A Planned Improvisation (11 page)

“Thank you, Iris Fain,” the Teller, Kratitoc responded. Gractic, the warrior, made a formal gesture, Iris had learned was a salute. “There seems to be a lot of activity here. Is this normal?”

She knew all three of the giant ant-like creatures were shamans among their people; males who did not fit into the customary male roles. Tack was a mystic. He had visions and acted on them. Iris was uncertain whether Tack could genuinely see the future, but she knew that he thought he did. Gractic was a very rare male warrior. Most warriors among the Atackack were females, but every so often a male exhibited the mindset and aptitude of a warrior and when he did, he too was inducted into the shamanate of his tribe and allowed to pursue his interest and skill for the benefit of the tribe. Kratitoc, the teller, was a sort of wandering minstrel. Among the Atackack it was his job to go from place to place, telling the old stories as well as spreading news. Such tellers had no true home town, but were welcome wherever they happened to be.

“Down here at the dock?” Iris chuckled. “Not really, but we have an important wedding coming in two days, the ambassador from Dennsee is getting married, so we’re going all out.”

“What are those words?” Gractic asked politely. “Married? Wedding?”

“It is their formal mating ceremony,” Tack supplied. “The Mer do it as well. While we are here we shall observe and learn.”

“That is our purpose,” Kratitoc replied.

“We are also here to teach,” Gractic added.

“Yes,” Tack nodded. The gesture was one he learned during his association with Mer and Humans. The Atackack normally gestured emotions with their arms. “Kratitoc and Gractic will be staying here when I leave. They have come to both learn and teach in your school. Learning and understanding, peace and coorperation.”

“Sounds good to me,” Iris told him. “We need more teachers.”

“And students,” Tack added. “One truly dies when he stops learning.”

Iris wanted to ask if Tack had arrived in Van Winkle Town at this time because of his vision, but knew that everything he did was because of his vision and that he rarely gave details about it in any case. Over the next two days she was too busy to worry about that or the Atackacks.

Two mornings later both Park’s and Iris’ torcs chimed in unison while the sun was still considering whether to rise, indicating they had incoming calls. “Hello?” Iris responded. Park merely swore as he knocked his torc off the nightstand and to the floor.

“Now?” he heard Iris ask as his torc continued to chime and he fell out of bed, trying to grab it. “I understand the reasoning, but this is a fully equipped aerospace port. They do not have to land at sunrise or sunset.”

“Who’s landing?” Park asked as he finally reached under the bed and grabbed the torc.

“Park?” Arn asked, his head and shoulders suddenly appearing upside down under the bed. Park pulled the torc out, put it on and the image flipped around right side up. “Better get down here. The princess is going to be landing in half an hour.”

“Princess?” Park asked.

“The green kid’s bride-to-be,” Arn amplified.

“That green kid is an ambassador, Arn,” Park corrected him, “and why is Melise landing so early in the morning?”

“The captain of her ship doesn’t trust our ability to assure him of a smooth surface to land on,” Arn replied sourly, “so he’s insisting on landing at dawn when the light will show every speck of dust on the runway.”

“Is he coming down vertically?” Park laughed.

“No, his ship lands on a runway like ours do,” Arn replied. “Either he’s some prima dona type or he thinks we’re
 
a bunch of savages.”

“Tell him he’ll be fine if he lands on all-terrain tires,” Park suggested.

“I can’t do that,” Arn replied seriously and scowled for just a moment. “No, I take that back. That’s exactly what I will do.”

“I was only kidding,” Park told him.

“I’m not,” Arn retorted. “If that jacked up bush pilot wants us to jump to his tune, he’s got another thing coming. I already authorized the dawn landing, before calling you, but he doesn’t know it yet.”

“A little childish, isn’t it?” Park asked.

“No more so than his insistence that we be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 0’dark thirty,” Arn replied. “Park, my fun aside, we need you and Iris down here pronto.”

“We’re on our way, Arn,” Iris called from across the room.

“Hey, you guys!” Marisea shouted from the next room. “We got a ship coming in. The port wants
Phoenix Child
aloft before they land.”

“What?” Park asked. “This isn’t an enemy ship coming in. We don’t have to scramble.”

“Lord Rebbert is asking us to be a sort of honor guard,” Marisea told him, “and escort the other ship down.”

“When did he come up with that idea?” Park muttered. “Oh well, he gave us at least an hour’s notice. Arn, do me a favor and have a skeleton crew scrambled for me.”

“I’ll have your jet tanks filled as well,” Arn promised. “Just don’t try to get into orbit. You’re a tad short of rocket fuel.” He abruptly winked out.

“This is ridiculous,” Park muttered.

“I’ll say,” Iris laughed. “You’re not even dressed yet.” She was, however, and tossed a shirt and a pair of jeans at him. He caught the shirt, missing the jeans, but a few minutes later he was out the door with Iris and Marisea on his heals.

The port was lit up with every light available. “I don’t think it’s this bright when the sun’s up,” Marisea chuckled.

“You two had better get on board your ship,” Iris told them.

“You’re not coming?” Marisea asked.

“It might be politically incorrect to have the weapons officer on board,” Iris smiled, “but Dannet asked me to be here to greet Melise when she lands.”

“I just hope someone thought to call catering to have coffee on board,” Park muttered.

“Good luck!” Iris told him, dropping him off by the ship.

Park’s skeleton crew was on board running through their checklists as he and Marisea climbed the rolling stairway. “Hi, Park!” one of two Atackack engineers hailed him. “It seems Veronica Sheetz is not with us tonight.”

“No, Ronnie’s still in Questo,” Park told him, then took another look. This was Tegack, one of the few Atackack females at Van Winkle. “I guess you’ll be our chief engineer tonight, Tegack.”

“That is what we were discussing,” Tegack admitted. “I am senior to Hakackitic, but I am not certain I have sufficient training.”

“You probably know more than I do,” Park told her. “Don’t worry, we won’t be using the rockets this morning.”

“Yes, sir,” Tegack responded.

Making his way to the bridge, Park discovered Marisea had gone on without him and was now speaking to another Atackack who was sitting in the pilot’s seat. “Park,” Marisea told him. “Tragackack is nervous about piloting.”

“Don’t be,” Park told the Atackack pilot. “You’ve been at the controls with Tina or Paul a dozen times at least.”

“But never alone,” Tragackack protested. Park wanted to laugh, but he knew that the Atackack did almost everything in groups in their homelands. An Atackack who truly felt comfortable alone was a rare thing.

“You’re not alone,” Park told him. “We’re here with you. Either Garro – he indicated the Mer navigator – or I can fly this bird if need be. Is that all we have on board? Two engineers, a pilot a navigator and a comm officer?”

“And our captain,” Marisea
 
added. “The ship does feel empty, doesn’t it?”

“Well, I did ask for a skeleton crew,” Park shrugged, “and all we probably need is a pilot. Garro, do we have a heading yet?”

“Just coming in, skipper,” Garro replied.

“Okay,” Park nodded. “Marisea, tell our engineers they can close the hatch.”

“Not yet, Park,” she stopped him. “That coffee you ordered is just arriving.”

A minute later, to Park’s surprise, Marisea’s father Taodore Waisau arrived with a two thermal bottles filled with coffee. “Sorry, I’m late, old man,” he told Park. “If you like I can serve after we lift off.”

“You’re coming too?” Park asked.

“Of course,” Taodore laughed. “Official member of the welcoming committee and all that. Sartena should have been here as well, but we couldn’t find her in time.”

“She’s missing?” Park asked.

“Not anymore,” Taodore laughed as the ship began to move away from the terminal. “Turned out she flew to Ghelati last night for some sort of trade talks with the Fishermen’s Union. We didn’t find her until we tried a long distance search. She promises to be back later today.”

“Shouldn’t the welcoming committee be waiting here for Melise to land?” Park asked.

“Lord Rebbert’s idea, old man,” Taodore replied. “Something about Dennseean protocols. It’s alien to me, but apparently it involves having suitably highly ranked personnel on the escort ship.”

“I don’t qualify?” Park asked, then decided, “no, maybe I don’t. My rank is kinda nebulous in diplomatic terms.”

“Oh, I think you do qualify, Park,” Taodore replied, “It’s just that the more the better. This way both Humans and Mer are represented.”

“Then he should have sent Tack up with us,” Park pointed out. The ship paused at the edge of the runway to await final clearance.

“He should have, yes,” Taodore agreed. “I am sure it just slipped his mind.”

Park wasn’t as certain as Taodore professed to be, but he let it slide. There was no time to go back for the Atackack mystic now. The sky had already faded from black to steely gray with the Eastern edge definitely lighter than the rest.

Once in the air, Tragackack’s groundside hesitation vanished and his expertly brought the ship around and headed for their rendezvous with the bridal ship. Fifteen minutes later they spotted a bright red glowing point on their path.

“Are they coming down on a ballistic course?” Park wondered.

“Not quite,” Garro replied, “but they do seem to be in a hurry. They’re decelerating under power now. It’s their rockets we’re seeing. A little low in the atmosphere for that, but there’s no one out here to wake up with the racket besides a few grazers.”

“Strange piloting,” Tragackack added. “You would think they were approaching a hostile world.”

“Attention, unidentified Earth craft!” an arrogant voice came over the radio. “You are in the path of the His Lordship’s Ship,
National
. Make way!”

“
National
,” Marisea responded with far more politeness and patience than Park was feeling. “This is the Earth ship
Phoenix Child
.”

“Out of our way,
Phoenix Child
,” the voice of
National
responded. “We carry the bride of the heir of Dennsee and must not be impeded.”

“
National
,” Marisea retorted, “by the request of Lord Rebbert of Dennsee we are here to escort you to Van Winkle Town Aerospaceport.”

There was a long pause then, grudgingly, “Very well
Phoenix Child
, we will allow you that honor.”

“
National
,” Park cut in, steel and controlled anger in his voice, “This be Captain McArrgh of
Phoenix Child,”
he used the fictitious name that he felt would be best known among the Alliance, “and this be our air space you are in just now. Follow the course setting we be sending ye and all will be well. Arr!” he added for good measure in his best imitation of a movie pirate.

“So the Pirates send a pirate to greet us?” the voice of
National
responded grimly, but he stopped abruptly. “What, my lady?” Over the radio, Park and the others could hear a female voice saying something but could not make out the words. “Very well, McArrgh,” the male voice begrudged finally. “We shall follow your lead.”

“I hope Melise isn’t as prickly as her captain,” Park commented.

“I think that may have been Melise bringing the captain up short,” Marisea told him, “or maybe her mother.”

“Could be,” Taodore agreed, “although that spot of unpleasantness could have been avoided had ground control told them we were coming.”

“I thought they had,” Park replied. “Although we were all taken by surprise. Let it go.”

“Skipper,” Garro spoke up. “I’m picking up a faint blip on the radar. Below us but along our course.”

“Not an attack?” Park asked tensely.

“No, sir,” Garro responded. “More like a cloud rising slowly from the ground.”

“
Tawatiri
, maybe?” Marisea asked, referring to a species of floating octopus. The
tawatiri
did not fly so much as fill up with hydrogen and float with the wind. At certain times of the year they would migrate in large groups. “They would be rising just before dawn.”

“It is a little late in the season for the migration,” Taodore considered, “but not impossibly late. This could be a group of stragglers headed for the Sink.” The Sink was what the Mer referred to as the great inland sea that had once been the Indian Ocean.

Park considered that and decided, “Let’s take no chances. Garro, please plot an alternate course around that cloud and Marisea, tell
National
to stand by.”

“What is this?” the
National’s
captain demanded, when Marisea relayed Park’s instructions. “We will fly directly to the port without your silly detours.”

“Captain,” Park cut in. “We have a cloud of flying octopi in our path. They are filled with hydrogen so not only would sucking one or two into your jets clog the air intakes, but would probably cause an explosion as well. Follow our revised course around the cloud, if you please. Or even if you don’t” he added acidly. “Bloody martinet, has to have it all his way.”

“What was that?”
National’s
captain demanded.

“Sorry, Park,” Marisea winced. “I didn’t severe the connection fast enough.”

“My fault, kiddo,” Park told her. “There’s a bright red light that tells me when the mike is live. I ignored it. Is he still ranting?”

“Says he intends to put you on report,” Marisea grinned.

“Inform the captain that my direct superior is one Doctor Parker Holman,” Park grinned back, “who will be happy to entertain his complaints at the earliest opportunity.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Marisea laughed.