Angelmass

by Timothy Zahn

  Unless Telthorst knew something Lleshi didn’t. Something about Angelmass? Or about the ship that had headed that way forty-five minutes ago? He had access to private comm channels; could he have made some private deal with the Empyreals?

  Or was this display of official outrage merely the first public salvo in his bid for command of the Komitadji?

  “See that you remember,” Telthorst said stiffly. “Now. You will tell me what exactly is going on.”

  Lleshi frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t play coy with me,” Telthorst warned. “A mysterious ship you didn’t think worth mentioning; and now access to Angelmass has suddenly been shut off?”

  Lleshi’s eyes flicked to Campbell, caught the other’s equally puzzled look. “I’m sorry, Adjutor, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  For a long minute Telthorst just stared at him. Then, his lips twitched in an ironic smile. “Very well, Commodore,” he said. “You want to play it close? Fine. Perhaps our guests will be more willing to talk when they arrive.”

  He stood up. “I’ll be waiting in the conference room. You will inform me when the High Senator’s shuttle has docked.”

  “You’ll be the first to know,” Lleshi assured him.

  Telthorst nodded curtly and, without another word, stalked to the lift platform and left the balcony.

  Lleshi looked across at Campbell. “What do you suppose that was all about?”

  Campbell shook his head. “The man’s crazy as a crane,” he declared. “What does he think, that you’ve made some private deal with the Empyreals?”

  “Certainly sounds like it,” Lleshi agreed. “Should add a certain extra degree of spice to the negotiations, wouldn’t you say?”

  “We’ll find out soon enough.” Campbell nodded toward the display. “The High Senator’s shuttle is on its way.”

  CHAPTER 43

  The motorized wheels of Central’s transport carts were useless in the low gravity areas of the centerline corridor. Fortunately, the designers had realized they would be, and had built in a system of running cables set into deep grooves that the carts could hook onto for motive power.

  Unfortunately, the cables were set at a single, rather lumbering speed. Moving alongside the cart, shepherding the squat fuel canisters balanced precariously on top of it, Kosta listened to the gamma sparks and wondered bleakly if they were going to have enough time for this.

  Or, if they did, if the plan would even work.

  He reached the midway tunnel just as Chandris was coming in from the other side with a cart even more overloaded than his was. “There’s about one and a half more cartloads left in this side,” she reported, letting the transport coast to a halt beside the stack of fuel canisters the two had already moved in. “How many more do you want?”

  “All of them,” Kosta told her. “But I can go do that. You’d better start programming the escape pods.”

  “Okay.” She glanced around at the collection of canisters. “I don’t know, Kosta. If this doesn’t work, we’re going to be in big trouble.”

  “Like we aren’t already?” Kosta countered, rolling the top canister off his stack and easing it carefully in the minimal gravity to a resting spot on the tunnel floor.

  “Point,” Chandris conceded, crouching down beside the nearest escape pod hatchway and punching the release. “What do you want me to set them for?”

  “Better make it thirty minutes from now,” Kosta told her. “We want to make sure we’ve got enough time to get everything else ready.”

  “Right, but we don’t want to crunch things the other direction, either,” Chandris reminded him as the hatch popped up. “We’ve only got forty-five minutes until Angelmass gets close enough to cook us, and that only if it doesn’t speed up any more. Forty-five minutes minus your thirty gives us only a fifteen-minute margin for error. That’s not very much.”

  “We’ll make it,” Kosta assured her, pulling off the next canister. “Don’t forget, we’ll be all the way at the other end of the station when they go off. The extra shielding should be enough.”

  “If you say so,” she said, sitting down on the edge of the opening and finding the ladder with her feet. “Just remember you promised to have enough time to apologize if this doesn’t work. I’m going to hold you to that.”

  None of the summaries of Pax governmental procedure had mentioned the full honor guard and fanfare that was waiting as Forsythe stepped through the shuttle door onto the cold gray docking bay deck. Slowly, automatically matching his pace to the beat of the extended trumpet flourish, he walked between the two lines of men, his eyes flicking from their black-and-red dress uniforms to their expressionless faces to the deadly-looking flash rifles held rigidly in front of them. It was a wonderfully balanced display of ritual pomp, official recognition, and implied threat, and he wondered if this was standard military procedure or something laid on specifically for his benefit.

  Ronyon, walking at his side, clearly had no such thoughts or reservations. His eyes were shining as he looked around, his face lit up with a wide childlike grin as he gazed delightedly at the spectacle. Even with all the ceremonies Ronyon had attended through the years, he never seemed to tire of them.

  There were several men and women waiting at the far end of the honor guard lines, with two of their number standing a pace in front of the others. A study in contrasts, Forsythe thought as he approached them, and not just because of their age or their garb. The elder of the two stood straight and tall in his dress uniform, his eyes brightly aware, his face calmly expressionless as he studied the approaching Empyreals. The other man, shorter and dressed in a drab gray suit, was also studying Forsythe; but his eyes and face were hostile and restive and vaguely frustrated. If the soldier standing beside him was a lion watching his approaching prey, the image flashed through Forsythe’s mind, this man was a vulture waiting impatiently for something to die.

  The musicians were good, timing their flourish to a dramatic finale just as Forsythe came to a halt three paces from the soldier and the vulture. “I’m High Senator Arkin Forsythe of Lorelei,” he identified himself, his voice sounding oddly weak after the echoing brass. A nice little added bonus, he thought distantly, to the rest of the ceremony’s psychological manipulation. “Currently representing the Seraph government. Do I have the honor of addressing Commodore Vars Lleshi?”

  “I am Commodore Lleshi,” the older man acknowledged, his voice as measured and intelligent as his eyes and face. He was older than he had seemed from a distance, Forsythe saw now, but he carried the years well. “Welcome aboard the Komitadji, High Senator. May I present my senior staff—” he gestured to the line of men and women behind him— “and our ship’s Adjutor, Mr. Samunel Telthorst.”

  “Mr. Telthorst,” Forsythe said, looking at the other with new interest. So this was one of the shadow-power group that allegedly kept Pax politics focused on the bottom line. “Officers,” he added, letting his eyes sweep the group behind Lleshi. “This is my aide, Ronyon.”

  Ronyon touched his sleeve to get his attention. Can you tell them I really liked the men with the guns and the fancy clothes? he signed, his eyes still glowing with pleasure. They were really neat!

  “What’s he doing?” Telthorst demanded. He had, Forsythe noted, taken a hasty step back when Ronyon’s big hands began their intricate dance. ‘Tell him to stop.”

  “He’s just talking to me,” Forsythe said. “Ronyon is deaf and mute. He communicates through sign language.”

  “What did he say just now?” Lleshi asked.

  “He said to thank you for the honor guard,” Forsythe said. “He very much enjoyed it.”

  “I thought you said he was deaf,” Telthorst said, his voice dark and accusing. “How could he hear the fanfare?”

  “He couldn’t,” Forsythe told him. “But he can see. He happens to like fancy uniforms and ceremonial guns.”

  “Really,” Telthorst said, looking Ronyon up and down suspicious
ly. “So you’re saying he’s retarded, too?”

  There was insult in the words, and for a moment Forsythe teetered on the brink of verbally blistering the man for it. But there was too much at stake here to allow personal feelings to intrude. “His mental development has been arrested, yes,” he said instead, forcing his voice to stay calm. “But he’s a good and conscientious worker, and an asset to my staff.” He paused. “And, I might add, more pleasant company than many of those I meet in my daily activities.”

  Telthorst drew himself up—“We have a conference room set up over here,” Lleshi said before the other could speak, gesturing to the side. Telthorst shot him an annoyed look, which the commodore ignored. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll begin the discussions.”

  The “conference room” was little more than a pilots’ briefing room, plainly decorated and relatively small. The table was big enough to handle the group, though, and the chairs were reasonably comfortable. Lleshi took the chair at the end closest to the door, gesturing to Forsythe to take the far end. Telthorst rather pointedly sat down at Lleshi’s right. Ronyon sat down at Forsythe’s left, still gazing admiringly at the two guards who had stepped inside the room and now stood at attention flanking the door.

  “Before we begin the negotiations,” Forsythe said when everyone was settled, “I’d like to ask what exactly you’ve done to Lorelei and the Lorelei system.”

  “These are not ‘negotiations,’ High Senator—” Telthorst began.

  “We destroyed the four nets in the asteroid belt,” Lleshi told him. “Along, I’m afraid, with those defending them and manning the associated catapults. We also neutralized the small kick-pod catapult in Lorelei orbit and commandeered the liner Harmonic. Oh, and we were forced to neutralize several armed mining ships that launched suicide attacks on us during our trip inward. Aside from that, to my knowledge, we have harmed no one and caused no damage.”

  Forsythe felt his throat tighten. Mining ships. The ones he personally had ordered to be armed. ‘To your knowledge?”

  “My task force commanders had orders to hold, not destroy,” Lleshi said. “Up to the point where the Komitadji arrived at Seraph they had complied with those orders. Unfortunately, I have no way of knowing what has happened since then.”

  “I see,” Forsythe murmured. It wasn’t a very satisfying answer, but it was clear it was the best he was going to get for now.

  Ronyon touched his sleeve. Has something happened at home? he signed, his forehead furrowed with concern.

  “What did he say?” Telthorst demanded.

  “He asked if something had happened at home,” Forsythe translated, feeling a sudden flicker of guilt. In all the activity over the past few days, it hadn’t even occurred to him that Ronyon had been left completely out of the information loop regarding the Pax invasion of Lorelei. “These gentlemen have sent warships to Lorelei, Ronyon. They’ve taken control of the system, but I don’t think they’ve hurt too many people.”

  Ronyon looked over at Lleshi, a look of stunned betrayal on his face. Why did you do that? he signed. We weren’t bothering anybody.

  “Tell him to stop that,” Telthorst snapped. “This is a surrender conference, not a children’s tea party.”

  “That’s enough, Mr. Telthorst,” Lleshi said. “High Senator, will you translate?”

  “He wanted to know why you invaded Lorelei,” Forsythe said. “He asked if we were doing anything to bother you. Or anyone else.”

  “I see.” Lleshi shifted his gaze to Ronyon. “I’m sorry, Ronyon, for whatever we’re doing to your worlds. But we’re soldiers, and our duty is to obey the orders we’re given. I give you my promise that we will not hurt any more people than absolutely necessary.”

  “All of which depends on how much the High Senator is willing to cooperate,” Telthorst added. “Which brings me to a question, High Senator. What exactly is that ship doing out at Angelmass?”

  “They’re doing a quick emergency study of the black hole,” Forsythe said.

  “What kind of emergency study?”

  “Angelmass has been exhibiting strange behavior over the past few weeks,” Forsythe said. “It started with radiation bursts, and has progressed to where it’s actually changing its orbit.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know,” Forsythe said. “But I’m sure that if you ask nicely, Mr. Kosta will be happy to give you the complete story when he gets back.”

  Lleshi’s reaction to Kosta’s name was little more than a lifted eyebrow. Telthorst’s was much more dramatic. “Kosta?” he repeated. “Kosta?”

  “Yes,” Forsythe said. “I see you know the young man.”

  Telthorst flashed a dumbfounded look at Lleshi, looked back at Forsythe. “Kosta,” he muttered.

  There was a tentative plucking at Forsythe’s sleeve. Mr. Forsythe? he signed, an oddly intense expression on his face. Jereko and Chandris didn’t go to study Angelmass. They went to throw it away.

  Forsythe frowned. “What?”

  “What?” Telthorst asked.

  “Just a minute,” Forsythe said, leaning toward Ronyon. “What do you mean, throw it away?”

  “Throw what away?” Telthorst demanded. “What are you talking about?”

  “Just a minute,” Forsythe snapped back. “Ronyon, tell me again. What are Jereko and Chandris doing?”

  Ronyon threw a furtive look at the other end of the table. Jereko said Angelmass is going to try to hurt people, he signed. He said the only thing they could do was use the catapult to throw it out of the system.

  “That’s crazy,” Forsythe said. “He can’t be serious.”

  “Bad news, High Senator?” Lleshi asked calmly.

  Forsythe looked over at him, wondering what he should say. The truth? Or something that sounded at least plausible? “He says Kosta believes Angelmass is too dangerous to stay here,” he said. “He says they’re going to try to use Central’s catapult to throw it somewhere out of the system.”

  Telthorst inhaled sharply. “Is that even possible?” Lleshi asked. “I was given to understand that the Seraph and Angelmass nets and catapults were linked together.”

  “They are,” Forsythe murmured, the shutdown of the Seraph net suddenly making sense. “But if he shut down the net at this end … I don’t know. He might be able to do it.”

  “And he has shut it down, hasn’t he?” Lleshi asked. “He’s shut down both nets, in fact.”

  Forsythe nodded. There was no point in lying; a well-equipped warship like the Komitadji would certainly have picked that up. “We were guessing he didn’t want company.”

  “This is a trick,” Telthorst put in, his fingertips rubbing restlessly against the table top. “He’s making all this up.”

  Lleshi pursed his lips. “Mr. Campbell?” he called.

  “Crypto Group confirms, Commodore,” a disembodied voice replied briskly from one of the upper corners of the room. “He’s using a dialect of the old Unislan sign language, and we’ve got enough for a baseline. Actual message: ‘Jereko says Angelmass will hurt everyone. He says they must throw it away out of the area using the catapult.’”

  “Thank you,” Lleshi said.

  “Nonsense,” Telthorst insisted, jabbing a finger toward Ronyon. “An idiot like that? No one would trust him with that kind of information. I tell you it’s a trick.”

  “Why are you getting so upset, Mr. Telthorst?” Forsythe asked, frowning at him. “I thought the whole reason for the Pax coming down on us in the first place was to protect us from the angels. You should be happy someone wants to get rid of the source.”

  For a long moment Telthorst just stared at him, his agitation and uncertainty coalescing into something hard and certain and vicious. “So that’s how it is,” he ground out. “You turned him. Kosta figured it out, and you turned him, and he told you.”

  “Told us what?” Forsythe asked carefully.

  Telthorst turned to Lleshi. “Get the Angelmass net reactivated,” he ordered. “Right n
ow. We have to go out there and stop him.”

  Lleshi blinked. “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “You fool,” Telthorst bit out contemptuously. “Don’t you understand? Angelmass is the reason we’re here. It’s the only reason we’re here.”

  Lleshi threw an odd look at Forsythe. “But if the angel threat is removed—”

  “To bloody hell with the angels!” Telthorst snarled. “What do the angels matter? What does anything from this flea-speck group of third-rate planets matter?”

  He shot a look around the table. “It’s Angelmass that we want,” he said, his voice low and brittle. “It blazes out more energy in a second than this entire miserable world probably uses in a year. Terawatts and terawatts of power, just waiting for someone to tap into it.”

  “And that’s what this is all about?” Forsythe asked, staring at him in disbelief. “Energy?”

  “Why not?” Telthorst countered. “Energy is the road to wealth and power. It always has been. And free energy, like this, is nothing less than a gift from the laughing fates. Angelmass could run an entire floating colony, or give us a cheap way to terraform worlds—”

  “Or power a shipyard?” Lleshi asked.

  “Indeed it could,” Telthorst said, his eyes suddenly shining. “You’ve seen what the Komitadji has accomplished already, in a bare handful of years. How much more could you accomplish with a dozen more ships just like it? Tell me that.”

  “The question isn’t what I could do,” Lleshi said quietly, his tone that of a man who has suddenly found the solution to a private puzzle. “The question is what the Adjutors could do.”

  Telthorst’s lips compressed into a thin line. “Order the Angelmass net reactivated, Commodore.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  Telthorst drew himself up. “Then I will be forced to take direct command of this vessel,” he said, his voice suddenly stiff and formal as he pulled a folded sheet of paper from inside his jacket. “I have authorization from the Adjutor General himself.”