So, Co-leader Varian wanted to bring both those young heavyworlders into her office and argue their case right away, did she? She was no doubt primed for an argument with a boneheaded Fleet battleaxe . . . Sass grinned to herself. Varian might be a planetary governor, of sorts, but she didn't know much about tactics. Not that she planned to be an enemy.
She followed their progress up the ramp and through the ship, but by the time they appeared outside her office, she was waiting to greet them. As she stood and shook hands with Varian, she saw the younger woman's eyes widen slightly. Whatever she'd thought a cruiser captain was like, this was clearly not it . . . Not the old battleaxe you expected, hmm? thought Sass. Nor the office you expected? For Varian's eyes had lingered on the crystal sculpture, the oiled wood desk with its stunning pattern of dark red and black graining, the rich blue carpet and white seating. Sass gave the two young heavyworlders a polite greeting. One of them—Winral?—seemed almost dazed by his surroundings, very much the country cousin lost in a world of high technology. The other, poised between hostility and intelligent curiosity, was a very different order of being indeed. If there were wild humans, Sass thought, as there are wild and domestic kinds of some animals, this would be a wild one. All the intelligence, but untamed. On top of that, he was handsome, in a rough-cut way.
She continued with pleasantries, offering a little information, feeling out the three of them. Varian relaxed quickly once she realized Sassinak intended no harm to the innocent descendants of the mutineers. Clearly she felt at home in civilized surroundings and had not gone native. Varian wanted to know the location of the ARCT-10, of course.
"That's another good question to which I have no answer," Sass told her, and explained that she'd initiated a query. It hadn't been listed as destroyed, and no distress beacon had shown up, but it might take days to figure out what might have happened. Then she turned to Aygar, and asked for his personal identification—which he gave as a pedigree. Typical, she thought, for the planetborn: you are who your parents were. Fleet personnel gave ship and service history; scientists, she'd heard, gave university affiliation and publications. Winral's pedigree, when he gave it, contained some of the same names . . . and after all the mutineers had been few. They'd probably worked to avoid inbreeding, especially if they weren't sure how long it would be before a colony ship joined them. Or if one would come at all.
When she began to review the legal status of the younger heavyworlders, Varian interrupted to insist that the planet did, indeed, have a developing sentient species. Sass let her face show surprise, but what she really felt was consternation. Things had been complicated enough before, with the contending claims of mutiny, mining rights, developmental rights derived from successful settlement—and the Theks' intervention. But all rules changed when a planet had a sentient or developing sentient native species. She was well-read in space law—all senior officers were—but this was more than a minor complication—and one she could not ignore.
Avian, too, Varian told her. Sass thought of the Ryxi, volatile and vain, and decided to keep all mention of Varian's flyers off the common communication links. At least the Ryxi weren't as curious as they were touchy—they wouldn't come winging by just to see what the excitement was all about.
Aygar, meanwhile, wanted to insist that the heavyworlders at the settlement owned the entire planet—and could grant parts of it to the colonists in that transport if they wanted to. Sassinak found herself enjoying his resistance, though she made it clear that under Federation law his people could not claim anything but what they had developed: the mine, the fields, the landing grid. And she strongly advised him to have nothing more to do with the heavyworlder transport, if he wanted to avoid suspicion of a conspiracy.
When she offered him her hand, at the conclusion of the interview, she wondered if he'd try to overwhelm her. If he was as smart as he looked—as he must be to have accomplished what the reports said—he would restrain himself. And so he did. His grip on her hand was only slightly stronger than hers on his, and he released her hand without attempting a throw. She smiled at him, well-pleased by his manner, and made a mental note to try recruiting him for Fleet duty. He'd make a terrific marine, if he could discipline himself like that. She explained that she'd be sending over data cubes on FSP law, standard rights and responsibilities of citizenship, the sections on colony law, and so on, and that she'd supply certain items from the ship's stores under the shipwreck statutes. Then the two heavyworlders were gone, with an escort back to the outside, and she turned her attention back to Varian.
Varian would clearly rather have left with the heavyworlders, and Sass wondered about that. Why was she being so protective? Most people in her position would, Sass thought, have been more ready to see all the heavyworlders in irons. Had she formed some kind of attachment? She watched the younger woman's face as she settled into one of the chairs. "A rather remarkable specimen, that Aygar. Are there more like him?" She let her voice carry more than a hint of sensuality, and watched a flush spread across Varian's cheek. So . . . did she really think older women had no such interests, or was it jealousy?
"I've only encountered a few of his generation—"
"Yes, generation." Sassinak decided to probe a little deeper. "You're now forty-three years behind your own. Will you need counseling? For yourself or the others?" She knew they would, but saw Varian push that possibility away. Did she not realize the truth, or was she unwilling to show weakness in front of a stranger?
"I'll know when I get back to them," Varian was saying. "The phenomenon hasn't caught up with me yet."
Sassinak thought it had, at least in part, but admired the woman for denying it. And what was this going to do to Lunzie? Somehow she wasn't nearly as worried about her. Varian asked again about the ARCT-10, as if Sassinak would have lied in the first place. A civilian response, Sass thought: she never lied without a good reason, and usually managed without needing to. Someone came in to report that Varian's sled had been repaired, and Sass brought the interview to a close. Supplies—of course, a planetary governor could requisition anything she required—just contact Ford. Sass knew he would be glad for a chance to get off the plateau and see some of the exotic wildlife. But now . . .
"Your medic's name is Lunzie, isn't it?" she asked. Varian, slightly puzzled, nodded. Sass let her grin widen, enjoying the bombshell she was about to drop. "I suppose it was inevitable that one of us would encounter her. A celebration is in order. Will you convey my deepest respects to Lunzie?" Varian's expression now almost made her burst out laughing: total confusion and disbelief. "I cannot miss the chance to meet Lunzie," Sass finished up. "It isn't often one gets the chance to entertain one's great-great-great grandmother." Varian's mouth hung slightly open, and her eyes were glazed. Gotcha, thought Sass wickedly, and in the gentlest possible tones asked one of the junior officers to escort Varian to her sled.
Nothing wrong with that young woman that seasoning wouldn't cure, but—Sass chuckled to herself—it was fun to outwit a planetary governor. Even one who'd had a concussion. She followed Varian's progress through the ship, and was pleased to note that shock or not, she remembered to check on her crewmate. When Med queried, with a discreet push of buttons, Sass acknowledged and approved his leaving with Varian. Varian, she suspected, never considered that he might have been held.
Ford appeared, and shook his head at her expression. "Captain, you look entirely too pleased about something."
"I may be. But compared to the last cruise, things are going extremely well, complications and all. Of course we don't know why the Thek are here, or what they're going to do, or if that heavyworlder transport has allies following after—"
Ford shook his head. "I doubt that. A hull that size could carry colony seedstock, machinery and all—"
"True. That's what I'm hoping—but you notice I put a relay satellite in orbit, and left a streaker net out. Just in case. Oh yes—you're interested in the sort of wildlife they've got here, aren't you?"
"Sure—it was kind of a hobby of mine, and when I was on the staff at Sector III, they had this big museum just down the hill—"
"Good. Are you willing to take on a fairly dangerous outside job? And do some acting in the meantime?"
"Of course." He blanked all the expression off his face and faked a Diplo accent. "I could pretend to be a heavyworlder if you want, but I'm afraid they'd notice something . . ."
Sass shook her head at him. "Be serious. I need to know more about this world—direct data, not interpreted by those survivors, no matter how expert they are in their fields. Varian, the co-leader who came today, is entirely too eager to claim sentient status for an avian species. It may be justified, or it may not, but I want independent data. There's something odd about her reactions to the Iretan-born heavyworlders, too. She ought to be furious, still—she's less than a tenday out of coldsleep; she witnessed a murder; the initial indictment filed with Godheir spoke of intentional injury to both co-leaders. That's all fresh in her mind, or should be. Her reasoning's correct: the grandchildren of mutineers are not responsible. But it's just not normal for her to think that clearly when her friends and colleagues have suffered. I've seen this kind of idealism backfire—this determination to save every living thing can be carried too far. She's very dedicated, and very spirited, but I'm not sure how stable she is. With a tribunal coming up to determine the fate of this planet and those people, I need something solid."
"I see your point, captain, but what do you want me to do?"
"Well—I'd guess she'd fall for unconditional enthusiasm. Boyish gush, if you can manage it—and I know you can." She let her eyes caress him, and he laughed aloud. "Yes—exactly that. Be dinosaur-crazy, act as if you'd do anything for a mere glimpse of them—you're so lucky to have the chance, and so on. You can start by being skeptical—are they really dinosaurs? Are they sure? Let's pick a survey team today, and brief them—you can introduce them as fellow hobbyists tomorrow. They'll probably accept two or three, and if they go for that maybe another two or three later. How's that sound?"
"Right. Makes sense." Ford, faced with a problem, tackled it wholly, absorbed and alert at once. She watched as he scrolled through the personnel files, with a search on secondary specialties. "We'll have to pick those who do have a real interest—they'd catch on to something faked, and I can't teach someone all about dinosaurs in one night—" He stopped, and fed an entry to her screen. "How about Borander? He's taken twelve hours of paleontology."
"No, not Borander. Did you see how he interacted with Varian?"
"No, I was with Currald then."
"Well, take a look at the tape later. Young trout let her dominate him. Admittedly, she's a Disciple, and she's declared herself planetary governor, but I don't like my officers buckling that easily. He needs a bit of seasoning. Who else?"
"Segendi—no, he's a heavyworlder and I doubt you want to complicate things that way—"
"Right."
"What about Maxnil, in supply? His secondary specialty is cartography, and he's listed as having an associate degree in xenobio." Sass nodded, and Ford went on, quickly turning up a short list of three crew members who could be considered "dinosaur buffs." It was even easier to come up with a list of those who knew a reasonable amount of geology, although harder to cut the list to three. All had excellent records, and all had worked with non-Fleet personnel.
Sass nodded, at last. "Good selection. You brief them, Ford, and be sure they understand that they did not know dinosaurs were here until tomorrow. We didn't see anything on the way down: we came too fast. I had seen the information stripped from the beacon, but no one else had. Once you see the beasts, I imagine you won't have to fake your reactions. But keep in mind that I need information on more than large, noisy, dangerous reptiloids."
Ford nodded. "Do you still want to speak to Major Currald before lunch?"
"If he feels he has things well in hand with the transport. What's that captain's name—Cruss? Foul-mouthed creature, that one. I want Wefts and heavyworlders, round the clock—"
"Here's the roster." As usual, Ford had anticipated her request. She thought again how lucky she was to have Ford this time, and not Huron. In a situation like this, Huron's initiative and drive could have been disastrous. She could trust Ford to back her tactics, not go off and do something harebrained on his own.
She glanced at the roster of Fleet personnel stationed inside the transport to ensure that personnel in coldsleep were not revived. She didn't want to face a thousand or more heavyworlders: the Zaid-Dayan would have no trouble killing them all, but Fleet commanders were supposed to avoid the necessity of a massacre. Each shift combined Wefts and heavyworlders: she trusted her heavyworlders, but with Wefts to witness, no one could later claim that they'd betrayed her trust. "Get Currald on the line, would you?"
A few moments later, Currald's face filled one of the screens, and he confirmed that the situation remained stable.
"I've told the native-born survivors that I'll supply some of their needs, too," Sassinak told him. "I don't want them to think that all good comes from Diplo. I've got some things on order, that'll be delivered to the perimeter. But if you can turn surveillance and supervision over to someone, I'd appreciate your company at lunch."
"You're not giving them weapons—"
"No, certainly not."
"Give me about half an hour, if you can, captain; I'm still arranging the flank coverage."
"That's fine. I'll order a meal for half an hour from now—and if you're held up along the way, just give me a call." She cleared the circuit, and turned to Ford. "See if Mayerd can meet with us, too—and you, of course, after you've notified your short lists that you'll brief them this afternoon. I'll be on the bridge, but we'll eat in here."
On the bridge, she told the duty officer to carry on, and came up behind Arly. Although most of the ship had been released from battle stations, the weapons systems were powered up and fully operational. It would be disastrous if someone erred at this range—no doubt the transport would be destroyed (with great loss of life she'd have to account for) but the resultant backlash could endanger the Zaid-Dayan. Arly acknowledged her without taking her gaze from the screens.
"I'm just running a test on quadrant two—" she said over her shoulder. "Interlock systems—making sure no one can pull the same trick again—"
Sass had more sense than to bother her at that moment, and waited, watching the screens closely, although she could not interpret some of the scanning traces. Finally Arly sighed, and locked her board down.
"Safe. I hope." She smiled a bit wearily. "Are you going to explain, or is this a great security mystery?"
"Both," said Sass. "How about lunch in my office?"
Arly's eyes slid back to her screens. "I should stay—"
"You've got a perfectly competent second officer, and it's my considered opinion that nothing's going to break loose right now. That Cruss may be up to something, but we've interrupted his plans, and this is our safe period. Relax—or at least get out of that seat and eat something,"
* * *
Currald brought the stench of the Iretan atmosphere back into Sassinak's office, just as the filters had finally cleared it out after the morning's visit. He apologized profusely, but she waved his apology aside.
"We're going to be here awhile, and we might as well adapt. Or learn to wear noseplugs."
Arly was trying not to wrinkle her nose, but positioned herself a seat away from Currald. "It's not you," she said to him, "but I simply can't handle the sulfur smell. Not with a meal on the table. It makes everything taste terrible."
Currald actually chuckled, a sign of unusual trust. "Maybe that's what drove the mutineers to eating meat—I've heard it ruins the sense of smell."
"Meat?" Mayerd looked up sharply from a sheaf of lab reports. "It makes the person who eats it stink of sulfur derivatives, but it doesn't confuse the eater's own nose."
"I don't know . . ." Sass paused with a
lump of standard green vegetable in white sauce halfway to her mouth. "If things taste different in a sulfurous atmosphere—and they do—" She eyed the lump of green with distaste. "Then maybe meat would taste good."
"I never thought of that." Mayerd's brow wrinkled. Ford grinned at the table generally.
"Here comes another scientific paper . . . 'The Effect of Ireta's Atmosphere on the Perception of Protein Flavorings' . . . 'Sulfur and the Taste of Blood.' "
"Don't say that in front of Co-leader Varian," Sass warned. "She seems to be very sensitive where the prohibition is concerned. She wouldn't think it was funny."
"It's not funny," Mayerd said thoughtfully. "It's an idea . . . I never thought of it before, but perhaps an atmospheric stench would affect the kinds of foods people would prefer, and if someone were already tempted to consider the flesh of living beings an acceptable food, the smell might increase the probability—" The others groaned loudly, in discordant tones, and Mayerd glared at them. Before she could retort, Sassinak brought them to order, and explained why she'd wanted them to meet.
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