by S. H. Jucha
Alex sent and closed the comm. He opened his eyes and sat up in the command chair. “So what do you think the Earthers are going to take away from their visit planetside besides frustration?” Alex asked.
While Alex discussed the potential ramifications of the ruse perpetrated on the Earthers, Orso contacted his Leader and described the events as they unfolded, emphasizing the fact that the Earthers would still be circulating the transport ways for hours before returning to the terminal.
Devon immediately requested his House SADE send a summary to Winston to circulate to all House Leaders and Council Leader Ganesh. That the Earthers were prepared to force their attentions on Méridien was a frightening concept.
Devon sent.
Devon noted that the aging Méridien was 176 years old, and he could have retired from his position a decade and a half ago.
Devon wished the elderly Quinlan a good afternoon and instructed him to take the next day off, stating that his assistant could manage the terminal. Orso agreed but only reluctantly.
The Harakens continue to influence our people to embrace change, Devon thought. Then he smiled and clapped his hands. He couldn’t wait to inform Katarina Pasko of what the events that transpired at the terminal.
Katarina insisted for years to him that the Haraken president was hiding implant capabilities that she was dying to study. Over time, her opinion of the president turned quite favorable, but she continued to insist he hid secrets concerning what he could achieve with his implants. Now she would know for certain. Alex Racine had exhibited a fantastic degree of mastery over another human being through their implant and it was accomplished while transmitting via a SADE and a terminal controller. Devon chuckled at the thought and decided to tell Katarina and Gino in person to ensure he saw their reactions.
-18-
“What type of insanity builds a world like this?” García asked, looking around at the terminal station. The Earthers rode their transport car for three hours before it halted at a terminal and the doors slid open. There was a certain lack of military decorum as the militia troopers piled out of both doorways at a run, but no one objected.
“Major,” said a first lieutenant, “do you notice that there’s no signage? We don’t even know if we’ve reached our intended destination, returned to the original terminal, or are somewhere else.”
“We are at the originating terminal, Lieutenant. You can be sure of that,” Barbas replied.
“May I ask how you know that, Major,” the lieutenant replied, searching the station’s walls again for a clue.
“Every station we passed … every single one of them … people were standing and waiting, and cars were arriving and leaving. This station is barren. No cars, no people,” Barbas replied. He was disgusted with how easily they had been tricked and stood with hands on hips, fuming.
García regarded his angry militia leader. “We’ve been taught a lesson, Major, a lesson indeed. Get our men back to the shuttle. I’m sick of this strange world.”
The Earthers took the lifts back to the terminal’s ground floor, passed through the lobby, and out through the open terminal doors to the landing fields. There was no one in sight, and nothing hindered their exit.
The terminal controller signaled Ser Quinlan, who was busy regaling his wife, children, and grandchildren, who were visiting, with the events of the day. The message simply said,
* * *
Major Barbas wasn’t the only one fuming. Uncharacteristically, so was Leader Ganesh. She was barraged with messages from House Leaders reporting that armed Earthers landed at Lemuel Terminal and were now traveling the transportation corridors in a car.
Winston, the Council SADE, connected Mahima to Devon O’Shea.
Mahima’s anger dissuaded Devon from continuing his charade.
Devon replied, his thoughts casual. He waited for a reply, but none was forthcoming. His link was still active and courtesy dictated that Mahima should choose when to end the comm.
Devon continued,
* * *
After Speaker García and his men regained their ship, he requested a call with High Judge Bunaldi. At the appointed time, Major Barbas, Administrator Wombo, and he sat at his cabin’s table, a monitor at the other end. High Judge Bunaldi and Admiral Theostin were seated at a similar table, if not a more sumptuous one, aboard the Hand of Justice. Both groups wanted isolation for this conversation. García carefully and succinctly repeated the events of the day.
“So you found no opportunity to use your weapons and push through to your objective?” Admiral Theostin demanded.
“Use our weapons on whom, Admiral?” Major Barbas shot back. “We saw one nervous little man, who was anxious to show us how to reach the transport cars and our destination, so he said. After that, we saw tens of thousands of people waiting at stations or boarding cars all the while we whipped past them at a land speed I have never experienced on Earth.”
&nb
sp; “Careful with your tone, Major,” Theostin reprimanded.
“If it pleases everyone,” Bunaldi said in a quiet voice, “I am interested in facts and observations and little else. Administrator Wombo, I assume you have reviewed our militia’s helmet footage of the event. I would be interested in hearing your observations.”
Wombo found himself in a conundrum. The world they were observing was the scientific find of a lifetime, but to praise the Méridien’s technology was to exhort his leaders to further covet the Confederation. Yet, to be disingenuous with a high judge by dumbing down his observations was to place his career, if not his life, in peril. “Judge Bunaldi, I believe the visuals confirm that we are dealing with such a technologically advanced civilization that it no longer compares to our own. By extension, we can’t be sure that their technological superiority doesn’t extend to their military capability. In which case, the Méridiens might no longer fear encroachment by an outside force.”
“Pah,” snorted Theostin, but a glance at Bunaldi told her that her comment was unnecessary.
“While I’m not sure about the Administrator’s conclusion,” García said, “there is much that gives me concern.”
“Elaborate, Speaker García,” Bunaldi replied.
“It was observed that there were no identifying marks at the terminal stations. How does anyone know when they arrived at their destination? A transport car was called for us. We boarded it and the terminal manager dived out just as the door closed. All of this could have been directed by computers, but there was no driver or even a control panel in the car. How does it navigate, especially to maneuver around so many other cars at such an incredibly high speed? At the end of our trip, we returned to the same terminal from where we started, but who choreographed our hours-long ride? The terminal manager was with us at all times, until we left, and he never employed a communications device. And while we are discussing the odd and the strange, recall that we mentioned Ser de Long finished the bout with Master Sergeant Hinsdale moments after the hidden signal was broadcast. How did he know when that happened?”
“Do you have an opinion Speaker García or just more questions?” Bunaldi said.
García turned to look at Wombo, who wrung his large, dark hands together before speaking. “As the evidence has accumulated, Judge Bunaldi,” Wombo said, “we believe the Méridiens are capable of communicating by thought, not telepathically, but by some technological invention of theirs. It would enable the sending and receiving of thoughts and information from person to person. This technology would enable them to receive the signal from a source, such as the intruder our guide identified.”
“Judge Bunaldi,” Major Barbas said, “whatever their means of communication, it is extremely effective and subtle. Couple that with buildings that don’t have exits but require underground transport that we can’t control, and you have an impenetrable barrier against our ground forces. Our militia has been rendered ineffective.”
“On this world perhaps, Major,” Theostin replied, “but I wonder if it’s the same on the Confederation’s other worlds. In one of the administrator’s reports, he postulates this is the Méridiens’ home world, and they have settled perhaps six to eight other worlds. The extent of the FTL traffic indicates mature colonies that heavily participate in trade and passenger transport. Those outlying worlds might not be so well developed or so impenetrable.”
Bunaldi nodded his head in agreement. “We would require their exact star coordinates, numbers that our guide could translate to our star maps for accurate jump targets.”
“We could easily haul down one of those enormous freighters and threaten the captain for the information,” Theostin suggested.
“How would we communicate with them, Admiral?” García asked. “Our communications are routed through …”
When García froze in mid-sentence, Theostin was about to prod him, but Bunaldi laid a hand on her arm and shook his head.
“Yes, that’s it,” García said excitedly. “Judge Bunaldi, our communications have been through a central point on Méridien. The voice is quite recognizable. Then when we met with Ser Racine and his group, they all wore small attachments that acted as communicators so that we heard them in our language, but the terminal manager didn’t have any such device. He spoke in our language. That fits!”
The conference attendees stared at García, waiting for him to explain. “Please continue, Speaker García, before I grow tired of wondering,” Bunaldi said.
“Your pardon, Judge Bunaldi, it occurred to me that while the words came out of the terminal manager’s mouth, they were supplied by Ser Racine.”
“Yes,” Wombo chimed in, catching Speaker García’s train of thought, “When I reviewed the helmet cam footage, I thought the phrasing sounded familiar. The elderly terminal manager looked frightened, but he spoke in this generous manner, as if he was in charge, despite facing our armed militia.”
“Are you saying someone literally put words in this man’s mouth?” Theostin asked, incredulous at the thought.
“It fits, Admiral, just as Speaker García said,” Barbas added. “As strange as it might sound, it fits. The words coming out of the terminal manger’s mouth came from Ser Racine.” Barbas regarded first the speaker and then the administrator, looking for acknowledgment, and was happy to see that they were excitedly nodding their heads in agreement.
“It’s my opinion, Judge Bunaldi,” García said, “that we should proceed carefully. There are too many unknowns here, and we don’t know the true extent of these peoples’ technological advancement. The only individuals speaking to us are Ser Racine and his people, one of whom now announces herself as an admiral. I surmise that this group has been gathering intelligence on us and interceded on the terminal manager’s behalf when we brought forces to the planet.”
“I am still in favor of direct action, Judge Bunaldi,” Theostin said. “If we take a freighter hostage, I’m sure we’ll be able to force this Méridien government to communicate with us on any subject we choose.”
“And if their war capabilities exceed ours, Admiral,” Bunaldi replied, “we will have started a confrontation with an advanced civilization in their own system with one battleship and one explorer ship. Hardly a recipe for successful subjugation of multiple worlds.”
Bunaldi stood stock still while he considered his options, giving those aboard the Reunion the thought that they were observing a statue.
“Speaker García, if I were to accept your advice and tread lightly, what would you suggest should be our next step?” Bunaldi asked.
García urged the rapid beating of his heart to still. This was a make-or-break opportunity for promotion. “The masks are off for both us and the Méridiens, Judge Bunaldi. We should arrange a face-to-face meeting with Ser Racine and his people with the intention of having a frank discussion and see what it gains us. Then, if we think we have no other option, I would concur with Admiral Theostin’s plan to capture a freighter and force communications.”
“Call the man, Speaker García. Arrange a meeting on any terms he wishes. Let’s see what he has to say if we speak plainly,” Bunaldi said.
“How many will be attending the meeting?” asked Major Barbas in order to judge the number of guards he would need.
“It will be just the five of us, Major,” Bunaldi replied. “No use intimidating the man any more than we have already.” Bunaldi reached for the comm controls and switched off the conference.
“Just the five of us, Patricio?” Samara asked.
“These people have been extremely tolerant of our interdiction, Samara,” Patricio said, patting her hand. “Either they have no military force or they are extremely confident of their military capability. Either way, I believe we are in no danger. The frightened and desperate are truly dangerous because they are unpredictable. These people are neither, and with those, who are like us, it’s just the business of war.”
-19-
“My apologies for disturbing you so late, Ser Racine, but we had a difficult and long day planetside and have only just returned,” García said.
“I think we both know what kind of visit my people had, Ser Racine,” García said, working to keep his temper under control. “We would like to meet with you, Ser Racine, in order to speak plainly with one another.”
Alex asked.
“It would be five of us — High Judge Bunaldi, Admiral Theostin, Major Barbas, Administrator Wombo, and me,” García replied.
“Anywhere, anytime, Ser Racine. We are at your disposal.”
“We will meet you in two days’ time, Ser Racine, and a good evening to you,” García replied and closed his comm link to the ship’s guide.
When Alex returned his attention to the salon, Renée uncurled and threw a bare leg over his lap. “Captain Cordova said the Earthers called,” she said.
