“Yes,” boomed Harradoss robustly. “An exchange of information would be informative to be sure, but only if you are agreeable.”
“We are,” said Pettigrew. “It is the nature of our species to be curious. We want to learn. By the way, Harradoss, I noticed that all three of you are called Shartok. Is that a name or title? Perhaps a military rank?”
“It is,” declared the Massang leader, clearly not quite understanding the question.
“As to rank,” said Phersu. “I see that you, Pettigrew, have nearly black skin. You, Nyondo, are next darkest in color of your party, and you are second in command. This man is lightest of color and does not speak,” said Phersu pointing to Lieutenant Oldcastle. “Is this the nature of your people? Is the darkest skin color the highest caste in your society?”
Pettigrew and Nyondo looked at each other, wondering what to say.
“That’s not exactly how it works,” mumbled Nyondo finally.
Perhaps someday they would discuss the history of human race relations, but Pettigrew didn’t want to embarrass humankind right out of the box. “How is it that you come to speak our language?” he asked.
Harradoss hesitated. “What are the words,” he muttered to himself, trying to make himself understood. “The Massang ship that found your people at Beta Corvi, I fear we intruded.”
“Intruded?”
“Not the best word… trespassed? My people took data from your colony’s computers. We studied the files and our machines were able to build your language. It was then injected into us three,” said Harradoss waving his hand to indicate Phersu, Minz, and himself.
“It was injected into you?” repeated a bewildered Pettigrew. “You mean you learned it? I don’t understand.”
The three Massang began to speak among themselves in their native language, using words which sounded harsh and guttural to human ears. After a few minutes, Harradoss turned back to the Sarissans. “In-jec-tion,” he said slowly, placing a long finger against his neck to act out the word.
“Nanites,” said Doc Robinson, with a nod from Minz confirming his guess. “Commodore, somehow they are using nanites which have been introduced into their brains to facilitate the use of our language. Unbelievable.”
“Believe,” said Harradoss pointing at Robinson with a smile. “We can teach you.”
I’ll bet they can, Pettigrew thought. They could teach us all sorts of things, but we shouldn’t get caught up in the euphoria of the moment. Focus, Chaz—focus!
“You are the first other spacefaring species we have ever encountered. Are there others?” asked Nyondo.
“Many more,” said Phersu, obviously anxious to speak up. “Your people are in a remote area of the galaxy. It is why you have been alone for so long.”
“It figures—we live in the boondocks of the Milky Way,” joked Nyondo. It was a remarkably Kuypers-like quip coming from the usually staid captain. Phersu looked at her in confusion as he tried to understand.
“Commander,” Pettigrew said looking squarely at the Massang leader. “On behalf of my people, I want to officially thank the Massang for rescuing our colony expedition at Beta Corvi. I have a question though concerning the message your people left for us when they visited our home system—Artemis. The starmap leading us to this system: how did you know we would come?”
“As you said earlier, your species is curious. Our people learned this from your kind at Beta Corvi.” Harradoss smiled, as he frequently seemed to do. “Poor people—I viewed the report from our ship that found them. I fear we are partly to blame for what happened.”
Pettigrew’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? What exactly did happen at Beta Corvi? My government is still unclear on that.”
The three aliens looked at each other uncomfortably. Harradoss gave a verbal command in his native tongue and a holographic display activated. Suddenly in front of the group stood an image of what was undoubtedly another alien species.
“This happened at Beta Corvi,” said Harradoss. “The Lytori.”
It was uncomfortably real looking, as if it were in the room with them. The being was gray colored and shaped like an Earth insect known as a mantis. A tubular lower body contained four legs and tapered upward into a thin neck. Near the neck were two spiked, raptorial legs, appendages likely used for manipulation. The insect analogy stopped above the neck, where the creature sported an oval head with a flat face and two dark disks for eyes. It was around five feet tall as it rested upright on its hind legs, like a sitting dog.
“The face looks like a barn owl,” said Pettigrew.
Nyondo scrunched her face. “A what?”
“A barn owl, a type of bird we have on Sarissa. It was transplanted from Earth during the Diaspora,” said Pettigrew. “It’s a predator,” he added as he studied the Lytori hologram.
“Birds are not my thing,” commented Nyondo, a native of the birdless world of Rusalka.
“That face, it looks smooth and hard, almost like plastic,” said Robinson who, true to his specialization, moved right into a clinical observation.
“That is because it is a synthian,” said Minz. “Your word would be…um—android.”
Pettigrew couldn’t take his eyes off the simultaneously grotesque and fascinating creature. “This isn’t a real being?”
“Very real, Pettigrew,” said Phersu. “Real enough to attack and almost destroy your colony on Beta Corvi, or at least the ships and humans who were in space. I fear that if our warship had not arrived, the same would have happened to those on the surface of the planet.”
Harradoss held up a hand silencing his comrade. The leader’s command of Idolingua might have been the shakiest of the three aliens, but there was no doubt in Pettigrew’s mind that Harradoss was the alpha Massang in both rank and character.
“We are regrettably at war with the Lytori, despite our efforts to make peace,” the alien commander declared. “Everyone is at war with the Lytori. They are a genocidal race who attempt to conquer and enslave all those they encounter.”
“Commander, you said they were androids. Who made them?” asked Nyondo.
“They were constructed by the original Lytori, the people they were fashioned after. Hundreds of years ago, the synthians rebelled and destroyed their creators. Since then, they have been on a campaign to enslave or eradicate all sentient organic life they encounter.”
“And at Beta Corvi, they encountered us,” said Robinson in a near whisper. “They encountered humankind.”
“Now, they will come for you,” said Phersu, his remarks being halted once again by the raised hand of Harradoss. The leader swiveled his head around farther than any human could—nearly a full 180 degrees—and gave his adjutant a scorching look. The vertical ridges on Phersu’s face flushed with a brighter orange hue, no doubt the equivalent of a human blush. Pettigrew was sure it was the last time he would speak out of turn today.
“Commodore Pettigrew, we were sent here to meet you as ambassadors of our people,” Harradoss continued. “We are in a war with the Lytori and we are losing. Whether you like it or not, your people will soon be involved in that same war. We know from the salvaged Beta Corvi computer records that your Sarissan Empire governs a large portion of humanity. Where you lead, other humans will follow. Our societies must unite in common cause to save ourselves and all organic life in this region of the galaxy and we must do so soon—the Lytori are on the march.”
Suddenly, Harradoss’s language skills were much improved. Also, just as suddenly, First Contact carried larger implications than anyone could have possibly imagined.
The Renaissance Sector had been at peace for over a generation before the New Earthers showed themselves four years ago. Following that revelation came the fight against the ambitions of Earth’s Rhuzari Governors Cheprin and Sheel, then the Commonwealth War, and now the conflict against the Jangsuvians. This, however, would be a different kind of fight. If the Massang were correct, humankind was about to be dragged into its greatest strugg
le yet—a fight for survival.
13: Scandal
New Imperial Palace
Esterkeep, Sarissa
“It’s going to be nice,” said Colonel Flood to her mentor.
“Nice? You have a gift for understatement, Colonel,” said Renata as she looked around. They were visiting the new Imperial Palace, still under construction but rapidly nearing completion. In three standard months, the Empress and her husband, Ardith Flood, Bennett Boyer, and the rest of the Imperial household would move into the lavish mansion on the east side of the capital. It was one of a dozen new buildings being built to create an entirely new section of the city, the Imperial Ward.
The two women were standing in the Music Room, one of several extravagant entertainment areas of Renata’s new home. Built in two years at a cost of over sixty million dennics, the palace was a model of neo-classic Hesperian architecture, with its floating white marble columns and multiple reflecting pools. The main floor would hold offices, lounges, various meeting and banquet rooms, and the second floor would serve as Her Majesty’s official residence. It would be Koenig Manor ten times over, with grounds covering more than 120 hectares.
“Still, it will be nice,” Flood reiterated.
“Yes, nice and big—and probably very drafty and cold,” said Renata looking around the cavernous room. “I came to Sarissa to get away from the cold.” A small shiver went up her spine as she remembered the biting chill of her Odessan homeworld.
“Once they get the wall coverings in place and bring in furnishings, I’m sure it will feel much homier.”
“Way to put a good spin on it, Colonel,” Renata said with a half-smile. “Perhaps I need to transfer you to the Ministry of Culture.”
“You do that, ma’am. It would give you exactly one friend inside the Ministry.”
Renata walked to an oversized window and looked out on what was to become the South Garden. “Oh, I have plenty of friends at the Culture Ministry. Haven’t you noticed how staunchly they defend me?” Over the past days, more and more accusations were being raised on the Nets about government involvement in the accident that cost the life of Leonardo Sanchez. A few even dared to implicate the Empress herself.
“But they are defending you—and rather aggressively,” said Flood as she walked to Renata’s side. “Of course, I’d lay heavy odds that the people in the Ministry standing up for you are the very ones secretly generating the accusations against you in the first place.”
“Of course they are. They defend me knowing that in doing so, it makes me look even guiltier—like I have something to hide. For many Sarissans, just the public discussion of this topic implies that Leo Sanchez was assassinated. By specifically defending me, Culture raises the idea of my involvement. If you think about it, it’s actually a pretty clever strategy.”
“Clever or not, if we knew exactly who was behind it—”
“We already know,” Renata interrupted. “Channa Maxon is behind it. She is literally in bed with the Ministry of Culture. It’s become abundantly clear to me that the Jangsuvians are not the only people Maxon has gone to war against. It is a political war, but a war nonetheless. Make no mistake, my dear Ardith, we are her enemy—me, you, Karl, the Professor, Director Tolbert, and anyone else who sides with me.”
The two of them stood silently for a moment staring out the window together as Renata’s attention slowly turned to her companion. Looking at Ardith Flood was like seeing a younger version of herself. The short-cropped platinum hair, the fair skin, her Odessan origin… Flood had sought her out, and it had been a blessing for Renata. She only hoped that, whatever the future held, the talented younger woman would never regret casting her lot with the Empress.
“Majesty…” Flood began in a guarded tone. “What if Leonardo Sanchez’s death actually was the work of someone inside the government—inside your government?”
Renata was about to reply as the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway. At the door appeared Captain Vickery, the Kaskian Guard’s redoubtable second-in-command.
“Excuse me for interrupting, Majesty,” the stocky officer said as he gave a slight bow. “The Chief of Staff just called saying that we should return to Koenig Manor immediately. He seemed quite upset, ma’am.”
“He’s always upset. It’s his job, Captain,” said Renata, putting Vickery at ease with a smile. “All right, let’s go back. I’ve had enough of this place for today anyway.” Before she walked away, Renata took one final glimpse out the window. When it was completed, the South Garden was going to be vast and beautiful—she hoped to actually see it for herself one day.
* * * *
“Bennett, run through what you just told me a few minutes ago,” Renata said sternly, leaning back in her desk chair and crossing her arms. “For the benefit of the newcomers.”
Colonel Flood had just arrived with Prince Karl, having shepherded him from his office at the other end of Koenig Manor. It was a common scene, the four of them huddled in the Empress’s office for a strategy session on this topic or that. Her husband was frequently called in for his economic expertise, and he and Flood were just sitting down as the Professor began speaking.
Bennett Boyer shifted in his chair to face Karl. “Your Highness, I have a source inside the Home Ministry. They tell me that the SSB is about to launch an investigation and that you, sir, are going to be the subject of this particular inquiry.”
Karl Gideon stared at the older man. “Me? Why would they be investigating me? I mean, concerning what?” asked the Prince Consort as he swallowed hard.
“Concerning your holdings in Gideon Universal, the second largest spaceship construction firm in the Empire.”
“The company you built, my love,” cut in Renata. “The multi-world corporation you divested control of before you and I were married.”
“The Directorate was quite clear on that subject,” the Professor continued. “It would be a conflict of interest if one of the two major military shipbuilders in the starhold was controlled by a member of the Imperial household.”
Gideon fidgeted in his chair. “Of course it would. It’s a wise policy.”
“Your Highness, when did you surrendered day-to-day control of Gideon Universal? When exactly did you place all of your shares in trust?” asked Boyer, shifting into full professorial mode. It was as if he were quizzing a student on the details of a reading assignment.
Karl’s eyes narrowed. “Say, what’s this all about, Professor? You know I gave up control of the company over a year ago, just before Rennie and I were married.”
“Except someone is claiming you didn’t,” Renata said abruptly. “Someone claims that you still own the company through dummy corporations. Someone says you are still secretly making most of the major business decisions at Gideon. And most importantly, someone claims to have proof.”
Uncomfortable silence hung in the room. Karl looked from person to person, seeking a sympathetic face. “Rennie,” he finally managed. “Could I have a word with you—in private?”
“No.”
Karl’s face broke into an uneasy smile. “Rennie, dear, this is a personal matter and I—”
“This is NOT a personal matter,” Renata said, raising her voice. “Nothing we do is a personal matter, Karl, and if there’s any shred of truth to this story—ANY shred—you need to explain yourself right now.” Renata thought to herself that she must look frightening because even the fearsome Colonel Flood appeared unsettled.
“Karl,” Bennett Boyer spoke up in a much softer voice. “We need to know the truth. This could cause a great amount of political difficulty if—”
“It’s true. I’m sorry everyone, but it IS true,” said Karl in a remorseful voice.
Flood growled. “Of all the… What were you thinking?”
Renata leaned forward and raised a hand to stay the Colonel. “Ardith, just wait a minute.” The Empress rose and walked to her husband’s side. “Talk to me, Karl,” she said in a tender tone. “In all seriousnes
s, what were you thinking?”
Her husband looked up into her eyes and seemed to tap into a reserve of confidence. “Rennie, I built that company from scratch. Gideon Universal, right? Gideon,” he stressed, jabbing an index finger into his own chest. “That corporation belongs to me, but more importantly, it belongs to my son after me.”
“Khadeen,” said Renata, closing her eyes. Suddenly she understood everything. This was all about Khadeen, Karl’s estranged son. The nineteen-year-old was under the spell of his mother, Karl’s first wife, Alyssa. The young man and his father hadn’t even spoken in two years, but Karl was positive that someday he could win back his son’s love.
“Yes, Khadeen,” Karl continued. “In a year, he will be twenty and of legal age. At that time, I will turn the company over to him.”
“But Khadeen wouldn’t know anything about running a multi-world corporation,” Boyer pointed out.
“He will learn!” Karl shot back defiantly. “I will teach him.”
It was blind love. Renata knew her husband was a good man and whatever he had done, he had not done it for himself. Now she had to avoid that same trap. She had to make sound decisions based on political realities and not her love for this man.
She nodded to her Chief of Staff. “Tell him the rest, Bennett.”
The Professor leaned forward in his seat, as if to coax cooperation and common sense out of the Prince Consort. “The SSB has called in Tyrus Covington for questioning. Karl, how much does he know?”
The news about his personal attorney was clearly a shock. Karl looked up at his wife and then slumped in his chair, the last of his bravado draining away. “Tyrus put everything together for me. Hell, he knows more about the setup than I do.” As the others reacted, Karl frantically added, “Look, Tyrus may have his faults, but he is totally loyal to me. He will keep quiet.”
“Loyalty is an unpredictable commodity,” said Flood sourly as she stood to address Renata. “Majesty, I’ve been working with Superintendent Preiss a great deal of late. Let me see if he can help us out on this.”
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