Power Play

by Anne McCaffrey

  “If I’d had just a little more time, I could have bollixed up the remote so the shuttle couldn’t take off again. But it’ll come back, won’t it? I didn’t mess up the panel, like, disabling the lock.” He looked at Sean for reassurance.

  “As long as whoever’s running this show doesn’t realize the lock was tampered with . . . What would you need to bollix the controls?”

  Simon grinned. “It don’t take so much, really, if you know what to do. I’ll have another look through the refuse skips at the SpaceBase. They’re jettisoning an awful lot of useful stuff.”

  “They are?” Seamus and Adak chorused together.

  “Thanks, Simon,” Sean said, clapping the older man gratefully on the shoulder. “We’ll take any salvage you can hoist.”

  “Figured.”

  “Now,” Sean said, his expression altering from amusement to anxiety, “let’s see where we can stash this bunch of pilgrims!” For there were more robed figures huddling in the miserable knot of the disembarked passengers. Clodagh was still in the Kilcoole cave with the first bunches of Rock Lovers, or whatever the religious seekers called themselves.

  Shannonmouth agreed to shelter the seven who were looking for their families. Nine of the religious had rock and stone names and demanded to be taken to Brothers Shale and Granite. So Sean took them back to Kilcoole to commune with their brothers and sisters. Three more hunters and another drug company representative made up this passenger complement. They, too, had to come back to Kilcoole, though Sean didn’t know where he’d be able to stash them. Now, if Simon should be successful in aborting the transport’s return to the Intergal Station, maybe this would be the last group he’d have to worry about. But with winter closing in, he’d have to sort the whole kaboodle real fast. At least the problem of trying to spread the burden of extra numbers on the already stretched economy kept his mind off Yana.

  12

  Gal Three

  The “unseen eye,” aka Charas Parclete, who had been instructed to keep a close one on Yana, had followed the target subject and her escort through the maze and down to the cargo bay area. Since it was obvious the two women were in the company of a more-than-capable-appearing male—and someone the “eye” had better get some gen on if he was to be much in their company—the eye remained covert. In fact, the target subject and her companions were out of sight a good deal of the time, as Charas had to remain unseen. Suddenly there was a bit of confusion ahead, and when the covert watcher moved to a better viewing position, a whiff of the gas wafted across her face. Gagging and trying not to breathe while still attempting to clear her lungs gave the watcher a bit of trouble—especially as the Mayday reached the mastoid implant linked to Marmion’s alarm-pad just when the gas effected a very short period of unconsciousness. Struggling to regain full use of her senses, Charas staggered around the crates and cartons and saw only one body on the ground. Pressing the emergency signal for help, she dashed to the body.

  “Fat lot of help you were as escort.” Charas resisted the temptation to kick the unconscious man for his dereliction of duty. There were other more pressing matters—like following the faint whiff of the gas through the maze of installations and cargo bays. This was a downtime in the cargo bay, when all but the most urgent jobs were suspended. Some ship was being loaded on the far side of the dock, but it might as well have been on another planet as far as crowd protection went. The time had been well chosen. And the abductors had had access to the intramural passages that separated cargo areas. Alternately sniffing for the trail of gas and choking on the residue, the eye continued until there was no smell at all. She backtracked to where vestigial traces remained, used her special key to open the panel, and stepped out in a workshop area—empty, of course.

  “I must have been out longer than I thought,” the operative murmured, keying into the security board in Commander an Hon’s office. “Charas here. There’s an unconscious man at Sector 45-Z-2, Cargo 30, and Marmion de Revers Algemeine and her guest, Colonel Maddock-Shongili, appear to have been kidnapped.”

  “What did you say?”

  Charas sighed and repeated the message.

  “Are you sure?” This time it was the commander himself asking.

  “Yes. Stop all outgoing vessels.”

  “No implant messages?”

  “Only the Mayday,” Charas said grimly.

  “We’re instigating stop and search procedures.”

  “Good. First check what was logged in at Bay 30-47-N.”

  There was a brief pause. “A damaged pleasure yacht to be repaired, with a hole the size of a shuttle . . .” Some rather inventive cursing followed. “And a Shuttle is registered as pulling out of that sector.”

  “Have the corvette pick me up here.”

  “Since it’s only a shuttle, can do,” said the commander.

  “And send someone to collect that idiot who was escorting them.” Charas gave the location. “I want a tape of the rescue. First impressions are invaluable. He may know something he doesn’t know that we can use.”

  Charas waited impatiently until the corvette docked at the air lock through which the abductors had taken their victims. There was only the faintest whiff of the gas left.

  The Security corvette was fast. Surprisingly, so was the escaping shuttle.

  “I don’t believe these speeds,” the corvette captain said. “Everyone on board must be out!”

  “Some of ’em are,” Charas said grimly.

  The shuttle proved to be nearly as agile in space as the corvette and led them a chase through the storage pens that circled Gal Three at a distance: anything from recyclable debris to cold storage.

  “We’ll get the buggers now,” the corvette captain said as the shuttle cleared the last of the obstacles. He signaled the helmsman for more thrust, and the corvette steadily gained on the shuttle. “Must have souped-up engines to do this. Halt and prepare to be boarded!” he announced over the comm link.

  The corvette was matching speed and position, edging closer and closer when the shuttle exploded. The corvette was skewed sideways; any crew member not strapped down to something bounced about like a wad of plastic. The corvette had taken a broadside and would limp back on navigational thrusters alone. But the worst part of it—or maybe it was the best part of it—was that the implant in Charas’s mastoid bone had not rung the death knell of the person she had thought she was about to retrieve from the kidnappers.

  “That shuttle was a decoy,” Commander an Hon told Charas when she got to his office.

  “And Stop and Search has produced nothing?” she asked, slumping in the chair an Hon had gestured for her to take. She was very weary, and the effects of the gas, despite a marginal inhalation, could still be felt.

  “Not yet, but there were damned near thirty ships leaving Gal Three within the target hour. You’re sure Marmion de Revers Algemeine is still alive?”

  “Yes.” She touched the mastoid bone. “What about that faller?”

  “Hmmm, yes,” the commander said. “Machiavelli Sendal-Archer-Klausewitch . . .”

  “Say what?”

  There was a twitch of a smile on his lips when an Hon repeated the name. “Recently appointed as CEO of a Rothschild’s subsidiary based here on Gal Three. Pharmaceuticals, mainly, but with broad powers. I’ve sent for background gen—an in-depth study, more than was initially received when he was assigned to the Gal Three offices. But let me just play back that rescue tape.”

  That made Charas sit up and she rearranged her weary body in the conform chair. Such tapes were generally used to affirm treatment on emergency calls, more to protect the samaritan than the victim but helpful in establishing little details when a victim would not be as compos mentis as s/he would like.

  Charas watched and then, smiling ever so slightly, turned to an Hon who was blandly anticipating her reactions.

  “Oddly enough I don’t believe he was as thoroughly gassed as he appeared.”

  She knew exactly how one felt comi
ng out of that sort of encounter. The tape showed the rescue team advancing on the body and going through the whole routine of administering oxygen to counteract the effects. The too-handsome man went through the gagging, the disjointed motions, and the lingual distortions the gas caused. The medteam administered a hypospray to reduce the nausea. But something about the performance suggested to Charas that it was a performance.

  “And the lungs?”

  “They showed only a minute residue of gas—not a full measure. Certainly not one that would have rendered him unconscious so long. He also had the ransom note!”

  “Well, what about that?” she asked.

  “Yes, what about it?”

  “I think we watch this—what’s his name again? Never mind. He’ll be Mac in my books.”

  “Indeed we will. Here’s the note!” And the commander passed over the slip as gingerly as if he expected it to explode in his face.

  On the pirate ship

  When the voice contact with Sean had been summarily curtailed by Megenda, Yana was close to lashing out with her fists at the big first mate and the monstrous hologram of Captain Louchard. Either would have been a foolish waste of time, and as it was, another paroxysm of coughing racked her.

  “Haul the female to Dr. Mendeley. She can’t be dying on us, or we lose our bargaining position with the planet,” Louchard growled.

  Doubled up as she was, Yana was bundled out of the cabin, and after a very short distance down the corridor—which confirmed her notion that they’d been deliberately routed along every deck of the vessel in order to confuse them—she was pushed into a considerably larger accommodation. It had bunks along three sides, a narrow table with benches under it in the center, and two narrow doors that she would later discover led to the sanitary facilities: the shower behind one door, and the “head” behind the other. She half staggered, half crawled to the nearest bunk and lay down upon it, coughing, gasping, hacking, and wondering if she’d have anything left of her normal throat lining.

  She was only marginally aware of the panel whooshing open and shut again. Then a cool hand soothed her forehead, and someone urged her to sit up long enough to “Drink this.” A mug was pressed to her lips.

  The beverage was cold, tart, and soothing, and she managed to still the cough reflex long enough to take a good swallow.

  “Cookie let me rummage in her stores for the ingredients,” said the rich voice of the astronomer, Namid Mendeley. “It’s what I think was in my grandmother’s recipe, plus a little codeine, which does depress the cough reflex.”

  Yana hesitated. “C-codeine?” she gasped. “What—about—the—b-baby?”

  Mendeley raised his eyebrows and gave a slight uneasy shrug. “I wouldn’t think there’d be much risk to the fetus at this stage, but I’m no obstetrician. However, I think it’s a safe bet, if the cough continues to be this violent, that you could miscarry.”

  She nodded, pausing only a moment to bark again. She was panting from the effort of trying to suppress the cough long enough to keep from choking on the drink. She took the mug from him and sipped slowly; the liquid seemed to be coating her throat, and it didn’t taste bad, either.

  “It might sting going down,” Namid said anxiously, “because pepper is one of the ingredients.”

  “Oh.” Yana kept sipping. She didn’t care if it contained pepper or eye of newt and toe of frog, so long as it stopped her coughing. She got into a more comfortable position, propped against one end of the bunk, crouching just a bit to avoid banging her head on the bottom of the upper bunk. “I think it’s helping. Thank you. You’re very considerate and kind.”

  “I’m neither of those, but I told Dinah I wouldn’t cooperate any further if she didn’t let me help you.” Namid perched tentatively on the edge of the table and looked around, sighing deeply.

  “What’s the matter?” Yana asked.

  He grimaced, shrugged, and held out one hand in a helpless gesture. “Nothing new,” he said in a resigned tone. “In fact,” he added, as he continued to look around, “this is slightly better than my previous quarters.”

  “Oh?” Yana said encouragingly. He didn’t look at all the sort of person to associate with privateers, even one as patently sensual and domineering as Dinah O’Neill.

  “I was married to Dinah O’Neill.” Another sigh, one expressing the folly of such a union. “She doesn’t take the divorce seriously.”

  “In short, you’re now permanently on board this ship?”

  As he folded his arms across his chest, he had a slight twinkle in his eye and a rueful smile on his face. “We met under considerably different circumstances. It was a whirlwind romance. I’d never met anyone quite like her before. I’d just returned from a two-year stint studying two new variables and . . .” He shrugged.

  “Any female would have seemed delightful?” Yana couldn’t help twitting him, and then went back to sipping his brew.

  “Exactly. And, to give the devil her due, she was everything I’d ever dreamed of. We had a glorious six months, although her business took her away periodically.”

  “Then you discovered what her business was?”

  “Quite by chance. Of course, I filed for divorce immediately, as my professional reputation would have been seriously flawed if it became known I’d had any associations with such a . . .”

  “Unsavory occupation?”

  “Exactly. I received official notice of the termination—and so did she. Only, I failed to recognize how she might take such a step. And the next thing I knew, I was aboard this ship and here I’ve remained. I must say, since you seem to be incarcerated, too, that it’s marvelous to have intelligent company again.”

  They both heard the noises in the corridor outside, and then the panel whooshed open. First Bunny was propelled inside; Marmion followed in a more dignified entry, while Diego’s limp body was launched from the doorway onto the bunk opposite Yana, his head connecting hard with the wall. The panel closed with a snap and Bunny, crying out in protest, went to Diego.

  “Yana? Are you all right?” Marmion asked, going around the table so she would not have to touch Mendeley.

  “I’m much better for Namid’s brew,” Yana said, trying to convey to Marmion that the astronomer deserved her pity, not her censure. “But what have those bastards done to poor Diego?”

  “One of the men bringing us here goosed Bunny,” Marmion said angrily. “She hit him, too, but that first mate just clobbered Diego as a lesson.” She was so furious she was shaking and, with a look that could have pierced steel, she glared at Namid. “Are we to be spied upon every moment we’re together, in addition to the other indignities?”

  “Come off it, Marmie,” Yana said. “He’s as much a prisoner as we are.”

  “Are you being ransomed, too?” Marmion asked, her manner toward the tall astronomer instantly more amenable.

  “There’s no one to pay one for me,” he said, and his statement was not a bid for pity. “I forgot to block Dinah’s access to my credit account.”

  “How’s Diego?” Yana asked Bunny, who had pushed the boy’s body into a more comfortable position.

  “He’ll come round. Any water?” she asked, looking about her.

  Yana pointed to the narrow doors. “Behind one of them?”

  Bunny investigated, found a towel, wet it from the spigot above a miniature hand basin, and returned to mop Diego’s brow.

  “You know,” Mendeley began, “I’ve never figured out why Dinah bothered to go through a formal marriage ceremony. I mean, she could have contracted a short-term arrangement. Or none at all. But she went to such lengths to get me to many her.”

  “Really?” Marmion said in some surprise. “She doesn’t seem the marrying type.”

  “That’s what I thought, but we got married. Not that I minded . . .”

  “You’re an astronomer?” Marmion asked, eyeing him more kindly than she had before. When he nodded, she went on. “Did she ever get you to talk about your specialty?”


  A flush spread across Namid’s sallow face and his expression became decidedly chagrined. “Constantly. I was, as you can well imagine, quite flattered. Why?”

  “What area of astronomy?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Types of star systems, planets . . .”

  “Planets, yes, she was fascinated about the formation of planets.”

  Marmion, Yana, and Bunny exchanged glances.

  “And she seemed really interested,” he added, confused.

  “Perhaps sentient planets?” Marmion asked.

  He laughed then. “Really, Madame Algemeine, sentience in a ball of matter thrown out by a cooling primary? Come now, I know you’re an intelligent woman.”

  “And intelligent enough to recognize sentience when I see, feel, and hear it.”

  Namid leaned toward her, his incisive green eyes capturing her gaze as he transferred his arms from his chest to a tight hold on the table edge. Yana could almost see his thought processes trying to catch up with the sincerity of Marmion’s tone.

  “You’re in earnest, aren’t you?”

  “Deadly earnest,” Marmion said in an edged voice.

  “And you were abducted because of a . . .” He paused, still dubious. “A sentient planet?”

  “Surely Dinah has made mention of Petaybee in your presence?”

  “The name has come up frequently of late,” he began, frowning. Then he made a little warning gesture of his fingers and looked meaningfully at the corners of the room, apprising them that the room was probably bugged, which Yana had already guessed. “But I did not realize it was the name of a planet.”

  “It is,” Yana said. “Planet Terraform B, or Powers That Be, or Pee-tay-bee.”

  “I see.” He paused another beat, shook his head. “No, I don’t see.” He placed his fingers on his forehead, as if the contact would stimulate understanding.

  “Frankly, nor do I,” Yana said, beginning to feel as if her throat might withstand the effort of conversation. She hadn’t had so much as a tickle all during the last few minutes. “The ransom for me seems to be Petaybee.”