by Thorne Moore
‘No, I think you love Jo Jo Smith.’ Clytemnestra reached into a crevice of her basque and produced a card, which she handed to him. ‘Still, for old time’s sake, if you’re passing. Discount rates for the Heloise.’
Smith glanced at the card and grinned. ‘Catch you later.’
‘Make an appointment,’ said Clytemnestra. ‘Yasmin.’ Solemnly they shook hands. ‘Have a good trip.’
‘Thank you,’ said Yasmin weakly, and Clytemnestra was gone, back to her tiger-skin lair, and their elevator sped back up to the 25th floor.
Smith laughed but Yasmin’s expression silenced him. ‘Jo Jo, this is stupid. There’s no point, and anyway, I’ll never get away with it.’
Smith was immediately in control, confident of his ability to manage and manipulate. He took her arm, guiding her firmly along a corridor. ‘Nonsense, sweetheart. You can do it; you will do it and I’ll see that it works. Now.’ He paused, glancing round cautiously, and lowered his voice. ‘I need to make a few adjustments. This is how it will be. I go to the surveillance department. Pilots register with us before they head for the base, check their equipment, link up their body monitors. Give me a few minutes, then go into the waiting room. You’ll be able to see the surveillance room. I won’t be the only one in there. Don’t enter until you’re sure it will be me dealing with you.’ He swivelled her round to face him. ‘You are listening?’
‘Yes. This I can do. This bit. How I’ll manage afterwards, God knows.’
‘You’ll manage.’ He opened the door of the waiting room. ‘See you later,’ he said quietly, and disappeared into the surveillance department.
‘Number?’ demanded Smith.
The visored pilot stared back at him, saying nothing. He glanced at the strategic arrangement of straps over a flying suit just a little too large. It had to be Yasmin and of course she wouldn’t know her own number. She wore the dead pilot’s card, but she hadn’t bothered to look at it.
Fortunately, Smith had. ‘2458180.’ He entered the number, waited for confirmation, then picked up a tag to tap into the flying suit. They both watched as the pilot’s heartbeat appeared on the screen. Too fast. Much too fast. Threatening to shoot off the scale. Surreptitiously, Smith adjusted the controls till it slowed to a more acceptable level.
He nodded. ‘You’re fine. Your patrol is Red 14. This is your authorisation. This is your command file.’ He handed over three discs. The visor bowed to study them briefly. One was clearly an authorisation key, a second was printed with 14 in red. The third was blank. The pilot pocketed them calmly and Smith looked up, across the room, at his section head. ‘This one’s the last, isn’t he? Do I take the files?’
‘No need. They’ve been transferred. Except for one.’ The section head lowered his toneless voice as he held out an unmarked file. ‘Keep it to yourself. Ravel is a little too involved with the military for my liking. It wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on him as well as the pilots.’
Smith twitched a smirk of understanding and offered a casual salute. ‘I’ll travel out with this last consignment.’ He shepherded the last pilot out of the office to the elevators. Two others were waiting, their muffled conversation ceasing abruptly as Smith appeared. They rode down to the ground floor in silence and found their transport ready. Hard, backless seats placed sideways on the monorail, a dozen already full, another five or six still vacant. The three pilots moved quickly into their seats. Smith kept them waiting, scrutinising his party with painstaking malice before finally, calmly, taking his place at the end and belting himself in.
The shuttle glided forward, then gathered speed, lurching round corners at sickening angles. When the nauseating ride came to an abrupt halt in the military base on the edge of the biodome, Smith had to breathe deeply, but he managed to unbuckle and step off with the others, into a heady mix of bright light, barked orders and testosterone. There was a surge forward, everyone moving swiftly, confidently, to allotted stations. Nearly everyone. Smith nudged the one lingering pilot in the right direction, towards the assembly hall. Surveillance centre to the left, embarkation ramps to the right. In the shadowy shelter of the entrance, Smith pushed Yasmin gently to one side. He opened a door, looked in. A maintenance cupboard. He pulled her inside.
‘We’ve got to stop meeting like this.’
Yasmin pushed up her visor with a gasp of relief and screwed her eyes shut.
‘Are you still ready to go through with it?’ asked Smith quietly.
‘Jo Jo, you do realise Tod thinks the scheme’s failed. He probably won’t even bother with the rendezvous. He’ll just take the Heloise out on the fastest route.’
‘Come off it.’ Smith smiled. ‘He’ll be there. I know him.’
‘You don’t understand. If you’re banking on some notion of Tod’s gallantry—’
‘Gallantry my eye. He did a deal with Benedict Darke. He’s about to go over to Pan.’
‘You knew?’
Smith smirked. ‘You think anyone can keep a secret from me? This is his one last independent dice with death before he capitulates. He won’t pass it over, not Tod. He’ll be there even if he’s ninety-nine per cent certain it will all be for nothing.’
Yasmin looked at him, thoughtfully. ‘You know that the deal included him handing me over to Darke.’
‘Who says?’
‘Tod. Who else? It means this will all have been a waste of time, because if Darke wants me to play the same games I played for Pascal, I can’t do it. I won’t. I would rather die. So…’
Smith stared at her. Then he almost laughed aloud but stifled it with an effort. ‘Tod told you he was offering you for sale, and you fell for it?’
‘I…’ Yasmin stopped.
‘Ah. Playing on your guilt. That desire for penitential self-sacrifice? I never thought Yasmin Gwynne would be that gullible.’
She shut her eyes. ‘Nor did I. I don’t suppose my name was even mentioned. Oh, Tod!’
Smith was still silently laughing. ‘So apparently I know him better than you do. Except in the Biblical sense. And I know he’ll be there. Am I right?’
‘Yes. All right. But this is your last chance to swap places, Jo Jo. Are you sure?’
He grinned. ‘Nessy was right. I’ll do great things here. The potential I’ve seen in five days, it’s a gold mine. I can tie this station in knots.’
Yasmin attempted a laugh. ‘I hope, one day, Pascal gets to realise what he’s done by putting you in charge of security.’
‘Not in charge. Not yet. And I hope he never knows until I’m far, far away.’
‘Take care. Security’s a nasty business. Don’t let it corrupt you.’
‘Not a chance. You have to remember, Yasmin, there’s nothing in me to corrupt. Seven years, I’m out and on the market with Pascal’s crown jewels.’ He straightened, carefully shifting a broom. ‘So, let’s concentrate. I wasn’t sure if I’d get to speak with you again, so I slipped you the programme back at the Tower, in case.’
Yasmin pulled the unmarked disc from her pocket. ‘This one.’
‘It’s the best I could do in the time available. I’d worked out some ideas in advance. It should be enough. Now this is what you do.’ He spoke fast, reeling off instructions, spelling out options, explaining possible problems in terms that were mostly incomprehensible to her.
Yasmin concentrated, for her own sake, for Tod’s, for Smith’s. But her thoughts were whirling along a confused helter-skelter of doubt, hope, joy, terror and determination. It seemed so improbable that she could carry it off, but the terrible thing was that she wanted to. Now, more than ever, she wanted to hope. It had been so much easier when there was none.
‘Don’t rush,’ Smith was saying. ‘Save it till you’re sure you’ve got your exit sorted. How you persuade Tod to respond to you is your business. You’ve got the wits to do it. Just remember you’re being monitored, so don’t be too obvious. If anything suspicious comes through on transmissions, I’ll try to cover it, but there’s only so much
I can do. You understand?’
‘Yes.’ She pressed his hand. ‘Thanks. I wish I could make it up to you.’
Smith shrugged the suggestion off, then hesitated. ‘You want to?’ He smiled with a hint of embarrassment. ‘If you do make it – here.’ He hastily scribbled a note and handed it to her. ‘My mother. That’s her name and address. If you could slip a word to her that Josh is fine but might be a bit delayed.’
Yasmin looked at him. ‘A bit?’
Smith tugged at his ear. ‘She believes I’m touring the Jupiter circles for a year or two with a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Explain I’ve moved on to Titus Andronicus. It’s more or less true. Just tell her—’
Yasmin laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Jo Jo. I’ll come up with something. That’s what I do.’
‘Okay, now let’s go, before I get impaled on this broom.’ Smith pushed open the door behind her.
She resisted. ‘Who were you?’
‘What?’
‘In the Dream. Who did you play?’
Smith grinned. ‘Guess.’ He edged her out, back into the melee that was already shifting into ranked organisation. One squeeze of her arm and Puck was gone. Yasmin dropped her visor back into place, squared her shoulders and headed for the embarkation ramps assigned to Red patrol.
Chapter 31
‘You will identify yourself and account for your movements.’
Tod mouthed obscenities at the fighter on the screen, and slammed open the communications channel, before replying, with sublime mildness, ‘This is ISF Heloise, en route from Triton with commission 59760.’
There was silence while the fighter pilot checked. The toneless electronic voice crackled into life again. ‘Your proximity to Alpha 3 has been abnormally prolonged. Explain it.’
‘We have been assessing readings of outward traffic before choosing our route. We are now on our way.’ Tod gestured to Addo who quietly adjusted the settings to take the ship out of its lazy orbit round the Alpha 3 beacon.
‘Get the Ultima up and running, now,’ said Tod. His eyes were fixed on the malevolent fighter as it suspiciously followed the Heloise’s every move. It began to pull back as the Heloise gathered speed, but they were still within firing range.
‘She’s turning away,’ said Freddie. He rubbed his fingers together impatiently as the Ultima came back online. ‘I’ve got her. Reporting to base.’ He slumped back with relief. ‘She’s signalling "Target despatched." That’s us, I suppose.’
‘Christ!’ Tod hurled a mug violently across Flight Control, scoring a neat goal straight into the galley. He put his head in his hands. ‘Why did they have to choose this day and this sector for their bloody training exercises?’
‘That’s the fourth fighter on our tail so far and not a glimpse of the courier,’ said Freddie. ‘Wherever she is, she’s not at Alpha 3.’
‘We can’t risk another return sortie to check again,’ said Addo. ‘Come on, Tod. You have to accept, she had virtually no hope of making it. Lingering is only drawing the attention of the military.’
‘I know.’ Tod shut his eyes.
‘She didn’t get posted to the transport division and everything depended on that. I know you don’t like giving in, but you’ve got to accept—’
‘That she can’t pull off a miracle? Yes of course I accept it.’ Tod opened his eyes and straightened, back in control. ‘We go on.’
‘Right.’
‘Via Gamma 8.’
‘Tod—’
‘Humour me, Kwame. Suppose the miracle happens and she makes the second rendezvous. We can at least take a look.’
‘Right through the centre of a military exercise?’
‘They’re just playing with us. No one’s firing.’
‘Tod, you know perfectly well what training exercises around Triton are like. We’re not carrying A1 cargo. Sooner or later they’re going to try a proper assault, just to test their weapons.’
‘Hey!’ Freddie rose in his seat. ‘I’ve got an alarm flashing.’
Tod was already at his side at the Ultima, reading the message on the screen. He froze, then looked across at Addo. ‘T.D.’
‘Co-ordinates?’ asked the major
‘219-043.’
‘This is one of Jo Jo’s adaptations?’ asked Freddie. ‘Meaning?’
‘Tarquin detected,’ said Addo.
‘She’s barely in range of the Ultima,’ said Tod. ‘Moving away. If we…’ He stopped, fists clenched.
‘If we go after her, we might just keep her in range.’ Addo opened his hands. A question? An offer? ‘She’s heading in virtually the opposite direction to Gamma 8.’
‘Yes.’
‘We can’t go after both.’
‘No. All right! That’s obvious even to me!’
‘Yasmin won’t be there, you know that.’
Tod said nothing.
‘This is our last hope of getting on the Tarquin’s tail before we rendezvous with the Pandemonium,’ said Addo. ‘We won’t get another chance.’
‘Signal’s fading,’ said Freddie.
‘Well?’
Tod leaned on the console, staring at the screen. Then he looked up. ‘We go for Gamma 8.’
‘I’m reading three more ships on or near our flight path,’ said Freddie. He checked the Ultima readings. ‘Fighters, all of them. And no communication for us to pick up.’
‘It will be a silent exercise,’ said Addo. ‘Foiling enemy surveillance is part of the operation.’
Freddie frowned down at his controls. ‘I’d do better with Pan equipment, but let’s hope Jo Jo’s adjustments can clean them out.’ He leaned closer, studying the monitor intently as he worked through the options. ‘Ah! I see. Thank you, Jo Jo. Let’s see if it works. Yes! Wait. Yes! I’ve got their logs. Let’s see. Blue 5... 1 and... 8. Shared mission: random search and destroy. I don’t like the sound of that. How seriously are they taking the destroy bit?’
‘If they start firing, very seriously,’ said Addo, adjusting their course fractionally. ‘Ha!’
‘Yeah, they’re shifting to follow,’ said Freddie. ‘Scanning us. Ah, now they’re communicating. Careless! They’re using codes. A bit pointless with Jo Jo’s decoding system. Let’s see. Oh, that’s nice. They don’t think we’re worth it.’
Tod checked the scanner warily. ‘They’ve diverted. All three of them gone. Which leaves us a clear run to Gamma 8.’
Addo was frowning. ‘You sure? I’m registering a scan here. Someone’s fixed on us.’
Tod raced over to look. ‘A courier?’
‘No! Damn.’ Freddie checked the Ultima again. ‘We’ve got two more, no, three fighters. There’s one way out, coming in from beyond Gamma 8 – 013-021, and two more at 165-172. And they’re not wasting time, they’re coming straight for us.’
‘With intent?’
‘They’re arming!’ said Freddie.
Tod turned to the weaponry console. ‘Let them see we’ve got our shields in place.’
Freddie hesitated, then shook his head. ‘No good. Noted and dismissed. What do we do? Surrender?’
Tod shook his head. ‘They’re going to use us for target practice. Major?’
Addo, unmoved, was entering new commands. ‘I’ll try the looking glass. They might not be prepared for the old tricks.’
‘That’s a gambit we can only try once.’
‘And this would be a good time to try it, don’t you think? Freddie, off the Ultima. I need it. Now!’
Tod and Freddie stood at the scanner, watching the two flashing shards of light rapidly converging upon them. Then gently, gracefully arc away and zoom in spectacular formation off to the side.
‘Yes!’ Freddie raised a fist. ‘What did you do?’
‘Fed their scanners a mirror image – one of the things we learned to do with the Ultima even before Jo Jo came along. I altered our course by a couple of degrees up to port and they read it as a couple of degrees down to starboard. They’re off after a phantom ship. Th
at’s the trouble with relying on electronic projections.’
‘Neat!’
‘Trouble is,’ said Tod, ‘It only takes them about thirty seconds to figure out their mistake, and if we repeated it, they’d probably be ready for us.’
‘Ah. Well, the one coming in beyond the beacon hasn’t diverted at all.’
‘No. And the others are coming round again.’ Addo rubbed his chin. ‘They’re testing their systems. If they haven’t come across the looking glass before, they’ll be suspecting a scanner malfunction. With luck, they’ll be investigating the cause, rather than knocking us out.’
‘You reckon? Hell, yes. They’re conferring. They’re going to report in. Ah…’
Tod was studying the scanner ‘One’s heading off. The other’s still following us.’
‘For surveillance,’ said Freddie, studying its transmission. ‘Green 12 reporting back to base, Green 4 staying on us to see if we’re emitting any odd signal to account for their malfunction.’
Tod shrugged. ‘As I said, it’s not a trick we can try twice. But nice work, Major.’
‘Any time,’ said Addo. ‘We’ve still got the one up ahead to deal with. It didn’t divert, so my guess is it’s fixed on the beacon, not us.’
‘It’s not hurrying,’ said Freddie. ‘Could be, if it’s coming in from outside, it’s not involved in the exercises. What do we do?’
‘We circle the beacon once,’ said Addo. ‘As agreed.’
Tod darted a look at him, then shrugged. ‘One circuit.’
‘And the fighter behind us?’ persisted Freddie.
‘We ignore it. We’re doing what’s expected of us. This military exercise has nothing to do with us, so let’s speak when we are spoken to and otherwise play innocent.’
Freddie whistled.
‘And meanwhile, we keep monitoring their every move. What are you reading?’
‘Sod all. Green 4 is maintaining operational silence. The one up front... where’s its log? Yes. Red 14. Mission: search and destroy. That’s odd though. The pilot’s personal monitor isn’t functioning. All the others were transmitting standard bio-codes, heartrate and so on. This one isn’t.’