The EM pulse cannon was one of the most feared and effective weapons yet devised, which in its case didn’t refer to electromagnetic, but emotional maturity. It worked by manipulating the bioelectrical fields present in any carbon-based species with a centralized nervous system. Anyone caught in its area of effect immediately recognized any common ground they shared with their foes, threw down their weapons, and found a more constructive way to solve their problems. This usually involved a lot of hugging and off-key singing. It was devastating to troop morale, and its use was outlawed in much of known space.
The Lividites invented the EM pulse cannon after their intervention and subsequent rehabilitation. Most of their neighboring systems had spent a staggering amount of money and manpower building their military capacity to protect themselves against yet another Lividite invasion. After their racial about-face, the threat of war abated, yet the stockpiles remained.
It is an established sociological constant that a peoples’ capacity to mind their own business is inversely proportional to the number of weapons they have lying around. So inevitably, neighbor systems with their idle militaries went about starting trouble with each other over centuries-old grievances. Given that the Lividites had eschewed violence since their renaissance, the EM pulse cannon was a uniquely Lividite solution to the problem of their neighbors. No one knew more about manipulating emotions than the Lividites.
Unfortunately for D’armic, but fortunately for those who make their living in the defense industry, the wellspring of human aggression was so strong and buried so deep inside the lizard brain that the only effect the crews of Magellan and Bucephalus felt was—
“Does anyone else feel like watching a musical?” Allison asked. “Hamilton, maybe?”
“Meh,” Gruber said. “So long as it’s not Rocky Horror. I never understood the appeal.”
“Tiberius, how about your people?”
Inexplicably, Maximus was already eating popcorn. “We’re game, but Mr. Fletcher says Grease is right out.” Some hoots and grunting could be heard from out of frame. “Mr. Buttercup says he’s partial to My Fair Lady.”
“We’ll sort it out later.” Allison’s attention returned to the matter at hand. “Mr. D’armic, shall I presume that was your best shot?”
“Yes, it would appear so. Before you destroy my vessel, may I request that a short personal note be forwarded to my family?”
If the prospect of an imminent, violent death caused him any fear, Allison couldn’t spot it. These people must be hell at poker, she thought. “It doesn’t have to come to that. You’ve tried it your way. Maybe we can try my way this time?”
The gray face regarded her curiously for several heartbeats.
“Agreed, Allison Captain.”
* * *
The wrangling went on for over an hour. Not between the humans and the alien, but between Allison and Maximus. Allison argued for extending him full diplomatic courtesies. She wanted an honor guard to receive their guest. Maximus wanted guards of a different kind to escort him to the Bucephalus’s brig. Lieutenant Harris broke the logjam by volunteering to lead the honor guard and then to follow D’armic around “to make sure he doesn’t get lost.”
Then came the row over which ship would play host to their visitor. Allison thought a warship would send the wrong message, while Maximus was adamant his warship sent exactly the right message. Allison eventually won the argument when she explained Magellan posed a smaller security risk because she was six decades old and asked if Maximus really wanted “some nosy alien getting a peek at all your new toys.”
While all this was being sorted out, D’armic sat patiently in his command cave and wondered if it took humans this long to make a decision, how they’d ever gotten so deep into space in the first place.
Eventually, Jacqueline was sent on a round-trip shuttle ride to pick up Maximus, Felix, Harris, three other marines, and Mr. Buttercup. Everyone assembled outside of Shuttle Bay Two to await their visitor.
Despite its small size, D’armic’s cutter was much too large to fit inside the bay. Instead, he floated across the void in a vacuum suit. As soon as he was inside, Chief Billings slowly turned up the gravity plating until the alien’s feet gently touched the deck. Then Billings shut the clamshell doors and repressurized the bay. To everyone’s surprise, D’armic wiped his feet on the dachshund shoe brush.
Several minutes passed until the little man in the safety screen turned from red to green, and everyone filed into the bay to stand at parade ground attention. Their visitor’s helmet unlatched with a hiss. The members of the review snapped D’armic a crisp salute as his face was revealed. Except Mr. Buttercup; he was busy fidgeting with a holo-camera.
Allison stepped forward and extended a gloved hand. “Mr. D’armic, welcome aboard the AEUS Magellan.”
“Allison Captain. Thank you for receiving me.”
Even through his vac suit glove, the alien’s hand felt small and delicate, like grabbing a bundle of chopsticks.
“It’s my pleasure.” Allison started walking slowly down the line of officers. “May I introduce my first officer, Commander Marcel Gruber.”
Gruber nodded and extended his hand. “An honor, sir.”
Allison continued down the line. “My chief engineer, Steven Billings.”
“Mornin.’”
“My flight ops officer, Lieutenant Jacqueline Dorsett.”
Jacqueline shook hands with D’armic nervously. “Um, hello.”
“Captain Maximus Tiberius of the AEUS Bucephalus.”
Maximus nodded gravely. He did not offer his hand. “Mr. D’armic.”
“Tiberius Captain. Thank you for the restraint you showed in not filling my ‘yacht’ with holes.”
“Restraint, I trust, that I will not come to regret.” The threat hung in the air.
“Naturally.”
Allison cleared her throat and glared at Maximus. “Moving on. This is Lieutenant Thomas Harris, head of the Bucephalus’s security force.”
Harris smiled. “A pleasure.”
“And finally,” Allison said, “Felix Fletcher, our resident technical wizard.”
“No rank or title for you, Felix Fletcher?”
“No, I’m just a civilian. My responsibilities are … a work in progress.”
“I can relate to that.”
As they reached the end of the line, Allison led D’armic toward the inner door. “I must say your English is excellent. We thought you must be using a translator of some kind.”
“There is no need. English is used as an unofficial bridge language through much of Assembly space.”
Allison was stunned enough that she stumbled into the next sentence. “But then how … I mean, what, er, why English?”
“Because it is easy to learn.”
Allison ignored the implication. English was possibly the most arbitrary, patchwork language Earth had ever produced. “All right, but learn it from where?”
“Sesame Street.”
Allison blinked. “The ancient kid’s show with the talking carpets?”
“Yes. It is very helpful. We’ve been airing reruns for centuries.”
“But wait. If you all speak English, why are your communications still in six different languages?”
D’armic’s head inclined toward the elongated silver hourglass sitting in its cradle in the corner of the bay. His scrutinizing gaze returned to Allison. “As I said, English is used as an unofficial bridge. Officially, the Assembly works to preserve the cultures of member races. We have learned that there are limits to the benefits of homogenization. But before we continue, I must insist on reviewing your sensor records. Geocide is a grave matter, especially among my people.”
“Your home world was destroyed?”
“No.”
“Well, if your world wasn’t…”
D’armic’s blank face provided Allison with the answer. A chill shot through her body.
“Oh. I see. I’ve made arrangements for you to meet with Maggie, under Lieutenant Harris’s supervision. Maggie has been instructed to provide you with any data you require.”
Maximus coughed.
“Within the parameters of your inquiry, of course,” Allison added. “However, we have some questions of our own, such as what Solonis B was doing covered in human settlements. And the purpose of this ‘Human Wildlife Preserve.’”
“In due course, Allison Captain. Where can I find this Maggie?”
“All around you,” Magellan said from the ceiling.
D’armic stopped short and looked up, then looked at Allison. “Your ship has an AI?”
Allison shrugged. “It would be more accurate to say that the ship is an AI. Surely your vessel has something like her?”
“No, my own consciousness serves as the primary data integrator. The races of the Assembly have a history with intelligent machines.”
Centuries of bad sci-fi cinema bubbled to the surface of Allison’s mind. “A war?”
“Oh, no, quite the opposite. Once the machines could self-replicate, they began to evolve along similar paths as organic life. Inevitably, they became just as lazy and complacent as their creators. Except the speed of technological evolution meant the whole process took three cycles instead of three million.”
“What happened to them?”
“They’re still around, mostly complaining that the Assembly isn’t doing enough to put unemployed factory robots back to work. But now, we really must move forward.”
* * *
Several hours passed by while Allison, Maximus, Felix, Jacqueline, Billings, and Gruber stood in the hall outside Magellan’s conference room like unruly students waiting to be called into the principal’s office. While at first the wait had been punctuated with speculation and heated arguments, the group had sat down and settled into a tense quiet.
“Anyone have a deck of cards?” Billings asked.
Without warning or fanfare, the door slid open and the wide face of Lieutenant Harris peered into the hall.
“Sir? Ma’am? He’s finished. He’s asking to see you and the other senior officers.”
Maximus stood and stretched his arms. “About time. My legs are falling asleep. Not good at sitting still, me.”
“You, impatient?” Allison asked. “What an earth-shattering surprise.”
Everyone else stood without a word and filed into the conference room and took a waiting seat. Allison sat at one head of the table, while Maximus plopped heavily into the other. The ample, hirsute frame of Mr. Buttercup grunted softly as he filmed the proceedings from a corner of the room.
D’armic, either by coincidence or design, sat in one of the middle chairs, flanked by Harris and Tillman. “Thank you, Allison Captain, for the access to your records. With them, I have been able to conclusively eliminate either of your vessels from suspicion in the geocide of Culpus-Alam.”
“As we knew you would.” Allison shifted in her seat and leaned forward. “May I ask how you came to the answer?”
“Yes. Your ships are not physically capable of the attack. They are too primitive.”
If anyone had been looking at Felix, they would have seen his lips bunch up and his left eye quiver involuntarily. Jacqueline was such a person, but not because she was looking at Felix. No, sir. She just caught it out of the corner of her eye. And she was only looking in that direction because of that fly buzzing around. There had been a fly, hadn’t there? Sure there was.
“In what way are they ‘primitive’?” Felix asked with forced calm.
“Oh, in many ways, but the one relevant to my investigation is your high-space portal.”
“High-space?”
“Yes, the extradimensional space located one plane above our own that—”
“Permits speeds faster than light relative to our universe,” Felix finished for him. “We call it hyperspace. So what’s wrong with my hyperspace projector design?”
“Nothing is ‘wrong’ with it, precisely. Merely, it appears to be an upsized version of a design we use for opening small communications portals. We utilize a more efficient design for transportation.”
“And how exactly do you know that?” Maximus slapped a palm on the table. “Lieutenant Harris, were my instructions not to share classified material unclear?”
“Your lieutenant is not at fault, Tiberius Captain. He executed his orders faithfully. I inferred the design based on the portal’s observed geometry, rate of expansion, and emission characteristics. It was a simple deduction to make.”
“I see. My apologies, Harris.”
“But then, how did that convince you we didn’t destroy Solonis B?” Allison asked.
“Simple. The design you have adapted from our missing buoy does not scale linearly. There comes a breaking point where the portal becomes unstable and collapses, regardless of the amount of energy you introduce. Your design is incapable of generating a portal larger than 6,307.7 regressing of your meters.”
Maximus looked at Felix, stewing in his chair. “Is that true, Mr. Fletcher?”
“Yes, theoretically. Our simulations predicted that a window would collapse near six kilometers, but we haven’t tried to make one even a third that diameter yet.”
“Nor could you, at least not with the power limitations of the antiquated fusion reactors these vessels carry.”
Felix was feeling defensive and snarky. “What would you suggest instead? Antimatter?”
“I am not empowered to say.”
Maximus raised an eyebrow. “That’s all well and good, but you still haven’t answered Captain Ridgeway’s question. How does Mr. Fletcher’s teeny little projector problem exonerate us?”
“I was coming to that. The portal that destroyed Culpus-Alam was nearly seventy-five kilometers in diameter.”
“How do you destroy a planet with a hyper window?”
D’armic bowed his head to answer, but Felix beat him to it. “Just sit in the planet’s orbit and open up a window as it approaches. The window will bore through the planet, coring it like an apple.”
Allison picked up the reins. “And then the core and mantle collapse around the tunnel, causing two massive volcanoes, crust-shattering earthquakes, and sinkholes the size of states. Oh my God.”
Felix shook his head. “It shouldn’t be that easy to destroy an entire world.”
“Now you understand our concern. Anyone with a sufficiently powerful high-space portal is capable of wiping out entire ecosystems. It is a crime without equal, and the Assembly polices it without remorse.”
Billings cut in. “Well, I hate to throw sugar in the gas tank, but somebody destroyed Solonis B and all them people. And that somebody wanted you to think we done it, Mr. D’armic.”
“Steven’s right,” Allison said. “We were framed, and if it wasn’t you, then we have another player on the field.”
“No offense to our guest,” Maximus said, “but how do we know it wasn’t him? Are we taking his word on this?”
“Blabbing all the details to the people you’re trying to set up hardly seems like a sound strategy.”
“Criminals aren’t always the sharpest shanks in the cell.” He smirked to himself. “Oh, that’s a good one. Say that three times fast.”
D’armic put up a hand. “My cutter cannot generate a portal of that size. It has no need to. But now that you have been eliminated from my list of suspects, I must continue my investigation.”
This took Allison by surprise. “You’re leaving already?”
“Yes. Any time spent here is time gifted to the perpetrators. I cannot allow them the opportunity to escape or attack again.”
“But we just started. We still have questions.”
“Questions I am not empowered to answer. I must go, but I also must reacquire the buoy you have borrowed.”
Maximus pushed up from the table. “Whoa, slow down there. We’re not just going to let you help yourself to a parting gift and saunter out of here.”
“Very well, Tiberius Captain. However, you should know I anticipated this possibility, and my cutter has instructions to disable its fail-safes and detonate the reactor if I have not returned in the next … forty-three minutes.”
Maximus’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, but Allison was the first to act. “Maggie, bridge.”
“Connected, Captain.”
“Wheeler, make tracks away from Mr. D’armic’s ship, emergency g’s. Prescott, open a channel to the Bucephalus and wait—”
“That won’t help, Allison Captain. My cutter was also instructed to match my movements. The odds that you can outrun it are slim, at best.”
The tension was so thick; it could be battered, deep-fried, covered in powdered sugar, and sold at the Minnesota State Fair by the thousands.
Maximus leaned closer. “You’re bluffing.”
“Bluffing? I wouldn’t know where to begin. No, I am quite serious. Now, may I leave?”
Allison changed tactics. “Wheeler, cancel my last, but keep your ears open. Mr. D’armic. I respect your circumstances, but I ask you to remember that it was humans who perished on Solonis B. Humans who didn’t get there on their own. We opened our logs to help your investigation, with the understanding that you would return the favor.”
D’armic sat silently for several breaths. “I suppose, since you’ve already seen the project, as well as the fence, that the damage is already done. Very well. I will answer any questions you have about the Human Wildlife Preserve and our research project on Culpus-Alam. But remember, I have an appointment to keep.”
Allison tilted her head. “Can’t you shut it off from here?”
“No. The countdown can only be disabled manually from my command cave. There was a chance you might have tried to coerce my cooperation.”
Billings leaned back. “Damn. You play for keeps.”
“The galaxy provides us with wonder and danger in equal measure, Steven Chief. It is best to plan accordingly.”
“Let’s get started, then.” Allison ran a nervous hand through her hair. “What were the humans on Solonis B doing there, and where did they come from?”
“Solonis B, as you call it, was an anthropological experiment that has been running for many generations. The Assembly races projected long ago that human expansion would bring you into contact with the rest of the galactic community, eventually. We established the Culpus-Alam research station to model how humans react to new cultures.”
“Why go to all the trouble? You’ve already said you watch our broadcasts. Why not just monitor them?”
“Because they contradict. One program shows humans working with other races, but another centers on humans and aliens destroying each other. We were left with paradoxical representations of your race being noble and tolerant, but also irrational, violent, and bigoted. We had no way to know which was correct.”
Everyone exchanged looks around the table, not wanting to admit both versions were correct.
“All right, but presumably you didn’t just happen across a planet with humans already living on it. Where did they come from?”
“Earth, naturally. Isolated tribes were preferred for the base stock, but a random sampling was also used to offset the risks of inbreeding.”
“Let’s just hope you didn’t snatch anybody from Arkansas,” Maximus said. “Am I right? Nobody? Tough room.”
Allison tried to regain momentum. “Moving on. So you admit to abducting humans from Earth?”
“Yes, but not for several hundred years. Once enough subjects were gathered to ensure genetic diversity, that phase of the project ended.”
“Hundreds of years?”
“Yes, it was terminated in 2018, to be precise. As measured by the Gregorian calendar.”
Something piqued Felix’s attention. “Your people didn’t happen to be around New Mexico in 1947 by any chance?”
“Yes. It is seldom discussed. A research intern borrowed his supervisor’s craft to visit a romantic interest working in the Amazon basin, but crashed en route.”
“You mean to tell us the Roswell landing happened because a grad student stole the boss’s car to get laid?”
“Regretfully, that is true.”
Harris snorted. “We were told it was a weather balloon.”
“There is a degree of truth to that. A weather balloon is what he crashed into.”
Maximus reinserted himself into the discussion. “What of the Human Wildlife Preserve? If you thought we were going to dutifully cower behind your fence like domestic sheep, then your research didn’t give you very good insight into humanity.”
“Maximus Captain, you fundamentally misunderstand the purpose of the preserve. The fence was put in place to provide a buffer zone while your species developed. It was intended to warn off outsiders and keep them out of Earth space, not to bind humanity within it. That is why its message plays in the languages of the Assembly, instead of your own.”
Jacqueline put her hand in the air as if she were back in a classroom. “I had a question about the fence, if I may.” Allison nodded her approval. “Well, ever since we figured out what the buoy really was, um, there’s got to be a lot of buoys out there to make a thirty-light-year-radius sphere, yeah?”
“Yes. There are 4,323,325 of them, including the one you have here.”
Felix whistled softly, while all Billings could say was, “Dayum.”
Jacqueline continued, “But isn’t that wasteful? I mean, how many ships could you have built for the same money?”
“Oh, many thousands, I should expect. But understand that your viewpoint is limited by your own economic and manufacturing capabilities. Ours are somewhat more advanced.”
“Okay, fine. But that’s still a huge chunk of raw materials to tie up.”
“Not actually. You see, through a process we call parallel manufacturing, we only needed to construct the prototype. Copies are then provided for us.”
“Um, all right, but we have interchangeable parts and assembly lines, too.”
“You misunderstand, Jacqueline Lieutenant. We don’t assemble the duplicates. With parallel manufacturing, we build the prototype and then set parameters that define acceptable deviation from the core design. Then we harvest as many copies as needed from the multiverse.”
The explanation soared over everyone except Felix, who slapped his hands into a T. “Whoa, time-out! You mean to tell us that you have some sort of factory that trolls through parallel dimensions and steals the stuff that’s enough like what you need to build?”
“I can see how you might think that, given your current level of ethical development, but parallel manufacturing is by no means stealing.”
“Do you pay for the stuff?”
“No.”
“Do you ask before taking it?”
“Well, no.”
“Then it’s stealing. Holy crap. How would you feel if someone in a parallel reality suddenly ‘harvested’ your cutter?”
“That is highly improbable. Only a handful of other realities have developed the technology, and there are infinite realities to choose from.”
Chief Billings spoke up. “Is that how come I can never find my blasted left sock after doing my laundry?”
“That is one theory, Steven Chief, but there are others. All races struggle with this phenomenon, but none so much as the Centipodus. They have abandoned socks altogether.”
Felix wasn’t finished. “Yes, but how can you sit there and—”
Allison raised a hand, and calm returned. “Let’s try not to get caught up comparing values. Each culture is unique, and what works for one can be anathema to another.”
Felix’s head sank a centimeter. “Sorry, ma’am. And you, Mr. D’armic.”
“That’s all right, Felix. Now, Mr. D’armic, I want to know more about this ‘Assembly’ you keep referring to.”
D’armic’s eye slits narrowed, and he shifted in his chair, lingering for a time before answering. “I must be cautious in this, but surely you have already inferred much of what I’m about to say from the buoy. The Assembly of Sentient Species is a coalition spanning the Six Worlds. It acts much as your American/European Union: to further common goals, promote trade, and mediate disagreements between members.”
“The Six Worlds? We identified six distinct languages on the buoy and in its transmission. Is it safe to assume that there are six species in your Assembly?”
“No assumption is truly safe, Allison Captain. But in this instance, you are correct.”
Felix looked surprised. “You’ve only found half a dozen intelligent races? Our estimates put it close to a thousand.”
“I did not say that, Felix Mister. There are many more races in the galaxy, but for one reason or another they have either chosen not to join the Assembly, or have not been invited to do so. That is all I feel empowered to say.”
“How much space does the Assembly control? Where are they headquartered?” Maximus demanded.
“I am not going to discuss those details.”
“I don’t think you understand. Our mission is to find your leaders and open a dialogue. It’s why the Bucephalus was built, why we are out here.” Maximus stood up and started to pace around the table. “The fence was the impetus, but now Solonis B brings up new issues—abduction, breeding, and the question we’re both interested in, the destruction of a colony we didn’t even know we had. Our superiors want answers to those questions. We’re going to press forward, with or without your help.”
“I do not doubt you, Maximus Captain. However, I have my own mission, which precludes me from assisting you. We would not be talking now had I not suspected your ships of geocide. That superseded all other considerations, temporarily. Now, to avoid further contamination, I must leave.”
Allison snuck back into the conversation. “What ‘contamination’ are you talking about?”
“To your natural progress. That is another hard-won lesson from our history. Advancement through outside intervention can be an unhealthy thing. The frozen world ahead of us is testimony to that.”
“Can you elaborate on that?”
“I suppose so. You will discover as much if you land. Okim was a pre-nuclear society until a few hundred cycles ago. That changed when an Assembly survey vessel suffered a catastrophic pressure loss in orbit, killing the crew. It didn’t take the native population long to notice the new star in the night sky, and even less time to grab a telescope and realize its true nature. Energized by the discovery, their development accelerated. They launched a capsule to study the survey ship within a century. A research team was living on it a decade later. By the end of that cycle, they landed it. Their tech level and industry exploded. Their population doubled in a generation, as did their demand for energy and resources. They tapped into large reserves of hydrocarbons. Huge cities were constructed. But there were consequences to the progress. Industrial pollution led to environmental instability. Temperatures rose, coastal areas flooded—does this sound at all familiar?”
Allison nodded. “You could say that, but how does it lead to a snowball event?”
“Rather directly, actually. The Okim embraced the miracle of technology, and they turned to it again for their climate crisis. The sun-weeds were their answer.”
“By sun-weeds, you mean the enormous membranes orbiting the star?”
“Yes. They are self-replicating, quasi-organic machines. Reducing their pollution would mean reducing their standard of living. So instead, they opted to dial down their sun. It was the ideal solution, for a time.”
“What went wrong?”
“A kimro.”
“Pardon?”
“Please excuse me. Kimros are small, sightless creatures that dwell deep in the caves of my world. They are drawn to heat and have a habit of crawling into machinery and wreaking all manner of havoc.”
Billings chuckled. “Literal gremlins.”
“An apt approximation. In this case, the kimro was a fault in the sun-weed’s design. From what we can deduce, the reproduction mechanism was tested in low temperature, microgravity, and high radiation, but not in all three conditions simultaneously. Once in orbit, it failed, and the sun-weeds reproduced exponentially.”
“Freezing the planet, and creating our Twinkling Star,” Felix said. “But why didn’t they remove the weeds?”
“They tried, but the sun-weeds’ growth is fueled by a modified photosynthetic process. By the time the Okim realized what had happened, the weeds already grew faster than they could be destroyed.”
“Did they go extinct?”
“Not entirely. Once their fate was discovered, the Assembly sent relief vessels to relocate the survivors, but only a few thousand remained. Plans were drawn to destroy the sun-weeds and set Okim on a path to recovery, but they have proven to be quite resilient, and the Okim in exile have little political clout. Getting sufficient resources has been a problem for many cycles. Whenever the effort stalls, the sun-weeds replenish, and the problem rolls back down to the valley floor.”
Allison nodded, understanding. “Back to square one.”
“If you prefer.”
“We faced a similar situation at about the same time. We delayed until the last possible moment before acting, and even then, there were people who still believed our impact on the planet was a mistake or even a hoax. Doesn’t reflect well on our prospects, does it?”
“Not necessarily, Allison Captain. Throughout space, life is like electricity, preferring the path of least resistance. Awareness of this tendency is necessary to avoid its perils. But now, I am out of time. I cannot delay returning to my cutter any longer. Please arrange for the buoy to be transferred to my ship.”
“Yeah, about that,” Allison said slyly.
“This is not a negotiation, Allison Captain.”
“Isn’t it? Because here’s what I see. Your people abducted our planet’s citizens; now their descendants are dead and there is no way to rectify the situation. We borrowed, as you so delicately put it, your buoy. We’ve already made huge advances from studying it, and that genie isn’t going to be shoehorned back into the lamp. So reclaiming it doesn’t help you contain the ‘contamination’ to our development, but allowing us to keep it might be interpreted as a sign of good faith on your part. We advanced far enough to reach your fence, and our species has laws regarding salvage rights. Isn’t a gesture of respect and goodwill between our people worth a single buoy among millions?” Allison folded her hands on the table, and waited.
“You make a persuasive argument, Allison Captain. I can see why you are a leader among your people. You make keep the buoy. My report will reflect that it had been damaged beyond salvage in the process of your research.”
“Thank you, Mr. D’armic. Lieutenant Harris will show you back to the shuttle bay.”
Their visitor stood and gave a deep bow to the room. Then Harris accompanied him into the hall as the door shut behind them.
“Maggie?”
“Yes, Captain Ridgeway?”
“I want you to do a full-spectrum active scan of the planet below, but only until our guest is back aboard his ship.”
“Am I looking for anything in particular?”
“Yes, evidence of cities, heavy industry, anything that would support his story. Steven, I want you and Mr. Fletcher to run down to engineering and test that piece of sun-weed. See if it is what he says it is.”
“Don’t need to. The damned thing already grew by thirty square centimeters by the time I come up here for the meeting. It stopped when we shoved it in a box away from light.”
“All right. Fair enough.”
Maximus admired Allison as he leaned against the wall. “You don’t trust him, after all. Good. I was beginning to think you swallowed his story like a baby bird.”
“There is an old axiom I try to live by, Maximus,” she said. “Trust, but verify.”
* * *
D’armic’s cutter drifted clear before the Bucephalus and Magellan opened their high-space portals and aimed for their next target system. Moments later, he was alone.
Not what I had expected, but then, what ever is? He let his consciousness sink into the cutter’s systems, reviewing data it had collected in his absence. The Magellan had done a hard scan of Okim before he had returned. No surprise there.
A member of another race might have felt affronted by the human’s desire to confirm his story, but not a sober Lividite. After all, had he not done the same?
As inaugural greetings went, this one had been unusual. It isn’t every day that the first words said to a new species are an accusation of mass murder. Still, it could have gone worse.
Now there were more pressing matters to attend to. An updated report on his investigation had to be prepared for the bureau, and ultimately, the Assembly. Absolving the humans of the Culpus-Alam geocide was important, but it also meant he’d chased an echo while the scent trail weakened. Trimming the sun-weeds would have to wait. He needed to return to the scene of the crime and start over.
D’armic was coming about to leave when a new high-space portal opened ahead of him.
* * *
Vel Noric stabbed a claw at the Bureau of Frontier Resources cutter in the main display. “What the kark is that doing here?”
“Unknown, Vel. Why don’t you ask them?”
Noric’s arm lashed out and dug his claws into J’quol’s shoulder scales. He squeezed until the tips broke through the skin. Noric would have gladly kept on squeezing, but J’quol finally winced under the pain and went to a knee.
“You said something, Hedfer-Vel?”
“Forgive my imprecise speech, Vel.” J’quol kept his eyes averted, but otherwise seemed unshaken. The Hedfer-Vel didn’t reach to his shoulder, not even to staunch the blood as it pooled and ran down his uniform. “I merely intended to ask if we should hail the Bureau cutter and order them to account for themselves.”
Noric glared at his second-in-command. The whole episode felt calculated, and Noric wasn’t at all sure he’d come out ahead in the exchange. J’quol had again questioned his authority and challenged Noric’s strength. It hardly mattered that he’d relented. The crack in Noric’s foundation spread a little further regardless.
“It does not matter why they are present. The salient fact is, they are and are, therefore, witnesses. I am halting the operation.”
“What of the Kumer-Vel’s assignment?”
“It is fulfilled. The case against the humans is solid enough on the merit of Culpus-Alam alone. The Treaty of Pu’Lan makes that clear.”
“But Earth is not a signatory of that treaty,” J’quol said. “And a single incident can be argued to be accidental, especially with a race inexperienced in high-space travel. Only duplication would prove hostile intent.”
“Yes, our intent, when that cutter witnesses our involvement. Unless, of course, you suggest firing on an Assembly ship.”
“Not at all, Vel. I would never suggest harming a loyal servant of the Assembly. However, a human collaborator would be a different proposition…” J’quol trailed off to let the implication linger in the air between them.
Noric clawed at the thought. At first glance, the idea that a frontier manager, of all beings, would help a nascent human fleet to destroy a planet under his jurisdiction was laughable. But as he thought about it, Noric realized the preposterousness of the idea was probably its greatest strength. It was so ludicrous, no one would believe a sentient being could be stupid enough to invent it; therefore, it must be true.
Add to that the fact the Bureau of Frontier Resources was ironically overrun with Lividites, the very species who’d introduced geocide to the galaxy. The suggestion became irresistible. Snuffing the human fire before it could spread, while implicating the never-sufficiently-cursed Lividites? It was better than felling two jelbow stags with a single javelin.
The sensor interpreter intruded on Noric’s reflections. “Excuse me, Vel, but the cutter’s commander has just sent out a standard hail. Should we answer?”
“Of course we should. Tactical, unsheathe the ship. Sensor interpreter, open a channel and upload a slave protocol to the cutter’s computer.”
“Yes, Vel. What justification should I log for the slave?”
“Suspicion of collusion to commit geocide should do it, don’t you think?”
A sliver of sympathy went out to the commander of the cutter, who was about to have a very bad day indeed. But Noric’s sympathy for the stranger melted in the heat of his naked ambition. His lips pulled back to reveal double rows of serrated teeth.
“Should have stayed in the cave, my little Lividite.”