Contact Imminent (21 page)

Jani stared down at the ring in her hand, given her a seeming lifetime ago. Not for the first time she wondered if Tsecha realized what he had sucked her into. “You called me ‘Haárin' even though I am not truly so and never will be. I am part humanish, as are all the Thalassans. Not only that, but some of us were born humanish. We will therefore always be different. Even as we come to resemble you physi
cally, our minds will never work as yours. What you would perceive as a godly request from a dominant, we might see as an aggression, an untoward domination.” She replayed Gisa's walk up the slope toward the main house, the set looks on the faces of her followers. “That is, I most believe, what you see in Thalassa now, the fear that you use the issue with the Board as an excuse to claim Thalassa as part of your enclave.”

“It cannot remain alone as it is. The other dominants will not understand.”

“Yet it must be allowed something of itself. The other Haárin must understand from the outset that it is as different, so that they do not expect its inhabitants to act in ways of which they are not capable.”

Feyó left the planter and walked to a nearby cabinet set in the wall. “The Thalassans must change.”

So must you, I think.
Jani executed a slow ten-count. “Maybe they must, but not completely. They are a blending of two peoples. Such is the definition of hybrid.” She looked down at her ring once more, this time so that she could hide the anger she felt take hold.
Yes, Gisa is out of line.
But Feyó was proving no better, merely less obvious.
Small thanks for little favors.

“Ná Kièrshia?”

Jani looked up to see Feyó slide aside one of the cabinet doors and remove a hard-sided documents case.

“Three seasons ago, you aided us and the Karistosians in a matter of water supply.” Feyó set the case on a table and opened it, removing a wafer folder and a portable display. “Much has occurred since then. If you attend,” she indicated the place by her side, “I will show you.”

 

Jani stared at the display as the last chart faded to nothing. Before her on the table lay stacks of documents, arranged according to language and source, function and content. Dock statistics, transit schedules, metric tonnage moved.
What was shipped and who shipped it, to every world in the Outer Circle.

“I had invited Colonel Pierce to participate in our talk.” Jani powered down her scanpack. “I am very glad he turned me down.” She tucked it back in its case, then returned the case to her duffel. It hadn't been mistrust that had caused her to pull out her dependable device and scan the paper that Feyó had shown her as much as the need to do something—with nerves came the need for motion. “He's concerned that the Haárin control too large a proportion of Outer Circle shipping.” She lifted her chin toward the dead display. “He'd send the Service to lock down Elyas Station if he ever saw those numbers.”

“We did not behave against humanish law, ná Kièrshia.” Feyó gathered a handful of documents folders and tucked them back into the case. “The routes were there. The docks. Humanish had needs that their own did not see to. That being the case, at whom should Colonel Pierce be angry? At Haárin, for doing as they would in a legal manner? Or his own, for neglecting that which they might have taken as their own?”

“Both. He likes to spread it around.” Jani lifted the cover of one of the folders and peeked at the topmost document. “Seventy-two point three percent of the transport traffic. Sixty-four point one percent of the shuttle traffic. The total percentage of slips controlled is on the light side—only 58.2—but that's only because whoever ran the tally included private and spaceliner docks. Subtract those, the number jumps to 73.8.” She let the cover fall closed. “I'm amazed the Families didn't notice what was happening.”

“Haárin suffered lost shipments. Disabled ships. But not so many, and the colonial humanish always seemed most interested in aiding us to recover that which was ours, and capturing those who injured us.” Feyó put the last of the folders into the case, then collapsed the display and set it on top.
“They preferred us to their own, so it seemed. A strange concept for Haárin, but we adapted, as is our way.”

“Apparently.” Jani dragged her bag off the table and tossed it atop her chair. “You've heard of the attacks against the Chicago Haárin? You've heard of the mine explosion, and the death of the bornsect security suborn?”

“Yes—ní Tsecha informed me of such.” Feyó shut the case back in its recess, her hand lingering upon the door. “Such will not happen here in the Circle. Our enclaves are old and well-established, and humanish have grown used to us.”

“That's true for now.” Jani walked to the window. The Trade Board building sat atop a hill, and thus commanded a formidable view of Karistos. Roofs of buildings, both flat and brilliantly domed, the palmlike trees popping up in between like strange dandelions. In the background, the blue sweep of the bay, shot through with ripples like liquid silver, backed by the coppery cliffs.
This place…
She turned away from the scene, because she wanted nothing more than to contemplate it for the rest of the day. “According to Colonel Pierce, humanish are just learning that those who lived at Thalassa are hybrid. Their…esteem for you may change now that they've learned of them. They may blame you for their existence, even though you bear no responsibility.”

“We will announce such.”

“They may not believe you.”

Feyó gestured understanding. “Humanish do so seem to ignore that which is. Ní Tsecha told me of such during our talks in Chicago.” When she uttered Tsecha's name, her voice rose in pitch, her back straightening in a posture of respect. “Many of my Haárin have taken to wearing their hair and clothing as humanish, especially since ní Tsecha's outcast. And humanish sometimes wear their hair in a way most as a napeknot. Those who were treated lived in their own places until Doctor DeVries completed the building of Thalassa, and took great care with their appearance so that they could continue to labor in Karistos. But they perhaps need
not have done so, for the line, as you might say, had blurred even before DeVries began his work. Such may aid the humanish here to accept that which is.”

“Hair and clothing are one thing, blood and bone another.” Jani held out her hands, then pressed them together, palm to palm. “And the Thalassans didn't aid their cause by kidnapping me. Even humanish who don't like me—and they are legion—will seize upon that as proof that the hybrids are outlaws, and that animus will transfer to Haárin.”

Feyó leaned against the table and crossed her arms in the humanish manner. “And then there is Gisa, who would lead the Haárin in my place.”

Yes, Feyó, and if you continue to push her, this situation may get even more interesting.
Jani remained with her hands pressed together, still conscious of the peaceful scene that called to her from behind. “All possible must be done to insure that some sort of concordance is reached, just in case we ever reach the point where it all hits the fan.” She paused when Feyó gestured puzzlement. “I mean if humanish–idomeni relations deteriorated past the point of no return.”

“You mean war.” Feyó pushed away from the table and paced, her braided fringe swinging gently in time to her step. “We do at times speak of such. It is part of our business scheme—who would remain, who would depart, who would control. Would we transport bornsect goods? Humanish? Both?” She stopped and turned to Jani, her head held high, and crossed her right arm over her chest. “I would fight for this place, beside whoever would also fight for this place, Haárin, hybrid, or humanish. I would do so because the worldskein cast me out, and so lost all claim to my loyalty. I would do so because this place is my home.”

Jani sensed the weight of Feyó's words, the feeling that she spoke from the same place as Gisa.
Feyó abandoned the Shèrá worldskein when she made this place her home, and Gisa took the rejection one step further.
Now it seemed as though they both sought to reclaim traditions they had left
behind.
That must be why they're making such a muddle of it—they're out of practice.
Before she could reply, a series of tones echoed through the room. One of the copper panels slid aside, and one of Feyó's male suborns entered.

“Ná Feyó, there is a transmission from Shèrá.” He glanced at Jani, his respectful posture at odds with his obvious desire to speak to his dominant privately. “It arrived by courier. Ná Voln has taken it to the communications room for decode.”

“Then I will join ná Voln.” Feyó waited for the male to precede her, then started after him toward the door. “And will you join me, ná Kièrshia?” She looked back over her shoulder at Jani. “This transmission, I most sense, will concern you as it does me.”

 

The Haárin communications room, in order to allow for the recording of posture and gesture so necessary to idomeni articulation, was larger than any humanish combooth Jani had ever used. This was offset, however, by the fact that Feyó and her suborn trio apparently made a habit of listening to transmissions together. Jani stood against the back wall of the space, boosting on tiptoe to look around and over the four Haárin to the display at the front.

“I say it is of Temple,” one of the males said as the other inserted the wafer into the unit reader. “They have not scolded us for some time now—it is our turn.” Before he could say more, the display lightened, which in turn cued the room illumins to lower.

Jani watched the Haárin darken to fluid shapes. The warm air of the booth had grown even warmer in the few minutes since they'd entered. She inhaled the soapy odor of Sìah perspiration, listened to the rustle of cloth and the creak of leather boots.

The display lightened further, and a dour figure, an elderly female in a red-cuffed overrobe, appeared.

“Temple.”
The talkative male gestured toward the display. “So I said.
Hah
.”

The female began to speak, her High Vynshàrau jam-packed with nuance and loaded phrases. Jani listened. Watched.
A meeting…with Shai and Sànalàn…over the fate of the bornsect killed at the mine site
. Except the bornsect hadn't died, and Tsecha had argued for his life, repudiating both his propitiator and generations of religious doctrine in the process.

Oh. Damn. Damn. Damn
. Jani saw Feyó's growing dismay in the rounding of her shoulders, and felt her own curve in response.

“Ní Tsecha Egri had lived his life in conflict with all that is godly. All that is orderly. He is the first Chief Propitiator to be made outcast, the first to give over his place to his successor while he lived.” The female paused, her back bent in anger. “In denying Sànalàn her right as Chief Propitiator, he has displayed once more his disdain for his people, for our gods. We therefore command him to return to Shèrá, so that he may face the discipline of Temple, which should have been his so long ago, yet which he eluded as a beast eludes a trap.”

“They will execute him,” Feyó said.

“They cannot!” The female suborn turned to her. “They must not!”

“They'll try.” Jani leaned against the wall for support. “Cèel has been after him since the end of the war of Vynshàrau ascension. Now he believes he has him. He won't let this opportunity pass.” She pushed past Feyó to the door, disregarding the female acolyte's salutation, for the first time since she arrived hoping for cool air to ease the buzzing in her head. She pushed the entry panel aside, leaning against the wall, then crouching low, her head touching her knees.

“You are…ill, ná Kièrshia?

Jani looked up to find Feyó standing over her, worry tensing her face like pain. “It occurs to me, ná Feyó, that if you had informed ní Tsecha of the hybrids when you first knew of them, he would have sheltered that knowledge, and be
haved accordingly. I'm not claiming that this episode would not have happened, but it might not have.” She slowly straightened, her thigh muscles trembling. She recalled her last meeting with Tsecha before her departure, the expression on his face as he told her of Feres, the pain of loss she had never before associated with idomeni.
He's changed
. A hybrid in his way, as she was in hers, and damn the consequences. “We need to stop him.”

Feyó cocked her head in puzzlement. “Ní Tsecha?”

“Cèel.” Jani started down the hall. “We need to cut him off at the knees.” She stopped and turned on her heel, and barely avoided a collision with Feyó. “Do you still stand with ní Tsecha, despite what you learned here today?”

Feyó drew up, raising her chin to appear taller, then looked down at Jani. “What I have learned does not change my thought.”

Jani raised her own chin, acknowledging Feyó's response and her own humility. “Will the other Haárin follow you?”

Feyó hesitated. “Most, I do believe.”

“Can you make sure?” Jani waited, her heart tripping, until Feyó offered a slow humanish nod. “The other Outer Circle dominants have probably heard the message by now. You need to gauge their reaction, assure them that you're still dominant, persuade the ones who aren't sure. Meanwhile, I need to talk to Gisa.” She fell silent as an Haárin female approached. The female wore the battered coverall of an outdoor worker, a brightly patterned scarf wrapped around her head.

“Ná Kièrshia?” Her voice emerged as a high-pitched keening, so great was her regard. “There is a humanish searching for you in the gardens. His name is Pierce. He said something of—” She grabbed her right shoulder with her left hand in a fit of confusion. “—hur-ly bur-ly?”

 

Jani exited the board building to find Niall pacing the pavered walkway.