by Steve White
“Now then, Captain, let’s not be havin’ your mother on . . . especially when she’s so great a lady as this, and of Irish descent to boot.” Gallivan gave Katy a small bow. “The truth of the matter is, you see before you a former member of the Black Wolf Society who has seen the error of his ways.”
Morales rolled her eyes heavenward.
Katy gave him a cool regard. “I’m gratified to learn of your repentance, Mr. Gallivan. I don’t doubt that you‘re now a credit to the Emerald Isle.” She turned to her son. “I said it before and I’ll say it again, Andy: you do have a way of acquiring interesting associates whenever I let you out of my sight.”
“Especially if you define ‘associates’ broadly enough to include the Kappainu,” said Andrew grimly.
“The . . . ?”
“That’s the Shape-Shifters’ name for themselves. It’s the least important of the things we’ve learned about them. The most important, at the moment, is that one of them is Legislative Assemblyman Valdes.”
Katy came out of shock more quickly than Andrew would have thought possible. “I think,” she said calmly, “that we’d better get inside so you can tell me everything. I also think we’ll probably need drinks.”
“A great Irish lady indeed,” murmured Gallivan. Morales jabbed him in his bad thigh.
As it turned out, the drink they needed most was coffee. None of them got any sleep, for there was too much to tell.
“And so,” Andrew concluded, “as near as we can figure it, Valdes will be here in not more than three weeks, possibly two. We’ve got to somehow stop him, and City of Osaka is all we’ve got to do it with.”
“It may be more than just him you have to deal with,” his mother reminded him. “You left the battle between the Kappainu and your Rogovon allies behind. You have no way of knowing who won it. If the Kappainu did, then presumably some of them will be coming in just behind him in their cloaked ships, to give him backup.”
“On the other hand,” Reislon continued the thought, “if Borthru won, he won’t be able to help us. Recognizably Rogovon warships would hardly be welcome in Earth’s skies.”
“Don’t you think I’ve considered all this?” Andrew’s misery was palpable.
“You can’t do it by yourselves,” Katy stated bluntly. “You’ve got to get help.”
“Yes—but where?”
“I can only think of one place. And it happens that you’re in luck. Svyatog’Korth has been gone, but now he’s back on Earth.”
“Svyatog?”
“That’s right. You know that his organization can’t have been infiltrated. And from what you’ve told me of the Kappainu’s plan for the Lokaron—including Gev-Harath—he has a stake in this too, whether he knows it or not.” Katy glanced out the window. Dawn was breaking over the Rockies. “Being on the east coast, he may even be awake.” She stood up stiffly and moved toward the phone, heedless of the awe-struck stares from Morales and Gallivan.
“But . . . but Mom, you can’t just ring up the executive director of Hov-Korth!”
“Just watch me.”
Katy used a special, secured line that took her directly to a level where she had only a couple of layers of underlings to wade through before reaching Svyatog’s private secretary. “I regret that the executive director is unavailable,” that worthy declared. “He has only just arisen and will be occupied throughout the day with important business.” The translator faithfully reproduced the faint, sneering stress the Lokar laid on the word important, as though underlining Katy’s comparative lack of that quality. “I suggest you try again another time.”
Andrew decided the time for discretion was past. He leaned into the pickup. “This is Captain Andrew Roark. Tell him that Reislon’Sygnath is with me and wishes to resume a conversation that was interrupted ten years ago on the subject of the Black Wolf Society and the threat it poses to Hov-Korth and the rest of Gev-Harath. And . . . tell him we’ll wait.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
After what seemed like mere seconds, Svyatog’Korth’s face appeared on the screen, wearing a flustered look that Andrew had never imagined he would see on it.
“Good morning, sir,” Andrew said politely. “I’m sorry to have to bother you so early, but I’m calling regarding matters of the highest—one might say transcendent—importance.” Receiving no reaction from Svyatog, he pressed on. “As you may recall, when we last spoke you told me about an intelligence agent who had worked for Hov-Korth during and before the war.”
“I recall very well. At the time, you allowed me to believe that you had never heard of that agent’s existence, much less his name.”
“I regret that I wasn’t able to be altogether candid with you. In fact, my father’s upload had told me about Reislon’Sygnath. Among other things, he told me Reislon had been working with CNEN Intelligence.” Only a human as familiar with the Lokaron as Andrew would have recognized the instantly suppressed look of surprise on Svyatog’s blue face. “The only thing you told me that I didn’t already know was that you believed he had also been working for Gev-Rogov.”
“You haven’t explained the reason for your lack of candor.”
“The upload insisted on it.” It occurred to Andrew that it sounded silly if you put it that way. “Reislon’s connection with us has never been declassified, you see.”
“Then why are you telling me now?”
“Because humans and Lokaron now face a common threat that requires us to communicate in an atmosphere of mutual trust. If that requires the breaking of certain rules, so be it.”
“In your judgment.”
“My judgment, and that of my mother—which I know you trust—and also that of Reislon’Sygnath. I’m going to let you talk to him now.”
Reislon stepped into the pickup. The two alien faces were unreadable.
“It’s been a long time, Reislon,” Svyatog finally said.
“Indeed. I regretted the necessity of departing from your service without explanation.”
“Perhaps you are now in a position to explain.”
“I am. First of all, Captain Roark spoke with great preciseness when he said you believed I had been working for Gev-Rogov. It was necessary to give that impression, if I was to convince Rogovon intelligence of the same thing. In fact I was, and still am, working for the revolutionary movement seeking the overthrow of the Gev-Rogov regime. It was in that movement’s interest that I sought to avert the war, which effort in turn caused me to cooperate with CNE intelligence.”
“Your games were even more complex than I had supposed.”
“Complex, perhaps, but never inimical to the interests of Gev-Harath. In fact, what we wish to establish in Gev-Rogov is a regime with which Hov-Korth and the other hovahon of Gev-Harath could do business.”
“That is an outcome to which we would not be averse,” said Svyatog in a carefully neutral voice.
“Which is why I am presuming to ask for your help now. I would not expect you to commit yourself simply for the benefit of the movement. But we have learned of the existence of a threat, not just to ourselves, but also to Gev-Harath and, in fact, to all of Lokaron civilization.”
“From the Black Wolf Society?” Svyatog’s skepticism was palpable through the medium of the translator.
“From that which lurks behind it. When I warned you against it, I never imagined the full extent of the truth. The Black Wolf Society is only a tool of an unsuspected alien race—an instrument for making a tool of the CNE itself. And that, in turn, will be a means to the end of the destruction of the Lokaron interstellar order.”
Svyatog leaned forward. “Perhaps you had better tell me the details.”
“No. It’s a long story, and a seemingly fantastic one. We’ll need to present evidence or you won’t take us seriously.”
“I might, if Katy vouches for you. And this is a secure line.”
“There is no such thing as absolutely secure communications—you know that. No, we need to meet with you in p
erson.”
“And that presents problems,” said Andrew, reentering the conversation. “Our presence here on Earth isn’t generally known, and at least for now it has to remain that way. We came here in a heavily stealthed ship that is now in a trailing orbital position, and landed in a gig, which we naturally can’t take over to the East Coast. And we can’t use public transportation; Reislon would be too conspicuous.”
“Are you suggesting that I should come to meet you?”
“In normal times, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing. But the times have ceased to be normal. Reislon isn’t exaggerating the scope of the threat we all face. And you’re the only one we can turn to for help.”
Katy spoke up. “It’s true, Svyatog. And without going into details I will tell you this much: Legislative Assemblyman Valdes is involved.”
Svyatog’s expression grew shuttered—out of habit, Andrew thought, for of necessity he always maintained a posture of scrupulous neutrality in human internal politics. But it was easy to imagine what he thought of Valdes’ human-chauvinist campaign bombast, and the probable consequences to Hov-Korth of a Valdes president-generalcy.
“Perhaps,” Andrew prompted, “you could take your private suborbital transport to Denver and obtain an air-car there.”
“No,” said the Lokar after a moment’s thought. “That would attract too much attention. I can, however, invent a plausible excuse to depart on my private space vessel three or four days from now, and its crew is completely trustworthy. Return to your ship and put it into a distant parking orbit around Earth, the exact elements of which I will communicate to you presently using this line. I will rendezvous with it by homing in on your transponder, Katy. Please understand: I make no advance commitments, except that whatever you tell me will be held in confidence.”
“Thank you, Svyatog,” said Katy. “Now, more than ever, I’m in your debt.”
“You, Katy? Never.” Two pairs of aging eyes, of as many different species, met in a moment’s communion that held memories Andrew could only dimly imagine. And then the screen was blank.
“Well,” said Andrew, “after he sends us those orbital elements, we’d better get back to City of Osaka. Mom, could you just let us catch up on a little sleep and a little food before we leave?”
“What are you talking about?” Katy sounded genuinely puzzled. “I’m coming too.”
“You’re what?”
“What‘s the matter, dear? Doesn’t your gig have room for one more?”
“Yes. But . . . but . . . but you can’t!”
“Of course I can. In fact, I have to. That military-grade transponder is a very special piece of equipment. I can’t trust it to just anybody, you know.”
“I think I can manage it!”
“I’m not so sure. And besides, when you’re telling your story to Svyatog you’ll need me there to vouch for your sanity. I’ll just cross my fingers.”
Andrew desperately sought for an appeal that might work. “You realize, of course, that having to bring you back here before we head out into deep space would expose us to unnecessary risks and possibly jeopardize the mission.”
“Who said anything about bringing me back?”
Andrew took a deep breath. “Mom, this is crazy. You’re—”
“A woman? I notice you’ve got a couple of those along already.”
“That’s not the issue! Both of them are young enough to be your granddaughters!”
“It’s true that I’m an old bat—so old that it’s been a good many years since I had any excitement.” Katy abruptly turned serious. “Besides, Andy, the last time I watched you head out, thinking I’d probably never see you again, I promised myself it would be the last time.” The moment passed, and she smiled again. “If it would make you feel any better, go down to the basement and clear it with you father’s upload.”
“What’s the use? I know what he’d say.” Andrew turned frantically to his companions, seeking help and finding no signs of it. Gallivan, in particular, looked infuriatingly entertained.
Svyatog’s private spaceship, the Korcentyr, reminded Andrew of Persath’Loven’s yacht, only more so. Much more so.
The resemblance lay in the sleek, rakish lines of a vessel designed for rapid atmospheric transit, enhanced by the elegant design (orange and dark burgundy, in this case) that decorated its surface. But the effect was on an altogether larger scale, for Korcentyr was almost the size of a naval corvette. This made it considerably smaller than City of Osaka, and it had no integral transition engine—any more than did City of Osaka at the present time, Andrew thought ruefully—nor did it need one, for any places the executive director of Hov-Korth would wish to go were certain to be accessible via transition gates.
Another feature of Korcentyr became apparent when the two ships rendezvoused in orbit. There was none of the usual careful jockeying that preceded the connection of passenger-access tubes to access ports, for a tractor beam pulled the two ships together into a gentle kiss. Andrew had never heard of such a small ship mounting the device, which normally required a massive generator, and he could only suppose that the Lokaron of Gev-Harath, always on the technological cutting edge, had succeeded in miniaturizing it.
Svyatog came aboard City of Osaka alone—doubtless to the consternation of his security guards, Andrew thought. They conducted him to the conference room just aft of the control room and launched into a carefully prepared presentation. They had no Kappainu corpse to display, but the ship’s database held extensive electronic documentation of their story. That story, beginning with Andrew and Rachel’s meeting with Persath and subsequent journey to Kogurche and continuing up to the destruction of the Kappainu base and their desperate in-system overspace jump to head off Valdes, took quite a while to tell. Svyatog sat through it with remarkably few interruptions. Afterwards the old Lokar brooded for a full minute in a silence that no one felt inclined to break.
“The Kappainu plan,” Svyatog finally said, “assumes that the hovahon of Gev-Harath will behave as predicted and jump at the bait that Valdes, as president-general, dangles before them, thus provoking the general Lokaron war. Now that I am aware of their intentions, this assumption is no longer necessarily valid. I am not entirely without influence.”
Andrew managed to keep a straight face at this staggering understatement. “I’ve thought of that, sir. And it’s quite possible that you would be able to deflect Gev-Harath’s course enough to throw a monkey wrench into the scheme.” Presumably the translator could handle that. “But that would leave humanity under their control, with Valdes still ensconced as president-general—”
“—and the Black Wolf Society still exerting influence and pressure,” Rachel finished for him grimly.
“True. But that would be an internal human problem.”
“Also a problem for Gev-Harath, to some extent, for Valdes would hardly be as favorably disposed as the present government,” Katy pointed out.
“And in the meantime,” Reislon urged, “they would continue to work to prop up the status quo in Gev-Rogov, which is hardly in your best interests.”
“Besides,” Andrew added, “with Earth under their thumbs, they would be in a position to regroup and start over and try something else—something we wouldn‘t know about—to subvert the Lokaron powers. Wouldn’t it be better to abort their plan now, while we still have the advantage of knowing what that plan is?”
“These are all cogent arguments,” Svyatog admitted. “But I am still not clear on what, precisely, you want me to do.”
“Help us stop Valdes before he reaches Earth. This ship is unarmed except with a couple of light point-defense lasers. We need something with ship-to-ship firepower.”
“That I cannot offer you.” Svyatog smiled at Katy. “Forty-four years ago there happened to be a Harathon navy cruiser here in the Sol system when we needed it. We can hardly expect that kind of good fortune twice. No, all we have is my ship . . . and it is entirely unarmed.”
Alana Mo
rales spoke up. “But your ship does have a tractor-beam generator. And we know Valdes’s ship is a relatively small one—less than corvette-sized, probably smaller than yours. If both our ships intercept him and yours locks on to him . . .”
“You can haul him in so close that even our lasers can put holes in him!” exclaimed Gallivan. He whooped laughter and gave Morales’s shoulders a quick squeeze. “Darlin’, I always knew you were a pirate at heart! Anne Bonny to the life, with a touch of Grace O’Malley!”
Morales’s glare somehow lacked conviction.
“It might actually work,” said Andrew slowly. He led the way into the control room, absently muttering “As you were” to Davis, and set up the problem on the nav plot, displaying Earth’s orbit and Valdes’s projected course approaching it. The difficulty was too obvious to require verbalization. They couldn’t simply head out to meet Valdes; the ships would flash past each other at a tremendous relative velocity.
“We’re going to have to position ourselves out here,” said Andrew, indicating a region along Valdes’ route. “Then be ready to start back inward toward Earth when our sensors show that Valdes has reached the point at which we can intercept him and match vectors.”
“That first step—getting out there into position—is going to be the hard part,” said Morales. “We’ll be struggling against our own residual orbital velocity around Sol. Swimming against the tide, as you might say.”
“Just so.” Andrew knew that the maneuver, which would have been laughably out of the question with old-fashioned rockets, would be difficult enough even with today’s reactionless drives. And it was depressingly certain that it would allow no time to talk his mother into returning to Earth and take her there. “Mister Davis, feed the problem into the computer. Assume continuous 1.5 g acceleration.” Then he remembered Katy and Reislon. “No, make that one g. I want to know how much time we’ve got.”
“Less than you may think.” It was Gallivan’s voice: flat, cold, and without a trace of banter. He pointed to the display, which showed the returns from the long-range sensors, hooked into the access key and focused narrowly on Valdes’s projected course to maximize their range. A scarlet icon had winked into life at the outermost limit of detection, headed Earthward.