He did not tell Mister that it had been his recommendation that such shoreleave visits were made mandatory for prisoners in Fourth’s custody. When he had first arrived aboard the Minnow, himself, to inspect their facilities and procedures, he had been so ill-informed as to be using a checklist intended for underground custodial facilities, in which the prisoners were entitled to a certain amount of open air ‘sunshine time’. Mako could still remember the looks on their faces when he had asked the Fourth’s officers what kind of provision they made for that on a starship. But when they had visited their first slimeworld and everyone else was taking the opportunity to get off the ship and go for a walk, Mako had seen that this would satisfy that requirement and had recommended that prisoners should be given the same ‘off ship’ entitlement as was available to crew.
So, there they were, having to take Mister to the surface of a planet where he did not want to go, for all of them, his escorts and his cordon, to spend five hours in a place where they didn’t want to be either.
It was not, admittedly, the most enjoyable of shoreleaves. They had popped up a four-berth dome on the second planet, initially for Mister’s visit, though it would later be used as a toxic materials store.
‘Oh, very funny,’ he snarled, seeing that they’d put Toxic Hazard notices on the outer door.
‘That’s not meant for you,’ Luce was escorting him, the Fleet Intel officer with all the necessary skills to handle the LIA agent if need be, with Mako tagging along and a security cordon of six people who were, for this occasion, wearing the huge mirror-surfaced combat suits the Fourth had developed to scare the hell out of people in their boarding operations. ‘The hut is going to be used as a chemical store, after.’ She led him into the interior, with that and gestured hospitably. ‘All yours.’
‘All’ was not very much. The survival dome was in its most basic configuration, with the self-inflating furniture which appeared when the dome was popped out of its high pressure casing. It was effectively just a big tent, constructed of airtight and insulated materials and so designed that any idiot could put it on a planet, pull the tab and stand back. Seconds later, rock bolts would fire into the ground and the dome inflate itself, with materials which hardened on exposure. It still looked pretty flimsy though and inside was so compact it was hard to imagine how four people could live here in comfort. There were only two bunks for a start, inflated like the sofa in the lounge area and the worktop and units in what would be the galley. Power and life support was provided by a separate unit, just as easily installed.
So there was life support, a rather harsh central light, pressurised atmosphere, tolerable temperature. But nothing else. They had asked if he would like any games or leisure facilities brought to the hut for this and he’d told them what they could do with their ping-pong table. So it was, indeed, completely empty.
‘You are not,’ he said, ‘leaving me here.’
There was an edge of panic in his voice. This, he knew, was exactly the same kind of dome in which Jermane Taerling had been marooned, alone, waiting for the Fourth to come and pick him up. The base that they were making for themselves here was on the other planet. It seemed perfectly obvious to him that they were setting up this dome to be the kind of isolation unit where the LIA put prisoners they didn’t want anyone to know about. And Mister knew very well what kind of things might go on here, away from the all-pervasive monitoring systems aboard the ship. He was standing there then, almost at bay, refusing to move any further into the room.
‘Nobody,’ Luce said, ‘is leaving you here. Why would we? The base here will have a tough enough time as it is without inflicting you on them.’
‘Luce…’ Mako said patiently. He’d had quiet words with her before about her forthright manner crossing into derogatory tone, inappropriate from guard to prisoner.
‘Mako…’ Luce echoed back at him and regarded him with just as much studied patience. ‘He is LIA,’ she pointed out. ‘If this situation was reversed then this room would have a hot-questioning chair, right there.’ She pointed to the middle of the hut, ‘which they’d strap a prisoner into with medics standing ready to overdose him with a cocktail of drugs and teams of agents ready to question him remorselessly for days, days, until they’re sure they’ve got every scrap of information that they want out of him. We, on the other hand, are taking him for a nice walk and a nice cup of tea. So I believe that an occasional remark about what a total pain in the backside he is isn’t that unreasonable, okay?’
Mako didn’t argue about it, not because he agreed with her but because he recognised a brick wall when he ran his head straight into one and because it wasn’t good policy to disagree in front of the prisoner, either. And he had to admit, she spoke a language Mister recognised, with her brusque contempt rather more reassuring to him, obviously, than Mako’s own helpful explanations and leaflets on prisoner rights and custodial policy.
Not that even that was sufficiently reassuring to convince Mister that they really didn’t plan on leaving him here. Suggestions that he might remove his survival suit to make himself comfortable and enjoy the picnic hamper they’d brought for him got a sneering refusal, ‘What kind of idiot do you think I am?’, which Luce observed that she was really very self-restrained in not responding to as it deserved.
Five hours passed very, very slowly and Mister was far from being the only one relieved when the ordeal came to an end.
He was the only one on the ship, though, other than Chamlorn Lady Ursele, who did not enjoy shoreleave. Lady Ursele herself declined, gracefully, the opportunity to visit a dead and airless planet, but she encouraged her attendants to go. Having made the momentous decision to leap beyond their own atmosphere, the attendants had recognised even before they set out that they could not take their fear of ‘outside’ out there with them, or they would be paralysed with dread. So only those who’d been able to overcome their fears had been allowed to accompany the chamlorn and in that, learning to cope with such a strange and hostile environment would be good experience for them before they got to Lundane.
So the attendants went first-footing, watched the base under construction and enjoyed such first-time fun as seeing how high they could bounce in the very low gravity and virtually non-existent atmosphere.
Even Alex took some time to go for a walk, taking some time off by himself. And he ended up standing on a cliff top watching the uninspiring dawn, the dim glow of the star barely sufficient even to cast faint illumination over the surface. It was a melancholy place and he was not sorry when the time was up and he could return to the bustle aboard ship.
Very soon, the base was ready. The Fourth had learned how to do this at Oreol, working with Excorps to set up an expedition base there. There were three of the thirty-berth type domes, connected in a triangle, one for work, one for living, one for leisure. They were in the work dome, in the office which some wit had adorned with a sign reading Port Admiral Bonatti. Bonny had already made it her own, with holos and knick-knacks on display. Forty two people would be remaining here under her command, three of them civilian members of the Second who’d opted not to go to Lundane so long as their research gear could be brought to the base for them to continue working here. They would be on their own for as long as it took Lionard’s shuttle – already dispatched – to bring back Fleet support from Sentinel. All of them, technically, had volunteered for this, but only when they had been asked if they were willing to do so.
One of those staying behind was Ali Jezno. He had wanted so much to go to Lundane that it was like a physical blow when Eldovan had asked him if he’d be one of the remainers. Lundane was one of the ‘must do’ systems for any spacer, the only system where you could meet other spacers from beyond the border. The potential for story gathering was immense and Ali had been very much looking forward, too, to getting up on the bar in one of Lundane’s most famous spacer hangouts. Instead he was going to be stuck here, in a dark system with nothing to do but keep counting crates of guns and m
issiles.
He was making the best of it, though. As Eldovan had pointed out, they needed a chief petty officer with his technical expertise to maintain the life support and systems at the domes. And his story-telling would be a lifeline, in those dark, empty, lonely weeks until relief arrived.
So he was doing his duty, over in the leisure dome, for the off-duty crew who’d gathered around him for some comfort as the Venturi prepared to depart. It wasn’t one of his major stories and nothing spooky, either, not when the mood here was already downbeat and the environment more than spooky enough in itself. But he was telling an anecdote, one of the ‘Sub-lt’ stories which were part of the Fleet’s culture and tradition. Any story which began There was this Sub… was guaranteed to end in a punchline and even people who’d heard the stories many many times before would anticipate it, starting to laugh even before it was given.
Ali had chosen one of the more light-hearted Sub stories for this occasion – an account of a Sub-lt who was said to have turned out in response to an alert totally naked under their survival suit. Ali worked this up with suitable humour up to the point where the skipper pointed out that the Sub was unsuitably dressed for the command deck.
‘At which,’ Ali concluded, ‘The Sub said…’ he gestured encouragingly to his audience like a conductor and they joined in with him, chanting the punchline, ‘It’s okay, skipper, I’ve had this dream lots of times.’ Then they laughed.
All the same, it was a forlorn group who stood watching the Venturi cruise away from the system. And some of those on the destroyer were looking back with equal regret.
Shion, to her dismay, had been obliged to leave Firefly behind. All of the fighters were being left there and Alex had not made any exception for Firefly. Even with guns and missiles stripped off, it was unmistakeably a fighter in design and he would not risk anything that looked like it might be a weapon. So Firefly, Shion’s beloved fighter, so much a part of her that it was like an extension of her body, was left parked on the planet as the now denuded destroyer cruised away, unable even to fire a salute to the system as they had no guns left to fire one with. Had it been for anything less than supporting her aunt at Lundane, Shion would have stayed there with the fighters, no question. And it was apparent to Alex, even then, that she was torn.
‘I am sorry,’ he said quietly, seeing that Shion was having to make some effort not to allow herself to well up with tears.
‘No – it’s ridiculous to be so attached to a machine,’ Shion said. ‘And stupid to feel that my wings have been taken away.’ She rallied herself. ‘I can still fly shuttles.’ And then, even more desperately, ‘And flying isn’t the be-all and end-all of everything, after all.’
‘It is for you,’ Alex said. A day when she couldn’t take Firefly out for a flight was a day wasted as far as she was concerned, and any prolonged period where she couldn’t take the fighter out would leave her feeling caged and restless. She handled it well, never let it affect her apparent morale or other professional duties, but Alex knew well enough how she felt. ‘We will,’ he promised, ‘find you something to pilot at Lundane, all right?’
Shion gave him a grateful look. ‘You don’t need to, I’ll be fine. But… thanks, skipper.’
They were only five days from Lundane by the most direct line, but they swung around a wider arc so as not to make it obvious which direction they’d come in from. So it was four days later and still two days out from Lundane itself, when they moved into a shipping lane. And, just forty minutes later, met their first ship.
Nineteen
Never had a freighter been more avidly stared at than the Great Maw.
It wasn’t great at all. It was just a common or garden little whalebelly, trundling along with its hull-nets full of cargo and a tow-container chained on behind. It was heading for Lundane, an independent tramp freighter hoping to make a killing there with the cargo they had brought to trade. Like many such freighters it was quite old and shabby, nothing special about it whatsoever.
But it was the first ship they had seen since leaving Serenity, which had been nearly six months ago. And it was a League ship, too, as evidenced not only by its ID but by the robust manner in which it hailed them.
Shorn of its fruitier epithets, the greeting from the freighter consisted of, ‘What the bleep are you doing out here?’ and ‘Where the bleep are your guns?’
It was no good, after all, removing your cannon unless you showed that you’d removed your cannon. So the outer pyramid-shaped ports which would normally conceal them had also been removed. This destroyed the clean smooth line of the hull, with ugly pock-mark cavities all over it. Their pride in their beautiful ship and its powerful weaponry was in tatters, but the Venturi’s crew still had some dignity.
‘We lost them,’ Eldovan responded, on behalf of the destroyer, ‘in a poker game.’
This was a Fleet joke and would be understood as such by any spacer. The Fleet did not allow their personnel to carry any goods for sale as they travelled from port to port and they would, officially, come down very hard on anyone violating customs duties, too. But it was astonishing how many crew went groundside wearing inordinate quantities of jewellery and with pockets stuffed with ‘personal items’ which they no longer had when they came back aboard. And the answer, to any officer dumb enough to ask what had happened to all the stuff they’d had on them earlier, was always, ‘Lost it in a poker game.’ So the answer, as well as humorous, also conveyed don’t ask, we are not going to tell you.
‘But what are you doing here?’ the freighter’s skipper demanded, after a spluttering riposte to that. ‘Weren’t you going to Quarus?’
That had been what everyone assumed, of course, when the Fourth had made their way from Cestus to Serenity and then cruised off into the Gulf. Without actually lying to them, the authorities had certainly not disabused the media and public of that opinion. They had merely said that the movements of warships were not subject to media disclosure.
One of the points, in fact, which Alex had considered in the planning for this mission had been the reaction from spacers astounded at finding them at Lundane. Spacers were smart and it would not take them very long to pass things through the grapevine. Very soon, there would be spacers out there who knew what date the Fourth had left Serenity and what date they had arrived at Lundane. And while the media would fudge that, as required under Defence of the League legislation, there was no power in the cosmos capable of stopping spacers putting two and two together for themselves and talking about it. So it had to be physically possible for the ship to have got from Serenity to Lundane in the time between those dates, or spacers would spot at once that there had been something very weird going on.
As it was, that wasn’t a major issue – Trilopharus’s moving them around might have brought them closer to Lundane, but the month they’d spent at the Library and the circuitous Van Damek up and over Marfikian territory had made it plausible for them to have come there directly from Serenity. They would have had to run dark all the way and run fast, too, without stopping anywhere for supplies, but it was at least technically possible for them to have done it.
‘Damn,’ Eldovan responded. ‘You mean this isn’t Quarus? I said we should have turned left at Serenity!’
This established first that Eldovan wasn’t taking any nonsense from cheeky freighter skippers and that the Fourth had no intention of explaining themselves. But they were friendly with it and sent over the customary gift-box. This, rather to the bemusement of the freighter crew, included, besides the usual fresh fruit, cookies and candy, a supply of mushroom steaks and three different kinds of cabbage. The galley had rather over-estimated demand for the Library Special and they still had quite a lot of the vat-grown mushroom and cabbage in the catering supplies.
‘Be careful with the sauerkraut,’ said the Sub delivering the gift box and waved an expressive hand in front of her nose. ‘Very gassy.’
They cruised on, leaving the freighter waddling in their wa
ke, still calling out questions to them as they moved out of range.
They had seen many more ships before they reached Lundane. It was a busy port and there were only two routes used to get to it – the Terris-Lundane route on the Marfikian side and the Sentinel-Lundane route on the League’s. Terris had ended up, perforce, the biggest trading port in Marfikian space, with every cargo and passenger going to Lundane going through them. The ‘three worlds only’ rule that the Marfikians enforced made for a complex logistical network. Cargoes had to be transferred from one ship to another and all of it piled up at Terris. So the Terrins operated a fleet of freighters which did nothing else but shuttle back and forth between their world and Lundane. They had hundreds of such freighters, government owned, with a distinctive livery.
But there were, too, rather more discreet vessels. One of the facilities the neutral port offered was the opportunity to switch ID, with an appropriate paint job as required. This was officially sanctioned, with the League Embassy at Lundane issuing documentation to approved ships so that they could make their way over the border.
The Venturi met one of these on their own run in to Lundane. It looked just like any other freighter with its slightly scraped paintwork and League ID, but any spacer would spot the tell-tales that this was not one of their own. No League ship, for a start, had used that type of airlock-hatch closure system for more than a century.
It was, of course, an intelligence vessel. It would be going to X-Base Sentinel and then, almost certainly, make its way over to Cherque for a look at the League’s defences there. The LIA had to allow this, as it was government policy to allow Prisos and Arak to send such reconnaissance ships into their space, under a reciprocal deal in which their own agencies were allowed to send observation teams across the border. The system worked just the same the other way, after all, with LIA and Fleet Intel ships able to get Terrin ID.
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