He ran to the door and tried to slide it open. When it wouldn’t move, he pounded on it. “Childe! Delightful Childe! It isn’t fair! They started it. Your people. They offered it to me.”
A thin sheen of sweat covered his skin. He turned his back against the door and pressed as hard as he could. “Dammit, Childe! It isn’t my fault! Don’t do this to me. How was I supposed to know?”
His knees buckled gently as his back slid down the door in sudden despair. This is ridiculous, he thought, totally, utterly ridiculous. With arms wrapped tightly around his legs and his head on his knees, he thought, I’ll just rest for a minute, just for a minute. Then I’ll find a way out of here. Surely there has to be a way out of here, he thought as a tear rolled silently out of his eye. There must be a way out of here. There must be. The heavy hands of lethargy pressed him down into himself until he cried himself to sleep.
When he awoke, his eyes refused to focus properly. His body shook uncontrollably. A helpless sense of fear filled his mind. Delightful Childe was holding and rocking him with a gentle firmness.
“The worst is over, Captain. Your body will calm down in a few more hours, and in a day or two you will be fine,” Delightful Childe said quietly as he began massaging Teeman’s back to help relieve the shaking.
“Wh-wh-wh-why?” Lucky clenched his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering, but could not stop the awful shaking of his arms and legs or the twitching of his head.
“A mistake, Captain. Who gave you the gorlet?”
“Ch-ch – droids.”
“As I thought. No one was monitoring them.” Because there aren’t enough of us left, Delightful Childe thought darkly. Beyond that thought was the vision of the female, Nindoah, he had made arrangements to mate with.
“Why?” Lucky asked again, barely managing to hold the word to one syllable.
“The atrocity. Your war,” he said, working his fingers against Teeman’s muscle spasms.
“N-n-not my war.” Lucky fought to speak, afraid to let go of the conversation, afraid his body would shake him to death. “Y-y-y-yours now.”
“No!” Delightful Childe regretted the anger in his response as soon as he made it. Captain Teeman shook harder than before. “No,” he repeated calmly, his fingers urgently pressing the muscles to relax. “It is not our war. The attack on us was a mistake. The Ukes will not do it again.”
“Fight…back.”
“It is not our way.”
“Have to…fight back.” Lucky wanted to say more, wanted to demand that Delightful Childe agree with him, but now he knew suddenly that his bowels were about to give way. “Let me go,” he said weakly.
Before Delightful Childe could respond it was too late. Lucky’s bowels emptied uncontrollably. The stench made him dizzy…lost…dark…as he faded away under Delightful Childe’s persistent massage.
◊ ◊ ◊
“The commodity you wish me to handle for you?” The nameless alien broker asked in a voice without inflection.
“Information,” Ayne Wallen said simply. He was as tired as miseryfolk, and more than a little afraid for his safety, but the more he had run from the fleeties, the more he had been channeled in this direction.
“Ah, information is a precious but difficult commodity to deal in. Exactly what kind of information do you have”
As inexperienced as he was, Ayne knew better than to give his position away here. “Valuable information. Significant information for the U.C.S. military.”
The alien cocked a hairless eyebrow. “Really, now? And where is this precious military information of yours?”
“In my head.”
“Pardon?”
“In my head,” Ayne said, giving the nameless broker a brief smile. “Is all in my head.”
“My customers will not pay for your head,” the broker answered. “They must see proof.”
“Sondak will pay for my head.” Ayne couldn’t read any expression in the Oinaise’s eyes, but he wasn’t about to give up simply because the broker was uncooperative. He had traveled too far and risked too much. “I have answers, and Sondak knows it. If U.C.S. wants answers to Sondak weapons secret, they will pay for my head.”
The broker bared his teeth. “Why shouldn’t I just sell you to Sondak? They’re much closer.”
“Because the U.C.S. will pay more,” Ayne said quietly. He was prepared for the possibility of danger and let his hand slide down to the handle of the stunrod in his pants pocket, ready to fight his way out if necessary.
“No weapons,” the broker said with a quick blink. “No violence, citizen Wallen. My question was meant in jest.”
“Not taken in jest, nameless one.” His hand trembled against his leg. “You tell me if you have customer. You find me way off this planet. There are other brokers.”
“None who will help you. You are, uh, warm property, as I believe you humans say – too dangerous for anyone but me.”
Ayne tightened his fingers on the stunrod, unsure of what to say or what to do. “Fought my way to get here,” he said finally. “Will fight again. Nothing too dangerous for the right price. Patros has other brokers.”
The Oinaise snorted. “No brokers as good as I. But do not let me stop you. Go to Cavra. He will sell you to Sondak because his connections are poor and he is lazy. Go to the scoundrel Beliss’hatot. She might get you off planet, but then she, too, would sell you back to Sondak. Like most Castorians, she has no scruples when dealing with others not of her own race.” He joined the tips of his fourteen fingers and slid his hands around his yellowed proboscis as though thinking.
Ayne had no response. He had been warned about Beliss’hatot, but he had never heard of the other broker and did not want to suffer again through the difficulties he had encountered finding this nameless one.
“No, citizen Wallen,” the Oinaise said finally, “there are no other brokers on all of Patros you wish to deal with. But please,” he added with a wave of his hand toward the door, “feel free to discover that for yourself.”
With a distressed sigh Ayne stared straight at the broker and said, “Conditions must be established. Guarantees must be made if I am to deal with you.”
“Conditions are simple. Guarantees are not. But first tell me, citizen Wallen, what exactly do you expect to receive for your, uh, shall we say, contribution to a bargain with the Ukas?”
“Freedom in exchange for information – important scientific information. We be knowing much that U.C.S. can use.”
“Yet still no proof of that. No, do not protest. I can understand your need for secrecy. However, I would look extremely foolish if I were to approach my contacts and tell them that I had a human scientist who previously worked for Sondak –“
“Drautzlab. Worked for Drautzlab.” For the first time Ayne thought he saw true interest on the Oinaise’s face.
“Drautzlab, was it? Hmmm, that does make it a bit more interesting.” The broker paused. “But even so, the fact that you claim to be a scientist and claim to have worked for Drautzlab gives me little to bargain with. I must have something substantial to offer. Surely you understand that.”
Ayne did understand, but he did not know how much he could or should tell this alien. Were his degrees from the Kobler Institute important to them? Or his work with Heller on neutronic spacetime contractions? Even his work at Drautzlab wouldn’t mean much, because no one outside of Sondak had probably ever heard of the Ultimate Weapon. Even if they had, they certainly could not understand its true implications. Yet he knew he would have to give this broker more information in order to get the U.C.S. to pay attention.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “I understand. Tell your contact to pass this on to authorities in U.C.S. Tell him to pass it to physicist, one who understands Guntteray’s theories. You know Guntteray?”
“The privilege has not been mine. Does he live on Patros?”
“Guntteray is dead,” Ayne said disgustedly. “Question is, do you know theories?”
The broker ba
red his teeth again. “No, I am afraid that my experience has brought me into limited contact with the universe of science. Are they important?”
Ayne sighed. “No. Are not important for you. Is important only that information go to someone who knows Guntteray’s theories. You can guarantee that?”
“As I told you, guarantees are difficult. My agents, however, are adept at finding and maintaining the proper contacts, and I am sure we can pass your information on to someone with a scientific background. Does that satisfy you?”
“Still need guarantees,” Ayne said stubbornly.
The broker snorted and mumbled something in a foreign language. Then he said, “I can offer you safe lodging, food, credits, women, alcohol – satisfaction of many vices – and a promise that I will do my best to accommodate you, citizen Wallen. That is all that is within my power. And that I do at great risk to myself with little promise that I will be repaid.”
Ayne hesitated. The fleeties had followed him to Elliscity, and he had no idea where else he could go. “Your name,” he said. “Tell your name, and I will agree. Do not like dealing with person with no name.”
“No one knows my name,” the broker said simply, “but you may call me Xindella.”
“But that is name –“
“Of my business, and the street where I live, and many other things. It is also the only name by which I am known on this planet. If that will not suffice, I have nothing further –“
“Will suffice. You will put this in writing?”
Xindella laughed, or snorted in an approximation of a laugh. Ayne couldn’t tell which.
“In writing? You want a contract for our illegal enterprises? I am afraid, citizen Wallen, that you have lingered too long in the laboratories of science. In my business there are no contracts. There are agreements, verbal agreements, honored because each side has something the other wants. You want to give your precious information to the Ukas. I want to make a profit helping you do that. If the Ukas want what you know badly enough, I get to make my profit. That is the only kind of agreement there ever has been or ever will be?”
“Only kind?” Ayne knew now that he would accept whatever Xindella had to offer. He was too tired from running and hiding to go on, and he had paid the last of his credits to get him this far. He had no choice.
“The only kind.” Xindella gave him a curious look. “Suppose, however, that I hire you, pay you a wage to work for me while we are attempting to make the proper contacts and strike a bargain with the Ukas. I could give you a contract for that. Would that please you?”
“Work for you?” Ayne shook his head. “Do not understand. What work I do for you?”
“Oh,” Xindella said with a hint of amusement. “I have many people on my payrolls who do many different things. Right now, I need someone to work on my personal spacecraft, someone who understands Gouldrive. Could you do that?”
“Mechanic’s work? You ask me to do mechanic’s work? I am scientist.” Ayne was insulted. He had worked his way through school as a mechanic, but he had no desire to do such demeaning labor again.
“But scientists without jobs cannot be choosy, citizen Wallen, especially scientists on the run. Do you understand Gouldrive?”
“Yes,” he said reluctantly. “Is simple drive for faster-than-light travel developed by Gould for pioneer ships and freighters. Odd to have such a powerful drive on –“
“Can you fix one?”
“Is broken? We be knowing how to fix with proper tools and parts. But still is mechanic’s work.”
“But you would agree to work for me in that capacity, to fix my Gouldrive in exchange for my efforts on your behalf?”
Ayne knew he shouldn’t say yes, knew that there was more to Xindella than he could possibly guess. But he had no one else to turn to. He had already killed two fleeties and stolen four vehicles. He had cheated an innocent traveler out of her credits, and fought off more than one ruffian who would have parted him from those same credits. At least working for Xindella would be more honorable work, however demeaning it was to his dignity.
“Will fix Gouldrive. Will work for you. Must trust you, but do not like it.”
“That is your prerogative for the moment. The time will come, citizen Wallen, when you will have to trust me, so save what little trust you have until then. You will need it.”
With a slight sigh Ayne felt a little of his tension drain away. For some reason he was sure he had managed to do the right thing. “Now what?” he asked.
“Ah, first I have some chores to attend to, some people to contact who will take care of you. So for a short while I will have to leave you alone here. But let me offer you some food.” He opened a small door in the wall behind him and pulled out a shiny crystal tray.
Ayne’s mouth immediately started to water, and he realized how long it had been since he had eaten.
Xindella put a tray on the desk between them and pointed to a small dish. “These are dried meats of various kinds, most tasty when eaten with the shollo.”
The word didn’t make any sense to Ayne, but he knew the decanter contained something to drink, and he had to restrain himself from reaching for it immediately.
“These you must certainly want to try,” Xindella said, indicating a polished gold cup filled with small, dark brown balls. “They are sweet and delicious, the perfect food when you are tired and hungry. These are gorlet.”
17
MICA HUNG WEIGHTLESS, staring through the McQuay’s viewport as the words of Admiral Stonefield’s message came back to her. She knew the other ships in the nonrevertor force were too far away to be seen, but she hoped for a glimpse of them, as though that might reassure her and erase Stonefield’s message.
Be cautious. When the traitor reveals his presence, you must be prepared to act. Trust no one.
The last part bothered her most. She longed to go immediately to her father and tell him…tell him what? Tell him her duties as honor trustee had been expanded to include him? Tell him that she was the Joint Chief’s official spy aboard his beaconship? Tell him that…There was nothing she could tell him.
Matthews Star burned brightly a quarter of a parsec away on the upper edge of the port. Half a parsec beyond that, Admiral Pajandcan’s defense fleet was assembled and waiting – the only Sondak force between Matthews System and the cluster of stars near galaxy’s center that marked U.C.S. space. Mica wished there were something between her and the duty Stonefield had imposed on her. But more than that she wished there was someone she could confide in.
It was almost a relief when the gravity warning sounded and forced her to do something. But just as she reached the deck that would be down when the gravity came on, she heard her name.
“Captain Gilbert. Captain Gilbert. Report to Battle Center in zero-five minutes. Captain Gilbert, report to Battle Center.”
Mica braced herself against a bulkhead as the gravity was initiated, then immediately began climbing up to the Battle Center. Could the attack have started? she wondered. No, there would have been a call to stations if it had. This must be something else.
“Captain Gilbert reporting,” she said as she stepped into the anteroom of the Battle Center.
“The Admiral wants you. Inside,” the young duty officer at the desk said with a glance at her and a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder.
“Thanks,” Mica said, giving him a salute he didn’t deserve as she stepped past his desk through the doorway.
“Ah, Mica, good,” Admiral Gilbert said as soon as his daughter was announced by the door guard. “Here’s something we need you to evaluate.”
“A message?” she asked as she took the paper he handed her.
“Part of one. What can you make of it?”
Mica read the fragment slowly and carefully. Then she read it again. “Wasn’t Ushogi a famous Uke admiral?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’d guess that they’ve named a fleet after him. That would fit their culture, I think. ‘Ushogi
and Shakav dispatched’ must mean that they have two fleets on the way as Cryptography guessed.” Mica swallowed hard. “How old is this message?”
Gilbert turned to his aide with a raised eyebrow.
“A realtime day, sir,” the aide said, “maybe less. It’s hard to tell.”
“If it’s much more than that, Lieutenant, the Ukes could be down Pajandcan’s throat any time now.”
“Yes, ma’am, I know that. But there’s no way we can guess more accurately.”
Mica knew better than anyone else how right he was, and she could tell he was feeling the pressure. “I understand, Lieutenant.”
“I think you’d better tell Pajandcan and Dawson,” Gilbert said quietly to his daughter. “Then send a message to Rochmon, and tell him it is time to intensify all his intercept actions in this sector as we discussed.”
“But, Father, uh, sir,” Mica said, “if we send a message to Rochmon – no matter how well we code it – don’t we run the risk of the Ukes knowing that –“
“It doesn’t matter, Mica. If this is another of Charlto’s operations – and there’s no reason to believe otherwise – then the Ukes already know we’re waiting for them. What they don’t know is how strong our force is, or how much we’re prepared to sacrifice. Your message to Rochmon will not tell them anything they don’t already know, so get to it.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” she said with a quick salute. Suddenly she felt an urgency that swept everything else aside. It was almost as though she could sense the Ukes moving through space toward Matthews system, dodging and hiding, thinking they had all the advantages. They probably do, she thought as she composed the messages for Pajandcan, Dawson, and Rochmon. They probably do.
◊ ◊ ◊
An hour after the Ushogi Fleet broke from subspace in the Hiifi system, Frye Charltos sat alone in his command cabin cursing silently as Bridgeforce’s priority messages reeled off his microspooler. Judoff had withdrawn from Bridgeforce and taken not only her trained dog, Kuskuvyet, but also eighty militia ships and their crews.
Double Spiral War Trilogy Page 18