The airlock cycled as it filled, then the inner doors opened and Captain Pram emerged, flanked by blue-clad tavalai spacers Erik did not recognise at first glance… which was not to say that he hadn’t met them before. Tavalai faces were far more familiar than they had been, but not that familiar. Behind the first group swaggered a big tavalai half-a-head taller than the rest, dark-brown skinned with mottled black patches. With him were several more, all obviously karasai, just that much broader and stronger than the others. For all that humans liked to pride themselves on their diversity, tavalai exceeded it, with the range in size between largest and smallest often extreme. In tavalai Fleet the bigger ones, almost always males, tended toward the karasai.
Erik smiled at Pram as he approached, and extended a hand. Pram took it, a firm, leathery grip. At this point it was more show for the others than anything else. Erik did not need to shake the tavalai’s hand to feel a bond of trust between them. Pram looked past him, to the humans arrayed behind.
“Captain, I’m not certain you’ve met Commander Draper?” Erik suggested.
“Commander,” said Pram, with faint relief. “Not in person, no.” They shook hands. “Second-shift commander, I recall you from TK55. That was some fine manoeuvring.”
“As was yours, Captain,” said Draper, looking pleased.
“And Lieutenant Commander Dufresne,” Erik added, and Pram shook her hand as well.
“My sympathies to you all for Commander Shahaim,” said Pram. “And Lieutenant Karle as well. Distinguished officers.”
“Yes,” said Erik.
Pram nodded as well to Trace and Dale, not requiring any introduction there. “Well,” he said. “I suppose it is my turn.” He indicated the small tavalai on his right. Almost certainly female, Erik judged from her size. “This is Stmata Sasalaka. She is a Dobruta pilot of two years active service. Before the Dobruta she was Roji — Helm, you would say, on the Fleet cruiser Talaranda for five years. Prior to that, a fast surveillance vessel. Her testing and combat reports alike place her in the top five percentile, and she is young for her present rank.”
Sasalaka’s skin was a more normal tavalai dark-to-light mottled green. Her big, froggy eyes, which had remained fixed on some point past Erik’s shoulder, now swivelled to glance up at him, adjusting for telescopic depth. Unsure of the protocols, no doubt, between humans and tavalai of differing rank in such a situation. Erik smiled at her, and extended a hand. Sasalaka took it, tentatively.
“Do you speak English, Stmata Sasalaka?” Erik asked her. ‘Stmata’ was Togiri for a rank roughly equivalent to Lieutenant, Erik knew.
“Yes Captain,” she said, a voice higher and less gravelly than her Captain’s, but more thickly accented. “Not as well as Captain Pram.”
Erik kept all reaction off his face. Less-than-perfect English was usually an immediate disqualifier from a Fleet warship bridge. Communication was vital, and even minor delays or misunderstandings could be catastrophic. But then, he was seriously considering putting Tif on the bridge one day, if she continued her recent improvements. If, god forbid, they lost another pilot, he was going to have to do it immediately. Six was the ideal number of pilots on a carrier, and four the absolute minimum. Right now they had three. Until Pram’s offer, he’d been planning to put Lieutenant Hausler on second-shift Helm, and bring Dufresne up to fill Shahaim’s spot at the Captain’s side. Which would have deprived Operations of one more shuttle pilot. Of course, they were already short of shuttle pilots, too.
“And why have you been chosen for this duty, Stmata Sasalaka?”
“The Dobruta asked for volunteers, Captain.”
“You volunteered to serve on a human warship?”
“Yes Captain.”
“Why?”
“Dobruta serve, Captain. The mission was explained. It seemed important. Volunteers were required. I volunteered.”
Erik nodded slowly, trying to figure that out. Tavalai were rarely short of words, but that did not always make their reasoning transparent. Sasalaka was talking about duty, which tavalai in all walks of life were stubbornly insistent upon, toward whichever of the grand institutions they served. Sasalaka was a loyal Dobruta, the Dobruta asked for volunteers, so she volunteered. That it would make him uncomfortable was predictable. Ideally, when offering the controls of the UFS Phoenix to a new crewmember, even in the co-pilot’s role, it was preferable that that crewmember be loyal to this ship and not some other. But in this situation, he supposed, it was always going to be too much to ask.
“And how much of your piloting has been as lead pilot?” Erik asked.
“Half, Captain. Second shift on both of my…” a pause as she searched for a word. “My previous ships. I have five combat incidents on my record, all were graded high, as are my simulator scores. I was on… on path, to pilot ibranakala-class carrier.”
Ah, Erik thought, beginning to see the shape of it now. A young hotshot pilot, formerly tavalai Fleet, seeing some action at the tail of the Triumvirate War before the final ceasefire. Now joining the Dobruta, two years ago Captain Pram said… perhaps in search of more action? With the war over, tavalai Fleet was largely inactive. She aspired to fly an ibranakala-class like Makimakala, and during the war her prospects would have been good, given all the casualties and new positions opening. And now she was given a chance to fly Helm for a warship even more powerful than an ibranakala-class, with the obvious drawback that she’d be surrounded by humans and completely outside of any chain of command that might save her if human-tavalai relations soured. For a young pilot desperate for advancement, it seemed a prudent if risky course toward achieving her goals.
Only no, Erik reconsidered… tavalai were not known for selfish individualism. And Sasalaka had said she was simply doing what needed to be done, from a very tavalai sense of duty. Maybe there was nothing more to it than that. Well, he could explore that mystery in greater depth later on.
“And we have brought sixty-two spacer volunteers, of various specialities,” Pram added. “I do not know what your present crewing requirements are like, I recall that you were short-handed even before the Battle of Defiance. I doubt that sixty-two is nearly enough, but it was all the volunteers that we could muster.”
“Where are they from?” Erik asked.
“I will provide you with complete personnel lists, of course. Some of the systems-specialists will no doubt struggle to transition to human technology, but then it appears it will be some time until Phoenix can leave Defiance, so there will be time to practice.”
“That’s not such a problem,” said Erik. “It’s not entirely human technology any longer. Even my regulars are struggling to adjust.”
“I see,” said Pram, cautiously. “May I also introduce Nkai Karajin.” Indicating for the big, dark tavalai behind to step forward. “He is five years retired but insists his physical condition remains suitable for service. Before that, he served for twenty-two years in a number of roles in the karasai, finally retiring at Nkai — your equivalent marine rank of Lieutenant. He is highly decorated, and his last command was on the Jesanduran.”
“I know the Jesanduran,” Erik said solemnly, and shook the big karasai’s hand as well. “By reputation, at least.” And indicated him to Trace, as she was the one he’d need to impress if this unlikely thing was going to happen.
But Lieutenant Dale intercepted the tavalai before he could take Trace’s offered hand. “Karajin?” he said with a squint of dubious recognition, and an extended hand. “I thought it was you.”
The big tavalai backed up a little, eyes swivelling inward to consider Dale’s face. Tavalai features were wide-set, and no doubt the facial recognition portions of their brains struggled with close-set human features. “Dale?” he said.
Dale shook his hand, which Karajin evidently found strange. “On Gamesh. You were on the left flank, yes?”
Karajin waited for his earpiece to translate that. No English at all with the karasai, Erik knew. That was unsurprising — it was on
ly the senior bridge crew who were encouraged to learn their enemies’ language in hope of understanding them better. When he answered, it was in thick Togiri. “Yes,” said Erik’s translator. “You were forward guard on the right flank. We were impressed.”
“Major,” said Dale, turning to her, “this is one of Toognam’s friends from Gamesh, he fought with us. Or we didn’t see him in the fight, but we had some drinks afterward.” He turned back to the karasai, with evident enthusiasm. “So how is old Toognam? Is he doing okay?”
“Toognam was informed of your losses here,” said Karajin. “He was concerned, and led talks with all of us recently retired veterans. He explained something of your situation. And he expressed confidence in your character, Lieutenant Dale.”
Dale, Erik saw with astonishment, looked genuinely touched. “Good,” he said with emotion, jaw tight. “Real good. He’s a good old frog, we fought well together.”
“All of your karasai volunteers are from Gamesh?” Trace asked the tavalai.
“All,” Karajin agreed. “Toognam is convincing. Phoenix fights the old machines, and they are always a far greater threat to the tavalim than humans. We fear for all tavalai if the machines should rise once more.”
“As we fear for all humans,” Trace agreed. “How many are you?”
“Forty. We make two platoons. And the Dobruta have given us armour. Better than squeezing into skinny human armour.” Karasai platoons being less than half the size of marine platoons — twenty karasai each.
“And all of you were retired?”
“Dobruta have few karasai to spare. Serving Fleet karasai are rarely given permission to reassignment. We have had months advance notice. We have been training. And we’ve been given a karasai assault shuttle, the same one you see outside, with crew. The pilot is Leralani, he once served on the Togolich, he is best quality.”
And they’d flown out here on Makimakala, uncertain what situation they’d find, or if Phoenix would even accept their offer. The first time Pram had met with Erik, and was then introduced to Hannachiam, Pram had not raised the subject, feeling out the situation first. Erik was not offended at all, it was exactly what he’d had come to expect from Pram — wisdom and caution.
Effectively it was the offer of an entire tavalai dramata — a formation of two platoons, forty karasai with all tavalai equipment, plus a new assault shuttle. The addition of Sasalaka, plus the shuttle and pilot, would mean he could fill first-shift Helm, keep Lieutenant Hausler flying PH-1 where he belonged, and use the new tavalai shuttle effectively as PH-2 — the assault shuttle Phoenix had lost back on Homeworld with all crew and passengers. Add the civilian AT-7 and they’d have five shuttles, albeit only four of them armed… though lately the techs had been making modifications to AT-7 as well. Five shuttles, five nearly full-strength platoons, four warship pilots plus Tif still in training when her shuttle duties permitted…
Hope surged again. It was crazy, mixing human and tavalai crew so soon after that terrible war where they’d all been trying to kill each other. But so much that had happened to Phoenix lately was crazy, and he’d stopped caring about it. Right now his only concern was whether it was effective. And if Phoenix had managed to survive a kuhsi shuttle pilot, a drysine whatever-Styx-was, and were now grooming three drysine drones for engineering and occasionally combat duties, then he was pretty sure they could survive a bunch of tavalai crew as well. Tavalai, at least, were much less likely than drysines to murder them all in their sleep. What the tavalai would make of serving alongside the drysines, however, was another thing yet to reckon with.
“Who do you serve?” Timoshene sat in the mostly empty rows of shuttle seats, weapon across his armoured thighs, considering Lisbeth’s unwanted invitee beneath the black bandana many parren used within helmets to prevent the chafing of hairless scalps. Unmasked for now, he considered his helmet’s ongoing diagnostic, scrolls of parren symbols across its visor.
Hiro gazed for a moment, as though surprised to see this Domesh warrior without his coverings. Humans, Lisbeth thought, were often surprised to see how pragmatic the apparently obsessive parren could be in the practice of their various ideologies. Timoshene was armouring up, and head coverings were for the moment impractical. Hiro had not yet learned that Timoshene did not cover his face because he didn’t wish anyone to see him — he covered it because he did not wish his own thoughts contaminated by impure vanity. Considering that he qualified as very handsome among parren, Lisbeth thought it made even more sense. It was hard to cleanse one’s soul of impure thoughts when female parren took second and third looks.
“I serve Phoenix,” Hiro said, lounging in the custom EVA suit he’d taken from Phoenix, hard-shelled like armour but lacking the firepower and military systems of marine armour.
“You were a spy for the human central government,” Timoshene replied. Lisbeth sat alongside, watching her command post screens for the latest feeds from her office, where Semaya ran things in her absence. “Lisbeth Debogande is not the only one who can read. I read that the central human spy agency requires lifelong devotion. You then gained employment with Alice Debogande. Alice Debogande never did require that you renounce previous loyalties.”
Hiro smiled lazily, one of those teeth-bearing grins that parren of all houses found alien and disconcerting. “My spy agency likes the Debogande family. They don’t mind me getting employment there. So what about you, Timoshene? What house were you before Harmony?”
“It’s not a polite question, Hiro,” Lisbeth told him in English, warningly. She was the only one present who didn’t need the translator. “I think you know that.”
“So we can never question a parren’s loyalty, huh?” Considering Timoshene with relaxed malice. “Despite them stabbing each other in the back all the time?”
“You’re my guest, Hiro,” Lisbeth reminded him. “You promised me you’d be on your best behaviour.”
“This is my best behaviour,” said Hiro. Lisbeth shook her head in exasperation, checking her left screen as the flyer’s position approached Komaran Es.
“I was born to House Fortitude,” Timoshene said calmly. The helmet finished its diagnostic, and he pulled it over his head, settling the rim carefully as the systems matched and the seals engaged. “I served in security there, and saw several conflicts. It was my blessing to phase to a house where those skills remained of use.”
“Because Harmony and Fortitude are the two fighting houses, huh? Who’s better?”
“A poorly conceived question. Each has strengths.”
“Are you a better warrior now that you’ve phased to Harmony?”
“Assuredly,” said Timoshene, voice muffled within the armoured helmet, visor raised. “But that will happen with age and experience, irrespective of phase. Are you a better warrior now that you have left your intelligence agency?”
“It’s possible.”
Timoshene glanced in Lisbeth’s direction. “Tell me again why we must bring this one?”
“Because Phoenix will need to see what Rehnar found at Komaran Es,” Lisbeth said shortly. “And because Gesul gave me permission to involve Phoenix crew as I see fit in all matters that are not expressly secret.”
“Where is Rehnar, exactly?” Hiro wondered.
“That’s a matter for Rehnar and his supporters,” Lisbeth retorted. “As you also know.” Some deposed leaders committed ritual suicide. Others faded into willing obscurity. Some became monks of obscure orders. Mostly it was not polite to enquire into their fate. But certainly no one worried about them making a comeback as a human politician might. Parren esteem did not survive great falls from power. Usually not parren lives, either.
Timoshene snapped his visor down and tested the responsiveness of his armoured limbs. As her security head, he answered primarily to Gesul, not to her. If Gesul gave him an order he would obey unquestioningly, irrespective of the consequences. If Lisbeth gave him an order, he’d obey so long as he saw no good reason not to. Among parren it was a signif
icant distinction.
Lisbeth got her own helmet affixed as the shuttle approached. Timoshene assisted with a final check of her suit systems, but she was an old hand at EVAs now, and all was in order. They departed by a side airlock, a short jump in low G to the landing pad floor, and yet another of Defiance’s uniquely alien cityscapes. Komaren Es was a gridwork of raised square structures, each the size of a city block. Looking up at the identical squares in rows, Lisbeth thought this vantage something like a tiny insect might have that had landed on a block of chocolate, and wandered into one of the crevasses that divided the squares.
A House Harmony functionary was awaiting them, and exchanged brief protocols with Timoshene before leading them away in low, skipping bounces. There was much parren traffic, teams of engineers, strings of large dismounted generators, communication arrays with dishes aimed at the ever-present stars, no doubt untrusting of hardline communications.
The blocks themselves were open on the ground floor, where brilliant light flooded the vacuum. The guide led them into one such opening, surrounded by looming transport gantries and automated cranes that would once have shifted large loads onto waiting drysine vehicles. Beyond that, and an open logistics floor crawling with parren engineers, scientists and soldiers, was a wall of machinery that looked more like abstract modern art, a collision of strange shapes, pressure chambers and things that sparked and flashed.
“Manufacturing center of some sort,” said Hiro, panning about to get a good view. No doubt he had helmet cam operating. “Drysine age. Too advanced to be whatever was here before drysines.”
Croma Venture: (The Spiral Wars Book Five) Page 15