The V'Dan (25 page)

“Thank you.” Rising from her chair, Jackie wiped at her eyes, blew her nose, and headed out of the communications room. She could sense Li’eth headed her way, and decided a detour to the hydroponics garden was in order.

There, among green growing things . . . and some things that were yellow and blue and peach in hue . . . she would let herself grieve. It was popular with the Terrans now that all but the last handful of patients in the infirmary were safe to go anywhere that V’Dan plant life grew. Someone had dragged in chairs, setting up little lounging areas that annoyed the V’Dan robots programmed to tend the plant life; the Terrans moved their chairs from time to time whenever the machines drew near but otherwise ignored the things.

There, in the only place that could even remotely be said to be Hawai’ian in appearance, she would grieve. Jackie would grieve, and do her best to get the urge to cry through her system because they were on an increasingly short schedule between this moment and the moment of full, formal presentation.

But maybe, just maybe, she
would
ask if she could have a small container of her grandmother’s ashes shipped to V’Dan, to be scattered on the beaches of an alien planet. Her grandmother had loved their home isles fiercely, but even she had been caught up in the fascination of meeting Humans from another world. Leilani
had
wanted to come here. Someday.

MAY 16, 2287 C.E.
JANVA 10, 9508 V.D.S.
CITY OF THE WINTER PALACE
V’DAN HOMEWORLD, V’DAN SYSTEM

Seen from above, the various main buildings and interconnecting structures of the Winter Palace gleamed like a series of necklaces and pendants forged in slightly iridescent gold. They gleamed, filigree laid among a myriad of snow-dusted gardens, which in turn were surrounded by sprawling buildings of a hundred different styles of architecture, if not more.

“This city has been occupied for almost the entire span of recorded civilization,” Li’eth told Jackie. He pointed at the monitor screen. “The Winter Palace has been remodeled multiple times, of course, but if you look past that escort ship, just beneath it, you can see the sunlight glinting on the bay. And right there, a finger in that bay, is the first of the three ancient lighthouses for the bay. That one has been standing more or less intact for almost ninety-five hundred years.”

Maria, seated just ahead of them, peered at her own monitor. “It looks like it’s made out of huge stone blocks.”

“How else would anything last over nine thousand years?” Li’eth quipped back. “It’s said the Immortal chose to build in stone because stone is the only thing that can outlast
her
.”

“Yes,” Lars agreed. “But you have to pick the
right
stone. Pick the wrong kind, and it crumbles like sand. Even sandstone,” he added on a soft chuckle.

“Imperial Landing Control to
Embassy 1
, you are cleared for approach to Imperial Hangar 3 behind
Imperial First Escort
. Do not deviate from your flight path.”
The voice came through Jackie’s headset, distracting her. At this point in their journey, answering Landing Control was the pilot’s job, however.

“This is
Embassy 1
. Our flight path is acknowledged,”
Robert replied,
“and we are following
Imperial First Escort
to our landing site, over.”
He tilted their ship to follow their lead escort’s flight path in circling around the edge of those golden buildings.

“. . . Over, what,
Embassy 1
?”

“It . . . means . . . my part of the speaking is over?”
he replied hesitantly, while Jackie bit her lip in an effort not to laugh.
“It’s a Terran call-and-response thing.”

Off mic, Jackie muttered, “So many little differences, so little time to remember, explore, and explain them all . . .”

“We’ll get them learned and explained eventually,” Li’eth reassured her. His cousin had wanted him to descend in a different ship until Li’eth had pointed out that it would be best to have a protocol officer on board for any last-moment explanations, and that it would be proper to honor their arrival by having one of the Imperial Tier escort them the full way to their new quarters.

“Those buildings are much bigger than I thought,” Lars exclaimed softly. “It’s one thing to gauge distances on Earth, because we know what the buildings are like in size, but this . . . ?”

“The First Empress did not build small,” Li’eth agreed, eyeing the massive, pyramid-shaped structures. “There, between those two squared-off buildings; that’s Imperial Hangar 3. It’s assigned to the embassies, so it has the least amount of traffic.”

“It’s like flying over a surrealistic, modern Chichen Itza,” Maria murmured.

“Only with far fewer trees, and many, many more buildings,” Lars agreed. “Those plazas are also huge down there.”

“Those are the celebration tiers,” Li’eth told them. “The biggest two at the far end are for the Fifth and Fourth Tiers, then the Third Tier is fully upon the Imperial grounds—the stairs between each Tier’s courtyard can be raised in case of rioting, cutting off access to anything higher.”

“Here we go, people,” Robert warned them. Their vessel straightened out under his hands, and aimed for a low opening tucked between two flat-topped, iridescent, gold-coated structures.

“You’ll be in the building on the left. Because your embassy
is so large to start with, we’ve moved the K’Katta to the building on the right,” Li’eth said. “They were very gracious about it. Grand High Ambassador K’kuttl’cha said this also makes more sense; she wouldn’t have to trot all the way over to the right-hand building to talk about joint-colony matters with her counterpart among the Gatsugi . . . and then she joked about how she might get fat from lack of exercise. The K’Katta
don’t
get fat,” he added. “They just either regurgitate or excrete more often. So it was a joke.”

“If that was a joke, then your waste-management facilities would be the ones getting fat,” Lars quipped, smiling. “A potbellied toilet would be funny.”

(
Oh, great, here comes the bathroom humor. I guess he forgot that this is all still being recorded for posterity.
) Jackie sighed.

(
Well, the Imperial Family is not supposed to jest about such things, officially . . . but flatulence happens,
) Li’eth pointed out, smiling faintly.

They ran out of time for jokes. The gleaming winter sunlight vanished, replaced by artificial lights as all but the first of the escort vessels peeled off, and the string of Terran ships slowed and ducked into the hangar bay. There had been some concern expressed on the maneuverability of Terran vessels, since their design was clearly aerodynamic—gliding-flight capable—while the hangars were designed for vertical landings and takeoffs.

But as smoothly as if he had practiced and run this course a hundred times before, Robert brought the
Embassy 1
to a hovering stall via the thruster panels, turned the craft, and followed the portside tunnel under the huge building that was supposed to be their home. Terran embassies of the recent past had often been stand-alone affairs, with whatever patch of ground they occupied being considered a legal part of the nation represented in the building. V’Dan embassies were different, with their occupants being treated as honored guests in the local leadership’s home.

Jackie knew privately that her fellow Terrans felt this guaranteed there would be listening devices installed in their quarters, no matter what the V’Dan might promise. But since they had yet to establish any sort of international currency exchanges,
there was no way as yet for them to buy property and build an independent embassy upon it. The only thing right now that guaranteed them any privacy was the fact that every last one of her people, even the reluctant Lieutenant Colvers, now spoke Mandarin . . . and none of the V’Dan knew that language. Not even Li’eth.
Except maybe the Immortal, but I’m not sure if she counts, since she’d have to explain
how
she knows it.

But there would be watchers and eavesdroppers. Openly visible as well as covert or denied.

While their escort vehicle tucked itself into an alcove, they in turn landed on a huge octagon as directed. As it began descending, more instructions came forth.
“
Embassy 1
, your assigned berth is North 5-10 through 5-13, due starboard of the descent elevator. Understand that in the event of an emergency, the lift will immediately descend to the lowest level and remain there, clearing the tunnel for direct escape by all vertical-ascent vehicles. All Terran vehicles have been assigned berths in hangars Bay 3 North 5 and Bay 3 North 6.

“Acknowledged, Hangar 3 Control,”
Jackie answered, since Robert was busy peering at the ships on the hangar floors they descended past.

While the city up above had looked clean and shiny, even under patchy scatterings of snow slowly melting in the winter sun, down here, the local version of concrete looked grimy from untold years of petrochemical exhaust. There were scratches and scrapes on the walls, fading bits of paint, and sections that had been freshened with brighter colors in recent days. And there were robots in view, sweeping the ground, toting toolboxes, and being of general use. More than the Terrans used, but then it had only been just over one hundred years since the AI War back on Earth.

The vehicles in the other bays—North 1 and 2 looked like they were reserved for Solaricans, North 3 and 4 for Tlassians, given the shapes of the sentient figures working among the various craft and support columns—came in a wide array of sizes and types, from a couple about the size of the
Embassy 1
, to a handful of the
Embassies 2
through
15
, to dozens and dozens of what looked like V’Dan-style hovercars. Some had panels open and parts strewn around. Others looked like they were being refueled.

Then North 5 came into view. It, too, was brightly lit, but most of the hangar-bay floor was barren, emptied of vehicles and equipment. To the left—portside—as the lift finished descending and jolted lightly, stopping flush with the floor, there were about forty hovercars parked in between the columns in the distance, and what looked like
Embassy 4
and
5
parked in the far corners on that side. Six brown-clad Marines stood on the ground dead ahead in front of six more V’Dan clad in red-and-gold uniforms, with cream trousers instead of the usual red.

Both sets of warriors stood there with their weapons holstered and bodies braced in somewhat similar versions of Parade Rest. A good score or more of what had to be V’Dan staff and hangar personnel stood behind them, save for two figures in bright reflective clothes waving lightsticks to the ship’s right. Ground crew was ground crew, it seemed, regardless of which world one occupied.

The view of those vehicles and personnel out the portside windows shifted; murmuring more to himself than into his headset, Robert lifted them off the elevator pad. He glided the ship to the right and simultaneously turned it to the left, spinning slowly enough that when they landed, the nose of their ship pointed straight at the lift pad and the cluster of transports far beyond. As soon as they touched down, the lead Marine gestured; the other five snapped to Attention, turned, and moved toward the ship. The V’Dan followed suit, their red boots crossing the concrete floor in unison; the V’Dan hangar workers trailed cautiously behind.

Jackie checked the freshly painted V’Dan numbers on the columns surrounding them.
“Hangar 3 Control, the
Embassy 1
has landed. Thank you for guiding us in. We look forward to the arrival of the rest of our fleet.
Embassy 1
is shutting down . . . now.”

“Acknowledged,
Embassy 1
. We hand control of your ship over to the ground crew in North 5.”

Robert and Brad finished shutting off the engines. “And that’s that,” the Texas-born Asian murmured, reaching up overhead to tap switches, shutting off the heads-up display overlaid on the forward-facing windows. “Welcome to V’Dan.”

“I think that should be my line,” Li’eth quipped. “As you say, welcome to V’Dan.”

“Brad, would you go coordinate with the ground crews on fueling procedures?” Robert asked his copilot. “I can finish up in the cockpit.”

“I’ll get started on showing the others which cupboards and lockers to open,” Lars offered, meaning the soldiers and staff tucked into jumpseats in the other cabins of the ship. Some they would know they could touch because those contained their personal belongings. Others were split between supplies that had to be kept on board and supplies that were meant to be off-loaded and carted to their new home.

“I’ll go greet Captain al-Fulan and his troops,” Jackie said. Li’eth unlatched his harness at the same time as she did, but they both waited for Lars to get out of the way since he was first out of his seat.

Brad rose to follow them, muttering half to himself. “Join the Space Force. Be an experimental vessel pilot. Meet friendly new aliens, and convince them, yet again, that we just need
water
for fuel, not liquid toxins . . . I hope these guys—these meioas,” he corrected dryly, “will actually believe me when I say all we want is a garden hose.”

“I reinforced your request when I heard the
Dusk Army
’s fueling crews complaining about it,” Li’eth told him. “You won’t have to jury-rig a funnel from the watering line to your tanks.”

“Somehow, Your Highness, I doubt they’ve magically crafted Terran-style fuel pumps out of thin air,” Colvers stated sardonically, staring him down.

“No, but they’ll have several sizes of funnels available this time around, so no jury-rigging will be needed for that part, at least,” Li’eth pointed out mildly. He offered a brief smile.

“Don’t quit your day job, Highness . . . but thank you,” Colvers acknowledged. He did not like psychics, and no doubt was staying back so that he wouldn’t even accidentally brush against the prince, but at least he was acting a lot more cooperative and polite these days. Mostly polite. “Eventually, we
will
convince your people to cut out the dangers of petrochemicals.”