Spy Station

by J. M. R. Gaines

  “My god, that makes it sound like professional wrestling.”

  “I'm not sure I understand exactly what that is, but if it means a mixture of physical effort and putting on a bit of a show, that is precisely what it is for us.”

  “I see. And if it is not too much to ask, do you have personal experience in this entertainment?”

  “Like the vast majority of my sisters who go off-world, of course I do. Don't human females sometimes engage in this prostitution, as you call it?”

  “My dear, you don't know the half of it. Call it what you will, but there's usually no alternative if you want to get what you want. So can you accumulate some wealth in sports entertainment?”

  “Personally, you mean? No, aside from an allowance, it all goes to the matron of the house, who passes it on to the matrilines.”

  “Well, if I were turning tricks all day, I'd at least want to keep the proceeds.”

  “Excuse me? What does magic have to do with it?”

  Erica had a sardonic chuckle. “Magic! Don't we wish it! That's a good question. But let me ask you something a little different. You do realize that our males who go to the houses to enjoy your services do think of it as a sexual experience, don't you? Doesn't that make the whole thing a little one-sided?”

  “Of course, we are aware that human men produce materials that are reproductive in humans, but we can't really think of that as sex in our terms. After all, no babies could come of it for us, so there would be no birth ecstasy, no one to add to the matriline, no one to care for and share with the sisters. What would make it sexual for us?”

  “You managed to find some pleasure with your partner Klein, didn't you?”

  “I admit that I was very happy with Klein, but that was a sharing experience between two very different individuals. That difference is part of what made it so special. At least, that is what I try to express in my songs, if you have heard of them.”

  “No. Can't say I have. I have a feeling my songs would be a lot different.” Erica's face had grown long and she threw a scowl Entara's way before excusing herself on the pretext of being late for a meeting. Entara had sensed that their words had gotten close to some concealed feelings in the human woman, some distress that she longed to share. Yet she had pulled back from revealing it because of... what --... distrust, jealousy, vulnerability? Entara felt so close and still so very, very far from understanding.

  If empathy with Erica had eluded Entara, she did not dwell on it long, for she had something far more accessible and precious to enjoy. She was happiest when the visitors had left and she could relax and let Quatilla snuggle up to her side. Quatilla was fully weaned now and had recovered her appetite a few hours after the operation, gorging herself on green Pulpfruits until she could ingest no more. Without teeth, she still preferred the mushy flesh of this protein-rich food source. Later, when she started to teethe, she would develop a sudden fondness for the tartness of the Skypear, with its natural analgesic that would soothe her achy gums. Entara thought of these little developmental details with delight, reliving the infancy of the nearly sixty young she had already brought up. Before they left the station, Quatilla might begin to try to talk, probably starting with high-pitched bits of words that only Forlani could hear. Entara tried not to think about whether they would be at war by then. This was, by stubborn choice, her last offspring, and she would not feel safe until Quatilla was safely bedded down in the mahäme, surrounded by caring sisters of the Eyes of Awareness.

  Every hour or so of station time, Ayan’we dropped in to check on them. In between security meetings, she embraced her mother and petted her littlest sister. She avoided delivering news of the conference because, despite Quatilla’s rescue from the kidnappers, it was mostly bad. Torghh was still missing and was starting to be presumed disassembled. Rumors were going around that the Song Pai were preparing to depart without considering any treaty proposals. Tionar and Dhee, the leader of the Kael, were trying to rally support for a plan that might keep all parties at the table. To tell the truth, they were so puzzled by the inscrutable reactions of the Blynthians that they were grabbing at straws to try to find common ground. As for Quatilla’s kidnappers, little had been uncovered. The Phiddian security head had called Ayan’we into a secure office to discuss some private notions about the crime. The Phiddian swore that they could not figure out how the disguised quartet the Forlani had come to know as the Gropers Four had been infiltrated into the station staff. It appeared that they had arrived separately and that each had not just one alias, but multiple layers of identities that suggested elaborate measures of concealment. If they had a handler on Transfer Varess, it was impossible to discover who it might be.

  Ayan’we was glad when she was able to bring her mother a bit of undeniably good news.

  “Mother, I have to tell you. Two of our injured guards are being released by the Weh physicians.”

  “Which ones?”

  “Well, as you know, the two at the portal were immobilized by an injected poison and the two closer to Quatilla’s crib were hit with an aerosol spray, both fairly generic chemicals. The spray was the less severe of the two, so the two inner guards are the ones being released.”

  “I had hoped one might be Kantua.”

  “The Weh assured me that she and her partner are doing well. They just need a bit more time in detox.”

  As Ayan’we rose to return to her investigations, Entara reached out and took her hand. “Be careful yourself, firstborn. You could be a target, too. Don’t let your eagerness cause you to drop your defenses.”

  The Cluster Leader looked her mother in the eyes. “Do you think we can still salvage anything here?”

  “I don’t know what to think. But I feel that some opportunity is coming. Don’t ask me to explain because I can’t. Somehow I’ve got to jog my reason back into action and get ready to make a contribution to tomorrow morning’s general session or we all may fail.” Entara let go of Ayan’we’s hand and followed her with her eyes as she headed for the portal.

  As Ayan’we turned into the station corridor, she passed a procession of four Kholods carrying trays of food. She did not notice that one of them had a scar showing under a greenish bandage on its leg.

  Rack had only allowed himself a microsecond of celebration upon his completion of the molecule’s analysis. He had quickly summoned Ayan’we to his laboratory to discuss his findings with her and his plan to save Torghh from the kidnappers. She was seated in a hard plastic chair with an anxious look on her face, awaiting Rack’s synopsis of his discoveries. Rack broke the uncertain silence and began to describe his discoveries to her.

  “I have completed chemical analysis of the molecules,” he said. “They appear to have come from an object of unknown manufacturing origin, but are otherwise unremarkable—they do not have any radioactive properties or anything else that would allow them to be easily detected. In fact, I would say that this particular material is a plastic of distinct chemical composition that is otherwise quite mundane and easily overlooked.”

  “You think it’s some kind of distinct plastic exterior casing for a robot?” Ayan’we asked. “Occasionally on Forlan, the scientists manufacture an individual robot for a very specific task using a custom plastic. How many other planets legally allow custom builds?”

  “I very much doubt that this robot—or whatever the source of the plastic was—had been manufactured on Forlan. But many planets, either legally or illegally, produce ‘custom builds’. In fact, the planet that produces the highest number of custom builds is Earth, although the robot could be owned and operated by almost any race. Earth’s governments, for the most part, do not tightly regulate off world sales of robots.”

  “Is there any way we can efficiently scan for this molecule, now that you’ve completed your analysis of it? Torghh is still in danger, and we need something as fast as possible!”

  Rack held up a small piece of medical equipment in one of his metallic claw hands. “I typically
use this device to scan the bodies of organic beings for contamination by chemicals such as arsenic. It was quite difficult to jailbreak this device—I think you can imagine how obsessed the manufacturers of medical devices are with maintaining profit margins through total control of their devices—but I was finally able to do so and reprogram it to scan for the plastic molecules I had discovered. The device still seems to work quite well, although it is somewhat slower in scanning external environments than its intended use inside the bodies of living beings.”

  “Then we should start searching immediately!” Ayan’we said. “Who knows what they could do to Torghh—or what they may have done already!”

  “That was exactly why I called for you. However, we may need backup to help deal with the kidnappers, so I’ll contact the authorities on Transfer Varess before we depart…”

  The door to the laboratory was flung open with a loud thud. Startled, Ayan’we and Rack turned and saw Tashto standing in the doorway, his eyes wide and facial scales tight, the telltale expression of a Garanian being eaten alive from anxiety. “I’m coming with you!” he exclaimed.

  “Why are you coming with us?” Ayan’we asked. “You certainly sounded sure of yourself when you accused the Song Pai of abducting Torghh! Did you just suddenly have second thoughts about your government’s ‘brilliant’ analysis?” questioned Ayan’we, her voice dripping with skepticism and sarcasm.

  “I’m defecting from the Garanian government, effective immediately. I think I’ve learned too much already about the history of my species…far too much for my government’s comfort. If I went back there, they’d learn sooner or later and have me liquidated…I need to go off world.”

  “You picked the right place to defect, considering you’re doing it on a politically neutral space station that’s one of the few places a Garanian citizen could claim political asylum and escape to some other world. But why should we trust you to come with us? What proof do we have of your goodwill?”

  “The fact that I did not use this to kill you when I threw the door open,” Tashto said. He removed a massive pulse rifle strapped to his back and bent down, putting it softly on the floor of the laboratory. Ayan’we stared at the pulse rifle, noting its hulking frame, flared barrel, and jet-black paint.

  “That’s a military-grade weapon!” Ayan’we said. “Does Garan Prime allow all its ‘diplomats’ to carry weapons of war with them to peace conferences?”

  “It is an R-72 Voidripper, and yes, we are authorized to bring such a weapon with us,” said Tashto. “Wherever and whenever the Song Pai are involved, we are advised to prepare ourselves for the potential of violence.”

  “You don’t have any other weapons on your person, do you?” Rack asked.

  “No. I am completely unarmed now. Do with me as you will, I place my life in your hands.”

  A soft yellow light shot out of one of Rack’s optical devices. Tashto silently stood still as the light wavered over his body, awaiting his fate, accepting the possibility of death. The light flickered and winked out. Then Rack said, “You are indeed unarmed with any projectile weapons that might hurt either of us. I accept that you have told the truth, and I think you should come with us.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Ayan’we asked Rack.

  “Yes. And I am also certain Tashto should pick up that pulse rifle if he wishes to come with us. We may have need of such firepower against the kidnappers.”

  “Am I trusted?” Tashto asked.

  “For now,” Ayan’we said.

  Rack rolled down the hallways of Transfer Varess in his D-Frame body, its treads steadily covering ground as Ayan’we and Tashto briskly walked behind him. The bulky D-Frame was the most durable external armor available to a modular robot like Rack, but even it did not give him a great sense of security against the unknown threat the kidnappers posed. He slowly swung his claw arm back and forth, allowing the medical device to take in detailed readings of his surroundings in search of more of the distinctive plastic molecules. Following close behind him, Ayan’we and Tashto nervously clutched their weapons, she a stun gun provided to spies by the matriline, he the massive pulse rifle.

  “What was it you learned that was so shocking to you?” Ayan’we asked Tashto. “What kind of history does Garan Prime’s government teach its people?”

  “They teach us that the Garanians are the supreme race, and deserve to be masters of the galaxy, for we are physically and morally superior to all others,” Tashto said, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice. “That our government does no wrong and that we are all paragons of virtue, unless we turn against it. That the Song Pai are the scum of the universe, the enemies of all that is good, and must be exterminated for the good of all sentient life. I was so sure that this was the absolute truth, but what I’ve learned on this station has shattered my belief in the words of my government.”

  “What did you learn?” Ayan’we asked, the tone of her voice gentle. “Do you feel that you learned from the other species while you were here?”

  “Yes, very much so. It was one of the Song Pai who taught me. He gave me a holovid that explained that, during the early period of our Unity government, we betrayed a race allied to us when it was deemed advantageous to do so.”

  “Your government doesn’t even teach you about the Vloog genocide?” Ayan’we asked, shocked at Tashto’s ignorance of the history of his own species.

  “We are told not to believe the historical accounts of foreigners, that such things exist to corrupt us and lead us astray from the purity and truth of the Garanian ethos. But while I was on this station, I gradually became aware of the extent to which our government manipulates and controls us. Perhaps all governments behave this way to their citizens, though,” he said bitterly.

  “On Forlan, we were never taught this way. We were encouraged to interact with offworlders and individuals of different species. Our people base our existence on the outreaching philosophy of the Great Spiral of Being, that a life spent in search of new solutions and sensations is the greatest expression of existence.”

  “Is that why your mother loved Klein so much? He truly was a unique individual, someone flung so far from his world that he must have seemed like a visionary to her. You Forlani must be far more accepting of exiles than Garanians are.”

  “That wasn’t truly the reason. Mother laid with many of the Domremy convicts as part of her work for the mahäme, but none of them other than Klein ever meant anything much to her. She was not the type to fall in love with the first Earthman she saw because of some fetish for exoticism. When I eventually talked with Klein, what always stood out to me most was his incredible vitality, his will not just to survive, but to truly understand the strange situation he had found himself in. I think it was his quest to explore the universe that truly defined him, that made him a true expression of the Great Spiral, not the strangeness of the circumstances that started his journey.”

  “What an interesting philosophy!” Tashto said. “When the Ministry told us the ‘official’ version of Klein’s events, he was presented as a tragic figure, a violent man outside his place and time. His relationship with Entara was a representation of the doomed nature of interspecies relationships, how a naive ideal of equality between species can bring only tragedy and misery to those who believe it. Perhaps it was his independent mind and self-sufficient nature that our government feared—a man so skilled at surviving in dangerous conditions with few allies might have proved an inspiration to our people in recovering the Virtues of our Heroic Age. We were once a race far more like him than we are now!”

  “You sound like you wish that you could have met him,” Ayan’we said.

  “Perhaps it would have been beneficial not just for myself, but for other Garanians as well.”

  Rack stopped 10 feet from a dull beige door and held up one of his claw hands in a gesture for silence. “The plastic molecule trail stops here, and my auditory sensors detect motion behind that door. I think we’ve found where
the kidnappers are holding Torghh!” he whispered.

  “That door is probably locked and sealed with a password. And even if we knew it, there’s likely a guard waiting to fire on us the moment we open it, since they still wouldn’t recognize us as part of the group! Is there any way you can pose as a service robot, Rack?” Ayan’we asked.

  “I have a better way,” Tashto said. He readied his plasma rifle and began to walk over to the door. “Can you imitate the voice of a policeman, Rack? I want you to try and fool them into thinking we have the police with us right now.”

  “You’re going to use that thing to blast open the door?” Ayan’we said.

  “You have no idea how powerful a Garanian pulse rifle is, and I doubt the people who designed this station knew either. I think it should be powerful enough to blow this door off its hinges. On the count of 3, I need Rack to yell out ‘Freeze! Hands up!’ Ayan’we, is your stun gun ready in case I need cover fire?”

  “It’s ready,” Ayan’we said. “You can start the countdown now.”

  “Three.”

  All this way from Garan Prime, to die with these strange aliens in some vainglorious quest for the truth…it makes no sense. Was this truly the way Garanians acted in the Heroic Age? Is the Unity government simply trying to save us from our own feral nature?

  “Two.”

  There is no future for me on Garan Prime. Where will I go? Plague-ridden Earth? Forlan? That miserable frontier shithole Domremy? All I know of my future is that I can no longer be the old Tashto, the man who was confident in his government and the truths of the cosmos it told him.

  “Three.”

  I can hear the whir of the pulse rifle as it powers up to blast the door open. The doubt is leaving my mind, replaced with concentration and focus. Was that what the Virtues were trying to teach us, that we Garanians can only find meaning in battle?

  Tashto fired the pulse rifle, feeling the brutal kick in his hands as a wave of invisible energy rippled through the air, smashing the door backwards with a terrible force. He quickly crouched down into the left side of the doorway as he heard the sound of gunfire while Rack yelled out “Freeze!” imitating the voice of a police officer. With catlike speed, Ayan’we rolled into the right side of the doorway and squeezed off a shot from her stun gun. Tashto heard a groan and a thud as one of the gunmen fell to the floor, hit by the blast of Ayan’we’s weapon. Tashto readied the pulse rifle to fire again, hearing the telltale soft whirring sound as he quickly rose and aimed for the second gunman. Tashto’s target ducked at just the wrong second, and the pulse rifle burst rippled through the air of the room and hit an opaque plastiglass covering.