Peacekeeper Pathogen (Galactic Alliance Book 6)

by Doug Farren

  The restaurant was located in a beautiful new building in the heart of Cleveland. The tall lights of the nearby football stadium could be seen from the parking lot. The spacious interior was designed for easy access by all members of the Alliance and included restrooms tailored to the different physiologies of each race. A man dressed in a white jump-suit greeted them at the door and escorted them to the private dining room.

  Sorbith was already there. “Have a seat,” he said. “Order a drink and then I’ll bring you up-to-date on the latest news.”

  As Tom and Lashpa settled into their specie-specific seats, the surface of the table lit up with menus customized for the person it was being presented to. Lashpa’s was written in the dialect of Rouldian she had grown up with while Tom’s was in English. Tom selected a locally brewed beer while Lashpa settled on a fermented fruity drink. A moment later, a server arrived with their drinks.

  “Welcome to Bentley’s,” the server said, setting the drinks down on the table. “My name is Eli and I’ll be your server for the evening. We pride ourselves in being the only restaurant in Cleveland with separate kitchens for preparing food for each member of the Alliance. For multi-cultural meetings such as this, we offer the convenience of an air curtain if the smell of one guest’s meal is offensive to any of the other guests. The air curtain, as well as other environmental adjustments can be controlled from the small tablet stored inside the armrest of your chairs—just flip the armrest open to access it. If you need anything, please feel free to ask. Are there any questions?”

  “Do you have any snilfs?” Lashpa asked.

  “We do. Would you like some?”

  “Please.”

  “Of course. Would anyone else like something, bread perhaps?”

  “Bread please,” Tom said.

  “Very well then,” Eli replied, “I’ll be back in a moment. When you’re ready to order, please do so using the table-top interface. There’s no rush, this room is yours for as long as you like.”

  “Impressive!” Lashpa said as soon as Eli left. Taking a sip of her drink, she smacked her lips and rumbled. “This is one of the best vergranth I’ve ever tasted. It’s notoriously difficult to properly brew and must be produced locally.”

  “What’s this news you’ve been itching to tell us,” Tom said, taking a swig of his beer.

  “Your call could not have come at a better time,” Sorbith began. “I’d just gotten off the phone with the World President. The Alliance Grand Council has come to a decision regarding the status of Safa.”

  “What’s there to decide?” Tom asked.

  “At the end of the Purist revolt, Earth agreed to allow Safa to govern themselves as if they were an independent world under the protection of Earth. When Earth revoked that status, the council had to decide if Safa would continue to be viewed as an independent world or as a colony of Earth. Because all the residents of Safa are Terran and cannot be distinguished from other Terrans, the council has concluded that Safa is a colony and therefore subject to Terran and Alliance law.”

  Lashpa had been scanning the menu while Tom and Sorbith talked. “I don’t believe this!” she said, her tail standing straight up in the air with excitement. “They have fresh boiled arugnack!”

  “Boiled, not live?” Tom joked.

  “Not all our food is eaten live,” Lashpa said. “The blood of raw arugnack is poisonous. Boiling changes it into a tasty self-marinade.”

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” Sorbith said. At first, Tom thought he was serious until he noticed the smile on his face.

  “We’d best go ahead and order,” Tom said. “I don’t think she’s eaten all day.”

  Eli returned carrying a tray. He placed a small loaf of bread between Tom and Sorbith and a bowl of large brown snails in front of Lashpa. She immediately snapped one up and popped it into her mouth.

  “These are perfect,” she said. “The shells are just the right thickness.”

  “I’m glad you approve,” Eli replied.

  “You should try one,” Lashpa told Tom, holding a snail toward him.

  “No thanks,” Tom replied, turning his head.

  “Sorbith?”

  Sorbith reached out and plucked the snail off the tiny spoon and popped it into his mouth. “Not bad,” he said. “A bit too crunchy for me though.”

  Trying to ignore the disgusting food his companions were eating, Tom concentrated on the menu and ordered a flame-grilled bison steak with mushrooms, a loaded baked potato, and steamed broccoli.

  After everyone had ordered, he asked, “So what did the World President have to say?”

  Sorbith pulled off a slice of bread and began spreading a dark red paste on it. Tom had no idea what it was but it smelled almost as bad as some of the food Lashpa liked to eat. “First, he wanted me to congratulate you on a job well done. Second, he’s agreed to your request to be the one to arrest Muhaajir Hadi.”

  “We’re actually going to arrest him?” Tom asked, spreading a thin layer of butter on his own piece of bread.

  “Of course,” Sorbith replied. “Safa is in for a huge surprise. The fleet I dispatched earlier will be arriving soon. They’ll enforce a ban on anyone attempting to leave the system. Incoming vessels will be boarded. Supplies and people will be allowed to be transferred to another ship after each container is inspected. Earth is assembling a small invasion force. The goal of which will be to replace the oppressive government currently in control of Safa with one that’s loyal to Earth and will follow Terran and Alliance law. The President expects the invasion force to be ready to leave in two or three weeks.”

  “I’ll have my new arm by then,” Lashpa said, popping another snilf into her mouth.

  “It’s about time we brought Safa under control,” Tom said.

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” Sorbith replied. “We’re expecting some resistance but we’re hoping to complete our objective with a minimal loss of life.”

  “I’m surprised we’re being allowed on the mission,” Lashpa said. Seeing the questioning look on Tom’s face, she added, “Peacekeepers work for the Alliance Grand Council. This is an internal Terran matter. Normally, peacekeepers don’t get involved.”

  “Unless they’re asked,” Sorbith said. “And we’ve been asked to provide as much assistance as possible. I think the two of you are sufficient.”

  “What sort of invasion force are we talking about?” Tom asked.

  “Military special forces backed up by crowd control robots. I don’t know all the details.”

  “I’m curious about the facility we raided,” Lashpa said. “Have you found anything yet?”

  “Not much so far,” Sorbith replied, pulling off another piece of bread; the crust was crunchy while the inside was warm and soft. “It took over an hour to put out the fire. We did find that the facility’s environmental controls are more like those of a spaceship than a building. They could have sealed themselves in there, isolated from the outside world, for a very long time. They had enough supplies to last well over a year.”

  “I wonder how close they came to figuring out how to control T11-N106,” Tom asked.

  “We’re interrogating the scientists now,” Sorbith replied. “I don’t know the results.”

  Tom saw Lashpa’s hand pause on its way to her mouth. The head of the snilf she was holding poked out of its shell and waved around as if trying to find an avenue of escape.

  “What’s wrong?” Tom asked.

  “King Syan told us that the Mowry had turned two or three dirt-eaters over to the Purists. If they’d found a way to extend their life, the Purists could have massed a considerable stockpile of T11-N106 spores.”

  “And what if the Mowry are still alive?” Tom asked. “This problem isn’t over yet.”

  “Tri-Star,” Sorbith quietly said. “Inform Peacekeeper Tetch that I want an estimate of how much T11-N106 the Purists had in their facility. Also, priority is to be given towards scanning the Purist computers for evidence associ
ated with past dirt-eaters.” Looking at Tom, Sorbith added, “I put Peackeeper Tetch in charge of the investigation. Now that the fire is out, only peacekeepers are allowed inside. Sergeant Workman left a small contingent behind to maintain security.”

  “We’ll have to move fast once we’re on Safa,” Tom said. “The Purists will want to destroy everything they’ve learned about T11-N106. If there’s a cure, their research might help us find it.”

  “Don’t forget,” Lashpa pointed out. “All research associated with T11-N106 has been banned. If we do find anything, we’ll have to turn it over to a biomaster and then wipe the data.”

  Tom was about to object but thought better of it. He knew it was best to keep those who knew the true nature of the pathogen to a bare minimum. Finding a cure might also mean finding out how to switch it on and that sort of information was more dangerous than handing a nuke to a terrorist. Given the current spread of the disease, anyone armed with that knowledge could potentially cause tens of millions on a dozen heavily populated worlds to suffer a long, horrifying death. The panic and disruption that resulted could cripple the Alliance.

  The door to their private room slid open and Eli stepped inside. He was followed by a robotic table carrying their food. Using two hands, he lifted a large plate and set it in front of Lashpa. Centered on the plate was what looked like a large intact turtle with a black shell. Several strips of long green leaves lay across the top giving it a bit of color. Next to the shell was a thick, heavy knife the likes of which Tom had never seen. The blade was long and narrow with an odd-looking notch located a centimeter from the sharp tip on the side opposite the cutting edge. The blade itself was constructed of heavy steel.

  “I know that part of the joy of eating arugnack is the splitting of the shell. But I also couldn’t help notice your missing arm. When I mentioned this to the chef, she offered to come to the table to split it for you. She’s waiting outside.”

  “I would appreciate that very much,” Lashpa replied.

  Eli set a plate holding a thick, juicy bison steak in front of Tom. Eli waited while Tom picked up his knife and cut into it. The inside was pink and perfectly cooked. Seeing Tom nod his head in approval, Eli picked up Sorbith’s plate and set it on the table. It held some sort of round leafy plant that had been hollowed out and filled with a foul-smelling paste. More leaves from the same plant were decoratively arranged around the edges of the plate.

  Sorbith picked up one of the leaves and folded it in half lengthwise to form a scoop. He dipped it into the paste and took a bite.

  “Perfect!” he said. Looking at Tom, Sorbith told him, “It’s called rafu ripna. It’s made by grinding up- - -”

  Tom stuck his hand in the air and said, “I would rather not know thank you.”

  Eli topped off Sorbith’s and Lashpa’s drinks and set a fresh bottle of beer on the table in front of Tom. “Is there anything else I can get you?” After a moment of silence, he turned to Lashpa and said, “The chef will be right in.”

  Eli followed the robotic table out the door and a moment later a Rouldian entered. She looked at Lashpa, then positioned herself on Lashpa’s right side. “I will be your right arm,” she said, laying her hand on one side of the shell.

  Working as a team, Lashpa and the chef picked up the turtle and held it sideways on the plate. Picking up the knife, Lashpa inserted it into the shell guiding it through the tough skin above one of the animal’s front legs. The curve of the blade allowed her to easily slide it across the interior surface of the shell until the tip of the knife poked out through the skin just above the opposite rear leg. She then hooked the notch at the end of the knife into the shell.

  Lashpa jerked down on the knife causing it to bite deeply into the shell with a crunching sound. Repositioning her grip, she pulled the knife’s handle flipping it out until it was at a 90 degree angle to the blade. Using the newly repositioned handle as a lever, she twisted. There was a sharp crack as the shell split along one edge.

  Laying the shell down on the plate, Lashpa grabbed the top edge while the chef held down the bottom. She then pulled, opening the shell with a series of crunchy, squishy, popping noises. The smell was overpowering, reminding Tom of a bag full of sweaty clothes mixed with rotting fish.

  “That smells good,” Sorbith said.

  “You two are disgusting,” Tom said, activating his air curtain.

  “Thank you for your assistance,” Lashpa said, looking at the chef. “It looks and smells delicious.”

  “So what are you two planning on doing between now and the time we leave for Safa?” Sorbith asked.

  “I was thinking of helping out with the investigation of the Purist facility,” Lashpa replied, using a smaller knife to cut out a piece of her meal.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Tom said.

  “Thanks,” Sorbith replied. “I can use the help.” Holding a folded leaf filled with paste towards Tom, he asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to try a bite?”

  “Not unless you want to see what a cybernetic power puke looks like.”

  Tom cranked up the power of his air curtain and turned to his meal. The steak was grilled to perfection and he wanted to enjoy it.

  Chapter 31

  A week and a half after breaching the facility, Tom and Lashpa were asked to present a detailed report of their findings to the Terran government. The Orion and the newly repaired Krish arrived at the New York spaceport during a severe thunderstorm that was pounding the area with rain and wind. They were directed to land in an area reserved for distinguished visitors such as dignitaries and ambassadors. A low-power force field was in place to keep the wind and the rain out of the area.

  A limousine the size of a small bus arrived and parked between the two ships. The entire back of the limo swung open and a ramp extended itself to the ground. This unconventional design was necessary to allow the transportation of honored guests from any member of the Alliance. The spacious interior of the vehicle could be quickly configured to accommodate the needs of anyone from any planet. Feeling a bit out of place, Tom and Lashpa walked up the ramp where they were greeted by a man dressed in an immaculately clean suit.

  “Good morning! My name is Hiroshi. Please have a seat.”

  Lashpa settled into a leather Rouldian chair while Tom took a seat in one designed for humans. As soon as his passengers were settled, Hiroshi touched a control on the wall and the back of the limo began to close.

  “The trip to the World Capital will take about 20 minutes,” Hiroshi told them. “To make your trip more enjoyable, may I offer you a refreshment?”

  “Coffee please,” Tom said. “Black.”

  “Nothing for me,” Lashpa replied.

  The limo began to move as Hiroshi brewed a fresh cup of coffee for Tom. Seconds later, they passed through the shield and the rain began running down the windows. The interior however, remained quiet with no hint at all of the storm raging outside. Lashpa stared out the window.

  “I’ve never been to New York,” she said.

  “It’s one of the largest cities on Earth,” Hiroshi replied, handing Tom a cup of steaming coffee. “After Earth joined the Consortium, the old United Nations building became the seat of the world government.”

  Tom sipped on his coffee and joined Lashpa in watching the scenery pass by. The ride was incredibly smooth without any noticeable bumps or swaying. Looking down at his cup as they made a turn, he noticed that the liquid inside remained level.

  “Is this vehicle equipped with an internal gravitational control system?” he asked.

  “It is,” Hiroshi replied. “We want to give our honored guests the best possible experience when they visit Earth. The interior can be configured to provide a comfortable environment for any species except Lamaltans. There are several limos specially built to accommodate their unique and demanding needs.”

  A few minutes later, the limo dropped down into the underground garage and rolled to a stop. They were escorted to a large elevator which
took them directly to the top floor. World President Milomir Yurievich Leonidov greeted them as the doors opened. He was a short, balding man with a thick brown mustache and a distinguished-looking goatee. His penetrating gray eyes were world-famous.

  “Peacekeeper Krishtom Lashwilks, it’s so good to meet you in person,” the President said in a deep voice, reaching for Tom’s hand.

  President Leonidov enthusiastically pumped Tom’s hand then turned to Lashpa. Instead of offering his hand to her, he reached out and gently swiped two fingers down Lashpa’s neck. He placed the fingers on the tip of his tongue then turned his head ever-so-slightly to one side. Lashpa’s tongue flicked out and gently touched the President’s neck.

  The President glanced at his watch then said, “We have about 30 minutes before we must appear in front of the World Congress. Please, have a seat.”

  Eight chairs were arranged in a large semi-circle facing the President’s desk. Each of them was slightly different allowing visitors from many cultures and species to select one that suited their anatomy. Lashpa settled into one that closely approximated those of her race while Tom chose a straight-back chair without arms one chair over. President Leonidov stood in front of his desk and leaned up against it.

  “I’ve been World President for less than a year,” Leonidov began, “and I’ve heard more about you than any other peacekeeper in the Alliance.”

  Lashpa had taken note of the fact that President Leonidov had greeted them using their combined name and was even more impressed when she heard him talk to them as if addressing a single individual. Rouldian gragrakch expected this sort of behavior from their own kind but not from a member of another species.

  “Why is that Mr. President?” Tom asked.

  “Please, call me Milo. It’s not Russian, but I’ve become fond of it.”

  Tom smiled. He was beginning to really like this man.

  “Before becoming President, I was the Minister of Foreign Affairs, a position that these days concerns itself with maintaining good relations with the other nations of Earth. I had very little contact with extraterrestrials. All that changed when I became World President. To prepare me for this post, I was educated in the cultures of every member of the Alliance. Part of the Rouldian indoctrination I received was an in-depth discussion of Peacekeeper Thomas-ga-Lashpa Wilks-ga-Krish and his special relationship with Peacekeeper Lashpa-ga-Thomas Krish-ga-Wilks to be addressed as Krishtom Lashwilks if encountered together. It was quite interesting.”