by Timothy Zahn
“Perhaps they have records or spoken history that will allow you to learn the truth,” Ukuthi suggested. “We can seek those records once we have made full contact with them.”
“Presumably,” Barrington said. “Right now I’m more concerned with the present than the past. You said the Drim’hco’plai were shipping wild animals there from Qasama and possibly Caelian. What you haven’t said is why.”
“We do not know the Drim’hco’plai purpose,” Ukuthi said. “But we fear it is part of a plot against those around them. Possibly against the Cobra Worlds; possibly against other demesnes such as our own.” The radiator membranes on his upper arms fluttered. “Possibly against the Dominion of Man itself.”
“And you said they were working for the—?” Barrington gave an exasperated snort. “Run all that by me again, would you? Your demesne names are hard for humans to keep track of.”
“Certainly,” Ukuthi said. “The Tua’lanek’zia demesne obtained a contract from another demesne, as yet unidentified but presumed to be one of those at war with your Dominion of Man. The Tua’lanek’zia then hired the Drim’hco’plai and Balin’ekha’spmi demesnes to assist in the invasions of Qasama and the Cobra Worlds.”
“And your demesne-lord just went along with that?”
“My demesne-lord had little choice in the matter,” Ukuthi said, his membranes fluttering again. “The Drim’hco’plai are very powerful, and he was fearful they would emerge from this action stronger than before and turn their wrath afterward upon us.”
Barrington nodded. It was, unfortunately, an all-too-familiar scenario: antagonisms, grudges, alliances, and retaliations all tended to get tangled and amplified amid the haze of war. “So you joined in the attack. But then you changed your minds?”
“We never were truly committed to conquering the human worlds,” Ukuthi said. “My orders were to cooperate as little as I could with the Drim’hco’plai and Tua’lanek’zia demesnes. My hidden mission was to observe both demesnes and determine their strengths and weaknesses and, where applicable, their hidden agendas.”
“And these animal hunts told you that the Drim’hco’plai, at least, were running some game of their own on the side,” Barrington said, nodding again. “Now, wasn’t there one more demesne involved?”
“Yes, the Gla’lupt’flae,” Ukuthi confirmed. “But they are a small demesne, and their role in the invasion was mostly one of supply and support.” He cocked his head. “Is it clearer now?”
“Yes, thank you,” Barrington said. In actual fact, he’d gotten the whole thing the first time. He’d simply thought it might be instructive to see if Ukuthi could repeat his story again without mistakes or contradictions.
Which he had. Not that that proved anything, of course.
“We have made quiet enquiries, and are convinced that the animals were taken to the humans’ world,” Ukuthi continued. “We had hoped to trace the flights and learn its exact location, but have thus far been unable to do so.”
“Yes,” Barrington murmured, making a face. It wasn’t bad enough that this lost colony was in the middle of hostile territory. Ukuthi and his fellow Balin’ekha’spmi didn’t even know where exactly in the Drim’hco’plai demesne’s five hundred cubic light-years the system was. “Which brings us to Merrick Moreau Broom. You said earlier that he was in danger. How do you know?”
Ukuthi’s membranes fluttered again. “That much I’ve already told you,” he said. “My intent, it was to send him with equipment and perhaps companions. But the circumstances forced him instead to go alone.”
“But the Drim’hco’plai aren’t on to your plan, are they?”
“The Drim’hco’plai have no reason to expect that a human spy has infiltrated their demesne,” Ukuthi said.
Which wasn’t exactly what Barrington had asked. “I’m sure they don’t,” he said. “On the other hand, a dozen ships from that same demesne had you pinned into a low orbit over the Hoibe’ryi’sarai home world less than two hours ago. I’ll ask again: are the Drim’hco’plai on to you or your plan?”
“My reasons for being here were not related to Merrick Moreau’s mission,” Ukuthi assured him. “My demesne-lord asked me to bring the possibility of an alliance between our demesnes to counter the growing might of the Drim’hco’plai.” His membranes twitched. “When I learned of your arrival at Aventine, I asked the Hoibe’ryi’sarai demesne-lord if he would provide an introduction. We were within that negotiation when the Drim’hco’plai ships appeared. It was fortunate for me that you arrived with such timeliness.”
“Fortunate and convenient,” Barrington said. “It got you out of a tight fix, and now you don’t have to pay the Hoibe’ryi’sarai for an introduction. Two birds with one stone.”
“Pardon?”
“An old Dominion saying,” Barrington explained. “It means accomplishing two goals with a single action or set of actions.”
“I see,” Ukuthi said. “A useful phrase. There is nothing similar I know of among Trof’te adages.”
“You should see about coining one,” Barrington said, letting his eyes drift around the hangar bay. There wasn’t much to see: just Ukuthi’s shuttle, plus the table, chair, and couch that Barrington had had brought in.
But the sparse furnishings and tight quarters were fine with Barrington. Just as he’d never seen a Troft up close, so had he never seen an undamaged Troft ship. The vehicle’s hull had an odd sheen to it, like some hybrid of metal and ceramic, and an even odder smell. More than once during the conversation Barrington had been tempted to surreptitiously signal Garrett and have him do a quiet scan. To make contact with a potentially friendly Troft demesne and also gain some information about their technology would make a nice two-bird combination.
But each time the temptation came he fought it back. Ukuthi had pledged not to spy on the Dorian. Barrington could hardly lower himself to a lesser standard.
Besides, there was one more bird poised at the end of the target range here. One which might yield better and quicker results than an analysis of Ukuthi’s hull material. “It seems to me that the first thing we need to do is check out the situation on Qasama,” he said, looking back at Ukuthi. “The Drim’hco’plai may have left behind records that could point us to the system where they took Cobra Broom. There might also be clues as to what exactly they’re up to.”
“Doubtful,” Ukuthi said. “Commander Inxeba was a careful officer. He would have taken all such information with him, or else destroyed it.”
“It’s still worth a try,” Barrington said. “I presume you can provide me with Qasama’s location data?”
“Of course,” Ukuthi said, his membranes fluttering uncertainly. “That data, you do not already have it?”
“We left Aventine before Governor-General Chintawa was able to locate the relevant records,” Barrington said. “Given their history, the Cobra Worlds haven’t exactly encouraged communication between their citizens and Qasama. The system’s location was carefully hidden away, and it’s proving difficult to retrieve.”
“Indeed,” Ukuthi said thoughtfully. “I had not heard of any such problems between the worlds. I shall have to inquire into the circumstances of this history you speak of.” His membranes fluttered again, a decisive sort of movement this time. “But later will be soon enough. The fate of Merrick Moreau edges toward the precipice, and with it perhaps the fates of the Balin’ekha’spmi demesne and the Dominion of Man. Permit me to return to my ship, and I will transmit Qasama’s location. To Qasama, you will then follow me?”
“I will,” Barrington said, standing up. “When we get there, I may have more questions to ask you.”
“The answers, I will endeavor to provide them,” Ukuthi said, rising from his couch and stretching his legs. “Farewell, Captain Barrington Moreau.”
“Farewell to you, Commander Ukuthi,” Barrington said. “We’ll meet again soon.”
He waited until Ukuthi was back in his shuttle with the hatch sealed. Then, he signaled for
the crewers waiting outside to collect the furniture, and together they left the hangar bay.
By the time he reached CoNCH, Ukuthi’s shuttle was well on its way back to his ship.
Garrett rose from the command chair as Barrington approached. “Welcome back, sir,” he greeted the captain.
“Thank you, Commander,” Barrington said dryly as he took his seat. “It’s been such a long and hazardous mission.”
Garrett’s lip twitched, and it wasn’t hard to read his disapproval of such flippancy.
And to be honest, Barrington could hardly blame him. It may have been a lone Troft, and it may have been behind the Dorian’s hull and defenses. But it had still been a Troft, and not many Dominion officers had ever been that close to one of the enemy and returned alive.
But Garrett knew better than to bring that up, especially now that the meeting and the risks were over. “I did manage to get a little information about Jody Broom from Deputy Kopdji while you were talking with Ukuthi,” the commander said. “He says the freighter that landed on Aventine three days ago hasn’t returned yet.”
Barrington frowned. Warships were typically faster than freighters, but the Dorian had taken the voyage at less than its top speed, taking extra care in crossing the unfamiliar stellography between Aventine and the Hoibe’ryi’sarai home world. Adding in the freighter’s several hours of head start, it certainly should have been here by now. “You think he’s lying?”
“Possibly,” Garrett said. “But it could also be that the freighter decided to go somewhere else before it returned home.”
“Is that common?” Barrington asked. “I’d think that keeping to a schedule would be as essential to their shipping infrastructure as it is to ours.”
“Could be it’s a tramp freighter,” Garrett said. “Kopdji was rather vague on details.”
Barrington snorted. “Probably hoping we’ll go away so that he can claim he doesn’t know us when the Drim’hco’plai come back in force.”
“Probably,” Garrett agreed. “Kopdji further says that they have exactly two hundred and ninety humans on the planet at the moment, all of them trade reps or import consultants, none of them Jody Broom. He sent me a list if you want to look at it.”
“Did you look at it?”
Garrett nodded. “I also set up a cross-reference check. So far, it hasn’t made any primary, secondary, or tertiary connections between any of the names and the Broom family. The computer’s still looking, but I’m not hopeful.”
“Keep it running anyway,” Barrington said. “Did Kopdji offer any explanation as to why Ukuthi and the Drim’hco’plai were here?”
“He dodged the question every time I asked it,” Garrett said. “You think Ukuthi was lying?”
“I think it’s suspiciously convenient timing that he just happens to be here when the Drim’hco’plai show up,” Barrington said. “I’m wondering if they might have been chasing him for some reason and he ran to the Hoibe’ryi’sarais hoping they’d give him refuge.”
“Mm,” Garrett said, rubbing his cheek thoughtfully. “I also notice that he never really answered your question about whether the Drim’hco’plai were on to him.”
“No, he didn’t,” Barrington said. “It didn’t seem worth pressing him on at the time, but it’s something we’ll want to remember for the future.”
“Yes.” Garrett shifted his gaze to the main display. “You really think he’s just going to hand us Qasama’s location?”
“I don’t see why he wouldn’t,” Barrington said. “Qasama and the Cobra Worlds were clearly allies against him and the other invaders. The very least that allies typically share with each other is their location.”
“Maybe,” Garrett said. “But don’t forget that these are Trofts, whose political and military viewpoint centers around living alone amid a cluster of potentially hostile neighbors. Just because he claims he didn’t know about the bad blood between Qasama and Aventine doesn’t mean he didn’t.”
“True enough,” Barrington conceded. “On the other hand, he desperately wants our help. That much was clear.”
“Or he’s hoping to lead us into a trap.”
“No,” Barrington said firmly. “Possibly into a combat situation where we’ll be over our heads, but not a trap per se.”
Garrett grunted. “Not sure I see the difference, practically speaking.”
“Captain?” the comm officer called. “We’re getting a transmission from the Balin’ekha’spmi ship. It appears to be a set of navigational coordinates.”
Barrington felt his pulse pick up. “Run them for distance and vector,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” the other said. “Distance is about forty-six light years, on a vector of twenty-seven by thirty-three.”
“About ninety degrees from our current return vector to Aventine,” Garrett murmured. “Could be a little tight.”
Barrington keyed in a star chart, running the numbers in his head. Three days back to Aventine—maybe two now that they knew they could trust Aventine’s stellography charts—then another five or more to Qasama. “Projected transit time?” he asked.
“Approximately—just a moment, sir,” the officer interrupted himself. “Commander Ukuthi is sending a proposed course.” On the nav display a squiggly white curve appeared, superimposed on the star map.
“Interesting,” Barrington murmured, eyeing the course. Instead of a straight-line path from the Hoibe’ryi’sarai homeworld to Qasama, Ukuthi was suggesting the Dorian swing a few light-years back toward Aventine, then curve off and head more or less straight toward Qasama. “Any idea why this particular route?”
“He could be taking us back toward Aventine to avoid the edges of other demesnes,” the tac officer offered. “But there’s no way to prove that without knowing exactly where those edges are.”
“Convenient, though,” Garrett murmured. “It’s almost as if he wants us to detour to Aventine.”
“Not wants us to,” Barrington corrected grimly. “Dares us to. See how the course meanders? That strongly implies he’s already plugged in the stellography for us. If we divert to Aventine, we’ll end up on a vector that’s off just enough from his that we’ll need to run at reduced speed. If, on the other hand, we divert to Aventine and then come back to his course, it’ll cost us twice the diversion time.”
“True, but that should only be a few hours,” Garrett pointed out, his eyes darting back and forth as he ran the calculation through the data stream. “No more than fifteen or sixteen total.”
Barrington gazed at the display, weighing his options. Time was critical—Ukuthi had made that abundantly clear during their conversation. But if the Troft was planning something underhanded and the Dorian went in alone, without support from the other two cruisers….
“We can’t risk it,” he decided. “Especially since it’s entirely possible that the coordinates he gave us aren’t for Qasama at all, but for some other system.”
“So you do think it could be a trap?” Garrett asked, frowning.
“Not necessarily,” Barrington said. “If we show up on schedule at his coordinates, thereby proving that we keep our promises, he gives us Qasama’s actual coordinates. If we show up late—especially if we show up late with the Megalith in tow—we find ourselves in the middle of nowhere with him long gone.” He cocked an eyebrow. “In fact, the more I think about it, that’s probably the way I would do it.”
“But we can’t just leave Commodore Santores out of the stream,” Garrett protested.
“We won’t,” Barrington assured him. “As soon as we head off on Ukuthi’s course we’ll start prep on the Hermes. As soon as it’s ready, we’ll break out, drop it, then continue on our way. It shouldn’t cost us more than ten minutes, and that short a time discrepancy will be easily explainable as mechanical problems if Ukuthi calls us on it.”
“I suppose that’ll work,” Garrett said slowly, a frown still creasing his forehead. “If Commodore Santores reacts quickly, the Megalith sho
uldn’t be more than a few hours behind us.” He shook his head. “But if these aren’t the final coordinates, they’ll find themselves in the same middle of nowhere you just suggested.”
“In which case, we’ll drop a beacon behind with the proper coordinates before we leave,” Barrington said. “Timered so that it won’t start transmitting until we’re long gone, just in case Ukuthi leaves someone behind to make sure we didn’t leave a crumb trail.”
“It still leaves us vulnerable,” Garrett pointed out. “The fact he’s pushing this so hard makes me suspicious. When someone insists on quick action, he’s nearly always up to something.”
“Could be,” Barrington said. “But there is another possibility why he’s in such a big hurry.”
He looked back at the star display, and the tortured line that would be leading the Dorian into the unknown. “That Merrick Broom really is in immediate, serious danger.”
#
Merrick’s introduction to the term winghunter had during his imprisonment on Qasama, when Anya had first given him her name. She hadn’t explained it or even referred to it after that, and Merrick had simply assumed that it was like a family name, harkening back to some kind of animal or bird that some founding member of her lineage had been particularly good at hunting. Later, aboard the Drim slave ship, he’d come to realize that the slaves’ names weren’t related to families that way, but were descriptive of the actual person who wore them.
Still, as he and Anya headed to the Gangari hunters’ lodge his mind continued to hold onto the mental image of the two of them moving up and down the mountain slopes in search of some elusive eagle or owl nest. The kind of hunt where his optical and audio enhancers might give him an extra edge to balance out his lack of experience.