The kuhsi were up left, the mother and cub on separate bunks side by side. Alongside the cub, a female marine sat on the bench seat that protruded from the wall, and held a cup for the little boy as he sipped with a straw. His head was propped on pillows, and his mother was watching anxiously. Her wrists were locked to the bed frame, Lisbeth saw, and a heavy belt fastened her waist to the bed.
“Get back in bed Private,” said a Corpsman as she hurried past.
“Hey shove it Corpsman,” the marine replied without hostility, holding the cup. She had one leg in a heavy brace with various cords leading out of it, as did the cuff on her arm. She looked up as Lisbeth and Carla arrived. “Lisbeth, hey.” Lisbeth blinked. When did every marine on the ship suddenly get on first name basis with her? “I’m Private Rolonde, Jess Rolonde. I’m in Command Squad. Was in.”
“With the Major,” Lisbeth said as she realised. She’d have shaken her hand, but Rolonde’s hands were busy. “Nice to meet you. And this is Carla.”
“Hi Jess,” said Carla, with that easy familiarity of one marine to another. “Real sorry about your Sarge. I knew a couple like him when I was in service, sounds like a hell of a guy.”
“Yeah,” Rolonde said reluctantly, looking back at the drinking cub. As though not trusting herself to speak about it, with anyone. She stroked the little boy’s head. “Yeah.”
Command Squad’s infamous First Sergeant had been killed against the hacksaws, Lisbeth recalled. She wanted to add her condolences, but it just didn’t feel right, from a civilian. Who was she to speak of such things, among these hardened warriors? What possible comfort could a pampered rich girl give?
The mother kuhsi was looking at them with those beautiful golden eyes. Anxious, but not terrified. Apparently she’d calmed down a lot. Kuhsi sometimes had terrible nerves, Lisbeth knew. With hunter reflexes came a wild fight-or-flight reflex that was often difficult to control.
“Here,” she said, and took the top off the container she carried. She walked to the mother, with what she hoped was a comforting smile, and held the container for her to smell. “It’s sho’gharch, one of my kuhsi friends from college ate it all the time. Smells good, yes?”
She put it on the round, soft-edged side bench, took out a piece of meat and tore it in half. Put one half in her mouth and chewed. It was a little simple by human standards, but tasted good enough. She offered the other piece to the mother. She accepted, cautiously opening her mouth. And chewed when Lisbeth gave it to her. Lisbeth pointed to the rest of the meat, and back to the little boy, with eyebrows raised in question.
“Yes?” she said, nodding. It wasn’t a common kuhsi gesture. The mother swallowed. Then copied the nod, awkward and exaggerated. Lisbeth smiled broadly, and gave the meat to Rolonde. “Here, you feed him. It has to be from that side, I can’t sit between him and his mum or she can’t see. Just let her see what you’re doing.”
Rolonde put the drink bottle into the bed frame holder, and tore up bits of meat to feed the boy. He was looking quite calm, Lisbeth was impressed to see. Occasionally he’d throw a glance at his mother, but without great concern. He seemed to have better instincts than her about who was friendly. And barely even looked when Lisbeth sat on the end of his bed. The first human instinct when looking at kuhsi was ‘animal’… until you saw those eyes look your way, and saw the calculation there, and the dexterity of the fingers.
“Would you look at those big ears!” Lisbeth marvelled. “Isn’t he gorgeous?”
“You had kuhsi friends in college?” Rolonde asked, appearing as intrigued as Lisbeth. She was a lean, strong woman with dark-blonde hair and blue eyes. Not as big as Carla, but Lisbeth knew that with augments the physical size counted for little — Major Thakur was proof of that.
“Yes I did. They were on an exchange program from Choghoth, we studied at my university. They were top students, really smart, spoke excellent English. Well, as excellent as any kuhsi can speak a human tongue, their mouths won’t make some of our sounds, and our throats can’t handle their coughs and clicks.”
“Hard to use your lips and tongue like we do when you’ve got those sharp teeth,” Carla reasoned. The mother only had one of those big front teeth, Lisbeth noted. She had some little gel plasters on visible cuts, so she’d allowed a corpsman to treat her. What the hell had happened to them both?
“Only boys though, right?” said Rolonde, holding some meat for the mother to see, before feeding the boy. He ate hungrily, and seemed to enjoy it, using his own fingers now with unrestrained hands. “Careful, you’ll get messy fingers kid.”
“Yes, only boys leave Choghoth,” Lisbeth agreed. “Girls stay home. Two of my kuhsi friends thought that was pretty awful too, but they weren’t optimistic about it changing. And then some other kuhsi… well, I didn’t make friends with them. They were assholes to girls.”
“Choghoth,” said the mother. The humans stared. Her pronunciation was very different, with a richness deep in the throat, and a mid-word click, that humans couldn’t do without spraying the room with phlegm. “Choghoth, home.”
“A-hah!” said Lisbeth with delight. “You do speak some English. I bet you were just scared before — you know I heard kuhsi get insensible sometimes when they’re scared, forget everything they’ve learned.”
“Humans too,” said Carla.
“Careful, it’s just one word,” said Rolonde. She smiled at the boy. “Hey buddy, I bet you speak some English, kids always learn faster. What is your name?” He seemed more interested in eating. “I’m Jess.” She pointed to herself. “Lisbeth. Carla.” At the others. And she pointed the finger at the boy.
“Skah,” said the boy around a mouthful.
“Skah?”
“Oh perfect!” Lisbeth exclaimed. “Skah! That’s so cute.”
“And her name?” Rolonde pointed at the mother.
“Nah-ny.”
“Nah-ny?”
“Mommy,” Lisbeth translated with a grin. “He can’t pronounce ‘m’.” And remembered you weren’t supposed to grin around kuhsi, they only did that when they were about to bite your head off. “And does Mommy have a name? Skah, Mommy name?”
“Tif,” the boy conceded. “Nah-ny nane Tif. Nore prease.”
“Can’t pronounce ‘l’ either,” said Lisbeth as Rolonde gave him some more. “He won’t like my name. But so polite!” And she looked at the mother. “Hello Tif.”
Tif rattled her wrist restraints in reply, with meaning. Rolonde held Skah’s hand for a moment to indicate the finger claws, then mimed striking, and mimed her own throat being cut, both hands to her neck and gaping. Lisbeth thought it all a bit graphic, but Rolonde made it comic, and Tif put her head back on the pillow with a look that might have been exasperation. So she knew why there were restraints.
“Tif?” said Lisbeth. “Phoenix database, please translate to Gharkhan… Phoenix? Will it do that?”
“Phoenix database,” Rolonde interrupted. “Translator program, Private Jessica Rolonde. Translate to adult kuhsi subject, in Gharkhan.”
“I mean she has to speak some Gharkhan whatever her native tongue, doesn’t she?” Lisbeth reasoned. “Tif? Tif please understand, we’d love to take off those restraints. But human skin is not as tough as kuhsi skin, you can hurt us with those claws and the ship regulations say we have to keep the restraints on if we think you might hurt us.”
A bedside speaker coughed, rumbled and clicked through a series of kuhsi vowels in Tif’s ear. Tif gazed at them.
“Tif, this is a warship,” Lisbeth tried again. “You understand? These people are soldiers. If you threaten them, they can hurt you very bad. They don’t want to hurt you, and they don’t want to hurt Skah. So please don’t threaten them, yes?”
Tif muttered something. “Human ally,” said the wallspeaker in a disembodied female voice. And added, “Translation additional; subject kuhsi adult female is speaking Gharkhan, but has a very strong foreign accent. Unable to precisely identify. High possibility from Hesh
og Highlands.”
“Tif, are you from Heshog?” Lisbeth pressed. Hearing her speak was not especially fascinating, Lisbeth had spent four years at college with at least a few kuhsi around. Some of them never shut up. “Heshog Highlands?”
Another awkward nod from Tif. She said something. “Near,” said the wall speaker. She’d said more words than that. Lisbeth wondered how much the translator was actually getting.
“And yes,” Rolonde added. “Humans are allies to kuhsi. You’re safe here.”
“Ally like chah'nas.” Her gold-eyed gaze was full of accusation.
“Tif, what did they do to you?” Lisbeth asked. No reply from the kuhsi. “They hurt you and were holding you prisoner, I understand that. But we attacked them and rescued you. We’re not their friends.”
Tif thought about it. Looked about the Medbay. A number of other marines were listening, having little better to do, lying in a hospital ward. “I was pilot.”
Lisbeth and Rolonde looked at each other. Rolonde looked very skeptical. It didn’t seem likely. “You were a pilot?” Lisbeth repeated. “What did you pilot?”
“Shuttle. Student. From Highlands.” Again the translator was skipping a whole bunch of words. Lisbeth frowned, trying to focus on that and not the sounds from Tif’s mouth. “Academy. Trained as pilot. Job with Lord. Top of class. Big job.”
“So, wait… you were a… a scholarship student? From a poor region in the Heshog Highlands?” Tif waited for the speaker to translate that. And nodded vaguely. Good enough. “You trained in an academy? Which academy? I didn’t know any academies on Choghoth trained women.”
Tif spoke two words, but the speaker only gave one. “Lord.” The other word must be his name then.
“Lord… Kharghep?”
“Lord Kharghesh.” This time the translator got the whole thing. Now why did that name seem familiar?
“I heard about him,” said Rolonde. Lisbeth was surprised, then chided herself for it. Why shouldn’t a marine private know things about kuhsi current affairs? Many marine privates knew a lot more about the universe than over-educated upper class girls, having travelled so much more of it. “He was a moderniser. Wanted to change the old kuhsi ways, lots of resistance from conservatives. He died just recently. An accident, I think.”
“No accident,” said Tif. Morose, her ears down. Little Skah stopped eating and looked at her, ears also down. Clearly distressed also, because his mother was. “Murder.” Silence in Medbay. Lisbeth looked at Rolonde. Rolonde looked as surprised as anyone. “I saw. I Lord Kharghesh mistress. Lord Khargesh make kuhsi woman free. Many mistress, many good woman.”
It wasn’t as suspicious as it sounded. Kuhsi had clans, and big lords had many mistresses. Kuhsi didn’t do marriage, nor monogamy in any human sense, though a mistress to a big lord had better not sleep around if she knew what was good for her. It meant only high rank males got to procreate, which made the lower ranked rebellious. A very big lord could have as many mistresses as he wanted. Supposedly a reformist big lord could attract thousands, of their own accord, if it got them an education and jobs, things too often denied to kuhsi women. Maybe hundreds of thousands. Choghoth was not a small planet — four billion kuhsi, going on five. Half of what Earth had been, before the krim killed it, and at a similar technological level. And now that kuhsi had FTL, their territory was expanding.
“Old kuhsi not want new kuhsi world. Free woman bad. Kill Lord Kharghesh. I saw. Put me on chah'nas ship, with Skah.”
“Why Tif? Why put you on a chah'nas ship?”
Tif stared at her, very direct. “Kuhsi human ally. Human tell kuhsi, let woman free. Reform this. Reform that. Old kuhsi not want change. Chah'nas meet big kuhsi. I saw. Tell big kuhsi, old kuhsi — you not change. Chah'nas not like change. Old kuhsi not like change. Make new ally — chah'nas, kuhsi. No more human, maybe.”
Wow, thought Lisbeth. “But why take your kid?” Rolonde asked. One comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Why take Skah?”
“Skah son, Lord Khargesh,” Tif said sadly. Looking at her little boy, head back on the pillows. It compressed one of her long ears, folding it. “Lord Khargesh big kuhsi. Big lands. Skah…” The translator didn’t get the last word.
“Skah what?” Rolonde wondered.
“Heir,” Lisbeth breathed. “Skah is Lord Khargesh’s heir.”
* * *
“So why give him to the chah'nas?” Erik wondered, sitting in the command chair. All first-shift was at post around him, plus Lisbeth by Shahaim’s chair, and Trace by Kaspowitz’s. Rooke’s latest repair job counted down on a screen — just a few hours, he assured them.
Lisbeth shrugged. “She wasn’t clear. I don’t think it’s wise to push her further. She’s told us quite a lot, I think she’ll tell us more as she trusts us more. It’s not like we have any political allegiances left.” A silence, as that comment fell to the deck like a lead balloon. ‘Oh’, Lisbeth mouthed silently, realising how that sounded.
“I think they were headed for Heuron,” said Kaspowitz, eyeing his nav-display, measuring the jump trajectories. “It’s all in line, we know that’s where Fleet High Command is now. Supreme Commander Chankow’s there, a bunch of chah'nas top command. Lord Khargesh runs a big territory, that’s nearly two hundred million kuhsi.”
Which on one of those old homeworld planets was enormous, Erik knew. Humans had lost that a thousand years ago, lost the emotional connection with old roots in the land, old political systems and cultures. Countries, they’d been called on Earth. A lot of them had been racially and ethnically homogenous, which was similar to today, but back then there had been so many different homogeneities. Different countries, with different peoples praying to different gods and speaking different languages. They hadn’t often got along, with plenty of wars resulting. Humans today often forgot that point — aliens hadn’t started the violence. Before aliens had come along, humans had been busily killing each other. These days at least, that was rare.
But it wasn’t rare amongst kuhsi. They didn’t have countries, but they had an interwoven mesh of clans, bloodlines and traditional territories, spiced up by lots of old racial and cultural differences. It was a lot more stable than it had been, thanks to modern technology making warfare far too costly to be a frequent event between big powers. Lord Khargesh had run the eighth biggest clan… a hugely powerful man. Erik’s brief scan of Phoenix database revealed more details, big reforms to gender roles being one of them. He seemed more an economic rationalist than a moralist, he said it was economically inefficient for women not to work the higher skilled jobs they were qualified for. He’d had a lot of support, but a lot of enemies too. Obviously he had, if what Tif said was correct, and he’d been murdered.
“It’s strange,” said Erik, chewing a nail. “My father likes to complain about humans being so inflexible, but it turns out we’re incredibly flexible next to nearly every other alien species. Chah'nas still run their caste system like some antique model, technology doesn’t change it. I mean we started giving women power in modern society far before the kuhsi did… and if they hadn’t met us, fair bet they wouldn’t even be considering it now.”
“You know,” said Trace, “if you keep chewing those nails, you’re going to lose a finger.” Lisbeth giggled. Erik considered making a face at her, but thought it wasn’t proper for a warship commander. “Old guard kuhsi don’t think humans are a great influence. They think they might be better off with chah'nas as best friends.”
“That’ll be tough without contiguous territories,” Shahaim added.
Trace shrugged. “In the old feudal days of Earth, rival lords would keep the children and heirs of neighbouring territories hostage. To control who inherited those lands, and to make them behave. Maybe giving Skah to the chah'nas does the same thing. Chah'nas controls who inherits Lord Khargesh’s lands, or at least have a big say. If that’s where the reformers are, that’ll give them a big say in how vocal those reformers are. Maybe.”
Erik
made to chew his nails again, and stopped with an accusing look at Trace. She looked serene. “Kaspo, how soon could we reach Heuron?”
“Um…” Kaspowitz did some fast calculations. “From Merakis? Another three jumps. Big ones, maybe fifteen days realtime.”
“And we could beat everyone there? From Homeworld?”
Kaspowitz looked cautious. “Sure. What are you thinking?”
“Get there before everyone else does. This whole shit with the Captain was a local job. Doesn’t seem likely Supreme Commander Chankow was in on the specifics. We show up there, no one knows we’re renegades yet. We cruise in, pretend everything’s normal, ask some questions.”
“What if Chankow was in on it?” Shahaim countered. “He didn’t need to be in on the specifics, it could have been just a general instruction or plan.”
Erik shrugged. “There’s that.”
“How would we explain being in Heuron when we’re supposed to be at Homeworld?” Kaspowitz added. “Hell of a course change.”
“And there’s that,” said Erik. “We’re smart folk. We’ll think of something.”
“Can you lie?” Trace asked. “You don’t strike me as the dishonest type.”
“Are you kidding?” Lisbeth laughed. “He can lie like a senator.”
“Can you lie?” Erik asked Trace. “Or does that break some kind of karmic rule?”
“I shot numerous innocent people dead to get you out of detention after pretending to be on their side,” Trace said calmly. “What do you think?”
Silence on the bridge. Lisbeth turned a little pale. Erik just considered Trace, narrow-eyed. She was a bit of a landmine sometimes, just blowing up with hard truths at unexpected moments. Erik thought it was becoming a little predictable. Her innocent expression seemed to protest his look’s accusation that he was onto her.
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