The Artifact

by W. Michael Gear

  Sol grunted noncommittally.

  “Ah. Constance, are you readv to run off with me vet? I have nice empty station which you would heat with gracious warmth and illuminate with shining brilliance.“

  “What about your three wives?” Sol asked blandly.

  Malakova flinched, threw Connie a crafty look, and shrugged. “I am big man,” he said simply. “Is enough of me to go around.”

  “Then perhaps you’d better watch your diet,” Connie riposted. “You ate enough crab tonight to feed six of your starving constituents. I’d be happy to send a message to your wives—let them know how well you’re doing.”

  Nikita grimaced.

  Tayash Niter turned back from watching Jordan disappear into the companionway. “Earl Fan Jordan is a dinosaur. And whatever happened, he means you no good, Captain.”

  Sol sighed. “There goes the vote for most popular man aboard. You’re right, he’s a dinosaur. No one will ever control humanity by brute force again. He’s been blinded by his own system. He’s never hungered, fought, faced danger or death. Worse, he’s never even really experienced his own planet and the misery there.”

  With a slight pang, Nikita realized Constance had placed herself beside Carrasco. Perhaps she does not know it yet, but she likes him. Ah, well, was too good for likes of me anyway. Too much class.

  “Space is an open system,” Niter agreed. “Government was born to control the redistribution of resources. The one weVe got doesn’t work in an open resource base as it is.” He lifted his hands. “Like Malakova said, we make our own goods. What supplies would Fan cut off?”

  Half to himself, Nikita grunted, “We should burn New Maine as a plague spot!”

  “I think my organization would disapprove, Nikita,” Sol said.

  “Why? What possible good are his kings in our present circumstances?”

  “Balance,” Sol replied simply. “The other end of the spectrum to you and your—now did he say it?” Sol grinned broadly. “Rat’s nest?”

  “From the look of Nikita’s beard, there is more than one kind of rat’s nest in Gulag,” Connie decided. Nikita leaned down and nuzzled her with his soft beard.

  “Don’t tell your papa,” he warned.

  “It’s your wives I might tell.”

  He groaned, turning back to Carrasco. “This Brotherhood of yours is so perfect?”

  Sol shook his head. “It hasn’t always been. For the moment, we have a rather spectacular man as Galactic Grand Master. The order has changed through time. I think I told you most of our history. You take a look at those reports?”

  “We did,” Tayash sighed. “Spent most of the night going through one. It’s a difficult admission, but I think your Brotherhood did the right thing.”

  “Is permutations that are scary.” Nikita shifted on his heel, staring at the companionway Jordan had disappeared into. “What if man like earl becomes Grand Master? Hmm?”

  Sol pursed his lips. “The screening process is very difficult. Not only does every member of the Craft vote, so do the computers. The program is pretty specific and psych check is also run. You see, we learned a lesson from the twentieth century. We can’t afford mediocrity in the Craft. And given some of our advances, the consequences of a tyrant assuming control would be unthinkable.”

  Nikita laced fingers in his beard. “You allow such invasion of privacy? What of rights of man?”

  Sol stared soberly into his eyes. “You have an idea of the power of the Craft. As our technology goes beyond that of the rest of the Confederacy, so does our political system. It goes back to Frontier in the early days. Quite simply, we couldn’t afford a mistake in leadership. Affable fools can be elected in any democratic system. Our selection is a more balanced process. Most would find it repugnant, sterile, and scientific. But I’ll share an anecdote with you. Kraal didn’t want to be Grand Master. His occupation, before he went into politics, was that of a florist. That’s right, he grew and arranged flowers for a living. His political career started as Master of a small neighborhood lodge on Moriah. Becoming Galactic Grand Master was the farthest thing from his mind. The problem was, he seemed to be the most qualified for the job.“

  Nikita squinted his skepticism. “And if your Brotherhood voted against him?”

  “Even if the psych studies and projections indicated he was the best choice for the position, he wouldn’t get it.” Sol clasped his hands behind his back. “Leadership combines a variety of traits—including public trust. At the same time, we have the system pretty well worked out. I doubt a man the people didn’t approve of could make it through the selection process.”

  “Sounds ...” Tayash shook his head. “I don’t know, too impersonal.”

  Sol smiled. “It works for us.”

  “Yet you do not keep a seat in Confederate Council?” Nikita wondered. “Even Catholics keep a seat.”

  “And that neutrality keeps us from being embroiled in political battles that might split the Craft. Have you ever seen the Brotherhood support any political faction?”

  “But you do have more than enough political influence,” Tayash reminded.

  Sol nodded. “True, but then you’ll notice that in the Council, we never go beyond offering an independent opinion and providing documentation for our case. Incidentally, that process is watched very carefully, each action scrutinized by a committee appointed to ensure that no abuses occur. I believe you can all recall the removal of more than one adviser to the Council?”

  “But supposing con man outsmarted system, became Master despite all, what then?”

  “We have an organization called the Jurisprudence Committee. The Grand Master would be invited to testify on his own behalf and the Committee would study the evidence, publish their findings, and if adverse, a vote of confidence would be taken. If the Master failed, he’d be removed from office.”

  “And if Master refused? Took reins of power in own hands?”

  Sol didn’t even flinch. “We’d assassinate him.”

  “You’d ...” Tayash blinked, mouth open.

  Sol smiled wistfully. “Gentlemen, among the greatest of crimes to inflict on the human condition, tyranny is intolerable. It goes against every tenet of our beliefs.”

  “But what if the people want a tyranny?” Connie asked. “It’s happened before.”

  Sol turned to her. “Then they could leave the organization and go live on New Maine. You see, a person has to ask to become a member of the Craft. No one forces anyone to remain. That, too, would be antithetical to our philosophy.”

  Nikita struggled to make sense of it. “I am suspicious of anyone with all answers pat. What is wrong with Craft? All are descended of angels?”

  Sol laughed. “Hardly. You see, we’re all human beings. To live by the tenets of the institution is a constant challenge. Truly, the only thing that keeps the Craft safe are our computers. Without that technology, we’d go the way of any other human society and make all the same mistakes.”

  “But you have to surrender your autonomy to a computer,” Tayash reminded. “Somehow, that just . . .”He shook his head, expression sour.

  “That’s right,” Sol agreed. “That’s why we don’t make a big thing of it. The Craft has enough problems as it is. You can imagine the heyday the media would have with that knowledge. And, as I said, our system isn’t for everyone.”

  Nikita cleared his throat. “You are aware many disapprove of Brotherhood. Sentiment of people is turning against you. What you do if antagonism becomes too great? What if Sirius wins, wants to outlaw Brotherhood? What if Jordan takes his ships to convert you to his ‘ Utopia’?”

  Sol didn’t even hesitate. “Quite simply, Mister Representative, we’ll pack up. Crate every single nut and bolt—and leave.”

  * * *

  The figure slipped through the hatchway, stalking soundlessly into the darkened sleeping room. A practiced hand eased the personal kit from beside the rumpled bedding. A slight odor of exertion lingered in the air, musky,
the scent of copulation.

  Gloved fingers skillfully removed the black tubes, uncoiling them from the hasty wrap they’d been twined into. Without wasted movement, the intruder energized the small power pack at the base of the tubes, before taking a small hexagonal transmitter from a belt pouch. With a hand-held monitor, he studied the black tubes’ reaction to the walnut-sized hex.

  Grunting under his breath, he rapidly replaced the hex, wrapping the tubes and snugging them into the kit before placing the bag just so next to the bedding.

  Making no more noise than a breeze over rock, he vanished through the hatchway.

  CHAPTER XXII

  Sol was up reading Euripides and listening to his favorite symphony, the Beethoven Ninth when Boaz announced, “Captain! Ambassador Texahi is in the hospital. I am currently running analysis. He’s hooked into the system and I am checking the cardial plexes.”

  Sol was on his feet, slapping the hatch, shooting down the companionways as he ran for the hospital. He slid into the room to see Bryana already there. Medea sat on a med unit, expression neutral, while Ensign Wheeler hovered over the unit keeping an eye on the readouts.

  Boaz spit up a section of printout and Wheeler deftly caught it. His practiced eyes scanned the contents. “Heart attack,” he said, refusing to lift his eyes from the paper. “A week in hospital and he should be fit and healthy.”

  “Heart attack?” Medea asked. “Indeed. Very interesting.”

  “Vice Consul, could I see you outside for a minute?” She stood and followed him out into the corridor. “What happened?”

  Medea studied him, a tight irony on her face. “Would you really like to know, Captain?” She hesitated for a second. “Very well, my husband returned to our cabin after having delighted himself in the well-used joys of Mrs. Young’s body. He began a confession and collapsed in the middle of it. If you don’t see a great deal of remorse or concern on my part, I’m sure you can understand why.”

  Sol pinched his brows. “If you don’t mind my asking, your husband’s behavior didn’t just—”

  “No.” She leaned her head back. “It didn’t.” She looked up at Sol. “I thought the chance to get away would . . . No, I think you’re too smart for that line. All right, he was a show piece. I brought him along for several reasons. In the first place, his presence allayed suspicions about Earth’s true interests in the coming negotiations. Bringing Texahi along made it look like a junket—smokescreen, if you will. Second, having a husband along can provide a certain amount of insulation. It provides a shield against male attentions. Last, but not least, I come from a very provincial part of Earth. The old culture there still puts women in a secondary position. A woman without a man is vulnerable, and most definitely not to be taken seriously.”

  “Why a man like him?”

  Her expression didn’t ease. “I’m not a soft willowy female. Most men are intimidated by a woman wielding the power and resources I have at my disposal. Most would eventually want to exploit it, or derive some advantage from my position. Texahi was oblivious to those concerns.” She gave him an icy smile. “And, to be honest, he’s a damn fine lover. That’s another characteristic a woman in my position doesn’t stumble across every day. A man who makes advances is after something nine times out of ten. He’s seeking to compromise your position, earn some inside information or influence. Texahi didn’t have that kind of sophistication.“

  Sol considered.

  “No, it wasn’t new behavior, Captain. On Earth, or in my suite on Arcturus, I could bring him women to keep him happy. I thought on this trip, I’d be close enough, threatening enough. I hadn’t counted on that slut being here. I thought the company would be more . . . discreet.”

  Sol nodded. “I believe I can understand.”

  She smiled humorlessly, adding in a voice like steel, “I hope you do. I would take a very dim view of that information becoming common knowledge. I’m telling you because I assume you have some integrity to have risen to the position of a Brotherhood captaincy—and this is your ship, and I’m curious about two heart attacks in a row.”

  Sol nodded, a crawling feeling in his gut. “Thank you for your confidence and your candid response. And I assure you, I’ll be looking very seriously at heart attack morbidity.”

  “I would hope for no less.”

  Sol braced himself. “It is my ship.” Unwavering eyes met his.

  Inside the hospital, Sol beckoned. “First Officer, if I could see you for a moment?”

  Bryana nodded. Together they walked out.

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this quiet. Help play down the speculation I’m sure you’re going to hear.”

  Her serious brown eyes met his. “Captain, this whole trip is more than a little irregular.”

  “I know. And believe me, until we learn the stakes, we all have to be careful. Listen, I’ll level with you. I’m pretty much in the dark about the whole thing. As soon as I have something concrete, I’ll sit down with you and Art and we’ll hash it out. Will you trust me for that?”

  She smiled, a warmth rising in her eyes. “Sure, Captain. I ... well, I want you to know I’ve had second thoughts. Maybe I was a little out of line when this started.”

  Sol grinned at her. “I wasn’t exactly in my finest form either. For the moment, keep your ear to the ground and let me know what you hear. And Bryana, thank you.” He didn’t see the look she gave him as he headed up to his cabin. “Report, Boaz.”

  “ Pharmacopa, Captain.”

  Sol sank to the bunk, feeling tired and frustrated. “And the video record?”

  “I have been analyzing, Captain. Nothing can be detected which would concretely demonstrate attempted murder. I’m running it now for your benefit.”

  “He was with Elvina Young.”

  “And he stopped in the lounge, sharing drinks with several people. His contacts include Mikhi Hitavia, Arness, Constance, Lietov, and Nikita. He could have ingested the agent at any time.”

  Sol nodded, eyes on the tape. “Hitavia again? And he had that row with Ngoro. Better inform Speaker Archon, Boaz.”

  He looked up when Boaz made the connection. “Another murder attempt. This time it was Texahi. Medea saved his life by getting him to the hospital in time. Ship’s medical got the antidote into him. He’s going to be fine as soon as those nerve cells can be regenerated.”

  “Blast! Solomon, I would have thought it finished.” Archon seemed to deflate.

  “I guess not, Speaker. Should I order them quarantined? It might save lives if we could claim a strange virus was loose.” Sol rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  Archon shook his head. “No, Captain. Let’s bull it through. It’s my responsibility.” He shook his head. “This is like a war . . . only it isn’t. Dear God, the casualties are my problem. No matter what, I can’t have them distrustful when we reach Star’s Rest.”

  “In the meantime, I’m having Engineering change the drink dispensers, Speaker.” Sol leaned back. “The human bartenders are a nice touch, but they’ll simply have to get used to sealed drinks in free-fall glasses.”

  “Good thinking, Captain. Let’s see.” Archon’s face became a map of concentration. “Maybe I can think up a good reason why.”

  * * *

  The night was sleepless, filled with images of gutted hull, the rush of air in decompression. Maybry Andaki’s tortured face stared at him through a grimace of anguish while Peg sobbed painfully in the background. Bleary-eyed, Sol was struggling into his uniform, wondering how to untangle the day when Boaz blared: “Captain, Fan Jordan is assaulting Constance in the gym. ”

  He was running again.

  The gym hatch slipped open to anticipate him. Jordan had Connie’s nude body backed into a corner, arms pinned behind her. She struggled awkwardly—the reason apparent when Sol saw the stun weapon in Fan’s other hand.

  “Yes, you’re mine now, Constance, and you will enjoy it!” He laughed as he bent to kiss her neck.

  “Jordan!” Sol�
�s voice boomed in the almost empty room.

  Fan shot a look behind him, eyes oddly lit. “Leave us be, Captain. We want privacy.”

  “Turn her loose! This is my ship! You read the articles!”

  “And you are interfering in my pleasure! What are you, an Arcturian pimp? I said leave us alone!”

  Sol’s heart jumped as Jordan lifted the stun device to the firm flesh between Constance’s breasts. It could shock the heart badly enough to kill her.

  “Let her loose, Fan. Keep in mind, you’re on a ship! Assaulting a woman is punishable by death out here! Think, man! Consider. You’re cutting your own throat! She’s Archon ‘s daughter, for God’s sake!”

  “She’s a strumpet, Carrasco! What’s it to you? You should have seen her, spinning in the air—and not a stitch of clothing on her!”

  “Damn it, man, that’s normal on a ship! It has been since the early days! You can’t judge space-board behavior based on New Maine’s moralities! Let her go, Fan. Maybe we can cover—”

  “As Earl of Baspa, I order you to leave. Now!”

  Connie groaned, trying to wiggle away from the confining grip.

  “Jordan! Let her—”

  “I’ve got diplomatic immunity!”

  “So does she!”

  “Get out, Captain. I’ll kill her, I swear! Get out!”

  Sol turned the gravity down with a sudden twist of the controls and Jordan yipped as he floated off the floor.

  The crackling snap echoed in the room as the stun weapon discharged. Connie jerked rigid, then went limp. Carrasco flipped off the wall, aimed himself at Jordan, and planted all of his momentum in a kick to Jordan’s tumbling body. An audible crack preceded an anguished shriek as Sol’s foot smashed Jordan’s rib cage.

  “I’ll have your head! You—” Jordan screamed, bent double, floundering this way and that as he flopped in the air.

  Sol caught himself, somersaulted, and came up behind, catching an arm, driving Jordan face first into the wall. Fan wailed in eerie agony as Sol wrenched his body sideways. Jordan’s resistance fled as he whimpered in pain, blood trickling from his broken nose.