by Thorne Moore
‘Think about it.’
‘To hell with that!’
Tod firmly pushed him into a chair. ‘I said think about it. You keep your 19.73 million, wisely invested, no doubt, and you have my word that I won’t touch a penny of it. I’ll even cover for you if Seccor makes enquiries. 19.73 million, with seven years interest, and meanwhile you make hay here. Never mind the millions you’d be earning on your contract. You can infiltrate and squeeze the life blood out of any cyber-system. You can manipulate information like no other. What do you suppose that skill is worth to a man as obsessed with secrecy and counter-espionage as Pascal?’ Tod paused, to give Smith a moment to refocus.
Smith’s eyes narrowed, his indignant refusal on hold. But only on hold.
‘You just have to survive the seven years. And you’ll do better than survive them. Things aren’t so very bad on Triton for the select few, and you’ll be one of them before the month is out. Then you’ll be free. Better than free, because you’ll have all of Triton’s darkest secrets under your belt, just yearning for a buyer.’
Smith sat still, eyes black and unreadable. ‘You’ve been kissing the Blarney Stone, Dr Foxe? All very tempting, very persuasive. The trouble is, I am not the stuff of which Triton Man is made. I don’t grunt, I can manage whole sentences, and I try, whenever possible, not to get my hands dirty. Sorry, but I’d sooner lose nineteen million twice over than spend seven years in that cess pit. I don’t live to make money, I make money to live, and nobody lives on Triton. Not what I call living.’
Tod studied him, letting the silence grow, till he said quietly, ‘You’re wrong, Jo Jo. You would live. But Yasmin will not.’
‘We don’t know that.’
‘I do.’
‘She’s a clever woman. She’ll make her way.’
‘No. She won’t. You’re right, this is personal to me, Jo Jo. It’s about my professional pride. My Triton cargo survives. You’ll survive. So will Nessy. So will Abigail and Selden and Merrit, unless they’re determined to mess things up. Yasmin will die, and there’s nothing she or I can do to prevent it. She’s Pascal’s former colleague, and however much she tries to hide, he will unearth her. He’ll demand work of her that she can no longer do, and when she fails him, she will be expunged. That isn’t a possibility, it’s a certainty. Pascal has no place for people he can’t use. If your scheme can smuggle her out of Triton, she lives. If it doesn’t, she dies. You choose.’
Smith sat back, folding his arms, his eyes glazed in disbelief. ‘I didn’t make her sign her contract.’
‘No, she was a free agent when she signed, just as you were. And now, like it or not, you decide whether she gets mercy or the death penalty.’
‘I’m not doing this. I’m not taking the blame!’
‘You think not?’
Smith smacked the scanner. ‘I hope Pascal boils you in oil, Tod Foxe!’
Yasmin walked into Flight Control, hands behind her back. ‘I’ve been summoned to the headmaster’s office. Have I been walking on the wrong side of the corridor?’
‘Yes!’ Tod pushed his chair back. ‘You get detention for that.’
‘And I thought I was being so virtuous, the only one still sober on the ship. But it looks as if you don’t have much of a hangover either. So…’ She braced herself.
‘We dock in twenty-four hours, Yasmin.’
‘I know.’
‘I don’t like this situation. I resent handing my cargo over to certain death. I am obliged to deliver you, so the only option I have is to remove you again after arrival and registration.’
‘Don’t tease, Tod.’
‘I’m not. I can’t simply smuggle you back onto the Heloise; every last nut and bolt that goes on or off the ship will be examined, scanned and accounted for.’
‘Yes, Tod. I appreciate that. I know you have no option but to dump me down there with the rest and go, shaking the dust from your feet. Write me off and forget it.’
He ignored her, offering her card. ‘Check. Your records, references, necessary documents, all there.’
‘More of Jo Jo’s work?’
‘Very fast work. I hope it’s up to his usual standard. He had one hour before we switched off the Ultima.’
‘I’m sure he did a brilliantly creative job, but I don’t need them. I’m quite ready to look after myself.’
‘Just read them, Yasmin.’
‘All right.’ She flicked through. ‘Courier for Isis? What is this? Contract with Haagen Inc. For what? It doesn’t say.’
‘Import-export. Which they can interpret as gun running. It accounts for the last year. You weren’t caught.’
Yasmin looked up. ‘Tod, I’ve spent the last six months learning the basics of isotope analysis, and now you want to pass me off as a pilot? What’s this about?’
‘There’s a mention of isotopes, don’t worry. Best if you’ve had a varied career, but there are a few vital references to point them in the right direction. Then it will be up to you to play the part and convince them that you’re what they need.’
‘Need for what?’
‘Project Minotaur. If you can convince them—’
Yasmin held up her hands. ‘Stop. Tell me what this is about, please.’
‘Project Minotaur operates out in the Kuiper belt. No idea what it’s about, but every fifteen days, Pascal sends out a courier, delivering something. New command codes? Samples? Whatever it is, every fifteen days a courier sets out, like clockwork. Standard one-man vessel. It’s a risky run. Couriers have gone missing.’
Yasmin drew breath to interrupt and he went on quickly. ‘On arrival you present your credentials, which should be enough to get you allocated to courier transport. A Minotaur run should be due five days after we arrive. We usually stay about four days on Triton but an extra day won’t seem too suspicious. I’ll try and negotiate for an extra cargo.
‘The appointed pilot for the courier will fall victim to a bout of Dieterman Syndrome shortly before departure, so they’ll be looking for a handy replacement. Volunteer.’
‘Oh, I see. Just like that.’
‘Yes. Where’s the problem? You’re an experienced courier pilot, keen to win your spurs.’ Tod permitted himself a brief smile. ‘I appreciate that this scheme was based around Jo Jo’s thespian talents, and the chance of anyone else carrying it off is considerably lower.’
‘Wait! You mean this was Jo Jo’s great escape?’
‘At first. We negotiated.’
‘And now I get to run and he gets seven years on Triton. What did you do? Break his arm?’
‘I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. He’s quite happy about it.’
‘Happy!’
‘Well, reconciled. Now, concentrate. You’ll need to study the charts in the library if you’re going to give a good performance. First of all, make sure you know exactly how to find the Alpha 5 and Gamma 8 navigation beacons. They’ll be on the courier route and we could easily accommodate both. You should be able to pick us up. Just time your arrival to match ours, at whichever one you choose. Two options are safer than an outright reliance on one. Our rendezvous will appear as no more than ships passing in the night. We converge, as ships tend to do at beacons, we take you on board and the courier sails on, pre-programmed, courtesy of Jo Jo, who will provide you with the necessary. It will continue emitting the right signals, making a few course alterations for another couple of days, until it starts emitting emergency signals, system failure, mayday, and then it explodes. Jo Jo thinks he can prepare this in advance for you to feed into the controls once you’re safely on board. It means that volunteer Christie Steen’s disappearance will be fully accounted for, with no possible reason to connect it with the brief encounter with the Heloise back at the navigation beacon.’
He paused.
‘Have you finished?’ Yasmin asked quietly.
‘So far.’
‘The answer’s no. I won’t do it.’
‘I’m not denying the risk you’d
be taking, Yasmin, but the risks you’d face in staying would be even greater.’
‘It isn’t the risk to me I’m worried about. I won’t let you risk everything, just to try and save me. And don’t say there’s no risk. All it would take is one glimmer of suspicion drifting into Pascal’s warped mind and he’ll eliminate you as callously as you’re convinced he’ll eliminate me.’
‘That’s a risk every Triton trip. Even now, as we innocently approach the station with nothing but humility in our thoughts, Pascal may be having negative feelings about us and decide to blast us into oblivion just to be on the safe side. It has been known to happen.’
Instinctively they paused to listen, but there was no alteration in the gentle murmur of the ship.
Yasmin laughed. ‘Very good. But it won’t get you anywhere. It’s a silly, sentimental risk you’re taking and I refuse to be a part of it. Let’s get back to being cold-blooded and rational.’
He sat back, expressionless, then shrugged. ‘All right. As you say, let’s be cold-blooded. You invited me, many months back, to negotiate with Benedict Darke to keep David Rabiotti’s whereabout secret.’
‘Yes?’ She frowned. ‘And I know it cost you the Heloise, but—’
‘The price was you. Yasmin Gwynne. I am under orders to get you away from Triton and hand you over.’
‘Me?’
‘Are you surprised. Never mind the slanders you were flinging at Benedict Darke for years. You were a Ragnox executive, neck-deep in their slime. In his eyes, that’s unforgiveable. Don’t tell me you’re surprised he’s had you in his sights?’
She stared at him. He stared back.
‘I shouldn’t be.’ She lowered herself onto a chair. ‘Of course he’d want my head.’
‘He didn’t specify which part of your anatomy he had in mind. But you asked me to make the deal. I did. You’re it: the price for David Rabiotti’s freedom.’
‘In that case.’ Yasmin chewed her lip. ‘I don’t have any choice, do I?’
‘None.’
‘At least it saves me from falling for that tiny flicker of hope. I’m finished either way.’
‘Probably. But look on the bright side. This way, you stay alive for a couple more months.’
‘That much?’
‘If I spin it out before we rendezvous with the Pandemonium. After that, your fate is out of my hands.’
Yasmin swallowed. ‘How does your deal with Darke stand if the plan goes wrong? If I don’t make it?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe he’ll accept I did my best, and maybe he won’t.’
‘So, it’s up to me.’
‘All the way. This scheme would work with Jo Jo. Have you got his impudent audacity? You’ll have to seize every opportunity as it arises, but if you hold your nerve, it could work.’
‘I’ll find the nerve, if that’s what I have to do, but it won’t be enough. I’ve never flown so much as a kite, and you want me to handle a courier like an experienced smuggler.’
‘Couriers are simple, Yasmin. You’ve spent long enough on Flight Control to have a fair idea of the gears and the handbrake and no one’s going to ask you to reverse park without bumping the kerb.’
‘Good. I was always a lousy parker. So, how do I get assigned to Project Minotaur?’
Tod tapped the card. ‘Isis is the key. I don’t know which part of its programme is significant. Laser weaponry possibly. Jo Jo discovered that two of my last cubs who’d worked for Isis were posted straight to the Minotaur project. Right, so you worked briefly as a high-security courier for Isis. You have twenty-four hours to research anything you can find on the company, to sound convincing.’
‘I see.’
‘They’ll want to know what you did after that, so you tell them about the gun running. Be brazen about it. You fought off a couple of competitors and a Seccor patrol. It gave you the taste for risk and big money, so you signed on for Triton.’
‘Isn’t it a bit obvious?’
‘Not if you fill it out with other experience. Isotope analysis, yes, and anything that will have no possible application on Triton. Telesales. Hairdressing. Be moderately honest and mention PR. They’ll rifle through it all and pick on the shreds of experience that will be of use out here.’
‘So, with luck and a Mickey Finn, I get the next courier run for Project Minotaur.’ She shut her eyes. ‘Nothing to it.’
‘On the contrary, there’s far too much to it. It’ll work if they place you with Minotaur, if you can get the courier run, if Smith can slip you the necessary programming details, if we manage to rendezvous at one of the beacons. I’ve spent months trying to concoct a plan to whisk you away and I came up with nothing. Nothing that wouldn’t have Pascal’s hounds after us long before we’d got free from Triton Control. Jo Jo’s plan at least has a chance. A very slim one, but it’s all there is.’
‘Right. I’d better start researching Isis then.’
Tod rose with a smile of relief. ‘First, come to the shuttle bay. You might as well have a tutorial on the basic controls.’
‘Good idea.’ She stood up, moving to follow him, then stopped. ‘Tod Foxe offering me on a plate to Benedict Darke? No. You don’t really think he’ll cut my throat, do you?’
He glanced back at her, as he opened the shuttle bay doors, and said nothing.
‘Do you?’
‘I think it more likely he’d want to put you to use, just as Pascal did. You were mistress of the Black Arts.’
‘But not now. Not anymore.’
‘He doesn’t know that, Yasmin. Not yet. It’s up to you whether you bend or go to the stake, if he gives you the choice. I’ll have fulfilled my side of the bargain.’ He rapped his fingers impatiently on the door. ‘Now just come and learn how to fly the bloody shuttle, woman.’
Merrit groaned. Why did everyone have to snore so loudly? He sat up with an effort. It must be Selden. Rumbling like a volcano. And Clytemnestra!
With sickness in his stomach and apocalypse in his head, he staggered to his feet, and carefully stepped over the slumbering tiger skin. Smith, Yasmin and the crew had gone from the lounge. Abigail was awake, pale and dishevelled but alert, eyes fixed in awed fascination on the observation screen.
Neptune, which had been increasingly dominant for days, was blue as the torches of Hades.
‘Looks pretty weird,’ said Merrit, gulping at the sight.
‘You mean different,’ suggested Abigail.
‘I suppose.’
‘That’s why we came here. To find something different.’
Merrit looked at her, half fearful, half wanting to be persuaded. Then he burst out laughing. ‘Yeah, just look at us.’ He glanced at the snoring Selden and Clytemnestra. ‘Who the hell do we think we are, coming out to that?’
‘We’re about to find out,’ said Abigail. They stood and watched in silence as a moon edged up before the mass of the blue planet.
Triton.
They both took a deep breath.
‘Can’t help it; this place has my skin crawling,’ said Freddie.
‘Just sit quietly at your console,’ said Tod. ‘You’re not stepping off the ship. I’m the only one fool enough to do that.’ He watched for a nod from Addo. ‘Right. We’re on line for our final approach.’
On the screen, the jutting extremities of two escort vessels were visible, against the blue disk of the dreamy planet.
Tod looked at his passengers, watching with rapt intensity as Triton Port came into view, the black trident logo eerily stark on the dully gleaming panels. No one spoke as the ship slowly but surely glided into dock. If anyone was breathing, it wasn’t audible.
There was a faint vibration. Addo gently cut the drive and there was a slow subsiding into silence.
A sudden nervous intake of breath. Merrit.
Abigail slipped her hand into Selden’s.
Clytemnestra fidgeted with the fastenings of her silver cat suit, marginally more appropriate than the red basque.
Smith wa
tched the screen, head on one side, assessing. He’d had just a few hours to come to terms with the next seven years. Reconciled wasn’t the word for it, but it was just a matter of rising to the challenge.
Yasmin clasped her hands behind her back. If there’d been vodka at hand, she would have lunged for it.
Tod smiled fondly. ‘You’re all packed. You’re as ready as you’ll ever be. There’s nothing more I can do, except give you this.’ He handed them a paper note each. ‘Names of my earlier cargoes, just in case you find yourself in need of allies. Memorise, then eat it. That’s all. I’m accompanying you to reception. The major and Freddie stay on board, so say your farewells now.’
Short and sweet, a mixture of formal handshakes, kisses on cheeks and friendly punches.
Abigail glanced round at her fellow passengers. ‘I expect we’ll be separated when we get down there. No knowing when we’ll meet again.’
‘I suppose,’ said Merrit nervously. ‘Well...’ He stopped, not knowing what to say.
Yasmin gave him a hug, then the others. It was unexpected, but they welcomed the gesture, even if Smith was the only one to appreciate its finality.
He pulled a rueful face for her private benefit, then grinned at the others, Clytemnestra last. ‘Friends?’ he asked.
‘Get lost,’ said Clytemnestra.
Chapter 29
Triton. The furthest, deepest, coldest colony, on the brink of nothingness.
For Selden it was a return to a world both known and misleadingly altered. To Smith it was a distasteful curiosity to be manipulated. To the others it was imbued with such alien and terrifying imagery that the reality was more of a shock than hell fires and dancing demons.
Functionality. Harsh bright light. Cold white panels.
Full body and luggage scan.
Decontamination.
Processing hall.
All the same chill, impersonal, clinical cleanliness. Chill impersonal figures, anonymous in their white coveralls.
But this was merely reception. Who could tell how things would be out in the sprawling compounds of the biodomes, among the towering, rumbling labyrinths of laboratories, workshops, reactors, dormitories, storage silos and testing bays? Or in the gaunt concrete monolith of the Tower, headquarters of Triton colony.