by Diane Duane
But in it, here and there, very faintly, in the depths of night, in Mijne’s mind and in many another, a whisper stirred, slowly beginning to look for ways to speak itself in action:
I will not serve…!
Arrhae’s meeting turned out to consist of three dreary hours of procedural wrangling among the negotiators, during which the observers’ and delegates’ opinions were neither solicited nor (clearly) desired. On one level, Arrhae didn’t mind; she was glad enough to have time to turn over in her mind this new turn of events and what to do about it, though it was a pain to have to appear, at the same time, as if she were paying attention to the mind-numbing arguments of the negotiators about how the parts of the demand to the Federation should be rephrased. When midmeal break came round, it came not a second too soon for Arrhae, and she was all too glad to slip back to her suite for a bite to eat by herself.
Ffairrl appeared and began to fuss over her, and Arrhae suffered it for a few minutes, letting him bring her a cup of ale and a small plate of savory biscuits, but nothing more. “Lady,” Ffairrl said, sounding rather desperate, “deihu, they will think I am not serving you well!”
“If you give me another midmeal like yesterday,” Arrhae said, “you will have to serve me by rolling me down the hall on a handtruck!” Though now she would be wondering who his “they” were. Did the intelligence people browbeat even the poor servants? Well, and why would they not? They tried it with me. But to what purpose? One more question to which she was not likely to get an answer any time soon….
And then the door signal went off.
Arrhae looked up at the clock on the nearby table with some indignation. It was nowhere near the end of the midmeal break yet. “Now what?” she said, and then thought, Ah, the package…. Ffairrl, with a nervous look, headed for the door.
It opened…and Arrhae saw who stood there, and slowly got up.
A slim, slight young man, a handsome dark-visaged young man hardly much taller than she was, in Fleet uniform, with a cheerful and anticipatory look on his face: Nveid. Nveid tr’AAnikh. The last time Arrhae had seen him, he had been following her while she did her shopping. Initially she’d thought he might have been following her for her looks. That did happen occasionally, for she was unusually good-looking by Rihannsu standards, that having been one element of her cover—her old double-agent master having been widely assumed to have originally bought her for other purposes than household work. But that had not been the reason, and Arrhae had begun to suspect that tr’AAnikh was possibly with one of the intelligence services…until she found out how wrong she had been about that, too.
Now Nveid stepped into her suite and bowed to her…a breath’s worth, then up again, jaunty, like a suitor who thinks his suit is going to go well and doesn’t see the need to be overly formal. “Noble deihu,” Nveid said, “I had to see you.”
“I am not at all sure the need is reciprocal,” Arrhae said, in as hard a voice as she could manage. “Tr’AAnikh, how dare you come here? I thought you would have understood after our last encounter that I do not welcome your attentions.” This was true, though not for the reasons any listener might suspect. What is he doing here? she thought. The brief conversation they’d had in i’Ramnau some weeks ago—though it felt more like half a lifetime now—had suggested that his family might have been under suspicion because they had kin on Bloodwing. Gorget was the last place she would have expected to see him.
“I am in attendance on my mother’s sister-cousin, Deihu Odirne t’Melanth,” he said. “I was seconded to her service a tenday ago, when the mission began to be assembled.” Nveid stepped closer to Arrhae, and smiled. “She has found my services invaluable, she says…”
The verb mmhain’he had the same possibilities for double entendre attached to it that the word service had in Anglish, and many more, and Arrhae was not amused by the implications. “Insolence!” Arrhae said. “You are not welcome, I tell you. Go away!”
He stepped still closer. “I did not believe you when you told me that the last time,” Nveid said. “And when I heard you were here, I knew it was the Elements Themselves that had ordained it so. Fire will have its way, Arrhae, the Fire of hearts….”
He was moving closer. Arrhae was slightly alarmed, but more bemused by the poor-quality romantic rhetoric, like something off of the less well subsidized public entertainment channels…and more bemused still because there was no reasonable justification for it on his side, not after a total of ten minutes’ conversation two tendays ago, and no justification whatsoever on hers. “We burn in the same conflagration,” Nveid said, right in front of her now, reaching out to her, taking her by the upper arms. “You denied it then because you were but a poor servant, and could not follow your heart. But now you are noble, now you can avouch your true desires without fear….”
Oh, come on now, Arrhae thought. What is he at…?!
He pulled her to him. For a second she was too amazed to struggle, and he put his lips down by her ear and actually nuzzled her.
“The Ship-Clans are rising,” he quickly whispered, so softly that even she could hardly hear it. “Bear the winged one the news.”
And then he pulled away a little, looked her in the astonished eyes…and leaning in, he kissed her, quite, quite hard.
Arrhae’s eyes widened at what she felt. What happened after that was sheer reflex. Nveid went flying through the air and fetched up hard, bang, against the wall near the door, more or less sitting on the floor and looking dazed, with reason. Arrhae stood there, breathing hard, and staring at him…and thinking, Did I see him wink at me? Did he actually wink?? Rihannsu had that gesture in common with Terrans, but Arrhae wasn’t entirely sure that he hadn’t simply had something in his eye.
She turned around to find the steward standing there with a disruptor in his hand. Now where did he get that? Arrhae thought. Is he some kind of undercover security guard? But whether he was or not, she was in no mood for any more surprises. “You’re a little late with that, aren’t you, Ffairrl?” Arrhae said. “Not that it matters. Put it away, you idiot; he’s no threat.”
Ffairrl stuck the weapon in his apron pocket, and the haste and clumsiness with which he did it suggested to Arrhae that he had nothing to do with any security contingent—or was acting superbly. Either way, I hope he put the safety back on…! “Noble lady, shouldn’t I call the guards?” Ffairrl said.
“For this?” Arrhae said, turning to regard Nveid again. “Hardly.”
She stepped over to the buffet sideboard, picked up the pitcher that was always there, went straight back to Nveid and upended the pitcher over him. “There’s water for your ‘fire,’” she said, and chucked the pitcher over her shoulder. There was a crash as it broke on something, possibly that expensive glass-slab table in the middle of the room. She didn’t bother to look. “Beware how you invoke an Element in someone else’s name when it’s not there, you young fool. I intend to have words with your lady about this. We’ll see how she likes it that her staff are running around in the corridors like hieth in heat, accosting their betters!”
He got up, and made a rather pitiful attempt to put himself right, dripping as he was. “Noble lady—”
“Not another word,” Arrhae said. “Out!”
He went. The door closed, and Arrhae stood there and breathed out, wondering what in the names of Earth and, yes, Fire, was going to happen next.
Doubtless I’ll find out, she thought. Meanwhile I have other problems….
“I must go wash my mouth out,” Arrhae said, in a tone of voice she hoped was rich with disgust. “As for you, Ffairrl, not a word of this to anyone, otherwise it’ll be all over the mission in a stai…and if I hear about it so, it’ll be your hide I take the strips off, no one else’s.”
“No, noble deihu, of course not, great lady…”
Arrhae paid him no more mind. She took herself off to the great bathroom, ran a great deal of water in the highbasin, found a tooth-scrub, and went to work.
; She spent a good while at it—long enough, she thought, to bore anyone who might be watching. And when Arrhae finally turned away from the sink, having run a finger once over her gums in front as if afraid they might have been hurt by the violence and intrusiveness of Nveid’s kiss, she was quite sure that no one had seen her remove the tiny square of silicon which she had squirreled away between gum and cheek just after she threw Nveid at the wall.
What a lot of reading I will have to do this evening, Arrhae thought.
The first part of it she did after the day’s sessions were over. The “package” t’Radaik had promised her, the data chip, was waiting for her in a little slipskin envelope on the somewhat-scratched glass table when Arrhae came back from the afternoon session. She ate in, that evening, rather than going to the inevitable buffet with the rest of the senior members of the mission, and munched her wafers and tlheir at the desk in the luxurious little office, sipping berry wine the while.
The data from t’Radaik’s chip was all dry stuff on the surface, seeming to have to do with ship movements and materiel movements on ch’Rihan and ch’Havran. It suggested a great reshuffling of resources in the part of the Empire nearest the Neutral Zone. True or false? Arrhae wondered. Surface meanings could be deceptive; there was probably coded content buried in this text, and if it genuinely was sourced from a Federation deep-cover agent like herself, the people who would accompany the Starfleet forces to the negotiations would be equipped to extract it. There was no use her trying her own ciphers on it. Even if they had been brand new, which they weren’t, they would not be the same as another agent’s.
All I can do is pass this on to McCoy as instructed, Arrhae thought. But not without warning him that the information in it’s been compromised…or fabricated. It’s as I told t’Radaik; there is likely enough a bombshell hidden in this somewhere.
And as for the rest of my reading…
She would have to wait for that, but not too much longer…it was late. Ffairrl came in from his little butler’s-cupboard room, looked at the empty plate and cup, and said, “Llhei deihu, can I get you anything else?”
No answer to this question ever suited this man but yes. “O Elements, have pity on me,” Arrhae said. “Ffairrl, all right, give me some bread and some ale, and for something hot, a bowl of hehfan broth. Without the dumplings, thank you. And then do go; there’s nothing more to be done tonight, as I flatly refuse to eat anything further.”
He went away to make the broth. What I would like to know is why they’re so sure McCoy will be here, Arrhae thought. Unless they have somehow discovered that he had that chemical Rihannsu-comprehension procedure, and will be brought along as an extra, “covert” translator—for besides the usual Universal Translator links, there will almost certainly be a live language specialist with them as well.
And there was always the possibility that, as t’Radaik had implied, they might have someone on Bloodwing who had been in touch with McCoy, or someone else on Enterprise, and knew where he was going to be. That too was something she was going to have to warn McCoy of. At least I have the opportunity…which intelligence itself has given me.
And which they may be hoping to use to find some evidence that I am a double agent….
Ffairrl came in with the bread and soup and ale, and Arrhae thanked him and bade him good night. “Lady,” Ffairrl said somewhat nervously, “should that gentleman return…”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “Did you replace that pitcher?” she said.
He gave her the slightest smile. “Yes, noble deihu.”
“Then that’s all I’m likely to need. Go you now, and sleep well.”
“Yes, lady,” Ffairrl said, and went out; and Arrhae heard the door lock behind him as it shut.
She drank her soup, and drank her ale, and nibbled at the bread while she finished her reading. Then Arrhae shut the computer down, with a yawn not entirely feigned, went to the clothespress in the main room, and pulled out her carrybag. She went through it until she came up with a bottle of the dheiain-wood bath oil she favored; and casually she also took out of it her own rather old and crude little pad-scriber, which she had brought from i’Ramnau with her, and had already taken along to one or two of the daily meetings. The excuse was that she was used to it, and liked it, and did not need newer equipment—at least, that would be the excuse if anyone queried her about it. Like Gurrhim tr’Siedhri, Arrhae also had the potential excuse of eccentricity, which others would expect from her, and mock her for behind her back as they mocked tr’Siedhri for holding forth endlessly about the virtues of life on the land, calling him “farmer Gurri” behind his back. They’ll call me hru’hfe, Arrhae thought, and laugh…until I catch one of them at it. That was a slightly chilling thought, for mnhei’sahe dictated a certain kind of response should that happen.
For the time being, though, Arrhae wasn’t going to worry about it. She hoped the eccentricity would be enough to disguise the important thing about having this scriber with her: that she knew it was not bugged.
She straightened up, yawned and stretched again, and headed for the bathroom, dropping the scriber on the table by the bathroom’s door, within sight of the big bath. Then Arrhae began testing the plumbing most thoroughly.
The scriber was not out of her sight all during the bath, though Arrhae hoped that fact would pass unremarked by any watcher. When she got out at last, rather wrinkled but very clean indeed, Arrhae left it where it was while she went off to make herself a final cup of herbdraft. With it she sat down in one of the biggest of the big comfortable chairs, watching the stars pour silently by the huge windows. A long while she sat, composing in her mind, sipping the draft until long after it was cold.
At last she got up, put the cup on the sideboard, and started preparing to retire. Arrhae moved gently about the suite, shutting off the lights, picking up the scriber absently and dropping it on the table near the couch.
Then she slipped in under the sleeping silks and waved the last light off. A good while, Arrhae lay there, listening hard, though she knew she would hear nothing; those who listened to her were most unlikely to betray themselves.
It must be long enough now, she thought. Very softly, in the dark, Arrhae reached out and pulled the scriber under the covers…then pulled the covers up over her head. As she had done many a night when she was still a hru’hfe, she activated the scriber by feel alone, her knowledgeable fingers easily managing the keying of its silent pads in the dark. When the light of its tiny strip of faint-lit screen began to glow, Arrhae slipped Nveid’s little scrap of a chip onto the reader pad, and started to read.
Much later, in the blackness, Arrhae put another chip onto the pad, and began to type…smiling all the while.
Jim came into main briefing the next morning to find that Ael was there early, watching Scotty and K’s’t’lk put the final touches on the bones of their scheduled briefing to the science staff on their progress with the “safing” of the Sunseed routines. “Did you rest well, Commander?” Jim said, standing behind her and looking at the hologram she was examining.
“Not too well,” said Ael. “But any rest which does not involve being shot at is a good one, I suppose.” She turned her attention back to the image currently playing itself out over the center of the table. It was a holographic display of an eclipse of Earth’s sun, a particularly splendid one, the primary’s corona licking and writhing away from the obscured disk of the photosphere like the wind-rippled mane of some furious and glorious beast.
Jim had seen this particular image before, at the Academy, and afterward occasionally elsewhere. “2218?” he said to Scotty.
“Aye, that’s the one,” Scotty said, not looking up from his work at the table computer for the moment.
Ael glanced from it to Jim. “It is a great wonder,” she said.
“We’re more or less used to it now,” Jim said. “It happens with some frequency.”
Ael laughed, one of those small nearly inaudible breaths of humor that
Jim had nearly forgotten the sound of. “Certainly, though, you have considered how astronomically unlikely such an exact fit of the apparent size of star and moon, as seen from Earth, must be.” She gazed at the image again. “I thought, when I saw it for the first time, that the image had been taken by some space vessel or satellite specifically positioned for the purpose.”
“No,” Jim said. “It just came that way.”
She gave him an amused and extremely skeptical look. “You truly believe that this is a coincidence?”
“The universe has seen stranger ones,” Jim said.
Ael raised her eyebrows at him, leaning back in the seat. “Perhaps. Though I should like to discuss the statistical realities of the situation with Spock someday. Doubtless even in his dry way he might cast light on the provenance of this miracle which he might not otherwise intend.”
Jim wasn’t sure what to make of that idea. “But there are those of my people who would have taken such an apparition in our own skies as an explicit message from the Elements,” Ael said. “An invitation to venture out and discover what it was that had engineered such a spectacular and transient terror. Or simply a message that so colossal a coincidence could not have simply happened: that it was indeed made, and that there were makers.”
Jim nodded. “Oh, we have our own people who think that the Preservers or some other of the ‘seeding’ species passed through fifty thousand years or so ago, and nudged the moon just enough in its orbit to produce the effect.” He shrugged. “There’s no proof of it, naturally. The moon does have some microscopic orbital ‘wobbles’ that can’t be accounted for by its interactions with the Earth and the sun; but as for what causes them—” He shrugged.
“But meanwhile,” Ael said, “the wonder remains. And may yet do us good, for worlds used to eclipses even without such a perfect fit tend to be further ahead in research on coronal science than others. Earth being one of them.”