by neetha Napew
“Right. Makes sense.” Ford, faced with a problem, tackled it wholly, absorbed and alert at once. She watched as he scrolled through the personnel files, with a search on secondary specialties. “We’ll have to pick those who do have a real interest - they’d catch on to something faked, and I can’t teach someone all about dinosaurs in one night - “ He stopped, and fed an entry to her screen. “How about Borander? He’s taken twelve hours of palaeontology.”
“No, not Borander. Did you see how he interacted with Varian?”
“No, I was with Currald then.”
“Well, take a look at the tape later. Young trout let her dominate him. Admittedly, she’s a Disciple, and she’s declared herself planetary governor, but I don’t like my officers buckling that easily. He needs a bit of seasoning. Who else?”
“Segendi - no, he’s a heavyworlder and I doubt you want to complicate things that way - “
“Right.”
“What about Maxnil, in supply? His secondary specialty is cartography, and he’s listed as having an associate degree in xenobio.” Sass nodded, and Ford went on, quickly turning up a short list of three crew members who could be considered “dinosaur buffs.” It was even easier to come up with a list of those who knew a reasonable amount of geology, although harder to cut the list to three. All had excellent records, and all had worked with non-Fleet personnel.
Sass nodded, at last. “Good selection. You brief them, Ford, and be sure they understand that they did not know dinosaurs were here until tomorrow. We didn’t see anything on the way down: we came too fast. I had seen the information stripped from the beacon, but no one else had. Once you see the beasts, I imagine you won’t have to fake your reactions. But keep in mind that I need information on more than large, noisy, dangerous reptiloids.”
Ford nodded. “Do you still want to speak to Major Currald before lunch?”
“If he feels he has things well in hand with the transport. What’s that captain’s name - Cruss? Foul-mouthed creature, that one. I want Wefts and heavyworlders, round the clock - “
“Here’s the roster.” As usual. Ford had anticipated her request. She thought again how lucky she was to have Ford this time, and not Huron. In a situation like this, Huron’s initiative and drive could have been disastrous. She could trust Ford to back her tactics, not go off and do something harebrained on his own.
She glanced at the roster of Fleet personnel stationed inside the transport to ensure that personnel in coldsleep were not revived. She didn’t want to face a thousand or more heavyworlders: the Zaid-Dayan would have no trouble killing them all, but Fleet commanders were supposed to avoid the necessity of a massacre. Each shift combined Wefts and heavyworlders: she trusted her heavyworlders, but with Wefts to witness, no one could later claim that they’d betrayed her trust. “Get Currald on the line, would you?”
A few moments later, Currald’s face filled one of the screens, and he confirmed that the situation remained stable.
“I’ve told the native-born survivors that I’ll supply some of their needs, too,” Sassinak told him. “I don’t want them to think that all good comes from Diplo. I’ve got some things on order, that’ll be delivered to the perimeter. But if you can turn surveillance and supervision over to someone, I’d appreciate your company at lunch,”
“You’re not giving them weapons - “
“No, certainly not.”
“Give me about half an hour, if you can, captain; I’m still arranging the flank coverage.”
“That’s fine. I’ll order a meal for half an hour from now - and if you’re held up along the way, just give me a call.” She cleared the circuit, and turned to Ford. “See if Mayerd can meet with us, too - and you, of course, after you’ve notified your short lists that you’ll brief them this afternoon. I’ll be on the bridge, but we’ll eat in here.”
On the bridge, she told the duty officer to carry on, and came up behind Arly. Although most of the ship had been released from battle stations, the weapons systems were powered up and fully operational. It would be disastrous if someone erred at this range - no doubt the transport would be destroyed (with great loss of life she’d have to account for) but the resultant backlash could endanger the Zaid-Dayan. Arly acknowledged her without taking her gaze from the screens.
“I’m just running a test on quadrant two - “ she said over her shoulder. “Interlock systems - making sure no one can pull the same trick again - “
Sass had more sense than to bother her at that moment, and waited, watching the screens closely, although she could not interpret some of the scanning traces. Finally Arly sighed, and locked her board down.
“Safe. I hope.” She smiled a bit wearily. “Are you going to explain, or is this a great security mystery?”
“Both,” said Sass. “How about lunch in my office?”
Arly’s eyes slid back to her screens. “I should stay - “
“You’ve got a perfectly competent second officer, and it’s my considered opinion that nothing’s going to break loose right now. That Cruss may be up to something, but we’ve interrupted his plans, and this is our safe period. Relax - or at least get out of that seat and eat something.”
Currald brought the stench of the Iretan atmosphere back into Sassinak’s office, just as the filters had finally cleared it out after the morning’s visit. He apologized profusely, but she waved his apology aside.
“We’re going to be here awhile, and we might as well adapt. Or learn to wear nose-plugs.”
Arly was trying not to wrinkle her nose, but positioned herself a seat away from Currald. “It’s not you,” she said to him, “but I simply can’t handle the sulfur smell. Not with a meal on the table. It makes everything taste terrible.”
Currald actually chuckled, a sign of unusual trust. “Maybe that’s what drove the mutineers to eating meat - I’ve heard it ruins the sense of smell.”
“Meat?” Mayerd looked up sharply from a sheaf of lab reports. “It makes the person who eats it stink of sulfur derivatives, but it doesn’t confuse the eater’s own nose.”
“I don’t know ...” Sass paused with a lump of standard green vegetable in white sauce halfway to her mouth. “If things taste different in a sulfurous atmosphere - and they do - “ She eyed the lump of green with distaste. “Then maybe meat would taste good.”
“I never thought of that.” Mayerd’s brow wrinkled. Ford grinned at the table generally.
“Here comes another scientific paper . . . The Effect of Ireta’s Atmosphere on the Perception of Protein Flavorings’ . . . ‘Sulfur and the Taste of Blood.
“Don’t say that in front of Co-leader Varian,” Sass warned. “She seems to be very sensitive where the prohibition is concerned. She wouldn’t think it was funny.”
“It’s not funny,” Mayerd said thoughtfully. “It’s an idea ... I never thought of it before, but perhaps an atmospheric stench would affect the kinds of foods people would prefer, and if someone were already tempted to consider the flesh of living beings an acceptable food, the smell might increase the probability - “ The others groaned loudly, in discordant tones, and Mayerd glared at them. Before she could retort, Sassinak brought them to order, and explained why she’d wanted them to meet.
“Co-leader Varian is perfectly correct that the Iretans are not responsible for the mutiny or its effects. At the same time, it’s in the interests of FSP to see that this planet is not opened to exploitation, and that the Iretans assimilate into the Federation with as little friction as possible. They’ve been told a pack of lies, as near as we can tell: they think that the original team was made up of heavyworlders, and abandoned unfairly. They expected help from heavyworlders only, and apparently think heavyworlders and lightweights cannot cooperate.
“We have the chance to show them that heavyworlders are assimilated, and welcome, in our society. We all know about the problems - Major Currald has had to put up with harrassment, as have most if not all heavyworlders in Fleet - but he and the others in Fl
eet believe that the two types of humans are more alike than different. If we can drive a friendly wedge between those young people and that heavyworlder colony ship - if we can make it clear that they have a chance to belong to a larger universe - perhaps they’ll agree to compensation for their claims on Ireta, and withdraw. That would be a peaceful solution, quite possible for such a small group, and with compensation they could gain the education they’d need to live well elsewhere. Even if they don’t give up all their claims, they might be more willing to live within the limits a tribunal is almost certain to impose . . . especially if Varian is right, and there’s a sentient native species.”
Currald said, “Do you want active recruitment? The ones I’ve seen would probably pass the interim tests.”
Sass nodded. “If you find some you want for the marine contingent, let me know. I’d approve a few, but we’d have to be sure we could contain them. I don’t believe any have been groomed as agents, but that’s a danger I can’t ignore.”
Mayerd frowned, tapping the lab reports on the table beside her tray. “These kids were brought up on natural foods, not to mention meat. Do you think they could adjust to shipboard diets right away?”
“I’m not sure, and that’s why I want you in on this from the beginning. We’re going to need to know everything about their physiology. They’re apparently heavyworlder-bred, but growing up on a normal-G planet hasn’t brought out the full adaptation. Major Currald may have some insights into the differences, or perhaps they’d be willing to talk to other heavyworlders more freely. But you’re the research expert on the medical staff: you figure out what you need to know and how to find out. Keep me informed on what you need.”
“I’ve always thought,” said Mayerd, with a sidelong glance at Currald, “that it’s possible heavyworlders do require a blend of nutrients delivered most efficiently in meat. Particularly those on cold worlds. But you can’t do research on that in the Federation - it’s simply unmentionable. Not fair, really. Scientific research shouldn’t be hampered by religious notions.”
A tiny smile had twitched Currald’s lips. “Research has been done, clandestinely of course, on two heavy-G worlds I know of. It’s not just flesh, doctor, but certain kinds, and yes, it’s the most efficient source of the special requirements we have. But I don’t think you want to hear this at table.”
“Another consideration,” said Sassinak into the silence that followed, “is that of crew solidarity. It will do the heavyworlder critics in our crew good to see what heavyworlder genes look like when not stressed by high-G: with all respect, Currald, the Iretans look like normals more than heavyworlders.” He nodded, sober but apparently not insulted. “But as you know, we’ve had trouble with a saboteur before. If anything happened now, to heighten tensions between heavyworlders and lightweights - “ She paused, and glanced at every face. They all nodded, clearly understanding the implications. “Arly, I know you’ve made every possible safety check of the weapons systems, but it’s going to be hard to keep your crews fully alert in the coming days. Yet you must: we must not have any accidental weapons discharges.”
“Speaking of that,” said Hollister. “I presume we’re screened. . . ?” Sass pressed the controls and nodded. “I hadn’t had a chance to tell you, and since the crisis appeared to be over - “ He pulled a small gray box from his pocket and laid it on the table. “I found this in the number two power center just as we landed. Disabled it, of course, but I think it was intended to interfere with the tractor controls.”
Sass picked up the featureless box and turned it over in her hands. “Induction control?”
“Right. It could be used for all sorts of things, including setting off weapons - “
“Where, precisely, did you find it?”
“Next to a box of circuit breakers, where it looked like it might be part of that assembly - some boxes have another switchbox wired in next to them. Same shade of gray, same type of coating. But I’ve been looking every day for anything new, anything different - that’s how I spotted it. At first I wasn’t even sure, but when I touched it, it came off clean - no wires. Nela cracked it and read the chips for me; that’s how I know it was intended to mess up the tractor beam.”
“Dupaynil?” She looked down the table at him. His expression was neutral. “I’d wish to have seen it in place, yet clearly it had to be disabled in that situation, with the possibility of hostile fire. Did you consider physical traces?”
Hollister nodded. “Of course. I held it with gloves, and Nela dusted it, but we didn’t find any prints. Med or you, sir, might find other traces.”
“The point is,” said Sassinak, “that we’ve finally found physical evidence of our saboteur. Still aboard, since I’m sure Hollister can say that wasn’t in place yesterday, and still active.”
“If we find a suspect,” Dupaynil said, “we might look inside this for traces of the person who programmed it.”
“If we find a suspect,” said Sassinak. “And we’d better.” On that note, the meeting adjourned.
Chapter Seventeen
Sassinak had made extensive preparations for her meeting the next morning with Captain Cruss. Unless he had illegal Fleet-manufactured detectors, he could not know that a full audio-video hook up linked her office to Ford’s quarters and the bridge. Currald had furnished his most impressive heavyworld marines for an escort through the ship, although Sassinak had chosen Weft guards for her personal safety. She wanted to see if Cruss would overreach himself.
When Currald signalled that Cruss was on his way, she watched on the monitor. The five men and women that sauntered across the grid between ships were unpleasant-looking, even for heavyworlders. They had not bothered to put on clean uniforms, Sassinak noticed; even Cruss looked rumpled and smudged. She glanced briefly at her white upholstered chairs, and muttered a brief curse to rudeness ... no doubt they would do their best to soil her things, and smirk to themselves about it. She knew too many fastidious heavyworlders to believe that they were innately dirty.
By the time they reached Main Deck, Sassinak had heard comments from observers she’d stationed along their path. They had argued about leaving their hand weapons with the guards; Captain Cruss carried a small, roughly globular object which he insisted he must hand-carry to Sassinak himself. She signalled an assent. They had made snide remarks to Currald and the heavyworlder escort, and pointedly turned away from the Wefts. They had lounged insolently on the grabbar in the cargo lift, and commented on the grooming of ship’s crew in terms that had the reporting ensign red-faced. And of course they were late ... a studied discourtesy which Sassinak met with her own. When Gelory ushered them in with cool precision, Sassinak glanced up from a desk covered with datacards.
“Oh! Dear me, I lost track of time.” She could see, behind the heavyworlders, Currald’s flick of a grin: she never lost track of time. But she went on, smoothly and sweetly. “I’m so sorry, Captain Cruss - if you’ll just take a seat - anywhere will do - and give me a moment to clear this.” She turned back to her work, quickly organizing the apparent disarray, and tapping the screen before her with a control wand. Arly, by prearrangement, appeared in the doorway with a hardcopy file, and apologized profusely for interrupting.
“It’s all right. Commander,” said Sass. Arly’s eyes widened at this sudden promotion in rank, but she had the good sense to ride with it. “Are those the current status reports? Good - if you’ll relay these to Com, and tell them to use the Blue code-book - and then ask the Chief Engineer to clear these variations, that will be all.” She handed Arly a stack of datacards and the hardcopy that had just spit from her console. With a quick glance at the file Arly had handed her, she thumbed a control that opened a desk drawer, deposited it therein, and returned her attention to Cruss and his crew. “There, now. We’ve had so much message traffic, it’s taken me this long to sort things out. Captain, I’ve spoken to you - and this is your crew - ?”
Cruss introduced his crew with none of the overused, but
filthy, epithets of the day before. They glowered, uniformly, and stank of more than Ireta. Sassinak wondered if their ship were really that short of sanitary facilities, or if they preferred to smell bad.
“May I see your ship’s papers - “ It was not really a request, not with the Zaid-Dayan’s weaponry trained on the transport, and her marines on board. Cruss took a crumpled, stained folder out of the chest pocket of his shipsuit, and tossed it across the room. One of the marines turned to glare at him, and then glanced to Sassinak for guidance, but she did not react, merely picking up the distasteful object and opening it to read. “I’ll also need your personal identification papers,” she said. “Crew ratings - union memberships - if you’ll hand those to Gelory - “ They knew Gelory was a Weft; she could tell by the subtle withdrawal, as if they were afraid a Weft could harm them by skin touch. Sassinak went on reading.
According to the much-smudged (and probably faked) papers, transport and crew were on lease to Newholme, one of the shabbier commercial companies licensed by the Federation Colonial Service to set up colonies. Stamps from a dozen systems blotched the pages. Entry and exit from Sorrell-III, entry and exit from Bay Hill, entry and exit from Cabachon, Drissa, Zaduc, Porss . . , and Diplo. Destination a heavyworld colony two systems away, which Sassinak thought she recalled had reached its start-up quota.
With hardly a sound, Gelory deposited the crew’s individual papers on Sass’s desk, murmuring “Captain,” and drifting back to her place. Sassinak made no comment, and turned to these next, ignoring the squeaks and grunts of her furniture as the heavyworlders shifted in bored insolence, as well as their sighs and muttered curses. With the heavyworlders safely installed in her office. Ford should soon have Varian and Kai - the co-leader she hadn’t met - in his quarters nearby, where they could see the interview without being seen. Until then, she intended to pore over these papers as if they were rare gems.