Uprising, page 48
That was true. From the day the builders had repositioned the Caphenon in preparation for the Voloth invasion, they had been at the forefront of the many changes rippling through Alsea. The merchants, on the other hand, had taken the worst impact of the matter printer introduction and had reason to distrust additional change. Stasinal had achieved miraculous representation in the Whitesun march, but that was one progressive city. The more conservative areas were not as supportive, and thus neither were their Councilors.
Lancer Tal set her glass on the side table. “Two warrior Councilors have moved over to our side of the ledger. I’m guessing that won’t help much.”
“Every single one helps. But the real problem is still the scholars.”
“Yaserka,” Lancer Tal growled. “He knew what he was doing.”
“He did phrase his vote carefully.” Anjuli could not deny the thrill of hearing the Lancer’s ire directed at another Prime—and in solidarity with her. “It was a signal to the scholar Councilors.”
“They heard it.”
“He must have circulated debate points. I keep hearing the same wording over and over. He has them lined up. But Ehron doesn’t.”
After Shantu’s spectacular fall, Ehron’s inexperience and lack of connections had worked to his advantage, putting him over the top in an election that sought new blood in a Prime Warrior. That same inexperience was now a liability.
“Shantu always did believe in the superiority of the warriors,” Anjuli continued. “No matter how loudly those Councilors repudiated him, they still think he was right about that. Ehron’s vote was genuine, but he doesn’t have the power to push them.” She took a too-large gulp and added, “The irony hasn’t escaped me.”
Lancer Tal nodded but made no comment. She would not bring it up.
Anjuli needed to. “If Shantu were alive, he could convince the warriors. But if he were alive, the reform would never have made it out of the High Council. He would have stood on those steps and told the entire world no.”
“He would have,” Lancer Tal agreed. “And it would have blown up. Having doubts about a reform is a very different thing than being told you’ll never have the chance to vote, because one person took the decision out of your hands. He would have sent most of the undecideds straight to the yes side while making it impossible for them to have a voice.”
“Like closing a valve and turning up the pressure.” Anjuli set aside her glass and idly pushed her bracelet back and forth. “It feels as if the world is different since he died.”
“You’re different,” Lancer Tal said.
“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean—I am, yes. Look at us and you can see that.”
“That’s not just you.”
It was not an admission she would have expected the Lancer to make. But then, she hadn’t expected quite a few things in the last two moons.
“Thank you for that. It’s not what I’m trying to say, though. It’s . . .” She cast about for an explanation. “When you build a house, it doesn’t look like a house for a long time. You have to lay the foundation first. Then you put up the framework. All that time, it looks like a pile of stones and rods. Then you get to the point where you can build up the walls and drop the roof on, and it happens like magic. No house for ninedays, and then suddenly—” She snapped her fingers. “There’s a house. Practically overnight.”
“Overnight for the people who weren’t building it,” Lancer Tal said.
“Yes! You understand. We’re building a new Alsea. And even though I’ve been a part of it, I’m still looking at this new house from the street and thinking, ‘Hoi, that happened quickly.’ It’s a beautiful house. I don’t understand how anyone can prefer the old one. It had a leaky roof and uneven floors and the closets were too small.”
Lancer Tal chuckled. “That’s a builder’s analogy if I ever heard one.”
“But you see it, yes?”
“I do. I also know that some people will always prefer the uneven floors and small closets. They’re familiar. Comfortable.”
“The new house will be comfortable as soon as we spend some time in it. But when Shantu died, we were still laying the foundation. He couldn’t see what the house would look like. If he were here today, I think he still wouldn’t see it. He’d prefer the uneven floors. It’s almost as if it was his time to go.”
She had never put it into words before. Saying them aloud raised a flush of guilt, but it was also a tremendous relief. She imagined that pressure valve being turned, and yes, that was the right image. She had kept her memories of Shantu under pressure. She needed to let them go.
“He didn’t fit in this new world,” she said. “Do you think that was why he tried so hard to hold on to the old one?”
Lancer Tal stood up from her chair, took two steps across the space between them, and sat beside Anjuli on the couch. Holding up her hand, she said, “Yes.”
Anjuli met her palm touch and dared to interlace their fingers. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I—it has meant so much to be able to speak like this.”
“I’m glad you felt you could.”
With a short laugh, she released her grip. “Could? You forced me into it. But I’m glad you did.”
Lancer Tal’s smile was one she had never seen before: open and easy, making her look far more approachable. “Shall we get down to the names, then? Who do I need to push off the fence?”
They pulled out their reader cards and went to work. Lancer Tal took notes while Anjuli listed individuals who were not firm in their dissent and thus susceptible to personal pressure from the top. She had gathered background information on them to streamline the effort—“narrow my target,” Lancer Tal called it—and spent half a hantick carefully detailing what she knew about each one of them. It was the sort of task Chief Counselor Aldirk often performed, but in this instance, a high empath scholar was not the best person for the job.
She resented expending all this time and effort on something that shouldn’t be necessary. If this were a simple majority vote, they would already be done with it. Unfortunately, changing caste law required a seventy-five percent majority. The rule had been laid down in the formation of the unified government as a means of preventing any four castes from forcing change on two others. Which, Anjuli thought wryly, really meant ensuring that the four lower castes could not overcome the power of the warriors and scholars.
It was proving effective now. They needed twenty-three out of thirty Councilors from each caste, plus the Primes. Or, if they could get unanimous votes out of four castes, they would only need to find sixteen additional votes in the other two.
As things stood, they did not have the votes to pass the reform. If Lancer Tal could perform miracles, they might push enough undecideds or weak no votes over to the yes side, but time was running out. The full Council vote would be next nineday.
“The important thing was getting it out of the High Council,” she said when they finished. “Even if it doesn’t pass the Council, it’s free of the most difficult trap. We’ll simply have to keep revisiting it until it goes through.”
Lancer Tal rolled up her reader card with a sigh. “That’s what I tell myself. Then I envision telling Salomen that the vote failed.”
“She did risk it all,” Anjuli said quietly.
Watching an assassination attempt on a live broadcast was a shock she still hadn’t moved past. For all their concerns about violence in Blacksun, none of them had believed it would come to that. Nor had she imagined a Voloth saving the Bondlancer’s life. It had forced her into some uncomfortable self-examination.
“She did more than anyone could ask.” Lancer Tal slipped her reader card into its pouch and leaned back. “If I have to tell her that it wasn’t enough . . .”
Anjuli had a sudden urge to break into the houses of all the Councilors voting no and block their plumbing. “How is she doing?”
Lancer Tal hesitated, then apparently decided that Anjuli’s status as a co-conspirator entitled her to a real answer. “It hasn’t been easy for her. There’s no simple way to accept that people want you dead. But the real issue is that she let herself become fond of Demerah.”
“I can see where it would be difficult to know you misjudged someone so badly.” Especially for a high empath.
“Everyone misjudged Demerah. That isn’t the problem. It’s only been fourteen moons since Salomen’s brother betrayed her. Now it’s happened again, with someone else she was fond of.”
“Oh,” Anjuli breathed. “Oh, that’s terrible. I didn’t realize—I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
“Besides getting the votes? No, but thank you. At least she’s finding amusement in the story that she made it rain. Her family has started calling her Rainbringer.”
The timing had been too delicious for some of the more excitable news outlets to resist. The autumn rains had begun the same moment that Bondlancer Opah had frozen, her black eyes staring into nothing. That image of her was everywhere, along with a second favorite: the same frozen Bondlancer, now soaking wet and with a worried, equally wet Lancer Tal crouched in front of her. Anjuli would always wonder what their conversation had been about. It certainly wasn’t just about finding a sniper—not when they had been so careful to make sure their words couldn’t be transcribed. Practically every lip reader on the planet had tried, to no avail.
The office door opened. “Lancer Tal?” the aide said. “Dr. Wells is here.”
With a startled look, Lancer Tal checked her wristcom. “We’ve run over our time. Send her in, please.”
Anjuli stood with her as a slender Gaian in a Fleet uniform walked in. Her hair was twisted up and held in place with two wooden sticks—a style Anjuli had never seen before—and her eyes sparked with intelligence. She held up a palm and offered a perfect greeting to Lancer Tal, who introduced Anjuli.
“This is Dr. Wells, chief surgeon of the Phoenix. She’s been working on a project for me.”
“I’ve finished my project,” Dr. Wells corrected as she politely touched palms with Anjuli. “Well met, Prime Builder.”
“You finished? You have an answer?” Lancer Tal sounded disbelieving. “Or you couldn’t find an answer?”
“I found an answer, and it might affect your caste reform.”
Lancer Tal’s eyes widened. She looked at Anjuli, then back at Dr. Wells. “Prime Builder Eroles is aiding me with that. I’d like her to join us, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
They moved to the conference table, where Dr. Wells set up a pad and activated its virtual screen. For the next half hantick, she led them through a breathtaking tour of facts, figures, and biology that left Anjuli wondering why the ground wasn’t shaking beneath her feet.
At the end, Lancer Tal sat speechless for the first time since Anjuli had known her. She rubbed her forehead ridges, shook her head, and finally said, “I’m going to ask you to go through this again with our Prime Scholar. He’ll want to confirm it.”
“I expected that. He’s welcome to all my data.”
“And then I’ll ask you to attend a Council meeting.”
“I . . . didn’t expect that. I’ll need to ask Captain Serrado about involving myself in your political process.”
The sound that came out of Anjuli’s throat startled her as much as the others. “It’s too late for that, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes,” Dr. Wells said. “I’m afraid it is.”
66
Revelations
“Salomen!” Nikin called from the parlor. “It’s starting!”
“We’re on our way!” Salomen shouted.
In the kitchen beside her, Lhyn was pouring the last glass of what looked like cloudy water. Hurriedly she pushed it next to three others, then picked up all four together. “Ready.”
“The advantage of long fingers,” Salomen said, collecting the other three. “I could have used a tray, you know.”
“You could have.” Lhyn led the way out. “But you have me, so why bother?”
They entered the parlor, where Shikal and Jaros were watching the large vidscreen. Nikin was speaking in low tones to the sandy-haired woman sitting next to him, currently Shikal’s favorite person in the world. Marinda Remor had finally been acknowledged as the woman Nikin was courting, and just as predicted, Shikal was already counting his grandchildren.
Sitting alone on the couch and standing out in her Bondlancer’s Guard uniform was Rahel. She had shuttled down to Blacksun with Ekatya and Dr. Wells and was then sent with Lhyn to Hol-Opah as “additional security,” a blatantly transparent order that she related with a grin.
While Lhyn crossed the room to distribute drinks among the others, Salomen let Rahel tug one from her grasp before sitting next to her.
“Thank you,” Rahel said politely, then smiled with a surge of pleased recognition. “Tang water!”
“Lhyn made it for you. And to introduce my family to the wonders of Whitesun cuisine.”
“I wouldn’t call it cuisine.” She sipped the drink and closed her eyes. “But it’s home.”
The live broadcast of the Council session was showing a full chamber. Thirty Councilors for each caste, plus the six Primes, filled the tiered seats lining the two long sides of the room. On an elevated dais at the room’s head was the ornate State Chair.
Lhyn sat on Salomen’s other side and accepted her drink. Onscreen, Andira had stepped onto the dais and was walking to the large bell suspended in a polished wooden stand.
“She does look good in uniform, doesn’t she?” Lhyn whispered.
The scene shifted to pan across the guest gallery’s front row, pausing on Lanaril and Ekatya. They sat side by side and were leaning toward each other, Lanaril gesturing as she spoke and Ekatya looking patiently amused.
“I think you have an obsession for uniforms,” Salomen whispered back, eyeing Ekatya in her Fleet dress uniform.
“Not true. I have an obsession for the women inside them.”
Salomen’s laugh was covered by the sound of Andira striking the bell to start the session.
“Councilors and fellow Alseans,” she said, her voice easily filling the chamber, “the scheduled vote on the high empath reform has been postponed for half a moon.” Amid the gasps and cries of discontent, she held up her hands. “I believe you’ll agree with the decision when you’ve heard what we have to tell you today,” she called in a louder voice. “The mystery of our divine tyrees has been solved.”
Silence sliced through the room, cutting off words and half-finished protests.
“I thought that might get your attention. Prime Scholar Yaserka has asked to be the first to speak today. Prime Scholar?”
Yaserka rose from his seat in the bottom row of the scholar section. “Thank you, Lancer Tal. For the past nineday, I have been studying the results of research into our divine tyree mystery. I’m convinced that these results are accurate and must be taken into account before we vote on the reform.” He paused. “It may surprise you to learn that they come not from our own scholars, but from Dr. Wells, the chief surgeon of the Phoenix.”
The scholars and a good number of other Councilors burst into loud expressions of disbelief.
Yaskerka ignored them with the aplomb of a seasoned politician. “I do indeed wish that our scholars had been able to solve this mystery,” he said in a calm voice that forced the others to stop and listen. “But it is a fact that the Protectorate is more advanced in genetics, and that is where the solution to this mystery lies. We are fortunate that Dr. Wells is an expert in the field. We’ve asked her here today to share her results with you.”
He tossed his long, thin tail of gray hair over one shoulder. “Some of you will find her explanation difficult to follow. Others will find it fascinating. Anyone who wishes to look at her data may ask my office; she has made it freely available and so will I. This should be shared broadly.”
“Get on with it,” Lhyn said. “That man bloviates like a leaky air line and has just as much to say.”
Salomen snickered. “He really does.”
Yaserka managed to bloviate for another five or six ticks before finally introducing Dr. Wells, who entered through the main doors and traversed the length of the chamber floor amid an expectant silence. She walked up the steps to the guest dais and stood next to the table where a holographic projector waited.
“Councilors, thank you for the opportunity to speak. As Prime Scholar Yaserka said, some of what I’m about to cover won’t interest many of you, so let me offer a quick summary before I get into the fine details.”
“Look,” Salomen told Lhyn. “Another woman in uniform.”
“Yes, but she frightens me.”
On Salomen’s other side, Rahel let out a snort before clapping a hand over her mouth.
“You two are like children,” Shikal said. “Quiet down and listen.”
Dr. Wells had activated the holographic projector and was showing an image of two Alsean heads with transparent skulls. In the brain of one, a small, purple area was highlighted. In the other, the same area was orange.
“You already know that tyree bonds occur when the empathic centers of two people recognize each other and connect. This has a genetic component. The empathic centers of different Alseans operate at different energy frequencies, and as far as I’ve been able to guess, the pool of available frequencies is in the hundreds of thousands. But if two Alseans meet and are operating on the same frequency, their empathic centers connect.”
The orange highlight turned purple, matching the other, and a purple line stretched out to connect the two heads.
“Divine tyrees connect the same way, but on a more finely tuned frequency that conveys far more information.”
The two highlighted brain areas turned to a rainbow of shifting colors, and the line between them matched in both color and pattern.
“Because of the nature of this connection, the activity in one divine tyree brain is felt in its matching partner regardless of distance. But there’s another critical component to this: the switch that toggles the connection on and off.” Dr. Wells pointed at the head on the left. “If this person lacks the genes that toggle the connection on, here is what happens.”
Lancer Tal set her glass on the side table. “Two warrior Councilors have moved over to our side of the ledger. I’m guessing that won’t help much.”
“Every single one helps. But the real problem is still the scholars.”
“Yaserka,” Lancer Tal growled. “He knew what he was doing.”
“He did phrase his vote carefully.” Anjuli could not deny the thrill of hearing the Lancer’s ire directed at another Prime—and in solidarity with her. “It was a signal to the scholar Councilors.”
“They heard it.”
“He must have circulated debate points. I keep hearing the same wording over and over. He has them lined up. But Ehron doesn’t.”
After Shantu’s spectacular fall, Ehron’s inexperience and lack of connections had worked to his advantage, putting him over the top in an election that sought new blood in a Prime Warrior. That same inexperience was now a liability.
“Shantu always did believe in the superiority of the warriors,” Anjuli continued. “No matter how loudly those Councilors repudiated him, they still think he was right about that. Ehron’s vote was genuine, but he doesn’t have the power to push them.” She took a too-large gulp and added, “The irony hasn’t escaped me.”
Lancer Tal nodded but made no comment. She would not bring it up.
Anjuli needed to. “If Shantu were alive, he could convince the warriors. But if he were alive, the reform would never have made it out of the High Council. He would have stood on those steps and told the entire world no.”
“He would have,” Lancer Tal agreed. “And it would have blown up. Having doubts about a reform is a very different thing than being told you’ll never have the chance to vote, because one person took the decision out of your hands. He would have sent most of the undecideds straight to the yes side while making it impossible for them to have a voice.”
“Like closing a valve and turning up the pressure.” Anjuli set aside her glass and idly pushed her bracelet back and forth. “It feels as if the world is different since he died.”
“You’re different,” Lancer Tal said.
“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean—I am, yes. Look at us and you can see that.”
“That’s not just you.”
It was not an admission she would have expected the Lancer to make. But then, she hadn’t expected quite a few things in the last two moons.
“Thank you for that. It’s not what I’m trying to say, though. It’s . . .” She cast about for an explanation. “When you build a house, it doesn’t look like a house for a long time. You have to lay the foundation first. Then you put up the framework. All that time, it looks like a pile of stones and rods. Then you get to the point where you can build up the walls and drop the roof on, and it happens like magic. No house for ninedays, and then suddenly—” She snapped her fingers. “There’s a house. Practically overnight.”
“Overnight for the people who weren’t building it,” Lancer Tal said.
“Yes! You understand. We’re building a new Alsea. And even though I’ve been a part of it, I’m still looking at this new house from the street and thinking, ‘Hoi, that happened quickly.’ It’s a beautiful house. I don’t understand how anyone can prefer the old one. It had a leaky roof and uneven floors and the closets were too small.”
Lancer Tal chuckled. “That’s a builder’s analogy if I ever heard one.”
“But you see it, yes?”
“I do. I also know that some people will always prefer the uneven floors and small closets. They’re familiar. Comfortable.”
“The new house will be comfortable as soon as we spend some time in it. But when Shantu died, we were still laying the foundation. He couldn’t see what the house would look like. If he were here today, I think he still wouldn’t see it. He’d prefer the uneven floors. It’s almost as if it was his time to go.”
She had never put it into words before. Saying them aloud raised a flush of guilt, but it was also a tremendous relief. She imagined that pressure valve being turned, and yes, that was the right image. She had kept her memories of Shantu under pressure. She needed to let them go.
“He didn’t fit in this new world,” she said. “Do you think that was why he tried so hard to hold on to the old one?”
Lancer Tal stood up from her chair, took two steps across the space between them, and sat beside Anjuli on the couch. Holding up her hand, she said, “Yes.”
Anjuli met her palm touch and dared to interlace their fingers. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I—it has meant so much to be able to speak like this.”
“I’m glad you felt you could.”
With a short laugh, she released her grip. “Could? You forced me into it. But I’m glad you did.”
Lancer Tal’s smile was one she had never seen before: open and easy, making her look far more approachable. “Shall we get down to the names, then? Who do I need to push off the fence?”
They pulled out their reader cards and went to work. Lancer Tal took notes while Anjuli listed individuals who were not firm in their dissent and thus susceptible to personal pressure from the top. She had gathered background information on them to streamline the effort—“narrow my target,” Lancer Tal called it—and spent half a hantick carefully detailing what she knew about each one of them. It was the sort of task Chief Counselor Aldirk often performed, but in this instance, a high empath scholar was not the best person for the job.
She resented expending all this time and effort on something that shouldn’t be necessary. If this were a simple majority vote, they would already be done with it. Unfortunately, changing caste law required a seventy-five percent majority. The rule had been laid down in the formation of the unified government as a means of preventing any four castes from forcing change on two others. Which, Anjuli thought wryly, really meant ensuring that the four lower castes could not overcome the power of the warriors and scholars.
It was proving effective now. They needed twenty-three out of thirty Councilors from each caste, plus the Primes. Or, if they could get unanimous votes out of four castes, they would only need to find sixteen additional votes in the other two.
As things stood, they did not have the votes to pass the reform. If Lancer Tal could perform miracles, they might push enough undecideds or weak no votes over to the yes side, but time was running out. The full Council vote would be next nineday.
“The important thing was getting it out of the High Council,” she said when they finished. “Even if it doesn’t pass the Council, it’s free of the most difficult trap. We’ll simply have to keep revisiting it until it goes through.”
Lancer Tal rolled up her reader card with a sigh. “That’s what I tell myself. Then I envision telling Salomen that the vote failed.”
“She did risk it all,” Anjuli said quietly.
Watching an assassination attempt on a live broadcast was a shock she still hadn’t moved past. For all their concerns about violence in Blacksun, none of them had believed it would come to that. Nor had she imagined a Voloth saving the Bondlancer’s life. It had forced her into some uncomfortable self-examination.
“She did more than anyone could ask.” Lancer Tal slipped her reader card into its pouch and leaned back. “If I have to tell her that it wasn’t enough . . .”
Anjuli had a sudden urge to break into the houses of all the Councilors voting no and block their plumbing. “How is she doing?”
Lancer Tal hesitated, then apparently decided that Anjuli’s status as a co-conspirator entitled her to a real answer. “It hasn’t been easy for her. There’s no simple way to accept that people want you dead. But the real issue is that she let herself become fond of Demerah.”
“I can see where it would be difficult to know you misjudged someone so badly.” Especially for a high empath.
“Everyone misjudged Demerah. That isn’t the problem. It’s only been fourteen moons since Salomen’s brother betrayed her. Now it’s happened again, with someone else she was fond of.”
“Oh,” Anjuli breathed. “Oh, that’s terrible. I didn’t realize—I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
“Besides getting the votes? No, but thank you. At least she’s finding amusement in the story that she made it rain. Her family has started calling her Rainbringer.”
The timing had been too delicious for some of the more excitable news outlets to resist. The autumn rains had begun the same moment that Bondlancer Opah had frozen, her black eyes staring into nothing. That image of her was everywhere, along with a second favorite: the same frozen Bondlancer, now soaking wet and with a worried, equally wet Lancer Tal crouched in front of her. Anjuli would always wonder what their conversation had been about. It certainly wasn’t just about finding a sniper—not when they had been so careful to make sure their words couldn’t be transcribed. Practically every lip reader on the planet had tried, to no avail.
The office door opened. “Lancer Tal?” the aide said. “Dr. Wells is here.”
With a startled look, Lancer Tal checked her wristcom. “We’ve run over our time. Send her in, please.”
Anjuli stood with her as a slender Gaian in a Fleet uniform walked in. Her hair was twisted up and held in place with two wooden sticks—a style Anjuli had never seen before—and her eyes sparked with intelligence. She held up a palm and offered a perfect greeting to Lancer Tal, who introduced Anjuli.
“This is Dr. Wells, chief surgeon of the Phoenix. She’s been working on a project for me.”
“I’ve finished my project,” Dr. Wells corrected as she politely touched palms with Anjuli. “Well met, Prime Builder.”
“You finished? You have an answer?” Lancer Tal sounded disbelieving. “Or you couldn’t find an answer?”
“I found an answer, and it might affect your caste reform.”
Lancer Tal’s eyes widened. She looked at Anjuli, then back at Dr. Wells. “Prime Builder Eroles is aiding me with that. I’d like her to join us, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
They moved to the conference table, where Dr. Wells set up a pad and activated its virtual screen. For the next half hantick, she led them through a breathtaking tour of facts, figures, and biology that left Anjuli wondering why the ground wasn’t shaking beneath her feet.
At the end, Lancer Tal sat speechless for the first time since Anjuli had known her. She rubbed her forehead ridges, shook her head, and finally said, “I’m going to ask you to go through this again with our Prime Scholar. He’ll want to confirm it.”
“I expected that. He’s welcome to all my data.”
“And then I’ll ask you to attend a Council meeting.”
“I . . . didn’t expect that. I’ll need to ask Captain Serrado about involving myself in your political process.”
The sound that came out of Anjuli’s throat startled her as much as the others. “It’s too late for that, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes,” Dr. Wells said. “I’m afraid it is.”
66
Revelations
“Salomen!” Nikin called from the parlor. “It’s starting!”
“We’re on our way!” Salomen shouted.
In the kitchen beside her, Lhyn was pouring the last glass of what looked like cloudy water. Hurriedly she pushed it next to three others, then picked up all four together. “Ready.”
“The advantage of long fingers,” Salomen said, collecting the other three. “I could have used a tray, you know.”
“You could have.” Lhyn led the way out. “But you have me, so why bother?”
They entered the parlor, where Shikal and Jaros were watching the large vidscreen. Nikin was speaking in low tones to the sandy-haired woman sitting next to him, currently Shikal’s favorite person in the world. Marinda Remor had finally been acknowledged as the woman Nikin was courting, and just as predicted, Shikal was already counting his grandchildren.
Sitting alone on the couch and standing out in her Bondlancer’s Guard uniform was Rahel. She had shuttled down to Blacksun with Ekatya and Dr. Wells and was then sent with Lhyn to Hol-Opah as “additional security,” a blatantly transparent order that she related with a grin.
While Lhyn crossed the room to distribute drinks among the others, Salomen let Rahel tug one from her grasp before sitting next to her.
“Thank you,” Rahel said politely, then smiled with a surge of pleased recognition. “Tang water!”
“Lhyn made it for you. And to introduce my family to the wonders of Whitesun cuisine.”
“I wouldn’t call it cuisine.” She sipped the drink and closed her eyes. “But it’s home.”
The live broadcast of the Council session was showing a full chamber. Thirty Councilors for each caste, plus the six Primes, filled the tiered seats lining the two long sides of the room. On an elevated dais at the room’s head was the ornate State Chair.
Lhyn sat on Salomen’s other side and accepted her drink. Onscreen, Andira had stepped onto the dais and was walking to the large bell suspended in a polished wooden stand.
“She does look good in uniform, doesn’t she?” Lhyn whispered.
The scene shifted to pan across the guest gallery’s front row, pausing on Lanaril and Ekatya. They sat side by side and were leaning toward each other, Lanaril gesturing as she spoke and Ekatya looking patiently amused.
“I think you have an obsession for uniforms,” Salomen whispered back, eyeing Ekatya in her Fleet dress uniform.
“Not true. I have an obsession for the women inside them.”
Salomen’s laugh was covered by the sound of Andira striking the bell to start the session.
“Councilors and fellow Alseans,” she said, her voice easily filling the chamber, “the scheduled vote on the high empath reform has been postponed for half a moon.” Amid the gasps and cries of discontent, she held up her hands. “I believe you’ll agree with the decision when you’ve heard what we have to tell you today,” she called in a louder voice. “The mystery of our divine tyrees has been solved.”
Silence sliced through the room, cutting off words and half-finished protests.
“I thought that might get your attention. Prime Scholar Yaserka has asked to be the first to speak today. Prime Scholar?”
Yaserka rose from his seat in the bottom row of the scholar section. “Thank you, Lancer Tal. For the past nineday, I have been studying the results of research into our divine tyree mystery. I’m convinced that these results are accurate and must be taken into account before we vote on the reform.” He paused. “It may surprise you to learn that they come not from our own scholars, but from Dr. Wells, the chief surgeon of the Phoenix.”
The scholars and a good number of other Councilors burst into loud expressions of disbelief.
Yaskerka ignored them with the aplomb of a seasoned politician. “I do indeed wish that our scholars had been able to solve this mystery,” he said in a calm voice that forced the others to stop and listen. “But it is a fact that the Protectorate is more advanced in genetics, and that is where the solution to this mystery lies. We are fortunate that Dr. Wells is an expert in the field. We’ve asked her here today to share her results with you.”
He tossed his long, thin tail of gray hair over one shoulder. “Some of you will find her explanation difficult to follow. Others will find it fascinating. Anyone who wishes to look at her data may ask my office; she has made it freely available and so will I. This should be shared broadly.”
“Get on with it,” Lhyn said. “That man bloviates like a leaky air line and has just as much to say.”
Salomen snickered. “He really does.”
Yaserka managed to bloviate for another five or six ticks before finally introducing Dr. Wells, who entered through the main doors and traversed the length of the chamber floor amid an expectant silence. She walked up the steps to the guest dais and stood next to the table where a holographic projector waited.
“Councilors, thank you for the opportunity to speak. As Prime Scholar Yaserka said, some of what I’m about to cover won’t interest many of you, so let me offer a quick summary before I get into the fine details.”
“Look,” Salomen told Lhyn. “Another woman in uniform.”
“Yes, but she frightens me.”
On Salomen’s other side, Rahel let out a snort before clapping a hand over her mouth.
“You two are like children,” Shikal said. “Quiet down and listen.”
Dr. Wells had activated the holographic projector and was showing an image of two Alsean heads with transparent skulls. In the brain of one, a small, purple area was highlighted. In the other, the same area was orange.
“You already know that tyree bonds occur when the empathic centers of two people recognize each other and connect. This has a genetic component. The empathic centers of different Alseans operate at different energy frequencies, and as far as I’ve been able to guess, the pool of available frequencies is in the hundreds of thousands. But if two Alseans meet and are operating on the same frequency, their empathic centers connect.”
The orange highlight turned purple, matching the other, and a purple line stretched out to connect the two heads.
“Divine tyrees connect the same way, but on a more finely tuned frequency that conveys far more information.”
The two highlighted brain areas turned to a rainbow of shifting colors, and the line between them matched in both color and pattern.
“Because of the nature of this connection, the activity in one divine tyree brain is felt in its matching partner regardless of distance. But there’s another critical component to this: the switch that toggles the connection on and off.” Dr. Wells pointed at the head on the left. “If this person lacks the genes that toggle the connection on, here is what happens.”
