Power Lines (29 page)

Whittaker gave a bark of laughter. “I wouldn’t have wanted to go on that trip! And I don’t think Matthew won any points by insisting on flying them over the equator. Turbulence was fierce, and neither Nexie nor Bal like their innards disturbed any more than the indigestion their fancy foods give them. Speaking of which, did you notice what was being unloaded from the shuttle for their delectation?”

Marmion made a grimace, which then became a hopeful grin. “Yes, and the chefs who’d know what to do with such provender. Take no offense, Sean, Yana, because I
have
enjoyed the unusual tastes and texture that only Petaybee can provide, but I’m likely to be the only one, bar Whit here, who would. Terribly spoiled the others are as far as their palates are concerned.” Then she frowned again. “Did you notice, too, Whit, that
all
Matthew’s boys look absolutely pooped? He’s had them running around night and day. Poor Braddock Makem looks transparent. Does he never let people have time off?”

“Where’re yours, Marmie?” Whit asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.

She winked. “I don’t work them half as hard, but they find out twice as much. And,” she said on a sigh, “we’ll need every smitch of help we can find with Farringer the tiebreaker.”

Adak burst through the door. “He’s dead!”

“Who’s dead?” everyone demanded simultaneously.

“That smelly Shanachie Howler!”

“Of what?” Sean asked.

“Smelling himself in a MoonBase cubicle, probably!” Yana quipped.

“Nah! Not a bit of it.” Adak shook his head and waved his hands in his excitement. “Get this! He was done in by the same thing as killed Lavelle!”

Yana locked eyes with Sean.

“There’s more, too!” Adak was almost spitting in his effort to get the second message out. “Satok had . . .” He turned his eyes to the roof again and recited, “An atrophied node in the cerebellum, only four hundred twenty-three grams of brown fat, and all his vitals was poisoned. Soyuk Ishunt, Clancy Nyangatuk, and Reilly also had atrophied nodes and poisoned organs.”

“Was the node in Howling’s case mentioned?” Sean asked.

Adak looked down, wrinkling his leathery brown face in deep thought. “Hmmmm . . . think it was, but it wasn’t atrophied none.” He took another breath. “And they’re sending some special medical equipment down. CAT scanner.”

Yana couldn’t help inhaling at that news and glanced at Sean for reassurance. He cocked an eyebrow in response, but his unworried attitude and relaxed posture still did not relieve her fears that his shape-changing abilities would somehow be revealed by scanning.

On the other hand, Marmion burst out laughing. “One thing sure,” she managed to gasp out, “there isn’t one built to accommodate Clodagh Senungatuk!”

That observation did provoke chuckles, and the tension in the room went down a few notches.

“But that’s probably the only good thought I can express,” Marmion went on, “as Nexie’s a biochemist and has”—she paused, her expression darkening—” ‘other methods’ more intrusive and certainly unpleasant.”

“We’ll see about
that
,” Whittaker said, his eyes narrowing. “Neither Clodagh Senungatuk nor Sean Shongili have committed any crimes against Intergal regulations. Even this house arrest is farcical. Intergal cannot subvert CIS civil rights except in circumstances of armed conflict, and Clodagh’s squirt bottle doesn’t appear on any list of weaponry I’ve ever seen, modern or ancient. Adak, you still got the secured channel?”

“Ah, hmm, well . . .” Adak looked wildly around the room at everyone except Sean, but somehow saw the brief nod.

“C’mon then,” Whittaker said, urging Adak to the door and laying an arm across the man’s shoulders as they departed. “Be back in a nano.”

Marmion looked considerably more cheerful. “Let’s hope he can get a message through all the static to the proper authorities. At first, I thought the pilots were just saying that to be obstructive. But it’s real now. Do you know what’s causing so much interference, Sean?”

“Sure,” he replied good-naturedly. “Atmospheric anomalies and the stratospheric turbulences caused by the crustal activity with some vigorous sunspots.” Then he paused and creased his brows a little. “Coaxtl told Nanook that the ‘home was changing.’ According to Bunny, Coaxtl also told that to ‘Cita when she was in her charge. But none of the track-cats, nor Clodagh’s, for that matter, are the least bit worried.”

“They never are,” Marmion said wryly.

“Oh, they have been,” Sean replied in mild reproof.

Marmion leaned forward, resting one hand lightly on his forearm. “How does she—”

She broke off at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Whittaker and Adak returned, neither looking very pleased. Whittaker almost slammed the door.

“Could barely get the call letters out clear enough to be recognized,” Whittaker said, frowning with frustration. “Message was short and maybe too sweet for the kind of action we might need to have available. Got hold of Johnny, too, and asked him to send next time he’s above turbulence. Damned planet’s messing us all up, and we’re the ones trying to
help
!” He turned on Sean, who seemed unaffected by the communications failure. “Boy, how long can you live on a space station with no immunity?”

“Four, five days.”

Yana felt her heart skip a beat and surreptitiously placed one hand over her still-flat belly. How could he announce his life expectancy so calmly?

“Clodagh?”

“Same, but it won’t come to that, Whit. Believe me.”

Dr. Whittaker Fiske cocked his head toward his right shoulder, planted both fists on the belt that circled his thin waist, and demanded, “If I could believe you, Dr Shongili, I’d sleep a lot easier, and so would all your friends.”

“Believe me, and that’s bankable!”

“It is?” Marmion perked up, her fiscal senses alerted.

“Look.” Sean splayed one hand, folding a finger down for each point he made. “We’ve got to prove the planet is sentient? We can and we will! We’ve got to prove that it’s in the company’s interest to let the settlements remain because they can prove economically profitable, though not necessarily as predicted from the original surveys. We’ve got to prove that our ways”—and he gestured to Adak, Yana, who managed a little smile at the compliment, and out the window toward Clodagh’s house—”protect an environmental entity from abuse and misuse in the best interests of itself and the company which awakened it.” He nodded at Whittaker. “We also have to prove that the charges of malfeasance, misconduct, insubordination, and fraud, which Matthew Luzon’s about to level against some of us and/or the entire population, are as ludicrous as Shepherd Howling.”

“And smell just as bad,” Adak added with a sharp nod of his head.

“Sacre bleu!”
Marmion exclaimed. “We’re not asking for much, are we?” Then, sighing, she shook her head slowly from side to side. “We got a lot of heavy metal men against us in that crew Matthew’s brought down.”

“But they’re on
our
turf,” Sean said with one of his most charismatic and enigmatic smiles.

“And Matthew’s doing his best to predispose them against Marmie and me because we’ve been so obviously ‘taken in’ ”—Whittaker made the bracket signs with his hands—”by the natives.”

“Indigenous personnel, Whit, please,” Marmion said in mock petulant correction. “However, I can prove readily enough that I haven’t lost my wits or been mesmerized by local shamans.” She rose. “I shall demonstrate
that
this evening.” She gave a little chuckle. “I happen to know that Bal and Nexie lost a few trillions on an enterprise which I”—and she placed one hand with elegant grace on her chest—”had the good sense to forgo. So we’ll leave you.” She linked arms with Whittaker and led him out of the house. Just at the door she paused and looked back over her shoulder at Sean, her lovely eyes anxious. “You’re positive, Sean, that neither you nor Clodagh are in danger of being removed from this planet?”

He nodded, smiling. “Positive!”

When the door closed on the two, Yana and Adak turned on Sean.

“Positive?”

“Positive!” he said, but his mouth had a particularly grim set as he said it.

15

To her amazement, Marmion de Revers Algemeine found that her taste had altered during her weeks on Petaybee. The elaborate and extensive array of courses set before the committee members at dinner that evening—an evening fortunately free of tremors, shudders, or shakes—did not suit her palate, much less her mood. She really
did
prefer the simpler, sharper tastes of Petaybean foods: a rabbit stew would have been far more satisfying than the overly subtle coulis, sauces, and dressings that accompanied each dish. She saw Whittaker making as slow a progress through the banquet as herself, but at least she could cry off on the grounds of watching her diet.

Matthew and Torkel cleared every plate, bowl, and platter set before them, but Marmion slyly noticed that like her own three aides, some of Matthew’s pretty boys were less than enthusiastic about the rich food. Chas, Bal, and Nexim had no problems, though twice Bal called the head steward over to make muttered complaints and reject a dish after one bite. Maybe his new stomach was developing the same ulcers the old ones had, Marmion thought to herself. A body could have certain dispositions no matter how many parts of it were replaced with functional substitutes.

She did have a chance to obsequiously inquire of Nexie’s latest investment projects. That gave her a chance to make a passing reference to the Omnicora Steel Venture, which she had decided was not properly based to make any sort of a profit back on the original investment. She had raised her voice just enough for Matthew to overhear her comments. That would remind him, too, that she had lost none of her acumen. She discussed with Bal the possibility of investing in one of his schemes, which she had recently investigated, though she pointed out one or two organizational problems that should be addressed before she could consider the project. By the fleeting expression on Bal Emir Jostique’s face, she had hit the very weak points he must have discovered. That should take care of
that,
then, if Matthew chose to call her gullible.

She was exhausted with smiling and waxing charming by the time she and Sally could leave the “gentlemen” to whatever it was gentlemen insisted on doing without female company in this stratum of interplanetary society.

“Any luck, dear?” she asked Sally as they both made for their quarters in the wing of the livid yellow building.

“We may need more than luck, dama,” Sally said with a sigh. “Dr. Luzon has got some twists that a Spican contortionist would envy.”

“Ah, but we knew he would.”

“My report’s on your desk, but I really think, ma’am, you need a good night’s sleep more. Bad news keeps.”

“Thank you, dear. I’ll take your advice only if you’ll take it yourself.”

Sally sighed, for the first time since the start of the tedious dinner party allowing her own fatigue to show, and nodded. “I think I’d best if I’m to be sharp up to the mark tomorrow for you. At least, we have all our
facts
in hard copy and not innuendos.”

“Sleep well, then.”

Others did not. And, later, both Faber and Millard, who had stayed on as courtesy required, admitted that they had not seen the discreet accord that must have been reached during that interval by Matthew, Torkel Fiske, Bal Emir, and Nexim Shi-Tu. They knew that the four must have made a deal during that time, because not even Luzon would have dared to take the draconian measures that followed without the support of Fiske and the other two board members. Marmion blamed herself for having taunted Bal, but she had been pursuing another course of action entirely.

At midnight, the several shuttles that had brought the other commissioners from their separate capitals silently lifted from SpaceBase on their assigned missions. None of the crew or troopers had ever heard of Petaybee before, though what they’d seen of it hadn’t impressed them at all. They’d had no rest or more than a hasty meal of hard rations while they erected the detention cells that had been sent along at Luzon’s request.

As soon as the soundproofed, windowless two-by-one-meter cells had been erected in one of the empty storage facilities, the shuttles took off for their destinations. Squads had trank guns and orders to use them if any of the detainees resisted arrest. They were also ordered to secure local felines, with a bonus for each one caught.

“Whaddaya think they want cats for?” muttered one enlisted man, only to be sharply reprimanded by his troop leader: “If
they
want cats, they get ’em.”

The shuttles separated to pick up their passengers at the Vale of Tears. Ascencion was collected, and Lonciana and her husband were dragged out of their beds and barely given a chance to clothe themselves. Loncie protested as loudly and vehemently against such an unwarranted intrusion as only a former chief petty officer could, demanding to see the detention order, while Pablo gave quick and decisive household instructions to Carmelita. At Kabul, Shanachie Chau Xing was collected; at Portage, one of the newer settlements, an irate McDouall swore eloquently that, if this was the sort of cooperation Intergal wanted on Petaybee, they’d had the last of his! At Savoy, they made three pickups: Luka, the outspoken woman, and the man, identified as Eamon Shishmareff, who had been so uncooperative in helping Luzon and Torkel Fiske get across the coo-berry forestation. Fingaard and Ardis Sounik were collected from Harrison’s Fjord. It was there that a trooper got a lucky shot into an orange cat and, throwing
the stunned carcass over his shoulder, grinned at the thought of the bonus he’d get.

“You
shot
Shush?” The Harrison’s Fjord woman was too indignant to be cowed by the huge trooper.

“Jeez, lady, I just tranked him,” the trooper said, backing a step away from the woman, who was nearly as tall as he. But he didn’t interfere when she removed the limp cat from his shoulder, she cuddled it in her arms on the way back to SpaceBase and glared at him the entire trip.

Another shuttle picked up the Connellys—father, mother, and Krisuk—at McGee’s Pass; Liam Maloney, still visiting at Deadhorse Pass; and then the shanachies of Little Dublin, New Barrow, and Mirror Lake. The third started at Tanana Bay, went on to Shannonmouth, where they collected Aigur and Sheydil, and got to Kilcoole before the fastest cat had had a chance to get halfway there.

Since Adak was among the first taken and the cats had scattered when pursued, Clodagh, Aisling, Sinead, ‘Cita, Yana, and Sean were caught unprepared.

“Major Maddock, to you, Lieutenant,” Yana had protested furiously, wrapping the bed quilt around her while Sean swung his feet over the side of the bed and unconcernedly pulled on his pants and boots. “Now get out of here while we dress.”

“Orders, ma’am, not to let you out of my sight.”

“About face, Lieutenant, and I’m not kidding!”

“Neither am I,” he said, shifting his weapon threateningly. But to avoid her scathing glance, he stared straight forward, as if at attention.

“Okay then, fine, have it your way, you prurient bastard,” Yana said. She stood up and dropped the quilt, straight and proud in her nakedness and inordinately relieved that she was now accustomed enough to the Petaybean temperatures that her flesh did not rise up in embarrassing bumps. Sean moved between her and the offending soldier, but she was not mollified.

“We’ll meet again, Lieutenant, under other circumstances,” she said softly, and had the pleasure of seeing him flush.

Sean did nothing but stand, leaning slightly in favor of his good leg, between her and the guard, but only when she had pulled on the dress uniform she had folded so carefully in the back of the small clothespress did he drop back beside her to clasp her hand. Then, silently, they were escorted outside.

Outside, the predawn morning was brooding, fog sitting on the sun to keep it from rising to brighten the sky. Suddenly, from the edges of the buildings visible, a black and white bolt flew past.

“No, Nanook!” Sean shouted, and as the troopers, all eager to claim the cat bonus, turned to find their target, they were rewarded with a snarl of such malice that, hardened though this squad was by encounters on many strange planets with many strange beasts, they looked anxious.

The lieutenant recovered first and detailed half his squad to fan out and see if they couldn’t get a shot at the creature. Out of the corner of her eye, Yana saw the slight smile on Sean’s face. No one was likely to catch Nanook. Coaxtl?

She would have been at Sinead’s, guarding her person, ‘Cita. Yana fretted over that as they passively followed their guards to the shuttle. She could also sense that everyone in the village was awake and watching. That was all they could do with such a superior force.

When Yana saw the range of her fellow captives, her heart sank. Clodagh was as composed as usual, even though she was surrounded by nets of her potions and salves and medications. Hadn’t witch-hunts gone out three centuries ago? Yana wondered numbly. Sinead looked furious, lips tightly compressed, while tears ran down Aisling’s face, making her oddly more appealing than ridiculous. ‘Cita was terrified and clung to Bunny, who had taken her cue from Clodagh and was holding her head proud. Adak looked frightened, as frightened as probably everyone else felt. He had always been the one in the know, the community’s link with the base, as well as being a responsible company employee. Now he was just another ip, an “inconvenient person,” as Bunny called herself and her fellow Petaybeans. Poor Adak seemed to shrink in on himself when he saw first Yana and then Sean pushed into the shuttle. Then he seemed to gather himself and twitched his shoulders to sit more erect on the hard metal
seat.

As Yana was pushed down, she wondered if Diego, Frank, and Whittaker—naw, they wouldn’t
dare
remand a company director, would they?—were missing from the roll of those Matthew considered dangerous dissidents. Then a large male body crowded in between herself and Sean. Looking around, she saw that every Petaybean was separated from another by a trooper—a big, heavily armed trooper.

She grinned broadly. What a backhanded compliment.

“Wipe that grin off your face,” the nameless lieutenant ordered.

“Son, I outrank you and I’ve five times as many first-drop bars as you do,” Yana said, sounding quietly amused but putting commander-steel in her voice and narrowing her eyes at him. “You can barge into my private quarters and arrest me without due process, but by all that’s holy, don’t you dare try to deny me the right to react to this whole ridiculous operation!”

The lieutenant, all too aware that she had outfaced him once before and determined not to let her get under his skin again, laughed. “Nothing’s ridiculous about this operation and you’d better start believing it now . . . Major!”

“You mean, it isn’t ridiculous that it took two squads of heavily armed non-Petaybean troopers transferred from Omnicron Three, Plexus-Four, and Space Station One-Thirty-One to arrest unarmed citizens of a backward, lowtech world?”

With a snarl, the lieutenant had gone as far as drawing his hand back when a voice from the cockpit abruptly ordered him forward.

Yana was proud that she had not so much as tensed to take the imminent blow and that her smile had stayed in place. No one spoke, of course, neither Petaybean nor alien trooper, but ‘Cita and Aisling stopped weeping, and Clodagh’s lips turned up just that little bit.

The moment the shuttle took off, Yana’s courage seemed to leak out of her and fear pressed against her guts. She noticed that Clodagh’s smile vanished and her lips were set. Bunny, too, looked more apprehensive. It wasn’t until the shuttle landed a familiarly short distance away, where the heavy fog was pierced by a great quantity of bright lights of the kind employed only at SpaceBase, that her courage returned. Ah, but she was once more in touch with the planet. Somehow, some way, as yet inexplicable, the planet
was
aware: and Yana saw that Clodagh’s smile had returned.

Yana’s apprehensions returned, doubled, the moment they were marched out of the shuttle, which had landed right by an anonymous block of temporary housing. Though it was hard to see more than a few feet beyond her, Yana could tell from the only glance she had time for that they were at the far end of SpaceBase. It wasn’t that large a facility by company standards, but being at the far end would place them at an awkwardly long distance from the administrative area and any help from Marmion Algemeine or Whittaker Fiske, if he was still at large.

Inside the building, bare corridors were brightly lit, and lined with doors, depressingly close together. That made this, she thought glumly, a temporary detention center: small cells, no amenities, and no communication between the reluctant residents.

A sergeant with a clipboard merely pointed a stylus to the right and they were led that way. Yana was thrust in the second room, and the door closed behind her with the odd thunk of a noise-proofed construction. A single strip of bright lighting, a blanket, a toilet, and a washbasin completed the furnishings. The temperature would have been chilly to those accustomed to space stations, but Yana was comfortable in it. Score one! She used the toilet, washed her face with her hands, and dried herself on one edge of her blanket. She took off her boots, tunic, and pants and laid them neatly on the rough carpet, then rolled up in the blanket and told herself to go back to sleep.