The matter was raised by Buzz over lunch. Mako only realised later that Buzz had quietly fixed it so that the two of them would be having lunch in the wardroom together by themselves. At the time, it seemed quite natural, with Buzz chatting to him about the visit they would be making the following day to the D7-class planet known as Paradise Gardens. They had been chatting about it for a few minutes before the Exec raised the matter of the three parolees.
‘The skipper’s in rather a sensitive position on that one,’ he said. ‘Fleet regs are that new members of crew are not eligible for ship visiting or shoreleave until they have been on board for a month. For him to authorise them to have shoreleave could only be done either on medical or compassionate grounds. The trouble is, if Rangi gives them ‘medical imperative’ to be allowed to have shoreleave it will give the element within the Admiralty looking for any way to make this fail ammunition for alleging that they were not fit to be aboard in the first place. And if the skipper grants them shoreleave on compassionate grounds that could be perceived as ‘pampering’, you see?’
‘Ah.’ Mako considered the subtle but apparent hint that was being dropped his way, and asked, ‘Might it be helpful, in that, if I made such a request, or recommendation, for ‘sky time’?’
Buzz gave him a look of warm approval, pleased by how quick he was on the uptake.
‘Only if you feel it to be appropriate,’ he said, at which Mako smiled.
‘Definitely,’ he said, and not long after lunch, then, asked for a meeting with the skipper and made what was, in fact, the only criticism he put on record for the entire trip.
‘I understand that it is your intention to deny the parolees shoreleave because they have not been aboard the ship long enough to qualify for it under normal Fleet regulations,’ he said. ‘And I would like it noted please, Skipper, and logged, that I register an official protest against that as an unreasonable enforcement of regulations. Even without considering the rights-abusive regime at the army prison on Cestus, these men were aboard a liner for more than three weeks before being brought aboard this ship without so much as five minutes’ opportunity to breathe fresh air and feel the sunlight on their faces. I would, therefore, recommend in the strongest terms, that you relax Fleet regulations in this instance and permit them the same access to shoreleave as the rest of the crew.’
The skipper looked at him with amused appreciation.
‘Well, you are of course here at the invitation of the Fleet, on request that you advise us on how we might do things better,’ he observed. ‘So I will certainly make an exception to Fleet regulations on the basis of your recommendation, Inspector.’
‘Thank you,’ Mako said, and they shook hands on that with perfect understanding.
____________________
Chapter Nine
Mako was obliged to modify his ideas about ‘fresh air’ the following morning when he experienced Paradise Gardens for himself.
It actually looked beautiful, both from space and at the landing zone where the shuttle took him with the first wave of shoreleavers. From space, it was richly coloured with browns and greens. It hardly seemed to matter that it was an algal environment known to spacers, disparagingly, as a slimeworld. Mako had never considered himself any kind of lover of the great outdoors and would happily go for weeks without any more sight of the sky than you got through windows. After two and a half weeks in space, the opportunity to go for a walk in a living biosphere, however primitive, was very welcome.
In fact, when the shuttle landed he could hardly believe how lovely it was. It had already been explained to him how the planet had got its nickname. A private foundation called the Terraforming Society was in the habit of providing ‘terraforming boxes’ to any and all starships prepared to take them. They contained specially developed seeds that the Society asked spacers to scatter on the primitive algae-covered worlds regarded as prime candidates for terraforming. The definition of a D7 world, after all, was one in which primitive forms of life were generating an atmosphere which was just about survivable by humans, but with none of the higher forms of evolution which would make it contentious to be introducing foreign species. This almost exclusively meant slimeworlds, with a particular species of algae encrusting them that thrived on methane and produced sufficient oxygen to be breathable for humans.
Few spacers believed that the Terraforming Society was right to be lobbying for worlds like Paradise Gardens to be terraformed. It was true that Chartsey was massively overpopulated but Sharfur, the first world ever to be terraformed for human occupation, still had abundant capacity. Despite being so convenient to the capital world and with a scenery and climate that made it a highly desirable residence for film stars, even with big incentives to companies and individuals to relocate there, there had never been more than a trickle of settlers from Chartsey. So while they were clearly still some hundreds of years from any zone where there would be any demand for another ‘suburb world’ even further away, few spacers felt there to be any justification for the kind of effort and expense it would have taken to terraform Paradise Gardens seriously. They had no objection, however, to throwing some seeds about around shoreleave facilities. The Society paid starships a cargo fee for doing so and if the plants took, they did at least do something to relieve the monotony of the views of crusty algae.
Here on Paradise Gardens spacers had been scattering seeds for hundreds of years. They had established not only in the area immediately around the shoreleave ‘hut’ but for a long swathe downwind, too, creating a park-like area which was now a couple of hundred kilometres across. There were trees – rather short and spindly trees, admittedly, but still, creating a pleasing forest-like appearance from a distance. There was thick moss underfoot, too, of a vibrant green, and all manner of low-growing alpine-type plants.
Even the ‘hut’ looked beautiful in that setting. It was a low dome of blue tinted clear plastic, much larger than Mako had been expecting. He had the impression that it was nothing more than an emergency survival hut, equipped with the basics to provide for a crew if they had to abandon ship. There were similar survival domes, he’d been told, all along major shipping routes. The rule was that spacers used them for shoreleave, always ensuring that they left them fully supplied and doing routine maintenance on them in passing.
‘But this is lovely!’ Mako exclaimed, stepping off the shuttle and taking a few steps onto the springy moss. Then, making sense of what he was seeing, he recognised that the big rectangle of artificial turf beside the hut was actually a sports pitch. ‘It’s like a hotel!’
That impression was sustained within. It might be a survival hut but spacers themselves went to some effort to upgrade such facilities. With this being such a very frequent stop for freighters on the Karadon run, they had fitted it out to be comfortable and pleasant. Inside the dome was largely open plan with areas of tables and chairs, sofas and bunks, shower blocks and a kitchen, with a power plant and storage units full of supplies. There was also a sickbay, which Rangi Tekawa went straight to, to check supplies and run routine tests on equipment. He was not on leave here, himself, but would be on duty as medic for most of the day.
They were not intending to make a long stop, just long enough for each watch to have a couple of hours stretching their legs groundside. Mako had been told that he was welcome to stay for the whole time if he liked, though he felt obscurely that that would be greedy. He had picked up too on an amused expectation that two hours would be more than enough for him, which he just did not get, at first, at all.
In fact, it was about half an hour before he understood why there had not been any great excitement aboard ship at the prospect of getting to come here, today. There’d been mild pleasure, sure, but with a general sense that two hours would be ample time to fully appreciate such pleasures as it had to offer.
Mako, at any rate, enjoyed the first half hour very much, exploring the hut-dome and strolling in the gardens. Gravity was quite light, which made him feel enj
oyably buoyant. Just being able to see more than ten metres in any direction gave him a wonderful sense of spaciousness and freedom. It didn’t seem to matter that the hazy air made the sunshine no more than a pale blob in the sky, nor that the air was so cold he had to be bundled up in an insulated shoreleave rig with hood and gloves. He didn’t even mind having to wear the mask that he’d been told he had to keep on at all times outside the dome. The air was survivable, he’d been told, but that did not mean it was pleasant. He might well suffer light-headedness or nausea if he tried to breathe it without the processing that kept the air inside the dome comfortable.
The best part for Mako was when Ali Barfield took him off in a buggy to scatter seeds out on the edge of the area currently under cultivation. There were several such buggies at the dome, just short-range air jeeps. It was routine for any members of the crew who felt inclined to volunteer for it to head out and do the honours with the Terraforming Society seed box, but for Mako, it was all amazing. Just the experience of heading away from the dome and out into the wilds was awesome for a man who’d never been anywhere more adventurous than an environmental dome at Chartsey’s Cosmos Park. It gave him the shivers knowing that there were fewer than thirty of them on the entire planet. When they reached the edge of the ‘cultivated’ area and he saw the vast expanse of algae crusting the rocky landscape, he felt himself to be as tiny as an insect.
Scattering seed, too, was quite an experience. The Terraforming Society provided two types of seeds; the tree seeds which had to be planted using a device which came with the kit, and scatter-pods which were like tiny balloons. You had to pull a tab on those and throw them, at which they would float for a while and then pop, scattering their contents over a wide area.
The first tree seed he planted made Mako feel like a pioneer. He stood there on the edge of that enormous algal plain planting a seed that, if it grew successfully, would be adding its mite to moving this planet from slimeworld into a habitable environment. It gave him a weird feeling to think that, perhaps thousands of years from now, the descendants of the trees he was planting here would have children playing amongst them, as this world became a green and thriving colony.
Unfortunately, the second tree he planted rather busted the awe and wonder of that moment. Having shown him how to use the tree planting device and reminded him several times only to walk on the rock, Ali was leaving him to it while he threw out scatter pods containing the moss spores and alpine seeds which would expand the cultivated area. Looking for pockets of algae that would be deep enough for the trees, Mako took one incautious step and discovered the hard way why spacers called these slimeworlds.
‘Are you all right?’ Ali raced to help him up, as Mako had given quite a yell at finding himself slipping and sliding into the mire.
‘Yes – yes, I think so,’ Mako managed. He was not hurt, gravity was light and his suit was protective. It had been quite a shock to find himself tumbling into the algae, though, and it was surprisingly difficult to get up even with Ali’s help. It was like trying to stand up on ice, except that ice was not squelchy underfoot and didn’t cover you in icky green slime. Looking down at himself, Mako exclaimed in dismay. It wasn’t just sludgy green algae but little brown crusty bits which an attempt to wipe off only spread further. ‘Errgh!’
‘You’re sure you’re not hurt?’ Ali pressed, obviously too concerned about that even to be amused by the filthy state he was in.
‘No, no, I’m fine,’ Mako assured him, ‘but that stuff is disgusting. And my eyes are stinging a bit.’
‘That’s the algae.’ Ali informed him. ‘Breaking the crust releases trapped gases, see? Put your goggles on if it’s uncomfortable.’
‘Oh, I’m all right,’ Mako said, though blinking as his eyes were watering. ‘I wouldn’t mind getting cleaned up, though,’ he admitted, with another look down at himself.
‘No problem. We’ll nip back to the hut,’ Ali said.
They went back, Ali pointing out the showers that were in the airlock-like entrance to the dome. It did not, however, occur to him to tell the civilian not to take his mask off until he’d shed his algae-mired clothes and put them in the decontam unit. His exclamation of, ‘No, don’t!’ as he saw what Mako was doing came just a second too late.
When Mako had stopped being sick, Ali apologised, assuring him that that was a perfectly usual reaction to the stench of the algae and nothing to be at all embarrassed about. Everyone was very kind about it, in fact, with Rangi coming to make sure he was all right. The stink seemed to have fixed itself into Mako’s nostrils somehow so that he felt he might never be rid of it, a nauseating reek. Even once he’d recovered and ventured back out of the dome with his mask firmly back in place, he found he was not looking at the gardens in the same way he had before. It was hard to see it as any kind of paradise when you knew that one breath of the air would make you puke. And now he knew why liners did not stop here, too.
For freighters, though, as for Fleet ships, the opportunity for the crew to stretch their legs was well worth putting up with stinky air. A freighter, indeed, arrived just as the Minnow was preparing to depart. Mako had only stayed two hours, himself, and had been quite glad to get back aboard the ship, to shower until the reek of the algae was finally gone and to get comfortable again in shipboard rig. Shoreleave, he had observed, was obviously intended to make you appreciate the comforts of life aboard ship.
As they were within ten minutes of leaving, however, a freighter appeared on their long-range scopes. It came into port, slipping into the same superlight orbit as the corvette and signalling amicable greetings.
Mako often wondered, later, how things would have worked out if either the corvette had gone ten minutes earlier or the freighter arrived ten minutes later. At the time, it seemed merely a pleasant but unimportant chance encounter. The freighter, the Cargomaster 469, immediately issued a challenge to a flickball match.
A little to Mako’s surprise, the skipper agreed to that at once, informing the crew that their visit to Paradise Gardens would be extended by a couple of hours and requesting that anyone interested in playing the Cargomaster 469 team give their names to CPO Martins. A team was put together very quickly with a lucky-dip draw for who would get to go and support them. They were not, Mako knew, allowed to send more than a third of the crew off the ship at any given time, so only twenty or so supporters got to go and cheer on the sidelines. One of them was detailed to film it, though, with live transmission being routed through a satellite that provided comms link between superlight ships and the shoreleave hut.
Mako quite got into it as the ship was taken over by flickball fever. Even the command deck crew were allowed to have the game on side screen feeds. The atmosphere was as excited as Mako had seen people getting over major cup finals on Chartsey. He could make little of the game himself, beyond being amazed by some of the leaps and bullet-speed ball punches which CPO Martins made. In that light gravity his muscles, adapted to cope with far heavier gee, made him tremendously powerful. The Cargomaster team had several very good players too, though, and won the match by a narrow margin. The corvette played host to them for a post-match celebration, sending a relief crew over to mind their ship so that they could all come to Minnow.
This they did with high good humour on both sides. The Minnow broke out some of their hoarded cakes in honour of the occasion and the ship was full of laughter and debate over goals and penalties. Finding the mess deck rather too crowded and full of sports talk for his taste, Mako went up to the command deck, though still enjoying the lively atmosphere on the ship. That meant that he was there when the Cargomaster crew were taking their leave, passing through the command deck on their way back to the airlock. Alex had taken the watch so that his officers could enjoy socialising. Many of the freighter crew had a comment or a smile for him as they departed, but one, their skipper, came over to shake hands.
He was not very attractive, the Cargomaster’s skipper. He was pot bellied, heavy jowelled an
d had a thick, spotty complexion. His eyes were intelligent, though, and he gave the corvette skipper an intense, searching look. Alex, cool as always in social situations, merely shook hands with him and expressed the hope that the Cargomaster’s crew had enjoyed their visit to the corvette.
‘Sure did,’ the freighter skipper was still looking at him appraisingly, but seemed to make up his mind with that, and went on bluntly, ‘The best thing was seeing Ty Barrington and the others back in space.’ He gave Alex a nod which made it clear who he gave the credit for that, a man-to-man acknowledgement to which Alex did not react. The freighter skipper did not seem put off by that. If anything, the Fleet officer’s steadfastly calm demeanour seemed to strengthen that sense of decision in him. ‘And I can trust you not to pull a Carolina on us, right?’ he queried, to which Alex gave him a look which was patient but ever so slightly reproachful.
‘I should have thought,’ he said, ‘that if you know anything about me at all, you know that.’
‘Yeah,’ said the freighter skipper, breaking into a broad grin. ‘You’re one of the good ones, all right. So… may I?’ he indicated a screen that was on the datatable. Alex, looking mildly intrigued, gestured as if to say ‘carry on’. At that, the skipper took out a lumo-pen, called up a chart on the screen, drew a ring around one of the stars there and wrote something next to it. ‘All I’m saying,’ he said with a definite air as he returned his pen to his pocket and gave Alex von Strada a look which told him not to ask, or even to comment.
‘Fair enough,’ Alex confirmed, with an acknowledging nod. ‘Thank you, Skipper.’
‘Thank you, Skipper,’ said the other man, and left the ship calling for a cheer from his crew for the Minnow as they departed.
‘Hmmn.’ once the airlock had closed, Alex regarded the information that the other skipper had given him. His manner was thoughtful but noncommittal, conveying that it was interesting but nothing to get worked up about. ‘Probably nothing,’ he told Mako, who was trying not to be too obviously curious. ‘A lot of these leads go nowhere. But we follow them all up of course, routinely, so we’ll pay this system a port of call, see if there’s anything to it.’
Mission Zero (Fourth Fleet Irregulars) Page 21
