“Don’t be ridiculous, Jindigar. She’s just a human! Arlai, don’t let him go!”
“Here’s your trajectory, but you won’t have fuel or air to get back.”
“Mail them to me!”
And a roar filled Krinata’s ears. She let it blank out all the little meaningless voices so she could hear truth.
Flying wholeheartedly into the depths of forever, she chased the tantalizing hints, sure that in the next instant, or now the next, she’d know how the universe was constructed. She couldn’t believe she’d been afraid to come out here.
Something smashed into her, jarring her view, and for a moment she thought enlightenment had arrived. But everything went black. No stars. Tears burned her eyes. She sniffed.
“Got her!”
“We can barely hear you. I’m launching.”
“Krinata, hang on. Help’s coming.”
She nestled into the dark, boring within for the answers denied from without. It was too beautiful to risk losing. Someone whimpered, but she couldn’t offer comfort just yet.
It was hot. She was sweating, claustrophobic. Panting. But the colors were fascinating, shimmering blotches that dissolved into nothing and meant everything.
Some barely conscious part of her mind realized she was dying, suffocating, but her only regret was that she’d lost her one chance to know what she’d been searching for all her life.
The last thing she remembered was a jarring smash that seemed hard enough to break bones. But she felt no pain.
“I’ve got it, Arlai! Good work. We’ll be right home.”
And the room was bright, perfumed with flowers and delicious food aromas. It was nice to wake up in the morning on Truth. Arlai knew how to please.
Then she remembered space. Her eyes flew open, and she gaped at the Dushau and Trassle. “Damn! Sickbay again!”
Jindigar was grinning. “See, I told you she’d make it.”
Arlai’s simulacrum bent anxiously over the bed. “Krinata, I’m sorry. It was all my fault!”
Feeling ridiculously rational considering the thoughts she remembered believing, she said, “Nonsense, Arlai. I forgot how dangerous it is out there. I got distracted—”
“Because,” added Arlai firmly, “I had your oxy-nitro pressure set all wrong for a human, and you went into raptures. You’ve been depressurized. No permanent damage.”
She was weak, and she hurt all over. She didn’t want to argue. “Did we save any lives?”
“Arlai insists we collected everyone who survived the blast. We only saved four of the humans. Some of the others are in critical condition.” Jindigar sighed. ‘Terab and her mate are fine, but their children died. Of the Oliat, only one, Desdinda, survived. I’m not sure she’s going to make it. I’m not sure she wants to. Frey is with her, for what good it will do. There’s no one left who’s zunre to her. It was her first Oliat, only her second office.”
It crashed in on her. Savagely, she crushed the blanket in her fists and tried to tear it apart. “It was a crate! Oh, why did they take a chance on that ship? Why?”
“They were desperate,” said Jindigar. “And some of them have survived. Sleep now, Krinata. Razum is only a few days away. And then ail of this will be behind us.”
A Dushau’s idea of a “few days” was markedly different from a human’s. Krinata had all the bedrest she could use, and time to get her strength back working out in the gym.
With all the new passengers, many of them in dire medical condition, Arlai was still working at capacity. The entire ship held the indefinable tang of “hospital,” and Arlai no longer took time to chat with her, though he never slighted her necessities. Occasionally, however, the ship’s lighting and gravity didn’t adjust as she walked into a room. When Arlai apologized, she brushed him off. “I’m fine. Concentrate on those who really need you.”
Gradually, she began seeing the newcomers creeping up and down the hallways in dressing gowns, surrounded by their own light and gravity as required. She longed to strike up acquaintances, but every overture she made seemed to be met by some odd combination of diffidence and distance.
As a last resort, she gravitated toward Desdinda and her inseparable companion, Frey. Frey treated her indifferently, but Desdinda was frosty. Krinata chalked that up to shock of Dissolution and tried harder to get through to her until one day, she walked right into a confrontation between Frey, Desdinda and Jindigar.
As Krinata emerged from her room, Jindigar was streaking by, Frey in hot pursuit, pleading reasonably, “But it would be the best thing for her. Even without the full Oliat, a triad subform can…”
Jindigar, too far beyond her door to notice Krinata, rounded on the boy. “Desdinda doesn’t have the talent, nor the strength, nor the training.” He spat out some old Dushauni interjection, and added softly, venting his frustration, “Krinata has more Oliat talent than Desdinda!”
But the Dushau woman caught up with them at that point, and stopped short, pulling herself up into a statuesque poise so perfectly centered her indignation seemed to make the very deck vibrate. Jindigar’s eye lit on Krinata just as Desdinda declared to Jindigar, “/ wouldn’t balance an Oliat or any subform of yours. I’ll never be zunre to an Aliom priest turned Invert! And if you ever touch Grisnilter’s archive, I’ll… I’ll…” She sputtered to a halt, unable to think of an action extreme enough. Then, following Jindigar’s gaze, she found Krinata standing openly in the shaftway.
Her face went cold. Her eyes returned to Jindigar, and she uttered one, oddly inflected Dushauni word. Uninflected, it was the term for meat or food, but this sounded like an epithet. Jindigar received that as if it were a slap. Desdinda gathered up the skirt of her yellow hospital robe, turned and stalked away without a backward glance.
Frey was staring at Krinata. Jindigar said softly, “Arlai, see to Desdinda. She’s not well enough to exert herself like that.”
“My chairmobile caught up to her and is giving her a ride back to her room. Shall I have Rinperee visit her?”
“In a couple of hours. She needs solitude, I think. Poor child, she’s so desperate, and won’t let me help.”
“Perhaps Grisnilter? I’ve taken him off sedation now, and he could have visitors.”
“Perhaps,” answered Jindigar, “when she’s calmed down. But warn him about her.”
“Oh, I will.” His simulacrum vanished.
During this, Frey, embarrassed, had crept back the way he’d come. “I, uh, should be going.”
Jindigar said, “We’ll talk, Frey. Later.”
“It’s not like that, Jindigar. I know you’re not an Invert.”
“I was,” he contradicted calmly, “and could easily be again. We’ll talk. If you want to resign tutelage, then we’ll dissolve without prejudice. I don’t think even Desdinda would hold it against you.”
“I won’t go until you dismiss me.”
“We’ll talk,” insisted Jindigar. “Later.”
He let Frey go, and Krinata let out a long held breath. Jindigar said, gazing after the boy, “Go ahead. Ask.”
She couldn’t, so she complained rhetorically, “Why does Arlai let me walk into these things?”
“Arlai,” answered Jindigar, “is preoccupied. We’re carrying almost a full load now. Additionally, he’s unaware of emotionally charged conversations unless his name is mentioned, or ship’s security is involved.” His eyes came to hers sympathetically. “Ask the real question, Krinata.”
“All right. What are you? What does she think you are that he thinks you’re not, that you insist you are, and what does all that mean to me? If anything.” And what do you mean I have as much talent as Desdinda? Which one of us are you insulting? But she wasn’t going to say that aloud.
“Do you understand,” he asked obliquely, “that only during Renewal do we practice our—religions? For the sake of analogy, you could regard Aliom as my religion, and myself as a professional promulgator of it—a priest. But that is true only during Renewal. Alio
m provides the philosophy on which the Oliat functions. Once, only once, I reversed that philosophy, inverted it. Hence, I am known as an Invert. To many, it makes no difference, to others I’m a purveyor of evil. Thus, there are Dushau who will regard you as they would any Ephemeral, and there are those who’d consider you tainted by association with me.”
Before she could consider her words, she heard herself ask, “Is that why you were exiled from Dushaun?”
While he looked stunned, she thought, Where did I ever get that impression? But he answered mildly, “Not really. I thought you’d be more concerned about whether you, yourself, care to associate with an Invert.”
So he is in exile! But somehow she wasn’t horrified. She ached with the sadness of it. “To figure out what an Invert is, I’d first have to learn the Aliom philosophy. Since we only have a few more days to Razum, I guess that’s going to have to wait awhile. But I am interested.”
“You’ll find Arlai’s library is complete on the subject. If >ou discover you do not wish to associate with me, say so.”
“Why are you always trying to get rid of me? Is it that you don’t wish to associate with me?”
“No. Krinata.” She couldn’t doubt his sincerity. “I don’t ever want you to feel trapped. I dislike that feeling too much myself.”
“All right, then let’s make a bargain. You stop trying to get me to quit, and I’ll promise to let you know if I want out. Deal?”
He regarded her oddly, then he grinned. “Deal.”
She hardly saw Jindigar during the rest of her convalescence, and never had a chance to apologize for the foolish stunt she’d pulled in space. She began to wonder if he was avoiding her. It couldn’t have been comfortable for him to confess to being an Invert. He could have no idea how she would react, and neither did she.
She did pull out volumes of Aliom philosophy, but it was too boring. From what she did glean, she couldn’t imagine how it could be “inverted.” So she found herself mulling over the things Jindigar had done. For one thing, he’d never lied to her. He often withheld information, but only because he felt it irrelevant. When asked a direct question, he answered candidly. He gave himself unstintingly to his personal loyalties. He never blamed another for his personal failings or turns of fortune. His gratitude was boundless. His courage put hers to shame, and that despite being “evolved prey.” And his innate joy in life, and optimism somehow fired up her own will to live. If that was “Inverted” then she didn’t think she’d like right-side-up.
So whatever he’d done, it must have violated some cultural taboo that would be meaningless to her. That’s how it often was between species; what was cause for ostracism in one society was a good laugh in another. She was too cosmopolitan to take such things seriously.
Eventually, she discovered Jindigar was spending most of his time in Arlai’s core room, with Grisnilter, or on the bridge. Trying to restore normality, she presented herself for bridge duty still wearing Arlai’s telemband, knowing she didn’t have the stamina for a full workload yet.
She seated herself in the vacant captain’s chair, noting that Trassle was on duty, though his exoskeleton bore a crack along his chest which Arlai had mended with a cement that didn’t quite match his coloring. She looked around, saw Jindigar peering at her from an access panel, and asked, half rising from the chair, “Or is Terab playing captain now?”
He scrambled to his feet and came toward her, saying so quietly she thought Trassle wouldn’t hear, “As much as I admire Terab, even when she recovers from her losses, I will not give her Arlai’s central keys.”
She looked up into his swirling indigo eyes. “Because you regret giving them to me? Look, there’s something I’ve been wanting to say. I’m sorry I insisted on going out into space with you. I’m too much of an amateur.”
“What happened wasn’t your fault.”
“An experienced spacer would have noticed the pressure settings! It was my responsibility to check that suit.”
“It was Arlai’s responsibility,” groaned Jindigar, and as he spoke he sat on the instrument panel before her, toying with switches. “This is the first time, in all the years we’ve been together, that Arlai has failed. Sentients just don’t make that kind of mistake. Krinata, I’ve been checking his circuits ever since it happened. If I’d known Arlai’s error with the suit had caused you to take that deep dive, I wouldn’t have trusted him to mail us that air/thruster pack—”
“What did you think caused me to deep dive?”
“Your psychological state. It happens sometimes, you know. Every species, even Dushau, experience a link with the cosmos on an unconscious level. And I know being ripped from the moorings of your life and thrown into harrowing challenge after heartstopping risk is enough to disturb anyone’s unconscious. I never cease to be amazed at how you’ve survived it all without knowing your epistemology.”
“Maybe epistemology isn’t as important to a human as to a Dushau?” She’d looked up the word, glanced through some philosophy texts, and decided she wasn’t going to invent herself an epistemology, nor adopt one. And all the Aliom texts seemed to be about nothing else.
“Perhaps,” he pronounced dubiously.
She turned back to her plotting board, to change the subject. “It says here Truth will orbit Razum Two in five days. After we pick up your Lehiroh, then what?”
He sighed, announcing a decision that seemed to tear his heart as he tried to argue himself into the logic of it. “We’ve got a full passenger load, the Imperials are alerted and there’s no way we can make Atridm and Canbera without being tracked. And it all would be for nothing since, by the time we can get to Atridm, the pogrom will have run to completion. My friends would be either dead or safe of their own efforts. Arlai’s picked up word that one of Trassle’s documents has finally surfaced, and the Kings are investigating. I can’t see any good is going to come of that, but anybody who wants to be left on Razum can debark there, because our next destination will be Phanphihy.”
“Where our troubles will be just beginning.” She keyed “Razum Two to Phanphihy” into Arlai’s plotting board, and said, “How are we going to contact these Lehiroh?”
“Easy. You see, I’ve been invited to the wedding of the four I’m looking for.”
Wedding? Lehiroh didn’t marry.
But Jindigar interpreted her blank look as skepticism. “Arlai assures me Razum Two is almost untouched by the madness afflicting the rest of the Allegiancy. Duke Nodrial has a strong militaristic grip on the populace of the Nineteen Stars, and a firm alliance with two other Dukes and the King of the Treptians. Arlai says Nodrial’s massing a force to move against Zinzik, and he needs a stable launching base. So he’s clamped an iron rule on Razum’s population.
“For the most part, the people hardly notice, though. Razum, remember, is a Lehiroh multicolony. It was started by a group of Lehiroh religious dissidents who gathered passionately dedicated religious cults from several species. They tend their own lives and ignore the secular government. As long as exports are high, Nodrial leaves Razum Two alone. So this will probably be the easiest masquerade of the lot.”
“Will you go as Rrrelloleh?”
“Yes, he was never seen, and there is a Lehrtrili population on Razum. It’s plausible that one might invite himself to a Lehiroh wedding. There are also many humans, but no Cassrians or Dushau, and not many Holot.”
In the back of Krinata’s mind, alarm bells sounded at the news that Nodrial was creating alliances and massing an attack force against Zinzik. Nodrial, aggressive, ambitious, ruthless, might be no better than Zinzik on the imperial throne. The Nineteen Stars didn’t have the industrial base to field a fleet to be reckoned with. He’d never trust the support of other Dukes or a King. Nodrial must have some secret advantage, to think he had a chance at the throne.
When she voiced these misgivings, Jindigar agreed. “I’ll be very glad of your observant company.”
She tried her best dazzling smile on him. �
�It’s just that, secretly I’ve always wanted to be escorted to a Lehiroh wedding by a Lehrtrili!”
The smile was lost on him, but she did win a chuckle.
Over the next few days, she stood bridge watches, trying to be there when Jindigar wasn’t so Arlai would always have someone with decision authority on his bridge. But Jindigar came and went at odd hours, still checking Arlai’s circuits. When all Arlai’s scurries were busy, Jindigar sent her to his cabin to drop off or fetch tools or documents. He pored over old schematics, heavily modified by changes made in Arlai’s systems over the years.
Once, he accidentally refrigerated the bridge air, and while he was shivering and frying to get the connections reset, he sent her to fetch a winter robe. As she was coming out of Jindigar’s cabin wearing the robe so she could also carry the tools he’d asked for, she met one of the human men. He appraised her, nodded as if comprehending something that had puzzled him and went on his way.
She was halfway to the bridge before she realized what a sight she presented: hair disheveled from hanging upside-down handing Jindigar tools as he crawled through an access tunnel, feet bare because her boots had made her too clumsy, and wearing Jindigar’s robe which concealed her clothing. She caught her breath to call after the man, but he was gone. She had no time for it, and later had forgotten the incident.
When she wasn’t helping Jindigar, she holed up with one of Arlai’s terminals researching Razum’s splinter Lehiroh group, helping Arlai create a new persona for her. She knew the basics of Lehiroh biology. The male extracted the egg cell from the female, fertilized it and returned it to the female. This process triggered lactation in the male, and it was the male who settled down for the requisite number of years to raise the young while the female, after giving birth, was the breadwinner of the family.
On this process, many cultures and religions had imposed limitations. That was one thing Lehiroh and humans had in common, a plethora of cultures and religions, intermingling and fighting it out for dominance. But in recent centuries, the Lehiroh worlds which had become prominent in the Empire had eschewed all their religions, embracing a kind of agnosticism, and abandoning every form of marriage.
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