“Just the same one returning,” Ar’arnaas assured his companion. Both Tripeans rushed to join the others on the roof of the building.
“They must not realize how well we see, these small-eyed humans. I’ve observed their own visual abilities are quite limited,” the senior security officer observed as they watched the ships land. “The composition of this force is similar to that of the unit which took off as we landed, but this force has three less of the smaller-class vessels.”
“They are all blue,” Krener’n stated the obvious.
“The lines of these ships are different,” the junior intelligence officer added, turning a dirty brown. It was his job to remember such details and there was no doubt he was right. A few minutes later the crew who had remained on board their ship confirmed that this fleet’s turbines’ electronic signatures were different.
Most of the delegation spent a sleepless night watching the new ships load a minimal amount of stores, mostly air and foodstuffs. It was before dawn when the ships all rose quietly into the star-filled sky and were lost from sight. It was confirmed that these also went FTL a few hours later.
Over the next three weeks there was no true progress at the peace talks. Twice more one of their number observed a large number of humans emerging from a ground vehicle in circumstances similar to the first time.
The intelligence officer sneaked out twice to examine the ground vehicles closely, but found nothing to explain the phenomenon. Krener’n suggested simply asking how it was done, but was overruled by the others more reluctant than he to admit their ignorance.
One intelligence officer even went so far in one of their nightly briefings to warn against asking any technological questions. “If the Alliance gets the impression they are technically more advanced,” he warned the others, “they may take a harder line in the talks or even invade Tripean space themselves.” He turned slightly yellow at the thought.
During this time three more groups of ships landed and restocked, each composed of ships identified as being different from all that the delegation had seen before. These were marked with first orange, then violet and finally white.
It was the schooled opinion of the intelligence officers that the Fleet kept its ships in space as much as possible. This alone showed a level of reliability far beyond that of the Tripean navy. He also observed the number known to be based on McCauley were now nearly equal to those of the combined fleet.
The ship which had taken the delegation to McCauley was dispatched with the urgent recommendation that even more covert activities against the Alliance be curtailed until more could be learned. Ar’arnaas felt stranded and alone as he watched their ship leave.
Another week passed and a fleet landed whose hulls were painted almost completely black. Krener’n had taken over as spokesman by a majority vote with only Ar’arnaas dissenting. His speeches began to dwell on the history and advantages of co-operation between the Tripean Empire and its neighbors. Councillor Krener’n also demonstrated an even greater proclivity for long speeches. Ar’arnaas himself was getting bored and developed a plan for a bit of exploring on his own.
The other building near their quarters was still being guarded closely. Guards constantly patrolled its walls and roof. After hours of study Ar’arnaas had discovered a hole in the patrol pattern. Things were not going well and even his fellow faction member was discouraged. Too much time had passed and all that they were learning supported the peace faction’s views.
With his superior night vision it proved a simple matter for Ar’arnaas to slip past the human sentries. Once inside the squat building he hurried into a deactivated command center of some sort and waited.
No alarm sounded.
Confidently the councillor began to explore. The next room was empty, its light gray walls scuffed from hard use. Someone had once dragged heavy machinery across the metal floor, scratching it badly. The next room he entered was similar in color and shape, but smaller. He could now hear the faint rumbling of machinery from the room ahead. This room, judging by the size of the building, should be the last on the floor. It contained an unknown device about the size of the ground vehicle which had carried so many marines. The machine’s surface was covered with dials and blinking lights. Several oddly shaped boxes were stacked against the far wall.
Ar’arnaas slipped quietly into the room. Seeing that he was still alone, he began to relax, his skin fading to a merely excited tan. There was nothing else in the building; this device must be what was being guarded. Perhaps it was responsible for the anomalies they had been observing. With that secret they could return to Tripea, add it to their ships and attack with confidence.
Exactly two minutes after the door had drifted closed, intense bursts of light exploded directly over the Tripean’s head. Blinded, the alien back-pedalled and slammed into the wall. The lights continued to flash. Ar’arnaas groped along the wall until he found the door he had entered through. Back in the second room his eyes began to function normally. The door had drifted shut behind him and the councillor found himself reluctant to reopen it. Instead he turned to retrace his steps and froze.
This was not in the same room! This room was clearly twice the size he expected and its walls were a curved and pale white. He had entered the machine’s room from a small gray room. He had never been in this room before. Cautiously he opened the door at his back and was surprised to see the machine still flashing mysteriously away. There was no evidence on the ceiling of what had caused the blinding flashes.
Nervously, Ar’arnaas decided he must have remembered incorrectly. The lights must have confused him. It might be a side effect of the device in the next room, a spatial disorientation. He noticed that the floor of this room vibrated slightly as he crossed to the only other door. It should lead to the exit, he reassured himself, the building wasn’t that large. Ar’arnaas resolved to come back the next night, when he was less unnerved, but now he had to leave before he was discovered. Those flashes may have been some sort of an alarm.
When he reached the far wall he found the door was unlocked. Listening, the Tripean heard nothing and he pushed it open a fraction of an inch. Ahead of him the same machine he had seen through the door on the other side of the room blinked and rumbled just as mysteriously. His skin turned a pale lavender. The same odd-shaped boxes sat against the far wall.
Nervously the councillor crossed the vibrating floor a second time. He stayed near one wall, actually brushing it with one arm to ensure that this time he did not get turned around. He was obviously suffering from considerably more disorientation than he had thought and would have to be cautious.
For a few anxious seconds the door failed to open, then it opened easily. Flashing merrily in the room ahead was the machine. The same peculiar boxes sat in the same jumble as they had before. The Tripean’s skin was now a livid purple.
In near panic the alien rushed once more across the floor. It had stopped vibrating, but he didn’t find this reassuring. The vision of being trapped forever on some three-dimensional Moebius strip added to his terror. Tinges of red began to mottle his skin. Half expecting to find the machine once more, Ar’arnaas threw open the door. He was almost relieved to find instead a corridor that curved gradually behind him in both directions.
He didn’t remember any corridors, but at least this wasn’t the room with the strange machine. Directly across from him, in the direction which he hoped led out, Ar’arnaas could see three doors. All three were made of highly polished metal.
Moving as quietly as possible the Tripean councillor approached the door on his left. Seeing his reflection, the Tripean was ashamed of his panicky color and paused, trying to mute it.
Pushing the door gently open the trilateral alien saw a human female sitting at a table inside a small, dimly lit room. The human appeared to be watching two video screens whose backs were to him. They lit her face with a green light.
&
nbsp; “I’m afraid you have the wrong room,” she informed her astonished visitor in heavily accented Tripean. Then looking up from the screens she added, “You know, as the leader of the war faction, there’s a way you could become the leader of the peace faction as well.” Unable to reply Ar’arnaas backed out the door. He hurried to the second door and flung it open before he lost his nerve.
The same human waited inside the same room. There was no mistaking her shape or bright red hair. There was even the same gap between her teeth in the front.
“No, the next room,” she corrected him, hardly looking up from the screens. Then she was looking at him and making the teeth-showing approval gesture. “Your faction would trust you if you advised peace. The peace faction would have no choice.”
The Tripean backed up as she spoke and looked down the corridor. No, he had not entered the same room, or rather he had not gone through the same door. There were doors to his left and right. Nervously he left the center door open and hurried to the first door he had tried.
Just before throwing it open he glanced back. The middle door was just closing, the female human visible in it. She waved an appendage in a friendly manner and showed more approval teeth.
A fraction of a second later the alien dived through the left-hand door and found himself looking at the same girl in the room ahead of him. She had her back to him and was walking toward the table containing the video screens. Turning she showed her teeth again and in a soft voice directed firmly, “I said the other, door, the one on the right, and you really ought to think about joining us instead.”
Ar’arnaas emitted a high-pitched whistle and backed into the corridor. The metal door drifted closed in front of him. In its polished surface he could see a bright red reflection. Once more he forced himself into a calmer state. Two minutes later he had managed to reach a creamy pink. Seeing no other alternative he hurried to the last door.
This time he was not surprised to see the same human sitting at the same table and obviously waiting for him.
“You can leave now,” she announced. “Just go back the way you came ... sort of. And try to think about how you could be the one who leads the Alliance, hundreds of worlds.” She made the widest tooth approval gesture yet and turned one of the screens around. On it was the image of the spaceport. A fleet of bright pink ships was just setting down.
The Tripean said nothing as he backed out of the room and ran through the single doorway on the far side of the curved corridor. Rushing into the small room he hurried to the door on the far wall. It opened easily. The strange machine blinked cheerfully just beyond. Examining its walls, Ar’arnaas realized he was looking through the only door that led into the room. It was a dead end, yet the human had told him to go back the way he came.
Hesitantly, fighting the feeling he had already lost a game he didn’t know the rules for, the alien entered the room with the machine. Cautiously he studied the ceiling as the door drifted closed behind him.
No lights flashed and Ar’arnaas became bolder. Carefully he studied the device. The floor quivered as the machine seemed to vibrate more, otherwise unaffected by his presence. He removed an access panel and stared into the mass of wiring and components behind it.
After several minutes the councillor had to admit he could not comprehend the device’s purpose or operation. He had had technical training when young, but there seemed no pattern to its construction. It was as if the strange machine had been cobbled together from spare parts. If it hadn’t been for his experiences of the last hour, the councillor would have dismissed it as meaningless junk.
Ar’arnaas realized he had been in the room for a long time. He had been seen by those human females, even though they had seemed unconcerned. The building should be crowded with guards by now. Though if the woman had given an alarm, he should have been interrupted long ago. Perhaps they were reluctant to enter this room. Expecting to find armed guards waiting, he risked a glimpse out the door.
The room outside was empty and somehow it was the one he had originally entered from. The Tripean didn’t know whether to be pleased or frightened. He could escape. Suddenly that was all that mattered. Afraid to allow the room out of his sight, the Tripean literally dove through the doorway, his three legs trailing behind. In a rush the alien retraced his steps until he found himself at the door to the outside.
Easily avoiding the guards once more, Ar’arnaas was able to sneak out of the building. As he slunk through the darkness between the buildings he noticed that the field was once more full of brightly lit ships. Ships painted almost entirely pink.
Once in his room the leader of the war faction sat staring at the walls. His skin ranged several times through the spectrum. By the time McCauley’s harsh blue sunlight was bubbling pink paint off the hulls of the newly landed ships, his pallor had settled down to pea green.
The next day Krener’n requested that there be no talks. Meier had no objections. Ar’arnaas did not leave his room, though he was visited several times by the other delegates.
The next day one of the intelligence officers inquired casually of Meier’s adjutant as to what the procedure for joining the Alliance was. The adjutant just happened to have the information handy.
Three days later the Tripean application to join the Alliance was signed. The first signature on the document was that of Ar’arnaas, the self-proclaimed leader of the newly formed peace and unity faction and Tripea’s first candidate for the Alliance Chamber of Deputies.
Commodore Meier took great satisfaction in attending the Officers’ Mess two weeks later. There he cheerfully explained what had occurred to the astonished ship’s officers.
“Since they were badly outnumbered and had no hope of winning a shooting war, they had no choice.” The Commodore paused, contrasting the admiring looks he was now receiving with the glares of a few months earlier. He was definitely enjoying himself and knew he had earned it. “I had to take advantage of the assets we did have.”
The Commodore smiled expansively at his combat commander. Agbarea shifted nervously and returned the smile weakly. He felt upstaged, but had to concede Meier the moment.
“The most important of these was that neither side knew very much about the other. Every action we took was designed not to defeat, but to confuse or intimidate the Tripeans, to make them wonder if attacking us was such a good idea. The intent was, at the minimum, to buy some time until the Khalia have been dealt with.
“The bombardment gave them enough doubts to merit their sending us a delegation. Its real purpose had to be to find out more about us. We were fortunate it also contained the leaders of their peace and war factions. This made matters much simpler and saved a lot of time.” Here he turned his gaze to the Castigator’s communications officer, attending at Meier’s invitation. The man looked nervously at Agberea, who was smiling slightly as he began to understand what had occurred.
“I expected them to monitor our every action, in fact I counted on it. Your failure to jam endowed the one bombardment vessel they thought we were using with impossible abilities.
“The alterations and repainting further confused the issue and gave them an inflated idea of our strength. By the way, if you can get anyone to volunteer, I think we’d all agree pink is a really embarrassing color for a victorious Fleet squadron.”
The Commodore paused until his smile was matched by the other officers. There was a general settling into chairs and a few even raised their glasses in silent toast to their commodore. Savoring their acceptance, he continued.
“The marines were vital in continuing the illusion that there was a lot the Tripeans didn’t know about us and our capabilities. Several times a large number of marines would be hurried through the tunnels we dug and enter a groundcar through a trap door under one of the seats. There was plenty of room between the blades for them to fit past. To anyone watching from the outside, it looked as if we had a full co
mpany inside a ten-man troop carrier.
“Finally there’s the ‘Fun House.’ Yes, I knew what you called it. You must have wondered when I ordered an elevator the size of a room. You’d have been sure I was certifiable if you’d seen the nonsense machine I’d designed to fit in it. That and some hidden strobe lights served to distract our spy while the room descended. On the lower level Ar’arnaas found what he thought was his way out led instead to a circular room which was really a turntable. A few spins on our carousel and he was ready. Then our beautiful triplets were able to complete the disorientation. We were fortunate that the leader of the war faction personally chose to play hero, though any of the Tripeans would have sufficed to carry the ideas we wanted back to him.”
Waiters entered with a clatter, distributing glasses and filling them with fine champagne shipped all the way from Earth. Being a quartermaster did have its benefits.
“I would propose an unusual toast.” Meier raised his glass as the last of the officers’ was filled.
“To politicians,” he announced jovially and emptied his glass. A few of his fellow officers looked confused and others chuckled, but all joined in the salute.
“Politicians of any shape have similar motivations. Dealing with these is one of the unfortunate requirements for being stationed at Port.” The quartermaster quickly went on to explain. “Ar’arnaas was offered a few ideas by our lovely triplets from New Dublin while he was vulnerable. Ideas which were both to his benefit and the Alliance’s. They pointed out a way whereby both he and the Alliance got what they wanted. He is now the leader of a newly formed unity faction which favors membership. in the Alliance and is campaigning hard for its approval by the full Tripean Council. I’ve been assured by the former head of the peace party it will be approved in a matter of weeks.”
At this point Abe Meier paused and took another long drink from his glass. It really was a fine champagne, or maybe it was just the moment. No one spoke, waiting patiently for him to continue.
The Fleet 01 Page 9
