Nina Osier: Matushka

“No. I knew they came to Mistworld from somewhere else, that they were colonists too. But I didn’t know until just now why those ships are so obviously not anything a human designed.” Katy smiled. She was excited, probably even more so than Linc was.

“The humans have given us many things, just by living on our world,” Kerle Marin resumed, with a different tone in his voice that left no one in any doubt that the Others were speaking through him now. “But without help from their own kind, they cannot cope with the influx of other noncorporeals that is overwhelming both our world and the other less hospitable ones where the people you call ‘rebels’ have their origin. So we have agreed that that our charges must create a new relationship with other corporeals, such as you humans on Narsai. We had every thought this could be done peacefully—but those of our charges who said that would not be possible, have been proved correct.”

“Is it still important enough to do anyway, even if it can’t be entirely peaceful?” The old philosopher, Trabe Kourdakov, asked that question. He frowned as he did so, because he was not happy about all this in the way that his wife was.

But he was a pragmatist, not an idealist, and he accepted the answer that came to him not from Marin’s throat but from his daughter’s. “Yes, it is,” Katy Romanova announced firmly, her voice clearly expressing another intelligent creature’s thoughts. “Life has not only the right to survive, but the duty to do so. If you did not believe that, your ancestors would not have traveled here from Terra to build this rich society in which you take such justifiable pride. It was a costly business, your histories tell you that. But you would say it was worth the cost, would you not?”

Yes, they would. On that point not one person present could dissent.

It had been many hours since the alien fleet’s arrival. Although she’d had time for some sleep, Katy Romanova was nevertheless worn out when this second assembly of Narsai’s two leadership groups finally adjourned. And she sensed that beside her, Linc was exhausted too; and as for young Maddy, the girl was in Linc’s arms being carried like a three-year-old instead of a leggy young woman of thirteen.

“Do you think if we agree to help these people, these ‘Others’ and the humanoids with them, the Commonwealth will allow us to do that?” Katy’s mother was at her side as they walked out of the conference room. If she was tired, this almost centenarian woman had to be much more so. Yet Cabanne Romanova’s eyes were bright, and Katy had the distinct notion that if she had told her mother the Commonwealth would undoubtedly pound hell out of Narsai for sending its disposable resources somewhere other than the Inner Worlds that answer would not have fazed her.

What she said was, with absolute honesty, “I don’t know, Mum. I suspect they won’t be happy, but leaders like Fleet Admiral Tanaka and Defense Minister Fothingill should remember Mistworld thirteen years ago. If they remember it well enough to take all this seriously—that’s the first step toward dealing with both the Others and the Rebs in a way that won’t be a total disaster.”

And then she yawned, and crawled after Linc into an aircar that would take her little family back to its home at last.

George Fralick was in luck. Traveling at the maximum cruising speed which the corporate marshal’s long range shuttle could muster, he was only a day out from the Narsai system before he encountered a starship.

Here in the reaches between inhabited systems, sending a comm all the way to Terra—or even to New Orient—was not possible. One ship alone could not muster the necessary power, that had to be drawn from a star and it required booster equipment that normally was installed only in planetary orbit. So the captain of the ship that found Fralick and took him aboard had a decision to make.

To head for Narsai, and attempt to deal with the situation there on her own? Or to continue on course toward New Orient, and from there let Fralick report everything he had seen so that higher authorities could determine what should be done next?

Sally Greenberg did what any captain would have done, she ordered her ship to come about. Nine against one? Lousy odds, to be sure, but unlike the Archangel her ship would have the advantage of knowing what it was sailing into instead of being taken by surprise while in planetary orbit. She’d been in worse fights, and to those people on Narsai it might make all the difference whether help came in a day’s time or in several weeks’ time instead.

It was like an omen, Fralick thought as he stood beside the trim young woman on the bridge of her ship and watched while the viewscreen began to show the first clear images of Narsai’s sun. His first and only command had been named Raven; and that was also the name of this vessel, built years after his Raven had been decommissioned and many times larger and more powerful. But that had been a lucky ship for him then, and he was convinced that this Raven was going to be another lucky ship for him now.

“We’re being hailed by a freighter, Captain,” came a voice from ops. Fralick did something he hadn’t done in years; he came damned close to answering, as if he had forgotten all the time that had passed and once again thought he was in command here.

Greenberg didn’t notice. She said, “On screen, Ensign.”

A grizzled fellow in civvies appeared, and identified himself promptly. “Angstrom, Tor. Wondering if you’re headed into Narsai, Captain…?”

Damn, the bastard was Narsatian. Both the accent and the lack of decent formality even with a Star Service command officer gave him away.

“Greenberg. Commanding Raven,” the Service officer responded with a glimmer of humor in her eyes. Plainly she wasn’t as bothered by Narsatian antics as Fralick was; but then, she hadn’t been subjected to Katy Romanova for the past forty years. “Yes, that’s our destination. I understand that you’ve had some trouble there, Captain Angstrom.”

“We thought so, too, at first. And you Star Service folks aren’t going to be happy, there was a ship lost.” Angstrom was not just Narsatian, he was lower class Narsatian. Barely literate, probably, although he had to know his maths and his sciences or he wouldn’t be able to command anything that was warp-capable. “But I thought you might already have heard something. Some bastard of a stuffed shirt diplomat named Fralick managed to get his tail between his legs and run during the battle—all fifteen minutes of it! And after our people were able to talk to their people, the ones from Mistworld, it got straightened out okay. Looks as if we’ve got new trade opportunities, and a place to settle population overflow so we might not have to be so damned rigid about family size, instead of being about to be conquered and occupied—or just plain blown to hell, the way it looked like for awhile there.”

“I’m Fralick.” To have denied it, or even to have remained decently in the background, was impossible for him right now. Greenberg at first looked surprised, then affronted; and she was within her rights, this was her bridge and the Kesran ambassador should have kept his mouth shut until she gave him leave to speak. But he rushed on, because this was one of the few times in George Fralick’s careful life when he could not control his own mouth. “Yes, I managed to escape before the Rebs shot me up along with the starship they destroyed. And a whole orbital habitat, too, if my instruments were reading correctly. How many human lives was that, Captain Angstrom? At what point will your expanded trade opportunities give you payback for their deaths?”