by Allen Steele
“What the hell are you doing?” Carlos threw aside the letter, lunged straight at Hawk. Grabbing the young man by the collar of his jacket, he slammed him against the wall. “Who do you think you are?” he shouted, so violently that saliva landed upon Hawk’s face. “What are you—?”
“Stop it!” Wendy rushed toward them. “It’s not his fault! He didn’t—!”
“Susan’s up there! Doesn’t that mean anything to—?”
“You know it does!” Wendy hauled Carlos away from Hawk. “Now cut it out!”
Hawk cowered against the wall, his eyes wide with fear. Tomas, stunned by what he’d just seen, stood frozen nearby, unable to decide what to do next. Even the blueshirt had been caught by surprise; he’d drawn his stunner, but didn’t know what to do with it. If what had been stated in the first communiqué was true, though, Wendy couldn’t allow any harm to come to her nephew. Too many lives were in the balance.
“Calm down,” Wendy whispered in her husband’s ear. “It’s going to be all right. Everything’s going to be fine.” In her arms, Carlos was trembling with rage, yet he let out his breath, slowly nodded. He knew what was at stake.
“I’m sorry.” Hawk’s voice quivered in the terrible silence. “I didn’t know…Aunt Wendy, I didn’t think…”
“No, you didn’t.” Wendy released Carlos, walked back to him again. It took all her self-control to keep her anger in check. Carlos had lost his temper; it wouldn’t do any good if she lost her own as well. “How did she get into this? How did you—?”
“She’s doing what she thinks…what she believes needs to be done.” Hawk picked himself off the wall. “No one made her do this, or me either. If someone doesn’t take a stand, do something that will make everyone wake up, see what’s happening here—”
“You should’ve come to us.” Carlos bent down, picked the letter off the floor. “We could have talked about this. We would’ve listened.”
“She tried that already. You didn’t want to listen.” A trace of a smirk. “Or maybe you were too busy figuring out how to get rich.”
“What are you saying?” Carlos shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“Oh, c’mon.” Hawk’s eyes became defiant. “You think we didn’t know about the deal you made with Goldstein? As soon as you left office, you invested in his company. Hell, you probably worked this out even before you left Earth.”
“That’s not true. We’re only trying to—”
“We don’t have time for this.” Wendy turned to Tomas. “Find Ambassador Vogel, get him over here right away. He needs to know what’s going on.” Tomas nodded, then hurried to the door. The EA consulate was only a few blocks away; the last time Wendy checked, Dieter was in town. She returned her attention to Hawk. “Who’s in charge up there? Is it Susan?”
“No one’s in charge. This is a unanimous—”
“Don’t give me that.” She took the letter back from Carlos, glanced at the signatures again. “There’s three names here…Susan, Manny, and this Parson character. One guy’s the boss. Who is it?”
Hawk said nothing. He put his hands in his pockets, gazed up at the ceiling as if studying the woodwork. “Let’s get something straight,” Wendy said, stepping closer so that he couldn’t ignore her. “Right now, I don’t care if you’re family. So far as I’m concerned, you’re involved in a criminal conspiracy. That means I can have you locked up for as long as I damn well please.”
“You can’t do that. I have the right to see the magistrates.”
“Yes, you do. But you’re also a material witness, and under Colony Law I have the authority to keep you confined until you produce the information I need.” She paused. “I saw you hanging around outside just before we received the first message. You were watching the clock, and I bet you’re carrying a satphone, too, because that’s how you knew when to deliver this letter.” She nodded toward the Proctor standing nearby. “But I can have him search you until he finds that phone, and I can also have him put you in the stockade with some of our finest. I’m sure they’d love to meet you.”
She was bluffing. She could order the Proctor to put him under arrest, but there was no way that she was going to submit him to rough treatment, or deny him a hearing before the magistrates. She had the lives of those aboard the gatehouse to consider, though, and right now she was willing to bend the law a bit. Hawk was scared; she could use that to her advantage.
Wendy took a moment to let her words sink in. “So what’s it going to be?” she added, her eyes locked on his. “Ready to give it up, or do I feed you to the tough guys?”
Her gambit worked. Hawk’s lower lip trembled, his gaze wavering between her and the Proctor. “Jon’s the leader,” he murmured at last. “He’s calling the shots.”
“Uh-huh.” Wendy glanced at Carlos, and he quietly nodded. He was just as relieved that Susan wasn’t the ringleader. “And how do they intend to destroy the starbridge? Do they have a bomb or something?”
“They’ll deorbit it. Manny knows…at least, he says he knows…how to gain access to the reaction control system. They’ll boost it out of orbit, send it into Bear’s rings.”
That made sense. The starbridge was positioned in Lagrangian orbit around Bear, held in place by the gravitational pull of both the jovian and Coyote, with RCRs on the ring periodically firing to maintain that delicate balance. If the comps were reprogrammed to misfire in the wrong direction, then the torus would lose orbit, fall toward the planet. Bear’s rings would do the rest; chunks of ice the size of this building would destroy the starbridge as surely as if it was a birthday piñata caught in a hailstorm.
“Thank you. You’re doing fine.” Wendy held out her hand. “Give me your satphone.” Hawk hesitated, and she snapped her fingers. “Now.”
Hawk reached under his jacket, unclipped the unit from his belt. “The frequency is preset,” he said. “All you have to do is—”
“Push the recall button.” Wendy took the phone from him. “The next time you talk to Parson, I’ll be on the line, too.” She turned to the Proctor. “Take him to the conference room, and put a guard on him. He gets food and water, and a walk to the privy when he needs it, but at no time does he leave anyone’s sight. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The blueshirt stepped forward, took Hawk by the arm. The young man didn’t protest as he was led away; an apologetic glance over his shoulder at his aunt and uncle, then the Proctor closed the door behind them.
“Oh, God.” Carlos collapsed against her desk, rubbing his fingers against his closed eyes. “What did we do wrong? Why did Susan think we—?”
“We’ll work that out later.” Wendy’s skull thrummed with the beginnings of a headache. “Dieter’s going to be here any minute, and so’s Ana. I’m going to have to explain everything to them, and tell ’em what we’re doing to take care of it.”
“Yeah. I know.” Carlos glanced at her. “Got any ideas?”
Wendy gazed the globe on her desk. “I think so,” she said softly. “Ready to take a ride?”
“Where?” Then he caught her meaning. “Yeah. Sure.”
She forced a smile. “Thanks. I was hoping you’d say that.”
EASS FRANCIS DRAKE / 1749
“Raleigh, you’re clear for rendezvous and docking.” The voice of the Drake’s com officer was a thin buzz in Anastasia Tereshkova’s ear. “CM field inactive, deck crew standing by.”
“We copy, Drake. Raleigh out.” Ana glanced at the pilot. “All yours, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” The shuttle pilot didn’t look away from the controls as he gently turned the yoke, firing maneuvering thrusters to bring the shuttle in proper alignment with the vessel below them.
Ana gazed out the cockpit’s starboard window, watched as the Drake swung into view. The enormous doors on its upper hull were already open; for a moment she caught a glimpse of the shuttle bay, a florescent circle illuminated upon the landing deck, then it vanished as the pilot brought up t
he shuttle’s nose, matching vector with the starship. A faint whine as the landing gear doors opened, then he fired vertical thrusters and began final descent.
“Are you all right back there?” Ana asked, not taking her eyes from the crosshatch on the center comp screen. “There’s going to be a—”
“I know,” Carlos said from the passenger seat behind her. “And stop asking me that. This isn’t the first time, y’know.”
“Sorry.” She took a moment to look back at him. Carlos calmly gazed out his porthole, watching the final stages of docking. “I should warn you,” she added, “it’s a little different from what you’ve done before. Once we’re within three meters of touchdown—”
“You reactivate the field, let gravity do the rest.” Carlos took hold of his armrests, then uncrossed his legs and braced his feet. “No problem.”
Ana shrugged, returned her attention to the docking procedure. The pilot was murmuring under his breath, carrying on a subvocal conversation with the bay control officer. Through the cockpit windows, the leading edges of the bay doors yawned open on either side of the shuttle. A quick view of the Drake’s forward section, with command deck as a camelback hump above the bow, then the shuttle bay rose up around them, figures within the observation cupola carefully monitoring the landing operations.
Gravity came upon them as an invisible hand, materializing from the Millis-Clement field to snatch at the shuttle. A brief rumble as the pilot fired thrusters to brake their descent, then a swift jolt as the Raleigh’s wheels touched down. Contact lights flashed, an alarm buzzed; the pilot shut off both, then ran his hands across the controls, rendering the shuttle cold and inert.
“Docking complete, Captain,” he said. “All systems safe, bay doors being secured.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Tereshkova looked up, saw that the doors were already rolling down. She touched her jaw, opening the comlink again. “Bridge, this is the captain. Belay repressurization of landing bay. Prep shuttle for sortie and extend gangway, please.” She looked back at the pilot. “Think you can handle another rendezvous and docking in four hours, or would you like to be relieved?”
“No problem, skipper. A bite to eat and quick lie-down, and I’m all yours.”
“Good man. Be back here in three and a half.” Tereshkova patted his shoulder, then unbuckled her harness. “Mr. President, if you’ll follow me…”
“Four hours?” Carlos was astonished. “Don’t you mean ten?”
“Drake’s not a shuttle. We can make it to the starbridge in less than half the time, if we use main drive.” She smiled at him. “And I think you’d like to see your daughter soon as possible, nyet?”
“Da. Thank you.” Carlos unclasped his harness, stood up. “All yours, Captain.”
The pressurized gangway led from Raleigh’s lateral hatch to Deck 2 of Drake’s aft section. An ensign waited for Tereshkova just outside the airlock, the captain’s tunic in one hand and a datapad in the other. Ana took a moment to exchange the shagswool sweater she’d worn since leaving Shuttlefield for the top part of her service uniform—when she got a chance, she’d return to her quarters and put on the rest of her outfit—and took the pad from the ensign. A quick glance at its screen told her that the Drake was exactly as she’d left it, save for the absence of twelve crew members on shore leave. No time to wait for them to come back aboard, yet she smiled when she saw that one of them was her executive officer. If not for the fact that Milos’s predecessor had requested paternity leave just before the Drake left Highgate, Starbridge Coyote might have been taken without warning. Not that it made that much difference now.
“Ana?” Forgotten for the moment, Carlos caught up with her and the ensign as they headed down the narrow corridor. “Where are we going?”
“Command deck. Unless you’d rather wait in the wardroom.” He shook his head. “Then follow me.” She paused, then stopped and turned around. “And no offense,” she added, her voice low, “but while we’re here, I’d appreciate it if you’d address me as Captain.”
“Of course. Sorry.” Carlos stood aside to let a crewman brush past them. “And thanks for not leaving me in the shuttle. I want to…I need to see what’s—”
“I understand.” Tereshkova briefly touched his shoulder, hoping that the ensign following them wouldn’t notice the familiarity, yet he’d deliberately looked away, making this none of his business. “Just remember,” she added, “this is diplomatic courtesy. You’re now aboard an EA starship. Your status as former president of the Coyote Federation—”
“No special privileges. Right.” A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Believe me, I appreciate it.”
Trailed by the ensign, Tereshkova led Carlos through the ship’s forward section, making their way through narrow passageways until they reached the ladder leading to Deck 3. At the top was a sealed hatch. Tereshkova paused to press her thumb against the lockplate; the diode flashed from red to green, and she pushed open the hatch and walked in.
Drake’s bridge was a split-level compartment, with the propulsion, life support, engineering, communications, and weapons stations on the upper deck and the navigation and helm stations on the lower deck. Her command chair, high-backed and fitted with a moveable lapboard, was positioned behind the railing separating the two levels; from here she could see not only the helm and nav stations, but also the broad, wraparound windows that offered a 120-degree view of the ship’s bow, along with the data screens arrayed along the rail. The ceiling was low, with hand rungs among the electrical conduits and florescent panels; the lights had been turned down, so the compartment was illuminated mainly by the blue glow of comp screens. The only sounds were the quiet voices of the bridge officers, and the ever-present hum of the ship’s engines.
The command deck was utilitarian and cold, and not just a little cramped. In times past, Ana had regarded the Drake as her home. She was still comfortable here, but now that she had a cabin on Albion—three rooms, including a den with a fieldstone fireplace in front of which she could curl up with a good book, and a bedroom where she woke up every morning to the sound of roosters crowing—she’d come to regard her role as the Drake’s commanding officer as being less of a calling than a distraction. Retirement was a temptation; lately, she found herself thinking about tendering her resignation. It wasn’t too late to consider finding a husband, perhaps even having children.
But for now…
“Welcome back, Captain.” Her first officer, Luigi D’Costa, stood up from the command chair as she walked in. “Hope you enjoyed your holiday.”
“It could have lasted longer, thanks.” The other officers on duty acknowledged her arrival with brief nods before returning to their jobs; she didn’t require anyone aboard to salute her. “May I introduce our guest? Carlos Montero, former president of the Coyote Federation.”
“Pleasure, Mr. President.” D’Costa offered a courteous bow, which Carlos returned in kind. “There’s not much room here for passengers, I’m afraid, but…”
“That’s fine. I’ll just stand over here.” Carlos leaned against the rail. He obviously thought he was being out of the way, yet as Ana took her place in the command chair she saw that he was blocking her view of one of the overhead screens.
“Bring a seat up from the crew mess,” she quietly said to the ensign. “We’ll bolt it down somewhere.” The ensign nodded and left, and she turned to D’Costa again. “What’s our status? Any further contact with the Gatehouse?”
“None, ma’am. We transmitted a text message, informing them that we’re on our way with a government negotiator aboard—”
“You didn’t identify him, did you?”
“No, ma’am, as per your orders. We haven’t received any response, other than a text-message reiteration of their demands.”
“Hmm. Well, then…”
“One more thing, Captain.” D’Costa handed a pad to her. “Before we lost contact with the Gatehouse crew, there was a transmission from Highgate, via h
yperspace com channel. It was meant as an advisory to them, but a duplicate was sent to us as well.”
She took the pad from him, but didn’t look at it. “Tell me what it says, please.”
D’Costa nervously glanced in Carlos’s direction. “Captain, it’s a priority ESA message. Classified.”
She hesitated. Most hyperspace messages from the European Space Administration were fairly routine—lists of incoming immigrants, for instance, or requests for scientific information about the 47 Uma system—yet now and then a classified communiqué was sent to the Drake that was not meant to be divulged to the Coyote government. And for good reason. The ugly truth was that, although the Alliance had signed a U.N.-brokered treaty with the Coyote Federation, neither side fully trusted the other.
In this instance, though, a particular message had been so important that Starbridge Coyote was notified as well as the Drake. “Coded?” she asked quietly, and D’Costa shook his head. Carlos was listening intently. There was no way she could evict him from the bridge without raising his suspicions…and after all, he was a diplomatic emissary, not to mention a personal friend. “Go ahead. What did it say?”
“The Magellan is due to arrive at 2300 CST.” D’Costa let out his breath. “Shakedown cruise, nothing more. No passengers, no freight…a dry run.”
“Oh, hell.” She raised a hand to her eyes, gently kneaded the bridge of her nose. She’d been expecting this, of course, but not so soon. And who the hell at ESA decided not to inform her people until the last minute?
“Another ship?” Carlos stared at her. “You didn’t—”
“Later,” she said quietly, holding up a hand. “I’ll tell you in a minute.” She looked at D’Costa again. “Do you think the fly-through has been programmed into the Gatehouse AI?”
“I don’t see why not. That’s probably why they were notified the same time we were. If Dr. Whittaker received the transmission—”