The man’s words faded away, but Marcus continued to stare at him, his brain refusing to provide a solution. He needed time to think. He needed to stall long enough for something to come to his mind. He could sense this opportunity slipping away, and he could not let that happen.
“Which consortium has such facilities, Copic Fa’Orin?” He tried a smile and a self-deprecating shrug. “I’m new around here. I wasn’t aware of such advanced work being conducted in the city.”
“It is a consortium of Namanu, Administrator. The Sama Collective, working along the left wing of the city.” Both the Red Tower and the Mhatrong survey ship that housed the Central Council Chamber were located within the right wing of Penumbra. He had no familiarity with the left wing at all.
Marcus nodded. Something about the name had struck a chord in the back of his mind. He thought, if only he could stall for a little longer, he might be able to build on that note. “And the Sama Collective demands credits for the procedure?” He heard someone in the vast hall cough and looked up quickly. He had almost forgotten there was a crowd watching the two of them. The weight on his shoulders pressed down even harder.
The man looked down at his intertwined hands. Marcus saw there were plates or markings on their backs, like those on the man’s face. “We have tried to come to an agreement, but it is ultimately the power allocation. This treatment will fall beyond their current provision agreement, and so they will need to compensate another party for the use of their power.”
The Sama Collective. The more he repeated it in his mind, the more he felt he should know where he had seen it before. He had done some extensive research in his quarters of the major players within the city. He also saw countless reports cross the big desk in the administrator’s office every day.
Marcus nodded, settling back into the low bench as his hands fell to rest on his thighs. He had it. The Sama Collective had been requesting preferred trading status with the administrator’s office since before Marcus’s arrival. He knew that many of the business consortia in the city contested with each other for preferential status. It had been one of the primary sources of Uduta Virri’s additional incomes. He remembered, now, seeing the Sama Collective on one of those reports.
But his office had no way to provide more power. The power inexplicably provided by the Relic Core of Penumbra was vast, and more than enough for the basic needs of its citizens. But many of the collectives, enclaves, and conglomerates needed more, and those needs were negotiated among the citizens themselves.
His eyes narrowed. He remembered another syndicate that had been requesting an expansion of facilities. Territory was finite in Penumbra; there had been no more ships added to the unwieldy mix for over a thousand years. Much like the power allocation, such agreements were concluded primarily by the parties directly involved, under the auspices of his office. Bribes for quick or advantageous conclusions had been another revenue stream for the unlamented former administrator.
He tried to remember why that particular group had suddenly come to mind. There had been more in their file. Their portfolio on offer was public knowledge. Something in that file … He looked up, his eyes flashing, his teeth gleaming.
Marcus shot off the bench and wagged a finger at Copic Fa’Orin. “Wait a moment, sir.”
He hoped back up onto the upper level of the dais and waved to the small door in the back. Iphini Bha came through, looking uncomfortable, glancing from side to side. The entire hall hushed as the citizens of Penumbra watched the events unfold.
“Iphini, am I right in remembering that there was a Kot’i consortium, the Kopi’Ba, or something, looking to establish themselves in one of the lower towers of the right wing?” She nodded, her brows coming down. “And part of their portfolio on offer was an excess energy allotment?” Again, she nodded. He saw her eyes turn speculative. She had been paying careful attention through the transparent wall.
Marcus smiled and began to pace, throwing a quick, thankful glance at the wall, figuring Justin was probably still there, watching.
“And am I remembering correctly that a Matabessi delegation, newly established on the Concourse of the right wing, has been applying for trade concessions through our office?”
The pale little woman nodded again. “The Kesatuan Manufactorum.” Her eyes began to gleam, caught up in the excitement of the moment as her mind began to put the pieces together. “They are said to have territory in excess of their current needs.”
Marcus snapped his fingers and spun toward the low bench, where the pale Diakk man looked up at him in confusion. “It’s really very simple.” It was, in a way, but most puzzles were simple when all the pieces had already come together. And if there was one thing the administrator’s office had in plenty, it was puzzle pieces.
“The administrator’s office of Penumbra will grant trade concessions to the Kesatuan Manufactorum in exchange for the extra territory of their current facility. We will also reach out to the Sama Collective, offering preferred status.” A flickering light appeared within Fa’Orin’s eyes. “The territory will be granted to the Kopi’Ba in exchange for their excess energy allocation.” He wanted to raise his arms in a final flourish, but he controlled himself. “And this allocation, along with the aforementioned preferred status, should be more than sufficient to allow the Sama to perform the procedure your son requires to grant him a long and healthy life, Copic Fa’Orin.”
Marcus finished, almost panting with his excitement and exertion, looking down at the father expectantly.
Copic Fa’Orin, his eyes widening, looked up at him in growing disbelief. He had come believing that only a miracle could save his son, and through some creative bureaucratic wrangling, Marcus had delivered that miracle.
The pale man stumbled to his feet, reaching up with both of his hands, and grasped Marcus’s. He felt awkward, with the man below him, looking up with such gratitude. “You have saved my son’s life, Administrator.” The weight and conviction behind the words hit him like a punch to the gut, and he wanted to shake his head. He hadn’t done anything; it was all sleight of hand. But at the same time, it was exactly the kind of thing he had wanted to do.
Low murmurs rippled through the hall, and Marcus could not help but feel a rush of warmth as he realized he had done it.
“Congratulations, Administrator.” The sour tone of the words was like cold water across his back. Marcus looked down to find that Ambassador Taurani had arrived at last. The pale gray flesh set off the ivory robes in a mildly-distasteful way, and the glittering metallic orbs of the Kerie’s eyes seemed to bore into his mind. The rigid flesh of the creature’s face was not overly expressive. Nevertheless, there was no doubting the disgust radiating from the tall, regal form.
“Congratulations.” He repeated, and Marcus was alarmed by the note of sincerity in the voice. “The machines and processes of these consortia will now be used to save a child. I am truly glad that the Diakk boy will live.” He turned to address the crowd, rising in their places to better see the confrontation. “But if you believe this moment to be an indictment of the wisdom of the Galactic Council, you are most sorely mistaken!
“We live in a galaxy with finite resources.” It was clear he was speaking to the chamber full of sentients watching intently and with an eye toward the rumors that would push his words far beyond the walls of the chamber. “Those resources must be marshaled in a way that is fair and equitable to all. And who will decide that distribution? Will these decisions of life and death fall to those pure chance has granted with the most resources? The most wealth? Would you trust these decisions in the hands of those in authority here, that gained their authority through nothing but blind luck?”
He whirled around, addressing the entire room with a dramatic flourish. “The Galactic Council hears all pleas, and weighs all lives. The Council speaks with the collective voice of every race and system in the galaxy. And the Council will not stand by to watch as the weak are ignored and crushed beneath the weight of
the mighty.” Those eyes turned like weapon turrets toward Marcus. “We will not abide such wanton, indiscriminate evil to be perpetuated on citizens of the wider galaxy.”
“How dare you!” The father spun on the ambassador, jabbing a finger at the creature’s chest. Two Ntja guards lumbered down an aisle toward them both, and Marcus hopped down and ran to the Diakk man, pulling him back by a shoulder. He shot a look at Iphini, still up on the dais, but she gave a sharp shake of her head. She would be no help against the ambassador.
“We’re merely doing the best we can with what the galaxy has handed us, Ambassador. This man’s son is dying, and now he will live.” Marcus was trying to sound reasonable, but a combination of anger and fear colored his words.
Taurani scoffed, puffing air through his baleen, and put his long hands on his hips. He surveyed the crowd around him, and Marcus saw an echo of something in those metallic eyes. The ambassador felt the uncertainty of the moment as well.
“You have done a fine thing here today, saving the life of this innocent child. But know this: such petty disregard for the greater good may well succeed in a dissipated microcosm like this, for a time at least. But to think that such behavior could be sustainable throughout civilized space is a farce of epic proportions. The Council guards the well-being of every race, no matter where they might be, or what their circumstances. In the end, the life of this child will not matter to the galaxy at large, or to the Council.”
The ambassador swept up the aisle and away, and Marcus found himself sharply expelling a breath he had had no idea he was holding.
Between them, Marcus and Iphini reassured Copic Fa’Orin that his son was safe, and then dismissed the crowd. It was obvious they all had a great deal to think about as they wandered away, many looking back to the dais where the Iwa’Bantu woman, the Diakk man, and the Human stood together, talking quietly.
Justin had slipped through the small door and made his way out with the rest of the crowd, but not before tipping an imaginary hat to Marcus, and promising that he would stay in touch.
Iphini had gone back to gather their things in the preparation room, while Marcus had used the medallion to dismiss the seat on the apron of the dais and raise the podium back into place. As he waited for her, sitting on the edge of the platform, he thought back to the moment when he had seen the fear in Taurani’s eyes.
The Ambassador knew what Marcus had done. Taurani had seen the Council’s grasp called into question. He had seen their influence, and the sanctity of their cause, brought into doubt. Marcus couldn’t help but smile at the thought. He liked the idea of Taurani feeling uncomfortable.
Then his smile slipped. If the Council envoy really was getting scared, what might he do next?
When Iphini Bha emerged to escort him back to the Red Tower, Marcus’s brow was furrowed and his smile was gone.
Chapter 14
The halls of the tower that had once been a Mhatrong generation ship were wide, with evenly-spaced support columns of a polished material that reminded Iphini Bha of the ancient stone temples of Iwa’Ban. She paced beside Marcus Wells in silence, the confrontation between the Human and Ambassador Taurani churning through her mind.
Marcus Wells was also silent as they paced down the well-lit corridor to the Administrative docking port.
She had not expected that the Human would be so versed in the various factions and entities struggling within Penumbra. He had clearly put his hours of imprisonment to good use. The way he had traced the needs and assets of the necessary consortia to bring the Diakk man’s son treatment had been most artful.
And yet, Taurani’s argument had hit deeply as well. If it had not been for the Council, it was doubtful Iwa’Ban would have been able to recover from the attack that had nearly destroyed it. The attack by a Human fleet, she remembered bitterly. The resources that had dragged her homeworld back from the brink of annihilation had been allocated to them undoubtedly at the expense of other worlds and peoples.
She felt her brows draw down as she struggled with the conflicted thoughts.
“Wait.” Marcus stopped, touching her shoulder lightly. “I don’t want to go back yet.”
She looked at him wordlessly. There was a great deal for her to do back in the control center. The last thing she wanted to do was spend more time with this confusing, frustrating Human.
“I want to go somewhere, to do something, see something different.” He fingered the medallion hanging around his neck. She noticed that that floating lines over the central gemstone had become clearer. She could not decipher anything legible there, but they were certainly more defined. “I’m going insane, cooped up in that apartment. I need to get out of my comfort zone a little bit.” He smiled at her with one of his lopsided expressions. “As comfortable as I’ve been, anyway.”
She continued to stare at him. She had no idea what he was talking about. Different?
Marcus shook his head. “What’s the oldest section of the city? Where are the first ships that landed here?”
She thought for a moment. “There have been several periods of disruption in the city’s history. The earliest records were lost, or erased, millennia ago. But by conventional agreement, a ship we call Sanctum is considered to be the oldest location in the city. You probably saw it upon your approach. It lies in the middle of the Bronze Plain, at the center of the city.”
He smiled. “That sounds exactly like the kind of place I’d like to go!” The smile faded slightly. “Could you take me there?”
She fought back a sigh. Why could he not find his own way by now? But she had been forced to do much worse for Virri. Of course, Virri had not been a Human.
“Briefly.” She forced an edge of firmness into her voice. “There are still duties we both need to perform today.”
A light kindled in his eyes, and she forced down the moment of responding warmth it caused. She gestured forward. “We must still take the shuttle. There is no other route.”
He nodded and moved off down the corridor with a lighter step than he had had since leaving the Council Chamber.
They had not gone far when two figures stepped from a lift tube alcove, robes swirling about them; the Thein’ha. Although they had attended every levy, she had not seen them outside the walls of the chamber.
The shorter figure in white robes, its soft green jaw fringe swaying back and forth, nodded to Marcus with a slight smile on its muzzle. The taller figure in black was a woman, and Iphini saw now that she was a Diakk, recognizing the black splash of markings across her cheeks and around her thin, set lips. She did not nod, but stared at Marcus with cold, dark eyes.
The pair had moved past them before the Human could react to their presence. He followed their passage with a craning neck. They moved off down the corridor and were soon lost at an intersection in the distance.
“Why do I feel like those two are following me?” He mused aloud, but did not seem overly concerned.
Iphini sniffed. “The Thien’ha have no particular interest in Humans, or in the leadership of the city. I would not expect that they care anymore for you than for any other being in Penumbra.”
He didn’t seem to agree, but let it go.
The Administrative shuttle was a small, utilitarian craft that might have fit ten additional beings if they were friendly. Iphini interfaced with the autopilot and requested passage to Sanctum at the fastest safe speed. She settled down into a seat that rose up to embrace her, and closed her eyes as she accessed her working files. Maybe he would leave her alone to get some work done while they were in transit, anyway.
Apparently it was not to be.
“Damn!” he breathed the word.
She opened her eyes to see him standing in front of a viewing field on the left flank of the shuttle. A quick glance showed her the exterior of the Mhatrong generation ship floating away behind them, as the shuttle moved off into the thicket of up-thrust ships.
Most of the ships were cylindrical, reaching up above them and glitter
ing in the cold light of vacuum. A causeway bridging two towers sailed overhead, throwing a stark shadow across the shuttle before passing off into their wake.
She tried to see the view through the Human’s eyes. It resembled countless cities she had seen, including several forbidden images from Earth. But she had to admit that the wide variety of shapes and colors, with the graceful spans connecting them in a dizzying, crisscrossed pattern, gave Penumbra a beauty all its own. She also knew that to many beings, the diversity of the jumble of ships was even more beautiful for what it represented: the history and efforts of countless races coming together in a common cause.
Something about that thought narrowed her eyes. It sounded very much like something the Council might tout as a great success. And yet, the Council and the city were forever at odds.
She had never really cared about that side of the city’s spirit. She had come here looking for a new life, not running from her old one. But she knew many who had more than a passing nostalgia for that image of Penumbra.
“How goes the search?” Marcus Wells continued to look out the view field, his tone nonchalant.
She frowned. Her thoughts had been far away. “I’m sorry?”
He shrugged, still not looking at her. “The search for my replacement? I know you two haven’t given up. That’s where Angara’s been spending most of her time recently, isn’t it? Working with that dolphin, or looking for another one like him?”
Her answer was reflexive, without thought. “Warder Oo’juto is an Aijian, not a dolphin.”
She could not see his face, but she knew he was smiling from his tone. “Same thing, though, right? Anyway, any luck with the Warder?”
In truth, she was not sure. Angara Ksaka was supposed to have been pursuing those negotiations vigorously, considering this entire foolish enterprise had been entirely her plan. But she had not seen the Tigan outcast for days. She tried a shrug of her own, trying to make her voice as indifferent as his. “She is continuing to work with Oo’juto.” He had not turned them down flat, which was a good sign. But then, neither had he embraced their suggestion, either. His initial reaction seemed to have been closer to Iphini’s own than to Angara’s.
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