Timothy Zahn - Judgment at Proteus

What the tourists didn’t know, but Bayta and I did, was that they weren’t simple rock formations. They were, instead, the hidden resting place of three ancient Shonkla-raa warships.

The ten-meter spikes were the clue that had finally tipped me off when Bayta and I had first been here. Cozying the main body of a huge ship right up against the Thread would be risky; cozying the end of a ten-meter spike, not nearly so much.

I thought about the ships as we flew across the Veerstu landscape. They’d obviously been there since before the Shonkla-raa were destroyed sixteen hundred years ago, presumably stashed away as part of some military strategy the slavemasters had never gotten a chance to use. Sixteen hundred years was a long time, and the question on everyone’s mind was almost certainly whether or not they still worked.

For me, the question wasn’t even worth pondering. The Lynx/Viper/Hawk trinary weapons that the Modhri had been digging up the last time we were here were from that same era, and they had certainly been functional. So were the handful of kwis the Chahwyn had found. I had no doubt that the warships were just as functional. And even more deadly.

Bayta had wanted to destroy the ships as soon as she learned about them. I had talked her out of it, warning that letting the Modhri even suspect their existence might prove fatal somewhere down the line.

Now, because of me, the Modhri knew about the ships. Now, also because of me, the entire future of the galaxy was resting on a knife’s edge.

A couple of hours before sundown, we reached the Ten Mesas.

The last time we’d been here, the Modhri had had a full-blown archaeological dig set up in the middle of the area, complete with dozens of tents of various sizes, paths with nighttime guide lights, sanitation facilities, and lots of ground vehicles. After we chased them out, I’d expected the Nemuti would move in and dismantle the facility.

Only they hadn’t. If anything, the encampment was bigger and more elaborate than ever. Apparently, I’d overestimated the value of the Ten Mesas as a pristine tourist destination.

I was bringing us around in a leisurely curve to the west when I spotted the tunnel that had been dug into the western slope of the southernmost warship’s burial mound.

Bayta spotted it the same time I did. “Frank?” she asked, pointing.

“I see it,” I said, trying to make out the details through the shimmer from the low sunlight on the field of swaying brown grass. “McMicking?”

“Got it,” he said, and I glanced over my shoulder to see that he’d already pulled out his rifle scope and was peering through it. “Looks Human-sized, as opposed to vehicles or rolling carts. Wood or ceramic framing, probably the latter. Floor appears to be dirt.”

“How far does it go?” I asked.

“Three or four meters at least,” McMicking said. “That’s as far in as I can see.”

I frowned. The plan had been for the team to play it coy, create something that looked like a staging area, and try to draw the attention of the enemy, who were surely on Veerstu and aware of their presence by now. The idea had no t been to give the enemy any inkling that the warships were right here in the Ten Mesas region, and especially not that they were buried under the mesas themselves.

Had the Shonkla-raa already made their move? I’d expected Riijkhan to at least wait until Bayta and I arrived. “Is anyone moving out there?” I asked.

There was a soft click as McMicking switched the scope to infrared. “Got a foxhole sentry line,” he said. “Heat shields ready but not deployed.”

“Any signs of visitors?”

“Nothing showing outside the perimeter,” he said. “Could be hiding behind the mesas we didn’t pass.”

“Maybe,” I said, the uneasy feeling growing stronger. I would have sworn we’d anticipated all of the Shonkla-raa’s possible gambits. Was there one we’d missed? “What about the tents?”

“Afternoon deserts are hard to read,” McMicking said. “But it looks like only a few of the smaller ones are occupied, again mostly around the perimeter. Most of the heat’s coming from the two big tents in the middle.”

I exhaled loudly. That could be the Hardin team, the Shonkla-raa, the Hardin team plus Shonkla-raa prisoners, or the Shonkla-raa plus Hardin team prisoners. With all the heat confusion out there, and my strict order to maintain radio silence, there was no way to find out which except to go in and take a look for ourselves. “Okay,” I said as I straightened out of my curve and started us inward. “Let’s go see what we’ve got.”

A few Humans appeared from the outer tents as we neared the encampment, shading their eyes as they watched our approach. As we passed the outer perimeter three men emerged from the two large tents: Morse and two of the team leaders. The team leaders, like the others we could see, had stripped down to their armored jumpsuits. Morse, like us, was in full gear, complete with vest and gun belt.

He spotted us against the low sun and lifted his own rifle scope to his eye. I waved through the windshield, and he lowered the scope and pointed to an open spot beside the spot where he and the team leaders were standing. Giving the distant mesa to the east one final look, I brought the aircar in and set it down.

Morse came over as I popped the door, the two team leaders beside him. “Welcome to Proteus,” Morse greeted me, his voice slurred a little.

“Thank you,” I said, frowning. Morse’s cheeks seemed to be sagging, and there was something odd about his eyes and voice.

But there was no sign of the Shonkla-raa command tone. Could the strain on his face be due to the heat?

It was only as Morse’s hand dropped to his Beretta that I noticed the small earpiece nestled in his left ear. His ear, and the ears of the two men beside him. “McMicking!” I snapped, snatching out my Glock.

I was bringing the weapon to bear on Morse when the tent door behind him opened and a stream of jumpsuited men and woman strode out into the sunlight, all of them moving in the same rigid lockstep. “You wish to shoot them?” Morse asked, his voice still slurred. “Please—indulge yourself. They’re all unarmed.” In an almost leisurely manner he drew his gun and pointed it at the sky. “Or shoot me. I won’t even shoot back.”

I sighed. How the hell had the Shonkla-raa pulled this one off? “You know, I really thought you’d at least wait until I got here,” I commented.

Morse lowered his gun and twitched it to the side. “Outside, all of you,” he ordered. His eyes flicked to the two defenders hunched down in the rear of the aircar. “The Spiders too.”

“Bayta, give them the order,” I said grimly, holstering the Glock and popping my restraints. “McMicking, just play it cool.”

“One at a time,” Morse said, lowering his Beretta again. “You first, Compton.”

I climbed out onto the sand. The desert air was shimmering with heat, and I could feel sweat popping out all over my skin as the two team leaders silently relieved me of my vest and gun belt. Morse ordered me to the front of the aircar, then gestured to McMicking.

A minute later McMicking was standing beside me, his own arsenal also confiscated. Bayta was next, and then Morse watched closely as she directed Sam and Carl outside and sent them to the rear of the vehicle. “What happens next?” I asked when we were all finally lined up where Morse wanted us.

Morse shook his head. “You are indeed a fool, Compton—”

“—if you have not already guessed,” a new voice finished the sentence from behind Morse.

And the door of the big tent opened again and Osantra Riijkhan stepped into view.