Tyrant's Test

by Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell

  Having taken those extra precautions to ensure that they would be undisturbed, Pakkpekatt was all the more concerned to discover that though the planet was dead, it was not deserted.

  “Vessel answers as Penga Rift, registry Coruscant, ownership Obroan Institute for Archaeology, captain Dolk Barjas. Supplementary: Length one-twenty-six, beam thirty-two, no registered armament, rated speed—”

  “Agent Taisden, can you suppress that vessel’s comm ability?”

  “Local,” Taisden said. “Not hypercomm.”

  “Do nothing, then,” said Pakkpekatt.

  “Colonel, you weren’t thinking about taking that ship out, were you?” Hammax asked, his face showing concern. “That’s not only a civilian boat, but a friendly—and from the size of her, probably berthing upward of thirty.”

  “My concern is that we have sufficient privacy to do our work here,” said Pakkpekatt, slowing Lady Luck to give them more time before being detected. “I will entertain all options.”

  “This entire expedition has been black ops from the start,” said Pleck. “Why not just drop the curtain over the whole system, commandeer the ship under NRI authority, and lock in a comm blackout?”

  “I do not think we have as much authority here as you would like to presume—either in fact or in appearance,” Pakkpekatt said. “If you were her captain, would you surrender your command to the crew of a private yacht that showed up without its registered owner? Only the greenest captain would fail to suspect piracy in such circumstances.”

  “Okay, so when we blip in on their sensors, they’re not going to be intimidated,” said Hammax. “But surely we could get General Rieekan or Brigadier Collomus to have them ordered out of the system. We could even wait out here, out of range, until they’ve been spanked and sent home.”

  Taisden was shaking his head. “Listen, I did a turn in the Senate liaison office. The colonel’s right. Without a native population here, Maltha Obex is an open system, and Article Nineteen of the Charter applies. The Obroan Institute has as much right to be here as we do. The NRI doesn’t have the authority to claim territory for itself—not even the Fleet has that power. They have to go to the Senate Defense Council for a presumptive finding of a security interest to support the claim, give public notice to the member nations—”

  “So how do we get them to leave without telling them who we are and why we’re here?” Hammax demanded.

  “That’s another question, isn’t it?” asked Pleck. “What are they doing here?”

  “They are here because we sent them here,” said Pakkpekatt.

  That drew puzzled looks. “We did?” Hammax asked.

  “Effectively. Before the vagabond escaped our control at Gmar Askilon, I asked General Rieekan for Qella genetic material, and for reasons of expediency the agency enlisted the Obroan Institute to locate and retrieve it. But we now have what they came here to retrieve for us—they should be gone.”

  “Well, then, it’s simple,” said Hammax. “If we sent them here, we can order them to leave. We just have to tell them that we’re here to take over the operation and their services are no longer required.”

  “I don’t think so,” Taisden said. “From the comm traffic, it sounds like they have at least three operations under way on the surface. They’re not going to believe that this ship, and the four of us, are here to take over.”

  “Doesn’t matter what they believe,” said Hammax. “If we hired ’em, we can fire ’em. And maybe this yacht isn’t very intimidating, but everyone here knows that the colonel can be. That could turn out to be all the authority we need.”

  “And if they don’t go for it?” Taisden asked. “They’re civilians, Colonel—even worse, scientists. They don’t herd well.”

  “Then there’s one other option. Colonel, that’s basically a Dobrutz liner,” said Hammax. “I know something about the type, because I’ve spent some time in one. The Alliance had a fistful of them, pressed into service as small troop transports during the Rebellion.”

  “Go on,” said Pakkpekatt.

  “See, that ship down there has a single comm array, mounted outside the nav shields because of the interference from those miserable DZ-nine shield generators,” said Hammax. “It was a known vulnerability. I’m sure I could take it out without collateral damage. Shouldn’t require more than two shots. Might get it in one.”

  “Thank you, Colonel,” said Pakkpekatt, advancing the throttles. “However, I believe I will hold that option in deep reserve. There is something here that still eludes me. Perhaps I can encourage these interlopers to reveal it.”

  The inbound vessel had remained silent until it was nearly on top of Penga Rift. Then the first signal had come over the emergency comm channel, lighting up several warning bars on the panels at Manazar’s elbow.

  “Penga Rift, this is a priority alert. You are operating in a restricted area, and your vessel is at risk. Please verify your transponder identification profile.”

  Startled out of inattentiveness, Manazar nearly sent the confirming data without questioning the request. Only at the last moment did he recover his poise and respond, “Unknown vessel, this is Penga Rift. Please identify yourself—this ship is not equipped with an interrogator module.”

  “I say again, Penga Rift, this is a priority alert. You are operating in a restricted area, and your vessel is at risk. Please verify your transponder identification profile.” As though to underline the seriousness of the request, a concealed weapons bay had opened on the underside of the new arrival’s hull. The retractable laser cannon that emerged cycled through its full range of motion, then locked on Penga Rift.

  That was the point at which Manazar called for the captain and the expedition leader. Then he quickly checked to see if the transponder had already been interrogated, and sent the requested information when he saw that it had.

  “I thought since they already have the information and we have nothing to hide, there was no harm in complying,” Manazar explained. “But the very next thing, they wanted to talk to the master of the vessel, with full holocomm. I’ve been putting them off until you got here, but I don’t think they like being put off.”

  Barjas nodded. “You did fine, Mazz. I’ll take it from here.”

  “No,” said Eckels. “On the starlanes, this ship is yours, Captain, but here in orbit, the expedition leader is in command. I will deal with this.”

  He crossed the bridge to Penga Rift’s small holocomm booth and settled himself inside it. “Monitor to station one. Record to personal log Eckels. Begin transmission.” After a moment’s pause, he said, “This is Dr. Joto Eckels of the Obroan Institute, expedition leader. Whom am I addressing?”

  When the answering holo formed before him, Eckels felt his body trying to retreat deeper into the seat. The face was not only intensely alien, but both inhumanly large and close enough to violate Eckels’s psychological boundaries. It could have been no more than that the other was leaning forward toward his holo lens, but it made Eckels feel cornered in the booth.

  “I am Colonel Ejagga Pakkpekatt of New Republic Intelligence,” said the other, showing teeth that were distinctively those of a carnivore. “My mission in this sector is under the direct authority of the director of operations, and with the knowledge and consent of the Senate Intelligence Council. What is your business here?”

  “We are conducting a contract survey and excavation of Maltha Obex.”

  “And what is the purpose of your survey and excavation?”

  “This is an archaeological research vessel,” said Eckels, recovering some measure of his equilibrium. “Not surprisingly, we’re here to do the things archaeologists do—to retrieve biological samples and cultural artifacts related to the former inhabitants of this planet.”

  “Who contracted for this expedition?”

  Eckels considered refusing to answer. There were nondisclosure clauses in the standard Institute contracts that offered not only a suitable pretext, but also a reasonable defense
of his actions after the fact. But being difficult would not help move the conversation forward to what the visitors really wanted—though Eckels was already sure in his own mind what that was. He had had but one thought since the ship had arrived, only one explanation for this coincidence—this confrontation.

  “Harkin Dyson, a private collector,” said Eckels. “But come, you know all that already. Tell me, what did Dyson do? I should not have trusted him. Men with that much wealth do what they want and let the law try to catch up. Please tell me he didn’t try selling the remains piecemeal.”

  Pakkpekatt did not seem interested in Eckels’s confessions. “Was this contract the only basis for your interest in Maltha Obex?”

  “No,” said Eckels. The alien’s unblinking gaze was becoming an annoyance. “We lost some people here, folks who were working another contract. But I would guess you know all about that, too. The rumor going around the Institute was that it was an NRI job.”

  “Dr. Eckels, I have not asked of you that you tell me only things I did not know already,” said Pakkpekatt, somehow managing to loom even closer. “Have you encountered any other vessels since your arrival here?”

  “Just the other NRI ship—”

  The holo display suddenly dissolved in a burst of snowy static. “What happened?”

  “I broke the link,” said Manazar. “Doctor, this Pakkpekatt—I just identified his species. He’s a Hortek.”

  “And?”

  “They’re supposed to be telepathic. That’s why he demanded the holo link. He’s probably already found out everything he wanted from you.”

  “Well, I am not telepathic, and I have not found out everything I want,” Eckels said frostily. “Restore the link.”

  “There you are, Doctor,” said Pakkpekatt a moment later. “Your reply was garbled by the equipment malfunction.”

  Eckels nodded. “It was no malfunction, Colonel—just a bit of clumsiness.”

  Pakkpekatt fanned his fingers and gestured dismissively. “You were speaking of an NRI ship.”

  “When we reached Maltha Obex, there was a military vessel here. I presumed it was NRI, though nothing was ever said openly,” Eckels said. “It was the ship that brought our late colleagues here. The pilot guided us to their bodies before he left. That was an unexpected courtesy, to have him wait—I do give you credit for that.”

  “It was no courtesy, Doctor,” said Pakkpekatt. “Just a bit of bureaucratic paralysis.”

  “I see.” Eckels sat forward in the booth. “It was impatience that killed Stopa and Krenn, Colonel—their own, and that of whoever dangled a bonus worth twice their annual research budget in front of them. It’s curious that what was so urgent suddenly became unnecessary. Or did it? I was willing to accept Dyson at face value, as another of the artifact hunters who hover around the Institute. But your arrival here is one coincidence too many. Dyson is one of you, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t know who he is, Doctor,” said Pakkpekatt. “A meddler who’s succeeded in manipulating both of us, it seems.”

  Eckels was taken aback by the unexpected answer, but quickly recovered his momentum. “What is your business here? And what’s this about our vessel being at risk? Did you mean that as a warning or a threat, Colonel?”

  “A warning,” said Pakkpekatt. “A ship may be coming here—a ship that has already destroyed or crippled at least five warships from four different navies. Our business here is to intercept it. Your vessel will be at grave risk if you remain here. I suggest you wrap up your work and move on.”

  “That’s not possible, Colonel,” said Eckels. “We’re scheduled for another thirteen days here, and we need every minute of every hour.”

  “It may be possible for you to return at another time,” said Pakkpekatt. “But Maltha Obex is not a safe place to be now.”

  “That has been the case for quite some time, Colonel.”

  “Are your people willing to keep working on the surface knowing that you can’t promise them you’ll have time to come back for them? Are they willing to risk freezing to death with the memory of seeing Penga Rift turn into a very brief bright spot in the sky?”

  “You are trying to frighten me, Colonel. That shows a disappointing lack of respect,” said Eckels.

  “I am trying to save your life, and the lives of those under your command.”

  “You are trying to protect your secrets,” said Eckels. “What kind of ship is coming here, Colonel?”

  “One that destroyed an Imperial-design cruiser with ease, just two days ago,” said Pakkpekatt. “Perhaps you should consult with the captain of Penga Rift and ask him how he views the prospect of commanding it in battle.”

  “I will not cede Maltha Obex to the NRI,” said Eckels. “The work is important—and a friend died here. Both of those things matter to me, Colonel, even if they mean nothing to you. Do what you need to here. We won’t interfere with your business if you grant us the same courtesy.”

  “It isn’t our interference you need to be concerned with,” said Pakkpekatt. “Doctor, I cannot offer you protection—”

  “Oh, yes, from the mysterious ship that’s no threat to your vessel, but a terrible threat to ours. The rampaging juggernaut that dispatches warships with ease, yet apparently will cower when confronted by your yacht. I don’t believe a word of it. Really, Colonel, couldn’t you have invented a more plausible lie? I thought spies were supposed to be good at that—”

  Pakkpekatt hissed and lunged forward, his threat ruffles unfolding. Eckels startled, sitting straight up. Even Barjas, watching on the flatscreen display, flinched noticeably.

  “I have spoken only the truth to you,” Pakkpekatt said, his voice thick with anger. “The dead will wait for you. Leave this place before you join them.”

  This time, the threat was effective. Only simple stubbornness trumped the sudden flash of fear that showed in Eckels’s eyes. “Perhaps you are telling the truth, as you say,” he said. “But if you had the authority to order us to leave, you would have already done so. So let it just be understood between us that we’re staying. We accept the risks. Others may return here in the future, but this is our time.”

  “You do not know what you risk by that decision, Dr. Eckels.”

  “You remain free to enlighten me,” said Eckels. “What kind of ship is coming to Maltha Obex?”

  Pakkpekatt sat back and folded his hands in his lap. “A Qella ship, Dr. Eckels.”

  Eckels stared, dumbfounded, then cast his gaze downward. Twice he opened his mouth as if to speak. Both times he momentarily closed his eyes and shook his head, as though disowning the thought trying to reach his lips. Finally he ran a hand back through his thinning hair and raised his head.

  “Would you care to come aboard Penga Rift, Colonel?” Eckels said, his voice surprisingly steady. “I believe I owe you an apology, and then we need to talk.”

  “That’s what you wanted from the start, isn’t it?” Taisden said when the link was terminated, looking at Pakkpekatt in surprise.

  “I never intended for them to leave,” Pakkpekatt agreed. “That ship contains all of the New Republic’s experts on the Qella. What they know—however little—may be the difference between success and failure.”

  “Sure—and if we can make use of them, better to keep them here than chase them away. But you played him like a kolo-fisher working a record catch,” said Taisden. “Chances are you left him thinking he won that showdown, with a chance at the vagabond as his reward for hanging tough.”

  “I had the insuperable advantage of being able to tell the bait from the hook,” Pakkpekatt said, rising. “Still, perhaps there’s something about sitting in Calrissian’s couch that brings such manipulations more readily to mind and tongue.”

  “What manipulations?” Taisden asked, his expression innocent of humor. “After all, Colonel, just as you said, all you told him was the truth.”

  But they both knew that Eckels had not yet heard all of the truth.

  Pakkpekatt l
eft Colonel Hammax in command of Lady Luck’s flight deck and charged Pleck with making the arrangements with Coruscant for the recall signal to be rebroadcast from NRI stations and vessels operating in the open. Then he and Taisden went across to Penga Rift in the research vessel’s skiff.

  They brought with them a selection of images from Gmar Askilon, a copy of the genetic catalog, and a request for one of Penga Rift’s orbital relay satellites. Standard equipment aboard research and exploration vessels—but not aboard Lady Luck—the generic helmet-sized units were ordinarily used in sets of three to give a single ship global comm coverage.

  “We can and will originate the recall signal from Lady Luck,” Taisden explained. “But for obvious reasons, we might not want to be right next to the antenna if and when the vagabond jumps in-system.”

  A profoundly distracted Joto Eckels agreed with a wave of his hand. “Yes, of course. We carry two spares—Mazz will make one available to you.” The holos of the vagabond escaping from the armada, juxtaposed with selected views of the destroyed Prakith cruiser, had made a deep impression on Eckels.

  But the major distraction was the dispatch containing the report on the Qella genome. “This is very good work,” Eckels said, studying the sequences on his datapad. “These Eicroth bodies—what an extraordinary discovery. This report is based on the single example I delivered to Harkin Dyson, yes?”

  “I assume so,” said Pakkpekatt. “It appears to be the only Qella material to have left the system.”

  “Then we do not know if these Eicroth bodies are typical of the species, or indicate an abnormal condition, or represent a variant of the species,” Eckels said. “With only a single example, no generalizations can be made.”

  “Presumably not.”

  Eckels closed his datapad. “Colonel, we have five additional Qella bodies in the specimen lab. They’ve all been fully scanned, but the scans haven’t yet been reviewed in detail—”

  “Why not?” Taisden interrupted.

  “We scan them as soon as we receive them because of the risk of sample deterioration,” Eckels said, turning toward the younger man. “Analysis is something we can do on the way home, or at the Institute.” He looked back at Pakkpekatt. “Colonel, we did not know about this secondary genetic material. If I could take this data back to the lab for a few hours, I may be able to answer that question, and perhaps some others as well.”