Spy Station

by J. M. R. Gaines

  “It is more clever than you realize.” The voice was that of Kee’ad of Tionar, who had arrived during the conversation. “If the tubes were destroyed, we could start replacing them right away. As it is, the whole conference hall is rendered useless until further notice.”

  Ramatoulaye was equally mystified. “But if the goal was to stop any settlement between the Blynthians and the Song Pai, as is now rumored, couldn't all delegates simply communicate electronically?”

  “Indeed, no,” interjected the Kael security chief, who alit next to them after inspecting the situation from above. “You see, the Song Pai, like several other delegations here, will only agree to abide by a diplomatic treaty approved in the presence. There must be physical proximity and acknowledgment for the terms to be binding, both on them and on others.”

  “Yes,” Tionar added. “This is in effect a very elegant means of preventing a treaty from being ratified. No doubt the perpetrators count on provoking the start of hostilities right away, before the bomb can be disarmed. And who knows how long that will take to disarm this thing?”

  “I see,” Ramatoulaye agreed. “We Phiddians ourselves cannot disarm these devices except by sacrificing assets such as suicide dummies for several days to wear down the defensive power supply. And it would be a tremendous risk to allow a fail-safe detonation of the exposed Uk-12. It could destroy not only the entire hall, but a good part of the station, forcing evacuation. It seems we are stymied.”

  The Kael was scratching his wing, as they do when in deep thought. “Perhaps we could employ a buffer shield that would absorb much of the explosive shock? Those tubes are quite strong, able to withstand Blynthian atmospheric pressure, so if we could deaden the blast by, say 80 %, wouldn't that solve the problem?”

  “That's not a bad idea. If we could cover the UK-12 to prevent air from reaching it for a few milliseconds, that would also make it possible to detonate inside the station. But how could we get close enough to install the buffer material?”

  Ayan'we had also been deep in thought, but suddenly she thought of something. “Tell me, what would this buffer shield be composed of?”

  “What we use,” the Kael answered, “is a viscous liquid that sets into a colloidal foam with layers of dead air in between. Simple enough to make with ordinary chemicals, but as my Phiddian colleague points out, how could we approach to set it up?”

  “A viscous liquid, is it? I just may know someone who can help.” Ayan'we stepped back a bit and whispered into her communicator. Then she nodded to the others, “He's on the way.”

  Less than three minutes later, Isshel burst through the doors of the hall, running at full tilt – not bad for a Forlani male. A few seconds later, he was followed by a Kholod carrying several boxes and sprinting along on his webbed lower limbs at a pace almost equaling Isshel. So unlike their usual menial shuffle. Ayan'we rapidly explained the problem to the artist.

  “Certainly. My stasis projection equipment can move up to several thousand litres of liquid through the air and place it around those bombs in a matter of a few minutes.”

  “Brilliant!” applauded Tionar, touching Ayan'we's hand in respect. “It won't set off the antipersonnel devices because it is neither mechanical nor organic, just a cloud of inert foam. I'll bet even the Phiddian weapons makers haven't thought of that scenario.” Ramatoulaye and the Kael sent messengers off to obtain the required chemicals and they returned to say that luckily most of them had already been mixed and only a single titration was necessary to produce five thousand litres of buffering compound. Ten ship minutes later, just as Isshel was finished assembling his apparatus, relays of Kholods began appearing with heavy containers of the stuff.

  Under Isshel's skillful direction, columns of buffering compound were soon floating into the air and across the hall to settle over the Uk-12 and the detonators. A great blob of foam engulfed the base of the tubes to a height of several meters, until the Kael waved a wing to indicate the quantity was sufficient. Then he timed it mentally while it set, finally announcing it should be ready.

  At that point the Guild chief stepped forward and warned, “You organics should now retire behind the protective barriers my units have set in place. We will take it from here.”

  One of the mechanical guardians began inching forward bit by bit, and all at once there was a muffled popping sound as the Uk-12 and the detonators exploded together. Success. The tubes did not crack at all. The “suicide” robot raised a limb to assure his comrades that he had not been harmed by the detonator pulse that, without the foam, would have fried him as quickly as it would a being of flesh and blood. There was whooping and whistling and flapping in celebration from the various security details who had watched. Ayan'we was about to give some orders to Lila and Pulanate when a tracked guardian who had been examining the floor of the hall near the side door rolled up and told them, “Chief, delegates, there is something over here that you should perhaps examine.”

  They walked to the area the tracked unit had been scrutinizing and saw nothing. A mechanical arm pointed to a place on the floor and informed them, “Organic perspiration has been found in a trail from here to the exit. My chemical analysis counterpart is working on it now.”

  A very compact, circular mechanoid with about twenty limbs reported, “It is Phiddian. Most likely the result of hasty flight.”

  Ramatoulaye looked shocked, “Are you sure it's not from me or one of my aides who have been assisting in the disarming?”

  “Negative. Volatilization rates verify the deposit was left here about five ship minutes before our routine patrol arrived, long before your presence. It was another Phiddian.”

  Ayan'we glanced at Ramatoulaye, who murmured, “Fianni!” and rushed away with the rest of the Phiddian contingent.

  The crowd dispersed as Kholods began to clean up the debris of bombs and foam. Isshel, after accepting a round of congratulations, started to take apart his machinery and pack it. Ayan'we turned to Leli and Pulanate and said, “I will help Isshel in his packing.”

  Pulanate understood and took Leli's hand, giving one finger a little pinch. A Forlani signal. “Then if you don't need us right now, Cluster Leader, we will go compose our report so that you will not be delayed in checking it.” The two left discreetly as Ayan'we bent to assist the malel and whispered, “There are some things I want you to know.”

  She passed him some tubing. “I'm very pleased with the discreet way you've handled things since our incident.”

  “You deserve no less. I suppose that's true of me, too. I really would have had some terrible explaining to do if we had gone farther. Both to the Brotherhood and to my wives. Oh, slime, I probably would have had to appear before your matriline, as well, and that would have shamed me for life.”

  “Well, I thought I'd better tell you I've decided to talk about it with Mother. If I don't, I think it would be even more awkward in the long run. I'm confident we can trust her, though.”

  “Yes, of course. You have every right to do so. If we can't trust Entara-para-para, who could we possibly trust? Should she decide something else needs to be done, I will abide by her judgment, no matter what the consequences.”

  “Even if it costs you your standing in the Brotherhood?”

  “If it must be, it will be.”

  Ayan'we reflected for a minute. “You realize we'll still have to be together for the voyage away from Varess. Peace or war, there's no altering that.”

  “Yes, I thought about that, too. I've decided to launch a new project to keep me busy for the waking section of the trip home. That should make it a little easier.”

  “Good. I'm sure I can think of something on my end so that we won't be bumping into each other too much. You know, even if we had let go of ourselves and mated, I wouldn't feel that you had dishonored me in any way. It was a surprise to both of us. Unavoidable, I guess. Do you feel that way?”

  “Much the same. I think you're a wonderful person, but remember, I have already made commitme
nts that I would have been breaking. Not so much on account of unfaithfulness as far as my wives are concerned. They might not even have objected. Neither has ever said anything about being jealous of a possible third wife. It's that all the lines would be scandalized because of my individual fault. I have to admit, sooner or later, that shame would have worn away at personal affection I felt for you.”

  “I hadn't come to that conclusion yet, but you're right. Mother is involved in some great projects for our whole society. She's sure to encounter some opposition, and a scandal involving me would be truly harmful.”

  “Ayan'we, if you want, I am willing to break off all contact with you. If that would help you stay free of problems. Look, you may decide to get...”

  “Let's not go that far right now. We can be cordial for the rest of the assignment and leave open the chance of communicating again some time in the future if we feel we need to.” Ayan'we knew that Isshel had been about to broach the subject of an upcoming marriage for her, and that was one topic she was certainly not prepared to delve into with anybody at this point. Except, she mused, maybe Amanda. Somehow she might understand.

  In a special quadruped passenger compartment of the Blynthian ship, a certain Garanian was growing bored. He had been concealed there ever since his previous interview with the wormlike creatures in the deserted great hall. They assured him that it was safer than staying in the medical isolation ward any longer. The Blynthians had to smuggle him aboard through an external hatch after disguising him as a member of an interspecies hull maintenance crew. Once he was inside, his exosuit had been occupied by a “squishy” hologram that walked it back onto the station and promptly disappeared. The operation had been timed to coincide with the departure of some supply freighters to suggest that he had departed already into deep space. The dinosaurian flexed his claws on hands and feet and admitted that his weird hosts seemed to be well schooled in the game of interplanetary intrigue.

  Tashto had always found the tubes of the Blynthians unnerving, standing tall like some kind of cyclopean monuments in the rooms of Transfer Varess they frequented. Even humans and other aliens who had traveled frequently offworld and encountered other unusual species often found interaction with the Blynthians to be a surreal, difficult experience. A compartment portal opened and Torghh emerged, precisely on time. He had been summoned to attend the next interview and had had no trouble coming straight through the atmosphere and pressure of the Blynthian ship. A circle in the ceiling widened and a Blynthian tube came down to the floor. Together, they walked up to it and Tashto pressed a small green button on the panel on the side. As he gave a soft hiss to relax himself, he watched as one of the worms leisurely undulated its way down the glass tube to meet them.

  You have returned to us, Tashto of Garan Prime, the screen said. What do you seek from us this time?

  Doctor Torghh answered for Tashto. “He seeks asylum on your homeworld. Please grant him an audience to plead his case.”

  This is a very unusual request. Tashto is surely aware that we Blynthians very rarely grant asylum to offworlders. I must summon others to act as a committee to determine the approval of your request.

  The Blynthian made a series of sharp buzzing sounds that Tashto could barely discern through the glass. Three other Blynthians leisurely swam down into other tubes that lowered into the room and began to communicate with the first one through rapid zips. After a couple of minutes, the Blynthians became silent again, and another text appeared on the first screen.

  Please explain to us why you seek asylum on our world, Tashto.

  Tashto took a deep breath as he prepared to explain his flight. He could feel his neck feathers rising out of nervousness but made a conscious effort to push them back down. Then he began to explain his plight to the Blynthians. “I cannot return to my homeworld. I have committed a grievous crime against my government, in the interests of galactic peace and the liberty of another being. By doing so, I became an enemy of the state and would be murdered if I returned to Garan Prime or tried to seek shelter in most other places. The Garanian Secret Service is so efficient that it would be able to exterminate me on most planets, but the homeworld of the Blynthians is off-limits even to them.”

  What crime did you commit that was so severe that you are now an outlaw to the Garanians?

  “I saved Doctor Torghh from captivity, working with the Forlani Ayan’we and Torghh’s colleague Rack. This thwarted the Garanian government’s objective to disrupt the peace conference on Transfer Varess. I was originally assigned by my superiors on Garan Prime to guarantee the failure of those negotiations, so their interest in liquidating me is as much about a desire for vengeance as it is to prevent me from disseminating information on their methods and goals.”

  Doctor Torghh, can you verify the truth of what Tashto says?

  “As far as I can tell, he speaks the truth,” Torghh said. “However, I was in sleep mode at the time of my recovery, so I cannot detail exactly how my rescue occurred. Only Tashto can tell you that. I can tell you that he has been helpful to Rack and me since the moment he defected from his service to the Garanian government.”

  Tashto, what do you have to offer the Blynthians?

  “I have a tremendous amount of intel…”

  Although that is useful, there is no guarantee of the truth of such information. Sometimes a spy or refugee may lie about having valuable information to obtain a guarantee of safety. We require from you a physical commodity as proof of your goodwill to us. Please bring us the most advanced technological equipment you have, so we may consider your request.

  Tashto felt an odd sense of regret as he realized what he had to give up to obtain his safety. The pulse rifle was a wondrous, powerful weapon, its specifications and manufacturing process a secret to all the rivals of the Garanians, especially the hated Song Pai. Some tiny loyalist Garanian core in the back of his brain remained disgusted with the thought of relinquishing its secrets to the Blynthians even now. Forcing his instinct and trained behaviors down with the full strength of his rational mind, Tashto opened his backpack and put the pulse rifle on a table in front of the Blynthians’ tubes.

  He watched as two small drones flew down from the metal casing that connected the Blynthians’ tubes to the ceiling. The two drones hovered over the pulse rifle, scanning it with their beady red electronic eyes as they softly whirred. Then, as suddenly as they had first emerged, the two drones quickly flitted back into the metal casing they had come from.

  Your offering is exceptionally interesting…and accepted. You are hereby granted permanent asylum by the Blynthians.

  Tashto had no emotional energy left for a yell of triumph or tears of joy. He only released a calming sigh to commemorate his success in one of the most unorthodox negotiations of his life.

  The next station day, when the debris from the bombs had been cleared from the great hall, all the delegations were abuzz with anticipation of a breakthrough in the peace talks. Rumors swirled around the lounges and common areas and soon confirmed that all the delegation ships that had been making ready for departure in case of war had stood down, including the Song Pai. The only exception was one human dispatch vessel that had warped out in the middle of the station night, taking some of their representatives. Without breaking confidence with her cephalopod allies, Entara had hinted to the Rokol, the Kael, and the Talinians that a change of attitude might be taking place if the right encouragements could be offered.

  Thus, when the next session came to order, the Kael ambassador rose, opened his wings to full span, folded them again, and began, “I wish to address my esteemed counterparts from Song Pa, brave now as they have been in the past, and always ready to hear words of honor. Because no one here doubts the might of these warriors or their desire to fling themselves into battle, I am sure that they will be willing to hear a modest proposition in the cause of justice. There is nothing more fitting to assure honor as tribute. So we offer as tribute to Song Pa our watery moon of Elceph, s
uitable for their colonization, should they see fit to make a small delay in their immediate military plans for the next zonal cycle.”

  Before the Song Pai could respond, Tionar lit his light to speak and added that in recognition of this well-deserved arrangement, his people could not add any real territory fit for the cephalopods, but they felt that a cession of photon mining rights in their system was an addition not unworthy of consideration.

  Then the Song Pai head delegate rose to his full height and, flashing a glorious red and blue, began to burble in his idiom, as the translators rendered, “Worthy, very worthy tribute for any race these offers. Happy and flattering words to hear. Yet, accept we cannot, for to accept tribute in anticipation of a battle that will not be given would make us too unworthy of these marvelous things. Let the Kael keep their beautiful moon and the Newts their rich photons. Learning has happened. Understanding has happened. From this time forward, the Song Pai are unwilling to make war on the Blynthians. Their righteousness had been hidden from us, like a pearl in a cloud of muddy water. Now we know, and this wisdom makes everyone better. The Blynthians are worshipful, as we are, of the Great Generation, as are our allies the Rokol and the Forlani. These we do not kill, nor do we consider it fitting to die by their actions. If our older words made you think otherwise, chase them away. A new current of clarity flows across all these reefs.”

  The Blynthians buzzed in response. “We welcome alliance with the Song Pai. We invite you to fight beside us and for us, as you do with other allies. However, an alliance must be sealed, so we insist that you accept this.” A hologram of a great water world studded with islands appeared in the middle of the hall. “A planet unknown to all your races, lying within the restricted part of our realm. Absolutely suited to the physiological needs of the Song Pai, as our advisor has certified.” Torghh rose and made a universally recognized nod of approval.