“J’merlia is mine by right. I have been his dominatrix since he was first postlarval.”
“True — but we didn’t come here just to claim ’em, did we? We came here to claim ’em and rent ’em to others, so we could get the use of a ship. Now, suppose we keep pushing the fact that we own ’em. You know we’ll get into a big hassle with Graves — an’ we might lose. Where would that leave us?”
“I will tear off his ugly bald head.”
“Fine. And for an encore? Even if you don’t get scragged for it, we’ll still be stuck up Miranda Creek, without a paddle. You see, what we need, same thing that made us come here in the first place, is a ship. And that’s what J’merlia and Kallik are off buying, right now. So suppose they get one. And suppose instead of acting all bent out of shape about who owns who, we smile and say everything is just fine. And we go along with ’em on their ship, to help out — because you can bet they’ll need help, with whatever old piece of junk they get saddled with, or it won’t fly at all. So sooner or later there comes a time when most people are off doing something else, and there’s just you and me, or maybe you and me and J’merlia and Kallik, on board the ship—”
“Say no more.” Atvar H’sial’s blind white head was nodding. “I am persuaded. I have remarked before, Louis Nenda, that you are the most capable partner that I have ever had. So much so, I fear to trust you myself. But for the moment, we have few choices. Therefore I agree: we will proceed as you suggest — if our servants procure a ship.” The yellow horns turned to point across the room, to where E.C. Tally was hurrying toward them. “And that we may soon know.”
“Does he have ’em on the line?” Nenda asked as Tally came close.
The embodied computer shook his head. “Councilor Graves tracked J’merlia and Kallik to their last stop, but they had already left the sales center. They bought a ship, the Erebus, and now they are heading back here. They are reportedly highly excited and delighted with their purchase. Councilor Graves requested full specifications. They will be arriving shortly through his terminal.”
“Keep your fingers and claws crossed.” Nenda and Atvar H’sial followed Tally over to the communications unit. “The Miranda sales force has quite a reputation. Let’s hope what J’merlia and Kallik bought is a ship, and not a Builder bathtub. Here it comes. External dimensions…”
As the vessel’s physical parameters and performance characteristics began to unroll across the screen, Nenda summarized and commented on each section for Atvar H’sial’s benefit.
“Main cargo hold, eight point two million cubic meters. That’s more open cargo space than a superfreighter, plus there’s two big subsidiary holds. You could stow fifty millions tons of metal in the Erebus — and you could haul it halfway across the galaxy. Listen to these engine power figures.” The pheromonal message revealed Nenda’s surprise at what he was seeing. “And if you ever have main engine problems,” he went on, “there’s an auxiliary Bose Drive good for at least a dozen transitions. Here’s the ratings…”
Atvar H’sial was crouched close to the floor, her head nodding as the listing of internal and external dimensions and performance ratings went on. After ten minutes the Cecropian began to sit up straight, towering over the humans.
“Weapons?” The single word to Nenda carried an overtone of speculation.
“We’re just getting to ’em. You’ll love this, At, it’s the cream on the cake. Fifteen weapons centers in the main control room. Forty-four turrets, all around the ship and all fully independent. Each one has as much kick as a Lascelles complex — any one would beat what I had on the Have-It-All. Plus you can make a Dalton synthesis combining all turrets—”
“A question, Louis Nenda, for you to ask Julian Graves. How much did J’merlia and Kallik pay for the Erebus?”
“I don’t need to ask — it’s shown right here. One hundred and thirty-two thousand. Damnation, I see what you mean. That’s way too cheap.”
“Perhaps not, Louis. I would like the answer to one further question. How old is this ship?”
“That’s not shown on the listing.” Nenda turned to Julian Graves. “Can you interrupt the display for a query? Atvar H’sial is asking about the age of the Erebus.”
“No problem.” Graves had been leaning back in his chair, watching with huge satisfaction as the statistics rolled past. He entered Nenda’s query, then turned to face the Karelian. “I hope that this gives you increased faith in my methods, Mr. Nenda. I sent J’merlia and Kallik to negotiate for purchase of a ship. They have bought a ship — and what a ship! And at a most reasonable price. I ask you, do you believe that you, or Atvar H’sial, or anyone, could have found a better bargain? The moral of this is—”
He paused and goggled at the screen. “Is that the date it was put into service? It can’t be. Let me check again.”
“Three thousand nine hundred years, At,” Nenda said softly. “That’s the listed age of the Erebus.” He continued silently, using only pheromonal communication. “What’s going on? You must know, or you’d never have asked the question.”
“I will tell you, though you may prefer to allow Councilor Graves to learn what I have to say for himself, rather than from you. The information is not likely to bring joy to his heart. Your description of the Erebus — especially of its weapons system — sounded familiar. It reminded me of the Larmeer ships used in the long-ago battles between the Fourth Alliance and the Zardalu Communion. Those ships were commissioned by the Alliance, but they were manufactured by my people, in the Cecropia Federation, in the free-space weapons shop of H’larmeer. J’merlia and Kallik have purchased something with the carrying capacity of a freighter, the firepower of a battleship, and the internal life-support systems and personnel accommodations of a colony ship. But it is none of these. It is a Tantalus orbital fort.”
“And it’s four thousand years old. Will it still work?”
“Assuredly. The orbital forts were created for multi-millennial working lifetimes, with negligible maintenance. There will be a problem recognizing the purpose of some of the onboard devices, since the common day-to-day knowledge of one generation lies unused and forgotten in a later one, to the point of incomprehensibility. To quote an old Cecropian proverb. Any sufficiently antique technology is indistinguishable from magic. However, I would expect little or no degradation in ship performance.”
“So Graves got a really good deal. He’s going to be crowing over us for months.”
“I regard that as unlikely. Councilor Graves has already told us that it may be necessary to visit dozens of different worlds before he finds the Zardalu.”
“He can do it. The Erebus has ample power. And if the Zardalu get pesky, the ship has plenty of weapons.”
“It does indeed. But still I suspect that Councilor Graves will shortly become less satisfied with his purchase.”
“Huh?”
“Less satisfied, indeed.” Atvar H’sial paused for dramatic effect. “Much less satisfied, as soon as he realizes that what he has purchased is an orbital fort — a device which can never make a landing, ever, on any planet.”
Chapter Five: Sentinel Gate
Darya Lang sat in the main control room of the Erebus, staring at the list of locations that she had generated and swiveling her chair impatiently from side to side.
Stalemate.
The way that Hans Rebka had described the plan, it sounded almost too easy: acquire the use of a ship and recruit a crew; seek out the refuge of the escaped Zardalu, with adequate firepower to assure their own safety; and return to Miranda with unarguable proof of Zardalu existence.
They had the ship, they had the weapons, and they had the crew. But there was one gigantic snag. The Zardalu had not left a forwarding address. They could be anywhere in the spiral arm, on thousands of habitable planets scattered through thousands of light-years. Neither Hans Rebka nor Julian Graves had offered a persuasive method of narrowing that search, and no one else on board had been able to do any better. To examine all the possibilities, the Erebus would have to fly in a thousand directions at once.