Bianca touched the door again. It swung open, and she stepped into a dim chamber of unknown dimensions. The door shut behind her, turning the dim into total darkness. Bianca swore softly. Could the Letnev see in the dark? Probably. Where were the lights?

  “Hello, Bianca,” a voice said in her ear, and Bianca screamed and swung her fist.

  Chapter 11

  Far from Darit, far from Elekayne, far from the path of the Grim Countenance or the course of the Show and Tell, far from any other inhabited or even habitable place in the galaxy, someone stirred in his slumber, deep underground. This was only the second time in two decades the sleeper had moved toward wakefulness, and before that he had not stirred for millennia. Things were happening now. A quickening was underway.

  The sleeper’s shrouded world was remote, but not unreachable. A series of relays hidden in asteroids, comets, and dead stars formed an invisible chain between his world and Darit; a chain that existed for the sole purpose of delivering simple supraluminal messages to the sleeper.

  Two decades earlier the first message had arrived, and it said simply: The child is born. The sleeper swam up from the depths of his stasis to think, Oh? Already? Though he’d been awaiting that signal for millennia, his sleep was deep, and dreamless, and the passage of time was irrelevant to him in almost every way. Nothing that happened in the galaxy while the sleeper still slumbered had any meaning at all, of course. Because none of it would last for long after he woke again.

  Now, nineteen years later, a second message came: The child is on her way.

  The sleeper was not capable of smiling, but he felt pleasure.

  There would be no more messages from distant Darit. The next alert would come from somewhere much closer to his silent world.

  It was not yet time to wake, so the sleeper sank back into his long slumber, but as the darkness closed in around him, he thought: Soon.

  Chapter 12

  Bianca’s fist didn’t connect with anything, which was disappointing. She crouched and held up her hands. “Who’s there?”

  “I am Ayla,” the voice said, smooth and uninflected. “Your artificial learning assistant. Would you like to turn on the lights?”

  “Yes.”

  “Say ‘lights’.”

  “Lights?”

  The room was hardly flooded with brightness, but it was illuminated by a red-tinged wash, revealing a space slightly smaller than her bedroom back home. There were storage cabinets just above head-height, a seat that folded down from the wall, and a door as long as she was tall set into the far wall. She didn’t see a bed. That wasn’t promising. Did the Letnev sleep standing up, like caprids, or was she expected to bunk on the floor?

  There was no sign of whoever had spoken to her. Was this something like Torvald’s database, then? A voice in the wall? “You said you’re a… learning assistant?”

  “That is correct. I am programmed to answer your questions and begin teaching you the rudiments of the Letnev language.”

  “Are you a mechanical intelligence, then? I’ve read about such things.”

  “True machine intelligences are rare in Barony space,” the voice said. “Artificial intelligences often develop goals that are in opposition to the glory of the Barony. I am programmed to answer your questions and begin teaching you the rudiments of the Letnev language, as well as the most common trading argot.”

  “Yeah, you said,” Bianca muttered. Ah, well. So much for making a mechanical friend. She’d sometimes talked to the caprids in the fields when she was lonely or needed to work things out in her mind, and talking to a robot wouldn’t be any stranger than that. Although… she thought of Torvald telling her to be careful. A robot that could talk could also listen, couldn’t it? It could even record what she said, or transmit her words in real time to a listening Letnev soldier. She’d have to watch her tongue. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”

  “Your bunk folds down from the wall automatically during the designated rest interval. The Letnev are an industrious people, and do not require constant access to a bed, as some of the lazier races in the galaxy do.”

  “How about a bathroom? Or is the elimination of waste also something only lazier races do?”

  “Hygiene facilities are located behind a wall panel, and may be accessed at will.”

  “That’s something. Are there any other hidden amenities?”

  “A desk with a terminal can also extend from the wall. The information accessible by the terminal is primarily in the Letnev language, however. Machine translation options are available, but since Letnev is the most sophisticated and nuanced tongue in the known galaxy, such translations are inherently inferior.”

  “I see.” Bianca sat on the hard chair. The benches in the Halemeeting hall were more comfortable. “This room is pretty small. Is it some kind of jail cell?”

  “This is the second-best cabin on the Grim Countenance,” Ayla said. “Only the captain’s is more spacious and luxurious.”

  Ah. She would have to adjust her interpretation of “palatial splendor” to fit Letnev standards. Her supposed estates were probably holes in the ground. Still, if this really was the second-best cabin, they were treating her like she mattered. “I was promised dresses,” she said.

  That long door on the wall swung open, and revealed a closet half again the size of the rest of the cabin. Bianca doubted it was intended as a closet – it was probably a guest bedroom or office or something – but she approved of the transformation. The closet held racks of hanging garments in rich dark colors, and a shelf full of shoes in similar hues. The inside of the door was studded with pegs that held necklaces, earrings, and bracelets, all glistening with gems in red and black and a blue so dark it was almost black.

  Bianca’s lips parted and she said “Ooohhhh,” quite involuntarily. She reached out to touch one of the dresses – it was deep red, and shimmered like flowing water – and then stopped. “I need a shower before I touch clothes this nice.”

  A section of the wall slid aside, revealing a tiny pod with a showerhead on the ceiling and a drain on the floor. That thing off to the side must have been some kind of toilet. She hoped Letnev anatomy was roughly congruent with her own when it came to using that. Bianca slipped off her dress, which suddenly seemed very shabby, and stepped into the pod. “How does this work–”

  Water – not freezing, but also not warm – beat down on her from above in tiny stinging streams, and soap or something like it sprayed her from all sides. She shrieked and spun as jets of water started coming from the sides, too, and even up from the floor. Okay. This wasn’t some horrible malfunction. This was just how the thing worked.

  She stopped, closed her eyes, and let the water pound her – it was invigorating, once she got over the surprise. After a few moments the water stopped, and warm air blew on her from all directions. “A hot shower, I should have said!” she shouted, just as the drying wind cut off.

  “Hot showers are an indulgence,” Ayla said. “The Letnev are a practical people, and this is a warship.”

  Bianca opened her eyes, and screamed again, because someone was in here with her–

  No, it was just her, reflected in a wall that had become a mirror. Except, looking closer, she realized it was a screen, because it didn’t show her reversed, the way a mirror would.

  “I need to brush my hair,” she said, annoyed that her luggage was being pawed over by Barony lackeys. A panel in her reflection slid open, and a tray emerged, holding the most beautiful hairbrush she’d ever seen, its silver back elaborately engraved with swirling designs. Bianca took the brush and ran it through her hair, meeting far less resistance than she usually did. “Is this some sort of magic brush?” she said.

  “It has an auto-detangler setting,” Ayla said. “It works by creating tiny bursts of sonic energy. The Letnev take proper grooming very seriously. An orderly appearance reflects an orderly mind.”

  “Everything is going to be a lesson on the nature of the Letnev with you, isn’t it?”

  “I am programmed to–”

  “Yes, yes, I know.” Bianca stepped out of the shower and considered her new wardrobe. She found a drawer that contained undergarments – they, at least, were simple and familiar, though of higher quality than her own – and gazed at the dresses. “Am I really supposed to dress like this all the time? These are nicer than bonding ceremony dresses back home. A ball gown every moment of every day seems excessive.”

  “You also have access to crew-standard clothing, stripped of uniform insignia, if you would prefer.”

  “Well… maybe tomorrow. It can’t hurt to try something on for now.” She selected the deep red dress and wriggled into it. The cloth seemed to shift and adjust to fit her better. “Is this stuff alive?”

  “The Letnev value efficiency,” Ayla said. She then spoke in some language Bianca didn’t understand, full of harsh glottal stops and noises like throat clearing. “Taking measurements and creating bespoke garments tailored for an individual is needlessly time-consuming. Instead, that dress is made of smartcloth, capable of adapting to your particular needs.” More incomprehensible phrases. “The skirt can divide itself and become leggings, if that is preferable.” More guttural talk.

  “Are you repeating everything you say in Letnev?”

  “Yes.” Then: Something like Yechh. “We have begun your language instruction.” More Letnev followed. Bianca recognized the word for “we” this time, assuming word order worked the way in Letnev it did in her own tongue, which was probably a big assumption. She actually didn’t know how other languages worked; she’d never been exposed to any.

  “Carry on, then,” Bianca said. Ayla made another wall into a mirror and Bianca played around with the dress. Stroking the cloth in a certain way could make the sleeves extend from caps to full-length, and smoothing the skirt just right could turn it into leggings, as promised, and with a little more effort she could even make leggings beneath a shorter skirt. The bodice was adjustable, too, from low-cut to so modest it made it hard to breathe. The cloth wasn’t totally mutable – the fall of the skirt and the nature of the hem were limited, and there were only a few styles she could coax the rest of it into; nothing asymmetrical, for one thing. “This dress has weird limitations.”

  “It is smartcloth designed for Letnev aristocracy,” Ayla explained. “It is programmed to always adhere to current fashions, or timeless elegance.” Her repetition of her statements in the Letnev language continued.

  “So I won’t be able to look like a fool, no matter how hard I try. That’s comforting. Show me the shoes.”

  The shelf slid forward, and she chose a pair of pumps that matched her dress. “These heels are absurd.” They were easily six inches high. The burgher back home had a pair of heels; she’d worn them in her bonding ceremony, and still talked about how bad her feet hurt at the end of the night.

  These heels were adjustable, it turned out: they shrank down to a mere inch, and Bianca laughed. “That’s handy.”

  “They can be any length you choose, or even become flats,” Ayla said. “But they are equally easy to walk in at all heights, with auto-stabilizers built in, and they will make constant micro-adjustments to ensure you do not blister or experience discomfort.”

  Bianca strapped the shoes on, and even though they looked wonderfully impractical they were the most comfortable things she’d ever had on her feet. She did a few twirls, as best she could in the small space, then admired her legs in the mirror. “I guess the life of an aristocrat isn’t so bad. Tell me about the ways of the Letnev elite, Ayla.”

  “We are a true meritocracy, where the strongest and smartest inevitably rise to great heights in the Baron’s service.”

  Bianca frowned. “That doesn’t sound like a system with much room for hereditary aristocrats, which is what I’m supposed to be.”

  “While even those from humble origins may rise to great heights through diligence or brilliance, it is no surprise that the most prominent families produce the most impressive offspring, and so the great families of the Barony maintain their positions and justify their power through the continued excellence of their–”

  “Right,” Bianca said. “The burgher’s son back home always has time to study, and plenty to eat, and he’s the healthiest and best-educated person in the village. That kind of excellence just runs in the blood, huh, Ayla?”

  “I am afraid I do not understand the question.”

  “That’s all right. I understand the answer.” Bianca’s belly rumbled. “When do we eat?”

  “Breakfast is in approximately one standard hour.”

  “How long is that in Darit time?”

  “I do not understand the question. There are twenty-five standard hours in a standard day, and ten standard days in a standard week, and four standard weeks in a standard month, and ten standard months in a standard year–”

  Her door chimed, and a screen appeared on its inner surface, revealing Voyou. He was smiling, and it still looked out of place on him. “Are you ready, Bianca?”

  “Almost.” With a few smoothing touches and tugs she turned the dress into the leggings-and-short skirt arrangement, and clicked her heels together to turn the shoes into flats. She was a lot shorter than the Letnev around her, but she refused to compensate. She glanced at the jewels, thinking it would be silly to wear something like that to breakfast, though it would probably be good to get into the habit of wearing the jewelry all the time, wouldn’t it? Then she’d have some ready wealth at her disposal if she had to strike out on her own unexpectedly. She plucked a bracelet of dark red stones from the wall and closed it around her wrist, then went to the door. Voyou’s eyes widened when he saw her. “I clean up all right, don’t I?” she said.

  “The style suits you, my lady,” he said, offering a half-bow. “Are the accommodations satisfactory?”

  “They’re as good as it gets, aren’t they? Unless you’re planning to kick out the captain and give me her room.”

  “I would hesitate to make such a suggestion.”

  “Is it breakfast time already?” she said.

  “Soon. Will you accompany me?”

  “I don’t know how to find my way around on my own yet, so yes.” He set off down the corridor, and she fell into step beside him. “Did the lights get brighter?” They seemed less red, somehow, and she could see more clearly now.

  Voyou glanced at her. “The illumination level is set to Letnev military standards, and is unchanging.”

  “Maybe my eyes are adjusting, or something.” She was getting used to the gravity difference, too. It no longer felt like walking uphill – just taking a stroll down to the village.

  “That must be it,” Voyou said. They turned down more identical corridors, and finally reached a door twice the size of her cabin’s. The door slid open as they approached, revealing a gleaming white room, with pedestal beds and mechanical manipulator arms clustered along the ceiling and poking out of the walls, all folded up and waiting. She thought of her pa’s description of the birthing chamber.

  “What’s this place?” Bianca said.

  “The medical bay.” A Letnev wearing a transparent face mask and a white uniform emerged. She was taller, thinner, and paler than Voyou, and her eyes were bright and avid. The overall impression was that of a predatory insect adapted to hide in the snow. “I am Doctor Archambelle. I will perform your medical assessment. Disrobe now.”

  Before Bianca could object, Voyou snapped, “Show some respect, doctor. This is the lady Malladoc.”

  The doctor cocked her head, then bowed. “My apologies, lady. Please disrobe now.”

  “Why do I need a medical test? I feel fine.”

  “You come from a backward planet, lady. Your body doubtless contains countless parasites, viruses, bacteria, toxins, and other harmful elements. You may have a genetic predisposition toward disease or organ failure. We will scan for, and correct, any such problems.”

  Bianca looked at Voyou, who was, she realized with mild horror, the closest thing she had to a friend here, unless you counted Ayla, who was no more a person than old Torvald’s database was. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Doctor Archambelle is the head of our medical team, and the captain’s own personal physician.”

  She sighed. She could kick up a fuss and argue, but she was enmeshed in the might of the Letnev military now, and she wanted them to keep being nice to her, after all. A medical examination made sense. They’d even inspected her bag for foreign contaminants; of course they’d want to inspect her too. She slipped off her shoes and began to pull at the straps of her garment.

  “I’ll be back to pick you up for breakfast.” Voyou retreated from the room, leaving her alone with the doctor.

  Bianca had never really been subject to a doctor’s care before – there was a woman who set broken bones and another who knew the herbs that broke fevers and soothed nausea, but Bianca had never been sick or injured a day in her life. She had a sense from her novel reading that doctors were aloof and dispassionate, but this woman wasn’t that; she looked positively eager to start poking and prodding and scanning Bianca. She probably just loves her work, Bianca thought, and climbed up on the pedestal bed as the doctor directed. “Will this hurt?” Bianca said.

  “Letnev medical science is the greatest in the galaxy,” Archambelle said, which didn’t really answer the question, did it?

  Chapter 13

  Severyne Joelle Dampierre, captain of the Grim Countenance and provisional governor of the newly annexed planet Darit, was watching Bianca Xing’s medical examination on a screen when her door chimed with Undercommandant Voyou’s pattern.

  “Enter,” she snapped, and the undercommandant came slinking in, overly deferential as always. “My personal physician?” she said. “As if I’d let Archambelle touch me.” The woman was a doctor, and an entirely competent one, but healing wasn’t really her specialty. “She’d probably start vivisecting me out of habit.”