by Jim Rudnick
Hartford had made many notes on that. The fact that a one-hundred-ninety-pound Provost guard could simply walk ahead and the rocks in front of him moved, rolled, and fell away from his path was one thing. However, he had been unable to find any relationship between inertia and momentum and the belt itself. The tendency of an object to resist changes in its state of motion varied with mass, and the mass of the rocks had been much more than the mass of the Provost guard.
Tanner sighed. It is physics, he thought, and while it’s important—for someone in a lab coat—all I want is results.
And today, they’d been looking at the physics only. No testing. No Provost guards. Not a belt had been turned on. Instead, they sat in a meeting. Tanner, Hartford, and two of his top lab guys, Tanner thought, were there to talk about where they were.
Hartford began reviewing the final facts. “We still do not know where the power comes from. But one thing we do know is that the belts appear to be somehow—and this is a reach I know—somehow not a part of ‘now.’ There is no other explanation, that we can come up with.”
He held out a finger on his six-digit hand and ticked off the first thumb. “One, the belt prevents anything from entering the space of the wearer of the belt.”
He ticked off the first finger. “Two, we know that the belt somehow does not pass oxygen through the shield to the wearer of the belt. Proved by the underwater testing. The Provost guard was able to breathe for the full twelve hours he was on the bottom of that wave pool. One other thing we learned was that unlike the normal leaching of warmth—from an immersed body to the water itself—he reported back afterwards that there was no chill or coldness at all. This is a known result from cold water immersion and hypothermia factors.”
Hartford paused and looked at Tanner. When there was no reply, he ticked another finger. “Three, the belt appears to not have a wide swath around the wearer. That is, the belt appears to set up a shield around the wearer that is only one inch larger than the person wearing the belt. Carrying in, say, a broom, which we did test, puts the same shield around the broom when it’s held in the belt wearer’s hands.”
He ticked his fourth finger off. “Four, if something from the belt wearer is dropped ... and the wearer moves on, that item is no longer within the belt shield protection area. It means that the belt wearer can drop items, but they lose their invulnerability.”
He ticked his last finger. “The belt wearer cannot add anything to the belt shield’s protection area. If the belt wearer approaches something and tries to pick it up—the shield prevents him from doing that. Once started, the belt is prohibitive of being enlarged.”
He ticked his second thumb on his hand. “All of which leads us to the final issue—how can we allow the belt wearer to add an offensive role to the belt’s abilities?” He squeezed his hand into a fist. “And so far, Your Grace, we are at a loss. We have no idea as yet—but we do have a solid grasp of the belt and its capabilities.”
#####
As the sand dune rose, Tanner gunned the cycle, and she climbed the hill beautifully. At the top of the crest, the winds were now no longer in his face, and behind him, he could hear the roar of the Caliph’s bike as it came up after, him but it sounded like he was falling behind.
Tanner grimaced as the bike crested the dune, and below the drop away was almost a sixty-degree slope. He twisted the bars to the left just a bit, and the momentum took him up and over the knife-edge of the dune. As he began to roll down the slope, the bike veered left. As he slowly pressed down with his right foot on the rear brake, he leaned more and more to his left as the rear twin wheels began to drift to the right. Sliding like this, he knew, was a lesson in how to have an accident, but he leaned way, way over to try to keep his center of gravity as low as possible.
When the cycle began to get heavy on the right, he let the bars straighten for a few feet and let up on the rear brake a bit. The bike straightened up for about ten feet or so, and then it was back on the rear brake and the big lean to the left.
It took almost twenty seconds for the cycle to make its way down the big steep slope, and when he almost reached the bottom, he let the rear brake off and sat back up. The three-wheeled cycle straightened out and hit the flat sand at the bottom of that huge dune.
He grinned. He remembered much of his skills in dune riding from his days back on Branton. He’d been a real comer, they’d all said, in the Astillon Dune Club. He’d never been able to have his own cycle, but he had a local sponsor—a small city restaurant that was owned by an ex-rider who still loved to go out to the races. He’d offered up his bike—an older model, true, but it had been adapted and juiced up by the owner—and Tanner had been gracious to accept such generosity. In fact, he’d taken on the job of being the restaurant’s dishwasher the three weekend nights, and he’d refused any paycheck. The fact that the owner really liked him made him all the more enthusiastic when it came to the dishes, taking out the garbage, bussing tables, and sorting and stacking the silverware in the server stations too.
At the same time, he’d gotten good at the Astillon Dune Club races. He’d learned the hard way that full tilt often led to learning why they make sand-paper out of sand. The number of sand burns he’d gotten at first had been so bad that twice teachers in his school had asked “So, how’s things at home,” and he knew they were thinking the worst. A quick two-minute vid of his latest crash coming down a dune had made them recoil with shock, but that had stopped that kind of thinking.
He waited at the bottom of the big dune and noticed the Caliph was watching from the top. He goosed his cycle and came directly down the slope but at a low speed, which was not a problem, and pulled in beside him.
He took off his helmet and tucked it in front of him onto the top of the fuel tank. He pulled off his goggles and gloves and smiled at Tanner. “That was about the best drift down a slope I’ve seen in thirty years. Not since my old mentor showed me how to do that and my learning how the hard way—trial and error and crash. Not so much fun—but that was masterful. Course, there is one lesson you’ve not learned—at least judging by today’s ride,” he said. And he looked at the duke.
Tanner thought for a second, as he pulled off his helmet and goggles too. “And that might be ...”
“Know the course, Tanner, before you hit the throttle—would have prevented that kind of slope being such a problem,” he said.
Tanner nodded and smiled. “You got that right, Sharia—guilty as charged,” he said, and that got a laugh from them both.
They’d been out on a dune ride now for almost an hour and a half. He’d come to Neria, the home planet of the Caliphate, as he’d accepted the offer to come and meet the Caliph on a more personal level. He’d not thought long about the invite, and in fact, he’d jumped at the chance. While the Caliph was an unknown, he did feel that the Caliphate itself was something to be watchful of.
He remembered some of the talks he’d had back on Halberd when as a RIM Navy captain, he’d been stationed on the prison planet and he’d met the Countess Tibah. She had spelled out the issues as the staunch supporter of Olbia—one of the planets in the Caliphate. She wanted freedom for her planet at any and all costs—and it had been Tanner, when faced with her drawing down on the man opposite him on the other cycle, who had to make the decision. He had shot and killed that assassin—no matter what his feelings were for her on a personal note. Duty above love. So the Caliph was alive because Tanner had been duty bound.
And now they sat here after a great ride today so far.
And while he was watchful of the Caliphate, the Caliph was really an unknown. Until now. Maybe.
He rubbed his left eye that had taken the occasional splash of sand. While the goggles had protected his sight, the eyebrow over there was still bearing some sand grains. He shook his head then to try to get rid of any other clinging bits, and the Caliph spoke to him.
“I asked you to come to Neria, yes, to talk about all things, but one thing that I need to menti
on. As you will remember, on Enki, I know that you are aware of the Xithricite and that we have been mining it in large tonnages for the years since Enki joined the Caliphate. And I know that you are aware, too, of the powers of that the Xithricite carry too.” He smiled and brushed off the sand that lay on his thigh and waited.
Tanner nodded to the Caliph, knowing it was time to be totally frank. “Yes, I know that the Xithricite, when smelted and forged into panels, provides the ship clad in same with thermal invulnerability. Projectiles we know—as we tested it too, Caliph, from our few samples—still pierce the metals without a problem. Is that information that you did not know?”
The Caliph offered up half a smile and a nod. “Yes, we had our opinions on that—and it’s nice to see that you’re offering up the truth—the whole truth, as they say. But here is something you do not know—at least as far as we know.”
He lifted a leg over the seat behind him and sat crosswise on the bike, his full race leathers in the same sandy brown colors as the landscape around him. He looked away, at the brown scene around him, as if he was making up his mind. “We,” he said quietly, “have three ships totally clad in Xithricite. It was so much work, you’ll not know, to get the panels thick enough to be both thermally shielded and projectile shielded—up to a point. The metal plates are all within the same thickness parameters—they run at least a full ten inches of Xithricite. That’s enough—at testing—to withstand all small arms fire, auto, and robo projectiles up to .50 caliber. Won’t pierce the plates. Which means that these three ships are, yes, invulnerable. At least until an enemy finds a bigger caliber way to attack.”
Tanner smiled. “But with space warfare swinging over to the thermal weapons, there are almost none that carry projectiles. Mines, maybe, and some have—I think it’s the Novertag Navy, is it not, that has those space charges—the balls that are magnetic that seek out some steel to cling to, before drilling into the hull and exploding. But that’s all that I know ...” he said.
The Caliph nodded. “True enough, those Novertag items sound like something that we might want to know more about. But we wanted you to know we’ve three ships—frigates actually. Older ships but with the latest technology, Tanner. And the Xithricite skins.”
Tanner leaned back, hoisted a leg over the tank in front of him, and cocked his ankle over the tank itself. He studied the dunes spread out in front of them and looked all the way to the horizon.
Neria had more than sand plains and deserts, he knew, but the ruling Caliph had always lived a few miles away from where they sat, in the desert. Among the dunes and yet it had a full spaceport just a few miles away.
He looked over at the Caliph. “This news is both surprising—and at the same time, more surprising than you might think on, Sharia. I am surprised that you shared this with me—and more surprised that you were able to forge such thick panels—from an ore that is thermally invulnerable.”
The Caliph clapped a hand down loudly on the tank beside him and smiled. “That we were able to forge such panels will remain a secret that the Caliphate will keep to ourselves. But that we shared it with you is not a reach. Tanner, you lead the task force on the alien intruder issue. You might need to call on us to provide some help with one or more of our red frigates in that upcoming standoff. Incidentally, the names of those new frigates have been changed to CN Crimson I, II and III ... and they are yours should they be needed.”
Minutes later, they were roaring off, the Caliph gunning ahead, and Tanner thought that he’d be wise to let him lead the way. After all, it was his planet and his dunes.
#####
Tanner stood and walked to the windows. Being as angry as he was, inside the personal quarters of the Master Adept, he knew she could see his raw anger, but he didn’t care. He wanted a moment to swallow this and digest it. If he could. If he wanted to swallow it—and that made him turn to her in anger. “How dare you?” he barked at her.
While she didn’t flinch, she did lean back a few inches. It was good to show shame, she knew—no matter what one felt. She gathered her robe as it lay on the settee beside her, and she sent a mental tendril toward the duke.
She could see via that barest of mind links that he was surprised and mad. In fact, he was flaming mad. She just looked at him, ensuring that her face had no expression at all.
He stormed the room around the settees, walking heavily and even stomping once on some steps. “You knew. You Issians knew all about this alien intruder because they’re here for you. That is something that should have been shared with the RIM Confederacy Council—or at the least with the exec committee so that we can face what we face but with a large degree of skill. More than we have.”
He turned then and almost stamped his foot on the thick carpets. Unfortunately, such flooring didn’t allow him to punctuate his anger with his boot soles. Here in the Master Adept’s private quarters, he’d been greeted just an hour ago.
He’d been led to the Master Adept’s study and had watched the Praix video first. He’d commented that the race was odd looking but that was what all non-avian races thought of those that could fly. He did think that the color of their eyes was odd, but as he had blue eyes, maybe a Praix who had orange ones was thinking the same thing.
He had then sat for almost forty more minutes as the Master Adept explained the relationship between the Praix and the Issians and that their reason for the intruder ship was to once again enslave the Issians as their own slave keepers. The Praix had groomed them for their mind reading abilities over millennia. The Praix had decided that after twenty thousand years they once again wanted the Issians back.
He had risen from his seat right in the small private study and had spewed out his anger. “You have been hiding a secret that is more than a racial or realm secret—this will affect the whole RIM Confederacy—maybe even the galaxy itself ...” he said as he sat.
He rose again and began pacing. “And then there’s the wreck. You know it’s what these ‘Praix’ aliens may want too. And that has been, what, almost two years, and you’ve kept the Barony in the dark. But you knew ...” he said as he walked past her again and then stopped and returned to sit opposite her yet again. But he was upset and jumped up one more time—then sat again.
He looked at her, a nursery rhyme rolling over and over in his brain.
“We—Issians and yourself, Duke—have had excellent relations over the past decade and more. Much of your success here in the RIM Confederacy can be traced back to our relationship. And we want to continue that frankness—but you should realize something too. That what I have just revealed to you is a secret that is known by less than a couple of dozen Issians. And I’m including in all of the Eons citizens too ... millions and millions of them do not know what you just learned. That we all came from another galaxy, twenty-plus millennia ago. That we were the subservient race that was in charge of the Praix slaves—we helped keep them in line, as we were a non-avian race, who had the power of speech—two things the Praix do not have.”
She looked down at her chest to the Issian medallion on it and then back up at him. “And now, yes—they’re back and they want us back. They did a mind message to us weeks ago, and they are awaiting our answer. Why I do not know. For how long they will sit off Ghayth, again, I do not know. But what I do know is this—another surprise. Those of us Issians who govern our faith—and the Eons citizens too—have made a decision. We will not go back to being the Praix slave keepers. Not now and not ever. That news, we know, will perhaps cause them to react. And we wanted you to know that above all. And yes, I will keep you in the loop, as they say. When I hear anything, you will know it within minutes.”
Tanner sat still. Yes, it was news that the Issians intended to reject the Praix as their leaders once again. Yes, it was news that the Praix would find that disturbing. And it was news that, yes, he now knew and could use to make plans.
His head was spinning as he quit the rote rhyme, and he opened up his mind should the Master Ade
pt want to see what he was thinking.
He looked at her. “Then, at least in this case, forewarned is forearmed ... but, yes, I will need to know anything else as soon as I can.” His head tilted to one side for a second. “What can you tell me about the wreck itself—is there anything there that might help us? Say to use the technology we can find on the wreck against the intruder ship?”
She looked away for a second and then back at him, her hands calmly clasped in her lap. “Not at this point. I can tell you that the Baroness has sent that Roma captain—Daika, do you remember her—to look over the wreck. At this point, it appears she’s not found out anything, but that could change in a moment. When I know—you’ll know,” she finished off, and then a small smile crossed his face…
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Alver led the way down the long pathway—walkway number one they all called it—toward the wrecked ship’s bridge. Behind him, the Roma captain looked around in wonder. Her name was Daika though he’d never used her first name. He thought she was cute and very athletic looking. Wonder what she could do the marine obstacle test in time-wise. Not as good as a man, he thought, and then he remembered Sergeant Kelly Haliburton, who’d done the course a full twenty-seven seconds faster than any of the male marines here in Tent City.
He grunted and continued to walk. Every so often, the captain would ask about side pathways and what the xeno team had found down same.
