“Part of the reason has been political obstruction by antagonistic clans like the Gubru and the Soro, who’ve been able to drag out Terran applications for status. But another reason is because we’re so frightfully poor, by Galactic standards.”
Fiben had been learning things, obviously. Robert realized part of it must have been picked up from this Gailet Jones person. With his heightened empathy sense, he picked up faint tremors from his friend whenever her name came up.
Robert glanced at Sylvie. Hmm. Life seems to have grown complicated for Fiben.
That reminded Robert of his own situation, of course. Fiben isn’t the only one, he thought. All his life he had wanted to learn to be more sensitive, to better understand others and his own feelings. Now he had his wish, and he hated it.
“By Darwin, Goodall, and Greenpeace!” Prathachulthorn pounded the table. “Mr. Bolger, you bring your news at a most opportune time!” He turned to address Lydia and Robert. “Do you know what this means, gentlemen?”
“Um,” Robert began.
“A target, sir,” Lydia answered succinctly.
“A target is right! This fits perfectly with that message we just received from the Council. If we can smash this shunt — preferably before the dignitaries from the Uplift Institute arrive — then we could rap the Gubru right where it pains them most, in their wallets!”
“But — ” Robert started to object.
“You heard what our spy just told us.” Prathachulthorn said. “The Gubru are hurting out there in space! They’re overextended, their leaders here on Garth are at each others’ throats, and this could be the last straw! Why, we might even be able to time it so their entire Triumvirate is at the same place at the same time!”
Robert shook his head. “Don’t you think we ought to give it some thought, sir? I mean, what about the offer that the Suzerain of Probity—”
“Propriety,” Fiben corrected.
“Propriety. Yes. What about the offer it made to Fiben and Dr. Jones?”
Prathachulthorn shook his head. “An obvious trap, Oneagle. Be serious now.”
“I am being serious, sir. I’m no more an expert on these matters than Fiben, and certainly less of one than Dr. Jones. And certainly I concede it may be a trap. But on the surface, at least, it sounds like a terrific deal for Earth! A deal I don’t think we can pass up without at least reporting this back to the Council.”
“There isn’t time.” Prathachulthorn said, shaking his head. “My orders are to operate at my own discretion and, if appropriate, to act before the Galactic dignitaries arrive.”
Robert felt a growing desperation. “Then at least let’s consult with Athaclena. She’s the daughter of a diplomat. She might be able to see some ramifications we don’t.”
Prathachulthorn’s frown spoke volumes. “If there’s time, of course I’ll be happy to solicit the young Tymbrimi’s opinion.” But it was clear that even mentioning the idea had brought Robert down a peg in the man’s eyes.
Prathachulthorn slapped the table. “Right now I think we had better have a staff meeting of commissioned officers and discuss potential tactics against this hypershunt installation.” He turned and nodded to the chims. “That will be all for now, Fiben. Thank you very much for your courageous and timely action. That goes the same to you too, miss.” He nodded at Sylvie. “I look forward to seeing your written reports.”
Elsie and Benjamin stood up and held the door. As mere brevet officers they were excluded from Prathachulthorn’s inner staff. Fiben rose and moved more slowly, aided by Sylvie.
Robert hurriedly spoke in a low voice to Prathachulthorn. “Sir, I’m sure it only slipped your mind, but Fiben holds a full commission in the colonial defense forces. If he’s excluded it might not go down well, urn, politically.”
Prathachulthorn blinked. His expression barely flickered, though Robert knew he had once again failed to score points. “Yes, of course,” the major said evenly. “Please tell Lieutenant Bolger he is welcome to stay, if he’s not too tired.”
With that he turned back to his datawell and started calling up files. Robert could feel Lydia’s eyes on him. She may despair of my ever learning tact, he thought as he hurried to the door and caught Fiben’s arm just as he was leaving.
His friend grinned at him. “I guess it’s grownup time again, here,” Fiben said, sotto voce, glancing in Pratha-chulthorn’s direction.
“It’s worse even than that, old chim. I just got you tapped as an honorary adult.”
If looks could maim, Robert mused on seeing Fiben’s sour expression. And you thought it was Miller time, didn’t you? They had argued before about the possible historical origins of that expression.
Fiben squeezed Sylvie’s shoulder and hobbled back into the room. She watched him for a moment, then turned and followed Elsie down the hall.
Benjamin, however, lingered for a moment. He had caught Robert’s gesture bidding him to stay. Robert slipped a small disk into the chim’s palm. He dared not say anything aloud, but with his left hand he made a simple sign.
“Auntie,” he said in hand talk.
Benjamin nodded quickly and walked away.
Prathachulthorn and Lydia were already deep into the arcana of battle planning as Robert returned to the table. The major turned to Robert, “I’m afraid there just won’t be time to use enhanced bacteriological eifects, as ingenious as your idea was on its own merits. …”
The words washed past unnoted. Robert sat down, thinking only that he had just committed his first felony. By secretly recording the meeting — including Fiben’s lengthy report — he had violated procedure. By giving the pellet to Benjamin he had broken protocol.
And by ordering the chim to deliver the recording to an alien he had, by some lights, just committed treason.
71
Max
A large neo-chimpanzee shambled into the vast underground chamber, hands cuffed together, drawn along at the end of a stout chain. He remained aloof from his guards, chims wearing the invader’s livery, who pulled at the other end of his leash, but occasionally he did glare defiantly at the alien technicians watching from catwalks overhead.
His face had not been unblemished to start with, but now fresh patterns of pink scar tissue lay livid and open, exposed by patches of missing fur. The wounds were healing, but they would never be pretty.
“C’mon, Reb,” one of the chim guards said as he pushed the prisoner forward. “Bird wants to ask you some questions.”
Max ignored the Probie as best he could as he was led over to a raised area near the center of the huge chamber. There several Kwackoo waited, standing upon an elevated instrument platform.
Max kept his eyes level on the apparent leader, and his bow was shallow — just low enough to force the avian to give one in return.
Next to the Kwackoo stood three more of the quislings. Two were well-dressed chims who had made tidy profits providing construction equipment and workers to the Gubru — it was rumored that some of the deals had been at the expense of their missing human business partners. Other stories implied approval and direct connivance by men interned on Cilmar and the other islands. Max didn’t know which version he wanted to believe. The third chim on the platform was the commander of the Probie auxiliary force, the tall, haughty chen called Irongrip.
Max also knew the proper protocol for greeting traitors. He grinned, exposing his large canines to view, and spat at their feet. With a shout the Probies yanked at his chain, sending him stumbling. They lifted their truncheons. But a quick chirp from the lead Kwackoo stopped them in mid-blow. They stepped back, bowing.