MacFinn/converse, “Blew ’emselves to plasma. Grey un’s are just disabled. The Quetzalcoatl’s offerin t’help the survivors on the way back, if there are any.”
There were five more red ships, three yellow, three light blue and a sprinkling of white that were farther away but racing towards the conflict. I watched as a volley of missiles burst out of one of the red ships. They raced towards the blue ships and were picked off one by one. I realized as I watched that there was a very gentle pressure on one side, as though the Quetzalcoatl was slewing slowly. I asked MacFinn to back out the display again. A swarm of ships, just green dots in the display, sat far off on one side. I asked if we could hear any of the comm traffic.
[Escort 1] Why are you maneuvering? You must stay on the assigned course.
[Quetz] We are orienting to meet a threat of iron rain from the vessels at 310, 125. Our trajectory remains unchanged.
[Escort 1] What nonsense are...
[Escort 2] We have been hit!
[Escort 1] Get off this channel and keep your panic to yourselves.
There was a series of sharp bangs, then the slow sensation of slew taking us back to the original orientation. No alarms rang.
[Escort 4] Thank you for the warning, Quetzalcoatl.
[Escort 1] You will tell me immediately how you anticipated that attack.
[Quetz] Our apologies for not warning you earlier. We just assumed you knew of the threat. Regrettably, we do not share operational protocols until an Agreement of Confidentiality has been signed. We reiterate our offer of assistance for any survivors on the way back.
MacFinn/converse, “Commander Sa’id was quite busy doin nothin he’d admit to when I met im. He was delighted t’hear of y’progress, and agreed t’pass on the file. Says he expects all five ships in our escort’ll wait t’escort us t’the Moon.
“And then. And then I woke up in another universe wi no logic at all. Wi big, wide innocent eyes, he mentioned that he ha bin invited – INVITED – t’act as a liaison officer on one o’the Martian escorts, and asks me t’ask ye if it would be OK for us all to go a-visitin. He says most o’the patients we’ll get at Valhalla are demented MI and Imperial traitors, so ye might be safer wi regular Martians. Unbelievable! YE’RE ALL MAD!”
To MacFinn/converse, “My dear Surgeon MacFinn, if I did not have this mask on, you would see that my eyes are as round as your own right now. The dear man is trying to give me options that are so outrageous as to be above suspicion to anyone less devious than myself. Did he say who had invited him?”
MacFinn/converse, “Our Martian escorts did, who’d ye think? Forward Command is workin wi the TDF, and someone must’a told em that the Quetzalcoatl ha some TDF liason officers. Commander Sa’id and Wep Sinbadson will na go without ye, so all ye need t’do is say na. Tell me ye’re na serious about this! Are ye? Shite and little wormies. Ye are. Can ye suggest one reason why they will na just grab us’n kill us all?”
To MacFinn/converse, “Because they have no reason to. Right now, the Imperium has a good working relationship with the TDF, and that up ahead is why they want it to continue. TDF ships are better than Martian ships, and TDF crews are both better trained and more reliable than Martian crews. Remember that the Columbia ran through a similar firestorm with a record of three assailants disabled, one destroyed, and one incapable of keeping up that I believe was also disabled, while all we suffered was one small hole in the hull that was patched within a minute. The Imperium wants to keep us on their side until the factional disputes are resolved.
“Do we know who the ships with different colours serve? My expectation is that they will part and let us through in about five or ten minutes.”
Aloud, but very quietly, MacFinn asked, “Who in holy hell are ye?”
I looked at the tactical display. Sa’id may have recognized the problem we would have disembarking at the Moon, added the risk from fanatical patients, and spiked it with concern that demented captains might order their ships to fire upon the Quetzalcoatl. It might indeed be safer to travel on a ship that had weapons and the authority to fight back.
We sat in silence for several minutes as the missiles still in flight reached their targets or winked out of existence. Red now had three ships left, with three still yellow and two light blue. The approaching white ships began to concentrate into a tube of ships surrounding our flight path as the coloured ships withdrew. I saw ten grey derelicts, one of which flashed brightly and disappeared, leaving nine.
He then started to point.
MacFinn/converse, “Sa’id said that the red ones’re Clan Qinghai Mining, yellow’re Sultan Mustafa, and blue’re the Western Textiles Faction. White ones claim Imperial allegiance. None o’it makes any sense to me. He also said that the real excitement will be on the way t’the Moon, when each faction wants t’claim their fellows so as they’re not hostages. If we go as ‘liaison officers’, it’ll be us who’re hostages. If I can deliver ye back to the lass intact, I may retire while I can still hope to meet me grand kids. If I live long enough to have kids to make em.”
Me/converse, “True, we will be hostages, but that is not necessarily a bad thing if everyone wants the valuable hostages alive. Perhaps we will get to circulate and shake everybody’s hands. That might dampen their enthusiasm for boisterous fun. Did he have anything to say about my status within the TDF?”
As we entered the tube of Imperial ships, the Quetzalcoatl slewed hard. Simultaneously, missiles shot away from two of our escorts and from three of the Imperial ships forming the defensive tube. They converged slowly on one of the blue ships as it tried frantically to escape. There was a bright flash and it was gone. At almost the same time I heard the rattle of rail gun projectiles eating into the meteor shield, but there were no alarms. We slewed slowly back into our normal orientation.
MacFinn/private, “Before we all die, Sa’id said y’old ID is still TDF in MI wi a new name ‘Gilles Suez’. Reckon y’friends will na use it. The new ID is wi Commerce in financial forensics. I hope that makes sense t’ye. Not surprised ye’re in MI. They’re the only ones who change ID’s, and they tell me that ye can only hold one ID at a time so nobody I know cares bout y’old ID. In accounting might it be for the records?”
To MacFinn/private, “Surgeon MacFinn, if you retire soon you will have time to learn farming and will be able to tell your great grandkids how you met your first Martian and fed him a radish. I have heard that someone is growing hot peppers on the Moon, but if you feed a Martian a real hot pepper he might shoot you, and the Lunar Courts might consider it justifiable homicide. You can take it as a challenge from me to learn how to grow radishes on the Moon.”
From his face, I was pretty sure he had never tasted a radish, and maybe never even seen one in pictures. If he was scared enough now, he might remember the challenge.
Up on the monitor there was an almost one-sided conversation on display.
[QUETZ] There are no hostages on any Lunar Recovery vessel, just crew members, passengers and patients.
[QUETZ] Passengers are permitted on board at the discretion of Lunar Recovery.
[QUETZ] Those who wish to use our services in the future will allow us unrestricted passage and will not molest anyone while they remain on board our vessels.
[QUETZ] Passengers and patients will be free to disembark at the Moon or onto any other nearby vessel of their own choice.
[QUETZ] That is not our concern. We provide rescue and hospital facilities to all who respect our independence.
[ESCORT 1] The Imperium and ALL its loyal citizens will respect the independence of Lunar Recovery. There will be no exceptions. The Ghost himself might be on that ship, and if so will remain unmolested until he tries to escape. Is that clear?
[ESCORT 1] Every ship in near-Earth space requires Lunar Recovery’s assistance from time to time. If you wish your entire clan to be banished permanently to the Belt, you are free to try that, and your clan will be free to suffer the consequences. You might consult
your shamans before you act.
[QUETZ] We thank you for your forbearance. We hope you will never need our services, but we will endeavour to provide impartial assistance if you do.
Me/converse, “Do you think the Quetzalcoatl will return to pick up the injured? It would be the best possible diplomacy if they do, but I fear this ship would become badly overcrowded. If they anticipated the fight up ahead, the Imperial request for a liaison officer might have been a polite way to free some space. I do not believe LR has any experience in containing fanatical warriors. Even when they provide hospital services to known criminals, their patients usually want to keep a low profile. I am coming to agree with Commander Sa’id that it would be better for me to return on a Martian ship.”
MacFinn/converse, “Ye’re a Banshee, so the Martians will want to kill ye. How can ye think of transferring to a Martian warship? Ye should be tryin t’avoid Martian Intelligence, na chattin wi’em every day from here t’the Moon. An medically, it would be jus crazy. You’d be better to sit by a bleedin imaginary sand dune than t’depend on that. Why not just surrender and save everyone the trouble?”
Me/converse, “I will have to put a bit of thought into minimizing our daily conversation, but like it or no, the Martians are our future. I fear them. Sometimes I hate them. But right now, they are trying to protect us in the only way they know how. I am grateful for that.
“Besides, we created this problem. Extraterrestrial Affairs would not allow even medicine to be shipped to Mars at prices ordinary people could afford, but Extraterrestrial Affairs is now history and the Imperium will replace them. Good riddance. They were the cause of the Incursion, and the cause of the current invasion. From now on, the TDF in space is going to be a wing of the Imperial Fleet, probably in Forward Command. I suspect the first diplomatic initiatives to merge the services have already begun.
“I am not concerned about the quality of Martian medicine because I would be travelling with you, and I know you can carry a field station. Surely, I will be far enough past the crisis by the time we pick up the survivors here that the field station would be sufficient?
“I know the Martians would love to see a field station in action. Would you be willing to offer a seminar on surgical techniques with a modern station? Just be careful not to teach them how to prolong executions.
“Remember that Martian medicine is primitive because we refused to train them as proper doctors and surgeons. We refused to sell them effective medicines. That is what LUVN was all about, you know? A new way to package medicine for transport that would save hundreds of thousands of lives every year on Mars and throughout the Belt if it can be demonstrated to work.
“Here is a question that might catch your fancy. I doubt LUVN had any doctors capable of running a live trial of their medicines at the facility, so there will not be any amongst the patients on board, but they would not be trying to ship the meds until those tests were complete and I know they had a demonstration batch ready to ship on one of the liners. I will bet that quite a few of the Martian crew have early stage cancers already. And I will bet that the pirates were careful to preserve the LUVN medicines that were ready for transport. They could be thawed and tested immediately if the company gives permission.
“Would you or the LR surgeons be willing to do a field trial of LUVN’s new medicines? I understand it would be high risk medicine under intense scrutiny, with enormous consequences for everyone involved. The Martians and the Belters both need our help, need to know that we will offer them that help, need to believe that we are not enemies to be destroyed. I will bet we could arrange legal protection for all of us if you did, and they might let us transfer back to TDF ships as we approach the Moon.
“For myself, I am not nearly as afraid of Martian Intelligence as I am of being captured by murderous amateurs like those that tried to attack us. If I can get past the initial scrutiny, I think I can talk with them. I think you can too, and they may surprise you in their sophistication. They have lived and fought and healed each other for a long time without our help.
“I am willing to make the attempt to travel with the Martians at least for a few days en route to the Moon.”
MacFinn/converse, “Hooo, man, ye’re a hard one t’work wi, an ye’re not even movin. I’m beginnin t’understand why the poor lass was so distraught. I may need some therapy myself after this. Join the TDF and see the universe from the inside of a steel box, fight pirates ye never get t’meet, and ha wild sex in the bleakness o’empty nothingness.
“Now ye’re suggestin I take Martian invaders on as patients? That I become a collaborator? Wi untested medicine? Wi guns at my head? Wi an entire farming company goin bust if I fail? I’m sure the TDF would forbid it. I bloody hope they forbid it. I forbid it! I never imagined in me worst nightmares I’d walk into me enemy’s home t’ask for tea an biscuits an how they mend a broken bone. Or become a dancer among their ships to cure their cancer and give’em medical tips.
“We’d be the loneliest people in space, surrounded by irrational killers who jus fought a small war for the privilege o’killin us f’no reason. Please tell me ye do na mean that.”
Me/converse, “Surgeon MacFinn, you should remember those lines about tea and biscuits. They belong in the ballad that will be composed about you.
“But, I think the loneliest people in space right now are on the last surviving Western Textiles ship. And I bet they believed themselves to be the strongest and best when they started out. As did we, up to a couple of weeks ago.”
He looked at me with horror in his eyes.
MacFinn/converse, “The dear lass told me a wee about ye and the pirates while I fixed y’face. How can ye be so forgivin of the monsters who want to kill us? Even their own kind barely let em live.”
Me/converse, “Have you never treated a wounded enemy? Maybe not if you have been fighting pirates, but even when you had to pacify a mining colony that had started to riot? Talk to the surgeons on this ship about making judgements, then consider the tactics those ships exhibited. That was not the behaviour of normal, rational people. Their officers were probably demented and have no one to heal them. If they let us, we might be able to do that.”
MacFinn/converse, “Wait, ye say they’re demented? She said Rouseth was demented but she healed ‘er. I thought she was usin colloquial psychiatric terms, but ye just said it too. What did ye mean?”
Me/converse, “Nothing magic, or psychic, or even scientific. The officers have comm units like we do, purchased from the MI-approved line of products, and the senior officers will have the latest models. They have serious security flaws that allow the user to be bombarded by emojis and tokens that warp their judgement and can make them homicidal or suicidal. You are using some of the new comm unit features, so Alexander must have updated the OS in your comm unit, as he did for mine. If our Doctor healed Rouseth, she almost certainly meant that she had disabled that kind of attack.
“Did you not dig behind the sensational reports to find out what we did on the Deng? It was simple enough. We just helped people turn off their comm units and convinced them to leave them off until a fix could be installed. LE brought out a patch and have been updating it regularly, but Alexander gave us the real fix while we were on the Columbia. I still have the token that LE provided, and Commander Sa’id may have a more recent version. You might ask him when you next speak.
“I suspect the senior officers on those ships are being controlled by people far away. They are like semi-autonomous puppets in charge of nuclear weapons. The real criminals are nowhere near the battle, and may not know the outcome even yet, but the sailors and soldiers on those ships are the ones who are risking death. Forgive them and be ready to heal them when you meet them.”
MacFinn/converse, “Me poor heart! Ye want me to heal the people who are tryin t’murder us, while they’re still doin it! What did ye tell that poor girl? Gi me a few minutes t’breath. It’s time for ye t’take another swig o’the green death, and I think I�
�m goin t’enjoy givin it this time.”
2357-03-14 12:00
Escape from Hell
MacFinn left, and I continued constructing my memory palace. I no longer felt I had time to do it linearly, so I re-engaged the Cripple, Ghost and Assassin, and began to work backwards from the Cripple. The Cripple was easy, because outside of the team, the Ministers, my colleagues in CI and MI and a small number of my closest contacts, few people knew who I was in enough detail to be at risk. I discounted the risk that Martian Justice would prosecute anyone on the Mao, Columbia and Quetzalcoatl, because they were never my followers. They might sing Banshee ballads when they came along, but even on Mars singing a song about someone you could not identify was not a crime, unless the song itself encouraged insurrection.
The Ghost was also easy because most of my close colleagues from that period were dead, often at my hands. I had focused so narrowly on the Mission that other activities, like making new friends, had suffered.
I had just got back to the Assassin when I realized who the elderly couple must be that Raul had met deep under the Moon. They had never married, but worked together as a two-person team, closer than most married couples. They seemed to know each other intuitively, the result of long practice on difficult assignments.
They had not been young when I met them, having worked together for decades before I arrived on Mars. By report, they had fought like mad dogs when they first met, until they learned enough about each other to recognize their profound agreements. He had been a spook, she an agent in Legal Intelligence, and their political, cultural, and personal disagreements had prevented them from ever becoming lovers. Regardless, they belonged together like hands in gloves, like body paint and hair jell, like laughter and tears. Individually, they had personalities that jarred and scraped against everyone around them, but together they became a seamless whole, invisible, unrecognizable, unstoppable. Perfect complements.
Lord Banshee- Fugitive Page 45
