Test of Magnitude (The Torian Reclamation) (2 page)

“We know of three other star systems like ours,” Mip7 said, “and one of them actually has three planets in the same orbit.”

“You mean, with inhabitable worlds? Hydrosphere planets?”

“Yes, Ambassador—although, only one of those systems currently has a native population of intelligent life. At one time, we had actually begun to colonize one of the others, but respiratory implants were needed because of the thin atmosphere. There is a short video presentation on shared orbit star systems in the amphitheater on Forward Visitor Deck 57. If you would like to see it, I can walk you there.”

“Yes, I’d like that.”

“Very well then, come with me.”

As they walked the corridors of the famous and fabulous Visitor Deck 60 alongside vivid works of art collected from dozens of distant worlds, the long-robed, thin-whiskered, white-haired Azaarian ambassador began rattling off questions—the kind that always made Mip7 nervous.

“How are the defenses on this station coordinated?”

“It’s all done by fighter craft. There are no weapons mounted on the station itself.” Mip7 knew that wasn’t exactly true.

“How many fighter craft are kept in the station hangars?”

“Fifty or Sixty. The bottom three decks are all military.”

The ambassador nodded. It seemed to Mip7 that he might be doing mental calculations.

“Of course, the main fleet can get here quickly from the ground bases in the case of an emergency,” Mip7 added.

“Yes, yes, of course,” the ambassador said. “Are they evenly deployed, then, across both of your worlds?”

“Essentially, yes.” Another lie. Mip7 knew all too well the main fleet was stationed almost entirely on Amulen. He also knew his instructions were to give the ambassador honest answers to anything he wanted to know. There had never been an interstellar war, and the Torian Military didn’t think an invasion was even plausible. The government was more concerned about being gracious hosts and showing off Cardinal-4 to any advanced race who initiated contact with them. Mip7 could get into real trouble as a consequence of being less than honest with the Azaarian ambassador, but he couldn’t help but follow his instincts. Still, he was careful not to give any false information he couldn’t claim ignorance on if questioned about it later.

The two of them stepped into the lift and headed down to deck 57.

“The size of this station is perhaps the most impressive construction feat we have come across,” the ambassador said. “We can even see it as an object on our scopes back home.”

“Yes,” Mip7 said, “it is the only space station in this section of the galaxy that can be seen on long range scopes, as far as we know—unless, of course, the Erobs have something like it.”

The ambassador’s expression turned into one of concern. They arrived on deck 57 and began walking down the hallway.

“You have communication with Erob?” the ambassador asked.

“No. We have the half-breeds among us, who teach the law in our universities. As I’m sure you do.”

The ambassador shook his head. “No. We exiled our half-breeds to Milura several generations ago.”

Mip7 was now more alarmed than ever. “You have no half-breeds? Who teaches Erob law on Azaar?”

“It is only taught in anthropology classes presently. All our current laws have evolved from our own cultural developments and have superseded the old Erob law, which is no longer taken seriously on Azaar. There are some political movements within our younger generation that are attempting to inspire a new interest in it, and wanting to bring about a return of the exiles, but they are a minority. Their efforts are mostly regarded as the misdirected passions of idealistic youth.”

Mip7 had no response. The very thought of an advanced race in the Erobian Sphere rebelling against Erob law, as ancient as that law may now be, was shocking.

“Tell me,” the ambassador said, “have any recent prophets arisen among your half-breeds?”

“No. Not for hundreds of years now, before we started work on this station. The last recorded prophecy was of a ‘destructive imbalance’ of some kind that would begin in space in the distant future.”

The ambassador appeared to relax again. “I see. How many other operational space stations now orbit Tora?”

“There are maybe a dozen small military stations here, but that’s all. Nothing else of any size, and no others with civilian residences. We put everything into this project, and the maintenance on it alone employs over seven percent of the Torian population.”

“I can see why,” the ambassador said.

They came to the amphitheater and went inside. The ambassador, being rather large, sat in a big, plush-red seat in front of the main screen. Mip7 queued up the proper video and left him there to go check on their meal arrangements.

* * *

Mip7 was tired. He just spent an exhausting ten hours entertaining a suspiciously inquisitive representative from a planet of lawless rebels, and he needed some down time. It was, in fact, required that he should now have a balancing rest period—but Governor Stugin2, the governor of Cardinal-4, had just summoned him. Mip7 was in no condition to see the governor. He had only even met him twice before. It must be something important, probably about the ambassador’s visit. Mip7 regretted ever volunteering for a foreign relations position.

Hopefully, the governor just wanted a briefing and hadn’t somehow found out about the false information Mip7 had given the ambassador earlier today. Perhaps the newly-formed Azaarian relationship was more important to the government than Mip7 realized. Whatever the case, he decided he needed a drink first.

Mip7 poured himself a tall tube of Redflower-20, the strongest libation allowed on the space station. It was also the strongest libation allowed by Erob law, but down on Torian soil that particular law was beginning to become somewhat obsolete, as stronger drinks were now purveyed in many lounges. You still couldn’t purchase anything stronger than Redflower-20 to take home, though.

Mip7 stood in his small residential compartment and looked at his drink. He wondered if the Tora worlds would become like Azaar in the near future, completely forsaking long-established galactic law simply because of a lack of enforcement. The availability of stronger recreational drinks than Erob law provided for was perhaps evidence their culture had begun to move in the same direction.

He consumed the contents of the tube in one swallow. A stinging bitterness exploded in his mouth, before yielding to the familiar smooth, euphoric semi-sweet aftertaste. That Redflower-20 was very special liquid indeed. He made an entry on his lightpad to request another bottle when the next supply order was pulsed.

Feeling better, Mip7 left his compartment. The governor’s manor was on the 77th deck, which was the uppermost inhabited deck and located at the base of the observation tower in the middle of the station. The floors above that were strictly for maintenance and moving traffic to and from the tower levels. Everything above the 63
^rd
deck was government-access only, except for the public lifts to the upper spaceport and observation tower. Mip7’s compartment was on deck 64, which housed most of the locals assigned to low-level government posts. His transmitter implants allowed him free access to the lower government levels, but to get to deck 77, he had to pass through security clearance and wait in a lobby to be announced. After waiting there a short period, he began to wonder if the summons was a mistake.

“Mip7, you are clear to pass,” the station guard said. “The governor is expecting you. Please use the center lift.”

Mip7 was partly relieved, but still a little nervous. Not many Cardinal-4 residents had ever been in the center lift on the top decks. That was for the governor and his guests. It led directly to the governor’s manor.

Mip7 walked back to the lift. The door opened and he stepped inside. The door closed behind him and the lift began moving, ever-so-gently. It was much wider than the standard lifts, and adorned with scarlet wall covering and exotic artwork. There were no hand controls or buttons. The governor’s lift operated purely on the information transmitted from your implants, or from special wristbands important guests were issued. If you were not supposed to be there, that lift wouldn’t take you anywhere.

The door opened again on deck 77. The lighting was bright and there were large plants growing in the reception area, surrounded by a gem garden which included a pool and fountain. Expensive chairs of different types and sizes were positioned between the gem garden and the front desk, where a guard was stationed. Mip7 figured he would now have to wait in this upper lobby some more, but the guard stood up and immediately came around to greet him.

“Mip7, follow me please.”

He was led down a corridor to a doorway where another guard was waiting, who also greeted him and then escorted them both into a large office. The governor was sitting behind a neatly-arranged desk made of spacecraft-grade sentium metal. Behind him was an impressive moriglass window where the stars provided a backdrop for the moored Azaarian transport ship. The governor looked up and nodded to the guards, who then turned and left.

“Sit down, Mip7.”

Mip7 took a seat. The governor was studying something on his lightpad, and kept looking over to the video screen on one of the side walls which displayed names and figures Mip7 didn’t recognize.

“I understand you spent a long day with the Azaarian ambassador, and that he had many questions about the architecture of Cardinal-4.”

Extat. He must have found out about the lies.

“Yes, sir. That’s true. Is something wrong?”

“I met with the ambassador just after you two parted.” The governor kept studying his lightpad as he talked. His speech was calm and steady, as if he were concentrating more on what he was reading than what he was saying. That could be a good sign.

The governor continued. “He was very surprised to learn about, what he termed, the very light defenses we maintain here.”

Extat. Here it comes.

“You didn’t tell him about the Reep-3 installation, did you?” the governor asked.

Mip7 hesitated before answering. “No, I don’t believe I did.”

“Did he ask you about stationary defenses?”

“No.” That much was true.

“Mip7,” the governor looked up at him now, “did you say something to him to make him believe there were no stationary defense weapons mounted here?”

A long, uncomfortable silence ensued. Mip7 tried not to blink. The governor was studying him, showing no emotion whatsoever. But then, Continent-2 Amulites were known for that, which is probably why they usually dominated the Torian elections. Governor Stugin2 had the dull gray complexion typical of C2 Amulites. All practicing Amulen politicians had that dull-gray look, as once they moved to the central government buildings on Continent-2, their skin soon took on that shade.

Mip7 looked back at his own leathery skin, the bright bronze color that so easily identified him as a C4 Banorian. He had been working on this station for over a year now, and the shine to his skin had only dimmed slightly, as far as he could tell, which still made him the target of rookie jokes and occasional silly hazing rituals. It would be a shame if he lost his assignment over this matter before his skin even had the chance to dull.

If they were going to terminate him, though, that could easily had been done through his immediate supervisor, or even via a lightpad message—unless the transgression was so serious the governor himself wanted to scold him for it first. Were they going to enforce the ‘honesty in foreign relations’ policy to such extremes?

Earlier in the day, Mip7 figured he could plead ignorance if he were confronted on the matter. Now, however, facing the reality of the consequences, he realized that was a foolish miscalculation. His instincts—the same ones that got him into this mess, unfortunately—told him to keep his mouth shut at the moment. If he waited for the governor to speak again before answering, maybe the governor would graciously offer some kind of a way out of this. Mip7 knew he couldn’t lie to the governor. There was a time when he thought he could lie to Amulites—never his fellow Banorians—but now he understood he could not lie to any fellow Torian. Extat, he didn’t even understand why or how he had lied to the Azaarain ambassador today. That was reckless and uncharacteristic of him.

The governor, mercifully, did speak again first to break the silence.

“You don’t want to perjure yourself, I see. That is probably wise.”

“Sir, I apologize for any improprieties in my work performance today.”

“It’s not like a Banorian to lie,” the governor said. “Especially one not involved in politics. Perhaps government work is having a bad effect on you.” He began writing on his lightpad.

Mip7 spoke in a less official manner now, in a lower tone of voice, as one speaks to a friend.

“How much trouble am I in, sir?”

“Well, I’m making an entry in your file, and a personal note about you for my own reference.”

“I’m getting a demerit in my file?”

“No, an accommodation.”

Mip7 was taken aback.

“Not for lying to a visiting dignitary,” the governor said. “That will stay between you and me. My accommodation in your file is for a job well done under special circumstances, and marks all your future government applications with my personal recommendation. In my own journal, I have made a notation that you have displayed good instincts, rare courage, and seem to handle yourself wisely under stress. I have a rather short list of Torians I feel I can really trust as of late, and you just made that list.”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

The governor set down his lightpad. “Not everyone in top-level government agrees with the open-book policy in foreign relations. This is one issue the Banorian Chancellor and I happen to concur on, along with several of the continental governors. We are not able to make a public statement, you understand, which would be in opposition to the stance of the High Chancellor and the Amulen Chancellor.  That would be political suicide—and poor public relations, as well. After thousands of years of nurturing a culture that prides itself on truth, we can’t very well explain to Torian society how selective dishonesty suddenly figures to serve us better in government.”