Chapter 4: Raising the Stakes

The pieces were all on the board, and the game was about to begin. The delegates had been given enough time to settle in, and the Admiral had given the green light for the security council meeting to begin. This was the most challenging part of Moralez’s job, coordinating with so many different departments and security teams to ensure that everyone got where they needed to be without incident.

Not including the Admiral himself, who would be attending on behalf of the UNN, there were seven different delegations who all needed to be escorted to the central hub. Moving the Bug ambassador was going to be the most difficult of all. What was he supposed to do, throw a bedsheet over her? The central hub of the Pinwheel was where all of the control systems for the station were located, along with the Admiral’s quarters. It was a high-security area that was only accessible via the long spokes that joined it to the torus, so there were no maintenance tunnels to move her through in secret.

He looked down at the monitor on his wrist as a call from the Admiral came through, tapping at the holographic display and patching it through to his earpiece.

“Security Chief,” the Admiral began. He sounded especially testy today, and Moralez didn’t want to get on his bad side. “Give me some good news.”

“Yes, Admiral. All of the delegates, save for the Betelgeusian, are being escorted from their suites to spoke number six by my security teams. We had a little trouble finding Vice Admiral Korbaz, she was killing time with some of her countrymen down at the recreation center, but I’m having her brought upspin now. When they arrive, I’ll be personally escorting them to the conference room.”

“Good,” the Admiral replied, “and the Bug?”

“There are no service tunnels that lead onto the hub, as you know, Admiral. I was thinking of having her brought down to one of the smaller hangars and then transferring her to the hub via shuttle. There are emergency docking bays that can accommodate small craft on the hub, but I’d need your permission, and probably some kind of clearance to make that happen.”

“I’ll see to it that you have whatever you need,” the Admiral replied. “Make sure that you’re able to coordinate with your team, I’ve decided that I want the Betelgeusian ambassador brought in only after the Valbaran application has been voted on. I want them to be able to have their say in the matter.”

“You believe that the Valbaran application will be accepted, Sir?” Moralez asked.

“I see no reason to believe otherwise,” he replied. “Have your men transfer the Bug by shuttle, and then have them wait in one of the empty offices nearby. They need to be ready to bring her in on my signal.”

“Sir, do you really think it’s wise to keep the ambassadors in the dark on this issue? I can’t imagine that Korbaz is going to react very positively, and we don’t know much about the Valbarans, save for the fact that they’ve suffered at the hands of the Bugs.”

“Your job is not to comment on political matters, Security Chief,” the Admiral replied tersely. “Just make sure that everyone gets here in one piece.”

“My apologies, Admiral,” Moralez replied. “I’ll see that it gets done.”

He closed the connection, then loosed a sigh that he had been holding in. Just his luck that the only Admiral on the station right now was a hardass, his job would be a whole lot easier if Admiral Murray were around. He tapped at his wrist again, and Harry quickly answered.

“What’s up, Chief?”

“How’s our guest, Harry?” he asked.

“She’s safe and sound. Cooperative, if a little surly.”

“Good, stand by for orders. The Admiral wants her brought down to one of the hangars via the service tunnels and then transferred to the hub by shuttle, where you’ll wait to be called into the conference room. I’ll be able to give you more details soon, but be ready to move. Let me know if you need more Marines.”

“Roger that, Chief. Just say the word.”

The Chief closed the connection, and Harry rose from the couch, retrieving his helmet from the coffee table and slotting it back over his head. Blackjack opened one eye lazily and begrudgingly climbed to his feet, his long snout opening wide in a yawn to expose the rows of jagged teeth that lined his maw.

“We’ll be moving soon,” he said to the ambassador, who was still sitting across from him. After their initial conversation had taken a sour turn, they had mostly sat in silence for the next couple of hours, counting down the minutes until they could move things along. He couldn’t help but imagine that she had used to the time to reassess her approach at the meeting, she had seemed taken aback by his unwillingness to accept her attempts to set herself apart from her species at large.

“Very good,” she said, remaining seated with her long legs crossed.

“Just waitin’ on the Chief to tell us where to go.”

“Sergeant Hayes,” she began, Harry pausing to glance at her from beneath the open visor of his helmet. “Concerning our discussion earlier ... I did not mean to upset you. If I have behaved inappropriately, then I apologize for that. Interacting with humans other than my father is still new to me, and now I fear that I am not as versed in human social norms as I had initially thought.”

Damn it, she just had to go and turn it around on him, didn’t she? Harry sighed, reaching up to scratch his stubbly chin as she peered at him expectantly with her large, pink eyes.

“The last thing I want to do is throw you off before you go into that meeting,” he said, the alien batting her lashes at him. “I get it, I do. You’re here to make sure that your people have a future, and that’s my job too. You do it by trying to get your point across, and I do it down the barrel of a gun, but we’re both in the same business. When we’re lying in bed at night, we both worry about the same things.”

She nodded, her antennae bobbing in the air.

“I’ll be twenty-five soon,” he continued, “and I’ve spent the last seven years of my life fighting Bugs. It’s hard for me to give you a clean slate, as much as you insist that you’re different from the rest. All the shit I’ve seen ... I can’t just snap my fingers and have it all go away, y’know? I dunno,” he added with a shrug, beginning to pace on the carpet beside the couch. “I’m not good at this kind of thing. Just know that it ain’t personal, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

That seemed to perk her up somewhat, and it made him feel a little better too. Blackjack emitted an appreciative rumbling sound that made Harry’s teeth chatter, the ambassador’s eyes darting to him in alarm. The Krell seemed pleased that they had made up.

“Oh, it’s like that?” he replied, turning to his companion. “What do you know, you big green goon?”

The ambassador put a hand to her lips, stifling a giggle as she glanced between the two of them.

There was an alert as the Chief sent a message to the computer on his wrist, Harry lifting it up and tapping at the touch panel.

“Alright, we have our orders. We’re to proceed to hangar seventeen and board a waiting shuttle that will take us to the control hub. I’ve been sent access codes and a map of the service tunnels. Fuck me, it’s like a maze in there...”

“I may be able to help with navigation,” the ambassador volunteered, “I have a good sense of direction. My home was a similar maze of tunnels, after all.”

Harry made his way over to the back of the room, where the panel that led into the service tunnels was still removed, leaning against the wall beside the opening. He pulled up the access code and tapped it in, the door that lay behind it opening with a whoosh.

“This way, Ambassador,” he said as he gestured to the gloom that lay beyond.

“Honorable Ambassadors, if I could please have your attention,” Moralez shouted over the roar of the torus. They were standing just outside spoke six, the passageway sectioned off behind a large pressure door, black and yellow warning stripes painted around its frame. It was large enough to let a Krell or perhaps a cart loaded with supplies pass through unhindered. It would seal shut in the event of an emergency, either to prevent the atmosphere from escaping or to prevent boarders from reaching the hub. A pair of security guards in black body armor were standing to either side of it, their XMRs slung across their chests.

The six delegations were standing nearby, a semi-circle of Marines forming a perimeter to keep the crowds at bay. There was the Elysian ambassador in his ornate, red armor, the Araxie in her two-piece suit standing beside him. The Valbarans numbered four, and they were standing at the front of the pack, their heads swiveling curiously as they took in the strange sights and fluttered their colorful feathers. The Krell Elder in his tribal garb stood beside the Broker at the rear, who had finally seen fit to leave the refuge of his strange vessel, while Korbaz stood apart from everyone else.

“Those of you who have visited the station before are already familiar with this process,” the Chief continued. “But for those who are new to the Pinwheel, I will explain what is about to happen. The security council meeting will be taking place on the control hub, which is a secure area of the station. The only way to and from the hub are the long spokes that connect to the torus, where we are right now. Before you can be allowed to set foot on the hub, you will be required to submit to a screening process. This is routine, they’ll just check you for concealed weapons and listening devices.”

They lined up in single file, the Araxie ambassador at the head, the two Marines beginning to pat her down. She had an unusual number of pockets on the inside of her jacket, Moralez watching in amazement as what looked like an entire tool belt’s worth of items were placed into one of the plastic trays that were sitting on a nearby table. A vial of what might be salt, an MRE packet, a flameless ration heater, a small tablet computer, a keyring, a lighter. He couldn’t imagine what use she might have for such odd trinkets. When they were done searching her, one of the Marines produced a handheld scanner, waving it over her briefly.

“You’re clear,” he said, Ambassador Zuki standing to one side as the next person in line stepped forward.

Torza raised his arms obediently as the two guards began to pat him down, his heavy pauldrons clanking. There really wasn’t any practical way that he could conceal anything, his clothing was thin and billowy beneath his armor plating, and he didn’t have an abundance of pockets.

Next in line was the Krell, whose clothing was similarly spartan. The only things in the pockets of his leather poncho were odd charms and fetishes carved from wood and decorated with colorful feathers, which he was allowed to keep. After running the scanner over his abundance of necklaces and pendants briefly, he was cleared to enter the hub.

The Valbarans were patted down two by two, they were wearing their skin-tight, camouflaged jumpsuits. The Marines had to kneel to reach their legs due to their short stature. There were some issues during the scanning phase that held the process up for a little while. Electrical wiring ran through the suits like blood vessels, and they had onboard computers that powered the augmented reality HUDs on their helmets, along with the color panels that mimicked their feather displays. The system was putting out too much electromagnetic interference to be allowed onto the hub. Fortunately, the suits had replaceable batteries, which meant that they could also be removed, powering them down completely. A quick scan later, and they were cleared to pass.

When the Broker walked up to the pair of guards on its mechanical legs, they simply waved it through without performing any checks. As the Chief of Security, Moralez knew that it was station policy, but he didn’t know why. Perhaps it was due to the fact that the Broker’s listening devices, cameras, and electronics were inseparable from its body. It couldn’t function without them. Or maybe it was due to the influence that its kind exerted over the alliance.

The last in line was Korbaz, and Moralez wandered a little closer, anticipating some kind of trouble. The Vice Admiral always seemed to make every interaction more difficult than it needed to be.

The braver of the two Marines stepped forward, approaching the towering feline. He reached out towards her leather jacket and was met with a low, rumbling growl that would have been enough to set the hairs on Moralez’s arms on end if he still had any.

“Vice Admiral,” he sighed, the Rask turning to peer at him with her yellow eyes as the Marine backed off. “Are you really going to hold everyone else up? You had no problem submitting to a pat-down the last time you were on the station, even if you had some issues handing over your weapons.”

“If your Marines are not brave enough to do their duties, then perhaps you will take their place, Security Chief?”

Moralez knew that toothy grin, this was another one of her games. He shrugged, and drew closer, knowing that it was best to just give her what she wanted so that they could move things along.

“At least my arms are ‘designed’ to be detached at the shoulder,” he muttered, beginning to run his hands along her sleeves as she held them out for him. Almost immediately, he located something suspicious, rolling up the leather to reveal the sandy fur on her forearm. There was a leather belt just beneath her elbow, and attached to it was a sheath that held a blade. It was small by Borealan standards, but still about the size of a combat knife to him. He drew it from its scabbard and tossed it into one of the trays.

“You could just tell me what you have,” he complained, the Rask chuckling under her breath.

“There would be no sport in that, Security Chief.”

He checked her other arm, then moved down to her torso. Her jacket was open, and so he reached inside and ran his rubber fingertips over the inner lining. There was another concealed knife, this one even larger, the blade sporting a cruel gut hook. He also found a revolver on a shoulder holster that was slung beneath her arm, withdrawing the crude weapon from its pouch. Rask revolvers were large and crudely machined, but they made even the most powerful conventional handguns look like toys. He placed it in the tray along with her other weapons.

He skirted her ample chest, the ambassador seeming to take pleasure in his discomfort, and then ran his hands down her torso. Beneath her leather jacket, she wore a tight-fitting tank top, her chiseled abdominal muscles visible even beneath the grey fabric. He ran his fingers over them as he moved down to her waist, finding them as hard as stone, her taut muscles flexing as he brushed them.

Her shirt stopped a few inches above her belt, her pants sitting low on her wide hips, exposing the caramel skin of her toned midriff. Moralez turned his eyes to her utility belt, from which dozens of pouches and holsters were hanging. He withdrew another massive revolver, placing it in the tray with a heavy thud, taking care to be gentle with the thing lest it go off prematurely. The Rask did not strike him as a people who valued safety. There were more varied knives, a pair of brass knuckles that doubled as push-blades, and what looked like a folding machete. He was suspicious of her belt buckle, finding that it was detachable upon closer inspection, that too hiding a concealed blade.

“Are you patting me down, or attempting to disrobe me?” she asked with a smirk.

He opened the clasp on one of the larger pouches and pulled out a tightly-wound length of rope, giving her a questioning look as he placed it with her haul.

“One never knows when a rope might come in handy,” she said, her tone sly. “Climbing, mooring ... restraining.”

Moralez moved down to her thighs, her leather pants so tight that they creaked when she shifted her weight, the dimples of her muscle visible through the black material. He ran his hands down to her ankles, where the garment ended, then moved back up. He wasn’t about to let her take advantage of his human sensibilities to smuggle something past the guards, and so he didn’t hesitate to feel up her inner thighs, brushing her crotch as briefly as he dared.

Korbaz wet her lips conspicuously as he ran his hands around to her rump, her cheeks just as round and as firm as they had looked. He had to press closer to her, barely able to reach, the scent of leather and exertion filling his nose. He felt something odd, glancing up at her as she peered down at him over the mounds of her breasts with her feline pupils.

“Is that a gun in your pants, Vice Admiral, or are you just happy to see me?”

“Why don’t you reach inside and find out?” she replied, Moralez loosing an exasperated sigh. She had probably been planning this from the moment that he had turned down her advances the day prior, the Equatorials were nothing if not persistent.

He slipped his polymer fingers beneath her waistband, the leather so tight that he had little choice but to come into contact with her skin. It was as smooth as glass, the muscle beneath flexing at his touch, his digits sinking deep into her yielding flesh. As tough as she was, she was surprisingly soft. If she was wearing underwear, then he couldn’t feel any.

His fingertips brushed cold steel, and he closed his hand around the object, struggling to withdraw another pistol. It looked like a breech-loading handgun, with a single round in the chamber, a weapon of last resort perhaps. He dropped it in the tray, then held out a hand to one of the Marines, the man passing him the scanner. After doing a few passes with the device, it was clear that she didn’t have any concealed electronics, and he waved her forward. She waltzed past him, her tail brushing his thigh on the way past, Moralez shooting her a look that said ‘in your dreams’.

“Alright, looks like we’re finally ready to go,” he proclaimed as the gaggle of aliens looked on. “Your belongings will be returned to you once you leave the hub. Now, please follow me as we proceed along the spoke.”

Moralez gestured to the two Marines, and they took up position to either side of the pressure door, scanning their access cards in two identical readers. There was a mechanical grinding sound as the two halves of the door began to part, exposing a hallway beyond that was carpeted in UNN blue, the walls and ceiling made from white hull material. One of the Valbarans emitted a flash of yellow feathers, her eyes wide as she peered through the opening.

“What is that?” she trilled, cocking her head in confusion.

After a few feet, the passageway curved upwards at a ninety-degree angle, creating what looked like a ramp. From there, it continued on vertically, rising high into the air and out of view from their perspective.

“This is where things get a little weird,” Moralez said, waving them forward. “As some of you may know, the habitat is spun to create inertia, which simulates gravity. In the same way that when you spin a bucket full of water, the water stays in the bucket, your feet stay rooted to the deck. The hub is at the center of the torus, however. That puts it directly above our heads relative to where we’re standing. It’s spinning too slowly to generate any significant inertia of its own, so we use an AG field to generate artificial gravity there instead, but that creates a problem.”

They reached the beginning of the gentle ramp, Moralez glancing up to see the corridor extending high into the air above him, like looking up through the center of a hollow cooling tower. Even though this had become routine to him, the sight was still enough to give him a twinge of vertigo.

“To get from the torus to the hub, we must transition from inertial gravity to the AG field, and we have to walk up this ramp so that we’ll be level with it.”

Moralez took the lead, his inner ear going haywire as he began to walk up the wall from the perspective of the onlookers. After a moment, he found himself standing in the carpeted passageway, his stomach settling as he turned to look back at the delegates.

“Your brain is going to tell you that everything you’re doing is wrong, but just keep your eyes on the floor and keep walking. Close them if you have to, it helps.”

All of the ambassadors save for the Valbarans had done this before, but some of them still had their issues. There was a lot of staring intently at the carpet, and a few stumbles, but everyone managed to get to the other side of the ramp.

The four Valbarans looked on apprehensively, glancing at one another as if seeking reassurance. After a moment, the one that Moralez recognized as Ensi Cuetz took two of the others by the hand, the fourth apparently confident enough to walk on her own as they approached the curve in the deck. There was plenty of fluttering, the shades of blue and purple conveying their displeasure. They inched along until finally, they found themselves on the far side.

“Such odd geometry,” one of them muttered, peering back over her shoulder as two of the Marines that were accompanying them made their way up the bend.

“If we’re all ready to continue,” Moralez said, getting their attention. “Please follow me.”

The long hallway stretched out a good distance ahead of them, the pressure door that led into the hub barely in sight. There were windows spaced out at intervals along the walls, a view of the station’s hull and the starfield beyond visible through the reinforced glass, the frost crystals that clung to the outside of the panes creating beautiful patterns. The stars were bright and cold against the blackness of space, slowly rotating as the station spun, the system’s sun casting the outer hull in harsh light and deep shadow. With no atmospheric haze and no points of reference, it was hard to gauge the real scale of the station, the donut-shaped habitat curving up and out of view like a horizon. This was one of the few places on the station where one could see the structure of the facility, as there were no windows on the habitat, it shattered the illusion that the designers had been trying to sell.

There were several holdups as the delegates stopped to take in the view. The Valbarans were especially fascinated, as it was all new to them. Eventually, they arrived at the far end of the walkway, the pressure door opening automatically to grant them access to the hub.

This area of the station was very different from the open spaces and the lavish decorations of the torus. It had more in common with an office building, or a traditional spacecraft, more cramped and with fewer amenities. It was a maze of branching corridors that all looked alike, the numbers that were stenciled onto the doors the only real way to navigate. The ceiling was just high enough that the Krell ambassador’s head brushed it, and the corridors just wide enough that two Borealans could have passed each other unhindered. The walls were whitewashed, and the carpet was the same Navy blue as the one in the spoke, a few ferns in planters adding a little greenery to the otherwise spartan and functional surroundings.

As they made their way down the winding corridors, the only other people that they encountered were engineers in their yellow overalls, or clerks scurrying between the different departments with tablet computers or boxes of data storage drives clutched in their arms. One such engineer was staring intently at the screen of his tablet as he rounded a corner, marching straight past the procession of delegates as though he hadn’t even seen them. He turned towards one of the many numbered doors, and in doing so, walked straight into Korbaz.

His face sank into one of her breasts through the thin fabric of her tank top, the man’s head almost seeming to bounce back, his tablet computer falling to the floor. There was a scuffle, the Rask hissing and spitting, the hapless engineer becoming tangled in her abundance of belts as she tried to push him away. Touching an Equatorial without solicitation was a grave offense in their culture, it was taken as a challenge to their dominance, one that must be met with immediate reprisal.

The engineer managed to free himself, and the other ambassadors retreated to a safe distance as Korbaz took a step towards him, backing him up against the far wall. She pressed closer, emitting a low, menacing growl.

She faltered as Moralez strode up behind her and gripped her wrist, preparing to twist her arm and subdue her. Her yellow eyes darted between him and her prey, and then she slowly backed away, her intimidating growling subsiding.

“What did I tell you about behaving on my station, Vice Admiral?” Moralez warned. “If you can’t restrain yourself, then I’ll have you removed from the hub.”

“A simple mistake,” she grumbled, reigning in her wild proclivities. “The human surprised me is all. You should be more mindful, little one,” she added as the pale-faced engineer stooped to retrieve his tablet. “Such carelessness is a sure way to earn yourself an ugly scar ... or a night of passion that you might not survive.”

He scurried off down the hallway, not quite breaking into a run, Korbaz watching him like a hungry wolf. Moralez released her arm, the two Marines who were escorting them moving their hands away from their rifles, the ambassador giving him a wry smile.

“You do know how to handle me, Security Chief.”

“Keep moving,” he grumbled.

When they reached their destination, they stepped through one of the numbered doors, and into a spacious conference room. It was illuminated by light panels that were embedded in the ceiling, carpeted again in UNN blue, decorative plants occupying the corners of the room to add a little flair. This space was a little more upscale, with faux-wood paneling that broke up the matte white of the walls. In the center of the room was a large, mahogany table, which was surrounded by chairs that came in odd shapes and sizes. There were accommodations for each species, the seating specially tailored to their unique needs, as well as an empty place where the Broker would probably stand. Robotic legs didn’t get tired, after all. He knew from personal experience.

The Admiral was already waiting for them, scrolling through something on a tablet computer with a gloved hand. His white uniform was as crisp as ever, the gold of the UNN logo above the brim of his cap and the ornate medals that adorned his chest glinting under the room’s soft lighting. He rose from his seat to greet them, setting his tablet down on the table, Moralez stepping to one side and ordering his Marines to stand guard outside the door. He stood by the wall with his polymer hands clasped behind his back, watching as the Admiral introduced himself.

“My name is Admiral Vos, I’ll be attending the council meeting on behalf of the UN, the legislative body that governs Earth and her colonies. If you’d all like to take a seat around the table, we can begin the proceedings. I’m sure that you all know why we’re here, but I’ll state it again for the record. The UNN Rorke and her support fleet recently made contact with the planet Valbara during a long-range patrol, and their government has made a formal request to join the Coalition. The honorable Ensi have traveled here to make their case,” he said with a gesture to the Valbarans. “The purpose of this meeting will be to determine whether that application will be accepted. Each council member gets one vote, with a majority required to pass the motion.”

The ambassadors took up their respective places around the table, the varied designs of the seating resulting in everyone being more or less level. They were loaded with large springs, much like those that were used in the bar stools at the recreation center, sinking the occupant down based on their weight. The three Borealans had reinforced chairs with a cutout for their tails, while the Krell had something that resembled more of a padded bench with no back support, the Valbarans sitting on four raised stools that looked like booster seats. The Broker stood on its mechanical legs, as Moralez had suspected, its array of cameras and sensors moving disconcertingly as they shifted focus. It was hard to tell where the thing was looking, and the answer might be ‘everywhere’.

“Now that everyone is seated,” the Admiral said, “the Ensi may begin their presentation.”

Moralez noted that the little aliens hadn’t brought any tablet computers or documents with them, and their onboard computers had been deactivated before entering the hub. Surely they didn’t have all of the necessary information about their civilization committed to memory?

Netza started to speak, the ambassadors turning their eyes, and their telescopic lenses, on her.

“My name is Netza’cui’atl,” she began, her headdress flushing a regal red as she introduced herself. “I am one of six Ensi who preside over the city of Yilgarn, along with my flock,” she added as she gestured to the aliens who were seated to either side of her. “We were chosen to represent our people because we have interacted with the Coalition extensively, both during the battle for Val’ba’ra, and during the ensuing months that the fleet has spent in orbit. As of right now, the Rorke and her support fleet are still helping to protect the planet and its people from possible attacks while the damage is repaired and our defenses are shored.”