“I understand this was your idea?”
Townsend gazed from the Doc’s stern face to the two bruised and battered beings sitting side by side in the triage area of Med Services. They’d definitely been in a fight … with each other.
Madeline had a broken nose and two black eyes. She was cradling what appeared to be a broken arm, and there was a line of nasty-looking puncture wounds on her other hand.
“Doc, is that—?”
“A Nandrian bite mark? Yes. Fortunately, I began synthesizing antivenin as soon as Moe came aboard. I administered it in time to save her hand. She’ll have some residual numbness in her fingers, nothing more. But that was the least of her injuries. Between them, these patients have two broken arms, several broken ribs, and more scrapes, bruises, and shallow lacerations than I can count. I wanted you to see their condition before I began treatment so I could ask you: What the hell were you thinking, Mr. Townsend?”
“They both had issues to work out,” he replied, realizing as the words left his mouth how lame they sounded.
Moe’s reaction to hearing them was either a grin or a grimace. With that face it was hard to tell.
“So you thought it would be a good idea to put an angry Nandrian hybrid and an angry Human together and let them take their feelings out on each other?” the Doc scolded.
Wearily, Townsend asked, “Have you notified Rodrigues?”
“Not yet.”
“Please don’t,” Madeline piped up. “I’ll report it, and I’ll take responsibility for it.”
Townsend and the Doc turned together and stared at her.
“I was teaching him self-defense, and he kept holding back,” Madeline explained. “So I ordered him to show me what he had. It was more than I expected. This was my fault.”
“No, it was mine,” Moe declared. “I was angrier than I realized, and before I knew it, I had lost control.”
“You went hartoon,” Townsend told him. “It was a very Nandrian thing to do.”
With difficulty, Moe straightened in his chair. “I assaulted Constable Holchuk with deadly force, and I must take full responsibility for her injuries.”
Madeline had to turn her whole body to look at him, wincing as she did so. “I wasn’t exactly helpless, Moe. I got my licks in, so don’t try to paint me as a victim,” she warned him. “Next time it’ll be me mopping the deck with you.”
The Doc made a disgusted face. To Townsend she said, “Next they’ll be claiming they both tripped over a loose wire. All right, Constable,” she continued, addressing her patient, “I’ll let you break the news to your commanding officer. Tell him whatever story you like. But not before I’ve put that arm into a regen unit.”
As he left Med Services, Townsend was quietly congratulating himself. Moe and Madeline had bonded, just as he’d hoped. That was one problem taken care of. Now, to deal with the rest.
—— «» ——
“Is it my imagination, or have we begun collecting aliens?” said Ruby from the door of Townsend’s office.
He blanked his screen, activated the privacy shield, and settled back in his chair. “You’re not imagining it. By the time we’re ready to move against the Great Council, there may even be a few more. Do you think it’s going to be an issue?”
Pursing her lips, she eased herself onto one of the guest seats in front of his desk. “I don’t know, Chief,” she finally said. “So much has changed since the war. I’m not just talking about Daisy Hub. Earth’s government isn’t courting the approval of the alien races the way it was before. And it’s going to be a lot harder for us to keep secrets from now on. Sooner or later, Earth’s government is going to find out who’s taken up residence on the station. Having Trager and Moe here makes it look as though we’re choosing sides in the Stragori conflict. And Yorell Enne is a wanted fugitive. So you tell me: How many risks are you prepared to take for the sake of your new mission?”
“Is this you I hear worrying, Ruby? Or is it Dennis Forrand, speaking through you?” he countered.
Elevating her chin, she replied stiffly, “It’s me. I sent Forrand my final report an interval ago.” Reaching into a pocket, she placed her EIS decryption device on the desktop between them. “As you stipulated. You were right. You can’t have your hands tied by the presence of a mole aboard the station, even if you know who it is. I told him that, and I also assured him that the future of the EIS was safe as long as you remained in command here. Now I’m wondering whether that assessment might have been a little premature.”
He placed the device in his desk drawer. “I guess we’ll both find out soon enough. I have a meeting with Yorell in half an hour. If she’s the information source I’m hoping she’ll be, keeping her on the Hub will be a risk worth taking.”
Through the plastiplex wall of his office, Townsend saw Jason Smith step off the tube car and begin his shift at the main console. Now officially off-duty, Ruby got to her feet.
“I told you I’d always back your play, Chief, and I meant it. This is your call. But if things go wrong, we could all be fried before we’ve even had a chance to begin, so I really hope you know what you’re doing.”
I do too, Ruby.
About thirty-two minutes later, the Reyot force of nature arrived on AdComm. Yorell was clad in a dark blue robe that billowed behind her like a wind-blown sail as she swept from the tube car door to the entrance of Townsend’s office. The word that sprang to his mind at the sight of her was “regal”. This alien not only had the bearing of a queen, she also radiated the attitude of one.
“I’m ready to answer your questions, Mr. Townsend,” she declared, taking possession of his guest chair as though it were a throne. “What part of the forbidden files would you like me to remember for you today?”
“What interests me at the moment is the treaty that we were discussing earlier. Were there other races besides mine that were excluded from it?”
“Just one in this arm of the galaxy,” she told him, frowning. “The Praxt. The treaty was meant to end a war and ensure that there could never be another. The Praxt had remained neutral bystanders to the conflict. They objected to some of the terms of the treaty and demanded to negotiate an exception clause.”
“Because the terms were so harsh?”
“And because the treaty lumped them together with those who had taken sides and participated in the battles. Apparently, that especially rankled them.”
“I see. And how did the Great Council respond to their demand?”
“The Council stood fast. Since there could be no further negotiation, Praxim rejected the terms of the treaty outright and refused to sign it.”
“But the other races did sign on.”
“Yes, and as soon as the treaty had been ratified on all their home worlds, the Council issued a strongly-worded recommendation that member worlds trade only among themselves. One by one over the years, those worlds complied, until Praxim was cut off completely.”
“That’s it? The only punishment the Council meted out was a slow-motion trade embargo?”
“I’ve seen the records. Officially, there were no sanctions passed in Council against the Praxt. Unofficially, however, I have absolutely no doubt that punitive actions were taken.” A pause, then, “The Praxt are no more, Mr. Townsend. Most of the race perished when an asteroid collided with their home world. A distant colony of them survived, but that world was later settled by members of another race. When the two cultures merged, the Praxt lost their individual identity.”
That last sentence launched a shiver of recognition across Townsend’s shoulders.
“You’re saying that there are no Praxt left alive? That’s a shame. I would have liked to hear their side of the story.”
“No pure-blooded Praxt remain alive. They’re all hybrids now. In fact, one of them accompanied me to your station,” Yorell told him.
“Gorse Pirrit? He’s Eggenali.”
“The colony world was Eggenar,” she confirmed, “and the Eggenali are a hybrid race, combining the Praxtan and Kularian genomes. The Eggenali place a high value on remembering the past. I believe you would find it quite instructive to sit down for a chat with Mr. Pirrit sometime.”
“Thank you, Madame Enne. I think I will. Now, would you happen to recall what some of those harsh terms of the treaty involved?”
She paused, apparently to gather her thoughts. “Permanent disarmament, primarily. The treaty’s stated purpose was to preserve the peace, so any weapons deployed during the war were completely and forever banned, and the technologies that had produced and powered them were outlawed. As a result, many societies were summarily stripped of all but the most rudimentary machines. This was especially hard for a race like the Kularians, who had been using psi energy for millennia and now had to discover alternative ways to generate power.”
“And yet they all agreed to abide by these terms. Why?”
She gave a little shrug. “The war had stretched on for a long time. Their resources were depleted. Their people were exhausted. I cannot produce any proof of this, Mr. Townsend, but my personal suspicion is that they simply did not have the strength to resist the dictates of a neutral power determined to impose peace at any cost.”
“Wait a minute. The Reyota were neutral, like the Praxt?”
“To all outward appearances, yes. But not like the Praxt. My ancestors were dedicated to profit, in its many forms. And war can be extremely profitable for those who don’t take sides.”
There was no need for her to elaborate that statement — Townsend was a former cop.
“One last thing for now, Madame Enne: Are the Reyota as influential on the Council now as they were back then?”
“I’m sure there are those who believe the Reyota are the Council. Every planetary government has an agenda, Mr. Townsend, and Reyi’it is no exception. Since I have not been home in several standard years, I’m afraid I cannot comment regarding the current political situation on my world. However, I can say this much with certainty: Fourteen independent member worlds have voting rights on the Council. Only one of those worlds is Reyi’it. Theoretically, the Council has the ability to defeat any motion the Reyota may bring before it, but in all my years as Prime Docent, I cannot recall a single instance when that has happened.”
“So, unless there have been some drastic changes since the Corvou war, it’s probably safe to say that the Reyota are still exercising control over the Great Council, only they’re doing it quietly and behind closed doors,” he summed up.
The Prime Docent let out a sigh. “And that will make them extremely difficult to expose. I hope you have a plan, Mr. Townsend, because I would dearly love to go home again.”
“I will have, Madame Enne, never fear.”
—— «» ——
The message from Stragon was brief, direct, and encrypted, and Townsend’s jaw nearly struck his keyboard after the VICTOR code had transformed the text on his screen.
TWELVE TO BE EXTRACTED. PLEASE ARRANGE AND TRANSMIT PICKUP DETAILS.
If they were communicating with him directly, the situation had to be serious. He couldn’t delay any longer.
The intercomm buzzed. “Mr. Trager is requesting your presence in the caf, Chief.”
“Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
On arrival, Townsend saw Gorse Pirrit and Vin Trager sitting together at a table in the middle of the room, mugs of java cooling at their elbows. He took the chair across from them and said, “I understand you were looking for me.”
Trager leaned forward and said in a lowered voice, “Yes. We believe we have found a solution for your problem.”
Intrigued to know which of his many problems they were talking about, Townsend leaned in as well. “Keep talking.”
“Word has reached me through diplomatic channels that you need to move about a dozen Terrans covertly from Stragon to Daisy Hub. That will require a ship that can slip through the Stragori defensive perimeter unnoticed,” said Trager. “The Night Cloud is just such a ship.”
“Word travels fast through your diplomatic channels,” Drew observed, narrowing his gaze. “I just found out about it myself.”
Trager said nothing, only gave him a faint smile and a helpless shrug.
“Mr. Pirrit, have you agreed to this? If not, please say so.”
“I still have to discuss it with my mate, Mr. Townsend, but if she approves the mission, then you’ll have your ship.”
“Is there any reason to think she might not?” asked Drew.
“Just one: It will mean leaving Earth space. Like Yorell, we are fugitives, considered to be dangerous criminals by the Great Council.”
Now Townsend’s curiosity was truly piqued. “And what crime, exactly, are you supposed to have committed?”
“I modified this particular Night Cloud to use psi-driven technology. It’s forbidden by the treaty. Eggenar never signed it, so on that world, psi energy is just another power source. However, I made the modifications while we were living on Kula’as.”
“What treaty is this?” Trager wanted to know.
“It ended the last galactic war,” Pirrit explained. “It’s been in effect for several thousand years now.”
“And it has remained unchanged over time?” said Trager.
“Unfortunately, yes, and it’s being enforced just as rigidly now as it was back then,” Pirrit replied bitterly. “Every one of its terms contains the phrase ‘in perpetuity’. Every new generation is punished as if it had personally taken part in the war. And if one individual or a small group of beings breaks the treaty, their entire race is penalized. That was why Ixbeth and I had to leave Kula’as before the Great Council could discover what I’d done to the ship. Otherwise, half a million people would have paid a heavy price for it.”
“Mr. Pirrit, if you’d rather not take this risk—”
“It’s a small act of rebellion, Mr. Townsend. I ran away once, and it hasn’t sat well with me. In full stealth mode, the Night Cloud is undetectable. Once Ixbeth agrees to go, we and it will be at your disposal.”
—— «» ——
All right. Townsend had the transportation required for the extraction. Now he just needed to figure out where to send it. A map of the colony would be a good place to start.
His first stop was Deck C-1, where Gervais sat trapped inside his dedicated server. As O’Malley watched, shaking his head in disbelief, Townsend sat down at the attached computer and keyed in the beginning of a conversation.
Hello, Gervais. This is Drew Townsend.
MR. TOWNSEND. IT’S A PLEASURE TO HEAR FROM YOU. HOW MAY I BE OF SERVICE?
I need to extract a group of Terrans from Stragon.
THIS WILL BE A COVERT MISSION, I GATHER?
Yes.
ARE ANY OF THEM OPTIMIZED?
No.
THAT SIMPLIFIES THINGS CONSIDERABLY. IS IT IMPORTANT THAT THEY ALL DEPART TOGETHER?
Yes.
THE TERRAN COLONY IS ON AN ISLAND.
I know. Is there anywhere on it large enough for a shuttle to land?
THE BEACH, ON THE SOUTH SHORE, AT LOW TIDE. ONCE THE WATER HAS COMPLETELY EBBED, THERE IS A WINDOW OF TWO HOURS BEFORE IT RISES AGAIN. A VERTICAL-DESCENT CRAFT COULD TOUCH DOWN AND TAKE ON PASSENGERS, PROVIDED THE LANDING WAS CAREFULLY TIMED.
PROBLEM: HOW DO YOU INTEND TO AVOID DETECTION BY THE DEFENSE GRID? NAVIGATION SATELLITES ARE CONSTANTLY MONITORING THAT AREA.
Not sure yet. I’m working on it. Thank you for the intel.
O’Malley had paused his own work to follow these exchanges. He watched Townsend shut down the computer, then commented, “You’re just going to take his word for it, boss?”
“Of course not. But I did tell him he would have to earn his keep by providing reliable information. Now I’m going to talk with our new Stragori liaison officer, to see whether Gervais is living up to his part of the bargain. In any case, for this op to succeed, we’re going to need map coordinates and tide data, and we’ll have to synchronize our chronometers and calendars as well.”
The ratkeeper perked up. “You’re not just testing him, then? It’s a real op?”
“Yes. It’s our first official extraction.”
“You know, since the Nandrians won’t be throwing victory parties on the station anymore, maybe we should celebrate something else instead. Like, every time there’s a successfully completed operation we throw a party. What do you think?”
Townsend tossed him a grin. “Tell Nora my favorite cake is devil’s food with vanilla frosting.”