were searching for words in the corners. “Look, I've lived here for ten years. I've seen the way it works. Somebody kills somebody else, which leads to retribution, which turns into a skirmish, which turns into a battle, which turns into a war. With the Getesaph and the t'Theria sometimes all it takes is two ships spotting each other on the open sea to start it off.
“Since the plague started, the t'Theria have been winning the fight. They've razed island after island that belongs to the Getesaph. The Getesaph have next to no buffer territory left, and their allies are starting to change their minds, and their sides. Or they were until the Confederation started.” He stood up. “The Getesaph are in danger of being wiped out Lynn, either by the plague or the t'Therians, and they know it.” He let out a long sigh. “Some of them even believe the t'Therians got the Octrel to start the plague.”
Despite herself, Lynn laughed.
“What?” asked Arron, startled.
She waved her hand. “The t'Therians think the Getesaph started the plague, then bombed the Octrel to get rid of the evidence.” A thought struck her. “How come they sent you?”
“They know me, and they know you and I were—”
Lynn held up one hand. “Please don't even try to summarize what you and I were, Arron.”
He shrugged. “They probably figured I have some personal pull.”
Lynn dropped back into her chair. “I can't do this,” she said to the windows and the ocean. “The political situation here is frighteningly unstable. The Queens and their Council are barely speaking to each other. Do you have any idea what they'd say if I told them, ‘Sorry, your blood-and-soul enemies want the schedule changed …’ “
“Probably something very close to what the Sisters-Chosen-to-Lead would say if it was the other way around.”
Lynn sat silent for a moment, then she muttered, “time,” to her implant. In front of her right eye, 2:14:02 flashed. “Okay, it's about nine-thirty in the Hundred Isles, so it's not too early to put a thread through.” She touched the comm station again. “Claude, put through a message to the Sisters-Chosen-to-Lead. Say that Manager Lynn Nussbaumer requests to speak with them.”
She turned back to Arron. “It's not that I don't trust you …”
He waved her words away. “How else could you know I'm giving you the whole picture?” He folded his arms. “Everybody knows I've gone blind in both eyes and native on top of it.”
Lynn narrowed her eyes. “Can't see what made them think that. Especially with that well-rounded knot y
ou tied.” Okay, there. I said it.
Arron's face went completely still. “Ah. You untied that, did you?”
“How was I supposed to miss it?” demanded Lynn. “You compared my project to the worst crime ever committed on a sapient race.”
His shoulders sagged, and he dropped his gaze to the floor. “Well”—he looked up and screwed a grin back on his face—”we've disagreed before this.”
Oh, no, Arron. It's not that simple this time. “Our disagreements never ran the risk of killing anybody before this.”
Arron opened his mouth and closed it again. Lynn could see the blood crawling into his cheeks.
The video wall lit up. She waved at Arron to keep quiet. “Just stand there and look official, will you?” She settled herself into the station chair and schooled her features into a serious, public expression.
The scene focused. The Tvkesh-I-Rchilthen, the Sisters-Chosen-to-Lead, Rchilthen Ishth and Byvant, sat on a sofa in their threadbare private office. They looked gaudy and out of place in the gold-and-silver jackets that were their official garb. Rchilthen Ishth was about eight centimeters taller than her sister. The skin on her face hung in so many folds and wrinkles that Lynn could barely see her mouth. Rchilthen Byvant had seen some of the battles Arron talked about. A puckered scar ran across her throat, and her left ear lay crumpled against her skull.
“Manager Lynn,” Rchilthen Ishth said in clear but halting English. “The light of day looks well on you.” Then she spotted Arron and her face tightened. “As it does on you, Scholar Arron.”
Lynn eyed Arron, a little surprised, but he just bowed his head once and stayed quiet.
“As it does on you, Rchilthen Ishth, Rchilthen Byvant,” said Lynn in Getesaph, praying her accent was at least comprehensible. Getesaph was the last Dedelphi language she'd learned, and she'd never gotten all the nuances down. “I've just received a grave report and I am much concerned. I had to voice my thoughts immediately before my fears settled into my blood.”
She glanced at Arron. His brows were raised. She hoped it was because he was impressed.
Rchilthen Byvant's left ear quivered, trying to match the flick made by her right. “Then by all means, speak your concerns, Manager Lynn. We will hear, as best we can.” She gestured deprecatingly at her maimed ear.
Lynn laughed lightly in appreciation of the joke. “It has come to my attention that there is grievous concern on the part of Parliament about the relocation schedule.”
The sisters exchanged a long look. “Indeed,” said Rchilthen Ishth. “We cannot deny this is the case.”
Lynn spread her hands. “Why didn't anyone let us know there were concerns about the plan?”
Rchilthen Byvant gazed over Lynn's shoulder at Arron. “We were uncertain as to where those channels led, Manager Lynn. You must understand and forgive us. This is all very new.” Her ear quivered again. Lynn tried to fix her gaze on Rchilthen Byvant's eyes.
“It's new for us, too, Rchilthen Byvant, Rchilthen Ishth. It is our earnest wish that we meet the needs of your Families.”
Rchilthen Ishth inclined her head. “For which we thank you. We have been lax. We have no history with you, and it weakens us in this matter.”
“I fully understand.” The formality was beginning to chafe at Lynn, but she couldn't let it drop. “However, I am asking you to understand that changing the relocation schedule is going to cause serious consequences and perhaps delays.”
Rchilthen Ishth opened her mouth, but Rchilthen Byvant laid a hand on her sister's arm. Byvant's ear shivered. Lynn dropped her gaze again.
“We are sorry. We do realize we are causing difficulties in the enormous task you have agreed to undertake on behalf of us all. But the Getesaph are not an oligarchy. We are answerable to our citizens and the representatives of our citizens. We are not rulers. In some ways we are leaders, but in many we are only servants.”
Lynn bit back a sigh. “How important is this to your Families?”
“Vital,” said Rchilthen Ishth simply.
“Would it be enough if we relocated you and the major t'Therian cities simultaneously?”
The sisters exchanged another long, wordless look. Rchilthen Ishth nodded. “I believe it would go a long way toward addressing the situation.”
“We have four ships immediately available. Two can be assigned to the t'Theria and two to the Getesaph. You can both send your preparatory teams aboard next week. We can work out a plan that allows parity in numbers between your peoples both on the ground and on the ships.” She paused to let the proposal sink in. “Will that be satisfactory?”
“That will answer our concerns,” said Rchilthen Ishth.
“I am glad.” Lynn met both their gazes. “Because, you understand, even this much should be properly negotiated through the Confederation and with my superiors, but I think we can let it slide through, if it goes smoothly.”
“We will be ready as soon as you are,” said Byvant. “The Parliament chose the leaders of our preparatory team yesterday evening.” She looked straight at Arron again. “The tvkesh chvaniff of the Dayisen Rual, Lareet and Umat.”
“That will be a great honor for my hosts,” said Arron.
“We understand they were quite pleased,” said Byvant stiffly. She turned her attention back to Lynn. “We thank you for your concern and attention, Manager Lynn. If we have any further concerns, we will address them through the proper channels.”
“You have my thanks,” said Lynn, and she meant it. “I am going to terminate this connection now.”
They exchanged farewells and Lynn touched the comm station to cut the thread. The screen faded to black, and Lynn turned to Arron.
“Well, what did you think of that?”
Arron puffed out his cheeks. “I think something's wrong over there.”
Lynn shook her head and got up out of her chair. “Oh, you noticed, did you?” She stretched her arms over her head and let them swing down. “Any guesses on what it is?”
“None.” He stopped and stared into space. “And they might not have any either.”
“What?”
Arron focused his eyes on her again. “They said it, you said it. There's no precedent for what they're doing. It's completely unlike anything in history. There are no examples, no traditions, nothing to draw on, and nothing to win except everybody's lives. They are making this up as they go along. It's getting to them.”
Lynn frowned. “So, we're dealing with alien generalized anxiety?”
Arron nodded, straight-faced, and Lynn realized he was serious. She forced herself to think about what he had just said. It made some sense. Wearied and decimated by plague and war, forced to depend on aliens and unable to draw on anything in history, somebody—a lot of somebodies—could easily fall under a nameless dread and strike out at anything that presented itself as a target.
“All right,” she said slowly. “We'll need to look at that. See if we can reduce the worry. We've done everything we can think of to provide information about what's going on …” She sucked on her lower lip.
Arron laughed. “Lynn, you are the only person I know who believes the answer to every philosophical problem is good management.”
She grinned. “It's what they pay me for.”
“I guess.” Arron tapped his fingers on the back of the guest chair. He took a deep breath. “Lynn, if I had proof you were hurting the Families by being here, what would you do?”
Lynn stayed where she was for a few breaths. “Do you?”
Arron shifted his weight. “Maybe.”
“What kind?”
He actually studied her. Lynn felt her hands curl into fists. “Arron, what do you think you're doing?”
“I don't know.” He looked away. “Screwing up, I think. Look, I'd better get out of here. Cabal … the guy who brought me out here … He's in a hurry to get back. I need to get back home … to the Hundred Isles, too, so I can pack.”
Lynn forced her hands open. “Arron, we are not
on opposite sides here. I've got Dedelphi friends, too, you know. I want this to work.”
“Exactly.” He stabbed a finger toward her. “You want this to work. You want to save the world on your terms.” His face took on an almost helpless expression. “You always did.” He turned away, opened the door, and walked out.
Lynn stared after him. She wanted to demand to know what was wrong, what had pushed him so far away that he wouldn't even talk to her about what frightened him. But all she did was sit there.
What just happened here? She silently asked the ocean outside her windows.
“Well, whatever it was”—she sighed—”I'd better tell Keale and the Marines we've got more than one problem piled on our little plates.”
As darkness swallowed up movement on the comm-station screen, Byvant stood up and stalked over to the broad desk with its stacks of paper and noters.
“Perhaps we should issue a progress report.” Her right ear laid itself against her scalp. “To the Prime Committee from the Sisters-Chosen-to-Lead. This day we did our best to confound the Human representative of Bioverse, Inc. into believing that we were the ones who sent Scholar Arron to her with a request to change the relocation schedule.”
Ishth reached out one crooked hand to her. Ishth had caught joint-rot as the plague was just beginning its spread. She survived, but not straight and whole. Her fingers and toes curled like sickles, and her knees barely let her stand. “You'd rather have the Family break apart? We cannot survive this division. We must let their faction go and let the Humans deal with them.”
Byvant bared her teeth at the walls. Her broken ear shook and strained to move. “You mean we must let the Humans kill them.”
Ishth shook her head. “Not necessarily. The Humans do not feel things in the blood as we do. They may only imprison them. They may hand them back to us, and we can exile them. The point is they will neutralize them with a thoroughness we cannot match.” She laid her hand back on her lap. “We are agreed with the Prime Committee in this course.”