#Alien Noninterference Clause

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

Why is it that the Infinity Knights, who profess to noninterference in other worlds’ affairs

are content to allow the Inspector to go about mucking around in history (and the future) without calling them out on their activities (at least until someone from the far future demands an internal investigation into the Inspector’s behaviour)?

[haphazardlyparked]

pieces (continued!)

a continuation of my weird little fill for @gingerly-writing​‘s prompt: “You broke me into pieces. It’s not my fault I put myself back together in a shape you don’t like.”

Third Month, 98 AS

The second time Emil meets Alaya, she’s the sixth out of eight dignitaries being introduced at Sohdu Square, the seat of Winsoh’s ruling Commission. Her full name is Alaya goh Mer, and she represents Fin Mer, a city-state on the far side of the Curled Sea. Her grey hair is plaited and wound around her head like a crown, her stride long and unfaltering as she crosses the Square.

When he sees those angular features and tanned skin, Emil feels like he’s been punched in the face. 

At his position guarding the bright red-and-green moongate that opens into the Great Hall’s courtyard, Emil tenses, fingers curling into fists, mind uncomfortably abuzz because the first time Emil met Alaya goh Mer had been three nights before, when he had crossed the perimeter and broken into Sohtown’s only hotel to kill her in her sleep. She hadn’t looked dangerous then, her hair carelessly unbound and a soft expression on her face while she slept, but orders were orders and Emil was a professional dedicated to protecting his country. 

He had been careful and precise with his wind-blades. She hadn’t woken at all while her pulse faded away; and when Emil was sure she was dead, he had cleaned the blood from her wound and applied synthetic flesh sutures to knit her skin together, hiding evidence of her murder before slipping out of her room. It had been late, but outland towns didn’t have any curfews, so Emil took extra care to avoid the townspeople still milling about in their thick winter coats, relying on his Sight to chart a sure, quiet path out of Sohtown.

He’d collected his electric bike at the town wall, driven the twenty miles back to Winsoh’s border, and passed back through the perimeter without issue. The Corps had been pleased when he reported his success, checking his Sight against his verbal report. Then, as a sign of their trust in him, they had assigned him to the security detail for the first outland diplomats to be allowed through the perimeter in thirteen years. 

Now, Emil wonders if the stars are laughing at him.

Alaya goh Mer doesn’t so much as look at Emil, just one guard among many, but he’s hyperware of her as she approaches the bright red-and-green moon gate. She climbs the carpeted steps, bows gracefully before the Commission’s First Chair, and then turns to wave at the crowd gathered in the courtyard. She moves to the side, closer to Emil, as they announce the seventh diplomat, a somber-looking man from Dano. 

Emil tries to focus on keeping watch over the crowd. Whenever he does steal a glance at Alaya goh Mer, she’s just standing there, politely smiling through the end of the introductions and the First Chair’s short speech on cooperation and peace between Winsoh and the Outland Federation. 

When the whole contingent turns to pass through the gate and into the courtyard of the Great Hall, Emil’s close enough to hear Alaya goh Mer’s expressive sigh. 

“Oh, it’s so beautiful,” she tells the somber man by her side, who looks surprised by her effusive outburst. 

The courtyard’s gardens are decorated with yellow roses, a pleasant spring that contrasts the Outland’s current winter.  

“I have more classic tastes,” the somber man grumbles. “I prefer my roses red.” 

“Red’s nice, if you’re a romantic,” Emil hears Alaya goh Mer laugh. “But in the real classics, yellow roses represent life and resurrection.” 

Emil suddenly feels like he’s being watched, but when he looks towards her again, she’s staring starry-eyed at the courtyard gardens. 

“It’s a nice touch,” the somber man concedes.

Alaya goh Mer beams at him. “I agree. It’s a very fitting choice.” 

His target’s image had been programmed into his Sight; Emil had never known her name. Maybe this diplomat and his target are relatives with similar looks. Maybe they really do let twin issues coexist on the other side of the perimeter.

But Emil knows, knows in his bones, that that this is the woman he killed. He feels like her bright smile is mocking him. 

���••

Fourth Month, 98 AS

“I know your Commission is worried about the whole market incident,” Alaya goh Mer says without looking up. “But I don’t require a bodyguard.”

She’s lounging on a couch with her legs tucked under her, a book in hand, and Emil can’t stop looking at her bare feet. Out of the eight foreigners who’ve come to Winsoh, only she and the solemn man from Dano persist in keeping Winsoh’s barefooted fashion. Emil would prefer they donned Outland-style shoes.

Seeing the unmarked skin of Alaya goh Mer’s feet makes Emil uneasy, like he’s in the presence of some alien thing that’s unbound and boundless. It makes him think of her dead body in the Sohtown hotel. 

“Consider me a guide, then,” Emil suggests with stiff politeness. He takes up a standing position just inside the door to Alaya goh Mer’s guest quarters.

Alaya goh Mer sets her book down. When she finally looks up at Emil, he finds himself drawn to the stylized leaves that make up the title of the book.

“You’re reading Winsohan poetry?” he blurts out, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

Alaya goh Mer smiles, something small and different from the mocking thing Emil’s seen through his Sight and at the welcoming ceremony. It almost looks like a confession. “I have a soft spot for Cagyar’s freeform,” she explains, idly tapping her fingers against the book’s cover.

What do you think of The Misty Summers, Emil wants to ask, or why his freeform over Jan Micah's? Instead, with his attention now distracted away from the discomfort of her bare feet, Emil finds himself staring at Alaya’s sheepish smile and the way the sitting room lights dance in her eyes.

“Oh,” he says, and immediately feels a bit stupid for it. “I like his epics best.”

Alaya laughs. "But have you read any poetry from this volume? I borrowed it from one of your libraries." Ruefully, she adds, "We don't have libraries like yours anywhere in the Federation, not anymore."

The Federation, not the Outlands. The stark reminder of just who Alaya goh Mer is, and what she represents, snaps the sliding axis of Emil's perspective back into place. He glances back at her feet, with their unbroken stretch of tanned skin, and reminds himself that this is a dead woman walking. Boundless and dangerous. Emil is here to be neither bodyguard nor guide.

“Please continue to enjoy ours then, while you're here," he invites as formally as possible.

“Oh,” Alaya goh Mer says in a not-quite-earnest voice Emil can’t place. “I assure you, I will.”  

•••

Tenth Month, 103 AS

“Emil.”

She says his name softly, lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Emil is wide-awake in an instant. He’s half out of his bedroll, the hilts of his knives in his hands with wind-blades half-formed, before he stops himself.

“Quietly,” Alaya says, straightening from her crouch and stepping back.

“What the fuck,” Emil bites out. He loosens his grip and lets the winds die away, but doesn’t let go of his hilts. Over on the other side of the campfire, shadows dance against Kara’s sleeping, motionless form. Alaya looks at Kara too, then back at Emil with a grim smile.

“Come on,” she gestures impatiently. “We’re going to go steal Rego’s Bell.”  

The hard determination Emil sees reflected in Alaya’s flat stare sets him on edge. Apprehension curls in his gut.

Three days ago, they discovered the western Dano faction was coordinating their fighting with Winsohan allies using a Bell device. The Res has had its suspicions about the outbreak of fighting in Dano, which is why they sent Kara to investigate the would-be usurper Rego, but this is worse than anyone imagined. If they can get their hands on the Bell, they can probably prove that Winsohan agents haven’t just taken advantage of Dano’s infighting — they’ve instigated it by propping up Rego. It’s a direct breach of the noninterference clause in the Sealed Treaty.

It’s also exactly the kind of thing Winsoh’s Commission thinks it can get away with. The Commission’s arrogance angers Emil as much as it would any other outlander; he wants to get his hands on the Bell and wants to shove proof of the Commission’s treachery in Winsoh’s face.

But Emil doesn’t trust Alaya and her judgement.

It’s not just because he can’t look at her without feeling gutted, either. When he and Kara first set out for Dano, they had worked in an alert but comfortable tandem, confident in each other’s skills. Alaya’s presence has derailed that easy partnership. Since joining them, there’s been an uneasy tension between their small group that makes Emil feel brittle and off-balance.

Alaya blows hot and cold, sometimes playful enough to make even Emil laugh, sometimes turning on him with sharp eyes and a cutting tongue, and often uncharacteristically still, focused on something distant. Emil can’t rest when Alaya is around. She’s been testing Kara’s endless patience, too. Relentless — reckless, even — in their pursuit of Rego’s militia, Alaya has been driving them deeper into the thick of the fighting, insisting they can’t turn back yet.  

“Kara thinks it’s too dangerous,” Emil reminds her coldly.

She scoffs. “Kara thinks a lot of things are too dangerous.”

“Don’t be so dismissive,” he snaps. “We’re already at the Byn river, twice as far as the Council gave us leave to go. Have you noticed how both banks are unsettled? There’s probably wisps out here that could kill us before we get within ten meters of Rego’s camp.”

“Alright, I see.” Alaya laughs that new, sharp laugh of hers. “You’re half an outland man now, but just as obedient as ever, aren’t you?”

She turns on her heel and heads out of the camp. “If I’m not back by midday tomorrow, return to the Council without me.”

Emil furiously wrestles himself out of his bedroll, steps into his boots, and strides after her. He catches her wrist when he’s close enough, pulling her to a stop. “You’re an idiot,” he growls when he’s sure he’s got her attention. “It’s a suicide mission, if you go alone.”

Further away from the fire, Emil can barely see the expression on Alaya’s face. Her voice is flat when she says, “It’s a suicide mission even if you come.”

Emil scowls in the dark. “I’ll improve our chances, at least.”

This time, Alaya’s laugh is quiet and familiar. “Protective as ever, too,” she murmurs.

For half a moment, Emil can imagine they’re back in her rooms in Sohdu, whiling away the hours before her next round of meetings. He squashes the thought.

•••

Fifth Month, 98 AS

“What the hell happened to you?”

The words are out of Emil’s mouth almost as soon as he lets himself into Alaya’s guest rooms. She’s curled up on the couch by the window, wearing outland trousers and a loose shirt, and her feet are covered in thin socks.

It’s the black eye and the dark, ugly bruise on her cheek that startles Emil. He crosses the room quickly, pushing Alaya’s legs off the couch gently so he can make room for himself next to her.

Alaya smiles widely, winces when the motion pulls at the muscles in her face, and then settles for something softer. “It’s nothing,” she tells Emil reassuringly. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking.”

Emil is not reassured. “Bullshit,” he says, reaching out to touch the left side of her face gently. She flinches when his fingers brush against her jaw — swollen, just as he thought, though not bruised like her cheek — and bites back a hiss when he presses at her black eye. “This wasn’t an accident.”

Surprise flickers across Alaya’s face before giving way to a huff of laughter. Emil doesn’t understand why, but Alaya is always so pleased when he calls her out on her subtle half-truths and baldfaced lies.

“No, believe me,” she protests playfully. “It was an accident. I wasn’t paying attention, and I accidentally walked into a petty thief’s fist.”

It’s a poor joke. Emil frowns. “Did you report the incident to the city corps?”

“Of course not, darling.” Alaya rolls her eyes. “I handled it myself.”

“Fighting’s outlawed in Winsoh, Alaya,” Emil reminds her. He brushes his fingers against her hairline, trails them through her silky grey locks. “You should’ve reported it to the local Sohdu corps. You could get into trouble, if anyone saw you. Where were your guards?”

“Apparently, they were busy with something else,” Alaya says with a strange smile. She shrugs. “So I guess no one saw me.” Reaching up, she slips her fingers around his wrist and pulls his hand from her face. “Relax, Emil. I’m fine.” 

But Emil can’t shake the uneasy feeling in his stomach. Foreign diplomats shouldn’t be getting into fights in the streets of Sohdu — and what pickpocket would be stupid enough to target one of Winsoh’s outland guests? Maybe he should bring it up to the corps himself; they’d tighten the guard on the foreigners, if they knew about this. They would have to. If anything happens to the diplomats within the perimeter, it’ll reflect badly on Winsoh.

“You’re thinking too much.” Alaya threads her fingers through his, and squeezes his hand. “Why don’t you show me some of Winsoh’s famed medicines instead?”

“Alaya,” Emil hesitates. There’s so little that Emil can offer Alaya. His feels himself hunching slightly, ashamed that even this is beyond him. “I would, but — I’d have to write up an incident report. All of our supplies are regulated. They’d want to know what happened.”

For some reason, this makes Alaya laugh yet again. Alaya is always laughing, always smiling, but the more Emil is around her, the better he can tell the difference between her genuine, happy laughs and her other ones. This is one of her other ones, filled with something Emil can’t quite place.  

“Fine, fine,” she tells him. “Forget I asked, darling. We won’t tell them how I’ve been naughty.” Using their joined hands, Alaya pulls Emil close enough that she can loop her other arm around his neck. There’s a slyness in her expression, and the heat in her eyes is full of promise. Emil feels himself flush with interest. “Why don’t you let me take you to bed,” Alaya suggests instead. 

Emil’s breath catches in his throat. Stars above, but she’s beautiful, liquid amber eyes fixed on him, like he’s the only thing in the world right now. She’s got her private smile on now, the teasing, playful one that’s just for him. Emil leans into kiss it, loving the curl of her lips against his.

“Fine, fine,” he mimics her, when he pulls away. “Take me to bed, darling.”

“There’s my sweet guard,” Alaya purrs. She slides off the couch, tugging gently at Emil’s hand as she leads them through the moon-shaped arch that separates her sitting room from the bedroom.

Emil pretends he doesn’t see her limp.