Power Lines

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Pharmaceuticals? What pharmaceuticals?” Farringer Ball demanded, looking decidedly interested.

  Matthew inwardly writhed. Everyone knew that the secretary-general experimented in consciousness stimulations and was still searching for longer-lasting mood adjusters with no side effects.

  “Yes, Farrie, some really marvelous concoctions and remedies, guaranteed pure and free of toxic additives and remarkably no discernible side effects,” Marmion went on. “Preparations which, if merchandised properly—that Nova Bene Drug Company you’ve an interest in,” she added, hesitating only briefly over that allusion, “could promote them in an interplanetary campaign—will substantially reduce the debt incurred by the earlier, and unacceptable, purpose of Intergal on this planet. Indeed, we have every reason to believe the planet will assist us in this venture, provided harvesting is carried out in a responsible and prudent manner.”

  “As it assisted the murders of four shanachies who had discovered the vast metal and mineral wealth of this rockball?” Matthew asked.

  “Murders? What murders?” Farringer looked from one to the other.

  “Five, in fact,” Matthew said challengingly, “since the shanachie of the Vale of Tears was so convinced that he would be the next victim that I naturally afforded him asylum on MoonBase.”

  “Five? Four? He’s dead, too? Of what?” Farringer Ball was again confused.

  “He unfortunately succumbed to a virulent respiratory infection three days ago,” Matthew said quickly, and then pointed behind him, in the direction of the detention cells, “but his death, as well as the murders of the four shanachies, is directly attributable to the concerted program of sabotage, misdirection, and treason perpetrated by the leaders of this conspiracy against Intergal.”

  “Who?” the secretary-general asked, more confused by Matthew’s rhetoric than ever.

  “By the woman, Clodagh Senungatuk—”

  “The Kilcoole biochemist and healer of considerable expertise,” Whittaker Fiske interposed amiably.

  “Who, before witnesses, admitted to knowing the toxic quality of the plant which was instrumental in the deaths of the four shanachies!” Matthew snapped back, trying to keep his growing frustration under control. “And the so-called doctor Sean Shongili, the reputed genetic scientist who has, in fact, aided and abetted Senungatuk in her program of sabotage, subversion, and the estrangement of the population from their natural protectors, Intergal!”

  “What a load of cod’s wallop!” Whittaker said, shaking his head and raising his eyes skyward at Matthew’s accusations.

  “Not only that,” Matthew went on, “I find that Captain Torkel Fiske’s request for a court-martial of Major Yanaba Maddock, formerly an agent of Intergal, has adequate grounds on charges of treason and counterespionage. She’s in league with Senungatuk and Shongili and, furthermore, two months pregnant by someone or other!” He said the last four words scathingly.

  “I thought Major Maddock was discharged to this planet in a terminally disabled physical condition,” Chas Tung said as he peered at his own notepad. “She’s certainly well over the customary age to conceive a child.” He looked around for an explanation.

  “Which is more proof that the healing powers of this planet’s pharmaceutical wealth are most unusual,” Whittaker Fiske said, chortling, “and worth a packet to Intergal.”

  “Rubbish! Ridiculous!” Matthew replied. “The true value of this planet is, after evacuating the immigrant population, the minerals and resources Intergal has invested in during its development and has every, right to ship from it, until it is nothing but the core of ice and rock it was when the company first set eyes on it. Once we have extracted what is rightfully ours, we can leave it all by itself again.”

  “Ha!” Whittaker jabbed a finger at Matthew. “You said it yourself. You believe it’s sentient, too. ‘Leave it all by itself!’ See, Luzon admits sentience.”

  “I admit nothing of the sort! Rock can’t have sentience! That can’t be proved.”

  Everything on the table began to rattle; on the screen, Farringer Ball’s livid, baffled countenance dissolved and reformed several times.

  “It just was proved by that tremor, Luzon,” Whittaker Fiske said.

  “The esteemed doctor has lost his esteemed mind, sir, you see?” Matthew crowed over Fiske’s softer voice. “He now interprets every perfectly natural phenomenon as some sort of statement by the ground he walks upon.”

  Fiske didn’t even change expressions as he continued, when Matthew ran out of breath. “Furthermore”—Fiske pointed to a thin mist oozing through the seams of the building, floor, walls, and ceiling—”you may be about to partake of the ‘mass hallucination,’ as my dear son called it, as proof positive of our claims of sentience.”

  “What’s hap’ing . . . there?” the secretary-general demanded, the “snow” and static interfering on both sides. “How . . . I possibly un . . . stand what’s going on when I . . . even . . . clearly. Luz . . . what’s . . . matter?”

  Matthew was irritated not only by the poor reception but also by the mist seeping in under the doors and the supposedly tightly sealed window fittings. He was further distracted by the note handed him by Braddock that told him that Torkel was unable to locate SpaceBase in the thick mist and his pilot, one of the Prometheus’s flight lieutenants, would not risk his craft and his passengers when he couldn’t see where to land.

  The secretary-general banged a gavel fiercely. “Fix that . . . screen. Stop . . . fusing issues. Marm . . . on, can you clar . . . matters?”

  “I have, Farrie. And we’re working on the reception here. The technician should have things cleared up in a moment. Please raise your hand if you can’t hear me. The planet’s worth more as a pharmaceutical source, renewable in perpetuity, than as another strip-mining operation,” she said. “I have had cooperation from all sides and professions on this planet. The indigenous population are hardy, industrious, resourceful people—they have to be to survive in what is a harsh environment. But for four generations they have coped and provided Intergal with strong, healthy recruits who have been a credit to the service and their planet. They have sabotaged nothing, even though the company has given them precious little assistance. This planet, however, registered a complaint which Whittaker Fiske and Torkel, if he’d admit it, have heard, and this committee is in response to that complaint. Petaybee, the planet, has refused to be exploited in a brutal and ecologically senseless fashion. Its complaint is not only valid but points us in the more feasible and useful direction of considering alternative sources of profit. Why ruin a world for crass metal when its wealth in renewable products is by far greater and longer lasting? I have myself experienced the total communication with it that Whittaker here and most of the population have enjoyed, and hallucination it is not, as Whittaker has already testified.”

  At that point, the door opened, admitting an Omnicron officer who, despite Matthew’s scowl, presented him with a large green rock, veined deeply in orange, and a note.

  “Aha!” Matthew sprang to his feet, flourishing the rock toward the screen. “The ore samples that were removed from Satok’s craft have been found by metal detector in the woods at Shannonmouth, where they were illegally removed from his vessel and hidden: yet another example of the sabotage that is almost planetwide. This is high-grade copper, according to this quick assay.”

  “Copper? Is that the best you can do, Matthew? Copper?” Nexim Shi-Tu demanded. “Not gold, or platmum . . .”

  “Lieutenant, did you see any gold or platinum among the samples?” Matthew asked, his eyes gimleting the Omnicron man.

  “Sir, I wouldn’t know either in the raw state. I was told to bring this to you because it’s the purest of the lot we found.”

  “Pure copper is not to be sneezed at,” Marmion said without a trace of sarcasm, “but hardly in the same category as a respiratory remedy that cures damaged lung tissue, now is it?” A technician bent and spoke to her and she said to the screen
, which was still fuzzy but not so noisy, “Is that better now, Farrie?”

  “Yes, I believe it is. Continue.”

  “D’you have something for immaculate conceptions, too?” Bal asked slyly.

  “By whom is Major Yanaba Maddock pregnant, Marmion?”

  She shrugged. “Let’s not digress from the purpose of this commission, gentlemen. Major Maddock’s personal life is not at issue in this hearing and should not be at issue in any other hearing as long as she has obeyed her orders.”

  “Aha!” And Matthew once more jumped to his feet. “That’s just it. She hasn’t obeyed orders.”

  “But she did,” Marmion replied firmly. “As she was instructed by Colonel Giancarlo, she became a part of the society of Kilcoole and set about learning as much as she could about Petaybee. She learned a great deal, although it was not, perhaps, what her superiors had expected her to discover.”

  “Where is she?” Farringer Ball asked, looking around the room. “She was the uniformed one from our first conference, wasn’t she?”

  “I believe she has been detained on Vice-Chairman Luzon’s orders,” Marmion said, turning to Matthew with a suddenly implacable expression on her composed, elegant face, “another breach of the civil rights of Intergal officers. And that’s for the record, Farringer,” she added sternly. “Even an Intergal commissioner cannot go about denying officers their civil tights.”

  “Of course I had her detained,” Matthew almost shouted back, “as an unrepentant renegade ally of the Kilcoole group. As a matter of course, I had medical tests run on all the renegades—”

  “Why?” Whittaker cracked that one word out. “What right had you to impose a restriction on any one of the citizens of this world? I’ve told you once and I’ll keep on telling you: They are not sabotaging Intergal. Intergal is sabotaging itself on Petaybee.”

  “Oh, come now!” Matthew said, his voice dripping with scorn and the indignation that, rather to his surprise, he found he was actually shaking with. Or was that indignation causing him to shake? It seemed to be shaking everyone else, too, and the table, as well.

  Fiske was continuing, heedlessly. “By denying the demonstrable proof that the pharmaceutical wealth will be a long-term and highly profitable use of Petaybee. So what did your needless medical tests prove?” Typical of the man, he had no sooner asked the question than he answered it himself. “Not a damn thing except they’re the healthiest bunch of people your tame medical staff has seen in a hunk of years. So they’ve a few spare parts that help them adapt to Petaybee’s climate. So what? Nothing mysterious.”

  “Vice-Chairman Luzon has been so busy he hasn’t seen the obvious, Farrie,” Marmion said with a hint of sympathy for the misguided Luzon. “I’m sure we can come to some arrangement to extract some ores when they don’t involve disturbing invasions of Petaybee’s integrity. Open-pit mining is as disfiguring as deep-pit mining is—is—”

  “You’re saying the damned planet feels mining operations?” Farringer Ball demanded, staring with round eyes at Marmion.

  “Just as much as you’d feel a bone drill for a marrow sample: an archaic example, but then most mining methods verge on the archaic, as well as the destructive,” Marmion remarked. “Certainly it’s like peeling skin from an appendage, or suffering first-degree burns, and even you can appreciate how painful that would be.”

  “Marmion de Revers Algemeine,” Farringer Ball began at his most pompous, “do you actually subscribe to the theory that this planet is sentient?”

  “I most certainly do. And so do Sally Point-Jefferson, Millard Ephiasos, and Faber Nike, and you know very well, Farrie, that none of them are the least susceptible to ‘illusions’ or ‘hallucinations,’ not with the reports they have submitted to you on various occasions which I need not specifically mention.”

  Matthew interrupted with a contemptuous gesture and his silkiest tone. “Madame Algemeine is a beautiful, intelligent woman, quite talented at making money, well adapted to survive, under civilized circumstances, but she is used to dealing with people of the same sensibility. Here, I fear that she has fallen under the influence of the same primitive passions that claimed the major’s good sense and caused her to cast disrepute on her previously outstanding military record. A lady of such refinement as our chairperson . . .” Matthew shrugged, but was gratified by the rising color flooding across the delicate flesh on Marmion’s aristocratic cheekbones and slender neck. “In the best interest of Intergal, I’m requesting—no, demanding—a purge of all residents on this colony planet due to their almost unanimous obstructive behavior, the deliberate sabotage of Intergal expeditions, and subversions too numerous to list. And I charge Major Yanaba Maddock with treasonable activities; captains O’Shay and Greene for deliberate acts of sabotage and treason to this investigation; Dr. Sean Shongili for willful acts, including homicide, against the best interests of Intergal, whom he has contracted to serve; Clodagh Senungatuk for—” He paused to look down at his list.

  “Oh, great stars in the sky, Matthew,” Marmion said, with a laugh, “how many people did you steal away from their homes in the middle of the night to remand on such ridiculous, trumped-up charges?”

  “Don’t laugh too soon, Marmion,” Matthew said severely. “Not when community leaders have been slain to prevent them from disclosing local lodes to Intergal officials.”

  Unfortunately, his long list had given Marmion time to recover her composure and her rather deplorable sense of humor. “And please remember to indict whoever it was you allege seduced me to primitive passions, Matthew.” She twinkled at him in a childish way, then added disparagingly, “Do be sensible, Matthew, and face the facts you’ve helped gather. The autopsy reports clearly state death by misadventure—”

  “A highly toxic plant was purposefully allowed to infest the ore locations—”

  “To spring up overnight? That’s quite a green thumb, Matthew!” Marmion snapped back. “How can anyone, other than by actual planting and nourishing over a considerable period of time, tell a plant where to grow? Besides which, you’ve been so busy quizzing innocent folk about all kinds of misdemeanors that you never took a look at the records of four of those ‘murdered’ men. James Satok, James Unidak Reilly, Clancy Nyungaruk, and Soyuk Ishunt were dishonorably discharged from Intergal for fraud and black-market activities involving Intergal supplies.”

  “No such report reached my desk,” Matthew said, turning to Braddock. The younger man shrugged, but his startled face expressed guilt and chagrin. “Moreover, I have proof positive that that highly toxic coo-berry bramble thorn was deliberately placed in the caves at four or more different settlements to prevent entry and discovery of rich ore-bearing seams!”

  “Wait a minute!” Farringer Ball said, banging a fist on the table. “All this is beside the point, Matthew. Especially if Marmion says we can harvest pharmaceuticals and get at least some ores . . . which ones, Marmion?”

  “That is to be decided,” Marmion replied, “but drills, excessive use of explosives—”

  “Secretary-General Ball!” Matthew all but roared. “You cannot believe the aberrant notion put forth by Chairperson Algemeine that this planet is sentient?”

  “No, I believe in cutting losses and getting what we can out of a place that’s causing far more fuss than it’s worth,” Farringer replied.

  “It’s a ball of rock, an inanimate object . . .” Matthew was pounding the table with one fist and almost bouncing on his feet in his protest.

  Suddenly he was catapulted onto the table, facedown, his nose spurting blood, as seismic activity produced a havoc that had everyone in the room either grabbing their chairs to stay in them or being bounced about the committee room. Grinding sounds were so loud that people clapped hands to their ears, as the building shook and more mist poured in from the cracked seams of floor, walls, and ceilings.

  “Under the table!” Whittaker Fiske shouted, practically dragging Marmion after him as the two of them, closely followed by the other c
ommittee members, hogged the most sturdily built piece of furniture in the room. Before Matthew could join them, they were joined by Marmion’s overqualified secretary, and there was literally no room for another body to squeeze in. Or so he thought, until he spied one far corner unoccupied and dove for it, only to be knocked away by Braddock Makem, the sniveling coward.

  “Get out of there at once, Braddock!” Matthew commanded, or he meant to sound commanding. He was appalled at how his normally controlled decibels elevated into panicky-sounding squeals. “Where’s your sense of priorities? I’m the commissioner here.”

  The guards stationed in the room and others—he wasn’t sure who—seemed to be trying to beat in the door, or break out a window, permitting the mist to flow more freely through the shambles of a committee room. A loud crash suggested that the main screen had fallen victim to the earthquake.

  Matthew heard someone screeching for help and to his chagrin realized the voice was his own. Never mind. This was an emergency and he had been deserted by his colleagues. No time for niceties. “Help!” he screamed again.

  “Try apologizing to the planet, Matthew!” Marmion bellowed over the crashings, splinterings, bangings, and other sounds of rending wood, plastic, and plaster. Ha! Easy enough for her to taunt him when she was protected by the table.

  “Tell it you believe, Matthew!” Whittaker Fiske hollered as well. It was the last thing Matthew heard as the entire building convulsed; he felt wetness warm the crotch of his trousers and slide down his leg, and, as the sound of the tumult was drowned out by a roar that came from within his own head and the snow from the comm screen seemed to be affecting his eyesight, he followed his own urine onto the floor.

  Whittaker Fiske nearly choked because he had been trying to yell to Luzon and laugh at the same time. The floor abruptly canted to the far end of the committee room. The table and those it sheltered were willy-nilly propelled downhill. Whittaker, one arm crooked around the table leg nearest him, managed to grab hold of Marmion, who caught Sally by the shoulder. Bal, Chas, and Nexim helplessly slid downward. Losing his footing, Luzon was rolled lengthwise against the table’s sturdy legs and caught there. A tangle of uniformed limbs pressed him even harder against the table legs, and he began shouting warnings and dire imprecations against those who had him unwillingly pinned against the furniture.