“I’m not suggesting that, sir…” Dale said with an offended growl.
Erik held up his hand. “I know you’re not. You least of all, Lieutenant. But if the only safe option is not actually an option, then there is no risk, because there’s no choice. We’re hunting a data-core that contains the sum total knowledge of the Drysine Empire. With it, we suspect, are all the detailed ways in which the drysines beat the deepynines, in the biggest war the Spiral has ever seen. The deepynines are back, in alo space, and if we’re going to have to beat them again, then that data-core will be essential, because right now all humanity is in the dark against them.”
He looked about at them all. Serious faces watched back. “We must have that data-core. It contains secrets even Styx never had access to, and has no record of today for security reasons during the Drysine Empire. And Drakhil’s diary is the best lead we have on finding it. Drakhil himself practically admits that it leads to the core, and other treasures like it, on that recording the Major and I recovered with Private Krishnan.”
“Drakhil also said there were four more copies,” said Romki
Erik nodded. “Hello, Styx?”
“Yes Captain,” came Styx’s patient voice.
“No one knows the scale of the old parren civilisation better than you, and the Tahrae’s power within it. You know of all the places where Drakhil might have hidden another diary. How long do you think it might take us to find another?”
“For all their failings, the tavalai are certainly the most intellectually curious of the species to have occupied this region of space. Clearly they have found one copy, as the Dobruta records indicate. If they have only found one copy, in all their millennia of searching for such artefacts, then that would appear to indicate that those diaries are extremely difficult to find. And the odds that another species has found something, that the tavalai could not, seem low.”
“And what about the codes that Drakhil reveals in his recording?” Romki pressed. “With further work…”
“Professor, I am unable to decode them. You have seen my capabilities. If I cannot decode them now, then I do not think it likely that I could find additional information in coming years that could help me decode them. Perhaps it will be possible, after some years, but I feel we are mostly agreed that such a period is too long to wait, for so uncertain an outcome.”
“Well I’m uncertain that’s correct,” Romki hurried, “and I think that…”
“Professor Romki,” Styx interjected. “We discuss matters of probability, across the great span of the galaxy. The probable chance of an intersection between two possible points. I feel that I am best equipped to calculate such things of any being on this ship. And, if you will excuse my feeble knowledge of old Earth history, I feel that to chase these other copies of Drakhil’s diary may be the equivalent of setting us upon a quest for the Ark of the Covenant. Or perhaps the Holy Grail. It will not end well, if ever.”
Erik blinked, having been unware that Styx knew any Earth history. Then again, Phoenix possessed an encyclopedic library, which probably took her seconds to read and process. Romki sighed, and rubbed his head. “Yes,” he said heavily. “Yes, I see your point.”
“The Ark of the what?” Rooke asked him.
“Never mind child,” Romki said tiredly. “I assure you, it’s nothing like as thrilling as graviton capacitors.”
Having no hope of sleep, Erik headed for the gym, then detoured to Midships in search of the latest commotion there. In a cargo hold off Berth 4, not far from the hydraulic grapples holding PH-4 to Phoenix, Skah had gotten himself wedged into a small access where no one could reach, and was refusing to come out. Some of the Midships second-shift looked quite concerned, floating in a zero-G cluster about the access, calling to the boy, trying to coax him out.
“I don’t know Captain,” said Spacer Roi helplessly when he enquired. “He just squeezed in there and wouldn’t come out. He looks upset, he’s just ignoring everyone.”
Skah was popular shipwide, but after he’d helped save the life of Spacer Reddin on Joma Station, Midships Operations in particular considered him family. Now they were enticing him with promises of games. Petty Officer Zerkis was offering a candy snack. “Wouldn’t hold my breath, Petty Officer,” Erik told him, gliding up alongside. “He’s not a pet, his life’s not all food and walks.”
He peered into the access, good for storing long loads, like bundled acceleration slings. Now at the far end he spied Skah, knees up and ignoring everyone, wedged in tight.
“Skah!” he called. “Skah, it’s the Captain!” A furtive upward glance from beneath big, folded ears. “Skah, it’s not safe to stay unsecured in Midships. Not safe, understand? If the ship has to move quickly, you can’t get to an acceleration sling, and you’ll get hurt.”
“Actually reckon he’d be safer in that little tube than most places,” Zerkis said in a low voice.
“Yeah, until we have to make a lateral spin and he shoots right out.” Erik looked about, and saw Tif approaching with her usual lithe grace, rubbing tired eyes and correcting course past crew with little touches on handholds.
“What probren?” Tif asked wearily, coming to an easy stop. Erik indicated the tube, and Tif peered in. She growled and coughed at her son, unimpressed and none-too-sympathetic. Skah said something back, his voice small. Tif’s reply was several volumes louder, irritable.
When she received no reply, she gave Erik a look of exasperation. “Upset ‘bout Risbeth. You fix. I fright crew, on duty, no tine for kid ganes.” She pushed off and headed back to the core, and gravity, and bed. Several of the crew exchanged looks. Kuhsi parenting styles were not soft and cuddly. Kuhsi kids were supposed to be functional parts of society, not just ornaments for their parents’ emotional pleasure. Erik thought of his mother, and figured both he and Lisbeth knew something about that.
“Skah,” he called down the tube, “I’m Lisbeth’s brother, and I’m a lot more upset than you are. But you don’t see me hiding in some hole, do you? Now come on, you’re making trouble and if we have to move suddenly, you’re going to get someone else hurt or killed.” And to the crew about him, “Be firm, give him orders. He’s used to that and I don’t think he’ll take you seriously, otherwise.”
And he pushed off, following his pilot’s lead.
He’d barely made it to the central core when Lieutenant Dufresne called from the bridge. “Captain, we have a priority message from station. They say that Tokigala is charging Phoenix with multiple counts of violation, including lane violations, threats to fire upon a State Department vessel… you can guess the rest.”
“I can,” Erik agreed, grabbing a handline to send him flying up the core from Midships to crew cylinder. “Do we have the exact language?”
“No sir, it’s just a relay from station bridge at this point.”
“Request the original, please.” As several spacers came whizzing back the other way, through the narrow core. The connecting spine passed, and now the core walls were rotating as the crew cylinder spun.
“Yes sir, we’re doing that. Sir, there’s a new message direct from a tavalai ship on the rim, name Propanpala. ID says it’s a legal department vessel, one of the bigger departments… it’s coming through now, would you like a relay?”
“Don’t bother Lieutenant, I’m on my way up to bridge now. ETA four minutes.”
“Aye Captain.”
Erik grabbed a coffee from the kitchen on the way — or rather, a spacer at the head of the short queue grabbed it for him, as was ship practise when senior officers got in line. It made him a minute late, five minutes instead of four, which would have horrified him a year ago. But when one was captain, and matters were not desperate, he figured he could afford another minute for coffee.
“Captain on the bridge!” Dufresne announced as he came in.
“You have command, Lieutenant Commander,” Erik told LC Draper in the command chair.
“Aye Captain,” Draper echoed, “I have co
mmand.” He pointed at a display, as Erik took hold at Draper’s side, ducking to peer over his third-in-command’s shoulder. “Here’s our translation — it’s all very officious Togiri. Lieutenant Lassa says it’s almost another language.”
“It’s tavalai legalese,” said Angela Lassa from Coms One. “It’s a total bitch to translate, it makes English legalese look simple. But the translator tells me that it’s a summons.”
“A summons to where?”
“I’m not sure, sir. The literal wording here is…” and she ran her forefinger across the text carefully, “…’the highest decisional authority’. Which could be any of about five tavalai courts, depending on which one they figure has jurisdiction. But the gist is that State Department are charging us with misbehaviour, and we’ll have to answer those charges.”
“Just great,” said Draper. “That’ll tie us down for the next few months at least. They’ll kill us with lawyers, Captain. We’ll get buried under them, and from there we can’t do shit. We’ll be stuck in court indefinitely.”
“Sir,” added Lassa, “I don’t think this has much to do with us at all. I think this is a powerplay between State Department and the Dobruta. Dobruta invited us into tavalai space, and now State Department are rescinding that invitation. They can’t do it directly, as I understand it the Dobruta do have the authority to give us protection here. But if the State Department has twisted this legal authority’s arm to charge us with something, they can tie us down irrespective of the Dobruta’s protection. That protection is only from physical harm, not from unrelated legal proceedings once we’re here.”
“Probably that was a part of the State Department’s stitch-up in the first place,” Dufresne agreed. “Use parren factions to attack us, then charge us with disorder if we retaliate. Either way, they’ve got us.”
“I’m getting a new transmission,” Lassa added. “It’s from Makimakala, it’s also heavy legalese. It looks like they’re countering.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Captain, should I query them? Find out what the hell’s going on?”
Erik thought about it, staring grimly at the screens while sipping his coffee. He’d known they were asking for trouble, coming into tavalai space with only a Dobruta captain’s word for protection. If he’d only known how much trouble… but he shoved that thought aside as soon as it surfaced. It was childish to complain about it now, whatever had happened to Lisbeth, and whatever the crazy troubles and schemes swirling about this Kantovan Vault. It was what it was, and he’d chosen this route with his eyes open. They all had, Lisbeth included. And now they were here, and stalling indecision wasn’t going to cut it. To be in command meant to make decisions. So here came the first big one of his shiny new captaincy.
“Lieutenant Lassa, open a channel for me. I want Propanpala.”
“Aye Captain,” she said with faint puzzlement. “Channel to Propanpala.” A pause as Phoenix queried the tavalai vessel. “I have confirmation, channel is open. Propanpala indicates translators are active, go ahead Captain.” State Department and Dobruta dealt with humans all the time, and had lots of English speakers. Propanpala was from one of the huge central legal bureaucracies, and its operatives wouldn’t have a dozen English words between them.
“Hello Propanpala,” said Erik, “this is UFS Phoenix, Captain Erik Debogande speaking. For most of the last one thousand human years, humanity’s rightful seat in the Tsubarata Chamber of Species has been empty. In all the troubles between our two species, no human has come forward to claim this chair. Tavalai laws state that the human entity claiming the Tsubarata chair needs to be a standing member of a major human political institution, in the direct employ of the central human government.
“On behalf of all humanity, I now claim the Tsubarata chair, on behalf of all humanity. It is my understanding that the Tsubarata Parliament is currently in its four thousandth, one hundred and forty first sitting. The UFS Phoenix claims its legal right under tavalai law to travel to the Kantovan System, and occupy humanity’s offices, and address the Tsubarata Parliament on the behalf of all humans in the Spiral. It is also my claim that this legal claim takes precedence over all other, frivolous claims against us, as the Tsubarata has superior status to the frivolous agencies that make them.
“The UFS Phoenix will await your considered reply. Captain Debogande, ending transmission.”
About the bridge was silence, save for the ever-present white noise of control systems, ventilation and cylinder rotation. Those crew who could spare their eyes for a moment were staring. A few were grinning. Erik looked at Draper, and found the expression of a teenager whose crazy friend had just aligned a skateboard trick that would either set new records for awesomeness, or result in some spectacular injury. Or both.
Erik shrugged, and sipped his coffee. “Gets us to Kantovan,” he offered. “And with any luck it’ll get these lawyers off our ass.”
“And neck deep in a whole new sea of Tsubarata lawyers,” Lassa added, awestruck. “Sir… I mean it’s brilliant, but…”
“It’s more than brilliant,” said Draper. “It gets us nose-in to the Tsubarata itself. Right up against the main control centre for everything in Kantovan System…”
“And we’ve got the Spiral’s best codebreaker aboard,” Dufresne said slowly, light dawning in her eyes.
“Exactly,” said Draper. “Styx can get right into their systems, and that gives us a chance at that fucking vault.”
“If they let it happen,” Lassa cautioned. “I mean, we’re not even still technically Fleet and thus human government employees, they’ve called us renegades and tried to kill us…”
“There’s no mention of that distinction anywhere in the relevant tavalai laws,” Erik told her. “I had Lieutenant Shilu check it with Romki. Maybe this isn’t what they intended, but tavalai are legal nitpickers and if they haven’t written their own damn laws properly, that’s their problem.”
Lassa didn’t answer, her attention back on her screens. “Sir? Coms traffic between tavalai vessels just went nuts. Not just legalese, now heavy encryption.”
“Which vessels?” Draper asked.
“Um… all of them. Looks like.”
Draper smiled broadly at his Captain. “Outstanding.”
11
Lisbeth’s ill treatment lasted until arrival after first jump. Then she was brought aboard ship by cloaked and faceless parren, and given quarters on the crew cylinder rim. She’d feared a prison cell, or worse, but the chambers were comfortably ten times the size of those she’d shared with Major Thakur on Phoenix. Given that Phoenix was a spartan military vessel that wasted no mass, it wasn’t saying much. And yet, the parren room was long enough to see the slight curve of the crew cylinder floor — a lengthwise rectangle with decorative wall panelling, abstract patterns of grey and blue, and even some low, fixed furniture against the rear G-wall.
Her bunk was large against one side, and again luxurious by Phoenix standards. The opposite wall had a small, contained bathroom, little more than a closet, but any private washroom on a spaceship indicated a first-class cabin for a high-status passenger. And there was a display screen, but it remained blank when activated, and her uplinks gave her nothing.
A worse development was that the fear, newly awoken before that last jump, now faded once more. Normally she would have welcomed that decline, and hoped that it was a sign she was becoming braver. But now she stood on the bunk to sniff the air from the ventilation grille. It did not smell much different — parren were oxy-breathers like most of the primary Spiral species, and oxygen-nitrogen mix smelled mostly all the same. But she was certain that whatever her captors had put in the air-mix of her breather mask when they’d first taken her, was now being pumped into this room as well.
That made her angry. She didn’t want to be sedated, and she didn’t trust that parren knowledge of human biochemistry was sufficient that they wouldn’t be causing her harm. And so she stuffed sheets from the bed into the ventilation grille, which was
dangerous and against all regs on any ship, because of course, that was where her breathing air came from. But it had made her feel considerably better to have some way of fighting back.
Soon enough some parren had entered, and while one had watched her, unthreateningly, another unblocked the vents. Then both left. Lisbeth promptly stuffed the vents again, and four times the game repeated. Each time she glared at them, to make her displeasure known. Now she was certain that the vents were feeding her sedative, because normally she’d have been terrified her captors would strike her, or do some other retaliation. But now, she felt nothing.
On the fifth time the parren came to unblock the vent, one of them indicated to it, and made a switching motion with his (or was it her?) hand. Then what might have been a placating gesture. Then, once again, they’d departed. It was victory of sorts, though of course she had no idea if the parren had been telling the truth. The sedative, if sedative it was, was odourless, and she could only take their word for it. She did not feel a sudden rush of fear returning, but then, it was very clear by now that these parren were infinitely patient, and had no intention of harming her. No doubt she was valuable, though to whom, and for what purpose, she could not guess.
She thought about it for a long time, as the parren ship made what she guessed was an inertial crossing of a star system, heading for jump on the far side of the gravity-well. Those usually took a few days at least, and sometimes far longer, depending on how much of the crazy velocity the ship retained from jump entry. She might be stuck in this room for a long while, with no sense of the passage of either time or distance.
The first parren to come with food also brought a hand-controller for the wall screen, evidently not game to give her uplink access. The food was reasonable too — segmented portions of small, bite sized meals on a tray, each delicately flavoured and subtle. The light soup that accompanied it was a revelation. Lisbeth flicked on the display screen, and found some basic channels. She couldn’t recognise the script that described them, but as she clicked, she was astonished to find human entertainments. All 2D and non-interactive, but some of them entirely familiar — there was tennis and football, some popular talk shows, including one from Lisbeth’s native Shiwon. Some odd sensation that was, to see the homespun mundanity of ‘Live with Juniper Roberts!’ being played here, on a parren ship, headed for god-knew-where in parren space.
Kantovan Vault (The Spiral Wars Book 3) Page 15