Inwards Bound (The RIM CONFEDERACY Book 13)

by Jim Rudnick

He sat there and thought about what that might entail from the discussion this evening, and his thoughts went all over.

  Thoughts of Gia filled his mind, and in seconds, after making some clicks on his keyboard, he was looking down at her six rooms here in the palace.

  She was in her living room, as she’d called it. She was sitting on a large pile of pillows in front of one of the couches with a tablet just to her left side. She was watching something on the big screen that sat above the fireplace right in front of her. She was often in this room, which he knew as he looked down on her from the apartment’s AI almost every day.

  He wanted to just walk right in and talk with her, but Doctor Etter had advised against that. Instead, he had said that Tanner must wait until she voiced that she wanted to see him. While he believed the doctor was most likely giving him solid advice, he still wanted to talk to her and voice his concerns about her health—well, her mental state, he meant.

  She was twirling one strand of her blonde hair in her fingers, and her head was tilted to one side. Her attention was only on the screen, and he watched her watch her movie for more than a few minutes. Then he leaned forward and clicked the console off button.

  In his study, he sat and tried to decide what to do with Gia and wondered what she might want.

  Sleep tonight was going to be tough, he thought, but he’d try, and he wondered if Gia slept well.

  #####

  Admiral McQueen sat, as always, in the first tier of seats behind Chairman Gramsci in the Council chamber. He realized earlier that he’d taken this seat at least once a month for the past twelve years since he’d won the job at the top of the RIM Confederacy Navy.

  Twelve years here on the RIM, and life here is still a liquid environment. Things did change, but then they changed again. And again. And today, again, he thought and shrugged mentally. That was how it was, is, and will be. Nothing for an admiral to do but to follow along and nod. And if necessary, say what he needed to say.

  Today, as he looked at his Agenda, there were no real realm-shaking items. He saw a request for a few changes to the trade rules over on Leudie and something new on the Praix issue from the Baroness. He didn’t read much else that should cause a big to-do.

  Speaking of to-do’s, he thought, as he watched the inevitable mopping up of spilled seawater around the DenKoss members at the table. Each meeting, they were moved from their normal containers that they left their ships in, which were moved from the landing port here on Juno to Navy Hall and then up the elevator to the Council chamber. Once in the Council chamber, they were taken out of of those containers to sit—Maybe lie might be a better verb, McQueen thought—in their chamber seats, but they were hooked up with their own seawater respirators so that they could be in the air-breathing environment and survive. After the seating of the DenKoss members came the usual mop up of the spilled seawater, which was happening now.

  We have many members from many species, McQueen thought, and while the DenKoss fish members may be the oddest of the group, there are others. He looked over at the Ttseens, who looked so much like the human boxer dogs he’d seen photos of that he often wondered what might happen if he threw a stick and yelled fetch! There were other strange ones too like the Djarreer who needed a perch to sit on as they were birds—or had been birds at one time.

  A gavel smacked the table in front of him and broke into his thoughts listing the odd species in the room.

  “Welcome all,” Chairman Gramsci said, “and let’s get started, shall we?”

  He put the gavel down, picked up a tablet with another hand, and began to make notes while two other hands sorted through the stack of folders in front of him. “With six arms, the Alex’n citizen could really run a meeting,” McQueen said to himself, and he settled in for the meeting.

  “Clerk, please, any regrets for today’s scheduled meeting?” the chairman asked.

  She rose from her seat in the middle of the big horseshoe-shaped table and nodded to him. “Yes, Chairman, we have received notice that the member from Farth will be unable to attend—holidays there seem to have made their presence a necessity. Also, but with no reasons behind same, the Faraway member sends his regrets as does the member from Duos. The Duos Valor realm, that is, FYI,” she said.

  Everyone knew that the Duos realm had two major planets—Valor and Hedges—that had been at war now for almost a hundred years. Still, he was grateful that while the war had been going on for so long, the reasons it had started were now lost or forgotten, and they fought only with ground troops. Boots on the ground rather than ships in space, he thought.

  He sighed. Why that made the war any more acceptable was an issue that he’d not been asked to face. Winning a war meant doing whatever needed to be done. Period. But these two worlds were not interested in winning, he suspected.

  While he was pondering that, the meeting went on, and he was surprised when the Baroness of Neres stood up to speak. Rising in her place beside the chairman, she was aglow with some kind of soft amber color that seemed to come right out of her clothing. Her shirt and light jacket were a deep amber color, and the shine that seemed to glow right off those items was a lighter color. He smiled to himself as he thought, that woman has the most fashion-forward style I’ve ever seen. If fashion-forward is even the right term. I have no idea. The last thing he thought about was a term for how the Baroness would look, but then again, information was power, he well knew. He shook his head mentally as she spoke.

  “I thank the chairman for the chance to speak earlier than the Agenda placement. I would like to update you all on the latest news from Ghayth and the Praix issue. As the report sent to you all,” she said as she looked behind her and got a nod from an aide, “shows, we have made some small headway with the tour of the wreck on Ghayth. The report spells out the complete listing of the items, and you can read that at your own leisure. What I wanted to say is that we think—we do not know, but we think—that there is still something more that the Praix are not telling us.

  “We already know and have shared their own fears about this new invader over in SagD who simply arrives and then turns off stars. We already know that the Praix feared for their own survival and sent out more than a thousand ships with the intent to both run away and still conquer new galaxies. If you think about that—with their superiority in technology—that they’re running away from a more superior threat is what is stunning,” she said.

  An interruption came from the Doge of Conclusion. “But, Baroness, as we all know—fear drives one more than any other emotion. Could it not then be assumed that their intent to also ‘conquer’ was a lower or secondary or tertiary goal? If one at all?” He looked like he was more than ready to argue that point, McQueen thought and to some degree, he agreed with the alien.

  She nodded and then held out her hands palms up. “We don’t know at all, Doge—but that is unimportant. What we do know is that they did arrive here, looking to once again get the Issians on their side. But what we don’t know is why they so easily seemed to capitulate when the incident on their ship occurred. We think, and the Issians also concur,” she said as she waved over to the left side of the table at the Master Adept who acknowledged that fact, “that there is something else going on with the Praix. We do not have all the facts as yet—but we continue to try to delve into this. And my reason for this aside to the report is that we felt the whole Confederacy Council should know. And so we dig deeper,” she said.

  The Council sat and digested that. Some were reading the report, and some were just looking at her. With no further questions, she sat, and the chairman struck his gavel once and then went on.

  While the Council business moved on, McQueen spent some time trying to figure out what the Praix could be hiding. But he had no idea of what that might be. As well, he knew, as they all did, that the only ones who might know were the Issians as they were the conduit through which the Praix communicated with the Council. As he looked over at the Master Adept, she looked back at him an
d smiled. He nodded and then looked down once more at his own Agenda sheet. He reminded himself that sitting in a room with someone who could read minds was always going to be a challenge if one wanted to keep secrets. Out of the corner of one eye, he could see the Master Adept who continued to smile at him, and that made him sigh.

  “Fine, Clerk, mark that as accepted, and please update our trade regulations to allow this exemption, please,” the chairman said. Next item … number nine, I believe?” he said.

  The clerk rose once again and introduced the speaker. “The Enkian ambassador, Eecesoe Qig.”

  Rising from the first tier of seats behind the table, a feathered alien stepped forward. Just over five feet tall, the alien had a beak instead of lips. On his feet sat big talons capped with tiny feathers. He wore a short brown jacket with the same red and blue coloration as the logo of the Enkian’s muse. But it was the top of his head with its feathered crest of mixed red and blue feathers that signified that this Enkian belonged to the group known as the Fine Arts Muse that was really impressive.

  “I speak today on behalf of the planet Enki. While we could spend hours on the background of this decision, the point of me rising today is to announce that we are hereby taking our Confederacy constitutionally valid choice to leave the Caliphate—effective today,” he said and returned to his seat.

  There was a short moment where there were some gasps and then quiet. Complete silence ensued, and McQueen knew the members in the chamber were weighing that announcement. As he looked around, he imagined he could see some light bulbs going off above heads.

  The Baroness jumped to her feet. “Might I, Chairman, ask the ambassador a question?”

  He nodded and she went on.

  “Then as the constitution says, if this is the choice of a member of a realm to leave same—does that mean that Enki will now entertain proposals or offers to join other realms?” she asked.

  Sweetly is how I’d name the tone of her voice, McQueen thought. Wonder what she’s thinking?

  Ambassador Qig rose once again and stepped down off the tier to speak to that point. “Yes, we will entertain offers from other realms, but you must all know that we are also considering the standalone possibility as well. Perhaps, it will be decided that Enki will join the Confederacy as a full member. Those talks are going on in our latest conclave—but I have been instructed to let you know that offers will be accepted with no obligation to accept any of them. That is all that I have been empowered to say,” he said. He again returned to his seat.

  The ledger sheet was easy to figure. Can almost hear the wheels turning in their heads as they consider this opportunity, McQueen thought.

  McQueen mulled over the positives and negatives to this status change for Enki. On the plus side sat the Xithricite, the ore that could make one’s ships invulnerable in space. And on the minus side was nothing he could think of other than the normal investment made in a new member to their realm—the usual items of infrastructure, ships, and trade.

  He looked down and slid a hand across his chin to hide the grin he couldn’t stop from appearing on his face. Still, he reasoned, the Caliph had not yet spoken on this, and he looked up and across the table at the alien.

  The Caliph sat still, looking down at his tablet as though reading something. He made no public display of any kind of emotion.

  Funny. Wonder why he is staying silent, he thought. There must be a reason ... an explanation or excuse for that, and I’m sure others in the room have reached the same conclusion …

  And as he thought that, he looked over at the Master Adept, who was looking at the Caliph with a stare … and nothing more …

  #####

  It had taken almost four days to reconvene the tour of the wreck on Ghayth as the Baroness had asked for it to be halted until further notice. Professor Reynolds had no idea why when she had asked, but in the EYES ONLY message just this morning, the Baroness had told him the why. She had wanted to report the truth and the whole truth to the RIM Confederacy Council at the meeting just yesterday. And that meant she wanted to leave out the bridge area, which was now on the schedule for today.

  This morning, in fact, he had arranged for it to be done, and he hoped it was going to go well.

  As the Baroness had implied, there was more that might be important on the bridge than anywhere else on the ship. So she wanted that to be hidden from the Council at least until she could digest whatever came along.

  He sighed. This politicking was more than he was ever going to understand, but more than that, he believed it was just plain stupid. What we’re doing here is what a xeno team would give their eyeteeth for—the drilling down by the actual aliens who’d built the wreck. It made sense that the technology within could be explained by its creators. Reynolds believed that should and would validate the work done by the xeno team the past year.

  He looked over at his PDA on his wrist and saw the team would be assembling by the entrance to the wreck now. He stood from his seat in the dining tent and wandered the few yards over to join them. He nodded at the six marines he had requested to accompany them, knowing that adding the four additional armed men would be a cause for some raised eyebrows. But the bridge was the control center for the whole ship, and that meant anything could happen. “Forewarned is forearmed,” he said to himself, and then he shook his head. “That was a terrible axiom to use. There must be a better one,” he said to himself as he rounded the corner of a side tent, and in front of him was a group of people, all arguing.

  “Bullshit—this is bullshit,” Ned Beedles yelled. “We need marines on this whole tour like we need a hole in our heads,” he finished off.

  Professor Cheryl Scholes was nodding, but she didn’t say anything. Professor Vincent was yelling back at —more than loud enough for them all.

  “It is not bullshit to be aptly prepared—which is what the marines give us. The ability, should the need arise, to defend not us as much as the ship and its technology is the valid reason that they’re here today,” he said, his voice lower now. Reynolds could tell that he too was upset but not as much as Beedles.

  “And what—we now need six of these thick-necked goons—how is that protecting technology?” Beedles yelled.

  Boxer, the medical doctor on the team, tried to hold up his hands to stop the back and forth as he shouted, “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” but his efforts failed.

  “Enough,” Reynolds barked at them all and punctuated that with “Sergeant, the next xeno team member that speaks I want you to stun—full stun, if you please,” and that threat got through to them all.

  Beedles took a step back and was about to speak, but he thought better of it and closed his mouth.

  Reynolds smiled at them all.

  Reynolds smiled at them all, and he looked each one in the eyes before he spoke again. “I have asked the marines to add the four new bodies for my own peace of mind. This has nothing to do with you or your thought or even your opinions. I have been charged with the duty—by the Baroness—to tour the bridge and then make my report. The marines—all six of them—are there for my safety, but the idea too that they will protect the Praix technology too is also comforting. Enough. If you wish to stay behind, then do so, but lead us on, please,” he said to the marine sergeant, and the soldier went up the ramp into the ship.

  Finding walkway number one was easy enough, and they turned to the left to go the hundreds of yards all the way to the bridge that lay well forward. As they walked, Reynolds made sure they were spaced out and the Issian Apostle Jelinek was just ahead of the Praix. He gently sent out the reminder to Jelinek that the Praix must walk with them along with the request to keep him apprised of that so that he’d not simply fly off. That would earn him a marine stun for sure, and moments after he sent that thought to Jelinek, he looked back and got a nod in reply.

  After crossing many walkway intersections, they reached the anteroom that lay just outside the bridge. There, he ensured that the marines opened the door—trying
to stay at least one step ahead of the Praix. No sense in letting the ship know that there is a Praix on the bridge, he thought.

  He went through the door like the rest of the team, and they all stood around the captain’s chair—if in fact that was what it was. So he asked that first and got the response he wanted—and more—from the Issian.

  “Yes, the chair is for the captain, but it is a slightly older model than our Praix captive knows personally. He explained that in the very previous millennia, there was a need back then since the control of the bridge functions was done by a physical analog methodology. Now, he admitted, their AI was so much more advanced that there were protections on thought commands that didn’t exist back then.”

  “Thought commands? Could we get an explanation of that, please, first?” Reynolds asked.

  Jelinek nodded, turned to the Praix, and in a few minutes turned back. “Care and control of any kind of bridge functionality demands that a button be pushed in your human world. We don’t do that anymore—we simply think to our ship’s AI what we want to happen, and it is carried out by the AI for us. Thought commands are what we call it in SagD.

  “But, as he explained, this is an older ship—so there are few thought commands that the AI here can understand and carry out. Buttons need to be pushed here too for everything from changing the temperature of this room to blasting off to outer space. At least that’s what he just said to me—well, thought to me,” she said.

  Reynolds paused to think about that and asked the xeno team for any questions.

  Beedles jumped at that chance. “So, if the ship’s AI can handle ‘some’ thought commands—what are they? And we need a list, too …” he said.

  Scholes nodded and filled in what some had obviously been thinking. “And, as he may ask the AI to start up the engines or fill the bridge with poison gas, that might be pretty important, eh?” she added.

  Reynolds nodded and the Issian once more turned to the Praix and then back to them all. “He says the commands are basics—housekeeping almost is what he said. But most are down in engineering—where the ship’s crew would take control of their engines. Basics like ‘rev up to x’ or ‘close down thrusters’ type of items. All the working very rudimentary thought controls were there—there are none here, he says, on the bridge. All here were analog buttons and keyboard entry controls. Remember,” he added, “that this ship is twenty-plus thousand years old …”