Fool's War

by Sarah Zettel

  And that is why I never said anything, isn’t it?

  Al Shei ran her hands over the chair’s arm rests. I didn’t want to have to be the one to strip the last of her pride away.

  She was so far gone in her reverie, Al Shei barely noticed when the shuttle hit the atmosphere, until the thrusters roared to life and brought gravity back down with a vengeance.

  Al Shei did not request the view screen to show her the outside. She had no trouble with flying under any conditions, but something inside her rebelled at landings. She never got comfortable watching the ground rise up to meet her.

  The roar grew louder and the thrust shoved Al Shei back into the padded seat until her spine pressed against the couch frame. Her lungs labored against a ribcage that wanted to collapse. Then, the pressure was gone and she could breathe and sit up, and, very soon, get impatient about the exit procedures. The ship’s voice reeled off a set of seat numbers and all the passengers in the named seats had to be out of the shuttle and on their way before the next set could be called.

  When the ship finally told her she could go, Al Shei snatched her pack out of the holding bin and made a bee line for the exit ramp. Down at the end of the sloping tunnel, Lipinski was explaining the contents of his tool kit yet again, this time to a tall, walnut-skinned customs official in tan coveralls with a piece of film clutched in his hand.

  Al Shei shook her head and made her way over to the banks of luggage carriers. She took out her pen and wrote her hotel address and Lipinski’s on the cart’s memory board and added enough credit for the cart to get their bags to their rented quarters. The receipt had just finished printing off when Lipinski came up behind her.

  “I know, I know, I know,” he said, dropping his duffle into the cart and sliding the lid shut. “It’s necessary to keep the colony functioning. They have to be careful, but do they have to run you through the same questions three times?”

  Al Shei didn’t bother to answer. She wanted to be at the hospital already. She wanted everything to have gone right and to be over with.

  They followed the signs to the tram station which was little more than an insulated metal tunnel riveted to the side of the port building. The tram was automated and roofed, but open on the sides. Under the bored eye of the operator in his white tunic and trousers, Al Shei wrote their destination across the memory board and was relieved to see it slot them first on the list.

  They had barely sat themselves down on one of the thinly padded benches when the tram lurched forward and pulled out into the bright sunlight.

  New Medina was situated in the middle of a desert plain. Distant mountains provided a backdrop for the minarets and domes. Cultivated fields patrolled by automated irrigators passed on both sides. The farmland was broken occasionally by boxy outbuildings or processing mills. The shuttles flights to and from the port were bright needles of silver in the blue sky. On the road, the rest of the traffic glided or rattled by, depending on its state of repair. The wind was hot and dusty, but Al Shei could still smell the distant cool scent of the Persian River.

  Al Shei felt her shoulders hunch up. All the openness was a little intimidating. As a child of the Management Union Earth, Al Shei was used to a barrier between herself and the wide outer world.

  Maybe that, she reflected, is why most starbirds are from Earth. We’re used to being shut in all the time.

  Gradually, the greenscape became narrower and the buildings became bigger. None of them, though, were allowed to actually touch the tall sandstone wall that marked the edge of the city proper.

  The New Medina hospital was a bright, white conglomeration of buildings with grounds that backed onto the city wall. Arched corridors like tunnels of chalk connected its modules. Red crescent moons topped the spires on its three central domes. The tram took them past carefully cultivated groves of orange trees and date palms. Patients in clean blue robes strolled on the lawns or sat in the sun, each one followed by a crab-legged medical drone. These patients had conditions too severe to be taken care of by the neighborhood doctors that the hospital serviced with information and advice. These were the surgeries, the long-term illnesses and those who needed new tissue, limbs or organs grown in the bio-gardens.

  The tram took them to the main entrance of the administrative building. No one waited outside the wood and wrought-iron door to greet them. Al Shei wrote her name and their contact’s name on the memory board that hung above the door handles. The door swung open and she and Lipinski strode into the hospital.

  They entered a broad, three-tiered gallery. The light was adjusted to imitate spring sunlight and the air circulated constantly, spreading a vague scent of lemon and orange. The dark-tiled floors and cream walls were as clean as the inside of the Pasadena’s data hold. Windows were set in the walls at about six meter intervals. Some of them were darkened, but through the clear ones Al Shei could see into chambers containing one person manning more boards and monitors than would be found on the bridge of a major passenger ship.

  A woman in a plain, white kijab approached them down the corridor, kicking up the hem of her black dress at every step.

  “‘Dama Al Shei, ‘Ster Lipinski, welcome to the Aquarium.” She waved at the rows of windows. “I’m Second Administrator Shirar.” She shook Al Shei’s hand and beamed at Lipinski. “We’ve been waiting months for these updates. It’s going to triple our garden’s efficiency.”

  “Then we should get them right down here,” said Al Shei briskly. “Thank you for agreeing to letting us supervise the download from here. This data’s a little tricky.” She looked to Lipinski for confirmation.

  “Tightly packed at any rate,” he said.

  “Of course it is,” Shirar smiled, “It’s biology. Let me show you our download facilities.” She beckoned for them to follow her.

  The Second Administrator walked them down the gallery past window after window of activity. The staff on the other side chattered, sketched, searched and transferred. In a few of the offices, two or three employees worked together on some problem.

  “It looks as if you could consult for the entire colony from here,” remarked Al Shei after they passed the twentieth office.

  Shirar snorted. “Sometimes I feel like we do. We’ve got twenty percent of the medical practitioners in the Farther Kingdom on our subscriber’s list, and I swear to you some of them won’t diagnose a hangnail without tying up our lines for half an hour.” She grinned again. “This is not counting the other hospitals we support.”

  Shirar stopped in front of a thickly hinged door and stuck her pen into the reader socket. After a moment, the door swung back and she led them inside.

  The room was three times as large as any of the offices they had passed. The walls were a solid mass of input boards, memory boards and monitor screens.

  Lipinski relaxed his shoulders and straightened up some from his perpetual stoop. Amid this bewildering mass of communications hardware, he was at home.

  His expert eye immediately picked up the main uplink boards and he set his toolkit down next to them. He whistled to one of the chairs in the far corner which obediently trundled over so he could sit down.

  With a few penstrokes he called up the configuration and capacity of the hospital’s links as well as the mapping for the storage room’s lines and depositories.

  “And the new data is to be stored, where?” Lipinski cocked an eyebrow at the Second Administrator.

  “Area 6421C.” Shirar circled the depository’s location on the screen. “We’ve had it waiting empty for a week for you.”

  Lipinski ran his pen along the pathways to the storage area. The section of the diagram that he traced enlarged itself and the current load and configuration information printed across the top of the board.

  Lipinski studied it for a moment, pursed his lips and nodded. Al Shei gave silent thanks for the fact that he did not seem inclined to talk to the boards in front of their client.

  “It all looks right to spec,” he said. “Have yo
u opened your virus filters?”

  “Area 6813B, open access.” Shirar gave Al Shei a sideways look. “Thank you for transmitting your storage records to us. To say we were concerned when you reported a virus would be an understatement.”

  “I cannot blame you at all,” Al Shei replied, grateful that New Medina’s dedication to courtesy kept Shirar’s language restrained. She did not want to know what the woman had really thought when the news came through. “The virus was an invasion of the ship’s system and it did not touch our cargo, for which, believe me, we were all thankful.” Which would also be an understatement.

  Lipinski twisted around to face Shirar. “Shall I get started?”

  “Please do.” Shirar waved him a go-ahead signal.

  Lipinski wrote the Pasadena’s call codes and his own name across the uplink board and waited while the system transmitted the message up the lines and across the atmosphere to the station. The screen above the board cleared to show the scene in the Pasadena’s comm center. Odel sat stiffly at the main boards, obviously very much aware that this needed to work smoothly.

  “Pasadena here,” came Odel’s voice through the intercom. “Waiting on your signal, Houston.” The secondary screens lit up with the current status of the Pasadena’s lines.

  “Setting the boards now, Pasadena,” replied Lipinski. His blue eyes flickered back and forth as he took in the line readings. He rapidly adjusted the settings on the board in front of him to match what the ship was using. “Start sending in five… four… three… ”

  “Bismillahir,” said Shirar.

  “Bismillahir,” agreed Al Shei, a little more fervently than she intended.

  “Now,” said Lipinski.

  On the screen, Odel turned his pen in its socket. The signal load statistics increased on the board and the free capacity stats shrank. Odel ran his own checks, monitoring flow, switching storage taps, watching the code print out straight from Pasadena’s hold. Rows of code appeared on the memory board in front of Lipinski. The Houston read the information intently, writing on the board in front of him without looking at his hand; adjusting, controlling, guiding. He nodded a couple of times. His brow was furrowed and his lips moved constantly, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t call to Odel to halt the download. Al Shei realized her heart had risen to her throat and she swallowed hard, trying to force herself to be calm.

  Either it’s going to work or it isn’t. You’ve got one of the best in the business doing the job. You’re just going to have to wait it out a little while longer.

  Five interminable minutes later, Odel lifted his head. “That’s all of it, Houston. Transmission complete.”

  Lipinski’s eyes swept across the final row of code. “Okay, Pasadena we’ve got it. Thanks.” He turned in his chair and Al Shei saw a look that meant “no problems,” flash her way.

  She had to stop herself from letting out a sigh of relief.

  “And there you are Second Administrator Shirar,” she said brightly. “Your bio-garden’s data, and I’m only sorry our humble ship could not get it here faster.”

  Shirar gave her a small bow. “You have done exactly as we hoped. The remaining credit will be transferred into your account as soon as I submit a receipt of verification to our accounting center. It should be done within the next two hours. Will you wait?”

  “If you’ll excuse us, ‘Dama,” said Al Shei as Lipinski got to his feet. “It has been a long flight and I confess my Houston and I were both looking forward to stretching our legs and seeing your city. The Pasadena will be in dock for another week, so if you need to contact us, the city system will be able to find us in no time.”

  Shirar smiled and stood aside making a sweeping gesture towards the door. “I understand perfectly. I’ll contact you as soon as the accounts have been cleared.”

  “Thank you for taking the time, Second Administrator,” said Al Shei, sticking to courtesies, even though Lipinski was evidently getting impatient.

  “Thank you for supplying our needs, ‘Dama.” Shirar walked them out into the corridor. “I am certain you will be hearing from us again.”

  They left the Second Administrator in the doorway. Out in the desert sunlight, Lipinski stretched his arms overhead and then let them swing freely down.

  “God almighty, I feel better,” he announced to the world at large. “Some of those sequences took so long to download, I was about ready to shi… do something really unmentionable.”

  “Me too.” Al Shei gave him a cautious glance. “I am assuming nothing went wrong.”

  “Not a thing,” Lipinski said. “Everything Amory Dane gave us, we gave them, checked, double-checked, and triple-checked, vouched for and sealed.”

  “Wonderful,” said Al Shei, meaning it. Then, she looked away and tugged at her tunic sleeve. “Now I’ve got a favor to ask you, Houston.”

  The grin faded from his face. “That’s a first, Engine.”

  Her mouth twitched. “I know, but it’s been an exceedingly strange run.” She looked up at him again and squared her shoulders. “I’m going to try to find out where Tully got his… merchandise from. I might need you to do some back up research. In that event, I need you to stay in New Medina for your leave. Under contract you don’t have to have any part of this… ”

  Lipinski waved his hands. “Only she would bring up a contract now,” he told the nearest orange tree.

  “Only you would protest to the vegetation,” Al Shei felt a sudden warmth for her Houston. “Will you do it?”

  “Of course I will. I want to know what’s been happening as much as you do. Besides,” he added to the pavement, “my plans haven’t exactly come out right for this trip down.”

  Oh dear, Houston, who said no?

  Al Shei did not ask. She just said, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He waved towards an approaching tram and didn’t look at her until it pulled up along side them. This one was a newer model than they one they’d arrived in, with tinted windows, but without an operator.

  “Please state your destination clearly,” said the tram’s tinny voice.

  Lipinski looked at her with raised eyebrows.

  “No thanks.” she wrapped her hijab more firmly around herself. “I’m going to walk.”

  Lipinski shrugged. “Call me when you need me, Al Shei.” He took his seat. “Ali Farah’s Guest House,” he said, clearly. The tram pulled away and left Al Shei standing on her own, a soft breeze fluttering her hems.

  She lifted her face to the sunlight for a moment, letting the heat beat against her eyelids and enjoying the sensation of peace it gave her. They’d had one victory at any rate. Now was the time to see if she could go secure another.

  “Intercom to Bridge,” Odel’s voice rang across the bridge. “The packet’s loaded and closed off. We’re done.”

  Dobbs leapt to her feet. “Whoopee!” She pulled a gold cloth streamer out of her sleeve and tossed it into the air. The low gravity grabbed it gently and lowered it in lazy waves.

  “Finally!” exclaimed Yerusha from her station.

  Schyler watched Dobbs’ streamer settle in a gentle heap.

  “Pretty, but not exactly regulation,” he remarked, moving his pen to call up the ship’s log on his board. Dobbs, however, did not miss the relaxation that pure relief brought to his features.

  “Your pardon, Watch Commander.” She whisked the streamer off the deck and tied it around her own neck in a big bow. “I forgot, you disapprove of frivolity on the bridge.” She laced her fingers under her chin and began a bad series of pirouettes to take her to the hatchway. Behind her, Cheney whooped with laughter.

  When she was alone on the stairway, she pulled the streamer off her neck and stuffed it in her pocket. With a determined stride she seldom let the crew see, she hustled down to the berthing deck.

  She should be touring the decks to make sure that the rest of the crew on board had leave plans and good spirits. But there was an urgency tugging at her. By now, Cohen would hav
e news about the Pasadena’s condition waiting for her, and she needed it.

  Since the ship was down to a skeleton crew, Dobbs had no trouble getting to her cabin without being seen. She locked the hatch behind her and opened up her bedside drawer. The lock on her box came open at her touch.

  As she lifted out her hypo, her eye took automatic count of the remaining cartridges. She had enough juice for another two months under normal circumstances. She couldn’t help wondering if she shouldn’t put in a request for more now, before these particular circumstances proved themselves anymore abnormal.

  Dobbs held up the hypo to measure the dosage. For no apparent reason, the memory of Lipinski in the corridor early that morning drifted back to the front of her mind.

  “Dobbs?” Lipinski had come around the curve of the galley deck corridor with an oddly controlled gait.

  A warning note had sounded somewhere inside her. She silenced it.

  “Houston.” She waved in greeting. “I thought you were off with our fearless leader to make sure we all make a little money this trip.”

  He smirked. “In about ten minutes.” His smile turned tentative. “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to take in some sight seeing with me? I hear New St. Petersburg is amazing… Or have you got plans? You must have plans. Sorry. I didn’t mean… ”

  Dobbs laughed out loud. “Lipinski, I’ve heard you have better conversations with wafer stacks.”

  His smile grew more confident. “They’re less likely to give me answers I don’t want… well on other runs they’re less likely. Listen, if I’m making a mistake, just slap me gently and I’m gone, but, well, I’d really rather have something think about for the twenty-four hours other than how we’re going to get this virus out of the walls.”

  Dobbs realized with a small shock she was considering it.

  Dobbs, don’t do this. There’s too much going on this run, you don’t need this complication. Especially not with somebody from Kerensk. Come on, Dobbs, use your brains and your training and let the man down gently.