by Jean Johnson
“Not if I end up speaking in V’Dan, which I’d have to do. Too many wrong ears or ear-equivalents would be listening in. I’d have to be on your ship in person to send it hyper without any lightwave leaking out,” Jackie added.
“Considering we’re broadcasting this as a potential target moving across the planet’s orbit, and that I’m only answering your call because none of the enemy speak Terranglo, never mind Mandarin . . . I would have to agree on that. Tell you what,” Captain Mamani offered, looking off to one side as she did something with her control console. “There’s a northern hemisphere mining and manufacturing town named . . . ‘ar eye apostrophe oh kay oh,’ if I’m getting the V’Dan phonemes right. I’m not going to say it aloud just in case they can pick it out of everything else we’re saying, but we stopped there for fueling and a couple items they could manufacture for some minor repairs. Can you meet us there?”
Jackie covered her mic pickup and traced the letters in the air with a thread of holokinesis, mouthing her way through them. Either it spelled rye-oh-ko, or ree-oh-koh. She suspected the latter. “. . . Ree . . . oko? Nakko, do you know where the mining town of Ri’oko is, on V’Ton-Bei?”
“No, but hopefully there can’t be that many places named Fire Nut,” the pilot dismissed. “Unless we get unlucky and someone named five separate towns that.”
“I know where it is. Vaguely,” Li’eth added. Still holding Jackie’s hand, he twisted to the other side, touching the controls on his console to call up a map of the planet. “My crew had to pick up some parts with rare minerals that were being manufactured there. And yes, there’s only one town named Ri’oko on V’Ton-Bei.”
“I found it on the colonial grid,” A’sha stated, nodding at the terrain map now on her central screen.
“Want me to set a course for it? Evasive course?” Nakko asked.
“Evasive course, yes,” Jackie confirmed, and switched back to Mandarin, releasing the mic wire. “We’ve found it, and we’re on our way.”
“I’ll see you soon, then. Captain Mamani out.”
“Ambassador out.” Removing the earpiece, she eyed the camera. “I’m done. You can put that away now.”
“Right.” Programming it to return, the leftenant superior deactivated and tucked it away, then accepted the headset as well. “Thanks. I—Saints!” she yelped as a fighter-sized craft shot past them, skimming the upper layers of the atmosphere at speeds that left a brief blaze of plasma in its wake. “I much prefer facing a clean fight from the bridge of a real ship, not the cockpit of something the size of a kikkai nut!”
“I don’t know; I think I like this shuttlecraft,” Nakko muttered. Jackie didn’t know if he was being sarcastic or not.
“Only because we haven’t been cracked open yet. Thank you, by the way,” A’sha added over her shoulder. “I’m not super-religious or anything, and I don’t understand how you’re even doing it, but I am definitely glad you’re both living Saints, right now.”
Jackie didn’t respond. They were entering the thermosphere now, and she realized she had to change the shape of their protective shield. The speed they were going meant that even the thinnest of gases at this level were still enough to cause significant drag force, particularly on something cup-shaped.
Closing her eyes, she visualized a network of rooflike shapes, sharp and widespread close to the ship, but flaring out to overlap any holes. That funneled the molecules better though there was still quite a lot of resistance. She let the spinning holokinetic cloak fade, too; the last thing they needed was some friend-or-foe-recognition software down on the surface thinking a blurred sphere was an incoming foe.
Sure enough, Nakko spoke into his own headset, chatting on what had to be an atmospheric traffic channel. He identified their craft and listed their course as “evasive high altitude” in between pauses to listen to whoever manned the other side. After a few more exchanges, he dipped the nose of the shuttlecraft down, diving under the highest of the clouds.
Jackie tried to hold the net-and-wedge grid of a shield, but ten seconds after they dipped into the cloud cover, her strength gave out. She slumped, fingers going slack. Only Li’eth’s strength held their hands, their flesh together. As it was, she had to close her eyes and struggle just to breathe against a debilitating, nauseating wave of dizziness. Disorientation followed when the craft zigged and zagged around her.
Clinging to his armrest with his other hand, Li’eth fought his own nausea, muscles trembling in exhaustion. Instinct and Master Sonam’s teachings said that if he let go now, they’d both collapse unconscious, so he clung hard. The shuttlecraft bucked, crossing boundary layers of the atmosphere. Clouds obscured the real view through the windows before those windows darkened automatically, dimming the incoming white glow so that the heads-up projections on the viewscreens could be more easily seen.
After a while, their flight leveled out, and Nakko sighed. “. . . Quarter hour without any signs of pursuit. Thank the Saints for some decently thick cloud cover right now. I think we can relax.”
Li’eth, still dizzy, struggled to get his eyes open. He was too drained. Sonam had spoken of that, too, while training him. “Need food. Drink . . .”
“There should be some electrolyte packs here somewhere.” A’sha twisted in her seat, her tone softening when she peered at the pair. “The two of you look awful. I guess there is no such thing as saintly powers without paying a devilish price . . . Nakko, don’t bounce the shuttle,” she ordered, rustling in the small storage cupboards for snacks.
Li’eth heard her unbuckle her seat restraints and felt her hand on his chin a few seconds later. “Open those lips a little . . . here you go, suck on that straw. It’s grapa flavored; hope you don’t mind.”
Feeling the straw poking against his teeth, then his tongue, he closed his mouth and sucked. Salty-sweet, tangy with fruit flavoring. Normally, the stuff tasted weird, but Li’eth sucked it down as greedily as if they’d just come out of a Terran hyperrift.
“That’s . . . amazingly thirsty,” she muttered, pulling away the straw as soon as the packet was sucked flat. “Oh—I’d better—here, let me get this one for you, Ambassador . . . Ambassador?”
Li’eth, feeling the sugars entering his blood, jolted Jackie with a bit of biokinetic heat. She roused and mumbled, and sucked on the straw the leftenant superior offered to her. Blinking, he managed to get his eyes open this time. “Thank you. We’ll need more, and . . . uh . . . solid food. Psychic abilities require biological energy to empower them, and we just . . . drained ourselves.”
A’sha glanced between them. Jackie still had her eyes closed while she drained the last of the packet being held by the other woman, but some color did return to her tanned face. The leftenant superior lifted one brow. “Actually, from that big welcoming display they had when they arrived, I thought she was the one who could create shields and stuff, not you. Why are you so tired, Li’eth?”
“Who do you think was the fuel tank to her flamethrower?” he countered.
A’sha shrugged at that. Peeling open one of the other packages, she pulled the wrapper partway down and handed it to him. Nut cluster bars, popular with V’Dan and K’Katta alike. Sticky-sweet, but loaded with proteins and vitamins. She peeled a second one and offered it to Jackie, who finally forced her eyes open again, accepting the packet.
“Thank you,” Jackie muttered, awkwardly taking it with her free hand. Her other fingers tightened around Li’eth’s.
“You’re welcome, Ambassador,” A’sha replied.
Jackie chewed while the other woman returned to her seat and buckled herself in place. She spoke when her mouth was clear. “. . . Why so formal? I thought we all agreed on first names?”
“I’m . . . trying to remind myself you’re not a kid. In fact, I just realized you’re probably older than me. I’m sorry if that offends you—” she added.
“—No, n
o,” Jackie reassured her. “You’re aware of the disparity, and you are trying to compensate for a lifetime of social and cultural conditioning. It is those who refuse to even acknowledge that the prejudice exists who make things too disrespectful and difficult for us Terrans to tolerate. We’re happy when anyone at least tries to overcome their cultural conditioning,” she added. “We don’t ask for perfection; we just ask that you actively try. So you can call me Ambassador if it helps, but you are also free to call me Jackie.”
“Eh. I like Ja’ki,” Nakko stated, smiling to himself. “I had a little cousin nicknamed Ja’ki because she was a magnet for gems and jewelry. Give her a polished, shiny stone as a toddler, and she’d stare at and play with it for hours.”
“Yes, but are you going to treat her like a little toddler, once she’s all grown-up?” Li’eth asked.
“My cousin? Just because of her nickname? Moons, no! My cousin grew up to be even bigger than me, and became locally famous on V’Zon A’Gar as a professional gladiator. She’d twist and fold me into a paper bird if I ever treated any namesake of hers like a little girl,” he confessed.
“Wait . . . your cousin . . . is she Ja’ki-eth?” Li’eth asked, eyes widening. “V’Ja’ki-eth?”
“You’ve heard of her? Wait until she hears that a member of the Imperial Tier has heard of her! She’s going to faint!” Nakko crowed, grinning.
Jackie blinked and scrambled to translate what Li’eth was trying to say. It didn’t come across until he sent her an underthought of explanation. (Oh! The Death Diamond?)
(The stone type she associates herself with is a topaz, but then “Death Diamond” does sound more alliterative in Terranglo, yes.) Out loud, he said, “Actually, our chief pilot, Ba’oul—Leftenant Superior Des’n-yi; he’s from the island of Tai-mat back on V’Dan—is a big fan of pro combat.”
“Let me guess, a big fan of Verlouss Avern? He’s the top gladiator from the archipelago,” Nakko added in an aside to Jackie.
Li’eth nodded. “Ba’oul said he liked Verlous Avern, Ja’ki-eth, even Big Pockets Bob—he had recordings of all the big matches. He’d regularly bribe the comm teams to make sure they downloaded the gladiator fights within the first half hour after the military news packets came through, as soon as the T’un Tunn G’Deth pulled into any inhabited orbit. I enjoyed watching them, too, though I wouldn’t say I’m an actual fan of gladiator sports. It was something to watch, though. Ba’oul would always put on a showing in the enlisted lounge, then worked his way up to the officers’ lounge.”
“That must’ve been very popular with the crew, doing it that way, rather than making it seem like they were lower on the entertainment chain than the officers,” Nakko offered.
“The higher Tiers got first pick at lining up the professional dramas and comedies,” Li’eth said. “It actually made sense to hand over sports broadcasts and such to the Fifth Tiers first, so they could then switch later on.”
Nakko nodded. “My first assignment, our captain came from the Fifth Tier. He gave the Fifths first choice at everything, whenever there was enough to go around. Entertainment programs included. Upper Tiers got paperwork and formal newscasts first.”
“Can’t say the same for Captain Qa-Reez,” A’sha muttered. “Always the best for the officers, and the rest got the scraps and the sludge work. I felt ashamed for having Second Tier privileges more often than not, as an officer in the Imperial Fleet under his command.”
(Qa-Reez?) Jackie asked her Gestalt partner.
(The captain of the ship I woke up on, a would-be sycophant of my sister’s.) He broke off, looking up. “Are we descending?”
Nakko nodded. “Fifteen minutes to landing. It might be a bit bumpy, so either finish those nut bars and grab an airsickness bag, or hold off and wait until we land.”
(Food is fuel,) Jackie decided, and munched away. (The more I eat, the better I feel. I can put up with some roughness, I think.)
Li’eth joined her, biting off another chunk and chewing fearlessly. Food did indeed feel like fuel, still desperately needed by both of them. (How soon until the Terrans show up?)
(Depends on how far away they were around the planet, what flight path they could take, whether or not they get engaged in battle . . . These nut bars aren’t going to last very long,) she warned him. (We’ll need real food. Not a huge meal all at once, but a steady stream of it.)
“A’sha?” Li’eth suggested as soon as he cleared his mouth. “Why don’t you get on the Ton-Bei matrix and look up which restaurants in Ri’oko deliver, and see if you can get a meal catered to the shuttleport? Something with a lot of local variety to it, sample plates and such. We might as well treat the Ambassador to a taste of V’Ton-Bei’s delicacies while we’re here.”
“That’s a good idea, though I’m not sure how much variety there is to find in a mining town. Or if they’ll deliver,” she said. “Of course, if the Empire is financing this, I’m sure they’ll deliver us a giant tank of water and men in fish suits to do fin-dances if we pay highly enough.”
Li’eth grinned. “Yes, I will pay for dinner to be catered, but not for that. I’m not interested in fish suiters, thank you.”
“Oh, c’mon, have you seen the abs on those men?” A’sha asked, laughing. “The very thought makes me weak at the knees!”
“You said it, sister!” Nakko agreed, holding his fist up and out. She bumped the back of her hand against his, and they both grinned.
(She has a point, swimming does strengthen one’s abdominal muscles,) Jackie pointed out. (Back home, we have a saying, strong waves make strong bodies. Of course, the trick is to know your own strength and not try to swim when the waves are too strong.)
(I promise I’ll swim every day I can,) Li’eth joked back. (And in the waters I know I can handle best.)
(You still owe me the time to go surfing on V’Dan, with its three-moon tides,) she reminded him tartly.
(Yes, beloved,) Li’eth agreed. (We get news back to your people, wait for this attack to go away, then take a Terran ship straight back home—oh, how was Mother?) he asked her. (She looked like she’s going to be okay, on the screen.)
(Officially, the Empress is doing well and is expected to recover fully,) she told him, and sent him surface memories of what she had observed while in that infirmary room.
(And unofficially?) he asked, worry threading through his underthoughts.
(She needs to be seen by qualified Terran biokinetic medical specialists. I think there was a little bit of fine motor-skill brain damage,) she said. (There was that nasty bandage on her head, and her eyes wouldn’t focus until after my hands heated up, and I let it pour into her. I hope you don’t mind I used our biokinesis. I don’t know what I did; I just know I wasn’t harming anything by it, and she did focus a lot better afterwards.)
(As her very concerned son, I say you did exactly what was right. As an Imperial Prince . . . I’d say “shut it off” to the paranoid people who would want to spout words of worry and condemnation, and also say you did the right and proper thing,) Li’eth sent. (You’re the ally we need, and the kind of friend we want.)
(Good. I like her. For her own sake. She’s very . . . stiffly formal on the surface, but a good person down in her core. She has a solid foundation in honor and compassion. Much like a certain son of hers I know,) she teased.
(Balei’in is a very good son, yes,) he agreed immediately.
She squeezed his hand at the return teasing.
CHAPTER 4
AUGUST 12, 2298 C.E.
RI’OKO, TON-BEI
“Fires continue to burn on the Ke-chai Peninsula tonight,” the beige-starred, dark-skinned news anchor reported from the monitor in the shuttle’s main hold. Like many news broadcasts back among the Terrans, images of the reporter sat to one side of the screen while broadcasts of actual footage from the location in question played on the other half. �
�There are reports of Salik invaders still lurking in that area, but the Imperial Army has been evacuating families and businesses, and tales of brave colonists fighting to defend their lives and their land have been reaching our news center.
“You can check our news matrix for more details on individual heroes and lists of evacuated residencies. Meanwhile, the last of the enemy forces on board the Sun’s Glory have been captured, though all compartments are being double-checked for holdouts . . .”
“Try the k’teli noodles,” Nakko suggested next, tapping the carton in question before picking up one filled with some sort of fruit and meat sautéed together. “Those are the turquoise-colored ones. I liked those a lot.”
Distracted from the news, Jackie looked at the dish in question. It looked like spinach noodles to her.
“I don’t know,” A’sha said, eyeing the dish dubiously. “They tasted a bit bland to me.”
Jackie poked her complimentary umma into the box and scraped a little bit into her bowl. A tentative taste test reminded her of coconuts with a hint of pepper. “They’re not truly bland to me, and they’re not bad even though they’re mild. Have you tried the one with the purple nuts?”
“Ah . . .” A’sha-rayn checked her printout sheaves, finding the dish on the restaurant’s pictorial menu and squinting at the fine print under the label attached to the nuts in question. “They call those . . . plink-pa. Apparently, it’s a sound the nuts make as they fall from the vine when ripe and bounce on the ground.”
“I’m just glad I can eat them,” Jackie said. She offered that carton to the other woman. “If we hadn’t come up with a version of the jungen we could modify and infuse, I’d be afraid to eat anything foreign.”