This was the go-or-no-go meeting, and the air in the strategy room was heavy with tension as the mission team went through their prelaunch checklist.
“Your pilot is onside?” demanded D’Ull, one elbow pinning the table top as though to prevent it from escaping.
“Our pilot is ready, willing, and able to navigate to Dimmla,” Deneuve replied. “His carapace is currently a festival of colors, and the translator is buzzing and beeping nonstop.”
Concern. “Is the device not working properly?”
She grinned. “I think that’s just what happiness sounds like in Galactic Standard.”
“What about the Mitradean ship?” Yorell cut in.
Gorse reported, “It has been modified to the captain’s specifications and tests out perfectly. By my calculations, it has enough fuel to maintain a high orbit for almost four full moontides. The Human scientists visiting the surface of Kula’as are sufficient reason for the Marco Polo to remain parked here for that length of time. Odysseus is going to synchronize our orbit with the planet’s rotation, keeping us beyond the range of the scanners at the airfield so we can depart undetected. As long as no one tries to contact the ship while we’re gone, our secret should be safe. When do you expect we’ll be returning?”
The Reyota exchanged a meaningful look. Another telepathic conversation, Ixbeth guessed. “Barring complications, we should be back well before anyone becomes curious enough to investigate,” Yorell assured him. “Arfan and I have taken a travel leave from the High Council. It’s something we do periodically, so it shouldn’t arouse any suspicions. Ixbeth—”
“—is spending time with the Humans aboard this vessel for research purposes, in preparation for writing a textbook,” Ixbeth interrupted her. “During that period, Ellisan will be assisting the other docents at the Archives. I’ve told the Council of Docents that I’ll be unavailable for as long as the Earth ship remains in orbit around Kula’as.”
All eyes turned next to Gorse, whose expression was a mask of indifference.
“No one is going to miss me if I’m absent for a while,” he said.
“No one? But what about your family on Kula’as?” demanded Ixbeth. “What about Salven, your superior at the transportation factorium?”
“Salven is my family on Kula’as. We’re sibs, and she’s accustomed to seeing me come and go without explanation. I’m often away for moontides at a time. As I said, I won’t be missed,” he concluded, giving each of his final words equal emphasis.
Dissatisfaction. Nonetheless, Yorell did not challenge his answer. “And your crew, Captain? We know that this is an exploration craft, and that you’re accustomed to granting them opportunities to visit the worlds you discover. Are you planning to do that when we arrive at Dimmla?”
“No. Not all crew members get to explore every new planet we come across. In any case, my people understand how diplomatically significant this voyage is, so shore leave of any duration is being regarded as a special privilege, extended only to the authorized few. The scientists currently visiting the Archives have been fed a suitable cover story and are under strict orders to maintain the fiction that we are still in orbit. The rest of the crew have been told that we’re ferrying Ixbeth back to her birth world for a reunion with her family, whom she has not seen in two years. Any additional officers required for the mission will be briefed and sworn to secrecy on an as-needed basis. Any necessary revisions to our ‘official explanation’ will be made as we go. And now it’s my turn to ask questions,” Takamura announced, getting to his feet. “Mr. Pirrit, what can you tell us about the alien technology already installed on this ship?”
“I’ve had a look at your modified shield generator, Captain,” he replied, “and I’ve inspected the workings of Lania’s computer.” He paused, appearing to savor the taste of the expectancy his words had created.
“And?” prompted Dedrick, clearly in no mood for suspense.
“The technology is not Kularian, but you definitely have Kularian shields.”
Unease. Takamura shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “What does that mean, exactly?”
Gorse paused again, visibly searching his mind for the right words. Finally, he said, “Are there Humans who need no instruction because they understand instinctively how to do complex things?”
“Yes,” Deneuve told him. “We call them naturals. If they’re children, we call them prodigies.”
“Then Lania is an engineering prodigy,” declared Gorse. “In her computer I found wires made from different metals fused together in very specific ways and wrapped in a variety of manufactured materials. Each metal has its own characteristics and limitations, but when alloyed and carrying psi energy through a synthetic conduit— It’s as though she knew intuitively how to assemble Earth-made substances to duplicate the properties of alien components. Quite remarkable, actually.”
Impatience. “Can you alter this hybridized technology to enable the Marco Polo to open a Gate into the pocket universe?” Takamura wanted to know.
“You mean a space gate? No, but I can supplement it with a compatible form of Kularian technology, and that should do what we need. First, however, we’ll have to segregate the Human and non-Human technologies from each other aboard the ship. Ideally, whenever one of them is operating, the other should be completely shut down.”
Alarm. “Completely? Including life support?” demanded Dedrick.
“I did say ‘ideally’,” Gorse replied. “What you have to understand, Commander, is that we’re talking about a greedy technology. It’s like a living creature with a gluttonous appetite for energy. We Kularians can provide it with a generous supply of psi power, but if the beast becomes aware of the ship as another source of nourishment, it will feed on that as well.”
“As it’s done once before,” remarked Takamura, “destabilizing almost every system. All right, then. Order some emergency drills once we’re under way, Mister Dedrick. Let’s see how low we can dial everything down without endangering the passengers and crew.” Addressing Gorse once more, he asked, “And how does the computer fit into this?”
“The last time the shields were activated, Lania was the sender and her computer was the controller,” Gorse explained. “Together with all the energy that the shields drained from the ship, that was sufficient to activate and maintain them. Creating space gates requires much more power, and that in turn demands an organic lens to handle it. On a Kularian ship there were usually twelve senders, plus one very strong talent to focus and direct the psi energy. We don’t have twelve senders. Instead, we have two naturally strong talents, one of which has served as a focusing lens before. That’s why I brought the headnet with me. It will increase Lania’s psi output to the equivalent of a dozen Kularian senders, and the only resonance patterns Ixbeth will have to integrate will be Lania’s and the ship’s.”
Dedrick opened his mouth as though to speak, then closed it again, his aura darkening.
“So, you can make this work?” said the captain.
“I believe I can,” Gorse confirmed.
Satisfaction. “Then we’re a go,” Takamura announced to the room. “In four standard hours we’ll plant Odysseus’s vessel in orbit and depart for the Dimmlesi system.”
“You seem to know a great deal about psi-driven technology, Pirrit,” commented D’Ull, scowling, as the meeting broke up.
Unexpectedly, Gorse grinned at him. “That’s because I’m a natural, Arfan.”
—— «» ——
The Marco Polo had been in space for nine days, an uneventful journey that had given most of her crew little more to do than find ways to pass the time. The Shared Programmable Activities room had been a busy part of the ship. So had the learning center in the community sector. A new Earth History course was proving to be quite popular. And Dedrick had reread Forrand’s datawafer three times, vowing each time never to look at it again because it gave the lie to everything Humans thought they knew about the past — doing to him, in essence, what Yorell had done to Gorse and Ixbeth back on Kula’as.
Dedrick had always believed that knowledge conferred power, but even that assumption was turning out to be wrong. It was raw information that translated into power. Knowledge — in particular, secret knowledge — simply sat on the mind like a scab, itching and tugging, begging to be picked at. He’d thought once or twice about sharing some of it with Leslie Eberhart, then dismissed that as a bad idea. There was enough tension between them already.
“Commander? I think we’re here.”
Pulled from his thoughts by the voice of the communications officer sitting behind him, Dedrick lifted his gaze to the forward viewscreen.
The Marco Polo had just emerged from a Gate on the margins of a system with four planets and eleven moons, seven of them circling the blue-gray gas giant farthest from an orange dwarf star. The first planet was an airless rock, burned brown by stellar energy and pocked and dimpled with craters. The second and third were medium-sized and too many shades of green to count. One of these two worlds had to be Dimmla.
“We are here,” Odysseus confirmed through his translator box.
His gaze fixed on the screen, Dedrick instructed the comm officer, “Summon the captain to the bridge, Mister Brandt.”
Moments later, Takamura stepped out of the tube car. He paused to take in the display on the viewscreen, then came alongside the captain’s chair. Dedrick had vacated it in deference to his rank, but Takamura remained standing. “Now what?” he asked.
“Now we wait,” said the box.
As they watched, two gray dots emerged from behind one of the seven nearest moons and sped to meet the new arrival, acquiring a familiar wedge shape as they drew closer. These Mitradean ships were much larger than Odysseus’s vessel, however, and they were armed.
“Weapons are locked onto us, Captain,” reported Harding from his console.
“Odysseus?” Takamura murmured.
“They will challenge before firing,” the box assured him.
“Open comm channels, Mister Brandt.”
“Aye, sir.”
Immediately they heard the stentorian voice of the craft sitting almost nose to nose with the Marco Polo. “Alien ship! You are in a forbidden sector of space! Withdraw at once or we will destroy you!”
Dedrick glanced at the tactical display and felt his skin begin to crawl. As he’d suspected, the second ship had taken a position below them, its weapons targeting the Marco Polo amidships. The community sector. More than half the crew were there, engaged in off duty activities. Blissfully unaware of the mortal danger they were in.
“Mitradean vessel, I am Captain Hiromasu Takamura, commanding the Earth ship Marco Polo. We have come on a mission of mercy and ask that you let us land shuttles on Dimmla and Altera.”
There was a long pause. At last, “You come from Kula’as,” the other pilot declared, his translator sounding like the voice of doom. “You come for the Kularians.”
Dedrick and Takamura traded looks. Evidently, the prolonged silence had been a telepathic exchange of information.
“And for the Thryggian ship that crashed on Dimmla,” Takamura added.
“No. We protect Dimmla. That one is ours,” came the reply.
“That one?” Dedrick repeated.
“Mitrades hate Thryggians,” Odysseus told them. “This pilot believes you intend to rescue the crew.”
Takamura frowned. “How do we convince him to let us have the ship?”
“You cannot,” said the box. “I can. Be quiet, please.”
Dedrick’s jaw nearly dropped. Please? Politeness was a first for this alien. Perhaps their Humanity was rubbing off on him.
“Captain, they’re standing down their weapons,” Harding reported.
“Earth ship, you have clearance to land on both planets.”
“What did you tell him, Odysseus?” demanded Takamura.
“Everything Lania Dedrick told me,” the box replied. And that was apparently all the answer they were going to get.
—— «» ——
They went to Altera first, parking the ship in orbit and sending a short-hopper down to the planet’s surface. At Gorse and Ixbeth’s request — and over the objections of the Reyota — Takamura had assigned Dedrick, Lania and the two Kularians to make the initial contact and recruit the brotherhood for their mission.
“Set us down there,” said Ixbeth, pointing through the viewport to the large swath of green adjacent to the Archives building. It wasn’t a smooth or easy landing, but Dedrick kept everything right side up. As soon as he’d cut power to the thrusters, she reached out telepathically.
Tal, we’re here. Two Humans and two Kularians. We have a proposal for the brotherhood.
Bring your group to the docents’ main meeting room. We have a proposal for you as well.
How are Mother and Father?
Waiting, with the others. Do not delay. There is much business to discuss.
Curiosity. Added to her own, it created a strong, smoky-sweet taste at the back of her throat. “What now?” said Dedrick.
“Now we go inside. Follow me.”
The moment Ixbeth’s feet touched the ground outside the shuttle, her sense hairs stiffened in warning, and her fingerclaws tried to extend. This place was not her Altera. Everything about it felt wrong. The air was too cold and the breeze much too strong. It swept in gusts across the commons, whipping the tall grass into a punishing frenzy. Even the light was harsher than she remembered. Forced to squint, Ixbeth peered around her at student habitats and outbuildings that seemed to hunker down against the weather like stolid sentries. The Archives building stood apart, pale and resolute and somehow reproachful. Reflexively, she felt a pang of guilt for having left it to suffer this fate.
“Are you all right, Ixbeth?” Gorse asked, raising his voice to be heard over the wailing of the wind.
Tasting his concern, she forced her lips to curve in a smile. “Yes,” she shouted back. “They want to meet with us. It’s over there.”
The little group began making its way toward the front doors of the central building. Gorse trekked beside Ixbeth, matching her pace, as the others struggled along behind them. Dedrick gathered Lania to his side and kept a steadying arm around her shoulders. They had to pick their steps carefully across the footpaths that serpentined outward from the Archives. Burgeoning vegetation had heaved and angled the stone tiles, turning once-level ground into a series of obstacles.
As the landing party neared the entrance, one of the doors swung inward, admitting them into the reception area. Ixbeth remembered it as a bright and bustling hub of learning, bubbling with laughter and ideas. Now it was a cold and empty cave with passages leading away from it into a seemingly endless gloom.
“Is this the right place? It looks dead,” Dedrick remarked.
Deep sadness. “It isn’t,” said Lania, speaking up for the first time since they’d boarded the short-hopper. “It’s just lonely. It knows it’s being left behind.”
Ixbeth gave her a sharp look. “They’re waiting for us in the docents’ meeting room,” she said, adding as an incentive, “It’s warmer there.”
With that, she picked a direction from memory and set off at a trot, trusting the rest of the group to follow.
The meeting room was hard to miss, especially in the dark. The door had been left ajar, releasing a shaft of light into the hallway to serve as a beacon. Ixbeth quickened her pace when she saw it. The others broke into a run to avoid falling too far behind her, and all four of them dashed across the threshold as though finishing a foot race.
The light in the room was unnaturally bright. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but eventually Ixbeth was able to see the beings whose auras she had sensed out in the corridor. They were sitting on benches around a polished wooden table that occupied most of the room. It was one of her father’s pieces — Krodus’s work was distinctive.
For a moment, all those expectant stares seemed to pin the newcomers in place.
Then, “Perfect timing,” declared Dallia. Ixbeth’s mother leaped to her feet and gestured to them to approach. “You must be chilled to your bones. Come have some hot caranth with us.”
In no time, space was made, seats were filled, and cups of steaming beverage appeared. Ixbeth sipped slowly and let her gaze wander around the table, noting the presence of her father and brother, as well as almost every docent she’d been assigned during her five years as a student at the Archives. Only a handful of these Kularians were unfamiliar to her — the four wearing purple robes who sat together at the head of the table, emanating austerity.
The brotherhood, Tal confirmed.
Instinctively, Ixbeth turned her eyes away from their faces as Ellisan’s title for her came to mind. Doshaya medhane. In this case, it more fittingly applied. And it explained a lot. The social imperative to mute one’s emotions in the presence of other empaths was bound to intensify around such august and intimidating beings. Her parents were probably waiting for a private moment in which to express their happiness at seeing her again. At least, she hoped so.
“Welcome back to Altera, Ixbeth Minegar,” said Docent Ribara, breaking into her thoughts. “Tal tells us that you’ve been awarded the title of docent. Our congratulations! In what discipline, if I may ask?”
“It’s a new discipline,” she replied. “I’m the Docent of Human Studies at the re-established Archives on Kula’as.”
“A new discipline for the new era,” commented Docent Quibbo, adding with amusement, “And you’ve brought along a pair of visual aids, I see.”
Chuckles rolled up and down the table, but Ixbeth — and the brotherhood, she noticed — didn’t share in the merriment.
Of course not. They had business to discuss. Filing away her doubts and speculations, she got down to it.
“This is Watch Commander Gael Dedrick, a senior officer on the Earth ship Marco Polo. It will be your transportation away from this system,” she announced, with emphasis on the second sentence.
“We’ve come to help,” Dedrick added earnestly.
“And we are grateful for that help, Watch Commander,” said one of the brothers. This was the leader, Ixbeth realized. His voice, like his aura, was deep and warm.
Sensing a telepathic prompt, Ixbeth continued the introductions. “Lania Dedrick is the commander’s defendee, and Gorse Pirrit is a returning Kularian and former chosen one. According to the Reyot Prime Docent, they are the two most dangerous beings in this arm of the galaxy.”
There was a snort of laughter, too quickly stilled for Ixbeth to identify its source.
Another of the brothers spoke up in measured tones. “The Earth ship carries Reyota.” It wasn’t a question.
“It does complicate the process,” a third observed, “but it may open further possibilities.”
“It may,” the first brother agreed. “Watch Commander, I believe you have a proposal for us?”
“I do, sir. The Reyota are convinced that the Thryggians have one of the psi-driven ships your ancestors used during the Great War, and that they’re manipulating Human DNA to produce beings with Kularian psi powers to operate it for them. Lania is a product of that experiment, and she has already demonstrated her Kularian abilities. To thwart the Thryggians, we are on a mission to retrieve the ship from its place of concealment in the Thryggian system, and we are asking for your help to ensure that we succeed. In exchange, Prime Docent Enne and her son, Reyot High Councilor Arfan D’Ull, promise to find your entire group a safe and private place where you can continue your studies. They also swear to keep your existence a secret, especially from the Great Council.”
Tal, don’t trust the Reyota. They know what the brotherhood have been working on and have no intention of letting them finish. Warn the others once we’ve left. Gorse and I are formulating a plan to save you.
Tal’s amber eyes widened briefly, but he did not respond. Meanwhile, the brothers were passing looks back and forth. Ixbeth stole a glance at Gorse. He was nodding. To himself? Or was he—?
“Indeed,” said the fourth brother with evident distaste. “The Reyota are well known for their secrecy. And for giving themselves preferential treatment at every opportunity. But truth has a habit of seeking the light. Soon everyone will know.”
“I don’t understand. Are you turning us down?” Dedrick asked.
“No,” the first brother replied. “We are making a counterproposal for you to take back to your ship. Look around this table, Watch Commander. What do you see?”
“Besides the four of us, I see fifteen Kularians wearing robes, one red and the rest blue or purple.”
“In our society, red is the color of a defender and blue is the color worn by a scholar,” the brother explained. “Those are inherited domains, not necessarily each being’s day-to-day work. Dallia is a defender, but also a midwife, and for the past year she has been growing and preparing our food. Krodus is a scholar, but also a furniture maker. He has been maintaining our living quarters. It is the same with all of them. They wear blue because they are the descendants of scholars, and to honor that heritage they agreed to stay behind and make it possible for the four of us in purple to focus exclusively on studying the ancient writings.
“We four are the brotherhood. We are all you’ll need to accomplish your mission, and we will happily join you in that endeavor if, and only if, those who have helped and served us during the past year will be permitted to return to their ancestral home world afterward. We chose seclusion long ago, and being isolated from society for an indefinite period of time is acceptable to us. To these others, however, it would be an undeserved hardship. They should be allowed to resume living their lives.”
“You want us to transport them to Kula’as once the mission is over?” said Dedrick. “I don’t see a problem with that. But what about you? Won’t you still need the kind of support they’ve been providing?”
“Perhaps,” the third brother replied. “In any case, we’re certain the Reyota will make appropriate arrangements for us.”
Carefully worded. Carefully omitting all mention of Tal, who had been studying under the brotherhood for years, and of the docents, all full-time scholars whose wearing of blue was anything but symbolic. Ixbeth had even heard Docent Ribara quote from the Dr’rava Kula’as between lectures. A shiver of excitement mingled with trepidation rippling through her, she darted a glance around the table. Every face was smiling. Every aura was serene and confident. Evidently, the brotherhood had devised their own plan, and all was well in hand.
Still, the pure-blooded Kularians on Dimmla had decided a year earlier not to return to Kula’as. They’d been convinced that their presence on the home world could only lead to bloody conflict. Had something changed?
Tal? What has happened here?
Don’t worry, Ixbeth. The brothers know what they’re doing. It will all come clear very soon.
The first brother took a deliberate sip from his cup and added, “There is just one more thing.”
—— «» ——
“What is this?” demanded D’Ull, thrusting the compupad back into Commander Dedrick’s hand.
Returning from Altera, the contact party had found Captain Takamura and the Reyota waiting for them on the landing deck. Ixbeth sampled the auras of the two Councilors from Reyi’it and was glad they’d yielded to Takamura’s authority and stayed behind on the Marco Polo. D’Ull’s temper and Yorell’s high-handedness — not to mention their telepathic eavesdropping ability — would only have prevented meaningful communication, making it all but impossible to get the brotherhood onside.
“It’s a written agreement,” Dedrick explained. “The scholars that Ixbeth told us about call themselves the brotherhood. They understand that we’re asking them to undertake a dangerous mission, one from which they may not return. While they’re perfectly willing to risk their own lives on the strength of a verbal contract with the two of you, they want to ensure that their household staff arrive safely home on Kula’as once the mission is over, regardless of how it turns out.”
Curiosity. “These scholars have household staff?” Takamura echoed.
“Yes, sir. There are eleven Kularian helpers in all, including Ixbeth’s family. They’ve been making sure the brotherhood are well cared for over the past year, so now the favor is being returned.” Looking directly at D’Ull, Dedrick continued, “The four scholars in the brotherhood are trusting that the Reyota will keep their promise and make appropriate arrangements for them if they survive the mission.”
“This is ridiculous,” D’Ull fumed. “It’s a secret mission, unsanctioned by any government. How can they expect us to sign a written agreement when, by definition, there can be no documentation of any kind?”
“Actually, it all seems quite reasonable to me,” said Dedrick, handing the compupad to his captain. The Humans were enjoying this. Ixbeth could taste their amusement.
Takamura scanned the text briefly and passed the device along to Yorell. “It’s been worded specifically to avoid getting us in trouble with the Galactic Great Council and either of our planetary Councils. Well done, Mister Dedrick.”
“Thank you, sir, but the brothers deserve most of the credit.”
Frowning, Yorell pored over the document. “It contains no mention of the mission or the Marco Polo. It does stipulate a time frame, however, and it makes Arfan and me personally responsible for delivering the eleven helpers safely to Kula’as.” She raised her head to stare with narrowed eyes at the Human officer. “Commander, did you tell them we were here?”
“They knew even before we arrived that the Marco Polo had Reyota aboard. All we did was supply your names for the final draft of the contract.”
D’Ull made an impatient sound. “This whole discussion is a waste of time. A document drafted by Humans and recorded on a Human-made device is unenforceable outside of Earth space, since Earth is not part of the Great Council.”
“Be that as it may, the brotherhood wanted me to tell you that this is the deal-breaker. If we want their help, you both have to sign the contract.” Dedrick gave them a helpless shrug.
“It doesn’t have to be stored on a Human-made device,” the captain added. “We can export the finished product to any technology you wish.”
D’Ull’s expression darkened. “Outrageous! Dictating terms to us? Who do these scholars think they’re dealing with?”
“With all due respect, Councilor, it sounds to me as though they know exactly who they’re dealing with,” said Gorse quietly.
The Reyota were cornered, and Yorell, at least, knew it. “Sign it, Arfan,” she instructed him with a sigh. “Let’s just finalize this and get them all on board so we can proceed with the mission.”