God's Dogs Book 2

Doubt, indulged and cherished, is in danger of becoming denial; but if honest, and bent on thorough investigation, it may soon lead to full establishment of the truth.

Ambrose Bierce

The space station was constructed so that a docked ship was open to space, and an expanding corridor connected the station to the ship’s main hatch. The station itself was a massive affair. A central column supported a dozen rings. Poking out from the rings were the fueling platforms as well as docking bays. Each of the rings supported different species’ environments, and there were shops, restaurants, bars, and administrative offices.

There was also a police presence, and the group outside Blue Dragon included both police and other Congress dignitaries. There were eight uniformed police and four dignitaries.

The captain met them at the hatch as they entered. Quinn’s team flanked her. Consul Singh and a couple of his aides were there as well.

When the mixed race group from the station trooped in, Moss shouted out, “Is that you? Barry, Ruski?”

The two Sentic humanoids, wearing ivory-white bishop mantles and little else on their plate-covered bodies, replied, “It is, Coyote Moss. We are here in our formal attire. It seems you are at the center of another incident.”

“Killed some pirates, took their ship,” Moss explained. “I don’t see a problem. So, why don’t we blow this popsicle stand and paint the town?”

Barry replied, “My translator struggles to process what you said.”

The ship’s A.I. intervened, “It’s a pair of colloquialisms strung together, Guardians. It roughly means that Coyote Moss is proposing that you and he abandon these proceedings and initiate a convivial reunion at another location.”

One of the dignitaries was a Durani, he stepped forward. “I’m the assistant Inspector General for this deca-region.”

Williams moved to stand in front of him. “I’m the captain of the free trader Blue Dragon. What is your business with us, sir?”

“We need to investigate the incident at refueling station B41e.”

“What more do you need?” Williams asked. “You do have our statement, the ship’s log, the station’s sensor logs, the captured pirate ship and crew. You do have all that? Don’t you?”

“Yes. We don’t have information about what happened aboard the captured ship.”

“Pirate ship.”

“That is to be determined.”

Singh stepped forward. “According to the Galactic Congress Covenant, Article 18, Section 7, Paragraphs 10 through 13, the vessel that attacked us can only be defined as a pirate, and whatever our ship’s company did in response to said piracy is immune to prosecution.”

As they bantered about the legalities of the ‘incident,’ Moss and Quinn ushered Barry and Ruski out the hatch and onto the station.

The ring habitat was a flat-bottomed oval, fifty feet wide and twenty feet tall. Docking bays lay along the outer wall, and various shops, businesses, and living quarters were along the inner wall. Overhead lighting brightened the minimalist construction.

Quinn spoke first, “What’s going on, Barry? That ‘incident’ was simple self-defense.”

“The Durani asked for an investigation.”

“Why? Did they hire those mercenaries?”

“If they did,” Barry answered, “they wouldn’t admit it.”

Moss observed, “So it could either be just an opportunity to harass us, or they did hire the mercenaries and they’re trying to muddy the waters.”

“If you mean they want to confuse the issue,” Barry replied, “that would be a fair assessment.”

Quinn added, “And blaming the victim is one of the best ways to do so.”

“What’s with these people?” Moss exclaimed. “What motivates their animosity?”

Ruski, his voice deeper than Barry’s, answered, “The Durani are known to be litigious for no apparent reason. Our command structure believes they don’t like change. Their argumentative outbursts do tend to serve the status quo.”

“Well, your command structure is within the Congress intelligence service,” Quinn began, “so they should know. And if that’s the case for the Durani, it doesn’t fit for them to hire mercenaries. It wouldn’t be a battlefield they were comfortable with. Which begs the question: Who else would hire them?”

“Our division is looking into it,” Ruski told them. “Your prisoners have been interrogated, but that race compartmentalizes information. Neither the captain nor the crew knew the details of the contract.”

“So, no leads?” Moss wondered.

“We have operatives on the mercenary home-world,” Barry said. “It will take time, though, to get answers. We are here because command is concerned there might be a follow-on attempt on your delegation.”

Ruski added, “This is not how we treat young races, Quinn. The attack has upset some very important people in the Congress.”

“So you’ll be travelling with us?” Moss asked.

“If you request it,” Barry said. “Our precognitive abilities may give you an edge.”

In the ship, the Durani assistant I.G. was losing steam. Singh’s arguments had blunted his authority, and Singh had followed up with a stinging recitation of what ought to be done, per the covenant, not only to protect visitors but also to aggressively pursue those who hired the attackers.

The assistant I.G. and his team left in a huff after the barrage, letting Singh know that his uncooperative attitude had been noted. They passed Quinn’s foursome that had stopped at a café for coffee.

“Pax says our consul sent them packing,” Moss told the Guardians as they watched the group stomp down the corridor. “Why don’t you grab your stuff while we find you guys a cabin. I don’t think we’ll be here long.”

The Guardians were instant celebrities with the scientists. They badgered the two aliens about the social structure of the Congress, what they might expect from different races, and how the politics kept the Congress together. Then they got personal and told the Guardians that system theory demanded that, as a system grew, it necessarily experienced chaos before reintegration into a higher or more complex system. How did the Congress account for that, they wondered, and in such a way that maintained consistency over centuries of time.

The Guardians showed patience with the prodding scientists that impressed the Coyotes. It reminded Quinn of the patience of his better teachers.

The next ten-day trip was uneventful, and with the Guardians on-board, the Coyotes were able to drop below the radar. Except for Raina, who was struggling to incorporate what she knew of the team as friends and what she saw them do. River, Pax, and Quinn talked to her, but to no avail. Finally Moss tracked her down in her cabin, where she was spending too much time.

“Yo, Raina,” he demanded of the hatch comm. “Open up. It’s Moss and, guess what, we need to talk.”

The door unlocked and slid open. Moss entered and it slid shut.

Raina was lying on her bunk staring at the ceiling.

“Since when,” Moss began, “does a tulku have trouble dealing with reality?”

“When reality is a contradiction,” she answered in a flat tone.

“Does Grace share this view?”

“She’s an A.I. Contradictions are held in suspension until there’s more data.”

“Well, that’s not a bad thing. Want more data?”

“No. I’m sulking and feeling sorry for myself.”

“In that case, let me give you another contradiction to deepen your sulk – if that’s a word.”

She turned her head to give him a puzzled glare.

Moss grinned and sat in the only chair. “Since, I’m not sure, maybe 300 BC Earth-time, Buddhist monks found a way to give us arrogant, aggressive people a spiritual path. We claim all the darkness along that path – anger, fear, jealousy, resentment, and whatnot – and use it as grist for the spiritual mill.”

Her brow crumpled with confusion. “I thought you defeat fear to open the heart.”

“Sort of. It’s more like dominate it. We make fear our bitch.”

She laughed despite herself.

Moss grinned again. “We are masters of the dark side of human nature, and we bring it into the light.”

“I’ve only seen you when you were walking in the light.”

“Shift your focus. See what darkness I came from. See what evil I have faced and conquered – both in myself and in the real world.”

She closed her eyes and breathed deep a couple of time to bring her mind to a meditative stillness. Then she slowly opened her eyes but kept a soft focus. She scanned Moss to see the layers of his aura.

Presently, she said, “You are a creature of the Void.”

“Where the light that shines is too bright to see, and it is mistaken for darkness.”

She nodded and continued, “A tulku is a creature of the Void.”

“Yeah, but you’re there for a different reason.”

“Intent. Purpose. They galvanize the Void into creativity.”

“And my purpose, unlike yours, is to protect. Strategy forms my intent. Elimination of a threat is my creation.”

“It’s so final, so abrupt, so uncompromising. What you did was jarring, like a bolt of lightning.”

“Yeah, I know. Sometimes I feel like a sledge hammer killing a fly.”

Raina chuckled but caught herself. “You killed all those people without pause, without a thought to who they were, without noticing the tragedy of their lives cut short.”

“It was efficient. I’ll grant you that.”

“How can you be that hard, or robotic, or unfeeling?”

“We were feeling anger and some fear,” Moss answered. “But we dominated and used it. We were angry that those people threatened you, and we were fearful that we might not be able to stop them. We turned those emotions into the fuel for our actions: to eliminate the threat.”

“What about compassion?”

“We exercised that in the bardos.”

She rolled back to stare at the ceiling. After a bit, she said, “I’m not like you.”

“No, you’re not. You are the rose. We are the thorns that protect the rose.”

She smiled and said, “Well, at least we’re parts of the same plant.”

Moss stood. “Are you good?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Moss.”