The Best of All Possible Worlds (4 page)

“Second Assistant Delarua, I believe you must have opened your correspondence by now?”

My boss tries to get away with stuff by being cute. She’s short and stocky, with big
round cheeks and deep dimples. She fools no one. The more she dimples, the more you
know you’ve been screwed over.

“Chief, I can’t believe you didn’t discuss this with me first. Whatever happened to
the Human Relations and Vocational Guidance Department? Everyone there die of the
plague? Fell into a coma? Got amnesia?” Even as I spoke my frustration, I reined myself
in a little. As dangerous as the dimples were, it was worse if you said something
to make them disappear suddenly. My boss didn’t permit subordinates to take liberties.

“Sorry, dear. This came in from over my head.” She shrugged. “It’s only a year’s assignment.
Why not see it as an opportunity to broaden your curriculum vitae?”

“I’m a biotechnician! The longer I stay away from my field, the more my CV suffers
—you
know that!” My eyes narrowed.
“Wait a minute. Someone above you messed with the personnel structure of your department,
and you’re still smiling?” I felt suddenly ill, my stomach going into free fall. “You
wanted
to get rid of me? Why didn’t you say—”

“Delarua, relax! I have no problem with you or your work. And yes, I’m not shattered,
but it’s because of who your replacement is.”

Then she spoke the name Dr. Freyda Mar, a name that will mean nothing to you or, let’s
be honest, to most Cygnians, but for those who know the up-to-date research in the
biotech field, it was almost as if Albert Einstein had decided to take a year off
from research and teach secondary-level general science.

“
Her
? What would she want with my crappy little job? Sorry, Chief, but even you must admit
that the least glamorous work of the department falls under my remit. I mean, hydroponics,
and health inspections, and
sewage
, and driving hundreds of klicks and sometimes sleeping in barns if you’re lucky and
in the car if you’re not. I mean yes, I like it, but everyone knows I’m strange.”

“Well, maybe she’s strange too. She wants to write a book about the practical applications
of her research. More power to her, I say. I’ve always thought academics should get
a little slurry on their boots from time to time.”

I took a deep breath. If Freyda Mar was coming to fill my place for a year, there
was no way I was getting out of this. “Fine. I see I’ve got two months before I go.
When’s Dr. Mar coming?”

“In a month’s time. You’ll have the joy of showing her the ropes.”

The idea of me—
me
—showing Dr. Freyda Mar how to do my job for a
whole month
so thrilled me to the depths of my techie soul that I completely forgot I was supposed
to be angry about leaving for an entire year to go … where? On a wild goose chase
as part anthropologist, part diplomat?

The latter half of the week rolled around, and I was on my way to Dllenahkh’s office
at the usual time to discuss the inspection schedule. I did have a moment’s pause
at his door, wondering how he would react to the news of my assignment, but it was
only a moment. Dllenahkh’s secretary was of the Gilroy stamp: young, gawky, and more
than a little curious at my hesitation.

“Councillor Dllenahkh
is
expecting you,” he prompted kindly.

“Thank you, Joral,” I muttered, and went through.

I tried to explain to Dllenahkh what I thought was going to happen—my assignment,
my replacement, and so forth. I kept my tone neutral; I don’t believe in behaving
either disgruntled or gleeful about work-related matters, especially around people
outside my department. He leaned forward, set his elbows on the desk, and contemplated
his fingers in silence for a while. During that while, I finally realized he was not
in the least surprised.

“Oh. Oh, no. Oh—” I began to swear. One of the advantages of having languages as a
hobby is that it can take you quite a while to run out of swear words. I hadn’t even
exhausted my list from the dead languages I know when I paused for breath and Dllenahkh
spoke up, still apparently addressing his fingers.

“Could it be that you are vexed with me, Second Assistant Delarua?”

“Could it be that you are
laughing
at me, Councillor Dllenahkh? Are
you
the reason for this complication in my life? Please, explain this madness!”

His brows drew together briefly, erasing that faint suggestion of suppressed amusement
that had so irritated me, and he finally looked me in the eye. “I fear that you have
not been fully briefed as yet. No doubt your superior has informed you of all that
she knows and a more detailed mission dossier is forthcoming. I assure you, this is
not madness.”

He got up and walked to the archaic map board that showed
Tlaxce Province and the regions bordering it. He faced it, placed his hands behind
his back, and unexpectedly exhaled a large sigh.

“Before I begin, I have not properly thanked you for your recommendation that we seek
the assistance of the Ministry of Family Planning and Maintenance. As a result, some
of the custody cases are being reviewed, and counseling is being provided for the
parents and families involved. While it is unlikely that all cases will be resolved
amicably, the situation is less fraught than previously. Furthermore, any future attempts
at cross-cultural partnering will be channeled through the ministry’s programs for
that purpose.”

“Not bad,” I said, pleased and mollified. “They’ve been establishing and maintaining
unions for generations now. They’re quite good at what they do—not perfect, but far
better than nothing.”

He glanced back at me briefly, then raised a hand to indicate the provinces. “Tlaxce,
which is the largest province, is also one of the most genetically homogeneous provinces
due to the presence of the capital and the main spaceport. We have been advised that
if we are seeking Cygnians with a high percentage of taSadiri genetic heritage, we
should go to the outlying regions of the neighboring provinces.”

“Still clinging to your concept of purity?” I said quietly.

Dllenahkh turned and looked at me in a way that I fancied meant,
When
you
lose your home and all but a remnant of your people, feel free to return and lecture
me on the ethics of purity
.

I lowered my eyes. “So the mission is to find Cygnian groups that are more taSadiri
than the average,” I paraphrased meekly.

“Your facility for the languages of Cygnus Beta is what led me to recommend you as
Civil Service liaison. That and your insightfulness.”

First the stick and then the carrot. He had become quite talented
at manipulating Cygnians with a little flattery, I thought sourly. “And what role
will you play?”

“I have been authorized to assess both the settlements and the people we encounter
in order to determine whether it would be more efficient for us to join those settlements,
or to encourage potential wives to remove to our settlement here in Tlaxce.” Although
Dllenahkh would never stoop to smugness, there was an unwarranted certitude in his
tone that suggested he had already decided what the obvious choice would be.

He took a last look at the map and returned to sit behind his desk.

“The First Assistant to the Chief Biotechnician is a year younger than you and is
likely to serve for at least another five years in her post. The Chief Biotechnician
will not retire for at least another twelve years. All higher positions in the department
require greater managerial experience and less technical skill. I estimated there
was a low probability that your career would be harmed, and … I have noticed that
you derive a certain amount of enjoyment from our field trips. I hope I did not misinterpret
the case.” There was the merest hint, the tiniest suggestion of humility and concern
in his gaze.

I shrugged. “I’m sorry I swore like that. It was a bit of a shock. I’m sure it will
all work out.”

He nodded. “Excellent. Then let us begin our rounds, and I will tell you about the
other personnel on the mission team.”

What he did not tell me, what would have been more useful, was the name of the higher-up
who had managed to deepen the dimples in my boss’s cheeks with the bribe of Freyda
Mar! Because let me tell you, I want to kiss that person. We were already starstruck
and willing to welcome the most eccentric, knee-sock-wearing, port-drinking, absentminded
professor type that ever came out of Tlaxce University. But Freyda Mar dressed normally,
drank water, remembered everything, and … okay, she was a
little
eccentric, but in a way that everyone could appreciate.

She bore a striking resemblance to a tall, middle-aged Wicked Witch of the West except
not, you know, being actually green. A few days before our first field trip, I looked
at her long, wavy black hair, and all I said was, “Are you sure?” She took one look
at my own close-cropped do and said, “You know, you’ve got a point.” Whereupon I step
out to get us some coffee for the mid-morning break, and when I get back, the scissors
are out of the drawer and on the desk and the wastepaper basket is bristling with
a meter-length’s worth of hair. I’m telling you, my mouth fell open, but she just
laughed at me and took the mugs from my hand before I dropped them.

In spite of all that, she seemed a little bit nervous about working with Sadiri, so
I gave her a quick, casual primer while she worriedly tapped notes into her handheld.
“Trust me, they’ll love you. They don’t do small talk and they have a constant need
for mind fodder, so feel free to discuss your work in detail. Let them do the heavy
lifting; they’ve got the high-grav build for it, and they’re happy to show off their
physical strength. Don’t try to shake hands with them. Don’t touch anyone’s head,
especially
not their hair. That’s a big no-no.”

“Custom? Or something else?” she asked, stopping in midinput.

“That’s canny of you,” I said approvingly. “I don’t know for certain, but I think
it might have something to do with the telepathy.”

She nodded, looking thoughtful and a lot more relaxed. “Years ago I spent some time
doing research at a university in the Punartam System. I met a Sadiri mindship pilot
there. He always wore gloves, always kept his head covered. I thought it was cultural
at first, but maybe there’s more to it than that.”

Freyda had just proved herself to be a typical techie. Ask her
to remember the arbitrary rules of some foreign etiquette and she fretted. Give her
a possible scientific explanation for a social behavior and she was fine.

Road trips, now, are a real test of character, and I had no idea how she would handle
the long and sometimes boring drives. I soon discovered that you could get her to
sing from any musical or opera, very loudly, as the car rolled along, and sometimes
I’d join in, though with less volume and skill. Poor Dllenahkh, who was accustomed
to far quieter rides, would look at us sideways with an expression of mild terror.
But even Dllenahkh warmed to her when she switched into technical mode. He listened
to her very, very closely, their heights almost matching, constantly nodding and nodding
as she rattled off some aspect of her latest theory. At one point, I could swear I
saw him looking at her almost dreamily, as if he had ceased to listen to the content
of her words and was thinking about something else.

I was getting ready to tease him about having a romantic crush to rival my professional
crush, but then he caught me by surprise the following week. I had been expecting
Kavelan to replace him as the homesteading liaison, Kavelan being a young but sober-headed
subordinate in the office whom I had encountered several times over the past year
or so. Instead, a completely new face turned up. It was difficult to guess how old
he was, but I estimated from his aura of maturity that he was closer to Dllenahkh’s
age than the average Sadiri male of the homesteadings.

Dllenahkh did the introductions. “This is my replacement, Dr. Lanuri. He will be joining
us for inspections henceforth.”

Dr. Lanuri inclined his head, and Freyda and I gave little bows in turn. He had creases
on his face that looked suspiciously like laugh lines, but if they were, they had
not been used for a very long time. He still bore the slightly vacant expression of
deep
depression that had characterized Dllenahkh and many of the other Sadiri in the earlier
days of settlement.

I wish I could say I was given the opportunity to get to know him better, but after
a quick briefing on the inspection schedule, Dllenahkh led us out to not one groundcar
but two.

He said, “Given that our vehicles must occasionally serve as temporary shelters, I
considered it unwise to approach the passenger limit too closely. Therefore, each
team will go in its own groundcar. The nav systems have been linked. I wish you a
safe and pleasant journey, Dr. Lanuri, Dr. Mar.”

And then he positively dashed toward a car with what for a Sadiri smacked of unnatural
and unseemly haste. I followed, bemused by the teasing lilt to his formal and unnecessary
farewell to Dr. Lanuri (the first leg of our rounds was only a two-hour journey, after
all) and wondering if I had imagined seeing an exasperated glint in Dr. Lanuri’s eye—rather
like the one I usually get when my mother starts hinting that a second son-in-law
and more grandchildren would be nice.

“You know,” I said to him once we had started off, “I’m thinking the Ministry of Family
Planning would be more subtle than you were just now. Perhaps you should leave the
matchmaking to them.”

Dllenahkh pretended to look aggrieved, but his demeanor reeked of too much satisfaction
for it to be convincing. “I do not understand what you mean by that statement. It
is more convenient for Dr. Mar and Dr. Lanuri to go together in one vehicle so they
can begin the ‘team-building’ process which is so important to Cygnians.”