by Jo Graham
—
an actual white paper to be read by Senator Nunn about the situation in the Former Yugoslav Republic! She’d put fifty hours into it in four days, and Elizabeth could say with all confidence it was her best work. It was the best thing she’d ever done. Now he wanted to talk to her about it. Her palms were sweating as she opened the office door.
“Come on in, Ms. Weir,” he said from behind his desk. He was middle aged, affable, looking more like a high school chemistry teacher than a senator. Mild-mannered, her mother would have said, meaning it as a compliment. He had an aww-shucks Georgia drawl and glasses. He gestured to one of the two visitors chairs, a nightmare in orange Naugahyde that must have been the height of fashion about twenty years ago.
“Senator Nunn. It’s a pleasure, sir.” She stuck out a hand with what she hoped was moxie and firmness.
He shook it, then sat back down. Her paper was open in front of him. “So how’s DC treating you?”
“It’s great,” Elizabeth said. “I like it very much. But since I went to Georgetown, I already know my way around.”
“Of course you do.” He glanced down at the typewritten pages. “An excellent school.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. The excellence of Georgetown was a nice, safe subject.
“I’d like to talk to you about this white paper,” he said slowly, turning one page. “Your analysis of the situation in Bosnia.”
“Yes, senator.” She caught herself before she added, that’s what it is, yes, you’ve correctly identified this white paper. That was smart ass. She was smart, not smart ass.
He touched his glasses, peering at the page. “You attribute the situation to militarism.”
And now was her chance to score, to make a mark. “Senator, disarmament is the only possible…”
He glanced up, his voice mild. “Ms. Weir, no one is a greater champion of disarmament than I am. In fact, if you’re familiar with my record, you know that I am one of the primary designers of the Nunn-Lugar Cooperative Threat Reduction Program to dismantle weapons of mass destruction.” He closed the white paper. “And this paper is a load of malarkey. If you’re attributing what’s going on in the Former Yugoslav Republic to militarism, you are missing about the last thousand years of European history. I suggest you dig a little deeper.” He tossed the paper back to her across the desk. “Ever been there? Ever met any Croats or Serbs or Bosnians? Ever read any Serbian poetry, any Croatian novels? Do you have any insights deeper than rehashing previous analysis?”
Elizabeth opened her mouth and then shut it again, her face burning.
“You’ve done just what they trained you to do in college
—
dig up some sources and cite them. But this is the real world. Anybody can look up some statistics. The point of writing white papers is to inform
—
to provide new and insightful synthesis of what’s going on. It’s a big world, Ms. Weir. I rely on my staff to keep me informed of what’s going on all over the world independently of the US military and independent of what the State Department chooses to share with my committee. And that means actually telling me something I don’t know. Tell me why.”
“Why?”
“Tell me why, Ms. Weir. I can read what leaders say in the Washington Post. I want to know why. I want to know who’s thinking what, and what the cultural background behind it is. I want to know what buttons we’re punching, what narratives we’re stepping into, what stories we’re playing from their point of view. Do you understand?”
“Yes, senator.” And she did. She’d never in her life felt embarrassment so acute, but she knew what he meant. No one had ever asked it of her before. “Everyone has a narrative, a story that says what they think is going on, and that’s based on their culture and their heritage.”
“And we need to know what it is, and what role we’re playing in their story. We already know what role they play in ours.” He tapped on the edge of her paper. “You’ve got a fine mind, Ms. Weir. But I expect people have told you that.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Have you got a fine heart?”
Elizabeth opened her mouth and shut it again.
“The center of diplomacy is understanding, and understanding is built on compassion. You have to want to get the other guy. You have to put yourself in his shoes, no matter how unpleasant those shoes may be. You have to see where he’s coming from. We like to treat politics like it’s rational, but it’s not. Hell, anyone who’s ever worked for a campaign knows it’s not! People vote based on how they feel about the candidates and the issues. People go to war over how they feel, not over what’s rational. Rational self-interest is all very well, but don’t count on it to move things your way. Not when pride is involved. Pride, history, belief, prejudice, hope
—
those are a lot more powerful than rational self-interest.” He nodded down at the paper. “You’ve got some ideas. But you need more than that. You need to understand the data you’re looking at. You need to see what it means. What are you planning to do next year?”
Elizabeth blinked at the abrupt change of topic. “I’m planning to apply for graduate work at Yale,” she said.
“Don’t.” Senator Nunn smiled. “Get out in the field. Go to Bosnia. Go to Somalia. You’ve got all the academic credentials to come back later, but for now get out there. See what it’s really like, what refugees are really like, what war is. You can’t campaign for disarmament if you don’t know what war is. Get out of the box and have some experiences. See if your heart is as good as your mind.” He pushed his chair back from his desk. “This town is full of young people who think they know things. Be one who actually does.”
Elizabeth blinked awake. She had been nodding in a chair in the common room, but a jolt had shaken the ship and she started.
“It’s nothing,” Atelia said from where she stood by the window with her son. “Just docking. Come and see.”
Elizabeth got up and came to the window. She had been dreaming again, of an office and a man. The government of some world? Of her own world, wherever that might be? In her dream all those names and places had meant something.
“We’ve come up next to Durant,” Atelia explained. “They’ve just run the walk across. That bump was the latch on.”
Through the window Elizabeth could see another ship alongside them, larger but equally battered, as though parts of various ships had been welded together haphazardly into a conglomeration that should be barely spaceworthy. A long plastic tube, segmented like a child’s toy, extended from a hatch on the other ship’s side to some point on this one further forward, presumably to their own airlock.
“Now we can go back and forth,” Atelia said. “Trade goods, trade people back and forth between ships.”
“Is your husband coming aboard?” Elizabeth asked.
Her face fell. “I doubt he’s back yet. But they may have some word.” Atelia stepped back. “If you’re still looking for a ship that can take you to a Stargate quickly, I expect Durant can. And there’s a man there who may be able to help with your memories.”
“A doctor?” Elizabeth asked.
“I suppose you’d say so,” Atelia said grimly. “I’m not sure we’d have called him a doctor on Sateda, but he’s the best we have.”
“Then I’ll be glad to talk to him,” Elizabeth said. “Anything to help me remember.”
Crossing from one Traveler ship to another was a nerve wracking experience. Elizabeth did not consider herself especially fearful, but crossing through the plastic tubes was frightening. It wasn’t that it was confining. Yes, the tubes were less than her height in diameter and there was no gravity, meaning she had to swim through, using the ribbing of the walls to propel herself forward. It wasn’t that. It was that the plastic was clear.
It was like being in space, in free fall without a space suit.
For some reason that was the most utterly terrifying thing Elizabeth could imagine. She ha
d to halt just outside the airlock for a long moment, her heart pounding. Crossing twenty feet of plastic tube seemed impossible.
Meanwhile, others passed her going in either direction, some of them trundling bulky packs of goods that weighed nothing in zero G.
Why was this so frightening? There was plenty of air. She could see people going to and fro breathing normally. No one even seemed stressed. This was no more extraordinary to the Travelers than… Than what? Than she would find it to cross a room? For a moment something else had presented itself, stepping into a tiny claustrophobic room without windows that took you very quickly between floors. Many people found that mode of transportation unnerving. Many aliens.
On Sateda? That didn’t seem right.
The intellectual puzzle was distracting. It had given her a moment to catch her breath. She could do this. She could cross twenty feet of space in a plastic tube. It didn’t feel like the worst thing she’d ever done. The key was not to look. Someone had told her that once. Don’t look. Just focus on the back of the person ahead of you.
A man brushed past her, an orange cloth duffel bag bulging at the seams as he dragged it behind him on its strap. Look at him. Look at the bag. Don’t look at the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the distant stars. She pushed off from the airlock following him. Watch the bag. Watch the man’s back.
A woman passed her going the other way. She was in the middle now. Keep watching the bag. The man had reached the far airlock, stopped and pulled it inside with him. He turned and waited for her, a friendly smile on his bearded face. Watch the man.
He reached out a hand and drew her the last few feet inside the dark aperture. “Here you go. Zero gravity takes some getting used to.”
“Thanks,” Elizabeth said. The airlock was small, the inner doors sealed. They waited until another person going their way came in. Then the man glanced down the tube to see if anyone else was coming. Elizabeth didn’t look that way. She studied the door panel.
“All clear,” he said cheerfully and reached past her to tap a yellow button.
“Doors closing,” a tinny voice announced, and the outer doors slowly slid shut. Elizabeth hoped she didn’t sigh with relief when she could no longer see the tube. “Airlock cycling,” the voice said.
“It does that just to be careful,” the man said. “There’s air all the way across but the ship has to equalize pressure as a matter of course.” He looked at her carefully. “You new around here?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said firmly, making sure her feet were on the marked floor. “I came aboard at Mazatla.”
“Where are you from?”
“Sateda,” Elizabeth said. “I was told you have a doctor aboard?”
“That would be Dekaas,” the man said. “And I’m Idrim Tollard. Nice to meet you.”
“You too,” Elizabeth said.
“You can find him aft in the emergency ward, most likely,” Idrim said. “Follow the green signs. Green for health. You label that way on Sateda?”
“I don’t remember,” Elizabeth said.
“Door opening,” the tinny voice said, and the inner doors slid open into the corridor of a much larger ship. Two people with packages were waiting on the other side.
Idrim hauled his now-heavy bag inside. “Good luck to you,” he said.
“Thank you.” The green sign was on the opposite wall amid others, pointing down the hall to her left. She followed it down the long corridor, then right into a cross corridor that was broad enough for someone to pass with a gurney. Ahead there was a bulkhead door labeled with a large green dot, but it opened when she approached, sliding back into the wall jerkily. The owners of this ship had automatic doors, but they didn’t entirely work, an interesting thing to note.
The chamber beyond was brightly lit for a Traveler ship, the walls painted white to make it even lighter. There were three beds, all empty. Beside one of them a crewman was talking to an older man, his arm in a sling. The gray haired man put a small bottle into his free hand. “Take one of these every six hours to help with the swelling. It won’t do a lot for the pain, but it will bring the inflammation down and help some. The main thing is to not use that arm as much as possible.”
“I’ll do that,” the patient said. “Thanks, doc.”
“Come back day after tomorrow if we’re still here,” the doctor said, and turned to glance at Elizabeth. “What brings you here?” he asked easily. “Have a seat and tell me about it.” He gestured to two metal chairs by a table. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”
“My name is Elizabeth,” she said, and sat down. There was something about him that was reassuring, though he wore no white coat
—
whatever that was supposed to mean? He was sixty or so, clean shaven, with salt and pepper hair gone more white than dark, broad shoulders and a face that would have been exceptionally handsome in youth. He wore a brown tunic closed tight at the throat, and his expression was friendly. “I came aboard at Mazatla, and I was hoping you could help me.”
The doctor watched the man with his arm in a sling leave. “Tell me about it. My name is Dekaas, by the way.”
“It’s good to meet you, doctor,” she said politely.
He laughed. “Only by experience, not training. But I’ve had quite a lot of experience in my years.”
There was something about him that set her at ease, Elizabeth thought. Experience, yes. And experience of human nature.
“So what’s bothering you?”
“I’ve lost my memory.” Said like that it seemed crazy, but he only put his head to the side thoughtfully.
“All at once, or gradually over a period of time?”
“All at once, I think. I don’t really know.” Elizabeth shook her head. “The Mazatla found me lying in a field. I don’t remember anything before that. They thought I might have been attacked by criminals and left for dead, only I didn’t seem to have any injuries. I’m not Mazatla. The things that seem familiar
—
devices, technology
—
suggested to them that I’m Satedan. But I don’t remember Sateda or anything about it.”
“So you do remember things.” His blue eyes were keen.
“A few things. Scenes.” Elizabeth hunted for the words. “Scattered memories. My parents, people I knew a long time ago. Nothing recent. Nothing since I was a young woman.”
“And are you old now?” Dekaas asked. “It seems to me that you aren’t so old. Mature, maybe. Not a young girl. But certainly not old.”
“I don’t know how old I am,” Elizabeth said. For some reason she thought she must appear younger than her actual age, or at least younger by several years than the span of her actual life. “Can’t you tell medically?”
“I could make a good guess if your life span has not been altered,” Dekaas said.
Elizabeth frowned. “How could that happen?”
“Any number of things.” Dekaas looked away, picking up a small notebook bound at the top of the page from the workbench, and a pen with it. “The Wraith.”
“Wouldn’t the Wraith have aged me?” She had heard that somewhere, knew it.
“Possibly. It’s also possible they would have extended your life.” Dekaas frowned thoughtfully. “But I’ve never heard of that erasing memory. Though I suppose the trauma…”
“How could they do that?” Elizabeth asked. Surely this was a secret, uncommon knowledge.
“It’s a gift reserved for favorite worshippers,” Dekaas said. “Or extraordinary circumstances. I can see that you might have been restored to life from near death, and that perhaps the trauma caused you to forget.”
“But why would I have been left on Mazatla?” she asked. “Why wouldn’t the Wraith have killed me or at least kept me prisoner?”
Dekaas took a deep breath. “There have been many upheavals among the Wraith recently. Queen Death
—
I suppose you’ve heard of her?”
“A man s
aid she was dead.”
He nodded. “She built a grand alliance. And then she was killed by the Genii, or so they say. By the Genii, or some other alliance of hives against her. In any event, there was war between various hives. And sometimes…” He stopped, and for a moment his gaze faltered. “Sometimes when a hive is hard-pressed they will release their worshippers onto a nearby planet.”
“Why would they do that?” Elizabeth asked.
He shrugged elaborately, going to fetch another notebook from a different table. “If your house was on fire, would you let the dog out?”
“Of course.” A thought came to her, a flash of insight born of his evading eyes, his tunic buttoned up to the throat so that no hint of chest showed. “You were one, weren’t you? A worshipper who was released?”
He took a deep breath, turning back to her slowly, though the infirmary was empty except for them, the doors closed. “Yes. But it’s not something to speak of. There are those who will kill a former worshipper on sight. Or worse.”
“Worse?”
“Hunters want information, and if it is not given freely they will take it.” Dekaas shrugged. “Even if that information is decades old and of no use to anyone.”
“Hunters.”
“There are those who hunt the Wraith, Hunters rather than prey. Some people greatly revere them. Others dread their coming, for fear that they will bring the Wraith in pursuit where they go.” Dekaas walked restlessly about the room. “One famous Hunter makes his home aboard the ship that brought you, as much as any Hunter can. It’s said that the Wolf and two companions destroyed an entire hive ship once.” He shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s true. Only that it’s said.”
“Atelia’s husband,” Elizabeth said.
“Just so.”
“And he would harm you?”
“I don’t plan to find out,” Dekaas said. There was a quirk of humor at the corner of his mouth. “So kindly do not repeat this to Atelia. And certainly do not repeat it if you think that you might have also been a worshipper much more recently.”
“I see,” she replied.
He looked at her keenly. “You don’t seem surprised that the Wraith can heal as well as kill.”