Torian Reclamation 3: Test of Fortitude (4 page)

Interstellar digital banking, however, was another matter entirely. Networks could not be synched thousands of light years away. This required interstellar space travel to accomplish. The member worlds of the new Erobian mark were only too willing to comply. One ship travelling from one banking center to another would bring the required broadcast which updated the financial networks.

From what Brandon had been told, there were already at least two additional cooperative banking centers in operation out there among the stars somewhere, in addition to this one on Amulen. One of them was supposedly a venture that four different races collaborated on. It was said to be built at an abandoned space station orbiting a dead moon in the Noor system, about 1500 light years away. That project, at least, seemed to support Belle-ub’s contention that a common financial system would stem the tides of interstellar conflict. Brandon suspected it would bring new unforeseen problems as well.

But where all this was eventually headed he had no idea. Whether it was good or not, he couldn’t tell. If a unified interstellar currency did proliferate, it would likely be the gateway for galactic commerce. Maybe that’s what Belle-ub ultimately had in mind—capitalism on the grandest of scales.

For the present time, such a concept was hindered by the fact hitherto interstellar travel was strictly controlled by the military/political powers of the Erobian Sphere. The science which made interstellar travel possible was a serious undertaking, and rightfully the upper calling of all advanced civilizations. Brandon had a difficult time envisioning private enterprise ventures acquiring the necessary technology for gallivanting about the galaxy in pursuit of personal enrichment.

But as he exited the exchange building and took another look at the ragtag barter exchange outside of it, he knew such a thing might not be that far off. Governments required funding, and the better-run ones were cognizant of the necessity of being self-sufficient. An efficient government is one that provides for itself without becoming a burden on its economy. If things kept going the way they seemed to be, a wise government somewhere might soon make itself a minor partner with savvy businessmen and send them out into the galaxy to trade, perhaps providing the necessary technical support and military protection as their role in the operation.

There were several aliens walking through the outdoor marketplace. One table in particular seemed to be drawing some attention. Brandon decided to walk over and see what was happening.

The Amulite running the table was dull-skinned and appeared to be suffering from an injury, as his right arm hung motionless at his side. His left one made up for it, though, waving about with much life as he spoke to the several potential customers before him. Brandon’s arrival only invigorated him further. There were some penned animals behind him, including a large cage that obviously contained the main attraction. It’s what everyone was looking at.

At first Brandon thought there were three large snakes in the cage, but then he realized they all came together into a single body. So it was like a wingless three-headed dragon, except the body separated again, this time into two snake-like portions, before joining together again. The end of it was one long tail.

But the remarkable thing was the way it moved. It seemed to be able to defy gravity. Closer examination revealed that it climbed on itself, quickly. So quickly, in fact, that it was able to push the upper portions of itself up off the lower portions before the lower portions fell, and then pull the lower portions up from the momentum and repeat. Rarely did the tail fall back to the bottom of its cage for ground support. It was almost like hovering without wings.

The native behind the table wasn’t trying to sell an exotic pet. He was pitching the meat.

“The Jujacians are among the healthiest species in the known galaxy,” he said, “because they include just a small amount of this meat in their diet. It is a highly-concentrated protein with a microscopic fat content. Taste for yourselves.”

The Amulite then distributed a small piece of dried meat to everyone before the table. As Brandon chewed, the alien next to him turned and spoke.

“You’re an Earthling, aren’t you?”

Brandon nodded, not usually so rude as not to answer verbally but his mouth was full. The meat wasn’t tender. Nor was it the tastiest thing he had ever sampled.

“Can I take your picture?” he asked.

Brandon nodded again. He didn’t recognize this species, but his speech translated pleasantly. His skin was tan and thick, but not leathery like Torian skin, except for where it rumpled up around his facial features. That’s probably why his clothes were made of thin material. There were defined patches of hair on the top and sides of his head, which complimented his large eyes and wide nose. Brandon liked him for some reason.

“Thanks.” The alien pointed a small tubular object at him, then at the cage with the strange Jujacian creature, then at the rest of the dried meat on the table. After that, he took out a different kind of a scanning device and waved it around the table.

“What are you doing?” The Amulite trader said. “Don’t record data on my merchandise! Leave, please!”

The alien apologized and began walking off. Brandon followed him.

“Tulros,” Brandon said coming up alongside him. “My name is Brandon Foss. Sorry I didn’t speak back there. My mouth was full, and my jaws aren’t made to handle meat of such toughness.”

The alien laughed. “Tulros. My name is Trodenjo, from Mpar. My vessel is The Measure. I agree the meat wasn’t savory. But it was nowhere near as brittle as some I’ve tasted.”

“I’ve never met an Mparian before. You’re here to change currency?”

“No,” Trodenjo said. “I came down here to browse the barter area. We’re cataloging potential trade goods and always looking for interesting items. Jujac is unreceptive to foreign visitors, so I probably shouldn’t have scanned the serpent meat and upset your fellow Torian back there. Please accept my apology. It isn’t likely to find demand in a foreign market, anyway. Abnormally lean meats aren’t all that rare, and only tend to appeal to a minority in most cultures.”

“Your government is interested in importing food?” Brandon asked.

Trodenjo shook his head. “Our own world prides itself on self-sufficiency, thus we have little interest in a foreign food supply. Also, exotic animal importations are strictly prohibited on Mpar. As I said, it was a mistake for me to attempt to catalogue the meat. There isn’t much else in that marketplace at the moment. Brandon, did you say? Do you mind if I ask a few questions about your race?”

“Not at all. As long as you don’t get any ideas about purchasing humans. Although, the atmospheric conditions on Mpar are probably more suitable for our species than those on this planet.”

The Mparian was interested in learning everything he could about Earthlings, so Brandon went on to explain the basic history of the Torian human population. Trodenjo was so fascinated by it that Brandon had no opportunity to learn about Mpar in return. It was regrettable. Trodenjo was an interesting being, and Brandon had many questions about the nature of Mpar’s importation endeavors. It was exactly the kind of thing he imagined happening once governments in the Erobian Sphere began seeking interstellar trade relations.

But Brandon didn’t have time to question him right now. He politely excused himself at the first natural opportunity and began walking towards the stadium entrance. Brandon had an appointment to keep, and some last-minute mental drills to run through.

Brandon decided to stop trying to rehearse what he would say. This would, in all likelihood, be an unpredictable proceeding with a rapid exchange of accusations. The best preparation was to come with a sharp mind that could improvise and react without sidetracking into anything sounding like a prepared speech. A wise man uses his ears more than his mouth.

Slightly more relaxed, Brandon leaned over the balcony railing and forced himself to think about other things. His eyes fell upon the huge polwar contraption in the middle of the field. Hard to believe that thing drew more than two dozen alien races here annually, all of them hoping for the chance to see their home champion play on it in the finals.

Next to it were the semi-finals games sets, both of which had been enlarged since the inaugural event five years ago. Jumper was, of course, correct that he had done well to get that far in the second annual tournament. Only there was something not quite right about the way he lost that game. Brandon could sense that Alan and even Kayla felt it, too—although Kayla was at least as happy as Brandon to see Jumper give up polwar afterwards. Admittedly, it wasn’t like he had much choice. All remaining Earthlings had moved to Banor where the game was still banned, and taking the public shuttle to the other planet to satisfy a game addiction was too pathetic for even Jumper to attempt to justify. So the Torian human population, at least, was mostly safe from the cursed thing for the time being.

That did nothing to curb Jumper and Alan’s appetite for the outdoors. Brandon could relate, as he used to be something of a hiking enthusiast himself. But he didn’t fully trust those two to always use wise precaution in staying safe. The manner in which they tended to satisfy their getaway urges often bordered on recklessness.

And now they felt they needed an adventure-style vacation away from Banor, which they were bored with. How two youths could get bored with a whole planet was beyond Brandon’s ability to understand, but he knew there was no way to talk Jumper out of something once he got it stuck in his head. Amulen was still a dangerous place for extended backpacking trips in the wilderness. Brandon would have to come up with something for Jumper and Alan to do that would scratch their itch while keeping them from really scratching their itch.

“We’re ready for you now.”

Brandon turned around. One of Belle-ub’s two assistants stood in the council room entryway. His dark red cloak covered most of his head. Show time. Brandon followed him inside. As soon as he entered, Belle-ub announced him from his throne-like perch on the far side of the room. He and his other assistant both wore their hoods as well.

“The chair recognizes Brandon Foss, here to discuss the reestablishment of an Earthling representative to this council.”

There was warmth in Belle-ub’s voice. Brandon knew Belle-ub would be thrilled if Brandon actually became a councilmember. He regretted having to disappoint him with this deceitful act, but there were more important issues at hand.

Brandon scanned the table. There he was in the middle. Their eyes met and locked. Although he knew better than to allow it, Brandon could feel the hatred in his own eyes build simultaneously with Markin1’s.

Brandon immediately walked to the back side of the table. Markin1 didn’t sit for it and sprang to his feet before Brandon reached him, looking fully prepared to defend himself.

“Chairman, I must protest the heretical admission of this Earthling,” Markin1 said in a voice that nearly shook the window panes. “How is it this one was selected? Was there due process, such as an election on Banor?”

Brandon stopped inches from Markin1, never taking his eyes off him. He heard the other councilmembers shuffle in their chairs. Everyone seemed to realize something off the agenda was taking place.

“Do you two have a prior history the rest of us should know about?” Belle-ub asked from his elevated seat. Brandon answered him in a tone matching the volume and austerity of Markin1’s.

“Your C2 representative intentionally poisoned a significant number of Earthlings. Despite our best efforts, eighteen of them are still in cryonic preservation at a Science Complex lab and cannot be resuscitated as a result. He claims to have the antidote, but refuses to disclose it. Which makes him no different than a murderer, in essence.”

The room came alive with murmuring. Brandon saw Belle-ub stand from the corner of his eye, but he would not look away from Markin1.

“Your species is insolent and I highly regret any of you ever escaping,” Markin1 gnarled.

Brandon replied with one word: “Murderer.”

Markin1 seemed to realize his argument was not really with Brandon at this point, and looked up to Belle-ub.

“His antics are, as usual, exaggerated and uncalled for. No Earthlings have died at my hand. In fact, the only reason any of them are still alive is because they were under my care. If there are additional problems with those still in the cryonic network, it is not to my knowledge. We remain locked out of that facility, since it has been encroached and booby-trapped by the Earthling’s coconspirators.”

“Thirty additional years now,” Brandon said. “Thirty more years these eighteen humans have been cruelly kept in this Erob-forsaken state, only because of this Amulite’s vicious sabotage, when all other such evil research projects were terminated long ago.”

“Comrades,” Belle-ub said.

Markin1 turned back to Brandon. “And twenty-five years of my life was stolen when you and your group of insurgents committed a treacherous attack and left me in comatose. Me! A native on his home planet, a recognized scientist and director working in his own laboratory! Any chance you had of soliciting my help was forever incinerated at that foolish—”