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Chapter 34
The air in the vast hall was thick with anticipation. It had taken almost 3 hours for the cryptology department to decypher the codes that secured the slender cylinder Tabea had victoriously delivered into their hands, but they had finally succeeded and they were now awaiting the arrival of Paul Musseveni and his daughter, who had finally brought home what was considered to be one of the most glorious achievements in the history of the Nietzschean race.
The air was bristling with suspense, pride and... joy even, as strange as the concept might have sounded for an assembly of Drago-Khatzov. The excitement reached new heights when the doors whooshed open revealing Musseveni and Tabea. The duo slowly made their way past the guards and through the crowd to the middle of the room, where the cylinder had been placed on something similar to a pedestal. Smiling and nodding to the left and right, the old man and the sparkling beauty on his arm crossed the room like a royal couple attending their coronation. There was no applause, no murmured whispers, just serious faces eyeing them both with respect and awe.
When the octogenarian and the young woman reached the center, they stopped, admiring the device in silence for a short moment. There was a hint of an amused sparkle within the green depths of Tabea's eyes. The old man really knew how to stage an event, she had to admit to herself. Although the people assembled were just the 40-odd most capable men belonging to the cryptographic department of Drago-Khatzov Special Ops along with about 3 officers in charge of the guards posted all around the huge hall (and kept at safe distance, so that they would neither hear what was being spoken nor properly see what the whole commotion was actually about), the atmosphere of it all resembled a papal audience more than a gathering of scientists presenting their boss with the results of their labors.
Clearing his throat, Paul Musseveni made an effort to tear his enraptured gaze away from the artifact, focusing on a – for a Nietzschean – rather small, delicate looking man, who stood slightly apart from the others.
„Maximillian Escobar, out of Tzu-Hsi by Rudolph, I knew you were the right man for this job of honor," the old man complimented him, his always a bit exuberant tone now more enthusiastic than ever.
The fragile man bowed lightly, his measured, grave attitude more than nicely compensating for his appearance not quite in tune with his imperial naming.
„I am pleased to know that my..." he hesitated slightly, but then continued smoothly, „that our efforts in giving back the Nietzscheans what is rightfully theirs will be noted, my Lord." His arm described a semi-circle, including all other men present into the conversation.
„Of course," Musseveni nodded, „we all, my friends, will go down in history as the founding fathers of supreme control of the slipstream by Nietzscheans, which in the end will make us what we are meant to be: the masters of the Known Worlds."
„Yes, yes, yes, lovely, my dear," came a new voice, 'but how about we now just proceed with opening the damn' thing, so that the gentlemen can start with their actual task of deciphering the scout?"
The crowd around the pedestal split in two, a narrow alley opening up in their midst. At its end stood another woman, the only one present beside Tabea Musseveni. She seemed quite old, although at least 20 years younger than Musseveni himself . In her prime she must have been an exquisite appearance. As it was, she still had a commanding presence: she was tall, perhaps no longer as slim as she used to be, but still displaying an exciting, if slightly rounded figure and grace in her movements. She came nearer with the self-assuredness of a woman used to attracting the eyes of all people present as soon as she entered a room, her head held high on a long, swan-like neck, that must once have been one of her finest attributes, but that was meanwhile betraying her age – as were the thin, withered hands she stretched towards Tabea.
The younger woman bowed her head in greeting then stepped forward and took the old, fragile fingers into her warm, firm grip, gazing into the heart-shaped face with its wide, slightly oblique green-blue eyes, enclosed by a pale-blond, helmet-like hairdo, that left the features open to all inquiring looks. The skin tightly stretched over the somewhat irregular features looked like porcelain with a craquelling glaze. Myriads of tiny wrinkles were furrowing the forehead, the edges of the eyes, while two sharp, yet not very deep lines curved their way down from a pointy and a bit broad, naughty nose down to the corners of the generous, arched lips. When she didn't speak or move the surface of this face seemed flawless, but once its bearer started to show any expression, it cracked like a mirror breaking into a multitude of splinters. The effect was disconcerting, startling, fascinating and – strange as it might seem – utterly appealing.
While the two females, offering a regal sight in their elaborate Nietzschean attires, stood together, Musseveni stepped closer and bowed his head slightly .
„But, of course, my dear, you are quite right. Maximillian, please proceed."
The small Nietzschean motioned two other men to step up to the cylinder. Together they opened up three panels inserted at the sides and at one far end of the cylinder and began to quickly insert a complicated combination of symbols on the tiny keyboards hidden behind them. They were obviously forced to coordinate their movements, the sequences being thus orchestrated that only synchronous keying provided the clearance needed for the next security level. There were six level in total, and by the time the liberating clicks had been heard for the fifth time, the men's faces were already shining with perspiration, concentration straining their features and distorting them into grimaces. It took quite a long time until the final click was heard and a small last panel opened at the remaining far end of the cylinder. A minuscule switch appeared beneath it.
„My dear, would you do the honors?" Musseveni asked the old woman, taking her elbow and gently pushing her forward, gallantly placing a kiss on the claw-like hand while doing so.
The woman smiled with more haughty indulgence than warmth. Extricating her hand from his grip, she swiftly turned the switch.
„My friends, I give you..." the old man began, his eyes turning towards the cylinder which was in the process of breaking in two halves and revealing another, smaller cylinder. „a..." He stopped.
„A holographic transmitter," the old woman finished for him. For a short moment she stood there, silently contemplating what was clearly a Commonwealth courier device. But then her gaze wandered off, from the cylinder to the men around her, to Tabea and finally came to rest on Musseveni's startled features. „Yes," she then said softly. It sounded like a sigh. Without another word she turned around and left them, her imposing figure sailing away as majestically as she had entered the scene. She had however not distanced herself more than a few steps, when the air above the pedestal came to life crackling, revealing the holographic image of a stockily built young man with unruly blond hair and a cocky grin.
„My lords and... Wait a minute, this is a Nietzschean assembly, no ladies present, right? Right. I'll start again: My Lords – and Tabea – ..." he graciously bowed slightly, „I, Seamus Zelazny Harper, engineer extraordinaire, resident genius and – due to your rather unfriendly manners, if I may say so – presently acting captain of the Commonwealth flag ship Shining Path to Truth and Knowledge AI model GRA 112, serial number XMC-10-182, better known as the Andromeda Ascendant, hail you as fellow masterminds and bid you my compliments for your outstanding work in cracking one of the most elaborate codes ever designed in the history of the universe, created by the so very humble yours truly." There was again a slight bow, after which the young man continued: „Now you may ask yourselves: ‚Just how come we put in all this work for nothing?', for I do know, oh almighty Herren, that – exciting as it might be – you did not invest all this hard labour of yours just for the albeit great pleasure of listening to this message. Well, ask and the answer shall be delivered to you: next time you lay a trap, make sure the bait is not only skilled and beautiful, but also a bit more... shall we say suppliant? And on this sage word of cunning advice I bid you farewell, my Lords..." another bow, „...and lovely Tabea."
The hologram dissolved itself, only to reappear just two seconds later in the stunned silence:
„Oh, and before I go, please do reconsider whether you truly need the company of Beka Valentine. From our experience she is, even under the most ideal circumstances, a lot more trouble than anyone can handle. Tyr Anasazi out of Victoria by Barbarossa tried, Telemachus Rhade out of Majorum by Rhade tried, Charlemagne Bolivar tried, Dylan Hunt himself tried, the Spirit of the Abyss tried, hell, even I tried – and we all failed miserably. So just in case you may still have her somewhere, believe me: you don't really want to try handling her, too. Just tell us when and where we should come to pick her up, and we'll see to it that she is off your hands ASAP. Harper out."
-
„I told you! Time and again I told you that they are not stupid, that you should take care! Arrogance, my dear, is only excusable when accompanied by success. When, dammit, will you learn to listen to me? How am I to reach the goals I have set when surrounded by nothing but immature hubris and incompetence?"
Paul Musseveni was ranting. For once his famous sangfroid seemed to have completely deserted him. Alone with Tabea in a lavishly, yet surprisingly enough also quite tastefully decorated room of more modest proportions, situated in the vicinity of the vast hall in which the formerly heavily guarded cylinder lay deserted, the old man seemed physically incapable to stop himself from pacing up and down and shouting at the top of his lungs at the young woman who in any case seemed rather unperturbed and just as haughty as always.
She had sat there for the better part of the past half hour, after the old man had hastily dismissed the small assembly, hurried her into the adjacent room and practically threw her into the chair. She had at first tried to stop his rantings a couple of times, but after a few failures she had resigned herself to hear out his tirade knowing that it was bound to exhaust itself eventually. Her patience was finally rewarded when the octogenarian tried to wet his lips, found even his tongue too dry and moved over to a small table, that held a bottle of water and some glasses. As Musseveni poured himself some water without bothering to ask her if she wanted some as well, she began to speak.
„You know," she slowly started to let him in on her thoughts, „you might be right about this. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I was too arrogant and – as a result – much too careless in my conduct towards Rafe and aboard that wretched ship. But what happened, happened. We can't change the present by ranting over the past."
„Oh, really?" her father bit out. „Am I to understand that you are unwilling to change your ways, young lady, in order to prevent such mishaps from happening again?"
„No," she replied placidly, „but you should – rather than rant indefinitely about my stupidity – at least think about the reasons that prompted them to let me get back here with what was obviously nothing but a highly elaborate set-up. Have your... scientists," her voice held a little contemptuous hesitation as she uttered the word, „searched the cylinder for any tracking devices, spy programmes, something like that?"
„I... I'm not sure..." her father answered vaguely, his eyes darkening further, partly out of anger about her persisting obstinance, partly out of anger about his own care- and thoughtless demeanor.
„No," Tabea stated. „Of course not. You are getting old, father."
For a moment Paul Musseveni simply stood there, watching her in silence, his eyes locked to hers meeting her defiant gaze. And then he nodded curtly, turned around and walked over to a comm unit inserted in the wall.
„Attention, Security Command." His voice sounded cold and dispassionate. „Rise security level for all Thetis to yellow, the Grand Asclepion, all spaceports and all sensitive areas to orange, planetary defense and system-wide reconoissance on high alert. Call everyone back here and let them start analyzing the cylinder, take it apart, if need be. I want to be sure that there's nothing more to it. Yvain?"
„Yes, Sir?"
„Double the guards at Hunt's doors and tighten security around the Valentine mansion."
„My lord Draeger called a while back and left a message for you, stating that he was taking Our Lady to his own house."
Musseveni's eyes narrowed.
„Very well. Contact him," he said after musing briefly, „and tell him about the new orders. And place guards around his place."
„Yes, Sir."
Cutting communication off the old man relaxed. He turned around and fixed Tabea.
„Better?"
She nodded curtly.
„Better. Still: mother won't be pleased."
„She is already not pleased."
A thin smile appeared on the young woman's face. Standing up with grace she approached her father and gently laid a hand on one of his shoulders.
„A family trait," Tabea murmured softly. „We're hard women to please..."