A Grey Moon Over China (69 page)

“Yah, okay, fine. Go see how long you can hold breath, then. You turn blue, I bet.”

“Here we go.”

Pham put the baby up to pat my face good-bye after I coupled the tail of the boat to Polaski’s ship, but she herself held back. The airlock groaned shut, cutting her off from view.

The suit was uncomfortable, but at least I could leave the helmet off for the time being. The air on the ship was rancid, and the deck was covered with trash. The ship was hot and quiet, with only the sound of the radios coming down the lift from the MI decks.

The lift wasn’t working. I couldn’t pull myself up the ladder while holding onto the helmet, so I had to clip it to my side.

One more step to remember.

Rung by rung I pulled my way up the sixty feet to the MI decks, listening to the radio conversation that crackled back and forth across the giant fleet.

“Targets still not maneuvering. Bearings on sixty-two percent of the drone ships still intersect the torus. Twenty-three minutes to full thrust . . .”

“Inter-flight coordination on, target bracketing for first pulse. Those suckers are going to run or melt this time, boys . . .”

When my head rose up over the deck, Polaski was looking at me. He sat in the command chair on the far side of the equipment island, drumming his fingers on the armrests with his gun within easy reach. His grey eyes watched me out of his pale face, unblinking, unconcerned.

I walked to the communications console before stopping to face him. I resisted the temptation to unclip the helmet again. The deck was filthy and badly lit, with lamps missing and console panels lying open. The work on them had been abandoned.

“I understand you wanted to see me,” I said.

“Not anymore,” he said. “You aren’t needed.”

“Was I ever?”

“You had your uses.”

I glanced down at the base of the communications console.

“I had uses until when?” I said. “Until you had your aliens? Did they give you a better excuse than I did to put your boot to the world’s throat like you always wanted?”

“That’s right, Torres. Your little mission wasn’t much use anymore then, was it?”

The radio crackled overhead. “Ready for general quarters, Mr. Polaski.”

He flicked a finger against the armrest. “Fine.” I was trying to calculate the distance to his gun when he glanced at my helmet.

“I keep wondering why you’re wearing your suit, Torres,” he said. “Has Colonel Pham been giving you ideas?”

When I didn’t answer he went on.

“You don’t have the balls, Torres. And anyway, you always want the same thing I want, don’t you? Anything I say is fine with you? That’s the real truth, isn’t it, Torres?”

Still I didn’t answer.

“I hear you killed your buddy,” he said.

“So what was it, Polaski?” I said, having decided on the distances. “Once you had your aliens you needed Pham and me out of the way? Or was it Carolyn Dorczak you were trying to kill in the landing dome that night, as a little favor to Allerton. Or maybe Roddy McKenna, who knew something that made you nervous? Who was it Allerton was bragging about being able to see through a dome from a million miles out, Polaski? And whose hand was on the switch of those masers you had him mount in your leased freighters, in return for the tritium shipments?”

His eyebrow rose. “You always were too smart, Torres.”

“Who killed McKenna, Polaski?”

Easy.

“But,” I said, “the attack on the landing dome only got people nervous, didn’t it? Not enough reason to attack the alien fleet, not yet. But the industries dome, now, that got your fleet off the ground for you, didn’t it? A few civilians dead? Amazing how nothing important was hit. That’s what gave you away, Polaski. That’s how I knew it wasn’t the same as the attack on Wallneck.”

I’d moved a step closer to the communications console.
Right foot, toe down. Ten inches.

Polaski laughed. “So you lied, didn’t you, Torres? That captive alien
didn’t tell Allerton about the Indian mines. You told
it
, and then you told Allerton. Bought yourself a little time, didn’t you?”

“That’s right, Polaski. FleetSys!”

Polaski straightened.

“Yes, Mr. Torres.”

“Modify authorization top-list—”

“Todd!” Polaski’s hand jabbed at his armrest. “Get—”

I slammed my boot into the breakers under the communications console, and drove them through the panel with a splintering of plastic; Polaski jerked forward in his seat, then stopped as he saw that the light over his microphone was dead.

“Yes, Mr. Polaski?” said Jacob Todd. Polaski didn’t try to answer, but glanced at his gun and then back at me. FleetSys’ smooth voice continued from the speakers.

“Your command is incomplete, Mr. Torres.”

“Modify top-list,” I said, “to allow attack authorization by me only.”

“What?”
Polaski got to his feet. “You do that, Torres, and you’ll authorize an attack with a gun in your ear. FleetSys, ignore him!”

“Stand by, Mr. Polaski. Mr. Torres, exclusive authorization will require the system administrator, or the administrator’s password.”

Polaski stopped at that point, then relaxed with the beginnings of a smirk on his face. He eased himself back into his seat. FleetSys needed its senior-most priest.

“The password,” I said, “is ‘Saint Catherine.’ ”

“Fuck!” Polaski snatched up his gun just as Todd’s voice crackled over the speakers again.

“Mr. Polaski, was there something I can do for you? You’re not responding.”

FleetSys interrupted them. “Password is correct, Mr. Torres.” Polaski had his gun in his hand and was edging his way around the console toward me. “Concurrence is now required by one other fleet officer. I believe only Mr. Polaski is available.”

Polaski stopped, while I stared blankly at the speakers.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

Don’t overdo it.
“FleetSys,” I said, “it’s Mr. Polaski I need to exclude.”

“No sir,” said Polaski. He smacked his revolver down on the console. “Too smart again, huh, Torres? That thing knows who’s in charge here.”

“Mr. Torres,” said FleetSys, “you may authorize the use of force, or you may demand a polling of top-list officers if authorization has already been given, but that is all.”

“No,” said Polaski, “I don’t think we want you pissing in the soup even
that much, do we, Torres? Look at you. And everybody always thought you were so good with this system, thought I depended on you. Now we’ll see.”

The radio squawked.

“Mr. Polaski,” said Stedback, “we’re going to have a pretty short window for this maneuver, so if you’ve got a reason not to be giving the go-ahead, you need to let us know.”

“Maybe he’s taking that nap, after all,” said Peeber.

“Stow it, Peeber,” said Stedback. “Todd, you’re number two on the list, so I’d suggest you call up your checklist now and be prepared to give the word.”

Polaski picked up his gun again and gripped it in both hands. His face had lost expression now and his voice was flat.

“All right, Torres, here we go. Open the front of your suit.” He motioned with the gun.

Not too far. Every second sealing it back up’s going to count.

“All right,” I said.

But far enough so it doesn’t look stupid when I reach in.

“Now the automatic,” said Polaski. “I know you’ve got it. Okay, put it down on the deck, push it away. Remember, Torres. I may put a hole in the skin, but I’ll still have time to get to another deck, and I’m going to empty this revolver into you on the way. There you go, nice and easy.”

Slide it as far as you can . . . there, over by the ladder. Can’t afford to trip on it in the dark.

“Okay, Torres, straighten up. Hands where I can see them. FleetSys!”

“Yes, Mr. Polaski.”

“Modify authorization top-list to allow attack orders by me only. No one else—no polling or any of that.”

“Your exclusive authorization will require the system administrator, or the administrator’s password, Mr. Polaski.”

“Password is ‘Saint Catherine.’ ”

“Password is correct, Mr. Polaski. Concurrence is now required by one other fleet officer. I believe only Mr. Torres is available.”

“You got that right.” Polaski brought the barrel around to point at my forehead. “He’s right here.”

“Mr. Torres?” said FleetSys. “If you wish to relinquish authorization, please state that fact in a complete sentence.”

“He wishes,” said Polaski. He fingered the hammer. “Don’t you, Torres?”

This is the hard part.

I took a deep breath.

“I concur in granting Mr. Polaski exclusive authorization to employ fleet weapons.”

Polaski’s mouth twitched and his thumb slid up to pull back the hammer.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Torres,” said FleetSys, “but your voice shows excessive stress. Please take your time and repeat your statement.”

Polaski’s eyes clouded and he leaned forward, his hands gripping the revolver more tightly than ever. Then a flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes, and he let down the hammer.

At least he’s figured that much out.

“Take it easy, Torres,” he said. “Just relax. But you’d better relax good.”

Yes . . . eyes closed, deep breath. Sun hissing off the ground, a pool of clear water . . . the rush of pebbles in a brook, a gate standing open, an airplane arriving over the jungle—

I opened my eyes to see Polaski watching me and the revolver pointed at my forehead, just as it had been twenty-five years ago on the island. It’s even the same gun, I thought; nothing has changed.

“I concur,” I said, “in granting Mr. Polaski exclusive authorization to employ fleet weapons.”

“Very well, Mr. Torres.”

“Good for you, Torres,” said Polaski. “And now I think we’re through.”

Yes. And now, Polaski, you’re the only one in the fleet who can give orders. Not me, not your minions. It’s a heavy burden, isn’t it?

Radios crackled in the background. Ten minutes left.

“Isn’t there something you’re forgetting, Polaski?” I said.

Buy time for one last rehearsal. Drop straight down, left arm back to the levers to seal off the deck, so Polaski can’t get off it. Two levers. Above-deck seal and below-deck seal. Four paces to the left—don’t slip on the gun—unclip the helmet with the right hand, take a deep breath.

“And what might that be?” said Polaski. He pulled back the hammer.

Left hand on decompression safeties—remember there’s three of them. That’s right, Tyrone, I owe you for all the blindfold drills. Then head down—he’s crazy enough to shoot blind. Final reach for the fire suppression panel and the air release lever. Thirty more seconds without air to get the suit fastened and the helmet on.

“You’ve forgotten,” I said, “that you can’t authorize anything if you can’t breathe.”

Simon says.

“And you can’t see in the dark.”

Deep breath.

“FleetSys,” I said, “turn off all lights.”

Polaski’s eyes widened and the gun wavered as he looked around. I tensed for the drop.

But nothing happened. Sweat gathered on my forehead and my legs cramped, but the seconds crawled past and FleetSys remained silent.

The gun came back around, and then FleetSys spoke:

“ ‘Stern awful lice,’ Mr. Torres?” it said. “Your words are not clear.”

I stood frozen in place. Heat spread through my bowels and nausea welled up in my stomach. Polaski’s hand shook as he pulled back the hammer one last time.

“Too clever,” he whispered. “Always trusting your machines, Torres, never getting your own hands dirty. Too bad.”

The barrel came up and steadied, and his finger tightened.

But with the blast that followed, he himself was thrown violently up against the bulkhead and twisted as he struck, then collapsed out of sight behind the console. His gun clattered to the grating, then into the MI bays below. I could no longer see him or the gun, but from his face in that final, brief moment, I knew that he was not alive.

The blast had come from the opening to the lift. Yet the deck by the lift was empty. Only my gun was there, though not quite where I’d left it, and now with a wisp of smoke coming from the barrel. And Kip’s flute, discarded on the deck nearby.

The ship was quiet. If it was Kip who had come, it was to disappear only moments later into the bowels of the ship. But why? Other than his flute he had left no sign of himself, no mark, as indeed from where I stood there was no remaining sign of Polaski, either. There was no sign of any person at all, except for me.

It was as though, in that one, final moment, Polaski and Kip had destroyed each other. Or, perhaps, as in some mysterious implosion of physics, they had in that one moment given up all illusion of substance, and had formed some new thing that I could not see at all.