by Thorne Moore
‘Don’t worry about her,’ said Smith, unconcerned. ‘She’ll come out when she’s hungry enough.’
‘I’d keep your door locked, Jo Jo, when she does.’
He smiled. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, I always look out for myself.’
Abigail tried a fourth elevator. As silent and unresponsive as the first three. Did nothing work anymore? C-Deck was arctic, apparently, but the Commander hadn’t said it was out of bounds. There must be a way down. Frustrated, she rattled the doors.
Smith sauntered into view, pacing like a cat patrolling his territory. ‘Had enough of us already?’
‘You can do everything else, so you must know how to get the elevators working.’
‘No. But I know how to use the stairs.’
‘What stairs?’
‘Maintenance access.’ He indicated a section between the elevator columns, with a small and insignificant control panel. ‘Behind this. Where were you planning on going?’
‘C-Deck. The travel office. They have communications there.’
Smith laughed. ‘Everything on C-Deck was Ragnox Travel; it was all stripped out at Ganymede. What did you want it for? Planning to order a pizza?’
Abigail resisted the urge to slap him. Infuriating as Smith was, he was the only one who seemed to know what was what on the ship. ‘There must be some way of sending a message to Earth.’
‘Of course there is. Not much chance of sustaining a conversation, unless you want to read War and Peace while you wait for a reply, but signals can get through.’
‘How then? Can you do it?’
‘I can do anything. I make it my business to. How about you, Abigail?’ His smile was contemptuous. ‘What can you do?’
Abigail bit her lip. The answer was all too obvious: Nothing. She said harshly, ‘I can do all the things Maggy can do.’
He grinned, surprised. ‘I bet you can.’
‘Better. If you want.’ Resolutely, she slipped an arm round his neck and slowly, lingeringly, kissed him.
Smith was in no hurry to end the session. Finally she pulled away.
‘And what do I do in return?’ he asked.
‘You help me. I have to contact my father. You can show me how.’
‘Ha! No way.’
‘I’ll do anything!’
‘I believe you would. However.’ He shrugged regretfully. ‘I don’t want this ship attracting any more attention than it has to. Which means I can do without irate fathers homing in on us. That’s what you’re hoping for, isn’t it?’
‘No.’
‘No rescue?’
‘I want to send a message, that’s all. I don’t want him to trace it, I just want him to receive it. Can you help me?’
‘Maybe.’
‘I’ll do anything. Name it. Anything.’
He considered, then regretfully shook his head.
‘Why not?’
‘It’s my vanity, sweetheart. I like to think I don’t have to buy a lady’s favours.’
Abigail forced herself to stay calm. ‘You weren’t so particular with Maggy.’
‘Oh, Maggy.’ Smith laughed. ‘Maggy’s a special case. She’s an informer. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t tempted to inform on me. Quite pointless. She’s unquenchable. She’d have informed on me on our wedding night and not batted an eyelid.’
‘You’re a shit,’ said Abigail.
‘I know. Shall we go?’
‘Go?’
From his pocket, Smith produced a small, wired plastic strip, and before she had time to see what he was doing with it, the hatch to the service shaft was swinging open. ‘Down,’ he said. ‘I like a challenge, so no charge. Keep your honour, it’s my treat.’
How she wanted to push him in. Instead, she looked past him at the rungs of a metal ladder. ‘You said stairs.’
‘Your choice, come or stay.’ Smith was already disappearing down the shaft, surefooted in the darkness. After the briefest hesitation, Abigail followed him.
The shaft channelled and amplified a cacophony of mechanical sound. They were in the veins of the Heloise. And it was cold, arctic as Foxe had warned, so cold her numbed fingers could scarcely keep a grip on the rungs. How far down were they going? Her energy levels were still rising and falling in unpredictable waves, and she seemed to have been descending for ever. Surely they’d reached C-Deck by now.
Below, a hatch opened and she saw Smith’s silhouette gliding through. With relief, she followed him.
For a moment, all she could do was rub her fingers and her arms, grateful that it was no longer icy, merely chilly. Then she looked around. This wasn’t C-Deck. It was all steel panels, grids, conduits, humming and echoing.
‘Where—’ she began, but Smith’s finger on her lips hushed her. Distantly, she caught the faint murmur of voices. Smith opened a door silently, peered within, then drew her after him into a dimly lit laboratory.
He shut the door, equally silently, paused for a moment to listen, then grinned. ‘We’re on D-Deck.’
‘I didn’t know there was a D-Deck.’
‘Engineering. Where the real stuff happens.’
‘And they’ve got communications down here?’
‘No. What they’ve got is working elevators, right up to Flight Control. That’s where the communications are.’
‘Oh wonderful! So what do we do? Wait till they all go to bed?’
‘I’m not convinced they ever do.’ Smith laughed. ‘No, we stroll by, in front of them.’
‘And ask permission?’
‘Good God, no, I never ask permission. We just make sure they don’t notice us. Virtually impossible before, when they had nothing to do but yawn, but now they’re fully occupied, it’s just a question of choosing the opportune moment. The communications console is no go. It’s in full view. Even I couldn’t manage that. But the Ultima is in its own annexe. 430 military model, fully restored, capable of worming its way through the entire VPT network and equipped to transmit as well as read. Send information, alter information, screw up information; as long as we’re within reach of a relay beacon, and we’re still close enough to Jupiter to guarantee that. You’re not understanding any of this, are you? Never mind, just take my word, it’ll do what you need. Are you up for it?’
She nodded, bracing herself, and followed him back out into the corridor. Around a corner, the hint of voices faded out.
Smith paused by an elevator door. She could hear from the hum that it was functioning.
‘Straight to the Commander’s cabin,’ mouthed Smith. ‘Fancy that instead? Just to see?’
She shook her head, infuriated by his flippancy, and gestured him on, trying to emulate his silent, fluid movements. He didn’t creep, just as he didn’t whisper. He glanced back, with a grin, as her shoe squeaked once on the polished floor. Finally, he stopped by more steel doors.
‘Feeling energetic?’
‘Why? What do I have to do?’
‘We climbed down. Now we climb back up. And fast. They’d hear the elevator.’
The doors slid open at his deft touch, and she looked up into blackness. Steel rungs were bolted to one wall, almost touching the elevator rails.
‘What happens if it comes down while we’re on the ladder?’ She tried to speak as soundlessly as he did.
‘We see just how fast we can move. Still game?’
Abigail stared up into the darkness. ‘We climb.’
Smith smiled and stepped onto the ladder. From the speed at which he was shinning up the rungs, she guessed he wasn’t as relaxed about the risk as he’d sounded. She followed on his heels, breathless, fuelled by adrenalin. In the darkness she didn’t notice the elevator till Smith’s foot nudged her hand, warning her to stop. He’d already wriggled up into the narrow gap between it and the shaft wall and was stepping out into Flight Control.
Tensing herself, Abigail slithered through in his wake. She found herself blinking in the bright light of one of the annexes of Flight Control. Smith was standi
ng motionless, at an angle where he could see most of the activity out in the main chamber. She moved to join him.
In the centre, figures huddled round a control bank, so intent on what they were studying and discussing that none of them looked up. Abigail instinctively refused to focus on them; if she couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see her. Her heart raced, but Smith was smiling. He raised a finger and, with minimal movement, indicated that they were going to move out and round into the next alcove. ‘No messing,’ he breathed.
Abigail gave one half nod, her breath held. The conference across the flight deck grew more heated. Someone moved briskly to a screen on the far side, one of the others following. In that brief interlude of movement, Smith and Abigail moved too, without any apparent disguise, slipping silently into the second annexe. Abigail kept her eyes glued on Smith, trusting his magical charm to keep them safe.
It was so simple. They disappeared behind a panel, and Smith permitted himself one extravagant movement, spreading his hands like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat.
Abigail leaned back against the wall, trying to still her palpitations. She shut her eyes. In her desperate concentration, she’d blocked out her other senses. Now her knee began to ache; she must have caught it on the ladder. The cacophony of human voices settled down into normal comprehensible conversation.
‘How can we ignore it?’ Siegfried’s voice. ‘It must be worth it.’
‘Not with an escort.’ The patient reply was Addo. ‘You heard. It’s a pointless risk, Tony. Just move on.’
Smith touched Abigail’s elbow. She opened her eyes and found him indicating a grey console. She moved to it. He pulled the notepad forward and scribbled. She read ‘Where?’
She took the stylus from him, stilled the trembling in her fingers, and wrote down her father’s address.
Smith motioned her to move aside and took her place, sitting down to his work while she did as instructed, standing motionless against the wall.
‘Yeah! We’ve got Mermaid II coming up from Trojan 5.’ Tim Faber’s voice was excited and loud.
There was a grunt in response, a muttered comment and some laughter.
‘Oh come on!’ said Tim.
Yes, come on, come on, said Abigail to herself. How long was Smith going to be? She couldn’t take much more.
He was scribbling commands and flicking controls with consummate assurance, but even so minutes were passing. She tried to block out the voices from the main chamber.
Smith held his hands up. He turned and smiled, beckoning her to the chair. She sat, taking up the stylus again.
What now? Suddenly her mind was blank. What could she say? A word? An essay?
She didn’t have time to fret over it. She wrote quickly, ‘Don’t worry about me, I am fine. I can look after myself.’ Was there any point in saying more? She glanced at Smith, who was studiously examining a chart on the wall. She added, ‘I love you. Abby.’ She closed and the message vanished from the screen.
Smith was at her side again, with a congratulatory pat on her shoulder. She made room for him and he finished whatever it was he had to do, while she covered her face with her hands.
Adrenaline began to surge again as Smith, grinning, led her back to the annexe doorway. There was no need to wait, this time. Everyone in Flight Control seemed to be on the move, from screen to screen, busily involved. Smith simply stepped out and walked round to the elevator. Abigail followed as if walking on air.
‘Tim, just check it on the Ultima,’ Addo said.
She stifled a laugh. It didn’t matter if they were caught now; she’d done what she came to do. Even so, there was a delicious sense of triumph as they slipped, undetected, from the elevator platform onto the ladder. She climbed down. Or did she glide weightless? She felt capable of anything. Smith had the lower doors open and they emerged into the corridor of D-Deck, tingling with excitement.
‘Yes!’ Smith punched the air with a wild laugh and threw his arms round her. ‘You’ve got natural talent, you know that?’
She laughed in response and followed him as he ran back towards the main shaft.
Still laughing, she burned inside, playing a compulsive tattoo on the wall as he worked on opening the panel. ‘We did it, we did it.’
‘Nothing like it,’ said Smith.
‘It was – stimulating.’
‘Yeah!’
She grabbed him, kissing him violently, groping at his clothing as he groped at hers.
‘As I said,’ repeated Smith. ‘Nothing like it.’
‘Shut up.’ She flung herself back against the wall, hooking her legs around him.
‘No, I can never keep quiet. I have to crow in triumph!’
‘Even now? Do you have to – Ah! – talk?’
‘Oh – I always – Ah – always talk – One must – maintain – Oh God!’
‘Chapel in five minutes, children,’ said the commander, striding past them. ‘Text for today: Revelations 22:20. Verily, I come quickly.’
‘Oh hell,’ said Abigail, as Smith collapsed, laughing.
Chapter 16
No response to the knock on the door of B2. Three days now and Maggy still hadn’t emerged. Was she going to stay in there forever and starve to death? Abigail hesitated before knocking again, then she shrugged and turned away. She had enough to do, looking after herself.
She walked on, round the curving passage, and into a hitherto unexplored corridor of offices, labs and stores. The infirmary must be here somewhere.
A door stood open, light gleaming within, but it was a workshop, littered with electrical equipment that she didn’t recognise and had no wish to understand. A wizened man was sitting hunched over a workbench, gabbling quietly to himself, his skeletal limbs gathered onto the stool like a spider’s.
‘Oh yes yes yes it isn’t no it won’t do it mustn’t shift!’ He snarled the last word, jerking his head up and staring with red-rimmed, dazed eyes at Abigail. ‘Oh yes!’ Her presence registered and he jumped, almost comical. Then his eyes narrowed and he pointed at her. ‘You!’
Abigail retreated sharply. How were strangers, deranged strangers at that, wandering loose on B-Deck? There could be all manner of strange beasts down in the bowels of D-Deck, but this was the deck where she lived and slept. Were the crew’s quarters here too? She’d never thought to ask. Determined to reclaim the deck for herself, she walked on, forcing herself to take her time, refusing to look back over her shoulder.
No sound of pursuit. Unless the strange little man was moving very quietly. Just behind her. She couldn’t help herself. She turned. No one there. Of course not. But there, instead, was a door marked with a discreet red cross.
She knocked softly. No reply, so she opened the door and went in.
A large white cabinet faced a narrow bed, a chair and a small side table, on which stood a chess board, a game in progress.
David, unaware as ever, was sitting on the bed, wrapped in a dressing gown, still pallid, but no longer retching. He’d been staring at the chessboard, but he looked up as she entered, very slightly tilting his head, first one way, then the other.
‘Hi,’ said Abigail.
‘How do you do.’
‘Fine. How are you feeling now?’
David spoke as if an invisible pitchfork were jabbing him, forcing a response from him. ‘I am very well, thank you.’
Abigail grimaced. ‘Sure.’ This was going to be hard work. ‘You look better. Are they taking good care of you?’
‘Very good care.’
‘What was up with you, exactly?’
David stared back blankly. Abigail picked up the bottle of capsules on the table and glanced at the label. ‘Ventrix,’ she read. ‘That’s heart, isn’t it? Was that the problem? You forgot to take it?’
David blinked at her. ‘I went away.’
‘And it just wore off, or whatever? You didn’t take anything else?’
‘I wouldn’t like to think what he took,’ said Tod, from the doo
rway behind her. ‘He took a vacation in the sewers, didn’t you, David? God knows what he ate. Whatever it was, it gave him severe food poisoning. And forgetting his Ventrix couldn’t have helped. But that won’t happen again, will it, Davey?’
David sat up straighter. He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘That’s because I will personally make sure you take it. David and I are getting along just fine. He’s becoming quite communicative with me.’
Abigail had stepped back automatically when Tod entered. ‘You mean he’s scared of you.’
‘That could be it.’ His eyes glinted as she found herself against the wall. ‘Which of course is as it should be.’
She raised her chin, refusing to be cowed.
Tod pulled the chair forward and sat astride it, folding his arms across the back. ‘So what brings Miss Dieterman to the infirmary? Lady Bountiful doing her hospital rounds? I hope you appreciate the honour, Davey.’
David continued to stare at Tod, oblivious to all else.
Abigail shrugged carelessly. ‘I wanted to see if he was suffering from the same thing I had. I know what everyone thinks, but all I took was a handful of Lucies. I didn’t take anything else.’
Tod smiled.
‘I didn’t. I wouldn’t…’ She stopped, realising the meaning behind his smile. ‘You gave me something?’
‘Zeron Blockbuster. Something they’re experimenting with on Miranda sub-5 but as yet unknown in the Inner Circles. In small doses it causes giddiness and quite sensational diarrhoea. I hadn’t reckoned on the effect of mixing it with Lucies, or on Siegfried’s resentment. You shouldn’t have slapped Tiny Tim at the ball. I think he slipped you a triple dose. For a while, I seriously thought you were going to die.’
‘You...’ Abigail found herself using the wall for support. ‘You deliberately poisoned me? Why?’
‘You were getting jumpy, Miss Dieterman. Itching to get down to Ganymede and beg Daddy to bail you out. He couldn’t have done it, even if he’d still been in favour, but he might have created all manner of complications and delays. I couldn’t have that. You’re my cargo, Miss Dieterman. Mine, until we reach Triton. So I incapacitated you.’
He laughed at the look of terror and loathing on her face. ‘Unpleasant for you, and awkward for me as it turned out. But think of the bonus. By now, the labs on Ganymede will have worked out what it was, and once they’ve analysed quantities, heat, time and any other variables, they’ll write it up as a research paper and add to the sum of human knowledge. That surely makes it all worthwhile?’