Vinium (The Silver Ships Book 10)

by S. H. Jucha

Gino received from the attendant.

  Gino sent in reply. He had no idea what Winston was prepared to say, but everything he had learned from Alex taught him to trust the SADEs to speak what they believed. In this case, it would mean giving Winston an opportunity to address the Council, whether he supported Gino’s proposal or not.

  “I offer the floor to Winston,” Gino said, when the SADE took up a position beside the elevated podium.

  “Sers,” Winston said, without a gesture of respect to the Council. “You’ll pardon my uninvited presence among you, but I was only recently made aware of Council Leader Diamanté’s intentions. I’m here representing the Confederation SADEs. Only a relatively small number could be polled in the short time available, but the response was overwhelmingly singular. The SIF Directors believe this poll is representative of the opinion of their entire membership. As such, I’m required to make you aware of their demand.”

  Winston’s words created an angry rumble through the rows, and Katrina smiled at Gino, anticipating what was to come.

  “I see that you don’t appreciate that word demand, Sers. I don’t use it lightly. As you are aware, every SADE is a member and contributor to the SIF. Therefore, when the SADEs, who could respond to the poll in time, demanded the Council take action to protect the Confederation, we, as the directorate, must heed the membership, not that we disagree with their uniform opinion.”

  Lemoyne and Teressi simultaneously jumped up, but, before they could speak, Winston held up his hands and thundered, “You will hear me out, Sers, or regret that you didn’t.”

  Despite their outrage, Lemoyne and Teressi were forced to sit by an outpouring of cries from other Leaders, who shouted for them to sit down and be still.

  “Our demand is simple.” Winston continued. “Take action to protect Méridiens across the Confederation. Fund a military force, and disabuse yourself of the idea that you can hire others to do it for you. The majority of SADEs want a future in the Confederation, but not at the risk of watching Nua’ll spheres descend on our colonies and decimate everything we’ve worked to build. If you don’t heed our demand, the SIF directorship will recommend to its members that they seek safety with some other society that will be enacting the necessary steps to protect its populace against the possibility of invasion.”

  Several Leaders jumped up to ask Winston questions, but they were faced with a view of his retreating back. Winston triggered the doors to the Supplicants Hall and strode briskly through them.

  Confused and dazed by the turn of events, Gino was unsure what to do next.

  Katrina sent urgently. she urged.

  Gino called for order and waited while the Leaders quieted. “I have no more information to present on this subject. You have received the agreement with Omnia Ships, and you’ve received my proposal. I’m not prepared to separate these into individual parts for you to pick and choose between. That would make no sense. I call for a vote on the agreement and my proposal as a package. Roll call, please,” Gino finished, cueing the controller.

  The process took a while. The controller continued to ping the Leaders, during the course of the afternoon, for their votes. They, in turn, were busy discussing the subject with their close associates.

  Gino retired to his office to await the outcome. He wasn’t permitted to query the controller, while a vote was being taken. Instead, he sent,

 

 

 

  Gino said, ending the comm. He’d refused the servers’ offers to bring him a small repast. Instead, he sat at his desk. The thought running through his head was, Katrina, I tried to do what Alex might have done, but I don’t know if I’m as practiced or as effective as him.

  The controller notified Gino that voting was completed. He stood from his desk, straightened his jacket, and assumed a confident air, although he felt no such thing. He marched with sure steps across the Chamber’s floor to climb the steps of the dais and grasp the podium’s curved rail.

  “Announce the vote,” Gino ordered the controller.

  “The Council votes in the majority to accept the agreement with Omnia Ships and the Council Leader’s proposal to construct warships and raise a military contingent of Méridien volunteers, who might be trained at Haraken to command and crew the ships,” the controller replied.

  Gino’s legs threatened to collapse at the announcement. The Confederation’s future safety had ridden on the Council’s vote to accept dramatic changes in Méridien culture, and he couldn’t believe it had happened. Gino sent.

  Winston replied enigmatically.

  -19-

  Sol

  The Rêveur completed the long transit to Sol’s space. Per Captain Lumley’s request, Esteban had exited the passenger ship outside the system’s dense, outer asteroid belt. The first thing the SADE did was send a code to access the comm probes left behind by Alex and the Harakens, which would enable the Omnians to quickly communicate across the system.

  “Esteban, please proceed to locate Patrice Morris and Nikki Fowler for us,” Olawale requested.

  Olawale and Francis had decided to get an update from the friends that the Harakens had made at Idona Station, namely Patrice and Nikki, before they attempted to contact Sol’s leadership. Originally enemies, Patrice, a militia lieutenant, and Nikki, a rebel leader, formed a working partnership and, later, a tight bond, as they proved that antagonists can work together, and old wounds can be healed.

  “Please repeat,” the Idona Station communications operator said. “Did you ask for Lieutenant Morris? How long have you been out in the belt? It’s Colonel Morris now.”

  “Then might I speak with your colonel?” Esteban asked.

  “The colonel is presently in the belt. I don’t have her schedule, but I can refer you to her adjutant, who can give you that information. By the way, you didn’t identify yourself, and your access code didn’t show.”

  “Please connect me to the colonel’s adjutant,” Esteban requested. “To answer your questions, we’re old friends of Ser Fowler, and we haven’t a need for your access codes.”

  The operator’s jaw dropped. “Ser,” he whispered, and the operators left and right of him, jerked their heads to stare at him. Immediately, the operator called the colonel’s adjutant, explained what he heard, and connected her to the mysterious caller.”

  “This is Adjutant Dormer, kindly identify yourself,” Mel said, after tapping her earpiece to accept the call.

  Esteban switched the comm to the Rêveur’s bridge speakers and audio pickup.

  “This is Envoy Wombo,” Olawale said. He grinned, as he glanced around him, at Francis, Edmas, and Jodlyne. All four of them were, in one way or another, outcasts of United Earth, the overarching political, military, and judicial system of Sol society. That they were returning to their native system, as vibrant contributors to Omnian society, tickled them.

  “Envoy? We don’t have envoys,” Mel replied, beginning to think the
call was a joke.

  Olawale sent.

  Mel, who was seated at her desk and keeping her call on audio only, found she was looking at the dark face of Olawale on her monitor.

  “Oh, you’ve changed your militia uniforms,” Olawale said, congenially. “I much prefer the new ones. The old ones were too severe. I think they were designed to provoke fear in the hearts of everyone, especially the rebels.”

  “Rebels?” Mel managed to whisper.

  “While I’d like to chat, Adjutant Dormer, I prefer to be talking to Colonel Morris. I have an urgent message from Alex Racine. Kindly inform me of her location.”

  Olawale could barely contain himself. When Alex pronounced him an Omnian envoy, Olawale had objected, thinking the title too lofty. But, during the trip to Sol, he considered its advantages. The mention of an envoy from Alex Racine would open doors, and this was his first test of its weight.

  An expletive slipped quietly from Mel’s lips, before her brain could kick in gear. “One moment, Sir, I mean, Ser,” Mel managed to spit out. She tapped a code into her console and placed a call to one of the mining hubs in the far belt. The comm lag would be evident, but she didn’t know what else to do.

  Esteban traced the focused comm signal and determined its terminal point, signaling Olawale that he was placing the next call.

  “Thank you for your assistance, Adjutant Dormer, we can handle it from here,” Olawale said, and Esteban smoothly switched the comm from Idona Station through the mining hub’s comm station to the colonel’s reader.

  “Colonel Morris here,” Patrice replied. She’d finished lunch with a collection of mining bosses. Piracy wasn’t dead in the belt, and probably never would be, but the militia, with the help of a coalition of captains, station commanders, and citizens, had severely curtailed the activity.

  “Hello, Patrice,” Olawale said.

  A tiny pulse in Patrice’s earpiece told her that her audio call had switched to vid, and she held up her reader. The face of the ex-Earther administrator smiled at her. “Olawale,” Patrice replied, her heart warmed by the sight of an old friend she thought she would never see again. “And here I was wondering why you don’t call anymore,” she added, laughing.

  “I understand that it’s Colonel Morris now. Congratulations,” Olawale replied.

  “That’s your leader’s fault, Olawale. He reset how this place works. Now it’s merit-based promotion. I keep making the mistake of working hard and trying to do a good job.”

  “As you always did, Patrice.”

  “By the way, Olawale, is this some sort of Haraken long-distance call, or are you nearby? And, most important, is Alex with you?” Patrice watched the smile slip from her friend’s face.

  “Colonel Morris, I’m Omnian Envoy Wombo, and I’m requesting your assistance on an urgent matter for your government,” Olawale stated formally and severely.

  With part of her brain, Patrice was trying to parse Olawale’s request, including the new terms, while another portion reverted to her training, and she was calculating how to deal with the situation.

  “We’re 3.5 hours out from your position, Patrice,” Olawale said, shifting to a softer voice. “We’ll land a traveler for you. This might go much quicker if we can talk face-to-face.”

  “Sure, Olawale. I’ll wrap up things here and meet your ship in the landing bay.” Patrice didn’t bother to give Olawale more details. Her experience with the Harakens had taught her many things about those who possessed advanced technology, one of which was that those types of individuals rarely needed directions.

  “Colonel,” Patrice’s militia aide called, running up to her. “The outpost has one of those Haraken ships on approach. I think they’re back.”

  “Omnians,” Patrice corrected. “Now, they’re Omnians … I think,” she added, holding up her reader to indicate her call.

  “Wow,” the aide murmured.

  “I’ll be riding back to Idona with them. Collect the reports that I’ve requested from the mining bosses and have the captain return our ship to the station,” Patrice ordered. She left her thunderstruck aide standing in the corridor. With time to kill, she located a lounge where she could get a cup of caf. She found a seat, took a sip, and stared at her reader, as if it would provide some answers. And, in a strange way, it did. At the top of her contact list was her best friend, Nikki Fowler. With a grin, she tapped Nikki’s contact.

  “How’s my favorite colonel?” Nikki replied cheerfully, after a time lag for the distance.

  “Out chasing privateers and trying to keep the peace,” Patrice replied. “Where are you?”

  “I’m about an hour out from Idona. I only have a day layover before I’m sailing again. Too bad we can’t have dinner. I’d have loved to catch up.”

  “Get out your best outfit, Nikki. We’ll be dining out.”

  “I thought you were in the belt, Patrice. What changed?”

  “I am in the belt. I’ll be catching an Omnian transport back to Idona.”

  Nikki frowned at her reader, wondering if something had happened to her friend’s mental capabilities. “Okay, Patrice, could you tell me about this Omnian transport?” Nikki asked. She felt like a psychiatrist, who was questioning a slightly imbalanced patient.

  Patrice bit her lip to keep from laughing and replied in a laconic voice, “I don’t know. It must be some sort of name change. I mean, when they left, they were called Harakens, and now they’re back calling themselves Omnians.”

  “Oh, you rat,” Nikki called out, and Patrice burst out laughing. “Where, who?” Nikki asked excitedly.

  “All I know is that Olawale Wombo is aboard a single ship. I took a look at the mining post’s scans, and the ship looks similar to the passenger liner that was here, the Rêveur. But, here’s the important thing, Nikki, Olawale called himself an Omnian envoy with a critical message for our government.”

  “Oh, that can’t be good,” Nikki replied. “I mean if it makes the Harakens … I mean Omnians … nervous, it’ll scare the wits out of the representatives.”

  “Nikki, I just realized why we’re Olawale’s first contact,” Patrice said.

  “You mean, why you were his first contact,” Nikki retorted.

  “I would have called you next, Nikki,” Olawale said, his voice coming through on both women’s readers, “but we thought it easier to let Patrice locate you for us.”

  Both women noted that with Olawale’s communication, the comm lag time had disappeared between them.

  Nikki laughed, enjoying the moment. “I should be angry at you, you aging excuse for a scientist, eavesdropping on us like this,” Nikki said. “You should be more respectful of a rim governor,” she added proudly.

  “Congratulations, Nikki,” Olawale rejoiced. “It’s much deserved, I’m sure.”

  “Thank you, Olawale. And how are we addressing you?” Nikki asked.

  “For the purpose of this visit, it’s Envoy Wombo. I’m here with a message from Alex that your government must hear.”

  “There’s no one chasing you, is there, Olawale?” Patrice asked, suddenly concerned about the possibility of a military confrontation.

  “The issue is not of that nature, Patrice, but I must speak to the Tribunal,” Olawale replied.

  It occurred to Nikki what Patrice had started to say about why Olawale reached out to them. He needed orientation. His information was long out of date. Since Olawale was last at Sol, the Tribunal had expanded into the Council, and, with the ratification of a system-wide constitution, that body was replaced by elected representatives, regional governors, a president, and a cabinet.

  “From what Patrice tells me, we’ll be meeting this evening at Idona,” Nikki said.

  “Yes, and, if you don’t mind, we’ll dine aboard the Rêveur.”

  “Yes,” the women shouted and laughed at their similar reactions, which reminded Olawale that they had never been aboard a Méridien-built ship.

  After Olawale ended his c
omm, Patrice and Nikki chatted and theorized about what brought Olawale back to Sol. At one point, Nikki’s concerns were getting the best of her, and Patrice calmed her, by saying, “Nikki, don’t let your imagination run away with you. Olawale came aboard a passenger liner. There are no Omnian warships, and there is no Alex. If it was a big problem, we’d see one or the other or both.”

  Soon afterwards, Nikki cited calls she had to make to Idona and ended the comm, and Patrice spent the next hours musing about the days before and after the Harakens arrived. Before she knew it, her reader chimed with a message that the Omnian shuttle was on approach. Shaking her head to clear her reverie, Patrice hurried to recycle her cup, descend to the mining hub’s bay level, and passed through the tunnel to the landing bay.

  “Coming in now, Colonel,” the crew chief announced, when Patrice stepped into bay control. Behind the blast glass, Patrice watched the huge bay doors open to the dark of space. A rim of lights outlined the bay opening.

  “What kind of a shuttle is that?” the crew chief asked in a muttered breath. “It’s not even got windows for the pilot. And where in blazes are its engines or attitude jets?”

  Patrice grinned at the chief, slapping him lightly on the back. “That, my dear chief, is what you call advanced technology, which yours truly gets to ride in today. And, by the way, chief, that’s not only a shuttle it’s a hellaciously powerful, beam-capable fighter.”

  “No,” the chief replied in disbelief.

  “Yes,” Patrice said, smiling.

  The bay lights highlighted the blues, greens, and creams that swirled through the hull’s shell. The outer doors were closing, and Patrice left the chief to chew on what she’d said. Her aide met her outside bay control with her bag. She thanked him, snatched it, and hustled to the airlock.

  Patrice was as nervous and giddy as a schoolgirl about riding in one of Omnia’s incredible fighters. When the airlock telltale, reporting bay pressure, flashed green, she smacked the hatch release and stepped through.