“This Kotaran is defenseless. He’s your prisoner now.”
Roan’s com squawked. With one hand he kept the pistol aimed at David and the Kotaran. With the other he pulled out the com.
“Roan here.”
“What’s the situation?” Kel asked.
Nothing would make Roan happier than putting an energy shot through the Kotaran’s back. See the guy’s head explode into purple matter all over the engine room. Based on all the slaughtered crewmen he’d seen, this one deserved it. But David was watching him. His feathers were swaying every which way; his head pulsed gold. The way he knelt beside the body, it was almost as if David were about to sweep the Kotaran up in his arms and carry him away. Like a goddamn mother.
“Roan?” Kel asked. “Nick, talk to me, please.”
David closed his eyes. Set his hands on the wheezing Kotaran.
Roan lowered the pistol.
“I’m in the engine room,” he said into the com. “We got one. He’s breathing.”
David opened his eyes, and Roan could’ve sworn he saw tears.
Chapter 12
The Hanyek resembled a carefully-sculpted dagger, its edges filed so that no obtrusive harsh angles graced the exterior. Like many atmospheric craft, it sported two “wings” near its aft, bent downward for maximum aerodynamic ability and connected to the hull with two cylindrical turbines. It couldn’t be called the pride of the fleet, as there were many others like the Hanyek, but Grinek had grown accustomed to the vessel after many months. He believed he could simply glance at it and tell it apart from all the other tactical cruisers.
Grinek stared at the Hanyek through the operations ship’s window, the craft slowly making its way toward the cruiser’s hangar bay. As pleasing as the mothership was, Grinek’s mind was elsewhere. All attempts to contact Roh had failed. His last report placed him in the engine room of the Earth ship, right before his line went dead. The possibility existed that he’d been killed.
Grinek was an External Commander, the supreme member of the expedition—he didn’t have to explain Roh’s silence to anyone. He did, however, have to report it to Vorjos. Oh, the political officer was going to delight in this information.
Once the operations vessel was safely nestled into its berth and the hangar closed from the vacuum of space, the disembark light flashed. Grinek, as protocol demanded, was the first to go, followed by Captain Sisal. Grinek stepped onto the exit ramp and descended to the hangar floor, grateful for the familiar hum of the Kotaran sublight engines, the chrome walls, the smell of washed bodies, and of course, the high ceilings of the vessel. He did not miss, nor care for, what welcomed him at the bottom of the ramp: Observer Vorjos. The political officer stood rigid at attention as Grinek stepped onto the hangar floor.
“Commander!” Vorjos yelled. He was evidently agitated. “I have not received a report from you for some time.”
The fool could not even wait one hour for another update. Grinek had simply been waiting until they met up with the Hanyek to provide one. “Forgive me, Observer,” the Commander intoned, “We were busy with the mission at hand.”
Grinek cupped his claws in the standard greeting as he regarded the slightly taller and beefier Vorjos. Everything physical about the man was unsettling to Grinek. The Observer had a mane of brownish hair dashed with silver, something Grinek suspected he dyed to suggest some hint of virility. His tail was longer than it should have been and was darker toward the tip, suggesting it had been surgically lengthened. The man did not trim the fur around his snout and it drooped, like a human beard. As a final bit of unpleasantness, Vorjos’ skin was a much darker gray than Grinek’s, a sign perhaps of too easy living.
“So, your report,” Vorjos said. “What is the progress with this mission?”
Was he really doing this in front of subordinates, in earshot of the rank-and-file? Even in front of the hated Sisal, now coming down the ramp behind Grinek?
“Observer, let’s retire to our chambers so we can discuss this matter further.”
“No, Commander, please. I need an update immediately. My bosses are impatient as well.” The comment was meant to suggest Vorjos was Grinek’s superior, but the truth was more that they were equals—in the eyes of Vorjos’ “bosses” anyway, the Ruling Council. On the Hanyek, Grinek would always be king.
“If you must know,” Grinek continued, “We have operatives on board an Earth freighter.”
“Ah, and after I asked you not to do so?” Somehow Grinek believed this was not a surprise to Vorjos, the insertion on the Colobus. Vorjos surely had spies among his crew. Probably Sisal.
“We saw an opportunity, Observer. The information about the ancient comet is on that vessel. With any luck, we can disable the ship and—”
“With any luck, Commander, you have not caused another diplomatic incident. That would be most unfortunate.” Vorjos lifted his head in smugness at this, apparently thrilled he had the chance to interrupt Grinek. In his mind, the Commander pictured himself severely punishing this bureaucrat.
“As you may know,” Grinek went on, straining to keep his claws behind his back and stand at attention, “The human ship in question has left Earth and we are following it as we speak. It is only a matter of time before they are disabled and we can board them.”
“Is it? How are your operatives fairing on this ship?”
Grinek stood silent. By now, the officers and some of the junior crewman had filed off the ship and were assembling at attention on the hangar deck. Some of these men had tasks to do, but were instead gawking at the conversation.
“As I said, Observer, we should discuss this matter in a more appropriate setting.” Grinek glared at a crewman who should’ve been connecting fuel lines to the operations ship and who quickly returned to his task.
“Very well,” Vorjos sighed. Grinek thought he detected a smirk. “Walk with me, Commander,” and Vorjos gestured toward a door. Grinek stood down from attention and dismissed his crew with a wave of his hand. He walked with the Observer to the exit.
They entered an elongated hallway, fashioned in the typical style with a vaulted ceiling. The design had always reminded Grinek of the jungles of Degmorra, the division where he grew up, and its canopy that blocked all sunlight. For a talk with Vorjos, the analogy couldn’t be more appropriate. The man’s unceasing need to discuss politics could prevent any life and vitality from entering an environment.
“You have been unsuccessful, Commander Grinek,” Vorjos said. “I can tell this from your expression and your reticence.” Grinek realized he was gritting his teeth.
“We lost contact with the insertion team,” Grinek admitted. He said it in a low voice, paranoid a crewman might overhear him revealing a failure. “It is safe to assume this is a temporary setback.”
“Oh? And how are you going to rectify it? Get in a spacesuit and float over to that ship yourself?”
“Your sarcasm is unnecessary.”
They entered a lift, guaranteeing them some privacy from the eyes and ears of the hallways. Vorjos pressed a button and the machine hummed as it catapulted them horizontally and vertically to the level of his quarters.
“How can I convince you, Grinek? This whole operation is a misuse of our resources. And that’s not only manpower and this ship, but our valuable diplomatic resources as well. Already I fear this mission has cost us the Earthmen’s trust. We are, after all, negotiating over the gas giant in the Fortu System.”
“I was under the impression we were prepared to seize the Fortu System.”
“The Ruling Council would prefer that be done without bloodshed.”
Grinek simmered. Once again, the leadership was retreating from what would surely be a just and glorious battle. If Earthmen could not be defeated militarily, then how were the Kotarans supposed to react to a stronger enemy?
Vorjos wheezed out a sigh. “But, Commander, the Fortu System is not the point. The point is this comet. This hypothetical and rather mythical comet that you claim will bring glory t
o our race.”
“Do not call it mythical, Observer.” The hum stopped and the doors opened, and the lift deposited them directly outside the burnt-orange doors of the Observer’s quarters. It was the ship’s equivalent of a guest room, outfitted with the most extravagant luxuries—some of which even Grinek envied. A lone sentry barred the door, the blue sash of a government bodyguard across his heavy chest, symbolizing the superior training he had received.
“Thank you, Misjrem,” Vorjos told the bodyguard, who stepped aside. Vorjos gave him a slight respectful bow as he did so, which was reciprocated by the guard. Vorjos pulled a ragged key out of his pocket and inserted it into the door lock, sliding it open. No automatically-sliding doors for the political officer: they were too easy to override. Grinek did not bow to Misjrem as he followed Vorjos into the room, giving the bodyguard only the briefest of glances.
Vorjos’ room was indeed stocked to the extreme. The standard issue steel had been replaced with fine wood from Rou Laggin, streamlined and gleaming. Statuettes of various Kotaran leaders decorated the room, all the way back to Emperor Okrus four thousand years ago—as if men who lived and breathed politics needed to be reminded of their more successful predecessors. The guest room was also installed with its own bathing chamber, as well as a shelf for reading material—all rare luxuries for a tactical cruiser, outshining Grinek’s own spartan quarters. Vorjos paced over to the bookshelf and pulled out a giant volume. To Grinek’s surprise, the book had been hollowed out and a bottle stored inside. Without asking Grinek, he poured some of the drink into two glasses on a table, handing one to the Commander.
“Degmorran ale, Commander. Your country really makes the best spirits.”
Grinek wrapped his talons awkwardly around the glass. “If you don’t mind, Observer, I do have work to do. I need to monitor the human vessel so we can capture it.”
Vorjos took a drink from his glass. “Nonsense. The crew is doing just fine tracking it. I visited the bridge right before you arrived and thought the crew was acting thoroughly competent. Captain Sisal did a remarkable job training them. No, Commander, I thought we could have a nice discussion…and perhaps get back on the right path.”
Vorjos had invited Grinek to his quarters for a drink: a suspect move. There were whispers back on Kotara that the Observer was abthay, a male who loves males, and Grinek decided that it would fit with the man’s personality. He told himself to stay at least ten steps apart from the man, and continued to stand firmly on the other side of the room.
“Now you see, Grinek, our occupations do not leave much room for compatibility! I am supposed to keep you in line, and you are supposed to keep this ship in line. Naturally, we will clash now and again.”
Vorjos took another drink. Grinek did not.
“Understand that what I do I do for the good of the Council,” Vorjos said, and emitted a small hiccup.
“As do I, Observer. This mission is for the glory of all Kotara. I hope you will eventually see that.”
“Really, Grinek, what does that mean? ‘The glory of Kotara?’ And I hope you don’t mind if I use your personal name.”
“No, Observer.” He did mind, however. But Grinek was not going to give Vorjos the satisfaction of hearing him say his own name. Perhaps that is what aroused the Observer.
“Good. Grinek, please explain to me the great purpose behind this search. I’ve looked through your report and it’s the usual staid political garbage, with all the right phrases in its praising of the regime. ‘As the Emperor wills,’ and all that. But I want to know what you think. What makes you risk your career and our relations with the Earthmen, and what made you travel to Earth, of all places?”
Grinek set down the drink on a table and took a breath. He would try his best to explain the facts to this simpleton. “Observer, first of all, I do not believe this mission jeopardizes anything with the humans. In fact, if we can reach our objective, we won’t have to worry about our relations with Earth again. I believe we will hold a great power over them. Not only their present, but their past and future as well.”
“Oh?” Vorjos laughed, a horrible baying sound, and gulped the last of his ale. “You think this comet, or whatever it is, will cause us to dominate the Earthmen?”
“The comet is irrelevant. If Vertulfo was right, it disintegrated billions of years ago. But I am concerned about where it came from. And if Vertulfo’s assumptions that it came from a particular solar system are correct, then yes, I do believe we can control the Earthmen. And the Nydens. And the Bauxens. Because the majority of them have no idea this place exists. The discovery of the origin of life will shake them to their cores.”
Vorjos again laughed, and slowly walked over to Grinek. The Commander, careful to avoid any sudden moves, began pacing the room in order to remain far away from this creature.
“So you believe this Earthman? That there was a comet that seeded all known life, and it had its origins somewhere many hundred light years away?” Vorjos plopped down into his bed, a sling hanging from the ceiling with a hole for his tail to jut through. The pose was ridiculous, but at least he wasn’t inching toward Grinek. Obviously he’d drunk too much too fast and all the alcohol had gone to his head. Grinek was a firm believer that Kotarans should abstain from the stuff.
“I believe the Earthman, Observer. I have seen the science.”
“Since when have you been a scientist?” The question was insulting, but Grinek said nothing. “I’ve seen your records. You spent most of your days at the Academy of the Imperium drilling and fighting. And being an External Commander leaves you with even less time to pursue scholarly efforts. You look down more gun barrels every day than you’ve ever looked down a microscope.”
“I have researched this question well. I know the science is accurate. Besides, the Earthman did much of the work for me.”
“So you put your faith in science?” Vorjos asked. “Not in Bar’Hail?”
Ah, so the truth was out there. Bar’Hail was the god of the sky, the most revered god of the Kotarans. At least, the ancient gods, the gods that until very recently, had been officially banned on the homeworld. Grinek had long suspected Vorjos to be a closet ghin, a religio, but now he seemed to confirm it. That fit with Vorjos’ personality, of course. Ghin were sentimental. Feeble. They did not love truth, only convenient stories.
“I do not believe in such things, Observer.”
“And why not?” Vorjos studied Grinek, narrowing his eyes with sincerity.
“The days of prophecies and visions are behind us. They made our culture weak, as they do all cultures. Why should I put my faith in imagined deities when I can have faith in my very real biology?” Grinek flexed his hands and wrists, letting the blood flow through his veins, to illustrate his point. Vorjos laughed.
“Grinek, the Council has declared that ghin are no longer anathema.”
“Only because of a foolish official.”
Apparently, the cousin of the Dear Leader had been a closet ghin, as had his family clandestinely during the eight hundred years such practice was banned. Not wanting to offend this cousin—who ran the planetwide police force—the Dear Leader had eased the ban on religious practice. It was still illegal to worship openly, confining the specter to the private sphere, but Grinek had heard of increased religious fervor in the population. He heard of citizens missing work to worship, of hoarding religious icons in their homes. Apparently, this had been going on for centuries, but only now did the topic appear in open conversation.
Vorjos continued as if Grinek had said nothing, the sling gently swaying as he talked. “Anyway, it is part of a successful culture to be diverse. You have to know this.”
Grinek walked over to Vorjos and stood over him. Grinek took pleasure in imagining the political officer was cowering inside under his mighty figure. For all he knew, the man really was scared witless.
“Observer, no one is going to save you from the truth. There is no sky god, or his brother the ground god, or his sis
ter the water goddess. I have to admit I am rather taken aback that you believe such things. Most children are not foolish enough to fall for such delusions.” Vorjos gave a miniscule look of anger, but in his position of subservience, and inebriation, he could do nothing. “Listen. Science is the most powerful tool in our arsenal, not superstition. Let’s say we get the information we need from that ship: the coordinates of where that comet originated billions of years ago. We discover a planet there, as Vertulfo believed, and there we find some clue as to the beginnings of all life. Possibly a culture, too. What do you suppose the reaction will be on all worlds?”
Vorjos swallowed. “They will want access to the planet, as well.”
“Exactly! Sixteen emperors have reigned since Kotara made first contact with the last of the Four Civilizations…this will be the greatest discovery since then, perhaps of all recorded history. And you know what? We’ll withhold as much as we can from the other races. Oh sure, we’ll release enough so that the scientists on Nydaya and Earth will confirm the find—but when their scientists ask to see it, we’ll deny them that privilege. We will be the guardians of the most important secret in recorded history. They will bend to our whim for a chance to study the planet. And we can make them believe anything we say about it.”
“Some scientist. It sounds to me like you plan to forge the facts.”
Grinek knelt down in front of Vorjos. “Let me tell you about facts. To begin with, the Kotaran people’s ‘understanding’ of the facts won’t matter. They know nothing of science—we protect them from it, in fact, so they can’t make their own radios or, Fox’Lo forbid, weapons. They’ll believe whatever the broadcasts say.
“As for the other races, Observer, maybe we will have to manipulate the data a bit. Skew the numbers. But I don’t think we’ll have to. When we get to this planet, I have full faith we’ll find a civilization a million years more advanced than us. Maybe they will not look like us or act like us, but they will know we are their kin. And they will welcome their children home. If this new race is the oldest civilization yet discovered, surely they will see we are on their level.”
The Fifth Civilization: A Novel Page 11