by Martin Tays
“That’s what you’ve been doing for the last hundred years.” Mattie continued, pointing at Cath. “That’s why you’ve been keeping the ship in shape. And that is why you wanted us… wanted Moses, anyway… to hear the message.”
Moses turned slowly back to look at Cath. Cath was staring at Mattie, slack jawed. She finally closed her mouth with an audible snap and turned back to Moses. “Oh, she’s good.”
“Son of a bitch.” Moses looked stunned. “You built it for the Endeavour, didn’t you?”
Cath hesitated, then nodded. “Well, for the class, but yeah. I had her in mind. It just seemed… appropriate.”
“And it was. Is. But before now… before she came along…” He pointed at Sandar. “You had no target. All dressed up…”
“And no place to go. Right. You’re right. She changed everything.” Cath reached over and picked up Sandar’s hand from the tabletop. “Thanks.”
“You’re going to go?” Sandar gripped Cath’s hand convulsively.
Cath smiled, looking into her eyes. “That’s the idea, yeah.”
Sandar dropped her head down to rest it on their clasped hands. When she finally spoke from that position, it was a single word, and close to a prayer. “Please?”
Cath reached out with her other hand and gently stroked the top of Sandar’s head. “It’s up to the Captain, of course, but I can’t see him not wanting you to go.”
Ami looked over at Moses questioningly. Leo spoke up from the other end of the table. “Well, Moses?”
There was a long beat of silence, then Cath looked up from Sandar and slowly down the table at Leo. She stared at him briefly, then turned back to Moses, brows furrowed. After another endless moment, her face cleared.
Then she started laughing.
Moses stared at her convulsing figure, face reddening. “Um…?”
Her only response was to look up and point. She managed to get out “Him? Him?!” before doubling over again.
Moses finally just looked down at his plate, shoulders slumped. Ami reached over and put her hand on his arm, but he didn’t react.
Doug spoke up. “Excuse me? Madam Tact? It’s not that damn funny.” There were muttered agreements.
Cath finally calmed down. She drew in a shuddering breath and responded. “Yes. Oh, yes it is, junior. Trust me.”
“Who?” Asked Ami, glaring at her.
Cath looked over, still grinning. “Pardon, dear?”
“Don’t call me that. It’s unpleasant. If Moses isn’t supposed to be the Captain, who is?”
“That’s one’s easy.” Moses quietly said, still staring at his plate. “Rafe.”
“Oh.” Ami looked at Moses, then back toward Cath. “Oh! Why that son of a…”
“Bitch, dear?” Cath nodded. “That’s our Rafe. He’s been… we’ve been working on this for years. And we needed Moses to do the restoration work.”
Moses finally looked up. “Why me?”
“Uncle Vanya.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “Of course.”
“I don’t understand.” Ami interrupted. “You needed him because of… because of a Chekhov play? But Chekhov sucks.”
Moses finally looked up at Ami. “No, he doesn’t dear. Ostrovsky sucks. Anton was okay, if a bit long winded ― a Russian writer can’t belch in less than two paragraphs ― but she was talking about Vanya Viktor Valentine. Three V himself, the great waistland, and the Governor of Haven. Vanya and I go way back. We’ve had our… differences.”
Cath nodded. “And he has an extremely low opinion of Moses, here.”
Ami glared at her. “You get along well with him, then, I take it?”
“Ouch. Fine, I guess I deserved that.” General remarks of agreement came from around the room.
Moses stared at his now cold coffee. He finally took a sip, carefully set the cup back into the saucer, and looked up to catch Cath’s eye. “I’m the perfect cover, aren’t I? Valentine hates me — hates me with the white hot passion of a thousand wronged bureaucrats. He’d never believe that I’d be competent enough to actually get the ship restored.”
She shrugged. “Well, yeah, that’s it in a nutshell. That’s why Rafe wanted you here in the first place. We figured you wouldn’t be able to screw up too badly if we were keeping an eye on you. And it would never occur to Uncle Vanya that you were doing anything except drinking yourself into a stupor.”
Moses had to nod. It was actually a pretty good plan. Spinning the cup around on the saucer by its handle, he finished her thoughts. “Then, when everything’s ready, the crew — the real crew ― comes out of hiding and steals the ship.”
“Yeah. That’s… that’s pretty much it, yeah. You can go along, of course.” Cath looked around the table. “You seem like a pretty bright bunch. You can probably all go along.”
“Gosh.” Said Mattie. “Can we?”
Cath looked up the table at Mattie, but didn’t reply. She finally turned back to Moses. “Look… I’m sorry, that was… damn it, we do still need you. Even more, now. Now that you’re, you know…”
“Sober?”
She shrugged. “Well, you’ve got to admit, it’s an improvement.” She looked over at Ami. “You do this?”
“Yes.” Said Moses.
Ami, though, was shaking her head forcefully. “No, he did it himself, if it’s any of your business.”
“Fine.” Cath threw her hands up. “Whatever. I don’t care. The point is that the work still needs to be done, and you’re the only person who can do it. So… are you game?”
Moses drew in a deep breath, then brought his head up to look at Cath. “Yeah.” He replied in a flat tone of voice. “Tell that weasel fucking son of a bitch he’s got his man.”
Ami looked over at her brother, who was still glaring at Cath. She finally caught his eye and cocked an eyebrow at him. He nodded in response. Looking around the table, she saw the same determined look on the faces of the rest of her friends. She turned back to Cath. “You can make that ‘his people’.”
Moses looked at her and smiled a somewhat sad smile. “Yeah. His people.” He pulled out his pcomp, accessed the restaurant, and ordered another pot of coffee, which rose obligingly out of the center of the table. He poured a steaming cup for himself and another for Ami, passed the pot down the table, and looked over at Cath.
“Okay. Let’s figure out how we’re going to do this.”
☼
“Very well. Let us determine how we’re going to do this.”
The throne room was hushed as the assembled group digested the Emperor’s statement. White light streamed through great arched windows that looked out over the teeming capital city.
Centered before the throne, in The Stand Of Enquiry, S’Nhu-gli cleared his throat. His midfeet grasped the railing firmly and he was able to avoid nervously grooming himself only by clasping his forefeet firmly together on top of them.
The Light Of The Daylight, The Inheritor Direct Of The Crown Of A’Sa-Men-thot, The Grand And Exalted One, Ruler And Sole Lord Of The Lands, Emperor K’arn-Aton-piy, turned his exalted Imperial mien toward him. After a long moment of silence, He Spoke.
“Oh. As if you’re going to have anything useful to say.”
Before he could stop them, S’Nhu-gli’s ears flattened back against his head. Only by sheer force of will was he able to straighten them again.
He looked up to the Emperor’s feet — that being the only part of him he was allowed to look at — and replied in a very polite tone of voice. “Sire. Your Eminence, brilliant light of a thousand stars…”
“Will you get on with it?”
“Oh. I mean, Oh! Of course, Sire. Your Eminence, brilliant… that is to say… Sire, we have to understand what an opportunity we have here.”
The Emperor pointed t
o himself, impolitely using a midfoot to do so. “No, We have to understand. And so far you haven’t made an extremely convincing point.”
S’Nhu-gli realized with horror that he had succumbed to instinct and was grooming himself. He quickly pulled his forefeet down, trapping them against the railing under his midfeet. He laughed nervously. “Yes. Of course, Sire. Very good point, of course. But…”
The Emperor sighed. “Somehow, I knew there was a ‘but’ in there.”
S’Nhu-gli pushed on. “Sire, this discussion has come up in the past, and I cannot argue differently from those who came before me.” He looked over toward the Emperor’s advisors. “We cannot destroy this device. Cannot. The Interloper has provided our scientists with information we never dreamed possible. These, these creatures, these ‘humaans’, are many, many generations ahead of us in technology. Obviously.”
“Of course it’s obvious, you kraat herding idiot. I can see that whenever I look at the sky.” The Emperor pointed out of toward the windows as an uneasy muttering rose from the crowd.
Wincing, S’Nhu-gli followed the pointing forefoot and looked out of the window. He shivered despite himself. Finally, he wrenched his gaze away from the dark arch that cut the sky in half and looked again at the Emperor’s feet.
After a long moment, the Emperor lowered his forefoot and gazed down at him. “You still contend that this was not a weapon?”
“No.” He shook his head, “I mean yes. Indeed not, Sire. Honestly, it makes no sense. It is an automaton-driven device. Who in their right mind would trust an act of war to an automaton, even ones as advanced as those on the Interloper?”
Mutters again broke out again, this time sounding a bit more favorable.
“Sire?” The voice came unexpectedly from the side. “The Priest makes a good point.”
“General?” The Emperor turned and cocked his head quizzically. “You agree with him?”
General K’har-atah rose up on his hindfeet and pushed his way to the front of the crowd of courtiers. He stopped by The Stand Of Enquiry, glanced dismissively at S’Nhu-gli, and turned back toward the throne. “No, Sire. Not on whether or not The Interloper is a weapon. It clearly is. I believe so, as did my Father. The Priest is an idiot to believe anything else…” He looked back over toward The Stand, “… no discourtesy intended.”
S’Nhu-gli bowed slightly toward the General. “Of course not.”
“Of course not.” He looked again toward the Emperor’s Throne. “But he argues against destroying The Interloper, and on this matter I do find myself ― amazingly ― in agreement with him.”
“Indeed?”
“Indeed, Sire.” He glanced over at the priest in the stand, then continued. “The Church has made great strides in studying The Interloper over the years, and I… in fact, the entire War Council… believe that only further study of it will provide us with the information we will sorely need when the Humaans themselves come.”
“No! Sire, no…” S’Nhu-gli was agitated enough to wave both his left forefoot and midfoot at the General. The General’s muzzle tightened at the breech of etiquette, but he said nothing. S’Nhu-gli shut his eyes and quickly breathed through The Prayer Of Reciprocation. Calmed, he locked his forefeet in front of him and turned toward the General.
“We of The Church do not believe that they are our enemies. We think that we can meet them peacefully. That is why we attempted to signal them.”
“A signal,” The General hissed, “That should have never been sent!”
“Stop!” The Emperor clapped his forefeet and midfeet together sharply. “We are talking of ancient history. My Father’s Father did what he believed to be correct in halting that transmission. For that matter, it’s what I believe, too. We should never have attempted contact until we had more information.”
“But Sire…” S’Nhu-gli looked back toward the throne. “How could we obtain more information if we didn’t try to contact them?”
“We will not have this discussion.” The Emperor commanded flatly.
“Of course, Sire.” S’Nhu-gli slumped. “But I do believe that they will be friendly.”
“Are you willing to bet your life on that, Priest?” The General leaned over and pitched his voice for him, alone. He pointed at the Emperor. “Are you willing to bet His?”
He sighed and looked over at the General. “No. No, of course not.”
The Emperor stayed above the byplay. He waited patiently until it was done, then spoke as if it had never occurred. “Very well, then, The Interloper will not be destroyed. We will allow The Church to continue study of the device, provided they allow The War Council full and complete access to all information. Agreed?”
“Yes, Sire.” The little priest replied, relieved.
The General glanced over at S’Nhu-gli before answering. “Of course, Sire.”
“Now, General.” The Emperor leaned back in his throne and regarded him. “Tell me about this warship you have built.”
“Before this ground breaking moment in cryonics history, anyone who was frozen was first required to be declared legally dead. It wasn’t as much a medical procedure at that point as ― depending on who you talked to ― either a last desperate roll of the dice or the world’s most expensive interment.
But Ralph Minskiy was different. He was the first human being to lie down on an operating table of his own free will and ask to be frozen as a last ditch measure against the cancer that was eating him alive. I have always wondered what was going through his mind as he went under.
So I’d like to welcome Ralph to our show tonight…”
Charlie Varis, host, on “Charlie Varis Interviews…”
“Pain. That’s the first thing I noticed. There was no pain.
I opened my eyes and saw a face. A beautiful face. An angel’s face. She smiled. And I looked into her eyes and asked ‘Is this Heaven?’
She leaned over and looked back into mine, and she placed her feather soft hand on my shoulder, and she whispered ‘Well, no. Actually, this is Pittsburg.’ “
H. James Hanson, from “A Frozen Pause”
Chapter 10
“In poverty and other misfortunes of life, true friends are a sure refuge. The young they keep out of mischief; to the old they are a comfort and aid in their weakness, and those in the prime of life they incite to noble deeds.”
Aristotle
“And that’s all you have?!?”
Grace winced at the tone in Valentine’s voice. The irony of the situation didn’t escape him, of course, but it did piss him off.
“At this point, yes sir. After the conversation, the subjects went to a restaurant, and…”
“I don’t want to hear excuses, Mister Grace. Excuses annoy me.”
“Of course, sir. Sorry, sir. I have no excuse, Mister Valentine.” He turned to look at his employer as he said the last, and immediately regretted it.
Grace had contacted Valentine upon leaving the surveillance center, and was instructed to immediately come over to his superior’s house to report in person.
On arrival, he’d discovered that Valentine was engaged in exercising, which for him involved instructing the gym ‘bot to put his body through the paces while he read. Grace had always found it a bit disconcerting to see someone’s limbs exercising vigorously while the head read a book, watched 3V or ― even worse ― slept.
Of course, it didn’t help that Valentine wore a nanomolecular sensor gridded exercise suit. It monitored all of his vital systems, protected his skin from abrasion and maintained his body at a constant temperature. Unfortunately, it was disconcertingly thin and clinging, revealing not only Valentine’s sex but quite possibly his religion.
The man’s sheer bulk didn’t help the matter, either. Grace, trapped behind Valentine as the bot’s programming pedaled
him mindlessly through the routine on the exercycle, couldn’t help but think of the phrase ‘two pigs fighting in a sack.’ Or to consider appending the words ‘a large sack’ to the end.
He shut his eyes and plowed on. “Still, sir, I believe we have enough evidence to be able to arrest them.”
“I don’t think so, yet, Mister Grace. That’s…”
“… just what they expect us to do?”
Valentine glared back over his shoulder.
Grace shrugged. “Sorry, sir, just trying to speed the conversation on. That is what you were going to say, wasn’t it?”
“Not… necessarily. End exercycle routine, begin standing routine.” Moving a bit woodenly, Valentine’s body rose from the cycle and lurched to the middle of the floor. He looked over at Grace as his body began doing jumping jacks. “I believe that. Our Mister Dunn. Is a patsy in this.”
“Have you considered the possibility, sir, that Dunn isn’t quite the idiot you think he is?” Grace was bobbing his head up and down, following the action along as he replied.
“No.” His voice came out in discreet huffs as the ‘bot bounced him through the routine. “Nor shall I. What. Was that phrase? Oh, yes. Pigs. Will fly. First. No, Mr. Grace, His. Strings are being. Pulled.”
“Deppner.”
“Precisely. I want you. To start an. Around the clock surveillance. On him, as well. I will see that. Your department has. The funds it needs to. Do so.”
“Um. Yes, sir.” Grace realized he was hypnotized and somewhat unsettled by the complex undulating movements under the all too revealing bodysuit. He looked away and swallowed, never happier to be hetero before in his entire life.
Valentine’s body finally stopped that particular exercise and its peculiarly staccato conversational style. The exercise program started him doing deep knee bends. Grace winced and looked away again quickly as Valentine continued speaking. “Bring me what I need on him, Mister Grace. I know he’s at the heart of his. That woman is not crafty enough, and Dunn’s not sober enough.”