by Natalie Grey
She wasn’t sure what she was looking at, though.
Look at the mountains, Barnabas told her. When she checked his heart rate, she found it to be unusually slow.
Is something wrong?
Precisely the opposite. This is beautiful. What you’re seeing right now—things like this are why people travel and look for new places to live, even when it would be more difficult than living on a station like the Meredith Reynolds.
Shinigami assessed the image as well as she could. She still was not certain what Barnabas meant, but she sensed that there was something important about the exchange.
She filed away the logs to go over later.
So, are you ever going to explain to me why you’re dressed like that?
Barnabas smiled as he began to walk again. The mine was not very far away. Call it an indulgence. Missionaries tend to unsettle people. They also tend to be able to push situations further than someone in another social position. Simply put, this disguise will afford me opportunities I would not otherwise have.
You’re being sneaky. Shinigami was cautious in her assessment.
You could say that, I suppose.
You think they’ll underestimate you, too, don’t you?
Barnabas smiled again, and this time the smile was colder and harder. Yes.
Shinigami was silent as he climbed toward the gates, where guards waited in their towers. They watched curiously as he drew closer, and eventually the guard captain himself scrambled out to speak to this strange alien who was approaching on foot.
“This is private territory.” His voice was uncertain. This person certainly didn’t seem aggressive, and how could he possibly hope to do anything without any weapons? “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to—”
“Good day to you, child.” Barnabas gave his best monk’s smile. He was bargaining that religious figures in alien societies spoke similarly. “I am Brother Barnabas, here to speak to Venfirdri Lan.”
The captain drew up at the mention of his boss’s name. “I... Is he expecting you?”
“No, child, he is not expecting me—but he does need to see me. I am here to bring peace to what may be a fraught situation.” Barnabas smiled again and folded his hands in his sleeves.
And waited.
“I, uh… I’ll, um…” The captain looked at Barnabas. He looked at the tower. He looked at Barnabas.
Barnabas kept smiling.
“I’ll go see if he’s available,” the captain replied finally. “Would you like any refreshment, Kalanon?”
The term doesn’t translate exactly, Shinigami told Barnabas before he could ask. But it is a sort of religious figure in Brakalon society. I think it is a term of respect.
Good.
Barnabas only shook his head. “I will wait here, child. Do not trouble yourself on my behalf. Go speak to the overseer, and I will await his response here.”
“There’s a what at the gates?” Lan looked irritably at the Brakalon. He could never remember this one’s name.
“A kalonon, sir. A...speaker of words.”
Lan blinked.
The Brakalon swung his head side to side in frustration. “A visionary. A person who sees truth and speaks it. We revere them above all.”
“Let me get this straight: a Brakalon mystic has come to the gates and you think I should see them.”
“Not a Brakalon, sir. I’ve never seen this kind of alien before.”
“Then how do you know it’s a—what was the word?”
“’Kalanon,’ sir.”
Lan prayed for patience. “That is not important right now. Shouldn’t Venfaldri Gar be handling this?”
“Sir, the kalanon asked for you by name. It said that it was bringing peace to a fraught situation.”
Lan pressed a button on his desk and waited. This conversation was getting him nowhere, and he was not going to waste any further time trying to explain that to his guard captain. When the door opened and Gar came in, Lan snapped, “What took you so long?”
“My apologies, Overseer Venfirdri.” Gar bent his head.
“There’s a religious...person...at the gates. Get rid of it.” At Gar’s curious look, Lan added, “It’s some type of alien no one has seen before.”
A curious expression came over Gar’s face and the vice overseer stepped politely around the Brakalon with a nod to him.
“A religious figure, you said?”
“Yes.” Wearying of this conversation, Lan brought up the video from the gates—how did he do that again? Why was he being expected to do all this now?—and turned his computer screen.
“Ah,” Gar said finally.
“Yes. ‘Ah.’ Get rid of it.”
“Did he say why he’s here, sir?”
To Lan’s relief, since he was beginning to get quite annoyed with this relentless speculation, the guard captain answered, “He says he is here to bring peace to a fraught situation, Vice-Overseer. He asked to speak to Overseer Venfaldri by name.”
Gar nodded contemplatively.
“Vice Overseer,” Lan began dangerously, “if you value your job—”
Gar interrupted him, looking at the guard captain, “Captain, if you would give us a moment of privacy?” The captain nodded and withdrew, and Gar took a seat and leaned close to Lan. “With all due respect, sir, I think we might want to let the religious figure in.”
“I assume that is a joke?”
“No, sir.” Gar paused as if trying to think of the words. “You know, of course, that the workers are becoming...shall we say, ‘difficult to control?’”
Lan sat in stony silence.
“Sometimes the distraction of religion provides the workers with a new place to put their energy—particularly if this is one of those religions that promises rewards for good behavior.” Gar settled back in his seat with an inscrutable smile.
Lan’s eyebrows rose. That was something he had not considered. “You think this kalanon—it’s the term the Brakalon used—could be useful in settling the workers?”
“I think it is possible,” Gar replied. He gave Lan a conspiratorial smile. “And if he is not, we can simply take care of it. After all, religious people like this tend to wander alone. It’s likely no one knows where he is.”
Lan chewed his lip. He was worried. “How did he find us?”
“That is another reason we should speak to him,” Gar told him persuasively. “If there is someone in Tethra who knows the location of the mine, we need to know who.” He added after a moment, “I was most careful never to leave any clues, and no one should have thought to follow me. I pretended to be a businessperson who had just arrived in town.”
“That is good.” Lan nodded absently, then shook his head slightly. “I’m not sure about this, however. You remember the Children of the Waves at home. They caused trouble. This one might do the same.”
The Children of the Waves were a religious sect that Lan had always hated. Even before they bombed the walls of one of the submerged towers on Luvendan, sucking everyone within out into the waters to be devoured by nearby Essekan—the sect maddeningly believed this to be a sure ticket to heaven—Lan had hated them.
They were so self-assured, so sickeningly sweet. When you didn’t take them seriously, they treated you as though you were too stupid to see the truth.
Lan had never trusted any religious figures on any planet since.
He was gratified that Gar seemed to take this concern seriously instead of brushing him off. Quietly Gar related, “You know, a lot of why I left was the Essekan. I knew they could crush the towers if they wanted—or even just my level, and I would be dead even if everyone else lived. I had terrible nightmares about it when I was little.”
It wasn’t a particularly unique nightmare. Every child on Luvendan had probably had it. Still, Lan felt a rush of companionship for this male. The memories of fear were incredibly strong, and Gar, like Lan, had left the planet.
“Why didn’t they just leave?” Lan asked irritably.
Gar swallowed. “They were so content just to live in the dark in those towers. They should have wanted something better for their children. They should have wanted something better for themselves. Maybe the Children of the Waves—” He broke off.
“What?” Lan was curious.
“Maybe they did that because they were so afraid of the Essekan that they couldn’t live with being afraid anymore. They wanted to get it over with.” Gar’s voice deepened, “It’s difficult, waiting for death.”
Lan blinked. The atmosphere in the room had grown abruptly dark, and he could not shake the feeling that Gar really knew what he was talking about.
But Gar shook himself and said simply, “In any case, the scans there show that this alien has no weapons on him at all. And he looks small. Weak.”
Lan nodded slightly, but he still was not sure.
“We should certainly not let him out among the workers,” Gar added. “Not at once, anyway. But I think you should speak to him, Overseer. Perhaps he might have useful ideas, even if we decide not to keep him around.”
It made sense, Lan had to admit. What was the harm in hearing the alien out? He’d been planning to spend the day watching one of his favorite shows, but he’d done that yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. Much as he hated to admit it, he was getting bored.
Speaking to this alien would at least be something new.
“Captain.” He waited for the Brakalon to push his head into the room. “Go get the alien. Bring him here.”
Barnabas had wondered whether he would be able to fulfill his promise. Still, he was not precisely surprised when the gates swung open and the large alien beckoned him inside. The threat of imminent death seemed to spur creativity. Whatever Gar had said, it had plainly worked.
Shinigami, tell me about the layout while we walk.
You’re at the eastern edge of the camp, by magnetic north. If you skirt the southern wall and then partway along the western wall, you will eventually come to a gate that leads to two huts on the hill.
Barnabas glanced in that direction. The overseer’s hut?
It would seem so. The alien who is accompanying you went there and came back down.
Very well. What else? This place was depressing. Nestled as it was into a valley between the foothills of the mountain range, it somehow managed not to have an impressive view. Those who lived here would see only the grimy and dusty buildings and the heavy walls.
The place is set out roughly on a grid. There are many huts, of which I assume some are guard barracks and some are houses for the workers. If I had to guess, I would say the huts closer to the western gate are for the guards. This is assuming that many of them are Brakalon, because there are a few in those buildings right now. The other huts are to the east near the entrance to the mine. In the middle there are some buildings that might be a jail and a store and…I’m not sure what else.
Thank you, Shinigami.
Barnabas kept walking. The large alien at his side—a Brakalon, if he recalled correctly, which he almost always did—was treating him respectfully. He had scanned the guard’s mind; he was in no danger from the male.
The Brakalon’s large head—set forward on its shoulders compared to a human’s, with a very short, thick neck—swung from side to side to better assess danger as he walked. His skin was remarkably pale, and warm-toned like a human’s. His hands, meanwhile, had what appeared to be two fingers and a thumb, but with plates over the skin that seemed to be a part of it—perhaps similar to a fingernail?
Barnabas registered a strange mental presence and almost stopped walking, but he didn’t want to be obvious. The Brakalon might be respectful, but Barnabas did not want to cause a scene…yet.
Still, he looked around curiously. The presence was more like an absence; like a dark place where there should be something. He looked around, turning his head slowly so as not to attract attention, and saw an Ubuara peering at him.
He should be able to read this one’s thoughts, but the radio chip that kept the Ubuara unable to communicate partially blocked him. The familiar anger surged within him, a slow burn that he knew would not stop until the situation was made right.
In the meantime, he stared into the creature’s eyes and forged a connection using raw power. Aebura has not forgotten you. I am here to help. Be patient. All will be made well.
Then he turned his head away before the Brakalon could notice and followed him up the hill.
In the guard hut, Namlanor, one of the younger guards and thus always assigned to the boredom of electronics duty, heard a crazed beep-whistle from one of the devices. Swearing, he followed the noise until he came to the device that produced radio waves to silence the Ubuara.
He frowned. He didn’t know how to fix this piece of equipment.
He thumped the top of it.
It immediately sank into quietness once more, all the dials indicating normal function.
Namlanor smiled and went back to his chair. Fixing electronics wasn’t always complicated.
10
“So.” Lan folded his hands and stared at the alien. He tried to think of something to say.
“How should we address you?” Gar asked diplomatically.
Lan gave him a slight nod to thank him for the question.
“Brother Barnabas, please.” The alien looked between them. “I am guessing from your expressions that you have not met any humans before.”
“Humans?” Lan considered. “No.”
“We have only recently come to this sector of space,” Barnabas told him. He smiled. “While we are newcomers, I believe we have much to offer, both in trade and in...other ways.” He inclined his head. “That is why I am here.”
“Yes. Explain that.” Lan narrowed his double-pupiled eyes and considered this small and weak alien. Gar was right, it really did look quite useless. No wonder it had learned to rely on trade. “How did you know my name?”
Perhaps it was an information broker. If so, he would want to be even more careful what he said.
“When I landed here I decided to wander the countryside, and came upon your enclave.”
“And again—how did you learn my name?”
Barnabas tapped behind his ear. “I have a device—a glorified database, really—that gives me answers to my questions. It told me that you had, at least at one time, been overseer here.”
A “glorified database?” Do you want to be the target for the flamethrower tests?
Barnabas’ lips twitched. He was enjoying Shinigami’s tone, and he was also enjoying the look of worry on Lan’s face as the Luvendi wondered just how many people knew where he was.
“Where did your device find that information? And how did you know we’ve been having troubles?”
“Ah, I should explain.” Barnabas gave a self-deprecating smile. “I have simply learned that in places like this which are undergoing rapid expansion, things are always fraught. There is...progress, and at the same time, there are those who are not prepared to sacrifice to see that progress achieved. There can be a collision of people with different laws from different societies.”
“Ah.” Lan was put at ease by this. “I...see. Yes, you are correct. There are those here who do not understand progress. Who for some reason think that we should obey their laws.”
“And?” Barnabas asked.
“Devon is a newly-settled planet, Brother Barnabas. It is not under the purview of any laws. Any claims made should surely be backed up before they are imposed, yes?”
Barnabas only smiled again.
He doesn’t know how right he is.
Shinigami pointedly ignored him.
What if I let you use him for flamethrower practice?
I’ll consider it. I assume you don’t mean right now.
See, we’re getting to know one another!
“Brother Barnabas.” Gar spoke now. “How do you wish to, as you said, bring peace here?”
“Ah.” Barnabas nodded at him.
“You see, it is quite simple. Dissatisfaction comes from poorly-aligned expectations. Since you mention troubles and you are an overseer here, I will guess that you are having problems with the workers.”
Lan nodded slightly.
“My guess is that the workers have expectations—the type of work they do, and so on—whereas you have different expectations.”
“I do not have expectations, I have facts,” Lan shot back testily. “In order for the mine to function, work must be done. In order for it not to be bankrupted, the costs of food and lodging must be considered.”
“They have not yet been persuaded to think this way?” Barnabas asked mildly.
“No.” Lan knew he sounded somewhat like a sulky child, and he hated it.
“During my travels, I have found that I have a talent for aligning expectations,” Barnabas offered.
And realigning spines, Shinigami added.
That as well.
“Brother Barnabas,” Gar interjected, “while we do not wish to be disrespectful, I’m sure you can understand that allowing an unknown alien into this situation is a risk. What assurances can you offer us?”
Lan looked at him sharply, but he was pleased to see that this new alien did not seem to be insulted by the question.
“A good question. I beg your pardon, but I do not believe I know your name.”
“I am Venfirdri Gar, vice-overseer of this mine.”
“It is good to meet you, Vice-Overseer Venfirdri. You are, of course, wise to seek assurances.” He paused for a moment. “What information would be of help to you as you make this decision?”
“Tell us about your religion,” Gar suggested.
“Ah. Perhaps you are worried that I wish to set up some cult?”
“That is a concern,” Lan agreed.
“I understand. However, that is not my reason for being here. I am not concerned with what gods you or your workers worship.”