Maybe he's too tipsy to realize the importance of what I found. Erica went on patiently, “I know you're probably thinking that there are hundreds of those toady things plodding around Varess, but with a little time, I'm certain I can track down the individual and eliminate it – or even better, turn it to our cause. After all, it's got to be a spy for one of the rival powers. And it probably knows who was responsible for the Quatilla abduction in the first place. We could make contact with whoever it is and concert our efforts for the failure of the negotiations.”
Macdougal's next response knocked all the wind out of her sails. “Don't bother.”
“What?” Erica stammered.
“The identity of that agent is unimportant now. Those responsible for the crime have provided us with a significant blow to the Song Pai and their allies. The squids are blaming the Blynthians, as they did with the Torghh affair. Another reason to hasten their departure.”
“Do you think I should tell Anthony?” she asked uncertainly, grasping at some way to get a profit from her hours of work.
Macdougal looked up from his drink and fixed her in the eyes with a look she had never seen from him before. Snake eyes. Have I been wrong about this man?
The human ambassador's face was taut with emphasis. “Anthony has a couple of other matters that are occupying him now and will not want to be disturbed.”
“But shouldn't I pursue the idea of making contact with the handler of the Gropers?”
“I have a feeling he may have already taken care of that. In any case, I know it's something he won't want you to go nosing around in. Instead, he has given me another little job for you. You are to get on the comlink and send Coded Message Mu.”
Erica didn't know exactly what Message Mu was, since she did not need to know, according to protocols. She was pretty sure it had something to do with military action to be taken in the very earliest stages of the upcoming war. So we're getting ready to make our move and snatch up something! Forlan? The Tau Ceti Anchorage? The Rosstan mining operation? She almost asked, “Why doesn't Anthony send that message himself?” But she stopped short just in time. Up until now she had felt she was a privileged player in this world of espionage. She was just beginning to have an inkling that she was merely another cog in the machine.
“Now how about a wee dram of that Scotch?” offered Macdougal, resuming his homey countenance.
A vague apprehension stirred in Erica's mind, as if she were a fledgling bird aware for the first time that a carnivore might be lurking beyond the birdhouse entrance. “No, thanks, I'd better pass for now.” She stared at the amber liquid in Chester's glass for a second, her mind drifting.
“Better hop to it and send that message, then. We're almost at the end of this race.”
Erica made her way slowly to the telecommunications office of the human residence ship. She quickly rejected the impulse to try to open up Coded Message Mu herself. She had no authorization to access the material and no safely isolated decoding software that would defend her from being detected if she tried to break in. It would probably just be gibberish anyway, for its signals encryption would only be the first of several layers of secrecy wrapped around the gist of the message. It would probably contain, hidden amongst a pile of irrelevant garbage, only a couple of seemingly innocent code words that would unlock elaborate plans stored elsewhere. That way, should this single communication be intercepted by rival intelligence services (it almost certainly would be) and red-flagged as a high priority item (extremely unlikely in view of the huge number of dummy communications sent out each day), and if she as the sender were nabbed and interrogated (she would be the only fall guy), she could reveal nothing important even if the interrogation were carried all the way to liquidation (the Squids never kept captives long and God only knew what the Blynthians did). The realization that she was an expendable stooge in this game only made her more depressed. She reached the signals room, handed over a memcard with the order to send Coded Message Mu, the signals computers verified that the memcard indeed contained Coded Message Mu, and she waited until the signals officers confirmed that the transmission had reached the first relay point in complete form, which was shortly forthcoming. That's that. Chester, or more likely Anthony, can sit back and wait to bask in glory and rewards if whatever this is succeeds. Failure would naturally fall on my shoulders and then what? Debriefing? I haven't been able to learn a damn thing about Entara or Ayan'we that might be useful. Whenever I talk with them, they politely treat me like a tick that jumped on their leg and try to find a discreet way to brush me off. At the least suggestion of a bribe, they show so little reaction that I'm not even sure they're conscious of being suborned. Probably they would just laugh it off as another stupid example of my status as an unworthy female. Is that what I am? What if Hyperion debriefs me and then sends me back to Boise? Wandering around that grey town worrying about picking up a stray plague germ and being slammed away in isolated quarantine – ugh! Important mission, my ass! Where's my payoff? My palace? My servants? My power? Go ahead, you Forlani bitches, and laugh at me. Play your para-para. Cuddle up in your Clusters and rot. Bow down to your matriline. Mother, hah! I could show you a mother you wouldn't bow down to. It's all just a bad joke.
Suddenly a picture flashed out of the past into Erica's memory. Her little sister Alba, about ten years old, up against the glass in an airport departure lounge, waving goodbye to Erica and her mother who were taxiing out on a jetliner. No room on that flight, Alba. Don't worry, you'll be on the next flight out and everyone will get together in Paris. Only Mommy Dearest has already spent the money for your ticket to reserve a hotel. No plane ride for you. Don't turn around and look at that man coming up behind you. Enjoy a few minutes of delusion. A few seconds, maybe. Keep on enjoying, keep on hoping as long as you can, until it hurts. Erica squinted and made such a scowl that the signals officer looked alarmed.
“Associate Director Duquesne, anything wrong? Can I get you a glass of water? A pain reliever perhaps? Please sit down here for a moment.” He rose and offered her his chair.
“No thanks, I just had... nothing to worry about. I think I need something stronger than water. Just let me know in case there is a reply. I don't expect one, not right away.”
Tashto had waited patiently in his sick bay cubicle for the text from his mysterious Blynthian contact who had offered to provide him the information that he sought on the Vloog conflict. Transfer Varess had entered into its “night cycle”, and the lights in the hallways had dimmed to conserve power and encourage the station’s inhabitants to sleep. In addition, the doors to most of the important parts of the station—including the main conference hall—were automatically locked after 8:00 station time to discourage any further clandestine activity. Tashto’s meeting with the Blynthian had to be arranged in the main conference hall, and he had been forced to trust in his contact’s assurance that the door lock would be disabled so he could enter for the meeting. He nervously glanced down at his tablet and saw the text:
It’s time now. Doors will be opened for you.
Once Tashto reached the main conference hall, the heavy doors swung open with a loud clicking sound. After stepping inside, he took a minute to take in the spectacle of the large room, and felt oddly disturbed at the stillness and darkness of a place that he had previously associated with excitement and tumult, when he had denounced the Song Pai before a mesmerized audience. Among the tall clear tubes that the Blynthians inhabited, Tashto saw a faint blue light shining out of one on the right. Tashto heard a soft hum as he walked toward it, and one of the wormlike Blynthians swam up the tube to meet him.
Welcome, Tashto of Garan Prime, the screen next to the tube said. We have much to discuss.
“I was told the Blynthians knew the truth of what happened in the war between the Vloogs and the Garanians. The official history we were told on Garan Prime appears to have been greatly…sanitized for public consumption.”
Interesting. How did you learn that
what you were told was wrong?
Tashto was beginning to find communication with this particular Blynthian unnerving. Although it clearly had no problem understanding his speech through its deciphering machine, it insisted on communicating to him through text. Without even the simulation of vocal pitch and tone, Tashto had no means of understanding the faceless creature’s emotions and motives. Why would it ask me a question like that? He wondered. Could this Blynthian be some sort of a spy looking for leverage over me?
“I was just curious,” Tashto responded to the Blynthian. “On Garan Prime we rarely have contact with other species. Some of the people on this station tell stories of Garanian history that are not consistent with those I was familiar with.”
And how did you determine that we Blynthians were the ones to ask for the truth?
The second question made Tashto even more nervous. Could they be wary of our official explanation? Are they already aware of the fact that we helped kidnap Torghh, and are trying to implicate us? Tashto could not truly understand the Blynthians—those incomprehensible worms, technologically advanced almost beyond comprehension yet so primitive they betrayed no trace of emotion—and he felt a gnawing, instinctive fear of them.
“You are a technologically advanced species, but also a neutral party to the Garanians. We have never gone to war with you, nor have we ever desired to. You seemed like a logical source to go to for information.”
One that would not get you in trouble with your government, perhaps?
“The thought had crossed my mind,” Tashto said.
Very well. Much of our information is not allowed to be disseminated to outsiders. However, we know that the Garanians and Vloogs were once allies until the Garanians broke the alliance. Despite this betrayal, some of the Vloogs survived and have been incorporated into being a protectorate of the Blynthians. Their location is classified.
“The species has not been exterminated? But I was told the Garanians made them extinct!” Tashto said, shocked by the Blynthian’s admission.
We do not feel comfortable discussing their location or welfare with a currently active member of the Garanian government. Of course, if circumstances of your employment were to change, we would be open to treating you differently.
“Good that you place enough trust in the governments and species at this conference that you can be so forthcoming,” Tashto hissed sarcastically.
We find that caution is the best policy in such turbulent times, regardless of the environment in which we interact.
“I can’t fault that mindset,” Tashto replied.
Ayan'we had been called by Ramatoulaye to an urgent meeting. As she walked briskly through the Varess corridors in the direction of Phiddian security, she wondered if something new had turned up on the Powls whom they had interrogated. She never got a chance to ask about them because as soon as she opened the door, her arm was grasped by the Phiddian chief and she was swept towards a corner of the office. Ramatoulaye had a mysterious look that alerted Ayan'we to a new problem. She guessed that the little nook they were in must have been safe from all scanning.
The Phiddian said in urgent, hushed tones, “I must ask you to help me with a very unusual confidential request.”
“What's the matter?”
“Fianni seems to have disappeared. We don't know whether or not it's another case of abduction.”
“Who would want to abduct a social director? I would think that you or the head delegate would be a more logical target.”
“You're right, of course. It may well be something else. But I don't want to start the Phiddian gossip mill going, so I'm afraid to use my own people to investigate and would like to ask if you could spare a few members of the Security Cluster to help me search.”
“Absolutely. What else do you think may have happened to Fianni?”
Ramatoulaye turned away and was silent for a few seconds. “Here are the details. As you probably remember from the opening days, Fianni was pregnant. Several days ago there was a miscarriage. That in itself is not unusual among our species. We are normally so prolific that another child here or there is seldom missed. Many consider them irksome burdens anyway. It so happens that Fianni has a skin condition that can be affected by miscarriages, so there was a medical exam right afterwards. At first, nothing unusual was detected. In this case, one bioanalyst was unusually zealous and carried the testing beyond the customary level, eventually detecting a rare substance in Fianni's urine. The analyst spent extra time verifying the strange result after notifying Fianni to return for a recheck. There was no response. I cannot find anyone who has seen Fianni since.”
“You think our social director skipped because of the test results? What could they have been?”
“The substance is so rare because we have not encountered it since the last Zetan War. You probably know that the Zetans captured quite a few prisoners from our vessels and used them to develop bioweapons to attack us. This substance, which attacks the nerve tissues, was one that they weaponized. It was not used much because it had an odd side effect that reduced its efficiency. Instead of incapacitating our nervous system immediately, it works slowly and first destroys the pleasure centers in the body. As you can guess, that is something a Phiddian would notice quite quickly. It is totally fatal and the victims died, but not before they could be replaced in their mission by reinforcements. Just how Fianni came in contact with this horror, I cannot imagine.”
“No, there are certainly no Zetans at the conference.”
“Nor anywhere on Varess.”
“They can't disguise themselves very well with those bodies of theirs, so do you think they used a member of another species as an agent?”
“Or perhaps a member of another species present used them as a source.”
“That sounds sinister.”
“It gets worse. The dose administered to Fianni seems to have been barely sublethal, enough to destroy the pleasure centers in a short time, yet possibly taking many years to progress through the rest of the nervous system.”
“By heavens, that would explain her terrible scene the other day. For a Phiddian to live without the prospect of physical pleasure must be torture.”
“You're right, Ayan'we, and imagine facing the prospect of gradually being reduced to a vegetative state while craving that pleasure. More than enough reason to commit suicide.”
“You think your colleague may have exited into space through a lock?”
“I don't know what to think. I never really liked Fianni and I probably should not waste precious time searching for such a disagreeable snob. Still, I am responsible for security and I would feel ashamed if one of my people disappeared in a tragedy without my doing all I could to save the person.”
“I would do the same. Look, we just got the last of our injured personnel back from the Weh hospital ship. The Weh doctors haven't left Varess space, so maybe they could help Fianni if we could search successfully. I can detail three cluster members to you. Remember, though, you'll have to hurry. The Song Pai may decide to leave at any time and we would be obliged to follow. My mother is involved in a last ditch effort to keep them at the Interzonal, but she may fail.”
“So many things may fail.”
“True, but let's remain strong while we still may achieve something. We've recovered two other missing comrades, so maybe we can do the same for Fianni.
There had been no suicidal walk into deep space. The missing person Ayan'we and Ramatoulaye were searching for was in a secret room on the human delegation's ship, waiting for an appointment. Fianni had grown to dislike every aspect of Anthony Wilson since the moment they met: the smell of burnt cigarettes that perpetually hung over his jacket, the acidic know-it-all quality to his vocal tones, the hard stare of his eyes. The Phiddian protocol chief thought the dislike of him would have grown even if he hadn’t stolen the thing any of the race valued most in the universe. And yet here they found themselves in his office once more, the visitor’s tension overwh
elming from glowering at the man to be despised.
“How goes it?” Anthony asked. “Nobody’s figured out yet that you were involved with the kidnappings?”
“Not that I know of,” Fianni said, with a voice betraying a hint of nervousness.
“You’re sure that no one has any suspicions? I’m sure you understand that it’s of paramount importance that you keep your involvement secret. Getting compromised could be very hazardous to your health.”
Fianni knew all too well that Anthony had no emotional attachment to any living thing, despite his earlier period of apparent lust. It was baffling to a Phiddian that, of all the humans that could have been used for a consort, the one chosen had to be the one least susceptible to emotional manipulation through romantic relations. After all those gushy, dreadful love songs and poems that humans created about being together forever and true love never dying, Fianni had the misfortune of encountering a human that had no capacity for emotional attachment whatsoever! Such a capricious, chaotic species. I would’ve had better luck with the Song Pai.
“Why are you so nervous?” Fianni asked. “I don’t think anybody knows about our secrets, not even that damn Ayan’we. If I can keep her from figuring it out, I can keep it secret from anyone on this station.”
“They’d better not. You’re the best asset available to me for the next phase of the operation.”
“You have more tasks for me?”
“Just one. You didn’t think I’d let you get your precious antidote in this meeting, did you? Once I give you what you want, I lose all leverage I have over you. I’ll be damned if I let you off before I get every last mission I possibly can out of you.”
“You…disgusting, lying human zlishta! Give me back my yearning emotions, my wild desires! I cannot function without them! A human like you could never understand what the inability to feel true erotic pleasure does to our minds. Every day I exist without the capacity for this joy is a living death.”
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