The Omega Expedition (29 page)

Oddly enough, my fascination with my namesake was something I’d only ever mentioned to one other person — not, as it happened, Damon Hart, but Diana Caisson.

“You have to go back now,” was all she said in reply, as she shoved me out into the darkness. “I’ll try as hard as I can to get permission to tell you everything, but I daren’t go ahead without. The situation’s too tricky.”

“It’s okay,” I told her. “I dare say we can make up a few stories of our own in the meantime.”

Twenty-Four

Charity

I
had gone into the darkness a victim, but I came back as the only man who had met the enemy. I was the new star of the show.

“They don’t seem to have the medical facilities to fix us up properly, so we’d better be extra careful in future,” I told the others when they crowded round me, putting on a display of being concerned for my welfare. “This dressing is early twenty-first century and the anesthetic is beginning to wear off already. These are codeine — that’s an ancient morphine precursor.” I showed them the bottle of pills, but didn’t mention what Alice had said about maybe having something better available tomorrow.

“I didn’t know it was you,” Solantha Handsel said, yet again. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know,” I said. “It could have been anyone. There’s a lesson in that for all of us.”

“What did you find out?” Niamh Horne cut in. “Where are we? Earth?”

“There is absolutely no possibility that we’re on Earth,” Lowenthal was quick to say. “They’re simulating Earth-gravity for deceptive purposes. How could anyone on Earth have the knowledge necessary to hijack a Titanian spaceship?”

“How could anyone else?” the cyborganizer came back.

All of which deflected sufficient attention away from me to let me shuffle through the crowd, heading for the door of the cell from which I’d emerged. “My head’s pounding and I’ve lost more than a litre of blood,” I muttered, harshly. “I have to lie down.”

That helped to refocus their attention. “Tell us what you found out first,” Lowenthal said, in what might have passed for a polite tone if he’d been a better actor.

I decided to keep my hand hidden, for the time being, on the grounds that the few cards I held might look a bit more impressive when I’d worked out how best to play them.

“I didn’t find out anything much,” I told him. “She says she wants to tell us everything but needs permission — she wouldn’t say from whom. She says she’s trying to protect us, but won’t say from whom. She says that she’s trying to prevent a war, but reckons I don’t have the imagination to understand who might be fighting it or why. The only solid fact I know is that her name’s Alice.”

“Alice?” Lowenthal queried, with an almost imperceptible sneer of disbelief, as he tried to get around me so that he could block my path to the doorway.

Surprisingly, Christine Caine stepped casually into
his
path and practically shoved him out of my way. “As in Wonderland,” she said. “Madoc needs to rest. You can all leave him alone until he feels better, okay?”

It was sheer amazement rather than politeness or caution which kept Solantha Handsel from felling Christine with a casual blow of her fist, but Lowenthal was much quicker on the diplomatic uptake. He turned on Niamh Horne as if she were the one making difficulties. “Christine’s right,” he said. “There’s no hurry. Madoc needs time to recover. We can save all the questions till later. I think we ought to eat, if we can figure out how to work this antique equipment. Do you know how to do that, Christine?”

“Figure it out for yourself, asshole,” was her reply to that ploy. She shepherded me into the cell and shut the door behind her. “Are you okay?” she asked, anxiously, as I climbed back into the lower bunk. “You did lose a lot of blood — and pills aren’t going to help.”

“I’ve bled before,” I told her. “Thanks for that.”

“We freezer vets need to stick together,” she told me. I hoped fervently that it was true. I understood why she was trying to forge an alliance. She was as fearful as the rest of us, although she didn’t want to make her terror too obvious, and she knew only too well that she was the remotest outsider in our little company.

She came closer, and leaned over so that her head was only a few centimeters from mine. “Are they listening in on us?” she asked.

“Of course they are,” I murmured. “No matter how ancient this place is, or how recently our captors moved in, they’ve had plenty of opportunity to wire it for sound. Unfortunately, the pirates are probably the only ones listening in. We can’t know for sure that they flushed out
all
our IT, or why, but they wanted to make as certain as they could be that none of us was carrying bugs capable of signaling our whereabouts to the outside world. Horne’s external implants may have all kinds of talents we don’t know about, but my guess is that our friendly neighborhood kidnappers are the only ones who can hear us.”

She nodded. “So who’s our friend and who’s our enemy?” she wanted to know. “Just give me your best guess,” she added, as an afterthought.

“I wish I knew,” I said.

Perhaps there was something in my tone that I hadn’t intended to put into it, or perhaps she wanted to do her level best to convince herself. At any rate, her eyes narrowed slightly and she said: “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not dangerous. Not to you.”

“We freezer vets need to stick together,” I reminded her. “If you do feel an overwhelming urge to kill someone…”

It wasn’t a sensible move to try to make a joke out of it. I knew that it wasn’t a joke, and so did she — but old reflexes can be hard to control. She couldn’t contrive a laugh, but she managed to keep on smiling. “Are we in any worse trouble now than we were before?” she wanted to know.

“That’s a good question,” I muttered. “Probably, but possibly not. If the enemy of our enemy is our friend, we probably have a few friends somewhere — but until we figure out who our enemies are, we won’t know where to look for them.”

“Lowenthal and Horne don’t seem to like us any better than they like one another,” she observed. “They don’t even seem to like Adam Zimmerman, although they came a long way to welcome him home.”

“True,” I said. “But something happened back on Excelsior when they first came face to face. That was when Horne started talking about somebody playing somebody for a fool. They don’t trust one another and they don’t trust Davida. Bringing us here doesn’t seem to have been part of Alice’s plans — I got the impression that she’s as much a victim in this as we are, although she and some mysterious companion are trying very hard to be players. I think the hidden players let us wake up because they want to see how Horne and Lowenthal carry their quarrel forward — which is something we need to be interested in too, if we’re to have any chance of figuring out what we’ve been caught up in. All we can be sure of is that whatever plans the sisterhood and Lowenthal’s bosses might have had for us have gone up in smoke. Lowenthal’s not going to like that — bureaucrats always panic when things go awry around them, because they know they’ll have to carry the can whether they were at fault or not.”

“Who actually gave the order to bring us out of the freezer, do you think?” she asked. She’d obviously been doing some hard thinking along lines not dissimilar to the ones I’d been following.

“I don’t know,” was the only reply I could offer her. “I thought at first it had to be Lowenthal’s people, because I thought Ahasuerus had to be in the Cabal’s pocket, no matter how much they might pretend to be a law unto themselves. I’m not so sure now — but whoever originated the order to wake Zimmerman, they didn’t do it for his benefit, let alone ours. No matter what conditions he laid down when he launched the Foundation, they’d have let him rest in peace forever if their hand hadn’t been forced. Now he is back though, and everyone knows it, he’s valuable. He may be the has-been to end all has-beens, but he’s still a potent symbol of the world that was parent to this one. If waking him up was system-wide news, the news that he’s been kidnapped will generate even bigger headlines. If Alice’s Wonderlanders wanted attention, they’ve got it — but if this really is a hijack, Niamh Horne’s people will stop at nothing to find out who stole their beautiful spaceship. When they do, the thieves will have hornets buzzing at them from every direction. Given that they already seem to be arguing among themselves, this business could get
very
messy.”

Christine nodded. “Anything else I should know?” she asked.

Now it was my turn to hesitate. I knew that I couldn’t trust her, no matter how hard she was working to build a common cause between us, but there were things I couldn’t figure out, and she had lived through an earlier period of history. I dropped my voice even lower to say: “What kind of people were being frozen down in twenty ninety, do you think? In those days, you had to be a murderer, right? Or a volunteer?”

“I guess so,” she said. “Why?”

“Alice says that she’s older than us,” I whispered. “That means she was in the freezer for more than seven hundred years — maybe as long as eight — before they fished her out three centuries ago. It’s the only real clue I’ve got as to who snatched us, and I can’t make head nor tails of it. That and
charity
.”

“What?”

“Charity. I was in a storage unit. Most of the stuff stowed in there was newly imported, but some wasn’t. The only word I could make out on the old stuff was
charity
.”

I didn’t really expect a response, but I saw her eyes light up with inspiration. There was nothing false or grudging about the smile that creased her face now. “Shit,” she said. “Is
that
where we are?”

I put my finger to my lips immediately, fearful of whatever listening devices the Wonderlanders had planted. “Very softly,” I said, meaning the way she had to whisper it in my ear. “And don’t tell the others just yet. First, we need to figure out whose side we’re on.”

She had just enough time to tell me what Charity was before the knock on the door sounded. It seemed more apologetic than insistent, so I nodded to indicate that she should let the visitor in.

She opened the door cautiously, then stood back to admit Mortimer Gray. He was carrying a bowl, a spoon, and a water bottle, all of them molded in plastic — but not the uninspiring gray stuff that made up the walls. The bowl and spoon seemed to my admittedly uneducated eye to be modern. The water bottle was unsealed.

“It’s only flavored gruel, I’m afraid,” he said. “Guaranteed nutritionally adequate for your kind, however — and we managed to master the microwave oven, so it’s warm without being desiccated.”

“What about me?” Christine wanted to know.

Gray was too polite to answer, so he just gestured with his full hands to remind her that he only had two of them.

She went out, nursing her secret fondly. She closed the door behind her, with ostentatious carefulness.

Twenty-Five

History Lessons

C
hristine feels that she ought to look out for me,” I explained to Mortimer Gray, as I sat up and took the bowl. “We’re both way out of our depth here, and she thinks we need to stick together. I think the broken nose brought out her maternal instincts. People used to have those, you know — the plague of sterility didn’t wipe them out overnight.”

Gray nodded, as if he understood perfectly. He put the water bottle down on the mattress and hesitated, waiting for an invitation to remain. I inferred that he’d been delegated to get what answers he could from me, on the grounds that I seemed to be less hostile to him than to the other contenders.

“You don’t seem very worried,” I observed. “Lowenthal, Handsel, and Horne are all putting on a tough act, but underneath they’re as scared as poor Davida, if not as terrified as Christine, Adam, and I. You’re not — or are you?”

“If you’re looking for evidence of a conspiracy between our captors and me,” he said, having obviously decided to speak plainly, “you’re looking in the wrong direction. I’ve been in mortal danger before — twice, in fact. It’s surprising how quickly one learns from such experiences. Admittedly, I hadn’t had my IT stripped out on either occasion, but I was rescued both times by the same person. Somehow, I can’t seem to escape the conviction that all I have to do is wait for her to come and get me again. I know it’s absurd, but that doesn’t prevent me from being grateful for the feeling of security.”

“Emily Marchant,” I said, remembering the research I’d done in what was fast becoming an alarmingly distant past. “The way I heard it,
you
rescued
her
the first time.”

“That’s the way others tell it,” he agreed. “But I was there.”

“Emily Marchant is Niamh Horne’s boss,” I observed.

“Not true,” he said. “That’s not the way things work in the Confederation, or on Titan. Emily’s very keen on progress, and that makes her a political animal, but she’s not part of any hierarchical power structure.”

“So it wasn’t her who blew up the Earth?”

His eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t explode at me. “No,” he said. “It certainly wasn’t. You seem to be obsessed with the idea that the solar system is about to be plunged into a war, Mr. Tamlin. Did Alice really tell you that a war is imminent?”

“Since you last told me that war is unthinkable,” I pointed out, “we’ve been hijacked by people pretending to be aliens — or maybe aliens pretending to be people pretending to be aliens. According to Alice, their reason for doing it is to try to avert a war that might already be inevitable. So I think I can be forgiven for sticking to what seems to you to be an unreasonable conviction.”

I took a mouthful of warm gruel. After the terrible stuff we’d been fed on Excelsior it tasted pretty good. I’d eaten worse kinds of wholefood in my youth.

He thought over what I’d said. “I can see how you might reach that conclusion,” he conceded, eventually.

“Of course you can,” I said. “You’re a historian. You know what kind of world I come from. What I can’t see is how
you
could cling to any other conclusion, given our present situation. No matter how firmly the Earthbound are stuck in the mud, Lowenthal has to figure that the war started ninety-nine years ago, and that he’s now in the thick of it. Since Niamh Horne’s pet spaceship staged that fake emergency we’ve all been living in interesting times. I can see how a historian might find a certain delight in that prospect — but you’ve been drafted to the front line, and if I were in your shoes I wouldn’t be making any assumptions about other people respecting my noncombatant status.”