The Xenocide Mission (29 page)

Barabadar squatted back on her haunches and looked at him in a manner which Gilmore suspected was thoughtful. ‘They have something you want. And that something could conceivably be . . . telepathy. Does it work at light speed or is it instantaneous? And if it is instantaneous, what is its range? And if its range is large enough, can it be used for instant communication with your homeworld? Or between ships, perhaps?’

Gilmore put his hands on the table, palms up. ‘That could possibly be a reason.’

‘You have a high opinion of your capabilities. Supposing you
can’t
work out how it works?’

‘Supposing you can’t work out how
Pathfinder
functions?’ Gilmore countered, bringing the conversation at least back to the middle-ranking subject.

‘Oh, I think we can! It will take time, but we will set every scientist on Homeworld to study it. It is a machine, machines can be disassembled and put back together. A little different from telepathy, a subject that is brand new to both our races.’

‘We have to try,’ Gilmore said.

‘So, you intend to come and go in our system as you please?’

Back to the Dead Worlders again . . . ‘If that’s what it takes.’

‘Would you allow us to do the same if we discovered a similar race in your own system?’

‘Probably not.’

‘What a conveniently flexible code of ethics you have. And while your Navy is reaping the benefits of telepathy, what about us? If your First Son is correct, once a sufficient number of Dead Worlders have reawakened, they will again be able to do to us what they did for hundreds of thousands of years. We can’t allow that. How do you intend to stop them? In short, Worthy Sister, what is in it for us?’

Gilmore had to accept that they were going to finish off the subject of the Dead World first.
Then
he could talk about the crew. He swallowed, because this was the tricky bit.

‘Look,’ he said. He leaned closer, hoped Barabadar would recognize the body language for sincerity. Leaning closer to those teeth and claws required an internal adjustment of attitude, but he managed it. ‘I propose we define an exclusion zone around the Dead World. You don’t come within it – that’s your present policy anyway – and everything within it is ours. And you’ll have to acknowledge us, because step-through points can be detected with your present technology and you won’t be able to keep us quiet to your people.’

He sat back and held the Marshal of Space’s gaze. He had already established that human and XC body language at least had that much in common; prolonged eye contract meant trust, conviction. Or challenge, depending on context. He hoped the context was right. And he remembered what Oomoing had told him about the whole SkySpy attack. It was only a theory but Oomoing strongly suspected she was right.

Marshal of Space Barabadar was an unlikely looking peace merchant, but that was her intent, and always had been.

‘For most of our recorded history,’ Oomoing had said, as the lifeboat headed back to SkySpy on maximum power, ‘the Kin fought one another. I for one have always been grateful I was born since the end of the Era of War. Yes, there is still tension, there are still skirmishes, but nothing like the holocausts of old. As a scientist, I’ve always felt it a wonder that any kind of scientific progress was made at all amongst the Kin, with the blows dealt to civilization on such a regular basis. We developed weapons that could destroy nations, we developed rockets capable of delivering them, we fought world-wide wars to that effect . . . and then the Era of War was over. It seems too good to be true, but true it is.’

‘You still fight,’ Gilmore had commented.

‘We still fight, but that is only right and in our nature. We have the Rituals of Combat to limit the carnage to a manageable level.’

‘But the knowledge must still be there,’ Gilmore said. ‘Weapons don’t uninvent themselves.’

‘Of course not! The Kin knew how to make those weapons, and just because all the nations had signed the convention limiting their proliferation, that was no guarantee they had all been destroyed. Every decade or so came a new theory which said that they
hadn’t
all been destroyed and were in fact stored at some new location. These rumours were always investigated and as candidate locations on Homeworld grew ever fewer, the rumours moved out into space.’

‘But if this arms dump exists at all,’ said Gilmore, ‘it was built before you had any decent space technology.’

‘Exactly,’ Oomoing said. ‘Therefore, unlikely to be far out in space . . . but only if it was defended and maintained by Kin. Kin would need relieving and resupplying and the spaceships would be spotted. But that wouldn’t be so if the crew were servors.’

‘Servors?’

‘Air-breathing robots,’ Boon Round explained. He had heard the story already.

‘Servors could have built a base anywhere in our solar system,’ Oomoing said, ‘with all the time in the world at their disposal. And of course, to attack a base defended by them, you would let the air out. Do my Martial Sister’s tactics start to make sense? Not to mention her dishonourable lack of a challenge?’

Gilmore shut his eyes. Oh, God. How much of this whole business had been one mistake, one error after another? ‘So when she discovered something on the asteroid was putting out heat, she put two and two together . . .’ he said.

‘And made five. We have a similar expression,’ said Oomoing.

And now, Gilmore sincerely wished he did have something more concrete to offer Barabadar than vague promises.

‘Your confidence amazes me.’ The aide’s tone suggested more sarcasm than honest amazement. ‘You have the whole future neatly mapped out to your benefit and we get nothing . . .’

A communication tone came in from her people on the outlander ship at almost the same time as Gilmore’s aide began to chime for attention.

The chief XC on
Pathfinder
’s flight deck – the Marshal of Space’s son, no less – raised his gun menacingly. Karen Nguyen ignored it as she strode across the deck to confront the small group of Rusties.

‘Look,’ she shouted at Sand Strong. ‘There’s no need. We can work this out . . .’

‘I am sorry.’ It wasn’t Sand Strong who spoke. When it became obvious that the Device Ultimate ploy had failed, the pride had locked itself away in the ship’s Commune Place and undergone the quiet, bloodless, consensual revolution that happened whenever the First Breed fell out with themselves. The new pride leader was Day Red; Sand Strong was just one of his juniors. ‘We came close to doing a terrible thing. We betrayed the trust of the Commonwealth and we endangered billions of innocent lives. This is the only way we can make amends.’

‘Haven’t you guys heard of a simple apology?’

‘Lieutenant Nguyen, in the days of the Ones Who Command, it was customary for clans to exchange prides from time to time. It enabled understanding and the growth of alliances, and it was a way for losing clans to make restitution to the winners. This is our way. Please respect it.’

‘But . . .’ Nguyen said helplessly. She looked from Day Red to the XC, and back. There were so many reasons this couldn’t happen. It would give the XCs superior technology. It would give them a victory. It just plain
hurt
. It . . .

‘There are enough humans on board to make repairs and to get
Pathfinder
back home,’ said Day Red. ‘You don’t need us. Please don’t worry about us, Lieutenant – we’ve changed masters once, we can do it again.’

Day Red turned to the XC and activated the XC translator. His words came out simultaneously in Standard English and the chirping percussion that was XC-speak.

‘Please inform your mother that the First Breed on board
Pathfinder
are hers to command.’

Barabadar and Michael Gilmore looked at each other again across the table top. Gilmore wondered if he was just imagining the waves of satisfaction that seemed to flow out of her.

‘Well,’ Barabadar said, ‘it appears we do get something out of this, after all. An entire – what was the word? – pride of your servants should certainly placate my government.’

‘They are not servants,’ Gilmore grated. ‘They were created servants for the Ones Who Command but in the Commonwealth, they’re equals. We work alongside each other.’

‘In your Commonwealth, are they free enough to declare themselves not free if they so choose?’ Barabadar said. Gilmore didn’t answer. ‘Then here is how it is. I will release the human half of your crew, and . . . yes, I will release
Pathfinder
, and your step-through device, as a gesture of goodwill to foster further relations between our species. In return, these First Breed remain with us. They’ll be very well treated, I give you my word about that.’

Gilmore could believe it. Barabadar wouldn’t look . . . actually, she probably
would
look a gift horse in the mouth, just to be sure, and give it a full medical into the bargain, but she certainly wouldn’t abuse it once she found it was indeed sound and healthy. And this gift horse was in the form of a pride of First Breed, bursting with knowledge about step-through, starship mechanics and quantum energy sources.

‘Accepted,’ he sighed. ‘And as for—’

‘With one further condition,’ Barabadar interrupted. ‘I don’t have resources for looking after or transporting a whole pride back to Homeworld. We keep this vessel too.’

Gilmore shut his eyes, groaned quietly. The XCs Would Not Get Commonwealth Technology – that had been the basis for the entire mission. But he really didn’t have a choice, and he could see Barabadar’s point – she needed to transport fifty Rusties, somehow.

‘Accepted,’ he said again. ‘And
now
?’

‘As for the matter of the Dead World, I think I can speak favourably to my government and to the League of Mothers about your requests. This unexpected bonus will incline them to be reasonable.’ She stood to leave. ‘Goodbye, Worthy Sister; I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other.’

Another farewell at the lifeboat airlock.

‘I can only echo my Martial Sister’s words,’ Oomoing said. She was fully suited up and ready to depart. ‘I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other.’

‘I hope so,’ Joel said with a grin.

‘Thanks for looking after him,’ Donna added. She and Joel had their arms around each other’s waist.

‘I did my best,’ Oomoing said. ‘I didn’t know about
chocolate
.’

Joel gagged. ‘Never again. Please.’

‘Will you be involved further with the Dead World natives?’ Oomoing asked.

‘Probably.’ Joel pulled a face. ‘I mean, I’m the only one who can talk to them at the moment. Why?’

‘Because I would like to study them more closely too, if a means can be found of doing it safely. We have a lot to find out. Perhaps we can do it together. There are matters that need clarifying.’

Gilmore Senior had come up behind them. ‘One of the first contact ships spent a week on the surface of the Dead World,’ he said, ‘and they reported no survivors. So yes, there’s a lot of misinformation to sort out.’

The rude noise Oomoing made wasn’t translated by the aide. ‘They spent a week looking and found no-one; Joel and Boon Round landed at random and found a whole community. I’d question the competence of your original informant.’

She reached for the door control, paused. ‘I confess I still have certain reservations about your physical form,’ she said. ‘So consider yourselves
kissed
.’ The door slid shut.

‘
We have control, lifeboat
,’ said the voice. ‘
Rendezvous in
five minutes
.’

‘Acknowledged,
Pathfinder
,’ said Boon Round. ‘You have control.’ He removed his graspers from the control desk. It continued to operate without him.
Pathfinder
was bringing them in on remote. ‘Five minutes,’ he said unnecessarily to the humans with him, who had heard the announcement themselves.

‘Great!’ Gilmore rubbed his hands together. ‘Boon Round, could you give me a hand aft?’

‘What with?’

‘Just . . . please?’ Gilmore turned and ducked through the hatch. Boon Round paused for a moment, then followed him, muttering something about humans who needed help with everything, what was the use, why did he bother...?

Joel and Donna were alone on the flight deck, at long last.

‘Well,
he
read the signals,’ Donna said. ‘Can you?’

‘Huh?’

They looked at each other. Joel knew she wanted
something
. But what? It wasn’t a kiss. They had already kissed. And apparently they had been left alone for a purpose. The only thing that came to mind other than kissing didn’t usually take place on flight decks, it should certainly last longer than five minutes and he didn’t think his dad would be quite so cold-blooded about it.

‘Look,’ she said quietly. ‘We won’t see a lot of each other when we get back. I’m in charge of the marines now.’

‘Yeah . . .’ He swallowed. And he suddenly realized. She wanted to
know
. She had come this far on sheer faith, and she still didn’t know for sure it had been worth it. Once back on board
Pathfinder
she could throw herself into her duties and wean herself off him, or . . .

He reached out to her, took her hand. ‘I . . .’ He swallowed again. ‘I still can’t believe you came all this way for me.’

She was still looking into his eyes. He wanted to pretend there was no bottom, no end to her gaze; he could fall into those eyes and lose himself for ever.

He felt fingers twining with his own. He looked down at their clasped hands, then back up at her.

‘I never told you . . .’ he went on. He felt his face warming up; he knew he was blushing like a teenager on a first kiss. ‘You know I grew up on Luna?’

‘I know.’

‘Well, boys and girls there . . .’

‘The same as anywhere else, surely?’

‘Yeah, but . . .’ He swallowed. ‘Mum was, um, odd. She joined the Post-Socialist Collective and there the boys and girls are
exactly
the same. We play together, grow up together . . . I mean, baths and showers together! And then you’re expected to join a group marriage when you’re older and . . . So anyway, we’re, um, not exactly strangers to each other and we’re world-class experts on the, um, physical differences between boys and girls but . . . when it comes to, well, you know, finding
one special person
who’s more important than anyone else, we’re, well, we’re not so good at it . . .’