The Kenval Incident

by Philippe Mercurio

  “Commander,” she greeted him. “You are in a very bad situation, even if your service record weighs in your favor.”

  Pushing back her glasses with her index finger, she added, “Your exploits during the war earned you a medal. You distinguished yourself again during multiple missions against the drug cartels. After your unit was dissolved and you escaped an assassination attempt, you retired from the army and became a private detective.”

  The attorney took a pen from her jacket. Immediately, the built-in navcom projected images and text. Carenko’s glasses reflected the luminous symbols. With a flick of her wrist, she oriented the information display toward Laorcq and continued. “For several weeks, you’ve been acting as if you’ve taken leave of your senses, even dragging along a freight hauler, who is currently detained by the Vohrns, in your wake. We lack evidence, but you were mixed up in an attack on Io, a kidnapping in Gloria City, and, probably, a double murder on Pluto. Are you even listening to me?” she interrupted herself.

  Indifferent to his life story, Laorcq had let his mind wander. Once he began studying the lawyer, he found it difficult to stop. The suit she was wearing highlighted her physical qualities, and her full lips offset the severity of her expression.

  “Excuse me, I was thinking about something else.”

  “You’d better get a hold of yourself!” said Carenko. “I was sent to give you the best chance!”

  Laorcq noted that she wasn’t choking on her modesty.

  “If you don’t make an effort to pay attention, I’ll leave immediately,” she added. “I’m not used to wasting my time, nor the time of Kaumann Labs.”

  “You work for them? My message got through…”

  The lawyer interrupted him with a look that would have cracked marble and placed her palm flat against the glass partition. “Don’t say anything that could be used against you.”

  The subtext was clear: they were in the last place to bring up sensitive topics.

  Sliding her hand into her jacket again, she brought out a sheet of paper and showed it to her client.

  Laorcq noticed that it was blank except for the respective logos of Kaumann and the Carenko firm, printed in the upper corners. “This document contains the information you need,” she explained. “To display it, press your right thumb in the center to register your fingerprint. To render it illegible, rip it from top to bottom.”

  With the tips of her fingers, she pushed the paper through the slot at the base of the glass partition.

  Intrigued, Laorcq picked up the paper and followed Carenko’s instructions. Text appeared. In order to avoid detection by video surveillance, the characters reflected the light from several angles, making it hard to read. After absorbing its contents, he destroyed the page with a sharp gesture. He then asked his lawyer, “If I accept, when will I be freed?”

  Not without a note of pride, she replied, “Now! I have an Antarian jet at my disposal. This ship will take us to Earth in less than a week.”

  On board the Lyoden’Naak, Mallory continued her training in Vohrn culture. Sitting in the place of honor between Hanosk and Torg, she was watching a hong’sul match. This sport, very popular among extraterrestrials, reminded her of a three-dimensional version of Go, in which the participants replaced the pieces.

  She observed the “field” attentively: circular plateaus linked together by metallic cables covered with padding. The aliens had illuminated the structure so that she and Torg could view the spectacle.

  Each player carried rectangular shields made of yellowish-orange wood on their forearms. They were used to strike as much as to block, she discovered. The rules were too complex for her taste, except on one point: taking over a position consisted simply of ejecting one’s adversary from it.

  Ordinarily, she didn’t really enjoy being a spectator: for her, staying quietly seated and watching others enjoy themselves was true torture.

  However, the intensity of the combat captivated her. On each disk she looked at, a duel as violent as it was controlled was taking place. She didn’t know which way to turn. Vohrns were exchanging blows with the shields at an incredible pace, and the crash of the weapons generated continuous thunder. With each victory, one of the opponents crashed to the arena floor. The fall would have killed a human on the spot, but the extraterrestrials got back up without seeming bothered.

  The match stopped suddenly. One of the two teams no longer held position in any location. Carried away by the action, Mallory rose, ready to cry out, “Bravo!” She held back at the last second. Around her, hundreds of aliens, still seated, turned their rostrums in her direction. Apparently, applauding the winners by standing was not one of the Vohrn’s habits.

  This sportive interlude marked the end of the trip. When the cruiser came to a stop outside the solar system, Mallory, to whom Torg remained glued, found herself at the ship’s bridge along with Hanosk.

  “I have just been informed that we still have the Omsyn epidemic under control. We have a little bit of breathing room,” he declared.

  Hanosk gave orders to the crew, then turned his attention to Mallory. “The arrival of the Lyoden’Naak is likely to alarm the Earth authorities. It will keep its distance from your fellow humans to avoid a panic. For our part, we’re going to stay at our embassy on Mars. Once there, with the help of my colleagues, we will decide how to obtain the data about the virus created by Idernax.”

  The alien gestured for Mallory and the cybrid to follow him. He led them to the flight deck, where they boarded a shuttle. The vehicle, barely a lifeboat compared to the cruiser, was almost as large as the Sirgan.

  The small vessel crossed the system at a prohibited speed. Finally, the wide copper disk of Mars appeared, evolving into a horizon during their descent. Slowly penetrating the thin atmosphere, the shuttle approached a sea of red sand: the Kasei Valley.

  Thanks to the large screens in the cabin, Mallory was able to admire the immense vale. Completely arid, it spread across almost two thousand miles before dividing in two. Their destination was located in one of these parts: a tongue of stone that overlooked the sterile expanse.

  Two decades earlier, the appearance of the Vohrns had ended the war between humans and Orcants. When the peace treaty was signed, this place was designated to house the reptilian aliens’ diplomatic enclave among the humans. A natural platform, about sixty miles long and more than twelve wide, it formed an island in the middle of a river of saffron dust.

  As she contemplated this block of granite planted in the middle of the Martian desert, Mallory was suddenly ashamed: Hanosk’s people had enabled the armistice with the big cockroaches and, to thank them, the Earthlings had given them a tiny pebble.

  The shuttle landed in the middle of the embassy. Like a sound whose existence isn’t perceived until it stops, the vibration of the engines vanished.

  A double force field covering the entire landing area contained a viable atmosphere. One after the other, the three passengers disembarked. Mallory noticed that the Vohrns had worked with the difficult conditions and had transformed the rocky platform into an oasis.

  The Martian storms made it impossible to construct tall buildings. Unable to build toward the sky, the reptiles had resolved the problem in a straightforward manner: they turned toward the ground.

  Next to Torg, Mallory was moving forward in the alien’s wake when she noticed the three-hundred-foot diameter wide well drilled into the rock. Hanosk anticipated her question. “They are designed to contain multiple biospheres, like our tower in Gloria City. No matter where he is from, each Vohrn can find here the flora, fauna, and climate of his native world. The shallowest levels are reserved for consular representatives who are passing through.”

  Once they descended into one of these inverted skyscrapers, Mallory saw that the tunnels made it possible to see outside. Dug directly into the granite, they emerged onto the plateau’s sharp slopes. They took one of these.

  The tunnel ended in front of large crystalline panels. Behin
d the shelter of these tall panes, Mallory was able to admire an enormous garnet arena formed from the valley and the encircling cliffs. The pinkish firmament provided a playground for ferocious storms. Swept by gusts of sand, small islands of rock could be seen here and there in this hard and arid landscape.

  With her fingertips brushing Torg’s red and black fur, she remarked, “The Vohrns establish their ecosystem everywhere, but these lookout points show that they also know how to appreciate their adoptive home.”

  Sadly, she recalled the lethal situation the Vohrns were facing and looked away from the panorama. It was no time for sociology. The diversion of the trip on the Lyoden’Naak abruptly disappeared, and reality imposed itself on her once again. Manipulated by Morsak and Lebrane, she and Laorcq had set in motion a catastrophe that they absolutely had to nip in the bud…

  XX

  STRIP TEASE

  ONCE the visit to the embassy was over, Mallory and Torg were steered politely but firmly to their new quarters. She noticed that these consisted of a ten-foot-square room, furnished with the now familiar “fur sack.” Behind a barely visible door, seemingly that of a closet, she discovered a cramped bathroom.

  “For a room designed for diplomats, this place is rather frugal,” she noted.

  “It sure is tiny!” Torg added with disappointment.

  He had been given a similar room located just across the hall.

  With a sigh provoked by her fatigue, Mallory dropped her meager luggage in a corner. She laid down on the bunk and let the rectangular fleece envelop her.

  The lodgings were on the same level as the surface. A narrow window notched into the ceiling allowed her to see the Martian sky and the two irregularly shaped moons that occupied it.

  Mallory paid no attention to the satellites. She was considering the abrupt turn her life had taken. For years, proving her father’s innocence had seemed like a far-off goal. A personal quest whose success was less important than the reasons for its pursuit.

  The evidence was waiting, buried in an asteroid in Orcant territory. Unfortunately, unless there was a drastic change in the political balance, the rock would remain as inaccessible for her as if she were in another galaxy. If she also considered the permanent blackmail Lebrane held over her, her chances of success were close to zero.

  From now on, the game would be played for double or nothing: either the Vohrns would survive with her help and would resolve her problems in exchange, or they would end up decimated and Mallory’s hopes would be dashed.

  With a hint of black humor, she summed things up: saving an extraterrestrial species, restoring my family’s honor, and getting out from under a blackmailer. And to think I found my life a tad routine…

  Her bracelet emitted a series of beeps, signaling a short message from Hanosk. He requested her presence. Attached to the text she found a detailed plan of the building buried in the rock. As soon as she activated the map, the navcom integrated into the jewelry projected a succession of large green dots on the ground.

  She jumped down from the bunk and began to follow Ariadne’s thread. After four corridors and two staircases, she came out in front of a double-wing door. This revealed a large room.

  Mallory thought it bore a strange resemblance to an opera house, although there were no seats. About twenty Vohrns were standing in the middle. As one entity, the aliens turned toward the newcomer. She felt like a frog about to be dissected.

  Hanosk appeared in the middle of the group. The translator he wore transmitted his words through the pilot navcom. “Welcome, Captain Mallory Sajean.”

  “Um… thanks…” she mumbled awkwardly.

  Embarrassed, she reprimanded herself silently: How eloquent! A real ambassador.

  As soon as she opened her mouth to try to rectify the situation, a video projection appeared between her and the Vohrns. She recognized a three-dimensional representation of the Procyon system. Without preamble, the alien leader presented her with the new facts. “Ten of our time cycles ago, or about two of your years, Captain, several intrusions occurred on the Procyon worlds. We lamented the kidnapping of three of our scientists who were forced to board an unidentified ship. It escaped by hiding among space traffic. Since the system came into our possession, nothing like this has ever happened. Spies also visited our industrial operations on the moons of the gas giants Laryl and Almar.”

  The satellites in question marched across the image, with Vohrn letters written in the lower part. Hanosk continued for his compatriots’ benefit. “Now, Jonas Morsak, a human who runs a powerful firm, seeks to destroy us. His goal seems to be profiting from the panic created by an Omsyn epidemic in order to seize control of Procyon. He is probably the source of the incursions.”

  Mallory was impressed despite herself: Morsak had spared no expense! The value of this corner of the galaxy must be beyond imagining.

  The Vohrn leader continued, “We always believed our adversaries would wage war to take Procyon from us. Morsak found another way: exterminating us with a selective virus.”

  Changing the subject, he called out to Mallory through the hologram. He explained what his people expected from her. “Your fellow humans use data networks indiscriminately. This negligence has allowed us to examine the habits of Idernax’s employees. We have identified the individual on whom we can place pressure to obtain information. You will help us get in touch with him. He’s a research archivist who lives in Nogartha. You will leave tonight.”

  The strange meeting broke up in silence. Left alone, Mallory went back to her quarters. She recalled that Torg hated the city. He was going to be thrilled to go back there!

  The day was drawing to a close when Hanosk summoned them again. They followed another predetermined path and came out in a hollow that opened onto the side of a cliff.

  Separated from the Martian atmosphere by a double force field, the grotto contained the shuttle from the Lyoden’Naak. The ship’s hold was wide open. Mallory and Torg discovered the contents with surprise: the aeroglider that the assassin had used to follow them on Kenval. With a turbulent whir, the red vehicle glided over several meters before stopping at their feet. A gull-wing door swung open to reveal Hanosk.

  Taken aback, Mallory asked him, “You think we’re going to Earth in that thing? I must have forgotten to tell you that Torg is claustrophobic.”

  She turned toward the cybrid, looking for support. He only murmured, “Humans or Vohrns, you’re all crazy.”

  Through his translator, the alien explained, “We have improved this vehicle. It is now able to leave the planet and propel itself into the void. Its small size is an advantage: we will be able to slip through the air traffic lanes that cut across the Earth’s atmosphere.”

  Hanosk left the driver’s seat and invited Mallory to take over. “Try the controls. I am sure that you will be satisfied by its operation.”

  She felt excitement overtake her. Their host’s comment was quite promising…

  Once seated, with the alien on her right and Torg somehow squeezed into the back, Mallory examined the navigation controls. Quickly getting her bearings, she launched the tear-shaped vehicle into the Martian sky. The acceleration was far greater than what she had expected. Truly, Hanosk and his compatriots pleased Mallory more and more: they knew how to make lovely toys! With a large smile on her lips, she reassured her cybrid. “Don’t worry, Torg. At this speed, we’ll be there before you start to feel bad!”

  Daniel Lanca’s thoughts were focused on the new girl at Copal, a hostess bar. After his day at work in the Idernax archives, he had decided to let himself have a good time. The man was waiting for a cocktail whose name he had forgotten, which the waitress was preparing with a resigned look on her face. When she handed him the glass, her eyes slid over him, his banal physique, and his only notable features: extremely close-set eyes and a thick black mustache.

  A downright unhealthy ambiance permeated the cabaret. This did not bother Lanca. The night before, when he went home, he had been surpr
ised to discover photos of a tall blonde with green eyes among his messages. The incarnation of his fantasies.

  He didn’t know the Copal, but the pictures had overcome his suspicion. The abbreviation “avail” was inscribed in fine print at the bottom of each photo. This code indicated that, subject to payment, he would be entitled to very intimate services…

  And so, the mustachioed man ignored the stools with the faded seats and the not-very-clean bar. He barely looked around the room: he was the only customer. It didn’t surprise him that the bar was swamping the networks with ads.

  Since he was handsomely paid by the owner of Kaumann labs in exchange for access to Idernax’s normally confidential data, he was used to visiting high-class establishments. He looked at the fake marble tables with disdain. “Décor isn’t this place’s strong suit. How did they manage to smoke out such a beautiful girl? I hope they didn’t doctor the pictures.”

  Above a row of numbered doors, dusty screens showed artistic-pornographic scenes, periodically interrupted to plug the availability of “dancers.”

  Lanca was going to order some more rotgut when the image shifted to extol the virtues of a hostess, backed up by suggestive photos. He suddenly felt excitement burning in his loins. There she is! he noted feverishly. The girl from the ad, with the body of a goddess.

  A superimposed number blinked: the room where the striptease artist was waiting for her next client. Clumsy in his haste, he abandoned his half-full glass. With a last glance over his shoulder, as if someone was likely to jump ahead of him, he moved toward the door marked with the indicated number.

  He entered a tiny windowless room. When he discovered a brunette wearing a black flight suit and a burgundy jacket, he became furious. “Is this a joke? Where’s the tall blonde?”