Desert Planet (THE RIM CONFEDERACY Book 6)

by Jim Rudnick

  She remembered going way down a long wing in her palace and having to take two different elevators down to a sub-basement somewhere to even find the room. Thank God, an aide had already made the trip and could show her where to go. Once she went into the long room, she was amazed at what she saw. Industrial-grade shelving, thousands of feet in length, held everything from a fully stuffed Jael, the huge bearlike creature from the Duchy world of Anulet, to a set of twenty-four perfectly matched Quaran wine glasses that supposedly cost a king's ransom each. There was so much more that she walked the rows, looking and oohing and aahing. There were so many items she'd never even seen before, probably from her late husband. When she asked, the aide had no idea but confirmed she'd check the palace database to find out—but she added that this room was only one of three here in the sub-basement and the gifts had been coming for many, many Barons and Baronesses over the past thousand years.

  That made her think about her past and then her future, and a second later, she shrugged.

  She instructed her aide to take a wide selection of items on a specialized trip to Juno, to the Navy Hall building, and to make sure they picked a wide assortment from across the RIM. Not just Barony items, she had been insistent but items from all over the Confederacy. At least a single item from all forty of the Confederacy member realms, she cautioned. And judging by the number of items she saw now, the aide had done well. While some looked familiar, she had no idea where dozens of them had come from. She couldn't place windmill made out of some kind of crystal as coming from the RIM. She also didn't recognize the spinning top which seemed to spin, then slow to almost nothing, and then speed back up on its own. There were whole rows that she was lost on, but one thing was for sure, there was some branding here of the various Confederacy realms. And yes, she recognized the other six realms that had a member here on the Executive Council, the administrative arm of the full Council.

  She waited as she'd come early today to double-check the changes she'd requested had been done. A moment later, the admiral, leader of the RIM Navy, bustled in, and finding her there early, he stopped in surprise.

  "Baroness, how nice to see you so prompt," he said dryly, and he dropped his double handful of files and folders and sat heavily in his chair. As the head of the RIM Navy, he had a spot here at the table and, yes, even a full voting position, but he seldom if ever disagreed with the consensus around the table. Admiral McQueen, a human man of about eighty years or so, was in his prime. His reputation as both a strategic and tactical leader was known all across the RIM and inward for more than two thousand lights. We are lucky to have him, she thought. If only he wasn't so hard to manage. She knew he had been and would be a major competitor for her and the Barony.

  "Admiral, yes, good to see you too. I was here early to check on our new surroundings, and I'm happy for the most part," she said and waved a hand at the new decor.

  He nodded and yet didn't even look up as he arranged his folders into piles and grunted as if to agree with her.

  She toyed with her tablet at her station at the round table with chairs for the seven Executive Committee members. As she turned and looked behind her out the window on the top floor of Navy Hall, she noticed it had gotten a bit cloudy outside and the sunlight was patchy looking down on the grass in front of the building. On the road out front, she saw a couple of limos parked, which meant more members of the Committee were probably on their way up. Just as she thought that, the doorway filled with bodies.

  First came the Master Adept, the woman who was the head of the Issian race, who lived out on Eons, a RIM member, and she nodded to both her and the Admiral as she took her seat. She was followed quickly by the Caliph of the Nerian Caliphate, the chairman of Alex'n, the doge of Conclusion, and finally the duke of the Duchy of d'Avigdor. All here and accounted for, the Baroness thought, and that's at least a start.

  Chairman Gramsci smiled at them all, and with two of his hands, he arranged his tablet in front of him on the tabletop. Two more hands sorted the contents of a file folder while his last two tucked themselves into his waistband on his trousers, and he looked at the printed Agenda in front of him.

  "This will not be a long meeting—unlike, I might add, the last one with the whole Faraway trade war discussion. Note please, that I called it a discussion—not a shouting match, which it also was. In any event, we start today with that situation, and the admiral will speak on that first. Admiral McQueen, you have the floor," he finished off and leaned back.

  McQueen keyed something on his tablet, and the big view-screen on the other brick wall lit up. "As we expected, the trade wars between Faraway and the Leudis took a turn for the worse—seen by the way by our own Master Adept. I will be the first to admit that I did doubt that the war would ever erupt into violence as we were forewarned, but it did happen. Leudis over on Quaran were attacked by a squad of Faraway marines, at a local wine show there. There were no casualties, but the Quarans levied some large fines and penalties against the Faraway ship that were unpaid. So they sent, it seems, a larger force to 'get' those fees paid to Faraway itself and sanctioned all trade with Faraway until those penalties were paid. Met off Faraway by one of their cruisers, they had no choice but to turn back or else there would have been a battle right there and then. Soon as the Leudis got that information, they plastered that whole part of the RIM with the news about the sanctions and began to offer to take over contracts that as of then couldn't be fulfilled. That got the Faraway world in a tizzy, and we sent in the frigate the Kerry, the cruisers Marwick and Altair, and our big destroyer the Nugent too," he said as he paused.

  “And that didn't do it either,” the Baroness said to herself.

  “As we expected, that didn't seem to be enough firepower on our side, but it must have been seen as that by Faraway. They claim that they have lost more than twelve percent of their GDP based on the contracts that they say were stolen by the Leudis. We have no way to check on that at this point, but we are trying to get some solid estimates. In any event, this all comes to the full RIM Council next month for adjudication—and the Faraway member is screaming for blood."

  There were a series of nods around the table, and it was agreed to hold a special meeting later this evening with that being the only topic of discussion. The chairman made some notes with a few hands and then moved on.

  "On Enki, we have a small issue—and I want it to not become another shouting match either. While Ambassador Harmon is working on the negotiations, and we all know how important that is with us wanting Enki to become a full member so that we can all gain access to what's being called"—he stopped as he looked down at a page in front of him—"umm ... probe metal, it appears is its name, I would gather. While the diplomatic meetings have been put on hold for two weeks more, while local events unfurl, what the issue is, is this. There have been three RIM members who have taken a low orbit position and might be attempting to sway the talks or intervene in some way," he said quietly.

  She knew the answer before she asked the question, but that was a tactical move she'd learned long ago.

  "And who are those three members, Chairman?"

  He looked directly at the Caliph. "First up is the Caliphate, then the UrPoPo contingent, and finally a Faraway frigate too. All three have taken up orbit, as I said, and then asked to land, and all three were refused by the ambassador. Up in orbit, we have the Atlas from the Barony and the Triumph from the Duchy too, all ably captained, and yes, both under the control of Ambassador Harmon." He stopped and all heads turned to the Caliph.

  "We, like two of you here, are simply taking up picket duty to see what happens and yes, if the probe metal can be salvaged no matter how the diplomacy works out. We sit like everyone else is all we are doing," the Caliph said in such a way that they believed him.

  At least most did, the Baroness thought.

  The chairman nodded. "Further, yes ... there are some further developments, but I cannot share those at this point on instruction from the ambassador, bu
t he says not to worry, talks are going well. There is a real bond developing between him and the Enkians, and we may expect a good outcome, fingers crossed, he noted," the chairman said as yet another set of hands made notes on his tablet and he looked back at his Agenda.

  "Next item, the outstanding tax rebates on Skogg and Conclusion—perhaps the doge might like to start with this one," he said.

  #####

  Stonecraw Qew moved down the corridor and then over to a hidden set of stairs. As he did, he grinned back at Bram and went down a side corridor to the left. As he entered a double set of doors, he moved off to one side immediately.

  The noise level was up, there was a large amount of movement, and the whole place looked sanitary and secure.

  It looks like a food processing automated production line, Bram thought. But one of huge proportions.

  From one side of the room, a conveyor belt trucked in those round small bites of food—the consistency of a sponge sort of, he thought. Each was about the size of a golf ball and was pure white. Thousands and thousands of them went by on the huge belt, all to make curve after curve and then end up in a straight row that made its way to the center of the room.

  Bram watched, as at that center node, there was a huge set of tanks, tubes, and spay jets that hung down from the ceiling. They were big, yet they all looked the same, rising up and through the ceiling. Going God knows where, Bram thought.

  As he was led by Stonecraw Qew to that central node and then up the short stairs to that level, Bram saw one Enkian wearing, of course, the black and lavender colors of the Resources section. His feathered crest was wilted a bit because, Bram was sure, he was at work. And what was that work, he wondered, and had the answer almost in an instant from Stonecraw Qew.

  "This is Resources Officer Swanki, and it is his job to be the technician who handles our chem treating of the food here at the Words Muse pyramid. It is up to him to—well, not really up to him as he follows the lights on his console—to decide which food pellets to treat with which chems. Some, as you would assume, would carry the colors of the Words Muse of red and white; others for all of the other four varieties. Officer Swanki, can you find a minute to chat with us—Lieutenant Sander and I?" Stonecraw Qew said nicely.

  As Bram watched, Officer Swanki pushed a couple of buttons on the console in front of him and the whole line stopped. He turned to face Bram and the militia officer and smiled at them. "Lieutenant, so nice to have you drop by—normally it's months between any kind of visitors we get down here. What can I tell you about what it is we do here?" He smiled once more.

  Clearly someone has let this techie know that he's to be nice to me—and isn't that special, Bram thought.

  "Well, can you begin telling me what it is you do—and why it's an important part of the Resources section works?" He smiled at the Enkian and leaned on the shoulder-high railing that lay between where they were standing and the neat rows of food bites on the conveyor line.

  "Our job is pretty easy really, Lieutenant. What happens here is that way down there," he said as he pointed off to the left side of this huge room, "these food bites are all loaded, tray by tray, onto the conveyor belt. As the belt is on automatics, it moves them all by this single chemical imprinting station here—this large metal enclosure." He pointed directly in front of him. As the trays fed in from the left, they disappeared beneath the shroud of what he'd called the imprinting station to reappear ten feet farther down the conveyor belt.

  "It's here that the station, having been preset by myself, imprints each of the food bites or pellets with a specialized chemical spray. For the Words Muse, their earmarked food pellets get the chemicals that will color their feathered crests with their muse colors of red and white. Militia gets blue and red on tan stripes, Performance gets its own purple and orange, and so on. Each of the seven different groups of Enkians gets their own—and only their own—chemically imprinted food bites because eating same causes their feathers to turn to that muse coloration. Simple. Neat and can't be messed up, we've found over the past generations," he finished off, and Bram could tell the tech was pleased with himself and his work.

  Pointing over the Enkian's shoulder, Bram asked, “And over there, behind this automatic conveyor system?"

  The Enkian turned, nodded, and looked through the glass wall that lay between them and the rest of the sealed off room. Back there, it looked like there were seven large liquid pools, all covered with a grid of bars, like an open grating lid. On top of those lids sat seven tall carts, each with a grid of open cage walls and tops. Inside, Bram could see more of these food bites, and yet these were somehow being treated differently.

  "Ah, the younglings' injections. Yes, as you know, our younglings on their graduation are all sorted into either one of the five muses or the Resources or Militia sections. And all of them have pure white feathered crests. The food bites you see here behind us are all in racks of cages sitting over their specific muse pool. When I engage the system, each of those lids on the pools will descend taking down their own racks of food bites. Because the bites will be totally immersed in their chemical bath, and left there for five minutes to be totally potent, they turn the feathered crests for those younglings in one overnight session. A youngling goes into their graduation and wakes up with their muse's colors draped all over their crest. It's pretty special and is one of the wonders on Enki. As a Resources tech, I know all about it. I push a button and a bit later, the food bites are ready to be consumed. So tomorrow when I start my shift, the button will be pushed and the process begun," he finished off and smiled even more broadly.

  “If he could pat himself on the back, he surely would,” Bram said to himself, nodded, and smiled back.

  He drilled down inside the man's head and looked for deception and there was none. He is what he appears to be.

  He looked next for any kind of shading or embellishment and again there was none.

  He looked lastly for anything else—and that's when he noticed one thing, which made him smile even more.

  The complete description of the injection process that the Enkian had just delivered to him had been from his training. He had never ever done such a procedure himself, as he relied on his training, which meant that for him to implement that procedure, all he needed to do was push a button on his operator's console.

  Bram put the thought of which button that was forward in the Enkian's mind and watched as the thought took hold. The tech moved his hand to the top orange button on the far right side of the console keyboard. It was under a clear lid that would need to be lifted up first, Bram noted, but that was the button the whole process linked to—and that made Bram's smile as broad as the Resources tech's smile, and they grinned at each other.

  This was not missed by Stonecraw, and he thanked the tech for his time and ushered Bram back down the walkway to the stairs that led up to the ground level in the Resources pyramid. He led the way over to the exterior doors and pushed through and out onto the sand.

  The Resources pyramid sat in the middle of the other five muse pyramids, as each of those required direct access for their own resources, and this was the standard formation for all pyramid cities on Enki. He struck out across the sands, the heat rising so quickly that they both began to sweat before they'd gone twenty feet. Bram caught up with him and held out a hand to stop him.

  "Stonecraw, is there something wrong?" he asked, wondering if his mind reading a few minutes ago had been found out.

  The Militia man looked down at his feet, half buried in the sands, and flipped some of the sand off one foot as he flexed one of those huge toes, the talon spraying sands in a half-circle.

  "Not really, no ... it's just that you seemed to make a friend there with that tech so easily—and I didn't want you to think that a Resources section Enkian should be that close to you. You are a RIM group member, and we—the Militia—are responsible for you and the rest of the group. Probably just my way of thinking, but I am charged with the duty to protect w
homever I accompany, and I'd rather be safe than sorry, Bram. Sorry, nothing else but that,” he said, and they both continued to walk across the sands.

  Odd, Bram thought, that the Enkian Militia man felt that he should not only protect us against any kind of injury but also against any kind of friendship too. That was very odd ...

  #####

  The Baroness threw the whole sheaf of papers across her desk at one of her accountants and then pointed at the woman. "I shall have you beheaded! Don't forget that I can do just that, little Miss Bean Counter. How dare you bring me such a spreadsheet with those bloody God-awful numbers and projections? You should lose your license to practice, you fool!" she sputtered and went to stare out the window at her palace grounds.

  The woman was shaking in her chair, and tears had welled up in her eyes minutes ago. It had fallen to her to deliver the latest projections for the Barony RIM Navy Academy program to the Baroness, and as expected, the numbers were God-awful.

  As a part of the support of the Issians, and yes, the Master Adept too, the Baroness had committed to close their Navy Academy and instead send all their current, as well as future, candidates to Eons and the official RIM Navy Academy. It sure sounded simple and perhaps even not that expensive as it was imagined at the start. But in the past six months, those pie-in-the-sky plans had to be knocked together. Costs had to be established for the movement and housing of more than one thousand current Academy students over on Eons. Costs had to be established for their tuitions, their uniform allowances, and the insurance of the whole kit and caboodle of them too. There were collateral costs too, summer placements, and then midshipmen co-ops for each of the last two years of the full five-year program. Add to that the costs for the supply of three brand new frigates to be donated for the full ten years to the RIM Navy to be used as they saw fit—and one could see the costs were astronomical.