by Sarah Zettel
But obviously he was. Images cut, shifted, jumped, blurred, and blended across the screen, linking the Hreshi and the Dedelphi while Arron talked about the immeasurable wealth new bioforms could provide in terms of nanotech advances and how corporate execs would go to any lengths to recoup their outlays.
“Bioverse has already laid out fifty thousand kiloshares to its subcontractors, twenty thousand to its partners, and over a million and a half to investors and citizens. Will they be able to stop, will they want to stop for any reason, even impending cultural disaster, before they get what they came for?”
Lynn hung her head. How did your university let you get away with this little tabloid?
“Claude, is there a summary for this? If there is, fast-forward to it.”
The view on the screen blurred until all that was left was glowing blue text on the black background. It scrolled forward slowly to the rhythm of soft, funereal drumming.
That the Dedelphi have a history of violence against their own kind is indisputable. That the plague which has decimated their people is the result of this violence is also indisputable.
But this plague has brought about a miracle. For the first time in their history, all the governments on this many-named planet are working together on a goal. The ancient enemies stand united. This is a critical moment.
We Humans went through a similar moment in the twenty-first century, C.E. At that time our world had a choice. We could have united, or fragmented.
We chose to fragment. Humanity broke apart into our little enclaves, conglomerates, and corporations. For us, this has worked smoothly. However, when our moment came we had developed enough info and biotechs that smaller enclaves could obtain food, goods, and information to sustain themselves.
The Dedelphi are years away from that kind of technology, if they can ever reach it. They don't have the easy access to the natural resources Earth had. If we split them up now, clean up their world, and leave, we remove any impetus for them to unite. They will return to their warfare, chewing up yet more resources, wasting more years, and digging themselves even farther into their graves, until another bioweapon is released to finish the descent.
This plague wasn't caused by the first bioweapon used, just the most recent. The next one will be even more devastating than this.
If we allow the Dedelphi to work out their own solution to this problem, if they have to work together to save themselves, the groundwork is laid for peaceful coexistence. If they are given the time, they can develop an international information exchange in order to trade research and hard goods. This way, when and if they have to splinter permanently as Humanity has, they have a chance of surviving without returning to a primitive state.
We can either buy them that time, or we can strip it from them.
The screen went blank. Lynn rested her helmeted forehead against her hand.
It was an attention getter, that was for sure. It was also Arron at his best. It wove the facts into new patterns and held them up for everyone to see. It looked good, it felt good, who was to say it wasn't true? More than once she'd found herself reduced to sputtering, “But that's not how it works” when faced with one of Arron's verbal creations.
Lynn shook herself. “Claude, run a call out for Vice President Emile Brador. Make sure he knows it's me.”
“Completing request.”
Lynn busied herself threading together databases until the station back-burnered her tasks and brought up Veep Brador's head and shoulders.
“Record session,” she murmured to her implant. It never hurt to have a personal record of what you'd said to the boss, and what the boss had said to you.
Brador's face had flushed to a deep burgundy and his round owl-eyes narrowed to half-moons. “I presume you untied the knot, Dr. Nussbaumer?”
“Yes, I did. It's extremely inflammatory.” Lynn spread her hands. “What I want to know is why did you call it to my attention? This should be over with the PR dervishes, or sent back to HQ, if you think it's that important.”
Brador's face flushed even darker. “Hagopian is a friend of yours.”
Lynn frowned. “Am I going to be held accountable for him?”
“You petitioned for a citizenship offer for him.”
Oh, so that's what this is about. “That petition was rejected on the grounds that we weren't hiring any planetside Humans.” Which is one of the dumber ideas the veeps and presies back home laid down on us.
“Dr. Nussbaumer”—Brador leaned forward until his nose almost touched the screen—“we have already had three subcontractors pull out of negotiations because of this knot. It does not look good that you sponsored its architect for citizenship.”
“Are you claiming I was trying to sabotage something by bringing Arron on board?” Lynn met his gaze coolly.
She could practically see the wheels turning. Bioverse had done a background check. Any unacceptable associations would have kept her out. If Brador went ahead and accused her of corporate espionage based on her knowing someone Bioverse had already cleared, she could pull him down into the management courts for defamation of character.
Lynn wouldn't enjoy that, but she'd do it to save her reputation. Then she'd quit, and she suspected Brador knew it.
“It would save the dervishes a lot of trouble if you could debunk the Avitrol comparison for Hagopian.”
“Believe me, Vice President, I intend to try.” I intend to beat his thick skull against the wall, if necessary. “Is there anything else?”
“No, Dr. Nussbaumer, fortunately.” His skin color faded a little. “Thank you for your attention to this matter.”
“You're welcome.” Lynn cut the connection. “Store recording under file name Brador One,” she told her implant as she stood up.
Lynn walked into the outer office. Both Trace and R.J. looked up, startled.
“Anything else entertaining happening?” Lynn folded her arms and leaned against the wall.
“Well”—R.J. held out a folded sheet of paper—“we found this on the doorstep. It's got your name on it.”
Lynn took it. It did have her name on it, along with the name of the complex, and the street it sat on. Praeis's name and the name of her house had been written on it as well. The packet had been glued tightly shut.
Lynn carefully tore the paper open.
The letter was in t'Therian, except for a few words in English scattered through the text.
From Praeis Shin t'Theria addressing my respected ally Lynn Nussbaumer,
I'm writing you in t'Therian because you obviously need the practice translating. However, don't worry yourself about the Problem, as you call it. That takes years to learn. I'll be happy to give you lessons when everything's more settled down. How are Council and Convinced doing? Have they adjusted to us yet? You must be running them off their feet with all the bioverse that need doing.
I've had word that is going to imprison t'Therians on is on his way from City-Ships.So make sure to tell him, what's the phrase, so getesaph can destroy us for me.
Res and Theia are surrounded by cousins and are loving it. My sisters and I are hardly out of one another's sight. It's magnificent to be part of a family again.
We've sent for the comm station, and I'll be hooked up as soon as I can.
The Queens have given me a special appointment that I'll tell you all about over the net.
Lynn lowered the letter, raised it, and read the English words again. Problem, Council convinced Bioverse is going to imprison t'Therians on city-ships so Getesaph can destroy us.
“What's the matter?” asked Trace. “You're white as a ghost.”
To her embarrassment, Lynn giggled. “Brador's overheating about a web knot.” She held out the letter. “What do you think he'd do if I showed him this?”
Trace read it, blanched, and handed it to R.J.
“Ohmygod,” he whispered, and looked up at Lynn. “How could they …”
“The Getesaph contacted Earth first.” Lynn tapped
her fingers against her arm. “So, of course, the t'Therians are wondering what they did it for. It couldn't possibly have been for anything as universally beneficial as stopping the plague.”
“But why …” began Trace. Then she waved her hand. “Never mind. If they think we're working for the Getesaph, of course we're not going to hear about it.”
R.J. stared at the blank walls. “We've really got to get these wired for full video,” he said, patting his palm against the desktop. “So what do we do?”
Lynn puffed out her cheeks and stared at the walls without seeing them. “We go down to the Council chambers and make ourselves available to them. We get Praeis to introduce us to the dissenting voices, and we talk to them. We arrange tours of the ships for Council members and the Queens. We get Keale down here to talk about security measures …” Both her assistants looked sour. “I know, I know. I'm not fond of his approach either. But he takes his job seriously and he puts on an impressive show.” She hadn't told anybody about the conversation they'd had and didn't intend to.
R.J. shrugged. “I just wish I didn't get the feeling he's ready to do more than just his job.”
Lynn looked from R.J. to Trace. “Is there anybody in this corp you two like?”
“Not above junior management,” said Trace calmly.
“I'll play that back when it's time for your review.” Lynn twitched the letter out of R.J.’s fingers and retreated into her office.
Okay, Praeis—she looked down at the letter in her hand—I'm doing what I can on my end. Just give us a couple of days, and we'll have everything smoothed out.
The Getesaph cruiser tossed on an ocean colored the same gunmetal grey as its sloping sides. Rain poured down from the solid blanket of clouds. The late-evening gloom had the deck crew scrambling to set up halogen lights for the technicians busy around the old gun turret.
Two of the Members Shavck, Pem and Vreaith, peered through the cabin window at the activity out on the rain-slick deck. Technicians wearing only trousers and tool belts scrambled around the turret, which had been stripped of its armament and now held a gigantic telescope. From where she stood, Pem could see the platform's hydraulics pumping unsteadily in response to the roll of the ocean under the ship.
Pem turned one ear toward the Trindt Kilv who commanded the ship and its mission: round Simnet and gaunt Irdeth, whose throat was a twisted mass of scar tissue and who couldn't speak above a whisper.
“The rain will not interfere?” Pem asked. On the deck, a sister waved her arm. The hydraulics froze in place. She picked up a light and a wrench and slid bodily into the platform's works.
“Only if the housing over the mirror leaks.” Simnet oozed satisfaction and excitement. Her ears were practically quivering. “We have people checking on that right now. We may have to clean off the lens, but other than that, it presents no problem. The cloud blanket is exactly what we need.” She peered up at the sky and folded her hands contentedly over her pouch. “A thick cloud cover will scatter extra light from the Humans’ communication lasers for us to pick up. We'll get a much better signal than we would in clear weather.”
“It seems too easy somehow. Put up a telescope and know all the Humans’ secrets.” Pem rubbed her hands together and huddled a little deeper into her coat. The Trindt Kilv did not keep it overly warm on their bridge. Vreaith pressed closer to her.
Simnet noticed immediately and signalled to a pair of the ovrth. They hustled over with spare work gloves. “It is not quite so easy, Member Pem. We know we can intercept the signals, but we still have a long way to go before they are completely deciphered and decrypted.”
Pem accepted the gloves gratefully and put them on. Her knuckles were solid pink with the cold.
“We have grown soft in Parliament,” Vreaith joked to the Trindt Kilv. “Give us unlimited electricity, and we forget what it is to be cold.”
The Trindt Kilv both laughed dutifully, but Pem felt their disapproval like a cold spattering of rain.
Vreaith obviously felt it, too. Her skin rippled, and she changed the subject. “How much more time do you think you will need?”
“Difficult to say,” rasped Trindt Irdeth. “The Humans finished their satellite network today. If communications traffic increases as much as predicted, we'll have much more to work with.” Her face puckered thoughtfully. “However, we must assume we will only be able to make sense of about half of what's received. If we get even that much, it is because the standard Trader Cabal provided us is complete.” Her ears flicked toward the rear of the bridge.
Pem turned an eye toward the Human who perched on a stool and let the activity of the bridge flow around her. Him, Pem corrected herself. His clean-suit and round helmet gleamed under the bridge's harsh light. He met her gaze calmly, with the corners of his mouth turned up. This, she understood, was an indication of amusement or happiness.
She also understood he could rummage around the Humans’ communication systems as easily as she could rummage in a file drawer, and had proven quite willing to put that talent to use for certain considerations, such as broad travel permits and valuable trade goods.
“We are not working entirely blind.” Trindt Simnet brought Pem's attention back to her. “The sisters who have access to Human communications are sending us signal diagrams for messages for which the content is known. Our code teams are working from them.” Outside, one of the technicians dashed across the deck, hopping over the cables clamped down to the plates. As she opened the cabin door, one of the ovrth tossed a blanket over her shoulders.
“It's stable, Trindt Kilv,” she said breathlessly. “We can start it up.”
“If you'll come with us, Members,” said Trindt Simnet.
Trindt Irdeth led the way down the narrow stairs and an equally narrow corridor to a cramped conference room. A round table piled with books and binders took up most of the space. The rest was filled with the clattering computational boxes hooked together with a webwork of cables. Pem, Vreaith, and the Trindt Kilv could do little more than stand in the doorway while the code team skirted the edges of the room.
Most of the activity was centered around a small screen at the far end. Pem caught glimpses of it as the coders shifted around.
All at once, all the boxes in the room started chattering and clacking as if their insides were being rattled by an earthquake. Vreaith caught Pem's hand and squeezed. Between a gap in the coder's shoulders, Pem saw a wave of figures sweep across the screen. One of the printers began to disgorge a ribbon of paper. A coder tore it free and spread it across the conference table. She and her duty-sisters began pulling books out of the piles, flipping them open and running their fingers down columns of letters and figures. All the while they jabbered and exclaimed excitedly to one another. Whatever jargon they were using, Pem could only understand every third word.
“Well?” boomed Trindt Simnet in a voice that could have carried across the deck in a raging gale.
One of the coders looked up from her book and papers. “It will be a while before we have anything coherent, Sisters, but we are receiving real information, and the binary standard we calibrated to appears sound.”
“Superb.” Pem folded her hands across her pouch. “We will leave at once to report to our members. Where else will you be able to set up these listening stations?”
“Near port,” said Trindt Irdeth, as they made their way back to the bridge. “Near the biology station. We are scouting for other locations.”
Trader Cabal hopped off his stool as they returned to the bridge. “Everything working out all right, Trindt Kilv, Members Shavck?”
“It appears so.” Pem reached into her wallet and pulled out a small sheaf of sealed papers. “Here are the letters of reference promised. My sister in Crater Town will receive you if you present these.”
“Thank you, Member Pem.” Trader Cabal rifled through the papers, then stowed them in a pocket of his canvas jacket. “I'm leaving tomorrow morning on a last swing around the ocean, but I wi
ll be back. It should still be a week or three after that before I have to be on my way. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Trindt Simnet waved her ears. “The code translation would go much faster if we could wire our scopes to Human comm stations. I don't suppose you have three or four of those lying around anywhere?”
“Actually, Trindt Simnet,” said Cabal, “I know where six will be available within the week. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement for them?”
Trindt Simnet's entire demeanor lit up. “I'm sure that would be possible.”
Pem laid a cautionary hand on Simnet's arm. “We cannot use any machinery set aside for Parliament or the evacuation crews. It would be noticed if it went missing.”
“Of course.” Trader Cabal bowed his head once. “When I said abandoned, I meant it. This equipment belongs to the Human outpost I am based out of. I'm the only one with the facilities to salvage any of the hardware out of there, and within a week there will be no one left to see what I do with it.”
Vreaith caught her sister's gaze, and Pem nodded. “Then, Trader Cabal,” said Vreaith, “I think we should hear your price.”
Chapter VI
The Council bus was long, battered, and brown. Its engine sputtered. However, it was enclosed from the drizzle that had started up. The fans didn't work, but the roof didn't leak either. Praeis and her daughters, properly stripped for the weather this time, sat on one of the unpadded benches with their arms companionably around each other. The bus was about three-quarters full of mothers, daughters, and sisters from the country heading to the inland city of Charith.
Outside, the flat, ragged grasslands stretched all around them. The weeds opened their gold-and-scarlet rain funnels or spread their waxy green leaves to shelter their bit of ground. In the distance, towering stone walls bisected the meadows to enclose farms and factories.
For the first half of the trip, Praeis had babbled cheerfully to her surprisingly attentive daughters. “See, Res, see Theia, there's the Hytai family compound. Textiles in there mainly. That's Reari. I was a management trainee there for a year before I went into the defense. It's not much more than a glorified warehouse, but it was great training in tracking ebb and flow of supplies. Complex inventory is halfway to logistics. Oh, and that pinkish grey roof over there? That's an orchard under there. Belongs to the Oarn family. They're near family to us. They grow incredible berries. My friends Baya, Kiesh, and Paleth Oarn t'Theria were just taking over from their mother and her sisters when I… left. I wonder if they've still got the management?”
