by Ian Miller
"And you think someone was prepared to kill two other people just to discredit Marisa?" Harry gasped. "That's unreal! It's one thing to sabotage a simulator, but to kill –"
"Our Harry's got a point," Gaius mused. "Perhaps we've overlooked the obvious."
"Which is?" Natasha asked with a slightly irritated tone. She was becoming more than a little tired of having the deficiencies of Defence pointed out to her.
"We can eliminate Harry as a target because nobody knew in time he'd be on the flight. But suppose the target was Pennlington?"
"Who'd want to kill Pennlington?" Harry asked.
"Good question," Gaius replied, "but by the same token, why not? How much do you know about Pennlington?"
"He's an average guy. Good navigator, precise pilot, very likeable, well-mannered, no trouble to anyone," Harry replied.
"Which means you know nothing about him," Gaius countered.
"He's in alpha squad," Natasha smiled. "You can upgrade that assessment quite a bit. But I agree." She turned thoughtfully and spoke into the communicator. "I want a full file search, now, on Lieutenant Pennlington. Send in van Lugt."
The door opened, and Cornelius entered, saluted, and looked apprehensively about the room. Harry nodded, and the tension left Cornelius.
"Lieutenant van Lugt. I want you to get three parties together whom you trust implicitly. Draw side arms. The first one is to release Lieutenant Robeiro, and to escort her here. A party of four should suffice. The second party is to find Lieutenant Pennlington, and escort him here. Take a squad of ten, and assume you may find trouble. The third is to put a twenty-four hour guard around the hospital bed of Pennlington's original pilot. Here are the authorizations," she added, as she scribbled furiously on two additional forms. "I'd better cover the one remaining possibility," she added as an aside.
"Pennlington?" van Lugt stared in astonishment. "You don't think –"
"Do it!" Gaius almost roared.
"Yessir!" He quickly took the papers, and strode from the room.
"What shall I do?" Harry asked.
"Have a coffee with us," Natasha replied, then, without looking at Gaius, "I want to bring all those involved here. There's no point in your going somewhere else."
Suddenly Harry became strangely awkward. He would have to spend at least an hour, maybe more, in the presence of his overall commanders. What could he say? Familiarity was impossible, but just standing around merely made him feel like an oaf. Yes, there was an answer. He offered to make coffee. His offer was accepted, and as he moved towards the small kitchen he prayed he would not drop anything.
* * *
There was no reply to the steady knocking. Lieutenant Shelley Winters, who had flown with Pennlington earlier in the course, called out, "Mike, if you're in there, please open the door. It's me!"
There was no reply, and Shelley, not knowing what to do next, indicated to the rather large military policemen that they should break down the door. One of the policemen took a weapon, and aimed it at the lock.
"Hey! Shtop tha! Thash my door, ya know!"
Shelley turned to see Pennlington walking unsteadily towards them. "Mike!" she said and moved towards him. The movement saved her life. At that moment the policeman, not knowing who Pennlington was, and being a man not to stop for any reason once started, short of a direct countermand of orders, had fired into the lock. There was a tremendous explosion from the booby-trapped door. The two police in front of the door were killed instantly, the rest lay writhing on the floor. Shelley was flung across the hall against the wall, and a stream of blood started pouring from a cut to her forehead.
"Who . . Who wash it . . made tha noishe?" slurred the clearly drunken figure of Pennlington, as he stood there, totally unhurt, but covered in the white dust of the plaster.
"Mike! Are you all right?" Shelley asked, as he lurched towards the wall.
"I'm pished," Pennlington slurred. "Ya know what? I wash thinkin' that today shomeone tried to kill me, sho I wen' and got pished." Finally, the wall seemed to offer too little support, and he slid slowly to the floor.
* * *
"I think you were right," Natasha conceded to Gaius. "Pennlington seems to have been the target, but for the life of me, I can't think why."
"If I can speak," Harry started. He could not avoid glancing towards Marisa, and the fact that she still steadfastly refused to even look in his direction made him feel almost totally isolated.
"If you've got an answer," Natasha turned towards him, "please do."
"There's no indication of it in that file," Harry said rather quickly and quietly, "but he told me a couple of things while we were passing time in the junk yard. One of them was that he's just got engaged. It may not help, because he described her as some sort of rich social worker. I know that doesn't seem much, but –"
"That's right," Winters put in. "He told me about her too. An American. Her name's . . Jennifer, I think."
"Rich? A social worker?" Natasha asked in a slightly irritated tone.
"Yes," Winters replied. "Mike once jokingly said it was good for the corporate image. Here's a photo," she said as she pulled Mike's wallet from her bag. "I took it from him for safe keeping."
"Well, he won't need it where he's going," Marisa commented dryly. It had been decided that Pennlington could dry out in Marisa's cell, this being one of the more securely guarded places available.
"If she's travelled, there'll be a computer file," Natasha said doubtfully. "Let's look." She put the photograph in the scanner. There was a thirty second wait, then another image appeared on the screen.
"I'd say that's the same person," Gaius remarked. "Who is it?"
The Commissioner turned towards the group, and stared emptily into the space between them. "I apologize if I seemed so doubtful," she said at last, "although in my defence the description of her as a social worker seems a little inappropriate, and to describe her as rich is approaching the understatement of all times. That is Jennifer Munro."
"GenCorp?" Harry asked in surprise.
"She is one of the possible heirs to GenCorp," Natasha confirmed. "She could end up being one of the most powerful people on the planet."
"But what's that got to do with killing Mike?" Shelley asked in surprise.
"That's easy when you understand the corporate ethic," snorted Marisa. "Mike Pennlington is not approved."
"But how did they arrange that?" Winters went on.
"Not too difficult to guess," Marisa continued. "There's a Troy Munro here at Tashkent."
"Is he capable of doing these things?"
"Hardly matters," Marisa replied. "With that corporation behind him, he's rich enough to buy whatever help he needs."
"Then perhaps his messages should be monitored," Winters suggested, then suddenly stopped as she noticed that Gaius was frowning at the chatter.
"You probably won't learn much," Natasha offered, then she paused again. It was obvious that she was both worried and was trying to think, and this time the junior officers realized that it was not their place to speak. "The problem is," Natasha explained, although not to anyone in particular, "he can use any terminal in Tashkent and reroute the message through as many countries as he likes, and he can use any code he likes, and he doesn't have to identify himself, or even send the messages."
"But the fact that there's a message in code . . ." Winters started, then suddenly bit her tongue.
Natasha gave a slight smile, as she saw the look on Winters' face. She decided to let the juniors have their say, partly, as she said later, to put them at ease, and also partly in case they came up with something she had overlooked. "It may not look like a code," she smiled. "Suppose he says 'Happy Birthday' to someone, and describes the weather. If it isn't their birthday, the message is a code. The differences from the real birthday may make a number key, and one can transpose carefully selected pieces of the message to get the true message. Very difficult to break, even if you know the message is a code, but you can har
dly analyse in such detail every message leaving a city this size."
"Then what do we do?"
"I know what I'd do," Harry offered. "I'd make sure Troy Munro doesn't even cough without our knowing."
"That's an enterprising suggestion," Marisa said caustically. "I bet you won't spoil your corporate image by letting anyone but the Commissioner hear that."
"Marisa!" Harry spluttered. "I've just about had enough of that –"
"Stop!" Natasha roared. "Everybody out! Everybody except you, Robeiro. I want words with you."
The others saluted, and turned to leave. Marisa Robeiro suddenly realized that the Commissioner did not need to hear personal spats, and she concluded that the Commissioner was going to deal with this problem. Dealing with it meant dealing to the one who either irritated her the most, or who was the last irritant, or merely whoever she felt was the easiest, which meant that that wretch Lansfeld was going to get away free. She gave him an evil look when their eyes met as he turned to leave. Harry flinched a little, then discipline took over and he marched from the room.
"Now, Robeiro," Natasha said coldly, after the others except Gaius had left and the door closed. "I think you have an attitude problem, and that has to be corrected as of now. What exactly is eating you?"
"I apologize for that outburst," Marisa said calmly, her head high, as she looked directly into the Commissioner's eyes. "In retrospect, that was inexcusably bad manners."
"Apology accepted," Natasha said, more calmly, "but that doesn't address the problem. I need to know what is eating you. Or more precisely, I need you to speak it and address it."
"I'm not sure you want to hear this," Marisa said calmly. She knew she was in trouble, and in her mind she knew she would be sent back to Sao Paolo on the next available transport. She may be sent away in disgrace, but she was not going to be humiliated.
"I am very sure I want you to speak it."
"So be it," she said, and took a deep breath. She had one last chance to speak her mind, and she would. "I dislike this society, the way the corporations can do virtually what they wish, the way they can even corrupt an organization such as this. Commissioner, I admire you personally, but I find it outrageous that corporations can organize murder within this organization, and you do nothing. I came here to act as a feeler, a symbol, something that might give our countries a reason to consider joining the Federation, at your request. Most of my friends in Brazil laughed at me, and said the Federation was simply too corrupt. When I met you, and when I first met Lansfeld, I thought perhaps joining was possible. But now I find I was wrong, my friends were right, and this might surprise you, but it hurts."
"Wrong about Lansfeld?" Gaius asked in surprise.
"Bitterly wrong," Marisa replied. "I admit it. I fell in love with him. I fell in love with a cursedly self-seeking corporate."
"Harry! A corporate?" Natasha laughed.
"You didn't know that, did you? And he's no ordinary corporate either. He's right up there with Jennifer Munro."
"He's what?" asked a bemused Gaius.
"He's one of the highest ranked corporates out. And see! You didn't even know!"
"And exactly how did you come to that conclusion?" a bemused Natasha asked.
"He's a diamond card holder," Marisa explained triumphantly. "I found that out when I looked through the Officers' Mess payments logs." She leaned back with the self-satisfied expression of one who has found absolutely irrefutable evidence.
"A bit cheeky," Gaius smiled. "You're not supposed to have access to that."
"Perhaps," she said, "but I had to find out about him."
"Well, you've jumped to the wrong conclusion," Natasha said softly. "The diamond card's blood money. It appears that FoodBund had his father killed."
"And naturally he quietly accepted it," Marisa snorted. "Never a thought crossed his mind for revenge, I suppose? Oh no! No way! They do that to him, and he'd still never lift a finger in anger against a corporation, would he? The miserable wimp!"
Natasha chuckled a little over this, and said, "Did you ever notice Lansfeld's decoration? Ever wonder how he got it?"
"What do you mean?" For the first time, there was a tone of doubt in Marisa's voice.
"Lansfeld observed a GenCorp vessel sink an independent fishing boat, murder its crew, then shoot down two police helicopters and murder their crew. Lansfeld had a choice. He could ignore the situation, or he could act. On his own initiative, but with my consent, he destroyed that corporation warship, for that's what it was. Was that the action of a cringing corporate?"
There was a silence, then the Commissioner challenged, "Well?"
"I didn't know," Marisa admitted softly.
"As for the diamond card," Natasha went on, sternly, "in those circumstances, most people would do what you suggest. In effect, they'd self-destruct. Lansfeld didn't do that. Instead of being ruled by his anger, he's ruling his anger. He can have whatever he likes, and the corporation is hurting, not through what he's spending, but through always having to wonder what he'll do next.
"You see, the Corporation knows one or two more things about Lansfeld. If you're that interested, he was born in an independent area of Sydney," Natasha went on, as Marisa became unusually silent. "If you think he's a wimp, you couldn't be more wrong. There seems to be some sort of a private war going on most of the time between independents and corporates, and Lansfeld's been fighting corporation people nearly all his life, and I don't mean sitting back and criticising. He's been out there fighting, and I assure you that he's most certainly more anticorporate than you, although he probably won't ever get as vocal."
"I'm sorry," Marisa muttered. "Perhaps I was wrong about him."
"Perhaps you were wrong about some of the other conclusions you jumped to as well," Gaius offered.
Marisa gave him an embarrassed look.
"I know from your perspective," Gaius said softly, "that some pretty awful things have happened, but you've got to realize you're not just any ordinary trainee. You represent the sharp end of what might be the biggest single political and economic change on this planet, at least this century."
"I'm not sure about that," Marisa frowned.
"I am," Gaius smiled. "The Ulsians have a science they call sociodynamics, and they analyse all sorts of things to death. It can be a real pain at times," he shrugged, then continued, "however, on some matters it makes some very clear predictions. With such a change, a number of powerful people will sustain significant changes for the worse in their own status and wealth. If you like, there are huge changes in social potential for them, and that means very strong social forces are generated to oppose the change. The consequences of those are appearing, and they'll have to be dealt with. Nobody can prevent treachery and corruption from appearing, but I know you'll find it won't be either condoned or forgiven."
"Perhaps I was wrong," Marisa offered, then, after a pause, asked, "Commissioner, could you give me another chance?"
"Of course," Natasha smiled. "A lot of what you said needed saying. Go away and think things over. And trust me, I have no intention of letting Brazil be raped by corporations. Once we've beaten the M'starn, maybe then we can do something together to reduce their power."
"Thank you, Commissioner. I admit I was wrong, and I don't have to think anything over," Marisa said, her eyes lowered in partial embarrassment, but her bearing was still proud. "If I can be of use, and if you'll have me, I wish to be of service."
"I value you very greatly," Natasha smiled. "If I didn't, believe me I wouldn't be going to all this trouble on your behalf. Welcome back on the team."
"Thank you very much," Marisa smiled, then she saluted, and turned towards the door.
"Congratulations," Gaius said to Natasha, after Marisa had left. "That was real leadership. Robeiro will now follow you to the ends of time."
Natasha looked around towards Gaius, and suddenly felt very warm and very pleased with herself. It was the first compliment Gaius had paid her since the
ir return, and she realized that that was the highest praise he would give to anyone.
Chapter 9
This was to be an unusual Council meeting. It was unusual, even before it began, for the members all arrived in plenty of time, and instead of the usual private negotiations and mini-meetings taking place, they took their seat and stared in anticipation. There was an unusual deathly hush as the President rose to his feet to call for order. For once the call was unnecessary for he had their attention. Then, without the usual grandstanding opening speech, he called on the Commissioner for Defence, who then rose to her feet, and noticing that everyone was staring attentively at her, possibly for the first time ever, she gave a small smile. She knew that mixed with their attentiveness were a number of other emotions.
"Members of the Council," Natasha summarized, "since we lost our freighter, I believe our position has improved significantly. While it would be extremely foolish to predict a victory, at least now we know we've got a chance. We have made a list of requirements, and while, for security reasons, end uses are not identifiable, you now know how many of each item we need. It should give enough information to enable the economic impacts to be evaluated, and indeed I have discussed this matter with Mr Kleppe, and I have his assurances that our estimates are reasonable. We have classified the items into groups to give an indication of which corporations should tender for which items. If anyone has any questions, I shall attempt to answer them."
"What exactly is the position on Mars?" the Commissioner for Mars asked.
"There are now three groups on Mars," Natasha said, with a touch of irritation that the topic had been diverted. She had thought for a moment that she should protest, but since nobody else had objected, she let the topic change. "The loyalists control much of the western hemisphere. The collaborators control the area near their mining base on Syrtis Major. The settlement at Hellas has been declared neutral, and supplies food to either side. They will be left alone, if for no other reason than each side has to eat."
"Can't the settlers march on these collaborators, and defeat them, then?" Elizabeth Garrett asked.