“Isn’t that cute,” said Rael, in a tone that suggested otherwise. The kid twisted faster and faster, not making any appreciable progress in getting all the colours in the one place. “He does actually see colours like us, right?”
“Not like us,” said Trace, watching with intrigue. “He sees a lot more than us. But he should be able to play this game.” And to the kid, “Hey no, that’s too fast, you’ll…” with a pop, some plastic squares broke off and flew away. “Break it,” Trace finished.
The drone looked about in astonishment, head darting, tracking those escaping pieces with something like alarm. It snatched at one, hitting it and sending it tumbling faster. Then it pushed off and swung, chasing that piece, and caught it just before its leg-grip on the cargo claw became too far to reach. On the way back, it collected two more pieces, and then with all four front legs working furiously, tried to put them back together.
Trace could not help thinking that it looked like childish distress — the kid who accidentally broke his toy, and now tried to fix it without knowing how. Stop it, she told herself. It’s a machine. Stop anthropomorphising it to make it more familiar. And she lost her train of thought completely as the kid grasped a new cargo claw and pushed straight toward her.
“Hey, hey hey no!” Rael called from his net, raising the rifle and pointing.
“Wait Corporal!” Trace said loudly. In truth, she was less alarmed than she should have been. Thinking that she knew its intentions, just because this was what a human child would have done, was exactly the danger she was trying to ward against. The big, alien drone came straight at her, legs catching and bracing on the claw she held to, and its inner arms reached… and offered her the broken plastic cube. The big, double-eyed head swivelled and ducked, examining her, examining the cube. Reading her face for expression clues? Could hacksaw drones do that, at any age? Humans were evolved for it specifically, but machines had no need of it… especially when they’d spent the best part of their existence exterminating organic sentience and not caring a bit what their victims thought.
Trace took the cube pieces, carefully. It set her drifting, and the drone actually put a small manipulator hand to her side, steadying her. Trace thought that one, simple act was about the most astonishing thing she’d ever experienced in her life. The plastic parts looked as though they’d fit back together easily enough, so she held them up before the drone’s eyes, showing him. Then placed one piece back in, and pushed, with a satisfying click. The drone reacted, a head jerk and refocus, as though… surprised? Pleased? Another piece, and a click. Then the last. She twirled the cube’s rotating parts several times to be sure, then handed it back.
The kid took it, more carefully this time, and began twisting. Then pushed away from Trace once more, utterly preoccupied with its new game.
“Its limbs aren’t powerful enough to kill yet anyway,” Trace reminded Rael, as he lowered his rifle. The kid probably didn’t know what that big metal stick did yet. But he would. “Styx says that develops later, with motor-skill maturity.”
“Styx says a lot of things,” said Rael. “Giddy says he wishes you’d stop sticking your head into things just to see how they work.”
“This may come as a surprise to you, Corporal,” Trace told him acidly. “But Staff Sergeant Kono is not my mother.”
“That’s definitely her,” said Lieutenant Geish on Scan. He, Erik and Shahaim were gazing at the Kantovan scan feed, focused now on one particular freighter that had emerged from jump nearly two rotations ago, from twenty-nine degrees off solar-nadir. Phoenix did not have access to civilian shipping manifests, so they had no way of telling who was hauling what until they came within visual range. But they did have access to other civilian feeds, and one of those had just now settled upon the freighter Ikto, and the curiously-formed lump on its midships flank.
“Definitely looks like a heavy descender to me,” Shahaim agreed. If anyone could identify a ship-type at a glance, it was Suli. “It’s about twenty percent larger than it otherwise needs to be, I think most of that is shielding.”
“Going to need some engines on it,” said Jiri from Scan Two.
Erik opened a channel to Engineering. “Hello Lieutenant Rooke?”
“Here Captain.”
“Thought you’d like to know, it turns out the freighter Ikto is in fact hauling a heavy descender. It looks like Second Lieutenant Hale came through, right on schedule.”
“Of course she did,” said Rooke. “Now we just hope Tif can fly the damn thing.” Rooke would not be the only one hearing that message, Erik knew. Lieutenant Alomaim in particular would be very relieved. Not to mention a certain surly little boy, whose behaviour had been lately deteriorating, with one of his regular tutors with the Major’s Command Squad, another kidnapped by parren, and his mother on a mission to acquire the descender.
Erik switched the scan feed to look at Kantovan once more. They were chasing the Tsubarata’s orbit now, cutting within five hundred kilometres of Konik’s upper atmosphere before they headed back out to geostationary orbit. The red-brown world filled all external view to one side, the northern pole nearly visible on this orbit, and where the colour changed in a great band of blue and green in the northern summer. That was the terraforming, where the planet’s water had reconsolidated into seas, islands and trees. But it was cold and frozen half the year, and many of the cities preferred the warmer, equatorial deserts, some of which were only now starting to bloom themselves into vast, grassy plains. A naturalist documentary had made interesting viewing on the way in — some imported eco-systems set up in the newly living regions, wild creatures from various worlds let loose upon the plains and in the seas, to see if they could properly bring the world to life.
Kantovan System was nowhere near as busy as Tontalamai, with its primary inhabited world catering to barely a billion people, compared to twelve billion on Ponnai. But it was busy enough, its outer-system industrial operations perhaps even bigger than Tontalamai, and its space-lanes full of insystem freighters. Scan also showed Erik fully thirty-two tavalai Fleet warships. Exactly how many of those were in on this deal he didn’t know, but guessed it would be only a handful. Admiral Janik had never claimed to represent more than a small splinter of opinion within Fleet. If Phoenix’s plans here were discovered, or someone betrayed them, all of this tavalai firepower would no doubt settle upon Phoenix, with inevitable results.
Perhaps just as well Lisbeth wasn’t here after all, Erik thought grimly, eyeing the feed coming in from Tsubarata itself. An honoured guest of the parren, as Aristan had described it, might make her currently the safest member of the crew.
“Captain,” said Shilu at Coms, “I’m getting direct queries from the planet’s surface. I think they’re all civilian, possibly news networks. The authorities aren’t giving them access to us on the orbital coms networks, so they’re just firing them up from the ground on this pass. All very illegal, I think.”
“Tavalai media don’t care much about that,” said Erik. “What are they asking?”
“I haven’t opened a channel to find out,” Shilu admitted. “Would you like to?”
“Better not,” said Erik, recalling the scenes on Ponnai. “Best if we save our talking for the Tsubarata.”
Arrival at the Tsubarata was nuts. Word had beaten Phoenix to Kantovan, and Tsubarata Central’s feed was buzzing with ships, traffic, warnings and protocols, some of which had Shilu feeding terms into an advanced translator program, as the regular translator proved unhelpful. Tavalai Fleet vessels held overwatch positions, creating clear fields of fire all about the Tsubarata, and Erik was quite certain their weapons were live. Phoenix, coming here, had caused a big commotion, and there was no telling just how upset various parties might be, or what they might be prepared to do about it.
Berth was a breech-berth against the planetoid’s side, necessary given the tiny but real gravitational field generated by the rocky mass. Docking formalities that should have taken minutes, instea
d took hours, and Erik got the clear impression of bureaucratic chaos in the rock. With Trace and Dale absent, Lieutenant Jalawi had command of Phoenix Company marines, and all save Erik’s small personal protection were fully armoured and armed, just in case.
Finally clearance arrived, and Erik strapped into the back of PH-1, with Shahaim and Shilu for company as second-shift took over the bridge, and Lieutenant Alomaim plus three unarmed and unarmored marines of Bravo Platoon for escort. The flight to the rim gave him his first clear view of the Tsubarata — its huge, rocky length half-lit in the glare of sunlight, ringed twice about its mid-girth by habitation rims, rapidly revolving. The curve-gradient on those rims had to be amongst the lowest in the Spiral, Erik thought, with an eye-popping thirty-kilometre radius. To generate Gs at that width, they had to spin relatively fast, but still only accumulated to point-seven of a G, he’d learned. Hausler took off after the indicated berth now as it came zooming toward them about that rocky horizon, with a hard burst of thrust that reminded all watching that Phoenix was a military ship, with pilots of military inclination.
Lieutenant Hausler docked with his customary precision at the lower-rim berth, grapples tight and armscomp live despite strict Tsubarata instructions to keep weapons offline. There were small vessels everywhere, shuttles and runners with security IDs, and Erik recalled a childhood memory — a tavalai diplomatic ship, arrived at Homeworld to discuss the war, accompanied by talk of negotiated peace. Its arrival had held all Homeworld System transfixed for days, with scenes at Fajar Station quite similar to this, crowds of ships and crowds of people, all wondering what came next.
Lieutenant Alomaim and his three First Squad marines climbed the access tube first, with Erik last for security’s sake. At lower-rim dock there were no crowds, the usually-busy space closed down for this VIP arrival. Armed tavalai escort greeted them with little fanfare — civilian, Tsubarata guards with simple green uniforms, as the military had no official role in the running of the Parliament.
Erik, Shahaim, Shilu and the four marines were escorted into an elevator, which whisked them up to the main rim level, and opened onto an enormous floor, with a ceiling nearly a hundred meters above, at the top of the Tsubarata rim. To either side of the steel canyon were vast walls, broken by balconies and huge stretches of window, within which conference rooms would look down upon the foyer floor below. The walls and ceiling were decorated by pennants and holographic displays from various alien races, only a few of which Erik immediately recognised. And the wide, polished floor was decorated with starburst patterns that Erik fancied would only make sense when viewed from those balconies and windows high above.
Upon the floor, a crowd of aliens surged for a view, held back by tavalai security. The roar of alien voices assaulted Erik’s ears, and Lieutenant Alomaim’s marines interposed themselves before their ship’s officers, looking about in alarm. Tavalai officialdom hurried back and forth, and several beckoned for the humans to follow, while another tried to shake Erik’s hand, only to be stopped by the marines. Erik leaned to shake his hand anyway, as watchers yelled or trilled, and camera drones jockeyed for position. Erik recalled Captain Pantillo’s lessons in bearing, and straightened his shoulders, chin up, doing his best to look unperturbed at all the noise.
Some large doors in the great, high walls swallowed them, and here in the hall stood not the big tavalai welcome formality that Erik had expected, but a single, very alien figure. Sulik, Erik recognised only from old school lessons, never having seen one before in person. This sulik was a little shorter than him, and hunched with a body more horizontal than vertical, like some great, walking bird of old Earth… save that the sulik had long arms that could double as legs when speed was required. Its neck was long, its face like a great cross, with mouth on the lower stem and eyes on the wide stem, and a tall head crest on the upper. It wore a large breathing device over mouth and nostrils, as sulik preferred a much more oxygen-rich atmosphere than this one, and could become out-of-breath in thin non-sulik air.
“Greetings,” it said via a translator speaker, past a natural voice that sounded more animal-screech than language. Erik had not found an alien more disconcerting to meet in person since the first time he’d seen a sard, but sulik were known to be gentle, and relied entirely upon tavalai for security. Their home space was far from here, and small, and in a galaxy such as this one, utterly vulnerable. “I am Tua, I am your Tsubarata liaison. You will wish to see your accommodations. But you are here to claim the Human Chair. I will show you.”
Tua took them down wide halls, lined with offices, and explained how the mural decorations on the walls and high ceilings indicated which Tsubarata species each section belonged to. This section was for the kratik, who were small with bony, reptiloid snouts and carnivorous teeth, and the decorative scenes here were of deserts, red sands and canyon walls — scenes from their homeworld, Tua said. Many kratik were out of their offices to watch the humans with beady eyes, and Tua assured the humans that only those with security clearances were allowed in the parliament offices, unlike the main lobby.
At the next length of hallway, the decor changed to green forests and tall, trapezoid temple-looking buildings. It was the parren quarter, and here the halls were lined with slim, indigo-eyed parren, many colourfully dressed and looking anything but the austere, black-clad version that Erik had come to know. The parren did not chatter, and many bowed serenely as Erik looked at them, to which Erik replied with polite nods. All this colour was what Aristan’s acolytes were rebelling against, Erik thought. The most extreme fringe of House Harmony, discarding all this frivolous decoration in pursuit of ultimate inner-peace.
They took a corner, and were confronted with another great crowd before some sealed steel doors that blocked off the hall. All looked, and Erik saw many recording devices, and official-looking staff, recording events. And here, Erik saw as that crowd parted, were the tavalai with their formal ribbons and books of stamps… as though somehow, the true event were not the arrival at the lobby, but here, before some big closed doors.
“What place is this?” Shahaim asked their guide as they approached.
“Human Quarter,” said Tua, waving at those still obstructing the way to move. “Last officially opened one thousand and forty six of your human years ago. Unopened since.”
“No one’s been in there for a thousand years?” Shilu asked with disbelief.
“Every local year, a Tsubarata engineering team perform a brief structural integrity examination. Life support is held at sub-optimal for habitation, temperatures cold for historical preservation. Life support has been activated for several rotations in anticipation of your arrival, but there is no lighting — lighting power has been permanently deactivated as a safety measure. Please, tavalai formalities. This way.”
The tavalai did indeed have formalities, with their books, stamps and ribbons. Erik and the others performed them all with mounting nervous excitement that verged on dread. There had been talk that the tavalai had put the human section of the Tsubarata into cold storage, but no one had considered they’d done it quite this thoroughly. But of course, tavalai were the Spiral’s leading students of history, and (some tavalai complained) prisoners of it. The old was worshipped, often to the disdain of the new, and now that Erik thought about it, it seemed a most obviously tavalai thing to do.
When all the pages were stamped, and the ribbons presented and pinned correctly to bunch on the human crew’s lapels, a signal was given to open the doors. Voices fell to a hush, spoiled by the creaking grind as several big tavalai maintenance crew wound the emergency door mechanism by hand, turning a big, detachable handle in the wall. The air seal broke, and a gust of cold air swirled about the group, smelling old and stale. It reminded Erik of the way the air had smelled within the hidden parren temple he’d discovered with Trace and Private Krishnan. Tua said the life support had been flushed for a few days, so air would be breathable in there… but a lot of old air would remain, drifting in corne
rs the filters had not reached.
Engineering crew gave the humans flashlights, with further ceremony, and slowly the steel doors lifted enough that all could see within. The hall continued, identical on the far side to the near, but dark. Some banners fell limp down the walls, like dead things. In the shadows, nothing moved. Erik felt as though the surrounding cluster of Tsubarata species were holding their collective breath. Many cameras filmed, their operators awed. It struck Erik once more just what enormity he was confronting here. Humans had pointedly refused to set foot in the Tsubarata for a thousand years, save for the occasional diplomatic visit by a lone ambassador and a few staff. And here was he, single-handedly reversing that solemn history with this act.
This heist had better work, he thought to himself. Because if it didn’t, then likely no one would ever learn the true nature of what Phoenix had been attempting, and Fleet would brand them the worst kinds of traitors for as long as humans existed to remember.
Erik turned on his flashlight, and looked at Tua. “I cannot enter,” said Tua. “It is forbidden. This is human territory, by old tavalai law. Tsubarata engineering staff have had an overriding allowance once-per-year, but none other. This place is yours.”
Alomaim nodded at Gunnery Sergeant Brice, who in turn indicated Private Ito, who wordlessly joined her on guard at the human side of the door. In case someone tried to lock them inside for the next thousand years, Erik thought sourly, as Alomaim took the lead without having to be told, panning his light from side to side as warily as he would a weapon, if he had one. Private Cruze walked at their rear, the three spacer bridge crew between, staring about in chill incredulity.
The limp banners on the walls were scenes of Earth. They were faded and stiff with age, but all synthetic materials aged slowly, and in environmentally-controlled environments, even moreso. Flashlights caught the shapes, glaring on indistinct images, and Erik walked closer to peer at one. It was of an old, steel tower, tapering as it climbed above an ancient cityscape, a jumble of rooves in a style no one built any longer.
Kantovan Vault (The Spiral Wars Book 3) Page 25
