“jasshij'na Lafrey tremanno. thannil'a morahi Nahanni-or'a-Hhurn phaolohi Juhhanja Maharrini.”
The translation, when it issued over her implant from the ship’s computers, was dry, uninflected. It was fortunate, Jade thought, that the Gara’nesh language had been mostly translated decades ago, at the time of first contact, before war had begun.
“Greetings, Lieutenant Lafrey. That one has the honor of addressing Nahanni-or’a-Hhurn, Ship-keeper, Maharrini.”
“What does it say?” Tung whispered.
“It says it’s a ship-keeper,” Jade replied, equally quietly. The ensign, like the majority of rank and file, didn’t have an implant with the capabilities of hers. “That’s sort of equivalent to a captain.”
Tung whistled.
Jade returned her attention to the alien, searching for any sign of emotion in the leathery features. Futile, of course. Even if there was anything to see in the pinched face, hooded, recessed eyes, widely separated nostrils and slit mouth, she wouldn’t be able to interpret it. She had no frame of reference to start from. She couldn’t even judge if it was male or female. Come to that, she didn’t even know if the Gara’nesh even had sexes.
A bipedal, humanoid appearance didn’t make a creature human in any other respects.
“It is not usual,” she said, “for such a one to be captured alive.”
Was there a movement of the eyes?
“No. Nor for one to be taken.”
“Why did you allow yourself, Ship-keeper?”
“Why did you take this one, Lieutenant?”
Jade felt suddenly irritated. She was tired, she was nervous, and her headache left her in no mood for idle banter. “Speak plainly, Ship-keeper—”
“If you wished to kill this one, you would have done so already.”
“Perhaps I still will.”
“The decision is yours.”
Jade spun on her heel. She gestured to Tung to precede her out of the cell. “Perhaps we will talk again,” she said to Nahanni.
“A favor, Lieutenant.”
Jade stopped. “Yes?”
“The room is cold for this one.”
Jade strode out.
The guard seemed relieved when she emerged intact. He looked to her for orders. “Kill it, ma’am?”
“Keep it secure. And turn up the heat.”
“Ma’am?”
“Heat, mister. Heat.”
Repairing Retribution enough to be fit for Roessler-spatial travel took the better part of a week. During that time, the warship’s painfully slow jury-rigged insystem drive had carried her beyond the influence of Felton 114's gravity. She passed Von Lassen’s limit for a ship of her mass, to where transition to Roessler-space became safe.
The red giant had diminished to an insignificant pinpoint on the main holoscreen.
Jade lay on her bunk, listening to the ancient, soothing strains of Mozart’s Jupiter symphony, her eyes closed, waiting for engineering to call and tell her the stardrive was ready.
She hadn’t returned to the brig since her first visit. Supervising Retribution’s repairs had taken precedence over her curiosity. Beyond ordering that the alien be supplied with food and drink—if it didn’t like human fare, too bad—she had done nothing about it. The captive was alive. That was all she knew.
Just as the bridge crew had done, ninety-nine people out of a hundred—nine hundred ninety-nine out of a thousand—would have responded to the thought of rescuing a Gara’nesh with shock and revulsion. Jade wondered if maybe it would have been better to have left the Gara’nesh to its fate; after all, what sort of a Gara’nesh would allow itself to be taken prisoner?
Come to that, what sort of a human would capture one?
One who disobeyed orders. Was the Gara’nesh also one that disobeyed orders?
Her comm signaled, and she said, “Lafrey.”
“Tung here. Engineering reports ready.”
“On my way.” Jade bounded out of bed.
Tung turned as the bridge doors parted. “Engineering says the simulations went off within tolerance limits, ma’am. We won’t be setting any speed records, though.”
Jade settled into the command seat. “As long as the drive’s adequate to get us out of here. Notify the ship’s company that we’re about to get underway.”
“It’ll be good to return home.”
Jade’s mouth twisted. “The survivors of the worst naval disaster in fifty years of war? Will they give us a rousing welcome or treat us as models of disgrace?”
“We were the only ones to put up a fight,” Tung replied. “I’d rather be on Retribution than one of the ships that ran away.”
Jade gripped her armrests. The seat felt no more comfortable now than it had a week ago. “Initiate containment field.”
“Field at full strength. Holding steady. No fluctuations.”
So far, so good. “All stations report.”
“Nav screens up,” Ensign Polz said. “Course laid in.”
“Long-range scan operational and clear,” said another ensign.
“Internal Operations reports all stations ready,” replied an environmental tech who’d been pressed into bridge duty.
Jade crossed her fingers that the hastily repaired stardrive assembly would hold up.
She said, “Engage stardrive.”
The holoscreen blossomed with rainbow light.
Retribution, her first and maybe only command, winked into the otherness of Roessler-space.
“Transition accomplished,” Tung stated. “Engineering reports all systems green.”
Jade exhaled.
“Good.” She rose. “You have the bridge, Mr. Tung. I’ll be in detention.”
“Ma’am—” Tung rose and came to stand beside her.
“Yes, Ensign?”
He spoke quietly. “Is it wise, ma’am?”
“That’s my concern.”
His forehead wrinkled. “If I may be candid, is it worth putting your career on the line to satisfy your curiosity? You’ve done an outstanding job commanding us through this crisis so far. Why risk everything?”
Jade nodded deliberately. “I appreciate your concern, ensign. But consider this: Isn’t it possible we could learn something from the prisoner?”
“The Politicals say not, ma’am.”
“Perhaps the Politicals don’t know everything.”
She’d gone too far. Tung took a pace back.
“Return to your station,” she said, stepping towards the bridge doors.
She made her way along the corridors to detention.
As far as she could tell when she entered the cell, Ship-keeper Nahanni appeared no worse for wear after a week’s incarceration. Then she noticed that the Gara’nesh’s color had changed. Most of the pink had faded, replaced by pale green. Was that a sign of health, of illness, or something else entirely?
“This one knew you would return,” Nahanni said.
Jade wondered if Gara’nesh were capable of smugness. “And how did you know that?”
“Curiosity is common to both our species.”
Jade perched on the edge of a sleeping berth and folded her arms across her chest. “Let’s be honest with each other, Ship-keeper.”
“Agreeable.” Nahanni leaned against a wall. “Do you desire peace, Lieutenant Jade Lafrey?”
Her head jerked up. She scrutinized the tight skin of Nahanni’s face and the pale, achromatic eyes hidden beneath deep ridges of bone. She wished she knew more about the Gara’nesh—their customs, world view, manner of thought. Dealing directly with aliens was a taboo subject in the Naval Academy. Only Political officers interrogated the enemy.
“Do you mean me personally, or the Hegemony?” she countered.
“That one personally.”
“I would like to see the war end, yes.”
“As would this one.”
It took a moment for the words to register. From birth onwards, everyone was taught to fear the Gara’nesh, those evil, dead
ly aliens bent on conquering humanity. Common sense maintained that humans were good, Gara’nesh were bad. Humans were harmless, innocent victims of the depredations of a vicious and unreasoning antagonist.
She thought she had matured out of those simplistic, black and white concepts, but the idea of the Gara’nesh as implacable, insatiable foes always lurked just below the surface.
Actually imagining that they could want peace too? A difficult concept to accept. If it was true.
Nahanni said, “You say no words, Lieutenant Lafrey.”
“I—” She hesitated. Tell it what you're thinking, her inner voice urged. How can it hurt?
She said, “I’ve never heard it said that the Gara’nesh desired peace.”
“Nor has this one heard the same of a Terran.”
She blinked in surprise. Of course the Hegemony was hell-bent on all-out victory, but still…Hadn’t anybody—ever—in all the decades of war, tried to make peace?
Nahanni continued as if reading her thoughts. “Why should it be surprising to you that there are those of us who want peace? Is every Terran the same?”
“No.”
“Neither are we.” Nahanni pushed off the wall and came to stand before her.
The guard leapt into the cell, his weapon trained on the ship-keeper, finger tensing on the trigger.
“It’s all right, Fernandez.” Jade waved the man away.
“Are you sure, ma’am?” He glared suspiciously at Nahanni, but backed out, keeping his weapon raised.
Jade waited for Nahanni to resume.
“This one speaks truth to you,” Nahanni said. “Among us are those who wish to see the war come to an end. But we are a minority—it is hard for us to make our voice heard over those who cry war.”
Jade nodded. “It’s the same with us.”
“We hoped so.”
“But that doesn’t answer my earlier question, Ship-keeper Nahanni. Why did you allow yourself to be captured?”
Nahanni’s eyes flickered behind the fabric of its mask. “On every ship there is one of us willing to accept capture for the sake of opening contact. On my ship it was fortunate that I survived. Someone had to make the first move.”
The first move.
Any move.
“I need to think,” she said, as she turned and exited the cell.
She thought long about those words.
Over the succeeding weeks, as Retribution lumbered through Roessler space at a speed even the most antiquated cargo freighter could have exceeded, Jade made it a routine to visit the brig every day, sometimes twice, if duty allowed her the time. Being acting captain had the advantage that the crew limited their disapproval to glances when they thought she wasn’t looking. Ensign Tung maintained a stony silence.
For some indefinable reason she felt impelled to seek Nahanni’s company. Perhaps it was the knowledge that this encounter was a once in a lifetime event. Perhaps something else.
“Who is more to blame,” Nahanni asked on one occasion, “those who begin a war or those who refuse to stop it?”
“Both, I suppose. I’m not sure one is worse than the other.”
Nahanni nodded, an awkward-looking movement Jade suspected was copied from her. “But which can be changed?”
“Only the second.”
Again the nod.
“There’s nothing I can do!” Jade burst, her frustration welling up. “If I’d followed orders, I should never have rescued you in the first place.”
“That is understood.”
Jade smacked a fist into her palm. “No it isn’t! I can’t guarantee your safety! When we reach Sector 6 Command on Weston’s World you’ll be taken out of my hands. Standard procedure is interrogation followed by execution.” Jade stared at her hands. “You’ll die for nothing.”
She jerked as the ship-keeper stretched out a four-fingered hand, touching the back of hers. Her skin crawled. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to pull away, but she resisted and left her hand where it was, feeling the dry, hot touch of Nahanni-or’a-Hhurn.
“You do not wish this one to die?” Nahanni asked.
“No, but—”
“Then this one has not come in vain. There is one Terran who does not desire this one’s death. There will be others. Perhaps this one shall meet them, perhaps not. But know this, Jade Lafrey. Others will follow. Many will die. But one day, there will be peace.”
Hot tears blinded her. Jade blundered from the detention cell.
Five weeks after the battle, Star Frigate Retribution dropped into a parking orbit above Alpha Australis IV—Weston’s World—and awaited the arrival of tugs to guide her into the orbiting dockyard.
Jade breathed a sigh of relief mixed with disappointment. In one sense she would be glad to turn over command of Retribution to someone more qualified. On the other hand, she’d been able to command a star frigate in the aftermath of battle and bring it home successfully. Not everyone could say that.
As soon as the ship was safely docked, she’d head planetside to report in person to First Admiral Shissler. Earlier, when she’d felt they were close enough for Retribution’s damaged comm system to have a chance of sending a coherent signal, she’d dispatched a Roessler-spatial comm-pulse to notify Naval Command of Retribution's approach and her actions, with a coded communiqué directly to the admiral alerting her of the prisoner. A tersely worded reply ordered Jade groundside as soon as possible. No mention of Nahanni.
“Shuttle coming alongside,” Ensign Polz reported. “Colonel Reichert on board.”
“Political?” Jade chilled. She’d hoped to be able to turn Nahanni over to the Navy. But if the Politicals were here first—
No, God, no.
“I’ll be in the captain’s ready room.” She climbed to her feet.
“I’ll have the colonel conducted up, ma’am,” Polz replied.
Jade positioned herself behind the imitation mahogany desk that had once belonged to Captain Harriet Mears-Hadley. She forced her breathing to slow, conscious that she was hyperventilating, hoping that somehow some of Mears-Hadley’s confidence would seep into her.
The door slid open, framing in the entrance a tall man wearing a maroon uniform. Jade rose to her feet, as if pulled by an invisible string, and saluted.
“At ease, Lieutenant.” The Political and Ideological officer stalked in. “Colonel Victor Reichert. Be seated.”
Reichert descended into a chair, and ran a hand over his square chin. Blonde hair surmounted pale blue eyes, steady beneath washed-out brows. His lined face looked tired, as if he had been under recent strain.
“I’ve received disturbing information,” he began, his tone mild, “but it’s not my habit to condemn without first verifying all the relevant facts for myself. I understand you have a Gara’nesh prisoner on board.”
A lump swelled in Jade’s throat. Fear knotted her gut. “Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
“I—how do you know, sir? Did Admiral Shissler—”
“I’ll ask the questions.” Reichert made a slashing movement with his hand. “What Admiral Shissler did or not do is irrelevant. The fact is that I know. Tell me why, Lieutenant.”
“We found it alive in one of the destroyed Gara’nesh ships after the battle and brought it on board.”
“Why? Why did you rescue it and bring it back, when regulations specify otherwise?”
“I…I hoped…I wondered…”
Her tongue stuck to back of her teeth. She opened her mouth and closed it again.
“You are aware of regulations?” Reichert asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you talk to it?”
Jade nodded.
“And?”
“It told me nothing of military value, sir.”
“Precisely. That is why interrogation is the domain of trained Political Officers.”
Reichert paused. “Let me tell you what I think,” he said, while she groped for a better answer that would satisfy him and save her
self. “I think that a young, scared, junior grade lieutenant who had just seen her captain killed in battle brought back this alien under a misguided apprehension that perhaps it could be used as a bargaining chip in some kind of peace process. Am I right?”
Again, he carried on before she could speak. “I see by your expression that I am.”
Quietly, Jade said, “Yes, sir.”
Was Reichert offering her a way out? If so, why?
“Let me tell you this, Lieutenant. I will say it once and you will remember it.” Reichert leaned forward, impaling her with the intensity of his gaze. “We do not want peace, Lafrey. We want victory. Victory. Pure and simple. We are fighting a brutal war against a brutal opponent. There is no room for sentiment. Believe me, I have heard more than enough milksop sentiment from young, junior officers.”
Reichert placed his hands on the desk in front of her and stood.
“You are fortunate, Lieutenant Lafrey, that I’m an understanding man. Other Political Officers might not be. Impetuous, idealistic youth makes mistakes. I realize this. Administering the coup de grace to a Gara’nesh warship and bringing Retribution home intact were acts of valor that I can respect. They also reassure me of your loyalty to the Hegemony.”
“I’m not a traitor,” Jade whispered.
“I believe you,” Reichert replied. He took a deep breath. “Still, you disobeyed regulations. You committed a court-martial offense.”
Jade looked down. “I know, sir. I will accept the consequences of my behavior.”
“Your action was foolish, but not treasonous. I have investigated you thoroughly, Lafrey. Your service record is impeccable, and your superior officers have spoken highly of you. The Navy cannot afford to lose good people. So I am prepared to let you off with a warning.” His voice hardened gradually until the words were dropping like metal plates. “A warning that in future you follow accepted guidelines. They are established for a reason. They are necessary for the conduct of the war. They are not optional. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Jade choked out. “Thank you, sir.”
Reichert nodded. “You are under probation, Lieutenant. Do not think this incident will be forgotten.”
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