The star rippled; its gravity and solar wind shimmering like a heatwave across the main screen. The little ship rocked and ebbed on the tide.
As Bismarck drew near, she felt the pull of the hypergiant. Giacomo pulsed retros, countering the pull while keeping their bow to the gate.
John logged into the gate and set the co-ordinates. The receiver lit up and the gate activated. Lights cascaded along its vertical beams and the space between them rippled to match the hypergiant. The lights shone a steady blue and the gate was open.
The process took less than a second.
Giacomo steered the ship through the gate. The rippling cleared instantly and she was out the other side into clear space.
Navigation recalibrated to their current co-ordinates and set the star maps. McReidy locked in their first destination and Giacomo set course.
Leaving McReidy in charge, John retreated to his office and set about studying protocols. Zimon and a couple of others were going to be all right, but then they were going to hit Stelicor – a world he hadn’t been to.
He hit the intercom to the bridge. “Anyone been to Stelicor?”
All replies were negative and his frustrated sigh filled the bridge.
“Someone get me some coffee.” He switched the intercom off and leaned back in his chair, rubbing the heel of his hand across his forehead.
He lowered his hand and stared at the small screen on the console. Stelicor – just the first of worlds he hadn’t been to. And that no one else on the ship had been to.
Command had sent him a heap of information on all the worlds on his list. That only took a backseat to anyone who’d actually been there. There was nothing like being able to talk to someone.
His fingers drummed the desk and he chewed on his bottom lip while he thought.
The door beeped and he let in Gillespie with a fresh pot of hot coffee.
“Thank you,” John’s face softened.
Gillespie nodded acknowledgement and left him to it.
The first sip went down well, warming him and clearing his head. He put a call through to Kuiper, wondering if Mark was home.
A minute later the familiar face and warm tone greeted him. “John, how are you?”
“Good, thanks,” he answered. “Are you busy?”
“No, the rest of my afternoon’s free.”
“Good. I was after some information. I’ve got a whole list of worlds to visit and most of them I’ve never been to. Neither has anyone on the ship. I was wondering if you could help me out.”
“I’ll tell you what I can.”
John smiled, and took another sip of his coffee.
* * *
Zimon came up on the main screen. A system of six inhabited planets and more than twenty moons orbiting a yellow dwarf. John made contact and reeled off the appropriate protocols. He was put through to the Governor General, addressing the person-specific etiquette and was greeted approvingly.
“Yes, yes, nasty business what’s going on in the outer reaches,” the Governor General conceded, his eyes remaining on John while his attention flitted about the bridge. “It hasn’t affected business yet, but I can see how it might if it is allowed to continue.”
“My superiors would like to engage in an alliance with your world,” John said.
“An alliance?” The Governor General’s head tilted almost forty five degrees to one side. “You wish to engage us in a war that is not of our concern?”
“No,” John shook his head. He’d read the various treaties. Command had anticipated such questions and provided answers. “We would like to formalise an agreement to keep trade open.”
The Governor General’s head straightened and his brow creased, dropping low enough to cover his eyes before raising again.
“I do not see the need for such a formal agreement. As you can see,” he swept his hand horizontally across the front of his body as though showing what he was speaking of, “from the number and variety of ships that trade here, formal agreements are hardly necessary.”
“May I come down and discuss it –”
The frown reappeared.
“Or I could send a copy of the agreement for your perusal.”
“That will be sufficient.”
John tapped the keypad in the arm of his chair, opened the file and sent the treaty.
The Governor General’s gaze lowered. His pupils widened then contracted as though artificially focusing. A few seconds later, he looked back up to the screen.
“This seems straight forward and mildly beneficial. I extend a dinner invitation to you and one other where we can discuss it properly.”
“Thank you.”
“I will send details…”
John looked across to Tan, who nodded the moment the information came through.
“Do not be late. I am a busy man.”
The transmission ended and the screen returned to its view of the planet they were orbiting.
“Fifty two minutes. Formal,” Tan advised.
“Giacomo,” John decided, knowing the pilot had been there before.
Giacomo nodded.
“McReidy, you’re in charge.” John hit the intercom. “Mister North, Mister Hartford, to the bridge.”
* * *
It seemed a dozen or more guests had received the Governor General’s dinner invitation. John ran a finger around the inside of his collar while he scanned the room.
“Not what I’d expected either, sir,” Giacomo agreed.
“Let’s make the most of it,” John spied the Governor General surrounded by suits probably all with similar intentions as his. Exclusive trade would drive prices up and increase profits.
They separated, drifting around the room, joining a conversation or two and listening out for anything that might be useful. The suits initially regarded the uniforms with apprehension. A polite manner and carefully placed compliment usually relaxed the mood, though the antagonism of one had John bowing out gracefully. Eyes calm, smile plastered, mood simmering.
Dinner was an informal affair where guests helped themselves to the contents of the table in the centre of the room. Delicacies ranged from pickled jellies and candied bugs to tentacled conglomerates.
“Sir?” Giacomo asked, pointing at a black mass moving on a plate.
“Don’t even ask,” John told him.
Drinks were flowing freely. Open bottles with dubious labels surrounded by glasses waiting to be filled were placed appropriately on the table. Within an hour or two, a few guests were expressing opinions they wouldn’t have mentioned if they were sober. The Governor General oversaw the proceedings with an experienced manner.
John was still on his first drink – an orange liquid that his scanner told him had twice the alcohol content of the rum he usually drank.
A little more daring, Giacomo tried something his scanner said was safe. It had the consistency of a seaweed roll. He struggled on the first mouthful.
“Tastes like rope,” he mumbled.
A couple of bites later and it was gone. He washed it down with half a glass of purple liquid.
“Take it easy,” John told him.
“Scanner says it’s non alcoholic.”
“I doubt there’s anything non alcoholic here.” He turned his back to the Governor General and lowered his voice. “See how the Governor General’s keeping his eye on everyone?”
Giacomo glanced over John’s shoulder, his gaze crossing from one side of the room to the other.
“Yep,” he muttered as his eyes rested on a couple of suits mumbling with lowered heads along the side wall. “How long do we stay?”
“Until we get this treaty organised.”
It was another half hour before the Governor General made his approach. Suits were swaying around the room, voices increased as balance decreased. One individual raised his empty glass to his mouth, tilting his head back to drain any remaining dregs, and toppled over. His arms splayed out to either side of his body. Guests twisted and stepped a
way from his touch as he grabbed at them and he thumped harmlessly to the floor. A few seconds and the gap he’d created in the crowd closed over.
“Commander, how good of you to come,” the Governor General greeted John.
“Thank you for inviting us,” John answered, a smile plastered on his face.
“I have looked over your agreement and there is nothing in it that isn’t already occurring. It is merely a formalisation of fact. Hardly worth your time or mine.”
John couldn’t read the man.
“I have already agreed to the conditions and sent confirmation to your superiors. Please… enjoy the rest of your evening. Vice Consul,” he stepped past John, raising a hand and signalling a hulking man in purple braided formal attire, “how good of you to come.”
“We could have stayed on the ship,” Giacomo hissed.
“Manners, Giacomo,” John’s smile had almost reached its limit. “He’ll probably time how long we stay.”
After a couple of guests had made their departures, John felt it polite enough to leave. He rounded up Giacomo and they swooped on the Governor General between guests, thanking him for the invitation, the lovely evening and continuing trade.
The Governor General spewed similar sentiments.
No sooner were they back on Bismarck than the smile disappeared and John loosened his collar. He stepped off the transporter pad and headed straight for the door.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Giacomo.”
“Good night, sir.”
* * *
The next few destinations were met with similar ease. Some were expecting them, others were not. John figured Command would have sent formal notification. It was up to the relevant world to respond or ignore. And, like all indirect messages, sometimes they just didn’t get through. Even so, it was not hard to round up support. By now, most worlds were aware of what was going on.
John rotated his crew among the landing parties depending on numbers allowed. If someone had been there, they were first on his list.
He drove himself crazy learning protocols and stumbling over the correct pronunciation of words. Translations printed across the bottom of the main screen as he spoke to the relevant officials so the bridge crew knew what was being said and he knew if he’d messed up.
McReidy seemed to enjoy his discomfort. She regretted it as a barely hidden giggle on one occasion had him telling her she was going to learn it all from now on.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because you should know what’s going on.”
“That’s why we have translators.”
“I can guarantee there are going to be times when I am not going down there,” he ground out.
The Stelicor Prime Mistress raised her eyebrows and allowed her glasses to slide down her long nose so she could stare over the top of them as John mispronounced a word. He corrected himself immediately. She was satisfied, insisting he bring “the delightful young personage flying your ship”.
Humphries looked up from the helm. “What? Me?”
John wasn’t the only one tempted to thump him as he saw McReidy’s elbow twitch.
A two hour negotiation with translators working overtime and way more glances at Humphries than either man was comfortable with and a workable treaty resulted.
Humphries shuddered as he materialised back on Bismarck.
“Go have a shower and be back on the bridge in half an hour,” John grinned, stepping off the transporter pad and ignoring Rodgers’ querying expression.
Rodgers expression shifted to Humphries as John passed him and headed into the corridor.
“Just shut your mouth,” Humphries silenced any comment the transport operator might have made.
Some worlds shut them down completely and wished no interaction. Some hedged, wishing not to commit to anything but to leave their options open. John left a treaty with those who would take one and referred any future consultations to Command. Others embraced any sort of support, insisting on the full formal protocol of dining and reception.
Treaties had been drawn up in multiple languages by those officials in Fleet Command and Earth government who knew what they were talking about. Negotiations and alterations had John ready to hit his head against a brick wall as messages ran back and forth from officialdom. He had the permission to make slight alterations – no one had expected any race to agree to anything on first proposal – but he had strict limitations on what he could do. It seemed to be a variance of politics that most changes were within those limitations. While most races saw sense, others appeared to be difficult just for the sake of being difficult.
John sent regular reports to Fleet Command. He had been able to gather a wealth of information. Also, he had discovered a new talent in Humphries. Not only could he talk his way out of anything, he could also talk his way into anything.
The first time he took the man to a formal occasion, he came back with a few tidbits of information John hadn’t managed to get.
He had managed to worm his way into the confidences of some junior officials, who were tempted to big note themselves by secretly bragging about things they should not have known about. Encouraged by a few drinks and a bit of flattery, it was sometimes hard to stop them.
The only problem was that Humphries couldn’t handle his alcohol. He could keep his mouth shut; he just couldn’t remember what was being said. Trying to reduce his intake didn’t work. Some of his new friends were offended if he didn’t keep up with them.
The problem was soon fixed when Kowalski rewired his communicator to become a recorder. Then he didn’t have to remember a thing. He was still careful of what he drank, setting a limit on what he believed he could handle. The occasional hangover meant a day off duty, which was a fair trade.
John didn’t give him free rein. If a situation seemed likely to yield more information, he permitted it. Diplomacy and official procedure took time, but the foundation of building allies was important.
The closer Bismarck came to the battle zone, the worse the news was. Desperate to know what they might be coming up against, John contacted Drago. The Betelian captain had the most accurate information and was happy to share it. In return, John was happy to share what he knew – or what had been rumoured.
The invaders had taken all before them. On striking firm resistance, they were content to block all advances and turn their attacks outwards. Like a giant fist opening its fingers, its reach extended. As the fingers spread, some planets began to slip from its grasp. Worlds that were not considered important were ignored whereas originally they would have been completely overrun.
Pockets of resistance began to build up on overlooked planets. That was what Admiral Powers was hoping for. It was Bismarck’s job to find out who and where they were, and what their capabilities were. The task was a daunting one. It was bad enough trying to find where the enemy was. Trying to find resistance groups was just as dangerous. No one was talking. No one was trusting. And while a treaty might be negotiated, that was all that was being talked about.
Cartography was kept busy plotting a network of allies, neutrals, refusals and rumour.
The border became a fragmented join-the-dots. It shifted and changed as easily as dunes in a desert.
Drago’s fleet had returned. They were holding their own, but desperately in need of reinforcements. The Earth fleet and its allies were two weeks away.
“You know, sir,” Giacomo ventured. “We could get there in less time.”
“The fleet left after us,” McReidy reminded him.
John sank back in his chair as the reality hit him. “That …”
“Sir?” Giacomo queried.
“We’re faster than the fleet.”
“What?” McReidy turned in her seat to face him.
John nodded. “Yep.”
“Do you think Admiral Powers knows that?”
“I’d bet my life on it.”
“Hmm,” McReidy considered. “So he doesn’t just hate you.”
“What about the other scouts?” McReidy wondered.
“No idea,” John shook his head. “I don’t know who else was sent or what sectors they’re covering.”
Eavesdropping had as many disadvantages as advantages. Distress calls were frequent. A world lost, the fate of its people often unknown. Many times, Bismarck was out of range and certainly not equipped to take on an Andromedan fleet. So far their path had been clean. Their only experience of the enemy was via the communications of others.
When Humphries picked up a distress call one afternoon, John was content to ignore it.
“Sir, it’s Lushon. It’s on our list.”
“Put it through.”
Humphries shook his head, two fingers of one hand holding the earphone steady to his ear. “It’s just an intermittent repeater, sir.”
“Scans?”
“Nothing,” Gillespie told him. “No enemy activity. No ordinary traffic.”
John thought for a minute. “Regular or random, Mister Humphries?”
“I won’t know until I start getting some consistency. There it is again… And again. And… nothing. Line’s gone down.”
“Keep listening,” John ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
It was another hour before Humphries could get any consistency in the call. On John’s order, he acknowledged it. Almost immediately, the call was taken over by a living being.
“I’ve got contact with a Senate aide,” he told John. “Hang on, they’re putting me through to someone else.”
“On screen,” John instructed.
John was glad he was sitting. He felt himself go weak as the image of a beautiful woman appeared on screen. Her skin was a creamy gold, her eyes green like that of a cat. Long, blonde hair fell past her shoulders and out of view of the screen.
Extremely conscious of his reaction to her, he swallowed hard and summoned every ounce of self control. Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. And the way her eyes pierced through him, she knew it.
When the Dust Settled Page 15
