The True Measure (Terran Armor Corps Book 3)

by Richard Fox

  “They figured that out too fast,” Ibanez said. “Wexil’s engaging in theater, as always.”

  “I will remind you all,” Wexil said, “that the key provision of the Hale Treaty—the agreement that governs the known sentient races in the galaxy and this body—is that the humans abandon their procedural-generation technology. They agreed,” he said, turning toward Gideon and Ibanez’s pod and pointing a six-clawed hand at them. “They agreed almost ten years ago. Earth has violated the Hale Treaty. There can be no denying this.”

  More and more ambassador posters appeared around the edge, all demanding to speak.

  Ibanez stepped into the circle and appeared in front of Wexil on the dais.

  “On behalf of the Terran Union, we thank the Vishrakath for bringing this to our attention,” Ibanez said. “Any violation of Vishrakath territory is regrettable and was not carried out at the behest of my government.” She swallowed hard and glanced at Gideon.

  “As for this…evidence of yours,” she said, “we must examine it ourselves. Our scientists are not as…astute when it comes to the biology of other members. I must assume that the Vishrakath suffer the same difficulties.”

  “DNA is the building block of life across the galaxy,” Wexil said. “None here have ever encountered life composed of anything but these same components. All would reach the same conclusion.”

  “But only humans have ever utilized the procedural-generation system,” Ibanez said. “Any anomalies you’ve detected could be the result of exposure to radiation, fire…any number of things. We must examine this evidence ourselves. The definitive answer can come only from Earth.”

  “An answer you wouldn’t wish to share with the Congress,” Wexil said. “The truth, and it will be laid bare, is that the Terrans have broken the treaty. As per the treaty, the charter for your colony worlds would be revoked…expulsion from this body may even be necessary.”

  “Only if the evidence you claim to have is legitimate,” Ibanez said.

  “I am confident in what we’ve recovered,” Wexil said. “Stalling only makes your guilt more obvious.”

  “You have too much faith in your own conclusions,” a new voice said. A long-limbed alien with coal-black scales and a wild mane of spikes around its long-snouted head appeared on the dais—a Haesh. The species always struck Gideon as the nightmare version of the Dotari.

  “Ambassador Fengarra, you have not been recognized,” Wexil said.

  “The Haesh mission currently holds the premiership of this council,” the ambassador said. “Given the…interest in this event, I’m exercising my authority. The ship you captured does not match any recorded Terran vessel. This begs a number of questions.”

  “Human aesthetics are of no concern to the Vishrakath,” Wexil said.

  “I have one with me who can speak to this,” Ibanez said. Fengarra scratched at the ground and a text box appeared next to the ambassador reading PROCEED.

  Ibanez stepped out of the circle and Gideon took her place. The view around him altered, changing his point of view to stand on the dais so close to Wexil that he could see the creases in the flesh around his black, oval-shaped eyes.

  “I am First Lieutenant Jonas Gideon of the Terran Armored Corps,” he said. The Haesh reached back and touched the base of its own skull, reacting to the implant on Gideon’s body. “The ship you encountered is not of the Terran Union, but of another faction, one that rebelled against Earth and vanished almost five years ago. They operate beyond our control and our laws. They are traitors to their home world and they will be brought to justice.”

  “Another human convenience,” Wexil said. “First, they call into question our findings, then they set themselves up to be apart from any responsibility once their culpability in violating the Hale Treaty becomes undeniable. Earth cannot go unpunished for this.”

  “Earth did not cause this. Earth is not responsible for this,” Gideon said. He stood up a bit straighter, eyeing Wexil.

  “Humans signed the Hale Treaty,” Wexil said. “Your representative spoke on behalf of your entire species. There is no separation.”

  “Your narrow view is wrong,” Gideon said. Wexil’s back legs gripped at the ground while the fore legs lifted up and down rapidly. Gideon wasn’t exactly familiar with Vishrakath body language, but if he had to guess, he’d say Wexil was growing agitated. “There was a rebellion. Honored soldiers and sailors abandoned their oaths and followed a pair of traitors into deep space. Since then, they have attacked Earth’s ships, killed her soldiers and sailors, and taken captives. The Ibarras act on their own.”

  Gideon heard Ibanez breathe in through her teeth. They’d agreed to release the identity of the rebel leaders before the conference began. The Congress’s reaction to the news would be telling.

  Around the dais, the number of ambassadors wishing to speak dropped off to only a handful. Gideon wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign.

  “The Ibarras?” Wexil asked. “You expect us to believe that the two chief leaders of Earth have gone rogue? Stacey Ibarra was once your ambassador to this body. She was Earth’s strongest voice throughout what you call the Ember War, and you suggest that she is somehow acting against the Hale Treaty? This is ridiculous. That Earth would send one of their armored warriors here to lie to us is—”

  “Silence!” Gideon shouted. The word echoed through the chamber. His face flushed red as anger roiled through him. He gripped his fists beside his waist and would have charged Wexil had the alien actually been mere yards away. The ambassador shrank against himself.

  “She is a traitor,” Gideon said. “I have seen her with my own eyes, leading her confederates after assaulting my own soldiers. What you knew of her is gone. She has either fallen to madness or a lust for power. Her actions are hers and hers alone. Not of Earth. Not of humanity. The Terran Union will find her and bring her to account. You have my word on that.”

  Gideon turned around, letting the entire chamber see his plugs.

  “I am armor! And by my honor and my oath, I will not rest until the Ibarras are dead or in prison.” Gideon turned his head back to Wexil. “No one will stop me. No one will stop the Armor Corps from bringing justice to the Ibarras. Do not get in our way.”

  Wexil’s head stretched up, blood vessels visible beneath the almost-translucent skin of his neck.

  “Then you will want to know where the Ibarras are hiding…won’t you?” Wexil asked.

  Ibanez tugged at Gideon’s arm, but it was like trying to move a statue.

  “Get out of the way,” she hissed. “Let me handle this.”

  Gideon stepped to one side and Ibanez took his place.

  “Any information you have regarding the Ibarras will be appreciated,” she said.

  “No doubt…” Wexil’s hand wavered up and down and a wall of text appeared overhead. “I remind you—I remind all signatories to the Hale Treaty—of the Omega Provision.”

  Ibanez froze, her eyes widening ever so slightly.

  “I am aware of it,” she said softly.

  “The what?” Gideon asked. Ibanez raised the fingers of one hand toward him.

  “Then you will act in full accord, naturally.” Wexil glanced up and a star map of the galaxy formed. A single dot appeared in the Perseus arm, near the galaxy’s edge. “Before this meeting, Vishrakath operatives tracked the Ibarras to here, a tertiary world barely habitable by any of our members and in the neutral zone between the Kroar and Mendesan spheres of influence.”

  “We’ll need to examine—”

  “You’ll have no excuses this time,” Wexil said. “The Crucible gate logs are quite clear. How long until Earth acts, proves that it will honor its agreements in the Hale Treaty—every word of the treaty?”

  “I’ll see that this information is returned to Earth immediately,” she said. Gideon watched as sweat formed on her brow. “While the Ibarras are a priority to us, we must discuss a new, and far more concerning threat. The Kesaht.”

  Wexil’s h
ead bucked like an angry horse’s.

  “Raids by this new species are of little concern compared to the threat from humans using banned technology,” Wexil said. “Earth is in violation of the Hale Treaty. As per the treaty, you have ninety of your days to come into full compliance. To include the Omega Provision.”

  “Earth does not accept responsibility for this.” Ibanez’s fists pressed against her hips. “The action of a rogue faction and unverified autopsies are not enough.”

  “The matter will be revisited,” the Haesh said. “An examination by a neutral third party is in order. The Xin’Tik perhaps?”

  “Earth will accept the Haesh’s analysis,” Ibanez said, somewhat relieved.

  “Every moment this body refuses to act against the humans gives them more time to build up a fighting force with their illegal technology,” Wexil said. “Bringing them into compliance later only makes the task harder.”

  “The Terran Union will adhere to the Hale Treaty,” Ibanez said. “Every word.”

  The black claw tips on Wexil’s fingers tapped against each other.

  “Then there is the matter of the illegal colony,” he said.

  “We will remove it,” Ibanez said, “with all force necessary.”

  “And you will accept observers to ensure your good faith is confirmed,” Wexil said.

  “We will welcome the Ruhaald to accompany our task force,” Ibanez said.

  “Unacceptable.” Wexil’s hands rose over his head and fell to his sides. “You have a military alliance with them. They are disinclined to provide this body the whole truth.”

  “What is unacceptable is your insult, Vishrakath,” said an ambassador as it appeared on the dais. The Ruhaald was stoop-shouldered and its lower body ended in a fleshy tail. With the long feeder tentacles in place of the mouth and overly long fingers, it looked like a horrible cross between a manatee and a squid. The Ruhaald floated slightly off the dais, swimming in its ambassador pod. Gideon had never seen one in person, but he understood why those who’d been on maneuvers with the species called them Cthulhus.

  “Ambassador Darcy,” Wexil said, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  “No doubt,” Darcy said. “The Ruhaald will accompany the Terrans to the Ibarra colony. We have our own concerns over the Ibarras’ actions.”

  “Will you concede the point?” Fengarra asked Wexil.

  “I demand a roll-call vote,” the Vishrakath said.

  Ibanez stepped away from the projection circle and went to a holo panel that lit up on the wall. Text and pictures of Wexil and Darcy came up and she touched the Ruhaald and the border glowed blue.

  “Bastard always wants a vote,” Ibanez said.

  “What is the Omega Provision?” Gideon asked.

  “Hush.” She moved to the front of the pod and tugged at her lip as red and blue tick marks appeared over the dais…and the great mass of blue for the Ruhaald brought a sigh from Ibanez. She tapped her forearm screen.

  “Darcy, thank you for volunteering. I’ll send you details once I have them.” She swiped her hand over her screen and dropped into her chair. “Now we get to sit around for an hour while others bloviate their opinions. Our part’s done.”

  She lifted an armrest and took out a small bottle of amber liquid.

  “A nip? I won’t tell.” She unscrewed the cap and took a swig.

  “Omega Provision,” Gideon said.

  Ibanez took a longer sip.

  “Well, it’s tricky,” she said, “as that was something of an addendum to the Hale Treaty and was never ratified by the senate. The committee pigeonholed it very quietly, and it never got to a floor vote. You have to understand what was going on at the time. More and more species were coming online as they built their own Crucible gates. Sure, the solar system was a fortress by then, with all the macro cannons and the restored fleets. But our numbers weren’t enough to fight off any of the member races that had billions and billions of fighters. We needed time to grab all the systems within jump distance of Earth, get us some breathing room.”

  “Answer me,” Gideon said.

  “I am answering you, you blunt instrument.” She waved the bottle in the air. “It’s not as simple as ‘there’s one, kill it.’ So we sent our very own Ember War hero Ken Hale off to negotiate a deal and we had the Breitenfeld take him. We laid on the ‘Just beat the Xaros and you’re welcome’ pretty thick. Told him to work up a framework that would give us time to secure our own little corner of the galaxy. They treated Hale like he could walk on water,” she said, taking a sip and wincing, “and he got us the deal…in exchange, we gave up procedural-generation tech.”

  “A stipulation the Ibarras fought against,” Gideon said.

  “Yeah, they didn’t take that well. The Ibarras put their little rebellion in order pretty quick and vanished through the Crucible. We thought they got away with a few ships, an omnium reactor and...”

  “Armor,” Gideon said flatly. “A squadron of armor went with them.”

  She raised a toast to him.

  “And we were certain that they didn’t take any proccie tubes,” she said. “There was something of a hiccup with the tubes at the end of the war, some Naroosha meddling—I never got more details than that—and we had every tube in the system on lockdown. Strict accountability.” She let out a long sigh.

  “Strict accountability we put on Marc Ibarra’s shoulders. We never should have trusted him. Should have removed him from public life the minute the war ended, but here we are. He must have had a stash of proccie tubes and naissance computers in the fleet he escaped with.”

  “And?”

  “And so, when the Vishrakath came up with the Omega Provision after most of the treaty had been ratified, we didn’t object. We didn’t see a problem—we had all the tubes. They were decommissioned. Anything to get Wexil and his clique to stop holding up the rest of the process.” Ibanez screwed the cap on and walked to the edge of the pod, her back to Gideon.

  “The Omega Provision was our promise that if any proccies were made after the treaty, they would be…destroyed. Destroyed by us or any other signatory that encountered them.” Her shoulders slumped.

  “Destroyed? You mean killed,” Gideon said. “Every proccie the Ibarras have will be…murdered.”

  “Don’t put it that way,” she said. “It’s not diplomatic.”

  “Hale negotiated this? The same Hale that refused to give the proccies to the Toth when they came to Earth demanding them and the technology?” Gideon asked.

  “No. The Omega Provision came up after he’d transitioned to the Terra Nova colony. Ugh, I bet he’s having a great time right now, far beyond the galaxy’s edge where none of this crap can follow him.”

  “Then who agreed to murder every new proccie?” Gideon asked.

  “President Garret…a few others.” She unscrewed the cap on her flask and took another sip.

  “Do the Ibarras know about this?”

  “Given the placement of spies we’ve detected throughout the government, the intelligence types have ‘high confidence’ the Ibarras know about Omega,” she said.

  “Then you’ve pushed the Ibarras into a corner. They have the choice to die on their knees or die fighting…but Omega isn’t law yet?”

  “Not for us. Given the complexities of other races’ governments, that the provision’s been in limbo for a few years is not much of a concern. But when the Haesh come back and announce that, yes indeed, the Ibarras have illegal proccies, the issue will come to a head.”

  “And what do we do with the Ibarras then?”

  “I don’t know, Gideon. There’s no easy way out of this mess.”

  Chapter 12

  Aignar looked at the wide silk sleeves hanging from his raised arms. A Dotari crewman draped a sash over Aignar’s head, fished a bit of white paste from the inside of his beak, and used it to fasten the sash against the fold over his chest.

  “You can use a bobby pin, you know?” Aignar asked.

 
“Must be perfect. Gives good luck to the joined,” the Dotari said as he tugged at the robes and continued to tut-tut the poor fit.

  “There any way this ends without anyone being ‘joined’?”

  The Dotari froze, his eyes wide.

  “If the two pledged die during combat,” he said. “Such a tragedy when that happens. My mother took me to see the play Yush’ura and Cin’mai when I was a boy. I cried for days. But then someone else would pledge to Cha’ril. She’s so beautiful. Like that one human—Orozco—on the videos advertising liquor.”

  The Dotari held a spray bottle up to the side of his face and said, “For the good times. For all the times. Standish Liquors.” The Dotari made a phlegmy hiss, which passed for laughter.

  “We wouldn’t call Orozco ‘beautiful,’” Aignar said.

  “But he has many offspring? Over twenty.” The Dotari stepped back, then retied the wide belt around Aignar’s waist.

  “With like twenty different women. That’s not a good thing. You know what? Just finish what you’re doing so I can get this over with before some Dotari decides to make this a shotgun wedding?”

  “A what?”

  Aignar swatted lazily at the Dotari, who easily swayed out of the way. The alien held the spray bottle directly over Aignar’s head and gave him a quick spritz.

  “Good God, what is that? It smells like cat piss and hatred.” Aignar buried his nose into the crook of his arm.

  “It’s to negate her pheromones, help the pledged think clearly,” the Dotari said. He sprayed Aignar’s cuffs several times.

  “Will it wash out?”

  The Dotari looked at the bottle and clicked his beak.

  The door to the dressing room opened and another Dotari stuck his head into the room and squawked at them.

  “You remember what to do?” the dresser asked.

  “Pretty sure.” Aignar pulled one sleeve back and looked over notes taped to the inside of his metal forearm. “No one’s making a video of this, right? I don’t want my son to see me dressed up like-like-like I don’t know what the hell is going on.”

  The Dotari at the door motioned for Aignar to hurry.