From Afar - Chapter 13

Chapter XIII

They huddled together in the cold and dark of the command module, drifting in an area of space that Rast had described as a virtual highway for Saptan ships, but so far nothing and no one had been alerted by their rescue buoys. The final fling into dimensional space had destroyed the one remaining engine, and their arrival here had been its last cough of life. The command module had been separated from the crippled engineering and upper crew quarters, and they were now all crammed into a space that had never been envisioned for twelve. The ship was powered by only the small rockets that had designed for maneuvering and for landing planet side in an emergency. They barely produced enough energy to keep the command module habitable, especially with the extra air consumption of twelve beings. 

Tag shifted and banged his knees against Lak. “Sorry. There’s not much room in here.”

“You’re restless,” Lak said.

“I’m not good at waiting.”

“You did fine before, all the time we were in the cargo bay. Why is this different?”

It’s cold and dark, and we’re all crammed in a few square meters, blind and helpless with no control over our rescue, Tag thought. “I had something to distract me.”

“Tell me about Pastoral. Your favorite spot on the planet.”

Tag thought back. He didn’t remember his home world all that well, and he had never traveled across the planet, never seen its mountains or its famous inland seas. His parents’ farm had been in the ordinary temperate region with a mixture of grassland and light forests. “I haven’t been home since I was eighteen.”

“I haven’t been home since I was fifteen, and I still remember it. I was raised on Kenshar; it’s one of the string of islands between our northern and southern continents. Being an island, my home was dominated by the sea. We lived near the sea in an old fishing village. Both my parents fished: my mother on the weekends with tourists on an old-fashioned sailboat, my father on a commercial trawler. My siblings were being trained for the sea. When I was young, I didn’t understand why I wasn’t taken out on the boat. I heard them call me ki, but I didn’t understand it. I didn’t know any ki. Anyway, this isn’t the point. I used to go up to the third floor of the house where there was a small porch. It was my favorite spot. I’d sit in a rattan chair and look down over the tiled roofs to the sea where the sky and the water met. I’d listen to the squawk of the gulls wheeling overhead and wish I could join them on the flight over the vast sea, the salt breeze in my face, the bright sun on my back.”

“I’ve only been to the ocean once,” Tag said, “and it rained.”

“It can be pretty when it rains. The sea looses its glass blue surface and becomes a roiling mixture of grays with swirling whitecaps.”

“I thought it was cold.”

“A realist. You have to use your imagination. Now what about your special place?”

“Mine isn’t as dramatic as the ocean,” Tag said hesitantly. “I grew up on a farm. Have you seen farms?”

“Yes, but I’ve never lived on one. Did you have animals?”

“Yes, we raised a species similar to Earth’s cows. They were native to Pastoral. I wasn’t much of a farmer. I always wanted to go to the stars. Unlike you, I was expected to stay at home. Ironic. You remember longing to stay at home; I remember wanting to be out here. And now look at me; I’m crouched in a cold corner, miserable. It’s not what I dreamed of as a boy when I would slip out after dark, climb the loft ladder, and peer out the window at the night sky. I was surrounded by the smell of sweet hay; if I listened closely, I could hear the thud of hooves in the briar and and the tinkle of the bells around the animals’ necks, but I wanted what I couldn’t touch, the lights in the distance.”

“I’ve never been on a farm or at the seaside,” Jim said from where he was sitting with a parka thrown over his shoulders. “My parents were genetic researchers; they were unnaturally terrified of the Orosian sun. I’d never been outside without a long sleeved shirt, a hat, and protective lenses, until I left for engineering school. My favorite spot was the history museum. I used to spend hours watching the vids. Do you know that bison herds so thick that you couldn’t see the grass under their feet once roamed Earth? I know the videos are recreations, but I always dreamed of walking across grass that is shoulder high and waving in the breeze under the noontime sun. I guess I’ll never feel the grass under my bare toes.” Jim fell silent. “I’m too young for this.” Jim turned away, trying to hide the tears in his golden eyes.

“We have grass on Saptan,” Bist said and knelt next to Jim. “I’ll make sure you see it.”

“I’m not a child,” Jim snapped. “You treat me like a kid. Even if your mythical Saptans were to arrive, I know we are never going home from this mission. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but we’re too far out to ever get back. I don’t recognize any stars in this star field. I will never see my grass. I’ll die out here. I can’t pretend any longer.” Jim buried his head in his hands and his body shook with sobs.

The captain stood and awkwardly placed her hand on Jim’s back. “We’re not dead yet,” she said. “I think the Saptans have a few more tricks up their sleeve.”

Jim wheeled on the captain. “You’ve known all along that we weren’t going home. You pretended that you didn’t need to tell me. I’m not a baby. I can do the math and the physics.”

“The Orosians weren’t going home,” Bist said, his hand on Jim’s head. “You can come home with us.”

“I’m not one of you. I’m not the naive idiot that you all seem to think I am. I like Bist. I could love Bist,” Jim said, “but there’s something about Bist. He can’t return my love. None of them can.” Jim waved his arms to encircle the crowd. “I don’t understand. I’ve seen Rast and Tag talking. I know I can’t have Bist, but I can pretend. It’s the most I’m going to get.” Jim ran his hand over his face, scrubbing the moisture from his cheeks. “Let me keep my fantasy.”

“Jim, youngster,” Bist started.

“I’m not a kid. I’m a lieutenant in the space services with a degree in engineering.”

“And you’ve never felt grass under your feet,” Bist said. “I would call that a youngster, but you are right, I can’t love you, not in the way you think of love. I’m ki. I’m not male or female. We have four sexes, and I am one of the neuter sexes, as all of us here are. I think you realize that, but it doesn’t mean we can’t love you. I can’t love you in your way, but I still love you.” Bist ran his hand through Jim’s short hair. “Tag’s hair felt like this until he let it grow.”

“Tag’s different than I am. He’s one of you,” Jim said sadly. “I can never be one of you. I don’t totally understand it, but it’s something about my sex.”

“You’re si,” Bist said.

Jim looked at Tag, the lack of understanding clear on his face.

“You are a human male,” Tag said.

“So are you.” Jim said.

“I’m different,” Tag said and ducked his head. This was easy among Saptans. They didn’t find him odd. He didn’t have to explain that he’d never have those feelings that Jim had so easily and naturally described and in which he found both joy and pain, feelings that Tag could hardly imagine. He’d read about them; he’d seen romantic whatnot on the vids. He was supposed to feel them. “I’m ki. I’m an asexual. I have no interest in my sex or the opposite sex. The ki and kwi are incapable of having intimate relations.” Damn his background. He couldn’t even say the word “sex” and thinking about it made him blush.

“Jima,” Bist said, slipping into the familiar form of Jim’s name. “I am neither male nor female as you understand it. You are male, a si. On my world, I have no contact with adult males. It is forbidden.”

“Why?” Jim interrupted.

“It is to prevent war. I can only touch you if you’re a youngster.”

“I am not a kid.”

“You have seen little of your world. You admitted so yourself. You are not bound to anyone.”

“We don’t have to marry to become an adult.”

“You are si. You will not be complete without a partner.”

Jim wrapped his arms tighter around his knees. Tag barely heard the muttered confession. “I love you.”

“Jima.” Bist hand rested in the short hair. He bent forward and dropped a kiss on the prickly hair. “You are young, frightened, and alone. I am ki. I cannot be what you want or need.  All I can be is a friend, a mentor, a teacher. Do you understand that? You are si; you cannot be one of the seven.”

Jim jerked away and scrambled across the tiny cabin, trying to find a privacy they didn’t have. “Why did you touch me if you find me repulsive?” Bist moved to close the space between himself and Jim. “Don’t touch me,” Jim shouted.

“Jim, don’t do this. You don’t have to make it this hard.”

“No. Fuck off!”

“I’m incapable of fucking. Don’t you understand that?”

“Fuck you!” Jim slapped at Bist’s hand.

“Don’t. I’m giving you leeway. You are an upset si child.”

Jim stood and slapped Bist full across the face. Bist’s head snapped back at the force of the blow, and a red handprint appeared on his cheek. “I hate you.”

It was Rast who found his feet and voice first. He’d crossed the short distance and stood between Bist and Jim. “Go sit with Kip.” His voice was as always soft, but it was an order, and Bist recognized the demand. He stared at Rast, his blue eyes challenging, before dropping his eyes to the left and crossing his wrists in front of him. “Go,” Rast repeated.

“I yield.”

Jim stood, breathing hard, his fury now directed at Rast. “Go fuck yourself!”

“Useful,” Rast said softly, his face unmoved by Jim’s challenge. 

“Lieutenant,” the captain said, “military courtesy--”

“Captain, may I handle this?” Rast interrupted. “Jim, has made it clear he feels no connection with you. He has a connection with us that has created this mess. Give me the courtesy of trying to fix it.”

“As you wish,” the captain said with undisguised relief. “I have no skill with difficult and frayed tempers.”

“Jim, sit down,” Rast said.

“No.”

“Jim, you have seen me use force. Do I need to? An adult or juvenile si disobeying a direct order from a kwi would be treated harshly on my world. Five lashes for every offense. I know Bist treated you as a youngster and it worked.” Rast ran his finger down Jim’s cheek. “We used the fact that we could manipulate you in the same ways that we have managed our own for thousands of years. I knew and Bist knew you weren’t Saptan and you weren’t Tag who meshes within our society. I told myself we were hurting you less by treating you as one of us. Was I wrong?” Rast paused and tipped his head toward the floor. “Sit.”

Jim’s eyes roved around the tight space. His fellow Orosians looked away, lost in their own guilt and fear. 

Tag caught Jim’s eye and let a small smile form on his lips. “For God’s sake sit down. I can only take so much melodrama before high tea.” Tag involuntarily twitched. What had made him say those words? He wasn’t a comedian.

Jim sat. 

“An unusual choice of words,” Rast said to Tag, the faintest twist of a smile on his lips, “and I thought I understood you.” He flicked his eyes at Tag before kneeling next to Jim. “We’ve made an awful mess of this.” He touched Jim’s forehead and both cheeks. “Will you forgive us?”

Jim looked up. “I...I don’t understand. You’re the captain.”

“I’m not a captain. We don’t have rank or a military hierarchy. My responsibilities are different. I am kwi. My duty is to be the peacemaker between the ki and the si and ti. This is my seven; my ki are bound to me. You can never be bound to me. Bist is ki. In your terms, I own him. It’s not the same, but I cannot express it in your language. He is not free to give himself to you even if he were capable of such a thing. It would tear our seven apart, and it is my duty, my destiny to maintain those bonds.”

Jim stared at Rast and rocked back and forth an obvious attempt at self comfort. “They can never leave the seven?” he finally asked.

“Death is the general way. An attempt is made to match us appropriately; sometimes it fails. Bist was in a seven that was ill suited to his needs. It is why he tries to be kind to you. He knows what it is to be alone. He never intended to hurt you. Not being si, he can only understand a mere glimmer of what you need. He can’t give you more than that.”

“I’m alone,” Jim whispered. “I can’t do this.” He turned away from Rast and buried his face in his knees. His shoulders shook in silent sobs.”

Kip wrapped her arms around Bist’s waist. “No, stay here. You cannot give him what he needs. You will only confuse him more.”

“It’s not right. He’s in pain.”

“No, it’s not right. Humans are cruel with each other. It is their way. Think of our Taga.”

“He is ours now,” Bist said. “We have seven.” Bist ground his teeth together and then flung himself to his feet, dragging Kip behind him. “Our tradition is inflexible. Are we to abandon him like we did D’John?”

“You ask me to be a revolutionary and a heretic,” Rast said.

“I ask to see justice served. You are kwi. I haven’t the power. I gave myself to you. I need you.” Bist dropped to one knee with his hands clasped behind his back. He lowered his head in total submission.

Rast’s hand touched the long black strands covering Bist’s face. Bist’s chest rose and fell as if he’d run a marathon. “You are bound to me, “ Rast said slowly, tracing the beads around Bist’s neck. Within this bond, I must protect you and listen to your advice. You counsel me to abandon more than two thousand years of precedent and learning. To take an eighth, an eighth who is si. In our attempt to protect him, will we not make it worse for him? Do you love him, K’Bist?”

“I love him the way I love love Tag or Tisp or any of our ki.”

“You want to shield and protect him. He is not ki,” Rast said.

Bist looked up, sweeping his black hair off his face. “I was born ki, but is my heart ki? I do not yield with ease. Tag is ki, but he is born to a people who do not recognize such a possibility. To his people, he is si.  What is Jim? We call him si, but he wants to be with another si, not a ti. Our labels are broken. They have served us well, but we are no longer the Saptans of three millennia ago.”

“Bist San K’Rast, you yield to me.”

“I yield because you asked and didn’t take what by law and custom is rightfully yours. If I must yield, it is only to you. You respect that I am not quite ki, and you can respect whatever Jim is.”

“Jim is si. I have no doubts, for I had those feelings as I came of age,” Rast said slowly. “My only place was to become kwi. He on his own world would have other choices.”

“He is not on his own world,” Bist said. “His own people have no solution.”

“I have a solution,” Commander Brag said, drawing himself up to his considerable height. “Stand up, Jim.”

Jim pulled himself shakily to his feet, his eyes down on the deck, obviously humiliated and embarrassed at drawing so much attention to himself. “Please.”

“Don’t beg. I won’t be able to keep my hands off you,” the commander said with a half smile.

“You are with the captain.”

“Neither of us are committed to monogamy. I didn’t know you were interested.” Brag moved closer and traced his finger down the stubble of Jim’s jawline. “So beautiful. So innocent. Is this what you want?” He bent forward and kissed Jim on the lips. “Will I do?” Brag said, coming up for air with a broad smile on his lips.

“You don’t like me,” Jim said, making a halfhearted effort to move away.

“I like you too well,” the commander said and stroked the tear stained cheeks with his thumb. “I was afraid if I were friendly, I wouldn’t be able to resist. This is a small ship. I had a duty not to impose.”

“The captain?”

She smiled. “I’m not opposed to threesomes. For now though, we shall have to imagine. I’m afraid we can’t even pretend to have privacy.”

“We’re still stuck out here,” Jim said as if for a moment he’d forgotten the imminent death that threaten them all.

“Shh,” Brag said. “I don’t get our buddies over there, but I do know they have no intention of dying out here, and I think their moral code, which none of us can understand except for maybe Tag, will prevent them from leaving us. Rast would have risked being declared a revolutionary to save you. They are not going to leave us to perish in space.”

“We will not,” Rast said, “but we have no good options. “We cannot return you home within your generation’s lifespan. Saptan will be difficult for you. Our culture is not tolerant of your choices, and I cannot change that. I must submit to the will of the councils.”

“Is it fair to ensnare Tag within your system?” the captain asked.

“We have an authoritarian culture,” Rast said. “I believe Tag understands that, but he at this point is not irreparably bound to me. “

Tag unconsciously reached for his neck, stroking the smooth skin. Rast caught his eye and nodded. If Tag wore the thin strand of beads, there would be no going back. He would be forever within the seven. Instead of fearing it, he welcomed it

“In time, Taga, in time,” Rast said. “I will not take you until you understand what you are giving.”

******

Tag shot upright at the burst of static and the blare of the klaxons. Proximity alarms were going off all over the module. Rast had already scrambled to his feet, a silver insulated blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders to ward off the biting cold as his fingers flew across the monitor.

“It’s the Saptan vessel Kikar.”

“It’s big,” Bist said, looking over Rast’s shoulder. “Are they trying to contact us?”

“They’re using a frequency that is only partially compatible with our system. The engineers retrofitted us with a special communications equipment, but it was lost when we separated from the engines,” the captain said.

“Captain, do I have permission to try to send a short coded signal?” Rast asked. “It should be understandable with even garbled communications. They will never have met aliens before and will be understandably cautious.”

The captain nodded. “These are your people; reassure them that we are not hostile. I’d hate to come all this way and be attacked.” She gave a nervous laugh.

“Our vessels aren’t armed,” Rast said. He started to tap something out on the radio that to Tag’s ears sounded like the historical recordings of Morse code. They waited tensely for the return signal. A series of faint taps came over the speakers.

“They are studying our situation,” Brin translated as she listened to the taps. “They don’t believe they can make a successful seal with our airlock. Will we advise?”

“The Kikar is a Penshar class ship,” Bist said. “If their main cargo bay is empty, we would fit easily. They could pull us in with the mechanical arm.”

Brin moved to the keyboard and tapped in the reply.

Tag only partially listened to the work going on around him. They were going to be rescued! He still could hardly believe it was really happening. The Saptans and the Orosian crew manned the consoles with easy efficiency. Tag was pressed into service to read several consoles. He was glad nothing more was asked of him because he couldn’t make himself to focus. He kept seeing a warm Saptan ship with real food. They’d been on half rations for a week and everybody was hungry. Brin and Tisp had been killing time describing the foods of the Saptan cycles: sweet fruits, strong and slightly bitter root vegetables, and roasted meats. 

The ship shook as the mechanical arm slipped and finally caught hold. It seemed an eternity but finally Tag heard the capsule scrape against metal decking and saw the glare of artificial lights through the small window.

“They are re-pressurizing the cargo bay. The light to our right will change to purple when the bay is safe.” Brin pointed to a light strip that glowed a deep green. They recommend we begin our shut down procedures.”

“We will need to blow the hatch,” the captain said. “Will you ask them to stay a safe distance?”

“Of course,” Brin answered. She tapped quickly and nodded as the reply came in. “They will remain clear of the area. They have asked Rast to escort all personnel into the corridor. A party will meet us there.”

“That makes sense. Separate us from the ship in case we are hostile. They are being cautious,” Captain Fath said.

Tag suppressed a shiver. He had imagined welcoming state dinners piled high with celebratory foods. They might be immediately jailed or worse. The Saptans had met a conservative and hostile reaction on New Terra. Why should he expect any better from them? Rast casually discussed their culture as being authoritarian.

The light switched to purple, and with a soft thud, Captain Fath blew the hatch. The cargo bay--well, it looked like any other cargo bay. It was a huge empty space, almost as big as the entire Alliance ship before they had stripped it to the command module. The distant ceiling was crossed with girders and pulleys. The floor was a fiberglass composite of some sort, clean and bright with recessed bolts for securing cargo. Blessedly the cargo bay was warm. Tag could feel the heat seeping through his frozen bones. They had been cold for days.

Rast walked toward what look like a solid wall when a door slid open, revealing a narrow corridor. Here the ceiling was much lower and painted a muted shade of orange. They walked across a matted surface of a slightly paler shade of orange. At the first intersection of corridors, a mechanical voice directed them to Hall 3A and displayed a lighted map on the wall along with blinking lights on the floor. 

Like the cargo bay, the door from the corridor to Hall 3A slid open with a silent, invisible mechanism and with such speed that Tag almost had the feeling he was walking through a wall. 

“Neat trick, isn’t it?” Bist said and reassuringly touched Tag’s back. “The doors are a carbon matrix, only a few molecules thick. It allows the opening mechanism, which is triggered by purposeful motion toward the door, to work quickly. It’s not magic.”

Of course it wasn’t magic. Tag wasn’t some creature kidnapped off a primitive planet. Humans had space travel. 

The hall was big, maybe a third of the size of the cargo bay. Along one wall stood several dozen Saptans in perfect stillness. Tag had to concentrate to see even the slight lift of their chest as they breathed. They were dressed in the shorts and loose tunics that Tag had become accustomed to before the accident, but they were more colorful and included a bright sash across their chest. They weren’t barefoot, but rather shod in sandals that were held on by thin straps wound up their bare calves. 

Rast flicked his hand, and Bist stepped back, freezing into the same parade rest as the shipboard Saptans. He crossed his wrists in front of his waist, palms upright. The other ki fell into place next to him, and Tag scrambled to find his place. Kip touched his wrists, helping to put his hands in the correct place before joining the end of the line, but not crossing her wrists. The Orosians stood huddled, confused for a moment before the captain with a sweep of her head and a short command to the first officer formed the small crew into standard parade rest. 

Rast nodded a slight affirmation of their choice and stepped forward toward a tall silver haired Saptan in deep crimson shorts and tunic with a gold cape. Rast knelt silently and opened both his arms in a sweeping gesture. The man stepped forward and placed the palm of his hand on Rast’s head in a gesture reminiscent of a blessing by a priest from the ancient icons. They remained frozen for several minutes. Finally the man touched Rast’s forehead, his right, and then left shoulder. He pulled Rast to his feet and with what appeared to Tag to be sudden abandonment of formal protocol, dropped his arm over Rast’s shoulders and pulled him close before kissing his forehead.

“You always had a flair for the extreme, but even I didn’t imagine you’d arrive home with those from another world in tow.” The man ran his fingers through Rast’s hair and continued in a more serious tone. “I thought you were lost. We found the evidence of the explosion twenty years ago.”

“I lost two from my seven,” Rast said, “but, I found and claimed two more. The Orosians were returning us home. Unfortunately their ship has been damaged, and they are now trapped with us.”

Rast walked the Saptan down the line of his seven, introducing each member in turn.

“He is not Saptan,” the Saptan said, his eyes flicking over Tag’s face.

“No, he is human. He was raised on the colony of Pastoral, one of a dozen human colony worlds.”

“Is he ki or kwi?”

“He is ki,” Rast said and ran his fingers down Tag’s cheek, both a reassurance and a reminder that Tag was to be silent.

“Were several Orosians killed?” the strange Saptan asked, as he seemed to mentally count the Orosians.

“Their social structure is different,” Rast said. “Tag San K’Rast is the expert. Later he will be happy to discuss human social structures.”

“You have not collared him?”

“K’Sar, you always were a believer in protocol.”

“K’Rast, you’re from the north. Do not tell me you ignore tradition.”

Rast dipped his head to the left. “I honor our traditions, but in this time...” Rast hesitated.  “He is not Saptan. We must make allowances. All is changed with the discovery of new life.”

Sar ran his thumb across Rast’s forehead. “You carried the weight of an entire people on your shoulders. You have done well.”

“My seven carried it with me.”

“I am sure. Now for your immediate needs.” Sar flicked his hands and the ranks of still Saptans dispersed. A short figure with red round cheeks ran to Bist and threw his arms around his neck.

“Do you remember me? We were in school together.”

Bist pushed the man off and studied his face before a flash of recognition crossed his blue eyes. “Kin, I haven’t seen you since we were boys.”

“I last saw you when you were bound to Taz.” Kin didn’t say anything more, but Tag caught something in his expression that made him suspicious that Kin had realized Bist’s difficulties in his original seven. “You are with Rast now?”

“Yes,” Bist said and fingered the beads around his neck. “All the rest of my seven were killed.”

Kin gently touched Bist’s forehead. “Are you well?”

“Better,” Bist said with a bittersweet smile. “Rast is a good fit for me.” He paused, his shoulders slumping. “I am better now.” Bist reached out and caught Tag’s wrist. “You look concerned.”

Tag shrugged. He knew how to act with his Saptans, but this ship was crawling with strangers. Strangers who had no experience with humans, and from the few wide-eyed stares were just as unsure as Tag.

“Stay with me. I’ll help you navigate.” Tag looked at Bist. “You lived with me for months. You don’t have to tell me for me to understand what’s going on in your head.”

“What about Jim and the others?”

“Rast is with them. He’ll get them settled.” Bist stroked Tag’s hair. “We’ve had several years to  become accustomed to the idea of an alien civilization. My people assumed we were lost, not guest of an alien culture. Give the Saptans time to adjust. This has been a shock. We have a culture steeped in traditions; change does not come easily.”

“Bist.” Kin laughed. “You were always--how should I put it-- a hothead when you were younger. When did you become such a diplomat? You sound kwi.”

“It’s Rast and my human ki. They’re a good influence.”

“Rast treats you well?” Kin asked softly. “They’re were rumors about you and Taz. I never followed them up.”

“Kina, do not blame yourself. Taz and I were not well suited, but he didn’t violate the law. You are ki; there is nothing you could have done.”

“Sar listens to me, and he has the ear of council.”

“It is past, and the council wouldn’t have acted.”

Kin touched Bist’s cheek. “You are younger than me now.”

“High speed travel. Twenty years since the explosion. It’s not been three for us.”

Kin halted, and Bist stopped his shoulder rubbing against his friend’s. “Are you sure you have done well? Rast is from the north and trained--”

“He’s a traditionalist, a disciple of Kar,” Bist interrupted, “but he interprets the traditions as the true protector and liberator of the ki. I am happy.”

“Why is the human not bound? Rast introduced him as ki.”

“For Rast, it must be Tag’s choice. Tag is not ready yet.”

“If he is truly ki, it needs to be done.”

Tag bristled as they talked about him. He would have spoken, but Bist’s hand dropped to the back of his neck in a silent warning.

“He is ki, more ki than I am.”

“Then your Rast plays with fire. I must go now. We are preparing a banquet.” Kin touched Bist’s cheek and bowed slightly before disappearing into the crowd.

“Do I need a collar?” Tag asked when he felt Bist’s eyes shift to him for a moment before looking away in the normal Saptan politeness.

“That is for you and Rast to decide. It was not Kin’s place to speak of it. He has grown arrogant in his old age.”

“You are friends?”

“We were.”

“He cares about you.”

“He’s a nosy gossip, but...” Bist bent forward and kissed Tag’s forehead. “But you are right. Sometimes I think you understand us better than we understand ourselves. He wanted to know about Rast, but you are right. He showed genuine affection for me. I must remember to return the affection. It is good to have ties outside the seven.”

“Why did he want to know about Rast?” Tag asked.

“You have seen few kwi. You will know after you meet a few more.”

“Is this your way of telling me to ask Kip?”

Bist’s eyebrows rose in a very human gesture.

“When did you start copying us humans?” Tag said and tapped Bist’s eyebrow.

“I picked it up from D’John, but Rast wanted us to behave in a very Saptan fashion. Why do you think I want you to ask Kip about Rast?”

“When you get cryptic, you want me to ask Kip.”

“I wasn’t being cryptic. I was suggesting you watch and observe. It is from observation and participation that real learning occurs. If I tell you all, you will be no better off than young Jim.”

“Jim,” Tag said with surprise. 

“Jim does not know who he is. He has never been allowed to find himself. You think he’s a young Orosian obsessed with sex. That is how you think of the Orosians, isn’t it?”

Tag felt heat rise up his neck, and he was glad that he was still dressed in an Alliance uniform with its high concealing collar.

“Jim wants security. It is what we all want. He is si, and he sees his security only with a mate. He cannot see security with a group. You are beginning to see that.”

“Humans are different. He needs more than security. It’s supposed to be about love.” Tag stumbled over the words. He wasn’t an expert on this, but he had been raised on a human colony. Humans needed a mate to love. Tag was somehow an exception.

“Perhaps,” Bist said, keeping his eyes politely to one side. “Come. We need to get settled and prepared for the meal. It will be formal. Stay close to me, and I will lead you through it.”

Rast’s seven had been assigned a single large cabin, its decor not much different than the cargo bay on the Alliance ship. The room was bare except for a series of clear shelves against one wall. The floor was covered in a rich carpet which felt soft between Tag’s toes, While moving around the ship or on duty, the Saptans wore sandals, but in the cabin they were removed and stacked beside the door. 

Tag felt the warm air on his neck. Somehow it felt right to be in the light tunics of the Saptans. They were all dressed in muted blue green, the thin cloth rustling across his body like summer clothes. Tag touched his neck, not thinking about anything in particular, running his hand across the smooth flesh.

He saw Bist catch Rast’s eye for a second and the slow horizontal movement of Rast’s hand that meant no or not now. It felt so different not to have the high collar of the Alliance uniforms.

“Tag, stay close to Bist,” Rast said. “This will be a formal meal; he’ll help you with the protocol.”

“Keep your eyes down; don’t speak unless spoken to, and eat everything in sight,” Bist said and smiled slightly. “Rast and Kip will have to do all the work. We can enjoy the food. This is when it’s good to be ki.”

Tag swallowed. He had been hungry and looking forward to something besides ready to eat rations, but now he was queasy. This was going to some kind of state dinner that he didn’t feel at all prepared to attend. He touched his neck again. “Will I need to talk to them?”

“Do not talk to a kwi unless they ask you a question. Feel free to talk to any ki. You understand how to tell the difference?” Bist asked.

“The ki will have a collar. Tag unconsciously touched his neck again. “I don’t have one. Is that OK?”

“No,” Bist said, “but Rast will not budge.”

“I will not give him something before he can fully judge its implications,” Rast said.

“But can you protect an uncollared ki?” Bist asked.

“I left you uncollared for months.”

“We were alone. You may not have that luxury.”

“I have spoken to Sar. He understands my reasoning.”

“He is but one of how many kwi here?”

“Bist keep him out of trouble. Do not give anyone reason to think twice about him. I will hear no more about this.”

“I yield.” Bist dropped his head to the left and took a deep breath, calming himself. 

“Bist,” Tag said. He couldn’t keep the plaintive sound out of his voice.

Bist stroked Tag’s wrist, his thumb rubbing up and down the pulse point. “Be the quiet anthropologist, and you’ll be fine.”

Bist had formally yielded to Rast, but his expression was tight with slim furrows around his eyes and tracking across his forehead. The formality of Bist’s words to Rast underscored the tension in the situation. Bist was ki. He was submissive or subordinate or whatever inadequate word that Tag could use to describe it, but Rast rarely insisted on a formal declaration of Bist’s status. 

“Tag, don’t over think things,” Bist said and flicked Tag across the neck. 

“Do I need a collar?” Tag absently rubbed his bare neck.

“That is not my place to answer,” Bist said formally.

Which meant yes.

“Tag, once you are collared, you are marked as mine and permanently bound to me. It is not something I will do without you fully understanding the ramifications. You will be fine.” Rast said the last words with a finality that both underscored his desire for no further questions and highlighted Rast’s own anxiety.

Bist kept Tag close as he ran a brush through his dark curls and harassed and prodded the others through dressing and preparation for a state dinner. The twins were smiling and laughing, obviously relieved to be back among their own people. Lak was quiet, but she too seemed unconcerned about the upcoming dinner and joined in the speculation with Brin and Tisp about the prospective dishes. They were having a friendly argument over the merits of certain Saptan fruits when Bist herded them out the door. Kip and Rast had left moments earlier, undoubtedly to collect the Orosians and brief them on protocol.

Tag wanted to trail behind Bist and company as they made their way through the ship, but Bist kept one hand on Tag’s shoulder. The ship was huge, far bigger than anything the Alliance had, with wide main corridors that in a few places even had views to the star field outside. They took a high speed lift up several floors and walked down another corridor which was lined with small trees weighted down with yellow and orange fruit.

“This is a slight detour, but we have the time, and I see the strain in your body.” Bist’s hand brushed down Tag’s neck.  “From our conversations, I believe nature and natural beauty assist humans in finding their calm. On these large ships, we have our own gardens and orchards. We produce much of our own food, and the plants provided additional oxygen.”

“Are they edible?” Tag asked, eying the fruit.

“Yes,” Bist said and plucked a golden yellow fruit and tossed it to Tag.

Tag palmed the fruit; the skin was smooth and satiny like an apple, but the flesh felt softer, and a sweet smell similar to lavender rose from the fruit.

“Taste it. Don’t do a science experiment on it,” Bist said. “You can eat the peel.”

Tag bit into the fruit; juice seeped down his chin. He ran his tongue over the succulent fruit. 

“Like a peach?” Bist asked.

“Close, but it’s..I don’t know. It has a grape-like flavor also.”

“It’s my favorite,” Tisp said and grabbed one off a tree. “They are the fruits of summer. They grace the fruit basket on the table during the summer cycle.”

Tag was sure the fruit probably held important symbolic meaning during the festival. All the Saptan festivals were elaborate, and Tag usually enjoyed hearing about them, but today he was nervous about dinner and wanted to concentrate on not offending or humiliating Bist or Rast. Tag might be the only human expert on Saptan culture, but he felt overwhelmed at being suddenly immersed in their environment.

“It will be fine.” Bist squeezed Tag’s shoulder. “And yes, I know. You are very transparent.”

Tag flushed and looked away.

“That was not an insult,” Bist said.

Tag felt himself blush redder. “I should know that by now,” he muttered.

“We were crammed in with the Orosians for weeks. Your confusion is understandable, as you played the unenviable role of liaison between the two peoples. Your mind doesn’t know if you should behave as a Saptan, a human, or some confused hybrid of the two.”

I’m not Saptan, Tag thought. I can’t be a Saptan. I will at best be a hybrid of the two or a boy at a fancy dress party pretending to be the exciting space alien.

“You are ki. That makes you as good as being born on Saptan.” Bist stroked Tag’s neck. “Don’t ever doubt you are one of our seven, no matter what anyone may say. You are as much ki  as I am, maybe more so.”

Tag blinked and adjusted his mind set as he entered a cavernous room. He knew Saptans didn’t use furniture, but he still hadn’t imagined a formal dinner on the floor. The Saptans had arranged themselves into interlocking rings. Bist guided Tag to a place on the colorful carpet and sank down next to him. In the center of each Saptan circle was a tray piled high with colorful fruits and a steaming tureen. Bist reached for the tray and filled the individual silver bowls with the fragrant mixture from the tureen. Tag’s mouth watered as the aroma wafted toward him. 

“”Pass the bowl to Rast. He is served first at a formal meal.”

The bowls were passed to all in their seven. Rast rose and held the bowl to his chest and then lifted it away from him in a two handed toasting gesture. Sar had risen from his place and mirrored the gesture before bringing the bowl to his lips and taking a sip. Rast sank back to the floor.

“Eat after I take the first swallow,” Rast said, primarily to the Orosians, but Tag knew he was also included in the directions. 

Tag lifted the bowl to his mouth and sipped a small amount of the scalding liquid. He coughed as the fire hit his throat. Tag’s eyes watered as he worked his throat to swallow the pepper filled broth.

“Are you all right?” Bist asked.

“Is your food always this spicy?”

“I remember you complaining about bland food.” Bist reached forward and took a green nut from the tray and a small grater. He grated a thimbleful of green shavings into Tag’s bowl. “Try it now.”

Tag took a cautious sip. “Better.”

Tisp leaned forward from the far side of the circle. “I don’t like my food fiery either. Follow what I eat.”

Tag had no more mishaps with the food and ate until he was almost uncomfortable. Twice a Saptan refilled the tray in front of him, but except for Rast’s seven and the Orosians no one tried to talk to him. Tag noticed several Saptans staring at him, but as soon as he would try to catch their eye, they would looked away. 

Tag tried to discreetly watch the other Saptans as he munched a handful of nuts coated in sugar and a spice that smelled and tasted of cloves and cinnamon. Kin had worked his way around the loops of Saptans and sank to his knees beside Bist. He was dressed in lilac colored shorts and tunic; a crystal beaded necklace swung from his neck. 

“Did you have plenty to eat?” Kin asked Bist, pointedly ignoring Tag.

“Yes. Do you have a concern?”

“He is still uncollared,” Kin said and pointed at Tag.

“He has a name, and it is Tag,” Bist said in the slow lilt of an annoyed Saptan.”That is Rast’s business. You are not kwi. Do not pretend to be above your station.”

“Your temperament has not been improved by being lost in uncharted space.”

Rast had silently slid behind Kin and moved close, his knees touching Kin’s back. “Have Sar speak to me if it is a concern.”

“A wave of rumors is already flowing among us.”

“I am not responsible for ki rumors. I will speak to Sar or the other kwi if they have concerns.” Rast turned his head away in an obvious gesture of dismissal.

Kin chose to ignore him and turned back to Bist. “Is he always this abrupt? I’d heard he was an enlightened kwi. I guess you can never take the north out of a northerner.”

“Kin, I am Bist San K’Rast. Do you wish me to find K’Sar?” Bist asked Rast, ignoring the look on Kin’s face.

“No,” Rast said. “I understand your friend’s trepidation. I have brought a stranger into Saptan society. We do not do change easily, but sometimes it is necessary. I believe Kin understands the error of his ways.”

“Go,” Bist said to Kin, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Rast is not always this generous, and you deserved worse.”

Tag watched Kin scramble back into the milling colors of the Saptans. Each seven was in a different color and now that they were talking and mingling amongst themselves the room look like pastels splashed carelessly across a canvas. Most wore necklaces around their necks, ranging from a simple leather throng with a charm to large stones which Tag assumed were either precious or semiprecious and not glass beads.

“I think you scared him, Rast,” Bist said with a flash of a genuine smile.

“Yes, and you enjoyed it.” Rast flipped his hand through Bist’s hair.

“It’s nice not being on the receiving end for a change.”

Rast wrapped his hand around the thin strand of leather and beads around Bist’s neck. “You are my ki, Bist San K’Rast. Don’t you ever forget that. I will protect you, guide you, learn from you as sworn to you before a tradition of more than two thousand years. May the gods curse on my grave if I don’t uphold the Great Accord.”

“You honor me.” Bist dropped to one knee, his head down, hair cascading over his face. 

Rast touched the top of Bist’s head and both shoulders before pulling him to his feet. “They already question my sanity. Do not give them more ammunition.”

“That is the tradition,” Bist said in an undertone.

“Yes, but we have not been away long enough for you to forget the difference between the tradition and how we live on the home world. I need to go be a politician again. Keep yourselves out of trouble.”

“Yes, K’Rast,” Bist said and tipped his head to the left.