As Trel stepped up to her side, a voice came over a loudspeaker system. “Attention in the ship. Prepare for the transition to Netherspace.”
“Netherspace?” Mehta said, aware this could be the first bit of information into how their technology worked.
“Sh,” Trel said, holding out his hand to signal her to stop. She noticed that Aahliss had also come to a halt.
“What’s going on?”
“If you’re walking when it happens,” Trel said, “you might fall down.”
The bulkhead beneath her feet shuddered like a small earthquake, a loud rumbling echoing through the hangar, and all the people keeping their balance by holding out their arms.
“Okay,” Trel said, and he continued into the hangar.
“What’s Netherspace?”
“I don’t know,” Trel said. “It’s just a place we go where the distances are somehow shrunk.”
“Another dimension, then? Hyperspace?”
Trel shrugged. “You can call it that. The Dakh Hhargash call it ‘Overspace,’ and the Rajeen call it ‘the short cut.’”
“How do you get into it?”
“I don’t understand the physics behind it all,” Trel said. “I just know it works.”
That was strange, she thought. All the pilots she had ever known seemed to want to talk endlessly about thrust, lift and drag. Why wouldn’t a Mralan pilot be similarly into the physics of space flight?
“Come,” he said, and she turned to face a small group of Mralans in the far end of the room, dominated by a tall man with a large, beak-like nose, which he held high. Or was it just exaggerated good posture? He smiled warmly, then frowned as Aahliss rushed past him. “Aahliss? Aahliss, won’t you stay?”
Aahliss stopped, her back to everyone, shoulders stiff. They waited, and finally, she turned around and forced a smile. “I shouldn’t miss this, should I?”
Sounded like she thought the Mralans were all going to explode as soon as they met Ramirez.
Mehta walked up to the tall man, aware that her team was trailing her and would remain behind her. Trel walked up to stand beside her.
She put her hand up to her throat, the Mralan equivalent of a handshake. “Greetings from Earth.”
“Greetings,” he said. “I am Fmedg, the ship’s senior facilitator.”
“Facilitator?” Mehta said. “You mean, you’re the captain?”
Fmedg blinked twice. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“That word didn’t translate,” Trel supplied.
Good heavens, did that mean what she thought it meant? Did none of the Mralan ships have a command structure? Was this lack of leadership by design? What would ever make them think such a system would work?
“I sense you disapprove of something,” Fmedg said.
“I’m sure I’ll figure out where the disconnect is,” she said.
His smile returned. “Good. We consider ourselves very fortunate to have you and your team here to instruct us, and I pledge we will do everything we can to cooperate.”
“Thank you. First, of course, we’ll need to learn how you operate, so we know where the differences are between our two systems.”
“My thoughts, as well. I think you will find our ship and crew operate at peak efficiency.” Now his smile began to look condescending. “I have assigned one crew member for each of your personnel. Trel will go with you.”
“Thank you,” she said, a little waver in her voice that she hoped the others didn’t hear. Was it a good idea to spend so much time with Trel? She still felt tingling every time she looked at him, and that couldn’t be good. It could put her off balance, and she needed to have it all together to be a success on this job.
Three of the Mralans who stood behind Fmedg moved forward to stand beside their human counterparts, a tall woman for Davis, and men for both Hiranaka and Ramirez.
“Your escorts will take you to your assigned quarters, where you can get settled in,” Fmedg continued. “Then, you may ask for a tour of the ship, or whatever else suits your needs.”
“Good,” Mehta said, turning to them. “Davis, I want you to find out what kinds of staff functions are already being done here, and by whom, then find out if we have enough assets to create what’s missing. Hiranaka, get to know the capabilities of the ship in terms of maneuver. And Ramirez, start working on PIR.”
“PIR?” the short man standing next to him said.
“Priority Intelligence requirements,” Ramirez said. “It’s a list of things we need to know about the enemy.”
“Oh, we don’t know anything about them,” the man said with a sad shake of his head.
“Then we’ll have to fix that,” Ramirez said, his smile confident.
“Excellent,” Fmedg said. “I’ve scheduled a meeting with the council in about an hour, where we will discuss how we shall proceed with our experiment.”
“Very good,” Mehta said, though she felt a slight tremble. That wasn’t much time for her to prepare her presentation for them. In fact, she wasn’t positive what her presentation should be, and she never liked to “wing” it. Perfection came through lots of preparation.
“Then this evening, during second supper, we shall get together in the Hall of the Spirits for a social event.”
“A party!” Davis said, a broad grin lighting his face. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
Mehta shook her head. “There probably won’t be any alcohol there.” These were aliens, after all, very technologically advanced, and over-all happy people, from what she could tell. They wouldn’t have come up with reasons for recreational substances.
“Who cares?” David said with a grin. “As long as they have something that tastes like fried chicken.”
Mehta chuckled. Yes, that would be everything Davis needed. He could eat enormous quantities of fried foods, especially chicken, thighs and drumsticks.
But she didn’t have time right now to enjoy the moment. There were just too many things to do. She turned back to Fmedg. “If you don’t mind now, we need to begin our work. The first thing I need to do is contact Earth.”
“Quite right,” he said with a slight nod, then turned to a short man standing next to him.
“Mlendish, please take Colonel Mehta to the communications room and put her through to Earth.”
Mlendish frowned, looking like an evil troll. “You take her.”
Fmedg sighed. “All right, then. Trel, you take her.”
Damn, Mehta thought. What am I? The black plague?
Trel shook his head.
Et tu, Trel?
“They won’t take my word for it,” Trel said. “I need someone from communications.”
“Mlendish?” Fmedg said.
“Why don’t you take her?”
Fmedg stiffened, staring down at Mlendish. “I need to go back to the bridge in case the Dakh Hhargash reappear.”
“Oh, they’re gone!” Mlendish said, throwing up his hands. “They’re not coming back until they see we’ve left the system. You know that.”
“Mlendish, please,” Fmedg said.
Mehta shook her head. This was the craziest ship operation she had ever seen. Didn’t anyone have authority to give orders?
Mlendish huffed loudly. “All right. But you come, too,” he said, pointing a finger at Trel.
“No problem.”
Mlendish marched out of the shuttle hangar and Mehta followed him, Trel trailing behind. “Mlendish,” she said, “what’s the problem?”
“I’m sensitive.”
“No, you’re not,” Trel said. “You’re just lazy.”
“Not true!”
“And ornery!”
“Oh, please!”
Once they arrived at communications, Mehta called Earth and made her closing report—arrived safely, all personnel accounted for. Then, they were back in the hall. “Okay,” Trel said brightly, “let me show you to your room.”
“Can you take me to someone who knows about Sp
ecies X?”
“I can take you to the tactical expert,” he said, now sounding a little more tentative.
“Let’s go.”
He pointed to the right. “You seem very agitated.”
“This is nothing. Can’t we walk faster?”
He lengthened his stride. They headed into yet another hallway, making several turns as they proceeded. Now they were in a hallway painted in soft blues and greens. Pot-shaped protrusions filled with dirt festooned the walls, spewing out ivy-like vines or hanging flowers, wafting sweet odors into the air.
Now this is how to set up a space ship.
She stopped to sniff at a golden blossom, its delicate scent sweet and light, giving her the feeling of breathing pure oxygen, fresh and simple. Mehta took several large breaths and tried to calm her mind, maybe even use some of the meditation techniques her aunt had taught her when she was in grade school. But that had been a long time ago, and she had thought it all stupid. Now, when she really needed it, she wasn’t sure how well she could do it.
When she straightened, Trel grinned at her. “I’m glad you liked it,” he said.
“Reminded me of where I grew up,” she said.
“I’d like to hear about it.”
She shrugged and started walking again. “Not much to tell.”
“Okay. But now that you’re more relaxed... I mean... I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but—”
“Then why are you about to tell me?” She looked at him with a smile. “You think it’s that important?”
“I think you have competent people working for you.”
“So do I.”
“No, you don’t.”
His confidence that he knew her thoughts unnerved her. How much could he tell about her, and what was he making up? “Care to explain that?”
“You didn’t really give them anything to do.”
She pulled her brows together. “I sent them to find out stuff. That’s the first thing we need to do. You wouldn’t want us coming in here changing things when we don’t even know how your processes work, would you?”
“I don’t have any complaint about that.”
They turned a corner, then found an elevator. He pressed a button third from the top.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“You could have given Davis a follow-on assignment, to work on creating this staff thing. I sensed that it is extremely important to the way you fight.”
“Yes, very important. The staff is the commander’s eyes and ears, the commander’s think-tank—”
The doors opened, and he stepped out, pointing to the left. “You’re getting off topic.”
Damn it. How did he notice she was deliberately trying to side-track the initial accusation? And why was she feeling accused? Defensive? Did that mean there was something to what he said? “Davis is a good officer, and he’ll come back with all the information we need to plan this thing out.”
“Whatever you say. But you want to be deeply involved in putting the staff together.”
True, she wanted to have her fingers in everything. That was how she succeeded, how she made certain everything was done properly, every i was dotted, every t was crossed. But that didn’t mean she didn’t trust her subordinates to do a good job. They just wouldn’t be able to do as well as she.
“You’re not denying that?” he said.
“I’m a micro-manager,” she said. “I want to be ‘deeply involved’ in everything.”
“I guess there’s nothing I can say to change your mind.”
“It’s the way I work, Trel.”
He shook his head. “It’s your fear.”
“Will you get out of my head?”
“Sorry. I’m not doing it deliberately. I just sense things.”
They took one more turn. “This is the office of the tactical expert. His name is Pkrish.” Trel opened a door, then stuck his head into the room and looked around. He straightened, then sighed. “Pkrish isn’t here right now. We can come back later.”
“Great.” She paced a few steps. “I don’t have a lot of time to waste.”
“You have a lot of questions. Want to ask me?”
She considered it for a moment. “As long as you don’t go back to how involved I get.”
“Promise.”
They found a place where the hall widened into a small alcove with chairs and a mini table. “This is a good spot,” Trel said. “I’ll be able to see when Pkrish gets back.”
“Good. Now, tell me about the command structure of the ship.”
His face went blank. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
Crap. More words that didn’t translate? This was getting annoying. “Tell me how the ship is organized, personnel-wise.”
“Oh,” he said brightly. “It’s simple. Every area of the ship has people who work there specifically. They specialize. Like engineering, communications, the control center, the tactical center.” He paused, then scratched his head. “You’re getting more agitated.”
“I’m not getting the answer I’m looking for.”
She’d expected him to say something like, You’re not asking the right questions, but he remained silent. He must have realized she already knew that, and she was working to come up with another way to get at the issue. “How do decisions get made on the ship?”
“Which decisions?”
“Big decisions. Tactical decisions. Decisions about what to do when you’re confronted by another ship.”
“There’s not usually much to decide at that point.”
She clamped her mouth shut, so her angry outburst wouldn’t escape her lips.
“You think that was stupid,” he said.
“Did you and I not watch the same battle with Species X? Didn’t you notice how many decisions were needing to be made?”
His gaze dropped to his shoes, and he let out a little huff. “Species X is a special case.”
Time to take the question in a different direction. “When we first started watching the battle, you said they had a plan. How did they make their plan?”
“They had a meeting with all the facilitators on the ship, led by the senior facilitator, and they discussed the various options available. They tried to come up with new options. They tried to anticipate what would happen.”
“This is good,” she said, partly because it was, and partly because she thought she’d been throwing too many negative thoughts at him. A little encouragement could go a long way. “Then what?”
“Then they would eventually find a plan or two that most of them liked best, and they would vote on it.”
“Vote?”
“You’re getting agitated again.”
“Hell, yes. They vote?”
“Right. Once they have a winning plan, then all those who didn’t vote for that plan are asked if they will go along with the plan, or if they’re going to continue to oppose.”
“This is how you make decisions? Consensus?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing’s wrong if you have all the time in the world.” A wave of dizziness hit her. Changing their way of operation was probably going to be much harder than she’d realized. She was going to have to change an entire culture.
And years of experience working in foreign countries had taught her that altering the way people thought and dealt with each other was the hardest mission of all.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When Pkrish finally returned, they followed him into a small office, dark and crowded, with a single computer, and a wall-sized bookshelf filled with plastic squares.
“She wants to hear about Species X,” Trel said.
Pkrish sighed. “Fine. But I don’t know what to tell her. We don’t know anything.”
“You know what their ships look like.”
“Okay, sure.”
“And you know where they normally attack.”
“Okay. I see what you mean. But I don’t concentrate on t
hem. I concentrate on us.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s why they call me ‘tactical expert’,” he said. “I study our tactics and try to figure out what hasn’t already been done. If we can find a new tactic, something that will work against Species X, then we can win.”
She shook her head with exasperation. “Then who studies Species X?”
“Let me show you what I do.” He tapped on his computer. “This is a graphic depicting all the tactics that have been tried, and how many times they’ve been used.”
“Who works on figuring out stuff about Species X?” she said again.
Pkrish gave her a blank look. “We’ve never spoken to them, never met one of them, don’t even know what they look like. How are we supposed to come up with anything about them?”
“You’ve seen them in battle.”
“What good would that do?”
“Cripe,” she said, standing and walking to the wall, where she leaned her forehead against the soft plastic. “None of this makes sense.”
“What’s so difficult to understand?”
“You people are intelligent, resourceful, clever… and yet when it comes to battle, you’re totally clueless.”
Pkrish puckered his mouth, like he’d just bit into an unripe grapefruit. “We’ve been working very hard to figure out what to do.”
“And you’ve started in the wrong direction.”
He creased his brow and stared.
“Let me ask you this,” she said. “How long is the history of your people?”
“Fifteen thousand years, more or less. We have archeology going back to at least twenty thousand.”
“And during all the thousands of years before you got out into space, how many wars did you have?”
“What?” Pkrish said. “That word didn’t translate.”
“Oh my God. Didn’t you ever fight with each other, say to control the other group, or get their possessions?”
He looked aghast. “If people have a dispute, they go to the local arbiter. But the arbiter would never allow you to gain control over others.”
No Plan Survives (Tales from the Protectorate Book 1) Page 9
