Micah looked at Ionoski, who shrugged. They handed Siffai the money.
"Pure truth and no blather! But it's better than the alternative."
Sela'hai!
"If the lot of you are done blathering," said Ferrel, "I have more information." Then, after Micah, Kidwell and Siffai raised him a finger, "It is purely amazing just how fond the Mekhajan are of khav. For an insular people who don't have a lot of interstellar trade the Esavians sell massive amounts of it to the Mekahajan. High prices, too, and not just to trade for the few things they want but can't make themselves."
Ionoski examined Ferrel's data. "Dead on the beam. Are you seeing any patterns I'm not?"
"Nak, Ted. No pattern there. The '... family and friends...' rules don't seem to apply to khav. From the look of things any Mekhajan trader is expected to buy khav, if only enough for the crew on the return trip. From this end of the records the Esavians don't mind breaking their '... me only...' rules either. Any spicemonger will sell khav to any Mekhajan trader."
"What about patterns to the goods traded for khav?"
"Thank you for asking, my brother! Mostly what you would expect: all the tech they want but can't mange to make themselves. Plus weapons and other modern military gear."
"Nuclear weapons," asked Ionoski.
"Not through the Brothers of the Table," said Ferrel, "At least not that I found. I'm low-sigma on military vessels, too. I have a creeping suspicion that anything above personal or small-unit weapons won't go through civilian channels. But I will wager you a Wineberry Wipeout from Kandy's that I found the source of those missiles they shot at us!"
"The Esavians' ships are probably outdated Mekhajan surplus," suggested Micah, "That would make sense. They couldn't threaten the Mekhajan with them but they'd still be as good as or better than anything the Jengiil or Vezieri could send against them."
"Mark that as provable," said Ionoski, "and prove or disprove per relevance. Anything else?"
"Last course before dessert," said Ferrel, "Most Esavian trade is tech but not all. They also have a narrow market in certain ag produce: spices and wine. More of the latter than the former with one most curious element.
"Different Mekhajan traders take different wines to Esavian buyers and that is subject to the rules of preference and supply. There is one class, however, that is not. It is traded to the Esavians under the same rules khav is purchased from them: anyone, anywhere, anywhen."
"And," prompted Ionoski.
Ferrel worked his terminal then displayed the result. "All instances of that class of wine are produced on Mek-Soulda, Mek-Tarhav, Mek-Mierlo and Mek-Taniston."
Ionoski considered that a moment then rose. "Excuse me, I need to talk to our captain. I do believe we need an unexpected layover at Mek-Taniston. I think the L-drive needs recalibration."
***
Mek-Taniston again welcomed the Unity party with great happiness, increased by the news from their capitol. On learning of the Belle Anna's problem they hastened to assure Laray they would have her fixed at top priority. They then offered everyone hospitality made the more pleasant by its unexpected nature. The passengers debarked for a now-three-day layover.
After a morning of shopping for 'gifts for friends,' mostly Jennifer, Micah had a large assortment of boxes and bags and a lot less money. Now the owner of the wine shop, the finding of which burdened Micah with most of those gifts, wanted to burden him with even more!
"This is very popular among tourists here, good sirra. It is very hearty and has a good bouquet yet it is not overpowering."
Micah made a thoughtful look before shaking his head. "No thank you, able merchant. Someone on Mek-Daira mentioned Vibona wine. Do you have that?"
"Vibonnay," corrected the merchant quickly. He gave Micah an appraising look. "Yes, good sirra, but are you certain of that?"
"Yes, able merchant, I am fairly certain. It was something like that, truth and pure. He said no true connoisseur should be without a bottle or two and my uncle is an expert. The other merchant didn't have any of it in stock."
"I have it ready to hand, good sirra, but I do not sell much of it to tourists. I can recommend something as good or better! Perhaps a nice East Island blush? Very smooth on the tongue."
Micah considered that, then shook his head again and made to leave. "No. No, able merchant. I apologize for taking your ti..."
"Wait, good sirra! I can see you are indeed determined. Your uncle is a blessed man to have you for a nephew! But... the blend is not cheap."
"Nothing he drinks is," said Micah with a grin.
"Vibonnay is also a very... esoteric taste." The merchant spoke as he led Micah to the back of the shop. "Very few take the time to develop an appreciation for it."
"For truth? In that case I hope he doesn't ask me to drink any of it!"
Micah left the shop with five large bottles of Vibonnay, well-aged and mature, and very little money!
***
"Of course I bought some extra!" Micah gave Ferrel an indignant look. "If it's that 'esoteric' we may need to suggest it to the Unity. Maybe even the League!"
Ionoski nodded in agreement. Micah carefully uncorked the dusty bottle and poured each of them a small glass.
Micah took a sip and instantly regretted it! The wine was bitter, acidic, sour and strong. It had a taste like the smell of unwashed socks after a week of field maneuvers. It went down his throat like boiling hydraulic fluid and exploded in his stomach like a plasma grenade. Then, when he belched, the fumes were even worse!
"That... is... awful." Kidwell pushed her glass away and tried to scowl at Micah. And failed! She was obviously and visibly too uncomfortable to glare properly.
Ferrel spat his sip back into his glass. "Heaven's flames that's bad! I shall never again complain about greased rats."
Siffai opened her mouth to reply. Then she gasped, then wheezed, then choked and began coughing.
"Kate," said Barstein, "Kate-Lynn! Katie!!"
She tapped her throat and began struggling for breath. Micah and Ferrel were at her side instantly and Ionoski slapped the emergency comm. The ship medic arrived quickly, scanned her and administered a pair of hypos.
"Allergic reaction," he said, "Severe. What did she eat?"
"Local wine," said Micah, "Some pretty awful stuff."
"Apparently some pretty dangerous stuff. No, lady. You lay right there! The only place you're going is sickbay."
With his assurance that Siffai would recover soon enough Micah helped load her on a stretcher. She looked daggers and particle bolts at each of them but the medic threatened her with a sedative if she didn't cooperate. She finally agreed and he hovered her away. Barstein and Kidwell started to follow but changed their minds after a cold glare from the medic. As soon as the door closed Ferrel dumped the glasses and the wine still in them into the fresher.
Micah slept uneasily. He relived his missions with the 113th again and again. Now, though, he felt the vague presence of Sergeant Hile, his brutal drill instructor, and Lieutenant Sanders, his cowardly commander. Then that of Eva Tiber, the doctor who helped him get past them. His enemies multiplied as he fought, and fought harder and better as they did. He knew he couldn't last long against them.
The end finally came on Ceto against the Consortium forces there. Ferrel failed to hack the satellite network and now Micah and his forces fought in vain. He knew that but couldn't recall them. The Corpses had him surrounded and he saw his last surviving Marine, Wallace, cut in half by a Corpse smite. Micah fired his blaster empty trying to stop them but to no avail. More and more kept coming and finally one lined up a smite on him. He tried to shoot it, failed and saw the fire behind it as it launched. It whistled as it tracked him, louder and louder and louder...
Micah woke drenched in sweat with the comm shrilly beeping beside him. He hit the lights before answering it.
"Micah. Sickbay now," said Ionoski.
As soon as the door to sickbay opened Micah saw a second figure beside Siffa
i then a hypo hissed against his neck. He turned and punched, only to pull the strike, and several muscles, as the medic withdrew the hypo.
"Steady, spiker," said the man, "You're welcome. Whatever that wine was do not drink it again. Ever!"
Barstein lay in the other bunk, his eyes dull and glazed. His clothes lay in a pile beside it and medical swathes covered him from head to toe.
"Rash," said the medic, "Brought on by a delayed but still severe reaction to the wine. Do you have any more of that foul stuff?"
"Four bottles unopened," said Micah, "and the most part of a fifth."
"Bring them to me. I need to do some analysis on it and I don't want any more of it loose."
Micah looked at Ionoski. Beside him, pale and sweating, sat Kidwell with Ferrel beside her but without his usual grin. Ionoski nodded.
"He's family," said Ionoski.
"Mike Davies," said the medic, "Based on what I've observed in these two there are some nasty active cultures in that wine. I'll be sure to keep at least one bottle sealed and safe for the experts. Did you have any symptoms?"
"No," said Micah, "Wait. Bad dreams. Really bad ones. More than I'm accustomed to."
Kidwell shuddered. "You're lucky, Mike. He doesn't react well at all to bad dreams." She looked at Micah. "We had them too, lover. If yours were anything like ours I love you even more!"
"How is Dave?"
"Fine," said Davies, "They'll both survive, no question about that. Once I tamed down the initial symptoms there was nothing a little time and allergen suppressant won't handle. Barstein wouldn't have reacted at all if I'd caught it when it first manifested. What really concerned me in both cases was the onset speed.
"Neither of them have any allergies on record. That means whatever hit them not only triggered an allergic immune response but kicked it into L-drive. Semid inocs aren't that far below League standard, which implies some really narsty microbes or by-product in that wine."
"If it's that bad," said Kidwell, "how can they sell it?"
"Most likely it's something in the environment," said Davies, "I know, 'durr,' but it's also probably something innocuous that won't hit you unless you're susceptible or you don't have something necessary as a part of your regular diet. The reason our inocs are so good is because of the pathogens you can pick up traveling around the galaxy. Read up on pre-League and early-League travel and the diseases people caught and spread."
"We knew that," said Ferrel, "We just..."
"Forgot until it bit your nose," finished Davies, "I know, plus-plus. Not my first time in this orbit. I've got a package of tau boosters and polycil. Make sure you put it in your panic bag."
Davies stowed his gear, retrieved the package and sat. Chog appeared and Micah availed himself of it. Even though he still had rack time coming he didn't feel like leaving yet. Nor did the others.
***
The next morning only two of the Brethren and Greene showed up for breakfast. They chatted readily enough but left soon after they finished their meal. As soon as the door closed behind them one of the other passengers approached Ionoski.
"Agent Ionoski? I'm Keith Blankenship." He tilted his head toward his table. "We're your backup for the Mekhajan mission. I realize you probably spotted us but wasn't certain. Our orders were to stay close and secret and to take steps if the puppy got rutted. I'm not sure if last night counts or not but I need to know whether to take my team back to the League or not."
Ionoski thought a moment. "First of all I'm glad you were here, Agent Blankenship, and I'm equally glad we didn't rut the puppy. I hope to have a contingency ship waiting back on Triumph. As far as your team is concerned, your ball and your call. I'd certainly appreciate the help, though. This mission is done but we're likely to have several more before long. Be warned, though, if you stay you'll likely wish you were all triplets."
Blankenship nodded. "Excellent, sir. In that case we'll stay. Rumors from upstream say things are likely to hot up here before long and I'd like to be familiar with the territory."
"Welcome along, then," said Ionoski.
Blankenship nodded and went back to his table. Before long he had the others there in intense and likely garbled conversation. By their expressions he made the right choice. Once they lowered their heads and transferred full attention to each other Kidwell slid into the seat Blankenship vacated.
"Where's the smart there, Ted," she asked, "Since when do we need our hands held?"
"Unless I miscalculated by L-shots," said Ionoski evenly, "We're headed back into Mekhajan space. We'll probably be deep-narrow and signal down. If so then I want my assets covered. Besides, Cardinal Rule of Combat."
"'Always cover the six.' Slib, but I don't have to like it!"
"Fair coin."
"Will we really have a contingency ship," asked Ferrel.
"I did request one but it's not a small thing to ask, so stop drooling."
By midafternoon Siffai expressed eagerness to chew through her bunk, Davies, sickbay and anything else between her and freedom. Even Barstein showed symptoms of advanced cabin fever. Since Davies had no objection Micah and the others gathered there.
"I've analyzed that wine," said Davies as he powered up a datapad, "The chemical structures are here and they're standard for fermented liquids. It is very acidic, for wine, but still within the range of some League flavors. The sugars are strange but again well within ordinary tolerances, and the sugars themselves depend heavily on soil chemistry and climate so nothing extraordinary there."
He highlighted and zoomed a particular set of images.
"These are the dangerous ones. The bacteria themselves are residual and probably a part of the fermentation process. By themselves they produce some mild toxins that could be dangerous in a concentrated form but are very dilute here. The real harm is this." He indicated one of the images, a close-up view of a dozen or so of the specific bacteria. "Each bacterium I scanned encapsulated this viral sequence. By itself it's bad news but it has a symbiotic relationship with the bacteria hosting it."
"That is strange," said Ferrel.
"It's more than strange. I won't bore you with the microbiology of it but the whole thing is bloody peculiar! The environmental conditions necessary for this particular combination to coexist, thrive and reproduce would have to be exceedingly rare. Will you be doing soil analyses?"
"As we're able," said Ionoski, "We'll forward you what we can, if you're interested."
"I'm six-sigmas interested! With what I have now I might be able to synthesize an inoculation for it, if that is good."
"That would be very good," said Ionoski, "We're not planning on drinking any more of it but that might happen. I'd like to have it as an option too, just in case."
"Polar. Can you tell me why you might need it?"
"Yes," replied Ionoski, surprisingly. Then, to the others, "I cleared him. He's part of Keith Blankenship's team."
"This is one of a narrow range of wines exported from the Mekhajan to the Esavians under a specific set of rules," said Ferrel, "Only four worlds produce them. We're trying to figure out why. You said the environment necessary to produce this particular combination is rare. That's platinum on our plate, potentially."
"Any ideas about the other planets?"
"TLI now," said Ionoski, "but depending on what you find, gaining that information may take a serious increase in priority."
"Slib. I'll do my best."
***
Micah stepped into his initial routine and soon flowed effortlessly into his usual workout. No one else joined him so his mind reached its full freedom. As his body warmed to the effort his mind and focus both sharpened.
Mekhajan was the problem. And, probably, the solution. Until they learned differently he accepted that as a given. He knew what they needed to find but as yet not where it lived or how to locate it. Large-city Mekhajan differed little from their League counterparts yet Micah doubted even Kidwell's ability to fade undetected into the Mekhajan population,
especially in smaller towns or villages.
Their lack of knowledge of the finer subtleties of the culture and tradition there would hinder their ability to fabricate legitimate backgrounds. He had no doubt Ferrel could create or copy any documentation they needed, whether digital or otherwise, but their lack of direct family, friends or family friends those documents would lack validity. That left external origins as their only option for creating backgrounds.
That fact would restrict them severely. Outsiders always drew extra scrutiny, especially among a people so heavily reliant on close personal and familial connection. Even the smallest mistake could cause a critical slip at the perfectly wrong time. The solution lay in minimizing such scrutiny and the consequences of violating it, which led directly back to the lack of information they needed to remedy!
Micah felt Kidwell enter. She began her workout and, sensitive to his mood, kept silent. When they both finished she sat next to him.
"We need to infiltrate the Mekhajan," she said, "Are you working on the how?"
"Yes. How did you..." He looked at her expectantly.
"Because I know you, lover. This isn't like the others we've done. They were all fundamentally similar to League culture and tradition. The Mekhajan are different. Fundamentally. Their worldview and approach to just about anything is just enough different to really torque our day if we make a slip. The consequences of such a slip are also considerably more severe. We can't assimilate as easily, just when we need it the most."
He nodded in agreement.
"So we need to minimize the risk. That's what you're thinking, truth?"
"Telepathy?"
"Training, dear, although I'm less concerned with risk than with feeling native enough for the true Mekhajan to trust us, or at least accept us. Friend-of-a-friend and close-to-family leaves us out in the weather. What we need is to turn it to our advantage."
Micah pulled out a five-credit coin and set it between them. Kidwell chuckled at that.
"No blather, Micah. Think about it. Customs and traditions shared by one family, immediate or extended, will necessarily extend to friends here, and to a lesser degree other members of the tribe or sect or unit group."
The Radical Factor (Stone Blade Book 3) Page 16