by J. Boyett
Farraday glared at Dobbler, waiting to speak until he was sure his breath and voice were under control. He felt there was something vaguely insubordinate about the way the ensign returned his gaze; but after all the kid was merely standing there quietly. It was just that he seemed so wholly unintimidated.
Once he was sure his voice wouldn’t quiver with anger or any other emotion, Farraday pointed a finger at the ensign and said, “Belay that. Understand?... The Provisional’s order to kill Lieutenant Summers is not the specific reason this ship refuses to ally itself with them ... although it most certainly is symptomatic of their philosophy, a philosophy with which the Galaxy will have nothing to do so long as I am her captain.”
Something about the boy’s rigidly still face made Farraday soften again. “I know you want to fight these guys, son,” he said. “I do, too. But as just one ship there’s not much we can do. The best way for us to serve the greater good is to wait till the rest of the Fleet comes out of the Bubble, and then coordinate with them. When they do come out they’re going to need what we’ve learned, both about this quadrant and about the political situation in Earth space.”
“Sir, the ‘political situation’ is going to be just a list of planets the NC has burned down.”
“I don’t believe that. What they did to your world is a heinous tragedy, son, but the NC doesn’t have the resources to make it more than an isolated incident.” Privately, Farraday wondered what would happen if the kid did turn out to be right. In that case they really would have to team up with the damned Provisional, he supposed.
Dobbler said, “Anyway, sir, there’s a chance the rest of the Fleet may never emerge from the Bubble.”
“Each time we go into hyperspace, there’s a chance we may not come out. Yet we have to have faith that we will.”
“With all due respect, sir, making a hyperjump is a lot safer than going into the Bubble of Fakkalohn.”
“Ensign, I said it was enough. I’ve heard your opinion. There may come a day when things get so bad I even agree with it, and on that day I’ll be sure to let you know. But till then, I’m ordering you to drop the subject. Not just with me, but with everyone.” And Farraday turned and began walking to the door.
“Sir!” said Dobbler, with something almost desperate in his voice, almost a plea, as if he were on the verge of losing his self-control.
Farraday stopped before reaching the door and turned to face him again, with a mixture of exasperation and concern.
Upon making eye contact with Dobbler, he froze, more concerned still.
Could it be that he was picking something up thanks to the mild psychic energy that emanated from the kid, that had been developed and strengthened by his para-ape wrangling, back during his childhood on that now-dead world? Or was it intuition on the captain’s part, or mere common sense? Whatever the reason or the level of accuracy, Farraday suddenly saw stamped on the boy’s guilty but defiant face the possibility that, if he couldn’t persuade his captain to turn the Galaxy against the NC, then he would just nab a shuttle, desert, and either find his own way to the battle or else die trying.
From the flustered twitchings in the muscles of Dobbler’s mottled face, Farraday was certain he was right. Even if there was no way he could prove the kid had any treasonable plans at all. And maybe he didn’t—even if Farraday was telepathically picking up genuine signals from Dobbler’s brain, that could be nothing but his strong desire, and not a definite intention at all.
Farraday walked back to Dobbler. He put his hand on the ensign’s shoulder and looked deeply into his eyes. “Give it a couple days,” he said softly. “And maybe talk to Ensign Fiquet about it. Okay? But either way, give me your word on that—that you’ll take a couple days to think it over.”
Dobbler met the captain’s gaze with his own stricken one. He seemed to feel no need to ask what specifically he was supposed to be thinking over.
Farraday hardened his tone, just slightly. “Promise me,” he said.
Dobbler dropped his eyes. He didn’t look submissive—just confused, by his own conflicting loyalties and compulsions. “Yes, sir,” he said, suddenly with a raspy, grasping quality to his voice. “I mean, of course, sir.”
“Good.” Farraday started to say something else, something to help console him for his loss. But he couldn’t think what that something could be. So he gave the kid’s shoulder another squeeze, and left the conference room, heading for the bridge.
Yet again he’d missed his chance to visit Horowitz in her damned lab.
Five
On Lumley, it was nighttime—on Du’Thokk’s section of it anyway.
Sitting apart from her team, and from the Helpers, Summers hugged her knees and wondered just how big that section was. So far she’d been able to glean no hint of any other regional powers or tribes anywhere nearby—nor had she been able to figure out exactly to what extent Du’Thokk was a political leader, and to what extent he was a religious one. She knew the distinction was less important in pre-tech societies, but still, it was startling the way Du’Thokk seemed to be in charge of everything. There were no signs of any authority being delegated to anyone else.
Not that there was much to delegate. The little village here was made up of the Long House and then some grass huts for the Helpers. When Summers and her people had been fed, the fare had been tasty but simple, the kind you would expect from hunter-gatherers.
Even with the blazing torches staked here and there in the encampment, one could feel the darker quality of that moonless night. Summers gazed up at the spray of brilliant stars, luxuriating in the feel of being able to do so without having to see any satellite, its presence forever menacing her with what would happen were its disc ever fully illuminated.
One of the Helpers—acolytes? slaves?—was approaching. Summers didn’t even notice till the alien was nearly touching her. Despite how innocuous they seemed, they were alarmingly stealthy. The smooth-faced humanoid spoke, always with that jarring disconnect between the movements of her mouth and the English words that issued from it: “Du’Thokk wishes to see you.”
“All right.” For a moment Summers stayed sitting where she was, looking up at the Helper contemplatively. All the Helpers used the translation spell. That had been somewhat less impressive before Cosway had noticed the telekinetic aspect. Had Du’Thokk taught the technique to his minions? Was each individual Helper generating her own spell? Summers doubted it. It wasn’t that Du’Thokk’s minions seemed stupid or anything, but that level of translation spell demanded a truly high-level mage, and Summers didn’t get that sense from the little ladies.
But the only obvious alternative was that Du’Thokk alone was generating a blanket spell that translated the words of each Helper, and that also transmogrified its attendant sound waves to form English sounds. That would take a more powerful mage than any she’d ever met, certainly. Furthermore, Summers wasn’t sure she’d be shocked even if it turned out that blanket translation spell worked both ways—that is, if it turned out that the Helpers were hearing her English translated into their language, along with the telekinesis, which would further mean yet another level to the spell, either of translation or of hypnosis, which would prevent the humans from hearing the alien language that was actually issuing from their mouths, and allowed them to instead hear, in their own voices, the English words they’d intended to say.
If that was what was happening, she realized with a chill, Du’thokk was orders of magnitude stronger than anyone she’d ever even heard of. She made a mental note to have Cosway check the recordings of their own speech, too.
But for now she merely followed the Helper to meet Du’Thokk, where he’d summoned her.
***
Back on the Galaxy, Farraday had arrived at the bridge and was taking over the conn from Roy Miller, just as Science Officer June Deptford was looking up excitedly from the station normally occupied by Jennifer Summers. “Captain, Lieutenant Commander,” said Deptford, “I’ve finished runn
ing a demographic analysis of the Helpers.”
Farraday had been heading to the captain’s chair that Miller had just vacated. Now he veered toward the Science post, followed by Miller. They leaned over Deptford’s shoulder and peered at the readouts on her screen.
Deptford didn’t sit around waiting for them to interpret it all on their own. “We’ve definitely figured out why the population is so small and localized, Captain.”
“Why is that, Deptford?” asked Farraday, wishing she would get to the point, a little annoyed by how clearly she was relishing the drama of her role.
“Because that Du’Thokk is the only male of the species on the whole planet.”
***
The Helper escorted Summers, not to the Long House, but to a much smaller structure, a hut with grass-and-mud walls curved in a circle and a pointed thatch roof, the whole thing up on stilts. A crude but smoothed wooden board served as a ramp leading up to the doorway. The Helper stopped and stood at the foot of the ramp with her hands folded and her eyes down—it was clear that only Summers was expected to ascend into the hut.
So she climbed the ramp alone. Du’Thokk was there waiting, seated on another raised dais. This time there was no cushion provided, and when Summers sat before him on her shins in the manner the Helpers had demonstrated, it smarted a bit.
Naturally, she didn’t complain. She merely inclined her head, in a hint of a bow, and waited for Du’Thokk to address her.
He did. “Jennifer Summers,” he said. “I have a proposition for you.”
***
“What do you mean, he’s the only male?” demanded Farraday. “There’s never been any record of a humanoid species where one male per generation could genetically support an entire species.”
Deptford must have heard in the captain’s voice how uninterested he was in screwing around with the ethnographic and genetic fascination of it all. After all, that was his lover down there with the mysterious shaman. “Correct, sir,” she said, all business now. “We can’t run genetic analyses with the sparse data we glean from satellites. But we are able to infer some data of that type from the retina scans the away team recorded of the various Helpers, that they beamed up to us. And they confirm that this situation is not the norm for this species. What I mean to say is, the Helpers seem to have had different male ancestors. But they all have the same father. Du’Thokk himself.”
Across the bridge, mouths twisted with distaste at the thought of such incest. “So, what?” said Miller. “A couple generations ago this one guy killed off every other male on the planet and took charge of their womenfolk? Sounds like a pretty tough customer.”
***
Summers waited to see if Du’Thokk would say anything more. When he didn’t, she bowed her head and said, “I wait humbly to hear it, Du’Thokk.”
Though her head was bowed, she was still looking up past her eyebrows and so saw Du’Thokk smile. It was not a particularly pleasant smile, and Summers felt a chill pass through her.
“You show me respect,” said Du’Thokk, “but you withhold its two ultimate manifestations: fear, and obedience. Very well. Only, I would prefer that you at least know I could exact those tributes from you, any time I chose.”
Summers said nothing at first. She thought of the massive power indicated by his brand of translation spell, and reflected that he probably was right. “I hope we may be friends,” she said, “and that fear will thus not be necessary between us.”
On either side, she silently added.
At Du’Thokk’s sharp smirk, she realized that he had almost certainly heard that silent quip.
But he only said, “I will say that I hope I will not have to inflict such motivators directly. For I wish you to rest here, indefinitely. And to that end, I hope you will be comfortable.”
Summers was racking her brain to try to figure out how to respond, when she became aware of footsteps on the wooden ramp behind her. Calm and measured, like the Helpers’; but heavier. Despite the nervousness the sound of this tread inspired in her, she did not turn to look over her shoulder, but kept her eyes locked on Du’Thokk, as if she somehow sensed that he was the true threat.
Du’Thokk said blithely, “I propose that you shall be my mate.”
Jennifer decided not to mention yet any doubts regarding their inter-species sexual compatibility. “I, er, I am honored, Du’Thokk, but, er....”
“Naturally I mate with all the Helpers whenever I choose,” said Du’Thokk, as if he had not noticed that she was speaking. “When my seed takes purchase—as often happens, for my seed is potent—I generally crush the child while it is yet in the womb. Occasionally I do allow it to come to fruition, since the Helpers must be renewed sometimes. All male children, of course, are destroyed out of hand.”
Jennifer didn’t know what expression she was making, but she figured it was a good thing Du’Thokk seemed not to be paying attention to it.
“But you would be treated differently,” he continued. “Your mind interests me, and until it ceases to do so I shall do you the great honor of allowing you to keep it. Know that it is many years now since any member of my species has been afforded that gift.”
Any anger she might have felt at such arrogance and destruction was smothered by her realization that he was powerful enough that he could take her mind, if he wanted to. He might even be able to reach all the way up to the minds aboard the Galaxy, though this was the first time she’d ever doubted the efficacy of the starship’s spell shield.
Still, she couldn’t just sit here and agree to go to bed with the guy and become his harem slave or whatever. Clearing her throat, she tried to think of something to say; all she came up with was, “It is kind of you to allow me to keep my own mind, sir. But I’m worried I may not be able to bring my mind into accordance with what you desire.”
“That is of no consequence. You can retain your own will, yet still be forced to do things that do not align with it. But I shall hear your plea.... What you have just said is a kind of plea, is it not? It is hard to be certain, so long has it been since I have allowed such a plea to be made in my presence. A plea to be allowed your freedom?”
Jennifer supposed that it was. She nodded, mouth too dry to speak.
Du’Thokk nodded. Despite the alien physiognomy of his face, Jennifer thought she could read the satisfaction of a man who saw things running along as he’d planned, with no surprises. “In the old days,” he said, “before my coming, it sometimes happened that two or more males would dispute over a female. According to tradition such disputes would be resolved by combat, between the males or their champions. Do you believe the males in your floating Long House would want to fight for you?”
“Yes, but.... Sir, do you mean mental combat?...”
“Fear not; I know there are none in your Long House who could hope to defeat me thus. I mean purely physical combat.”
If Du’Thokk really did restrain all his psychic powers and confined himself to physical combat, Jennifer reckoned she’d be all right no matter who the Galaxy sent down; the only potential champions she’d noticed were the Helpers. Obviously there had to be some sort of catch. But she didn’t see much choice, so she said, “Yes, I believe my people would send a champion down to fight for me, if that is how it must be.” In a pinch she could take Du’Thokk herself in a physical contest, but it would be a surer thing if one of Roy Miller’s people did it.
Again, Du’Thokk was nodding, in unsurprised satisfaction. “Very well, very well. You may contact your Long House and request they send someone to fight for you.” Behind Jennifer there was a creak as someone else entered the hut. She dared not turn to see who it was, till Du’Thokk gave her leave; “There is my champion,” he said, indicating the new arrival with a nod over her shoulder.
Jennifer turned to see who it was. For a long moment she only frowned, as comprehension escaped her. Then her eyes widened; “Oh, damn,” she said.
***
Aboard the Galaxy, they’d been t
rying to hail Lieutenant Summers. Though it made Farraday antsy not to have reached her, there was no need to jump to conclusions; they knew from speaking to other members of the away team that she was in a private conference with Du’Thokk, and during the delicate moments of a first contact it was not unheard-of for an officer to risk silencing his or her communicator for a brief period, so as to minimize distraction and confusion.
On the other hand, they were also unable to raise Boulton. That was worrisome.
Finally, there was a whistle from the Comm panel. Farraday looked at the readout and saw that it was from Jennifer. “Put it on speaker,” he snapped, even as the communications officer was already doing so. “Lieutenant Summers?” he said.
“Captain?” At the sound of the anxiety in her voice, even those who had been busy with unrelated tasks paused and looked over, their faces clouded with concern. “Er, I have kind of a situation here....”
The bridge crew listened in grim silence as Summers outlined her plight, until she got to the identity of Du’Thokk’s champion. Then Farraday repeated, with a sort of bark, “Boulton?!”
“Aye, sir. I’m no expert, but it looks to me like he’s been possessed.”
“Hang on. I thought you said Du’Thokk was going to keep this a purely physical contest? Now he’s bringing possession into it?”
There was some distant murmuring from the speaker as Summers took the communicator away from her mouth and consulted with Du’Thokk. After a moment, she said to the ship, “No direct psychic manipulation, he stipulates. He’ll simply control Boulton’s body and will. But he won’t meddle with the mind of whoever’s sent to fight Boulton.”
“Hold a moment, Lieutenant,” said Farraday, and flipped a switch to take their conversation off-line, so that Du’Thokk would not hear.
He dragged his hand across his face and heaved an epic sigh. “Dammit,” he muttered, and turned to Miller. “So it looks like someone is going to have to fight Boulton. Any obvious first choices spring to mind?”
