voice was like the playing of chords. “Thank you for coming to see me.”
“Tassali,” said Dillon, the breath of his words visible in the air. “Master Seaman Singh said you wanted to talk.”
“Yes,” said the white-skinned woman. She sat carefully on a chair, her back straight, her feet together on the floor and her white-gloved hands clasped in her lap. “Why is she called ‘Seaman’? She clearly presents herself as a female.”
“Ah,” said the Captain. “A quirk of our language. A relic from an ancient time.”
Delicate furrows creased the Palani's forehead. “Your language is a mess. It is irregular and imprecise. It favours the males. It is full of absurd idioms and slang.”
Dillon nodded slowly. “I agree.”
Her face showed she hadn’t expected that.
“However,” he continued, “it can be expressive. If you have time, search the archives for Shakespeare, Tennyson, Sharma, or Bao Zhi. Or Gruber. You may be surprised.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, her head tilting. “Nevertheless,” she said after a moment, “your language’s only real value is that every major species can speak it. Were it not for that, no one beyond your worlds would bother to learn it.”
He nodded again. “I expect that is true, Tassali.”
She glanced at the other chair. Dillon quietly sat down, then crossed one leg over the other and rested his hands in his lap.
She held his gaze with her cobalt eyes. “Our language was once spoken throughout the galaxy, of course. But the Dosh cannot make the sounds to speak it, and their language is offensive to us.”
The Palani’s tone was condescending, but Dillon didn’t feel bothered. The cabin seemed quite pleasant; the temperature didn’t feel nearly as cold as it had when he came in. He felt himself becoming relaxed and comfortable.
He suddenly became conscious of his own calm. He pulled himself away from leaning on the back of the chair, sat upright, and began to study her face. The narrowness left her eyes as the furrows faded from her brow. She was looking at him differently, though he couldn’t figure out what it was.
“Tassali,” he began carefully, then stopped. He steered to safer waters. “Is the cabin comfortable for you?”
She looked around her, as if seeing it for the first time. “It is enough, Captain. I understand this is a warship, and luxuries are few.” Turning slightly in her chair, she looked out the window. “My ship was a diplomatic vessel. We were unarmed.” She fell silent, still looking out the viewport at the planet that loomed beyond.
Dillon remained quiet, looking at the Palani. He began to marvel at her brilliant blue hair, the way it tumbled down past her shoulders. The contrast against her white clothes and the grey room was captivating.
He blinked. “Your ship was attacked, Tassali?”
She turned back to face him. “Orlahal came to get me. I was meditating in my room. He came to me, right after the first explosion. The idols, the altar service… he threw them in with my things…” She glanced at the white satchel that lay on the bed. “He grabbed me. Pulled me from my room and pushed me into the survival pod. It was forceful, and a sin, but not unkind. He asked me to convey the crew to the Divines.”
Her eyes flared as she looked at his. “I blessed him. I saw his face when he closed the hatch. He knew.”
Dillon swallowed, trying to clear the lump that had appeared in his throat. It wouldn’t go away, and it tried to catch on his voice. “I’m very sorry, Tassali. Did you… did you see what attacked your ship?”
The Palani shook her head. “No, Captain. I saw nothing. We had just jumped, as far as we could, and were attacked shortly after.”
“If you choose not to answer, I understand, but it may be relevant… Tassali,
“Tassali,” said Dillon, the breath of his words visible in the air. “Master Seaman Singh said you wanted to talk.”
“Yes,” said the white-skinned woman. She sat carefully on a chair, her back straight, her feet together on the floor and her white-gloved hands clasped in her lap. “Why is she called ‘Seaman’? She clearly presents herself as a female.”
“Ah,” said the Captain. “A quirk of our language. A relic from an ancient time.”
Delicate furrows creased the Palani's forehead. “Your language is a mess. It is irregular and imprecise. It favours the males. It is full of absurd idioms and slang.”
Dillon nodded slowly. “I agree.”
Her face showed she hadn’t expected that.
“However,” he continued, “it can be expressive. If you have time, search the archives for Shakespeare, Tennyson, Sharma, or Bao Zhi. Or Gruber. You may be surprised.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, her head tilting. “Nevertheless,” she said after a moment, “your language’s only real value is that every major species can speak it. Were it not for that, no one beyond your worlds would bother to learn it.”
He nodded again. “I expect that is true, Tassali.”
She glanced at the other chair. Dillon quietly sat down, then crossed one leg over the other and rested his hands in his lap.
She held his gaze with her cobalt eyes. “Our language was once spoken throughout the galaxy, of course. But the Dosh cannot make the sounds to speak it, and their language is offensive to us.”
The Palani’s tone was condescending, but Dillon didn’t feel bothered. The cabin seemed quite pleasant; the temperature didn’t feel nearly as cold as it had when he came in. He felt himself becoming relaxed and comfortable.
He suddenly became conscious of his own calm. He pulled himself away from leaning on the back of the chair, sat upright, and began to study her face. The narrowness left her eyes as the furrows faded from her brow. She was looking at him differently, though he couldn’t figure out what it was.
“Tassali,” he began carefully, then stopped. He steered to safer waters. “Is the cabin comfortable for you?”
She looked around her, as if seeing it for the first time. “It is enough, Captain. I understand this is a warship, and luxuries are few.” Turning slightly in her chair, she looked out the window. “My ship was a diplomatic vessel. We were unarmed.” She fell silent, still looking out the viewport at the planet that loomed beyond.
Dillon remained quiet, looking at the Palani. He began to marvel at her brilliant blue hair, the way it tumbled down past her shoulders. The contrast against her white clothes and the grey room was captivating.
He blinked. “Your ship was attacked, Tassali?”
She turned back to face him. “Orlahal came to get me. I was meditating in my room. He came to me, right after the first explosion. The idols, the altar service… he threw them in with my things…” She glanced at the white satchel that lay on the bed. “He grabbed me. Pulled me from my room and pushed me into the survival pod. It was forceful, and a sin, but not unkind. He asked me to convey the crew to the Divines.”
Her eyes flared as she looked at his. “I blessed him. I saw his face when he closed the hatch. He knew.”
Dillon swallowed, trying to clear the lump that had appeared in his throat. It wouldn’t go away, and it tried to catch on his voice. “I’m very sorry, Tassali. Did you… did you see what attacked your ship?”
The Palani shook her head. “No, Captain. I saw nothing. We had just jumped, as far as we could, and were attacked shortly after.”
“If you choose not to answer, I understand, but it may be relevant… Tassali,
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