The Morcai Battalion: The Pursuit

“Maybe Mekashe would take us there one day, to see the tech for ourselves,” she said dreamily.

He raised both eyebrows. “Let’s live one day at a time and not rush things,” he said.

She sighed. “Okay. But it’s hard.”

“Many things are. And that’s the truth,” he agreed as he watched his coffee cup fill itself.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, Jasmine dressed with great care, in a very correct leisure gown of flared pale yellow skirts and a modest bodice that laced in front, with tiny sleeves that just covered her shoulders. Her bare arms were softly rounded, her nails manicured and trimmed. She wore her hair long, instead of in its usual high coiffure. It curled and waved down her back and fell around her shoulders in a pale blond cascade. She wore tiny aqua waterstones hooked in her earlobes, and used the lightest hint of a floral cologne. She hoped she looked good enough to impress a certain handsome alien.

She and her father had finished breakfast and were lounging in the recreation center at a wall table when Mekashe joined them.

He wore a very correct suit, with a banded shirt of blue and white, and slacks that outlined his powerful legs. He smiled as Jasmine almost ran to meet him.

“You look very nice,” he commented.

“So do you!” she burst out without thinking, and then flushed at her own boldness. “Daddy’s got the chessboard set up already,” she added quickly, to hide her self-consciousness.

“Good morning,” the new ambassador greeted, standing long enough to give Mekashe a formal bow, which was returned.

“Daddy was chess champion of the college where he taught,” she said.

“Indeed. Impressive,” Mekashe said politely.

“Well, reputations are easily destroyed, I’m afraid.” The ambassador chuckled. “I daresay you’ll beat the socks off me without much effort.”

“Socks.” Mekashe looked blank.

“They’re worn on the feet with shoes. Casual shoes,” Jasmine explained. “A very ancient sort of apparel. It means that you’ll win.”

“An odd manner of expression. Apologies,” he added with a smile.

“None needed,” the older man assured him. “Most idioms are odd, and I’ve come across them in an amazing array of human languages.”

“Truly, we find them in alien tongues, as well,” Mekashe said. He chuckled, or what passed for chuckling in a Cehn-Tahr. “There are several dialects of Rojok, including a quite ancient one which was never spoken by a human until Dr. Edris Mallory came along.”

“Dr. Mallory?” the ambassador asked softly.

He nodded. “She was a Cularian specialist before she bonded with a Cehn-Tahr of my acquaintance.”

Jasmine’s eyes widened. “I’ve heard many stories about Dr. Madeline Ruszel, but they don’t mention Dr. Mallory in the flash reports.”

“As you may have already gathered, we share very little of our culture with—” he hesitated to offend by saying “outworlders” “—other cultures,” he said instead.

“I’m quite good at keeping secrets,” the ambassador said, smiling. He glanced at his child a little warily. “My daughter, however...”

“I can so keep a secret,” she said, and made a face at him. “Well, really important ones, at least. I’m so excited that we’re actually going to live on your planet!” she added to Mekashe.

He smiled. “I think you will find it quite beautiful.”

“Does it look like Terravega?” she asked at once.

He shook his head. “We have no pressure domes, nor is there a need for them.” He cocked his head at her. “If you would like to see Memcache, I can arrange for a holo of it in one of the rooms.”

“I would love that!” Jasmine enthused.

“You are also welcome to view it,” Mekashe told the ambassador easily, and smiled again. “It will help you to understand us if you see the manner in which we live.”

“But you said that you couldn’t share things with people outside your culture,” Jasmine began, puzzled.

“An ambassador and his family would hardly qualify as people outside,” he said gently. “Since you will be living among us. The taboo only applies to those who have no connection with us.”

“I see.” She beamed.

He was entranced by her beauty. He had thought her gorgeous the night before, but in the artificial light of “day,” she was even more exquisite. Her hair fascinated him. It was long and curling and glorious. He ached to touch it.

He cleared his throat as he seated himself across the chessboard from the human. “So,” he began. “Who goes first?”

* * *

JASMINE ENJOYED WATCHING the match. Mekashe won with staggering ease, but the ambassador was good-natured and didn’t seem to mind.

Meanwhile, Jasmine was filling her fascinated eyes with their guest. She’d never been so entranced by a male of any species. He had thick black hair. It had a definite wave to it. He kept it short, but she could imagine that if it had grown long, it might have the same curl that her own did.

He had a very muscular physique. She wondered what he did for a living, because he didn’t seem the sort of man to be a diplomat or even a sedate aristocrat. He had the hard, honed look of a man who made his living in ways that might not fit in parlor society.

She wondered at the quick look Mekashe gave her while she processed the thought, almost as if he read her mind. She laughed to herself. She’d never read that any of the Cehn-Tahr were telepaths. She was being fanciful.

“You’re quite skilled, young man,” the ambassador mused.

Mekashe laughed. He was, by human measure, over two hundred and fifty years old. The ambassador, in his forties, had no idea of the true life span of the race he was going to live among. Nor was it Mekashe’s place to tell him so much, not yet, at least. He could share images of Memcache, since the ambassador and his daughter would live there. He could even share common knowledge, like the ability of Cehn-Tahr eyes to change color. But anything more intimate was taboo.

“You have great skill yourself,” Mekashe replied. “But I have been playing for a longer time than you might imagine.”

The ambassador lifted an eyebrow and smiled secretly. He’d been told by Admiral Lawson that the Cehn-Tahr had somewhat modified life spans, and they put human age in the shade. He didn’t share the knowledge.

Mekashe read it and averted his eyes, so that he didn’t give away his telepathic abilities. “Another match?” he asked.

The ambassador chuckled and started setting up the pieces.

* * *

MEKASHE LEFT THEM just before luncheon was served, with the excuse that he had to report to his employer through the Nexus.

“What sort of work do you do?” Jasmine asked innocently.

“I am attached to the political wing of my society,” he said evasively, but with a smile. “My employer works at the Dectat.”