The exprospector found himself torn between his desire to impress the Hoon with how tough he was and the somewhat unexpected need to win Admiral Tyspin’s respect. He tried another tack.
“Look, I’m sorry if I seem a bit over the top, but we’re on the same side. My name is Jorley Jepp. You’ve heard about the attack on Long Jump by now ... so you know what the Sheen can do. Their main objective is to find a race known as the Thraki. If the Thrakies are around, and the Sheen say they are, then you’re in contact with them by now. The best thing the Confederacy can do is to provide the Sheen with information, plus some fuel for their ships, and get out of the way.”
“And then?” Tyspin inquired skeptically, glad that the entire interchange was being recorded, “what happens after that?”
“That depends,” Jepp said evasively, “on any number of things. The Sheen trust me ... and I may be able to influence them. I know the President is busy—but I would appreciate his advice.”
Tyspin didn’t believe that the last part of the comment was sincere... but took note of the less truculent tone. Could the earnest looking man in the soiled jumpsuit influence what the Sheen did next? The initial answer seemed to be “yes,” given the events on Long Jump, the fact that he was still alive, and was allowed to speak. But how far did that influence extend? And what would Jepp want in return? Those questions and dozens more begged to be answered. The key was to buy time—time Booly could use to prepare, time Nankool could use to perform maintenance on the alliance, and time she could use to learn more about Jepp. The naval officer forced a smile. “Of course . . Let’s see what I can arrange. Would you or your, er companion?,, have any objections to my dispatching a message torp?”
Jepp looked offscreen, seemed to converse with someone, and turned back. “No, so long as you and your ship remain.”
Tyspin nodded. A battle of sorts had been won. The message torp would carry a copy of the interchange, a request for instructions, and more important than that, data regarding the Sheen fleet. Valuable data that could help Booly win.
The Hoon monitored the exchange, assigned a probe to follow the message torp through hyperspace, and processed something akin to a feeling of satisfaction. The soft bodies were gratifyingly stupid, data would be gathered, and the mission furthered. Life, or what passed for it, was good.
Planet Arballa, the Confederacy of Sentient Beings
A clutch of nervous looking advisors stood and waited while President Marcott Nankool read the message for a second time. It was warm with so many bodies packed into the chief executive’s office, and the ship struggled to cope. Cold air blasted out of an overhead vent, and ChienChu felt his cybernetic body adjust accordingly. DomaSa shuffled his feet, and servos whined as an exoskeleton clad Dweller shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
Nankool placed the printout on the surface of his highly polished wood desk, arranged it just so, and met their eyes. “So? Your presence speaks more eloquently than words. You know what Admiral Tyspin sent me—what would you suggest?”
DomaSa waited to see if anyone would speak, realized they weren’t sure of what to say, and broke the silence. “BETA018 has been secured, but the Thraki occupy other worlds as well. The more time we buy, the more General Booly has to work with.”
Nankool scanned their faces. “How ‘bout the rest of you? Do you agree?”
ChienChu nodded and glanced around. There was no dissention for once ... a rare and memorable moment.
A message torp was dispatched an hour later. A Sheen probe was allowed to follow it. They hit the outward-bound transit point within minutes of each other and seemed to wink out of existence A reply was on the way.
Transit Point NS690193, the Confederacy of Sentient Beings
The launch bay was no different from the last time Jorely Jepp had been there. Ships sat in what appeared to be random fashion but was actually a mathematically precise arrangement that allowed the Sheen to use the available space in the most efficient possible manner. Ropes of silvery nano hung, crawled, and in one case squirmed across the bay. The tang of ozone flavored the air. Only one thing was different and that was the way the human felt: happy, excited, and nearly giddy with joy. The message torp had returned. An agreement had been reached. He, Jorely Jepp, exprospector, debtor, and all around loser was on his way to visit with President Marcott Nankool!
No, he told himself, not visit, but negotiate on behalf of God and the heathen waiting to be saved. An account would be written one day, a tome on a par with the Holy Bible or the Koran. A book that would tell the tale of the savior who emerged from the cosmic wasteland accompanied by a silvery host. The very thought of it filled the human’s heart to the breaking point. He seized Veera’s clawlike hand. “Come on! This is our moment!”
Veera knew the human was trying to be generous—but suffered no illusions. Her moment would come when she was back among her own kind. In the meantime, with no other possibilities in sight, the lunatic at her side offered the best opportunity of escape. They boarded the shuttle. Henry, along with Alpha, followed behind.
Given how unstable her guest appeared to be, and given the extent of the power he might be able to call upon, Tyspin planned to be at the lock to greet him. That’s why she was down in the ready room—watching a bank of monitors.
The shuttle slowed as it approached the ship, followed a brightly lit drone into the bay, and settled onto its skids. The vessel was sufficiently streamlined so that it could operate within a planetary atmosphere. It shimmered as if lit from within. Here, at least, was something of an intelligence coup since an entire battery of sensors had been specially rigged to gather information on the enemy ship. Even if the contact with Jepp proved futile, anything they could learn about Sheen technology could prove very valuable indeed.
The shuttle landed, a hatch opened, and a ramp hit hull metal. The Ninja’s deck master wore bright orange space armor. He approached the ramp and waited for the visitor to disembark. Jepp, or a figure that Tyspin assumed was Jepp, was a sight to see. In spite of the fact that he had an entire fleet to back him, the exprospector wore the same suit of dilapidated, much patched space armor in which he had been captured. And what was that perched on his shoulder? Some sort of machine? That’s what it looked like.
There was more, however—including an entourage which caught Tyspin by surprise. The second individual to emerge from the shuttle wore a type of space armor she didn’t recognize until her intel officer turned in her direction. His name was DorbaKa, and he spoke standard with a slight hiss. “Where did the Prithian come from? What’s going on here?”
What indeed? Tyspin wondered as the odd couple made their way across the repulsor blackened deck toward the entry lock. That’s when the robots appeared. Form follows function, and the first pair looked similar to the navy issue general-purpose androids assigned to her ship. The units that followed were considerably different. There were four altogether, as similar as ball bearings, and protected by force fields. Arms ended in what appeared to be energy projectors, heads swiveled from left to right, and they moved in unison.