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Still The Most Dangerous Game
By Steven Gordon
Prologue
Tener Arlino was the best of the best. He was a Graftonite.
Graftonites had superfast reflexes that made them some of the most
sought after, and feared, gunmen in the galaxy.
And Tener Arlino wasn't just any Graftonite. He had won a Silver
Medal in distance shooting in the Graftonite Olympics of '32. That
meant he was just about the best of the best.
So when Arlino checked his electronic mail one day while sipping
a cup of gauche, he only raised an eyebrow slightly when he saw the
message. The one that said
"You will be dead in a month."
He discarded it, and went about his other business, thinking it
some practical joke. After all, who could challenge him?
***************************************************************
He was possibly the smartest man currently living in the known
galaxy. He was so brilliant that through his sheer force of intellect
he rose from humble beginnings to rule an Empire.
It was a small empire, as empires go--currently four solar
systems, while the League of United Planets occupied dozens, and the
Slurian Union a larger fraction of that--but even an Empire of four
systems was impressive, given what he started with.
Word of this man's brilliance had spread far and wide. To some he
was known as the Great Thinker, the man who had used his brains to take
over a planet and then make a small empire.
To others he was called the Terrible Thinker, because he was a
brutal dictator who would use nearly any means to achieve his end.
Brutality and murder were but tools in his arsenal.
To the larger Slurian Union he was a secret ally. The Terrible
Thinker did not think it a good idea to openly ally with one side or
another, but on occasion cooperated with the Slurians where common
interests were involved.
An emissary from the Slurians was secretly consorting with the
Terrible Thinker. This emissary was a Colonel in the fearsome Slurian
external intelligence service, the NGB. The Slurian Colonel's name was
Chedaski. He sat in front of the desk in the nondescript office and
willed himself not to react when the Terrible Thinker came in. He had
been briefed about the Thinker's odd appearance, but was still a little
started by those eyes.
********************************************************************
Two weeks later, Alino received another message.
"You will be dead in two weeks."
This time he was curious, or rather annoyed, enough to try to
trace the message. No luck.
One week later he received another message.
"You will be dead in a week."
Alino started taking precautions, guarding his back. He started
to get messages on a daily basis now, counting down the time until he
was to be killed.
********************************************************************
Colonel Chedaski outlined the problem to the Great Thinker. The
League was the natural enemy of the Slurian Union. The seductive
"freedoms" of the League planets had the potential to create chaos in
the orderly Slurian society. The League had to be subjugated.
But the Slurian Union had already fought a war with the League,
and things hadn't gone so well. In fact, things had gone rather badly,
and if it hadn't been for a hastily arranged cease fire, there might
not have been a future at all for the Slurian Union.
The Slurian Union needed allies. The Great Thinker's empire was
one such ally, but it was a small one. There were other small,
independent systems, but most didn't have a fleet of any size.
But there was one independent regime that did have significant
armed forces.
The June Directorate. A man of the people had taken power on the
planet June, and had quickly spread his influence throughout the former
Cahill Republic. The new ruler had inherited a substantial fleet of
nearly 400 warships. Those combined with the rebuilt Slurian fleet
could present a serious challenge to the League.
The problem: The League was directly between the Slurian Union
and the June Directorate. Sluria couldn't simply conquer the former
Cahill Republic and take their ships. Sluria's influence was also
limited because the new Directorate was proving to have quite an
effective counter-intelligence unit.
So the NGB decided to turn to outside help. The Great Thinker, it
was known, had a history with the ruler of the new Directorate and knew
a lot about him. With his tremendous brainpower, he should be able to
concoct a plan to get the Directorate to join in a loose alliance with
the Slurian Union.
Colonel Chedaski was only mildly surprised when, a few seconds
after explaining the problem, the Great Thinker proposed an immediate,
detailed answer.
***********************************************************************
"Today is the day!" read the message.
Alino looked at the message grimly. His blaster had been charged
and checked several times. He wasn't going to be hiding in his home
waiting for an attack.
He stepped out the front door of his home, a sprawling house on
several acres of land. He looked around, and breathed in the fresh air.
That relaxed him.
He didn't even see the attack coming, but he did feel the sharp
pain in his neck. In a second, he fell to the ground.
Alino got the impression that some time had passed when he awoke.
He found himself sitting in an ornate dining room with wide views of a
forest outside through giant windows.
As Alino looked around, he saw a man smiling at him. "Ah, you're
awake."
Alino immediately went for his blaster. It was gone, of course.
The man laughed. "I took that from you days ago, Mr. Alino."
"Who are you?"
"I have many names," said the man. "Some people call me The
Agonizer."
"Never heard of you," said Alino.
"Oh," said the man, looking disappointed. "Then you may know me
as Ernst Manheim Studt."
"Never heard of him either," said Alino.
"Hm," said Studt.
"What do you want?" said Alino
"Didn't you get my messages?" Studt asked. "Was my meaning not
clear?"
"You're the one? If you're going to kill me, why did you bring
me... where am I?"
"On my planet," said the "Agonizer". "I brought you here for a
little game, Mr. Alino."
"What game?"
"One of survival," said the Agonizer. "You see, I've been a
hunter all my life. But hunting animals has been too easy. There's not
only little challenge, but little... interaction. I value interaction
with my prey." He paused. "That's when I started hunting people. For a
time, I found it rewarding."
"That's nice," said Alino.
"But even that got to be too easy," said the Agonizer. "So I
armed my prey. But still I beat them. So I had to search for tougher
game."
"You want to kill me," said Alino.
"Kill you? Yes, that's part of it," said the Agonzier. "But
really, want I most want to do is HUNT you, Mr. Alino. Here is how it
will work. I will provide you with your blaster. I will hunt you in the
forest. If you can kill me, or stay alive for three days, which is 75
hours here, I will set you free."
"Do you know who I am?" said Alino.
"You're a famous Graftonite gunfighter," said the Agonizer.
"And you're no Graftonite." Alino curled his lip in disgust. "You
don't stand a chance."
"We'll see," said the Agonizer, with a small smile. "In the
meantime, would you like to try some dinner? I've done some research on
your favorite dishes, I think it will be to your liking."
***********************************************************************
Colonel Chedaski was immediately startled when the Great Thinker
proposed a solution to the problem of getting the Directorate to side
with the Slurian Union. Not only did the solution come within seconds
of Chedaski stating the problem, but the solution was very, very
detailed. Either the Great Thinker had been thinking of a similar
operation, or he was indeed a very, very quick thinker.
"There is only one catch, of course," said the Great Thinker.
"What?"
"The ruler of the June Directorate is Steven Quick. If your plan
is to work, he must never, ever know that I am involved."
Colonel Chedaski nodded. The reasons were obvious.
***********************************************************************
Alino hid in the forest. It had been nearly an entire day since
the hunt had begun. He had waited in ambush in a tree, but so far the
Agonizer hadn't shown up.
Suddenly, he felt a twinge in his shoulder and saw a blast of
light out of the corner of his eye. He checked his shoulder. He had
been lasered from a long distance. But the laser had been on the test
setting, so he barely felt it.
Alino looked around, but could find nothing.
The Agonizer was playing with him. He could have taken him out at
any time, and he was letting Alino know it.
***********************************************************************
"In order for this operation to success we will need a number of
capable operatives," said Colonel Chedaski.
"I'm sure your service can provide them in quantity," said the
Great Thinker.
The Great Thinker really wanted to keep a distance from this one
if he didn't want to use his own operatives, Chedaski thought. What did
the Great Thinker think, or fear, would happen if Steven Quick found
out he was involved?
"My people can perform most of the tasks, but the abduction of
the scientist could be difficult. He'll be heavily guarded."
"You'll need a capable hunter," said the Great Thinker.
"Do you have someone in mind?" Colonel Chedaski asked.
**********************************************************************
On the second day Alino set up an ambush for the Agonizer again,
crouching behind bushes near a clearing. He heard footsteps
approaching.
Suddenly, the footsteps stopped.
A blaster started blazing.
The bushes in front of Alino turned to flame. He turned, running.
Once again he had been detected first. Once again the Agonizer
could have finished him easily.
Tomorrow was the last day.
**********************************************************************
"If we do this, the League is going to send operatives to
investigate," said Chedaski.
"Almost certainly."
"They may even send their best. Column agents."
"Perhaps even one of the Eight," said the Great Thinker, getting
a far away look.
"Who do we have who can deal with one of the Eight?"
********************************************************************
Alino simply avoided confrontation on the third day. He ran and
ran, trying to keep moving so he wouldn't be an easy target. He checked
his watch. There was only an hour left. His heart pounding, he kept
running through the forest-
And tripped over a boot.
He lay there, looking up at a blaster muzzle.
"They always run on the last day," said the Agonizer, lowering
his weapon. "All I have to do is to know where to stand still, and wait
for you to pass by. You're as predictable as the rest."
"Why are you doing this?" said Alino.
"In your case, there isn't much of a reason," the Agonizer
sighed. "Still, maybe I can find someone else who will be a challenge."
Alino reached for his blaster, moving with the blindingly quick
speed of a Graftonite. But the Agonizer was even quicker, raising and
firing his blaster before Alino had the gun up.
As the life drained out of Alino, he heard these last words,
"They always think they're better than they actually are. Where will I
get a real challenge?"
********************************************************************
"I think I know just the man," said the Great Thinker. "He's very
capable."
"Can he handle this?"
"He enjoys a challenge," said the Great Thinker. "So, do we have
a deal?"
"I'll have to confirm it with my superiors, first," said Colonel
Chedaski.
"Naturally," said the Great Thinker, pouring them both drinks.
He held up his. "A toast: to the newest member of the Slurian
Alliance: Steven Quick and the June Directorate."
Chedaski held up his cup and drank. As he did, he couldn't help
but stare at what he had avoided all afternoon.
The Great Thinker's eyes. Those bizarre, white pupiled eyes.
Just like Steven Quick's.
Chapter 2 An Introduction to
Quick
He was a super genius.
That was an undisputed fact about Steven Quick, the undisputed
dictator of the June Directorate. Some people said that he was the
smartest living human being, if in fact, he was human at all.
For you see, there were those white eyes. That was the most
unnerving thing about him, those white eyes that simply stared. He was
so smart that he could almost always finish a visitor's sentence for
him. It was as if those eyes could read minds. But maybe, being a super
genius, he could see nearly all possibilities, and that gave him the
same prescience as a mind reader.
It was odd that many people who had heard of the Great Thinker
had never heard of Steven Quick; and many people who had heard of
Steven Quick had never heard of the Great Thinker. But then, their
respective empires were on opposite sides of inhabited space; the Great
Thinker's small set of four solar systems somewhat near Slurian space,
while the June Directorate was about as far about from Slurian space as
one can get, given that the massive League of United Planets was in
between the two.
So people who knew of the Great Thinker thought he was the
smartest being who had ever lived; and people who knew of Steven Quick
believed he was the smartest; and those who knew of both (there were
some) believed what they wished. But almost no one knew the other trait
that both had in common; for while Steven Quick made public
appearances, the Great Thinker almost never did, and his bright, white
eyes were a closely guarded secret.
For years, Steven Quick had hid his eyes as well, with colored
contact lenses. A cruel childhood had quickly taught him that those who
appeared different were the first to get picked on. It didn't help that
as a child he had an IQ smarter than that of most adults. Children
shunned him and adults felt sorry for him; but as he got older, the
adults began to feel threatened by him. His contemporaries couldn't
relate to him; his coworkers vastly underperformed by comparison; his
bosses feared he might get their positions; and women, well, women
weren't looking for someone so... different.
But when Steven Quick rose to head one of the largest
corporations on June, and then become governor of a large province, he
stopped wearing contact lenses. He had risen to such a level of power
that they were unnecessary. The white eyes unnerved people, but now
that he was undisputed dictator, they had to deal with it.
Not that he was a cruel dictator. He took power in a bloodless
coup after "losing" an election that his rivals had fixed. He had
abolished the Cahill Republic and given the government a new name, the
June Directorate. June was the capital of the old Republic, which
explained the first name. But why call it a Directorate?
"I want to run government leanly and efficiently, like a
corporation," Quick once said. "I know that's almost a contradiction in
terms, but I want to show that can be done. And the people at the top,
I and a few others, we'll be the directors of this new kind of
government corporation; hence, the directorate."
His advisors had advised against; no government in history had
ever been called a "directorate" before; it was too new, too different
for the masses to understand.
"If that's the hardest thing that the masses will have to get
used to, we'll be lucky," said Quick grimly.
It was now only four years into his reign. While he held absolute
power to himself, he mostly left people alone. The press was free,
although Quick felt free to resort to the courts if they went too far,
suing them for slander; and Quick funded a government run data service
which was free, and competed quite well in terms of circulation with
the non-governmental press.
People were free to say or do as they wished, as long as they
didn't commit crimes against their fellow citizens. They were even free
to speak out against the government, although, of course, the few who
took up arms were apprehended or put down.
Some liberties were greatly expanded. In the economic sphere
taxes were slashed in half. People had more spending power and more
ability to spend what they wished with their hard earned credits.
But as taxes were slashed so was the bureaucracy and the subsidy
system, creating joblessness. Director Quick decreed that the
government would give jobs to anyone who wanted them, but most of those
positions were in the areas of physical labor--made purposely
unpleasant, so people would seek out jobs in the private sector. As a
result the government, which formerly had employed half the population,
now employed less than 20%, or 10%, if one didn't count the military
and military support positions.
But perhaps the greatest freedom that Quick guaranteed, unlike
the Great Thinker's Empire, or the Slurian Union, was the freedom to
emigrate. Anyone who was unhappy was free to leave. In fact, the
government subsidized flights for one-way departures. Despite this
incentive, the numbers of job seekers and entrepreneurs looking for a
business friendly climate coming into the June Directorate had
increased, to such a point where, earlier that year, more people were
coming into the Directorate than leaving it.
Politically, the Directorate was at odds with its major neighbor,
the League, and officially neutral towards the Slurian Union. Quick was
well aware that the League had opposed his ascension to power, but
neither did he trust the Slurians. What he did trust, however, was the
Directorate fleet, which currently numbered 400 warships, a number that
was increasing under a mass shipbuilding campaign that made the League
worried and the Slurians interested.
Such was the state of affairs when a young looking woman entered
Quick's office. Quick had many offices, but he conducted much of his
business from the White Office. One white wall near his desk had dozens
of monitors mounted on it, where it was said he could simultaneously
process what was going on all over his domain. Sitting in a cool white
suit, he sat back, watching the screens, as two individuals entered the
office.
The woman, one of Quick's executive assistants, was named
Madeline. Like most of the employees of the Directorate, she held Quick
in awe, but tried very hard not to show it, and was mostly successful.
That's one of the things he liked most about her.
"The two employees you asked to see are here," said Madeline.
"Also, the Slurian Ambassador is waiting."
"Have him wait a little longer," said Quick. He punched a key on
a keyboard, and data appeared on one of his many screens. "Roger Eber,
please step forward."
One of the two newcomers nervously stepped forward. "Director,"
he said, by way of greeting.
"You are the undersecretary in charge of administrating the
Directorate's social welfare programs," said Quick.
"Yes sir," said Eber.
"It was not a question," said Quick mildly. He punched a few more
buttons. "I see your caseload has fallen 75% in the past four years.
But your workforce has remained essentially the same size."
"Well yes, sir, but we are reviewing our workforce-"
"For four years?" said Quick, those white eyes staring at him.
"Four years? Really?"
"We have a reduction plan prepared to go, we have memos-"
"When were you planning to start trimming your excess staff?"
Quick asked.
"Well, I-"
"Wait!" said Quick dramatically, holding up a hand. He snapped
his fingers twice.
A bright orange cat jumped up on his white desk. The cat had
light and dark orange stripes.
"You may try to fool me," said Quick.
"I assure you, sir-"
"But you can't get away with lying to Mr. Cat," said Quick.
Eber looked confused.
"Tell him!" said Quick.
"Sir?'
"Tell Mr. Cat your staff reduction plans," said Quick.
Eber cleared his throat. "Sir, we planned-"
"You're not looking at him."
"Sir?"
"Show some respect. Look at the cat when you're talking to him."
Eber looked at Mr. Cat. Mr. Cat stared back at him.
"Closer," said Quick.
Eber moved closer.
"Closer," said Quick again.
Eber lowered his head, until his was almost level to Mr. Cat's,
and they were staring eye to eye.
"Now, finish your report."
"Well, ah-"
"Mr. Cat."
"Mr. C-cat," Eber stammered. "We planned to put in a 40%
reduction of the workforce in the next six months-"
"Mr. Cat?" said Quick.
The cat looked up at Quick.
"Is Undersecretary Eber speaking the truth?"
Mr. Cat looked at Eber, and then at Quick. Quick made the
slightest of gestures with his left hand.
Mr. Cat shook his head repeatedly.
"Mr. Cat doesn't believe you, Mr. Eber," said Quick. "I told you
not to try to deceive him."
Eber looked at the cat, then at Quick, then back at the cat
again, as if he couldn't believe what was going on.
"I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go," said Quick.
"Let me go?"
"You're being formally declassified, effective immediately."
"But... but if I'm declassified-"
"Yes, you'll have a chance to strike it rich in the private
sector," said Quick. "In a way, I almost envy you."
"But no one will hire me after I've been declassified," said
Eber.
"Well, then you can become an entrepreneur, and start your own
business," said Quick. "But if worst comes to worst, the government
will always be here for you. We guarantee a job for everyone."
"On a labor battalion?" said Eber.
"It's wonderful exercise," said Quick. He checked a chrono. "And
now I'm afraid I have to end this interview, we've already gone 42.4
seconds over the allotted time. Good day, Mr. Eber."
Guards came forward and escorted him out.
"The other employee you requested is here," said Madeline.
"Send him in," said Quick.
A thin young man entered the office. He didn't seem at all
intimidated by Quick.
"Your name is Gary Melberg," said Quick, studying a display.
"You're an administrator of the east coast computer network."
"Yes, Director Quick," said Melberg. He noticed Mr. Cat, and
raised an eyebrow.
"Your superiors report that you spend most of your days writing
jokes and relaxing."
"Yes, Director Quick."
Quick looked up at him. "Can you offer any reason why you
shouldn't be declassified?"
"I get all my work done," said Melberg. "Check it out. All top
marks. Human administration, infrastructure reports, monitoring."
"I have indeed checked out your work," said Quick. "It's
exemplary. If you had so much free time, why didn't your supervisor
give you more work?"
"I don't know," said Melberg. There was a pause. "Maybe he
thought it would take work away from other people."
Quick rolled his eyes. "Henceforth you are taking your
supervisor's job. You are now director of administration for the
computer network on the entire northwestern continent."
"And my boss?"
"He will take your job," said Quick. "Since he obviously has no
talent for administration, perhaps he needs more hands-on work."
"T-thank you, Director!" said Melberg.
Quick indicated the audience was over. As Melberg turned to
leave, however, Quick called him back. "And Melberg?"
Melberg turned. "Yes sir?"
"If I don't hear that you're keeping busy, I'm going to promote
you again."
"Y-yes sir," said Melberg.
"I believe you enjoy this work," said Madeline, after Melberg had
left.
"This is not work, this is comic relief," Quick snapped. "It's
been three years after I put a meticulous screening process in place,
and we still have cretins throughout the bureaucracy."
"Change takes time," said Madeline.
"But it shouldn't," said Quick. "Even calculating that people
react on average one tenth as fast as I do to new data, people should
have adjusted by now."
"Perhaps you're still setting expectations too high."
"Perhaps," said Quick. "Now get me the Slurian ambassador."
Ambassador Kemerov looked oily, or perhaps that was Quick's own
interpretation. He flashed a smile, which looked as false as a 19
gemble note. "Director Quick, it is a pleasure to meet with you again."
He looked at Quick's desk, and noticed Mr. Cat. "Director, you have an
animal on your desk."
"So I have," said Quick.
"A pet, director?"
"Yes," said Quick.
"He does not look fearsome," said Kemerov. "On Sluria, we use
pets to enforce discipline."
"Oh, believe me, Mr. Cat has his ways," said Quick. "Now what can
I do for you?"
"A number of things, Director," said Kemerov. "Primarily the
military cooperation agreement."
"Then your visit is premature," said Quick. "I'm not about to
enter into a military alliance with the Slurians."
"But the League is on your doorstep; who will protect you if they
attack?"
"My 400 ship fleet will offer some protection," said Quick.
"Against five times as many ships?" said Kemerov.
"Almost four and a half times," said Quick "And that assumes they
strip all their ships from the Slurian border, which seems unlikely."
"They still outnumber you. Without our protection, you will be a
tempting target."
"The League, whatever it's faults, has rarely attacked first,"
said Quick. "I'm afraid that's not a record that your Slurian Union has
been able to emulate."
"But they tried to topple your young government."
"So they did and here you are. But as I've told your
representatives before, I want to take things gradually. Let's start
with that economic cooperation agreement we discussed." Quick pressed a
button on one of his many keyboards.
"You are ready to agree to it?"
"With a few adjustments," said Quick. "I notice the trade treaty
has a few clauses protecting you. Such as refunds for any malfunctioned
goods we sent you, certain limitations of liabilities, and ability to
terminate the agreement on short notice."
"Just standard protections in all our treaties," said Kemerov.
"I'm sure," said Quick. "But I also noticed that none of those
standard protections apply to us. We can't terminate the trade
agreement without two years notice, we have unlimited liability, and we
even have to make credit payments if two way trade falls below a
certain level. Why is that?"
"Well, you have to understand, the Slurian Union is a much larger
trading partner to have a trade agreement with. To have the benefit of
such a larger trading partner, there must be certain... adjustments,"
said Kemerov.
"While the Slurian Union is five times the size of the June
Directorate, your aggregate Gross Interstellar Product is only slightly
larger than ours," said Quick. "So either we get the deal on the same
terms and the same protections as you do, or there's no deal."
Kemerov looked flabbergasted. "Director, I'm sure we can't extend
the same protections that we safeguard for ourselves. It's not Slurian
policy-"
"Then we have nothing further to discuss," said Quick, turning
his chair away. "The door is behind you."
The sounds of Quick typing on his keyboard could be heard. He had
already turned to his next matter.
Kemerov sat in silence for a moment. He had been ordered to get
this treaty at all costs. He cleared his throat. "Perhaps, just this
once, special adjustments could be made-"
Quick swiveled back to face him. "Present me a treaty where it
makes no difference where the words "Slurian Union" and "Directorate"
go, and perhaps I'll sign it. Or perhaps not; the League is offering me
a similar deal, without all your extra ka-ka."
"I'll have the treaty ready within a day!" said Kemerov.
"That's the spirit!" said Quick.
Kemerov sat there.
"What are you waiting for?" Quick barked.
Kemerov scampered for the exit.
"Fools," Quick muttered. "I'm surrounded by fools, and people who
think I can be taken for one."
*****************************************************************
"A test," said Colonel Chedaski.
"A test," said the Great Thinker.
"My superiors are not convinced your plan can work. It will
require that Quick be fooled, and he is not so easy to fool," said
Chedaski.
"They do not believe in my plan?"
"Let's just say they'd like a demonstration of Quick's
fallibility," said Colonel Chedaski. "You have to understand our
position; if Quick sees through our efforts, our plan could have the
opposite effect, throwing him into alliance with the League."
"And so we must delay," said the Great Thinker. He looked
irritated. "Very well, you will have your demonstration."
*****************************************************************
Director Steven Quick sat and watched several holodisplays on his
screen. Several committee meetings were being held--energy, water,
transportation, and infrastructure. He listened to the slow babble from
each group. At appropriate points he intervened, expediting matters to
get the conversation on point and the matter at hand quickly resolved.
Monitoring four different trains of thought were no problem for him; in
fact, he was also working on some other problems on his panel at the
same time.
Finally, after he could take no more of it, he intervened in each
meeting, redefining the precise issue in a way the others could
understand, and telling them the solution, or how to find the solution.
They nodded gratefully and thanked him, and their images faded.
Quick leaned back in his executive chair and sighed.
"You seem more impatient than usual," said Madeline.
"They're the smartest people. I recruited them myself. And yet
they dither and waste time at these pointless meetings."
"The meetings are not pointless. They are dealing with real
problems."
"Then why can't they get to the point?"
"They are," said Madeline. "But even they can't match your
analytical speed."
"I know," said Quick, sighing.
"Maybe you need a rest?" said Madeline.
"No, that would just bore me," said Quick.
"Then Deputy Secretary Vardeman would like to see you."
Quick sighed again. "Send her in."
Directorate Deputy Secretary of Foreign Relations Tara Vardeman
was young and successful. It also didn't hurt that she was pretty,
though if the Director was swayed by women, it was a closely kept
secret. His closest personal secretary, Madeline, was a woman, but
there was never a hint of a whisper of a relation between the two.
It was at the end of a routine meeting with the Director that
Vardeman brought up the matter. Everyone was standing up to leave when
Vardeman said, "Sir?"
Quick turned to face her.
"We--I have some evidence that one of our career officers is
embezzling funds."
"So? Turn it over to the Inspector General's office," said Quick,
sighing. Couldn't he find good employees anywhere?
"It's just, sir, I'm not sure the evidence is conclusive, and I
don't want to ruin the young man's career-"
Quick sighed again. "Send the evidence to my terminal and I'll
have a quick look." No pun was intended; everyone knew he could process
information more quickly than anyone.
"Yes sir, thank you sir."
That afternoon Quick called in a young diplomat named Seld
Arrity. "Mr. Arrity."
"D-director Quick," said Arrity, looking scared.
"Normally I don't deal with such low level cases as yours," said
Quick. He tapped one of these screens. "But your theft was particularly
flagrant. Did you really think you could get away with stealing two
million credits worth of relief supplies?"
"Sir?" said Arrity, looking confused.
"The evidence is all here, the electronic paper trail, your
personal access codes," said Quick. "The only reason I asked you here
is how long you thought you could do this and stay undetected."
"Sir, I don't know what you're talking about," said Arrity.
Quick sighed. "If you're going to play it that way, then it's not
worth wasting any more of my time. You're being declassified, of
course."
"De-declassified?"
"Your sentence will be five years in a punitive labor unit," said
Quick.
Arrity looked like he was about to faint.
"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Arrity tried to speak, but no words came out.
Quick shook his head. "It seems the only thing you're good at is
stealing." He motioned with his hand; guards took him away.
Quick turned to Madeline, who stepped out of the shadows.
"Will I ever get this government cleaned up?"
*********************************************************************
"So it was successful," said the Thinker. It was not a question,
but a statement.
"Yes, how did you know?" said Colonel Chedaski.
"Because I know him," said the Thinker. "He is not infallible;
present him with the proper data, and he will come to the conclusion we
want."
"Yes," said Chedaski.
"So I take it we have the approval of your security services to
proceed?" said the Thinker. For although it was his plan, it would fall
on the Slurians to carry it out.
"Yes," said Chedaski. "But it is still very dangerous."
"Then we will have to proceed carefully," said the Great Thinker.
Chapter 3 Enter the
Capybara
It was a time of exploration.
The League, and to a much lesser extent the Slurian Union and
other governments, sent out probes to explore the known galaxy. As only
a small amount of the galaxy had been explored, and only a tiny
fraction of that small amount had been settled by humans, there was
significant curiosity as to what was out there.
Although there were always rumors to the contrary, there had
never been any official contact with intelligent life above the animal
level ever since man had left the Earth and spread out among the stars.
Man found plant life, and other animals, but no truly sentient life, on
our level, or above.
For a time people thought that man was the only intelligent life
in the galaxy. But those who thought this could only think so for a
short period of time. For before long, evidence of an ancient
civilization appeared. Expeditions found artifacts belonging to a race
so technologically advanced that they more often than not could not
even figure out what the artifacts were or how they worked. With the
finding of the first few artifacts, the search for more intensified, in
the hopes of finding this advanced alien civilization.
But so far, nothing had been found.
Nothing, that is, except the monuments.
The monuments. Generally they were tall, black rectangular
objects, usually on empty planets, with alien writing on them.
Writing. Clues to the ancient aliens. The ancients. Or Chents, as
they were soon called.
The League sent ships far and wide to explore the galaxy. So did
the Slurians, to a much lesser degree, as they were focused on conquest
and utilitarian needs. Among the League explorers, one of those who
would become legendary was James Starr.
He traveled in a small scout ship, the Space Racer, and often
traveled alone, accustomed to not seeing human faces for weeks or
months. His only company was his robot companion, 200L, a very
primitive, mechanical looking robot. Despite appearances, however, 200L
had quite an advanced brain. 200L was Starr's "secretary", companion,
and sounding board for his ideas.
The Space Racer approached a planet in an uncharted system.
"Oxygen nitrogen atmosphere," said Starr, staring at the readouts
that reflected on his face. "Plant, animal life, and...."
"The source of the transmission?" said 200L.
For the past five days the Space Racer had been homing in on a
transmission that emanated from this system. They had traced the signal
to this system, and now traced it to this planet. And now..."
"The northern continent," said Starr.
"Any signs of civilization?"
The signal hadn't come from any known system. That implied an
alien intelligence. This could be their big discovery, an alien
society.
"No...," said Starr, still scanning. "It's just... wildlife. No
sign of artificial structures.... Wait. There."
An object appeared on his screen.
A very familiar object.
A monument.
The Space Racer touched down on an open field. A few hundred feet
away the black monument loomed.
"We should proceed with caution, James," said 200L, as they
stepped off the exit ramp.
Starr looked at the grassy field. The sound of rushing water
could be heard faintly in the distance.
"That's why I brought you to protect me," said Starr, as they
walked forward.
"I am unarmed," said 200L.
"I'm not," said Starr, patting the blaster strapped to his leg.
"A number of first contact teams have been lost or murdered
during encounters with monuments," said 200L. "And you only increase
the risk to yourself by traveling alone."
"Now, who would want to hurt me?" said Starr.
"Are you asking for an unabridged list?" 200L responded.
"Never mind," said Starr. "As I think of it, an alien is just a
friend you haven't met yet."
"Tell that to the explorer team which was found dissected by the
monument on-"
"Yes, well, you always keep bringing that one up," said Starr
crossly.
They were close to the monument now. Starr could see the alien
lettering, even from this distance.
"Look at this," said Starr, pointing to the side of the monument.
"This is completely different writing from the monument we found two
months ago."
He circled the monument. It seemed to be symmetrical. Starr took
readings with his scanner. "But it's built almost exactly like the
other monuments. Why would they build another one and then write in a
completely different language on it?"
"Perhaps more than one race built the monuments, or perhaps over
time their language changed," said 200L.
"Interesting proposition," said Starr, studying the lettering.
Suddenly, something flickered out on his scanner. "The signal has
stopped."
"It's probably no coincidence that it stopped with our arrival,"
said 200L. "Warning, James, this could be a trap."
"Well, keep an eye out for trouble," said Starr, still staring at
the lettering on the monument.
He stared at it for several minutes, taking notes on his datapad,
before 200L interrupted.
"Ah, James."
Starr continued to jot down notes.
"James," said 200L.
"What?" said Starr, not looking up.
"I really think you should pay attention," said 200L.
"To what?" said Starr, still not looking up.
"To the alien creature behind you."
Starr spun around, his blaster drawn. There, not 20 feet away,
under a tree, was a medium sized animal.
It was about four feet high, with rough brown fur. It had four
feet with webbed toes. It had a big rectangular shaped nose with large
whiskers. And it had big black eyes and small ears that fluttered in
the wind.
Starr turned his scanner on it. "Some kind of Rodentia."
"A very close resemblance to Rodentia Hydrochoeris," said 200L.
"Rodentia Hydrochoeris," said Starr, blinking. "A capybara. Yes,
it does look like a Capybara. If it is a Capybara, I wonder what it is
doing so far out here."
The Capybara stared at them with its big black eyes. The crunch
crunch sound they heard was the sound of something grinding between its
teeth. Every so often it would pick up something from the ground and
put it between its mouth and chew on it. But its gaze never, ever left
Starr.
Starr scanned further. "That's some kind of nut tree. It's eating
nuts."
"It could be dangerous," said 200L.
"It doesn't seem aggressive."
"It's unknown, and should be treated as dangerous," said 200L.
"Did I really program you to be so cautious?" said Starr. "I'm
armed; if it charges me, I can defend myself." He knelt down, and
stared at the Capybara. "But I'd rather have a conversation with it.
Think of what it could tell us about this monument."
"I very much doubt a simple vertebrate has the capacity for
speech, much less intelligent conversation," said 200L.
"I might (tweatle tweatle) surprise you," said the Capybara.
Starr's jaw dropped. The voice, in an almost musical tone, had
appeared to come from the Capybara's mouth (if, indeed, it was a
Capybara). Starr raised his blaster. "Who or what are you?"
"Who or what (tweatle tweatle) are you?" asked the Capybara.
Starr's eyes narrowed. "My name is James Starr, senior explorer,
League Survey Service."
"League Survey Service," said the Capybara. "Is that your
organizational unit?"
"Yes," said Starr. "I come from a race of people called human
beings. And you?"
"What is your function?"
"My function? I am an explorer," said Starr. "And you?"
"I am a (tweatle tweatle)," said the Capybara. "Oh dear, it
doesn't translate well. I am like an explorer, but more, perhaps
(tweatle tweatle) or (tweatle tweatle) would best describe it."
"Sorry?"
"A scientist, perhaps, or a learned being-"
"A professor, perhaps?"
"Professor," said the Capybara. "Yes, perhaps a Professor. I like
the sound of that; I think you can (tweatle tweatle) identify with
that. Yes, you may call me Professor."
"Well, Professor, how did you learn our language?" said Starr.
"I've been (tweatle tweatle) you since you landed," said the
Professor Capybara.
"You learned my language in several minutes?" said Starr.
"Why not? I had the time," said the Professor Capybara.
"But I haven't said all that much," said Starr.
"What was there to say?"
Talking to the creature was confusing. But it definitely was an
intelligent alien life form, the first anyone was known to have ever
encountered. And it seemed friendly enough.
"Did you send the signal from the monument?"
"Monument?"
Starr pointed to the black rectangular object behind him.
"Oh, is that what you call it. What a (tweatle tweatle) and
inappropriate term," said the Capybara.
"What should it be called?" Starr asked.
"Yes, I sent the (tweatle tweatle)," said the Capybara, avoiding
the last question.
"Why?"
"To meet you," said the Capybara.
"How did you know we would be in the area? We were light years
away when we received your signal."
"Can we go inside your space vessel? I'd like to (tweatle
tweatle) more."
The Capybara was being very evasive about answering his
questions. He seemed more interested in getting his own questions
answered. For a moment Starr considered consulting 200L. But he already
knew 200L would advise against letting the creature in the ship.
But this was the first intelligent life form anyone had ever
encountered! Maybe even the race who had constructed the monuments!
Starr decided to take a risk. "Sure."
He turned to go, but when he looked back, the Capybara was
scooping up something from the ground. Fallen nuts.
"What are you doing?"
"Gathering provisions," said the Capybara.
Two days later Starr had few more answers. But the Capybara had
peppered him with questions. He had allowed the Capybara to see the
ship's general database, which the creature seemed to absorb in only a
few minutes. "I want to go there," said the Capybara, pointing a webbed
finger at a planet. Will you take me?"
August. The capital of the League.
"Will you take me?" The Capybara repeated.
"Sure," said Starr numbly. He was about to make history.
He and 200L talked about it after they lifted off and the
Capybara was (resting?) in one of the aft compartments.
"Are you sure this is a good idea, James?" said 200L. "The
creature has told us practically nothing about itself. It may have
hostile intent."
"If it did, it could have attacked before now," said Starr.
"It may wait to attack until it reaches our capital," said 200L.
"What can one creature do against an entire planet?" said Starr.
"Perhaps he's an advance scout," said 200L. "Sent to study us, to
see how strong we our, to find our weaknesses, to plan for an
invasion."
"That's one possibility," said Starr. "He is very secretive. I'm
sure he has an agenda. But the only way we're going to find out what it
is is to take him to August."
"I just hope we're not making a big mistake," said 200L. "If he's
one of the Chent, we may be bringing unwanted attention to ourselves."
"Your race has a lot of fear, doesn't it?" said the Capybara,
padpadding from the aft compartment.
Starr gulped. The tension was so thick that one could almost cut
it with a electroblade.
"I am not human," said 200L.
"But you were programmed by them," said the Capybara. "What can I
do to (tweatle tweatle) allay your fears? Perhaps my appearance is a
problem."
Suddenly, in the blink of a second, the Capybara was wearing
spectacles. And then an old fashioned pipe stuck out of its mouth!
"What is that?" said Starr.
"I have studied your databases' references to (tweatle tweatle)
professors. Perhaps if I had some of the (tweatle tweatle) of a
professor, I would generate less fear among your populace."
"You're the first ah, alien we've ever encountered," said Starr.
"You're going to provoke enough fear as it is."
"Then, ah, perhaps we had better be (tweatle tweatle) discrete
about my introduction to your society," said the Professor.
"Perhaps we had better," Starr agreed. He stared at him.
The Capybara's whiskers twitched slightly, as his dark eyes
stared back at Starr through old fashioned spectacles.
This was going to require some explaining back at the base.
**********************************************************************
"I need a challenge," said Ernst Manheim Studt, sitting at his
terminal. Ivan, his servant, stood nervously in the background but he
was speaking mostly to himself.
"No, I'm tired of run of the mill killers," said Studt, watching
the names appear on the list.
More names appeared. Studt checked out their brief bios. "No,
that these. Aren't there any other fresh possibilities?"
He toyed around, searching different databases. Then he got an
idea, and tapped into a new database. He found a possibility, and gave
a smile as he read the description.
"Yes," said Studt. "Here's a killer who has style. Erno Keller."
"What style, master?" said Ivan, stepping forward to look at the
screen.
"Look at all the creative ways he's killed his victims--clubbing,
electrocution, acid, strangling... there's a whole list!" said Studt,
excitedly. "This is the one I want!"
"But master, look!" said Ivan, pointing at the screen.
"What?" said Studt.
"He's in prison," said Ivan.
"I'll have to see if I can get him out on parole," said Studt,
giving a grin.
Studt, dressed in a fancy black suit, approached the maximum
security prison on Whenfor and showed his ID on his datapad. The guard
looked at the ID, and then at Studt, and then let him in. Studt smiled
at him as he walked by.
Studt again presented his credentials to the warden.
"Why do you want to see him, Detective Studt?" the warden asked.
"We have an unsolved murder we think he can help with."
"Whatever it is, he probably committed it," said the warden.
"He's a monster."
"Yes, I'm sure," said Studt, smiling at the mention of the word
'monster'. "May I meet with him privately?"
"I'll arrange to have leg and wrist cuffs put on him."
"That won't be necessary," said Studt, smiling again.
The warden looked at Studt oddly. "He's already killed one guard
and wounded another."
"I can handle myself," said Studt.
The warden studied the man in the black suit. "Very well, but do
not say I didn't warn you."
Studt waited impatiently for almost an hour before Erno Keller
was brought to the small conference room. Two guards brought him there,
in cuffs. Studt put a hand in front of his mouth, and made a small
swallowing sound.
"You can remove those," said Studt mildly.
"Sir, this is a dangerous inmate!" said one of the guard.
"Please remove them, please." said Studt.
"You heard the man," said Keller, speaking in a mocking tone.
The guards removed the cuffs, and stood at the entrance.
"Please close the door and wait outside," said Studt.
"Sir, that's not advisable," said the guard.
Studt stared at the guard, and something deadly in his glare made
the guard comply without a further word. The door swung shut behind
Keller.
"So," said Keller, clenching and unclenching his fists. "What are
you? My latest social worker? Perhaps you'd be interested to hear what
I did to my last social worker."
"I probably would," said Studt, smiling. "But I have more
important business to discuss."
Keller slowly sat down, and stretched out his arms so that he
could grab Studt on a moment's notice. "What makes you think I'll let
you discuss anything?"
Studt leaned forward, putting his head in easy reach. "Because if
you want to escape tomorrow, you'll listen."
Keller looked off balance for the first time. "Who are you?"
"A friend."
"I have no friends," said Keller.
"You do now," said Studt. And he quickly told Keller the details
of the escape plan.
"That won't work," said Keller. "They'll shoot you down before
you land."
"Not if I land quickly."
"You can't land that fast."
"I have very good reflexes," said Studt.
"Do you?" Keller grinned. His hands flashed out, grabbing Studt
by the neck.
Or at least he tried to. Studt grabbed Keller's hands by the
wrist, and held them, unmoving. He squeezed hard, causing Keller to
gasp slightly.
"You are lively, I like that," said Studt, as if he were judging
a wild animal.
Keller struggled to free himself, but couldn't. The pain in his
wrists were building up.
"So, do you wish to escape, or not?"
Keller couldn't move either arm. With a flourish, Studt released
him. His arms went thumping down on the table before him.
"Well?" said Studt.
With a sheen of perspiration on his brow, Keller nodded.
The next morning Keller was standing in a precise spot in the
middle of the exercise yard. The guards on the walls heard the
unmistakable whine of a gravitator and raised their weapons-
And suddenly the gravitator came flashing into view, heading
towards the ground at an impossible velocity. At the last minute,
however, a precise amount of antigrav thrust was applied, and the
gravitator stopped, almost on a dime, with only a medium thud, only
inches away from Keller.
"Come on!" said Studt, to a very surprised looking Keller.
Studt was wrapped into the gravitator, a vertical column behind
him that defied gravity. Keller ran to Studt and wrapped his hands
around him and part of the column. The gravitator took off, shooting
into the air.
A few guards managed to get some shots off before it disappeared,
but none came close.
"I've never seen a gravitator go so far."
"A specially modified version for those with superior reflexes,"
Studt grinned.
Keller grinned back. Now that he was out of prison, he didn't
need Studt anymore.
"Set us down in an isolated place," he said, his hands moving to
encircle Studt's throat. "We have some unfinished business."
"Indeed we do," said Studt, smiling, as he pressed a hypospray
against Keller's leg. Keller slumped, supported only by Studt's arms.
Keller awoke in a chair in Studt's home on Studt's planet.
"Ah, you have rejoined us," said Studt, putting away the antidote
hypo. "And just in time for dinner, too. What timing."
Keller looked around.
"Don't bother thinking of escape. You and I are all alone on this
planet," said Studt.
"All alone?"
"Not counting Ivan," said Studt, watching Ivan start to serve
dishes in the adjacent dining room.
"Really?" said Keller, getting up and giving a wolfish smile.
Studt drew a blaster. "Really Mr. Keller. I admire your
enthusiasm, but can't you at least go through dinner without killing
anyone."
Keller looked at the blaster. There would be time, later. He sat
down at the dining room table, and started to eat the entree with his
fingers.
"Aren't you curious why I saved your life?"
"No," said Keller.
"No?"
"You're obviously some kind of deranged do-gooder, though I've
never met any social worker quite like you before," said Keller.
"My name is Ernst Manheim Studt," said Studt.
"Never heard of you."
"I am also known as the Agonizer."
"Nice name," said Keller.
Studt frowned. "You've never heard of me?"
"Not really," said Keller. "So what are we here for, social
rehab?"
"Not really," said Studt, smiling slightly. "We're here for the
hunt."
"What are we hunting?"
"Not we, Mr. Keller. I am the one doing the hunting," said Studt.
He smiled meaningfully.
That got his attention. Keller stopped eating. He stared at
Studt. Studt's blaster was not in his hand but was at his supper dish.
Keller paused a moment, and then reached out to lunge for Studt.
But Studt's hands were quicker, grabbing the blaster, and
shooting Keller. Keller slumped in his chair.
Ivan came out of the kitchen. "Master, will I only be serving
dessert for one?"
"Yes," said Studt. He sighed. "Perhaps I made a mistake. This one
is very rash."
"But lively, Master, you like that."
"Yes, well he's here, so he'll have to do," said Studt.
Keller woke up on a beach. He had a blaster holstered to his
side. Studt stood before him, a laser rifle in his hands.
Keller slowly stood up. "What is this?"
"The hunt begins in 90 seconds, Mr. Keller," said Studt. "You
must stay alive for three days or kill me in that time."
Keller slowly drew his blaster, and wet his lips. His thoughts
were obvious. Studt's hands were on his blaster.
"I will give you an hour's headstart," said Studt.
Keller paused a moment more.
"Now 45 minutes," said Studt.
"You said an hour!" said Keller.
"Your indecision bores me," said Studt.
Keller turned, and ran.
Studt returned to the house that evening, wearing a deeply
dissatisfied look. "What is wrong, Master?" said Ivan, as he prepared
dinner.
"I had to terminate Mr. Keller."
"So soon?"
"I located him with ease. When I told him to run, he drew his
weapon and ran towards me, said Studt. "He was an undisciplined
madman."
"So sorry, master," said Ivan.
"After all that effort, it's all been wasted," said Studt.
"Perhaps you need a more sophisticated killer," said Ivan.
"Or perhaps not a killer at all," said Studt. "Someone skilled in
the arts of deception. I will start a search, after dinner."
Chapter 4 The
Column Gets Involved
Quick sat in front of a large, five leveled chess board. From
time to time he keyed in moves, and then the computer quickly
responded. Quick had quickly mastered five dimensional chess and had
created a new version of the game, with larger boards and more pieces,
and more kinds of pieces. It was a game only he and the computer could
play. The problem was that Quick almost always beat the computer, which
would cause the tech team to scurry back to work to reprogram.
But it still took some effort and brainpower to win, which is
more than he could say for most games of logic and strategy. Therefore,
he played three such games at a time while he listened to the report
from an ad-hoc aeronautics committee. They were reporting on the
failure of a new spaceship design.
Quick listened abstractly as he continued to play. Since he was
the absolute ruler, he had no need to be polite and pretend to give his
undivided attention. Anyway, the others at the meeting knew he was
listening.
After a certain point in the meeting passed, Quick raised his
hand. "Stop. You've been explaining this for nearly eight minutes, and
still haven't gotten to the cause of the failure."
The lead engineer gulped. "Sir, I was trying to explain-"
"I'd like to arrive at a solution before we reach the fifteen
minute mark," said Quick. He was very jealous about the use of his
time. He felt that all issues and problems should be resolved
instantly. Being a genius, his mind worked so quickly that he felt that
others should too.
Of course, Quick was not so unrealistic to realize that even
though he had the best of the best working for him, that they couldn't
work at his level. Still, he often let his impatience get the better of
him.
Still holding up a restraining hand, Quick looked away from the
chess problems and studied the technical report.
One minute passed. Then two, then three, then four.
Then Quick started to type rapidly on his keyboard. A series of
formulas floated in the air around the table. One particle set of
formulas flashed.
"There was your error."
Another formula appeared.
"This is the solution."
The engineering team looked at the equation, and tried to-
"Implement it on the next test, and report back," said Quick.
He waved a hand, and the images of the participants around the
table faded.
Madeline stepped forward from where she had been waiting in a
corner of the room.
"14 minutes," said Quick. "Not bad."
"It might be nice if you let some of the other participants
speak," said Madeline.
"I did," said Quick. "For nearly eight minutes."
'I didn't realize you knew anything about rocket mechanics."
"I didn't," said Quick. "How do you think I spent those eight
minutes?"
"You learned enough about rocket science to solve the problem in
eight minutes?" said Madeline.
Quick sighed. "It wasn't necessary to learn the entire field.
Part of having the ability to quickly solve the problem is having the
ability to learn what is important and what isn't." He looked at her
expression. "You're not just here about that. Something's happened.
What?"
"There's been an incident on Carradine."
Carradine. A border planet, originally inhabited a small settler
group from the League. The League, for whatever reason, never expanded
its holdings, and so settlers from the nearby Cahill Republic came as
well. Flash forward a century later, and the settlers from the Cahill
Republic outnumbered the original Leaguers by nearly ten to one. And
the Cahill Republic, of course, had been replaced by the Directorate.
That was the problem. The League claimed the planet was theirs,
because they settled it first; the Directorate claimed the planet,
because most of the people who settled there were from the old Cahill
Republic. This was one of the largest but not the only flashpoint in
the tense relations with the League.
Quick pressed a button and a report appeared above the table in
front of him.
"One of the reactors was sabotaged," said Madeline.
"Sabotage? Are they sure?"
"Several guards were stunned," said Madeline. "Security managed
to stop them before they completed the meltdown, but the reactor will
be down for repairs for at least two weeks, causing rotating blackouts
all across the eastern continent."
"Who is responsible?" Quick asked.
"The Free Carradine movement," said Madeline. The Free Carradine
movement was group that wanted Carradine to be a League planet, not a
Directorate planet.
"The number of protests have increased as well," said Madeline.
"I've fed the data to your terminal."
Quick read the reports. There had been a marked increase in
demonstrations against the Directorate administration on Carradine. "It
looks like a vocal minority of a small minority is not happy."
"Not only that," said Madeline. "There's been a spike in anti-
Directorate sentiment in the League Media and the Senate. There's even
talk in some circles of military action to 'liberate' Carradine."
"They seemed content enough to let us have the planet when we
were the Cahill Republic," said Quick. "But now they're unhappy. What
are there, only 70,000 League settlers there?"
"72,040. You can see related statistics at the bottom of my
report," said Madeline. She was most thorough, and yet also concise,
which Quick liked.
"This problem has flared up in an unexpected way," said Quick.
"The League citizens are being treated equally to our own. My own
sociopolitical projections for Carradine didn't predict anything like
this."
"Then we should readjust our projections and take action
accordingly," said Madeline.
"Or, we should look for the root causes which we didn't
anticipate," said Quick. As he said it, there was a gleam in his white
eyes as he stared into space.....
The League of United Planets was the most powerful coalition of
colonized planets in the galaxy. It was administered by an elected
government on the planet August and stood for human rights and
democratic representation. A very large bureaucracy administered its
programs and a slightly less large military defended it. In addition,
the League had a number of external intelligence agencies working for
it. Stellar Intelligence was the largest such agency; but the most
renown agency was simply known as the Column.
And in the Column the most capable agents were known as Level One
Agents. There were traditionally only eight of those, who were known as
"The Eight." And of those eight most capable agents, perhaps the most
capable agent in all the League was at that moment staring critically
at a small, blobby mass in the main headquarters building on August.
"Why do I always get the jello?"
Superspy Clifford Croft made a grimace as he raised the
plastiform container off the cafeteria cart. He watched it jiggle
suspiciously as he shook it.
"What's the problem, Croft, you're holding up the line," grumbled
another spy in line behind him. His name was Preston.
"This is my problem," said Croft, holding up the jello. "We have
saved the League from destruction countless times, have we not?"
"They're countable," said Preston.
"I was the first agent to infiltrate the Happy Worlds and return
to tell about it, was I not?"
"You did get caught there," said Preston. "And they did brainwash
you for a time and turn you into a double agent."
Croft waved his hand dismissively. "That's only what I wanted
them to think. How many assassinations have I prevented, how many
governments have I saved from being toppled-"
"Or toppled yourself," said Preston.
"How many countless billions of credits have I saved, how much
advanced technology have I secured-"
"I think other agents here may have helped, just a bit, too,"
said Preston.
"And look at how they treat us," said Croft, holding up the
jello. "This is how they thank us. With clearly inferior dessert
products."
"You're one of the Eight, why don't you talk the Chief?" Preston
asked.
"Maybe I will," said Croft. "Do we really ask for a lot? Have we
asked for a pay raise in the past two years? Have we asked for an extra
week of vacation, just like the so-called agents in Stellar
Intelligence have? We have no overtime, we don't even have a dental
plan, I think the least the Chief can do-"
He was interrupted by the beeping of the alarm on his wrist comm.
He pressed a button. It was the Chief.
Roger Steadman was the Director of the Column, the elite
intelligence agency of the League. Although a political appointee, he
was one of those rare political individuals who was actually qualified
for the job in which he had been appointed to, having worked in
military intelligence in a previous career. After his military career
had ended, he entered the private sector, became wealthy, made the
right contributions, and became Director of the Column.
Some said that he was disappointed not to be offered the
Directorship of Stellar Intelligence, the much larger and better funded
intelligence service of the League, but Steadman knew the Column, while
a smaller organization, was the best of the best, and he appreciated
having the finest talents work for him.
That was why he had an unusually good relationship with one of
his top agents reputed to be "difficult". The agent in question was
Clifford Croft, one of the Column's special top Eight agents. Croft had
an arrogant attitude that rubbed some people the wrong way, but he and
Steadman got along well enough. Steadman appreciated his expertise and
Croft knew it.
"Have a seat," said Steadman, welcoming Croft into his office.
Croft sat. "What's up, sir?"
"We have a situation on Carradine." Steadman pressed a button,
and a detailed holo appeared above his desk. "As you probably know from
media reports, it's a contested planet, a source of contention between
the League and the Directorate."
"Yeh, there's been a lot of yapping about it," said Croft. "I
heard something about the incident."
"Well, perhaps you heard that a local radical group took
responsibility for sabotaging a reactor on Carradine," said Steadman.
"The 'Free Carradine' movement wants the planet to go from Directorate
control to League control."
"Sounds good to me," Croft grunted. His stomach growled. Was it
time for lunch already?
"This conflict could lead to war with the League."
"No," said Croft. Then, "Really?"
"There's a lot of buzz about it in the press. I don't think it's
reached that level yet," but it might," said Steadman.
"How many people do we have there?"
"About 70,000. The Directorate has about 600,000."
"Are our people being arrested, shot, killed?"
"As far as we can tell, they haven't been oppressed in any way,"
said Steadman.
"Then why is everyone getting so excited?" Croft asked.
"That's what you're going to find out," said Steadman. "There
would be only one interest served by a war between the League and the
Directorate."
"The Slurians," said Croft, making a face. "You think they're up
to their old tricks again?"
"That's what you have to determine," said Steadman again. "We
have a more than three to one advantage in ships against the
Directorate. But we'd have to send most of the fleet there to fight
them-"
"Leaving us relatively defenseless against the Slurians," said
Croft. "This sounds like something they would engineer."
"If they are, it's your job to stop it," said Steadman. He
paused. "You'll be getting some help on this one."
Croft groaned. Every time he was offered "help", it usually meant
trouble.
"It's worse than you think," said Steadman. "Prepare yourself."
Croft rolled his eyes. If the Chief said it was bad, it really,
really was.
"The good news is that you can take Preston with you."
Oh. That wasn't bad. Preston was one of the better agents,
actually. Croft looked puzzled. Why was that bad?
"But you'll also be teamed with an agent from Stellar
Intelligence. Barry Vickery."
"No!" said Croft. "SI is filled with amateurs. And the whole
agency leaks likes a sieve. Why don't I just save time and take a
Slurian agent instead?"
"You don't understand the politics of this, Clifford," said
Steadman.
"Then explain it to me," said Croft, putting his face in his
hands. "Briefly, preferably."
"SI claimed jurisdiction on this one. It was all I could do to
get you attached to the mission," said Steadman.
"Attached? What do you mean, attached?"
"Agent Vickery is in charge," said Steadman.
"An SI agent... in charge?"
"It was the only way I could get you on the mission."
"Then send someone else."
"I have a feeling something bigger is going on here," said
Steadman. "I need you on this mission."
"I'm flattered but I have to-"
"Prep and get ready for the mission," said Steadman, a certain
firmness appearing in his voice. "You'll be heading to June under cover
of a diplomatic mission lead by Assistant Secretary of foreign affairs
William Huffington."
"June? If the action is on Carradine, why are we going to June?"
"To meet with Steven Quick," said Steadman. "Then the delegation
will go to Carradine."
"Diplomats," Croft said, wrinkling his nose. He sighed. "Well,
all right. I've never met a super genius before. They say he's so smart
that he can read minds."
"Then make sure you're not thinking of anything important," said
Steadman. "Let me make myself clear; you are at all costs to avoid
creating a confrontation with the Directorate. If we can, we are to
recruit them as allies, not make them enemies."
Croft raised an eyebrow. "Is that official League policy, to make
the Directorate our ally?"
"Those are your orders," said Steadman simply.
Croft nodded. Steadman was freelancing. That could be dangerous,
politically.
Well, then maybe the mission would be fun, after all.
*****************************************************************
"The League is sending a delegation," said Madeline.
"Are they?" said Quick abstractly, sitting in an easy chair. His
hands were stroking Mr. Cat but his strong white eyes were staring
vacantly into space.
Madeline knew that stare. Quick's mind was working furiously,
thinking of future possibilities, future contingencies.
"The Assistant Secretary of State for Humanity," said Madeline.
"Really?"
"He wants to talk with you about the human rights situation on
Carradine," said Madeline.
"And he expects to show up here, without an appointment, and just
see me?" said Quick, looking amused. "What does he think I am, a tinpot
dictator?"
"How would you characterize yourself?" Madeline asked.
"A dictator sitting on 400 warships," said Quick coldly. He
thought about it, for a fraction of a second. "All right, I will meet
with him. But first have him meet with our minister for human rights."
Madeline started to turn away, then stopped. She looked puzzled.
"We don't have one."
"Oh yes," said Quick, smiling. "Have him meet with Gentig, then."
Madeline looked puzzled for a moment, and then, a flash of
recognition sparked in her eyes.
That's one of the things Quick liked about her. She picked up on
his thoughts quickly.
******************************************************************
"The plan proceeds apace," said Colonel Chedaski.
"Your operatives failed to destroy the reactor on Carradine,"
said the Great Thinker. Those white eyes stared out into space.
"They were not Slurian operatives, as you know, but dupes we
positioned from the Free Carradine movement," said Chedaski. "Even so,
they should have succeeded."
"Why didn't they?" Those white eyes were pointed at him.
"There were additional guards at the plant that were not
indicated by our intelligence. After we stunned the first wave, a
second wave came in and interfered," said Chedaski.
"You think they had warning?" the Great Thinker asked.
"No," said Chedaski. "After all, the sabotage was partially
successful."
"Yes, it was," said the Great Thinker, staring out into space,
making calculations.
"The one thing I don't understand is why you didn't permit us to
blow up the plant, or kill the guards," said Chedaski. "That would have
been a much more effective demonstration."
The Great Thinker sighed, and Chedaski shuddered as those eyes
turned back on him. "Because we want the Directorate to think that the
League is behind this. Killing innocent people and blowing up power
plants is not something they normally do."
"Ah," said Chedaski. "I see."
"Do you really?" said the Thinker.
Chedaski held his anger in check. "Phase two is about to begin.
The League has assigned one of their top operatives, a Column agent
named Clifford Croft."
"That name is known to me," said the Great Thinker softly.
"We should take him out now, before-"
"And show our hand? I think not," said the Thinker. "Better to
take him out when he is most needed, and will be most missed. That will
be in Phase Three, if I recall correctly. You have agents in the League
and the Directorate aplenty; let them handle him, for now."
"Very well," said Chedaski.
The Great Thinker permitted himself a small smile. He turned to a
five dimensional chess board near his desk, and engrossed himself in
other thoughts....
Chapter 5 The Capybara on
August
The President of the League of United Planets stood in his office
in the heart of Sarney Sarrittenden on August and looked at Professor
Capybara and didn't know quite what to make of him. He looked like a
large, furry rodent wearing spectacles with an unlit pipe in his mouth.
"What, ah, should I call you?" said the President. His aides
looks similarly perplexed.
"Well, actually, anything you like," said the Capybara.
"But, surely, you must have a name," said the President.
"Why?" said the Capybara.
"Well...." The President had no good answer for that one.
"As it so happens, I do. If you insist, you may call me (tweatle
tweatle whistle!)," said the Professor.
"Tweatle tweatle (whistle!)?" said the President.
The Capybara cringed.
"Not so good?" said the President.
"A, ah, not terrible first attempt," said the Capybara
diplomatically.
"How about 'Professor', then?" said the President.
"That (tweatle tweatle) works for me too," said the Capybara.
"So, what brings you to August?" The President asked.
"I just thought I would (tweatle tweatle)," said the Capybara.
"What?" said the President.
"I said I wanted to (tweatle tweatle)," said the Capybara.
"Do we have any translators here?" said the President.
"I apologize," said the Professor. "Your language is so,
simplistic, it is not easy to express even moderately complicated
concepts."
"I see," said the President, who didn't, not really. "Well, let's
eliminate the possibilities. Are you here to conquer us?"
"Conquer you?" the Capybara boomed.
The President's aides took a step back.
The Capybara tweatle-tweatled. It might have been his version of
laughter. "No, I have no interest in that."
"Then... are you here to establish peaceful relations, with your
people?"
"With my people? said the Capybara, looking puzzled. "No, that's
not correct. Let me try and (tweatle tweatle) another way. I have come
to find a place to (tweatle tweatle) settle."
"To...settle?"
"Yes," said the Capybara. "To settle. To live here. I have yet to
learn all the synonyms for this word; does your language have any
others that might further assist your comprehension?"
The President, ignoring this latest subtle put-down, looked at
his aides in wonder and exchanged unspoken words. They had a friendly
alien visitor, their first, from an obviously advanced culture, and he
wanted to settle on August! Think of all the information they could
learn from him! If he was indeed a member of the advanced race known as
the Chent, they could leap generations ahead in technology.
The President looked down at the Capybara. "What would you say to
a state dinner?"
"As long as I am not on the menu, I would be pleased to attend,"
said the Capybara.
***********************************************************************
"This does not look like a state dinner to me," said the
Capybara, looking at the examining table, medical equipment, and
doctors in white lab coats.
"Dinner is tonight," said the lead doctor, running a scanning
device over the Capybara.
"Is that my menu?" said the Capybara, pointing at the scanning
device with his snout.
"We just want to be sure that you're in good health," said the
doctor.
"I'm quit (tweatle tweatle) fit," said the Professor.
The doctor tapped his scanner. "I'm not getting any readings."
"Really?" said the Professor. He leaned over and peered through
his spectacles at the doctor's scanner. "Perhaps your menu is
malfunctioning."
The doctor turned the scanner on himself. "I'm reading my life
form."
"I hope it's an interesting read," said the Professor.
He turned it back on the Capybara. "But none on yours. It's like
you're not even here."
"I don't tend to make a big (tweatle tweatle) splash," said the
Professor Capybara modestly.
The doctor gestured and two assistants wheeled over some
electrical equipment.
"What is that?" said the Capybara, his ears flicking slightly.
"I just want to do some tests."
"Tests?" said the Capybara brightly. "All right, here is one."
Suddenly, a hologram appeared in front of the Capybara, though no
projection device could be seen. The hologram was of a complex three
dimensional polygon that was slowly rotating, with different sections
in different colors. The polygon slowly rolled back and forth and as it
did the colors changed.
"Can you fix this?" the Capybara asked.
"What?" said the Doctor, staring at it.
"Make the colors flow (tweatle tweatle) mathematically correct?"
"Mathematically correct?"
"Sorry, I have not the (tweatle tweatle)," said the Capybara.
"Your language is so limited. I meant, for you to (tweatle) the
(tweatle tweatle)."
"Uh...."
"The puzzle is only in four dimensions, is that not (tweatle
tweatle) challenging enough?" said the Professor, blinking
disingenuously.
"We're here to do medical tests," said the doctor.
"Are you unwell?" said the Capybara, shrinking back as if he
feared to catch something.
"Medical tests on you," said the Capybara.
"Oh, I'm sorry, but I don't have time for that," said the
Capybara. He got up and waddled to the door. "I have a state dinner to
attend."
Two guards at the door blocked his way. The Capybara looked up at
first one, and then the others, with deep dark eyes.
The guards, in a slow, labored movement, moved out of the way.
The Capybara sniffed, and went about his business.
*****************************************************************
It was one of the most ornate chambers in the palace. All the
metallic walls in the palace at Sarney Sarrittenden gleamed oddly, and
could seem to change colors when you looked at them from different
angles. But the colors were especially vivid in the main ceremonial
dining room where visiting heads of state dined.
Usually at banquets such as these there would be one long table
with members of both the visiting and the home delegation seated there.
Since the Professor Capybara came alone, however, everyone else seated
at the table were government officials and leading figures in business
and the media who were curious about the first alien ever discovered.
The Capybara sat on a specially adjusted seat just to the right
of the head of the table, next to the President.
He seemed to enjoy all the attention he received but always had a
way of ducking questions.
"So, Mr. Capybara, where are you from?" asked one prominent
industrialist.
"Oh, from the neighborhood," said the Capybara.
"August?" said the industrialist, looking stunned.
The Professor Capybara raised an eyebrow. "Your galaxy."
"Mr. Capybara, tell us more about your civilization," this, from
one of the top female journalists on August.
"I'm not sure you could understand it," said the Professor,
trying to be polite.
"Please, Professor!" she implored.
"Very well," said the Professor. "My civilization is (tweatle,
tweatle tweatle tweatle tweatle whistle! tweatle tweatle tweatle
tweatle tweatle tweatle tweatle tweatle tweatle tweatle.)." He looked
at the stunned crowd. "Are you getting all this down?"
The main course was in the process of being served as he talked.
The Professor insisted on being served the same foods the other guests
were. So far, however, he hadn't eaten a thing, merely looking at the
food with his spectacles, which made ever so slight clicking sounds
from time to time.
"Don't you like the food?" asked the President's wife.
The other guests looked horrified, worried that the Professor
might be offended.
But the Professor seemed nonchalant. "Yes, the food is very
(tweatle tweatle)," said the Capybara.
"You don't seem to be eating very much of it, if you don't mind
me saying so," said his wife. She had an independent streak and wasn't
the quiet spouse.
"I am, (tweatle tweatle)," said the Professor.
"What?"
"(Tweatle tweatle)," said the Professor. "I am sorry, but the
closest words I can find are, I am admiring your food from a distance."
"Oh," she said.
The main course was put in front of the Professor. He stared at
it, and seemed to make a small sound.
"Is there a problem?" said the President.
"Ah... what is this..."
"It is beef, Professor," said the President.
"Beef? Animal flesh?"
"Yes," said the President.
"This is not one of your fellow humans, an enemy or opponent,
perhaps?" the Professor asked.
The room was so silent that one could have heard a datapad drop.
"We don't believe in eating each other," said the President
coldly.
"Oh, of course not, my (tweatle tweatle) apologies," said the
Professor. "It's just that ever since I was weaned I was taught never
to ingest any animal flesh without inquiring as to its zoological
identity. But you really don't eat each other? Not that I thought you
did. No, of course not. In fact, I will (tweatle tweatle) be sure to
make a note of that." Suddenly a small holographic image of a tablet
appeared in the air in front of the Professor. Alien lettering started
to appear, animated by a pen that seemed to move on its own.
"Humans:... they... don't... eat... each... other," said the
Professor. The image vanished.
"Is there anything else I should know?" The Professor asked the
stunned guests.
*******************************************************************
Later that night, the President, dressed in nightclothes, entered
his office, flanked by guards. The Professor was sitting at his desk,
studying a holoimage of data moving rapidly through the air. The images
of the data seemed to reflect off the Professor's spectacles.
"How did you get in here?" The President demanded.
"I just walked in," said the Capybara. "Did I make a wrong turn?"
"You are accessing classified databases!"
"My apologies," said the Capybara. The datastream moved even
faster now.
"I insist you stop immediately!" said the President.
"Just a moment," said the Capybara, still studying the
datastream.
"Right now!" barked the President.
"All... right...," said the Capybara, speaking very slowly. "I...
will... comply... with... your..." Suddenly, the data flow ended.
"Thank you," said the Professor, waddling out of the President's
office.
"How did he get out of his quarters?" the President demanded.
"I don't know, sir," said one of his aides.
"What about the guards?"
"There were four of them, outside his quarters. They say they
didn't see a thing," said the aide.
"And what was he accessing on my terminal?" the President asked.
An aide, who was bending over the terminal, tapped some keys.
"Well?" said the President.
The aide viewed the log file. "Apparently, sir, everything."
"Everything?"
"He was only here a few minutes," said another aide. "How much
information could he have seen?"
"Or downloaded," said the aide at the screen.
"What?" said the President.
"Well, sir, you must have noticed those old-fashioned spectacles.
If those are some sort of scanning or recording device-"
"Guards!"
But when they got to the Capybara's quarters, he was gone.
James Starr was led by worried looking aides into the President's
office.
"Finally!" said Starr. "Mr. President, I protest not being
allowed to see the Professor. After all, I was the one who discovered-"
The President cut off his speech with a motion of the hand.
"You're too late. He's gone."
"Gone?"
"Yes, don't you (tweatle tweatle) understand the word?" said the
President angrily, trying to imitate the Capybara's sounds. He felt
like a fool. "Your alien friend came in here and accessed our top
security database, and then disappeared."
"Disappeared?"
"Is there an echo in here?" said the President. "I want to know
what he's up to." He looked expectantly at Starr.
"Why do you think I would know?" Starr asked.
"You found the creature."
"Sir-"
"You spent ten days with him in your ship. Surely you must have
learned something."
"Actually, not a whole lot. He was very good at being evasive,"
said Starr.
"Do you think this is a prelude to invasion?"
"What?" said Starr.
"He got access to all our secure databases, including our
military ones--out troops, technology, disposition of forces, battle
contingency plans. He might be an advance scout for an invasion force."
"Sir, we have yet to see signs that there are more than one of
him," said Starr.
"If he's not a spy, then what is he doing? Where is he?"
"I don't know."
"Then find him," said the President.
"Why me?" said Starr.
"You found him once before."
"He wanted to be found."
"You know how he thinks."
"No I don't," said Starr.
"Well, you're the best we've got," said the President.
"For the first time since I've entered this office, you've said
something I can agree with," said Starr.
Starr returned to his temporary quarters on August, where 200L
awaited him. Starr explained the situation.
"Very odd," said 200L.
"Specify," said Starr.
"That a large, 244 pound rodent with spectacles and a pipe could
elude detection on a planet of billions of people."
"That is odd," said Starr. "Also unexplained is the matter of his
escape."
"The implication is he has some sort of camouflage," said 200L.
"I would tend to agree," said Starr. "And he could be anywhere on
August, if indeed he's still on August."
"I think before figuring out where he is, we have to analyze his
actions and discover his intent," said 200L.
"The President thinks he might be an advance scout for an
invasion force."
"Possible," said 200L. "If so, having had access to our military
database, his mission will be accomplished, and he will return to his
point of origin."
"The planet with the monument?"
"James, I do not believe that even you believe he originated from
that planet. We saw no signs of civilization there, other than the
monument."
"Perhaps there could be some sort of camouflaged society there."
"If so, how will we find it?" 200L asked. "It's a big planet."
They were both silent for a moment.
Then Starr said, "Let's assume, for the moment, that he's not
here to scout for attack information."
"Why?"
"Just a feeling," said Starr.
"Ah, yes. A feeling," said 200L.
"Well, if we assume he is a spy, then he's probably gone, and
there's no further point to this thought exercise," said Starr.
"All right," said 200L. "Let us assume he's not here for strictly
military reasons. Then why is he here?"
"Maybe he's an explorer, like ourselves. He described himself as
a professor, right?"
"A professor is one who teaches. He taught us nothing."
"But a professor is also a researcher," said Starr. "Maybe he's
trying to learn from us."
"Meaning?"
"He can't learn everything there can be about us simply by going
through a database. He'll want to see our society firsthand."
"So? Where will we find him?"
"Let's wait and see," said Starr. "He'll show up eventually."
Mark Trevor wiped off the sweat from his face with a towel as he
eyed the green field around him. Open space was rare on August but this
was the premier exercise facility, restricted to Olympic athletes, and
Trevor was one of the very best hover jumpers.
Trevor dropped the towel and prepared to jump again. He was
wearing special shoes outfitted with minigravitators which would allow
him to hover in the air momentarily, and then take a standing jump.
Touching the control panel on his left wrist, he lifted himself in the
air again.
He stared at the sands in front of him, and prepared to jump. The
hovershoes would reduce the impact, but it was still quite a strain on
his ankles. Trevor took a deep breath, and-
"Excuse me."
Trevor looked around. He was suspended in midair. There was no
one around.
"Sorry to startle (tweatle tweatle) you," said the voice.
Suddenly, Trevor saw a large creature floating with him in the air. The
creature didn't seem to have any device to suspend gravity.
"What are you?" said Trevor. He stared at the creature. "You're the
alien!" he said, shrinking back.
"I have not come to harm you."
The aliens words had an oddly soothing effect on Trevor. "Oh," said
Trevor.
Then, "Why are you here?"
"Just to talk," said the alien. "I understand you are one of the
leading athletes in your society. Tell me, why do you feel the urge to
compete?"
And for the next several minutes, Trevor found himself talking to
the large rat. He didn't even remember when his shoes' power supply
faded, sending him plunging to the ground.
Only he didn't plunge; he slowly dropped down, as did the
Capybara.
"How did you do that?" Trevor asked.
"I could do the math, but I don't think you could (tweatle
tweatle)," said the Capybara.
Suddenly, other people could be seen running onto the field.
"Well, it's time for me to go," said the Capybara.
Trevor looked at the approaching people, and then back at the
Capybara.
But he was gone.
"There have been several sightings so far," said 200L.
"I know," said Starr, studying the data. "He's seen two top
athletes, a top mathematician, a food technologist, and an actor. That
hardly looks like invasion scout to me."
"Perhaps you were right," said 200L.
"What was that?" said Starr. "I didn't hear you."
"Perhaps this one time, your irrational feeling was correct. It
now does not seem that the creature has hostile intent. An invader
would not consult with such people."
"He's an explorer, just like us," said Starr.
"But where will he appear next?"
"He's still on August," said Starr.
"That doesn't narrow it down much," said 200L.
"Well, let's study the people he's contacted again," said Starr.
"Abrams, Arial, Baker, Candy-" Suddenly, he broke out in a large grin.
"It's alphabetical!"
"So?"
"So, all we have to do is find out the names of the top experts
in every field and see where he is on the list."
"He will not visit every expert," said 200L. "And there are a lot
of names."
"Yes, but as time goes on we can eliminate certain
possibilities," said Starr. "For example, he's already talked to two
athletes, it's unlikely he'll talk to a third."
"So?"
"So, by the time he gets to the letter R or S we can eliminate a
whole bunch of fields and get a likely read on where he's going to
appear next."
It was easier said than done. It was actually the letter W before
Starr caught up with the Capybara, who was just waddling out of the
office of Professor Wilkinson, a prominent physicist.
"Oh, hello, James," said the Capybara, in that wonderfully
musical voice of his. "What a surprise to see you here."
"You were following a rather predictable pattern," said Starr.
"Then why are you the first of my pursuers to encounter me?" said
the Capybara. He sighed. "It was such a (tweatle tweatle) simple test,
too."
"You purposefully made it easy," said Starr. "To see how long it
would take for us to find you."
"Your race has some potential, James," said the Capybara. "But
you still have a long way to (tweatle tweatle)."
"You sound like you're leaving."
"I am," said the Capybara.
"Would you like me to fly you back to your planet?"
The Capybara wiggled his nose. "I do not think your superiors
would be very pleased with you if you did."
"So?" said Starr. "I don't always do what I am told."
"Very good, young James. There is hope for you yet," said the
Capybara. "But no, I am not going home."
"Actually, you said you were coming to reside here."
"Well, that all depends on the definition of 'here'," said the
Capybara.
"What do you mean?"
"I must (tweatle tweatle) all your major human enclaves before
making a decision," said the Capybara.
"Enclaves... you mean the Slurians, the Directorate-"
"Yes, among others."
"But those are dictatorships!" said Starr.
"Sorry?"
Suddenly, they heard sounds of an alarm, and running feet.
"Oh dear, Professor Wilkinson must have (tweatle tweatle) the
authorities. I'm most disappointed. I thought we had had such a nice
(tweatle tweatle)."
"You were trying to learn our technology?"
The Capybara gave a quick bark, or laugh, Starr wasn't sure
which. "No, James. There is nothing you can teach me. I'm merely
observing your level of technology."
At that moment the sounds of footsteps grew closer.
"Let me handle this," said Starr, looking around the corner as
soldiers appeared. "Hold up!" he said, not wanting the Capybara to be
harmed.
But when he turned back, the Professor was gone.
"The Slurians!" said the President. "He's gone over to the
Slurians!"
"Among others, yes sir," said Starr.
"How did you let this happen?"
"I wouldn't say I let it happen," said Starr. "He can seem to
disappear at will."
"Disappear? You mean invisible? Or teleportation?"
"I'm not sure, sir," said Starr.
"But he appeared for you." That was a statement, not a question.
The President thought for a moment. Then he spoke again. "This is a
disaster. If he goes to the Slurians, and gives them our classified
information-"
"Begging your pardon, sir, but I don't think he's interested in
our petty feuds," said Starr.
"Petty?" said the President. "Is that what you call interstellar
warfare?"
"Sir-"
"What if he decides to side with them? Think of the technological
advantage he can give them."
"I'm not sure if he would tell them more than he told us-"
"Oh, the Slurians wouldn't be as gentle as we were, I assure
you," said the President. "We've got to get him back." He pressed a
button on his desk. "Get me the directors of SI and the Column."
Chapter 6 A Quick
Meeting
Croft , on the diplomatic courier ship Wainscott, studied the
holoimages put out by the news services. He pointed at the image of the
large rodent. "Well, look at that," said Croft. "After millennia of
waiting, we finally discover alien life. And it looks like a giant rat
wearing old fashioned spectacles."
His fellow Column agent, Preston, shook his head. "The President
is claiming all the credit. He made out like he went and discovered the
rat himself."
"Apparently the rat can talk," said Croft. He read the readout
further. "He calls himself a professor."
"He can probably do a better job than some of the professors I
had at Sarney U," Preston grunted.
Barry Vickery, the SI agent they had been paired with, sat in a
seat opposite theirs. "Well, I think it's exciting. Think of it! A
totally alien race. Think of the things they can teach us!"
"About cheese, maybe," said Croft.
"Or cats?" said Preston.
Vickery shook his head. "Doesn't this excite you at all?"
"Eh," said Croft. "I've seen so many things in the galaxy, I'm
pretty jaded. If you've seen one giant talking rat, you've probably
seen them all."
"Attention everyone," said a new voice in the cabin. The
diplomats looked up. It was the head of mission, William Huffington.
"We will be landing on June in just under two hours. I just want
to review protocol for the mission," said Huffington.
"We are here to press for human rights, not just for the citizens
of Carradine, but for the Directorate as well," said Huffington.
"Since when was our mandate expanded?" Preston whispered.
"Therefore, while I expect you to have a polite and correct
attitude with our diplomatic counterparts, we should not hesitate to
use every opportunity to bring up the plight of the oppressed people
with the Quick dictatorship. We want all the people of the Directorate
to enjoy all the rights we do."
"Which rights is he talking about?" said Croft softly. "From what
I read, there are no political prisoners in jail; everyone is free to
leave any time they like, there's nearly complete freedom of the press;
it may be a dictatorship, but compared to Sluria, it's a paradise."
"What little chit-chatting is going on there?" Huffington
frowned. He made eye contact with Croft, and his eyes widened. He had,
of course, been notified about the real status of Croft, Preston, and
the SI contingent, but wasn't happy to have them along.
"Did you have a question, Mr. Taffy?"
Taffy was Croft's cover name. It was one of the very worst ones
the Column randomizer computer had come up with.
"No, sir," said Croft.
"Good," said Huffington. "We are all diplomats, and should act
accordingly."
"I guess we should get ready to give them the shaft, then," Croft
muttered.
Huffington, only partially hearing what Croft said, glared at
him.
****************************************************************
Quick looked at the assembled committee members. "I think we have
covered the next six month cycle adequately, for the moment. Now let us
look two years into the future."
He clicked a button and a display appeared. "I mathematically
calculate that larger than normal crop failures are likely, given
historical weather patterns. We must increase infrastructure spending
on irrigation. There will also be an energy shortage, which is why we
need to build new power plants. I also expect the start of a recession,
so to forestall that-" Quick went on for several minutes. These were
the kinds of meetings he liked best, where he talked, and the others
listened. Things got done a lot more quickly that way, a lot more
efficiently.
When the meeting had concluded (in only 19 minutes, a victory
given that Quick had budgeted 20), Quick slumped back in his chair and
sighed.
"I know there are still people who are amazed that you are able
to see into the future like that," said Madeline.
"It's not seeing into the future, it's analyzing rational
projections," said Quick. "I've been all over the present. It's old,
old news. So is the near future. With my analytical ability, I've
projected nearly every possibility. It's the medium term and distant
future that still holds some mystery to me." He sighed again.
"You seem tired, why don't you get some rest?" Madeline asked.
"Not tired, just frustrated," said Quick. He looked at a flashing
indicator. "The delegation from August has arrived. Is Gentig ready?"
"He will follow your exact instructions," said Madeline.
"Good," said Croft. He flicked on a screen, and images of organic
molecules appeared.
"Are you solving some medical problem?"
"No," said Quick. "Just learning a new subject. You never know
when it might be useful."
When they landed, they made their way to the embassy. Due to the
tense state of affairs between the Directorate and the League, the
embassy on June had only recently reopened, having been closed for
several years since the Cahill Republic was overthrown. The League had
still not been able to negotiate the opening of consulates on other
Directorate planets.
They were informed that they would be met at the Presidential
Palace later that afternoon. "That's quick," said Huffington. "Perhaps
that's a good sign."
But when his delegation entered the Palace, they found that
things were not as they seemed. The delegates were subjected to
extremely close search. Fortunately, Croft knew not to bring any of his
special equipment with him, the exposure of which would have been
embarrassing, to say the least.
They were escorted to a large, white conference room with a white
table and white chairs. And there they sat.
And sat.
And sat.
After an hour, Huffington sent an aide out to make inquiries. He
was sent back with his tail between his legs.
After a second hour, Huffington, annoyed, sent his aide out again
with another message: if Quick didn't meet with them now, they were
going to leave.
That got a response. They were told they would be met in minutes.
"Sorry I'm late," said a businesslike man, coming into the
conference room. All eyes turned on him. He was a balding, middle-aged
man in a suit.
"You are not Director Quick," said Huffington.
"How astute of you," said the man. "My name is Gentig."
"I thought we were meeting with Director Quick," said Huffington.
"Why ever would you think that?"
"We requested a meeting with him."
"Not exactly," said Gentig. "You announced you were coming and
demanded a meeting with him. You never waited for a reply. You assumed,
perhaps, because you are from the League, that he would rush out to
meet whatever minor official was sent. But Director Quick is a busy
man. So he sent me."
Huffington blinked, taking in the situation. "All right then, we
will negotiate through you."
"Fine. What will it take for you to stop your terrorist attacks
on our power stations?" said Gentig.
Huffington blinked again. "We did not attack your power
stations."
"The terrorists who were caught said they were members of the
Free Carradine movement. It is well known that the League supports this
terrorist group."
"No, we don't," said Huffington.
"Then if you claim not to be behind the attack, then what are you
here to negotiate," said Gentig.
"I am the Assistant Foreign Secretary for Humanity. I am here to
talk about the human rights situation here on Directorate controlled
planets," said Huffington. "We are very concerned by the autocratic
nature of your state. Citizens have no input on their rulers, either
through elections or referendums. Overly strict enforcement of libel
laws have sent journalists to jail."
Gentig listened patiently as Huffington went on and on. When
Huffington paused, Gentig said, "Are you done?"
Huffington said, "I await your response."
"Good. Now we can talk about our complaints."
"Your complaints?"
"About League human rights abuse. Your people have among the
least economic rights of any society, except perhaps the Slurian Union.
You have enormous taxes on income, sales taxes on consumer products,
taxes on comm usage, value added taxes, taxes on licenses, taxes on
businesses, taxes on-"
Gentig went on and on for several minutes. I think he would have
gone on longer, had Huffington not interrupted. "Wait a minute, these
aren't human rights abuses."
"Of course they are," said Gentig. "You're engaged in mass
confiscation of property. That's a human right abuse. By our estimates
some 70% of average income is confiscated by the state. On June, by
contrast, taxes never exceed more than 15% of an individual's income,
giving consumers incredible buying power--and freedom," Gentig said.
"You also engages in rampant discrimination against your own citizens,
giving preferences in education, jobs, and housing to citizens of other
League planets over your own planet of August, even if such other
citizens have lesser abilities or test scores."
"We feel that for social order it is necessary to have a broad
pool-"
"Social order," said Gentig. "Well, we have no such orders here.
People are free to come, people are free to go, people are free to
start businesses in a low tax environment, or work for whoever they
want to, without interference of the state."
"You do not sound like a foreign secretary for human rights,"
said Huffington.
Gentig pretended to look startled. "I never claimed I was."
"Who are you, then?"
"I'm the Commissioner of Minimal Taxation," said Gentig.
"Why were you selected to meet with us?" said Huffington.
"To discuss some of your more blatant human rights problems."
"We want to speak to Director Quick."
"Director Quick is extraordinarily busy, and has no time for...
deputy assistant secretaries."
"I am an assistant secretary, not a deputy assistant secretary,"
said Huffington.
"I stand corrected."
"I would like to speak to a secretary in your foreign ministry."
"Certainly. I can set you up for an appointment in several
weeks."
"But we came all the way here-"
"Without invitation, without confirmation of any meeting-"
"Arrogance," said a new voice.
They all turned, and a new man entered, a man wearing a white
suit with white, piercing eyes. He carried and stroked an orange cat.
Armed guards flanked him on either side.
"Arrogance," Quick repeated. "I think that was the word you were
looking for, Gentig."
"Yes sir," said Gentig.
"Director Quick," said Huffington. "It is a pleasure to meet
you."
"I am afraid the pleasure is not mutual, Mr. Huffington," said
Quick. "Your League is very quick to nag us about our political system,
but I rarely see articles in your press about the Slurian system. The
Slurians have internment camps for political prisoners; we do not. The
Slurians confiscate 95% of all personal income and property; we do not.
The Slurians do not permit a free and robust press, as we do. And yet
we are the subject of nearly all your diatribes. Why is that?"
As he spoke Quick's eyes scanned the delegation, spending
precious seconds staring at each member. Croft wondered if he had a
photographic memory. When his gaze turned to Croft, he seemed to stare
especially hard, though it was difficult to tell with those white eyes.
While the other diplomats shrank away, however, Croft gave an
irritating grin. Quick showed no expression, going on to his next
victim.
"The situation on Carradine has exacerbated tensions," said
Huffington. "Many of our citizens do not wish to live under your form
of government."
"You mean a handful who are funded by the League to commit
terrorist acts," said Quick "There is no discrimination or repression
against our citizens of League origin. In fact, unlike the Slurian
Union, our citizens enjoy the greatest guarantee of all--the right to
leave. So far, not more than a handful have left Carradine. If life
there is so repressive, why do they stay?"
"It's their home, Director," said Huffington.
"And this is mine," said Quick. "Send a message to your
superiors. I do not appreciate their meddling in our internal affairs.
If this continues, I may find the overtures of the Slurians more to my
liking."
"Surely you can't be thinking of aligning yourself with the
Slurians?" said Huffington.
"Why not? They get reasonably good press on August. I think I can
only improve my standing with your government and media elites by doing
the same."
He turned to go.
"Wait!" said Huffington. Then, he quickly added, "Please."
Quick turned back. "You have further comments?"
"Yes."
"Tell them to my designated representative."
"But sir, this man is a tax official."
"Very well. Will speaking to one of my personal assistants
suffice?"
Huffington considered. "For now, yes."
Quick put Mr. Cat on the table. "Be sure to take copious notes,"
he instructed.
Mr. Cat meowed.
Gentig got up to leave.
"Director Quick, you can't be serious!" said Huffington.
But he was talking to a departing back.
As he left the room, Quick spoke to an assistant. "The diplomat
who was sitting second from the far right."
An aide checked a visual camera record on his datapad. After a
moment he said... "Yes, Clifford Taffy."
"He's not who he seems. Find out who he really is."
"Yes sir."
********************************************************************
"I'm pleased to conclude this revised trade agreement with you,
Director Quick," said Ambassador Kemerov, as he passed around the
signed papers.
"I hope this begins an era of positive relations between us and
the Slurian Union," said Director Quick. "I was also quite pleased with
your amenability to changing most of the problems in the previous
contract we discussed."
"It was my pleasure, Director," said Kemerov. "We eagerly seek
further contact with your society. In fact, we would love to talk with
you about the possibility of opening up consulates on each of your
planets."
"An interesting idea," said Quick.
Kemerov raised his eyebrows. Quick had earlier rejected it out of
hand.
"Let us explore the options, on a ministerial level," said Quick.
"By all means," said Kemerov.
"Thank you," said Quick, nodding to him. That was his cue to
leave. He, like all of Quick's guests, had been briefed that that was
the goodbye signal.
Kemerov took his cue and left.
Madeline stepped forward from the background. "Are you sure that
is wise?"
"The trade agreement? Now that it's on reasonably fair terms, why
not?" said Quick. "Not that their third rate economy has much to trade.
Some raw materials, maybe."
"I wasn't referring to the trade deal. I was talking about
letting them open up consulates," said Madeline. "They will all be
filled with spies, you know."
"So will ours," said Quick. "And I like to think that our
intelligence services are better than theirs."
"It will be seen as a further tilting towards the Slurians. It
may trigger a reaction from the League," said Madeline.
"That's true," said Quick. He paused. "We will wait and see what
develops. If relations improve with the League, we'll put this
consulate idea on hold."
"And if things get worse?"
"If things get worse and it comes to war, we'll need all the
allies we can get, even the Slurians," said Quick.
Madeline stood to the side, frowning.
******************************************************************
"So what did you learn?" asked Director Steadman. Preston and
Croft were on a secure link with the Column director.
"Nothing," said Croft.
"Not much," said Preston.
Croft turned to Preston. "Not much? That means you actually
learned something. Do tell."
"Uh... all right, I didn't learn anything."
"There," said Croft, turning back to Steadman's holoimage.
"What is your point, Croft," said Steadman.
"I don't know why we're here," said Croft. "The action is on
Carradine, not here."
"The delegation is heading to Carradine tomorrow. Is that soon
enough for you?"
"Yes," said Croft.
"What are your personal impressions of Quick?" said Steadman.
"He seems bright enough," said Croft. "He's got to have that
stare patented."
"What else?"
"He seems pretty irritated with us. He hinted not too bluntly
that if we keep pushing, we're going to push him into an alliance with
the Slurians."
"That's what we fear," said Steadman.
"If we fear an alliance, why did we send Huffington?"
"Sorry, I overused the word we," said Steadman. "Let's just say
there are some government officials concerned about the deteriorating
relations between our two governments."
"All right, that's sufficiently vague and mysterious."
"Any signs yet of Slurian involvement?"
"How could there be?" said Croft. "We've only met one guy. And
his cat." He paused. "The cat looks suspicious."
"Report back after you arrive on Carradine," said Steadman,
cutting the connection.
**********************************************************************
In an old, antiquated factory on Sluria that churned out badly
made hovercars, a worker slowly moved through the paces. When an
unfinished car came down the assembly line, he would slowly spray it in
a few places, slowly tighten a few screws, and send it on. Every so
often he would take a swig from a bottle hidden under the assembly
line."
But today was unusual because he was being interrogated by a
large mammalian rat creature who was asking him questions.
"Am I imagining things?" the worker asked.
"I don't think so," said the Capybara. "What is your name?"
"Slobo," said the worker.
"Tell me slobo, why do you work so inefficiently?"
"What do you mean?" Slobo asked.
"I imagine that spray you use is some sort of treatment."
"For rust protection, yes."
"And yet you spray it only sporadically each car."
"I do?"
"And I notice that when you tighten the little metal devices,
sometimes you tighten some, but not others."
"I do?" said Slobo.
"Perhaps you are not aware of your actions because of the mind
altering effects of the liquid you imbibe," said the Capybara. "Why do
you ingest a liquid that inhibits your performance?"
"It's ah, just some refreshment," said Slobo.
"I have scanned its properties, it is considerably more than
refreshment," said the Capybara.
"Are you with the loyalty police?" said Slobo, staring at the
Capybara.
"What if I were?"
"I will not answer any more of your questions!"
"Are you sure?"
Slobo looked, and now the Capybara was decked out in the uniform
of the Loyalty Police, fitted exactly to his side. He even wore the
trademark redcap and had colonel's stars on his shoulders.
"Sir!" said Slobo, immediately stiffening to attention. "I did
not know."
"You had no way of knowing," said the Capybara. "I was under
fur."
"Under fur?"
"Sorry," said the Capybara, frowning. "The language. Under...
cover?"
"Yes, I understand, sir!" said Slobo.
"Now, tell me why you work so sloppily."
"Sir, I am doing the best I can!" said Slobo.
"I see," said the Capybara. He paused. "What do you think of your
government?"
"The Slurian Union is the most evolved form of government in
existence!"
"Really? From my impression it seems little more than a group
dictatorship that conspires to control all the resources and to work
the populace as little more than slaves."
"Sir! I know you are just testing me! I am completely loyal to
the Slurian Union," said Slobo.
"Hm," said the Professor.
Suddenly, a uniformed officer came down the walkway, flanked by
guards. He wore the same kind of uniform the Professor did, the feared
Loyalty Police. But this Redcap was only a captain.
He looked the Professor up and down. "Who or what are you?"
"My name is the Professor," said the Professor.
"Why are you wearing a uniform of the Loyalty Police?" he said.
"I'm an officer," said the Professor.
"No you are not," said the Redcap Captain.
"How do you know?"
"We have no... animal officers," said the Redcap.
"I'll try not to take offense."
"Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a member of the
Loyalty Police is?" the Redcap asked.
"How could I be impersonating one, when you can clearly tell at
a glance I am not one?" said the Capybara. "I put this on for a fancy
dress party I'm going to later tonight."
"You must come with me," said the Redcap.
"I'd love to, but I have another appointment," said the Capybara.
"Who is your contact, spy?" said the Redcap Captain.
"Who am I meeting with. I believe you call him your First
Secretary," said the Professor. He watched the color drain from the
Redcap's face. "Why is he a spy?"
The Redcap drew his blaster. "You will come with me at once."
"Don't think so," said the Capybara. "Look, up there!" There was
a thunderous explosion and a burst of light in the ceiling. Everyone
looked up. When they looked down, the Capybara was gone.
*********************************************************************
Sergei Baronov was the current First Secretary of the Slurian
Union. He had spent 50 years working his way up in the party
bureaucracy, and had been First Secretary for nearly ten years. Having
purged his rivals, and putting his own people in command of the party
apparatus, the military, the NGB, and the other security services, he
felt reasonably secure, in his heavily guarded office on Sluria.
Which is why, ironically, he felt quite insecure when a large
rodent suddenly appeared in his office.
"Why, hello there," said the rodent, in fluent Slurian.
Baronov, who had been alone in his office, jumped. He immediately
pressed a button on his desk. Armed guards rushed in, along with Yuri,
his executive assistant. The guards had Redcaps with silver braids.
These were the elite members of the Loyalty Police, the Personal Guard.
"I'm not here to hurt you," said the creature.
Baronov peered at the creature. Then he turned back to his desk
and pressed a few buttons. A holo of the Professor appeared.
"You are the alien," said Baronov.
"You can call me the Professor," said the Professor.
"Have you come to assassinate me?" said Baronov. "The League sent
you, didn't they?" His guards, looking determined, kept their weapons
raised.
"What a classic case of (tweatle tweatle) paranoia," said the
Professor. "No, I have not been sent by anyone. I have come to (tweatle
tweatle) visit with you."
"To... visit?" said Baronov.
"Yes. Did I use the word incorrectly?"
Baronov's fear evaporated. He clapped his hands. "Ha! You are the
one we have been seeking. Yuri, get the director of the NGB on the
line. Tell him that the alien he has been earnestly promising to
deliver to me for a week has come right to my office!"
"Yes sir," said Yuri, raising his comm to his mouth.
"I am looking for a place to settle down," said the Professor.
"To settle down?" said Baronov.
"Yes," said the Professor. "But first I want to (tweatle tweatle)
more about the Slurian Union. Can you tell me about it?"
"Yes, yes of course!" said Baronov. "The Slurian Union is a
consumer's paradise. We believe the rights of the consumer, who is
fully empowered to lead rich, rewarding lives-"
"I took a quick look around on my way here," said the Professor.
"I noticed that your standard of living is noticeably below that of the
League's."
"Oh... oh of course, you were on August!" said Baronov. "That is
where the richest of the rich live, while the rest of the League is
kept in the yoke of poverty to support their excessive pleasures. In
the Slurian Union, on the other hand, everyone shares with the state,
and the state levels the playing field."
"I see," said the Professor. "If your system is so popular, why
do you have so many (tweatle tweatle) guards patrolling your streets?"
"Guards? You mean the Loyalty Police," said Baronov. "They are
teachers, who guide our people in times of trouble."
"I notice that your teachers are armed with crude energy
discharge weapons," said the Professor. "Are they used to (tweatle
tweatle) discipline?"
"Only in the most rarest of cases," said Baronov. "Their weapons
are merely... symbols of their authority. Their utilitarian function is
strictly a distant secondary one, I assure you."
"I see," said the Professor. "If your system is so popular, than
why is the League of United Planets substantially larger in size than
your (tweatle tweatle) Union?"
"We have trouble getting our message out. The League jams our
transmissions."
"I did not observe any jamming when I was there," said the
Professor. "I observed many different kinds of opinions on the public
data networks. Your data networks, on the other hand, are much fewer in
number and all reflect the same opinions."
"We find that emphasis and repetition help guide the populace
better," said Baronov. Suddenly, he saw several black clad individuals
enter the room. Good. Special Tasks had finally arrived.
"Why don't you stay at the palace, as my guest?" said Baronov.
"That won't be necessary," said the Professor. "I'd just like to
(tweatle tweatle) a look around."
"I insist," said Baronov.
The Capybara looked at the armed guards surrounding him for a
moment. His ears fluttered slightly. "No, I don't want to impose."
He started to turn to the door.
"On stun!" said Baronov.
A blaster shot hit the Professor in the snout. He stood there,
blinking for a second.
Then several more blaster shots rang out, hitting the Professor
in the torso and body.
"Hm, must make a (tweatle tweatle) note about this," said the
Professor. The holographic pen and script appeared in the air in front
of him, and started to write rapidly..
The blaster fire continued to have no apparent affect on him.
"More!" said Baronov.
"Sir, it is not working!" said one of the guards.
"Then set to kill!"
The Professor looked up at Baronov with those big dark eyes of
his. Baronov met his stare.
"Fire!" said Baronov.
The Capybara was blanketed with blaster fire. He shrieked, his
body crumpled under the impact, and he fell to the ground, his tongue
dangling out of his mouth,
"Ceasefire!" said one of the guards.
They looked at the body. One of them moved closer, as if to touch
it...
And the Capybara promptly stood up!
"Just (tweatle tweatle) kidding," said the Capybara.
They all stared at him, speechless.
"I have learned from the other humans I have met that humor
sometime helps to dispel tensions. I thought I would (tweatle tweatle)
it here."
They still stared at him, wordlessly.
"Obviously, you do not have the ability to appreciate even the
simplest levels of humor. I will (tweatle tweatle) make a note of it,"
said the Capybara, as he waddled out of the room.
Chapter 7 Hostage
Crisis On Carradine
Four days later, Croft was sure they were wasting their time.
Croft and Preston along with the other diplomats sat through a series
of "town hall" meetings where people would complain about living under
Directorate rule. The problem was that only a handful of people showed
up for each meeting, and nearly all of them were Free Carradine
fanatics. What they lacked in quantity, however, they made up for in
lung capacity. Once one of them started speaking they could literally
go on for up to an hour, without stopping.
One woman catalogued a list of offenses. "The government here is
spying on me! They have taps on all my comms! They even have a
microphone in my toothbrush, a camera in my mirror, and they have wired
up my entire neighborhood to spy on me-"
Croft whispered to Preston. "It sounds like she should be
watched."
"Yeah," Preston whispered back. "Notice how empty these meetings
are."
"I noticed," said Croft.
"Looks to me like most of the League citizens here don't have too
much of a problem living under Directorate rule."
"You wouldn't know it by what you read in the press services,"
said Croft.
"It wouldn't surprise me to learn that the Slurians are paying
off certain journalists," said Preston. "It's happened before."
"You think the Slurians are funding this group?"
Preston shrugged. "It's certainly possible. It just doesn't seem
possible that such a content group would produce such a hardcore of
malcontents."
"Perhaps this Free Carradine group deserves some further
scrutiny."
The town meeting they were in, however, was interrupted when
someone came and whispered something in the secretary's ear. He quickly
went off-stage.
Croft and Preston followed. They ran into Vickery.
"What's going on?" said Croft.
"A bunch of Free Carradine followers have gone into the federal
complex near the spaceport and taken hostages," said Vickery.
The federal complex. That was where the local Directorate
bureaucrats ran the planet from.
"Let's go," said Croft.
"We can't get involved," said Vickery.
"We can observe," said Croft.
"Well, yes," Vickery admitted.
When they got there the place was cordoned off by local security.
Croft whispered something into Preston's ear. Preston left.
"Where he is going?" Vickery asked.
"Just to get me some cough drops," said Croft.
"You're not coughing."
"I might, later," said Croft.
Even though they were on site all they could learn about the
event was what they heard from the public broadcast services. Listening
to their comms they learned that there were 20 hostages inside. The
Free Carradine movement had a number of demands, foremost among them
was access to transmitters to broadcast the failings of the June
Directorate. They also wanted an unspecified sum of money, free
transport to the League, and immunity from prosecution.
Little else was learned from listening to the news, as the same
information recycled over and over. Preston returned during this time,
carrying a large briefcase and a small one. He handed the large one to
Croft.
"You must have brought a lot of cough drops," said Vickery.
Croft said something quietly to Preston and pointed somewhere
distant, and made a cryptic gesture with his hand. Preston nodded and
left with the small briefcase.
"What are you doing?" said Vickery, watching Croft with the large
briefcase.
"I think I have to wash my hands," said Croft. "I'll be back."
He left, and returned a few minutes later. The briefcase was
gone, and his jacket noticeably bulged.
By this time, the terrorists were threatening to execute the
hostages unless their demands were met. Local news reporters were
productively speculating on who would be first.
Croft started to move towards the police barricades.
"Where are you going?" said Vickery.
"Just going to ask the police a question. I'll be right back."
"All right," said Vickery. "But remember, we're not supposed to
get involved."
"I remember," said Croft.
When Croft got to the police line and tried to cross it, an
officer held up a restraining hand.
Croft raised his datapad, showing an official ID of the June
Bureau of Investigations. "I'm special agent Cronson," said Croft,
speaking with the slight twang of the June accent. "Please step aside."
The guard looked uncertain for half a second, but, judging from
Croft's manner, he nodded and stood aside.
Croft made his way up the steps. A police sharpshooter perched
behind a statue warned, "Don't go any farther! They already wounded the
first hostage negotiator we tried to send in!"
"They won't shoot me," said Croft calmly.
Croft cupped his hands. "Hey, inside. We'd like to talk about
your demands."
A shot rang out. Croft instinctively ducked.
"There's nothing to talk about!" a voice screamed back.
"How much money do you want? Where do you want it delivered? When
will your broadcast begin?" said Croft. "I'm here to attend to the
details."
There was silent for a moment. Then a hesitant voice said, "All
right. But just one of you. And you better not be armed!"
Closing his bulging jacket tightly, Croft entered the building.
One terrorist stood with a blaster at the door to a suite of offices
where they were holed up.
He looked at Croft's bulging jacket. "I said unarmed."
"It's just a blaster resistant vest," said Croft.
The man nodded and pushed Croft into the room, where another
terrorist with a blaster escorted him to their leader. As they walked
Croft took in all the details; the desks, all unattended, the hostages,
huddled in a corner of the room, whimpering; the large, ornate windows;
and the terrorists themselves, five in all, by Croft's count, including
their leader, a man with long straight hair and a small grubby beard.
"Who are you?" said the man, with a hostile glare.
"My name is Kron-Kronberg," said Croft, |