IronStar Page 10

  Conclusions: It is my professional Assessment that this remarkable woman does not bear us intended harm; that she is honorable and of a clean mind; that she is withholding a great many things (as might be appropriate to a foreign emissary); and that she will, with neither hesitation nor remorse, pour her entire self into the neutralization of any perceived threat to the boy Akaray.

  With all honor et cetera et cetera,

  Your servant and teacher,

  Slaetra shu’Urwakla shai’Talamae

  Ito’lae’mara: (formally witnessed by Brai’klao shu’Naei)

  - to the query ‘most meaningful observation?’ - the rune ‘Blessing’

  - to the query ‘result of Talamae embracing this woman?’ - the rune ‘Joy’

  - my reading: ‘a blessing to behold (examine?) and a joy as an ally’.

  In retrospect I notice my second query did not specify ‘Joy’ to whom. I used to trust these runes a lot more than I do now, dear Tsano. Be wary.

  Chapter 11 (Landing plus seven): Audience

  “It’s been said power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. I wonder whether we’ve got that backwards. I wonder whether it’s just that power attracts the corruptible, and absolute power attracts the absolutely corrupt. And if that’s true, how should we be choosing our leaders?” - the ‘Chadworth Chronicles’ (vol.II, pg.90.16), diary of Roe Singh Chadworth, 23rd century A.D. post-Terran explorer and trader, co-founder of the Mercantile Doctrine.

  In the afternoon of her third day of intensive language tutoring at the ‘Stone in a River’ school, Kirrah’s wristcomp alarm beeped in mid-lesson, letting her know that at that moment some forty light-hours distant, a certain lonely Mark VIII-b/2230 Mailtube, following programmed instructions laid in by one Master Chief Samuel Chuwan Lee, Fleet Engineer Second Class, Regnum Draconis Survey Service (deceased), had just come awake.

  Kirrah visualized it drifting, cold and inert, by now fled far beyond the frontiers of this solar system. Then shivering briefly as its tiny fusion bottle came on-line, feeding power to the miniature Higgs generator in its nose. Virtual mass would begin to build around its bow, pseudo-gravity tugging the little messenger around this axis, lining up those three stars, heading just exactly that way. Then the power would torrent in earnest, piling gigaton on top of megaton of virtual mass, until space began to sag and fold into the shape of a Transit Tube.

  The little missile would begin falling down this carefully shaped Tubefield gradient, faster and faster as the virtual mass built around and ahead of it. When the outer gravity gradient of the Tubewall reached the ferocity of a black hole, the entire device plus a volume of space around it would detach from the Siderial universe as though it had dropped over an event horizon, which it effectively would have done. A reverse fold generated inside the outer one would direct stray atoms, photons or the occasional dust speck in its path, safely around the tiny vessel. After a run of about seventy-five days, it would dial back its Tubefield and rejoin normal space. Sensors would examine its new location, compare it with the navigation specs, then call for likely a single stage course correction. After a few more minutes or hours in Tubespace it would pop back down, safely within the Trailway sensor net, and begin transmitting its deeply encrypted data log to the Naval Intelligence listening station. Then things would start to happen.

  Not that they’re not happening now, she thought, gripping her mind back around her current language lesson: the Talamae culture’s odd concept of ‘power’. They had no single word for ‘power’, she had learned, but a whole set of overlapping idiomatic concepts that required careful attention. There was kaena’hachk, literally ‘power-of-darkness’, which could mean ‘righteous rage’, or ‘a wise fear in the face of risk’, but with none of the fearsome associations her culture had around darkness. It could also be used with the nuance of ‘inner source of creative energy’, and, if one were not careful with the context, it could have the salacious suggestion of ‘having passionate sex in the dark’. It could also mean ‘the back (or shadow) of my heart’, or ‘balance to my flame’.

  Slaetra was a little baffled by her difficulty with the whole concept, as though it was simply the norm for people in this culture to have embraced and merged with their innermost terrors. And they seem like such nice people, Kirrah thought. They are, she realized; she had never met a more decent, civil group of people than the staff and students of this school. Talam’s citizens, even their military, seemed unfailingly courteous, without diverting one iota from their duties. And no one, ever, had set off the contact alarm that her unoccupied suit would sound if it were touched. They must be damned curious about that suit, and the beamer in its holster, Kirrah mused, but they seem too …respectful, to demand an inspection, or to attempt one covertly.

  Then there was the term kaetha’sha – literally ‘power-with’. This could mean simply ‘synergy’, the power of coinciding goals, but it had other shades. It was used to describe a parent’s authority over a child; the King’s authority over the people - the Talamae; and a husband’s authority over his wife. Just when she thought she had the concept, it then turned out to also mean, the people’s authority over the King(!), and the wife’s authority over her husband! To illustrate the concept, Slaetra had compared it to a couple creating a child - they were expressing their kaetha’sha; also to a farmer growing a crop, but including the idea of the crop growing the farmer… which, if you thought about it, was literally true.

  Slaetra had shown Kirrah a stunningly detailed, beautiful wood carving of a fearsome bird of prey; not a snath, a scavenger, but a ‘life-hunter’. The bird was called a kae’rruckh (which explained those sharp skyward glances from people, when her very similar-sounding name was first introduced). The artist had selected a piece of driftwood (at least the smooth surface looked sun-bleached and wind-polished), and had woven the bird’s grace and beauty into the very grain and knots and branches of the wood.

  “See,” Slaetra had said, pointing to where the bird’s head was turned slightly, so that a particular knot happened to be placed just right to form the pupil for one fierce eye. “The artist teaches the wood, and the wood teaches the artist: Kaetha’sha!”

  And speaking of ‘authority’, here their language revealed another cultural difference, which Kirrah was ready to concede to the Talamae, hands down. They had no word for ‘authority’, meaning, ‘to be in charge of’, by itself. They also had no word for ‘responsibility’, meaning, ‘to be accountable for’, by itself. Instead, they had the single word, shee’thomm, meaning, ‘having authority-over and accountability-for’, in one single, indivisible concept.

  A good word to introduce to certain Fleet officers in the context of their delegation skills, Kirrah reflected, to say nothing of a great many areas of the civil service and government. Slaetra had been incredulous at first, when Kirrah had tried to explain her insight, that a sane person would ever try to divide such a fundamental concept as shee’thomm into two parts, and then assign or accept one without the other. Speaking of government, she thought, jolting out of her woolgathering, it would be good to get this right, I’m seeing them tomorrow.

  The next day dawned gray and cooler, and a light drizzle had started by the time their breakfast was done. Irshe had joined them for the morning meal, to Akaray’s obvious delight. They were the guests of honor (or possibly targets), at two state functions. No, one state function – a hearing to determine Akaray’s status, and the second, a private audience with the King. With Lord Tsano, Kirrah reminded herself vigorously. Let’s not add a gratuitous name-flubbing to the already thick minefield of language and cultural assumptions. Kirrah mentally parsed his formal name, using the conventions she had drilled on:

  Tsano shu’Teescha sho’Talam shai’Talamae:

  Tsano, son of Teescha (father); then ‘sho’Talam’, not meaning ‘from Talam’ but ‘son of Talam (mother)’, that is, claiming as mother, Talam the countryside, the territory; and finally shai’Talamae, royally bound i
n shee’thomm relationship with the entire Talamae, meaning ‘the people’, but including their culture and traditions.

  Whew, these people pack a lot in a name. Kirrah had not felt this stuffed with barely-held facts since her Academy finals. At the sound of horses’ hooves announcing the arrival of their transportation, she checked that her survival suit was clean and in good order (and smelling much better now thank you, Tash’ta), and that Akaray’s brand new outfit was properly arrayed, and then turned towards the entryway with the boy and Irshe. To her mild surprise and secret relief, Slaetra fell in with them as though there had never been any question of her not joining them. Also to her surprise, one of the other professors, the thin balding man with a narrow chin and a rather pedantic manner, Brai’klao shu’Naei, joined them as well.

  Two of the horses, it turned out, were pulling a cart, similar to those she’d seen on the road a few days ago but more finely made, with two facing bench seats and, thankfully, a fabric cover to keep off the light but by now steady rain. With the five of them plus the driver aboard, and four more of the mounted orange-and-blue trimmed soldiers as escort, they set out. Kirrah by now recognized the orange and blue as the colors of the palace guard, and the double blue hanging ribbons designating a sergeant. And yes, ro’tachk, literally ‘group-leader’, did mean ‘sergeant’. Irshe’s orange and green indicated ‘border patrol’, and the orange and white she had noticed earlier were ‘city patrol’, with responsibility for security of the city walls as well as municipal peacekeeping. Shee’thomm, she reminded herself. Responsibility and authority.

  They left using the same street they had come in, backtracking through the open gate in the inner wall, going south two blocks to Slow Water Road, the main east-west thoroughfare. There they turned west, and after three more blocks came to another gate, set in the base of one of the ubiquitous stone towers. Kirrah realized that a single breach in the city’s outer wall would not give an attacker access to the entire city but only a portion. This gate was the one defending the taller white buildings she had seen on entering the city three days earlier.

  The gate was manned by palace-liveried guards, and opened onto a triangular courtyard enclosed by walls running northwest and southwest back from the gate. The west wall of this courtyard was the near side of another of those square city-block-sized buildings, oriented north-south, two stories high and made of some lighter-appearing stone than the city’s walls. Their carriage crossed the stone slab pavement of the courtyard, making a loud echoing rattle of iron wheel rims and the clop of shod hooves. At its far corners the courtyard was connected by narrow laneways to matching triangular courtyards on the north and south sides of the main building, and at these narrow points, towers rose from the outer walls into the gray morning drizzle. In the center of the wall facing them was the opening of another wide entryway similar to the school’s, within which they stopped and stepped from the carriage. The inner courtyard was square, somewhat larger than the school’s, and at its center was a more ornate edifice approximately sixty meters square, set at forty-five degrees to the courtyard walls. Two of their escort, now dismounted, led their party to a door in the southeast wall of the inner building and down a short paneled corridor, and rattled the latch on a door on the right side of that corridor. A young servitor wearing dark blue leggings and vest admitted them immediately.

  The ten-by-fourteen meter room within at first reminded Kirrah of a larger version of her own apartment at the school. High ceilings, stuccoed walls, some brightly-colored wall hangings depicting scenes of forest and plains animals both familiar and strange, a few tasteful bits of sculpture, some couches and chairs, all contributed to a feeling of lived-in comfort. High windows let in the gray morning light. Three more of the palace guards stood along each side wall, all swordsmen. Most of the length of the far end wall was covered with floor to ceiling shelves bearing semi-neat ranks of rolled-up papers, boxes, and a number of what looked like crudely-bound books. Two desks were placed near the far wall, one clean, the other cluttered with paper, ink, brushes and a number of other foreign implements.

  Between the desks stood a handful of men and women wearing light blue robes of a similar cut to Slaetra’s and Brai’klao’s yellow. Behind the cluttered desk sat another man in the dark blue …servants’(?) garb, this with lighter blue trim. He was quite large for a servant, in fact Kirrah was sure those broad shoulders and massive arms were not the result of pushing paper. At the other, clean desk sat a smaller, learned-looking man, also wearing dark blue, just now looking up from the single sheet of parchment allowed on the desk’s otherwise immaculate wooden surface. Later, she thought as the group of precisely robed individuals standing before her turned towards her small party, let’s get introductions done right. Kirrah glanced uncertainly from one to another of the light-blue robed figures, trying to guess which was Lord Tsano.

  The large man stood and walked around the disorderly desk towards her. Kirrah realized that his seated position had caused her to seriously underestimate his size. This man was huge, over two meters tall, half as broad, a good hundred twenty-five kilos, and muscled like an oak tree. A big oak tree. His face was pleasant enough if you discounted the several thin scars and occasional white welts. The palest green eyes Kirrah had ever seen looked out from under bushy chestnut eyebrows and a shock of curly dark brown hair. His voice, lighter than one would expect from such a large chest, said:

  “The Talamae greet this woman, whose name is the cry of the plains raptor. Welcome, Kirrah, on behalf of our city and my people.” He used for the word ‘my’ the possessive pronoun ‘nawu’, indicating association, rather than ‘navu’ meaning ownership, thus saying that he and the people belonged together, not that the people belonged to him. His massive right hand swung up in the fist-to-throat gesture she had seen Irshe use, and then extended, palm facing left, forearm angled upward in the Talamae equivalent of an offered handshake. Confused whether this giant was the King or a servant introducing the King, Kirrah glanced at Slaetra standing just to her left, who returned an Arched Eyebrow (Single), and a Get-On-With-It nod, Level Two. Oh… ok.

  “On behalf of the Regnum Draconis and His Imperial Majesty King Fredric the Fourth,” Kirrah said, reciting her carefully rehearsed statement slowly and distinctly over the to-him unfamiliar names and titles, “I bring greetings to Lord Tsano shu’Teescha. May our nations prosper as friends.” She raised her hand in the salute and clasped his, fingers high around the top of one another’s wrists, thumbs locked, rather than the to-her conventional grip around the bottom of the hand. He took her hand gingerly, as though used to breaking things he touched carelessly.

  Still feeling a little off-balance from the uncertainty of Tsano’s identity, she was introduced to the other four robed figures standing behind him.

  “Allow me to show Kirrah shu’Roehl the realm’s four Masters, who serve with me. Taiwi shu’Wdatha, our Scribemaster,” said Lord Tsano, as a medium-height, medium-build, medium-everything man stepped forward a pace and bowed. Medium brown hair, medium light-brown eyes… this man was so completely ordinary that he stood out among the others. This time the ‘our’ word was ‘mave’, indicating ownership by a group having mixed or unknown gender. The man’s light-blue robes were trimmed with a fine double black line, Kirrah noticed, beginning to feel the first tendrils of panic at the level of doubtless-important details pouring in on her rapidly overloading memory.

  “Opeth shu’Teeklae, our Armsmaster” At this, the slightly taller man stood forward, grizzled gray hair and the darkest eyes, irises almost cobalt blue. A thin scar, almost the match to one on Lord Tsano’s face, ran from the corner of Opeth’s left eye to the tip of his chin. His grip was firm but not testing, and he smiled as their hands touched. His blue robes, a frantic corner of Kirrah’s mind noted, had a thin double orange border and a complex circular orange knot at each shoulder. How am I going to remember all this? I need a contact specialist! Oh, Angela, you’re missing all the fun! Next was:
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br />   “Delima shu’Maakael, Guildmaster”, a shorter graying blonde woman, whose soft appearance was belied by a pair of sharp gray-green eyes and firm, thin lips. Blue robe, single red line of trim. No, wait – a red line and a blue line the same color as the robe, showing only by its stitching… Don’t I at least get a manual, thought Kirrah, and a month to study it? Finally, the King turned to the dark-haired woman about Kirrah’s age, slender, perfect high-cheekboned features, perfect pale complexion, and dark gray eyes that could only be described as deep: like Slaetra’s but somehow without judgement of any kind. You might as well be looking at a sensor lens, Kirrah thought - a warm-hearted sensor lens, she amended, as the woman’s face lit up with a brief friendly smile.

  “Issthe shai’Ro, our Priest.” The word Lord Tsano used for ‘priest’ was ath’lae, meaning ‘one who helps the spirit with guidance’. The tall, pale woman stepped gracefully forward, moving like a professional dancer. Kirrah felt a small shock as something in those dark gray eyes connected, just for an instant, with something inside her: something dark, something new, something angry; a shock, she realized, of recognition. Narrow white and black trim on Issthe’s robes completed Kirrah’s color-coding inventory for the day. I hope, she thought. This feels like my first day on the Helm simulator, everything’s new, no attention-sorting and prioritizing habits in place yet. I suppose any of these good people would feel just as baffled by a Helm’s board.

  At a nod from Lord Tsano, refreshments were brought in, light fruit juices in small mugs, and some kind of tiny, creamy pastries that could easily become addictive. When they were all comfortably seated around a low table, Lord Tsano said: