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  Jalila's heart pounded. Her mind raced.

  Days ago, she'd been on the verge of being drummed out of the service. She'd been disgraced after making a critical mistake that had led to the death of a diplomat and the failure of a peace treaty. She'd never dared imagine she'd be given a chance to redeem herself.

  Yet here it was.

  Jalila had survived many travails on the planet Vox, and that was one thing...but having Major al-Aziz turn to her for answers was another. Having him turn to her for a key idea in the midst of a crisis was extraordinary. It wasn't something he routinely did with disgraced officers on the verge of being drummed out of the service.

  It meant, plain and simple, that he was giving Jalila another chance. If she could come up with a dazzling solution, perhaps it would mitigate her disgrace. Perhaps she could yet retire with honor.

  If only she could rise to the occasion.

  Jalila wracked her brain, considering the possibilities. She felt the planet turning around her with all its billions of people depending on her answer.

  How could the Vox be punished in a way that would benefit the Mazeesh? Better yet, that would benefit both species? Jalila looked from the Vox to the Mazeesh, struggling to come up with an answer. She looked at the Mazeesh language projected on the wall.

  And that was when it hit her.

  Perhaps the Vox, like Jalila, could redeem themselves with language.

  Energized with inspiration, Jalila went to Farouk and reached for his Mazeesh-attuned Voicebox. He handed it over with a skeptical look on his stony features.

  With a few tweaks, Jalila wirelessly linked Farouk's Voicebox to her own. Thanks to the link, she could type on one Voicebox and covert her words to Vox spoken language and projected Mazeesh text simultaneously.

  When the setup was done, Jalila pushed her glossy black hair behind her ears and started typing, addressing the Vox and Mazeesh. "I propose that the Vox work off their debt," she said.

  "How gracious of you," snarled Ieria.

  Symbols flowed onto the Mazeesh's wings and became words on the Voicebox's display. "What kind of work?"

  "The Mazeesh have no spoken language," said Jalila. "This can be a disadvantage in trade and exploration."

  "You dare call us disadvantaged?" said the Mazeesh.

  "Not at all," said Jalila. "However, speech is the primary means of communication for most species we have encountered. Lack of communication can lead to misunderstandings, which can lead to conflict.

  "Perhaps you can limit these undesirable outcomes," said Jalila, "by employing translators on your ships...say, the members of a multilingual, speech-focused species."

  The Mazeesh's wings rippled, displaying an array of new symbols. "You suggest we carry murderers on our ships, and let them speak for us?"

  "I think you'll be surprised at how many qualified, good-hearted people you'll find on this world," said Jalila. "Think of the Lexicons, who not only preserved the secrets their ancestors tried to expunge, but bravely helped bring them to light."

  A long moment passed before new text appeared on the wings of the Mazeesh. "They have no experience with written language. They will not be able to read our words and translate them into speech."

  "The Vox are able to carry on three separate conversations in three different languages at once," said Jalila. "I think they'll learn."

  There was another pause before the next Mazeesh message. "This isn't enough. There must be an admission of guilt. There must be penitence for the suffering they've caused."

  "Once you've taught them to read and write," said Jalila, "work with them to develop historical records. Ensure that the true story of your people's first coming is available to everyone and never forgotten. When all Vox know the truth, there will be plenty of penitence."

  "What is to prevent what happened before from happening again?" said the Mazeesh.

  "Awareness of the truth," said al-Aziz. "Regret. And you setting an example by extending mercy to those who've hurt you instead of continuing the cycle of violence."

  The Mazeesh hovered in place without answering, its unreadable stare providing Jalila no clue to its intent. At last, the creature flashed another message on its wings. "I must consult with my brothers," it said, and then it turned from al-Aziz to face the rest of the Mazeesh.

  As the Mazeesh conferred, Ieria stormed over and snapped at al-Aziz. "They can consult all they want. We'll never give in to these monsters."

  "Is that in the best interests of your people?" said al-Aziz. "Do you think they'd agree that extinction is preferable to cooperation?"

  "I speak for all of them," said Ieria.

  "Do you?" al-Aziz stepped around her, bringing himself face to face with the assembled Vox ministers. "What about you? You also speak for your people. Do you agree that they would vote for destruction?"

  The ministers stood silently, meeting his gaze.

  "If the Mazeesh accept our proposal," said al-Aziz, "you won't be asked to sacrifice much. If anything, you'll come out ahead. You'll have a written language, access to deep space, access to advanced technology...and if things work out, in the long run, you may end up with some pretty powerful allies.

  "What do you think your people would want? All that...or the end of the world?"

  Ieria threw herself between al-Aziz and the ministers. "Promises, promises!" she said. "Why would they promise rewards to a species they believe slaughtered their ancestors? To get us to surrender quietly! Care to guess how many promises they'll keep after we put down our weapons and get on our knees?"

  "Do you really think they care if you surrender?" said al-Aziz. "With the fleet they've got in orbit, they can wipe your planet clean without working up a sweat."

  "They'll never let us live," said Ieria. "They'll need to cover up the truth of what they did to our people...and if by some miracle they really do believe that ridiculous story of theirs, they'll be too afraid of what we might do to them."

  "They believe it, all right," said al-Aziz, "but they might be willing to give you a second chance. Why not take it, if your only other option is total annihilation?"

  "Because we are the injured party here!" Ieria shoved her snout in his face. "We are the ones who should receive apologies and reparations!"

  al-Aziz pushed her away with the palm of his hand. "So holding on to a lie is more important than saving your people?"

  "It's too late for my people."

  "You have the power to save them," said al-Aziz. "If you don't use that power, you'll be responsible for their destruction."

  "It won't be on my head!" said Ieria. "The same monsters who nearly drove us to extinction three hundred years ago will be to blame!"

  "You're sure that's what the people would want?" said al-Aziz.

  "It doesn't matter! I speak for everyone, living and dead!"

  Just then, Ieria was interrupted by a clawed finger tapping on her shoulder. She whirled to face a blonde-furred minister with brown markings.

  "Spoke," said the minister.

  "Excuse me?" said Ieria.

  "You spoke for everyone," said the blonde minister. "Past tense."

  "What are you talking about?" said Ieria.

  "You're not fit to lead," said the minister. "We just had a bloodless coup."

  Ieria snarled and bared her fangs. "You can't do this," she hissed. "Traitors!"

  "Somebody get a gag on her," said the jet-black Vox. "She's about to break some obscenity taboos."

  Ieria howled and lunged at the ministers, but several of them grabbed hold of her and wrestled her to the ground. She was still struggling when the Mazeesh spokesperson glided over. The creature had an array of symbols on its wings, and Farouk scanned them into the Voicebox.

  al-Aziz grinned as he read the translation.

  "Ministers," said al-Aziz. "The Mazeesh agree to the compromise we discussed. Would you like some time to talk it over?"

  "Unnecessary," said the blonde-furred minister. "We are unanimous."

/>   al-Aziz spoke into Farouk's Mazeesh-attuned Voicebox. "The Vox accept your terms," he said. "With gratitude and humility."

  *****

  Chapter 19

  Gently, Jalila placed the crimson seedling in the hole she had dug, then scooped in red soil with a trowel. When the hole was full, she used the trowel to smooth the ground around the base of the seedling; as a finishing touch, she put down the tool and patted the dirt with her bare hands.

  Even before the applause started, she felt a wave of relief and resolution. In spite of setbacks and suffering, she had not only survived a terrible ordeal but had helped stave off an invasion and unite two alienated species. In the process, she had redeemed herself, at least a little, for her disastrous failure on Pyrrhus VII.

  Now, months later, here she was, helping to add the story of the crisis to the botanical records planted in the Garden of Yesterday.

  As the assembled crowd applauded, she pushed her black hair behind her ears and surveyed the patch of history before her. When fully grown, the cluster of tiny red seedlings would bloom with flowers of many colors and fragrances. Miraculously engineered by the Lexicon gardeners, the flora would tell a story with their scents, recounting the arrival of the Ibn Battuta, the attack of the Free Speakers, the second coming of the Mazeesh, and the inception of the historic agreement between the Mazeesh and the Vox.

  Most of the other shoots had been planted by the revised Lexicons who inhabited the underground garden. They had extra reasons to celebrate this day: those who had been permanently silenced during revisions had had their gags removed by the Ibn Battuta's expert medical team, as had Jalila; and all exiled Lexicons were now free to come and go as they pleased, to travel to the surface without fear of capture or worse.

  Jalila's Ibn Battuta crewmates had also planted seedlings in the patch. Major al-Aziz and Colonel Farouk had both taken part in the ceremonial planting; Jalila, however, had been given the honor of putting the final seedling in place, the shoot whose bloom would emit the scent concluding the story of recent events.

  As Jalila gave the dirt around the seedling a final pat, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning and looking up, she saw Giza gazing down at her. His blonde fur, which had already been crowded with elaborate painted designs, now included one more marking: a triple tongue of flame on one side of his snout, his badge of office as newly elected regent of Vox.

  As Jalila got to her feet, Regent Giza chattered away in the spoken language of the Vox. Jalila didn't bother to draw the Voicebox from the hip pocket of her gray jumpsuit; during her time among the Vox, she'd learned enough of the language to follow what Giza said.

  "You have made history," he told her, "and now you have preserved it. I hope you will return to breathe the scent of the flower you have planted when it blossoms."

  "I hope so, too," Jalila said in the Vox language.

  As Giza bowed and stepped aside, Jalila's shipmates pressed forward.

  "Nice work, Jalila." Major al-Aziz smiled and shook her hand.

  "Thank you, Major," said Jalila.

  "By the way," said al-Aziz. "You might be happy to hear you won't be receiving a dishonorable discharge."

  Jalila brightened instantly. "Thank you, sir!" She knew she'd rewarded his trust in inventing a solution to unite the Vox and Mazeesh. She'd been hoping her good work might wipe away some of her disgrace and allow her to retire honorably. Now, it seemed, she was getting exactly what she'd wanted.

  But as it turned out, al-Aziz had something different in mind.

  "Actually," he said, "you won't be receiving a discharge at all."

  Jalila's mouth fell open. She couldn't believe what she'd heard.

  "I'd like you to continue serving on the Ibn Battuta," said al-Aziz. "What do you say to that, Corporal?"

  It was more than Jalila had dared imagine. It was all she could have hoped for, short of turning back the clock and changing what had happened on Pyrrhus VII. All she'd ever wanted was to travel the stars and build bridges of language and understanding with alien species. She'd almost lost all that forever...but now she'd regained it.

  Jalila stiffened and saluted briskly. "I would be honored, sir."

  al-Aziz straightened his black jumpsuit and smiled wryly. "You probably deserve a commendation," he said, "but let's take it one step at a time for now, all right?"

  "Yes, sir," said Jalila.

  "Your work on the communications system alone merits a promotion," said al-Aziz. "Speaking of which, how's it coming along?"

  "Just one more day to work out a few bugs," said Jalila. In the three and a half months since the resolution of the crisis, she and Farouk had worked tirelessly on devising an interface to allow the Vox and Mazeesh to communicate directly. The system was similar in conception to the makeshift interface al-Aziz and Farouk had set up in the Ministry building; video pickups would scan Mazeesh written language, which would then be converted by Voicebox into audible Vox speech. Though the system would only be needed until the Vox learned to read and write, its performance would be vital to the success of the Vox-Mazeesh agreement.

  Not that it would take long for the Vox to master the intricacies of written language. In addition to setting up the communication interface, Jalila had overseen the initiation of a literacy education program on the planet, with startling results. The multi-lingual Vox gained command of the Mazeesh written language in no time at all. Learning and teaching it had become a worldwide craze, especially among the young.

  One of the best students, in fact, approached Jalila now.

  "Yama!" Jalila said with a huge grin. "It's great to see you!"

  "It is great to see you, too, Jalila," Yama said in perfect Arabic, whiskers twitching. It was hard to believe she'd been gagged and silent for so long; now that she could speak and had fully recovered from her injuries, she turned out to be the most talkative Vox Jalila had met...and the best linguist. In less than a week, she'd mastered spoken Arabic as well as the Mazeesh written language.

  "Thank you again for everything," said Jalila. "I don't know what we would have done without you."

  "I say the same to you, Jalila," said Yama. "We will never forget what you have done for us, as you will see when you read this."

  Yama handed over a scroll of reddish parchment, tied with a silver cord. When Jalila untied the cord and rolled out the scroll, she was surprised to see lines of recognizable text...Arabic text, neatly printed in scarlet ink.

  "Who did this?" Jalila ran a finger over the parchment.

  "I did," Yama said brightly. "I have been working on it in my spare time."

  "It's beautiful," said Jalila. Once, she might have said it was mazeesh.

  "Are you going to read it?" said Yama.

  "Yes." Jalila read the lines of text. She started to say something about the neatness of the printing, then stopped as the meaning of the words in front of her took shape.

  By the time she got to the end, she felt a lump in her throat.

  "Well?" al-Aziz nodded at the parchment. "What's it say?"

  Tears welling in her eyes, Jalila looked at Yama, then back at the scroll. As she read it a second time, she felt so overcome with emotion that she thought she might burst.

  Jalila bit her lip and dabbed at her eyes. Major al-Aziz went to her side and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  "Let me see," he said softly, sliding the scroll from her grip. When he read it for himself, he smiled warmly.

  "It's a proclamation," he said. "The Vox have officially added a new word to their language."

  "The word is 'Jalila,'" said Yama. "It means 'bringer of truth.'"

  "That sounds about right," said al-Aziz. "Congratulations, Corporal."

  He handed the scroll back to Jalila, and she read it again. Her eyes burned and blurred, and she felt the moisture of tears on her cheeks.

  *****

  Special Preview: Earthshaker

  Gaia Charmer, World Warrior Book 1

  By Robert T. Jeschonek

&
nbsp; Now Available!

  Chapter 1

  How did I stop Ray Long the killer from getting away that night? I threw gravel at him, lots and lots of gravel. And not with my hands, either.

  I'm special like that. And Ray was stupid. Unlucky's a better word. How was he to know he was dealing with someone like me? Maybe I should've worn a sign for him: "Gaia Charmer. In touch with the Earth."

  Make that "Really in touch with the Earth."

  Maybe Ray would've rethought his plan to kill his last victim at the quarry if he'd known what I can do. And if he'd known I was hot on his trail that night.

  He should've known, though. I warned him when he got away the first time. I told him I was going to stop him from killing anyone else. But hey, he underestimated me, which is easy to do. I'm five foot two, in my early twenties, blonde, and petite--not exactly a powerhouse to look at. Works in my favor again and again, which is awesome. Ray wasn't the first, and he won't be the last to experience my hardcore ways.

  Sooner or later, they all find out what it's like when the Charmernator rolls over 'em.

  That night, it was the middle of summer in west-central Pennsylvania, mid-July and counting. The moon was full and yellow over the Allegheny Mountains, bobbing like a dumpling in the hot broth of thick humidity.

  Honestly, I was almost too late. I'd just discovered (via other special skills of mine) that Ray was killing and dumping the missing kids at the Buckhorn Quarry. I'd gotten there as fast as I could, but I was still cutting it close. Ray had the kid staked out in the dirt and was sharpening his machete by the time I showed up.

  Which was all the more reason for me not to waste a second. I didn't pussyfoot around talking things over with Ray or trying to be tricky. I just pulled out all the stops and went at him as hard as I could.

  Which, believe me, is pretty damn hard.

  As soon as Ray heard me coming, crunching gravel underfoot, he swung his flashlight around and caught me in the beam of it. Shielding my eyes from the glare, I saw his other arm reach around behind him for what had to be a gun. So I jumped into action.