Chapter 15
**
The base on Titan is huge, even though it’s only been in existance for less than a year. I walk through the hydroponics section, enjoying the green of the shrubby little trees and the waving fields of rice. Water glints under the rice plants, slowly circulating. There’s a rich planty sort of smell here; nothing bad, but not like anything I’ve ever smelled, either. Maybe a greenhouse on steroids, I think, smiling to myself. It’s a relief to be away from the others, even Muhmis, for a little bit.
I think back over the initial meeting; even through all its formality, an aura of barely restrained violence seemed to pulse. It made me shiver then, and it makes me shiver now. I never knew people could hate each other so much, I wonder, but the Draka and the Samothracians sure as hell do. Their hate seems different, though; each has its own timbre, its own peculiar tang. The Draka seem cold, predatory, calculating; I can see why the Alliance, back on the Prime Line, in their history, nicknamed them "snakes". Gwen looked positively… frightening… when she was calmly discussing the terms of discussion, I remember. Her eyes were cold, glittering pools of green, and her aristocratic face was controlled, but there was also an air of calculating rage on it. I’d purely hate to be on the other side of the table, facing that with my little ole list of demands and what-not.
The Samothracians, in contrast, seem furious, but barely under control. Their anger’s hot, not cold and calculating, I think, except for that one guy, General Smythe. He’s cool. He’s the one to watch, I bet. He was as calm, cool, and collected as Muhmis was, and she noticed that right away.
The air scrubbers in the room take care of any pheromones, but I’d love to see what the readings would’ve been, somehow. In the red, I know… the other Samos don’t seem as sophisticated as Smythe, I think, wondering. They’re all wrapped up in their hatred of their heriditary foes; he wants to see the Draka destroyed, pure and simple. Hatred is something he may feel down deep inside, but he’s not letting it cloud his vision for an instant.
I sit down by a row of peas, strung up on wire mesh for optimal growth. There’s a little bench here, and from your seat, you can see the waterfall over on the other side of the dome. It seems to be miles away, but really isn’t that far off. It’s quite a sight, though. A few flutterbys zoom past, twittering, and I smile. It makes me think of my trips elsewhere, and those are good memories, full of friends. Peter, Ruthann, the others…
"Oh!"
"What!?" I jump a little, opening my eyes to see the surprised face of a young Samothracian woman. She’s just turned the corner, around the sheltering wall of peas, and had apparently meant to sit down here. I grin, and wave a hand. "Just us humans, and I don’t bite; the bench’s wide enough for both of us, Miss."
"That’s all right, really." Her voice sounds cold, and she looks me up and down, slowly. Her blonde hair is cut short, in a sort of bowl-cut, I think; it’d look better a teensy bit longer. She’s wearing the navy blue tunic and slacks of the U.S.S. space force, but I don’t know the rank tab on her sleeve.
"Um, I’m Sera Erin d’Ingolfsson. Glad to meet you, ah, Miss…"
"Richardson. Midshipman Emily Richardson."
"Oh! A middie, are you? Do they have an Academy on Samothrace, like we have on Earth?"
Midshipman Richardson’s eyes widen a little. "You mean they let you have a military school?"
"Yeah. We still maintain the Naval Academy, West Point, Sandhurst, and a couple of others. The graduates can either go into the Space Force or the World Constabulatory. Never have a lack of applicants, either, despite all the petty b.s. hazing they still do. I always thought that was kinda silly, myself."
"Well, you’re not military, are you?" She looks a little smug, but she’s interested, now.
"As a matter of fact, I am. I was in the United States Navy for five years, from age 18 to when I was 23. I got up to the rank of petty officer; would’ve gone for chief, if I’d stayed in."
"Oh, really? I didn’t think you looked, well, like a military person. And I didn’t know they still allowed that…"
"Makes sense, if you think about it. Heck of a lot easier if you can siphon off all that youthful energy to do something like terraforming, or exploration, or world police duty, rather than having it sitting around getting frustrated. No, I don’t look military any more, I don’t guess." I look down from the corners of my eyes at my longish dark blonde hair, with its few streaks of grey in it, and smile. "That was years ago, anyway."
"What was your specialty?"
"Computers, information systems. My last posting was in the command and control center of an aircraft carrier, the USS Nimitz. She went down in the Gulf, years ago, after a suicide attack by Hamas."
"Hamas?" The young woman frowns, trying to understand. "The Gulf?"
"Hamas is…er, was… a militant religious group who was trying to get rid of all Western influences, basically, in the Middle East. They were fanatics. They attacked the ship with rockets, mounted on wooden boats they’d rowed out to meet us in. The Gulf…it’s an area of ocean near Saudi Arabia, the Arabian Peninsula… do you know the geography I’m talking about?"
"Not some of the names, but I think I know basically where it is. So your ship went down? Were you on her?" She sits down, on the edge of the bench, as far as she can get from me, but still sitting down.
"Yes, and yes. Not many of us got off with our lives. The deck was loaded with fully fueled and armed planes, and it turned into an inferno. It was pretty… ugly." I look down at my hands, remembering.
"I’m sorry… I had no idea you were a Navy veteran. Wow."
"Oh, that’s okay. I guess you found this seat first, huh? You acted like you were all set to have a seat when you zoomed around the corner there…"
"Yes. I…" Emily pauses. "I found it earlier today, and thought it would be a lovely place to sit and think for awhile."
"Gee, that’s what I was just thinking, myself. I guess we’re not that different, at least that way, eh?" I smile at her.
"We’re quite different, thank you."
"Oh, come on. We have the same genetic makeup."
"That’s the only thing we’ve in common, Sera d’Ingolfsson."
I look over at her, my eyes narrowing slightly. "You say my name like you don’t like me much, pilgrim. I might just take offense to that…" My voice parodies a famous actor, but I doubt if she gets it. I hope she gets the idea it’s a joke.
Her face freezes for a moment, eyes widening. "I hope I haven’t offended you, Sera. I know who your…" she makes a moue of distaste, "owner is."
"Sorry, it was a joke. I was trying to sound like John Wayne. Ever heard of him?"
"No… but you did sound like Jason Waggoner, for a minute. My grandfather watches these ancient movies with him in them, and I think they’re as boring as mud."
"Okay, you think I’m boring…"
"No, no!" Emily actually laughs, then catches herself. "No, Sera, I didn’t say that!"
"Hey, Middie, can we just sort of put down the swords and talk for a minute, person to person? You’re the first Samothracian I’ve met who didn’t act like they wanted to put me on a spit and barbecue me."
"That’s something a Snake would do, not a Samothracian." Her eyes have gone cold again, I think. Hell.
"Please?"
Emily Richardson shifts uncomfortably in her seat, eyes looking around briefly before she looks back into my face. She sighs, and nods her head slowly. "All right, swords down for a minute. What do you want to talk about?"
"I don’t know. Peas? No, they’re probably more boring than mud." I grin. "How about you just tell me about yourself, and how you came to be here, and what you think’s gonna happen? I’ll do the same for you. Sound like a deal?"
"All right. I’m, well, you know my name already… I’m sixteen, almost seventeen. I’ve been in the Academy for three years now. Almost ready to graduate. I want to specialize in medicine, and maybe go on to school for it. I’m already a Certified LifeSaver. I’d like to work on the Colonization Committee, too. Go places, see things. I have a little brother and three older ones. There’s another on the way, but we don’t know, of course, if it’s a boy or a girl. My parents live in Washington Province; my mother’s here, as an assistant to General Smythe. We’ve a big farm back home; Papa’s running it while Momma does her military duties. We raise mostly soya. I think farming’s hard work and boring. That’s why I begged to go to the Academy in Jefferson."
"Okay… I’m from Savannah, Georgia, in the United States of America. I’m 38 years old; I have two children, Patrick, who’s 17, and May, who’s 14. I’ve also had two children for Muhmis, ah, Archon Gwendolyn Ingolfsson, Ariadne and Alois. He’s here, with us; he’s two months old. Ariadne is 14."
"You have to have children for them? It’s true? I thought it was just a rumor…" She scrunches up her pretty face into a grimace. "That’s…"
"That’s life. It’s okay. No, it’s not a rumor. In fact, in our culture now, and in the Prime Line culture, it’s considered quite an honor. Draka babies are easier to have than human ones, that’s for sure."
"Why?"
"Well, they’re an easier pregnancy all the way around, as long as you remember to take your vitamin and protein supplements; the actual birth is easier, since drakensis infants have a smaller head to begin with. They’re programmed, genetically, to have a major growth spurt after birth, not while they’re in the womb…"
"That’s blasphemy…" she gasps, her face reddening.
"What is?" I’m confused.
"Programming things like that… like what the Snakes do. Have they… altered… you, too?"
"Genetic engineering’s a form of blasphemy?"
"Yes, of course it is. You have read our Charter of Rights and Beliefs, haven’t you?" Emily sounds rather prim and proper now, like she had at first.
"Yes… I have. I don’t understand why you think genetic engineering’s blasphemy but doing cybernetic alterations on the human body isn’t…" I say. "And yes and no to your other question. I’ve been given an indefinite life span, for services rendered to the State, and they’ve done stuff like wiping out genetic disorders, things like that. But we’re still homo sapiens, not homo servus."
"An indefinite life span? You’re immortal, like them?"
"Not immortal, just unaging. When I decide, and when Muhmis decides, I’ve gotten old enough, they’ll trigger the gene complex, and I’ll revert, age-wise, to about my mid-twenties. That’s where I’ll stay, indefinitely. I can still die, you know."
"Oh. Did you have any choice in the matter? Do you have any choice about having their babies?"
"Yes, and yes, again. She asked me, both times."
"Both?"
"Well, let’s see… how can I put this? She asked me if I’d think about having the first baby, and I asked to be her brooder the second time. Muhmis told me I had one life span beyond mine, once the Arrival was complete, and then some stuff happened, and I was awarded an indefinite life span by the Prime Line Archon. He’s kinda scary, I think."
"They all are… a brooder? That’s what they call it? Oh, Lord Above. That’s so…" she shudders. "That’s alien. Kind of, well, disgusting, if you don’t mind me speaking my mind. But I guess you can’t really do much of that, yourself."
"Much of speaking my mind? Girl, you should hear me sometimes. They’re not these monsters you have in your mind, at least not all of them. Some are…" I think of Felice Vashon, in particular. "But most aren’t so bad. Things are less, well, restricted, on Earth/2. It’s not as much bowing and scraping as I’ve read things used to be, back in the old days. As long as you’re reasonably polite, respectful, you can say what you want to say. They can usually tell what you’re feeling, anyway."
"So you can speak your mind?"
"Mostly. Sometimes it’s not so wise, politically speaking, but everyone runs into that. Like you—you wouldn’t tell your company commander you think he or she’s a dingbat, would you? Even if you thought it?"
"A dingbat?" Emily laughs. "What’s that? Another one of these blas—I mean, one of these sort of creatures?" She waves a slender hand at a flutterby, who’s been hovering nearby, in the hopes of a free lunch. It pulses closer, thinking she’s got something in her hand, and she tenses, pulling her hand out of the air quickly. Disappointed, the flutterby whistles mournfully and slowly flaps off.
"No… a dingbat is a colloquial term for a dumb person, a real, well, a person with no good sense. And you don’t have to be afraid of the flutterby—he or she won’t hurt you."
She shakes her head, watching it. "They’re not natural. They’re evil."
"Evil? It’s not like it flies around at night, sucking blood from the pearly white necks of virgins, honey," I laugh. And then immediately wish I could eat my words instead of saying them, as she starts to her feet, making some sort of warding sign. "Whoah, whoah, nellie… hang on a second, there. Don’t throw me to the fires yet, old girl…"
"But you’re already…" the young middie stops, turning crimson. She tugs at her high collar, and looks vastly embarassed.
"I’m already what?"
"You’re one of their servants, Sera. You chose to serve them. That means you’re a servant of evil, or at least that’s what Minister Kearns tells us. That’s what the Holy Writings say, too. I really shouldn’t even be talking to you; if anyone caught us, I’d be caned."
"Caned? That’s barbaric…" I wince. "As for me… I don’t see myself as a servant of evil. I am a servant, and it was a choice, but when you’re faced with life and service or death, it’s not much of a choice. But I did make it. I don’t regret it. I do regret having to be a serf. I’d rather be free, see the world free, but that’s not the way things are right now. I have to keep on keeping on. Like the Navy says, Carry on!"
"You don’t regret serving her? Them? The Snakes?" Her voice rises and I stand up next to her.
"Honey, please, calm down. Lower your voice, or we’ll have company." Already the remaining flutterbys have flickered away, down the sphere of the dome towards the waterfall. If they’ve noticed, I think, security sure as hell has. "Please?"
"But… but… you seem so nice, and I talked with you, but you’re damned to the eternal fires, you’re a servant of evil, I mean, how can you be nice and evil at the same time? This is… you’re leading me into perdition, just thinking like this." She’s trembling, her hands twisting together, beads of sweat glistening on her upper lip. All the color’s drained from her face, too.
"Hey, I think I am nice, and I don’t think I’m evil. Think about letting God be the judge, honey, not you or the religious leaders you have… if there is a god," I say, thinking out loud. She gasps, and makes the sign again, and starts to back away. Oh, Erin, you’ve screwed things up royally, you idiot swabbie, I think angrily to myself. She’s a nice kid, but she’s scared half to death.
"Emily, please… calm down, sugar," I say softly, and put out my hand, gently gripping one shaking shoulder. She jumps like I’ve just electrocuted her, and pulls away sharply. Too sharply; she tumbles backward against the bench, losing her balance. Her reflexes are almost as fast as May’s or even Adriane’s, but not fast enough. Arms windmilling helplessly, she plunges backward into the peas.
The whole line of them shakes and twangs, and some of the plants fall off, whacking us both on the head and shoulders. Her mouth opens and closes, and then she spits out a pea pod. At that point, my fear changes to merriment, and I can’t help but laugh, as I extend a hand to her.
"Come on, I won’t contaminate you, and you need a hand out of those peas, girl!"
She looks around, blushing, and then takes my hand, pulling herself to her feet. We stand near each other, my hand still on hers, as we laugh helplessly. Pea pods and leaves still patter down around our feet, and there’s a human-sized indentation in the row.
"Oh, what will people say?" Emily giggles, brushing a leaf off my head.
"Two peas in a pod, like my Mamaw, my grandmother, used to say, child." I grin back, my sides aching from laughing so hard.
"Get your hands off my daughter, you servant of abomination!"
We both jump at the screech, and turn around to see a woman standing there, livid with rage.
"What?" I say, rather inanely. It’s not every day someone calls me a servant of abomination, you know, I think to myself. Who the hell is this?
"Mother, I—"
"Be quiet in the presence of your elder. Now, get away from that," the woman gestures angrily at me, "before it corrupts you any further."
"Excuse me?" Anger begins to glow red behind my eyes, and thud in my ears. "It? That? What planet are you from, chick?"
"I’ll tell you this once, and once only. If you don’t get away from my daughter, I’ll hurt you, as the Lord Above is my witness."
"Am I supposed to clap and say amen at that, sister?" I move, though, but toward the angry woman.
"Please, don’t… Sera Erin was just helping me stand up, that’s all, Mother, please…"
I see the woman’s arm bunch, and have enough time to register that in my conscious memory, and then I’m sitting on the deck, my head ringing. Blood trickles slowly down my lips and chin from my nose, and my head hurts.
"Trying to corrupt my daughter’s morals… you’ve been well-trained by your Mistress, haven’t you, scum?" A foot flashes into sight, and then I’m on my side, trying to breathe. This isn’t good, I think. Not good at all. Time to call the calvalry in…
Muhmis… please. A Samothracian fanatic mother is kicking me, in the hydroponics section, please, help… My message is cut off short by another explosion of lights and pain in my head, and from very far away I can hear Emily Richardson yelling at her mother to stop right now. I hope so, I think hazily. That would be very nice, indeed. I have a headache…
Erin? Erin? We’re coming…
My head snaps up at Muhmis’ voice, and Mother from Hell tries to kick it off my shoulders. She’s stopped cold, though, by her daughter’s precisely calculated punch. A body thuds to the deck next to me, and I look into the stunned face of the woman, whose eyes slowly roll back into her head. She slumps, unconscious, next to me, and I try to sit up.
Emily tugs me to a sitting position. "Oh, Mighty Lord, Holy One, I’m sorry… she’s always been kinda, well, strict… and now I’m in for it, truly. Oh, dear… I’ve hit my own mother, to save a Draka serf? Oh, Lord, Lord, save me… oh, God, her baby, what’ve I done??" The young woman sits back on her haunches, and buries her face in her hands, shaking with sobs.
Gahhh… if only those damn bells and rockets would stop going off… I spit blood out onto the deck, and then feel guilty, since some serf’s gonna have to clean it all up. I try to stand up, and merely end up crawling on my hands and knees to the bench. I hoist myself up, slowly, painfully, and look around. From one end of the hydro section, five Draka are hurtling towards us; from the other end of the compartment, three Samothracians are coming along like freight trains. I sure as hell don’t want to be in the middle when they hit, I think. Got to stop those trains…
"Stop! Halt!" I yell, jumping to my feet, swaying a little. Both groups, who’ve reached us, suddenly stop. "Thank you," I say, sinking down to the bench again.
Gwen growls, a deep, steady, frightening roar. She steps over the body of the unconscious woman and reaches out for Emily.
"Touch her and I’ll…"
"You’ll what, Samo?" Muhmis spits out coldly, her hand still reaching. The young Samothracian makes a gesture with his hand, and suddenly there’s a flurry of movement. Two Draka have pinned him to the floor, and the young man’s companions move in for the fight of their lives.
"Goddammit! Stop it! My head hurts!" I bellow. Everyone turns to look at me, and movement is frozen in the violent tableau before my eyes. "Muhmis, please. Please. Leave her alone. Leave Emily alone. She coldcocked her mother to save me from getting my head kicked off my shoulders. She’s not the problem here…" I sway, unsteady, on my feet, the world spinning on its own little odd axis in front of me.
"Erin…" Gwen says, still growling. But she lowers her hand, and walks past the livid midshipman to me. She cups my head, gently, so gently, in the hand that had been about to kill someone, and looks into my eyes. "You’re concussed. Oh, sweet, sit down here, now…"
Her voice hardens. "Let that fool up. Take his weapon, though. Call for General Smythe, priority. And a medteam, for Erin."
"Immediately, Archon," says one of the young Draka, jerking the stunned and angry Samothracian boy to his feet. "Security for this?"
"No, leave him for Smythe. You two others, over here. Next to the Midshipman, now. Or I won’t take responsibility for what happens to you." The two, a young man and an even younger-looking woman, move over to stand by Emily Richardson, who’s on her feet, glaring at Gwen.
I let my head rest in the cup of Gwen’s large, strong hand; the bells, whistles and what-not are slowly diminishing, but a wave of nausea creeps over me. I feel miserable. Hell, we were laughing, and talking, and managing to communicate, and now all this crap, I think to myself, and sigh softly.
Muhmis squats down next to me, putting an arm around my shoulders, comforting me. "Here now, my saafn, it’s all right, Muhmis’ here. It’s all right… the medteam’s on its way, won’t be long, Erin, my sweet…"
I feel her transducer’s presence, as she downloads the scenes from mine; she snarls again, more territorial rage than anything, and strokes my hair, avoiding the two large lumps on my head gently.
I’m so sorry, Muhmis, I never meant to cause an incident… please, please forgive me, Muhmis.
You didn’t cause it; I’m not upset with you at all. Just concerned for you. It’s going to be all right, Erin. We’ve stopped it before things got… well, irreversable. Thanks for your display of human command voice. There’s a hint of humor there, too.
Oh, Muhmis… we were actually talking, and relating, and laughing… she fell into the peas, and it was funny, oh my head hurts… Muhmis, I’m scared, it hurts…Gwen?
The last thing I really remember is Gwen’s voice, her true voice, calling my name as the lights seem to contract into one tiny, intense dot, then nothing…
**