The Best of All Possible Worlds (16 page)

“You represent the newly arrived Sadiri on Cygnus Beta?” she asked him.

I translated, and Dllenahkh nodded. “I do, Your Majesty.”

She was perhaps three centimeters taller than he was, not counting the fifteen centimeters
that was hair alone, but he was three times broader and just as self-possessed. She
suddenly smiled brilliantly, as if deigning to recognize him as an equal.

“I will speak to you,” she declared. “You,” she addressed me, still without looking
at me, “will translate. The rest of you are granted the freedom of the Seelie Court
until our discussions are completed.”

I repeated this in Standard for the benefit of the team, looking anxiously at Qeturah.
She smiled reassuringly, but her eyes signaled
caution as she said, “Tell her that in accordance with government practice we would
be happy to set up shelter near the shuttle.”

The Queen was appalled at the idea. “Nonsense!” she said, looking at Qeturah as if
she were both mad and discourteous. “It is far too dangerous to stay on the ground
at night. We have prepared lodgings for you.”

Qeturah’s gaze followed her pointing hand, looking up walkways into the heights of
huge trees where wooden platforms spanned branches and surrounded trunks in a vast
tree city. “Thank her kindly for us, First Officer Delarua,” she said somewhat breathlessly.

Our platform—or
t’bren
as they called it—had no barrier rails, something that seemed to worry no one but
us, but they did offer us rope netting to string over and around our bedding, perhaps
as a deterrent to sleepwalking. I was careful with mine that first night, hooking
it securely to a branch above and tucking it under the bedding. This made waking up
suddenly at midnight even more exciting as I promptly got tangled up in the mesh.

“What is it? What’s happened?” I whispered frantically as I unknotted myself.

Fergus’s deep murmur was slow and calming. “Someone’s trying to break into the shuttle.
Lian and I are going to check it out.”

I hesitated, then flung off the netting with one final effort and felt my way to the
edge. A hand rested warningly on my back, another hand muffled my start at a scream,
and a voice whispered in Cymraeg, “Stay.”

It was likely someone we’d met during the day, but the night was dark and all faces
dim. Probably the only person who’d stand out would be the Queen, with her bright
hair.

“What is it?” I whispered. “Do you know?”

“Unseelie,” came the whispered answer.

For a moment I was baffled, and then I grimaced. “Ah. The bad guys.”

“Yes. They rule the land at night and go underground at dawn. They do not come up
to our treetops, and we do not descend to their caves. Thus we preserve some measure
of peace.”

“I thought the whole point of becoming Elves was to stop the conflict.”

The hand on my back shifted as if vibrating with laughter. “I will tell you about
it tomorrow. It makes a good tale.”

“Who are you? How will I know you in daylight?”

“I am the teller of tales and singer of songs. You will make a good song, I can feel
it. Which one is yours?”

Disjointedness of thought and speech seemed to be an Elvish trait, but I understood
when a shadowy hand waved to the rest of the group, who were awake and quietly talking
into comms and to one another. “Tarik and Nasiha are husband and wife. The rest—we
belong only to ourselves.”

“Ah.” There was a hint of laughter in that response, and I wondered too late how strong
these Elves were in telepathy and empathy. I sat up and put some distance between
myself and the strange Elf with his overly friendly hand.

“Here come your guards,” said the storyteller-singer, and there indeed were Fergus
and Lian returning.

“Perimeter alarms scared them off,” said Fergus. “Someone tried a light mental tweak
on us, but it didn’t take.”

I quickly explained the little I had just learned.

“That’s not reassuring,” said Qeturah, a frown in her voice. “Remember the legend
of faerie glamour? Let’s stay together as much as possible and be on the alert for
influence.”

With the immediate danger over, the Sadiri soon composed themselves to rest with their
usual economy of fuss. Qeturah
drew Lian aside for a quiet conference. There was little chance of my getting to sleep
in a hurry, what with all the adrenaline of the past few minutes, so I shifted a little
closer to Fergus. He was putting away some of his gear and politely ignoring me, as
usual. I’d long ago figured out that for a man like Fergus, a man who shunned unnecessary
talk, I was a walking nightmare.

“I’m a bit surprised,” I began, adjusting my voice to copy his measured cadence, hoping
not to startle or vex him. “Some of the taSadiri we’ve encountered … well, it’s one
thing not to have the mental disciplines, but they seem almost … uncivilized.”

There was a silence as he paused for a moment in his work. “Are you joking?” he said
at last, sounding wary.

I was baffled. “No. What did I say?”

“They’ve got all kinds of ways to reform criminals now, but what do you think the
Sadiri used to do with their delinquents in the old days?”

I was struck mute. The concept of a lawbreaking Sadiri had not even crossed my mind.
The perpetual stereotype of the judging, superior Sadiri was too strong, even in me.

“They used to ship them off-planet, fast and far. A lot of their so-called science
outposts and religious retreats were nothing more than places to dump undesirables,
people who didn’t quite fit in. Worked out for the best, ironically. Pity the demographics
are so skewed.”

I exhaled very slowly. “You’re telling me that of the Sadiri who survived, there are
diplomats and judges, pilots and scientists, nuns and monks … and jailbirds?”

“Yep. Almost makes you laugh, doesn’t it?”

I felt a bit foolish. Fair enough; it was Cygnian culture and language that was my
speciality, but I had begun to pride myself on becoming a bit of an expert in Sadiri
matters over the past few months. “How do
you
know all this?” I asked resentfully.

“Used to work in Galactic Patrol,” he replied. “Been far and wide myself, even as
far as Ain.
Lots
of interesting tales about how Ain got founded, but I think it’s obvious.”

“You do?” I thought I knew what he was going to say. Political differences arise,
conflict follows, and the more adventurous faction goes off to make a new world of
their choosing—or the losing side gets kicked out. That was Punartam’s story, and
which version you got depended on whether the person doing the telling was from Punartam
or Ntshune.

“Prison colony for the worst offenders. Probably people like your—” He stopped, stiffened.

“Like Ioan,” I said, my stomach plummeting as if the tree had suddenly removed its
support from under our feet.

“Something like that,” he said, wary again. Maybe he feared I was going to get all
confiding or burst into tears. “Go to sleep,” he concluded abruptly. “I can’t keep
proper watch with people nattering in my ear all night.”

I was now suspicious
that the Queen’s overwhelming presence was glamour-assisted. I tagged along behind
her and Dllenahkh the following morning as they walked in the mellow light below the
trees and he told her about Sadira, the Sadiri settlement in Tlaxce, and New Sadira.
As I translated, I absently probed at my emotions but found nothing amiss.

After she dismissed us and swept off with her small entourage, I asked him directly.
“How does the Queen strike you?”

“Cautious,” he replied. “She has clearly heard reports, but she assumes nothing and
waits for me to confirm. A very scientific approach.”

“Well, yes, but is there anything more? How does she
feel
to you?”

He raised a faintly puzzled eyebrow. “Bored. Lonely.”

“Do you find her beautiful?” I asked at last.

“Ah,” he said in dawning comprehension. “You are worried about the possibility of
glamour. No, she uses none.”

“Well, if any of us could tell, it would be you,” I grumbled. “Do me a favor. When
you get a chance, ask her about the Unseelie Court.”

We were invited to a formal dinner that night. I could not help smiling at the seating
arrangements. Qeturah was given a couch on a smaller dais with Lian and Fergus nearby,
and the Elves who attended her were mostly male and, well, damn good-looking. Nasiha
had the smallest dais with Tarik at her side, Joral slightly below, and again some
very good-looking attendants. I had no such luck. Perhaps this matriarchal society
required that I have at least one pet male of my own to qualify for special treatment,
or perhaps I was still too useful as a translator. I was stuck just a little back
from Dllenahkh, who was seated at the Queen’s right hand. On the bright side, it seemed
that the most attractive attendants had been reserved for the Queen’s dais, so during
lulls in conversation I amused myself by ranking them. One of them, an eight point
five on my scale, was quietly tuning a stringed instrument resembling a cithara. He
caught my eye and smiled. My eyes widened, and I elbowed a startled Dllenahkh in the
ribs.

“Quick! Ask her about the Unseelie Court!” I hissed.

He complied, with only a disapproving quirk of the corner of his mouth to chastise
me for my behavior, and I dutifully translated. The Queen’s eyes went from lazy to
furious for a moment, then she instantly regained her calm.

“It is true,” she said. “It appears that war, when deprived of one reason, simply
seeks out another. We are still a people divided, having selected different aspects
of legend to embody. And yet it is better than it once was.”

“How so, Your Majesty?” asked Dllenahkh.

Clapping her hands, she caught the minstrel’s attention. “Tell them a story of the
Elder Days, the one about the woman with three sons.”

The minstrel set down his instrument, stood, and addressed the court in a mellifluous
tenor.

“A woman had three sons, and when they were grown, the first came to her and said,
‘Mama, I love a girl and wish to marry her.’ She replied, ‘Son, this gladdens my heart,
but of what lineage is she?’ ‘Alas, Mama,’ he told her. ‘She is half Terran.’ His
mother raised her hands and shook her head and said, ‘A tragedy, but I will cope.’

“The second son came some time after to inform her of his desire to marry, and, worse
yet, the bride he had selected was half Terran, half Ntshune, with no taSadiri in
her at all. But again his mother raised her hands, shook her head, and said, ‘A tragedy,
but I will cope.’

“Finally, the third son came to her and said he was engaged. When she inquired about
the girl’s lineage, he answered smugly, ‘She is all taSadiri, Mama.’ ‘Wonderful news,’
his mother cried. ‘Of what family?’ ‘She is of the Other clan,’ he confessed. Whereupon
his mother rose up with her blade and slew him without another word.”

The bard waited for me to finish translating, then spoke low for my ears. “I hope
you have rendered it well. It is one of my best tales, handed down from my grandmother.”

“Tale or family history?” I murmured teasingly in reply.

He merely smiled enigmatically.

“Conflicts are less intense, less bloody than before. Some blame the admixture of
our blood; others credit our new traditions,” the Queen said.

“And some say there is yet a third reason,” murmured the bard as he returned to his
instrument.

“Peace, child, all in good time. What my impertinent great-grandson wishes me to tell
you is that some of the women of the Seelie Court are long-lived, specifically the
women of my house.” The Queen looked around at her attendants. Suddenly, their devotion
and her goddesslike air no longer seemed unwarranted.

“In many cultures it is considered discourteous to ask a woman her age,” Dllenahkh
said. “If I may beg your pardon in advance, would you satisfy my curiosity?”

I took care to translate the elegant framing of Dllenahkh’s request. I believe I succeeded,
for the Queen smiled at him and said graciously, “I am nearly three hundred and forty-seven
Standard years.”

“Cygnian law prohibits extending the life span by genetic means,” Qeturah noted. “It
is a risky proposition, with uneven results.”

The Queen shrugged. “What was done was done so long ago. Were we perhaps seeking to
restore the years that the mixing of our blood had taken from us? And yes, the results
are uneven, as you can witness. But it has provided a core of stability in our society.”

“You are a land of true matriarchs. Is that why there is no king in your court?” Dllenahkh
inquired.

The Queen seemed delighted at this question. “There have been two in the past, but
these days I follow the example of other women of my House and content myself with
my attendants.”

There was a slight choking sound as Fergus inhaled his drink, no doubt finally realizing
the significance of his placing at the Commissioner’s feet. Qeturah smiled and patted
his shoulder. “Hush, dear; no explanations. This is no time for me to lose face.”

“What a life,” Lian said to me afterward. “I’ve never seen a woman with a harem who
so obviously deserved it. I hope she keeps a close eye on her family tree. It would
be very awkward to seduce one’s great-grandnephew.”

“They’re a small population,” I agreed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a little
mutual kidnapping going on with the other Elves.”

“Yep. Anything for fresh blood,” Lian said.

I frowned to myself, not quite knowing why.

The discussions continued. What made matters particularly difficult was the fact that
the Queen became enthralled by the sound of the Sadiri language and pressed Dllenahkh
to speak only in that tongue. Cymraeg is very poetic, even romantic, and Standard
less so, though serviceable enough. Sadiri is absolutely perfect as a programming
language, but when it comes to matters of the heart, it falls a little short. This
became obvious when the tenor of the conversation began to change.