Carrearranis (Fourth Fleet Irregulars Book 5) Read online

  This was unique to the Fourth. No regular Fleet ship needed to have a section cordoned off for visitors who didn’t have authorisation to see the main part of the ship, because no regular Fleet ship had the highly classified experimental tech all over it that was normal for the Fourth. No regular Fleet ship needed a securely quarantined area for exodiplomacy use, either, or for that matter an area which could be used as a brig to accommodate large numbers of prisoners. When not needed for any of these functions, the interdeck was used as gym, lounge and meeting rooms.

  It was set up for a reception today. Mako Ireson, the interdeck steward, had seen to that, aided by a team of riggers. Mako himself had not been permitted to so much as fold away a table or inflate a sofa. Despite the tremendous progress he had made since coming to work with the Fourth, it was generally believed that he had the technical skills of a five year old. Like the interdeck itself, Mako was multi-functional – when they had prisoners aboard he was a League Prisons Inspector, when they had alien guests he was an honorary Diplomatic Corps attaché, when they had neither he managed the interdeck as a leisure facility. He had learned to cook, too, in the interdeck’s tiny galley, and was a creative if not always entirely successful baker.

  He was, admittedly, a little ruffled just then. He’d been enjoying the challenge of providing hospitality for VIPs on that scale and virtually no notice, which really was a challenge given their supplies situation. The best he’d been able to come up with in the way of fancy refreshments were finger bites mostly made from protein crackers and powdered egg, with a centrepiece of fruit fancied up with plastic flowers. Then, just as he’d been feeling that he could be proud of what they’d produced, given the resources that they had, the presidential catering team had arrived.

  They had come in like a gastronomic swat team. They knew exactly where they were going, what facilities the interdeck galley had and how much time they had to set up. True, the official in charge of them did ask Mako’s permission to lay out their catering in the interdeck lounge, but given that even as he asked the question his staff were already setting up tables and whisking in hot and cold trolleys, the question was rather academic. Mako, seeing their own brave little offerings pushed aside, had to keep reminding himself that the intruders didn’t mean any offence. He was rather stiffly on his dignity, though, by the time that the guests arrived.

  He didn’t need to worry, though. When the visitors arrived their attention did not go to the elaborate buffet, but focussed in at once on the aquarium.

  This was new – new, at least, to the visitors. The Fourth themselves had become so used to it by now that it seemed perfectly normal to them to have a twenty metre aquarium on the ship.

  ‘That can’t be real, surely?’ Joy Arthas queried, as people went over to marvel at the tank and touch the near-invisible siliplas panel.

  ‘It is,’ Alex assured her. ‘You may remember that Mr North got permission to harvest samples of reef biosphere for an aquarium on the Stepeasy? Well, Silvie asked for that to be moved here – so, of course, we obliged.’ He grinned, as if the construction of a living reef aquarium on a warship was a trivial matter, and Joy laughed.

  ‘Of course!’ she agreed, well aware that if Silvie said she would like the galaxy moved six centimetres to the left, Alex von Strada would do his utmost to oblige. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she observed, looking at the spectacular corals and fish.

  ‘Silvie calls it her garden,’ Alex told her, and knew without even turning his head that Silvie herself had just come into the room.

  Two

  He would have known that Silvie had arrived anyway even had he been alone, but the sudden hush and awe in the atmosphere was a dead giveaway. As too was the gurgle of mirth from the quarian herself as the gathering fell silent at her appearance.

  ‘Oh, please!’ She said. ‘Haven’t you guys got over the goddess thing yet?’

  There was some laughter and relaxing, not all of it very convincing. Quite apart from any personal issues of comfort around her, they were all acutely aware of how vitally important her visit was. After decades of failed diplomacy, Quarus was on the verge of closing its borders against humanity. Silvie was their last ditch attempt to bridge the gulf of incompatible psychology and culture which seemed to be insurmountable by any amount of effort and goodwill. She had been bioengineered to be as nearly human as she could be whilst still retaining the characteristics which defined quarians as quarian.

  Alex looked around and smiled. Silvie was small, almost child-like in physique, with a sweet heart-shaped face and delicate, elfin features – a deliberate design choice by the quarians who had recognised that humans would find that attractive and non-threatening and that it would trigger protective feelings in most of them, too. To be accurate, it was a design they had borrowed from a human who had asked them to engineer his own idea of the perfect exo-diplomat, his superhuman abilities off-set by an endearing boyish appearance so that other humans would not find him intimidating. As with Davie North, the result was not entirely successful, as the sheer force of her personality sparkled so brightly it was almost as if she left a trail of glitter in the air as she walked. She had dressed up, Alex saw, for the party. It had taken Silvie several months to get to grips with the concept of wearing different styles of clothing for different occasions, and it was doubtful whether she would ever fully understand formal manners. It was clear that she had made an effort for the reception, though. She was wearing an entirely appropriate business suit in a blue just deeper than the sapphire brilliance of her eyes, with an elaborate, striking makeup of dark grey filigree. Her silver-platinum hair, though, was scrunched up into bunches either side of her head, complete with electric blue ribbons tied into bows.

  Alex understood at once that she knew very well that that wasn’t an appropriate style either for the outfit she had on or for the occasion. She had learned enough now to make such choices deliberately, as she said herself, because people expected her to look a little bit weird.

  ‘Silvie!’ Joy went towards her with hands outstretched as if to take Silvie’s hands in hers, but Silvie laughed and moved in to give her a hug instead.

  ‘Woo hoo!’ she crowed, as her awareness of the president’s feelings was enhanced by the physical contact. As she broke out of the hug, she punched one fist into the air, laughing delightedly. And suddenly everyone else was laughing too.

  It was a short but very enjoyable party, boosted by Silvie’s effervescent joy but by no means dependent on it. Other than for Froggy Croker and a couple of others, none of the visitors had ever even been on a starship running off standard routes. Now they had been through a genuine adventure, following the Minnow out of League space and through a convoluted route through space so dangerous that they were rarely more than seconds away from forces which would have torn their ships apart. And now they were here, at Oreol. That was a thrilling destination in itself for the Telethorans. It had been known for centuries that Oreol had a planet with green world indicators, but no ship had ever been able to get here before. This was by far the most adventurous thing that most of them had ever done, and they were so proud of themselves they were celebrating their own achievement almost as much as the Fourth’s. And for the Fourth themselves there was all the delight of seeing new faces after so long aboard ship, and, of course, the food.

  Nobody touched the food until it was confirmed that it was a squadron-wide distribution, with crates being delivered to every ship and every mess deck. It had become very important to them over the last few weeks, as supplies had dwindled, to share what they had equally. Everything from the wardroom’s private supplies to what candy people might have stashed in their lockers had been pooled. It wasn’t as if there was any danger of them starving; they had sufficient emergency rations to keep them going for weeks and the biovat produced enough fresh stuff to at least relieve the monotony of survival bars and soups. They had, however, run out of bread, cakes, cookies and candy, which for the treat-loving Fourth had been a h
ardship they had had to pull together to deal with. So as gorgeous as the buffet was and as much as they were urged to tuck in, not one of them so much as nibbled a canape until it was clear that the whole squadron was getting the same. Then they made a rush for the tables, making happy noises and telling one another how delicious it all was. Mako Ireson was right in there with them, too, mollified now that he knew this was in the nature of a gift box and not the presidential catering team taking over providing refreshments because they didn’t think the Fourth was up to it.

  Then Davie North arrived.

  That was a surprise. Davie generally did not attend social events. As a member of the Founding Families he had been brought up to keep himself aloof from government. That position had been somewhat compromised by the fact that Davie himself was now working as a fully accredited exo-ambassador, but he never appeared publicly in that role.

  It was immediately apparent that he wasn’t attending this reception in any official capacity, either. He was wearing chinos with a plain grey sweatshirt, his feet bare and his hair untidy. He was three weeks away from turning sixteen but could have been taken for considerably younger. Only his eyes were not those of a child – keenly intelligent, looking out on the assembly with slightly mocking amusement.

  As soon as he came into the room, Silvie rolled her eyes and said, ‘Shut up!’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Davie, an apology as automatic as had been her complaint.

  Everyone had thought, when the quarians sent Silvie to the League as their ambassador, that Davie was the ideal person to look after her. They were, after all, genetically as close as cousins, and both had been engineered by their people specifically for the purpose of representing them in diplomacy with other species.

  There were, however, differences. Silvie was strongly empathic and Davie was not. Silvie had gills, too, albeit internal ones. Most importantly, Davie had been brought up as a human and she had been raised on Quarus, imbued with all her people’s culture of absolute honesty and no concepts of personal privacy whatsoever.

  They didn’t spend much time together. To Silvie, Davie’s mind and emotions were so loud as to be really uncomfortable to be around. Even in a busy, noisy environment like this, Davie’s entrance was as annoying to her as if someone had arrived playing a one-man band with no sense of rhythm or tune. In response, Davie did his best to focus his mind down to a single point of consciousness – not easy for him, since he was multi-cognitive and often thinking about four or five different things at once, separately and simultaneously. He also, conscientiously, tried to dial down his emotional state, taking a breath and using calming techniques to reduce the fizz of mischievous glee that was as irritating as clashing cymbals to his cousin. Seeing that he was not going to be able to stop himself making that infuriating emotional din, though, Silvie helped herself to a plate of savouries and departed forthwith, to the evident disappointment of many of the guests. She didn’t leave in a huff – there were lots of smiles, waves and a couple of air-blown kisses as she went, but go she did, and at speed. She knew that being around Davie when the atmosphere was already so hyped up might well trigger a burst of manic excitement which could then, in turn, create mass hysteria in those around her.

  Even people with no empathic abilities at all could see that Davie was highly amused – the wicked little grin on his face betrayed that, as he propelled a terrified young man along with him. He had a firm grip on the youth’s elbow, and a general air of being prepared to frog-march him if he didn’t come willingly.

  Willing, Janil Caldova certainly was not. He had gained a little confidence since Davie had first given him a gentle push onto the Heron’s command deck, and could talk to the captain now without actually seizing up with paralysing shyness. He was, however, still unable to give any kind of public talk even to people he knew, and would certainly not have entered a room full of VIPs of his own volition. His eyes were fixed on the president with the look of a hamster staring at a cobra. As her attention was drawn to this, Joy went at once to greet him with the warmest of smiles.

  ‘Mr Caldova, how lovely – thank you for coming.’

  Janil looked away, looked back, tried to take a step backward, felt Davie’s hand in the small of his back, and gulped. He was entirely incapable of speech. Joy Arthas, however, was quite used to people experiencing social paralysis when introduced to the president.

  ‘I won’t ask you to stay,’ she assured him, with a gesture at the crowd, ‘I know this isn’t your thing. But I did just want to thank you and tell you how proud we are of you – you are a credit to Telathor, a great credit.’

  Janil swayed slightly, finding Davie’s hand on his back supportive now as the room seemed to be swimming away from him. He was a gangling young man. An experienced eye could see that he had been dressed for this event by Davie’s valets – his shirt fitted and he had only a modest gloss on his well brushed hair. When left to himself he tended to flatten his hair to his scalp with so much gloss that it looked like a plastic cap. He was three years older than Davie and very much taller, too, but there was no doubt which of them was boss.

  Davie had won the competition to hire Janil at Telathor after his talents as a data analyst had been revealed. The third year maths student had not only spotted the tiny clues that a quarian was visiting Telathor, but had successfully calculated where she would be, and when, so that he could be there to film her. Nobody had believed him, of course, since he could only say that mysterious people in diving suits had swept in and deleted his film. But there had been something of a feeding frenzy amongst intelligence agencies to recruit him, a contest Davie had won easily. Nobody else, after all, could offer the opportunity to stay close to Silvie, nor could they provide the opportunity to work on exodiplomacy missions front line, actually there and taking part.

  And take part Janil had. At the point where Alex and his officers were considering which of three potential life-bearing systems to set their course for, Janil had been brought to the command deck to show them the enormous probability calculations he’d been working on ever since leaving Telathor. His calculations had been accepted, the decision made, and he had turned out to be right. It wasn’t surprising, really, that the president wanted to commend him for his contribution to the mission. It was, however, surprising that she had made such a point of doing so at once, as it was apparent that she had asked for Janil to be brought to the reception.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen…’ the president called the attention of the few who hadn’t already broken off their conversations to watch this, and beamed as she held out a hand towards Janil rather in the manner of a magician’s assistant highlighting the denouement of a trick. ‘Mr Janil Caldova!’

  The Telethorans burst into loud applause, with several cheers and a few hearty comments. The general commanding Telathor’s army said, ‘Well done, sir!’ while the chancellor of the system university declared, ‘You’ve done us proud!’

  Janil didn’t faint. He was beyond that. He just stood there looking as if someone had slugged him with a brick. Davie, his face alight with laughter, poked him in the back with an admonitory finger.

  ‘Say, ‘Thank you, ma’am.’’ He instructed.

  Janil’s mouth moved obediently, though no sound emerged. Joy laughed too, at that, but looked at Davie then.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, with a tone which made it clear that while she liked him very much and was deeply appreciative of everything he had done, they were not friends. Nor could they be. Davie had accepted the necessity of having some dealings with authorities in his role as ambassador, but he would never compromise his principles so far as to become personally involved with elected officials. The Founding Families considered themselves to be in the role of a watchdog, upholding the League Constitution which their ancestors had crafted, and it was fundamental in that role that they remained aloof from the day to day operations of government.

  ‘Ma’am,’ Davie acknowledged, and turning Janil around with an encouraging li
ttle push, he steered him out of the reception, the analyst moving like an automaton.

  Alex looked at Joy with an enquiry on his face as the party got back to noisy celebration.

  ‘I hope he’ll be all right,’ the president observed, in a tone which added poor boy. ‘But we had to give them something.’ As Alex continued to look at her interrogatively, she explained, ‘The media. There was so much we had to ask them not to report, and that story is media gold.’

  Alex nodded slightly, understanding. ‘Local Teenager leads way to Lost World’ would certainly make a great story, though the media would undoubtedly come up with more exciting headlines than that. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for Janil, though. Janil was hardly the type to thrive on becoming a global hero and intersystem famous.

  ‘Are we supposed to have been completely at a loss?’ he asked, not with any resentment but merely asking for clarification.

  ‘No!’ she laughed, and lowered her voice to a confidential level. ‘I know it’s the decision you would have made anyway – right?’

  Alex smiled, then after a moment, nodded. ‘More on instinct than evidence,’ he admitted. ‘But I don’t want to take anything away from Mr Caldova. His analysis put the decision on a far more evidential basis, and he deserves all credit for that. Though how he’ll cope with the fame…’

  ‘Mr North will look after him,’ Joy said. ‘And speaking of the media – we have a pack of them on the Telathor One who are very keen to ask you some questions.’

  Alex stared at her in undisguised horror. ‘You brought journalists?’ he asked, before remembering who he was speaking to and adding a hasty, ‘Ma’am?’

  Joy chuckled. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘They’re all vetted, fully briefed and on side. There will be no mention of the Space M… of the Phenomenon, and no reference to ancient starships or unknown technology, okay? At least, not in the interviews for public disclosure. I will ask you also to give a frank interview to be held on file until such time as exodiplomacy disclosure can be made.’ She read the mute appeal in his eyes, and grinned. ‘We’ll do yes-no interviews,’ she promised.