by Sarah Zettel
The disadvantage of this was that it took awhile to find the packet, once you did go looking for it.
Ben returned to his case, clean shaven and dressed in tunic and trousers of a suitably conservative blue-gray. A matching cap with black beading covered his head. He checked the screen display.
Success.
His searcher had recovered the packet in one of the repeater relays between Earth and the Moon and had rerouted it back to Venus. Ben accessed his four-tier decryption key and added the password.
The packet opened to display the face of an aging man with dark hair, pale skin, a suggestion of a beard, and mud-brown eyes under heavy brows. His name was Paul Mabrey. He had assorted degrees from assorted universities. He worked as a risk assessor for various small companies, spending his time traveling from colony to colony, mostly on Mars, looking at new market niches and good suppliers. He took med-trips and vacations back on Mother Earth regularly but not excessively. He had been in Bradbury during the rebellion, and while it was felt that he had some sympathies toward Fuller’s faction, surveillance on him had been turned off over fifteen years ago because he never did anything remotely suspicious.
He was, in fact, the man Ben used to be.
Once upon a time, Ben, then called Paul Mabrey, had been dismissed by the yewners who had taken over Bradbury as being of little consequence. They did, however, post automatic surveillance over him, as they did every rebel, just in case. For three years, Paul behaved himself meekly, like a good defeated puppy. He watched his friends jailed, watched Fuller hauled back to Earth for trial and incarceration. He watched the yewners take up posts on every street corner and randomly search the passersby. He watched the taxes go up and the licenses go down and travel get restricted. He sat in his apartment at night and hated himself because there was nothing he could do, not now, not ever again, because the yewners would never really take their eyes off him. The free flow of information that Fuller had touted as the route to the future would make it impossible for him to hide.
He had one thing left to him. The yewners had not quite uncovered the extent of what Paul had done for Fuller. He’d specialized in helping make clip-outs—in-stream ghosts of people who wound up on various payrolls and mailing lists and who, eventually, wound up with various levels of access and permission to various segments of the communications networks. When the uprising came, those clip-outs gave the software corruption teams that Paul was a part of a handle on the U.N. networks, which he used to shut them down.
Minor stuff, really, a low-level hacker trick.
But what he labored over at night, almost every night, was not. It was researched and tested, a little bit here, a little bit there. It was years of learning under Fuller’s best, a few minor bribes, a couple of slow, painful system break-ins, and a whole lot of patience.
Then, Paul received notice that his surveillance period was up and he was declared rehabilitated. Good luck to you, Mr. Mabrey.
Paul, grimly satisfied, had closed the letter and gone in-stream to request permission politely to travel to Giant Leap on business. The yewner bureaucrat on the other end was in a benevolent mood that day and let him go.
Two weeks later, Paul Mabrey left for Luna. He arrived at Giant Leap and stayed for three months, working on various consulting jobs and contracts. Then—according to all available records, anyway—Paul Mabrey went home.
That same day, a man named Bennet Godwin, who had—according to all available records—arrived in Giant Leap on Luna from the Republic of Manhattan space port, got a job as a geologist for Dorson Mines, Inc.
No one knew how many clip-outs floated around the stream. Usually they were used by people wishing to perpetrate some kind of fraud. They were vague constructs, tied to a few vital records and easily torn apart or scared away by semidetermined scrutiny.
A very few were like Paul, who sat in-stream and stared at Ben out of eyes that could have been his own. Paul had been nurtured and cared for. He had aged as Ben had aged. He had subscriptions to the major news services and joined in-stream discussions on various items of interest. He had credit accounts, and he used them. He drew pay from companies he consulted for. He vacationed, theatered, and kept apartments in Giant Leap and Burroughs. He even had personal contact codes, which a simulation would answer and alert Ben when they were used.
Now, it was time for Paul to come back to life. Paul was going to get hold of some very interesting information and pass it along to a few old associates. Paul still had a few tricks up his sleeve to keep the yewners from noticing he’d revived some acquaintances that were still, after all those years, under surveillance and travel restrictions.
Paul still had a chance to prove he was not useless.
Ben, heedless of the time, hunched over his briefcase and started typing.
“…with mutual cooperation and free exchange of ideas we will together unravel this, the greatest of human mysteries.”
Vee applauded politely, along with the rest of the gathering. Dr. Failia smiled and stepped out from behind the podium, shifting immediately from solemn speech-giver to smiling greeter-of-friends-and-strangers. Vee found herself grinning. The speeches had been well delivered and short, the food was good, and the view…the view was stunning.
Vee hadn’t stood in Venera’s observation hall for eight years. She had forgotten the impact of being surrounded by the huge, constantly shifting landscapes of gray, white, and gold created by the clouds. Observation Hall was ringed, from the white floor to domed ceiling, with a seamless window of industrial quartz, so it was possible to stand and stare until you felt as if you were alone and exposed in the midst of that boiling alien mist.
Not that that’s going to happen tonight. Vee felt her mouth quirk up. The place is way too full.
A couple of hundred Venerans plus the investigative team circulated around tables loaded with appropriate predinner snacks and beverages. Stykos and Wray, camera bands firmly in place, flanked the tall dark woman who Vee vaguely remembered was head of meteorology. Lindi Manzur stood in front of the window, a little too close to Troy Peachman, who was gesturing grandly as he expounded about something. Vee smiled softly and turned away from their private moment.
Everyone in the gathering had made an effort to show some gold or silk. Vee herself had been torn between wanting to put on a good show for the cameras and not wanting to break the conservative veneer she’d been carefully cultivating during the entire week-and-a-half flight up here.
In the end, she’d selected a green-and-gold paneled skirt, with a green jacket trimmed with gold piping and an abbreviated gold turban with a green veil falling down behind to cover her unbound hair. It looked good enough to make the story cut, but not so outrageous as to offend academic sensibility.
Apparently, however, she was not circulating enough. Out of the corner of her eye, Vee saw Dr. Failia making a beeline for her.
“Good evening, Dr. Hatch. Thank you for coming.”
Vee shook her hand. “I’m sorry I’m late, Dr. Failia. I’d forgotten just how big Venera is.”
“After a week on a ship, it can take some getting used to, yes.” Dr. Failia nodded sympathetically. “Tell me, did you have a chance to review the visuals we’ve taken of the Discovery?”
“Yes, in between learning how not to get squashed and burned when we go down.” Vee smiled to let Dr. Failia know she was kidding.
Dr. Failia laughed once, politely. “And did you form any initial plans as to how to proceed?”
“Yes. The first thing we need is a spectrographic analysis, to find out what kind of laser we’re dealing with.” Vee warmed as she talked, excited about the possibilities her research might open. “Then, I think…” Vee’s gaze strayed over Dr. Failia’s shoulder. Michael Lum, the security chief, waited two steps behind her.
Dr. Failia followed her gaze. “Excuse me, Dr. Hatch,” she said hastily. “Please, help yourself to the buffet.”
Dr. Failia crossed quickly to Lum, who murmured so
mething in her ear. They both looked up at the entranceway, just as Bennet Godwin walked through. Failia frowned and strode over to the latecomer.
Uh-oh, Vee turned away and skirted the conversational knots as she made her way to the food tables. Somebody’s getting demerits for tardiness.
The buffet was a good spread, with the Western traditional cheese and crackers, but also with couscous, falafel, and various flat breads, triangles of toast with what looked like mushroom pate, miniature empenadas, and some blue pastry things that Vee, with all her experience of artsy receptions, couldn’t put a name to. Glasses of wine flanked bowls of ginger and fruit punches, as well as silver samovars of tea and coffee.
Vee was debating over what to sample next, when she felt someone walking up to her side.
“Excuse me. Are you Dr. Veronica Hatch?”
Vee turned to face a sparsely built man with ruddy skin and tawny eyes. He was only a few centimeters taller than she was. He wore a blue baseball cap over his thick brown hair instead of a more fashionable brimless cap or half-turban. It made a pleasantly rebellious contrast to his formal gold-and-black tunic and trousers. Vee decided she liked him.
“That’s what they tell me,” Vee answered cheerfully and extended her hand. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He shook her hand with a good grip, which was also pleasant. Most people got a look at her long, thin hand and adjusted their greeting touch to something overly delicate. “I’m Joshua Kenyon. Josh.”
Ah. His name rang memory chimes inside Vee and brought up the titles of several recently surveyed publications. “Vee. I’ve read you.”
He did not, to his credit, look at all surprised. Dr. Kenyon had about a gigabyte of published work on tracking particle flow and interaction in the Venusian atmosphere using realtime laser holography techniques. Vee’s job, before she got her first patent and turned to experiential holograms, was “time-resolved sequential holographic particle imaging velocimetry,” which was the official way of saying she took four-dimensional images of particles in dense plasmas. Most people didn’t know she’d done serious lab work. Some refused to believe it.
“Are you going to be leading the research on the laser?” Vee asked, as she picked up one of the blue pastries. “And do you know what these are?”
“That’s crab rangoon, dyed blue to preserve some of the mystery of life,” said Josh promptly. “And the research on the laser is actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Oh?” Vee arched her eyebrows. “Shall we get out of traffic?”
“Good idea.”
Vee paused to collect a small plate of blue things and followed Josh over to one of the little round tables covered with a white cloth that always seemed to spring up like mushrooms at these gatherings.
Vee sat and pushed the pastries toward Josh, who shook his head. Vee took one and nibbled the edge. Yep, crab.
A flash of orange in the clouds caught her eyes. A delicate flurry of sparks spiraled up through the mist, tiny petals of brightness scattered through the impenetrable fog.
“Star trails.” Vee smiled at the beauty of the small event. “We must be going over one of the volcanoes.”
Josh checked the position readout set in the floor. “Yeah, Xochiquetzal Mons. It went active, I guess twenty years ago now.”
“They’re beautiful.” As Vee watched, the clouds swallowed the sparks whole, but a fresh trail swept along the wind as if these new sparks wanted to follow their friends.
Josh nodded in thoughtful agreement. “Make me nervous, though.”
“Why?” Vee cocked her head at him.
A look of frank surprise crossed his face, followed by a sudden realization. “You didn’t get down to the surface last time you were here, did you?”
“No need.” Vee shook her head and nibbled another pastry. “I was just here for the clouds.”
Josh took off his cap and smoothed his hair down before replacing it. His face said he was considering some internal question. Then, apparently, he got his answer.
“Well,” he said, “you met Michael Lum, right?”
Vee nodded. In fact, she could see him through the crowd, pacing alongside Philip Bowerman talking about whatever spooks and spies talked about. Vee found herself wondering where Angela Cleary had gotten to. She did not seem to be in evidence anywhere.
“Michael’s a good guy,” Josh went on. “He’s a v-baby. Born here. His parents were almost the first people on the station when Helen opened it up. His father, Kyle Lum, was a climatologist, and he was out doing some surveys of the lower cloud layer when the scarab ran into a star trail.” He stared out at the sparks as they danced away into the clouds. “Sheered off one of the wing struts, dropped the entire scarab. They got their parachute out, fortunately, but they slammed into the side of one of the mountains. The rescue team dropped after them, within minutes, but when they got there”—Josh shook his head—“the hull had ruptured. There was nothing left.”
Vee glanced back at the fading sparks. A shiver ran up her spine. “I think I’m glad I didn’t know that when I was photographing them.”
Josh laughed a little. “Sorry. Not the best subject of conversation, especially with a newcomer.”
Vee waved his words away. “Don’t worry about me. So”—she brushed a few crumbs from her skirt—“what about the laser?”
Josh took off his cap again and smoothed his hair down once more. “It’s not actually about the laser,” he said. “It’s about getting a look at it.”
“How so?”
He blew out a sigh that puffed his cheeks, put his cap back on, and looked down at his fingertips as if to see his words written there. Vee waited.
“I work on Venera on a regular basis. I do my stints here for about nine months at a time and then go home and do the lecture and paper routine. I was on Earth when the news about the Discovery dropped into the stream. When I heard about the laser, I didn’t even think about it. I just got myself onto the next ship back. I assumed…” He shook his head and started again. “I assumed, since I was known and had a longtime affiliation with Venera, that I’d be able to get on the short list for a look at the thing, maybe even a chance to help in the analysis.” He lifted his gaze. “But, no, that’s not the way this is going to play. The laser is your territory for now, they’re telling me. After that, maybe we’ll see, but in the meantime, it’s just you.”
“I see,” said Vee, and she really thought she did. “And you think I can get you a piece of this?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But it seemed worth a shot.”
“Why the rush?” she asked breezily. “It’ll be there after I’m done with it.”
The look he gave her indicated his estimation of her mental acuity had just taken a header. Vee grinned. “Got it. You want to see what the aliens left too.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I love my work.” He tugged on his cap’s brim. “I always wanted to be out in space, but there are days when I’m very aware that I’m really just a glorified weatherman.” His eyes grew distant. “This is the stuff we’ve forgotten to dream about.”
Vee felt her grin widen. Joshua Kenyon, you’re a romantic! I thought they’d put the last of your kind into zoos. “I don’t see how there could be any problem with it. It’s not as if…” She cut herself off but glanced around the room. There was Troy, glad-handing yet another patient Veneran with Lindi trailing behind him. There was Julia at the buffet, being photographed by Terry, and there was Robert, staring straight at her while Isaac seemed to be occupied in keeping as many bodies between him and that window as possible.
“As if?” asked Josh.
One corner of Vee’s mouth turned up. “As if they’ve overloaded us with skilled workers. And I include myself in that.” She slumped backwards and stared at her plate with its blue bits of pastry. “I swear, I don’t know what they were thinking when they picked this bunch.”
Josh looked at her carefully. “You really want to know?”
Ve
e thought about it for a minute. “Yes,” she said.
Josh sighed, lifted his cap, smoothed his hair down, and replaced it. “Because you’re harmless.”
“What?” Vee straightened up slowly, uncertain that she’d really heard those words.
“I talked to some of the other atmosphere people about the U.N. team. I was wondering the same thing. Turns out that Grandma Helen pulled a whole set of strings to make sure whoever the U.N. sent up wouldn’t be able to do much in the way of actual investigation. She wanted all the glory, and all the publications and the money, to go to Venerans.”
Vee’s face flushed. Anger gathered in the back of her mind. The real work to the Venerans. That she understood. But there was plenty to go around. There had to be. Wanted to get a team that couldn’t do much…brought her up here not because they respected her skills, but because they suspected she lacked them. Just another pretty popularizer. Just another stupid face.
Vee’s jaw clamped down so hard her teeth started to ache. She stood.
“Vee…” began Josh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said without looking at him. Her gaze swept the room until it fastened on Helen Failia, who didn’t think she knew enough. Who didn’t think she could do this job and had her handpicked because of that.
Vee strode across the room, barely seeing where she was going.
Slow down, Vee. Slow down! This is not going to do anyone any good, especially you. She stopped in her tracks. Her chest had tightened, and she was breathing way too hard. Stop and think what you’re doing. You throw a fit now, and you’ll just be proving their point.
In the back of her mind she heard Rosa’s voice: “Be careful what you pretend to be.”
Vee turned away from Failia, hoping the woman hadn’t noticed her angry approach and abrupt change of plan. Evidently not. No one came up to her as she found an empty table and sat. The cameras were occupied; so were the other U.N. investigators, with each other and the cameras and with the whole wide cloudscape, and not one of them knew why they were here.