From Afar - Chapter 11

Chapter XI

It had been a week and nothing much had changed. Tag had been assigned to a morning shift, but he dreaded the tension in the tiny command module. Commander Brag--he still hadn’t learned the first officer’s given name--looked at Tag as if he might either grow two heads or sabotage the ship, not that there was much to sabotage. They were truly limping through space: blind and crippled. Repairs were ongoing, the captain repeated with incessant optimism, but even Tag, with his limited knowledge of flying on these delicate vessels, knew the damage was irreparable without a fully equipped spaceport. 

Tag didn’t glance at the Orosian with the rifle as he entered the crew area. The young engineer had given Brin a pack of cards, and Brin, Tisp, and Bist were engaged in an endless card game of their own invention. Rast and Kip were curled together under a blanket. It was cold in here; Tag pulled the uniform collar tighter around his neck. Heat took power, and power was in short supply. 

“Join us,” Bist invited, not looking up from his cards.

“No thanks.” Tag grabbed a blanket off the bunk and curled up in it. He shut his eyes and hoped for sleep. In sleep, he could dream of the green grass, soft and moist between his toes, and the soft lowing of the cattle-like animals they raised on Pastoral. Tag had never imagined he’d miss the farms of his home world, the constant routine of crops and animals, the evenings spent chasing the stupid birds back into the hen house, the hours weeding the tiny vegetable plot behind the house. If only he’d stayed at home where he belonged. He was Pastoon; he wasn’t supposed to die in space.

“Shit! No,” Tag muttered, half awake. He didn’t usually swear. It was not a Pastoon custom and even less a Saptan custom. The Saptans, with a  language steeped in rigid structure and formal politeness, valued measured and careful discourse, but Tag didn’t usually get shaken awake after just falling asleep. 

“Tag, you need to eat.” Bist handed him an energy bar. Over half the rations were trapped in now inaccessible parts of the ship.

“Whatever,” Tag said and took the offered energy bar. “You don’t hassle him about eating.” Tag pointed at the young engineer who was sitting on a far bunk, staring with glazed eyes at the floor. “He had to add another hole in his belt today.”

Bist glanced at the Orosian, studying the hunched, angular frame. “Are you sure he’s not eating?”

“Yes.”

Bist moved slowly to the midway point of the crew quarters. There was an unspoken rule that the Saptans didn’t cross that point. “Jim,” Bist called.

There was no reply, just the same blank stare.

“Jim, look at me.” There was a snap in Bist’s voice that jerked Jim’s head up as well as the Orosian’s guarding the door. “Tag says you’re not eating.”

Jim slowly nodded. “I’ve not been hungry.”

If Bist had been human, he would have blown a sharp hiss of air out through pursed lips. Instead, he squatted back on his heels and made a vibration in his throat. “This vessel is down one crew member. Do you think incapacitating yourself is a good choice? You are their only engineer.”

“We are all going to die out here. Does it matter if it’s next week or next month?”

“The fates have not spoken. We have no intention of dying.” Very slowly Bist stepped across the imaginary barrier to the Orosian side. The Orosian in the doorway tightened her grip on the rifle, but didn’t stop him. Bist took two more steps and knelt on the hard, cold floor. With steady, precise movements, Bist opened an energy bar and placed a bite sized piece on the palm of his hand. He offered the food as if offering a treat to a frightened wild animal, his body absolutely still, his eyes down and away.

Jim looked at Tag, his eyes wide and pleading, silently begging for a way to get rid of Bist.

Tag grinned; he couldn’t help himself. He’d been in that situation too many times himself. “Take the food. They have a thing about not eating.” Tag waved his energy bar in the air and took a large bite. “It’s chocolate flavored; it only slightly tastes like mouse droppings.”

Jim laughed, not a warm sound, but a high hysterical laugh. Tag could see the start of tears in Jim’s eyes as he buried his head into his knees. Tag stood and walked across the floor. He stared at the guard, daring her to stop him. He didn’t expect her to try. Tag had the uncomfortable position of being not quite Saptan and not quite Orosian and lived in a no man’s land as hard to define as the invisible line on the floor. Tag dropped his hand on Jim’s back.

“Jim, I have no plans to die out here. Eat the food.” It was a lie. Tag couldn’t see how he wouldn’t die out here, millions of kilometers from any known star system. Rast and the others talked about different approaches to moving into the space lanes, but the Orosians took no notice, and even if they did, the plan sounded farfetched at best. They’d be adrift once they reached the mythical space lanes. How would the Saptans find them, blind and dumb, in the empty void of space?

Jim looked up, his eyelashes wet with unshed tears. He wiped his hand across his eyes as if to scrub away the evidence of tears and muttered something under his breath.

“Eat.” Tag ran his knuckles down Jim’s face, the same touch the Saptans used so often on Tag. “This is embarrassing to admit, but they’ll make you eat. Rast did it with me.” Tag could feel a flush rising in his cheeks. Most likely Jim had seen Rast make Tag eat. The Orosians had been spying on them, but it was still embarrassing to say aloud.  “They have some obsession with bad food.” Tag handed Jim a piece of of energy bar and nodded encouragingly.

Jim looked at the crumbling cookie-like bar as if he didn’t recognize it.

“I know it’s not your mother’s pie, but it’s sweet.”

Jim put it in his mouth and chewed slowly. “My mother never made pie.”

“Mine did,” Tag said wistfully. Why was he longing for home? He’d wanted nothing more than to leave that cow-infested planet. “Strawberry was my favorite, but the growing season was short. It was the first pie of spring.”

“My father baked fruit pies every summer for the cycle,” Rast said. “My family didn’t celebrate like Brin and Tisp’s, but we had pies. On Saptan we have a tart fruit that grows on trees. I think its taste is similar to your berries. I can remember buying them from the roadside fruit stands. I’d eat two or three before I made it home. The purple juice all over my face always gave me away.”

“Peaches,” Tag said.

“Peaches?” Rast echoed, somewhat disbelievingly.

“”We had peach trees at home. The juice of a peach off a tree.”

“I take it they do not taste like the yellow congealed substance labeled peaches in our meals,” Rast said.

“Those aren’t peaches,” Tag said with a snort. “They are an abomination.”

Commander Brag walked in as they were laughing about the peaches. “What are you doing?” he demanded, glaring at Bist, who was kneeling next to the young engineer’s bunk.

“Helping him survive,” Bist said.

Brag moved his rifle threateningly toward Bist.

“Shooting me would be more fun than dragging me back to my side,” Bist goaded. Isn’t that what you want to do? You seem to enjoy waving that rifle around.”

“It is our duty to return you to your fellow Saptans,” Brag ground out between clenched teeth. “Move back to your side.”

Bist sat down, looping his arms around his knees and grabbing his own wrists. “We are breathing your air. Kill us and you’ll live longer.”

“Get back to your side,” Brag snarled.

“No,” Bist said in that flat voice the Saptans used that meant no amount of fire and brimstone rhetoric was going to change their position.

“Bist, here now,” Rast said, rolling onto his feet in one lithe motion and trying to slip his body between Bist and Brag. 

Brag reached Bist first and tried to hoist him to his feet, but the Saptan refused to loosen his grip around his knees. The Orosian lurched against the dead weight and dropped Bist the few centimeters he’d been able to lift the heavy Saptan.

“Did he give you permission to touch him?” Rast asked Brag.

Commander Brag glared at Rast, pent up anger and frustration rising in his voice like steam from a kettle. “I am in charge of the smooth operation of this ship,” he snapped.

“Is harassing your passengers, or perhaps your prefer to think of us as prisoners, part of your duty? Is not seeing to the needs of your own crew your duty?” Rast ran his hand down Bist’s back and knelt beside him. “Did he injure you?”

“No.”

“My God, I didn’t leave him to fry in the Orosian sun. All I did was try to lift him to his feet,” Commander Brag muttered disbelievingly.

“You touched a ki without his permission. It is not done,” Rast said with finality.

“What is he talking about?” Commander Brag asked, turning toward Tag and waving his arms in frustration. “I’ve seen you touch him. I’ve seen him touch you.”

Tag took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure he knew the answer, and Rast was deeply involved with Bist. It was Kip who came to his rescue, her voice soft, clear, and totally unruffled.

“You are si, an intact reproductively capable and interested male,” she said to Brag. “Our world had a long history of strife, and as part of the peace settlement that resolved it, adult si may not touch adult ki. You need to go through an intermediary, a kwi. Rast and I are kwi.”

“This is demented! Brag shouted, waving his rifle to punctuated each word. I didn’t slug him. Get him back on your side of the room, or I’ll drag him there myself. To hell with your ridiculous rules about touching.”

“Do you find screaming improves your crew’s performance?” Rast asked and uncoiled himself from the floor. “Come, Bist.” Rast held out his hand to the other Saptan.

“No, I will not be bullied by him. He is frightening his youngster, but I am not afraid of him.” Bist jerked his head toward Jim who was huddled on the bunk.

“Bist San K’Rast, yield to me in this. The Orosians are distraught. This is not a time to stand on principle.” Rast kept his voice low and melodic.

“I don’t care that he’s si. I care that he waves that weapon at all of us. He should either use the thing or quit pretending. I hate bullies. They’re cowards, everyone of them,” Bist said, not moving.

“Bist, Charter law.” Rast voice was still low, but even Tag recognized the threat in those simple words.

“Don’t talk in riddles; they won’t understand. Brag, the coward, plays with force; you will use force.”

“Is this what you want?” Rast asked. “Be very sure, Bist, before you go further.”

“I want the Orosians to stop behaving like fools. I’m sure I could get this heap of rust into the space lanes. Instead we drift here in the doldrums, subject to their whims and awaiting our deaths.”

“May I have your belt?” Rast asked Jim politely.

Jim reached for the buckle, undid it, and pulled his belt off. He coiled it and handed it to Rast, his expression baffled.

Rast closed his fist around the buckle and wrapped the extra length around his wrist. “Bist, go back to our side,” he ordered.

“No.” Bist didn’t wait for Rast to say anything else. He stood and stripped off his shirt before planting his hands on the bunk rail.

“I will ask you again after five.”

Rast landed five stripes starting at the top of Bist’s shoulders. They weren’t soft or gentle; a red wheal showed where each lick of the belt had landed. Bist didn’t move during the process, but Jim turned toward the wall, unable to watch, his body jerking at the sound of each blow. Commander Brag looked pale and grim, his rifle gripped tightly in his hands.

“Do you yield?” Rast asked Bist.

“No, K’Rast.”

“Five more.” 

These Rast dropped lower, forcing a hiss from Bist’s lips as he ran the last stripe diagonally from shoulder to hip.

“More?” Rast enquired.

“I will not yield.” Bist’s voice was strained.

“Drop your shorts. I do not want to make you bleed.”

Bist pushed his shorts down and stepped out. Like his back, his buttocks were covered with the same molted skin as the Saptan torso over which lay a fine spiderweb of colorful tattoos. Unlike his shoulders and back, his buttocks were unscarred. 

Rast landed the belt with full force. Bist’s body shuddered and slammed forward into the bunk. A groan escaped through his clenched teeth.

“Stop,” Jim shouted and hurled his slight body at Rast. Rast caught the belt in his own hand mid swing to prevent it from landing on the young Orosian.

“Youngster, this isn’t your affair,” Bist said, his voice surprisingly composed.

“He’s hurting you!” Jim protested.

“Not nearly as much as your fellow countryman, your first officer would like to hurt me. Small welts are ugly, but they are nothing compared to great big holes from a rifle. Violence isn’t so pretty close up, is it?” It was clear that Bist was speaking as much to Brag as to Jim.

“Do you yield K’Bist?” Rast asked, ignoring Bist’s statement.

“No, K’Rast.”

Rast pulled Jim out of the way and landed the next blow.

“Make it stop!” Jim turned the full force of his anger and despair at Commander Brag.

Tag and everyone else in the small quarters flinched as Rast cracked the leather against Bist’s welted skin yet again. A choked scream escaped from Bist’s lips.

“Stop this!” Brag ordered, stepping toward Rast and reaching for his arm. “You are hurting him.”

“And you are threatening to kill him. If you are going to wave a rifle at him for stepping into this part of the room, it is far safer for me to force him to move with a beating than allow him to be shot.” Rast raised his arm to land another blow.

“No.” Brag ordered in a voice more commanding than Tag had ever heard from him.

“Bist, do I stop now?” Rast asked.

Bist turned his head, focusing his blue eyes on Brag’s face. “I thought you wanted to use violence and force to control us? Yet you don’t seem to like it much when you see it actually applied. It’s not clean and neat. Instead, there is sweat, tears, and even blood.”

“Is he crazy?” Commander Brag asked Tag.

“He has a strong will, and I believe he thinks it is worth suffering to make his point.”

“He’s taking a beating for kneeling on the wrong side of the cabin.”

“It is less drastic than being shot.” Tag wasn’t sure how to interpret what this was about. In the simplest terms, Bist had refused to yield to Rast’s demands, which gave Rast the right to punish him, but this wasn’t how Rast acted. Tag had lived with Rast for six months; he knew Rast didn’t beat someone for refusing to obey an idiotic and arbitrary rule. This had to be some ruse to manipulate the Orosians, or at least Tag had to believe that. Seeing this side of Rast was frightening--terrifying--if it wasn’t.

“I don’t understand.” Commander Brag cast a worried look at the two Saptans who stood frozen in position. Bist gripped the bunk, his knuckles white, his muscles rippling in his back and buttocks in expectation of the next blow. Rast stood perfectly still, the belt hanging limply from his hand. 

“It is my duty to protect my ki,” Rast said. “I cannot risk him being shot if he does not yield to your command.” He raised his eyes to meet Brag’s before lowering them again in the Saptan manner.

“I wouldn't shoot him for being on the wrong side of the cabin,” Brag said with shock in his voice.

“I don’t know whether I believe you, and I can’t take that risk,” Rast said and raised his arm again.

“No!” Jim screamed. His high, thin cry echoed off the metal walls. “Don’t you see, Commander, they use violence to enforce their orders. When you wave the gun around, it’s as real to them as this. They don’t know it’s an idle threat.”

Tag heard running feet on the deck outside and the captain skidded into the room. She wasn’t a big woman, and the dark circles under her eyes and the mass of hair straining to escape hastily placed pins showed the exhaustion and stress of the last week, but her step didn’t falter as she stepped between Bist and Rast.

“No one will be beaten on my watch. Put your clothes back on.” She continued without pausing to see if Bist would obey. “Commander Brag, Paul, secure all weapons in the armament cabinet.”

“Captain--” the commander started to protest.

“They appear to be far more of a danger to themselves than to us. Fear of pain does not seem to motivate them. Tag, am I correct in this assumption?”

“I don’t know,” Tag said. “It is Rast who makes the decisions. He is head of the seven.”

She turned her golden eyes to Rast. “I did not imagine you were capable of such violence.”

“I would beat K’Bist bloody to prevent him from being shot,” Rast said. “A beating is less drastic than your rifles.”

“No one will be shot, and no one will be beaten on my ship. Why isn’t he dressed yet?”

“K’Bist, do you yield?” Rast asked Bist softly. “You have made your point, I believe.”

“I yield.” Bist turned and sank to his knees. Rast dropped the belt at his feet as if it had grown hot in his hands and knelt facing Bist. His fingers traced down the side of Bist’s face. Rast’s hand closed against the the thin necklace around Bist’s neck.

“Don’t you ever do anything that foolish again.” Rast whispered as his hand tangled in Bist’s dark hair. He pulled Bist against him and kissed his forehead; they rose in one smooth motion, Rast hand still resting in Bist’s hair. 

Bist grinned at Rast. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“I should whip you for your imprudence, but I’ve already nearly flayed the skin off you,” Rast said. “If you ever do anything that colossally foolish again, I’ll make this look like a child’s punishment. You’re too valuable to be used as bait. Do I make that clear? You are my ki.”

“Yes, K’Rast.” Bist ritually touched Rast’s forehead and shoulders. 

Rast’s hand splayed across Bist’s forehead, and he leaned forward, gently resting his chin against Bist’s shoulder. “You are crazy, K’Bist.”

“I know.” Bist grinned again. “You’re not the first kwi to tell me that, but you usually don’t try to beat it out of me. Thank you.”

“I cherish the trust you put in me. You honor me.” Rast stepped back and studied Bist for a moment. “How badly did I hurt you?”

“I’m sore.” Bist shrugged his shoulders, the welts rippling down his back. “I’ll live. I’ve had worse.”

“Never from me.”

“You’re careful, K’Rast. I knew I wasn’t in any real danger from you, and I knew you would understand.”

“I almost didn’t, you fool.” Rast ran his hand through Bist’s hair, straightening the tangled strands.

Tag looked away. This was somehow too private to watch. The Orosians seemed to share his discomfort. They were shuffling, looking at each other and Tag. Commander Brag muttered something indistinguishable at the captain and disappeared into the corridor. 

************

Tag stared at the screen. It had been a week since Bist and Rast’s strange performance in their sleeping quarters. Bist had only now stopped moving cautiously, and yesterday had been the first time that Tag had seen him lean back against the wall and not grimace in pain. Tag wondered if it had been worth it, and what exactly Bist had tried to achieve. Both Rast and Bist had answered vaguely when Tag had asked. Even Kip, who usually could give the clearest explanations, only suggested he wait and watch. The Orosians had at least stopped guarding them. All the weapons had been carefully locked in storage, but the Orosians appeared no more trusting of the Saptans, with the notable exception of young Jim. He ate with the seven now and played endless card games with Bist. Jim had internalized, or at least to Tag he appeared to have decided, that the whipping of Bist was somehow his fault, and he was almost solicitous of Bist. He shared those awful nutrition bars with Bist and smiled and blushed whenever Bist looked at him.

“Tag,” the captain said.

Tag turned from his screen, surprised she hadn’t prefixed her address with his title of lieutenant as she usually did. 

“We wanted to ask you about your companions.”

“Yes,” Tag said hesitantly, aware that the captain and the first officer, Commander Brag, were the only Orosians in the room.

The captain cleared her throat as if searching for the correct words. “I have little understanding of those people--the Saptans. Are they trustworthy?”

“Yes,” Tag said unequivocally. “I trust them.”

“I don’t understand them, and I don’t trust them.” Brag muttered. 

“That’s obvious,” Tag said sarcastically. He cringed as the words came out of his mouth. Rast had pulled him aside for a nice little chat about easing the Orosians’ discomfort, as he was the natural intermediary between the two species. Bist had been less subtle with a clear demand that Tag behave. Sarcastic comments wouldn’t come under Bist’s definition of behave.

“Are you safe with them?” Commander Brag continued as if Tag’s comment had gone right over his head.

“They won’t hurt me.” They wouldn’t hurt him, not in the serious way Brag with a gun could, but Tag was no longer completely naive about their social structure. He was expected to submit to the authority of the kwi and to Bist, the ki leader. Failure to follow their strict code would result in sanctions, or more directly--without the pleasant neutral language--punishment and most likely corporal punishment. As far as Tag could tell, they didn’t have an equivalent of a legal system or at least not for the ki. Disobedience was handled immediately and summarily within the seven, and there was no unwillingness to  use physical means of correction.

“Rast beat the dark haired one for kneeling on the wrong side of the floor,” Brag said.

“You were threatening to shoot him,” Tag said, “and for your information, the dark haired one’s name is Bist.”

“I wouldn’t have shot him.”

“How is Rast supposed to know that? He’s not human. He lives in a different social structure. Even I didn’t know for sure, and I’ve served on Alliance vessels.”

“Why didn’t he just make Bist get up instead of beating him? I don’t understand these Saptans, and I don’t think I’m the bad guy here,” Brag said.

Tag took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his long hair. He’d let it grow out to Saptan length; it hadn’t seemed worth cutting. “I’ve lived with them only six months in a highly artificial environment. I don’t fully understand their motivations.”

“Tag, we understand your interpretation might not be perfect,” the captain interrupted. “Still, I have no doubt you have more understanding of our Saptans than any other human in the galaxy.”

“I don’t like drawing conclusions without all the facts.”

“If you haven’t noticed, we’re not in a nice safe university. We’re stuck out here in the middle of nowhere. I don’t know why command saddles of with academics if all they can do is waffle,” Brag said.

“Paul, give him time,” Captain Fath said to Commander Brag. He has to put his thoughts together. Please go ahead.” She motioned with a brisk nod for Tag to continue.

“On reflection, I believe there were several causes of the incident we witnessed in the crew quarters.” Tag couldn’t make himself say the severe whipping with the belt. Rast seemed modern, cosmopolitan, gentle, and he could without hesitation welt his friend from shoulders to knees. Tag did think Bist was Rast’s friend and not just his subordinate. “Bist was in someways angry and looking for a fight. In his mind, he and the other Saptans have a better chance at salvaging the flight plan and managing this damaged vessel than your crew does. He’s also angry with what he sees as your duplicity and lack of support for your engineer.”

“Duplicity?” the captain asked.”

“The youngster Jim,” Tag said quickly, substituting the human name for the Saptan term, “didn’t know he was on a suicide mission.”

The captain nodded and looked grim. “His addition to the crew was most unfortunate, but he should understand the math.”

“Understanding the math and physics is one thing; being told openly and honestly by your commanders that you’re never going home is another.”

“This makes Bist angry?” the captain questioned.

“It makes all the Saptans angry. They have a strong group dynamic, and absolute honesty among the group is expected and required.”

“You mentioned earlier that Bist was angry over the lack of support for Jim?” the captain asked. “What are his expectations?”

“I have no direct knowledge of Saptan child rearing or mentoring,” Tag qualified, “but my impression is that life for young Saptans is very guided and structured with both clear rewards and clear consequences. They have an authoritarian social structure; a young member would not be left to drift.”

“Jim has been alone most of this voyage. He is significantly younger and less experienced than the rest of us. I’m sure it has been difficult,” the captain said. “And you believe Bist has picked up on these things and is disturbed by them?”

“The Saptans have a group or collective dynamic. You are only as strong as your weakest link.”

“He slapped Jim,” Brag said impatiently. “That was supposed to make him feel more secure? All this social psycho babble is fine, but it doesn’t tell me if it’s safe to go on a spacewalk with him, or if they’ll attack us in the night.”

“Bist will not attack you on a spacewalk. I can tell you that categorically.”

“Bist and Rast have both hit you. We’ve seen it on the monitors. Yet your loyalty lies with them. I don’t trust your judgment,” Brag said.

Tag could feel the color rise in his face. Of course they would have been monitoring the cargo bay; of course they would have seen Rast whip him. Tag ducked his head, letting his now long hair cascade over his face and hide the blush on his cheeks. “Their social system is different. They are a tactile people. I’m not saying it’s better or worse than the Alliance system, only different. They have not harmed me.”

“They beat you, and you called that not being harmed. They have brainwashed you!” Brag said, his fists clenched and his voice raised. He was not in full shouting mode only by the application of all his force of will.

“They haven’t hurt me any more than your performance reviews and long motivational lectures about things I couldn’t possibly understand. I’m ki. It works for me.” Tag stopped, panting hard. What had he just said? He’d admitted that whatever the Saptans did; their blatant manipulation of his mind worked for him, and he liked it. He wasn’t tolerating it because he was trapped. He liked it! He was ki, someone who wanted to yield, to be held always accountable, to never rise to the position of commander or captain. It wasn’t only about his sex habits or lack of them; it was a flaw in his personality. Bist struggled because of some quirk in his genetic make-up; he had a ki’s body and a kwi’s mind. Tag was the opposite.

“Tag, we understand you’ve made close friendships with these people,” the captain said, shushing Brag with a motion of her hand. “That can only be expected living in close confinement and forced idleness. I need you to separate your personal feelings, to be an Alliance officer first and foremost, and tell us if they’re safe and how best to work with them.”

Tag took several deep breaths and let them out slowly, trying to regain his composure. He had revealed too much. Now he needed to pull himself together. “They will not be dishonest with you,” Tag started slowly. “They do not always reveal all their motivations or at least not in words. Their body language and their rituals involving touch and position are more telling and in their culture fill in the unspoken gaps. Kip is most likely of all of them to explain if you have questions. She is more agile with words than some of the others.”

“It is Bist and Rast who will be our closest partners if we move forward with this plan,” the captain said. “I need some assurances that I will not provoke Rast’s wrath against Bist. I will not stand idly by and let Rast beat his subordinate again.”

Don’t wave guns at them, Tag thought glibly and unhelpfully. Tag rubbed his hands down his pants leg. It was strange to feel the weave of cloth after months of bare thighs and bare knees. “Rast doesn’t enjoy punishing Bist. He doesn’t enjoy punishing anyone.” Tag said slowly, still trying to organize the thoughts and feelings in his mind. “That punishment was as much about Bist as it was about you. Bist needed to be shown that Rast was still in charge despite Commander’s Brag’s gun-toting antics, and Rast wanted to emphasize to Bist his value. ‘You don’t put yourself at risk without my permission.’” Tag shuffled his feet. Those were the easy reasons; the others would be harder.

“You haven’t said why you think we were at fault for the beating. You do believe that?”

Tag nodded and swallowed. “In Saptan society, you don’t threaten violence. Violence is a part of their collective conscious in ways I don’t understand. It’s easy for us to wave a gun at someone or threaten to lock them away in a cell. Violence and force are direct and immediate for a Saptan. Bist used himself to show you what force looks like up close. It’s not so pretty when it’s not neatly behind sterile walls and justified by the legal and political system. It’s frightening and primal, a reminder of our ancestors fighting for the last scrap of meat in front of the dying embers of a fire. We don’t look at the reality of force and might, and the Saptans threw it in your faces.”

“Very well,” the captain said professionally. “I am not sure I follow your logic, but you are the expert on alien civilizations. Would Rast be willing to give me his word that he will not engage in any more displays of physical force?”

“No,” Tag answered automatically.

“Why?” The captain’s voice sounded weary. “We will refrain from making threats. It seems to me to be a more than equitable trade off.”

“He must be seen as a strong leader, in command of the situation. The Saptans have been in confinement for almost two years if you count their time on New Terra. He must maintain what little autonomy he has.”

“I need to talk to him,” Brag said abruptly. “We’ll all die if I can’t get the cargo section separated, and Bist is the only one with the expertise to do it. We’re going to have to make this work.”

Tag shrugged.”I can arrange it.” Brag’s belligerence would not impress the Saptans. Rast would draw his mantle of icy aloofness around him, and Bist... Tag didn’t want to think what Bist might do. Bist had not been silent in voicing his dislike for the man. The kindest thing he had called Brag was a petty tyrant.

“I’ll talk to them,” the captain said. “I am commander of this ship, and if this society is as authoritarian as Tag describes it, I think there will automatically be some level of respect for my rank. Tag, I want you with me. You will sit on my side of the room, not with them.”

The four of them were crowded into the tiny space that could optimistically be considered the captain’s ready room, but was more a tiny alcove with floor to ceiling storage and a pull out shelf only big enough for a computer pad. Tag stood against the back wall with the captain while Bist and Rast hovered in the front; their bodies halfway out into the connecting passage.

“As you know, this ship has suffered a serious accident,” the captain began.

“We are aware of the precarious condition of this vessel,” Bist interrupted. “Let’s forget the pretend pleasantries and get down to business. You want something from us.”

“Yes, I do. I want your expertise. I understand you are a skilled engineer, and you believe it’s possible to return this ship to some form of flying status.”

“I thought you were going to let us all die here before you would stoop to ask the aliens.”

“Bist,” Rast said, and from Tag’s vantage point it looked like Rast flicked Bist across the back of his neck before Rast turned his attention to the captain. “My engineer is a man of strong feelings, but his work is excellent. If he says it can be done, it will be done.”

“Can he work with Commander Brag?”

“I suggest you ask him, not me.”

The captain gave Rast a long, slow look. Her voice was slow, abnormally slow, as if she were struggling to find some tone or vocal pattern that she had been trained to use with hostile and unpredictable people. “I am trying to understand your people, but I’ll be frank with you, I’m having difficulty. You brutally abuse your subordinate for refusing to move from an imaginary line on the floor, and you suggest that I ask him if he can work with Commander Brag.”

“I can order him to work with the commander, but that was not your question. Your question was whether he would prefer or enjoy working with your commander. I cannot answer that question.”

The captain bit back a grimace of exasperation. “Bist, will you work with Commander Brag?” Captain Fath asked.

“It is my duty,” Bist said, his eyes down and to the left in perfect Saptan politeness.

Captain Fath wheeled and faced Tag. She dropped her voice to a whisper, but in the tight space Tag was sure her voice carried to Bist and Rast. “You’re the expert on these people. Give me a reason I should trust two of my men to join Bist in a dubious plan.”

“It’s the only plan, and as Bist stated, he will do his duty. Honesty is highly valued among the Saptans.”

“Bist despises Paul.” 

“That might be too strong,” Tag said diplomatically. “Commander Brag and Bist have difficulty understanding each other, and this has created mutual hostility. 

“No, it’s not,” Bist said, “but it will not affect my ability to complete the task. I will not pretend I like your Paul, and I have little interest in your personal love affair with your first officer. I will take the best care I can of him when we are outside of the ship.”

“My personal love affair with Commander Brag?” the captain asked with raised eyebrows. “He is only recently bereaved.”

“We value honesty,” Rast warned. “I wouldn’t speak further on the matter.”

She was in love with Commander Brag, her first officer?  How did the Saptans know? Tag didn’t know, and he was the human.

“My personal life is hardly your concern,” Captain Fath said.

“Only as it affects the dynamic of the collective,” Rast said. “I will be sending one of my ki out with two of your men: a young engineer who has never been on a real spacewalk and your first officer who is your love interest. Bist’s life will depend on their cooperation and their judgment. I will only let him go if I feel that his chance of success is worth the risk. His life is mine. He is my ki.”

“I’m not doing this,” Captain Fath said and headed for the door.

“Stop,” Tag shouted and fell silent as the captain turned her yellow eyes on him. He hadn’t thought further ahead than stopping the captain. “It’s our only chance. Don’t blow it because you don’t understand them.”

“I don’t want three dead on my head.”

“You will have twelve dead on your head if you do nothing,” Tag said.

“They had already planned to die,” Bist said. “This is not a valid argument. I will perform my duties to the best of my abilities, and I see little difficulty in separating the cargo section from the rest of the ship. The entrance and maintenance of space dimension will be far more difficult, Brin and Tisp are the experts in physics and navigation. I will not hazard to give the odds.”

“They are not good,” Rast said. “I cannot tell you more without being able to study the complete navigation plot and damage report. Data that has been denied to us.”

“It’s classified,” the captain said with the automatic denial of a bureaucrat.

“We are well out of Alliance space,” Rast said. “To consider the material classified is beyond ridiculous. I will not authorize Bist’s participation without access to all the details.”

“I’m afraid we are at an impasse,” the captain said.

“Shit!” Tag said with unexpected passion. He didn’t curse. Pastoons didn’t, well at least Pastoons raised with traditions didn’t. “Sorry.” Tag could feel himself blush. 

“Taga, tell us what you are thinking,” Rast said. “You are the emissary between our two peoples. You are human, you are Pastoon, and you are also ki, one of mine.”

“Nothing,” Tag muttered. “I’m the little guy. No one listens to me.”

“Tag San K’Rast, this is not the time to be resentful and withdraw. We need you,” Rast said. “You can do what no other in our seven can do; you can make the Orosians understand.”

“Does it matter? The Orosians were all slated to die out here. Whether it’s today, tomorrow, or three years from now. What’s the difference? Why should they care about us?”

“I think you underestimate them,” Rast said softly. “They came this far, and they have performed their duties admirably. We will all die sometime, so it is fated, but next week has an immediate feel that three years does not.”

“They are dead already to their families. They cannot go back.”

“No, but they have each other, as you have us,” Rast said. “The captain loves her first officer; I understand her need to keep him safe. I have the same need to keep all of you safe. You are my seven.”

Rast loved him. No, it was just a figure of speech. He wasn’t Saptan; he was human. Rast had some kind of paternalistic drive to control him, to force him into the seven, but that wasn’t the same as love.

“Tag.” The captain’s voice jerked him out of his reverie. “I don’t understand the concept of seven.”

“Rast is more than their commanding officer. Unlike crew on Alliance vessels, the seven stays together. They are a social group as well as a work group.”

“We belong to each other,” Rast said. “Have I not made that clear to you, Tag?”

Tag had been with the Saptans long enough that he could tell that Rast was both hurt and concerned. It was only the most subtle change in tone; Tag knew the captain wouldn’t detect the quickening of the rhythm and the increase in the lilt.

“Taga, are you not talking?” Rast asked.

“No, I don’t know,” Tag said, stumbling over his words. He didn’t want to talk of such things in front of the captain. It was private.

“Come here, Taga,” Rast said.

Tag’s feet moved, but his brain couldn’t fathom what Rast wanted. It wasn’t as if he were far away from Rast; they were all jammed into this cubbyhole. Rast’s hand dropped on Tag’s hair as soon as he was close enough to reach. Rast held Tag in place and ran his thumb from Tag’s forehead to his chin.

“Don’t ever doubt you are one of the seven and that you are deserved and entitled to the love that all the seven receive. Do you understand me?”

Tag nodded. It was the only thing he could think to do. 

“You doubt,” Bist said in Tag’s ear. “I’ve been there. I can see it in you.”

How could he not doubt? He still hardly understood the seven; he wasn’t one of them.

“The gods must not have favored me to entrust me with two difficult ki,” Rast said lightly.

“No, you showed extra promise and the gods are protecting us. The ki have always prayed for the mercy of the gods, and this time it worked,” Bist said.

The corners of Rast’s lips rose in a slight smile. “From the ki who thinks all religion is hocus-pocus. I don’t know if I should be offended or take it as high praise.”

“I trust you will figure it out,” Bist teased back.

“I will pray to the gods for assistance.” Rast bent forward and kissed both their foreheads.

Captain Fath cleared her throat. “Bist, make the arrangements for the spacewalk. I will put my first officer and young engineer at your disposal. Take care of them.” Her voice caught for a moment before she continued. “I will provide the necessary data for the calculations.”

Rast stepped back to let the captain pass. Her facial muscles were clenched and a faint glistening was visible in her yellow eyes. Bist reached out and touched her shoulder as she slipped by. She hesitated and turned toward him, her expression hostile.

“I’ll bring them both back, ma’am,” Bist said and dropped to one knee, his eyes to the left in Saptan politeness.

“I’m sure you will.” She turned and left.