“You should go back to Venture,” Kevin said.
Carson’s stomach tightened at that. He didn’t need her on his ship as a constant reminder of why he’d lost what he’d lost. He heard Jaswinder laugh.
“You think I should give up, that we should give up? Matt wouldn’t like to hear you say that. Besides, I think we’re making progress.”
“No, Jaswinder, I think nothing of the sort. But the mind works in strange ways. You need a change of scene. Perhaps simply working in your own lab would help. You’ve done marvels already. Tanner and I were at the end of our rope until you showed up.”
“He’s right,” Tanner agreed. “We had all but given up. However, pushing Haida Gwaii into hyperspace as she is will destroy her.”
Carson had to agree with that supposition. Everything he’d learned in his training and as a pilot said that such an attempt would end in disaster. One needed symmetry, and one need the hull to withstand the shock of hyperspace entry. No matter how they played with the field nodes, they’d never get a strong, stable, symmetrical field. Though how they expected to accelerate such a mass to entry velocity defied his ability to conceive of it. The fuel such an attempt would require staggered his imagination.
Silence, except for the sounds of eating, followed Tanner’s prediction. Carson appreciated the silence. In it, he could almost forget just who sat behind him. He could concentrate on his pie and – too late.
“We need more time, Ms Yrden.”
“I know, Tanner, I know. Matt – and the other Family Heads, by the way – think we won’t get it. They believe Haida Gwaii has a target painted on it. If you-know-who knew what we had in mind ... well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.”
Carson stopped chewing. Surely she didn’t mean that? And Richardson had asked him to pass on information. Would he truly use it in such a fashion? Carson recalled their meeting, how his eyes didn’t track what his face did. Those eyes could conceive just such a ruthless plot. Eyes like that wouldn’t blink as a thousand or so workmen breathed vacuum.
“Well, you two can find the solution without me. I have eight glorious hours of sleep due me,” Tanner said. He gave a short laugh. “I’ll expect a fully documented formula when I awake.”
“Dream on,” Kevin retorted.
“Exactly my intention. Good night.”
“Good night,” Jaswinder and Kevin replied.
“Well,” Jaswinder said lightly, “I guess it’s up to us.”
“Us? I have some correspondence to catch up on. The Treverstons like reports. You’re on your own.”
Carson heard him get up with his tray, leaving Jaswinder sitting alone at the table. She might have spoken lightly, but from what the others had said, the Families had placed the whole weight on her slim shoulders. They had turned to her to solve a problem that no one else could solve. And should she fail—
A thought occurred.
Carson turned around. “Ms Saroya,” he said, catching her attention. Her eyes widened a little, and he thought he saw a trace of fear flash across her face. Did she truly think he would betray them? Then again, hadn’t he considered it?
“Mr Carson,” she said, voice level and calm. “What brings you here, and what can I do for you?”
“Captain Yrden wanted to come across. I’m duty shuttle pilot. I got hungry.” Well that covered what brought him here. “I think I have a solution to your problem.”
Her eyes widened even more. “Do you?” She sounded doubtful. Then she asked, “How much did you overhear?”
“Everything.” He could see that didn’t please her. “Would you like your solution, or do you need to be the one who figures it out?”
She blinked rapidly, and then stared at him. “Give me your solution, then, Pilot.”
Pilot. What would a pilot know compared to a great hyperspace physicist? So, that was how she thought. Were it not for the possibility of thousands of innocent deaths, he’d let her burn with the rest.
“You don’t need a solid hull,” he said. “You could set up the field nodes on some sort of scaffolding. That would give you your symmetrical shape, which would give you a symmetrical field. Simple.”
Saroya sighed, then gifted him a tired smile. “Scientists and technicians spent years attempting that, Mr Carson. They all failed. Without a solid hull, the ‘scaffolding’, or basketry, or whatever you want to call it, buckled upon hitting hyperspace, with the subsequent destruction of all models. Perhaps buckling overstates the case. All that matters is that the scaffolding didn’t hold its shape to the degree necessary for success. You need a solid hull that won’t warp or flex. I thought everyone knew that.”
Carson smiled. He had her. He knew something the great Jaswinder Damn-and-Blast-Her Saroya didn’t.
“Not entirely true, Ms Saroya. A few of the experimental attempts succeeded. However, only at nil or near nil insertion velocity. When they increased insertion velocity to anywhere close to what they needed to get to even an in-system destination in reasonable amount of time, disaster struck – or so I once read.” He held up his hand to forestall her reply. “You don’t need a high insertion velocity. If you merely plan to save this station, you can afford to take a four-month hyperspace journey, and end up only a few light-minutes away, perhaps halfway between Earth and Mars. Take longer, and no one would ever find you part way between here and Alpha Centauri, say. Then you’d have time to strengthen your ‘scaffolding’ for a faster jump, or even complete the hull.” Would she see it? Or had he made some mistake. Gods knew he had little physics background beyond what he absolutely needed. But he read – a lot.
Saroya looked up and to her left, considering. Her eyes went out of focus. When she finally regained focus and returned her gaze to him, she looked angry. Now what had he done?
The Public Address came to life. “Will Pilot Pearson, please report to his shuttle. His passenger is ready to depart.” It repeated.
“That’s me. My new name is Pearson.”
Saroya now looked disgusted. “I thought only others had that blind spot,” she said. “To find it in myself as well...” She stared at him a moment. “Do not leave without me. Kevin called it; I need to return to Venture, to think this out in familiar environs.” She turned and fled, leaving her tray for him to take back to the service station.
He walked quickly to the shuttle bay, where he found Bettina Yrden waiting for him.
“Sorry for the delay, Captain. I was eating.”
“I suspected that’s where I’d find you. Let’s go.”
Carson smiled. “Sorry again. We have another passenger. Ms Saroya plans on joining us. She ordered me to delay my departure.”
Bettina’s eyebrows rose. “Strange orders coming from strange places today, Pilot. I just gave Matt an order with respect to The Lottery.”
As soon as Jaswinder arrived, they climbed on board. Having no other passengers, they all sat in the cockpit.
With Captain Yrden relaxing back in her chair, Jaswinder Saroya – Yrden – lost in concentration in hers, Wen exulted in the joy of piloting. Even this shuttle work was infinitely better than sitting around doing nothing. He might not see a starship’s bridge for a year, but at least he could see the stars.
“Pilot Pearson,” Bettina spoke, though her eyes remained closed.
“Yes, Captain?”
“When we get back, grab another pilot. You’re returning to Haida Gwaii.”
He didn’t understand. If they had something to pick up, why hadn’t they loaded it while still there? “Yes, Captain. But I don’t think I need a co-pilot.”
She chuckled. “The other pilot will take a workboat over. You’ll take your lifeboat.”
“My lifeboat?”
“Well, it certainly isn’t Venture’s. And it no longer belongs to Amalgamated, so it’s yours as far as I’m concerned. We’re going to repair it for you.”
Wen accepted the sarcasm without comment. “So, I take the lifeboat over, drop it off, and return on the workboat?�
��
“Correct.” She opened her eyes for a moment, gazed at him. “That a problem, Pilot?”
“No problem, Captain.”
The captain closed her eyes again; the shuttle returned to silence, and Wen again exulted in piloting in space.
CHAPTER 10
FTL-1
Tuesday 15 June
Pierre Fontaine waited for all the other passengers to leave the shuttle before he slipped out of his seat, stretched tall, and then bent over to touch his toes. He never understood the mad rush to get out, when they ended up waiting, anyway, for the door to open, for other passengers to reclaim their hand luggage from the overhead bins, for, well, everything.
He much preferred to pilot himself, or to cage a ride on the jump seat on the flight deck, but when attempts at that did not pan out, if he didn’t get a seat in the first row, he simply remained sitting, and amused himself by contemplating what he would do as soon as he once again landed on a planet.
“Good trip, Pierre?” asked the attendant.
“After you stashed me like a bag of garbage next to that very large man who tried to take up half of my leg space as well as his own, I feel like the company owes me for taking this flight instead of the other way around. Suzanne, Suzanne, what have I done to you that you would treat me that way?” He put on his most woeful expression.
Suzanne rounded her eyes. “Was it that awful, Pierre? I apologize on behalf of the company. Had you not booked at the last minute, and come running to just beat the closing door, we might have done better for you.” She cocked her head to one side. “How can we make it up to you? After all, we would hate to lose your custom. We enjoy having you. The pilots, in particular, enjoy your stories – though I understand that they should not be repeated in polite company.”
Mortally offended, Pierre drew himself up to his full height. “Au contraire, Mademoiselle Suzanne, I tell those stories only in polite company.”
“You never tell them to me,” she said, pouting.
“Ah,” he said, tilting his head slightly back, and looking down at her through half-closed eyes. “Then we discover how it is the company may repay me for this most uncomfortable journey. You must,” he said, holding up his hand to forestall any protest, “must accompany me to Darcy’s for, perhaps, a bite to eat as well as a drink as soon as I take off this cumbersome emergency suit. I will regale you with the latest adventures of Pierre Fontaine, and then we, you and I, shall engage in another that will put all the others to shame. A tale for posterity.”
She looked at him askance. “Pierre—”
“Mais non, cheri, do not deny the attraction we both know you feel. If you fight it, you will only feel the pain of my absence the more.” He gifted her with his most winsome smile. “You need only say, ‘Oui, Monsieur Fontaine’, and we shall have a night which will make us the envy of the entire station.”
She shook her head, pressed her lips together, and glared at him. “Stop, now. Pierre, you know this isn’t right.”
Slightly taken aback at her rejection, for he knew her to have a good sense of humour, he bowed. “I apologize, Suzanne.”
She put her hands on her hips, and frowned. “As well you should. I have three hours left on my shift, you evil man. How can I do my job when I can think only of the adventure to come?”
Pierre laughed loudly. “Ah, Suzanne, you put the fear into me. But I shall overcome that fear, and treat you to a night the bards will sing of for hundreds of years to come.”
She smiled at him, then let that smile fade. “Actually, I would prefer to not become the subject of one of the tales you tell the other pilots. Please.”
“Non? You wish my silence? Bien sûr. You have my word. We will save it for the ears of our grandchildren.”
Suzanne stared at him, and then began to laugh. “Pierre, you will never marry. You will never have children, let alone grandchildren. You do not want a wife when you can dally amongst all the flowers. You do not want a family to ground you. You love to fly too much.”
He placed a serious look upon his face. “You mistake me, Suzanne. I have just not yet met the right woman. When I do, I shall look abroad no longer.” He winked at her. “Perhaps I shall find that woman tonight, hien?”
She reached up, pulled his head down for a quick kiss. “Perhaps, Pierre, but I doubt it. Now, go, let me finish my job. Darcy’s at seven?”
“At eight, I think. I, too, have business. Darcy’s at eight,” he confirmed.
* * *
“Uncle Simon,” Pierre greeted the Fontaine rep on FTL-1, as he stepped through the open door to the Fontaine office.
“Pierre,” Simon stood, and came around his desk, to kiss Pierre on each cheek. “You look well. A fine thing to see you in space once more. Has Paris become too dull for you, or do you flee from a young mademoiselle.”
The older man laughed, stepped back, and observed his nephew.
“Uncle, I come on serious business.”
“You couldn’t call?”
“No.” He saw his uncle take a mental step backwards. “I would not trust these words to the comm.”
“I see.” He stepped around Pierre, and closed the door. “Tell me, nephew of this serious matter. Sit, sit.”
Pierre sat, as did his uncle. He steepled his fingers. “I am not sure just how to begin.”
“Begin with what you desire.”
“Very well. I desire counsel. A man has approached me with a deal – very illegal – that interests me greatly, and that might interest the Family. No,” he corrected himself. “The Families.”
Simon Fontaine’s eyes narrowed. He pursed his lips. “And if this, um, very illegal deal goes badly, and the authorities catch you?”
“Oh, I shall surely go to prison; a large fine, no doubt, as well. But they will not believe I acted alone even if they can prove nothing, and the consequences might damage the Families entire.”
Simon scratched absently behind his right ear. “And yet, even so, you bring this to me.” He sighed. “I think I must now hear the details.”
“If you are sure.”
“I am sure.”
Pierre explained, answering all questions as best he could. The Rep showed no emotion throughout, and Pierre could not get any indication as to what the man would decide. Finally he finished.
“What do you think, sir?” Pierre asked after a minute’s silence.
“I think,” Simon said slowly, “I think that we must take this to Matt Yrden and whatever Heads or Reps we can gather. You have spoken to no one else of this?”
“My parents have taught me well.”
“Bien. Procure a shuttle. We go at once to Haida Gwaii.”
Pierre bit his lower lip. “I have an engagement at Darcy’s for eight. Shall I cancel?”
“I think we shall either receive a quick answer, or we shall debate. In either case, you need not attend beyond telling them what you told me, and answering any questions they have. I believe you can keep your date.”
* * *
Matt Yrden strode into the conference room, saw the ten family reps, and winced.
Now what?
He couldn’t afford to get involved in more politics. Simply trying to get Haida Gwaii up and running took more time than he actually possessed. He wished that Jaswinder were here, and wondered how much longer before she came back.
“Friends,” he said as he took his seat at the head of the table. “I hope we can dispense with whatever this is quickly.”
Nods came from around the table. Everyone had other business to attend to, it seemed.
“What’s it all about, Fontaine?” Amy Treverston asked, to a chorus of agreement.
Matt looked around. Didn’t anyone know? If not, this looked like a long session. He didn’t know if he had the stamina for a long session.
Simon Fontaine stood. “My nephew, Pierre, has what appears an offer that I believe we should consider. It carries risk. I’ll let him explain. Pierre?”
Pierre sto
od. He glanced around, took a breath, and began.
“A man has approached me, wishing – I believe – to sell genetically unmodified seeds. This man works for one of the agricultural Trans-Planetary Corporations in Enforcement. His job is to find those who illegally grow plants to which his parent corporation holds the patents.
“It appears that this man is not the most honest of men. He has, apparently, not turned over all of the seed which he has confiscated, and has quite a stash. He knows of Haida Gwaii’s ag-dome, and suggests that we might profit from his bounty, as he and his kind will have no rights to inspect our facilities. He names a price – a high price. I believe we should meet that price. If you look to your screens, you will see a list of what he has to offer, and what he expects in return.”
Pierre waited in silence, not showing emotion, which Matt appreciated. He studied the screen in front of him. It showed a wide range of plants, and some number of seeds of each different one. Should the TPCs cease dealing with the Families, such a treasure could become quite useful. Should they get caught in the transaction, and the Families blamed, it could trigger just such a cessation of trade.
Amy Treverston rose. “This individual just offered this to you, so blatantly?”
“Oh, no, Madame. He suggests that those he terms ‘seeders’ seek to sell their goods off-planet – in the colonies. Without that market, no one could afford to buy. There, Enforcement is thin, and the planetary governments less than generous towards those of Earth who keep the shackles on them. He tells us that his company would appreciate it if we took measures to prevent the transport on our ships of contraband to the colonies. As an example he hands me this list.
“I ask him if he knows of people who might have such a cargo. He says he believes so. I ask him what such a cargo would be worth to these ‘seeders’, that they would risk getting caught. He provides me with this figure.”
“And what did you tell him, this individual whom you will not name?” asked Kyu Nakamura.
Not With A Whimper: Survivors Page 10
