by Jim Rudnick
"Conda Qip will be a few minutes, but we're going to have a minute or two with him. Aide says that they've planned out most of our day—but that we do have some free time later right after the lunch break, it appears. If we can get it crammed in, I'd like to take you over to the big new obstacle course—something that I'm especially proud of in fact," he said.
Moments later, the conda's aide said something to Qew in Enkian, and he rose and led the way into the inner office.
It was an office, at least that's what they expected to see, yet Tanner couldn't help but feel that this wasn't meant for visitors to see—to experience.
Inside at a desk in the far corner, the conda sat—an Enkian Militia member who was bigger than most. A tall, tall feathered crest in the black and lavender colors was the first thing you saw. The feathers were taller than any that Tanner had ever seen before. But it was the beak on the alien's face that was so different, as at some point, this had been injured, and there was a large scar of some kind that went obliquely across the whole shell of his beak. It was stained black, and Tanner had no idea why it was like that, but overall, it gave this conda a look that said "I do not fool around" and that was imposing. But the rest of the office was still odder.
On his left, one wall held photos, dozens of photos, of what looked like recruit training exercises, more of groups of recruits at their graduation perhaps, and still more of some kind of a major battle. The photo was too small for Tanner to see who was fighting and why they were fighting, but Tanner knew combat photos, and that's what these were.
Combat against who? Enki was alone—they had only UrPoPo as close neighbors and there was no war there. Tanner made a mental note to check on that as he looked over to his right side at the remaining wall of the office.
Against one wall was some kind of Enkian sculptures—perhaps they were trophies, Tanner thought, as he noted the dozen that sat on a long counter. Each was jet black with lavender highlights as per the Militia color palette. Yet each was of a dead, or perhaps only dying, Enkian lying at the feet of a standing Militia forces soldier. Each of the dead or dying Enkians had the feathered crest of a muse—the Words Muse red and white on one, and the Fine Arts Muse blue and red on another. The victory of the Militia over the muses was how Tanner read these, and he looked back at the conda sitting in front of them with more interest.
Speaking Enkian, Qew made a statement or two after coming to attention with an Enkian salute. That was ignored by the conda, who simply sat, listened, and then nodded. Nothing was ever said so they might understand, Tanner realized. That was a small thing, yet in the world of intel, it was a big thing for future considerations. Big indeed ...
As the two Enkians finished their quick chat, the conda rose, smiled—at least Tanner interpreted it as a smile——and in pretty good English wished them a great visit. Then without any further ado, he sat back down and they were dismissed. Like all command officers, next is what is now. Tanner smiled and nodded his thanks.
Outside, the aide handed Qew a short visitor itinerary, and he nodded to her as they left the command offices and went back outside to the field.
Qew pointed over to a long, low single-floor building off to the left and began walking toward it.
"First stop today will be combat training, if that's okay?" he asked, but Tanner thought that no matter what he said, they were going to follow the itinerary as closely as was possible. As they walked along, Qew expounded on the Militia training regimen.
"We get the younglings at twelve years of age, and yes, they are all pre-sorted for us," he said.
Bram said, "Pre-sorted, Qew?"
"Sorry, yes—as you know, younglings are raised up until the age of twelve in our society. At that time, they are tested for the five muses—should they show promise for any of them, they are then sorted into those streams. Some, however, are better suited for military training—our Militia. Others for management of Enkian resources so they go that way. No matter, but by the age of twelve, we have our annual recruits. Here at this base, as well as at any of the more than fifty bases worldwide, they are trained to be Militia soldiers. Full and complete training. And it's the combat basics that you'll be seeing in just a few minutes ..."
Bram spoke up quicker than Tanner. "Younglings come from where exactly, Qew?" His voice was questioning but it was easy to tell that this was a new term for him.
Qew rippled his crest. "Did no one explain about Enkian younglings to you as yet?" he asked, his voice a bit exasperated.
Tanner and Bram shook their heads negatively.
"Okay, here's what you need to know. Once a year, our Enkian females enter a short reproductive season that lasts just a few days. If she is lucky enough to mate with an Enkian male, then about fifty days later, she bears an egg. These eggs are collected, of course, by our Resources teams and stored away in incubators 'til they hatch into our younglings. Resources looks after them 'til they reach the age of twelve when they are then sorted as to their futures. You didn't know any of that?" he asked, his voice assuming this was true.
Tanner stopped in his tracks. "If what you say is true, then once the egg is taken to Resources, there is no—um—no family tie between the mother and the youngling, correct?" he said.
"Why would there need to be? It's Resources that is in charge of raising our younglings, not the mothers," Qew said, and he looked a bit exasperated once again.
Tanner nodded. This might explain much, he thought and again made a note to himself that he would need to pass this along to the ambassador et al.
Bram had been looking into the stonecraw's mind and here. He thought the stonecraw might be a good candidate for an input test.
Stonecraw Qew had the same rows and huge columns of filing cabinets like all the Enkians. He was about thirty years of age, male, and in the military. Bram mentally ticked off those checkboxes, as he'd have to remember them too. So far, Bram had been watching Stonecraw Qew carefully, trying to gauge his every sentence for where it came from in the filing cabinet rows and what was behind it. He could also look ahead at least a few minutes too for the Enkian—for instance, in a few minutes he might speak up on a young recruit who would almost injure another.
He stood just to the stonecraw's left, and he gazed into the Enkians mind. Ahead just a moment was the path they would take inside this new building, and he could see the real path was off to the left-hand side corridor. Bram concentrated on the opposite. He pushed the new path of going to the right instead of the left into that filing cabinet and imagined that the small card labeled with "path to the gym" was on the drawer, and he dropped out of the Enkian's mind.
As they entered the low building ahead, Qew moved them into the foyer, hesitated, and then turned to the right. The three of them moved quickly along a side hallway to a larger corridor that led back to administrative offices—row and row of them—ahead.
They continued to walk and received a few stares from other Enkians in Militia camouflage clothing, but no one stopped them. At the end of the long, long hallway, they turned to their left, went all the way across the back of the building, turned once more to their left, and strode along the long hallway.
About halfway down that corridor, they turned to their left into a big gym that they could hear was full of some kind of training session.
As they entered the room, Qew held out an arm to stop them short of the actual floor and nodded for them to follow him around the side wall to a set of raised bleachers to go and sit down.
Bram nodded to himself and tested the input test too.
"Stonecraw, wasn't there a shorter way to the gym?" Bram thought a direct challenge might be the way.
Stonecraw Qew nodded and held up his hands, palms up.
"Sure is but I just thought that you'd all appreciate the walk around the building seeing us Militia types all working and such," he said.
Bram could see there was no truth to that as the Enkian's mind knew this was a fib although one of no real merit or worth.
Input test administered, and yes, I can affect an Enkians mind enough to gain a small amount of control. He knew that reporting that would get the Master to tell him to escalate the value of the test, eventually challenging the Enkians with major choices of morality or politics or the like.
EYES ONLY needed, Bram thought.
As they made their way to some raised seating, the recruits below them, numbering over one hundred, finished up their calisthenics and were guided by sergeants out on the floor into two lines each facing another. One of the sergeants addressed them all in Enkian for a few moments, and they paired off with a fellow recruit in the facing lineup. At the sergeant's command that was barked out, one whole row went on the attack, while their counterpart in the facing row went on the defensive. Sergeants moved among the rows pointing out mistakes and barking at their recruits as those mistakes happened.
Tanner paid specific attention to the pair closest to them to see what they were practicing.
One recruit was on the attack, and he shook his hands, his feathered crest rippling like water on a rapids. He took a step forward, then sideways, and then forward again. His counterpart retreated too in the same kind of stepped formation.
Suddenly the attacking recruit stepped over one leg with the other, planted it with a slap, and then whirled in a half-circle.
The newly planted foot rotated as the now free leg circled like a whip, and his spur on the rear of that foot lashed out at the defending recruit.
That recruit was not quick enough, so the spur caught him across one thigh and ripped a gash right through his camouflage leggings.
Without some kind of armor below those leggings, the recruit would have been badly slashed, but all that Tanner could hear was the scrape of the spur along the under-armor accompanied by a huge screech.
The two recruits nodded to each other, and then the roles were reversed.
"Typical attack move," Stonecraw Qew said, "yet very well done—that recruit should be watched carefully."
Bram noted the comment that had been made was the one he had seen in the stonecraw's mind earlier. That meant he could see what an Enkian intended to say at least a few minutes before the Enkian said it.
Impressive tactical move, Tanner thought, as he watched dozens and dozens of the recruits do the same exact step-over leg whip. Some spurs hit their targets. Others missed the target or were blocked.
Without a weapon, he thought, this was a good move by an Enkian, and I'll have to remember this for future safety ...
#####
The Master Adept was the last one to join the rest of the Executive Committee members for the monthly meeting. If one could tell, the Baroness thought, the woman was not her usual calm self. Wonder what is upsetting her, but then she realized she would probably soon know.
"Let's come to order, shall we?" Chairman Gramsci said, and he referred to the printed Agenda that lay in front of him, as he began to read.
Moments later, he stopped and looked at the sealed envelope beside his Agenda and said, "This is unusual," as he picked up the envelope and opened it to read the report it contained.
The rest of the Committee sat and waited. The Baroness wondered why he'd gotten the only copy of the report. The Master Adept of Eons looked instead at the table in front of her and said not a word. The Duke d'Avigdor toyed with a stylus on his tablet and he too said nothing. The Caliph just stared at the chairman at an impasse. The doge of Conclusion did the same, and only the admiral of the RIM Navy said anything at all.
"Unusual, but necessary, as this will undoubtedly be seen, Chairman. This is my doing—we will await your reading and understanding of the report," he finished off and sat back.
The three-page report took the chairman almost five whole minutes to read and to digest.
He put it down and nodded. "Admiral, thank you for your report—although I believe this may pose more problems for the RIM than opportunities. At least at first glance ..."
The Baroness exploded. "What in all things that are holy is this all about?" she sputtered and slapped her hand down hard onto the round table they all were seated at.
The chairman nodded and he slid the report over to her as he began to speak.
"The admiral—well, I guess it was the RIM Navy itself, took ownership of that probe from Enki. You might remember that they sent us an acknowledgment of our initial invite to begin talks to join the RIM Confederacy more than seventy years ago. Well, this probe was sent to the Navy labs for testing. Plain Jane type of AI, keyed to mount its top speed of about one-half light speed per year, which is why it took so long for it to get here. But that is not the sum of the report—what is important are the results of the hull testing," he said, and he had everyone's attention.
As he continued, the Baroness put down the report and paid attention too, to get his take on the subject.
"Simply put, the metal used to build the probe is an unknown metal made from an ore that we have no similar element on our charts. This is a brand new metal, and so it was subjected to a whole host of tests," he said, and all of the heads of state at the table leaned in.
"As expected, the projectile testing—where various size caliber weapons are shot at the metal—showed nothing special at all. Piercings occurred as expected and were tracked, and the analytics are available for anyone here to see. But it was the Ray testing that was the unusual item—the metal appears to be invulnerable to any kind of our ray weapons," he said quietly.
The table exploded.
"Exactly what does that mean—" the doge started.
"How reliable are these tests—" the Caliph said.
"Not the energy pulse weapons—they destroy everything—" the duke began.
"Silence!" the Master Adept said, and this was so unusual that all became instantly silent.
The chairman nodded to her, offering her the chance to have the floor and to speak.
"I saw this, of course, and must ask you all to consider something both pro and con on this matter—a metal that if we can gain its ownership—we can help keep our own ships safer. Yes, I know that this is the major thought in each of your minds. And I also see the wheels turning about how to turn this into a revenue stream for each of your realms. I get that. I understand that. But what each of you does not know is that this metal is found only on Enki. It belongs to them—and at this point, we do not even know if they will join the RIM Confederacy. You are now all hoping so—but consider this too. That even should they join, once they learn that this metal is a major product that they will control and own—and yes, I see that all of you are thinking the same thing. You will take it if you cannot get it any other way ..."
She shook her finger at them all before continuing.
"And it is that thought of war here on the RIM that I speak against today. War cannot come to the RIM—ever," she said, and that last sentence hung there for all to hear again in their ears.
She sat back. She had spoken. The Baroness now realized what had set the Master Adept off and why she was so upset.
Still, the ability to shield a ship from lasers and energy pulse weapons or plasma cannons was a thing to be wished for and yes, well worth the effort. Still, short of a war, the only other thing that might work would be diplomatic negotiations of the highest order.
The chairman thanked the Master for her opinions, and they went around the table for each member of the Executive Committee to have their opinions known and heard.
The doge of Conclusion, while twirling the white hair on the back of one hand with the other, offered that yes, they would need to somehow gain access to the ores to make it themselves ... but yes, he'd support a diplomatic slow course to gain that access.
The Caliph, however, was a bit more blunt. He wanted only to get the metal for his ships, he said. He'd pay for it or take it. He didn't care much about the Enkians at all. The Master flinched during his short statement, and the Baroness could tell she could see more than they had all heard.
For he
r own part, the Baroness said that yes, they would like the metal too for their own ships—and she would simply follow the lead of the rest of the Committee too. She knew there would be an answer today on this. It was important, she thought, that the consensus be the acquiring of the metal no matter how that was accomplished.
Duke d'Avigdor mirrored her own comments and said he'd also follow the Committee consensus, and he hoped that the answers would come via diplomacy rather than by force.
Lastly, the chairman spoke, and he too said he'd support diplomacy as the first attempt at acquiring the metals for the use of same here on the RIM. And he called for a vote—and the diplomatic approach was the result of their consensus.
Instructing the admiral on what that would entail took a few hours more as they argued about the offer their ambassador currently carried and how that offer could be sweetened without giving away their knowledge about the metal. That too took some work, but eventually they crafted a sweetened offer and even a "cherry on top" that the admiral posed, which had them all enthused too.
The admiral took on the job of sending off the new instructions to the ambassador via an EYES ONLY later that day.
As she left the room, the Baroness nodded to the Master Adept and noted that her gaze was met and fully returned.
She liked it when they seemed to be on the same page as they said. This new opportunity might bode well for both their realms.
CHAPTER FOUR
On the Atlas, one of the best things that Tanner had learned was that the cooks onboard were the best he'd ever had the pleasure of serving with in any man's navy. Sure, he'd enjoyed the food on the Kerry and the Marwick when he was in the RIM Confederacy Navy, but the Barony Navy was a full level up when it came to both menu and the wide variety of ethnic cooking styles from different planets.
Tanner's favorite was the nights when the cooks took on what they called Asian cooking, and that included his favorite Thai items like Pad Thai and Tom Yam Goong or Som Tam with its spicy papaya spicing, which made him grin from ear to ear. Like most almost forty-year-old people, Tanner realized worrying about his uniform pants getting a bit tight was a new thing to worry about. Yet on Asian nights, he said the hell with it and chowed down on all the various items that came out of the kitchen—and he usually told the stewards to bring more too. He was not too proud of it, but he tried to always ride herd on his waistline on all other nights, but never on Asian night.