by Ivan Ertlov
Frank shook his head vigorously.
"No, she even saved me from starving and dying of thirst when we were all on a world without food."
A reverent murmur sounded in the stands.
"But the Borsht looks after you, doesn't he? So you don't commit human stupidity?"
Frank sighed.
"We all look out for each other. You know, that's the essence of friendship - trust and helping each other. Whether it's Troshk, Bettsy, or Dilara - we trust and help each other, we're there for each other unconditionally. We have saved each other's lives, and we would do it again anytime, even if we put ourselves in danger."
Jin Ling blinked, and a sceptical, precocious smile played around her lips, a facial expression for which she was actually ten years too young.
"That doesn't sound like friendship to me; it sounds like family."
She was right. By the moons of Grarosh, this little girl had nailed in one sentence what his thoughts had been circling around for months, maybe even years.
"Yes, they are my family."
The dams broke, and the well-ordered tribunal disintegrated, becoming a wild question and answer session as the children began to shout from the stands.
"Do you have a gun?"
Frank shook his head.
"No, but Troshk will give me one of his if I need it."
"Is it true that your ship can jump anywhere, even where it should be impossible?"
This was actually top secret - but what was the harm in being honest with a bunch of kids?
"Yes, that's right."
"Why does your colleague have four boobies?"
This time there was general giggling from both sides, and Frank gulped briefly, but quickly regained his composure.
"Because she is a quarter Tarjah. And among her people, females have four children at once, and they always want to nurse at the same time."
"And where exactly do these children come from?"
"ENOUGH! Get out! The tribunal is over."
Jin whirled around, and hundreds of children's heads stared in awe at the Professor who came striding out of the entrance at the other end, dignified and elegant, but with an expression on her face that brooked no argument.
The brats jumped off their benches, whirled past Frank and Jin, passed Mariella with a proper respect distance and ran outside. The Professor smiled.
"You have done well, Jin. Now go join the others, Extractor."
The girl indicated a bow before taking to her heels, leaving behind a Frank who was beginning to realise.
"You initiated all that, didn't you?"
Mariella raised her arms apologetically.
"Initiated is the wrong word - I would say I suggested it. I wanted the children to finally hear a voice from outside, an honest opinion, but based on facts and authentic experiences. Not on the fanatical poison of their grandparents and great-grandparents, but also not on my generation's theoretical optimism and idealism. Just the truth, real knowledge."
Frank nodded.
"I understand that. But how can you be sure that it is the truth, even if only a subjective one? That I am not a highly paid but characterless agent of the Protectorate leading you astray?"
For a brief moment, her face became serious, and a flicker of uncertainty flashed in her eyes. This haunting passed as quickly as it had come, the smile returned, and she walked towards him with soft, springy steps. Was he mistaken, or had she just deliberately changed her gait? Made her hips sway a little more than normal, her breasts bounce up and down a touch more intensely as she approached him?
Their eyes met, sinking into each other as she gently placed her hand against his cheek; he felt the throb of her pulse in his fingertips resting against his skin.
"Because you are an idealistic realist - or a realistic idealist, as you like. Something very special. I saw it when you left your ship, the first to get off, with your comrades in tow. Yeah, you put on a show, played the commander. Maybe that's what you are - but above all, a protector. A man who puts himself before his friends and loved ones, as well as his convictions."
Frank smelled her perfume, a subtle floral scent with fresh, salty aromas mixed in.
She swallowed, and her voice became rough.
"These are rare qualities, Frank Gazer. Rare, attractive - and very eroticising."
*
"WHAT, and you still haven't laid her? Fucked the Professor's brains out of her pretty head? You didn't even kiss her and at least grab her by that magnificent ass?"
Frank shook his head and continued to stare out at sea, where starlight reflected on now gently lapping waves. They sat on the jetty, their pilot boots off as well as the functional socks underneath, their trouser legs rolled up to just below the knee. Their legs dangled down, their feet and toes played in and with the wonderfully warm water, even though Dilara got the short end of the stick here and only came up to her ankles.
She sat next to him, the tip of her shoulder armour occasionally digging painfully into his upper arm, but that was a price Frank was all too happy to pay for her proximity.
"No, Dila, I haven't."
"But why not? For fuck's sake, Frank, did you take a good look at that woman? Her dark skin, her curves, her charisma? I'd give a month's salary to have my head between her thighs and show her what you can do with fully flexible, vibrating ear tips!"
Frank stumbled.
"Wait a minute, didn't you always say you don't do humans?"
She raised her right index finger lecturing.
"Not filthy male humans. Some of your females are really hot, but as for your males - too many too active sperm and no contraceptive method is one hundred per cent effective. You can't really let yourself go there, not fully give in to lust, if you know what I mean. I don't want to be left with a bunch of flightless brats who will never have a chance to obtain NHS."
It was an argument that Frank understood all too well on a rational level - even if her statement hurt him irrationally, interpreted by his subconscious as a personal rejection.
It simply made him sad.
Dilara instinctively and empathically felt that she had hurt him, probably drew the right conclusions from it, but did not let on. And for that, he was again very grateful to her. Just as he was for the change of subject.
"So Frank, is this your new home now?"
The question resurfaced like the corpse of a competitor of questionable businessmen badly disposed of in a Durash swamp.
And he still had no answer.
"I don't know, Dila."
"Bullshit, Frank Gazer! Everyone and anyone needs or longs for something like a home. Bettsy can always return to the great steppes of Creesh; Troshk has a cave just waiting on Borsht for the Stormcommander to retire for good. I bet even Florbsh can withdraw to a pool on Durash where he could be himself - among his own kind. And this New Earth here comes as close to home for you as any place in the universe."
"And what about you, Dila? What is your home?"
His question hit her like a fist blow, no matter how curious and innocently it was meant. The astrotelepath winced, stared out at sea for a moment - and finally let her ears droop.
"I don't know either, Frank. Sure, I can return to the Grand Tree of my ancestors, and I would probably be received and welcomed with full honours. I would be the sash-bearer, the deserving heroine of the Protectorate, the tree guards would clamour to have me at their receptions. But still, I would be the flightless one among sailors. The outsider."
She sighed, and her latent telepathy projected a sadness and melancholy into the air that made Frank react involuntarily. As if of its own accord, his hand came down on hers, squeezing it gently.
A gesture that was gratefully returned.
"You know Frank, for a long time, I thought that the Rim Worlds were my home - or no, not the Rim itself, but the society there. That dysfunctional extended family of pirates and mercenaries, smugglers and cutthroats. Somehow I thought that my reputation had meant somethi
ng there, a rank, a fixed place. That perhaps not Dilara Kreethan, but the Raging Beauty she became, found her home there - and would find it again at any time. That my shouting in the night would still be significant enough to unite heroes and villains from dozens of systems, whether for battle, a bender, or an orgy. By now, however, I believe this was an illusion. I was fooling myself."
He squeezed her hand a little tighter - a sign of helplessness and wordlessness. He could say nothing in reply, so he was more than happy when she broke the silence again.
"Speaking of illusion: Do you really believe the transformation of the people here? That they have created a society that functions without money and greed? A secluded paradise where they renounce the fanaticism and hatred of their ancestors and live in cosy harmony?"
What a sublime, poetically formulated, and infinitely important question. A question that Frank had been asking himself since their arrival and to which there was only one answer.
"No, my ass! Something is more than rotten here, but I have no idea what. I know my species well enough - and I swear, whenever anything looks like paradise, there's some horrible worm inside — some horrible truth hidden from us. But I can't even find a clue, a vague idea of what it could be. Yes, not even symptoms or hints."
"I can help you there."
They flinched, their heads turned to the side, and the hands that had just rested gently in each other parted faster than rusty fake steel under Bettsy's merciless cutting torch. Shock gave way to embarrassment and finally, at least in Dilara's case, turned to holy rage when Florbsh came crawling over the footbridge.
"How long have you been here? Have you been eavesdropping on us, you dirty slime?"
An indignant pseudo-pod stretched forward towards them, and loud protests came from its membrane.
"Bullshit! Of course not! I've been secretly observing you; that's something completely different. I wanted to know what was really going on with this bizarre and fascinating mating behaviour of humans."
Frank raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Mating behaviour?"
Dilara, on the other hand, hissed angrily.
"HUMANS??"
Florbsh winced briefly and rocked apologetically.
"Sorry guys, I was really just curious. And I thought, well, two biologically compatible humanoids under the starlight on the beach, in what you would call a romantic mood ..."
Frank and Dilara looked at each other and blushed in unusual agreement.
"No, well, we are, we are ..."
"... Friends. Just good friends. No mating in sight."
It wasn't exactly what Frank wanted to hear, but that didn't matter at the moment.
"Exactly. And now spit out what's on your mind. You believe you know what's wrong here?"
Florbsh straightened up.
"Yes, guys, I know that. It's their numbers - they don't add up. Oh no, they don't add up at all."
"We use statistics like a drunk uses a lamppost: mainly to support our point of view rather than to illuminate a fact."
- Andrew Lang
9.
Number games
Frank groaned and closed his eyes. This was something he didn't want to admit, no matter how much his intuition and gut instinct signalled agreement, whispering a gleeful "We told you so!" in his ear.
"Shit. And you're sure about this?"
Florbsh bubbled excitedly.
"Absolutely sure! I fetched three million data points from their Central Statistical Office, compared them with the records of the late Gurabsh, and made more than two thousand balance sheets from them. Everything was double-checked and triple-checked. Believe me, my numbers don't lie."
He interrupted himself briefly, and you could literally hear the accountant fighting a mental brawl against himself.
"All right, my numbers don't lie if I don't want them to. In this case, the result is clear."
Frank opened his eyes, just in time to catch a glimpse of a decidedly paranoid Dilara staring out the window at the promenade, who now slowly turned around, joined them, and also took a seat on the sofa.
"All right, how bad is it really? What kind of scale are we talking about here?"
This time, a hint of uncertainty crept into Florbsh's voice, and his pseudo-pod bobbed thoughtfully back and forth.
"There, we leave the ground of pure mathematics and trusted numbers. I would have to guess."
"Then guess, damn it!"
Dilara's snarl made both the Durash and Frank flinch, but it didn't miss its mark.
"All right, the most optimistic estimate for us first - if I assume the maximum shrinkage, plus the lowest efficiency in processing; if I attribute half of Gurabsh's incidents to other sources and reduce his quantity estimates by another thirty per cent - then we come up with just under twenty gigatonnes."
Frank swallowed.
"Holy shit, what does the result then look like within a realistic estimate?"
"More than two hundred, more likely three hundred. And don't forget that only refers to resources that are important for war, mainly used for military purposes. I didn't even include something like algae or meteorite cement, although that could be used for non-civilian infrastructure, too."
Dilara breathed in and out deeply, trying to control her vibrating ears - a difficult task, especially when the ground had just been pulled out from under your feet.
"Can we contact Bettsy and Troshk? Without anyone noticing?"
Frank shook his head regretfully - this thought had occurred to him before.
"No, not with Hephaestus in opposition. The short-range communication doesn't have enough power, and if we use Yrsha's array, we'll light a beacon on any radio surveillance."
Dila hissed.
"Damn it, Frank, we have to do something! Those two won't leave Hephaestus alive - if they're still alive at all!"
Florbsh's pseudopod nodded in agreement.
"In the same way, we'll never get off this planet again. But I don't understand why they so willingly allowed the inspection. No, they even suggested it themselves."
Dila growled.
"Yes, to separate us from each other."
Frank got up and went to the window, gazed out at the sea while his thoughts began to circle, faster and faster, until he sank into a whirlpool of thoughts and reflections, self-criticism and processed impressions of this false home. But not for good.
"Guys, there is only one way. We have to at least trust Mariella, slap our data on her table."
Dilara looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Maybe she wasn't so wrong.
"The Professor? Are you crazy? She's the ringleader of this whole charade! The evil mastermind behind the deception!"
Frank shook his head vigorously.
"That's exactly what I don't believe. They used an expression I remembered, but it was from a children's or young adult book I read twenty years ago. Military-industrial complex - I think I know what that means, but I'm sure the Professor has no idea what's really being played. And the mayor neither. We can trust them, believe me."
Florbsh crawled up a little.
"How sure are you? You know the saying - he who trusts humans shortens his life."
Yes, he had heard that all too often - and, to his chagrin, he just couldn't hear it anymore.
"Damn it, you forget that I'm a human being too! Homo sapiens! Dila, come on, say something - you trust me, don't you? Do you?"
The astrotelepath looked at him thoughtfully, and there was a certain sadness in her gaze - but mixed with a glimmer of hope. Her cheeks flushed slightly as she lowered her eyes as well as her ears.
"Yes, Frank, I trust you. Let's give it a try."
*
"With all due respect, I don't believe you. I don't even believe that you believe it yourselves. This - this is your paranoia running away with you! Latent xenophobia manifested in this abstruse set of numbers!"
Mariella was angry, and that was a good sign, strange as that may sound. Like Gonzales, s
he'd only had three or four hours' sleep - three or four hours more than Frank and his friends - and looked irritated, angry, indignant.
But not caught.
No hidden alarm button, no guards rushing in and blowing up the clandestine meeting, no derisive laughter from the Professor or the mayor. No, it was honest outrage in the face of outrageous insinuation, and that was something to work with. Florbsh was undeterred and defended his figures like a Borsht defends his children.
"Professor, you can accuse my people of many things[10] - but xenophobia is not one of them. Admittedly, the variation in my estimates is huge, but the basic message remains the same. Your military is producing something that civil society knows nothing about. Remember, I have the comparative data from your Central Statistical Office."
Mariella shook her head violently.
"The comparative data! Compared with what? With the records of a dodgy spy who collected sagas and legends? That's not a theory, that's not even a hypothesis!"
Gonzales, who had followed the explanation and conclusions as attentively as silently, cleared his throat. Apparently, the down-to-earth mayor was a touch more open-minded about the alien's crazy theories.
"Assuming your figures AND your theory are correct - what would it mean? Applied to our real production?"
Florbsh gratefully caught the bone.
"We would see infrastructure here on the planer for four, maybe five million inhabitants - not one. And by that, I also mean all the secondary assets like extrapolated numbers of gliders, transporters, agricultural machinery and so on."
The mayor nodded thoughtfully.
"And if we assume that the shortfalls do not flow into civilian but into military production? What dimensions are we talking about there, in your realistic scenario?"
Frank shrugged his shoulders.
"Hard to say, depends on what is produced. Basically, three or four space shipyards and a fleet big enough to dare an attack on the Alliance. Or on the Protectorate."
Florbsh bobbed his head in agreement.
"Alternatively, a single superstructure, either in addition to or within Hephaestus. But with this specific composition of retained resources, I honestly have no idea what that could be."