Nyondo pressed a hand to her ear bug, listening carefully. “It’s Mullenhoff. She needs to see you—right now.”
* * * *
Pettigrew and Sturka spoke for a few minutes regarding the disposition of Massang prisoners until Mullenhoff arrived. When she entered the conference room, she was accompanied by Daemon and Typhoon’s Chief Engineer, Ajax Baker.
“Governor Sturka, I will walk you to your shuttle,” said Nyondo.
Pettigrew interrupted. “Just a minute. I want Sturka to stay.”
The Massang leader looked surprised, as did the others.
“Sturka and his people may not quite be our allies, but for the moment, they aren’t our enemies either. His ships are just as stranded in this system as we are. Whatever Commander Mullenhoff and her team have discovered, it affects them as well. He has a right to hear this.”
“A fair-minded decision, Admiral,” remarked Sturka as he sank back into his chair. Despite the Massang’s cordiality, Pettigrew had no illusions. He was positive that the Governor still saw anyone who wasn’t Massang as an ‘impure being.’ Sturka was choosing the right words, but the condescending tone in his voice was unmistakable.
“All right, Commander, please tell me that we found some hidden phase inhibitors. Also inform me that we are engaged in operations to neutralize said inhibitors,” coaxed Pettigrew.
Mullenhoff glanced back uneasily to Baker and Daemon. “There are no hidden phase inhibitors, sir, but we did discover the source of our difficulty. This hyperspace dead zone is coming from the star itself. Our problem is Cor Caroli.”
“Explain.”
“In astrophysics, Cor Caroli is what is known as a chemically peculiar star. It has a very powerful magnetic field, about five thousand times stronger than Sol. When Sulla’s battle group destroyed the near-field generating stations, it caused some, well… unforeseen problems.”
“What kind of problems?” asked Nyondo.
Ajax Baker answered. At six-foot four, Baker towered over everyone in the conference room—as long as Sturka remained seated.
“Harradoss and his engineers were using the near-field generators to transmit power to the Threshold, but while doing so, the stations were building up radiation waste, what we call Halprin radiation. When our ships destroyed the stations, the Halprin waste was released and got sucked into the star.”
“I take it that wasn’t a good thing,” said Pettigrew.
“No, sir, it wasn’t,” Mullenhoff continued. “All of the Halprin radiation dumped into Cor Caroli caused massive starspots, which in turn produced waves of radiation that cut across the various bands of space-time. Right now, we are in the middle of some pretty massive Halprin Waves radiating outward from the star.”
“Our people, are they in any danger?”
“No, sir—we are physically safe, but the Halprin Waves are preventing any kind of transition from normal space to hyperspace. Ships, comm signals—nothing can move across the subspace bands. In effect, the Halprin radiation has created a temporary FTL dead zone extending over the entire star system and probably another light-year or so beyond.”
Pettigrew considered the dilemma, his mind inexplicably turning back to the Age of Sail. “Commander, are you saying we are becalmed?”
Mullenhoff’s anxious face broke into a slight smile. “That’s about the size of it, sir.”
Sturka grew uneasy. “What does that mean—becalmed?”
Pettigrew seized on a chance to give a quick history lesson. “In the earliest days of my planet, our ancestors sailed in wooden ships across the oceans. The ships were propelled by wind pushing against cloth sails. Occasionally, for periods of many days, the wind would simply stop. No wind, no movement. When that happened, a ship was said to be becalmed.”
“Ah,” nodded Sturka, either understanding or pretending to.
Pettigrew turned back to his engineers. “You said temporary. How temporary?”
“Until all of the waste dumped from the near-field stations is consumed and processed by the star,” answered Daemon. “I would estimate no more than ten to twelve standard weeks.”
“Twelve weeks!” shouted Pettigrew in disbelieve. “Three standard months? Are you kidding? We can’t stay here for three months. Do we even have enough supplies for that long?”
“Some of the ships that Harradoss left behind were supply vessels for the arkships,” volunteered Governor Stuka. “We could share those provisions if your people are in need.”
Pettigrew’s eyes narrowed with purpose. “A generous offer, Governor, but we are NOT staying in this system for three months.”
“Sir, we don’t really have a choice,” insisted Mullenhoff. “It’s a matter of physics.”
“We manipulate physics all the time, Commander—it’s what spacefaring civilizations do. We bend the rules, we tweak reality to our will. You and Ajax have made careers of it. I want options, damn it! There have to be some!”
Pettigrew rose quickly from his chair, placed his hands behind his back and walked to the opposite end of the conference room. He was losing his temper and needed to cool off, as well as give his staff a few minutes to brainstorm. Standing in front of the wall screen window, he listened to the others while staring off into space.
“We could dispatch an old-style tachyon packet to the Quinnesec system,” suggested Daemon. “It would take almost three weeks, but at least then Admiral Winston could use his Mobile Gate to warn Central Command about Harradoss’s fleet.”
Sturka spoke up. “On our way here, my ship scanned that system. It looked very much as though the Vanguard had attacked and severely damaged the Gate in question.”
The Governor had helped them win the Battle of Cor Caroli, but nevertheless, he was still a former member of the Massang Purity Council. Human distrust was natural.
“With respect, Governor Sturka,” said Nyondo delicately. “I’m not saying that—”
“Forget it,” blurted out Pettigrew as he turned to face everyone. “We don’t need the Quinnesec Gate. We already have a Gate—the biggest one I’ve ever seen.”
Silence fell over the room as the others looked at him. Pettigrew raised his right hand with his index finger pointing to the image behind him, the image of the Threshold.
“I don’t know, sir,” said Mullenhoff cautiously. “Even if it works, there is still the power problem.”
“Which you and your team will solve,” insisted Pettigrew. “Governor Sturka, will it work? If we go through the Threshold, will we come out the other side?”
Sturka appeared flustered. “I am told that it will. Certainly, Harradoss believed it would. I have not had time to speak with the Massang scientists who built—”
“Please, Governor,” Pettigrew interrupted. “I know for a fact that you met with Harradoss’s engineers not more than three hours ago. They can’t be happy he abandoned them, leaving them behind to be captured.”
Sturka laughed loudly. “I see why Harradoss hated you so much, Admiral. You are every bit as formidable as he promised you would be.”
“I ask you again—will it work?”
“It will, if the power problem can be solved.”
Pettigrew had another concern. “Governor, will the Threshold science team assist us? For that matter, will you assist us?”
“To destroy Harradoss, I would carry your fleet to Earth on my back,” growled the stocky Massang. “You have my word—we will help.” In the past, Massang guarantees had meant only betrayal, but Pettigrew’s gut told him that Sturka zel’ Nor was different. The destruction of his homeworld had forged an obsession in the Governor, a fixation that Pettigrew could make use of.
Before he turned back to her, Uschi Mullenhoff had already raised her arms in surrender. “I know, I know. Get that overgrown hypergate going before we all starve, Earth falls, and we lose the war. I’m just glad there is no pressure.”
Pettigrew grinned, but his wispy smile evaporated quickly. “Ajax will work with you, along with Captai
n Daemon and anyone else you need. This is your top priority, Commander—in fact, it is your only priority until we escape this system. Get my fleet out of Cor Caroli.”
23: In Plain Sight
Esterkeep
Planet Sarissa
The Imperial Palace
Carr took the well-earned glass of whiskey from the older man’s hands.
“Thank you, Merritt.”
The butler paused before leaving the Greenwood Room. “Dinner will be served in thirty minutes, Majesty,” he informed the trio before withdrawing. As Merritt left, the click of closing doors made a slight echo. The room was intended as an intimate area for entertaining guests on the third floor of the Palace, the level which housed Her Majesty’s private apartment. Unfortunately, even this so-called small room seemed cavernous in a building of this scale.
“How long has Merritt been around?” asked Sanchez just before diving into her martini. A satisfied smile swept across her face as the first splash of vodka soaked her taste buds.
“Merritt? I think Merritt stepped off the first arkship with Sarah Koenig,” joked Ardith, invoking the name of Sarissa’s founder. “Seriously, the man has served starhold heads of state for a long time now. I believe he started out working for President Renwick back in the Forties.”
Merritt’s official position was Chief Butler of the state residence, but insiders knew him to be more. For the leaders of Sarissa, this man had been a trusted confidant and loyal friend for over three decades.
“He deserves our gratitude,” said Carr raising his glass. “To Merritt.”
“To Merritt,” said the women warmly joining the toast.
Carr held a sip of alcohol in his mouth, swirling it over his teeth and tongue as he thought. A lot had changed in thirty years. From republic to dictatorship to monarchy, Sarissa had survived not because of their leaders, but in spite of them. People like Merritt are the ones that keep it all going.
“If Merritt ever left, the government would probably fall,” said Ardith, as if reading Carr’s thoughts.
He chuckled. “At least then you would be spared all of the pomp and ceremony. My guess is that deep down inside you hate that part of the job. By the way, thanks again for receiving us here instead of staging a formal audience.” As the minutes passed, any lingering protocol or formality quickly faded. Some of the amity was due to the fact that Carr had served in the army with Ardith Flood before she took the Crown. The flow of alcohol helped, too—they were all on their second drink.
“I’ve come to accept it,” Ardith confessed. “Before Bennett Boyer retired, he emphasized over and over that in many cases form could become substance. To be an Empress I had to convince everyone else that I was an Empress. Bennett taught me that ceremony was simply an extension of power. It was a valuable lesson. I really miss the Professor.”
Sanchez held an olive aloft preparing to pop it into her mouth. “I’m surprised Lady Belford and Lord Khory aren’t joining us this evening.”
Ardith gave a small giggle. “Believe me, they wanted to. Neither was keen on being left out. I’m afraid they’ve both become quite possessive of me.”
“Too possessive?”
“I suppose not. Both of them are quite brilliant in their own way and complement each other perfectly. I value their counsel.”
“Are they really siblings?” asked Carr.
“No. Khory just calls her ‘sister’ because he knows Belford hates it,” said Ardith as she placed her glass on a nearby table. Edging forward in her seat, her body language signaled a quick shift to business.
“We have all read your report about the events on Pontus. Belford and Khory were impressed with your work there. So was I. The Empire thanks you for your service, and I consider your financial obligation to the Crown paid in full.”
Neither of them said a word. Sanchez nodded her acknowledgement while Carr held his half-empty glass aloft in a salute.
“What are you going to do with Dansby and his people?” Sanchez inquired.
“They’re all at Hopetown undergoing interrogation.”
The ultimate oxymoron—Hopetown. It was an OMI black site, a facility for ripping secrets from people’s minds. Few prisoners who went into the Hopetown complex ever came out the same, if they came out at all.
“We have to discover how extensive Dansby’s network was,” Ardith went on. “It’s a given that some of their associates are still at large. We have to locate those people before they can do anymore damage.”
Sanchez downed her drink. “It’s still unbelievable to think that any human would sell out their own people to aliens.”
“No, it isn’t,” said Carr bluntly. “In his own mind, Dansby wasn’t betraying humanity, he was saving it from itself. We all try to rationalize our actions so we can sleep at night.”
Ardith tilted her head in curiosity. “Speaking of traitors, in an earlier report from Pontus you indicated that there was the strong possibility of a rogue agent operating here, inside the Imperial Palace. In your final report, however, there was no mention of that. Care to explain?”
They tried to be cool, but both husband and wife found themselves tensing up. This was the part of the evening they had been dreading. It was the moment in which they chose to lie to the Empress of the Sarissan Empire. Worse than that, they were going to lie to a friend.
* * * *
“What’s this?” asked Sanchez as she picked up the small datachip Colonel Vickery slid across the surface of the breakfast table.
“Her Majesty asked me to give it to you before you left. It contains the details of one last assignment.”
The erstwhile agents had stayed on for a few days following their return to Sarissa. They had business matters to attend to in both Esterkeep and nearby Boutwell and the Empress had kindly invited them to stay in one of the guest apartments of the Imperial Palace.
Sanchez stared down at the chip as Carr glowered Vickery’s way.
“Hold on,” Carr said. “Just a few nights ago, Ardith told us that there would be no more assignments—that we were free to resume our lives on Earth.”
Vickery smiled. “You are. Bad choice of words on my part. I shouldn’t have called it an assignment—it’s more of a favor. You won’t even have to leave Earth.”
Sanchez held the datachip between her fingers, inspecting it. “What kind of favor?”
“It’s all on the chip,” said Vickery as he stood and quickly changed the subject. “I see that your pilot has arrived, even if he is five minutes late.”
Vickery’s eyes bore into the young officer rushing across the East Courtyard to join them.
“Lieutenant Hawkins reporting, sir. Very sorry I’m late, Colonel, but Captain Kennedy insisted that I—”
“Stand easy, Lieutenant,” said Vickery in a calm voice. “Major Carr and Commander Sanchez are ready to leave now, Hawkins. They thought that since you were the one who brought them from Earth, you could take them home— at least part of the way.”
“Part of the way, sir?”
“We are taking a starliner home, Lieutenant Hawkins,” explained Sanchez. “We just need you to fly us up to Arisugawa.” The Arisugawa Starport was the leaping off point for all interstellar flights from Sarissa.
“Vickery, if you ever find yourself on leave, come visit us on Earth. It’s a wonderful place,” said Carr as he rose to shake the Colonel’s hand. Sanchez did the same, even getting a hug from the normally staid Kaskian commander before he rushed away to his morning duties.
“Sit down, Lieutenant Hawkins,” beckoned Sanchez. “I haven’t finished my coffee yet.”
Hawkins sat and waited patiently as Carr and Sanchez sipped at their beverages. Carr gazed around, enjoying one final look at the splendor of the Palace. It was the beginning of spring in Esterkeep and brucaa vines were starting to creep over the archways of the portico leading to the East Gardens. The sweet smell of the flowers hung thick in the air. Dozens of people crisscrossed the courtyard attending to thei
r mid-morning work. The maroon and white checkerboard tiles of the square made the Palace functionaries look like game pieces hurrying about their tasks.
Meanwhile, Sanchez ignored the scenery, her eyes fixed on Lieutenant Hawkins. The young Kaskian Guard countered her gaze with nervous chatter.
“So, um… you are going home? You must be looking forward to returning—to Earth, I mean.”
“I suppose so,” replied Sanchez. “We thought we might travel to Quijano first to visit my cousins. Didn’t you mention that you were originally from Quijano, Lieutenant? What part of the planet did you say?”
“Santo Pacian, ma’am.”
“Must have been interesting growing up in the capital. What part of Santo Pacian?”
“The Cottage Garden section.”
Carr turned his attention back to the lieutenant. “Cottage Garden,” he repeated. “Tell me, Hawkins, do all the Gerrhans on Quijano hang out in Cottage Garden?”
Hawkins stiffened. “Excuse me, sir. I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Of course, you do.” Carr pushed his chair slightly away from the table and crossed his legs. “Let’s talk about your homeworld, Hawkins—your real homeworld. Let’s talk about Gerrha.”
While he stared at Carr in shock, Sanchez startled the young man as she reached out to touch him on the arm. “Lieutenant, relax. If you work with us, you might just get through this without being tossed in an Imperial prison for the rest of your life.”
Hawkins closed his eyes and exhaled nervously as Carr continued.
“Commander Sanchez and I were on Pontus for the last several weeks. We had a chance to meet your old commanding officer, Admiral Bettencourt.”
Hawkins swallowed hard, his face now pale.
“I guess he told you I wasn’t really from Quijano,” said Hawkins with a half-smile. “How is the Admiral?”
“Struggling a bit with his health, but holding his own. He has some good people around him. Hawkins—exactly what is your story? I know what Bettencourt told us, but I want to hear it from you.”
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