He gave the aged curator a stern look intended to intimidate and handed him the papers declaring the museum closed until further notice.
“By the holy helix, man, you cannot—I mean we have, uh ... the opening of Halfyear has...” he stammered, shaking the papers in Harko's face.
“Go home, now,” Harko said, “or you'll be charged with interfering in official Council business."
He watched as the elderly fellow, head bowed, hobbled away toward the exit muttering obscenities under his breath and waving the papers wildly in the air. At the door, he turned and looked at Harko with what could only be described as hatred.
“The ... Book of the Law ... permits this sacrilege?"
“Yes, friend, it does—according to the statutes established by the High Council."
“Then what I have heard is true. The clouds of revolution are forming on the horizon, and it is time for the Council to be taken from its lofty perch."
“Those are seditious words, my friend. Please, go home and try to understand."
This was one of the things Harko didn't like about his job. The curator was a good Pazian, trying to protect something of immense importance and value to the people, and probably didn't mean all he'd said. He should be angry, Harko thought, because there had been many times in recent history that the mighty hand of the Council had come down on some business or activity and tossed it in the Nurab with little apparent reason. Maybe—maybe it was time for some changes. Maybe.
Harko followed the light issuing from the shuttle display. He had never been here—had never seen a shuttle other than in pictures. He had been born and raised in the Outlands of Bergsland where such things were studied, of course. But there were no museums, no shuttles to visit and, for some reason, when he had come to New London, there had never seemed to be time for anything but work and occasional visits to his onners. As a result, he was not prepared for the emotional impact of the scene he entered.
The entire area was surrounded by a hundred portable lights of blue-white intensity. In the center stood two dark, mechanical leviathans with men, who appeared as minuscule blood sucking antler worms, crawling around on their backs. The shadows being cast in all directions lent an air of mystery to the scene. Everything was seen in shades of gray against a stark black background, save the painfully bright green beam of a Barnet laser trained on the side of one of the metal beasts.
“Excuse me, sir. Are you Chief Harko?"
The voice startled him and snapped him back to his immediate problems.
“Uh, yeah, I'm Harko."
“Sir, my sergeant wanted me to tell you that we haven't made so much as a dent in either one of these things.” He tossed a thumb casually in the general direction of the shuttles and continued, “We've managed to scratch them up a lot, but that's it."
“Have you tried blowing a hole in them?"
“No, sir. We thought about it, but the sergeant wanted to wait for your approval before we did it."
“Okay, let's—"
“Apps One, this is Air Three,” a voice said from the communicator strapped to his arm.
Harko turned to look at the young officer standing by his side. “Go ahead and tell your sergeant I said to blow a hole in it. Air Three, this is Harko."
“We've finished the first sweep, Chief. You've got five big rovers formed up in a ring around the museum about a kilometer out from the complex. Hard to tell the exact number of people down there, but our count indicates at least four hundred and fifty on the ground with probably more inside."
Four hundred fifty against nine? Not good odds—not good odds at all.
“Central?"
“Yes, Chief."
“Have you been monitoring this?"
“Yes, sir."
“Good. I want you to stay with us on this. How many people do we have available at Enforcement right now?"
Harko knew there wouldn't be many, but there might be an adequate number to hold off an attack long enough to get Council help before they were overrun. There was also the possibility that they were out there watching, like Malrabi and his two friends were, but the gamble was too great to be acceptable. Better to have the odds as even as they could be, on the off chance that those people and their giant machines were there with different purpose in mind.
“A hundred and twenty-six, boss."
“Sax?"
“That's me."
“Okay, Sax. We'll have to live with those numbers. I want them all out here in battle dress as soon as possible, Sax. Send out the heaviest stuff we have and request support from Council—say three hundred on stand-by."
“Expecting a war?"
“You could say that."
“Okay, Chief—call's going out now. If we commandeer the Publics, they'll all be on site in about forty-five minutes to an hour."
“How many air patrols can I get out here to add to the two I already have?"
“Only three. The others are all down for repairs, as usual."
“Okay, Sax, send what we have. Rotate them however it works best to maintain continual surveillance over this area. If anything moves, I want to know about it immediately."
* * * *
The data displayed on the device Niki had brought with him from Twenty-three; all the cores were within acceptable tolerance for use. Standing in the chamber and looking at the cores it was obvious that the Fathers were technologically advanced over the people of Paz, but that didn't seem right. If the Fathers had provided the original Pazians with their knowledge, what had happened in the meantime to cause the disparity? Of course, it could only be the missing sixty percent in the Ancient Record—that had to be the reason. The Fathers hadn't wanted them to have all the technology in the beginning. Why?
Located in the wall next to the entry hatch was a receiver into which Niki inserted a chip from the shuttle's library. The screen came to life, and the cover slid back into the wall, revealing a control panel and key pad.
“Ready to receive transfer codes,” a mechanical sounding voice said.
Niki pressed the chip load key on the panel and watched as the transfer codes scrolled by on the screen. Thousands of sequences flew by, and the area to the right of the screen was alive with flashing lights as the information flowed from the chip to active memory in the core chamber computer.
Shan, still glued firmly to Niki, busied himself taking pics and recording what he was seeing in a sort of verbal shorthand that Niki couldn't understand.
“What's happening now, Niki?"
“There's a transponder in this room that will transmit information to the shuttles so they can locate themselves properly to retrieve the cores. It also transmits activation and guidance information to the La Paz."
“Some setup."
“That it is. I don't know how it does it, but it's all been thought out, and the computers are programmed to accomplish the whole process automatically. The Fathers had enough foresight to realize that, even if their scheme worked, we might not get enough of the implanted memories to perform adequately—and from what I've seen, they were right."
“Yeah. It wouldn't do much good if you started up a shuttle and drove it into the ground."
“No, not much."
“The computers do it all?"
“Not all. I'll have to do the startup and fly us clear of the museum, then Twenty-three can guide Six out. The Fathers had no idea we'd put a building around them, and their preprogrammed instructions would put Twenty-three and Six into the wall."
“Transfer complete—systems activated,” the voice said.
Niki took out a second chip and inserted it.
“Fortunately, the others have been left in the open. Those, I hope, will all get here by computer guidance."
“You hope?"
“There's always a chance of failure."
“Oh, fine—with me on board."
“It was your choice to be here, Bo."
“Yeah, I know, and I wouldn't miss it for anything. You sure you
know how to fly that thing?"
“When I'm there, yes. Out here—I'm not so sure. No one completely knows or understands any of this. Not even what's happening to us—but we can't stop it from happening, either. We're all—"
“Flight data input complete,” the computer said. “Twenty-four units not responding."
“How many cores can be carried in one unit?” Niki asked.
“Each unit is fitted with two internal storage bays and one operating core in the reactor case."
Good, we'll be able to take them all. Now, how to get out of here?
* * * *
Tazh, chewing savagely on a piece of tarsac, its dark green juice trickling from the corners of his mouth, sat at his monitor as information from the field units poured in. The response of Enforcement to their presence was pushing him into an uncomfortable corner, and confrontation seemed imminent. He couldn't bring the rovers back without revealing the Keep, unless he shot down Enforcement's aerial surveillance. If he did that, the conflict would certainly begin. He was sure they would have alerted the Council already, so, no matter which way he turned, a major engagement would result.
It all boiled down to either launching an offensive he was not at all sure he could win or taking up a purely defensive posture at the Keep. Neither option was in the least bit acceptable, because he couldn't be certain Lang had told him true. It was entirely possible that Lang merely said what he knew Tazh wanted to hear to keep his own precious schedule tidy—and to keep Tazh from acting too hastily. Well, Tazh would find out shortly what was truth and what was fiction.
Lang's face came on the screen. “Yes, Tazh, what is it now?"
Tazh explained what had happened through the night and how the current situation appeared to be heading to an unavoidable confrontation.
The old man's face twisted into a hard scowl. “Tazh,” he began, “your position is strategically weak, and if you engage them now you will suffer heavy losses. It will require a full day to get significant support to you from Nuperz.” Lang stroked his chin, then continued. “Their air units have limited range—no more than five hundred kilometers with a full load of fuel. I believe your only viable option, if we expect to get out of this without engagement and revealing your location, is to send your rovers southeast into the Vaskez Desert."
Tazh thought for a moment and, as much as he disliked the idea, he had to admit that Lang was right.
“All right, General. I'll give the order immediately.” He turned to the officer seated beside him. “Captain, go to Ops and pass that along."
“What about the shuttles, Tazh? Has there been any activity from them?"
“We don't know, General,” Tazh said as he turned back to Lang's image. “There is a large contingent of Enforcement in and around the museum, so I believe it's safe to assume there hasn't been any movement. They're either trying to get into one or waiting to see what happens."
“Why would they be doing that? Is there something you have failed to tell me?"
“Yes, sir. Our field agents were captured in the area and, by the time we were aware of it, it was too late to deactivate them. They probably detonated when the juice hit them, but how much they may have told Apps before they blew is unknown."
“You have placed us in an ... awkward position, Tazh. Tell your rovers to take cover around Pelter's Rock and hold there. They will be reinforced within two days. I have sent the Pel's Field group in to strengthen the line along the desert edge. We can't afford to have Council troops free to flank your group from the southeast."
So, Lang had told him true and things were going as planned, which made it all the more embarrassing for Tazh, because his actions had come desperately close to ruining the entire plan.
“All right, General. Thank you for your assistance."
“Continue surveillance of the museum, but try to be a bit more discreet, Tazh."
Lang's image vanished, and the field data came up on the screen again. Five dots representing the rovers were converging on a point east of the complex. The character of the surface out there would allow them to travel unimpeded most of the way to the Vaskez line, about seven hundred kilometers southeast of the museum. It would take two hours or less, and with any luck they would be in the shelter of Pelter's Rock before first light. This would be a tactical retreat. There was nothing cowardly in that. His only regret was that he hadn't thought of it first.
“Excuse me, sir,” a soldier said from the open door.
“Yes, what is it?"
“Well, sir, I don't know if it means anything, but I've had reports from all over the lower levels of noises in the ducts. It may be carpers trying to nest in there again, but I thought I'd better tell you about it."
“Damnable birds. Start the exhaust fans and blow them out. If anything's heard after that, set the fans to minimum and gas the ducts."
“Yes, sir. You want us to search the ducts after we gas them?"
“Not unless you've found the diagram. We could have people down there for days, trying to find their way out. Just gas the ducts for a half hour, then blow out the debris. If you hear any survivors, do it again."
Those birds kept trying to nest in the shafts—they'd been doing it since Tazh had taken over the shelter several periods ago. There was an open vent somewhere, but no one had found it. It was the only rational explanation he could come up with for the problem, but he liked to imagine the stinking birds could adjust their natural frequency and pass through walls as they damned well pleased. Carpers were like that.
It was good to be in a position of authority. You gave an order and knew, without question, it would be carried out—just as it was now. His ears signaled the onset of negative pressure in the Keep. The exhaust fans were purging the ducts, and within five minutes the air would be moving through them at more than seventy-five meters per second. He had an image in his head of one of those nasty birds, trying to hook its claws into the metal clad tunnels to keep from being blown out, and laughed his vicious growl.
* * * *
Pax entered the briefing room where she had ordered a shuttle team to gather. The Rammix had started a tactical display showing ISCU-9 and the Hermes as they converged.
“Good evening, people. I see Rammix has already begun the entertainment."
There was muted laughter as she took her place at the side of the screen.
“We've decided to attempt to board this vehicle, ISCU-9, ladies and gentlemen. Rammix reported new telemetry being transmitted from another location on the planet, so we assume the ship is returning for a reason. We don't know why, but Rammix has not yet been able to communicate with it. Maybe, if we can gain access to the ship's onboard computer system, we'll be able to get some answers, which is why you're here. In thirty-four hours we'll be in shuttle range, and I want you to get those answers for us.
Danielle Trane, the shuttle's pilot, shot a glance at the screen, then looked back to Pax.
“We don't have much solid information on those ships, do we?"
“No, Dani, we don't. That's why I called your team for this one. You were the top team during training, and I need the best for this job. We have some of the original plans for these vehicles—but they're far from complete."
“Are the docking rings compatible?"
“Unknown, Dani."
“Wonderful. What do we know about its defensive systems? Do we know what will trigger it into killing us?"
“No. We believe it has accepted our signal and knows we are friendlies."
“You think? What will it take to know for sure?"
“Rammix is working on that. At the moment, there is an eighty percent probability that it has accepted our signal."
Shaul Lindermann, EVA Chief, stood and faced Trane with his hands casually hanging by their thumbs from the corners of his pockets. “Dani?” he said.
“What?"
Pax thought she detected a look of anger on Trane's face.
“Eighty percent's pretty good, I think. It doesn
't matter if we can't dock with the thing. A couple of us can go over and do it manually if we have to."
“What did I tell you before we came down here?” she fired back at him.
“Well—I figured if we can't dock, I'd just go over and knock."
“Excuse us, ma'am,” Trane said. She grabbed Lindermann by an elbow and dragged him out the door and into the passage.
Pax looked at the six who stayed behind. A couple were snickering into cupped hands, there was one full width smile beaming through a red face, one had leaned back, arms dangling, counting blemishes in the overhead paint, and another who had turned herself completely around to face the other bulkhead.
“Come on, people, this isn't a simulator. What's going on here?"
The one facing the bulkhead turned her seat back to the front of the room and ran her fingers through her hair.
“It's ... a lovers thing, ma'am."
“Lovers thing?"
“Yes, ma'am. They agreed not to do anything that posed more risk than what their contract calls for. You know, so they don't get hurt or killed over something outside the agreement with SESC—something stupid."
“And you? How do you feel about it?"
“Me? I'm Shaul's EVA partner. He goes, I go. He doesn't go—I might go anyway. Sounds exciting. But I wouldn't worry too much, ma'am—he'll go and so will Dani."
“What's your name?"
“Lana Sorenson, ma'am."
“All right, Lana—how would you like to go out there and bring them back in here?"
“I guess you've never had any experience with this kind of thing, ma'am. It's best not to interfere—unless you want to lose something valuable."
Sorenson was right. Pax had never had any experience with this kind of thing.
* * *
Chapter XVIII
The GoL Vagnu had learned early in his political career that the best way to get what he wanted from his fellow Council Judges was to schedule hearings that infringed on their leisure time or carried them beyond midday meal by about two hours. This current session had begun at first hour, and it was now approaching the fifth-hour mark. The other eleven Council Judges were shifting around in their seats, toying with bits of paper and glancing regularly at the clock on the wall. It was time.
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