Glory Point (Gigaparsec Book 4)

by Scott Rhine

  “The lifter field we use to form an air-friction shield around shuttles in atmosphere is similar in nature to the reality bubble we form to protect ourselves in the subbasement.”

  “Perhaps one of those generator rings could be modified.”

  “If we charge the capacitor from the transport vessel, then we can eliminate the reactor and fuel tanks. We’ll still need a computer for astrogation, but the other electronics can be limited. If we reduce the demand enough, we may be able to power the probe with Mahdra crystals.” Roz was animated with excitement. The lightweight crystalline battery was a cornerstone of Magi tech.

  Reuben added, “Make sure to include a self-destruct switch to keep the tech out of the wrong hands.”

  Kesh recalled underwater projectile designs that used a bubble of air to increase weapon speeds. “Sounds like a message torpedo.”

  The Magi looked aghast. “Nothing so militant.”

  Kesh asked, “What would you call it?”

  She ignored the question. “I’ll start on the design at once, Enlightened One. You have no idea what this demonstration will mean to our people.”

  The hologram vanished, and Roz rolled up the scroll. “Thanks.”

  “Here to give her a boost?” Kesh asked Reuben.

  “Clarity,” Roz insisted. “We reviewed every piece of data on this vessel going back to day one. Since he did a lot of the repairs, we wanted his input.”

  Reuben stood up. “Are you here to bash my job performance some more?”

  “No,” Kesh responded, handing him a tablet. “This is a proposal for a new government agency so the Goat race can cope while you’re on our mission. Goats work cheap. Without you present to spend it, your stipend could easily pay for sixty-six assistants.” He swiped a claw over the tablet, and a map of Goat space popped up. Six stars were circled. “I enclosed roughly the same population in each sphere. The biggest constraint was coverage for the entire population. Every site will have a regional coordinator for each request category and an eleventh person to act as overseer.”

  “You’re replacing me?”

  “No,” Roz said, reading over the Goat’s shoulder. “He’s making your office more efficient. You’ll be able to serve a lot more people.”

  Kesh nodded. “Plus, other Ram candidates get practical experience as overseers. You can weed out the incompetents and criminals. If there’s anything they can’t handle, the overseers can contact us through Daisy. You’ll still have complete control, but more people will be participating.”

  “Maybe. I could see how in some cases we could draw up a flowchart based on the years of information in the Ram archives on my yacht. Mostly, I find someone who has the power to do the right thing and schmooze.”

  Roz said, “A skill the other Rams need to pick up.”

  “Sure, but what about department one?” Reuben pointed to his pants. “I mean there can be no substitutes.”

  “Actually, a single sample could be frozen and used to impregnate scores of women,” Roz reasoned. “A month of samples could fulfill your duties for every planet with Goats, including Shangri-La and other planets in Human space.”

  Reuben grimaced. “That’s just wrong.”

  “Sounds scientific to me,” Roz replied. “Your panel of experts could pick mothers based on talents, IQ, and other desirable attributes, not who has the biggest ass.”

  “But I like the interview process.”

  Kesh shook his snout. “No. You’ll fall in love, keep us from sleeping for the next couple years, and when she leaves, you’ll be suicidal.”

  “That doesn’t happen!” Reuben objected.

  “Seventy-five percent of the time,” Roz pointed out. One of the disasters had been Ivy, Daisy’s triplet. “Maybe a little celibacy wouldn’t hurt you for a change.”

  Reuben considered this. “After we find a skilled nurse to make the extractions. We’ll want her on duty through Tansdahl Scrapyard on the far side of Mnamnabo. I mean, we don’t want them to run out over the next several years.”

  “I’m going to take a nice hot sand bath and forget I heard that,” Kesh said, trundling toward the desert biozone. He forgave the Goat because Reuben was so young it didn’t occur to him that he might not return from the mission.

  After Kesh’s bones were warmer, he waded through the hundred-plus heir candidates that Travongalas had rejected. Arbitrarily, he chose those who scored in the top quartile for math. Then he weeded out those who the other elders would disallow for infertility, drug habits, physical weakness, or gluttony. This left him with fifteen possibilities. Two overlapped the wife’s list, but discarding her candidates merely because she liked them seemed petty. Instead, he favored those who spoke Human. Relationships were the key to the future of his people. Having winnowed to the list to six, he took a victory nap.

  6. Unnatural Selection

  During the several days on Filangis, Goat workers cut off the unwanted engines. Roz loaded five years’ worth of provisions aboard for the current crew. Even if they approved the mission, Magi kitchens couldn’t produce the meat-based diet other races expected. Since she’d worked in the galley for a couple years, she knew what the crew preferred.

  Reuben decided to sell Kesh’s management plan to MI-23, the Goat intelligence agency dedicated to preserving and replacing Black Rams. Though the ten categories weren’t an exact fit, they were close enough to provide a Band-aid while Deep 6 was away.

  Once the shipment of glop grenades arrived, Kesh accompanied him to the surface to answer questions. He’d let someone else worry about refueling and paying the bills for once.

  The Ram’s yacht landed on the world’s largest college campus, to be welcomed by adoring masses. Realizing bureaucrats would resist change, Reuben addressed the students directly. In the stadium, he announced plans to form the Office of Government Accountability. “This apprenticeship program will season my replacements and increase service by a hundredfold. We can’t rely on war veterans like my grandfather or those who hunted criminals like me. We face trying times ahead, and we need the next generation to be ready. Each of the prospective Rams will be televised around the clock, like me, increasing the entertainment selections available to the population as well as the transparency in our system.” He projected the list of categories for his audience. “A dedicated cross-species think tank, led by the eminent Ambassador Kesh, helped me to formulate these departments. Applications may be sent to the following link address. You can watch the hiring interviews on my channel. Together, we will hold the government accountable.”

  The crowd went wild, with screaming hordes of college-age females swooning as Reuben passed. He handed out private web-link slips to the most buxom. When they returned to the insulated quiet of the yacht, Kesh asked, “So it’s that easy? You obligate MI-23 to six times the network editing, and they agree?”

  “The people will demand it. I don’t have to lift a finger.”

  “How will you wade through all the applicants for the OGA in six days?”

  Reuben shrugged. “I leave that to the think-tank.”

  “Me? What are you going to be doing the whole time?”

  The Goat waggled his eyebrows. “Making dreams come true and selecting a very naughty nurse for the next leg of our trip.”

  “What do I get out of all this?”

  “I named the plan after you and submitted you to be recognized as a friend of the Goat people for your accomplishments.” Reuben changed into wild party clothing from his voluminous wardrobe.

  Kesh averted his gaze to avoid seeing neon orange next to bright green. The outfit made him wish his species was more than just blue-green colorblind. “I’m touched.”

  “Yeah. I have to get creative when I don’t have money.”

  “As a more useful form of payment, could I impose on MI-23 to do background checks on a few of my potential heirs?” Kesh asked.

  “Sure.”

  The reply was uncharacteristically terse. “Something wrong?” />
  “If I succeed in saving the Bankers and extending our racial debt, I’m going to be the object of hate and ridicule for the rest of my life.”

  “Then don’t save them. You could live out your days in luxury, and no one would know.”

  “I would.” Reuben selected his favorite fedora. “You’re a real friend. I won’t forget this.” His aura seemed sincere.

  Kesh seldom understood mammals—so active, even when bent on self-destruction. “Why?”

  “If we follow this plan of yours, people in the next century will look back and remember me with pride. You’ve redeemed my lineage.” Reuben bowed from the waist, forming the symbol of the egg with his hands.

  That was something a Saurian could understand. He echoed the sign. This crew was his chosen family. “The clutch is one.”

  While Reuben partied, Kesh sifted through the governmental candidates with efficiency and scheduled the hundred best qualified over the next five days, allotting them half an hour each. He planned to winnow that group to the sixty-six best.

  ****

  Halfway through the first interview, Reuben staggered into the room and slouched in a chair beside Kesh. He wore sunglasses and carried a cup that smelled of vanilla and alcohol. His floating camera captured everything for later broadcast. The administrative candidate was underwhelming, and Reuben interrupted with a loud buzzer. “Thank you. Next!”

  The second interview concluded even sooner.

  After the third dismissal with a raspberry, Kesh said, “These are the planet’s cream of the crop. They volunteered.”

  “Yeah. You don’t know diddly about government my friend. Watch and learn.” The words weren’t slurred, so Kesh remained silent.

  When Reuben began singing in the middle of the fourth interview, the stern woman told him, “If you don’t respect me, you buffoon, at least respect your office.”

  Reuben countered, “Women should be obscene and not heard.”

  “With that attitude, no wonder the office of the Ram never gets anything accomplished.”

  “You’re hired, Miss Wisteria.”

  The dark-brown ewe blinked. She had a hint on gray near one ear. “Excuse me?”

  “It was a test,” Kesh concluded. “You passed.”

  “People are going to try to walk over you every day. I want people with backbone around my trainees.”

  “Thank you. When do I start?” she asked.

  “Right now. Sit next to us and read over this week’s correspondence. Find anything the two of us missed in the new request-handling flowchart.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of—”

  Reuben glared over his sunglasses.

  “Yes, sir,” Wisteria said.

  As the three prepared for the next interviewee by reading his résumé, Reuben told the Saurian. “You try this time.”

  The next male nervously described working his way up to an executive position at a vineyard.

  Kesh grinned, showing his teeth. “Did you stomp the grapes yourself? I love a good marinade for my mammals.”

  The candidate darted out of the room so fast he flipped over the chair. There may have been a faint smell of urine in the air.

  Reuben glanced up from his nap. “Hmm. A little over the top. Less threat of being eaten. Dial it back to the grumpy you exuded when we wanted to spend money on repairs.”

  “Right.”

  Wisteria raised her hand.

  “Yes?” Reuben invited.

  “Is this another test?”

  “How so?”

  “A lot of these messages come from deranged individuals.”

  Both men snorted. “Yeah?”

  “Shouldn’t we recommend therapy for some of the more extreme cases?”

  Reuben pointed at her. “And that is why you’re head administrator. Good job. Circle some indicators and have Kesh write a basic filter for the worst cases. We’ll refine it over time.”

  “He can program?” Wisteria asked.

  Kesh growled. “He’s a trade analyst from the Turtle Embassy who picked your CV from thousands submitted.”

  “My apologies.” The ewe bowed. “You have a very nice tailor.”

  Kesh primped for the camera, giving his Human tailor on Eden a plug.

  “At this rate, you won’t get all the departmental employees we need,” she noted.

  “We don’t intend to,” Reuben said smoothly. “I’m only picking the complete staff for Filangis plus the coordinators for each of the five other sites. Once they learn procedures, we’ll send the other coordinators to centralized star systems to build their own offices with local talent.”

  The final interview of the day turned out to be their fourth employee, who asked, “When do we meet our Ram trainee?”

  Reuben slurped loudly from his drink to cover the silence.

  They hadn’t planned that far. Kesh fumbled for a good reply. “The Black Ram will select the six Ram trainees personally on the final day in a live-broadcast from his yacht. I thought we’d post scores from our executive panel and bring the finalists back for dinner.”

  The others seemed fooled by the excuse and nodded. On his slate, Kesh clustered the administrative interviews so they would all wrap up in time, shortening the time span to fifteen minutes each.

  Wisteria guessed, “He’s going to choose all the trainees for the program with mass-mind?”

  “What better way to govern the people than by consulting them Collective Unconscious directly.” Kesh pretended the logical route had been their intent all along.

  “I can hardly wait to watch. It’s going to be so exciting!”

  “Sure.” Reuben chewed angrily on his paper cup.

  ****

  The partners from Deep 6 spent all week poring over the MI-23 files for every qualified applicant. They lowered the candidates to the seventy-five best, independent of birth world. Max decreed that planet of origin shouldn’t matter because any Ram had to serve all the Goat worlds at one time or another. Indeed, rotating the trainees’ posts every few years might improve their education.

  The biggest surprise for Kesh was the quality of the wine the locals supplied. “Orange with a nutty undertone.”

  “Filangis red. It’s legendary,” Reuben explained.

  “Why haven’t I ever heard of it? People would pay a premium for this.”

  “They don’t export it. It’s too rare. What the wealthy here don’t buy outright, they sell in a lottery.”

  “Your people would rather enjoy a fine wine with their meals than climb out of debt?”

  “Without wine, our lives wouldn’t be worth living.”

  On the morning of the finale, Reuben showed up rumpled and exhausted from an all-night rave. Kesh noted how dark and depressed his aura looked. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

  “No. Why are there so many for the panel to discuss?”

  “You Rams have a lot of kids.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Reuben took Wisteria aside into the yacht’s bathroom.

  She returned with a rosy glow and thirty extra IQ points to help her moderate the selection process. Reuben staggered back and had to be lowered onto a cushion. The constant partying and the boost had taken their toll. “With luck, she can do the job, and I won’t need to mass-mind.” The communal exercise was reserved for the worst and most intractable problems facing Goat kind.

  The executives waded through the list with abandon and reduced the list to nine with their criteria. They called on Reuben to make the final picks.

  Max muted the microphone and whispered, “He’s in no shape to tap the Collective Unconscious.”

  Wisteria countered, “He has to. That’s what the constituents tuned in for. Have him roll his eyes and take them out of his hat for all I care, but we promised to provide the final list on the air.”

  Reuben nodded weakly. “The show must go on.”

  The group knew he would need to connect to the Goat mass-mind through direct physical contact with a ewe, but such
an exertion when he was already depleted would be dangerous.

  “Bring in Daisy,” Max whispered to Kesh in English so the local Goats wouldn’t comprehend. “Have her channel her sister the nurse in case he flatlines. I’ll give him a dose of catalyst and a stimulant.” Then he turned the sound back on.

  Daisy had been waiting in the wings. She rushed to the fallen Ram’s side. “I’ll be here for you.”

  As the injection woke him, Reuben’s eyes fastened on Daisy’s. He linked with her instead of the Goat world. Through her, he tugged on the telepaths in Laurelin. Using the vast intelligence network, he recited the names of seven Rams.

  When he released his hold on Daisy, she collapsed. Max slapped a diagnostic patch on her.

  Wisteria seemed confused. “The last name, Armand, isn’t on the list of finalists.”

  Before he blacked out, Reuben explained, “His job is to make fun of what the others do wrong.”

  Thus, the office of internal critic was born, setting a precedent for centuries. Goat journalists declared their approval of the concept that no part of government should be exempt from parody, even the ones responsible for lampooning.

  MI-23 rushed the crowd out to allow Reuben a chance to recuperate. Since Armand was a local studying media at the university, MI-23 put him in charge of reviewing the new, expanded programming and added an hour slot for his recap each week.

  The lead officer handed Kesh a thick valise. “The research on your family, sir. Thank you for your service to our people.”

  Kesh bowed in return and rushed to catch up with the entourage.

  After the shuttle docked with Deep 6, Kesh hid in his cabin to read the dirt collected on his relatives. He tossed out a merchant from the list who had declared bankruptcy multiple times. Bad luck could happen to anyone, but that many repetitions spoke of disastrous judgment unfit for clan leadership.

  Another obvious reject had broken the hips of females. No charges had been filed. These things happened during sex if the female used too much of her body’s calcium to form the eggshells. However, a second occurrence meant the male enjoyed inflicting pain on the weak. He dropped another candidate simply because the reports could say nothing remarkable about him.