Assured (Envoys Book 2)

by Peter J Aldin

Grace had been quiet the entire time, as was her habit. Now, Gregory noticed, she had edged away from the door and turned toward it, one hand under her waistcoat and near her holstered weapon. Did she expect Vazak to come charging in at the sound of raised voices?

  Naat growled something. Sounding abashed, Buoun said, “The Grand Councillor says he is offended you would think he is holding something back from you.”

  “He can be as offended as he likes,” said Pan as Fowler snorted in amusement. “We’re no longer in Domain Space territory. We’re in Qesh sovereign territory. And I’ve had a week and a half of nasty surprises wearing down my manners. My government sent Assured on an information-gathering mission. And we are going to information-gather whatever we want before we leave this star system.”

  A tense silence settled over the room until Buoun broke it with a shaky voice. “Ambassador. Do you agree with Captain Pan’s thoughts?”

  Gregory scratched his nose and gave it a moment’s thought. With messages expected to take weeks to make it to the Confederation seat of government and back, Assured was alone out here. When it came to making political decisions, Chris Gregory was just as alone. This wasn’t about Human imperialism; it was about the protection of the Qesh, and security from a hostile race in the Xenthracr. He said, “I agree that the captain should gather whatever data he now finds necessary. I hope you’ll understand.”

  Buoun hung his head and didn’t translate any of that. Naat continued to study the ceiling, Vren the table. Of all the Tluaanto, Pi seemed the most composed, her frank gaze raking across the humans present.

  “Ambassador,” said Pan, “do I have your agreement that Assured is in potentially hostile territory and for the time being, our mission has a military emphasis?”

  “You have it.”

  “Then, Envoy Buoun, please ask the councillors and Warrior Vazak to return to their quarters until summoned again.” He glanced at Grace who nodded and left the room quickly and quietly, presumably to word up the soldiers in the corridor.

  Buoun swallowed with an audible click. Before translating Pan’s message, he asked, “And me?”

  Pan chewed his lip for a second. “Your choice. You may return to quarters or take a seat on the bridge for the time being.”

  “I will sit in there,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the bridge. He translated the message.

  Throat and cheek fur cycling red, Pi and Naat rose, tugged their tunics straight and strode from the room with heads high. Vren took a little longer. She stood and—when Pi and Naat were out of earshot—said something to Buoun.

  He flinched but capitulated under her hard stare. “She … she says ‘I don’t trust Naat either.’”

  Vren looked each of the remaining humans in the eye before marching out.

  Buoun followed, his feet dragging, his shoulders slumped, and turned left toward the bridge.

  The pressure, the rate of change, the danger—they’re taking their toll on him too.

  Grace closed the door from the outside, preventing Gregory from seeing how things transpired out there.

  Well, it won’t be pretty. Just, please God, don’t let Vazak pick a fight.

  “And me, sir?” Nkembe asked. She appeared rattled, the first time Gregory had seen that.

  “Give it a minute,” Pan said. “Let them clear the corridor and the lift.” The group waited in silence for a few minutes before Pan stirred. “All right, return to duties, please, Lieutenant. Not a word of this to anyone.”

  “Of course not, sir,” she said and left the room.

  When Grace had slipped inside and the door was once more closed tight, Pan lost his composure, slapping the table. “What the hell was that?”

  “That was Naat. An alien behaving like an alien,” said Fowler.

  “That was a political leader with an agenda,” Gregory said. “Behaving like a political leader with an agenda. Nothing all that non-human there.”

  Pan shook his head in disgust. “So, Naat’s seen Kh’het system for himself, taken the lay of the land and now it’s ‘Humans, go home.’ He wants something on that planet.” He stabbed a finger toward the image of the Xenthracr on the wallscreen. “Or something those ugly little beasties have.”

  “He’s scared spitless of them and us,” Fowler said reasonably. “And he wants to hunt around for something that gives him an edge over them and us. The Ambassador’s right. It’s not that hard to understand.”

  “Here’s what’s also not hard to understand,” Pan said, leaning his elbows on the table. “We’ve come here on behalf of the Confederation. And its ally,” he added with a nod to Fowler. “We’ve discovered not one but two potentially hostile and space-capable species. Our short and fierce encounters with the domains have taught us plenty about the Tluaanto. When we go home, we need to take as much intel as possible about the Xenthracr. If they’re dropping off seed ships in habitable systems, one of ours might be next. Agreed?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Chinyama.

  Fowler nodded.

  “I agree,” said Gregory. “Although it’s a mystery as to why they didn’t try the same with Chaatu system. It’s relatively close.”

  “An example of why we need intel.”

  “Fair enough. There doesn’t seem to be a Xenthracr fleet. I’m guessing you want a closer look at that orbital installation.”

  “That orbital whatever-it-is. If they’ve got capital ships here, they’re hidden on the other side of the sun—otherwise our long-range sweeps would have noticed them. But stationing ships behind the sun seems an unlikely thing to do. The center of their operations therefore seems to be the orbital or maybe that mining operation. XO, can we get cameras inside the orbital?”

  “I’ll work up a plan, sir.” He powered up his tab and bent over it.

  “Other thoughts? Anyone?”

  “The orbital and those weird mine buildings are definitely Xenthracr,” Fowler said. “They look similar to the wasp-hive structures the Lioness flew over. The mine might be different,” he added thoughtfully. “They might have subsumed Qesh operations there. We want to be careful not to attack that in case we cause collateral damage. See? I can be a good Confed too.”

  “Collateral damage,” Pan said. “The only Qesh we’ve seen are these … savants. I don’t mean to be unkind, but maybe the smart ones died off before the Xenthracr got here. Or the Xenthracr killed them off. Maybe we’re just left with the mechanics and farmers.”

  “Non-responsiveness to direct communication doesn’t necessarily indicate lack of intelligence,” Gregory said. “We don’t view humans with autism that way, for example, so we shouldn’t view the Qesh that way either. And if they were some less-intelligent form of the species, it doesn’t mean we want to indiscriminately kill them. By the way, there are such things as smart mechanics and farmers.”

  “Points taken. I’m just pondering things that continue to bother me. And I can’t shake the awful possibility that these Xenthracr are headed toward Confederation space with more seed ships.” He beat his fist lightly on the table while thinking for a time. “Okay. The XO will probably suggest a flyby that launches cambots onto the orbital. Tough to pull off, but we’ll see what he advocates when he’s ready. We could cripple their mining ops from long-range with a calculated laser or missile strike. Same for the orbital. But I agree there might be Qesh in both places. The orbital seems to house fighters, so maybe it’s where they make ’em too.” He lost himself in thought again, leaving Gregory to snap him out of it.

  “We don’t support the enslavement of another species or invasion of someone else’s territory. But it’s my duty to point out that the Xenthracr haven’t really provoked us. If anything, we’ve provoked them. I’m in favor of dropping cameras, not bombs.”

  Pan tapped the table controls and the image of the Xenthracr firing at the Lioness vanished from the wallscreen. “Noted. XO?”

  “The DCHC’s ideals are toward a noble society. Helping helpless creatures against an aggressor
is in keeping with that. But I agree with the ambassador’s sentiment about cameras, not bombs. It would be preferable not to make an enemy of the Xenthracr.”

  “You look like you have an idea for capturing that intel.”

  “I do. But it means using most of our support craft. Not yours this time, Ambassador.”

  Gregory smiled. “Probably a good thing. I think the ol’ yacht saw enough action on Suuchaat to last her a lifetime.”

  “What I propose is using one skiff to drop cambots onto the orbital while the Lioness drops the rest by the mining site. Since she was boasting recently about how much better she is than those enemy pilots, Lieutenant Berderhan can fly combat support in the Devilfly.” He tapped at his tab and an image of the Xenthracr space station appeared on the wallscreen. A thin circle had been sketched around a spiny turret on its hull. “This appears to be their version of a rail gun and we don’t know how many the station boasts. Berderhan’s first task is a targeted strike on this and any others she finds. If her approach doesn’t trigger a launch of all their fighters, we can be sure her destruction of a defense turret will.”

  “And then she leads those fighters away from the station,” Pan guessed.

  “Precisely. When we approached in the Lioness, we got reasonably close before the orbital reacted to us. Hopefully that means we can sneak the skiff in early to a safe distance—three or four hundred kilometers perhaps—and when the Devilfly leads the fighters away, the skiff can approach and deposit its payload of cambots. Some of our long-range photos show what look like membranes at each end, which may be the ways that ships enter and exit the station, a kind of airlock arrangement. The skiff could cut their way through one, or the Devilfly could put a hole in it. The skiff then deposits five cambots out of the eight we have in stores.”

  “How’s the skiff going to ‘deposit’ them?” Gregory asked.

  “These skiffs have a work-arm set just under the nose, a manipulator arm. It can carry the bots across in netting then place them against or within the membrane.”

  “I’m assuming you’ll deploy AI-drones to protect the skiff directly?” Fowler asked.

  “We normally carry two remote-piloted drones,” Pan said. “We left one with Bountiful at the Pollyanna blockade. But we can use the other; that’s a good idea. It’s about as big as you, Ambassador,” he added, “and armed with laser emitters. It can remain in synced orbit with the station—if we like—where it can continue conveying live exterior feed as well as boosting the cambots’ signals.”

  “Excellent contributions,” said Chinyama. “We’ll have the Lioness drop our final three cambots a kilometer from the mine site.”

  “You’re not using Assured’s other skiff to land those final bots?” Fowler asked.

  “Lioness is better,” said Chinyama. “Better in atmosphere and it has actual shielding if attacked. Also, a full weapons-rig in case the skiff in orbit or the Devilfly need support.”

  “I like it,” Pan told him. “We’ll shift Assured close in to Kh’het3. The Xenthracr don’t seem to have any assets that a capital ship needs to fear. XO, I’ll leave you to nail down the details. Keep myself and Colonel Fowler apprised. Shall we say mission launch in twelve hours?”

  Eight-thirty at night, Gregory thought. Well, I suppose time doesn’t matter in space, does it?

  “Aye, sir,” Chinyama said.

  “Ambassador, got things to do?”

  Gregory nodded, standing and stretching. “I have three councillors and an envoy to mollify.”

  Buoun watched the routine activity in the bridge with heavy hearts. His presence here had always been a sign of trust. He wondered if the Humans would ever trust him again if their activities uncovered the things he now knew about.

  There was nothing he could do that would make this situation a good one. I am caught in a canyon where many competing sheh’shagunto have woven their webs, and each step I take wraps the silk of another around me.

  Buoun became so lost in his own misery that it took him a moment to realize that Chris Gregory had come to stand in front of him. And was talking to him.

  “I … I am sorry, Ambassador. I did not hear what you said.”

  “That’s okay.” Gregory sat beside him in the seat normally occupied by Pi. “I wanted to reassure you personally. It’s your leadership we are finding it difficult to trust, not you.”

  Oh, but if you knew, Chris. If you knew. Buoun forced his hands to remain in his lap, to refrain from twisting at his ears or rubbing at his head crest.

  “But I need something from you,” Gregory was saying now. “We are moving Assured close in to Kh’het3 as part of our next mission. Because we want information on the Xenthracr—and because your domains need that same information—we require Scientist Chlalloun to come with us.”

  “I see. For scientific advice.”

  “It was Colonel Fowler’s idea and it’s a good one. Chlalloun can advise us while also seeing the same data we do. And we’ll need you to translate for us.”

  “That is my job.” Sensing there was more, he asked, “And … the councillors?”

  “They must transfer to your frigate and remain there. Until the mission is concluded.”

  “I understand.” In fact, that was a great relief for him. Naat and Pi were becoming increasingly distressing to be around. And now with Vren wanting him to translate things that undermined Naat …

  “Buoun. Are you listening?”

  He had missed something Gregory had said again. “I’m sorry. Things on my mind,” he added and was mildly pleased with his use of the Human idiom.

  “I said, once we are away from your leadership, you need to impress upon Chlalloun that he needs to genuinely help us.”

  “I understand.”

  “Can you get him to do that? To be honest? To be transparent?”

  Buoun shifted unhappily in his chair. “Yes, Chris. I will try.”

  But I’m not sure if I can be honest myself.

  Gregory needn’t have worried about the councillors objecting to being booted off Assured. When he went with Buoun to break the bad news, Naat and Vren got in first, asking to be transferred to the Tluaan frigate for the time being. Pi requested she continue aboard the human ship to remain informed. When Gregory said no, she accepted that with a huff of breath and a turned shoulder. Perhaps seeking conciliation Naat agreed without argument to Buoun and Chlalloun going on the human sortie to Kh’het3—but he asked if they might include Warrior Vazak on one of their “small ships” as a helper and an observer. Given Vazak’s history of assisting humans, Gregory didn’t think Pan would mind it, so he approved it.

  And just like that, the negotiations were over. The councillors gathered their meager luggage and trudged to the hangar deck for the skiff flight out.

  With Buoun waiting in his quarters until Chlalloun arrived on the return skiff flight, Gregory returned to the yacht to put his feet up and do some thinking. The expedition to the Tluaanto had been nothing like he’d hoped. Perhaps deep down he’d thought it would simplify the universe—unifying humanity in the face of a new friend, exploring new possibilities with a new ally. In the end, it had only complicated things more.

  “And once this intel-gathering is done,” he told his wife’s photo, “maybe I can leave this mess to other people to worry about. Maybe I can just go home. Open a café. Anything but be an envoy ever again.”

  Ana couldn’t sleep. She’d been ordered to, the siesta meant to keep her alert for the coming nighttime op. But she couldn’t. Not when it was only early afternoon. Not when there’d been so much upheaval. Not when every time she closed her eyes, she saw Wepps wrapping his arms around that co-pilot and shoving him through the hatchway.

  Not when Umbrano was in the next bunk over, snoring like a broken engine.

  Also, in a rare alignment of clocks, midday on Assured had been midnight in her hometown, which meant the date had just clicked over to the 14th of Ifugao on Xerxes. Which made today her birthday.

>   Ana left her insomnia and her snoring squad-mate to go check on Chipper. He too was off duty. He too was meant to be asleep, ahead of his evening departure on the Lioness. She suspected a classic over-thinker like him would also be staring at the ceiling, thinking of crap it did him no good to think about.

  Chipper’s cabin had originally housed all the other Peacers, except for the two original team sergeants; they had had single rooms further along the passageway. With Peacer numbers pared back by a Clan Lobos nuke and by Moon-Surface aggression, the Peacekeeper cabin was now home only to Chipper, Westermann, Bradstock, and Stines.

  Maybe if Stines ain’t there, I can catch some shut-eye on a spare bunk after gabbing with Chip bores me to sleep. Maybe if Westermann’s there, she’ll have some secret gutburn I can use to knock me out.

  And to celebrate my helldamn birthday.

  Twenty-six. She was twenty-six years old today, according to the Xerxian calendar—and in thirty-two more shipdays, she’d be the same by the Old Earth calendar. Each birthday milestone only served to remind her how much her life sucked trash can juice.

  Twenty-six and what did she have to show for it?

  Stow the self-pity, chica. And hope Westermann really does have some gutburn.

  Cabins for enlisted ranks tended to be open to the passageways outside them, lacking actual hatches. She poked her head into Chipper’s to find that neither Westermann nor Stines were present. Chipper was there, seated on his lower bunk.

  Sintopas was there too, standing mid-room with arms folded and one foot tapping, and his eyes narrowed in thought.

  When he caught Ana in his peripheral, he startled, then pushed past her without a word. She watched him scamper down the passageway and around a corner, bumping against another crewer who flipped him the bird behind his back.

  She stepped inside, cocking an eyebrow. “What was that?”

  Chipper leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes to the floor. “Trouble.”

  Oh, shit. Don’t tell me …

  “From that malvado? You owe him poker money or something?” She tried to keep her tone light, moving to sit on the opposite bunk to his.