by Terri Lane
“Me?” Polina asked. “What could you possibly want to know about me?”
Galen grinned. “Well, for starters, you could tell me how the IA got lucky enough to have a Junior Ambassador who is so damn pretty.”
Polina’s eyes widened. This trip just got even more interesting.
***
It took Polina a moment to recover from Galen’s off-hand compliment. She was rarely considered pretty, and she certainly hadn’t been complimented in such a manner since she joined the IA. And now, in a neutral grey cloak and black flight suit, she certainly couldn’t find anything about her appearance that would warrant such a compliment.
Her brow hair was plaited simply and she wore no makeup or adornment. Nothing about Polina could possibly be described as pretty.
She narrowed her eyes. “What do you want, Captain?” she said cautiously.
“Nothing, Junior Ambassador,” Galen smiled at her. “At least not right now…”
“Galen!” Arryn had found his voice again. “Surely you’re not flirting with our contact—”
“She’s your contact, Arryn,” Galen countered. “She’s just my passenger. And if I want to compliment a passenger on my ship, then I can compliment a passenger on my ship. Captain’s rules.”
Polina smiled. “Thank you, Captain. Compliment appreciated.”
“Should I compliment you, too, then?” Arryn asked, his golden voice a bit taken aback. “Is that how diplomacy is run now in the IA?”
Polina looked at him curiously. Did he really have no idea how to negotiate with an IA ambassador? Or was it an act?
“No compliments are necessary, Viceroy,” she replied, her voice level. “Flattery is frowned upon during diplomatic negotiations.”
Arryn looked confused. “But Galen just—”
“Galen’s compliment was sincere,” Polina replied. “I appreciate sincere compliments, but manipulative flattery will get you nowhere, I’m afraid.”
Galen whistled softly under his breath. “She’s a fierce one, Arryn,” he muttered. “You sure you picked the right Junior Ambassador to tangle with?”
Arryn’s eyes were still cold, but he nodded. “This is the right contact, the council assured me of that.”
“Council?” Polina snapped back to attention. “What council are you talking about?”
Arryn sighed and launched into his story as Polina listened intently. Galen shuffled back and forth between the cockpit and passenger hold, intermittently offering his input and color commentary.
“The Dardassyians have been unfairly banned by the Intergalactic Alliance,” Arryn began, his bright blue eyes never leaving Polina’s face as he told her his side of the story.
According to Arryn, the Dardassyians had struck a deal with the Intergalactic Alliance. Their system would be granted full membership into the Alliance, with full rights for all citizens and a spot in the Intergalactic Parliament for their government.
“Then, suddenly, you bastards pulled the rug out from under them,” Galen added, sticking his head out of the cockpit for a moment before going back to his controls.
“What Galen means to say is that, without warning, the IA removed the offer of alliance and put Dardassyius under a diplomatic freeze,” Arryn clarified. “We were on a travel blockade, trade was sanctioned and we are all but banned outside of our own system.”
Polina shook her head. “That can’t be right,” she mused. “We’ve been told—all IA member planets—that you refused the terms of the proposed alliance and that you preferred to keep yourselves independent.”
That story had always seemed fishy to Polina. The official word from the IA was that the Dardassyians were arrogant and disdainful of other races and had no desire to ally with the rest of the galaxy.
However, based on what she’d seen so far of Arryn, that story didn’t seem too far off. The Dardassyian viceroy was lovely but cold. His entire person teemed with arrogance. It wouldn’t be too far off to assume the rest of his race had similar tendencies.
“But we were told that the ban came from your end,” Polina argued. “That the Dardassyians didn’t want to be a part of the IA and you preferred—”
“We preferred what, Junior Ambassador?” Arryn snapped, his blue eyes cold and flinty now. “To remain at a distance from the rest of the galaxy? To be left behind as new technology is created and shared with everyone but us? To be denied the right to vote on decisions that affect every planet and every race?
“No,” Arryn finished. “We want our place at the table, and the Intergalactic Alliance refuses to let us participate. And I need you to tell me why.”
Polina gaped. “Viceroy, I don’t know what to tell you—”
“You guys buckled in back there?” Galen shouted from the cockpit. “We’re popping out of hyper-speed for a sec and it might get a little bumpy.”
“We’re fine, Galen,” Arryn answered, his blue eyes never leaving Polina’s face. “Junior Ambassador, I’m having a hard time believing that you know nothing of our situation—”
“Coming out of hyper-speed in five, four…” Galen counted down.
“But if that’s accurate, then I have a different request for you—”
“… three, two, one,” Galen finished. “Here we go!”
The small taxi shuttle lurched as Galen wrenched them out of hyper-speed.
Arryn reached across the aisle and gripped Polina’s wrist with his slender, golden-embossed hand. “Help me find out the truth, Polina,” he asked, his voice low and desperate. “Something isn’t right—”
The ship shuddered and lost power.
“Something’s wrong!” Galen shouted from the cockpit.
Polina’s brown eyes met Arryn’s blue ones. They both wore identical expressions of shock.
“Hold on back there!” Galen’s voice was tense and tight. “I think we might be making an unexpected landing.”
Arryn didn’t let go of Polina’s wrist as the small taxi shuttle plummeted out of control, screaming toward the surface of a nearby moon.
***
“Well,” Galen said finally, scrubbing his hands through his messy black curls and squinting at the smoking taxi shuttle that was half buried in the red sand of the little moon’s surface, “I guess it could be worse.”
Neither Polina nor Arryn answered. They were both staring at the wreck of their small spacecraft. The little ship was still in one piece, but barely. Galen had masterfully guided the ship—the engine and thrusters both dead—to the surface of the nearest planetoid, a moon. Luckily for them, the moon was in IA territory and had the standard atmospheric regulator. All three of them could breathe the air.
“Say what you want about the IA,” Galen chattered on, oblivious to the shock of both his passengers, “At least they’re predictable? Without their obsessive need to make every single planet, moon or rock habitable with their damn atmo-regs, we wouldn’t be breathing air right now, right?”
He turned around and finally noticed Arryn and Polina. “It’s not that bad, guys,” he said, his voice unnaturally bright. “We’ll be out of here in a few days, max.”
“A few days?” Polina sputtered. She wasn’t supposed to be off-planet and she certainly didn’t have clearance to be marooned on an unnamed moon with a Dardassyian diplomat. “Oh, no. I’m in so, so much trouble right now.”
“I apologize for your distress, Junior Ambassador,” Arryn said, “but perhaps this will be a wake-up call to your government—”
“You are not making this about politics,” Polina snapped, her brown eyes flashing. “We could die out here and you’re counting this as a win for your people?”
“I didn’t say that,” Arryn replied coolly. “But that is what I was implying, subtextually.”
Polina clenched her fists, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her from flying at Arryn. “Easy, kid,” Galen’s smoke roughened voice whispered in her ear. “Don’t make things worse for him.”
“For him?” Polina couldn’t beli
eve her ears. “What do you mean for him?”
Galen didn’t answer, instead just shook his head. “I’ll explain later,” he answered, his voice still low.
Arryn had moved away and was inspecting the smoking crash site, gingerly nudging the wing of the craft with his booted foot. “How long did you say this would take, Galen?” he asked, his golden embossing dancing worriedly over his forehead.
“Dunno, boss man,” Galen replied, trying to force cheerfulness. “A day or two, I guess?”
Polina’s stomach gurgled. “I hate to ask the obvious,” she said. “But do we have any supplies? Provisions? You know, food?”
Both men looked at her blankly.
“This is a short-range passenger craft,” Galen answered finally. “They don’t typically come stocked with food.”
Galen was right. There was a small store of water in the back of the passenger hold, but otherwise the ship was bare. It had a cockpit, a couple of jump seats and a bathroom. That was it.
Arryn looked worried as the wind blew his golden curls around his tawny face. Galen strode over to him and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.
“Don’t worry, buddy,” Galen said. “This is an IA outfitted rock, right? If they’ve bothered to atmo-reg it, they’ve probably got an outpost somewhere. Polina and I will head out and see if we can find it and bring back some provisions.”
“We will?” Polina asked. The wind was picking up and pulled wisps of brown hair out of her tight braids.
“We will,” Galen assured her, grabbing her hand and pulling her away from the crash site. “Arryn? You good here?”
Arryn said nothing, but waved one slender hand in their direction.
“I’m gonna take that as a yes,” Galen said as he and Polina set out on their mission. “He’s a little stressed,” Galen whispered, as soon as they were out of earshot.
“That’s his version of stressed?” Polina asked, looking back at Arryn, who was standing perfectly still, looking placidly at the crashed taxi shuttle.
Galen shrugged. “The Dardassyians keep their emotions pretty close to their chests. It’s almost impossible to read them.”
“Then how come you can?” Polina asked.
“I’ve known Arryn for a long time,” Galen answered, his black curls blown about in a gust a wind. “A long time.”
He said nothing more, just led Polina out across the desolate red landscape of the small moon.
They’d gone about a kilometer when Galen pulled up shortly. “Look,” he pointed off into the distance. Polina saw nothing. Galen pointed again, jabbing his finger at a barely distinguishable spot on the horizon. “It’s a hatch,” he finally explained, when Polina admitted that she couldn’t see what he was pointing to.
“How can you even see that?” she asked, but Galen only smirked.
“Artarians have amazing eye sight,” he said. “All our senses, really. Vision, hearing, smell. We’ve got a massive advantage over you humans.”
Polina wanted to argue, but Galen pulled her along behind him. The wind whipped up red dust around their boots as they headed toward the hatch. Finally, they drew close enough for Polina to see it with her own eyes.
By the time they reached the hatch, the gusty wind had graduated into a proper storm and the clouds overhead had turned a dangerous deep burgundy. The wind howled around them, pushing Polina and Galen back as they tried to near the hatch. With no small effort, Galen wrenched the circular metal door open and hauled Polina inside, slamming the door after them.
The room was pitch black.
The wind still screamed, but it was a distant, hollow wail now. Polina could hear her breath coming in short pants, with Galen’s slow, steady breathing somewhere near.
She found his presence strangely comforting.
“Galen,” she whispered. “What do we do now?”
The captain didn’t answer, but a moment later, a beam of light appeared, illuminating a small patch of floor. Galen turned the light up on himself, shining the beam up toward his grin.
Polina gazed at him for a moment, appreciating the way the light danced off his rich, mahogany skin, illuminating the brightness of his rakish smile. She couldn’t believe that, only a few hours ago, she had found him unattractive.
“Well, Junior Ambassador,” he teased, reaching out and grabbing her hand. “Shall we explore?”
***
The bunker wasn’t large and it hardly took Polina and Galen any time at all to explore the whole thing. They discovered a small dormitory, complete with several sets of bunk beds, a control room and—
“A storeroom!” Polina practically collapsed in relief as the light from Galen’s flashbeam settled on a shelf full of food packs.
“Told you,” Galen grinned, and Polina playfully smacked him on the arm.
“You didn’t tell me anything,” she retorted, stuffing packs of rations into the cargo-pockets of her black flight suit.
“You haven’t known me long, Junior Ambassador—”
“Please just call me Polina.”
“Okay, Polina,” Galen answered. “Like I said, you haven’t known me long, but soon you’ll realize that I’m pretty much right about everything.”
Polina rolled her eyes, but it was hidden in the darkness. Something, however, caught her eye.
“Look at this,” she said, tugging Galen’s sleeve to make him point the light to the left. The beam illuminated a delicate gold carving on the edge of the supply shelf. It was lovely.
“Why is that there?” Polina wondered aloud. “IA settlements don’t tend to be aesthetically pleasing.”
She could hear the rustle of his curls as Galen shook his head.
“I don’t know,” he muttered. “But I want to take some snaps for later. Hold this.”
He shoved the flashbeam into Polina’s hand as he pulled out a small cam and took several snap images of the shelf.
“There, that ought to—“
The flashbeam went dead in Polina’s hand.
“What did you do?” his voice came from nearby, his tone accusatory.
“Nothing!” Polina squeaked. “I didn’t, I mean, I don’t—”
Galen cut her off with a chuckle. “Just kidding. Batteries were low when we got in here. Just wanted to give you a hard time.”
Polina tried to glare at him, but the storeroom was pitch black. It didn’t stop her from trying, though.
“Grab my hand,” Galen ordered.
Polina stretched out her hand in the direction of his voice, but met only dark emptiness. She tried again. Nothing. Finally, on the third try, her hand collided with Galen’s own, which closed tightly around it.
“Stay with me, Polina,” he instructed. “And we’ll be out of here in no time.”
Galen’s hand was warm and strong around hers, his grip reassuring. In the dark confines of the bunker, Polina was suddenly quite aware of the richness of Galen’s scent: musky, with a biting undercurrent of oil and fuel. Her breath quickened as Galen confidently guided them through the darkness.
“Here,” he said finally, but instead of placing Polina’s hand on a rung of the exit ladder, he gently helped her sit down on what felt like a mattress. “Rest for a second, okay.”
Polina started to object but Galen shushed her with a press of his hand on hers. He left his hand there as he began speaking.
“Look, Junior Ambassador—”
“I asked you to call me Polina.”
“I will,” Galen said. “But this is official business, so I need to use your official title, okay?”
“Okay,” Polina answered, a wave of nervousness rippling through her.
“It’s about Arryn,” Galen said. “Take it easy on him, okay?”
“Take it easy on him?” Polina tried to pull her hand away, but Galen held firm in the darkness. “He’s the one who went of the offensive first. He called me ‘ignorant,’ Galen—”
“He didn’t mean it as an insult,” Galen said. “His people have a hard time wit
h feelings, okay? Have you ever met a Dardassyian before?”
Polina shook her head then, realizing the uselessness of that gesture in the darkness, answered, “No.”
“Well, they’re a proud race, they come off as cold and unfeeling sometimes. But that’s only on the outside, yeah? They don’t express themselves like other races. They’re humanoid, but they don’t have the same emotional behaviors, the same expressions—”
“He smiled at me, Galen. He totally used a facial expression,” Polina argued.
Galen’s sigh echoed through the small bunker. “He learned that from me. I don’t just pilot for him, I try to help him be more…I don’t know, accessible? All he wants is to stop this IA embargo against his planet and I thought that being more emotionally available would help him in negotiations. He’s trying, Polina. I know it doesn’t look like it, but he’s really trying.”
“It doesn’t seem like it,” Polina muttered.
“Watch his markings,” Galen said suddenly.
“What?”
“His markings. Those gold patterns on his skin,” Galen said. “Surely you’ve noticed them.”
Polina had definitely noticed hem.
“They’re emotional markers,” he explained. “You have to know what you’re looking for but, once you’ve got it figured out, he’s easy to read.”
“You can read him?” Polina asked.
“Okay, I can read him like a book.”
“What does he think about me?”
Galen paused. “I don’t think that’s appropriate to say.”
“Great,” Polina huffed. “He hates me. I’m crash-landed on a moon with a diplomat who hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you, Polina,” Galen said. “In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s going to hate me in a second.”
Polina was puzzled. “Why would he—”
Galen’s mouth was on hers then, warm and soft, an unexpected shock in the darkness of the bunker. Polina gasped against him and, as suddenly as it pressed against her, it was gone.
“Was that okay?” Galen asked, his rough voice worried in the dark.
Polina nodded, realizing again the uselessness of that gesture in the blackness. “It was,” she stammered.