by Lyn Gala
“No, Bari. I’m too old to even properly run a farm,” she said with a wave of her hand. “If my children have to take over my farm chores, I’m certainly not strong enough to go running off to space. We need to send someone, but it won’t be me.”
“You’re no older than I am,” Kevin disagreed, turning around to pin Lilian with a hard look.
“And you’re old,” she snapped right back. “Stars above, Kevin, our grandchildren are old enough to have children. I would have retired from the council a long time ago, but I enjoy intimidating the local idiots.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes, a gesture that Shan had never seen the woman use.
“Which is why you’re the best choice,” Kevin insisted.
Lilian shook her head. “Ten years ago, maybe. But I don’t know that I’d survive the pressures of the travel, and if I go up there, they’ll have leverage to hold over me.”
“Leverage?” Bari jumped on the word.
Lilian looked around the room, and Shan leaned forward, not sure what was wrong, but something was. Of all the people in the room, only the new priest didn’t look worried, but then she hadn’t known Lilian as long as the rest of them. She wouldn’t recognize that this was the sort of verbal tap dancing Lilian did before dropping some verbal bomb into their midst.
“Leverage,” Lilian said firmly. “Frankle says I have a few months to live, but there are hard growths inside me. I’m dying, and I won’t go up there and have them hold out some miracle if only I make a bad trade for my world.”
Shan stopped breathing. For one instant, it felt like the world itself had stopped spinning for Lilian. He’d been so sure she would go up there and she’d fix all of this, force someone to finish the terraforming contract. Dying. Lilian Freeland dying.
“Oh, stop looking at me like I’m going to drop dead in the next two minutes,” she barked at all of them. “I have months, maybe a year, and given the mess up there in the universe, it sounds like I’ve had a longer and better life here than I would have if I’d been born to those idiots up there.” She gave a dramatic roll of her eyes. “But that means we need to send someone else to negotiate for us, and I vote to send Shan.”
For the second time, the world seemed to pause as Shan blinked in shock.
Naite didn’t hide his skepticism. “Shan?” he asked.
Lilian pinned Naite with a sharp gaze. “He’s not strongly tied to any group: landowners, skilled workers, unskilled workers, child raisers, artists. He’s not even aligned with the church anymore, so that will minimize the accusations that he negotiated for one group over another,” Lilian said firmly, and even if she was dying, her tone made it clear she still intended on insisting that the council do what she wanted. She had a force of personality that had always made others look to her, and Shan couldn’t compete with that. Without her to negotiate, his view of the future had dimmed considerably.
“Lilian,” he said, gathering his words carefully, “you yourself once commented that you wished there was another representative from the church to take my place on the council. I’m not a negotiator or a statesman, so I don’t think I’m the best choice for sending up there.” Shan didn’t add that he wasn’t sure he wanted to go up there.
“Because you lose all logic when you’re within six feet of your brother,” Lilian said with another sharp look over in Naite’s direction.
“Don’t blame me. He’s always illogical,” Naite said. Considering that this was the man Shan had trusted with his life, with Temar’s life, their relationship clearly hadn’t improved all that much.
“Only when he’s around you,” Lilian said wearily. “Bari, what do you think?”
Bari blinked at Lilian for a second, clearly not willing to jump into the debate this quickly, but he swallowed and gave a short nod before answering. “I think he has as good a chance as any of us. I don’t expect anyone up there has a whole lot of respect for us, so winning any sort of negotiations won’t be easy.”
Dee’eta spoke up. “They colonized this planet because they needed high-quality glass. I’ll get samples together, both the best glasswork, and the purest. If they want circuit-quality glass, they have to know that we have it. We have so much of it that we make drinking glasses out of it.”
“But we don’t,” Temar said. Shan didn’t know enough about glassblowing to understand the conversation, so he looked to Temar with a questioning expression. “Glass that pure takes sustained heat that is very hard to maintain. No one makes a simple drinking glass after putting in that much effort,” Temar explained.
“I will,” Dee’eta said. “If they want to know what we have to trade, they’re going to find out,” she added firmly. “But if you can negotiate for a high capacity and regulated solar smelter, it would make any future circuit quality glass a lot easier to produce,” she admitted.
“Shan knows the computer systems better than anyone,” Kevin added. He looked over. “Face it, if any of us go up there, we’re likely to make ourselves look like idiots because we don’t know how to open a door or use their slosh stalls. You’ve had months at the relay to get used to the tech.”
Shan wanted to point out that he hadn’t really been trying to get used to the tech. Most of the time he’d been fixing machines. However, the logic fit together in a way that made him unwilling to refuse. He wanted to say that he wasn’t old enough or experienced enough to handle this, but he was in his thirties and had over a decade of work as a priest behind him, which was as close as Livre came to having a diplomat. What’s more, they were right that he had certain skills the rest of them didn’t. He hated that they were right, but he couldn’t find a counterargument that made sense.
“So you’re sending Shan up and hoping he doesn’t make a fool of himself.” Naite sighed. “Well, there are worse people on the planet you could send.”
Shan glared at his brother. “Thank you for that endorsement.” He might poke at Naite, but he was feeling the same way. He knew the tech, but he’d left the church because of his inability to handle people. Earlier, Temar had said that his fight with Cyla left him physically sick, and that described how Shan felt right now. He’d finally listened to God. He’d finally stopped trying to make himself into Div and accepted that his talent lay with his hands, with fixing things. This felt like a step backward into a life he’d never truly fit into.
Lilian laughed softly. “From Naite, I think that’s as much of an endorsement as you’re getting. So can we agree to vote on Shan as the representative?” Lilian looked around the room, and the council members all nodded. “Good. By acclamation, Shan Polli is now the chosen negotiator for Livre. Now we have to go out to the other towns and make sure they vote the same way.”
“Should you be….” Kevin let his voice trail off.
“Kevin Starwalker,” Lilian said in a dark tone, “if you even suggest that I’m too old or sick to manipulate a few Blue Hope council members, I’m going to take offense, and you know I’m not nice when I take offense at something.”
“Who, me?” Kevin asked with exaggerated innocence. “I would never suggest anything of the sort. I was simply going to offer you a ride.”
Lilian gave a little huff, but she didn’t turn him down.
“I’ll go on one condition,” Shan blurted out. The entire council looked at him. “I don’t know glass, and that’s the one thing they want from us,” he pointed out. “I need Temar to come with me.”
“Me?” Temar sounded shocked.
Surprisingly, Naite spoke up. “Temar’s got a cooler head than Shan, and he’s a watcher. He watches a situation until he’s sure what side to take. I’d be more comfortable with him going along to keep Shan from offending the universe with his almighty morals.”
Shan gritted his teeth. “I don’t go around offending people with my morals.”
“You’d be surprised,” Naite shot right back.
Kevin returned to the table and sat down. “Temar, would you want to go? You have a farm to tend and an apprenticeship
you just started.”
Shan looked over, realizing that both were true. Temar had a lot of reasons to stay here, and not a lot of reasons to go with him. Temar looked around the room for a second. “I have Naite to run the farm, and I think Dee’eta can tell you that I don’t really have the patience for glass right now. Maybe I just don’t have the temperament for it at all.”
“That’s not true,” Dee’eta spoke up. “Glass is like a living creature, sensitive to your moods, and you need time to find the calm that will allow you to work a piece. However, you will be a great glassblower, one day.”
“But not any day soon,” Temar said, and Dee’eta didn’t disagree.
“So you’ll go?” Lilian asked.
Temar nodded. “As long as I make this clear,” he added, and Shan waited for some sort of condition or maybe a salary demand. In hindsight, a salary wasn’t unreasonable, at least if they managed to pull this off. “I told Cyla that if she tried ignoring any more of Naite’s advice that she’d be banned from my land and I would pay for her to apprentice anywhere that wasn’t near the farm. I need the council to enforce that if Naite comes with a complaint.”
Lilian leaned on her hand and studied Temar until he started shifting nervously. Shan could understand because as much as he respected Lilian, he wasn’t exactly comfortable around her. Slowly, she smiled. “I have underestimated you, and I’m not used to reading people wrong,” she finally offered. “You have my word that if Cyla gets out of hand I’ll take her off the farm myself.”
“I can handle her fine now that Temar’s made it clear that I’m in charge,” Naite said. Clearly he didn’t like the idea of Lilian running to his rescue.
“Then I’ll back you up,” Lilian said without taking offense. “So, we all have work to do. I know it’s too late to go back to the relay today. You can stay in town if you like.”
Shan looked over to Temar to see what he wanted to do.
“We can get out to my place,” Temar said, and there was only a trace of trepidation in the smile he gave Lilian. Going back out to Ben’s old place meant facing Cyla. Sometimes Shan wondered if siblings were the Lord’s way of testing a person’s patience.
“Okay, then you’re free to leave. The rest of us have to decide how to approach the other councils.” And with that, Lilian dismissed them. Temar stood up to leave, but Shan hesitated.
“Don’t you want to discuss what you want out of negotiations, what we’re willing to offer?”
Lilian looked at him and smiled, and for the first time Shan was truly aware of her age. Her face was heavily lined and her hair thinning. And she looked more insubstantial than she had just months ago. “You know what we need, Shan, and you know what we have to offer. Do the best you can to negotiate with sandrats that would abandon our grandparents. That’s all we ask.”
“Some new copper piping might be nice,” Naite added.
“And computer pads,” Bari added.
“I really could use that high-capacity smelter,” Dee’eta offered.
“You people,” Lilian interrupted with a disgusted voice. “Why don’t you just write a shopping list, like he’s your spouse heading to market? You two,” she said, pointing at Shan and Temar, “get out. This is council work now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Shan said, standing up and following Temar out of the council room. The Lord might move in mysterious ways, but Shan never had expected those ways to lead him up into space. As they headed outside, Shan squinted up at the blue sky. It had a pink tinge to it as the sun sank down toward the horizon, so there was a sandstorm out there somewhere, throwing up grains of sand to glow as the sun reflected off it.
Temar stopped so close to him that their shoulders brushed. For a time they stood silently. When Shan finally looked down, his eyes stinging from the light, he could see people gathering in the street. An unannounced full council meeting in the middle of the week was sure to catch people’s attention. He wondered how long it would be before rumors started to spread. Wistia leaned against the side of a carpet-maker’s stall, watching. Her dark hair blew in the breeze and her harp was strapped to her back.
“Well, crap,” Shan muttered.
“What’s wrong?”
Shan nodded toward the woman. “I forgot to file a complaint.”
Temar looked over, studying the street until he spotted Wistia, and then he laughed. Frowning at him, Shan demanded, “What?”
Lowering his voice, Temar leaned closer. “We’re about to try and talk evil alien worlds into water to keep our planet alive, and you’re worried about a song.”
“It’s the principle of the matter,” Shan defended himself.
“Uh-huh,” Temar said as he went to Naite’s hauler and climbed up into the back. They’d figured that Naite would have to stay for a council meeting, so they’d loaded the sand bike into the back. Now Temar started pulling off the straps that held it in place.
“It is,” Shan said as he got up into the hauler and started helping.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It did yesterday.”
Temar stopped and leaned against the bike as he carefully studied Shan. Shan wasn’t sure what Temar meant by the gesture, and he shifted uncomfortably. “What?” he asked again.
“Yesterday it mattered, today it doesn’t,” Temar said with a shrug. Shan couldn’t argue with logic like that, since it wasn’t logical, so he helped Temar unload the bike. It’d be close to dark before they got back to the farm. That meant they had seven days until the shuttle showed up.
“Do you think they’re calling us right now?” Shan asked as he muscled the bike off the truck and let it bounce on its tires as it hit the ground.
“I don’t know.”
Shan thought about that. “They’re used to living in metal boxes and having communication devices within a few feet of them all the time. They don’t understand the idea of being busy or out of communication. They’re calling us.”
“So, what do they think we’re doing? Ignoring them?”
Shan looked out at the windwood trees bending in the evening wind. “I have no idea,” he admitted.
“Well, this is going to be interesting.” That was all Temar offered before he fastened his sand veil over his face. “Coming?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Shan agreed, throwing his leg over the sand bike and starting the engine.
Chapter 10
NIGHT had fallen and the large moon was a half crescent in the sky before he pulled the bike up to Temar’s farm. Three older kids sat playing cards under a dim lamp, but Shan supposed even that was an improvement over the days when Ben managed to alienate most of the parents with his attitude toward having children on the farm. How had none of them noticed that he was such an arrogant, self-involved jerk? Even now, Shan could feel deep guilt over that. No wonder the workers who had hired on under Ben had all left. They’d lived on the same farm with the man, worked next to him, watched him rest his hands on Temar’s shoulders, and they’d never known. A few people whispered that some of them must have noticed something, but Shan didn’t believe that. He remembered when he’d visited and Sua had talked about Temar’s temper and how patient Ben had been. They’d believed that.
“You’re thinking awfully loud,” Temar said, and Shan pulled himself out of that memory. “Worried?”
Shan nodded. “If we screw this up, a lot of people will suffer.”
“That was true last time too,” Temar pointed out as he got off the bike. Shan hadn’t really thought about that. Actually, he hadn’t had time to think or worry at the time. They’d figured out that Ben was stealing the last of Livre’s water to get an old, abandoned rocket off-planet, and from that time until the end of their adventure when Naite had come riding to their rescue, they’d been reacting, not acting. And afterward, he had been too busy defending himself from Naite’s recriminations.
“When did you get so wise?” Shan teased.
Temar stopped and looked at him, his face serious. “I had a lo
t of time to sit still and really think. I guess it did change me.”
Shan stared at Temar, not sure what to say. It didn’t seem right to imply that the abuse had helped Temar. It felt too close to what Ben believed, that he had been teaching Temar. It was too close to Shan’s own father’s drunken rambling about how he was going to make his sons strong. That was something Shan didn’t want to look at too closely.
A number of workers started toward them. “What’s going on?” Facia Clark asked, pulling Shan away from his thoughts. She hurried over, straightening her shirt, even though one braid had hair sticking out at all angles, which made it clear what she’d been doing. Her husband, Robert Clark, was two steps behind her.
“The council has some work tonight. Naite may be out late,” Shan said. Temar pulled off his sand veil and headed for the house. Shan figured he had been elected to explain this.
“Why?” Robert demanded. Even in the dim glow from the crescent moon and the few lamps, he looked worried. Everyone had suffered from Ben’s schemes, and Shan couldn’t give them answers, not yet.
“This is council business, and I’m not council anymore. I can’t tell you.” Shan watched as Cyla came out on the porch. She stayed up there, not coming down into the yard as more workers came out of the barn. Shan wished he could tell them, but the Landing council needed to talk to the other councils first. If information leaked to the wrong people at the wrong time, there could be panic and fighting. They didn’t need that—not now, when the planet had to present a united face.
“Are there more people, more conspirators?” a thin man Shan didn’t know asked.
Shan shook his head. “No. That’s over,” he said, his voice slipping into that tone he’d used to comfort people when he’d been a priest. “That was a horrible time, but it’s over.”
“Then what’s going on?” Facia demanded. The children had abandoned their card game, and Shan looked around at all these worried faces.
“I truly can’t say,” he apologized. “I can only say that if this goes well, it’s good news.”