The day before Sikander was scheduled to depart for Neda, he took one of the nawab’s flyers to visit his brother Devindar. Devindar spent much of his time in Taraghara on Srinagar, home of the Khanate Sabha, but when the Sabha wasn’t in session he lived and worked from a fine town house in the university town of Ganderbal. He and his family met Sikander on their rooftop landing pad; when Sikander climbed out of the flyer, Devindar stepped forward to embrace Sikander in a crushing hug. “Sikay! It’s good to see you!” he said with a laugh.
“Devin! It’s been too long.” Sikander returned his brother’s embrace, and thumped him on the back for good measure.
“Hello, Sikander,” said Ashi, Devindar’s wife. “Girls, you remember your uncle Sikander?”
Rida and Ruhi North—age ten and seven, respectively—rushed up to join the embrace. “Uncle Sikay! You’re back! Is your ship here? Did you bring us anything from another planet?”
“Two of my four favorite nieces,” Sikander replied—four, of course, being the number of nieces he currently had—and grinned at them. “I might have a little something for each of you in my bag, if I remembered to pack it. Ashi, what are you feeding them? They’re getting so tall!”
“You haven’t seen them in a year and a half.” Ashi smiled warmly; she was surprisingly soft-spoken for someone married to a firebrand such as Devindar, but she’d always liked Sikander. “They grow like weeds at this age. Come on downstairs—dinner’s almost ready.”
Dinner turned out to be tandoori-style chicken, with lentil stew served over rice; Ashi liked to cook for special occasions, and she’d sent the small domestic staff home for the evening. Rida and Ruhi naturally peppered him with all sorts of questions about places he’d been and aliens he’d met—they were both beginning to study the stellar geography of human space and the neighboring nonhuman species, although Rida was naturally much farther along. Both were fascinated to learn that he’d actually spoken with Nyeirans on a few occasions. If there was something as unsettling to the typical human as hundred-kilo tentacled monsters in chitin carapaces, Sikander would be hard-pressed to name it. “But the Nyeirans are very polite!” he told the girls, which struck little Ruhi as so unlikely she spent the rest of the meal giggling between bites.
After the meal—and a few small knickknacks for the girls Sikander had picked up in his travels—Ashi ushered her daughters up to their rooms to begin the nightly routine of baths and bedtime. Devindar and Sikander had kitchen duty, which they accepted with shrugs of resignation. Any member of the extended North family had more than enough money to have someone else do the cooking and cleaning up, but their parents had insisted that Sikander and his siblings spend some time on domestic chores so that they’d be able to look after themselves as adults if they ever needed to. It pleased Sikander to see that even after years of estrangement from Nawab Dayan, Devindar thought enough of the family tradition to stick to it even when he didn’t have to. Sikander didn’t mind helping; while his valet Darvesh usually attended to the menial duties when he was away from Kashmir, Darvesh was off enjoying some rarely used vacation time of his own as long as they were home.
“You’ll never believe who I ran into the other day,” Sikander said as they finished up the dishes. “Jaya Lawton. I spent most of the Opening Day party catching up with her. Did you know she’s a very successful designer now?”
“Just about everybody on the planet knows that, Sikay—it’s hard to miss the Hasa logo. I gave Ashi one of Jaya’s purses for her birthday last week.”
“I suppose that’s what I get for spending so much time away from home.”
“Don’t feel too bad. I didn’t make the connection between Jaya and Hasa purses until Ashi educated me on the topic.” Devindar wiped off his hands on a kitchen towel and tossed it to Sikander. “Remember taking the family boat to go see her and Hamsi?”
“Every time I visit Long Lake. Speaking of Hamsi, Jaya told me she has three children now. Can you believe that?”
“And another on the way, from what I hear.” Devindar nodded at the refrigerator. “Care for a beer?”
“Yes, please.” Most observant Kashmiris didn’t drink, which meant Nawab Dayan’s cellar was poorly stocked at the best of times. Sikander, on the other hand, enjoyed a cold lager on a warm day or after a job well done, and he judged the kitchen clean enough to merit a small reward. He watched his brother study the selection in the refrigerator and choose two bottles. “I saw you on the news the other night—The Daily Question. They seem to think you might get an important post in the next government if the KLP wins enough seats in the election.”
“Oh, you watched that, did you?” Devindar opened one bottle and handed it to Sikander, then opened the second for himself. “I hope you didn’t pay any attention to that ‘Tiger of Ishar’ nonsense. Newscasters are in the business of stirring up a bit of sensation if they’re looking for a bump in the ratings.”
“Do you think you’ll win?”
“If the governor-general allows the election to go forward, then yes, I think we will.”
Sikander raised an eyebrow. “The Aquilans can’t suspend the election just because they don’t like the way the polling looks. Good God! Ten billion people would be out in the streets the next day.”
“They can’t very well let a pro-independence party with so-called terrorist roots take over the government, either. They know that we’ll pass a resolution abrogating the Treaty of Taraghara on the first day we’re in office.”
“Which the governor-general won’t sign into law. So why even bother?”
“Because I want to put that bill on her desk and make her veto it. Let everybody see exactly how much self-rule the Aquilan government is really willing to extend to Kashmir.” Devindar took a long pull from his beer. “For years we’ve continued this polite fiction that the Khanate government uniformly supports continuing our special relationship with Aquila. The Sabha’s never passed a resolution of independence, so the voters assume that the Aquilans simply haven’t been asked to move out yet. And they assume that we haven’t asked because we don’t feel that we’re ready. Well, I think it’s time we asked. And I mean to make the Aquilan government say out loud what we all know to be true: They never intend to let us go.”
“And you think the Aquilans will suspend an election to avoid saying that.” Sikander found that unlikely. Yes, the Kashmiri Liberation Party advocated for ending the Commonwealth’s role in overseeing what should be Kashmir’s own affairs, and millions of people—well, billions, if the Daily Question piece was any indication—were ready to cut Kashmir’s ties to Aquila and go their own way, regardless of the consequences. But moderate parties such as the pro-business Federalists or the United Democrats were in no hurry to separate their constituencies from Aquilan subsidies and favorable trade status. For that matter, Sikander didn’t like the idea of sending away the Aquilan navy; he’d seen what happened to isolated systems and minor powers left to the mercy of aggressive states with bigger fleets. No, it seemed to him that the governor-general’s office might be happy to stand aside and allow the KLP to frighten all the moderates by passing a radical bill of separation, counting on the centrists to rebound and throw a little cold water on the more heated rhetoric.
“The only question is what pretext they’ll use to shut us down.” Devindar shrugged. “From my point of view, it doesn’t matter how they do it—a veto is a veto. The voters will see through it, and they’ll demand to be heard.”
“You know, the Aquilans might surprise you,” Sikander told him. The idea of suppressing a free and fair election in Kashmir wouldn’t go over well with the Aquilan opposition parties or media—something that Devindar and his KLP colleagues might not fully appreciate. Serving in the Commonwealth Navy, Sikander had reason to pay more attention to Aquila’s domestic politics than most Kashmiris. “Aquilan foreign policy generally supports the right of self-determination throughout Coalition space. They won’t lightly abandon that principle.”
&
nbsp; “That sounds like your hostage syndrome speaking,” said Devindar. “It’s not your fault. Father sentenced you to it when he sent you into the Aquilan navy as an impressionable teenager. Anybody would have been compromised in your situation.”
“Hostage syndrome?” Sikander scowled. “That’s pretty smug, isn’t it? You’re giving yourself permission to disregard my views by telling yourself that I’m damaged in some way.”
“What else am I supposed to make of the situation, Sikay? You’ve put on a spotless Aquilan uniform every day for the last fifteen years, give or take, and you seem perfectly happy to keep on doing so. If your navy ordered your ship to Kashmir and told you to, I don’t know, arrest the leadership of the Liberation Party on charges of sedition, I worry that you might actually do it.”
“That wouldn’t happen, but no, I would not. Free speech and political activity are protected under the Commonwealth constitution as well as our own. I’m sworn to defend them both, which means I’m expected to refuse unconstitutional orders.”
“Would another Aquilan officer refuse that same order?”
“I know many who would, for the reason I just gave you.”
“And some who wouldn’t, I suspect.” Devindar pointed the neck of his beer bottle at Sikander for emphasis. “Because you serve Aquila in some other star system, those officers are available to serve here, Sikay. When you put on that uniform and salute that flag, you participate in everything that’s done in its name.”
“Which, on the whole, preserves peace and stability throughout human space. Yes, it’s not perfect—I find it just as obnoxious as you do that an Aquilan governor enacts or vetoes our laws, or that our military forces are limited to planetary defense only, or that we can’t trade with whomever we please without going through the Commonwealth first. But you forget, Devin, that I’ve seen what happens when people fail to preserve the peace. If it wasn’t for the Commonwealth Navy, the Gadira incident would have led to a war that could have left a hundred worlds in ruin, and a dozen great powers would now be fighting to carve up the Tzoru Dominion into spheres of influence. Aquila works hard to check the excesses of more aggressively imperial powers and stabilize international relations. That’s important.”
“No, Sikay, that’s convenient. Aquila protects your international order because right now they’re on top, and frankly they like things the way they are.”
“God help me, you haven’t changed a bit. Sometimes I think you argue for the sheer sake of arguing!” Sikander waved his free hand in frustration. “Has it ever occurred to you that other people have valid viewpoints, too?”
“I’m a lawyer and a politician, Sikay. I’d better be able to argue.” Devindar smirked at Sikander, amused by his younger brother’s irritation. “Besides, I’m not wrong about this, and you know it. Don’t you think it’s time you paid a little more attention to what your Aquilan service says to people back home?”
And don’t you think it’s time you paid attention to what your politics stand for? Sikander wanted to retort, but he stopped himself from saying so—he saw Devindar only once every year or two, and he had no intention of letting his older brother’s needling sour the occasion. Instead, he took a long swig from his beer before he spoke again. “Enough, Devin. I don’t want to fight. Change the topic.”
“You brought up the election,” Devindar said with a small frown. Evidently he was just getting warmed up, and he wasn’t ready to let the argument rest. He studied Sikander for a long moment, and then shrugged awkwardly. “All right, then—no more politics for tonight. Get yourself another beer, and tell me all about your starship.”
* * *
When Sikander flew back to the Sangrur palace early the next day, he found that Darvesh Reza had already returned and was busy packing for him. The tall valet set out Sikander’s dress whites, and busied himself buffing out some microscopic scuff in one of Sikander’s shoes. “Welcome back, Nawabzada,” he said. “How was your visit with Nawabzada Devindar?”
“Good,” Sikander replied. If he hesitated for half a moment before answering, Darvesh did not seem to notice. “We stayed up talking for half the night, and his daughters are frighteningly smart for their ages. If they follow Devin into politics I think they’ll be running Kashmir before we know it.”
“I am pleased to hear that, sir.”
“How about your leave? Did you have enough time to visit with your family?”
“I did, sir. I admit that I have missed home cooking during your deployments. Aquilan fare is fine in its own way, but it’s so bland.”
“I won’t argue with that,” Sikander said. Most Kashmiris would agree, although Darvesh relished truly fiery seasonings. How he could taste anything at all after a lifetime of eating the sorts of spices he favored mystified Sikander. “It’s been a good visit. I’m up to my elbows in nieces and nephews these days—I almost wish I didn’t have to go.”
“A man never truly appreciates his family until he spends some time away from them. Perhaps it is the brevity of your visits that makes them special to you.”
“In other words, leave before I remember the different ways they can annoy me?” Sikander chuckled softly, and began to dress himself for their trip. Darvesh silently held up his tunic, offering a sleeve; Sikander considered what he’d said, until a new thought struck him. “You know, Darvesh, I’ve kept you away from Kashmir for a long time now. I know you have family you miss as much as I miss mine. If you want to stay, I’ll understand. We can arrange for someone else to travel with me.”
“I thank you for your concern, sir, but I fear I would not be so easily replaced. A certain attention to detail is required in this position.”
“I’m serious. You don’t have to miss your home and family on my account.”
Darvesh inclined his head, and covered his heart with one hand. “I carry them with me wherever I go, Nawabzada. Please be reassured that I am content in my duties. Now, you must finish dressing and say your farewells. Our shuttle departs soon.”
Sikander set a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Very well, Darvesh. If you say so.”
He finished getting dressed, and collected a few small things he’d picked up during his visit that he wanted to take back to Decisive. Then he left Darvesh to see to the packing, and went to go find his father and mother. He’d already said his good-byes to Gamand, Usha, Manvir, and their families before his trip to Ganderbal; the Norths were scattered all over Ishar, and maintained busy schedules. He found Nawab Dayan and Begum Vadiya taking a late-morning tea break on the south veranda, enjoying the palace’s view over the White River valley and the green hills beyond.
“Mother, Father, I’m afraid that it’s about time for me to catch the orbital shuttle,” he said as he joined them. “I don’t want to miss the liner.”
Begum Vadiya stood and embraced him. “I’ve been dreading this moment since the day you arrived,” she said. “Come back as soon as you can. We miss you when you’re away.”
“I will, Mother,” Sikander promised. “I admit that it’s getting harder and harder to leave each time I visit.”
“Have a safe journey,” Nawab Dayan said, getting to his feet a little more slowly to shake Sikander’s hand. He wore the uniform of a colonel in the Jaipur Dragoons, his customary working clothes. When Sikander had been younger he’d found it somewhat intimidating, especially since his father had towered over him. Now Dayan North’s once-immense height turned out to be a mere three or four centimeters more than Sikander’s own hundred and seventy, and the uniform hung loosely on his thinning frame. It struck Sikander that the uniform was something the two of them shared, even if he wore Aquilan dress whites and his father wore Jaipuran service khakis. Most North men spent at least a little time in military service, but in his immediate family only his father and he had worn a uniform for anything more than cadet’s training and ceremonial functions.
Nawab Dayan must have sensed it too, because he unexpectedly pulled him into an embrace. “I am p
roud of you, Sikander,” he said. “Command suits you well.”
“Thank you, Father.” Sikander hugged him back, trying not to think about the gauntness he felt through his father’s khaki jacket. “It’s been a good visit. I don’t think I realized how much I needed this.”
“Whatever seed that is sown, a plant of that kind comes forth,” Sikander’s father quoted. He released Sikander. “Remember that—it’s good advice for any who carry the burden of leadership.”
“I’ll remember.”
“Oh, and don’t forget to write your mother. It makes her day when she gets a message from you.”
Sikander smiled. “I’ll remember that, too,” he promised.
He embraced his mother once again, and then left to catch his shuttle.
3
Mersin, Dahar II
Otto Bleindel studied the sitting room’s aquarium, admiring the colorful collection of tropical fish circling their small glass world. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he recognized half a dozen Terran species in the tank, which spoke volumes about the wealth and tastes of the man he was about to meet. Almost three hundred light-years separated the fish in the aquarium from the seas of Earth; someone centuries ago had made the extraordinary calculation that pretty little living ornaments needed to be transported across unthinkable distances between the stars so that well-appointed rooms on an entirely new planet could be properly decorated. Considering the time and trouble it must have taken to bring the correct mix of species, the proper sort of minerals to make Earthlike salt water, fish food, and the various filters and pumps—and glass, of course—needed to provide the fish with their own little Earth on a planet orbiting a star one couldn’t even see with the naked eye from humanity’s home planet, the aquarium represented a meticulous commitment to perfection … and an impressive display of power.
Scornful Stars Page 4