Looking around for some reason to change the subject, Metcalfe noticed Aer'La. She sat at his desk, absent-mindedly playing a game on his terminal. Her glass, full, sweated onto the desktop.
"Well, since I'm not a mind-reader yet, what's up with our Bos'n?"
Cernaq followed Metcalfe's gaze to Aer'La and frowned. "I don't know, actually. She does seem preoccupied –"
"And, being her best friend, you're entitled to do a little thought surfing –"
"But she threatened me with grievous bodily harm if I tried."
Metcalfe's eyes widened. "She is in a funk. No idea why?"
"She's becoming better at blocking my casual readings."
"Well, I can't let her sit there and play games all night. I'll –"
"It's your funeral," warned Cernaq. "Do you prefer flowers, or donations to charity?"
Metcalfe waved him off and went to kneel beside Aer'La.
"If you're trying to hide, I suggest the bathroom. It's where I always hid from Carson, when he lived with me."
She forced a smile. He didn't buy it.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
She looked up briefly from her game, started to say something, then shrugged. "Nothing."
"All right," sighed Metcalfe. "You clearly don't want to talk about this, but you haven't left, either. So you don't want to be alone. Which means –"
"I don't know what the hell it means, all right?" Aer'La hissed. "Just drop it, Navy!"
Metcalfe swallowed and considered the situation. He didn't look back to see if the others were watching. He was sure they were. Aer'La's outburst had not been as quiet as she'd meant it to be. "No," he whispered. "No, I may be taking my life in my hands, but I think something's wrong. If it's none of my business –"
Aer'La sighed and, in one swipe, picked up her glass and downed its contents. "No," she announced when she was finished. "I guess you need to know, even if there's not a damn thing you can do about it. You'll find out tomorrow, anyway."
"What will we find out tomorrow?"
"What's up?" Kaya asked, admitting that she was listening in. Cernaq sat quietly, his eyes trained on Aer'La with an expression of infinite patience. On the bed, Carson, already drunk, cast a bleary eye toward them.
Aer'La stood. "I... I talked to the Captain earlier. You all know who – what – I am."
"You're our friend," said Kaya, her voice gaining a dangerous edge.
"Thanks, Kaya, but... I'm afraid you can't help. See, Dr. Flynn didn't buy my cover story, about being born on Bergstrom's world. He did some checking... he figured everything out."
"So Dad orders him to keep his mouth shut," said Kaya.
"He probably did, but... Flynn already told the Admiralty. They've contacted the Varthan government and... they're sending an investigator."
"What?" Metcalfe demanded. "I mean... why? So one person got away, so –"
"You don't understand, Metcalfe. No one gets away. No one escapes. That's how we're brought up. If they let me go, and others find out –"
"Then their whole, evil system starts to come apart!" Kaya spat.
"And they won't let that happen," said Aer'La.
"Wait, wait," said Metcalfe. "Can't you demand asylum?"
"The Captain and Professor Mors are both trying everything. But Mors said... he said there may be nothing they can do. The Admiralty doesn't want to endanger their trade relationship –"
"That's bullshit!" Carson slurred.
"That's politics," said Aer'La.
"Aer'La... we'll figure out some way to help you." Metcalfe said, knowing how weak it sounded
She shook her head. "No, Navy, you won't. It's done. They're coming to take me back." She silently reached for the whiskey bottle and, very deliberately, poured herself another drink. She held the glass and the bottle, not looking at them, and stared straight ahead of her at nothing.
"I've had a few good years. That's more than most of my people get. If it's going to come to an end now, I don't want to waste the last few hours of it arguing or being angry. I just want to say... " For a moment, her face crumpled, tears came to her eyes. Then she recovered. "I'm glad you were all a part of it."
She held up her glass and proclaimed, "To the Arbiters! Let the universe tremble in fear!" She then downed the contents of the glass in one swallow, and threw it behind her into a corner, where it shattered.
Nobody moved. For a moment, no one said anything. Aer'La, now showing the effects of two fast glasses of whiskey, considered the bottle.
"I... I think... I think I need to be alone now." She started for the door.
"Aer'La – " Metcalfe began.
"Don't say it, Navy. I don't think I could stand it."
They were still silent as she opened the hatch and left them.
"I think I'm going to cry," Kaya announced quietly.
"You don't cry," said Metcalfe with no expression. "I've known you for four years, and I've never seen you cry."
"You're right," said Kaya. "And I'll be damned if I'll cry in front of a bunch of drunken men. Excuse me." And she, too, left them.
"Shit," said Carson, his mouth hanging open sloppily as he slouched on the edge of the bed. He stood clumsily, staggered to the desk, where Aer'La had left the whiskey bottle, and lifted it. He looked at Metcalfe and Cernaq, as if seeking an opinion. Neither said a word. With permission implied, Carson drained half the remaining contents of the bottle. Then he set it down, missing the edge of the desk, and the bottle fell to the floor, where the remaining liquor flowed onto the deck.
Carson looked defiantly at his two friends. He appeared on the verge of saying something extremely profound. Sadly, when he spoke, all that came out was, "Gotta go to the bathroom." He then stumbled into the bathroom and closed the door.
Metcalfe sighed. "Well, he's done. I may just let him sleep in there."
Cernaq nodded silently. Throughout the entire exchange, he'd remained seated in a chair against the bulkhead, saying nothing. Metcalfe dropped to the floor and stretched out opposite him, his back against the edge of the bed.
"You must have known," said Metcalfe, "that what was bothering her was more serious than just a bad day at work."
"I did."
"Then why – ?"
"It was her story to tell."
"So what do we do?"
"I honestly don't know," said Cernaq. "And I'm... concerned."
"About what? I mean, apart from the obvious?"
"About what she... might do."
"What might she do?"
"I don't know."
"Then read her mind!" said Metcalfe.
"It would be... improper."
"Dammit, Cernaq! This is serious!"
"So are the ethics of mindreading. Aer'La has a right to privacy."
"Aer'La's about to lose all her rights."
Cernaq slumped. He looked confused, beaten, even. It wasn't often that his face and body showed so much expression. "I know," he admitted, "and I want to help. I just... she hasn't talked to me about it. I don't have the right to pry."
"Cernaq," Metcalfe said gently, "sometimes, with friends, you have to overstep the bounds of propriety. You have to push. Look at Carson and me. Have we ever given the slightest indication that we respect each other's privacy?"
Cernaq smiled. "But you do."
"That's not the point."
"I know. I'm just... having trouble deciding what I should do. For all that I've changed in my years among you, I'm still Phaetonian. We're... contemplative. We don't act rashly."
"Sometimes you have to."
"I know." Cernaq leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. "I want to go to her," he said. "I want... I want to help her. She's... she's important to me."
Metcalfe knew that, of course. Cernaq had lost his virginity to Aer'La. They had spent many nights together. They weren't any sort of formal couple, but they were closer to each other, in many ways, than either was to anyone else.
"Terry," said Cernaq.
"You've... seen someone die."
Metcalfe looked away for a moment. Cernaq knew he'd seen someone die. His sister, Lydia, had died of influenza seven years earlier. Metcalfe had been at her side to the last.
"Yes," he said quietly.
"When death is near, the mind often accepts the inevitable. A deep calm descends."
"I suppose so."
"Did you not see such a look in Aer'La's eyes tonight? A look of resignation? As if her life was over?"
Metcalfe shrugged. "Are slavery and death really that different? When you take someone's freedom, aren't you taking away their very life?"
"I'm afraid Aer'La agrees with you. I'm afraid she might..."
"... try to finish things before the Varthans can get to her?"
"Yes."
"But you still didn't... check?"
"My people believe we each have a right to decide when our life ends."
"Dammit, Cernaq!"
"Are you going to tell me this isn't about rights?"
"No!"
"You were thinking it."
Metcalfe raised his hands, giving the momentary appearance that he might strangle Cernaq. Then, frustrated, he drove a fist into the opposite palm. "Okay! I was thinking it."
"A little ironic, don't you –"
"Yes! Yes, damn you, it's a little ironic! That's why I didn't say it!"
"I'm sorry I made you angry."
"It's... not your fault. You're right. This is all about rights. But Aer'La shouldn't be driven to suicide by fear of something that shouldn't be allowed to happen in the first place. We should be able to prevent these bastards taking her away."
"And how do you suggest we do that?"
"I don't know. Do you really think she might try to kill herself?"
"It's... possible. Her level of desperation –"
"Cernaq, you've got to find out. Go see her. Read her damn mind whether she likes it or not. And... maybe you can keep her from doing something stupid long enough to let us find an answer."
"'Maybe I can keep her from it?' Say it plainly, Terry."
"I just meant –"
Cernaq interrupted, his voice hard. "You just meant that I have the power to force her not to commit suicide."
"I... I guess."
"And you're right, I do. As strong as she is, she couldn't make a move, if I chose for her not to. I could hold her under my control for hours. Then what? What if we can't find an answer? I'll be keeping her from exercising her only alternative to slavery."
Metcalfe was silent for a moment, daunted by the forcefulness behind Cernaq's argument. "Sometimes your rationality is... overwhelming."
"It's the only way I know of to deal with things. I still believe it's the only approach that really works. I believe that all problems – including emotional ones – can, eventually, all be solved by the power of the human mind. If all people took such an attitude, slavery wouldn't exist, for it would be seen to be irrational for one human being to own another."
"The problem is," said Metcalfe, "that the Varthans don't agree with you. And the Confederacy, irrationally, is willing to go along with them."
"You see, then, how irrationality creates artificial mandates, which are foolish when viewed objectively, but which seem inescapable to those caught up –"
"Oh, shove your analysis up your ass, Cernaq! Your artificial mandates may cause Aer'La to kill herself!"
"I know," Cernaq admitted helplessly.
Metcalfe stood. "Well, dammit, if you won't do anything, I'll go and –"
"And what? Sit on her?"
"If I have to!"
"Has it occurred to you," Cernaq asked slowly, "that, in addition to killing herself, Aer'La might also be willing to kill anyone who tries to interfere?"
"She wouldn't!"
"She might."
Metcalfe slumped back to the deck, defeated. "So you really are the only one who can stop her. And you're hidebound by your damned rational analysis!"
"All right," said Cernaq, "what do you do, when you have trouble making a decision. ?"
"I pray."
"To whom?"
"My god."
"And that is?"
"I'm... not sure."
"How many gods are there?"
"Now, how would I know that?"
"How do you know there are any?"
"I... I just believe."
"So... how do you know... to whom to address a prayer?"
"There are many gods. Each of them has different powers and different interests. A mortal can establish a rapport with one, usually does, even as a child."
"But... how do you know to whom to pray?"
"You don't. You just... pray."
"How do you begin your prayer? 'To whom it may concern?'"
"Okay, make fun!"
"No, seriously. You pray to... whoever will listen?"
"Right. And there is at least one god who will listen to you."
"Do they answer you?"
"I... Sometimes. Yes."
"You've been answered?"
"I... think so. Sometimes I get answers in prayer to questions I couldn't answer by myself."
"But you don't know which god is answering?"
"No."
"Have you asked?"
"Yes."
"But you have an obtuse god?"
"Or maybe I'm not listening correctly."
"What do you call your god?"
"I told you, I don't know –"
"I mean, how do you refer to him?"
"Her."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm pretty sure it's a female."
"What has led you to that conclusion? Does it have a feminine voice? Does it speak out loud?"
"No."
"Have you seen it?"
"No."
"Then on what evidence do you base the conclusion that it's female?"
"She... it... just feels female."
"Perhaps... unfulfilled sexual fantasies are –"
"Okay, I don't want to talk about it anymore."
"I apologize," he said softly.
"It's okay."
Cernaq sat back. "I still don't know what I should do."
"What does you heart tell you?"
"My heart," said Cernaq irritably, "is a mechanism for distributing oxygen into my blood stream and maintaining pressure in my circulatory system. It is a mechanism. It has no sentience, so it can't tell me –"
Metcalfe sighed. "Cernaq... do you love Aer'La?"
"I don't know."
"Yes you do."
"I – I don't even know if I know what love is. Ayn Rand said that –"
"Fuck Ayn Rand!"
"I can't. She's been dead for five centuries."
"Cernaq, what happens when Aer'La's close to you?"
"My blood pressure rises. My pulse quickens. In public, I must suppress the involuntary erectile reflex which –"
"She makes you horny."
"Fine."
"And would you ever hurt her?"
"Of course not."
"And would you let anyone else hurt her?"
"Not if I could prevent it."
"And what would you do if she died?"
"I... "
"Don't think! Just answer! What would you do if she died?"
"I don't –"
"You do! You do know!" Metcalfe jumped to his feet and leaned over his friend, placing his hands on the arms of the chair in which Cernaq was sitting. "What if she died, Cernaq? How would you feel?"
Cernaq pulled away from Metcalfe as much as he could. "Terry, your level of emotion is hurting me."
"How would you feel?" Metcalfe demanded again.
"Stop it," Cernaq said quietly. He looked away from the black eyes boring into his.
Metcalfe took hold of his chin and forced him to hold his gaze. "What if she dies, Cernaq?"
"I said stop it," said Cernaq. His voice was beginning to shake.
"No! I won't!" spat Metcalfe. "I want you to tell me –"
"I don't know!" Cernaq shouted.
"Yes you do!"
Cernaq rocked his upper body back and, using his legs to give him leverage, shoved Metcalfe with all the force he could muster. "Leave me alone!" he almost screamed, as Metcalfe stumbled backwards and fell against his bed.
Cernaq stood for a moment, clearly amazed at his own response.
"You made me angry," he said, his voice raw from shouting.
"It's one of my talents," said Metcalfe. "I can piss off damn near anyone."
"Did... did I hurt you?"
Metcalfe shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Terry."
"I'm not. We got your feelings unstuck." He stood and came to place his hands on Cernaq's shoulders. "Now tell me," he said evenly, "how you would feel if we did nothing tonight, and Aer'La died?"
"I... I can't imagine anything that painful."
Metcalfe raised one hand and clapped it on Cernaq's neck, catching his fingers in the blond curls and squeezing affectionately. "Then do whatever it takes to keep her alive."
Chapter Seven
Den of Thieves
After he had knocked several times, for she had disabled the A.I.'s receptionist function, Aer'La opened the hatch of her cabin to Cernaq. She was still dressed in the coverall she'd worn the previous shift. She didn't look like she'd been sleeping. In fact, she looked as though she hadn't slept in days. He knew that wasn't the case, but knowing didn't lessen the effect.
She wouldn't look at him. "What do you want?" she asked.
"I want to come in."
"I'm not... " she began, and then didn't seem to know what she wanted to say. "Not right now, huh?"
"I think it's very important that I talk to you... right now."
"I'm tired."
"Yes, you are, but you have no intention of sleeping, do you?"
She glared at him, as if holding his gaze could make him back down. It couldn't. "No. But I want to be alone."
"What you want and what's good for you may be two different things."
"Cernaq –"
"Aer'La, you're afraid."
"I don't want to talk about it." She started to close the hatch.
Cernaq put his hand out and held it open. She could have overcome his resistance and closed it anyway, of course. She didn't. The gesture, from someone who so rarely showed active resistance to anyone, was enough.
"Fear keeps you from thinking clearly," he said gently.
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