“I’ve recorded some new comms down on the planet. One source I think you will be interested in,” said Rusa.
Koven and Rusa were seated in the pilot and copilots seat of the cruiser. In front of them through the bridge viewports they could see Earth 7 down below.
“Why the source and not the message?” Koven asked.
“Because it is a cave just outside of the capital. A cave that measures thirty maatars by eighty maatars.”
“That’s large,” Koven interjected.
“And there is significant electrical and sub-modular power components in use.”
“A laboratory?” Koven asked.
“Maybe,” replied Rusa. “Maybe they need a real hard ass reminder to let them know we’re in charge.”
“What was that?”
“The movie library answered,” replied Rusa. “Let me know if I need to translate it.”
“No thanks, I got it loud and clear. Can you play the comms, please?”
“Sure thing, sweet cheeks,” replied Rusa.
“Was that the movie library again?”
“No. That was me running one of my pleasure subroutines.”
“Your what?”
“Pleasure subroutines,” replied Rusa.
“Tell me about them later. Can we just listen to the comms?”
“OK,” said Rusa with an overly exaggerated sad face.
The comms were not very intelligent from what they could hear. They hadn’t set the duplex properly and they spent an inordinate amount of time asking the other if they could hear them satisfactorily. But the relevant message was that Allor, Tal, and Canto would be returning to the main temple.
“We need to proceed using the lowest probability of mortality and the highest probability of success,” said Koven when the comms ended.
“The lowest probability of mortality is if we remain on the cruiser. But that won’t meet our mission objective,” Rusa replied. Koven marveled how after all of these centuries, androids still didn’t understand the nuances of language and the implied but not stated condition.
“Well, we must retrieve the tech. But I don’t want to get killed in the process.”
Rusa pressed a button on the control hologram to start a limited back thrust by the engines.
“There is cloaking and the PPS. Fatality would require an extraordinary event.”
“Extraordinary is a word not usually found in the vocabulary of a historian,” replied Koven coldly.
Rusa got up from the commander’s chair.
“Let’s try this,” she said. “Let’s transport down, with cloaking. Just for a few tix, say twenty or less. Take a look around, then come back here and have a discussion of whether it looks safe enough to continue. Twenty tix isn’t enough to be very dangerous. How about that?”
“I like that idea. Short, sweet assessment. Where do we land, outside the temple again?”
“As good a place as any, but I’ve found a spot on the steps that is well shielded by the columns, so if we slow approach the landing, we’ll be hard to notice,” Rusa replied.
“You sound like a Non,” replied Koven.
“And how is that?” she asked.
“Imprecise.”
They landed on the empty corner of the steps leading to the temple. There was no one within ten maatars of them. But down in the square at the bottom of the steps was an assembly of archers. They stood in long rows of a hundred men each. Their bows were on their shoulders, bowstrings to the front, quiver to the back. A man wearing a blue robe stood in front of them. Koven and Rusa held hands for the brief twenty tix before heading back.
When they got back to the cruiser, they walked back to the bridge.
“Something is going on. That looks like an army about to go to war,” said Koven.
“Affirmative. I calculate the probability of major conflict at near eighty-nine point three percent,” replied Rusa. “And it increases the probability of the PPS all being in use by forty-three point one percent. They don’t seem to have figured out just to keep it on low all the time, like you do,” she said.
“That will make it harder to take them away. It’s not like we can go right up to them and pull on the control insignia,” said Koven.
“No, I doubt we will have the opportunity to do that. Even cloaked, it will be difficult and very risky,” Rusa replied.
“Yes. I would need to snatch it and transport an instant later,” said Koven.
“Or shoot them.”
“Yes, or shoot them,” Koven replied in a disappointed tone before continuing. “If I am connected to them physically or even through a PPS under my control but still in contact with them, then I will be inside of a transport bubble with them and that will not be an optimal outcome,” Koven replied.
“Agreed. You’d be barreling through the atmosphere with your eyes closed while they would be wasting their time beating against your PPS shield, then begin beating on you,” said Rusa.
“How did you know I close my eyes?” he asked.
“The elasticity of the skin that makes up you eyelids has not returned to normal whenever I see you just after you have arrived.”
“Do you always observe at that level of detail?”
“Yes,” Rusa replied.
“You should be a historian,” replied Koven.
“I can’t,” she replied.
“Why?”
“Because I have no prohibition against lying. Under the right circumstances I can lie, if it serves the greater good,” she replied.
“Many people in history have died arguing over whose greater good was the greatest,” replied Koven with a smile.
“That seems possible, given human emotions,” Rusa replied.
“So how do we get back the PPS? The rest of the items seem easier,” asked Koven.
“When does someone take off their PPS?” Rusa asked. Koven smiled.
“When they are defecating, when they are bathing, and when they are having sex,” replied Koven. “Although, technically they don’t have to take it off while they are shitting, since the PPS is self-cleaning. But then you would have to sit wearing what amounts to a shitty diaper for a few tox while it cleans up the mess. That’s why everyone takes them off to take a crap.”
“So what strategy is best for this?” asked Rusa.
“We wait for them to do any of these three things and then we take them while they are busy,” replied Koven.
“I think you’ve come up with the winning idea,” replied Rusa, her language modified by her motivational psychology programming.
They transported back to a corner of the main temple where they kept the robes of the priests. It was an orgy of color as the multicolored robes of Allor’s priests hung all around them. They rotated colors through the seasons and various religious festivals. Some apples never fall far from the tree.
Invisible to all, they made their way to the chambers of Canto and Tal.
The waiting game began.