by Thorne Moore
‘Now that sounds like Abigail,’ said Tod, descending the metal steps to her level. ‘Arrogant enough to act on impulse and refuse to admit she’s wrong, even when she realises, five seconds later, that she has done something quite phenomenally stupid.’
She was fiddling with controls on the oxygen pack. At last she put it down and turned to face him. ‘It wasn’t stupid.’
Her face was pale, her eyes wide and dark, her expression one of distant wonderment, as if she saw straight through him to something far beyond.
‘Ah,’ said Tod. ‘Like that, was it?’
With difficulty she focused. Her eyes met his. She looked quizzical, surprised by the understanding she saw. ‘You know?’
‘It gets some people.’
‘You?’
‘Only once. Almost.’
‘It was – like – I don’t know. It was...’
‘It wasn’t like anything, was it? It was unique. Incomparable. The soul in paraphrase.’ He took her arm and led her gently back up to the control room, addressing Selden in his usual sardonic manner. ‘You did well, both of you. You took a risk. A very unwise one, of course, since we wouldn’t have lifted a finger to bring you back in if anything had gone wrong.’
‘Of course not. Bad business.’
‘Quite. But you seem to have managed, and now we’re back in full functioning order, so I can freely express our gratitude, at no cost to myself whatsoever. Have an extra helping of NDP on me.’
‘Thanks,’ said Selden.
Abigail said nothing. She was breathing deeply, slowly, reliving the transcendent experience, sensations that were beyond her own comprehension, far beyond analysis. Awe. Total otherness, and yet an overpowering indefinable sense of oneness. Everything had changed. Nothing would ever be the same again. She looked at Tod, clutching suddenly at his arm, searching for an answer. ‘What must I do?’
He smiled, opening the door to usher her out. ‘Eat, sleep, all the normal humdrum things. You may not believe it, but ordinary life goes on.’
‘Open the door you little shit!’ Siegfried was pulverising his knuckles with the thumping, but he was oblivious, still too groggy or hung-over to feel the pain. ‘I’m going to kill you, you bastard.’
He continued to hammer, stopping only when a hand gripped his, wrenched it away from David’s cabin door, and up behind his back.
‘What you doing? Following me round? Spying on me?’ He tried to jerk his wrist free from Tod’s vice-like grip, but the more he struggled, the more his arm was twisted round until the bones threatened to part company.
‘Still not sober?’ said Tod. ‘I don’t have to spy on you. The racket was reverberating down to D-Deck.’ He relaxed his hold a little as Siegfried’s arm went limp. The pain had begun to infiltrate Siegfried’s benumbed brain.
‘I let you out on the understanding that you’d get back to work,’ said Tod. ‘It wasn’t an invitation to assassinate my passengers.’
Siegfried stared at him with blank hatred. ‘He killed Tim.’
‘As to that...’ Tod frowned. ‘I’ll deal with it. It’s my business. As is the command of the Heloise, and I commanded you to go down to D-Deck and make yourself useful. If you can’t accept the discipline, I can always lock you up again.’
Siegfried was summing up befuddled options, whether to attempt to kill Tod now, or leave it until the commander was unprepared.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ warned Tod. ‘D-Deck now!’
Siegfried was still mumbling under his breath as he lumbered off.
Tod sighed and glanced thoughtfully at David’s door. There was no sound from within. On a sudden suspicion, he opened the door and looked in. David was standing, caught in the act, though there was no telling what the act was. He was barely conscious of Tod’s presence, but his chest was heaving slightly more than usual, as if from some exertion, and he was frozen in mid stride. Where was he striding? Where had he been?
Instinctively, Tod glanced round the cabin, seeing not the scuffed furnishings but the fittings, the pipes, the controls, the air vent. The grid over the vent was in place, but not screwed down. A small and unsavoury escape route. Too small? Tod eyed David’s tall thin limbs. Not too small for any normal double-jointed contortionist lacking any sense of self-preservation.
‘Have you been out of your cabin?’
His words were beyond the boy. David had been set free from his medication. He was no longer tuned in to Tod’s words.
Tod groped in his pocket for handcuffs; a precautionary device for passengers who refused to respond to persuasion and theatrics. Apart from threatening Smith with them, he hadn’t had to use them for a long time. He checked that they were working smoothly and slipped one bracelet on David’s unresisting wrist.
‘Sorry, boy, but if you won’t stay put, I can’t answer for your safety or anyone else’s.’ Tod snapped the other bracelet round a towel rail and pulled up a chair within David’s reach. How long would it keep David secure? Not long, he guessed. He would have to think of something else soon.
He retreated to the corridor to find Yasmin watching from the doorway of her own cabin.
‘Did Siegfried get to him?’
‘No,’ said Tod. ‘Not this time. Can’t promise he won’t try again.’
‘Of course he will.’ She unfolded her arms and thrust her hands in her pockets. ‘I need to talk.’
‘Briefly. The Panache will be with us in less than two hours.’
‘That’s why we need to talk now.’
He looked at her suspiciously, then shrugged acquiescence and followed her into her cabin. ‘Go on,’ he said, as the door slid shut on them.
‘David. What are you going to do with him?’
‘I’m not going to kill him, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘You’ll deliver him to Triton?’
‘Is there any other option?’
‘You know what’s in store for him? He’ll be back on his medication, part of some ghoulish experiment. He’ll have seven years of mental torture while Pascal rapes and raids his brain.’
Tod drew a deep breath. ‘That’s up to his father.’
‘No, it isn’t. It’s up to you.’
‘What do you suggest I do? Make Pascal an offer for him? The best I can hope is to deliver him alive. And that’s not going to be easy. Even if I can control Siegfried, can I control David?’ He opened his hands. ‘Any suggestions?’
‘Yes. Hand him over to Pan.’
‘Ah, a lovely thought. Let the unsuspecting Panache deal with him. And let Pascal deal with me when he discovers I offered his guinea-pig to his arch-rival.’
‘You could tell him David died.’
Tod sighed his exasperation. ‘Every voyage, some passenger proposes I allow him to escape by faking his death. And every voyage, I explain it wouldn’t work.’
‘Because too many people would know the truth and couldn’t be trusted to keep quiet?’
‘Precisely.’
‘This time it could work. They all know how Tim died. If you tell them David has gone berserk again, it’s what they’re expecting to hear. They’ll believe it. You can buy off Pascal’s suspicions by feeding him full and precise details: David killed Tim, under the influence of the pills. Write it up. Pascal will be interested in any useful data he can add to the files. So, David went out of control, killing a crew member, injuring your engineer, threatening damage to the ship. You managed to confine him but when he broke out and ran amok a second time, you had no option but to kill him to prevent worse. It could all be so tidy and impersonal, just the way Pascal likes it.’
‘You know him so well.’
‘Yes. And so do you. Whatever David unwittingly did, neither of us want him fed to that monster.’
Tod locked his fingers, studying the space between them. ‘How do I persuade the Panache to take him? Pan may dice with death around Pascal every day, but they’d need a very good reason to risk a major confrontation on any terms o
ther than their own.’
‘Give them a good reason. Tell them David’s an ET.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Ask to negotiate directly with Darke.’
‘What makes you think Benedict Darke will spare the time to negotiate with the two-bit commander of an independent freighter?’
‘You’re the negotiator. Tell him David’s an ET and he’ll listen, because—’
‘Because Darke’s an ET himself?’
‘I’m fairly sure, yes. You knew?’
‘Guessed. Pan works on a different dimension to everything else out here. Darke has to be somewhere beyond the second star to the right.’
‘I had to research him, looking for some ammunition that Pascal could use. It was like trying to pin down mist. All I can say for certain is that he collects ETs.’
Tod nodded. ‘It’s true there are Pan colonies with large ET populations. Can we be sure they’re not just some sort of experiment, like the one Pascal’s probably running on Triton?’
‘If Darke is one of them, don’t you think it more likely that they’d be his army, not his lab rats? He’ll regard David as one of his own, set him free. Whereas, if you deliver him to Pascal...’
‘I see. I get to choose between delivering David to salvation or damnation.’
‘No one else need know.’
‘One will. Benedict Darke.’
‘Well, yes.’
‘I’ll be offering him Michael Rabiotti’s son. You think anything would stop him wanting to rub Pascal’s nose in it?’
She smiled resolutely. ‘You negotiate.’
Tod swore, turned away, picked up a tunic lying on the bed, screwed it up into a ball and threw it across the room. ‘All right, maybe… maybe, it’s an option. Maybe, if, if, if, I can negotiate directly with Darke. But just remember, Yasmin, as far as I’m concerned, my first priority is Tucker. David can take his chances when I’ve got that sorted out.’
She nodded, reluctantly. ‘You’re the negotiator.’
Chapter 26
‘ISF Heloise, this is IO Panache. Are you standing by?’ The voice on the communications channel was brisk, good-humoured, and female.
‘Standing by, Panache,’ said Tod. ‘Nice to see you, Kate.’
‘Nice to see you, Tod. How’s your casualty?’
‘Bearing up. Unconscious but stabilised. Our medical team carried out some emergency surgery, but he needs more specialised facilities.’
‘Okay, Heloise, we can provide that. So, let’s discuss the deal.’
Yasmin saw Tod’s lips twitch into a smile in response to this. She watched him anxiously.
‘I’ll deal, Panache. But I want to deal with Darke. With him directly.’
There was a snort. ‘The monkey’s not good enough for you, eh, Tod?’
Tod laughed. ‘I might throw you some nuts in passing, Kate. But first, patch me through to Darke.’
‘Mr Darke to you, scum.’
‘Lord God Almighty Darke, if you like,’ suggested Tod. ‘Will you do it, Kate?’
‘No. No way, Tod Foxe.’ The Panache commander laughed. ‘There’s no way I’m patching the Heloise through to the Ark, but if you want to speak to him, you can come here and do it.’
Addo swivelled round to look at Tod. They shrugged at each other.
‘All right, Kate,’ said Tod. ‘And you’ll send a medical team in exchange?’
‘You come here; paramedics come to you. Deal?’
‘Deal.’ Tod checked the instruments. ‘How long before you’re in position?’
‘Five minutes?’ suggested Kate.
‘5 minutes 39 seconds,’ said Clytemnestra at the same moment.
‘I’ll be ready,’ said Tod, signing off. He patted Clytemnestra’s shoulder. ‘Good to see my team is more accurate than the opposition.’
‘You’re not supposed to be thinking of them as the opposition,’ Yasmin reminded him, at his elbow.
‘Stop thinking that and he’s in real trouble,’ said Addo.
‘Yasmin, I’m not an engineer, or a pilot, but this I can do,’ said Tod. He tapped the intercom. ‘Okay, D-Deck. I’m taking a shuttle. You can handle everything?’
‘Sure,’ grunted Siegfried, from below.
Tod watched the screen as the Panache edged ever closer. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘You locked on, Major?’
Addo double checked. ‘Locked on. Snug as a bug in a rug. Take care. Kate Kuzminski’s one thing. Darke’s another.’
‘And Tod Foxe is a match for both of them.’ Tod turned Yasmin around as if shooing her away, speaking softly as he slipped a key into her hand. ‘Check the property. No fuss.’
He turned to Clytemnestra as Yasmin backed away. ‘I’m relying on you to keep an eye on sunny Jo Jo, Nessy. Try not to let him annoy the Panache too much.’
Clytemnestra looked up with surprised relish. ‘What do you want me to do if he steps out of line?’
‘I leave it entirely up to you,’ said Tod, generously, and he was gone.
Abigail appeared in Flight Control, freshly showered. Her eyes immediately fixed on the vision monitors, now dominated by the motionless bulk of the Panache, as it sat in tandem with the Heloise. She watched it hungrily. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Good question,’ said Smith, rubbing his chin as he studied the Ultima.
‘The Panache has arrived,’ said Clytemnestra. Her image had changed, but her capacity for stating the obvious had not. ‘Commander Foxe has gone to negotiate, and the Panache has sent a medical team. They’re in the infirmary now.’ She sniffed her opinion of the Panache paramedics.
Abigail nodded.
‘And I’m to correct Smith if he makes problems,’ added Clytemnestra.
Abigail glanced at Smith, who, without looking up, mimed a whip crack.
Addo was watching the monitors with narrowed eyes, arms folded.
‘Problem?’ asked Abigail.
‘He’s been a long time. And he hasn’t been in touch.’
She looked up at the screen again. Was Tod marooned over there? Did he need rescuing? She smiled at her own eagerness to find an excuse to go out again. It would achieve nothing, of course, against that massive hulk. A different ship, a different function, different design... she realised she was looking at these things through new eyes. She tilted her head to study the logo on the side of the Panache. Squiggles that could, at this angle, look almost like two slanting eyes, two curving horns and a grin. ‘A devil?’
‘The Great God Pan, I would think,’ said Addo. ‘But Devil might be more appropriate. An unpredictable bunch and they’ve got our hostage.’
‘Do you think you should contact them?’
Addo shook his head, glancing again at the time. ‘Not yet. Give him a while longer.’
‘I’ll tell you this,’ said Smith. ‘They’re in communication with another ship. Can’t say how. They don’t use VPT but I still reckon, if I can just—’
‘Oh no you don’t,’ said Clytemnestra leaping up and striding across to stand over him like a school ma’am from hell. ‘You’re not to mess with anything they’re doing.’
‘I want to check that Tod’s safe,’ said Smith. ‘You can’t argue with that.’
‘Yes, I can. Leave it alone.’
He swivelled round, smiling provocatively. ‘Or what, sweet Clyt?’
Clytemnestra tutted, then shot a hand down. Her painted nails had purchased a persuasive grip before Smith even thought of shielding himself. ‘Or you’ll be singing soprano,’ she said firmly.
Smith’s eyes widened.
‘Go on, snap ’em off,’ said Addo.
‘No! He’s kidding!’ Smith raised his hands hastily. ‘Look. I’m not touching anything, Nessy. Just let go. I’ll, ah! be good.’
‘Yes, you will.’ Clytemnestra stepped back and raised a warning finger at him.
Smith gingerly crossed his legs. He met Abigail’s eyes and laughed. ‘You should see her when she’s angry.’
Abig
ail smiled vaguely, her eyes flitting back to the monitors.
Smith looked at her again. ‘What’s up with you?’
‘Me? Nothing. Why?’
‘You look different.’ He could see her polished veneer had roughened and frayed, but there was more to it than that, something more fundamental. There was a different set to her features. Less haughty but stronger. ‘What have you been up to?’
‘Guilty mind, Jo Jo? I’ve been working, that’s all.’
‘Must just be the novel thrill then. Walking in Space. Fun, was it?’
‘Fun?’
‘Okay, scary then.’
She shook her head. Smith couldn’t begin to understand, and she certainly wasn’t going to try and put it into words for his benefit. He couldn’t comprehend that overwhelming sense of epiphany that had flooded through her when she’d stepped outside. ‘It’s far beyond you, Jo Jo.’
‘Oh. Thanks.’
Addo spared her one quick glance and a smile.
‘How long has he been over there,’ she asked.
‘Hour and a half. That’s a lot of negotiating. But then it was only a matter of time before we—’ Addo stopped as the communications channel crackled into life.
‘Heloise, Tod Foxe.’
‘Receiving you,’ said Addo quickly.
‘We have a deal. Tell their medical team to get ready to move.’
‘Anything untoward?’
‘Nothing we weren’t prepared for, Kwame.’
‘Okay.’ Addo sounded equally neutral. He smiled to himself with a shake of his head.
‘I’m coming back. To our ship. Get Siegfried to transfer the acthridium cells to their shuttle while you’re waiting for me.’
‘That’s it?’
‘The cells, Tucker, and a body. I’ll sort things out when I get back. I’m coming now.’
‘It was just a matter of common sense,’ said Merrit breezily. ‘You do what you have to do, don’t you?’
‘Nice sutures,’ said one of the paramedics, glancing from his monitor to the wound in Tucker’s head.