The TML PBeM

1992, Turn 2 - Part 3 (of 6)

Aurora

Peace and quiet at last. Bhyarrvouf collapses into the Aurora's helm couch and massages his temples wearily. The smell of Tweel's blood fills his nostrils. After a long moment, he gets up with a groan. "May's well get cleaned up," he grunts. "Before something else hap-"

After a few seconds of thought, Mac realize it's time to make a decision. He press the comm panel, "This is Kingfisher Witfield, come in Vouf! We have a sitution here."

'Vouf slumps back down into the chair. "-pens."

He scans the tactical displays as he keys in the tight-beam line to the command shuttle. There's something in Mac's voice that he doesn't like.

"Keyaho, Command Shuttle. This is Aurora, Bhyarrvouf. What SORT of a 'situation', Mac?"

Goughzar acknowledges Azani's offer of assistance.

"Azani, your recommendation is excellent. Please take control at the pilot's station and continue decent as per our last oders. Dr. Morser, please leave the computers alone and go check on Mr. Robins. I would like her functional again as soon as possible."

"Ach nein nein nein...." Morser mutters, oblivious.

"Dr. Limner, as soon as you are functional again, I would like you to resume your position with scanners and your "special" equipment. Please notify me when you return to duty."

Paladin - Resume active and passive scans on landing zone and local ships. Continue transfer of data to Alcyon Archives.

_Aye, sir._

As the communications signal opens up that the Aurora is locked in, Zar begins sending.

"Greetings Subcommander. Paladin has regained control after Iasic decided to leave us suddenly - apparently under orders from Admiral Ger. Charyn is still unconcious, but apparently coming around. Dr. Limner has been unaffective since original contact with the ringworld. Azani is taking over pilots station and Dr. Morser is looking into the status of Charyn. Situation seems to be stable and we are continuing decent to Ringworld as per previous orders...

"Sudvok aeggra!! This place can be very unnerving! Can you provide with any updates from other ships/situations? Zar Out."

*Ship's in working condition, two crew members down. Aslan are quiet, but they're never quiet for long*

Paladin - resume defensive programs for maneuvering and passive cloaking.

"Oh, I don't know." Mac tries to be as casual as he can. "The commander has just ordered missiles launch against the ring world. Several members disagree, so now some of them have guns out, aimming at god knows what. The commander has just transfered the fire control to his own seat. I figure now would be a good time to let you know, before a gun fight erupts and I have to shoot everyone."

"I'm getting worried about this. (addressing Doejin and Ferdy) `Hey guys, if you can hear me, how far away are we from the Talisman now? No one has answered my radio call. Are we out of range or something?' "

Ferdy silently glides over to the viewscreen with Ian in tow. Looking through the monitor is a little disoncerting as the output is optimized for eyes that see in the dark, with little detail. Many sounds of many kinds emanate from the terminal though.

Ian squints. "I think I can figure this out..."

Gliding slowly around the sono-holo, Ian discerns R-alpha - at least the closest parts of the unbelievably narrow band of hyper-dura-steel (or whatever it is) that is closest to the ragtag clump of ships. Light from the pseudo sun casts hard shadows on the Alcyon, now lit only slightly so that Ian's eyes can make it out. Nearest the shuttle, and getting nearer at an alarming rate, is a small wedge-shaped ship.

Slowly it sinks in what the scale of things is, as he compares the size of the ring to the distances between the ships. "Let's see, if we we're near the Talisman -- here, just ten minutes ago, and now we're -- here, then that means we're getting, hmmm 7, 8, no NINE GEES at least! HOLY SHEEIT!"

A smile washes over him. Ian whistles softly to himself, then mutters,

"Wow. Now that's what I call maneuverability. Look at that lump of gray zooming in. Can almost make out the name... Mastmind? no-- Westmind? .. Oh! Westwind! Neat name. I wonder if they're in trouble."

"Good piloting Doejin."

The view in the holo is instructive, to say the least. OSF-4 is hovering nearby, holding up a plastic bag of Type Three Plasma, draining it into the exposed subfemoral vein in Tweel's lower leg. Blood is everywhere; unit after unit is fed into the vein to keep Tweel's blood pressure up, only to seep from the bleeding wounds.

Lucan is watching and recording as O'Shi, muttering to himself through a hastily-adjusted filter mask, works over the unconscious Ael. His technique is clumsy but brutally efficient-- centimeter by centimeter, he goes over each and every one of the pulled sutures, holding the suturedissolve and the suturegun IN THE SAME HAND!

As the saga inside the cabin continues, the careful speed of Christian's handiwork slowly ratchets up, notch by notch. He can only spare brief glances, but keeps well appraised of O'Shi's crude treatment. His right eyebrow looks as if it would like to crawl past his scalp, as the rest of Christian's face tightens into a mask of protective anger. The change from his typical behavior is notable. His mood is one of genuine outrage at Mahlel's dangerous disregard for patient welfare and the willful insubordination, aggravated by O'Shi's cavalier attitude and continued insults, as well as a fierce concern for the life of his Ael Yael friend.

Christian can do little to express his incredulous fury, contenting himself with dark mutterings and sotto voce commentary. "... arrogant worm-bait, got the brain of a bloodvark .... Tweel better be ok ... Mahlel will wish he'd never signed aboard ..... typical thug, let up on him, give him some power, he turns into a swaggering, prinked up, arrogant, lazy twerp with delusions of competence .... a blind man could do better than that butcher ... the brig's too good for him ...."

O'Shi continues working with the suturedissolve and the suturegun. Poising them delicately like a pair of chopsticks, he gently washes away the torn fibroplastic material from the ragged wounds and replaces it with fresh suturing in one pass. His other hand follows the seam gently, a suction probe pulling away detritus and old blood where necessary and two fingers preventing the wounds from opening. The effect is rather like a two-headed zipper being eased along; as long as neither zipper head gets far from the other, the seam remains closed.

It looks easy, but O'Shi is obviously having a tough time of it; sweat is pouring down his face, and he pauses once in a while to whip a forearm across his eyes to clear them. Once, a suture pops just ahead of his hand and a scar gapes open; Lucan prepares to glide forward, but O'Shi clears away the blood with a particularly descriptive curse and gets the seam under control once more.

In stark contrast, Christian is dry and utterly confident of himself as he surveys the updated test results; liver functions had begun the slow ascent to healthy levels and the kidneys were beginning to shrug off their paralysis as a healthier hue of red suffused through them. Blood filter augmentation would only be needed for about a day, until the body had adjusted to the rapid positive changes and settled into its normal biochemical rhythm.

Upon observing O'Shi dancing upon the precipice of butchery, Christian's eyes widen even further in anxious shock. His response is not to explode into a fresh paroxysm of rage, but instead, subsides into a misleadingly even-tempered exterior as the cauldron of emotion is fueled from within, in a phenomenon not unlike the eye of a hurricane. Any fellow expedition colleague would recognize the warning signs and take cover until the Van Der Merwe nor'easter had passed.

O'Shi is operating at a speed that would incite a malpractice suit in any sane hospital; by the time van der Merwe has finished the trauma repair and is preparing to close, O'Shi has patched every one of the Ael's torn sutures and is setting down his instruments with shaking hands. "Keep an eye on him," he instructs Lucan as he tears off his filter mask and staggers out of the room, wiping his face with a sterile-cloth.

With OSF-4 and Triple Three providing a close watch of Tweel's condition, Lucan flies out of the room in haste, bumping past the lumbering O'Shi on the way out, in response to the urgent recall order. Stopping at the trauma bay, Lucan is enlisted by Christian to assist in one of the quickest surgical closings ever mentioned in the annals of surgery, with a series of rapid bursts from the knitting laser and the insertion of double-strength protein closure sutures along the circumference of the operating area.

Ralf IMMEDIATELY spots a small object, warm with respect to background and radiating faint neutrino emmissions, arching high over the plane of the ecliptic. A trajectory trace points back to the recently discovered derelict. It could be a lifeboat of some kind, or forcibly ejected detritus.

Meanwhile, Redd is doing his best imitation of an entire Engineering crew....

"Fusion plant's cooling off, reserve power only - no drives, no gravity, no weapons and no rest for the wicked until we get it started again. Ho-hum, wonder how the rest of the ships are doing ?"

(Sound of pre start-up checks on fusion power plant in the background)

"Engineering to bridge - We'll have power back shortly, I hope. No problems this end as yet."

Ralf remarks, "Fortunately we don't have to do a FULL restart; the computers went down, but they didn't take the fusion plant all the way down with them."

Thul barks, "Helm! Continue to the LZ!"

"HRF?!" Bhyarrvouf sits up ramrod-straight in his chair. He glares at the intercom, and a tiny noise is heard in the silent cabin.

*spung* *spung*

After a long silence, 'Vouf speaks again, but his voice is little more than a whisper.

"Mac, be a good little pup and patch the Bridge securecam into the commo line so I can see this, hrm, 'situation' for myself, will you? It almost sounds like a bad joke. Almost." He straightens up and flicks the transmit controls on the Aurora's outgoing data to audio only. "And I want to talk to Count Ger. Kae, I want to talk to EVERYBODY in this, this, this SITUATION. I want someone to calmly and objectively, with NO editorializing, explain to me the EXACT sequence of events leading up to this....situation. Aysap, as you pi-- you humans would say."

Mac had a tiny image of 'Vouf in his holotank, which no one else on the Bridge could see. What he saw was as follows:

When the camera is activated on the other end, 'Vouf is covered in blood. It is all over his fur and his uniform, and his gauntlets are soaked with it. After Mac delivers his little bombshell, Vouf's ears go back and he snarls viciously; at the moment of the tiny sounds from the other end, Mac THINKS he sees a gleam of metal for a instant. Then 'Vouf reaches forward and shuts off the holo. When he finally speaks, the link to the Kingfisher is audio only. As he speaks, a datastream comes in intermodulated with the voice message, coded to appear on Mac's console only:

_CAN I TRUST YOU?_

Mac continues to check the comm station, and while everyone is talking, he carefully codes a reply of his own into the datastream...

_IT'S YOUR CALL. I'LL DO EVERYTHING I CAN TO PREVENT ALL HELL BREAK LOOSE._

"Yea, it does sound like a bad joke from the Friday night sitcom Galaxy Family. But I have a few people with guns here that will say otherwise." Mac punches several buttons on the comm station. "Camera coming online, sir."

_JUST KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN AND STAY COOL. NOBODY'S GOING TO GET HURT, IF I CAN HELP IT. KEEP THIS LINE OPEN AND GET READY FOR SOME SURPRISES._

Since there's no video it's hard to tell what sort of reaction the view of the Bridge is having on Bhyarrvouf. His only comment for several long seconds is, "Receiving holo data OK."

After a long moment, his voice continues, now heard over the whole Bridge. People in this crew have heard Bhyarrvouf ecstatic, terrified, bored, disgusted, self-satisfied, and boiling mad, but they've NEVER heard him sound like this. His voice is a cool, almost emotionless stage whisper-- the only person who's heard anything like it is Rigo, who remembers a psychopath that hacked up fifty women with a length of binding wire in one of the living blocs back home. "All right, people. I'm ready to hear what's going on. In the meantime, put the guns away. That's not a request, it's an order."

A small frisson of fear runs down Rigo's spine as he hears the tone 'Vouf's voice, but he dosen't relax his watch of Ger.

Zben taps the corner of his console labled `Commo Monitor', and his voice is tied into the line. "Mister Bhyarrvouf, We can playback on audio the last 10 minutes {by my estimate} of conversation on the Bridge, if you would like. This may answer all of your questions `objectively, with NO editorializing', as per request."

Zben calls up the `cockpit recorder' and, unless he gets instant grief, fires a compressed copy to the Aurora.

"Data received," Bhyarrvouf whispers. "Excuse me for a moment while I review this. Even at the highest speed that speech is intelligible, it'll take me a few minutes. In the meantime, I'm still waiting for you all to put your guns down."

Zben looks at armament still on display. "Y`know, that makes a lot of sense. I think we're all professional enough to trust each other for a few minutes." (With a small grin) "Who knows? We may be able to work this out before Mr. Bhyarrvouf!" (His smile turns a bit grim) "C`mon folks! Lets cool it before something drastic happens!"

"I concur." Rigo says in a calm soothing voice. "I suggest that Commander Ger steps away from his console and that those of you who's got your weapons out put them away. Both parties thinks that they are in the right. Surely we can talk this over and reach a conclusion without any gunplay. And, Mr. Bhyarrvouf, don't jump to any conclusions."

Mac continues his covert conversation with 'Vouf.

_WHAT DO YOU MEAN? CAN YOU EXPAND ON THAT? I CAN HELP IF I KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON._

_MAYBE. I NEED TO REVIEW THE TAPES FIRST. ALL I KNOW IS THAT WE'RE IN AN ARMED-WITH-HOSTAGES SITUATION RIGHT NOW. I CAN EXTRACT YOU IN A HURRY, BUT I DON'T WANT TO TIP MY HAND JUST YET. SIT TIGHT AND STAY COOL.... WHEN I KNOW WHERE EVERYONE STANDS ON THIS, I'LL CONTACT YOU._

_OBKB, STANDING BY. I'LL FOLLOW YOUR LEAD. GOOD LUCK!_

Talon watches with his mouth half open as the native ship maneuvers with ridiculous ease to match vectors with the Westwind.

"Just as well they seem to be friendly," he mutters to himself.

Then, not knowing what else to do, he plants a finger very deliberately on the Transmit button of the ship's radio and calls: "Hi there! Now you're here, what's the plan?"

Christian surveys the patient's current vitals and inspects his finished work with an attention to detail, until he has met his own high standard of excellence and has satisfied himself that the patient will rapidly recover from the physical trauma. He types a short patient care order into the sickbay computer, returns a few scattered instruments to their respective alcoves, and then straightens up.

"That oughta hold him stable 'til ya finish yer needlepoint, Doc," he says, collapsing into a chair. He frowns at van der Merwe's careful work. "Whatcha doin', anyway? The Serenity Prayer in three colors, or what?"

*Mistake* thinks Tiblisi. *Never criticize anyone in front of others. Especially a professional. You don't want to make enemies and you never know when you'll need their help. Mr. Tact, you're not. Besides, there are many more subtle and effiecient ways to get at people.*

Doctor Sir Christian Van Der Merwe looks O'Shi straight in the eye.

His gaze is unwavering. He doesn't flinch. He doesn't blink.

A reckoning has come due.

He notices Dulinor cleaning up the two other patients, both of whom are moving a bit. His eyes widen. "NOT dead? Whew, that sets a record for Most Blood Lost Wit'out Snuffin' It. Too bad, I was lookin' forward ta rollin' the stiffs fer spare change....'Vouf'll be upset too....whoops, skip that last, sorry Doc."

His grin indicates he's anything BUT sorry.

*He's probably grinning about whatever joke he made about this "Vouf" character,* thinks Lee, *but I don't like the crack about rolling stiffs. I'm liking this guy less and less. Still if this is some military ship, I don't want to cross him either, but there's more than one way to settle him down. He's push too hard. Not a good way to win friends and influence people.*

Christian slowly smiles. Calculatingly, he takes a measured step around the trauma bed and ominously paces towards O'Shi. As if on cue, Lucan and Dulinor glide forward, from the right, from the left, and converge upon O'Shi. In the blink of an eye, O'Shi is lifted bodily out of his chair and lifted up to meet Christian's gaze, point blank, while being firmly restrained in mid-air by a small thicket of robotic tentacles. O'Shi's surprised struggles are unavailing against the unyielding metallic embrace by robots well-programmed to deal with recalcitrant patients.

When he speaks, his voice is as dry and cold as the bitterly frigid arctic air howling over the northern Siberian tundra in the dead of winter.

"Mister Mahlel, you are quite possibly the most pitiful excuse for a human being that it has been my displeasure to know. Now that we have this chance to talk, I think we should go over a few, minor things." Christian takes a step forward to within scant centimeters of O'Shi and stabs his finger into Mahlel's tunic as if it were a blade.

"Life, as you knew it, is over. Get that through your fortress-like skull. No more lounging around the Alcyon, sitting on your ass and digging for mineral resources in your ear. No more slack supervision. No easy duty, goofing off and in general acting like a worthless punk. You WILL start earning every last credit Turnskaad is paying you."

As he begins to work his way into his list, Christian begins to warm to his topic, becoming slightly more animated and expressive in delivering his full-scale, DEFCON 1, nuclear butt chewing. His outraged tone develops a hard, cutting edge to it, liberally supplemented with measures of sarcasm and contempt.

"MISTER Mahlel, if you value your pitiful life, you will NEVER, EVER AGAIN come charging into my Sickbay waving a rifle around and bellowing at the top of your fetid lungs." Christian leans forward and emphasizes each point with a sharp poke of his finger. "Further, a clumsy oaf such as yourself, with *no medical training*, has NO BUSINESS WHATSOEVER performing ANY emergency triage on a TREE-RAT, let alone a sophont, an Ael Yael, *MY FRIEND*!"

Here Christian closes to within millimeters of O'Shi. His voice drops down to a low, dangerous level of utter sincerity. The threat is unspoken. "If you ever, I mean EVER, pull a stunt like that again you will answer to me, and by God, you will wish you had never signed up with Turnskaad. Do not even THINK of doing anything more than slapping bandages on a wound and CALLING FOR A MEDIC." Christian grabs a fistful of tunic to give special emphasis to his lecture, pulling O'Shi fractionally upward. "*YOU CAME DAMNED CLOSE TO **KILLING A PATIENT**, YOU MORON! LEARN WHEN TO LEAVE WELL ENOUGH ALONE! That's what the damn medbots are for, twit!" He lets go of O'Shi and takes a half-step backward, forcing himself to regain his professional composure as he does so.

"In the meantime, Mister, you will go to your cabin and you WILL remain there for one sleep period. After that, you will ONLY leave your cabin to report DIRECTLY to your ASSIGNED DUTY STATION and upon completion of each duty shift you will return to your cabin IMMEDIATELY. Any deviation from this order will be noted by Pater unless authorized by Mister Grey or a command team member. When Commander Ger has the time, I am sure he will review your flagrant conduct." Christian smiles again. "In the meantime, I strongly suggest that if you see me in the hall, if you THINK you hear my footsteps, I would suggest that you give me a wide berth, if you value your miserable skin." He leans forward. "Keep your insubordinate smart-ass mouth shut, Mahlel, or I will personally inform Subcommander Bhyarrvouf of your bigoted remarks." Christian leans even closer. "Trust me, you don't want that."

Christian waves an arm at the Sickbay door. "Lucan, Dulinor, deposit this person in his assigned cabin. Get him OUT OF HERE!" He views the vanishing trio with undisguised relief and satisfaction. A nudge activates his comm dot. "Pater, until further notice log all movement and activity of Mister O'Shi Mahlel, security code Command Beta. Inform myself, if aboard, or any command representative and the bridge commander of any deviation from the designated parameters." He briefly explains the restrictions to Pater, then calls Morgan Grey and informs him of O'Shi's conduct and Christian's discipline. "Oh, and Pater, O'Shi Mahlel is not to be admitted to Sickbay without the permission of myself, Commander Ger, or Subcommander Bhyarrvouf."

As Bhyarrvouf is talking to Mac, the incoming-message spooler records the first message from the Aslan ship. While waiting for Mac to set up the link, he has Moira parse it into text, and he scans it. His fingers fly accross the keyboard, sending a tightbeam signal to the Trakh.

About 90 seconds after the first message is sent, the Trakh receives a reply. It is not holo or audio, but standard Imperial-code text parse data. It reads:

TRAKH THIS IS AURORA ALL SYSTEMS NOW NOMINAL DO NOT ANTICIPATE FURTHER DISRUPTIONS AUDIO AND HOLO MESSAGES FOLLOW SOON OUT

The second Aslan message follows on the heels of the first. Bhyarrvouf, his patience obviously wearing thin, taps out a reply.

The second message is also text, and is equally prompt:

TRAKH THIS IS AURORA YOUR ASSUMPTIONS CORRECT IASIC CONSTRUCT CAUSED SYSTEM CRASH ON ENTRY AND AGAIN ON EXIT OTHER SHIPS DID NOT SHOW ENTRY CRASHES DUE TO LACK OF RESISTANCE TO IASIC ALL SYSTEMS NOW CLEAR

TRAUMA VICTIMS NOW IN SICKBAY ON ALCYON DETAILS TO FOLLOW MORE CONTACT LATER CURRENTLY HANDLING TWO MESSAGES AT ONCE MUST SIGNOFF

The link breaks immediately after that.

Turning around, Mac reiterates, "All right people, you heard the man. Put your guns away."

In an equally calm voice, one that has seen many stupid decisions made by people not on the scene, Jan replies:

"Sir, with all due respect, I'm in the process of arresting Admiral Ger. The only guarantee that I have that Admiral Ger will not carry out an illegal act right now is by shooting him. He has demonstrated every intent of carrying out an unwarranted and unjustified attack of the Ring. He is still in a position to perform that act. When I have completed placing him under arrest, I will comply with your order. To do so beforehand would endanger the crew of this vessel and the expedition."

Addressing Admiral Ger:

"Sir, again, step back from the console."

Having stepped out of the fray after his emotional soliloquy, Jett is sitting in a chair on the periphery of the action, looking mildly ashen and slightly ill, though composed and at peace. Clearly the sudden turn of events has shaken him, though he appears to be somewhat fatalistic in his outlook.

He can be heard uttering a quiet aside to Ger. "I do believe this is a command decision, Admiral."

Regardless of whether he moves back or not, Jan will try to get him away from the launch control by enlisting the assistance of others on the bridge:

"Mr Farouk, please secure your weapon, and assist the Admiral away from the command station. Your Worship, whilst your leaping through the legalistics of this, could you give the XO a succint brief of my actions."

Jett favors Doctor Yorblin with a weaily tolerant eye. "Hardly the time for legalisms, as you put it, Doctor." He shrugs his shoulders. "We are trusting to the accuracy of our colleagues' moral compasses, out here beyond the reach of traditional law." He glances over at Zben's activity. "As I see that the indubitable Mister Blaine has forwarded a record of events to the Subcommander, I see little point in supplementing that cogent summary of facts."

After the pause caused by the commo lag between the Kingfisher and the Aurora passes, 'Vouf replies:

"Don't be tiresome, Doctor. You have no authority to arrest Count Ger, nor have you any recourse to stop Count Ger from doing whatever he wishes. I'm amazed at your ignorance; surely you must have realized that the tac-HUD he's wearing would have allowed him to launch a missile with literally the blink of an eye?"

While this discussion is going on, a private message from Aurora appears at Mac's console:

_PATCH INTO THE DISPLAY DRIVERS FOR ZBEN AND ETIENNE'S BOARDS. AVOID THE CONTROL SYSTEMS, YOU'LL TIP THEM OFF. I JUST NEED TO SEE HOW THEIR BOARDS ARE CONFIGURED. IF YOU THINK YOU'LL GET CAUGHT, DON'T TRY IT. AND STAY CLEAR OF ABUKO'S SYSTEM, HE'S RUNNING ENOUGH SOFTWARE TO EAT YOU ALIVE, IF I KNOW THE SKUNK. PATCH IN AND SEND ME SNAPSHOTS._

Cautiously, Mac replies:

_WILL DO_

Mac carefully takes surreptitious display dumps of Zben and Etienne's holo-consoles as requested by 'Vouf, views them, and sends them to the Aurora.

"If the launching of a missile salvo were his ultimate intent, the missiles would be on their way by now." states 'Vouf. "Therefore we must assume that he had something else in mind entirely. Whatever the case may be, your pointing a gun at him is doing nothing other than heightening the possibility of an accident. Please stop acting like a holodrama hero; that, as you should know by now, is MY bailiwick."

The silence returns, as 'Vouf continues reviewing the records.

Jan safes his gauss pistol and brings it down to his side.

"Sir, please review the holo. You'll note that the missile was accessed Admiral Ger through the command console, not his tacHUD. As for my arrest authority, I believe I have that as a Scout on Detached Duty/Retired, and as a ship's officer. Believe me, I'd rather leave the heroics to someone much better suited for them."

"Let's _all_ calm down." Rigo tries again. "Commander, is whatever you hope to accomplish worth risking an escalation of this situation? If it's the challenge to your authority you find insupportable, be assured that none of us does this lightly. Surely anything that can drive a number of sober, responsible veterans of assorted military and para-military services to turn on their CO is worth reconsidering before carrying out. Damnit, I know as well as anybody how dangerous dissent within an expedition in these circumstances are. But that still dosen't absolve me from stopping you from committing a criminal act. Please step away from the console, Commander, and the rest of you, please put your guns away."

Jett sits back into the padding of his chair and speaks to the nearest audio pickup, his voice oddly flat, as if he is beyond worrying about the consequences. "Subcommander, facts are facts. The Admiral wanted to demonstrate our destructive power on the Ringworld-being and his order has been countermanded by Mister Farouk. In justifying his order, the Admiral has made it clear he is unconcerned with the potential for true catastrophe that may ensue. Others have spoken and I have said my peace."

Jett turns his chair to face forward and closes his eyes for a moment. "Undoubtedly you will take action that you see fit. It is of no matter to me. I, for one, am beginning to regret my choice of employment."

Ayrlathi emerges from the Hall of the Ezad, and descends the three broad, shallow steps onto the street.

It was a short meeting. Ayrlathi described what had happened and answered some questions. Brief and to the point. There was not a lot that he could report. Nobody blamed him for the sudden and unexpected departure of the mimp. They knew it was not his fault.

That does not make Ayrlathi feel any better. He feels somehow more depressed and guilty than he has ever been before. His hand strays into the pocket of his tunic, where his fingers close around a set of small, flat, hexagonal objects.

Subconsciously he notes a small figure approaching from his left flank, but he pays it no attention.

As he walks slowly along the street, he pulls the objects from his pocket and begins to examine them closely for what must be the thousandth time. The six-sided plaques are deep blue and wondrously smooth to the touch. What they might be made of, Ayrlathi has no idea. Each of the plaques has a different white symbol on it. Picking out one of the plaques, Ayrlathi holds it up away from the rest and watches as the white symbol suddenly changes its design. He knew it would do that, but it never ceases to fascinate him.

"Teacher?"

In his far left eye Ayrlathi sees young Elivadin trotting towards him.

Ayrlathi restores the plaque to its pile. "Yes, Elivadin?"

"Is it true what they say? That you will not seek the office of the Fedwis?"

Ayrlathi throws up his hands in a shrug. News obviously travels fast through Hilawin. "Hzzzz... yes, Elivadin, it is true."

"But why? Everyone thinks you are the natural choice to be the next Fedwis."

"It is..." Ayrlathi's arms flail wide as he searches for the right words, "...difficult to explain. You see, I have changed, in a manner of speaking. Or at least, my outlook on the world has changed."

"Is that because of the mimp?"

"Yes. Seeing it has made me realise how little we know about what lies beyond our own lands. Just think, Elivadin, what strange worlds could there be out there that we are oblivious to? When I first set eyes on the mimp -- or perhaps even before then -- I knew that my destiny was somehow linked with it. I could not in good conscience commit myself to the responsibility of being the Fedwis of Hilawin, when I knew that I must set my sights on much more distant things."

"I think I begin to understand," Elivadin says a little uncertainly. "But the mimp is gone now."

Ayrlathi's vertical hand motion acknowledges the truth of Elivadin's point. "This is the great tragedy for me, Elivadin. That the mimp should have been taken from us so suddenly, without warning. I was expecting others of its kind to come searching for it, and I had so much I wanted to ask them. Do you know, I was seriously thinking of asking them to take me with them when they left."

"Take you with them?"

"Why not? How better to learn about them than to travel with them?" Ayrlathi pauses for a moment, and his tendrils start to droop. "Alas, I never got the chance. But I still hope that they might come back some day. I will be watching and waiting."

The light of understanding dawns on Elivadin. "I see now why you cannot become the Fedwis." Suddenly he changes the subject. "What is that in your hand?"

Ayrlathi looks down and realises that he is still holding the set of blue plaques. "Hzz.. these?" He hands them to Elivadin for him to examine. "I do not really know what they are. I found them long ago in the Zarajid ruins. See how the white symbols change as you move them in relation to one another?"

"Why yes!" Elivadin is immediately entranced by this strange effect. "How wonderful!"

"Keep them," says Ayrlathi. "Perhaps you will have better luck than me in finding out what they are for."

"Oh, thank you!" Elivadin is clearly delighted with this gift. He runs off clutching his new-found treasure in front of him.

Seeing Elivadin's joy raises Ayrlathi's spirits a little. But not much.

The answer to Zar's hail is long in coming-- uncomfortably long, in fact. When it arrives, it is not a voice/holo message as expected, but a datapulse, a laser burst less than a half second long. When decoded, the clear is in heavily idiomatic Vuakedh, very tough to translate unless one's from deep inside the Antares sector. Once translated, it reads as follows:

_SUDVOK AEGRRA IS RIGHT. WE HAVE A PROBLEM, LITTLE COUSIN. THE COMMAND SHUTTLE HAS BEEN HIJACKED BY MUTINEERS AND COUNT GER IS BEING HELD HOSTAGE AT GUNPOINT. I AM TYPING TO YOU AND NEGOTIATING BY AUDIO WITH THE MUTINEERS AT THE SAME TIME. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO CONTACT THE KINGFISHER; RELAY THIS MESSAGE TO THE TALISMAN AT ONCE. BOTH SHIPS ARE TO REMAIN ON COURSE UNTIL FURTHER ORDERS; I AM ATTEMPTING TO DEFUSE THE SITUATION BEFORE ANYONE IS HURT._

There is a moment's pause, then another message arrives. _GOUGHZAR, IF I DIE AND YOU SURVIVE TO RETURN HOME AGAIN, TELL KHOMBHYARR HIS SON DIED WELL, AND THAT BHYARRKHARR IS HEIR NOW. GIVE HIM PATER'S SECURITY RECORDS ON THE CONVERSATION BETWEEN ME AND ADRIAN BISHOP, THREE SHIP-DAYS AGO. THE SECURITY CLEARANCE CODE IS WRITTEN ON THE WALL OF MY CABIN, IN VUAKEDH. I HOPE YOU WON'T NEED IT. WISH ME LU_

The link breaks abruptly.

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