The Blockade

by Jean Johnson

  To be fair, that was an honest assessment of a lot of his ancestors, and even some of his extended relatives. Li’eth shook his head. “Another lifetime, maybe. Not in this one. Not under these circumstances. Some of the others, but not me. The needs of the Empire must come first. Unlike many of my Tier, I can see and acknowledge when I am ill suited to a particular task.”

  She smiled, a slight twist of her lips, and eyed him as he sat there on the edge of the infirmary bed, clad only in V’Dan hospital clothes. “I’m beginning to like you.”

  “I’m already claimed,” he reminded her. He still felt that list of the universe to his right, to the gaping hole at his side where Jacaranda MacKenzie should be.

  “Pity. Ah, well. I’ll get you back to your . . . claimant. You’ll have to promise me something however, Grand Captain,” Ka’atieth bargained.

  That lifted his brow again. “And what would that be, Leftenant Superior?”

  “Make sure Captain Qa-Reez cannot claim I deserted my post in escorting you about,” she stated bluntly. “If he was willing to imprison and sedate you, an Imperial Prince, I have no doubt he’ll feel free to punish me. Outside the military, I’m merely a Fourth Tier—are you sure you won’t need a Consort? That these Terrans can interbreed with us?”

  Li’eth carefully did not snap at the woman for presuming he’d be interested in anyone other than his holy partner. “As far as we know, and yes, I am quite sure. Get me a comm channel to the Imperial Army when we’re within lightwave reach of V’Ton-Bei, and I’ll arrange for your formal transfer to my command,” he told her. “But it will only be a military position.”

  “In that case, you might want to consider taking Leftenant Shi’uln, the fellow with the pink marks, too,” the leftenant superior stated, flicking a finger over her shoulder at the door behind her. “Captain Qa-Reez is going to be unhappy with anyone who helps you, and Shi’uln will be the one to help you get washed and dressed in a few mi-nah. You look awful, probably the residue of whatever it was that they gave you . . . but since they gave it to you, I wouldn’t trust anyone in this infirmary to bathe you, let alone cure you.”

  “I’ll consider his transfer, but the fewer soldiers I commandeer, the easier the Advocates will be on me—I won’t ruin the Empire with bad choices, but neither will I ruin me,” Li’eth warned her.

  “Of course not, sir. I wouldn’t do that to myself, either,” she agreed.

  V’DAN

  Despite the many advances in V’Dan medicine—or even Terran medicine, in its own separate way—there would always be a need for some sort of mobile chair. The one Jackie stepped out of when she reached the final doorway was self-balancing, self-guiding, and more or less functioned like a sort of battery-powered gyroglider, save that it used wheels and not any sort of thruster-field technology for hovering. It was, after all, designed to be used inside hospitals, and the V’Dan still used petrochemical-like fuel systems for its highest energy needs.

  It did earn her several dubious looks from the clustered members of Her Eternity’s staff. One of them, a woman with burgundy stripes angling symmetrically down her face, asked not unkindly, “Were you injured?”

  “Yes.” It was shorter than saying she’d had her other half metaphysically ripped from her left side. Brevity was also necessary, because in order to walk and not stagger, she had to move slowly. Jackie hoped it translated to a sort of ponderous grace, something with an appearance of strength rather than weakness. It wasn’t as if any of the dozen soldiers and staff from among her own people, accompanying her, could carry her inside. She had to appear strong on her own.

  It didn’t fool everyone. An older gentleman, his gray-salted hair striped light blue in an attractive sort of way, sniffed a little. “Are you certain you are up to this? You look . . . weak.”

  Don’t get angry . . . “I am on my feet,” she stated blandly in reply. “Is your Empress?”

  He stiffened in affront. She stared him down anyway, making the older V’Dan move back two paces and bow his head when she took a single step forward. Straightening her Dress Black jacket subtly—thankfully, her uniforms had been the least-damaged clothes rescued from the rubble of the embassy wing just over half an hour ago, the least in need of immediate cleaning—she turned carefully and paced slowly into the private chamber holding the Empress.

  Semiprivate chamber, since several people were inside. It was a large room, the flat walls glossy in that way that said they could be scrubbed clean at a moment’s notice, but still decorated in the ornate motifs of the V’Dan Empire, strange plants, animal-things, plus transplanted Terran flora and fauna. Various bits of equipment ringed the room, with more standing on the far side of the tilted bed. The sheets were crimson and silklike, framing their occupant.

  Empress Hana’ka did not wear a standard, bleached-cream hospital tabard. Instead, the gown had been crafted from a pale cream brocaded in a slightly richer gold, edged with deep burgundy. Her blond-and-burgundy hair had been shaved on one side, and some sort of bandaging patch covered the injury, but the patch had been decorated with yet more artistry, and her hair swirled halfway over it to give the impression of a deliberate hairstyle rather than a serious injury. Even her nails had been lacquered, burgundy with an overlay of gold, a trait V’Dan and Terrans shared, though Jackie had already noticed that the V’Dan tended to paint their nails, male and female, to match the color of their jungen marks rather than the color of their outfits.

  The Empress lifted her hand, gesturing toward Jackie. The movement revealed a hint of more bandages down inside her sleeve, along with the shadows of several bruises. Her other arm lay cradled across her ribs, suggesting either it or her ribs needed to stay immobilized. It wasn’t as if Jackie could probe into the Empress’ state of health, however; the true depth of her injuries was bound to be a state secret, and it would be impolite to pry.

  That uplifted hand flexed again. Obedient out of politeness, Jackie moved forward. Those lacquered fingers tilted a little. Taking a guess, Jackie slipped her palm against them, shielding herself firmly against any accidental eavesdropping. This moment would be examined by an ethics inquiry, after all, and Jackie could not afford to have any accusations levied at her of influencing the head of the V’Dan Empire into false favorability toward her fellow Terrans.

  “Empress.”

  Hana’ka gripped her hand. “How are you doing, Ja’ki?” she asked quietly. Of the eight or nine other men and women in the room, none drew close enough to hear. They might have strained their ears, but they left the two women alone while their leader spoke with the Terran Ambassador, her gaze a little unfocused. “Were you injured? I heard about the others . . . I am sorry our war caused their deaths.”

  Lowering her gaze, Jackie shook her head. “We knew the risks coming here. I’m just grateful you’re alive.”

  “Hmmh. Yes. I’ve heard about the Imperial Princess Regent and her insults to—”

  “—No,” Jackie corrected, squeezing the older woman’s fingers just a little. Her own hand was starting to heat up, in that way that said her Gestalt-based biokinesis had instinctively triggered. She let it pour through her into the older woman, as she did not allow her telepathy. If it was acting of its own volition, that meant her gift sensed imbalances it could repair, and a distinct need for that repair. Jackie would not withhold it from this woman, so she let the inergies flow. “I like you for your own sake, Hana’ka.”

  Gray eyes blinked and focused on a point somewhere slightly to the left of Jackie’s face. “As do I you. Are you injured in any way?”

  “Physically, I am . . . technically well.”

  “Technically?” Hana’ka asked, raising her brows. Her gaze shifted, somewhere just above Jackie’s eyes.

  Were her eyes injured . . . ? Again, not an inquiry she could safely and politely make, even with a budding friendship between her and this woman.

  “Your he
ir ripped away my left half and flung him dozens of light-years from here,” Jackie reminded the older woman. “Imperial Regent Vi’alla ordered the Elites to stun him, which also knocked me unconscious off on the other side of the Plazas, then she ordered a ship of your fleet to carry him away. This is the farthest any known Gestalt pairing has been separated. To be blunt, I’m surprised I’m still able to stand under these conditions. Walking is problematic, you see, when you have a black hole dwelling half an arm length to your left.”

  Closing her eyes, Hana’ka frowned faintly in thought, then squeezed her fingers and opened her eyes. She blinked twice . . . and stared at Jackie’s right cheek. Definitely something wrong with her vision. “I will send word to get him back. I heard your people shut down your communications satellites. It would help speed things along if you reactivated them.”

  “We are prepared to do so. But we will require a formal promise that we will be treated with respect, first,” Jackie told her. On this point, the Council and Premiere were firm. “My personal needs are nothing compared to the needs of my people. Not even for diplomacy’s sake can your son’s health and well-being be placed even close to that need. Let alone overtake it.”

  “I do understand, Ja’ki, and I cannot blame your people for all that you have done.” Her tone hardened a little, turning from the soft-spoken regret of the private woman and mother, Hana’ka, to the public steel of the War Queen, the Eternal Empress. “Imperial Princess Vi’alla acted without consideration or forethought for the needs of both our people. I revoke and reverse all of her commands regarding your people while she has been Regent. Furthermore . . . I remember your people’s demand of us.

  “By my command, the Eternal Empire will comply. Starting with myself. When the formal announcements have been made to the Alliance—with your technological assistance,” Hana’ka added, “—and when we are no longer broadcasting . . . you will begin with me, apply this . . . mind-block thing.”

  “Thank you, Eternity,” Jackie said. “However, it is the opinion of the Terran government that you do not need the procedure. Imperial Princess Vi’alla, on the other hand . . . she must agree, and be placed in a probation period of one year under its effects, to see how she adapts. If she cannot change her ways, I’m afraid my people will not change our stance on working with her. We will work with you. However, the moment she takes over again, either as merely your regent or your full successor . . . we will have nothing to do with the V’Dan Empire under her leadership, and the embassy will be closed once again. Either way, understand that our communications and hyperspace technologies will remain ours, and our proprietary secrets will not be shared.”

  “We understand. Will you at least be willing to broadcast this moment?” Hana’ka asked.

  “We are prepared to do so now. For now. Each leader in each individual system, including the other nations of the Alliance, must also agree to our demands in order to have full communication capacity restored. But we will exchange broadcasts with them at least partially, so that they understand that the V’Dan here in the home system will comply, and give them a chance to consider our demands.”

  “We understand,” Empress Hana’ka stated. Her mouth twisted slightly, almost into a smile. “But as I said before, we of V’Dan are not them, and I cannot speak completely on our allies’ behalf. Temporarily, I can make that decision, but not completely and permanently.”

  “We of the Terran United Planets understand that and are prepared to await their choice.”

  Hana’ka let her mouth curve into an actual smile. She closed her eyes for a moment. “Even if it will take days to settle out . . . at least it won’t take weeks and months, with your help.” She cracked open her eyelids and peeked at Jackie. Or rather, at Jackie’s vicinity. “Of course, you do realize we will have to repeat all of this, in more or less the same words, for the broadcast?”

  “Of course. Let us get our equipment ready.” Jackie looked over at Captain al-Fulan, who nodded. Under the watchful eyes of the Elite, two Marines brought in a small communications bot, which expanded itself into a screen at about head height. They adjusted the placement and view with a few murmured consultations with members of the Imperial staff, then moved back.

  “Master of Ceremonies. Is everything ready?” Hana’ka asked.

  “Yes, Eternity. Grand High Ambassador, if you will please stand a little closer to the head of the bed and turn this way to face the screen?” the ornately robed man directed.

  Jackie moved as ordered, shifting this way, moving a little farther back, leaning in slightly—that allowed her to lean against the bed to her right, thankfully, which counteracted the ongoing urge to lean, stumble, and perhaps even faint to her left. After a final squeeze of their joined fingers, Hana’ka withdrew her hand and settled her arm at her side.

  Some sort of production servant moved in and fixed the Empress’ hair minutely, then gently settled the War Crown on her head, clearly taking care with the bandaged area. The woman then fussed over Jackie a little, even spending a few moments plucking stray loose hairs from the black of her formal Dress uniform. Jackie’s dark curls were a bit on the reddish side, but she didn’t think the hairs would have shown, so the primping amused her.

  It also summoned up images of Lieutenant Brad Colvers doing the same thing, and the memory of his betrayal, using those hairs to program cutting robots to destroy her wardrobe . . . programmed to seek out and destroy her. Hopefully, none of these V’Dan were thinking of repeating that same grievous mistake. She would not be gentle with any others who tried.

  Everyone moved back, and a technician by the V’Dan screen gave a silent countdown, folding in thumb, forefinger, all the way to littlest finger, which he pointed at them. Master of Ceremonies gave a formal invocation of their names and titles, then stepped back out of the frame of the pickups. Off to one side, Jackie could see herself and Empress Hana’ka projected on a side screen monitored by her fellow Terrans. It wasn’t a formal introduction ceremony in front of nearly a million citizens, but they looked good.

  Actually, we look like hell, she amended to herself. Primped and preened hell, but still hell. I’m visibly a bit gray in the face from psychic fatigue with bags under my eyes, looking fresh from a hospital bed, and Hana’ka is in a hospital bed with who knows what injuries on top of what I’ve seen . . . but we’re alive, we’re in control, and we are going to do damage to our enemies.

  Not to our friends, dammit.

  V’TON-BEI ORBIT

  “Welcome aboard the Leaping Kitten,” Leftenant Superior Ka’atieth stated, flicking her left hand as Li’eth, finally properly uniformed, followed her into the shuttlecraft. She tapped on a control panel, opening a storage locker so that both could store their kit bags, then sealed it again.

  Li’eth hesitated, thinking over her words, then took a couple careful steps back, hand on the airlock door edge so he could be mindful of his dizziness and balance issues. “It says . . . VDS J’UNG SHAN G’AT, SHUTTLE 205-671.”

  “It’s a joke,” the green-spotted woman huffed, rolling her eyes as she turned to walk backwards. “Since our mighty warship is named after a g’at of all things, the whole crew has had a tradition of giving its shuttles cute, playful nicknames. The Leaping Kitten, the Pouncing Purr Master, the Plays with a Paper Ball . . .”

  “Oh.” He blinked and considered that, then grinned. “. . . I like it. On the T’un Tunn G’Deth, we just used the designation numbers. It was boring. We also had the 203 series of shuttles though I think our ship was commissioned after yours.”

  “These are fairly new shuttles,” she agreed. “We had most of them replaced about eight months ago. Ah, since it’s just the three of us—Leftenant Shi’uln is a good enough pilot for this task, though he’s only a third-ranked backup—you can either sit on your own in the back in princely splendor or sit in the navigator’s seat up front with the rest us like a fellow officer.”

/>   “Fellow officer,” Li’eth stated, following her. He entered the cockpit and took the rear seat on the left, behind the other male on board. It was easier to go to his left even though his body wanted to stagger to the right; to the left was more controllable. That, and once down and strapped in place, he could lean somewhat to the right, giving in to the compulsion pulling him that way without sacrificing his ability to see either officer. “Leftenant Shi’uln, thank you for flying us out of here. And for the help with my bath, earlier.”

  “My pleasure, Grand Captain,” Leftenant Shi’uln replied, having been the one to bring Li’eth his Grand Captain insignia as well as his uniform. The pink-marked man looked up from his preflight checks, hesitating. “Although . . . are you sure you don’t want to use your title? I mean, I found you some concealer for your marks, but . . . It feels a bit weird, not deferring to your Tier. Like the whole universe is off-balance.”

  “I have discovered in the last several months . . . several years, actually, once I joined the military . . . that I would far rather be called Li’eth than by any rank or title. If it’s done by a friend,” he told both of them. The makeup was the normal kind, temporary and easily wiped off if he wasn’t careful how he touched his face, but he felt safer wearing it than not. “At least, I presume you’re not an enemy?”

  “No. Which means you’re our kind of officer, rather than the Captain’s kind, all stuffy and formal,” Ka’atieth stated.

  “Formality has its place. Just not on board a shuttle named Leaping Kitten, I’d think,” Li’eth joked. She chuckled.

  “In that case, Li’eth, I’m Nakko, and she’s A’sha,” Shi’uln stated airily, flicking a finger at the two of them in the front seats before going back to his preflight checks.