by S. H. Jucha
After Yasmin left, Ituau asked, “What happens to crew who aren’t qualified to work on line three and who an empath disqualifies from minding the Jatouche?”
“So far that hasn’t come up,” Jessie said. “I would suggest you inform your crews that their employment is at risk if you can’t find work for them on this project. We need all hands on deck, not lying around in their bunks.”
Soon afterwards, Leonard, Yohlin, and Ituau were dismissed and made their way down to the shuttle bay deck.
“Is it my imagination,” Leonard asked, “or does Harbour act more like a captain, if not a commandant, each time we see her?”
“Growing into the job,” Ituau commented.
“Yes, but the question is: Which job?” Yohlin added.
“Ambassador,” Ituau replied. “Isn’t that what they call the person who interfaces with foreign entities?”
-34-
Jordie’s Agent
David Yersh finished his meal, such as was available aboard the YIPS. He was a tech, responsible for monitoring temperatures and flow of the output of line two. He’d have loved to have been part of the line three project but didn’t qualify. The information he could have gained from the Jatouche would have been invaluable to Jordie MacKiernan, his benefactor.
YIPS personnel were unaware of David’s double life. His simple existence aboard the YIPS belied the comforts he enjoyed on the JOS. David’s JOS cabin was in the expected, cheaper corridor, but it was crowded with items only senior engineers and techs could afford.
David was an ambitious young man, whose limited skills and training would never allow him to rise much higher until he invested more effort in his future. But David was impatient and the thought of toiling for years in an effort to improve his abilities and, therefore, his station made him sick.
In order to relax for the evening, David was about to pull out his private cache of vids, when his comm unit blinked. He picked it up and studied the bizarre message. To anyone who might have looked over his shoulder when he received such an odd text, David could have laughed and said, “My little nephew is playing with his mom’s device again.” They would have shared a laugh, and David could have gone about his business, no one the wiser and no one aware that he had no nephew.
Among the message’s scrambled letters and notes were simple codes, which David studied. He was directed on his next rotation to the JOS to meet with a contact at a store on a specific date and time. David deleted the message and dug out the memory stick that contained his vids. He was ecstatic and in the mood for one his favorites. An assignment from Jordie MacKiernan loomed, and that meant more coin in his account.
It was three days before David rotated back to the JOS. That evening he was excited and unable to concentrate on a vid. Instead he spent some coin entertaining himself at a cantina. He bought drinks for two young coin-kitties, but, when he refused their invitations for the evening, they quickly deserted him.
Early the next morning, David gulped down a morning meal, dressed in a simple pair of skins, and made his way to the Latched On. As a source of spacer supplies, David frequented the place, which provided a good cover for his meeting. He browsed and picked up a few small, sundry items, most of which he did need.
“I noticed you favor the gloves with the pads on both sides,” David’s contact said. As usual, it was a stranger, as David never met the same contact twice.
“Protects the back of my hands if they slip off a tool and strike metal. The engineers don’t like them because they’re not flexible enough, but, then again, they do the thinking and techs, like me, do the grunting,” David replied.
The stranger laughed and picked up a pair of gloves. “What do you think of these?” he asked, holding them up for David to examine. Cradled in the center of the gloves was the stranger’s comm unit. He had closed shoulders with David to prevent the display of his device from being observed by others.
David glanced at the display and quickly memorized the information, which comprised a date, a time, a name, and a number. “A good pair for the price,” David commented, which signaled the stranger to withdraw his device. The information was quickly deleted.
“Thanks for your advice,” the stranger said and moved along the display shelves.
David spent a few more minutes to browse, repeating the information continuously. He wasn’t allowed to write anything down, ever. After he’d been recruited, his first contact had laid down the rules for communication in no uncertain terms. After every instruction, the stranger had ended it saying, “without exception.” The repeated admonishment might have become boring, except the deadened eyes of the contact had frightened David, and he carefully committed the rules to memory.
“Find what you needed, David?” Gabriel, the Latched On store owner, asked genially. David was a good customer, and Gabriel presumed he was a highly paid specialty tech on the YIPS.
“I’m good,” David replied with a bright smile.
It would be two more days before David retrieved his package. On the appointed day, he spent some time perusing some shops near the El terminal arm. With a quarter hour to go, David queued for a cap to transit to the arm. He joined a group of passengers headed downside, arriving on the arm and walking down the ramp. But, rather than following them to take a seat on the upper level of the El, he turned toward the cargo pickup area.
A cargo inspector waited on a customer, and David took note of the name on the coveralls. It didn’t match. He stood to the side, opening his comm unit, and studied the device to appear as if he were engrossed in it.
Cargo inspectors came and went, helping customers. Eventually, an inspector took a customer’s request, as another inspector came from the cargo storage area. The name matched and David stepped forward.
“I’ve a package to retrieve,” David announced. “BL7102.”
The eyes on the youthful cargo inspector, which had been glazed with boredom, suddenly sharpened. “What was the code?” he asked. When David repeated the number, the cargo inspector nodded and ducked through the doors into the storage area.
The inspector accessed his locator unit, which was attached to his coveralls, tapping in the code. The row, shelf, and cubbyhole location came back, and he quickly retrieved the package. He pulled a small tool from a pocket and turned the package over. Next to a seal along an edge was a smear of dark ink. He made a short slit along the seal, reached inside, and pulled out a small canister, only 6 centimeters long. After slipping the canister into his coveralls, he sealed the package again.
At the scanning station, the inspector laid the package on the conveyor belt and walked alongside while the machine examined its contents. When the scanner flashed green, the inspector picked up the package at the end of the belt.
“Here you are,” the inspector said to David. As he handed the package across, he slipped the small cylinder to David, who palmed it.
“Thanks,” David replied, with a cheery smile. He waited until he was queued with the arriving passengers to transit into the station before he transferred the small object in his hand into a pouch at his waist.
In his cabin, David opened the package. This was one of the perks of working for Jordie MacKiernan that he loved. There was a set of three beautifully decorative pillows for his couch. It amazed David that each gift was something he could use. It never dawned on him that his cabin was regularly investigated by his contacts.
David placed the pillows on the couch, admired them, and then stepped into his kitchenette to retrieve a small spray unit marked oil. He pulled out the object he’d been handed and examined it. It was a pressurized canister. Standing over the tiny sink, David turned the canister slowly in his hand, while he sprayed it with the solution disguised in the oil sprayer. When he finished, it took several minutes before the coating on the canister developed.
There was an image of a woman’s face and the word gas. David recognized the face. It belonged to Olivia Harden. To David, it didn’t matter who was on the cani
ster. He washed the cylinder over the sink, and the coating, with its image, slid off, and spun down the drain.
Immediately, David jumped on his couch and activated his comm device. Accessing his account, he gave a whoop of joy. The deposit was more than usual. It was an indication of the importance of this job. The best part was that these funds were only the first half.
David leaned into his new pillows, placed his hands behind his head, and planned how he’d deliver the gas. This was how he earned his substantial coin payments. He had to design the job and execute it successfully. Usually, there was a number next to the image, which marked the date by when the deed was to be completed. There was none on this canister, which meant he could take his time.
* * * *
“We’ve got a problem,” Pete said quietly to Olivia and Bryan.
It was late in the evening. Their Jatouche were aboard the Belle, but the Pyrean engineers, after depositing their alien friends on the shuttle, had decided to work late. The pourings had begun, metal fabrication was underway, and the Jatouche were spending the days uncrating the sophisticated parts they’d brought.
“What’s wrong?” Olivia asked.
“I’ve been studying the final assembly,” Pete replied, “looking for how this device could be broken down for shipment.”
“And?” Bryan prompted.
The problem suddenly dawned on Pete. “You two have never shipped anything downside, have you?” he asked. When he received blank stares, he said, “You have several choke points: shuttle bay doors, cargo gangways, El cargo bay, and the domes’ airlocks. I can’t see how the pieces of this thing are going to fit through those restrictive spots.”
“I’m sure …” Bryan started to say, but stopped when he realized his mistake. The Jatouche wouldn’t be aware of the problems either. “Oh, for the love of Pyre,” he moaned. “Don’t tell me we’re going to make an alien intravertor and we’re not going to be able to use it because we can’t get it to the surface?”
“Do you want to wait until tomorrow or find out tonight?” Olivia asked.
“Danny’s been standing by at the shuttle for us,” Pete proffered.
“Let’s go,” Olivia said, gathering her comm unit and shutting down the monitors.
The three engineers were the only people aboard for the return to the Belle. After they cleared the airlock, Olivia called Dingles. “I’m looking for Gatnack or Drigtik,” she said. “Do you know if they’ve turned in for the night?”
“This early? Never,” Dingles replied. “They’re with us now at the cantina. Problem?”
“I hope not, Dingles.” Olivia said. “How about the captains?”
“Captain Cinders is here; Captain Harbour is touring one of the hydroponic gardens. What do you need?” Dingles asked.
“I would love to have all of them together, and we need several monitors,” Olivia replied, as the three engineers hurried up from the lower decks.
“Make for the bridge, Olivia,” Dingles said. “I’ll arrange it.”
Olivia, Pete, and Bryan were ready on the bridge by the time the Jatouche, captains, and Dingles arrived. They’d loaded the 3-D models of the intravertor’s various subsections on the display monitors.
Gatnack and Drigtik arrived in jovial moods, the captains wore frowns, and Dingles effused calmness.
“What’s the issue?” Harbour asked Olivia.
“We don’t know that there is one, Captain, but it was too great a question to wait until the morning,” Olivia replied. “Pete, why don’t you walk us through it?”
Pete carefully detailed how the intravertor’s massive length and size, 40 meters and 28 tons, would be assembled on the YIPS. “Once everything tests out, we would disassemble it into these structural components. However, these are the limitations of cargo transport downside.”
The monitor flicked through a series of frame shots with notations of widths, heights, depths, and angles at the choke points that Pete had enumerated to Olivia. “The upshot of all this,” Pete summarized, “is that not a single one of these subsections can get from the YIPS to the planet’s surface. The Jatouche will have to break their subsections into smaller components, reassemble them on the surface, and run their tests again.”
The Pyrean engineers turned frustrated expressions on the Jatouche, who were busy chittering to each other, the translation application offline. Finally, they turned to the human engineers and flashed their teeth.
“Your conundrum, as you see it, Pete, was precisely represented,” Gatnack said, after restarting his ear wig communications. “Well done.”
For the humans, there was no doubt that the Jatouche were enjoying themselves.
“Does it occur to anyone that we’re being laughed at?” Pete inquired, with a hint of rancor.
“Apologies,” Drigtik said, holding up his small hands. “There are such great differences in our technology that we’ve failed to take into account the possibility that you wouldn’t understand the intravertor’s deployment. We’ll assemble it outside of the YIPS on a carrier bed.”
“A carrier bed?” Olivia queried. “For what reason?”
Jessie twigged to it first and started laughing. His guffaws were so loud and hard that the humans started smiling, unsure of the reason, especially since the Jatouche had joined Jessie.
“Time to educate the rest of us, Captain,” Harbour demanded.
Jessie took a deep breath, letting it out and wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes. “The carrier bed is attached to a ship or shuttle and holds the device. This enables it to be dropped to the planet. Somehow, it flies to the surface and embeds itself.” Jessie was staring at the Jatouche, his expression asking for confirmation, and they were bobbing their heads in affirmation.
“How is that possible?” Bryan asked.
Gatnack launched into an explanation, asking Pete to display certain components of the monitors to elaborate his comments.
“But you don’t have retro rockets to slow the descent,” Bryan objected.
Gatnack requested the second stage area on the screen. Unfortunately, it was displayed as fully assembled so he resorted to gestures. He portrayed himself as the intravertor, dropping to the surface. Then, he spread his arms out at about 30 degrees away from his body and began to spin. At his advanced age, he was soon dizzy, and Drigtik steadied him, when he stopped.
“Vanes,” Bryan shouted. “You’re using high-speed vanes to slow the descent.”
“You’re correct, Bryan,” Gatnack acknowledged.
The Pyreans were chuckling about the misunderstanding, except for the captains, who were busy staring quietly at each other.
“Captain?” Dingles queried.
Harbour didn’t want to have a discussion with Jessie in front of the group gathered on the bridge, and she searched for a way of making her request clear without explaining too much. Jessie beat her to it, when he said, “There is a significant advantage to keeping this discovery quiet for as long as possible.”
More than one individual thought to question it, but Harbour said firmly, “agreed.” As she spoke, she eyed Dingles, who replied, “Aye, aye, Captain.”
Gatnack and Drigtik glanced at each other. Then Gatnack, determined to add their agreement, said, “Aye, aye, Captain.”
“Thank you, everyone,” Harbour said, smiling at the assembly. She sent the mildest wave of appreciation before she caught Jessie’s eye and tipped her head toward the captain’s quarters.
The three Pyrean engineers left together, headed down two decks toward their cabins.
“What do you make of that order to keep the delivery mechanism a secret?” Bryan asked.
“Politics. Has to be,” Pete replied.
“What do you mean?” Olivia asked.
“The intravertor was headed through the domes. That’s what every one of us believed up until a few minutes ago,” Pete replied. “Passage through the domes would have involved the governor and the family heads. For some reason, the captains w
ant them to believe the intravertor is still headed that way.”
Olivia and Bryan mulled that thought in their minds, while they made their way below.
Gatnack and Drigtik chose to return to the cantina and consume another fruit juice. Their translation software was off, allowing them to speak privately.
“Might there be other assumptions that we’ve made that the humans have misconstrued?” Drigtik asked.
“A good question, Drigtik. This revelation will necessitate that we be more instructive with Olivia,” Gatnack replied. “Let’s treat her as a junior engineer in training. At times, we might be too pedantic, but better that than assume she understands the intravertors’ capabilities.”
“On another subject, did you feel it?” Drigtik asked.
“It was too brief for my taste,” Gatnack replied. “I could have bathed in it.”
Drigtik chittered humorously in reply. “I think we should be deliberate in misleading the human engineers. Then, when there is confusion, we can clarify the issue in front of Captain Harbour.”
“The dangerous foibles of youth,” Gatnack replied, but he flashed his teeth in a broad grin.
* * * *
The next morning, Harbour finished her meal, an attendant clearing away the dishes, when she received a call from Dingles.
“Captain, Tacticnok is on the bridge, requesting an audience with you,” Dingles said.
“Escort her here, Dingles,” Harbour replied. She signaled the attendant to hurry and took a moment to check herself in the sleeping quarter’s mirrored door.
“Your Highness,” Harbour said in greeting, when Dingles arrived with Tacticnok.
“Captain,” the Jatouche replied.
Harbour and Tacticnok waited until Dingles and the attendant left the room before dropping formalities.
“How can I assist you, Tacticnok?” Harbour asked.
“I would like to have a female-to-female discussion,” Tacticnok replied.
