by Jim Rudnick
As he nodded to the Provost guard at the gate to the administration building, he smiled at the man and wondered whom he’d pissed off to get such a poor posting—then he realized that such was not the case at all. Throth was a positive posting, he realized, as he looked around the street in front of where he stood.
Big wide city street. No traffic. Not a single car or truck or even a wagon with an Ikarian at the reins and the taulevs pulling the cart.
Above the buildings ahead and a distance away, he could see a few cranes used in construction, but here, close to the Throth landing port, there was none of the traffic that such construction was usually accompanied by.
Even though there were some shops that looked open, he didn’t see a single Ikarian in sight. Near the shops was a café with a patio, but it had empty tables and chairs.
“If you’re a Provost guard, who looks after community safety and enforces the law, having no one around is a good thing,” he said to himself as he opened the door to the administration building.
Ah, here are all the people! he thought. Aliens, actually, he reminded himself, and his mind began to open up to what was before him. A human janitor appeared to be polishing a floor on one side of the big lobby, and behind the reception desk was an Ikarian—a child—who looked up at him.
Her mind was wide open, and he smiled to himself when he saw she was eagerly awaiting her lunch break because there were two cupcakes in her lunch bag that she was waiting patiently for.
“May I help you, Lieutenant?” she inquired with a voice that was more mature than her early teenage years.
He smiled at her. Her black hair and her bright, bright blue eyes shone up at him as he noted her plain yet nicely pressed jerkin top, its leather and fringe all neat and tidy.
“Yes, you may, young lady. I would like to see the administrator if I could? RIM Confederacy business is the reason, and I’m a bit pressed for time,” he said.
She looked down at the console in front of her, and after a few keyboard clicks, she looked up at him and then back down at the console. She clicked some more keys, and then she looked up at him again.
“But Lieutenant, your ship, the BN Coventry, is just starting a refill on the anti-matter, which will take at the quickest more than two hours, Sir,” she said. In her mind, Bram saw this simple fact had her stumped as to why he was in a hurry, so she’d asked.
Guess there is little to be gained by pressuring a receptionist, he thought, but he was glad that her mind, like most youngsters’ minds, was wide open to his Issian powers.
He nodded. “Yes, I meant that I’d like to speak to the administrator as soon as you can arrange that—and I apologize for not arranging this meeting ahead of time. If the admin can even spare a half hour, that’d be all I need,” he said nicely.
She nodded back to him, and the tapping sound of her keyboard keys filled the air. She smiled up at him. “Sir, yes, Ahanu can meet with you—I’m to send you up right away. Please take the left staircase up three floors, and then on the third floor, head left to the second door on your left, Sir,” she said, and she smiled as the thoughts of those cupcakes came back into the forefront of her mind.
He nodded and walked to the staircase on the left to climb to the third floor. Coming out of the staircase on the third floor, he turned to his left and went down the hallway to the second door on his left.
ADMIN was printed on the door, and he smiled as he entered. As he walked toward the secretary, the inner door opened and out came Ahanu—his friend.
They grinned at each other, and Ahanu gave the traditional Ikarian sign of respect—the back of his right hand, pressed against his forehead and held there for some seconds. Bram followed suit, and they grinned at each other for several seconds and then clasped each other in a hug.
“Bram. So good of you to drop by, and it’s been too long,” Ahanu said as he turned to lead his friend into his office.
Bram smiled back and said, “Yes, and under better circumstances too, Ahanu …”
The last time they had seen each other was at Lord Scott’s wedding. Both had been ushers in the ceremony, and both had seen the assassination of the Master Adept and the duke, as well as the shooting of Lord Scott. It had been a solemn and terrible time for them both, but that was in the past.
Ahanu’s smile was replaced with a look of regret for a moment, and Bram could see in his mind that he was sorry he’d even mentioned that it’d been a long time since they’d been together.
Bram gently squeezed Ahanu’s arm and smiled. “Not to worry—but tell me, what is it like to go from a sleeper ship crewman to being the admin for a whole planet?” he said as he took his seat in front of the desk.
Ahanu walked around the desk to sit behind it. The office held the desk, some chairs out front, and an enormous floor-to-ceiling window on one side that looked out to the big landing port. There, Bram could see the chandlers fitting the Coventry with new supplies and the big red anti-grav fill truck as the work went on.
Ahanu smiled. Under his jet-black brows, his big Ikarian blue eyes shone at his friend. Dressed today in soft light brown buckskin, or quollskin, he looked more like a real live warrior than a planetary administrator as he sat perched on the office chair beneath him.
“It is what you humans call ‘boring’ at times, yet somehow all the little pieces and odds and ends that make up each day do come together and make for a sense of ‘well done’ at times. Other times, I pull out what little hair I have left,” he said.
On his head, of course, lay the coal-black long locks of an adult Ikarian. He’d kept the braids down his back, and they were long and well kept. He was joking, Bram realized, about the hair thing, but he knew the sheer number of small items that needed a look-see by the planetary administrator was probably more than he’d like to see at all.
“Delegate, Ahanu … delegate! And learn to find better people to handle the details,” he said.
Ahanu nodded and answered with a rueful face. “But as we Ikarians have more than ten thousand children in our care and less than a thousand adults, the number of adults that I can acquire to help govern is very much limited. We also, of course, hire humans and other Confederacy citizens to help, but the thrill of coming to Throth to work seems to be somewhat limited,” he said.
Bram nodded. It was true that a job was a job, but without some kind of bonus, off-planet hiring was going to be a tough row to hoe.
After a half hour of small talk, Bram turned the talk to the reason for his trip to Throth.
“Ahanu, yes, I’ll provide some full docs on the Barony pioneer program and how it got Ghayth more than three hundred thousand new citizens in less than a year. Perhaps taking that program and adapting it to your own use could help. But let me tell you why I’m here today,” he said.
Ahanu’s mind was not registering any kind of quandary, and so Bram went ahead.
“I am looking for evidence of previous alien—ancient alien—visitations to our Barony worlds,” he said right up front.
Ahanu said nothing, and Bram noted a big question mark filling his mind.
“We want to know if any of our worlds have been visited by aliens in the last, say, twenty thousand years. I know that this is somewhat difficult to understand even, but it’s from the top, and all I want to know is this, Ahanu. If you find any such evidence—old ruins or secret warehouses or ruined technology—let me know? We think that there were some visitations about two hundred centuries ago, and we’re looking to vet what we already know. So my job is to go out to our own Barony planets and ask. Just came from Turljis, and there was nothing there. But like them, if you keep that in mind and something does come up, just let me know?” he asked.
The quest was for the Issians—the Master Adept in fact—rather than the Barony, but it posed little problem for Bram. The evidence of such a visitation would be of interest to both—and he could claim he was just showing some initiative based on his knowledge of Ghayth. As the Master Adept had advised,
this was a great cover, and for his own part, it posed no problems for him, integrity-wise. He was doing both realms a favor, and that was that.
Ahanu still had nothing that jumped out to the forefront of his brain. None of the other Barony planet administrators had either. Bram’s method was to ask a question on a particular topic, and then read their mind for what jumped out—or what was trying to be hidden as some attempted. He could change the question based on the information he was looking for, but his method still worked, and it always worked even if someone tried to hide their knowledge.
Ahanu nodded to him and held up a hand, palm up. “I know nothing of this, Bram, but will pay attention should this ever come up. We know—well, most of the Barony planets know—that something is “up” over on Ghayth—and I hope that if we can help, we shall,” he said.
“And a gentle reminder, Ahanu? That this is a confidential search … please keep it ‘close to your vest,’ as we say out here on the RIM.”
Ahanu’s head tilted to one side. Moments later, he smiled and nodded. “Ah, got it, Bram. Good to know that one too—and yes, I’ll keep it ‘under wraps,’ as you also sometimes say too.”
They both smiled at each other. A pact, Bram thought, that we both can honor, and he nodded to Ahanu and rose all in one motion.
“Ahanu, as always, good to see you, and may your planet do well under your guidance,” he said grandly.
Ahanu rose too and once again offered up the Ikarian sign of respect before walking toward the office door. Bram followed, and they both walked out to the outer office.
The secretary had returned, and the young man was sitting at his desk and rose as well. Well mannered, Bram thought, as he scanned the youngster’s mind. He didn’t find much except for a question about who the Issian visiting Ahanu was.
He smiled at the youngster. “So that you might know for the future,” he said to the boy, “I am Lieutenant Bram Sander, of the Barony Navy, and I’m an old friend of your administrator’s. Just here to catch up is all, but I will be back. Perhaps, if the time is right, we might go quoll hunting … I think I might like that,” he added.
Thinking about quoll hunting brought up Bram’s memory of Lord Scott’s run-in with quoll. Tanner had been severely injured as a quoll had attacked him and had taken both Tanner and his taulev to the ground. Bram didn’t think he had better than average hunting skills. Well, at least I think I could try, he thought, but Ahanu was already motioning to his secretary.
“Norbert—line that up with my upcoming vacation time and work out the details. Let Lieutenant Sander here know about what dates might be available, and yes, Bram, let’s go hunting,” he said with great enthusiasm and a huge smile.
Now I’ve done it, Bram thought as he slowly took the stairs back down to the lobby and then across the still empty street to the landing port gate. Hope I can bring a laser ...
#####
As she walked, she realized that she hadn’t been in this area of Dessau before. The narrow streets—some she too narrow to hold a robo-cab —surrounded her. She walked down the narrow street and past tall, three-story homes, some with overhangs above her head. Behind her, two of her aides walked along, not so much following as leading. Even though she was in the front, each time she’d tried to head back to the more populated streets to her right, she’d gotten a hint from behind that she should instead turn to her left.
Now, after more than an hour of walking, talking to Issian citizens, and offering up the truly kind words of a Master Adept, she suddenly knew why she was being herded this way.
Ahead of her, as she turned to the left yet again, was a small park with a child’s playground with swings and teeter-totters. From a ring of small flagpoles around the playground, Issian flags with the ringed planet flew. In today’s light winds, they fluttered, and some even snapped too.
Park benches ran around the outside of the small green space, and most were filled with moms and their children. As her mind reached out, it recoiled back.
These were the Mournfuls.
These Issians had received the genes that would make them able to read minds—superb genes to be truthful, she thought—but they had not received much else from the Issian gene pool. The Mournfuls were born with what could only be called less than normal intelligence. Despite others trying to teach them—repeatedly—these Issians did not know how to do things like feed themselves, clothe themselves, talk, or sing. Sadly, the Mournfuls were unable to do much at all.
Her eyes filled with tears immediately, and she slowly advanced on the closest park bench to sit cautiously near a mom who held a small boy on her lap. Blond, of course, most Mournfuls were born with blond hair. He paid no attention to her but stared straight ahead while his mother continued to slowly stroke his arm. But as she tilted her head toward the Master Adept, her eyes locked onto hers.
She dabbed at her left eye, and the tear was quickly wiped away. She pushed her sorrow for the mother and her family out with her mind.
The mother dipped her head as an answer, and a small smile appeared on her face. “We thank the Master Adept, and we hope that she comes here often. Many here would like to just say hello … we Mournfuls, as you might realize, are Issians too,” she said quietly.
The Master Adept nodded and asked if her boy was okay—she had no other word to use, she realized.
The mother nodded. “As well as any boy might be—except his mind is not here in the park with us. Where it might be, we all do not know, but he is a good boy, nonetheless,” she said positively and smiled.
Proud of her son like any mother, the Master Adept thought.
“Yes, I am the new Master Adept, and if you ever, ever need anything—any of you here in the park—you simply come to the walled city and ask for me. Anytime. Day or night—and for any reason,” she said, and she meant it.
She rose and sat with some of the others in the park. She’d asked one why the park seemed to draw the Mournfuls to it—as she had seen the children were too fragile to ever use the playground rides and games. That mother had said she had no idea; it was just where they went. Another later on had said maybe the flapping of the flags made the child Mournfuls quiet as they often sat and stared at the flags. Another asked where else were they to go; she said this was their exile from Dessau.
That gave Gloria an idea, and she filed it away for later. She spent almost two hours there, talking to every single mother and noticing all the blond heads that seemed to be mesmerized by the flapping ringed planet flags, bright blue on an orange background.
As she rose from the final bench, she nodded to her aides who had simply followed her from bench to bench. She said, “Let’s go back,” and she led the way out of the park and back toward the more populated area of the city near the core.
As she led the way, her thoughts were already moving off the Mournfuls she’d just been introduced to, and she thought more about the whole RIM Confederacy instead.
She knew, as all did, that the new short list to merge with the Duchy d’Avigdor, was the Caliphate and the Barony. She also knew, as few did, that the dukedom had been offered to Lord Scott, who, it appeared, was not going to accept. That meant that the new power that was to be here on the web, might be hers to enable.
She knew that the Caliphate—the Caliph more than the realm—was not friendly with the Issians and Eons. She knew that the Barony, however, had seen “eye to eye” between the Baroness and the previous Master Adept.
She knew that should the Barony get the Duchy d’Avigdor, it’d then have the most number of planets in their realm, which would mean the Baroness would succeed to the chairman’s title of the RIM Confederacy—something she wanted.
And helping the Baroness to succeed would make the Baroness very, very happy as well as in the debt of the Issians.
“Really not much to think about,” she said to herself as she turned the final corner, and the streets ahead opened up greatly. As she strode now with a degree of purpose back toward the waiting ro
w of robo-cabs, she realized she’d just made up her mind—and the Issian mind too—her rationale being the reason that she’d been made the new Master Adept. She smiled.
She dipped a shoulder to take the rear seat of the robo-cab, and after waiting for her aides to get into the front, she spoke to them for the first time today.
“When we get back to my quarters, I want an EYES ONLY scheduled with the Baroness of Neres ASAP,” she said.
Both aides in the seat in front of her nodded.
“I also want to create something for the Mournfuls. A new park—a full-sized park with real grass and park benches like the one we were just in. But I want more flags and the like—things that move—maybe some kind of an animated children’s entertainment center—puppets or animatronics or the like.
“Have someone check with the Eons University on Mournfuls too—how can we make life for them easier. Better. Simpler. And yet not—and I do not, I repeat not, want a charity feel to any of this—hear me?” she said, her voice now as hard as steel.
“Yes, Ma’am,” the two aides said in unison.
“I also want Bram. Get him here as soon as he’s able, I have more for him to do. And schedule a mind merge session for later tonight as well—the inner circle only, of course”, she said.
“Get it done,” she finished, and the nods from the front went on for some time.
#####
“Final product test number RX-117, at twenty-five thousand kelvins,” the lab scientist in the white coat said as the lab AI began to record the testing.
In the chamber before him, protected by more than twenty inches of solid pure titanium held in the most powerful force field the Leudies could find, the man stood stock-still bathed in the glow of the power belt that was being tested. So far, a simple blast of the most powerful laser out on the RIM at seventeen hundred kelvins had not penetrated the belt, and the man had lived. He’d also lived through all the projectile tests using everything from bows and arrows to bullets and even mortars and cannons too. He’d lived through all the energy weapons as well, from lasers to energy pulse weapons and plasma ship cannons. “Getting the damn equipment down here had been a real chore,” the scientist said as he shrugged, but the belt had kept the man alive.
