Vyyda Book 1: The Haver Problem (21 page)

             
“Been to Haver more than once?”

             
The agents were all stunned at the revelation.

             
“That’s right,” Moles said.

             
“How?”

V              V              V              V

              The answer from Belisch Moles didn’t lead agents anywhere new.  If fact, as his interrogation continued, other HSPB personnel were already involved in closing the Advanced Disposal Conglomerate compound.  They’d determined it was the only reasonable way for the Halliston eleven to have broken the bonds of Earth.

             
The space elevators were immediately powered down, despite the loads of waste already aboard, putting off a sickening stench.  The dozen agents involved in securing the location took to wearing gas masks to keep from retching. 

             
The head of the company, Noah Shepherd, was taken into an underground control room, free from the aroma, and immediately questioned.  His son, Trewn, was one of the eleven Earthers on the list from Haver, the one Moles had all but confirmed as ringleader of the group – small leap, considering the space elevators were operated by his father’s company.

             
The small room from which the lifts were launched left little space for the trio of agents to operate, but they forced Noah Shepherd into the furthest corner from the control panel.  He sat on the floor, at their direction.

             
“Your son is one of the citizens supposedly now on Haver,” the lead agent said.  It wasn’t a question, more of an accusation.  Noah Shepherd, tall and slender, with a neatly trimmed beard and thinning hair, gazed back at his inquisitor, unflinching:

             
“I know,” he said.

             
“And your space elevators…”

             
“He never had clearance to use them for any purpose,” Shepherd asserted.  “This is a business.  Passengers are strictly forbidden.”

             
“Yet these eleven managed to get off Earth somehow.”

             
“Right.  And they used the space elevators on my compound.  But that’s a long way from having my permission or help.”

             
“Time will tell.”

             
“Do you want to know about my son?  He’s a rule-breaker.  An immature, self-indulgent disappointment.  I say left, he goes right.  He lives by his own code and…I suppose he always will.  You want to know about how these facilities were misused?  Find
him
.”

V              V              V              V

              Leopold Doone arrived at the ADC compound around the same time Noah Shepherd was taken underground for questioning.  The smell began to affect him profoundly before he could reach the gate where a pair of lower-ranked HSPB agents – foot soldiers, really – stood.  He held up one hand, acknowledging the agents (who had the benefit of gas masks) but came to a stop when he reached shouting distance.

             
“Agent Doone.  From Luna,” he called out to the masked agents at the gates.  They waved him forward, but Doone resisted.  “Are you concentrating the efforts here?”

             
The two agents looked at one another, not entirely sure what Doone meant.  One shrugged and the other shook his head.  No point in going any further.  Doone retreated from the scene, one arm over his nose and mouth to keep as much of the stench away as possible.

             
He turned up a short time later in the middle of Halliston, looking for any signs of Bureau presence.  A pair of agents escorting a distraught woman past clusters of curious onlookers provided Doone what he was seeking.  The woman was led toward a row of four Bureau R-SoT’s (Regional Sub-orbital Transports) just a hundred meters from the center of town. 

             
Hallistonians not directly involved with the crisis had increasingly gathered in the area – the closest thing to a community “zone” in town.  They clustered around the landmark that commemorated the spot where Halliston had been founded decades earlier:  a polished piece of North American granite – sent as a gift from one of the newer towns on that continent – forged into a perfect orb, more than ten meters in circumference, with rust colored flecks hidden within a green-blue pattern.  It was erected at the precise center of town – down to the half-meter.  Moreover, the leading figures in Halliston decided to add their own touch, an outer layer of glass, encasing the orb.

             
Balanced on a golden base, the “monument” devoted to a decade of peaceful, fruitful life for Hallistonians made something of a thud at its dedication.

             
“What does it mean?” was the question most frequently asked both those in attendance.  The question continued to be asked fifty years later.

             
More citizens, guided by HSPB agents, were taken past the center of town and toward the R-SoT’s.  Whispers followed each addition to the group being placed aboard the Bureau vessels.  They were family members of the eleven and, because word had not been officially released, the general populace of Halliston was only now discovering which families were “involved”.  Neither prisoners, nor honored guests, each of the Hallistonians taken aboard R-SoT’s were led gently, but assuredly to an imminent departure from town.

             
The final citizen to be taken onto one of the vessels was Belisch Moles.  Despite the promise that he would not be punished, his hands had been shackled.  Flanked by four agents, Moles lowered his head to avoid facing any onlookers.

             
Amid the flurry of departures, Leopold Doone attempted to join in the process.  Unfortunately, the agents of HSPB-Earth could only ask why Luna had sent him along.  Their focus was confined to the gathering of family members of the Halliston eleven and the Bureau man from the moon was just getting in the way. 

             
It was only with prolonged pleading – and an assurance that he was assigned to get to Berlin – that Doone was granted a spot on the final R-SoT.  He sat opposite Belisch Moles.  Everyone else on the craft seemed to have a purpose, some task which needed to be completed quickly.  Moles and Doone remained seated for the duration of the trip, looking occasionally at one another, but neither speaking.

13.

A Souvenir

             
Caroline would have been gratified to learn of the indifference shown to Leopold Doone by HSPB-Earth.  As much as she tried to focus on the issue at hand, her assumption that Doone was in the thick of preparations for Earth’s response to the crisis had gotten under her skin and wasn’t going anywhere soon.  The contrary nature of the “expert” she’d picked up – despite his contributions – only made it harder to concentrate.

So distracted was Caroline with unproductive thoughts that she
almost didn’t catch the sight of Dorsey Jefferson moving furtively to one side of the cabin, going down to his knees and returning quickly to the seat in which he had been instructed to remain.  She spun just in time to see him slip something in the pocket of his red molka warmer.

             
“What was that?”

             
“Sorry?”

             
“What did you just do?”

             
“Nothing.”

             
“You put something in your pocket.  You stole something.  What was it?”

             
“I didn’t steal a thing.”

             
“Let me remind you,” she said, “we have control of this situation.  You’re not leaving this vessel until -- ”

             
“We’re within our rights as agents of HSPB to kill you for attempting to steal Earth property,” Stovall cut in.

             
“Agent,” Caroline said softly, but sternly, holding up a hand.  She returned her attention to Dorsey.  “You may not think it’s important, but everything on this craft is extremely sensitive.  We can’t just allow you to take a souvenir.”

             
“A what?”

             
“A souvenir.”

             
“I don’t know what that is…”

             
“Bullshit, he doesn’t.”  Stovall was up from his spot in the cockpit and lifted Dorsey from his seat before Caroline could move to stop him.  Stovall backhanded Dorsey across the face, knocking him to the floor.  Searching every pocket of the molka warmer, he eventually extracted what Dorsey had stashed there:  the apple stem.

             
“What is it?” Caroline asked, craning her neck to see.

             
“Apple stem,” Stovall said, quietly surprised.

             
“An apple stem?  How did it…”

             
Stovall shrugged.  He handed the stem to Caroline and took his place back in the cockpit.  Dorsey, a small cut beneath his right eye, climbed up from the floor.

             
“That’s a spetcher for you,” Stovall murmured.

             
Caroline’s head spun toward the cockpit, a look of horror on her face. 
Did Zachary Stovall, non-Earther, “half-spetcher” actually say that?
Caroline couldn’t process the idea.  Her silence eventually drew Stovall’s attention.  They simply looked at one another.  Even if he had apologized or tried to take back the epithet, it wouldn’t have mattered.  Not really.  A line had been crossed.  The conflicted expression on Stovall’s face seemed to indicate that he knew it.

             
“Are you alright?” Caroline finally said to Dorsey, who had managed to get back in his seat.

             
“Yeah.”

             
“What did you plan to do with this?”

             
“Nothing.  I don’t know.  Just…have it.  It’s an organic, isn’t it?”

             
“Yes.”

             
“We don’t have anything like that out here.  Maybe you’ve heard.”

             
“There’s a reason for that,” Caroline said.

             
“Do you think that makes it easier for people out here?”

             
Caroline was determined to not be coaxed into a debate:  “It’s not up to me.”

             
Dorsey shrugged.  About what he expected.

             
“If you had gotten away with this,” Caroline said, holding up the stem, “and anyone found out…there would be consequences.”

             
“Fountains,” Dorsey replied.

             
“Right.”

             
“For whom?”

             
“You…and me.”

             
Dorsey raised his hands, surrendering the point.  “Great.  You got it back.  Job well done.  I acted impulsively, but you got it back.  Yes?”

             
“Yes,” she said softly.  “No more impulses.  Please?”

             
“Sure.”

             
Nothing was said for more than ten minutes.   Caroline sat in the cockpit, beside Stovall.  Not so much as a look passed between them.

             
“Can I ask you something?” Dorsey said, breaking the long silence.

             
Caroline turned, waiting for what had to be an angry, accusation-laced query.

             
“What’s it like?”

             
“What’s…?”

             
“What’s it like on Earth?”

             
Caroline, taken aback by the question, didn’t immediately react.  She had to realize that anyone in Dorsey’s position – a lifelong citizen of U-Space – would automatically assume that a pair of HSPB agents would be of Earth.  Naturally. 

             
She looked at Stovall who, this time, looked back.  There was something wistful in his expression.  Maybe they were all three to be pitied, as members of the human family who hadn’t ever stepped foot on the home planet.  Maybe it was worthwhile to tell Dorsey Jefferson things he wanted to hear. 

             
“It’s beautiful,” Caroline said.

             
“What do plants…feel like?”

             
“They…there are different kinds.”

             
“I know that.  What do the pretty ones feel like?”