27. Interim
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."