“That is an unusual request, Admiral,” Konstantinov admitted haltingly. He silently asked his First Officer where the Quotterim vessel was as the forward bridge hologram was empty of any ships. To Konstantinov’s embarrassment the First Officer merely shrugged and shook his head. The Siberian attempted to hide the vexation in his voice, saying, “Admiral, I’ve no problem with taking you aboard, though I must warn you I’ve little patience for trickery. Unfortunately, at the moment we do not have your ship on our scanners. Can you give me your position?”
“There is no problem with your scanners, Captain. We have no ship, so it is quite understandable that you have no sensor return.”
Incredulous silence.
“Captain Konstantinov?”
“I’m sorry, Admiral, I’m afraid I don’t quite understand. Do you mean to tell me you are not on a ship?”
“That is correct, Captain Konstantinov.”
“They threw you off their ship? They pushed you off into space?”
“That is a correct observation, Captain,” Senn’tyr informed the Siberian. “I regret to be insistent, Captain, but we were unable to fully prepare for this eventuality. These uniforms carry a limited amount of life support, and we shall shortly be dangerously low.”
“Keep transmitting, we’ll be right there!” Konstantinov ordered. “Helm home in on their signal, flank on the sub-light engines! First Officer, clear the conning tower and open the hatch. Suit up. You’ll be the one fishing them out of the drink!” The First Officer left hurriedly, and Konstantinov placed himself behind the helmsman for the delicate rendezvous. The helms navigational screen, a small flat plate viewer with geometric guidance cues, displayed the Quotterim’s transmitter as a pulsating beacon. Quickly but with great care the helmsmen followed the screen, and Konstantinov’s promptings. In fifteen minutes the Gagarin was slowing to a stop underneath a small circle of free floating beings. Shortly the First Officer reported that he’d successfully gotten a rope to them and was pulling them into the conning tower. The apparent success of the maneuver brought a chuckle out of Konstantinov.
“Well this isn’t something that happens every day! Keep sharp on the tactical, if this is a trap I want time enough to shove those bastards back into space where we got them!” The Captain, despite his misgivings, did not lose his humor over the situation. After all six Quotterim were within the conning tower the hatch was closed. The tower depressurized as the ship got under way again. This necessary chore accomplished the upper hatch opened and the Quotterim, the tallest of whom measured only a meter, carefully negotiated the widely spaced steps of the ladder. Konstantinov was openly amused at the appearance of his guests, though it was understood on the bridge that this freedom of expression did not transfer to his crew. For the Captain and his crew it was the first time they’d met an alien in the flesh, and though they’d seen photographs it turned out to be a completely different sensation than any of them expected. Some of the bridge crew turned intently to their duties, but most simply stared. The Captain laughed.
“Well, well here are the poor souls who walked the plank! The blasted Golkos, they’re no better than our own pirates!” Konstantinov chortled as Admiral Senn’tyr stepped off the ladder awkwardly and approached the Siberian. The Captain towered above the Quotterim, hands on hips, but promptly snapped a smart salute. The smile turned serious, though it did not disappear, and Konstantinov welcomed the Admiral aboard.
Senn’tyr seemed put out, and was quick to say, “I thank you for your rescue, Captain Konstantinov. I have no illusions as to our position. We are without ship, haven or empire. As beings go we are destitute, escaping with nothing but our lives. We are your prisoners, sir.”
“Hmmm, you are quite glum Admiral Senn’tyr, but you have cause to be. It’s been a bad couple of days for your people, but like as not you’ve seen the worst of it. You’ll not be mistreated aboard the Gagarin, at least. Though I caution you against expectation: we’re a warship, not a cruise ship on the Black Sea! I doubt you’ll be as comfortable as you’re used, but I don’t think you’ll be as uncomfortable as you fear.”
Konstantinov was, in his own way, trying to ease the anxiety of these harmless looking being’s. He motioned for the Admiral and his staff to follow him to the Officer’s Mess, which doubled as the conference room. Space was limited on the Gagarin, as with all submarines, so many things had dual purposes. The Officer’s Mess contained just enough space for the Senior Officers on board to eat together. There was a jug of coffee, an ethernet viewer and tactical display. It was rather cramped for the entirety of the Quotterim party, Konstantinov, and the marine guards; so the Captain had all the Quotterim but the Admiral escorted to their quarters. The Siberian remained with the Admiral and a marine.
Konstantinov poured himself some coffee, and provided some water for Admiral Senn’tyr at the Quotterim’s request. While the Quotterim sat at the table, Konstantinov lounged in the corner of the room. Sipping his coffee the Captain cocked his head and studied his guest minutely.
“Admiral let me set your mind at ease. Terran doctrine frowns upon the mistreatment of prisoners. Your party and yourself shall not be physically or mentally abused, at least not on purpose. We are, however, unfamiliar with your physiology so if there are certain requirements we need to account for, or certain questions we need to address, then you need to let us know. Is that understood?” When the Quotterim assented he continued. “Now as to our intentions I cannot honestly answer all you might wish to know. For the time being you will be detained, but as I said previously this is a warship. It is not a prison ship. As our two states were until very recently at war I shall seek guidance on more permanent accommodations. At the moment is there any particular need you and your people require?”
Admiral Senn’tyr shrugged in a very Terran manner, saying, “That is difficult to say, Captain, we drink water as do you, but we left without the Golkos without any of our personal stores or equipment. At the moment I have no way of telling whether or not your food is suitable for our physiology. I doubt that the problem was of particular concern to Grand Admiral Khandar.”
At the mentioning of the Golkos commander Captain Konstantinov’s brow rose. “Actually, I think we can solve that once I talk to headquarters,” he said, addressing the Quotterim’s concern first. “We have contingents of Chem and Scythians acting as neutral observers, and doubtless they can help us in this matter. It might help me, however, to know more about how you came to be here, Admiral. Can you enlighten me?”
The Quotterim commander told his story to a fascinated Captain Konstantinov. She omitted nothing of the details of the final council with the Grand Admiral, to whom she felt no lasting loyalty. When it came to the moment where the Quotterim were expelled from the Golkos flagship Konstantinov admired the Quotterim’s ingenuity and foresight, but was horrified to find that the Syraptose and Bael had joined their comrades. All too obviously the Terran assumed he’d left the Syraptose in space, and the Quotterim had not thought their confederates important enough to warrant their attention. Senn’tyr allayed his host’s misgivings.
“Unfortunately our former allies were unprepared for this eventuality. While all uniforms possess a temporary sustaining field in their design the Syraptose and the Bael did not supplement their suits with emergency power packs. It is an interesting point of distinction in our two peoples. Neither the Quotterim or the Syraptose possess any significant amount of trust for the Golkos or the Seer’koh. The Syraptose, however, seem to feel that any overt action on this distrust would only aggravate their situation. The Quotterim and Bael, obviously, do not agree with that assessment.”
“That is to your credit,” Konstantinov remarked, adding, “I would now like to inform my superiors. I would ask that you remain, as I am certain there are questions to be answered.”
“My only duty is to Quotterim, Captain Konstantinov, I no longer have any ties to the Alliance,” Senn’tyr told him. “I will answer any questions which do not furt
her endanger my people.”
“I’m certain that will be sufficient,” Konstantinov commented, and made the connection.
CHAPTER 30
She-Rok, the Hrang Master stepped respectfully into Kvel Mavek’s office. The Pro Consul was alone, waiting patiently. It was three decurns since the collapse of the Quotterim and Syraptose resistance to Terra, and a foreboding gloom filled the halls of the Alliance. Throughout the remnants of the confederation was a rising hysteria amongst the populace, and a burgeoning fear of Alexander and the Terran fleets. Planetary defenses were manned round the clock. Skittish militias rang the bombardment sirens every time a cargo ship dropped out of superluminal. More than once the planetary defense projectors opened up without warning, blasting hapless civilian ships to dust before ever ascertaining their identity. The cities were evacuated of all but essential personnel. Those that remained sent their families to the country, spending their days in a nervous malaise and their nights in shelters. Not since the ancient wars of Chem expansion had the galaxy known such fear.
Both the Hrang and the Kempec were sensitive to the hysteria, the halls outside the office in Roma were almost deserted; but they also saw a dire personal need in the danger. Once the door was sealed the Hrang bowed.
“My congratulations, Madame Pro Consul, in convening this etherlink with Grand Admiral Khandar with the full Council as witness you allow him to make his case directly, and not through an intermediary: that is to say yourself.”
Mavek nodded. The astute Kempec had no desire to be swayed by Khandar’s optimistic militancy and then be forced to convince her political colleagues in his course. There was more to it, which the Master clearly understood.
The Master helped himself to a seat, his entire manner conspiratorial. “As I see it,” he continued, “there are those among us, both personally and as peoples who will see the Grand Admiral’s desire to forge ahead with the offensive advantageous.”
“If by that you mean the Golkos, I quite agree,” the Pro Consul replied coolly. She punched up the necessary data on her screens and amplified the Hrang’s insinuation. “The Golkos by their execution of the Terrans have put themselves in a precarious position. Alexander has made the recovery of his people a very public matter, whether it is genuine or not, and there is little doubt that the occupied governments of Syraptose and Quotterim will furnish Alexander with all the knowledge pertinent to the issue. It will be a grave consideration for the Alliance, but more especially to the Golkos. I’ve no doubt as to what the Golkos representative on the Council will favor.”
“Is that so unique a position?” The Hrang asked evenly. “Certainly if we were to halt the offensive on Alexander and relieve the pressure on Terra there are many things which would come to light. Alexander would be free to pick and choose his worlds to conquer, and his worlds to parley with. What might an empire sell him to be one of the latter peoples? Information perhaps? Or is it already too late for that? The Syraptose and Quotterim were privy to many things in our councils, not the least of which were the authors of the Terran executions. The Golkos have their crimes to hide and rightly see Alexander in no favorable light. They are committed to war to the end. Yet are they the only ones? What else could our former confederates pass on to Alexander? What else might concern us, both of us, quite personally?”
“Your point?” Mavek said sternly.
“My point? Only that Alexander has historically taken a dim view on assassination attempts. Didn’t we discuss this once before?” She-Rok smiled irritatingly, his scaled lips showing short blunted teeth. “You remember, of course, that this support of the Terran assassination plans had the benefit and active support of both the Kempec and the Hrang. Now Alexander is inclined from what we’ve seen do be magnanimous in his victory is he not?”
“You are correct,” Mavek admitted. “Alexander has extended very reasonable terms to both the Quotterim and the Syraptose. To each empire he has extended the rights he gave the Scythians; that is the right to keep their Homeworlds inviolate, and full memberships in their so-called Galactic Federation. Both worlds must allow colonization by other members of the Galactic Federation on all habitable planets without the Homeworlds, but they also have those rights in Terran space. It is disturbing, though on the surface reasonable.”
“He has even gone so far as to grant them a quota of two hundred and fifty ships for a Homeworld defense force; the rest to enter a Galactic Defense Fleet,” She-Rok noted.
“In other words a Terran fleet,” Mavek corrected. Then she sighed in exasperation. “The conditions are patently unacceptable to the logical ear, Master She-Rok; but damningly reasonable to the terrified ear of the populace.”
“So much more important our own resolve to this question of the war,” She-Rok insisted.
“Go on,” the Pro Consul told him.
“Alexander’s benevolence will almost certainly fall upon peoples, though not necessarily on individuals,” he explained. “It is highly possible that given similar terms the Alliance members might accede to peace separately with Alexander, leaving those of us with blood on our hands to face his anger alone. Certainly the Golkos are at risk, and deservedly so, but included as well are the Hrang and the Kempec. Now our crimes are not so great in comparison, but where Alexander meets out mercy to a people he might very well deal his own brand of justice to individuals.”
“Are we then to sell our states into this continuing war to save our persons?”
“If the thought that the name of Kvel Mavek being mentioned to Alexander does not make you shudder then by all means withhold your support at the Council,” She-Rok told his compatriot. He waited for an answer, but there was none. Mavek was silent. Finally She-Rok nodded. “Then that is four. The Hrang have sufficient cause to warrant a continuation of the conflict, at the moment, as do the Golkos, and your own people. The Seer’koh are well within the Golkos camp, so I would assume we have four out of eight votes on the Council. That gives us what we need then, for as Pro Consul you not only cast a ballot for your people but serve as the tie breaker. We have the votes to give Grand Admiral Khandar his continuance then, to all our profits!”
Mavek simply nodded grimly, leaving the office with the Hrang in tow to attend the Council.
#
“Alexander, I think you should hear this: the Gagarin has picked up some Quotterim, marooned courtesy of the Golkos,” Admiral Augesburcke informed the Overlord, interrupting his working breakfast.
Alexander just munched on his toast and stared at his computer screens. He had the transcripts of various interviews with Syraptose and Quotterim government officials on his screens and he was digesting them even as he devoured his breakfast.
“Blast and be bothered anyway,” he exclaimed, almost amused at the amount of activity he’d caused around the cosmos. “Doesn’t the galaxy know I’m busy? I have here the keys to unlocking this Alliance but I can’t put them together if these people continue stirring the pot. Not you, Admiral, the Alliance. Why can’t they just go about their invasion business while they have a chance and let me work? As for the Gagarin what is our intrepid Konstantinov doing with himself now? Since when has rescuing poor stranded Quotterim from some deserted world been enough excitement for him? Couldn’t he just leave them be and find some more serious trouble to get himself into?”
Augesburcke laughed dryly. He had come to know that Alexander’s sarcastic, sometimes rambling sense of humor was a way for him to handle stress. At this point in time with the Alliance fleets approaching Terra and the Terran fleets still days behind them Alexander was feeling the stress. Augesburcke coughed slightly and continued his account anyway, a certain sign to Alexander that the Admiral thought the interruption warranted. The Overlord glanced up from his screens and listened.
“Actually Konstantinov rescued them from space, Alexander,” Augesburcke told him intently. “The Captain reports that the Golkos, upon hearing the news of the Syraptose and Quotterim surrender, promptly jettisoned their repre
sentatives into space; making them, as he put it, walk the plank.”
“Monstrous! There’s not a cuddly side to these Golkos is there? I suppose I shouldn’t talk, considering my past life as a pirate,” Alexander mentioned under his breath, as he thought over Augesburcke’s news.
“Unfortunately there were no other survivors,” the Admiral continued, “however; the Quotterim survivors include their ranking admiral who was privy to all of Grand Admiral Khandar’s councils and his strategy.”
“Indeed?” Alexander queried, his face lighting up. “Now that might just be worthwhile! These interviews are all well and good but the Golkos and their cronies have taken great care to let as little news filter out of the Alliance organization and back to the member states as possible. We know all we need of their strategic timing and the requirements of Quotterim and Syraptose support, but precious little else. I don’t know whether we are asking the wrong questions or the wrong people, but an interview with this Quotterim might prove worth our while; that is, if they are willing to talk.”
“After her experience with Golkos gratitude Captain Konstantinov reports that Admiral Senn’tyr is not only willing, but quite eager to talk, Alexander,” Augesburcke smiled.
“Excellent! Let’s get to it then!” Alexander exclaimed, jumping up and striding out of his quarters to the conference room. In only a few moments the Communications Officer had the etherlink set up, and Captain Konstantinov appeared on the screen. The Siberian expected to speak to a representative of the Admiralty, but to his surprise it was Alexander himself who appeared on his viewer.
“Good morning Captain Konstantinov,” Alexander greeted him. “It seems you’ve been busy again. You have a nose for the ball, so to speak, as things continue to happen wherever you go. I understand you’ve picked up some guests?”
Alexander Galaxus: The Complete Alexander Galaxus Trilogy Page 79
