by Ben Bova
The other man shook his head. “I’m not an archaeologist, so I can’t say for certain, but my guess is no. The metals are just too rare to come from here in these quantities.” Secchi sighed heavily again and looked at the moon Big One, just now rising over the far horizon. “I suppose—and this is a real stretch, mind you—they might come from up there. If their technology had been far enough advanced, they might have mined it up there …”
“But?”
He paused before answering. “Look, I did the orbital spectrographic scans of both moons myself, and then we both went over them. These aren’t captured bodies with differing compositions; they’re made of the same stuff you’ll find here, in roughly the same proportions. You won’t find any more of this stuff up there than you will down here.”
A shout from below reached their ears. Gareth could see someone waving up the slope at him. Even from this distance, he could tell from the newcomer’s unsoiled clothing that the man had just arrived at the site from South Camp. He reached for his belt, cursing softly under his breath when he realized he’d left his handlink down at the dig.
“We’d better get back. My guess is that someone on whatever ship we saw braking a while ago is trying to reach me.” He turned to leave, slipping the metal glob into a pocket.
“Gareth, wait a minute,” Secchi said, grabbing his sleeve. “I’m not sure you follow what I’m saying here. If you want to find the source of whatever hit the ground down there, you’re going to have to look somewhere else. It’s not ours—or the Sarpan’s either, for that matter. This was here a long time before either one of us was flying. And it wasn’t anything the natives are capable of. I’m sure of it.”
Gareth Anmoore laughed humorlessly. “Oh, I follow you perfectly, Vito.” He turned and started hiking back down the slope.
“I’m just trying to figure out how in the name of God I’m going to break the news to everyone up there in orbit that we’ve found signs of yet another intelligent race out here.”
16
ARRIVALS
Captain Tra’tiss, commander of the Sarpan vessel Cra Stuith, was middle-aged, judging from the predominance of brown in his skin coloration. A trio of silver bobs adorning the gill slit on the left side of his face—an indication that he had spawned three times in his life—was further indication the alien was probably no more than nine or ten standard Solar years old. At his side stood another alien, his moist skin the brighter green shade of a Sarpan youth; this would be his first officer. The younger alien sported only a single silver adornment on his gill.
Tra’tiss glowered from the screen, tapping slowly, rhythmically at the corner of his wide mouth with a long, webbed finger. The alien’s facial expression was unfortunate, in that all Sarpan looked as though they were perpetually scowling. The hand gesture, however, conveyed considerably more information about his mood. According to what Brendan had told him to look for prior to this communication with the alien ship, the subtle tapping motion indicated that the alien was in a state of what he’d described as “frustrated thoughtfulness.”
The two commanders—one human, one alien—were in what the aliens referred to as a “contemplation phase” in their negotiations, a maddening but necessary feature of most peaceful discussions with the Sarpan during which they remained silent for long periods of time. Audio had been turned off on both ends of the conversation while they waited, although video had been left active.
“He’s still considering his options,” Brenda said aloud while the control-bridge audio pickup remained off. “He’s trying—all simultaneously, mind you—to reflect on several things: Mainly, he’s deciding whether or not you’re lying to him; but he’s also planning an emergency escape, weighing potential armed responses to any actions you might take as well as their repercussions, comparing the value of staying here at Tsing versus monitoring everything that happens here from a safer vantage point outside the system … not to mention wondering what you and I are talking about right now.” Brendan paused and almost smiled. “At the same time he’s probably juggling work assignments for his crew, fuel consumption from his last three jumps, and how long it’s been since he was ‘in the water.’ But don’t let any of this fool you; he’s still giving you his full attention. Nothing you say or do in this discussion will slip past him. You can count on it.”
“They’re magnificent creatures,” Lewis breathed softly in true admiration. “They’re so orderly, so efficient in their scientific and military dealings; so competent in everything they do. And what you’ve told me about their parenting/learning process, the way they can pass on intimate knowledge to their children through touch …” Lewis frowned angrily, shaking his head. “To think that damned paranoid madman is poisoning the minds of so many people about this gentle race.”
Brendan regarded his brother. “You almost sound more like a scientist than the commander of the Emperor’s flagship. However …” His face grew serious. “Although I agree with everything you’ve ever said about Jephthah and his campaign of hatred, this ‘gentle race,’ as you call it, is quite formidable. And secretive. We know little of what their goals are regarding much of anything—we never have, much less what they want here at Tsing.”
“I know that,” Lewis snorted. “And I know how serious a meeting with them—here! now!—is to the Empire. Can I help it if what Jephthah has done angers me?” Realizing that he had sat bolt upright during this last, he settled back in his seat and lowered his voice. “You want a military commander’s opinion then? All right: I’m not really sure I blame them for wanting to protect themselves, Bren. I imagine they’ve seen every transmission Jephthah’s made, just as we have. And now here they are at Tsing, sitting smack in the middle of what must appear to them to be half the Imperial fleet. As to why they’re here, I believe what he just told us two minutes ago—they’re here for the same reason every other ship is. The discovery of a new race must be every bit as important to the Sarpan as it is to the Hundred Worlds.”
The bridge filled suddenly with sound from the holoscreen as audio from the Sarpan ship was restored. Lewis nodded to his first officer, at his right, to likewise reactivate the audio pickup on their end.
“Commander Wood,” the alien began formally in a surprisingly human-sounding voice. “My advisors inform me that everything you have said about the Imperial ship Paloma Blanca is true. It is indeed a minimally armed scientific vessel. So.” The Sarpan paused, nodding in a way that indicated he had come to a conclusion. “I accept your offer to remain in rendezvous status with the science ship until your arrival. However, what assurance do I have that our safety will be guaranteed until such time as you do arrive?” He tilted his head questioningly, the silver bobs on his gill slit twinkling in the dim light of his bridge.
“Captain Tra’tiss,” Lewis responded in the same formal manner the Sarpan officer had used, “I have contacted an Imperial military ship already near your location, and have given orders to enforce a blockade around both your ship and the Paloma Blanca. No other vessel—Imperial, Sarpan or private—will be permitted near either. However …” Lewis paused, raising an eyebrow in a facial expression that Brendan had explained carried more importance to the Sarpan than any other human gesture. “I must stress just how important it is for the Cra Stuith to remain in a defensive powerdown for the duration. Both your ship and the science vessel will be surrounded in a defensive field of our making. You are not to initiate defensive actions of your own. I cannot stress this strongly enough.”
“So.” Tra’tiss nodded, a slight narrowing of his eyes the closest thing to a different expression Lewis had seen on the alien’s face during the entire conversation. “This one wonders: Is this arrangement truly for our protection? Or is this an attempt to make it easier for you to exercise control over us?”
You do come to the point, don’t you? Lewis thought. “Believe whichever you wish, Captain,” he answered bluntly. “But understand that I can guarantee you no protection unless you agree to, and
accept, these terms. Understand further that should you violate our agreement before my arrival, I will have the blockading vessel take offensive action. On the other hand, if you choose not to accept my offer, I must insist that you depart this system. Frankly, there is too much happening here for which I will be responsible in the foreseeable future; I simply cannot compromise my own effectiveness by tending to the daily whereabouts of one Sarpan ship among dozens of others already in system. Please understand that I am prepared to back this up.” He paused a beat, then added in the best Sarpan inflection he could muster, “So?”
“So,” Tra’tiss answered. There was a long hesitation on the alien captain’s part as he weighed the options. Tra’tiss stared directly at him, nictitating membranes blinking occasionally as he considered Lewis’ proposal. “Very well, Commander Wood. I accept your offer. My first officer tells me that an Imperial craft is approaching and should arrive in a few moments. The vessel has been scanned at a tonnage of ninety-three-point-four thousand, Imperial. Is this the ship of which you spoke?”
“Yes, Captain. That would be the Dana Gordon, a destroyer-class ship. Make them welcome when they arrive.”
“Very well,” he repeated. “I will cooperate in this regard.” He seemed about to break the connection, but raised a webbed finger. “A question.” It was a statement, more than a query in itself, and Lewis frowned, hesitating, not understanding that the Sarpan had just asked permission to speak to him about a different subject.
“Yes, Captain?” Brendan asked. He shot his brother an apologetic glance, but turned back to the screen immediately. “What do you wish to ask of us?”
Tra’tiss continued to address Lewis, the one he considered to be in authority, despite Brendan’s interjected remarks. “This one has been informed that Adela de Montgarde will attend this discovery. It is my sincere hope to meet with her on a formal basis on behalf of my government. Is it possible for you to make a request of your superiors to arrange this?”
“I cannot speak for Adela de Montgarde,” Lewis said. “While I have been in contact with her ship, I do not yet know of her priorities upon arrival.”
“It is true that she will be the Emperor’s official representative here, so?”
Lewis frowned again, this time at the thoroughness of the alien’s information. “Yes. That is true.”
“In that case, Commander Wood, I would like to make an official request of you, the highest-ranking Imperial officer presently in the Tsing system, for a formal meeting with Adela de Montgarde. I have entered my intentions to make this request in our log.” He tilted his head as he gazed at Lewis. His facial expression changed subtly—was he actually smiling? “Or should I also make a formal request through my government?”
He looked up at Brendan, standing at his side, and thought, They’re not only formidable and secretive, they’re crafty. “No,” he answered. “A formal solicitation won’t be necessary. I’ll relay your request to her personally.”
At that, Tra’tiss’ face did change as his froglike eyes widened noticeably. “You will speak to her yourself?”
“Yes.”
“This is possible?” Tra’tiss was nearly incredulous. “You may speak to she who can rebirth a star?”
Lewis hesitated, his brow furrowed in confusion at the Sarpan’s reaction. “Yes, of course.”
“Commander Wood,” Brendan broke in, “is the eldest grandson of Adela de Montgarde. I am certain he would be happy to arrange a formal audience for you with Dr. Montgarde … .” He paused, then added meaningfully, “Assuming all goes well during your rendezvous with the Paloma Blanca, of course.”
Tra’tiss said nothing, but it was clear he was newly impressed with the status of this human commander. Judging from the looks on the faces of those on board the Cra Stuith bridge, the feeling was shared equally among them.
Lewis felt suddenly that his brother had taken the conversation away from him and was about to say something in an attempt to regain control when his first officer touched his sleeve, then whispered in his ear. He nodded to the man, then regarded the holoscreen once more.
“Captain Tra’tiss, the Imperial vessel Dana Gordon is within shield range of you now. Are you prepared to go to defensive powerdown?”
“It is done.” Tra’tiss nodded to one side, and his image winked out.
Lewis breathed a sigh of relief, then dismissed the bridge crew with a wave of his hand. They wouldn’t arrive at Tsing IV for another fifteen hours, and he wanted everyone to get as much R & R as they could before then. They would most certainly see little relaxation once they were in orbit around the troublesome new world.
“I’m glad that’s over,” he said when they were alone. “The last thing I needed right now was a confrontation with the Sarpan.” He swiveled his command chair to face Brendan, his demeanor suddenly more pointed than before. “Why did you insert yourself into my dealings with the alien just now? I thought I made it clear what your role was to be any time you were on the bridge. I won’t have you undermining—”
“In his view, I didn’t,” Brendan retorted firmly. “In the Sarpan hierarchy the captain’s aide or first officer is a literal extension of the captain himself, frequently speaking for him, sometimes even finishing his sentences.”
“I already have a first officer!” Lewis was on his feet, staring down menacingly at his brother. “And he knows full well what his duties are!”
Brendan put both his hands before him. “Lewis, please! Let me finish. Tra’tiss thought my response to his question was the role you had assigned me for this particular communication with them. He doesn’t know who I am and he doesn’t care; all that matters to him is that—in his eyes—you had trained me well.” The easy smile returned to his face, and he almost laughed aloud as he added, “To the Sarpan way of thinking, my butting in made you look good.”
“I see,” he said grudgingly. He remained silent a moment and allowed the last remnants of the anger he’d felt seep away. Indicating that Brendan be seated in one of the vacant chairs, he retook his own. “Tell me: Why was he so impressed with my relationship to our grandmother?”
“The Sarpan almost worship her.” He plopped into the communications officer’s seat and unbuttoned the collar of his Academician’s tunic. As Lewis regarded the action, it occurred to him that he hadn’t even noticed that Brendan had worn the official Academician’s garb for the communication with the Sarpan commander. As a military man, he had frequently looked down upon the sciences during his career, but as he took stock of Brendan’s contributions so far on this mission, he realized he could stand to learn much from his little brother.
“She accomplished something of near-religious significance for them when she proved she could control the inner workings of stars,” Brendan continued. “That, in itself, would be more than enough to earn her a revered place in Sarpan history. But when wormhole travel was developed as a direct result of her work—For a race with a life span of only ten or fifteen standard years, to suddenly have the ability to travel between stars in a single lifetime is something we humans can barely imagine.”
“Well, if having a certain amount of celebrity status with the Sarpan makes our job here any easier, then I’m all for it.” There was a chirp from the room system, and Lewis raised his chin, speaking into the air: “Yes?”
“There is a communication from Captain Anmoore of the Paloma Blanca”
“Put it through.” The holoscreen glowed, showing a confused-looking Gareth Anmoore. He was in full regulation uniform, something Lewis had already come to learn was unusual for the survey-ship captain, although it was plain from his appearance that the jacket had been hastily donned. “Captain Anmoore, is everything all right? What is the status of your rendezvous with the Sarpan ship?”
“Everything is fine, Commander. But …” His voice trailed off, and he seemed almost perplexed.
“But what?”
“Sir, if I may be so bold—what did you say to them? To the alien captain,
I mean?”
“How’s that?”
“Captain Tra’tiss, sir. He contacted me right after concluding his communication with you, and … well, he’s offering a trade of goods and Sarpan delicacies, engineering data, use of their recreation facilities. Sir, for lack of a better description, he’s acting like a giddy schoolboy.”
Lewis turned to Brendan, smiling for the first time since being contacted by the Sarpan ship earlier that afternoon.
“Celebrity status, indeed,” he replied sanguinely.
The name on the ID badge clipped to the pocket on the left side of his work shirt read BODISEE. The patch and stripes on his sleeve identified him as a maintenance tech, first class. His thumbprint was his passkey, even though the plastiskin print had been applied weeks ago. Since “Bodisee” did not exist before the ship left, he could have used his own thumbprint with the Bodisee name, but had chosen not to. He never used anything of his own, even when there was no way to trace it to him, when he could come up with a suitable fiction.
There was the sound of a door sliding shut some distance down the corridor, and he glanced at his watch. Right on time, he thought.
After a week’s travel to reach the wormhole that would take them to Tsing IV, the excruciating jump itself, and nearly two more weeks as they approached the planet, he had had more than enough time to memorize the IPC officer’s routine.
He shouldn’t have been able to, of course; the IPC prided itself on training its operatives to thwart observers attempting to do exactly what he was now doing. But he had been here numerous times in the past month, always at the same time, always doing the same job—a standard check of the monitoring station in corridor nine, level six, starboard. The monitoring stations recorded access and egress to the corridors, body weight, walking speed and a dozen other descriptions of anyone using the corridor—in all, a normal security precaution implemented on Imperial ships carrying VIPs. The data were sent automatically to the central computer system, but daily manual checks were also made to each monitoring station aboard the Kiska to compare readings with the central computer, as well as to check for any signs of possible equipment tampering.