“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“Commander, I have Misters Kreechum and Anderson listening in. They’re eager to see you about a matter of some importance.”
“Namely?”
“I believe the matter is best handled in person.”
“Come now. You with them.”
“That was my intention.”
Davis entered Ellis’s quarters first. Handing her the CTL, which he had retained in his possession, he whispered for only her consumption “whatever it takes” quickly followed, in a louder voice, “Commander, this was just brought to my attention.”
Ellis noted that Davis appeared vigilant. His first remark to her had been cryptic though it seemed to indicate what she wanted to hear. If she was wrong, the odds against her would be insurmountable. Still, this drama would need to be played out.
She turned her attention to the body language of the other two men opposite her. Kreechum had his jaw set and fists clenched; Anderson, muscles tensed, had his arms tightly folded across his chest. Both were prepared for a confrontation. In the parlance of canine behavior Anderson would be the dominate aggressor, Kreechum more likely a fear biter.
There were three plush chairs in Ellis’s office. “Gentlemen, grab seats,” she said. Davis did not budge. Another good sign, she thought. The other two men seated themselves. She concentrated attention on Anderson.
“I suspect that this CLT,” she said, casually tossing it on the desk in front of her, “contains data obtained from Nadir without my prior authorization. I can save us some time. I have already seen and discarded it.”
“You what?” Anderson declared, stunned. Exactly the response Ellis expected.
Davis’s slight hint of a wry grin, on the other hand, was not. The man was quick. He had studied her and caught on that she knew what Anderson and Kreechum were about. That she had decided to face them head-on.
What Davis did next surprised her even more.
Taking two purposeful strides he placed himself directly behind Kreechum, who had had just deposited his considerable bulk in a chair opposite her. “Son of a bitch—” the IMC foreman began, attempting to rise in anger.
“Sit your ass back down and listen to what the Commander has to say,” Davis warned, placing two strong hands on Kreechum’s shoulders and enforcing the order with a hard shove downward.
Caught unawares, the IMC foreman grunted an expletive, followed by, “What the hell’s going on here?” But he stayed put.
Anderson glared at his one-time friend. “You lying bastard,” he said, spitting out words like they were poison. “You lying fucking bastard.”
“Not true,” Davis replied. “I did exactly what I said I would do—accompany you here. Later, if you think long and hard about it, you might find my presence kept you out of worse trouble.”
“You have a lot to answer for Mr. Anderson,” Ellis stated.
“And you’ll answer to Coalition,” Anderson scoffed.
“That prospect isn’t my concern,” Ellis said, grabbing and holding up the CTL. “What is my concern is what mischief you might have caused obtaining this data.”
“A great deal of mischief, I hope,” Anderson said. “Absent a crew of six, the Tino’s claim on Nadir is worthless. You may ignore that fact, but I doubt those pulling your strings will—ma’am.”
“You apparently have a hatred of all things Unión,” Ellis said, undeterred. “Why is that, Mr. Anderson?”
Anderson stiffened, blanking all expression from his face.
“Nothing to say?” Ellis remarked. She would not ask again. Her next words were to the com link: “Connect—Cooper.”
A moment later, the sergeant’s voice was heard.
“Yes, Commander?”
“My office. Immediately.”
“Straight away.”
He arrived moments later, wary as to why he had been summoned. Ellis promptly clarified the matter.
“Until I decide exactly what to do with you, Mr. Anderson, you’re confined to quarters. Sergeant, escort him there directly.”
Cooper had coasted the last year, serving on a base where Trenchon exerted little discipline. After a second of confusion, for it took no longer to see that his new CO was dead serious, he took Anderson behind the elbow and began to lead him away.
“One more thing, Sergeant,” Ellis said, judging Anderson’s submission as having been too easy. “Remove the personal mindstor from his quarters and reprogram the entry so it can be operated only from the exterior.”
Kreechum, realizing that it was in his own best self-interest to fight another day, made motion to leave. “Not so fast,” Ellis said. “I want a word with you.” Any second thoughts the foreman had of resisting were instantly erased when Davis blocked the doorway.
“You’ve done your best to undermine me,” Ellis said. “If you continue to do so I won’t hesitate restricting you to quarters.”
“I can’t always control my people,” Kreechum said in warning. “You’re ordering them to risk their butts looking for water that ain’t there. A few more days, you’ll have half the damned base confined.”
“Then I shall turn the gymnasium into a brig and you shall enjoy internment together.”
Ellis nodded and Davis stepped aside from the doorway. As the bulky man passed by, Davis grabbed him by the arm. “Make no mistake, Kreechum, if any member of your team steps out of line, I’ll be there to slap them down hard.”
“I see you’ve taken a liking to Kreechum,” Ellis commented after she and Davis were alone.
“Just following your lead, Commander,” Davis replied. “You don’t give any quarter.”
“Does that surprise you?”
“Not anymore. How did you find out about the data on that CTL? Captain Stewart?”
“No, Schulman—that information better kept to yourself. I wish to avoid painting a bull’s-eye on the man’s back.”
Davis considered for a moment. “And when were you going to let me in on this?”
The expression on Ellis’s face suggested no time soon.
“I see,” Davis said. She was testing his resolve—again.
“I don’t give out apologies too often,” Ellis said, seeing Davis’s disappointment. “You’ve earned one. I won’t doubt you again. Not after the way you just handled yourself.”
“It’s not over, you know. The temptation’s too great,” Davis replied, referring to what every person on Zenith now knew in tantalizing detail. That Nadir’s exclusion zone was awash in water.
“Nadir could have a dozen underground Lake Baikals,” Ellis countered. “Not one drop is ours.”
“I had hoped to water ski,” Davis said with a grin.
“I am puzzled by one item on this CLT,” Ellis continued, placing the object in the palm of her hand. “Why is Nadir’s environmental support functioning at a greatly reduced capacity? Any ideas?”
Davis was the right person to ask. In addition to his other talents he was a mindstor “mentor,” one of a select group of people whose mental processes (the “mind” component) were deemed suitable for use as a cognition template onto which a prodigious amount of information could be overlaid.
“Not nearly enough thought was copied from their primary to make an accurate assessment,” Davis replied, using the word he preferred. “For all we know their ESS was being temporarily powered down for maintenance or repair.”
“Then I see no need to trouble brass at Varian with this,” Ellis said.
“No need at all,” Davis echoed, comprehending the implications while at the same time wondering just how far ahead his CO had thought this through. “If they haven’t already, Varian will learn about this from Kreechum. They’ll spin the data—” A look from Ellis stopped him in mid-sentence.
“Outgoing transmissions are auto-encrypted,” she said. “I told the mindstor to render references to Nadir indecipherable.”
“And the sender doesn’t have a clue,” Davis said in appreciation. “You were able to do
this in time?”
“Maybe.”
“What do you intend to do with Anderson?”
“Suggestion?”
“That’s tough,” Davis admitted, hesitating as he decided what confidences to share. “What he keeps to himself may help explain his behavior.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“The way he tells it, his mother died when he was young. Shortly afterward his father became addicted to heroin produced from poppies genetically engineered to thwart treatment protocols. He became incapable of properly raising his son. At age four Anderson’s uncle stepped into his brother’s shoes and never took them off.” Davis paused. “When you think on it, the love Anderson bore for his uncle became stronger than many father-son relationships.”
“How so?” Ellis asked.
“Because of the prior emptiness it had to replace.”
“That’s a sensitive insight,” Ellis said, impressed. “I continue to misjudge you.”
“Do it a few more times and it’ll even the score,” Davis replied. “Anderson’s story didn’t end there. It took a bad turn many years later when his uncle, a captain in the reserves, had his unit activated in response to an incursion along the border with Unión. His uncle was murdered in the line of duty.”
“Murdered, not killed? There is an unhappy distinction.”
“It’s the word Anderson used. A young man at the time, he was given a firsthand account by an officer who had served with his uncle. The reservists were charged with separating local civilians from a hostile Latino mob which had fashioned weapons from a temporary barricade. It was an untenable situation, the reservists outnumbered ten to one and logistics precluding the use of aggression-nullifying psychchems as a counter-measure. There were dire warnings of bloodshed if the Latinos broke through the barricade. A decision was made that the reservists, a company of eighty, were to be armed. It’s unclear exactly how it devolved from there. A mob of several hundred Latino men breached the line, attempting to confront unarmed civilians the reservists were trying to protect. The reservists managed to disperse the mob. In the madness, Anderson’s uncle was beaten to death. He was one of eight that died that day. Several others were hospitalized with severe injuries.”
“I remember hearing about this,” Ellis said. “Can you put a name on it?”
“I believe Anderson called it the Rio Pecos Incident. “Keep in mind it’s his version. It closely matches what Coalition reported, for whatever that’s worth.”
Ellis nodded. “That area is a flash point. I learned of the conflict while living on the unaligned colony of Hestia. “I suggest you research the account from the Unión viewpoint.”
“I expect it to be different,” Davis acknowledged. “But what good does that do Anderson? From his perspective he lost an uncle at the hands of the Latinos. An uncle whom he loved like a father. For him, arguing specifics is meaningless. Can any of us be sure we would not harbor a similar hatred?”
“No,” Ellis said upon reflection. “That’s reason enough to prevent these conflicts from occurring. We must break the cycle.”
“Anyway you can?” Davis asked, wondering how far Ellis would go to impede Coalition purposes on Murkor. “You’re going against powerful forces. You’ll wind up losing more than your command.”
Ellis was unfazed. “Much can happen until then,” she said, motioning that she had other duties to attend to. “Besides, I have a reputation as a bitch to live up to.”
“Some might say you’re doing a damn good job,” Davis said, heading for the safety of the corridor, but stopped when he was partway there.
“Lieutenant.”
“Yes, Commander?” a wary Davis replied.
“You can drop the rank when we’re in private.”
Davis flashed the wry grin Ellis was coming to appreciate. “And risk losing a month’s rec privileges?”
“If so, you’d be way too hard on yourself,” Ellis replied, almost smiling.
Ellis devoted time to her daily routine of deep meditation. When she was finished, a glimmer of an idea compelled her to stand and gaze out the viewport. It was now midday, a term that had no real significance on Murkor due to the sun-blocking haze.
The lavascape was a depressingly empty palette, making it hard to envision what it was like eons ago when the planet was teeming with life. There were hints: Fossilized imprints of strange and wondrous creatures of great size and remarkable structural complexity. All gone. The few simple organisms that had survived the cataclysm were small enough to fit in the palm of the hand, the eradication of larger organisms being similar to what happened on Earth sixty-four million years ago when the impact of a lesser meteor heralded the Cretaceous extinction.
Yet the smallest surviving life-form on Murkor could be plainly seen with the naked eye and that was counterintuitive. Where were the micro-organisms, those life-forms similar to the bacteria, protozoa, fungi, and viruses that populated virtually every square centimeter of Earth? It was inconceivable that similitudes never existed on Murkor; nearly as unlikely that none had endured the planet’s cataclysm.
Leaving her quarters, Ellis flexed her right shoulder. Almost completely healed. Captain Stewart had scheduled one more treatment. An opportunity to make her intentions known.
Conceivably she would require more of the good doctor’s services.
The lavender corridors leading from Ellis’s quarters to Stewart’s medical suite remained blank. Entering her personal preferences for mindstor-generated wall murals was the last thing on her mind. This was not so for Base Manager Schulman. Approaching from the opposite direction, absorbed in his own thoughts, he was only vaguely aware of the images progressively, and prominently, being displayed on the walls beside and in front of him and just as soon disappearing behind: Colorful renditions of classical paintings, many depicting zaftig, semi-nude women.
“Mr. Schulman,” Ellis said, smiling inwardly as they converged.
“Commander—I was just—ohh. Images off!”
“Was that Leda and the Swan?” Ellis asked, catching a glimpse of the erotic painting, and others of similar description, before they faded from view.
“A Correggio,” Schulman acknowledged, recovering.
“Renaissance period. Are you familiar with Leda Atomica?” Ellis asked, referring to the surrealistic painting by Salvador Dali depicting a nude woman, a swan, and several objects suspended in space.
“Is the subject matter Leda and the Swan of Greek mythology as interpreted by da Vinci and other Renaissance masters?”
“It is. Dali’s treatment introduced the myth to a precept of twentieth-century physics that objects do not actually touch. And, so too, in his painting, nothing touches. Leda, the swan, not even the ocean touches the shore. A conversation for another time. You were coming to see me?”
“With a suggestion, respectfully, Commander, which I thought better communicated in person.”
“You may do so now.”
“Missions are contributing nothing to our water reserves. Protecting what we have left is critical.”
“You’re recommending further rationing?”
“Heavens, no,” Schulman replied, his expression turning grave. “And please don’t ask me to, or you’d have to assign me a bodyguard. I had in mind the storage tanks. I don’t know of any specific threat—except if I could think of it—”
It took a few seconds for Ellis to grasp the base manager’s meaning. If Zenith’s water supply was sabotaged there would be little choice except to seek water the one place on Murkor it could best be found.
“I wish I could say I like how you think, Mr. Schulman.”
“Yeah, it’s a curse,” Schulman said, acknowledging the hidden compliment.
“Can the tanks be secured from tampering?” Ellis asked.
“I believe it possible,” Schulman answered.
“I’ll have Lieutenant Davis consult with you on the matter,” Ellis said. “Regrettable that we must protect ourselves from ourselve
s. Satisfy my curiosity, Mr. Schulman. Regarding the transitory images displayed on these walls. What transpires when two people with radically different views of art converge? Does one party predominate over the other?”
“The mindstor searches for images compatible to both persons’ tastes,” he replied. “That’s the norm. On occasion, when there are no suitable matches, or when several people converge, the walls revert to a neutral color.”
“Seems to me that the mindstor has it right, then, does it not?”
It took Schulman a few seconds to grasp Ellis’s meaning.
“I like how you think, Commander,” he said.
***
“You of all people should be more receptive to the idea,” Ellis remarked, continuing her chiding to no apparent effect. “What were your exact words? ‘It’s one thing to know something intellectually, another to experience it.’”
“Hold still,” Stewart responded.
Ellis was lying prone on a well-padded exam table. Minutes earlier she had breathed in a specially formulated nano-laden medicinal vapor. A beam focused on her exposed shoulder was activating the nanite healing agents within the area of trauma. Neither officer spoke until the cessation of a slight hum indicated the procedure had terminated.
“You can sit up,” Stewart advised. Placing two hands on Ellis’s arm, she carefully rotated the shoulder into different positions to assess range of motion. “Any discomfort?”
“No.”
“Without a doubt, you’re the most flexible person I’ve ever treated.”
“If only you were.”
“So I should stand by why you deliberately risk injury to yourself—again,” Stewart protested.
“I’m only doing what you have done,” Ellis said, knowing full well the comparison was absurd.
“I seem to remember wearing a rebreather,” Stewart said. “They come in handy, you know.”
“Funny.”
“You could tag along on a mission.”
“For the present, I’d prefer not to leave the base for that length of time.”
Stewart shook her head in disapproval. “You know I can’t stop you,” she said, although acting as Zenith’s physician she probably could. “Just keep in mind that the only other person to try it was Anderson. That says a lot.”
The Symbionts of Murkor Page 16