“I’ll go see them, then. Or are they asleep?”
“Better see them anyway. Oh, and that Enver fellow—he says he wants to help.”
“Later, Harvey.” There was an edge to Moire’s voice.
“Who are these people that need names?” Ennis asked, curiosity overcoming caution.
Harvey threw a quick, anguished glance at Moire, who looked amused. “Can’t hide two–hundred–plus Created very easily, Harvey. More to the point, we couldn’t hide him from them. Find Commander Ennis a bunk, and I’ll take him to see the kids.”
Harvey walked off, throwing up his hands in resignation. Ennis followed Moire. As his eyes adapted to the low light he could see rock walls on either side, curving as they rose. They were in a cave. In the very back, past crates and boxes of supplies and gear, were several room–sized structures of fabric over open frames. A faint blue light glowed inside each one.
Moire parted the opening of one of the tents and stepped inside. He wasn’t prepared for what he saw—a tumbled clot of people on a pile of crate padding, asleep in the dim light of a jury–rigged safety light hanging from the top of the metal frame. Moire motioned him to stay at the door, and she moved inside.
They sensed her immediately. One gasped and stirred, waking those around her. “It’s only me,” Moire said, soft and gentle. “I’ve come back.” The woman subsided and mumbled something sleepy. “In the morning. Go back to sleep. I’ll be there when you wake up.”
The woman nodded, but reached out her hand. Moire touched it, and the woman smiled sleepily and tucked it under her head again. More hands raised, trying to reach Moire, and she touched each one lightly before leaving.
“Who did this? Why?” Ennis asked in an urgent whisper. The air of unreality about the Created disturbed him.
Moire took a deep breath. “There’s a bad labor shortage in the Fringe. Toren doesn’t like that. People can refuse the dangerous, scut–work jobs because they can find something better. Toren evidently got the bright idea of growing their own. Figured out a way to grow them faster, stronger. And they just happened to have a whole bunch of genetic material on storage from the NASA exploration teams. None of it in the Index.”
It took a moment to sink in, and then his mind refused to comprehend. It was too many horrible things combined. Slavery, gene theft. Probably gene engineering, too. “Your son…you said you didn’t know about him, and I thought you….”
“Yes.” Her face was hard, and her hazel eyes burned with anger. “My son. They created him when I was still in the webspace bubble with Bon Accord.”
“They aren’t normal. Are they?”
She closed her eyes, looking tired. “I’m not sure if they’ll turn out normal or not. They’re young, no more than seven years old, and Toren controlled everything they learned. Alan escaped from their facility and found me. When I was able to, I found them.”
She entered another of the tents, and the same scene played out. The hands reaching out for comfort; Moire soothing them with calm words.
They walked back to the cave entrance in silence. Finally Ennis burst out, “Why didn’t you tell someone? You could have left an anonymous message, or….”
“I thought about that. If Toren even suspected anybody else knew, they would have killed them to cover up.” When she spoke again her voice was rough. “I wasn’t able to rescue them all. Sometimes I think I recognize who their parents were.”
Moire was leaving out some crucial details, like how she’d done it, but he was reluctant to ask more. Toren hadn’t handed their captives over voluntarily, he was sure. It wasn’t important. She’d known someone needed rescuing, desperately, and she had rescued them. Probably using desperate measures.
He should ask, but he wasn’t going to. She’d refuse to answer, but that wasn’t the reason.
It had taken a year for the rescue ships to arrive at Fimbul. A year when people had to expose themselves to the radiation, the roving gangs, the damaged systems. That was why Penderhest had built their shelter on the surface. That was why he had only rarely allowed Ennis to go with him to the interior tunnels, and that was what had killed him in the end.
If Moire Cameron had known about the disaster on Fimbul it would not have taken her a year to get there. And Penderhest would still be alive.
CHAPTER 8
STANDING ON THE EDGE
The insistent beeping finally woke her. Moire searched by her bedroll, bleary–eyed, for the commlink. “Mmm?”
“We are ready to leave, Captain.” Kilberton’s voice came through, faint and scratchy. Long–range communication equipment, Moire added to her expanding list. “I will act with greatest caution, and remember all you have told me of the transit.”
Moire got up, groaning and stretching, and moved away to the edge of the cave, closer to the scout. The transmission would be better, and there was less danger of anyone hearing who shouldn’t. “I’m not worried about your flying, Kilberton. You’ve done the transit twice now with no problems. Just remember there’s some nasty people out there looking for us, and don’t take any risks. Listen to Menehune; she’ll know if it’s dangerous. Get the crew and gear from McNaulty and head back.”
“Yes, Captain.” Kilberton ended the transmission, and Moire clipped the comm on her belt with a sigh. She didn’t like splitting up the crew like this, but she didn’t have much choice. They had to pick up the construction crew and equipment, and Dunkirk, the cargo ship they had used to rescue the Created, was both big enough and not yet connected with her.
It should be safe enough. Yolanda was going with him, and she had all the street smarts Kilberton lacked. She hoped he’d listen to her. Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to send her law–abiding copilot off with their resident expert on the criminal underworld. The two of them had had some heated arguments on the subject. No, they both knew this was important. They’d have to save the ethics discussions for later.
Now she had to figure out a way to get Ennis back where he belonged before Dunkirk returned.
The sun was just starting to think about coming up. She was the only one awake in the cave, and it was blessedly silent. It wouldn’t stay that way long, and she had a lot of thinking to do.
She stuffed some drybars and a drink bulb in the pocket of her jacket and strapped on a pistol. They still didn’t know all the surprises Sequoyah had for them, and she made sure everyone went armed when they left the camp. Besides, it was a good habit to get into for later.
She took the path down to the bay, jumping carefully from rock to rock. The gravity was just a tad over earth–normal, and she didn’t want to break an ankle. The trail split just before it reached the water, where thick, rubbery reeds filled in between the huge bases of the pseudotrees. Moire took the path up the hillside, to the cliff top.
The sun had not yet reached this side, and the moonballs were still floating about. A large one drifted past her as she climbed, and the tiny insects suddenly started to life, dispersing in a cloud. A moment later, they coalesced back into a handful of smaller balls, which merged back to the larger ball again. It was still too cool for them to scatter for the day.
After she got the guns, maybe they should shop for a good xenobiologist, too. The moonball insects weren’t the only creatures they’d seen. There was something that looked like a flying mop and sounded like a foghorn in a blender, and the giant whatsits in the oceans. They’d probably have to wait for large, armored submarines before they could investigate those.
Seeing the telltale round orange balls of a splatter plant ahead, Moire made a careful detour. The balls were full of some caustic, noisome substance, and the slightest touch made them burst. After a few of the more adventurous Created had run afoul of the splatter plants, they had developed a profound respect for them. Very much like a vegetable skunk. Maybe they could use that, if they could figure out a way to move them without setting them off. Or could they grow them from scratch? How could they
tell what the seeds were, if they had any?
We need a xenobiologist.
The top of the cliff was rocky and mostly bare, with large boulders scattered about the surface. She could see all the way to the next island, still wreathed in morning mist. The rocks were chilly and slightly damp, so she broke off a mat of wiry tanglegrass to sit on in a sheltered spot, out of the wind.
They needed more medics. They needed more everything, but especially medics. The new Created—you couldn’t really call them born—decanted? Unplugged? Hatched? required constant attention, just like a real newborn. Then there were the Toren prisoners. She couldn’t keep them stuck on their islands forever, though sometimes when she had the dreams of blood and screaming it seemed like a good idea.
The sun rose higher, and she still hadn’t found a solution. She closed her eyes against the light, letting the warmth soak in. The flying mop things (they had to start getting some real names) were making their “oooOOgh–whhhhrg” noise. What did that mean? Watch out, there’s a nasty predator? Hello, attractive mop thing? Hey, that’s my splatter plant you’re eating?
A moment later she heard the faint scuff of footsteps, and she sighed. It was surprising they hadn’t tried to reach her on the comm first if they needed her for something. Her station–born crew didn’t like moving around in the open.
Moire opened her eyes. Ennis was standing near the cliff edge, shading his view with one hand as he looked out over the water. After a moment he stepped back and walked over to her. He sat down cross–legged and picked up a stray strand of tanglegrass that had fallen to the ground, running his fingers lightly over it.
“I was on Irukyn–Riu twice, for shore leave,” he said eventually, breaking the silence. “It’s supposed to be the most beautiful habitable planet. It isn’t half as beautiful as this.” The bruises had mostly faded from his face, but he still looked gaunt to her. He was frowning against the light.
“Ever been to Earth?”
He twisted the tanglegrass into a loop. “Once. It rained the whole time.” He glanced up, then looked down again, frowning. “I don’t understand why people want to live there, even when it doesn’t rain.”
Moire suppressed a smile. “Where did you go?”
“Cornwall. England.”
“Why?”
He sighed and rolled the loop of grass on the ground. “My foster father was born there. The one thing he wanted was to go back. When he was dying, he made me promise…anyway, I carried his ashes in my kit for three years before I could go. And then all I saw was rain, and cliffs, and huge crashing waves….” He stared out into the distance, then looked up at her. A piercing, intent look.
Moire took a deep breath. I had forgotten how blue his eyes are. “Are they looking for me down there?”
Ennis shook his head. “Just starting to wake up.” He hesitated, then said, “What’s wrong?”
She’d have to be careful. He’d been annoyingly observant back on Canaveral, too, when she only had a mutiny to hide. “It isn’t as easy as it looks, running a criminal enterprise. I had no idea the overhead costs were so high.”
He grinned, a sudden flash. “Less paperwork, though.”
“True.” He was still looking at her with a thoughtful expression. Unconvinced. “And I need about fifty babysitters with combat experience.”
“Babysitters?” Ennis said, pronouncing the word slowly.
Moire felt a sudden chill. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. He didn’t know what the word meant. The tech had changed, but tech had always changed rapidly. That didn’t bother her. But the language had also changed in eighty years, and every time she was reminded of it she felt lost in a strange world. And she could never go home again.
“It means…someone paid to look after kids,” she said when she felt she could trust her voice again. “I don’t know what they call them now.” A little ragged at the end. Perhaps he wouldn’t notice.
“I’m not the person to ask.” He wasn’t sounding completely calm himself.
No, he wouldn’t be. Not when he grew up on a prison colony, leaving only to join Fleet. Not a lot of structured child care either place. She glanced at him. He was looking at her with an uncertain expression, one that changed as soon as their eyes met.
She cleared her throat. “Anyway—we need help with the Created. Can’t leave them alone or they’re liable to blow themselves up. I also have to find a way to get you back without getting anybody arrested or shot.”
He looked down at his hands, frowning. “I don’t know where to go. Lambert has already been infiltrated, and few ships go there anyway.”
“What were you doing at Lambert?” Moire asked. It seemed a very boring post for him.
“Being punished for not bringing you in,” he said in a very even tone.
Careful… “They don’t have dangerous combat postings where you could still be useful, as well as punished? The crab war is still on, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes. But since I’m targeted by Toren, Fleet doesn’t want me on their ships. One of their agents got rather destructive on Canaveral trying to find out more about you, and now Toren infiltrated Lambert looking for me. If only…we had some crab ships show up at Lambert, but those boneheads blew them up before we could capture them. That might have been enough to at least keep me in Fleet.”
Moire grimaced. How was she supposed to know Toren would cause him so much trouble? “I’m sorry you got involved. I was desperate. You were captured by them just like I was, you know what it’s like.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. He sighed. “It doesn’t matter. My career wasn’t…Fleet is all I’ve ever known. It’s not like I can go back to Fimbul.” Then he reddened, glancing at her. “I shouldn’t complain. You’ve been through worse.”
Moire shifted, uncomfortable. Ennis had never had much, and now he was going to lose what he did have. Because of her. The problem was, even if Fleet did cut him loose, Toren would hunt him as long as they thought he knew something useful. There had to be something she could do to help him. Maybe then Fleet would value him enough not to stick him out in the middle of nowhere for Toren to grab.
What he had said finally registered, and she blinked. “What was that about capturing crab ships?”
“We haven’t. Oh, we’ve picked up lots of wreckage, but nothing intact. No, there was one, but Fleet doesn’t have it.”
“Who does?”
He gave her a sardonic look. “Toren.”
And why the hell are they so interested in the crabs? Well, that was one thing she could do to help Ennis, help Fleet, and annoy Toren in the bargain. “I know where to find a crab ship. Probably not flyable, but it’s in one piece.”
He stared at her for a long moment, doubting and incredulous. “Where? Is it far from here?”
She stood and held out a hand to help him up. “It’s on our way.”
¤ ¤ ¤
Ennis followed Moire down the steep path from the cliff top, trying to decide which question to ask first. Wondering if she would answer any of them.
“Does anybody else know about the crab ship? How did you find it?”
She looked back over her shoulder at him. Her expression was worried, even more than before. “Besides me, Gren. It’s in the sargasso—a bunch of wrecked ships. We go there to salvage them. I haven’t told the rest of the crew about it yet.”
An intact crab ship. Maybe this wasn’t a complete disaster after all. He heard the thrumming of engines, and a shadow passed over them. Moire glanced up.
“Good. The unloading is underway.”
“When can we leave?”
Moire scratched her head and sighed. “Tomorrow. Maybe. I have to make sure the kids will be OK here for a while, and…and stuff like that.” She tilted a look at him. “I was serious about the babysitters, you know. If Fleet kicks you out, you can always come back here.”
He stumbled and stared at her, his first impression tha
t she was mocking him fading with uncertainty. Her expression was unrevealing; just a hint of something in her eyes that was soon gone. “I’ll keep it in mind,” Ennis said lightly. “Combat would be easier, though.”
She grinned. “I know. That’s why we need the help.” They’d reached the base of the trail, and Moire headed for the cave. Ennis hesitated, then took the other branch that skirted the bay. He didn’t want to encounter anybody until he was calm again.
He was a Fleet officer. There was a war on, and he had a job to do. He shouldn’t be thinking of how he might like to stay here. It wouldn’t do any good to wonder about the end of the crab war, either. At the rate things were going he probably wouldn’t be around to see it.
The local sun was bright, but filtered through the broad planes that projected from the huge things Moire had called pseudotrees. Not real branches, but close enough. He walked along the water’s edge, where the pseudotrees thinned out and he could see the open water. A rocky beach faced the cliff across the bay; he could just make out the cave entrance through the broad trunks. Small waves lapped and gurgled in the rocks and pebbles underfoot.
It was peaceful here, but it wouldn’t last. Cameron had her own war coming. Maybe it would be better if he did stay here. He wouldn’t be endangering any Fleet ships, he could find out whatever Namur wanted from Cameron, and she wouldn’t have to leave.
Except Namur wasn’t the only one with questions. There was still the mutiny investigation. She’d promised to go back for that, and if she did, what were the chances of her returning? He stood motionless, suddenly feeling cold.
He didn’t want to stay on Sequoyah. He wanted to stay with Moire.
Ennis shoved the thought away, furious with himself. She was a mutineer. If he stayed, he became one too.
¤ ¤ ¤
Alan moved the controls, and the world below shifted in the viewer. Not quite in the right place, so he nudged the controls again. Now the numbers in the readout were the same, and he looked at his mother for confirmation.
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