Gibraltar Sun (35 page)

“I wonder if we have bitten off more than we can chew?” one of Captain Harris’s staff officers mused.

Looking at the interconnections between a million star systems, Mark Rykand wondered the same thing.

Only, he wondered to himself while he studied the face of the enemy. Lisa was right. There were a lot of stargates in the Sovereignty and finding the most important gate or gates, the ones leading to the Broan home world, would be quite literally like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Still, they now had a diagram of the haystack and that would make the hunt a great deal easier.

#

Chapter Thirty Five

The mountains on this world are impressive,” said Gastan Nor. The squat Banlath was
Blood Oath
’s guard commander and leader of Pas-Tek’s personal bodyguard detachment. He and six of his fellows had accompanied the captain on each of the “courtesy calls” they had made on his mission. It had been several generations since a Master had been harmed by subservients, making Pas-Tek’s retinue more of a luxury than a necessity. Still, the Banlath were renowned for both their loyalty and ferocity, and their presence around Pas-Tek had the desired effect on the local leaders whenever he delivered his dispatches.

Besides, he would have felt vulnerable without them, and that might cause Those Who Serve to get the wrong idea about Those Who Rule and their representative.

“Must be the gravity,” Pas-Tek replied absentmindedly, not bothering to look up at the display that showed the icy mountain range below. His attention was focused on a small display on which the standard database entry for Pastol was displayed. The world seemed a simple place with little interaction with the rest of Civilization, save for their food exports. Pas-Tek liked that. It meant that his stay here would be of minimum duration and that he would soon be en route to the next-to-last system on his list. That is, if the engineers could get the drive recalibrated in time.

“We have landing clearance,” his pilot announced.

“Then let us not delay,” Pas-Tak replied.

A short time later, his boat set down at a small spaceport at which a large number of Ranta were gathered. These were the senior leaders of the planetary government. Protocol required such a welcoming committee for any master who visited this world, especially for one engaged in the official business of Those Who Rule. Barring sickness or death, any government official who chose not to greet him would be looked upon as being unworthy of his or her post.

As he rose to exit the boat, Gastan Nor produced a body cape. “You will want this, Commander. It is quite cold outside.”

Pas-Tek allowed the garment to be fastened around him before proceeding to the airlock. He waited until Nor and his six guards had positioned themselves in a defensive perimeter around the boat, then stepped out into the weak sunlight.

“Who represents Pastol?” he asked in a soft voice that nevertheless carried across the cold wind.

A tall being with purple-green feathers stepped forward and said, “I am LasTiVar. I represent the council that rules in your absence, Master.”

“I am Ship Commander Pas-Tek of the Avenger
Blood Oath
. I am here to deliver dispatches from Those Who Rule. I require a place where we can talk.”

“We have prepared transport to take you and your party into the city, Master.”

“Is your council here?” Pas-Tek asked.

“They are, Master.”

“Then we will meet here at this landing site,” the commander said. “I have two more systems to visit after this one. I have no time for ceremonials.”

“I understand, LasTiVar replied. “I will summon the council members to that building there.”

He gestured toward a low building that looked like a warehouse. Not very impressive, but functional. That was all Pas-Tek required. The sooner he was back aboard ship, the sooner he would be on his way.

He and his entourage followed the Rantan leader to the warehouse and out of the cold wind. There was a delay while one of his guards set up the portable projection equipment. While they waited, several very tall Rantans arrived to array themselves in a respectful semicircle about him.

When LasTiVar signified that all were present, Pas-Tek slipped out of his cloak and climbed up onto a handy packing crate. Even then, his head did not reach the level of the Rantans’. Even so, there was no doubt as to where the power lay in this gathering.

“Loyal subjects of Pastol. Greetings from Those Who Rule. I am Pas-Tek, Ship Commander of the Second Grade. I bring instructions from the Ruling Council. They require that you do all in your power to hunt down a gang of criminals.”

At his signal, the guard running the projection device brought up the hologram containing the council edict. The edict was read by Zel-Sen, Senior of the Council. Behind him lay the majesty of the council chambers, a reminder to all within Civilization of the power that controlled their lives.

“Greetings, Loyal Subjects and Beings,” Zel-Sen’s image began. “I bring the tidings of the Ruling Council. May peace and prosperity rule your lives! The Council has need of your assistance. A gang of thieves is operating within the bounds of Civilization, preying on the unwary among us. They must be brought to justice.

“These thieves call themselves ‘Vulcans’…” Zel-Sen went on to describe the miscreants. While he spoke, various views of them appeared in the lighted cube above the projector. There were views of each of the Vulcans who had visited Klys’kra’t. Many showed them engaged in various activities. Some of the views were still shots and close-ups. The orange-skinned, blue-haired aliens had been caught from numerous angles. Finally, Zel-Sen gave a reference for where the medical scans could be found in the record cube.

He finished with, “All beings are ordered to be aware of these criminals and to report any news of them. If you have any information, you will notify the nearest Sub-Sector or Sector Capital. They are to be detained if you encounter them.”

The recording ended with Zel-Sen assuming the posture of command to emphasize that the matter was of great importance, as though the fact that the edict had been delivered via warship was insufficient prod to action.

While the recording played, Pas-Tek watched the Ranta. They stood immobile as the old Master gave them their orders. Since reading the emotions of a species he had never before met was not one of Pas-Tek’s skills, he did not know what to make of their manner. Outwardly, they appeared respectful, but who could say what thoughts were going on inside those feather covered skulls?

“Have you seen these beings?” he asked when the recording ended, just as he had done at every previous planet. The question was pro forma. He had already heard it answered in the negative a dozen times.

There was a long silence before LasTiVar responded, “We do not get many visitors here.”

“Yes, but have you seen them?”

“We have seen no species with orange skins and blue fur. I will, of course, check with those in the external affairs group to be sure, but I do not believe that they have been here. However…”

Pas-Tek’s ears pricked up at the momentary hesitation. “Yes?”

LasTiVar continued. “Although the colors are not right and they do not have fur, the overall shape of limbs and features appear similar to that of the Trojans. Perhaps they are related to these Vulcans.”

“Who are these Trojans of whom you speak?”

They are traders. We have just concluded an arrangement to produce a liquid form of our
vasa
berry.”

“‘
Just?’
When did they visit you?”

“A few days ago.”

Pas-Tek blinked in surprise. “Please repeat.”

“We first met them less than two twelve-days ago.”

“And where are they now?”

“They departed just as your ship made orbit. They are en route to the stargate.”

Pas-Tek blinked in surprise. He couldn’t be this lucky! The very criminals, or possibly their close relatives, were actually in this system! All he need do was to chase them down and his career was assured. Even if they jumped to Gasak before he caught them, he would continue the chase until he ran them down.

Then he remembered. The engineers had his star drive disassembled, trying to fix the generator calibration! That meant that he would have to catch them
before
they reached the stargate. Luckily, there were few ships that could outrun
Blood Oath
.

“Quick, tell me everything you know about these Trojans! Better yet, I want to see the records you made of them.”

“Yes, Master.”

#

It took the Rantans an obscenely long time to retrieve the records Pas-Tek wanted, or at least that was the way Pas-Tek perceived it. In truth, a scurrying young alien arrived with a record cube in less time than it would have taken to be seated in one of the fancier restaurants on Vil, Pas-Tek’s home. The tension coursing through his body as he waited just made it seem like forever.

The record cube went immediately into the portable projector and he was soon looking at some not-very-good photography that the Ranta had made of their Trojan guests. By his departed ancestors, they did look like the recordings of the Vulcans! Not the superficial features, of course. These beings were hairless, with intricate yellow and black shading all over their bodies.

But the essentials were identical. Like most intelligent species, they were axially bisymmetric bipeds with two arms and a globular head in which all of the sense organs were located. The eyes had the shape of a
vandan
fruit, and the nose was doubly slit under an overhang of flesh. The mouth had a distinctly fleshy look to it, at least in the outer part. Inside, the teeth were white and standard omnivore in shape. The tongue was short, broad and pink, showing no sign of being split.

In fact, they not only looked like the Vulcans, two of the Trojans bore a striking resemblance to two of the individual Vulcans of Klys’kra’t!

“Guard, depress the color on those two views,” Pas-Tek ordered. The two views in question were of the female Vulcan and female Trojan. Suddenly, the garish orange skin and blue hair of one picture faded to gray as did the black and yellow stripes in the other.

Pas-Tek peered at the result closely. He was not an expert at judging alien facial features, but it looked to him like the same being, save that in one of the pictures, she was bald.

“What say you, Gaston Nor?” he asked his guard leader.

“Either this species does not have much genetic variation, or that is the same individual,” Nor replied. “Fos, do a comparison analysis! Quickly.”

The guard operating the projector made a few adjustments to his controls and a program used to categorize individual species took over. For most beings, the program would have announced their species, home world, and the name of their master within the span of a single heartbeat. For this unknown female, however, the two pictures were compared and various difficult-to-change characteristics – such as the distance between the eyes – were evaluated.

In less time than it would have taken Pas-Tek to give an order, the projector announced that the two images were of the same individual.

“It appears that Pastol has been visited by thieves,” he said to no one in particular. To LasTiVar, he asked, “Who had the most contact with these visitors?”

“CanVisTal spent the most time with them.”

“Where is this CanVisTal?”

“Why, at his station, encoding reports on the Trojans.”

“Where is his station?”

“On the other side of the landing field,” the leader of the Ranta replied. “He is cataloging the trade goods in an attempt to evaluate their worth.”

“What trade goods?”

“Why the goods the Vulcans left behind in exchange for our
vasa
juice.”

“Bring this CanVisTal here,” Pas-Tek ordered. “Also, I want to see these trade goods. Have them fetched immediately.”

Throughout he tried to remain calm, but this news triggered his battle reflexes. It was difficult not to order his guards back to the landing boat and to launch himself in full pursuit of these brigands.

However, as an old teacher had once told him, a wise commander obtains all the information he can about an enemy before launching a battle. So, Pas-Tek willed himself to be patient.

Eventually, a tall Rantan was brought before him. The being seemed agitated.

“You dealt with these Trojans during their visit here?” Pas-Tek asked in a tone of command.

“Yes, Master,” the Rantan replied. “I am in charge of making trade agreements with all who visit our world. Did I do wrong?”

“No one is questioning the propriety of your actions,” Pas-Tek replied, willing himself to calm down. “Please tell me all that they did here.”

“They were seeking trade opportunities and were looking for new foodstuffs that they could introduce to their far-off world. They found the
vasa
berry and negotiated with us to squeeze the berries into liquid form. We expect to gain much value from the arrangement.”

“I doubt it,” the ship commander replied. “You have been dealing with known thieves.”

“Thieves? The Trojans? It hardly seems likely. They paid well for the juice, more in fact than I expected to get.”

“Is that all they purchased? Juice?”

“No, Master. They had a scholar with them. At his request, they bought a copy of our planetary database. They paid more than it was worth as well.”

“Your planetary database? What would they want with that?”

“They claimed their own database was corrupt and incomplete.”

“And what did they pay you with?”

“Vithian power units, converters, and some of their folk art.”

“Vithian power units are what they left behind at Klys’kra’t. Where are these units?”

“As you ordered, I have sent my helper to retrieve them from the warehouse where they are stored.”

An interminable number of heartbeats later, another feathered Ranta rushed in from the cold with an armful of goods. He spread them at Pas-Tek’s feet.

The ship commander had just bent over to examine them more carefully when he took a breath. The hair all over his body stiffened. Everyone in civilization knew that when a Master did that, someone was in trouble.