“You there. I need your console.”
“Of course, sir,” and the officer moved to leave, but Grinek clasped her shoulder and sat her back down in the chair.
“No, I need you to help me.” Grinek searched his mind for the female’s name but came up with nothing. Not as though it mattered. It was remarkable that a member of her sex was serving aboard a Kotaran vessel, but as long as a female did not serve in a combat role, her presence was tolerated in the navy.
He stared at the officer’s screen, which featured a representation of Earth and dotted lines marching like ants across it. It was a graphic of all the planet’s transmissions, currently being monitored by the operations ship.
“Do a voiceprint search on the terms ‘Aaron Vertulfo’ within all police channels. Now.” The officer hesitated, unfamiliar with the spelling of Earth names, and Grinek loudly spelled it phonetically for her. This crew had better learn the local alphabets if they hoped to get by. Once the technician got it right, the computer paused as it scanned the millions of transmissions emanating from the country of Japan. The ship had been outfitted with an array, courtesy of Kotaran Intelligence, that could capture and record most com traffic off the surface. Earth was foolish to still use satellites and relay stations for calls and eavesdropping on these was simple. Kotara switched to global landlines a century earlier to counter precisely that problem.
After a minute or so, a list scrolled down the side of the screen, highlighting a half-dozen police communiqués on which the ship had eavesdropped. They’d been instantaneously translated from English and Japanese into Kotaran.
“Go through them.” The officer complied, selecting all to be played. A number of short messages began, in chronological order, pertaining to the incident at the Earth mall. One described the “persons of interest” in the investigation, which included himself. He briefly thought of Talmar’s remains back in the mall, and wondered how his death would be explained to his family.
The Earth messages yielded nothing new. They confirmed the identity of the dead body as a one Aaron Vertulfo, the Nyden of interest as using the alias “David,” and the human fugitive as a still-unidentified Earthman. Apparently, this Earthman’s headgear was making identification difficult on security screens.
“Godsdamn,” Grinek cursed. He needed to know where the Earthman was heading. He wouldn’t go back to the Nyden’s flat, or to the Mizutani Laboratory. He stuck out his tongue and hissed, turning to the ceiling to stare in thought.
“We were monitoring Vertulfo’s com traffic, were we not?” The rhetorical question was immediately answered in the affirmative by the officer, who hastily brought up the record of the man’s calls. It had taken them days to discover and specifically monitor the scientist’s com number, but once they had it they learned he never said anything of value on it. Certainly nothing about where he was going or what he was working on. In all probability, Vertulfo began to suspect he was being traced, and so took precautions—though that wouldn’t have prevented other people from making a mistake.
“What were the last calls to this number?” Grinek asked, and the call log was instantly brought up on the screen. There was a call earlier that day that had been placed around the time Grinek and Talmar were tailing Vertulfo. The call was not picked up, but the number it came from was still recorded. A perfect way to find out who else wanted to talk with Aaron.
“Find me who owns that number,” Grinek ordered the officer.
“Yes, Commander. It may take a few moments.”
“Do it quickly.” The officer obliged and immediately got to work. The female could go far, thought Grinek, if she continued to show prowess at her communications monitoring abilities. Grinek told himself to look up her name in the roster.
At that moment, Sisal walked onto the bridge—his competence being the he perfect opposite of the comm officer’s—and he was huffing, apparently from running from the hangar bay. He straightened his uniform before speaking.
“I have a three-man team assembled, Commander, though I don’t know where exactly to send them.”
“Then you need to wait, Sisal, until I tell you where to send them. Are they prepared for insertion onto Earth?”
“Earth?” Sisal nearly squealed out the word. Grinek had no idea what prompted this astonishment. “Commander, after what you did on the surface, the Earth authorities will be on high alert!”
Grinek let go of the console and hopped a good five meters across the bridge. One thing Kotarans had inherited from their marsupial ancestors was the ability to leap extreme distances. He landed directly in front of the captain, who, while taller than Grinek, straightened his spine immediately in terror. As advantageous as Sisal’s height was, it was no competition for rank.
“Captain, you will order your team to be ready for insertion either on Earth or on the orbital stations. Their mission will be the apprehension of the Nyden and this Earthman. These are orders that you will follow, Sisal, or I will cut your throat.” Sometimes the best way to dispel insolence was a little motivation. Though no weapon was visible on Grinek’s person, he relied on his reputation to make this threat believable. Sisal trembled before his own crew, which pleased Grinek greatly.
“C-Commander, I-I was only acting upon the orders conveyed from the Hanyek.”
Grinek’s pleasure vanished. The Hanyek? The mothership? What the hell kind of say would they…Vorjos. The political officer. Grinek growled and feinted a move at Sisal, who cowered like a child at lightning. But Grinek did nothing, instead wheeling on his heels and heading for his quarters and a secure transmission line to the Hanyek. It was the politicians that inevitably ruined missions. They stonewalled until the military could only demonstrate a fraction of its capabilities. Well…Grinek was going to have to set Vorjos straight.
***
“David, do you like being a Nyden?”
The question came from Masao, still a little hungover and rubbing his temple while sprawled in his usual manner across two seats. He’d met them at the spaceport and bought them two tickets to orbit, but bought a third for himself in order to “make sure his money was being well spent.” At Grand Central, they’d bought lunch—except for David, who said he’d eaten for the day—and were in the Tubes now, heading toward the Company Entrepot. Roan wasn’t sure how far his copilot was willing to follow them.
“I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Mori.” David’s feathers were ruffling next to Roan, who watched them with fascination through mouthfuls of tuna on wheat. It was eerie how much those feathers seemed to have a mind of their own.
“Of course you do,” Masao continued from across the aisle. “Would you rather be human, is all I meant. Or Bauxen? Do you get tired of that…body of yours?” David’s eyes bulged, a hint of yellow sparkling inside them, an action Roan believed to be one of bemusement more than surprise. Nydens didn’t emote much, at least not with their mouths. He’d heard that they’d evolved a sort of mindset that considered mouths only useful for talking and eating and other meaningless tasks.
“I am perfectly comfortable being Nyden, thank you very much. Though I am curious what it would feel like to be another species. A popular intellectual movement in the Tilesa Riz region of Nydaya teaches that one must spend a year believing you are a member of an alien—” The train screeched to halt and drowned out what he was going to say. Roan looked out the window and saw they were at a transfer station. He scanned the crowds for any thugs that might make a move against him, owing to his sitting next to an alien.
Fortunately, it was just a bunch of Orbitals. These were the men and women who worked in construction on the space stations or manned repair pods for the commercial ships that sailed by. It was hazardous work, but it was a living.
A group of just-off-the-job construction workers passed down the aisle, beefy guys who’d been enveloped in a spacesuit for ten hours. They all wore sunglasses to allow their eyes to adjust to the brightness of the interior. A distinctive funk surrounded the workers,
so Roan was grateful when they moved to the back of the train.
David spoke. “How do you feel being Japanese, Mr. Mori?”
Masao grew wide-eyed. “Huh?”
“You seem to be, and I believe this is the English term, working-class. But based on my experience and reading, the Japanese have some of the highest incomes on Earth. Most do not work on Company freighters, as you and Mr. Roan do. How did this come to pass?”
Masao stared at the alien. Roan put his hand on David’s feathers.
“Another time, David,” he said.
“I didn’t mean to cause offense—”
“Another time.”
The train lurched forward again, rocketing out of the transfer station. “Sweet glory, I’m tired,” Masao said, avoiding David’s question and dropping the subject all at once. He yawned and stretched across the aisle. The man had been up for less than an hour and Roan didn’t see how he could be aching to return to the sheets. He chalked it up to the fact that New Year’s Day was never as good as the preceding Eve. Masao had not shut up about how shitty his night was, preferring to talk about that than offer Roan condolences on Aaron’s death.
Wolfing down the last bite of his sandwich, Roan focused on the Earthscape out the window. He had no idea if Kel was still waiting, or if she was already on her way to Orion. There was so much he’d give to see her in the flesh again. The pad, for one, and whatever bullshit about the origin of life it contained. No chance in hell it was worth all this shit.
“Perhaps you should just go to sleep, Mr. Roan,” David said.
Roan shook his head. “Too much to think about.”
“When I meditate, I try to avoid thinking of conversations or sounds. Even a ticking clock is too much sometimes. So I will go to a truly silent place—which on Nydaya, can be best found inside a library—and concentrate on the images before my eyes. A great Nyden philosopher discussed this at great lengths, you know. She called it, ‘distracting yourself with yourself.’ ”
Roan dismissed the suggestion at first, but in a few seconds he started to take what the Nyden said seriously. The movement of the train was relaxing, and the Earth out the window, rolling slowly past underneath them, was something akin to a lullaby.
Chapter 9
Every Kotaran ship was assigned a political officer. The reasons were simple: in the past, captains had gotten wild ideas and decided to use the firepower at their disposal for selfish purposes. A century ago, the Great Captain Irrenvesso had even overthrown the entire planetary leadership with one loyal starship. In his zeal to make sure no one emulated him, Irrenvesso decreed that the government would monitor every ship that left the planet’s ports. You toed the party line, or you suffered.
Vorjos was one of those instructed to uphold the values of the ruling ideology. He’d been the seed in Grinek’s teeth since they left port and did his best to make sure he was heard prior to any controversial decision. All the way from Kotara, Vorjos hinted that their mission was unnecessary. It was as if he thought the intelligence services and the Ruling Council did not know what they were doing. Grinek suspected Vorjos merely had a brother or uncle who worked in the government, and his rise could be explained by the need to keep the family happy.
In his quarters just adjacent to the main bridge, Grinek flipped activated the desk computer that served as his personal com. He hailed Vorjos’ own channel on the Hanyek. Normally such conversations were conducted with visual communication, but the idea of having to look at Vorjos made both of Grinek’s stomachs churn.
After two rings, the other end came to life with a burst of static.
“Commander!” came a jaunty voice on the line. “Finally returning my hails?”
“Forgive me, Observer, I was occupied.” Protocol demanded Vorjos be called “Observer,” though Grinek thought of a hundred less-official designations more fitting.
“Yes, I was told about the situation before you. That is why you are speaking with me, no? Speaking of speaking, is your visual receiver not working?”
“I am having some problems on this end, Observer.”
“Ah, I see. How unfortunate. Anyway, Commander, I must bring up the subject of what happened on Earth. I’m not here to make a judgment on that case, though of course I have forwarded the information to Kotara with haste.” You would, you kiss-ass perdusch. “But I do have this message to relay: you are not to send another team in among the Earthmen.”
Grinek stifled a gasp, and instead sank his pointed fingertips deep into his desktop. “May I ask, Observer, why this is the case? We will soon know the precise location of the Earthmen.”
The Observer breathed out in a kind of chuckle. No doubt Vorjos was shaking his head in his typical condescending fashion. “Commander, you must realize that we are not trying to antagonize these people. It was very risky of you to even expose yourself on Earth, without a disguise, and attempt to apprehend this Vertulfo to get your valued information. You failed, and, from the reports I’ve been given, several Earthmen died. Do you know what this will mean for us?”
“If you are implying it will mean war, Observer, then you are mistaken. This is not something the Earthmen go to war over. Besides, they are too busy dealing with unrest on their colonies. There is nothing they can do about it now.”
“I’m not talking now, Commander, I’m talking later. You and your colleague killed Earthmen in a very public place. Earth is not going to take this lightly. There’s going to be a diplomatic protest, I can assure you of that. And when Earth starts looking into it, when this colonial insurrection is put down, they’re going to start asking questions about what you did, and they may discover it leads all the way to the regime.”
“I doubt that very much. This will all disappear soon enough.”
“You put too much faith in this discovery you plan to make,” Vorjos said. Grinek knew the political officer was extremely skeptical of the goals of this mission, and was anxious to learn all the details of the information Vertulfo possessed, presumably for mockery. It was just one of his many manifestations of idiocy.
“Observer, we are following targets that possess vital information as we speak. I am supposed to give the order to capture them, but I am here talking with you. Either we get them on Earth or we lose them.”
“Or you lose them, Commander.” Vorjos let the words linger for a moment. Seething, Grinek picked up a silver plate from his desk and squeezed it until it cracked, flinging the remains toward his cot. Vorjos continued. “The Council is not going to like another major incident on Earth. This whole thing was supposed to be Segen Kresha Voo…Since you can’t guarantee secrecy, I suggest you wait for another opportunity to seize these people. Are your targets planning to leave the system?”
“It is possible they are heading for a ship to escape. We are not sure.”
“You should find it easy to stop a moving ship, am I correct?” The Observer never commanded, as it was in his duty to observe. But he could strongly imply a course of action. After all, his word was always the word of the government.
“It is entirely possible,” Grinek allowed.
“Excellent! Commander, I wish you well on your new course of action. I look forward to being able to interrogate these prisoners.”
“Of course, Observer.” And Grinek clicked off. He then roared and slammed his fists against the desk, denting the metal and causing the computer to reset. The politicians, as usual, could be counted on to politicize everything.
Grinek hopped to his door and banged it open, startling a crewman passing by outside. Not giving him a thought, Grinek marched back onto the bridge, where Sisal was ordering the ship to continue its lazy orbit around Earth.
“Where is the information I asked for?” Grinek roared, spotting the female communications officer chatting with another crewman. Seeing her commanding officer present, she quickly turned back to his console and began typing.
“I have a number,” the officer responded, meekly. Grinek leaned over her shoulder a
nd eyed the information displayed. The person who had called Vertulfo earlier in the day was a one Nicholas Roan of Tokyo. His account information, address and other irrelevant details scrolled by, line by line.
“A picture,” Grinek said. “I want a picture.”
“I took the liberty of getting one from the databanks of the Earth Freight Company. The name matches the address.” A real-image of this Nicholas Roan came up on screen. A peach-skinned male, average build, with light brown or yellow hair. It was definitely the same one that Grinek had seen helping Vertulfo in the mall, albeit a few years younger.
“That’s him. Now give me his com records.”
“Already done, Commander.” The officer brought up another window and Grinek was astonished at her competency. To do a task that was not explicitly assigned! Perhaps the Kotaran navy needed more female members. On the screen, a long list of calls was displayed, obtained after tapping into the records of whichever provider the man used for his calls. Two were dated with the current date, including the one made to Vertulfo in the morning, and another one made, according to the timestamp, some fifteen minutes previously.
“Play that one!” Grinek said, jamming a claw into the console. According to the information provided by the call tap, the communication was placed to one Masao Mori of north Tokyo. The actual content of the call revealed that a man named “Nick” was heading with a Nyden to the spaceport and eventually to the “Tubes,” the orbital skyway. Their ultimate goal was a ship leaving for Orion to meet a person named Kel.
There was no question that this Roan was the man they sought, and he was planning to leave the planet.
“They’re likely headed to the Company Entrepot,” Sisal observed, arms folded in front as he stared out the viewscreen at the planet. Unfortunately, all he had to offer was a dead stare. Sisal couldn’t make the leap and speak out loud what the next step would be.
“Now, Captain, is the time where you send your men in to capture them.”
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