Power Lines

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Don’t need to tell me that, Yana. It’s the younger kids need the caution.”

  Yes, that was the problem, Yana thought. It was the kids who would only see the advantages of the perks Torkel was so eager to load on them. Krisuk, who had never had much and wanted to make something of himself. And those like Luka, who had been abused all her life. She gave a wry grin. Not Bunny, she thought, nor even ‘Cita, who still thinks three meals a day is sinful.

  They had sent the girl with Bunny, who wouldn’t let her sister out of her sight, and Aisling and Sinead to Sinead’s old cabin, deep in the woods. Diego sneaked out at night, Dinah limping along in escort, to bring supplies and news. ‘Cita seemed to go into shock when she was told that Shepherd Howling had left the planet. Diego had reported that the day after she seemed to relax for the first time and had spontaneous questions for him: Was Coaxtl all right? And was Sean healing, and what was happening to all those left at the Vale of Tears without leadership? Diego said he’d have to find out. Which reminded Yana to ask Adak.

  “Well, I got the odd word or two from Loncie that when they’d gone out to collect Scobie’s snocle, some woman—Ash-sen-see-on,” he said, stumbling over the name, “was more or less in charge. But she was gettin’ a lot of argument from folks who said the Shepherd didn’t like women bosses.”

  “Out of the deep freeze and into the permafrost,” Sean groaned

  “That was before the tsunami, a’ course,” Adak added. “Some of the people left of the Bogota group might resettle in the Vale. I hear it’s freezing up proper again now.”

  Then all three fell silent, each wondering privately if there would be resettling along the lines that had worked so well for Petaybee so far.

  “Any more surveys on that equatorial island chain that’s emerging?” Sean asked, the light of mischief dancing in his silver-gray eyes.

  Yana wondered briefly if he’d known that would happen.

  “Ah, yes,” Adak drawled, grinning to show all his even strong white teeth. “There’s copters up, and Johnny and Rick and that other bozo flitting down, doing runs. Right smart-sized islands blossomin’ like fireweed, and where it’s warm, too. Don’t ‘spect that was in anybody’s plans, now was it?” Adak looked sharply into Sean’s face, which wore a bland expression, except for the twinkle in his eyes.

  “Well, with volcanoes emerging here in the north, it’s possible that there’d be a reaction elsewhere. Though speaking scientifically, the odds are low of so much crustal activity occurring.”

  “But Petaybee is an unusual planet,” Yana said equably, her expression matching Sean’s, “so we can expect just about anything!”

  “Shouldn’t wonder. Won’t, either,” Adak said, and drained the last of the coffee. Rising, he gave a quaint little bow in Yana’s direction, grinned at Sean, and then paused at the door. “What should I be listenin’ for now, Shongili?”

  “The names of our latest visitors.”

  In point of fact, it wasn’t Adak who brought Yana and Sean that news but Marmion Algemeine, her poise shaken, and Whittaker Fiske, looking glum.

  “It couldn’t have been a worse selection, really, it couldn’t,” Marmion said, making for one of the chairs at Yana’s table as if her legs would support her no further. With an agitated flourish of one hand, she went on, “I’ve got my aides checking every man jack of them. And it is every man, too. I was so hoping Metuska Karianovic of KCCE would elect to come, but she’s off having some sort of rejuv treatment. Wouldn’t you just know!”

  “Who did come?” Yana asked as she poured coffee all around.

  “Mostly Matthew’s palsies,” Marmion said with a raising of her arched eyebrows. She pouted her lips. “Though Chas came: Charles Thraves-Tung. He’s always reasonable, I’ll say that for him. And he does think. He’ll appreciate a reasoned argument, which is more than I can say for Bal Emir Jostique.” She gave a little shudder of revulsion. “Greasy old man. He’d enjoy having prepubescent girls as wives: as many as he could get.”

  “He has ’em already, doesn’t he?” Whittaker said, regarding her with mild surprise.

  “He’ll never have enough, but even he has to wait until they’re fourteen!” She gave another little spasm of her elegant shoulders, clad today in a soft, dull brown leather. She raised her hand to tick off names. “So we’ve you, me, Chas Tung against Matthew, Bal, that old bag of bones Nexim Roberts Shi-Tu, with Farringer Ball on the monitor, acting as chair again.”

  Whittaker raised his eyebrows. “Do you know that Chas is with us?”

  “How could I? You saw how Matthew scrambled his broad young men between us and the new arrivals so we didn’t have a chance to say more than ‘hello, safe trip’ before Matthew whisked them away on his ‘survey tour’? Nor was there room for one of us to go or send someone.”

  Whittaker gave a bark of laughter. “I wouldn’t have wanted to go on that trip! And I don’t think Matthew won any points by insisting on flying them over the equator. Turbulence was fierce, and neither Nexie nor Bal like their innards disturbed any more than the indigestion their fancy foods give them. Speaking of which, did you notice what was being unloaded from the shuttle for their delectation?”

  Marmion made a grimace, which then became a hopeful grin. “Yes, and the chefs who’d know what to do with such provender. Take no offense, Sean, Yana, because I have enjoyed the unusual tastes and texture that only Petaybee can provide, but I’m likely to be the only one, bar Whit here, who would. Terribly spoiled the others are as far as their palates are concerned.” Then she frowned again. “Did you notice, too, Whit, that all Matthew’s boys look absolutely pooped? He’s had them running around night and day. Poor Braddock Makem looks transparent. Does he never let people have time off?”

  “Where’re yours, Marmie?” Whit asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.

  She winked. “I don’t work them half as hard, but they find out twice as much. And,” she said on a sigh, “we’ll need every smitch of help we can find with Farringer the tiebreaker.”

  Adak burst through the door. “He’s dead!”

  “Who’s dead?” everyone demanded simultaneously.

  “That smelly Shanachie Howler!”

  “Of what?” Sean asked.

  “Smelling himself in a MoonBase cubicle, probably!” Yana quipped.

  “Nah! Not a bit of it.” Adak shook his head and waved his hands in his excitement. “Get this! He was done in by the same thing as killed Lavelle!”

  Yana locked eyes with Sean.

  “There’s more, too!” Adak was almost spitting in his effort to get the second message out. “Satok had . . .” He turned his eyes to the roof again and recited, “An atrophied node in the cerebellum, only four hundred twenty-three grams of brown fat, and all his vitals was poisoned. Soyuk Ishunt, Clancy Nyangatuk, and Reilly also had atrophied nodes and poisoned organs.”

  “Was the node in Howling’s case mentioned?” Sean asked.

  Adak looked down, wrinkling his leathery brown face in deep thought. “Hmmmm . . . think it was, but it wasn’t atrophied none.” He took another breath. “And they’re sending some special medical equipment down. CAT scanner.”

  Yana couldn’t help inhaling at that news and glanced at Sean for reassurance. He cocked an eyebrow in response, but his unworried attitude and relaxed posture still did not relieve her fears that his shape-changing abilities would somehow be revealed by scanning.

  On the other hand, Marmion burst out laughing. “One thing sure,” she managed to gasp out, “there isn’t one built to accommodate Clodagh Senungatuk!”

  That observation did provoke chuckles, and the tension in the room went down a few notches.

  “But that’s probably the only good thought I can express,” Marmion went on, “as Nexie’s a biochemist and has”—she paused, her expression darkening—” ‘other methods’ more intrusive and certainly unpleasant.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Whittaker said, his eyes narrowing. “Neither Clodagh Senungat
uk nor Sean Shongili have committed any crimes against Intergal regulations. Even this house arrest is farcical. Intergal cannot subvert CIS civil rights except in circumstances of armed conflict, and Clodagh’s squirt bottle doesn’t appear on any list of weaponry I’ve ever seen, modern or ancient. Adak, you still got the secured channel?”

  “Ah, hmm, well . . .” Adak looked wildly around the room at everyone except Sean, but somehow saw the brief nod.

  “C’mon then,” Whittaker said, urging Adak to the door and laying an arm across the man’s shoulders as they departed. “Be back in a nano.”

  Marmion looked considerably more cheerful. “Let’s hope he can get a message through all the static to the proper authorities. At first, I thought the pilots were just saying that to be obstructive. But it’s real now. Do you know what’s causing so much interference, Sean?”

  “Sure,” he replied good-naturedly. “Atmospheric anomalies and the stratospheric turbulences caused by the crustal activity with some vigorous sunspots.” Then he paused and creased his brows a little. “Coaxtl told Nanook that the ‘home was changing.’ According to Bunny, Coaxtl also told that to ‘Cita when she was in her charge. But none of the track-cats, nor Clodagh’s, for that matter, are the least bit worried.”

  “They never are,” Marmion said wryly.

  “Oh, they have been,” Sean replied in mild reproof.

  Marmion leaned forward, resting one hand lightly on his forearm. “How does she—”

  She broke off at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Whittaker and Adak returned, neither looking very pleased. Whittaker almost slammed the door.

  “Could barely get the call letters out clear enough to be recognized,” Whittaker said, frowning with frustration. “Message was short and maybe too sweet for the kind of action we might need to have available. Got hold of Johnny, too, and asked him to send next time he’s above turbulence. Damned planet’s messing us all up, and we’re the ones trying to help!” He turned on Sean, who seemed unaffected by the communications failure. “Boy, how long can you live on a space station with no immunity?”

  “Four, five days.”

  Yana felt her heart skip a beat and surreptitiously placed one hand over her still-flat belly. How could he announce his life expectancy so calmly?

  “Clodagh?”

  “Same, but it won’t come to that, Whit. Believe me.”

  Dr. Whittaker Fiske cocked his head toward his right shoulder, planted both fists on the belt that circled his thin waist, and demanded, “If I could believe you, Dr Shongili, I’d sleep a lot easier, and so would all your friends.”

  “Believe me, and that’s bankable!”

  “It is?” Marmion perked up, her fiscal senses alerted.

  “Look.” Sean splayed one hand, folding a finger down for each point he made. “We’ve got to prove the planet is sentient? We can and we will! We’ve got to prove that it’s in the company’s interest to let the settlements remain because they can prove economically profitable, though not necessarily as predicted from the original surveys. We’ve got to prove that our ways”—and he gestured to Adak, Yana, who managed a little smile at the compliment, and out the window toward Clodagh’s house—”protect an environmental entity from abuse and misuse in the best interests of itself and the company which awakened it.” He nodded at Whittaker. “We also have to prove that the charges of malfeasance, misconduct, insubordination, and fraud, which Matthew Luzon’s about to level against some of us and/or the entire population, are as ludicrous as Shepherd Howling.”

  “And smell just as bad,” Adak added with a sharp nod of his head.

  “Sacre bleu!” Marmion exclaimed. “We’re not asking for much, are we?” Then, sighing, she shook her head slowly from side to side. “We got a lot of heavy metal men against us in that crew Matthew’s brought down.”

  “But they’re on our turf,” Sean said with one of his most charismatic and enigmatic smiles.

  “And Matthew’s doing his best to predispose them against Marmie and me because we’ve been so obviously ‘taken in’ ”—Whittaker made the bracket signs with his hands—”by the natives.”

  “Indigenous personnel, Whit, please,” Marmion said in mock petulant correction. “However, I can prove readily enough that I haven’t lost my wits or been mesmerized by local shamans.” She rose. “I shall demonstrate that this evening.” She gave a little chuckle. “I happen to know that Bal and Nexie lost a few trillions on an enterprise which I”—and she placed one hand with elegant grace on her chest—”had the good sense to forgo. So we’ll leave you.” She linked arms with Whittaker and led him out of the house. Just at the door she paused and looked back over her shoulder at Sean, her lovely eyes anxious. “You’re positive, Sean, that neither you nor Clodagh are in danger of being removed from this planet?”

  He nodded, smiling. “Positive!”

  When the door closed on the two, Yana and Adak turned on Sean.

  “Positive?”

  “Positive!” he said, but his mouth had a particularly grim set as he said it.

  15

  To her amazement, Marmion de Revers Algemeine found that her taste had altered during her weeks on Petaybee. The elaborate and extensive array of courses set before the committee members at dinner that evening—an evening fortunately free of tremors, shudders, or shakes—did not suit her palate, much less her mood. She really did prefer the simpler, sharper tastes of Petaybean foods: a rabbit stew would have been far more satisfying than the overly subtle coulis, sauces, and dressings that accompanied each dish. She saw Whittaker making as slow a progress through the banquet as herself, but at least she could cry off on the grounds of watching her diet.

  Matthew and Torkel cleared every plate, bowl, and platter set before them, but Marmion slyly noticed that like her own three aides, some of Matthew’s pretty boys were less than enthusiastic about the rich food. Chas, Bal, and Nexim had no problems, though twice Bal called the head steward over to make muttered complaints and reject a dish after one bite. Maybe his new stomach was developing the same ulcers the old ones had, Marmion thought to herself. A body could have certain dispositions no matter how many parts of it were replaced with functional substitutes.

  She did have a chance to obsequiously inquire of Nexie’s latest investment projects. That gave her a chance to make a passing reference to the Omnicora Steel Venture, which she had decided was not properly based to make any sort of a profit back on the original investment. She had raised her voice just enough for Matthew to overhear her comments. That would remind him, too, that she had lost none of her acumen. She discussed with Bal the possibility of investing in one of his schemes, which she had recently investigated, though she pointed out one or two organizational problems that should be addressed before she could consider the project. By the fleeting expression on Bal Emir Jostique’s face, she had hit the very weak points he must have discovered. That should take care of that, then, if Matthew chose to call her gullible.

  She was exhausted with smiling and waxing charming by the time she and Sally could leave the “gentlemen” to whatever it was gentlemen insisted on doing without female company in this stratum of interplanetary society.

  “Any luck, dear?” she asked Sally as they both made for their quarters in the wing of the livid yellow building.

  “We may need more than luck, dama,” Sally said with a sigh. “Dr. Luzon has got some twists that a Spican contortionist would envy.”

  “Ah, but we knew he would.”

  “My report’s on your desk, but I really think, ma’am, you need a good night’s sleep more. Bad news keeps.”

  “Thank you, dear. I’ll take your advice only if you’ll take it yourself.”

  Sally sighed, for the first time since the start of the tedious dinner party allowing her own fatigue to show, and nodded. “I think I’d best if I’m to be sharp up to the mark tomorrow for you. At least, we have all our facts in hard copy and not innuendos.”

  “Sleep well, then.
”

  Others did not. And, later, both Faber and Millard, who had stayed on as courtesy required, admitted that they had not seen the discreet accord that must have been reached during that interval by Matthew, Torkel Fiske, Bal Emir, and Nexim Shi-Tu. They knew that the four must have made a deal during that time, because not even Luzon would have dared to take the draconian measures that followed without the support of Fiske and the other two board members. Marmion blamed herself for having taunted Bal, but she had been pursuing another course of action entirely.

  At midnight, the several shuttles that had brought the other commissioners from their separate capitals silently lifted from SpaceBase on their assigned missions. None of the crew or troopers had ever heard of Petaybee before, though what they’d seen of it hadn’t impressed them at all. They’d had no rest or more than a hasty meal of hard rations while they erected the detention cells that had been sent along at Luzon’s request.

  As soon as the soundproofed, windowless two-by-one-meter cells had been erected in one of the empty storage facilities, the shuttles took off for their destinations. Squads had trank guns and orders to use them if any of the detainees resisted arrest. They were also ordered to secure local felines, with a bonus for each one caught.

  “Whaddaya think they want cats for?” muttered one enlisted man, only to be sharply reprimanded by his troop leader: “If they want cats, they get ’em.”

  The shuttles separated to pick up their passengers at the Vale of Tears. Ascencion was collected, and Lonciana and her husband were dragged out of their beds and barely given a chance to clothe themselves. Loncie protested as loudly and vehemently against such an unwarranted intrusion as only a former chief petty officer could, demanding to see the detention order, while Pablo gave quick and decisive household instructions to Carmelita. At Kabul, Shanachie Chau Xing was collected; at Portage, one of the newer settlements, an irate McDouall swore eloquently that, if this was the sort of cooperation Intergal wanted on Petaybee, they’d had the last of his! At Savoy, they made three pickups: Luka, the outspoken woman, and the man, identified as Eamon Shishmareff, who had been so uncooperative in helping Luzon and Torkel Fiske get across the coo-berry forestation. Fingaard and Ardis Sounik were collected from Harrison’s Fjord. It was there that a trooper got a lucky shot into an orange cat and, throwing the stunned carcass over his shoulder, grinned at the thought of the bonus he’d get.