Knox looked around, everywhere but into Pettigrew’s eyes. “Sir, you won’t have any more problems with me. I swear it on my honor.”
Pettigrew had a gut feeling and decided to play the card. “Are you scared about what’s coming up, about what may happen at Sol?”
“No, sir,” Knox answered much too quickly.
“Uh huh. Well, that’s odd, because everyone else is.”
“Including you, Captain?”
Somehow, Pettigrew felt like it was a trick question. “Well, yes, I suppose I am a little. If we have to fight, we aren’t going to be fighting pirates in outdated ships. Most likely, we’ll be going into battle against a superior enemy, so it’s only natural to have some anxiety. But if we stick to our training and believe our crew, we’ll come through it fine.” The skipper smiled and added, “And I’ll need to have my executive officer in top form. Mr. Knox, you don’t need to be your father at Sol—you just need to be yourself.”
Parker Knox nodded, but Pettigrew wasn’t sure he had scored any hits.
“Yes sir, and thank you, Captain. If you’ll excuse me, I really should be getting a few hours sleep. I have to be up with red team at zero four-hundred hours for morning watch.”
As the commander was about to exit the officer’s mess, Pettigrew called out to him. “Get a good night’s sleep, Commander, and remember what I said—all this nonsense stops, as of now.”
With Knox gone, Pettigrew had the messroom all to himself. He sat for a moment, rethinking the last few minutes. He hoped he had said at least some of the right things, pressed a few of the right buttons. He would speak with Adams too, but the captain was now convinced she wasn’t the problem.
Along the bulkheads of the officer’s mess were ultra-definition screens that projected various images, in order to counter the claustrophobic feel of space travel. Presently they were showing pictures of a forest.
“Ship.”
“Yes, Captain,” returned the disembodied female voice. “What do you require?”
“Change the screens in the officer’s mess to external bow camera view and dim overhead lighting by fifty percent.”
In an instant, Pettigrew was surrounded by a star field. There were infinite points of light, any one of them could be Tempest’s destination.
“Ship, highlight and magnify the star Sol.”
On the display farthest from the hatchway, a yellow icon highlighted a distant star as its image grew larger. The computer labeled the star “Sol,” just in case the captain needed confirmation. Pettigrew stared at the image. What will humanity find there? Can these people be reasoned with? Can diplomacy spare the sacrifice of hundreds, maybe thousands of lives? Knox asked if he was scared—what sane person wouldn’t be.
The computer interrupted his somber reflection. “Captain, do you wish further amplification?”
“No, this is fine.”
“Captain, is everything all right?” Pettigrew took a second to realize it wasn’t the computer. Sergeant Hiteshaw was poking his head through the hatchway.
“Everything all right, sir?” the guard repeated.
Pettigrew rose and turned to the husky Marine. “I hope so, Sergeant. I hope so.”
15: Threshold
Bakkoa, Rhuzari settlement
Planet Earth
In a working family, the energy around the breakfast table is unmatched by any other meal. The appetite of the early morning, the anticipation of a new day, and for the fortunate, the excellence of the food all combine to create a lively morning event.
Korab’s household was one of those fortunate families. His wife, Vesna, was the finest cook in all of Bakkoa, which currently meant she was quite literally the best cook in the world. It also helped that they lived next door to his business, one of the two meat processing plants in the settlement. Bigger than a butcher shop, but certainly not on the scale of those meatpacking factories back on Rhuzar, Korab’s plant converted the animals grown on farms outside of town into delicious animal protein for his fellow Bakkoans. Odd that in thousands of years of evolution that people would still crave a primitive thing like animal flesh. It was a good living and Korab wasn’t complaining, at least not about his business.
He was a stocky, muscular fellow. His round, flat face wasn’t handsome, but Korab was a good husband and fine father. He was a smart man who knew how to organize people and things, and that skill came in handy for the two enterprises in which he was currently engaged—his meat processing business and laying the groundwork for a revolution.
There were no dining rooms in the homes of most Bakkoans. Korab’s house was attached to his business and meals were served in the extra-large kitchen. Going through one kitchen door led to the meatpacking plant, while another door led to the family residence.
The plump Vesna rushed around the table dispensing bacon strips and eggs to everyone. It was the usual breakfast gang: Korab, his younger brother Sandu, the plant foreman and family friend Voss, and her two children—Penna, the twelve-year-old girl and her ten-year-old brother, Marton.
And sitting next to Penna was Dezrin. A family friend had brought Dezrin to their doorstep, an abandoned stray that desperately needed a home. Korab understood about the loneliness of those who had no home. His brother Sandu had been adopted, as had his son, Marton. He and Vesna could not turn their back on this unfortunate young woman.
In her mid-twenties, with a pretty face, jet-black hair, and eyes that always seemed scared, she was now part of the family. Dezrin hardly ever spoke although they knew she could. She would go for days without making a sound. Despite that, it seemed she was finally starting to warm to her new household. The girl was especially fond of the children and they returned her affection. One thing did seem to haunt her however—with the exception of Korab, Dezrin was afraid of almost all men.
For the last several days, yet another person had been taking the morning meal with Korab’s clan. The woman sat at the end of the table, grateful to have been found by the right people on her journey to Bakkoa.
Korab gnawed on his bacon, listening one more time to the children’s story. “And you’re sure these two people didn’t spot you?” he quizzed Penna.
“I’m sure papa, we was extra careful,” she replied, gulping her milk.
Voss grumbled. “Sounds like spies from the Government Compound to me,” he said, glancing toward the woman seated at the end of the table. Korab was positive that she was no Compound spy, but Voss was less convinced.
Most of the time, Sandu deferred to his older brother’s judgment, but he was also a thoughtful man. The handsome fellow with thick brown hair sensed that something just didn’t add up. “Voss, why would government spies be camping in a tent on the edge of the city? Wouldn’t they just report back to the Security Dome, or to the Compound itself?”
“No,” Korab put in, before Voss could respond, “I don’t think they’re spies for the Lord Governor, but they could be spies for this Fleetmaster Haldryn. Word is that the two of ‘em didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye yesterday.
“This business of takin’ a bath in the river, though,” reflected Korab, “it’s just weird. They walk into town, visit only a market, then go bathin’ in the river. Very odd.”
“Papa, we just first saw them when they was comin’ out of the market. We don’t know where they was before that,” added Penna, which earned her a wink and a grin from her father.
The figure at the end of the table shifted and cleared her throat. “Korab, may I ask the children something?”
Before Korab could answer, Voss piped up. “Best you not. You’re a guest in this house and you might have these folks sold on your story, but I’m still not buyin’ it. Be lucky you ain’t tied up in the basement storage room.” He ended his flare-up by shoving an entire buttered biscuit into his mouth.
Korab checked his temper, but was unhappy with his foreman’s outburst. “As you sez, Voss, she’s a guest in my house, as are you.” Vesna, having served everyone, gave Korab a
pat on the shoulder as she finally took her seat at the table. The gesture seemed to tell her husband ‘well said, dear’ and ‘watch your temper, dear,’ both at the same time.
The boss glared down Voss, whose mouth was so stuffed with biscuits that he couldn’t have responded if he’d wanted to. “What do you want to ask?” Korab inquired of the stranger.
The woman smiled at the youngsters. “Penna, could you describe these people just one more time, for me?”
The young girl looked at her father, who nodded his consent. “The man didn’t have any hair on his head—no hair at all. The woman had black hair and she had darker skin—not dark like black people, but not real white either.”
Ten-year-old Marton grinned as he remembered watching the two strangers skinny-dip. “And she had big boobies,” he added, giggling. The comment earned him a sock in the arm from his sister and the admonishment of his red-faced mother.
“These are not spies for your government,” the woman assured Korab. “These people are known to me. We should contact them. I can assure you they will be useful.”
By now, Voss had half-chewed and swallowed his food. “You don’t make the decisions ‘round here lady!”
Korab shot him a look. “You’re right about that, Voss. She don’t, but I do.”
* * * *
When Carr woke up, Etta Sanchez was already working. Lying on her stomach at the edge of the cluster of trees that hid their encampment, she was wearing the sensor goggles, studying the city as it awakened. He lay down beside her and peered out over the settlement.
“What’s going on?”
“Good morning. Nothing special, at least I don’t think so. The shuttleport on the far side of town’s getting a workout, but that may be routine first thing in the morning. Otherwise, it just looks like a city waking up. You want to use the goggles?”
“No. We’d better have breakfast, strike camp, and hide the equipment. It’s going to be another long day.”
As they ate their morning meal, the peril of going deeper into the city weighed on their minds as they brainstormed for ways to minimize the risks.
“So how do we look less like secret police, or whatever it was we looked like yesterday?” puzzled Sanchez as she munched on a yogurt bar.
“Beats the hell out of me,” Carr said as he took down the tent. “You say our clothes are all right, so there’s really nothing we can do about that. As I said, today there should be more people, which will help us blend in. If you have any ideas, I’d like to hear them.”
Sanchez looked at him with a gleam in her eye. Her mischievous look made him wary.
Thirty minutes after hiding their equipment, they walked into town. Moving past the neighborhood they had explored yesterday, the pair pushed on toward downtown. Carr was correct on his prediction that more people would be around today. Folks were going to work, or already on the job, as in the case of people like street vendors and construction workers.
Different types of vehicles traveled the streets: small electrically powered cars, trucks, buses, hovercars, bicycles, and a few motorized scooters. None of them were private transport, everything seemed to be what would be called commercial vehicles on Sarissa. There were also some police and military vehicles passing by now and then, and those got more numerous the further they penetrated the city.
The operatives decided to head toward a large structure located on the highest point in town. It looked like the geographic center of the colony and seemed to occupy a position of importance. Carr guessed it was probably the center of government, and so they walked toward it—hand in hand. Sanchez had successfully argued that would-be secret police didn’t hold hands as they strolled about. Carr wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but he had to admit it was good deception. There was also the fact that the more noticeable they were today, the more likely the real police would stop them.
They passed buildings of every conceivable form, size, and color. Cube shaped buildings, cylindrical structures, spheres, tall buildings, thin buildings, wide buildings—a mishmash of whatever could be thrown together. The closer they got to the city center, the more consistent and orderly things appeared. Streets were less chaotic and there was greater symmetry in the architecture.
There were more uniformed people as well. The two dominant sorts were men and women in a royal blue uniform and those clad in green, who seemed to be mostly men. Cryptic insignias decorated both types of garb, but no writing. The couple stopped to sit on one of the many sidewalk benches to rest and reflect.
“The blues are military and I’m guessing the greens are police, or maybe militia,” guessed Sanchez.
Carr eyed a couple of passing greenshirts before responding. “What makes you say that?”
“Posture. A lot of the greenies slouch and carry themselves unevenly. Now look at the folks in the blue unis, straight backs and heads up, every one of them. Only one place that type of posture gets drilled into a person—the military.”
They were sitting on the bench, bodies angled and facing each other. Carr’s face suddenly grew anxious as he gazed down the street beyond Sanchez.
“Keep looking at me and don’t turn around,” he instructed her as they sat close to each other.
“What’s up?”
He smiled as if they were talking about something pleasant. “Two of those slouchy, green police types are walking up the street headed straight for us.”
“Maybe they’re just walking up the street.”
“No, for whatever reason, they’ve zeroed in on us.” He placed his hand on her face and stroked her cheek. “Kiss me,” he said, more an order than a suggestion. Sanchez saw enough concern in his eyes to know not to equivocate, so she leaned forward and gently kissed him on the cheek. Their faces parted slightly, but Carr placed his hand on the back of her head and brought her mouth forward to meet his. She relaxed and returned his kiss. Her right hand came up to touch his cheek as the kiss faded, but they held each other’s eyes for a few seconds. Neither of them saw the exact reaction of the two green-shirted police officers, except that they had walked on by.
“Enough with the dramatics, Carr,” she teased him with a purring voice. “If you wanted to kiss me, you could have just asked.”
He blushed and untangled himself from her. “I’m telling you, they were coming right to us, probably to ask for ID or something. The kissing thing always works. Nobody ever wants to interrupt two people kissing, it makes them feel uncomfortable.” Now it was his turn to see distress on her face as she looked past him. “What’s the matter? Are they coming back?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just… Here comes Amy Beth Warrick.”
Carr slowly shifted around on the bench to look. “Oh, no,” he said.
Their stares landed on an older woman walking toward them at a fast clip. Her gray hair flowed into a beehive bun at the back. Thick jowled and on the heavy side, her eyes were focused and determined. As she came up to the bench, both Carr and Sanchez rose.
“Inspector Mumphrey, what in hell’s name are you doing here?” asked Carr, in as muted a roar as he could manage.
Sanchez was equally stupefied. “It was you who stole Kestrel?”
Mumphrey sheepishly smiled at them. “I am so very glad to see the two of you, believe me, I am! Let’s all go have something at that café over there,” she said, pointing across the street. “We need to talk.”
* * * *
Sitting outside at a sidewalk table, Mumphrey ordered grape juices all around.
“I’ve only been here about a week, but the one thing I miss most about home is coffee. They don’t have any here—it’s juice, juice, juice! You’re a coffee drinker aren’t you, Commander Sanchez?”
Carr cringed at the noisy mention of Sanchez’s military rank, looking around to see if anyone was paying attention. “Lower your voice, Mumphrey,” he said firmly.
The older woman tried to look happy, but her expression collapsed. “So sorry. You know, I really did mean it when I sa
id I was glad to see you. I’m afraid I rather desperately need your help to get home.”
Sanchez sensed genuine fear in the older woman’s voice. “Of course, Inspector, but fill us in. How did you get here, and how have you survived for a week without falling into custody?”
Mumphrey sipped her grape juice and tried to collect herself. “The SSB knew something big was up concerning Earth. Carr, a few days before I met you on the train, Minister Siebert asked several senior inspectors, including myself, to discover what was happening. The military was withholding information from us again. Well, through a variety of contacts and bribes, I learned what Central Command was hiding.”
“Wait,” Carr spoke up, “you’re not telling us that the Home Ministry sent you on this mission are you? At your age?”
“No offense meant,” Sanchez quickly interjected.
“None taken,” said Mumphrey, “and no, the SSB did not send me—it was all my own idea.” She looked uneasily at the two younger people. “A very bad idea I’m afraid. I knew that if I reported what I’d discovered to my superiors at the Ministry, it would be the end of my involvement in the investigation. They would assign other inspectors to follow up—younger inspectors. All I would get would be a handshake for a job well done. They might have even shipped me back to Arethusa, so that someone else could take the credit for my work.
“You know, I’ve worked for State Security for over forty years. I’m a Senior Inspector, but only because I’ve accumulated years, not accomplishments. I wanted to do something big, to prove that I was more than just a plainclothes cop.” Carr had called her that in their previous meeting, something he felt bad about now. “Forty years, most of it spent on my homeworld busting small-time crooks,” she continued. “I just wanted to do something grand, to end my career on a high note. The whole idea was so stupid. Right now, I’d give anything to be back on Arethusa, rousting some petty pickpocket into jail.” She looked pitiably at the two OMI agents. “You will help me get home, won’t you?”
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