by J. Boyett
“Maybe that’s why you suddenly need help maintaining your authority. Because the threads of your brainwashing spell are beginning to fray.”
“No.” Chavez scratched his beard. The gesture struck Farraday as a nervous tic, as if the man didn’t want to talk about whatever was coming up. Then again, maybe Chavez had practiced the gesture with the intention of giving Farraday such an impression.
Whether it was genuine or a theatrical ploy to trick Farraday into thinking he was weaker than he really was, Chavez seemed to draw up his strength to talk about something difficult, then said, “You know, the Fleet wasn’t the only rebellious player, after we came to power. It was simply the one we took most seriously, at the time. But recently some of the groups we once dismissed as fringe lunatics have been forcing us to take them more and more into account.”
“The New Christendom’s been giving you trouble.”
“I see you still get Earth’s subspace newsfeed out here. Yes, the New Christendom has been giving us trouble. Murderous trouble. These are homicidal, genocidal people, Terry ... Captain. Take a closer look at those newsfeeds, and then at a few classified reports I’m having sent to you. I think you’ll agree that we can all set aside our differences till after these people are under control. We’ll need all the help we can get for that.”
“I’d be happy to see the New Christendom brought to heel, but helping you beat them is not part of my orders.”
“Your orders were issued before anyone realized what these people were. Do you know what their beliefs about extra-terrestrials are? About humans who live off-world, for God’s sake? Do you know what could happen if they get hold of starships with heavy firepower?”
“If they haven’t got any starships, I don’t see what good it’ll do in the struggle against them to have us hanging out seventy-five light years away. Besides, aren’t these your co-religionists? Doesn’t the Provisional also think non-human sentients are an abomination?”
Chavez got that big-eyed, twitchy look he always got when he was particularly affronted. “It’s true that I am a Christian, along with more than half the Provisional’s top echelons. But we count plenty of other religions among our members too, and you know it. In any case, lumping all Christians in with those bloodthirsty heretics is a low blow, Terry.”
Farraday knew that. Part of him wanted to say, So was bringing my mom into it, but he knew better.
Chavez continued: “As for aliens, we have never said that there was any inherent inferiority in any fellow sentient race. All we ever said was that Earth and its holdings should be reserved for human use above all else, and that any aliens who want to live there must be willing to accept second-class citizenship.”
“That’s so charming, how could I have forgotten. Hypothetically speaking, if we did agree to this arrangement, would the kill order against Jennifer be rescinded?”
Chavez looked deep into Farraday’s eyes. The calculated forthrightness of it almost made Farraday sick. “Like I said, Terry, I didn’t support them giving you that ultimatum. I warned them it would drive you and your crew away, and I was right. But as for rescinding it, I can’t promise you that. Not because the higher-ups haven’t come around and don’t regret that reflex move, but because there’s the matter of saving face. But I can tell you, unofficially, that there will be a de facto rescinsion.”
“What? What does that mean?”
“The order will still stand. It will remain on the books. But no one will expect you to follow it, and no attempt will be made to enforce it.”
Farraday almost could have laughed. “No. Sorry, that’s just not enough assurance for me to feel justified in placing my people within your sphere of influence.”
Chavez gave him a funny look. “‘Your people’? Or just Jennifer?”
“What’s the difference? The point is that Galaxy cannot cooperate with the Provisional government without being in direct, treasonous contradiction of our orders. So let’s take that option off the table, and see if we can’t find some other program for a cease-fire, that lets us leave each other alone for the moment....”
“No,” said Chavez, suddenly rising to his feet. “No, I’m afraid that was the only offer I’ve been authorized to make.”
Farraday stayed seated, following Chavez with his eyes, keeping his face carefully neutral. This was bad. Surely the Provisional hadn’t expected him to accept that offer. So if it was the only one Chavez was authorized to make, why had they really sent him out here? “I thought the mutual benefit of declaring a cease-fire till the Fleet returns was that we wouldn’t have to worry about your extra firepower, and you wouldn’t have to worry about us until the Fleet emerges from the Bubble, which you don’t believe will ever happen, anyway.”
Chavez paused. “The real purpose? For me? Is to keep Jennifer alive, believe it or not. That was a stupid order they gave, and I pulled a lot of strings to get certain people to agree not to pursue it. Now, the next step to keeping her safe is to either get her off the Galaxy, or bring you under control. Because sooner or later we will stabilize the situation locally. And then we’ll have to come after you, Terry. We can’t have a wild card like a rogue Fleet starship zipping around.”
Farraday had been wearing a disbelieving sneer for the second half of Chavez’s spiel. “You came out here to protect Jennifer?” he said.
“She means a lot to me. I told you, she was one of my best students at the Academy. Maybe the best, period.”
“Well, she means a lot to me too. And the Provisional refusing to rescind their order while promising they don’t really mean it does not inspire me with confidence.”
“All right, Terry.” Chavez moved toward the door. Halfway there he turned on his heel. “So tell me, Terry. If we did agree to rescind the kill order, would you then be content with placing Galaxy under the umbrella of our authority, while still maintaining a significant degree of autonomy?”
Farraday knew he should say, Of course not. But what he found himself saying was, “That would at least be a good starting point for negotiations.”
Chavez nodded, as if he was satisfied to find a certain suspicion confirmed, despite its nastiness. “I expected as much.”
“If you expected that would be the minimum concession required for negotiations, why did you bother to come here without any intention of offering it?”
“Let me ask you another question. What is the motive of your rebellion? Of your refusal to acknowledge an authority that the majority of the human race has seen fit to recognize, despite your mumbo-jumbo theories about mystical manipulation? Is it because of your loyalty to the Democratic Empire, and your conviction that humanity is best served by its ideals? Or is it because you’re looking out for your girlfriend?”
The blood rushed to Farraday’s face and his temples began to pound. “I’m looking out for my crew,” he said. “That goes along with those Imperial ideals I’ve sworn to protect.”
“Bull. It’s a personal decision, one made without thought for the needs of the race as a whole. You can’t kid me, Terry, I’ve known you too long. You know, I used to be so impressed by Jennifer, and I used to pray she wouldn’t get sidetracked from the brilliant future awaiting her. And then you came along. It’s ironic that you wound up together, you know, because where she was my best student, you were my worst.”
Farraday wasn’t sure he should trust himself to speak, but he did anyway. “I think it might be best if you called her Lieutenant Summers from now on, Professor.”
Chavez pushed the button that slid the door open onto the hall. Before exiting he stood in the doorway a moment, and turned back to Farraday. “One of the reasons they sent me out here was to check if you’re made of the same stuff as your mother,” he said. “I told them you weren’t, but they wanted me to be sure.” And then, with the last word said and the last dart launched, Chavez took his leave. The door slid shut behind him.
Farraday sat in the gloom, waiting to calm down.
Well, he tho
ught, so much for a cease-fire. Now what?
Four
While Farraday was having his disastrous peace conference, Miller and Cosway were busy following his orders to make themselves scarce. The most natural place to do that seemed to be the Casino—it was diverting, and within easy running distance should the captain call for help over their communicators.
It seemed like a natural place, anyway, till they took account of the fact that they didn’t like gambling and probably shouldn’t drink. Since they were also not personalities that meshed easily with each other, they spent the first few minutes just milling awkwardly in the crowd, not talking to anyone, occasionally catching each other’s eye with an uncomfortable grimace before looking away again.
But then, as they were wandering, they passed near the table of the blue-skinned, squid-faced people Shinjo had pointed out earlier. They were still slumped sadly at their table, but just as the humans caught sight of them, one of them in turn looked up and saw the humans. The individual reacted as if a surge of electricity had passed through him upon the humans’ entry onto the scene—he hopped up from his table and hurried over to them.
Miller tensed, and Cosway sort of cowered without actually taking a step back—he kind of hunched in on himself. But the blue-skin had its arms out with its palms showing, which seemed like it was probably a friendly gesture. “Hello!” chirped the creature. “I am Boksal! Are you male?”
“Why, yes, we are,” said Cosway. He was a little surprised that the blue-skin could pronounce Bahng’Doh so well, considering that it seemed to have only a cluster of tentacles for a mouth. Must be an orifice underneath them. The tentacles quivered and shook when the creature—when Boksal—spoke.
Boksal threw back his head and hooted with delight. “I am as well!” he cried. “Thus, we may speak unchaperoned without risk of war between our peoples. Oh, joy! I pray you, come join me and my sad comrades.”
There was no reason not to, particularly once the humans learned that the aksalions were drinking nothing but water. That was what the blue-skins called themselves, was aksalions. “This fire-water the other-worlders drink, we cannot metabolize,” explained Boksal.
Cosway thought, after Boksal first came bounding over to them, that perhaps the aksalions’ melancholy really had been only a mirage, a misperception fostered by his ignorance of their race, its body language and culture. But no, the other two guys really were miserable. The difference was that the other two were profoundly miserable, whereas Boksal seemed only to have been miserable at being stuck with such wretched company. Now that he had fresh blood for conversation, he was positively bubbly. And he couldn’t stop talking. Cosway found everything he had to say fascinating. Lieutenant-Commander Miller probably did too, but Cosway nevertheless occasionally caught him clenching his jaw. “Bubbly” was probably not on the Security Head’s list of most compatible personality types.
Boksal introduced his two colleagues—there was his captain, Merg, and their ship’s chief engineer, Kango. The two aksalions waved limp hands at the humans upon being introduced. Meeting Miller and Cosway apparently wasn’t enough to break them out of their funk. Neither spoke a word of Bahng’Doh, according to Boksal.
And no wonder, since according to him the aksalions had arrived at Bayawah only five days ago and before that had no idea any such language existed. Cosway’s jaw dropped. “But you speak it well,” he said. “How did you learn it so fast?”
“I am my ship’s xenolinguist. And what is your role, friend Cosway?”
Cosway was almost embarrassed to say, in the face of such accomplishment. But finally he admitted that he, too, was a xenolinguist.
Again Boksal did that thing where he tossed back his head and hooted with joy. “How wonderful!” Boksal grabbed Cosway in a bear hug so enthusiastic that Miller nearly tackled him before realizing it wasn’t an attack. “I love so to meet all aliens, but especially those who share my love of lingo! Ah, friend Cosway, is it not a miracle that a passion may thusly span the stars, and be an intimately shared possession of two far-distant souls who have never heard one of the other?”
Miller took charge of the conversation for a while, in an effort to lead it to more practical ends. It turned out that discovering Bayawah—or, rather, being discovered by it—had been a major turning point for the aksalion race. And that was what they were so glum about.
Even Boksal couldn’t maintain full-throttle good cheer as he related their experience. “Imagine,” he said to Cosway and Miller, “our race finally developed a starship that can go twenty percent the speed of light. Myself, my captain, and all our crew volunteer for the twenty-year mission to travel to the nearest planet outside our solar system, and then return home to share our discoveries. We are heroes! Parades are given! Parties are held! Many clans bring us their females, which we are permitted to sample with no threat of retaliatory bloodshed! Then we launch. For five years we chug along, drinking water, playing cards, holding artistic contests in which each crewmember attempts to paint the perfect female. And then six days ago, a ship appears. Literally bblinking into existence from out of the void! From out of someplace called ‘hyperspace,’ rather, I now have learned. Without a by-your-leave we are held in a tractor beam and forcibly brought to dock here, at this space station the size of a moon. Over the following days I am taught Bahng’Doh, and once I have learned enough I am informed that our mighty ship was mistaken for a derelict whose hyperdrive had given out, and that the epic voyage for which we set aside twenty years may be accomplished by all the rest of the galaxy in a few days, because the whole cosmos runs on magic.”
Boksal nodded at Kango. Both he and Merg looked almost equally depressed, but if Cosway had to award the prize to someone he supposed it would be the engineer. “Look at my friend Kango the engineer,” said Boksal. “See how he chokes and drowns in his tears, which are nothing but his once-solid hopes melting to nothing and leaking from his very face. Can you imagine how useless all aksalion engineers will feel once we convey to the homeworld the galactic state of things? Why, a week ago Kango had never so much as heard the word ‘thaumaturgy’.... I mean, of course, that he had never heard it in our native tongue. Naturally, none of us had ever heard any words in Bahng’Doh, which I must say is a fine and beautiful language.”
Again, Cosway reflected that Boksal could really talk, considering how recently he’d started learning the language.
Miller’s communicator beeped. He looked at the screen, and said, “Excuse me a moment,” then looked at Cosway and added, “It’s the captain.” He rose and walked a few paces away so as to discreetly take the call. As he went, Cosway gazed after him, then let his eyes drift among all the exotic, unpredictables creatures drifting about. Some of them suddenly looked vaguely menacing, and he reflected that, really, the Security Head was supposed to be protecting him, as well as the captain. But it wouldn’t have made a very good impression to say so.
He returned his attention to the aksalions. Recounting their woes seemed to have returned Boksal to his earlier melancholic state, and Cosway felt he ought to try and snap the poor guy out of it. “Don’t feel bad,” he said. “Just think what an amazing discovery you’ve made. I mean, surely a universe of magic wasn’t what you were expecting to find when you set out, right? You’ll be even bigger heroes when you get home, I bet. You’ll be the heralds of a whole new age in aksalion history.”
But Boksal was not buying it, though the smile he gave Cosway suggested that the human’s kind attempt to deceive him about the depths of his misfortune had renewed his faith in the fundamental decency of all sentients, everywhere. He placed a comradely hand on Cosway’s shoulder, and looked deep into the human’s eyes with his own black, bulbous, expression-less ones. “Ah, friend Cosway,” he said. “Let us treat honestly with one another, as good friends should. What can poor primitive technological folk such as we aksalions have to offer in this brave new world of sorcery?”
Five
It wasn’t long before
the humans’ chronometers, as well as their own heavy eyelids, let them know it was the hour for nighttime on the Galaxy. The call from the captain had been to let Miller know his meeting with Chavez was over, so Miller and Cosway returned to their assigned quarters. Miller set a perimeter alarm to wake them all if anyone tried to get in their quarters, and to ward off any attacks or spells. He’d wanted to bring along another Security person on the opposite sleep schedule, but the captain had wanted to keep their party small, and Miller had to keep the same sleep schedule as Farraday so that he could guard him.
After five hours of sleep Miller and Cosway reported to Farraday’s quarters. Miller and Cosway filled the captain in on their outing to the Casino while they all waited for Chavez to respond to Farraday’s message, suggesting a second meeting. Farraday listened with amused sympathy to the plight of the aksalions.
By the time Cosway’s description of Boksal and his companions was finished, Chavez’s delay in replying had grown noticeable. In fact, it had started to feel like a snub. “May I ask about the details of last night’s meeting, sir?” said Miller. Farraday had told them enough last night for Miller to get the idea that things had not gone swimmingly.
Remembering the infuriating, humiliating quips Chavez had subjected him to, Farraday found that he didn’t want to recount the meeting in much more detail. He put Miller off with a vague description, the upshot of which was that the whole thing had sucked and they’d gained little or nothing.
Miller gritted his teeth. “It worries me that we’re not hearing from him, sir. Why did he agree to meet with us, if not to talk?”
“I think that if he were planning some treachery, he would be more polite, not less. The rudeness strikes me more as a ploy to upset me and get me worked up, so I think my best option is to not let that happen.” He shrugged. “Then again, it could be that you’re right, and he’s got something terrible up his sleeve.”