by Sarah Zettel
Once Chena’s on her way, I will talk with Teal, Elle told herself, setting her paper squarely in front of her and uncorking the ink jar. The girl’s no fool, she just needs a direction. I’ve left her too long without one. She will come to understand she’s needed here, as her sister has.
They will both come to understand.
Beleraja hauled herself onto the bridge of Menasha’s ship, savoring the sensation of freedom and familiarity it gave her. Both the Poulos and the Denshyar flagships were from roughly the same era. The floor and walls were onyx and marble, with saffron gripping patches radiating outward from the ring of command stations. The pilot’s window was half filled by the white and silver skin of Athena Station. The other half looked out onto blank, black vacuum.
The lodestone sparkled in its gilded alcove. Beleraja kicked gently off from the hatchway and glided over to the stone. She caught the holding strap with one hand and laid the other on its glittering surface, closing her eyes to pray a moment for guidance and safe journey. It seemed appropriate somehow.
Shontio had loaned Beleraja one of the station’s precious shuttles so she could fly out and meet Menasha. He agreed that they would need to speak somewhere where there was no possibility of being overheard. They were planning to create a radical rebalancing of power throughout the Called. As Shontio pointed out, there were people even on overcrowded Athena Station that might balk at that.
Beleraja turned her mind from the memory of Shontio’s hard, hopeless eyes when he had first spoken of how they could end the crisis on Athena and in the Called, how they could flood the world with people and put into practice what Beleraja herself had believed for so long now: that only the consolidation of the tattered patches of humanity would save them.
And we’d better be right, she sighed to herself. Because once we start this, there will be no other Pandoran cure.
Still hanging on to the strap, Beleraja twisted to find that Menasha had swum across to the captain’s chair and was now holding on to its arm.
“Everybody else off shift?” Beleraja asked with mild disbelief, pushing gingerly off the wall toward the first master’s chair.
“Here and there, off shift, visiting aboard the other ships.” Menasha planted her soft-soled boots onto the gripping patch. “I thought the fewer ears, the better.”
“Always.” Beleraja grabbed the back of the first master’s chair and pressed her own shoes against the nearest patch. “But they are your family.…”
Menasha squeezed the chair arm, lifting herself a little and making the gripping patch crinkle underfoot. “Some of them would rather not know what’s going on.”
“But they agree?” said Beleraja, trying to keep her anxiety out of her voice. She had lost track of the number of nights she had spent pacing her tiny room, trying not to wake Hoja and Liel, the techs she now bunked with, and trying to tell herself she had not made a mistake. Consolidation was the only answer that made any sense at all.
“They agree.” Menasha’s smile grew wistful. “That doesn’t mean they like it.”
Beleraja laughed. “I can’t understand that.” It had been so easy to say it could be done. Consolidation could be calculated like the movement of any other cargo. As long as you knew distances and capacities, you could set up a simple schedule and bring the Called to Pandora in neatly timed intervals. All they needed was a great enough capacity, and that was what Menasha had been sent out to procure.
“So”—Menasha pulled a sheet screen from her coat pocket and handed it across to Beleraja—“here’s who we have so far. The rest of the fleet is still making contact, but these are on their way.”
Beleraja skimmed the names of a dozen colonies and their population figures. “That’s five thousand. That’s barely going to be enough. We need ten thousand, a hundred thousand if we can get them.” Menasha hadn’t seen the flyby shots from the satellites showing where the would-be colonists had dropped down. There had been the shuttle drop, the parachutes opening, the people landing with their loads of cargo. They scattered out to claim their land, and then… and then they dropped dead. When Beleraja closed her eyes, she could clearly see the image of all those bodies lying still on the ground like fallen leaves. Then there was nothing left but the artificial things, the landing rafts, the metal, the cloth. It was after that when the hothousers showed up in their dirigibles, carefully gathered up all that detritus, and left.
Of the flesh-and-blood human beings there was nothing left at all, and there had been three hundred of them. In the four hours that it had taken Satellite 22 to move out of range and Satellite 23 to move back in, they had died, and there was no trace of the hothousers having come in to do the deed themselves.
“And how are you going to move these hundred thousand people?” Menasha swept her hand out. “There aren’t that many ships in the Called.”
Beleraja willed herself to focus. Menasha was right, of course. She had to concentrate on what was possible, or this grand escapade of hers and Shontio’s was doomed before it really began. “What about the ships we do have?”
“We’ve recruited two families so far, but it’s slow going.”
“Anybody talking out of turn to the council, do you think?”
“You’d know better than I would. What have you been hearing from them?”
Beleraja shrugged. The thin, tattered comm net that stretched across the Called was proving both a blessing and a curse for their plans. It kept the council from being able to keep track of them, but it also kept them from knowing the latest changes of council heart. A fleet to replace Beleraja and her family as Athena’s watchdogs could be on its way right now, and they would have no way of knowing it. “We had a squirt a couple of weeks ago through Ganishi’s Station.” She rubbed the sheet between her thumb and first two fingers. “It basically said the council is pleased that we’re keeping up the pressure on Pandora, but they are not thrilled with the lack of measurable progress on the cure.”
Menasha barked out one short laugh. “What else’s new?”
“Agreed.” Beleraja read the names of the worlds and all the neat numbers that indicated how many people had decided to trust that she and Shontio knew what they were talking about. “I think if I told the council I was going to drop five thousand colonists on Pandora, they’d give me a medal. It would screw the pressure plate down tighter and still allow them to completely deny their involvement.”
“You do realize…” Menasha let the sentence trail away. She tapped her fingertips against the chair arm, as if trying to decide whether she would finish or not. Beleraja stood silently, giving her a chance to make up her mind. “You do realize,” Menasha started again, “that the longer we have to draw this out, the better the chances are that someone who does not agree with what you are doing will find out? That we’ll spark a debate, and possibly even active fragmentation among the shippers?”
“Yes.” Beleraja read the sheet again. Yaruba had decided to trust her, four hundred and twenty of them. High Marrakesh—only one hundred and eighty-five there made up their minds to trust her, or maybe that was all they had left.
She felt Menasha watching her closely. “And do you want to do something about it?” Menasha asked.
Beleraja folded the sheet screen into thirds. “Is there anything we can do?”
Menasha stared out the pilot’s window for a moment, watching the unchanging, monochromatic scene. “We’ve been getting some strange questions.”
“Like what?” Beleraja frowned.
“Like”—Menasha took a deep breath—“how are we going to divide the land once all these people get there? Like, how are we going to set up the new government? In short, there are people who would help us in return for land and power.”
Beleraja stared at her, unable to do anything but blink in surprise for a long moment. “You’re joking,” she said at last. “What do they think is going on here?”
Now it was Menasha’s turn to look surprised. “They think you’re invading Pando
ra.” Her eyes narrowed. “What do you think is going on here?”
Excellent question. Beleraja stuffed the sheet into her pocket where she wouldn’t have to see it anymore. “Mena, I can’t make those kinds of promises.”
“Then who can?”
“Nobody!” The force of Beleraja’s denial startled her. “That’s not what we’re doing.”
Menasha pulled both boots off the gripping patch with a sound like a snort. She swung her legs over the captain’s chair and brought them down again so she was standing right in front of Beleraja. “Then what are you doing?” she asked, rooting herself in place. “Are you just dropping a hundred thousand people down onto a planet without any plan?” Her eyes searched Beleraja’s for a moment, and Beleraja could tell they did not like what they saw. “Do you have any idea what you’re setting up here?” Menasha did not wait for an answer. “Certainly most people are just going to want to grab a plot of land where they can live. But there are going to be some people who have got ideas, and those ideas are going to involve bullying their neighbors.” Her voice went suddenly soft. “This is not a family picnic we are talking about here. You are starting a new world. There is going to have to be somebody in charge, and I hate to say this, but it is probably going to be you.”
Beleraja shook her head, although she could not have said which part of Menasha’s speech she was really denying. “We’re not a government.”
“The Authority is not a government. You are going to have to be.” Menasha reached into her pocket again. “Beleraja, I’ve got something else to show you.” Menasha pulled out another sheet screen. “This is the list of shipper families who will help if we will guarantee them prime land and slots in a government.”
The sheet fell open in Beleraja’s hands and her eyes read the print automatically. Fifteen family names. Beleraja knew most of them. Good families, old families. Over eight hundred ships. Properly coordinated, they could bring nine thousand more colonists. Invaders.
Good families. Old families. Patriarchs and matriarchs she had known, or at least known of, since infancy, and here they were, ready to help, and all she had to do was divide up a world for them.
Beleraja stared out the pilot’s window, a feeling of desperation creeping over her. She wanted to tell Menasha to fire up the engines, to take her out to where her own family’s fleet patrolled the jump points for Athena Station. She wanted to climb onto her own ship, close the hatch, and fly away. She wanted never to have agreed to Shontio’s request in the committee meeting. She wanted never to have spoken of her beliefs to him, never to have seen him so worn down, never to have realized that the Pandorans, no matter how brilliant and experienced, could not save the Called.
“Beleraja.” Menasha’s hands touched hers, and Beleraja realized her fist had closed around the sheet screen. “I know you have not just been sitting up here enjoying the scenery. What have you been doing?”
“Working out landing sites.” She gestured toward the pulled-out screen attached to the captain’s chair. “Trying to figure out what happened to the last set of people who tried a landing on Pandora. I could show you, but I’ve been keeping it all on an isolated database.” Menasha nodded. Well, at least you approve of something I’ve done. “Mostly, I’ve been lying.” Despite the ship’s lack of gravity, Beleraja felt like she weighed a thousand pounds. “Lying to the council, lying to the Pandorans.” Thoughts of the amount of time she had spent, and would still have to spend, at a command board to monitor the screen made her eyes burn. “I have been intercepting each and every message between the two of them and reworking it.” She rubbed her eyes. “You would not believe how good I have become at data forgery.” And planting rumors in the comm net, and smoothing together disconnected images, and interfering with those pesky little satellites so the Pandorans can’t keep track of which ships are actually coming and going from here.
“I wondered why the situation had stayed so calm.” A smile flickered across Menasha’s face, but it faded almost as soon as it formed. “Now I’ve got something else for you to think about.” Slowly, deliberately, Menasha stretched out her arm and pointed at the pilot’s window. “Your first wave is coming. If you want there to be a second wave in anything less than two years, you are going to have to consider these requests.”
Beleraja’s shoulders sagged, and she felt as though they would never straighten up again. She opened her hand and the crumpled sheet screen full of family names spun gently into the air. “What am I doing, Mena?”
“I don’t know,” Menasha answered. “What are you doing?”
Beleraja watched the sheet perform a graceful pirouette on one corner. She should let go. She should just leave, right now, with Menasha. There was no way to make this work. She was being a fool. This was not her job. Her job was to look after her people, and she had been neglecting that for years now. She had been exchanging plans with them for how, after the consolidation, they might turn themselves into a salvage fleet, looting abandoned stations and satellites for usable hardware and software to bring to the newly settled Pandora. They could still fly, still be free.
But if she believed what Menasha was saying now, those plans were merely fantasies. She was no longer matriarch of her small family, she was matriarch of all the refugees that Pandora could hold.
No. I don’t want that. I want to fulfill my promise and go away. This is not my life. This will never be my life.
But her mind’s eye showed her the crowded stairways of Athena Station, full of people Shontio had let stay because she had said this thing could be done.
Beleraja closed her hand around the drifting sheet screen. “I guess I’m going to talk to Shontio about setting up a provisional government for when we invade Pandora.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Queen of the World
Captain Aban?” Farin saluted the slouching, dour man at the end of the dock, giving him the bright smile that Chena had seen work as well on men as on women.
Chena watched Aban look Farin up and down, trying to reach some judgment about him.
“You coming down the river?” He had a long, lazy drawl to his voice, as if he didn’t care what happened next.
Farin nodded. “Myself and my cousin.” He gestured toward Chena, who beamed up at the captain, trying to look younger than she was. It was a trick that had gotten a lot harder since she had grown two inches and filled out so much in her bosom.
Aban spared her a glance, but did not seem to be impressed. He made a come-here gesture with his first two fingers. “Chits and hands.” He unhooked the scanner from his belt.
“We have this for you as well.” Farin handed over a much-folded piece of paper.
Aban frowned. This was not part of the routine, and he obviously did not like it. But he took the paper anyway and opened it, running his gaze swiftly over the words. His frown grew deeper and darker. Chena held her breath. This was the real test. If this man did not agree to the instructions in Nan Elle’s letter, they were going no farther.
Not that they had really gotten anywhere yet. Chena still had to reach the rain forest village of Peristeria, get outside the fence, search the rain forest for a particular kind of fungus, the belladonna mushroom (Fungus belladonna, Nan Elle’s herb sheets called it). Dried and concentrated, it produced a substance that could regulate an uneven heartbeat where digitalis couldn’t help. Administered in small doses along with some of Nan Elle’s precious salicylic acid and penicillin, it would save the dying in Offshoot.
Captain Aban was supposed to take them down the last stage of the journey. Once, he had lived in Offshoot, and Nan Elle had saved the life of his oldest son. The letter was reminding him of that and suggesting that if he left the crew door of his riverboat open when the boat reached the Peristeria dock, it would be greatly appreciated.
Aban lifted grim eyes to Farin, who stood there patiently, although the smile had faded so he didn’t look quite as cocky. Up until now, Farin had carried all their documents. Chena was tra
veling as a minor with him as her supervisory relative, as was required for a trip of more than three hundred kilometers. At least it was another month until she turned nineteen. It also meant that if anyone got suspicious they would be more likely to look at Farin, who was as clean as this morning’s dew.
So far, it had all gone well. This man, though, could stop them in their tracks, and he looked about ready to. Some people did not like being reminded what they owed.
At last, Captain Aban jerked his chin toward the boat. “We leave Peristeria at sunset, if you want a ride back.”
His words opened Chena’s throat and she was able to breathe again. Farin nodded their thanks and gestured for Chena to precede him. She risked one look back and saw Aban’s fingers tearing the note into minute flakes without his eyes once glancing down to see what his hands were doing.
The riverboat was the standard design—wide, double-keeled, with an enclosed cabin filled with benches for rowers and passengers. People occupied more than half of them. Loose, gauzy clothing seemed to be the local uniform, to keep cool yet provide some protection from the insects buzzing everywhere.
As soon as Chena and Farin boarded, Captain Aban climbed onto the deck and locked the cabin’s bow door. Chena gravitated toward the stern windows behind the last rowing bench and laid both hands on the wooden rail that ran just below the glass panes. The boat rocked and jostled as the rowers pushed off, and the huge metronome beside Chena started ticking to keep the time.