I know Tara well enough to know that she is somewhat uncomfortable with that scene. Somewhat. Her desires are contradictory. Like all humans, she has an innate need to be loved, needed, accepted, protected. That part of her enjoys our adoration, our dependence, our service. But she’s ashamed of liking it. It’s because she also has other human needs – autonomy and solitude. Most humans require at least some of these elements; according to Tarlach, humans with an “introverted” psychological profile find periods of a solitary nature to be essential and refreshing.
It’s a concept that I understand in theory, one I can make predictions based upon and apply in practice, almost exactly in the way a human understands the formula E=mc2. It’s a good parallel, for while Cu’enashti understand physically and viscerally the conversion of matter to energy and back again, the concept “solitude is essential and refreshing” is as remote and incomprehensible to our emotional lives as special relativity is to humans. Just as you teach a human child “under normal circumstances, the speed of light cannot be exceeded,” the Cantor taught young Cu’enashti “sometimes humans need to be left alone.”
But right now, I’m more worried about autonomy than solitude. If Tara finds out what’s happening, she’ll want to take personal action. If she returns to the material world, she’ll be a target for assassination. Tara died once; that’s why her human body is supplied by us, and she’s incorporated into the pleroma. Our prediction is that if she were killed again, she’d just reappear inside of here automatically. We’re not entirely sure of that because it hasn’t happened. It’s possible that I and I might have to deliberately recapture her consciousness.
I and I is hedging against that circumstance. Normally, when Tara is in danger, Marius emanates as a physical guardian. But because we’re so low on resources, he’s emanated Tielo, the one who initially saved Tara from final death, who also happens to be the Archon who can function without the presence of the power grid. That those two things are combined in the same being is no coincidence at all. Add to that, the emanation of the ultimate distraction, Sundar. I think you’d have to be an inanimate object not to fall prey to his charms.
Conclusion: the events transpiring on Frangfrang are worse than they appear on the surface.
The fact that Tielo is howling and pounding on the door of our flagship in the middle of a crowded spaceport might be another indicator. Lord Danak will be sure to love this when he sees it on the media push. And all Tielo really needs to do is activate the retinal scan to operate the airlock.
Finally, Lady Lorma opens the hatch. “Your Holiness! Why such a racket?”
Tielo rushes in, pushing aside the crew in his eagerness to get back to the Ipsissimal Suite. He immediately wraps his arms around Canopus and refuses to let go.
Lady Lorma follows him the length of the ship, but with a bit more dignity. “Your Holiness, I thought you were supposed to stay with the Matriarch,” she says. “Where is the she? Has anything happened?”
Lady Lorma’s datapad bleeps. She activates a holographic projection from the control deck. “We’ve received this communication,” Lieutenant N’Sha informs her.
Several official looking people are standing outside the ship. One of them flashes an identaholo. “We’re from the Central Disease Regulation Authority. We’re authorized to inspect all ships landing on Frangfrangian soil for genetic contamination.”
Lady Lorma shrugs. “Let them in. No point in causing an incident. Our decontamination protocols are in perfect order, so they’re nothing more than a nuisance.”
Three officers enter. Tielo can sense the presence of strangers on the ship. He clutches Canopus tighter. “I need to speak to the Archon,” says the one in charge.
“You can speak to me,” says Lady Lorma. “If you want, I’ll come down there personally.”
“There’s no need, Lady Lorma,” replies the officer. “We know that the Archon has returned, and we need to speak with him concerning a matter of some delicacy.”
“The Archon does not concern himself with trivial issues,” says Lady Lorma.
“There’s a reason the CDRA is involved, madam. I’m trying not to cause alarm, but we believe the Archon has been exposed to the Margin V virus and needs to be placed in quarantine. And now the rest of this ship might be contaminated.”
Lady Lorma knows a compost heap when she smells it. “The Archon is capable of sensing and alchemically transmuting any diseases. Neither he nor we are in any danger.”
Lady Lorma has left the Ipsissimal Suite and is working her way back to the front of the ship. Tielo follows her cautiously, waving goodbye to Canopus. He sniffs the air and wrinkles his nose. “I hate the smell of lying,” he says.
The officer is now arguing with Lieutenant N’Sha, who has come from the command center to address the problem. “According to CDRA mandate 5.78.4f, we have to quarantine under these circumstances. It’s the law. We can’t make exceptions.”
“This is a diplomatic envoy,” says N’Sha. “You can’t just barge in here – it’s a violation of intergalactic protocol.”
“Don’t even think of trying to pull strings to avoid complying with a public safety regulation,” snaps the officer.
Tielo freezes in the corridor and begins to bang his head against the wall. “He’s lying. There is no disease. No disease!”
“Look at him – listen to him!” says the officer. “He’s probably feverish. If that’s so, we’re all at risk…”
“I may be crazy, but I’m not deaf, asshole!” Tielo screams.
“If you’re really that worried, we can run another decontamination cycle on the ship,” suggests N’Sha.
“Margin V is resistant to the standard decontamination frequencies,” the officer insists. “We need to remove the Archon to a safe house, and perhaps all of you as well. The more you delay action, the greater the risk to everyone on board.”
Lady Lorma narrows her eyes. “Nice uniform,” she says. “If Margin V is so damn virulent, why aren’t you wearing hazmat suits?”
N’Sha takes a deep breath, drawing herself up to her full height – which is considerably taller than the Frangfrangian officer. She’s from a line of Skarsian military aristocrats genemodded to Amazonian proportions – and she could probably take out all three of them without working up a sweat. “I have an idea,” she says. “There’s no more effective quarantine than leaving the planet. We’ll just cut our visit short – as soon as you return the Matriarch.”
The officer is taken aback. “The Matriarch…” he begins, hesitantly, “is already safely under quarantine in one of our hospitals.”
And then his feet are off the floor as Lady Lorma has pinned him in a choke hold to the wall. “What! Release Her Eminence back into our custody, or I’ll snap you in half.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire!”[1] chants Tielo.
Lady Lorma turns her attention to him. “Archon Tielo, you were supposed to be with the Matriarch. Where is she?”
“She’s inside.”
“Inside where?” asks N’Sha.
“She’s at an orgy!” says Tielo happily.
“What?” says N’Sha.
“Don’t ask,” says Lady Lorma. “Is she safe?”
“She’s in the red-light district.”
“Can’t you see that he’s raving?” says the rather shocked CDRA officer.
“Obviously, you are unfamiliar with the personal habits of Her Eminence,” mutters Lady Lorma. “Lieutenant, ready the ship for immediate departure.”
“Don’t try it,” says the CDRA officer.
“Unless you wish to take a surprise vacation to the Domha’vei, I suggest that you and your cohort leave this vessel,” says Lady Lorma. I don’t doubt for a second that she means it.
“You aren’t cleared for takeoff.”
“Try and stop us.”
N’Sha’s datapad buzzes. “Lieutenant N’Sha, we have reports of Frangfrangian stingers scrambling into our airspace,” announces the command center.
“We’re quite serious,” says the officer. “We’ll shoot you down, if need be.”
“With the Archon on board?”
“Isn’t the Archon immortal? How can we hurt him?”
“Honey,” says Tielo.
“Don’t get sweet with me, mister,” Lady Lorma snaps at Tielo.
“More honey,” says Tielo.
“Lieutenant N’Sha,” says the command center, “widespread report of scrambled fighters making emergency landings. If we’re going to go…”
Tielo starts to sing and do a little spinny dance. “Honey tastes better than coolant fluid la la la.”
Lady Lorma draws her ceremonial sword, which she has sharpened on the sly. She points it at the officer’s chest. “Get out while your skin is still whole, boy.”
At this point, I attempt a chatburl to Tielo: Perhaps you should explain to Lady Lorma what’s really going on?
Tielo nods gravely and says, “Mouth organ. Level of socks. Happy Windwhippit.”
« It’s no good, » says Malachi. « Whatever lucidity he had was blown away by having to use alchemy just then. The uncontrolled influx of nul-energy baked his synapses. »
Then we’ll have to trust Lady Lorma to deal with this, even with incomplete information.
« It’s probably all right, » says Mickey. « She has the protective instincts of a pregnant dobergator. »
« I see a problem, » says Aran. « The problem would be the assassins. »
The Victorious Tara has just moved out of Frangfrangian airspace. At that moment, the alert system goes berserk: “All hands to battle stations! We’re under attack!”
« Fuck you, Aran, » says Cillian. « You jinxed us. »
Lieutenant N’Sha has called up a holographic analysis. She zooms and rotates the images floating over the projection circle. “Those aren’t Frangfrangian warships,” she mutters, inspecting the specs. “I don’t know what they are – they’ve been heavily modified.”
Lady Lorma peers over her shoulder. “Look at the holepunch rotors. That’s a CenGov design.”
“You’re right. That means Memehaven is behind this, maybe with Alliance cooperation.”
Lady Lorma shakes her head. “I doubt they’d be that stupid, or that obvious. They’ll say it was a legitimate hardware sale to whomever – probably some covert faction of the Frangfrangians, I suppose.”
« Damn, the old bird is sharp, » says Cillian. « We should put her in charge of palace security. »
« Maybe…maybe it’s time to tell Tara about this? » Rand suggests.
« Fuck no! » says Cillian, and I would have to agree with him. « Look, the battle is up to N’Sha – protecting everyone if it goes bad is up to Tielo. Tara can’t do anything but get in the way. If we were fighting hand to hand, it would be different. »
« It’s just that lying to Tara is a really bad idea, » says Dermot.
« We aren’t lying, » I assert. « If she asks what’s going on, we’ll tell her the truth. In the meantime, let’s keep her occupied with the new emanations. »
« I already have another hatch ready to go, » Davy replies.
« That isn’t what I meant. I meant we can send her off to help the unrecognized ones on the quest. »
« Do you honestly think that will fly better than a cement frostbeast? » asks Cillian. « I don’t exactly disagree with you, but there’s gonna be hell to pay, and you know it. »
« It’s best for Tara. I think we might’ve gotten too comfortable in her good graces. We all want her to love us. But her safety is a greater priority than her happiness, and either is a greater priority than ours. In the reach of our ambitions, we’ve forgotten the basics. »
« Look at it this way, » Dermot murmurs glumly. « It will be a windfall for the new emanations. »
[1] The common rhyme seems a reasonable translation of the Galactic Standard word “treacherhösen.” – trans.