He rubbed the faint scar, all that remained from the excision of his sixth finger. Few Warrish would have agreed to the mutilation necessary to disguise them as humans. Earthers seemed to manage with only five fingers, but he still missed that sixth finger when he worked on his codes or com repairs.
He did not regret the sacrifice of his sixth fingers to save his younger brother, although it made him a pariah in normal Warrish society. Karrik had been wounded in battle and lost his ability to walk and speak. Their parents, staunch traditionalists, had refused assistance and demanded they break with the crippled Karrik and recruit a new, healthy Third. Triarch Webale had offered an alternative solution to their dilemma. Webale had promised to place Karrik in the care of the Pearl Sisters if the two elder brothers would agree to assume the guise of Earthers and infiltrate their society. Along with the surgical removal of their sixth fingers, he and Alarik had cropped and redyed their hair into an Earther style. They wore contact lens to mute the vivid colors of their irises and armored vests to conceal their gills. As far as he was aware, nobody had pierced their disguises. Not yet.
As the rover traveled at low altitude above the trees, he recalled his last meeting with Alarik. Two weeks earlier, his brother had described his quantum exchange to inform Triarch Webale that an Eekrepisth ship had crashed on Mars. The Triarch had ordered him to investigate the wreckage, or more likely, his daredevil brother had volunteered to visit the red planet. Immediately after their conversation, his brother had spotted an Earther spying on the room and he had escaped via the roof. Alarik believed somebody had detected the spike of energy emitted by the Triarch’s holographic projection.
Brooding over the dangers, Baswin had grown suspicious of every stranger and curt with his colleagues. He decided to drop out of sight for a few hexads. His absence might baffle any pursuers, and perhaps win greater safety from detection by the authorities. He arranged a trip across the continent with the possibility of a couple of jobs in the western cities. As a precaution, he promoted his chief assistants, Shara and Leo Delmar, to full partners in his business, Secure Communications. The Delmars already knew all aspects of the legitimate business, although they were unaware of his illicit insertions in standard monitoring systems. They believed he had planned a vacation of several weeks.
Pursuing his escape plan, Baswin, under his alias of Basil Kent, had acquired a permit for backcountry camping and traveled to the transit station on the eastern border of the wilderness. When he arrived, he was suitably garbed with hiking boots and a backpack. Instead of taking the trail into the forest, he had hired the rover, a sturdy standard model. Once he flew out of signal range, he had disabled the rover’s route tracker. By now, he had flown three hundred kiloms away from the station. He made a cursory check on the displays. His monitors had detected no drones or any sign of habitation since he left the highway.
He exhaled in satisfaction. So far, his plan had flowed smoothly. This wilderness could become his refuge if necessary to escape any pursuit. Like many Warrish men, his triad of brothers had honed their survival skills in the wilds of Obelle. This forest had fish in the streams and plenty of other animals he could catch and eat. The local carnivores were puny creatures compared to the scaled monsters that roamed the planet of Obelle.
His immediate destination was a small river indicated on the map. Ahead and below, a long sinuous break in the foliage marked the path of the river through the forest.
Baswin angled the rover into a shallow glide toward the creek. Carefully maneuvering under the higher branches, he descended into the space above the water and searched for a safe landing site. A flat-topped spur of rock on the sunlit bank of the stream looked suitable. He lowered the rover onto the hard surface and cut the engines.
Silence descended, broken only by the faint gurgle of flowing water.
He set the monitors to search for infrared signals and watched through the windows for a count of six minutes. Few people lived in this preserved wilderness along the central spine of the northern Americontinent. He was untraceable unless somebody had seen the rover land. The larger animals, bears, elk and wolves did not scare him, although strange humans did.
Nothing stirred outside. The sensors indicated no large sources of heat, confirming the absence of larger animals in the vicinity.
Confident that nobody was watching, Baswin slipped out of the flyer onto the rock. A bird screeched an alarm from a branch overhead. He looked up. The towering trees with dark green foliage were unlike anything on his home planet. They exuded the scent of pine resin, peace and solitude.
He jumped off the rock slab into the layer of brown needles at the base of the trees and laughed in delight. It seemed an ideal place to make his next transition. He and Alarik had arrived on Earth disguised as wealthy Belters, Rick and Basil Kent. Now, he would become Ben Brown. Ben Brown was a common name in the northern Americontinent, although not so common as to rouse suspicion.
Strolling down to the creek, Baswin stood on the bank and eyed the water longingly. The dry atmosphere at this altitude tended to irritate the delicate filaments of his gills. Crouching on the bank, he splashed a handful of water over his face. Upstream and downstream, sunlight and shade dappled the rippling water. Much of the creek was too shallow and rocky for a swim. But the rock spur where he had landed dropped into a deeper pool, an enticing place for an amphibious Warrish man. If he jumped in, he could wet his gills.
Without further delay, he removed his shirt and boots. He unfastened the lightweight armored vest concealing his alien attributes, his gill slits, four nipples and the unhuman contours of his chest. He stripped off the remainder of his clothes and plunged, feet first, into the pool. The splashes scarcely washed his chest. When he stood erect, cold water lapped at the middle of his thighs. Grateful for the chance to submerge, he flipped onto his back and sank under the surface. His gills opened, filtering oxygen from the water. He stretched out his legs and wiggled the six toes of each foot.
After bathing in the pool, he returned to the rover to complete the transition to his alternate alias. Luckily, he had foreseen this eventuality. He had ensured fake credentials as a com tech for his secondary alias by hiring Ben Brown for occasional repair jobs with his company, Secure Communications. He could not easily alter his physical build. When he went on errands as Ben Brown, he dyed his hair a darker brown, and wore a fake beard and mustache as a simple disguise. The beard became the source of jokes with Alarik. Warrish men were unable to grow beards on their chins, although they cultivated elaborately styled mustaches.
Today, he simply darkened the color of his hair using the supplies in his kit. The fake beard was itchy, awkward and unnecessary. He would simply stop shaving and let his mustache grow naturally. As another precaution, he nullified the contact code for Basil Kent on his com. Next, he delved into the rover’s controls and completed his modifications to alter its ownership certificate in case it was queried by traffic enforcement. With that task done, he strolled to the stream and sat on a rock to eat the sandwich he had purchased at the transit station. He had no need to rush away. An interval of a few hours between Basil Kent’s arrival and Ben Brown’s departure might blur the switch between his two fake identities. But he did not stay for long. The shadow of discovery, however imaginary, spurred him to keep on the move.
Inhaling the aromatic scent of the pine trees for the final time, Baswin returned to the rover and started the engines. If the authorities checked, Basil Kent had flown into the wilderness and parked somewhere out of range of their monitors for his hiking trip. If probed, the rover’s signal would indicate the driver as Com Tech Ben Brown, presumably traveling on a job.
Hoping he had concealed his tracks, Baswin steered the rover above the treetops. He patted the armrest of his comfortable seat. When should he ditch the rover? The standard two-seater vehicle had space in the rear for his com equipment and travel kit. Similar small flyers were common all over the continent and relatively inconspicuous. The modified
rover had served him well. It ought to be safe to keep driving it for the present under his new alias. The other question was whether he should pursue the jobs he had scheduled on the west coast. He might be wise to skip this dubious trip to a big city and hunker down in a quieter place, more remote from civilization.
Baswin felt miserably alone. As First of their Triad, Alarik was the one who made important decisions. But his brother was on the red planet and heading toward the outer regions of the solar system. He was not, however, the only alien on Earth. A few of his fellow Warrish lived in their island embassy and underwater base in the Pacific Ocean. But he dared not risk calling the embassy. If the legitimate Warrish flew to retrieve him, his existence as a covert agent would be revealed to the Earthers. At all costs, he must avoid discovery.
Mulling over his options, Baswin pulled a map onto the screen and looked for alternate routes to the west coast. His current route led across the forest to mid-sized towns and agricultural lands. Farther north, the cultivated lands gave way to another inviting wilderness of forests and snow-capped peaks. Even if he abandoned the com jobs he had scheduled in the western cities, he liked the idea of traveling to the coast. The western coast was only two-thirds of an ocean away from the Warrish embassy.
Reluctantly, Baswin decided to notify Triarch Webale of his scheme. In the past, Alarik had been the main point of contact with the Triarch. Since his First was on Mars, Baswin must request permission for any change in plans.
He traced the swirls of copper in the pseudo-leather wrist band of his qtel. Although overtly decorative, the metallic mosaic was an integral part of the device. It was controlled by voice or touch, like Earther coms. But his model incorporated his software and linked to a repository in the submarine Warrish base on Europa. He could also access the vast library on Rishalt using a couple of security keys. His enhanced com was critical for his covert activities.
Focusing on the present problem, he composed a short message in the Triarch’s pattern code and keyed it into his qtel. In long form, the message read, “Earthers have searched Tallis A’s rooms. Tallis B swimming west as a precaution.”
After transmitting the coded message, he continued on the westward course. Less than an hour later, he felt a tickle on his wrist. He glanced at the com and exhaled in a groan. The swift response suggested the Triarch considered the matter urgent. Would Webale reject his vague plan or demand a change of direction?
He displayed the patterns and mentally deciphered the message, “Swim with vigilance. Transmit in code every hexad.”
Automatically, he converted the times. A Warrish hexad translated to about seven and a half Earth days. The Triarch had sent new instructions, but he had not denied Baswin’s proposal. In effect, Webale had endorsed his suggestion to dive westward.
Chapter 3
ON THE MORNING OF THEIR interview at the Ministry for International Affairs, Holly and Rosie rose at sunrise to prepare for their trip to New London. They chose smart, yet practical, clothes and comfortable sandals. Holly carried a shoulder bag with her scrying mirror in its copper case, while Rosie wore a silver necklace with a pendant of quartz crystal to focus her healing powers.
They were waiting by the door at five minutes before eight.
The doorbell chimed.
Both sisters ran to answer the bell. Holly unlatched the door, while Rosie rested a hand on her sister’s arm and peered over her shoulder at their caller.
Sergeant Powell stood on the doorstep. He wore a light tan suit instead of the sober dark clothes he wore for his job as a detective. His mild brown eyes widened by a fraction and he smiled. “Good morning, Miss Holly and Miss Rosie.”
Holly blurted, “Have you come on a case, Sergeant?” She swallowed hard. “I’m awfully sorry. I can’t help you today.”
Bubbling with excitement, Rosie said, “We’re going to New London.”
His smile broadened. “It’s not a criminal case, Miss Holly. You’re wanted on a different matter.”
Bewildered, she cocked her head and frowned. “What matter?”
He pointed at the handbags they had dropped on the wooden bench. “You are ready to leave the house. May I deduce you have received a letter from the Minister for International Affairs?”
“Yes. We did,” Rosie answered.
“How did you know about the letter?” Holly demanded.
“As it happens, Miss Holly, they sent one to me too.” He blinked self-consciously. “They asked me to accompany you to New London Spaceport for the interview.” Giving a slight shrug of one shoulder, he said, “Actually, it’s more of a command. The Superintendent decided it was important and he’s agreed to let me go. He’s assigned Detective Constable Jenson to perform my regular duties for today.”
“Super,” Rosie said, offering a bright smile of approval.
Recalling her scrying job, Holly asked, “What about the missing girl? Did you find her?”
“Your description was spot on. We retrieved her yesterday and transported her to hospital.”
“Oh, I’m so glad she’s alive,” Holly breathed. “I was afraid it was too late to save her.”
“We appreciate your assistance, Miss Holly, as always.” He swung around and gestured to the sleek blue motorcar parked by the gate. “They provided an official vehicle.”
Rosie exclaimed, “Wow. That’s a fancy car.”
“You don’t see many like that on our street,” Holly agreed. Passenger cars were rare and expensive. Most people took the local buses or traveled by train for longer distances. Only the elite had personal flying vehicles.
“If you ladies are ready, let’s get on the road. It’s a fair distance to the office at the Spaceport. We’ll spend about an hour and a half on the journey.”
The sisters emerged from the house into the cool morning air. The Sergeant ushered them to the car. He opened the doors and waited while they selected their seats.
Holly glanced at her sister, and interpreting the direction of her nod, chose the front passenger seat. Rosie scrambled into the back of the car.
Powell took the driver’s seat and pressed a button. Looking at Holly, he said, “Car’s automatic. Its destination is preprogrammed and I don’t need to steer. We can chat as much as you like.”
“Okay.” Holly nodded.
The sisters gazed through the windows as the car glided past the familiar cottages and shops of the village. At the crossroads by the transit station, they exited the village on the road to the motorway. After kiloms of grain fields and sheep pastures, they reached the outskirts of the town and the motorway. The car accelerated automatically on the wide surface, merging into the stream of heavy autolorries transporting goods across the country.
Satisfied their journey was under control, Holly began her questions, “Do you know anything about this peculiar business? It’s a mystery as far as we’re concerned. Why would anyone at the Ministry for International Affairs want to interview us?”
He nodded, his lips twitching in barely concealed amusement. “Indeed, I do have a mite of inside knowledge.”
Bouncing in her seat, Rosie leaned forward and cried, “Do tell us.”
“If it’s not confidential,” Holly amended more cautiously.
“It’s not a secret, at least to the police force. In fact, I believe I’m responsible for your invitation to this interview.”
Holly gasped, “You are?”
“Yep. I’ll explain how it happened.” He paused to consider his response. “About two weeks ago, the Superintendent showed us a special memo from the head office. The Ministry of Justice was circulating a request for information about any citizens with possible paranormal talents. Of course, I mentioned the two of you.”
“Did they say why the government wanted people with psychic talents?” she asked.
“It’s not just the Indo Eurasian Union. It’s a multinational collaboration with the other major governing entities on Earth and also with Taxyon Space Enterprises.”
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��Taxyon Space?” Holly said. “Don’t they build spaceships? Why would they want to interview us?”
“I suspect it’s about our interstellar program. Taxyon Space is interested in constructing starships.”
“Interstellar travel?” Holly wrinkled her nose. “Doesn’t the government already have an agreement with those alien mermen?”
“The Warrish. Yes. They’ve been leasing hyperspace ships in exchange for our soldiers.”
“It doesn’t seem a fair exchange,” Rosie grumbled from the back seat. “Our people are sent to fight and die in their battles as payment for a handful of seats in a spaceship.”
The Sergeant said, “I reckon we don’t have much else to offer the aliens. Their technology is many decades ahead of ours.”
“Right.” Holly gave a cynical laugh. “They’ve got spaceships and travel to distant planets, while we keep a few colonies on planets in our solar system.”
“Don’t forget the Lunies,” Powell commented, “and our stations on Europa and Titan. They’re actually moons.”
Rosie said, “We’ve got miners in the Asteroid Belt.”
Sergeant Powell reflected, “It’s a thriving community of people, all connected by the space ferries operated by Taxyon Space. That’s why the company is so important to the world governments.”
Baswin Page 2