Prophet of ConFree (The Prophet of ConFree) (32 page)

"All right," Tara said. "Now how about the Gulf slave states?"

"What about them?"

"That's where the D's are right now. They're doing recons. Presumably this is leading up to a full-scale attack. Like on that O world."

"Yeah."

"Aren't we going to pass our weapons knowledge to the authorities there?"

"Yeah, I've been pondering that. But you know the Gulf slave states – they're not much better than the demons themselves. The Pegal Stelcom, the Gulf Union, the Asumara Holy Commune – they couldn’t care less about their populations. They only care about themselves, their political power. How much tax money they can extort from their people. That's all."

"I think we should educate them."

"They’re not educatable. They're insane. They're not going to waste good revenue on fighting Demons when they could be storing it in private accounts in the Gassies or using it to purchase political friends."

"They're not preparing at all for a D attack, are they?"

"No. They're not. By the way, what is this 'D' talk? When did the Demons become D's? I must have missed that memo."

"I never really liked the term 'Demons'," Tara said. "It makes them sound too scary; it may frighten the population. I think if we start using the term D, it may catch on and people will start thinking of them as the D and not the Demons."

Dragon smiled, grimly. "All right, send me the memo. I'll spread it around. But as far as passing our intel to the Gulf states, I don't know. Let's see what happens. Are we going to send Legion troops to defend the Gulf?"

"I don't know, Dragon. I sure don't want to. But the Gulf is uncomfortably close to the Outvac. And, as you point out, the Gulf states sure aren't going to do anything to defend themselves."

"That's a ten. It's always up to us, isn't it? All right, we'll see what happens."

Δ

"Prophet, I believe I've collected all the info that we can realistically glean from the public records on Quatar 8," the Professor said. He was at his desk in his cube. He had his own office now. He was keeping very busy with both the Demons and the ship, but his private problem was tops on his list.

"Is that Household Industries?" I asked, leaning over his desk to examine a floor plan of a large building.

"That's it. Quatar is an independent world, surviving on free trade. They're outside Gassies Coalition vac, not far from the beginning of the Outmark Neutral Zone. It's a relatively sane government, but they tolerate anything that makes money and does not lead to interference from other states. They don't want trouble from the Gassies Coalition, the Asumara Holy Commune, or ConFree – all of which are not far off. At the same time, they tolerate slavery. They discourage active slave raids and won't let pirates set up shop there, but buying and selling slaves does not bother them at all. Hence Household Industries. It's still there – and quite prosperous. "

"Do you think she's in that building?"

"No. The sales occur there, but the girls aren't there. I haven’t been able to find where they keep them. That will be very closely held."

"Do you think she's still there?"

"I don't know."

"So how should we approach this?"

"Well. I've found that the most obvious and direct approach often works. Not always – but often enough to be tempting."

"You mean – we kick in the door and start killing people until we get what we want?"

"No. I mean we ask for what we want."

"Won't that appear suspicious?"

"Oh, we don’t use a name. We specify what we are looking for. They call it Household Industries because you are allegedly looking for household helpers, and they supply them. It's all quite legal, on Quatar. Should you display interest in young females, age about thirteen, who happen to be medically certified virgins, they show the customer a sales brochure that includes all available household helpers who meet those requirements. And I'll bet there are not a lot of medically certified virgins. And the sales price will be high enough so that only the super-rich can afford her. Perhaps it means she will still be there, waiting for the right wealthy customer."

"You've thought it all out, Prof. But how are we going to do it? Quatar is on the other side of the inhabited galaxy from Pandaravos. I doubt the Legion will give either of us leave, or transportation. Your role here is critical. Can we get ConFree to raid Quatar to free those slaves?"

"I don't think that is likely to happen, Prophet. Household Industries is not a pirate base, it’s a legitimate business on Quatar, located right downtown in Star City, the capital. I think we must be more subtle than that. My plans are not complete. I'm not sure how we can do this, but I will let you know if I come up with a solution."

"I'll be thinking too, Prof. Although I believe your brain is more likely to come up with a solution than mine."

Δ

The more I thought about it, the less possible the Quatar mission appeared. Sitting there by myself in the crowded mess hall, staring at my untouched lunch, the situation appeared impossible. The Prof was now one of the most important people in Site S and Site S's mission was critical for the future of ConFree. The Prof had created an asset in Louie, and Louie had opened the ship for us and now he was chattering like a parrot, telling our scientists and techs all about the ship, the controls, Dimension X, the history of the Demon-Brights conflict, and seemingly everything he knew. He had been given a very large and luxurious living suite, and was being treated like a king. And now, on the very brink of success, Prof is going to ask for official leave to shoot off to the other side of the galaxy for a personal mission? No, that seemed very unlikely. And he certainly couldn't just disappear for a week or so from this top-secret installation – chances are high people would notice.

"Prophet, do you have a frac?" Ice stood before me, beaming. She was positively glowing – I had never seen her so happy.

"Um, yeah, sure. What's up, Ice?"

"Follow me," she said.

She led me to another table where Kwan was sitting, sipping at his tea. Oh no, I thought. Now what? Kwan shot to his feet and stood at attention.

"Prophet!" he said. "I wish to thank you, with all my heart, for what you have done for me and for my wonderful Ice who is the heart of my heart and my adorable angel. Without you, we would both still be walking in darkness and loneliness. With your help, we have found each other and are facing a glorious future! We both thank you and our future descendants thank you!"

"Oh. That's quite all right, Kwan. I mean, I'm glad I could help." I gave Ice a what-the-hell look.

"Sit down, Prophet, sit down," Ice said. "I told Kwan everything. He wanted to punch you in the nose for making me cry, so I told him it was all a story you had devised to help us get together. Now we love each other so much, you can't believe it, I never believed in true love before but I sure do now, Kwan is wonderful, he's so nice, he's such a gentleman, he treats me so nice, he's so considerate, he makes me feel so special, I know I'll never meet anybody else like him, I can hardly believe it, and it’s all because of you, you're so special I don’t know what to say except thank you thank you thank you thank you, oh! I think I'm going to cry again."

"Please don’t, Ice. Seeing you cry is kind of scary. Also, I don't want Kwan to punch me in the nose."

Δ

Well, I was certainly spreading happiness and making new friends. I knew a lot of people who would want to help me, and help the Prof. But this was an unusual situation. I considered everybody. It turned out that Kwan worked for Assidic intel, and had good contacts. I seriously considered asking him for help. But the Prof himself was the squad's own intel guy, and he had excellent access to all sorts of wonderful info and resources from Galactic Info. But none of that was going to get him approval to disappear from Site S. The Legion was busy trying to save ConFree and didn't have time for family reunions.

I visited Bird's cube overlooking the saucer, which was now swarming with scientists, theoreticians and techs. He looked up from a giant stack of printouts.

"Prophet! How are you?"

"Fine. I'm fine. Looks like you're busy."

"Not too busy for you, my friend. Want some dox? What's cookin'?" He tossed me a fresh dox cup without asking for an answer. He knew my answer would always be yes. I popped the top and took a sip of the wonderful, steaming brew.

"It's the Professor. I'm trying to figure out how we can help him. You know he thinks he knows where his daughter is?"

"Yeah, he told me. Frankly – I don't know. They say slaves move fast. She might be there. Or she might not."

"Do you have any ideas – on how we could help him?"'

"Well, I told him I'd help him any way I can. But that's not the problem. The problem is he's one of the key guys in Site S – maybe
the
key guy – and I don’t think anybody's going to sign off on letting him take off for the Gassies on a risky personal mission from which he may not return. No matter how much we sympathize. "

"Yeah, I know. That's the problem."

"Be realistic, Prophet. Do you think she's still there? Even if he succeeds in getting there, is he going to find her? He tried that on Drusweaven, and it didn't work. She was gone."

"But – if – just if – we are able to set up this mission, can you help?"

"I said I can help. Sure! For the Prof, anything."

"What's anything?"

"I can get him transport – a starship."

"A starship!"

"Sure. My personal ship. It'll take him right there."

"You have a personal starship?" I was stunned.

"Yes, I do. And a downside shuttle – if it's a covert mission we can use a Tri-Ark."

"What's a Tri-Ark?"

"It's my own design. A Tri-Ark can cruise the vac, atmosphere, and water – on or under. It's completely cloaked. Basically it's a spy ship. The Galactic Info folks love it."

"Good lord! How can you get one of those?"

"I've already got it. It's mine."

"Yours? How did that happen?"

"Prophet. I designed it. I manufacture them. The first one was for my personal use."

"But – but – where is this starship? Where is the Tri-Ark?"

"Oh, they're both on Quaba. But that doesn't matter. If I call, they'll come here. But look, this doesn't solve the problem. Our whole effort here now revolves around the Prof and his Demon. The future of ConFree – hell, the future of humanity, maybe. Who can sign off on that? It's above my pay grade, that's for sure."

Δ

"Ah, Professor. You wanted to see me?" Ambassador Wester was behind his desk, clad in Legion dress black as usual.

"Yes sir." The Professor stood at attention.

"Well, have a seat. What can I do for you?"

"I'd rather stand, sir. It's about my daughter."

"Yes, I've heard. I'm sorry about that, Professor. It must be heartbreaking for you. The Ringgold Incident was a disgrace for Fleetcom and several officers paid for it with their careers. But of course – you've lost a lot more than they have."

"I think I know where she is, sir."

"Quatar, is it? Yes, I've heard. Do you know for sure she is there? Do you know for sure she is alive?"

"No to both, sir. But she was there. And may be there still."

"I see. And why have you come to me?"

"If you can grant me leave, sir, I can be there and back within a week. I'll use no Legion resources. I'll do it all on my own. If you can spare me. Sir."

Wester looked down at his desk. "You may not have heard, Professor, but you are about to receive a field commission to captain. Your accomplishments here have been extraordinary. You created Louie. And your creation is teaching us all the secrets of the ship. You are the most important player in this research project, which is critical to the survival of ConFree. We are now at a crucial phase of this project. The Demons may attack at any time. And we must be ready for them. Those are facts. Do you agree?"

"Yes sir." It was almost a whisper.

"And you want leave."

"Yes sir."

"For something that may or may not work out."

"Yes sir."

Wester was silent for some time. He was gazing into space.

"Looking at it from my point of view, Professor," he finally said, "you're certainly indispensable. You've done everything for us. You may already have won the war for us. I have a friend who tells me 'do the right thing'. Well, that's what I'm going to do. How can I say no to you? You've got leave for as long as you need it. Go find your daughter. And you can use whatever Legion resources you need. Tell them Ambassador Wester authorized it. May Deadman bless you." And he made the sign of the Legion.

Δ

"The man's a saint," the Professor said. He was talking about Ambassador Wester. We were in the personal yacht
Voodoo Honey
, which was Bird's private starship. Bird was being very helpful. We had just exited stardrive on track to Quatar 8. It had been a long star hop. The planet was visible ahead of us, a lovely blue-green orb streaked with white clouds, sunlight glinting off grey oceans.