“Lucinda, the Gungnir has emerged. Presume orders transmitted. Response expected in sixteen minutes.”
“Landry, the communications link is eleven minutes one-way from here to the emergence point. How did you calculate sixteen minutes?”
“I presumed Captain Jensen would initiate the orders immediately, slipping in system as quickly as possible, delaying his response to the orders.”
“Thank you, Landry. Inform Q’eqchi.”
The Triad turned to Jirmina, who swung her chair around while pulling her safety harness tighter and sitting silently. The gravitational emitters and compensators were struggling to keep up with the widely gyrating ship.
“I suggest we attempt to move the wreckage. The stress on the grapples is being transferred to the Jaguar’s main structural framework.”
“Where do we take it?”
Lucinda answered Janish’s question.
“We are going to put it on a path to the sun. We are going directly to the star-portal, skipping the slipstream. Landry, track us if you can. Let us know when we are out of danger.
The Triad looked to each other and closed their eyes, initiating the beam of light from the symbols. Focused on the three external spots, the light being emitted was excruciating. The four simultaneously covered their eyes with a forearm. Leaving a gap below their upraised arms, the Triad continued to focus on their respective spots.
A sharp, ear-piercing tone severed the Triad’s concentration.
Janish was bleeding from her nose. Lucinda’s eyes were red from broken blood vessels. The Triad was pouring sweat. Jirmina was unconscious, slumped over in the safety harness. Corb found his voice.
“Landry?”
“The Jaguar is still attached to the disc. We are between the orbit of Mars and the sun. External hull temperatures are rising. I suggest we release the disc and move away quickly.”
“Jirmina is out cold. Can you do it?”
“Yes.”
Corb felt the grapples let loose and stumbled while he was standing to help Janish.
“I am okay. Check on Jirmina.”
Lucinda confirmed to Corb she was okay. “I am good. A little light-headed, but okay.”
Turning back the Plentari, Corb was shocked. Her fingers appeared to be blistered and bleeding. There was fluid dripping from her nasal slits. He gently lifted her to an upright position, and she opened her eyes.
“I give my life for the Enlightened One.”
“Jirmina, you are not going to die. What happened? Why are your fingers bleeding?”
“I held up my hands to block the light. They are burned.”
“You received a sunburn from the light beam?”
Letting her translator catch up, Jirmina nodded.
“Why is your color different, why is your nose dripping? Are you okay?”
“I have a concussion. Yes, that is the correct word, concussion.”
“Jirmina, how did you become concussed?”
Jirmina answered the question with a question.
“Enlightened One, did you not feel the impact of entering the star-portal conduit inside the gravity well of the Sol system?”
“No … Landry?”
“Corb, the Jaguar experienced a shockwave equivalent to eleven-point-four gravimetric forces.”
“Landry, report! What is the Jaguar’s integrity?”
“Lucinda, the Jaguar is not reporting any structural anomalies. However, I recommend a visual inspection.”
“Where is the disc?”
“It continues on a trajectory to burn up in the star’s corona. Captain Jensen is hailing you, Lucinda.”
“Put him on.”
“Lucinda, are you guys okay?”
“Yes, Ragnar. Were you able to deflect the wreckage?”
“Bloody well right we did! The Jaguar and the Gungnir are ships full of get it done!”
“Yes, Nick, we got it done. Landry, plot a course to the docking platform.”
“Plotted. Colonel Khatter is hailing you, Lucinda.”
“Put him on.”
“Well done, Captain. Well done. We have a lot to talk about. Get some rest. We will meet when you are ready.”
“Davinder, it will be next week. I am ordering the crews of both ships to take some R&R. We have a lot of healing to do. Next week will be fine.”
“Understood … Lucinda?”
“Yes, Davinder?”
“Thank you.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
ᚴᚼᛅᛒᛏᛁᚱ•ᛏᚼᛁᚱᛏᚢ-ᛏᚼᚱᛁᛁ
“Our scientific power has outrun our spiritual power.
We have guided missiles and misguided men.”
Martin Luther King, Jr.
“The Marissa is scheduled to arrive in a week with a batch of upgraded fighters. We are not comfortable with forty Ajawlil fighters running around our solar system without control.”
Davinder and Himari had left Jan in charge of Q’eqchi to attend the TCCC summit meeting in Geneva. Joining Davinder and Himari was the entire Coterie, plus Michelle, Jirxena, and Jirmina. Three weeks after the successful deflection of Admiral Jymind’s kamikaze attempt, the discussions were going poorly under the new chairman, Malcolm Hartwell. Formerly of the British Secret Service, Commander Hartwell was all military, all the time, even when not wearing a uniform. Fifty-something with graying hair and an athlete’s physique, the commander exuded confidence. The scars on his face told the story of a man not afraid of a tussle.
The main assembly hall was sealed. The head of TCCC security assured the participants the communications could not be monitored.
“Chairman Hartwell, I think you are missing the point. The Ajawlil are not a mercenary force without controls or a command structure. Colonel Jyrode has purged the dissenters. Eliminating Admiral Jymind stopped any discussion of an independent Ajawlil homeland.
“The question you should be asking, what the TCCC should be asking, is more mundane. What are you going to do with the Gungnir? A battlecruiser is a powerful weapon. There are already spies working to subvert the TCCC and gain control of the Gungnir.”
“Colonel Khatter, what are you talking about? The Gungnir is the property of the TCCC and will remain the property of the TCCC.”
Davinder looked to Corb.
“Landry?”
“Yes, Corb?”
Before anyone could react to Landry’s voice broadcasting from the assembly hall’s speakers, Chairman Hartwell snarled at his head of security.
“I thought you said this room was sealed. What the hell is that and why was it allowed to monitor our meeting?”
“Chairman Hartwell, this room was sealed, and scans completed. There are no foreign devices or external access links.”
Turning back to Corb, the chairman seemed to understand the subtle message.
“Mister Chairman, the technology possessed by the crew of the Jaguar is exponentially superior to technology on Earth. Further, the capabilities of the Coterie members with Summitate abilities render your attempts at controlling us moot.
“We are here today out of a sense of duty, and a sense of goodwill. Insulting our friends, the Ajawlil, is not a good beginning.
“Let us start over, permit me … Landry, play the recording between Captain Jensen and Representative Alexeev.”
A heavily Russian-accented voice, speaking English, was heard conversing with a calm, Norwegian-accented voice.
“Captain Jensen, we have a deal. Da?”
“Councilman Alexeev, are you sure this line is secure?”
“Yes, of course this line is secure.”
“One hundred and twenty million Euros, in a numbered account. Passports and new identities. We become new people. I like the Seychelles. It is always warm in the Swychelles.”
“Agreed. One hundred and twenty million Euros have been deposited. The compound has been secured on Frégate Island. All that remains is for our pilots to come aboard and transact the exchange. The pilots have been approved
by the TCCC. The pilots will arrive tomorrow at oh-nine-hundred GMT.”
“Councilman Alexeev, they will not be allowed to board until I have the bank codes and can confirm the funds.”
“Understood. A wise precaution. Transmitting the codes now.”
“Stand by, Councilman Alexeev.”
Several moments of silence caused everyone to turn a glare toward TCCC councilman Marcos Alexeev.
“Confirmed, and the deed to the compound in my name also, nice touch. We will see your people tomorrow, oh-nine-hundred.”
Scowling, Chairman Hartwell began to interrogate Lieutenant Commander Ragnar Olaf Jensen, captain of the battlecruiser Gungnir.
“Lieutenant Commander Jensen, you are relieved of your command. Commander Repelov will captain the Gungnir.”
Colonel Davinder Khatter interrupted the chairman. “No, Chairman Hartwell, that will not happen. Guards!”
Four guards stepped forward, two behind Chairman Hartwell and two behind Councilman Alexeev.
“Corb, please instruct Landry to play the other recordings.”
“Davinder, you just did.”
The heavily Russian-accented voice returned, speaking English. Alexeev was heard conversing with a person with a formal English accent.
“Marcos, is it done?”
“Yes, Malcolm, it is scheduled for tomorrow at ten in the morning, your time. They are blinded by money.”
“Your team will take care of it?”
“Yes, the shuttle will suffer a catastrophic failure on reentry.”
“As soon as that happens, you will move the money?”
“Yes, Malcolm, it is all arranged. Tomorrow, at this time, we will be rich, and we will own an interstellar battlecruiser.”
“I will own an interstellar battlecruiser. You will be chairman of the TCCC.”
“Da. We will drink vodka and sing songs.”
The recording stopped, silence filling the assembly hall, until Davinder spoke gravely.
“Remove the chairman and the councilman.”
As the guards leaned forward to grab Malcolm and Marcos, Alexeev made the mistake of attempting to lunge across the table at Corb. Before he reached halfway, before Corb could telekinetically deflect the feeble attack, Jirmina’s plasma saber flared, removing Marcos’s head from his body.
The body slumped to the floor, the head lying on its left ear on the conference room table, looking at Jirmina. The heat of the plasma saber had cauterized most of the blood vessels, though a few were slowly leaking onto the conference table and floor. Unfazed, the guards unceremoniously grabbed the torso and the head.
Before the doors closed behind the malefactors, Captain Jensen hollered to Malcolm’s backside, “We are keeping the money!”
Turning back to Davinder, the assembly was morose. Davinder assumed control and pressed several icons on his mini-console. Janitorial staff raced into the assembly hall with cleaning supplies.
Subdued, Nick broke the melancholia.
“We have got to stop killing people in council meetings. Before you know it, we’ll have a reputation.”
Davinder ignored Nick, pressing the discussion.
“Councilperson Wyatt, I believe succession of the chairmanship falls to you.”
“Correct, Colonel. Is there a motion?”
Councilperson Wyatt was not expecting the response she received.
“I make the motion to elect Colonel Davinder Khatter chairman of the TCCC,” three people said instantaneously.
“Seconded!”
Realizing the implications, smiling, Amanda Petal Wyatt called for the vote.
“The yeas have it, nine to zero. Chairman Khatter, what is your first order of business?”
Feeling bamboozled by the TCCC members, Davinder accepted the inevitable.
“First order of business. I will entertain a motion to make Michelle Raye Wilbon a non-voting member of the council. Her advice and knowledge of the aliens will be beneficial to our ability to craft wise and prudent policies.”
Davinder looked to Michelle, who was about to speak but was cut off by Lucinda’s gentle hand squeezing her forearm.
“Motion to create a permanent advisory position and appoint Michelle Raye Wilbon to the position of advisor.”
“Seconded!”
“The yeas have it, nine to zero. Welcome, Miss Wilbon.
“The second order of business will be to address disposition of the Jaguar, the Gungnir, and the Marissa.”
Several hours of debate and discussion ensued. Agreements were hammered out. Strategies formulated. New rules of conduct for the TCCC adopted. Closing the meeting, Davinder asked a soft question of the TCCC members.
“Why me?”
It was Michelle who answered.
“Davinder, I have never known you to ask a silly question. You must know the answer to your question.”
The soft-spoken Nepalese former assassin, former commando, and all-around good guy responded scarcely loud enough for everyone to hear.
“I will not betray your trust.”
“Yes please! Put them right here.”
“Nick, how many of those are you going to eat?”
“How many am I going to eat? Are you barmy? I am going to eat all of them!”
The TCCC had reserved an entire Gasthaus for the evening. Run by a former Swiss trade minister, the Gasthaus was friendly to the TCCC. Several blocks from the main assembly hall, everyone had walked to the Gasthaus in the crisp fall air while Corb and Janish teleported the Plentari to the celebration. There was no need for aliens to be walking the evening streets of Geneva, alarming the locals.
Lucinda was not giving up trying to help Janish with Nick.
“Nick, those are fried balls of dough and meat, about a thousand calories each. How do you stay so thin with what you eat?”
With a mouth full of food and a belly full of beer, Nick responded, “Thin? Pork pie, dearest, pork pie. Guile!”
Nick’s longtime friends bellowed at the tipsy buffoon.
The Plentari waited for the translation but did not react. The TCCC members smiled but remained quiet, knowing they were in the presence of a seldom seen or felt camaraderie.
“Before we get too far into our cups, what are you going to do about Tarmenik? Also, do you think the Kripkeni will cut a deal to mine the Kuyper belt for ore in exchange for long-haul cargo carriers?”
“Davinder, we are having dinner and a few drinks. Lighten up. We can restart this discussion tomorrow morning.”
Corb’s response was met with cheers and comments of support. Tilting his ale, Davinder acknowledged the group’s request for an evening of dinner, conversation, and friendship. Changing the subject, sort of, Davinder asked a new question.
“What about Landry?”
Realizing the question was nuanced, Corb shrugged and responded between sips of lager.
“He is not an Overlord, if that is your question. He is sentient. Sentient, defined by using the Turning test or assessing the condition of being self-aware and desiring self-preservation.”
“Is he listening to us now?”
“Councilman Pietro, it is likely Landry is monitoring us and our conversation. I generally assume he is monitoring. Do you want me to isolate us from his monitoring?”
“No need. Do you trust him?”
“Do I trust him? That is at the core of the questions and concerns. Yes, I trust him. However, I believe he has withheld information and it is likely he continues to withhold information.
“Landry is a construct. He is not an Overlord. He knows who he is and accepts his boundaries. The question of trust is important but more important, I believe, is the question of what information is he withholding.
“I have some ideas. The Ch’en people of K’an do not allow artificial intellects to access their grid. Their position is an artificial intellect is too dangerous to be allowed free run of their data stores and control mechanisms. The Plentari withheld their ability to directly interface w
ith the ship’s control computers because they feared the artificial construct gaining access and controlling their minds.
“Do I trust Landry? Yes, until he proves otherwise. Does he possess information about the Overlords and humanity’s prehistory? Probably. Those are all important questions, but they are secondary to the main question you are not asking.”
Pausing, Corb realized the entire group and the former trade minister were silently listening to every word.
“Enough of this … here’s the deal. I think I know who the Overlords were and what they were about. To confirm my theories, we are going back to K’an and talking to Tarunik.”
“Corb, don’t you mean Doctor Tarmenik, the bastard who put us on the goose chase to Zerain and conspired with Admiral Fuck-Nuts?”
“No, Lucinda, I mean Tarunik. We will talk to Tarmenik if we are permitted, but it is Tarunik and possibly Tarmish who hold the key to our search for information.
“Now, though, we drink. Jirxena, you might want to slow down with those. Irish whiskey is a lot more potent than Jima and it will give you a hangover.”
“What is a hangover?”
Half the group sat in silence, wondering who was going to explain to the warrior the concept of a hangover. Nick and NT took another approach. Turning to the former trade minister, who was standing to the side, they fist bumped before NT made the request.
“Bring us another round and doubles for our friends!”
“Oh, wow, that was some good craic. I don’t remember hangovers being this painful. What the hell happened to me?”
“Nick, honey, time is a bitch and she is targeting you more than most.”
Sleeping in real beds, in a nice hotel with room service, the entourage were happy to have another night on Earth. Geneva was beautiful in the fall.
Corb took the Plentari back to the Jaguar and instructed Landry to research hangover cures for the two inebriated aliens.
Having agreed to meet for breakfast, the Coterie were blissful and content. Corb returned to his room, which was adjacent to Michelle’s, and gently knocked on her door.
“Come in.”
Entering, Corb was nervous as he sat on the davenport. Michelle was dressed in a long maternity blouse, drying her hair with a towel.
BairnGefa- The Akashic Expedition Page 26