The Best of All Possible Worlds (6 page)

Hope: that was the key. They were all clutching at straws, despairing and drowning,
then clutching at a fresh set of straws. It was exhausting. It was all they had. Naraldi
said it was important to keep moving forward—yes, forward, one clutched straw at a
time. Highly ironic advice, considering, but useful nonetheless and something to hold
on to now that Naraldi was off on his own mission, beyond the reach of any comm or
courier. His last words, perhaps? No, never that. He expected that Naraldi would have
a safe journey and a safe return. What was one more straw to add to all the rest?

“First Officer Delarua is not what I expected,” Joral mused.

Dllenahkh kept his head bent over the mission schedule. Sometimes it was best not
to engage when Joral indulged in his habit of thinking aloud.

“She kissed me.”

Dllenahkh glanced up at the young man. As a statement it
was innocuous, but Joral’s face held that anxiously pondering expression he used whenever
women were being discussed.

“She is too old for you,” he replied firmly though not unkindly. “Now, let us go over
the Acora, Sibon, and Candirú briefs again. I would like us to be fully prepared when
we meet our new colleagues.”

A MEANS TO OTHER ENDS

“
W
e
have
a
doctor on this team,” I said through gritted teeth.

Dllenahkh raised his head for a momentary glance. “We have a Commissioner who is an
anthropologist and a geneticist. Such expertise is not necessary for trivial injuries.”

The only expertise Dr. Daniyel had that I wanted was the skill of understanding my
need to howl shamelessly while having centimeter-long spines picked out of my palm.
I hissed and twitched as Dllenahkh’s tweezers probed too deeply. He gave me a tired
look, firmly positioned my wrist between his knees, and gripped. Then he held the
tips of my fingers and applied the tweezers with a will. I twisted in my chair, turned
my head into the crook of the elbow of my uninjured arm, and kept it there.

“You may cry out if it makes you more comfortable,” he said kindly. “It was only the
movement that was problematic.”

“I’m good,” I whimpered.

After a few more minutes of torture, the barbaric antique tweezers were laid aside
and a modern medical scanner was passed over my hand. Having satisfied himself that
the wounds were indeed clear of debris, Dllenahkh picked up another instrument
and began to seal the punctures and lacerations. I emerged from hiding, sighing with
the bliss of the absence of pain, and slowly flexed my hand.

“I would recommend that you stay away from that particular plant in future.”

“No disagreement here,” I said firmly.

“She only did it to get out of her turn at poling the punt,” Lian said to Joral with
a laugh. They were at the back of the shuttle, unloading the last set of supplies
from storage.

“Mm-hm. That elegant trip and fall was all part of my cunning plan,” I said with distracted
cheerfulness as I cautiously ran exploring fingers over my healed skin.

Lian and Joral went out, carrying a box between them. In a few minutes, having reassembled
and put away the medkit, Dllenahkh also left. I gave my hand one final pat and was
about to join them when Joral came back into the shuttle, a slightly furtive expression
on his face. He slid into the chair beside me and placed his hands flat on his knees
with an air of resolve.

“First Officer Delarua, is Lian male or female?”

I looked at Joral in utter shock. “That is not a question you should ask anyone but
Lian. In fact, I don’t even think you should ask Lian that. Why do you even need to
know?”

“Lian is highly intelligent and has features that are visually pleasing, but I do
not know whether it would be appropriate to—”

“Joral, should you
really
be assessing the wife potential of every female you meet?”

He looked slightly abashed. “Such matters would have been arranged for me before,
but now, with things as they are, it makes sense for me to review all possible options.”
He began to tap his fingers on his knee, counting. “Nasiha is already bonded, you
are too old—at least too old for me—Dr. Daniyel is
definitely
too
old, and that leaves Lian by a simple process of elimination—
if
, of course, Lian is female.”

“Joral,” I said quietly. “A word to the wise. First, it is best to steer clear of
any assessment or discussion that uses the phrase ‘too old’ to describe a woman. Second,
fraternizing with members of the mission team is not recommended. We will have to
live as close as family while maintaining a high standard of professionalism. Complications
would not be helpful.”

Joral looked at me apprehensively. He had already learned that it was not a good sign
when I spoke slowly and quietly. “I will take your advice, First Officer Delarua.”

“Good. Now, Lian is … Lian. Lian has chosen to live without reference to gender. This
may or may not mean that Lian is asexual, though many of those who are registered
as gender-neutral are indeed so. However, it doesn’t matter, because this has no bearing
on our mission and is thus
none of our business
. Now come on. They’re waiting for us. My little tumble has put our whole schedule
out of whack.”

It was a bit of an exaggeration. Things were proceeding as usual outside the shuttle.
Nasiha and Tarik, the Sadiri married couple on loan from the Interplanetary Science
Council, were securing equipment on the pallet that held our supplies. Dr. Daniyel
was talking to Lian, and Lian was making notes on a handheld computer with a stylus.
Dllenahkh also had a handheld and appeared to be recording a memo in a low murmur.
Then there was Fergus tweaking some last clamp on one of the punts and Joral and myself
bringing up the rear with the last box of supplies we’d need for this trip. We were
a motley crew, with two Sadiri in dark blue Science Council uniforms, the Cygnians
in Civil Service gray and green (semiformal yet serviceable gear courtesy of the Division
of Forestry and Grasslands), and the two remaining Sadiri in beige and dark brown
civvies.

Fergus, our security and survival specialist, attracted our attention by clearing
his throat and began his briefing.

“They say it’s unlucky to urinate in the waters of Candirú,” he said. “It’s true.
There’s a parasitic fish in the river that’ll swim up your urethra and get wedged
in good and proper. Very painful. Don’t risk it, but if you must, the Commissioner
might
be able to remove it without calling for medevac.”

The smirk that had appeared on my face at the word “urinate” slowly transformed into
a look of sheer horror; my smothered chuckle ended in a sickened gulp. “Oh. You’re
not joking, are you?”

Fergus scowled down at me from his two-meter-plus height. “I do not joke. My job is
not a joking matter.”

“Okay,” I murmured meekly. Pincushion plants and perverted parasitic fish. I could
tell this place was going to be
lovely
.

Fortunately, my strong right arm was not needed to bring us to our destination before
the darkening of twilight. We—or, rather, the rest of the team—poled our three small
craft to a central platform in the middle of the tree-fringed marshes and moored them
carefully. Fergus boarded first and helped Dr. Daniyel up. As we gathered together
on the platform, we gazed about at the houses: simple structures on piles, some with
steps going down to small vessels moored underneath, and other, larger residences
connected to the main platform by boardwalks. The water was flat and rich with moss
and weed that tinted the crisply mirrored images of the houses with a green glass
sheen. The place was quiet, as if all were in the middle of a siesta.

“Do we call out? Ring something?” Lian asked uncertainly.

“No,” said Tarik. “We have been seen.”

His voice sounded a little strange, but when I saw the canoe and the people who were
paddling it, I understood. Thus far, we
had visited two settlements, both of which had indeed registered a significant amount
of taSadiri heritage according to Dr. Daniyel’s genetic tests but whose inhabitants
had in culture and appearance so resembled the average Cygnian as to be unremarkable.
These ones, now—they had the
hair
.

We set up our government-issue shelters on a spare platform (civil servants are discouraged
from accepting hospitality when on duty in case of bias or conflict of interest).
It was quite comfortable. The marsh was fed mainly by outflows from the Candirú, and
it did not rain during the time we were there. Screens and repellent kept the biting
insects away, and filters made collecting potable water as simple as leaning over
the platform’s edge. Their sewage system was excellent, its tubing tucked away behind
piles and under boardwalks leading to a treatment area some distance away on dry land.
I took notes. I intended to keep up-to-date in my own field as much as possible.

When Dr. Daniyel finished taking the blood and tissue samples she needed, I went with
her back to our landing site and we worked in the minilab that had been purpose-built
into the shuttle for the mission. It wasn’t really my field, but some kinds of lab
skills are pretty elementary, so I ended up helping a fair bit. It was a good thing
too. I observed Dr. Daniyel and realized that something wasn’t quite right. She leaned
over her work in a way that spoke not of absorption but of exhaustion.

“You’ll get your own DNA in the samples if you’re not careful,” I said lightly. “Perhaps
you should take a break.”

Dr. Daniyel pulled her graying locs over one shoulder with a slow weariness that was
oddly graceful, then stepped back to let me help with the analysis. “There will be
time to rest after the mission’s done. I’ve been pushing for a global genetic registry
for years now. Perhaps this can be the start of it.”

“It’s early in the mission. You mustn’t forget to pace yourself,” I said, expressing
my concern with care. I didn’t want to appear to be telling my boss she looked unfit
for command.

“Oh, this?” She smiled, waving a hand at herself. “Chronic. Still within Service parameters,
but I do have a condition that makes me tire quite easily. That’s why I have Lian
for the heavy lifting, but as for the rest of it, I’m pretty much the only person
with the skill and experience for this job.”

I adjusted the meters and toggled the last few switches. “There. That should do it.”
I looked at her. “With all due respect, ma’am, I can get the results later and save
them to your files for you.”

She seemed amused and gratified at my solicitude, which was good because it could
have gone either way, but then her face changed. “Aggregated data,” she said, her
voice suddenly alert and firm. “We don’t do individual scans. This is an anthropological
analysis, not a medical report.”

“Yes, ma’am. I am familiar with the bioethics section of the Science Code,” I answered
calmly.

She smiled once more, not offended at being humored. “It’s going to be a long mission.
Feel free to call me Qeturah when off duty.”

“I’m Grace,” I responded. “But everyone calls me Delarua regardless.”

The results were interesting.
These Cygnians did
not
possess a greater percentage of taSadiri genes compared with those in the last two
settlements, appearance notwithstanding (genetics can be a funny potluck, let me tell
you), but what they did have was a surprising amount of cultural integrity. Tarik
and Nasiha went off to speak to the people, recording words, stories, myths,
and customs in a far more detailed and directed manner than Cygnian anthropologists
had yet accomplished. Of course, they had something we didn’t, a knowledge of some
of the more obscure and ancient Sadiri dialects, and with that they were able to make
far more connections and discoveries than we could.

Once the bio tests were all finished, there wasn’t much for me to do, but our stay
was extended so that Dr. Daniyel could satisfy herself with more anthropological data
and the Sadiri could explore the potential for links between their settlements. For
a few days, I just relaxed and took it in. Sometimes I’d watch Joral, who was ostensibly
helping the Science Council officers or taking minutes at meetings for Dllenahkh,
but … quite honestly? Checking out the girls. It was an education in Sadiri flirting.
One in particular must have been his favorite, because he all but disassembled one
of the biosensors in order to spend time explaining its workings to her. Sadiri mating
displays seemed to consist of flashing bright mental plumage at the object of desire
in as cool and disinterested a fashion as possible.

Otherwise, I’d sit on the edge of a balcony staring at the mesmerizingly slow flow
of the green water and hearing—overhearing, really—Dllenahkh debating some principle
of Sadiri philosophy with the settlement’s Chief Councillor, Darithiven.

“Of all the humans of the galaxy, we Sadiri have developed the greatest mental capacity,”
Dllenahkh contended. “We have realized our potential through use of the disciplines,
which enable us to control our thoughts, emotions, and urges and improve our ability
to process data. Without the disciplines we might still be powerful, but we would
be rudderless.”