The Caphenon Page 14

  “Speaking of which,” Serrado continued, “I notice you place a great deal of importance on reputation. It’s all based on honor, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. For a warrior, honor is everything. Always sought, always earned, right up until our Return.”

  She saw the captain frown at the end of the translator’s words, but Lhyn explained.

  “That’s their word for death.”

  Tal shook her head. “No, not quite. It’s our word for what happens after death.”

  “It is? How did I get that wrong?”

  “Well…now that I think about it, we do tend to use the words somewhat interchangeably. But they don’t have the same meaning.” She felt the swelling tide of questions and held up a hand. “If you want to talk about the caste system, the warrior’s code, our political system, or any number of other topics, I’m more than happy to oblige. But if you wish to discuss theology, you should speak with a religious scholar. I’m certain the Lead Templar at Blacksun Temple would be thrilled to meet you.”

  Lhyn gaped. “You would do that? Allow me to meet with one of your top religious scholars?”

  “Why not?”

  “Alone? Without a handler?”

  “Why would you require a handler? Are you planning to attack her?”

  Captain Serrado snickered, and Lhyn looked back and forth between them.

  “Are you joking with me?”

  In that moment, Tal pitied her and all of her kind. How utterly distressing to be forced to ask that question; to not simply know that she was teasing even though she wasn’t fronting. “Yes, of course I’m joking with you. But I do have to wonder why you’re so surprised at my offer.”

  “Because…well, your healer wasn’t very forthcoming when I started asking him questions, and most of the staff in here seem afraid to speak with us, so we started to think that—”

  Once again, the captain’s hand on her arm stopped her. “We weren’t certain which protocols were appropriate—how much you’ve authorized your people to share with us, and how much we should share with your people. The only information we’ve received has been of a medical nature.”

  “I apologize for the misunderstanding. The healers didn’t have specific permission for information exchange other than medical data, so they chose to be discreet. I’ve already rectified that. And I’m happy to put you in contact with anyone else who can assist you.”

  Lhyn stared in disbelieving joy. “Thank you,” she said.

  Tal imagined living in a world where those two words could only be taken at face value, without the confirming depth of the emotions behind them. It would be half a life.

  “You’re welcome. Please understand, both of you, that this…exploration of culture and technology and anything else we can share is just as important for us as it is for you. I have no interest in limiting your access to knowledge of us, because I’m hoping you’ll be equally open. I’m not offering access to Blacksun’s Lead Templar just for your benefit, Lhyn Rivers. It’s also for the benefit of our Lead Templar and anyone else who benefits from your knowledge through her.”

  “Please, call me Lhyn. And I do understand. I just didn’t expect that you would actually be everything I hoped.”

  “Given the fact that your view of me came from our broadcasts, I shudder to think what shape your expectations took.”

  Lhyn flashed a grin that transformed her face. “You’re right. You probably don’t want to know.”

  “Speaking of discretion,” Tal asked, “why don’t you want your crew to know about your bond?”

  She wasn’t sure if they were surprised at her knowledge or the fact that she’d asked a personal question.

  Serrado was the one to answer. “Because we haven’t decided where we’re going with this yet, so we haven’t made it public. It’s not that we’re hiding; we just didn’t want to tell people before we had something to say.”

  “You wanted your privacy.” She certainly understood that, if not the part about not knowing where their bond would lead. Where else could it lead?

  Serrado nodded. “But now it’s a problem, because I have a professional conflict of interest. I serve the Protectorate Fleet, but if Lhyn is in danger, I’ll be there for her regardless of my oath. I just never thought being with a scholar would test that.” With a glance at Lhyn, she added, “They’re not supposed to get themselves in trouble.”

  “You said your ship was sent here in response to her request for aid.”

  “It was. But I didn’t disclose my relationship with Lhyn when the orders came in, which breaks at least three regulations. I was afraid that if I did, they’d rescind the orders and send someone else, but there wasn’t anyone else close enough. And then I stretched my orders a bit when I attacked the Voloth.”

  Lhyn sat bolt upright. “That wasn’t Fleet approved?”

  “I’m sure by now it is. My orders were to protect your ship and make a show of force when the Voloth sent a scout ship. No one expected them to send an invasion group this quickly. When they came into the system, there wasn’t time to wait for official orders of engagement, but I have no doubt they were authorized. Alsea is much too valuable to lose to the Voloth. The real issue is that I crashed my ship onto a pre-FTL planet and shattered half the Rules of First Contact in the process.”

  “And when you answer to your superiors for stretching your orders, losing your ship, and breaking those rules, you need a perfect reputation and service history to back up your decisions.”

  Captain Serrado looked at her in approval. “Yes, exactly.”

  “Then I understand your secrecy. Your crew will not hear of your bond from us.”

  “Us?” Lhyn repeated. “Is it already common knowledge?”

  It was rather endearing that they were so unaware. “Any empath with a mid-level or higher rating would know the moment they felt you together. This is not a secret you would ever have kept from us, but we’re happy to keep it for you.”

  “Thank you, Lancer Tal. Unfortunately, I have to answer to my superiors as soon as possible, and that means getting back to my ship with Commander Kameha and Lhyn. The commander might be the only person who can restore our communications, and Lhyn needs to speak with her ship as well. I’m very concerned about the status of the escape pods and my crew, not to mention the arrival time of our reinforcements.”

  Tal appreciated the strategy; it wasn’t a coincidence that the captain had made her request at this point in the conversation. Apparently, they had both approached this meeting with a specific goal in mind. “And you believe that you might cash in our debt to get your crew aboard and retain control over your ship.”

  She felt the surprise, followed swiftly by resignation.

  “I could learn to dislike negotiating with an empath,” Serrado said.

  “I hope not; I’m enjoying negotiating with you. But there was no need for subterfuge. Part of my politician’s work over the last hanticks involved establishing your rights to your ship. The High Council must still be convinced, but I have the legal scholars behind me. It’s still your ship, Captain. You can go back as soon as you’re mobile.”

  She had surprised the captain for the second time in as many ticks.

  “All right, since you already know what I’m feeling and apparently most of what I’m thinking, I’m just going to ask. Why aren’t your forces already all over the Caphenon? Why would you just let us go back?”

  “Because we’re not fools.” Well, some of the High Council could be, but the captain didn’t need to know that. “Anything we could learn from your ship would come in bits and pieces, probably dribbled out over cycles or even tens of cycles, because we would be so handicapped in our ability to decipher anything. We could learn so much more if you helped us—if it was an exchange of knowledge rather than a theft. Based on your astonishment at the idea of healing bones in one day, our medical knowledge is ahead of yours. Who knows what other Alsean knowledge or technology could benefit you? You’ve already shattered y
our law of non-interference, so why not start treaty negotiations and an exchange of technology? It is the next step, is it not?”

  Captain Serrado was smiling at her. “Yes, it is the next step. And it would be my pleasure to initiate that process, but I’m not the final authority on this.”

  “I understand that you’ll need to consult with your superiors. I also suspect that how you frame that consultation would have considerable influence on the result, would it not?”

  “That depends on how Fleet and the Assembly view my actions. If they agree with me that the destruction of my ship was an acceptable loss to save Alsea, then I’m a hero whose word will have weight. But if they choose to focus on the fact that I shredded the Non-Interference Act, my word may mean less than nothing.”

  “Then we shall hope you are a hero.” For more reasons than one, Tal thought. She had an alternative plan, but did not want to put it into motion if it could be avoided. There was time to see how the situation would unfold.

  “Of course she’s a hero,” Lhyn said. “That’s not a subjective judgment. It’s objective.”

  “I suspect the Voloth would disagree with you,” Serrado said, but her pride was palpable.

  “The Voloth are atoms and debris now; their opinion doesn’t count.”

  Serrado turned toward Tal. “That’s another reason I have to get back in contact. I need to call a cleaner crew out here.”

  “A what?”

  “A crew to clean up the battle debris. The orbital invader exploded in your atmosphere, so most of it burned up and the rest is on Alsea’s surface. But the two destroyers were still in orbit, and when I put them out of commission, I made a mess of your orbital space. If we don’t clean up the debris field, it will eventually drop down to your satellite orbits and start causing havoc.”

  “Not to mention that unless you develop shield technology, it could prevent you from even leaving your own planet,” Lhyn added. “You’ll end up with a debris ring that could destroy anything trying to pass through it.”

  Tal absorbed that in silence. Such a consequence hadn’t occurred to her, nor to any of her advisors. Of course, she hadn’t yet spoken with any physical science scholars. Still, it was another excellent reason to stay on the good side of the Gaians.

  She glanced at her wristcom and said, “Evenmeal is in a hantick. You cannot move your leg for three. Perhaps you, Lhyn, and Commander Baldassar might join me for evenmeal at the State House, after which we would return here to have your case removed, pick up any crew who are fully recovered, and go to your ship. I am of course inviting myself along.”

  “With how many of your Guards?” Serrado asked shrewdly.

  “I would need three. Not enough to take over your ship. But you are uncomfortable at the thought of dining at the State House?”

  They looked at each other. “You’re right, it’s tough negotiating with an empath,” Lhyn said.

  The captain shook her head ruefully. “It’s not the thought of dining at the State House that makes us uncomfortable. It’s that Commander Baldassar would not expect to see Lhyn there.” She hesitated, then added, “The only member of my staff who knows that she’s my girlfriend is Lieutenant Candini.”

  “Girlfriend?” Tal repeated the odd word. “A female friend? That is not what Lhyn is to you.”

  “Incomplete translation,” said Lhyn. “How about lover?”

  “But that is not what you are to each other either.” The confusion emanating from both of them reflected her own, so Tal was forced to ask. “Are you not bonded?”

  Serrado looked at Lhyn, who said, “It’s their equivalent to marriage. And no, Lancer Tal, we’re not.”

  “But you are in a pre-bond, yes?”

  “Engaged,” Lhyn explained in a low tone, before both of them shook their heads.

  “But you’re ty—” Tal stopped herself. “My apologies. This must be a difference in culture. On Alsea, when two people have the sort of connection that you do, they’re either bonded or in a pre-bond. Perhaps your relationship is too new for that.”

  They moved from uncomfortable to embarrassed, and Tal began to feel as if she were walking on shifting sands. Clearly, the Gaians had different attitudes toward personal relationships.

  “We’ve known each other for two stellar years,” Serrado said.

  “A little less than one and a half of your cycles,” Lhyn clarified, shocking Tal. One and a half cycles? No tyrees ever went that long without entering at least a pre-bond. It simply didn’t happen.

  “But we’re both bonded to our careers,” Serrado added. “And they’re not compatible.”

  Lhyn nodded. “My work often involves being entirely out of communication for several moons at a time. And Ekatya gets sent all over the quadrant. When she answered my call for help, it was the first time I’d seen her in more than seven of your moons.”

  Tal didn’t know what to say. Not only were they not bonded, they were physically separated for long spans of time? She would have doubted their tyree status had she not repeatedly sensed the strength of their bond. The Gaians had the gift of Fahla, but either they didn’t know it, or didn’t know what to do with it.

  Her wristcom chose that moment to vibrate, an almost welcome intrusion given the sand trap she’d just stumbled into. But then she saw the message and was on her feet so quickly that both the captain and Lhyn were startled.

  “My apologies; I must take my leave now. I’ll return as soon as I can,” she said, and bolted out the door without waiting for a response.

  Chapter 20

  Ground pounder

  Micah was speaking on his com when Tal came barreling out of the alien captain’s room. She took one look at him and leaned back against the wall to wait, but everything about her posture spoke of restrained urgency. When she lifted her wristcom to read it, he knew she was doing the same thing he’d done when the message had come in: hoping the words might have changed.

  They hadn’t. Code Black emergency, they read, and the sender was Colonel Debrett, commander of Whitesun Base.

  Debrett was in charge of collecting all of the debris from the Voloth ship. Code Black meant a situation requiring the immediate attention of the Lancer, regardless of time or location. And Debrett was not an excitable man. Something was seriously wrong, and it had to do with the Voloth.

  “Thank you,” Micah said. He tapped his earcuff, ending the call, and looked over at Tal. “They’re clearing out their conference room right now. We’ll have access in two or three ticks.”

  “Let’s go, then.” Tal tapped her own earcuff as they walked. “Gehrain, I may need to have Captain Serrado and Commander Baldassar brought to the conference room. Be aware that Captain Serrado cannot be moved without a mobile chair. Yes, you will. Thank you.”

  “I see you’re thinking the same thing I am,” Micah said when she closed the call.

  “That we might have some live Voloth running around out there? Yes.”

  The conference room was indeed empty by the time they arrived, a pile of dirty dishes and cups shoved onto the counter the only sign that its occupants had left in a hurry. Tal went straight to the vidcom and punched in the code for Colonel Debrett, followed by her own authorization. By the time they seated themselves at the table, the colonel appeared on the large wall screen.

  “Lancer Tal.” He thumped his fists to his chest. “I apologize for contacting you directly, but this information could not wait for the usual com path.”

  “If it concerns the Voloth ship, I have no doubt you’ve made the right decision.”

  “It does. My warriors have finished their retrieval of the ship’s pieces—at least the ones that were tracked and could be safely transported to base—but we still had one team out. It was a cargo transport, assigned to retrieve the largest piece. At hantick seven and twenty-four, we received a radio call from this transport. Whitesun Base Control responded, but never heard back.” He paused, his stress showing in the tightness of his mouth. “The reason you�
�re only hearing about this now is that Base Control did not follow up on the aborted communication. Our entire wing of rescue transports was out on this mission, and the com traffic was extremely thick. One incomplete call did not register as important. I have already disciplined the warrior responsible.”

  So they had a failure and an excuse for the failure, Micah thought. What had it cost them?

  “As the rescue transports returned and the com traffic thinned, the absence of Transport WSC813 was noted and the com records searched. As soon as the aborted call was found, Base Control attempted to reconnect. When all attempts failed, Base Control ordered an orbital scan. The transport was not found, nor was there any signal from the transponder.”

  Micah did not like where this was going.

  “I assume you sent a search party,” Tal said.

  “Yes, a rescue and cargo team, both fully armed. It took them three hanticks of searching, but they finally located what was left of Transport WSC813.”

  Now he really did not like where this was going.

  “The rescue pilot took vidcam footage,” Debrett continued. “I have it ready for you to view.”

  “Proceed.”

  The screen shifted to a steady view of what could only be the landing site of something very large. The pilot’s voice could be heard saying, “There’s a trail leading upcanyon from the landing site. A big trail; I’m seeing entire small trees that were crushed.” He continued to describe the scene while rotating between front, rear, and landing cams, and the moment Micah saw the landing cam footage, he knew what had happened. The pilot’s horrified curse echoed his own thoughts.

  Demonstrating either tremendous courage or reckless disregard for his safety, the rescue pilot did an end-over-end flip in the canyon, saving the time it would have taken to rise high enough for a normal turn, then streaked down its length, following the trail until it emerged into a wide valley and disappeared into the river. The cargo transport joined it there and both pilots flew downstream, searching for whatever had vaporized a cargo transport and walked away.