The Spider and the Fly Read online

  ***

  Soren Foln took a deep breath as he stood before the doors to the Ecclesia. In his eighty-two years of life, he’d argued before dozens of similar conclaves. As a young man he’d served in the Nomari Assembly, the toothless legislature the scattered human colonies had created to try and hold the species together after the war. Later he’d been a part of Lord’s Council, a small and equally impotent body of the surviving leaders of the Keledonian Great Houses. And for most of his twilight years he had been one of the top advisors to the Mire leadership, right up until everyone else had been slaughtered on Mirador.

  But while all of those posts had involved plenty of politicking and scheming, none were as outright hostile as the collection of self-entitled apologists on the other side of this door. Most of the councilors were perfectly content to spend their lives hiding on this little island of theirs, completely oblivious to the concerns of the rest of the galaxy. They truly believed the Convectorate would never find them, and they might have even been right. Foln simply didn’t care.

  His grandfather, Krucius, had been fond of the old Krosian saying nruk todal: prey waits. He had always urged the Dominion to take decisive action against any threat, internal or external, and more often than not he’d been proven right. Soren Foln had adopted the same philosophy, and he’d spent his life waiting for the moment when he would finally be able to strike back against the Convectorate.

  And that moment was now, no matter what the fools here chose to believe.

  The double doors to the Ecclesia slid open, and he strode confidently inside. He wasn’t sure how many of these aliens would pick up on the subtle nuances of human body language, but he couldn’t afford to take the risk of appearing weak to those who did. The bloodhawks would already be circling battlefield today, he knew, and he didn’t need to give them any more of an excuse to dive in for the kill.

  “Welcome home, Lord Foln,” Councilor Tavore sneered, her yellowish Neyris face scrunched in annoyance. It made her age lines appear even more pronounced than usual. “We’re honored that you’ve finally deigned fit to join us.”

  “I know you have concerns, and I’ll do what I can to alleviate them,” Foln replied. He and the others took a seat at the table positioned in front of the semi-circular bench where the five councilors were already seated. The arrangement had always made him feel more like he was on trial than speaking to a legislative body. Perhaps that was the intent.

  “We might as well get to the point,” Councilor Revask said in his gravelly Rakashi voice. “You brought two unknown, unapproved individuals to this sanctuary without first consulting the Council—both of whom are active enemy agents!”

  Foln swept his eyes across the table. The councilors might not have been experts on human body language, but he could read them all just fine. And it wasn’t just because of his extensive study of alien psychology; understanding history was enough. Of the five races represented on the so-called Nowhere Council, the two that had suffered the most under Dominion rule, Tavore the Neyris and Revask the Rakashi, were also the ones who had vehemently opposed the city’s alliance with the Mire. Those that hated the Convectorate, namely Urekal the Krosian and Gantrell’s daughter the fellow human, stood with him. And waiting patiently in the middle was Zalix the Thursk, whose people had learned to distrust everyone more or less equally.

  Foln wondered if they realized how pathetically predictable they were or how easy it made them to manipulate. Probably not. It was one of many reasons the Sarafan had found their races so easy to subjugate in the first place.

  “The last time my crew and I were here, we were given the impression that this city was about to suffer a crippling energy shortage,” he said. “A shortage brought about by a growing nonhuman population and a distinct lack of psionic power sources.”

  “Don’t even bother trying that,” Revask hissed. “You didn’t bring Vale here to be a battery—you believe you can twist her into another weapon like Coveri.”

  “And what would be the problem with that, exactly?” Urekal asked, his bellowing voice echoing off the chamber walls. “Coveri has proven his usefulness and loyalty to us many times over in the past few years.”

  “Perhaps, but he also sought out the Mire and joined them willingly. Vale did not.” Revask turned back to the rest of the Council, his eyes glimmering. “In fact, if I remember correctly, she is the same woman Coveri gave a chance to defect with him years ago…and she refused.”

  “She did,” Markus admitted, “but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t sympathetic to our cause. Given some time and exposure to our way of life, I believe she’ll come around.”

  “You believe,” Tavore nearly spat. “And what if she doesn’t? What if all you’ve done is bring a powerful and dangerous telepath right into the heart of our sanctuary? What if she is able to send our location to the Convectorate? You’ve explained to us numerous times how the Spiders operate and how the Widow can communicate with her agents across the galaxy.”

  “The suppression collar will neutralize her psionic abilities,” Henri assured them, his voice strained with impatience. He had about as much tolerance for politics as Grier—which was to say, none. “There’s no way for Vale to communicate with anyone outside this city, telepathically or otherwise.”

  “So you claim, but you are asking thousands of people to trust their lives on your word.”

  The doctor grunted. “I submitted my designs to your engineers almost two months ago. They’ve had plenty of opportunity to review the schematics. I’m not sure what else you expect us to do.”

  “You could try asking permission before putting the city at risk next time,” Revask replied tartly. “As difficult as that seems to be for you.”

  Foln lowered his eyes and tried not to laugh. He wondered dimly what his ancestors would have thought sitting here listening to these aliens and their abject terror of human potential. Many of them were convinced that a single Sarafan could somehow conquer the entire galaxy with his mind. If only that were really true.

  “Look, the collar works just fine,” Markus said. “I helped him design the thing, if you recall, and we’ve tested it numerous times.”

  “Regardless, this decision was not yours to make,” Tavore put in. “You should have contacted us before bringing her here, and you didn’t.”

  Revask’s ears flicked forward, the Rakashi equivalent of a nod. “Agreed. Lord Foln and his allies have repeatedly demonstrated a flagrant disregard for our protocols, and it is time they suffer the consequences of their actions.”

  Urekal grunted. “And what punishment do you seriously propose we mete out? A night in the stockades? An exile from our illustrious paradise? Or maybe you just want to hit Foln with a shockstick yourself and be done with it.”

  “We’re not going to punish them,” Selaris said with surprising force, and everyone in the chamber turned to look at her. Given how overwhelmed she’d been at inheriting her father’s responsibilities, not to mention how much the other councilors intimidated her, it was a rare moment when she spoke up at all. “And this bickering isn’t helping anything.”

  “So once again Foln and the Mire flaunt their disobedience and suffer no consequences for doing so,” Revask grumbled. “I doubt your father would approve.”

  “My father is the only reason any of you are even here,” she snapped, her cheeks flushing red. “You should remember that.”

  “If all of you are quite done being overdramatic,” Zalix said, his bright gold mane rippling in annoyance at his colleagues, “none of this is relevant to our current predicament. Whether we like it or not, Agent Vale is here. The decision before us is what we should do about it.”

  “Keep her in a cell,” Tavore said flatly. “She is far too dangerous to leave roaming around the city, suppression collar or otherwise. Frankly, she might be too dangerous to leave alive.”

  Urekal turned to glare at her. “Since when do we casually execute our prisoners? I thought we weren’t the
Convectorate.”

  “No, they would have had the good sense not to bring an enemy agent right into the middle of their headquarters,” Revask quipped. “Tell me, Lord Foln, why is it that you didn’t simply take her to one of your other bases? The Mire has dozens of safe havens spread throughout the sector, and assuming you have kept your word, none of your agents there know this city even exists.”

  Tavore snorted. “Isn’t it obvious? He didn’t want to risk drawing the Spiders down on his own people. But he’s perfectly content to risk the lives of a bunch of ‘aliens.’”

  “Because we stand to gain more from her as an ally than as a mere prisoner,” Foln said, ignoring the obvious bait. He had to give the two of them credit—they were an effective tandem when they wanted to be. It reminded him of some of the joint-attacks he’d endured from the others lords during his tenure in the Lord’s Council. He’d managed to weather those, however, and he would do the same here. “And part of convincing her to support our cause is showing her our way of life and all we have accomplished.”

  “There is no ‘we’ here, Foln,” Revask growled. “This city was built long before you showed up.”

  “You’re quite right, Councilor, and that actually supports my point: Vale is convinced that everyone hiding from the Convectorate is a criminal or a terrorist. One look at all of this should do wonders in convincing her otherwise—assuming, of course, we don’t immediately lock her up and throw away the key.”

  “That is self-interest cleverly disguised as altruism,” Tavore said. “Vale will strengthen the human faction here and leave the rest of us even more dependent upon you.”

  “You’re already dependent upon us,” Selaris pointed out. “Without humans, this city wouldn’t even exist. You’d all be rotting in some Convectorate cell.”

  Revask’s ears flicked outwards and his eyes widened in that perfectly-practiced wounded expression he did so well. “So we should be your indentured servants forever, then?”

  Selaris’s cheeks flushed. “That’s not what I meant. I just think it wouldn’t kill some of you to remember how lucky you are.”

  “Yes, perhaps we should arrange a weekly service where we all kneel before our human benefactors and lavish praise upon them,” Tavore murmured. “Would that be sufficient, Your Highness? Or should we tidy your homes and clean your refreshers as well?”

  “That’s quite enough,” Zalix said, mercifully ending the young girl’s floundering. “Lord Foln’s point is a sound one: this city is rapidly approaching a critical juncture in our power consumption rates. We’ve already had to tighten energy rationing twice in the past three months. Another psychic, especially a fully-trained one, would go a long way in remedying that problem.”

  “Besides, we’re talking about more than just another battery,” Markus added. “With two of us working together, we could venture into normal space and rescue more Flies. We could bring those children here and train them ourselves.”

  It was, of course, the wrong thing to say, and Foln suddenly wished he’d come here alone. For all his psionic power and martial skill, Markus was still a child compared to him, especially when it came to politics. In one sentence he had just dropped the dalop ball on the ground, and Revask’s green, feline eyes glinted at the opportunity to pounce on it.

  “Train them for what, exactly?” the Rakashi asked. “To become our own personal Spiders? To create an army of human psychics to assault the Tarreen? Perhaps to resurrect the Sarafan right before our eyes?”

  Markus grimaced as he caught his mistake. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  “Isn’t it? Isn’t that the entire reason you’ve been training Lady Selaris and the other human potentials? Isn’t it the reason the Mire went after the Damadus in the first place? You were desperate to find a cure for the Pandrophage, and in case that doesn’t work out you decided to capture another psychic instead. Your intentions are clear.”

  “My intentions are to bring down the Convectorate,” Markus snapped. “That’s it. Vale could help us accomplish that.”

  The Rakashi’s eyes glinted again. “I’m sure she could. The question is what will happen afterwards.”

  “This speculation is pointless,” Zalix cut in with a wave of his giant paw. “Our focus must remain on the present.”

  He tossed a warning glare to each of the others in turn, but of course he knew the damage was done. Revask had succinctly played upon the latent fears of every non-human in this room, and while it might not change anything in the current discussion, he continued to lay the groundwork for the Council’s inevitable turn against the Mire.

  As a people, the Rakashi were known as conniving traders and shrewd politicians, and Revask obviously hadn’t lost those skills during his long exile from his home world. But that was all right. Foln hadn’t either, and whether these fools realized it or not, their part in this little drama was rapidly coming to an end.

  “Speaking of the present,” Urekal chimed in, “we must still decide what is to be done with them.”

  Zalix nodded. “Yes. I propose we move them to human residential quarters for the time being.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Tavore breathed.

  “They will be kept under close guard at all times, of course,” Zalix assured her. “This city was not founded under the principles of incarcerating anyone without cause.”

  “Vale is a Convectorate Spider!” Revask nearly shouted. “What other cause do we need?”

  “You really expect to convince her to join us by keeping her locked in a cell?” Markus asked.

  The Rakashi turned to glare down at him. “I couldn’t care less if she joins us or not. This is madness.”

  “I, for one, am not willing to condemn anyone so readily, Councilor,” Zalix said. “Not when there is so much to be gained.”

  “Nor am I,” Urekal said.

  “Nor I,” Selaris echoed.

  This time Foln allowed himself a thin smile. Revask and Tavore might have planted the seeds of doubt, but for now the Council was still on his side. And by the time that changed, it would no longer matter. He would have the cure to the Pandrophage, and from that point on the Mire would have no more need of this city or the alien dregs that called it home.

  The debate continued a few more minutes before finally sputtering out entirely, and the other councilors eventually dismissed themselves and returned to their homes. Selaris stayed put, and the moment they were alone she buried her face in her hands.

  “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “You need to learn that I can win arguments on my own, Your Highness,” Foln said, flashing his best grandfatherly smile. The girl had about as much political sense as a V’rath gladiator, but thankfully her youth made her malleable. “Revask knows exactly how to bait you.”

  “It’s not hard, apparently.” She balled her hands into fists on top of the table. “They’re just so frustrating. Why can’t they say what they mean?”

  “They do,” he told her, placing a hand on her arm. “You simply need to learn how to listen.”

  Selaris grunted. “I’m not sure I ever will. Maybe it would have been best if you’d left Vale on the Golem. You could have come here and given them time to adjust.”

  Foln shook his head. “It wouldn’t have mattered. Nothing I could have said would have convinced the others to change their minds. They will learn to live with it.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” she murmured. “And I guess there’s a chance the Spiders could always find her back in normal space.”

  “Yes, precisely,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. “You see, you understand better already.”

  Selaris flashed him a coy grin, and he returned it with one of his own. She wasn’t a stupid girl, by any means—she’d inherited a fair amount of her father’s natural cunning and reasoning ability—but she didn’t have nearly the same breadth of experience to draw upon as he or Foln or any of the others on th
e Council. It made her an effective puppet, like a glob of memory gel he could shape in any way he wished.

  Still, he didn’t envy her position. As if losing her father hadn’t been enough for a then-eighteen year-old to handle, she’d also nearly been destroyed by her powers. She’d spent most of her adolescence trapped in a hellacious telepathic nightmare brought about by her own untrained mind, and then not long after Markus had managed to break her out of it, Davin had unexpectedly succumbed to his Landai’s Syndrome.

  Now she’d been thrust onto the Council, doomed to forever live in her father’s shadow, and there were moments when Foln regretted having to manipulate her like this. She had considerable psychic potential, after all. According to Markus, her mind could eventually be even stronger than his, and that meant that she was one of humanity’s best potential weapons in the coming war against the Convectorate. Right now she was far more useful to him as a vote on the Council, however; her loyalty meant that as long as he didn’t upset Zalix, Revask and Tavore were powerless to stop him.

  Once they had the cure, perhaps he could release her from these duties and let her get back to her training. It would be one of many ways things would immediately change for the better.

  “Are you worried about how Revask’s supporters might react?” Selaris asked after a moment. “Once they hear that the Damadus has been discovered, I mean. They already believe that all the Mire wants is to resurrect the Sarafan, and if we find a cure for the Pandrophage…”

  “We’ll have to keep an eye on them, but I’m not overly worried about it,” Foln soothed. “Just like their councilor, their growl is stronger than their bite.”

  “I hope so,” she whispered. “I can’t imagine what father would think if I let his city erupt in civil war just months after he died.”

  Foln patted her on the shoulder and then strode over to one of the insignia hanging on the wall. It was a coat-of-arms from some Krosian family or another. Davin had cluttered the entire room with this junk in an effort to promote “diversity.” Right now just looking at it almost made Foln want to recoil in disgust.

  “When your father first brought me into this alliance, he warned me that not everyone would agree with his decision,” Foln said. “He went against the Council because he was tired of waiting, tired of hiding. He knew he had to take action if we ever wanted to rebuild what we’d lost.”

  He shook his head and turned back to face her. “He made the right choice, but he knew it wouldn’t be easy….and he knew we’d all have to stand together to make things right. The aliens will come around eventually, even if we have to give them a little push now and then.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Selaris said. “And I hope Markus is right about bringing this Vale woman to our side. She didn’t seem very interested in helping us. In fact, she was downright…caustic.”

  “It will take some time, and you need to be careful when you’re around her. She might not be able to use her powers, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t dangerous.”

  “I know, and I will. I’m surprised she had an alien partner, though. I didn’t realize Spiders worked in teams.”

  “Markus seemed surprised by that as well,” Foln said. “Perhaps he’s a slave or a servant. He seemed more impressed by the city than she was. But regardless, I’ll have my people keep an eye on Revask and his cronies to make sure they keep their distance. In the meantime, do what you can to make our new guests feel welcome.”

  “I will,” Selaris told him, smiling again. “But first I’d like to go and catch up with Markus.”

  “By all means,” he said. “I will speak with you tomorrow. Have a pleasant evening, Your Highness.”

  Foln offered the girl a half bow before slipping out of the room. He waited until he was past the Agora clear of any pedestrian traffic before pulling out his holopad and keying for Grier.

  “My lord,” she said as her face appeared on the screen.

  “The Council has agreed to release Vale and her partner for the time being.”

  “That’s…surprising. I would have figured they’d dig their heels in.”

  “They tried, but Zalix didn’t give them much choice in the matter. The Council will assign guards to keep an eye on them, and I’d like you to do the same.”

  Grier snorted. “I was going to do that anyway.”

  “Of course,” Foln replied with a knowing grin. “You and Markus can go ahead and move her into one of the open apartments in the human district. It’s probably best if the Kali stays with her for now.”

  “That would certainly make it easier to watch both of them,” she agreed. “Aren’t you worried how the locals will react? Revask’s supporters get bolder every time we return.”

  “I’m sure he’ll continue stirring that pot as much as he can.” Foln stopped and stared pointedly at her image. “That’s why I want you to personally ensure that none of his people harass them. We can’t afford to have an incident right now, not until Markus is finished with the crystals.”

  “I’ll make certain they don’t cause any trouble,” Grier assured him. “But what if Vale decides she wants to stop playing nice? She could inflict plenty of damage even with that collar.”

  “She’s a potential asset, but she’s not worth jeopardizing our greater plans. If she becomes a problem, you’re free to deal with it however you see fit. Just don’t make a scene.”

  “Markus won’t be happy about that.”

  “Markus will learn to live with it,” Foln said flatly, glancing up from the screen and making certain he was still alone. “Besides, once we have the cure, we won’t have need of him, either.”

  “Understood, my lord. Grier out.”

  He shut off the holopad and glanced over the nearest railing. A diverse mix of alien children played in the streets below, and their parents stood nearby and watched. It could have been a scene straight from the parks of Keledon before the war, at least on the surface. But no matter how similar to humanity many of these species claimed to be, they weren’t human. They were aliens, complete with alien agendas and alien thoughts. They could never be true allies.

  The Sarafan had known that. His grandfather had known that. Even Davin had known that. The Dominion hadn’t been about pointless subjugation; it had been about protecting human interests. The only way to do that was to take control, because what you could control couldn’t hurt you. Foln was certain the Hierarchy knew that too, but they simply lacked the power to run as tight a ship as the Dominion. It was one of many reasons that humans were more fit to rule.

  And soon, they would again. No matter the cost.