Wasteland of Flint

by Thomas Harlan

  At last, nervous, Gretchen said, "Is this interview complete?"

  The man shook his head, no.

  "You have not given me enough information to form a hypothesis," she said, after another long pause. Then she stopped before saying anything more. She realized that he had provided her with three—no, four—data points. Enough for a three-dimensional structure.... Unconsciously, her head bent down a little, and she frowned, her lips pursing.

  "You say that I am dangerous. I am a scientist. I think. If my work is successful, something unknown to our science becomes known. That would be something new. Newness is change, which may inflict pain, or suffering, or death. Do you think there is something on Ephesus I might find, where others have not? Something dangerous?"

  The man leaned forward a little, and the overhead light caught in his eyes. They were a smoky, jadite green. "There is a man in your cabin. His name is David Parker. He carries a weapon. Is he dangerous?"

  "I don't think so," Gretchen said, turning her head a little sideways, eyes narrowing. "I know him, he is a companion. He is not dangerous to me. But yes, I understand. He is, of himself, dangerous. He could kill or hurt another."

  The man leaned backward, the smoky green light fading. "Is he very dangerous?"

  Gretchen bristled at the new tone in the man's voice. Where before it had been calm and level, now it took on a patronizing tone, as if she were a small child having trouble with her maths. "No, not very. Not in a large context. He might kill one other, then be slain himself. The duration of his dangerousness is limited."

  "Is yours?"

  "Limited? It must be, for I am only one person. What could I do? I could be easily killed or imprisoned if I prove dangerous. Is that what you do? Do you watch for 'dangerous' persons and remove them from society? Is this what it means to be a judge?"

  The man placed a small blue pyramid of what seemed to be leaded glass on the table. In the brief moment when his hand was visible, Gretchen saw that it was gnarled and twisted, muscular, a farmer's hand. Like her grandfather's hands, roughened and seamed by the elements. Fine puckered scars ran across the palm and the wrist. The stiff white shirt-cuff hid the forearm, but Gretchen was suddenly sure his whole body was marked in this same way, like etched glass.

  "The tlamatinime, the wise men, have a sacred duty. It is to sustain the world." The man turned the pyramid a bit, so the light fell upon it squarely. "They are ceaselessly vigilant, watching over each of us while we go about our daily business. Do you see this book?"

  Gretchen raised an eyebrow in surprise. The blue pyramid did not look like a book at all, though she supposed it might contain a holostore or memory lattice. "Yes."

  The green-eyed man smiled faintly, holding up the pyramid. "It is very dangerous. A world might be destroyed by it. But it is not as dangerous as you are, right now."

  Gretchen felt a chill steal over her. She could not see the man's other hand, and she suddenly imagined the scarred fingers holding a gun, a weapon, a small flat gray pistol with a round black muzzle. The gun, she was sure, was pointed at the pit of her stomach. It would fire a shock pellet, striking her flesh, ripping through her shirt, then bursting violently, shattering her pelvis, gouging a huge gaping red hole out of her back. She would die slowly, as blood leaked away from her brain and the wrinkled gray organ asphyxiated.

  "Why am I dangerous?" Her voice sounded very faint.

  The man put the blue pyramid away. "Telling you why would serve no purpose. It is enough, for you, for now, to know you are dangerous. In you, the life of every living human being is at risk." His gaze sharpened and Gretchen felt his scrutiny like a physical pressure against her face. "Are you afraid of me?"

  "Yes."

  "That is good. Are you afraid of death?"

  "Yes."

  "Better."

  Then he was silent. Gretchen waited, sitting, her palms damp with sweat. She wondered what the blue pyramid contained. A dangerous book? Books had always been friendly to her, offering her succor, sanctuary, and advantage. Friends who didn't mind if you only called once a year. But it might contain plans I for a weapon—a virus, a bomb, something truly deadly. With that, she thought she understood his question. What if I find I something like that on Ephesus ? Some First Sun weapon that I could shatter a star, or burn a planet to a cinder?

  Green Hummingbird stood up, moving stiffly. Gretchen realized he was very old, far older than his voice suggested. He looked down at her, his face grim, then limped to the door. Without turning her head, Gretchen tried to see if the man really had a pistol. Nothing. The hatch chuffed open and the Méxica went out into the passage. Gretchen let out a long, slow breath, feeling suddenly awake and relieved of a great weight which had lain upon her.

  GEQSYNC ORBIT OVER EPHESUS III

  "We have orbital match in ... three ... two ... one ... Orbit match locked."

  Sho-sa Koshō's cool voice echoed in Gretchen's earbug. She and Magdalena were crowded into the secondary weapons station on the command deck of the Cornuelle, sharing a combat chair. The flat black display in front of them was configured into three v-panes, one showing an orbital plot of the planet with the Palenque and the Cornuelle in their velocity dance, another the view from the warship's forward cameras and in the third a colorful, annotated image culled from the sensors on Parker's suit as he stood in an airlock.

  "Main engines at zero thrust. Steering at zero thrust."

  Around them, the officers of the Cornuelle began to go through a checklist in soft voices. Gretchen bit her lip, watching the image of the Palenque. The ship seemed intact, without visible hull damage or scoring. It was an ungainly monster in comparison to the rakish profile of the Cornuelle. The Temple-class were workhorse ships, with a big rotating habitat and lab ring sitting forward, squeezed around a command and sensor array platform. Behind the habitat ring was an enclosed shuttle dock assembly, surrounded by mushroom-shaped cargo modules, then a flare shield and the bulk of the engines. The Company logo, white on maroon, stood twenty meters high on the thruster fairings.

  "Maggie, do you have anything on ship-to-ship comm?"

  Maggie shook her head, long ears angled back. "Quiet as high grass, sister." Her claws made a tic-tic-tic sound as they worked the console. The view of the Palenque tightened, zooming in on an airlock beneath the command deck. The hatch was hexagon-shaped, with a clear window. Gretchen could see something through the opening.

  "What's this?"

  Maggie worked the panel and the image cropped, then zoomed again. There was a brief ripple across the v-screen as the console kicked in to interpolate the image. Gretchen leaned in a little, squinting through her com-glasses. There was an amber light shining above a control panel on the inner door of the lock. She tapped her finger on the v-screen. "Do we have a pattern match for this?"

  "Yes," rumbled Magdalena in her I'm-working-on-it-already voice. A v-pane unfolded on the console display. It contained a schematic of the airlock control panel, with highlights indicating the meaning and use of each control, light and display. There is interior pressure, but the airlock is in manual mode—no power for the automatic mechanism."

  Gretchen nodded, pressing a fingertip against her cheekbone. "Parker, did you hear that?"

  "You bet, boss." The pilot's v-feed shifted as he looked ground the Cornuelle's lock. There were two Marines with him ind Bandao. Both civilians were wearing dark gray z-suits, with bright Company logos on their chests, white-lettered nametags on each shoulder and over the heart. Both Marines were nearly invisible in matte-black suits far slimmer than the Company rigs. Both had nametags, but they could not be read in the ambient light. Gretchen frowned, but Maggie was already working. Text materialized on the v-feed, showing FITZSIMMONS and DECKARD above the two Marines. "We'll nave to crank the lock ourselves."

  "One kilometer," Koshō announced. The Cornuelle was approaching on the last dying bit of her insertion velocity, coasting in not only to match orbital paths with the Palenque, but to come within eye
ball distance of the abandoned ship. "Three minutes."

  "Maggie, are there any other lights? Radio emissions? Any EM at all?" Gretchen leaned back in the chair. The shock-cushion adjusted, cradling her back. The Hesht tapped up an ambient light gradient over a ship schematic on her main control window. The derelict showed heat and light loss at the personnel airlocks and around the big shuttle bay doors.

  "She's cold. Just waste heat from standby systems," Magdalena said, "but there seems to be atmosphere inside from end to end. The hull shielding is blocking everything else, but when Parker gets the telemetry relay in place, we'll know more. Still no response from the comm system or the tachyon relay." Her shoulders shrugged in a rolling ripple of muscle. "Station-keeping is still on line; she's not spinning or losing altitude."

  "Two minutes," Koshō announced. "Correcting roll with braking thrust."

  Gretchen felt a very faint shudder through the decking under her feet. The feed from Parker's suit suddenly showed the planet rolling past in the window of the airlock, huge and ruddy tan. Then the Palenque slid into view. Gretchen touched her cheek again.

  "Parker, we're almost ready. Start your checklist."

  "Copy that," the pilot replied and the feed-image bent toward Bandao. Each man would double-check his z-suit, his equipment, the telemetry relay, their weapons before the lock opened. The Marines were already checking each other's suits. All four men were wearing propulsion packs. Gretchen's request for a wire-tether fired from the Cornuelle to the derelict had been refused. Hadeishi had no intention of establishing a physical connection between his ship and the Palenque.

  Gretchen turned, looking up across the control station behind her. Hadeishi was ensconced in a command chair, half enveloped in shock-foam and control consoles. Faint lights from his panel displays mottled his face and combat suit. Koshō sat slightly below him, on his left, and Hayes down and to the right. She and the Hesht were at a station in the third ring of the bridge, matching the position of the ensign, Smith, on the opposite side of the U-shaped deck. The Imperial commander raised his head slightly and smiled, meeting her eyes.

  Hadeishi toggled on his voice channel. "Near space scan, Smith-tzin?"

  "Clear, Chu-sa. Two trailing asteroids, six low-orbit Company peapod satellites, no other ships, shuttles or unidentified objects. No radio or t-wave transmissions except the telemetry from the satellites. Everything's quiet."

  "Engines, Isoroku-tzin?"

  "Hot, kyo, idling at zero thrust. Power plant is at twenty percent. Spin time to hyper is six zero minutes. Repeat, six zero minutes." The engineer's voice echoed in Gretchen's earbug, coming from the downship channel.

  "Weapons, Mister Hayes?"

  "Weapons are hot, Captain. One flash bird rigged and solution locked. Point defense system is online and tracking."

  "One minute," Koshō said softly.

  Hadeishi nodded to her. "Full stop."

  Koshō ran her finger down a control bar on her console. There was another slight shudder. In Gretchen's displays, a counter indicating meters-to-target slowed and then stopped. "Six hundred meters," announced the pilot. "We have velocity match."

  "Are you ready?" Hadeishi's voice was soft in Gretchen's ear and she started. A blinking glyph in the bottom right corner of her glasses indicated they were on a private channel.

  "Ready," she said, swallowing. This was it. She changed back to the open channel. "Mister Parker, have you completed your checklist?"

  "Copy that, boss. We are ready to take a walk."

  Gretchen looked sideways at Magdalena. "Cameras ready? Suit telemetry online?"

  The Hesht grinned, showing double rows of white teeth like tiny knives. "Cameras live. Recorders are rolling. Suit telemetry is clean. All bio readings are in the green." The cat flicked a claw at a newer, smaller window on the console. Gretchen saw it showed a string of beadlike lights circling the planet. The peapod survey satellites Hayes had picked up. Excellent.

  "Mister Parker, you are free to take a walk."

  Unconsciously, she bit her lip, eyes fixed on the v-feed of the Cornuelle's airlock. One of the Marines, Fitzsimmons, punched a code into the airlock control panel. The hatch opened swiftly and raw sunlight flooded into the chamber, picking out every detail with brilliant clarity.

  Deckard stepped out into the void. He was briefly silhouetted against the monstrous glowing disk of the planet. Bandao followed, white jets of vapor trailing behind him. Parker followed and Gretchen felt a moment of vertigo as he stepped out over an infinite distance. Then the suit cam focused on the distant, surprisingly tiny image of the Palenque.

  "Five minute count to contact." Parker's voice was calm, even cheerful.

  There was a faint clank as Parker's boots touched down on the metal skin of the exploration ship. Bandao landed a moment later, flanking the airlock, while the two Marines held back. From the viewpoint of the cameras on the two Company suits, Gretchen couldn't see either Marine, but she guessed they were covering the opening, weapons armed and ready.

  "Checking lock diagnostics," Parker said, his voice still light and cheerful. The camera view stabilized on the entry pad. All of the keys were dark. The pilot's fingers tapped on them experimentally. There was no reaction.

  "Some emergency power is offline," Magdalena commented, tail twitching. Parker echoed her a moment later. Bandao's camera shifted and a plate sealed with four spring bolts came into view.

  "Stand by," the gunner said. "We'll try a manual entry."

  Despite surface pitting and a faint layer of ice on the shadowed entry plate, Bandao's quick fingers released all four bolts, then set the magnetized cover aside to adhere to the skin of the Palenque, and swung the unlock bar over in a smooth motion.

  Gretchen heard a slight hiss from Parker as the airlock recessed. Puffs of vapor squeezed out of the opening door as Bandao cranked the locking bar around and the hatch swung inward, revealing a dark cavity only barely illuminated by a single amber light.

  "I am entering the ship," Parker said, only the faintest tremor in his voice. Gretchen blinked as the pilot's suit lamps swung to reveal the gleaming white and gray interior of the lock.

  "No debris, no organic contaminates, no high-order radioactives," Magdalena said softly into a voice log, yellow eyes glued to the environmental sensors relaying from the z-suits of the men in the lock. The brass-colored snout of Bandao's ship-gun appeared at the edge of Parker's video feed, swung back and forth, quartering the compartment, then withdrew. "Parker is inside the lock."

  Gretchen looked back at Hadeishi, still sitting in the command chair, watching quietly, his face illuminated by lights from his combat displays. He raised an eyebrow at Gretchen's formal expression. "Chu-sa Hadeishi, Mister Parker has boarded and taken possession of the exploration ship Palenque, Company registry ..." She read off the official registration and identification of the Temple-class starship. "1 would like to request the assistance of the Imperial Navy in recovery operations at this time." She bowed politely and the captain returned the motion.

  "Lieutenant Koshō," Mitsuharu turned his head slightly. The executive officer was waiting with a politely interested expression. "Please render all aid and assistance to the Company representatives in securing their ship and restoring power and environmental controls."

  "Hai, Captain." Koshō touched her cheekbone, and began speaking to the two Marines floating outside the airlock.

  "You may proceed with your recovery operation, Doctor Anderssen." Hadeishi nodded politely to Gretchen. In the cameras, the two Marines entered the airlock as Parker and Bandao moved aside to let them handle the ship-side hatch. A second plate was removed, and the inner airlock opened slowly as Deckard operated the manual release bar.

  Gretchen bent over the panel, watching a hallway slowly emerge into the light. Everything was very dark. She looked sideways at Magdalena. "Atmosphere?"

  "Clear," the Hesht replied, though she was frowning.

  "What is it?" Gretchen tapped open the ship
frequency. "Parker, hold up."

  The video feeds stilled, and Gretchen caught sight of two stubby black Marine shipgun barrels swinging up, pointing down the newly revealed passageway. Parker's camera shifted as he swung to cover the now-closed exterior hatch.

  "There's ..." Magdalena twitched her nose, claws tapping softly on the display. "Mister Parker," she growled, "is your suit envirosensor working properly? Does it show green?"

  "Yes," Parker said a moment later. "Everyone's does."

  Gretchen started to turn toward Lieutenant Koshō, but the little Nisei woman's fingers were dancing on her own panel, and Magdalena's array of v-panes and gauges suddenly doubled in number, showing the telemetry feed from all four z-suits. The Hesht frowned again, black lips curling back from white incisors.

  "Ship air is very, very clean," she said a moment later in a slightly disbelieving voice. "I show barely any contaminants, no waste products, only a slightly oxygen-rich standard oxy-nitrogen atmosphere. Scattered traces of free carbon and hydrogen."

  "Dioxide levels?" Gretchen leaned over, searching out the air mixture readout for herself.

  Magdalena waved a paw in dismissal, making the rows of bracelets on her wrists tinkle. "Negligible. Couldn't grow a fern if you wanted to. It's like no one is aboard, and never has been;'

  "All right. Parker, you're free to advance. Head for the bridge with all due precaution."

  "Ok..." The pilot edged out into the hallway, his helmet light swinging across mottled gray bulkheads and an irregular-looking floor. "This is funny ..."

  While the observers on the bridge of the Cornuelle held their breaths, Parker moved to the base of the closest wall and knelt down. His hand—a little bulky in the z-suit—brushed along the baseboard. Bare metal under his fingertips gleamed and shimmered in clear white light.

  "Discolored," Bandao commented, "like it's been flash-heated."

  "Yeah ..." Parker's camera shifted again, and fine gray ash puffed up from the deck at his touch. "Boss, could there have been a fire?"