Desert World Rebirth

by Lyn Gala

  “Oh geez,” the corporal whispered. Shan looked over to find Temar watching with that blank expression.

  “Are we taking off now?” Shan asked, snapping more than he needed to. He hated the wall that had come down around Temar, hiding the emotions that normally flitted across his expressive face.

  “Yes, sir.” Corporal Kester snapped into a stiff pose for a moment before he went to the ramp and hit the close button to lift the ramp. Shan watched the sequence of buttons carefully. “I have your luggage in the front passenger area, and I’ll show you and Ambassador Gazer to your seats.”

  Corporal Kester headed toward a narrow door that led into a narrow passage that led up to the front pilot area. Temar stood to one side, waiting for Shan to follow the corporal before he did. Two hours ago, Shan had thought he understood Temar, but now he looked at the blank expression and Shan could feel the bile rise in his throat. Temar was closed down so tightly Shan couldn’t even judge whether he was panicking. He should be staying home, and Shan tried to find one good excuse to leave Temar behind, where he’d be safe. The problem was that Shan wasn’t sure that Livre was all that safe right now. If Lilian was right, they were all in danger, and as much as Shan hated Lilian right now, he trusted the woman to understand politics.

  “Ambassador Polli,” the corporal said, offering a seat in a huge chair with deep cushions, with electronics going up either side. “Pull the net restraint down over you with this bar when we’re ready to take off.” He demonstrated with a handle at the top of the chair, showing how to lock it in near the seat. Shan could see that it would keep him locked in firmly. He fisted his hands, not wanting Temar to have that sort of restraint on him. “Release it with this button,” Corporal Kester said, showing a recessed button.

  “Temar, did you see that?” Shan asked. He wouldn’t have Temar feeling trapped for even one second.

  “Ambassador Gazer?” Temar asked in an utterly neutral voice.

  “Show him the controls,” Shan ordered. Corporal Kester nodded and backed up some to show Temar the controls on the chair next to Shan. There were six chairs behind the two pilot seats, and Shan and Temar had the two right behind the pilot. They wouldn’t have a lot of privacy.

  “Thank you, Corporal,” Temar said before he sat in the seat and tested the bar by pulling it down so that the net caught him across the chest and pushed him into the padded seat, and then he released it, letting the net retract back into the top of the chair.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How long until we lift off and how long until the skip shuttle picks us up?” Shan asked as the corporal settled into the pilot’s chair.

  “Preflight check is about ten minutes, but we should wait until people get clear of the area.”

  “Why?” Temar asked, worry flashing across his face before that same neutral mask slipped back in place.

  The corporal turned around, his whole seat swiveling, to look at them. “This puppy is going to throw up a lot of sand. People could get caught in that.”

  “My people are used to sandstorms that could bury this ship under fifty feet of Livre dune,” Shan pointed out. “They’ll be fine. Take off as soon as you’re ready.”

  “Yes, sir,” Corporal Kester agreed, swiveling his seat to face front. “The skip shuttle will take about two or three hours for maneuvering before it enters subspace and we can move ships. Our final destination is the cruiser Brazica. We should reach it in about sixteen hours.”

  Sixteen hours. Shan frowned as he realized that the rest of the universe was closer than he had ever thought. Why wouldn’t someone come and investigate Livre?

  Shan looked over at Temar, reaching out to brush his fingers across the back of his hand. Temar pulled his hand away, but then he glanced over and gave Shan a small smile. Respecting the fact that Temar needed a little space, Shan turned to the front and watched as much of the pilot’s actions as he could. Shan could tell one panel was fuel consumption, but most of the controls had nothing familiar that Shan could use to start trying to decipher them. That made sense, since the schematics in the relay computer had been for rockets. This was different technology, but Shan noticed that the AFP hadn’t sent them any technical specifications on flying one of these—just the cargo capacity. Then again, Shan hadn’t asked.

  Corporal Kester turned a switch. “Shuttle Beta-Two-Beta, this is Airship Two-Beta-Nine preparing for preflight sequence. I have two guests, Ambassadors Polli and Gazer, and am massing at 72 percent cargo mass. Confirm.” He turned a number of other switches, and Shan could hear machines start to whine under them.

  “Confirm for preflight, Airship Two-Beta-Nine,” a voice from space said over the radio. Minutes sped by as the pilot’s hands moved across more controls than Shan could track. He’d identified the communications systems and what might be internal sensors, as well as fuel, but that still left a lot of mystery switches.

  The pilot reached over his head and pulled down his own net restraint. “We’re getting ready for lift. You need to strap in, sirs.”

  Shan looked over to see if Temar was okay. Given Temar’s history with restraints, this made Shan uncomfortable, but Temar pulled the net down and locked it into place without showing any emotion. That would have reassured Shan more if Temar hadn’t been pretty much emotionless since they’d walked up to the corporal.

  Corporal Kester touched a communication switch again. “Three minutes to burn. Shuttle Beta-Two-Beta, be advised, I have priceless artwork on board. We would all appreciate a soft skip here.”

  Shan frowned at the description of priceless artwork, and when he looked over, Temar looked equally confused.

  “Come again, Airship?” the man on the other end of the radio asked.

  “Artwork. Priceless glass artwork. A hard skip is going to destroy millions of credits here, so a little patience would be appreciated,” Corporal Kester repeated.

  Shan blew out a breath when he realized they were talking about Dee’eta’s work. He certainly appreciated her work. She’d made the complex knot of blue and clear glass that Temar was wearing like a pendant, and Shan couldn’t imagine how she could get glass to bend in such fantastic ways. However, if he was flying a ship into space, he would be far more concerned about people than glass. It wasn’t as if glass itself were rare. It wasn’t. Only the exceptionally high-quality glass required to encase computer chips without interfering with optical properties had a lot of value. The optic-quality glass was made in neat rods to show off the utter clarity, but Temar had told him that optic-quality glass didn’t have the right properties for the sort of manipulation and artistry Dee’eta was famous for.

  “They’re bringing artwork?” the shuttle asked. Clearly they were doubting someone’s sanity.

  “Yes, sir, they are. A lot of artwork. I was sweating with fear as I packed it, so please give us the softest skip in history.”

  There was a long pause where the radio was unnaturally silent. “Understood, Airship. We will be coming in at 6.95 miles per second. Command advises you to increase to 4.5 miles per second before contact.”

  Kester touched a number of controls, and numbers flashed by the screens on the fuel unit. “Understood. 4.5 miles per second confirmed, Shuttle,” he finally agreed. “I just hope you grab us on the first skip because at that rate of burn I have two minutes of fuel on board.”

  “Two minutes, confirmed,” the shuttle promised.

  The pilot reached over and turned off a switch. “And hopefully we won’t shake ourselves to death.” Angling his chair so he could look back at them, Kester gave them a wry look. “Next time they have a diplomatic mission, make sure they’re sending a diplomatic airship and not a ground-pounder bus before you bring the good glass, okay?”

  Shan didn’t answer since he didn’t really know what to say, and Temar had gone frighteningly silent. After a second, Kester turned his seat back around and tended his controls. The computer started making a loud ticking sound that reminded Shan of a cooling engine, and then th
ey started rolling.

  “We’re going to roll clear of the crowd before full burn,” Kester offered.

  Shan watched the sand of his home roll past the window. The gathered crowds were on the far side of the shuttle, but Shan silently said his good-byes and sent a prayer up to God as the ground started rushing by faster.

  “Brace for full burn. Lean all the way back in the seats to avoid sore necks, sirs. In five, four, three, two, one….”

  Shan felt like someone had punched him in the stomach as the ship lurched forward, slamming him back into the seat, and then the white sand vanished as they climbed up into the sky. They were leaving Livre.

  Chapter 19

  AFTER the airship, where they’d been trapped in the chairs, and the shuttle, where they’d had a small room with couches facing each other and a tiny window the size of a man’s hand, the Brazica looked enormous, even though he hadn’t seen anything other than the landing hangar so far. Straight metal beams rose several stories above them, making this a tall, narrow space, and Shan felt like he was buried alive inside metal walls with no windows and no sunlight. Instead, strips of light glowed from the walls and bright lights high overhead created a yellow glow that was giving him a headache.

  “Welcome to the Brazica, Ambassador Polli, Ambassador Gazer,” a tall woman greeted them with a smile, crossing the metal floor with long strides. She walked beside an older man, with a dozen others following behind in a clump that reminded Shan of sheep pushing together. The woman had long brown hair that hung around her shoulders and a white outfit cut exactly the same as most of the people that circled the ships in this landing bay; only the others, like Kester, had brown uniforms. The older man walking beside her was the odd man out in his formal suit.

  “I’m Protocol Officer Natalie Aral,” the woman introduced herself when she came close. “This is Ambassador Richard Melton. Ambassador Melton, may I present Ambassador Shan Polli and Ambassador Temar Gazer of Livre?” Natalie’s name sounded vaguely familiar, and Shan suspected she had talked to them on the communicator. He’d paid more attention to the message than the messenger, though, so he couldn’t be sure.

  Ambassador Melton was an older man with gray hair and a pinched expression. Either that or all his features were simply too close to the center of his face. Shan held out his hand. “Ambassador Melton,” he offered. At least these people had bothered to have an ambassador come to the landing bay.

  Protocol Officer Aral took a step backward. “Gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I am going to see how the cargo survived. I do hope we were able to avoid any damage. I’ll designate a storage area and arrange for a breakage report.” Smiling at all of them, she backed away, leaving Shan and Temar with Ambassador Melton and a lot of people whose names they hadn’t been given.

  Melton studied them so closely that Shan was on the verge of taking offense when the man started talking. “I must apologize, Ambassador Polli. We are short of shuttles in this area or we would have sent a more modern ship. We had no idea you would be bringing fragile merchandise, though, and time seemed more important than the shuttle specifications. I’m afraid that we may have some misinformation regarding Livre.”

  “Really?” Shan asked as he studied the enormous bay with shuttles tucked into nooks on either side of a short landing area. The sheer volume of the ship staggered him, and he noted that most of the spaces for shuttles were empty, so he did believe that the ship was short on shuttles.

  “Indeed. I’m afraid I had an initial briefing that suggested Livre would have little in the way of wealth and would likely be a source of refugees rather than resources.”

  Shan looked at the ambassador, wondering if he’d misheard or if the man really had just admitted that they had never come to Livre because they would rather leave refugees to starve to death. “My people are more resilient that you might think,” Shan said, struggling to keep a pleasant smile on his face.

  “So it would seem. Officer Aral says that you still have much of the original equipment working. With that sort of talent, I’m wondering if the admiral shouldn’t send some of our mechanics down to train with your people.”

  “We’ve learned to not be wasteful,” Shan said, his skin starting to crawl. The friendliness reminded him entirely too much of Ben. Then again, he’d liked Ben, so maybe the ambassador wasn’t all that similar after all. Shan desperately wanted to look at Temar, to see if this was affecting him, but Shan feared seeing panic in those blue eyes when there was very little he could do at his point. He’d put them both in this situation, and now they had to muddle through.

  Ambassador Melton nodded. “That’s an admirable trait for any people, but I have to admit it’s particularly important for those of us who are in the borderlands. The core alliance,” he said, spitting out the name, “can rape other planets to feed their need for resources, but we must always rely on ourselves. I’m sure that you will find that Livre’s beliefs fit well within the AFP.” He nodded and looked toward the ship. “Officer Aral will return shortly.”

  Shan looked over at the shuttle that had brought them up. “I didn’t realize we were waiting for her.”

  “She’s quite the expert on Livre. She’s studied all the precolonization and early reports and the transmissions you’ve sent since reestablishing communication.”

  Shan really didn’t have much to say about that, and he went back to looking around while trying to keep a surreptitious eye on Temar, who had retreated several steps and stood watching the assembled group, his fingers tracing the glass knot at his neck.

  “So, the merchandise you’ve brought… are these trade goods?” the ambassador asked.

  “Some trade goods, some equipment beyond our ability to fix that we had hoped to trade for repairs, some sample goods.”

  “And I hear you’ve brought artwork.”

  “We brought glass and carved wood,” Shan agreed.

  “We had expected samples of optic-quality glass if you had it, and I can promise you that the AFP will pay well.”

  “I’m sure you will.” Shan cleared his throat as he realized who the ambassador really reminded him of. George Young. It wasn’t a compliment.

  Shan remembered when he’d had to mediate a conflict because one of the workers had agreed to seven credits per day and Young had tried to deduct one credit because, as a large man, the worker had eaten more food than any other worker. Sadly, Young honestly thought he had a case. Shan had tried to mediate and get Young to see that he was being petty, and that his pettiness was the main reason why he was already paying seven credits a day instead of six like most landowners. When Tom had hard times, he’d dropped his pay to five, and Shan didn’t know of a single worker who had left because of it. However, Young was entirely convinced of his arguments, and had ignored Shan before going on to lose in council.

  The worst part was that Young still insisted to anyone who would listen that the council had ruled against him only because he was personally unpopular. Shan wondered if Ambassador Melton would measure how much food a man ate. Probably. Maybe the ambassador recognized Shan’s discomfort, because he fell silent.

  Officer Aral came down out of the ship, a smile still on her face. “I’ve made the arrangements. I only had a chance to open one crate, but it looked like the pieces came through. That is beautiful work, clearly not out of a mold. Glass art will find a significant following, especially such intricate and unique pieces. So, gentlemen, let’s find a place where we can all sit and learn a little about each other.”

  Melton frowned. “I have a very tight schedule, and I’m sure Ambassadors Polli and Gazer do as well.” He turned to Shan. “If you have an inventory, we could begin discussing the current trade before talking about treaties.”

  Officer Aral’s smile faltered.

  Shan looked over at Temar, but he continued to watch silently. Shan could feel that little seed of panic over Temar’s state of mind begin to sprout. Moving closer to Temar, Shan lowered his voice. “Would you like to see
the ship first?” he asked quietly. He wanted to see how technology had shifted in the last eighty years, but he didn’t want to drag Temar around the ship if he was close to an emotional edge, and Shan couldn’t read his expression well enough to judge.

  Temar gave a small nod. “It’d be interesting.” They were the first words he’d spoken since they’d left Livre, and the fear in Shan’s gut untangled at the normal tone. He’d heard that tone from Temar back before the slavery, when he’d visited the church. Shan associated it with Temar trying very hard to stay out of the way, but he didn’t have to. Shan wanted him involved.

  Slipping a hand behind Temar’s back, he urged the man forward to join the rest of them. “Then perhaps we could have a tour,” Shan suggested, not missing the surprise on the ambassador’s face. Maybe these people preferred to rush from place to place, but Shan didn’t. Even on his bike, he was seeing the world, feeling the motor between his legs and judging the slide of sand as he sailed down the face of a dune. Sitting still for hours on end had left him jittery and uncomfortable. Either that, or the feeling that he was buried alive in a giant piece of metal had him on edge—both were possible.

  “A tour is an excellent idea. So often we rush to some business before getting to know each other,” Officer Aral said enthusiastically. “I have a list of ship facilities. Perhaps I can show you around while Ambassador Melton reviews the materials you’ve brought.”

  From the frown on Melton’s face, he wasn’t used to having an officer tell him what to do, but Aral’s plan sounded much better than Melton’s. Shan didn’t want to go to a small room and argue over trade.

  “We would love a chance to look around,” Shan answered, even though Temar seemed to have returned to looking around the room, this time at a group of workers gathering around the shuttle that had brought them in.

  “Excellent—does anything on this list interest you?” Officer Aral moved closer to show him a datapad. “Observation deck” and “Gardens” and “Recreational facilities” were followed by the phrase, “Don’t let them see you two are together.”