by Jim Rudnick
Qor stared at him. He took a half step backward and then forward. His feathered crest rippled, and all the beaks in the room were all clacking at once.
The din was major and Tanner and Bram, along with most of the RIM group, clapped their hands.
“Point made and point taken,” Tanner said to himself, and the clacking and clapping went on for quite a while.
#####
On the bridge of the Atlas, Tanner was surprised to see he had a request for a private Ansible from Ambassador Harmon, which he immediately accepted but moved over to his captain's ready room off to one side of the bridge.
Been here not so often, he thought, as he carefully set down the cup of green tea on his desk. Not bad tea—not as good as his double-doubles of coffee—but with two milks and two sugars, it was close to being palatable. One of the Atlas stewards had commented that it was so close to what he used to have, he might as well just go back to the coffee. “Man was right though,” he said to himself, and he snorted his displeasure at being called out.
Coffee ... tea ... it didn't matter what he had, as long as it was a virgin pick-me-up. No Scotch included was the mantra to bear.
He sat and then clicked the button on the keyboard. The monitor came on with a RIM Confederacy seal in the center. Moments later, it faded to black, and then the face of Ambassador Harmon came on screen.
He looks somewhat off, Tanner thought. Maybe it's the collar of his shirt that was a bit bent out of shape. Maybe it's his one hand tapping a pencil on the desk he is at over on the Marwick. Maybe it's the way he glanced down at what looked like a paper in front of him. Tanner had no real idea, but something was up.
"Mr. Ambassador, how can I help you?" he said and sipped his tea, enjoying the mouthful of the milky, sweet hot liquid.
Harmon nodded first. Then he looked like he was trying to find an answer. All of which, Tanner knew, meant that this "master of spin" had as yet not gotten a handle on what to say.
"Captain Scott, I am asking to speak to you for a very specific reason—one that I'd like to keep confidential. Do we understand each other, Captain?"
Tanner nodded and that seemed to work for the ambassador.
"Captain, something, well, something unusual has happened. I was contacted by one of the other muses down on Enki—the Fine Arts Muse—and they have made an interesting proposition to us—well, to the RIM Confederacy, I mean. And this is a clandestine conversation and an offer—but one that we are to keep to ourselves. I was approached myself when I was with Captain Templeton of the Marwick, and we both were whisked away to a small room off the rotunda, and we heard their request. And it was Captain Templeton who suggested that we bring you in on this as he says you have great experience with military forces; your past, he relayed to me, includes more than our own RIM or Barony Navy," he said. He looked down at that paper in front of him.
Tanner waited.
No interruptions.
He knew that often, if you just wait, you get more information than the other side wanted to offer.
Ambassador Harmon continued. "I have made some notes, Captain Scott, but I believe that it boils down to this. Fine Arts says that the head juror—this Iavoesi Qax—will be retiring in about a month. The job of head juror is the most prized position on the planet, and the head of the Words Muse—Uigoeri Qor—is running in the election for that job. He's the front-runner, they tell me, and it is expected that if he wins, things will become more hard-nosed conservative here on Enki. And that has them worried. What they have proposed—if that is even the term for this—is that if we support publicly their own leader—Eecesoe Qig—for the head juror position, they will ensure that Enki accepts the RIM Confederacy offer. No matter what Words Muse decides on our offer, they would challenge that decision, and it would go to the jurors for their final judicial decision, and as their man is now the head juror, case closed," he said, his voice very much matter-of-fact.
Tanner wondered, first of all, if this was how the diplomatic dealings were handled when it came to the civil service. Deals that were made in back rooms just like this one were never known and therefore never suspect either.
Next was the thought that perhaps this Fine Arts Muse contact was lying—that they had other hidden agendas in all of this.
Or, they could be being led down a path that would ensure there would never be a deal between the RIM and Enki.
Most of all, I'm just glad I have nothing to do with all of this—except, it appeared to offer up some counsel. So here goes ...
"Ambassador, there are so many unknowns and variables here, I couldn't possibly make a value judgment here that could help. As Craig said, my experience is in the military—the navy world. That I know. And that's all that I know, Sir," he said, and he hoped that the honesty he felt had been carried by his voice.
The ambassador nodded and sat quietly for a moment. "All right, Captain. Here's what I know you can do that would help. What I'd like for you to do—and I'll arrange this on your behalf—would be for you to tour as much of the Enki Militia areas that you can. I want a report, EYES ONLY to me daily, on what you've found, what their military strength is and would or could be, and maybe more importantly, I want to know about their personnel. In every area, from officers down to enlisted men and women. I want to have a comprehensive and detailed report on what kind of forces the RIM might face, if this all goes south. And I want a complete poll of their military technology too, from sidearms to plasma cannons and whatever they might have in between. Understood, Captain?" he said, and Tanner could almost feel the steel in that question.
"Absolutely, Ambassador. If you can arrange those trips and visits, then my reports will be on your console the next day, Sir," he said.
"Done, Captain. And as a side note, while I was not on Halberd during that whole prison riot, I just wanted to say thank you for your more than adequate defense of the RIM heads of state. Your actions were exemplary and I thought worth more than just a thank you. Well done, Sir," he said, and Tanner heard the honesty in his voice.
As the console monitor screen faded to black, Tanner sat back and sipped his tea. It was cold now, but the sweetness was still good. Green tea, that is my new double-double, and that's the end of that story.
This whole behind-the-scenes covert stuff is a situation that is going to be interesting. At least I'll see some of the planet and their various bases, he thought. “That's always a good thing, right?” he said to himself and yet knew there was really no answer that would work.
CHAPTER THREE
"Final set of Ray tests," the research lab assistant said as he added in the day's date and time and the lab location. Not that the real location of the lab was really used, as this large laboratory was five floors underground in the technology building on the Neres Naval Base grounds. They used the same surrogate lab locations all the time, so anyone who knew that knew this lab was the most secure, best protected, and most difficult to gain entry to of all the labs.
Still, the lab assistant thought, it wouldn't take a genius to break that dumb subterfuge, and he chuckled.
He was still somewhat amazed, though, that the results of the previous three days' testing, when sent up the hierarchy chain of the Science Ministry, had not produced more suits down here. Of course, the Projectile testing had been as expected. Sidearm bullets bent and twisted the metal; the Merkel carbine loads had pierced it easily, so they had called off any larger projectile testing. As all metals, the thickness of the metal had to be taken into account for any kind of stopping of a projectile.
Maybe they're all in meetings or in a mess somewhere having cheap beers. No matter, the tests so far today should get some reaction.
But as always—this he knew innately—I must ensure that the tests are all perfect in their parameters and standards. He sighed loudly and went over to the test console, and using his thumb, he signed in.
The test parameters form came right up, and he keyed in the proper items and ensured all the necessary fiel
ds were filled in properly. The test lab AI was pretty good, he knew, but the eyes of a live person were always the final security check that was expected. And today, he thought, they'd double-check his work a hundred times, looking for the barest hint of an error. But not today.
He went over to the isolation test room window and took a good look—a study really of what lay inside.
One wall held the various delivery mechanisms for the rays that they'd be testing. There were others too, of course. Yesterday, they'd used the Projectile magazines, to speed various types of cartridges and other items into the large ten-foot-by-ten-foot sheet of the Enkian metal that was suspended in the center of the isolation room. Today the Ray nozzles would be used, for plasma, laser, and energy pulse weapons.
Today will finish the final run of tests.
Tomorrow the you-know-what hits the fan.
He smiled, went back to the console, and chose the last remaining items.
Plasma nozzle settings included temperature-check, ion cyclotron radiation—check, and Thomson scattering levels. All check.
Energy pulse settings were fewer, but he ensured the electric resistance levels were well within their recommended range. Check.
Lasers were even easier, as he let the AI program a normal spread, volume, and varieties of gas, sapphire and excimers too. Check.
All the variations were covered; all the ranges tested and true.
Time to push the button, he thought, and he went off to the right, out of the big lab into the secure control room, and he put on the lead-shielded long vest, his eyewear, and the headphones too and went to stand in front of the view monitor.
A big countdown timer appeared in the view-screen sidebar, and when it reached 3-2-1, he flinched. He knew he was safe, he knew the rays were all aimed at the Enkian sheet of metal from their probe, yet he couldn't help it.
Plasma first—and the flares were huge. Normally in outer space, this weapon had a viable range of over 10,000 miles—today it was going all of twenty feet.
The colors were bright. Thanks to the glasses, he was able to see the green ray itself as it struck the Enkian metal sheet.
He knew, as did every Navy man, that a plasma weapon was a type of weapon that fired a stream or toroid of plasma—very hot, very energetic excited matter. The primary damage mechanism of this weapon was usually thermal transfer; it typically caused serious burns, and often immediate death of living creatures, and melts or evaporates other materials. Yet here, the ray was trained directly on the metal sheet, about twenty feet away, and nothing happened. He clicked the over-ride toggle switch on the control panel in front of him and let the plasma rain down on the metal for more than thirty seconds. No damage. Not a bit and as his eyes opened up even more, he looked at the sidebar and noted the temperature sensors reported no noticeable change in the metal at all. Nothing. Plasma weapons were unable to destroy the metal, and the temperature remained the same.
His eyes widened at that short unscientific summation, but he realized the suits upstairs would be jumping up and down.
He watched the rest of the tests too—the Energy Pulse weapon resulted in no change to the metal. The tests used wide-ranging mass, power, density, or particle/energy density coefficients, and not a single noticeable change was made to the metal sheet from Enki. “Not a one,” he said to himself, “and now the lasers.”
He half-closed his eyes once more, even though he was protected. Laser weapons moved at the speed of light, no matter what type of laser was the underlying source. The laser tried first to drill into the metal, to no avail. Then the laser was moved in a pattern to see if the movement of the light might work, and again, nothing happened. Finally, the laser used higher and higher frequency modulation—and still no damage to the sheet of metal.
The laser snapped off and the lab assistant looked up at the sidebar on the vitals of that sheet of metal.
Not a single factor had changed. Temperature, tensile strength, atomic absorption, inductive coupling, magnaflux indicators—all the vital factors were there. And once again, the Enkian metal had come through the testing fine.
The metal appeared to be invulnerable. Not a single weapon had caused any kind of metal breakdown at all, projectile or ray.
He smiled. . He left the secure control room and returned to the larger lab itself.
Tomorrow ...
#####
The console at the captain's console on the bridge of the Atlas chimed three times. It appeared, Tanner thought, as he looked down at the monitor, that he was receiving a call from Enki, from the Words Muse pyramid. A personal message had been sent to him and that was unusual. Also, there was no name in the field where the sender should have been listed.
"This is Captain Scott. Who am I speaking to?" he said as his finger tapped the accept button.
A voice he thought he recognized came through the speaker to him.
"Sir, this is Stonecraw Qew—we met just a day or two ago at the Words Muse presentation—do you remember me, Sir?"
Tanner was surprised but he remembered the soldier.
"Yes, yes, I do remember you, Stonecraw. And what can I do for you today?" he asked, and he wondered to what he owed this pleasure.
"Sir, long story—but the meat of same is that you've been granted some kind of 'special envoy' status with the Militia. And my own colonel asked if anyone in our group knew you personally. I answered not really but that was like taking a step forward, Sir. So I've been assigned the job of being your official escort for your upcoming list of visits to various Militia bases and operation centers. Sir."
He jammed a lot of information into those few sentences, but Tanner got the gist of the story. Seems like the ambassador had already made some distance in his quest to get me some military visits.
"Stonecraw, I got it. And I like it. I think we'll do very well together. May I ask if as yet you have an itinerary planned?" No sense in letting this opportunity go unfulfilled.
"Sir, yes, we have the beginnings of a list which, I'm told when finalized, will be sent up to you soonest. Sir," he said. "I do know that they include some trials, a trip to our Militia Academy, one more to our Combat Training bases, and I think one more over to our planet space center too. That might be a bit of a surprise, in that I'm not sure that the RIM even knows we have one. Course, without FTL, as you can probably tell, Captain, it's not what I'm sure you would call a tech marvel in any way, shape, or form, Sir," he said.
His voice, Tanner thought, was only a bit apologetic; strains of Enkian pride could still be heard. The alien seemed to stop for a moment and then started up again.
"Sir, tomorrow, I would like to take you to a juror trial over in the Dance Muse pyramid, for you to see a trial that we know will cause problems—the actual verdict we know about up front as the jurors always announce same to the Militia beforehand. Confidential, of course, but it does allow us to be forewarned—and forearmed too. It would be a whole day trip for us if that's ... if that's allowed for you to be away that long, Sir?"
Tanner thought about that for all of a nanosecond and then nodded slowly.
This will work out perfectly, he thought. Watching what happens in a closed society like the Enki one, when there will be an unpopular decision could tell me much.
"I will be ready when you tell me to—I'll take a shuttle down to the Words Muse pyramid we are using as home base, and I will be on time."
The stonecraw said, "Roger, Sir, see you tomorrow then," and he signed off.
“Interesting,” Tanner said to himself, “this was very interesting.” The ambassador had obviously worked hard on this, but this personal contact was also worthy of more study. Must speak to Bram later on this. He went back to his console and the damn reports all captains were required to fill out and sign.
#####
At the edge of the large open sand space in front of the Words Muse pyramid, Stonecraw Qew was waiting at the door of the bus idling in front of Tanner and Bram as they stepped out of their s
huttle. It was already hot even though sunup had only happened about an hour ago; the two were drenched in sweat as they walked across the sand and quickly hustled up and into the air-conditioned bus.
"Good timing, and let's go" Stonecraw Qew said and nodded to the driver who wore the double stripes of a corporal.
The bus lurched as it gained purchase in the sands and then rolled off toward the far sand ridge against the horizon.
"Stonecraw, may I ask about the ranks in the Enkian Resources forces?" Bram said and then sat back in the almost comfortable bus seating.
Tanner thought about it and realized that knowing who and what the ranks were would be a good thing to have, as they'd be meeting more of same throughout the day.
"We—like many other military or paramilitary forces—have the standard type of ranks. At the lower end are the enlisted men—though we are all enlistees, come to think of it—and those ranks run private, corporal, sergeant, and then master sergeant. Our NCO ranks run same as what you'd find on UrPoPo, for example, and I'm sure that they are likely same in the various RIM forces too. Warrant officer, chief warrant officers, and warrant specialists too. Our officers are slightly different, we know, with lieutenants, stonecraws, captains, majors, colonels, and finally the topmost rank, our condas—you call them generals, I believe," he said, and Tanner nodded.
"Your ranks are very similar. Why is that, and maybe more importantly, how is that possible?" he asked, and he also sent out a mental note to Bram to see if the Enkian was telling the truth or not.
Stonecraw Qew nodded back to him. "It's pretty easy to see how that happened, Captain. We have been monitoring all the communications that one can gather from UrPoPo over the past few thousand years. We, unlike them, have not taken the tack that we should upgrade our technology year after year. So UrPoPo has FTL and we do not. But we do have Resources that track what UrPoPo does in all things. We have been watching them for hundreds of generations, and a part of that watching included their military forces too. From what little we know about the RIM Confederacy, we know that UrPoPo is considered a very small, inconsequential planet. Yet we watch them, as they are so close to us, and we have learned much—even that the language we now speak to the RIM group was learned from our monitoring them. And so our copying of many of the same military ranks was also learned. We did change a few things, though, as you can tell, to reflect what our Enkian forefathers must have decided needed doing."
