by Jean Johnson
He hoped that would be Jackie . . . and worried that it would be her at the same time. He firmly believed she would be the best choice . . . but that would widen the gulf of protocol between the two of them, unless and until he could get his own people to acknowledge their holy bond.
The final tally appeared a few moments later. When Premiere Callan used the comm system to call for order with another recorded crack of what sounded like wood on hard wood, Secondaire Pong rose, approached the podium, and reported the percentages. “Let the record show that on the subject of appointing Jacaranda Leilani MacKenzie as Ambassador of the Terran United Planets to the V’Dan Empire . . . for the answer of Yes, Appoint Her, the tally is 85.30 percent. For the answer of No, the tally is 13.90 percent. The number of Abstentions is less than 1 percent.”
“The motion carries.” Premiere Callan touched his tablet, and a single, loud crack resounded through the hall. He turned to face Jackie, who had risen to her feet, her cheeks flushed with the news. “Congratulations, Ambassador MacKenzie. You are hereby confirmed as the ongoing Ambassador to the V’Dan people, with a Council-voted 85% approval rating; may it continue to remain that high in the coming days. We also look forward to your recommendation list for your embassy staff, to be delivered as soon as possible. The Council will put together committees in various categories to evaluate and recommend their own suggestions for the positions of linguistics liaison, military liaison, business liaison, so on and so forth.”
“Thank you, sir. Thank you all,” Jackie added, raising her voice as she turned nod at a familiar face here, an unfamiliar one there. “I will do my best to serve, as always.”
“Thus ends session number 40,656 of the Council of the Terran United Planets,” the Premiere stated, and made the cracking noise twice before stepping down from the podium.
The noise level rose as the people, male and female, youngish adult and old, gained their feet and started discussing the session. Three sharp cracks resounded through the hall, surprising Li’eth, who had risen to join Jackie. Conversations died, and everyone faced Secondaire Pong, who had taken the podium once more.
“Gentlemen, Ladies, Council policy is very clear on the matter of Saturday emergency sessions. We use the Hall outside of normal hours, we clean up after ourselves,” the Secondaire stated firmly. “The carts and cleaning materials are being brought out. Unless you are infirm—and your identity badge will say if you are excused—you are not excused from this session until your seat, the floor around it, and so on and so forth are restored and rendered pristine.”
Seeing Li’eth’s brows raise in amazement, that high-ranked government officials had to do menial cleaning chores, Jackie gave him a wry smile. “I have to stay and help clean up, too. On the bright side, it doesn’t take very long. Not with everyone helping.”
Sighing, he shrugged. “Then I might as well help. You have a very strange government, Ambassador . . . but I think I am coming to understand it.”
“And?” a voice behind him asked. Li’eth turned in time to see Fellow Ecklestone descending the last few steps to the main floor. “Now that you are coming to understand it, what do you think of us Terrans and our one-world government, Your Highness?”
“I think I’m beginning to like it, Fellow Ecklestone. I . . . don’t think it would succeed in the Empire, but then we have a very different cultural background from yours,” he stated diplomatically. “At least, given what I’ve learned of your history so far.”
“Mm-hmm. Well. You go back to that mother of yours, and you let Her Majesty know she’s welcome to drop by and see all of this for herself,” the elderly woman told him. “And before I leave to go back to Bhisho—that’s in Eastern Cape Prefecture, South Africa Province—I am going to make one or two recommendations for that embassy, too,” the elderly woman stated. Her aura swirled with aquamarine satisfaction and a mint green overtone of curiosity. “I was never more thrilled in my life when I found out I had not only finally won the Fellowship Lottery, but that the odds were good I’d be on hand here in Aloha City to watch a piece of major history unfold.”
“I am glad that you were here, Fellow Ecklestone,” Li’eth told her. He offered her his hand, which she clasped firmly with her wrinkled, cool fingers. “Thank you for saying what you did.”
“Call me Agnathia, please. I’ve lived long enough, I don’t stand long on ceremony,” she told him. Then smiled. “I don’t stand long, period. Now, I’ve been following politics a long time, young man. Sometimes, the will of the people wavers, and sometimes it stands strong. Right now, most everyone is curious about you V’Dan and what’ll happen. A bit worried about the possibility of a war. And very curious about all those real aliens you have been talking about, as well as you V’Dan.”
Li’eth couldn’t help smiling at that, as her words unwittingly echoed Robert’s own comments. Agnathia squared her shoulders, both hands braced on the top of her cane as she addressed the V’Dan prince. Li’eth found himself impressed by her air of authority, grace, and apparent wisdom when she stood like that; between her expression, her wrinkles, and her nearly white hair, he couldn’t imagine any adult looking more adult than her, even if she didn’t have a single scrap of jungen on her dark, weathered face.
“We will trust Miss MacKenzie to get the job done, and get it done right,” Agnatia asserted, speaking as if she spoke for everyone in the United Planets, her aura as solid a shade of cerulean blue as the waters around the shores of O’ahu. “You give her your support when you get home, and she’ll bring in the rest of us to help watch your back, too. Cooperation benefits everyone.
“You remember that, now, when your people start questioning what we intend to do.” Reaching out, Agnathia patted his arm, gripped it for a moment, then turned and started heading for one of the nearby pushcarts. “I need to go find a dusting rag, and wipe down a few seats with it. I can manage that much with a cane. Can’t let these Councilors do the job all by themselves . . .”
Li’eth turned to watch her go as she moved past him, then looked around for Jackie. The reconfirmed Ambassador, third most powerful person in this entire, unique Human empire, had accepted a spray bottle and a rag from someone, and was spraying down the leather-covered seats on the ground floor.
(Your people are decidedly different from mine,) he sent, rather than trying to cross the floor to speak to her. A floor that now bustled with activity as people moved to and from the cleaning carts. It hurt to send that much, and it hurt to receive her reply, but not as much as earlier. Proof that the effects of his inadvertent hangover were thankfully fading. (The others—V’kol and the rest—are still baffled by how you manage to make your government work. It’s very different from ours.)
(There’s nothing wrong with being different,) Jackie reminded him. (So long as those differences don’t hurt others, nor infringe upon their own individual, indisputable rights. Different can even be good, sometimes.)
(No, there’s nothing wrong with being different,) he agreed. (But I don’t know what my people will make of yours. So . . . more touring of the planet?)
(A bit. More for the others than for you, though. The military wants to go over everything you know about the Salik, again. Since the Tower is here on Kaho’olawe next to the Lotus, and I’ll be working somewhere here on the island—probably in the Department of Departments while I’m putting together recommendations for an embassy staff—that should keep us in proximity.)
(Jackie, I’m sorry . . . we’ll have to discuss this out loud when you’re done,) he apologized as the pain started growing unbearable. (My head still hurts.)
(Read. The labels. Next time. And that is all I shall say on the matter.)
Her sending was mild, delivered with a touch of humor. If without much in the way of mercy. Yes, ma’am, he thought in Terranglo, though he didn’t bother to send it telepathically.
CHAPTER 21
APRIL 6, 2287 C.E.
HILO, ISLAND OF HAWAI’I
The Merrie Monarch
Festival was fascinating. There were a lot of varieties of hula being displayed in demonstrations and competitions, from slow and sweet, smooth and flowing in each performance, to strong and brisk and energetic. Colorful flowing gowns, painted waist wraps, and bands of flowers and leaves, sea-and nutshells girdling heads, arms, wrists, ankles, and more. Spears, poles, musical instruments . . . and holokinesis were all on display.
At the moment, the group on the stage was conducting a dance wherein the surface of the platform on which they stomped and “rowed” with their poles had been transformed to look like a section of the local sea, dancing on what looked like archaic outrigger canoes. The illusions were transparent, allowing glimpses of the dancers’ solid, if bare, feet as they moved across the performance floor. The program given to the attendants said this was an historically based hula, a story-dance commemorating the arrival of the Polynesian people to the Hawai’ian island chain, and of all the rich sea and land life they had found upon settling here.
Indeed, as he watched, all twenty-six dancers rose slowly into the air, still dancing as if on a solid, flat surface. The “surface” of the sea rose with them, revealing the sides of the water beneath those rippling waves as if the ocean itself had been trapped in a transparent box. The way they rose caused an upswelling of noise from the crowd, cheering, stomping, whistling, even some shouting before the music rose to overcome and quell their enthusiasm.
Beneath the rippling blue-gray waves, the promised recitation of sea life now swam, some of it splashing up and leaping over the prow and stern of the canoe-shaped illusions, some of it even leaping out of the sides toward the audience before diving back in again. All of it directed in time with the cadence of the gourd drummers and the chanter, and the slow-dancing arms of the woman who sat with them. Looking remarkably tranquil, if a bit red in the face from her efforts, Jackie directed the illusionary aspects of the dancers’ approach through the lava-formed rocks and the seaweed beds, the coral sands and wave-kissed beaches. Together, they performed their ancestors’ arrival on a shoreline that seemed to rise out of the water even as the dancers slowly descended again.
Someone jostled his arm, settling into the seat next to his. A seat supposedly reserved for Jackie when she wasn’t preparing for or actually performing. Li’eth frowned and glanced at the security guards, wondering why they had let the newcomer get so close, then eyed the woman, whom the guards appeared to be smiling at with some actual warmth.
“Madam, this seat is reserved,” he stated, keeping his tone polite as he faced the graying blonde woman. “Ambassador MacKenzie plans to return to it when her performance is through.”
The woman nodded. “I know, but I thought I’d introduce myself while catching her performance. I almost missed it, too.”
“And you are?” Li’eth prompted. She had an accent from . . . somewhere . . . the desert land in the southern hemisphere. Australia, that was it.
The woman turned to him with a warm smile but didn’t offer her hand. “I am Rosa McCrary, recent former Premiere of the United Planets . . . and the Ambassador’s new chief assistant. I might have replaced her if she hadn’t had that confidence vote of 85 percent, save for two things: Jacaranda MacKenzie’s face has remained a prominent presence in our precognitives’ visions, apparently in a position of some authority, presumably as an Ambassador . . . and the fact that I have never served in the military. I’ll be her political liaison more than her understudy for the time being, but I will be her understudy. Now, we should be quiet,” McCrary told him, settling back in Jackie’s seat. “I’d like to enjoy her performance. The entertainment industry lost a magnificent resource when she decided to go into politics . . . but I think our world has gained immensely by it. Don’t you?”
“It’s not my world, so it’s not mine to say,” Li’eth replied diplomatically. “Besides, my world will be gaining by it, soon.”
“That it will, Your Highness.” McCrary agreed.
He nodded and returned his attention to the show. A moment later, he and everyone else gasped as the “volcano” now on display erupted . . . with a gout of real fire sending heat through the open-air stadium, though only for an instant, reassuring everyone that it was just a temporary part of the display. Spontaneous cheers and applause echoed through the arena.
The detail of Jackie’s illusions looked amazing; still transparent as colored glass, the volcano’s interior had been sketched by Jackie’s will—and no doubt authenticated in its inner details with the help of her geophysicist friend, Lars Thorsson—to show the magma chambers, the pulsing and welling of the molten rock inside the volcano’s throat, the force of the rocks slung outward, and the goopy gray-and-orange flow of the lava oozing down the sides, which the singer and dancers were now chanting about. A ghostly figure rose from the mountain, some sort of volcano spirit or goddess, he guessed, one with tanned skin, fiery red hair, and a figure as strong as that peak.
McCrary finished applauding, then spoke under her breath to him again. “I’d like to sit down with you to go over the structure of the V’Dan government and a list of protocols and proper behaviors to follow. Today, we have this Festival to enjoy. Tomorrow, we’ll have a lot of work to do.”
“I’ll try to share what I can,” Li’eth murmured back. “But I cannot guarantee that I will remember all of it. Some of it . . . It’s such an ingrained habit, there is no thought. You just do it.”
McCrary smiled wryly. “That is already understood. But I will try my best to evaluate and question everything, so that I can help Jackie be a more effective Ambassador.”
“You don’t want her job?” Li’eth asked. “Aren’t you her . . . understudy?”
“I am, but at the same time, I have also served my time. I was hoping to have more than a few months’ vacation. Still . . . we share something in common, she and I,” McCrary added, nodding at the oblivious Ambassador on the stage, hands now shaping a new island arising, continuing the narrative.
“And that is . . . ?” he prompted, glancing at the older woman.
“We both live to serve our people. I am here to help explain that to you, when she does something that may baffle you. You may be in a Gestalt pairing, but sometimes it’s just easier to have a friendly, noninvolved soul to talk to. At least, as a certain red-robed monk explained it to me, since he’s too old to go along on this trip as a possible mentor to both of you. I may not be an official psychic-abilities instructor, but I can still be a friend and a private advisor, if you’re willing.” Patting his hand briefly, she gestured at the stage, returning their attention to it.
Li’eth watched, but his mind mulled over her words. He wondered if there was anyone in or around the Imperial Court he could offer to Jackie as a cross-cultural mentor to help explain what might happen with him and his own actions, once they reached his homeworld.
Possibly, but he just didn’t know if there would be anyone willing to step into that role.
APRIL 10, 2287 C.E.
MACARTHUR STATION
Jackie looked around the oversized shuttle that would be her home for the next fourteen or so days. Twice as broad and three times as long as the Aloha 9 had been, the new ship was more of a mobile command center than a research and exploration vessel. According to the specs, the Embassy 1 would fit within the hyperrift with room to spare and had been safely tested over the last two weeks by an experienced evaluation crew.
Pulling herself into the cockpit, she floated over to her station. This version had two seats, with Li’eth occupying one, and the other awaiting her body. A twist, a tug, and she reached for the restraint straps to bind herself in place.
(I will be glad to be back on ships and stations that have artificial gravity,) Li’eth murmured mentally. (Though I will admit you look very graceful, floating in zero G.)
(Thank you.) As soon as her straps were firmly in place, she reached for the control console, calling up communications information. She now had a number of assistants and staff members of all sorts, bu
t everyone had to pull their own weight, including her. Ambassador on the ground, communications technician in the ship. Out loud, she said, “Okay, people. Everyone in back is strapped in . . . and it looks like Embassies 2 through 15 are coming online as green for go.”
“You really don’t have much imagination in naming your ships, do you?” Li’eth stated, sighing. “Some of them, that is. Ones like the Katherine G at least have some meaning to their names.”
“We have plenty of imagination in naming our ships,” Robert called back from his place in the pilot’s seat. Brad sat next to him as usual, with Ayinda and a lieutenant named Aksha at the navigator’s position behind the copilot. Dr. Du sat with Maria at the life-support console, having won the coin toss on who got to travel to V’Dan as one of the Terrans’ top two pathology experts. “We’re just saving all the special names for when we have special ships.”
“He’s teasing you,” Ayinda told Li’eth while Jackie slipped a headset over her ear, finally strapped into place. “The ships that do patrols and such, they usually have unique names. But sometimes a name is so popular, it’s repeated several times, like the Enterprise VII. Sometimes, however, it’s easiest to refer to a specialized task force of several ships by a single name and a set of numbers, to show the unity of the project.”
“Ayinda’s right. The Aloha ships were designed specifically to explore, greet, and return,” Jackie told him. “The Embassy line is designed to travel between our two main worlds and to serve as a backup embassy in case there’s something wrong on the ground. They can also fight in a pinch, with more armor and armaments than the Aloha class.”