First Salik War 2: The V'Dan

by Jean Johnson

(Rumor has it she’s been seen in the company of one Lieutenant Brad Colvers. On several occasions,) he told her.

  (That . . . is not exactly a pairing I would have picked,) Jackie admitted slowly. (I mean, I know they started getting to know each other a little more because of her punishment assignments, but I wouldn’t have picked either of them as interested in getting to know the other side.)

  (Neither would have I,) he told her. (But there you have it . . . Should I do something to send her off on an assignment, so you don’t have to accidentally encounter her again?)

  Tempting as that thought was, Jackie shook her head. (No. They do have a right to see each other, if that is what they wish. And if I can’t blame you for wanting your best friend to stick around, I can hardly blame her from using her own influence to stick around for him. If that’s why she’s sticking around. She might still be trying to find a way to get back at me somehow, though you’d at least think she’d realize I’m too firmly ensconced in my much higher rank, by now.)

  CHAPTER 13

  MAY 27, 2287 C.E.

  JANVA 20, 9508 V.D.S.

  In person, Count Daachen was a bit more canine than felinoid to Jackie’s eyes. She wasn’t sure why, possibly something about the jaw and nose, but that was the impression she had. It also occurred to her, as he entered her formal office with his ears turned back, whiskers down, and nostrils flaring a little with each angry breath, that the noses of the Solarican race were more Human-like than truly catlike.

  “I do nnnot apprrreciate being kept waitinnng,” he growled, glaring at her. His garments were shades of gray, layered so that they echoed his tabby-striped appearance. The hemlines of his sleeveless thigh-length vest and knee-length robe fluttered to a stop a second after he did. Jackie thought he looked rather good.

  A pity he’s a modofrodo in his attitude. She wouldn’t dare say the epithet aloud, choosing instead to speak politely. “Greetings, Count Daachen. You look well groomed today. That outfit is very flattering.”

  “I did nnnot come here to discuss ffffashion!” he hissed, tail lashing.

  “That’s rather odd,” Jackie replied lightly. “Because what you’re upset about is nothing more than fashion. Even more strange, your people are born so that some have marks, and some are markless, yet you do not get upset at how they stay that way for the whole span of their lives . . . unless they get deliberately modified, of course. But here you are, upset that my people are born markless, and stay markless, for the entire span of our lives. And all because the V’Dan—an entirely separate nation—are born markless but develop spots and stripes and swirls and whatever at some point during puberty.

  “It’s all rather shallow compared to true maturity. After all, maturity is something that looks beyond mere surface appearance to gauge the quality of the person, not their mere appearance,” she added dryly, staring at Daachen but addressing her words to the other person in her office. “Would you agree, Grand High Ambassador?”

  “I woullld,” Grand High Ambassador Trrrall purred, his tone languid yet amused.

  The count whipped around, grunting faintly when that caused his tail to hit Jackie’s desk. “Meerr shnalll gu Trrrall?”

  Seated in one of the padded but lumbar-free chairs in Jackie’s office, the Grand High Ambassador of the Solaricans gestured with a black-spotted, white-furred arm toward the younger male. He, too, addressed his counterpart, not the count, and he did so in V’Dan.

  “I am a bit concernned, Grrrand High Ambassadorr, that the esteemed Count Daachen did not see fffit to visit me ffirst. It is the task of alll Solaricanns to visit with theirrr own embassy firrst, befforre lodging a compllaint with a fforeign nationn,” Trrrall added. He held the gaze of the startled count. “This is how we avoid diplomatic innncidents. Sinnnce you have not donne this, it is good that I am alllrready here.”

  “Count Daachen, do you have something to say at this time?” Jackie asked politely.

  He looked between her and his people’s ambassador to the V’Dan, and pointed at her. “This V’Dann rrrefuses to sharre their communnnications technology with our system!”

  “This beinng is nnot V’Dan,” Ambassador Trrrall stated bluntly. “You arre attempting to judge herr people as if they arre Vedoychrr when they arrre actually Sillgrenn.”

  “They arrrre V’Dann. We are all Alliannce,” Daachen insisted. “We are not near the Vedoychrr, let alone the others!”

  Vedoychrr, Jackie realized, was most likely the name of a pocket of Solarican settlements. Or rather, a set of allies near a different pocket of settlement. “Trrrall is talking about a metaphor, Count. My people have a saying that also applies. ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do.’ It means that when you are dealing with people of a specific culture, you should deal with them on their own terms, not on any other nation’s terms. After all, surely you would not apply the courtesies and protocols required of the V’Dan Empire to someone from the K’Katta nation . . . would you?”

  His ears went down and back at that, and the count’s tail flicked as well. Trrrall rose from the chair, graceful despite his age. “Count Daachen, you have serrved our Queen well enough . . . but you have grrrown too arrrrrogannt for yourrr position. You will rrretire—this is withinn my authorrrity,” he added, pointing a claw-tipped digit when the younger male started to speak in Solarican. “I speak in V’Dann so that the beinng you insullted unnderstannds. By yourrr choices, you have caused a dipllomatic incidennt that has caused innnjurry to yourr citizenns.

  “War Lord Krrrnang has already rrreached Nnephrrit 113 by nnow. He is infforming your system of yourrr demotionn and is instrructing your householld to pack everrything. They will come herre, and your ffamily willll be rrreassigned elsewherre. You will rrremain here in our embassy untill the nnnext ship home is rrready to depart, orr a suitable rrelocation colony is picked.”

  “Grand High Ambassador,” Jackie stated carefully, puzzled by the punishment. “I do not wish to challenge your authority in this matter, but isn’t relocating his entire family a bit harsh? Could he not just be given some other job in the Nephrit System?”

  “The severrrity of his insullt could have rrrepercussions throughout all Solarican ennclaves,” Trrrall told her. “If therre is a way to get yourrr communications system to reach our homeworrrld ffrom here, then it could rrreach the Queen’s Empire anywherre in the galaxy. Thrrreatening your vessell with violennce is beyonnd unacceptable behaviorr. Our Queennn does nnnot apprrrove of extorrrtion. It does nnot rrreflect well upon our nnation to be the first with a diplllomatic incident.”

  He pinned the gray-striped count with a hard look and his whiskers forward, his ears down. Daachen shrank back subtly . . . then lifted his chin and tilted his head to the side. His ears were flat, whiskers down, tail close to his legs, with only the tip twitching. She realized after a moment that he was exposing their species’ equivalent to a jugular vein. A posture of surrender.

  She took pity on the count. “Actually, the V’Dan have already had the dubious honor of creating the first diplomatic incident. But he did not mean to cause the problem, he apologized promptly, and he took steps to ensure it would never happen again. Not only within Terran jurisdiction, but within V’Dan as well. We have forgiven him for it.”

  “I apolllogize forr insultinng you . . . and yourr people. Grrrand High Ambassadorr,” Count Daachen stated.

  Quickly holding up her hand V’Dan-style, palm toward herself, Jackie shook her head. “My people have a saying. ‘Too little, too late.’ Your attempt at an apology comes a little too late to do any good. I am not angry at you, Count, but I am disappointed in you. For the sake of your family, who are blameless, I shall see if I can influence your Grand High Ambassador to be lenient and allow your family to stay within visiting range of the people they may have come to know and love in the Nephrit System.

  “After all, it would take at least a few more Solarican colony lea
ders being rude to my people and me before I’d ban the use of our communications arrays from all Solarican systems just from verbal abuse,” she admitted to Trrrall.

  “Then I shalll be more gennerous with his rrelocationn,” Trrrall returned. He flattened his ears and whiskers a little. “I do apollogize in advannce, Ambassadorr MacKennzie. I also have been tempted to view you as youngerrr than you rreally are. I shall strrruggle to make surre it does not affect our ffuture interractions.”

  “Your honesty is respectable, your regret is honorable, and both are deserving of leniency,” she replied.

  The count looked between the two of them, then asked cautiously, “. . . Will my system . . . forrrmer system . . . be given access to your communications?”

  “In time,” Jackie told him. She shook her head when he flicked ears and tail. “That unit was reassigned elsewhere. Your system will have to wait until Nephrit 113 can be worked into a new delivery route. We have limited ships available, limited refueling resources, a finite production rate, and we are reserving spare relays for capital systems. Such as this one, which has seven major population hubs scattered throughout the system, and the home system of the Gatsugi, which has six.”

  “Come, Count Daachen,” Trrrall ordered. “We shall leave the Grrrand High Ambassadorr to her work. You annd I have rrreporrts to write. Ambassador, we shall connntinue ourr discussion laterr.”

  “Of course,” Jackie replied smoothly.

  Neatening his robes, the elder statesman shooed the younger out of Jackie’s spacious office with a flick of his clawed fingers. The gesture was a bit Human-ish, but their tails told the real story. Trrrall’s was curved up; Daachen’s drooped down.

  Very Human-like, and very feline, and very something else, she decided. Daachen’s arrival had been delayed so that Trrrall could arrive swiftly—War Lord Krrrnang had explained to her people about the proper protocol of reporting to their own embassy first, in case Daachen came all this way and failed to follow that protocol. The two of them had exchanged a few pleasantries and comments about their impressions of the V’Dan Winter Palace before Daachen had entered the room. It wasn’t much of a conversation to continue, but Jackie did look forward to it.

  Now if only she could view a discussion with, oh, say, the K’Katta Grand High Ambassador with equal equanimity and poise.

  MAY 30, 2287 C.E.

  JANVA 23, 9508 V.D.S.

  Pacing, unable to sit still, Li’eth moved restlessly back and forth while he waited for the Terrans to reach the Imperial Wing’s formal mo’klah suite. He didn’t see the gilded furnishings, the friezes on the walls of famous scholars and other geniuses, the uniformed staff waiting for the signal to bring in the first of several light courses. Nor did he really see the snow swirling beyond the windows. Not that it mattered; the entire Winter Palace was designed so that no one had to go outside if they did not want. Indeed, the mo’klah suite held two real fires in the fireplaces on opposite walls, keeping the chamber comfortably warm.

  Some of the Terrans, Li’eth knew, had a midafternoon snack called “high tea.” In specific, it had been an experience he and his surviving officers had experienced while chatting with the Governor of London on their tour of Earth. The experience had involved a specific beverage, little flavorful sandwiches and blended pastes spread on crackers, biscuits savory and sweet, fresh fruit, and sauces for dipping and smearing.

  Oddly enough, there was a V’Dan version practiced by the higher Tiers, too, only it was called moh’klah, after the main drink served at such meetings, a mix of klahsa and caffen. There were tea bushes on V’Dan, genetically very similar to their Terran cousins, more so than coffee versus caffen, but tea was drunk in both nations by those who liked its astringent qualities more than the slightly bitter caffen . . . or their very bitter coffee.

  There was also a treat on Earth very similar to klahsa: chocolate. Terrans had focused on developing the ratio of klahsa paste or powder to klahsa butter, creating dark, milk, and light chocolates. V’Dan had some of that, but his people had also focused on using processed cane sugar into cho’klah, raw cane sugar into meh’klah, and honey into sah’klah for the sweeteners used, and powdered inner bark from the cimmon tree, which was a genetic cousin to the Terran cinnamon spice, forming the piquant ri’klah version of klahsa. Those were just the base flavors, too, without adding fruits and other ingredients.

  Tea-leaf blends came in a bewildering number of varieties; their high tea with the city governor had included an interesting taste-testing presentation on several different types, with a display of hundreds of more varieties. Mo’klah came in its own set of varieties, ranging from dark to light klahsa, to which the percolations of caffen beans had been added, and whether they’d been roasted or not, and for how long.

  Thinking about caffen and coffee, tea and klahsa was better than fretting over how much he was missing her physical presence.

  Being quizzed on what he thought the Grand High Ambassador and the Assistant High Ambassador might want was a bit awkward. He knew what he liked; Li’eth’s personal favorite for breakfast was a spicy-sweet white ri’klah blended with green—unroasted—caffen beans. Later in the day, he tended to prefer darker, richer flavors, dark klahsa blended with roasted-bean caffen served with a hint of ushen, juice concentrate made from tart berries. But that was something one could only get reliably planetside. Being stuck in space for years, he had learned to take his caffen plain, since sugar and especially klahsa was usually rationed for kitchen use, not personal.

  He did have the advantage of knowing a little bit about Jackie’s tastes. She liked her coffee with sweetener and cream-rich milk, though if she had the option, she would pick an iced tea, unsweetened, with a bit of lemon or lime. And he knew she liked chocolate. Rosa McCrary, however, was a stab in the dark. Li’eth had tried to ask subtle questions, but . . . telepathy didn’t allow for subtlety. Subthought, yes; subtlety, not really. Jackie had finally asked him directly what he wanted to know and why.

  Her reply to his statement that the chefs wanted to know for a formal mo’klah service had been refreshingly blunt. (Li’eth, we are both used to being offered strange local delicacies wherever we travel in the United Planets back home. I personally have eaten bugs, spiders, eels, sea slugs, land slugs, snails, snakes drowned in wine, bird’s nests made out of bird spit, and worse. I am quite certain that whatever your chefs deem suitable for your mother, the Empress, to safely eat will be fine with the two of us.)

  Her comment about eating spiders had pricked him with astonishment, so she had mentally muttered that she hadn’t looked while they were being prepped, the meat had been pulled out of the carapace, impaled on some sticks, and marinated before being grilled, and would he please stop thinking about it and move on to a much less phobia-inducing subject, thank you very much. Naturally, he had complied, but it had left him with ambivalent feelings.

  On the one hand, she was far braver than he was. On the other, he didn’t want to ever have to explain to the K’Katta that a small number of her people were accustomed to eating something which was the equivalent of a K’Katta eating a small monkey. The K’Katta might or might not be bothered by such a concept.

  Hands clasping and unclasping, he paced. All these formal meetings, formal attire, formal manners . . . it was getting harder to control the urge to just rip off his coat and his shirt, pull off any sleeves she wore, too, and hold her against his bared chest. Don’t think about her bared chest, though, he ordered himself sternly. Respect at all times . . .

  (Almost there . . . I think,) Jackie murmured in his mind, just as someone entered the room. He turned, but knew it wasn’t her. It was his father, accompanying the Empress. His mother. Li’eth dropped to one knee out of respect and received a gesture to rise. Fingers and feet moved again, the one set interlacing and clenching, the other set moving and shifting.

  “Kah’raman,” he heard his mother say. He turned to
eye her, and caught a hint of puzzlement in her aura though her tone was level and calm. “Is there a reason for your pacing?”

  The doors on the other side of the room opened, accompanied by an announcement from the Elite Guard at the forefront of the small group on the other side. “Presenting the Grand High Ambassador Ja’ki Maq’en-zi and Assistant High Ambassador Roza M’crari of the Terran Empire.”

  Li’eth knew it should properly be Terran United Planets, but Empire was something his own people understood. An empire was a strong thing. An empire had an existence spanning nearly ten thousand years. An empire had culture and tradition and respect. But a set of united planets led one to thoughts of unions, and unions were things found among the skilled laborers of the Fourth Tier, a lower caste than the Third Tier all foreigners were supposed to be deemed.

  (Your mental shields are very tight,) Jackie murmured, praising him. (I can barely follow your thoughts.)

  (Master Sonam would be proud of me. I’ve been practicing,) Li’eth replied, easing the tight cloak he had wrapped around his mind.

  (That, and he would probably call us idiots for barricading ourselves from each other,) she added. She and Rosa both dropped to one knee in respect for his mother, exchanging polite greetings. (The tighter we shield each other out, the more our suffering grows. We spent half an hour cuddling yesterday, yet I have my hands clasped together to keep them from fidgeting today.)

  (Same here,) he agreed. He caught the eye of one of the servers and made a discreet gesture. Bowing, the man herded the others quietly out of the room, giving them some temporary privacy.

  The two women were now exchanging polite greetings with his father. Both looked lovely; Rosa wore a dress that floated with layers of aquamarine and white. Jackie wore her black dress with the oversized, vividly colored flowers along the fluted sleeves and hem. They looked very different from the military-style clothes he and his parents wore. There were days when he wished he could get out of his uniform, but he was an officer of the Empire until the war was won, or the war killed him.