With a slight nod of his head as he accessed his nanite-implants, a shimmering mirror surface appeared on the wall before him. He turned to appreciate the hang of his robes, turning from one grave, dignified pose to the next. He had accepted this assignment knowing the winds of change were churning. When Penumbra fell under the sway of the Council at last, it would be his name attached to the relevant treaties, his image appearing in the histories.
Thousands of years ago the Kerie had been instrumental in transforming the Grand Alliance into the Great Council, shifting the bulk of galactic power from those few most powerful polities and coalitions to the far more numerous civilized systems that had been kept as client states to the mighty for far too long.
Since then, however, his people’s power had become diluted by the very size of their own creation. The Galactic Council was a convoluted nightmare of factions, blocs, and cabals with so many contradicting mandates and goals that it was nearly impossible to get anything done. The ancient powers, such as the Children, the Aijians, and others, had been brought into line over the course of millennia; and even the last, the barbarian Variyar, had fallen in the end. The countless smaller systems whose alliances wielded the true power had nothing to distract them from each other now, and the process that had assured the downtrodden races and systems could flourish on the galactic stage followed its natural progression, and the Council continued to balkanize as the relationships that tied the polities together were no longer seen as essential.
It was time for the Kerie to take their place amidst the great races of galactic history and clear the flotsam created by the Council once and for all. By destroying the most visible symbol of defiance standing before the ruling body, he would both strengthen his own race’s position and create the illusion that the Kerie were toiling away in the best interests of the Council.
“And how is your own little project? I trust things proceed apace?”
His servant smiled slyly. “It is, Ambassador. She has—”
“I need to speak with Admiral Ochiag, Iranse.” It would never do for the creature to become too familiar. “Please see if you can establish the connection for me.” He felt no need to look at the tall Eru, and instead moved to the little Iwa’Bantu serving girl.
A swift backhand propelled her toward his private quarters. “Clean the sleeping pool, girl. Make sure the water is crystal before I’m done with the admiral.”
With a soft sound that might have been a sigh, might have been a sob, the creature scuttled off to see to the pool. He shook his head. The fiction that every race was equal had been beneficial when the Variyar and their ilk had held sway; but now that they had all been defanged, these lesser races would need to be put back in their places.
“Still with a taste for the Iwa’Bantu, I see.” The rough voice grumbled from behind him.
Taurani forced his facial muscles into the unfamiliar exercise of an expression recognized as a smile by most of the debased races of the galaxy, then turned around.
Floating within the imaging field was a face that only a blind Ntja broodmare could love. Admiral Ochiag was an old soldier; the coarse, wrinkled brown flesh of an Ntja male all but occluded by the metallic domes of cranial enhancement lobes. The wet nasal hole in the center of the face, rimmed with a purple flare, split the ugly visage and swelled to the bucktoothed mouth holding the soggy remnants of a brown cylinder, burning at the end. The Ntja upper class often ingested these tubes of rotting vegetable matter by burning one end and inhaling the fumes. It was a foul habit they had learned from illicit observation files from Earth, and one that did nothing to endear the creatures to their fellow power brokers on the Council.
“Admiral Ochiag,” Taurani dipped his head in acknowledgement. He glanced over his shoulder at the door through which the serving girl had just exited. “Have you ever served on Iwa’Ban? The plentiful supply of such servants is an excellent balm to an otherwise tedious posting.”
The big head floating within the swirling cloud shook, sparks flaring from the end of the soggy roll. “Ntja tastes don’t generally run in that direction.” The head scanned the rest of the room, nodding to Iranse, standing straight nearby. “Iranse. Still lapping up after your master’s indiscretions?”
Taurani tensed. One mistake made when he was a young low-level diplomat, and the dogs in the military services would never let him live it down. The Eru, however, stared with cold, loyal eyes at the admiral’s image, his purple fur flat.
Ochiag shrugged. “What do you want, Taurani? I think I’ve got that damned Variyar cornered. My scout vessels have found a system that could be harboring the bulk of his fleet. I have preparations I should be making.”
Taurani bared his baleen in a wide, bristly grin. “Things in Penumbra have taken a turn, Admiral.” One should always be courteous when possible. That way, when the daggers came out, one had preserved the element of surprise. “It is possible that I may be able to eliminate the automatic defenses sooner than the Council’s timeline required.” His smile gained a more genuine edge despite himself. “I may be able to offer you a target that would make leaving your fruitless chase for another day worthwhile.” Most of the Peacekeeper fleets had been chasing K’hzan Modath’s main strength for decades with little to show for it, led on the merry chase by a chortling red king. Undoubtedly, Ochiag’s most recent findings would prove equally as fruitless.
The beady, watery eyes narrowed. The Council fleet was seldom called to action nowadays, except to police the more bumptious systems or hunt for feral Humans. The Variyar ghost fleet was the elusive prize they all dreamed of. Taurani was suggesting a very big promise with his off-hand remark.
“Pray tell.” The admiral removed the tube from his mouth with blunt, stubby fingers. An unspoken warning flowed beneath the words. Ochiag was under no obligation to maintain this connection, and could sever it in a moment without reprimand or repercussion.
“The Administrator of Penumbra, a particularly odious Rayabell designated Uduta Virri, has somehow done us the service of moving on to the next plane.” The smile grew a jot brighter again.
Ochiag’s eyes narrowed to shadowed slits. “I was under the impression that Virri was the Council’s creature?”
Taurani gave as close to a flippant shrug as he ever allowed himself. “A poor tool at best. His passing has nullified some minor schemes, but it offers something much greater in the personage of his replacement.” A diplomat as talented as he always knew what his expression conveyed. Now, he allowed it to speak volumes about his own sense of satisfaction.
“I will not play your hunt and seek games, Taurani.” Ochiag placed the nasty roll of paper back in his mouth and shifted it from side to side. “If you do not offer some incentive for me to maintain this connection, I will indulge my growing impulse to end this little dialogue without any of the diplomatic niceties you find so appealing.”
“They have replaced Virri with a Human.” That was only half of his momentous news, but he held the remainder for a moment to keep the admiral dangling despite his protestations.
He did not believe he had ever seen an Ntja’s eyes so round and wide before. “A Human?” The wet mouth twisted into a sneer to make any professional consul proud. “Why would they do that? Where did they even find one capable of rational thought?”
Taurani allowed his cheek ridges to rise, revealing the full expanse of the baleen bristles. “Earth.” The second bit of information, and he watched it sink home with glittering eyes.
The image of the admiral jolted upright, and this time Taurani was sure he had never seen Ntja eyes that big.
“A Human from Earth?” He spluttered, and the burning roll fell out of his mouth unnoticed. “How? How did a Human get off Earth in the first place?”
Taurani shrugged. “The administrator’s bodyguard, apparently. You know it happens from time to time. With help, it’s more than possible.”
Ochiag snarled. “A Tigan, if I remember correctly?”
�
�Indeed. An outcast, for whatever that is worth.”
“Trust a Tigan to stumble into something so monumentally thoughtless.” The Ntja paused for a moment, and then coughed. He began to speak before he had completely recovered. “Wait, did you say they replaced that venial little worm with this Human? They gave a Human their precious medallion?”
“Apparently so. From what I gather, they were not given a real choice in the matter, and are only making the best of a very strange situation.”
The tiny eyes narrowed again. The flesh around them tightened, puckering around the bronze and steel domes. “And why would this lure me away from my current mission, Ambassador?”
Ah, that part of the negotiation where the price was decided. His favorite portion of the proceedings. “Chaos, as a military commander of your vast experience knows, is replete with opportunity for the focused mind. As these fools scramble to find a replacement for their pet Human, breaches will appear within their command structure; breaches we will be able to exploit.”
“No Human will relinquish that kind of control.” The big head shook violently. “They are even greater fools if they believe this creature will simply step down for another candidate.”
Taurani shrugged. He did not care if the Human Marcus Wells stepped down voluntarily or not. “That is not our concern. The Humans of Earth are far different creatures than the feral splinter clans you have dealt with in the past. There is no telling what he might do, or what they may have offered him. Regardless, there will be a moment in time when their medallion is vulnerable. I have been insinuating several vectors into their command staff. When the moment comes, amidst the chaos and the confusion, the Skorahn will be mine, and I will possess it long enough to disable Penumbra’s automatic defenses. You will be able to land your troops and take control of the city without having to contend with the quantum core of the city.”
The mysterious Relic Core of Penumbra had proven itself capable of defending the city more than once in the lifetime of the Council. Entire expeditionary fleets had been lost, and no records existed that could definitively say how. This threat, as much as the old treaties, assured Council meddling in the affairs of the city was kept to a minimum.
The possibilities inherent in the loss of those defenses dawned in the Ntja admiral’s eyes.
“Your Peacemakers will have control of the city before anyone is the wiser. The annexation will be a fait accompli.” Taurani raised his hands from his sides in a slow gesture of inevitability.
“And you will reap the master’s share of the glory.” It was a muttered statement of fact, rather than a question or an argument.
Taurani inclined his head. “I will, of course, be assuming the greatest share of risk, until the moment of our ascendancy arrives. The delegation has a small guard force, of course, but my Ntja are not furnished with the weapons and equipment the Peacemakers will carry. I can push Penumbra deeper into chaos with a few judicious applications of violence, as well as the agents I have been fostering throughout the city. If your fleet were to be nearby, able to take full advantage of any opening I can create, she will fall before the cretins even know there is any danger. I do have one other minor incentive I might offer.”
The admiral’s tiny eyes narrowed further, and Taurani wondered how he could see anything at all. “What?”
“As you know, Penumbra is known for its technological innovations. It has come to my attention that several conglomerates here have been working on projects that have come to the Council’s attention. I might see clear that one such little bauble find its way to your waiting claws before I secure it for official dispatch, if you were near enough to receive it.”
Was it possible for those eyes to narrow further? Apparently it was. “What kind of bauble is on offer?”
Taurani shrugged with all the understated elegance of a lifetime of diplomacy. “I will not go over the specifics here, but let us just say that it will be very difficult to flee from you, if the device works as intended.”
Ochiag’s eyes wandered in thought. The big head jerked once in a single, spasmodic nod. “The fleet will be nearby when you give the signal. Do you have an estimate of the time you will require?”
Taurani folded his hands into the sleeves of his robes as he inclined his head, deeper than at the beginning of the conversation. “I cannot know, of course. It will not be overly long. By the time you are in the vicinity, the city should be ripe. I will, of course, keep you apprised of any changes in the situation.”
The ugly face in the image returned his nod. “Do so.”
The image faded before Taurani could dismiss it, and he sneered. A minor point to the admiral, then. No matter, the histories would care nothing for the thug who ferried the troopers to Penumbra. Only the hero who contrived the city’s fall would matter to posterity.
Staring at the empty view field he ran over the conversation again in his mind. The Council would not begrudge Ochiag the prize he had offered. They had sent him to secure several technical marvels, but the admiral was high in the Council’s esteem, and would doubtless put the machine to good use. It was not as if he was giving the barbarian the plum, after all. The time dilation technology, upon which so much of the Council’s future plans rested, would still be safe.
He only needed to secure these technologies from the consortia that had developed them, and the Council’s work would be done. They had little hope in his plans for subjugating the entire city, which would make it all the sweeter when he reported his success.
His mouth tightened as it always did at moments like these. Why was it that so much innovation was to be found here, at the edges of civilized space, while the Core worlds had not made any significant discoveries in centuries? What about this horrible little trap spurred the creatures who called it home to heights the Council could no longer aspire to?
It was almost enough to make him want to spit.
He turned toward his chamber. “Iranse, leave me. I would like some time alone with my newest servant.” He glided to the door with an extra bounce in his step. “Life expectancy is so short when one takes them from their homes.” He turned, a warning glitter in his eyes. “Arrange to have several more smuggled into the city, if you could? I fear I will be in sore need of distraction in the coming days.”
The little Iwa’Bantu girl was wading in the pool, her robes floating around her thighs, as he entered. She was waving an atomizer wand over the water, leaning down to make sure it brushed every inch of the surface.
His rigid smile faded, an unnatural expression worn only as a communications tool. The gleam in his bright, metallic eyes, however, was entirely genuine.
*****
“Let me see if I understand you.” The tall, dark-skinned man was sitting with a group of beings of various colors, shapes, and sizes, all of them relaxing in a private niche at the back of the exclusive lounge, sipping various liquids or inhaling multi-colored clouds of gas from jeweled emitters. “There are no actual commerce laws in Penumbra?”
A pale, splay-headed Matabess clacked its beak, big green eyes flaring. “Well, as such, the only actual laws in the city are those that will stop any citizen from directly interfering with any other citizen.” It held up one spatulate finger. “However, there are countless conventions and traditions that, if not properly adhered to, will result in a being’s exclusion from the active community.”
“What’s a Mnymian care for business, anyway?” This was from a Leemuk with port authority collar flashes. “Aren’t you lot usually more interested in the arenas, or personal security?” The toothy maw gaped wide as the slimy creature shot a cloud of pink gas into its mouth.
The black-skinned man shrugged, tossing back a mouthful of clear liquid. “I’m a bit of a maverick, to be honest.” He shifted forward, one elbow resting on the table. “Diversity is the hallmark of any sane being’s portfolio, wouldn’t you agree?”
The creatures around the low table shared in various iterations of a laugh.
&nb
sp; “But honestly, there is no controlling legal authority for goods or services?” His tone was aggressively casual, and his companions seemed willing to accept it at its offered value.
“No.” The Matabess repeated. “As long as your reputation is sound, you will be able to work whatever dealings you have contrived for as long as you can find partners to join you.”
“Forgive me if I speak out of turn,” a short Kot’i muttered, a large mug of some smoking beverage held in its two small furry hands. “But is there perhaps a deal in the offing that we might be interested in?”
The black man smiled, his teeth gleaming from within his deep red goatee. “There may well be, friend. You’ll have to let me test the waters first. But if I encounter any opportunities,” he held his glass up to the rest of them. “You will be the first sentients to know.”
“Enough of this business talk!” A white-skinned Subbotine pouted. “You promised us an interesting evening.” She smiled an entirely different kind of smile, sidling around to sit beside the Mnymian. “I’ve heard very intriguing stories of your people. Many speak very highly of your … stamina?”
The big black man coughed, his grin slipping just a little. Several of the females sitting around the table laughed, and this time it was the males and the aliens of indeterminate gender that looked annoyed. The Mnymian’s white eyes widened, but then he smiled again.
“Plenty of time for experimentation later. I’ve heard some things myself, that I’d be interested to see put to the test.” The laughter was more evenly distributed this time.
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