City of Ruins

SIXTY-ONE



I sit there, my mouth open. The captain has just left. I’m not even sure what he’s understood, what he’s really been told.

Al-Nasir is sitting stiffly beside me. The lieutenant gets up. She sweeps a hand toward the food. We haven’t touched any of it.

I get up as well. I haven’t left the table since we started this discussion.

“What was the last thing you told him?” I ask as I reach for a pastry. It looks fresh and home baked, and I even recognize the form. Some things do move from culture to culture. “Did you tell him that the Empire would try to take his ship?”

She smiles at me distractedly. She takes a pastry, too, then waves a plate at Al-Nasir. He shakes his head once.

She sets her plate in front of her place, as if we’re at a formal dinner.

“No one can take this ship,” she says.

I frown. “We’ve found a lot of damaged Dignity Vessels.”

“You do not know if they were damaged by time or by someone else.”

“You have weapons scoring on the side of your ship.”

She blinks at me. For a moment, I think she’s going to pretend she doesn’t understand. Then I realize she’s listening to a link in her ear. Someone has confirmed the translation for her.

She nods. “They did not take our ship, did they?”

I set my plate down, then walk back to my seat. But I don’t sit. Instead, I take a sip of the wine. It’s strong, too strong for a business meeting. I set the glass aside, then go back to the sideboard for some water.

I am moving because it keeps me calm. I want to try the door, to see if Al-Nasir and I are prisoners here, but I do not. I said some alarming things to their captain. Perhaps he is checking on them. Perhaps he is consulting with their people. Perhaps he is checking the translations. I don’t know, but I’m going to give him a little time. Not a lot, but enough to give him the benefit of the doubt.

I hold up a pitcher, silently offering Al-Nasir some water. He nods. I pour him a glass as well, then give it to him. His hands are shaking.

“So what is going on here?” I ask the lieutenant.

“I’m not exactly sure,” she says.

“And if you were sure,” I say, “you wouldn’t tell me, right?”

“I do not know,” she says. “It would depend on my orders.”

She’s honest, at least.

I take a sip of my water, which has a filtered taste. I don’t try the pastry, not yet. I did sound melodramatic, telling him about the Empire. He has no way to confirm what I’ve said, either. It would sound as strange to me as the stories I heard about the Colonnade Wars when I was searching for information about one of their generals, years ago. Something that didn’t concern me, except in the way that it had just intersected with my life.

The door opens, and the captain comes back. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes radiant. He looks like a man who has come to some kind of decision.

I set the water glass down so that my hands don’t shake. I want to be prepared for anything.

His gaze meets mine, and he speaks with more animation than I’ve seen from him. The lieutenant translates.

“I’m sending a team to fix what you call the death holes. It shouldn’t take long. It’s a relatively common malfunction that we usually have safeguards for. Clearly all of the safeguards have failed.”

“Clearly,” I mutter. A common malfunction that kills a lot of people.

“What I need from you,” he says, “is guidance. I’m taking a team to the surface. I want you, Al-Nasir, the lieutenant, and I to accompany them. I need to see this Vaycehn myself.”

My breath catches. In my shock, I note that he actually said “Vaycehn” and pronounced it correctly.

Al-Nasir speaks before I do. He’s shaking his head as he does so, speaking in their language. I know what he’s saying. I walk over to him and place my hand on his arm. The protest should come from me.

“Captain, if you go to the surface, you jeopardize my team, my work, and this room, as well as your ship.”

“You have told me that they do not know we’re down here,” he says.

“And suddenly a military force climbs out of the hole?” My voice rises. “They’ll know then.”

I make myself take a deep breath as the lieutenant translates my words. Before she finishes, I add, much more calmly, “Al-Nasir and I will take you and the lieutenant to the surface. We’ll leave two of our people here, and hope the guides don’t notice the difference. We’ll show you around, and you can see for yourself—”

The captain is shaking his head before the lieutenant even tries to translate. Either he understands what I’m saying or he knew I was going to protest and is prepared for it.

The lieutenant gamely tries to translate, but he talks over her.

“I am sorry,” he says, and this time, it’s Al-Nasir translating for me. “But I cannot rely just upon your word. I have problems of my own that the Fleet needs to know about. I need to know where and when I am. My ship is in no danger, and we will be fine.”

I start to protest when the lieutenant’s translation gets to “my ship is in no danger.”

I say, “You have no idea what the Empire can do.”

“If what you tell me is true,” he says, “then we have nothing to worry about from your Empire. My ship can take care of itself.”

I flush. What I’m telling him is true, and something I said made him leave. Not, then, that the Empire would try to take his ship. Something about stealth technology.

“What did I say earlier that caused this decision?” I ask.

He tilts his head slightly. I can see him thinking about how to answer me. He’s weighing a few options. Then his mouth tightens and he nods, as if he’s picked an option.

He says in Standard, his words so clear the translator is redundant. “Five thousand years.”

There is an honesty to those words. I probably would have believed him even if I hadn’t seen his reaction to that number earlier. In spite of myself, I understand. I remember finding the first Dignity Vessel, not believing that it was what my eyes and my computer told me. No Dignity Vessel could have been in our sector of space, and yet there it was.

This captain doesn’t believe me in the same way I did not believe in that Dignity Vessel. He needs to know, and he will not stop until he gets answers.

Only he wants to do it right.

I understand that, too.

I also understand that I will not be able to change his mind.

I sigh.

“Give me five hours,” I say. “I need to get my people off Wyr before you get to the surface.”

“You have two,” he says, through the translator. “And I would like you and Al-Nasir to stay as we prepare.”

Even though the lieutenant couched that as a request, it is clearly not a request. We must stay. He doesn’t trust us, yet he needs us. We’re his guides to the surface.

“I will get you off planet if there is trouble,” he says.

“In your damaged ship?” I ask.

“The damage is repaired,” he says.

“There will be trouble,” I say. “So let Al-Nasir leave, too.”

“No, Boss,” Al-Nasir says. “You need me.”

“I can survive,” I say.

“It’s all right,” Al-Nasir says, even though we both know it is not. I had thought so little of him, and here he is, trying to protect me. He shouldn’t protect me. I need to take care of my people.

“Let me go to the room, at least, to get my people out of Vaycehn,” I say. “It would be better if you give us more time.”

“I am giving you as much time as I can,” the captain says. “And even that is too much if you are untrustworthy.”

I stare at him. I hate understanding this. I hate the realization that I would make the same requests.

“All right,” I say because I have no real choice. “Two hours. And this better work.”

* * * *