Venturi

by S J MacDonald

  A distinctly nervous Roll’em performed the introductions. He himself had only ever met the Delanceys once before, shortly after the occasion of his election to the chair of the business association which had also made him president. He had been summoned to Aramis rather than invited, subjected to a brusque interrogation as to his familial antecedents, warned not to get ideas above his station and dismissed without the offer even of so much as a glass of water. Such arrogance was, Roll’em had been led to understand, a defining characteristic of the Founding Families. That and rapacious, insatiable greed. Meeting Davie had come as quite a revelation.

  It came as something of a revelation to the Delanceys, too. Puzzled, at first, by the absence of a retinue and the total lack of ostentation, they were also profoundly disturbed. Davie’s air of calm authority was something new to them in itself, as people meeting them were always, but always, overawed by their grandeur. But there was something very odd about Davie North, that sense of more-than-human intelligence and energies which could make him intimidating.

  He wasn’t being intimidating today. He was, indeed, being extremely courteous, sitting there quietly and allowing the Delanceys to have their say.

  This, they did, rather less forcefully than they had intended, but with determination.

  They did not wish, Ms Ruby Delancey informed him, to be confrontational. But they were, they had to admit, disappointed by the manner in which Mr Delaney had employed less than straightforward dealings to undercut their business holdings here.

  ‘We have always understood,’ she said, ‘that it is established etiquette amongst the Founding Families not to subvert one another’s holdings.’

  A silence and when Davie didn’t reply, her great-uncle yapped ‘We require an explanation.’ His voice might have been a deep commanding bark once, but now it had the thin, dry yip of an elderly Chihuahua.

  ‘An explanation…’ Davie said. ‘Very well.’ He steepled the tips of his fingers together, very much in the established academic manner, and his tone was that of a man giving a quiet lecture. ‘Two thousand three hundred years ago,’ he said, ‘a group of entrepreneurs on Chartsey committed themselves to funding the development of superlight travel. It took three generations and cost those entrepreneurs almost all of their personal fortunes, but in the end, they were successful. The first starships leaving Chartsey, therefore, belonged to those entrepreneurial families and their mission from the outset was one of exploration and trade. Also from the outset, it was established that newly discovered worlds would be offered the necessary infrastructure for them to become a space-faring, trading world themselves, along with hospitals providing modern medical care and universities to teach their people all that they needed to become a modern, independent society. Our constitution, founded by the first four worlds to forge alliance with Chartsey, states that intent in the opening words; The League shall exist as a trading organisation between free and independent worlds.’

  He could see that they were fidgeting, impatient with being told this, but that they were not going to interrupt him. So he continued without pausing.

  ‘It was at this point that the Founding Families re-committed themselves to the service of the League, to the upholding of its constitution and its future expansion, prosperity and security. In order to ensure that this commitment would hold throughout the ages, a system was agreed in which the head of each family would be responsible for directing activities, maintaining the heritage and passing it intact to the next generation. History has taught us, though, that dynasties rise and dynasties fall on their genetics. The direct line may fail through lack of children, or in-fighting may divide the family into competing branches, with coups and counter-coups. Genetics may also throw up weak, unintelligent heirs, easily corrupted and incapable of upholding the responsibilities of their inheritance. In order to avoid this the Families established that each head of the family must have a genetically screened heir. I can list every one of my ancestors all the way back to the Delaney who first funded superlight travel and beyond. And every single one of those generations has been raised to shoulder the responsibilities of that birth. If, by adulthood, they were unable or unwilling to undertake the duties of their birth-right then they were set aside to make way for a brother or sister to replace them. But I am proud to say that has happened only three times in the history of my family, only three times have we thrown up a reject. So every heir is bred and raised and judged and must be found worthy to inherit both the wealth and the great task that comes with it.

  ‘I myself…’ he looked at them with those eyes that saw right past silk and glitter and straight into their mean, shallow souls, ‘was bioengineered, my father’s DNA enhanced by quarian biologists to give me multi-cognitive intelligence and superhuman abilities. This was not done by my father out of arrogance or ambition. It was done because he saw the need for the League to have an ambassador able to represent them in our relationship with the quarians and potentially in future contact with other species. And this, also, is a responsibility I undertake willingly. At the same time, I continue the heritage of my family by standing ready to offer, always, the package of space-faring infrastructure, medical provision and advanced education that any people need to become modern, independent trading worlds. When investing in colonies or newly found worlds, it may be centuries before we begin to see any return on that investment. But that is the point, that is what we do, the Founding Families, the same as we ever have, investing in the future. I am not claiming that we have always got things right, that we have never made mistakes. But I can state, hand on heart, that every decision we have ever made has been in what those people believed to be the best interests of the League, of the people we serve.

  ‘And then,’ he considered them dispassionately, ‘there is you. Eight hundred years ago a branch of the Founding Families operated a siliplas refinery here in support of our operations further afield. A subsidiary of that company was tasked with providing sufficient water to the plant and its employees. At no time was any member of any Founding Family personally involved in this or any other operation here. At no time did any of them visit Lundane. The refinery and its associated supply companies were operated entirely by their board of directors. After the Retreat, the Founding Families wrote off all their assets on Lundane and we have had no further knowledge of them. Imagine my surprise, therefore, to find that a former member of that Board of Directors not only managed to secure all the water-mining rights across the system, but that her descendants are asserting some historic claim to be…’ a faint tinge of incredulity entered his tone, ‘actually a branch of the Delaney family. And this whilst conducting themselves in a manner which would cause any true member of the Founding Families to die of shame. Everything we do is about enabling growth and development. Everything you do is about stifling it. Everything we do is about giving to the people and the community of worlds we serve. Everything you do is about screwing as much out of your world as you can get. You are a vile parody of everything we are and everything we stand for.’

  They were starting to protest, now, a gabble of indignant noises rising to a point at which they couldn’t possibly hear what he was saying. Davie ignored this completely. They were not listening to him now, of course, but their aides were recording the meeting and they would get the message eventually.

  So he continued, his manner as calm and unhurried as it had been throughout. ‘I would advise you,’ he said, ‘in the strongest possible terms to cease and desist from making any claim of relationship to any member of the Founding Families at any time in our history. These matters are extremely easy to verify with genetic testing and our legal teams do not take kindly to fraudulent impostures. I would also advise you to think long and hard about your corporations’ future role in the development of Lundane, which is going to happen with or without you.’

  Then he got up, still speaking conversationally against their outraged protests.

  ‘And just to twist insult upon insult,
you can’t even get the etiquette right.’ His voice was pained, now. ‘Those costumes,’ he told them, ‘are ridiculous.’ And as he walked away, paused and looked over his shoulder, delivering his parting shot. ‘And I am not ‘Mr Delaney’. If you knew anything about the real Families at all you would know that only the head of the family uses the patronymic. As the heir, I am ‘Mr North’.’ He gave them a nod. ‘Good afternoon,’ he said, and left.

  Twenty Four

  Relief arrived from X-Base Sentinel a few days later in the form of a freighter stuffed with supplies and bringing them a million yill’s worth of tradeable cargo. It also brought notes from the Port Admiral, the Diplomatic Corps Consul and the head of LIA operations who ran the base between them.

  Though ‘notes’, Alex reflected, looking at the size of the files which had landed on his desk, was perhaps not the right word. ‘Missives’ had a rather more weighty thump to it.

  With a fair idea of what to expect, Alex decided that he would rather like a mug of coffee to hand as he plunged into what he knew would be very hard going. But he had not even got up to go over to the drinks dispenser in his daycabin before the door opened and Simmy whisked in. She had brought him coffee and a hot beef roll.

  She was right, he realised. He was likely to miss lunch. And it was a great choice, too, a real treat to see a familiar Fleet stand-by.

  ‘Thank you, Simmy,’ he said, with a smile which showed her how pleased he was with her efficiency and her thoughtfulness.

  Simmy grinned. It needed no degree of genius whatsoever to realise that the arrival of the freighter from Serenity would dump a ton of files on the commodore, or that this would almost certainly mean him skipping lunch. And the first thing Eldovan had ordered as the food supplies the freighter had brought aboard was the issue of hot beef rolls all round.

  ‘Pleasure, skipper,’ she said and went out feeling that she had done her bit, modest as it was, in keeping the commodore – and therefore the Fourth – at their peak for operations.

  Alex was glad of the coffee as he worked his way through the files. They were, by and large, much as he’d expected. Any Port Admiral would be having kittens, informed that a Fleet officer had dumped all their weapons at an uninhabited system and gone into Lundane like this. This particular Port Admiral was not going to be happy that Alex had bypassed him, either, when he would have expected to at least be informed about the commodore’s intentions. The tone of the missive from him was indeed indignant, reproachful, How can I possibly support you when I’m not even informed of your plans?

  At the bottom line, though, the Port Admiral evidently was willing to support him, confirming that relieving ships had been sent to the weapons-drop system and advising that further supplies and tradeable cargo would be on their way to Lundane to arrive there in two weeks.

  The Diplomatic Corps Consul, however, was in meltdown. There was no embassy at Sentinel, only a consulate with a senior attaché authorised to deal with such mundane matters as playing host to any important guests who passed through the base. He was in no way authorised or equipped to deal with any development on this scale and could only say, repeatedly, that he was amazed, that he had never imagined anything like this was even possible, to exhort Alex do to everything possible to foster diplomatic relations with Pirrell on behalf of the League and to assure him that he would get all the support he could want from His Excellency Ambassador Jilit-Defane-Tarancala.

  The memorandum from the head of the LIA was something else again. It wasn’t from the LIA, of course, no such thing as LIA headed documents. But it was from the ‘company’ which provided security services at Sentinel in one of those ludicrous situations where everyone knew that they were LIA, they knew that everyone knew that they were LIA, but they still absolutely refused to admit even that the LIA existed.

  Alex was not surprised by the hostile tone of the memo, which accused him of an act of unprecedented and incredible reckless endangerment of his ship, his crew and the security of the League. He was, however, surprised by some of the points which came later – the flat denial of any knowledge of the agent known as Mister, despite the fact that the Fourth had sent them holos, fingerprints and DNA. They would, the LIA chief said, have nothing to do with him.

  This, to Alex, meant either that they genuinely did not know that their head office had deployed this minor agent aboard their ship, which was perfectly possible given that field agents were only told what they needed to know and nobody could have anticipated the Fourth turning up here. Or, equally possible, that head office had sent out advisories to all their field offices telling them that if the Fourth had exposed their agent they were to deny all knowledge of him and refuse to be involved. Either way, he could look for no help there in getting Mister off the ship. Alex was starting to feel, irrationally, as if they might end up being stuck with Mister as a permanent prisoner, that nobody would ever be prepared to take him off their hands.

  Even this, though, was not as surprising as some of the entries on the long list of ‘security concerns’ the LIA chief had provided.

  ‘Kate?’ Once Alex had had time to read the documents and review the situation, he called a senior command team briefing, giving them the key points. And when the bullet point came up about Kate Naos, Buzz, Eldovan and Davie all exclaimed in disbelief.

  The LIA had put her on a watch list. Nothing all that unusual there, they would put people on a watch list for reasons so petty and paranoid it frequently beggared belief. But there were degrees of watch list, from the lowest ‘suspected of dissident affiliations’ to the highest ‘present danger to League security.’ This was a category only normally used for the most dangerous of terrorists. And this was the category they’d put Kate Naos onto.

  ‘Why?’ Eldovan demanded.

  ‘Because of her research,’ Alex said, ‘and the fact that she talks about it.’

  The LIA had taken the unusual step of telling Alex about all their security concerns as part of their effort to convince him to get his ship the hell out of Lundane, if it wasn’t already too late.

  ‘But…’ said Buzz and Eldovan together and then both gestured deferentially to the other, too, politely giving way.

  ‘She has, actually,’ said Davie, while they were still deferring to one another, ‘published it.’

  ‘Of course she has,’ Alex agreed. The Pulsus Theorem had been launched at Camae, with a presentation to that planet’s academic elite. Few of them had even pretended to try to understand it but all of them had wanted to be able to say that they were there, at the event which launched the new cosmology. ‘And they clearly don’t think she should have been allowed to do that even as an academic theory. But she is now developing the new engines on the basis of that theory and they believe that she will talk about that to any spacer or foreign agent who asks her what she’s doing.’

  ‘They don’t know Kate, then,’ said Eldovan. Kate would, indeed, talk for hours about her research, given the opportunity. But she would only do so with people on the ship, or the very few outsiders with the necessary security clearance. ‘This is an insult,’ she said, ‘to the integrity of one of our officers!’

  ‘I know that,’ Alex said, quite patiently. ‘I’m only telling you what they’re saying so that you are aware of the kind of thing that’s going on in LIA heads. And, in that light, here is the rest of the watch-list…’

  It wasn’t long before they saw their own names, to their stupefaction, amongst the forty three members of the Venturi’s company currently on various levels of LIA watch-list. Even Simmy was on it, as her close contact with the commodore and her relatively low IQ and educational levels were considered to put her at risk of ‘indiscreet communication both on and off the ship’. Eldovan had been red-flagged after what the LIA considered a profound change in her personality the previous year. She had, admittedly, been one of the Fleet’s most feared hard-horse officers, apparently devoid of even the slightest hint of human warmth. But then she’d been to Carrearranis, a
transformative and wonderfully liberating experience. The LIA, clearly, could not understand this and were apparently of the view that she’d either had some kind of mental breakdown or that she was on drugs. Either way, or for whatever other cause there might be, she was no longer trustworthy.

  ‘I see now, dear boy,’ Buzz observed, after about a quarter of an hour going through the list and the LIA’s reasons for fearing that each of those people represented a threat to League security, ‘I see why they felt it to be justified to plant an agent on us, even with the knowledge that he would almost certainly be exposed very quickly.’

  Alex nodded. ‘This has gone too far,’ he said. ‘A clash of organisational culture between us and the LIA is one thing, but this…’ he tapped the watch list. ‘We are going to have to do something about this.’

  ‘When we get home,’ Buzz agreed and Alex sighed, acknowledging that there was nothing they could do out here, on the frontier where the LIA would not engage with them at all. This would have to go very much higher, to the LIA HQ on Chartsey, to a conversation between the LIA, the Fleet and the Diplomatic Corps. And, very probably, involving the Senate, too.

  But for now, all they could do was accept the situation as it was, at least understanding now why the LIA on scene would have nothing to do with them. They were, evidently, afraid that even the slightest contact with the Fourth would lead to their operations here being exposed to the enemy. Even the slightest thread of trust between them had been snapped.

  And they were still, obviously, going to be stuck with Mister. A hopeful enquiry of the freighter which had brought them supplies got the same answer as the others. They were not equipped for housing an E6 category prisoner and could not undertake to do so.

  ‘Mako…’ Alex asked the League Prisons Inspector to call into his daycabin later that day to discuss a potential, if desperate, solution. ‘I was just wondering…’