x
N'klareat heard them talking in quiet, hushed tones outside his room, and slowly he sat up in bed. He was pleased to see that, for the first time in days, all of the dizziness was gone. He didn't feel the slightest bit disoriented. The pounding had long faded. In short, he finally didn't feel as if his head were about to fall off at any given moment, a state of affairs that could only be considered an improvement.
Daeq'b had been cautioning him to stay put, to take it easy, to rest up. He was being extremely solicitous of his younger brother's health, and it was starting to get on N'klareat's nerves. His impulse was to get out of bed and back on his feet, but Daeq'b was always cautioning him not to rush things. It was advice that N'klareat was having a hard time taking. It didn't help that it was, in fact, very solid advice indeed. Especially because the first time N'klareat had defiantly sprung from his bed, proclaiming that he was fit and ready to go, the room promptly tilted at forty-five degrees and sent him tumbling to the ground. That had been one week ago.
Now, though the room graciously stayed put, N'klareat padded over to his closet, pulled out fresh clothes, and dressed quickly. He didn't feel the slightest twinge of pain or dizziness as he did so, and considered himself on that basis fully recovered.
He stepped out into the hallway and startled Daeq'b and the three other Rizajors who were holding a whispered conference. "Oh! You're up!" said Daeq'b.
"How could I be anything but, considering the yammering going on out here," N'klareat replied good-naturedly. "What's going on? What's all this whispering about?"
Daeq'b and the others looked at each other momentarily, and then Daeq'b turned to N'klareat and said, "Sendarian representatives are here."
"Excellent," said N'klareat. "You hold them down, I'll behead them."
"They're here under a flag of truce, N'klareat."
N'klareat gave him an incredulous look. "And you accepted it? Gods, Daeq'b, why? They'll think we're soft!"
"N'klareat...."
"If we showed up at their back door under a flag of truce, they'd invited us in, pull up a chair, and then kill us before we could say three words. I say we do them the same courtesy."
"N'klareat, they have Space Federation people with them."
N'klareat leaned against the door, weighing this unexpected piece of news. "The Space Federation? he said. "The Space Federation?"
Daeq'b nodded, knowing what was going through N'kleareat's mind.
Their father had told them tales of the powerful Space Federation in their youth. Stories passed on from his father and his father's father. An agglomeration of worlds, with great men and women spanning the galaxy in vast ships that traversed the spaceways as casually as mere Rizajors would cross a street. Explorers, adventurers, the like of which had never been seen on Rizajor except fleetingly. Every so often there would be reports that one or two or three Space Federation people had shown up somewhere on Rizajor----had looked around, spoken to someone about matters that seemed to be of no consequence, and then vanished again. It was almost as if the Space Federation was----studying them for some reason. Sometimes it was hard to decide whether certain such reported encounters were genuine, or the product of fanciful minds.
But this---this was beyond dispute. And then a chilling thought struck N'klareat. "They're here on the Sendarian side? Here to aid them in suppressing us?" A frightening notion indeed, because the stories of the Space Federation's military prowess were many. They might very well have been based on conjecture and exaggeration, but even if 1/10 of what they'd heard was accurate, they could be in very serious trouble.
Daeq'b shook his head. "I don't think so, no. They claim they're here to try and smooth matters over."
"Well....let them try," said N'klareat. "Shall we go speak to them?"
"Are you sure you're.....?"
N'klareat didn't even let him get the question out, but instead said quickly, "Yes, I'm fine, I assure you. Perfectly fine. Let's go."
They headed down the short hallway to the conference room. The structure in which they were was, of necessity, rather small. Building materials were at a premium, nor was there any desire to make such an important building too big and, hence, an easy target. N'klareat confidently strode into the conference room...
....and he stopped dead!
He recognized two of the three individuals he found waiting for him in the conference room. One was a member of the royal house of Sendaria; his name was Striorphart. And the other---
----the other was the reddish-black-haired woman from the Pit.
N'klareat couldn't believe it. He resisted the impulse to walk over and tap the woman on the shoulder to see if she was, in fact, real. She looked straight at N'klareat with that level, piercing gaze that N'klareat had found so infuriating. Standing next to him was the only one in the group he didn't recognize. He had thinning brown hair, and a square-jawed face, and wore a similar uniform to the woman.
Striorphart took them in with a baleful glare. When he spoke he did not address the Rizajors, but rather the man and woman at his side. "Are the people of Rizajor not exactly as I promised, Captain?"
That word---captain. It so caught N'klareat's fancy that, for a moment, he blithely overlooked Striorphart's snide tone of voice. But only for the time being. "We may not have your polish and breeding, Sendarian," said Daeq'b with a mock bow, but we also do not share your string of defeats. We accept the one as the price for the other." At that moment, N'klareat wished that he had the sword with him. The one he'd taken off Cholsan. The sight of that would have sent Striorphart into total apoplexy.
But he need not have worried, for his brother's words were more than enough to rile Striorphart, who began to rise from his seat. But the bald man standing next to him had a hand resting on Striorphart's shoulder. It was a deceptively relaxed hold. For when Striorphart tried to stand, the woman was able to keep him stationary with what appeared to be no effort at all. Striorphart was powerfully built, which meant that the woman was stronger than she looked. And she radiated confidence.
"I'm Captain Elizabeth Weir of the Space Federation starship Racer," she said and nodded in the direction of the man next to him. "This is Lieutenant Jack Frasier. We represent the Space Federation of Planets...an alliance of starfaring worlds."
Frasier said, "We've been---surveying your world for some time and have made tentative first contact in the past. We feel you're culturally ready to understand and interact with the SFP and its representatives."
"In other words, we've risen to your level," Daeq'b said with no trace of irony.
Nonetheless, the irony was there, and Weir stepped in. "No offense meant. The fact is the Sendarians have asked us to help them in this----difficult situation."
"Aid how?" Deaq'b asked.
"To be perfectly frank," the man identified as Frasier said, "the Sendarian Empire represents a rather strategically situated group of worlds. The Space Federation has been in discussion with the Sendarians about their possibly joining us."
"But the Sendarians seed skeptical that the Space Federation had anything to offer," Weir now said. "However, they felt themselves stymied by the recent upheavals in this world. And their innate pride hampered their ability to discuss peace settlements with you in any kind of workable fashion."
"We could have," Striorphart said with a flash of anger. "It's not just pride. It's them! They're barbarians, Weir! Look at them!"
Weir regarded them for a moment. Her interest seemed most fixed on N'klareat, and N'klareat met her level gaze unwaveringly. "I've seen worse," Weir said after a moment. "And you are.....N'klareat, I presume?" Her pronunciation was hardly the best; she tripped over the gutterals in N'klareat's name.
N'klareat did not attempt to correct how his name was spoken. He just nodded, his lips pressed tightly together. It was a surreal situation for him, to be standing and conversing with a being who, barely a week ago, had been little more than a figment of his imagination.
"Your reputation precedes you," Weir said. "The Sendarians have little good to say about you. About any of you. But that is of no interest to me whatsoever." Her voice was sharp and no-nonsense. I don't care who started what. I'm not interested in a list of grievances. One thing and one thing alone worries me, and that's bringing you all together so that you can reach an accord. An understanding. A compromise, if you prefer, so the bloodshed will stop."
There was silence for a long moment, and then N'klareat finally spoke his first words to the in-the-flesh incarnation of Elizabeth Weir.
"Go to hell," he said.
Striorphart's face purpled when he heard that. Frasier blinked in shock, for he was somewhat unaccustomed to anyone, from the lowliest yeoman to highest-ranking admiral, addressing Captain Elizabeth Weir in that manner.
Weir, for her part, didn't seem disconcerted in the slightest. Instead, she said nothing; merely raised an eyebrow and waited, knowing that N'klareat wouldn't let it rest there. Knowing that N'klareat would have more to say.
And he did. "I know their idea of compromise," he said flatly. "Promise us a limited presence on our world. Promise us a slow pullout. Promise us that we'll have self-government within six months. Promise us riches and personal fortune. And then yank it back at your convenience. Well, screw your promise and to hell with your lies. We want one thing and one thing only: the Sendarians off our planet for good. No contact. No overseeing. Forget we exist."
"I would gladly do so," said Striorphart tersely.
"Ohhhhh no you wouldn't," said N'klareat. He leaned forward on the table, resting his knuckles on it. He was very aware of Weir's watching him, appraising him. "I know your kind. You'll never forget. And you'll never rest until my brethren and I are exterminated, and my people are subjugated. Well, I am here to tell you that it will not happen. These are my people, and to concede to you, to compromise with you, will be a betrayal of their faith in us. We'll give them Rizajor for Rizajors. If that's what you've come to offer, then offer it. Anything less, and you can leave.
"I am Striorphart of the royal house," Striophart informed him archly. "You cannot simply dismiss us as if..."
"Get out!" N'klareat replied, and he turned and walked out. From behind him, Striorphart blustered and shouted. But he did so to an empty room as the rest of the Rizajors followed N'klareat out.
"Um, N'kleareat, um...." said Weir. "I'm sorry, I...I didn't take you for a man who does stupid things. And that was very stupid, what you just did."
"Captain----or whatever your rank is," N'klearat replied, "you've just gotten here. I know these people. They're arrogant and devious, and think us fools. If we immediately listen to what they have to say, we'll have to tolerate more of their condescension. There can be no peace, no talks, no rational discussion until they're willing to understand that we're not their subjects, their slaves, or their toys."
Weir's gaze narrowed. "We'll come back tomorrow," she said. "And I'll make sure that Striorphart is in a more----positive mood."
"I'm sure," N'klareat said, sounding indifferent.
Weir hesitated a moment, and then said, "N'klareat----can I talk to you privately for a moment?"
N'klareat glanced at the others. Daeq'b shrugged. N'klareat headed to his room, with Weir following him. They entered and N'klareat turned quickly. He never let his guard down for a moment, a trait that Weir noticed and appreciated. Weir took a step closer and told him, "These people listen to you, N'klareat. They obey you. The leadership capacity is one of the greatest gifts in the universe. But it brings with it a heavy burden. Don't forget that, ever."
"I have not...."
"You might," Weir told him. "I can tell. You're filled with rage over past grievances. It's understandable. But that rage can blind you to what's best for your people."
"My rage is the fuel that helps me to survive."
"Perhaps so. But there's more to life than survival. You must believe that yourself; otherwise, you'd never have come this far or accomplished all you have."
Slowly, N'klareat nodded. "Nothing is more important than the good of my people. All that I do...I do for them."
Weir smiled. "Save that for them. That's the sentiment they want to hear. But you and I both know---you do it for you. No one else. You take charge, you lead, not because you want to....but because you've got to. Because to do any less would be intolerable."
Remarkably, N'klareat felt a bit sheepish. He looked down, his thick hair obscuring his face.
"You're an impressive boy, N'klareat," Weir said. "Rarely have I seen so many people of power speak a name with such a combination of anger and envy. You've accomplished a great deal---and you're only---what? Twenty-one?"
"Nineteen suns."
Weir's composure was rock-steady, but she was unable to hide the shock in her eyes. "Nineteen?"
N'klareat nodded.
"And your goals are entirely centered around overcoming the Sendarians' hold and freeing your people."
"Nothing else matters," N'klareat said flatly.
"And after you've accomplished that?"
" 'After?'" He pondered that, then shrugged. " 'After' isn't important."
And in a slightly sad tone, Weir said, " 'And he subdued countries of nations, and princes; and they became tributary to him. And after these things, he fell upon his bed, and knew that he should die.'" When N'klareat looked at him in puzzlement, Weir said, "A problem faced by another talented young man, named Alexander. For people such as him, the prospect of new worlds to conquer can end up being a devastating one. In other words---you should give serious thought to goals beyond the short term."
"Maybe I'll go on leading my people here."
"Maybe," agreed Weir. "Will that satisfy you?"
"I...." It was the first time that N'klareat sounded at all confused. "I don't know."
"Well----at the point which you do know----let me know."
She turned to go, but stopped a moment when N'klareat demanded, "Why are you so interested in me?"
Now it was Weir who shrugged. "A hunch," she said. "Nothing much more than that. But captains learn to play their hunches. It's how they become captains."
"I see. So--if I had a hunch---that you were important to my future....that in itself might be indicative of something significant."
"Possibly," said Weir.
N'klareat seemed lost in thought, and Weir once again headed toward the door.
And then N'klareat said, "Captain?"
"What?"
"You...uh...." and N'klareat cleared his throat slightly. "You wouldn't happen to have brought a naked blond woman with you....?"
Weir stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Excuse me?!"
Waving her off, N'klareat said, "Never mind."
"If you don't mind my saying so, that was a rather odd question."
"Yes, well...." N'klareat smiled slightly. "Call it a hunch, for what that's worth."
Weir considered that and then said, "Well---I didn't say all hunches were good ones. A captain has to pick and choose."
"I'll remember that," said N'klareat.
He watched Weir walk out and thought for a time about what had transpired....certain that something important had happened here that day, but not entirely sure what. Then he looked over at his bed, thought about what Weir had said about dying in it....and exited the room as fast as possible.
ns 18.68.41.148da2
