Meaning?
You really should study my memories of this ship and its crew, Cernaq. There is no military discipline, nor any understanding of the importance of one's assigned work. There are no shared goals, no mutually beneficial outcome for which they all strive. The strong rule the weak, and fear is ruthlessly maintained.
Harl nearly killed a man not long after we came aboard. He beat him almost to death with a chain. Apparently, the victim had forgotten to complete maintenance tasks Harl had assigned. I don't believe he'd actually understood Harl's instructions. The error was correctable; the man could have learned from his mistake... I suggested this to Harl. He didn't understand me.
I attempted to apply first aid to the man. He was a bloody pulp. Harl stopped me. He said their own medics would keep him alive, and, later, Harl himself would decide if the man should live, or be finally beaten to death.
There is still blood on my hands. They have no personal cleaning facilities for the crew. I would have to go to Harl's cabin to wash.
You need to get out of there. It's not safe.
Harl has an overwhelming desire to protect me. He understands that, if I am his ally, he stands to gain much. I am perfectly safe, as long as I remain with him and continue to cool his sexual ardor with my mental skills. If he stays in command –
Is he likely to lose command?
At any moment. His hold over his crew is tenuous. If he were to reveal a moment's weakness – if an opponent were to best him physically – I've no doubt he would be brutally and immediately slaughtered.
And his killer would assume command?
Undoubtedly.
I was also able to observe a number of Inihu under Harl's care.
Ironic that he says he's not a slaver – with slaves on his ship.
He says they are not slaves.
'Custodial wards,' or some such nonsense?
Are you sure it's nonsense, Cernaq?
What do you mean?
The animals – ferals – I saw... I know they were drugged, but... when I tried to touch their minds, it was like... touching an animal. No coherent thought. Primal emotion... chaotic. And, physically... some of them soiled themselves and didn't realize it... several masturbated the entire time I observed them... When the crew would come to... use them... some didn't even notice. Some seemed to enjoy the experience only if pain was inflicted on them... One woman's arm was broken during the sex act. A compound fracture, with bone protruding... she didn't acknowledge it.
As you say, they were drugged.
But Aer'La's mind, when not drugged, is similarly chaotic.
It is not as well-ordered as a Phaetonian mind, I grant you.
Nor a Terran, even. Metcalfe's mind –
Metcalfe's mind is unusual among his people. Even among Inworlders. He is more devoted to rational thought than the average individual.
Still, you see the difference. Aer'La is a creature of passions. In that way, she is characteristic of her race.
And... you would see her... enslaved? Like those women you saw?
...
Pallas?
Not all people – all sentients – have equal faculties. The idea that we are all basically intelligent, moral, capable of deciding what's best for our own welfare – just a legal fiction. Pretty words in our founding documents, meant to make everyone feel secure and entitled. Meant to artificially elevate those with lesser gifts to the status of those with greater gifts, so that envy doesn't bring about revolution and social collapse.
It's true legal equality is more of a guiding principle than a reality...
But is it even a valid guiding principle? Are there not some people who need to have their decisions made for them, their actions curbed, their freedoms inhibited, lest they harm others through their own moral or intellectual incompetence?
There are individuals of whom that's true –
And what if there were an entire species of whom it was true?
You're espousing racism, Pallas.
'Racism' is only a word. Like all words, it means nothing out of context. If one species is, in fact, inferior in every way to another, is it so wrong to simply admit that fact?
It's... dangerous. Aer'La's case is a prime example. Those who don't know her assume she's dangerous and unstable, because she's an Inihu. They haven't taken time to collect the facts about her as an individual.
And you have, but don't you understand...? She's not dangerous to you, because you've befriended her. Many people in the Inner Worlds and on Terra keep pets – animals who would be dangerous in the wild, but have been tamed.
I don't see –
Those animals would not likely harm the humans to which they have bonded, because they recognize those humans as the alpha member of their own pack. They might, however, harm other humans. There is legal precedent –
– Cernaq!
What?
You are... angry.
I suppose I am.
At me?
Yes, Pallas.
Why? Is it...? You believe you are in love with Aer'La.
I don't know what that term means, precisely. I know that Aer'La is extremely important to me. Her welfare is as important to me as my own. Perhaps more. Your comparison of her to a domesticated beast angers me. If that is love –
Love is the recognition of one's own moral ideals realized in another.
Perhaps that's a pretty fiction, Pallas.
You are not the Phaetonian you once were, Cernaq.
No. I'm not.
Cernaq... what if Aer'La is a murderer?
I do not believe it. I have seen the truth in her mind.
Harl says the ferals have such strong emotions, such a capacity for self-delusion, that they might even fool a telepath. She might have made you see lies as truth.
Pallas, although you see that I've changed, I am still a Phaetonian. My rational capacity is my very identity. If I stop trusting my own judgment, I may as well stop living. I believe Aer'La is innocent. I believe her people are unfairly enslaved. All of my actions will proceed from that premise.
Then I hope you are correct, Cernaq. Harl has learned what you and Metcalfe have done. He's on his way to see Atal and Fournier now. Whether you're right or wrong, I'm afraid things are going to go very badly for you and your friends.
* * *
"Show Captain Harl in. We're ready for him."
The order was given by Fournier to Sestus Blaurich. With the arrests of both the Bos'n and the executive officer, the Prince of Quintil Industry had been assigned by Darby to head security for the duration of the shake-up.
The Varthan captain shoved his way past Blaurich and stormed inside. He may have been drunk. His body language bespoke a lack of control. Maybe he was just that mad.
"I've waited long enough, Admiral! Where is my prisoner?"
"Captain Harl –" Atal began.
Fournier held up a hand, silencing him. It was damned rude, on Atal's own ship, but that was Fournier's style, to take liberties. "Captain Harl, I apologize for the delay. It seems that..." He glared sidelong at Atal. "... Errors have been made. I am now in full control of the situation, and promise you that I shall correct –"
"Where's my prisoner?"
"Well, as I was explaining –"
"Where is the bitch?"
Fournier actually looked taken aback by Harl's outburst. Atal found it refreshing to see. The Admiral maintained his diplomatic calm, however. "She has – temporarily! – broken custody."
"That's what I'd heard. Thought it was a joke. You've lost her!"
"That is essentially the case. You see –"
"You genetically degenerated fuck!"
Fournier went crimson. His jaw clenched. His fists clenched. For a moment, he seemed to be debating between unleashing one of his celebrated fits of intimidation, or just decking the bastard. Then he regained himself.
"Captain Harl," his tone was shriveling. "I fully respect your authority in this matter, and intend to lend you every possibl
e cooperation; but I must insist you remember that I am Admiral of Confederate Navy, and entitled to a certain level of respect."
"You've lost my prisoner."
"As I said, mistakes were made."
"Who made mistakes, Admiral?"
"That... is unimportant now. What is important is that we correct the mistakes. We're going to. The girl cannot have left the ship, and I am organizing search parties –"
"Not good enough."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Admiral, your people lost the girl. Why should I trust them to find her?"
"What are you suggesting?"
"I want ship's schematics. I'll conduct the search with my own people."
Unnoticed, Atal shook his head in wonder at the nerve of the man. Surely not even Fournier wasn't stupid enough to fall for that. Give classified information on ship's design to the Varthans? He couldn't possibly –
"Done," said Fournier.
"What?" Atal demanded.
Fournier glared at him, speaking as if this glaring tactical error were the obvious next step to take. "Give Captain Harl ship's schematics, and order your security teams to assist him and his people in searching the Titan."
"Sir..." Atal stammered, suppressing several of the choicest Terran profanities Metcalfe had taught him. "Ship's schematics are not for general release –"
"Not for release to the enemy, no. Are you suggesting that our Varthan allies are not to be trusted, Atal?"
Atal knew better than to answer. He just looked at Harl and said tightly. "I consider it unwise to release ship's schematics, sir."
"Your objection is noted. Give him the schematics. I want the prisoner found. I still have at least one of your officers to court martial, Atal, and I don't have all year to spend correcting your mistakes."
* * *
"Am I... disturbing you?"
Metcalfe looked up. On the other side of the transparency which formed the front wall of his cell, her voice carried to him over an intercom, Pallas stood, observing him.
"You would know, wouldn't you?" he asked, not looking up. He lay casually on one of four bunks in the cell.
"Why does that bother you? You've worked with telepaths for years. I suppose it's just me you object to?"
He hesitated. He really didn't know how he'd felt about her. Since coming to the cell, there'd been plenty of time to think; but all of his thoughts had been about Aer'La.
"I couldn't say." After a moment, he asked, "Why did you come here, anyway?"
"I heard what happened. I was... sorry."
"Why? I'm in a cage, like the rest of the animals. Like Aer'La, whom you clearly hold in such contempt."
"You're very bitter. I suppose you feel betrayed, that I haven't simply dismissed Captain Harl, the way you have. I believe you'd call it 'fraternizing with the enemy?'"
"Something like that."
"Has it occurred to you that I might simply be seeking further information?"
"It's occurred to me that you were being awfully chummy with a slaver."
"I could hardly gather information from him by being belligerent. If you'd put your baser emotions aside, long enough to –"
"'Baser emotions?' You know, Doctor, I don't know if it's Aer'La you hold in contempt... or all of us."
Pallas was silent for a moment. She actually looked hurt. The mildest pang of regret tapped at Metcalfe's conscience. He was speaking in extreme anger. When he did that, he often treated people as if they were invulnerable. He also had a habit of assuming Phaetonians were invulnerable. He knew it wasn't true. Perhaps he should back off.
"So," Pallas said icily, "You approve of Aer'La's crimes?"
Maybe not.
"You mean, do I approve of escaping slavery? Hell yeah, I approve. My kind have this historical aversion to captivity. We've lived through a lot of it these past few centuries."
"Terra was liberated decades ago."
"Terra was reclaimed decades ago, Doctor, by your people, not by mine. If you believe we're a free world, I've some prime real estate on Hestia's dark side you might be interested in."
"I wasn't impugning Terrans when you were eavesdropping on my conversation with Captain Harl," she said, and tried to keep an even tone. "I merely –"
"You impugn all humanity by even implying that a slaver's opinion is worth considering. I can't believe you'd suck up to a... a – !"
"Has it occurred to you that this... woman you're protecting might actually be guilty of murder?"
"It has not."
"Why? How long have you known her? How can you be so sure?"
"Because I do know her. She's vicious and hot-tempered, but she's not a murderer. She'd kill in a second to protect one of her own – and by her own I mean her shipmates. She's been at my back in more than one fight, and I know I can trust her. And she knows she can trust me, no matter what the evidence says."
He stood, crossing to face her through the transparency. In retrospect, he would realize that his anger over Aer'La's fate drove him harder than he should have let it. That didn't stop him, at that moment, from saying, "If you can't see that Aer'La is what she is, and that Harl is a chronic liar and a manipulator, then maybe Phaetonians don't have the enhanced brain power everyone says they do, or maybe someone slipped up on your gene chart, Doctor. Even so, I can't believe Professor Mors hasn't taught you to think any better than you are right now."
Pallas drew herself up. "He taught me to think for myself. Just because I disagree with you, does that say to you that I'm not thinking? Are all Terrans such incredible egotists, to believe that conscious thought is defined as that which most closely resembles what's happening in their own minds?"
"Bigotry is not part of real thought, and what you were spouting to Harl was nothing but bigotry. It really gets to you, doesn't it, the idea that some of us 'creatures' engage in sex – even enjoy it! That's so far from your experience, your narrow, Phaetonian way of viewing the universe, that you just can't stand it, can you? Well, I'm sorry that the rest of humanity isn't the collection of high-minded eunuchs your people are, but does that entitle you to advocate selling us into slavery?"
For just a moment, he thought her control might lapse, her face begin to color. "I think perhaps sex is the issue here, Midshipman. I think your inability to control your own sexual needs causes you to be unable to think clearly about Aer'La. I think her pheromones have taken hold of your glands to the point that your brain is no longer part of the equation."
"And maybe," he shot back, "you're jealous that no one looks at you the way they do Aer'La?"
"And maybe you're nothing but a degenerate sensualist, like all of –" She broke off, took a long breath. "Mister Metcalfe, I don't believe this conversation is productive any longer."
"I don't understand why you came here in the first place," he said.
She shook her head. "No. Neither do I."
She walked away without another word. He stood there, not knowing what to do next, in silence. He didn't know how long it was before Kaya came along. She studied his face closely, and grinned a pixieish grin.
"You all right?"
He shrugged.
"Want to tell me about it?"
"No."
"Pallas was just here."
"I know."
"She looked mad."
"I know."
"Your technique must be improving."
"Leave me alone," he said, and started to turn away.
She pulled up a chair to the transparent wall and settled down, leaning against it. She grinned again. "Never."
* * *
Carson and Celia Faulkner had, independently, decided to visit Cernaq in his own, less uncomfortable confinement. The Doctor was now reclining in his desk chair, a cup of tea perched atop her hands, which were folded over her chest. Carson sprawled on the floor across from her.
"Damned shame we couldn't have moved fast enough to get the child to Hecate," Celia observed.
"Then we all would have been
up on charges, Doc," said Carson. "I'm not sure we all won't be anyway, when Fournier is finished here," said Cernaq. "Though, granted, imprisoning Metcalfe removes a sizeable thorn from the Admiral's side."
"Shouldn't we be checking on Aer'La?" Faulkner wondered. "Since Metcalfe is confined, he can't go to her –"
"He has indicated that he will divulge her location, should the need arise," Cernaq replied. "In addition, I am in constant contact with Aer'La as we speak. She is in no physical danger."
"Then you already know where she is?" asked Carson.
"I am carefully avoiding that bit of information. Our contact is limited to my providing updates, and reassurance. She knows that Metcalfe has been arrested. I have been trying to calm her feelings of –"
The hatch opened suddenly. Sestus Blaurich stood in the opening, looking expectant and accusing.
"Hello, Five," said Carson.
"Haven't you heard of knocking, Mr. Blaurich?" asked Celia.
Five smirked. "Courtesy is not strictly required in an emergency situation, nor when dealing with a prisoner."
She bristled. "Courtesy is always required, young man."
Five ignored her. "I've been placed in charge of security by Captain Darby. Until the prisoner is secured –"
"You haven't secured her?" Carson interrupted. "Now, here I thought you were omnipotent, Five. Couldn't Mummy's money buy enough bloodhounds?"
"Quiet!" snapped Blaurich. "This assembly is improper. Until we have established the whereabouts of the fugitive Varthan, I cannot allow any opportunities for conspiracy to foment."
Faulkner stood and approached him. "This has gone far enough, you little miscreant. I'm going to see the Captain –"
He blocked her path. "No, Doctor. You'll have to wait until I can escort you. First, I'm going to –"
He broke off as Cernaq bolted up off his bunk, his face ashen.
"Gods, Cernaq, what's wrong?" demanded Celia, moving to him.
"Aer'La," he muttered distractedly. "I can't..."
"What kind of game is this?" spat Five. "Cernaq, sit back –"
"Shut up!" hissed Carson, who had also gone to Cernaq's side. "What about Aer'La?"
"I've lost contact with her... Can't feel her conscious mind... There was a surge of pain... and then..."
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