by Karen Lord
He was a pale-skinned man, regrettably spare of fat for such a cold climate, and his short frame was made even smaller by the bulkiness of his parka. His eyebrows had a perpetually worried slant that did not reassure. His voice made up for it, though, deliberately slow and slightly soft so that you felt you had to dial down your own hysteria to be able to hear him clearly.
“But the fact that we can still communicate with them is good, isn’t it?” I asked.
His expression turned wary. “It is good in that we may be able to find out roughly where they are so we can plan how to excavate, but there’s too much interference for certainty. Let’s not get carried away.”
“Well, what about those light tubes?” I insisted. “Shouldn’t we try to find where they come out, maybe use—”
“Ma’am,” he said, firmly cutting me off. “We appreciate that you’re concerned about your friends, but we do know our job. Our networks have been informed, and there are people working to solve the problem.”
“Of course,” I said, defeated. “But … you understand why we can’t lose them? Especially not Joral. Not now. Not like this.”
He blew out a breath, looking as if he were trying to choose his next words very carefully. “I’d like to recommend that you return home as scheduled. To be honest, we can’t afford to have nonessential personnel using up our resources. You might be able to do more for your friends by being in Tlaxce than being here.”
It was a kind but definite brush-off, and it meant we had to have a final conversation with Lian and Joral.
“They’re kicking us out,” I said casually. “We have to go back, stop getting in their way and stuff.”
Lian played along. “Well, you know what that means. Can’t put your name in the acknowledgments when we make our big discoveries.”
I laughed, then sobered. “About what I said earlier, walking around and so on? Be careful. Conserve your resources. I know Joral’s got a thing or two in the bag, but—”
“Delarua, I am a corporal, you know,” said Lian, gently teasing. “I didn’t forget all my survival training when they made me a pencil pusher. To replace you, I might add.”
My laugh was a little too close to a sob, so I cut it short. “Yeah, man, sorry about that one. So I’ll be seeing you later, okay?”
I waited for Tarik and Nasiha to finish speaking with Joral, and then I started a conversation in rapid Sadiri so that Lian would not understand. “Joral, I know that if you remember all that Councillor Dllenahkh has taught you, your chances of survival are excellent.”
“Delarua, I have considered this. I know it will be more difficult for someone who has not been trained in psychosomatic control. I am not sufficiently advanced in the disciplines to exert this control beyond my own body, but I will at least ensure that our colleague consumes more food and water than I do.”
I smiled at his careful efforts not to attract attention by using Lian’s name. “Joral, I hope that it will not be necessary for you to deny yourself what little food and drink you have, but I know that whatever you choose to do, you will choose well.” Time to treat the boy like a man. Heaven knows he deserved it by now.
When the jump jet took off, we all gazed down at the land we were leaving. I couldn’t guess what everyone was feeling at that point, but I bet Fergus was thinking that if he had been underground with us, he could have done something. As for myself, I was damping down my emotions, that thing I’m so very good at, and scrutinizing the slopes for any flash of glass or metal that might suggest a protruding light tube. I saw none.
A few minutes into the flight, we called Qeturah and Dllenahkh and updated them. An hour later, we arrived at our stop-over point, changed, ate, and switched from the jump jet to a slower but more comfortable shuttle. At first it seemed natural to talk a bit about the old underground city and what new discoveries might be made there, but as we monitored the bulletins from Emergency Services, the journey grew quieter and quieter. The revised time to reach Lian and Joral was no longer being given in hours but in days.
When we arrived in Tlaxce City that evening, there was still no good news. The small welcoming ceremony at Central Government Headquarters had been quietly called off, and all that remained of the end-of-mission reception were a few napkin-covered plates of assorted finger foods. In case we were hungry, Qeturah said in an offhand fashion as we filed into her office, but I saw eight plates on her meeting-room table and a dying hope in her eyes. I couldn’t blame her. I’d half expected to step off the shuttle and find that Lian and Joral were fine and at home, flown ahead at supersonic speed just to surprise us. Dllenahkh seemed depressed, but in a healthy way, if that makes any sense. From the questions he asked us, I knew he was trying to convince himself that nothing would have happened any differently if he had been there.
“It was nobody’s fault, Dllenahkh,” I said wearily. “Nobody’s or everybody’s, take your pick.”
“This isn’t a postmission debriefing,” Qeturah said hastily. “We’re not in the frame of mind for that.” She glared at Dllenahkh and added pointedly, “None of us. This is … well, even if we couldn’t have a proper homecoming, I wanted us to meet one last time.”
I was miserable but strangely glad to be there, because I didn’t want to be miserable alone and there wasn’t anyone else I wanted to be miserable with. We weren’t grieving for Lian and Joral. We were worried about them, but we still had hopes of seeing them very soon. We were dealing with the fact that the mission was over, that the life we had made ours for a year was not the life we would be facing on the morrow. Not having Lian and Joral there only emphasized how much we were going to miss one another. I blinked back tears so many times that I had to excuse myself to go to the ladies’ room to have a proper nose blow and wash my face.
When I returned, Fergus was standing outside Qeturah’s office door. He was speaking into his comm as I approached, but by the time I reached him he had finished the call and was staring oddly at the device in his hand. Curiosity overrode my initial intent to nod and pass by. “What is it, Sergeant?”
At first he didn’t look at me. “That was Lian. Just wanted to make sure we’d made it back to the city okay.” Then he met my eyes, and we exchanged a brief sympathetic look of shared pain before he remembered he didn’t like me and looked away again.
“I can’t believe the range those comms—” I started, then froze in midsentence, struck by something.
He gave me his usual lowering frown. “If you’re getting any bright ideas that might help those two, you’d better share. Do something without thinking it to death for a change.”
I didn’t get it. Qeturah toed the line and he was fine with that, yet he’d written me off because I hadn’t been enough of a maverick. I was peeved and let him know it.
“Enough, Sergeant,” I said sharply. “Central Government’s taking care of Kir’tahsg, so stop blaming me for that. Besides, I have at least as much reason as you to care about what happens to Lian and a hell of a lot more reason when it comes to Joral.”
I took the comm from him and examined it curiously. It was a top-of-the-line military-grade comm, far better than any wrist model or civilian handheld.
“Bullshit,” he said. “Sadiri or Cygnian, we’re all endangered when we’re facing death. Got anything useful to contribute, ma’am?”
I looked at him and wished for a moment that I was on better terms with this man. “I might. But I’ll need to take this comm with me, just for an hour or two.” I was lying. I didn’t know how much time I needed.
He swore under his breath. I stared at him impassively.
“You can choose to say no, Sergeant, but say it quickly. Time’s wasting.” Big bluff. I hoped it would impress him just a little. Was that Qeturah’s trick? Act as if you’re in command, and suddenly they’ll start following your orders?
“Take the damned comm,” he said at last in resignation.
I took it all right. I took it straight to Dllenahkh. “You’re staying at
the Sadiri Consulate while you’re working in the city, right?”
He raised an eyebrow at the incongruous juxtaposition of the mundane question and my conspiratorial whisper. “Yes.”
“Any way to get an immediate private audience with your pilot friend? The man who’s seen things mere mortals only dream of? The man who’s been to several futures and who may or may not have the advanced technological know-how to use the fact that Fergus’s comm is still picking up a clear signal from Lian’s halfway across the globe and through a ton of rock?”
Dllenahkh then did something completely Sadiri and utterly adorable. He blinked at my babbled words, filled in the blanks speedily, and arrived at a course of action. “Come with me,” he said.
Our leaving broke up the meeting. Qeturah looked a little bemused, but Fergus gave me a stiff yet encouraging nod. I so badly wanted to tell Nasiha and Tarik, but I didn’t dare risk the possibility that they weren’t supposed to know about Naraldi’s unique experiences. They hardly noticed. They were once more wrapped up in each other, and this time I didn’t mind one bit.
“Thank you, Dllenahkh,” I said as I got into his aircar and belted myself in.
He frowned in puzzlement as he tapped in our destination. “Why are you thanking me? I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You listen to my crazy ideas and make sense out of them. That’s worth some thanks.”
He let the autopilot take us and turned to face me, eyes flashing. “What you describe as the product of a mental imbalance, I would classify as swift, intuitive thinking to arrive at creative solutions.”
There is no passion like the passion of a Sadiri complimenting your mind. For a moment I was speechless, completely speechless. I gawked up at him like a lovestruck teenager. “You … you really mean that.”
“You know that I do. Why is it so difficult for you to believe that?”
I rested my hand over his, a gesture of apology and truce. “I believe it,” I said softly.
He looked down at my hand and slowly turned his so that we fitted palm to palm. Touching him was never a simple matter, but touching him now, when his emotions were so close to the surface, was like standing on the seashore with the tide drawing out, pulling the sand from under my feet. I wanted to fall into the water.
The aircar smoothly grounded. The Sadiri Consulate is in fact very close to Central Government Headquarters. “We’re here,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed.
A quick comm call to the Consul ensured that he was at least a little prepared when we invaded his living room for an impromptu meeting. He was too professional to show irritation in front of me, but he still managed to give Dllenahkh a very pointed look when he said, “I believe it was clearly stated that you were to tell no one about my travels.”
Dllenahkh was unperturbed. “I’m sorry, Naraldi. I was under the impression that the restriction did not apply to Sadiri above a certain level of government.”
The Consul looked at me—in fact, he looked at my head and its fuzz of dull brown hair—in silent comment at the un-Sadiri sight of me, then surrendered with a small shrug. “Show me the communicator.”
I handed it over and watched him excitedly as he opened it up and pondered the innards, taking occasional glances at a handheld for reference notes. Then he sat back, eyes narrowing as he contemplated his drumming fingers for further enlightenment. Eventually, he returned to the handheld and made some quick audio and written inputs, at least one of which was a message by the distinctive sound of the “send” chime.
At last, he pulled a datachip out of his handheld, stood, and gave it to Dllenahkh. “Dllenahkh, if you will permit the indignity to your position, kindly deliver this personally to the Consulate’s communications office. It is of a sensitive nature and must go out as soon as possible.”
Dllenahkh bowed, gave me a quick reassuring glance, and left the room. I watched him go, feeling even more lost than before. “Your Excellency,” I said plaintively, “could you tell me what’s happening?”
The Consul sat down again, his expression suddenly tired. “Can I, or should I? I do not want to raise your hopes unduly, Ms. Delarua. You assumed correctly—I do have technological knowledge that might result in a swifter rescue—but knowledge can only go so far. I would need a certain level of existing technology to effect a quick solution, and such technology is not yet available.”
My heart sank. He saw how my face changed and relented. “There is a small hope. I have sent a message for help. I cannot be sure it will be answered, but I can do no more.”
“Who is it? How long will they take to get here?” For all that I tried not to sound excited, the words still came out too quickly, too eagerly.
He lowered his eyes, and his jaw tensed as if he were biting back words. After a brief silence, he sighed and answered, “I am sorry, Ms. Delarua. I really couldn’t say.”
I opened my mouth to plead with him, then paused, closed my mouth, and frowned slightly. “Couldn’t say,” I repeated.
His quick upward glance begged me to understand. “Couldn’t.”
My heart began to pound. I swallowed and tried to compose myself. “I think I understand you, Your Excellency. At least … I hope I do.”
THE UNLIKELY ANGEL
On the first day after I spoke to the Sadiri Consul, I went to visit my mother.
This was a bit of a mistake because Maria and Grace were still there, Rafi was only home from school every other weekend, and my mother had taken to spending long periods of time at another retiree friend whose apartment was uncluttered by offspring. Okay, perhaps that sounds a little unkind, but that was my first impression of the situation. Then, when I got there, I was entirely on my mother’s side. Maria was refusing to continue therapy—wait, “refusing” is too strong a word. She was apathetic. Gracie was at the other extreme, suddenly acting out after years of suppression. My mother was at her wits’ end and would escape for a little sanity from time to time.
“Darling, she’s my daughter, and I love her, but she’s making me crazy,” my mother confessed to me. We were sitting on her balcony, plotting strategy and carefully ignoring the yells coming from the kitchen as Maria struggled to get Gracie to finish eating lunch.
I put on my dead-calm, responsible voice. “This family already has its full quota of crazy, Mom. Let’s not go over the edge. There’ll be no one left to act as anchor.”
“Well, what can I do? I mean, I was even thinking about proposing to Connie just to have an excuse to get out of the house permanently. Then I could leave this place to Maria and—”
I blinked. “Proposing to Connie? What happened to the guy you kept talking about—Davi was his name?”
“Well, dear,” she said, lowering her voice to a hushed whisper, “I didn’t want to shock you, but it was Connie I meant all along. Davi’s her husband, but I think I’ve almost persuaded her that she’s better off without him.”
I tilted my head and pondered. “Mom,” I said, “you’re still a homesteader at heart, so I’ll say this gently. Are you sure she’s interested in you or is it both of them?”
My mother began to scoff, paused, and looked suddenly startled, then confused.
“Right; then it seems to me we’d better make sure you hold on to your apartment for a little while longer. Better if Maria and Gracie come to my apartment. I’ll be doing more work down on the Sadiri settlement anyway, and it’ll be harder for her to avoid therapy when she’s near all the best institutes.”
“But, dear,” my mother protested, “are you sure you want to do that? I mean, unless there’s someone you’re thinking of moving in with, I wouldn’t wish Maria on you either.”
Too much Ntshune in my family. Too damn much. Her eyes lit up.
“There is someone,” she said, leaning forward avidly. “Go on! What’s he like? How old is he? Oh, it is a he, isn’t it?”
He’s Sadiri. Furthermore, he’s a Sadiri savant who is, in fact, older than you. “But I think we were discuss
ing your love life?” I chided her with lofty dignity.
“Oh. I do seem to have made a mess of that,” she said ruefully.
I zapped a contact from my comm to hers. “There. That’s my friend Gilda. She’s lovely and approachable and will give you all kinds of good advice about negotiating the currents of city polyamory. Just … don’t date her. Please. I would find that awkward.”
I picked up my handheld. “I’m making arrangements for Maria to move into my apartment within a couple of weeks. Please find a way to talk her into it by then. I’ll do my best to push her back to therapy, but I think even a part-time job would work wonders. The credits from the divorce and compensation are only going to last so long, anyway. Now, how’s Rafi?”
“Terribly unhappy,” she admitted, looking very distressed.
I felt a pang of dismay. She’d been our rock all the time we were growing up. She shouldn’t have to shoulder these burdens at her age. “Never mind. I’ll go see him tomorrow.”
Thus it was that on the second day after the Consul sent for help, I went to visit my nephew at his boarding school. Fortunately, Rafi wasn’t so much terribly unhappy as quite naturally stressed by the new environment and the fact that he had come into it in the middle of the school year, when friendships are already sealed and group allegiances formed. He also viewed his being there as a kind of sentence rather than a privilege and a mark of distinction from the average Cygnian. We walked the immaculate school grounds, and I tried my best to cheer him up.
“They all show off so much. Talking mind to mind. Levitating scraps of paper, even,” he said, glum and resistant to consoling.
I looked him over, noting his extra six centimeters of height and a face that was moving from cute to handsome with less adolescent awkwardness than the norm. He could be popular. He must not be trying. “I’ve seen your psi profile. You’re stronger than any of them. Why don’t you show off a little yourself?”