“I’ll fly the ship,” she said. “I know the layout of the Llaro colony well enough. We’ll bring the detainees home to their clans.”
“Even if we think it’s just a handful of bored soldiers stationed there, we’ll pretty much be going in blind,” Robb said. “I’d rather not try this without top-of-the-line weaponry. There’s too much that can go wrong.”
Denn considered carefully. “After all you two have done for us around here, just figure out what you need. I’ll make it happen.”
74 RLINDA KETT
With Rhejak’s tropical sun warming her skin and moist salty air filling her lungs, Rlinda lounged back in her comfortable chair. “I sure like my job as Trade Minister. This is the kind of business meeting I could attend every day of the week, and I like this place a lot better than Earth. Quite a bit more welcoming.”
Beside her, BeBob gave a noncommittal yawn. She nudged him awake. “You do have to pay a modicum of attention. This is work, you know.”
“I’m paying attention.” But he still didn’t open his eyes.
Hakim Allahu, brown-skinned spokesman for the handful of independent businesses on the former Hansa colony world, sat next to them. “Sometimes I forget how nice we have it.” He went over the manifest of goods on the datapad propped on his knees, marking what had already been loaded aboard the Voracious Curiosity.
“I’d expect you’d have colonists standing in line from here all the way to the next Spiral Arm. How have you kept this place a secret?” Rlinda watched dark-winged gulls swooping down to gobble up jumpers that splashed out of the waves. Dark reefs formed a labyrinth in the shallow seas.
“It’s no accident that we don’t have a tourism board. We let everybody think we’re a rugged planet with a lot of water and not much land.”
“My lips are sealed,” Rlinda said.
BeBob rubbed his eyes. “You forgot to mention the sea monsters. Images of those things would scare away any casual tourists.”
“Those medusas are as gentle as clams . . . and about as intelligent,” Allahu said. “Think of them as giant snails.”
“A snail with tentacles and a shell as big as a house.”
“Literally,” Rlinda added. Most of the dwellings on Rhejak were composed of empty medusa shells. Each giant shell was enough to house a single person; families grouped empty shells together and drilled holes from one chamber to the next to make larger conglomerate dwellings.
The enormous creatures drifted in the calm waters between the sinuous reefs, making a low moaning sound as they swam in slow, endless feeding patterns. Gray-blue tentacles extended from the mouth of a huge curlicue shell. The things had two pairs of eyes, one set above the waterline for seeing in the air, the other beneath the surface for spotting fish. Dressed only in shorts, young boys rode on top of the great ridged shells, herding the medusas.
“Their meat certainly is tasty, I’ll grant you that.” Since landing on Rhejak two days ago, Rlinda had eaten the delicacy prepared five different ways. Medusa meat commanded an extremely high price in the Spiral Arm, but here it was as common as beans.
Rhejak and Constantine III were business partners, “sister planets.” Allahu and his associates funded some of the commercial activities on Constantine III, in exchange for fresh seafood, which Roamers did not often get to eat. But Rhejak had much to offer beyond the obvious marine foods. From an adjacent reef rose the tall, skeletal towers of the Company Works. Huge pumps filtered the mineral-rich seawater, pulling out rare metals and distilling chemical precursors not found anywhere else in the Spiral Arm.
The reefs themselves, painstakingly built up by numerous small coral-like creatures, yielded a wealth of exotic crystalline structures, industrial abrasives, and calcium-rich compounds that had gained notoriety in certain health circles. Rare reef-pearls—spherical inclusions of perfectly clear crystal—were famed throughout the Hansa. Large, automated grinders and digesters crunched down reef outcroppings and sifted the resulting material. Even the rich seaweed beds offered more than edible biomass; they also produced an exceedingly potent substance akin to chlorophyll, used in a host of Hansa medical applications, including life-extension treatments.
“I don’t know why the Hansa didn’t manage you more effectively,” Rlinda said. “If we do things right, we’ll be pouring wealth onto Rhejak faster than you can find places to store it.”
Allahu looked up from the Curiosity’s manifest. “Look around you, Captain Kett. This is already paradise. What more could we ask for?” Not far away, two medusas faced off in the water, batting playfully at each other with their tentacles. Shirtless adolescent riders stood precariously on each shell, shouting challenges back and forth, as if it were some sort of a game.
“Isn’t it about time for us to go?” BeBob asked.
Rlinda let out a long breath. “We’re off to the Ildiran Empire next to do more Trade Minister stuff, and I can’t think of any more excuses to stay here. We’ve got deadlines to meet, delivery schedules to adhere to. Thank you, Mr. Allahu.” She worked herself out of the comfortable chair and extended a hand. “This has been wonderful, like a second honeymoon.”
“Or a tenth,” BeBob said out of the corner of his mouth.
“Stop counting my ex-husbands.” She reasserted her businesslike expression. “I’ll make sure Rhejak is part of my normal trade run from now on. I’m sure we can find something you’d be interested in.”
“We’d welcome the chance to have you back,” Allahu said.
The negotiations had been exceedingly smooth. Rhejak, with its connections to the Roamers on Constantine III, had been among the first of the breakaway colonies to join the new Confederation. Everyone had agreed to switch loyalties—from the operators of the Company Works, to the medusa herders, kelp harvesters, reef grinders, and fishery homesteaders.
After loading a few more boxes of personal items and delicacies Rlinda had selected, she and BeBob climbed aboard the Curiosity and took off. She took a last, longing glance at the ocean and its mosaic of islands below them. Once they reached orbit, Rlinda called up nav charts to plot the best course to Ildira—a beautiful place, but not as pleasant as Rhejak.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when BeBob yelled, then scrambled for the copilot’s controls. “What the hell?”
She jerked her head up to see ten Manta cruisers in battle formation heading in their direction. The Curiosity had nearly run headlong into them. She changed course immediately, swerving out of the way. “You can bet those aren’t tourists.” Down in the hold, several cargo containers broke loose of their lashings and crashed noisily to the deck.
She hammered the transmitter. “This is Voracious Curiosity calling Rhejak! You’ve got ten EDF Mantas showing up, and they don’t look friendly.”
Beside her, BeBob said, “Is there any way for unannounced battleships to look friendly?”
Allahu must have gotten back to his administrative hut. “Fully armed Mantas? How can we fight against them?”
“How the hell should I know? Just . . . just be ready however you can.”
BeBob swung the controls and punched the maneuvering engines. “Hang on, they’re ready to open fire on us!”
“Then get out of here!”
With its Roamer-modified engines, the Curiosity streaked past the incoming battleships, pulled up in a curve, and raced out of the system.
75 ADMIRAL SHEILA WILLIS
Willis’s weapons officer stared at his targeting screens, his brown eyes wide and anxious. “Admiral, should I open fire? That ship’s getting away.”
“Of course not. It’s just a trader. Doesn’t even look like a Roamer ship.”
“But . . . but Admiral, it’s seen us.”
“So what?”
“But—but then everyone will know we’ve come to Rhejak. They might sound an alarm, spread the word.”
“Everyone’s got to know sooner or later. I thought that was the whole idea—to get the rest of the colonies quaking in their boots. W
e came here to impose order and reassert Hansa control. That’s what I intend to do. I’m not going off on a wild-goose chase after one ship. Whoever’s aboard probably already wet their pants when they saw us.”
“Yes, Admiral,” the weapons officer said sheepishly.
Conrad Brindle stepped over to the comm station, brisk and all business. “Did that ship send any transmissions before they left?”
“Yes, sir—a message down to the surface. A warning about us.”
Willis stood up from her command chair and stretched. “Then prepare our dropships. We’d better move quickly or this’ll be a mess.” As before, when she’d guided her ten Mantas to Theroc, she felt uneasy about the mission. “Those folks down there are already used to the EDF. We’ll just remind them they’re still well-loved members of our one, big, happy family.”
Brindle lowered his voice. “Don’t you think that’s somewhat naïve, Admiral?”
“Yes, I do. But I prefer to call it optimism until it’s proven otherwise.” General Lanyan would have gone in with guns blazing to intimidate the poor inhabitants, but in these situations she followed a policy of nonaggression unless it was warranted.
Leaving her exec in command, she went to her quarters to change into a formal uniform, white with dark blue. She quickly ate another ham-and-cheese sandwich that was waiting for her (just in case the Rhejak islanders did not throw a welcome feast). After touching up her hair and checking the cuffs and pleats on her uniform, she was ready to join the initial wave of dropships.
Soldiers scrambled to their stations. Belowdecks, teams rushed to the landing bay, gathering the weapons and supplies needed for a full occupation force. Willis climbed aboard one of the twenty-seven dropships and gave orders to launch.
Though the ride down was bumpy, she kept her cool and stared directly into the transmission screen as she introduced herself. The fleeing trader had already blown their element of surprise. “Since Rhejak has always been a Hansa colony, we have come to offer our assistance. By placing you under the supervision of the Earth Defense Forces, we will help you distribute your products to the Hansa, where they are most desperately needed.” She ended with what she thought was a charming smile. She knew it was pure bullshit.
The explosion of insults and angry retorts across numerous channels told her that her optimism was misplaced. She sighed and decided to confront the issue head-on. “All right, I can see you’re not happy about this. Tell my ships where we can go, and I’ll talk it out with you face-to-face.”
“We’ll tell you damned Eddy bastards where to go—”
Another voice cut the complainer off. “My name is Hakim Allahu, the Trade Spokesman for Rhejak. I must remind you that we are an independent world. We have publicly discarded the Hansa Charter. The EDF has no jurisdiction here.” His defiant tone changed to resignation. “On the other hand, we are not foolish enough to believe that we could defeat your heavily armed military force. We have no choice but to surrender to your illegal invasion.”
“Mr. Allahu, who said anything about an invasion?”
“How would you define it, Admiral? You bring ten battleships to forcibly place an independent planet under—what did you call it?—EDF supervision?”
Willis knew the people would never accept this forced occupation, but she hoped to ease the pain as much as possible. She had her orders. “I’m sorry, sir, but we’ve got a job to do.”
As the dropships approached the cluster of reefs and islands, she admired the beautiful blue-green sea, white beds of coral, and limestone sand. Huge tentacled things drifted about. The dropship pilots scanned the areas of dry land, and the sensor operators were in a quandary. “Admiral, we can’t land more than two dropships in any one spot. They don’t have a spaceport facility.”
“Bring this ship and an escort down for my initial meeting with Mr. Allahu. The rest of you circle overhead and stand ready until we figure this out.”
“In a threatening posture, Admiral?” the pilot said. “Should we have our weapons extended as we fly above them?”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t think they’re blind, and I don’t think they’re stupid. Let’s try for a little restraint and subtlety, all right?”
Her dropship settled on a landing pad made from a flattened section of reef. Willis emerged, forcing a smile for Allahu and his handful of Rhejak representatives. She hoped she could negotiate a peaceful resolution. “I don’t suppose you’d like to shake hands and have a conversation over a drink? I’ll even provide the booze, if that’s your preference.”
“It’s not my preference,” Allahu said. Overhead, ship after ship streaked past with an ominous drone. “No part of this is. We’re a small colony. We don’t have squadrons of bureaucrats and attorneys, but I do know that what you’re doing is patently illegal.”
“Depends on which set of laws you’re looking at, Mr. Allahu, and I don’t intend to debate the matter. It’s out of my hands. Rhejak produces many vital exports, and the Hansa Chairman said that you followed improper procedures in declaring your independence. Now that the hydrogue war is over, we’ll just have to coexist until the Hansa is back on its feet again.”
“You mean the Confederation, Admiral. The Hansa isn’t much of anything anymore.”
“The Hansa issues my paychecks, and so I’m here.” Out in the water she saw giant shelled creatures, rafts anchored near broad seaweed beds, and industrial elemental-separation towers that gleaned metals out of the water. She was frankly amazed at how beautiful Rhejak was. Her standard briefing had talked only about the list of local assets the Hansa considered desirable. She would have to station her own people in the major facilities to ensure continued production. “We’ll stay out of your hair as much as possible, I promise you.”
Allahu put his hands on his hips, skeptical. “And how do you propose to do that? Where will you put all these people?” He gestured toward the two dropships and the numerous vessels still circling in the air.
“I can see you don’t have enough landmass for all of us, so we’ll build our own pontoon rafts. With EDF ingenuity, we can figure out how to make barracks that float.”
76 DAVLIN LOTZE
Davlin had made a comfortable, if austere, hiding place sheltered by sandstone overhangs for fifty-three refugees who had slipped away from the Llaro settlement. Steinman’s arrival made it fifty-four.
All Davlin had wanted was to retire and live a normal life as a normal person, but conflicts in the Spiral Arm kept drawing him back in. Now he found himself stuck being a leader and a rescuer again.
Davlin had selected the most defensible grotto in the bluffs, high above the deep wash. Ever resourceful, he had rigged a power source that provided light and heat. He and two Roamers had expanded a seep in the back sandstone wall, adding a hollow tube and a filter so that they had a thin stream of fresh water. It was barely enough to meet their needs and wouldn’t be sufficient as the group grew larger.
From grasses and lightweight wood scavenged out on the plains, the refugees had fashioned a few comforts—mats, cushions, pieces of crude furniture. Everyone worked to keep the group alive, though with few amenities. Sometimes Davlin felt as if they were castaways on a deserted island, but not merely isolated. They had to keep themselves hidden from the Klikiss.
Steinman was amazed. “I built a place like this for myself on Corribus. Well, with help from Orli Covitz.” He paced around, prodding the furniture, poking into the food stockpiles, taking a deep sniff of some dried pods and berries the refugees had gathered. “Of course, this is a little nicer, more sheltered. And a lot more people.” He scratched his matted hair. Weeds and bits of grass were tangled in it, but Steinman didn’t seem to mind.
“We didn’t have a lot of choice.” Davlin looked at the families packing up their bedding for the day, the cooks trying to scrounge just one more meal from their meager supplies. At least they were away from the Klikiss. “If our one Remora had stardrive engines and a long-range navigation system, I wou
ld have gone to find us help. Since that wasn’t an option, I decided to make a defensible place for as many people as could get away. It’s only temporary—it has to be. We can’t survive like this for long.”
Without supplies and some form of agriculture, the camp couldn’t become self-sufficient. Davlin had to come up with a solution soon. He knew that many of the survivors here had realized the same thing.
“I can go out hunting for us, forage for food,” Steinman suggested. “A lot of things here are edible, provided you aren’t too queasy. The lizards aren’t bad. The bones are a little crunchy, and the scales leave a scraped feeling at the back of your throat, but you get used to it.”
Davlin nodded. If hungry enough, a person could eat just about anything. And these people were going to get hungry, especially since the Klikiss reapers had plundered the Llaro landscape.
“How long do you suppose it’ll be before the Hansa notices that their EDF substation has gone silent?”
Davlin had considered this, and others had raised the question to him before. Years had passed before Basil Wenceslas decided to do something about the Colicos team that had gone silent on Rheindic Co. Davlin and Rlinda Kett had been sent to investigate, but only after it was much too late. “I wouldn’t count on it.”
One dark-haired young man, no more than nineteen, ran up to him. “Davlin! There’s a message in the Remora. The log light is blinking!”
“What were you doing poking around in the ship? Those instruments are delicate.”
“I just saw the light blinking, then I came back here. Maybe it’s a rescue message?” The young man—one of the Crenna colonists Davlin had saved—seemed as full of desperate hope as a man clinging to a thin root while dangling from a cliff.
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