Chapter Nineteen
Kulsis
Ebis’qupoz Kurop’t Barogar resisted the urge to fling his packet down on the reflective surface of the glistenwood table that ran the length of the Syfarthan Combine’s secure meeting chamber. The faces around it were mostly those he’d met with previously, but were now either expressionless or sheepish. The latter was not only gratifying but proper: Barogar had warned them the price of their inaction would be to return here, but under far less salutary conditions. He’d been all too correct, as was proven by the new faces at the table.
Barogar surveyed the haughty representatives of the Overlords of Kulsis. Six months ago, they still had not deemed the silence, and presumed loss, of the coursers sent to R’Bak worthy of their attention. But clearly, they deemed it worthy now. No less than three representatives from the Syfarthan Combine were present, and the expressions on their faces—and so, all the others’—indicated that they no longer considered the irregular events in the Shex system a mere “nuisance.”
But nothing signified the dramatically increased priority so much as the presence of Imgeffa, Prime Guild-mother and Matriarch of the Syfartha Family, who nodded at him. “On behalf of the Overlords whose representatives are gathered here, we thank you for your tenacity in this matter, Ebis’qupoz Barogar.” She squinted around the table. “Would that all those charged with oversight of Harvesting in the Shex system had your dedication and foresight.”
Barogar acknowledged her praise with a long, respectful nod. Although not an Overlord herself, she was the greatest living Breedmistress and a power unto herself—particularly among those whose Families were highly reliant upon breedsensing. “I am honored to appear before you, Matriarch Imgeffa, and gratified to be summoned back to this high council.”
She smiled at the word “gratified.” Half a year ago, he’d been ridiculed for wasting the time of the collected eqzarqu, who collectively set protocols and handled disputes arising from Harvesting operations. Now, it was they who had to endure his oblique but unmistakable gibes.
Imgeffa nodded. “I hear your words and what simmers beneath them, Ebis’qupoz Barogar.” She leaned back; for a moment, her face looked every bit as worn as one hundred forty-one years had made it. “I have also heard and read how the eqzarqu of this chamber synopsized your last appearance before them. But there are inconsistencies between their summary and the latest intelligence we have from the Shex system. So I will trouble you to present the situation as you perceive it, loyal son of Kulsis.”
Barogar managed not to preen. “It would be my honor to do so. As I am a military man, I am not skilled in grandiose language and flattery, so I hope my blunt report will not offend.”
Imgeffa’s turned a small, icy smile upon the eqzarqu. “Trust me, Ebis’qupoz, bluntness will be most welcome.”
He nodded. “The urgency of what brings us together now—the loss of one of the two surveyor corvettes fitted with an experimental auxiliary fusion plant—arises from what came before. Since that may not have been communicated in full, I present it now.
“Less than a week after our coursers arrived in orbit around R’Bak, we lost all contact with them: an unprecedented occurrence. Opinions were divided over the cause. One hypothesis was that a slow-moving plague on the planet had been carried up to the courser ships before it was detected. However, those of us with field experience doubted the viability of such an explanation. Frankly, there is no record of any pathogen that our personnel could have contracted from a local population that showed no sign of such a plague, then remained dormant in the coursers long enough for them to carry back to their ships, and finally emerged and spread so quickly and fatally that no one on those vessels got a chance to send word of it.
“Several learned persons in the Syfarthan Combine’s operations braintrust floated a rival explanation: that Shex had experienced an immense coronal mass ejection, or CME. They conjectured that the electromagnetic pulse would have destroyed all the coursers’ electronics, including their radios and both microwave and laser line-of-sight comms.
“However, that hypothesis was even more problematic than the notion of a plague. A CME would almost certainly have appeared on our sensors here in the Jrar system, as we were nearing periapsis with Shex. This would be true even if the CME propagated on a vector facing directly away from Jrar. Furthermore, the majority of our ships are hardened against solar storms and keep spares of all comm systems off-grid and in Faraday cages for just such occurrences.
“A third, unsought conjecture arose among experienced ship commanders: that there had been a schism among the coursers, with those loyal to the Overlords being overcome by rebels—who, wisely, remained silent and began operating as pirates.”
High Lord Makatayth, technically the most senior representative from the Syfarthan Combine, frowned. “But it was your own command staff who discounted that third explanation. And you yourself dissented, claiming that the bush-beaters were not capable of such a coup.”
Barogar strove to keep his tone respectful. “I did not dissent, High Lord. I merely pointed out that the schism hypothesis presented unresolved quandaries.” Not the least of which had been political practicality; the captains’ thesis had been phrased with more force and certainty than the facts had supported at that time. In response, the eqzarqu had quashed it swiftly, more concerned with its reek of successful revolt than its logistical improbabilities.
Makatayth leaned forward. “And do these quandaries concerning the bush-beaters remain?”
“They do,” Barogar affirmed, barely managing a deferential nod. “A coup among the ‘bush-beaters’”—ridiculous not to call them what they are: reavers—“would be almost impossible to keep silent. Mutiny, per the Overlords’ directives, is one of the very few occurrences that warrants inter-system radio communications. Keeping such treason quiet would require rank-and-file coursers to have control over all comms, both spaceside and dirtside. Control protocols preclude that. The only alternative would be if the mutiny was led by the coursers’ officers. But in that event, they could simply have maintained normal comms; we would have had no way of knowing they had rebelled until the surveyors arrived.”
“Who found no evidence that our loyalty-screened cadre had mutinied,” Makatayth pointed out preemptively. “And whose flotilla we dispatched to Shex with all haste.” He turned to Imgeffa. “As I hope the summary indicated, when the matter was put before the First Lords’ Council, we authorized Ebis’qupoz Barogar to increase the security complement of the surveyors he rushed to Shex.”
A wild exaggeration, but I dare not contradict: only state the facts. “I fast-tracked an early surveyor flotilla with two primary frames carrying eight independent ships each, along with a few dozen packets and smaller interface craft. The flotilla’s total complement was eighteen hundred personnel, with one hundred forty-two more security specialists than usual.” Which was the most you’d allow, Makatayth—you lying sack of devolving genes.
Imgeffa frowned. “I have heard that this increase in security ships and combat-capable landing teams came at the expense of prospecting and resource collection experts. Is this true?”
Barogar nodded sharply. “Yes, Matriarch. I am partly responsible for that decision.”
“Partly?”
He nodded again. Fate and filth: please don’t ask me to name names . . .
The Matriarch either saw or intuited that pressing for more details would send the meeting into a downward spiral of blame-trading. “I presume, then, that the surveyors actually essential to the job of preparing shipments for the Harvester fleet were over-tasked?”
“They were, and not just because there were fewer such personnel. The security forces were ordered to discover what had happened to the coursers, but the situation they found was so unexpected and difficult that they often commandeered equipment and personnel from the scouting and gathering task forces.”
Imgeffa leaned forward. “Explain.”
“The barbarian tribes had revolted at roughly the same time our coursers arrived. The satraps in the lands we call the Greens have been unseated or are either under siege or isolated from each other. Our stronger and more important allies that lie farther south, in the Ashbands and the Hamain, have also been reduced. Most that remain give conflicting reports of the causes and events of this uprising. The surveyors’ security detachments not only found themselves in uncertain conditions, but often unwelcome.”
“Unwelcome?” Makatayth exclaimed indignantly. “Why do our forces tolerate such responses?”
“Because they lack the numbers to punish them,” Barogar replied flatly. “Some teams have been lost without a trace. And many satraps are now uncertain who it is more important to appease: us or the barbarians.” The silence that followed was satisfying: Finally, they are perceiving the severity of the situation.
“Upon receiving these assessments, I discontinued any further investigation into the disappearance of the coursers, particularly in the lands currently controlled or contested by the savages. As it is, we have barely enough security personnel to protect our scouts and gatherers, upon whose work a successful Harvester fleet depends.” And which finally brought you back to this table.
Makatayth leaned forward. “And is there no sign of unrest on R’Bak Island?”
Barogar, feeling himself an equal in the room, finally sat. “None that has been reported.”
Imgeffa heard the nuance that Makatayth predictably missed. “Not having report of something does not mean it does not exist.” She ended on a hint of a smile.
Great lady, you could not help me more had we scripted it ahead of time. “You are correct, Matriarch. Indeed, it is an incident on R’Bak Island—at Downport, to be precise—that may finally point to why the coursers went silent and vanished without a trace.”
“You refer to the seizure of a lighter, sometime after it lifted?”
“Yes, and the detailed and knowledgeable planning that preceded it. And probably the loss of the corvette several days later.”
Makatayth frowned. “But the corvette was assisting the lighter, responding to its distress call.”
“So they believed.”
Imgeffa squinted. “You suspect it was a ruse?”
“I do.”
“To what end?”
Barogar shrugged. “To attack the corvette.”
Makatayth scoffed. “That would be suicide. The only way a lighter could destroy a corvette would be by triggering a catastrophic containment breach in its own engine.”
“I did not say the lighter’s purpose was to destroy the corvette, but to attack it. With the intent of taking it.”
“And who would have the nerve—or the training—to even conceive of such a plot?” Makatayth balled up his fists, their image doubled by the glistenwood table. “Ebis’qupoz, you promised us sober, well-reasoned analysis—”
“And that is exactly what you are getting, First Lord. If you will hear it out.”
Imgeffa grinned before anyone else could reply. “I, for one, am intrigued to hear the Ebis’qupoz’s hypothesis.”
Barogar nodded his gratitude toward her. “There can be little doubt that the lighter was stolen to facilitate the seizure of the corvette. The preparations were meticulous and subtle. Unfortunately, the surveyors’ initial investigation provided few additional facts.”
“Why so?”
Barogar shrugged. “Those that were questioned revealed little.”
Makatayth’s fists rose slightly. “And have the surveyors’ commanders forgotten that torture is the most effective tool in such circumstances?”
Barogar decided not to correct the First Lord, who obviously had never learned that a subject in the throes of agony—and certain that more is imminent—will say anything to stop the pain. “Those interrogated were not withholding knowledge. They simply did not have any. Those suspected of helping the hijackers infiltrate the spaceport were either dead or missing. Most of the latter probably fled as soon as they completed their role in the operation. Several of those had mercantile connections in the city, but mostly within its black market.”
Imgeffa frowned. “But we have excellent contacts inside the black market, do we not?”
“We do, but most of those are accessed through our allies: the satraps and other legitimate powers who tend to be durable over time. But the black market itself is not a stable or a predictable entity. Given the constant churn and change between Searings, we are lucky if, in any given city, two such organizations’ origins reach back as far as the prior Harvester fleet. And it did not help our current investigation that weeks passed before the corvette’s loss was confirmed.”
One of the less cowed eqzarqu asked, “Why was it not reported immediately?”
Barogar let his eyes drift toward the fellow. “The corvette was a silent asset, Eqzarq. In layman’s terms, the surveyor’s senior commander knows it is on patrol, but not its exact location. And the captain of the corvette was the senior naval officer in-system.”
Makatayth scoffed. “And is there no contingency for either side to initiate communication if needed?”
“The corvette can, but not the dirtside authorities. Access to a silent patrol vessel’s coordinates for line-of-sight communications is rightly considered an unacceptable risk to its security. Conversely, neither ground nor space platforms have ever had a sufficiently urgent need to send a message to such craft.”
“And why was such security deemed necessary, since there has never been a single spaceside threat in the Shex system?”
Barogar nodded toward Makatayth. “I agree, First Lord: our doctrinal complacency on that matter is what led us to this pass. On the other hand, imagine what might have occurred if the extraordinary effort and subtle conspiracy used to seize the lighter could have been exerted to gain access to secret codes revealing the location of the corvette—had such codes existed.”
“No matter! A corvette is more than a match for any pirates, no matter how sly!”
Barogar paused a moment, making sure he neither smiled nor frowned as he asked, “You and your peers keep using the word ‘pirate,’ High Lord. Why do you insist upon that term?”
Makatayth started. “What other term suits, Ebis’qupoz? If the lighter was indeed used to lure in and take the corvette, they cannot simply be thieves. As you pointed out in the report you sent as the reason for this meeting, they were not merely capable pilots. They navigated to a precise position just off the second planet so that the lighter was in its detection and radio shadow when the corvette commenced rescue operations. Such skills are not acquired through a few quick dirtside lessons on a simulator; it was the work of experienced pilots who were already familiar with both craft.”
Barogar nodded. “I agree.”
“You ought to: you wrote it!”
“Yes, but pirates are not defined simply by the skills they possess, but their motivations and, particularly, the way they solve problems. And you may trust me on this: in neither regard do these perpetrators behave as would what you call ‘pirates.’”
Makatayth seemed ready to object, but Imgeffa gestured him to silence.
“Firstly,” Barogar began, “what motivates pirates? The promise of wealth, yes? And certainly, a corvette is a valuable ship.
“But to whom would they sell it? The illiterate locals on R’Bak who are still uncertain whether electricity is a natural force or magic? Or interested parties here on Kulsis, presenting it for auction in the Great Bourse or a spaceside shipyard? As if anyone involved in the trade or sale of vessels doesn’t know that the Overlords would publicly flay anyone who engaged in such business? Or that they would fail to richly reward those who reported it?
“And where would these ‘pirates’ spend their ill-gotten gains? Here, where we track every form of value with great precision? Or R’Bak, where it might buy them all the uncut gems and raw pharmaflora they could want—but without any way to trade it for anything they value?”
Imgeffa let her gaze make a slow circuit of the faces at the table. Most averted their eyes. “Continue, Ebis’qupoz Barogar.”
He rose. “These are compelling reasons not to label these ship-thieves pirates, but they are not the most decisive. Because whatever their reasons for seizing the corvette, we must also ask: how do they live? Presumably, pirates make their homes near their hunting grounds. In space, this means locations where they may come and go subtly, without leaving fiery trails as they depart from or return to planets.
“But therein lies the problem. For even if we assume that they have automated plants to liberate oxygen and moisture from moons or asteroids—and that is a sizable assumption—we must answer this: how do they mean to eat? And if they know our Harvesters are coming, how do they mean to hide for the two or three years that we gather wealth from R’Bak?”
When no one offered an answer, he provided the alternatives. “There are two possibilities. One is that they are both motivated and convinced that they can lay aside the many tonnes of food required to live a life no pirate would tolerate: hiding motionless for up to three years. Or they do not live in space after all—which takes us further away from what we think of when we speak of ‘pirates.’”
One of the less outspoken, but also less cautious, of the eqzarqu muttered, “They’d have to have been preparing for years before the Searing, to lay in enough supplies. And yet, no one saw them do so? There are no reports of planetfalls of launches? Of interactions with communities who have surpluses to trade?”
Imgeffa nodded sharply. “I am convinced. These are not pirates. But then, what are they?”
Barogar shrugged. “An enemy force that has remained hidden. Until now.”