by M. D. Hall
So our absence has provoked more than a little interest, thought Gorn. That interest, however, was short lived, most likely brought about by the sight of the commander exiting the conference room, and taking his place at the command console. At his appearance, his senior officers, other than Gorn and Trang, vanished as quickly as nocturnal quarls exposed to sudden light.
Gorn, without looking at his commander, moved to his station, already occupied by one of his junior relief officers; the man was twelve years his senior, but gave no indication that he harboured any ill will. Ordinarily, the other man’s thoughts would not remotely concern Gorn, but in his current situation, he had to be alert to anything that might endanger him, or his plans. The man gave a genuine smile as he made way for the new science officer.
It was protocol that, before leaving the bridge, all officers were required to satisfy themselves they were aware of any developments relevant to their post. The station console would recognise them, and provide updates on all matters, even those relating to other stations if they impinged on its own functions. Allowing for the possibility of information gaps left by the console, all data relating to the bridge was available for perusal. Usually, no two officers assigned to a station would be present on the bridge at the same time. To cover rare incidents, such as the present one, the console would project a personal hologram directly in front of the approaching officer as soon as he, or she was within one and a half metres of the console, so as not to interfere with the officer at station.
Gorn satisfied himself that nothing needed his attention, and decided to return to his quarters. He nodded a brief acknowledgment to his relief, while a quick glance at Trang’s station showed she had already left.
Back in his cabin, he went straight to his bed and sat down. A lot had happened since boarding ship, and he needed time to consider how it affected the plans already forming in his mind. Once again, his thoughts began with Trang. Her analysis of the situation was impeccable, and that troubled him because, as an outsider unencumbered with the detritus cluttering Darl’s mind, he would expect her to postulate Gorn’s predecessor was sacrificed to make way for another, who would be above reproach, whose credentials were impeccable, Gorn himself.
He stood up, and thought, am I making this more complicated than it needs to be? Yes, it was possible Trang might be suspicious, but nothing more. It would be a mistake to ignore it altogether, and so he wove it into his line of reasoning, just to be satisfied he had it covered. Accepting she might have deliberately left that part of her analysis out, the question now presenting itself was, why? As Darl himself believed, there were others on board conspiring to sabotage the mission. So, he pondered, is she a rebel, an agent, or an innocent? Reaching a conclusion was surprisingly easy: She isn't here to help me, Narol wouldn't risk that; she can’t be an agent, they’re not ready for deployment until twenty-four. That leaves her being an ‘innocent.’ She’s aggravating and infuriating, but still an innocent.
In the midst of all the confusion, there was one vestige of certainty. He was completely out of his depth. Maybe, he was being paranoid. He had yet to work out how he would achieve the almost impossible task given to him by Narol, and now he was allowing himself to be distracted by problems that did not even exist. Smart he may be, but his lack of experience with people was telling, where is Zaran, when I need him?
He asked his console for updates, and was informed there was a message from Genir. The hologram showed his friend, flanked by boisterous roommates, inviting him to join them for a couple of hours. Gorn could think of innumerable things he should do, but decided to go anyway. He needed a short time away from intrigue, and his loyal, less complex friend was the perfect antidote.
Ω
The meeting with his friend was all it promised to be. The two of them, accompanied by Genir’s roommates, also dart pilots who seemed incapable of doing anything without Genir’s approval, went to the recreation centre where, as Gorn should have known, they met up with six very attractive girls all of whom were particularly interested in the reluctant zagball hero but, unsurprisingly, not remotely interested in Genir’s detailed explanation, in as loud a voice as he could reasonably employ, of how the two of them outmanoeuvred their opponents.
The roommates soon disappeared when it became clear that the magnetism of the zagball hero was non transferable. Gorn found the whole experience empty and, much to his surprise, most relaxing.
Three hours later, he carefully disentangled himself from three of the girls, the others had grudgingly reported for duty an hour earlier. Genir was enjoying the sight of his awkward friend attempting to fend off the attentions of his adoring fans. He was perfectly happy for Gorn to be the centre of attention, particularly as he had contact details for all six girls, which would come in handy when they finally realised their first choice was not coming out to play.
He almost felt sorry for his friend. Anyone else could be forgiven, thinking Gorn incapable of enjoying the company of girls, but he knew his friend better than that. Genir was convinced that one day Gorn would be hit by the thunderbolt, and become what he was destined to be, a one woman man. Until that day dawned Genir was more than happy to console the women who threw themselves at the unyielding wall that was his friend.
Gorn had said his goodbyes, managing not to make any promises he had no intention of keeping, and was about to leave when his friend took him to one side, out of earshot of anyone else in the centre. For once, Genir looked serious. ‘How are you doing?’
‘I’m fine,’ replied Gorn. ‘It’s just that a lot’s happened recently, and I’m taking a little longer to adjust than I thought, but I’ll get there,’ his face took on a resigned look, before he walked away.
Genir did not believe this, for a moment. He knew his friend to be capable of dealing with anything. There was something else Gorn was choosing to keep to himself, and that was fine with Genir, when he was ready, Gorn would tell him.
‘Don’t be a stranger,’ he called after his friend.
Gorn kept walking to the transporter, and raised his right hand in acknowledgement. Genir watched as the reluctant zagball star came to the first transporter post, stopped and looked back. Just before he teleported, Genir could see something in his friend’s face, belying his earlier reassurance, as if he wanted to say something, then he was gone. For a few more moments Genir forgot about being the amiable buffoon everyone believed him to be then, adopting his usual dazzling smile, he turned back to three disconsolate girls.
Ω
Contact with Narol, when it came, was a surprise. Three days after Gorn’s meeting with Darl and Trang, he was called into Darl’s ready room and saw, standing before him, a red faced commander and a coolly furious Narol.
‘Gorn!’ barked Darl. ‘You may have met at the buffet, this is Narol.’ A glance over to the woman at his side, showed an arching of her eyebrows evincing an even higher level of anger. Darl had evidently seen the same look, and quickly attempted to correct himself. ‘What I meant to say…’
‘Archaeology Liaison Officer, Narol,’ his aunt interrupted the commander looking, as she did so, at Gorn. ‘But you may call me Narol.’
Gorn mistakenly thought Darl’s face was unable to show any deeper shade of red than he had witnessed moments before. ‘Narol and I have had a difference of opinion concerning your suitability, to act as liaison during this voyage.’
‘Perhaps, Commander,’ Narol ventured, ‘we could all be seated to discuss this?’ At which point, she sat on the nearest chair, leaving the two men to either remain standing and look foolish, or sit. They chose the latter.
‘There’s no way to put this delicately,’ Narol continued. ‘The commander has informed me you are to be my new science liaison officer, and I have made it known to him that I don’t believe you have the experience to assist me in my work. We have signalled the Admiralty, and are awaiting their final determination on the matter.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Gorn replied, looking from one to th
e other. ‘I really don’t know what either of you are talking about.’
Narol turned towards Darl, her anger now barely controlled. ‘You haven’t told the boy?’
‘I didn’t think it would be a problem,’ the commander was finding it difficult to control his frustration. Narol simply stared at him. ‘Clearly, it was!’ he erupted.
Narol turned towards her nephew. When she spoke, her voice took on an altogether more reasonable tone.
‘What do you know of our mission?’
‘Only what I’ve been told,’ he lied.
Narol turned to Darl. ‘Will you tell him, or shall I?’
The commander simply shrugged, and Narol took that as acquiescence. ‘This mission, despite what you might have been led to believe, is one of conquest…’
‘But rule…’ Gorn tried to add.
Narol waved her hand. ‘Not our concern. Higher powers have decided it won’t apply,’ she could see Gorn was about to interrupt, and shook her head. ‘There’s no point in asking how, or why, it just is; they are matters that don’t need to concern us.’
At this point Darl stepped in. ‘I trust I needn’t remind you that everything you’re hearing must remain within these walls. We don’t want rumours and gossip spreading through the ship. All I’ll say, is that it’s a delicate situation,’ as an afterthought he added. ‘That includes Lieutenant Trang,’ clearly remembering her reference to non-emergent species, during the post buffet conference.
‘I understand.’ Gorn replied. Darl appeared satisfied.
Narol continued. ‘The commander’s orders are: once we have seized the target planet, hopefully without struggle, we are to extricate all objects of value within a month. There’s no precedent for such a short timeframe, and I’m not privy to the reasons behind such haste.
‘These matters are usually dealt with by other ships not,’ she looked again at Darl, ‘by ships of the line. My duties don’t include grubbing about to see whose pockets we can pick, but it seems we must all learn to be flexible. I’ve been informed by my superiors that sweepers will not be involved in this mission, and so I must coordinate the data from all the departments tasked with examining objects of interest. I have the final say in determining which of the objects will be returning with us to Te'ath.’
Now Gorn understood why Narol was able to speak with authority on what Darl did and the nature of Te'an acquisition, she had been part of it, she’s served with Darl on a sweeper. Her duties might not include grubbing about now, but there was a time when they did.
‘Normally,’ Narol continued, ‘this task takes several months, post conquest. My involvement would be on Te'ath and restricted to cataloguing cultural objects. However, there is apparently a need, in the current circumstances, to sift through their scientific accomplishments. I suggested we wait, until our return to Te'ath before detailed analysis, but was instructed that their science needs to be evaluated on the spot, as it were. That task ordinarily falls to the science officer, and until recently we had a very experienced officer,’ she looked at Darl to see if he had anything to add, he simply stared at her. ‘The sterilisation of the planet is not to be delayed beyond our departure from Telluria, and for reasons that should be obvious, we can’t return to a planet after the wholesale destruction of the host race, and the consequential collateral damage.’
None of this was a surprise to Gorn, and only confirmed what he already knew. Unlike previous conquests, where sweepers took their time to evaluate what was of value, the Council had decided that the inhabitants of Telluria were to be summarily destroyed, and Eclipse was effectively a sweeper. What Narol had achieved was to induct him into a tight group who knew Eclipse’s true purpose. This would bring him closer to Darl, allaying his suspicions even further. But why, he thought, is she objecting to me acting as liaison?
Narol was continuing as though she had said nothing worthy of note. ‘It will be the task of the logistics officer to ensure the safe passage of those items. The science officer - you, if the commander has his way - will have sole responsibility to assess their value, although I cannot, for the life of me, see what use we would have for their backward science.’
‘And that,’ interjected Darl, ‘is why you aren’t the science officer.’
She pressed on, ignoring Darl's interruption. ‘For reasons, that escape me, the commander thought I would be happy with a wholly inexperienced officer acting as my science liaison.’
Narol paused, momentarily, as though weighing her words carefully. ‘I’m sorry, but you simply won’t do. Notwithstanding your undoubted talents, you lack the necessary experience. I’ve requested that you be replaced with a more experienced officer, albeit one with less innate brilliance.’
At this, final pronouncement, she sat back in her chair, visibly relieved at having unburdened herself of a task she found unpleasant.
Gorn, mentally kicked himself for being so dense, Narol’s scheme was brilliant.
‘Perhaps,’ he began, looking at Darl, ‘it would be better…’ before he could complete the sentence, the commander’s personal console flashed.
‘Aha, a response!’ Darl exclaimed. ‘Shall I take it in private Narol, or shall we just play it now?’
‘Don’t be foolish, Darl, the sooner we all know, the better.’
With that, the commander instructed the console to play the message.
A minute later it was a self satisfied Darl who was doing his utmost not to appear triumphant, or perhaps a little less than his utmost.
Narol was gracious in defeat, and even forced herself to smile. ‘Clearly, the Council has decided, age notwithstanding, that you are the right person for the job.’ She stood and took hold of Gorn’s forearm, which he reciprocated. ‘I look forward to working with you, young man.’
Darl was clearly enjoying her discomfort, and Gorn was sure this was only one of many historic battles most of which, from the look on the commander’s face, were probably won by Narol. Darl failed to realise she had won again, manipulating him into doing what she could not, ensuring ample opportunities for the conspirators to meet.
Narol moved quickly on from her disappointment, and got down to practicalities. She informed Darl that her assistants would carry out most of the actual liaison, as she was already fully occupied, and for that same reason could not spare the time to meet with Gorn more than once a week.
Darl could sense her dragging some consolation from the jaws of defeat, and in the spirit of magnanimity, agreed. After all, it sweetened the victory so long awaited, to graciously allow his foe some little respite; not only did she have to live with her defeat, she was indebted to the victor. He knew she would hate that, almost as much as her defeat.
Others might have considered his reaction extreme, and not a little malicious. Let them, he thought, they haven’t had to put up with this insufferable woman for nine years. How is it, on a ship this size I can’t avoid her? He looked at Narol, his face now a picture of serenity, before she made her excuses, and left.
Ω
As she left Darl’s ready room, Narol was content. Everything had gone as planned, as she knew it would. Gorn’s part in the deception was impressive, his initial surprise completely genuine. She had thought it wise not to pre warn the boy, he might try to play act, creating suspicion in the mind of Darl who, despite his bizarre behaviour, was nobody’s fool. She was particularly impressed by the speed of her Nephew’s uptake.
Gorn was proving to be a valuable asset and, for the briefest of moments, a flicker of regret raced across her mind, then it was gone, banished never to return. Whatever the outcome of this mission, she and the Vanguard would survive. If Gorn failed, she would wait for the next opportunity, one she most likely would not live to see but, like all her predecessors, she was patient.
Unpleasant though it was to contemplate, she needed to set in motion the steps to be taken once Gorn had completed his mission. Her agent/assassin would leave a trail of breadcrumbs to a single, inevitable conclusion: the
sabotage was the action of a brilliant, but deranged young man who blamed his father, a hero of the military, for the death of his poor, equally deranged mother. There would be no follow up.
Ω
Darl had always thought Narol to be a beautiful woman and, in the early years, had made his feelings known in a less than discreet manner. She had made it clear, in her equally forthright way, how she viewed the prospect as only slightly more appealing than having all of her internal organs drawn out through her throat, while still conscious.
He resigned himself, it was her loss, but why did she always go out of her way to make life difficult for him? He had to fight tooth and nail for everything, where their interests crossed, and to make matters worse, she was always professional and courteous, knowing it would make him even angrier.
One thing though, this latest business with young Gorn, he had never seen her that irascible before. Maybe he was pushing her too hard. He mentally shrugged, what of it?
Gorn was dismissed and, once alone, Darl chortled. When will the wretched woman learn? She’ll have to get up early in the morning to get the better of me! He permitted himself one last, lingering moment of smugness, before turning his mind to the deadly serious matter of the traitor/traitors on board. He had a very good feeling about Gorn and Trang, they would lead him to his quarry.
Ω
Gorn returned to his quarters, amazed at the skill demonstrated by his aunt. In one deft movement she had played Darl so completely, he could never suspect there was anything untoward in their weekly meetings.
How long she had been building up to this moment, he could only wonder. While he had nothing but admiration for her abilities, the fact she had chosen not to inform him in advance, suggested a mind wholly committed to one task only. Everything, and everyone else, was of no consequence, unless there was a direct bearing on that one task, the mission.
