Vyyda Book 1: The Haver Problem (22 page)

             
“They feel like…life.”

             
Dorsey nodded, pondering the notion.

             
“The sky is really blue?” he asked, hopefully – the first time that tone had escaped his mouth since boarding the Selphen.

             
“It can be very blue.”

             
“How does that happen?”

             
“The…refraction of light.  Sunlight through the atmosphere.”

             
“The sun.”

             
“Yes.”

             
“The sun makes all the difference, doesn’t it?”

14.

Berlin

Le
opold Doone had waited as patiently as he knew how for a full hour at the bottom of the steps leading to LesenFalver Hall.  One of the first structures erected in the remaking of Berlin following the close of mass migration, LesenFalver had a classical flavor in its design.  Although that was a style that fell out of favor soon after (nobody could decide what things ought to look like in this newest age of man), LesenFalver was already functioning as the center of regional government activity.  Much easier to let it remain.

             
When the four Bureau R-SoT’s carrying Hallistonians arrived in Berlin, Doone overheard that family members of the hostages would meet with officials at LesenFalver.  Already an afterthought in the crisis management activities, the agent from Luna wasted no time in getting there.  There was a chance he could blend in with the family members and enter LesenFalver as part of the group.  Half an hour later, the family members – escorted by members of HSPB-Earth – arrived.  Doone never had a chance.  The citizens of Halliston were whisked past him, into the building. 

             
A more prominent arrival followed minutes later – the only family member from Halliston not compelled to travel with the rest of the group:  Mikal Sulltrone.

             
Sulltrone’s signature white hair, combed straight back, his small stature and penetrating eyes would have made him recognizable to most Earthers.  And, if Doone had any doubts as to the man’s identity, the surrounding entourage and bodyguards sealed it.

             
Special treatment afforded the fifty-five year old Sulltrone came as a result of his special contribution to Earth.  He was the owner and chief genius behind Sull-Strand, the “most trusted name in space elevators” the world over.  Sull-Strand produced most of the lifts that graced the major cities of Earth.  Interestingly, Sull-Strand was also responsible for the three space elevators operating just outside of Halliston at Advanced Disposal Conglomerate.  Granted , they were older, secondhand units, but they were Sull-Strand just the same.

             
Doone was hardly able to get the words, “Mr. Sulltrone” out of his mouth before one of the men surrounding the magnate pushed him aside and hurried his boss inside LesenFalver.

V              V              V              V

              Cilla Sulltrone had been the one name on the list from Haver that took HSPB officials immediately by surprise.  Cilla Sulltrone was the one name they recognized on sight.

             
Nineteen, schooled in Paris and Berlin (mostly Berlin), Cilla was the youngest of three daughters born to Mikal and Grendel Sulltrone.  So prominent a family in Earth’s social and industrial firmament caused a stir when they relocated quite abruptly to Halliston, of all places.  A highly unconventional move.

             
Mrs. Sulltrone likes the tranquility of Halliston and its surroundings,
was all that they couple would offer in the way of an explanation.  Hallistonians got even less than that.  Virtually no interaction occurred between the family Sulltrone and their neighbors.

Leopold Doone had once caught sight of
Cilla Sulltrone as a young girl.  He’d been twelve or thirteen at the time and made the trip with his parents to the celebratory opening of the newest engineering marvel of post-mass migration Earth:  The Sull-Strand Berlin Lift Field.

The old Berlin space elevator facility was out of date.  An embarrassment.  The urgency to create something truly striking had grown more intense with the recent switch of world capital from London (who no longer wanted or could support the obligations) to Sydney.  It wasn’t supposed to go that way.  Berlin had been the odds-on favorite.  Nevertheless, when the GLB votes were counted, Sydney won.

What could help bury the humiliation felt throughout Berlin?  The largest, most sophisticated lift field on Earth, of course.  Two hundred sixty separate lifts, all of the new Sull-Strand model:  Pentra-646.  It made the most efficient use of magnetic propulsion to date, improving on travel time to docking stations by nearly 48%.

Thousands of Berliners turned out that day to witness the christening of Mikal Sulltrone’s creation.  As announced to the crowd, the event happened to coincide with young Cilla’s seventh birthday.  She was named ‘Pentra Princess’, adorned i
n a dress of gold.  As she was hoisted to the makeshift stage fronting one of the space elevators, her father stood beside her, coaxing the people in attendance to greater applause as she waved and smiled.  Royalty had long been an arcane concept on Earth, but the spectacle on that day was not unlike a regal ceremony.

What Doone didn’t see
at the event – couldn’t have seen from his fairly distant vantage point – was what came next:  the disappointment of a seven year old girl.

The special guests
who joined Cilla and Mikal Sulltrone on the stage could have seen it if they’d looked.  These luminaries included the mayor of Berlin, two GLB representatives from the region and a particularly popular local footballer.  Each had a prepared speech.  With every separate testimonial praising the Sull-Strand field, Cilla drifted further back in the shuffling pack of bodies onstage.  This was no celebration of her seventh birthday.  She, her special day, the crowd’s applause and dress she wore were all props in the celebration of space elevators.  Even the young girl could see that.

All that Doone knew about Cilla Sulltrone any longer was one of eleven on a list – a list which increasingly appeared to be credible.

V
              V              V              V

              The temperature in Berlin was unusually low for March. In ages past, mankind was at the mercy of natural forces.  Now, with the mastery over elements, climate controls could have rendered the city far more comfortable.  The general rule in Berlin was to “goose” the temp slightly once March began.  Yet on this particular day, the powers-that-be chose not to do so – in fact, it was even a few degrees colder than one would expect for the dawn of spring.

             
As a result of the weather, the street cafes within view of LesenFalver (which would have been filled with patrons enjoying breakfast were things warmer) remained quiet.  Only a few stalwart souls had braved the chill, sipping hot beverages.

             
It wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that this was the point of keeping things frigid in Berlin.  There was no need for curious onlookers at or near LesenFalver as the family members of the Halliston eleven met with officials.  Nevertheless, Leopold Doone remained in place, keeping vigil over the area through which all the principles in the crisis would have to pass once their meeting was over.  There was nothing else for him to do.

             
Doone had taken to gazing down the street where, at the far end (perhaps half a kilometer away), stood the sole remaining landmark of old Berlin:  The Brandenburg Gate.  London had kept its Big Ben, Paris its Eiffel Tower.  Christ the Redeemer still stood in Rio, the Trevi Fountain remained in Rome and New York had been able to keep the Chrysler Building.  Token reminders of an era gone by.

             
“Carnage!”

             
Doone spun from his view of the iconic gate toward the sound of a voice approaching from the opposite direction.

             
“Carnage!” the shout came again.  Two figures were running down the street, toward LesenFalver – one chasing the other. 

             
As the first of the two young men scampering down the street came within thirty meters of the steps to the government building, the clear signs of an attempt to stifle laughter filled his face.  He was perhaps seventeen or eighteen – a Berliner, judging by the clothes.

             
“Damn you, Will Carnage!” the second individual – also a teen – was closing.

             
Before Doone could make a move toward the pair, a husky figure rushed past him, took up a spot on the sidewalk and thrust a shoulder into the midsection of the lead runner.  The spurts of laughter were instantly wiped from his face as the young man had his body thrown backward and onto the ground.  The second teen came to a rapid stop, eyes wide.

             
“The two of you disappear in the next thirty seconds and I don’t take you into custody.”

             
It was one of the HSPB-Earth agents who had delivered the blow and was now barking out an ultimatum that received immediate compliance from the two kids.

             
Once the pair were well on their way, the agent turned to Doone.

             
“Doone?” he asked.

             
“Yeah.”

             
“You’re with me.”

             
“What?”

             
The agent didn’t offer any clarification.  He started away from LesenFalver and in the direction of the Brandenburg Gate.  Looking over his shoulder and finding that Doone was not close behind, he stopped and turned.
              “Now.  Let’s go.  Commandant Leach wants you.”

             
That was all it took.  Doone moved, closing the gap and joining the broad-shouldered specimen, hurrying away from LesenFalver Hall.

15.

Fair is Just a Word

The Selphen had completed the final displacement jump to a spot within reach of Haver.
  The larger body – planet IB6 – between the Selphen and Haver, a gas giant, kept their presence a secret.

Caroline noticed
Dorsey staring idly at the deck before him.  The bruise on his face where Stovall had struck him had swollen a bit. 

             
“We have quite a while to wait,” she told him, trying to sound considerate.  “There’s a bunk that slides out if you want to sleep.”

             
“Several more hours to wait for what?”

             
“I’m not sure yet.  They were still determining a response when we left to find you.  Or…to find Bankenshoff.”

             
“If those Earthers are really on Haver, there is no response.  They’re good as dead.”

             
“Maybe.  And maybe we have a few things on our side that might help resolve it with survivors.”

             
Dorsey shrugged with indifference, climbed out of his seat and moved to the bunk, puzzling over how the trigger mechanism worked.  Caroline let him struggle for a moment (wouldn’t it make him feel better to figure it out for himself?) before moving aft to offer a hand.

             
As the bunk began to slide open, Dorsey spoke:

             
“They’re not really going to let family members of those hostages come to Haver, are they?”

             
“I don’t know.  Honestly.”

             
“Because that would be catastrophic,” Dorsey said, settling onto the bunk.

             
“Some of the parents won’t be willing to let their children go without a fight.”

             
“You think they’re prepared to fight what’s on Haver?”

             
“I meant fight in a more general sense.  Make an effort to get their kids back,” Caroline said, a little irritated at Dorsey’s indifference.

             
“I see,” Dorsey replied.

             
“Any real fighting to be done…that’s for Bureau agents.”

             
“Like you and your partner?” Dorsey asked.

             
“Yes.  More or less like us.”

             
“Mmm.”

             
“What does that mean?”