Torian Reclamation 3: Test of Fortitude

by Andy Kasch

  A long silence ensued, during which Belle-ub appeared to be deliberating. Brandon knew that wasn’t good. If he didn’t instantly and naturally gravitate to Brandon’s cause, he could now only be thinking diplomatically. And that wasn’t going to rescue the last eighteen Earthlings. Brandon needed to derail him.

  “Belle-ub, your councilmember has not denied being responsible for the malicious poisoning—nor do I suspect he will attempt to deny it, knowing what witnesses we can produce. The atrocity of that crime alone is sufficient for his removal as the C2 representative, is it not?”

  Belle-ub’s eyes narrowed. He focused on Markin1, who fidgeted uncomfortably. That was good. Brandon was tempted to add something, but knew he had scored a point. So the best thing to do was wait for the reaction first. Finally, Markin1 spoke to defend himself.

  “What he refers to as ‘poison’ is, in reality, the complete opposite: a preservation agent. In my former profession I obeyed policies rather than help create them. We were given a project, which I dutifully followed to the best of my ability, even to the end of my assignment as I saw it falling apart around me from outside interference. The remaining research subjects are not lost, only preserved. In time, with proper attention and resource allocations, the type of which we are now reestablishing in many areas of the Science Complex, they can probably be safely resuscitated as well—assuming the research subjects come back under the care of trained scientists.”

  “Research subjects,” Brandon said. “You see how he refers to us, and what stature we hold in his eyes.”

  Belle-ub held up his hand. Brandon thought he looked like some medieval king who had heard enough and was about to pass judgment.

  “I am sympathetic with the plight of your fellow Earthlings, Brandon, and have only ever welcomed and accommodated them in all my encounters. If I could help you, I would. But this matter is out of my control. The councilmember you are in conflict with denies he possesses the ability to comply with your request, and professes a deeply-ingrained resistance to any kind of cooperation with you.”

  “You’re okay with a murderer continuing to serve in your council?”

  Belle-ub’s hand went up again. “I tend to agree with your adversary that such accusations are an exaggeration, though I understand the source of your emotions. Councilmember Markin1 is a representative in good standing, and is well-supported by a solid due process in his region for his appointment to this position. I cannot become involved in minor local squabbles, or the integrity of just representation may be compromised.”

  Brandon knew he had lost. He looked around the room with a long exhale before taking a final useless stab.

  “He blatantly poisoned 24 Earthlings, and would have poisoned them all had we not stopped him. There is now a significant population of Earthlings intermingled in Torian culture, which makes this more than a minor local squabble.”

  “Brandon,” Belle-ub said in a lower voice. “This Torian was abducted and kept asleep in the very same network for 25 years, at your hands. I would be in a much stronger position to come to your aide had you not already performed your own brand of rogue justice. As it stands, Continent-2 is undergoing a highly-desirable rebuilding phase, which Markin1 is an instrumental part of. I’m sorry, but that trumps your issue at the present time. We’re currently concerned with a much wider view of Torian society. I thank you for coming here today. If you truly become interested in placing another Earthling in the council, they will always be welcome. But I assume today is not that day.”

  Brandon shook his head. “Unfortunately, this issue has farther-reaching effects than you realize. I regret having to put you in the middle of it, Belle-ub. But by taking his side, you are alienating the Torian human population, and, more significantly, all who are sympathetic to our cause. Such a division Markin1 couldn’t be happier to see. Tulros.”

  Brandon turned and walked out a defeated man. Just before exiting, however, he heard Markin1’s voice call after him.

  “Give our regards to the High General.”

  Brandon spun back around. He could now see Belle-ub glaring down at Markin1, obviously upset at his audacity. Brandon realized the best thing he could do at this point was vanish from their sight. So he did. There was at least one small victory at the end, thanks to Markin1’s unchecked ego. That was a weakness. It could well be his undoing.

  *

  “Extat Brandon, you know I want to help you. But what can I do? Put yourself in my position and honestly ask yourself that.”

  “What about a team of commandos?”

  The cigar fell out of Olut6’s mouth. Brandon couldn’t tell whether he was about to yell or laugh.

  “To hang him upside down and poke him with sticks until he releases the formula,” Brandon added.

  The High General didn’t laugh. He put his unlit cigar back in his mouth, and picked his lightpad up off his desk.

  “I can lend you one or two guards on unofficial leave, as usual. You’ll have to put the rest of that team together yourself. How exactly you choose to persuade your old scientist rival is your business. But I would advise you not to make outright enemies with Belle-ub.” Olut6 tapped on his lightpad and the large screen behind his desk lit up with a galactic map.

  “I remember when you didn’t give a pyrus about how Belle-ub felt,” Brandon said.

  “Still don’t.” The galactic map on the wall began zooming through the Erobian Sphere until it reached the outer edge, where it stopped. “But I’ve come to appreciate the benefits of his over-ambition.”

  Brandon cocked his head. “Such as?”

  “Intelligence.” Olut6 swung in his chair as some of the stars on the large map-view turned red. “That crazy red Sheen has provided us with an invaluable source of intelligence. And because it’s well-known that we don’t get along, no one suspects him of feeding me information. I couldn’t have designed a more beautiful setup if I tried.”

  “Is he feeding you information?”

  “Of course not. We have to get it the old fashioned way, with plants and agents, like everyone else. But instead of having to go out across the galaxy snooping around in dangerous places where we aren’t wanted, we now have a constant supply of it coming to Amulen. I hate to admit it, but that annual tournament of his, and the new financial center drawing all this interstellar traffic—well, it’s a blessing I never could have foreseen.”

  “What about this station?” Brandon asked. “It’s now getting an impressive flow of alien visitors as well.”

  Olut6 nodded. “Yes, since Cardinal-5 officially opened the governor has certainly been busy with guests. Like this fellow he wants us to come up and meet for some extat reason. But that kind of diplomatic traffic is worthless to military intelligence. The tables are turned—they all come with the intention of sniffing us out.”

  Olut6 tapped on his lightpad again and the map on the wall adjusted views one last time, zooming closer on the inhabited star systems at the far edge of the sphere.

  “No,” Olut6 continued, “you don’t gather intelligence playing mind games with diplomats. You get it from the sloppy, the drunk, the greedy; the very dregs of society sometimes. You get it when they’re off their guard, not thinking about politics or war. That’s part of the reason we’re the dominant force in the sphere now, and in the enviable position of no longer having to wait for our enemies to come here in order to engage them.”

  “Have we many enemies left?” Brandon asked. “With the successful Latia campaign, the surrendering of their fleet without a fight, and the rumors of the light weapon—it all seems to have put the fear of Erob in everyone when it comes to us. And they all know we’ve tripled the size of our military in the last five years.”

  “One enemy is all it takes.” The lightheartedness of Olut6’s voice left. “They’re still out there, and we still don’t know who they are. But we’re picking up clues here and there. Tora is anything but safe.”

  “I guess that attitude is why you’re still the High
General.” Brandon looked closer at the map on the wall. “And now I perceive you’re going to give me some reasons why you expect the unknown dark-ship enemy to be lurking along the outer rim of the sphere somewhere.”

  “And your exceptional perception is why you’re still my top unofficial advisor. You see the systems marked in red?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’ve all stopped coming to the annual polwar tournament.”

  “You find that suspicious?”

  “Yes. Do you?”

  Brandon thought for a moment. “Yes. That tournament is the marquee event in the sphere. The game is too addicting to quit. The tournament is structured attractively and the stadium sells out months in advance. I’m surprised any invited races would decline after witnessing even one contest there. How many other worlds have also stopped attending, besides these you have highlighted along the outer edge?”

  “None. Like you said, it’s what they live for now. These are the only ones who’ve discontinued with it.”

  Brandon nodded. “And they’re all located in remote areas along this fringe. That does seem odd. How many are there? Not counting Latia, of course.”

  “Not counting Azaar or Latia, four. Azaar is also an interesting situation. They’ve never attended, despite having been invited every year and assured of forgiveness from that attack by their rebels thirty years ago. Last year I even sent my own personal recorded video along with Belle-ub’s messenger, officially welcoming them.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “To see if I could further confirm my suspicions.”

  “And their failure to show did that?”

  “In an undeniable way,” Olut6 said. “The Dirgs are the only race along this outer edge that continues to visit us.”

  “Well, the Dirgs are now a close friend and military ally of Tora.”

  “Correct.” Olut6 pointed his cigar at the screen. “Which is exactly why I suspect they’ll be the next target of the dark enemy.”

  Brandon cocked his head at that statement. Olut6 turned from the screen enough to notice it.

  “Look, Brandon. I’ve been sending reconnaissance missions to various spots in this region for the past year—sometimes a squadron of ITF1’s, sometimes fully-armed transport fleets—to make appearances, sense reactions, and generally scout things out. Conditions are not what I consider normal for advanced races anywhere except Dirg.”

  “How so, General?”

  “Too quiet. These worlds on the screen in red, the ones that stopped coming to the tournament. I can send a dozen transport ships escorted by three squadrons of ITF1’s in a slow approach right up into orbit and get no reaction. No fighters scramble, no one comes out to greet us or see what we want. The only one of these worlds that continues to assume a defensive posture upon approach is Azaar.”

  “The infection,” Brandon muttered.

  Olut6 turned to fully face Brandon. “I find it unlikely game addiction is responsible for all this.”

  “I don’t, General.”

  “I know how you feel about it. But the fact is these worlds have all had the game for decades, yet still remained at least somewhat active in their space programs, including participation in the first tournaments on Amulen.”

  “It can’t be anything but,” Brandon said. “I can sense it. I know it. As long as this game continues, the danger to the galaxy remains. The rebuilding of Amulen rests on a fragile foundation. And the infection remains at Banor’s doorstep.”

  “Brandon, where did polwar originate from?”

  Brandon looked back at the screen. “We’ve always assumed Azaar.”

  “Is that what you believe? What you sense?”

  Brandon eyes went out of focus. “No. It comes from an evil force somewhere.”

  “Now that, you may be surprised to learn, I fully agree with.” Olut6 stood up. “Let’s go. The governor and his guest are expecting us.”

  Brandon followed Olut6 out of his office and through the newly-refurbished REEP bunker. As they waited for the special lift that led to the governor’s manor, Brandon looked around.

  “General, I must commend you on the job you’ve done here. I feel safer than I ever have before—not only on this station, but at my home as well. Should the dark enemy return, I’m certain they’ll find you well-prepared.”

  “Humph.” Olut6 took his still-unlit cigar out of his mouth. “If they come back, they’ll find our defenses a lot tougher, that’s for sure—and they’ll have their hands full with dozens of new ITF1’s to contend with, not to mention a conventional fighter fleet twice the size of the last one they met. Plus a few more surprises.”

  “Interesting,” Brandon said.

  “Why is that? You’re already privy to most of our military secrets.” The lift arrived and Olut6 stepped inside. Brandon followed him in.

  “Interesting you said they’d meet a conventional fighter fleet twice that of the last one they fought here. Since we’ve tripled it in size, that must mean you have one-third of our conventional military forces deployed in foreign space. And I’m guessing it’s along the outer rim.”

  Olut6 pushed a button in the lift and they started moving, ever-so-gently.

  “You’re making misguided assumptions based on my impulsive choice of words. I wouldn’t do that. Not wise. But please consider your misguided assumptions classified.”

  Brandon only smiled in response.

  Minutes later, they arrived in one of Governor Mip7’s new conference rooms. This was a smaller one meant for intimate, less-formal gatherings. Two aliens were seated at a round moriglass table along with Mip7. Off to the side was a minibar responsible for the smell of coffee and warm biscuits. Video screens on the back wall showed the space outside the station, which portrayed one moored ship that could only belong to the aliens.

  Brandon recognized one of the aliens. It was Trodenjo the Mparian, whom he briefly spoke with in the barter market outside the currency exchange on Amulen. What a stroke of luck. Now Brandon would have the opportunity to learn more about him.

  When Mip7 finished introducing everyone, Trodenjo confessed that he and Brandon had already met. Brandon laughed at the resulting cocked heads simultaneously appearing on top of Olut6 and Mip7’s thick leather necks. He explained their earlier encounter. That seemed excuse enough for Mip7 to retrieve a round of Redflower20 from the bar.

  When they had all taken their drinks, Trodenjo expressed a great appreciation for Redflower20. He lamented over its controlled supply preventing it from becoming a potential interstellar trade good.

  “You’re not the first visitor who wished for a supply to take home,” Mip7 said. “We can probably round up a case for you as a parting gift.”

  The visitors were thankful for the gesture. Trodenjo’s companion’s name was Shaldan. They both claimed to hold 100% civilian status on their home world, a fact they seemed oddly proud of. Shaldan held a device that looked similar to a Torian lightpad, apparently turned off at the moment as it was only an empty frame.

  Olut6’s interest was sparked upon learning that the visitors were civilians.

  “Governor,” he said, “in all your years as a foreign relations delegate, have you ever entertained pure civilians before?”

  “No,” Mip7 said. “In some cases, appointed ambassadors were former civilians, but their appointments changed their status. That’s one reason I wanted both of you to meet my guests. Mpar is embarking on a unique project I think you should be aware of.”

  Trodenjo then explained the nature of their operation. The Measure, the long v-hulled ship currently moored outside the station, was one of six new interstellar commercial ventures commissioned by their government. All six vessels were identical. Brandon found their design interesting, as they used two torus-shaped distortion drive generators positioned next to each other around the center of the ship’s hull.

  Olut6 was more concerned with what was on the inside. Trodenjo went over their staffing configuration. Each of t
he six commercial vessels was a civilian/military partnership. As such, private investors funded 60% of each project. The Mparian government contributed the other 40%, and, correspondingly, retained a 40% stake in the venture. Therefore, 40% of the personnel on board were also military, including navigators, fighter pilots, and defense technicians. The Measure carried fifty fighter craft in addition to formidable stationary defense systems. Trodenjo emphasized, however, that it was their sincerest desire they would never have to use any of it.

  “We typically find that the worlds we approach are not threatened by a single vessel,” Trodenjo said. “And the ship is intentionally designed to not have the appearance of a warship. We still come prepared for a fast exit, of course. Our communications systems are state of the art, so we can establish talks from orbit if necessary. When they learn we are mainly interested in purchasing their goods, they usually receive us and are willing to discuss business. After the buying relationship is established, we then let them browse our catalog of available trade goods and profile them as potential customers in our further product development. It’s a long process. We’ve been at this for a little more than a year now, by our calendar, and are beginning to see success.”

  “Very interesting,” Olut6 said. “Where is your ship’s territory?”

  Shaldan activated his lightpad-like device and showed them all a screen with a galactic map that placed Tora at the near side. The Measure had been operating in a section of the sphere between Tora and the outer edge.

  “Have you noticed any concentrated pockets of resistance to your efforts?” Olut6 asked.

  “Only at the far points,” Trodenjo replied. “As those worlds are more isolated, we assume it is natural for them to shy away from interstellar trade relations. But not all. Dirg was receptive to us. We learned of your close friendship with them there.”

  Brandon could see the wheels spinning above the High General’s head.

  “Tell him about HD28,” Mip7 said.

  Olut6’s brow furled and he leaned forward over the table.