11
Captain Chrysta Logan
The new human settlement blossomed on Dobro.
Assisted by the Ildiran soldiers and the Dobro colonists, everything and everyone was unloaded from the generation ship with great speed and efficiency. Cargo boxes dropped down in a constant sequence. Passenger shuttles went up to orbit and back down, delivering people as fast as temporary shelters could be erected.
Chrysta was amazed by the diversity of the alien kiths. Worker kithmen were muscular and shaggy, while nobles and military officers were handsome and more human-looking. There were diggers, doctors, storytellers, and engineers, everyone with slightly different features and skill sets.
The builder kithmen assisted the human colonists in erecting structural frameworks—first large tents, then permanent structures. The work teams used the standard plans from the Burton’s databases, pouring concrete foam, raising hollow steel frame-works. Everyone pitched in, working together as if they had choreographed a complicated dance.
While the work was under way, Chrysta spent a great deal of time with the intelligent and attractive Dobro Designate. Together, they walked along a rise overlooking patches of crops the Ildirans had planted. With the cultivating machines aboard the Burton, Chrysta knew they could greatly expand the arable land. The new colonists would have no trouble producing enough to feed themselves—after they settled in.
“Our ship has few remaining supplies, Designate,” she said as they walked through rustling, brittle grasses. A line of hills surrounded the valley, and from there Chrysta and the Dobro Designate could see the untamed lands. “It’s been a century and a half since we left Earth. Much of our vital seed stock was consumed by starving passengers, and we had to impose harsh rationing. By then the damage was done. We’ll need your help to get on our feet again.”
“You need have no worries here, Chrysta Logan,” the Designate said. “The Dobro colony has sufficient reserves, and your people obviously work hard enough to form a rewarding partner-ship with us. I will offer any resources you need.”
“You’re a real life-saver, Designate.” She smiled at him, then pushed her headband back. Distracted, she tripped on a tangle of weeds, but he caught her quickly. “A life-saver again! Thank you.” Embarrassed, she freed her foot. “You know, I spent my entire life walking on metal decks and perfectly flat floors. I’m not used to this. You’ll have to teach me the basics of living on a planet.”
“We can teach each other.” The Designate’s eyes clung to hers. “I find you fascinating.”
She let out a chuckle, “Are you flirting with me, Designate?” She, of course, had been flirting with him. And she wondered if that was even a concept the Ildirans could understand. She added quickly, “I find you fascinating as well, Designate. And all of the Ildirans. But you in particular, you’re … different.”
“As I told you before, I am a son of the Mage-Imperator.” When he smiled back at her, she wondered if he had learned the expression from her. His question sounded impulsive. “Would you care to dine with me, Captain Logan?”
She continued to walk through the grasses. “A business meeting?”
“No, a … personal meeting.”
“Then, I accept,” she said. “But you’d better call me Chrysta.”
As night fell on Dobro, the Ildirans lit blazers, glowing spot-lights that illuminated the entire town as a defense against the darkness. She had learned that the main Ildiran star system was constantly bathed in the light of seven nearby stars, so darkness never occurred naturally. On splinter colonies like Dobro, Ildirans did everything possible to keep lights shining at all hours, even through the darkest night.
In the Designate’s residence, blazers filled the main dining room with a white-orange glow; his attenders had also set out fragrant candles that offered a softer flame, surrounded by arrangements of berries, leaves, and fruit that could either have been decorations or delicacies. Chrysta decided to follow his lead.
“So, do you have a personal name, or do I have to keep calling you Designate?”
“I am the Dobro Designate, and that is the totality of my identity. But, I am also called Rekar’h. You may use that, if it seems less formal to you.”
“Rekar’h it is, then.”
In small crystal glasses the Designate had poured a violet beverage. He did not tell her its name, but as soon as he took a sip, encouraging her, Chrysta drank as well. The liquid tasted sweet and spicy at the same time, heady … probably intoxicating.
She touched her glass against his. “This is called a toast, a celebration of friends meeting. Perhaps we’ll become better friends.”
He took another sip of his drink. “Our goals would appear to be similar, Chrysta. I feel there will be a bond between our two races, your settlement and ours, humans and Ildirans forming a tapestry that benefits both.”
Chrysta knew that the Burton’s crew still carried raw wounds. Although they were relieved to have reached the end of their marathon, she needed to establish enough clout that no volatile group could ever overthrow her again. She’d been through one close call, and she still didn’t trust some of the mutineers. She had to ensure that she kept her authority, and she had to move quickly.
She leaned forward, took a chance. “A close alliance with you, Rekar’h—a very close alliance—would help me a great deal. It would also make our new town strong and stable, and my leader-ship unquestioned.”
His brow furrowed, wrinkling the circle tattoo. “Is there cause for concern?”
“Before the Ildiran warliners found the Burton, we had some … tense moments onboard. I would rather not revisit them.”
“Indeed.” He led her out on the open balcony of his residence. The night air was clear and fresh, although the bright blazers drowned out any stars overhead. She could hear the eerie, ratcheting whistles of Dobro night insects.
“For myself,” the Designate ventured, “a union with the Burton’s captain would demonstrate to the Mage-Imperator and all other Ildirans that we have established a profitable and permanent venture.”
She stepped closer, faced him, and took another sip of the delicious violet beverage. Later, she could blame the intoxicating effects of the strange alien drink, but that would be a flimsy excuse. “A union … you mean like a marriage?”
“Is that how you define it?”
She leaned even closer. “Of course, it would be a marriage of formality, only.”
He whispered against her face, “Yes … a simple bureaucratic alliance.” He touched his glass to hers imitating the toast. “To friends becoming closer friends.”
She folded her fingers into his, holding his hand. “Let me show you how it’s done, Rekar’h,” she said. “There’s much more to it than that.”