believed Shan without reservation, but he had to see the reports to make any of it real.
“I want to see it,” Temar said. “I really hate how easily you’re just accepting all this, and I want to see the actual reports.”
“I had the morning to get the shock out of the way, Temar,” Shan said softly. “I had an entire morning of reading data burst after data burst as the two sides tried to figure out who we would align ourselves with.”
“Align ourselves?” For a second, Temar was confused, but then the reality of it struck him. If the planets had broken into two alliances, each side would want to know if Livre was friend or enemy. Should they bomb the planet, or use it as a camp for enemy prisoners of war? Could they count on Livre to provide glass sands or attack landing ships? In a very few minutes, the world had become far more complicated and dangerous than it had been when he went to bed. Actually, the world was the same, but his awareness of it had changed. Awareness sucked. Becoming aware that he was a very small part of a very large universe sucked even worse.
“And if you hadn’t asked for that relay to take priority on the repairs and been here to help, we still wouldn’t know any of this,” Shan pointed out.
“I didn’t help.” Temar protested halfheartedly, since it really didn’t matter.
“Yes, you did. If you weren’t here, I would have had to climb down the ladder every time I worked a circuit to see if the system came online. Trust me, I would have made it up that ladder twice before I would have given up and gone to work on getting a water tap repaired. And there aren’t a lot of people clamoring to come out here to the middle of nowhere to help get the station running. Although,” Shan said with a slow and thoughtful voice, “that may change now. A lot of things may change now.”
Temar understood that. Suddenly his own personal dramas and his stupid crying seemed twice as stupid.
“Come on, I’ll show you the reports. You can look through them while I check over a sand bike so we can head back to Landing.” Shan headed into the control room without even offering breakfast—not that Temar’s stomach could face food right now.
Chapter 7
TEMAR thumbed the controls to roll the screen to a new page. He skipped the technical data at the front and moved into the narrative section—one more demand that Livre declare allegiance with the Alliance of Free Planets or face the consequences. Obviously they hadn’t suffered any consequences, but Temar wondered how the councils would have reacted if they’d actually received any of the messages.
The bursts from the Planetary Alliance were more nicely worded, but Temar could still feel the threat in each one. When the war was over, those planets who had failed to maintain membership in the alliance had forfeited their rights. That came down to, “Help us or we won’t finish terraforming.” Well, they’d followed through with that threat, but looking at a map of which alliance owned which planets, Temar wasn’t sure they would have kept terraforming either way. The Alliance of Free Planets held most of the local territory, with the Planetary Alliance sort of controlling a sickle-shaped wedge of space that reached out toward Livre and included their closest neighbor, a planet called Minga.
Temar jumped when Shan’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Sorry,” Shan quickly offered, and Temar felt a twinge of guilt at making Shan feel like he had to apologize for doing something so normal. “I brought you a sandwich.” Shan held it out and Temar took it, more because he didn’t want to make Shan feel worse than because of any hunger. He honestly wasn’t hungry.
“Have you read all these?”
Shan settled into the second chair with a sandwich of his own. “I gave up after I decided that it sounded like the universe was being run by fifteen-year-olds throwing insults on the playground.”
“Huh.” Temar looked at
“I want to see it,” Temar said. “I really hate how easily you’re just accepting all this, and I want to see the actual reports.”
“I had the morning to get the shock out of the way, Temar,” Shan said softly. “I had an entire morning of reading data burst after data burst as the two sides tried to figure out who we would align ourselves with.”
“Align ourselves?” For a second, Temar was confused, but then the reality of it struck him. If the planets had broken into two alliances, each side would want to know if Livre was friend or enemy. Should they bomb the planet, or use it as a camp for enemy prisoners of war? Could they count on Livre to provide glass sands or attack landing ships? In a very few minutes, the world had become far more complicated and dangerous than it had been when he went to bed. Actually, the world was the same, but his awareness of it had changed. Awareness sucked. Becoming aware that he was a very small part of a very large universe sucked even worse.
“And if you hadn’t asked for that relay to take priority on the repairs and been here to help, we still wouldn’t know any of this,” Shan pointed out.
“I didn’t help.” Temar protested halfheartedly, since it really didn’t matter.
“Yes, you did. If you weren’t here, I would have had to climb down the ladder every time I worked a circuit to see if the system came online. Trust me, I would have made it up that ladder twice before I would have given up and gone to work on getting a water tap repaired. And there aren’t a lot of people clamoring to come out here to the middle of nowhere to help get the station running. Although,” Shan said with a slow and thoughtful voice, “that may change now. A lot of things may change now.”
Temar understood that. Suddenly his own personal dramas and his stupid crying seemed twice as stupid.
“Come on, I’ll show you the reports. You can look through them while I check over a sand bike so we can head back to Landing.” Shan headed into the control room without even offering breakfast—not that Temar’s stomach could face food right now.
Chapter 7
TEMAR thumbed the controls to roll the screen to a new page. He skipped the technical data at the front and moved into the narrative section—one more demand that Livre declare allegiance with the Alliance of Free Planets or face the consequences. Obviously they hadn’t suffered any consequences, but Temar wondered how the councils would have reacted if they’d actually received any of the messages.
The bursts from the Planetary Alliance were more nicely worded, but Temar could still feel the threat in each one. When the war was over, those planets who had failed to maintain membership in the alliance had forfeited their rights. That came down to, “Help us or we won’t finish terraforming.” Well, they’d followed through with that threat, but looking at a map of which alliance owned which planets, Temar wasn’t sure they would have kept terraforming either way. The Alliance of Free Planets held most of the local territory, with the Planetary Alliance sort of controlling a sickle-shaped wedge of space that reached out toward Livre and included their closest neighbor, a planet called Minga.
Temar jumped when Shan’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Sorry,” Shan quickly offered, and Temar felt a twinge of guilt at making Shan feel like he had to apologize for doing something so normal. “I brought you a sandwich.” Shan held it out and Temar took it, more because he didn’t want to make Shan feel worse than because of any hunger. He honestly wasn’t hungry.
“Have you read all these?”
Shan settled into the second chair with a sandwich of his own. “I gave up after I decided that it sounded like the universe was being run by fifteen-year-olds throwing insults on the playground.”
“Huh.” Temar looked at
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