After the last box had been safely stowed, Cara walked with Ben along the level path from the office building to the dormer block. To keep up appearances, he’d taken to going home with her for an hour and then leaving quietly and heading for his own apartment in the city. She’d begun to look forward to that part of the day.
“Want a coffee before you go home?” She stepped over the threshold of her apartment and invited him in. The ritual as before. She always asked and he never presumed.
“As long as you still have some CFB left.”
“I’ve got both. I bought another packet of the insipid stuff especially for you.”
“Excellent.” He watched her spoon powder into his mug and then took the cup she offered and sniffed it appreciatively. “I’ll take you out to dinner if you’ve no plans for this evening.”
“I’m not sure I could eat. My insides are all churned up. Wise to have the get-together yesterday.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“I did.” She thought about it. Except for Crowder’s brief appearance she’d enjoyed it very much, especially as the evening wore on and the spiced wine started to go to their heads.
“Do you have eggs? I’ll make us omelets,” Ben offered. “You need to eat something.”
“You cook?”
“I cook.” He grinned. “I’m a frontier specialist. Give me anything, meat, vegetables, whatever, and I’ll just apply heat and eat it off a burned twig or else I’ll stew it all up in a single pot until it tastes like . . .”
“Maybe I should make the omelets.”
“No, it’s okay. Omelet is my other specialty.”
She sat with her elbows on the table and watched him beat the eggs in a bowl with herbs and salt while butter heated in a shallow pan on the hotspot.
“Are you worried about cryo?” she asked.
“Not about the process, but I don’t like to be out of control and there’s nothing more out of control than being frozen, cocooned, and stored on a rack for nine months.”
He poured the eggs into the pan and began to draw the mixture from the rim to the center as it sizzled in the butter.
She nodded. “I never used to think about it, but I do now. It does make you very vulnerable. I guess I’m obviously more twitchy about that than I used to be.”
She took a deep breath. She’d been thinking about it a lot. She owed Ben an explanation. She should tell him about Ari.
As soon as that thought came into her head, she began to feel slightly dizzy. Whenever she thought about telling anyone about Ari, she always ended up deciding against it. A number of times she’d been on the point of telling Ben, but the old prickly sweats and shakes had started. Ari must still have some kind of a hold over her. Her feelings for him ran very deep.
This time she acted almost on instinct and tried to get it over with quickly. “I want to tell you about A . . .”
That was as far as she got.
A wave of nausea swept over her and her body locked rigidly, hands half stretched out and fingers splayed. Part of her brain registered her coffee mug falling in slow motion. The contents splashed across the tabletop and the ceramic mug bounced once on the wood and then crashed to the floor and shattered into a hundred pieces.
She saw Ben turn from the stove and felt him grab both her hands. She pitched forward and he steadied her, gently rubbing her shoulders until the sickness began to subside and her cramped muscles released.
“Don’t move. Don’t speak. I’ve got you.”
He didn’t let go until she started to breathe normally again and said, in a weak voice, “I’m all right now.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sure.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. Nausea. It just came on and now it’s gone. I’ve never felt anything like it before. Sorry, Ben, I don’t think it was the smell of your cooking.”
“We need to get you to a medic,” Ben said.
“No. So soon before takeoff, they’ll ground me for tests. I’ve not come so far to be stopped at the last minute by a bad bout of indigestion and a mammoth case of nerves.”
“Just talk to Anna.”
“Not now. If it happens again, I’ll talk to her or Ronan after we get there.”
She seriously doubted whether he’d let it go if she showed any signs of a relapse, so she ate her omelet as though nothing was wrong and chatted cheerfully through a pounding headache. Only after Ben had left did she let herself sink into a chair and stare at her handpad. There was something she needed to remember . . .
What was it?
• • •
Cara quelled her feelings of alarm as she went through the pre-flight medical checks and took the shots to begin the hibernation process. She’d done this many times before, but it still gave her the creeps. She knew that she’d wake on a new world, and her belly tingled with the same mixture of excitement and trepidation that she always felt at the prospect, but, for now, going into cryo was like dreaming of falling down a deep, dark hole.
Surrounded by other bodies, their nakedness, like hers, covered only by a thin sheet, she lay on the gurney, warm and comfortable, as her life signs began to slow. She trusted that she would go to sleep gently, here on Chenon, and that her body would be encapsulated, loaded onto a transporter, and transferred to the ark. She hoped they’d tied the right luggage tag on her toe.
The drugs helped to keep her natural anxieties submerged as she drifted with the ebb and flow of her mind, but just when she was almost asleep, she pulled back from letting go. In a momentary spasm of panic she reached out with her mind.
*It’s all right. I’m here,* Ben said, relaxed and unafraid, somewhere to her left.
That image of Ben echoed around Cara’s head as the cryo drugs opened up a void that swallowed her.
• • •
Gabrius Crowder straightened the writing tablet on his empty desk. The team for the next colony mission would move in soon, but in the meantime the upper suite of offices echoed with emptiness. It was a relief to know that Ben’s Hera-3 survivors were safely chilled and racked, heading for where they couldn’t cause him any trouble. It would be two and a half years before he needed to worry about them again. Arranging to have their cryo pods buried in long-term storage on their return would not be a problem.
He lowered himself carefully into the float chair behind his desk and pressed the comm-link on his handpad.
“Sir?” It was his secretary’s day off, so the AI answered.
“I’ll take that call from Ari van Blaiden now.” He’d kept Ari waiting for long enough to make a statement.
It took a few minutes before the holographic image of Crowder’s former protégé appeared suspended before him. He certainly looked as though he took care of himself. Crowder had engineered van Blaiden’s move from the Trust to Alphacorp with certain understandings in place. The young man was ambitious beyond belief, motivated by a healthy desire for personal wealth. He’d watched his meteoric rise through the ranks with ambivalence and feared the distinct possibility of the student overtaking the master. Which side was Ari on now? His own, Crowder suspected. He was a devious bastard and might eventually become more trouble than he was worth.
Whatever Crowder did, he did for the sake of the Trust and not for his own gain. Ari skimmed personal profit from their joint activities. Greedy men were dangerous. Any understanding he had with Ari might soon have to be terminated, but that would have to be handled very carefully when the time came. It was unlikely he’d get the opportunity to put Ari into long-term storage, especially with Craike around, Ari’s junkyard dog. When the time came to do something, he’d have to take care of both of them, and that would be a job for a professional.
“Well, Ari, it’s been a while. You wanted to talk to me. Is it a social call? It’s not my birthday, is it?”
“Cara Carlinni.”
“Who?” Crowder gave nothing away in his voice.
“Carlinni. My people trace
d her to Mirrimar-14 and lost her on the same day as one of your people, none other than your little pet, Ben Benjamin, flew out of there. The same Benjamin who took out an armed landing vehicle and two of our skiffs on Hera-3.”
Crowder noted Ari’s use of our and your. Yes, indeed, the time was drawing very close when young Mr. van Blaiden would be more of a hindrance than a help. Crowder kept his voice even. “There must have been a lot of flights out of Mirrimar-14 on that day.”
“Thirty-four possibles. Nineteen of them have checked out negative so far. Your man was flying private. That gives him opportunity.”
“But not motive. I presume you suspect no prior connection.”
“No.”
“So you’re basing your suspicions on random chance, or picking on Benjamin because he’s caused you trouble in the past. Ari, I taught you better than that.”
“Don’t patronize me, Crowder. Benjamin’s leading your Olyanda colony team. His wife’s signed on with him even though they apparently divorced years ago and the real Mrs. Benjamin is living with an alpaca farmer completely unaware that she suddenly seems to have been upgraded to a Psi-1 Telepath.”
“You’ve done your homework, but that’s more than I knew. Cara Benjamin’s ID checks out and, as I’m sure you know, I never met Ben’s wife in person.”
“I always do my homework, Crowder. So do you.”
“Apparently not as well as you, this time, but unfortunately I fail to see what I can do about it now. They’re already in transit. Maybe I’d have checked more thoroughly, but I wanted to keep Benjamin happy. You know—happy enough to slow him down in his Hera-3 investigations.”
Crowder watched van Blaiden carefully and saw a fleeting look of—what?—surprise, disappointment, or maybe something more feral behind Ari’s pale blue eyes.
“You said you’d called Benjamin off.”
“As much as I could without arousing his suspicions, but he’s an ex-Monitor. He has connections beyond this department, and he doesn’t have to answer to me for what he does in his spare time. Sending him to Olyanda has bottled him up for two and a half years. I suggest you call me back in . . .” He checked his handpad. “October, Earth-time, if you still can’t find your fugitive. They should be on Olyanda by then.”
Van Blaiden’s image wavered and vanished without even the simplest courtesy.
Crowder smiled to himself. It was playing out well. Lucky he still had tabs on Ari’s team. He’d known who Cara was immediately, but discovering Ben had been enterprising enough to bring her in on his ex-wife’s ID had been quite a surprise. He wondered if Benjamin might be emotionally involved. It was difficult to tell; Ben played these things close to his chest.
Ah, what the hell. The problem would be resolved one way or another when Crowder warehoused the Hera-3 survivors. He’d planned to have Cara Carlinni stored away with Ben since it was likely she’d cause a stink if he left her out of it. The last thing he needed was a loose cannon, but maybe van Blaiden would take care of Carlinni. He’d only deliver her to van Blaiden if and when there was some advantage in it for him, though.
Knowing something van Blaiden didn’t might end up being an advantage in this game they seemed to be playing. Crowder smiled to himself. He knew Ari well enough to know which buttons to push when the time came.
• • •
Ari van Blaiden wasn’t a patient man, but Crowder had said the Olyanda mission wasn’t due to land until October, so he had no choice but to wait. He’d not been idle, though. He’d checked every other lead and drawn a blank. Cara had to be on the Olyanda mission.
With Benjamin. How ironic.
He waited until late September to call in Donida McLellan.
Ari had always found Mrs. McLellan’s profession distasteful. Rummaging around in other people’s minds would make him feel dirty. She seemed to revel in it, however, and she wasn’t averse to stepping over boundaries once he’d agreed to a blanket professional indemnity agreement.
She knew how to keep her mouth shut, too. He appreciated that in an employee.
Seeing Sentier-4 had made him profoundly grateful he’d never opted for a receiving implant. His dirty little secrets were his own and were going to stay that way.
He made sure that whenever he wanted to discuss options with McLellan, he did it face-to-face over a good dinner. McLellan had little enough social life on Sentier-4, so she always appreciated a trip to Earth, a good hotel inside the bubble city of Old York, tickets for the theater, and an escort agency on standby in case she fancied company.
She must have been a good-looking woman once, though she was long past the first flush of youth and either her work or life had soured her. Ari never liked to ask about her personal circumstances. Theirs was an entirely professional relationship.
Tonight he’d booked a table at the Sonata, a cozy restaurant in one of the preserved buildings on Petergate within sight of the magnificent Minster. The city had been encapsulated in the early twenty-second century when the sea level had risen. Rather than lose the city with its Roman and medieval past, the good burghers of the town had raised billions to build the flood defenses and the dome, turning the whole place into little more than a theme park, but eventually recouping their investment ten times over.
It was known, now, as Old York.
The modern city of York lay to the west on higher ground, partly over the ruins of the pre-meteor city of Leeds. They’d managed to avoid calling it New York even though that other city had fallen into the Atlantic when the meteor strike, in reality a multiple strike, had changed the face of the planet, ending America and China as superpowers and elevating Europe and Africa in the aftermath.
Ari arrived first, securing his usual table in an alcove at the back of the restaurant where sound baffles allowed for private conversation. He was perusing the wine list when McLellan arrived, somewhat overdressed for such an intimate venue. He guessed she didn’t have much opportunity to wear sparkles in Sentier-4’s staff canteen.
“Mrs. McLellan, you look lovely tonight.”
“Thank you, Mr. van Blaiden. I try.”
She had a wide smile, showing perfect white teeth, but the expression rarely touched her eyes. She accepted a menu from a waiter without even glancing at him, and began to read with the tip of her tongue just peeking between glossy red lips.
“The paté is excellent,” Ari ventured.
“Reminds me of ration paste made from vat-meat,” she said. “I’ll have the Coquille St. Jacques followed by the wild boar.”
Ari selected the mushroom paté and a delicate goat-cheese pasta.
“Wine?” He always offered, but she never accepted.
“Thank you, no. It goes straight to my implant.”
“That’s one advantage to being a deadhead, then.” He ordered a simple Zimbabwean dry white for himself.
Ari was running out of pleasantries by the time the main course was over, so he was glad to get down to business when she sat back and said, “You didn’t bring me all the way to Earth because you like my dinner conversation, Mr. van Blaiden.”
“I didn’t. Very perceptive of you. We have unfinished business with Cara Carlinni.”
“I tried for a year. She’s either dead or completely closed down, which is as good as dead. No one with her talent can survive for that long without using it.”
“Try again. I have reason to believe she’s been in cryo, but she should be waking any time now. Whether she’s entirely sane is anyone’s guess, but you won’t be guessing, will you? Can you contact her?”
“If her implant is unimpaired, probably.” McLellan sat forward over her empty plate. “I do hate to leave a job half-finished.”
“I’ll leave the details up to you.”
“Thank you.” She ran her tongue over her teeth. “I believe I’ll have a double dessert now.”
Chapter Thirteen
OLYANDA
Starships the size of arks don’t land. They are built in space and remain there until
they are decommissioned and recycled. Ark D, Series 982, named Maternal, was scored and pitted, but still many years from being scrapped. She hung in space above Olyanda, pot-bellied, gravid, ready to spawn a new colony.
Ben stopped pacing along the length of his small cabin and stared at the viewscreen above his workstation. The blue-green planet floating in the dark emptiness of space stared back at him, swirls of cloud showing a storm system moving across the ocean.
He could pinpoint their landing position, some fifty klicks inland between the mountains and the coastal plain, close to a gentle river valley. The first survey team had left a beacon three hundred years ago, and the recent drone survey had confirmed the site unchanged except that the vegetation now included some species successfully seeded from Earth, particularly grasses that would ensure livestock had fodder.
It was hardly a managed environment. Sometimes the best you could do was to randomly introduce staple crops and hope for the best. There was always the ethical argument about the extent to which humans had the right to ride roughshod over a planet’s ecosystems, but the introduction of just one human to a planet was a game-changer. So far no recognizably intelligent alien life-forms had been encountered, though they’d found plenty of creatures, not all of them benign.
This planet had few native species that could be classed as truly dangerous to humans, and its vegetation was surprisingly compatible with introduced strains, but it was always a tradeoff. Humdinger storms were the biggest danger. The settlers would have to adapt, learn coping strategies, just as people had always done on Earth.
It was a privilege to be a part of the process and see a new colony growing from nothing.
He smiled slightly to himself, feeling his facial muscles still stiff. He hadn’t dared look in a mirror yet. His hands shook, and his normal warm brown skin tone was closer to gray from the cryo. That would pass. He walked some more, stamping his feet to get rid of incipient pins and needles, and swinging his arms to stretch his shoulders and rib cage. His motor function and his brain had been disconnected for nine months.
Empire of Dust Page 17