The male tilted his head. “And yet you are here. Why?”
“Because it occurs to me that while this is a bad plan for a male who wishes to betray his Emperor, it is an excellent one for a coward who wants to flee the fight.”
All three of the watching males hissed, and one of them took a step toward him. But the Admiral-Offense only raised his brow ridges, his pupils narrowing visibly. “Not as stupid as you look.”
“I like to think so.”
The male’s nostrils flared. “What will you do, then?”
“Sir!” one of the watchers said. “He has insulted you!”
“And I do what in response to that?” the Admiral-Offense said. “Demand a duel? We are on their ground. They are the ones with the power here, Tauchoht.”
“They say he fights duels,” said another of the males, driven to speak by his anger despite his obvious reluctance. “That he understands that some things can only be answered in blood.”
“This is not one of them.” The Admiral-Offense sat up with a grimace, rocking a shoulder back and forth as he stretched the wing joint. Bracing it with a hand, he said, “Why have you come, alien?”
“I have the ability to sense your motivations and thoughts,” Lisinthir said. “So I have come to do so, to see if you are planning to do what you have asked to do.”
“That’s true then,” the Admiral-Offense said, eyeing him. “The stories.”
“They are.”
“Then,” he said, “Go ahead. I have nothing to hide.”
Lisinthir knew he would find no duplicity or dishonor in this male’s mind; had known it before he’d heard the response to the offer. There was a straightforwardness to the males in the Navy, now that he had met a sufficiency of them to form an impression of their mindset. It was as the Emperor had divulged to him during their lovemaking, near the end of their time together on the throneworld: the Navy was the one place where males learned to trust one another, where they knew that if they turned their backs they wouldn’t find a knife in them. It was a culture that created males like the Knife and Uuvek, and the Admiral-Offense.
Second and the Usurper were flukes: dangerous ones, poisons that could render entire wells useless. But they existed, and because they did, because they’d been capable of convincing a significant number of males to join them, Lisinthir rested a hand on the Admiral-Offense’s and reached for the male’s mind. He found himself amongst thoughts dense and closely woven with years of service, and sullied with regret and a tired anger.
The Admiral-Offense knew the Navy he’d known and loved for so long would never be whole again. Not after this. And if they survived, what remained would not be the Navy he had given his life to.
“I don’t think so either,” he said aloud, quiet. “But it is possible that what will remain will be stronger for having fought this fight.”
The male lifted his head sharply, considered him. Then: “The alternative doesn’t please.”
“No,” Lisinthir agreed. “What do you think the chances are of there being a significant force waiting to rally to the Emperor’s banner?”
“I think… it may be good. The Eastern quadrant is its own culture. The other Naval bases… they are not so well-regarded, and feel that lack of respect keenly.”
To maintain this situation without its implosion, or fomenting rebellion, requires the constant shift of territory and personnel in and out of situations that challenge, reward, and punish them. One never rests, but one never grows bored.
“Yes,” Lisinthir said, the Emperor’s voice in his ear. “I imagine so.”
“When can we leave?” the Admiral-Offense asked. “It will be enough of a challenge to find someone to trust here. It will be difficult to form a concrete plan until we have assessed the local situation. We will need time.”
“You leave as soon as I do,” Lisinthir said. At the canted head, he said, “I go to rescue the Emperor.”
Hisses from the watching males. Not offense, he judged. They reacted to the temerity of the declaration. To his arrogance. A freak, rescuing the Exalted ruler of the entire Chatcaavan Empire?
“You have a plan to survive your trip to the Apex world?” the Admiral Offense asked, curious.
“I do. But if I may be so bold, I shall keep it to myself. What is not known cannot be betrayed.”
“We would never—” one of the others began, but the Admiral-Offense lifted a hand.
“Even the strongest male can be brought low by the right weapon,” that male said. He lifted his chin. “You and I will meet again, then, alien.”
“Ambassador,” Lisinthir insisted.
A chuff, dry laughter. “Ambassador.”
“Admiral-Offense.” Lisinthir bowed, extravagant. “I look forward to the day.”
When he entered the conference room in search of “their” Chatcaava he found them with company: Na’er and Laniis, and all of them bent over their data tablets and a scattering of drinks. His arrival caused the Knife to exclaim, “You are here! We have just finished crafting your persona!”
“You’ll like it,” Laniis added, her ears akimbo.
“You see,” the Knife continued, waving his arms, “We required you to be someone who would have slaves, and this is not a normal thing for most Chatcaava. But there are freelancers who raid the Alliance’s fringes for slaves they can sell on the luxury market—that is where most of our slaves come from. We have decided you are one of these freelancers, and this is perfect because it means you can be working alone, and also that you have been away from any planet with Chatcaava on it for long periods, and so do not necessarily know all the news such locals would know. Additionally, such raiders have been hired in the past by both system and imperial government officials—to spy, or to raid some particular locale—so there is precedent for you working with high-level males. We even know why you are in Apex-East! The Navy...” A pause here for a scowl, “Second’s Navy is inviting such raiders to come join the Navy in time for the war against the aliens. You might be here to evaluate that opportunity. But since such freelancers are not known for enjoying collaboration, it would be sensible for you to be cagey about accepting this opportunity. So you arrive at the world to sell your latest cargo and you will have reason to contact the highest level Chatcaava on-world, like the Deputy-East, and Manufactory-East, and the Worldlord—they are among the only people rich enough to have slaves in this system—and there you can tarry while asking opinions on whether you should join the war effort. Which will also give us information on how the war is going.”
“Goodness,” Lisinthir began.
But the Knife had not finished yet. “We have also decided on your visual appearance. White Chatcaava are not rare, but it is a remarkable color and we would prefer you not to be remarkable. So silver, we think. And your eyes cannot be so dark; dark eyes are considered untrustworthy because the pupils are too hard to see. So blue eyes, but brighter. The long mane is fine because it is in keeping with such personalities: raiders are supposed to be vain and arrogant and princely. It is something everyone despises about them, particularly since they have usually earned their attitudes. But we want the long mane as it is an excuse for us to be with you at night. You will particularly enjoy your slaves brushing it for you.” The Knife sucked in a breath and finished, “You will have a title. Such raiders always choose titles for themselves. We have decided yours is the Sword, because you will have captured slaves wielding such weapons and you will find them amusing. This will give you a reason to wear yours.”
“God and Living Air,” Lisinthir said, staring at him.
“He really got into it,” Na’er drawled, grinning.
“Really, really into it,” Laniis muttered.
The Knife said, “Do you approve, Ambassador? If so, these aliens say you must have the technology programmed and then we will be free to decide how to be inserted.”
“You mean you haven’t figured that out yet?” Lisinthir asked, mouth quirking.
“I
have some ideas...”
Na’er put his head in his hand and dragged the palm down the length of his muzzle: even from this angle, Lisinthir could see the laugh he was smothering.
“Before we discuss that,” Uuvek said, “And now that you are here, Ambassador....”
“You are about to tell me you cannot go,” Lisinthir said.
Uuvek lifted his head, contemplating him. “I should have known you would guess.”
“Possibly,” Lisinthir said. “I am not averse to greater intelligence being assigned to me than I have.” He smiled. “It is safer to believe me in possession of significant cunning.”
“There’s a difference?” The Knife frowned.
The two Pelted looked at him. Uuvek watched the interaction, then ignored it to address the Eldritch. “The Admiral-Offense needs to find people of our faction to abet him in his search for allies outside this system. His chances of success become far greater if he is here, working with these aliens, and with me.”
“Wait,” the Knife said. “You have discussed this with the aliens?”
“With the alien captain,” Uuvek said. “How else is it supposed to work, Knife? We drop off the Admiral-Offense and his three males—none of whom have any useful training in anything that would help them locate any sympathetic males, much less steal a ship... where? On a moon? The moon controlled by a naval contractor? No? The orbital station, also controlled by a naval contractor? What about the naval base? An asteroid somewhere? A mining shaft?” Uuvek snorted. “If you think at all about how it has to be done, the course is obvious. The Admiral-Offense remains on-board with the aliens, who have the capability of going unseen. I help them locate their allies. Their allies arrange to meet them somewhere with a conveyance after we have recovered the Ambassador, hopefully with news that the Emperor has been found and is able to lead his own coup. Then we meet our allies at the new location and proceed. All this requires someone who can hack into a computer without setting off every trap in it.”
“But... if you don’t go with me, who will?” the Knife asked, wide-eyed.
Laniis drew in a steadying breath. “That would be me.”
Na’er’s ears flicked back. “Arii—”
“Don’t,” Laniis said to him, softly. “Don’t try to stop me. Nor you either,” she said to the Ambassador.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. “If you tell me you are willing to go back into the fire with me, Laniis... I would never dream of it.”
The Knife threaded his fingers together, wide-eyed.
“You’ll be fine,” Uuvek said.
“I am not worried about me,” the Knife said. “I am worried about you. Unlike you, I don’t have to reveal myself to potential enemies in order to accomplish my mission. You will have to take the chance that whomever you contact won’t betray you.”
“Second and the Usurper have much to answer for,” Lisinthir murmured.
Both Chatcaava glanced at him.
“Yes,” the Knife said. And sighed. “This plan makes more sense. But I am not glad.” He looked at Laniis. “On more counts than one.”
Laniis’s ears flattened to her skull. “Do you think I can’t do it?”
“No,” the Knife said. “I think the Queen Ransomed cared for you. I don’t think she would like knowing that you were doing this.”
“The Queen Ransomed stayed behind to gather intelligence for us even though it meant being remanded into the custody of pirates,” Laniis said icily. “I think she would understand very well what I’m doing.”
“I’d just stop right there,” Na’er said, rueful. “Y’know. Friendly advice from male to male.”
“I—” The Knife looked at Laniis and lowered his head. “Yes. That seems sensible advice.”
Laniis sniffed.
“I take it you have discussed this already with Captain Osgood?” Lisinthir asked Uuvek.
“Yes.”
“Then I suppose all that remains is... logistics.”
“Isn’t it always,” the Knife said with a sigh.
Uuvek grinned.
“So that’s the plan,” Meryl said to him as he sat on the clinic’s bed, allowing Dellen to swab his arm for the implant. “We drop you off, we go find these people their allies, and then we come back for you. All the timelines will be communicated to you via the implant. We’ll give you an eye-film so you won’t have to rely on the roquelaure’s aural cues, but you’ll have to talk to command it. Don’t do that out loud, though. Subvocalization will work. Once we’re in-system, we’ll send you an update. The plan’s too loose for me to give you any specific dates.”
“I didn’t think you’d be able to,” Lisinthir said.
“From your history I’m guessing you’re fine with improvising,” she continued. “If you’re not... now’s the time to tell me, not a week from now when I discover it by hearing you’ve been captured.”
Lisinthir snorted. “You need not fear on that account, alet. So long as the roquelaure holds, I am confident of my ability to remain in character.”
Dellen brought the AAP over and set it against the inside of Lisinthir’s arm. The hiss it gave off was the only sign the chip had been delivered; he would have liked a sting, some piece of poetry to hint at what was to come. But that was not how the Alliance worked. Its technology was an obedient servant, something to be self-effaced so that its people could find the poetry in their own lives without being hampered by tools and methods they considered mundane. It was left to him to impart whatever lyricism he wished to the occasion... or so he thought, until he lifted his eyes and found Meryl studying him, worry crimping the lower lids and darkening the gray in her green-gray eyes.
“Alet,” he said. “I won’t promise you that all will be well. You know better than to believe such promises. But if it is in my power, I will bring everyone back when you return to pick us up.”
Her mouth twitched at one corner, though her eyes didn’t reflect the near smile. “And I won’t promise that we’ll make it back to pick you up. But if it’s in my power, I’ll be here. And then....”
“And then, Lord and Lady and Living Air willing... we will know the next step.”
Neither of them said that they might not find that next step. That was not how the game was played... not at his level, among people with the experiences they shared. He respected the silence and her willingness to grant it to him in turn.
He had asked the Night Admiral for a team he could work with. He would have to tell that worthy when he returned how well he had wrought.
“You ready for the eye-film?” Dellen said. “Then we can run through the initialization sequence and you can practice talking to the thing without being heard.”
“Let us, alet. Time is wasting.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“If I leave this chase to you,” Sediryl had said with Lisinthir’s advice still playing in her mind, “how will you conduct it?”
“Very, very carefully,” Maia had said. “Following what amounts to vapor trails in space... when those trails belong to pirates or Chatcaava hostile to us? Very, very carefully.”
Recognizing that she had nothing to add to that, Sediryl had replied, “Then I shall entrust the matter to you, if you will take care to explain it to me so I am not entirely in the dark.”
“That I can do.”
And the D-per had, though the explanations had often been confusing, or frustrating, or both. Sediryl didn’t have the background to understand how Maia was sorting through the sensor noise to find the exact trail she wanted... and even if the Eldritch had, there was more to hunting this particular quarry than reliance on sensor data. The D-per was also trawling local networks and pinging buoys as they passed in and out of range of them, and where she found leading commentary she took that into account, whether it was a warning to stay out of a particular area, or an assigned flight path in lawless areas that had them, or news about pirate activity....
And that wasn’t everything either, because in addition t
he D-per was calculating fuel ratios and flight paths to and from the nearest habitable solar systems, or places where fuel could be siphoned without being noticed....
The number of variables was frankly boggling, and Maia could do it all faster than Sediryl could have even had she been experienced. She expressed her frustration once, causing the D-per to comment that she was being too hard on herself: “Flesh and blood can do this too, alet. But it takes decades of experience for them to internalize the things I’m doing. And then they’d call it a hunch if they followed it and it paid off. You can’t even fly a ship like this, so expecting more of yourself is unreasonable. You have the years to get good at this. Don’t strip yourself raw because you’re not there yet.”
“But what do I do with myself?” she’d asked.
“Rest,” the D-per had advised. “Do puzzles. Grow your seeds.”
She wanted to do none of these things. Instead, she applied herself to the ship’s manuals, and that was slow enough going that she was relieved to sleep when the time came. Or she’d thought she was before she started having dreams that woke her in the middle of the night, clasping the blankets tightly against her throat and wishing she could wipe the blush off her cheeks. Even that might not have bothered her, except her dreaming mind couldn’t seem to decide which man she wanted. The first night it was cousin Lisinthir, with all his suavity and lethal confidence. But the second night it was cousin Jahir, all noble passions and courtly gentility.
Night Three she apparently gave up trying to choose and dreamed about them both—at the same time—in the same bed!—and when she woke up from that one she didn’t rise. Instead she sank deeper into her pillow and sheets and stared at the dim wall on the other side of the cabin, replaying those images over and over, hard white bodies twining in oh so lurid embrace, seeing fingers on that scar at the edge of cousin Lisinthir’s brows and recognizing them as cousin Jahir’s...
There were compensations to having an overactive imagination. Sometimes. She was quite pleased with herself until she remembered after breakfast that both her cousins were mind-mages, and quite able to read her mind if she accidentally let some of the more scandalous images escape her. They would certainly not appreciate her having been posing them in each other’s arms in her head. Goddess!
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