by Neely Dobbs
CHAPTER 5: Coalition
Lord Ptoriil Briin, Chief Executive of the Regency Coalition and Chairman of MAC, was not in the best of moods.
He paced the modest open area of his office in the transiting space-cruiser and thought, for the tenth time, how much he hated space travel. It was bad enough that he was ill at ease whenever he was in InterSpace. It was even worse when the unexpected— but politically necessary— side trip had caused him to be delayed by more than a full day.
He mentally dismissed that aggravation and moved on to consider that enigmatic construct discovered in the Raajjsh Sector, a remote area of Coalition territory. One of the cadets on the expedition had referred to it as “Eidolon” and the name had stuck. Indeed, its strange attributes made the name appropriate. Eidolon was a moon-sized enigma: 1200 kilometers in diameter, with an obviously artificial—yet perfectly spherical—surface. The cadet ship had detected a signal on the primary distress band. They followed that signal to Eidolon, then down to an opening at its surface. Beyond the fact that Eidolon unerringly maintained its precise position in space, despite its location at a marginally stable LaGrange point, little else was known.
The crew of the cadet ship was lucky, mused Ptoriil. And their report that they never left their ship—if true—may be the most significant part of their account!
Briin thought wryly of his own cadet days. My group was not so fortunate as to find such an exotic object. Still, it remains to be seen just how “fortunate” their find will be. As cadets, we came up the hard way. He smiled as he realized he was indulging in self-pity. No, I must admit it. The cadets justly earned whatever recognition they've received.
Of further concern was the recent capture of a lone planet, rather than a full star system. Still, he was pleased with the results of the Mutual Advisory Committee meeting he had called after reviewing FSO Layton Eebri’s report on the latest capture. Her report had been masterful in its analysis and precision. It clearly outlined the unusual circumstances of the planet and its capture, giving the necessary specifics regarding its current and future safety implications, yet it managed to avoid any further muddying of the political waters with unproductive speculation about its unique nature.
Briin visualized a data pad and a corresponding holographic image appeared on the small folding tabletop immediately in front of his recliner. As he reviewed the surprising details and concentrated his thoughts on directing actions to be taken, print materialized on the image on his holo-pad. Finishing his orders, he mentally assigned it a file name and code number, then dismissed it.
The image of Eebri would not be so easily dismissed. Briin rose from his recliner. He examined his waistline. He was still trim, just starting to develop that slight expansion here and there which signals that the body is no longer as lean and firm as during the full bloom of youth. As well it might not be, he rationalized, considering the demands of my political position. I might be a bit out of condition now, but when first elected, I was the youngest Chief of State ever. I still have a full head of hair…and black hair does look more distinguished with a touch of silver at the temples. So why am I feeling so dissatisfied and out of sorts?
His thoughts returned to Eebri. He realized that he now thought of her on a personal name basis. Of course, he could never entertain the idea of addressing her thus. She was thirteen years his junior. She always conducted herself with the cool and efficient dispatch so well matched to the office she held.
But haven’t there recently been, perhaps, some special touches here and there which might have been absent before? Nothing I can really put my finger on but…just touches. A special sheen to that luxuriant crimson hair? Her lips…were they lightly painted? And could it be, possibly, that she might be adding such subtle touches, making special efforts for my benefit? Or is it just my own vain self-flattery that…
“Docking at Iisleen now commencing,” an impersonal voice announced.
Briin, feeling unaccustomed embarrassment, began gathering his reports into a carrying case. He knew that these hard documents were an antiquated affectation, but he really preferred holding printed material. He could have brought along an aide for the task of re-ordering the work materials but, then, the aide would have been constantly at his side. He had preferred to make this trip alone. That is, as alone with his thoughts as one could be in a large cruiser with a full crew contingent.
Iisleen, the name of both the planet and the system, was not centrally located in the Coalition’s cluster. However, it was the ancestral homeworld of the House Ptoriil.
Great-Great-Grandfather Gozer may have loved living here, but I’m glad I don’t have to visit that often. If I had to return for more than occasional ceremonial appearances as Regent of House Ptoriil— and to get close to the action of these captures happening almost in Iisleen's back yard— I’d avoid the planet altogether. Grandfather Gozer may have felt that absolute diplomatic protocol should rule every moment of our lives, but I prefer the more relaxed conventions I learned growing up on Zeleeta. Only eight light years away, yet it seems like another galaxy!
The pressure locks cycled and, as he emerged, a robot moved discreetly to address him. He was always intrigued by the slight variations between mechanical servants of different planetary systems. The nuance of voice inflection or the differences in their movement was noticeable. Of course, variation in planetary conditions, such as gravity and temperature, played a part. But it was more than that. Briin’s appreciative eye noted differences in the way their individual parts were designed and assembled.
This robot resembled a flesh and blood member of the House Ptoriil from midsection up. However, below its humanoid front portion, it flowed smoothly down and back to integrate with the rear portion, which was a low sleek carriage for passengers and luggage. Briin chuckled softly, remembering his grandfather’s consternation over Briin's childhood insistence that it wasn't a carrier-bot, but a centaur.
His entire appraisal lasted less than ten seconds, so he did not fail to play his role in carrying out the precise formality of the robot’s standardized greeting.
“Eminence Ptoriil?"
“Yes, I am he."
"May I be honored by being of service to you?”
"I am made privileged by your willingness to serve,” Briin replied ritually.
"Your words honor me, Sir.”
Although the experience was hardly new, Briin was bemused by the precise protocol and the specific wording that tradition required for interactions with Iisleen’s robots— even those which had served him for over a decade.
With the rigid process complete, the robot began its report. “Your Eminence, the esteemed First Science Officer Laytonn Eebri has arrived. and has been escorted to her accommodations. She is there now and awaits your arrival. If you so desire, it would be my honor to escort you to her present location.”
"That is my desire."
As he seated himself, he noted the markers denoting his rank— as both Regent of House Ptoriil and Chief Executive of the Regency Coalition— placed prominently around the carrier as if to warn anyone from coming into close proximity with so noble a personage. He gave orders regarding the remainder of his entourage and concluded with the order that put his transport in motion.
As they whirred away, Briin mentally ticked off the particular and unique features of Iisleen. As a traveling diplomat, it was wise— no matter how familiar the location— to review the varying conditions prevailing within each House, each of its star systems, and the peculiarities on the specific planet being visited. With some planets, one could literally be “on” the planet— that is, outside, breathing the native air and basking in the rays of a friendly sun. On Iisleen, one could do just that. Although his ship had actually docked just beneath the planet's surface, the corridors he now traversed were in a far deeper level. Even so, the unspoiled surface was beautifully mai
ntained and entirely accommodating, and he wondered if…Be honest!…he hoped that he and Eebri could share some of its natural pleasures before their return.
His immersion in personal issues had partially blocked his peripheral awareness of his carrier-bot's rapid progress. When it coasted to a gentle stop, he knew the location and recognized that he had come quite a distance from the space dock.
His carrier-bot spoke its final soliloquy. “Your Eminence, the double glass doors on our left contain your preferred offices and apartments— Suite Seven through Suite Ten. They are reserved for your use for the duration of your visit. The facilities have been abundantly stocked with your preferred provisions and appointments.
Briin hid his mixed amusement and aggravation at the machine’s unwavering insistence— with typical Iisleen courtesy— on again stating arrangements that had remained unchanged during each of his last fifty trips here.
“At your request, Officer Laytonn has been assigned to Suite Eleven, adjoining yours. The planet-wide communication link has been re-keyed to your personal voice command. The remaining members of your party will arrive…” Briin suppressed a smile as the machine was forced to hesitate fractionally to consult with Communications, “in 6.37 minutes.”
“This carrier would be honored to be called to serve you at any time. When called, appearance at this door can be expected in 4.15 minutes or less. Should Your Eminence choose to visit the surface, Undersecretary Vorgen has requested that he be given notice by com-link a minimum of 5.00 minutes in advance of your departure. The lift serving Your Eminence’s suites connects directly with the surface; if this carrier does not have the honor of being called, another carrier will be waiting to serve Your Eminence when the lift arrives at the surface level.”
The robot fell silent.
Acutely aware of protocol, Briin had to restrain himself from saying “thank you” to the carrier-bot. He always had attempted to bear the burden of his titles with dignity and simple humility and, being a gentle and educated man, was in full agreement with the need for social graces and conventions. Accordingly, he had felt a “thank you” was always in order— even to a machine— if that machine could speak and carry on a conversation. Reluctantly, he bowed to local conventions and buttoned his lip as Iisleen’s strict protocol required, exited the vehicle without comment, and headed for the indicated door.
He entered and strolled through his suites with the ease of long familiarity; they appeared exactly as he had last left them. After announcing his presence at the door to Suite Eleven, Briin entered and found Eebri busy at her holo-projector console, expertly working the controls. His hazel eyes locked with the emerald green of hers…and hers sparked, or was that my imagination…for just an instant before her attention returned to the projected holo-image. She said with perfect decorum, “Was it a pleasant trip, Your Grace?”
He flinched slightly at her use of the title, realizing how completely his emotional expectations of their relationship had changed. Giving her a chagrinned smile, he replied, “Its short duration was its most appealing virtue, Officer Laytonn. Captain Januuz caught me wearing a frown when I boarded, and I fear he upped the ante on our energy usage to reduce our travel time. Our transit here was so fast I may be required to explain the extravagance during the Conclave's next session." He flashed her a winning, sunny smile and winked. "I may need you to supply me with a ready made emergency for this particular occasion and time.”
He noted her distracted nod and impetuously blurted out, “And I’d like for you to drop that ‘Your Grace’ business when we’re in private. At least here, let’s go on a personal name basis with each other.”
Eebri smiled and nodded. "As you wish."
He longed to add for her to drop it in public as well, but the suggestive implications of that made it much too overt. He noticed the fleeting presence of creases not usually found on the smooth creamy-white skin at the bridge of her pert nose. How would that delicate feature mesh next to my ruddier, more aquiline nose…
She had returned his smile, but said nothing further after inquiring about the trip. It was clear that she was attempting to be bright and cheerful. He saw it was not without effort, and not with complete success. Eebri was acutely aware of the forces and events they confronted. The possible consequences were not only formidable, but— in the final analysis— largely unpredictable as well.
Her slim fingers resumed flying gracefully over the activation sensors of the console. Briin’s eyes shifted to the image that had so rapidly taken on considerable detail and complexity. He sobered and said, “Is that it — the lone planet?”
As usual, she was all business: the impersonal Chief Science Officer updating the Chief of State. “Yes, Sir. In particular, please note the disruption taking place in the planet’s atmosphere. The air of the orphaned planet is separating into its constituent parts." She gestured toward the holo-model's layers. "The heavier gasses already have descended, having become liquefied or solidified. The lighter ones remain in the gaseous state, with— of course— hydrogen at the very top.”
He walked around the detailed image while she remained at the keyboard. He pictured a menu in his mind, selected an item from it, and— in response to his thought— a section of the planet’s image quickly filled the entire holo-image. Strange shapes and structures were apparent at its center.
“Are there many of these?”
She consulted a sidebar image and replied, “Yes, quite a number, but they’re all machine installations. Deprived of the warmth of its sun by the transition, the planet's temperature has plunged almost to absolute zero. We’ve detected no advanced life… or anyone who might once have been alive. All surface machines have become incapacitated, but we’re now receiving significant indications of higher temperatures and renewed machine activity beneath the surface. Of course, even if they return to full operational condition, they can’t communicate with their creators. Chaattel Menkondra— that’s what we believe the planet is called— Chaattel is too far from home.”
“So confused and lost, I'm sure, that they probably don't recognize what universe they're in,” Briin retorted grimly. If only I dared to initiate contact! Even though his high office did provide for some latitude for independent thought and action, all significant policy decisions were dictated by the MAC.
I wish I could accurately predict what could be expected of Cjorll Kuuiz and Vstoch Vlagen. Those exasperating novices gained their positions on the committee only because of their status in wealthy, powerful families. And—without the premature vacancies caused by the early deaths of both of their fathers— they could not possibly have risen to MAC membership while still so young. He permitted himself a wry smile. But, even under those tragic circumstances, a House would normally elevate an older and more mature member to the Regency. Those two are shrewd. Otherwise, they would still be only Conclave representatives. I prefer the more traditional way…but I probably seem like an “old war horse” in their eyes.
Is that what I am in danger of becoming? Briin worried. “Old war horse,” indeed! The expression remained only as an artifact of ancient history. The Regency Coalition hadn’t experienced overt acts of war for millennia. Of course, our confederacy’s constant political bickering seems to substitute more than well enough with its continual conflict and infighting.
An uninvited image formed before his inner eye: the remote construct that had been given the name “Eidolon.” It might not qualify as a war threat, but its presence had resulted in the loss of four lives during recent exploration attempts.
When approached, Eidolon revealed information as disturbing as its mysterious artificial nature. It occupied LaGrange point number one— a marginally stable position. In fact, it was in syzygy: its orbit about the planet remained always on a line connecting the planet’s center and that of its most distant natural moon. Yet, as close as Eidolon was to
the planet, it displayed absolutely no tidal-force distortion. The bare fact that Eidolon was a precisely perfect sphere argued that it couldn’t have been constructed within the gravitational field of the planet. Moving it from wherever it had been created to its present location would have been a simple task for Coalition technology. But the evidence of monolithic construction— molded as a single piece with no construction seams, welds, or joints— heralded a scientific skill far beyond those the Coalition possessed.
Briin’s attention returned to Eebri as she was saying, “…and as a result, only one planet was taken, leaving its sun, the other planets and a small artificial moon that had been in orbit about the captured planet. The planet shows signs of having been inhabited fairly recently. Fortunately, when the shift occurred, it contained only machine life.”
Briin, in spite of his attention lapse, recognized the political ramifications of her comment. “Eebri, you know the Council fears that intervention could antagonize these people, regardless of our intentions. Can we certify that no loss of life has resulted from our actions?”
A slight frown brushed across her smooth face. Then she shrugged. “Your Gra…I mean…Briin, based on our information, we honestly could attempt such an assertion, but we would be hard pressed to defend it. The opposition members on the committee will be quick to point out that we would be arguing more from lack of information than from comprehensive data. Still, our case is based on direct observation, while theirs would be pure conjecture.” She smiled, sharing a confidence while obliquely attacking his political image with the traditional alliteration of the Verbal Duel, “Or course, such limitations are never piquant problems for those possessing a penchant for preserving political power and a propensity for perpetual plotting with passable principles.”
Briin grinned slightly, acknowledging her colorful display of alliterative skill. Then he looked back at the holo-display and asked, “Any danger to our people?”
“We’ve made only a preliminary course plot, but we know it poses no immediate threat. We do know, however, that it will approach near the region of the Bajjelmeer system in about eight years. If it should pose a threat to anything in the region at that time, a direct capture could easily be arranged. Of course, much more accurate data will become available over the next few days.”
He smiled wearily. “Fine. Keep me updated.”
She noticed with concern that Briin's face was strained and lined. His uniform was wrinkled and becoming sweat stained. It was an uncharacteristic and telling detail that seemed to mimic his look of fatigue. She knew he was not as old as he appeared at this moment. The events of the recent past clearly were taking their toll on him. They might even result in his removal from office, although— to the limits of her knowledge—he had no better choices available for his course of action.
“There’s something I need to discuss with you, Briin, but it can wait. Let’s give it a rest until…” She had started to say, “daylight” but realized that such a term was less than exact in Iisleen’s underground facility. “Well…until we’ve had some sleep,” she finished with a bright smile.
He returned her smile and, in mock anticipation replied, “Good idea…where do we sleep?” His look hinted of lustful hope. It was not lost on Eebri.
In equally pretended horror, she dramatically raised one eyebrow. “Briin, your sleeping quarters are way over there,” she said, pointing toward his suites, “and my sleeping quarters are way over here.” Then, with a raised eyebrow and a faint smile, she asserted reprovingly, “Of course, Your Grace surely could not have meant to imply otherwise…”
Despite his long hours of training in detaching his emotions from his physical responses, Briin felt his face flush. Embarrassed by his loss of control and attempting a quick recovery, he stammered weakly, “Uh…err…of course not!” Then, realizing by the tilt of her head and the laughing twinkle of her eyes that she was neither offended nor deceived, he added daringly, “At least not until after I’ve had a shower and some sleep!”
Lord Ptoriil threw his First Science Officer an impeccable salute, then turned and crisply exited back through the door to his rooms, and— removing only his uniform's tunic— stretched across the bed. He was tired, but suspected sleep would elude him. His thoughts were far from the forthcoming meeting or the object with the odd name of “Eidolon.”
