NationStates Jolt Archive

A short, undefinably ugly man sits at his desk, sipping coffee as he browses through reports. He doesn't look particularly happy, not with the economic reports coming through from the Ministry of Finance, but he can't blame Ian for it. It isn't Ian's fault the war is sending profits into the toilet. If it weren't for Ian, the Empire would probably be in a full-blown depression. The fact that Ian is talking about a well-earned retirement (and not with a bullet, for a change) just makes it worse.

There comes a knock at the door.

"Come in, Alex."

Alex Tribeca pokes his head in anxiously. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Your Majesty, but I thought you should be informed immediately."

Treznor lifts his head to observe his personal aide curiously. Alex's voice and mannerisms suggest it isn't bad news, but he's being deliberately obtuse. His curiosity picqued, Treznor gestures. "So, what's the big news?"

"The colony ship just came out of folded space, Your Majesty. They made it."

Treznor breaks out in a wide grin. "Now that's a reason to celebrate. Spread the word, Alex. Today, the Empire has secured its future."

Treznor Colony Ship Horizon, orbiting Planet Jewel

"There's got to be a better way to get these sheep down to the ground," grumbles Petty Officer Harold Lighter.

"Are you referring to the animals, or your fellow citizens?" asks Ensign Doris McIntyre.

Lighter grins wryly. "Why, the animals of course, Ma'am. I've never met a more obnoxious bunch of noisy, whining, stubborn animals in all my life."

"You should listen to the enlisted folk grumble sometime," McIntyre observes just as wryly.

Lighter flushes; he hasn't fooled her for a moment. "I didn't mean it that way, Ma'am."

"Of course not, Petty Officer. But these folks have spent the better part of six months under sedation for their own good, and a lot of them vaguely remember the nightmares they had anyway. Even if the equipment were working at 100%, which it never does, they'd have enough reason to complain. At least you didn't spend half a year of your life with addled wits, although some might suggest you're used to it, eh?"

Lighter frowns and focuses on his datapad. Shuttle Three is still showing signs of instability; the magnetic coils should have been replaced a long time ago, but somebody had failed to mention it. Unfortunately, that makes it his problem now, although he plans to pass that heat down to whomever signed off on the coil to begin with. In the meanwhile, he has several hundred thousand sleepy, grumpy, whining, stubborn, impatient colonists waiting for their turn to start their new lives on a clean, new world. As if a few more days of patience would kill them. And that didn't even begin to cover the host of technical problems they're having just getting these sheep down to the surface.

McIntyre chuckles softly and pats him on the shoulder. "Buck up, man. In a few weeks we'll be sailing for the asteroids and start prospecting. Then you won't have any more sheep to worry about."

"Yes, Ma'am," Lighter replies politely. Right now he just wishes she'd go away. "Something to look forward to, Ma'am."

"That's the spirit, Petty Officer."

Planet Jewel, two months after landing
Roger Ballard scratches his balding head and runs through the reports on his desk. He knew the job of Governor would be hard work when it came to him, but he's been an able administrator for over fifteen years. He's just never had a job with so much tedium, or requiring so many personal decisions on matters outside his personal experience. For example, he's poring over a report on the native population, the so-called "cave rats" discovered by the crew of the Hector. It seems the cave rats have lost their fear and awe of humans, and have started raiding some supply dumps. The lure of free food and material was too much for them. At least three settlers had shot at the creatures, killing up to seven of them. But it seems that the raids are increasing in frequency, meaning Ballard is going to have to set up fencing. This means that his directive from the Emperor is succeeding, and the settlers are viewing the natives as pests rather than sentients. He just needs to keep this news away from any Zero-One machines.

Ballard pushes a button on his desk. "Sandy, send over the latest prospecting reports."

"Yes, sir," the woman replies quickly. Sandy had worked for him for over five years. He wasn't sure she had been too keen on joining him for this job, but he'd had the opportunity to pick his own staff, and he wanted her with him. Maybe out on a frontier world she'll find a man and get married. He never recalled hearing anything about her dating anyone back in Devonton.

Ballard hunkers down for a full afternoon of paperwork, the only thing he ever does anymore. The world runs on paperwork, especially for a brand new world.

His desk beeps at him. He hit the button again. "Yes?"

Sandy's voice comes back to him, sounding peevish. "Sir, Sheriff diMarco is here with a prisoner. She won't talk to me about it, she says she'll only talk to you."

"Fine, send her in." Ballard isn't all that displeased; anything to break away from routine is good. He tosses back the last of his cooling tea and looks up as diMarco swaggers into the room followed by two guards and a scruffy looking prisoner. From the looks of it, the man had been treated with the Sheriff's usual care. Ballard takes an instant dislike to him.

"We've got a problem, Roger," diMarco says without preamble, her pleasant contralto at odds with her stern features.

"So what is it, Miranda?"

"This man here was...receiving services in the Red House on the south side when he decided he wanted to play a little rough. Put two girls and a bouncer in the hospital, and caused a lot of property damage."

"So what? Put him on a chain gang and let him work off his debt."

"It's not that simple, Roger," diMarco hisses. "He's with the Orestes, and they're shipping out tomorrow. He's demanding that he be turned over to his captain."

"Why the hell didn't you say that in the first place, you bitch?" Ballard demands, his good mood dissipated. He glares at the prisoner, who smirkes back at him. "Have you spoken with Captain Ranier?"

"Of course not. You know what happened the last time one of his boys caused problems down here." Her voice takes on a mocking tone. "'Boys will be boys. They work hard, so they play hard. You can't blame them for that!'"

"So what do you expect me to do about it?"

"I want you to do your job, dammit! Get Ranier to either put a leash on his dogs, or deny them landing rights! Do something!"

"Deny them landing rights? Ranier controls a third of the mining happening in the asteroids."

"Who is he going to sell it to? The Dominion? Arda? He's got no one to sell it to but us!"

"What about the other two ships? He sells to them, they sell back to us for a profit. They get easy money, our costs go up, and I've accomplished nothing but creating more problems."

"And getting rid of a lot of crime around here," she reminded him. "Because I swear to you, Roger. If you don't do something about this jackoff here, I will." She draws her weapon to emphasize the point. The crewman abruptly loses his smug look.

"Settle down, Miranda. You're not getting blood on my carpet." Ballard stares her down until she puts the gun away. "If this is the only way I'm going to avoid a bloodbath, fine. I'll do something about it. Throw this guy in a chain gang, and I'll deal with Ranier. Happy?"

"It's about damned time," diMarco grumbles, and gestures to her deputies.

"What? Hey! You can't do this to me! I demand to speak to the Captain! I know my rights!" The prisoner shouts and wails until they drag him out the door.

"He's right, of course. Technically, I don't have any authority over him. I'm supposed to surrender him to his ship."

"And those damned space dogs have been abusing that loophole since we got set up! Over half the arrests I make are these sex-crazed maniacs from space. Something's gonna give, and if I can't arrest 'em, I'm gonna start neutering 'em!" Her expression suggests she looks forward to it. Miranda diMarco is not known for her gentle ways.

Ballard grumbles to himself as he sits back in his seat. "Well, I've been on the horn to Space Command. Some commodore I've never heard of assures me the captains have been censured. Obviously, it hasn't had much impact."

DiMarco snorts. "Obviously."

"Shooting them isn't going to be a better solution. It's only going to make things worse. You know that."

"It'll make me feel better. And a lot of the folks around town, too."

"All right, granted. There's a lot of resentment. But we need another solution, preferably one that doesn't involve public executions or lynch mobs. Agreed?"

She sighs deeply, and nods. "Agreed."

"All right, then. Any ideas on how we can do that?"

"All these space dogs care about is money. Then as soon as they make it, they blow it on booze and whores. Maybe we can close down the whorehouses and bars?"

"Then they'll take it out some other way. No, that's not the answer. Besides, I don't have that much authority. Half the settlers would revolt, before the Emperor replaced me. You know how it works, Miranda. Making waves will just get me a bullet. I've got to have a solution ready before I upset the status quo. Find me a solution before to present to the captains, and I'll ramrod it through."

She makes a pained look and marches to the door. She opens it, then pauses. "I still think they need neutering."

"I know. Dinner tonight?"

"I'm busy."

Ballard sighs as she slams the door shut. He knows that while she's in this mood, she'll be busy for the rest of the week.

Ballard pours four glasses of whiskey from his private stock and hands them out to the assembled captains. They look generally displeased, but the free alcohol goes a long way toward soothing ruffled feathers. Not completely, but it helps. Only Captain Ranier fails to look even slightly appeased.

"I want my man back, Ballard."

Reminded of the reason they're together in Ballard's office, the other two captains nod in agreement. "You don't have the authority to hold him," Mary Higgins adds.

"Well, lady and gentlemen, I'm not so sure about that." Ballard takes his seat and savours the whiskey before continuing. "I looked a little closer at my charter. You see, the Emperor gave me full authority to deal with criminals and troublemakers as I see fit. The wording of the charter doesn't distinguish between established citizens and visitors. The reason your people have immunity is from a separate document from Space Command. So at present it's your authority against mine."

"That's outrageous!" Ranier shouts. Higgins looks uncomfortable and the third captain, Trevor Kagan, nods slowly. "Space Command and Colonization both fall under Interstellar Affairs. Our documents have the force of law for you."

"By that logic," Ballard replies reasonably. "My documents have the force of law for you as well. I've had my people research this for the past few days, and everyone agrees that there's no clear precedent. In theory, it shouldn't have to come to a challenge like this. In practice, your dereliction of duty has created undue hardships for my colony, jeopardising Project Exodus. You force my hand, so here we are. Your man stays on the ground until he's compensated my people for the damages he's done."

"I'll see you stand before a firing squad for this," Ranier hisses.

"Think again, Captain." Ballard growls. "You're all guilty of allowing discipline to get out of control on the ground, but especially you, Ranier. Your people are the worst. Every time you show up to deliver your ore, my people end up soaking up damages. This man was the worst, and we're simply not going to take it anymore."

"Your position is shakey at best, Governor," Kagan advises. "No one has ever challenged a Space Command directive and succeeded."

Ballard nods to him. "True. But these are extraordinary circumstances, I think you'll all agree. Do you really want to pit your presumed authority against the fact that the Emperor has placed this colony as a top priority? Because if you do, and you fail, I'm not the one who will take a bullet. You're all guilty."

"You can't blackmail us --" Ranier begins, and is cut short.

"Stow it, Harold!" Higgins snaps. "Obviously, he can. All right, Ballard. Out with it. What do you want? Good behaviour?"

Ballard smiles gently. He takes a datapad prepared for this meeting and offers it to her. "Good behaviour, and compensation for damages accrued. As well as guarantees of compensation for any future damage."

Higgins' face goes white as she scans the pad and sees the number at the bottom. "That amount of money could buy a whole ship! It's worth three months of ore from all of us! There's no way our people have done that much damage!"

"Oh, there's far more to this than damage. In addition to property damage, people have been out of work, injured, and support staff have been forced into overtime and it's been necessary to draft additional support to help. Manpower that would be better served in building this colony rather than cleaning up after your messes. You've all sworn to me after each incident that the perpetrators would be punished, but as you see from the itemised list, the problems have grown in frequency and intensity. I'm losing money thanks to you, and you're going to foot the bill one way or another."

"Surely there's room to negotiate here," Kagan says reasonably.

"The hell we will!" Ranier comes to his feet and points a finger at Ballard. "I'll see you burn for this. I swear it!"

Ballard lets him storm out of the room without comment, then looks to the other two. "Do you two agree with him?"

"Ranier's a prick," Higgins says flatly. "He can hang for all I care. But I can't afford this much, not even a third of it."

"Clearly, we'll need to confer with our own people and perhaps suggest a compromise," Kagan adds quickly, throwing Mary a cautioning look.

"By all means, take that with you and talk it over. Take as long as you want. But this town is off-limits to your people until this is resolved one way or another. In the meanwhile, I have a world to build." Ballard tosses back the last of his whiskey and reaches for his paperwork. He doesn't bother to declare the meeting at an end. A moment later, the remaining captains file out of the room.

Once the door is closed, Ballard leans back and takes a deep breath. "I hope I'm right."

Treznor frowns as he reads over Admiral Sanchez's report, then quickly skims through the supporting data and communications. Eventually he turns away from his terminal screen and locks his gaze on the woman across from him. Typically, she flushes with nervousness and tries not to squirm, but otherwise holds her ground.

Treznor contemplates her for a moment longer before he speaks. "Well, Admiral. Your report was curiously silent with regard to your opinion of the situation. All you did was detail the complaints and actions taken, which I could have accomplished on my own."

Sanchez manages to look even more uncomfortable. 'Yes, Your Majesty. Given the circumstances, I felt it best to leave analysis to those better suited."

Treznor shakes his head and leans back. "Don't get cold feet on me now, Maria. You've given exemplary service up to now, and it's been my pleasure to promote you into the authority you now enjoy. Part of that job is to provide me with your expert opinion. So let's have it. What's your take on this little problem?"

Sanchez takes a deep breath and nods, albeit unwillingly. "By all Naval and Space regulations, Governor Ballard has exceeded his authority by holding crewman deSantos and demanding compensation from the ship captains. Ranier's complaint is fully within the letter of the law. However, Ballard's situation is extraordinary, and as much as Ranier wants to deny it, his men are responsible for a disproportionate amount of damage and disruption to the colony. Ballard's requests for censure and discipline to the captains have largely gone ignored, and the problem has escalated. He should have then gone up through channels to have the captains disciplined, but he chose to establish his own authority over them."

Treznor nods encouragingly. "What do you think of that?"

"I think that if this were happening in our system I'd have Ballard's nuts on a platter. I think that with them being situated on the far side of the known universe, a new policy is required. They're working with limited resources, and the next supply ship isn't due for another month. Plus, every ship we send runs the risk of never appearing again. Waiting for our bureaucracy to catch up with their problems could very well spell disaster for the entire colony. I think Ballard took a calculated risk, but he made the right call. I advise broadening his powers to cover problems like this, and removing Ranier from command."

"How far would you extend his powers?"

"I really can't say, Majesty. I'm not familiar enough with the problem to say. I know what to do about the captains, but not about the colony."

"All right, fair enough. As it happens, I agree with you. Ballard's jurisdiction is a higher priority. Unfortunately, that opens the door to problems with planetary governors wielding too much authority over fleet elements."

"If he does," Sanchez growls. "I'll personally remove his nuts and hang them on my door."

Treznor grins. "Fair enough. You advise the captains to buck up and pay the bill, and I'll let you handle Ranier yourself. I'll have Janet draw up a proposal for the new policy for colony worlds."

She nods, relaxing slightly. "Yes, Sir. Ah, Majesty."

The emperor grins at her. "'Sir' is fine. Old habits die hard. Now, is there anything else?"

"Ah, one other thing, Sir. I looked over the budget you've approved for the new fleet you've been talking about?"

"Not enough? I'm afraid that the war with Arda left us all tightening our belts a bit. We still don't have our planetary defenses back up to pre-war levels."

"No, Sir. It's quite a lot, in fact. I'll be able to purchase quite a few quality ships through our Triumvirate contacts. But I had another thought, one that might help everyone." Sanchez pauses, hesitating.

"Go ahead, Maria."

"I was thinking about the gateway technology Sunset uses to control traffic to and from their colony worlds. I don't expect we could buy the knowhow from them, but they are dedicated capitalists. I'm sure we could purchase a pair of gates from them, to connect us with Jewel."

Treznor opens his mouth and stops, thinking quickly. "That's an extraordinary suggestion, Admiral," he says finally. "I find it remarkable that you'd suggest it instead of beefing up your own forces. But the reason I'm keeping that system's coordinates under such tight control is because I don't trust anyone, friend or foe, with the knowledge of its location. Connecting them directly with gates would undermine that security."

"Yes, Sir. I can appreciate that. But given the travel time to and from Jewel, and the non-negligible possibility that we'll lose each ship in transit, it seems to me that the benefits outweigh the security risks."

Treznor ponders a moment longer. "I'm not sure I agree with that, Admiral. But I'm not willing to dismiss it out of hand, either. You have my permission to open talks with Sunset and discuss options. I'll see what I can do to firm up security requirements."

"Yes, Sir. That's it, Sir."

"All right. Thank you for your input." Treznor gestures gently, indicating that she's dismissed. But he stops her before she can escape out the door. "But Admiral, no more cold feet. I have to be able to trust I'm getting your best, not what you think I want to hear. Otherwise, I'll be forced to retire you. Do I make myself clear?"

Sanchez swallows heavily and nods. "Yes, Sir. Crystal clear."

Treznor lifts the katana from the hands of the woman offering it and inspects the sheath, guard and hilt. Everything has been decorated in unrelenting black, with only subtle carvings for ornamentation. Sheathed, there is nothing to see about the sword to make it remarkable. Then he draws it from the wooden scabbard to inspect the blade. It shines brilliantly underneath the harsh light of the practice room, and he notes the pattern in the steel created by the cooling process. Five hundred years of technological advances and we still can't make a better sword out of ordinary steel than the Japanese.

It had been tempting to commission a sword made of titanium, or even with a monofilament edge, but then it wouldn't be traditional. He never gave a gift without putting some thought to the message behind it. A sword of modern construction, while possibly more deadly, just wouldn't have the same impact.

He admires the sword for a bit, then steps back and to give it a few experimental swings. He isn't a sword expert by any stretch of the imagination; if he can't hit with his fists he prefers to shoot it with a gun. However, he's conversant enough to know that the balance on the blade is superb, and the craftsmanship worth a small ransom.

"Excellent," he says as he returns the katana to its sheath. "Precisely what I wanted. Alex, box it up with my crest and ship it to Titan. I hope it'll reach Lieutenant Bondayehr (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=327292) before he ships out on his first mission, but I'll understand if it doesn't."

He bows respectfully to the smith, who hurries to bow even lower so her head remains lower than his. Then she backs away quickly, eager to escape His Majesty's presence. Treznor watches her with some small amusement. I praise her for her good work, and she's still afraid I'll have her shot? Sheesh, I didn't think I was that bad. Still, Machiavelli said it best. "It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both."

He dismisses the woman from his mind and turns back to the exercise routine she had interrupted. An hour later, freshly showered and feeling limber, he returns to his office to tackle the afternoon's workload. Progress reports from Jewel were encouraging. Properly cowed, the crews of the mining ships were causing no more trouble than normal, and the colony was showing an increase in efficiency. Carefully planted rumours are bolstered by increasing boldness by the aboriginal species their raids on colony food and supplies. A fence had been erected at great cost, but there are several weaknesses the clever rats had learned to exploit. In time, the colonists will demand official sanction to hunt the pests and exterminate them. Some of the more daring or impatient colonists have already started their own hunting trips. It isn't exactly illegal, after all.

He moves to the next report. Negotiations with Sunset have finally concluded, and the price tag for the fully armed and autonomously linked gates settled at just under seven trillion dubloons. Fortunately, payments will be spread out over four years. It's a much higher price than what he had originally budgeted for Sanchez's space fleet, but he agrees with her logic. The benefits will far outweigh the costs once the project is completed. He looks over the preliminary schedule and signs off on it. Gate modules will be shipped to Jewel in the next two years, to be assembled onsite. The location of the linking gate will be kept strictly top secret.

Okay. So we'll put off those shiny new ships for another year. Or three. Sanchez will have to make do with the warships she's got now. The new freighter fleets we're churning out won't make her job easy. Thank the gods for TYCS.

He sighs and orders a cup of coffee. Another day at the office.

Planet Jewel
"I want them things shot, or poisoned, or something!" bawls the short, sturdy woman still tracking mud through Ballard's tidy office. "They made off with ten o' my lambs! Got 'em a taste for mutton, they have. They're a menace! And who'se gonna compensate me for 'em, I ask you?"

Ballard suppressed the urge to wrinkle his nose at the strong scent of farm work exuding from the woman on the other side of his desk. He could deal with that, if she'd just sit down and stop sharing her precious dirt everywhere. "Mrs. Holland, please, be patient. Killing those creatures would be immoral and irresponsible. After all, they were here first. We need to teach them to keep to their own lands and forage naturally instead of becoming dependent on us. If you keep your rubbish piles secure and maintain your fences properly, these sorts of things won't happen."

The speech was almost second nature by now. Officially, the government's position was to treat the natives of Jewel as aboriginals, to be protected and segregated. Unofficially, Ballard's orders were to encourage just the sort of trouble that was pacing around his office at the moment. The dichtomy of the situation made his head ache.

"That's a load of hooey and you know it!" the woman threw back at him. "I remember the way it was. The Emperor shoots people for poking where they're not wanted. And now you tell me we gotta tolerate these cave rats?"

And now the hook. Ballard leaned forward conspiratorially. "Between you and me, we know the Empire doesn't let anything stand in the way of progress. But this is about politics. The machines know we're here, and they know the rats are here. They don't like that we're colonising this world. They've been raising a stink about the whole thing. So officially, the Emperor is doing his best to create reservations for the cave rats so they can't get to our livestock and we can't pollute their culture." He almost spat the word out with distaste. "But you're a private citizen, and a landowner. What you do on your own land is your business. So if you see a trespasser on your lands, you have the right to defend your property. If wild animals are getting into your stock you can leave poison bait out for them. So long as you make sure your fences are up to code and you can prove you didn't shoot anybody outside your property, you're untouchable."

"And what about when the machines complain about that?" Mrs. Holland asked suspiciously.

"You let the Emperor worry about that. We're his people, and he'll defend us even from our allies. So long as we keep our noses clean, nobody can touch us. Right?"

The woman smiled and nodded. "I got it. Thank you, Governor."

"My pleasure, Mrs. Holland. You have a good day." Ballard waited until she'd left his office before he let out the grunt he'd been holding in. He stabbed the button for his phone. "Get somebody in here to clean up this mess."

.83 AU from an unremarkable K-class star. Coordinates classified.

"Tango-Golf-One, this is Tango-Echo-Five on approach. Estimated intersect in three hundred seconds, that is three-zero-zero." Lieutenant Petersen cut power to his thrusters and coasted toward the gigantic ring structure on inertia alone. He waited patiently for the traffic control official to respond. It didn't take long.

"Tango-Echo-Five, we confirm your approach vector. Gate operations will commence shortly. You have the ball." The voice on the other end had that distinctive accent found among Sunset technicians. They were still getting Imperial technicians up to speed on procedures, but there would always be mixed crews. The Emperor had purchased the gates, not the technology itself.

"Roger that, I have the ball. Begin countdown in five...four...three...two...one...mark."

"Countdown begun, transition in two-five-one seconds. The boards are green, we are committed."

"Here goes nothing," Petersen murmured quietly to himself. The digital clock on his board counted down the seconds as his small craft drifted steadily toward the center of the ring. He could already make out the mammoth defense blisters set out symmetrically along the outside curves, foreign weaponry designed to defend foreign technology. He pitied any casual visitors to this system; the Empire would not be forgiving.

The center of the ring was black; he couldn't even see stars through it. Nor did he expect to. In seconds he would pass through, and if the results of previous tests held true he would instantly reappear on the other side of the universe. The first human to make the jump in under a minute. He'd be honoured if he had more faith in technology.

He'd seen some of the unmanned tests that had failed.

The darkness approached and filled his vision. Then he was through, and he could see the stars again.

"Tango-Echo-Five, we have you on our screens. Welcome to Jewel."

Petersen let out a long sigh of relief before he hit the button to reply. "Tango-Golf-Two, roger. I read you five-by. Thanks guys, I'm glad to be here."

"I bet," came the sardonic reply. They'd seen the tests that failed, too. "Prepare for vector change in nine-zero seconds. Data coming through now."

"Confirmed. Wilco."

Petersen plugged in the new vector plot and let the computer handle the thrusters. A moment later he was treated to a spectacular view of the colony world his Empire called "Jewel." It was a bright blue and so Earth-like he felt almost disappointed that the land formations looked so different. He wondered if the air smelled the same.

He considered with pleasure the fact that he was about to find out.

Planet Jewel, Governor's Residence, 23:21 Local Time

In the stately residence of the Planetary Governor's home, a most undignified giggle erupts from the master bedroom. It is shortly followed by an indignant bawl. "Ouch! Dammit Miranda, that hurts!"

"Suck it up, Roger. You're a big boy, remember?"

"Why do you have to be such a bitch?"

"Because you like me that way."

The complaints are quickly smothered, and nothing intelligible is forthcoming for a while. Eventually, their desires sated, they part. Miranda diMarco, sheriff of Jewel City stretches and stands, padding naked to the bathroom where she fills a glass of water for herself.

Roger Ballard watches her from the bed. She notices his gaze and winks at him. He shakes his head slowly. "I don't know why I put up with you."

"Because nobody else does it like me, baby."

"That's for damned sure." He stretches and winces. His hand goes to his back to inspect the damage. "Damn you, I'm bleeding. Are you happy, now?"

She ambles back, carrying the glass of water still half-full. "Why, yes. I am." She offers the glass to him. "Whatsamatter, Roger? Can't handle a little pain?"

He accepts the glass and sips from it. "You don't have to be so rough, you know."

"But it's fun. And you deserve it. The Governor of Jewel, second only to the Emperor himself. The big man who can't handle a little pain. You need to be taken down a peg, now and then."

He scowls. "I'm not that bad."

She leans forward with a brilliant smile and kisses him quickly. "Exactly."

He opens his mouth to retort, but is interrupted by the shrill tone of his phone. "Goddamn it." He pulls a blanket around his waist while she steps back into the bathroom and closes the door. He hits the receive button. "What is it?"

Ballard's assistant comes on the line, looking worried. "Sir, a hunting party just returned from the north. They found something you need to see."

"Can't it wait until morning?" Ballard dabs a finger at the wound on his back and inspects it angrily.

"Sir, I really think you want to see this immediately. It's about the cave-rats."

He sighs and wipes his finger clean on the blanket around him. "Fine, let me get cleaned up and dressed. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Sandy gives him a strange look, but nods obediently. "Yes, Sir. We'll be waiting for you."

He sighs and cuts the connection. "I think you might want to be there, too, Miranda."

She opens the door, already half-dressed. "Yeah, I figured that. You take your time, Governor. Lick your wounds. I'll check it out."

He frowns and steps past her to reach for the shower. "You could be a little nicer. It would be a welcome change."

She pouts prettily and steps up to stroke his arm with her fingertips. "Oh, I'm sorry sweetie. Maybe I could be a little nicer. I'll try, I promise." Her hand wanders lower. "But not too nice. I wouldn't want you to get bored."

He stiffens, literally and figuratively. He hisses quietly, then pulls away. "No, we wouldn't want that. Go on, I'll be there as fast as I can."

"Whatever you say, Governor." She favours him with a wicked smile and takes her clothes out of the room to finish dressing in peace. He steps into the shower and curses; it's too hot and it hurts against his wounded flesh.

Planet Jewel, Government Building, 00:06 Local Time

Ballard steps into the chilly lobby of the central government building, thankful for his heavy coat. The temperatures aren't very extreme; this part of the world is largely temperate and mild, but this is the coldest part of the year for the southern hemisphere. Since no one is expected to be in the government building at this time, they don't bother to keep it heated.

He looks around at the half-dozen people assembled, all of them looking puzzled or grim, including diMarco. "Sheriff," he says politely with a nod. She gives him an absent greeting in return. "Sandy."

"Sorry to get you out of er...bed, Sir," Sandy replies lamely. It isn't as though Ballard is keeping his relationship with Miranda a secret, but Sandy is clearly uncomfortable with it. "These hunters found something around dusk, and they brought it back to us."

"So, what is it? Another alien civilisation?"

"We have it in back. You should come see, Sir."

Wondering what all the mystery is about, Ballard follows. The group moves to a basement level storage room brightly lit. A dozen aboriginal artefacts lay in the center.

"So, you found some cave-rat art. Fabulous. This is worth bringing me out in the cold in the middle of the night?"

"Stow it, Roger," Miranda snaps. "This isn't just some random rat-scratching. Look at it!"

Stung at the public rebuke, Ballard almost rebels. But he retains his self-control and looks. The shapes are familiar. The natives seem to have made a decent representation of the exploration vessels used by the Imperial fleet. Then he notices the arrangement of the plates and bowls. They're all filled with debris scavenged from colony trash piles. "What is this?"

"Religion," says Sandy. "Tell him, Carla."

One of the female hunters steps forward. "We...uh...found some of the cave-rats crawling around while we were hunting dinosaurs. We tried to ignore them but they kept getting in our way. Finally we kind of...well...shot one. The others picked it up and carried it away like a funeral procession." The way Carla told the story, Ballard suspects it wasn't the local predators they were hunting at all. He doesn't interrupt. "We got curious, so we followed. They put the thing up on a pyre, surrounded it with these things and lit it. It was like they wanted us to shoot it, for sacrifice! We took pictures and brought this stuff back. We thought you'd want to know."

Ballard squats down and inspects the paraphenalia closer. Sandy was right; it looks religious to his untrained eye. He stands up and faces the group. "All right, we don't know what this is, we just know what we think it is. Let's not jump to any conclusions, and most of all let's not start spreading rumours. The last thing we need is to have word spread that the rats are worshipping us. Sandy, get on the horn and get in touch with Interstellar Affairs. Let them know what we've found but don't tell them what we think. Just extend my personal request for a second opinion."

"Yes, Sir."

Ballard turns back to the hunters. "Now. You already know not to talk to your friends or family about this. Still, I want you to show me on the map where you found it. We have to send people out to gather as much information as we can find before the Imperial investigators arrive."

"No, dammit. No no no. This, I do not need." Treznor snatches his coffee cup off his desk in a fit of rage and throws it across the room. It shatters with a satisfying crash against the wall, leaving a stream of brown liquid trailing down in the aftermath. He then snags a tissue to wipe off his hand before the spilled coffee can scald him too badly.

Ben Vitner, Minister of Intelligence and the only man to serve in Treznor's government from the beginning, blinks in surprise and surrupticiously edges away. Janet Marshall, the Minister of Interstellar Affairs since the beginning of the colony effort, screams and claws for the door. She's halted by a single, spoken command. "Sit down."

She obeys unwillingly.

"I don't understand, Sir. Why should this be a problem? Shouldn't it make it easier to wipe them out?" Ben asks, wondering at the uncharacteristic fit of temper.

"It should, yes." Treznor tosses the tissue away and resumes his seat. "But unless I can work out a deal with Shodan to make this go away, a lot of Zero-One machines are going to raise hell about it. This is proof positive that we've corrupted their society, and that in spite of our claims they're sentient and capable of developing a culture and civilisation of their own. By colonising the world and interfering the way we have, we've effectively doomed them to extinction or at least subservience. The bleeding hearts in the Triumvirate will see cause for a holy crusade to protect them and pressure us to pull out. It's a bloody disaster is what it is! We've invested too much time and resources into this push to have to start over now."

He stands up, sending his chair scuttling backward and stalks back and forth behind his desk, letting his anger vent for a moment. Suddenly he stops and glares at Janet, still squirming in her seat. "Well? You're my head of IA. This is what you're here for. I need options!"

She glances briefly at Ben, who shrugs. Then she stands up and clears her throat hesitantly. "You...could...announce it before the Zero-One machines find out."

Treznor's eyes open wide. "Have you gone insane? They'll crucify me!"

Janet talks fast. "Not if you propose a solution of your own, one that doesn't involve giving up anything. The damage is already done; the aboriginal culture has already been corrupted. All that can be done now is damage control. It'll cost, but it won't force us to freeze colonisation efforts, it'll just require us to integrate their culture into our society. Officially, they'll become equal partners in the effort and joint owners of the world. Practically, their minimal skills and intelligence will relegate them to little better than second class citizens. I don't think they're capable of anything better. We keep our colony, the Triumvirate keeps the moral high ground and everyone wins."

Treznor scowls. "I don't like it. Too much meddling, too much foreign interference. We shouldn't have to put up with it."

"She's right, though," Ben pitches in. "It's the price we pay for working with the Triumvirate. They're watching our backs while we do this; if we'd devoted enough resources to build and maintain the kind of fleet presence we'd need to protect ourselves, we wouldn't have been able to establish a colony like Jewel so fast. It's a compromise, and if we're going to stay on top, we have to present it on our terms. By coming forward with it before anyone finds out, we keep the moral high ground and maintain a good stance for negotiation."

Treznor kicks his desk, causing it to jump slightly. "Dammit. I'd rather just bury the knowledge and wipe them out."

"You know how Shodan is in our networks. We can't keep her out, in spite of our best efforts. We're barely able to figure out when Hack is poking around. I'll lay you odds she already knows and she's waiting to see how things go. If you want any chance of controlling this, you need to act now. Either find a way to kill them quickly, or acknowledge the problem and declare a solution."

"You've already announced you're working to segregate them in order to protect their culture," Janet continued, warming up to the topic. "This just looks like the next step in the process. It's not coming out of the blue."

Treznor opens his mouth, then closes it and lets his shoulders slump. He fetches his chair from the corner where it landed and sits down in it. "All right, we'll try it. I don't like it, but I guess you're probably right. Janet, this is yours. Work out the details and present me with a plan. I'll address the Triumvirate Council as soon as you can put this package together. Ben, I'll leave it to you to clamp down on this as hard as possible. No leaks, no rumours. If this is going to work, it has to be on our initiative as you say."

His ministers nod quickly, and Ben produces his typical notepad to jot down his instructions. At his nod, they rise to leave the room.

"And folks," Treznor says as they open the door. "Good work. Thank you."

Saturn space, Titan moon. Triumvirate Council Meeting. Classified.

"To my peers among the Triumvirate.

Many of you are aware of our colonisation efforts on a world across the known universe, a planet we have named Jewel. Some of you may also be aware of the fact that there is a species on that world that was identified to have the potential for sentience. This fact was under contention and therefore I instituted strict controls over contact with them, in order to minimise the impact of our society on their development. Recently, it has been brought to my attention that the safeguards were inadequate. These creatures have now demonstrated sentience to convince even the staunchest doubters. The aboriginals have established a new religion based on the colonists.

"This is, naturally, a cultural and developmental disaster. However, it does not need to be a fatal one. By interrupting their natural progression, must accept responsibility for their survival. We must make them full members in the stewardship of the planet, and ensure that their society does not decline, but prosper. 'Separate, but equal' must be our motto, not in the tradition of the ancient Jim Crow laws that perpetuated inequality, but in vital truth. Separate, so that they may grow and develop on their own, but equal so that they may enjoy the full advantages of the life and resources enjoyed by any Imperial citizen.

"Some may have concerns about the capacity of the Empire to encourage free development and growth. To that I say that since joining the Triumvirate, civil rights within the Empire have risen to an all-time high. Indeed, we have better personal freedoms than many so-called democracies. It is true, we do not allow free political expression, but we view that as an issue of governance rather than freedom. The only doors closed to our citizens are the ones that would hinder our security and prosperity. We can think of no better climate for an emergent society to flower.

"This must be viewed as a generational project, one that could very well outlast my dynasty. It will be costly, time-consuming and ultimately necessary. I will not say that it is a humanitarian cause, because that would be unnecessarily anthropomorphic. I will say that it is a necessary cause, and we will not shirk it. Xenologists are being transported to Jewel as I speak, and they will begin the long, careful process of research as prelude to integration. They will eventually teach the aboriginals that they are not inferior and we are not gods. We are merely different people at different stages of our development.

"We invite the Triumvirate to assist us in containing the damage and integrating the aboriginals of Jewel into society. We will bow to your collective knowledge and wisdom, to better achieve this goal."

Mangalan Ministry of State (Interplanetary Affairs Directorate)
Closed Meeting - transcript encrypted

"All I'm saying, Minister, is that we should send a team. I'm not calling for any large scale committment, just an observer team. It's a lovely opportunity to gather more xenobiological information on developing sentiences."

"Ha, Galbin any mission is doomed to irrelevance and you know it. Treznor is under the same pressures with that colony that we face with Dioscuri, and he has more enemies to worry about. Do you honestly think this whole high minded "segregation" plan is anything other than political cover to avoid the ire of the idealists in the Triumvirate?"

"We're one of those idealists you know. Don't patronize me. I know the situation as well as you do. Sunset and Valinon covered our asses while we got the defense net up in Dioscuri, Treznor needs the Triumvirate to cover his. But my point is still valid, and your not really listening to me. When will we ever have a better reason to insert a team onto that tightly held planet than under the perfectly legitimate cover of a xenological research group? They can study those little fuzzies all they want, all we need is a couple of specialists from Internal Security along for the ride."

"Why should we take the risk? That's exactly what the Council is going to ask me."

"You know even if you won't admit it that the dossier on Treznor is practically empty. You'd take any information my team could get. I don't mean military intel, just general information. Society stuff, popular opinion, the kind of stuff they love to chew on in the IS psych bunker. Presenting Minister Kennedy with a firsthand report on Jewel would be a feather in your cap. Hell, I'm surprised you didn't go over my head and dispatch a team already."

"Alright, alright. I'll bring it to the Council. But it's your ass on this one Galbin."

------

To: Department of asking nicly please, Treznor
From: Minister Tanaka, Mangalan Ministry of State (Interplanetary Affairs Directorate)
Re: proposed xenoscience observation mission

The Democratic Imperium of Mangala is interested in sending a small xenoscience observation team, comprised of 12 to 14 scientists, to Jewel to observe how this potential sentience develops, particularly with the Imperial presence on the world. Is this possible?<end transmission>

TSMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: Triumvirate standard
Broadcast type: Open
To: Minister Tanaka, Mangalan Ministry of State (Interplanetary Affairs Directorate)
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Janet Marshall - Treznor

Dear Sir,

You are welcome to send as many xenoscientists as you can spare. The more we learn, the better we'll be able to handle this challenge. Security is a concern, but provided your people are willing to accept screening before boarding our transports, it shouldn't be a problem. We look forward to working with you on this project.

Janet Marshall
Treznor Minister of Interstellar Affairs
<end transmission>

The message from the Treznorian Empire is routed over to those who would actually have some manner of interest in this field. Namely, Dean Lossa of Hreer University on Earth.

"Well, this is most interesting. Most interesting indeed." He takes a puff off his massive pipe, inhaling the cherry-like scent, and exhales slowly. "Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh......Madame Roberts, could I speak with you for a moment?"

"Yes, Sir." A short time later, the smallish form of Andrea Roberts enters the Dean's office. She adjusts her horn-rim glasses and stands in front of his desk. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes. how's our budget for field studies looking?"

"We're well funded from the treasury. Some funds were slated for the building of new dorms for exchange students that are inbound, and RA stafff is asking for a C.O.L.A. But even with that, we have SOME surplus. You have something in mind?"

"I do." He picks up a hard copy of the message from Treznor. "I'm thinking a senior thesis project, involving the study of modern civilizations on indigeounous peoples would be in order here. We'll have a bit of a contest for the seniors. The best essays as to what they plan to do with the info gained will be permitted this study-abroad trip. But I have to get consent from the Treznorians first. We should invite some of the professors as well."

"I'll get the wheels moving in case you do get consent, Dean." She turns and leaves the office.

"That's a good lass." Lossa turns to his terminal and composes a message, sent to the appropo office of the Treznorian Empire.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
H.U. Broadcaster
Encryption: Triumvirate standard
Broadcast type: Encrypted
To: Treznorian Imperial Offices of Interstellar Affairs

Your message has been sent to my offices, as I am a specialist in xenology and xenobiology. I have a proposal that we may both benefit from. I propose that this be taken as an educational opportunity for some of my brightest students in the fields of xenopsychology and xenology, as well as xenobiology. In return, all pertinent findings would be handed to your government in a discreet manner.

It is understood by myself, and I may be wrong, but this may be something you would not want released to the public at large. And it will remain so. If this is not a workable scenario, perhaps some other accord can be reached. I am open to suggestions.

IdentSig: Dean Lossa
Hreer University

-<Transmission Type: Diplomatic Communique>-
-<From: Prime Minister Andrew Seal, Imperial Commonwealth of Khenala>-
-<To: Emperor Devon Treznor, Empire of Treznor ; CC: Council of Yut>-
-<Subject: The Jewel Situation>-

Emperor Treznor,

We have received your request for assistance and believe we can provide a helping hand in regards to this situation. As you may or may not know, with Khenala's open immigration policy we are often found to be a refuge for displaced peoples. Khenala has, in the past, offered sanctuary to oppressed Elves from the nation of Esamopia, and accepted Mishakalian refugees when that nation's government collapsed.

We offer to send our chief Xenobiologist, Katarina Villanova, to assist with the study of the sentients found on Jewel and assist in the efforts to either integrate them into Triumvirate society or help them establish their own. In addition, the Khenalian High Council has also authorized an offer an offer of 250 million Meseta ($438.6 million USD) to assist with this effort, with the possibility of more depending on need.

We only hope we may be of some assistance in this matter. Please advise if this offer is accepted and we will arrange transport.

Regards,

Prime Minister Andrew Seal
Imperial Commonwealth of Khenala (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Khenala)

-<End Transmission>-

TSMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: none
Broadcast type: open
To: Dean Lossa, Sakkra, Hreer University
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Janet Marshall - Treznor

Your proposal is acceptable, and welcome. We'll be happy to discuss security concerns, but frankly the biggest one on our minds is the location of the planet and the hyperspace gates linking to it. With regard to the research material gathered about the aboriginals, we have no doubt it will make a fascinating thesis project, and we look forward to coordinating with you.

Janet Marshall
Treznor Ministry of Interstellar Affairs
<end transmission>

***

TSMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: Triumvirate standard
Broadcast type: open
To: Prime Minister Andrew Seal, Imperial Commonwealth of Khenala
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Devon Treznor - Treznor

It is with great pleasure that I accept your offer of aide and welcome your people to the extraordinary team of specialists being prepared to begin this adventure. As discussed in Council, we are preparing a transport vessel to arrive at Titan at the end of the month. At that time we will gather everyone wishing to go to Jewel and ensure their safe arrival. The only restriction is that we will not allow any type of equipment that might reveal the classified location of the planet or the hyperspace gates linked to it.

Welcome to the team.

Devon Treznor
Emperor
<end transmission>

H.U. Broadcaster
Encryption: Triumvirate standard
Broadcast type: Encrypted
To: Treznorian Imperial Offices of Interstellar Affairs
ATTN: Janet Marshall

Dear Director (?) Marshall

Pardon if I got the honorific wrong, but it was not specified in your reply. Suffice it to say, the security of the location of your world and the path to it will remain a discreet matter. Should you wish it, the students can be transported via one of your own crafts, that our ships would not have logs detailing the journey. I have begun the process of selection, and will have news soon for you.

Should it be appropo that we use one of our own crafts, we can station one of your security personnel aboard it to ensure that travel logs are wiped clean after the voyage. The craft will have no visible windows, althought that is only a tertiary concern in the Void. This promises to be an exciting venture.

May the pantheon guide you.
IdentSig: Dean Lossa
Hreer University
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

At the University complound, University Radio broadcasts its regular program of music and information for its students. The announcement from the Dean is given to the communications engineer on duty from the program director, which is in turn given to the announcer. This is read off on the air.

*******************

The Dean of Students is announcing a scholarship contests for seniors in the xeno-biology and xenology fields. A contest for a scholarship for a study-abroad program is being given for students that complete a thesis in their field. Rules of application and participation are given in the University website. Only seniors in these fields may participate. Two weeks will be given in order to complete this thesis. All decisions are final and subject to approval by Dean Lossa. So get your thinking caps on and your stylus in hand, and GO GO GO!

Coming up next is Ghaau and the Masticates, a group out of Zherr, with their rendition of .....
*******************

TSMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: Triumvirate standard
Broadcast type: open
To: Dean Lossa, Sakkra, Hreer University
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Janet Marshall - Treznor

I apologise for the misunderstanding. I am the Minister for Interstellar Affairs on behalf of the Emperor, but for simplicity's sake you may call me Janet.

Your people may bring their own shuttles and surface craft if they wish; resources are still at a premium on Jewel. Otherwise we will have a large transport vessel ready for departure from Titan at the end of the month. If that is too soon for you, we can make separate arrangements for you later. Transit to the gate will take up to a day; I am not at liberty to disclose that detail. However, we will provide nourishment and entertainment to distract from the consequences of our method for faster-than-light travel.

Please let us know when you will be able to join us.

Janet Marshall
Treznor Ministry of Interstellar Affairs
<end transmission>

H.U. Broadcaster
Encryption: Triumvirate standard
Broadcast type: Encrypted
To: Treznorian Imperial Offices of Interstellar Affairs
ATTN: Minister Janet Marshall

Greetings to you, Minister Janet.

The end of the month is sufficient time. I have received several thesis already from applicants, and am perusing them along with my staff. We have chartered the University Transport for the voyage to save on your resources. We are not .... comfortable with standard FTL travel methods. We will supply ourselves with food, collapsable shelters and various other instruments and supplies for our needs.

We will rendezvous with your craft at Titan, and discuss how to proceed from there, if that is sufficient?

May the pantheon guide you.
IdentSig: Dean Lossa
Hreer University

TSMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: Triumvirate standard
Broadcast type: open
To: Dean Lossa, Sakkra, Hreer University
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Janet Marshall - Treznor

Excellent, we'll see you there.

Janet Marshall
Treznor Ministry of Interstellar Affairs
<end transmission>

Treznor drums his fingers on his desk, fixing both Janet Marshall and Maria Sanchez with his stare. The women sit stock still, waiting for the hammer to fall. They both know the chances are high that one or both of them won't leave the room alive.

"I have dozens of allied researchers itching to follow up on our little problem on Jewel," he begins quietly. "I have three transports laid up with a variety of technical problems. I have a pile of paperwork on my desk holding up two more for security reasons. As a consequence, I have several governments offering to ship these researchers to our top secret gate site to reach our top secret colony world by themselves. I have reports from both of your organisations each pointing the finger at the other for blame. So I've asked each of you here to answer a simple question: how do we fix this?"

The Admiral and the Minister glance at each other with guilty faces before turning back to face their emperor. His expression is smooth and bland, but his fingers continue drumming against the desk.

"I...well...ah..." Sanchez starts, then stops and clears her throat. "I accept full responsibility for this mess. I should have been on top of this and ensured clear lines of communication with the Ministry of Interstellar Affairs. Unfortunately, a culture of competition has arisen between our departments, and I was lax in disciplining my staff."

Treznor quirks an eyebrow, but before he can speak Janet Marshall gulps and stands up. "I'm afraid the Admiral's assessment isn't entirely accurate, Majesty. My Ministry bears a full share of the blame. The three captains running those transports are good people, but they were focused on earning bonuses and let their maintenance schedules lapse. They've since been censured and removed from command pending a full review."

The emperor sits quietly in his chair and observes them for a moment longer. His face seems to soften slightly, but it quickly resumes its former bland expression. "This is a first, ladies. I've honestly never had my people fighting to take the blame. Janet, have a seat."

He leans forward and laces his fingers together to adopt an earnest pose. "I didn't ask who was to blame. I asked how do we fix this? I've got the entire Triumvirate watching me carefully to see if I'm really serious about helping these pathetic rats. I'm now in the position of the boy who cried 'wolf.' We really do have technical problems, but I've played the game of deceit and misdirection too long and nobody really wants to believe me. There's nothing for it but to bull through. So let's start with you, Janet. How long before any of those transports are cleared for flight?"

"Two weeks," Janet replies quickly. "The Pelops needs her particle shielding updated; the hull was peppered with strikes. They're already halfway through it, but she's the closest to being finished."

"All right. Maria, how about the two transports that have been cleared by maintenance?"

"The security problems are largely a paperwork issue. Several important documents have gone missing or have been mixed up, placing both ships in systems that don't match their logs and placing in question who exactly has been aboard and what they were doing there. We could cut through the paperwork and sweep them top to bottom, but it would be time-consuming and we'd still be at greater risk for sabotage or espionage. I think the Niobe could be cleared in a week, but I wouldn't be happy about it."

Treznor sighs heavily and leans back in his chair. "All right. The Niobe is our best bet, even with its problems. Beef up the security detail and make sure your escorts know to make periodic and unscheduled sweeps for anything and everything, especially while you're waiting for gate transit and after she arrives at Jewel. Make it happen."

The women exchange a quick glance of mutual relief and stand, interpreting the last statement as a dismissal. However, Treznor's voice stops Sanchez as she turns the knob on the door.

"And ladies," he says quietly. "Don't let this happen again."

"Give me good news," Treznor grumbles as Ben takes his seat.

"Depends on your definition," Ben replies calmly. "The research teams finally landed on Jewel. We didn't lose anybody, and nobody tried to intercept them. No signs anyone was trying to disclose either the location of the gates or their destination."

Treznor smirks wryly. "I'd hate for anyone to hold their breath on that latter. How long did we figure for hyperspace transmissions to get from Jewel to Earth?"

"We didn't," Ben answers flatly. "Technically, we still don't know Jewel's exact coordinates. We just know how to calculate our jump technology to get us there. At some point, conventional measurements of distance become meaningless, and all we can really say is that it's 'out there, somewhere thataway.'"

"Funny. I could have sworn I read somebody's report on travel times to Jewel via conventional travel. A Dr. Halley, in fact. Speculating on hyperspace efficiency over extreme distances."

Ben frowns and picks up his datapad for a quick search. "Ah, there it is. Okay, he says something on the order of two hundred thousand years, but he's speculating. It depends in part on the method of transmission, but he can't pin it down because we don't have hard numbers on Jewel's exact position. All we can say for sure is that it isn't in our neighbourhood."

"Okay, okay," Treznor concedes. "I get your point. Anyway, if any of our allies have the ability to pinpoint a location that far away, I'm sure they also have the ability to hide it from us. I'm not going to waste energy on what we can't change. However, it begs the question: how many of those scientists do you think are doing double duty?"

Ben shrugs his shoulders expressively. "Your guess is as good as mine. I'd be surprised if the Sakkrans hadn't slipped one of their elite Rangers into the mix. Sunset already has technicians on site, and if they don't have operatives there I'll eat my pad. I bet Garbo's been itching for an opportunity to peek at what we've been doing there, too. Mangala, who knows?"

"So, next question. Is there anything we don't want them to know?"

"It's a little late to be asking that. The short answer is 'yes' and you know it. The long answer is that it depends on how good they are at reading between the lines. I don't think any of them will be surprised to find you've been quietly villifying the rats in the eyes of the colonists. The big question is whether or not Ballard cleaned his house well enough for us to hide behind reasonable doubt. Really, I think the question is academic. I think most of them want to make sure we're not up to anything really sneaky, like building weapons in secret."

"So we can at least be forthright about that sort of thing. I told Scolopendra we were looking to diversify and colonise to avoid getting caught in a war with nowhere to go. It'll be good to prove I wasn't lying."

"Why should that matter? Our contributions to TYCS have taken a huge chunk out of our annual budget. Didn't they build a fleet with our funds at one point?"

Treznor snorts. "Hardly. KCTS isn't that cheap. I think our contributions pay for maintenance on half their first fleet."

"A trillion dubloons pays maintenance on a fraction of their fleet?"

"It's a big fleet, and it's expensive. We're also getting our money's worth. However much folks like Metus want to rattle their sabers and boast their superiority, they know they don't want to invoke the wrath of TYCS. Nobody does it better, and we benefit from their expertise."

Ben chose his next words carefully. "They've always dealt honourably with us, but is it wise to let someone else guard our borders? The example of Rome comes to mind."

Treznor grins. "So long as the relationship is equitable, yes. Forever? No. Eventually, we'll have our own fleets. In the even more distant future, we'll build our own fleets. By and large, I think we've all profited from this. However, maintaining our share of two alliance militaries leaves very little left for our own. That's why I've always mandated that our military remains small. But I am not going to follow the Scolopendran doctrine fully. They can't maintain the Triumvirate's Combined Services alone, and if the alliance goes south they know they'll be in trouble. I do not intend to expose myself to that kind of risk. Eventually we're going to have to take a more active role in our own defense, with elements that can be withdrawn in the event of a schism. Unfortunately, that day is still farther down the road."

"So, any special instructions to Ballard?"

"Yeah. If he can keep his mind off his Sheriff long enough to pay attention to his job, I'll make sure he can retire peacefully with all the luxury he can imagine."

The small Mangalan team of 12 had established themselves along the outer edge of the rows of pre-fab concrete huts provided by the colonial government. A few goodies brought from home had spruced the little outpost up a bit, though some members of the team had had to be more careful than others. Xenobiologist Ceaser Allende, for instance, had gone so far to show off his modified SuperSonikVII quad-stereo to the not-quite discreet watchers from Treznor by blasting it at all hours. Frontier Anthropologist Sarah Suschyk, on the other hand, was very careful to make sure that noone noticed the small dataprocessor she dictated her second set of notes into privately every evening.

Planet Jewel, Governor’s Office, 11:29 Local Time

Damn the Emperor, Ballard rails in the confines of his own private thoughts. Damn him! It isn’t necessarily fair to blame the Emperor, he knows. In spite of real-time conferencing with the individual in question, his ultimate Lord and Master has made it clear he is to extend the researchers every courtesy. He is not to spy on them nor hinder them in any way. The operation to scrub the rat vermin from the planet is officially dead and to be buried where no one will ever find it. Destroy all evidence of the campaign and make nice with the foreign representatives. The ultimate goal is to elevate the semi-evolved rats into a peer relationship.

It isn’t going to work. Ballard knows that already. The settlers on Jewel will never stand for it, and for all the lip service they might pay to the Emperor’s new decree, privately they will go on killing the rats whenever they can get away with it. Some of them get downright creative about it. His people estimate that the native population has already dropped by a fifth since the colonists had arrived.

The researchers have been set up in what locals have already dubbed “Academia Row.” The demands of settling leave little time for proper education; there are mandatory schools in operation but absenteeism is common. Treznor citizens know education is important, but priorities are different on the frontier. The children are needed to help clear land and perform chores. Book-learning is a secondary concern. The foreign academics represent some of the most advanced education the planet has ever seen. Ballard looks forward to the day when Jewel can open its first university dedicated to pure learning and research, but that day is far in the future, probably after his death.

Which could be sooner rather than later, if he doesn’t step carefully. The Emperor’s warning has been received clearly.

Planet Jewel, Northeastern territory, 18:18 Local Time

The sun was low on the horizon when Joseph Biden set down his metal detector and took a good look around him. His car was at least five miles away, and evening was getting close. He was far enough from the main settlement that there was still a significant risk of running into one of the dangerous carnivores that roamed the surface, but he felt confident that the rifle on his back would be sufficient to deal with any threat he ran across. Besides, he felt the risk was worth it. He had already picked up surface traces of nickel-iron and pyrite along the streambed, and fully expected to find a gold deposit somewhere in the area. Such a claim would set him up for life.

A shower of pebbles startled him out of his reverie, and he reached for his rifle. He relaxed when he saw it was just one of the cave-rats, but only a little. He had heard rumours that the little vermin had started killing settlers, but he wasn’t sure if he believed it. Besides, there were hunters dedicated to wiping them out and maybe the little guys were canny enough to try to fight back. Joseph reasoned that if he offered them no threat, they would offer him none. He moved the rifle away, but not so far that he couldn’t bring it back at need. This close, he had a fairly good chance of hitting the rat with his first shot. “Uh, hello,” he tried.

It stood still and stared at him. After a moment it raised its paws and gabbled something incomprehensible. He shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t understand.”

The tiny creature gabbled at him again and gestured. He shrugged and smiled. “I’m sorry, I’m a prospector not a linguist. I don’t understand you.” He put the rifle back on his shoulder and reached for his metal detector. It was past time to get back to his car.

The rat spat out something that, even with his limited comprehension, sounded hostile. He stopped and stared. “Look, little guy. I got no quarrel with you. Don’t pick a fight with me, okay? You wouldn’t win.”

It waited, hands upraised. He shook his head and turned away. There were four more behind him, bearing tiny sharpened spears. Was it talking to them? He held perfectly still.

He heard a clattering behind him as the original rat came up to him. He turned slowly to see it staring up at him, the top of its head only coming up to his knee. Then it bit him.

He yowled and swatted at the thing instinctively. Briefly forgotten, the metal detector thumped into the rat’s furry body with a solid blow, and he faintly heard the sound of bones snapping. He winced even as he connected, remembering that he didn’t want to really harm them. The rat lifted off the ground with the force of impact and went sprawling into the stream where it didn’t move.

“Oh no...” He dropped the detector and rifle and scrambled to the creature’s side. “I’m so sorry. Why did you bite me? I didn’t mean it.” He glanced over at the other rats. There were more of them now, watching alertly and waiting. Waiting for what, he didn’t know. “Help him! I don’t know what to do!” But they only watched.

“Damn you, what do you want?” He reached into the water and picked up the limp body of the wounded rat. It coughed and mewled weakly, and went still. He wasn’t sure if it was dead yet. He set it down away from the bank, on the grass where it could be more comfortable. The others followed, still watching. Still waiting.

An idea struck him. “I’ve got a medkit in my car. Maybe it’ll help. Wait here!” He stood up and took a step toward his car. Then he felt a sharp pain in the back of his thigh. There was a spear in it. He fell to one knee with a strangled cry. “What the hell? What do you want, dammit?” He glared at the rats who were now approaching him cautiously with their primitive weapons.

He’d left his rifle back by the stream. They were going to kill him, and he wasn’t going to be able to stop them. He picked up a rock and got ready to throw it.

He didn’t intend to die alone. He succeeded.

The University Transport had arrived at Titan without any fanfare or other form of hoop-la. No escorts, no drone-wings accompanying. Just a standard 105m long Reptavian dropship refitted as a long-range shuttle. What looks like a possible MCS pod is actually more of an empty and windowless box.

The artificial sentience piloting the craft for the voyage ran its calculations for ETA and the like, and fired up its comm-system. "Jewel system control, this is the Epeius bearing Hreer University research team. requesting permissions, landing protocols and coordinates. Dean Lossa has advised that we are ready to go at your liesure."