Man Who Used the Universe (27 page)

One of Loo-Macklin's exploration vessels, the Pasthinking, had discovered massive deposits of cobalt and related minerals on the distant world of a star designated NRGC 128. While the crew was mapping the location of the deposits, the ship's automatic monitoring system had picked up a subspace transmission. The frequency of the transmission was noted.

Chaheel leaned forward, made his own note of the frequency. That was the end of the entry.

In his own quarters that night, he ran the notation through his private unit. Translated into Nuel terms, the frequency became one he recognized instantly: it was the same that Loo-Macklin had employed for his mysterious conversation with the unknown alien some two years earlier.

Breakthrough. Maybe, he cautioned himself. He now was in possession of a subspace communications frequency. That was all. Frequency plus suspicion did not equal revelation. That would require additional digging.

Months passed before his probing at the company computers yielded a cross-reference for the frequency designation. It was a minuscule entry, one impossible to locate without knowledge of the precise frequency itself.

Anxiously, Chaheel keyed the necessary code information into the computer. It responded efficiently.

Subsequent to the completion of mineralogical survey of NRGC 28—4, contact had been made by the exploration vessel Pasthinking with a new sentient race. Initial development classification Class One. No information available on type of government, no information available on population, no information available on number of worlds inhabited by, no information, no information . . .

At the end of a long file whose entries were universally marked with the designation "no information" were figures giving the coordinates of signal together with estimation of coordinates for origination of broadcast. Somewhere toward the galactic center, Chaheel noted. That was rather more nonspecific than he'd hoped for.

The only solid information the officers and crew of the Pasthinking had been able to obtain was the name of the new race, which called itself the Tremovan. Survey followed of NRGC 128—5 and 28—6, whereupon the ship moved on to the star designated in the catalog as NRGC 1046 . . . and moved on, and moved on.

That was the sum of the entry. Coordinates for the beam, estimated coordinates for its source, phonetic rendering of an alien name, and a great deal of dull geology.

Tremovan. Chaheel thought again of the golden-scaled, multiocular alien of Loo-Macklin's conversation. Did this new name and unknown creature match up? Likely, but still not a certainty. There were no remarks in the report of the Pasthinking to indicate there was anything remarkable about the strength of the subspace communications beam they'd intercepted. Had the officers of the Nuel monitor ship floating somewhere on the other side of Evenwaith miscalculated its strength? And did that mean he'd spent over two years on this dreadful world for nothing?

He checked and, as expected, found no reference in any human scientific journal to a people called the Tremovan. As he'd told the Commander of the monitor ship, it was the right of any discoverer like Loo-Macklin to keep knowledge private for purposes of commerce.

And yet . . . and yet, it had been many years now since the Pasthinking had made its contact. Over twenty. A long time to keep knowledge of a new species from the rest of society. What commercial advantages did Loo-Macklin hope to gain by maintaining such secrecy? The scientific community, at least, was entitled to such information. Overdue to receive it, in fact.

He rechecked the literature. The Tremovan might as well not exist. Two years ago, he might have seen Loo-Macklin conversing with one of them. Come to think of it, how long had Kee-yes vain Lewmaklin been cooperating with the Nuel? Certainly not twenty years. Yet he'd never mentioned them to his Nuel associates. Of course, if it was only a matter of private business, a commercial secret of no importance to the Plan of the Families, there was no need to say anything.

But . . . twenty years of secrecy. If indeed the Tremovan and the golden-scaled alien were one and the same.

And if they were, did it mean anything? Chaheel's mind churned. Here was a human whose dealings with the Nuel were unsuspected by his own kind. The depth of such dealings was known only to a few high officials within the Families.

Could an individual like Lewmaklin, who had negotiated and carried out in utter secrecy complex plans made with an alien people, forge a similar pact with a third race and keep it secret both from his own kind and from the Nuel? Or worse, might these Tremovan be known to the inner circles of UTW government? Was there something quietly, smoothly developing there that could pose a danger not only to the Plan but to the worlds of the Families?

Nonsense, Chaheel told himself. His thoughts were turning to mush. And yet he dare not let go of this thing until he'd searched it through.

Suppose he reported his suspicions to the Families and none of them turned out to have a basis in fact. His career would not be ruined, but his professional competency would be forever in question. The Si, certainly, would suspect no ill of Lewmaklin and would question everything Chaheel might say. Without facts, he was in a hopeless position.

Of course, there was one way to resolve everything, clear away the network of secrecy and concealment. He could request an audience with Lewmaklin and ask him straight out.

Pardon me, Kee-yes, but these mysterious Tremovan . . . who are they, what about your dealings with them these past twenty years, and just how do they fit into your workings for the Families?

Such questions might get him some interesting answers. They might also get him dead. There was still the lehl, living in the back of the human's brain. But in the years he'd spent observing Kee-yes vain Lewmaklin, Chaheel had come to believe nothing was beyond the human's abilities. He did not see how a lehl''s programming could be subverted, but he no longer had the confidence in it his superiors seemed to have.

Lewmaklin had always been cordial to Chaheel, but the psychologist didn't delude himself for a minute into thinking such surface friendship would carry him very far. He knew the man respected his abilities. That was, at least partly, why Chaheel had been given his choice of positions within Loo-Macklin's commercial empire. But Chaheel knew that if Lewmaklin thought some plan of his was endangered by the psychologist's actions, he would have his alien employee eliminated.

Chaheel needed something, some proof of the human's intentions if not his actual plans. It had occurred to him that there was a way to push the issue. Dangerous, maybe lethal. It might not work at all. But it was something, and he would not have to confront Loo-Macklin in person.

He'd worked out the details very carefully before he began. First, he tendered his resignation, giving as an excuse the fact that he was tired of working on Evenwaith and that his home-longing for the worlds of the Families had swollen to the bursting point. All true. So far.

Calmly he made his reservation on one of the commercial liners that now plied the routes between the UTW and the Family worlds. He packed his belongings and chips, took leave of his friends, including a few human coworkers, and prepared to abandon forever his association with Loo-Macklin's company.

On the morning of his departure he detoured to the central computer terminal in the tube office where he'd worked for two years and filed several requests for information about golden-scaled quadrupedal aliens discovered by the exploration ship Pasthinking some twenty years ago. He also requested information on any dealings these people, the Tremovan (still a guess on his part) might have had in the subsequent decades with Kees vaan Loo-Macklin, any of his associates or related businesses, or the Board of Operators.

The computer replied exactly as Chaheel Riens expected. No such race discovered, insufficient information for further processing, questions not relative to stored information, and so on. Elaborate methods of disclaimer and negativity.

He did not for a second expect any of his questions to provoke a reply . . . from the computer. What he expected as he hurried from the terminal toward the spaceport was that his open inquiries would trigger some kind of alarm circuit within the network and that this would provoke a response of the non-informational variety.

He was rushing for the spaceport as fast as he was able in hopes of avoiding the consequences of that response. If no reaction was forthcoming, he would be safe, and wrong. If he was correct, he could be in real peril. It was a most difficult situation to be in.

At the port, he mingled as best he could with the interracial crowd. In spite of the fact that his attention and senses were directed elsewhere, he could not help but notice that not nearly as many humans shied well away from him as had on his initial arrival.

Slowly and as though nothing were going to happen, he made his way toward the loading ramp leading to his ship shuttle. Three ships to depart parking orbit within the hour: one direct to Malporant, the Nuel world nearest the UTW. One for Dumarl, a minor industrial-agricultural world in the opposite direction and thence to points inward. One for several small colony planets between Evenwaith and Malporant.

His reservation was for the ship to Malporant direct and he started up that loading ramp. At the top of the ramp, as at the top of the other two, was a conveyor, which split in three directions. Only the center was for off-planet shuttle. Chaheel paused and casually extricated a monocular from one pocket. He used it to scan the crowd but that melange of beings and colors did not interest him.

His attention was caught by a cluster of large humans at the far end of the central conveyor strip. They were clad like their supposed fellow travelers, but they were not going on-board. They stood there and chatted and waited. Occasionally one would glance down the conveyor. Chaheel saw no sign of sight-enhancing devices. No need for them, no doubt. Not here, in port, with only one entrance per ship.

He saw no sign of weapons but there was no doubt in his mind that each of the large humans, male and female alike, was appropriately armed.

He crossed over to one of the return conveyors, ignoring the puzzled and occasionally hostile stares his action drew. At the split, he shifted to the loading ramp on the far right.

When they discovered he was not on the shuttle for the ship to Malporant they would likely check for his presence on the smaller vessel heading for the colonies in between. It might take underoperatives a while to think to check on a vessel headed in the opposite direction, deep into the heart of the UTW. Loo-Macklin could not supervise everything personally, could not be everywhere at once.

Chaheel was traveling under an assumed name. There were enough Nuel moving about the UTW now to confuse his human hosts. They would assume, if and when they finally tracked him down, that he would take passage from Dumarl to Restavon and then back out to the worlds of the Families. He could not hide on as provincial a world as Dumarl.

But Chaheel had no intention of trying to conceal himself on Dumarl until he could reach Restavon. He had no intention of setting cilia on another world unless it was controlled by the Families. To ensure that, he had committed all the personal prestige and reputation that had accrued to him over the past years.

If he had guessed wrongly in this, despite the evidence, which had presented itself to him at the spaceport, then Loo-Macklin would not have to worry about his interference any longer. Chaheel's own family would see to that.

If he had guessed correctly . . . he almost wished for something to prove him wrong.

A light-year out from Evenwaith in transit to Dumarl, something extraordinary happened. Though it was an unusual thing to do, the captain of the liner on which Chaheel was traveling was compelled to order a drop from supralight drive back into normal space.

A Nuel transport vessel materialized alongside the coasting liner while passengers gathered at observation ports to stare and wonder at the unique interruption of their journey. Human ships had tangled with Nuel craft many times in the past, but such incidents always took place in disputed sections of space, around worlds or suns claimed by both governments. An attack this deep in recognized UTW territory was unprecedented. Therefore, it likely was not an attack, although none among the travelers could think of another explanation. So they watched and waited and drank and shot up and did whatever else they could think of to calm jangled nerves.

A small shuttle detached itself from the Nuel ship and drifted across to the UTW liner. Soon the word was passed around and the passengers relaxed. There was some mechanical difficulty aboard the Nuel craft. One ship always helps another in the endless ocean of interstellar space. The problem was that a ship in trouble was rarely anywhere near another unless they happened to be traveling in tandem.

What an extraordinary stroke of good luck for the slimeskins, the liner passengers thought, that our ship happened to be so close to theirs when they encountered trouble. Wonder what they're doing in this part of UTW space anyway?

Despite the unwritten code, the captain of the UTW vessel had hesitated before ordering the drop from supralight. Perhaps Loo-Macklin's people had already contacted him and he wondered at the timing of the Nuel ship's problem. He argued with his subofficers, but not stopping for another ship in distress could provoke more trouble than stopping, it was pointed out to him. Reluctantly he gave the order to drop speed.

Human engineers helped the Nuel make some minor repairs to their craft, which were less than vital. It was more a matter of missing material than actual damage.

The whole business, of course, was engineered simply to provide an excuse for docking with the UTW liner in order to get Chaheel off. The humans could not prove that the damage to the Nuel ship had been cleverly faked.

From the manner in which the human captain looked askance at Chaheel's departure, the psychologist assumed that Loo-Macklin's forces had moved faster than he'd believed possible. It was fortunate he'd chosen to cast caution aside and direct this little drama to take place. He could envision the small private army already gathering to greet him at the Dumarl spaceport.