After a flurry of motions to find their tablets, the three engineers, Draeger, and Jade solemnly began to read Zhèng’s words. It took only a few moments before the same observation came to them all. If the commissioner did in fact send these documents to the leaders of their respective guilds, he would in effect—after the inevitable leaks, unofficial and otherwise—be sending them to all the people of New Athens.
McClellan hadn’t expected any of this. At last night’s briefing, Zhèng had told him only that he had given great thought to the concerns of the builders, and that as security commissioner he was ready to act appropriately.
McClellan gave Zhèng an approving nod. He thanked God, St. Joseph, and the entire communion of saints, and leaned back for a better view of the show.
“As for the printer,” Zhèng continued, “of course we’ve found it. It’s en route and will be in Earth orbit in eleven days. Mr. Draeger, as the representative of the Builders Guild, you should have been informed of this, since builders are the principal pilots for the shipping lanes.”
Draeger was still reeling from Zhèng’s admissions about equitable treaties and governance. He hadn’t expected such a gesture or the implications thereof, and now he had to contend with Zhèng’s accurate assessment of what he should know about the activity of his client.
The lawyer turned to Jansen in an attempt to slow Zhèng’s advance. “I do hope,” Draeger said, “that the Engineering Council has not been formally made aware of the acquisition of the printer. For I can assure you there has been no such formal notification to the Builders Council.”
Jansen answered Draeger’s question, but she kept her eyes on Zhèng. “I have not been told of this, Mr. Draeger. Nor has the council.” She turned to Pavić and Ward, who gave equally confused looks.
Zhèng remained cool. “That printer is a key component of this investigation. According to orbital law, I am under no obligation to inform either of you of my intent for it, although again, Mr. Draeger, you must have known of its coming, as we are working with builders to obtain it. And, Madame Jansen, had the engineers wished to track the whereabouts of their property, you could have easily maintained its emergency locational transponder.”
The mantel clock was making it known that it was ten thirty—the soft chimes exceptionally clear and loud in the momentary silence.
“As you can see,” Zhèng continued, “there is fault and complicity by every party in this room—and I include myself in this matter. The death of Raphael Tanglao has been a mystery for far too long, in part because of my errors. And so I will be making amends as we move forward.”
“What do you mean?” Jansen said.
“Yes, what do you mean?” Draeger added.
McClellan suppressed a smile. If Clarke were here, he’d probably say something about the victory of getting the engineers, the builders, and a Sal to agree on something.
“Allow me to explain my intentions,” Zhèng said. “And please be aware that I have submitted these intentions to the Security Council, which has endorsed them.”
Zhèng adjusted his posture; he looked like a commander instructing subordinates. “At noon today I will release the following statement to the people of New Athens—builder, engineer, and all others not formally enrolled in any guild. In addition to its content, it will include the proposals I had just sent regarding our treaties and the courts. I am transferring the full statement, so please follow along as I summarize its contents.
“First, unless some unforeseen evidence arises, the Security Guild will not charge Maximillian Tucker with the murder of Father Tanglao. Nor will he be questioned in the matter. We do not recognize his confession as valid, nor do we have any indication that he had in fact been materially involved in the death of Father Tanglao. As to charges of providing false or misleading statements related to this investigation, and other charges related to monitoring secure communications, those charges have also been dropped. In exchange, we would ask—but do not require—that Mr. Tucker cooperate with our investigation going forward.”
“Cooperate?” Draeger said. “What are your demands?”
“There are none. Tucker may help in any way that he wishes. Or not.”
“But any negotiations regarding charges—”
“There are no negotiations. Tucker is a free man. How can this be unclear?”
Draeger sat back with fury. He had just lost his most important card—the guise of offering a builder legal counsel. The commissioner had scored this round, but McClellan knew the dangers of prodding the Sals when they’re down.
“On the matter of the investigation,” Zhèng said, continuing his summary, “Father McClellan will continue to lead the inquiry related to the printer—no matter what happened at the last attempt. His expertise as a programmer and his knowledge as a priest make his perspective quite necessary. We simply ask that the Engineering Guild allow access to the printer once it is in our possession. And we ask both guilds—engineers and builders—to supply representatives to oversee our investigation during Father McClellan’s interaction with the printer.”
Zhèng directed his next comments exclusively to Draeger. “The printer will be brought to Red Delta for analysis. Your age and health, Mr. Draeger, may preclude extended time in a weightless environment—per the builder safety code. Thus I assume that if you do not pass the physical standards, you will provide a suitable replacement. Perhaps Mr. Jade? But that is your concern.”
McClellan watched the words have their intended outcome. The Sals were exceptional at creating division, and now they had to contend with the seeds of their own.
Jade looked Draeger up and down, as if seeing the fragility of the older man for the first time. “I’ll go if you can’t,” he said. “It will be best to have a younger man present.”
Draeger whispered a few furious words toward his associate before Zhèng continued his onslaught.
“Furthermore,” Zhèng said, “my statement reads that, should the case not be solved within five days of our inquiry with the printer, I will then resign as commissioner and depart from New Athens. In such an event, Agent Anne Okayo will be promoted and appointed as my replacement.”
The room went still. The darkness of deep space below them was again replaced by the watery hues of Earth.
“Zhèng,” Jansen said softly, “you cannot mean that.”
“I do, Madame Engineer.”
Jansen looked hurt. “But where would you go?”
The commissioner paused, set down his tablet, and folded his hands. “Back to Hong Kong. My grandfather still lives, but he is ill, and there are few to help him as he grows old.”
Jansen marveled at Zhèng’s words. She lowered her head as if she continued to consult her tablet. After moments of silence, she again looked at the commissioner, again with the full posture of her office. “I cannot see the Engineering Council having any issues revisiting our treaties, or with an independent court system. Quite frankly, the task of hearing such cases is tiring. But as for the matter of our printer, I do have questions.”
“Of course,” Zhèng said.
“Is there some flight limitation to explain why we have to wait eleven days for the printer to achieve Earth orbit?”
“The transport has limited fuel for braking, so I’m afraid that’s the fastest burn that safety allows. And anyway, the time will help Father McClellan fully recuperate, as well as give both your guilds the opportunity to prepare representatives to travel to Red Delta.”
Draeger was paying scant attention. He was still reading the full text of the statement, his jaws working and quivering. He unexpectedly gave McClellan a look of blame. The priest returned the gaze, shrugged, and motioned to Zhèng, who kept his eyes on Elaina Jansen.
“The transport carrying the printer is unmanned,” the commissioner was saying. “So no bribery can change its course. And for security purposes it’s running at minimum communications availability. Madame Jansen, I’m aware that the Engineering Guild has the
means and the right to override its current trajectory. But, for obvious reasons, I’m asking you not to. It would be an affront to the builders, to the Security Guild, and to me personally.”
Jansen looked over at her two companions, who were, like Draeger, busy reading the statement. She sat back and said, “And you wish Father McClellan to access our printer?”
“Yes.”
“Who will assist him?”
“No one,” Zhèng said. “Father McClellan will be the sole programmer. During his time in the hospital, we secured his personal coupler and key. He’ll need no assistance. But I wish to reiterate to you both that you will have real-time access to programmer-printer activity and dialogue. I will not hide this from you.”
The eyes of the three engineers turned toward McClellan while Jade kept his eyes on his boss.
“Together, we will all learn what Father Tanglao was programming at the time of his death,” Zhèng said. “I don’t know what else we’ll find in that printer, or if it will bring us to the truth. But I’m convinced of this: the people of New Athens and of all the orbits deserve better than what our joint efforts have accomplished so far. Or do you disagree, Mr. Draeger?”
Zhèng’s words came in response to a sudden smile that came across the elder man’s face. All looked to see what had caught the commissioner’s attention.
“Oh, I do agree,” Draeger said. “The people of New Athens deserve much more than they have received thus far. Much, much more.”
IN THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED, little was heard from Rudi Draeger. This worried McClellan, who recognized the more ominous signs of the Sals: strikes and protests that had been called and canceled; news and rumors that came and went; and frustration and anxiety that grew.
On the fourth day after the release of Zhèng’s statement, there was talk of meetings among the three guilds. There were reports of possible elections, of the drafting of a constitution, of the establishment of an independent court.
But no official statements were made.
Workers debated the wisdom of Zhèng’s words. Some said the admissions of the arrogant commissioner were proof that Draeger had forced necessary changes. Now was the time to push for more. Now was the time to seize control.
Others disagreed. They were not eager for strikes or protests or revolution. They had left Earth to get away from all that.
The builders most hopeful for peace and cooperation were mostly from Troas City—like Veronica’s father, Bobby Parker, and his friends who worked the Centerwell. They were men and women who raised families, who were umpires and coaches, and who were regulars at the Spinside. They were the people who would see McClellan and Bauer at their bar and would wave them over to buy them a beer in exchange for stories from Earth—whether about current events or about times long ago.
When Shirley the bartender came with the pitchers and glasses, she’d shake her head. “I never thought this crew would be talking philosophy,” she’d say. Then quietly to McClellan, “At least they’re behaving.”
But then came the Thursday after Zhèng’s statement—the first day that the doctors were hopeful about Clarke.
McClellan had taken Wagner’s two mechanics to dinner—along with their boss, and Bauer, Chrissy, and Jack. It was a small thank you for saving Clarke’s life, and his, and also a celebration of St. Patrick’s Day, even if it was a day late. And so what began with corned beef and a round of beers escalated past six rounds, or was it seven, along with the odd whiskey and scotch—and why not a round or two for all the hardworking men and women in the house? Shirley soon called for backup, as did Okayo.
On the walk home, the priest and the archbishop staggered and sang, but dinner the next night was subdued. It was a Friday in Lent, and McClellan and Bauer chose the ginger ale with their fish and chips. Wagner sipped his stout and listened with interest to McClellan, who explained what little he knew of the work being done in orbit around Mercury, and the idea that had come to him because of it.
All during that night, and the next day, the Feast of St. Joseph, and in the days to come, other conversations began and ended—other plans were drawn and shared—as the countdown continued and people waited, and wondered at all they had heard. Because if the rumors were true, there’d be answers on that transport—the one returning that printer to Red Delta, to the uncommissioned relay where everything began.
McClellan was alone in the security transport’s cargo hold. Okayo had cut the main engines almost four hours ago, and since then it had been quiet, and would remain so until she began braking.
He heard movement in the corridor and looked up. Max Tucker pushed himself into the hold and held onto a support a few meters away. The curls of his black hair were cut shorter, and he was leaner than he had been when taken into custody. He wore the same security flight suit as McClellan, with one difference. Instead of a cross and a plain white central insignia, Tucker’s collar had the markings of a consulting communications technician.
“Sorry to bother you,” he said, looking cautiously at McClellan.
“No need to apologize. I’m just thinking.”
“About what?”
“Actually, nothing. I’m waiting for the thinking to come to me.”
Tucker motioned to the bench across from McClellan, then propelled himself in it after receiving an approving nod. “Not much going on up there,” he said. “Agent Okayo was busy with her flight plans for braking—if you call it braking. She’s a fast flier.”
“That’s an understatement,” McClellan said. “Best out here, but you do have to hold on.”
Tucker strapped himself in, studied McClellan, and asked if they could talk.
“Of course, Max. Anytime.”
Tucker thought a moment. “I was wondering why you left me alone up there. You’ve told me most everything about your plan, and then you leave me with Jimmy Jade and that engineer. I could have told them everything.”
“That engineer is Mizuki Sasaki, and she has induced sleep until we arrive. And even if you did tell Jade anything, he couldn’t get word back to Draeger, or anyone else. Okayo wouldn’t allow it. And I would arrest you myself.”
Tucker laughed, which McClellan was happy to hear. “Just try to take me,” Tucker said, then again became serious. “But what I meant was, why do you trust me?”
McClellan assessed the builder. Tucker had all the qualities of a good security agent. He was strong, nimble in weightlessness, and smart. He was a good kid and he knew communications equipment and theory—and he knew Red Delta. This was all the more valuable without Clarke. McClellan had told Zhèng that, given relations with the builders, it made sense to offer Tucker the temporary assignment. And Tucker would benefit. It would bring him back for the relay’s impending commissioning, it would help him repay Zhèng for the dropped charges, and it would offer the kid a taste of a career—of a life—he might consider.
“I trust you because you deserve it,” McClellan said. “I’m a big fan of redemption, Max. And right now, if anyone deserves a second chance, it’s you.”
Tucker was looking down. “All that aside,” he said, “I could have made better choices.”
“There’s not a human being alive who can’t say the same thing,” McClellan said. “Here’s how I look at it. People are a lot like printers. We need trust for things to work, and I’d like things to work out for both of us.”
McClellan watched Tucker process the words.
“Thanks,” Tucker said. “I mean that. I’m not very popular in my guild at the moment. You should see the looks I get from Jade. He hates me.”
“He hates a lot of people. You’re doing the right thing. Maybe he’ll learn something from you.”
Tucker gave another laugh. “Now you’re talking miracles.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, you do know that as soon as this case is resolved, Zhèng will charge Jade, and others, for the coercion of your confession. Things will get uglier, especially if you’re needed as a witness.”
/> Tucker gave a solemn look as he took out his tablet. “Right now I’m helping you—and Nicky—and hoping to get my assignment back. That’s all I can do. So I better finish calibrating this tracking software. Mind if I do it here?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
Tucker nodded. “And one last question,” he said. “Are you sure about comm traffic shutting down when we need it to? I won’t be able to do anything unless that happens.”
McClellan looked away. “If Wagner comes through for us, then yes. You’ll have comm silence for tracking.”
“I guess that means we’re trusting old Wagner. I hope he comes through.”
McClellan woke to Okayo’s voice with a docking warning. He roused and checked his tablet.
“The clamshell’s on schedule,” Tucker said, gathering his belongings. “And so is Mercury. Planets are good that way.”
McClellan propelled himself through the ship’s tunnels to the pilot’s deck. Okayo was busy with the approach as the copilot, Agent Natalya Ivanov, synced the ship with Red Delta’s computer.
“Strap yourself in,” Okayo said to McClellan.
“I will. But first I need to see this.”
They were approaching Red Delta at about the same point of the lunar orbit as their first rendezvous. McClellan spotted the relay. It was drifting across the Moon’s darkness, a small light growing larger as it passed over the lunar morning toward the Sea of Tranquillity. Soon he could see the clamshell, tiny next to the relay. It had jettisoned itself from its unmanned transport and glistened in the sunlight. Around it, lights flared—the thrusters of the robotic assistants escorting it inside Red Delta.
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