Trace did not reply, eyes closed and distant. She did that for control… which meant she wasn’t enjoying the turbulence at all. Erik smiled, and enjoyed the stomach-lurching falls that much more, knowing that here was one thing he did far better than her.
With a final rush of cloud, they were suddenly clear, and beneath them was a city. What a city. Well after midnight, yet still it glowed and sparkled with endless towers and street lights, and a profusion of civilian air vehicles, a swarm like ten thousand fireflies, streaming in lines. It looked much like a human city, and yet somehow not — the buildings were wider, and well integrated into complexes, where human buildings stood separate and competed for space like sapling trees in a rainforest, each fighting to be first to reach the light. But the complexes were spectacular, ten or fifteen buildings in cooperation, working together off a single architectural plan. Erik saw an endless cityscape of them, stretching away on all sides amidst patches of darkness where the city lights did not penetrate — public parks, perhaps. The complexes were like snowflakes beneath a microscope, he thought — a symmetrical complexity, some tall, some shorter and some both, but all ingenious.
It fully struck him for the first time exactly where he was. On an alien world, the world of an enemy he’d spent much of his life at war with. He’d been on worlds before where aliens lived, but never a heartland world like Ponnai. A world so intensively tavalai that the tavalai knew it as humans from old Earth must have known their various, lost nation states.
“Did Earth ever reach twelve billion population?” Trace wondered aloud above the engine roar — off-mike so she didn’t crowd coms with chitchat. History had never been Trace’s strong point, Erik reflected.
“I think it did a few times briefly,” said Erik, gazing at the lights as Jersey performed a left bank, following the Central-proscribed course. “About a fifth of them Indians, toward the end. Your people.”
“My people were Nepali.”
“That was a cultural choice, made by the first settlers. About eighty percent of the actual first settlers on Sugauli were Indian, relatively few Nepalis.”
“Don’t tell me who the Sugaulis are,” Trace retorted. “I was born there.”
“Sure,” said Erik, smiling. “Why should facts matter?”
Jersey was bringing them down toward an amazing complex of buildings, rows of interlocking towers arranged in irregular concentric circles, like a maze. Thrusters angled as the shuttle shook, and tower-tops rose slowly past the canopy. “Ensign Singh,” said Erik on coms. “How much of this complex belongs to the Pondalganam, does the nav display tell you?”
“Yes sir,” Singh replied. “It looks like all of it.”
Wow, Erik thought. There could have been forty large buildings in the complex — a city in its own right, on many less populated worlds. Romki said, and Captain Pram agreed, that there were about thirty-nine major legal institutions in tavalai space, and hundreds of minor ones. The Pondalganam were one of the oldest and largest — still only a third the size of the very biggest, but making up in pedigree what they lacked in scale.
Tavalai legal institutions acquired official responsibilities the same way that ocean ships acquired barnacles — by the sheer accumulation of time. The Pondalganam had been heavily involved in the legal arguments that had laid out the functioning of the Tsubarata, and the laws that defined how the various species of the Spiral would interact with the tavalai’s central power. As those arguments had progressed, the Pondalganam had come to be seen as the leading authority on the new inter-species laws that ruled the tavalai Free Age, and thus their power over the Tsubarata had been enshrined. The Pondalganam were not a body that decided who got to sit in the Tsubarata and who did not — they were the body that guarded the rules that governed the process of finding out. The adjudicators, who conducted the debate, and ensured everyone played by the rules, like referees in a football game. Only these referees also owned the field, and all of the equipment by which the game was played.
PH-3 dropped into a layer of surface mist, white swirls and spirals blasting about the canopy until the landing legs touched, and Jersey cut thrust. “We are down, all systems green and no one is shooting at us,” she announced as the engine howl declined. “I count that a success.”
“Good work guys,” Erik told the pilots, unfastening the harness and removing the headset. “What’s the weather like out there?”
“Well hold your nose and equalise,” Singh told him over the back of his chair, as the engines faded enough to talk without shouting. “It’s a muggy hundred percent humidity in one-point-three atmospheres, so you can imagine. About thirty percent oxygen, currently thirty-five degrees celsius, forecast is rain, then more rain.”
“Great,” said Erik, standing and stretching as best he could in the cockpit. “Today’s forecast is soup.”
“Hot soup,” said Jersey, peering at tavalai pad crews hurrying outside. “Just hold another minute, we’ve got Fleet escort coming down alongside, lots of jetwash.” And she grinned to herself. “Holy shit Captain, this place is amazing. Think we could go for a stroll? Buy some souvenirs?”
“At two in the morning there won’t be much open,” Erik told her. “But who knows, we might be here a while. Stay on alert, if there’s any trouble with locals just nod and do whatever they say, we can’t stop it. I’m pretty sure we’ll be fine, froggies don’t mess with their guests, but even so.”
The atmosphere did feel a lot like hot soup, but it smelled also of trees and moss. Erik yawned and equalised the pressure in his ears as it flooded the shuttle’s rear, sweating almost immediately in thirty percent greater humidity than a human’s preferred air pressure could hold.
“No wonder tavalai like this place,” Trace suggested, leading the way down the ramp by habit, Staff Sergeant Kono and Corporal Rael on the flanks, with Lieutenant Shilu trying to look elegant and composed as usual. On the pad, running lights strobed the misty air, and tavalai figures moved purposely, some pad crews, others not.
Some of the latter came toward AT-7’s pad, in colourful robes that Erik had never seen before. The folds and belts of those robes looked highly impractical for space stations, with ornamental loose ends, dangling beads and silver weights. These were planet-tavalai, the vast majority of the tavalai race, just as with humans… though apparently much more appreciated by their spacers than in human space. Save for those on Stoya III, Erik had only met the spacer variety before.
The tavalai stopped in a neat row, and made a gesture of both hands before their faces, webbed fingers interlocked. Erik had seen that before, but only in movies. He returned it, which he understood was the protocol, and was gestured by one to follow. The humans did, as the tavalai led the way across the steamy landing pad between the hot pings from cooling shuttles, as cool rain spattered, and lightning danced behind the surrounding towers.
About the edge of the pad was a decorative moat, filled with lilies and fish, then big glass walls about the base of one of the towers. The humans were led within, and a wall of air-conditioning hit them, with physical relief. Erik wondered if it were always on this high, or if the tavalai had turned it up especially for their guests. About was an enormous atrium, the inner ten floors of the tower were all exposed glass levels, with great copper-coloured art features suspended in the middle space between, full of decorations, and no doubt symbolism, that escaped Erik completely.
“Should have brought Romki,” Trace murmured, reading his thoughts. “Lieutenant, anything?”
“No, you’ve got me, Major,” said Shilu, mystified and intrigued. “I know some of their legal principles and social structure, but that’s it.” But Stan Romki was busy, and Erik was not sorry for it, not wishing to have a loose cannon on this particular trip.
Ahead the floor rose in steps — Erik knew a little of tavalai architecture, and knew that this rise, like the bowl seating they preferred, symbolised the riverbank, or the shore line, the boundary between water and land, the time-honoured m
eeting place of this semi-amphibious people. Arrayed upon the steps were at least thirty tavalai, in a kaleidoscope of colours. Many held lilies and ribbons, and there were more conservative, monochrome robes worn by officials carrying great, worn old books, and others with stamps. The full official welcoming party, from the heads of the Pondalganam Syndicate, some of the most high-ranking tavalai in the entire Tontalamai System.
Erik considered them as he approached, and thought that for all the tavalai’s stuffy formality and exasperating stubbornness, this was truly a remarkable quality to recommend them. UFS Phoenix had been a name hated and feared throughout tavalai space during the war, and yet here they were, welcomed in time-honoured tavalai tradition because this was simply how tavalai did things, and all the personal grievances in the world would not change it. This was not a people that would ever be ruled by their baser instincts — by fear, rage or hate. That was the best of the tavalai. But then, neither were they a people to be driven by compassion or sentiment, either. Tavalai did things properly, or not at all. They were predictable, and sensible, by their own calm logic, at least. They made good friends and awful enemies, and were relentless on principle where humans so often rushed to emotion. Lately, Erik had been wondering more and more how it was that with all the truly awful species in the galaxy, humans had managed to acquire these exasperating but fundamentally civilised people as their number one enemy of all. Lately, indeed, it had not seemed right.
“Fleet escort’s remaining outside,” Staff Sergeant Kono said in a low voice, glancing behind so his superiors didn’t have to. “Makimakala too. I don’t think they have the authority to be in here. Just us.”
“Then who the hell invited them?” Corporal Rael wondered, looking at some new entries, marching across the wide floor from adjoining doors. There were five of them, in the utilitarian business attire of tavalai bureaucrats. Some of the multi-coloured tavalai were staring at them, most unimpressed at this dull intrusion. One gave a signal to some others, who to Erik’s astonishment produced small instruments — some simple steel chimes and wooden pipes, and struck up a tune.
Another robed Pondalganam strolled to intercept the five dull-clothed intruders, and an argument started. More joined it, and soon the argument was louder than the music, and considerably less harmonious. One of the intruders tried to shut down the musicians, gesturing at them to stop. The musicians ignored him, and played louder. More Pondalganam intercepted the offending intruder, followed by more shouting, in the hoarse, staccato trills and chatter of excited Togiri.
Erik and Trace exchanged glances. “Could be worse,” Erik suggested. “Could be shouting at us.”
“And they may yet,” said Trace.
Finally a smaller intruding tavalai, who had been waving a bit of paper around, began loudly reading from it. Slowly, one by one, the bright-robed Pondalganam ceased their agitation, and their music, and listened soberly. The smaller tavalai — a woman, Erik thought — pronounced with increasing confidence and ease, as she felt the weight of the room’s attention upon her. When she finally concluded, the room was silent.
The leading Pondalganam conferred, a small huddle in hushed, displeased tones. Then one came to Erik and Trace, with another smaller Pondalganam — also a woman — at his shoulder. The head Pondalganam spoke, and the woman translated, in fluent, if hoarse, English. “The Tropagali Andarachi Mandarinava have presented us with a deferral,” the woman translated. Erik guessed that translating was her sole function. Surely an institution that dealt with the affairs of the Tsubarata, the great parliament of aliens, would need to speak a few less familiar tongues.
“State Department,” said Trace, with no great surprise. They looked at the intruding five tavalai. The small woman, their leader, folded her paper and put it away, with a look of grim triumph. “We had the red carpet rolled out for us, and the State Department are rolling it back up.”
“What is the nature of this deferral?” Erik asked the Pondalganam, via the translator. “I had thought that the Pondalganam were unchallenged in their authority over matters of the Tsubarata?”
The translator spoke quickly to her superior, then back again as he replied. “The Tsubarata is the parliament of the tavalai-sphere species. Humanity is not a tavalai-sphere species. You are a recent enemy, and our relations with you are bound by treaties at the war’s conclusion. Those treaties are the legal preserve of the Tropagali Andarachi Mandarinava, the State Department, as you call them, and…”
“No no, wait wait,” interrupted Lieutenant Shilu. “We’ve read over the documents carefully, they pertain to the claiming of representation for a species’ chair in the Tsubarata. No specific mention is made of who might be claiming that chair, or whether they might be in the tavalai-sphere or not…”
“Yes yes,” the translator said drily, not bothering to consult her superior. She made a calming gesture. “We are aware of technicalities. It will require a review.”
“What kind of review?” Erik asked, attempting calm. “Taking how much time?”
“It is unknown,” said the woman, with a head-weave, a tavalai shrug. “Time enough. Perhaps days.”
“How many days?” Erik insisted, his voice hardening.
“At least ten.” Erik barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “Many parties must be consulted. And then the State Department will surely launch a counter-claim.”
“And how many counter-claims are they entitled to?”
“The circumstances vary. Usually five.”
“Months,” Shilu said bluntly. “We’re talking months.”
“We don’t have months,” Trace insisted. She was holding a gymnastic yoga pose on the room floor, in singlet and under-shorts. Erik sat stretching in his — an entirely adequate routine, he thought, but barely the equal of Trace. Super-fitness could actually detract from a pilot’s reflexes by inducing muscle fatigue, and Trace’s professionalism didn’t live or die by fractions of a second as his did.
“I know,” said Erik. The dawn sun was rising above a misty, humidity and cloud-drenched cityscape. The colours were spectacular, every shade of red and orange, yellow, pink and violet. Air-traffic swarmed, a thousand zooming, blinking lights, and lightning flashed from one of the never-ending tropical storms.
The Pondalganam had offered each of the humans a separate room, but the grounded-posture of Phoenix crew with regard to security was Trace’s job, and she preferred them in just two adjoining rooms. Each was spacious, with huge floor-to-ceiling windows, big display-screen walls, and large beds. The senior officers’ room also had a rock-pool decoration, as apparently any space without a water feature was poor aesthetic form. Water bubbled and played over smoothly rounded stones, and combined with the view, the effect was soothing.
Erik’s new coms unit had not been confiscated, and lay on the floor beside him as he stretched. Probably the tavalai knew it had some additional capabilities, but were confident in their own network systems’ ability to resist intrusion. That was a miscalculation on their part, as this coms unit had been upgraded by Phoenix’s engineering staff, and Petty Officer Kadi in particular, who was learning new tricks from Styx’s network capabilities every day. Luckily for the Pondalganam, Erik had no intention of using it to penetrate their networks, though it did allow him to block the bugs monitoring this room.
Hiro was currently using a capability even more advanced than this, on Daravani Station. He’d left Phoenix at Stoya, and flown into Tontalamai on Aristan’s personal vessel. On Daravani Station, the plan was, Hiro would go with Aristan, disguised as an acolyte in parren robes. Aristan was adamant that he could get a human aboard in this way, tavalai security being reluctant to check identities beneath acolyte robes for fear of causing cultural offence — something that had apparently been sensitive between Aristan’s people and tavalai authorities in the past. From there, Aristan insisted, there were ways of penetrating State Department information systems — for one as capable in such things as Hiro, using Phoenix capabilities
. Again, Erik wondered just what Aristan knew about Phoenix capabilities. And what he’d make of Styx if he did learn of her existence, given that Styx had once been at the top of the drysine leadership, in partnership with Drakhil himself.
A coms uplink flashed in the corner of his vision, and he blinked on it. “Sir,” came Lieutenant Lassa’s voice in his ear, “boarding is confirmed for two hours from now exactly, the tavalai Fleet warship Lilipetilai will be sending two shuttles. They confirm that no armed crew or karasai will enter, this will be an unarmed inspection, but it will be extensively covered by recording devices.”
This, too, they’d agreed upon with Admiral Janik at Stoya. Knowledge of what tavalai Fleet was proposing to help Phoenix with could not be spread. Everyone had to maintain the appearance of suspicious relations, and Admiral Janik had been firm that if tavalai Fleet did not carry out a full inspection at Tontalamai, then State Department would insist upon doing it themselves. The Dobruta invitation that brought Phoenix legally into tavalai space meant that Phoenix could not be disarmed, and Fleet would not risk a boarding-in-force under those conditions, least jumpy humans open fire. It did, however, mean that a lot of things on Phoenix, that not even tavalai Fleet knew the existence of, would have to be placed elsewhere, on the off-chance that Fleet decided to do an actual inspection, and not just a fake one to ease State Department suspicions.
“Very well Lieutenant,” Erik told Lassa, reaching to grasp his toes. “Make the necessary preparations.” He could not say more than that — his coms device would only block bugs in this room, not on the uplink to Phoenix.
“Yes sir. Everything okay down there?”
“Very good, yes. Except that we’re now adjusting to city hours, and will be very tired shortly.”
Kantovan Vault (The Spiral Wars Book 3) Page 17