Assured (Envoys Book 2)

by Peter J Aldin

  “Wish the colonel had given me the chance. Better than leaving it to someone who deserts their team in battle.”

  “What did you say?” Stines took a step forward, bumping up against Chipper who’d quickly interposed himself. Umbrano didn’t so much as look Stines’s way.

  “Let’s keep this polite,” Chipper said. “Things in common and all that other stuff the XO said.”

  “Tell him that.”

  “You okay with being polite?” Chipper asked Umbrano.

  “I am being polite.”

  “See, Stines? He’s being polite. How about you shift ten meters that way ready to watch their workers when they come out. And Umbrano, you might like to go ten meters that way.”

  Umbrano moved off without a word. Stines slunk away, grumbling.

  It’s like babysitting teenagers. Teenagers with guns and knives.

  Seventy-three minutes later, Ana commed them on open-chan to report the ship and its cargo were clean. The crew would start unloading. As Tluaan stevedores emerged to slide the first box down the ramp, Ana’s team came out another hatchway and descended to the deck. They took up a position at the far end of the hangar.

  Things got busy then, Tluaan and human crewers doing their thing shifting crates and sacks. Bored, Chipper itched to help out, but his orders were strictly look and don’t touch. Assured’s deckhands had to secure Tluaan goods in netting cages away from the main hangar floor. Assured’s soldiers had to guard them.

  The Tluaan workers goggled at everything, maintaining a looser pace than the human deckhands because of it. But it was the warriors who held Chipper’s attention. Vazak had begun helping the Tluaan stevedores, but the other three were all now leaning against the cargo carrier’s hull. Since the ship owned no landing struts, having landed flush on its belly, Buoun had found himself a spot hunkered in against the side of one ramp. He was there if translation was needed, out of everyone’s way otherwise. The hangar bosun eventually brought the envoy a chair which Chipper thought was a kind gesture. Buoun had a bag at his feet but Ana would have checked that—and if she hadn’t, Westermann definitely would have. Eventually the shuttle would depart, leaving Buoun and the warriors behind to await the arrival of their leadership.

  Chipper checked the time: those leaders would be here in ninety minutes, arriving through the atmos-shields in a passenger shuttle.

  One of the warriors stepped away from the hull to watch the goings-on with the wary eyes of the professional soldier. One of the warrior’s hands strayed to scratch at the back of the other arm.

  Stines was suddenly at Chipper’s side. “Big fat hacker’s been doing that a lot.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Scratching its arm. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

  “I noticed.” He hadn’t. Everybody scratched themselves. Big deal.

  “Bet they’re bringing fleas on board.”

  “Wow, really? That’s … wow.”

  “Tellin’ ya: we shouldn’t let their furry asses onboard. But no one listens to me.”

  “I wonder why.”

  After firearms practice, Gregory and Grace enjoyed a heavy lunch on the yacht with Piers then some downtime in their respective cabins. All too soon, Gregory received notification that the Domain Surface shuttle was on approach.

  He dressed in a royal blue silk shirt and black fine cotton trousers with elaborate yellow stitching down the side seams. After brushing his teeth and hair, and slapping on cologne, he met Grace at the ramp. She had dressed all in gray, a plain long-sleeve shirt, loose linen trousers and a long woolen waistcoat that hid the pistol and baton on her belt.

  “Good thing we don’t have to walk far,” she said, leading him down the ramp and between Assured’s two skiffs. The navy runabouts had been moved in close beside their yacht to make room for the comings and goings of Tluaan vessels. Past them, Gregory could see the cluster of welcome party personnel at the side of the hangar. Grace added, “You must be exhausted after all that kicking and shooting this morning.”

  “I’m exhausted from you going on about it.” When she glanced back at him, he poked out his tongue.

  “Oh, very stately, Mr. Ambassador,” she returned.

  Earlier, human and Tluaan workers had run out of room in the cargo cages at the back of the hangar. The overflow of Tluaan supply crates formed a line in front of those cages, fifty meters long, one-and-a-half meters high. The welcome party waited in front of those, standing in a U-shape. Gregory and Grace joined the two people facing back toward the hangar’s shielded launch portal, Buoun and Chinyama. Pan and Fowler had opted to sit this one out, viewing proceedings via security cams and Wepps’s eye-cam feed.

  Gregory could feel Grace’s attention straying to their left, toward the row of impressive Tluaan warriors. The four maintained easygoing body language, except for their wary, sweeping gazes.

  To his right stood the four-person human escort, Peacekeepers Wepps and Chandrasakhera, Masters-at-Arms Lukic and Makita. They’d armed themselves with pistols rather than rifles, a gesture of restraint.

  An amber light flashed on the ceiling above the launch portal. Gregory tried to see through the haze of atmos-shielding and was rewarded by the appearance of the Tluaan vessel’s running lights.

  He told Buoun, “I’m surprised Naat and Pi agreed to cross from Liberty in a foreign shuttle. A Domain Surface one, of all things.”

  Buoun made a musing sound. “I believe they’re adjusting themselves to the idea of peace.”

  “The idea of peace?” Gregory tugged at his dress shirt, straightening the creases. “That’s good to hear. Because peace is the greatest idea of all.”

  The shuttle was storm-cloud gray, blocky and functional, ten meters long, five high, five wide. It possessed no nacelles or wings. And no landing skids, settling onto its belly with the assistance of repulsor jets. Once its engines had powered down, sections of the hull unhinged on either side of it, unfolding like wings to form angled access-platforms down to the floor. Suran and Mingatat exited out one side, Naat and Pi the other. Following demurely behind the Moon and Surface councillors came a pair of staffers. Gregory recognized one by his clothing and body language as the interpreter, Yimiun. He appeared nervous in this new place, his head jerking around as he took in alien sights, one hand under his tunic, scratching at his belly. The other black-suited individual was presumably the pilot-technician they had asked to bring along. None carried luggage or other belongings. The dignitaries lined up opposite Gregory, closing the U-shaped into an untidy square. Yimiun fell in behind Suran and Mingatat, his head bobbing around between theirs. Past the Tluaanto, Gregory could see Assured deckhands fitting locking clamps to the shuttle hull, anchoring it to the deck in case of grav-loss.

  Though she’d met humans many times before, Pi repeated the kind of greeting Buoun had given Gregory upon first meeting, apparently underscoring the significance of the occasion. Her right hand placed behind her as Buoun’s had been, she began in practiced English. “It is an honor to look into your eyes and breathe your air, Ambassador and Assured staff.”

  “Welcome aboard our ship, honored guests,” Gregory replied. He indicated the XO on one side of him and Grace on the other. “Commander Chinyama, second-in-command of the ship. My assistant, Grace Renny.”

  Pi waited out Buoun’s translation then said, “Confederation and Xerxian representatives, I will once more formally introduce the representatives of the Tluaan Domains, using the short versions of their names.”

  She’s doing well, Gregory thought. Must have practiced this speech over and over. And her inclusion of Xerxians would no doubt please Fowler, watching upstairs.

  “Grand Councillor Naat is well known to you. You also know me, and Envoy Buoun, of course.” Pi waved an arm toward the end of the line. “From Domain Ocean, I present Councillor Vren. From Domain Surface, I present Councillor Mingatat. And from Domain Moon, I present Councillor Suran.”

  “You are welcome here. All of you.” G
regory turned his head to acknowledge the four warriors. Vazak nodded back. The others seemed entirely disinterested in him. One had a hand inside their jumpsuit sleeve, scratching at the bands of muscle along the forearm, while another crossed their arms. Their nonchalance seemed out of place, and was probably all pretense.

  False bravado isn’t just a human trait, then.

  “Will you also introduce the personnel behind you?” he asked, raising himself up on his toes to better see the interpreter and pilot. Yimiun had been studying one of his own hands, and hurriedly hid it behind his back now. Gregory had only had a briefest impression, but it seemed as if his fingers had been darkened with something dark and slick.

  Was that … Was he bleeding?

  “I will tell their names because humans like names,” said Pi, her English losing its polish now she was off script. “That one is a pilot and a technician. It name is Alateff. It will help with installing the … “

  “Module,” Buoun provided.

  “Module. And with fixing the bad virus problems they gave to you.”

  She pointed next to Yimiun. The scrawny Tlu was twitching and trembling now, making Gregory wonder what the hell was wrong with him. Had he cut himself leaving the shuttle? Had he put his hand in a patch of oil?

  “And that one is an interpreter from Domain Surface. It name is Yimiun. It interpretates for Surface and for Moon. But not for Domain Ocean. They are trusting Buoun’s interpretating.”

  When she’d paused long enough for Gregory to surmise her formalities were done, he said, “Councillors, it is our privilege to transport you to Kh’het system aboard the Assured. Our journey will be short and it’s your choice whether you would like to spend the time in a special lounge we have prepared for you, or aboard Domain Surface’s shuttle. Either is fine with us.” Gregory made an expansive gesture. “Our kitchens have been provided with Tluaan refreshments. Our staff have been instructed in their preparation.”

  Suran and Mingatat listened to Buoun’s translation without expression or response.

  “We are thank you,” Pi said, mimicking Gregory’s gesture. “I am gooder now at English speaking. But Buoun will continue to speaking for our domain mostly the time.”

  Gregory glanced at Buoun to see the envoy’s cheek twitch. Was it a wince of embarrassment over Pi’s not-quite-right command of English? I think she’s doing damned well for someone who never spoke it until two weeks ago he thought. It made him wonder idly at the size and ability of the brain the Tluaanto had under their over-sized skulls.

  “Envoy Buoun’s mediation is always welcome,” he said. “Commander Chinyama and I will now bring you to a lounge where refreshments await. Because our passageways and compartments aren’t designed for large groups to move easily, we ask that your warriors and support staff come up separately with Sergeant Wepps and his team. Yimiun is welcome to interpret for my group. Perhaps Envoy Buoun would agree to interpret for Sgt. Wepps’s group.”

  Yimiun remained quiet, leaving Buoun to translate Suran’s and Vren’s replies.

  Suran: “Our warriors stay with us.”

  Vren: “Domain Ocean trust Domain Space and the Humans. We assigned a warrior only as an assistant to me.”

  “We don’t want to wait in a ‘lounge,’” Suran continued, ignoring Vren. “We want to see your starship’s bridge. To see how well our module is being installed. To observe the important things that happen along the journey.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be immediately possible,” Gregory replied. Pan had been most insistent that no one from Domains Moon and Surface would ever set foot on his bridge.

  Gregory was about to say more, to smooth things over. Before he could, Yimiun vanished from sight, crashing to the deck with a thud. Naat, Suran and Mingatat studiously ignored it. But Vren and Pi turned toward the commotion, releasing the same exclamation.

  Buoun said, “They say he is bleeding. A lot. And now Mingatat is saying it’s unimportant and his warrior will take Yimiun to the ship and treat him.” The envoy’s voice shook, he was clearly as alarmed as Vren and Pi. Naat had retreated into his own thoughts, but he did take a sideways step as if the interpreter’s fall had created a bad smell.

  Suran shouted above the ruckus while Buoun raced to keep up with what she said. “It is important that you allow us access to your ship’s bridge to demonstrate our equality and your trust in us!”

  “Right now, I would prefer,” Gregory said, “that you take care of your …”

  He faltered as something peculiar occurred to him. When they had first requested bringing Alateff along, the pilot-technician had also been touted as a medic. Despite a medical emergency happening right under his nose, Alateff was currently circling around toward the line of warriors. This was wrong. Very wrong. He tried to say something to Chinyama, to Wepps, but he couldn’t put the suspicion into words quick enough … and neither was concentrating on him as they craned their necks to see what had happened to the fallen interpreter.

  Mingatat barked something—a single word. And Buoun had no time to translate it, for two of the warriors exploded into action, one slamming an elbow into Vazak’s face, the other into the Ocean warrior’s. As the injured pair stumbled back, folding over, the two attackers rushed straight across the gap toward the human escort, bowling all of them over before any could bring a weapon to bear.

  Time slowed for Gregory. He was moving back toward the yacht, but didn’t know why—he hadn’t told his legs to move—until he noticed Grace’s arm around his waist. Her other arm was leveling her handgun. Ahead of them, Suran and Mingatat had bolted for their shuttle. Vazak had regained her composure, charging after them, but she made it less than a few meters before a flare of ruby light lanced across her. She tripped, sprawling one way while—

  My God!

  —while the lower half of one arm tumbled free!

  Grace fired too, a double crack that left his left ear ringing. Before she shoved him between the skiffs, Gregory saw the pilot Alateff drop to the deck near to Vazak. A laser emitter fell from his hand. Gregory craned his neck around as Grace shepherded him through the gap between skiffs. Bedlam had erupted behind them. Pi was crouched in a ball. Naat stood rooted to the spot as the Domain Ocean warrior lumbered past him to tackle one of the other warriors.

  “We have to …” Gregory started to say.

  “We don’t!” Grace replied. She had him by the shirt now, pushing him harder. With the yacht’s ramp just ahead, detached parts of his mind yammered questions at him. Would Alateff get up and laser them before they got inside? Where had the laser come from? Why were Moon and Surface’s warriors attacking? Were Wepps’s group overcoming them?

  At the top of the ramp, Grace sent him staggering down the corridor to the lounge then slapped at the control, her gun pointed through the hatch. She swore at the ramp to close faster. But nothing came through the gap except for the shouts of the melee outside. And the yap of another handgun firing.

  Gregory released his pent-up breath. “Oh, my God, Grace.” He turned to find Piers emerging from the bathroom down past the lounge.

  The pilot was dripping wet, his waist wrapped in a towel. “What the hell? What’s going on?”

  “The goddamned Tluaanto is what,” snapped Grace coming away from the hatch as it finally sealed. She holstered her compact automatic, brushed by Gregory, and powered up the tablet she’d left on a table, flipping through security camfeeds. “They’re at it again, but this time we’re in the middle of it.”

  “Literally,” Gregory gasped. He tried and failed to inflate his lungs fully. It didn’t feel like there was enough oxygen in the universe.

  “What do we do?” Piers asked.

  “Nothing,” said Grace. “Chris is safe in here. Let the Peacekeepers control … that.”

  On the tablet, she pointed to the body of a deckhand, to two grappling Tluaan warriors. Wepps was down, as was Vazak. Chandrasakhera too. Both MAAs had piled on top of the second hostile warrior, struggling to pin i
t. A moment later, it bucked Lukic off, then twisted around to get both hands on Mikita’s head. Gregory clamped his eyes shut but Piers’s gasp was confirmation that the warrior had snapped the young MAA’s neck—or worse.

  He slumped onto a couch, put his own head in his own hands. How’d this go so wrong so quickly? What did he do next?

  “Piers,” he said. The pilot’s eyes were glued to the tablet screen. “Piers!”

  “Huh?”

  He pointed toward the cockpit. “Get on comms and get me the bridge.”

  Pan would take care of this. He didn’t need Gregory’s involvement.

  But I need to know what happened to the others. I need to know what happened to Buoun.

  5

  The imminent arrival of the Tluaanto bigwigs had effectively closed down the enlisted crew’s secret drinking hole down on hangar deck. So two enterprising stewards had set up a smaller, rougher saloon in an A-deck munitions storeroom. Seating was composed of a half dozen empty food crates against the bins of particle cannon chargepacks while two galley trolleys stood at the far end as a bar.

  Ana regarded an overhead safety sign with a frown as she lowered herself onto a food crate.

  Chargepacks

  Do not bring into contact with metals while handling!

  Do not smoke while handling!

  Yeah, no kidding, she thought. Who besides loco pirates would smoke on a starship anyway?

  Ana was, at that moment, in charge of precious cargo of her own: four shot glasses of ship-made hooch. Sitting side-on, she placed them carefully on the floor between her crate and Chipper’s then leaned back against an equipment bin. At the end of the room, the wannabe barman served another off duty crewer, the two men chatting amicably about the foul-smelling Tluaan food currently being prepped in the galley.

  Ana wondered, were the Tluaanto here already? Did that mean the ship would be underway quickly? It’d be a ten-hour sublight trip to the leappoint followed by a four-hour leap to Kh’het system. Hopefully when they got there, there’d be a planet where she could get off Assured for a time and stretch her legs …