by Jean Johnson
CHAPTER 2
APRIL 25, 2287 C.E.
DEMBER 19, 9507 V.D.S.
Doctors To-mi Kuna’mi and Mi’en Qua were not quite what Jackie had expected. The fact that they were able to come up to the station so quickly and had agreed to enter quarantine was a blessing, but for two V’Dan women from the same planet, they were not exactly ordinary.
Dr. Qua was tall and thin, with dark blond or perhaps light brown hair pulled back in a bun, and a smattering of roughly fingernail-sized lavender dots that outlined the edges of her face and striped the topside and underside of each arm. She wore clothes in shades of purple cut in the current V’Dan style, somewhat Napoleonic and somewhat modern, and her lavender eyes were a bit strange but not too disarming.
Jackie had seen several pictures of V’Dan citizens as part of the preliminary exchanges of information between the two nations, and spot patterns like that were not common. Nor was the way she held herself, taut with energy inside, seemingly calm on the outside. This moment was important to Mi’en Qua; Jackie wasn’t nearly as good at reading auras as Li’eth, but she could sense some grasp of the importance of this moment in the other woman’s energies. Like a babbling brook, she wasn’t a rushing tumble of emotions going through whitewater rapids, but she did have motion disturbing her otherwise clear depths.
The other woman, Dr. Kuna’mi, was a still, calm pool by comparison, the kind of pool on a clear day that mirrored the sky, the land—the space station, technically. To-mi Kuna’mi wore her hair loose, letting it fall over and around her shoulders in thick, dark waves. She actually kind of looked Asian, rather than a blend of indeterminate Terran-style ethnicities, and her skin had that golden-brown look to it that wasn’t too far off from Jackie’s own. The exception were her eyes, which were blue, not brown.
Like Jackie, her figure was a bit fuller than on the thin side, though not quite as plump as Jackie’s had been back at the beginning of all of this. The woman showcased it with a suit of strong contrasting navy blue, sapphire blue, and white, making the outturned lapels look almost Art Deco, not just Napoleonic. It took the Terran Ambassador several seconds past the rounds of greeting bows, and even past waiting for the two women to receive vaccination shots versus Terran diseases, before she realized the other unusual feature of Dr. Kuna’mi’s appearance. Mainly because Dr. Qua mentioned it.
“. . . And of course, my colleague is the authority on the jungen virus and all its effects,” the genome specialist stated. “Please don’t be fooled by her lack of marks; she’s been working in this field for well over fifteen years.”
Lack of . . . Jackie blinked and focused on the other woman’s face. Dr. Kuna’mi smiled slightly at the praise. Slightly, but wryly. On impulse, Jackie admitted, “To be honest, I hadn’t noticed. Terrans simply don’t notice those sorts of things. Please, come this way. You’ll be bunking together for a sleeping shift in the same cabin as myself and two of my own specialists—thank you, by the way, for being willing to endure the crowded conditions with us while your colleagues outside quarantine work on cross-checking our antigens and vaccines with V’Dan medicine for compatibility.”
“Your willingness to not only undergo such precautions, but to offer solutions to the potential health problems you bring is very admirable,” Qua told her, as a handful of Jackie’s soldiers hefted the bags and boxes the two women had brought into quarantine with them. “Very mature,” she added, moving to follow the Ambassador.
Jackie glanced over her shoulder at that, one brow arched. Was that another case of V’Dan bias against the unmarked, or just a comment on their foresight ability. “Of course it is. We tried to consider in advance your people’s good health and medical needs as well as our own. It takes a little more effort, but only a little, to ensure that the people of V’Dan stay healthy. If we make sure your people have a chance to stay healthy, then there’s a chance they will stay happy about meeting and making treaties with my people.”
“Yet you were unable to anticipate the impact of the breath-stealers inherent in our food,” Dr. Kuna’mi pointed out calmly, her tone matter-of-fact.
Maria, her injector tucked back into its case, her legs pacing the space between the two local doctors and the guards with their belongings, addressed that question. “Since we had no actual samples of your food on hand, señora, we went with what looked like the baseline histaminic response capability of our guests’ biologies. We miscalculated due to a lack of information, not a lack of mature foresight.”
“True,” Kuna’mi allowed, dipping her head.
“What does sen’yor-ah mean?” Dr. Qua asked as they entered the airlock between the hangar bay and the rest of the quarantined sector of the station.
“It’s in a language called Spanish, which shares some words with Terranglo, our main trade tongue,” Jackie explained for her, falling into the role of translator with ease, since it was her longest-running career. She tapped the controls on the airlock door—fairly simple to use—and helped fill the time as they waited for the air to cycle with a bit more information. “The closest equivalent would be calling you by your commonly used female-gendered honorific, meioa-e, which I am told is actually a Solarican word, not V’Dan.”
“That is correct,” Dr. Qua agreed. “Everyone but the K’Katta can pronounce it and understand its meaning.”
“In Spanish, señora is used to address an older woman, an honored or respected woman, a married woman, or, in its most archaic sense, a noblewoman. In this case, Dr. de la Santoya is using it as one highly educated colleague to another out of respect.”
“What she said,” Maria agreed, flicking a hand at Jackie.
Dr. Kuna’mi eyed Jackie with an ongoing hint of amusement. “You fill the role of a translator very smoothly, Grand High Ambassador. You must have had practice.”
“I’ve been a translator for longer than I have been an Ambassador, a politician, or even a soldier,” she replied. “I speak over eighty Terran languages, and now I speak V’Dan as well. With luck, I will find those among the other sentient races who will be willing to attempt language transfers, and add those to my list.”
“Over eighty languages!” Qua exclaimed softly, disbelief coloring her tone, and her aura when Jackie glanced her way. “You expect us to believe that?”
“I will admit that I do not speak all of them fluently at the moment,” Jackie said, correcting herself physically as she almost took the wrong corridor to her quarters. These V’Dan military-style quarantine quarters were very . . . alike. Very gray-painted. She wished they had artwork hung on the walls to make them more memorable. “But it only takes me a short while in the company of a native speaker to regain that fluency.
“The ‘trick’ to it is that I can learn a language very quickly via what you call holy powers, the ability to speak mind-to-mind without words. Ask any of our five guests, and they will tell you that I learned V’Dan in just three hours and could teach Terranglo to them within three to five, depending on how quickly they cooperated. I have since had ample cause to continue to use it, which further sets it in the mind.”
Something in the air shifted at her words. Jackie slowed, unsure what it was. No, not the air . . . the aether. She glanced behind her, at Dr. Qua’s ruffled brook of an aura, at the matching one of Dr. Kuna’mi . . . almost matching. Jackie still had the odd sense of a mirror-smooth surface, but it was now deep below the ruffled stream. An unnaturally mirror-smooth inner core, she realized, facing forward with a blink. With an aura-based illusion of a more normal mind on top.
It was an illusion of normalcy. How she knew that, she wasn’t sure; her ability to sense auras was still fairly new. But it was more than that. Her telepathy told her it was an illusion. The other woman, Dr. Kuna’mi, was mirroring the normal turbulence of a normal, nongifted mind, the mind of the woman next to her, and Jackie had rarely sensed two minds being so closely alike. Even when a group of people we
re focusing strongly on an identical group task, there were always subcurrents of differences.
In Dr. Qua, there were subcurrents that riffled the waters of her mind, like rocks at the bottom of the stream, save that the “rocks” of the mind came and went. In Dr. Kuna’mi . . . a smooth glass bottom lined the streambed, reflecting all above it but revealing nothing beneath that polished surface. It was the weirdest set of mental shields Jackie had ever sensed. Very strong, very practiced . . . very un-V’Dan, if what she had learned from Li’eth was the V’Dan measuring stick.
There was no way that Dr. Kuna’mi could be Terran, or Terran-trained. That left . . . exactly what, Jackie did not know. She had yet to encounter actual V’Dan psis other than His Highness, and until she did, she could not say for certain that Li’eth’s initial nearly nonexistent training was normal for these people. I’ll have to wait until I can meet with the priesthood of their Sh’nai faith before I can be sure. Which will have to wait until quarantine is over, when we can linger longer than our own food supplies can last, and when all the formal greetings and initial, important meetings are over.
So many things had to wait until then. For now, though, they had reached her assigned quarters. Mindful of the fact that Aixa and Jasmine were inside sleeping, she stopped in front of the door and faced the two ladies. “Since we will be sharing quarters with two others, Aixa Winkler,” she said, pronouncing the last name Vinkler in the proper German accent, “and Min Wang-Kurakawa, we have moved things so that the other two female psis—holy ones, in your culture—are on the same sleep schedule with each other, and that the two of you will be on your own sleep schedule.
“Terrans have certain rules of etiquette which we have developed for the comfort and safety of interactions with our holy ones,” Jackie continued. From a pocket, she pulled a sketch of the Radiant Eye, a simple circle-within-an-oval design with eight bars radiating from the pupil point. “This is the mark of what we call the ‘Radiant Eye’ in your language. It is the symbol of the largest school for training holy gifts, and though there are other major and minor schools for training such things, because of its popularity, our military has been granted permission to use a variation of this symbol.
“There are five of us among the Terrans, two males and three females including myself, plus, of course, His Highness, who is sharing his quarters with the other two men,” she continued. “Grouping us together has nothing to do with rank, but everything to do with courtesy. Touch, we Terrans learned long ago, increases psychic abilities. Telepathy, the ability to read others’ thoughts, is definitely one of those increased by touch . . . and the stronger a telepath is, the stronger that ability will be influenced by touch. In fact, if you accidentally touched me and I was not aware and thus guarded against such things, I would be able to hear whatever you are thinking. Not just the strongest thoughts, but even some of the subthoughts.
“Most people with these abilities do not like reading others’ thoughts,” Jackie stated firmly, while the two doctors exchanged wary looks. “This includes myself and the four telepaths I have brought along to be assistant translators. We strongly believe that thoughts are meant to remain private, and we have a whole series of classes which each psychic must take in regards to ethics and ethical behavior in such matters. One of those things is a phrase, ‘What was yours is still yours,’ and it means that if we do accidentally pick up something, we are bound by laws of ethics not to reveal it to anyone else . . . barring only thoughts of having completed a major crime such as murder or grand theft.”
Kuna’mi twisted her mouth into a wry sort of smile on one side of her face. “That’s an interesting way of putting it, that of having completed a major crime.”
Jackie shrugged, lifting her hands. “We are all Humans. Our species is known to have fits of rage and thoughts of murder from time to time. The difference is whether or not we act upon those urges. The law cannot punish a man or a woman for a mere thought, however violent or awful. It can only punish a deed that has been committed, or been attempted.
“With that said, if you do accidentally brush up against me or one of the others, we may learn things about you,” Jackie stated. She lifted her chin at Maria, waiting patiently behind the other two. “And when I and others assist Maria in translating between her knowledge of medical terminology and yours, we will learn things about each of you because the translation process leans heavily upon context based on your memories. But we are pledged to keep personal information to ourselves, and to not make comment upon it without permission or absolute privacy with you alone.”
“Basically, the Ambassador’s five-minute lecture on ethics and etiquette boils down to ‘do not touch, poke, or annoy the psychics, and they will not touch, poke, or annoy you,’” Maria translated dryly. “Are we almost done? I should like to get to work. The sooner we can figure out things, the sooner we can eat food that is prepared, not packaged. What is crafted for the weightlessness of space, where smells are difficult to sense and thus enjoy, will taste overseasoned and odd in a gravitied environment.”
“Quite. Inside this room, ladies,” Jackie explained, “there are four cupboards to the immediate left of the door. You may use the two bottom drawers. Aixa and Min are using the top two, in deference to Aixa’s age—Aixa is also using the bottom bunk. The two of you can sort out who sleeps where when your sleep shift arrives. My own gear is stored under the sofa bench nearest the washing facilities. If you need more room, use the ones to the far right as you face the bench, not to the left.
“I requested that they leave a light on since there are privacy curtains that can be pulled across the bunk openings, but as they are asleep, please stow your gear quietly. I will stay out here because it is too crowded inside with three people moving around all at once.” Touching the door controls, she opened it up, showing the dimly lit cabin. The curtains were indeed pulled shut, and one of the women inside was snoring softly.
Since the door slid sideways into the wall, the two women were able to access the lockers easily. Each doctor paused to sort a few belongings, stuffed most into one of the two lower cupboards, and picked up the small bags and sturdy cases that no doubt contained personal versions of the tools of their trades.
Once the door was shut again, leaving the two women inside to sleep in peace, and the group was following Dr. de la Santoya, Dr. Qua eyed Jackie. “So what is the verdict on what you will do about the medical reaction your people are having to our food? You said you had less than twenty days of food.”
“We’ve already shifted cargos and dispatched six of our ships to head out to meet other vessels from the Terran fleet at the midpoint, which are being stocked and sent under way with extra packs of preprocessed foods,” Jackie revealed. “We’re still in negotiations on shipping fresh foods other than meats, eggs, and dairy, since we don’t want to contaminate the V’Dan agricultural system with plant matter that could potentially resprout before it finishes composting.”
“What about frozen or canned foods?” Kuna’mi asked.
“Those have been given clearance because they fall under preprocessed; it’s all been blanched or cooked so that it cannot germinate,” Jackie clarified. She rubbed at her brow briefly. “All these things are topics that I never really thought I’d have to consider. I’ve assigned staff members to track dietary needs versus what we can ship, versus what we cannot yet ship due to quarantine requirements . . . They’re doing a wonderful job of being both flexible and willing to take up whatever task needs managing, so I don’t have to do it all myself, but since I’m the person in charge, they want to run everything past me to make sure it’s a good idea.”
“Will you be running off to handle all of that, then?” the markless V’Dan asked. Her inner aura was still a mask, an illusion similar to Dr. Qua’s, but her expression hinted at a touch of hope, if not her tone.
Jackie shook her head. “Since it’s easier for two psis to share quarters at
the same time—since if we bump into each other, we know it’s an accident if we sense anything and thus it’s more quickly forgiven and forgotten—it’s their current sleep cycle. That means if you want to get to work, I’m the telepath on duty. The two gentlemen, Darian and Clees, are on a different sleep cycle from each other, as well as from the two ladies, but I’m not sure yet which one of them picked to be on duty at this hour.”
They reached the infirmary. Maria led the way inside. Her two patients had been let go after extensive observation, so the interconnected cabins were empty of bodies though they were full of strange equipment . . . and a lot of signage in V’Dan explaining explicitly how to use each piece of equipment. The signs themselves were actually poster-thin monitors with displays that rotated slowly from manual to manual, alternating with lists of items found in cupboards and drawers behind each one. Jackie thought it was incredibly clever since there was never any guarantee that a medical professional would be caught in need of quarantine, or in a healthy enough shape to manage such things.
“I’d hate to bore you with highly technical matters,” Kuna’mi said, tipping her head a little. “We should be fine without you.”
“This is also the single largest stumbling block to us setting up an embassy on your homeworld,” Jackie pointed out. “It makes sense for me to be involved, or at least to be on hand to observe and thus be more likely to understand what’s going on, should any decisions need to be made right away.”
She hesitated, then deliberately reached out with a mental set of knuckles and “rapped” on the other woman’s illusions and inner shield. That got her a slight but swift narrowing of Kuna’mi’s blue eyes.
(I’m guessing that you’re capable of hearing this,) Jackie sent privately, meeting the other woman’s gaze with nothing more than a mild blink of her own eyes. (I meant it when I said that my people’s ethics insist that I not spill any mental secrets of those around me . . . including the fact that you are far better trained than anything I’ve heard to date on how V’Dan mental abilities should be. You’re not getting rid of me . . . and if it is determined that an additional translation session is necessary to impart the proper understanding of our disparate medical lexicons, I will perform that task . . . and whatever I may learn of you of a personal nature, I will refrain from sharing with Dr. de la Santoya, nor ever mention to anyone else that I have learned it.)