Bolotin was the presiding officer, and he finally called for order. "Any concluding statements, Saunder?"
Brenna waved at the vid screens. "The readouts bring you up to date on where we are. We ... uh ... I admit we've had a setback. But our science consultants continue to predict success. As you've seen, Morgan McKelvey is coordinating the probable-cause analysis. We're certain the accident was due to mechanical problems. There's no flaw in the basic design."
To her relief, Bolotin said nothing. She had expected him to draw comparisons between Hiber-Ship's proven, though snail-slow, star-reaching method and the so far disastrous record of Breakthrough Unlimited. Whatever his personal opinion, he was being scrupulously fair, letting the others debate without him.
"These projected financing figures for your next year ... they're pretty steep," Councilman Ubaldi said. "Are you sure you can count on those funds?" Ubaldi was one of Ames's cronies from their P.O.E. military service days, but the two men didn't always see eye to eye.
"Of course she can," Ames retorted. "She's a Saunder."
The magic name. Talisman. What had Brenna told her crew? Despite popular impressions, the Saunders were not an inexhaustible source of money. Yet Ames invoked that legend, tellingly. Many of the committee members were nodding. Brenna felt obligated to stress how solidly the young Saunders were backing the FTL project. "I already have most of the funding set aside, Councilman Ubaldi. I've reserved my next eight quarters' profits from my interest in Saunder Enterprises Trans Co."
"All of it?" Mpenda asked, taken aback. Other committeemen were equally shocked.
"Yes. Interplanetary and planetary income, if necessary," Brenna said. These people were well informed re SE's solvency. They knew what kind of finances Brenna was talking about. Several of them whistled, rolling their eyes. "I'll also use my dividends from ComLink and SE Industrial Division, should the need arise. There won't be any demands on Terran Worlds Council for supplementary funds." She didn't add that it probably would be necessary to dip into some of those reserved private sources if Breakthrough Unlimited's expenses kept climbing the way they had been. "I'm not going to touch any of Morgan's holdings for the time being, even though he's quite willing to contribute to the kitty. His medical bills..."
There was a hasty, sympathetic chorus around the table, assuring Brenna she didn't need to go into detail. They understood perfectly. And none of them wanted to be thought callous. Most of this meeting's business would be confidential, but the raw bones would be released to the media. The committee could envision vid columnists licking their lips hungrily, setting up grabber opening lines: "terran worlds council kicks gallant test pilot morgan saunder mckelvey while he lies grievously wounded...!" No, there would be no demand that Morgan's half of the partnership contribute equally to satisfy the committee's funding inquiries!
Suddenly, Yan Bolotin interrupted. "You have funding from another Saunder, don't you?"
Mpenda brightened, mistaking the reference. "Todd Saunder?"
"No," Brenna said, too sharply. They looked at her with surprise, and she softened the denial. "My father ... has other investments to take care of. He's helping out so much with Morgan's hospitalization, and so forth..." She hoped that would satisfy them and get them off that tack.
Breakthrough Unlimited had nothing to do with Todd Saunder. Not only was the project an anathema to her father, but Brenna didn't want his financial assistance. Just once in her life she was going to accomplish something on her own! She and Morgan. Inherited money, yes. But now it was theirs to use as they chose, and when the graviton spin resonance ship finally worked, no one would be able to say it was proved out by "Todd Saunder's daughter" or "Mariette Saunder's son." They would have names, and reputations, all their own—no debts owed to the older generation of Saunders!
"I meant Stuart Duryea Saunder," Chairman Bolotin said, and Brenna stiffened. Derek's boss hadn't missed a thing. He had done his homework, too. That donation Stuart had tossed away so casually—an enormous amount—certainly did help the overall financial picture. Technically, Brenna had to admit, it did make Stuart an investor, of sorts, in Breakthrough Unlimited. The third member of the Saunders' new generation, though she and Morgan didn't want Stuart on their bandwagon. There was murmuring around the table, heads nodding.
"Ah! If the Earth-based branch of the Saunders is supporting the project..."
Brenna had been backed into a pocket. She didn't blame T.W.C. for wanting assurances. They had factions to answer to, powerful ones. There were always questions about any franchises granted. And so far they had had no publicity return on Breakthrough Unlimited's franchise except bad publicity.
"I don't know," Councilman Taliaferro was saying, studying the readouts once more. "There have been so many accidents..."
Hamaguchi jumped on his doubts, waving her arms excitedly. "Every new idea in space travel and commerce carries risks. It is imperative for the survival of human civilization that Breakthrough Unlimited make the faster-than-light achievement!" Her small fists smashed down on the table. Hamaguchi packed a lot of energy. Everyone here knew her motives weren't selfless. It wasn't that she was personally involved in Brenna's project or in the advance of human civilization; her clan, now allied with the Matsumotos of the Jovian orbit manufacturing colonies, had been, in effect, chased off Earth by the Nakamura and Associates conglomerate. Any rival of Naka-mura's had her wholehearted support. "I will not approve Hosi No Miti Kaisya's faster-than-light experiments! Nakamura Kaisya is no friend of Terran Worlds Council. It must not be allowed to defeat the Saunders. Further, Taisi Quol-Bez is a friend of the Saunders. Does this not promise us that Breakthrough Unlimited has indeed discovered the true star gateway?"
"Unless the alien's playing some kind of tricky game with mankind," Ubaldi growled.
Ames made a rude noise. "You're paranoid, Vic. What would the Vahnaj have to gain by that?"
"Who knows? Maybe it's to their advantage to keep us cooped up and ignorant. We've discussed this often enough in the main sessions. What better red herring could they throw us than encouraging us to waste our time backing an FTL travel theory the Vahnaj have already tried and found out won't work?"
Brenna squirmed inwardly. Why did Ubaldi have to bring that point up now? What if he persuaded others and they started doubting, too?
"Todd Saunder's the man who first made contact with the Vahnaj," Ames reminded the Council. "His wife deciphered the aliens' language and made it possible for us to talk to them. I've met Quol-Bez a hundred times or more in these past six years since he's been with us. I think you'll acknowledge I'm a fair judge of character, Vic, whether the character's human or from somewhere outside the Solar System. Quol-Bez isn't out to double-cross Todd Saunder or his daughter ... or us."
Brenna stared at Ames hopefully. "... I always back the winning side."
"Hai, Brenna, you have my vote!" Hamaguchi cried. Others supported the future of interstellar exploration, which they hoped would eventually bring profit to Earth's colonies. But age-old rivalries, nurtured on Earth, played an important part in Terran Worlds Council's decisions, too. Several members held up their hands, seconding Hamaguchi.
Ubaldi wasn't ready to give up. "Just a minute. I have some more questions. How long is this operation of yours going to take, Saunder? How about setting an outside limit, say a year?"
Brenna protested. "Councilman, we could run into an unforeseen snag."
"You usually do." Ubaldi glowered at Ames and Hamaguchi. "Others seem willing to vote to renew this franchise indefinitely. I'm not. The Fleet could use that section of space for other things. And unlike some people who have special status with subsidiary Saunder companies, I'm not..." Ames's eyes were glittering black coals. Yan Bolotin raised his gavel, ready to declare Ubaldi out of order before a scene started. But Ubaldi didn't go ahead with that innuendo about Ames's private investments. "A year. How about it? Produce an FTL breakthrough in a year, and you keep your franchise, Saunder." Ames and Hamaguchi
wanted to argue the point. No one else did. It passed. Ubaldi pressed on. "Another thing: Who's piloting, now that McKelvey's kid is out of the action?"
Brenna resented that flippant phrase, but didn't let her annoyance show. "The test-flight team won't be chosen until we set up the next full-fledged run."
"You can make an educated guess, surely. You know your people. Who? Nicholaiev? Obregon? The Rift native? No, he's crippled, too, isn't he?" It was Councilman Mpenda's turn to take umbrage at Ubaldi's cavalier remarks. Mpenda, like Tumaini, was an Affiliation of the Rift "native." The older man ignored him. "I'd like to know what kind of package we're agreeing to. Hardware's one thing, but it's the men who make the difference. You're not going to be flying that crate, are you?"
Comprehension dawned. This man, for all his modern attitudes about Earth's need to colonize the Solar System, was a dinosaur, living in the past—a long time in the past. Brenna had often heard Ames say to her father, jokingly, that Ubaldi had been born a couple of centuries too late. The old war horse accepted the need for interstellar flight, in the abstract. But he wanted things run the old way, the "right" way, in his point of view.
"I'm part of the flight crew, of course," Brenna said carefully.
"Don't like the idea. You could get blown up, just like Saunder's sister did. They never should have let a woman aboard that ship in the first place. Bad policy...
Brenna's jaw dropped, her anger canceled out by pitying amusement. How antiquarian he was! She pulled her thoughts together and responded as politely as she could. "Women have been handling spacecraft for more than a hundred years, sir."
"And getting killed doing it. Looks bad when a woman gets killed that way. I knew Polk's family. Thank God they didn't live to see what happened to her."
The anger was returning. Ames caught Brenna's eye, advising prudence. Then he took over the discussion. "Brenna's right, Vic. You're showing your age."
That was the correct tactic. Councilman Ubaldi puffed and blustered and tried to suck in his prominent belly. "Not at all! I just wanted to get these things straight. If you're on the team, that doesn't mean you're piloting, does it, Saunder?"
"I may be." Brenna would let him think the answer was moot. But when Prototype III was ready to go, no one was going to keep her away from it!
"Well ... I don't understand pilots. Never did. You're crazy, all of you." It was Ubaldi's last shot. He grimaced and slowly raised his hand, adding his yes vote to the rest. Ames, then Bolotin, and it was unanimous. Bolotin looked long and hard at Ames. Brenna sensed an undercurrent flowing there, secret exchanges. She thought of the assassination attempt on Ames. There had been other near-misses, aimed at other Council members, in the weeks since Colony Days. Terran Worlds Council was under a lot of pressure, and so were its rivals in the reactionary parties on Earth. What did any of that have to do with Breakthrough Unlimited's franchise? Brenna didn't know, but she felt sure that significant look of Bolotin's was somehow involved with her and with those pressures.
The concluding rituals were over in minutes. The Council's secretaries cued terminals and sent the records to T.W.C.'s offices out in the colonies. Agreement forms spit out. Signatures were written on the screen surfaces and duly entered in the books. Signed, sealed, and granted. The franchise!
For one year.
Nobody gave Brenna the rash, but she knew others were waiting. There would be a brief recess while aides set up the next applicant's meeting with the Council. Ames used the opportunity to escort Brenna out of the Council's chambers. She paused to thank the various members she passed along the way, shaking hands, being the proper, gracious businesswoman who appreciated T.W.C.'s confidence in her project. Even Ubaldi shook her hand, grudgingly. Brenna knew that gesture wasn't for her sake; she was merely a symbol for Todd Saunder and "McKelvey's kid." When they were finally outside the main room, Ames gave Brenna a rare smile. "I told you. Give Vic and a few others a chance to gripe, and then they'll vote your way."
"Thanks to your powerful persuasion, General. Thank you."
"Want to know what really turned the trick?" Brenna nodded, and Ames went on. "That stuff Morgan sent. Bowled them over. Awesome amount of data there. He's been busy."
"Yes, he has." Brenna, too, had been awed by the amount of research Morgan was churning out via the ComLink terminal in his isolation chamber. Awed, and worried. Several times on the flight to Earth and during the ten days she had spent on Earth since then, she had called Dian and Dr. Ives, asking them if Morgan was okay and not overdoing things too much. They had assured her he was coming along as well as could be expected—as the pat phrase went. Keeping him from working caused him more problems than allowing him to use the vid. So they simply kept a close eye on him and let him go ahead. Morgan had said that what he could do best now was think. It consumed very little of his precious energy reserves. No distractions. A man set apart and therefore intensely focused on his work. This had paid off, for Breakthrough Unlimited's franchise application.
Several Space Fleet troopers were following Ames as he and Brenna strolled along the corridor. It seemed very unlikely that any murder-bent fanatics could attack the Councilman here, within Terran Worlds Council's own building. But Brenna didn't blame Space Fleet for taking precautions. Ames stopped at a window-wall fronting the Pacific. To Brenna's surprise, the old general took her hands and regarded her fondly. "You are going to fly her, aren't you? I thought so. You've got that look. Your aunt had it. So did your dad, believe it or not, when he was younger. Damned good flier, Todd Saunder. Mariette, too.
Runs in your family. Got your backup pilots picked? Count on that Russian. He's reliable all the way."
"I know. Yuri's the best," Brenna said. Yuri Mikhailovich Nicholaiev was also a former Space Fleet pilot. Was Ames merely being loyal to his troops, even after they had left the service? No, Yuri was reliable, a rock Brenna could depend on.
"A bit of advice," Ames said, lowering his voice so that the nearby troopers couldn't hear. "Don't let your cousin invest too much."
He wasn't talking about Morgan. "Stuart's made a donation. We're grateful. That's as far as it goes," Brenna said firmly. Ames nodded, seeming reassured.
He peered out the window-wall at the breakers pounding the offshore rocks. Seething white water filled the tidal pools directly below the enormous window. When the pools drained, the waves sucking out, glistening black stone shone in the bright southwestern sunshine. The last time she had been in Terran Worlds Council's Western HQ of the North American Union, the sea had been calm, a dark wasteland, shimmering glass, stretching to the horizon.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Ames asked. "Always did like this location. That's why I insisted we build here, because of that view. Roll on, Pacific! When it looks like it does today, it reminds me of the time we assembled here in 2040, going on out to the South Seas to enforce the Trans-Pacific Armistice. Your uncle Pat worked that one out. Crooked dealing under the surface, but it got the war stopped, at least. He deserved credit for that. Ah, but you don't want to listen to a broken-down old war horse reminisce, girl..."
Reminiscences about other Saunders, the famous older generation. No, she didn't want to listen. She wanted to build her own fame, and someday people would reminisce about knowing Brenna Saunder!
"Are you going directly to Saunderhome from here?" Ames asked.
Brenna nodded. "I'm taking a flier out to Mojave. I'll be meeting Yuri and my junior pilots there. They've been doing a media tour for a week. I promised them some R and R and rubbing elbows with the high and mighty at Aunt Carissa's party." %
"Great speech your dad gave yesterday! The Ambassador's, too. Tell him I said so, will you?"
"Won't you be there?" Brenna was genuinely surprised.
Ames shook his head. "T.W.C. business. Can't make it. You have a safe flight." He pointed commandingly at the Space Fleet troopers, picking out two of the guards. "See that the lady gets to her flier safely." They saluted him, just as if he still wore his rank. Once
a Space Fleet general, always one. As Brenna and the troopers stepped into the elevator to the roof, Ames waved and said, "Give your dad my regards."
The rooftop hangars were a luxury Brenna appreciated. Terran Worlds Council copied from the best—Saunder Enterprises, which in the Thirties had brought back the convenience of parking air transport on the roof. Brenna's escort walked with her from the elevator to the nearby flier shelters. Trees and flowering shrubs lined the way, or appeared to. They were holo-mode illusions, very good ones. There were too many problems growing foliage in a place like this—too much UV getting through the depleted ozone layer, too much heat and pollution created by the congestion of forty million people in the valley surrounding the T.W.C. building. Yet not only this rooftop but every available open patch of ground for hundreds of square kilometers boasted green, growing things, mirages that moved with the breeze and were impervious to drought and brush fire and even created their own shadows, faithfully matching the Sun's position as it crossed the sky. Green and comforting and real—until you tried to touch the trees and flowers and your hands closed on empty air. The real trees were much farther out, in unpopulated lands and superhorticultural domes.
"All checked out, Miss Saunder," the flier attendant said, touching his cap. Brenna palm-printed the voucher and signed, though that wasn't expected. The Space Fleet troopers stood around gossiping with the attendant while she climbed into the one-seater and made a hasty run-through of the systems. She had handled these little ships since she was ten. Old stuff. Safe.
Steady. A limited range, of course, but then she was only going from So. Cal.-L.A. out to Mojave Spaceport.
Brenna nudged the controls, passing her hand over the screen, activating Traffic Guidance. The flier lifted and sidled out over the edge of the roof. Perspective enlarged in a split second, from a meter to a hundred meters, the hazy, crowded streets suddenly revealed below. The nearby rooftop "foliage" didn't stir in the breeze the flier made as Brenna edged past it; the stuff was programmed into the weather bureau only, with no entries for outside effects. Brenna held the flier at a hover and signaled "Okay" to the attendant and the troopers. Then she pushed the small craft around, circling, heading northeast.
Outward Bound Page 25
