He was very young, that lieutenant, no more than a boy, he looked so thin and so very young, no older than Harold, "Three minutes," he said. "Three minutes, Kewney, then run like hell."
Harold grinned. "You know it. Ready? Go for it!"
And the lieutenant took her hand and ran with her, pulling her along, and the turret guns fired over their heads, and there was more shooting, and noise everywhere. Something exploded close to them and one of the dockside sailors went down. The lieutenant shouted into his sleeve mike. "Mortars! Run for it, Kewney. NOW!" And dragged her on, to the boarding port, threw her into the cabin.
"Sound Board Ship!"
Recorded bugle notes blared into the bright afternoon. The lieutenant ran forward and moments later there were rumbles. Something exploded outside the hatchway, and a swarm of angry bees came through the open hatch, whipped past her and clattered against the bulkheads. There was another explosion.
"We're hulled!" a sailor shouted.
The engine sounds were louder now. She ran to the hatchway to look out, and shouted for Harold. She couldn't see anyone.
"Clear the hatch!" someone shouted. There were whirs and the hatchway began to close. She felt motion as the ship began to move.
"Harold! Harold!" And there was Harold, only he was an old man, and his face was melting, and then he was gone, and there was another man, and the ship began to fade and she was in a white room in bed, a hospital room, and the men beside the bed were a doctor in a white coat and a CoDominium Navy Commander, very thin. She knew them both. How? Who were they? Lermontov. That was his name. How did she know that?
"Did you ever see Midshipman Kewney again?" Commander Lermontov asked.
"No. I never saw him after we left him at the corner, on the street of - the Street of Three Moons." Her throat was dry, and her left arm hurt. She couldn't move it, and when she looked she saw that it was strapped to a board, and there was an IV inserted at the elbow. And she remembered. Pentothal, something like that. They wanted to question her. What had she told them?
"I've told you everything," she said. "Three times, and whatever I said when I was drugged. Why do we have to go over this again?"
"Your Uncle has demanded thorough investigation," Commander Lermontov said. "And that he will have." He used his stylus on the screen of his pocket computer. "So. You last saw Midshipman Kewney at corner, where he was ordered by Lieutenant Falkenberg to hold for three minutes before retreating."
"Actually Harold volunteered - "
"Yes. Thank you. How long after that order was given did ship begin to move?"
"I don't know - "
"Doctor says you believe was less than three minutes."
"How does he know?"
"I don't know," the white-coated man said. "I can only try to construct events from your memories. Based on what we heard, I conclude that you don't really know, but you suspect that Falkenberg took off as soon as he got you to the ship."
"What does he say?" Angela asked.
"You already know that," Doctor Wittgenstein said.
"He told me Harold was hit by mortar fire before we got to the boat."
"But you don't believe him."
"I don't - I don't know what to believe," she said.
"Boat lifted," Lermontov said. "It had not enough fuel to go to orbit, and was damaged."
Angela shuddered. "More damage than - I was shocked when we landed and I could look. It was amazing that it would fly."
"Buna class boat is designed to take damage. So. Falkenberg landed boat at offshore island. What happened there?"
"Nothing. It was perfectly safe there, the people were Thai, no Chinese. Very friendly. It was - nice there, safe and peaceful. So we waited, three weeks until the Navy could send another ship down with a repair crew. Then I was taken to Government House, and John - Lieutenant Falkenberg was sent to his ship. Nothing happened."
"Something happened," Lermontov said.
She frowned at his tone. "What do you mean?"
"Doctor - "
"Miss Niles, you are a month pregnant."
"Oh."
"You do not seem surprised. You took no precautions?"
She felt herself blushing.
"Miss Niles, I have daughter nearly your age," Lermontov said. "You took no precautions?"
She tried to sound casual. "I wasn't thinking about that at the time."
"Nor, apparently, was Lieutenant," Lermontov said. "In this era of disease you were perhaps foolhardy."
Angela shrugged. "Actually, there were no precautions to take - "
"On Navy ship there will always be kits," Lermontov said. "But you are in fact correct. Medical cabinet was damaged along with much other equipment."
"Commander, I fail to see how my condition is relevant - "
"Your uncle will not fail to see," Lermontov said. "Foolhardy young Falkenberg, sacrifices promising Midshipman grandson of Grand Senator, in order to save himself. Then seduces Grand Senator's niece." Lermontov stared pointedly at her midriff. "Evidence will be unmistakable in few weeks."
"Oh. Do you - I guess Uncle Adrian would see it that way."
"At least you're safe," Dr. Wittgenstein said. "That ought to make him grateful."
Angela shook her head. "I'm afraid he won't be, not very. He doesn't like my mother much, and Harold was special. A niece is not a grandson, Doctor. He'd have gladly traded me for Harold." She shrugged. "I think he planned for Harold to become Grand Admiral one day."
"So. What will you do now?" Lermontov asked.
"About - " She rubbed her belly. "It takes getting used to. Does John - does Lieutenant Falkenberg know?"
"Not unless you told him," Dr. Wittgenstein said.
But I didn't know - "You mean, he won't learn unless I tell him?"
Lermontov nodded. "I was told you are intelligent."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"I think I need not explain. What will Lieutenant Falkenberg do if he learns?"
She blushed again. "I suppose - I suppose he'd marry me, if I wanted him to."
"Is my prediction also," Lermontov said. "Under other circumstances would be good thing for young man's career, marriage to Bronson family. Now - "
"Now it would be ruin for both of us," Angela said. "What - what should I do?"
"You don't have to be pregnant," Dr. Wittgenstein said.
"Damn you! I was waiting for that! Why didn't - while I was still under, while you had me out, why didn't you just do it then, and I'd never have known? But no, you had to wake me up and tell me - "
"You want us to make decision for you?" Lermontov said. When she didn't answer, he turned to Wittgenstein. "Doctor, prepare operating room."
"Wait - no, wait - " She felt tears welling up in her eyes. "What is it?"
"What is what - Oh," Wittgenstein said. "A girl."
"Commander - I want to see John Falkenberg."
"I cannot prevent," Lermontov said. "But I ask you do not. Not until you have decided what you will do. He is not stupid - "
"Do you know him?" she asked. "That's a strange thing to ask, isn't it? Do you know the - father of my unborn daughter? We had three weeks. A lifetime. I think I know him, but do I? I - oh, damn."
Lermontov's expression softened. "He is - was - considered promising young officer. Well regarded." He shrugged. "Pity no one sees Midshipman Kewney die. Now I do not know what we can do for Falkenberg."
"And I can't help - I can only make it worse," she said. "Oh, damn - what should I do?"
"Get rid of it," Lermontov said. "Then, in year, two years, when Senator has forgotten, you will meet again - "
"He'll never forget. And we'll never meet again."
Lermontov was going to speak but she cut him off. "You can't be sure, and I can't be sure," she said. "The only thing that is sure is that - we can kill my daughter."
"Fetus," Wittgenstein said. "Not - "
"I've studied embryology," Angela said. "You don't need to tell me the details.
" She was silent for a long time. Then she brushed the tears from her eyes and looked directly at Lermontov. "Commander, can you get me passage to Churchill?" "Yes, but why Churchill?"
"I have relatives there. My branch of the family didn't get the big money, but we're not broke, you know. I'll get by - "
"If you do this, I cannot permit you to see Falkenberg again."
"You couldn't stop me if I demanded it, and you know it," she said. "But - maybe it's better this way. Tell him - " The words caught in her throat, and she felt the tears welling up again. "Tell him I thank him for saving my life, and I wish him well."
The young man marched stiffly into the compartment and saluted. "Lieutenant Falkenberg reporting to Commander Lermontov as ordered, sir."
The thin man behind the desk returned the salute. "Thank you. Have a seat."
"Sir?"
"I said, Sit Down."
"Aye, aye, sir." Falkenberg sat stiffly.
"You believe I am calling you in for punishment?"
Falkenberg fingered the dispatch case under his left arm. "I have orders - "
"I know," Lermontov interrupted. "Not orders I wished to issue, but there is nothing to be done."
"So I'm leaving the Fleet."
"No. Only Navy," Lermontov said. "Unless you prefer to leave Fleet entirely." The older man leaned forward and examined Falkenberg minutely. "I could not blame you if you did, but I hope you will not. I have arranged to transfer you to Marines. As lieutenant with seniority and brevet captain. Also, I have sent message to Senator Grant recommending that he obtain Grand Senate confirmation of Order of Merit, First Class, for you. I expect that will ensure permanent promotion to Marine captain." Lermontov sighed. "If we had better communications, if I could speak to Grant directly, perhaps none of this will be necessary. Perhaps. I do not gauge well the politics of Grand Senate."
Falkenberg glanced at his dispatch case. "Clearly I don't either. Sir."
"This is obvious," Lermontov said. "Yet you did right. Losing one squad of landing party to save others is difficult, but we are all satisfied there was nothing else to be done." He shrugged. "Is unfortunate that squad you lose is commanded by Bronson grandson, but you cannot know this."
"He was a good troop," Falkenberg said. "And actually I did know his connection to - "
Lermontov held up a hand, cutting him off. He glanced involuntarily around the room, then eyed Falkenberg narrowly. "You will never admit that to anyone else," he said. "That your actions cause this young man to be killed is regrettable but justified, and perhaps Bronson will forget. But if Grand Senator Bronson is reminded that you knew of his interest in Midshipman Kewney, it will be much more serious. He will never forget that. I suggest you avoid Senator in future."
"Yes, sir. Only - "
"Sir, I have asked about Miss Niles, and no one seems to know where she is."
"She requested that she be sent to Churchill, where she has money and relatives. She left two days ago on message boat to rendezvous with ship bound for Churchill."
"Oh - I'd have thought - Did she have a message for me?"
"She says she is very grateful that you have saved her life."
"I see." He was silent for a moment. "Sir, what is my assignment?"
Lermontov smiled thinly. "You have several choices. As usual there is no end of trouble which must be attended to."
III
Crofton's Encyclopedia
Of Contemporary History
And Social Issues (1st Edition)
THE EXODUS
THE ERA OF exploration following the development of the Alderson Drive was predictably followed by a wave of colonization. The initial colonists tended to be both wealthy and discontented with Earth's civilization. Many were motivated by religion: both the more traditional religions, and the secular religion that grew out of what was known in the Twentieth Century as "The Ecology Movement," or "The Greens."
Many of the early colonists were quite sophisticated, and had good reason to expect success in establishing their cultures on new planets. Unfortunately, they did not reckon with the intense pressures on the governments of Earth . . .
2064 A.D.
The bright future she sang of was already stiffened in blood, but Kathryn Malcolm didn't know that, any more than she knew that the sun was orange-red and too bright, or that the gravity was too low.
She had lived all of her sixteen standard years on Arrarat, and although her grandfather often spoke of Earth, humanity's birthplace was no home to her. Earth was a place of machines and concrete roads and automobiles and great cities, a place where people crowded together far from the land. When she thought of Earth at all, it seemed an ugly place, hardly fit for people to live on.
Mostly she wondered how Earth would smell. With all those people huddled together - certainly it must be different from Arrarat. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the pleasing smell of newly turned soil. The land here was good. It felt right beneath her feet. Dark and crumbly, moist enough to take hold of the seeds and nurture them, but not wet and full of clods: good land, perfect land for the late-season crop she was planting.
She walked steadily behind the plow, using a long whip to guide the oxen. She flicked the whip near the leaders, but never close enough to touch them. There was no need for that. Horace and Star knew what she wanted. The whip guided them and assured them that she was watching, but they knew the spiral path as well as she did. The plow turned the soil inward so that the center of the field would be higher than the edges. That helped to drain the field and made it easier to harvest two crops each year.
The early harvest was already gathered into the stone barn. Wheat and corn, genetically adapted for Arrarat; and in another part of the barn were Arrarat's native breadfruit melons, full of sugar and ready to begin fermentation. It had been a good year, with more than enough for the family to eat. There would be a surplus to sell in town, and Kathryn's mother had promised to buy a bolt of printed cloth for a new dress that Kathryn could wear for Emil.
At the moment, though, she wore coveralls and high boots, and she was glad enough that Emil couldn't see her. He should know that she could plow as straight a furrow as any man, and that she could ride as well as her brother - but knowing it and seeing her here on the fields were two different things entirely, and she was glad that he couldn't see her just now. She laughed at herself when she thought this, but that didn't stop the thoughts.
She twitched the whip to move the oxen slightly outward, then frowned imperceptibly. The second pair in the string had never pulled a wagon across the plains, and Kathryn thought that she could no longer put off their training. Emil would not want to live with Kathryn's grandfather. A man wanted land of his own, even though there were more than a thousand hectares in the Malcolm station.
The land here was taken. If she and Emil were to have land of their own, they would have to move westward, toward the other sea, where the satellite pictures showed good land. We could go, she thought; go so far that the convicts will never find us, and the city will be a place to see once in a lifetime. It would be exciting, although she would hate to leave this valley.
The field she plowed lay among low hills. A small stream meandered along one edge. Most of the crops and trees that she could see had come from Earth as seeds, and they had few predators. Most crop-eaters left Earth plants alone, especially if the fields were bordered with spearmints and marigolds to give off odors that even Earth insects detested.
She thought of what she would need if they struck west to found a new settlement. Seeds they would have; and a mare and stallion, and two pairs of oxen; chickens and swine; her grandfather was rich by local standards. There would be her father's blacksmithing tools, which Emil could learn to use.
They would need a television. Those were rare. A television, and solar cells, and a generator for the windmill; such manufactured goods had to be bought in the city, and that took money. The second crop would be needed this year, and a large one next sp
ring, as well - and they would have to keep all the money they earned. She thrust that thought away, but her hand strayed toward the big sheath knife she wore on her belt.
We will manage, she thought. We will find the money. Children should not go without education. Television was not for entertainment. The programs relayed by the satellites gave weather reports and taught farming, ecology, engineering, metalwork - all the skills needed to live on Arrarat. They also taught reading and mathematics. Most of Kathryn's neighbors despised television and wouldn't have it in their houses, but their children had to learn from others who watched the screen.
And yet, Kathryn thought, there is cause for concern. First it is television. Then light industry. Soon there is more. Mines are opened. Larger factories are built, and around them grow cities. She thought of Arrarat covered with cities and concrete, the animals replaced by tractors and automobiles, the small villages grown into cities; people packed together the way they were in Harmony and Garrison; streams dammed and lakes dirty with sewage; and she shuddered. Not in my time, or my grandchildren's. And perhaps we will be smarter than they were on Earth, and it will never happen here. We know better now. We know how to live with the land.
Her grandfather had been a volunteer colonist, an engineer with enough money to bring tools and equipment to Arrarat, and he was trying to show others how to live with technology. He had a windmill for electricity. It furnished power for the television and the radio. He had radio communications with Denisburg, forty kilometers away, and although the neighbors said they despised all technology, they were not too proud to ask Amos Malcolm to send messages for them.
The Malcolm farm had running water and an efficient system for converting sewage to fertilizer. To Amos, technology was something to be used so long as it did not use you, and he tried to teach his neighbors that.
The phone buzzed to interrupt her thoughts, and Kathryn halted the team. The phone was in the center of the plowed land, where it was plugged into a portable solar reflector that kept its batteries charged. There were very few radio-phones in the valley. They cost a great deal and could only be bought in Harmony. Even her grandfather Amos couldn't manufacture the phone's microcircuits, although he often muttered about buying the proper tools and making something that would be as good. "After all," he was fond of saying, "we do not need the very latest. Only something that will do."
Falkenberg’s Legion Page 3