The Blockade

by Jean Johnson

  “The Salik evolved from hunter species, and they did not evolve very far. They might find a nonamphibious underwater opponent all the more enticing,” Li’eth warned him.

  “That is a risk our troops are willing to take,” the Secondaire asserted. “Moreover, the Dalphskin interface is remarkably intuitive for a Human, and the training time is very quick. And since it’s individually tailored to each person’s body, we should be able to manufacture versions that even the Gatsugi can wear though our technicians are not as sure about the Tlassians or Solaricans,” Pong added in an aside. “The existence of arms that have an approximately similar level of movement can be duplicated, or so I’ve been reassured by the technicians. Even unusual limb lengths can be adjusted for since those are already features encoded into the portable manufactories for adaptation, and thus integratable. Unfortunately, trying to work out the musculature for tails in addition to legs might cause too many hindrances and stress intolerances when it comes to locomotion.”

  (Jackie, are you going to explain at some point what a Dalphskin is?) Li’eth asked, glancing at Jackie. (You didn’t seem to have a lot of biotech, from what I saw, and his explanation is confusing me.)

  (You’ll learn by the time we reach Ba-kan-tuu, if nothing else. Biotech hasn’t been developed on a widespread scale for several reasons. Ethical laws have slowed down the exploratory progress, including a very lengthy certification process to ensure the newly tinkered artificial biota won’t harm the existing natural biota. Feeding the stuff is also exceptionally difficult; we can grow artificial organs and such, but creating a living organism from scratch and getting it to function is nearly impossible.

  (Dalphskin succeeds because it’s already designed to be immersed in fluids and doesn’t need an internal circulatory system. It can get all the hydrodynamic movement of the nutrient fluids by attaching electrodes to stimulate the muscles in undulating patterns. Really, in the end, it’s just a matter of donning and removing the suit in a nutrient bath, then attaching a couple of electrode leads and letting the computer control the pumping of the muscles . . .

  (. . . It’s one of those things you’ll understand better when you see it in person. Especially as there’ll be specialist technicians who can explain it far better than I can,) she demurred, and moved the topic forward by speaking aloud. “Are we going to miss any landings with that schedule?”

  “A few, but it cannot be helped. If you head to Zon A’Gar once you’re through on Ton-Bei, we can arrange for the Embassy 1 to meet you there, and from there, when you reach Ba-kan-tuu, the V’Dan warship V’Goro J’sta can pick up the Embassy 1 after dropping off the Selkies,” Pong told them. “The V’Goro J’sta has agreed in advance to escort any Terran craft if we wish, even into the neighboring territories. They did so because they knew we’d want to check on other areas with a large enough V’Dan population that they can support the needs of several thousand Terrans as well. If for some reason, the V’Goro J’sta needs to depart, we’ll be able to arrange other transport, but wherever possible, V’Dan faster-than-light starships will be used, so as not to startle anyone when you arrive in a major system nor alert the enemy to your exact location unless you should need to change ships.”

  “Thank you for that courtesy,” Li’eth replied. “Safety will be a concern for the Ambassador and me.”

  The Secondaire shrugged. “It’s actually more that it’s simply faster to take a V’Dan ship on a long-distance journey if you don’t have to rest every three to four jumps for six to eight hours at a stretch. Our ships have to for biology’s sake, plus the processing of fuel in areas where we don’t have depots set up. Our ships would be better served if we ran them in relays with fresh crews changed out every so many star hops, but we’d still have to change out the passengers to let them rest, too. Since we can’t do that, and certainly cannot change either of you out for anyone else, that means it’s more efficient time-wise on longer trips to take a faster-than-light vessel between stars and reserve the other-than-light jumps for within a specific system, or between two close ones.

  “A V’Dan ship can also slow down twice a day to sublight speeds,” Jorong continued, “so you can operate the Embassy’s hyperrelay to clarify orders. Once within a particular system, you can then go wherever needed, as fast as needed, with our other-than-light drives.”

  “All of that sounds like a good idea, Jorong. I think I’d like the 14 to accompany us as a backup ship. Do you know if the V’Goro J’sta holds the capacity to carry both?” Jackie asked.

  “They should, since our ships aren’t that big . . .” Pong said, though his tone was doubtful. Again, he looked down. This time, the edge of his tablet came into range of the pickups in his office while he tried to look up that information for her. “Give me a few moments . . .”

  “Do you have the name of the class of warship for the V’Goro?” Li’eth asked him. “I didn’t pay attention to the size of its shuttle bays when I was helping assign how many Terrans could be carried aboard each of the ships we sent to your homeworld, but I do know the general cargo capacity for each class of ship.”

  “Ahh . . . Tusq’aten?” the Secondaire offered after a moment of searching on his datapad.

  Li’eth nodded. “That’s more than big enough. Midclass battle cruisers like that line have three launch bays. Two are big enough to have spare room for something twice the size of the Embassy 1 though each one of your ships will have to be the last vessel on and first one off, and three of their shuttles will have to be housed in the third bay to do so—they’re designed to have the extra room, in case one of the bays is damaged and has to store the remaining shuttlecraft.”

  “That’s good to know,” Jackie murmured.

  He nodded, then tipped his head, grimacing a little. “Commandeering it for additional Terran transport, however, will require a writ from the Empress, even if they’ve offered in advance.”

  “Your attaché can bring it on the Embassy 1, so that it remains in V’Dan control at all times,” Pong stated, then looked at Li’eth. “That is, I’m presuming you will want to have Leftenant Superior Kos’q shipped out to travel with you?”

  “If there’s room for him, yes,” Li’eth agreed.

  “There will be,” Jackie reassured Li’eth. She looked at Jorong on the other side of the commlink. “We just need to pick a pilot and gunner to replace Colvers. We didn’t have time to make an official choice, earlier.”

  “No, not before everything flew off to U’Veh in a balloon,” Li’eth agreed. At the Secondaire’s blank look, he grasped for the equivalent. “A . . . trip to hell in a . . . basket? Handbasket?”

  “Yes, that would be the correct idiom,” Secondaire Pong agreed. “As it stands, the Admiral-General already anticipated that need, the moment he heard Colvers had broken the law and knew the fellow would need to be replaced,” Pong reassured them. “He has already asked for the ship with Lieutenant Commander Ramirez to be rerouted to meet you at Zon A’Gar. V’Zon A’Gar,” he corrected himself, applying the proper pronoun prefix to the name.

  “Lieutenant Commander Ramirez . . . Anjel Ramirez?” Jackie asked, dredging up the name and the face together by going through her memory of all the pilots she had met here and there through her earlier days in the Aloha program. She nodded to herself when she found a match. “Good, I liked her. No-nonsense when working, but a good sense of humor when off duty. She should be flexible enough to work well with our needs.”

  “Do let the military know how it works out,” Jorong told her. “The Department of Innovations is trying to get a grasp on who should best fit where, but it’s still a fledgling science in many ways, only a decade or so old . . . and it’s clear we missed the mark by several klicks when it came to Lieutenant Colvers.”

  Jackie blushed. “Yes. I think I was a little too tactful in my evaluations of him.”

  “You’re a diplomat,” Jorong allowed graciously.
“You’re trained to be diplomatic.” He flashed her a brief smile. “Try being a soldier next time.”

  “. . . Department of what?” Li’eth asked them both.

  “What, the Department of Innovations? It’s . . . um . . . They’re data-miners,” she said, trying to find a way to explain the concept, since it was foreign to the V’Dan way of hierarchical, Tier-based thinking. “They gather and sift through information on all soldiers, from the soldier’s own daily reports to battle debriefings from peers, subordinates, and superiors, all of it cross-referenced to other soldiers’ observations, and collate and cross-reference it with official psychological evaluations.”

  Li’eth tipped his head, still confused. He flicked his gaze between her and the man on the screen; how had his attention bent downward once again, multitasking. “Why would you do that? That sounds like a lot of work.”

  “We want to find out who is most suited to command,” Secondaire Pong stated, his attention more on his tablet than on the commlink. Still, he answered in some detail. “We can only learn so much when our soldiers go through Basic Training, or through an officer’s Academy. You can only train so much. The rest of it has to come from within, an innate understanding, a grasp of principles, a different way of looking at problems, at approaching and solving them. Not mechanically solving them, but in knowing how to solve them, and who can solve them.

  “Most of leadership rises to the surface—or sinks like a rock—when a soldier goes into the field and starts working,” Jorong continued, speaking with some passion. “Rather than relying upon training alone—or worse, nepotism—we try to cull through the after-action reports to see who shows leadership skills and potentials, then encourage that. A good leader can come from any walk of life, once they’ve had basic training, because all it takes is to look at a situation in a different way than the usual sort of person might.

  “Because of this,” he continued, glancing up briefly, “because we actively look for leadership traits without being so close to the subject that we’re swayed or even blinded by friendships and favoritisms, the DoI can pick out who might be an effective leader much more efficiently. Or even bar one from rising further. Training does not guarantee good leadership decisions, though it does help immensely,” he stated, his attention on the tablet screen again. “As it stands, the DoI is going to be even more important in the coming months because we can train basic soldiers a lot faster than we can officers. Those who have the aptitude for good leadership need to be promoted up the ranks to fill in the gaps in those upper ranks.”

  “They’re the reason I was elevated to Colonel and Vice-Commodore, but no higher—you remember what I explained of our military structure, how Lieutenant Generals and Generals can command any soldier in any of the four Branches, right?” she asked him. Li’eth nodded. “The DoI doesn’t think I have what it takes to be a three- or four-star officer. And in my opinion, they’re completely right,” she added bluntly, cutting her hand through the air over the console. “I don’t have the training and the skills for anything that high. I’m too much of a civilian. But they do think I can be a Colonel for the Special Forces, Army, and Marine Corps, and the equivalent rank of Vice-Commodore for the Navy.”

  “Since everyone other than Admiral Nayak who has been or is going to be sent out at this stage is a Lieutenant Colonel or a Ship’s Captain or less in rank,” Pong told him, “that means MacKenzie carries the military authority she needs as a civilian government official to step in and make decisions that can countermand the orders and the decisions of officers ranked under her.

  “The only reason the Department of Innovations thinks this is a good idea is because they data-mined her civilian leadership and determined that she doesn’t step in and overrule those under her jurisdiction unnecessarily . . . unless, of course, she knows that a particular course of action would be bad for the greater good of the situation,” he added, giving Jackie a significant look. When she groaned and covered her face with her spread hand, he smiled again. “Yes, the DoI went over the wading-pool incident with a fine-toothed comb for this last round of promotions.”

  “Boot me back to Basic . . . it was not a wading pool, it was a sacred wellspring,” Jackie mumbled, trying to banish thoughts of that near-disastrous diplomatic mess. She waved her palm quickly, scrubbing the air and her memories. “We’re not getting into that mess, gentles. Ah . . . I’m getting data on a subchannel,” she added, noting the text scrolling across the bottom of the screen. Her hands shifted to copy it to a folder.

  “That’s a formal proposed itinerary to get you started. I’m lining up the paperwork to authorize it—check the bullet-point list,” Jorong added, lifting his data tablet back into view briefly, “and make sure I caught everything on the list?”

  “Jorong, you have an incredibly organized mind, and a fast set of thumbs on a datapad,” Jackie quipped. “I’m sure you’ve thought of everything in advance. At the very least, 98 percent of everything.”

  “I meant His Highness should take a look. You know what the Terrans require, but neither of us are experts at V’Dan requirements,” he replied tartly. “As the Secondaire, I’m ultimately responsible for all the paper-pushing on our end of things. It’s up to Imperial Prince Kah’raman here to handle the V’Dan side.”

  “I’ll get right on it,” Li’eth promised, leaning in to peer at the lower screen displaying the incoming text.

  “I’ll pass it to the right-hand console, so you don’t get a kink in your neck,” Jackie told him, remotely activating the workstation directly across from hers. “We’ll get back to you as soon as we’ve looked it over, Secondaire.”

  “I look forward to hearing from you,” Pong replied. “Try not to take too long, or I’ll think you’ve gone to sleep for another day.”

  “We should be so lucky,” Li’eth muttered, settling into his seat.

  “What do you mean, you are not coming home?”

  The question thundered over the channel with far more force and indignation than Li’eth had ever heard his mother use on him. It made him flinch and blink a little. Thankfully, he had Jackie on hand to lean against for support, both physically and mentally.

  (Stay strong. She knows we cannot be parted, and she has no say over what I do in the service of my government,) Jackie reminded him.

  (Yes, but she does have a say in what I do in the name of mine,) he retorted. Blinking again, he firmed his jaw. Thankfully, this conversation was taking place in Terranglo at his request, for security reasons. “I mean, Eternity, exactly what I said. I will be accompanying the Grand High Ambassador of the Terrans as she visits each Terran troop deployment across our various colonyworlds, both here in the Eternal Empire and among several of our other allies.”

  “Your duty as the Heir to the Eternal Throne is to come home!” Empress Hana’ka—or rather, his mother, Hana’ka—ordered. “You will not risk yourself, especially by going to planets that are known points of conflict! That is why the Terrans are sending their troops to those worlds.”

  “Yes, and that is why I must go there!” Li’eth shot back, brain seizing on her wording. “These worlds are in a war zone, and I am the War Prince. I am an heir in the military from the start of the war onward. I have the right to claim the responsibilities as well as the privileges of that title, Mother! And you are reacting as my mother, and not as the War Queen, who should know booting well that I have to go where the Ambassador goes. Not just as her Holy Partner, but as the War Prince, to lend weight to every decision made on behalf of our allies’ needs.”

  His mother started to say something and broke off, holding up her hand, palm toward herself in the V’Dan style, though she looked off to the side and switched to her native language. “. . . Why do you disturb me, Secretary Je-sat? I am in the middle of an important comm call.”

  “My apologies, Eternity. I heard shouting. Is everything alright?”

  “No—
yes!” she corrected herself. “Everything is fine. And may the Saints take back the curse my father laid on me to have children just as stubborn as I was,” Hana’ka added under her breath. She switched to staring through the screen, almost glaring at her son, and resumed speaking in Terranglo. “I am very irritated right now. I am annoyed and worried as your mother that you insist on throwing yourself yet again into harm’s way . . . and I am proud as your mother and your Empress that you insist on carrying out your duties in spite of the threat to your personal safety. Now put the Ambassador on.”

  Li’eth hesitated, nudging at Jackie’s instinctive movement closer to forestall her. “Are you going to yell at her? Because as the War Prince, your current if temporary heir, I do not think that would be appropriate behavior for my Empress and War Queen.”

  “I am going to threaten her to within an inch of our friendship as a very concerned mother . . . and threaten to put Vi’alla back in charge if anything happens to you,” Hana’ka returned tartly.

  “Duly heard and noted, Eternity,” Jackie quickly confirmed out loud, though she stayed out of sight of the video pickups. “My government would have to lodge a protest on our behalf, but I assure you, we already have sufficient motivation to keep His Highness safe.”

  “Good. I hope your people can bring about the prophesied victory soon,” Hana’ka added. “I want to know my son is safe and well, and I fully expect our customs experts to argue back and forth over proper marital rituals versus the political tangles of making the highest-ranked ambassador of a foreign nation a member of the Imperial Tier. You will be marrying my son, yes? You do have that custom, of formal legal unions between two people, for discerning various legal rights and lines of inheritance?”