The company, too, was retaliating, apparently intent on drowning the newly appointed interim joint governors of Petaybean affairs, himself and Yana, under a mountain of paperwork.
At SpaceBase, most of the several tons of paper that was stacked ceiling-high in Yana’s little cabin would have been electronically transmitted. So far Kilcoole had no electrical power, nor did it want to acquire any in the near future. The generator that ran Adak’s radio was inadequate for the volume of communication the company suddenly found necessary to transmit. The battery-powered comm units weren’t up to the job either. So couriers were sent several times a day via two of the hovershuttles that had been sent down to aid in the repair of SpaceBase.
Three weeks after the planet had destroyed the landing fields and many of the surrounding buildings by extruding massed rock up through the center of the facility, SpaceBase had been all but evacuated. Meanwhile, troops were set to relocating buildings around the old cleared perimeter and salvaging what they could until small shuttles could ferry enough material to build a new landing pad. But before the first shipment could arrive, the planet gave the company another demonstration of its power.
Sean and Yana had been riding toward SpaceBase and were just in sight of the standing stones the planet had made of the landing field when suddenly both curlies shied and whinnied. About the same time, the trees began to shimmy, the river along which the trail ran churned as if stirred by millions of giant fish, and the ground shuddered. Both curlies abruptly sat down, Sean and Yana still astride them.
“Earthquake!” Yana yelled, but Sean found himself grinning back at her and pointing.
For the standing stones were tumbling. The planet, with a mighty swallow followed by several small sips, was retrieving the stones and earth with which it had made such an impression on Intergal’s principal Petaybean outpost.
Yana grinned back at him through the cloud of gritty dust and the grinding roar and slam of the planet’s machinations.
“Well, isn’t that something?” she said when the tremors subsided. The curlies rose to their feet. The soldiers working around the edge of the base crept back to survey the damage done when the structures the planet had hoisted aloft suddenly settled back to ground level again, though not exactly in their former places or conformation. “And what, do you suppose, was that all about?”
“Scientifically, I suppose this subsidence probably has something to do with the volcanic and seismic activity happening near the equator—since it’s busy building up layers in the sea there. Maybe it needed this bit elsewhere. What it looks like, however, is in light of the company’s agreement to be sensible, Petaybee is showing it’s willing to let bygones be bygones.”
Now he was wishing his planet was not so forgiving. Though repairs and replacements had only brought SpaceBase back to about a fourth of its former capacity, it seemed to have plenty of power to generate the damned paperwork which only Sean and Yana were available or able to handle. Frank Metaxos and Steve Margolies, though literate and willing to be helpful, were still company employees and as such kept far too busy with their own work to assist in administrative chores.
I really must get a literacy program going as soon as possible, he reflected ruefully.
Up until now he hadn’t really been aware of the volume of work, since he had been out canvassing the planet, trying to find out which needs the people wanted met, how they perceived the planet’s wishes in their areas, what sort of interaction they desired with the company. He had also been assisting Clodagh in finding new areas where the plants for her cures grew. Fortunately, Lonciana Ondelacy, a former company corpswoman, was also literate, and she was able to do much of the work in the south. Unfortunately, all of the paperwork still had to be processed here before that destined for the south could be sent to Loncie. Portage, the southern continent’s landing base, wasn’t equipped for a large volume of traffic or anything much bigger than a shuttle. Whittaker Fiske had been helping transfer relevant documents to Loncie by loaning Petaybee’s new administration the services and copter of his personal pilot, Johnny Greene.
Sean picked up a piece of paper, this one from the ambassador of someplace called Petra 6.
“To whom it may concern,” it began. “We have recently been apprised of information leading us to believe that relatives of some of our settlers reside on Planet Terraform B. Our people would like to know how to comply with the visa process on your world in order to be reunited with their estranged family members. Yrs. truly, Alphonsina Torunsdotter, Ambassador.”
Before he could think of a reply, the door to the cabin banged open and a pair of battered men, bound tightly with sinew rope and each wearing a dead animal around his neck, fell into the room. They were closely followed by the fuming form of Sean’s sister, Sinead, who slammed the door shut.
“You won’t believe what I caught these two—these two murderers doing, Sean!” Sinead said.
“I believe exhibits A and B might already be tied around their necks, sis,” Sean said mildly.
“Yes, but they didn’t claim this fox or this wolf from any of the culling places. They went into the woods and, using their so-called civilized weapons—” She slapped two laser rifles atop a tottering pile of papers, causing an avalanche which all but buried the prisoners.”—simply slaughtered these perfectly healthy creatures without so much as a by-your-leave or a thank-you!”
“Mmm-hmmm,” Sean said, eyeing the prisoners. “And what do you have to say for yourselves?”
“Well,” the bearded one began, “we did ask weeks ago how to apply for a hunting license on Petaybee, after some corps buddies of ours told us about all the game here, but we never got an answer, so we figured, backwater planet, wide open, anything goes.”
Sinead grabbed him by the hair and pulled his face back so that he could only see her cross-eyed glare. “You figured wrong, wormbreath.”
“You should,” Sean told the men, “have been patient. How did you get here anyway? SpaceBase is only transporting official personnel these days.”
“We—uh—we caught the shuttle.”
“What shuttle?”
“The PTS shuttle our soldier buddies told us about.”
“Excuse me,” Sinead said.
“Stands for Petaybean Tourist Service,” the man whose hair she had hold of said quickly. “Looks like it’s brand new—arrived on MoonBase a few hours before we did.”
The other man said, “I demand that you and this—this amazon of yours—”
“The lady,” Sean said, “is my sister.”
“That you and your sister untie us and inform us of what laws we have broken and notify our ambassador at once. I am Dr. Vincent de Peugh, vice-president in charge of resource utilization for Intergal’s Terra Section Delta, and this is my colleague, Dr. Raymond Ersol, vice-president in charge of air quality control. We do not intend to spend our vacations being victimized by your government on some trumped-up charges.”
Sean rose from behind the paperwork, lifted several sheets from the head and shoulders of Dr. Ersol, and neatly replaced them on the desk, which he then leaned against, ankles and arms crossed.
“Well, gentlemen, I can see that you’ve been misled. You’ve broken no written law, as such, since we have yet to write any. Quite simply, the people who live here know that one hunts only to live on Petaybee, and one takes only the game which offers itself. What I would like to see from you is your authorization to be here at all. As far as I know, at this time only official personnel and designated settlers approved and transported by Intergal are allowed to be here—not offworld employees looking for what you consider recreation. What we, as Sinead has so tactfully explained, consider wanton murder of an allied species. You see, and as a resource manager, Dr. Peugh, I’m sure you’ll understand this, we of Petaybee, people, animals, plants, and planet, have a system, and we all depend on each other. You’ve just gone and upset that system something terrible. Now then, Sinead will be glad to release you after y
ou’ve accompanied her to make due restitution to those you’ve offended.”
“And our property?” Ersol nodded to the rifles.
“We’ll return it to you on Earth, if you’d care to leave a forwarding address. Might take a while though. Backwater place like Petaybee, the postal service is atrocious. No doubt that’s why I never received your request, or if I did,” he added with a gesture to the piles of paper, “I haven’t got around to answering it yet. Sinead, I think maybe you might get Liam to accompany you, and maybe Dinah. She’s been driving Liam nuts since Diego left. And you could loosen the hobbles on these gentlemen so you don’t have to carry them outside again.”
Sinead gave him a mock salute and hauled her prisoners back outside.
Sean sighed. It didn’t look as if he was going to be bored while Yana was shipside, anyway. Now he’d better see if he could enlist Whit Fiske to help him find out about this Petaybean Tourist Service shuttle business.
Yana, Bunny, Diego, and Marmion were all together in the forward viewing lounge as the great sprawling array of interlocking circles that was Gal Three grew from a glittering spot of light to its real majestic splendor. The circles were stacked five deep horizontally and, in places, nine in vertical alignment. There were two more thick, squat circles at nadir and zenith of the complex, which housed its defensive equipment. Yana stared in fascination. She’d never had such a view of the facility: both of her trips here had been made in the belly of a troop transport. She rather thought they’d been docked on one of the nadirward circles.
Diego was explaining the various levels to a goggle-eyed Bunny: the upper levels were for executives and company chairpersons; the next level housed recreation and mercantile areas for the Gal Three resident population; the middle one was probably all accommodation, both for transients and residents; while the fourth was devoted to repair, environmental controls, and other such mechanical operations. The fifth was for storage, while the blobs on top and bottom were restricted to Gal Three personnel, defense, and administration.
“Wait a min, Diego.” Bunny finally got her awe under control. “People live all their lives on this—thing?”
“Sure. I haven’t lived that long on a planetary surface, you know,” he replied.
Her look was clearly “you poor deprived kid,” but he didn’t notice it, for he was already waxing verbose on the entertainment and catering treats that were in store for her.
“Oh, and I have just the right couple to be sure you don’t miss the right places,” Marmion said cheerfully. “My nephew and niece—or, rather, my late husband Henri Algemeine’s nephew and niece. They are such charming youngsters that I know you won’t object to their company.”
Yana could see Diego’s wince and Bunny’s blink of astonishment.
“They really do know their way around,” Marmion went on firmly. “Bailey Algemeine’s sixteen—”
“Eighteen, Marmion,” Sally corrected her. “Remember, he graduated from Aldebaran Tech last month.”
“Aldebaran Tech?” Diego breathed respectfully.
“Time does fly, doesn’t it? Yes, and I do believe he got both patents on his escape-pod projects.”
“Escape pods?” Diego was impressed.
“But he’s free for a while and waiting for just the right opportunity. So it’s fortunate he’s on Gal Three right now, isn’t it?” Marmion’s bright smile was irresistible.
“Your niece?” Bunny asked with a sideways and slightly proprietary glance at Diego.
“Charmion’s finished her course in neural deprivation—she’s a Pultney-Gabbison, you know,” Marmion bubbled on. “So she came with Bailey for a visit. He’s been showing her around Gal Three, too. She’s nineteen. Almost too athletic for a girl in her social position.” Marmion sighed and, having delivered her message, turned to watch the docking. Now, smoothly aiming at the second horizontal circle, the far-from-insignificantly sized spacelaunch became a mote as it was received into the small docking area that catered to the vessels of people of her rank. Yana began to agree with Sally that proper clothes would lend confidence: not much else would.
A melodious chime rang through the launch, followed by the verbal announcement that all docking procedures had been completed and the passengers might now disembark.
A cluster of people stood politely awaiting their arrival. ‘Bots, attached to gray floats, scurried on board to collect luggage—Bunny followed their progress with round eyes. Yana noticed the girl’s hands twitching at her sides as if she wanted to take one of the ‘bots apart and see what its innards were like.
Bailey and Charmion were easy to pick out of the group: they were the youngest, the boy with long, black hair in a clever clip, and the girl with a head of very blond curls that framed a face as charming as her name. They were a very good-looking pair, fashionably clad in some of the very colors that Bunny had protested about. They also looked intelligent and welcoming, with no trace of the stylish boredom so many young aristocrats affected. Charmion was obviously fond of her aunt and called out a stream of greetings as Marmion disembarked her launch. Beyond Charmion and tall Bailey, Yana saw the imposing figure of Millard Ephasios one of the aides Marmion had had with her on Petaybee; she decided that the tall, attractive, gray-haired gentleman with the patient expression on his face was one of Marmion’s suitors, and the older woman her social secretary. The woman was impeccably dressed and had an organizational air about her, like an officer in a rear-echelon office. Rentnor Bavistock was her secretary, and Cynthia Grace was Marmion’s financial adviser. Marmion murmured that Cynthia would be a good person to talk to on how to start up small businesses on Petaybee so that people like Clodagh, who’d be gathering and processing Petaybee’s pharmaceutical wealth, could set themselves up properly. Yana sighed, not really wanting to impose anything “modern” on her friends.
Very shortly Yana discovered that things weren’t what they appeared to be on Gal Three. Residence permits, in the form of metal bracelets “to be worn at all times,” said Rentnor firmly, were immediately clamped around each wrist.
“Don’t even take them off when you shower,” Marmion added, taking hers from Rentnor and noting that Sally was already wearing one. “Loss can cause the most remarkable problems in getting about the facility.”
“You wouldn’t believe!” Bailey said, rolling his eyes and grinning at Bunny and Diego.
The last member of the welcoming committee wore an official-looking outfit, tailored to his spare figure, with collar tabs Yana didn’t recognize but which were sufficiently intricate enough to denote high rank. He was swarthy, with a close-shaven pate of black hair and an oddly asymmetrical countenance which made his large nose seem to divide the disparate sides. His black eyes were patient, and he had a slight lift to one corner of a wide mouth. Like a well-trained, or very polite, official, he waited until the initial exchange of introductions, news, and urgent messages had been accomplished before he stepped forward to take and kiss the hand Marmion held out to him.
“Oh, Commander, how good of you to take the time,” Marmion said, and then introduced Commander Nal an Hon. “I’ve told my friends to be very careful of their ID bracelets.”
“Indeed, a caution worth repeating frequently,” he said. Then he turned to the newcomers. “While the bracelets will admit you to every level but Nadir and Zenith, you would be wise not to explore, or you might find yourself missing a hand.”
Bunny gasped and protectively clasped her braceleted hand to her chest.
“Now, Nal, I won’t have you frightening my young friends simply because they’re dirtfoots,” Marmion said with a little reassuring laugh.
“It’s because they’re dirtfoots that I do,” he said with no apology, and caught Yana’s gaze, nodding to mean that his warning was for her as well. Yana raised an eyebrow at him. And to think that six months ago, she might have said something similarly preposterous to someone like herself, she thought.
“Having said that, I would be happy to escort yo
ur friends into Zenith Ring for the Tour.”
“How kind of you, Nal. When we’ve had time to settle in, I’ll take you up on that offer.” Marmion twinkled flirtatiously at the commander.
“Then I shall await your call, madame,” he said. With a courteous bow, he withdrew.
“And you will tell me what that was all about, won’t you, Rentnor, Cynthia?” Marmion demanded in an undertone, without a single sparkle of amusement.
“Hmmm. But it will take an hour or so, Marmie,” Cynthia said. “Meanwhile, let’s get to your suite.” She gave a little convulsive shudder. “It’s so open out here.”
Bailey and his cousin Charmion immediately moved to bracket Diego and Bunny. “We’ll lead on, Aunt Marmie,” Bailey said.
Yana had Sally on one side and Millard on the other, while Rentnor and Cynthia partnered Marmion as they made their way out of the docking bay. When the lock doors closed with a satisfactory clank, Cynthia uttered a little sigh of relief.
“Agoraphobic?” Yana asked Sally.
“Definitely. Her launch only has a viewscreen in the pilot’s compartment,” Sally said. “It can take you like that, you know.”
“I thank the stars that I don’t,” Yana replied. “You’ve been well, Millard?”
“Tolerably, thank you, Colonel Maddock-Shongili.”
“I’ve been Yana to you before, Millard,” Yana said repressively.
“I’m practicing, Yana,” Millard said with a mischievous grin that seemed out of place on his serious face.
“For what?”
“For making it very plain to even casual observers”—Millard paused significantly—“that you are not just a transient or insignificant dirtfooter!”
“Oh?” Yana asked, amused that he, too, had noticed. “And what do you suppose gives anyone that impression? The colonel, or the hyphenated surname?”
“Either,” Millard replied imperturbably, idly glancing at those passing them in the corridor. Taking a long step, he followed the four young people onto the walkway and turned to hold out a hand for Yana.
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