Thelma took “her” chair, the second chair pulled up to the long table. She put her comms unit on the desk.
“Can you switch that off, please?” He could have just asked Lon to block the signal. The request was a courtesy, as well as a means of underlining the nature of the forthcoming discussion. He scrubbed a hand over his short hair. “My life would be easier if you weren’t smart.”
She switched off her comms unit and waited, recognizing that his compliment wasn’t a complaint or an excuse for what was coming, but a starting point.
He began abruptly. “This conversation, the information I share in it and your actions resulting from it, are part of your Galactic Justice service. That you have started to find the answers yourself is irrelevant. Information about the grubs would be worth a lot to an information broker. I realize that, and I’m aware you might resent this order, but you are forbidden to trade information regarding the grubs with anyone. You may only discuss the aliens as part of your deputy duties, and even then, unless I order you to do so or the situation is critical enough to require it, staying silent is preferable.”
“I understand.”
His scowl deepened. Given that unaligned aliens were a major Federal issue, he obviously required something more.
She took a moment to consider her words. “I promise that anything I learn about the grubs, or the Kampia to give them their formal identifier, will only be used and shared as part of my service to Galactic Justice. Honestly, Max, I recognize that alien contact is a big deal. I won’t jeopardize whatever the Federation is attempting for my own profit.”
His scowl twisted into a grimace. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. You’ve kept Lon’s and Harry’s existence secret. It’s that the grubs—the Kampia—aren’t even something I should know about. As space myths, they’re fine. But knowing that they’re real and coming here for a meeting…”
Despite herself, Thelma’s breath caught at the confirmation that the Senate Worlds Development Committee really was on its way to meet with aliens.
“I don’t want Agent Tennyson to suspect that either of us know the truth of the Kampia’s existence,” Max said. “It’s bad enough that she suspects I do. As sheriff and deputy, we work for Galactic Justice, but we don’t need to attract their attention. It’s safer that we don’t.”
“Safer?”
His right knee jiggle in an uncharacteristic revelation of nervous energy. “I have secrets. For you, the only way to run an information brokerage career that Galactic Justice doesn’t try to expropriate, is to stay off their radar. Don’t set off any alerts.”
“Aubree knows that I’m setting up as an information broker.” Belatedly, Thelma recalled the agent’s conversation. “She’s willing to aid me by not bringing it to anyone’s attention, isn’t she?”
“For the price of you slipping her information occasionally, and perhaps broadcasting information that she wants seeded. Agent Tennyson is dangerously effective. She won’t burn you without reason. But if she thinks you know about the grubs, that would make you far more interesting than you’d be comfortable with.”
Thelma nodded thoughtfully. “I’d be flagged in the Galactic Justice database.” And Max would come under scrutiny. The Lonesome itself might be boarded. Lon and Harry would be discovered. Her keeping a low profile was important for all of them. “I’ll be careful, I promise. And I’ll listen if you think I need to stay away from certain issues. Lon? That goes for you and Harry, too. I trust you.”
“Okay.” Max stretched his arms in front of him, releasing tension. “Now, about the grubs—”
“Harry’s in the lounge,” Lon interrupted. “You might want to include him in this discussion.”
So, after the warning for secrecy had been given, and she’d accepted it, the actual conversation about the Kampia wasn’t technically official sheriff business; hence, the psychological message in the change of venue. Lon wasn’t as subtle as he thought.
Or perhaps, he didn’t mean to be subtle.
The last of the tension around Max’s mouth relaxed. “Sure. The lounge will be more comfortable.”
It was. Since it was night time, Thelma grabbed a mug of hot chocolate for herself, and one for Max, at his request. Then she kicked off her boots and curled up on the corner of the sofa nearest him. A few weeks ago, Lon had added an afghan to the sofa and a couple of cushions. The Lonesome was a comfortable temperature, but snuggling under a blanket still felt good…and this wasn’t official Galactic Justice business. This was about her inclusion deeper into the secrets of the Lonesome’s crew.
“What do you know about the Kampia?” Max asked.
The taste of chocolate spiced with cinnamon was sweet on her tongue. “Assume I know nothing. I thought they were a space myth.”
“Lon?” Max invited the AI to brief her.
He was delighted to oblige. “The Federation’s knowledge of the Kampia is limited. However, xenobiologists who’ve examined rare footage and questioned those who’ve claimed to have seen them, conclude that the Kampia are similar to a caterpillar in appearance, although whether they undergo metamorphosis is unknown. The Kampia are seven to eight feet in length and over a foot high. They have six appendages that enable them to manipulate objects with admirable dexterity, and another six appendages that seem to simply assist in their mobility.
“In the first wave of surveys and settlement in the Saloon Sector, there were no reported sightings of Kampia. Those began, and happened rarely, after surveyors sent probes into the wormhole on the opposite side of the Badstars.”
Thelma’s hot chocolate sloshed in her mug. “I knew it!”
“You guessed it,” Lon corrected her.
“Go on,” she urged.
“That’s the extent of my knowledge of the Kampia,” he said. “From here on it’s conjecture. Agent Aubree Tennyson gave us the hint to focus on Senator Gua. The Senator is an ambitious woman. She wants to leave a legacy, both in terms of her own achievements and in setting her son up to exceed her, to be President of the Federation. Successful first contact with the Kampia leading to either drawing them into the Federation or negotiating an alliance with them achieves Senator Gua’s objectives. According to the official press release of the Bunyaphi Accord Discussions, Galactic Justice Agent Rudolf Gua is part of the Senate Worlds Development Committee’s staff. He’s an adviser.”
Thelma hands tightened on her mug. Then she noticed Max and Harry both noting her reaction to the news of her former classmate’s elite assignment. “I’m not going to do anything reckless,” she said impatiently. “So, Rudy is to go down in history as a member of the inaugural Kampia-Federation meeting?”
“I suspect that is his mother’s intention.”
“He should have paid more attention in xenobiology class.” She swallowed her annoyance with the last of her hot chocolate. “All right.” She set the empty mug on the coffee table. “But how does Senator Gua know that the Kampia will meet with her? Who is representing the Kampia? What do they want?”
Lon managed an electronic sigh. “Much to my regret I cannot crack the encryption of the top secret section of the Galactic Justice database. The two AIs who designed and maintain it have inserted traps that even other AI can’t circumvent.”
“We don’t need more information on the Kampia,” Max said. “Cracking the Galactic Justice database merely to satisfy your curiosity—”
“Extreme curiosity,” Lon interjected.
Max grinned. “Still not worth the risk. I’d hate to see you imprisoned for stealing official secrets, my friend.”
“Prison would not agree with me.” Lon paused. “Back to what we can conjecture.”
Harry chuckled.
Lon resumed educating everyone as to his guesswork. “Assuming standard speed for a Galactic Justice courier vessel, Senator Gua should reach the Saloon Sector six to seven days from now. Tellingly, in three days, the Navy begins wargames in Sheriff Cayor’s territory, on the far side of Braw.”
<
br /> Thelma grabbed a cushion and began braiding the fringe that edged it. Braid, unbraid. Braid, unbraid. She was thinking.
If you imagined the Saloon Sector as a stretched out diamond—which was a far neater image than the reality it described—then Max’s territory occupied the flat point on the Badstars edge, while Sheriff Pang policed the interstellar space of the matching flat point that encompassed Mistral, Moonshine and Tornado, the original and developed core of the Saloon Sector, and the bit nearest to the rest of the Federation. Sheriff Cayor’s territory occupied the long top point of the diamond and included the agricultural planet of Sumatra as well as the trading planet of Braw, which was sustained by the asteroid mining industry. Sheriff Zajak looked after the final quarter where manufacturing industries were under development.
“How long would it take a Navy frigate to travel from Braw to the wormhole on the far side of the Badstars?” she asked.
Max shrugged. “The Badstars is notorious for its unpredictable space weather. From Braw to the edge of the Badstars, a frigate at full burn could make the journey in under three weeks. Then it could be a month, but probably more, to cross the Badstars. But if you’re thinking of the possibility that the grubs might bring a battle fleet through the wormhole while the Navy’s distracted, don’t be. Tactically, the grubs could invade at any time and the naval vessels stationed in the Saloon Sector would be stretched thin repelling them. There’s no reason for the grubs to set up a meeting with the Federation before attacking it.”
“No reason in our culture,” Thelma retorted. “One of the core tenets of xenodiplomacy is not to assume that others are like ourselves.” She frowned. “Although, really, the bigger risk is that the meeting between the senators and the Kampia goes so wrong that it triggers an attack.”
Max kicked out the footrest on his recliner. “I think you’re being overly pessimistic. The sightings of them only ever report one or two grubs. Sorry, Kampia,” he corrected himself. “And the Kampia never attempt to approach or show hostility to those who see them. They merely crawl along a planetary or lunar surface.”
“Searching, surveying,” she murmured.
Lon added, “They’ve been sighted on asteroids, as well. The fact that a meeting has been planned means that the Kampia are in communication with the Federation. Reports that all survey probes were lost in the wormhole may have been exaggerated. Galactic Justice would have run a thorough threat analysis before they allowed Senator Gua this secret meeting.”
Thelma had been educated in the tension between the elected and civil service representatives of Federation power. As much influence as Senator Gua could undoubtedly bring to bear, a foreign affairs meeting would have required a year or more to put together with Galactic Justice working hard behind the scenes. Just for starters, there was the need to coordinate with the Navy and to hide their protective gathering behind the fiction of war games. The top secret briefing papers would have been fascinating.
She sighed. “So we assume that the Kampia have demonstrated that they come in peace. But why are they here? Why make contact now? They’ve proven that they can close the wormhole to us, so it’s not as if we’re a threat to them.”
“I am baffled as to their purpose in meeting with the Senate Worlds Development Committee,” Lon said. “Unfortunately, we’re unlikely to hear even rumors concerning the meeting for years.”
“Unless something goes wrong,” Max said.
Thelma winced. Xenodiplomacy was complicated. “I hope Rudy stays silent. The man annoys me. The Kampia might feel the same.”
Harry laughed. “Fortunately, it’s not our problem.”
Lon groaned. “Now you’ve done it. You’ve jinxed us.”
Chapter 14
Thelma retired to her cabin to think over the Kampia situation. An incomplete idea scrabbled at the edge of her mind. For now, it was too inchoate to express, but it worried her. The Kampia hadn’t ventured into Federation space merely because Senator Gua wanted to meet them. They’d have their own agenda. Of course, Galactic Justice would have considered that. There were probably briefing papers on possible negotiating levers and danger points.
And yet…
“Sleep on it,” she told herself. Sometimes issues that loomed large at night became minuscule with a new day and energy restored. Her fretting might be an unconscious ploy to inflate her own self-importance since she felt sidelined, exiled from core world Galactic Justice activities. Kidding herself that she’d seen a factor that others had missed could lead to embarrassment if she shared her half-developed idea.
Unfortunately, she didn’t wake to clarity either for or against her suspicions. She left her cabin determined to find a way to ask Lon about it without seeming loco.
But his announcement momentarily shocked her suspicions into silence. “We have guests arriving for breakfast.”
Instinctively, she glanced down. She wore an untailored blue utility suit and had scraped her hair into a casual ponytail, her focus during her morning ablutions on her suspicions rather than her appearance. “Are they official visitors? Should I change?” If they were Customs officers, the visitors would be wearing their own smart uniforms.
“They are two surveyors,” Lon said. “Theodor Vale and Alex Proust won’t care what you wear. They’ve decades of experience on the frontier, so they’re worth listening to, which is good because if they’re as garrulous as I remember, all you’ll be doing is listening. They’re life partners as well as business partners.”
“Has Max entertained them before?” She couldn’t remember seeing their names on discussion forums or messages to the Sheriff’s Department.
Max emerged from his office and answered her question. “Theodor and Alex like a chat, but they resist going planetside. They’re confirmed spacers. They also don’t always trust messages transmitted through space. So this visit could be casual, a way to break up the monotony of their survey work, or they could want to pass on some information. They have a knack for hearing about opportunities and threats before anyone else.”
Which made the two surveyors people she should cultivate for her information brokerage role.
She followed Max down the ladder to the cargo deck.
Back on Zephyr, once the bandits had been handed over to the planetary guards, Lon had reconfigured the Lonesome’s lowest deck. The holding cells had vanished and a nondescript lounge occupied the central space. A table with four chairs, plus four armchairs and a small kitchen nook, enabled guests to be entertained without bringing them up to the “home” deck. Evidently, this sort of mid-space, impromptu meeting happened often enough that Lon prepared for it.
It just hadn’t happened before in Thelma’s stint as deputy. Her footsteps slowed as she neared the kitchenette. Max was the sheriff, the Lonesome was his, and he knew the two surveyors tramping through the lock tunnel and about to enter the lounge. It was his place to greet them, and hers to…hover?
He looked back at her and frowned.
There wasn’t even a coffee machine she could pretend to play with. A basic food dispenser occupied the counter. She raised her eyebrows and kind of grimaced back at him to convey her social uncertainty. Maybe she shouldn’t have followed him down the ladder quite so quickly?
He gave a huff of laughter and held out his hand. “Come here.”
It was at that inopportune moment that Lon opened the hatch to the lock tunnel and their guests stepped in. Immediately, the first man’s face split into a grin, his gaze taking in Max’s amused expression and outstretched hand before traveling on to Thelma. He was a short, slight man with a mop of wild gray hair and a straggly moustache. “Ahoy, the Lonesome!”
“Good morning, Theodor. Morning, Alex,” Max responded.
As they approached, Alex reached around Theodor and shook Max’s hand before nodding at Thelma. He was a much bigger man than his partner. He had a shiny bald head, a wide clean-shaven face, and happy brown eyes. “Nice to have breakfast in company. We’d have invited you
aboard the Thistlebristle—”
Thelma giggled. The sound just slipped out. She covered her mouth and coughed. “Sorry.”
Spacers could be touchy if they perceived a slight against their spaceship, but Alex smiled at her. “No, no, laugh. That’s why we chose the name.”
“Our former ship was the Crazy Mazy Daisy.” Theodor beamed at her.
They served themselves from the food dispenser, everyone receiving ersatz versions of their chosen meals. After the fresh foods Thelma cooked with Lon, the transformed “goop” lacked the zing of her usual fare. She stuck with scrambled eggs and toast
Max ate as readily as ever, but then, he liked the goop. In his case, the goop had been transformed into fake bacon and eggs; as had Theodor and Alex’s.
At least the conversation was entertaining. After weeks of monitoring the Sheriff Department’s discussion boards and responding to messages forwarded by Owen, she recognized in Theodor and Alex the brand of obsessive craziness that marked long-time surveyors. Either that single-minded, slightly warped focus enabled people to succeed as surveyors, or else it was the result of years of surveying. Either way, they told a good story about events that occurred within the frame of their obsession.
The successful hazing of the newest five person team of surveyors in Zephyr territory had Theodor snorting his amusement as he described it. “The rawest of raw dudes. Not like you, my dear.” He inclined his head in an abbreviated bow to Thelma. “Despite the wretched tales of us old-timers’ cantankerous natures, we’re prepared to extend a helping hand and provide a little guidance, but this crew…” He shook his head. “Upstarts. Know-alls. They just begged to be fooled.”
“And Veronica obliged,” Alex said chewing on a rasher of faux bacon held casually in his fingers. “She trailed rumors, laced the discussion forum with them. Some of us aided her.”
Theodor snickered at the ever so slightly chiding look his partner cast his way. “The dudes were primed to leap at their chance. Of course, if they’d been honest, they’d have been fine.”
Space Deputy (Interstellar Sheriff Book 1) Page 13