The Ascendant Stars - Michael Cobley [134]
And here I am, Greg thought. Trouble is, the Vox Humana admiral is now making the same demand since she finds communications with the Imisil ‘lacking in due courtesy’. Hell’s teeth, what does she want – missives written on parchment and hand-delivered by forelock-tugging peons?
Braddock came forward to shake hands, then gestured Greg and Berg towards the table. Braddock, a wiry man slightly shorter than Greg, had an intense air about him. His dark hair was regulation bristle-short, and his complexion was sallow coupled with a pitted coarseness that could have come from a skin condition. His eyes were bright and seemed to miss nothing.
But now I have to find out what you want.
Seated opposite the man, Greg smiled but before he could begin the Tygran spoke first.
‘Mr Cameron, before we begin I’d better tell you that Lieutenant Ash has briefed me on your background so I understand that you don’t really speak for the colonial government.’
‘There isn’t really a colonial government to speak of at the moment,’ Greg said.
‘And yet you have a certain position, a status that gives your opinions weight and impact, yes?’
Greg frowned. That might be true, considering what I’ve been through … aye, but I’m not alone in that.
‘Maybe so,’ he said. Then a thought struck him. ‘Are you looking for political asylum?’
‘That is our favoured option,’ Braddock said. ‘And not just for me and my crew but also for many of my fellow Tygrans who are now seeking a new home.’
Lieutenant Berg had been tight-lipped up to now but suddenly he leaned forward.
‘Are you referring to ordinary citizens back on Tygra, Nightwalker?’
Braddock stared at Berg. ‘Yes, Stormlion, that is the case.’
‘Why?’
‘You should know – the story goes that Gideon’s crew were the first to view the Rawlins testament, and now you’ve secured yourself a pleasant bolthole on this world.’ Braddock shifted his gaze back to Greg. ‘When you see this ship and its crew in action you’ll realise that we are at least as deserving of asylum as those who arrived earlier … ’
‘Have a care, Nightwalker,’ said Berg, rising from his chair. ‘As I speak, my captain is on the planet’s surface, struggling against Brolturans and combat droids … ’
‘Whoa, wait just a minute, the pair of ye!’ Greg grabbed Berg by the shoulder and firmly pulled him back into his seat while Braddock settled back into his. ‘Right, I don’t know what kind of competitive sports thing this is all about but get this into your heads – there’s an almighty drittstorm heading our way and nobody’s getting anything if we go under. And before we go any further I’d like to know a bit more about this Rawlins testament … ’
Braddock turned to one of his officers, who produced a flat black datapad from a document case and passed it over. Braddock thumbed a control at one of the corners and a thinscreen extruded from one of the sides. ‘I thought you might like to see this,’ he said, turning the screen to face Greg.
As he watched, an elderly Tygran officer introduced himself as Captain Rawlins. He went on to summarise the official history of how the early Tygran colonists vied with a native sentient species, the Zshahil, and how forty years of friction and confrontation led to war. The war culminated in the surrender of the defeated native tribes and their en masse migration to a less hospitable equatorial landmass across a narrow sea. Then Rawlins began to uncover the true history. His report had been recorded outdoors, at a ruined coastal port from which the Zshahil were supposed to have sailed. Greg saw Rawlins use scanning equipment to reveal numerous burial pits around the port, and a digging machine to bring up soil-caked clumps of non-Human bones. Finally, after he arrived at a rough tally in excess of a quarter of a million, Rawlins’s report