by Eric Brown
Not long after that, McIntosh had met the doll-like Namura and they’d started a tempestuous affair. Just six months later the Australian’s controller had exerted pressure to draw Namura into the sticky web of deceit. They - and McIntosh suspected the FNSA - wanted information relating to Namura’s mission for Chandrasakar, on the world of Kallianka, Procyon II. If that information was were not forthcoming, then certain parties might get to know of McIntosh’s gambling debts... For the sake of her lover, Namura had consented to provide it.
And now they were in it up to their necks, not spies who had turned coat for reasons of ideology or greed, but naive innocents out of their depth in a world of intrigue they barely understood.
This time, the FNSA wanted all the information on Chandrasakar’s mission to Delta Cephei VII, and the pair were in no position to refuse.
Parveen withdrew her probe, nodding at something Namura was telling her about the die-back rates of certain fungal species.
She had expected to loathe the pair, if they had indeed turned out to be plants of the FNSA. Instead, all she felt was an immense pity. They were mired in an impossible situation, and in the months and years to come their controller would exert ever more pressure, asking for more and more, risking their cover for greater gain until, as expendable units, they would be found out and eradicated... Parveen had no doubt that that is just what Rab, or rather his security team, would do if the truth were to get out.
She sat back with her beer, considering what she should do. She would have had no qualms at all about telling Rab about the pair if they had been committed FNSA spies, but they were like children caught in a mine-field.
She couldn’t tell Rab, and so sentence them to death. The only alternative would be to keep a close eye on the pair, read them frequently and ensure that they sent nothing back to the FNSA that might prove injurious to Rab and his organisation.
At the same time, she knew that she should inform her controller of what she’d found out so that India might choose to influence events, even to the point of blackmailing Namura and McIntosh to its own ends.
She couldn’t bring herself to do that, either.
Sickened, she made an excuse and left the pair to the softscreen, crossed to the bar, and ordered another beer.
She considered her next move. She should really seek out Singh, the head of security, and attempt to read him - but if she were honest with herself she had to admit that she’d had enough of slipping unawares into other people’s minds.
Then she had second thoughts as she considered her encounter with Singh back on Earth, and wondered again if he knew something about her work for the party. The only way to reassure herself on that score would be to probe the bastard.
She was about to find a steward who might know of his whereabouts when Singh himself strode into the bar and moved among the scientists, chatting amiably. Parveen watched him cross to where Namura and McIntosh were still absorbed in the images of Bellatrix III. He joined them, looked at the scrolling images, and chatted for a while.
She touched her handset, sent out a probe, and came up against Singh’s impenetrable mind-shield.
She had not, honestly, expected to be able to break down his shield; he was the head of security and had the latest cloaking software. If she were to read Singh, it would mean getting close to him, infecting his handset with a virus.
He was in conversation with the scientists for about ten minutes, before moving off and introducing himself to a grey-haired, stocky woman in her fifties drinking coffee and contemplating the void through the curving viewscreen. She wondered if he were systematically doing the rounds as a matter of duty, and if so whether he would come to her in due course.
For the next thirty minutes he moved around the bar, making a point of chatting to everyone. Parveen braced herself for the inevitable encounter.
He came to the bar, stood next to her and ordered a beer; just when she thought he was giving her the cold shoulder, he turned to her and nodded curtly.
“Mr Chandrasakar gave me orders to familiarise everyone with the routine once we land,” he said.
“I’m surprised you decided to include me,” she smiled. “That’s uncommonly courteous.”
“Mr Chandrasakar might have told you already-” Singh began.
She took a long swallow from her bottle. “We had other things with which to occupy our time, Mr Singh.”
He compressed his lips, so that they formed a thin line hyphenating his fat cheeks. “That hadn’t escaped my notice.”
“Well, that’s reassuring. You are head of security after all. I suppose it’s a priority to know who the boss is bedding.”
Singh considered his reply. “To be honest, I’m surprised in his choice. Have you paused to consider what a multi-millionaire might see in you?”
She maintained her smile. “Have you asked Rab that, Mr Singh?”
“He has the pick of the most exclusive escort agencies on Earth, Dr Das. Perhaps... perhaps he’s become involved with you because you represent a regime he finds odious and he’s intrigued by the gullibility of a supposedly intelligent woman.”
It was the way he laid emphasis on the word represent that gave her pause. Her smile felt rigid as she replied, “Well, that’s something you will never know, Mr Singh.”
He shrugged, the start of a smug smile turning his lips.
“But you said you’re here to discuss the routine after landing...” As she said this, she reached out and casually turned Singh’s beer bottle, ostensibly so that she could read the label.
“We’ll be coming down close to the exploration vessel The Pride of Mussoree,” Singh said. “Scientists will be allowed out once a security cordon has been erected. Part of my brief is to ensure the safety of everyone aboard the Kali, so I’d appreciate your co-operation when leaving the ship.” He reached out, gripped his beer in a massive hand, and drank.
Below the level of the bar, Parveen activated her psi-program.
“As you might know, what happened to the crew of the Mussoree is not known. Until their fate is ascertained, then everyone aboard the Kali, with the exception of Mr Chandrasakar, will be under my command. I hope you don’t find that an undue burden, Dr Das?”
She shrugged. “Why should I, Mr Singh? I don’t intend to do any long long-distance trekking once we’ve touched down.”
She probed, and again came up against the barrier of his mind-shield. It confronted her with a white-noise of static, through which not the slightest hint of Singh’s mentation leaked. She was surprised that her virus had not broken down his defences to the point where she could at least detect stray surface emotions and short-term memories, but she scanned nothing.
“Well, I’m delighted that we know where we stand on that issue, at least,” he said. He was moving away when he stopped suddenly, then turned and stared at her.
“And if you try that trick again,” he said with deliberation, “I’ll respond with a virus that’ll not only scramble your hardware but give you serious brain-damage, ah-cha?”
He moved off before she had the chance to recover her composure. She watched him go, knowing that she had emerged from the encounter, once again, at a disadvantage. Her heart was thudding and she felt at once angry and embarrassed. Perhaps she should have held off the virus... but his behaviour towards her had suggested he knew something about her. She would do her best to avoid him in future.
She ordered another beer and for the next ten minutes considered what to do next. She left the bar and made her way to Rab’s suite. She approached the sliding door and stepped through with assumed casualness.
Rab was still scanning his softscreen, his back to the door. She crossed to him, laid a hand on his shoulder and kissed the top of his head.
Something in his manner, as he remained staring at a list of figures on the screen, gave her a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Rab?”
He didn’t look up at her. “Singh just called me. He reported
what you did.” He turned in his seat and looked up at her. “Parveen, he’s my head of security and he doesn’t take kindly to having his hardware messed up by third-rate viral programs.”
She bridled at the third-rate, but didn’t let it show. “Rab, I’m sorry. I thought...”
“What, you thought you’d read everyone aboard the ship? I wanted you to keep an eye on Vaughan. I said nothing about my security team.”
“I’m sorry. It was just...” She considered telling his about their tête-à-tête back on Earth. “Look, he made it obvious he doesn’t like me-”
He reached out and took her hand, and she almost melted with the relief. “Parveen, Singh is a brain-dead thug who also happens to be good at his job. I employ him as a security guard, not a conversationalist.”
“Rab, if you’d heard what he said back on Earth-”
He interrupted, pulling her towards him and installing her on his lap. “Parveen, his father was a politician with the Khallistan Independence Party back in ‘34 when the communists staged the coup. His father was interned and sentenced to hard labour. He died in custody when Singh was twenty. Of course he doesn’t like anything your party stands for, and he sees you - in your relationship with me - as something of a threat.”
She looked at him. “You aren’t trying to say you suspect me...” she began, shamed by her own mock-indignation.
He shook his head, and his reaction seemed genuine enough. “Of course not.” He stroked her cheek. “Look, we might be poles apart politically, but that doesn’t alter what I feel for you.”
She kissed him, relief flooding through her. “Thank you, Rab.”
“I’ll have a word with Singh,” he said, “tell him to lay off. But no more attempted probes, promise me, Parveen.”
She promised.
“Excellent. I thought we’d dine alone tonight, then have an early night. We make landfall first thing in the morning.”
She slept well, that night, reassured by Rab’s words, and woke just as the Kali was phasing from the void. She showered quickly, grabbed a coffee, then hand in hand with Rab took the elevator down to the observation lounge.
A dozen scientists were crowded around the viewscreen, staring out at the new world and exclaiming in surprise and delight. She joined them, while Rab excused himself and made his way to the bridge.
Far below, the world turned slowly as the Kali made spiraldown. They descended rapidly, and a world without seas came into view. Within minutes the terrain resolved itself into vast tracts of ochre vegetation, which, Namura explained, were the fungal-analogue rafts which covered much of the planet’s surface.
The Japanese biologist was straining on tiptoe to stare out, and beside her the tall, red-headed McIntosh smiled tolerantly.
Parveen felt a quick stab of sympathy for the hapless couple, then turned her attention to the view of Delta Cephei VII.
* * * *
TEN
ULTERIOR MOTIVES
Sukara and Dr Rao left the café, crossed Himachal Park, and eased their way through the surging crowds on Chandi Road. They passed Nazruddin’s, the restaurant where she’d first met Jeff, and came to Dr Rao’s favourite coffee house where he had informed her, what seemed like a lifetime ago now, of her sister’s death.
They hurried inside, and Sukara passed the very table where she’d sat, a naive and ignorant child herself, while the doctor had covered her hand with his own scaly claw and broken the news. The memory brought a sudden blockage to her throat.
Dr Rao led her through a bead curtain at the back of the coffee house, past a calamitous kitchen, and into a tiny white-tiled room on the facing wall of which was a steel door.
“My private access to the elevator to Level Twelve B,” he explained.
Sukara watched as he tapped a code into a console beside the door. She blinked in surprise: by an odd coincidence it was her own age and Pham’s: 27-10.
The door slid open, revealing a tiny cubicle. Dr Rao gallantly bid her enter, then eased himself in beside her. He touched the controls and the door slid shut; a second later the cubicle gave a stomach-heaving lurch and Sukara felt as if she were falling.
Dr Rao rapped on the wall with his cane. “There are other means of entry and egress to and from the starship, through which my children make their way, but in my old age I prefer the comfort of an elevator.”
Their descent seemed to take an age. Dr Rao clicked his tongue to some complicated Hindu drumming rhythm. In the confined space, Sukara was very aware of his body odour: old man, rose-water hair pomade, and garlic.
“One’s first sight of the starship, Sukara, is one to treasure: it is a sight to behold, to employ a cliché. No one fails to be impressed.”
She looked at him. “Do you get many visitors?”
“The ship’s whereabouts is not widely known. However, certain esteemed friends and acquaintances of mine, senior politicians, dignitaries, and the like, have been known to seek an audience with me.”
He beamed at the steel door like a supremely self-satisfied turtle.
Five minutes later the lift clanked, bobbed to a halt, and the door ground open.
Sukara stared, blinked, and stared again.
Before her was a starship enmeshed in a complex webwork of steel girders and struts, the whole overgrown with what looked like the content of the Amazon jungle. Lichen covered the ship’s prognathous nose-cone and lianas garlanded the girders that held the ship in place. The scene was bathed in the dazzling light of a dozen halogens.
Dr Rao said, “The vegetation often baffles visitors, my dear, but the explanation is simple. When the ship crash-landed, it was carrying a consignment of seeds, among other things. The containers burst and found their way into a myriad nooks and crannies, and then came the monsoon... This was the top deck, many years ago, of course.”
They left the elevator and walked along a narrow catwalk suspended over the riotous vegetation.
“How did you acquire the ship, Dr Rao?”
“I was at the time influential in certain governmental circles, shall we say, and when the building of another level of the Station was proposed, I put in a bid for the starship.” He smiled. “And it was accepted.”
As they drew closer to the flora-embroidered flank of the ship, Sukara saw a dozen children squatting on fins and engine cowls like so many monkeys. Behind viewscreens she saw more children in the ship’s lighted interior, playing tag or sitting cross-legged and eating from bowls.
They entered the ship, climbing a ramp into a cargo hold crammed with bunks; she saw that the bunk-beds were, in some places, stacked twenty high, and to access them children swung from the ladders and bars again like primates in shorts and T-shirts.
“How many kids live down here?” she asked.
Rao beamed as he gazed around at his kingdom. “At the last count, perhaps two hundred, give or take one or two. They work in shifts of six hours, and all of them return here during the hours of darkness. I feed them all, and of course provide complete medical care.”
She looked around at the staring kids, and only then noticed that all of them were in some way maimed or disfigured. She recalled that Tiger had allowed Dr Rao to remove her left leg, the better to facilitate her employment as a street beggar.
“And now, Sukara, a little tour of inspection, as it were...”
He led her from the dormitory and down a corridor to another vast room, this one fogged with steam and filled with the smell of cooking curry and rice. Twenty tiny figures, wearing nothing but ragged shorts or underpants, toiled in the kitchen.
“As you see, my charges never want for comestibles.”
They moved to another, smaller chamber, where a dozen children sat at sewing machines. “And I must keep my children in clothing,” he said. “As my eminent guests have been wont to say, I have created a veritable city in miniature down here.”
Sukara smiled to herself, and thought of her little sister living out the last years of her life in this grim underwo
rld.
She wondered if it were preferable than life on the streets of the levels above, and thought that all things considered perhaps it was.
