Doomsday minus 530 Earth days.
The white rat sitting on her haunches on Marion Ktumba’s green enameled lab table was identical to Yoko but considerably smaller, barely one quarter her mass. Tearing his gaze away from the bright little eyes that had been trained on him from the moment he’d entered the room, Townsend inquired, “What’s the verdict, Doc? Is she ready?”
Ktumba let out a sigh. “I wish we had more time for this.”
“I know. So do I. But if we want all forty Houses of Nandor standing with us when the Corvou arrive, we need to finalize our alliance with Trokerk as quickly as possible.”
“I appreciate the urgency of our situation, Mr. Townsend. However, we promised the Nandrians an immortal rat. Keiko hasn’t lived even one rat lifetime yet, and before we hand her over to the Nandrians in ssalssit essendi, I would really prefer to know beyond any doubt that she has inherited Yoko’s longevity.”
He glanced once again at the rodent on the table, whose fascination with him had apparently not waned. Keiko? It was probably a good thing they weren’t waiting to make the exchange. In his experience, people only gave names to animals they intended to keep as pets, and this rat had been created specifically to be given away.
“But she’s a clone,” he pointed out, “and unless I’m mistaken, that means she’s an exact genetic duplicate. How can she not have inherited every characteristic of her mother?”
“Cloning is not by any means an easy or perfect process, Mr. Townsend,” she informed him stiffly. “Genetic mutation can creep in at any stage, including mutations that reverse earlier mutations, such as the one Nayo Naguchi discovered that made it possible for him to extend the lifespans of his laboratory animals. Keiko is not my first attempt to clone Yoko, she’s my eighth. The others all spontaneously aborted or died shortly after birth. This one looks all right and checks out medically, but the only way to be sure the replication is perfect is to observe her over a period of time.”
“Unfortunately, Doctor, time is the one thing we haven’t got,” he reminded her.
She batted his comment aside. “What if it turns out Keiko is just an ordinary rat after all? When she dies a year or two after the ceremony, will the Nandrians be insulted and cancel the alliance? Or perhaps they’ll express their displeasure in a more physical way and kill everyone on the station. Can we really afford to take that risk?”
She was fretting. This was a first. Normally the Doc projected an intimidating air of authority. “Never argue with the Doc,” Ruby had advised him when he’d first arrived on Daisy Hub. “She always turns out to be right, and you don’t want to look like a fool.” However, he’d needed to establish his own authority as station manager. So, he’d held his ground when necessary, and they’d argued, and sometimes it had turned out that she was wrong after all. And typically, even when she backed down, it was as though she still believed she was right but would humor him, just this once.
Townsend had seen many sides of the Doc during the past couple of years. He’d seen her angry, determined, protective, and disapproving. He’d seen her impatient and skeptical, even scornful, on more than one occasion. But he’d never seen her worry about anything, until now. It gave him pause. It also underscored the gravity of the situation they were all in.
“I wouldn’t be too concerned about the Nandrians,” he assured her. “Based on what Holchuk has said about them, it’s a safe bet that the ‘living staff’ we’ll be receiving from their Hak’kor is nothing more than a cutting from a tree secretly growing somewhere inside his private compound on Nandor. If Keiko doesn’t have the longevity mutation, we’ll probably get a coded message from House Trokerk, asking us to quietly send them a replacement rat that does.”
She was unconvinced, he could tell. Her stony stare prompted him to continue, “The Nandrians aren’t stupid, Doc. They know an egg exchange with an alien race is purely symbolic, or they wouldn’t have agreed to this one. They also know that Keiko is cloned from an actual ‘immortal’ animal, and that we can produce as many Keikos as necessary to ensure that they eventually have one with the right genome.”
Grudgingly, her expression relaxed. “Well, I hope you’re right, Mr. Townsend, about all of it, because this alliance could literally make the difference between life and death, not only for everyone aboard this station, but for every Human on Earth as well.”
As if that weren’t already at the forefront of his mind, Townsend thought, biting back the retort that had leaped onto his tongue.
“Go ahead and make the arrangements for the final ritual,” she told him. “I’ll draw up a list of instructions on the care and feeding of a rattus norvegicus. And if Ajda Gray is going to be cultivating a Nandrian sacred tree on the food production deck, she will need instructions as well.”
“Of course,” he replied, stung by the realization that the Hub’s agronomist was overdue for an update. He and Ajda had spoken, it was true, but not for the past few intervals. As far as he knew, her current preparations for ssalssit essendi were focused on taking protective custody of a single branch. Growing a tree was bound to be a whole other challenge.
On his way to the tube car, he buzzed AdComm. “Lydia, I need to meet with Ajda Gray, Gavin Holchuk, and Max Karlov in the caf in sixteen minutes.”
Drew was not looking forward to this Nandrian ceremony. Every time he interacted with the large saurian warriors, he felt as though he was walking through a minefield on snowshoes. For a former cop who had spent years dealing with the worst of Humanity in New Chicago, that was saying something. However, he’d heard that knowledge was power. Perhaps an infusion of information was what he needed to settle his stomach.
Lunch had been over for more than an hour. Townsend paused just inside the caf doors and scanned the room, noting where several stragglers sat with empty plates in front of them. Then he headed toward his usual table in the far corner, arranged four chairs around it, and dropped onto one of them. A look in Jensen’s direction brought the chef bustling over almost immediately with a steaming pot of java and four empty mugs.
Holchuk and Ajda arrived together, on time. Karlov strolled over and joined them a minute later. At that point, Townsend was sipping from his second cup of Jensen’s famous sludge. He waited until the other three had helped themselves from the pot, then began:
“Ajda and I need to know more about ssalssit essendi, and you two are the experts. Holchuk, you first. What can you tell us about it?”
The Chief Cargo Inspector leaned back thoughtfully in his chair. “I don’t know everything, but following my adoption ceremony, I asked Nagor the same question. Here is how he explained it to me:
“Despite the bad blood that still exists among the Houses of Nandor, Houses will sometimes join forces temporarily to achieve a common purpose. This is an informal and very private arrangement, permissible when only Nandrians are involved. Any alliance of a Nandrian House with an alien House, however, has to be open and formal. It doesn’t happen often, and when it does, it’s a very solemn occasion. In their language, ssalssit essendi means ‘joining of futures’. It’s basically a wedding of two Houses, for better or for worse and, quite literally, until death do them part.”
“So, by completing the ritual with Trokerk, we’re committing to a permanent partnership?” Townsend asked. “Even though Daisy Hub itself could be destroyed by the Corvou in a year’s time, or decommissioned twenty years from now?”
“The same could be said about any of the buildings on Nandor, boss man. A House isn’t a physical structure — it’s all the people who identify with it. The point is, this is not a marriage of convenience for either side, and it can’t be entered into lightly. The only way it ends is with the death of everyone in one of the allied Houses. Any attempt to dissolve the joining before then would be considered an act of dishonor.”
Townsend’s gut instantly tightened as he recalled a previous conversation with Holchuk about the consequences of being caught cheating at tekl’hananni. “And the penalty for dishonor is death,” he murmured bleakly.
“Yeah. To be honest, though, I don’t see how we have a choice in the matter,” Holchuk told him. “The alliance with Trokerk gets us the support of the other thirty-nine Houses. And we’re going to need all forty Houses fighting with us against the Corvou if we’re to stand any chance at all.”
He was right. Townsend moved on. “Karlov, you’ve been through this ritual. How does it work?”
“Our ssalssit essendi took place on the Hak’kor’s ship, at a rendezvous point in a neighboring star system. The ceremony lasted nearly a full day. I have no idea how typical that is.”
“Let’s assume for the moment that ours will be similar,” said Townsend.
The Stragori shrugged. “If you think it will help. The Directorate selected three of their number, one to fill the role of Hak’kor, one to be the Kalufah, and one to represent the Second Shield. I was in the honor guard, escorting these three into the ceremonial chamber. In addition, representatives of the other Shields, Third to Twelfth, were chosen to participate. After the welcoming ceremony — which went on for about an hour — there were speeches. A couple dozen of them. Every Shield on both sides had to accept the alliance individually and swear to uphold it.”
Townsend turned to Holchuk. “Do we have every Shield represented on the Hub?”
“We do. When we began trading with the Nandrians, I assigned everyone on the crew manifest a number from three to twelve. Adopting the appearance of the Nandrian hierarchy simplified our dealings with them.”
“So, we’ll be sending a delegation to this ceremony and everyone will have a speaking part. I trust there will be scripts for them to follow?”
“There will be, boss man.”
“Good. Go on, Karlov.”
“The presentation of the hybrid child was a whole ceremony unto itself, with more speeches before and after, and a procession through the corridors of the ship.”
“Did you get anything in return?” Townsend asked.
“No. They’d already given us the genetic material we needed in order to create the infant. Our presentation to them was the second half of the exchange.”
“Did you at least see the living staff?”
“Briefly. It wasn’t that impressive, actually. It just looked like a trimmed tree branch.”
Holchuk cut in then. “It’s roughly a meter in length, sliced flat at both ends, and about the thickness of Ajda’s wrist.”
Townsend threw her a glance. She took it as her cue to speak.
“Jason Smith and I are designing a special case to hold it, and I’d like to reproduce the best environmental conditions to preserve it. That would include optimum constant temperature, humidity levels, and atmospheric composition,” she told them.
“I’m afraid you may be doing more than just preserving it,” Townsend said.
Her expression darkened. “Excuse me?”
“Mr. Holchuk will explain.”
All eyes turned to the Chief Cargo Inspector, who had inhaled his mouthful of java and was now loudly choking on it. Townsend repressed the urge to smack him between the shoulder blades.
“This is just my best guess,” Holchuk managed to say between coughs. “But for the living staff to remain immortal, it will probably have to be rooted and grown into a tree. I suspect that’s how it’s done on Nandor.”
Ajda sat bolt upright in her chair. “You’re joking!” she declared. “Have you any idea how difficult it is to grow a tree hydroponically? It took me years to get our Terran dwarf trees well enough established to bear edible fruit. It’s going to be ten times harder to do with an alien botanical.”
“We’ll get you whatever you need,” Townsend promised.
She shot him a look. “What I need right now is information. For starters, how large does this tree grow?”
Blank stares crisscrossed the table. “No idea,” Holchuk finally said. “The only one in existence is supposedly back on Serrussha.”
“But you just said—”
“The living staff is part of their religious mythology,” Karlov interrupted her. “If there are sacred trees on Nandor, the Hak’kor and the high speaker of each House are the only ones who know about it.”
“Uh-huh. I don’t suppose you can tell me what it eats, either?”
“What it eats?” Townsend repeated.
“Botanicals are living entities,” she explained with growing impatience. “They require nourishment, which they would normally extract from the soil, the air, and the water. If I’m going to reproduce the growing environment of this alien tree, I’ll need precise data about the nutrients it requires, the exact proportion in which to administer them, and how it absorbs them. Not every plant adapts well to a hydroponic system. So, it may be necessary to add a few cubic meters of Nandrian soil to my shopping list. Shall I go on?”
Clearly, this was going to be a much more complicated process than Drew had imagined.
“To get that kind of data, someone will have to talk to the Hak’kor of Trokerk,” said Holchuk. “That’s you, boss man.”
Townsend felt gooseflesh rise. Holchuk was right. Sending a subordinate to discuss such a delicate matter could only be construed as an insult.
Karlov pointedly cleared his throat. “There is someone else you could send in your place.” He paused for effect before continuing, “Your high speaker.”
“What exactly is a high speaker?” Ajda inquired warily.
“The Nandrian official who supervises religious observances for a House,” he explained. “This individual is also the custodian of the living staff, which is what you will become following the ritual.”
Frowning, she shifted in her seat. “You want me to impersonate a Human religious leader?”
“No,” Townsend assured her. “I want you to get all your questions answered and let the Hak’kor know what you need so we can pick it up at ssalssit essendi. Holchuk, is there a script for this?”
“No script, not even a protocol that I know of.”
“So, nothing to memorize and no lines to avoid crossing,” said Townsend, addressing her once more. “You can just be your charming self. And Holchuk will initiate contact with the Hak’kor to set things up.”
The other man froze momentarily, then swallowed his mouthful of java and sat back with a thoughtful expression on his face.
“Sure, boss man. No problem. The Hak’kor of Trokerk wants this alliance to succeed. He’ll find a way to make it happen.”
“Good!” Townsend turned to Karlov and asked, “How long can we put off ssalssit essendi and still give the Nandrians time to marshal their forces?”
The Stragori considered for a moment. “From what I’ve heard, they live in a state of battle readiness. Logically, the only time they should need is however long it takes for them to receive the call, relay it to all their ships, and then rendezvous at Daisy Hub.”
“That works for Trokerk. What about the other Houses?”
“Hard to say. However, mentioning the name ‘Corvou’ should speed up their reaction time. The Nandrians have a special hatred for those bugs.”
—— «» ——
“We’ve got a problem. A major one.”
Standing on L Deck with his two engineering specialists, Townsend took in the uncharacteristically somber expression of Devanan Singh and swallowed his next words. Of course, they had a problem. When didn’t they have one?
“Beale and Oolalong have checked and double-checked their work, and they can’t find any reason for this control panel not to operate as expected. And yet, it won’t. We can’t even get it to draw power from a source.”
“They’ve duplicated the schematics exactly?”
“To the very last connection,” Gouryas confirmed.
“And you’re certain you got the full set of diagrams?”
“As certain as we can be,” Singh replied. “Rodrigues wouldn’t let us look inside the panel on Zulu, but every component depicted on the schematics was found in the bags of spare parts we brought back with us. And before you ask the inevitable silly question, there were no pieces left over once the panel was assembled. Everything was useful, and everything was used.”
“This was a clean job,” Gouryas declared, slapping the back of one hand into the palm of the other for emphasis. “The device should be working. But it’s not, and we don’t know why.”
“You said the main console on Zulu had been retrofitted with this control panel. When you were there, did you notice anything special about the way it was mounted?” Townsend inquired.
“We thought about that,” Singh told him, “but no. On cursory inspection — the only kind Rodrigues would let us conduct — the one thing that raised questions in my mind was the same thing I’ve been puzzling over ever since the field generators were installed. It’s alien technology, using alien-sourced materials. How is it able to interface with an Earth-origin control system?”
Gouryas spat a derisive syllable. “That’s no mystery,” he said. “The Nandrians must have researched our technology ahead of time and custom-built the generators for Zulu and the Hub.”
“If that were the case, the control panel we’ve just assembled out of replacement parts from the Zoo should, at the very least, be attempting to connect with our power supply,” Singh reasoned, “and it’s not. I hate to suggest this, but I think there may have been a component or two missing from the Rangers’ spare parts locker.”
“A fix that didn’t appear on the schematics?” Townsend thought for a moment. “You think it might have been a deliberate omission?”
“Honestly, I don’t know what to think at this point,” Singh replied. “All I do know is that without any control over the invisibility field, and with no Devil Bug to assist DeVries with the reattachment of the docking modules, we’re in for a dicey time when the next tekl’hananni scoreboard goes up.”
He was right. If any House other than Trokerk was in the lead, that was definitely going to be a problem.