"And you can't stand to look at him," Brenna shot back ruthlessly. Derek winced as she went on. "You're his best friend. And the sight of him turns your stomach. You're grateful to be leaving, aren't you? Abandoning Morgan, the way you're abandoning Earth."
Derek closed his eyes a long moment. When he opened them, he said with blunt honesty, "Yes, I'm a coward about pain and crippling. I see Morgan, and I see myself in his place. I'd rather die than survive and be the way he is. That's my weakness, Bren. I'm not proud of it. But I tried to overcome it. I really tried. Did I abandon Morgan? Or did he abandon me? He wouldn't talk to me or look at me—or at anyone else. He prefers the Vahnaj. So be it." Derek's face was open, soft with love and yearning. "I can't help Morgan anymore. I can't save him, and he doesn't seem to want me around. With him, I never had a chance. I can save you, though."
Brenna choked on a sob, shaking her head frantically. "I can't run out on him! I don't know how you can! He needs us."
"Does he? Or do you need him?" Derek's gaze held her, probing her mind and heart.
The room was icy. Brenna chafed her arms, trying to restore some warmth to her shivering flesh. She knew the observation deck's temperature was in the comfortable range. The cold she suffered came from within. "The reason he prefers Quol-Bez is ... I think Quol-Bez may be a sort of telepathic catalyst.
Without his friendship, Morgan would have gone mad. As it is, he's focusing on the graviton spin resonance drive, finding solutions none of us could. He's gone beyond the team, beyond the engineers. And he can spend every waking minute concentrating on the problem, because of his sensory deprivation." Brenna paused, then went on. "He's dying, Derek." Derek's expression was bleak. He knew, but hadn't wanted to look squarely at that truth. "He hasn't got many years left," Brenna said. "Helen said five, maybe, seven if she gets lucky. His lungs are deteriorating, and the muscle atrophy has only been slowed down, not stopped. Without faster-than-light travel, he'll never see the stars, Derek. I owe him that. At least to try. When Breakthrough Unlimited jumps out to the Vahnaj star systems and beyond, it'll be because of Morgan Saunder McKelvey. I want it to happen in this generation, while Morgan's alive and can reap the honor he's entitled to."
Derek was silent a long while. When he spoke, his voice was so soft that Brenna had to strain to hear him. "Is that what you believe? Is that why you're risking everything? For Morgan's sake?" The volume rose, and the words turned into a cruel accusation. "Or are you merely trying to assuage your guilt? I suppose getting yourself and the other pilots killed would do that. But how many times do the Saunders have to atone for past sins and mistakes? You're still atoning for Jael Saunder, and paying back your aunt Mariette. Now you're paying back Morgan. It never ends. The Saunder way—fighting an endless battle with hopeless causes. I guess ... I guess it's too late." He hung his head for a moment, then exclaimed, "Nothing stops a Saunder! Right? Well, thank the Spirit of Humanity that my people are going to be clear of the holocaust. I thought you'd eventually come to your senses. But no. We won't contact Earth again until we make planetfall. I'm glad of that. By then maybe we'll be picking up the signals and can find out if there's any human civilization left back here, or if the Vahnaj wiped you out."
"What the hell are you...?"
The door opened. A red-faced crew member marched in, braced for war. She saluted stiffly and spoke before Derek could stop her. "This is an emergency message of sorts, Captain. There's a Class A signal for Captain Saunder on the box in Central. It's on a diplomatic channel."
Derek snorted in contempt. "All right. You delivered the word. Dismissed. If Captain Saunder wants to take the message, she'll come down to Communications. Now get out."
"Yes, sir!"
As the woman scowled and hurried out, Brenna felt that her brain was being stirred like soup. Derek's harangue and the crewwoman's confusing message were using her mind for a battleground, and no one was winning, especially not Brenna.
"Class A..."
"I assume that means Quol-Bez or the Terran Worlds Council got wind of what your bunch is up to," Derek said bitterly. "Not that it probably matters, not with all your money and the politicos mixed up in it." He raked his hand through his fair beard. "Goddamned Saunder pride! You just had to have FTL, at any price. And you certainly can pay the price! Nothing gets in your way, does it? Not Morgan, or that poor sap Nicholaiev, or idealistic dreamers like Tumaini. The hell with the Earth-Vahnaj treaty, too." He stopped, finally, like a man waking from a hysterical rage and finding out that the target of his wrath had disappeared. Derek darted a sharp look at Brenna, his brows drawn together in a deep frown. "Don't pretend you don't know."
Brenna realized she was hyperventilating. She made a deliberate effort to slow down her breathing. She tried to focus on this fury and confusion Derek was dumping on her.
Derek waited for comprehension to dawn in her face, for some guilty emotion to peep out behind her bewilderment. When it didn't, he exploded in exasperation. "Oh, come on, Bren! I know when I'm being pumped for info. They weren't very subtle—Tumaini, and Habich, and the other two. They've been digging away since summer—going to 'avenge Morgan,' as they put it. Crazy kids! And Tumaini's not thinking right, hasn't been since the accident and Aluna's walking out on him. Why shouldn't they all be screwed up? You and Morgan taught them to be as obsessive and unbending as you are. When Morgan got hurt-"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Brenna's scream shocked Derek, cutting off his tirade. "The Vahnaj ship, of course. Quol-Bez's private ship. You've been drooling over it ever since he arrived in the Solar System. Your kid pilots are going to hijack it and cure your ship's glitches..."
The battle within Brenna's mind went critical. In the split second it took for her dizziness to dissipate, all the thousand tiny fragments seemed to fall together, magically assembling into a nightmare.
"They pumped you for info. And you were supposed to decoy me out here."
Derek shook his head violently, suddenly on the defensive. "No, it wasn't that way." It was his turn to be impaled by an accusing stare. He didn't handle it very well. He repeated, frantically, "No!" He reached out, and Brenna stepped back, avoiding his touch. "Bren, you have to believe me. When Tumaini ... he said he didn't want the same thing to happen to us that happened to him and his wife..."
"And what about Adele and Joe and Shoje?" Brenna said furiously, heading for the door. Derek broke into a run, loping after her. He should have been able to overtake her easily, but he kept running into objects along the catwalk outside the deck. Brenna didn't slacken her pace. "Where's Communications? What else have you been keeping from me, in your tender concern for giving me choices about what to do with my life?"
At that moment, Brenna spotted a You-Are-Here placard directory and quickly oriented herself within the huge ship. She swung left and started down the ladder there. Above her, Derek struggled down the rungs, skipping several and dropping the last two meters, galloping in her wake. The lower corridor was wide enough for them to walk abreast. Derek ran alongside Brenna awkwardly. "Tumaini never ... hell, Brenna, what they intended to do was practically an open secret. I thought you were in on it. And when you came out here, I hoped you'd changed your mind."
"They couldn't cope by themselves," Brenna said, not breaking stride. "They need help to get past the Space Fleet ships guarding Quol-Bez's craft. You're talking conspiracy, and a lot heavier stuff than my pilots have got. Who else is in on this?" Her adrenaline was racing. She didn't feel shaky or short of breath at all. Anger and fear fed her energies. Other members of Hiber-Ship's crew were in the corridors. They ducked into alcoves or side rooms as Brenna and Derek flew by, staring after the couple.
"They knew plenty," Derek insisted. "Somebody's been giving them Space Fleet info. They knew stuff I didn't have the clearance to get." He had to stop when they came to a narrow passageway and walk on Brenna's heels until they emerged at the far side of the bottleneck. There were more ladders to climb, and he
continued to press his case while in motion. "I'm as much a pawn in whatever they're up to as anyone else. Charlie Dahl said it was all in the family and the price was right."
Brenna swung around, and Derek choked off his protests abruptly. "Charlie Dahl? He's in this, too? Why? To see my outfit get smeared?"
They were nearing the center of the sphere, working their way through a maze. Brenna followed the arrows, plowing on determinedly toward her goal. On the threshold of Communications, she slammed to a halt. She peered at Derek and sputtered. "Stuart. Of course."
Stuart, at Colony Days last year, slyly egging Brenna on to challenge Quol-Bez about the Vahnaj ship. Stuart and his crocodile tears when the accident happened. Stuart, accosting Brenna at Saunderhome after his ugly confrontation with his mother about the marriage. Stuart saying, "You do need me! You don't realize it yet, but you will ... you're going to need more than faith to get the job done ... when you're hungry enough, and desperate enough, give old Stuart a call. We'll work something out..."
She hadn't called him. And he hadn't waited. Intuitively, Brenna knew her cousin was at the bottom of this, and that his machinations had little to do with her or the race for the stars.
He was getting even—somehow and in some way no one else could understand—with Carissa.
Derek was still at her heels when Brenna rushed into Communications. He pleaded with her, heedless of where they were. Duty officers stared at them. "Brenna, maybe I did make a mistake. I know Tumaini wouldn't want to hurt you. Neither would the others..."
"They're just greedy, like me. I taught them. Isn't that the way you put it?" Brenna said acidly. She shot him a murderous glare. "Is Yuri supposedly in this, too?" Derek shook his head negatively. He looked miserable. "I didn't think so. He'd have told me. And he'd have stopped them if he'd known what they were up to."
"Here's the tape, Captain Saunder," a tech said, handing Brenna the chip. He pointed to an unused office. "You can play it in there, if you wish."
Brenna didn't try to keep Derek out. She fed the chip into a readout terminal. The Vahnaj Ambassador appeared on the screen. Brenna recognized the background; Quol-Bez was recording the message at Saunder Estates: Mars. "Brenna, forgive intru-sion. Morgan has ex-plained how to lo-cate you. There is ... urr ... diffi-culty. The hypothetical risk we have spoken of has oc-curred. I do not wish this to become an affaire." The French word sounded odd amid his high-pitched, growly English. But the deadly serious import of what Quol-Bez was saying riveted Brenna. "You understand. Councilman Ames will cooperate. We are in-formed you may be able to ... urr ... effect pre-ven-tive medicine, as it were."
Sao had been doing a good job, teaching him human idiomatic expressions. Brenna had no trouble reading the message hidden in the tense words. As Derek had said, the hijack was underway. Councilman Ames and Quol-Bez were trying to prevent an interstellar diplomatic incident. This message would reveal nothing to the people along the communications link, but it told Brenna a great deal—more than she wanted to hear.
Quol-Bez's broad face twisted in distress. "Councilman Ames will provide ... urr ... will expedite what is necessary. If you will contact Space Fleet posted at your lo-ca-tion, all effort will be made to assist..."
Warnings hammered at Brenna. A familiar scenario—the wishful-thinking plot to "borrow" Quol-Bez's ship, then put her back after discovering her FTL secrets. And Morgan—and Quol-Bez—telling Brenna emphatically that it couldn't be done. But Tumaini, Joe Habich, Adele, and Shoje were going to try to do just that. They hoped to "avenge" Morgan, solve the problem of faster-than-light travel and give humanity the stars. Instead, they were going to die, horribly, in an alien ship rigged against theft: "I cannot give it to you. And you cannot take it. Do not try."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Bait Is Taken
The message ended. Quol-Bez's image dissolved. Brenna knew he had wanted to say more, but didn't dare while they were on an open, unscrambled circuit. She would have to do what Quol-Bez had recommended—trust Terran Worlds Councilman Ames and Space Fleet. They would have diplomatic channels, coded. She had to make contact with them as soon as possible. But not from New Earth Seeker.
"I've got to get to my ship," Brenna said. "Will you take me to her, or do I hitch a ride with someone going that way?"
"Quol-Bez is using you to do his dirty work. He's no better than Stuart and you know it," Derek protested.
"Does that mean you won't help me?"
The door to the larger room was shut. No one could overhear them. "I read between those lines as well as you did," Derek said. "Whatever Stuart and the others cooked up, has already started happening. You can't stop it, so why try?"
Brenna spoke rapidly, pouring out her tension. "I'll trust you to keep your mouth shut about this, at least for seventy-five years, Derek. If my people steal that ship, they may indeed create an interstellar incident. I don't know how that part of it will work out. But one thing's guaranteed—if they tamper with it, they'll die. Maybe you don't give a faint damn what happens to them, but I do. That ship's booby-trapped, and I don't want Tumaini and the kids to be killed."
Derek barely reacted to what she was saying. He sighed. "I'll take you over to Seven, if that's what you really want. Be sure it is, Bren."
"For God's sake! Haven't you been listening? It's my fault! I should have guessed what they were planning. It's my responsibility. They're doing this for Breakthrough Unlimited, and for Morgan. I owe it to them, and to Morgan, to save them, if possible," Brenna explained angrily. "Their lives are at stake, and humanity's future."
"Humanity in the Solar System. Maybe it deserves what it'll get."
Brenna stood with arms akimbo, gaping at him in disbelief. "An interstellar war? Are you saying anyone deserves that?"
"I doubt it'll go that far," Derek said, maddeningly casual. "Don't the Vahnaj constantly tell us how civilized they are?"
"There are limits to their patience, I'm sure. But that's right. I forgot. None of this concerns you, does it? No matter what happens, it won't be your problem. You're bailing out, abandoning us."
"It needn't be your problem, either, Brenna."
"I must be hearing someone else!" Brenna cried. "Not you! You've never been callous, Derek. Come with me now. You can help me get those kids out of this mess before it's too late. They respect you. If Hiber-Ship's most popular recruitment officer joins in the rescue operation, they'll have to know we're acting in good faith and it's not a bluff. Derek?"
The roles were reversed. She was the one begging, and she wasn't getting through to him. The barriers were up, as impossible to break down as that of light-speed.
"I have a launch schedule." Derek saw the horrified shock that simple statement caused. "It's your choice, Brenna. That hasn't altered." His voice was gentle, that soft and aching tone that normally destroyed all her resistance. "I'm thinking of the rest of your life. Of our fives. I want you at my side, out there on the new world."
Brenna plucked the message chip out of the viewer, turning it around and around between her fingers. "Compromise goes both ways, Derek." She faced him squarely. "I am selfish. I couldn't five with myself in that kind of future—waking up light-years from Earth and remembering that I ran out on my species, and on people who love and trust me."
Derek's countenance was empty. "I thought you loved me. I love you." Very slowly, he reached for the intercom. "I'll have someone escort you from the access hatch to Construction Shack Seven. Do you need me to show you the way to Suit Storage?"
A knife ripped through Brenna's soul, the jagged edges cutting brutally. Cutting Derek out of her being—but not completely. Great gaping wounds were left. Derek was mixed in with the blood and the pain. She would never be able to separate them. Some part of Derek Whitcomb would always be with her, a deep agony she couldn't forget.
"No. I can find my way back—alone."
Brenna looked at him one last time, imprinting Derek's face and form on her retinas and brain. Then she ran out
through the communications section, heading for the access hatch down below. She didn't let herself think about Derek or the irrevocable decision she had made. Four friends were in desperate trouble and didn't even realize how close they were to death.
The Hiber-Ship crewman who ferried Brenna back to Construction Shack Seven kept stealing glances at her, plainly curious. But he didn't ask questions. When she swam across the big hangar, hurrying to get to her Chase ship, others watched her with similar curiosity. Brenna could guess what was on their minds. At first she had been afraid they had listened in on Quol-Bez's message. Then she knew that they were reading her behavior as an aftermath of a lovers' quarrel.
The ultimate in lovers' quarrels! But this time there would be no reconciliation.
No! Shut off the memory. Shut off everything but the vital task at hand.
As Brenna reached the tunnel leading to her ship, four Space Fleet troopers blocked her way momentarily. "Miss Saunder? Intelligence. The general sends his regards..."
Even this far away from Earth and Mars! Terran Worlds Council's reach was awesome. But then it had an entire species to take care of, and dozens of colonies. T.W.C. was tangled up in this situation, much deeper than outsiders knew.
"I'm in a hurry," Brenna said.
"We know. You'll need this." One of them handed Brenna a small iridescent wafer. She recognized the device—military code matrix, top-secret. She had seen holo-modes and descriptions of these—but never the real thing—much less held one in her glove. Brenna frowned, studying the four men. Her father called their sort "wallpaper people," the kind of faces you couldn't remember the moment they were out of your sight. That no doubt made them excellent intelligence officers. They could have been androids, totally without any distinctive characteristics. Even their voices were passionless, very even in tone. "The Ambassador will contact you."
Outward Bound Page 38
