The Terrans

by Jean Johnson

  Straddling the backless bench she had picked, Li’eth put his back to a support strut at one end and pulled her close, so that she straddled it in a way that allowed her to use his chest in turn for her own backrest. (I won’t make you do that,) he promised. (That is, if you in turn don’t make me try to recite the whole family lineage myself. Forty-five centuries is a lot of memorization to manage.)

  (On the bright side, you’ll please my mother’s mother if you can. She won’t be truly impressed with you unless you can recite at least thirty, thirty-five generations—family, what we call ‘ohana, is a big deal to Hawai’ians. Not as big on Father’s side of the family, but he was able to show her family trees going back the forty generations needed to prove he was related to Charlemagne, which satisfied Grandmother enough that she gave her warmest blessing to their marriage.)

  Li’eth twined their fingers together and wrapped their arms lightly around her waist. (Marriage. That’s something we’ll have to discuss. I was expected to make a politically advantageous marriage with one of the noble families once I got out of my mandatory service in the military. But then the war happened, and we found ourselves far more concerned with fighting for our lives. You haven’t said, but the implication is that Gestalt pairs marry, yes?)

  (They don’t have to, but it is considered a form of marriage. Not legally, but psychologically, even biologically. Or rather, it’s more like marriage is considered a mere formality,) Jackie clarified. Off in the distance, something bleated. Probably a goat. (If a member of the pair is already married to someone else, the courts have set up an easy “No Fault” format for divorce.)

  (In V’Dan terms, that first spouse would automatically be granted the title of Consort Nanny if there were any children already,) he told her.

  Jackie could sense a complex layer of marriage types behind the words Consort Nanny. Something about ensuring an heir in the event of infertility of one spouse or the other, in the event of someone wanting to marry their own gender, or even for political reasons or money but not love. She wanted to explore that, curious, but went back to her own explanations for now. (The military has also put pressure on Population Control to ensure that our Gestalt pairings get to have at least three children, sometimes more, because the odds of their children also being psychically gifted are very high, and the military likes having psis spread all over Earth, to help thwart Grey invasions.)

  (Which you’ve already told me about,) Li’eth sent, settling himself a little more comfortably against the support strut behind him. That allowed her to slouch just a little bit more and sigh in contentment. He adjusted his arms around her, and rested his chin on her curls. (You’re right; this isn’t a very sexual embrace, but it is a very satisfying, soothing one . . . exactly what we need.)

  “Mmhmm,” she sighed out loud. (Just what the instructor ordered. It’s not what I want, which is to crawl into a bed with you, naked, but it is what we need.)

  (Let’s not think about that,) Li’eth countered, quelling the urge before his body could do more than halfheartedly respond. (Let’s discuss and compare the similarities and differences in marriages. If it’s considered a foregone conclusion that a Gestalt is in essence a sort of marriage, then we should at least have the Terran versus the V’Dan version discussed and settled. It would certainly be expected that there be some sort of formal marriage if you are to constantly be at my side yet not be considered a professional consort.)

  Jackie nodded, soaking up the warmth of his chest. The stations were always just a little bit on the cool side for her tastes. (At some point, yes, it’d happen. Let’s start with the Terran versions of what marriage is about. Plural, since we have so many different cultures . . .)

  MARCH 12, 2287 C.E.

  LANDER 3 STATION DOME, MARS

  The insistent chiming of the doorbell for his tiny, cramped quarters in the Martian Prime Dome settlement dragged Li’eth out of restless sleep. Sitting up—wobbling a little from the lighter-than-normal gravity—he struggled to bring his brain out of the damned Salik prey-cage he had been reliving. The bell chimed again. He knuckled some of the sleepsand out of his eyes, then reached up and tapped the intercom button on the door, which sat within arm’s length of his bunk. “What is it?”

  “Apologies for the interruption, Your Highness,” a man called on the other side, “but two things have happened. Literally within minutes of each other. We have received word that Aloha 31 Alpha has been contacted by the Empress of V’Dan, who is requesting that she speak with you immediately, and the video teams believe they have cracked the V’Dan programming language for your visual broadcasts.”

  “The Empress?” Li’eth repeated, blinking as the adrenaline of that news jolted him wider awake.

  “Yes, sir. If you can get dressed as fast as possible, we’re in the middle of uploading the new language parameters now. We can have you talking face-to-face with Her Majesty within minutes. Hopefully. We still have to test the program between Earth and Mars, here, with the newest feeds we’ve been receiving.”

  “Where will that take place?”

  “Observation Room 4, sir. I’ll be standing out here ready to escort you.”

  “Have you alerted the Ambassador?” he remembered to ask, rising and twisting to dig into the cupboards where his clothes had been stored. Not casual, no, but the Terran version of his formal uniform. Hopefully, the Imperial Army would forgive the fact that it wasn’t an official, proper version . . . but better to be dressed in his best than to be seen in casual clothes.

  “Yes, sir; an ensign was dispatched to her quarters, too.”

  “Good. I’ll be out there soon,” he promised, and hurried to get dressed.

  Spurred by adrenaline, getting dressed didn’t take long. Nor did it take long for him to make his way along the dome’s stout, stone corridors to the room in question under the escorting junior officer’s guidance. Observation Room 4 was a chamber with a great clear ceiling showing the Martian sky, and a series of monitors, stations, and console tables meant to observe and coordinate all the activity going on around the imperfectly colonized planet. Jackie entered the chamber from a door at the far side, still tucking in her uniform shirt under her open jacket. Someone handed her one of those over-the-ear devices, and she hooked it on before buttoning up her gray coat. Li’eth accepted one as well, every scrap of his uniform already neatly in place.

  (Did they tell you about the—?)

  (Video? Of course. I’m sorry it’s just my Dress Grays, but I didn’t bring my Dress Blacks, and only my minimum of awards and honors. How does my hair look? Yours is a mess,) she added, trying not to smile visibly.

  She had taken the time to comb and braid hers. Li’eth . . . hadn’t. He grimaced. (No time for it now, I suppose.)

  Digging into her pocket, she fished out a little black loop, a hair tie. Lifting her gaze to him, she narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. His hair prickled from the feeling of a thousand tiny fingers sorting through it in rapid downward strokes from the ends on up to the roots, detangling the strands, then he felt it swinging this way and that, pulling taut. Releasing the hair band, she sent it floating across to the tail of his neatly woven plait and telekinetically tied it off with a grin.

  Under the astounded looks of the technicians, she blushed and cleared her throat. “Telekinetics—particularly those with long hair—like to practice simple-seeming things like hair-braiding as a way to fine-tune our skill. A lot of us did it in the League dormitories while we were being trained. The best hair-braider I know was barely a Rank 4, but he could do all sorts of things with hair. Last I heard, he was running an upscale styling salon in North Los Angeles.”

  “. . . Right. If you’re done grooming, are the two of you ready?” Admiral Nayak asked. He had joined them on Mars yesterday and looked like he had been awake for a few hours, unlike his guests. Jackie had already given him a language transfer, and knew he had gone to bed early to sleep through the aftereffects. He looked fine now, no signs of a post-trans
fer headache as he lifted his chin at the upper display screen. “The video translation has been tested, and we have the V’Dan Empress waiting impatiently on the line. Hope you can do this without coffee.”

  Li’eth hid his flinch. He had tried the nasty stuff. It was wonderful for waking up the senses, yes, but horridly bitter compared to the nicer, gentler V’Dan caffen, which was some sort of close botanical relative. One of the Before Time plants, but clearly bred in a different direction than the Terran version. No, he could do this without coffee. “I am ready, sir.”

  Jackie nodded as well and turned her attention to the controls at Nayak’s gesture to proceed. (You’ll want to stand at my side, Li’eth. The pickups are up there,) she added, giving him a pulsed awareness of where they were located. (This is strictly flatpic transmission. Your people don’t use holograms . . . though given how advanced your tech seems to be, I’m rather surprised you don’t.)

  (They give both the K’Katta and the Tlassians major headache equivalents. Out of courtesy, we use flat video feeds. That, and they cost far less to transmit. Smaller data packets, shorter transmission time, less energy . . . though we fill up half the datastream with redundant repeats to make sure it isn’t lost when the signal spreads out over distance.)

  (Redundant—? Is that what’s been slowing us down, cracking the programming codes?)

  (I don’t know; I’m not a programmer,) he shot back. The overhead monitor—a clear panel—swung down level with their position on its robotic arm and flicked into full-color life . . . which wobbled once in a while, but otherwise presented a strong signal, an image of the V’Dan Imperial Seal.

  A pang of homesickness ached in his chest at the sight of that red-and-gold symbol. Two curving, mostly vertical lines, closer at the top than the bottom, crossed by two straight horizontal lines, the top shorter than the bottom, with a short vertical line descending partway from the bottom of the two horizontal bars. Painted in red, limned in gold, on a plain white background, it represented everything that said home to him. A home he had not seen in far too long.

  “That’s . . . kind of nice-looking. Is that your people’s symbol?” one of the other soldiers in the room asked. Though there was a civilian government of sorts, Mars was still a series of testing grounds for domeworld-colonization efforts, and therefore staffed as much by the military as by civilians. He lifted his chin at the screen. “Kinda looks Chinese.”

  Li’eth nodded. “I was told that it is not an actual Chinese symbol . . . or any linguistic symbol with which Ambassador MacKenzie is familiar . . . which is very good to know. I’d hate for it to somehow accidentally translate into ‘broken chunks of elephant dung’ in one of your languages.” A few chuckles broke out around the room, and he dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Dignity is important in the Empire.”

  “Then we will be dignified alongside you,” Admiral Nayak asserted. Instantly, the soldiers who were still grinning sobered their expressions, turning their attention back to their work.

  Movement caught his attention. Li’eth stiffened, straightening his shoulders, for the image of the Imperial symbol wobbled, then shifted. A woman with silver-gold hair pulled back in an intricate braid appeared on the screen, her brow caught behind a circlet shaped like a pair of miniature swords stretching out around either side, conjoined at the hilts by a pommel made from a very large crimson gem. She looked like she had gained a line or two beneath the short burgundy stripes angling down the right side of her face, but otherwise looked nearly ageless. Someone had once remarked to him that there was good bone structure in his family bloodline, an artisan from the Valley.

  Jackie, standing on Li’eth’s right, took in other details. Studying the waist-up view, she assessed the older woman’s demeanor and appearance. What the Terrans had approximated in their guests’ uniforms had been perfected in hers. In fact, it looked like cloth of gold to Jackie. Not lamé, nothing flimsy or brassy, but actual thin strands of gold spun around sturdy threads, which were then woven together. Where the V’Dan officers’ uniforms were scarlet with cream facing under the frogging, her uniform was gold with scarlet. That jacket looked well tailored, on a figure that seemed trim and fit. No spare signs of aging or waste. A finely crafted sword, in other words.

  This, then, was the Empress serving in her capacity as War Queen. She looked formidable. Given the circumstances, the ongoing war her people faced, Jackie approved.

  Those gray eyes moved, flicking over her son’s face . . . but she did not address him as such. “Captain Ma’an-uq’en. It is good to see that one of our loyal officers survived.”

  “Greetings, Empress,” Jackie stated in careful V’Dan. “Please understand that there is a six-heartbeat delay between messages; three to reach you, three more to return to us with your reaction, and the other way around as well.”

  The Empress spoke when she paused for breath before going on. Or rather, the Empress interrupted three seconds prior to her message reaching Jackie midspeech. Jackie paused politely. “We will speak with Captain Ma’an-uq’en.”

  The audio was still imperfect, as was the video. Li’eth kept his expression calm. Stoic. “They know who and what I am, Eternity. You need not hide it.”

  “I will not endanger our good Captain by broadcasting such knowledge in a war zone . . . though we are puzzled as to why we cannot find the vessel you are on, nor any sign of your broadcast reaching this machine left in our sovereign system.”

  “Greetings, Hana’ka V’Daania, Eternal Sovereign and War Queen of the V’Dan Empire,” Jackie interjected smoothly, restarting her introduction speech. Those gray eyes shifted to her, and a faint frown pinched that otherwise mostly smooth brow. “I am Ambassador Jacaranda MacKenzie, and represent the Terran United Planets. I assure you, we are nowhere near your home star system, and have seen zero signs of Salik capacity to trace our method of interstellar travel, so far. We are actually transmitting this message from hundreds of light-years away. You cannot find us because we are not actually there.”

  “Impossible.” The Empress’ denial was flat, clipped, and neutral.

  “Very possible, Eternity,” Li’eth countered, recapturing his mother’s attention. “This is but one of the advantages which these Terrans will bring to the Alliance very soon . . . just as the Book of the Immortal prophesied they would.”

  A few heartbeats after his statement, those gray eyes narrowed. “How soon will you be bringing them?”

  Jackie fielded that one. “If construction of our supply chain remains on schedule, Eternity, we should arrive at your system in approximately thirty more of our days . . . which should be around twenty-eight of yours, if we have calculated everything closely enough. Our scientists look forward to getting their hands on actual V’Dan units of measurement for better ease of conversion rather than relying upon rough estimates and careful guesses.”

  The Empress narrowed her eyes a tiny bit, glancing briefly at Jackie. The movement was subtle, something that might have been missed if her son had blinked. He had not, and could guess what was going through the royal mind.

  “Their government will be discussing the details of who exactly will be free to come to the heartworld of the Empire in a few more weeks,” Li’eth stated. “These people are honorable, open, and I believe them to be trustworthy.”

  “How long have you been in their care?” the Empress asked next. “You and your four surviving bridge officers.”

  “Several weeks, now.”

  Jackie spoke up again. “We first had to isolate them—and the crew that rescued them—to discern and counter any potential dangers from various pathogens. Our medical specialists have confirmed that there have been approximately ten thousand years of separation between your people and ours, and so we have been taking careful precautions to ensure that our diseases and your diseases will not cause massive medical problems across each side. This is but one of many things we are interested in trading; in fact, there are a lot of scientists, spiritualists, and historians
who would love to get their hands on any V’Dan records from your earliest beginnings, to try to piece together how your people ended up leaving the world where our joint species was born, Eternity. My people look forward to exchanging what we in turn know about our mutual origins with your people, and all the history you have missed.”

  “. . . I would like to speak with someone in charge,” Empress Hana’ka stated after a pause that was longer than the six seconds of turnaround time between their two worlds.

  Everyone in the room around them stiffened. Li’eth spoke firmly, gesturing to his right. “. . . Allow me to reintroduce this woman, Empress. This is Ambassador Jackie MacKenzie. At this moment, she is the third most politically powerful adult in the Terran government.”

  His mother stared through the screen at the two of them, her mouth pressed shut.

  (Can we turn those pickups so that she sees the whole room?) Li’eth asked Jackie. (I think she needs to see every unstriped face in here.)

  (Agreed.) Touching the controls on the table, Jackie activated the panel’s servos. They swept the monitor around in a slow spin while her Gestalt partner spoke, explaining the shift in view.

  “This is what every Terran looks like, Empress. They do not have jungen. They do not rely upon visual marks to discern those who are mature from those who are childish. They rely solely upon physical age, actions, and words. In this regard, they are very much like the other members of the Alliance. They may look like us, Mother,” he added, making her frown, almost flinch briefly. It was not proper protocol to acknowledge the relation in such a formal moment. “And we are the same species, separated by ten millennia . . . but these people are not V’Dan. Every single person in this chamber is an adult.”

  “With respect, Eternity,” Jackie added, bringing the monitor back to its starting position. “Make that clear in your mind. The Terran culture, and its government, are not V’Dan. The correct course of action is to treat us with full respect as a separate nation and a separate culture.”