“They’re creepy,” Kizzy whispered.
“Shh,” said Dr. Chef.
Rosemary nodded toward the bureaucrat speaking to Ashby. The Harmagian woman was flustered, her tendrils curling rapidly as she moved her carrier wagon over to greet the Toremi. “She’s nervous,” Rosemary said. “I don’t think she knew they were coming.”
Dr. Chef grumbled in agreement. “You’d be nervous too if someone you’d been brokering a galactic alliance with suddenly strolled into a room full of spacers with debatable manners.”
Kizzy took an enormous bite of a pastry, taking care to make a few crumbs stick to the edges of her mouth. “Ah gud mnnrs.”
Dr. Chef brushed the crumbs away with a handfoot as Kizzy laughed behind closed lips. But Rosemary was paying more attention to the Toremi, who the Harmagian woman—her tendrils now flexing with a touch of calm—was introducing to Ashby. They were familiar somehow, not because of the vids she’d seen or the reference files, but… something else. Something more tangible. More personal. It was right there, like a word stuck on the tip of her tongue. But what was it? The clothing? The jewelry? The—
The guns.
In a flash, she remembered being in her apartment back on Mars, a few blocks away from the Alexandria campus. She was making tea, tapping stray leaves off the measuring spoon as water heated in the hot pot. The door chimed. Rosemary Harris? Can we come in? Two detectives, crisp clothes, both wearing ocular scanners. One of them had laid a scrib on the coffee table, projecting images of weaponry into the air. Do you know anything about these?
Rosemary set down her plate on the buffet table and walked to the window. She folded her arms across her chest and took a deep breath, looking out onto the crowded sky. A small, angry planet, surrounded by the warships of people who wanted to control it. The Wayfarer waited just outside, a lumpy, beautiful box that could not have been more out of place amid the sleek carriers and chilling Toremi vessels. She wanted to be back there, safe behind piecemeal walls and scavenged windows. What the hell were they doing here?
“Hey.” Kizzy laid a hand on Rosemary’s shoulder. “You okay?”
Rosemary gave a quick nod, pressing her lips together. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She paused. “I just know where they got their guns.”
“Where?” Kizzy asked. Rosemary gave her a dry look, but said nothing. Kizzy’s eyes widened. “Oh. Um. Shit. You sure?”
Rosemary thought of the scrib images hovering in her living room, the detectives studying her face. “I’m sure.”
A handfoot rested gently on her other shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” Dr. Chef said. “You can’t change it.”
“I know,” Rosemary said. “I’m just…” She glanced over her shoulder. The room hummed with conversation. Everyone else was gravitating more toward the Toremi at the door. Nobody was paying attention to the three spacers at the window. She spoke in a hush. “It makes me angry. And not only because of my father. He did what he did because he wanted ambi. It was greedy, and immoral, and everyone hates him for it. I hate him for it. But the GC’s doing the same thing. They’ve got treaties and ambassadors and buffet lunches, and it all seems so civilized and diplomatic. But it’s the same damn thing. We don’t care about these people, or how we affect their history. We just want their stuff.” She shook her head hard. “We shouldn’t be here.”
Dr. Chef squeezed her shoulder. “I’ve been feeling much the same about this myself. But every sapient species has a long, messy history of powers that rise and fall. The people we remember are the ones who decided how our maps should be drawn. Nobody remembers who built the roads.” He chuffed and rumbled. “We’re just tunnelers. That’s all we do, and it’s all we can do. If it wasn’t us, it would’ve been some other ship. This would’ve happened without us. This isn’t something we can stop.”
Rosemary exhaled. “I know.”
“And besides,” Kizzy said. “I mean, they want us here, right? These aren’t exactly chummy people. They would’ve said no if they didn’t want us.”
“Even so,” Rosemary said. “We’ve got no business stepping into their war.”
Once they had left the reception room, Toum addressed the New Mother. “Did you hear the members of the tunneling ship by the window?”
“I did not. My ears were on their captain, and what sounded like a damaged ventilation coil in the ceiling. Very distracting.”
“What was it you heard?” asked Fol.
Toum’s mind was a tangle. His thoughts were reaching a fevered pitch. If he did not speak, he would burst. But if he did speak—
“Tell me,” said the New Mother.
Toum obeyed. “The tunnelers do not speak in agreement with their leaders. They have doubts about our alliance.”
The New Mother smacked her mouth in acknowledgment. “This falls into their pattern.”
“Forgive me, New Mother, but does this not concern you?”
“The Commons pattern concerned us at first,” she said. “So many species, so many different ideas, all joined within a single clan. We did not see how such a thing could stand.”
Toum and Fol clicked their knee joints in agreement. When the Galactic Commons speakers had first approached the Toremi Ka, three of the New Mothers were not in favor of their offer. They had left Toremi Ka space once it was clear that there could be no agreement. They had their own clans now, and were enemies of the Toremi Ka. One had been killed. This was the way.
“But they spoke as one,” Fol said. “In the first talks, and the negotiations after, the Commons people spoke as one. They used the same words. They were in agreement, even though they were of different species.”
“Yes,” the New Mother said. “We know their agreement is practiced, and they do not see patterns as we do. But they still seek such things in different ways. We find this an acceptable concession.”
“But it’s a lie,” Toum said. He could see Fol look at him with concern, but he continued on. “They do not truly agree. They merely pretend to, so as to maintain order.” Like me. Oh, dead ones take me, like me.
The New Mother looked hard at him. He trembled. “There is more you wish to say,” she said.
Toum shakily smacked his mouth. “New Mother, I do not wish to impose my thoughts upon yours.”
“There is no need to worry. My thoughts are the stronger, and I value yours. I trust that we will find harmony.”
He hoped desperately that she was right. “We have claimed Hedra Ka as a place of stability, a place to keep us anchored while we think on the pattern of the New Mothers.”
“True.”
“Our species—even our own clan—is unstable. In this time of change, is it wise to invite further instability?”
Fol looked dismissive. “We cannot defeat the warring clans alone. The GC has solidified our claim.”
“But at what cost?” Toum felt his knees slip, weakened by his boldness. “In destroying the warring clans, might we not destroy ourselves? Might such a muddled influence as the GC cloud our sense of clarity?”
The New Mother stared at him. She shifted her gaze to Fol. “Do you share these thoughts?”
“No,” Fol said, without any hint of doubt. Toum looked askance at her. It was clear, in her face and in her voice, that she was in true agreement. Her thoughts did not tear at her. She knew her place, in her thoughts and in her clan. It did not trouble her. He hated her for it.