She was laughing. “It’s not as if you can look it up in a book, can you?”

  “No.” He exhaled, relieved at her easy understanding. “I wish I could.”

  “Oh, I’m happy for her. And you. I’d never have imagined you together, but if any two people deserved joy . . . and that you’re asking for help? If my first lovers had done that, my early sexual life would have been a lot different.”

  “Don’t your instructors teach you in school?”

  “It varies from one culture to another. Mine valued procreation but not pleasure. We only learned about the biology and the acts necessary to produce children. For Gaians, that’s possible without any pleasure for the female. In fact, it’s possible with pain for the female, and I don’t mean the good kind. I started joining at seventeen and didn’t know it could feel good until I was twenty-two.”

  Had it been anyone but Lhyn, he wouldn’t have believed this for a moment. No Alsean could procreate without pleasure. Gamete production depended on it. A creation ceremony spread pleasure over five days, the time required to mature the gametes and ready the body for implantation. He could not imagine a biology so different, much less a culture that exacerbated the lack.

  “That’s an impressive scowl,” she said. “Don’t worry, not all Gaian cultures are that backward. Some have wonderful rituals to ease their young people into sexual matur—oh! That’s what you need! A sexual maturity rite.”

  His heart sank. “Lhyn, I hardly think—”

  “Do you want my advice?”

  “Yes, but I would ask that you keep our ages in mind. Please don’t suggest something embarrassing.”

  She turned to face him more directly, earnestness written in every line of her body. “I want this to be good for both of you. I owe Alejandra my health and my sanity. She was there for me in my worst times. And you’re my chosen family.”

  He relaxed. Of course Lhyn would want that; she was one of the kindest people he knew. “I’m listening.”

  “Right, here’s what I’m thinking. I could lecture you for a hantick on Gaian female sexuality and how it differs from Alsean. I could show you books and diagrams and vids, but it would still be abstract. How much of that would you retain when it counted? I think you need something different.”

  She wasn’t going to lecture him? That was a surprise. “What do I need, then?”

  “You need her to tell you what feels good.” She held up a hand, stopping him before he could protest. “You said you were listening.”

  “I am.”

  “One of the cultures I studied has no written language. They don’t have books or instruction manuals. Their history and wisdom are handed down in oral tales. They have a beautiful sexual maturity rite that uses—hm. That might be a little hard to find here. They use a bioluminescent fungus.”

  “A what?”

  “A mushroom that glows in the dark.”

  “Lhyn, really—”

  “Keep listening! I promise there’s a point to this. The young couple meet in a hut made for the purpose. It has a floor and ceiling to protect them from rain, but no walls. That way, the elders of the tribe can attend and make sure nothing goes wrong.”

  “I hope it’s a tropical climate.”

  “Oh. Yes, it is. I forgot that detail. Anyway, the floor is heaped with pillows and soft sheets, and there’s water and plates of food to keep them going. The setup is important,” she said, raising a finger. “You shouldn’t have to leave the room for anything. It would break the ritual.”

  “And the mood, I suppose.”

  She nodded. “The elders know that. They don’t tell the youngsters. They tell them it’s all about the ritual, because that gives it importance and meaning. Otherwise, you’d have two young people giggling about getting in the mood. Or stressing themselves to the point of killing any arousal because they’re not in the mood and they think they should be.”

  He thought back to his first time. There had indeed been stress, the kind he devoutly wanted to avoid with Alejandra.

  “They start the ceremony by lighting candles around the edges of the room. For the youngsters, this would be a familiar tradition, because they do it for all their feasts and special occasions. One candle for the sun, one for each of their four moons, one for the ancestors, one for the children of the future, and so on. You could do whatever you wanted with it.”

  “Like lighting oil bowls in the temples,” he said. “On days of remembrance, we light one for each person we’re remembering. It brings them closer.”

  “Yes! A tradition that eases both people into a calmer frame of mind.”

  He crossed his arms. “I’m liking it so far.”

  “You’ll like the next step, too. They undress each other.”

  “That seems somewhat necessary.”

  “Getting naked is necessary,” she corrected. “But that can happen any number of ways. The method has meaning. Alejandra always wears her hair up in a twist with two ornamental hair sticks. The first thing you do is take out the sticks and unwind her hair. Then you undo her jacket and slide it off. Then her shirt or dress. It’s step by step. A process done with reverence.”

  She had lost him at “unwind her hair,” her words setting off a vivid memory. Alejandra had done just that during their long night of conversation, when she was comfortable enough to relax more fully. He had watched with a dry mouth, wishing it were his hands performing the task. She had done it distractedly, a thoughtless act that held no importance for her. But it had held great importance for him.

  “I think you see my point,” Lhyn was saying.

  He shook himself back to awareness. “Yes. Reverence.”

  “And she’ll do the same for you. Remember, this is as new to her as it is to you. You’re not undressing each other. You’re unwrapping each other.”

  In this shady grove, cooled further by the falling water, he should not be this warm. He opened his shirt at the throat and laid one arm along the back of the bench, trying to ignore her knowing smile. “It’s getting interesting,” he allowed.

  “Mm-hm. Back to our youngsters. On a special table at one end of the hut, there are two bowls. One holds an oil that has been blessed by the elders. The other has the mushroom, crushed to a paste. They start with the oil, taking turns rubbing it into every part of the other’s body. It has a spiritual basis, but—”

  “It’s really meant to relax them.”

  “Yes.”

  “Those elders are devious.”

  She laughed. “Aren’t they all?”

  “It makes sense. Every detail so far is meant to calm the youngsters and ease them into the proper mental space. Almost like centering. The massage puts them at the point of physical touch, but it still isn’t sexual.”

  She looked proud. “You see it.”

  “I like it. What about the mushroom?”

  “That’s the best part. They decide who goes first, and that person lies down. The other begins to touch them. Light brushes with the fingers, licking, kisses, whatever they want, as long as it’s gentle. But it’s done in a specific pattern, from top to bottom and back to front. First the scalp, then the back of the neck and around the ears, then every part of the back, then the arms, then the buttocks and legs and feet. And then the person being touched rolls over and they start from the top again. Face, throat, chest . . .”

  He was lost in another vivid image, this one from his imagination: Alejandra, lying warm and naked on a bed, her skin glowing from the oil he had rubbed into it. Every part of her open to his touch, waiting—

  “And when something feels particularly good, the one being touched says shala mai rihilar, which means ‘blessed by the gods.’ Then the person touching takes a dab of mushroom paste and marks the spot.”

  “Oh,” he murmured. “I think I understand.”

  “Isn’t it a beautiful ritual? They call it the Rite of Knowing. By the time they’re done, each of them is marked head to toe in the places that bring them pleasure. They literally glow with it. When they finally begin their joining, they know exactly where to touch. They’ve drawn maps on each other. Then there’s the other benefit.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The mushroom is an aphrodisiac.”

  The vision dissipated. “Naturally,” he said with a chuckle. “And they lick it off each other.”

  “Right! A night of pleasure, mapped specifically to each of them.” She pressed her lips together and gave a firm nod. “That’s what you need. Even if I gave you that lecture you were expecting—yes, I know you were—I could only tell you in general terms what Alejandra might like. Or I could tell you what works for me, or what works for Ekatya. But that doesn’t mean it would work for her. Everyone is different. I know that’s true for Alseans as well as Gaians.”

  “It is,” he agreed.

  “I’ll send you a file with the anatomical details. We can go over it together, so you know what to look for and what the differences are. But this ritual allows her to tell you exactly what she wants. And it allows you to tell her what you want.”

  His brain stopped. For some reason, he hadn’t thought of that side of it. He had assumed that Alejandra would return, flush with knowledge from Rahel, and they would go from there. But like Lhyn, Rahel could only give general knowledge. She wouldn’t know about that spot behind his ear—

  “Of course, you’d have to modify it,” Lhyn said, interrupting his increasingly compelling thought process. “The massage oil won’t be a problem, but I don’t know what you could use for the mushroom.”

  He grinned at her. “I’ll think of something.”

  11

  Liaison

  After four and a half lovely days off, it was time to be the captain again. Ekatya had left her Alsean clothing in the closet and was back in uniform, waiting in Andira’s office with Ambassador Solvassen. She had one political task before flying back to the Phoenix: meeting the new Gaian liaison officer who would coordinate training between Fleet and Alsean fighter pilots. She had arrived at the Phoenix on a personnel ship and was being flown down right now.

  “How many fighters are you up to, Lancer Tal?” Solvassen asked.

  “We finished our one hundredth Serrado fighter last nineday.” Andira watched with an amused look as he blew across the top of his shannel cup. “Too hot?”

  “I know, I know,” he said good-naturedly. “I’m a limp flower who can’t handle proper shannel.”

  “Who called you that?”

  “I’d rather not say. It might cause an interplanetary incident.” Solvassen blew again, took a cautious sip, and winced. “Nope, not quite.”

  Ekatya didn’t hide her amusement. She liked Solvassen, with his ample stomach and genial nature. He was more scholar than politician, a trait that had dead-ended his career in the Protectorate Diplomacy Corps but which earned him the respect of the Alseans.

  “You could pour it into the saucer,” she suggested. “It would cool faster.”

  Andira looked over with an expression of such horror that Ekatya nearly spit out the sip she had just taken.

  Solvassen chuckled. “Practical advice, but I do unfortunately have to keep up appearances. At least in the Lancer’s office.” He tried another sip and swallowed. “Ah, there we go. One hundred Serrados total? Or one hundred plus the thirty you started with?”

  “The latter, and seventy-two Candini fighters. We were able to build faster once we established the facilities and workflows.”

  “And when you didn’t have to strip hullskin and rebuild existing construction,” Ekatya added. “It’s always faster to build from scratch.”

  “True words.”

  “The builder caste has been phenomenal these past two and a half cycles,” Solvassen said, demonstrating one of the characteristics that made Alseans like him. “Repairing the damage from the Battle of Alsea, constructing the space elevator, building a fleet of fighters, and I hear the first shuttles are ready for test flights? The Protectorate wishes you could export that kind of efficiency.”

  “The builders have an excellent Prime,” Andira said. “Eroles inspires and motivates them. She’s the best we’ve had in three generations.”

  “Have you told her that?” Ekatya asked curiously. She remembered a time when relations between Andira and the Prime Builder had not been quite so smooth.

  “Of course. It’s easier to motivate your people if you feel motivated yourself.”

  Ekatya lifted her cup in a salute. “Words for Fahla. They should teach that in command training. I was a captain for several cycles before I figured it out.”

  “They could teach it in the Diplomacy Corps, too.” Solvassen gulped the rest of his drink, as was his wont once it cooled. He set the cup and saucer aside and checked his wristcom. “She should be here in a tick.”

  “Should I ask why this happened so suddenly? All these moons and there was never a candidate who satisfied everyone’s expectations. Then I go on leave and when I come back, boom, there’s a new liaison arriving.”

  Andira shrugged. “You said it yourself. We never had the right candidate before. Once she was available, though, everyone agreed within a hantick.”

  “That must have set a record.”

  “You have no idea. Ah, she’s here.”

  With rising suspicion, Ekatya watched her cross the room. Andira didn’t let people into her office; her aide showed them in.

  She swung open the left-hand door and said happily, “At last. Well met!”

  “Well met, Lancer Tal. It’s great to be back,” said a familiar voice. It was so out of place on Alsea that Ekatya couldn’t make the connection.

  Not until a woman with short, spiky red hair and an impish grin stepped into the room. “Captain. How the Hades are you?”

  “Stars and Shippers! Candini! What are you doing here?” Throwing all dignity out the window, Ekatya bounded across the office to meet her friend and former officer in a laughing hug. “It’s so good to see you!”

  Candini squeezed her to the point of breathlessness. “Likewise. I’ve missed you so much.” She pulled back but didn’t let go. “I went through three different captains before giving up. It was never the same without you.”

  “You gave up? What does—you left Fleet?” Ekatya took a step back. “Great galaxies, of course you did. You’re the liaison.” She paused. “You’re the liaison?”

  Candini’s laugh was infectious as always. “You used to be faster than this.”

  “First Pilot,” Andira said with a smirk. “I’d advise you to be more respectful of the captain you’ll be working with.”

  “Why should she start now? I can’t believe this. ‘Not available,’ no wonder. Were you waiting for her to take early retirement?”

  “They were waiting for me to finish my last cruise. I’d barely started when Ambassador Solvassen contacted me, and then I was locked in.”

  “But you were in line for an instructor position at Command Dome. Complete with promotion. You threw away a lieutenant commander’s bars?”

  Candini shrugged. “First Pilot is better.” She turned to Solvassen, who had joined them in the center of the room. “Hi, Ambassador. It’s good to meet you face to face.”

  “Indeed it is.” Solvassen shook her hand. “You’re a popular choice, I don’t mind telling you. The Protectorate is pleased that a Gaian is in the position, and the Alseans never wanted anyone but you.”

  “Well, I couldn’t pass up the chance to teach pilots how to fly a fighter named after me.” Her grin reappeared. “Chief Kameha tells me I need to prepare for being worshipped. I told him I’ve always known how to handle that.”

  Ekatya raised her eyebrows at Andira. “And that’s what you’ve brought on yourself. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “I’m not her supervisor. She’ll be reporting to Colonel Alportel at Blacksun Base.”

  “Have you warned the colonel?”

  “What was that about respect?” Candini asked. “I’ll remind you that you’re not talking to a lieutenant anymore. I’m a First Pilot now.”

  “And the first Gaian officer in the Alsean Defense Force. You’re a pioneer, Candini.” Andira was suddenly serious. “You’re representing your species and setting the standards you expect your pilots to follow. I assume those standards will be every bit as high in personal comportment as in flying skills.”

  Candini stood straighter. “They will, Lancer Tal. I know how to separate on duty from off.”

  “Very good. Then I think it’s time to celebrate your arrival. We’ve been waiting a long time for you to be free. As I recall, I offered you an inducement to sign on with us.”

  “Yes, but you didn’t have to—” She stared openmouthed in the direction Andira was pointing. On the floor, tucked against the wall, was a wooden crate with a distinctive logo stamped on the side. “You really did?”

  “I promised you a case of Valkinon. I keep my promises. But I won’t ask you to break into it now.” She walked over to her sideboard and pulled a bottle from beneath. “Captain Serrado, would you get the glasses?”

  “Certainly. I’m afraid I’ll have to stick to shannel,” Ekatya said apologetically, opening the cabinet door. “I’m flying back to the Phoenix this afternoon.”

  “Twelve hours from bottle to throttle,” Candini said in Common. With a flourish, she produced an injector and switched back to High Alsean. “Except Dr. Wells foresaw certain celebrations tonight and gave me a few doses of kastrophenol. I’m willing to share.”

  Ekatya had rarely spent a more enjoyable half hantick. She couldn’t drink more than one glass, even with the kastrophenol, but she could revel in the company of a friend she hadn’t seen in person for nearly four years. Candini was one of the first officers to be scooped up when the crew of the Caphenon returned to Protectorate space. Sixteen months later, Ekatya took command of the Phoenix and was looking for a pilot, but Candini was unavailable. The position was long filled when she did become available, and she wasn’t interested in anything but the top spot.