by Jim Rudnick
As Magnusson turned and got up to go past the bar and out into the guest area, he saw only the back of the Master Adept’s robe as she left the room.
“Oh, we will talk,” he said to himself. “One day, we will talk …”
CHAPTER TWO
On the space station in high orbit over Neria, the Ramat guard snapped to attention so firmly that Tanner thought the alien might have injured his foot as it stamped down on the deck. The ringing from the heel of the guard’s boot echoed around the end of the corridor.
Tanner acknowledged the guard with a smile and said. “Duke d’Avigdor to see the Caliph.”
The guard moved to his left and pressed the access plate button that he’d been standing in front of, and the pocket door slid in noiselessly. Tanner entered the small conference room and he whistled to himself as the view presented itself out the exterior bulkhead view-port.
The Nerian station was the home of the RIM-wide Vac Jump Championships. That event was coming up in a few days. Around the Nerian Station were docked and moored ships from many of the RIM Confederacy worlds. There were DenKoss water ships, Leudi cargo freighters, and choir ships from Randi docked beside hunting ships from the Duchy d'Avigdor realm planet Anulet. Four or five Barony of Neres cruisers sat out at the fringe of the gathering ships, all docked and supported by gantries.
Chandler tenders were busy ferrying out supplies, and repair droids were blinking their notice lights as they swarmed out to the various maintenance tickets they were programmed to service. Lying at high orbit, the station was a mass of modular wings and units and had been pieced together over the last fifty years in the belief that what happened here on the station would never happen below on the world that owned it.
On his way into the conference room, while braced by four of his own Duchy Provost guards, he’d been bumped and jostled by people who thronged throughout the walkways, the malls, and corridors. Some people almost fought for prime viewing stations at various window ports and scene-scapes that overlooked the almost totally surrounded arena area where the competition would occur.
It was a festive air with everyone excited, and sometimes, loud conversations over preferred choices of entrants peaked while still others flaunted their own champions. Vacjumpers were well known throughout the RIM, and each colony, duchy, barony, caliphate, and world had its own champions. And in two days, they would meet here on Nerian Station to compete for the annual RIM-wide VacJump Games.
He shook his head at the remembrance of same from more than ten years ago. He’d been assigned then, as the captain of the RIM Navy cruiser the RN Marwick, to be the liaison and officer and provide the liaison ship for the event on behalf of the RIM Navy. He’d thought at the time it was just a press or public relations type of mission and hadn’t really thought it important. Sure enough, as he remembered now, it had been a bit interesting to see various realm citizens jump out into space with no breathing apparatus or warming suits to see how long they could last before quitting.
He couldn’t remember now who had won the big open championship, but he knew the fellow who came in second well. A few years later, that alien had broken into the secure labs on the Barony Hospital Ship to steal—or try to steal—the Ikarian vaccine. He’d made it all the way out to the end of the labs and had, because of his Vacjump skills learned here on the Nerian Station, jumped out into space. Unfortunately for him, Tanner had been waiting and had forced the alien to give up the stolen vaccine. He had died, Tanner remembered, but he had been charged by the Baroness to defend the secure labs and protect the vaccine at any and all costs, and he had done just that.
On his left thigh, without even realizing it, his palm had begun gently tapping there with a ”one, two ... one, two” beat. As he became aware of what was happening, he mentally thanked Doctor Etter for helping Tanner to manage his PTSD via the EMDR treatment.
He shuddered for a moment, wondering why he felt this way and realized it was perhaps because he was back once more at a location where something of magnitude in his own future had occurred. Maybe. Maybe it was that. Or maybe he was just struck that it was here he first met someone he’d had to kill.
“No matter,” he said to himself as he watched a Roor Navy frigate slowly make some space beside it to allow a smaller sphere ship from Alex’n to moor beside it.
He grinned, wondering how the hell the space station crew could put up with all the requests for space and docking and mooring and even barging together to try to accommodate the huge crowds due here the day after tomorrow. Watching out there along the areas bounded off by marker buoys was fun, and while he could have spent more time doing just that, he turned away from the view and sat.
Time to go to work. Time to try to swing the Caliph over from a new friend—well, maybe an old acquaintance—into a full partner.
He had practiced his presentation with Helena just last night, and she, like him, had pronounced it a good pitch. It would allow the Caliph to be proactive, be aggressive, and be a full partner. Yet, underlying all that, it also allowed him to veer off the partnership too—at least on the surface it looked like that. What might happen, no one really knew, and as he mulled that over, the door to the conference room slipped open.
“Duke d’Avigdor—so nice to hear from you, and I’m glad to have the time to sit and chat with you,” the Caliph said.
Today, he wore—once again—the same earth tones of brown and darker brown, and his boots were a shade of brown Tanner had never seen before—sort of a light brown and blue meld. At six feet six inches tall, the Caliph was one imposing alien head of state—there was no doubt about that—he had a hawkish face with brown skin and large nose. He held himself in such a way that it meant one thing to all who saw him—he was in charge, and there was no doubt about that.
He clapped his hands, and from a side door in the forward bulkhead, some stewards wheeled in a full cart of refreshments holding some hot appetizers.
“I think you humans call this a ‘tapas’ type of light refreshment,” Sharia said, and he half-bowed his head.
Tanner grinned at him.
“Tapas indeed, Sharia—and what a pleasant surprise. I was thinking about what might be available down on the station food court area that I could grab before setting off on the Sword back to the Duchy—but this is an admirable treat!” he said, and he meant it too.
Like the Caliph, he too dug in and filled most of his plate with selections that he thought looked good, and he grabbed a big bottle of water to help wash the lunch down. They sat and talked about the Vacjump games and some of the recent winners. The Caliph said, “This year, there are more than thirty thousand expected to be here at the games. On the station, on their ships, on the viewing barges”—he shook his head—“the competition is still the biggest draw on the RIM, and all are here to watch the entrants cheat death.
As the meal was ending, Tanner chose to begin his presentation. “Caliph—Sharia, I mean. I wanted to talk to you about the future of the RIM Confederacy,” he said as his opening statement, making it about all the realms, not just their own.
Sharia nodded, licked a finger as he slid his plate to one side, and drank some of his juice drink. “What is it you think should be done?” he asked plainly.
So, plainly it will be, Tanner thought.
“Sharia—there are exactly three realms that run—control—look after—the whole of the Confederacy—at least that’s how I see it. The Barony, the Caliphate, and the Duchy. The Duchy is the smallest, so we are the ones who might stand to gain most, and I wanted to say that right out front. But what I propose is a partnership between our three realms to expand,” he said.
Now wait, Helena had drummed into him. Tanner recalled Helena’s advice: Stop the selling, and let him noodle that around. Do not speak next … he must buy in, and if he does, he’ll answer you. Tanner followed Helena’s advice and didn’t say another word. He sat quietly and waited for the Caliph’s response.
The Caliph rose, went to the
big view-port, and looked out at the dozens of ships that lay around the station. He took another big swallow of the juice and nodded—to whom or to what Tanner had no idea, and he returned in less than a minute to sit back down.
“Agreed. But what exactly is it you propose?” he inquired. His face gave nothing away, and Tanner was once again glad to have never played poker with the alien.
Tanner half-smiled. “What I think we need to do, is to join forces. To send off one ship on what we’d call a ‘joint venture exploration’ of an area that might be rife with rebellion and therefore have planets that might consider allying with any of us,” he said, and again he paused.
“Pentyaan space—you’re talking about the recent news of the rebellions on some of their realm worlds and the split up of their whole oligarchy—right?” the Caliph asked, his head tilted to one side.
He was right, of course. Word was that some planets within the oligarchy of twenty-three planets had already rebelled, spun off by warlords to form their own new empires. As well, word had come back that even when attacked by the Pentyaan Oligarchy Navy, they had successfully fought off their old masters.
“Right,” Tanner said, “that’s exactly what I mean. We would like to take one of your Crimson ships—so that we’d be invulnerable to one and all—and approach them and see what we can see. Make trade agreements, if nothing else, but also offer what a new planet to one of our own realms receives, like protection, and what that would mean to them. We don’t know how this might go—and yes, there is some degree of trust needed between us, the joint venture partners. But more than that, with Pentyaan space lying tight to the RIM Confederacy, it’d just be moving some boundary buoys that cement our ownership of all who’d want to join the Confederacy,” he finished off. And once again, he waited.
The Caliph nodded but so imperceptibly, Tanner almost didn’t notice. He knew the unconscious use of head movements one made often showed how the person was leaning. Alien or human … those traits were noticeable and the nods or shakes often proved true.
The Caliph finished his juice and then recapped the bottle, twisting the lid so tight that it squeaked. He leaned back, as though thinking, and then leaned forward. “I think that your idea is sound. I like it and will grant the partnership use of, say, Crimson I on one condition. That we all agree on the captain—you, me, and the Baroness too. That way, we will all be represented,” he said.
Tanner started. That topic hadn’t come up in his earlier discussions, and he wanted that captaincy for himself; after all, hadn’t he come up with the plan?
“That position I was hoping to fill myself,” he said, figuring that frankness might work.
The Caliph shook his head. “Not possible—you are a duke. If the head of state shows up, any warlord will know what the intent is—and we’d end up fighting our way out of their space. No, it needs to be someone who knows what’s expected and can handle anything that comes along. But someone that will represent all three of our realms,” he said and sat back, toying with his empty juice bottle.
Tanner was stumped.
Who? Who could I trust—that the Baroness and the Caliph would trust too? Who could be both a captain and a RIM Confederacy ambassador at the same time? Who might, he thought, and then it hit him.
“Then I propose Lieutenant Commander Bram Sander for the new captaincy of the Crimson I,” he said.
Bram had never been a captain, but he had done time on many navy ships as an Adept Officer. Bram was an Issian—so he had that mind reading skill-set—even though he had retired from their cult. Bram had been in the RIM Navy, the Baronial Navy and now in the Duchy Navy, so he knew naval protocols. Bram could also be counted on to be morally upright and loyal.
He would do nicely, Tanner thought
“Agreed. Good choice. He will be captain and represent our joint venture exploration. He will allow us to expand as I think that is exactly what will happen. And he has those Issian skills to stay ahead of any warlord at the same time. I like your choice, Tanner …” he said, and he smiled broadly at him.
Tanner nodded back and the talk went back to the Vacjump games, as the lunch meeting was about over.
“Do right by the partnership, Duke,” the Caliph said.
Tanner nodded. He intended to do just that for all three of them.
#####
Gia sat on the chair looking out the big windows again. Facing south maybe, she thought, but it makes no difference. Don’t think it will ever change. The scene was the same today as it had been yesterday. There were some schmaltzy-looking gardens stretching out for about a hundred yards below, and then the tall wall that surrounded the ducal palace grounds. After the wall was the open park that lay around the whole area, and eventually toward the horizon, she could see the edge of Neen City. From here, she well knew after being cooped up here for twenty days now, the view was the same. Day after day, she thought and grimaced as she realized the view would always be the same.
One year in six rooms. One was her bedroom, which she had to admit was nicely furnished with all the furniture and art being antiques she thought. Thick, thick carpet ran the full length of the large bedroom, and the ceiling was coved and had built-in lights and fans too.
The bathroom had just about every single kind of hygiene appliance there was—at least in her world. There was the usual toilet and bath and a full-size shower. Could fit at least a dozen people, she thought. There were two bidets with some buttons in the bathroom. That’s odd, Gia thought, wonder what they’d clean.
Gia paid particular attention to the bathroom as she was used to a simpler setup. There were two hot tub Jacuzzis in the enormous bathroom. One Jacuzzi sat inside and had special venting that kept any kind of odor away. The other Jacuzzi was outside on a wide and long balcony that loomed out over the gardens below. One would have been enough. Don’t know why I’d need two.
Rounding out the bathroom was a full massage area, complete with a call button that would bring the masseuse directly to her suite of rooms. On her first trip into the bathroom, she’d seen a card on the pillow that listed the various types of massages, treatments, and every kind of waxing one could imagine. She had shuddered when she read that she could ask for toe hair removal, and she wondered who might need such a thing, but she’d have that conversation with herself on a slower day.
“Like any day was not slow,” she said to herself as she twisted the glass of cider in her hands. She could have asked for anything including any cocktail she could think of, wine, beer, liqueurs, or spirits too. But the cider that had been recommended was nice. Very apple-y tasting, but nice, she thought.
She had other rooms though. There was the official salon, where she had been told all meetings with the court officers would occur. She thought the room was a hodgepodge of an old-fashioned palette of colors compared to the new very minimalist furniture. She didn’t like that room, but that was probably the kind of reaction that was wanted with the room. Saved for official use only, which was what it was intended for, she thought.
The room she called her living room was a smaller room with a couple of seating areas. She really liked the seating area with matching couches facing each other in front of the real log-burning fireplace. She could toss some pillows against one end and then stretch out on the couch as she requested a vid or streaming media to be displayed on the big screen that sat above the fireplace. She’d already done that quite a few times, and she knew she’d have to slow down on that or else it too would become boring, and over a year, that could happen all too soon.
She also had a private study, as the court officers had called it. They had brought her to the palace and escorted her into her own wing, which they told her had been set up specifically for her use. “My captivity is more like it,” she said to herself, and yet, somehow and somewhere deep inside her, she knew it was a fair sentence.
The three judges had taken more than two weeks to make their decision, and she’d been sent back to the courtroom to hear her
verdict and sentence too. The head judge had droned on, she thought, for far too long on the terms of compos mentis and the mitigating circumstances of delusional thinking. He’d then gone on to say that while the decision on the bench was a split decision, the defendant was found not guilty due to those delusional symptoms and that the sentence would be one full year of house arrest in the ducal palace.
That had been about twenty days ago, and she’d been transferred first by bus and then by Jeep to the rear of the palace where she had been marched inside in handcuffs. She was escorted up to the third floor, to the end of the main corridor, and then down a short hallway to a locked door.
The court officers had told her the locked door was the only entrance to her wing, and there was no way to reach that entrance except via a corridor off the servants quarters. She had also learned her wing had been built more than one hundred years earlier, but it had been refurbished just a few decades ago. That was decades of non-use trumped by what might have been an apartment that had had six different designers work on the rooms. But she didn’t care. This would be home for another eleven months and a few days.
She had not even been in the sixth room yet. It was her meeting room. The court officers had told her this was the only room where she could see other people. She could invite guests and they would be escorted to that room. Once inside, there would be a court bailiff posted on picket duty to prevent any security concerns. After the visit, the bailiff would then escort the guest directly out of the wing and then lock Gia back into her wing.
This she felt was beyond the pale. She could not understand why she could not have guests—any guests in any number—in any of her rooms. She’d already asked her lawyer to appeal, and that process had just started.
In the meantime, she sat, like now, and did nothing.
Well, not nothing. She was going to wait until the dinner hour and then ask the AI for something hard to find and cook. She had spent more than an hour in the living room using the Gallipedia hook-up to find local food recipes for Neen, and it had been an easy thing to do. She had found one, and she was ready to challenge the AI.