By Force of Arms (38 page)

With the exception of Sector 27, who belonged to the priesthood, the picture of two cylinders meant nothing to the rest of the delegation. He had never seen the twins with his own eyes but was aware of rumors. No wonder Andragna was upset! The Confederacy had stumbled across something very important indeed. He wanted to help but was forced to watch while the admiral struggled to maintain his composure.

Andragna listened to the thin reedy voice, saw the female’s obvious sincerity, and sensed that what she claimed was potentially true. Once detonated, the twins might inflict some damage on his fleet. Still, they were the only equalizer he had, and well worth hanging on to. Besides, now that the twins were out in the open, he had a new bargaining chip, one that he should retain for as long as possible. The Thraki mustered all the dignity he could. “Though well intentioned—Sister Torputus had no right to reveal such information. That being said, I suppose it would be pointless to issue further denials. However, while it’s true that we possess two rather unique energy weapons, the rest is pure conjecture. I have complete faith in our technical experts who assure me that while powerful—both weapons can be successfully deployed.”

The last statement was an outright falsehood—but no one knew that except for Andragna.

Nankool experienced an almost overwhelming sense of anger. His hands made fists. The Thraki position was arrogant and foolhardy. More than that, it could result in millions of unnecessary deaths. He glanced at his wrist term, saw that his hands had started to shake, and clasped both behind his back.

“Very little time remains … In the interest of your people, as well as ours, the Confederacy requests, no, implores you to forgo use of such weapons, at least until such time as you and your fleet are well clear of our systems.”

“That’s it?” Andragna inquired sarcastically. “You ask that we sacrifice the very weapons that mean victory for our people? In return for what? Your heartfelt prayers?”

“No,” Nankool replied coldly. “Forswear use of the twins, and we will fight at your side—not as sacrificial pawns, but as equals.”

There it was, evidence that the Confederacy understood the nature of Andragna’s intent, but was willing to overlook it. For a price. But which was more valuable, the naval officer wondered. The twins? And all their latent energy? Or the Confederacy? With a small but still powerful fleet?

Andragna wanted to believe Nankool, wanted to trust me Confederacy, but found that difficult to do. The Thraki were a self-reliant people, unfettered by the compromises that bound the multi-species government together, and therefore stronger. His voice seemed unnaturally loud. “No While the Thraki people would otherwise welcome such an alliance, the price is too high.”

Nankool felt a profound sense of disappointment. He looked around the room, scanned each face, and came to Andragna’s. “I’m sorry to hear that. Admiral—sorry for your people as well as ours. This meeting is over—may the deities protect us.”

The Sheen shuttle made no attempt to obtain a clearance from the Friendship’s traffic control computer. It simply followed the shortest possible route in, slid the length of the battleship’s starboard side, and approached the launch bay as if entitled to do so. It was a dangerous thing to do under normal circumstances but with the battleship at the highest state of alert it verged on suicidal.

Captain Boone’s command chair whined as he swiveled to the left. More than two dozen cameras covered the launch bay. He checked number sixteen. It showed the hatch through which the shuttle would soon enter, “All batteries will hold their fire … The Sheen will receive the same courtesies extended to the Thralki.”

The naval officer sensed a presence and turned to find Admiral Chang at his side. She offered a fresh mug of coffee. “So, are we having fun yet?”

He accepted the cup. “No, ma’am. The Sheen are crazy.”

“Machines,” the senior officer replied cheerfully. “You can’t live with ‘em—and you can’t live without ‘cm.”

Meanwhile, oblivious to what the humans thought, the Hoon commanded its fleet, flew the Sheen shuttle, and controlled the onboard security units. Everything and everyone with the exception of Jepp, Veera, and Sam.

The Hoon executed a sharp lefthand turn and entered the battleship’s bay. It was far less automated than the AI considered to be appropriate. After all, why rely on biologicals when machines were available? All of which served to confirm the conclusion already arrived at: Negotiations were a waste of time, and the fleet should attack. The conclusion was logical, eminently so, but the Hoon took no action. A very un-Hoonlike thing to do. Had the computer intelligence been capable of greater introspection it might have wondered why and sought to understand. But it wasn’t, couldn’t, and didn’t. Programming is programming, and where computers are concerned, as immutable as DNA.

Careless of what the Hoon thought, Jepp was on a high. Veera, to whom a lot of his babbling was directed, ignored most of his commentary. The occasional “yes” or “no” was sufficient to keep him happy. In spite of the fact that the Prithian might have been able to remain aboard the Ninja, she had decided to come, and observe what took place.

Though inconclusive thus far, her research regarding the Sheen had proved quite interesting, as had her evaluation of Thraki society. “Markets derive from economic principles,” her father liked to say, “but are influenced by culture. That’s why you must understand each in order to profit.”

The merchant was gone now. but his lessons lived on.

The shuttle touched down, the blast doors closed, and air flooded the bay. Jepp was eager to address the senate. He bounced off the small uncomfortable seat. “This is it, Veera! The moment we’ve been waiting for. Once they hear God’s plan, once they embrace the silvery host, the new order will unfold. Think of it! The entire Confederacy governed by a single religion! Historians will write about this day—and your name will appear for all to see.”

Veera realized that Jepp was more concerned with his name—but knew better than to say so.

The hatch opened, the delegation descended a flight of self-propelled stairs, and were met by a carefully chosen reception committee. Nankoot was there, per Jepp’s request, but so was Maylo, who, unbeknownst to her, had been chosen for reasons other than her political acumen. Admiral Tyspin had provided the government with every bit of information that she could, including the fact that Jepp had a definite interest in women.

Knowing that, Nankool couldn’t help but smile when the exprospector saw Maylo, and his face lit up.

The party formed a column of twos, wound its way between some navy transports, and headed toward the main lock. A metal archway had been established in front of the portal. Anyone who approached had no choice but to pass through. The humans went first followed by the robots.

Booly and a pair of technicians were sequestered in a compartment not far away. A row of jury-rigged monitors was racked in front of them. The essence of Tyspin’s theory was that Jepp amounted to little more than a noisy decoy and that the Hoon, or part of the Hoon, controlled one or more of the so-called security units. If that was true, there would be a link back to the fleet and that would validate Tyspin’s thesis.

“Okay, sir, here goes,” Corn Tech Rutaza said. “Assuming the chip heads are linked with each other and//or one of their ships, the computer will provide me with a visual profile.”

Booly watched the first security unit pass through the arch. The monitors, lime green the moment before, shivered as an image appeared. It looked nothing like the real thing. The protective force field from which the Sheen took their name appeared as a yellow-white aura. A complex tracery of blue lines described the robot’s electronic nervous system. They rippled in synch with the machine’s alloy body.

A lake of red-orange heat confirmed the location of the droid’s power plant while lesser ponds, pools, and streams were associated with online weapon systems, sensor relays, and good old friction. The weapons were worrisome but allowed. There wasn’t a senator onboard who didn’t have their own security.

Rutaza frowned as the first unit exited screen left. “No linkage, sir.”

Booly nodded. “Keep looking.”

The second robot passed under the arch followed by the third. Some lavender lines appeared, and Rutaza pointed at a screen. “Bingo! They’re talking to each other.”

Booly nodded. Some sort of localized communication was to be expected. But what of the more important question? Was the Hoon, or a part of the Hoon, actually present?

Booly was just about ready to say, “no,” when Unit Four appeared. “Look!” Rutaza said. “See the bursting? The dashed line coming in from the upper righthand comer of the screen? Four is taking a feed. Not continuous, like we were thought, but in the form of periodic reloads. How much you wanta bet the receiving unit will update the rest?”

Booly watched the prophecy come true. No sooner had the incoming feed stopped than Unit Four sent lavender lines to all the rest. It appeared Tyspin was correct. The Hoon had decided to use Jepp, to allow the human to take center stage, white it monitored the proceedings. He gave the tech a pat on the shoulder. “Thanks, Rutaza. Nice job. Get that stuff to Intel. We’ll let the spooks wrestle with it.”

The corn tech waited for the general to clear the compartment before throwing his feet up onto the console. The other rating, a woman named Hoko, grinned. “Suck up.”

Rutaza offered a gesture. “Screw you.”

“Don’t you wish.”

Both of them laughed.

Oblivious to the activities of crew members like Rutaza and Hoko, the senators stood in clumps and waited for the emissary to arrive. Opinion was divided into three schools of thought: those who favored an alliance with the Thraki, those who favored an alliance with the Sheen, and those who favored a policy of nonalignment.

The third contingent, often referred to as the “do-nothings” by the other two, were further split into additional subgroups. One wanted to declare a policy of “constructive neutrality” and spent a great deal of time trying to explain what that meant, while another, led by Senator Alway Omo, wanted to leave the Araballazanies alliance, and the brother-sisterhood of sentients.

Everyone wanted their ideas to be heard, so everyone talked at once, and nothing was accomplished. ChienChu waited toward the front of the chambers and was relieved when the doors swung open. He nodded to the master-of-arms, who addressed a mike. His voice boomed through the chambers. ‘The Sheen emissary has arrived. Please return to your seats.”

It took the better part of five minutes for the senators to return to their seats. President Nankool held the delegation just beyond the doors until the noise level dropped and the assemblage was ready. He signaled Jepp, and the entire party marched the length of the aisle. Maylo saw her uncle, wondered what he was thinking, and thought how strange the moment was. She looked at Veera, knew the Prithian’s thoughts were similar to hers, and smiled. A necklace of feathers shifted by way of response.

Jepp, who had pressed some creases into his dark blue ship suit, drew himself up. Was Maylo ChienChu impressed? He hoped so. The entire senate was staring, waiting for him to speak, thinking how important he was. Everything was so clear, so vivid, that the exprospector knew he would never forget. The blur of alien faces, a whiff of exotic perfume, the carpet beneath his shoes. Each would be indelibly etched onto his memory.

Most of the beings in the chamber watched Jepp with a sort of curious diffidence. What was this strange apparition anyway? A well-meaning citizen, co-opted by the machines, or a brutal renegade deserving of their contempt?

At least one mind was made up, however, and it stared at Jepp with unalloyed hatred, knowing what the ex

prospector had done. His name was Harvey S. Holander,

Father to Sissy M. Holander, first officer of the illfated container ship Rho Ophiuchi, which had been in the process of refueling when Jepp ordered the attack on space station Halo.

Holander, who served as Nankool’s first under secretary of defense, had first learned of the attack on Long Jump while reading a summary of the statement taken from the smuggler currently known as “Willy Williams.”

Not being privy to the Rho Ophiuchi’s itinerary, the administrator had no way to know that he had just read an account of his daughter’s death, not until the better part of a month had passed and the intelligence reports started to filter in. That’s when he learned the truth—and the hatred was born. Now, only feet from the podium, the moment was near. It had been relatively simple to steal the weapon, tape it to the bottom of his seat a few hours before, and pass through security with everyone else. Now, in a matter of minutes, revenge would be his.

Unaware of the danger that lurked nearby, Jepp shook hands with Sergi ChienChu and took note of the relationship between the governor and the beautiful young woman, people who would never associate with him if they had a choice. Life was looking up! He waited while Nankoo! took the podium.

“My fellow sentients … Now, as we face the possibility of a terrible conflagration, communication becomes even more important. The Sheen rescued Citizen Jepp after his ship was wrecked, allowed him to travel with their fleet, and came to trust him. He, along with those sent to assist him, hopes to establish a two-way dialogue …”

“What about Long Jump?” a voice yelled. “Let’s talk about that!”