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Continent of Linkoralis, Dianis
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The incessant wind scoured the broad, bare plateau. Lichen and small stubborn tufts of grass the only vegetation clinging to the dark, fractured granite. In the thin air at thirteen thousand feet elevation, the decommissioning ceremony attendees kept their movements slow and purposeful. Standing at attention in the neat ranks of uniformed IDB personnel, Baryy wondered whose idea it was to hold the ceremony on this lonely patch of rock. The nearest human or sentient being was a hundred miles away, confirmed by the sole remaining IDB surveillance satellite, due for shutdown within hours. For their last official act, the staff of IDB Dianis Station had lobbied the director to hold the flag-lowering outdoors and in-country, not in the cloying, subterranean auditorium. In a way, it was their coming out party. The one time they were all gathered, in plain sight, with no pretense of concealment. And so they stuck us up here, he thought morosely. He knew from talking with his melancholy friends they needed no reminder that this was their last time standing together as an elite group, caretakers of an entire world soon to be left on its own to the whim of stellar currents. How, many asked, could the IDB shepherd Dianis for eighty-five years and then abandon it as if those vested years were just sunk costs? Was not the intent of the ULUP charter inviolate?
Unaccustomed to wearing his uniform Baryy hazarded an itch underneath his combination cap. He dropped his arm when he caught the chief inspector frowning at him. They were at attention. He smiled inwardly; if he was suffering in his uniform, then Atch was faring no better. The wind tugged at his service braid and medal ribbons.
Facing the podium, an array of IDB, civilian, military, and Matrincy dignitaries were seated under the bright, mid-day sun. At that southern latitude, autumn was in full progression, adding a further chill to the alpine plateau. Director Hor began his speech. Gail, having reviewed the text beforehand, let her gaze wander to where a curious new intrigue sat the three matronens in their dark purple cloaks. Two of the matronens had their hoods up to block the wind, but the third, a striking blonde, let the wind tug at her long hair bundled in a ponytail and wrapped, Avarian fashion, around in front under her cheek. She recognized the councilor from the Interconn news as a former wife of General Marion. The Matrincy arranged two-year marriage contracts between their councilors and promising members of the military and other bureaucracies. Ostensibly, to increase the bond with the Matrincy, but more to the point, to dig Matrincy talons deep into the power centers of society. Gail glanced away and diverted her thoughts before the councilor sensed her attention and plumbed its direction. Three matronens at the decommissioning of a backwater world spoke volumes about Matrincy interests. She would have bet no matronens would have been here. Yet there were three. At a decommissioning? It made more sense if it were a co-missioning.
Listening to Clienen recount the history and accomplishments of the IDB teams on Dianis, Achelous gravely regarded the three flags on their tall staffs behind the podium. The wind carried them briskly, fluttering like huge butterflies. The center pennon bore the black starscape and white clusters of the Avarian Federation. The left banner exhibited the Avarian-appointed green and blue swirl of Dianis, someday to be replaced by what the Dianis governing body would choose when the planet achieved uplift. On the right streamed the IDB colors showing two fists, one holding tightly to a lightning bolt and the other a twisting vine. Between them was the figure of a farmer guiding an ox-drawn plow. Emblazoned above were the initials I.D.B. He sighed, venting his frustrations to the wind. The bright sun high in the clear pristine air did nothing to dispel his gloom. It was a bitter moment. Twenty-five years on Dianis building teams, studying the cultures, and evolving a plan for uplift were coming to an end. He tried to convince himself it was not a waste.
Baryy listened as the band played Last Hurrah; through his audio implants, it sounded remarkably good, even as the wind gusts threatened to carry off his cap. Already one hat had rolled across the rock escarpment and sailed over the edge. To his amusement, an inspection drone obediently retrieved and returned with the errant cover. Can’t be leaving evidence of Ancients behind!
The adjutant called salute while the final cords of Last Hurrah played and the IDB flag descended the staff. Finally, only two banners flew; the third flagpole achingly naked.
“IDB Margel Damansk, IDB Dianis, dismissed!” barked the adjutant.
Achelous swayed in the wind. His thirty-two-year career, the best years of his life, had come to an end. The next step he would take would be as a civilian. He tried to rationalize that he was on a two-year sabbatical and that he could return to the service, but he knew the actions he had already precipitated and those he planned in the coming months would preclude him from ever returning to the IDB. He took that step. His legs were heavy, a sudden depression seemingly dragging him into the atoms of granite.
Walking, almost stumbling across the uneven, rocky surface, he pulled himself together when he saw Baryy heading his way. He noticed the director looking at him blankly. Then, for some reason, Baryy stopped in his tracks.
“Chief Inspector Forushen?”
In his daze, he’d failed to notice their approach. Two of the Matrincy dignitaries, councilors by the cut and shade of their robes, hovered to his left. He focused on their signet pips. The one, a younger male with close-cropped hair, shaved face, and no eyebrows, wore the pip of Planetary Councilor. The second one, the one who’d addressed him, was an attractive blonde woman of indeterminate age who wore the pip of Special Envoy, which could mean anything.
He blinked, his polychromatic contact lenses shifting to a darker setting so he could see the pupils of her eyes and so she could not see his. “Yes?”
“My pleasure to join your spirit, Chief Inspector. I’m Councilor Margrett.” She held out her bare hand palm down, her sensing ring-signet a lustrous onyx in a gold setting. In the Matrincy, all adepts above a certain rank were addressed as councilor, except the matriarch.
He smiled; his lips tight. “I’m sorry, councilor, I would normally honor you in joining spirits, but I am a troubled man. I would not bother you with my heavy heart.” With his gloved hand, formal dress whites, he reached out and caressed her fingertips so she would not lose face at his rejection. “Old habits and training die hard. I watch who I touch on Dianis; you never know who may be an adept.” Skin-to-skin contact enabled extrasensory impulses between sentient beings, particularly sensitives. He in no way would let this woman touch him.
She maintained her warm smile and searched his eyes with an understanding gaze, whereas her companion shifted, and Achelous caught the stiffness in his stance. The councilor went on, “I can appreciate your discomfiture, Chief Inspector. This must be a trying moment for you after twenty-five years here on Dianis.” A tiny warning bell tinkled in his brain; she’d studied his dossier.
He turned to look at the bare flagpole. While he did so, gathering his wits, Councilor Margrett slid her arm through his and, with ever so subtle pressure, urged him to walk with her. A step behind and to his right, the planetary councilor followed.
Gail witnessed the classic Matro Press, as non-adepts derisively called it, and instinctively sensed Achelous was in trouble. These were no lightweights. The woman, she knew, had been a consort to one of the most dynamic generals in the Avarian military, and now she was focused on Achelous. By the way the matronen held Achelous’s arm, Gail knew she was angling for skin-to-skin contact. At least the poor sod had kept his gloves on. The other councilor held what they called the “shark” position. Stalking behind, he had his aural senses collecting whatever emotions Atch would leak. As a seasoned in-country operative, Achelous, through his aural defense training, automatically shielded any thoughts from eavesdropping. The matronens would even expect an IDB agent to guard their thoughts and emotions as a matter of course; hence, the blank wall of emanations would not raise their suspicions. Nonetheless, Gail’s heart went out to him. They were after something, and their approach suggested interrogation. If the matronens gained any inkling of Marisa or Boyd, they’d not rest until they had it all, and then Achelous would be done for.
“I don’t believe you’ve met Councilor Breia,” she steered Achelous around so he and the planetary councilor could face each other.
Breia bowed. A minimal bow to be sure, but with respect, nonetheless. “I’ve read much of your work, Chief Inspector. Your research findings on Earth were insightful, particularly for an intern agent. May I ask, were you mentored during the process?”
Achelous gave a bare smile. “I was posted to what the Terrans call a newspaper reporter. In those days, the Terrans distributed their news on a printed paper media. Maybe they still do,” he shrugged. “I’ve lost touch. It was a solo posting, strictly embed cultural assessment and monitoring work. Nothing dangerous or intrusive, so I had plenty of time to review the news stories and other research materials and synthesize the monographs you probably read. In truth, my superior, Chief Inspector Giomustafl, was a hound for information, not just what the Terrans put out on their own but with the Avarian perspective on it. He was constantly badgering me for my opinions, and so, if you like, much of the credit goes to him for establishing the research direction.” Giomustafl was long dead. In a twist of fate, Giomustafl was killed in a non-guided-automobile accident on Earth, a head-on collision. So many cars, so many drivers, and none of them AI controlled. Such a waste.
Apparently mollified, Breia said, “I would think your experience on Earth prepared you well for Dianis. For my briefings on Dianis, I pulled your situation reports and followed your thoughts on the progression and shifting of the balance of power between Lamar and the Drakan Empire with keen interest. On the whole, I would say Dianis, and her people have substantially benefited from your fostering, or should I say guardianship?”
Guardianship, thought Achelous, the center of his moral contention. Am I the objective guardian that ULUP requires of me, or am I merely acting in my own self-interest? The councilor seemed genuine in his praise. However, Achelous, like all non-adepts wise in the ways of sixthsense, was skeptical. Appreciation and antagonism were typical tactics used to penetrate the Blank Wall. “Thank you for your kind words, counselor. It is gratifying to hear the voices of Dianis have reached the Matrincy. But may I ask why? Why now?”
Without affront, Breia replied, “I am the newly appointed planetary councilor. Hence my interest in your work.”
Achelous frowned. “I don’t understand. Dianis does not have a—” He let the sentence hang as comprehension dawned.
Breia injected, “Exactly. It does now. It was precisely because of your reports on the Timberkeeps and your security breach alert that prompted my appointment.”
“Security breach?”
“Yes, Chief. Your director filed the alert with Internal Security and followed it up with a formal complaint to IDB headquarters. He cited your suspicions of a plot by a galactic mining operation, inferring they are somehow behind the withdrawal of the IDB from Dianis.” Breia gave him a pointed look. Either the idea was preposterous, or Achelous’ suspicions had now come full circle to haunt him. “A conspiracy theory with basis, but whose further thread has been snipped clean.”
“Meaning?” Achelous asked tersely.
The councilor gave a faint grin at the chief inspector’s directness. “Meaning Internal Security followed the lead to a senior manager of a Nordarken Mining subsidiary, but the man has turned up missing. The subsidiary, Delphi Sites and Exploration is, we believe, a front for Nordarken industrial espionage. The devils are damned crafty. Mineral exploration on hostile worlds is a risky business. An entire survey team can be swallowed up by any number of natural,” and Breia shifted his stance, “or man-made disasters. Makes it easy for them to ‘lose’ someone if memory scanning is in their future.”
“So you are taking the threat seriously?” he asked, surprised.
“Quite,” answered Breia. “Unfortunately, unless the perpetrators instigate another action we can intercept, the case has no further leads.”
Achelous pursed his lips; he expected as much. No, he expected much less. He was encouraged the investigation went up through all the right bureaucracies, IDB, Internal Security, and the Matrincy, but the result was the same: stillbirth, dead before it saw the light of the day. “And what of the IDB withdrawal? Councilor, I find it highly coincidental that IDB Dianis should be withdrawn along with its orbital surveillance assets within the same period as the security breach. We’ve all heard the rumors. We don’t need the Strategic Resources Council to publish any confidential reports. Nordarken stock has fallen forty percent in the past two months on the aquamarine supply rumors, and I’ve heard shipments of aural-enabled consumer devices are being curtailed and the aquamarine saved for security-critical applications.”
“I was curious about that myself,” said Gail. She sidled up to Achelous and placed her right elbow under his left and smiled sweetly across to the Special Envoy. She reached out a gloved hand, “Councilor Margrett, I am in awe to make your acquaintance. And here on a desolate mountain, on a far-off Class E. Whatever are you doing on Dianis?”
The aural signet pip on her uniform broadcast her name, rank, and role. To those able to receive the message, it made the need for introductions a quaint formality, a formality Achelous felt compelled to adhere. “Councilors, this is Gail Manner, Chief of Dianis Solar Surveillance—”
“Ex-chief of Solar Surveillance,” Gail corrected him. “IDB Dianis ceased to exist five minutes ago,” she said heavily.
Councilor Margrett’s eyes flickered over their close contact. Her smile, if anything, became warmer. “I'm pleased to meet you in person. I recall from the chief inspector’s personnel file that you were contracted.”
Gail brushed back a platinum lock the wind had tugged from beneath her uniform beret. “Yes, once renewed,” she gave a mischievous smirk, “but then we became too busy with our careers and drifted apart,” her voice wistful, but the way she gazed at Achelous underlined her feelings of affection and, perhaps, protection.
“You were saying, councilor?” Achelous asked of Breia, hoping Gail would get her answer. He didn’t want to let Breia off the hook.
“Yes,” Breia continued, “The timing was unfortunate. We don’t have control over where the IDB sends its assets as they report to the ULUP Board of Control, under which the IDB is chartered. I can tell you we, I specifically, reviewed the reassignment decision and found the case beyond question. Dominicus III is in dire need of a cultural assessment, and they need the IDB to form a recommendation for a Class D Uplift. The planet is a wreck, and the sooner we can establish a caretaker government the sooner we can move them towards self-sufficiency and get them back on their feet.”
You mean drawn into the Federation so they can help you with the war, thought Achelous dryly. Fundamentally, he didn’t have a problem with it; even a shattered world like Dominicus III had something it could contribute to the war effort. He thought it disingenuous when true intent was cloaked in altruistic purpose. It insulted his intelligence. “The Dominicus III problem is not new councilor; other worlds fit that profile. What we do or did here on Dianis has always been a compromise when stacked against the needs of humans everywhere. What I’m curious about is how did the priorities suddenly change? I fear we have only displaced problems from Dominicus to Dianis.”
“And what about my satellites? Some of them are antiques. It will cost more to capture, move, and re-orbit them around Dominicus than what they are worth.” Gail frowned at Breia. “Spirits, why move them when they can still be used here? We can put their alert and detection systems on auto, route the telemetry and aural signals to the Central Station AI, and let them monitor for intrusions. I know it is far from perfect, but at least it is better than no eyes at all!”
Councilor Margrett interceded on her junior’s behalf, “From your perspective, I can see how illogical the situation may appear. However, you must appreciate all assets, even old ones such as your Centuries, are invaluable in the face of the Turboii War. Your accounting is correct that the original cost of a Century satellite, with its limited capabilities, is a trifle compared to the effort to shift it across the federation. However, the fact remains that the federation’s space dock and aerospace manufacturing is almost completely devoted to building warships, fleet drones, and orbital forts for the war effort. There is simply too little production capacity remaining to build solar surveillance equipment.”
“They’re building new Sunbird IIs at the plant in the Usarian system,” Gail countered quickly.
Margrett didn’t miss a beat, “Yes, but at ten percent capacity of that single plant, and they have a backlog of twenty-four months. We need surveillance satellites on Dominicus now.”
Gail’s frown turned into an unguarded, open scowl. The Special Envoy had better information than she did and evidently had done her homework. But Gail wasn’t about to let it go and readied her next salvo when Achelous fired it for her.
“Regardless,” he said, steering the conversation back to the central question, “someone made the decision that the needs of Dominicus outweigh those of Dianis. And perhaps there is a compelling reason to divert IDB resources to formulate an accelerated Class D Uplift for Dominicus. Maybe there always has been. But you cannot tell me,” his voice began to rise, “that Dominicus needs all of our surveillance satellites, nor can you deny another alternative exists. That of siphoning IDB assets from across other missions in small increments, leaving all IDB engagements modestly shorthanded, rather than completely terminating operations here.”
He took a breath and plowed on before they could interrupt. “If I went to Dominicus, and I am not, I would be the one responsible for crafting the E to D uplift program, and I can tell you having eight, maybe twelve orbital assets on Dominicus would be nice, but all twenty-four from Dianis is overkill. The damage is already done to Dominicus; there will be all sorts of revitalization contracts awarded. There’ll be more licensed extrasolars coming and going than carts at a farmer’s market.” Achelous could feel his anger pulsing, his frustration a raw nerve after protecting the planet for twenty-five years. He consciously calmed himself, letting the hormone regulator in his embed do its job.
A signal was beeping in Achelous’s earbud while simultaneously, the embed chip buzzed with an alert. It was the ringtone for the director. He tipped the earbud to Clienen’s channel.
“Achelous, I see you are having a debate with our Matrincy guests. Anything I should be aware of?”
Achelous raised a hand to his ear and turned away, a signal to the others nearby that he was in communication with an outside party. “It’s my same complaint as before, Clienen, about us leaving Dianis, only now I have the Matrincy to complain to. I’ll talk with you later.” He closed the circuit and turned back.
“Your request for a sabbatical is one of the reasons we wanted to speak with you,” Margrett said. “We were hoping we could convince you to stay on here at Dianis for a few more months. It would be a single operations team; you could pick whom you need. But the remaining Margel assets would still transfer to Dominicus as scheduled.”
His brows furrowed; they hadn’t answered his question on how the monitoring priorities changed from Dianis to Dominicus. Maybe they didn’t know; maybe it was an answer they knew he wouldn’t like. He wanted an answer to the redeployment of all satellites, but at this point, with the IDB leaving and Marisa ramping up gunpowder production the answer wouldn’t change his course of action. “What sort of operations team?”
“We need you to complete your work with the Timberkeeps and, if you like, to continue to keep an eye on things.”
“An eye on things?” he asked, arching a brow.
“At least you and your team would be in-country,” she said softly.
He dismissed her suggestion out of hand. Without Solar Surveillance or a staffed sensor group to monitor all the sensor suites, a single in-country team could not intercept an incursion unless the extrasolars landed on top of them, and the councilor knew that. “What is it about the Timberkeeps you need us to research?” He was irritated that now after the IDB pennon had been struck on Dianis, the Matrincy should show interest in the Timberkeeps.
“Inspector,” Councilor Margrett’s smile was gone. “Four weeks ago, my former,” she caught herself, “General Marion, brigade commander for the 1st Air Assault, was killed when a Turboii rocket made a direct hit on him. A direct hit, Inspector. The brigade’s energy shield was down. They were taking artillery rounds across their front. Compare that to the 3rd Delevan, another unit in the line with the 1st that fared much better. The 3rd accurately predicted Turboii attacks in their sector and were able to repulse the assaults with heavy enemy losses. Their energy shield never came close to losing capacity.
“Do you know the difference, the sole key difference between those two units?” she challenged.
To Achelous the difference was clear, the 1st Air Assault was the Avarian Federation’s premier assault brigade, the best of the best, whereas the 3rd Delevan was probably a line infantry brigade. You put the 1st where the fighting was the worst.
“The 3rd had three of their own adepts from Delevan itself. They were the ones who discerned the aural command sequences routed from the Turboii to their minions. They mapped the planned attack vectors, and the 3rd was ready for them every time. The Turboii became so frustrated attempting to attack that unit they threw everything they had at the 1st. Without any adepts to discern the shift in tactics, the 1st was nearly overrun. The battle started to go so badly it was almost as if we were back to the early years when the Turboii crushed us in every battle. All for the want of two or three adepts. That is why I want you, Inspector, to find out why the Timberkeeps have such a high preponderance of sixthsense adepts so we can bottle it and furnish sensitives to all our units.”
He sighed. At least she was honest with him. He shook his head. “We’ve supplied the field reports. They contain our findings. What more do you want?”
She thrust her hands deep into the pocket-folds of her robe. The wind tugged at the end of her blond ponytail. Councilor Breia interjected, “Your reports suggest their sensitivity is due to their environment, perhaps a chemical contaminant. You’ve conducted no hard research. We need soil and water samples tested and analyzed. We need DNA samplings from the populace and aural scan readings of the entire mountain and village populations.”
Achelous’s mind immediately went to Mount Mars and the suspected Loch Norim site they had planned to explore the day they were attacked by the troglodytes. Was there something leaking from that site?
“We think it is an unlikely coincidence that the Timberkeeps live so close to an aquamarine mine. A mine at the base of a mountain where a suspected Loch Norim site rests,” Margrett said. “There is no health risk connected to aquamarine, but there are correlative hazards associated with industries that operate at an aquamarine mine.”
He was aware that she was watching for his reaction. So, they know about the Loch Norim site on the top of Mount Mars. What else do they know? Then his brows knit. What do they have that I don’t? “The ruins at the top of Mount Mars are not proven to be of Loch Norim origin. They are listed as probable. We’ve never been up there to confirm. Unless you know something I don’t?”
“We have your own satellite images,” she replied. “Even though the ruins are badly weathered, it is clear the construction techniques are advanced, at least for Dianis provincials, and what provincials on Dianis would build on top of the highest peak on Isuelt over a thousand years ago? The reptiles? They were the only sentient species here.”
Which is the same logic Gail’s geosurvey team had advocated and why the site was registered as Loch Norim-probable.
Breia’s countenance remained placid. “If we could get DNA sequencing of the cancer, it may be close enough to our existing models that we could develop an antigen for it in weeks if our current cancer treatments do not work.”
“What are you saying, councilor? Applying an off-world cancer treatment to the Timberkeeps would be a direct contravention of ULUP. Unless—”
“Unless we gained a special exemption from ULUP?” Breia hinted at a smile.
The idea was ridiculous, given the direction of the ULUP board, so Achelous didn’t give it credence. “I don’t see how I can help much further,” Achelous said, tired. “We’ve cited our findings in the field reports.” What the reports did not contain were speculative theories. One plant, in particular, needed more study, the kdel berry.
“We want you to return to Wedgewood and—” Breia looked uncertainly at Margrett.
Margrett kept her attention on Achelous, but Gail had the distinct impression they were heading into an area where Gail’s presence was no longer welcomed if her presence had been wanted in the first place. The councilor glanced her way and then pointedly at the podium and the few IDB personnel who had not taken the lift below to the shift station. “I was wondering, Chief Manner, if we might have a word with the Inspector alone?”
Achelous could feel Gail’s grip on his elbow tighten, a cue to take caution. He turned to her and smiled, “I know we have a lunch date. Can you get a table for us in the Atrium? I’ll be along in a minute.” Gail contained her surprise; they had no lunch appointment. She turned to the Special Envoy, “Okay, but don’t keep him long.”
Gail sat at the table spinning her fork; she was on her second glass of water. The suspense was killing her.
She was sure Achelous was holding something back from her, at least his real plans for leave. They shared many secrets, but the threat of a memscan bounded the confidence sharing and kept communication to non-verbal, non-visual clues. The murkier and more thought-dependent the memories, the less accurate the memscan. Living with memscan risk honed a person’s ability to drop subtle clues and interpret them correctly.
Achelous and Baryy entered the Atrium. Gail waved them to her table. She’d been there long enough to get the best table, the one in the upper observation bubble. The view out the window of the sea life was incredible. A hundred feet below the surface of the ocean, built into the side of an immense coral reef, the Atrium afforded the best IDB facilities view on the planet of the multi-colored sea life.
Baryy and Achelous sat down. “I thought the Atrium would be closed by now,” remarked Baryy.
“Tomorrow is its last day,” replied Gail. She reached across the table to shake his hand, Dianis style, fingers clasped to fingers. “How are you doing, Baryy? So good to see you again.”
Achelous sat back in his chair, “Sorry I’m late. I needed to find Baryy.” He moved the place setting aside to clear the hologrid and tapped the drinks menu. Scrolling through the alcoholic, beneric, and trium drinks, he selected the Otum vine acid.
“Achelous filled me in on the—” Baryy paused when Achelous double-drummed his fingers on the table. Gail knew enough about in-country ops to catch the subtle hand signal. The two used them so blithely it seemed unconscious. She could only guess at the meaning, but she watched in silence as Achelous pulled out his multi-func, attached an unfamiliar emitter, sat it on the table, and touched the broadcast button. He nodded, and Baryy continued, “...filled me in on the meeting with the matronens just after the ceremonies.” He looked at Gail, “Seems they want us to recruit Timberkeep voyants for further testing.” Gail’s eyes arched open. “No—”
Achelous grumbled, “And to help with the war effort.”
“What?” she rasped.
“Recruit, hire,” he waved his hand dismissively, “it all means the same. Any Timber voyant we bring to the Matrincy has to come back to Dianis in the same state they left. They’ll be mind-wiped. They’ll have to be. Otherwise, they can’t come back.”
“Just voyants?” asked Gail.
“Voyants and telepaths. They want to test the telepaths for the ability to detect Turboii command signals, and they want the voyants for distance viewing experiments.”
Gail blinked, her shoulders tense. “How many?”
“Five each, for starters. Enough for a comprehensive evaluation.”
She sat back, dismayed.
Baryy nodded. “Can you believe it?” venom dripped from his words. “And I thought the Paleowrights were bad, but they only grabbed six sensitives.”
“Recruit? What exactly does that mean? And what did you tell them?” She watched as the autoserve door opened and Achelous’s Otum vine acid slid out, bubbling and frothing. The lime green liquid churned in the glass and quickly coated the outside with frost.
Silent, a deep frown on his face, Achelous waited until the glass was totally frosted before he dumped in the shot glass of neutralizer. The frothing subsided immediately. He grabbed the glass by the insulated handle and took a drink.
A puffer fish darted by the Atrium window, chased by a long, eel-like predator.
“Ugh,” she said. “I never could drink that stuff. But since you’re drinking...” she swiped through the holo menu, then peered at the attachment on Achelous’s multi-func, “I take it that gadget will ward off evil Matrincy spirits?”
Baryy glanced over his shoulder and down at the tables below. “It takes the surrounding aural background and amplifies it. We’re not only pathic-proof but good for electronic and sonic.”
Achelous sat his mug down, feeling the liquid burn-freeze all the way to his stomach. He shuddered. The distiller recommended a person drink only one vine acid per day. “So I told them I would think about it. They were most insistent. Neither Breia nor Margrett said it, but I got the message loud and clear they were not accepting no’s. I told them Baryy, and I are signed up for an exploration charter out to the Farless Islands on Remus IV and that we needed a break.” He looked at Baryy, “I couldn’t tell who they wanted more, me or Baryy. When they learned he was going to Remus as well, Breia got agitated, and Margrett went stone still.” Remus IV was a sleepy, sparsely populated Class C where, in addition to lounging in a tropical, white-beach, grass-hut vacationland, a man could readily drop off the aural and information nets. The perfect place to go, disappear, and sneak back to Dianis.
“So they are serious.” Her drink appeared at the autoserv. “Atch, what if the Matrincy research can shorten the war? Don’t get me wrong, but what if?”
He retorted, “And if it’s so bloody important to them, then why don’t they just send an envoy to the Timbers and open negotiations?”
“Well,” and she cocked her head, “because it’s against ULUP. Dianis is a Class E.”
“Right,” shot Achelous, “and for damned good reason.” Then he moderated. “If they are really willing to go for a ULUP exemption, which they hinted at, they would need Baryy and me to testify in front of the ULUP governance committee. They need us to help convince ULUP that disruption to the Timberkeeps would be minimal and that the sensitives could actually help in the war if they were educated, trained, and volunteered to join the federation cause.” He shivered; the vine acid was reaching his extremities. “I’m worried that if we don’t help the Matrincy they’ll ask Special Forces do a clandestine op, a grab and go.” He waited for the effect of the vine acid to burn to his fingertips, and he readied for the psychic rush.
“Maybe we should—” Baryy’s voice trailed off.
“Maybe what?” Gail asked looking between Baryy and Achelous.
Achelous held up his hand, the psychic rush was upon him; he couldn’t talk.
“Tell them about the Loch Norim site on the top of the mountain,” Baryy said. “It’s not official and unsupported by direct evidence – yet—but we think something may be leaching from Mount Mars.”
“Oh,” she drew out the syllable, watching Achelous’s hand slowly lower. The Otum would completely reset emotional, psychic, and hormonal balances. The question was to where.
“What good would it do them? As you said, it’s all speculation,” she pointed out.
Achelous shook his head. He took a deep breath and let it out in a long blow. He blinked and picked up the conversation as if nothing had happened. “Margrett knows about the ruins on Mount Mars and is way past thinking they are probable, but certain. She thinks there is a connection between the aquamarine mine, the ruins, and the Timberkeep sensitivity. But never mind their speculation, just give them time. They’ll dig around, do more research, find the right combination of treatments and interactions. And when they do, whatever is the cause of the enhanced sensitivity will be the next hot strategic resource, maybe more so than aquamarine. Everyone will be running around seeing the future.” He yawned, then shook his head. Scanning the hologrid, he paged through the entries searching for his next drink. “Until the Matrincy figures it out the Timberkeeps on Mount Mars are at risk.”
Baryy huffed, “As if the Timbers don’t have enough problems. They have an aquamarine mine in their backyard.”
Achelous scraped some of the frost off his empty mug, waiting for his next drink, then smiled at her.
She arched an eyebrow. “You don’t want sex, do you? You were always horny after a shot of Otum.” Baryy laughed, and Achelous shook his head. “No, no.” His smile faded. Even with a phase-shift, Marisa was three hours away. The vine acid wiped clean away the tension of the meeting with the matronens, but Gail was right, it was hard to think of anything but Marisa lying naked in his arms. A Tivor carvareen shot hissed out of the autoserv chute. He downed it in one swift motion. Setting the porcelain cup down slowly, he said, “In the case of Class E’s we obscure op reports all the time.” All the time was an exaggeration, but they’d done it enough where the commissioner ceased to grill them on the need for the excessive precautions.
Gail looked glum.
“What?” Baryy asked.
“But what if this could actually spare lives of troopers in the war? Even shorten the war?”
“Then they should treat with the Timberkeeps as equals and not as specimens.” Achelous was unbending.
“There’s another reason why they don’t want to open official channels to the Timbers,” Baryy supplied. “And I’m not as ready to convict the Matrincy of the conspiracy that Atch is painting, although abduction of Timberkeep adepts would do it for me.” He paused, then, “For the Matrincy to expose themselves to the Timbers would mean they’d have to officially acknowledge them as a ruling body, no matter how small. And that means honoring any legitimate territorial and property claims the Timbers hold, which in my mind reasonably includes the aquamarine mine and the watershed all the way down from the top of Mount Mars and the terraces where the Timbers are cultivating the kdel. If there is anything in the environment causing heightened sixthsense, then the Timbers should have the first claim to it. The Matrincy is afraid of what they don’t know. Even if they could recognize the Timber clan before uplift to Class D and not trigger ULUP lawsuits from every indigenous-rights attorney seeking to protect the claims in absentia of Nak Drakas, Lamar, and you name it, they don’t know what they’d be giving up. And what if the Timbers refused to negotiate? Then the Matrincy would be faced with the messy business of seeking annexation.”
Achelous leaned forward, “And we’re talking years going that route, not the weeks or few months to conduct clandestine recruitments or even abductions.” He was exaggerating, but the lingering effects of the vine acid tingled in his blood. “It’s so much easier and expedient, not only for the Matrincy but the Nordarks as well, if Dianis stays Class E with no officially recognized clan, nation, or whatever. This way, now with the IDB gone, any extrasolar with a shift-capable ship can come and go as they wish. We’re at the ULUP breakpoint, Gail. The point where the economic value sequestered on the planet far exceeds the ethical value of enforcing indigenous rights. You know it’s happened before. During my tour on Earth working for the Chicago Sun-Times, I wrote a human-interest story on how the American Indian ultimately gained compensation through casinos after the U.S. Government repeatedly violated treaties with them. Each time gold, oil, or fertile farmland was found on Indian territory the treaties were nulled, the land taken, and the tribes moved.”
“Those are the typical actions of Class E governments,” she retorted, “We are Class A, for Spirit’s sake. We can do better. We have done better! We’re ULUP signatories.”
Achelous nodded slowly, waiting for the caffeine to perk him up. “Yes, but even Class A Avaria is not immune to greed. As you’ve pointed out there is a war on, and in times of war the hawks will say sacrifices must be made to ensure species survival, and hence we start the long slippery slide towards fascism.”
Gail sat there and stewed. Silence descended on the table. Her mind shied away from where Achelous’ train of reasoning led. She refused to accept his as the only logical interpretation of events, but she found it hard to argue when her own satellites were begin scavenged.
Having drunk her fill of water and now a glass of wine, Gail excused herself to go to the women’s room.
When she was gone, Baryy began to suffer a change of mind. He asked, “Atch, maybe Gail is right? Maybe we should testify in front of the ULUP board. At least that way we would be part of the research, and if the Matrincy environmental experiments succeeded the Timberkeeps would be off the hook.”
A pained expression clouded the chief inspector’s face. “Baryy, your own hereditary research and now the work of Outish shows that the mutation only occurs by long-term exposure. It takes years.” He sat back, feeling more awake. “Success or not, the Matrincy needs Timberkeep adepts to influence the war today, not ten years from now.” He shook his head with a vigorous twist. “I for one will not be part of an abduction and subjugation plot. How would we be any different from the damned Paleowrights? We’d be worse. The Church can’t brainwash, we can! Forced mind-wiping of innocent provincials makes the Nordarks’ illegal excavations look like petty theft.”
