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Shipboard 11&12
11
Ryan hobbled through the halls on his crutches, the already cramped space nearly impossible to navigate. On the bright side, focusing on maneuvering his crutches distracted him from the close quarters.
His crewmates still scrambled to get out of his way whenever he passed in the hall, but now they doffed their caps and bowed their heads in respect.
He hadn’t done what he did for adulation, but being a hero was nice. Better than being a movie monster, anyway.
He was heading to the gym; he couldn’t really work out yet, but Sykil was in charge of his physical therapy, and then they’d have bible study.
He’d thought it would just be Sykil, but the little guy had invited some of his friends along, too. Hell, even Kexti joined them, setting aside space in the canteen for them to meet, and it seemed every week the space they needed grew.
Ryan was far from a preacher, but it seemed like the Good Word interested his hosts, which was fine by him. Maybe he could go on a mission once he retired.
He’d like that; perhaps he could even retire on an alien world; that might be interesting. But he was career and still had fifteen years before retirement.
Or until the Navy said he could go, whichever was longer. Either way, he had plenty of time before he had to pull that trigger.
He came to the gym door and awkwardly maneuvered through. It had only been a week and a half since he got out of the infirmary, and all things considered, he was feeling great. Sykil even said he could probably lose the crutches before the end of the week and be back up to full speed by the end of the month.
Wexiks medicine was miraculous; on Earth, there was no way to know if he’d ever walk unaided again after what he’d done. He’d ended up mostly severing his right calf, among other sundry extreme strain injuries.
The best he could have hoped for on Earth was a long and arduous recovery, and probably never get back up to one-hundred percent.
He shook his head. Hopefully, Earth would get that kind of medical tech soon, if it hadn’t already.
Ryan had no idea what Earth had and hadn’t received in terms of the Alien tech, but he knew they needed all of it. There had been some progress since the turn of the twenty-first century, but really, not by much. Fusion was still the cutting edge of energy, coilguns the epitome of small arms… of artillery, for that matter.
Compared to the human space age, the Wexiks were, well, they were in the space age.
He finally squeezed himself through the door, and Sykil ran up to meet him.
“RyanMateo!” he cried, bouncing excitedly. “You have a guest!”
A guest? It was the first he’d heard about it, but he supposed he’d have to meet- whoever it was. He hoped it ended up being a pleasant surprise.
“Where?”
Sykil pointed, and Ryan’s stomach dropped. Standing in the corner, next to the human-sized weight equipment, was a uniformed Master-at-Arms.
He took a deep breath; it was fine. The nice MA, who he didn’t know from Adam, was just there for a social call. He’d find out soon enough; as their eyes met, the man walked across the room, back straight, shoulders back. He stopped two paces away.
“I need you to come with me, Lieutenant,” he said.
Ryan cleared his throat. “I, uh, I was scheduled for physical therapy.”
“It will have to wait. Come on.”
Ryan glanced at Sykil and shrugged. “Sorry, I’m going to have to go.”
“If you say so,” the little alien said, fretting. “I’ll see you later?”
“‘course you will,” Ryan said. “Save me a seat in the canteen.”
His friend nodded, and Ryan turned back to the MA. “Where are we going?”
“Follow me,” the man said, pushing out into the hall.
He waited as Ryan repeated the awkward process of passing through the doorway, not offering help, but that was fine. Ryan wouldn’t have accepted.
The man nodded as Ryan finally managed to join him and turned, starting down the hall.
Ryan followed, clearing his throat. “You uh, you know what this is about?”
The MA didn’t answer right away, and just as it was getting uncomfortable, he glanced over his shoulder. “I heard you earned those crutches, winning humanity some goodwill.”
Ryan looked down at himself. “Wasn’t really thinking about that when I was doing it.”
“Be strange if you were,” the MA agreed. “Still, you made a good impression.”
That was heartening to hear; maybe he wasn’t in trouble after all. “So….”
“You’ll get the details once we get there; it’s not far.”
The MA led him to a nearby room, which Ryan knew to be a meeting room, and the man held the door as Ryan finessed his way through.
There, behind a low table, sat an Asian woman in a crisp grey suit. “Sit down, Lieutenant,” she said.
Ryan swallowed but didn’t have much choice; he took a seat, and the woman put a file folder down on the table in front of her.
“You’re being reassigned.”
He looked down at the file, slowly reaching for it. “If this is about my run, I think the crew and I have worked it out and-”
He looked up and stopped talking. The woman’s gaze was intense and disarming. “Maybe I’m not being clear? Seaman,” she directed that to the MA.
“Ma’am.”
“Did I phrase that as a suggestion?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“I guess not,” she said. “This was part of the deal to get you out. You’re being reassigned. This isn’t a conversation, and the harder you fight me, the worse it gets for you.”
Ryan rubbed his neck. “How worse does it get?”
She fixed him with a tight, predatory smile. “I wanted a surface station on Pluto.”
“But those don’t maintain a viable atmosphere,” Ryan said.
Her smile grew, showing a bit of tooth. “I’m aware.”
He grabbed the file; might as well familiarize himself with the new job.
12
Tarrki sat in his office on Cantray. He was back temporarily, while NazareneHu was doing her business aboard the Swext.
He had his own work to do: get NazareneHu what she needed and plant the seeds in the Senate.
If he couldn’t convince them of the threat, he’d have to resort to other means. A violation, perhaps, but for his home and people, he was willing to do worse.
He sighed, putting his pen down; he’d sell stationing the second expeditionary fleet in Human space as a humanitarian effort, and when the human counteroffer arrived, present accepting that as a show of good faith.
He was confident his people would accept those terms; they were, perhaps too much, motivated by ideas of cooperation and collaboration.
He believed in these principles too, but perhaps because of his military experience, he also believed that not everyone could be cooperated with.
He had vivid memories of Chitiri warships deaf to the pleas of planetary defense networks, cut off from support, begging them to come to the negotiating table, to be permitted to surrender, then bombarding the planet’s surface until the transmissions stopped.
Those were dark days, and they’d changed him, hardened him. Perhaps he was wrong, but he didn’t think so.
There was a knock, and he stood. “Come in.”
The door opened, and an older Wexiks stepped in.
“Tarrki,” the man said, nodding, “good to see you; what did you want to talk about?”
The man, a Senator by the name of Kalit, was one of Tarrki’s closer allies within the Senate. He was friendly, unprincipled, and not terribly bright, but he was well-respected and easily manipulated, perfect for this task.
“Senator,” Tarrki cried, stepping around his desk, “so good to see you.”
“Thank you, Tarrki,” the grey-furred man said. “What did you want to talk about?”
Tarrki nodded, offering him a seat. “I’ve been thinking about how we could improve our partnership with our new friends,” he said, returning to his own chair.
“Oh?” the man leaned over the desk, ears pricked.
“Yes,” Tarrki said. “The Humans are particularly preoccupied with and somewhat more open in military matters.”
The older man grumbled, his enthusiasm immediately dampened. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” Tarrki said, nodding, “I’ve found it particularly difficult to broach subjects of culture and history. I think our new friends are a little suspicious of our motives and perhaps unconvinced that a closer alliance would benefit them.”
Senator Kalit whined at that. “That doesn’t sound encouraging.”
“No,” Tarrki agreed, “but I think we can fix that. I’ve been in talks with our human friends, and I’d like you to do some work behind the scenes in the Senate, to gain support for my proposal.”
The man nodded. “I’ll see what I can do; what is your proposal?”
“The Humans have relatively few fleet elements; I want to propose we station the second expeditionary in their space to assist with system defense. A show of friendship and that we’re more than a kind shoulder.”
The Senator hummed to himself. “Well, it might be difficult, but I think I can convince some of my friends, and they some of theirs. You think the Humans will be willing?”
“Well,” Tarrki said, feigning thought. “They haven’t been very enthusiastic; we’ll probably have to make some concessions. But I’m confident I can broker a deal.”
“If you’re sure,” Kalit said, “I’ll see about getting the Senate’s blessing. I think they’ll like the idea of getting some of the fleet out of the system. The military makes them a bit nervous, you know.”
Tarrki nodded; he did know, the fools. He didn’t show his displeasure outwardly, instead standing and offering his hand. “Thank you, Senator,” he said. “As always, your friendship is invaluable to my diplomatic efforts.”
“Of course, Tarrki,” the man said, shaking the offered hand. “If you can get some time, why don’t we do dinner?”
