prologue

 

 

She’d been watching for so long that she almost missed it. The star’s movement was initially slow; almost undetectable. She held her breath as it picked up speed, arced across the sky, burst into momentary brilliance—and vanished.

That was it, then. The brightest star in their sky was gone. And a part of her had gone with it.

Lancer Andira Tal let out her breath and leaned her forehead against the window. She’d been keeping vigil for hanticks, hoping to catch this exact moment. She sent a grateful thought after Kathryn for making Voyager’s departure during Blacksun’s night, when it was most visible.

Why? So you can wallow in your self pity?

She closed her eyes and sighed. This isn’t self pity. I’m allowed a moment of sorrow.

A moment of sorrow that she could never share. The one person with whom she might feel comfortable sharing such a thing would not understand. She was warrior caste, and her heart belonged to Alsea. Someday she might have a bondmate and a family, but her first duty could not be to them, and so her whole heart could not be given. It was simply a truth; a duty of her caste. The fact that she had given it anyway, and to a person who could not even accept it, made her the worst kind of a weak fool. For any warrior to do so was regrettable, but she was the Lancer, the highest title in the land. Above all other warriors, she was in the service of Alsea.

Yet she had done the unthinkable. She’d given her whole heart against all her training, all tradition, and even against the law. And for what? A few short hanticks of stolen time with a woman who, like her, was not free. Kathryn Janeway was also a leader, the highest title on her ship—and she was tyree.

From the moment she’d met Kathryn, Tal understood that the alien woman was untouchable. She had walked a very thin line, hiding her emotions and pretending mere friendship for a woman she’d have given nearly anything to have. The only thing that made it possible was the fact that both Kathryn and her tyree, Lynne Hamilton, were sonsales—as were most of Voyager’s crew. They were empathically blind, yet they broadcast their emotions so strongly that Tal had spent most of her time on Voyager blocking her senses to keep from being overwhelmed. But when she was with Kathryn and Lynne, she shamelessly absorbed every nuance. It was the most remarkable experience she had ever had. Kathryn Janeway was a warrior, though her culture did not divide itself into castes. She had a clear duty to her ship and a responsibility to her crew. And she was tyree, the rarest of bondmates. She had it all. At first Tal had marveled at it, but by the end she was sick with envy and desire.

It was their blindness that finally got to her. That tyrees should be unable to feel each other was simply tragic; the equivalent of binding the wings of a nightbird. So she had taken the role of bond minister, connecting Kathryn and Lynne and showing them what flowed so obviously between their hearts. She had not anticipated that Lynne would sense her secret, and even if she had, she could never have predicted the Human’s response. An Alsean would have been rightfully furious at such trespass, but Lynne had shown no anger at all. Instead, the soft weight of her sorrow and sympathy settled on Tal’s mind as she’d wrapped the Lancer in her arms and whispered, Tell her. Don’t keep it inside. She’ll understand.

Tal left the captain’s quarters that night with a sharp awareness that this was the end of her time with Kathryn. All she had remaining to her was the short walk from the quarters to the transporter room. She could say nothing in the corridor, and the presence of a crewman in the transporter room had precluded any further conversation there. But then Kathryn had dismissed the crewman, and Tal found herself facing the decision of a lifetime:  Speak now and unburden herself, or spend the rest of her days carrying it alone.

She’d chosen to speak, trusting in Lynne’s judgment and opening her heart.

Had you not been tyree, I would never have let you leave without doing my best to share more than emotions, she’d said, her heart pounding. Never, never in her life had she made herself so vulnerable; given someone else so much power.

And Kathryn had simply smiled at her, reaching for her hand. Had I not been tyree, Andira, you would have succeeded. She’d pulled Tal into an embrace and held her, and Tal had thought that if she’d died in that moment, she could die happy. For this one perfect moment she had a glimpse of the divine.

Then Kathryn had pulled away, and Tal instantly turned to mount the transporter pad. She would not trespass here any longer. She faced Kathryn and held her gaze, determined that she would at least maintain her pride and dignity, if she could not maintain her self-respect. For she had committed a crime, and if the Humans did not see it, any Alsean certainly would. She’d stared into Kathryn’s eyes for all the time left to them, and when the transporter had brought her home she’d come here to keep her vigil.

“But how can it be a crime?” she asked herself, her voice quiet in the high-ceilinged room. “When the emotion is innocent and no action is taken? Where is the threat?”

She’d pondered this every moment since beaming off Voyager. Until now she’d never questioned the ancient law prohibiting trespass upon the bonding of tyrees. It always seemed self-evident that anyone who dared threaten such a rare and precious bonding should be punished. And yet here she was, Lancer of Alsea, breaking one of the laws she was responsible for upholding. Had there really been a threat? Had she posed any danger at all to the bond between Kathryn and Lynne? How could it be possible, when Lynne herself had encouraged her to speak openly? That was the part her brain always stumbled over, and in the hanticks she’d sat vigil at this window, she had come no closer to an answer.

Giving up at last, she slowly stood, her muscles protesting the long inactivity. A series of stretches took care of most of the kinks in her body, but what she really needed was a good run to realign her body and blow the spinner’s webs from her mind. It was too late tonight, but tomorrow she’d get up early, before Aldirk could catch her with the latest reschedulings and stupid Council demands, and get off the base. Alone.

Feeling somewhat more settled with a definite, though admittedly short-term, goal in mind, she walked to her bed and slipped beneath the covers.

 

 

 

 

---

Chapter 1

 

 

Sunsa Aldirk, Chief Counselor of Alsea, sighed as he terminated the call. “I’m sorry,” he told his guest. “She’s not answering.”

“This is intolerable.” Micah’s voice was icy, but his short, stubby gray hair seemed to bristle even more than usual and his forehead ridges were red with annoyance. “It’s impossible for me to protect her when the information I am given is incorrect. This is the ninth time, Aldirk. Nine times she has slipped her Guards!” His chair gave an alarming groan as he abruptly rose. Aldirk held his breath; that chair was six generations old. Like most warriors, Micah had no understanding of the value of such things, and Aldirk was always on edge until the man had left his office. He was like a beast of the field, a little too big for any room.

Micah loomed over the desk, resting his knuckles on the edge of the wood. “For two moons now, your schedule has been remarkably inconsistent with the Lancer’s personal activities. How am I supposed to do my duty when I don’t get the correct information?”

Aldirk maintained a passive emotional front with some effort. Nobody threatened his control quite as quickly as Colonel Corozen Micah; the man just irritated him. “I assure you that my schedule concurs with what the Lancer tells me,” he said evenly. “It has never been my intention to mislead you.”

“So you’re saying it’s Tal’s intention to mislead me?”

Micah’s casual use of the Lancer’s name was presumptuous and disrespectful in the extreme, but Aldirk refused to acknowledge it. “That is not for either of us to say. But I would caution you to consider your words and your emotions a little more carefully.” He paused. “And perhaps consider the fact that she is not wearing her wristcom.”

The colonel’s eyes narrowed. “I’m well aware she’s not wearing her wristcom. If I could speak with her directly, do you think I’d be here asking you to call her? Believe me, Aldirk, I do not crave your company that badly. What I do want is information. What is going on? Your schedule is incorrect, Tal drops out of contact, and I’m reduced to posting my warriors around the base grounds like Fahla-damned enforcement officers, trying to catch her when she leaves. And still she manages to get through!”

“Then perhaps your warriors should be better trained,” said Aldirk before he could stop himself.

“My warriors are perfectly well trained,” growled Micah. “And if you’d like to allocate another hundred or so to my detail, I’m certain I could catch the Lancer no matter where or when she crosses the base border. But twenty warriors aren’t enough to guard the entire perimeter, nor should they be required to do so.” He pushed off the desk, his heavy ring making a slight scraping sound, and crossed his arms over his chest. “I am not a Fahla-damned babysitter! I am a Colonel in the Alsean Defense Forces and Chief Guardian of the Lancer, and I will not be reduced to chasing after her like some Council member begging for an audience.”

Aldirk, who had been a member of the Council before his promotion, did not appreciate the barely-veiled insult. Nor did he appreciate the fact that Micah had most likely just scratched his desk with that damned ring. The desk was even older than the chair, and not designed to withstand such heavy-handed treatment.

“I give you precisely what I am given,” he said. “If that is insufficient for you to do your duty, perhaps you should resign in favor of someone who can do the job.”

“If anyone should resign, Counselor, it is you for your pitiful performance. You are the gatekeeper to the Lancer, and you don’t even know where she is.”

“Neither do you!” snapped Aldirk. He regretted his loss of control almost before the words were out of his mouth, but it was too late. Micah smiled, making no effort to hide his satisfaction. Nothing pleased him more than breaking Aldirk’s emotional front, and the Counselor knew it.

“Ah,” said Micah smugly, “but I can find her. Even though that is not my job.” He replaced his cap in a deliberate affront to Aldirk, whose position as Chief Counselor dictated that all who entered his office be bareheaded. Except the Lancer, of course, and she rarely wore a cap. “Well then, I guess I’ll go do your job for you. I’ll contact you when I’ve found her.”

“Fine,” Aldirk said through gritted teeth. “You are dismissed from my presence.”

“Thank Fahla for that.” Micah turned on his heel and walked out with a heavy step, banging the door behind him.

 

 

-----

 

 

Just before she rounded the curve, Tal sensed the ambush that had been set for her. She veered off the trail, leaped over a bush and slowed to a walk, controlling her breathing with some effort as she silently padded over the soft ground. A quick grin crossed her face; Micah was planning to teach her a lesson. Well, they’d see who ambushed who. She’d spent half her life under his tutelage, and he’d taught her well, but sometimes he forgot that she was no longer his trainee. She didn’t mind, really. The number of people who treated her like a real Alsean could be counted on the fingers of one hand, and she treasured every one of them. So she did not correct Micah when he still called her Tal, though she did request that he refrain from doing so when others were in hearing range. And she didn’t mind his spontaneous “exercises,” because they kept her fresh and challenged.

She scanned the woods for any signs of the ambush. Micah’s greatest disadvantage was his weak emotional front, which was rarely sufficient to conceal his feelings from even the most casual skim. She could pinpoint him by the emotions alone. Right now he was angry, and she knew exactly why. For a moment she felt a twinge of guilt; after all, she was making his job difficult.

Stopping behind a tree, she used it as a shield while examining a likely-looking spot just ahead. Micah was somewhere there; she could feel him watching the trail, waiting for her to come through. Slowly, carefully, and with infinite patience, she made her way from one tree to the next, never making a sound and keeping a rigid front on her emotions. She was one of the strongest empaths on the planet, and her gift had required her to learn an equally strong control. There were very few Alseans who could sense her when she didn’t want them to; Micah would have no idea she was near until it was too late.

She never saw the trip line. Focused on Micah’s emotions, she’d forgotten that he sometimes set an ambush within an ambush. But the immobilizer gave her a very forceful reminder.

Her body dropped like a stone, every muscle frozen. Immobilizers employed dampening fields to counteract the electrical signals of the central nervous system, rendering a victim paralyzed but still conscious. Micah had used a live model, which allowed the heart and lungs to continue operating. If he’d used a terminal model, she’d be dying right now. As it was she was helpless, unable to even blink or move her eyes. But far worse than her physical helplessness was the loss of her empathic senses. She was utterly cut off, and more blind than if she’d merely lost her physical sight.

Footsteps crunched through the undergrowth; whoever was approaching was taking no care to hide his presence. She assumed it was Micah, but without her empathic senses it was impossible to tell. She waited, listening to every footstep and vacillating between fury and a growing alarm. If this was some sort of extremely ill-considered prank, Micah was about to get a reminder of what could happen when she unleashed her temper. But if it wasn’t…

She could barely bring herself to contemplate the prospect. If it wasn’t a prank, then everything she had ever believed about her closest friend was false, and she was about to die for her blindness and trust.

After half an eternity, the footsteps drew near enough for a shadow to fall across her field of vision. A moment later Micah stood there, looking down at her. She stared back, trying to discern his intentions from his body language and expression, but Micah was giving her no hints—until he unclipped his cellular disruptor and slowly raised it to aim directly at her heart.

She watched him disbelievingly, her mind nearly as stunned as her body. Not Micah! Fahla, not him of all Alseans!

Wait, she thought. If he wanted to kill me, why use the live immobilizer?

So you can see your assassin before you die, was the immediate answer.

But Micah is my friend! He would never do this!

And yet there he stood. Tal thought it rather incongruous that she should be so aware of the birdsong at a time like this—the forest rang with it, as birds of several species voiced their existence, their territory, their suitability as mates. Life was in motion, all around them, and death was simply one more part of that cycle. She wished she could close her eyes and listen. A sense of calm flowed through her, and she felt ready for what came next.

If I must die, at least this is a more pleasant place than most.

But Micah lowered his arm, clipped the disruptor back to his belt, and took a small control pad from his pocket. Her body went limp and she blinked several times, grimacing as her eyelids grated over eyes that were far too dry. She rolled over and slowly rose, getting used to movement again as she glared up at her friend. Now that the threat had ended, so had her moment of clarity and peace. Nor was the situation helped by Micah’s anger and frustration bombarding her still-shaken senses. She didn’t appreciate the feeling of being so out of control.

“What the shek do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

“Showing you what an idiot you are!” Micah shoved the control pad back into his pocket, returning her glare in equal measure. “You think this is some kind of game, slipping your Guards, making me look like a fool? There’s a damned good reason you have Guards, Tal! You of all people should know that. What if I’d been sent by someone else? Someone with an eye on your title and the means to make sure you don’t need it anymore? You’re not invincible!”

“Neither am I your trainee! You presume too much on our friendship, Colonel. I am your Lancer, and you’ve just committed a level four state crime! Are you trying to destroy yourself? Because I’m more than tempted!”

“Go ahead! Better I should be destroyed than you!”

Tal straightened up from her aggressive stance, startled by the fear she’d just detected beneath his stronger surface emotions.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re choosing a poor path! You don’t care about your safety, you don’t care about your friends, your mind isn’t on your duties. Something is weighing you down, and you’re letting it distract you to the point of danger. Your enemies wait for just this, Tal—they’ll strike if they think you’re vulnerable. Whether it’s in the Council or more physically, they will strike. I can’t help you in the Council, but I can out here—or I could if you’d let me do my job. You’re scaring me, and you won’t listen to me. This was the only means I had left to get your attention. And if you want to throw me in the pit for showing you just how bad it’s gotten, then do it. But remember when you fall that at least one of your friends tried to speak the truth.”

She stared at him, her own anger forgotten as she realized the extent of the feelings underlying his.

“Micah, I know I’ve been…distracted lately. But is it really that bad?”

“It’s really that bad,” he snapped, pointing at her wrist. “Where is your wristcom? How could I ever warn you if I learned you were being targeted during one of these ill-advised solo runs? How could I tell you if Alsea herself were under attack from the Borg?”

The last question jolted her, and in the ensuing silence she realized that Micah had every right to question her. After Kathryn’s departure she had been too caught up in her selfish need to be alone, too satisfied with herself for escaping the confines of her title, and she had not looked beyond it to the gravest potential consequences.

Of the two of them, Micah had far more claim to anger.

With considerable effort she smoothed over her emotions. Though weak at concealing his feelings, Micah was nevertheless sensitive to those of others, sometimes unconsciously. He had always responded to her, and if she wanted to move this encounter into a rational conversation, then it was up to her to set the pace for both of them.

She looked over his shoulder as a bird winged its way from one tree to another, a sharp call punctuating its passage. By the time she met his eyes again she was projecting calm, and could sense his own emotions following.

“Sit with me,” she said, turning away.

He followed her to a fallen log and they sat companionably, as they had on many a training mission. Lancer or no, she was still happiest outside, where rocks and logs and sometimes just the ground served her better than the State Chair she occupied during Council meetings. She hated that chair—it was old and ornate and reeked of the kind of power she had no desire to wield. But here, on a log in the woods, she felt an ease which allowed her to say the last thing Micah expected.

“I owe you an apology, my friend.”

His surprise would have been evident even to a sonsales. “You do? I thought you were ready to demote me to first-cycle Guard.”

“I was. But I’m not that unwise. I may have made some foolish decisions lately, but exiling my most trusted advisor would border on insanity.”

He looked down, but she caught the feeling he was trying to front.

“Micah! You haven’t seriously thought that, have you?”

Flinching slightly, he met her eyes again. “Not…seriously. But you have not been behaving like the Andira Tal I know. I have never known you to be so careless of your responsibilities, and you won’t tell me anything. You’ve been nothing but a stone wall; what was I supposed to think?”

She paused. “I have no reasonable answer to that. And I’m sorry this has been so difficult for you. I can only say that it has been a difficult time for me as well.”

“I sensed that much,” said Micah. “What I could not sense was any reason why, though I’m nearly certain it has something to do with Voyager.”

“Apparently I’m a bit too obvious for my own good,” she said ruefully.

“Quite the contrary; you’re not nearly obvious enough. You’ve kept me guessing for two moons, Tal. And I would leave you to the little privacy you have were it not for the risk you’ve been incurring. As your Chief Guardian and your friend, I’m asking you: What is wrong?”

Tal looked away and immediately found her attention on a pair of courting birds. Grateful for any distraction, she watched as the female sat nonchalantly on a branch, ignoring the male who fluttered around her. He spread his wings and tail, singing in an energetic display of his attributes, but the female seemed utterly uninterested.

“When Voyager left, I lost something,” she began, her eyes firmly fixed on the birds. “Something that mattered. And I haven’t been able to move beyond it. I thought I could just keep doing what I’ve always done, but…it’s not working, Micah. And I really don’t know what else to try. All I know is that the only time I feel right is when I can get away.”

The female flew off the branch, dampening the male’s enthusiasm. He deflated, folding his wings and tail and watching as she flashed through the trees. A moment later he launched himself in pursuit, and Tal wished him luck.

“That item you lost,” said Micah slowly. “Was it by any chance your heart?”

“Warriors don’t give their hearts.” It had been drummed into her head from childhood by a dozen different teachers. “My heart belongs to Alsea.”

“Dokshin,” he said succinctly, using a vulgar term for feces of a particularly stupid beast of the field. She stared at him in surprise. “Oh, don’t look at me that way. Are you telling me you’ve never questioned that old line?”

“It’s not an old line, it’s the Truth and the Path!”

“The Truth and the Path have many wise and prudent teachings. That’s not one of them.”

“I have never heard you blaspheme the warrior’s code before.”

“It’s not blasphemy to think. Blind belief serves Alsea very poorly, and I never taught you that bit of idiocy. Don’t tell me you’ve never questioned your instructors, because I certainly know better.”

Tal smiled at the reference; certainly she’d challenged Micah more than once. “Of course I’ve questioned my instructors. They’re only Alseans, not Fahla herself. But that is not the same thing as questioning the Truth and the Path.”

“Is it not?” He nodded when she remained silent. “You are a faithful servant of Fahla and Alsea. You’re also a discerning and extremely gifted individual. Do not confuse service to our Goddess and the warrior’s code with service to interpretation of their lessons and intent. A true warrior knows more than just love of Alsea. Feeling love from and for another makes one’s heart more whole, and a warrior with a whole heart is a better servant to Alsea than a warrior with only half a heart.”

Her first thought was that he was wildly contradicting his own teachings, but when she paused to consider it, she could not remember Micah ever telling her to love Alsea first—not in all the cycles she’d spent under his tutelage. By the time she’d come into his unit, that part of the code had already been instilled in her.

“So you’ve given your heart?” she asked curiously.

He raised a finger. “Ah, my friend, we are not speaking of me. We’re speaking of you. And you’ve just answered my question.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re annoying?”

Ignoring her rude comment, he continued, “I cannot imagine you bestowing your heart where it was not deserved. It must have been Captain Janeway.”

“There were others on Voyager equally deserving,” she said, knowing full well she had just confirmed his suspicions.

“I’m sure there were. But none of them were captain. You would not choose one who did not understand power and responsibility.” He leaned back on the log, crossing his legs at the ankle. “Ah, yes. She was quite beautiful. You have excellent taste, as always.”

Damn his confidence! Tal was tempted to deny it, just to wipe that expression off his face, but he knew her too well.

“Yes, she was,” she said quietly, leaning back to match his pose. “But she was not for me.”

“She was bonded?”

Tal smiled at him, feeling a sudden rush of affection for her old friend. It never occurred to Micah that Kathryn might not return her love; he simply assumed that she did but was not free. Unfortunately, this assumption necessitated a difficult answer, but she trusted Micah more than any other person on Alsea.

“She was tyree.”

He sat up straight and stared. “Tal…”

“I know, I know. When I decide to go against the code, I prefer to be thorough about it.”

“You threatened the bond of tyrees?”

“No.” She knew she hadn’t. That, at least, was one thing she’d come to terms with over the last two moons. “They were sonsales. They didn’t know.” And if that wasn’t quite the whole truth, she felt she could be excused for not sharing the final intimacy between her and Kathryn.

“Thank Fahla for that,” he said, looking at her keenly. “But this explains much. Tal, the greatest thing I could wish for you is that you might find someone worthy of your heart. I’m deeply sorry that when you did, she was not for you. This is a heavy burden you have borne.”

She swallowed down the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat. Of course Micah would understand; he always understood. Why had she ever thought otherwise?

“Thank you, my friend,” she said.

He nodded. “And you need a vacation.”

“This is your solution to my problem?”

“No, this is my solution to my problem.”

“Your loving concern is truly touching. I can’t imagine why I didn’t come to you earlier.”

“I’m quite serious. You do need a vacation. You need to process this emotion and purge it from your system, because until you do, you’re not the leader Alsea needs. This is your first duty.”

“My first duty is to my emotions? Since when?”

“Since they came between you and Alsea. That is what the Truth and the Path means. Not that you should never give your heart, but that you should learn when to give it priority. Sometimes thinking of yourself first is not selfish or ill-advised, but the best thing you can do.”

“And why has no teacher shared this with me before?”

“Because they were all shekke,” he said, and she laughed.

“All of them but you. You were always my best teacher.”

“I was not,” he said, reaching out to place a large hand over her heart. “This is. You have only to listen to it.”

Before she could recover from the unexpected gesture, he gave her a grin. “Besides, I’m no shekken, except when I need to be.”

“Which apparently is not very often,” she said, unable to resist the dig.

“I’m wounded. It’s not my fault that duty and loyalty supercede my basic desires.”

“Well said, and I might even believe it were it not for the fact that the same duty and loyalty do not appear to impede my other Guards in such a manner.” She raised her eyebrows, and Micah carefully schooled his expression into one of disinterest.

“What the other Guards do on their off duty time is not my business,” he said. “I am surprised, however, to find that it apparently is yours.”

“Offense is sometimes the best defense—you taught me that. I wonder what it is you’re defending? Perhaps the answer to that question about giving your heart? I’m sure you recall it—the one you so neatly sidestepped.”

“If I ever gave my heart, it was too long ago for me to remember,” he said.

“You are full of dokshin.” Tal knew she’d get no more out of him. “Just remember that this conversation is not over.”

“Our conversations never are. It’s the best part of our friendship.”

They smiled at each other, and Tal felt lighter than she had in a long time. Micah was right, she’d chosen a bad path—but her worst mistake had been in shutting him out. Kathryn was still gone, and her heart still ached, but with Micah at her side that burden seemed easier to bear.

“Come on, my friend.” She rose from the log, and he followed suit. “I feel a sudden need to make Aldirk’s life miserable.”

“You’re taking my advice?”

“I am.” She led him toward the trail and continued, “I do try to accept advice when it’s wise and well-thought, Micah. But I must ask you to do one thing for me.”

“Anything,” he said quickly, and she knew he meant it. Without warning she dropped and spun with a leg out, sweeping his legs from beneath him. He let out a startled “whuf” as he landed heavily on his back, and she rose to stand over him.

“Next time,” she said, “find another way to make your point. That was too extreme.”

He looked up at her, unrepentant. “But there won’t be a next time, will there? Besides, nothing else would have gotten your attention. You were not ready to listen, and I could no longer wait until you were.” As she narrowed her eyes, he held out a hand. Sighing, she grasped it and pulled him upright, smacking him in the abdomen for good measure.

“You’re beyond redemption,” she said.

“Which is exactly why I’m so good for you.”

She let out a snort and resumed her path. “And to think you’re my spiritual advisor. The people of Alsea should be very concerned.”

“Not the people. Just Aldirk.”

Tal laughed as they emerged onto the trail. “So tell me, oh spiritual advisor, where shall we go for your vacation?”

“My vacation!”

“Certainly. I’m fully aware of your ulterior motives. You front like a child of six cycles, Micah. Where did you have in mind?”

He smiled wistfully. “It’s been too long since I felt the sand under my feet.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “Then we go to the shore.”

 

 

 

 

---

chapter 2

 

 

This really was one of Micah’s better ideas, Tal decided. It had taken a quarter moon to get her schedule cleared—Aldirk had nearly had heart failure—and another quarter moon to get everything prepared. A Lancer did not simply trot off on vacation. Oh, no, she had to have an entire detail of Guards, and the inn chosen as her base had to be inspected and fortified and the staff frightened half to death with the presence of so many warriors. She really wished it could have been simpler, but this was the reality of her position. At least she’d managed to banish the Guard detail to a separate cabin. They were all under strict instructions to keep their distance from her, and for the most part they did a good job. A few of the junior warriors were still too enthusiastic regarding their duty, but she’d let Micah know her expectations, and he was keeping them in line.

Being free of the Council and the endless meetings, negotiations and machinations had done wonders for her. It had been a hard few moons, harder than usual, even taking the loss of Kathryn into account. The gift of replicator technology had brought with it a concurrent headache, as Council members of various castes fought over it. Those representing the merchant caste protested against its use, saying it would put merchants out of business. The producer caste were worried that their agricultural products would no longer be necessary. The warrior caste wanted to put it to use immediately, seeing unlimited potential in weaponry and defense. The scholar caste were divided among their own ranks, with some of the religious scholars protesting that it was not the will of Fahla but rather a temptation. Another camp of religious scholars said that it was the will of Fahla, and had very definite ideas about how it should be used. The secular scholars applauded the advance to science that it represented. And the builder caste, or at least the engineers among them, couldn’t wait to get their hands on it to see how it worked. The only caste that hadn’t been shouting its collective opinion was the craft caste, but then the crafters always were a different sort.

Now those competing demands had been temporarily silenced. She was cocooned in a world far removed from her normal life, and for the first three days she’d felt almost dazed by the sudden calm. When had she last had no obligations; nowhere to be? She couldn’t even remember. She gloried in her solitude, spending her mornings running on the beach and her afternoons and evenings wandering the shore and the forest trails.

Those solo runs had caused Micah no end of indigestion at first. He would have had no issue with her exercise regime but for the fact that she insisted on running alone. It was her vacation, after all! She accepted Guards accompanying her on her daytime wanderings—at a distance—but she wanted nothing to do with Guards on her run. They’d had several arguments over what Micah termed her “boar-headed intransigence,” and had finally come to a compromise. Micah would send only two Guards on her runs, and they would dress casually and keep a discreet distance from her—on the condition that she would alter her appearance in order to be less easily recognized and thus less of a potential target. Tal thought her normal running appearance already made her fairly anonymous, since she usually ran in tights and her favorite running shirt, which had a hole in it and had thoroughly scandalized Aldirk the first time he’d seen it. The scruffy clothes, along with the very unprofessional ponytail in which she wore her hair, made her look quite un-Lancerlike. She assumed that whatever Micah had in mind couldn’t be much different from what she already did.

It was an erroneous assumption, as she realized on the very first morning of her vacation. She’d barely finished dressing for her run in the pre-dawn coolness when she felt Micah approaching. Opening her cabin door, she watched as he mounted the steps to her front porch and wordlessly held up a small bottle.

“I have to change my eyes, too?” Tal had taken the bottle with a sigh.

“And your hair.” Micah pulled a second, larger bottle out of his pocket. Tal had taken that as well, favoring him with a glare before shutting the door in his face and stomping into the bathroom. She’d grumbled quite a bit while putting in the eyedrops, which teemed with specially designed nanoscrubbers. The tiny robots in the fluid absorbed nearly all wavelengths of light, giving her normally blue eyes a dark brown appearance. A spritz of similar nanoscrubbers combed through her hair swiftly turned it from light blonde to nearly black, and she made a face at the final result. The woman looking back at her in the mirror was someone she normally saw during certain nighttime training exercises and a few stealth missions, and she was not at all happy at having to assume this camouflage on her own Fahla-damned vacation.

But she forgave Micah less than a hantick later when she realized the benefits of invisibility in a public situation. She was delighted to receive polite nods from the other dawn runners, who saw her as just one more of their number, and by the time she returned to her cabin she had a whole new appreciation for what had previously seemed nothing more than a tactical device. Every morning she ran on the beach, one among many, filling her lungs with the sharp tang of the sea and thoroughly enjoying her anonymity. On his end, Micah was so pleased by the outcome that he also offered to reduce the number of Guards accompanying her on her trail and shore hikes if she agreed to continue using the eye and hair colorizers. She happily touched palms with him, sealing the bargain, and proceeded to spend her days in a state as close to complete solitude as a Lancer could ever hope to be.

It was a magical time, all the more precious to her for its rarity. She walked and hiked and climbed and sometimes just sat, watching the waves or the wind in the trees, listening to the life around her and simply…existing. She let her mind go where it would, and for once the focus of her attention was not the future of Alsea or the political machinations of various Counselors or the strategies she needed to stay one step ahead. Here, in this momentary pause of time, she gave herself permission to be selfish; to remember Kathryn and the few moments they had shared; to work through the pain that accompanied those memories until it no longer ached quite so badly. Tal was nothing if not a practical woman. It made no sense to give a mere memory, a simple desire, so much power over her. Kathryn was gone. Moreover, Kathryn had never been hers in the first place. She would put that in its proper place and move on. And if it wasn’t quite as easy as it should have been, well, eventually she would get there.

The other consuming topic of her thoughts was Micah’s startling statement about warriors serving Alsea better by questioning their teachings. In one short conversation he had cast doubt on one of the most basic tenets of her beliefs, and she spent many a hantick pondering his words. She had often challenged her instructors when her interpretation of the Truth and the Path did not agree with theirs, but until now it had never occurred to her that the Truth and the Path itself was simply another set of interpretations. An ancient and revered set, but interpretations nonetheless—and therefore open to question.

It was a radical notion, and at first she had been annoyed at Micah for tossing out such an explosive comment without giving her any further guidance. Several days into her vacation it occurred to her that Micah’s omission was intentional—he had told her as much by not speaking as he had with his words. He had, in essence, removed himself as instructor so that she could guide herself. It was an unsettling thought.

But it was also a liberating one.

Every day, as she wandered the woods and the beach, it seemed that her questions multiplied exponentially. It was as if she had suddenly been allowed to enter a room that, until now, had been firmly barred. Upon entering she found it full of windows, each looking onto a different vista and each holding a few answers, along with many more questions. Her understanding expanded with every view, as did her realization of how little she actually knew.

One day, as she sat on a rock watching the waves rise up and crash onto the sand, she came to a sudden and rather shocking realization:  She lived in a time that had moved beyond the explicit reach of the warrior’s code. Alsea was not alone—there were other races in the stars. Some were hostile, others warm and understanding. She had fallen in love with an alien; there was certainly nothing in the Truth and the Path to instruct her in that situation. Nor was there any guidance in how to deal with replicator technology and the castes’ varying reactions to it. She had already been outpacing her training and her beliefs, simply in the decisions she had been making over the last two moons. So why not make her own decisions regarding the warrior’s code itself?

The Truth and the Path is simply a guide, she thought. It was never meant to be a set of instructions. It is meant to give us the foundation we need to make wise choices on our own. Why would Fahla have given us the ability to question and reason if she did not intend us to use it?

She half expected the waves to stop, or some dramatic alteration of the world around her in sympathy with this life-altering understanding. But the waves rolled onward, unperturbed by her epiphany, and nowhere could she sense any change in her environment. Holding her hand out in front of her, she flexed her fingers, curled them into a fist, and unfolded them again.

“This hand was created by Fahla,” she said out loud. “But I choose what to do with it.”

This time, when she looked back out to sea, she could swear that the horizon had moved a little farther away.

 

 

-----

 

 

The next morning found Tal antsy and full of energy, even after her run. She needed more than a solo walk in the woods today. In fact, she’d had enough of solitude—it was time for a little action.

Micah’s expression when he found her on his cabin porch, sword grip in hand, was definitely worth the walk over.

“You want to spar?” he asked disbelievingly. “I thought you’d forgotten how by now.”

“You hoped I’d forgotten, you mean.” Tal’s high spirits were manifesting themselves in a cockiness that she really couldn’t rein in. “Are you coming out, or do I go to the Guards’ cabin to find someone…younger?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Age has advantages, which you’d be wise to remember. I know every trick in the teachings.”

“Not every trick.” Tal winked at him. “Don’t forget that you were not my only instructor.” She thumbed the control and smiled at the familiar shinng as the blade instantly expanded from the grip, the individual sections merging into a solid whole. Making a show of inspecting her blade, she angled it so that it reflected the bright morning sunlight right into Micah’s eyes.

“Oh, my apologies,” she said sweetly when he winced and brought his hand up. “I assumed you’d know that old trick.”

Micah growled at her and stomped back into his cabin while she laughed quietly to herself. A moment later he reappeared, grip in hand. “Let’s see if you can back up that attitude with actual skill.”

She gave him a wide grin. “It will be my pleasure.”

They faced off in the sandy clearing just below his porch. It had been several moons since Tal had last sparred, but the feeling of excitement was instant and very familiar. As the child of both a scholar and a warrior, she’d had the choice to enter either caste. But in moments like these, balanced on the balls of her feet and facing the blade of an opponent, she knew she would never have survived as a scholar. She loved physical activity and the thrill of competition far too much to choose a caste where such activity was not a daily requirement. As it was, the demands of her title already took her too far from the level of action she preferred. Sometimes it was nice not to think or feel, and when she was fighting she tapped into a different part of her mind. There were no feelings there—in fact, at some point even her empathic senses were dulled—and her thoughts were very narrowly focused. It was, in many ways, a relief. None but a warrior could understand it, but the truth was that when she was physically active—and especially when she was fighting—she felt a relaxation that was unattainable in any other part of her life.

Micah moved in first, testing her defenses in a flurry of thrusts and slashes that soon drove all thoughts from her head save the most basic: defend, attack, and win. There was no Lancer here, and no Colonel of the Guard. There was no question, no philosophy; only two fighters and two swords. A lifetime of training enabled her to disassociate mind from body, letting her muscles react instinctively while her mind worked several steps ahead, strategizing and seeking to create an opening that she could use against her opponent.

In the end she didn’t need to create it—Micah gave it to her with a lapse of judgment that she instantly exploited, using the hard end of her grip to strike his wrist at a pressure point guaranteed to numb his fingers. His sword dropped to the ground, and she held the tip of hers at his throat.

They stared at each other, chests heaving from the effort, and for just a moment she saw not her friend, but a vanquished opponent. Then her head cleared and she smiled at him.

“So,” she said casually, stepping back and retracting her blade, “apparently I need no tricks after all. You were kind enough to leave yourself wide open.”

Micah bent over to retrieve his sword and took his time wiping off the dirt before retracting the blade. Snapping the grip into his belt clip, he shook his head. “You mistake my kindness for inferior skills. I left myself open in order to build your confidence.”

“I see.” Tal did not hide her snort, and Micah gave her a wounded look.

“You’re out of practice, and it would have been detrimental to your confidence had I thoroughly beaten you on your first attempt. Obviously my duty is not to destroy your mental preparedness, but to increase it.”

“Ah. So you allowed your hand to be numbed out of a sense of duty?”

“Quite so.”

“Micah…if you wish to tell such outrageous lies, you must learn to front better. I can see right through you.”

“You only see what I wish you to.”

That made Tal laugh outright, and she clapped him on the back. “Come, my good and very deluded friend. I’ll buy you a drink to make up for your loss.”

 

 

-----

 

 

Though she still gloried in her solo runs and hikes, Tal now sought company as well. Every morning after her run she enjoyed a sparring session, sometimes with Micah, sometimes with another member of her Guards. On a few occasions she stood with her arms crossed while two or three Guards argued about who should have the honor of fighting her, and once she had to step in to settle the question before it led to sparring of an entirely different sort.

One evening she invited Micah and some of the senior Guards to her cabin for a game of tiles, which naturally involved spirits as well, and they’d gotten so loud in their inebriation that the guests in the next cabin had come knocking at her door to complain. When they realized who it was they were complaining to, their reaction had sent Micah roaring with laughter. But Tal had apologized to the elderly couple, promising to rein in her staff. Secretly, she was delighted at having been treated, even briefly, like an average Alsean. For her it was a novelty, and one that was fast becoming her favorite part of this time away from her normal life.

The morning after her tile party, she slept later than usual. She’d woken at dawn, but the effects of last night’s drinking had quickly convinced her to give the day a little more time. Her second awakening was much kinder than the first, and with a sense of happy anticipation she rose and dressed in her newly cleaned running clothes. The colorizers took mere pipticks to apply; by now the routine was second nature. She left her porch looking like one more runner on the beach, pleased when her two Guards magically appeared behind her before she’d gone ten steps. Even though her schedule was off this morning, they were prompt and professional. Then again, Micah would allow nothing less.

The air had less of the tang she was used to from her dawn runs, but the extra warmth of the sun made up for it. In fact, she mused, it was rather pleasant to run this late in the morning. Maybe she’d change her schedule.

The dawn runners had finished their exercise long ago, and she found herself among an entirely different group. They all nodded at her, emanating faint emotions of curiosity and interest at the new person in their midst. As she passed one runner, she sensed more than the usual interest. In fact, if she wasn’t mistaken, the woman she’d just passed was having distinctly sexual thoughts.

Tal grinned to herself. She hadn’t felt that in a while. At least, not this kind of interest, which was purely physical and not mixed with desire for the power and prestige that came with her title. This woman, whoever she was, had no idea that she was ogling the ruler of her world. And Tal intended to keep it that way.

She slowed her pace enough for the other woman to catch up, and flashed her a smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” said the woman. Her long red hair was pulled back in a ponytail, bringing her gray eyes and unusually narrow facial ridges into sharp focus. Tal hadn’t seen cheekbone ridges like that in a long time, and found herself staring at the graceful curves they drew from the woman’s temples to halfway across her cheeks.

“I haven’t seen you here before.” The pleasant voice jolted Tal out of her rather rude assessment. “Did you just arrive?”

“No, I’ve been here a nineday. But I usually run earlier than this.”

“Whatever for?”

Tal laughed. “I see you dislike mornings. It’s the best time of day, truly. The air is crisp and there’s such a sense of possibility.”

“And you think there is less possibility later in the day?”

“In my life, there usually is,” said Tal. She stopped, and her companion followed suit. “I am Andira Shaldone,” she said formally, using a family name few Alseans would recognize. “May I have the pleasure of knowing you?”

“The pleasure is mine, Andira Shaldone,” said the other woman, holding up her hand, palm out. “I am Darzen Fosta.”

Tal briefly touched her hand to Darzen’s, and they smiled at each other as the physical connection bridged their emotions. For that moment, Tal knew, Darzen could clearly feel the part of her mind that she was not fronting. Physical touch was very important to Alseans for this reason—and very well-regulated—but Tal was unusual in that she did not require it in order to sense surface emotions. Even without the touch of their hands she knew that Darzen was genuinely happy to meet her, quite attracted, and a little nervous. There was also an underlying sorrow and loneliness whose source went beyond Tal’s ability to discern without deeper probing. Which, of course, she would never do without consent.

They dropped their hands and resumed their run, with Tal matching her pace to the slower one of her companion. Darzen might be a little taller, but her height wasn’t in her legs.

“You’re warrior caste,” said Darzen. “I think I would have known that even without our touch.”

“And you’re scholar caste. What do you study?”

“Economics.”

“Ugh.” Tal made a face; economics haunted her life as Lancer. “And you chose that?”

Darzen laughed. “I did. It’s really quite fascinating; like assembling a puzzle from a slightly different set of pieces every day. I’m never bored.”

“I don’t even know the meaning of the word,” said Tal.

“I sensed that about you.” Darzen glanced at her. “I heard the Lancer was staying in the village for her vacation. Are you entailed to her Guard?”

Tal barely paused. “Yes.”

“Truly? How fascinating. What is it like to serve with her?”

“I serve under Colonel Micah,” said Tal. It wasn’t really a lie; in some ways she still did, despite her title. “He’s demanding, but fair and honorable. I’m proud to be one of his students.”

“I’ve always found that rather interesting,” said Darzen. “Warriors spend much of their lives studying, and yet we are called the scholar caste.”

“That’s because you study far more than we do. It’s a matter of percentages.” She saw Darzen’s quick smile. “And how is it that you know so much about the life of a warrior?”

“I was bondmate to one.”

They ran in silence for a few ticks, but it wasn’t awkward. Tal knew that Darzen was simply trying to decide how much to say; and in the end it was quite a bit. As they ran, she learned that Darzen lived in Whitesun, the main city of the southern continent Pallea, where she worked as an advisor to the city council. She had loved a Mariner, a member of the warrior branch that guarded the waterways and shores of Alsea. For nine cycles they had enjoyed a happy bond, diluted only by the fact that they had not been blessed with children. And then Darzen’s bondmate was lost in a storm.

“The remains of their ship washed up here,” she said. “So I come here every cycle to be with him on the anniversary of his Return. This is my third trip.”

“You loved him very much.”

“Yes. Too much, I sometimes think. He was my first love, but his first love was the Mariners.”

Tal stopped running. When Darzen turned to her in question, Tal said, “I am truly sorry for your loss. I’m also sorry that you still feel such resentment for the Mariners. It complicates your recovery.”

“Is it that obvious?” Darzen gave a short laugh. “I didn’t realize it was so close to the surface.”

Tal didn’t answer. It wasn’t close to the surface, but she had no intention of telling Darzen that she’d skimmed her emotions. Only high empaths had that skill, and she wasn’t ready to disclose her empathic powers just yet. Not when she was trying to appear a very ordinary warrior.

Darzen turned to gaze at the sea. “I should resent that. It’s what killed him. But it was hard, always knowing that I counted for less than his precious Mariners. He said his heart belonged to Alsea, as if I should somehow accept that. As if I shouldn’t feel hurt, because Alsea is bigger than I am. But I never understood how he could put such a value on a love that is not returned. Alsea did not love him. Neither did the Mariners. I did, but my love had less value.” She faced Tal again, her expression sharp. “Do all warriors think that way, or is it just the Mariners?”

Tal considered her words carefully. This was a side of the warrior’s code she’d never before considered, and she realized now that it was simply one more window in that barred room. A window she hadn’t yet looked through. How many innocent Alseans had paid a price for strict interpretation of the code? Alseans who were not warrior caste, had no understanding of the teachings, and so could never challenge them—but suffered under them nonetheless?

“Many warriors think that way,” she said at last. “We’re taught that lesson from a very early age. I suspect it’s necessary to instill that belief in hearts that are prone to quick changes of allegiance, as ours are when we are young. But there comes a time, when we’re older and have a greater understanding of ourselves, that we should be free to give our hearts elsewhere. It is the only part of ourselves that grows larger for the giving away. Loving another does not mean we must love Alsea any less. And loving Alsea does not mean we must love another less.”

Darzen blinked rapidly and turned her head. When their eyes met once more, the signs of grief were obvious.

“I wish Helus had met you eleven or twelve cycles ago,” she said. “You could have taught him much.”

“No, I could not,” said Tal gently. “Eleven or twelve cycles ago I was young, too.”

Shaking her head, Darzen said, “I have known you for less than a hantick, Andira, but I think you were never that young.”

Tal touched her on the shoulder, using the connection to strengthen Darzen’s sense of her. “Helus would have understood, had Fahla given him more time. A true heart has a way of overcoming old lessons.”

Darzen put her hand over Tal’s, and they stood there for half a tick, simply watching each other as the waves lapped at their feet.

At last Darzen dropped her hand and smiled. “Will you join me for a midmeal?”

“It will be my pleasure,” answered Tal. “If you allow me to buy.”

“Warriors.” Darzen turned away and led them back down the beach. “No wonder they’re always poor. They can never let a non-warrior buy.”

“That’s part of the code,” said Tal. “Poverty and chastity above all.”

“That is not part of the code.”

“Just determining how much you knew.”

“I see. Then you should know I’m interested in neither poverty nor chastity.”

Tal kept her eyes straight ahead, but she didn’t need her vision to understand.

 

 

 

 

---

chapter 3

 

 

The courtship of Lancer Tal and Darzen Fosta was the number one gossip topic in the Guard cabin. Micah heard it and occasionally cracked a few heads for speaking with too little respect, but for the most part he watched the events unfold with a feeling of great happiness for his friend. Tal had been alone too long, and Darzen was exactly what she needed. The economist was quick and smart, a challenge for Tal’s own intelligence. She had a strong sense of self, withstanding Tal’s intense personality as few had before her. And, best of all, she knew how to tease the Lancer.

Micah very much approved, and did all he could to foster the relationship. For the most part, that simply meant keeping the Guards out of sight and letting Tal go about her days with few visible reminders of her title. She had a rare opportunity to court as just herself rather than Lancer, and Micah would make sure nothing interrupted that. The time would come when Tal and Darzen made a Sharing, and in the meantime it was his great pleasure to give his friend this gift of anonymity. Who knew when she would have another chance?

So when he felt Tal’s presence just outside his door late one sunny morning, he smiled to himself. She was in a good mood and not bothering with her emotional front. Even a less gifted man like himself could hardly avoid sensing her news.

“Enter,” he called, before she had a chance to knock.

The door opened, revealing a very relaxed-looking Lancer Tal. She stepped in, closed the door behind her, and dropped into a chair with a thump. “Good morning.”

Micah sat back in his own chair and regarded her in silence. At last he said, “You have set no speed records, my friend. But I’m glad you finally arrived at this moment.”

“I’m a woman, Micah. Speed is not the point.” She grinned at him. “Have you learned nothing from me in all these cycles?”

“Yes, I’ve learned that I’m glad I’m a man and have no need to make something simple into something unnecessarily complicated. Had I been you, this would have occurred a half-moon ago.”

“What you call complicated, I call sublime.” She laid her head on the back of the chair and sighed happily. “She’s wonderful.”

“And you’re beyond my aid.”

“In these matters, I was beyond your ‘aid’ by the time of my Rite of Ascension.”

“I’m so pleased to learn that you were perfection personified by the age of twenty cycles.”

“Of course I wasn’t. That didn’t happen until I was twenty-one.”

“Oh, the dokshin is deep this morning!” He let out a laugh. “I see your joining has made you completely insufferable, as if you weren’t already well on your way.”

Crossing one leg over the other, she exuded self-satisfaction and contentment. “I speak mere truth and you call me insufferable. This says much about your own self-doubts, Micah. I can help you with those.”

“No, thank you. With your kind of help it would be another three cycles before I touched the skin of a woman.”

“Well, there is something to be said for quality versus quantity. But I forget, you’re a man and have no time for complicated issues such as true joining.”

“So when is the Sharing?” he asked, in an attempt to distract her from this old and fruitless argument. Besides, he always lost.

It was too effective; her easy contentment vanished. “Fahla, we’ve only just had our joining! A little time, Micah, please.”

A Sharing was far more intimate than a mere physical joining. Sexual pleasure was simple and transitory, but to open one’s full emotions to another, with no front at all, required a level of trust that most Alseans did not give on early acquaintance. Especially someone like Tal. And especially when that Sharing meant revealing a rather large secret.

“I wish very much that I could give it to you.” Micah was sorry he’d broken the mood, but it had to be said. They’d been in this village for nearly a moon; Tal’s vacation was coming to an end.

“I know.” She shook her head. “I want to tell her. I’ve already let too many opportunities pass, but…it’s been too long since a woman wanted me for myself. I had forgotten what it felt like.”

“It has not been that long. Kathryn Janeway knew who you were.”

Tal looked pained. “Darzen is not Kathryn.”

“Ah. She is a vacation tryst, then?”

“No! She’s more than that.” Tal shook her head. “You knew that. You’re baiting me.”

“I want to understand.” Micah leaned forward. “Tell me.”

“She’s…” Tal stopped and shifted in her chair. “She’s wonderful in so many ways. Smart and funny and thoughtful and easy to be with…and she challenges me, and keeps me thinking. I would never grow bored with her. But…”

“But?” Micah prompted. His heart sank as he felt her confusion; for Tal not to front it was unusual.

“She is not my tyree.”

Oh, Andira, my friend. Micah had known Andira Tal for a long time; she was more his family than anything else. It pained him to see her so uncertain. But she was young, and had a hard lesson in front of her—a lesson most Alseans had to learn at some time.

“Tal,” he said gently, “we are not all destined to be tyrees. That is a gift that Fahla bestows on a very special few. I would wish with all my heart for you to receive that gift, but you cannot turn your back on someone who is good for you, and may love you, simply because you hope for more. That ‘more’ may never come. But what you have with Darzen may grow into much more than you expect.”

“I know, I know! But I’ve felt it.” She looked up at him, a deep longing showing through even to his senses. “I’ve felt it between others in the past, and I felt it so strongly between Kathryn and her tyree…and I always hoped it would be mine someday. I don’t know if I can give up that hope. Maybe it’s an example of my own arrogance, but I just don’t know if I can accept that I’m not one of the special ones.”

“If I had anything to say about it, you would be.”

She smiled ruefully. “Thank you, Micah. And I would do the same for you.” She sighed, her gaze moving past him to the window. The reflection of the brilliant morning light off the ocean gave her blue eyes an almost surreal glow, and he thought uncomfortably that Darzen had never seen these eyes. She had never seen the real Andira Tal, and suddenly Micah questioned his own wisdom in facilitating this charade. It had been good for Tal, but had they done the right thing?

“I suppose I should put my fantasies behind me and think about this from a more realistic point of view,” said Tal, meeting his eyes again. “It’s ironic, though. I spent so much of my vacation turning my entire philosophy upside down, accepting the idea of giving myself to another without compromising my service to Alsea—and now I’m not certain if Darzen is the one I should give myself to.”

Micah shook off his unease. “A Sharing is not immutable. It doesn’t mean you’re bonded.”

“No, but it means giving all of myself. It may only be momentary, but that doesn’t change the fact that a Sharing is a big step.”

“True, but exactly how big it is depends on the two of you.”

“I think it depends more on Darzen than on me. She’s the one who will be learning more than she ever imagined.”

“If the truth changes how she treats you, then she was not for you, my friend.”

“And you think I have not told myself that, every day? Every hantick? Yet the risk is still there, and…” She paused, glancing out the window again. “And this time has been magical,” she finished softly. “I’m not ready for the magic to end, Micah.”

“It doesn’t have to,” he said. “In fact, it should not. But the longer you delay, the worse it might be. Especially now that you have joined.”

“I know.” A slow smile overtook her face. “And what a joining it was.”

“Oh, of course,” he said, sliding easily—and with no little relief—back into their teasing mode. “With you every joining is spectacular.”

“Why Micah, you’ve finally noticed! I’m so pleased.” She grinned. “I would be very happy to give you some training tips. With a little practice, you might even convince a woman to join with you twice consecutively.”

With a roar of outrage, only partially faked, he lunged at her, only to have her slip his grasp at the last moment. Laughing, she ran out the door, jumped the steps and paused.

“Don’t forget,” she called, “I’m right down the path if you change your mind.”

He held up two fingers in a very rude gesture, and she laughed again as she turned toward her own cabin. Micah watched her go, his grin falling away as she rounded a corner in the path.

Fahla, he thought, if you listen to the prayers of old warriors, please hear mine now. I ask this not for myself, but for one I love. Please…let her have her dream.

 

 

 

 

---

chapter 4

 

 

Despite Micah’s advice and the urgings of her own conscience, Tal let another nineday slip by without revealing herself to Darzen. She hated herself for being a liar and a coward, but every time she thought about a Sharing she’d see a certain smile on Darzen’s face, or a turn of the head, or a hand gesture she’d come to love, and her courage would fail her. What if the truth meant she never saw any of those things again? If that was to be the result, then shouldn’t she enjoy as much of this time as possible before it came to the inevitable end? Her heart had been too recently broken for her to invite a repetition so soon.

In the meantime, she guiltily enjoyed these precious days. What a refreshing change it was to run with her lover instead of a unit of Guards! To sit on rocks and talk, or walk the nearby trails, or enjoy a meal together—simple pleasures that Tal found exotic. Her life simply did not include these things on a regular basis, and what ordinary Alseans might find unremarkable, she found deeply satisfying. She even enjoyed watching Darzen pick a restaurant, just for the novelty of having someone make a decision based on the menu rather than security concerns. Darzen was choosy about her food, and the odds of them staying at a restaurant once they’d seen the menu were about one in two. The benefit was that Tal became acquainted with a number of excellent restaurants in the village. While sitting to lunch in one of them, she was delighted to discover horten soup on the menu and was preparing to order it when Darzen wrinkled her nose.

“You don’t like horten soup?” asked Tal incredulously.

“No. How can you eat it? It’s just…unbearable.”

“Clearly you’ve never had it made properly if you can say that.”

Darzen shook her head. “I tried it at the most expensive restaurant in Whitesun. I couldn’t get past the smell of it.”

“That’s part of the experience! Fahla, I could just breathe in the fumes and be happy.” Tal was truly amazed; she’d never met anyone before who didn’t like horten soup. It was a delicacy, available only during limited times each cycle, and could send one to the stars if it were prepared properly. Tal would walk ten lengths for a good bowl of horten soup.

“I’ve heard other people say that, too. But I have no idea what any of you are talking about. I don’t care for the smell of it at all.”

“You’re in a tiny minority, then. I hope you won’t mind if I order it.”

“Actually…” Darzen was uncomfortable. “I would. If you could keep the smell on your side of the table, that would be fine. But it doesn’t stay there and it really would affect my enjoyment of the meal.”

“Then I’ll order something else.”

“Thank you,” said Darzen. “Their dokker soup is supposed to be excellent, according to the owner of my inn.”

“Dokker soup it is,” said Tal, secretly mourning her horten soup. Oh, well…she’d come back this evening and pick some up to take back to her cabin.

True to the word of Darzen’s innkeeper, the dokker soup was very good, as was the rest of the meal. They got into a discussion about the most popular authors of the day, discovering that they had similar tastes and had both read several of the same books. Darzen read a lot more than Tal did, however, and kept coming up with titles that Tal had heard of but hadn’t yet read.

“I cannot believe you haven’t read that one,” said Darzen. “Galness is one of my favorite authors! She makes history come alive.”

“Maybe so, but she’s not terribly accurate while breathing all that life into her histories,” said Tal.

“How can you judge it if you haven’t read it?”

“I read one of her earlier books about the founding of Whitemoon. She completely glossed over the abuse of the builder caste during that era and glorified the scholar caste to no end.”

“The scholar caste were solely responsible for the planning and architecture of Whitemoon,” said Darzen. “I don’t think she glorified their role at all.”

“Do I detect a bit of caste centrism here?” teased Tal. “Certainly they planned the layout and designed the buildings, but they had builder input in the process. Galness skipped right over that part.”

“But input is not the same thing as design. That’s like saying I should get credit if I told you the location of a criminal whom you later captured and contained. You’re the one with the skills; you’re the one who completed that job. I didn’t do it; I merely gave you input that aided you in doing what you’re trained to do, and what I could not do.”

“In that instance, I would most certainly give you credit for enabling the successful capture and containment,” said Tal. “Because it might not have happened without you. And in the Whitemoon example, I think a better analogy would be if you saw a beautifully engineered boat that someone had forgotten to secure properly. You picked up the lead rope, which was just about to fall in the water, and tied the boat to the dock. You didn’t design that gorgeous boat, but if you hadn’t tied a knot in the rope, the boat would have drifted off and been of no use to anyone. The builder caste had a similar input into the layout and building design of Whitemoon. They were the practical ones who said, ‘Certainly that looks nice, but it won’t actually work.’ Whitemoon would look considerably different today if the builders hadn’t been involved in its design. Not only did Galness omit that from her history, she compounded her inaccuracy by also omitting any mention of the abuse the builder caste suffered while turning those designs into reality.”

Darzen gave her a knowing smile. “From your spirited defense of the builders, I’m guessing your family reaches into that caste.”

“What would you like to bet on that?”

Raising her eyebrows, Darzen said, “Nothing, based on that answer. I admit I’m surprised.”

“That I would defend against an injustice when I see it? I’m a warrior, Darzen. That’s part of my caste responsibility.”

“Even when reading a book?”

Tal had to laugh at the innocent expression on Darzen’s face. “All right, perhaps I take my responsibility a little further than most. But if Galness were a true representative of her caste, she’d make a little more effort to round up all of the facts before writing the first word.”

“You realize you’re insulting one of my favorite authors.”

“But not your caste. Besides, is it an insult if it’s accurate?” Tal picked up her glass of spirits. “If you can prove me wrong, I will retract my so-called insult immediately. Can you?” She took a sip of the excellent drink—Darzen had a knack for picking the good ones—and tilted her head as if listening intently. “Hm. I didn’t hear anything. Do you need more time?”

Darzen shook her head, her lips compressed as she tried not to smile. “My birth mother would call you impudent,” she said.

“Ohhh,” said Tal. “The dreaded mother weapon. Only to be dragged out when all others fail. Which means you must be conceding my point.”

“I will concede your point only after I have looked into the history myself,” said Darzen. “Now I’m curious.”

“Fair enough. You do your research and report back when you’re done.” Tal was not surprised at Darzen’s desire for more information; her intellect and thirst for knowledge was one of the things Tal found most attractive about her.

“And in the meantime,” said Darzen, “you should read another of her books and tell me if you still hold her in such a low opinion. I’d recommend When the Mountain Fell. It’s about the conquest of Blacksun.”

Tal grinned. “You realize that I know every detail of that battle.”

“Of course. You’re a warrior.” Darzen matched her grin with one of her own. “If Galness gets that right, you’ll have to concede her skill as a historian.”

“Only for that book.”

“Are you trying to be argumentative?”

“No,” said Tal. “I never have to try very hard.”

 

 

-----

 

 

It was a bright morning with the first promise of real afternoon heat when reality finally intruded on Tal’s vacation. She and Darzen were running their now-familiar route on the beach, saying little but enjoying each other’s emotional presence. Tal was watching a flock of sandbirds drilling down for a meal and wondering how they managed to locate their prey. What did they see at the surface of the sand that looked any different from the rest of the beach? It wasn’t anything she’d ever considered before, and she was enjoying the mental distraction enough that it took a moment for Darzen’s words to penetrate.

“I’m leaving in three days.”

Tal stopped so quickly that she left deep gouges in the sand. She bent over with her hands on her knees, not so much to recover her breath as to give herself a moment to prepare. When she had her front in place she straightened up, meeting Darzen’s gaze with outward calm. “You never spoke of a departure time before.”

“I didn’t want to think about it. This time with you has been too…” She paused.

“Perfect,” said Tal.

Darzen smiled. “Yes. Perfect. I have loved every tick that I’ve spent with you. But my time is running out, and there’s still so much I don’t know about you.”

“I know.” Tal sighed. “Darzen, I do want to Share with you. Truly. It’s just…” She paused, searching for the right words, but Darzen saved her the effort.

“Whatever it is, it can’t be that terrible,” she said. “Can it?”

“It’s not to me,” said Tal, unsurprised that Darzen had sensed that much. “But I honestly don’t know if it will be to you. And I’m afraid of finding out.”

“You’re a warrior. You’re not afraid of anything.”

“No warrior worth her training would ever say that,” said Tal. “It’s usually a prelude to death.” Or at least disaster.

“This is hardly a life or death situation.”

“It’s my life,” said Tal, and Darzen tilted her head to one side, watching her.

“I can feel it,” she said softly. “Please, Andira. Share it with me. Otherwise this is as far as we’ll ever go.”

“I know.” Tal turned to watch the waves, hoping for inspiration. A warm hand burrowed into hers, and she relaxed as they stood side by side, holding hands and looking out to sea. It should have been an awkward moment, but Darzen somehow made it comfortable. Rarely had Tal felt so at peace with another individual, and in the end it was that peace that made her decision for her. She turned back to Darzen, releasing her hand and reaching out to cup her face instead. Gently rubbing her thumbs over the narrow cheekbone ridges that had fascinated her from their first meeting, she gave her lover a slow smile.

“Darzen,” she said, “will you Share with me tonight?”

The answering smile was dazzling. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

Their kiss was as comfortable as everything else about the relationship, and Tal felt a sudden surge of hope. Tonight would undoubtedly be a shock for Darzen, and Tal would have to do a lot of explaining. But after their Sharing, Darzen would understand Tal’s need for this brief interlude of anonymity. She understood so much already, even without an empathic connection.

This Sharing would be the gate to their future. And with her new sense of certainty, Tal only wondered why she’d waited so long.

 

 

-----

 

 

When Darzen came to her cabin that night, she brought an expensive bottle of spirits. “I thought this might help relax you,” she said as she took off her jacket. “Besides, we must take advantage of things like this while we still can.”

“What do you mean?” Tal busied herself opening the bottle.

“The replicator technology. I know you’re loyal to the Lancer, Andira, but I must say that in this instance she’s been very unwise. Not to mention stubborn. I hear the Council has many concerns about it, but she’s overriding them all. This technology will be an economic disaster for Alsea.”

With the ease of long practice, Tal strengthened her emotional front as she poured two glasses. “Why do you say that?” she asked, handing a glass to Darzen.

“Because it will turn items like this—” Darzen saluted Tal with her glass—“into luxury products that none but the wealthy can afford. Lancer Tal speaks of that technology as a great equalizer, but in reality it will polarize our culture. The vast majority of us will use replicator products because they’ll be so cheap, costing only the energy required to produce them. That means fewer buyers of real products, which means the price of real products will increase exponentially, until they become affordable only by the economic elite. If the producers and the merchants don’t die out altogether, that is.”

“I think you’re underestimating the Lancer,” said Tal. She knew Darzen took great delight in their intellectual debates, but tonight of all nights she did not want to participate. “I also think we should leave politics out of the evening, don’t you?”

“This isn’t politics,” said Darzen. “It’s economics, and that is my life.” The implication was obvious, both in her words and her emotions.

“I know that, and I know you’re very good at it. I just hoped we could move to a different topic.”

Darzen gave her an odd look. “Why?”

“Because it’s our Sharing! I just didn’t expect to be discussing replicator economics at this of all times.”

“We have plenty of time. I hadn’t planned to begin our Sharing as soon as I walked in the door; did you? I was expecting a little spirits, a few snacks, some time to talk…it’s been a few cycles since I’ve done this.”

She’s nervous, Tal suddenly realized. Darzen was nervous, and had no idea why replicator economics might be a touchy issue, and whose fault was that? She caressed the side of Darzen’s face and projected calm, watching as it took visible effect. “You’re right,” she said. “It doesn’t matter what we talk about. What matters is that you’re here, and you’ve brought some very good spirits.”

That earned her a smile, and Darzen raised her glass. “To good spirits, then. May we enjoy them while they last.” She took a sip and added, “I’ve been stockpiling my favorite spirits at home. It’s a pity that I can’t do the same for all of the other products that won’t be available by this time next cycle.”

“Surely you’re just a little on the pessimistic side,” said Tal. “There will be changes, yes, but they’ll hardly be as drastic as that.”

“What you call pessimism, I call realism. This technology is putting the very fabric of Alsean culture at risk. Have you never thought of this?”

“I have,” said Tal truthfully. “And I believe the risk can be minimized with the proper preparation before the replicator technology is released.”

“Well, if I’m realistic, you’re very optimistic.” Darzen gave her an appraising look. “I’d be tempted to say foolishly so, but I know you too well. You have specific ideas. You got them from the Lancer, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Darzen wanted details, probing after them until Tal gave up, motioned Darzen to one of the dining chairs, and settled herself on the opposite side of the table with the bottle of spirits between them. This wasn’t what she’d had in mind, but clearly her original vision of their evening was not working out.

The level of spirits steadily decreased as Tal outlined her plan for the release of the technology and answered any number of discerning questions. By the time the last drop was poured, Darzen was smiling and shaking her head. “You are wasted as a warrior. You would be far better used as an economist. Perhaps the Lancer gave you these ideas, but you’ve obviously expanded on them yourself. I can feel your involvement with this issue.”

“I am involved. Darzen—”

A sharp rapping on the door interrupted her and she frowned; she’d been so focused on Darzen that she had not sensed an approach. Extending her senses, she was dismayed to find that one of her Guards was outside, and in a very agitated mood. “Excuse me,” she said as she rose from her chair.

“Of course.” Darzen politely turned her attention away from the door, but Tal could feel her intense curiosity. She stepped across the living quarters and opened the door to find a tall young Guard standing stiffly at attention.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Forgive me, Lancer Tal,” he said breathlessly. “I know you asked not to be disturbed, but I was ordered to alert you. There has been a containment failure in the Redmoon fission facility.”

Tal’s mind instantly shifted into a role that was as familiar to her as her own skin.

“When?”

“Half a hantick ago.”

“Fatalities?”

“Yes, but I know no details.”

“Have my personal transport ready in a quarter hantick. Is Colonel Micah on the grounds?”

“He was in town, but is on his way back now.”

“If he’s not here when the transport is ready, he can follow us. Go.”

The Guard brought his fists together against his chest, bowed briefly, and ran off the porch. Tal closed the door behind him, taking a moment to gather herself before turning back to her guest. Darzen’s gray eyes were as wide open as her emotions, and Tal winced internally at the mingled hurt and shock she felt.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “This is not how I wished you to learn of it.”

Darzen stared wordlessly for several pipticks, searching Tal’s face. “Lancer Tal?” she whispered. “You’re Lancer Tal? Oh, Fahla—” A sudden understanding colored her emotions. “Lancer Andira Tal.”

“Yes. Shaldone is my mother’s name. I took my father’s name when I chose his caste.” Tal pulled a small neutralizer out of her kit and deactivated the nanoscrubbers. In a moment she was stripped of her anonymity, looking into Darzen’s eyes and hoping for understanding. “Please, Darzen—I have no time now for what I wanted to do. There is so much I wanted to say to you, to show you, but—”

Darzen held up her hand, her face tightening as her emotions hardened. “This was your secret. Not some sad past history, or an act you thought I might disapprove of, or anything else I could imagine. You were hiding your very identity from me.”

“No.” Tal felt a little desperate; she had only a few ticks and she needed so much more. “Darzen, you’ve seen more of my real identity than most people.” Waving a hand down her body, she added, “I misrepresented my hair and eye color, not myself. You have seen me.”

“That is not true.” Darzen’s voice rose. “You showed me only the tiniest part of yourself. What was this, some sort of game? Was I the prize? I was falling for you, Andira. You knew that. You let me fall for a shadow, and you did so intentionally.”

“Darzen, please—”

But Darzen was already pulling on her coat. She stopped and pinned Tal with a glare, but even that was less potent than the hurt and betrayal right at the surface of her emotions.

“You are not the woman I knew. The Andira I knew would not intentionally deceive me this way. She would not stand by while I made a fool of myself!” She paused as her frown intensified. “No wonder you had such a grasp of the replicator economic issue.”

“I deceived you because I was afraid of exactly this! And you have been anything but a fool. Will you please just take one tick and think about what we’ve had together? Everything has been true and real, Darzen. Everything except my title.”

Darzen yanked open the door. “There’s just one problem with that, Andira. Your title is everything.” With a rustle of fabric she was gone, leaving the door open behind her.

“Shek!” Tal took a step toward the door and stopped. She couldn’t chase after Darzen; there was no time. Her responsibilities had reappeared, as she’d known they would eventually, and there was nothing she could do now. She had barely enough time to throw a few clothes into her bag as it was.

Quietly she closed the door and began to pack. Darzen would have to wait.

 

 

 

 

---

chapter 5

 

 

There had been three fatalities. Only three, but that was three too many. Tal was furious when she learned that the containment failure had been caused by substandard materials supplied by a merchant who had listed a higher grade of material in his bid. She immediately dispatched a team to bring the merchant in for questioning, and assigned another team of investigators to track the route the materials had taken from production to final use. She wanted the names of anyone who had known of or benefited from the fraudulent substitution, and she planned to make sure that every single individual involved in this flagrant disregard for the sanctity of Alsean life and safety would be punished to the full extent of the law. The High Court would decide the fate of the merchant and any collaborators, but as Lancer she had the right to petition for lesser or more grave punishments. She did not often choose to exercise that right, but in this case, she would ask for the maximum penalty.

The case brought out the worst in the Council, many members of which clamored that this situation only clarified the need to put the replicator technology to instant use. Other members shouted that the technology would only worsen the corruption that the accused merchant exemplified, which was all too common in Alsean society. This caused members of the merchant caste to rise up in outrage that they should be associated with criminal behavior due solely to their caste, which caused members of the warrior caste to loudly express their disdain that the merchants were more concerned with their tattered reputations than with the deaths of three warriors at their posts.

Tal sat in her ridiculously ornate, uncomfortable chair, watching the arguments in silence. She had the best view in the room, which was intentionally designed into the layout of the Council Chamber. The State Chair was positioned on a tall dais at one end of the chamber, while the Council members were in tiered seating lining the room’s two long sides. Above them, the visitor’s gallery allowed a standing room only view of the activities of the Council; and at the other end, two enormous and beautifully carved wooden doors gave the Council members entry onto the chamber floor. Tal herself entered through a private door that opened directly onto her dais.

The design gave her a clear view of all Council members, while they most clearly saw those members across from them. Over the generations, this arrangement had resulted in a seating pattern dictated largely by caste affiliation, with warriors, scholars and crafters on one side of the Hall, and merchants, builders and producers on the other. A seat’s location in the tiers was a symbol of power, with the highest seats going to those with the greatest power and strongest connections. Naturally, the State Chair sat highest of all.

Tal slouched in that chair, casting frequent glances at the timer built into its armrest. She was required to allow at least two hanticks of discussion on any matter of general security, and was prepared to endure this particular shouting match for exactly as long as the law mandated. The effort required to shut out the intense emotions generated by one hundred and eighty agitated Councilors was taxing enough; the noise itself was worse. She watched the timer count down the pipticks, and the moment the blessed zero appeared she stood up, signaling that the debate was at an end. Most of the Council members were so focused on each other and their anger that they failed to notice her rising, and continued to shout and argue. Others saw her and hissed to their compatriots to be quiet, but the noise did not die down soon enough to suit Tal, whose patience was very short these days. She lifted her Council Staff and struck the large bell hanging next to the State Chair, watching in some satisfaction as the entire Council immediately went silent. The reverberations of the bell swelled and echoed, and still she stood, staring at her Council, until the last whispering note had died away.

“That is quite sufficient,” she said in a low voice that nevertheless managed to penetrate every corner of the room. “I am appalled at your behavior. In two hanticks not one of you has managed to say anything of use.” She turned to the Lead Warrior. “Councilor Shantu, I am deeply sorry for the loss of three noble warriors, but proud that they stayed at their posts and prevented the containment failure from becoming a global catastrophe. Their names will be honored to the highest ability of a grateful people.”

Shantu bowed his head, casting a sidelong look at the Lead Merchant across the hall.

“However,” Tal continued, “I do not share your opinion that the merchants are more concerned with their reputations than these deaths. And I do not believe you truly feel that way, either. Do you?”

Put on the spot, Shantu straightened. “I do not believe that all of the merchants feel that way,” he said carefully.

Tal shifted her gaze to Parser, the Lead Merchant. “Do you not think it possible, Councilor Parser, that there are members of your caste involved in the type of corruption that led to these deaths?”

Parser looked every bit as uncomfortable as Shantu had. “I know of no—” he began, but Tal interrupted.

“I did not ask if you knew. I asked if you thought it possible.”

The Council was deathly quiet.

“Yes,” mumbled Parser. “It is possible that some extremely tiny faction of our caste are involved in this type of corruption.”

“But they do not represent your caste as a whole, do they?”

“No,” he said in a much firmer voice. “They do not. Our caste takes pride in providing the best in products and services.”

Tal thought that was a rather debatable generalization, but this was certainly not the time to pursue it.

“No one here questions the pride or honor of the merchant caste,” she said. “I believe the warrior caste was only questioning the honor of those few you mention. Am I correct, Councilor Shantu?”

“Yes, Lancer Tal,” Shantu answered crisply, and Tal knew he saw her intention. “We respect the merchant caste—” Parser snorted, and was ignored by both Tal and Shantu, “—but we cannot stand by while members of any caste pose a danger to our own.”

“No caste could stand idly by while members of its own were in danger,” said Tal. “Which is why the merchant and warrior castes will make perfect allies in their pursuit of this corruption.” She turned back to Parser. “For as long as such corruption persists, your own caste is in danger, Councilor Parser. I do not think the merchant caste will enjoy the results if the Council is forced to legislate means of preventing it.”

The threat was clear, and there wasn’t a soul in the room who missed it.

“You and Counselor Shantu will come to an agreement on a strategy to root out this corruption. It has persisted too long, and though I do not expect it can ever be eradicated, I can expect a comprehensive plan for its reduction and control. When you have agreed on a strategy, bring it to me. If Chief Counselor Aldirk does not notify me that he has received your plan within one nineday, I will bring the issue before the Council, complete with my own recommendations.”

Now she swept her gaze from one end of the room to the other, letting them wait for her next words.

“The replicator technology is not a panacea for the ills of our society. We bear the responsibility of guiding Alsea along a path that safeguards the honor, integrity, prosperity and safety of all its citizens. The new technology is but one tool at our disposal, and cannot substitute for our own wisdom. I acquired this technology for our people, and I will release it when I feel it is in the best interests of Alsea to do so. And that is not now.” A few mutters were heard, which she silenced with another strike of the bell. “This Council meeting is adjourned,” she said, and walked out.

 

 

-----

 

 

“Your name is on the lips of every Councilor today,” said Micah, stretching his legs out in front of him. “And many of those lips are twisted in anger.”

“Let them be angry.” Tal was still fairly irate herself. “They mewl and posture while three good warriors lie dead. They concern themselves with their own advancement at the expense of the very people they are sworn to guide and protect. I swear, Micah, some days I’m tempted to wipe away the entire Council and start anew.”

“Please notify me in advance of that particular event,” said Micah. “I’ll sell tickets.”

Tal snorted, then shook her head. “And even you are concerned with profit.”

“Not at all.” Micah reached for his spirits and took a relaxed sip. “I’m concerned with making sure that all interested Alseans have an equal opportunity to see something so wildly entertaining.”

Tal couldn’t help but laugh. “Thank you, my friend. You always know how to make me feel better.” She picked up her own glass and took a healthy gulp, feeling herself beginning to unwind. Here in her private quarters, she could be herself again, something she was sorely missing. Her vacation seemed already a distant memory, though it had only been five days. And in those five days she had not heard a word from Darzen, despite numerous attempts to contact her.

“This is not the only issue making you unhappy,” said Micah.

“When did you become a telepath?”

He gave her a sad smile. “It requires only the eyes of a friend to see.” When she did not respond, he added, “I could find her and speak with her.”

“Micah…” Tal sighed. “If she won’t return my calls, I don’t think she’s any more likely to speak with you. Not to mention the fact that your presence will only serve to emphasize the title I kept from her.”

“Then she is a fool.”

His protectiveness warmed her senses, and she thought once again that she was very fortunate to have him for a friend. But in this case, his defense of her was misplaced.

“You are sitting with the fool,” she said. When he bristled, she held up a hand. “I appreciate your support, Micah. Truly, your steadfastness has made these last moons far more bearable than they might have been. But the fact is, I based a relationship on a lie. I have very much earned her disdain.”

“Did you lie, or did you simply not share all the facts?”

“When it comes to matters of the heart, is there a difference?” He looked doubtful, and she added, “Withholding information is a useful strategy in politics and military tactics, but it should never be utilized between two people contemplating a Sharing. I knew it was wrong, but I let myself be seduced by the joy of being loved for myself. I made a mistake, and now I’m paying the price.”

“But I’m paying, too,” he said. “I enjoyed your happiness, and I miss it.”

She reached out to touch his leg briefly, using the connection to share her own acceptance with him. “I miss it too,” she said.

 

 

 

 

---

chapter 6

 

 

“Lancer Tal, we are now on the Blacksun beacon.”

Tal was momentarily startled by the voice from her wristcom; she’d been deep into a report on the latest harvest forecast. The scholars at the Whitesun Atmospheric Institute had shown her some troubling models that pointed to a particularly wet autumn, which meant that the grain crops were now in a race against the calendar. The high levels of rainfall earlier in the spring had resulted in better than normal yields, but it could all be lost if the autumn rains moved in too soon. Such a scenario would have to be factored into her plans for the replicator technology.

“Thank you, Thornlan. Well done; I appreciate the smooth flight.” Tal slipped her reader card into its case and turned her attention to the large viewport. She never got tired of this part, no matter how many times she’d flown in to Blacksun. Besides, she was full up with reports and strategies.

“She’s a good addition to the unit, isn’t she?” said a second voice.

Tal glanced at Micah, who gave every appearance of being asleep in his nearly horizontal seat. He cocked one eye open and grinned. “Go ahead, you can say it.”

“I have no idea why you’re making such a point of this. I never said she wasn’t qualified.” Tal’s Lead Pilot had recently retired, and the choice for a replacement was Micah’s responsibility. That replacement was currently in the pilot’s cabin, completing her first tour with the Lancer’s Guard.

“No, but neither were you thrilled with my choice. And you nearly froze the poor woman when you first boarded.” Micah opened his other eye, stretched luxuriously, and pushed the control to transform his seat from a bed to a recliner. He’d chosen the seat directly facing hers, next to the large viewport.

“You’re exaggerating as usual. I was merely preoccupied, and since when do Guards require coddling and personal attention?”

“I think you were just a tiny bit disappointed that I didn’t give the seat to Brinkove.”

“I liked Brinkove. He was the top scorer on the flight challenge, and he didn’t go stiff as a sword when I spoke to him. I found it rather refreshing.”

“What you call ‘refreshing’ I call a lack of respect. And getting the top score doesn’t mean he was the best. That boy needs a little time to season properly before I’ll even consider putting your life in his hands. Thornlan was the better choice.”

Tal rolled her eyes. Micah’s overprotectiveness was endearing at times and more than a little frustrating at others. “By your own definition, then, you treat me with an appalling lack of respect.”

“I’ve more than earned it.”

“So you say.”

Micah chuckled as he rose from his seat and walked past her to the storage unit. “I’m getting a snack. Do you want something?”

“No, thank you.”

They were alone in her spacious private cabin, while the rest of the Guard contingent rode in the main cabin behind them. The smaller aft cabin was occupied by Aldirk and two of Tal’s most trusted economic advisors, Tophalamon and Ponsard. They were coming home after five days in Whitesun, and Tal was more than ready to be done with this tour. She was tired of all things economic, and tired of wishing that Darzen were here on the transport as one of her advisors.

Three moons had passed since the Redmoon crisis and Darzen’s departure. Tal had stopped trying to reach her after the first nineday, deciding that four unreturned calls were more than enough. She would not be made to look a fool. Neither would she allow a personal disappointment to affect her performance of duty; after all, she’d been here before and was not in the habit of repeating mistakes. Instead of withdrawing from her responsibilities, she threw herself into them, foregoing any semblance of a personal life. It wasn’t difficult; her duties were just short of overwhelming even at the best of times. And these were by no means the best of times.

They had restarted the Redmoon fission facility just two ninedays ago, after double- and triple-checking all components, replacing a few more substandard parts, and running repeated simulations of various failures. Tal would not allow the facility to go back online until she was absolutely certain that it posed no further danger. There was quite a bit of grumbling in some of the media outlets regarding the length of time the restart had taken and the concomitant spike in energy prices. Fortunately, most of the media were behind Tal on this matter, agreeing that safety was more important than a quick restart.

The sniping between the warrior and merchant castes had also died down, and Tal had been pleasantly surprised when Shantu and Parser actually met her deadline. They’d handed her an outline that was commendable for its nonpartisanship, and she had gladly approved it, thus avoiding another long and loud Council discussion. Whether or not it would actually be effective was another matter, and she was keeping her eye on it. A plan on her desk was one thing; results on the ground were another. Still, Shantu and Parser had shown a remarkable consensus during their meeting; even skimming their emotions had revealed none of the rancor she’d expected. Given their past history, she could hardly believe they could work together so well, but stranger things had happened. She just wasn’t sure when.

With the Redmoon disaster behind her and the corruption issue being addressed, Tal now spent most of her time preparing laws and social infrastructure for the release of the replicator technology, fighting her Council every step of the way. Some felt she was acting too quickly or unwisely; others that she was taking too long. Only a very few were pleased with her decisions, which she took as proof that she was doing her job properly. When the entire Council actually agreed with her, she would worry.

As a part of her preparations, she had from the very beginning met regularly with delegations from the various castes, both to listen to their concerns and to explain her strategies and expectations. By her decree, these delegations excluded Council members, instead involving individuals selected by a lottery system. Those who wished to have a voice put their names in the system, and the randomly selected individuals were transported to Blacksun at the government’s expense. Tal wanted true representation, and found herself enjoying these delegation meetings far more than any Council meeting. Some of the delegates were every bit as politically astute as their Council leaders, but most of them were simply concerned with their livelihoods and families, often bringing up considerations that Tal had not thought of. Her policy drafts changed and shifted with the input she took away from these meetings, and she was confident that if the replicator technology had any unforeseen ill effects, it would not be for lack of effort on her part. She was doing everything in her power to make sure the Federation’s gift would be just that—a gift.

Recently the crafter and builder castes had arrived at consensus, and Tal’s schedule began to ease. She’d promptly scheduled a meeting of the economic advisors who had helped her with the original implementation document, which needed a bit of polishing now that they had accumulated so much more data. Since a majority of the advisors were located in Whitesun, it made sense to have the meeting there. It was a practical decision having nothing to do with a wish to see Darzen. On the other hand, it seemed only right to make one final effort if she was going to be there anyway, so Tal had sent Darzen a message with the dates of the meeting and the name of her inn. Perhaps her physical presence in Darzen’s home city might do what the calls and messages had not. She’d remained in her quarters every evening, just in case.

But Darzen never came, and on the long flight home Tal mentally closed the door on that relationship. Yes, it would have been nice to have Darzen on this transport, on her team of advisors, and in her life, but it wasn’t going to happen. And she had too much on her agenda to waste any more time wishing otherwise.

Micah returned with a plate of miniature pastries, settled into his seat and gazed out the viewport. “I do love this part.”

“So do I. Sometimes I wish I could live elsewhere, but then I’d miss this.”

“Is that why you scheduled this meeting in Whitesun? So you could have the joy of flying back home?”

Tal clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “More disrespect from the man who is supposed to be my friend and guardian.”

“No disrespect, Andira.” She looked up at the tone of his voice and the unexpected gentleness in his emotions. He nodded once. “I’m sorry she didn’t have enough breeding to hear you out. I had thought better of her.”

She looked back out the viewport. “I’m not sure what I thought anymore. But it doesn’t matter.”

“I suppose not,” he said after a moment. “Clearly the woman is even more stubborn than you. It could never have worked.”

Tal couldn’t help her grin. “You’re right. One boar-headed person in my life is enough. I have all I can do to handle you.”

He chuckled, and she felt her spirits lift as she watched the mountains pass beneath them. The approach to Blacksun was one of the loveliest on the planet, though that wasn’t why the site had been chosen. The city was founded thousands of cycles ago, when Alsean society had been both violent and volatile. Defensibility was the most important consideration in establishing a holding, and Blacksun’s location was perfect in that respect. It sat in an enormous bowl, surrounded on all sides by mountains with only a few narrow and easily defended passes. Any army that managed to get past the mountain defenses would then be exposed on the open plain before getting to Blacksun itself, allowing the city defenders plenty of time to cause damage with long-distance artillery. In the time before aerial transports, an invading army could not move heavy artillery through the mountains and would therefore be unable to bombard the city from a safe distance. Blacksun had fought off many attempted invasions over the cycles; only one had succeeded. Every Alsean child learned of that battle in school, and Tal loved to imagine it when she flew over the site.

“There’s the Fall of Tears,” said Micah.

Tal nodded, absorbed in the view of the magnificent waterfall. “I’m so glad we’re coming from this direction. Oh, look at the winden!”

The herd of winden dashed down the mountainside as the transport flew overhead, their four-toed feet clinging to every point of rock and giving them a stability and speed unmatched by any other large animal. Between their speed and their subtle coloration, winden weren’t often seen except from the air, and Tal was thrilled at this rare glimpse. She watched them as long as she could, and when they finally vanished she looked ahead just in time to see the last mountain peak float beneath them, opening up the view she loved so well.

The mountains tumbled down to the plains, which no longer housed a single city as in the old days. Blacksun Basin had been farmed for hundreds of generations, and a network of small towns had sprung up in the vast bowl. At the center was Blacksun itself, a bright city of white domed buildings set out in the wheel-and-spoke pattern typical of Alsean design. Every population center on the planet, from the great cities of Blacksun and Whitesun down to the smallest village, was built on the same general plan. A Temple of Fahla occupied the center of town, with the main streets radiating straight out from the Temple in a spoke pattern. In small villages, the Temple might be no more than a small one-room building, but in Blacksun it was a spectacular, soaring edifice, dwarfing every other building in the city and boasting not one but four domes. The three smaller domes surrounding the larger central one were an homage to the three gifts of Fahla which had nurtured Alseans since the dawn of time:  sun, rain, and soil.

Blacksun was different from most other Alsean cities in that its central hub housed not only the Temple of Fahla, but also a Caste House for all six castes. Only Whitesun shared that distinction; other cities might have two or three Caste Houses, but not six. Each Caste House had its own distinct color, setting them apart from the usual white of Alsean construction. Warrior Houses were a brilliant red, producer Houses were green, builder Houses were yellow, merchant Houses were a light blue. Scholar Houses were a deeper blue, and the Crafters, who always had to be different, were the only caste that did not use a single color. A Crafter House could be identified from many lengths’ distance by a distinctive blend of green, yellow and blue, since its caste members used the products of producers and the skills of builders, scholars and merchants.

A Temple of Fahla was always black, the sum of all colors and the opposite of all other Alsean construction. No Alsean would ever wear all-black clothing out of respect for Fahla; that color was reserved for Temple Scholars. Black trousers were permissible, or a black tunic, but not both. The only exception to this rule was Tal herself; as Lancer she was the chosen of Fahla and therefore worthy of the color. Some Lancers in the past had taken this privilege to heart and worn the color constantly, but Tal wore it only on State occasions. She had always thought it disrespectful to do otherwise.

At night the temples changed their color, glowing with a soft blue-white light. With the aid of any light from Alsea’s two moons, this soft glow became a brilliant light, visible for many lengths in any direction. Full moons, of course, were the best of all. In the old days, the temples were used as navigation aids; today this characteristic was simply appreciated for its beauty. Though Tal was not ordinarily one to visit a temple—she preferred to make her connection with Fahla outdoors—she still loved to see the building glowing on a full moon night.

Blacksun had one other characteristic unique to it alone: in the center of the hub, surrounded by the Caste Houses and sharing the same compound as the Temple of Fahla, was the State House of Alsea. Like the Temple, it was multi-domed and black, but had two great color stripes circling each dome:  one red and one a deep blue, representing the two castes capable of producing a Lancer. Each stripe was edged with white, the color of the Alsean people. In theory, this was so that no Lancer would ever forget who she or he truly served, but past Lancers had not always kept this uppermost in their minds. Tal never forgot it; her father had drummed this principle into her mind from the time she was a child. He’d had her future planned from the very beginning. Of course, as a child she’d never actually believed she would live in the majestic and mysterious building; her father had known her path long before she’d made her own decision. Now she watched the sunlight flash off a familiar set of windows at the top of the northernmost dome and thought, as she often did, that her father would have enjoyed her personal quarters more than she. The view from those windows was second only to the view from the top of the Temple, but she had to wade through far too many people to get there, and every one of them wanted something.

The transport soared over the outer edges of Blacksun, following one of the main spokes right over the central hub. As Tal watched, the view out the window shifted down, up and down again; Thornlan had just performed the wing salute signifying that the Lancer had returned to Blacksun. They passed over the hub and the other side of Blacksun, leaving the city behind as Blacksun Base came into view. The long-distance transport nearly always landed there due to its size, though the pad behind the State House would also accommodate it. Personally Tal preferred arriving at the base, since it gave her a good excuse to stay in her quarters there instead of the official quarters at the State House. The base quarters might be smaller and less luxurious, but they were also a good deal more peaceful. Given the choice between living with trained warriors or being surrounded by politically motivated people of all castes, Tal would always choose her warriors.

Soon they came to a stop above the landing grid, and a slight jar beneath Tal’s feet told her that the ground thrusters were firing. Slowly the transport sank downward, settling on the grid with hardly a vibration. An experienced pilot herself, Tal knew that the skill required in landing such a large transport so quietly was impressive indeed. Unfortunately, while enjoying the flight over Blacksun she hadn’t bothered with her full emotional front, and her appreciation now leaked through to the worst possible audience.

“Told you,” said Micah.

“Get out of my way,” said Tal, standing and plucking her bag from the secure container by her seat. “I have a hot shower calling my name and you’re keeping me from it.”

Micah laughed, picking up his own bag and walking ahead of her toward the cabin door. Instead of following him toward the main door and exit ramp, she turned right, walked the few steps down the short corridor, and poked her head into the pilot’s cabin. Genra Thornlan sat in the pilot’s seat, checking a reader card in her hand.

“Lead Pilot Thornlan,” said Tal sternly.

“Lancer Tal!” Thornlan leaped out of her chair, a maneuver cut short by the safety harness she hadn’t yet unhooked. She quickly unlatched the harness and stood up, looking straight ahead while a deep blush suffused her face.

“Relax, Thornlan.” Tal smiled to herself as she watched as the young woman’s rigid stance soften by the tiniest hair. Yes, Micah was proud of this one. She put her hand on Thornlan’s shoulder, startling the young woman into actually meeting her eyes.

“That was an excellent landing. You’re a good addition to the unit,” she said, and felt an enormous swell of surprise and pride which the pilot was incapable of fronting.

“Thank you, Lancer.” Thornlan couldn’t maintain her gaze, shifting back into the rigid stance that had been trained into her from the moment she’d chosen her caste. Tal squeezed her shoulder once before letting go.

“No need to thank me for stating the truth.” She turned and saw Micah’s grinning face in the doorway. With a steely glare, she pushed him in front of her and whispered, “Shut up.”

Micah laughed as they stepped through the door into the sunshine. Wisely, he said nothing more.

 

 

 

 

---

chapter 7

 

 

Lead Pilot Thornlan’s skills were put to frequent use over the next several moons as Tal ranged all over Alsea, dealing with various matters that hadn’t received enough attention while she’d been tied up with replicator issues. One of them was a persistent cell of criminals in Whitemoon, the major city on the northern coast of Pallea. Besides being one of the biggest ports on the continent, Whitemoon was also home to the Sensoral Institute, Alsea’s premier training facility for gifted empaths. A well-organized smuggling ring and a population of young, partially-trained high empaths were a bad combination—the Institute had apparently become a fertile recruiting ground. The smugglers somehow procured the names of students who had been reprimanded for various behavioral violations and were actively targeting them for induction into the ring.

For young students confident in their abilities and chafing at the discipline imposed by the Institute, a promise of freedom from that discipline—along with a lot of money—was a tempting offer. But the unregulated and invasive use of empathic skills was a level four state crime carrying a harsh mandatory sentence; any student who accepted the offer and joined the smugglers was risking not only a prison sentence but also permanent removal from normal society. Once an Alsean crossed the line into illegal emotional probes and behavioral manipulation, there was simply no way to ensure that society could be safe from such predation other than removing the criminal from all potential contact. It was for this reason that the High Security Detention Facility had been built. It was the worst place on Alsea—a wholly underground prison—and a terrible fate for young empaths who had simply been too greedy, too arrogant or too stupid. Tal could not imagine living her days underground, never seeing the sun or breathing fresh air. But time and experience had proven that aboveground facilities were too insecure; the prisoners had too much contact with susceptible Alseans. So they were literally buried, away from any possible contact and any opportunity to do more harm. The very idea of such a fate was so abhorrent to Alseans that no one called the High Security Detention Facility by its full name; they just called it the pit. And once an Alsean had been a prisoner there, the stain was nearly impossible to wash away. Alsean society depended on collective honor to prevent empathic manipulation; anyone who had served a sentence for violating that code found it very difficult to regain trust. There were programs to monitor them upon release, with reoffense earning an instant one-way trip to the pit, but even with these assurances Alsean society did not easily accept an empathic offender. The sentence these students had brought upon themselves was not limited to their time in the pit; they would be paying for their mistakes for the rest of their lives.

The smugglers might have operated indefinitely if they’d kept to their illegal port activities and left the students alone, but their targeting of the cream of Alsean empaths brought them to Tal’s attention. Such exposure was one of the benefits of Shantu and Parser’s anticorruption plan, which had created a network of merchant informers and warrior enforcers. The information uncovered by the network was not limited to merchant corruption, and Tal had been obliged to reassign an entire unit of warriors as a roving assistance team, aiding local units in the pursuit and capture of criminals.

For this mission, however, the mobile unit was insufficient. Tal sent an advance team of high empaths to Whitemoon, which systematically swept the city with emotional skims to identify those most likely to be involved. These leads were followed with investigative work in concert with the warriors at Whitemoon Base, who were only too happy for the assistance. When the preliminary work had been completed and a raid planned, Tal flew to Whitemoon to take part. She had been so outraged by the student recruitment that she wanted to be on the spot when the smugglers were shut down.

It was a short, very effective operation, rounding up seven of the eight most highly-placed smugglers as well as a number of low-level workers and five former Institute students. Tal was pleased with the result, and had especially enjoyed the opportunity to physically take down one of the leaders. But when she saw the former students being led to the detention transport, all of her righteous anger melted away. Though she was funding several research projects seeking better means of controlling the empathic skills of criminals, none of them were anywhere near practical application and probably would not be in her lifetime. Sending these students to the pit was still the only option, and when Tal allowed herself to sense their fear, she wished she’d hit that smuggler in a different and far more damaging location.

On the transport home, Micah sat in the opposite chair and looked at her in sympathy. “Your front does you no good today; the sadness is written on your face.”

Tal shook her head. “It should be written on everyone’s faces. We just sent five young people to a place of unspeakable deprivation and despair. I keep wishing there was something else I could do; any other option but this. Then I remind myself that I cannot think only of these five; my obligation is to all of the lesser gifted Alseans who have no protection from them. It had to be done. It was the right thing. And I hate it.”

“If doing the right thing was always fun, there’d be no need for our caste,” said Micah. “Alsea has long evolved beyond needing warriors for city defense or invasion of neighboring lands. But she will always need us to protect those who cannot protect themselves.”

Tal thought about that while watching the coastline of Pallea pass beneath them. “Father always said that a Lancer was not the greatest warrior in the land, but rather the greatest protector.”

“Your father was a wise man and a good friend.”

“I wish he were here,” said Tal softly.

“He is.” Micah touched her shoulder. “He lives in your heart, along with your mother. You know that.”

Tal covered his hand with her own. “I know. Sometimes it’s just not enough.”

Micah did not answer, nor was there any need. Tal opened her senses to the reassuring warmth of his friendship, and felt a familiar, almost physical comfort. It was a sensation she’d known from her earliest memories; Micah had always been there. He and her father had been the best of friends, and now he watched over her with more love and loyalty than she could possibly have earned. Sometimes she wondered if her father had extracted a promise from Micah to look after her, but she never asked. The answer would change nothing, but the asking would. It was enough that he was there.

 

 

-----

 

 

Upon returning from the Whitemoon mission, Tal was swept up into a whirlwind of meetings and appearances. The demand for her time was unending, and a significant percentage of that demand was still centered around replicator issues. There were times when she wondered what in Fahla’s name she’d been thinking when she negotiated that trade with the Federation. In fact, she was wondering that this very moment, while hurrying through the State House already late for a meeting with the producer delegation. She did not tolerate tardiness in others, and knowing that she was guilty of it put her in a poor temper.

So it was with considerable embarrassment and displeasure that she entered the meeting room to hear a delegate saying, “How can we trust the Lancer to control the effects of this technology when she apparently can’t even track her calendar?”

“I assure you I am perfectly capable of tracking my calendar,” said Tal, taking her seat at the head of the long table. The delegation went completely silent, and every member sat down nearly in unison. Tal glared down the length of the table at the speaker, a dark-haired woman who stared back at her with a distinct lack of respect. “You are not an original delegate. Why are you here?”

The woman answered immediately and in a clear voice. “Delegate Norsen is ill today, and asked me to attend in his stead. He wished to know the details of today’s discussion.”

“I see.” Tal hadn’t been notified of the substitution—but then again, she hadn’t had time to read Aldirk’s morning report, either. Shek. She hated being caught flat-footed, and her mood deteriorated further. “What is your name?” she asked, with very little of her usual courtesy.

“I am Salomen Opah,” said the woman, her chin held high. “My family has worked a holding near Granelle for twelve generations.”

“Well, Raiz Opah,” said Tal, using the Alsean formal address for a producer, “as a substitute, you may be unaware of delegation protocol. I will not waste the time of your fellows explaining it, but one aspect you should be aware of is that you will be expected to limit your opinions to the issue at hand. Speculation on my leadership, or even my calendar-tracking capability, is not considered to be the purview of this delegation.”

The mood of the room shifted into one of sharp-edged caution as the delegates registered Tal’s ire. She felt it easily; these people were untrained and did not front their emotions well. It had made the meetings rather interesting in the past; today it just annoyed her. She called the meeting to order and moved to the agenda, wanting nothing more than to get this over with and retreat to her quarters for a little quiet time.

Discussion was subdued at first, but Opah quickly established herself as the most outspoken member. She seemed unaffected by Tal’s mood, speaking quickly and with great conviction whenever an agenda item was opened to comment. As the hantick wore on, Tal found herself grudgingly admiring the woman’s obvious intelligence and ability to articulate concerns and issues. Indeed, Opah was a far better contributor to discussion than Norsen had ever been. By the end of the meeting Tal’s earlier ire had evaporated completely, and she found herself looking forward to what was sure to be an interesting interaction.

With considerable though well-fronted relief, she dismissed the group at the end of the hantick, thanking them for their attendance and contributions. The room immediately filled with the sounds of scraping chairs and rustling fabric, and Tal raised her voice slightly as she added, “Raiz Opah, please stay a moment.”

There was a slight pause before the bustle resumed. Opah sat down as the delegates finished collecting their belongings and filed out, and Tal could easily feel their concern for her, along with a few gleeful thoughts. Apparently Opah was not universally loved among her peers. Given how outspoken she’d been during the meeting, that was not surprising.

The last delegate closed the door behind him, and Tal let Opah wait, feeling the woman’s nervousness increase. She certainly had presence, however—by her face and posture no one would know she felt anything but complete self-assurance. Nevertheless, she did not like being alone in the room with the Lancer.

 When Tal finally spoke, it was in a very quiet voice.

“Please inform Delegate Norsen that if he does not wish to attend these meetings, there are other and far more advisable methods to resolve that issue than sending in a substitute to lie for him.”

Opah’s eyes widened, and her nervousness turned sharp.

“Lancer Tal, I assure you that he was truly unable to attend today, and—”

“Do not compound one lie with another,” interrupted Tal. “The first I will excuse, because you lied not for yourself but for a friend. The second I will not. Think carefully about what you say to me, Raiz Opah. I don’t appreciate being taken for a fool.”

There was a heavy silence as they stared at one another, but Opah’s trepidation was swiftly overtaken by curiosity.

“I don’t think anyone could take you for a fool,” she said. “How did you know?”

“You don’t front your emotions well.”

“I front my emotions very well,” said Opah indignantly, then paused. “Oh…I’d heard you were a powerful empath.”

Tal nodded. “It takes empathic strength to fill this role. Without it I’d be easily hoodwinked by well-meaning delegates.”

Opah smiled, but it quickly slipped from her face as she remembered whom she was addressing. “Is Norsen in trouble?”

“Yes.”

An instant alarm filled Opah’s emotions as she leaned forward. “Please, Lancer Tal, can’t you possibly just…overlook it? He means well, and he did his best, but he’s just not comfortable with these proceedings. His bondmate put his name in the system without his knowledge, and when he was selected he felt he should do his duty. But he told me he’s not making a contribution, and wished my name had been drawn instead. So I told him I’d go in his place.”

Tal wanted to laugh, but kept a straight face and a rigid emotional front. “I see,” she said calmly. “That does change things. Instead of one lawbreaker I must deal with two.”

Opah sat back, stunned. But before she could become truly afraid, Tal continued, “Then the punishment is this: Raiz Norsen is hereby removed from the delegation permanently, and you will take his place. You’re about to become very familiar with the State House, Delegate Opah.”

She opened her mouth, then shut it again. “You’re making me a delegate?”

Never one to answer questions twice, Tal simply waited.

“But…I had the distinct impression that you didn’t appreciate my input today. You argued me down at least four times. I would have expected you to prefer someone who was…easier to work with.”

A chuckle escaped. “You’ve never attended a Council meeting, have you?”

Opah shook her head.

“Come to the public gallery sometime, and you’ll see that relative to what I’m forced to deal with in that room, you’re quite easy to work with. But you don’t have that reputation among your peers, do you?”

Mutely, she shook her head again, and Tal felt a tiny bit of sympathy for her.

“Delegate Opah, I do not favor sycophants. I prefer intelligent, thoughtful individuals who have something to say, are not afraid to say it, and are motivated not by thoughts of personal advancement, but by concerns for others. You qualify.” She rose, and as Opah followed suit she added, “However, if you lie to me again, I will take action. I appreciate forthrightness, even if it’s not necessarily something I want to hear. But I do not appreciate deception in any form.”

“I understand, Lancer Tal. It won’t happen.”

Tal nodded and opened the door. “Until next time, then.”

Opah paused, then moved through the door, plainly uncertain of the appropriateness of preceding the Lancer. She stopped on the other side and turned. “Thank you,” she said quietly, and Tal knew she meant it.

“You’re welcome.”

 

 

-----

 

 

Opah’s gratitude did not translate into any noticeable change in her behavior at the meetings. She continued to be opinionated, outspoken, argumentative, and generally a thorn in Tal’s side. But she was also intelligent, thoughtful, occasionally very wise, and would usually concede a point if presented with an ordered, factual argument. In addition, she established a policy of meeting with her community of producers before and after every delegate meeting, sharing the information she’d acquired and recording their questions and input. These she would bring to the subsequent delegate meeting, and Tal quickly recognized the advantages. Before long she asked the other delegates to do the same, not just among the producers but in all of her caste meetings. There were mutters about the additional work, but most readily complied. Gradually, they drew closer to a consensus.

Nearly four moons after Opah’s promotion to Delegate, she and Tal were arguing the issue of sustainability. The topic had come up over and over again, but had never been resolved to the producers’ satisfaction. To Tal this was no issue at all, but she could not convince the producers, especially Opah, no matter how reasoned her argument. And on this late summer day, the heat coming through the large windows pushed some already-tenuous tempers to the fraying point.

“You cannot do that; it would destroy our profitability!” Opah said, her voice louder than necessary and her face flushed. “There must be limitations to the output of the replicators! Why can’t you see that?”

“What I see is a bigger picture,” Tal answered, her own irritation strong enough that it took some conscious effort to keep her emotional front intact. “You look at this from a circumscribed perspective; I’m looking from a broader viewpoint. You’re all too focused on your caste’s interests—you’re not seeing the flock for the birds.”

“Oh, I think we’re seeing the flock quite well!” Opah was almost shouting now. “What we’re seeing is that you’re willing to sacrifice our caste to the interest of the others! The merchants will certainly benefit if the producers have no pricing leverage!”

“You could not be more wrong!” Tal’s own voice rose. “Why do you think I’ve spent more than a cycle meeting with every single caste? So I can decide which ones to throw away?”

“Well it would certainly be the effective way of doing it!”

The other delegates watched them nervously, no one saying a word. Their emotional state finally got through to Tal, who forced herself to relax in her chair. “Then I open the floor to you,” she said calmly. “Tell us how you would resolve this issue.”

“I don’t have a solution, that’s the problem!” Opah slapped her palm on the table, and for a moment Tal swore she looked just like Micah. “If I did we wouldn’t be arguing over this. I just know that what you’re proposing will be the death of us. And you can’t seem to see that, because you sit here in your magical dome with your privileged lifestyle and you have no idea what we working Alseans face in our daily lives. If you ever worked a holding you wouldn’t be trying to shove this ridiculous policy down our throats. You’d see for yourself why we need protection.”

My magical dome? Tal was seething now. Opah always pushed her, but this was too much. And then an idea struck; a way to knock down this infuriating woman’s assumptions once and for all. She practically purred as she spoke.

“Delegate Opah, your disrespect has crossed the line.”

The room electrified as every delegate sat up straight. Opah stared, her anger rapidly dissipating into apprehension.

“I make you a formal challenge,” continued Tal. “You say I know nothing about your daily life, and I know for a fact that you have not the slightest conception of mine. So we will trade. I’ll work with you on your holding for a nineday, and you’ll accompany me in my workday for the same period of time. Do you agree?”

Everyone held their breath.

“No,” said Opah, and the collective expulsion of air was audible.

Tal didn’t respond; she knew the woman had more to say.

“A nineday won’t teach you anything about the life of a producer. You would need to work with us for a cycle. But since it would obviously be impossible for you to leave your position for that long, I propose a moon. That will see us through the harvest, and you’ll get at least a glimpse of what it means to work for every cintek that we earn.”

Tal considered it. She knew Opah expected her to back down; after all, a moon was still a long time. But it had been almost eleven moons since her vacation; nearly a full cycle of nonstop work. The idea of getting out of the State House, even if it was just to work on a holding nearby, was very appealing.

And Aldirk would have a coronary seizure.

It was the last thought that made her smile, and she saw Opah’s brows draw together.

“I accept.”

Opah’s mouth dropped open. “You do?”

“I do. When shall I arrive at your holding?”

“Uh…” Opah was plainly at a loss, and her emotional front, never a challenge to Tal in the best of times, slipped entirely. The woman was shocked and dismayed; she’d bluffed and lost. “Well, I…I will need time to notify my family, and make a room ready for you—”

“And for my Guards,” added Tal.

“Your Guards? How many?” The dismay grew.

Tal pretended to think. “Since your holding is so close to Blacksun, I believe I will not require more than twenty.” That was double the number she actually planned to take, but she was enjoying herself.

“Twenty? I haven’t room for twenty guests!”

“Twenty-one; surely you haven’t forgotten me?”

“You did not mention twenty Guards when you proposed this!”

“Then you withdraw from the challenge?”

The question galvanized Opah; in a moment her emotions coalesced into a solid determination.

“No, I do not. I will find housing for your twenty Guards. You may plan your arrival for the first day of the next moon.” She smiled, but it was not friendly. “You might also wish to bring your personal masseuse, Lancer Tal. On a holding, we work for our livings.”

“I would expect nothing less. And you, Delegate Opah, may wish to borrow my personal masseuse when your turn arrives. Because the magical dome existence you expect will also involve a training mission, and there will be no accommodation made for one who finds her legs unused to walking thirty lengths, or her back unused to sleeping on the ground afterward.”

“You cannot frighten me with such stories. I walk several lengths every day on my holding, and I have slept under the stars many a night. I suspect you do not lead nearly as active an existence on these ‘missions’ as you portray.”

“Then it will be my very great pleasure to show you the truth.”

The air sizzled between them, and Tal knew that, if nothing else, the next two moons would be anything but boring.

 

 

 

book 2 | Without A Front main page