by Natalie Grey
Leiguba waved and headed off again, and Carter looked at Barnabas. “In any event, sir, I think what you’ll find is that even when people agree with the laws we have, they might not be happy about the idea of being subject to laws at all.”
“They’ll have to come to terms with it,” Barnabas said simply. “Bethany Anne does not impose laws for no reason. She respects individual autonomy. What laws she has are there for good reason.”
“I don’t disagree, sir. You just asked where we would have problems.”
“I think,” Barnabas said after a moment, “that perhaps it will even itself out. Those who cannot abide it will leave, and those who like it might settle here.” He frowned. “Or not. Part of my mandate is to make sure this planet is as much of a secret as possible. In the meantime…”
“They’ll see how you deal with Jutkelon and Lan,” Carter told him. “People push back a lot more when they think there’s wiggle room. You don’t strike me as the type to give any wiggle room at all.”
“I wish it were that simple,” Barnabas murmured. “But I see your point, yes. The larger infractions—those will be met with no compromise or leniency.” He smiled. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Eastbourne. I wish you a great deal of luck with your...what was it Aebura said you were planning? To manufacture Coke? Bethany Anne would be pleased.”
He smiled inscrutably and headed off, leaving Carter staring after him with wide eyes.
It was absolutely impossible to know what Barnabas knew and what he did not know.
He was a canny opponent.
Chapter Twenty
“I don’t understand,” Lan snapped. “Why not just bomb the damned thing into oblivion?”
It had been a long night, and he was very tired. Jutkelon had not wanted to rest when they arrived in Tethra. He had wanted to begin planning at once, and now here they were half a day later with Lan aching with tiredness and Jutkelon growing ever angrier.
An angry Brakalon was not what you wanted in any situation.
Indeed, Jutkelon put his fist down on the table in a way that suggested he would rather smash it to bits—and reminded Lan that he could easily do that. Most Brakalons were big, and Jutkelon was bigger even than most of his kind. He could rip doors off hinges. Lan shuddered to think how many bullets it would take to kill the man.
He had always resented how helpless he felt around Brakalons.
“We will not bomb the mine,” Jutkelon told him with exaggerated courtesy, “except as a last resort.”
Lan stared at him resentfully.
“What do you do when someone challenges you for what is yours?” Jutkelon asked, finally annoyed enough to try asking rather than telling.
“Fight them,” Lan replied sulkily.
“Exactly. Fight them. Why are you not doing that?”
“I am doing it! I’m suggesting bombing it. Letting everyone else know—”
“What, that you’ll always have to be starting over because as soon as someone challenges you, you smash everything like a child?” Jutkelon glared.
“What do you care, anyway?”
“He killed a hundred of my soldiers!” Jutkelon slammed both hands on the table. Everything on it jumped, and Lan went rigid with fear. “He thinks he can come in here and tell us what to do and how to behave. I heard that warning Gar gave them. Anyone choosing to defend you would be killed. You cannot show weakness to people like that.”
“Which is why I suggested—”
“If you destroy everything you have that someone else wants, you’ll be left with nothing at all.” Jutkelon stared Lan down. “What you need to do is fight for it. No matter how costly they make it for you, make it worse for them. What they try to take from you, you defend until they walk away, and when they turn their back you kill them. You show everyone watching that what’s yours is yours.”
Lan stared at him. He was at a loss. He didn’t understand—and he didn’t think Jutkelon had the first idea of what he was doing.
Had he not seen what had happened?
“You can’t kill that human,” he said finally.
“Anyone can be killed.” Jutkelon’s voice was a growl. “You, that human, even his Queen.”
Lan had thoughts on the inadvisability of trying to kill the other two on that list, but he kept them to himself. Jutkelon didn’t seem to be in a very reasonable mood right now.
“What would you suggest, then?” he asked finally. “If you think he should be fought and one hundred soldiers weren’t enough—”
“They weren’t enough, but they also weren’t deployed correctly. Think about it—he went there to take you down, but when he could easily have done so he did not. Why?”
Lan shrugged.
Jutkelon rolled his eyes, “Because he was trying to protect the workers, you fool. He cares more about their safety than capturing you. If we hold the workers hostage, the cost of freeing the mine will be too great. He will know he can take it from you only by destroying it, rather than the opposite.”
Lan considered this. “But he was able to do it last time.”
“Because Heddoran listened to him,” Jutkelon grumbled. “To think I trained that son of a laldar koresht. He’s gone soft.”
Lan shrugged. He really didn’t care about Jutkelon’s take on the situation.
“Show strength and keep the right people around you, and nothing like that will happen again,” Jutkelon told him. “And we don’t have to resort to burning it all down just yet, but we do need something that will make an impression. So I’ve called in help.”
“I assume you’re planning to bill me for it.”
“In part.” Jutkelon smiled. “After all, it’s your mess. If you’d just killed the human when he arrived, we wouldn’t be dealing with this issue. But I understand that this threat is not just to you, so I will not make you responsible for the whole cost. You were only ever meant to be an example. We will make the human the example instead.”
“How? You keep giving speeches, but nothing gets done.” When Jutkelon glared, Lan swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
“You will be if you don’t stop whining.” Jutkelon shrugged. “I called in some ships. Let’s just say, the number of mercenaries this human thinks he’s dealing with is nowhere close to the number I have called in. He thinks we’re weak. He thinks we’re stupid, that we only run headlong into battle. He’ll learn how wrong he is. People who think they’re clever are easy to manipulate.”
Lan gave a hesitant nod.
He hoped Jutkelon’s confidence was justified.
Barnabas sipped at his fruit juice and tried to relax. The tangy sweetness slid across his tongue, a flavor he would liken to…
Shinigami, tell me about this fruit.
It’s called hakoj.
You already did an analysis on the beverage? That was fast.
I’d love to take credit for that, but what I actually did was look at the fruit pallets in the alley behind the bar.
Barnabas gave a small smile. Okay, so tell me about hakoj. Ubuara fruit, yes?
Yes. Native to planet Dugan. While we’re on the topic—did you know Luvendan might not actually be the Luvendi home planet?
The names don’t leave much to the imagination.
Don’t be so short-sighted. It could simply be that the ones who emigrated there called themselves that.
I hadn’t thought of that. He drained his glass and smiled as Aebura swung over with a fresh glass. “Thank you. You must have been watching for when I finished the glass.”
She only smiled in response. Out loud, at least. Can you hear me?
Barnabas frowned. He had heard something and guessed from her intent expression that she was trying to communicate, but her thoughts were whisper-soft, like a murmur in another language.
Apparently it was easier for him to get the sense of an Ubuara being present and send his thoughts to them than it was for them to hear him.
How clearly can you hear me? He made no special effort to send th
e thought.
Aebura frowned in concentration and Barnabas sighed. “It seems we have to make quite an effort to hear each other’s thoughts.”
“Oh.” Aebura nodded thoughtfully. “Well, that is good to know.” She leapt to the rafters and swung away.
I wonder why she tried that.
They’re curious, Shinigami told him. Even I can tell you that. You show up out of nowhere, help them free their friends, and you can speak mind to mind. That’s rare among alien species.
Mmm. Tell me about Luvendan.
Well, there’s no stable landmass on the planet, and no records of ice ages or anything else that would have required the Luvendi to shelter themselves. A few scientists believe that there used to be rock formations like the towers they live in now, but most people think they came to Luvendan, built the towers, and then there was some sort of catastrophe and they lost the bulk of their knowledge, retaining only what they needed to keep the towers running.
And yet they have a space program.
Kind of. Only a couple of ships are actually registered on Luvendan, and I see no evidence of an actual space program.
Hmm.
Yes. The more you think about Luvendan, the more you should tell me why you’re so worried.
I’m…wait, what?
So close.
You were trying to trick me? Barnabas frowned skywards.
You look ridiculous when you do that, you know. And yes, of course I was. I knew if I asked you’d just get all prickly and tell me everything was fine, so I distracted you.
Was any of what you just said about Luvendan true?
Of course it was. I genuinely thought it was interesting. But I’m worried about you.
Barnabas blinked. You’re worried about me? You? Missiles McGee?
I’m sorry, who’s spending too much time with Tabitha? Is it me?
Mmm, good point, although I’d also like to point out that you being worried is something I haven’t seen before.
Shinigami was silent.
Don’t want to admit to having a softer side, do you? Well, then. The feeling’s mutual, I’ll have you know. Barnabas swirled the juice in his glass and considered. It felt good to kill those mercenaries.
There’s a reason you chose to be a Ranger. Making sure injustice is stopped is kind of your thing.
No, not that part. It wasn’t about Justice. It was the killing that felt good. Barnabas took a sip of juice. I’m not entirely human anymore, and I don’t even know what “human nature” is. I’m a predator, Shinigami.
You were a monk and you don’t know anything about human nature?
What does being a monk have to do with it? I became a monk to learn to control myself and to be part of something larger. None of it was about glorifying myself, certainly not as I was then.
And you think you’re going back to that now?
Yes, Barnabas admitted after a moment. That’s what I’m afraid of.
You should kill Aebura, then. She’s annoying, chittering like that.
What? Barnabas gave a horrified look upward. Are you out of your mind?
No, and neither are you, it seems. My point is that if you were going to go apeshit, you wouldn’t have stopped at the mercenaries. You’d have kept going.
Barnabas considered this. I stopped myself, but what if someday I don’t? That’s the worst part of the memories. Some people say they were “out of control.” That’s a lie, or it would be for me. I chose to do those things, Shinigami.
And now you choose not to. She must have sensed the question in his silence because she gave a snort that sounded very much like Bethany Anne’s. So you like killing. You’re not wandering around killing people for the hell of it. You control that urge. I’ll wager it never occurred to you to kill Aebura, did it? Even though I know sometimes her chittering annoys you.
He gave a cautious nod.
Look, for what it’s worth, I don’t think there’s any danger, Shinigami told him finally. I think you’re worrying about nothing, the way humans do all the time. You became a monk, you made your choices, you’ve served Bethany Anne. You’ve chosen the way you want to live. You should put your trust in that. But if you can’t?
Yes?
If you start to go apeshit, I’ll call the Bitches and they will fuck you up.
Barnabas smiled. Thank you, Shinigami. You’re a good friend.
Aebura is right—humans are very odd. But you’re welcome.
As Barnabas sat quietly in the corner, Aebura busied herself with the other Ubuara in the bar. She had made an excuse to accompany Barnabas back to Tethra, and now that she had assessed his ability to hear them she was proceeding with the next part of her plan—harnessing the Ubuara group mind in the city.
He can’t hear us unless we really shout, she told them, like Oemuga did when he brought the message about the mercenaries.
Why are we being so secretive? Oemuga asked. I thought we trusted him.
We do, Aebura agreed. Her tail twitched—tellingly, if Barnabas knew to be watching—but she was careful not to look at Oemuga. But he doesn’t want to accept help.
I only saw part of what happened in the mining town because I was in the jail, Leihaba interjected. Her coat was unusually pale, a few shades darker than gold and brindled with a chestnut brown. She looked around. But it doesn’t sound like he needs much help.
He could have done what he did at any time, Aebura replied. But he waited, to learn about the town and make sure he was doing the right thing. He enlisted my help right before he attacked. He can use us again. He just doesn’t know what help we can be yet.
The others considered this, and Aebura let them. She could sense Oemuga’s thoughts: peppery, little brushes against her mind that almost made her want to sneeze. Leihaba’s were very different, almost the opposite of her coat: not bright and sunny, but deep and slow-moving; powerful like waves. Oebura sounded like light looked when it came through the leaves of the trees on Dugan to cover the forest floor in dappled spots, and her twin Oeluma sounded like birdsong to Aebura’s mental ears.
The consensus was slow, not so much reached in words as in emotions. Worry spiked, and was added to or smoothed away. Images flashed across the group consciousness and were countered with other images.
Aebura let them take their time. A decision like this needed time. It could not be made in haste.
At least, not by Ubuara. When they acted, their individual resolve was weakened or strengthened by the mood around them. Disputes over small things were trivial and fleeting. Disputes over something like this, however, could have serious ramifications if one of them faltered in a time of crisis.
Aebura had made her choice, and she held it closely so as not to sway them. If they were going to refuse to help Barnabas, she would shut their voices out and do whatever she could.
She was pleased, therefore, when she felt the consensus settle in favor of her idea.
We have the most information about this town, Oeluma declared.
We can help him, his twin agreed.
If Lan tries to run— Oemuga began.
Which he will, Leihaba remarked contemptuously, and there was a wave of similar sentiment around the room. Lan was a coward, they all agreed. He’d never even had the courage to give his orders to them himself. He didn’t just hide behind his guards, he hid in his hut and had the guards and Gar do his work for him.
And Leihaba, at least, let it be known that she was not about to forgive the vice-overseer.
What do we do about Gar?
We deal with him when this is all over, Aebura told them firmly. He helped the children during the attack, Barnabas told me. He saw it, and Leiguba confirmed it. For that if nothing else, we wait to see where things stand when it is all over. Then we measure what he still owes us.
They considered, and agreed with her. Aebura hunkered down on the bar, tail wrapping around her feet.
So we plan. And then we tell Barnabas what we will do.
Chapter Twen
ty-One
Carter walked into the bar about an hour later to a scene of utter chaos. Ubuara were shrieking and chattering to each other and to Barnabas, and the air was awash with…something.
Even Carter, who could not hear thoughts, could sense the emotion in the room. Ideas prickled at the edges of his brain. He swayed slightly.
“Absolutely not,” Barnabas was saying. He was not yelling. Other than the flared nostrils and the slightly narrowed eyes, he looked absolutely calm.
Somehow he was still terrifying.
“Absolutely not,” he repeated a moment later.
“Carter Eastbourne!” Aebura saw Carter and swung over. She dropped to the floor, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward Barnabas. “Tell him we can help him against Lan.”
Carter swallowed when he was pinned with the full weight of Barnabas’s regard.
“Aebura…” Carter began.
Barnabas smiled. “Thank you.” He looked at Aebura. “You see, he doesn’t want you to get hurt either.”
“Exactly,” Carter exclaimed with relief. “Aebura, you’re all talking about what happened at the mining camp, but that sort of thing is what Rangers do. That wasn’t even all that special compared to what Barnabas is capable of. His ship isn’t even involved yet.”
There was a silence—sort of a silence—while all of the Ubuara looked at him.
Barnabas gave a tiny sigh. “What do you know of my ship?”
By the time we’re finished everyone is going to know who I am. Just giving you fair warning.
Barnabas ignored Shinigami and looked at Carter. He shouldn’t know about—
“The ships built by the Etheric Empire are legendary,” Carter was telling them. “They’re alive—as alive as you or me. They can think for themselves, but instead of having hands and feet, they have a ship as a body. They travel through space and they have weapons—and they know how to use them. Have any of you heard the story of the ArchAngel?”
The Ubuara shook their heads. They were all listening raptly.
“ArchAngel sacrificed herself, working with her crew. All of them volunteered to serve with her, even knowing what was coming. Their names will always be remembered, and the way they fought together is what’s important. Barnabas’s ship…” Carter trailed off, looking at Barnabas for the name.