The Span of Empire: Chapter Nineteen

    Ninth-Minor-Sustained spun to face Third-Mordent after they entered the room. Third-Mordent had no idea where they were, but her reflexes dropped her into predator mode in reaction to the harmony master’s sudden movement. The thought was still in her mind that, despite the harmony master’s approval of her motif, she still might exact a price from Third-Mordent for bringing word of what she had seen.

    “Descant-at-the-Fourth was the longest surviving of my descendants,” Ninth-Minor-Sustained fluted. “Fourth generation removed.” She flicked open a forehand blade and carved a line in her own tegument.

    Third-Mordent’s body had tensed and her vision had narrowed when the harmony master had opened the sheath of the forehand blade. The sight of the white ichor oozing from the gash Ninth-Minor-Sustained had opened sent a quiver through her body. Only the sight of the open forehand blade kept her from assaulting the harmony master.

    They stood thus in a tableau for what seemed an endless period of time to Third-Mordent. Gradually she became aware that Ninth-Minor-Sustained was staring at her, steady gaze over the intervening forehand blade. It took great effort, great self-control, to put away the predator’s mind and ease the tension in her own pose, raise her manipulators, and return the harmony master’s gaze.

    “I had hopes for Descant-at-the-Fourth and her line,” Ninth-Minor-Sustained dirged. “Was her system truly dissonant?”

    “Six ships missing altogether,” Third-Mordent keened softly, “yet unusual traces in the solar corona indicated where they died. Seven ships dead in fragments dancing aimlessly around the star with the shattered corpse of Descant-at-the-Fourth’s world harvester. Nothing but ruin and broken rubble at the planetary post.” She stopped for a moment, then sang in descending quarter-tones, “All trace of the Melody in the system gone. Gone as if it had never been.”

    Ninth-Minor-Sustained lowered her head, still staring at Third-Mordent. “Then she is gone, and all her surviving direct progeny.”

    To that Third-Mordent could only assent.

    The harmony master folded her forehand blade back into its sheath. She turned and walked over to face what Third-Mordent first assumed was a view screen displaying a field of stars. It was a moment before the younger Ekhat realized that it was really a transparent window. That surprised her, as very few Ekhat liked to be reminded of the near presence of the emptiness of space.

    “You are of the line of Descant-at-the-Fourth.” The harmony master was not asking a question with that bit of melody.

    “Yes,” Third-Mordent responded with a glissando.

    “Not of the most direct line,” Ninth-Minor-Sustained intoned.

    “Yet still of her progeny,” Third-Mordent responded in kind, “fifth generation removed in a collateral line.”

    Ninth-Minor-Sustained stood silently, still, gazing out the window. Third-Mordent said nothing; she knew nothing to say that hadn’t been said. Whatever the harmony master’s purpose, it was opaque to the younger Ekhat, who was just now coming to grips with the thought that she herself was in the line of Ninth-Minor-Sustained. She had not known. Few Ekhat could trace their lineage very far back. Mortality among young Ekhat was very high, between the fratricide among their peers and the casual violence of their elders. The odds of one’s direct progenitors surviving long enough to communicate with sapient offspring were very low.

    Yet Third-Mordent could now count her line back ten generations to no less than Ninth-Minor-Sustained, preeminent harmony master, one of the leaders of the Complete Harmony faction, wickedly adept at combat, survivor of the longest odds. Her mind could just barely begin to grapple with the implications of that knowledge.

    All thoughts fled Third-Mordent’s mind as Ninth-Minor-Sustained spun and leapt on her, smashing her to the floor and pinning her under the harmony master’s great weight. One forehand blade hung poised before her eyes, and she felt the edge of the other kiss her throat ever so slightly.

    Third-Mordent clamped down on her instincts, hard. She knew that even the slightest movement on her part would bring her death. The struggle she fought in her own mind was every bit as fierce as the struggle she would have attempted against the harmony master; every bit as desperate; every bit as ruthless. And almost as fruitless; but not quite.

    Not. Quite.

    Every muscle tensed, and her tegument rippled. But Third-Mordent, by the barest of margins, did not struggle. She could sense the great head of Ninth-Minor-Sustained lowering above her, mandibles and maw approaching the back of her neck. Her tegument rippled again, but still she did not move.

    The exhaled breath of the harmony master touched the tegument just behind her head. It took the last bit of control Third-Mordent had to remain still.

    “You cannot defeat me,” Ninth-Minor-Sustained . . . crooned. “You can never defeat me.”

    Third-Mordent made no response; she focused on controlling herself. A long moment passed.

    The forehand blade at her neck was removed so deftly Third-Mordent was not aware of its absence for long moments. She felt the pressure of the harmony master’s weight shift the barest of instances before massive pain in three different locations sheeted through her system, paralyzing her for what seemed almost eternity.

    The pains faded; the one at the base of the skull lingered longest.

    “Get up,” Ninth-Minor-Sustained fluted in a monotone. She said nothing else, but Third-Mordent understood what was not said, and struggled to her feet.

    The younger Ekhat stood facing her very distant ancestor, manipulators raised as high as she could raise them in the lingering pain, forehand blades still sheathed but trembling.

    “Control,” the harmony master uttered in a whisper of an aria. “You think you have it. You are wrong. But I will teach it to you.”

    Third-Mordent shivered at the solid, austere harmony in Ninth-Minor-Sustained’s voice.

    Lim stood before the door of Zhao Jiguang’s quarters, and raised her hand to the signal plate. The door opened just before her finger touched. Zhao stood before her, dressed much as he was the previous day in loose trousers and long loose tunic of a light gray color.

    “Ah, Lim-san,” Zhao said in Mandarin. “Please come in.”

    He gave a slight bow, which Lim returned before she stepped through the doorway. Zhao pointed to the small seating area in his quarters. “Please, choose a place to sit. I will return with the tea momentarily.”

    Lim examined the three low chairs–barely more than stools–that were grouped around an equally low rectangular table. After a moment of observation, she chose a seat on one of the long sides of the table, facing another chair across the table, with the third chair to her left. She was still not certain why she had come. This human did not look to her to be as dangerous as Gabe Tully had insisted he was.

    She refolded her robes, then locked her hands together in her lap and looked around the room. It was small, as most spaces were in the ship. Indeed, Lim’s own quarters was barely larger in total than the room in which she sat.

    Her eye was caught by a low box lying on the table opposite the third chair at the open end of the table. It was black, perhaps five of the human centimeters high, and it contained fine white sand. The sand had been brushed into patterns by some sort of tool, and there were three small stones placed within the patterns; one smooth and shining black, one smooth and gleaming white, and one coarse and dull red.

    She was still looking at the box when Zhao arrived with the tea. He set a black wooden tray before the third seat. On the tray was a black teapot, low and round, rough surfaced, with golden highlights limning the outlines of a long beast.

    Flanking the teapot were two round handleless cups of a matching finish and pattern, each sitting upon saucers shaped like Terran leaves, with gold traces outlining the veins of the leaves.

    Zhao lifted the teapot and poured steaming tea into each of the cups. Setting the teapot down, he placed a saucer and cup before Lim and the seat opposite her, when he then settled neatly into.

    “It is good of you to come, Lim-san,” Zhao said with a slight forward bow, still speaking Mandarin.

    “It was good of you to invite me, Master Zhao,” Lim replied in the same language.

    Zhao cupped his hands before him, then spread them to the sides in a smooth gesture. “Please, call me Joe. I am not so pretentious as to require being addressed as ‘Master’, especially not by one of your people.”

    Lim repeated the gesture. “Then call me Lim, for I am no master, either among my people or yours.”

    Zhao smiled, bringing his hands together around the cup before him. “Then we are two friends of a common friend, Gabe Tully, who are met to become friends of each other over shared tea.” He lifted the cup and smelled of the vapor arising from it.

    Lim followed suit. She found the cup surprisingly heavy for its size, but lifted it to sniff of it. “It smells excellent,” she exclaimed in surprise.

    “I have family in Nanjing,” Zhao said, “who sent me quite a bit of premium Oolong tea just before I shipped out.” He smiled. “For some reason, many of the Chinese and Japanese among the jinau wish to be my friends.”

    Zhao took a sip of the tea, then returned his cup to its saucer. Lim did likewise, finding the flavor of the tea matching the excellence of its scent. She set it cup down, unfortunately not as gently as Zhao had. It made a noticeable “clunk” as it encountered the saucer. She tilted her head and looked at Zhao, her aureole rising.

    He smiled again. “Cast iron,” he said. “All of it; pot, cups, saucers. Japanese make, but very nice. I inherited them from my mother when she died.”

    “Is this part of the tea ceremony, then?” Lim asked aureole now extended fully.

    “No, not part of the ritual.” Zhao shook his head. “I’m actually not very good at the ceremony,” he said with a note of chagrin. “My mother used to tell me I wasn’t patient enough. I did not bring the utensils with me. But,” a gleaming smile appeared, “when we return to Earth, I will invite you to our home and my sister will welcome you with the full ceremony.”

    They drank their tea slowly and quietly. When Lim had emptied her cup, she held it up at eye-level to examine the creature molded into the side of it. “Dragon?” She looked at Zhao. He nodded with another smile, and lifted the pot to refill their cups.

    Aille followed Yaut into the workspace of Lieutenant General Ed Kralik. His flotilla’s jump to Ares system had been uneventful. He suspected the next few moments might provide sufficient storminess to balance that out.

    “Governor,” Kralik said from where he stood before his desk. “I was surprised to hear that you had traveled all the way out here.”

    “Ed Kralik,” Aille replied. “One is of use wherever one is needed.”

    “So what use is the governor of Terra going to be put to in Ares Base?”

    The general sounded a little skeptical, Aille thought. That was probably to be expected; Kralik had a lot of experience with Jao. “Business of Terra taif,” he responded.

    Kralik’s eyes narrowed. “The only business the taif has out here is Ares Base or . . . Caitlin!” The human clasped his hands behind his back. “If it was something to do with the base, I’d have already heard about it. So what is it about Caitlin that has you abandoning your post and jumping to the middle of nowhere? Are you demoting her?”

    Aille’s angles slipped into calmness-in-turbulence in the face of Kralik’s human version of pure unalloyed stubbornness that even a Jao could recognize. “No,” he said. “She will retain oudh.”

    Kralik’s human face took on an expression that could only be called a glower. Aille was one of the best Jao around at reading human postures, but that one wasn’t hard to understand.

    “Have you seen something? Is she–the fleet–in danger?”

    Aille shrugged, using the human gesture to attempt to calm the general. “No, nothing is foreseen.”

    “Then you’d better have your navigators talk to the Starsifters here.” Kralik’s mouth quirked. “That first step into the long dark is a doozy, from the word the fleet sent back.”

    That led to a short discussion as to what a ‘doozy’ was, followed by a short discussion about the nature of the ‘doozy’ in this context, which in turn led to Yaut stepping to one side to send orders via his com pad.

    Kralik looked back to Aille. “You still haven’t told me why you are personally leading this trip.”

    “Ronz believes that Caitlin might find my presence of benefit,” Aille said. “And the ships I bring, of course.”

    Kralik’s face went to an expression that could have passed for neutral. He said nothing for a long moment, then licked his lips and said, “The Preceptor ordered this?”

    “Preceptor Ronz suggested that I could be of great use if I joined Caitlin in the search for allies,” Aille responded.

    “And you’re not just joining her, are you? You’re taking reinforcements to her.” The glower returned to Kralik’s face as he crossed his arms across his chest. “So he suspects something, doesn’t he?”

    “I have told you what he told me,” Aille said.

    Yaut returned to Aille’s side, which drew Kralik’s eye. Aille knew that the fraghta, despite his years of association with humans, was still somewhat more brusque and fond of wrem-fa methods than was perhaps of maximum use in dealing with them. He turned and looked at Yaut, the tilt of his head and the angle of his ears giving what Caitlin might have called a shorthand version of my-responsibility. Yaut’s whiskers twitched back and forth in irritation, but he said nothing.

    Aille returned his attention to the human. Kralik was staring him in the eye, which, tall though he was for a Terran, still required him to look up at the governor.

    “I’m going with you,” Kralik said, once he realized he had Aille’s focus again.

    “You will stay at Ares Base,” Aille said. “You are not required for this.”

    Kralik’s face paled. “I really don’t care if I am required,” he bit the words out. “You’ve sent my wife in harm’s way, such that you’re giving her the strongest combat fleet in this region of our alliance. The Bond is sending you to join her. I will not sit here on my butt and wait for God knows what.”

    Aille tilted his head. He said nothing, waiting on the human to conclude.

    Kralik’s nostrils flared. He turned to his desk and took from its stand the bau that Aille had awarded him for exemplary service early in their relationship. The carvings on that rod of shell began with the siege and destruction of Salem during the last days of the governorship of Oppuk, but they had been added to and augmented in the years since then. The service it denoted would have made any Jao proud.

    “You gave me this,” the human said, looking to where his hands almost cradled the bau. “You took me into your service, and you gave me this. I’ve taken your orders, I’ve done your work, I’ve been ‘of service’ wherever you sent me, including sitting here at Ares Base when Caitlin was out jumping from star to star not knowing what she was going to find.”

    Kralik looked back up and locked eyes with Aille again. “And now you are going to join her, crossing the void to the Sagittarius Arm, going where no Jao or human has gone before, and Ronz is concerned enough about it to send you to join her. Caitlin is out there,” he pointed above his head with the bau, “Wrot is out there, Tully is out there, and now you, and Yaut, and even Rafe Aguilera for God’s sake, are going out to join her. Whatever it is that has Ronz so concerned ought to ‘require’ that you have your A team with you. All the rest of your service will be out there with you, and you’re going to leave me behind? I don’t think so.”

    The bau lowered and Kralik said quietly, “You need your service with you, and I’m part of that service. I have military and jinau expertise that no one else in that fleet has. Whatever the Bond thinks you’re going to encounter, you need me.” He held the bau up between them, in front of Aille’s eyes. “You still don’t understand humans as well as you think you do. If you leave me here, you will have told the universe that you don’t value or trust me. You will have broken everything this represents between us.”

    Aille reached out and took the bau from Kralik. The human released it readily. Aille turned it over and over in his hands, feeling the carvings with his fingers.

    Kralik argued well, Aille decided. It was true that he was expert; far more so than Gabe Tully. That alone was perhaps not sufficient to bring him. But his other point was also valid, and perhaps was even the stronger one in this era of Jao/human relations.

    Aille handed the bau back to the human and felt the flow of time sense. “You have until we finish on-loading supplies to give your orders. If you are not on board when we seal the hatches, you will be left behind.”

    He turned without another word and headed for the door, Yaut preceding him. As the door closed behind him he heard Kralik speak to a com pad, “Get me Mrat krinnu ava Terra.”

    “Impudent human,” Yaut muttered as they walked down the hall, angles stiff with offended-sensibilities.

    “What would you have done in his place, Yaut?” Aille asked.

    The fraghta snorted. “I would have ordered myself aboard your ship, and made sure that you didn’t see or hear of me until after the ship jumped.

    “No so very different, then,” Aille murmured.

    Yaut said nothing as he continued to stalk ahead of him.