by Jim Rudnick
"Done, Sir, and it's a plain old nothing," Rizzo said as the screen in front of him flashed green, and he closed down the buoy Audit and marked it as complete.
"Mechanical says there's eleven percent equipment failures and also that there appears to be a missing LRD counter too," Greelay added and passed the newly printed report over to the Marwick's XO, Craig Templeton, who was to the right of the captain.
The XO studied the freshly filled-in form and said, "Aye, Captain, we're ready to match with the buoy," and he signed off on the form returning it to his station hard-copy archive.
Tanner nodded.
"Okay, Helm ... take us in at half-impulse, and let's get the logs and replacements for those dead items, and see if we've got an LRD counter too," Tanner said and watched as his bridge crew got busy. He slurped his double-double and drained the cup. In an hour or so, the first of the twelve boundary buoys he was charged in refitting and repairing would be done ... and it'd be on to number two about five days away ... and on and on ...
Filling his cup again, he stood with his back to the bridge view screen and stirred in the sugar. Almost 100 days spent on this “mission” was 100 days he'd never get back ... but then the Scotch helped. Helped a lot in fact. It would help as soon as he left the bridge and then through the night. Always helped, Tanner reasoned and dropped the spoon into the tray.
"Bull," he said, "call down to the stewards, and let's get some fresh coffee up here stat! And XO, can we see if we can't cut down the times tween buoys ... don't know how, but then that's what XOs are famous for, right?" he said, looking over at Commander Templeton who sat at the Tactical station in charge of weaponry and security for the Marwick.
Templeton grinned at Tanner.
"Sir, can only get the candle to go so fast on one Perseus engine. Now, if we had her modified like the Duke's cruiser, then it'd be a hasty mission. But can't do that, now can we?" he said with a bit of exasperation in his voice. He, like the rest of the crew, knew their captain was paying for his innovative tactics of staging the mutiny to help defeat the Pirates, but like the crew, he considered it a vacation.
Not punitive, his XO said when he'd heard the mission news, and more than that, he stated it's a reward, Tanner remembered as he sipped his fresh coffee and turned to his console to begin finishing off reports on boundary buoy number one. They moved off under power to finish with the first stop on their mission. Boundary buoy number two is next ... and then the next, and the next ... he resolved himself to be bored for months and took another sip wishing it was Scotch but realizing that would not happen for a few hours more ...
#
Still two days out of Novertag and twelve days from Abstract, the Sterling moved along under her TachyonDrive. The trip was as routine as always, the Lady St. August thought as she toyed with her stylus at her seat on the bridge.
As always, the crew was on their best and most polite, but by-the-book procedures were followed as she sat among them. The Sterling's captain, a seasoned veteran who'd been in the Comm chair for almost five years on her frigate, was trying to get her attention, but she made him wait. She was the Royal not him. So he waited as she spun the stylus first one way then the other ... noting that if she spun it by using her thumb instead of her forefinger, it spun faster. And longer.
"Lady St. August?" the captain gently interrupted her reverie.
She turned to face him and kept her face impassive.
"Captain Flannery, what is it?" she said, her tone indicating that yes, he had interrupted her and yes, that was not a good thing to do to a Royal. Ever.
He flushed a tad and squirmed in his Comm chair. He knew about Royals and he knew better, she thought, so this should be good.
An experienced Barony Navy man of almost seventy years, Flannery was mature, capable and yet realized that Royals were a thing unto themselves.
He dipped his head and spoke softly, "Lady, we're a bit less than two days away from Novertag, and we're supposed to await their Security ship to take us in ... which is why we've dropped out of FTL and are waiting ... that's what has always been procedure. But we've not been contacted yet. This is unusual, Ma’am." He finished off, "We've been laid up for over an hour ... just sitting here and broadcasting ..."
They'd spent thirty-seven days since leaving Juno to get to Abstract on what could only be called a badly envisioned make-work Ambassador program—checking each and every single Confederacy member’s landing ports. From Customs, to Health, to Immigration, the job she had been given by her stepmother, the full Baroness, was at best a waste of time. Leaving there only ten days ago, they now lay two days off Novertag, the next stop in her Confederacy-wide survey, and now, according to her captain, they were stalled.
And he was right, she knew. No matter which of the member planets anyone approached within the RIM Confederacy, the SOP was that you were always met by the member's Security forces—a ship always guided you into the planet or the worlds within.
Within her Barony, she knew her EliteGuards would intercept at least three days away from their borders—and even here coming into Novertag at almost the inner edge of the Confederacy, they should have been met by someone at some point ...
"Might perhaps an Ansible help out here?" she posed to her captain, guessing the answer before he spoke.
He nodded and then glanced at his Comm console for verification.
"Yes, Ma’am, we've done that for the last twenty-one hours and no reply. No answer on normal frequencies. And we have no idea as to why." He paused and looked at her directly. "With your permission, Ma’am, I'd like to advance to the planet and see what might be going on—and why we were not intercepted. Novertag is one of our ... well ... one of our less fortunate members, but they still have two frigates in their Navy, Ma’am ..." he said, with only a hint of meekness.
She threw the stylus against the far wall, and it smashed into the side viewport with a clang.
"Captain, I am of the Royal Barony bloodline, and as such, I demand—the Barony demands—that we are treated with all due deference and respect. Novertag is not 'less fortunate' but in fact, the poorest member of the RIM Confederacy, and as such, if I find that they have 'ignored' our entry into their space, then heads will roll. Do you understand me, Captain Flannery?" she shouted out at him.
He nodded and put up both hands, palms toward her like a supplicant, knowing better than to ever answer such a tirade.
She stood and marched over to the Ansible officer on duty and stabbed his shoulder with a long finger-nailed forefinger.
"Lieutenant, I want you to Ansible them one more time that we either get clearance to enter their space immediately—or you will tell them that we're simply coming in. Make sure that you copy that message to their ... what, their Secretariat I think it's called, and I mean STAT, Lieutenant," she said forcefully and moved to the lift to leave the bridge.
"Captain," she said from the opening door, "this is a major affront to the Barony. I want answers ..." she said as she turned and went into the lift.
Her captain turned and shrugged his shoulders.
Nodding to his Ansible officer, he said, "Aye, Lieutenant, send that stat. And Helm, we leave for Novertag in five minutes so plot and lay in a course, most direct and quickest!"
He liked the bridge as would any captain when he was the power and not as much when the Lady St. August was there ... so he waited the few last minutes and "Ayed" the query from the Helm to take her in. Protocol be damned, he thought.
Meanwhile down on Deck Seventeen, the lift door opened, and the Lady strode out and marched down to her Adept officer's quarters. She knew she'd be expected, so the open door was not a surprise, and she strode in and sat on the edge of her Issian Adept's bed.
Facing her, on the only other seat in the room, Gillian sat and looked at her Royal and smiled.
"Yes, my Lady, how can I help you?" she said quietly.
"I want to know more, if you are able to find out for me, about where this Captain Scott
is now and what his current mission might be. I know that the admiral has sent him off to some place or backwater, and I want you to find out why and what he is up to. This would be a—well, a quiet request, Gillian, and that means, as you know, that I do not want others to know. Understood?" she finished off and looked directly at her Adept officer.
They're supposed to be able to do whatever they're asked, the Lady reasoned, and judging by what had happened in the past few months, she knew this would be well within her Issian’s powers. From Eons, the Issians were the single alien race within the RIM Confederacy that had the power to be able to read minds, at least of a sort. Many entered the RIM Navy to become, upon graduation, a full-fledged Navy officer and serve as the Adept officer to the ship.
Some, like her own Gillian, had not gone through the Naval Academy to graduate but instead had been courted by her father, the Baron, to come and become a member of the Baronial family. So while Helena thought of Gillian as her own Adept officer, in fact, the Issian was more of a family member than a ship's officer, and so she carried no rank at all.
Gillian nodded.
"Understood, my Lady. And I will begin on this immediately," she added and bowed her head slightly.
The Lady nodded in agreement and stood to leave.
"In fact, Lady St. August, they are on their way here right now," Gillian reported with only a mere hint of satisfaction in her voice. She knew where most of the Navy ships were at any one time all across the RIM and therefore knew the Marwick was only five days out making time to Novertag space on her own.
"Excellent, Gillian ... then we'll meet on Novertag as we do our own survey, and I can't wait to meet up with him again."
Helena moved out of the Adept's quarters toward port and the lift back up to her own quarters. She would meet him in a few days ... this was a chance not to be wasted, she decided and set her mind to figure out what she could do to embarrass him, to injure his reputation even more. No one like this drunk should ever command a starship. She knew she was right. Now, just to prove it ...
CHAPTER TWO
Fifteen miles due north of the city of Dessau, the Issian Master Adept stared out at the bleak landscape of Eons and wondered what had made this such a forsaken planet.
Seared plains and small foothills rimmed the city, and beyond them lay more of the same for as far as the eye could see. In fact, here on the southern hemisphere, on the largest continent on Eons, those hills ran more than 4,000 miles running east-to-west mostly but occasionally creating canyons and even smaller buttes and mesas. For the most part, no one lived from here to the western sea; Dessau was the farthest city on the continent, and it lay among those hills too.
Scrub brush coated the hills but not a tree could be seen ... the soil was so pitifully poor that such hardy vegetation could not grow. Some of the brush was brown, and still more was that parched orange rust color that came from scorched weather patterns that plagued the planet. For almost three generations, the ground had been able to support less and less vegetation, and crops had long since died. No matter what kind of fertilizers had been developed, the land could not grow enough food to support the people of Eons.
It had not always been so; records going back ten centuries showed that once this had been a fertile continent, with many farms and cities and commerce too. Towns had sprung up and prospered centuries ago, and the whole region was known to be an agricultural success.
But as every Issian knew, the change in their blue sun with its varying radiation meant that for almost three centuries now, droughts came and the soil dried up, as did the economy, and the farmers left the soil and fled to the cities and towns.
The giant blue star that Eons revolved around was young. It was still trying to find a balance, the scientists said, and the radiation would be dynamic for a while, and then eventually decrease, the climate would settle, and agriculture could begin again. To support themselves, the people of Eons had done what anyone else would have done; they found ways to trade what they could for food and commerce.
That was the one single reason the RIM Confederacy Navy had been asked a century ago to come to Eons to start up their Navy Academy, where they trained officers and enlisted men for duty. The RIM Navy paid for that, and that helped support the planet via taxes and surcharges on on-world traffic not to mention the incomes from the more than 1,000 Navy personnel that lived and worked on Eons.
But more than that, when the Navy had learned about the Issian abilities to almost read minds, to mind-link faster than an Ansible could reach—the planet's fortunes soared. Every single Navy Adept officer that graduated from the Academy and took duty on a starship brought more success and fortunes to both the Issian faith as well as to the family of the officer. While it had never been studied, the Master knew that only one in more than 100 Issians could qualify for that duty; these few were truly the best and brightest of the Issian abilities. The Issian treasury grew exponentially as each graduating class had many many Adept officers who now wore the black and blue.
She shook her head and looked up for a moment at the huge blue shining star that dominated the Eon sky. Perhaps one day, she thought, our blue sun would find balance ... She sighed not so much as an answer, but as a hope that she would live long enough to see crops growing again from her window.
She could still see the ruins of a farm just a few miles away, the barn leaning sickly and the farmhouse without a roof. Past that, the previously orderly corrals and paddock fences held a rail or two, but for the most part, they looked like they had been left to deteriorate for years. She knew the view a hundred miles or a thousand miles down the valley would be the same, long forsaken farms and buildings and the detritus of a once flourishing farming community ... and that could be seen mile after mile.
No matter where one went, the view of the lack of climate favorable to agriculture would be ongoing. Such was the way that the area around Dessau was now and had been for almost three centuries. Such, she was sure, it would always be until the blue sunlight changed and the radiation balanced so as to allow things to grow.
Turning away from the window in the chocolate-colored tower centered in the Issian village, the Master Adept walked over the small seating area near the far wall and sat quietly. A few moments later, she clasped her hands together, and suddenly she was not alone.
Around her sat the Issian Congress, other Adepts from around the globe, and yes, even two who were off-world, all linked together as only Adepts could manage using their ability to mind-link together mentally. Only the most capable of Issians could even consider using the mind link meet-up, and for most, the ability was beyond their capabilities. And this was the topic at hand ...
"Master," said the Adept who spoke from her spot on board the Skoali orbiting Leudi, "I, like many here, have measured your request, and I have trouble accepting why you want this to happen." She bowed her head but only slightly as if to negate the fact there was any difference between, them even though there was, and then she continued.
"We feel—as do I'm sure many others here—that the advancement of a junior Adept to include the ability to mind-link is almost without precedent. Or for that matter, perhaps it's not even possible. Or perhaps as we have learned in the past, it may overtax his competences and instead earn him exile from Eons ..." She bowed then much more deeply and kept her head down, her eyes averted.
The Master Adept waited for a moment before answering, her argument already formed and sure. She looked around her circle and made sure to get eye contact with each and every member of the Congress before she spoke.
"It is—as Adept Dadana said—something that I now pose to you all that we have only ever attempted a few times before. In one single case only, a new Adept, a youngster really, was able to accept our link ... and grow ... and prosper."
She turned to the mind that was to her immediate left-hand side and smiled at Adept Sulis, who had been that youngster decades ago. She accepted his smile and turned back to the group mind.
"We also have, yes, had some—a very few mind you—only a handful of issues with other attempts, and that as you know has been 'handled' as good as anyone can hope for ..." she said as she thought of their lost causes.
The Eons moon named Tavira was only barely civilized if you could call it that, she supposed. Yes, there were some mining concerns, and there was a RIM Navy station on the far side in the capital city of Aporia with over 30,000 inhabitants.
And of those 30,000 souls, six were Adepts, kept in a wing in the Academy—at least it was called a "Ward," she recalled, but perhaps a secure facility would be closer. Or maybe a lockdown ... no matter. As long as they were there and shielded, they could not hurt themselves—or others.
The Master Adept nodded to the minds around her and went on.
"We must consider the reason for this—as other Congresses in the past have considered their own needs. We need someone who can help us with the sleeper ship that now invades our Confederacy. We need someone who can report back, who can carry out our needs, and to do that, they must be able to mind-link. I know of no other way—and in this case—no other Adept that we can enlist in this undertaking."
She then went around the circle again staring at each of these Adepts that were the very top echelon of the Issian faith. Each stared back, and then in turn, some quickly and some slowly, they all eventually bowed to their Master in agreement.
She thanked them all, then broke the mind-link, stood up, and walked to the windows to stare once again at the brown landscape below.
#
"Sir," the steward said, "may I... uh ... make a suggestion, Sir?"
XO Templeton looked at the man and thought one word only. Damn.
He nodded to the steward, and then glancing around, he moved down the corridor and away from the lift he was waiting for to answer his Up button. Down here on Deck Sixteen lay the shuttle bays and supplies for their mission and was a place he knew the Marwick stewards never went. No stewards needed to come to this deck, as there weren’t any duties here among the cavernous bays that held shuttles and boundary buoy supplies. He took the steward’s arm to stop the man from speaking and moved well away from the central core of the ship.