The Terrans

by Jean Johnson

  “Their skin is very pretty,” Li’eth added, scooping the chicken—which looked and smelled like ordinary herbed chika to him—onto his plate, alongside a very colorful selection of glossy cooked vegetables from the dish Robert had made. “Like the stone, opal? Like . . . milk mixed with water, different colors and slightly translucent. But the colors do not change, save by the angle and play of light and shadow. Unlike the Gatsugi.”

  “Gatsugi?” Brad asked, entering the kitchen. He had showered and changed into loose trousers and a short-sleeved shirt, both in a medium shade of blue. “What is that?”

  “A race of sentient beings. They breathe oxygen like us, and are carbon-based. They have two legs somewhat like ours, if with much longer toes,” Dai’a told him, offering him a plate as well. “But they have shorter legs, and their torsos are longer, with four arms. Both are thinner and a little weaker than a V’Dan arm, and they only have three fingers and an opposing thumb on each hand. But collectively, their arms are strong. We’re told it’s because they evolved to climb and cling out of the reach of predators, as the Chinsoiy evolved their wing-flaps to soak in the radiations of their overactive home sun.”

  “They have big eyes, too,” Li’eth explained, gesturing with thumbs and forefingers curved but not touching in a circle over each of his own eyes. “Black and able to see into the infrared spectrum, where heatwaves lurk. They can see most purples, but not the ones close to ultraviolet . . . and I am glad we were given so many of your science words to explain many of these things.”

  “When I worked as a professional translator, I dealt a lot with scientists who were trying to explain things to government workers,” Ja’ki said, stepping back all the way to the cooking counter, leaving the second pilot plenty of room to approach the island counter where the food had been placed.

  Li’eth suddenly realized she had also subtly avoided bumping into Robert while cooking, swerving gracefully with a minimum of effort. This, however, was a much more overt movement, a clear I will not bump into you motion.

  Of course, with the strength of her holy powers, touching others must be uncomfortable, for it could share thoughts unbidden. I do much the same thing out of habit . . . though I feel a little safer after her training in how to guard my mind from others.

  He pulled his attention back to the topic, and the differences between the V’Dan—Humans—and the others. “While the Gatsugi are renowned as the race with four arms and two legs, their most famous and distinctive part of their appearance is the way their skin changes color. It is based upon their mood. If a Gatsugi is very happy, he or she literally appears a cheerful, bright blue. If they are frightened and sad, dull yellow. Anger is red, passion is purple, so on and so forth, with thousands of subtle shade differences, and even occasional mottlings—they prefer to conduct trade negotiations over a visual link, so that they can let their computer programs adjust their skin shade to appear a polite shade of calm, mild blue.”

  “Their word for acting is the same as their word for lying, and to be called an excellent liar is a high compliment,” Dai’a added.

  Shi’ol entered the kitchen, Ba’oul behind her; Dai’a moved to offer them plates and utensils as well. The two Terran pilots, Robert and Brad, politely moved into the dining chamber, with its long table and several seats, and long window overlooking the food garden with its racks of green, growing things in various stages of life. Ja’ki had explained that each of them would have to take on a set of chores to maintain the sector, from washing dishes to tending the plants, to sweeping the floors, wiping down walls, and, of course, keeping their own individual quarters clean. Inspection ready was the term she had used.

  In exchange for manual labor, they had food that smelled delicious, clean clothes, a reasonable facsimile of gravity underfoot, and they were one and all very much alive. Li’eth was grateful that—

  “Dish up my food,” he heard Shi’ol order Dai’a, pulling him out of his thoughts. He blinked and frowned . . . and frowned deeper when Dai’a moved to do so. Shi’ol moved on, adding a second command over her shoulder. “Bring it to me when it is ready.”

  “Hold!” Li’eth snapped in V’Dan.

  Both women stopped, Shi’ol swinging around to eye him in surprise, and Dai’a freezing with a spoonful of vegetables halfway to the plate in her hand. The only other person in the kitchen at the moment was Ja’ki, who also understood every word he said. But he did not speak in Terranglo to Shi’ol for her benefit. He did it so that those who analyzed the recordings of this moment would understand.

  “Leftenant Superior Nanu’oc, you are not authorized to order Leftenant Superior Vres-yat about like an ensign on her first tour of duty, or some third-or fourth-or fifth-rank member of the military. She is not your servant. You will dish up your own food, clean up your own quarters, and accept whatever chore that will be assigned to you. If you do not know how to undertake a task, you will ask these Terrans for help, as it is their equipment, their territory, and their methods that need to be followed.

  “You will not, at any time that we are here among these people, attempt to use your civilian status as a Countess of the Empire to wrest control of my authority, demand favors or services, or otherwise make yourself a poor example of the Empire among these people. Is that clear, Leftenant Superior Nanu’oc?” he finished, holding her gaze sternly.

  Face flushing almost as red as her rosette spots, Shi’ol inclined her head stiffly. “Yes. Captain Ma’an-uq’en.”

  Without another word, she accepted the plate from Dai’a, loaded it with food, accepted the bundle of utensils the life-support officer offered next, and headed for the dining hall with a stiff back and a tightly clenched jaw. Li’eth held his own posture stiff and straight until she vanished from view. He didn’t quite slump, but he wasn’t the only one to relax, either; Dai’a blew out a breath, one that ruffled her curls.

  A thread of thought brushed against his mind. (Do you think she’d calm down if you revealed yourself?)

  He blinked twice, then dragged in a breath and managed a polite, even slightly humorous reply. (I’m not sure which would be more dangerous. She might try to flirt with me. She seems the type.)

  (Not interested in women?) Ja’ki sent lightly, staying back out of the way as V’kol entered, chatting amiably with the other two Terran females, Mareeah and Ah-yinda, whose names he was still trying to figure out how to pronounce.

  Her sending didn’t have any sort of censure attached. Li’eth was grateful for that. A few minor cultural factions in the Empire disliked the thought of same-gender attractions, though the official stance on that sort of thing by the Empire was that if all of the people involved were fully informed, fully consenting adults, it was nobody else’s business, unless a same-sex couple wished to hire a consort as an official child-begetter. Plus, there was one particular faction on the other side of the spectrum that actively encouraged orgies . . . and he cut off his line of thought right there, because it would be utterly wrong to picture his hostess . . .

  (No, just not interested in her,) he asserted, reinforcing his mental shields while sternly redirecting his undercurrent thoughts back onto the topic at hand. (I have obligations to my bloodline, but I still have the right to refuse any particular partner I dislike. She is a fellow soldier, nothing more—she is good at her job,) he added, feeling compelled to defend his fellow officer. (She is exceptionally gifted at Logistics, navigating the labyrinth of paperwork when requisitioning supplies, fierce in getting them delivered on time in the correct kinds and amounts, and when we had our ship, could have told within a handful of nuts and bolts exactly what supplies were located where without having to glance at a data unit.)

  (Then I am glad she is an exemplary logistics officer,) Ja’ki returned smoothly. Sincerely, as far as he could tell.

  He glanced at her, suspicious, before scooping up a forkful of food. (Do you mean that? Or are you so skilled that you can lie in my mind?)

  The grin she flashed at him was
carefully done so behind the others’ backs. (Even if I could, I wouldn’t, and I’m not going to. No, I am sincerely glad she’s good at something. Other than being an arrogant bit of nasal snot, of course—snot being disgusting to deal with and not something one exposes to polite company willingly.)

  He almost choked on the vegetables. He didn’t, but it was a close thing. Biting his tongue to keep from laughing inappropriately, Li’eth chewed and swallowed with care. (That wasn’t in the etiquette notes I was reading . . . but maybe I just hadn’t reached that part, yet.)

  (It’s something we teach to children; I’m afraid those notes were written for adults.) She smiled as she sent it, her expression and her mental overtones apologetic.

  (Considering your people look like children, I’d think it would be in your books . . . I am sorry,) he sent, breaking off that line of thought with a flush of shame the moment her eyes narrowed. (That was inappropriate of me. Of course you are all adults. I should not let my inherent cultural prejudices blind me to that. I apologize.)

  ( . . . I still don’t get why you think we look like children.) Ja’ki sighed in his head.

  (You lack jungen. No marks means no maturity.)

  She dared to arch a brow at him. The others were just about finished collecting their food, and they moved, breaking her look for a moment, so she sent a question instead. (Does that really mean that Shi’ol is perceived to be the mature one, while I am not? Because by my culture’s standards, she is the one who is not acting, and thus being, mature. That is pretty much the only measurement system my people use.)

  (I know that. I realize that. But . . . you would have to be raised V’Dan to understand how difficult that is to set aside. I had my eyes awakened to look beyond the surface and its marks a little while ago, but . . . not everyone has.) He poked at his food with the fork, then looked up at her as she approached.

  Filling the last plate from the stack Dai’a had set out, Jackie served the food onto it, added utensils, and poured juice into two cups. Li’eth watched her move with economic grace, and remembered that, from her childhood images when teaching him Terranglo, she had done similar things, commoner things, for most of her life. That, too, would have to be something he had to watch for and guard against, lest it prejudice his thoughts.

  Then again, being in the military had already partially erased some of that prejudice; there were far more officers of the first as well as second ranks who were highly competent, yet born of common blood—soldiers from the Third, Fourth, and even Fifth Tiers who had proved themselves adept at leadership—than there were nobles from the First and Second Tiers . . . and plenty of nobles who should never have risen quite so high in their military ranks.

  (Come, we need to join the others. You can finish telling us about the other races.) She tipped her head toward the door.

  Breathing deep to brace himself, Li’eth gathered up his meal and followed her. The Terrans, he saw, had gathered at one end of the table. The V’Dan sat at the other end. There were a good six, seven seats in the middle that were available. Li’eth crossed to one of the middle ones and seated himself, visually bridging the gap between the two. To his pleasure, Ja’ki did the same thing on the other side.

  “So, you’ve told us about the Feyori, who are energy-based mirror-bubbles that like to meddle in the affairs of the others, and we’ve met the Salik,” she recited. “And then there are the Gatsugi, who have four arms and whose skin changes color depending upon their mood. And the Chinsoiy, who are silicon-based and can glide with their wing-flaps. Who or what else exists out there?”

  “The Choya are the next race, and they were the youngest, before meeting you—youngest in terms of having been members of the Alliance,” Li’eth clarified firmly. “Like all races, their culture and history stretch back for thousands of years, but we only made First Contact with them a few decades ago.”

  V’kol spoke up, gesturing toward his neck. “They are like the Salik in that they are amphibious; they are born with gills, and with lungs, but unlike the Salik, they retain their gills into adulthood, which they have to keep moist to keep them from drying out painfully. They are built similar to us, or at least more like us than like the squat, backwards-kneed Salik. The Salik can hold their breath for several mi-nah, which is . . . about seventy heartbeats per mi-nah?”

  Li’eth noted how the Terrans exchanged quick looks on hearing the V’Dan time-unit word. One of the ones at the Terran end of the table muttered, “That sounds like minute . . .” but he wasn’t sure which male had done it.

  “I take it the Choya don’t have to hold their breath, so much as they just close off their lungs and breathe through their gills,” Ja’ki concluded. At Li’eth’s nod, she shook her head. “I love to swim, but I can’t hold my breath for all that long. I could wish for gills at moments like that, but I wouldn’t want to be stuck with them. Do the Choya support the Salik in their war, being fellow amphibians?”

  All of the V’Dan shook their heads. Ba’oul spoke up, his tone subdued and his words carefully chosen. “From what we have heard, they are being attacked along with the rest of us. Their blood is different, but the Salik do not find them impossible to . . . to attack personally, and . . . so forth, as they do the Chinsoiy. Only the Chinsoiy are being attacked from a distance with mass-destruction weapons.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. What of the others? I seem to recall there are three more, from the language lessons,” she added.

  “I thought you were not allowed to talk of anything you learned,” Shi’ol snapped stiffly.

  Ja’ki dipped her head. “I am not allowed to talk of anything personal, you are correct. But this is common knowledge among all of you and thus not anything personal.”

  Tightening her mouth a little, Shi’ol picked up her fork and continued eating. The shapes of the utensils were a little different, the handles oddly curved, but Li’eth watched her handle them deftly enough to look about as graceful as the native Terrans. Arrogant, caste-conscious, but graceful.

  “Well . . . for the remaining three, there are the K’Katta, the Tlassians, and the Solaricans,” Dai’a explained. “The K’Katta look like giant . . . insect, is that the word? Arachnid? Arthro . . . arthropod?”

  She didn’t show any signs of her emotions visibly . . . but Li’eth got the impression Ja’ki was not pleased by that idea. He fumbled mentally toward her, and realized she was still holding mental hands with him. Using that link, he touched her, instead of letting her touch him first. (Are you alright, Bright Stone?)

  (I . . . what?) she asked, blinking at him.

  (That is what your name means in my tongue. Are you alright?) he repeated.

  (I hate spiders. I’m deeply afraid of them . . . and I have seen giant, freakish spider-people in all of your crew’s thoughts,) she said. He could feel her shuddering mentally. Outwardly, she merely put down her fork, barely listening while Dai’a explained their appearance.

  “They have ten legs, two of which are shorter than the rest—they are about a body’s length across, as tall as your Lars, or our Ba’oul,” the life-support leftenant explained. “They have a dual skeletal system, bones on the inside, hard armor on the outside, because they evolved on a world with higher gravity than ours—this gravity is similar to our own. For many of the K’Katta, that armor is covered in a sort of fuzzy fur, which keeps them warm in cold climates, and which they can shed to make themselves difficult to catch and hold—they don’t wear clothing like we do unless they absolutely have to, but they do make and wear the most beautifully woven sashes, as light as a feather puffing along on a gentle breeze.”

  “I have three K’Katta scarves at home,” Shi’ol offered, joining the conversation for the first time without any arrogance. Pride, but not arrogance. “One I inherited from my grandmother. It is as blue as the sky in the northern latitudes of our motherworld, V’Dan. Like that blue in the upper right corner of that painted image,” she added, nodding at the wall across from the big picture win
dow.

  Li’eth had to twist around to look at it. The blue in the upper corner of the painting on the artwork monitor had hints of violet to its tone. “It’s a lovely color.”

  “Yes, it is,” Shi’ol agreed, preening. “The Gatsugi—they communicate in colormoods—call that particular shade ‘Deep Contentment.’”

  “A good thing to know. May it always bring you that feeling, when you see or wear it,” Ja’ki added diplomatically.

  “. . . Thank you.” Shi’ol eyed the Terran Ambassador, then returned her attention to her food. It was perhaps the first peaceful conversation the two women had held so far.

  Li’eth found himself hoping the truce would continue. He changed the subject. “The next race would be the Tlassians. They are . . . lizardlike? I am picturing a word . . . the vocabulary escapes me. It is for a lizard, bigger than a V’Dan, but not quite the size of a small vehicle. It runs on two legs, with a tail behind it, balanced forward, longish arms . . .”

  “Raptor?” Lars offered.

  “Here . . . like this?” Ja’ki offered, and held up her hand, palm out. On the table between her and Li’eth, a strange glowing mist coalesced out of thin air, and shaped itself into a loaf-of-bread-sized version. It swung its head and tail, looking around, then “ran” in place, with bits of vegetation passing into and out of range of its body. Li’eth blinked, started, but it was V’kol who found his voice first.

  “You have a technology that can project three-dimensional images?” the gunnery leftenant asked, peering at the illusion.

  Ja’ki shook her head. “It is one of my psychic abilities—holy gifts—one which we call holokinesis. I am a direct descendant of a special bloodline, the great-plus-granddaughter of a woman named Jesse James Mankiller. We are hoping to escort you to the Moon when we are finally free to leave quarantine, to show you for yourselves the marks she left on its airless surface.”