On Assignment to the Planet of the Exalted

by Helena Puumala

She was tactful enough to drop the subject. In any case, they had reached their destination, one of the nondescript hostels that replaced the array of businesses on both sides of the walkway. The pilot had told them that he had booked them a suite in Hostel 17, one of the more impressive of the Station Transient Residences. He had also told them that he would have their luggage sent to the Hostel via the underground shipping system, an option normally not available to a government employee at Mikal’s level. He had grinned at the pilot on hearing this, amused to be accorded such privileges. Bringing home an Xeonsaurian lady, apparently had a number of upsides. The pilot had merely smiled back at him, but had shown great respect towards Xoraya. Obviously, this was not the first time he was ferrying a VIP.

  When Mikal checked them into the Hostel at the automated front desk, a process which usually required only a quick scan of his nodal connector spot, there was a sudden flurry of activity around them. A young woman, and a man in a Security uniform hurried into the Lobby, the woman introducing herself as the concierge, and requesting that they step with her into a back room. The pilot did know his business, Mikal thought wryly; he had warned the staff of Hostel 17 about the imminent arrival of an Xeonsaur.

  “Since the inhabitants of the planet Xeon do not have nodal implants,” the concierge said to Xoraya, once they were behind a closed door, “our Security, in co-operation with the Space Station Peace Officer Corps, would like to equip you with an ID Chip for the duration of your stay with us, Madame Hsiss. If you would be so kind as to co-operate with this?”

  Mikal had, of course, warned her that something along these lines would happen. He had, however, expected that they would be able to settle into their rooms before the officialdom descended on them. However, Xoraya did not miss a beat.

  “What kind of an ID Chip would that be?” she asked the concierge. “Where did you want to put it? And what can it do for me—and for you, and the Station Peace Officers?”

  “Thieu r’ma Cotrin of our Security, here can answer all your questions, Madame Hsiss,” the concierge answered, nodding at the man in the Security Officer’s uniform. She had expertly ushered the visitors to sit down on a comfortable couch at one side of the room.

  Mikal looked curiously at Thieu r’ma Cotrin as the young man sat down on a smaller chair, opposite Xoraya. In spite of the Lamanian name, he was clearly not a Lamanian ethnic. He was a sturdily built fellow with brown hair and skin, and chiselled features that probably had set a few female hearts palpitating. R’ma Cotrin: the last name derived through the mother’s line, even as his own was. Which may have meant nothing, or might have a long story behind it, if his father had abandoned his mother, and she had taken on a Lamanian identity to rebuild her life and dignity. The stories of the foreigners who ended up in The Second City were legion, Mikal mused wryly, among them his own, and that of Kati of Terra.

  “The ID Chip we use in these cases is a small, nearly invisible smear we attach to your wrist, Madame Hsiss,” the Security Guard said carefully. “It does not interfere with your nervous system in any way; in fact, it is not connected to it, the way a translation node is. We are quite aware of the Xeonsaur preference to not have their mental processes interfered with, and are quite mindful of that. This chip would simply identify you here in this hostel, and in any commercial establishment on the Station. Also, it allows a tracer to be set on your whereabouts, in case of an emergency, and it can be set to act as a communicator with any noded person you might want to be in contact with, when physically separated.”

  “That’s a lot of functions attached to what you term a ‘smear’, Officer r’ma Cotrin,” Xoraya said.

  “Technology originally developed on your home world,” Cotrin replied with a smile, “and further refined on the Federation World, Shelonia. Useful little things. Easy to use, and when you don’t need it, its presence is barely noticeable.”

  “It’ll allow me to enter and exit my quarters in this Hostel without any further fuss?” Xoraya asked, making a face.

  “Of course. Just pass your wrist over the Node Scanner at the front desk whenever you come in, Madame,” the Officer answered.

  “And suppose that I’ve wandered off from some boring meeting which my friend here, Mikal r’ma Trodden has dragged me to,” Xoraya added with a crooked grin at Mikal, “and he finds that he needs to call me back for some diplomatic reason? How do we arrange for that?”

  “Simple. You let him touch your wrist ID with his left thumb before you go to the meeting. His node will do the rest, and now you can call him or he can call you, at will.”

  “How do I do initiate a call?”

  Mikal wondered whether she was being obtuse on purpose. She had gone over all this with him aboard the Cruiser, besides which, the technology was originally from Xeon. Well, she was a student of humanity. Perhaps she was studying humans even as she got a Security man to go over familiar territory.

  “You touch the smear with a finger, then murmur the name of the person who you want and has been attuned to your ID. Your voice does not have to be loud but it has to be your voice; another person cannot activate the Chip, except to its emergency mode which will alert the Station Peace Officers to come and rescue you from whatever trouble you may be in.”

  “Well then, let’s do it,” Xoraya said. “Your little smear, Officer r’ma Cotrin?”

  Mikal saw the concierge breathe in a sigh of relief. She picked up a tiny, opened package off the desk by which she had been sitting and handed it to Officer r’ma Cotrin, who had stood up to take it. He lay the package onto the left wrist that the Xeonsaur woman had extended towards him; a quick press with his right thumb on the back of the packaging and then he removed it. Now there was a barely noticeable round spot of discoloration on Xoraya’s slim blue wrist and Mikal noted that the long, flexible fingers of that hand could easily reach the spot. Handy, that, he thought. His half-Lamanian, half Borhquan hands could not have performed the feat, and he was pretty sure that Kati could not have done it either.

  “So does this have to be attuned to my voice?” Xoraya asked.

  “Actually, it was doing that while we were talking,” Cotrin said, grinning broadly.

  “Ah, smart man.” Xoraya’s laugh tinkled in the room as she stood up. “I’ll remember that.”

  *****

  The suite assigned to them was on the second level of the Hostel, reached by climbing a set of stairs and then walking down a broad hallway. When they reached their door, Mikal suggested that Xoraya try out her ID Chip by running it over the scanner on the door frame; apparently it worked just fine, since the door slid open noiselessly.

  They found their bags in the bedrooms; Xoraya laughed as she noted that hers had been put into the larger one.

  “Well, you’re the VIP,” Mikal told her. “I’m just a lowly government employee accompanying you. Normally I don’t even get to stay in this Hostel; they put me into Number 5, which has single rooms, each of which is about half the size of your present bedroom. So I won’t be complaining about the accommodations.”

  The Communications Console in the Suite sitting room chimed to announce a message. Mikal checked it; a dinner invitation from Maryse r’ma Darien was there, complete with the name of a fashionable restaurant, and the time to meet. Mikal checked the Station time, realizing that his internal clock was disoriented from space travel, just like it always was, after a trip longer than the one between Lamania and the Station. It was late afternoon; he and Xoraya had about an hour before the meal.

  “Do you feel up to meeting people for supper in an hour?” he called to his suite mate who was digging through her bag.

  “Sure, why not?” Xoraya replied. “We might as well get right to work. Who wants us to socialize?”

  “My Boss. She says that she’s bringing some important people that she wants you to meet. I can ask who they are when I relay our response, although Maryse can be mysterious when she wants to, so there’s no guarantee that she’ll tell us.”

  “Do
I need to dress up for this?” Xoraya asked.

  She was still in the casual shirt and slacks outfit which had been her uniform on the Space Cruiser. It was an outfit that Mikal rather liked; it reminded him of the clothes Kati had worn most of the time during their travels together. He looked her over, and grinned approvingly.

  “I’m not an expert in fashion, but I think you look fine just the way you are. The restaurant we’re going to is not a fancy place, and I’d be surprised if Maryse hadn’t engaged a private room since she is bringing along others whom she terms important. So fancy dress shouldn’t be required. In fact, I think that I’ll change into something more casual than this Corps uniform, myself.”

  He had changed into the one-piece official Peace Officer Corps uniform before they had arrived at the Station. It had seemed like a good idea to stress his membership in the SFPO on arrival; that sort of thing could grease the wheels of bureaucracy at Federation Ports. However, this time the precaution had turned out to be unnecessary; the Cruiser pilot had relayed their data to Customs before their arrival, and he and Xoraya had been waved through as soon as he had run his thumb over a scanner. No demands whatsoever had been made of Xoraya even though she could not be scanned, having no node or a nodal connector. Whether anyone had checked their luggage he did not know, but if it had been looked at, the job must have been performed quickly, since their bags had preceded them. The under level transport system could be fast, but not that fast, since the two of them had not lingered on their walk from the Port to Hostel 17.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Ah, Mikal, it’s good to see you! And this is our rare and honoured guest?”

  Maryse r’ma Darien was waiting for them at the Reservations Desk of Calli’s Fine Dining, a restaurant in the business sector through which Mikal and Xoraya had walked, on their arrival on station.

  “Xoraya, please meet my Superior, Maryse r’ma Darien,” Mikal said formally. “And Maryse, this is Xoraya Hsiss from the planet Xeon.”

  Xoraya reached with her right hand to touch the fingertips of Maryse’s right one in the formal Lamanian greeting of strangers meeting face to face first time. It had to be the right hands because there could be no possibility of nodal connectors touching, or of coming close to one another. It was considered a gesture of respect for the participants’ privacy—absurd, of course, in a society rife with information technology which took advantage of the nodes and their connectors all the time. Nevertheless, it symbolized a concern for privacy, and because of that, Mikal considered it meaningful. The Lamanians were, in fact, very respectful of privacy; snooping in other peoples affairs, unless one had a good reason for it, was much frowned upon.

  The Xeonsaur and the Lamanian voiced the proper phrases of welcome to one another, while the Reservations Clerk, a venerable and distinguished-looking Shelonian, gaped at Xoraya. Well, Mikal could sympathize with him; even in a long career, he most likely had never before had an Xeonsaur walk into his workplace. Maryse, being Maryse, had no doubt failed to warn him of who or what the VIP she was waiting for, was.

  “Well, let us repair to the private room which my old friend Camar, here, has had prepared for us.” Maryse smiled brightly at the Clerk who hastily closed his mouth, and nodded. “The others are already there—I left Master Healer Vorlund to entertain the politicians while I came to fetch the two of you. This way, please.”

  Mikal wanted to laugh. Maryse had apparently planned everything carefully, including the opportunity to enter the private room in the company of the most distinguished guest. Accordingly, he lagged behind a step, allowing Maryse to lead Xoraya through the public part of the restaurant to the back where the closed rooms were. Maryse noted this with a quick nod of her head as she glanced behind at her, and Xoraya smiled; she had noticed the exchange. No doubt she was storing it somewhere in her mind for later; it was another example of subtle human interaction for a student clearly fascinated by such.

  The private dining room’s table was already mostly occupied when the three new arrivals entered. Mikal, behind the two women, but taller than either of them, counted five occupants at a table for eight; one end and the two seats surrounding it were still empty. As they came in, a sudden hush fell into the room, an abrupt end to some conversation.

  Maryse led Xoraya to the end chair in the silence, with Mikal following close behind. He searched for Master Healer Vorlund with his eyes, and found him in one of the seats next to the other end of the table. Beside Vorlund, in the end position, sat the present Federation President, also a Shelonian, a man named Vascorn. He had been recently elected into the job by the Senate, replacing a wily old Romungan, named Stolts, who had retired back to his home world of Romunge, where, the scuttlebutt had it, he had taken up flower gardening. Mikal had met Vascorn during his efforts to get a Space Cruiser to take him to the Xeon Space Station, but that was the extent of his familiarity with the man. He had been away during most of the new President’s brief tenure, and had had little time to follow Federation politics when he had been on Lamania. Vorlund knew the President, that he was aware of; perhaps that was why the two were seated next to one another, or perhaps, simply because they were from the same world.

  The tall, regal-looking man on the other side of President Vascorn, even darker of skin and hair than the Shelonians were, and well-muscled and fit-looking, was the Senator from Torrones. Mikal had to ask his node to dig up the man’s name; it was Yung Yora, apparently, but the node had no other information to offer. He was not anyone that Mikal had had dealings with in the past, nor important enough for him to have researched. The woman beside him was a stark contrast to him; she was the Lamanian representative in the Federation Senate. Carla r’pa Nadis was an ally of Maryse r’ma Darien, he knew, one of the people Maryse was known to go to first, whenever she needed something from the Federation Senate.

  The last person at the table, the olive-skinned middle-aged man sitting across from Senator Nadis, was the biggest surprise to Mikal. He recognized him immediately, and saw from the delighted smile the fellow flashed at him, that he was recognized, too. Only, what was Roge Maruchal of Paradiso doing here at this table, with these people? The last Mikal remembered was that Paradiso was still a Protectorate World with Restricted Status. Protectorates had Observers in the Federation Senate but no voting members. And Maryse was trolling for votes; she would have no interest in the Observers. Also, the last he had known, the Paradiso Observer had been a woman, a brilliant scientist, but a member of a family which had opposed the Maruchal clan’s politicking to gain partial Federation membership for Paradiso, along with Restricted Status, to protect the peaceful and fragile indigenous Grenies.

  When Xoraya reached the table, a look of amazed recognition flooded President Vascorn’s face, and he stood up in a quick but smooth motion. Moments later everyone else followed suit, and Mikal aborted the motion he had started, to pull Xoraya’s chair out for her.

  “Well,” said Maryse with a smile, looking at her party as they stared at the Xeonsaur. “It looks like you have all realized what a rare occasion this is.

  “May I introduce to you Xoraya Hsiss, a resident of the World Xeon? Madame Hsiss, I would like to present to you a collection of friends of mine, most of them Federation politicians.”

  She went through the litany of names with Xoraya listening intently, apparently putting together the names and faces in her mind as Maryse indicated them, and smiling and nodding to each person as he or she was introduced.

  “Your presence here honours us,” Vascorn said to Xoraya when Maryse had finished.

  “Thank you,” she responded simply. “I am here for a reason, you realize, of course.”

  Mikal resumed pulling out the end chair for the lizard-woman, and saw her seated, before moving towards his own seat, the one across from Maryse and next to the Lamanian Senator. The others, too, took to their chairs, although a number of them were still looking at Xoraya.

  Yung Yora glanced at Mikal, then looked pointedly at Mary
se, and cleared his throat.

  “And Madame Hsiss’ escort?” he asked.

  “My employee, Mikal r’ma Trodden,” she replied. “He went to the Xeon Station to inform the Xeonsaurs of the disturbing discoveries that he had made during a work adventure which saw him captured by the slaver Gorsh, and later, escape in the company of one of Gorsh’s captives. Concerns arising from that information are presumably what brought our guest here.”

  “Presumably?” queried the Senator from Torrones. “Are you saying that you don’t know for certain, Maryse? Where are your debriefing skills?”

  “Mikal and Madame Hsiss have only just arrived on the Station,” Maryse replied. “I sent you the invitations and had this room reserved for the meal as soon as I had word from the Cruiser Pilot who ferried them here, that their arrival was imminent. I had neither the time nor the inclination to harass Madame Hsiss with my questions in the hour that she has so far spent on the Station.”

  “Besides, Mikal has been travelling with her,” Carla r’pa Nadis added. “He’ll be making a report soon enough.”

  “I don’t believe that there is any need for debriefing, in any case,” President Vascorn stated calmly. “Madame Hsiss would not be here with us if she was not prepared to tell us the purpose of her visit. Am I not right, Madame Hsiss?”

  Xoraya smiled at him.

  “You are correct, Honoured President,” she answered.

  Restaurant staff came in with bottles of wine and offers of other liquid refreshment. Mikal took advantage of the lull this created to ask Roge Maruchal what changes had occurred on Paradiso since he had last been there.

  “Paradiso is a Full Member of the Federation now,” piped up Carla r’pa Nadis. “And has been for almost a year.”

  Roge Maruchal beamed at her.

  “Yes, indeed,” he said. “We’ve kept our Restricted Status, however. We were advised by our Grenie Seeresses to go after Full Membership; apparently it is going to be important for us in the future. Fortunately we have prospered while trading through Federation channels, so we took lessons from the Borhquans, and bought a couple of good used star ships to give us the necessary Space Travel Capacity. President Vascorn has been a friend to us, greasing the wheels that brought us to our present position.”