by Timothy Zahn
Eight weeks later, we were ready.
* * *
“The teams will leave on the schedule you’ve been given,” McMicking said to the group on our final evening. “Once you reach the Tube, each group of twenty riding on a particular Quadrail will split into pairs. Let me remind you that while you’ll all be in the same car or two, each traveling pair is to remain strictly detached from all the others except in a declared emergency situation. Any such declaration will be made by squad leaders, who will determine the proper response and how much pair interaction will be required. Clear?”
Two hundred heads bobbed in silent acknowledgment. “ESS Agent Morse will be going out with the first team,” McMicking continued. “He and his team will collect the gear and weapons, which will be shipped separately to the Veerstu transfer station. They’ll proceed to the Proteus jump-off point, assess conditions, and bring in the other teams as they arrive. Once you’re all assembled, he’ll guide you to the actual target area.”
He gestured to Bayta and me. “Given the enemy attention we’re expecting Compton to draw along the way, he, Bayta, and I will be the last three to arrive, hopefully several hours after the rest of you are in position. If all goes well, we should be assembled, on the ground, and ready to move thirty-eight and a half days from now. Questions?”
This time, none of the heads moved. “All right,” McMicking said, turning to me. “Any last words of wisdom, Compton?”
“Just don’t try to take over your torchliners,” I said. “Everyone knows what rotten passengers pilots make.” It was a poor joke, but a few of them smiled politely anyway. “Aside from that, watch yourselves, remember that the Shonkla-raa have non-Shonkla-raa agents who can be almost as troublesome as they are, and keep in mind that Mr. Hardin’s tech people went to a lot of trouble creating your weapons and equipment. Treat it carefully and use it well.”
“The first transport leaves at oh-three-thirty tomorrow,” McMicking said. “Good luck, and we’ll see you on Veerstu. Dismissed.”
With a rustling of cloth and a muted clattering of chairs the men and women stood up and filed silently from the room. “Well, that’s that,” McMicking said as we watched them leave. “Any recent word from Riijkhan? I haven’t had time to check the message log lately.”
“I got one yesterday,” I told him. “I’d mentioned in my last note that I was concerned about the mobs that would come after me if I helped them take over the galaxy, so he’s now upped his offer to immunity for the Confederation and a personal fiefdom for me anywhere in the galaxy I’d like.”
“Thoughtful of him,” McMicking said. “You have any particular place in mind?”
“I was thinking about Modhra II,” I said. “Nice view, out of the way of the average mob, and there’s all that under-ice scuba diving available for recreation.”
“And maybe a little Modhran coral still left?”
“Could be,” I said. “This particular message came from Jurskala, by the way, so he’s apparently been traveling again.”
“Interesting,” McMicking said thoughtfully. “I wonder what he’s doing there.”
“Probably looking to build himself an entourage,” I said. “He’s still pressing for me to let him come to Earth for a face-to-face, and he’s certainly not going to find a preassembled army of walkers here that he can use.”
“Maybe you should tell him that Terese and Rebekah have gone off to Bellis or Misfar or somewhere,” McMicking suggested. “See if he’s still so hot to come to Earth if they’re not here.”
“No good—he’d know I’m lying,” I said. “He’s bound to have a permanent spy nest in Terra Station by now.”
“Maybe,” McMicking said. “Speaking of Rebekah and Terese, what’s the word on them?”
“I talked to Rebekah this morning,” Bayta said. “Terese’s father is still very upset that Dr. Aronobal reneged on her promise to heal Terese’s genetic disorders. Rebekah heard him tell his chief medical director yesterday that he’s never working with Filiaelians again.”
“I suppose we can count that as a small victory,” McMicking said. “But there are others out there with a handle on that kind of treatment. Maybe he can find someone else who can fix her.”
“He is trying to interest a Shorshic team in the project.” Bayta hesitated. “The big question right now is whether she’s healthy enough to bring the baby to term. Rebekah said that, under the circumstances, he’s now pressuring her to end the pregnancy.”
I thought back to Terese’s attempt, back on Venidra Carvo, to do just that. “What are Terese’s thoughts?”
“It’s strange,” Bayta said. “Three months ago, she would have jumped at the offer. But now, she’s not so sure. The baby’s moving and kicking, and all. And she’s got Rebekah there, who also has another life inside her.”
McMicking grunted. “Not exactly the same thing.”
“I know,” Bayta said. “But from Terese’s point of view it makes them almost kindred spirits. She trusts Rebekah, I think more than she trusts anyone else in the world.”
“Considering her opinion of all the rest of us, that wouldn’t be very hard,” I said.
“Don’t be cynical,” Bayta reproved me mildly. “In fact, Rebekah said Terese did ask about us the other day. Both of us. Rebekah told her we were still busy training Mr. Hardin’s team, but that we would come see her as soon as we were able. She does like us, Frank.”
“You, she likes,” I said. “Me, she probably just misses being snide to. Still, it’s a service I’m glad to provide. Maybe we can sneak over for a quick visit before we leave.”
“I think she’d like that,” Bayta said. “Aside from Rebekah, we’re the only ones she can really talk to about her baby.”
“I gather she hasn’t told her family the truth about him?” McMicking asked.
“Rebekah didn’t think she has,” Bayta said. “Knowing Terese, I’d have to agree.”
“It’s not like it’s that big a deal,” I pointed out. “I’d bet money that the Shonkla-raa coded his telepathy to work only with them, and once they’re out of the picture the kid’s extra wiring will be pretty useless. Like having a talent for some art form that doesn’t exist.” I looked at McMicking. “That answer your question?”
“And then some,” he said. “I’d like to go back to that bit about the Shonkla-raa having spies in Terra Station. If they do, they may spot Morse as he leaves with Team One. Do you think I should take them instead?”
“Isn’t it a little late to change that?” Bayta asked.
“Not really,” I said. “But I don’t think we should. It makes much more sense for you to come with us. Besides, I’m sure the ESS issues their agents some sort of Junior Disguise Kit. Morse is probably dying to play with it.”
“I’ll tell him you said that,” McMicking promised. “Better yet, I’ll tell him it came from Rick to Major Strasser. His attempts at a German accent are always so amusing.”
“I’ll have to drop in for a show someday,” I said dryly.
“You’ll enjoy every minute of it,” McMicking assured me. “Well, I’ve got a few last-minute details to work out, then it’s off to bed. You going to see Morse and the first team off?”
“I thought I would, yes,” I said.
“Good,” he said. “I’ll see you then.” With a nod to each of us, and a quick glance at the two defenders standing at their usual respectful distance, he turned and strode across the room to the door.
“I suppose we’d better do likewise,” I told Bayta as I collected my papers and other gear. “I have a feeling this slow-motion infiltration is going to drive me nuts, though. I wish we could send everyone in at the same time and be done with it.”
“You know we can’t,” Bayta said. “Aside from everything else, you’re way more subtle than that.”
“I suppose,” I conceded. “Sometimes it’s hell being me.”
She took my hand. “It’ll work, Frank,” she said quietly.
“I
know,” I said. It was bad form, I remembered reading somewhere, for a commander to express doubts and fears in front of his troops. “It’s just that…”
“Shh,” she said softly. Letting go of my hand, she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around me.
For a long minute we held each other. And then, through the doubts swirling around my brain an old, almost forgotten memory flicked back to mind. Something the first Chahwyn Elder I’d ever met had said as he related the history behind the Chahwyn, the Modhri, and the Quadrail system.
I will admit that we began to wonder if there was still any hope for us, or whether we and the galaxy had instead begun the long dark path to defeat, he’d said. And then, thirty years ago, you Humans burst upon the scene.
Maybe his words had been prophetic. Maybe he’d just been trying to flatter me into staying on their payroll.
But suddenly, I realized he was right. We were the unknown quantity, the big bright-orange monkey wrench in the Shonkla-raa’s carefully planned grand scheme to once again dominate the galaxy. If anyone could stop them, it was going to be Bayta, me, and the men and women who’d been sitting in this room tonight.
Two thousand years ago, the original Shonkla-raa had ignored Earth because we hadn’t been telepathic enough for easy conquest and they’d been too lazy to use the old-fashioned brute-force approach on us.
It was time we showed them just how big a mistake that had been.
I took a deep breath, inhaling the subtle scent of the woman in my arms, and with that some of the swirling demons faded away. “Come on,” I murmured, gently disengaging from our hug. “We need to be up early if we’re going to see Morse off. We should get some sleep.”
“Yes,” she agreed. She hesitated, then leaned close and kissed me. “We should.”
I was lying alone on my bed, staring at the ceiling with Sam and Carl standing their silent watch over me, when my alarm signaled that it was time to get up.
* * *
The schedule McMicking and I had worked out had the various twenty-man groups dribbling out into the Quadrails over a ten-day period, with Bayta, McMicking, and me bringing up the rear. Right on time, a day after the last group left Terra Station, the three of us boarded our train and headed out to join them.
Recent events had understandably given me a somewhat paranoid view of Quadrail travel. But as we rolled along at our brisk light-year per minute, somewhat to my surprise, nothing happened.
Not just nothing threatening, but nothing. No Shonkla-raa stared at me from across the bar or dining car, no suspicious-looking Juriani or Halkas lurked around corners or paced back and forth in front of our compartment doors, no one tried to pass me messages. Best of all, no one aboard died a strange or violent death. Even the scrawny Fillies I’d grown accustomed to seeing everywhere we went were conspicuous by their absence. It was as if the Shonkla-raa had been genuinely taken in by my ridiculously transparent long-distance correspondence with Riijkhan, and were waiting patiently at Jurskala for us to come to an agreement.
I didn’t believe it for a minute. Neither did Bayta. Neither, presumably, did McMicking, though I was careful not to approach him closely enough to actually ask. Wrapped inside his new face and identity, he was my last and best wild card, and I had no intention of doing anything to compromise that.
Bayta and I had traveled this route before, over a year ago, back when the Modhri had been chasing down the last of a group of sculptures which, when properly assembled in groups of three, became highly deadly weapons. As a bonus, those weapons were also undetectable by the Spiders’ sophisticated Tube sensor arrays. We’d won that particular battle, and while we’d destroyed most of the weapons, I knew there were probably a few of the components still buried under the dirt in the Ten Mesas region of Veerstu.
I couldn’t help thinking that, with our other weapons and equipment waiting for us at that same world, it would have been awfully nice to have an undetectable weapon in hand right now. Something that, unlike the kwi, I didn’t need Bayta or a functioning Spider to activate for me.
We changed trains at Homshil, and as we crossed the platform we passed by a Juri at a candied flower stand who was also surreptitiously giving every passing walker a scratch from the Melding coral he had hidden in his cold-water storage tank. Serious scratches, too, from the one instance I saw, the kind that would put enough polyps into the walker’s bloodstream to influence the original Modhran colony within an hour or two.
Bayta and I stopped to buy a sample of the vendor’s wares. The Modhri told us there had been two Shonkla-raa in the station three days earlier, who had spent a few hours watching the trains come and go before leaving on a train headed in the same direction we were. Bayta checked with the stationmaster and learned they’d bought tickets for Ghonsilya, a three-day journey past the Trivsdal stop where we would be switching to the Claremiado Loop and heading into Nemuti territory.
Of course, having tickets for Ghonsilya didn’t mean the Shonkla-raa would actually be getting off there. It would be trivial for them to change tickets somewhere along the way, someplace where they thought they might not be as noticeable. We thanked the Modhri and moved on, and I made a mental note to keep an eye out as we got close to Trivsdal.
From Homshil we passed through Jurskala, the source of the messages I was still getting from Riijkhan about our pending deal. None of the walkers in the station had spotted him, though, or seen any other Shonkla-raa for at least a week.
Two days beyond Jurskala was Ian-apof, and a change to one of the lines that passed along the edge of the Nemuti FarReach and into the Tra’hok Unity. Two days after that we reached Trivsdal and switched once last time, this time to the Claremiado Loop.
Four days later, we arrived at the Veerstu Quadrail station.
The entry procedure was quick and efficient, and if the Nemuti manning the customs desks were surprised by the unusually high numbers of Humans that had been coming to their world over the past couple of weeks they hid their bemusement well.
Or maybe that avenue of curiosity was simply being overshadowed by the novelty of having a pair of Spiders on the passenger side of the station. Usually, the only Spiders aboard were those picking up or dropping off the lockboxes or handling other sensitive or secured cargo.
In fact, the situation was unprecedented enough that they were initially at a loss on how exactly to proceed. Sam and Carl obviously had no IDs or other official documents, and at first the station director wasn’t going to let them through. I finally had to declare them as part of my luggage, a solution that didn’t exactly thrill the director and probably irritated the defenders themselves.
But finally we were through.
The lockboxes where McMicking and I had stored our guns had been delivered. With my Glock once again snugged beneath my jacket and his Beretta under his, we headed for the torchyacht rental desk.
Along the way, we picked up the special equipment that the Spiders had been quietly holding for us at the station.
It was a five-day trip from the transfer station to the planet itself. We spent most of our time checking our gear, discussing the plan and last-minute thoughts that each of us had had, and otherwise just preparing ourselves for the upcoming task.
Bayta and I also spent a lot of time together. McMicking was perceptive enough to give us as much privacy as he could in the somewhat cramped quarters. Sam and Carl, naturally, didn’t.
Veerstu had only two spaceports that could handle torchships. The last time Bayta and I had taken this trip we’d tried to mask our destination by landing at the port farthest from the Ten Mesas region. Now, with the long procession of human travelers making subterfuge largely moot, we chose the closer one instead. We rented an aircar, loaded everything aboard, and headed out. Two hours short of our destination, we put down in a secluded area and changed into our desert camo outfits, heavy-duty jumpsuits with thin armor plates already sewn into pockets around the torso and groin areas. With another few kilos’ worth of gun belts a
nd weapons vests loaded on top of that, we were ready.
Five minutes later, with our final task complete, we were once again in the air.
The Ten Mesas was a group of large rock formations, up to two kilometers long each, that rose up from the Veerstu desert amid a sea of smaller buttes, rock spines, and occasional clusters of vegetation, the whole thing overlaid by a light dusting of feathery, waist-high brown grass. Three of the mesas were of particular interest: a bit over two kilometers long, each one rose more or less gradually to a sudden and startling ten-meter-tall spike at one end. The Ten Mesas were the premier tourist attraction of the region, as desert tourist attractions went, with those particular three garnering most of the appreciation and photos.
What the tourists didn’t know, but Bayta and I did, was that they weren’t simple rock formations. They were, instead, the hidden resting place of three ancient Shonkla-raa warships.
The ten-meter spikes were the clue that had finally tipped me off when Bayta and I had first been here. Cozying the main body of a huge ship right up against the Thread would be risky; cozying the end of a ten-meter spike, not nearly so much.
I thought about the ships as we flew across the Veerstu landscape. They’d obviously been there since before the Shonkla-raa were destroyed sixteen hundred years ago, presumably stashed away as part of some military strategy the slavemasters had never gotten a chance to use. Sixteen hundred years was a long time, and the question on everyone’s mind was almost certainly whether or not they still worked.
For me, the question wasn’t even worth pondering. The Lynx/Viper/Hawk trinary weapons that the Modhri had been digging up the last time we were here were from that same era, and they had certainly been functional. So were the handful of kwis the Chahwyn had found. I had no doubt that the warships were just as functional. And even more deadly.
Bayta had wanted to destroy the ships as soon as she learned about them. I had talked her out of it, warning that letting the Modhri even suspect their existence might prove fatal somewhere down the line.