Talus

by S. H. Jucha

  “Forewarn and coordinate the Talusians and the friendlies to interdict the missile launches of the wedges,” Adrianna surmised.

  “And position Tridents out in the dark overtop the suspected wedge positions,” Alphons concluded.

  As Adrianna and Alphons spoke, Ellie pointed a finger in agreement at each admiral. “Hector, we’ll need the sisters to coordinate communication with Talusians and friendlies. It’s imperative that the sisters understand the scope of what we plan. There’s every possibility that our ships will have to contend with the enemy’s first launch. Our NNEMP weapons will ensure there isn’t a second launch.”

  “The weapons have been recalibrated to reduce their effect on a single battleship, Admiral,” Lydia said. “Is that acceptable?”

  “No,” Ellie replied quickly. “Increase the power and predetermine the most opportune release point to shut down a wedge.”

  “One weapon can’t affect an entire wedge, Admiral,” Lydia replied. “To accomplish your purpose, you’d require five launches and detonations along the exterior lines of the wedge.”

  “What about an increase in power and dropping a weapon behind the lead battleship?” Ellie asked.

  “There’s a high probability of one weapon inactivating the lead ship and the next two closest ships,” Lydia replied.

  “That would be an optimum military and political response,” Hector said.

  “Providing the captains aboard the remaining ships in the wedge aren’t incensed and launch a second salvo,” Adrianna objected.

  “That’s a possibility,” Hector allowed, “but it’s not a high probability.”

  “I agree with Hector,” Alphons interjected. “The other ships in the wedge would be scared that more detonations would turn their ships into space junk.”

  “Too bad the envoys and the captains don’t think of that before they ever launch,” Adrianna groused.

  “The envoys and the captains might be thinking of a single massive launch, while they accelerate to make a fast exit,” Ellie considered quietly. “No matter, we need to be prepared for the worst.”

  “One question,” Adrianna said. “What’s the possibility that these seventeen don’t form a wedge but are planning something else?”

  “Such as?” Ellie asked.

  “Just suggesting alternatives to consider,” Adrianna replied.

  “Hector,” Ellie said.

  “There is an element of biological preservation at work, Admiral,” Hector replied. “True, the envoys are angry and seek revenge. However, they want to execute their plan, maximizing the damage they can cause, while limiting their own casualties.”

  “That makes me think that the envoys might be crowded onto a ship at the rear of a wedge,” Alphons suggested.

  “Unlikely, Admiral,” Lydia said. “Communications among the captains and the envoys suggest that the envoys will be required to remain aboard their vessels.”

  “No fools there, the captains,” Alphons commented.

  “Any revelations in the communications between the Kirmler ship and the others?” Ellie asked.

  “Negative, Admiral,” Hector replied. “The sisters, who were translating in the hall, believe that the three clusters of envoys operated as a single group. Their members account for fourteen envoys. It’s consensus that the final three who walked out might not have been part of the original plan.”

  “Then there’s the chance that they won’t cooperate with the plan unless someone communicates it to them,” Alphons said excitedly.

  “There is the opportunity to share the plan via shuttle, Admiral,” Lydia pointed out.

  “True,” Alphons agreed. “But if we detect one or more shuttles visiting the ships of the final three envoys, we’ll know we haven’t been unfairly ascribing nefarious plots to the Kirmler and his followers.”

  30: Nefarious

  “Captain, order me a shuttle,” the Kirmler envoy demanded.

  “An Omnian shuttle or one of our own, Envoy?” the captain inquired politely.

  The envoy glowered at the captain. “We’ll have nothing more to do with these interlopers. They should never have been welcomed in federacy space.”

  The captain wanted to say that without the Omnians interference, the federacy races would still be under the cruel control of Artifice. Instead, he asked, “Destination, Envoy?”

  “The Boobaffle ship,” the envoy replied.

  The captain consulted his telemetry officer.

  “Captain, the Boobaffle ship isn’t detected by telemetry. It must be on the other side of Toral,” the officer reported.

  “We can’t directly request permission of the Boobaffle envoy,” the captain said. “We could relay your request through an intermediate ship.”

  “That’s no good,” the envoy snarled. While he wasn’t sure that his ship’s communications were being monitored, he was suspicious enough to believe the Omnians were listening.

  The captain added this discussion with the envoy to the few that he’d had with the envoy since his return to the ship. Something was amiss, and he didn’t like the fact that he wasn’t being kept informed. The envoy made brief calls to other ships. They were always the same ships, and those vessels held envoys.

  More than once, the captain wondered why they hadn’t exited the system. If the envoy wasn’t taking part in the negotiations, there was no reason to stay. He’d taken the extra precaution of triple locking his battleship’s armament. Only he and his first mate could order a launch. It required a voice match, palm print, and eye scan to activate the sequence for access by the bridge gunnery officers.

  “The other option, Envoy, is to launch the shuttle, have the pilot circle the planet, and broadcast a signal for ship recognition when the shuttle is on the other side,” the captain offered.

  “That will do,” the envoy replied. “Order the shuttle immediately.”

  The captain left the envoy’s quarters, prepared the shuttle, and sent a brief message to the envoy that his transport was ready.

  The shuttle pilot ensured the envoy was securely strapped in his seat. He wasn’t surprised that the envoy chose not to wear a suit. For transports, few of the envoys did. It was as if the majority believed their race’s technology was sufficient to protect them. Shuttle accidents were rare, but they did happen.

  The pilot returned to the cockpit, dropped into his seat, and locked his harness in place. Then he contacted the bridge, “Ready to launch,” he said.

  “Commencing launch sequence,” the bridge operations officer replied.

  While the pilot waited, he thought about the Omnian travelers. He yearned to fly one, and he, like many others aboard ship, were severely disappointed when the envoy returned while the negotiations were still underway.

  Receiving the operations officer’s approval to launch, the pilot activated his attitude jets and eased the shuttle from the bay. Per regulations, he cleared the battleship by the required distance before he fired his engines. The acceleration shoved him hard into his seat. There’d been an element of petty spite in his action. He’d applied more power than normal. The added acceleration wasn’t harmful to a Kirmler’s physique, but he knew the g-force would make the envoy uncomfortable. In the back of his mind, he knew he’d pay a price for failing to be careful with his passenger, but that hadn’t overruled his desire to vent his frustration.

  Nearly an annual ago and soon after their ship had arrived over Talus, the envoy had dropped to the surface aboard a Talusian traveler. Word swiftly circulated throughout the ship that the envoy hadn’t felt any effects from acceleration or deceleration. That was something the pilot desperately wanted to experience.

  Circling the planet, the pilot waited until telemetry indicated that the last known ship had been passed. Then he broadcast a request for identification and located the Boobaffle vessel. Activating the main cabin’s comm, he said, “I’ve identified the target ship. Do I request landing instructions, Envoy?”

  “No,” the envoy replie
d. “Approach the battleship’s bow and blink your landing lights in a three-two-three pattern. You’ll receive acceptance via the ship’s warning lights. Then fly along the starboard side to about midship. You’ll find an open bay with its interior lights on.”

  To the pilot, the instructions were more than unorthodox, but the captain had prepared him for this.

  “Whatever the envoy requests, do it,” the captain had ordered.

  “Yes, Captain,” the pilot had replied. “Will I be in any danger?”

  “No, I don’t believe so,” the captain replied. “There’s something nefarious going on, and I worry that it involves collusion among the envoys against the Omnians or the Talusians or maybe both.”

  The pilot had wanted to ask if there wasn’t something that could be done about the envoy, but he knew there wasn’t. The envoy had been given absolute control over the actions of the captain and, therefore, the ship.

  Following his instructions, the pilot halted his shuttle about one hundred meters forward of the Boobaffle bow. He ran the landing light sequence, operating it manually. Before the third iteration was completed, he received a response. Then, with the use of attitude jets, he maneuvered his shuttle alongside the behemoth vessel. A flood of lights from an open bay beckoned him.

  After touching down, the pilot waited for the operations officer to inform him that the bay was secure. Then he released his harness to check on the envoy.

  “Are you an experienced pilot?” the envoy challenged.

  “Yes, Envoy, seven annuals,” the pilot replied, knowing what was coming.

  “Do you want an eighth annual?” the envoy inquired.

  The pilot could see the anger burning in the envoy’s eyes. He knew it wasn’t entirely due to the flight’s initial acceleration, and he realized his mistake. The envoy was deeply annoyed about the failure of his duties, and the pilot had foolishly added to his aggravation.

  “That was my error, Envoy,” the pilot said, tipping his head in apology. “It won’t happen again.”

  “It had better not,” the envoy snarled.

  When the envoy hit the quick release on his harness, the pilot ran to the cockpit. He tapped a panel icon to release the hatch.

  “Will you be long?” the pilot asked, as the envoy headed for the hatch.

  The envoy eyed the pilot, who had further inflamed his already festering temper. He thought to torment the male but decided against it. “There’ll be time for a meal and a wash,” he said.

  Food sounded good to the pilot, he’d been ready to join crewmates for midday meal, when he got the call for duty.

  The Kirmler envoy descended the steps supplied by the bay crew and marched toward the airlock. A chief waited to operate the hatches and cycle him through.

  In the corridor, the envoy was met by a crew member, who escorted him to the Boobaffle envoy’s quarters.

  “Welcome,” the Boobaffle said congenially to the Kirmler envoy. She thought to ask about his flight, but the look on the Kirmler’s face said he wasn’t pleased.

  The Boobaffle indicated a seat that would be comfortable for the Kirmler, and she offered him a choice of drinks, which he refused.

  “I’ve the necessary number of ships for my wedge,” the Kirmler announced without ceremony.

  The Boobaffle was careful not to wince. The Kirmler had a manner of speaking in which everything came out as an accusation.

  “I’d hoped to recruit more envoys, but a vote was pressed on the body by the commander. It would have exposed our position, and I opted to leave,” the Boobaffle explained. “My entire cluster exited with me.”

  “That’s only five. Hardly a wedge,” the Kirmler retorted.

  “Three more envoys left after we did,” the Boobaffle riposted.

  “I hadn’t heard this,” the Kirmler said. “We haven’t had much news from the body after we left.”

  In actual fact, the Kirmler and the eight others, who constituted two clusters of envoys, were so obnoxious throughout the discussions that none of the envoys wanted to communicate with them.

  “Who are they?” the Kirmler asked, leaning forward in anticipation. “More important, where are their ships?”

  “You wouldn’t have seen the Talusians return the envoys to their ships,” the Boobaffle said. “They’re on this side of the planet.”

  “But you know who they are?” the Kirmler pressed.

  “I’m familiar with them,” the Boobaffle replied. “I’d thought they might be amenable to joining our efforts, but I ran out of time to recruit them.”

  “Unfortunate,” the Kirmler commented, as he leaned back in his chair. “Most unfortunate, the appearance of the commander. We had the upper hand on opinions before that scaly militarist arrived. What was the vote that the commander insisted on taking?”

  “This is the critical news,” the Boobaffle replied. “The commander said that the admiral believed there would be a challenge by those envoys who had left the negotiations. He wanted a vote of support from the hall’s envoys that they would defend Toral.”

  “What?” the Kirmler exclaimed, rising from his chair and pacing about the room. “The commander wanted a vote to approve the creation of a council?”

  “No,” the Boobaffle said hastily. She’d almost forgotten how mercurial a personality the Kirmler possessed. His style was how he was able to pressure others.

  Continuing, the Boobaffle said, “During the discussions, the commander waved aside my objections that he was moving to establish a council or, at least, request the envoys demonstrate support for a council without their leaders’ approval.”

  “Was there any discussion about what the admiral intended to do in the event that we demonstrated force?” the Kirmler asked.

  “None,” the Boobaffle replied. “However, Commander Quizra pointed out that the failure to defend Toral against any aggressive actions by envoys would end the negotiations. He added that the body of envoys would sail home in defeat, having failed to accomplish their assigned tasks.”

  “That scaly one is a wily opponent,” the Kirmler mused. “I wonder what the admiral is thinking. She’s smarter than her pale, hairless self appears.”

  The Boobaffle kept her expression neutral. It wasn’t difficult. The crown of her head sprouted long thick tendrils. In the traditional manner, the tendrils were lightly braided, and they cascaded around her head and below her shoulders. They tended to conceal her face.

  In more difficult circumstances, agitation might cause the tendrils to twitch and jump, which would give away a Boobaffle’s emotional response.

  “We know the admiral won’t tolerate interference in the negotiations,” the Boobaffle pointed out. “What if she decides to intervene immediately after we deliver our demands?”

  “The admiral has proven she’s methodical and careful in communicating with any commander she views as aggressive,” the Kirmler replied. “She’ll behave in the same manner with us. After we make our threat known, the admiral will make an effort to talk to us and request we stand down.”

  “I say demands, and you say threats,” the Boobaffle said, with concern. “When did you change the plan?”

  “Who said I changed the plan?” the Kirmler asked. He’d halted his pacing to stop in front of the Boobaffle. Then he leaned over to peer through the Boobaffle’s tendrils, seeking her eyes. “My idea was always to use the threat of missile launches. How else do you think we’d get the attention of President Sargut?”

  “If the Omnian admiral thinks we might go through with the threats, we’ll receive the same punishment as Commander Zoza’s ship,” the Boobaffle said. She wanted to put some distance between the Kirmler and her, but he was too close for her to stand without bumping into him.

  “That’s a risk we must take to achieve our goals,” the Kirmler said. He straightened and resumed his pacing.

  “You would actually launch?” the Boobaffle asked, with incredulity.

  “If necessary,” the Kirmler confidently replied. �
�We would only do it as a last resort, and we’d be underway when we fired our missiles. I don’t intend to let that sickly white admiral launch one of her electronic weapons at us.”

  “My cluster isn’t aware of your true intentions,” the Boobaffle objected.

  “It was necessary to restrict the conveyance of those details only to the two clusters I knew well,” the Kirmler said. “While I felt secure confiding to you, I couldn’t say the same about the rest of your cluster. I never knew if an envoy might inadvertently open mouth, beak, or whatever. If the Talusians knew what we planned, they would have pulled out of the negotiations.”

  “If it comes to a launch, who or what do you intend to target?” the Boobaffle inquired.

  The Kirmler detected the tremor in the Boobaffle’s voice. He knew closing on the female would intimidate her, make her more pliable, and he was pleased to hear it had been accomplished. “My wedge will target the Talusians’ primary city, including the administration buildings,” he said. “Your wedge will launch on the polar region. Your beacon identified Artifice’s location, and now you must ensure your strike destroys the entity.”

  “With five ships, my launch will be limited,” the Boobaffle said. “That’s providing that I can convince them of the necessity to fire their missiles.”

  “And that’s why you have two tasks,” the Kirmler said. He finally sat down, exuding a satisfied air. “First, you must take a shuttle and visit each envoy in your cluster. It’s paramount that they join your wedge. If necessary, threaten them.”

  “How?” the Boobaffle asked.

  “Make up a story,” the Kirmler said languidly, as if it was common practice. “Tell them that the plan involves the formation of multiple wedges. They’ll appear in a cascade, which will be designed to confuse the Omnians and the Talusians. Envoys not participating in the formations in a timely manner will be noted and fired on.”