"Exactly nothing!" snapped Major Currald, who had held his tongue with difficulty through this emotional recitation. "Did you want the lightweights to think we're all stupid or crazy? Didn't it occur to you that some of us know our best hope is inside FSP, alongside the lightweights?"
The girl's face was red, and her hands shook as she laid a rumpled, much-folded piece of paper on Sass's desk. "I—I know how it is. I know you're going to kill me. But—but I want to be buried on Diplo—or at least my ashes—and it says in regulations you have to do that—and send this message."
It was as pitiful and incoherent as the rest of her story. "In the Name of Justice and Our Righteous Cause—" it began, and wandered around through bits of bad history (the Gelway Riots had not been caused by prejudice against heavyworlders—the heavyworlders hadn't been involved at all, except for one squad of riot police) and dubious theology (at least Sassinak had never heard of Darwin's God before) to justify the poisoning of the innocent, including other heavyworlders as "an Act of Pure Defiance that shall light a Beacon across the Galaxy." It ended with a plea that her family permit the burial of her remains on their land, that "even this Weak and Hopeless Relic of a Great Race can give something back to the Land which nurtured her."
Sassinak looked at Currald, who at the moment looked the very personification of heavyworlder brutality. She had the distinct feeling that he'd like to pound Seles into mush. She herself had the same desires toward Seles' family. Perhaps the girl wasn't too bright, but she could have done well if they hadn't convinced her that she was a hopeless blot on the family name. She picked up the paper, refolded it, and laid it in the folder that held the notes of the investigation. Then she looked back at Seles. Could anything good come out of this? Well, she could try.
Briskly, holding Seles' gaze with hers, she said, "You're quite right, that a captain operating in a state of emergency has the right to execute any person on board who is deemed to represent a threat to the security of the vessel. Yes, I could kill you, here and now, with no further discussion. But I'm not going to." Seles' mouth fell open, and her hands shook even more. Currald's face had hardened into disgust. "You don't deserve a quick death and this—" she slapped the folder, "sort of thing, these spurious heroics. The Fleet's spent a lot of money training you—considerably more than your family did treating you and shipping you around and yelling at you. You owe us that, and you owe your shipmates an apology for damn near killing them. Including Major Currald."
"I—I didn't know it would hurt heavyworlders—" pleaded Seles.
"Be quiet." Currald's tone shut her mouth with a snap; Sassinak hoped he'd never speak to her like that, although she was sure she could survive it. "You didn't think to try it on yourself, did you?"
"But I'm not pure—"
"Nor holy," said Sass, breaking into that before Currald went too far. "That's the point, Seles. You had a bad childhood: so did lots of us. People were mean to you: same with lots of us. That's no reason to go around poisoning people who haven't done you any harm. If you really want to poison someone, why not your family? They're the ones who hurt you."
"But I'm—but they're—"
"Your birth family, yes. And Fleet has tried to be—and could have been—your life family. Now you've done something we can't ignore; you've killed someone, Seles, and not bravely, in a fight, but sneakily. Court martial, when we get back, maybe psychiatric evaluation—"
"I'm not crazy!"
"No? You try to please those who hurt you, and poison those who befriend you; that sounds crazy to me. And you are guilty, but if I punish you then other heavyworlders may think I did so because of your genes, not your deeds."
"Heavyworlders should get out of FSP, and take care of themselves," muttered Seles stubbornly. "It never helped us."
Sassinak looked at Currald, whose mask of contempt and disgust had softened a little. She nodded slightly. "I think, Major Currald, that we have a combined medical and legal problem here. Under the circumstances, we don't have the best situation for psychiatric intervention . . . and I don't want to convene a court on this young lady until there's been a full evaluation."
"You think it's enough for—"
"For mitigation, and perhaps for a full plea of incompetence. But that's outside my sphere; my concern now is to minimize the damage she's done, in all areas, and preserve the evidence."
Seles looked back and forth between them, clearly puzzled and frightened. "But I—I demand—!"
Sassinak shook her head. "Seles, if a court martial later calls for your execution, I will see that your statement is returned to your family. But at the moment, I see no alternative to protective confinement." She opened a channel to Sickbay, and spoke briefly to the Medical Officer. "Major Currald, I can have Security take her down, or—"
"I'll do it," he said. Sassinak could sense that pity had finally replaced disgust.
"Thank you. I think she'll be calmer with you." For several reasons, Sassinak thought to herself. Currald had the size and confident bearing of a full-adapted heavyworlder, trained for battle . . . Seles would not be likely to try escape, and under his gaze would be unwilling to have hysterics.
Less than an hour later, the Medical Officer called back, to report that he considered Seles at serious risk of suicide or other violent action. "She's hanging on by a thread," she said. "That note—that's the sort of thing the Gelway terrorists used. She could go any minute, and locked in the brig she'd be likely to do it sooner rather than later. I want to put her under, medical necessity."
"Fine with me. Send it up for my seal, when you've done the paperwork, and let's be very careful that nothing happens to that coldsleep tank. I don't want any suspicions whatever about our proceedings."
Now that was settled. Sassinak leaned back in her seat, wondering why she felt such sympathy for this girl. She'd never liked whiners herself, the girl had killed one of her crew—but the bewildered pain in those eyes, the shaky alliance of courage and stark fear—that got to her. Currald said much the same thing, when he got back up to Main Deck.
"I'm an Inclusionist," he said, "but I've always believed we should test our youngsters on high-g worlds. We've got something worth preserving, something extra, not just something missing. I've even supported those who want to withhold special treatment from newborn throwbacks. There's enough lightweights in the universe, I've said, breeding fast enough: why spend money and time raising another weakling? At first glance, this kid is just the point of my argument. Her family spent all that money and worry and time, FSP spent all that money on her boarding school, Fleet spent money and time on her in training, and all they got out of it was an incompetent, fairly stupid poisoner. But—I don't know—I want to stomp her into the ground, and at the same time I'm sorry for her. She's not good for anything, but she could have been." He gave Sassinak another, far more human, glance. "I hate to admit it, but the very things I believe in probably turned her into that wet mess."
"I hope something can be salvaged." Sassinak pushed a filled mug across her desk, and he took it. "But what I told her is perfectly true: many of us have had difficult childhoods, many of us have been hurt one way or another. I expect you've faced prejudice on account of your background—" He nodded, and she went on. "—But you didn't decide to poison the innocent to get back at those who hurt you." Sassinak took a long swallow from her own mug—not coffee, but broth. "Thing is, humans of all sorts are under pressure. There've been questions asked in Council about the supposed human domination of Fleet."
"What!" Clearly he hadn't heard that before.
"It's not general knowledge, but a couple of races are pushing for mandatory quotas at the Academy. Even the Ryxi—"
"Those featherdusters!"
"I know. But you're Fleet, Currald: you know humans need to stick together. Heavyworlders have a useful adaptation, but they couldn't take on the rest of FSP alone." He nodded, somber again. Sassinak wondered what went on behind those opaque brown eyes. Yet he was trustworthy:
had to be, after the past week. Anything less, and they'd not have survived.
Her next visitor was Hollister, with a report on the extended repairs and probable performance limits of the ship until it went in for refitting. Even though the portside pods had not been as badly damaged as they'd originally thought, he insisted that the ship would not stand another long FTL chase. "One hop, two—a clear course into Sector—that we can manage. But the kind of maneuvering that the Ssli has to call for in a chase, no. You've no idea what load that puts on the pods—"
Sassinak scowled. "That means we can't find out where they go when they leave?"
"Right. We'd be as likely to end up here as there, and most likely to be spread in between. I'd have to log a protest."
"Which would hardly be read if we did splatter. No, never mind. I won't do that. But there must be something more than sitting here. If only we could tag their ships, somehow . . ."
"Well, now, that's another story." He'd been prepared to argue harder, Sassinak realized, as he sat back, brow furrowed. "Let's see . . . you're assuming that someone'll come along to evacuate, and you'd like to know where it goes, and we can't follow, so . . ." His voice trailed off; Sassinak waited a moment, but he said nothing. Finally he shook himself, and handed her another data cube. "I'll think about it, but in the meantime, we've got another problem. Remember the trouble we were having with the scrubbers in Environmental?"
"Yes." Sassinak inserted the cube, wondering why he'd brought a hardcopy up here instead of just switching an output to her terminal. Then she focussed on the display and bit back an oath. When she glanced at him, he nodded.
"It's worse." It was much worse. Day by day, the recycling efficiency had dropped, and the contaminant fraction had risen. Figures that she'd skimmed over earlier came back to her now: reaction equilibrium constants, rates of algal growth. "One thing that went wrong," Hollister went on, pointing to the supporting data, "is that somehow an overflow valve stuck, and we backflushed from the 'ponics into the supply lines. We've got green crud growing all along here—" He pointed to the schematic. "Cleaned it out of the crosslines by yesterday, but that's nutrient-rich flow, and the stuff loves it. We can't kill it off without killing off the main 'ponics tanks, and that would mean going on backup oxygen, and we lost twenty percent of our backup oxygen in the row with that ship."
Sassinak winced. She'd forgotten about the oxygen spares damaged or blown in that fight.
"Ordinarily," Hollister went on, "it'd help that we have a smaller crew, with the prize crew gone. But because we weren't sure of the biosystems on that transport, I'm short of biosystems crew. Very short. What we need to do is flush the whole system, and replant—but it'd be a lot safer to do that somewhere we could get aired up. In the meantime, we're going to be working twice as hard to get somewhat less output, and that's if nothing else goes wrong."
"Could it be sabotage?" asked Sass.
Hollister shrugged. "Could be. Of course it could be. But it could just as easily be ordinary glitches."
Chapter Thirteen
Day by day the biosystems monitors showed continued system failure. Sassinak forced herself to outward calmness, though she raged inwardly: to be so close, to have found a slaver base, and perhaps a line to its supporters, and then—not to be able to pursue. Hollister's daily reports reinforced the data on her screens: they had no reserves for pursuit, and they could not hold station much longer.
She hung on, nonetheless, hoping for another few ships to show up, anything to give her something to show for this expedition. Or, if Huron's relief expedition arrived, they could take over surveillance. She spent some time each day digging through the personnel files, checking every person who should have been in the quadrant from which the missile came, and who might have had access to a signalling device. There were forty or fifty of them, and she worked her way from Aariefa to Kelly, hoping to be interrupted by insystem traffic. Finally a single ship appeared at the edge of her scanning range, just entering the system. Its IFF signal appeared to be undamaged, giving its mass/volume characteristics straightforwardly.
"Hmm." Sassinak frowned over the display. "If that's right, it should have the new beacon system installed."
"Can we trip it?"
"We can try." The new system functioned as planned, revealing that the ship in question had come from Courcy-DeLan: before that it had hauled "mixed liquids" on the Valri-Palin-Terehalt circuit for eighteen months. "Mixed liquids" came in ten-liter carboys, whatever that meant. Fuels? Drugs? Chemicals for some kind of synthetic process? It could be anything from concentrated acids to vitamin supplements for the slaves' diet. Not that it was important right then, but Sassinak wished she could get a look at the ship's manifest.
Two more transports entered the system, and cautiously made their way down to the planet surface. The Zaid-Dayan's sensitive detectors were able to pinpoint the ships' locations on the surface, confirming that they had both settled onto the original contact site. Then a huge ship appeared, this one clearly unable to land on-planet. A Hall-Kir hull, designed for orbital station docking, settled into a low orbit. Now Sassinak was sure they were going to evacuate the base. A Hall-Kir could handle an enormous load of machinery and equipment. But the ship was at least twelve years old, and lacked the new beacon; nor could Sassinak figure out a way to tag it for future surveillance. Its IFF revealed only that it was leased from General Systems Freight Lines, a firm that had nothing on its records. Since the IFF reported only serial owners, Sassinak could not tell who had it under lease, or if it had been leased to doubtful clients before.
* * *
"Fleet signal!" Sassinak woke from her restless doze at the squawk in her ear, and thumbed down the intercom volume control.
"What is it?"
"Fleet signal—inbound light attack group, Commodore Verstan commanding. It's on a tight beam, coded—but they're sure to have noticed—"
"I'm on my way." Sassinak shook her head, wondering if the slight headache was an artifact of worry, or really a problem with the air quality. Into the shower, fresh uniform, then onto the bridge, where alertness replaced the slightly jaded look of the past few days.
"It was aimed for this planet's local system," said the Com officer. "They must know we're—"
Sassinak shook her head. "They're hoping—they don't know for sure."
"Well, aren't you going to send a return signal?"
"What's our window?"
"Oh. That's right." Shoulders sagged. "We just barely picked it up, and now that miserable planet's in the way."
"And their moon station should have intercepted it, right?"
"Yes, but—"
"So we lie low a little longer," said Sass. "Give me a plot to the nearest Fleet position, and your best guess at its course."
That came up in light blue on the system graphics. Sassinak tried to think what she'd heard about Commodore Verstan. Would he ease cautiously into the system on the slower but very accurate insystem drives, or would he take FTL chunks across, as she had? How many were in his battle group—would he send a scoutship or escort vessel ahead? Surely Huron would have warned him about the falsified IFF signals, and he'd be ready for trouble . . . but some flag officers tended to downplay the warnings of juniors.
She called Hollister up to the bridge, to ask about their capabilities. It would be lovely if they could spring a trap on the pirates—although how to arrange that without revealing their existence was a bit tricky.
Far sooner than she expected, they intercepted another Fleet signal—evidently the Commodore had elected to come in fast, leapfrogging his smaller vessels ahead of the cruisers. The Scratch, an escort-class ship, was now sunward of them, scanning the entire "back" side of the planet system for any activity. Sassinak put a single coded message burst onto the tightest focus she could manage, and then waited. With any luck, the pirates wouldn't have anything around to notice that transmission.
Within seconds, she had a reply, and then a relayed link to C
ommodore Verstan. He wanted a rendezvous, and insisted that she move the Zaid-Dayan from its hidden location. Her suggestion that they arrange a trap, in which her concealed ship could suddenly intercept ships fleeing from his more obvious attack force was denied.
There was nothing to do but comply. The outside crew retrieved the sensors and nets it had deployed on nearby chunks of rock, and when they were all back inside, Hollister gave the various drive components a last check. Then they waited over two hours, to clear the pirate surveillance.
"I may have to give up a good observation post," said Sass, "but I'm not about to jump out in front of them and say 'Boo.' We might be able to sneak away without their knowing we existed."
Carefully, delicately, the pilots extricated the Zaid-Dayan from the rocky cleft in which it had been hidden, and boosted away from the moonlet. Once free of it, Sassinak took a deep breath. Although it had given them safety at a critical time, a moon's surface was not her ship's natural home, and she felt irrationally safer in free flight. Besides, they could now "see" all around them, no longer confined to the narrowed angle of vision imposed by the moon and its rugged surface.
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