“Nor am I the only one. The cabinet has been in marathon session for much of the past three days. I can’t remember when we’ve had a more difficult decision to make, or as much acrimony making it…”
“Get on with it, Tony,” Nadine Halstrom said, her voice betraying her fatigue.
“Very well, Madame Coordinator.” He turned to survey the expectant faces around the table. “After a great deal of debate, we have made a decision. As much as many of us would like another option, we have decided to support the Colorado Springs plan.
“As of this moment, we are activating Operation Gibraltar Earth!”
#
Hulsey’s statement momentarily stunned the listeners. Mark, who was seated directly behind his boss, could tell that Hamlin was smiling by the way his ears shifted position. Lisa reached over and gave his hand a quick squeeze. A couple of other attendees were exultant.
They, however, were in a minority. The announcement elicited gasps from several people, and an audible snarl from Mikhail Vasloff. Alan Fernandez looked crestfallen. Mark caught the eye of Dan Landon, who seemed unsurprised. Possibly, he had gotten a preview.
Nadine Halstrom waited for the news to sink in before continuing. When she spoke, her tone was deceptively mild.
“I take it there are some objections to this decision. Mikhail, why don’t you start?”
Vasloff struggled to regain control. When his purplish complexion had begun to fade and he could once again speak coherently, he asked simply, “Madam Coordinator, how could you?”
“How could I not?” she replied coldly. “Sar-Say’s near escape proved that hiding from the Broa is just not a viable option.”
“I fail to see how you came to that conclusion.”
“I’ll give you two reasons: Heinz and Ludnick.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t you understand? Two human beings were willing to betray the species for a billion credits each, and without much thought on the matter, I might add. A billion credits! Why do you suppose Sar-Say chose that number? Because it is probably the biggest number any normal person can comprehend.”
“The Paris plan has taken that into account, Madame Coordinator. We can prevent such things from happening in the future.”
“How, Gospodin Vasloff? Sar-Say was able to find two willing accomplices just by passing one of them a note. How many others would have been willing to take his bribe? If a billion had proven insufficient, what number would not have been? No, this incident proves that any thought we had of hiding out forever among the stars was just so much utopianism. It’s a plan that puts all of us at the mercy of the most feckless and greedy among us.”
“We could just kill him, Madame Coordinator,” General Parsons suggested. The matter-of-fact nature of his tone caused a chill to run down Lisa’s spine.
“We considered it, General. Believe me, we considered it seriously! Unfortunately, killing Sar-Say won’t solve our problem. Once word gets out of what the Broa can offer, some idiot is liable to go looking for them on his own.
“No, ladies and gentlemen. We have been betrayed by our own avaricious natures. There are too damned many nuts on this planet to make hiding out a viable option. To be really sure that no one betrays us, we would have to give up space travel altogether – pull everyone out of the colonies, return them to Earth, and then destroy both our starships and our interplanetary vessels.”
Director Landrieu nodded. “Similar to our recommendation, Madame Coordinator.”
“I know it is, Jean-Pierre. But the technology is too well known to put the genie back into this particular bottle! We would have to be constantly on our guard against some clandestine starship project; and not just for a little while – for centuries! It just won’t work.
“The fact is that we can’t trust a goodly percentage of our populace. Some would betray us for money. Others are just plain crazy. We can’t guarantee what our policy will be after the next election, let alone for the next thousand years. The only long term solution is to deal with the foe now, while our minds are concentrated on the prospect of being hanged.”
Nadine Halstrom looked around the table, determination in her eyes. “‘Broa delenda est,’ it would seem, ladies and gentlemen. The Sovereignty must be killed if we are ever to be safe.
#
“Well, Mark, are we going to sign up?” Lisa asked. It was night outside their hotel room and they had the curtains open. The lights were off because they were lying in bed, naked. Not that anyone could have seen them on the 120 floor, or that they would have minded if someone did, but the city was much more beautiful when viewed from the dark.
They were cuddled in the spoon position. Mark had his arms around Lisa. His left hand roamed lightly and lovingly, eliciting giggles and an occasional moan of pleasure. His right arm was trapped beneath her, causing him to slowly lose feeling in his fingers. He had considered asking her to shift position, but decided that the moment was too delicious to disturb.
“Well, are we?” Lisa asked again.
“Sorry,” he replied. “I was distracted by your beauty. Are we what?”
“Going to join the expedition to relieve Brinks Base?”
“Of course. We started this whole mess. It’s only fitting that we see it through to the end.”
“What if they split us up?”
“They can’t. Policy is that married couples in the Survey serve together. I don’t see it being any different in the new Space Navy.”
His left hand happened to be resting lightly where he could feel her pulse. He noted the sudden increase in her heart rhythm.
“Married couples?” she asked, her voice suddenly whispery, as though she was not getting enough air. “Is that a proposal?”
“It is if you will have me,” he replied.
She didn’t answer directly. Instead, she went into the contortion necessary to turn to face him, getting tangled up in the sheets as she did so. The brief struggle with the bedding elicited several un-ladylike expressions. When she was free, she pressed her body the length of his and asked, “Would you repeat that, please?”
“Lisa, will you marry me?” Now it was his turn to be breathless.
Green eyes searched blue for long seconds, as if to judge whether he was joking. Then, in one slow motion, she lifted her mouth to his and kissed him. Chaste at first, the kiss quickly turned carnal. It was several minutes before the two of them broke to steady their breathing.
When he could speak again, Mark asked, “Was that a ‘yes?’”
“That was definitely a ‘yes,’” she replied. Neither of them spoke for quite a while. They had other things on their minds.
#
PART TWO:
INTO THE DEEP BLACK
Chapter Twenty Three
As Sar-Ganth sunned himself on the patio of his sprawling domicile on the shores of the Talan Sea, he reached out to occasionally pull a varith fruit from the branch of one of his prize trees. Pulling the stem from the purple-red fruit, he inspected it closely before popping it into his mouth. His teeth bit through the thick outer skin to be rewarded with a sudden gush of deliciously tart pulp and juice.
He contemplated the fact that the simple pleasures of life were the most memorable. The taste of varith fruit, the attentions of a female in estrus, the thought of dismembering his rival Kas-Ta. The first two pleasures were within his grasp. Unfortunately, the final one was currently beyond his reach.
Still, one could hope…
“Administrator Fos is here to see you, Clan Master,” one of his numerous servants announced.
“Send him in.”
The black beetle of a being scurried into his presence on all twelve legs before hiking himself up on the last four.
“Good morning, Clan Master.”
“Good morning, Fos. Is it time for your periodic status report already?”
“Yes, master.”
“I hadn’t noticed. I have been too busy with my daughter’s new pup. Very
well, what have you got for me?”
“The clan accounts are in good shape,” Fos said, beginning where he knew his master had the keenest interest. “Our overall store of value has increased by nearly one-eighth in the latest cycle, and even Davinan has turned in a surplus for a change.”
Davinan was a planet in the Fasdol sector, one where the Sar-Dva Clan’s investments had been largely wasted. The previous cycle, Sar-Ganth had appointed a new ruler for the planet, and the new regime seemed to be doing better in extracting the ore that was the stinking mud hole’s primary export.
“Excellent. Send my congratulations to my ortho-nephew and tell him that I am pleased with his progress.”
“Yes, Master.”
“What of our other enterprises?”
Fos went down the list of clan activities that were turning in comfortable, and sometimes spectacular, excess value. If this trend continued for another cycle, Sar-Ganth would have a sufficient holdings to purchase another world. The clan currently ruling a planet in the Vorash Sector had made a botch of exploiting the place, and Sar-Ganth had an idea how to make it profitable.
Fos continued the recitation of their accounts. The news was good. He would have no difficulty dispensing to each clan member their share of excess value. Such payments were important. Without them, Sar-Ganth would quickly lose his stature, his position, and potentially, his life.
The Greater Sun was high in the sky when Fos finished his recitation of the accounts and hesitantly mentioned that there was one more item to discuss.
“Make it brief,” his master said. “The midday meal is nearly upon us.”
“Yes, master. There remains the ongoing problem of Sar-Say and the Vulcans.”
Sar-Ganth signaled his confusion. “Sorry, but that name escapes me.”
“If you will remember two cycles ago, Clan Master. We received a report that our missing auditor was being held prisoner on an unregistered planet.”
“Oh, yes. Now that you mention it, I do remember. We established a surveillance routine.”
“That we did,” his assistant agreed. “We have been paying a significant amount to maintain the search. To date, we have discovered nothing of these Vulcans. Whoever erased their file was an expert.”
“No trace at all?” Sar-Ganth asked incredulously.
“None, Master. It is as though they disappeared into vacuum.”
“They have to be out there,” Sar-Ganth replied. “A ship of Vulcans implies a planet of Vulcans. They were on an extended trading mission. They must have stopped at other worlds.”
“I agree,” Fos said. “Someone is hiding them, or else we would have found something in two cycles of searching.”
“How much value has the search consumed to date?”
Fos told him.
Sar-Ganth signaled his surprise. “You were correct to bring the matter to my attention. I suppose I will have to take the matter up with Those Who Rule.”
“Is that wise, Master? Had you violated custom to such an extent, wouldn’t you do whatever was necessary to conceal the evidence. I fear the destruction of the Vulcan world before we can identify the miscreants who have hidden them.”
“It is a risk,” Sar-Ganth agreed. “However, we lack the resources to make a proper search. Our missing auditor will have to take his chances. Shut down our surveillance routines. I will take the matter up with the council.”
“It shall be so, Clan Master.”
#
Mr. and Mrs. Mark Rykand jockeyed for position in front of their cabin’s tiny mirror as they prepared to meet the coming day. Their compartment aboard New Hope II had but a single sink inset into the bulkhead, with insufficient space in front for two people to simultaneously perform their morning ablutions. However, during the twelve months they had been en route to Brinks Base, they had developed a routine.
First, Mark would use one of their two small wash cloths to wash away the previous day’s grime. This was made necessary by the ship’s two-minute-shower-once-every-two-weeks rule. Then he would relinquish his place to Lisa to do the same. While she washed, he would sit on the bed, smear depilatory cream over his face and let it sit for a minute. When she finished, he would use his cloth to wipe the cream away, taking the day’s beard with it. He would then brush his teeth and comb his hair quickly, before once again relinquishing the mirror, where Lisa would begin her much more extensive morning preparations.
While she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and applied her makeup, he made the bed and then retracted it into its recess. That allowed him room to extend the two cabin chairs from their cubbyholes, and gave him a place to sit as he dressed.
The work uniform of the new Space Navy was royal blue, with gold stripes. Mark’s uniform bore the insignia of a Fleet Lieutenant, as did Lisa’s. His assignment was in Astrogation, while she remained in Alien Assessment. Because of his experience with the astronomy team on the previous expedition, he was Prime Astrogator aboard New Hope.
With the ship moving superlight, there wasn’t much for an astrogator to do, save for the hour each week when they dropped sub-light and took sightings of their position. There were also the numerous weapons drills the captain insisted on. In his copious spare time, Mark assisted in delving into the data he had retrieved at Klys’kra’t.
Lisa’s job kept her busy. Several scientists aboard New Hope were refining humanity’s understanding of Broan psychology and she was much in demand for her observations and insights regarding Sar-Say.
It had taken two years for Dan Landon’s shipyard and others to pump out the vessels needed to support a return to Brinks Base. There had been eleven starships in the last expedition. This time, there were eighty vessels of all types carrying the machinery and equipment that would turn Brinks Base into humanity’s secret bastion within the Sovereignty.
Before they could begin operations against the Broa, of course, the fleet must cross the 7000 light-year gulf between Earth and Hideout. Once again, it would take them more than a year to reach their destination… or as Lisa often remarked, “It only seems like a century.”
“Are you about ready?” Mark asked his wife as she poured herself into her coverall. He watched appreciatively as she sealed herself in and quickly combed out her blonde curls.
“Ready,” she replied.
“Then let’s go to breakfast,” he said, sliding his toes into his ship slippers as he did so. Just as they had done every morning for the past 368 days, they unsealed the hatch and stepped out into the corridor, turning left toward the mess hall.
A new day aboard New Hope II had begun.
#
Jennifer Mullins was bored. But then, who wasn’t? As she sat in the astronomy control room, the strains of Williams’ Star Wars, Opus 3, reverberated from the rock walls. Jennifer loved the Old Master composers and, being alone, had the volume turned up to where the music was just below the threshold of pain. She tapped her foot in time to the beat while she worked on her weekly status report.
Status: Nothing to report!
At least, that is what she would like to have written, but of course, it just wasn’t done. Dr. Powell insisted on at least two pages of text each week to basically say, “Nothing to report.”
It had been more than a month since their last gravity wave observation. Triangulation put that particular wave in a system nearly 200 light-years away, almost due galactic north from Brinks. It had been thrilling to realize that the stargate that had originated the wave had done so at a time when human beings were still struggling to get into space. Of course, that had been the last thrill she’d had.
Even her Saturday night dates were beginning to pall. For one thing, Henry Sortees was very debonair, but he was beginning to repeat his jokes, and his performance in bed was little better than adequate. It was a shame there wasn’t any new blood on the base. After four years of exile, even the talk of how many credits they were amassing back home had ended.
The problem was that no one knew how long i
t would be before they were relieved. Hell, she told herself, the Broa might have followed the expedition home and conquered Earth while they were stuck on this godforsaken airless rock of a moon. Perhaps no one would ever come to tell them that they could go home. Perhaps they had no home to return to!
In the meantime, the slow, unglamorous work of watching the sky continued. The contact the previous month had added a fifth confirmed Broan world to their list. Five worlds in four years. At this rate, Brinks would have a population the size of Earth’s by the time they finished their survey of the Sovereignty. That is, if the air plant and hydroponic gardens held out.
Life went on, to be sure. Approximately 40% of the original expedition’s rear guard had either married or taken up housekeeping in the interim, and two dozen children had been born. That, at least, was the bright side of life. Whenever Jennifer felt blue, she would walk to where the nursery-kindergarten had been set up.
There was something about the high pitched squeal of children’s voices that perked her up. She would watch the little darlings/barbarians chase each other around, oblivious to the fact that they were cut off from the rest of humanity, and smile. Often she became wistful, wishing for a child of her own. If only Henry were more skilled at the oldest of humanity’s sports, perhaps she would have considered a long term commitment and motherhood.
The opus ended in its usual crash of symbols and horns. She keyed her display and scanned the list of available music. Even that was getting old. How many times could one listen to the same symphony without becoming jaded to even the classics?
She glanced at the chronometer. Only 45 minutes left in this watch, after which she would adjourn to the commons and spend another evening watching holos she had seen five times before, or else join in one of the interminable bridge tournaments that never seemed to end.
She reached out to key her selection into the music list when a different sound enveloped her. From all around, the sound of alarms blared in her ears.
She blinked, and turned back to her main screen. On it was a bright red text box with the blinking words, LASER DETECTED, inside. There was also a coordinate indicating that the monochromatic light was coming from the sky in the direction of Earth. Her boredom suddenly forgotten, Jennifer keyed for analysis. The machine was still calculating when her comm unit buzzed.
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