First Salik War 2: The V'Dan

by Jean Johnson

  (If the bloodline was diluted after ten generations,) Jackie asked cautiously, (how did they rise to prominence several centuries later? Lars has also said that manuscript was carbon-dated to roughly nine hundred years ago.)

  (Easy. The Feyori created another half-breed in the area. When the two bloodlines met and commingled, it woke the dormant abilities—psychic abilities are not natural to your species,) she added in a rather casual aside. (They’re not natural to any matter-based species. They are only naturally found in the Feyori themselves because they are energy-based, and manipulate matter via what we call psychic abilities.)

  (If they’re energy-based, and we’re matter-based . . .) Jackie frowned softly, thinking to herself. Wait, hadn’t Li’eth mentioned . . . ?

  (They transform from energy to matter that is shaped like a particular species, mate with it, and create half-breed bloodlines. In some species, nothing happens—we are all very lucky that psychic abilities do not breed true in the Salik, for instance,) To-mi pointed out. (In other races, the change is radical enough to form a permanent subspecies, as found in the Tlassian priest caste—you’ll find their training methods almost compatible with your own once you burrow beneath the religious mysticism. But none of the other races have your KI machines, not even the saurians, and so they haven’t been able to nail anything down with solid, scientific accuracy. Terran training is going to reshape the face of “holy abilities” all across the Alliance, not just among the V’Dan, you know.)

  That . . . was a lot to wade through. An awful lot to think about. Psychic abilities . . . ? Her own bloodline was a result of . . . ? Jackie didn’t know what to think.

  (Based on what I’m reading in your subthoughts, you’re most likely the result of two or more bloodlines crossing and spiking in your specific combination of genes,) To-mi told her. (But not all such creations are the result of seemingly random breeding programs. One of your progenitors, Jesse James Mankiller, was “redesigned” from the cellular level on up. The act saved her from death, and apparently paid off a debt incurred long after you’ll be dead and long before I will be born. If I remember my, ah, unusual history lessons right.)

  Jackie winced, lifting a hand to shield her brow. This was too much information. (Please . . .)

  (Yes, I suppose that is more than enough for now. But I sense you now believe me . . . ?)

  (It’s possible you could have picked up names of places and bloodlines and such from the other members of my staff, but . . .) Jackie sighed and lowered her hand, looking up at the ceiling. A lighter shade of plebeian military gray than the walls around them, but only by so many shades. Counterpoint to the darker gray of the floor. The very blandness of it did help to ground her, enough that she asked flippantly, (Any other revelations from Earth’s history you think I should know about?)

  (I was Ludwig’s “Immortal Beloved,”) To-mi stated.

  Jackie blinked and slanted her companion a sidelong look. The entertainment screen was now showing advertisements. Hundreds of light-years from home, and some things just did not change. (Ludwig . . . ?)

  (Ludwig van Beethoven. The composer? The incredibly famous composer of that name who went deaf?) To-mi prodded her.

  This was something Jackie knew a bit about, thanks to her grandmother on her father’s side. (That was considered to be Josephine, the countess who was out of his reach.)

  (He loved her, too, and loved her deeply. But she was not his immortal beloved,) To-mi stated. (He loved me because I understood him and his music, and could share his music with him even as his hearing started to deteriorate.)

  (Telepathy,) Jackie realized, and received a faint nod.

  (Exactly.)

  (So . . . if you’ve been going around, changing identities, keeping your immortality hidden . . . ?)

  She wrinkled her nose. (Vienna, 1809. Bonaparte had been bombing it. Ludwig went out for a walk a few days after the bombing had ceased, and was therefore the only eyewitness to a half-bombarded wall falling onto me.)

  (A wall,) Jackie repeated dubiously.

  (A stone wall. Squashed me flat, with what looked like a chest-sized block dropped right on my head. Because he was so wrapped up in the music inside his head, I thought he was still in his brother’s home nearby, composing, not walking along the street. So I popped back to life on the spot, rather than being discreet about it, and scared him spitless. It took me almost a full hour to get him calmed down and convinced not to mention it to anyone, ever, since no one would believe him, and would instead think he had gone mad. The sanitoriums of the day were ghastly, and he knew it, so he did eventually agree.

  (It helped that he could hear me fully and clearly . . . and that I helped him “hear” his music on the occasions I could visit. He fell in love with me . . . and for a while, for the time that he lived, I loved him back,) she finished simply. Her subthoughts were closed off, however, unlike the grimness of her opening statement in this conversation.

  Jackie considered the other woman’s statements for a long moment. (Either you have giant-sized brass boots as a liar, or you are telling the truth. I . . . can’t entirely tell at this point,) she finally sent. (You’re very good at keeping your thoughts crisp, clear, and contained.)

  (Thank you. Practice does make perfect,) To-mi quipped. (I do have a few of his conversation books carefully preserved. Eventually, when Humans are ready, I’ll open up my Vaults and show them whole new glimpses of histories long forgotten. Ideally, that was what was supposed to happen to Mishka’s journal.) A slight frown pinched her brows a little closer together. (If I’d known, I would have gone back and preserved it properly. That is one piece of history I was never told about. I find that fact mildly annoying.)

  (Either way, it’s definitive proof of contact between Earth and V’Dan in the last one thousand years . . . I think one of my colleagues might have given a language transfer of V’Dan to an historian interested in the Manuscript,) Jackie confessed. (I was kept busy giving it to telepaths who could then give it to other people, along with transferring it to various members of my own embassy staff.)

  (That, and Mandarin? All the translator telepaths in the whole of the League and the Order must’ve been busier than the proverbial one-legged man in a gluteal-kicking contest,) To-mi stated dryly.

  (Something like that, yes. Add in on top of that my practicing my holo- and telekinesis for the Merrie Monarch Festival, worrying over my career path, providing cultural-liaison translations on demand for His Highness . . .)

  (Dealing with the Imperial and First Tiers will be almost a breeze, compared to that,) To-mi quipped. (Except you’ll also have to deal with Second through Fifth. Mostly Imperial, First, and Third, though.)

  (Yes, about their Tier system . . .) Jackie began, only to have their conversation interrupted by a beeping from a device on the other woman’s body, some sort of paging tool.

  To-mi checked the flat little device and smiled apologetically. “Looks like someone’s having a slightly higher fever than usual. A doctor’s work is never done. Please excuse me, Ambassador. Your medical staff are good, but I am the resident expert.”

  “Of course,” Jackie allowed graciously. (Unless this is just a ruse to get out of answering?)

  (I cannot win all of your battles for you, youngling. Or even just one of them. But I may answer a few questions in due time.)

  —

  Li’eth studied both the Terran tablet propped up to one side and the V’Dan workstation screen directly ahead, reading the original Terranglo side by side with the translated V’Dan. Rosa McCrary and a young man named Maraq Sawhney had called him into the matrix lounge, a chamber filled with workstation cubicles. While the two dozen other Terrans in the chamber quietly searched and studied various niches of V’Dan information and entertainment, the three of them worked on something a little more important, in his opinion.

  The fellow, Maraq, had been a
ssigned to the embassy for his nonpsychic skills in translation and information retrieval. Whether it was an actual language or figuring out a foreign computer program, Maraq was good at it. He had managed to master the V’Dan data matrices early on—similar to the Terran Internet system—and had been kept quite busy working on various projects Rosa had deemed necessary.

  They had reached the point where the most recent “necessary” translation was an in-depth explanation of what a Gestalt was, how it functioned, how to ascertain it was a true mental bond, and how to get the V’Dan people to realize it was a real thing between him and their appointed Ambassador. Li’eth himself had spent some of his own time researching everything he could about the V’Dan versions. They had been stuck in quarantine for weeks now, and it was something useful to do.

  “Well, meioa? Is it accurate?” Maraq asked. He was a natural polyglot, not telepathic, so it wasn’t as if he could just ask the prince directly, mind-to-mind, and pick up all the subtle nuances that mere speech alone could not always convey. “Or are there any ambiguities that still need to be explained?”

  Considering that the translation into V’Dan was almost five times the length of the original, thick with annotations and sidebar explanations . . . Li’eth flicked the text back to the beginning and pointed with a finger. “Shorten up these two sentences in the summary. I believe there’s a V’Dan quote you can use instead, one found in the notations I culled from the fortieth century era, pre-Reformation.”

  “Yes, yes, I know that one,” Maraq agreed.

  “The more of your own people’s experiences we integrate into this presentation, the more they hopefully will accept it,” Rosa murmured.

  “There you are, Your Highness,” a familiar voice called out. Li’eth straightened, turning to face Dr. Jai Du. The pigmentation differences mottling her tan-and-pale face had looked vaguely like jungen back in Terran territory, but now that he had been around his own people again, they didn’t quite look right.

  “Dr. Du,” he stated politely.

  She nodded in return. “I’ve already reported this to Ambassador MacKenzie, but she said I should also report it to you . . . and it’s good to see you again, Honorable McCrary, since you should know it, too.”

  “Know what?” Rosa asked.

  Du dragged in a deep breath and switched to Terranglo. “These crazy idiots of yours—and I do normally respect your people, Highness—are insisting that I need to tell you and Jackie that you are not allowed to cuddle. Why are they coming to me with this yi dwei da buen chuo roh?” she exclaimed, thumping her chest with her fingers. “And this isn’t the first time, either. They have this . . . this fuhn pi that I have some sort of authority over all of us. I don’t have any authority over you, and I certainly don’t have it over the rest of the embassy, save for a few lab assistants. I’m a viral pathologist, not the lao buhn ni’un!”

  “I . . . don’t know those words,” Li’eth stated cautiously in Terranglo. A glance at McCrary showed that the older woman was blushing.

  “You don’t need to know them,” Rosa told him, her expression grim. “Du, I don’t know why they’re coming to you, either. Is it just you, or do you know of anyone else being approached?”

  Du spread her hands, then let her arms and shoulders drop, shaking her head. “They might be pestering some of the others, but I haven’t heard anything. As far as I know, it’s just me.”

  “What do you think we should do about it?” Li’eth asked her—and got a finger poked at his face.

  “See? That’s exactly it! You have the Assistant Ambassador standing here, right next to you, and you are asking me what to do about this?” Du challenged him. “This is completely wrong! I’d understand it if it were a question of sanitation or health concerns, but this is . . . this is an administration problem. Your people are not grasping who is in charge here. I’m sorry to say that includes you.”

  Li’eth opened his mouth to reply . . . then shut it. Realization flushed heat through his face. His marked face. He studied her marked—if naturally, not jungen-based—face, and bowed his head. “You are right, Dr. Du. I apologize. And I think I figured out why everyone is trying to turn to you. Your, ah, skin colors . . . they aren’t exactly jungen, but they are much more like the mottled features my people expect to see in adults. So . . . your presence here, as the only one possessing anything close to jungen, makes you seem like the adult in a crowd of children.”

  “Even those of us with silver streaks and burgeoning wrinkles?” Rosa asked dryly.

  He was forced to admit it. “I apologize, meioa, but . . . yes. Your signs of age carry about as much weight as the doctor’s younger but mottled face . . . but still, my people will assume she has a tiny bit more authority. Perceived maturity leads to perceived authority.”

  “This has to stop,” Du insisted, cutting her hand through the air between them. “I do not have the authority your people are assuming I have, and they are going to get in deep trouble if they keep coming to me to fix their perception problem.”

  “That’s just the way we are,” Li’eth tried to soothe her. “If you could just make allowances—”

  “That’s not—” both women snapped. Du bowed a little, gesturing at McCrary to answer for both of them.

  “. . . That is not acceptable to us,” Rosa stated, hands going to her hips as she stared him down. “The only allowances we are willing make is in trying to remember not to take offense at your people’s archaic, skin-based prejudice. But if you think we are going to accept your people trying to force onto Jai Du a level of authority she does not have in the Terran embassy, your people need to have another think!”

  Li’eth quickly raised both hands, palm toward himself. “Please! That first one was the only one I meant. Just . . . Dr. Du, please just tell them plainly that you do not have the authority they are assuming you have, and direct them to speak to Rosa or Jackie. If you keep telling them that, they will eventually remember it.”

  “They had better start remembering,” Du snapped, and turned on her heel to stalk out.

  Rosa sighed. “I was hoping it wasn’t so prevalent. I was hoping that Leftenant Nanu’oc’s behavior would be found in only a small fraction of your people. But I think it really is an endemic problem.” Pausing, she switched back to V’Dan. “It took our own people almost two hundred years to reduce our own prejudices against skin color and other silly peripherals to nearly nothing.

  “Nearly one hundred years of that was spent in carefully crafted education programs to help the new generations grow up with open minds and open hearts, to supplant the bigoted, close-minded ones as they died off.” She looked at Li’eth, her blue-gray eyes sober, her expression just a touch stern. “I’m afraid your people won’t have nearly that much time to get over it, Highness. They need to know that treating us like children is unacceptable, and they need to know it right away.

  “I am going to recommend to the Grand High Ambassador that this needs to be the very first issue addressed to your people,” she told him.

  Li’eth nodded slowly. “I think it might have to be, Assistant Ambassador.”

  MAY 10, 2287 C.E.

  JANVA 4, 9508 V.D.S.

  “¡Buenas tardes, Jackie!”

  Jackie struggled up out of her exhausted, fevered sleep at the cheerful greeting from their chief doctor. Prying open her eyes, she saw what looked like Maria de la Santoya directing a troop of Space Force Marines who had already gone through the Terran-adapted jungen fever. Under the doctor’s command, they assisted her infirmary roommate, Lieutenant Buraq, into a hoverchair and wheeled her off to somewhere, then efficiently stripped the linens off the bed, wiped down all surfaces, and applied fresh sheets and blanket.

  Eyes feeling hot, skin tight, head aching and everything sheened in sweat, she managed to prop herself up on an elbow and croak, “What . . . what’s happening with Jasmine?”

 
“She’s being relocated to another bed. We have a special patient to share this end of the bay with you. Señores, se mueven ese equipo, por favor . . . Yes, the equipment, gracias.” As soon as the diagnostics equipment was moved to the other side, she had them pull the bed at the end of the room up close to Jackie’s. “Sí, sí, touching distance. Just like that . . . wait, lower the side rails so they aren’t in the way. Good, now put them back together. ¡Excelente! Now, bring in our new patient . . .”

  Slumping onto her back, Jackie didn’t even have to ask who it was. She might be spending most of her time sleeping her way through the virus-induced aches, pains, and heavy fever, oblivious to the world of late, but there was only one reason to put both beds close enough to touch, with no barriers between them. Sure enough, Li’eth came gliding in on a hoverchair guided by yet another soldier drafted for infirmary duty. He looked about half as miserable as she did, flushed and sweating, his attention somewhat distracted, even dazed. The one thing he did display that she was certain she did not was that he looked a bit disgruntled.

  Then again, he’d been stripped out of his clothes at some point and tucked into what passed for hospital gowns among the V’Dan. The garments were over-the-head affairs that were sort of like tabards, only they fastened down each side. Thankfully, they came with shorts . . . which also fastened down each side, but at least it added a modicum of modesty.

  “I could have walked,” he groused as the hoverchair drifted to a halt by the newly moved bed.

  “Nonsense. You were wobbling all over the place,” Maria countered. “I have no intention of meeting any V’Dan injury lawyers, just because you wanted to be stupid. Onto the bed now, meioa. As I explained in the exam room,” she continued, while a pair of muscular Marines assisted him out of the chair and onto the infirmary bed, “the cause of your symptoms does not exist. Technically, that makes them ‘phantom’ symptoms, but the symptoms themselves are very real.