“We decided a recce was required. He’s taking the Lioness to check out the habitable planet we’ve designated Kh’het3. That and the Xenthracr orbital station.”
“Won’t a reconnaissance draw more attention?”
“Possibly. But if there’s a hostile fleet there, we need to know about it.”
“I see.”
Buoun had picked up on and translated some of their conversation.
From her seat, Councillor Pi spoke up. “We think you should not visit the planet and should not visit the space station. Your small ship will be dangered by Xenthracr fighters. They destroyed our small ships and they will destroy your small ship.”
“No offense, Councillor,” said Pan, moving to the helm. “I’m pretty sure our ‘small ship’ is better armed and shielded than your survey ships were. And faster. Also, I have my best pilot flying it. Best small ship pilot,” he added with a fatherly pat on the shoulders of his two helmsmen. “You know what I mean.”
Lt. Toller and his assistant Lt. Yassim grinned up at the captain, accepting the humor.
Gregory thought this gentle moment—although brief—was out of character for Pan. The man normally prided himself on remaining aloof from his juniors. A sign perhaps of how under pressure he was, how unsettled he was.
Buoun moved over to the side seating, leaving Gregory and Fowler alone at the railing. Ahead of them, the mainscreen showed a distant view of the artifact with the Tluaan frigate attached to the hull. The artifact measured three times as long as the Tluaan frigate, but it was hard to gauge dimensions from here. Did it have artificial gravity, or did the Qesh exist there in zero G? The object was not in spin, so there’d be no centrifugal force simulating gravity the way many human stations and ships still did.
“Is it a station or a ship?” he wondered aloud.
“I see possible rocket exhausts at one end,” Fowler replied. “Might be a ship. Might be a station they moved here from the main planet after building it there.”
“Interesting thought.”
“Lioness away, sir,” called Ensign Sintopas.
“And godspeed to them,” Pan replied. “Ensign, please establish comms with the Tluaan frigate.”
“Aye, sir.”
Pan motioned to the Tluaanto seated to the side. “In a few moments, Envoy Buoun, your councillors might like to chat with Scientist Chlalloun again. While we’re looking for a way to dock.”
“Your arrival is a shock,” said Chlalloun from the mainscreen. He covered eyes with hands momentarily in deference to his leaders. “But, shining ones, it is a welcome shock. We did not know that Humans had come to Chaatu.”
But you were among those who knew of Humans’ existence, Buoun thought. Of course you did, with a mission and a mandate like yours.
Naat was speaking, forcing Buoun to focus.
“Scientist-Overseer Chlalloun, it is a welcome shock to us to find you alive and in good health.” Buoun didn’t think that Chlalloun looked particularly healthy. There was a clammy sheen to the skin exposed by limp facial fur. “When you reported the horrors of the Xenthracr invasion, we were dismayed. The fact that their huge seed ship left the space station in orbit around the Qesh home world caused us to theorize certain things. Chief among them that your activity here drew in their considerable fleet that were passing this system at the time. Their fighter attacks on your personnel were also shocking. Our presence here has undoubtedly created a new enemy for both us and the Qesh.”
Chlalloun stared transfixed at the things Naat said. Buoun was convinced that it was the first he had heard of much of this. To some extent, Naat was play acting to the Humans here. Lying. But to what purpose? The Grand Councillor had positioned himself in front of the helms. Pi stood several paces to his right, making subtle hand gestures that urged Chlalloun to play along with their leader’s ruse. None of the Humans seemed to notice her signing—Buoun wished they would! He wished they could read Chlalloun’s body language correctly. He wished they would force the truth from Naat’s lips so that Buoun could also know what was happening here! He wished—
Pi was glaring at him: Gregory was saying something that needed translating. Clearing his throat, Buoun did the job they’d brought him along to do ...
“Scientist Chlalloun,” Gregory interrupted. It was time someone else took control of this conversation. It was time he got some facts straight. “We are the crew of the Confederation Naval Vessel Assured. We offer assistance. We were told you lost two survey shuttles to Xenthracr aggression at the Qesh home world. One was shot down on the surface of the planet. Please transmit coordinates for where that was. We have a vessel en route that will render assistance.”
Chlalloun seemed shocked by this, rocking back on his heels.
Naat had moved close to the helmstation, to be closer to the mainscreen and the cameras facing out from it. He told Gregory, “As Councillor Pi said earlier, you are putting your crew in unnecessary danger by visiting the planet.”
Gregory ignored him. “Scientist Chlalloun—” Damn, but the fellow’s name was a tough one for a human tongue. “—our military traditions prefer not to leave people behind where possible. Would you say it’s possible your survey personnel survived?”
Chlalloun appeared to stammer a little as he responded. Buoun’s translation was smoother: “A very small chance. It has been several orbits since.”
“Even so, the planet presumably has breathable air?” He glanced at the sensor operator closest to him. She gestured that it did. “It may also have food and water and sufficient shelter. We would like to be sure about the outcomes of their crash.”
From the corner of his eye, he noticed a gesture from Pi toward Chlalloun—more likely a flash of sign language. Now, what’s she up to?
“Sahsah,” said the Tluaan scientist, performing a small bow of acceptance.
“Humans are indeed kind people,” said Naat to both his scientist and Assured’s bridge crew. “Please transmit the coordinates.”
“Sahsah,” Chlalloun repeated. He gestured off camera.
Several seconds later, Sintopas announced the reception of the data. “Forwarding to Lioness now.”
Gregory said, “Chlalloun, we see one frigate attached to the Qesh construct. No doubt that’s where you’re transmitting from. What is the status of the other frigate?”
“Destroyed.”
“How? When?” When Naat shot him an impatient glance, he explained, “We need to confirm this information if we’re to assist you, Councillor.”
“One-and-one-half orbits ago,” the Tlu onscreen reported. “It was badly damaged one-and-one-half orbits before that.”
“One point five orbits?” Gregory asked, wondering at the significance of the timing. No one answered.
Instead, Pan asked, “The Xenthracr sent fighters to attack the Qesh station?”
“The station and us. They hate us.”
“Why?” Pan went on. “Why would they hate you?”
Before Buoun could translate, Pi interrupted. “How he can know what Xenthracr think?”
“They’ve attacked you twice?” Pan persisted, ignoring her. This time Pi didn’t interrupt.
Chlalloun said, “We kept fighting them and destroying them, but each time they came, they hurt us more. We arrived in this system with sixty-three personnel. We now have eighteen.”
“Warriors?”
“Two now. Two warriors to operate our frigate’s four guns. Scientists and engineers and cooks are not very good at helping them. You have come just in time. We expected another Xenthracr attack in less than one hundred cycles.”
“That’s one hundred twenty of our days,” Fowler announced, continuing to demonstrate his ability with quick mental calculations.
“Why the delay?” Gregory wondered aloud. This time, people looked askance at him. “The attacks seem regular, spaced one-point-five ‘orbits’ apart. Why that specific a delay?”
“Because of the position of the planets relative to each other,�
�� said Fowler. “When you’re launching ships with primitive drives like the two we destroyed, you have to time your launch carefully. Have you ever read of the first missions to Mars?”
“You launch when your planet is closing in on the target planet,” Pan interrupted. “I won’t bore you with the technical term for it, but their orbit’s getting close to that point now.”
Gregory said, “Then why not launch two waves while they’re close, rather than one? Or even three waves?”
“Manufacturing issue?” the colonel replied.
“That’s a good point,” Pan agreed. “Apparently, this is a Xenthracr seeding party rather than a full invasion fleet. If they arrived here with minimal resources like the Tluaanto did, it would take them time to create more ships for further attacks.”
“If that’s true, it’s good for us,” Fowler said.
“Maybe not. If the Xenthracr keep to their schedule, they’ll be launching fighters in a week or so. Comms, let the Lioness know to keep their eyes open, in case fighters have launched early. How many did they send the first two times?” he asked Chlalloun.
“Fourteen. Then twenty.”
“Their manufacturing capacity is increasing,” Councillor Vren suggested once Buoun’s translating caught up.
“Or they have plenty in reserve and decided to send more,” said Pan.
Fowler stirred. “Those two we ran across out there—”
“Woke up, you mean,” Pan said.
“Whichever. They may have been scouts. Or perhaps part of another party launched during the wrong window. They might have been out there in the cold for three or four years! How could they survive that long? Have they mastered some kind of stasis? Or are these fighters AI-operated? Machines with no pilots?”
“They have biological pilots,” Chlalloun answered. “We captured one. It is in our cargo area.”
“Then we definitely need to see that,” said Pan.
On screen, Chlalloun seemed to have warmed to his strange and unexpected audience, eager to continue. “It was captured during the last attack. We have studied it. To combat them, we have considered developing a targeted pathogen or virus. But we were awaiting approval from—”
“Approval!” Vren bristled. Her glare swung to Pi and Naat while Buoun seemed to be wilting under the pressure of translating this. She snarled another question that Buoun refrained from interpreting. The Space councillors motioned her to calm.
“We don’t approve such things,” Pi said, first in English and then apparently in her own language.
Chlalloun spoke again and Buoun translated with hesitation, wringing his hands. “The prohibition is between Tluaanto. It does not forbid use against aliens.” Chlalloun’s eyes widened as it occurred to him that the humans were aliens—and they were listening to him.
“Oops,” chuckled Fowler.
“Yeah, you’re not going to design any pathogens,” Gregory said. “And we’re unhappy to know that you can.”
Naat sniffed. “And humans can not?”
Gregory had to concede that point. In matters of warfare, where there was a will, there would always be a way. “Let’s both of our peoples consider such tactics immoral and unlawful.”
Naat accepted that with a grunt and a gesture that clearly meant, Let’s move on.
Pan asked Chlalloun, “Do you consider this artifact a station or a ship?”
“Station,” Chlalloun said with confidence. “We assume it was propelled here, but its chemical fuel has long run out. When we arrived, it was quickly established that this station will eventually impact into one of this planet’s small moons.”
“In three hundred ninety of your years,” Buoun added, clearly performing some mental arithmetic of his own.
“That’s a long time away,” Gregory said.
“There is thought,” Buoun translated for Chlalloun, “that the station has been out here for very much longer than that.”
“The humans not interesting in that,” said Pi in bad English.
Pan’s glance at Gregory said, If they don’t want us to know, then we definitely need to know. “For the time being, we’ll focus on the threat posed by these Xenthracr. And in rendering you support. How can we dock with the Qesh station?”
Chlalloun said, “It is easier if you send a shuttle to our frigate and dock with that. Then you can enter the station from our side.”
“Very well. We’ll put together an away party and see you very soon.”
“I hate to beg, shining ones,” Chlalloun said hastily, “excellent ones. But we need food. And we badly need clean water.”
“Your leaders brought you food and we can provide you with water,” Pan assured him. “I assume you have recycling?”
“We do, but one of our recyclers was destroyed in the last attack, and the other is struggling to keep up with demand.”
“We can spare you the water. We can also recycle what you have if need be.”
“Thank you.”
“Yes, we thank you,” said Pi, again practicing her English. “Humans are good friends to us. How many you will come with us to Tluaan ship?”
“Let’s keep the team simple, huh?” Gregory suggested.
“I’m happy to stay here,” Pan told him, stifling a yawn. “I’ll leave it to you and Colonel Fowler to organize. But I’d recommend you take Lieutenant Nkembe. If you’re going to see some Qesh and a Xenthracr pilot in the flesh—and you don’t take her—she’ll be really pissed.”
“And if there’s one person you don’t wanna piss off, it’s your doctor,” said Fowler.
12
Assured and the Tluaan frigate could not dock with each other. Therefore, transfer between them necessitated travel via skiff. At a little after 0415—a time he’d normally be deeply asleep—Gregory found himself buckling into one of the small transport’s “racks.” Grace was on one side of him with Buoun on the other, jostling him while trying to find straps and suitable positions.
“Boy, they spared no expense making these uncomfortable,” Grace groused.
“The military mind,” Fowler said from his chair in the front row.
In the back row, Westermann raised her voice: “You wanna try doing this wearing armor.”
While the civilian portion of the party wore no extra protection, Westermann and Ana Jogianto had been ordered to don shock vests and leg-and-arm plating. To Gregory’s mind, initially, the armor seemed excessive—but then the way things kept going, the precaution was probably wise.
“Sometimes Navy spacers actually help us jam us into these damn things,” Westermann continued. “They have a saying for us on those occasions. Rack ’em, stack ’em, try not to crack ’em.”
Perhaps the Peacekeeper felt comfortable chatting this way, without her own command officers present. Without Wepps. Gregory felt a twinge of sadness at the thought.
There weren’t that many people for the two human soldiers to protect. The Tluaan councillors had chosen to come, of course, as had Lieutenant Nkembe. And Ensign Sintopas was assigned to record video of the visit.
The skiff pilot would remain inside the transport. She craned her neck now around to say, “Let’s get going, sirs.”
The round-faced Junior Lieutenant appeared nervous. Gregory wasn’t used to pilots looking nervous. Perhaps it was the company. Perhaps it was the occasion. Perhaps, it was the memory of just how many things had gone wrong in the presence of Tluaanto. Gregory was keenly aware of all those factors. His stomach gave a nervous rumble.
I don’t seem to be getting used to this at all.
Stepping inside the Tluaan frigate, Ana’s first impression was of ceilings too low, light too bright, and passageways too narrow.
Her second impression was that it stank like an unaired bedroom.
She and Corporal Westermann were first off the skiff, taking positions either side of its open hatchway. Moments later, the rest of the party moved past them to undertake greeting rituals with the short Tluaan waiting at the other end of t
he docking corridor.
Ana would have preferred it if Pan had sent more of an escort than just her and Westermann. There was a third gun-carrier, of course, the ever-present ambassador’s bodyguard. Renny rarely stood back with the soldiers, preferring to hover somewhere between them and her boss. Stuck up cow, Ana thought, chewing at her bottom lip. Westermann was okay-people, though; Westermann accepted the Xerxian Enforcers as colleagues, and she was talkative and relaxed, even while on duty.
Trying to mirror Westermann’s habitual chattiness, Ana shared her impressions of the frigate’s funky odors out loud.
The Peacer poked a finger under her vest to scratch at an itch. “Sure, it smells a little. But they been stuck here five years, Jogi. And they can’t exactly open a window.”
A sympathy itch started up between Ana’s shoulder blades, right where she couldn’t get at it. She shrugged instead. “No windows on Assured, but Assured don’t stink like this.”
“Assured, maybe. But you should try some of the freighters and ore-carriers I’ve boarded. There was this supply ship once—I swear they’d been smuggling rotten flickbat eggs.” She made a gagging sound. It drew a hard stare from Fowler that cut her act short.
When the colonel’s attention was off them again, Ana murmured out the side of her mouth, “Think that’s bad? Try sleepin’ in a room with Umbrano and Manolo.”
Westermann snorted, then covered it by wiping her nose at an irritated glance from Ambassador Gregory. “Conversation over, dude,” she whispered back. “You’re gonna get me on kitchen duties.”
“When you come further inside,” Scientist-Overseer Chlalloun was saying, “we will show you how bad things have become for us.”
The Tlu was younger than Buoun expected, perhaps thirty orbits old. He was plump, but judging by the way his clothing hung loose from his frame, he’d once been plumper.
Chlalloun said, “There are only eighteen personnel left. Most are currently on this vessel, with five aboard the Qesh station. With assistance from the warriors you must have brought along, we could clean suitable quarters for your excellencies …”
Assured (Envoys Book 2) Page 13
