City of Ruins du-2

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  “I guess we send in our exploratory team,” he said to the entire crew.

  “Why are you hesitant?” Dix asked.

  “I keep expecting the outsiders to return,” Coop said.

  “If they do, our people can take care of them,” Perkins said.

  Coop resisted the urge to shake his head. Sometimes Perkins’s inexperience grated on him.

  “We don’t want our people to take care of them,” Anita said, using a tone that was a bit too patronizing. “We want to stay out of their way for a while, figure out what they’re up to.”

  “We could talk to them and figure that out,” Perkins said, and Coop finally understood what was behind her seemingly naive comments. She wanted to work too, just like everyone else. Only she had no work to do, not yet. Her job in first contact was to figure out the language and start the communication.

  “We might not ever talk to them, Perkins,” Coop said gently. “They may never know that we exist.”

  She sighed, but didn’t respond to that.

  “I’ll summon the exploratory team to the conference room so you can brief them,” Dix said.

  “I asked Layla to pick the scientists for the team,” Coop said. “Make sure I get their background information before that briefing. I want to know strengths and weaknesses.”

  “Already have them on file,” Dix said. “I’ve had it for hours.”

  Coop bit back a defensive response. He knew the bridge crew thought they should have gone into the sector base much earlier. The fact that the outsiders hadn’t returned made the bridge crew feel their point of view was the correct one.

  But he knew that waiting had been right. He wished that the outsiders had returned so that he would know what they were doing.

  Instead, he would have to warn the exploratory team to monitor the door, so that they could sprint for the ship if the outsiders returned.

  He wanted the first contact on his terms, if there was going to be a first contact at all.

  ~ * ~

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Early the next morning, I head back to the caves. I take Bridge with me. Bridge has been the one talking with the Bug driver. I figure Bridge can continue talking with him. These Vaycehnese and their unwillingness to deal with women have driven me crazy so far, and I don’t want to fight that today.

  I’ve sent Ilona to work with the Vaycehnese government to get us back into those caves as quickly as possible. She’s also supposed to argue for letting our experienced team members help with the groundquake/death hole emergency. But I have another reason for getting them involved. I need the scientists and archeologists to see that death hole up close.

  I’m not that interested in the death hole. I want to get below, figure out what’s going on with the ship, figure out if the ship is still there. And I have a hunch that if I don’t push the Bug operator, he’ll take all of our money while he’s taking his own sweet time.

  More than one person has expressed concern that we’re keeping the Bug away from rescue work. They tell me he needs to be at the death hole and the groundquake destruction. I’ve had to remind each and every person who mentions this that we might hold the solution, not just to this groundquake and death hole, but to all of the death holes in the future.

  We might be able to stop them.

  Future thinking is not something my group is good at. Some think very well about the past, others think quite well about the small things that make up our universe, but very few of them have training in thinking about what lies ahead.

  I have that training, but it’s hard-won. It comes from diving, where each handhold might cause a possible disaster. It comes from planning trips to faraway areas of space, where I’m often on my own. And lately, it has come from righting the Enterran Empire, who would love to know about this discovery, deep underground here on Wyr.

  I have more than one reason to keep this discovery silent as long as possible. I want to figure out how to get that ship out of here, so that we can study it.

  If we can’t get the ship out of here, I want to claim it somehow, so that the Empire can’t. I’m not sure how to do that; this is Enterran space, after all. We’re in their territory, whether we like it or not.

  I only got five hours of sleep even though I was exhausted, mostly because I’ve been worried about this aspect of our discovery. As excited as I am, I’m afraid we may have given the Empire exactly what it needs: a working stealth-tech model, so that they can build their own stealth-tech ships.

  My only hope is to work quickly, and my only hope of working quickly comes from getting this damn Bug operator to clear the caves.

  The morning dawned clear and hot. I am beginning to understand that there are degrees of hot, that what I thought was hot when we first arrived wasn’t hot at all by Vaycehn’s standards. This morning, before the sun is even all the way up, is hotter than any day we’ve experienced so far.

  Bridge and I have arrived at the same time that the Bug driver has. I hadn’t seen him put the Bug away the night before. We left before he did. This morning, it arrives with him, a big clunky machine that walks uneasily across the rubble-strewn landscape.

  The pod sinks down a few meters from the hole. Then the driver gets out. He’s a burly man, younger than I would have thought, with muscles like Mikk’s, although only on his arms. His brown hair is cropped short. He wears a shirt with no sleeves, and very short pants, revealing hairy legs. His feet are encased in sandals.

  He walks over to Bridge, gesturing as he does so.

  Even though I’m several meters away, I can tell that the operator is unhappy. He thought he’d be here alone this morning.

  And that’s a good sign. It meant he was going to honor his commitment to us, rather than take our money and go on to another job.

  Bridge talks to him, and nods toward me. The man looks over Bridge’s shoulder and shakes his head slightly.

  Bridge already told me what he was going to do. He was going to play to their prejudices, say how difficult it is to work for a woman. He was going to complain that I want to go back down, even though he has tried to talk me out of it. He told me this before we came, and spoke hesitantly, as if he expected me to disapprove.

  To his surprise, I didn’t disapprove. I am for anything that gets us back to that ship quickly.

  Both men are laughing now, and I’m sure it’s at my expense. My cheeks warm, even though this was planned. I clutch my bottle of water and wander toward the men, taking my time.

  First I look at the opening to the cave. It’s so much bigger than it seems when you take a hovercart through it. Or when you climb out of it while completely exhausted. Big enough to swallow a small building.

  I resist the urge to groan. My legs are even sorer this morning than they were last night. I had no idea that was possible. I feel ancient and injured, even though I know I’m not.

  I’m glad I’ve given the Six the day off, as well as Mikk and Roderick. They’re right; I should have taken it too.

  But I won’t move much once I’m in the Bug.

  “Boss!”

  I look over at Bridge. He’s gesturing to me. I smile as if I don’t know what he’s been up to and walk carefully over to them. I’m not going to let anyone know how very sore I am.

  “This is Paplas,” Bridge says, indicating the driver, who watches me closely. “He owns and operates the Reclaimer.”

  The way Bridge says the machine’s name is also a direction; we’re not to call the machine a Bug in front of Paplas.

  I nod. Paplas’s gray eyes watch me, then he nods back.

  “He’s going to let us go with him,” Bridge says, “but we have to follow his rules.”

  “We do not come up until I say.” Paplas speaks Standard with that lovely lilt all of the Vaycehnese have. “I stay there, with my lunch, until I am done for the day. I do not work extra hours. It taxes the Reclaimer.”

  He’s making sure I know that he won’t bend for me, or for Bridge for that matter.
<
br />   “All right,” I say.

  “If you are ill, if there is a problem, you tell me now,” Paplas says. “I will not come back except for an emergency.”

  “I understand,” I say.

  “You will sit behind me,” he says. “You will ask no questions.”

  I open my mouth, then close it as Bridge gives me a sideways look. He has permission to ask questions. I do not. In other words, I’m to sit there quietly and watch while the men take care of business.

  I hope Bridge will ask the questions we need. If not, I hope he’ll confer with me, maybe quietly, so that he can ask the questions I think of. We might need answers later.

  I am worried about a repeat of yesterday’s events. I hope Bridge will discuss that with him as well.

  “I understand that, too,” I say.

  Paplas nods and walks away from me. He’s heading back to the Bug. We follow.

  Up close the pod looks huge. It is both wider and taller than it looks when it’s in motion. The gigantic legs bend and tower above us. Their sides have movable blades that dig into mountainsides. There are several other pieces of equipment attached to the legs that look movable as well. I can’t tell what those pieces are for.

  The bottom of the legs themselves—the feet, for lack of a better word— are bendable. They seem to have a way to adhere to a surface.

  Suddenly, my technical interest is piqued, and I wish I can talk to Paplas, one pilot to another. But I cannot.

  Bridge sees me looking at the legs, but doesn’t understand that I have questions.

  The questions aren’t important yet. They can wait. I have a hunch we’ll be back tomorrow, and if we are, then Bridge can ask about the working mechanism of the legs and feet.

  Paplas stands near the door of the Bug. It’s clear, like the rest of the pod. Inside there are two seats up front, and a bench seat in the back. The ceiling is high.

  What surprises me is that the equipment, and the seats, are in the exact middle of the pod. Like a single ship, then, the pod is designed to work in any direction.

  I didn’t expect to see something like that on land.

  “You will strap in,” Paplas says. “You will not touch the restraints except when we have to leave.”

  He points out a service area in the very back, which has a bathroom and a place to store our gear. Nothing will remain loose in the pod itself.

  He explains why, but he doesn’t need to—at least for me. I understand. The pod will rotate 360 degrees at various times during the day. Anything loose will fall on us.

  The pod doesn’t have artificial gravity.

  “You will sit there,” he says to me as he points to the part of the bench farthest from him. “Go.”

  I don’t need to be told twice. I climb up the tiny set of stairs, then boost myself up to the seat. As I clamber over to it, I glance behind me. Paplas looks amused.

  I seem to have passed the first test.

  I figure out the various straps and restrainers while Bridge climbs in beside me. As Paplas gets in, I look at the controls. Dozens of them, all of them marked in Vaycehnese. The handles look well used, and the lettering has come off of many of the labels.

  This machine is older than she looks, well loved and well maintained.

  That makes me feel better—or at least it does until he starts her up. The pod jerks as he puts it into some kind of gear.

  Then we rise.

  None of the movements are smooth. I have a good sense of direction. I also do well under g-forces and in strange positions. But Bridge looks a bit ill. I hope he can survive something that will whip him around like a ball on a string.

  But I don’t warn him. I’ve been told to remain silent, and I do. I do, however, see a small group of sick bags tucked behind the pilot’s seat. I point them out to Bridge.

  His eyes narrow—I don’t need that, he seems to say—but as I look away, I note him checking their position.

  It will be a long day. But, I hope, it will be a profitable one.

  We need to get back to work.

  I am more worried about that ship than I can say.

  ~ * ~

  THIRTY-SIX

  The Fleet had two theories of leadership. The first theory espoused that M the leaders had the most expertise and therefore were the least expendable; the second theory claimed that the leaders had the most expertise and therefore had to be first on the ground, to make sure everything was fine.

  Coop’s training made him a believer in the first theory. He knew that others could run the Ivoire, but few could do it as well as he could. Leading a vessel in the Fleet was a specialized skill, just like being a top-notch linguist was a specialized skill.

  Still, he wished he espoused the second theory on this day. He wanted to go into that base. He wanted to be the one to touch the equipment, to assign the person to the door, to see the Ivoire from the outside, so that he could view for himself the kind of damage she had sustained.

  But he wasn’t going to do that. He was going to follow his own policies, just like he demanded his own people do.

  Still, he held a longer-than-usual briefing with the exploratory team, some of whom he didn’t recall seeing before, even though he met everyone when they first came on board to serve on the Ivoire.

  This team had some highly qualified junior officers, scientists chosen by Layla, engineers chosen by Yash, and one superb team leader whom Coop wished he could promote.

  The team leader, Joanna Rossetti, was thin and small, wiry and tough, more suited to space than to land-based missions. She could fit anywhere, get into any small area, and often did. She had spent half her life training in zero-g, something a lot in the Fleet never did, and so was adept at all kinds of space missions, from those in zero gravity to those in low gravity. Her small size made heavy gravity possible as well; she didn’t feel as crushed by it as someone who weighed more.

  She was also a thinker. She solved problems as fast as Coop did, faster than most of the people on his excellent bridge crew.

  That was one of the many things he liked about her.

  Coop let her choose the two officers who would go along with her. He figured she needed people she could trust. He hadn’t been surprised when she chose Adam Shärf. Coop had been watching Shärf as well. Shärf was young, agile, and intelligent. He had a spotless record and was known for stopping rights instead of starting them.

  Her choice of Salvador Ahidjo did surprise Coop. As far as Coop knew— and he tried to keep track of all of his officers—Ahidjo had done nothing to distinguish himself throughout his career. Ahidjo was older than Coop and had remained at the same rank for nearly two decades. His work was fine but never outstanding. There was never any reason to promote or demote him. He was simply a solid member of the core who did his job rather quietly and never rose to anyone’s attention.

  Except, apparently, Rossetti’s.

  But the scientists and engineers were the key to this mission. At his request, Yash picked the best engineers who had once worked at a sector base or alongside sector base technicians. Yash had protested; a lot of these engineers were key to the ship’s repairs as well. But Coop wanted expertise and familiarity with the equipment.

  Just like he wanted creative thinkers among the scientists.

  During the briefing, he resisted the urge to quiz the scientists he didn’t remember and the engineers he wasn’t that familiar with. Instead, he forced himself to trust his officers.

  Just like he was doing now, as Rossetti and her team stepped out of the airlock and into the sector base itself.

  He monitored it all from his position on the bridge. The bridge team watched as well, their bodies tense. They wanted to go into that base as much as he did, and they understood why he wasn’t letting them.

  Rossetti’s tiny form looked even smaller as she climbed down the ladder from the exterior door and stepped onto the floor. Particles rose around her, thick and heavy, more of them than Coop had seen before. Some of them came from
his cleaning of the ship, but the rest had to be coming from somewhere else.

  The particles floated around her like snow. She captured some of them in her glove and closed her fist, clearly doing a small test of her own.

  Coop didn’t say anything. He watched, the wall screens on full, which made him feel as if only a thin membrane separated him from the repair room outside the ship. As he watched his team step onto the repair room floor, he felt as if he could take one step through the membrane and join them.

  After all, he knew what it felt like to be in that room.

  The last time he had been there, only a month before, the room had been slightly cold. The equipment functioned better in chilly conditions, so the staff kept the room cooler than the interior of most ships. And, one of the staff explained to him, the newly arrived ship always chilled the air as well. It still carried some of the cold from space, and that brought down the ambient temperature all by itself.

  The air also had a metallic tang. The local staff claimed they couldn’t smell it, but he could. Every section base he’d ever been to had a version of that smell. Sometimes the smell was tinged with sulfur, thanks to underground springs nearby, and sometimes it was laced with a chalky smell, one that came from the inside of the mountain itself.

  Every place was different. He knew if he had to, he could identify the section bases he’d been to by smell alone.

  Although the team he’d just sent into the repair room wasn’t feeling cold or smelling a metallic tang. They were snug in their environmental suits, suits made of material so strong that the knife the outsider woman had worn wouldn’t penetrate them.

  The air filters were built into the suits themselves. The suits looked thin, but they weren’t. They had three layers. The exterior was made of that impermeable material. The middle layer carried the oxygen stores, so that the suit’s wearer didn’t need oxygen canisters like the outsiders had. The interior layer measured and controlled body temperature, as well as maintaining every other part of the environment that gave the suits their name.