“Are the parren still here?”
“Different parren, I think. They brought breakfast.”
A few hundred parren had made their way up the stairs last evening. They had not marched in any formation, nor worn ceremonial robes, nor made any sort of pageantry. They’d simply sat near PH-1, rolled out mats, then laid out some food. Lisbeth had informed them all, via Styx’s uplink, that this was a very good and safe sign, as these were not the political operatives they’d been exposed to so far, but ordinary working folk, with no particular driving motivation for anything but a good, safe life.
Tobenrah’s Council of Truthtellers, it seemed, had made their announcement about the deepynine attack on Brehn System, and now Tobenrah had talked to the leaders of the four non-Harmony houses in the capitol palace. These parren had responded, and some subsequent conversation revealed that they were very concerned with the deepynine attack, and fearful of what it might mean. They were duty-bound to not oppose the local government, even though it was not of their own houses, but that did not mean they could not show Phoenix crew some basic hospitality. These parren had no interest in who ran the local government, they only wanted to be protected from murderous alien machines. The marines had all tried the food, and found it wonderful, as Lisbeth had also promised. The prospect of more for breakfast had made everyone notably happier this morning.
Trace completed her workout, and made sure Ensign Yun joined her for the first part, at least. Then she took a brief shower where marines had converted the water feed with a nozzle designed for the purpose, and a couple of tarps hung for basic privacy — not so much men-from-women, as from the parren civvies now peering in the back, if from a reasonable distance. She took the ammo tray now doubling as a water collector, poured it back into the water receptacle for the shuttle system to reuse, then left it for the next person and changed into her uniform and armour. Whatever was going to happen, everyone seemed convinced it would only happen with some ceremony — there would be no sudden coup out of nowhere, at least. It was possible, of course, that Aristan, the Elsium Administration or Tobenrah would decide to kill PH-1 quickly and risk whatever consequences from Phoenix… but either way, it did not require a full alert, as in the latter case they’d be dead too fast for it to matter. Thus everyone not on duty had been sleeping out of armour last night, to ensure they actually did sleep — a nearly impossible proposition otherwise.
Now Trace stepped out the rear ramp and into the pale glow of dawn, already warm with the promise of great heat to come. Parren seemed to like it. There were many here, seated across this courtyard between flights of steps, some sharing food with marines, others in translator-assisted conversation. Some more marines were doing their exercises out here, under PH-1 itself to keep the perimeter clear, while others remained on guard. The whole thing felt like an odd camping exercise… but when those happened, they tended to be in unpopulated regions, not on the main steps of an alien parliament, in the middle of a tense-yet-inscrutable armed standoff.
In more relaxed circumstances she would have taken a seat with whatever lower-ranked marines she thought she’d spent the least time with lately, and talked with them about things — sometimes work-related, sometimes not. But here she didn’t have that luxury, and sat alongside Erik and Dale, who were crosslegged before some parren, eating breakfast.
“Try this,” said Erik, and put a bowl of hot liquid before her. “You drink it like from a cup. Big gulps, I think.”
Trace sniffed it, and looked askance at the parren. They made encouraging gestures with their hands, indicating she should do as Erik suggested. It smelled light and lemony, and tasted even moreso when she drank. Very nice, in fact, and she downed it in several more gulps, and indicated her pleasure to the parren.
The parren exchanged glances and grins at each other, and chatted, appearing to find these humans entertaining. It was a very different reaction than she’d seen from parren before — they were usually so solemn and calm. House Harmony parren, she recalled. Barely one-fifth of all parren. There was nothing to indicate house affiliation on these parren’s clothes, light robes of cream and brown, well suited to the heat.
“House Creative,” Erik explained, guessing her question before she asked it. “Lis tells me they produce a lot of artists, but a lot of creatives in all fields too. The phase-change heightens their creativity, it activates the imaginative portions of the brain. Lots of their big inventors and scientific geniuses come from House Creative, not just artists… though about two-thirds of the great playwrights are too. Plays are everything to parren, much bigger than movies or games.”
“Amazing to think you can just change into a mindset,” said Trace, sampling the food. Parren food was laid out in lots of little containers, each with something unique. There were soft grains that steamed, and cold beans with a red-spiced vegetable, all very simple, very light. And utterly delicious, when she tried them. It reminded her of meals in Kulina training on Sugauli, in her youth — only better. “Imagine working your whole life to perfect your mindset and skills, only to lose them when you phase.”
“And gain others in their place,” Erik added. He’d already showered and shaved, Trace saw. He must have risen before her, then. It didn’t surprise her — Lisbeth had obviously come to find parren matters fascinating, and now Erik did the same… probably more from concern for Lisbeth, Trace thought, than from his own interests. She’d thought that a weakness once, that he was so obviously concerned with other people. Over-sensitive, perhaps. She’d learned to tone down her own sensitivity long ago, to prevent distracting and dangerous attachments.
But Erik had somehow managed to combine those sensitivities with the hard mind and cool logic of a warship captain, and now Trace saw not only that he wasn’t going to change, but that he didn’t need to. Perhaps, she thought now as she ate, he’d never been the one with the problem to begin with — she was. She’d had to narrow her mental focus to arrive at her present state. He didn’t. Face it, she thought to herself now, he’s smarter than you. Not at everything, but just in general. He had more mental capability, in total. Which made sense, because he was a warship captain, and that was one of the most demanding jobs known to humanity. Marine company commander was no walk in the park either, but required as much bloody-minded perseverance as raw intellect.
So, she thought to herself, nodding slowly as she chewed. She liked to know where she stood with such matters. This calm morning, things seemed clearer.
“Major,” said Dale from Erik’s far side. “I was talking with Lisbeth myself. She thinks Aristan can’t make a move on Tobenrah until he challenges you personally. He doesn’t have the authority, otherwise. Beating you will give him the status.”
“That was my take also,” Trace agreed. And pointed to the beans. “What called?” she asked her hosts. “Name?”
“Pulra,” said a parren. And something else, that she didn’t understand with the translator off, but seemed like a question.
“Yes, delicious,” she agreed with enthusiasm, and had some more. “Pulra. Captain, we should arrange to find a trader and buy some of this.”
“It’s probably not good for you,” Erik prodded. “I mean, it actually tastes nice.”
“Plenty of healthy food tastes nice,” Trace retorted, well aware he was teasing.
“Nothing that you eat.” Trace took another mouthful and smiled at him, not commenting.
“Major, these fights are to the death,” said Dale. “Let me take it.”
“If I was allowed, I’d let Kalo take it,” Trace told him around a mouthful. “He’s the best hand-to-hand fighter here. But we’ve bent their rules this far, and the Togreth are running this show. Even Tobenrah has to do what they say, they’re the independent judiciary that humans are supposed to have, but don’t.”
“You seriously think you can beat Aristan in a swordfight?” Dale asked grimly. “I saw his boy Milek fight with us on Konik. I’m pretty good, but with blades I couldn’t take him.
Aristan will be better again.”
“I know,” Trace agreed. “I didn’t exactly see it, but I saw the result of his work on Kamala. He killed three armed sard with one blade after holding his breath for half-an-hour.”
“So how are you going to beat him?”
“I’m going to cheat,” said Trace, and sipped some of the parren tea. It was much nicer than her own tea. It made her suspicious of what was in it… precisely the point of Erik’s teasing. The last person who’d known her so well that he could pre-empt her thoughts had been Captain Pantillo. An odd thought that was.
“Cheat how?” Erik asked.
“I asked Styx to work on a few ideas. She’s confident. Then I asked Lisbeth. Lisbeth said I’d better cheat, because Aristan certainly will.”
“You’ll win,” Erik assured her. Trace gave him a faintly puzzled look. She was accustomed to him worrying all the time. He produced something from his pocket. “My Buddha told me.”
He showed her the small figurine, a rotund bald man in robes, sitting in peaceful meditation. It was the same one she’d recovered from the Krim Quarter in the Tsubarata, itself a trophy of war, from Earth. She hadn’t known he carried it with him.
Trace smiled. “He told you what, exactly?”
“Well…” Erik considered the round belly. “He thinks you should eat more.”
“I eat more than the actual Buddha did. The real guy starved himself to enlightenment.” She nodded at the figurine. “That’s the Chinese Buddha, they often showed him as fat. Fat was a good thing for them.”
Erik stared in amazement. “Well sonofabitch. It knows history.” Even Dale found that funny, smiling wryly as he ate.
“I know history where it concerns my own people,” Trace replied, a touch reproachfully. “I do know who the Buddha was.” She tapped the figurine again. “That’s actually a different guy — Budai, a Chinese monk, he gets conflated with the actual Buddha. But even on Sugauli most people don’t care — they’re both Buddha, they both mean pretty much the same thing.”
“Do you know why the Kulina are more Buddhist than Hindu?” Dale asked. “‘Cause that always had me stumped. You guys speak Nepali, Nepal was far more Hindu than Buddhist, but the Kulina are far more Buddhist than Hindu.” Erik did a double-take between them, like a man discovering that both his pet dogs could talk. “Oh get stuffed,” Dale told him, amusement growing.
“Sugauli’s a Himalayan culture,” Trace told him. “The Himalayas were the biggest mountain range on Earth. Big place, lots of old culture, Hindu, Buddhist, some Muslims. Sugauli’s mountainous, lots of those people settled there, they were pretty nostalgic. All the old Himalayan culture got thrown into a blender, somehow Kulina ended up with Buddhism… though Kulina aren’t exactly Buddhist either, we’ve got our own updated version. But we’re a mix… there are plenty of Hindus on Sugauli. I nearly lost an eye as a kid, playing with Diwali fireworks. Would have ended my military career pretty early, would have had to wait until I was an adult to get the eye replaced, missed all my Kulina training.”
Erik noticed the parren eyeing the Buddha figure with interest. He handed it to one of them, who handled it carefully. “Very old,” Erik told him. “A holyman. From Earth.”
The parrens’ translators evidently got some of that, because they stared at the mention of Earth, and regarded the figure with reverence.
“I wonder if he ever knew,” said Trace, gazing away down the stairs to the square-grid city of Chirese, sprawled out below. “The Buddha. How many lives his one life would influence. That one person would make such a difference.”
“Those kind of thoughts might lead to ego and desire,” said Erik. “So I’d guess he didn’t think about it at all, and if you could go back in time and tell him, he wouldn’t care.”
Trace nodded. “Yeah, probably. I just wondered, with Aristan. A guy who’d like to be a Buddha to his people. And probably wants it far too badly.”
“If they’re still worshipping him in a thousand years,” Erik said sourly, “I’ll consider our mission here a failure.”
“In a thousand years,” said Trace, “I promise you won’t care.”
“No, but some Debogande, somewhere, will care.” Erik jabbed a finger for emphasis, hardly serious. “We’ll live forever, you know.”
“Like Z6 vacuum bacteria,” Dale said helpfully.
Trace considered her Captain with affection. “I think in a thousand years they might remember you,” she offered.
Erik looked faintly surprised, then shook his head. “No,” he said. “Us. All of us.” And took back his Buddha from the grateful parren.
Trace’s uplink clicked open — when it opened automatically, she knew it was important. “Captain, Major, this is Phoenix. Scan shows multiplying new jump arrivals, incoming along an axis from Brehn System. Looks like a combat jump.”
Trace looked at Erik, alarm rising, and was surprised to see him taking his next mouthful calmly. “Hello Phoenix, this is the Captain. Get me scan feed directly, I want to see where they are. Red alert, but don’t show it. Watch what the parren do. If that’s the deepynines, all hell is about to break loose down here. Aristan is about to miss his big chance. Stay alert, stay within Tobenrah’s command parameters, and await developments.”
It took several seconds for his words to make their way through Styx’s many relays, then back again. Erik watched the Chirese skyline… looking for aerial activity, Trace realised. “Aye Captain,” came Abacha’s terse reply. “We’ll get scan feed to you in… maybe twenty seconds. What about you?”
“We’ll be fine, Lieutenant,” said Erik. Several black dots rose into the air from a city landing pad, then some more. Combat flyers, Trace thought. Erik pointed them out to her, and Trace nodded. “We won’t be the focus of this next action. We’re going to try and stay out of the way, and let things unfold. We’ll be heading up to you as soon as possible, but it’s not possible until we know Aristan won’t shoot us down for violating his catharan. Captain out.”
From far south now came the building shrill of engines, combat flyers on standby now powering up. “Here we go, guys,” said Erik, still eating as his eyes and ears followed everything. Trace could see him thinking and calculating. It made her feel safer. “Cue Lisbeth, any second now.”
Three seconds later, coms opened a channel as Erik flipped his AR glasses over his eyes. “Erik, it’s Lisbeth. You’re reading these incoming ships?” She sounded a little panicked.
“Yes I am, Lis. My ETA says we’ve got ninety-three minutes on current approach, what’s Aristan doing?”
“Well that’s the thing, I’m…” there was a pause, and the sound of shouting and commotion nearby. “Erik, I’m hearing Aristan’s moving on the Parliament! Tobenrah has hardly any forces on the ground, the only thing that’s been keeping Aristan from the Parliament is convention… but so long as Tobenrah's people occupy the Parliament, Tobenrah has power in this system. An alien attack will cement that power so Aristan has to move now or…”
“Whoever holds the Parliament holds power in this fight,” Erik completed. “I understand Lis… Lis, I can’t head back to Phoenix if Aristan has power and won’t let me, which leaves Phoenix without a captain.”
“Erik, I know… look, hold on, Tobenrah’s about to make an announcement…”
Some combat flyers roared overhead, and others now were circling. From somewhere distant came the sound of shooting. About the breakfast circle, parren were now standing, some staring, others in urgent conversation. Parren had uplinks too, and were doubtless beginning to hear things. Dale was already giving commands to marines, and Trace let him, finishing her tea with a last gulp, then rising to her feet. Shooting on the far side of the Parliament hill, rapid fire and single. It sounded like it might be into the air.
“Okay everyone,” Trace said to her marines, “you hear what’s happening. Defensive only, and everyone move slowly. Sudden movement may draw fire, we’re completely vulnerable here and we don’t need anyon
e deciding we’re a threat.”
New vision broke onto her glasses as Ensign Yun scanned the relevant local channels, scenes from airborne drones or vehicles. It was the farside of the Parliament hill, where vehicles had drawn up an approach road, and now parren were running up the slope. The paths were steeper there, and narrower. It would take them barely ten minutes, Trace thought.
“Erik,” came Lisbeth once again, “Tobenrah’s on the air now, the parren with you are probably listening to it. He’s invoking ‘strina doreh’, it’s… it’s a very old law, it means ‘command of the senior’. It’s basically invoking martial law under alien attack, it hasn’t been used in… oh, hundreds of years, I think.”
And now, from the distant bottom of the great flight of stairs, Trace could see a wave of parren running. Civilian parren, unarmed. About PH-1, more parren were talking loudly, many gesticulating with alarm.
“Listen, Lisbeth,” Erik said urgently, staring down the stairs as several marines came to position on either side of him, protectively. “I don’t recommend Tobenrah send anyone here by air — Tobenrah may have representatives in the Parliament to give him nominal control, but Aristan has the actual local government on side. He’s got total command of the air, they’ll shoot down anyone who flies here on the way.”
About them, parren were pointing up the slope. Fervent argument, determined, passionate, between parren of four different houses. Four different psychologies. Trace could see at once what they were saying and thinking, despite the static crackle of her overworked translator.
“Captain,” she said, watching the argument spread, the groups of civilians running one to another, clustering about the louder voices, listening. “Captain, they’re going to rush the Parliament.” Even as she spoke, they were leaving, running up the stairs at first in a thin stream, then a greater, departing rush. “They’re figuring Aristan won’t fire on unarmed civilians…”
Defiance: (The Spiral Wars Book 4) Page 35