Alsea Rising: Gathering Storm (Chronicles of Alsea Book 9) Page 3

  Her expression cleared. “She has.”

  But she was still skittish, and the only way forward was through.

  He set aside his cup and rested his forearms on his knees, hands clasped together. “May I ask why you didn’t appeal to your judicial system?”

  She assessed him and made her decision with a defiant lift of her chin.

  “It doesn’t work like yours. There’s no empathic scanning to determine guilt and innocence. The only physical evidence wouldn’t have proved coercion. He would have said it was consensual. I had no proof to the contrary, and he had witnesses to my behavior in the bar before I took him to my quarters.”

  While he tried to wrap his mind around that, she added, “Not to mention that he was two ranks above me.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  She stared at him, then made a soft sound of amazement. “Shippers, I love Alsea.”

  “Do you mean—” He stopped. If they had no empathic scans to determine the truth, then rank probably did matter.

  “It wouldn’t have impacted his career,” she said, confirming his guess. “But it would have ruined mine. It was my first posting; I was still an apprentice.”

  Which meant she had been very young. “And you stayed in Fleet after that.”

  “I wasn’t going to let him keep me from my goals.”

  “I doubt you let anything keep you from your goals.”

  “We might have that in common, Colonel Grand Shit.”

  The sheer surprise of it after such a dark story left him unable to stop the bark of laughter. She watched with a spark of humor in her eyes, and no, pity was not necessary.

  “Not only did he lack both honor and decency, he was a grainbird on top of it. I only needed two ticks to know I didn’t want you angry with me. You threatened to stick me with something sharp.”

  It was her turn to laugh, the real, open one that made him want to do whatever it took to hear it again.

  “I’d forgotten. You were being an overbearing ass.”

  “I was not.”

  “We may have to agree to disagree.” But she was smiling, and her posture had softened. “You still have a question to answer. Why don’t you have one of these suites?”

  “I didn’t want one. Tal offered it when she won the election, but it was difficult enough to spend my days surrounded by politicians and people with agendas. I didn’t want to spend my nights with them, too. I’d rather be with my warriors.” He pointed at the floor. “I’m a few floors down.”

  She needed a moment to find her voice. “You’re not what I expected.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “It’s a very good thing.” She set her cup on the table and took a more defensive position: shoulders forward, feet on the floor. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this. And I was never good at it to begin with.”

  “I don’t quite know what it is we’re doing,” he said truthfully. “But I’m happy to stay and talk, if that’s all you want. I’m enjoying getting to know you, Dr. Wells.”

  There: shoulders back, spine loose once more, small tilt of the lips. “Alejandra. Whatever happens tonight, it’s not going to happen with you calling me Dr. Wells.”

  “Agreed, as long as you don’t call me Colonel Grand Shit.”

  He could get addicted to that laugh.

  “Sorry, I can’t guarantee that. But I promise to do it sparingly.” Her eyes were dancing, and she pulled her legs back up in the pose he now recognized as being one of mental ease. “Nothing much will happen tonight. At the very least, I’d have to study some anatomical charts first. And ask Rahel for advice.” She chuckled at his silent reaction. “Well, who else do I have up there? Besides, I hear she knows her way around Alsean sexual responses.”

  “You make it sound like a clinical study.” But her matter-of-fact attitude allowed him to admit, “I’d need a few charts, too. Goddess above, I’d have to ask Lhyn.” He buried his face in his hands, then dragged them down to his jaw. “Do you have any idea how long she would lecture me?”

  This time she laughed so hard that her body curled with it, arms around her torso as if her ribs were in danger of flying apart. “Oh, stars. Yes, I can imagine it.” She laughed again, then wiped her eyes. “Micah, thank you. You’re making this easy, and that—I can’t tell you how much that’s worth.”

  There was an unspoken history beneath those words. He suspected that not much in her life had been easy.

  This, he vowed, would be a different story.

  4

  Mentoring

  “Well done,” Tal said when Lead Guard Vellmar finished her report. “I remember the first time you did this. You were so nervous I thought you might vibrate right out of that chair.”

  Vellmar flashed the brilliant smile that had helped make her one of the most public faces of the warrior caste. “Anyone who’s not nervous the first time they’re reporting to you is either foolish or foolhardy. Or both.”

  “Salomen wasn’t.”

  “I won’t call you a liar, but Salomen says different.”

  Chuckling, Tal rose from her desk chair and led her guest to the comfortable armchairs overlooking a spectacular view of the State Park. “Fair enough. Though it was only that first time, and if she’d had her perfect front then, I would never have known. Shannel?”

  “Please.”

  “Have a seat. I mean it this time.” She stood, hands on hips, until Vellmar relented and sat stiffly on the edge of a seat cushion. “Oh, for the love of Fahla. It’s taken me three moons to get you to sit before I do. Will it take three more before you’ll relax?”

  “At least.”

  With a grumbled sigh that was mostly for show, she crossed to the antique sideboard in the corner and pulled out two cups. In truth, she understood Vellmar’s reticence. Observation of rank and hierarchy was trained into warriors from the beginning; to act against that training was difficult even with permission. But if she were to mentor her chosen successor, she needed to chip away some of the institutional walls between them.

  Vellmar bounced up when she returned with the full cups balanced on their delicate saucers. Taking one from Tal’s hands, she carefully set it on the low table between their chairs. It was a choreographed delay, allowing her to sit a moment after Tal did.

  This time, Tal chose not to notice. “I have a new toy for you. Actually, I have them for both the Lancer’s and Bondlancer’s units, but you get the first one.” She picked up the box that sat on the table and held it out.

  “New tech?” With an excited grin, Vellmar opened it and admired the sleek new wristcom and earcuff nestled within. “Hands-free activation and muting, speedy!”

  “Speedier than you know. It has translation capabilities.”

  “Really?” She pulled out the wristcom and studied it from all angles. “How does that work?”

  “The builders figured out how to port Lhyn’s translation program to our hardware. The wristcom sends the results to the earcuff if it’s translating Common to High Alsean. If it’s doing the opposite, it sends the results to either the external speaker or the screen, whichever you choose. I’ve been testing the prototype. When you beat your birthmother at the Global Games last moon, I understood exactly what Captain Serrado was shouting.”

  Vellmar looked up with interest. “She was shouting in Common?”

  “She reverts to it when she swears. We made a friendly bet on who would win.”

  The smile reappeared. “She was betting on age and experience.”

  “Her mistake,” Tal said sleekly. “After last cycle’s Games, I knew you’d win these. Salomen and I enjoyed an excellent meal at Meadowgreen last nineday as a result. Not having to pay for it made it taste even better.”

  “Victory is an excellent spice,” Vellmar agreed. “I’m glad my blade handling earned you a fine meal. It earned me more than one.”

  “I should hope so.” Tal pointed at the earcuff. “In terms of understanding Common, that
works nearly as seamlessly as a lingual implant.”

  “But without the brain surgery.”

  “Exactly. It’s not quite as seamless when it comes to speaking Common, but it will be invaluable if you end up boarding a Voloth ship.”

  Vellmar pursed her lips as she returned the wristcom to its cushioned bed. “May I speak freely?”

  “You haven’t figured it out yet?” She indicated their overstuffed chairs. “We’re over here by the windows, with shannel cups in hand. You’re not in the guest chair on the other side of my desk. If I bring you here, that means we’re not interacting solely as Lancer and Lead Guard.”

  “What are we interacting as?”

  “Two warriors of slightly different ranks, having drinks and a discussion.”

  At the slightly, Vellmar made a sound that was close to a laugh. “Then this is something like our runs?”

  “Something like. Speak freely.”

  “All right. Ah . . .” She cleared her throat. “We’re doing a lot of prep and training for a possible Voloth attack. Not only the Lancer and Bondlancer’s units, but the whole warrior caste.” She held up the box. “And the builder caste, too. The new fighters, new tech . . .”

  Tal nodded encouragingly.

  “But today you said you have no solid intelligence that they’re planning anything.”

  “Nothing solid, no. And that does not leave this room.”

  Vellmar hesitated, then forged ahead. “Why are we committing to a course of action with no evidence to support it? I never thought I’d see ground pounders off base unless it was an emergency, and you’ve got them deployed around every major city. Fighter construction isn’t cheap. And training the pilots and gunners—those are entirely new units. Not to mention taking warriors away from their normal duties to practice for resistance or evacuations. I mean, the fighters—those have to happen eventually, to protect the space elevator. But you’ve got it running on an accelerated schedule. Why?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “I don’t know! I thought you knew something we didn’t, until you said otherwise. Now it doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It makes perfect sense. Tell me, what was the overall attitude of the warrior caste five and a half moons ago?”

  It took her less than a piptick to find the connection. “This is about the uprising?”

  “Not entirely. Making decisions with only one thing in mind is a luxury I don’t often have. But if I play my tiles right, I can make decisions that pay off on multiple fronts.” She held out one hand, palm upward. “I had a volatile political situation that had already turned lethal and had the potential for more. The Council vote for Salomen’s caste reform silenced the loudest objectors, but it made the quiet ones even more dangerous.” Lifting her other hand, she continued, “Then I had a military situation which, while unknown, also had lethal potential. But if I combined the two . . .” She brought her hands together.

  Vellmar frowned at them before rising brows and wide eyes telegraphed her realization. “You used the Voloth threat to give our caste a purpose.”

  There were times when Tal was positively smug about her choice. Vellmar was so good at putting pieces together that the merest nudge was usually sufficient to send her down the right path.

  “Exactly. Purpose leads to self-respect,” she said, expanding on the lesson. “What made the reform so contentious was the threat it presented to our collective image. If we could see ourselves as publicly acknowledged protectors against a powerful external enemy, we could remember who we are as a caste. How long has it been since the last act of warrior violence against a producer?”

  “Three moons,” Vellmar said immediately. “And the threat assessment for Salomen is back to normal levels.”

  “In the meantime, we’re increasing our military readiness in leaps and bounds. If the Voloth do come, we’ll be a much more difficult target than the last time they dropped by.”

  “It brought in the scholar caste, too.” Vellmar was already thinking ahead. “And the builders, which means the merchants as well, since they’re providing the materials. You mobilized the castes with the biggest objections to the reform and got them working with the castes who were most involved in the uprising.” She looked up with admiration written on her face. “And got full Council support for the expense of military preparations.”

  Tal was not above enjoying a little well-earned pride. “As a side benefit, Alseans are getting used to seeing our Voloth Empire settlers working with the ground pounders. We finally found a way to start their social integration on a visible level.”

  “It helps that they publicly refused to operate the weapons.”

  “Yes, that was a rare case of getting what I wanted without having to ask.” She could wish their refusal weren’t rooted in trauma, but the result was ideal.

  “Does the Council know? The real reason for doing all this, I mean?”

  “The High Council does. The Primes smoothed the path in the full Council.” She reached for her shannel cup. “A Lancer can’t lead effectively without the support of her Primes. I’ve had times of fighting against them, or trying to push them into making the right decision, but I would far rather work with them. Except for Ehron, they know their castes better than I do. I can draw the map and point to where we need to go, but they know the best alleys and shortcuts.” The hot shannel soothed her throat, dry from too much talking in too many meetings, and it wasn’t even midday.

  Vellmar watched with sharp eyes, missing nothing. “Your voice is rough.”

  “The price I pay for two days off with Salomen. I have to make up the lost time.” She sipped again, smiling as she remembered Salomen’s extreme reluctance to let her leave this morning. “The roughness might not be entirely from talking. About business,” she amended.

  “Uh-huh.” Vellmar hid a grin behind her own cup. “You do seem more relaxed than when I went off duty yesterday.”

  “As do you. Tell me, how much oil did you burn in the temple last night?”

  Vellmar coughed, then dabbed a sleeve to her mouth. “Was that a euphemism?”

  “I don’t usually bother with those.” These were the moments that delighted her, when she could tease her Lead Guard without rank getting in the way. The first few attempts had fallen flat, but Vellmar was gradually loosening her rigid expectations.

  “There was oil,” Vellmar allowed. “We didn’t burn it.”

  “Ah, massage. So that’s what Lanaril meant. She mentioned that you had magic fingers to go with your magic tongue.”

  “She did not say that!”

  Tal set her shannel down, laughing too hard to hold it. “You’ve been courting her for a cycle and you still don’t know how sensual she is? Lanaril works with minds all day long. It’s a relief for her to focus on the simplicity of bodies instead.”

  “There’s nothing simple about her,” Vellmar mumbled. “Fahla, I can’t believe she told you that.”

  “Don’t worry, it only made me respect you more.”

  Though Vellmar’s front was perfect as always, that did nothing for the flush in her cheeks. “How did you get the Primes to cooperate with each other so soon after the uprising?” she asked in a blatant subject change.

  “We’ll have to work on your subtlety. The short answer? I didn’t. Salomen did. Her marches brought the Prime Producer, Builder, Merchant, and Crafter together in a way they haven’t been in . . . well, never in my administration. Or the three before that. You’d have to go back to Lancer Julsine to find such unity.”

  “But that’s only four. Stasinal hates Yaserka.”

  “True, but she respects Ehron. It’s not the merchant-scholar link we need right now, it’s the merchant-warrior link.”

  The flush had receded as Vellmar contemplated the political ramifications. “Salomen got four Primes to work as a unified force, and you leveraged that plus warrior unrest into a planetary mobilization for an attack that might never come.”

  “You make it
sound manipulative.”

  “I guess that depends on the likelihood of the attack.” She pointed at the new wristcom and earcuff. “You’re equipping me and my team for an unfriendly boarding. That seems rather specific to be mere manipulation.”

  Tal hesitated. “I’m worried,” she admitted. “So is Captain Serrado. There’s no hard intelligence, nothing coming through diplomatic channels, but she has connections inside Protectorate Security. Word is that the Voloth are planning something, but no one knows what or where. If they mean to harm us, they won’t be sending engraved invitations first.”

  “So you’re planning for the worst and hoping for the best, while using the worst to get the best out of our castes.”

  Tal lifted her cup in a silent acknowledgment.

  Vellmar matched the gesture and eyed her over the rim as she drank. “Well,” she said, setting the cup back in its saucer, “I’m glad you’re the one in charge.”

  5

  Political headache

  “How did it go with Vellmar?” Micah asked, settling into his ready position.

  Tal swung her sword in a double loop pattern, loosening her wrists. “Good. She figured out the other reason for our mobilization.” She bent her knees and assumed her opening stance. “Ready?”

  “Begin.” He struck out immediately, hoping to catch her by surprise. She parried with a comical look of indignation.

  “Whatever happened to the warmup?” she demanded as they circled each other.

  “My best opportunities come early.”

  “If we’re in competition! I thought this was a friendly practice.”

  “When it comes to sparring, nothing with you is friendly.”

  “That is an outrageous lie. I cannot count the number of times I’ve passed up the chance to humiliate you.”

  He pointed at her with his blade. “You see? That was an unfriendly aspersion on my skill.”