“You have communications equipment here?” Orlova said. “I need to contact my ship.”
“That will be for the Elders to decide. I can promise you a fair hearing.”
“And if they decide against us?”
Grimly, Kormax replied, “Then you will be buried according to the customs of your people.”
“Wonderful,” Durman said.
“Wait here until I summon you. I will see that you are provided with food.”
He directed them to a patch of ground outside the perimeter, and Durman gratefully crashed down into the dust while Orlova sat cross-legged next to him. A moment later, a woman came over with two wooden bowls and a clay jug, the former filled with bubbling broth, the later with water. She placed them on the ground and raced away, never once making eye contact.
“We’re not flavor of the month here, are we,” Durman said, looking down at the soup. “I guess they don’t believe in spoons, either.”
“I’m too hungry to stand on ceremony,” Orlova said, reaching for the bowl. Durman placed a hand on hers.
“You don’t know if that’s safe. Most of the animal life around here isn’t compatible with humans.”
“They’re close enough to us that if they can eat it, so can we. If they wanted us dead, then they’d have shot us and left our bodies in the sand.”
“That can still happen, remember.”
“Then why die hungry?” she said, tipping the bowl to her mouth and taking a big gulp. She swirled the hot liquid around with her tongue as it went down; it tasted wonderful, fragments of meat mixed in with finely diced vegetables she didn’t recognize. The water was cool and clean, better than anything she’d had since Jefferson. Durman watched her for a moment, then followed suit.
“What’s the plan, then?” he said as he ate.
“That depends on them. Hopefully we’ll be able to come to some sort of an understanding.”
“You’ve had training at this, right? Negotiation, diplomacy, they’d be courses in your Academy.”
“Never went,” she replied, taking another swig of soup. “I was commissioned from the ranks.”
“That can happen?” Durman said, shaking his head. “It wouldn’t be heard of here. Either you’re born Officer caste, or you aren’t.”
“That’s no way to get the best officers.”
“It doesn’t happen in your Fleet?”
She shook her head, “No. Oh, there are quite a few sons who follow their parents into the military; Alamo’s Captain was the son of another battlecruiser commander, but anyone can aspire to the high ranks.”
“Your parents?”
“My father once served on Hercules as a pilot, long ago. My mother is a smuggler, a thief.”
“She’s a criminal, and still you are allowed into the fleet?” He shook his head, “Extraordinary.”
Kormax walked out, three others by his side; he was now wearing a gray robe embroidered with patterns of stars. Orlova recognized them as the constellations visible from Earth, slightly distorted by time, a little echo of the world they had left behind so many thousands of years ago,
“I introduce my comrades,” Kormax intoned. “Aydar, Reader of Histories, Caradox, Master of Hearths, and Vargon, Watcher of Stars. We lead our people through their time on this world, in this cycle of their existence.”
Glancing to the left, Orlova said, “I am Sub-Lieutenant Orlova, commander of the Battlecruiser Hercules, and this is Durman, leader of the Crashlander Starport.”
“Guess you are taking the lead then,” Durman whispered with a smile.
“Battlecruiser,” Caradox spat. “Always you think of war and weapons.”
“Our Scouts walk the desert with rifles,” Kormax said. “The difference is simply one of degree. And our ancestors had similar ships, remember.”
“And paid dearly for that,” Aydar said, nodding. “To forget the lessons of the past is to repeat them.”
“Why did you bring them here?” Caradox said. “You know it means their end.”
Orlova frowned, “We were told we would receive a fair hearing…”
Interrupting her, Kormax said, “They are here because our world is dying, Caradox, and the hearth fires you tend will flicker and die if nothing changes.”
“That will not be for many centuries,” Vargon said. “The life story of our world is not yet complete.”
“But it will have an end, and that will mean the end for our people. I would have it be not so, and we need their help.”
“You have always been impatient, Kormax,” Aydar said, raising a finger. “Time still serves as our ally. Time for our descendants to develop a technology once again, with the aid we are already receiving.”
“Against my advice,” Caradox said. “These people hold ours in servitude, those that they did not wipe out. Would you trust the butcher who wields his blade above your head?”
“We do not hold your people in slavery,” Orlova said, “nor have we ever massacred your people.”
“Your time to speak...,” Aydar said, but Orlova stepped forward.
“I will not sit silently while you judge my people for acts committed by others. What the Cabal has done to your people is wrong, and the Triplanetary Confederation will not sit by and allow it to happen.”
“And what, pray, is that,” Caradox said with a sneer. “Another group of our racial enemies?”
“They come from other worlds than the Cabal,” Vargon said. “I will listen.”
“The Confederation was formed to fight for freedom, freedom from tyranny and slavery; our people were dominated by the United Nations of Earth, before we rose up and freed ourselves in a decade of war.”
“Earth,” Aydar muttered. “Mother Earth.”
“Other worlds have joined us since then, worlds that also fled from tyranny. We fight for freedom, for liberty, and for the right of people to choose their fate. The Cabal does not offer that choice, no other government in this part of the galaxy does.” She looked at Caradox, “If you tell us that you do not want us, we will go. Go in sadness, for we have much to learn from each other, but we would go.”
“And the alternative?” Aydar said. “What would that be?”
“We could help you. Protect you from the Cabal until you are able to defend yourselves, provide the help you want to restore your world.” She smiled, pointing roughly in the direction of Sol. “About twenty light-years from here, human beings on a world called Ragnarok are fighting to bring their world back to life.”
“It is as I said,” Kormax nodded. “These are not the Cabal.”
“Words,” Caradox said. “All just words, and meaningless to me.”
“These words are different from ones we have spoken before,” Vargon said. “I would be interested in learning more about this new world.”
“We could provide records, details. Even take you there, one day.”
Vargon’s eyes lit up, and Orlova realized she had hit home; this was no simple astrologer, but a man who wished to travel the stars for real, not just in his thoughts and dreams.
“Do not forget, Caradox, that we had our own warlike period.”
Standing up, the rugged Caradox strode over to Orlova, looking down at her, hands waving in the air, saying, “I should strike this beast down where she stood. Her kind destroyed ours. Wiped them from the face of Mother Earth.”
“That was twenty, thirty thousand years ago. Those who slaughtered your people are dead, long ago.”
“But have you ever changed?” He turned to the others, “I have read the history of Earth, a catalog of wars and destruction culminating in the death of all. Ecosystems wiped out, burned away by atomic fire…”
“As we did,” Aydar said. “This world was bountiful until our war.”
“What happened?” Durman said. “We’ve found ruins,
fragments, but nothing to indicate a war.”
“Nine thousand years ago, we had reached the stage where we walked among the stars, our ships riding on pillars of flame. We hoped to return to Mother Earth, to take back what was ours, but in our ignorance we did not know where it was. Before we could find it, we squabbled, and warred across the stars for centuries.”
“Centuries of war?” Orlova said. “How did you sustain it for so long?”
“We never developed a faster-than-light drive. Our hatred was cold, our vengeance played out over generations. By the end of the war, our spaceships were lost, our cities had burned, and our people killed by the billion. Perhaps it is a blessing that we never reached such heights again.”
“You seem educated enough,” Durman said.
“This world is not conducive to the native development of high technology,” Kormax said. “It has been attempted, but the raw materials we need are buried too deep in the ground. We preserve what we can, from one generation to the next.”
“Records from ten thousand years ago?” Orlova said, her eyes glittering. “I’d like to see them.”
“Naturally you wish to learn our secrets,” Caradox said.
Shaking her head, she replied, “I wish to hear your stories.”
Aydar nodded, “That might be possible.”
“What can you do for us?” Caradox said. “What boon will you grant us?”
She looked at him, deep into his dark brown eyes, and said, “I am not here to barter for favor. If that is the only basis for our relationship, then we have none. I ask for help because I would help in your place. The Triplanetary Confederation can provide you with assistance, but there is no price tag. How can you put a price on knowledge?”
“That seems far too altruistic,” Aydar said, but his voice had softened.
“During our war, we would have done anything for someone who had offered us help in our fight. There were those who might have helped, but they did not. How can we refuse our aid, when receiving such was our fondest wish?” She looked up at the stars, “It’s a big galaxy out there. We must group our intelligence together if we are to keep warm in the dark.”
“It is a trap, a trick, an illusion. They should be ended now,” Caradox said. “I am minded to give the order. The stars are blinding you.”
“You are not the only voice that speaks for the Council,” Kormax said.
“Nor are you.”
Aydar walked up to Durman, “What have you to say, for your Cabal?”
“That I wish I had been born in the Confederation.”
The old Neander chuckled, and turned to Orlova, “I venture you have one convert, if nothing else. I will vote to assist you.”
“As will I,” Vargon said. “It is time we returned to the stars once again. Reclaimed our birthright.”
“This is a mistake, and one you will live to regret.”
“Our descendants may live because of the decision we are making here tonight,” Kormax said, nodding. “The vote is three to one, then. You are obliged to stand behind it.”
“I am not obliged to sit and do nothing while our people are betrayed. This is not over,” he said, walking away towards a tent, a small cluster following him. Vargon looked after him, shaking his head.
“Disunion, argument. These are bad times, I fear.” He turned towards Orlova, “I have some understanding of the principles behind your faster-than-light drive. It requires points of gravitational stability, yes?”
Shaking her head in disbelief, she replied, “It does. How do you know about this?”
“The information Mr. Price gave us has been most interesting.”
“I will see that Hercules gives you everything in its databanks before we leave. It isn’t complete.”
Aydar smiled greedily, “I see many long nights of learning ahead. I wish I was young again, but my daughters will sate their intellects in a way I never could.”
“Why did you want to know about the hendecaspace drive?” Orlova asked.
Vargon took a stick from the ground and started to make marks, points in the ground with long lines beneath. It took only a few moments for Orlova to realize that he was drawing a representation of a 3-D version of local space, sketching it out on the ground, and she looked at it with awe.
“You keep all those positions in your head?”
“Aydar remembers the legends and histories of our people, but I remember our place in the stars, that one day we may return to the worlds we have lost. My eldest daughter has learned all of this, and is teaching her son; the information will be retained.”
Orlova pulled out her datapad and took a picture, the computer matching it up with its record of local space. She looked across at Vargon with wonder as it superimposed the map on its screen.
“You’re pretty damn close, Vargon.”
“I venture, though, that I know things your computer does not.” He drew five more points onto the ground, linking up the dots. “The Shrouded Stars, discovered only late in our star-roving, too late for us to take advantage of them.”
“Shrouded stars?” Durman said.
“Based on the data I have seen, they are called brown dwarves. Dark and small even for their kind, but they might be of use to you.”
“Might be of use?” she said. “Vargon, this gives us a direct way back home. A route back to Triplanetary space that we can use to get back to you again!”
Nodding, the old astrologer said, “I think we made the right decision. If your first thought is that this path can be of use to us, our secrets are in good hands.”
“Where does that go?” Durman said.
“Right to Spitfire Station, one jump from home. We’d need to refuel, but…,” she looked up at the stars, “we’re going home. Damn it all, we’re going home!” She looked at Vargon again, “You said you had a transmitter? We need to contact Hercules, then I’ll want to be escorted to a safe point for our shuttle to come down and pick us up.” Nodding at Durman, she continued, “You’re coming with us.”
“Naturally.”
“We need to move quickly on this,” she said.
Smiling, Vargon replied, “You will not find us wanting, Sub-Lieutenant.”
Kormax walked over, pushing a wheeled cart with a collection of equipment on it, a series of antenna reaching up at the sky. She frowned at the antiquated material, but nodded at the computer – modern encryption.
“A tight-beam transmitter.”
“Thanks,” she said, picking up the microphone. A few quick adjustments, and she was ready to go, “Orlova to Hercules.”
“Maggie?” Carpenter’s voice replied. “Thank God. Look, we’ve got problems up here…”
“Later. Are the long-range sensors working?”
“Just coming on-line now. Why?”
“Put Race on. I need him to start calculating some stellar locations.”
“They’re all in the computer, surely.”
Looking at Vargon, she replied, “These aren’t.”
Chapter 15
Twelve hours had passed while Cooper had lingered in his hiding place, trying to sleep for want of anything else to do. Alamo had entered hendecaspace long before, and the crew were shaking down for the transition; by now, most of them would be in sleep cycle. A perfect time for him to continue his investigation.
He’d managed to liberate the equipment he needed from various storage crates, another intrusion kit and a datapad; presumably Barbara had managed to get to the Captain, else by now someone would have come to investigate the changes to the inventory levels. The only question was where he should go next, and all of it added up to one person – Lieutenant Lane. She’d been far too quick off the mark both when he was found near Matsumoto’s body, and when he escaped from the detention center.
That wasn’t definitive, of course, but it certainly ga
ve him somewhere to start. There was little chance of any more sabotage while the ship was traveling through hendecaspace, and certainly no opportunity to send any signals, so he was unlikely to get any other leads. A check of the armory systems might be worthwhile to find out who was withdrawing ammunition in his name, but someone would have done that already. His job was to do the work that others couldn’t. At least, not officially.
He turned with a start as he heard a noise behind him, a figure walking into the room. Reaching for his pistol, he leveled it at the approaching crewman, a familiar shape; Orlowski, wearing maintenance fatigues.
“Don’t shoot,” his friend said. “I’m off duty, hence not occupied looking for you.”
“What are you doing here, Orlok?”
“I thought you might want some help.”
Lowering the pistol, Cooper replied, “I’m not sure that would be good for you. People are shooting at me, remember?”
“How’s the arm?”
“Painful.”
“Would have been fatal if Duggan hadn’t thrown himself at Lane in the corridor. I’ve seen her on the range; she’s a crack shot. She’s off the search, by the way. Captain’s order. Can you tell me what the hell is going on now?”
“I’m looking for the saboteur.”
“Figures. I have a feeling I know who your top suspect is.”
“I think you are right about that.”
“Just because you don’t like her – and, admittedly, she tried to kill you – doesn’t mean she’s the saboteur, Gabe. It could be almost anyone.”
“We’ve got to start somewhere.”
“What were you doing in Matsumoto’s cabin?”
He shrugged, “I thought she was the saboteur. It didn’t occur to me that she was conducting her own investigation. The Captain didn’t know about it.”
“Unless he had two people looking and decided not to tell them they had a backup.”
“Possible. In any case, I need to make my investigation a bit more obvious.”
“Obvious? Why? Most of the crew thinks you’re the saboteur now at the moment. Whoever the real saboteur is, he’ll be feeling nice and comfortable right now.”
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