Asimov's Science Fiction: July 2013

www.carrievaughn.com
> is the author of the New York
Times
bestselling series of novels about a werewolf named Kitty, the most recent installment of which is
Kitty Rocks the House.
She also wrote the young adult novels
Voices of Dragons
and
Steel,
and the novels
Discord's Apple
and
After the Golden Age.
Carrie is a contributor to the Wild Cards series of shared world superhero books edited by George R.R. Martin, and her short stories have appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies. In 2011, she was nominated for a Hugo Award for best short story. An Air Force brat, she survived her nomadic childhood and managed to put down roots in Boulder, Colorado. In her latest story for us, an interstellar negotiater finds that the hardest skill to master may be...

This was not how I imagined my career ending. I'd hoped for a blaze of glory, a fiery punctuation mark, starships screaming through an atmosphere before crashing, hand-to-hand battles with the robot minions of an evil empire. At the very least. Not the most hideously uncomfortable meeting I'd ever been a part of.

We had already gone around in circles for twenty minutes. Describing the incident, trying to predict inherently unpredictable outcomes, avoiding veiled accusations. The Trade Guild liaison who'd been assigned to clean up the mess, an Agent Parma, desperately wanted a scapegoat, displaying a simmering need in her eyes that had me reaching for a blaster pistol that wasn't on my hip. The
Raja Ampat
's captain, Song, was certain this would all blow over if we just ignored it. The trouble was, I didn't know which of them was right. Because of my direct actions, the Trade Guild had been barred from Cancri Four. How big a deal that was depended on who you asked. Somehow, Song had to convince Parma to just go away, but Parma wasn't going.

A pause came in the conversation, and for several long moments, none of us said a word. Captain Song watched me warily, no doubt waiting for me to lose it. Parma hung back from the conference table where Song and I had parked. All the cards were on the table. It only remained to see who was going to do anything with them.

There was, I decided, a simple way to cut through this mess. "Sir," I said, standing, smoothing out the fabric of my uniform jumpsuit. "I'd like to offer my resignation immediately—"

"Major Daring, you will not," he said, without even thinking.

But Parma's gaze lit up. The two of them engaged in a brief, silent contest of wills, and I realized they'd already discussed this possibility, just not in front of me. Parma had asked for my resignation, Song had already refused, and this was probably out of my hands one way or another.

After a moment of glaring at Song, Parma sighed. "Major Daring, that won't be necessary. You're far too valuable an asset and your experience will be appreciated moving forward."

Parma's vote of confidence was a political nicety. I was too valuable to let go but too much a liability to keep around. Did they think I was too naïve to understand what was really being said here? I dug my heels in for a fight. The mention of resigning—the forced opportunity to just
go away
and do something else, suddenly seemed golden. "Sir, my resignation offers the best compromise—"

"You will not resign," Song said. "Major, truly. This isn't worth throwing away your career over. The Guild won't require such an extreme gesture." Parma frowned but didn't argue, so maybe he was right.

There didn't seem to be much of my career left to throw away. If I didn't resign, I'd be demoted, taken off the Diplomatic Corps, and who knew what else. I'd rather leave entirely.

Parma edged closer. "If I might perhaps suggest early retirement rather than resignation as a more respectable alternative."

Semantics. We were arguing semantics.

I knew that look on Song's face, the gritted teeth and the glare to cut steel. He was wishing he was on the
Raja Ampat
so he could just throw this woman off. But we weren't, we were on the Cancri transit station, and neither Trade Guild nor Mil Div had jurisdiction here. And that was the problem: my screw-up—which still hadn't been off icially def ined as a screw-up, or this would have been a much simpler process—happened on a joint mission, and now no one knew what to do with me. Which was why walking away was looking better and better.

"Agent Parma, would you excuse us for a moment?" Song said finally.

"Of course." Parma bowed herself out of the room in a gesture of precise politeness, hands together and eyes lowered. She wasn't enjoying this, I realized. She just wanted it all to go away so she could do her job—making Trade Guild look good. Small comfort.

"Sit," Song said after she'd gone, and I did, ref lexively following command. But he didn't say anything else.

So I said, "Retirement isn't a bad idea. Looks better in the records than resignation, doesn't it? We can just say I'd lost my edge and it was time."

"Don't tell me you really want to retire. You have another twenty years of service in you. Thirty years. You won't retire, you don't have it in you."

I raised an eyebrow, because he made it sound like a challenge. "The Guild will never be allowed back in the Cancri system, not in any of our lifetimes. Not after what I did."

"So what? It's a nothing system. And this was Trade Guild's fault—they didn't do the proper intel, and now they're trying to pin the blame on us. Don't sacrif ice yourself for them."

That
us
gave me an unexpected warm feeling. He had my back. "Anybody can do my job," I muttered. I commanded a Mil Div diplomatic security unit. A very experienced, very good unit. But at best I was a glorif ied bodyguard. And I'd destroyed the mission, this go around.

Song leaned back, steepled his hands, glared some more. "What would you say if I told you that blowing the drones was the right call? The Di didn't want us there, they
were going to find a way to sabotage the meeting at some point, you were just the first one to see it and beat them to the punch."

"I'd say it's a little more complicated than that," I answered, deadpan.

"Good thing I'm making the report to the Guild and not you, then. Forget about Parma, I'll handle her. Here's what I want you to do: take a leave of absence. Just a month or two. Let this blow over, let the next scandal distract everyone, and you can get your head on straight and come back and do your job, no demotions. Where's home for you?"

I hated when people asked that. "I don't really have one."

"Family? You must have family somewhere."

I did. Zelda, Mim, Tom, on Ariana. I'd already thought of them, in that moment when retirement sounded like the best plan in the universe. But Ariana was their home, not mine. Could I make it mine?

"Go visit them. Sit still and do nothing for a month and see how you feel about retirement then."

"Sir, Captain Song, I appreciate that, but I really think it would be better for everyone—for the ship, for the Guild, if I left—"

"You're not thinking straight. Get out of here and clear your head so you can listen to yourself. Maybe you're right, maybe you're ready to retire. But try it first before you give up on the
Raja Ampat
and Mil Div."

This was the real compromise Song had already worked out for himself—get me away for a little while so he could clean up, then welcome me back, no harm done. What the captain didn't understand was how serious I was about the retirement. I already had a standing offer for another life. Maybe it was time to give it a try.

Nobody in the arrival lounge was wearing a uniform, which I'd expected, so it shouldn't have bothered me. But I was wearing mine, dark blue with pale-green piping, silver rank tabs glaring obvious on the collar. After the last three years on the
Raja Ampat
surrounded by uniforms, being planetside among civilians felt weird. I should have changed clothes—if I'd had anything more appropriate to change into. Gym shorts, maybe. People were looking at me, but not with anything more than casual interest. Not many Mil Div off icers came through here, that was all. They were interested, not accusing. I was the one who was uncomfortable. Zelda would loan me some more casual clothes until I could get some outfits of my own.

Officially, this was a holiday, but I couldn't stop worrying. About my clothes, about seeing Zelda after almost a decade apart. About whether I'd even be going back to the
Raja Ampat,
or staying. Captain Song, Agent Parma, no one else was going to make the decision. No one wanted to be the one to boot out the decorated Major Daring. So it was up to me to decide, and I was too tired to think straight.

Reaching immigration and customs, seeing the agents in their gray jumpsuits, badges on their shoulders, was something of a relief. Fellow off icers, people who understood the stiffness in my posture and seriousness in my gaze. But no, the guy still gave me that curious, mildly awestruck
look
that the civilians were giving me. I offered my wrist and its implant for the agent to scan. His answering smile was broad and welcoming, like something out of a tourism advert.

"Here on holiday, Major Daring?" Was it worse that the smile seemed genuine, and not a put on?

"Maybe, unless I decide to stay." My accent was foreign here, too f lat and atonal next to his lilting, rolling voice.

"Wouldn't that be something?" he said, clicking his scanner until a light went green. "Have a marvelous time, Major."

The rank didn't feel right anymore and made me twitch. "Wendy. Just Wendy, here," I murmured.

People mostly came to Ariana on holiday, but the planet attracted a larger than usual number of immigrants. The habitable continents remained intentionally pastoral; the whole economy was based on agriculture, agricultural support, and tourism. People who came here to live were expected to work hard, but for the right people, the reward was paradise. Zelda, Mim, and Tom had come here eight standard years ago, took every crash course in artisanal farming they could, homesteaded, and became Arianan. Even their accents had shifted, as I'd noted in their vid messages over the years. My own sister sounded foreign, now. Like I'd told the captain—I didn't really have a home.

I finally escaped immigration and went through sliding doors to an outdoor courtyard.

Here was sunshine filtered through an oxygenated planetary atmosphere, which didn't feel like any other kind of light in the universe. I stopped, put my hand up to shade my eyes. How long had it been since I'd stood under open sky? Was the sudden bout of vertigo real, or did I only think I ought to be feeling this dizzy? I smelled unf iltered air, scented with trees and f lowers and something roasting on a food cart somewhere. The courtyard opened to a street with pedicabs and a moving sidewalk, and kiosks offered guided tours of the capital city, Sage. I'd need more than a month to take all this in, surely.

And there was Zelda, waving and yelling. "Wendy! Wendy Wendy Wendy!"

My sister looked like some kind of elf from a story, in a loose white shirt and knee-length pants, red hair pulled back from her face and falling loose past her shoulders, face dappled with freckles, arms taut with muscles. And that smile.

Behind her, sitting in an open-canopied gray ground car, were Mim and Tom, twin brother and sister. Mim had short dark hair, mahogany skin, a bright blue dress, and a necklace of beads; as pastoral and otherworldly as Zelda. Sitting at the steering column, Tom wore a tunic and pants, and his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Wry and welcoming, he hadn't changed at all since the last time I'd seen him. I didn't know why I'd been worried.

Zelda ran up and caught me in a tackling, rib-crushing hug. I was almost too stunned to respond.

"I missed you so much!" Zelda exclaimed, laughing.

That wave of dizziness again, overwhelming. To finally be here with Zelda, to see them all again in the f lesh, no video delay, no recording. Zelda hadn't changed, everything had changed.

"Careful," I said, pulling away to regain my balance. "I'm a bit wobbly. Still feels like I'm on the rocket." Zelda nodded as if she understood and hugged me again, gently.

When Song said take time off, I supposed I could have gone to any one of a thousand planets with sun-drenched beaches, powder-covered mountains, gorgeous vistas, or luxurious resorts. I'd been given a generous allowance and an enviable stretch of time with which to decide my future. But I came here, and this was why.

Zelda and Mim married young, twenty-three and twenty-four standard, far too young most of us thought, even more so when they came up with their outrageous plan to move to Ariana and raise goats. The plan didn't surprise me—it was Zelda all over, romantic and impossible, full of dreams, lacking details. I was more worried for Mim and what would happen to the relationship when they got halfway there and Zelda lost interest. But she didn't lose interest. Moreover, they'd invited Tom to come with them, and he did. They worked out a business plan, entered the lottery for a land grant, won, and the future opened up for all three of them.

They invited me to come with them, too. Well, Tom did, really. But I'd just landed my position in the Diplomatic Security Corps and my career had too much momentum to turn away from it for anything. Especially goat farming. Hard, right at the moment, to remember what that had felt like, willing to give up everything for the corps. The galaxy had seemed very big, then. Right now, I thought I might be just competent enough to handle a goat farm and not much else.

Over the last eight years I'd been present during first contact protocols for six different alien civilizations, become certified to provide security during summits with twelve more, and had briefed countless system governing bodies on security concerns and xeno relations. I had the kind of life people wrote stories about.

But Zelda did, too. In a technology-drenched galaxy, she had brought to life an ancient time. Their farm targeted the luxury foods market with goat cheese and home-grown herbs, which they exported off planet, entered in competitions and won awards, and sold to wholesalers years in advance. One time, I saw cheese from Daring-Patel Farms in a pricey food boutique on a transit station twenty light years away from Ariana. I couldn't afford it. But I'd get to try the cheese now.