THE ATLAN CHRONICLES

     Taji-Eta couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

     “Could you repeat that?” she said. Not that she was hard of hearing. She wanted more time to assess the man’s demeanor so she could better determine what difficulties might ensue when she refused his request. Or demand, actually.

     The man in the light red tunic, who had introduced himself as Gata-Tsor, straightened himself in his chair and leaned forward to where she sat behind her desk. An aggressive move, she noted. To be expected from a Tsor, a member of the class responsible for military and law enforcement matters.

     “I said you are to come with me. Now. A shuttle is waiting to take you back to Region Six.”

     “Why?”

     She knew the question would provoke him. The Tsor were accustomed to obeying orders implicitly, but he was young, and likely to be disconcerted by a challenge to authority. Solidly-built, he wore the light red tunic of a lower rank, Level Two perhaps, far below her own.

     “It doesn’t matter,” he said, a bit too forcefully. “You are to come with me, Taji-Eta.”

     “Gata,” she said in a dismissive tone, using simply his given name, a convention observed only in private conversation with friends or family – or in speaking patronizingly to those of lower rank. “See this uniform?” She pointed to the white stripe that ran from just below one shoulder across to the next on her dark blue tunic. “Aboard the Iatnis, I am a tsé, a class administrative leader. While you are on this ship you will address me formally as Tsé-Eta.”

     That caused him to edge back slightly, enough to confirm what she had already established – he was unsure of himself, disoriented by the strange surroundings. As a member of the Eta class, she had been trained to observe body and eye movements, as well as tones and inflections of voice, in order to determine what others were thinking or feeling. Beyond that, she had an intuitive, almost empathic, ability for such things. Gata-Tsor was courageous, she concluded, but otherwise entirely inadequate to the task he had been given. Why had they sent a solitary low-level Tsor? Is it something I can exploit? Do they mean me to?

     “I apologize,” Gata-Tsor said, rising. “You are to come with me, Tsé-Eta.”

     She leaned back in her chair behind her large desk, which easily nullified his attempt to exert control. “You’ve asked me to do that numerous times, Gata. Sit down. I’m not going anywhere with you for the moment.”

     Her last words, she surmised, would give him the tantalizing hope that his task might eventually be successful. She had no intention of that happening. She had been training for this mission for five years and was not about to allow some unsubstantiated legal dispute in her home region far across the Yawlattin Ocean cause her to miss the liftoff of the Iatnis spacecraft two days from now. She stared unrelentingly at Gata-Tsor until he reluctantly took his seat again.

     “Good,” she said. “Let me call the Tsé-Agné. I need his legal opinion.”

     She put her hand near the thumb-sized, square patch of metal that protruded slightly from her scalp above her right ear, an unconscious mannerism she often affected when using the communication function of the appliance. Words spoken were transmitted through the device, known as a quida, and were heard in the ear of the receiving party. Extending inward beyond its base, the quida was primarily a neural implant to enhance the personal and intellectual attributes that class duties required, but also served as a body system monitor as well as a communicator.

     “Enata-four-seven,” she said, using his personal, rather that official, contact code.

     When Enata-Agné heard her explanation of the situation, he appeared in her office within moments, since his own was just down the hall from hers. A heavy-set man with a rounded face and dark, thinning hair, he wore the same white stripe across his black tunic as Taji-Eta.

     “Who sent you?” he growled at the Tsor.

     “The Tsé-Tsor,” he said, then added awkwardly, “the, uh…the real one.”

     Preparing for their long journey, the community aboard the Iatnis space ship had a command structure to mirror that of the Capital Region, where the craft stood awaiting lift-off. Outside the ship, its officials were ordinary citizens, subject to the authority of the “real” administrators.

     “This is intolerable,” Enata-Agné muttered. “We’re about to begin our mission, and at this stage we have jurisdiction over our own people, not the Capital Region or any other region on this planet.” He glared at the Tsor. “Did they tell you what this is all about?”

     “No,” he replied, sitting back defensively in his chair. “Why should they? I was told only that I was to escort Taj…, uh, the Tsé-Eta, to the shuttle. Nothing more.”

     Enata-Agné shook his head. “I’ll have to contact my counterpart in the Capital Region. She would have issued the request to your Tsé-Tsor. In the meantime, stay where you are.” He looked at Taji-Eta. “I’ll be right back with Neodi.”

     Gata-Tsor looked inquiringly at Tali-Eta as he left. “Our Tsé-Tsor,” she explained.

     A few moments later a sharp-featured, severe looking woman came to the doorway dressed in dark red with a white tsé stripe on her tunic.

     “You,” she said to Gata-Tsor. “Come with me. You will sit in my office until this is sorted out.”

     He stood up quickly. “But I’m supposed to –”

     “You’re supposed to follow my orders. You’re on the Iatnis. You obey me here.”

     With that, she walked brusquely away. Gata-Tsor stood, looking indecisive.

     Taji-Eta gave a tilt of her head. “Second door on your right.”

     Once he had gone, she got up from her chair and looked out the window of her office. From forty-four storeys up, the view of the nearby Capital City was imposing. She could see the Iodis, the central administrative building, its distinctive, pyramidal form rising high above the other profiles of the city skyline. Though similar in shape to the Iatnis, it was, at ninety-eight storeys, twice the height of her spacecraft. And, unlike the structure in which she stood, not about to leave the ground. Nor would she, if the current problem could not be resolved.

She knew what this was about, if not the content, then definitely the perpetrator of the action. Five years ago, back in her home city of Aran-Jo in Region Six, she had been chosen for this mission ahead of her rival, Adri-Eta. It had been an incredible coincidence that, from all of the cities within all of the regions, the two finalists for the position of Tsé-Eta had come from Aran-Jo, involving two people who were co-workers, and, until the ultimate selection, friends. Adri-Eta had made no effort to hide her disappointment or the raging jealousy that had turned into hatred. Among the well-wishers when Taji-Eta left to train in the Capital Region, Adri-Eta had smiled, but said in a low voice that only Taji-Eta could hear, “I will find some way to make sure you never go on that mission.”

     In the intervening years she had forgotten about the threat, assuming it was no more than that, a product of Adri-Eta’s discontent at the time. It appeared now that Adri-Eta had brought some charge against her, requiring her appearance at a tribunal in Aran-Jo. Taji-Eta had no idea what the nature of the charge could be. Except for short trips back, she had been away from her home for five years. Whatever it was, it would prove to be specious and would be dismissed, but it was timed deliberately to remove her from the Iatnis just before it launched.

     She had rebuffed the young Tsor, and Neodi was in all likelihood virtually holding him captive in her office, but that didn’t change the uncomfortable fact that an order for her return to Aran-Jo had been filed. While the members of the crew of the Iatnis might enjoy a self-governing autonomy within the ship itself, they were still in the Capital Region, whose authority extended across the whole planet. She hoped Enata could find some legal means to forestall her removal, otherwise the last five years of her life would have been wasted. No, she realized, not wasted. She had built an organizational structure among the crew that would serve them well on their journey, whether or not she would be part of it.

     Taji-Eta knew she was not indispensable to the mission. None of the 1,762 crew members was indispensable. Command redundancies had been built into the crew manifest, many of which she had herself created. She could be replaced by any of the three Level Six Eta who reported to her. But she didn’t want it to come to that.

     As she continued to stare out the window, a voice intruded on her thoughts.

     “I trust you’re not thinking of leaving us, Taji.”

     She turned to see standing just inside the open door to her office the figure of the Tsé-Hus, the leader of the Hus, or governing body of the Iatnis community, a small mirror image of the Hus in the Capital region that governed the planet. Tall and solidly-built, he peered at her though intense gray eyes set in a lean face framed by what had once been short, dark hair, now given over mostly to gray. His white tunic, indicative of his position, bore a diagonal stripe, left shoulder to right hip, not white like the other Hus members, but the red of his Tsor class. Though he wasn’t smiling – he seldom did – she detected warmth and support for her, as well as concern.

     “I may have no choice in the matter, Tsé-Hus.”

     “Nonsense,” he replied, taking another step inside. “There are always choices. It’s simply a matter of weighing the consequences.” He waved his arm, indicating her chair. “Have a seat. We’ll talk. All of us.”

     Enata-Agné and the young Tsor had followed him into her office. There were only two other chairs available; the Tsé-Tsor took one and Enata-Agné the other, leaving Gata-Tsor standing nervously against the wall. Though she had often felt that looking over at others from behind her desk had given her a sense of power and control, Taji-Eta couldn’t help but be conscious of a sense of command presence from the Tsé-Hus, to which it seemed natural to defer.

     “Enata tells me,” he began in a tone of mild disinterest and skepticism, “that there has been an order sworn out against you in Region Six by a certain Adri-Eta. You know her, of course. She claims to have discovered recently some evidence of misrepresentation on your part in the original selection process that brought you here.”

     Taji-Eta leaned forward, planting her hand firmly on her desk. “I don’t know what she found, but I can assure you –”

     The Tsé-Hus raised a hand. “You needn’t defend yourself, Taji. No one believes for one moment that there is any substance to this. It seems merely to be a ploy. Unfortunately, it leaves us with a problem.”

Enata-Agné shifted forward in his seat. “I spoke with my counterpart in the Capital Region.” He paused a moment, commenting dryly as he looked up at Gata-Tsor, “The real Tsé-Agné. She weren’t sure what to do with the order when she first received it. There was some discussion whether to ignore it, since our launch is scheduled for the day after tomorrow, but that couldn’t be done. The law is clear. An official request like this must be acted upon; the Capital Region cannot question the merit of the order.”

     Taji-Eta sunk back into her chair. “So I’ll have to go to Aran-Jo and miss the launch.”

    “No so fast,” Enata-Agné said. “The Tsé-Agné is sympathetic to the situation. That’s why she instructed the Tsé-Tsor to send only a lower level officer like our friend here, and not a team of senior, no-nonsense Tsor to retrieve you.”

     Gata-Tsor looked as if he wanted to object, but said nothing.

     “I don’t see what difference that makes,” Taji-Eta said, raising her hands in a questioning gesture.

     Enata-Agné’s face broke into a smile. “The Tsé-Agné suggested that we find a creative solution to the problem. We’ve done just that. We can’t let you off the ship if it’s physically impossible.”

     “I don’t understand.”

     Enata-Agné looked over at the Tsé-Hus, who nodded before beginning an explanation.

     “We’ve been launch-ready for three days now. We run the simulation daily. I’ve discussed this with of three of the Hus members and have their agreement. That’s all I needed to instruct Neodi to initiate an actual launch.”

     “But the crew,” Taji-Eta protested, “the ceremony tomorrow night.”

     “All goodbyes were said five days ago. The crew is more than ready for this. And as for the ceremony, that involves only an official representation from here that I would head. They’d only drone on about the wonderful sacrifice we’re making and a good deal of other blather I’ve no inclination to hear. I’m glad to be rid of it.”

     The overhead lights dimmed while a red light began blinking over the door to Taji-Eta’s office. She could see the reflection of a similar flashing from the darkened hallway.

     “Launch sequence has begun.” A voice announced from the overhead speaker. “Please prepare for imminent lift-off.”

     It would be gentle, she knew. The Iatnis would rise slowly, gaining speed gradually as it moved through the atmosphere into space.

     “What about him?” Taji-Eta asked, pointing at Gata-Tsor who was looking around in wide-eyed apprehension. “We can’t just kidnap him.”

     “Of course not,” The Tsé-Hus replied. “Son,” he said to Gata-Tsor, “would you like to come on a journey with us?”

     “I – I suppose so,” he stammered.

     “There. See?” the Tsé-Hus said. “He’s agreed to come along. Another member of our family. And we are family. We know how to take care of each other.”

     Taji-Eta glanced out her window as she sensed the movement of the spacecraft. She was looking down now on the Capital, the huge Iodis growing smaller as they ascended. Smaller and smaller, until it disappeared, like Adri-Eta’s scheme that had threatened to remove her from the flight. Taji-Eta smiled to herself. The final revenge had been hers.