Judgment at Proteus

  I was bringing us around in a leisurely curve to the west when I spotted the tunnel that had been dug into the western slope of the southernmost warship’s burial mound.

  Bayta spotted it the same time I did. “Frank?” she asked, pointing.

  “I see it,” I said, trying to make out the details through the shimmer from the low sunlight on the field of swaying brown grass. “McMicking?”

  “Got it,” he said, and I glanced over my shoulder to see that he’d already pulled out his rifle scope and was peering through it. “Looks Human-sized, as opposed to vehicles or rolling carts. Wood or ceramic framing, probably the latter. Floor appears to be dirt.”

  “How far does it go?” I asked.

  “Three or four meters at least,” McMicking said. “That’s as far in as I can see.”

  I frowned. The plan had been for the team to play it coy, create something that looked like a staging area, and try to draw the attention of the enemy, who were surely on Veerstu and aware of their presence by now. The idea had not been to give the enemy any inkling that the warships were right here in the Ten Mesas region, and especially not that they were buried under the mesas themselves.

  Had the Shonkla-raa already made their move? I’d expected Riijkhan to at least wait until Bayta and I arrived. “Is anyone moving out there?” I asked.

  There was a soft click as McMicking switched the scope to infrared. “Got a foxhole sentry line,” he said. “Heat shields ready but not deployed.”

  “Any signs of visitors?”

  “Nothing showing outside the perimeter,” he said. “Could be hiding behind the mesas we didn’t pass.”

  “Maybe,” I said, the uneasy feeling growing stronger. I would have sworn we’d anticipated all of the Shonkla-raa’s possible gambits. Was there one we’d missed? “What about the tents?”

  “Afternoon deserts are hard to read,” McMicking said. “But it looks like only a few of the smaller ones are occupied, again mostly around the perimeter. Most of the heat’s coming from the two big tents in the middle.”

  I exhaled loudly. That could be the Hardin team, the Shonkla-raa, the Hardin team plus Shonkla-raa prisoners, or the Shonkla-raa plus Hardin team prisoners. With all the heat confusion out there, and my strict order to maintain radio silence, there was no way to find out which except to go in and take a look for ourselves. “Okay,” I said as I straightened out of my curve and started us inward. “Let’s go see what we’ve got.”

  A few Humans appeared from the outer tents as we neared the encampment, shading their eyes as they watched our approach. As we passed the outer perimeter three men emerged from the two large tents: Morse and two of the team leaders. The team leaders, like the others we could see, had stripped down to their armored jumpsuits. Morse, like us, was in full gear, complete with vest and gun belt.

  He spotted us against the low sun and lifted his own rifle scope to his eye. I waved through the windshield, and he lowered the scope and pointed to an open spot beside the spot where he and the team leaders were standing. Giving the distant mesa to the east one final look, I brought the aircar in and set it down.

  Morse came over as I popped the door, the two team leaders beside him. “Welcome to Proteus,” Morse greeted me, his voice slurred a little.

  “Thank you,” I said, frowning. Morse’s cheeks seemed to be sagging, and there was something odd about his eyes and voice.

  But there was no sign of the Shonkla-raa command tone. Could the strain on his face be due to the heat?

  It was only as Morse’s hand dropped to his Beretta that I noticed the small earpiece nestled in his left ear. His ear, and the ears of the two men beside him. “McMicking!” I snapped, snatching out my Glock.

  I was bringing the weapon to bear on Morse when the tent door behind him opened and a stream of jumpsuited men and woman strode out into the sunlight, all of them moving in the same rigid lockstep. “You wish to shoot them?” Morse asked, his voice still slurred. “Please—indulge yourself. They’re all unarmed.” In an almost leisurely manner he drew his gun and pointed it at the sky. “Or shoot me. I won’t even shoot back.”

  I sighed. How the hell had the Shonkla-raa pulled this one off? “You know, I really thought you’d at least wait until I got here,” I commented.

  Morse lowered his gun and twitched it to the side. “Outside, all of you,” he ordered. His eyes flicked to the two defenders hunched down in the rear of the aircar. “The Spiders too.”

  “Bayta, give them the order,” I said grimly, holstering the Glock and popping my restraints. “McMicking, just play it cool.”

  “One at a time,” Morse said, lowering his Beretta again. “You first, Compton.”

  I climbed out onto the sand. The desert air was shimmering with heat, and I could feel sweat popping out all over my skin as the two team leaders silently relieved me of my vest and gun belt. Morse ordered me to the front of the aircar, then gestured to McMicking.

  A minute later McMicking was standing beside me, his own arsenal also confiscated. Bayta was next, and then Morse watched closely as she directed Sam and Carl outside and sent them to the rear of the vehicle. “What happens next?” I asked when we were all finally lined up where Morse wanted us.

  Morse shook his head. “You are indeed a fool, Compton—”

  “—if you have not already guessed,” a new voice finished the sentence from behind Morse.

  And the door of the big tent opened again and Osantra Riijkhan stepped into view.

  “But don’t worry,” he continued as he walked toward us, four more Fillies filing out of the tent behind him. “We want you and your companions alive.”

  His eyes glittered with malice and anticipation. “For the present.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  “A well-conceived plan,” Riijkhan said approvingly as he came to a halt a couple of meters behind Morse. The four other Shonkla-raa took up positions behind him as another silent stream of men and women poured from the tent. They and the original dozen whom Morse had invited me to shoot gathered themselves into two groups, one on either side of the Fillies. “Well-conceived, and subtly executed,” Riijkhan continued. “You first spin this tale of a great prize waiting at Proteus Station, thinking we will perhaps be too hasty to dig deeper into the words. Then you send out your team of pilots, a few at a time, in hopes of reaching the true location while we hurriedly gather our forces at Ilat Dumar Covrey.”

  He gestured toward Morse. “Did you truly think we wouldn’t notice the presence of Agent Morse as he left Terra Station?”

  “It was a calculated risk,” I said evenly, nodding at the newly minted Modhran walkers behind him. “I see I should have taken the lesson of your last attack more seriously.”

  “Ah, and therein lies the true genius of your plan,” Riijkhan said. “A subtle and layered plan, indeed. Because you did anticipate that Morse might be noticed. You also anticipated that we would still have Modhran coral we could use against you.”

  One of the team leaders beside Morse lifted his hand. “The skin coating was brilliant,” Riijkhan continued, as the other showed me a callused but otherwise unmarked palm. “A thin layer of carefully tailored poison that would be driven into the wound made by a coral scratch, thus killing any polyps so introduced. Not only would such a sheath protect your pilots from all such attacks, but the attacks themselves would betray ourselves or our agents to them.”

  I felt my throat tighten. Naturally, once Morse and the others had been taken, the Shonkla-raa would have easily been able to dig out all the various layers of my plan.

  Only how in hell had Riijkhan managed to take them in the first place? Hardin’s medical techs, and the Modhri himself, had assured me that the skin coating would work. “Yes, you’ve been very clever,” I said. “But I can’t help noticing that aside from Morse none of them are carrying any weapons. Worried about another slave revolt like the one that killed off your forebears?”

  Riijkhan’s blaze darkened a couple of shades. Appa
rently, he didn’t like hearing about unpleasant subjects. I might be able to use that. “Focus on the future, Compton,” he said stiffly. “Not the past.”

  I took a deep breath. I still had a hole card, I reminded myself firmly. Maybe two of them.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the glint of sunlight off Carl’s metal globe. Maybe even three of them.

  But before I could play them, I needed Riijkhan to come a little closer.

  “How about I just concentrate on the present?” I suggested. “Such as my former teammates here. Are you grooming them to be a future army? Or are you picking up where Usantra Wandek left off?”

  Riijkhan snorted. “Slander not the dead, but Usantra Wandek’s plan was wasted effort,” he said. “Why spend time creating future slaves when a touch of Modhran coral can create the same slaves today?”

  “I don’t mean Wandek’s supposed plan,” I corrected. “I mean his real plan.”

  Riijkhan took a step closer to me. “You know nothing about Usantra Wandek’s plans.”

  “On the contrary,” I said, noting his reaction with interest. Were Wandek and, by extension, Proteus Station just two more unpleasant subjects that he didn’t want to hear about? Or was this something he didn’t want me talking about for some other reason entirely? “You see, I made the effort to find out why he picked Terese German,” I went on. “Once I did that, everything else just fell together.” I gestured to one of the Shonkla-raa behind Riijkhan. “Did you know Wandek was planning to betray you?”

  The Filly stirred, and I saw his blaze darken. “You will not speak—”

  He broke off at Riijkhan’s upstretched hand. “Explain,” Riijkhan ordered.

  “Terese German is actually Terese von Archenholz,” I said. “She’s the daughter—well, the unhappy, estranged daughter, anyway; they don’t see much of each other these days—of Martin von Archenholz, founder and head of Hands Across the Stars. That’s an organization in Zurich that brings in non-Human medical experts to treat diseases we don’t yet have a handle on, particularly children’s diseases. Wandek’s idea was to clear up Terese’s genetic ailments in hopes of leveraging that success to a presumably grateful Daddy and get him to push for a permanent Filiaelian medical presence on Earth. Once he had that, Wandek would have a free hand to cure lots of children and turn them into future telepaths.” I cocked my head. “And into Junior Shonkla-raa.”

  Riijkhan’s eyes flicked to Bayta, then back to me. “Impossible.”

  “Not at all,” I assured him. “Your throats were originally designed that way so you could sing better. Humans already have all the necessary vocal apparatus—no obvious modifications would be needed. And a Human Shonkla-raa is something none of you would ever anticipate. With Wandek pulling our telepathic strings, we’d be the perfect weapons to throw down your leaders so he could set himself up in their place.”

  Riijkhan took another step forward. “You lie,” he said. “Usantra Wandek would never commit treason.”

  “But the interesting part,” I said, ignoring his protest, “is how you were also very keen on letting Earth off the hook in the coming conquest. Does that mean you were already secretly working with him?”

  Riijkhan drew himself up. “I cannot rebel against the Shonkla-raa leader,” he intoned. “I am the Shonkla-raa leader.”

  “Really,” I said. I’d actually suspected that for some time now. “Ascended to the throne on Usantra Wandek’s death, did you? I guess our activities on Proteus weren’t a total loss, at least for you.” I gestured to the Humans standing behind him. “Especially since it left Wandek’s Human telepathy techniques free for you to take full advantage of.”

  Riijkhan gazed hard at me, and I could sense his uncertainty. Maybe he’d only recently been declared leader and still wasn’t comfortable with the title. Maybe he’d declared it unilaterally.

  Or maybe he suspected I was goading him for a reason. “Usantra Wandek’s experiments are not at play here,” he said. “It was Dr. Aronobal’s idea. She had noted—”

  “The late Dr. Aronobal, you mean?” I interrupted. “I’m assuming she died with the rest of your Proteus contingent when Logra Emikai took the place down. I hope my old friend Isantra Kordiss gave a good showing of himself before he died.”

  Riijkhan’s blaze darkened. “You speak too much, Compton,” he warned quietly. This time, he took two steps forward, coming to a halt beside Morse.

  “I’m sorry you have such trouble with the truth,” I said.

  “The truth is that Emikai was lucky,” Riijkhan growled. “The other truth is that you and your schemes are pathetically weak.”

  “Actually, the truth is—well, we’ll get back to that,” I said. “You were talking about Dr. Aronobal and her clever ideas.”

  Again, Riijkhan seemed to measure me. “She noted your interest in the super-express train’s air filtration system,” he said. “She realized that while a Spider air system would eventually filter out all particulate matter, for a time that matter would remain suspended in the air.”

  Beside me, Bayta caught her breath. “You made an aerosol spray of Modhran coral?”

  “Of Modhran polyps,” Riijkhan corrected, his eyes again flicking to her before coming back to me. “From original Modhran coral, naturally, without the disagreeable effects inherent in the Melding variety. With careful positioning and timing of the sprays, we were able to take control of each group of Humans as they neared the Veerstu station.”

  I grimaced. So that was how he’d bypassed the team’s tricked-out skin. That approach hadn’t even occurred to me. “Which is why there weren’t any walkers hanging around the platform when we got to Veerstu,” I said. “You made sure to clear them all out each time a team came through so that they couldn’t tip off the rest of the mind about what had happened.”

  “What about the other passengers in those cars?” McMicking asked.

  Riijkhan looked him up and down. “You’re McMicking,” he said. “Compton’s chief enforcement officer. Perhaps later I’ll measure you against single combat.”

  “I’ll look forward to it,” McMicking said. “What about the other passengers?”

  “Not all of those in the cars were affected,” Riijkhan said. “Those who had inhaled enough polyps to become true Modhran Eyes exited the train with us at Veerstu.”

  “And?”

  Riijkhan cocked his head and looked at Morse. There was a silent order, I gathered, to Morse’s Modhran colony— “They were killed,” Morse said, a bitter edge in his slurred voice. “The Shonkla-raa made me kill them.”

  I felt my throat tighten. Even knowing it was coming, the revelation was still like a kick in the gut. Beside me, Bayta stirred, but didn’t speak. “You’re not to blame,” I told the Modhri. “The guilt is with those who gave the order.”

  “Compton, I—” Once again, Morse stopped in midsentence.

  “You know, that’s really annoying,” I told Riijkhan, forcing calmness into my voice. I was trying to make him mad. I couldn’t afford to get mad myself. “You need to let your slaves speak every once in a while.”

  “There are few occasions when I wish to hear them,” Riijkhan said evenly. “As to the rest—” He pointed at the earphone in Morse’s ear. “Transmission devices don’t work inside the Tube, so there the command tone must be delivered directly. Here, and in all places where we’ll someday rule, the tone can be delivered from a distance.”

  “Though as you say, that won’t work aboard the Quadrails,” I said. “I’m guessing you’re going to get pretty tired of singing those same damn notes for days or weeks on end.”

  Riijkhan snorted. “Foolish Human. Do you think we don’t know the truth? We will gut the Tube, just as you threatened to do, and sweep away the Spiders and trains into the vacuum of space. Then we will once again ride the Starpath in all its power and splendor.”

  He lifted his focus to the mesa rising behind us. “Magnificent, aren’t they?” he murmured. “Three warships from the day
s of our empire. And these are only the beginning.” He looked back at me. “Soon we shall have a fleet—a hundred fleets—and will bring down our hand to crush all the inferior races of the galaxy.”

  “That’s going to be a bit awkward for you,” I suggested mildly, “given that it’s these inferior races who’ll be crewing your fleets for you.” I nodded to his four companions. “You don’t really think a party of five can run a ship that size, do you?”

  “You really don’t understand, do you?” Riijkhan asked, openly gloating now. “We’ve known about these ships for a long time. Ever since you spoke of them at Terra Station, in fact. While you wasted precious time schooling your pilots in the Shonkla-raa language, we gathered our forces here.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” I said mockingly as I looked around the tents and the empty desert beyond. “You’d better hope I did a good job teaching my inferior-race team how to fly your ships.”

  “We will need very little of your help,” Riijkhan assured me. “I was told by Isantra Kordiss that you laid a challenge before Usantra Wandek before you fled Kuzyatru Station: that the next time he came for you, he should bring all the Shonkla-raa.”

  “Well, throwing yourselves at me piecemeal sure isn’t doing a hell of a lot,” I pointed out. “So, what, is this it?”

  “This is it,” Riijkhan said, eyeing me speculatively. “Is that the news you’re waiting for?”

  I frowned. It was indeed what I was waiting for. Only he wasn’t supposed to know that. Had one of my hole cards suddenly become a deuce?

  But it was too late to stop now. “All of you except the ones who died at Proteus, of course,” I said. “Did I mention, by the way, that that wasn’t just luck, or even just Logra Emikai’s skill? The fact is, we had a spy in your organization. Isantra Kordiss himself was reporting to us.”

  Riijkhan’s blaze went a deep chocolate brown. “Slander not the dead,” he snarled. He pushed past Morse and strode toward me, his hands stiffening into Shonkla-raa knives.

  Finally. “And if you find that truth unsettling,” I continued, raising my voice, “wait until you hear how the original Shonkla-raa actually came to be.”