"You came here to apprise the human government of possible collusion between Kee-yes vain Lewmaklin the industrialist and an alien race known as the Tremovan."
"I could not have better said it myself, First Father Ambassador."
"You see, psychologist, though your accusations were disregarded when you made them, they were not completely forgotten. They were properly filed and stored. When the present situation began to develop, there were those entrusted with such esoteric information who went a-searching for explanations for it. Your report was among the vast volume of material scanned.
"Reluctant conclusions were arrived at. Given our present circumstances, I am instructed to offer you at least a conditional apology plus reinstatement of all honors and privileges . . . and to solicit your advice, which we are badly in need of."
"You mean there is an alien race called the Tremovan?" Chaheel struggled to readjust his thoughts. He'd come here expecting death, not vindication. "One that Kees vaan Loo-Macklin truly is involved with in other than commercial endeavor?"
"Still we have no proof of the latter," the ambassador informed him anxiously. "We have proof of nothing save what exists incontrovertibly. That, and your wild tale which is all that correlates with what is happening."
"What is happening?" Chaheel demanded to know.
"Come with me." He turned and led Chaheel across the floor of the great room. Of the Swifts there was no sign. The psychologist hoped nothing had happened to them. Little people swept up in great affairs are easily damaged.
A circular depression in the floor was lined with glowing, buzzing consoles. At least two dozen technicians manned the battery of instrumentation. The ambassador's human assistant leaned over and spoke to one of the techs. The woman nodded, her bony fingers dancing over controls.
Instantly one of the huge viewscreens lost its array of symbols and abstract graphics. In their place showed the darkness of deep space, occasionally interrupted by lines of interference. Lights moved against the darkness. Chaheel suspected that they were ships because the starfield behind them remained constant. The picture varied from fair to barely viewable.
A small craft of unfamiliar design hove into view. Its silhouette was unique. Tiny objects swirled insectlike around it, their purpose unimaginable. They could be cleaning it, or they could form part of the drive system.
A soft yellow-bronze glow emanated from their surfaces.
The ambassador saw the start of recognition from Chaheel, quickly murmured something to his human assistant who in turn removed a remote communications unit from his waistband and began speaking into it. The assistant's eyes were on Chaheel.
"Something familiar?" the ambassador whispered, his voice carefully neutral.
"Perhaps. A minor technological device." Chaheel indicated the screen. "I may have seen photic metal like that somewhere before."
"It is involved with the Tremovan?" the ambassador pressed him.
"Possibly. Possibly, very likely. The emission hue is familiar, truly." The vessel moved out of pickup range, and once more Chaheel saw only moving lights against the starfield. "There is more than one ship? A secret trade exchange, perhaps, between these Tremovan and Kees vaan Loo-Macklin?"
"Quite an exchange would it be," said the Nuel subambassador, speaking for the first time. He indicated the viewscreen. "Coming there are five hundred of them."
Chaheel thought back to the half-forgotten image of the quadrupedal, golden-scaled alien. "Five hundred Tremovan?"
"No," murmured the ambassador. He was staring with both eyes at the poor image on the viewscreen. "Five hundred starships. . . ."
Chapter 15
There was a long pause before the ambassador continued dryly, "We think it safe to assume that a force of that size is intent on something rather more serious than the opening of general trade. Until your long-buried tale was resurrected there was unrelenting panic both among the Board of Operators here on Terra and among the Council of Eight. That has been reduced to merely relenting panic."
"I am still only offering a guess," Chaheel reminded him. "Commander Quazlet of my former monitoring ship should be here to give his opinion."
"Commander Quazlet," the ambassador informed the psychologist, "has been dead for two years. So have most of the crew of his ship. Truly, we had little hope of finding you alive either."
"Accident?" Chaheel wondered.
"So it seemed at the time. You are our sole link with a possibly vital discovery. Tremovan, you called them?" He gestured with a tentacle-tip toward the screen.
"If that's indeed who they are. Recognition of a certain kind of metal is hardly the same as recognition of species."
"And this transmission that you and Quazlet puzzled over was between this human Lewmaklin and one of these Tremovan creatures?"
"So it is called. Furthermore, I have reason to believe that Loo-Macklin has been in contact with these people for more than twenty years."
That shook the ambassador. He knew only of the intercepted transmission of two years ago. "What gives you reason to believe that, Chaheel Riens?"
So the psychologist related what he knew of the quiet contact between Loo-Macklin's exploration ship and an unknown intelligent race living toward the galactic center.
"Since then I have spent much personal effort attempting to convince those in power that this extraordinarily secretive connection deserves deeper investigation. None would listen to me, none wanted to believe."
The ambassador was still staring at the towering viewscreen. "I believe you, Chaheel Riens."
"Where are they?" Chaheel grimly studied the cluster of slowly moving lights that indicated the presence of ships.
"Quite a ways from both the eighty-three worlds and the worlds of the Families. We were most fortunate that a human research vessel studying variable stars happened to be near enough to detect unusually strong long-range transmissions."
"I could quote you the frequency for those transmissions," Chaheel murmured. "That would be final proof."
"Then by all means truly do so, psychologist."
Once Chaheel had conveyed the necessary information to the human assistant, who went scurrying off toward the room's nerve center, the ambassador continued to enlighten Chaheel.
"Transmissions went under mask shortly after they were detected, though surely not in response to such detection. I am sure they were not under mask earlier because whoever is in command of those vessels saw no reason to maintain silence while still so far from the nearest human or Nuel world."
"Speaking of destinations," wondered Chaheel, "toward whose sphere of influence do they run?" He had one eye on the screen and the other on the ambassador.
"As close as can be determined at such a great distance, they are heading for a point somewhere midtween. That research ship which first detected them has been shadowing them as best as possible. It is not a military craft, but the sensitive detection equipment it normally employs is proving of great use to us."
"There is still time then for either the UTW or Family fleets to mass to counter this threat," Chaheel pointed out. "I see reason only for determination, not panic."
"You see not the entire problem." The ambassador was anything but confident. "All we have on our side is time, thanks mainly to this fortuitous early interception. Unfortunately, according to the research vessel serving as our eyes and tentacle-tips, the five hundred or so vessels now ascertainable on our screens precede by several days' travel time a much larger force whose strength our brave scientists estimate at some four thousand vessels."
Chaheel tried to imagine a force of interworld ships that large. Though he was a social psychologist, not a military man, the sheer quantity of material and energy involved was intimidating.
"And," the ambassador added glumly, "for all we can tell there may be more coming behind those. The instruments on the research ship can probe only so far. Joint military command has decided those scientists cannot be risked for a deeper probe. They con
stitute our only point of contact with the aliens."
"A sensible decision, at last," Chaheel muttered. "It is time to . . ." He hesitated and his second eye swung around to focus on the ambassador. "Pardon, First Father Ambassador. But you said 'joint military command'?"
"Truly naturally," was the reply. "The only possible way an invading force of such size could be countered is with the full armed might of both the UTW and the worlds of the Families."
He escorted Chaheel to another part of the cavernous chamber and showed him humans and Nuel standing intermixed before another large screen. Bipeds and ciliates conversed busily, some with the aid of interpreters, a few without.
"The plotted approach indicates this alien armada is slightly more inclined to enter the UTW first," he explained. "Hence command has been established here. Members of all military families have been arriving on Terra for days. Ships are being called in from all the family worlds.
"The combined fleets will assemble near a colony world named Larkin which lies somewhat northinner to Masermun, the family world nearest the alien's path. From there the joint force will move out to an intercept point in free space." He paused, added, "We know nothing of these Tremovan's weapons or capabilities beyond the fact they have a unique communications system and the ability to muster a large force. Whatever the odds, we shall fight, of course."
"You say we know nothing of the Tremovan's military capabilities," Chaheel said evenly. "That may be so, but there is one human who might have such information."
"Ah." The ambassador expressed himself wistfully. "The Kee-yes vain Lewmaklin of whom you have spoken. There may be members of the families who sleep through the obvious but, once awakened, they can move quickly enough.
"First detection of the aliens was made by the human scientific vessel some three weeks ago. We have spent most of that time trying to locate this Lewmaklin, ever since your profoundly ignored information was rediscovered and recredited.
"He is nowhere to be found. For such a powerful individual to vanish so quickly and utterly bespeaks much fear . . . or careful preplanning. Even his closest aides, who have been interrogated on truth machines, have no idea as to his whereabouts."
Chaheel was thinking furiously. "He rose out of the human underworld many years ago. Is it possible he has run to cover there again?"
"No. Once the nature and magnitude of the emergency was made clear to those humans who dominate that peculiar social structure, they began searching for him just as intensely as the legal authorities. They have no knowledge of his present location either. There was one rumor which had him taking ship to Restavon from Evenwaith with only two close assistants, but the humans have turned Restavon inside out without finding a slimetrail of him."
Chaheel considered this, as he turned away from the noisy cluster of milling military personnel, human and Nuel alike, and then gestured with a couple of tentacles back toward the towering screen, which still showed the silently advancing cluster of lights.
"I should venture to predict that he is now somewhere between there and here, assuming he has not reached his allies already. There is no telling what important information on human and truly also on family fleet strength and deployment he has already provided to these Tremovan."
"But he is not a military man," the ambassador objected. "Surely he cannot . . ."
"Naïveté peers from beneath your skirt, First Father." Chaheel's quiet frustration finally overwhelmed his instinctive politeness to one of superior family standing. If they had listened to him in the first place . . .
"This human has spent most of his long life insinuating his tentacles into every imaginable business and aspect of commerce not only in the human sphere of influence but in that controlled by the Families as well. I would venture to predict that a check of commerce records would reveal that among other dealings companies controlled or directed by him have supplied ship frames to the military as well as armaments, engines, navigation equipment, and everything else." He pointed toward the milling human soldiers.
"Likely he possesses as much knowledge of the military as any of those uniformed individuals working with our people, and quite possibly more."
"Then we can do nothing about him," said the ambassador with admirable resolve. "There are ships out looking for him, but space is very large and a single small vessel can go, if it so wishes, anywhere it desires without the rest of the galaxy noticing its passage. We shall have to confront these Tremovan as best we can. This Lewmaklin will have transmitted all useful information to his alien friends by this time anyway.
"Should by some chance of fortune he be found, however, we will at least have the satisfaction of dealing with him in person. Perhaps the humans can be convinced to turn him over to us. Our plans for him would be more suited to his treachery, his death more intimate." He put all four tentacles around the psychologist.
"Whether we are successful or not, the Families and the humans as well owe you apologies and a debt. Will you remain here to advise us? I will not restrain you if you wish to leave."
"I've already told you everything I know," Chaheel replied, "about these Tremovan. About Kees vaan Loo-Macklin I can tell you a good deal more, but he seems not so important now."
"We still do not know for certain if the aliens crewing the approaching vessels are these mysterious Tremovan," the subambassador pointed out, "any more than we are certain they are warships bent on mischief."
Both Chaheel and the ambassador regarded the younger Nuel with compassion. . . .
Two days later the storm descended, and from a totally unexpected source. The Board of Operators had been consulting overtime with the Master Computer on a detailed plan of information dissemination. With the call-up of reserves and the vast movement of ships, the general population was becoming aware something more than the usual maneuvers was going on, and it would be important to prevent panic. The Families were experiencing similar problems, though not as great. The Nuel were less inclined to mindless reactions.
It was neither military nor civilian sources, which released the information to the public, however. Instead, a transmission roared through the ether overriding the general signal employed by the media services of the UTW. It was picked up and rebroadcast by the Nuel back to their own worlds.
Chaheel was wandering through the Operations Center in the Board of Operators building when the subambassador slid close to him and beckoned him anxiously toward a screen. It was a commercial monitor, half an inch thick and far smaller than the gigantic displays, which dominated the many-storied chamber. A few technicians had left their positions to gather in front of it. Most of them were human, though a single Orischian stood politely behind the rest, craning its three-foot neck for an over-the-top view.
Around the little screen soldiers and programmers swarmed to and fro, unaware that all their efforts were in the process of being rendered superfluous.
"Where's the ambassador?" Chaheel asked the subambassador.
"In conference with several members of the Board of Operators and with the first father and first mother recently arrived from Segren-al-faw." He turned an eye on the knot of technicians. "According to one of these bipeds, something peculiar is happening."
One of the techs overheard. He spoke a little Nuel and did his best to explain.
"There's been an interruption in normal news information services." He sounded as puzzled as he looked, Chaheel thought. "I didn't think the military and the government planned to release the information about the Tremovan assault for a couple of days yet."
"They have not," the subambassador assured him. He turned an eye on the screen.
A human stood before a globe twice his height. It was a three-dimensional map of this section of the galaxy. He wore simple white coveralls. Chaheel didn't recognize him but apparently several of the humans did. He heard one woman mention the well-known broadcaster's name several times.
". . . extraordinary occurrences," the human was saying. "All are advised to r
emain calm. There is no reason to panic. We bring you now the realtime feed from Soltech Research Vessel Tarsis on station somewhere in space between Restavon and the Galactic Center."
One of the technicians fiddled with the monitor's controls. "Feed's going direct to Restavon," he explained, "then being sent by relay to Terra and the other worlds."
"I thought the Tarsis was supposed to keep quiet about all this and let the government handle the formal release," commented another.
"Somebody's going to catch hell," said a third with confidence.
Suddenly the broadcaster and his globe vanished and there was a distorted, fuzzy face visible on the screen. Chaheel let out an inarticulate gurgle. The subambassador and one or two of the humans turned to stare at him, but most kept their attention on the screen.
"Greetings," said the face. It was smiling. Of the billions who must be watching the broadcast, only one knew how false or real that smile was likely to be, and he wasn't human.
"My name is Kees vaan Loo-Macklin. I'm speaking to you realtime delay from the bridge of the Solar Technological Institute's research vessel Tarsis."
"Frank, put this on all the screens," another technician mumbled softly. Another man nodded, touched controls. Suddenly the big screens dropped their columns of figures and their complex graphics and that enigmatic face dominated the entire chamber.
Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at that multiple portrait.
"Behind me," said the steady, measured voice which Chaheel knew so well, "is a viewscreen." He moved to his left. Human technicians came into view, scattered around a miniature of the massive screens, which filled the Operators' chamber.
"On that screen in graphic representation is the war fleet of a race none of you has heard of but are soon to be familiar with. They are called the Tremovan. There are approximately four thousand eight hundred and twenty warships in this armada of which the breakdown by type is as follows: fast pursuit vessels, three hundred forty. Heavier medium duty craft with landing capacity, four hundred eighty-six. Light high speed . . ."
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