by S. H. Jucha
Jess suddenly paused, with his juice halfway to his mouth.
“What?” Lucia asked.
“Why should the conclave representation be limited to only those worlds that have Tsargit membership?” Jess mused.
“Are you serious?” Lucia asked. “The exposure to a galactic conference might incapacitate individuals from developing races.”
Jess waved away Lucia’s concerns. “I wasn’t thinking of most of them, but a few select individuals would bring perspective to the conclave.”
“Like whom?” Lucia asked.
“Gregich of the Packeoes, for one,” Jess replied.
Lucia mulled over the suggestion. Then she said, “That’s actually a good idea. Who else?”
Jess imagined the races who they’d encountered while defending worlds. He discarded the likes of the Ot-Totlanyans and the Dontots. “What about the Lemgarts?” he asked.
“Interesting choice,” Lucia replied. “Highly developed, outsiders, a touch lawless, and in need of social equity.”
Jess sent a quick message to Sam, who asked for clarification, and Jess spent several minutes explaining his idea.
Then Sam sent Candace a message, and he told her to pack for a few cycles.
“Is that it?” Lucia asked.
“One more thought,” Jess said. Then he swallowed the last of his juice. “If the Pim leader isn’t slated to attend the conclave, then I’m inviting her.”
“Oforum and her mate, Phette,” Lucia repeated.
“Yes, definitely,” Jess replied, keeping his reasoning to himself.
“Now are you satisfied?” Lucia asked. When Jess nodded, she added, with a straight face, “I’m glad my advice was helpful.”
* * * * *
Sam chose to have them arrive at the Lemgart home world aboard a Trident. The two officers were dressed in dark Omnian-blue uniforms with the subtle gold appointments of outpost security.
During the transit, Candace had asked, “How is the Lemgarts’ leadership organized?”
“Haven’t a clue,” Sam replied in a relaxed manner.
“Do you have their names?” Candace pressed.
“Nope,” Sam replied.
“Tell me, Major. What’s your plan?” Candace asked, realizing she’d started the conversation on the wrong foot.
“We need intelligence,” Sam responded, “and I know just where to acquire it.”
“Do we check into those sumptuous accommodations again?” Candace asked hopefully.
“Absolutely,” Sam replied. He glanced at Candace, who was regarding the sleeve of her uniform.
“Problem?” he inquired.
“I was just thinking that after we landed, I would have had the opportunity to wear those beautiful outfits,” Candace replied.
“I thought you hated them,” Sam said in surprise.
“It was more that I found them unexpected,” Candace replied. “I have to admit that they made me look spectacular.”
Sam chuckled. “Different circumstances, Lieutenant,” he said. “This time, we’re ambassadors of Outpost One: Resistance.”
Candace sighed, and Sam restrained some of his chuckle but not all.
A traveler descended in front of the extravagant establishment where Sam and Candace had last stayed.
The pilot needed the entire width between opposing buildings to hover the ship over the twin pathways and the vehicle lanes.
Word had spread across the Lemgart home world about the appearance of an Omnian starship, and many citizens had watched the traveler launch from the smooth-shelled ship. They were mesmerized by its swift descent and lack of traditional engines.
The citizenry was so curious about the shuttle that when the pilot hovered above them, they stared at the smooth blues, greens, and creams swirling through the shell that they failed to move.
The young Lemgarts, who ran the establishment’s front desk, raced into the boulevard and directed the citizens to scatter.
Then the pilot settled close to the ground and dropped the hatch. Two duffels bags shot out of the hatch near the young Lemgarts, and they quickly directed staff to snatch them up. A pair of staff members struggled with a single duffel to carry it inside.
Then Sam jumped through the hatch and landed with a solid thud, while Candace used the hatch steps.
“Welcome back,” the young male Lemgart managed to say. “We hope you’ll be staying in our establishment again.”
“That’s our wish,” Sam replied.
Beautiful crowns of silver and tawny fur swept around heads, as the young Lemgarts raced to their establishment’s front entrance and swept their arms toward the reception lounge.
Sam and Candace walked into the cool interior, as if they were visiting elite.
Unlike the outpost officers’ previous visit, which had seen a nearly empty front hall, the spacious area was filled with a variety of races. The Lemgarts’ costumes and other races’ clothing spoke of entitlement.
Lively conversations halted, and individuals turned to stare at the presence of outpost security among them.
“We have your previous sign-ins,” the young female said. “Should they be updated?”
“Yes,” Sam replied, pulling his slate and changing the billing account.
After a minute at the front desk, Sam and Candace were ready for their rooms. They took pity on the straining staff, and politely relieved the duffels from the four Lemgarts.
The lift slid silently to the top floor, and Sam and Candace glanced at each other. The doors opened, and the outpost officers stepped into a broad corridor. To the left and right were pairs of matching, ornately decorated doors.
“These weren’t the rooms that I requested,” Sam objected.
“You’re our guests,” the male Lemgart said.
“I know we’re guests,” Sam repeated. “I’m talking about the large suites that you’re showing us,” and he gestured toward the pairs of doors.
“Please understand ...” the female said, and then she faltered.
“I’m Major Sam Fleetfoot, Outpost One: Head of Security, and this is Lieutenant Candace Weller.”
“Greetings, Major and Lieutenant,” the female replied. Her twin manes of fur swirled gently around her head.
Candace sent.
Sam and Candace used their implants to review the female Lemgart’s long-winded explanation. The upshot was that the establishment had obtained a certain notoriety. The location had hosted two mysterious humans, who had run afoul of a Usaanan hit team and survived. Apparently, that allowed the establishment to drastically raise rates, and still they were turning guests away.
“Now that you know our identity, you should be aware we can’t accept rewards,” Sam replied.
The Lemgarts were crestfallen. Then the male piped up, “These are upgrades.”
Sam laughed at the absurdity of the ploy, and Candace gazed longingly at the sumptuous doors that she believed they wouldn’t see behind.
“It’s true,” the female exclaimed. “Had you tried to make a reservation for today, without our seeing you, we would have told you that we were full.”
“These are the only two rooms that are available. These just happen to be our best suites, and the rates are prohibitive for most Lemgarts,” the male rushed to explain.
“So you see, Major. If you don’t accept these upgrades, then, with our apologies, we’ll gladly provide transportation to an alternate establishment,” the female finished.
&nb
sp; Sam and Candace observed the Lemgart’s fur take on a new movement in which the cascades of hair partially covered each eye of the face.
Sam replied.
Candace added.
“We apologize for our inopportune booking, and we appreciate you providing these accommodations in lieu of the rooms we requested,” Sam said.
The Lemgarts beamed, and the manes of fur were buoyed a few centimeters higher on the crown before they were swept to the rear.
Candace sent.
Sam replied.
The Lemgarts hurried to signal aside the doors to the left of the lift. Then they stood aside.
Candace walked through first, and she gasped. “I haven’t ever seen the like,” she said in awe.
The front salon was spacious, and the view of mountains through the floor-to-ceiling view plates was magnificent. From there, things got better.
“How many sleeping quarters are there?” Sam asked.
“Four,” the female replied. “We recommend the two corner rooms. They have the best views.”
Candace eyed the furniture, which was capable of multiple adjustments to accommodate the races. However, she found the furnishings to be pristine. “Who were the last individuals to stay here?” she asked.
“No one has stayed on this floor,” the male replied. “Our family pooled resources and built this establishment. We anticipated our race joining the Tsargit, but that failed due to our uneven history. We were near to selling at a loss, when you stayed here. After you left, our profits have soared.”
“They will be even greater now,” the female enthused. “You’ve only to ask, and our family will grant any wish of yours that they can.”
“I’ve one,” Sam said. “I need to speak with Myseth mya Jaknas, our tailor.”
The male, who had listened to his ear comm, smiled slyly, “She comes,” he said.
Sam and Candace chose corner rooms, threw their duffels on the expansive beds, and returned to the salon.
The reception Lemgarts stood by the open doors and awaited Myseth’s arrival.
The Lemgart tailor exited the lift, spotted the open doors, and strode imperially down the hallway.
In a voice tinged with authority and admiration, Myseth called out, “I was told the same pair of humans returned to our world ... an enormous male and an attractive female, by human standards. I had to see for myself.”
The young Lemgarts slipped out and closed the double doors behind them.
Myseth examined Sam and Candace’s uniforms. She walked entirely around Sam, and he grinned in anticipation.
Finally, Myseth stood in front of the pair, and she announced, “These uniforms wouldn’t be my choices for you, but they have a simple elegance. They’re exquisitely tailored.” Nodding her head, which gently swayed her fabulous crown of fur, she added, “I approve of them.”
“We’re pleased to see you, Myseth mya Jaknas,” Sam said.
Myseth caught Sam’s tone, and she responded, “You intimate that you’re no longer my clients, and I’m not your tailor. What am I?”
“If you’ll be so kind, you’ll be our emissary,” Sam requested.
“Ask ...” Myseth began and then waited.
“Major Sam Fleetfoot and Lieutenant Candace Weller,” Sam finished, when Myseth paused.
“And what does that insignia mean?” Myseth asked, pointing a delicately tipped nail toward his shoulder.
“Head of outpost security,” Sam replied.
Myseth’s head turned slightly, shifting her fall of fur. Then she laughed.
“What?” Candace asked.
“Foolish Usaanans,” Myseth explained. “Were they ever punished for their misdeeds?”
“Yes,” Sam responded.
“Good,” Myseth said in satisfaction.
“How about Fystal jer Hathwa, the transport company owner?” Candace inquired.
“With the loss of the Usaanan business, Fystal was forced to sell nearly half of his shuttles. The competition happily purchased them at excellent prices,” Myseth explained.
“Good,” Candace replied, echoing Myseth’s sentiments.
Myseth flashed her teeth, enjoying the exchange with Candace. Then she asked, “How can I help you, Major?”
Sam launched into an explanation about the conclave. Unfortunately, he’d started with too much detail about the event.
Candace interrupted, and she detailed the broader areas of space that the Omnians had visited.
“Then these other human worlds will attend the conclave,” Myseth surmised.
“Humans from these worlds will come,” Candace replied. “However, other races, who live on Omnia, will also attend.”
Sam picked up the conversational thread and discussed the purpose of the conclave.
“But why are you here?” Myseth asked.
“The outpost commander, Jess Cinders, believes that the Tsargit members should not be the only representatives from alliance space,” Sam replied.
A gleam lit Myseth’s eyes. “Your commander is a rebel,” she said, flashing her teeth.
“He does lead the Resistance,” Sam allowed.
“You’ve a challenge, Major,” Myseth said, tipping her head to allow a single fall of fur. “You wish an envoy from the Lemgarts. That requires you speak to our leaders.”
“Yes,” Sam replied expectantly.
“You imagine we have elected leaders, a council of some sort, or a monarchy, don’t you?” Myseth inquired.
“You don’t?” Candace asked in surprise.
“That is one of our principal problems,” Myseth replied. “When a solution is required, leaders from the affected industry assemble, decide the issue, and make a proclamation.”
“That explains a lot,” Sam grumped.
“What industry would be concerned about this issue?” Candace inquired.
“All of them, but I wish you good fortune in attempting to gather that many of Lemgart’s elite,” Myseth said, chuckling at the ill-fated prospect.
Sam sat back in his chair. It was wide enough to nicely comfort his stature. He decided to borrow an Alex technique. “It’s too bad that the Lemgarts will miss out on the greatest opportunity to be presented to them, especially because the offer came from the outpost commander,” he said.
Myseth stared at Sam, while her mind processed his statement and its underlying intention. “You did say that you required an emissary,” she noted.
“I did,” Sam replied agreeably.
“I do clothe only the most elite,” Myseth mused. She paused for the major’s response, but he waited for her to continue. “It would be possible for me to visit with many of them on short notice to display new material that I’ve recently received, and your eye-catching arrival will have many ears begging for news.”
“Time is short, Myseth,” Sam warned.
“Then I must not tarry,” Myseth responded. She rose, touched her sleeve slate, and made a call to her shop, as she tipped her head to the outpost officers and made her exit.
“What do you think Myseth can accomplish?” Candace asked dubiously.
“Probably not much,” Sam allowed. “No wonder the Lemgarts can’t get their act together.”
“The Lemgarts have nothing to lose by sending someone,” Candace said. “The elites can collectively respond to what they hear from the delegate when he or she returns.”
“If we think in terms of Alex’s grand strategy, then a conclave delegate might be a turning point for the Lemgarts.”
S
am and Candace waited five cycles without a word from Myseth.
“We leave tomorrow morning,” Sam said in the late afternoon.
“Shouldn’t we call her?” Candace queried.
“I don’t want to embarrass her if she chose not to attempt to communicate with the elites,” Sam replied.
Sam and Candace finished their evening meal, and they were gathering their belongings to pack their duffels, when the panel announced a guest.
“It’s Myseth,” Candace called from the salon’s doors, as she triggered them open.
“I’ve been undone,” Myseth commented, as she strode into the salon in a huff.
Sam had visions of having been responsible for ruining Myseth’s business.
“The elite have turned the tables on me,” Myseth continued. “They want to know what is being said at the conclave.”
“That’s good,” Candace offered.
Myseth swept her crown’s falls of fur behind her ears, and she balefully eyed the lieutenant.
“Whom are they sending?” Sam asked. When Myseth’s disgruntled expression turned his way, he laughed. “Welcome to the galaxy’s string of unhappy draftees, Myseth,” he said.
“I’ve three questions,” Myseth requested, turning to the business of acting as the Lemgart delegate. “You said that every envoy required a SADE. This is one of the digital sentients, correct?”
“Yes, the outpost will provide you with one,” Sam assured her.
“When do I leave?” Myseth inquired.
“You can journey by the gates when you’re packed,” Sam replied, “or, if you wish, you can sail with us.” He gave Myseth a wink, and she flashed her teeth.
“If the elite must subject me to this effort, then Lemgarts will witness me boarding your floating shuttle and journeying by starship,” Myseth declared. “Although, I’ve little expectation of what the elites will make of my information when I return.”
“A thought for you, Myseth,” Sam said, and he dropped to a knee to look Myseth in the eye. “Share your information with every Lemgart.”
Myseth almost asked for what purpose. Then that shrewd mind of hers kicked into gear. “Our world does need leadership,” she agreed, and a dark-nailed finger stroked Sam’s cheek in appreciation.