by Jean Johnson
They sat in silence for a little while, Li’eth rubbing his forehead and Ja’ki sighing once in a while, leaning back against the couch with her skull resting on its upper edge. Finally, she said, “. . . The problem isn’t your getting mad at her. I know you understand that there are legal ramifications for doing so.”
“I do regret acting as I did. I didn’t think, though. I just . . . reacted to the insult she gave you,” Li’eth explained. “Charuta is the name of a character in a story—an underage character, about the age of thirteen V’Dan years, maybe fourteen, having started puberty but still a couple years from her jungen fever. In the tale, she goes from adult to adult, seducing and ruining them socially, financially, culturally . . . as does her younger brother, Maruto. It is a very serious piece of slander when applied to an adult. Unlike Shi’ol, I know you are an adult, legally and culturally. I am doing my best to see you as an adult.”
“This Charuta sounds something like our ‘Lolita’ character, but that was an underage girl seducing just the one fellow, if I remember right,” Ja’ki said. Another sigh escaped her, and she rubbed at the bridge of her nose, thinking. “There is another option. There is a grace period given to psis when they are undergoing formal training. I have given you some instruction, and I blocked the burst of your power so it could do no damage. But it would have to be proved that you are not fully in control . . . but as I am not an official trainer, no one would take my word alone for it.”
“So how does this make that an option to control the damage done?” Li’eth asked.
“If we presume that you acted without conscious control over your abilities?” she asked him.
“I didn’t intend to burn her,” he asserted. “I was angry, but I acted rather poorly because I reacted to her insult without thinking.”
“Well, it’s not common, but we can ask for a volunteer to enter quarantine with us. A certified instructor from the Psi League or the Witan Order, preferably one with pyrokinesis, biokinesis, and auramancy. That way, you’d get more training than I’ve been able to get you, plus we could certify through an independent observer that you are not consciously in control of your projection abilities—you’re gaining a lot of control in your telepathy, but as I am not a pyrokinetic, I cannot gauge how well you’re mastering that,” she reminded him.
“I’m not,” he admitted bluntly. “I cannot control when it happens. It just . . . does. On V’Dan, such things are understood and allowances are made. Legally, it would be considered . . . what is the Terran legal term . . . manslaughter? As opposed to murder?”
“Were you thinking of killing her before she insulted me?” Ja’ki asked.
Li’eth shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. Nor even during it.”
“Involuntary manslaughter would be the term for it. Except that would require criminal negligence, which is willfully avoiding a course of action that would prevent death. You are actively agreeing to be trained, and cooperating with what training I have been able to give you, so you are not willfully avoiding that course of preventive action . . . so manslaughter wouldn’t apply,” Ja’ki reasoned. “It’s not constructive manslaughter; you weren’t committing an unlawful act when the attempt to kill her happened. In fact, you were reacting in defense of my honor, so to speak. That’s not illegal in and of itself. So technically, you had provocation, and you were in a way acting in defense of another person.”
“Well, I wasn’t intending to use holy fire—pyrokinesis—upon her,” Li’eth said, gesturing at the front door. “I will admit I felt like I needed to slap her, slap some sense into her as your people say it. Except I was burning up and just . . . It just came out of me like a slap.”
“Involuntary loss of psychic control under aggravated provocation,” Ja’ki rattled off. She looked over at him and sat up, nodding. “That is what happened. Now that I think about it, this is like a test case we had in my classes at the Psi League training headquarters in Honolulu—it’s the capital city of the Hawai’ian Islands, though obviously not the capital city of the United Planets,” she dismissed. “But in order to prove it, we need to prove you’re not fully trained. That requires, as I said, requesting a certified instructor to join us in quarantine.”
“What sort of . . . of diplomatic ramifications would happen with that particular claim?” Li’eth asked her, curious.
“Mandatory training sessions,” Ja’ki revealed dryly, not quite rolling her eyes. “Which again would require pulling someone into quarantine with us, since it would require physical contact to enforce the psychic lessons with suitable impact. If you do not cooperate, as in willfully do not cooperate, you get a warning and you get watched. And if you keep doing it, you get a lobotomy.
“That would be a diplomatic disaster, in which case I’d suggest invoking immunity and shipping you home as fast as we can find your star system—not that I think you’d do that,” she added quickly, holding up a hand when he opened his mouth to protest. “But that’s the bad end of the spectrum for that lobe of the problem. If you cooperate, but make no progress, you may have to have a watchdog for the duration of your visit. That would require bringing in a psychodominant—a very strong sort of specialized telepath—who would watch you constantly for any projective abilities and ‘sit’ on you mentally until we could ship you home.
“If you cooperate, and make progress . . . then the only thing to add to your mandatory training is a slap on the wrist, as we say. That usually means making some sort of mild restitution and perhaps some sort of punishment without any severity to it, such as chores or repairs or the like. Actually, all of the different categories and options would require some sort of restitution, but since you don’t have any resources to confiscate—money, property, whatever—plus there was nothing physically damaged, it would probably be limited to a series of apologies to Shi’ol as your target, to myself as your current instructor, to myself as the person who had to prevent the damage done, and to the government . . . which I currently stand for.
“Also, courtesy would demand you apologize to whoever your certified instructor would be, and give them the full breadth of your attention and earnest efforts in learning control of your abilities. Of course, we could defer demanding physical resources from you until such time as you have access to such things again . . . which could be strapping your government over a barrel for . . . Ahh, that’s not exactly a diplomatic way to phrase things,” Ja’ki amended quickly, chuckling a little. “Metaphorically accurate, but impolite and undiplomatic.”
( . . . ?) he sent privately. She shook her head, but his curiosity was too strong, so he sent the query again. The image he got back, of a naked Human strapped over a barrel on what looked like an archaic sailing ship, with sailors lining up, unfastening their lower garments . . . He blushed red. “. . . Yes, we do not need to discuss such things undiplomatically.”
“Then I guess we need to—”
The beeping came again, this time from the comm-unit monitor. Both of them jumped a little.
Ja’ki gestured toward it. “. . . Go ahead and answer it. Center bottom on the button for both audio and video feed.”
“I remember that part,” he grunted, pushing to his feet while the monitor beeped again, the screen displaying the blue-and-silver government logo. Touching the button as soon as he was within range of the screen, he found himself facing a trio of people. One of them was the military officer in charge of the Aloha missions. Admiral Nayak, that was it. Terran military rankings were very strange compared to V’Dan; an admiral, with no amendments to the title, was the lowest of the First Tier officers, not the highest as they were in the Terran system. It was all very strange. “Greetings, Admiral Nayak. What would you like to discuss?”
“Thank you for answering, Your Highness. I hope we didn’t catch you at a bad time?” the admiral asked politely. “We tried reaching you earlier a few times.”
“I was showering after exercising,” Li’eth said, avoiding any mention of the holy-fire incident
. It seemed the report hadn’t made it up the chain of command yet, or the admiral would not be addressing him so lightly. “I am free now, for a little while.”
Nodding, Nayak gestured to the left.
“This is Dr. Paurav Jain from the Pathology Institute of Jaipur, a city in the prefecture of Rajasthan, India.” He gestured toward the slightly shorter man on his left, a younger, narrow-faced fellow with a hint of similar features. His hair was cut jaw-length while theirs was considerably shorter. It seemed to be the fashion among Terran males to have short-cut hair even outside the military, though women had hair of all different lengths. Or at least, the geophysicist Lars Thorsson was the only exception he had seen so far.
Then again, Li’eth had to admit, he hadn’t seen everyone. On reflection, there had been a few men with long hair in the white seats of the Council chamber. Maybe he just hadn’t seen a large enough sampling of these people, yet.
“. . . And this is Dr. Jai Du of the University of Nanning, Guangxi prefecture, China,” Nayak introduced while Li’eth was mulling that over. The officer gestured to the tallish woman on his other side.
Li’eth turned his attention to her, and blinked. Her face, somewhat squarish and flat with strong bones, but with more or less the same black hair and brown eyes as the other two, was mottled in a few patches of pale pink across her forehead, cheek, nose, and opposite jawline, with the rest of it a medium tan shade a tiny bit grayer than the golden hue of V’Dan coloring. The mottling wasn’t exactly like jungen, more like one of those skin ailments that destroyed the natural pigments, he suspected, but . . . she was the first person he had seen so far who looked even remotely “adult” to his subconscious cultural sensitivities.
The woman, Dr. Du, spoke. “Call me Du, or Dr. Du, since Jai is similar to Jain, and I don’t want to confuse you. We have been studying the microflora of your people—the small bacteria and such which live on your skin, in your mouths, even in a few samples of your excrement—and we have reason to believe we can create an immunization program for the people of Earth that will not cause significant health concerns in the vast majority of the population.”
“However, Dr. de la Santoya is working alone on her side of the quarantine barrier,” Dr. Jain added, “and as such, she is the only one working on the actual biota strains. We would like to volunteer to join all of you in your current isolation to systematically swab, sample, and synthesize the necessary vaccines.”
“She needs to focus more on being a general practitioner and potential surgeon in the advent of an emergency, which is her area of expertise, and not on being a microbiotic specialist, which she is not,” Dr. Du told him. She gestured past the admiral at her colleague. “We are those specialists, having been selected from a pool of highly trained microflora specialists who volunteered to handle this work. Courtesy commands that we ask you if this is acceptable since it would include medical exams and direct specimen sampling from each member of your crew. Plus there is a chance for additional exposure to any pathogens we might bring along in our own microbiomes.”
“We would also like to observe in more detail your immune systems’ responses to being vaccinated against our own pathogens,” Dr. Jain stated. “This will help us tailor additional immunology treatments for the day we send an embassy to your people, so that they can be vaccinated against our own unfamiliar-to-them biota, as we have been inoculating you. One day, it is hoped that our two peoples will be able to travel freely without quarantines and inoculation measures, but to do that, we must dedicate ourselves to extracting, examining, and synthesizing.”
Admiral Nayak lifted his chin, joining the conversation. “Including two more personnel in quarantine should not strain the system’s capacity, and there are still a few open quarters without anyone having to share, if you have any concerns about that. As for their qualifications, Captain, both doctors are famous in medical circles for their work, and renowned for their ethical behavior and courteous treatment of their patients. They have the confidence of their colleagues backing them.”
(Ja’ki?) Li’eth asked instinctively, glancing over his shoulder at her.
(It would be a really good idea to bring in professional pathologists. But let me add more.) Moving up beside him, Ja’ki nodded at the screen. “Admiral, Doctors.”
“Major,” Nayak acknowledged. The other two nodded, eyeing her in curiosity.
“Admiral Nayak, I would like to add at least one more person to this,” Ja’ki stated, while Li’eth listened, gaze going back and forth between her and the screen. “His Highness needs more training for his psychic abilities. I cannot give him anything beyond the barest basics, but it is clear he needs more intermediate lessons, even some advanced training before we are released from quarantine.
“It should also be delivered by an independent person so as to confirm I have had no bias nor inadvertent influence on him, mind to mind. I realize this is short notice, but I can get you an analysis of what he needs and a recommendation of at least five League trainers within the hour. It’s a subject that just came up, or I’d be more prepared.”
“It would be best to operate the airlocks just the once,” Dr. Du said. Again, she gestured at herself and her colleague. “We wouldn’t be headed up there for at least a day or two, however, so if you can get this specialist ready in a reasonable time frame, I wouldn’t object. Dr. Jain?”
“No objections here,” he agreed, giving both women a nod.
Admiral Nayak shrugged. “Very well. Make sure you get me that list of candidates within the hour, Major.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” she agreed.
“That is, if Your Highness agrees?” Nayak added, turning his attention back to Li’eth. “The point of making this a request is to respect your people’s body-rights while hopefully speeding the immunization process.”
“As the representative of my crew, and a makeshift representative of our people, you have my permission, Admiral, Doctors. On one condition,” Li’eth bartered. Making sure he had both doctors’ attention, he said, “You have to share every scrap of data, every theory, every conclusion, and the formulae for every vaccine with my people, without demanding payment nor reserving any production rights.”
“Done,” Dr. Jain agreed immediately.
Dr. Du looked down her flattish nose at him. Just a little, but enough to give him a pointed, almost chiding look. “Only if you swear your people will do the exact same, with the exact same conditions.”
“Agreed,” Li’eth stated without reservation. He didn’t have to be a medical professional to know that vaccines and immunization abilities were too important to condemn to a mess of payment plans, bureaucratic maneuverings, or trade restrictions.
“Can you guarantee your government will comply?” Dr. Du asked.
“Doctor . . .” Admiral Nayak admonished.
“It is a valid question, Admiral,” Li’eth demurred. “The Empire’s policy on medical needs is that widespread beneficial, preventive medicine has priority. So long as everything is shared openly on both sides and is engineered for aiding both sides, then there will be no hesitation in accepting these terms. Of course, I am trusting your people not to craft some sort of epidemic or plague . . . but then we are the same species, and the chance of it mutating to affect your own kind in return would be a bit too risky, I’d think. Especially as you don’t know how fast we can synthesize a cure . . . and a retaliation.”
The admiral frowned at that, but Dr. Du laughed. She had a hard, almost braying laugh, and pointed at the camera. “I like the way you think! You should go work for the Center for Disease Control when you get out of the military, Highness. Or maybe Disaster Prevention.”
Li’eth dipped his head slightly, acknowledging the implied compliment. “My people would rather survive than fight, thank you . . . and I will not ‘get out’ of the military until our war with the Salik is over.”
Despite the opened topic, the admiral did not press for more details of that fight. “I’m sure
nothing harmful was meant,” Nayak murmured instead. “With your permission as well, Ambassador, I’ll begin the arrangements for sending three people into quarantine with you. Make sure I have your report within the hour, Major.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Ja’ki agreed. The admiral touched a control on his side of things, and the screen went dark.
“Interesting . . .” Li’eth murmured. At the lift of her brows, he explained. “He treated you as someone in charge, possibly someone superior to him if not his equal, in requiring your permission to bring in outsiders to this quarantine situation . . . and then treated you as a subordinate in calling you Major and commanding your recommendations. That’s a very sophisticated byplay of politics, parsing out the responsibilities and positions.”
“We may not have artificial gravity, but we are an advanced society in many other ways,” Ja’ki told him. “Before I leave to go write up that report . . . we need to figure out what to do with Shi’ol.”
Sighing, Li’eth rubbed his eyes. “What I would do to her . . . as a prince to a countess, I’d have her fined and banned from the royal court for a set period of time, half of the fine to go to you, and half to the Imperial coffers. As a captain to a leftenant superior . . . I’d make her scrub the sludge filters for the sewage system.”
She bit her lip, shoulders quivering and brown eyes gleaming. “Amusingly enough . . . if she were in the Terran military, that’s what we’d do to her as well.”