Chapter One
"We're passing over the Emperor's palace now, sir."
Number Seven, a short, brown-haired woman in the plain dark jumpsuit of the Phestan Joint Intelligence, swung around in her chair and regarded Ensign Eighty-Eight with amusement. "What do you want me to do, stand up and salute?"
Eighty-Eight blinked, unable to formulate any kind of answer that could be considered both prudent and correct. To him, at least, the seat of the high kings of Vanussia was still an object of veneration; and this was as it should be. Seven smiled and shook her head slowly. "We go over the palace six times a day," she said. "It gets repetitive after a while, and we must also consider Divisions K and D."
"The... other-siders," said Eighty-Eight, looking nervously back down at his board. Seven stared calmly at the scanner, where Eighty-Eight had put a visual of the Palace from high overhead. "You say the name, Ensign. Krakods. You'll get used to it."
"Yes sir," said Eighty-Eight and nodded, trying to believe it. It was a common enough syndrome; the continents of Vanussia and Krakor were situated on opposite sides of the planet Efes, and each side hated the other, without quite knowing why. Working completely behind the scenes, the Joint Intelligence – JI for short – had gotten the Krakod Thane and the previous Emperor of Vanussia talking long enough to appoint ambassadors, who had argued the Tropospheric Settlement into existance before the talks had collapsed into useless squabbling and the creative exchange of insults.
Troposphera Settlement: the Chip, it was called, because from the outside it looked like nothing more than a giant computer chip moving in a perpetual loop around the planet. Held aloft by massive fusion engines and antigravity modules, the Chip sailed high enough to clear the highest of the Phestan mountains, but low enough to allow the standard hovercraft – now perfected, the preferred mode of transport on both continents – to approach without closing its top, if passengers didn't mind the icy winds at that altitude. (Not that civilian hovercrafts were ever allowed near the settlement.) In its paneled conference rooms and enclosed gardens, ambassadors, ambassadors' aides, diplomats, diplomats' aides, and various officials, bureaucrats, and their underlings gathered to discuss various semiimportant matters in a form of Phestan legalese that was almost incomprehensible to the layman.
Underneath it all, confined to a world of maintenance tunnels and access shafts and unauthorized control centers, the JI watched and quietly manipulated the proceedings. Combining Vanussian troops with Krakod troops was unheard of, but they did it. Recording meetings on the Chip was completely illegal, but they did it. They had armed the station for its own defense, even though all treaties insisted that the colony possess no offensive capabilities. They worked outside the law so that laws could be maintained.
In the room from which the great hidden guns were controlled, Seven watched Eighty-Eight perform a final sensor sweep. He was terribly new to all this, but he would learn. Seven waited for a moment for the results to came through, and then said, "Final status report?"
"All clear, sir," said Eighty-Eight. "End of shift, switching over to automatic." His eyes flicked to the door and his fingers twitched on the armrest.
Seven glanced at the chrono. Five, yes. Four, yes. Three, two, and a clatter in the corridor outside. One, and the door slid open. Someone stomped to attention, and Eighty-Eight's face paled and tightened. Seven slowly swivelled her chair around.
Forty-Two clicked his heels sharply and delivered an exaggerated salute. His official hat was tilted almost over his eyes and he was standing so stiffly he was in danger of falling over backwards. "As-of-oh-three-hundred-fifty-nine-hours-you-are-relieved-sah!" he informed Eighty-Eight, rapping out each word like a pistol shot.
Seven tried to look stern. The Krakods often acted up – on that continent a good sense of humor was considered a major cultural asset – but Forty-Two, even on Krakor, would have been a special case. "Stand up straight, mister!" barked Seven. Forty-Two obediently tried to stand up straighter, and fell back out the door, which closed politely in his wake. Seven barely had time to meet Eighty-Eight's horrified glare with a reassuring nod before the door opened again and Forty-Two stumbled in, straightening his hat. He grinned affably at Eighty-Eight. The ensign ignored him completely, saluted Seven, and marched off.
Forty-Two flopped into his chair and flipped a few switches. He took a deep breath and bellowed, "Four o'clock and all's well!" at the top of his voice. The room rang and the corner of Seven's mouth flickered upwards as she imagined Eighty-Eight flinching in the corridor. Nonetheless, she said easily, "I'd appreciate a little lower decible level, Krakod."
"Right, other-sider," said Forty-Two. That was another thing Eighty-Eight would have to get used to: to the Krakods, Vanussians were other-siders.
"It's not as if the delegates will ever hear," continued Forty-Two. "I was just at Archives. They're screaming so loud I'd be surprised if they could even hear themselves. I have a running bet with One-Oh-One that they're all stone deaf."
"What was all that I heard about half the Vanussians walking out if the Krakods don't meet all their demands by Dragon Day?"
"Oh, that was yesterday. Now they're saying they'll walk out if the Krakods don't meet all their demands by the day after Dragon Day..." Suddenly Forty-Two straightened. His pat manner fell away from him completely, and he started adjusting dials on the scanner. "I've got a blip, Seven."
-
The planetary crust deep under Vanussia's most majestic mountain range was honeycombed with deep ancient tunnels carved by hand and primitive instruments long before any of the race's recorded history, winding, complicated, dry and carpeted with the dust of years beyond count. Even as Eighty-Eight was checking his scanners for the last time, two khakied soldiers were marching a huge copper box along one of those echoing corridors. The shorter soldier was a lieutenant named Jenr Auburning, a Krakod who thought he was on special maneuvers. The tall one was his superior, Commander Risan Khe Materahk. Auburning walked uncertainly, as though he didn't quite know why he was there, glancing into shadows and grateful for the harsh fluorescent lights that were strung along the ceiling at somewhat decent intervals. Khe walked automatically, comfortable in the silence of the labyrinth.
Auburning broke the silence. "Look, you've really got to tell me what's in the box. Classified is all very well, but I'm the transmat tech. I have to know what's inside it."
Khe walked on, preserving his end of the silence.
"I don't understand what all this mystery is for," said Auburning. "It's practically Vanussian. Look, this isn't Tellisn's idea, is it?"
Khe's voice did not echo. How did he do that? "The orders were signed by General Sode himself."
"I bet Tellisn's behind this." Silence. "The whole thing stinks of Imperial tactics." Silence. Auburning fumed. But he kept walking.
They rounded a corner and came to a door, split down the middle and half forced open through the dust caking its tracks. They had done that themselves last time they had visited this room. This time they had to force it open even more, to admit the box.
While Khe checked the seals on the box, Auburning crawled halfway under the triangular platform in the back of the room. "My repairs are holding for now," he grumbled. "I've done all I can with the information I have, but now you'll have to tell me what's in the box or the antigravs will mess up the readings."
Khe regarded the triangular platform. "Does the transmat require testing?"
"It shouldn't. It'll only work once or twice anyway; the power requirements for this distance are staggering. No, it's as ready as it'll ever be... now it just needs to be told what it's supposed to do."
"I will program it," said Khe.
"Wait a minute. Do you know anything about mass conversion mechanics? Get away from there, you'll mess it all up–" But Khe was already at the control panel, his fingers moving over the keys almost too fast for the lieutenant to see. Then he stepped back and said, "You will complete the transport."
Auburning stared at the screen. "What did you do?"
"Complete the transport."
"What coordinates?"
Khe told him.
-
"I've got a blip, Seven."
"That's what we're here for. What is it?"
"I can't tell. It's... moving too fast... accelerating... Seven, it's up, straight up, and it's falling straight down, straight at us!"
"What? Where did it come from?"
"I don't know! It's as if it just materialized! If this isn't the extreme emergency you're always telling me about–"
"It is. Targeting... Forty-Two, I can't get a lock. Where did it come from?"
"Nowhere. Look, try three six one two mark nineteen."
"Steady. Lock. Fire!"
They fired.
They missed.