a vath-bird echoed through his office. That was the signal announcing that his assistant wished to speak to him.
Glad to have something else about which to think, he pressed the control on his pedestal to deactivate the security mechanisms. The door retracted and Dal-Vas knuckle-walked to the resting frame in front of Ssor-Fel’s desk.
“I have a report on the Vulcans, Hunt Master,” Dal-Vas began without preamble.
“Vulcans?” Ssor-Fel asked, searching his memory for the name. It was in there somewhere. Finally, he remembered. “Ah, yes. The species we have been unable to identify. Have you found them, yet?”
“No, Hunt Master. Their identity remains a mystery. However, I have more information about this Sar-Say who sprayed danger pheromone over their trade goods.”
“Yes?”
“Sar-Say is a minor functionary of the Sar-Dva Clan and an ortho-cousin to Sar-Ganth, leader of the Originalists on the Council of Rulers. Sar-Say’s task was to tabulate the clan’s store of value on subservient worlds.”
“An accountant?”
“It would seem so. He was on a tour of clan holdings, traveling onboard a Vithian freighter. Records indicate that the freighter made two jumps en route from Vith to Perselin. Their computer contacted the gate in the Nala System and was preparing for jump. At that point, the records are incomplete.”
“Incomplete?”
“The gate suffered an overload and shut down automatically. The repair report indicates an energy weapon strike.”
“Weapon? An ambush, perhaps?”
“That is the theory. Security investigated and concluded someone on Vith, possibly a rival clan, tried to prevent Sar-Say from reaching his destination. There is no record that his ship left the Nala system, or arrived at Vith.”
“He must be in one system or the other, if only in the form of an expanding cloud of plasma.”
“Not necessarily. The gate may have jumped to second-order transport mode when struck, which would have thrown his vessel into unknown space.”
“And therefore, caused his irretrievable loss.”
“It would seem so.”
“This freighter. What class?”
“Type Seven outfitted to be operated by a mixed crew of Vithians and Frels.”
“And what sort of vessel were these Vulcans in when they visited Klys’kra’t?”
Dal-Vas consulted his record keeper and after a few moments said, “Another Type Seven.”
“Coincidence?”
“If so, not a great one, Huntmaster. That is one of the more popular types.”
“Did any of the Voldar’ik see the interior of this ship?”
“If they did, it is not in the records.”
That was another problem with Civilization. It was too damned big! Even automated recorders and a mania for record keeping couldn’t adequately catalog events.
Take these Vulcans, for instance. How could they possibly have misplaced an entire race of subservients? There had to be a record of them somewhere.
After a long pause, Ssor-Fel muttered, “I don’t like to float unsolved problems to the Home World, but in this case, I think it prudent. Bundle up everything we know and send it on the next ship. Include all of the biometrics we have concerning these Vulcans and emphasize that we have been unable to identify them.
“Point out that this Sar-Say seems to be in their company, although he was not seen at Klys’kra’t. Perhaps he is hiding from his attackers. Also, send a copy of this report to Sar-Ganth. It may be that he will have a personal interest in seeing this mystery solved.”
“It will be as you say, Hunt Master.”
“Now, please leave me. I have this matter of Master Val-Vos to consider.”
#
Captain Dan Landon sat on the bridge of the Ruptured Whale and contemplated the news that some idiot had transferred Sar-Say to Earth. Someone, it seemed, was prepared to flirt with disaster. Having lived with the pseudo-simian ever since his crew had rescued him from this very ship, Landon wasn’t particularly concerned about alien diseases. If Sar-Say and