Interim
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MAIN STORY
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The Alembic Plot
DeLayne's call was fruitful, more quickly than Cortin had expected. As
soon as he identified himself, he was transferred to Ranger Medart.
Cortin studied him while DeLayne reported. She'd seen photos of the
Ranger before, but that had been before she had any expectation of
meeting him, or having her society's future depending on how she dealt
with him. But now everything about him was meaningful.
Except for some graying around his temples, he looked young--normal for
an Imperial officer, with the anti-aging treatments they got. But
there was something in his bearing that made it obvious he was no
innocent, even if she hadn't been acquainted, however vaguely, with his
handling of the Sandeman annexation. He was, she decided, the sort of
man she could respect--which meant she'd have to be careful not to let
that feeling hinder her judgement during the negotiations.
She frowned when Medart, informed she'd been named negotiator, asked if
she were available--long-distance negotiations didn't strike her as a
good idea--but when Delayne replied that she was, she had no choice but
to go to the ultrawave. "I am Colonel Cortin."
"Ranger James Medart," the man on the screen replied. "Pleased to meet
you, Colonel. I'm also pleased to hear you'll be the one I'll be
talking to. Do you have any objection to Captain DeLayne and his crew
acting as Special Liaison until I get there?"
"I would appreciate their assistance, though I am not sure what you
mean by Special Liaison."
"In this case, a demonstration of what Imperials are really like,"
Medart said. "Maybe by the time I get there, you'll have decided we
aren't the sort of monsters you've apparently been taught."
"That is possible," Cortin said. "I gather you do not intend to carry
out our discussions long-distance?"
"No." Medart grinned. "All our experience says long-distance
negotiations are much less productive than face-to-face ones,
especially something that looks like it might be tricky--such as
working with a culture I know nothing about. So I don't plan on
anything except this type of talk, and that only if you insist; I
prefer to get my data in person. If there's anything you think I can
do to help, of course, don't hesitate, but I won't be able to go beyond
advice. Unfortunately, even an IBC can't go over three lights per
hour, and I'm over five hundred hours away."
Roughly three weeks, Cortin calculated. "I should be able to manage
for that time; if not, I am the wrong person for this job. Until your
arrival, then."
"Agreed. Medart out."
Cortin looked around, spotted one of her team and a couple of the
Imperials watching TV, what looked like a news special. "Chuck!" she
called. "What's up?"
"Aaron Spence's analysis of the Imperials' arrival and His Majesty's
designation of you as the sole authority regarding them," the young man
called back. "He doesn't like the first, but he's in favor of the
latter, of course."
"Of course." Cortin chuckled. Spence was the only commentator who
supported her completely, so he was naturally Family Cortin's favorite.
But the fact that he'd gotten past the news to the analysis told her
what she needed to know: her authority in regard to the Imperials was
public knowledge. Odeon was done with the phone; she dialed the main
spaceport, told its commander the Imperial scoutship was being
transferred to Harmony Lodge, and asked him to connect her to its
Bridge.
When that was done, she turned the phone over to DeLayne and listened
as he gave the necessary orders for its move to her estate. She wasn't
sure that was the right move, but with the Brotherhood becoming
increasingly active, it seemed the safest one. Her team, the Imperial
Marines she knew better than to underestimate, and possibly-- "Mike,
did you get through to Brad?"
"Uh-huh. He'll be glad to lend us any local Strike Force troops not
otherwise occupied--though he warns you he may need to take 'em back if
the Brothers stage any more terror raids--and says to tell you he's
asking all the Strike Force priests to include you in their Mass
intentions until further notice. Which Dave and I, at least, will do
gladly."
Cortin grinned at him. "All of which I'm grateful for. I'll have to
thank him personally next time he comes over--did he give you any idea
how soon they'll start arriving?"
"About an hour," Odeon replied. "Shelters will be here about an hour
after that. I told Matthew to have the groundskeepers get things
ready."
"Good. That should be after the Columbus lands--or will she need more
time, Captain DeLayne?"
"Less, Colonel. She should be airborne by now, landing any minute.
Scouts sometimes have to lift off at almost no notice, so regulations
forbid a complete engine shutdown outside Imperial space."
"Sensible," Cortin agreed. "I seldom get to watch spacecraft land;
would it be safe to go out and watch yours?"
"I don't see why not, as long as we stay close to the house."
* * * * *
Even a small spacecraft was large--fitting hyperdrive in anything less
than a hundred meters long seemed to be impossible--and Cortin knew
this scout was one of the smallest of the Imperial ship classes. But
that didn't seem to help as she watched it descend into her side yard.
Nothing that big should be able to move under its own power!
But it did, settling slowly onto the grass, sinking until she wasn't
sure it would ever stop. Finally, though, it did, and she thought
ruefully that her head gardener was probably wishing her in Hell for
what she'd done to his beloved lawn. And this wouldn't be the worst of
it; the entire estate grounds would soon be a mess, with troops camped
and living on them. Well, so be it; she'd been consigned to Hell often
enough, especially by the Brothers and assorted other terrorists and
criminals.
When the ship's main hatch opened, DeLayne turned to her. "Normally I
wouldn't invite someone from outside the Empire aboard my ship, but
under the circumstances, you're welcome any time." He grinned at her.
"Someone who's called for Imperial help isn't going to sabotage us,
after all."
"Quite true, and I'd like to take advantage of your offer when time
permits, but His Majesty didn't say anything about my workload being
reduced. So until he does, or Ranger Medart arrives and I don't have
time for anything else, I think I should keep to my usual schedule."
"Or lack of it," Odeon put in.
"Or lack of it," Cortin agreed. "As active as the Brotherhood's been
of late, I don't get much time off; my only semi-free day is Sunday.
If you have no objection, I would like to visit then."
"As I said, you'll be welcome any time." DeLayne hesitated. "You've
mentioned this Brotherhood several times, in context that makes it
sound like it could be a threat to my crew. What is it?"
"The Brotherhood of Freedom," Cortin said. "They're a collection of
terrorists, the worst in our history. Their leader, Lawrence Shannon,
ordered them to disband before he disappeared about four months ago,
but except for a few low-ranking ones, that didn't happen. Yes, they
could be a threat to your people. I doubt they'd be stupid enough to
attack Harmony Lodge, though I prefer not to take chances--which is why
I wanted the extra Strike Force troopers. Outside the grounds is
likely to be a different story, though, so I'd strongly recommend any
of your people leaving the compound have at least one trooper with
them, and that they be armed. If they are attacked, I'd appreciate it
if they'd shoot to wound, rather than to kill; we can't get information
from the dead."
"We can do that easily enough," DeLayne said. "I'll order blasters set
on stun--with that request, I gather you don't have that option?"
"Bullets don't stun, no," Cortin said. "You intrigue me--could I try
one of those blasters?"
"I don't see why not," DeLayne replied. "The ship wouldn't let your
people into our armory, so we have plenty. Let me get my quartermaster
to bring you one."
"I'll be glad to do it, sir," Conley put in.
"Very well, Miss Conley. Have it logged as a permanent transfer, along
with a spare powerpack and charger."
"Yes, sir." Conley boarded the ship, emerging moments later with the
specified equipment, as well as a holster and pouch for the blaster and
spare powerpack. She handed them to Cortin, smiling. "I'll be glad to
show you how to use them, if you'd like."
"I would, if your Captain doesn't mind."
"No objection," DeLayne said. "In fact, if you don't mind, I'd like to
appoint her as our individual Special Liaison from the Empire to the
Kingdom Systems until Ranger Medart arrives. She can stay at your
Lodge, but I think the rest of us should go back to living on the
Columbus."
"If you wish, Captain." Cortin smiled at the young woman. "But the
final decision will have to be yours, Miss Conley. I should warn you,
associating with an Inquisitor will do nothing to improve your social
standing in the Systems; we may be respected, but we certainly aren't
popular."
Conley laughed. "Since I won't be in the Systems long, I'm not
worried--I'd love to learn what I can about you and your people, and--"
she glanced at her Captain, hesitating.
"And a stint as Special Liaison would look good on your record, I would
imagine." Cortin chuckled. "We share that much, at least. Consider
yourself accredited, Miss Conley. And Family Cortin's guest, until
your superiors require you to return to your duties."
"I'd like that--thank you, Excellency. When would you like to learn
how to use your blaster?"
"As soon as I can. What facilities do you need?"
"A standard target range will do fine for the blaster function. If you
want the stun function demonstrated, you'll need a volunteer and some
good strong headache medications."
Cortin frowned. "I thought stunning wasn't harmful."
"It isn't," Conley said. "At least, it doesn't do any physical
damage--unless the fall itself injures you, of course. But it does
leave you with a nasty migraine for most of a day."
"Interesting," Cortin said thoughtfully. A weapon that caused pain
without injuring its target sounded like an extremely useful tool for
an Inquisitor. "Does it cause actual unconsciousness, or is it the
pain itself that's incapacitating?"
"At standard intensity, it causes about four hours' unconsciousness.
The headache's just a side effect we can't seem to get rid of."
That was even more interesting, Cortin thought. If Kingdoms scientists
could isolate the "side effect" and eliminate the unconsciousness, the
severe migraine would do very nicely to intensify an Inquisitor's other
attentions. She didn't want to upset the young Imperial with that line
of thought, though. "I should be able to find a suitable test
subject," she said. "Not right now, though; I need to get to work.
Let's go back inside; you can explain the controls, then I can
familiarize myself with it if I get any breaks."
"Just a moment, please, Excellency," Odeon said. "I know you're busy,
but there are going to be a lot of troopers here soon, and if the
Imperials go into town, they may stop at the joyhouses; don't you think
they ought to know about our favorite plague?"
"Plague!" DeLayne exclaimed, his expression horrified.
Cortin chuckled. "Yes--the only one I know of that most people wanted
to catch. But you might not want to export it to the Empire, so
Captain Odeon's right; I ought to warn you. It's called the satyr
plague, which should give you some idea of its nature."
DeLayne nodded. "I think so--but I don't care to guess at the details,
so tell me about it, please. And what a large number of troopers has
to do with it."
"The troopers first," Cortin said. "Because of the hazardous nature of
our work, the Royal Enforcement Services have both Church and civil
dispensations from the sexual restrictions that apply to everyone
else--except their partners at the time, of course. So they won't have
any hesitation asking any of your people they find attractive, or
accepting offers from them. The joyhouses don't have that dispensation
yet, but since the plague appeared, working in or patronizing them's no
more than a venial sin and a misdemeanor the RES pays attention to only
if there's a complaint; we have far more serious crimes to worry about.
"The plague itself, of course, is sexually transmitted. There's no
danger of infection from casual contact, only about a one percent
chance from kissing, but the odds improve with the intimacy of contact.
As far as we can tell, intercourse with someone who has the plague
guarantees you'll get it; other genital contact is high-probability but
not certain."
"But what does it do?" Conley asked.
Cortin grinned at Odeon, who answered. "What it does, Miss Conley, is
increase both sexual desire and capability. That's most noticeable in
men, though it affects women as well. As you can probably imagine,
it's had quite an effect on our society the last three decades."
"What about immunization or a cure?" DeLayne asked.
"Who'd want it?" Odeon asked in reply. "I damnsure wouldn't; I like
what it's done for me. And for our wives and Family head."
DeLayne raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. "We'll work on both, then,
if you could provide a blood sample from someone who's infected."
"How big a sample?"
"A few drops should be enough." DeLayne grinned. "Scouts may be
small, but we get state of the art medical equipment, and people to use
it who want a challenge."
Odeon turned to Cortin. "If you don't mind, Colonel, I'll give him his
sample, then come help you."
"Fine. Take as long as you want, maybe get a tour of the ship." She
paused, thinking. "Yes . . . under the circumstances, I think I'd
better change your primary duty." She turned to DeLayne. "Captain
Odeon has been studying your Empire as well as possible from comm
intercepts and what's left of our Founders' records. If you're willing
to loan him books or have some of your people talk to him, I'd like to
make those studies his top priority. He can then brief me on whatever
he considers important."
DeLayne nodded. "Comm intercepts and fragmentary records won't give
you very good information, especially since your Founders obviously
weren't at all fond of the Empire--I'll be glad to help him learn as
much as he wants." He turned to Odeon, grinning. "Come on,
Captain--we'll go by Sickbay for the blood samples, then I'll give you
a ship tour and introduce you to teaching tapes. Can you read Imperial
English?"
Odeon looked up at the ship's name as he followed DeLayne up the
gangplank, then shook his head ruefully. "If that's a sample, no--I
can recognize most of the letters, but they don't make sense."
"Easy enough to remedy." DeLayne saluted the armed guard at the hatch.
"Permission to come aboard, sir? Myself and one of our hosts."
The woman returned his salute. "Granted, sir. Are you permitting him
aboard armed?"
"Yes. And no one's to leave this estate--definitely not the
compound--unarmed. I'll make that--"
"Captain?" Odeon interrupted.
"Yes?"
"If I were you, I'd have them armed any time they leave the ship. And
I'd have Miss Conley sent one of those blasters as soon as possible."
DeLayne frowned. "The Brotherhood's that dangerous?"
"Probably not here at the Lodge, as Colonel Cortin said--but we don't
know how they'll react to the Empire's presence, and I don't think we
should take any chances."
"Neither do I. Okay, I'll make the announcement and put it in the
standing orders." DeLayne turned to the guard. "No one's to leave the
ship without a sidearm, Corporal; pass that on to your relief. I'll
make the all-hands announcement as soon as I show Captain Odeon to
Sickbay."
"Aye, sir."
Odeon wasn't sure what he'd expected the ship's interior to be
like--similar to an airplane, maybe. Once they got past the airlock
and a series of large lockers, though, what he saw could have been the
inside of a large, modern building. If he hadn't just watched it land,
he wouldn't have believed himself inside a vehicle. "Your guard's
uniform was black--a Marine?"
"Right. SecuDiv--sorry, Security Division; I doubt you know our
abbreviations--like all the ones assigned to Columbus." DeLayne smiled
at his guest. "I'd better warn you, Captain--my medical people will
probably want more from you than a blood sample. I don't know how your
people feel about doctors, but don't let Drulet intimidate you into
more than you're comfortable with."
"I won't. I don't have anything against doctors; I owe my life to
several of them." Odeon paused, thinking. Joanie was taking them into
the Empire, which knew even less about the Kingdoms than the other way
around, so-- "Since you've got to start learning about us, too, I'll
go as far as a complete physical--provided it doesn't include the use
of any drugs."
"It doesn't. He'll be delighted."
* * * * *
The examination didn't take as long as Odeon expected, less than three
hours, but it was the most complete he'd ever had--and the least
understandable. The doctor tried to explain, but Odeon didn't have the
background to make sense out of body scans, biochemical and genetic
analyses, or other procedures. After a bit he told the doctor so, to
Drulet's amusement. "Okay, Captain, no more jargon. I'll wait till
we're done and just give you the results, okay? If you want them."
"The results, sure, if you can keep them down to a layman's level. I'm
not even trained in our medicine, and this--" Odeon gestured to the
equipment around them, "is so far ahead of ours it isn't funny."
"I think I can manage that. Okay, nothing but chit-chat until we get
to my office. Do you like coffee?"
"I'll drink it, but given a choice, I really prefer herb teas.
Something with a tang, like cranberry or ginger."
"I know just the thing." Drulet grinned. "I'll stick with coffee, and
you can try Blue Ginger. That originated on Herbert's World--have you
heard of it?"
"Afraid not."
* * * * *
Odeon sipped his tea, then nodded appreciatively. "This is good,
Doctor. Okay, what's the verdict?"
"You're healthy as the proverbial horse, Captain. More injuries than
I've seen on a single individual before, but no lasting damage--and
contrary to what you told me about your medical history, you've never
been sick a day in your life. No chickenpox or measles, no colds--and
no satyr plague." He shook his head as Odeon started to object. "Oh,
you're a carrier, all right; the pseudo-virus is in your body fluids.
It just isn't inside your cells."
"But I've got all the symptoms!"
"Yes, you told me--the diagnostic ones being the increased sexual
capacity and the penile moistening during arousal. The tests are
conclusive, though; in your case those are genetic, not disease-caused."
Odeon frowned. "Then how come none of it showed up till the day after
I had intercourse the first time? Because that's when the urge got
strong and I started getting wet."
Drulet shrugged. "That question I can't answer; I don't know enough
about the disease. Could be pure coincidence, or maybe the virus'
presence in your body pulled the genetic trigger, so to speak.
Possibly any physical stress or trauma could've set it off, once
puberty hit. But that's all guesswork."
"I understand." That part, anyway, Odeon thought. Why he'd have a
genetic condition that mimicked the satyr plague was a whole 'nother
question, and one he knew the doctor wouldn't be able to answer, so he
dropped the subject. "Would you mind sending my commanding officer a
copy of your report, so it can go in my medical records? I'm due my
annual physical next month, but with this one so recent and so much
more thorough, that can be waivered."
"Be glad to. If you don't mind, I'll forward a copy to Ranger Medart
as well. His eyes only, of course."
Odeon didn't particularly like that idea, for no reason he could
pinpoint--he'd taken the examination so Imperials could learn about
Kingdoms people, after all--but he nodded. "I suppose so."
"In that case," DeLayne's voice broke in, behind Odeon, "you wouldn't
mind if I also send him anything I learn from you."
"No--but he did say he wanted to get his data in person."
"What's the difference if I send him the ship's record tapes of our
conversations, or he talks to you himself?"
Odeon frowned. "The ship tapes everything? You don't have any
privacy?"
"Everything in the public areas, yes. Admiral Columbus, please tell
Captain Odeon how you handle monitoring of private quarters."
"Yes, Captain," came from the air, startling Odeon. "I monitor those
only for sounds of distress or people requesting my attention, and
permanently tape only those situations; everything else is wiped
automatically within approximately one microsecond."
"Your ship talks to you?"
DeLayne and Drulet both chuckled at Odeon's incredulity. "Yes, she
does. All Imperial ships of this class or higher--which means all but
couriers or landers--have AI-level ship-comps."
Odeon was silent for a moment, then he said, "Okay, I'll bite; what
does that mean?"
"Sorry," DeLayne said. "That's a ship-wide computer complex enough to
be classified as an artificial intelligence. That means that if you
didn't know you were talking to a computer, you'd think it was a very
intelligent human. I gather you're not too familiar with computers?"
"That's one way to put it; I've never used one, and only seen a few.
None of those talked, and I never heard of any being intelligent!"
DeLayne chuckled. "Any time you want to talk to one, address her the
way I did. She'll answer you, as long as you don't get into classified
information."
"That may take me a while to get used to. No offense intended, Admiral
Columbus."
"I do not have feelings, so I cannot take offense, Captain Odeon, but I
thank you for the courtesy."
"You're welcome," Odeon replied automatically, before turning to
DeLayne. "Even the little bit I've experienced so far--this Sickbay
and talking to your ship--is awesome. It makes me feel . . . I don't
know. I'm competent enough in the Kingdom Systems, but it's pretty
clear none of us are anything but total incompetents in your terms. I
don't like that feeling."
"Neither would I, in your place. But don't worry about it; as I told
Colonel Cortin, we aren't monsters, and we don't force ourselves on
anyone. If she does decide the Systems should join the Empire, we'll
offer but not impose education about us and our science. Also whatever
you need to bring yourselves to our level."
"Like you offered to teach me?"
"Exactly. Ready to get started?"
"Definitely." Odeon allowed himself a brief smile as he stood. "Let's
go see one of these 'teaching tapes' you mentioned. Are they anything
like a book?"
"Nothing at all. They aren't really tapes, either; they just got
called that, back when they were invented, and the name stuck. Let's
go to my cabin, and I'll introduce you to them. Admiral Columbus,
please have a reader and basic-language tape waiting in my fabricator."
"Yes, Captain."
"Fabricator?" Odeon asked as they left Sickbay, going deeper into the
ship.
"Yes. Do you know anything about molecular physics?"
"No." Odeon sighed. "I'm really in over my head, aren't I?"
DeLayne chuckled. "Not really; that's one of my degrees, is all, and I
enjoy discussing it when I get the chance. Most people haven't the
faintest idea how fabricators work; they just use them. We don't
manufacture small items any more; once a prototype's developed, the
pattern is scanned and recorded. When you want one of that item, you
code it into your fabricator, and the fabricator constructs it, with
any modifications you specify in the coding, from reconstituted raw
materials. When you're done with it, you feed it back into the
fabricator's raw material storage for re-use."
Odeon whistled. "That's incredible. Things like your uniform?"
"Among others, yes."
"And I thought the plague and Families were causing a major social
upheaval. What you're going to do to us . . . Maybe Colonel Cortin's
right to be afraid of you after all, though not for the reason she
thinks."
"I can't deny there'll be stress," DeLayne said soberly. "You won't
have to join, and you won't have to accept anything from us that you
don't want--but just making open contact will cause changes, yes. It's
a good thing for your Systems that Colonel Cortin was able to get
Ranger Medart, too. Any Ranger would be good, but he's the Empire's
best at anything involving cultural differences--which we don't try to
destroy, as you probably already know. To quote a twentieth-century
writer by the name of O'Sullivan, our aim is to 'preserve the unique
viewpoints of different groups, but at the same time require that each
group be tolerant of the others'. We see harmonious diversity as a
good thing."
"I'd gotten that impression, but not in so many words. The Sandemans
and Traiti, from what I've studied, both maintain their own cultures
within their Subsector and Sector."
"And so do the cloudcats, on Ondrian. They're another race Ranger
Medart managed to bring into the Empire peacefully--damn good thing for
us, since that's the only place miracle-weed produces usable
rapid-heal."
"I never heard of any of those."
DeLayne chuckled. "Learning from comm intercepts would tend to be
fragmentary, especially when the ultrawave beams aren't aimed at you
and you don't have the cultural background to understand a lot of what
you do hear. That's what we're in the process of remedying. And
here's my cabin." He put his hand to a small plate beside the door,
which promptly opened onto a small living area. "Have a seat while I
go get the tape and player--my fabricator's in the bedroom."
Odeon obeyed, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn't afraid of the
Empire, and as he'd told Joanie months ago when he first started
studying them, he already had some respect for them. DeLayne was
adding to that, even as he was overwhelming Odeon with casually
incomprehensible references. Fabricators, cloudcats, miracle-weed,
rapid-heal . . . and teaching tapes. DeLayne was emerging from the
bedroom carrying what looked like a small book and a thin box of
matches, though Odeon was sure those had to be the reader and 'tape'
he'd mentioned.
"Here we go," DeLayne said, pulling up a chair. He handed Odeon the
reader, which turned out to be a screen with a row of words
underneath--all of which, to Odeon's gratification, he was able to
puzzle out--and showed him how to insert the tape, then explained the
touch controls for tape direction and speed. "The older models have
electrodes that have to go on the temples," he added, "but the new ones
don't need them. Some people have a mild reaction, disorientation or a
touch of nausea; if you do, slowing the tape down usually gets rid of
it. Whenever you're ready, just touch the "Go" button."
"Okay." Odeon did so--and promptly doubled over.
Alarmed, DeLayne grabbed the tape player and shut it off. "What's
wrong, Captain?"
"I thought you said . . . mild nausea and disorientation. Not stomach
cramps and . . . the worst headache I've ever had."
DeLayne frowned. "I've never heard of a reaction that bad, or I
would've warned you. Let me get Dr. Drulet to prescribe you something."
"Thanks, but no thanks; I'll be okay. It's fading already." Odeon
straightened cautiously, shaking his head. "I don't think I'd care to
repeat the experience, though. Do you have any ordinary books I can
use instead?"
"No, but I can have the ship print you out what's on the tapes.
Normally I'd suggest you try a standard reading tape, but after that
reaction, printouts would probably be the best idea. They're a hell of
a lot slower than teaching tapes, though; it'll take you a day or so to
learn what the tape would've given you in a couple of minutes."
"I'll take the day, and the printouts."
"You've got them. Imperial English, or should I have the ship
transcribe everything into the pre-Imperial alphabet?"
"Imperial," Odeon said, after a moment's thought. "I'm going to have
to learn it sooner or later, so why put it off?"
"That makes sense. And I don't think I'd better let any of your people
try taking a tape till the Lindner gets here. An IBC has better
research facilities than a scout; they may be able to find out why you
reacted so badly, whether it's an individual reaction or something
everyone in the Systems shares, and how to avoid it."
"That makes sense, too. Thanks, Captain. Aside from the alphabet,
what would you recommend I study first?"
"In your place I'd start with basic history and Imperial structure.
Once you know that, you're in a better position than I am to decide
what else you'll need."
"I'll do that, then."
27a. At Harmony Lodge