The Best of All Possible Worlds (24 page)

I turned back. To be perfectly honest, it wasn’t only saying good-bye that made me
feel odd around Dllenahkh now. There was a little voice in my head saying breezily,
I don’t find the Councillor objectionable in any form or fashion
, accompanied by the same comic image of myself tra-la-laing with my hands clamped
to my ears.

“I have some matters to discuss with you. I would be grateful if you would consider
having dinner with me this evening. I understand there is a restaurant not far from
here which specializes in Ntshune cuisine.”

“Sure,” I said with a casual shrug, ignoring the little tripping sensation in my chest.
Just to be certain, I put my mental shields higher.

The moment we were actually seated in the restaurant, it all clicked back to normal.
He wanted my opinion on his idea of bringing female elders to Cygnus Beta, and it
was such an interesting concept that I forgot to feel awkward. I talked about the
importance of grandparenting for family groups, the stability that Sadiri societies
seemed to find in the matriarchal model, and the need to mimic as far as possible
the societal structure of New Sadira so as to encourage a parallel cultural experience
for the Sadiri of Cygnus Beta. He listened closely, absently plying his utensils as
he ate, and at one stage he grew so absorbed that he sat back, put his hand to his
mouth, and gazed at me intently. I believe I had just suggested implementing short-term
apprenticeships for young Sadiri in the Interplanetary Science Council, the Galactic
Foreign Service, and the Galactic Judiciary to cycle new parents out of active service
for a long enough leave to spend the formative years with their offspring before opting—or
not—to return to duty.

“You told me once that there are so few of you left that you must all consider each
other as family,” I said almost breathlessly. “Well, this is the proof of it. I understand
if the other Sadiri can’t find you wives, but surely they can spare you family.”

He nodded long and slow in a way that seemed an agreement to more than my last words.
“I remember some months ago, you warned me that the Sadiri must beware of a misplaced
sense of superiority. I have thought long and hard about this, and I have come to
the conclusion that while superiority may be our most obvious flaw, it is not the
most dangerous one.”

He pushed aside his plate, leaned his elbows on the table, and regarded me earnestly.
“I believe that our main flaw, and one I acknowledge in myself, is not that we consider
ourselves superior but invincible. This makes it difficult to ask for help, even from
our own.”

He dropped his gaze and began to fiddle with the table linen, a departure from his
usual self-control that was both touching and worrying. “We were sent off to Cygnus
Beta, told it was for the good of all Sadiri. What could we do? We went bravely, convinced
of our ability to withstand any trial … no,
determined
to do so. Failure was unthinkable.”

He stilled his hands and exhaled deeply. “I can only begin with myself, to set the
example. I have a proposal for you.” Here he raised his hand and smiled slightly.
“Not, let me hasten to add, of the kind that would please Commander Nasiha but one
that I believe will not disappoint nonetheless. On several occasions you have proved
your insightfulness concerning Sadiri society. Would you be willing to continue working
for us on this mission?”

My heart leaped up, but only for a moment. I’d had time to ponder my offhand comment
to Nasiha, and I saw the difficulties. “I’d say yes in an instant, Dllenahkh, but
it’s not that simple. What I’ve done, theft of genetic material … I’m barred from
working in Central Government
and
local government. I might be able to work on the homesteadings in a private capacity,
but this is a government mission. I can’t accept.”

And there it was, that little smugness. “We are aware of this. However, the Sadiri
settlement on Cygnus Beta is in a unique position. While we are, of course, subject
to Central Government in terms of the administration of the homesteadings, we have
been granted a unique autonomy which leaves ultimate responsibility for the homesteaders
with the Government of New Sadira. We selected you for this mission. We can rehire
you.”

My jaw dropped. It was too good to be true. He saw it and tried to inject some caution.
“I do not have the final word. You must be interviewed and assessed before a decision
can be made. I thought, if you did not object, that we might take the morning shuttle
to Karaganda, a town with excellent teleconferencing facilities. The interview would
take place in the early afternoon, and we would have our answer by the end of the
day.”

“Then … yes! By all means, yes!” I stammered.

———

Goodness knows how I
slept. I was a wreck, wavering between sweet dreams and grim nightmares about the
possible outcomes. Dllenahkh and I rose early, and to my great pleasure and mild surprise,
we meditated together with Nasiha, Tarik, and Joral before our departure for the shuttle
station.

The journey to Karaganda was made shorter by a much-needed nap, and then it was time
for a brief stop at a hotel to have a light lunch, freshen up, and change before the
interview. Dllenahkh did not fuss when he came to my door to find me still scrambling
to arrange my attire just so. He gravely advised me, eased my worries about the state
of my hair, and even helped me arrange the wrap around my head and shoulders and clasp
it into place.

“An unusual piece,” he remarked.

I realized that his hand had paused on the clasp, which was in the shape of a hummingbird.
“Nasiha chose it for me.”

“Most apt.”

“Nasiha has excellent taste,” I agreed.

I took one last look at myself in the mirror, standing calm and straight as any Sadiri.
Then I wrung my hands semitheatrically and shook them out from the wrists. “Look at
me. I wasn’t even this nervous for my first interview for a government post.”

Dllenahkh turned me around and took my hands. His grip was gentle, very warm, and
purposely reassuring. He held me immobile with only a look, waiting until he saw my
frown vanish, my shoulders relax, and my lips tentatively smile. “I have the highest
regard for you, Grace. I am sure that I have not erred in my assessment of your character.”

“Thank you, Dllenahkh,” I whispered.

———

The teleconferencing center was
state of the art—it had to be to give such clear reception from Karaganda to Tlaxce
City. It meant I had to remind myself not to jiggle my feet or pick at my nails in
the mistaken belief that I was not completely in view. I stood alone at the head of
the conference table and waited for the holo of my interviewer to appear. When it
did, I saw that he had already seated himself, and he indicated with a nod and a gracious
wave that I should do the same. I sat as gracefully as I knew how and waited patiently
for him to speak first, as befitted an elder.

For he was old, aged by years and more, with a timeless sorrow in his eyes that spoke
of a galaxy’s worth of loss rather than a mere planet’s. He reminded me of the monks
of the forest uplands, for he kept his hands tucked into the long, wide sleeves of
his tunic and his head was clean-shaven. He did not smile or frown, but there was
an unusual relaxation to his face that made me wonder whether Sadiri dignity became
tempered after long years of wear.

“Grace Delarua,” he said, speaking my name not in greeting but musingly to himself.
“Tell me about yourself.”

“I once worked for Central Government, sir,” I said. “I’m a biotechnician by training,
but recently I’ve been doing a lot of liaison work with the Sadiri. That’s how I ended
up on the mission, helping the Sadiri as they research different Cygnian societies
to see if anything of Sadira has survived. But I think you already know this, sir.”

“Yes,” he said, drawing out the single syllable slowly. “That was the icebreaker,
if you will. Tell me, Grace Delarua, do you like working with the Sadiri?”

A Sadiri elder talking about
icebreakers
? I was so baffled at this effort to put me at ease that it almost had the opposite
effect, but I went on bravely. “Yes, sir. They’re efficient, no-nonsense types and
easy to work with because of it.”

“So … you don’t simply feel sorry for them?”

“Sorry for them—oh!” It had actually taken me a split second to realize he was referring
to the disaster. “Well, I’m sure we all want to help as much as possible, sir, but
I don’t think that’s my main motivation. I’d work with them even if Sadira hadn’t
been destroyed—but then of course they’d hardly have any reason to put up with me.”

His lips twitched, but where Dllenahkh’s would have quickly returned to a disciplined
line, his retained a slight upward curl of humor, then leisurely came back to the
default professional position.

“About your actions on Kir’tahsg, how would you assess them now?” The words were delivered
with perfect neutrality, but the atmosphere grew tense. I realized that this was,
in a way,
the
question I had been brought there to answer. There was no other option but honesty.

“A friend once told me that feeling invincible leads to the mistake of not asking
for help. It seems to me I’ve made that mistake more than once, and I may have done
it again. I understand the Commissioner’s disappointment that I didn’t have faith
in her ability to take care of the matter in the usual way. I could have asked for
help, or advice, at an earlier stage when things were still salvageable. I didn’t.
I acted as if I was the only one who could get the job done. That was, in hindsight,
a mistake.”

The grave nod of acknowledgment gave nothing away; it was as perfectly neutral as
the question had been.

“But,” I said slowly.

An eyebrow quirked silently, inviting me to continue.

“But I’m mostly Terran, which means sometimes I don’t do what’s sensible and methodical
or even appropriate. Sometimes I listen to my intuition. I’m sorry, sir, but that’s
who I am, and at
the end of the day all I can do is take responsibility for the consequences.”

I miss a lot of cues by holovid, something about unconsciously relying on empathy
when in proximity to others, but I couldn’t miss the warmth in his eyes. “Thank you,
Grace Delarua. That will be all. Would you please ask Councillor Dllenahkh to join
me for a moment?”

I stood and bowed, then went out in a daze to deliver the message to Dllenahkh. He
was in there for much longer than I had been. When he emerged, he looked extremely
pensive and not a little disquieted.

“What took you so long?” I demanded anxiously. “Did he change his mind?”

“No, no,” Dllenahkh assured me hastily. “We did not discuss you at all. The Consul
is … an old friend. We were talking about other matters.”

I eyed him closely. “Ah … Dllenahkh, I can’t help but notice you look a bit … unnerved.
Are you
sure
everything is all right?”

He nodded firmly, though his eyes were distant and his mind clearly elsewhere. “Yes.
Everything is perfectly fine.”

That kind of certainty sounded very familiar. I had often employed it myself. “Do
you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t think …” he began, then trailed off and finally looked at me properly. “I
will if I can. Someday, but not now.”

“Fair enough,” I agreed. It helped that he looked more startled than upset, as if
whatever news he had heard was surprising rather than distressing. “Now,” I continued,
changing the subject, “how are we going to distract ourselves till evening?”

It turned out that Karaganda also had excellent museums and art galleries. We wasted
a pleasant two hours before Dllenahkh’s comm went off just as we were in search of
a café. He paused on
the pavement, gave me a quick glance, and opened it to answer. His responses were
terse and not at all illuminating, but something in the way his spine lengthened and
his head went up, something in his slow intake of breath and the expansion of his
chest—it all added up to a positive result.

“I’m in?” I asked lightly as he closed the comm.

“They have consulted with Central Government and with the Commissioner, and although
you are barred from conducting any scientific research whatsoever … yes, you’re in.
You have been assigned as my cultural attaché for the duration of the mission. After
that … we shall see.”

I ducked my head down and laughed a low, long laugh of sheer relief. “So here I am,
back where I started, working with you again.”

“Would you like to tell Nasiha, or shall I?” he asked in a whimsical voice, as giddy
as a Sadiri could get. “If you choose your words carefully, you might get her to start
planning our wedding ceremony or perhaps even arranging for our children’s betrothals.”

“Nasiha
does
scare me sometimes,” I said wryly, then laughed out loud again, unable to help myself.
It was okay. I didn’t have to leave. I didn’t have to tell him good-bye.

What he did next was almost, but not quite, a rolling of the eyes. It was more of
a flash upward to heaven in a give-me-strength kind of way followed by a sigh and
a rueful smile. “She is very eager to see the new generation of Sadiri.”

I’m sure he felt the euphoria of the moment, same as I did, but out in public, on
a street with people walking by, it was easier to express it with quiet laughter and
gentle quips at our colleague’s expense. Displacement behavior, Qeturah would have
called it, and Nasiha would have agreed, but I could hardly throw my
arms around him and kiss him. That would have been even worse than hugging Joral.

And yet … the day was shading into twilight, we were on a tree-lined avenue below
a street lamp that had just flickered on, and for an instant I felt as if I were in
a holovid at the point where the Ella Fitzgerald music starts to swell. I stepped
up to him, hovered on the edge of his personal space, then came closer. He eyed me
warily but did not move, held, I think, by a curiosity stronger than any decorum.
I stretched up on tiptoe, careful not to touch any part of him, half closed my eyes,
and deeply inhaled the scent of him at the join of his neck and jaw. Then I stepped
back and smiled sweetly.