A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [31]
So, with no better option available, he told the truth.
“When I came on duty,” he said, “I did as I always do-I checked the log of the previous shift. Naturally, I was eager to see how the conscription procedure had been carried out by my predecessor.”
“Your predecessor was not available to tell you himself?”
Dan’nor turned to the councillor who had asked. Since he had been addressed by another, it could no longer have been construed as an affront to Eliek’tos.
“No, Councillor. He had already left the station.” He recognized the man as Fidel’lic, the youngest one on the Council. And the cruelest, if there was any truth to the rumors.
“But if both of you were on schedule, that would not have happened. Correct?”
“Correct, Councillor.”
“Then which of you was taking liberties-you or he?”
Dan’nor didn’t hesitate. “He was, Councillor. He left before he was scheduled to.”
Fidel’lic turned to Eliek’tos. “Is this true?”
Eliek’tos nodded.
“And what about his crew?” asked Fidel’lic, still addressing his fellow councillor. “They left early as well?”
Eliek’tos nodded again.
“It was not unusual,” offered Dan’nor, recognizing the other facilitator’s laxity as a way out. Of course, he could never have raised the issue himself-for the same reason he couldn’t have blamed his own crew. But since the Council had brought it up, it was a different matter entirely. “They often take it upon themselves to…”
Fidel’lic turned his gaze in Dan’nor’s direction. He stopped in mid-sentence.
“You will speak,” said the councillor, “when you are given leave to do so.”
The Fulfillment Facilitator felt himself flush with the rebuke.
“Once again,” said Eliek’tos, as if the interruption had never occurred, “the record bears this out. Despite the fact that a conscription had been completed in the course of their shift, the day crew left before the proper time.”
Fidel’lic sat back in his seat. “Amazing.” He turned to Dan’nor again. “And you have never reported this before now?”
“But I have,” protested Dan’nor.
“Once again,” said Eliek’tos, “true.” He waited a moment, in case Fidel’lic had any more questions. When it was plain he did not, he gestured for Dan’nor to resume his account.
Despite his indiscretion, he went on with a little more confidence. After all, he had survived the first volley.
“The log told me that the conscripted vessel had been emptied of all useful occupants. But when I consulted with the computer, it showed that the vessel was still intact. Moreover, I had life-sign readings. Eight individuals still aboard.”
“And what did you make of this?” asked Eliek’tos.
“My best guess,” said Dan’nor, “was that these eight had gone undetected in our initial scan-something that has happened before, when one of the alien alloys used in a ship’s construction serves to shield occupants from our sensors. Instances of this should also be in your records.”
“Go on,” said Eliek’tos-with perhaps a touch of impatience.
“That seemed to explain why the ship had not yet been disposed of. The computer had detected additional conscriptable life-forms after the initial transport procedure was complete. This triggered the contingency protocol, which in turn prevented the vessel’s destruction.”
“And believing this,” said Eliek’tos, “you beamed down the eight occupants.”
“That is correct, Councillor.” Dan’nor’s mouth felt dry, as dry as dust-but he resisted the impulse to lick his lips.
Again, that derisive snort. “Then you were never aware of the larger ship? The one those eight occupants apparently came from?”
The question had come from Orian’tuc. He was easily the eldest of the councillors, and the only one whose pale, narrow countenance showed any signs of aging.
It was a crucial question. If Dan’nor had been derelict in anything, it was in this: that he had never thought to check for other vessels. It would have been so simple to widen the preset scan parameters-and yet it never occurred to him. He had been too preoccupied with the existence