Absorption (9 page)

“Brett, this is my best friend Katrina.”

Katrina’s features had a somewhat Oriental cast, but she was larger boned than most women Brett knew with those ancestors.

Ariel continued, “This is Katrina’s husband Kenny.”

Kenny’s formal outfit was cut to make room for his thick muscles.

“Pleased to meet you, Major.”

Not everyone knew the rank insignia of the Federalist Space Force. Kenny went up a notch in Brett’s estimation.

“You’ve already met my very good friend Michael Waterborne.”

They sized each other up. Some would have thought Michael good looking enough for a male model, although Brett considered his features overly delicate. His clothing was garish, but based on the crowd so far it was probably the height of fashion here. Something in the set of his mouth suggested sullen petulance.

Michael gave Brett a curt nod.

“This is Dr. Muriel Buchanan, another friend who’s been through a lot with me.”

The woman had gray hair and might have been in her early sixties. It was hard to tell for certain with Oceanian life expectancies. She wore pink lipstick and her dark brown eyes were alert.

Kenny broke the slightly uncomfortable silence. “Have a seat. I’m sure Michael wants to thank you for giving him a chance to sit down before.”

That seemed unlikely, given Michael’s opening remark. What was Kenny playing at? Since Brett was being sociable, he took the offered seat.

Michael said, “It was kind of Ariel to make sure that someone from off planet didn’t feel out of place, but I was afraid you might misunderstand.”

Kenny made a noise that might have been a cough – or a snort. I’ll just bet you were, Brett thought, but let no hint of it to reach his face. Without allowing another strained pause he said the first diplomatic sounding words that came to mind. “I’ve only seen one city so far, but I was thinking how beautiful this planet is.”

This was uncomfortable, and hadn’t he said that before?

Apparently Michael wasn’t a diplomat. “It’s a pity that some would use fear and anger to turn the misunderstandings between us to violence. Oceania and her technology are threats to nobody.”

Kenny replied before Brett had a chance. “Is that the latest stuff Fletcher’s been pouring into your brain, Michael?”

A jab at Michael instead of Brett? Had he found a Federalist sympathizer? It seemed unlikely. Brett was the outsider, and Brett would have resented any representative of the invasion force in their place. Wondering who the heck Fletcher was got pushed to the back of his mental queue.

Ariel frowned slightly. “Kenny, maybe you’ve had enough to drink?”

“That’s enough politics,” Katrina agreed immediately.

Michael stood up and whispered in Ariel’s ear. The two of them got up to dance again. Since he didn’t understand the undercurrents here, a gracious departure might have been indicated, but Brett was curious. He rationalized that he was learning something about Oceanian public opinion.

“So you don’t agree with Michael’s politics?”

Kenny sounded sober when he spoke. “I’d agree if it were anyone else but him who said it.”

“So what are your reasons for disliking Michael?

After speaking, Brett realized he had unconsciously put a slight emphasis on ‘your,’ as if everyone alive had good but different reasons for disliking Michael.

Instead of speaking, Kenny glanced first at his wife, then at Muriel. Oddly, it was Katrina who answered. “That’s none of your business.”

Her tone was perfectly friendly, as if he weren’t necessarily prying but might not have been aware it was none of his business.

“So tell me this. Why does he sit here? Because he can’t bear to be parted from Ariel while she talks to some friends who don’t like him?”

It was very natural Michael would want to escort her to a dance and spend time with her there. Brett told himself he was only curious. A more personal interest would be pointless. He could hardly have a future with Ariel.

This time Kenny answered. “Partly out of habit. We used to try and be polite. The, uh, problem has gotten worse recently.”

Before Brett could try to learn more about the life of a woman common sense dictated he would never see again, Muriel interrupted. “This isn’t thirty questions. Kenny, how is your Tetsudo going?”

Thirty questions? Maybe a variation on a common children’s game. Tetsudo? Didn’t even sound like English.

“In some ways the Nannies don’t help much at all. They can give you knowledge, but not make you quick enough to apply it. It’s about getting your brain and muscles and nervous system to all work in synch. I’ve known people who paid to have advanced techniques put into their brains from masters and wouldn’t qualify for a yellow belt in a decent dojo. It’s not real unless you constantly practice against people who use what they know.”

Dojo? Tetsudo must be a martial art. The rest made borderline sense.

Muriel replied, “It seems like someone in the military – like you and Brett – would have a big advantage.”

Kenny told her, “As a general rule yes. Brett’s case is a little different since he’s a doctor and not a line officer. Also he’s a little old to start, but I shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

Also, Brett had studied a real martial art and not some concoction. He kept silent.

He turned to Brett. “Have you ever studied martial arts?”

Brett kept his face impassive. “A little. Never tried for a black belt.”

He served as a doctor, but knew how to defend himself from a young age. He was fiercely proud of the Space Force. His career had alternated between periods of action and periods of boredom. Brett had used the latter to earn a brown belt in Judo. Although he had never earned a black belt, he still felt confident he could throw Kenny – and certain it would be undiplomatic to offer to demonstrate. Brett was only in his mid thirties, and would bet on the Space Force against the Oceanian military any day.

Eventually the conversation moved on to other things. Ariel reseated herself, and joined the conversation before Brett could wonder where Michael was. To his own surprise, Brett told a couple of stories about Sergeant Mackey, charged with keeping some young medics out of trouble their first time in a warzone, including one Lieutenant Johnson, who couldn’t forget he outranked him. Midway through, it occurred to Brett that this might not be the best audience for stories about the Space Force, but everyone objected to his attempt to change the subject. He was almost done when Michael returned. Brett expected renewed conflict at this point, but the conversation continued to swirl while Michael sat sullenly.

It was only when the room was clearing out, Williams long gone, that Brett realized he had forgotten his plan to stay only a few minutes.

“I guess we should go before we get in the way of the cleaning crew,” Brett said reluctantly.

Although Michael was the only one who hadn’t been especially friendly, it was he who replied. “I assume you and Ambassador Williams were invited to the Landfall feast for Herbirthday?”

Brett thought back to his first meeting with Nocker, and his relief they would only take time for two purely social occasions. He still hoped to have a couple of interviews done before Herbirthday arrived, whatever that meant.

“If that’s where it is.”

“The celebration is planet-wide, but most off-worlders will end up at the feast in Landfall. I consider it a pity. While I sympathize with efforts to make people feel as comfortable and included as possible, I wonder if honesty might be more in the interest of long term amity. Encouraging people to delude themselves about the extent of the differences between themselves and Oceanians might be a mistake.”

Huh? What did inviting off-worlders to Landfall have to do with allowing people to delude themselves? What secrets were on display in Ulayn on Herbirthday but not in Landfall? Brett’s interest was piqued.

All this talk about off-worlders deluding themselves didn’t make Michael’s interest sound friendly. Why should Michael care where he spent Herbirthday? Brett said, “I’ve heard the celebration at Landfall will be huge, hundreds of thousands of people. We’re unlikely to meet. Surely the mere knowledge of my presence won’t bother you.”

“You misunderstand me. I won’t be at Landfall either. Ariel and I will be at Ulayn, the same place to which I’m inviting you.”

“You-lain,” Brett thought to himself, so as to remember the two long vowels.

Why the mention of Ariel? If this wasn’t a friendly invitation but some sort of challenge, did it involve her? Ariel was an adult, if she and Michael had differing expectations Michael should discuss it with her. Brett hadn’t done anything wrong, and Michael was making an awfully big fuss over nothing anyway. Brett’s instinctive dislike of Michael began solidifying.

Or else the whole thing lay in Brett’s imagination, as he jumped to false conclusions based on other false assumptions about an alien culture. Perhaps Michael would be astonished if he knew Brett suspected hostility on his part, or anything but minor awkwardness. Michael could have been making a friendly offer to see a side of Oceania many visitors didn’t see.

He heard Katrina wondering softly if this was a good idea, and Muriel saying she felt it was. Something was up. He didn’t drop his gaze from Michael to look at either of them.

Brett replied, “Kind of you to invite me. You seemed a little annoyed at me earlier.”

“Perhaps you will learn both manners and sense.”

Ariel snapped, “Michael! What’s gotten into you? Don’t spoil the invitation!”

So the conflict was real, and his intuition insisted that more that a halfhearted and grudging apology had transpired. Suddenly Brett was very curious, and he might even learn why Ariel’s other friends disliked Michael. A bad idea? He had only accepted a polite invitation. And he would see Ariel again.

As he said his goodnights and got up to leave, Michael asked him casually, “If our world was stained by blood and war, which of us here do you think would hate you most?”

Despite the mean spirit in which it was asked, the question pointed at an underlying truth. Brett didn’t evade it.

He pointed to Kenny, only thinking afterwards this might be rude on Oceania. “I’ll pick him. I’ve only met all of you today, but I’ll say Ariel and Katrina would put more effort into trying to help people than hating. Muriel’s a possibility, but I’ll stick with Kenny.”

He had left out Michael. Saying he didn’t think Michael would care that much about anything not a direct blow to his ego would be too combative.

To Brett’s surprise, Kenny replied, “Damn straight. I’m part of the Ground Force Reserve.”

So even casual friendliness must have cost him something, which left the question ‘why.’ He wouldn’t ask that now. Brett knew his next question was out of line, and his intuition told him not to ask it, but there was a slight chance he would learn something important. “Suppose your government ordered you to fight, but you knew it was hopeless, and you know the Space Force always accepted a surrender and helped rebuild anything destroyed. Would you –”

Kenny gave him a pained stare and interrupted. “I don’t know what planet you come from, mister, but say a vastly superior fleet is invading. They don’t have a reputation for mass murder, but they damn well rebuild planetary governments their way after they get a surrender. You always thought it was OK when they did that to planets in the middle of civil wars, or attacking their neighbors, but none of that applies here. Your government surrenders, except for those who refuse and get taken prisoner, or who go into hiding. What do you do?”

The truth hung too loud between them for Brett to lie. He would find patriots to help form a resistance army, and add the collaborators to the list of enemies.

Brett nodded. There was nothing else to say.

The thick scar on Alvin Jackson’s face started half an inch below his right eye and extended almost to his jaw. Brett resisted staring, but Alvin offered, “It gives people something to gaze at besides the bulb at the tip of my oversized nose.”

And the outlandishly long hair completed the picture, but Brett didn’t comment.

Instead he said, “Have a seat. And thanks again for coming.”

The only chair besides Brett’s was the one directly in front of the desk. After seating himself Alvin replied, “Thanks for seeing me, Dr. Johnson. I feared I missed my chance when I didn’t see that other doctor before.”

Brett told him, “The Oceanians refused to give us contact information for many of the people who came here from the Federalist Worlds. They claimed these people wanted privacy.”

Alvin nodded. “I got the message. Not their fault. I felt like I couldn’t go home because of what I said to my parents, and moving near where I used to live without seeing them would have been weird, you know?”

Since Alvin came from Old York, as Brett and the Firestorm did, Brett had more information on him than any of the other people not interviewed yet. After reading the police report filed by Alvin’s parents when he ran away from home at seventeen, Brett had remembered the stupid things he had done when he was young. The face of another minor victimized by the hive mind stood out in his memory. He hoped Lydia had built a wonderful new life with her artificial eye – despite the death of her parents. Perhaps the mention of Alvin’s family had helped bring her to Brett’s mind. Now he hoped the same for Alvin.