The V'Dan (48 page)

Jackie realized what Rosa was doing. What only Rosa
could
do . . . because if Jackie had done it, that would have ruined diplomatic relations far into the future.

“One moment, Your Highness,” she stated calmly. “Rosa McCrary, you owe the Crown Princess an apology for your rudeness. Your comments may have been true, but their
delivery was tactless and not diplomatic. The Terran United Planets expects better of its representatives, and you will apologize for it.”

As she suspected, Rosa didn’t hesitate more than half a second. Bowing, she said, “I apologize for my rudeness and tactless phrasing, Highness. Please accept that I am sorry for hurting your feelings. I shall try to be more tactful and diplomatic in the future.”

“Thank you, McCrary. You may be seated. Imperial Highness . . . it would be best if you left now. You have had your say, and McCrary has had hers.” Jackie looked at the still-somewhat-red-faced, slightly scowling princess. “She spoke the truth when she said we judge each other on our actions, not our appearance. And she spoke the truth when she said we still respect your mother as much today as we did yesterday, and as much as we shall tomorrow.

“She was not diplomatic about it, but I hope you will consider her point on how you view your mother right now, when she is markless for a day. I hope you consider carefully how your people have been viewing my people in this exact same way. I hope you think carefully about how rude and tactless that viewpoint makes your people act toward mine. And I hope you will also consider carefully how insulting and denigrating a people whose help you need is not the best possible course of action for securing that help, both now and well into the future.

“Have a good day, Highness. I hope you can continue to view your mother with all the deep respect she is due as your Eternal Empress, and as your beloved mother . . . and that you will give her the public support she deserves and needs as your undoubted Empress, marked or markless.”

Vi’alla did not reply. She stood there for a few seconds, then whirled and strode out. Li’eth dithered a moment, then left to follow her out. A moment later, Grand Captain Tes’rin poked his head inside.

“Ah . . . Grand High Ambassador, I have come to apologize for that,” he offered, slipping into the conference room.

Jackie arched a brow at him. “I was reassured, Grand Captain, that the Terran embassy zone would be considered sacrosanct. That no one could move about our halls without our
specific permission, save only for emergency crews. I was reassured these things by you, yourself.

“Now, I realize my own people would be reluctant to cause a diplomatic incident by
shooting
her to stop her from approaching. But tell me, how did the Imperial Heir get all the way into this zone without being stopped by
your
people? At the very least, she should have been halted at the entry point by your fellow Elite Guards, working in conjunction with our Marines. A message should have been sent to see if I was free and available to see her. Which I was not. Neither informed in advance nor free and available.”

He flushed a little. “The Elite . . . are under orders
not
to stop either the current sovereign or the current heir. They have the right to go anywhere in the Winter Palace. That is the law.” Tes’rin started to say more, but something beeped. He pulled a device out of his pocket and looked at it. “Ahh . . . Her Eternity wishes to ask a question of you. She wants me to ask you, ‘The whole day?’”

Jackie didn’t pretend not to know what Hana’ka meant by that. “A full twenty-four hours V’Dan Standard. Every hour she shortens from that amount, she loses one full set of panels. Please also inform your Empress that we wish War Queen Hana’ka a
very
long and happy life . . . as we are less than impressed with her choice of heir, today. And that we are not so pleased with the Elite Guard’s inability to protect the sanctity and protocols of the Terran embassy zone, when her heir rudely interrupted a private meeting in said zone, today.”

That made the grand captain pale a little. “. . . As you wish. Please forgive the intrusion.”

A bow, and he left. Surat cleared his throat and scooped up one of the tablets with the draft of the Terran United Planets Charter on it. “I’ll just leave the two of you to discuss . . . things. On your own.”

“Your tact and discretion are appreciated, Surat,” Jackie told him. “Feel free to write it down in the long-term chronicles. The ones that won’t be unlocked for fifty years.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the historian murmured, making his escape.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Jackie groaned softly and slumped forward, elbows on the table and brow in her palms. “Stars . . . Thank you for doing what I could not,
Rosa. And thank you for apologizing promptly when I commanded it.”

“Thank you for making me apologize to her,” the ex-Premiere acknowledged in turn. “One of the skills of a seasoned
junior
diplomat is the art of throwing oneself willingly on the sword of ‘how dare you say that to me’ just so your superiors do not have to do it themselves. I believe your own grandfather mentioned it a time or two in his political career.”

“Yes, I remember him mentioning it to
me
, when I was young, and he was still alive,” Jackie agreed. “He said a junior statesman could always be chastised publicly for stepping out of line, and thus make amends by satisfying the ego of the person insulted through their punishment, but a senior statesman must never step out of line, for they cannot be punished without damaging the reputation of all the power and responsibility they represent.

“So. What can I do for you, to make up for the gaping diplomatic wound you just made in your so very brave guts?” she quipped lightly.

“Arrange to have a true arachnophile come out and start handling the K’Katta negotiations,” Rosa told her. “I can handle them for the most part, particularly via the communications system they helped set up for us . . . but every once in a while, I get the
wobblies
from the way they look and move. We now have enough information on each of the various governments, we should be able to start assigning ambassadors to each faction.”

“I was thinking of that,” Jackie admitted. “I was thinking we should pick someone with a background in art, interior design, or something along those lines, to help handle the Gatsugi. Someone hyperaware of the presence and use of colors, so they can pick up on what would be good colormood hues to wield around them.”

“I was thinking of that as well,” Rosa praised.

Somewhere out there, Eternal Empress Hana’ka V’Daania was getting a taste of just how awful it was to be a Terran in the V’Dan culture. As much as Jackie felt sorry for her, she had her own problems to manage today. She certainly wasn’t about to take on the responsibility of somehow making Imperial Heir Vi’alla V’Daania look at her mother in the
right
way, instead of the “insulted” way.

JUNE 9, 2287 C.E.

FEVRA 3, 9508 V.D.S.

“Hold on, sir,” Lieutenant Colvers murmured. He moved closer than his usual preference. “You have some stray hairs on your uniform. It wouldn’t look professional for anyone to see them when the cameras start hovering.”

Jackie blinked but held herself still.
Brad Colvers, volunteering to help me look good? Has he finally gotten over his stupid prejudices against psis?
She felt him plucking a couple of times at the jacket of her Dress Blacks. She’d been in a meeting with the V’Dan version of a command staff, with no time between that meeting and this one to change clothes.

At the Eternal Empress’ request, they had gathered in the Inner Court, which was a set of much smaller indoor plazas on the far side of that temple structure from the vast, outdoor Tier Plazas they had first seen. Hana’ka was going to end her twenty-four hours of life as a markless Terran in a public broadcast.

“Thank you,” she managed in a polite murmur when he finished. Checking her shoulders, Jackie gave her jacket a subtle tug to straighten it and was glad Colvers helped her to look good. No more worries for her about straining the jacket buttons, these days; two hours of martial arts, general physical training, and psychic self-defense practice every single day toned her body to the point where she might even have to ask for a new, smaller uniform in a couple more weeks. She still would rather be surfing, but . . .

(
Here we come,
) Li’eth warned her.

“Time to stand up,” Jackie ordered quietly. Five seconds after she and her fellow Terrans did so—just long enough to
garner several bemused looks from the others in the First Tier section—Master of Ceremonies announced the approach of the Eternal Empress.

Unlike the outdoor plazas on the west side of the central hall, the Inner Court had permanent seating: cushioned, backed benches for the V’Dan and the Terrans, double-armrest chairs for the Gatsugi, chairs without lumbar backing for the tailed Tlassians and Solaricans, and perching stools for their K’Katta guests. They were angled slightly to either side of the main aisle and a bit more steeply beyond that, all of them facing the great pearlescent throne at the top of the last set of steps.

That throne was incredible. It seemed to have been carved from a giant pearl, or perhaps stuck into a megafauna of an oyster—there was no telling what on V’Dan had created it, but Jackie was dead certain it had not been anything back on Earth. Tall enough to tower over the head of a standing Human, it cupped the Empress like a personal amplification shell, iridescent rose-pink with the smoothest lines she had yet to see in Imperial furniture since everything else was carved and gilded beyond words. Then again, the Eternal Throne needed no gilding, just the polishing of millennia, and some golden cushions scattered among the scarlet lining its seat. A seat big enough for two, if they squished in together.

The pearlescent throne sat in front of a great, richly hued red curtain; spatially, if she had to guess their exact location, Jackie would have placed it at or close to the temple-like area with the sarcophagus or altar or whatever inside; she still had yet to ask if it was alright to view it up close. The stairs between each Tier were short and shallow, carpeted in more crimson, and there were a strictly limited number of seats available in each section, though only the First Tier was completely packed.

Oddly enough, most of the Fifth and Fourth Tiers were filled with teenaged children and a scattering of chaperones; no doubt they were school groups brought here to observe their governance lessons in action. The Third Tier looked to be filled with reporters and scholarly types, and possibly some guild masters or something. Second Tier and First Tier were, of course, nobles, with the addition of diplomatic delegates in the section closest to the Imperial Tier.

Only five members per embassy were allowed in the Inner Court at any one time. Since she had been coming from a military meeting, Jackie had brought Colvers to represent the TUPSF Navy—Robert was too busy overseeing the results of that meeting, which had included redistributing a few Terran ships to try to follow a string of Salik raids—and al-Fulan for the TUPSF Marines. Clees and Rosa had joined them for the Empress’ announcement, and the older male was busy setting up the perfect viewing height on the one hovercam he was allowed.

Elite Guard regulations stated that it had to remain directly over the body of the operator at all times. Since the Terrans were seated off to the left end of the far right front row, that meant he could only adjust the view up or down. Not too far down, though; there were other recording devices floating quietly in the air.

Empress Hana’ka had brought a minimum entourage with her as well. Vi’alla, of course, as the Imperial Heir, and Li’eth, who was going to be appointed as a cultural liaison between the Terrans and the Empire, as well as their military liaison. Naturally, Imperial Princess Ah’nan was not present. Originally, she had been slated to go back to the heartworld of the local branch of the Solarican Empire after traveling to V’Dan with her wife, their consort, and their children specifically to greet the Terrans.

During the couple of weeks that followed that initial greeting, Imperial Princess Ah’nan, an experienced diplomat, had offered to go to Earth as the V’Dan Ambassador to the Second Empire. The Terrans had considered her credentials carefully, and after promising to inoculate the entire V’Dan warship meant to carry them to Earth, had given their blessing to let her go. That was where the original navigator for Jackie’s crew, Ayinda Mbani, had gone, traveling aboard the same ship to help guide the crew to the Motherworld of their joint species.

Imperial Consort Te-los was not on hand, either. Nor were any of their younger children, Mah’nami or Balei’in, nor Vi’alla’s husband. Just the three of them plus the Elite Guard stood on the highest level.

The Empress looked a little odd to Jackie. Her hair was pure blond, her skin flawlessly golden-tan. Her uniform, as
always, was that of the War Queen, with the War Crown circling her brow in crimson and gold. There was not a hair out of place, but the face still . . .
Oh. Stupid,
she castigated herself behind her strongest shields, blushing.
She’s covered up her short burgundy stripes.
That’s
why she looks a little odd . . . and from the muttering of the natives in the audience, she looks beyond merely “odd” to her fellow V’Dan.

Master of Ceremonies finished speaking, and those mutterings died down to a faint, rustling sea of hissed whispers. The Empress allowed the quiet to stretch for several seconds until even the faintest whispers faded, her expression a cool, almost stern mask. Finally, she spoke.

“I did not understand.” That statement earned her several confused looks and a resumption of whispers. She paused a moment to let those die down, stirred up because the Eternal Sovereign no doubt rarely admitted to a flaw. “I was told, and yet I did not understand, nor did I
care
to understand, until these last twenty-four hours. Even my own husband of forty-one years felt awkward in my presence at night. Forty. One. Years, as wife and husband. I did not understand . . . but now I do.”

She held out her hand to her left without looking. Imperial Prince Kah’raman V’Daania pulled a remarkably familiar hip flask from his uniform, and a kerchief. Jackie had to bite her lip and jam her thumbnails into the sides of her forefingers to keep herself from grinning openly. As she watched, Li’eth used the very same flask, the one Jackie had given
him
back home to reveal his
jungen
-marked identity, to dampen the kerchief. As soon as it was soaked, he handed it to his mother. She scrubbed it slowly, carefully over the backs of her hands, smearing off the tanned plasflesh makeup to reveal the short, almost symmetrical stripes on her hands and her wrists.

“The Terrans have complained to us that they are being treated as children because they do not bear the
jungen
marks of our kind. We in turn have treated those complaints as if they were the whinings of children complaining about a strict bedtime.”

She handed the kerchief to her son, who carefully refolded it so that a fresh, clean side faced outward. Hana’ka gently lifted the War Crown from her head and passed it to her daughter, who held it carefully sideways, exactly as her mother
had proffered it. No doubt there was some significance to that, say if she’d been handed it with the front of the crown on the far side from herself, she could’ve been free to wear it. Jackie didn’t know, yet. She had been busy studying enough protocols and rituals to get through her own side of things; a course in the full rites, rituals, etiquettes, and histories of the Imperial Court still had to wait until all her many other responsibilities and tasks had been handled.

“We have acted in arrogance, believing that if they wish to deal with us, they need to
look
like us. To
be
us. We have willfully overlooked ten thousand years of cultural differences. Of history, of actions and beliefs, land and landscape, actions and interactions shaping our cultures in two very distinct, very
different
directions. Shame lies upon this Empire in forgetting those differences, just because they
look
almost like us.”

Removing the pins hidden in her hair, she peeled off the loosely braided wig that hid her natural blond-and-burgundy-striped tresses. They had been carefully plaited so that the whole mass could be coiled under the wig without getting too messy or looking too rumpled once it was removed. With the pins reattached to the wig, she handed that to her daughter in exchange for the crown . . . then passed the crown to her son in exchange for the alcohol-soaked cloth.

From the faint frown pinching her daughter’s brow, Jackie guessed that Vi’alla had not expected that maneuver. Yet it was necessary. Hana’ka used the cloth now on her throat and the edges of her face, scrubbing away yet more plasflesh to reveal the natural, dark red stripes that crossed her hairline onto her neck, forehead, and cheeks.

“The key word,” the Eternal Empress stressed, “is
almost
. They
almost
look like us. And in our arrogant belief in our own customs and habits, we treat them based on what we
see
, and not on what they
are
.”

A last swipe of her brow, and she handed the cloth to her son, who traded it for the crown. His mother did not put it on, however. “What these Terrans
are
is not open for debate. They
are
adults. They
are
honorable. They
are
mature. They
are
worthy and deserving of the same respect you would give
me
.”

From the way both Li’eth and Vi’alla blinked at that statement, Jackie guessed that the Emperor or Empress never
considered anyone their equal unless they
were
an Emperor, Empress, or other top-of-the-food-chain equivalent.

“It was
wise
of Grand High Ambassador Jackie Maq’en-zi to request that I hide my
jungen
stripes,” Hana’ka continued. “I have discovered in these last twenty-four hours how
diminished
that respect became simply because of a change in the color of my skin. How
odd
is it that we no more object to a Solarican whose fur is one color, nor a K’Katta, nor a Choya.

“We do not look down upon the Tlassians, and we don’t even disparage the Salik for being ‘juveniles’ because
their
skin does not change with puberty—we despise them for other, far more important reasons,” the Empress stated, lifting the War Crown over her head. “But we do not treat their adults as juveniles. Yet we do mistreat our own species . . . and when we make ourselves look like them, we look down upon ourselves as well as them . . . for I found myself hating how ‘childish’ I looked.”

She hesitated a moment, then brought that crown, with its stylized swords and rubies wrapped in a crimson-padded circlet, down onto her head.

“
I
did not change, over these last twenty-four hours,” the ruler of V’Dan stated, lowering her arms to her sides. “I still have every bit of the wit and the compassion, the wisdom and the intelligence I had before beginning this experiment. I had all of those things and more all throughout it.
I did not change.
But your view of me did . . . and I
understand
now the massive struggle these Terrans face.

“Even when doing something as simple as attempting to buy
groceries
, they have faced prejudice based on something their own people do not have, have never had, and do not
need
to have in order to retain every bit of wit, compassion, wisdom, intelligence, technology, power, and
sovereignty
that they possess, all of it based upon their
own
culture . . . and all of it still completely valid within our own, once we strip away our spots and our stripes.

“They look upon each other and see the mature, responsible adults that they are. We look upon them . . . and we see nothing but the monochromatic hues of their skin. They should not have to be burdened by
our
rather shallow and thus childish view of what is and what is not mature. No one in
my
Empire, citizen or guest, should have to struggle against skin-colored prejudice just to buy
food
.”

Hana’ka let those contempt-filled words echo through the layers of the hall, amplified and projected subtly by whatever sound system the V’Dan had installed who knows how long ago. Jackie just knew that the Empress’ words left dead silence in her wake, a silence broken only by the faint hum of a dozen or so cameras hovering midair.

“These Terrans among us
are adults
. Our own citizens turn into legal adults at the age of eighteen years.
Their
people are legally adults from the moment they turn eighteen . . . and as their years are a near match in length for our own, they shall be considered as legitimate as our own. To that end,” Hana’ka stated, “I am revising Tattooing Compliance Law 112.