Only the Open

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  The message itself was all Lisinthir, and he smiled through it all the way to its signature... and then he read the final line and all his body clenched.

  /Ariihir?/

  /A moment./

  /Of course?/ The worry faded from the mindline and left him alone in the dark, with only the glow of the tablet and the faint nightlight strips along the walls to illumine the room. Chatcaavan had become their love language, which made the errand Lisinthir was referring to obvious. But his stomach was trying to knot itself into a rope at the implication. What was she doing there? Why? His cousin’s last admonition was clearly a warning not to arrive in high dudgeon over her having imperiled herself. Jahir didn’t share Lisinthir’s notion of necessary risks—few people did, given Lisinthir’s high fear threshold—so it was useless to guess if Sediryl really should be there, or if Lisinthir merely felt she should be.

  None of which mattered, of course. The question he had to ask was whether he trusted Sediryl’s competence more than he feared for her safety. And was that not an impossible question? She had navigated the Alliance for years, though, and taken far more risks in those years than he had. But that was not the same thing as forcing herself into a war with dragons...!

  Still, the warning resonated. He spread the message reply option and wrote back in Eldritch:

  Cousin, I come, and shall so attempt in the proper spirit.

  He signed his name and left off the endearments. He could commit them in person. That left only the planning, and he began it at once, researching the location of this world and what sort of transports ran to it.

  Once upon a time, that exercise would have left him prey to the surprise of Vasiht’h’s approach, even with the mindline to warn him. Now, though, he sensed his partner rolling from his cushioned nest and shaking out his wings, heard the pawpads in the back of his mind while he skated through the flight options. When the Glaseah finally dropped his haunches into an untidy seat beside him, he was ready for the question.

  “So what did he say?”

  “He says I am to meet him on this world.” Tapping the data tablet, he showed the Alliance’s map to him. “Sharsenne. It is in one of the border sectors but settled long ago and not subject to much piracy or instability. Few ships fly there directly, but it is less a matter of safety and more of convenience and coordination of schedules. There are many flight plans that involve only one transfer.” Jahir handed the tablet to Vasiht’h. “Less than a week, most of those plans. Some as short as four days.”

  “Four days,” Vasiht’h murmured.

  Jahir smiled whimsically. “We may have been spoiled by our last conveyance to the border of the Empire. Fleet ships go deeper into the Well than commercial liners.”

  “And Fleet won’t volunteer this time?”

  “If they would have, Lisinthir would have arranged it.” Jahir let his eyes rest on the glow off the tablet as he set an elbow on the table and used his hand to prop up his head. “I think, perhaps, he might prefer some of our enterprise be free of Fleet’s oversight. Private individuals may do aught that governments would find… imprudent.”

  The skepticism in the mindline was so sharp it could have served a surgeon as a scalpel. “And a mission that Fleet is abetting with a ship they’ve lent Lisinthir is somehow a private thing?”

  “For all their help,” Jahir said, “he is an ambassador, not a soldier.”

  “He’s the Alliance’s ambassador to the Chatcaavan Empire,” Vasiht’h pointed out.

  “But a foreign national, on loan from an allied government,” Jahir said. “The waters are murky. And if he invites me personally, then there is some freedom there as well. I become a confederate from an allied nation rather than a resource subject to assignment by Fleet.”

  Vasiht’h set the data tablet down and folded his arms. “And you would be comfortable doing something shady enough that a government wouldn’t want itself associated with it?”

  “No,” Jahir said, slowly. “But something the Alliance might not want to do, but that my Queen would… that I could countenance. And must. I am a citizen of the Alliance, arii. But my duty lies with my homeland. And I have no doubt that Liolesa is… more willing to exact final justice on those who would kill or enslave us, shall we say.”

  Vasiht’h wrinkled his nose. “All right. That makes sense.” He smiled a little. “I’d believe summary justice of her. I wouldn’t even blame her, I think.”

  “You… think?”

  Vasiht’h shrugged, and the mindline whispered of muscles seeking relief from tension more than from ambivalence, or dismissiveness. “I’m still what I am too, arii. I was born here, and violence will never come easily to me. Even as a response to violence. Maybe particularly so.”

  “I know.” Jahir reached over and rested a hand on the knotted shoulder, pressed fingers into it. Vasiht’h twitched in surprise and then hung his head to grant better access. Thus encouraged, Jahir continued. “I mislike it myself. But God and Lady willing, we will put paid to this—or at least, close the chapter on the immediate threat—and be able to return to our lives. Different lives, and perhaps more vigilant ones, but also more consonant with the life you prefer.”

  “That is nice,” Vasiht’h mumbled. “I had no idea you could do massage.” A peep of humor through the mindline. “I bet you didn’t know either.”

  Jahir laughed. “No. There you have me fairly caught.”

  Vasiht’h grinned at him, then grew somber. “So, you’ll go talk to Sediryl, head for this Sharsenne place, and… Lisinthir will go with you somewhere else, I’m guessing?”

  “No doubt,” Jahir said. “I cannot imagine them doing anything other than staging from such a world; the conflict is further in the Empire, or up along its border. Sharsenne looks too settled a planet for anything else.” He inhaled. “And I’m afraid Sediryl is… already there. So I suppose I am leaving as soon as I book transport.”

  “Sediryl’s there?” Vasiht’h asked, incredulous.

  “You are about to ask me why and I’m afraid I have not the first notion,” Jahir said ruefully. “Only that Lisinthir has encouraged me to bridle my reaction. She must have her own reasons for having come.”

  “If she has her own reasons for going, you definitely won’t endear yourself to her by showing up to tell her to go home!” Vasiht’h shook out his now looser shoulders and managed a smile. “And to be honest, I don’t know why she should. I haven’t spent long in her company but that was still long enough to know that no one’s going to get in the way of anything she wants. She’s an independent soul, arii. If you want her to marry you, you’re going to have to be willing to accept that.”

  “I learn one lesson, and the Divine offers me another,” Jahir agreed, rueful.

  “That’s how it usually works.” Vasiht’h sighed. “Well, book two tickets, then. I’m not going to traipse after the two of you—the three of you—into the Empire, but I’ll at least see you off.”

  Jahir glanced at him. “You’re certain?”

  “If it’s as safe as you’re suggesting…” Vasiht’h shook his head. “I know my limits, ariihir. I can’t go into a war like that. But to at least wave you off as you ride to war… that I can do.”

  “And while I’m gone?” Jahir’s voice softened.

  “I’ll probably close up shop here and go back to Sehvi’s. We apparently have plans to make.”

  “Yes,” Jahir murmured. “We do.” And wrapped his arms around his friend’s shoulders, drawing him close. Against Vasiht’h’s cheek, he said, “Thank you.”

  “I love you,” Vasiht’h said. “I can’t do any less.”

  “You could and I would never blame you for it,” Jahir said. “Don’t demean your own courage. You have it, and more than you know.”

  The Glaseah hmphed, but the mindline tightened with his apprehension and his decision not to surrender to it. “Just make sure I get at least four hours of sleep before we go.”

  In fact, Jahir let him sleep eight hours, b
ut not much more than that. They were packed and boarding the first transport the following afternoon. It helped that they were traveling lightly. Vasiht’h’s return ticket was already purchased; he’d be home again within a week. Having no idea how long he’d be gone, Jahir had brought only as much as he needed for the journey to Sharsenne, along with the Galare sword set. He would resupply where he could, and what he and his own fortune couldn’t provide, he was sure Lisinthir’s Fleet allies would.

  Their first flight was on a passenger liner that delivered Core citizens to an out-sector hub home to several cruise companies. It had bemused them both to learn that many of the worlds on the border were popular tourist destinations, whether for tourism, culture, food, or spiritual retreat. “I never thought of myself as an Alliance elitist,” Vasiht’h had told Jahir as they ignored the ads for those destinations being played on one of the walls in the dining mess. “But it honestly never occurred to me that anyone would want to see anything in the border sectors. I assumed it was all pirates, destitute colonies, and abandoned worlds.”

  “A perhaps unavoidable assumption given how many Fleet members we’ve worked with,” Jahir said. “But the Alliance must grow somehow, and presumably it does so when its borders are expanded by the success and productivity of its colonies.”

  “Its colonies facing away from a potential war with an obtruding Empire,” Vasiht’h said, wry. “Not the ones that might get enveloped by the Chatcaava!”

  “And perhaps the war was inevitable, given that,” Jahir said. He smiled whimsically. “Will you avail yourself of one of these cruises in my absence?”

  “Goddess no!” Vasiht’h laughed. “I don’t care how fancy these places are, or how breathtaking—”

  “Or how good the food is?”

  “Or… all right, that’s the one thing that might have made me curious enough to go,” Vasiht’h allowed. “But if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll wait until after these places have become official Alliance sectors, with a real starbase and military presence, before I go wandering off on a tasting tour.”

  Jahir grinned. “If I have the chance, I’ll bring you a few perishable souvenirs.”

  “The only perishable souvenir I’m interested in is you. So make sure you bring that back first.”

  Their second leg of the journey was also their last, from the hub to Sharsenne. This was a smaller vessel, with fifteen crew and a maximum of twenty-five passengers. The flight was also shorter: a day and a half, compared to the three the first had taken. “We could practically sleep the whole trip away,” Vasiht’h had commented when they’d checked into their cabin.

  “And no doubt we will, given the lateness of the hour,” Jahir said. “But dinner first.”

  They’d eaten through the ship’s departure, lingering over the meal and cups of chocolate swirled with kerinne. The crew moved with brisk efficiency, but the rhythm of this flight was noticeably less hurried than their first. Jahir enjoyed his sampling of the passengers’ relaxation. He could inhale it like the bouquet of a wine and did, and something of it surfaced in his eyes across the table, because Vasiht’h met them and smiled with watering eyes.

  /A matter of time before you see the flowering of your own talents, surely?/ Jahir had murmured privately.

  /The way I’m learning just by being yoked to you?/ Vasiht’h shook his head. /I can’t describe it, arii, except to say that… it’s amazing./

  /Thanks be to the God and Lady for Their gifts,/ Jahir said.

  /Yes./

  After that they’d wandered to the observation deck and then back to their rooms to sleep. Unlike the Fleet ships they’d taken to the border previously, the passenger liners had luxurious cabins with more than enough space to turn around in, and a full bath in every suite. Vasiht’h hadn’t even needed to make up his own bed; having booked as a Glaseah, he’d arrived to a sloped couch with a cache of moldable pillows and bolsters.

  Fortunately such couches were portable. He’d dragged it over to Jahir’s side so he could sleep alongside his partner the way they were both accustomed to, and testing it he found it so comfortable that he mentioned buying something similar for home. Contented, they both saw to their ablutions and retired, and the mindline softened into the warm, low presence that had been a part of their lives for over a decade.

  The ships that plied space were not like those that did water, or even air. Under normal circumstances, they hummed, a low-level vibration that almost never rose to the level of conscious perception. But they didn’t buck, tremble, or twitch. They certainly didn’t heave so hard they flung their occupants out of their beds. Jahir grabbed for the bedframe in vain as he plunged off it, knocking into Vasiht’h and skidding almost to the other side of the room. The leg of the other bed stopped them both… with Vasiht’h on top of Jahir, and the Glaseah was much, much heavier—

  —but not as heavy as the air around them, thick with confusion and unexpected pain and panic. Jahir struggled to surface through the physical and mental oppression, thrashing against Vasiht’h’s side. /Arii!/

  /Sorry! Let me… my foot’s trapped, I—/ Vasiht’h jerked it free just as the ship wrenched to the other side and they rolled apart.

  The vibration of the deckplates stopped.

  “What’s going on?” Vasiht’h asked, ears flattening. “Did something fail? Some part of the engine maybe?”

  Jahir clawed himself free of the twined blankets and sat up, shaking his hair back. The passengers’ turmoil was so powerful he needed several breaths to separate it from the crew’s… and once he had, he shamelessly skated ghostly fingers over their auras. He was expecting alarm, irritation, worry.

  What he felt, like a punch to the gut, was terror.

  “No,” Vasiht’h whispered. “You can’t tell me that. Don’t… don’t tell me that!”

  Jahir ruthlessly rode the feelings of the crew until he found their captain and plucked the surface thoughts free.

  Pirates.

  He pushed himself upright and went for his sword case. /You are about to ask if I am going to fight them,/ he said. /The answer to that is yes. Because I can fight them… and win./

  Vasiht’h’s head jerked up. They could obfuscate the truth through the mindline, hide things from it… but lie? That was impossible. Jahir knew the steel in his mental voice, the impassioned certainty of his response, would convince his partner the way nothing else would.

  Vasiht’h inhaled shakily, then managed a wan smile. “I’m good with this plan. And I’d rather not be here alone! Let’s go.”

  Jahir dressed in haste. One of his daggers was already in his boot; the remaining dirk and sword he belted on before entering the corridor. Unlike a Fleet vessel, with its unmistakable emergency sirens, the passenger liner’s sole indication of its status was a demure strip of red and white lights where the floor met the wall and the occasional repetition of a message ‘to please stay in your cabins until the crew gives you further instructions.’ Jahir ignored it and skated past the minds bound up in panic and fear on their vessel to reach for the minds in the new ship alongside them. He couldn’t count them: more than their ship carried, fewer than the full concert hall on Alpha where he and Lisinthir had conducted their final test. Too many, and he didn’t have time to evaluate the exact number because some number of them had just arrived here, close. He started jogging.

  /Let me guess,/ Vasiht’h said. /We’re heading toward the dangerous parts of the ship./

  /That would be where our quarry is,/ Jahir replied with a flicker of distracted amusement.

  /Of course./ The disgust in the response almost made him laugh. But the boarding party had arrived, and it was at least twenty people strong. How to take them down, when surely they would be using palmers? And his sword was not a good weapon for corridors this size: too long by far. Nor was he altogether certain he could channel his memory of his cousin’s fighting skill.

  You are not me, he could almost hear Lisinthir saying. Fight like you, Galare.


  And that meant something entirely different. He stretched out for those minds. Was it fair to invade them? But they meant the innocents on this ship violence. They had to be stopped, or at least, convinced to turn back. Still heading their way, Jahir sank into the first few minds he’d sensed.

  Pirates, he’d expected. What he found instead…

  Jahir was not well-acquainted with anger. Despair, yes. Fear, certainly. But he was more prone to melancholy than choler, was more comfortable making peace than exacting justice. He would do it—he no less than any other Eldritch male had been trained to it—but it was an effort. Even the joy he’d learned, fighting with Lisinthir on Starbase Alpha, had been an exhilaration born of their skill, not from any love of the contest.

  He had never learned the tools to fight the fury that washed through him at what he found in the minds of those men. It hit him like the backblast of a missile, so raw it roared through the mindline and staggered Vasiht’h. Jahir couldn’t stop to steady him because he was running now for those invaders, one of the House daggers already drawn. He sensed more than saw the dead body he passed, because he was already turning the corner and confronting the ten who were moving steadily forward, checking all the compartments, weapons ready.

  “Here you find me,” he called. “Unless you are afraid of a lone man.”

  The rearmost turned and twitched in surprise.

  “Not what you were hoping?” Jahir said. “Not enough fur, I assume.” He lifted his empty hand. “You should kill each other.”

  The puzzled looks as they finished facing him and tried to understand the words gave way beneath sudden panic as he pushed on them, flattening their thoughts beneath the pressure of his mind. He had never tried this on people actively resisting him; it was harder than he’d anticipated.

  But not hard enough.

  The palmers flashed but did not squeak the way legal models should have. Jahir held his opponents in an iron grip until they finished obeying his orders, and only after they slumped did he realize he was crying.