by Wren, M. K.
“It isn’t Predis’s to give.”
Jan paused, again staring at the door. “I’ve never . . . seen him like that.”
Alex smiled faintly. Ussher’s temper might be his undoing one day. He wondered if the Phoenix had time enough to wait for that day.
“Jan, you’re exhausted. You’ve been on duty with the Solar Fleet for—what? Three months? You need some time off. Leftant Commander Gavin’s in command at Rhea now. I’ll tell him to stay under cover; Confleet will be out in force, and we’ll need time for repairs. I want you to take a week’s leave, beginning tomorrow morning. And I believe Nina’s saved a few free days for your return.”
Barret smiled wistfully at his wife’s name and came to his feet; it was obviously an effort.
“Thanks, Alex. But right now I should be in the hangars.”
Alex nodded. “I’ll join you in a few minutes.” He accompanied Barret to the door, watching him as he set off down the hall, weariness in the angle of his shoulders and in every step. A hard lesson, Alex thought bleakly, learned the hardest way. Then his eyes narrowed. Predis Ussher had just turned into the hall. He stopped when he met Barrett, and they talked briefly, then walked on together and disappeared around the first corner. When a black-clothed figure approached Alex, he was still so preoccupied it was a moment before he recognized him.
Ben Venturi. Apparently, he was recently returned from the Cliff in Leda; he was still in his SSB uniform.
“Ben, you have the prisoners lined up?”
“Yes. One of Erica’s crews is working on them now. There’s a couple of Grade 6 comtechs in the bunch.”
Alex’s eyebrow came up. “Selasid?”
“No, Confleet. They were hitching a ride to the Charon base aboard the freighter.”
“Too bad you didn’t turn up some gunnery officers. Jan thinks they have some new guns on the Falcons; possibly X8s. Ben, I’ll have to get back to the hangars.”
“I’ll tag along.” Then, as they started down the corridor, “Have you talked to Andreas today?”
Alex nearly stopped, his frown returning.
“Damn. I had a call message from him, but I was on the SynchCom monitors at the time.” He noted the suspicious eye Ben turned on a pair of FO crewmembers as they passed. The suspicion wasn’t for these particular men. Ben had something on his mind; something private. “What’s this about?”
“I’m not sure. I just transed in from Leda an hour ago. Andreas left a call message for me, too, but when I returned it, he was out of the lab. In the infirmary.”
Alex paused as they reached the main corridor, numbed by the soft sounds of pain-born moans nearly lost in rushing footsteps, mechanical clatterings, urgent voices. They turned down the corridor toward the hangar, and there was a paradoxical privacy in the confusion; no one had time or inclination to listen to them. Ben’s jaw muscles were bunched as he watched the stretchers moving out of the hangar.
“Damn, what a mess. Alex, I talked to Erica, and she saw Andreas earlier today. She said we’d better get together. We’ll meet in HS 1 at 18:00.”
“All right. I’ll be—” He quickened his pace as they approached the hangar doors. A loader piled with plasifoam cartons loomed in the opening, blocking the flow of traffic.
“Leftant Spense, what in the God’s name do you think you’re doing?”
The man driving the loader brought it to a jerking halt.
“Uh—well, this stuff’s from the freighter, sir. I’m taking it up to SM.”
“At whose order?”
Spense licked his lips uneasily. “Well, Fer M’Kim said he wanted his techs to check—”
“Fer M’Kim? Am I to understand you’ve been transferred to Supply and Maintenance?”
“Well, no, but—”
Alex cut in coldly, “The crews come first, Spense. If you don’t know that by now, you don’t belong in FO. The cargo stays until the last of the casualties are evacuated. Clear the corridor!”
“Yes, sir.” Resentment slipped through in Spense’s eyes, then he turned to look backward as he guided the loader into the hangar.
Alex said under his breath, “Damn fool.”
Ben laughed. “Maybe, but you’d better watch him.”
“Yes, I know. He’s one of Ussher’s loyals.” He started into the hangar with Ben close at his side.
“And he talks a lot.”
Alex glanced at him, then moved to one side of the doors and stopped, distracted by the harried activity. The statistics of catastrophe were all too tangible here.
“What do you mean, he talks a lot?”
“Just that Predis is up to his old tricks again: the gossip routine.”
“Which of us has he chosen to defame now? Me?”
“Yes.”
Alex gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Well, I’ll give him credit, he’s tenacious. And intelligent to a point. He has yet to launch an innuendo campaign against Andreas. When he’s confident enough for that, we’re in trouble. Is Spense carrying the word in FO?”
“Right. And Sargent Hicks.”
“Tom Hicks? He won’t be doing any talking in the future. He was aboard the Magna. She took a direct broadside and exploded.”
For a while both were silent, Alex concentrating on the berthing and evacuation crews. The pumps hadn’t yet succeeded in clearing all the sea water; the floor was an abstracted glare of reflected lights. Finally, the last of the casualties and medsquads passed on their way to the infirmary.
Alex asked absently, “What word is Spense carrying, by the way?”
Ben sighed. “That you barely escaped a court-martial when you were in Confleet. For cowardice, the way it’s being told; refusal to fire under orders.”
Alex felt every muscle tightening, and there was that mental shift that always accompanied any memory of his past, an inward jar like an MT trans. He was here and now, then suddenly he was elsewhere and elsewhen, in that other world that seemed so remote; a play remembered from an old vidicom screening. And like a waking dream, an image was in his mind: the smoke-shrouded fields of Alber.
“Predis is hitting a little close to home.”
“And below the belt—as usual.”
“Ben, have you any idea what Andreas wants to talk to us about?”
Ben’s tone was low, pitched for Alex’s ears only.
“Erica does. Andreas thinks he may be close to a breakthrough on the LR-MT.”
A breakthrough.
Alex didn’t move, the physical stricture only reflecting a mental process, one familiar and practiced: holding back a hope. They had all hoped too many times, and the hopes had died in mathematic dead ends.
“Did Andreas use that term—a breakthrough?”
Ben laughed. “No. According to Erica, he said he’s working on a ‘promising approach.’ But he asked for this meeting. That must mean something.”
Alex’s breath came out in a sigh. The hope wouldn’t be put down; he could only contain it within tolerable limits. It must come soon, an end to these long months of waiting that slowly ground into years. For the Concord, for the Phoenix, for his own sanity, it must come soon.
But his voice was level, and he managed a brief smile. “I guess we’ll just have to wait until this evening.” Then he stiffened, watching two figures emerging from the captured freighter. Predis Ussher and John M’Kim. “I wish to hell Predis would keep his nose out of FO.”
Ben nodded. “I could say the same about SI. What’s he so damned interested in now?”
“Weapons, no doubt. Half the cargo on that ship is Confleet armament. Last week when we took those new Falcons, he was talking about a ‘real offensive.’ And I call Spense a damn fool.”
“Commander?” The voice came from the comcenter deck. “Captain Dolf wants to see y
ou in Hangar 3, sir.”
“Thank you.” Alex paused only long enough to glance back at Ben. “I’ll talk to you this evening.”
3.
Occasionally, Alex Ransom considered the meaning of words like “home.”
He paused inside the doorway of Erica Radek’s office, noting the spray of yellow orchids on the deck. Twelve levels below, adjoining his office in FO, there was an apartment where he lived, or at least slept. But he didn’t call it home. Home didn’t exist for Alex Ransom, and his thoughts seldom strayed into such blind alleys except when he was tired.
“Hello, Alex.” Erica turned off the reading screen on her desk and leaned back, her smile warming her gray eyes.
“How are you, Erica?”
“Better than you are, probably. Have you had supper?”
“No, I haven’t had time.” He had started for one of the chairs in front of her desk, but detoured to the ‘spenser, then with a chilled vaccup of concentrate in hand, continued to the chair and sank into it. “I saw Andreas in the infirmary. He’ll be delayed for a while. What about Ben?”
“I don’t know. He’ll get here when he can. And I’m glad you arrived early; it’s been a long time since we’ve had a chance to talk together.”
“I’ve missed that, Erica. By the way, any recent reports on our Bond project?”
“Yes, I had some reports from the Terran chapters today. I’ll have a tape capsule for you tomorrow, but in general the news is encouraging on that front.”
“Good.” He tasted the concentrate, frowning slightly. “But I’ve been letting it slip lately, and it’s too important. Especially now.” He paused, wondering why he’d added that. “What else was in the Terran reports?”
“There were several items. For one, the House of DeKoven Woolf is celebrating the birth of a son today. Justin DeKoven Woolf.”
Again, that inward jar. Then a feeling of relief that had no personal overtones. There were never any personal reactions after that initial, fleeting disorientation.
Justin DeKoven Woolf. Son of Lord Phillip and Lady Olivet Omer Woolf; first born of the House. This was the second child born to the Woolfs; the first was a daughter. Alexandra. He didn’t dwell on the irony in that name.
“Well, that’s definitely cause for celebration,” he said. “Justin. That would be in honor of Lady Olivet’s grandfather. Very politic.” He laughed curtly. “But Selasis certainly won’t be celebrating. The lack of a male heir was his only weapon against Woolf, since the Directors are standing pat on his succession to the Chairmanship.”
“Alex, I have another piece of news from Concordia, and it isn’t so good.”
She paused, and he had to ask, “What is it?”
“There’s a rumor circulating that Orin Selasis is negotiating a marriage with Eliseer.”
“Karlis and the Lady Adrien?”
She nodded silently, eyes clouded, and he understood now why she was glad he’d come early. She thought it would be easier for him if he heard this news in private.
But there was more pain in her eyes than he felt. She couldn’t seem to believe there was no pain for him in that name. There was nothing: a state beyond indifference. He recognized the ominous political implications in a Selasis-Eliseer match, but he could muster no personal response to it. Yet Erica didn’t understand that; she expected him to still grieve that loss, years old now. Nothing he said convinced her that it was buried with the other old griefs. Except for Rich. He still felt that sometimes.
“Lord Orin works fast,” he commented. “Janeel Shang Selasis is only eight months in her grave.”
“Yes.” Erica was still watching him closely. “I’m sure Karlis will wait the customary year of mourning before he takes another wife, at least for appearance sake.”
“And to avoid further alienating Sato Shang. He seemed inclined to believe the stories about Janeel’s second pregnancy. Well, we’ll have to find out as soon as possible if there’s more than rumor to the Selasis-Eliseer match.”
She nodded, her expression resolutely noncommittal.
“Ben has alerted his agents in both Houses. At least we can be sure of knowing as soon as Lady Adrien does. Dr. Perralt is very close to her.” She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “I’m afraid there is more than rumor to this. It’s a logical move for Selasis, and I suppose it looks like a good match from Eliseer’s point of view.”
“Or an inescapable match.” He glanced at his watch, frowning. He’d have to get back to the hangars soon. “Erica, did you have a report on the Directorate meeting today?”
She nodded. “Yes. It was mostly concerned with House politics; nothing new or unexpected, except the Phoenix came up for discussion again.”
He rose and began pacing out a circle. “We seem to be coming up frequently lately. What did the Directors have to say about us today?”
“Oh, the usual diatribes from Selasis about our making the spaceways unsafe. He seems to have forgotten about Amik the Thief and his friends. Anyway, he proposed a special task force to ferret out this menace—that’s us—and a twenty percent Confleet expansion.”
“Yes, he’d like that. It would mean another fat construction contract for Badir Selasis.”
“He could use it. Selasis does have a valid complaint about our raids; they’ve been rather costly for him, along with all those inexplicable mechanical breakdowns.”
Alex smiled at that. “That program does seem to be progressing well. What did the Directors do about his proposals?”
“After a great deal of bickering and complaining about rising taxes, a compromise was reached. They authorized the special task force, but vetoed the Confleet expansion.”
“Good. Well, the task force will present no problems; Ben will have their strat plans for me. We’ll have to lie low for a while, anyway. Maybe I can get M’Kim organized on the MTs for the Corvets during the hiatus, and we have repairs to—” He tensed at the sound of the door chime, and Erica’s quick reaction as she leaned forward to check the vis-screen on her desk revealed her tension.
“Andreas,” she said, touching the doorcon button.
“Finally.” Alex turned as the doorscreens went off, his words of greeting dying on his lips. Andreas had come straight from the infirmary, and his dark eyes were haunted.
“Ben hasn’t arrived yet?” Andreas asked.
Alex shook his head. “Not yet. How are you, Andreas?”
“I doubt I should answer that honestly.” He sagged into a chair. “It’s been a day of shocks, and I had another one a couple of hours ago. I must talk to Ben about—about arrangements.”
Alex frowned. The word didn’t make sense. Erica voiced the question. “Arrangements? What do you mean?”
Andreas took a deep breath. “I mean arrangements for a short trip. It’s . . . Amelia, my sister. I’ve just learned that she’s ill, Erica.” A pause, then, “Dying.”
“Oh, Andreas, I’m sorry.”
He nodded. “It’s a heart attack; she’s in the convent hospital.” Another long pause, then he said flatly, “I’m going to see her. I owe her that much.”
Alex felt a constricting chill, and his tone was unintentionally sharp. “You’re going to see her?”
“Yes, Alex, but perhaps I should explain the situation.” Andreas folded his hands, frowning down at them. “Amelia’s my only living relative. Actually, she was a charter member of the Phoenix, but after the Fall she chose the Sisters of Solace instead. The Order maintains hospitals for those who can’t afford, or are barred for some reason from Conmed hospitals; the Sisters believe in traditional Church sanctuary. They specialize in mental illness, but they accept any kind of illness or injury and ask no questions.” He smiled fleetingly. “Amelia decided she could do more good with the Sisters than the Phoenix. Perhaps she was right.”
“You’ve maintained contact with her?”
“No. We both knew that would be too dangerous, and Amelia Riis was officially a victim of the Purge. Unfortunately, my name was linked with the Phoenix in the beginning; if it were known she was my sister, she’d have suffered for it. But I made her a promise, Alex, that if I died, she’d know, and she’d have some way of letting me know if . . .”
Alex hesitated, realizing Andreas was close to weeping. “How was she to contact you?”
Erica relieved Andreas of the necessity of answering. “She was given a transceiver in the form of a holy medallion, Alex. It’s tuned to a frequency that goes through one of our relay stations for double idents.”
Alex made no comment, but he read in her eyes an understanding of a fact neither of them would voice now: the double ident relay system was under the aegis of Communications; Predis Ussher’s department.
Then he looked at Andreas’s haggard face; all his nearly eighty years were evident now. A few words with his sister before she died was little enough to ask. Andreas had given his life to the Phoenix. How could he be denied this?
“Where is your sister, Andreas? What convent?”
“Holy Carma. It’s in the Coris Mountains near Hallicourt about a thousand kilometers east of Hamidropolis. I suppose Ben will worry about my leaving Fina, but there’s really no danger. The SSB certainly won’t be looking for me in a convent, and it’s quite remote.”
Erica asked, “When are you planning to go?”
“I should go tonight.”
“Tonight? Andreas, please don’t attempt it now. For once, take my advice as a physician.”
He nodded. “I wouldn’t feel right about leaving Fina now, with the Solar Fleet disaster and. . . . Early tomorrow morning. I only hope it—it won’t be too late.”
Erica looked up at Alex as if seeking guidance, but he had none to offer. He gave himself up to aimless pacing, trying to silence the alarms ringing in his mind. Finally, he stopped and faced Andreas.
“I’m going with you to Holy Carma.”