“Who then?”
“One of the Vithian power units seems covered in danger pheromone!”
Ssor-Fel blinked. When the Race was still confined to the vines, members of a pack would alert one another to danger by releasing a strong pheromone from glands in their abdomens. It was a signal unique to the Race, one only they would detect and recognize. A power unit soaked in pheromone would go unnoticed by the Voldar’ik. However, Daz-Ven’s fur must have stood erect the moment he removed the device from its vacuum packaging.
“The concentration was quite high,” Dal-Vas continued. “The contamination was deliberate. It must be a warning, or perhaps a cry for help.”
“And did Daz-Ven analyze the genetic signature?”
“He did. He isolated the genetic markers and achieved a positive identification.”
“Who is it?”
“A member of the Sar-Dva clan, one Sar-Say by name.”
#
Chapter Five
Toronto shimmered golden in the strengthening dawn as the sub-orbital shuttle from Europe flared for a landing at the capital’s airport. Lisa Arden and Mark Rykand waited their turn to retrieve their bags and file across the passenger bridge into a glass-and-steel terminal just beginning to stir. They had been summoned before a committee of parliament to report on the expedition to the Crab Nebula and to officially lay out Mark’s vision for defeating the Broa. They were not alone. Many of those who had been aboard the
Ruptured Whale
at Klys’kra’t had been summoned as well.
It had been two glorious weeks since they set foot on Earth. Most of that time they spent touring the sights and enjoying one another’s company. The latter activity resulted in neither of them being particularly rested, especially when one considered that it was seven hours earlier than when they had boarded the shuttle outside of Kiev.
“Well, I guess it is back to work,” Mark said as he slung both of their bags over his shoulder and strode toward the long tunnel leading to the main part of the terminal
“It had to happen sometime,” Lisa agreed. “Too bad our holiday couldn’t have lasted forever.”
“Sorry, but I probably wouldn’t be up to it…
forever
,” he said with a leer.
“I believe the expression is “up
for
it,” she responded in the same vein.
Exiting the terminal, they took an auto-taxi to their hotel. The desk clerk gave them a difficult time about checking in so early, but eventually found them a room. After a communal bath that took longer than it should have, they each prepared for a busy day. Mark shaved while watching Lisa dress in the mirror. Both had procured brand new ground outfits for the occasion.
It was just 09:00 hours when Lisa asked, “Ready?”
Mark nodded, slipped into a coat that felt unnatural after so long without wearing one, and ushered her out the door. Ten minutes later, they were on a moving slidewalk, headed for the tower that held the administration offices of the World Parliament.
#
A gray-haired man looked up from his reading when they entered the committee anteroom. “Hello, Mark, Lisa.
“Hello, Mikhail,” Lisa replied. “When did you come down?”
“Just this morning. The doctors seemed to suddenly be less concerned with my sniffles. Why do you suppose that is?” he asked in the tone of someone making a rhetorical point.
“I’m sure I don’t know.”
The reason Vasloff had been stuck in orbit had been obvious to everyone; including him. He was a born agitator and had molded his organization,
Terra Nostra
, into one of the best lobbying groups in the world. The mere hint of what was waiting out among the stars had caused worldwide rioting three years earlier. When news of the Broan Sovereignty leaked, there would be hell to pay.
Terra Nostra
’s membership was about to balloon, possibly into the billions.
Everyone expected Vasloff and his organization to lead the opposition to Mark Rykand’s
plan. For one thing, Vasloff had had a year to think up ways to thwart what he called “those idiot expansionists.”
Slowly, the anteroom began to fill. Dan Landon walked in a minute behind Mark and Lisa. He nodded to both of them and to Vasloff, but did not speak.
Drs. Thompson and Morino arrived, as did half a dozen others. Several conversations buzzed just below the level where the brain can pick out individual phonemes. From time to time, there were surreptitious glances in the direction of Vasloff. If the Russian noticed, he made no sign; but rather, continued to go over his notes.
At precisely 10:00 hours, a musical tone sounded and the doors to the committee room opened. They filed through the portal to find two long tables with chairs facing a dais on which there was a fancier table with larger and more comfortable chairs. Each witness’ place was marked with a nameplate. They spent a minute sorting themselves out. Save for a few staffers busily laying out briefing books, pitchers of ice water, and spare styluses, there was no one else in the room.
When they had been seated for five minutes, a door at the front of the hall opened, and in filed six Members of Parliament. Their leader was Anthony John Hulsey, Member from New South Wales, Australasia. Also present were Thackery Savimbi, Capetown, Federation of Africa; and Jorge Santa Cruz, of Estados Unidos de Sud America; along with three others that Lisa did not recognize.
As the MPs entered, the witnesses rose and stood respectfully. As the doors closed, a low buzzing sound just below the level of hearing began as the anti-eavesdropping field came alive. The committee members took their seats and gestured for the witnesses to do likewise.
Chairman Hulsey pressed a plate inset into the table surface. As he did so, the amplified sound of a gavel banging wood sounded from hidden speakers. A uniformed functionary intoned ceremoniously,
“Hear ye; Hear ye! The Special Committee of Parliament on the Discoveries Made by the Crab Nebula Expedition is now in session. Citizen Anthony Hulsey, Chairman, presiding. Attend all who have business here!”
“Sergeant-at-Arms. Are all we have summoned here present?”
“They are, Mr. Chairman.”
“This may prove a long session. I suggest we get started. The committee calls Mark Richard Rykand. I understand you have a statement to read?” When Mark nodded, he continued: “Very well, Mr. Rykand, the floor is yours.”
#
Mark made essentially the same presentation that he had in the office of the Stellar Survey Director, with the exception that this time he had visuals. He briefly recounted their discovery of one of the home stars of the Sovereignty and of the expedition they mounted there. He told of his surprise and horror when the big blue Taff trader described Sar-Say as a Broa. He spoke of the hurried retreat that had followed.
It had been in a black mood that he, Lisa, and some others sat in the
Ruptured Whale
’s wardroom, commiserating with one another. They had been talking about the overwhelming power of the Sovereignty when Lisa made an offhand comment:
“
It's too bad we can't defend the solar system against stargates. What we need is a fortress that blocks access to our system, like Gibraltar once guarded the entrance to the Mediterranean.”
“Then it hit me,” Mark told the committee. “I realized that the Broa aren’t three-meters-tall and covered with fur.” He smiled sheepishly. “Well, they
are
covered with fur, but you know what I mean.”
“We know,” Elizabeth Fletcher, one of the junior MPs on the panel responded. “However, perhaps you should amplify the point.”
“The Broa control a million star systems. How can one planet with a dozen interstellar colonies hope to survive a conflict against such a behemoth? The answer, of course, is that we can’t. If the Broa knew about Earth, we wouldn’t stand a chance in hell. They would overwhelm us before we could get organized.
“But they don’t know about us…
yet.
They have no idea that we exist, let alone where in the sky to look for us. So long as that is the case, we have freedom to act against them without fear of reprisal.
“Nor are the Broa all-powerful. They have problems of their own. There is internecine strife among them, as evidenced by the attack on Sar-Say. They have an abnormally low birthrate. The Voldar’ik’s master hadn’t visited their world in quite some time. The Broa are stretched thin. Much of their domain runs on autopilot most of the time.
“Despite that, of course, is the problem of their inherent power. The Sovereignty has a gigantic population, with a million planetary economies from which to draw resources. If we were to go up against the whole of the Broan domain, we would have no chance at all.
“However, there is no need for us to fight all of them. To secure safety for ourselves and our children, we need not conquer a million worlds. We need to find the Broan home worlds, and defeat only them.”
“How do we do that?” the chairman asked.
Mark quickly explained his overall plan, which those aboard the
Ruptured Whale
had come to call “The Gibraltar Earth Strategy.”
#
One:
Humanity would finish the job they had begun on Klys’kra’t and obtain a planetary database with its astronomical data and maps of the stargate network.
Two:
They would use this data to discover the location of the Broan home world and other capitals.
Three:
They would build a fleet of starships capable of attacking the Broa in their power centers. The objective would be to destroy the home world stargates and isolate the bulk of the Broa from their possessions.
Four:
While the enemy power structure was cut off, humanity would work to foment revolts on as many subject worlds as possible.
Five:
They would continue the strategy until the Sovereignty collapsed under the strain. With thousands of former slave species on the rampage throughout their domain, the pseudo-simians would be far too busy to threaten the far-off human race.
#
“Bold, I’ll give you that,” Thackery Savimbi responded when Mark finished. “But a bit foolhardy, wouldn’t you say?”
“Not as foolhardy as waiting for them to discover us,” Mark replied. Two places down the table, he noted Mikhail Vasloff stiffen out of the corner of his eye.
“Proceed, Mr. Rykand,” the chairman said, glancing at his sleeve chronometer.
Mark laid out the operational details that they had fleshed out over the past year. With interruptions for questions, it was well past lunch time when he finished.
The chairman gazed at the other witnesses. “I know the agenda calls for several of you to present your technical evaluations now. I propose that we hold that for later this afternoon. We will break for lunch, 45 minutes. Committee members and witnesses are requested to be back here at 13:30 hours when we will hear the opposing viewpoint.”
The recorded sound of a gavel striking wood punctuated the chairman’s remarks.
#
Mikhail Vasloff sat at the witness table with every hair in place and a hint of a smile on his face. He sat with folded hands, waiting for the committee to resume their places after lunch. To look at him, one would have thought that he was here in support of a highway bill or agricultural aid appropriation. None of the mental anguish he had felt in the past few hours showed.
That he could keep his expression passive while seething inside was a testament to his long experience in politics. It had been torture to sit and listen to the stream of heresies spew forth from Mark Rykand.
It wasn’t that he disliked Mark personally. He found him a personable young man and an entertaining traveling companion. On the voyage home, the two of them had whiled away the boredom with a chess duel. It had been during those games that Vasloff had tried to win Mark over to his point of view.
He might as well have been talking to Sar-Say.
Vasloff attributed Mark’s attitude to the insanity that infects human beings. Having been the lords of creation for so long, the built-in response to any challenge was to attack! In most human beings, the “fight or flight” reflex was permanently stuck on “fight,” and while emotionally satisfying, it was a reaction that could well end all life on Earth.
The fact was that the human race lacked the power to challenge the Broa. The overlords had a million worlds; humanity, no more than a dozen, and eleven of those were net drains on resources. Compared to the Broa, humanity was a gnat headed toward a speeding truck.
Mark Rykand was correct about one thing. Humanity’s only defense lay in its anonymity. Mikhail Vasloff intended that they do everything in their power to remain anonymous.
When the committee returned, Chairman Hulsey gaveled them to order and introduced Vasloff before turning over the meeting to him.
“Thank you, Mr. Chairman, Members of the Committee,” he said in his carefully cultivated speaking voice. “I appreciate the opportunity you have given me this afternoon. I would also like to thank you for springing me from PoleStar, where I was being held in durance vile to keep me from talking.
“Before I begin, I would like it understood that there is nothing personal in my dispute with Mr. Rykand. Our differences are due to the differing ways we view the world. Mr. Rykand is still young. He has the optimism of the young. To him, conquering the rulers of the galaxy is merely a task to be undertaken like any other. I am older and more experienced in, shall we say, the unpleasant realities of life. There is a reason why the old are more pessimistic than the young. We have been disappointed more often.
“When Mr. Rykand presents his grand scheme for defeating the Broa, I say, ‘Bravo!’ If such a plan has any possibility of success, I will support it enthusiastically. Unfortunately, the odds are too great against us. His plan has no chance of success. Somewhere, something will go wrong and the Broa will discover the location of Earth. They will send a war fleet to conquer us, we will resist valiantly, and in the end, we will be destroyed.