The Fifth Civilization: A Novel (7 page)

Grinek treated the disguised vessel with nothing but
disdain. It was small, barely able to fit ten people. From the outside, the
ship looked boxy and was propelled by two tubular nacelles, having none of the
curves and flair that were satisfying to the eyes (Earthmen had no aesthetic
instincts).

At least the interior had been modified. When Grinek stepped
out from the pod, he was pleased to be met with the familiar grey of his
homeworld.

An officer named Sisal, the captain of both the
Hanyek
and the operations ship, stood at
attention in a doorway. It was with Sisal’s crew that Grinek was conducting this
mission. The man had not yet even reached forty and hid jet white hair under
his captain’s beret, but his youth and his lofty position hid the fact he was
as clueless as a newly-hatched
marocha
.

“Where is Talmar, Commander?” Sisal barked. Not even a greeting
for his superior—such rotten manners in the military these days!

“He was killed,” Grinek said. He pushed past the surprised
Sisal, whose tail slithered in the air.

“Did you succeed in your mission, Commander?” At this,
Grinek turned and snarled at Sisal. For some reason, this young officer was
considered a promising upstart by the naval services. Evidently, his skill in
handling a ship’s operations did not extend to knowing what to say to his
betters.

“You need to assemble a new team immediately. Have them
prepared to disembark when I give the order.”

“Commander, I don’t understand.”
 
Ignoring Sisal, Grinek hurried out from
the pod berth and wound his way through a few corridors, startling adjutants
and foot soldiers that straightened their backs as he passed. He couldn’t care
less if they saluted. As long as they moved out of his way, they were doing
their jobs. After a minute or so, Grinek found the bridge, popping open a hatch
with a lever that badly needed an oiling.

The three bodies on the bridge turned to the door, then,
noticing who it was, threw up their palms in a salute that Grinek
half-heartedly returned. The bridge was trapezoidal and dim, with three
consoles ringing a padded chair that hung from the ceiling in the center.
Grinek went to the nearest console, where a still-saluting communications
officer sucked in air as the Commander approached. Her palm salute had shrunken
to a fist by the time Grinek towered over her.

“You there. I need your console.”

“Of course, sir,” and the officer moved to leave, but Grinek
clasped her shoulder and sat her back down in the chair.

“No, I need
you
to
help me.”
 
Grinek searched his mind
for the female’s name but came up with nothing. Not as though it mattered. It
was remarkable that a member of her sex was serving aboard a Kotaran vessel,
but as long as a female did not serve in a combat role, her presence was
tolerated in the navy.

He stared at the officer’s screen, which featured a
representation of Earth and dotted lines marching like ants across it. It was a
graphic of all the planet’s transmissions, currently being monitored by the
operations ship.

“Do a voiceprint search on the terms ‘Aaron Vertulfo’ within
all police channels. Now.” The officer hesitated, unfamiliar with the spelling
of Earth names, and Grinek loudly spelled it phonetically for her. This crew
had better learn the local alphabets if they hoped to get by. Once the
technician got it right, the computer paused as it scanned the millions of
transmissions emanating from the country of Japan. The ship had been outfitted
with an array, courtesy of Kotaran Intelligence, that could capture and record
most com traffic off the surface. Earth was foolish to still use satellites and
relay stations for calls and eavesdropping on these was simple. Kotara switched
to global landlines a century earlier to counter precisely that problem.

After a minute or so, a list scrolled down the side of the
screen, highlighting a half-dozen police communiqués on which the ship had
eavesdropped. They’d been instantaneously translated from English and Japanese
into Kotaran.

“Go through them.”
 
The officer complied, selecting all to be played. A number of short
messages began, in chronological order, pertaining to the incident at the Earth
mall. One described the “persons of interest” in the investigation, which
included himself. He briefly thought of Talmar’s remains back in the mall, and
wondered how his death would be explained to his family.

The Earth messages yielded nothing new. They confirmed the
identity of the dead body as a one Aaron Vertulfo, the Nyden of interest as
using the alias “David,” and the human fugitive as a still-unidentified
Earthman. Apparently, this Earthman’s headgear was making identification
difficult on security screens.

“Godsdamn,” Grinek cursed. He needed to know where the
Earthman was heading. He wouldn’t go back to the Nyden’s flat, or to the
Mizutani Laboratory. He stuck out his tongue and hissed, turning to the ceiling
to stare in thought.

“We were monitoring Vertulfo’s com traffic, were we
not?”
 
The rhetorical question was
immediately answered in the affirmative by the officer, who hastily brought up
the record of the man’s calls. It had taken them days to discover and
specifically monitor the scientist’s com number, but once they had it they
learned he never said anything of value on it. Certainly nothing about where he
was going or what he was working on. In all probability, Vertulfo began to
suspect he was being traced, and so took precautions—though that wouldn’t
have prevented other people from making a mistake.

“What were the last calls to this number?” Grinek asked, and
the call log was instantly brought up on the screen. There was a call earlier
that day that had been placed around the time Grinek and Talmar were tailing
Vertulfo. The call was not picked up, but the number it came from was still
recorded. A perfect way to find out who else wanted to talk with Aaron.

“Find me who owns that number,” Grinek ordered the officer.

“Yes, Commander. It may take a few moments.”

“Do it quickly.”
 
The officer obliged and immediately got to work. The female could go
far, thought Grinek, if she continued to show prowess at her communications
monitoring abilities. Grinek told himself to look up her name in the roster.

At that moment, Sisal walked onto the bridge—his
competence being the he perfect opposite of the comm officer’s—and he was
huffing, apparently from running from the hangar bay. He straightened his
uniform before speaking.

“I have a three-man team assembled, Commander, though I
don’t know where exactly to send them.”

“Then you need to
wait
,
Sisal, until I tell you where to send them. Are they prepared for insertion
onto Earth?”

“
Earth
?”
 
Sisal nearly squealed out the word.
Grinek had no idea what prompted this astonishment. “Commander, after what you
did on the surface, the Earth authorities will be on high alert!”

Grinek let go of the console and hopped a good five meters
across the bridge. One thing Kotarans had inherited from their marsupial
ancestors was the ability to leap extreme distances. He landed directly in
front of the captain, who, while taller than Grinek, straightened his spine
immediately in terror. As advantageous as Sisal’s height was, it was no
competition for rank.

“Captain, you will order your team to be ready for insertion
either on Earth or on the orbital stations. Their mission will be the
apprehension of the Nyden and this Earthman. These are orders that you will
follow, Sisal, or I will cut your throat.” Sometimes the best way to dispel
insolence was a little motivation. Though no weapon was visible on Grinek’s
person, he relied on his reputation to make this threat believable. Sisal trembled
before his own crew, which pleased Grinek greatly.

“C-Commander, I-I was only acting upon the orders conveyed
from the
Hanyek
.”

Grinek’s pleasure vanished. The
Hanyek
? The mothership? What the hell kind of say would
they…Vorjos. The political officer. Grinek growled and feinted a move at Sisal,
who cowered like a child at lightning. But Grinek did nothing, instead wheeling
on his heels and heading for his quarters and a secure transmission line to the
Hanyek
. It was the politicians that
inevitably ruined missions. They stonewalled until the military could only
demonstrate a fraction of its capabilities. Well…Grinek was going to have to
set Vorjos straight.

***

 
“David, do you
like
being a Nyden?”
 

The question came from Masao, still a little hungover and
rubbing his temple while sprawled in his usual manner across two seats. He’d
met them at the spaceport and bought them two tickets to orbit, but bought a
third for himself in order to “make sure his money was being well spent.”
 
At Grand Central, they’d bought
lunch—except for David, who said he’d eaten for the day—and were in
the Tubes now, heading toward the Company Entrepot. Roan wasn’t sure how far
his copilot was willing to follow them.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Mori.”
 
David’s feathers were ruffling next to
Roan, who watched them with fascination through mouthfuls of tuna on wheat. It
was eerie how much those feathers seemed to have a mind of their own.

“Of course you do,” Masao continued from across the aisle.
“Would you rather be
human
, is all I
meant. Or Bauxen? Do you get tired of that…
body
of yours?”
 
David’s eyes bulged, a
hint of yellow sparkling inside them, an action Roan believed to be one of
bemusement more than surprise. Nydens didn’t emote much, at least not with
their mouths. He’d heard that they’d evolved a sort of mindset that considered
mouths only useful for talking and eating and other meaningless tasks.

“I am perfectly comfortable being Nyden, thank you very
much. Though I am curious what it would feel like to be another species. A
popular intellectual movement in the Tilesa Riz region of Nydaya teaches that
one must spend a year believing you are a member of an alien—” The train
screeched to halt and drowned out what he was going to say. Roan looked out the
window and saw they were at a transfer station. He scanned the crowds for any
thugs that might make a move against him, owing to his sitting next to an
alien.

Fortunately, it was just a bunch of Orbitals. These were the
men and women who worked in construction on the space stations or manned repair
pods for the commercial ships that sailed by. It was hazardous work, but it was
a living.

A group of just-off-the-job construction workers passed down
the aisle, beefy guys who’d been enveloped in a spacesuit for ten hours. They
all wore sunglasses to allow their eyes to adjust to the brightness of the
interior. A distinctive funk surrounded the workers, so Roan was grateful when
they moved to the back of the train.

David spoke. “How do you feel being Japanese, Mr. Mori?”

Masao grew wide-eyed. “Huh?”

“You seem to be, and I believe this is the English term,
working-class
. But based on my
experience and reading, the Japanese have some of the highest incomes on Earth.
Most do not work on Company freighters, as you and Mr. Roan do. How did this
come to pass?”

Masao stared at the alien. Roan put his hand on David’s
feathers.

“Another time, David,” he said.

 
“I didn’t mean
to cause offense—”

“Another time.”

The train lurched forward again, rocketing out of the transfer
station. “Sweet glory, I’m tired,” Masao said, avoiding David’s question and
dropping the subject all at once. He yawned and stretched across the aisle. The
man had been up for less than an hour and Roan didn’t see how he could be
aching to return to the sheets. He chalked it up to the fact that New Year’s
Day was never as good as the preceding Eve. Masao had not shut up about how
shitty his night was, preferring to talk about that than offer Roan condolences
on Aaron’s death.

Wolfing down the last bite of his sandwich, Roan focused on
the Earthscape out the window. He had no idea if Kel was still waiting, or if
she was already on her way to Orion. There was so much he’d give to see her in
the flesh again. The pad, for one, and whatever bullshit about the origin of
life it contained. No chance in hell it was worth all this shit.

“Perhaps you should just go to sleep, Mr. Roan,” David said.

Roan shook his head. “Too much to think about.”

“When I meditate, I try to avoid thinking of conversations
or sounds. Even a ticking clock is too much sometimes. So I will go to a truly
silent place—which on Nydaya, can be best found inside a
library—and concentrate on the images before my eyes. A great Nyden
philosopher discussed this at great lengths, you know. She called it, ‘distracting
yourself with yourself.’ ”

Roan dismissed the suggestion at first, but in a few seconds
he started to take what the Nyden said seriously. The movement of the train was
relaxing, and the Earth out the window, rolling slowly past underneath them,
was something akin to a lullaby.

Every Kotaran ship was assigned a political officer. The
reasons were simple: in the past, captains had gotten wild ideas and decided to
use the firepower at their disposal for selfish purposes. A century ago, the
Great Captain Irrenvesso had even overthrown the entire planetary leadership
with one loyal starship. In his zeal to make sure no one emulated him,
Irrenvesso decreed that the government would monitor every ship that left the
planet’s ports. You toed the party line, or you suffered.

Vorjos was one of those instructed to uphold the values of
the ruling ideology. He’d been the seed in Grinek’s teeth since they left port
and did his best to make sure he was heard prior to any controversial decision.
All the way from Kotara, Vorjos hinted that their mission was unnecessary. It
was as if he thought the intelligence services and the Ruling Council did not
know what they were doing. Grinek suspected Vorjos merely had a brother or
uncle who worked in the government, and his rise could be explained by the need
to keep the family happy.

In his quarters just adjacent to the main bridge, Grinek
flipped activated the desk computer that served as his personal com. He hailed
Vorjos’ own channel on the
Hanyek
.
Normally such conversations were conducted with visual communication, but the
idea of having to look at Vorjos made both of Grinek’s stomachs churn.

After two rings, the other end came to life with a burst of
static.

“Commander!” came a jaunty voice on the line. “Finally
returning my hails?”

“Forgive me, Observer, I was occupied.”
 
Protocol demanded Vorjos be called
“Observer,” though Grinek thought of a hundred less-official designations more
fitting.

“Yes, I was told about the situation before you. That is why
you are speaking with me, no? Speaking of speaking, is your visual receiver not
working?”

“I am having some problems on this end, Observer.”

“Ah, I see. How unfortunate. Anyway, Commander, I must bring
up the subject of what happened on Earth. I’m not here to make a judgment on
that case, though of course I have forwarded the information to Kotara with
haste.”
 
You would, you kiss-ass
perdusch
. “But I do have this message to
relay: you are not to send another team in among the Earthmen.”

Grinek stifled a gasp, and instead sank his pointed
fingertips deep into his desktop. “May I ask, Observer, why this is the case?
We will soon know the precise location of the Earthmen.”

The Observer breathed out in a kind of chuckle. No doubt
Vorjos was shaking his head in his typical condescending fashion. “Commander,
you must realize that we are not trying to antagonize these people. It was very
risky of you to even expose yourself on Earth, without a disguise, and attempt
to apprehend this Vertulfo to get your valued information. You failed, and,
from the reports I’ve been given, several Earthmen died. Do you know what this
will mean for us?”

“If you are implying it will mean war, Observer, then you
are mistaken. This is not something the Earthmen go to war over. Besides, they
are too busy dealing with unrest on their colonies. There is nothing they can
do about it now.”

“I’m not talking
now
,
Commander, I’m talking later. You and your colleague killed Earthmen in a very
public place. Earth is not going to take this lightly. There’s going to be a
diplomatic protest, I can assure you of that. And when Earth starts looking
into it, when this colonial insurrection is put down, they’re going to start
asking questions about what you did, and they may discover it leads all the way
to the regime.”

“I doubt that very much. This will all disappear soon
enough.”

“You put too much faith in this discovery you plan to make,”
Vorjos said. Grinek knew the political officer was extremely skeptical of the
goals of this mission, and was anxious to learn all the details of the
information Vertulfo possessed, presumably for mockery. It was just one of his
many manifestations of idiocy.

“Observer, we are following targets that possess vital
information as we speak. I am supposed to give the order to capture them, but I
am here talking with you. Either we get them on Earth or we lose them.”

“Or
you
lose them,
Commander.”
 
Vorjos let the words
linger for a moment. Seething, Grinek picked up a silver plate from his desk
and squeezed it until it cracked, flinging the remains toward his cot. Vorjos
continued. “The Council is not going to like another major incident on Earth. This
whole thing was supposed to be
Segen
Kresha Voo…
Since you can’t guarantee secrecy, I suggest you wait for
another opportunity to seize these people. Are your targets planning to leave
the system?”

“It is possible they are heading for a ship to escape. We
are not sure.”

“You should find it easy to stop a moving ship, am I
correct?”
 
The Observer never
commanded, as it was in his duty to
observe
.
But he could strongly
imply
a course
of action. After all, his word was always the word of the government.

“It is entirely possible,” Grinek allowed.

“Excellent! Commander, I wish you well on your new course of
action. I look forward to being able to interrogate these prisoners.”

“Of course, Observer.”
 
And Grinek clicked off. He then roared and slammed his fists against the
desk, denting the metal and causing the computer to reset. The politicians, as
usual, could be counted on to politicize everything.

Grinek hopped to his door and banged it open, startling a
crewman passing by outside. Not giving him a thought, Grinek marched back onto
the bridge, where Sisal was ordering the ship to continue its lazy orbit around
Earth.

“Where is the information I asked for?” Grinek roared,
spotting the female communications officer chatting with another crewman.
Seeing her commanding officer present, she quickly turned back to his console
and began typing.

“I have a number,” the officer responded, meekly. Grinek
leaned over her shoulder and eyed the information displayed. The person who had
called Vertulfo earlier in the day was a one Nicholas Roan of Tokyo. His
account information, address and other irrelevant details scrolled by, line by
line.

“A picture,” Grinek said. “I want a picture.”

“I took the liberty of getting one from the databanks of the
Earth Freight Company. The name matches the address.”
 
A real-image of this Nicholas Roan came
up on screen. A peach-skinned male, average build, with light brown or yellow
hair. It was definitely the same one that Grinek had seen helping Vertulfo in
the mall, albeit a few years younger.

“That’s him. Now give me his com records.”

“Already done, Commander.”
 
The officer brought up another window
and Grinek was astonished at her competency. To do a task that was not
explicitly assigned! Perhaps the Kotaran navy needed more female members. On
the screen, a long list of calls was displayed, obtained after tapping into the
records of whichever provider the man used for his calls. Two were dated with
the current date, including the one made to Vertulfo in the morning, and
another one made, according to the timestamp, some fifteen minutes previously.

“Play that one!” Grinek said, jamming a claw into the
console. According to the information provided by the call tap, the
communication was placed to one Masao Mori of north Tokyo. The actual content
of the call revealed that a man named “Nick” was heading with a Nyden to the
spaceport and eventually to the “Tubes,” the orbital skyway. Their ultimate
goal was a ship leaving for Orion to meet a person named Kel.

There was no question that this Roan was the man they
sought, and he was planning to leave the planet.

“They’re likely headed to the Company Entrepot,” Sisal
observed, arms folded in front as he stared out the viewscreen at the planet.
Unfortunately, all he had to offer was a dead stare. Sisal couldn’t make the
leap and speak out loud what the next step would be.

“Now, Captain, is the time where you send your men in to
capture them.”

Sisal gritted his fangs. “Commander, the orders from the
Hanyek
were explicit. No men
were—”

“Listen to me!” Grinek roared, and Sisal visibly tensed.
Must he repeat himself with this simpleton? “Observer Vorjos only instructed
that we not set foot on Earth soil again. He said nothing about any of the
structures in orbit. Now, have a shuttle ready for immediate departure. Is that
understood?”

“P-Perfectly, sir.”
 
Sisal pivoted on his heels and was out the hatch. Grinek enjoyed a
moment of quiet, and took his seat in the center of the room. The cushions were
most pleasurable, and he stroked his tail as it curled in his lap. Perhaps
Vorjos had only meant Grinek should intercept the Earth vessel as it left
orbit, but the Commander had another idea in mind. The Observer might upbraid
Grinek when he returned to the mothership, accusing him of risking another
galactic incident, but an old saying aptly fit Grinek’s mood:
It is better to snap an unjust authority’s
neck than ask for its permission.

***

A Type-B vessel, the
Colobus
,
was scheduled to leave for Orion in a half-hour. Barely five minutes after the
order was given, the Kotaran team departed from the disguised command vessel
and was rocketing toward the Company Entrepot in the shuttle. If one had the
proper pass, it was easy to find a landing berth on the station that was mere
minutes from the departure ring. The Kotaran shuttle, which carried three commandos,
was lucky enough to have such a pass, courtesy the Kotaran intelligence
service. The station’s control tower didn’t even seem to notice the
heavily-accented English of Specialist Roh, the insertion team’s lead member.

Grinek monitored the team’s progress from the bridge of the
command ship. He watched as the ship-to-ship sensors indicated the shuttle had
docked in a private space that was ostensibly for VIPs, but in reality was
rented out to whomever could pay. VIP visits to the Entrepot were scarce, after
all. Roh reported that his team was departing the shuttle and heading into the
cargo section of the ring. Grinek visualized their long, concealing cloaks,
knives and pistols secreted in the folds within. Any Earthman that stood in
their way was to be dispatched.

Sisal cautiously approached Grinek, having just conferred
with a crewman at another console. He eyes squinted and his ears were slicked
back, a sign of concern.

“The
Hanyek
requests an update.”
 
Presumably,
Vorjos wanted to know Grinek’s course of action.

“Tell Observer Vorjos to wait.”

“Commander, I—” Sisal held his tongue. Realizing he
was on his last legs with his tetchy superior, the captain turned back to the
console, where he relayed Grinek’s wishes to the
Hanyek
. Sisal reported there were technical issues and it was of
the utmost that they maintain radio silence. It satisfied Grinek to no end to
think of that bureaucrat on the
Hanyek
standing around impatiently, waiting for details.

Specialist Roh, whispering now, reported over the frequency
that his commandos had entered the Entrepot. Some Earthmen were approaching:
workers. Earthmen voices, then shouts, could be heard on the other end. Grinek
prayed that Roh would handle the situation more expertly than that idiot
Talmar.

***

It took a few minutes to clear security. Neither Roan nor
Masao were even supposed to be on the Entrepot, owing to the fact that their
shift had ended the previous day and a week break was mandatory. Some
sweet-talking from Masao managed to sway the guards on duty, and Roan made a
note to try his “I have important business with so and so” canard more often.
David was a little harder to clear through security, being an alien heading to
an Earth colony, but since Masao had convinced everyone no one would be
stepping foot on a freighter, the guards let him through, too. Roan wondered if
they’d heard a Nyden was involved in the mall shootout on the Surface.

Roan was relieved to see an electronic timetable that
indicated Kel hadn’t yet departed the planet, though the
Colobus
was listed as
LOADING
.
That meant it could leave at any moment. Roan quickened his pace.

On one wall of a hallway was an observation window looking
out to the Entrepot hangar. The window looked out onto a hammerhead-shaped
Type-B freighter, its body an unappealing cylinder tucked into a boxy
propulsion system, suspended from the hangar ceiling over open space. The
Colobus.
A loading crane, rolling on
tracks suspended from the hangar roof, was lowering some last-minute crates
into the open spine of the
Colobus
.
From the shape of the crates, rectangular and oversized and emblazoned with the
logo of a transportation company, they probably held some kind of vehicle.
Orion was probably stocking up on orbital shuttles or skimmers, and it looked
like the ship would be full.

“Pardon me,” David asked, “But do you know where we’re
going?” He was probably a little intimidated at wandering the halls of a
galactic shipping company. No doubt the thought of being wanted by police
didn’t help much, either.

“Of course,” Roan replied. They continued their jog for
another minute or so before they navigated a corner and arrived at the
blindingly-white quarantine section, which on this part of the journey was the
last
piece of Earth anyone stepped foot
on. Since Orion was a rather stable colony and there wasn’t any fear of Earth
bacteria causing a plague, no one was screened before boarding. That made it
much easier for the three to just walk onto the ship…in theory. But once they
went through those sterile blank walls, they were stopped in their tracks.