“I still don’t understand why we need to expend resources on all four ships. We have capacity for five thousand and we only need to move three. Fewer than three, in fact. We could achieve that with Elcano and Shackleton.”
“Eggs and baskets, Director.”
“I don’t think there’s much difference in spreading the risk between two and four.”
“You would if two ships were lost.”
“Malta cargo.”
“Are you two talking code?” Alex asked.
“The Director’s making a historical reference,” Solomon said. “The Malta convoys of two hundred years ago. So many supply ships were sunk trying to reach the island during a war that they were loaded with mixed cargoes to make sure any vessel that made it had at least some of every necessity.”
Alex did a casual salute in the direction of the audio system. “Thank you, Sol. I’m a more rounded person for knowing that.”
“So we mix crews from each specialisation,” Erskine said. “How long have we been talking about this? We’ve had forty-five years to get this right.”
“And in forty-five years, Director, those ships have deteriorated and have been repaired and maintained on a rolling cycle, but none of that is precisely predictable, like debris strikes or component failures.” Solomon sounded tetchy. “And we have serious limits that were never foreseen, like industry collapsing and Asia taking an aggressively keen interest if we’re seen to be too active in space. Everything has to be cannibalised, remanufactured, and replaced discreetly, and by a limited number of bots and AIs.”
“I love you when you’re feisty, Sol,” Mangel said, laughing. “You tell her.”
Erskine knew she wasn’t imagining it now. Despite his patient tone of a teacher dealing with an idiot child, Solomon was getting irritable. He was feeling the pressure. Well, that was what Bednarz had wanted: an AI with the sensibilities of a human but fewer failings. She could see the value in an AI that didn’t just follow override orders to the point of failure, but it was a pain in the neck.
“Humour me, Solomon,” she said. “Move resources to get Elcano and Shackleton on immediate standby. We’ll re-evaluate on a weekly basis.”
“Very well, Director.”
“Anyone else? How’s staff morale?”
Erskine looked around the meeting table. Of these ten people who had known about Cabot, eight looked like deflated balloons, frowning and exhausted. She could imagine what had happened. After years of straining to keep Nomad secret from their staff, people they worked cheek by jowl with and in some cases had married, the announcement had left them in the line of fire. Nobody liked to be deceived, even about good news.
Vicky Prinz dragged herself into the conversation. She looked fed up. There must have been quite a bit of marital strife in the Prinz household in the last forty-eight hours. “Half of my department’s already packed their bags and they’re jumping up and down yelling, ‘Are we there yet?’”
“Excellent. Jake?”
“A few are grumpy or scared, or both,” Dr Mendoza said. “It’s going to take time to sink in. They’ll be fine.”
Erskine didn’t expect the agriscience and botany departments to be happy. “Sonia. I’m guessing you had a hard time at your staff meeting.”
Sonia Venner shrugged. “You know what a lot of them are saying.”
“That we didn’t put all that we could into die-back research because we knew we could walk away from the problem?”
“Something like that.”
“They did the work. They had all the resources they needed, they didn’t slack off, and they’re still nowhere on it.”
“Yes, I did mention that. Quite a few times. It’s the teams working on resistant crops that took it worst. They thought they were pursuing one objective but it turned out to be another.”
Alex raised a finger. “Can confirm. Had to lie about that a few weeks ago.”
“It’ll pass,” Erskine said. “It disappoints me that people working on sensitive research in a secure facility still don’t grasp what need-to-know means. Why do they think we discouraged contact with the town? Still, they feel the way they feel, and no amount of berating or educating them will change that. Focus on the positives and get this turned around by the time we need to firm up plans for the next mission.”
“What if staff want to leave as a result of what they now know?” Venner asked.
“As in walk out and find another town? That would be awkward.”
“There’s nowhere else to go,” Alex said. “If they don’t believe us, they might want to take a ride out with the transit camp folk and see what’s left of the place. And I’d like to think there’s nobody left to leak information to, but knowing our luck, there’ll be APS spies everywhere.”
“Would that be so terrible?” Venner asked.
“It would when they found that all our ships are armed and we’ve broken a long list of treaties. Don’t forget that APS has nice big missiles and blames America for die-back.”
“So everyone’s stuck here.”
“We always were. I’ve assured people that nobody’s going to be press-ganged onto a mission. But they have to respect security measures.”
“And what about Kill Line?” Mendoza asked. “When do we tell Doug Brandt?”
“I didn’t realise you knew him that well,” Erskine said.
“He came in yesterday to visit Chris Montello.”
After years of quiet isolation, Ainatio was suddenly getting a lot of external visitors, and the town seemed to have forged some new relationship with the transit camp. It was worrying. Erskine weighed the security risks against the unwelcome attention it would draw if she barred any of them. She needed Brandt and his people. She’d err on the side of informality.
“We have to put our own house in order before we ask the townsfolk if they’d like to settle another planet,” she said.
Alex nodded. “Yeah, if they want to go to Opis, that would be great. Bigger gene pool. Valuable expertise.”
Nobody mentioned the transit camp. Erskine had already slapped down questions about it from both Alex and Trinder, but she suspected that the issue might not go away. If she relented, she had no idea who she might be taking on, whether the refugees would blab about it on some radio network she didn’t know about, and what would happen if more waifs and strays arrived in the meantime.
The people of Kill Zone were a known quantity in every sense, though. The company had sequenced all their genomes as part of the medical support that was on tap. Erskine knew the risks.
“Okay, that wraps it up for today,” she said. “Let’s reconvene on Friday.”
She’d never seen a meeting empty so fast. She suspected they were going to have their own private discussion elsewhere. Alex stayed behind, looking at her as if he had unfinished business that wasn’t for the rest of the team to hear.
“So are we going to get everyone on side, Alex?” Erskine asked.
“I’m trying. If you have a minute, I’ve got a few things to raise.”
“Go ahead.”
“Did you see the lab logs this week? Environment ran a few unscheduled die-back tests out on the boundary.”
“I noticed. All negative.”
“Sure, but if Doug Brandt’s getting nervous, that means the rest of the town might be too. We need to pitch any announcement very carefully.”
“Noted. It’s probably just part of the reaction to the shooting. A reminder that there’s still a dangerous world out there.”
“Yeah, about that. Trinder’s providing an honour guard for the funeral. There’s a church service in town.”
So this was what Alex really wanted to talk about. “I note that he tells us rather than asks us these days.”
“He’s woken up to his rank. The detachment’s drawn blood and blown shit up.”
<
br /> “Good. I never said I didn’t welcome the stiffening of sinews, did I?”
“I think it’s a big deal for the town.”
“Why? I thought they just employed the vets to patrol.”
“That’s my point. If they’ve formed a closer bond with the vets, who do you think they’ll side with if we don’t play nice with the refugee camp?”
“Ah. I see. But does providing security earn more loyalty points than supplying utilities, medical care, coffee, and clothing?”
“Maybe the town’s wondering the same thing about supplying us with food.” Alex pushed back his chair and stood up to gather pens and coffee cups from the table. “We’re weird, Director. The problem with living in a bubble like this is that folks tend to amplify whatever idea they started with and get more extreme.”
“Me, you mean.”
“I mean everyone. We made a big mistake keeping the town at arm’s length.”
“You’ve changed your tune.”
“It was something Kim said. That we’re not much different from the generation ships. Except we didn’t start out quite as crazy and hell-bent on social engineering, of course.”
Erskine worried when Alex showed signs of wavering. She didn’t think those concerns ever touched him. “I don’t see what we could have done differently.”
“We should have regrouped when the die-back hit. Socially, I mean. We need those people out there. Hell, we need the transit camp, too.”
“Not that again. We’ve got the detachment, and we’ve got a hundred and thirty-nine military personnel in Cabot.”
“Who’ll have a second and even a third generation by the time the follow-ups arrive, with no guarantee that the kids will have the same skills and outlook as their parents.”
“But there’s a high degree of heritability with personality traits.”
“And the world’s always been full of civilians who forgot the wars their fathers fought and screwed things up again.” Alex just gave her a chin-down, you-think-about-this look, hugged his screen to his chest, and opened the door. “The right stuff’s hard to come by, that’s all. Catch you later.”
Erskine gave him time to walk out of earshot. She had a mutinous crew today. It was probably just anxiety and a little steam-venting, not impending anarchy. But it still wore her out.
“He has a point, Director,” Solomon said.
“Not you as well.”
“Do you really have an objection to the transit camp vets?”
“We can’t take strangers off the street for this.”
“Then carry out security checks on them.”
“With what? On what?”
“I ran checks on Dr Kim.”
“APS has functioning nations and all that goes with that. There was something to access.”
Solomon did one of his pauses. They were never a good sign in an AI. “True.”
“Anyway, how’s Mr Levine?”
“He passed away last night. The cremation and memorial service are next week.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I’ll make sure I’m there.”
“Dr Kim insisted on staying with him to the end.” Solomon paused for a beat. “She says she can start work for us now.”
His calm voice always managed to express strong feelings with little change of pitch. It was the pauses. He wielded them like an actor. Erskine let it pass. So he thought she was a callous old cow, then. Well, someone had to be. The stakes had never been higher, and even though she’d never volunteered for this job and resented how much it had cost her, she would see it through.
To the end.
“Time for her to start earning her keep, then,” she said. “We’ve got a lot to do.”
* * *
Security Wing, Commanding Officer’s Quarters:
Next Morning
“Good to see you can still fit into your dress uniform,” Fonseca said.
She walked into Trinder’s cabin like she still belonged there. He adjusted his high collar in front of the mirror.
“Seems you can, too.”
“I never thought we’d need this rig again.”
“Me neither. You’ve been pretty quiet since you blew up Kingston.”
“If I start losing sleep about it, I’ll let you know.”
“You make sure you do.”
“So Chris is definitely going today, then.”
“Mendoza says he’ll be fine. They get you moving a day after joint surgery.”
“Sure, but it’s not just your gran’s routine knee replacement. He lost a lot of bone and soft tissue. I saw it.”
“He needs to be there. Nobody wants to hold up a funeral. Especially if he feels responsible for the guy’s death.”
“Yeah, I know. Look, I’ve loaded a little something in the APC. A few boxes of that commodity we don’t talk about.”
“Ah.” Ammo. Nothing like a little gun-running to kick off my fall from grace. But who gives a shit? “Well done.”
Trinder brushed his cap and tucked it under his arm, ready to face an uncertain day. Aaron Luce was waiting outside in the corridor, picking lint off his sleeve.
“Never been honour guard before,” he said. “Should have asked Marc and Tev. They know how to do it properly.”
Marc and Tev was his shorthand for real soldiers. Trinder made a mental note to address the self-esteem issue.
“But it’d be the British version.”
“It all means the same thing.”
Their uniforms were probably the only correct protocol in all of this. Trinder was doing his best with half-recalled traditions and hurried research from different services and even other countries, all to mark the passing of a man who’d served in a defence force that no longer existed and whose comrades were a patchwork of army, navy, air force, coastguard, and law enforcement. He’d found a flag, but there was no bugler to play taps. This ceremonial mash-up wouldn’t have passed muster in any army, but it looked respectful, and it would do the job, a public acknowledgement that Jamie Wickens was a brother in arms who had given his life.
It mattered to Chris, and that was what counted. When Trinder collected him from the infirmary he seemed much more like the man he’d first met: businesslike, but with the air of a priest who knew some eternal truth and whose mind was on higher things. Someone had dressed him in a formal suit. It wasn’t his, Trinder was certain. That was a gracious gesture.
“Was that your idea, Sol?” Trinder whispered into his collar mike.
“No, Dr Ryan’s. They’re the same build.”
Even a jerk like Ryan could show a streak of decency, then. Maybe the world wasn’t a total cesspit after all. Trinder stood back to let a nurse steer Chris’s wheelchair out of the room.
“I’ve been walking on crutches,” Chris said, as if he felt Trinder might think he was just being a lazy bum. The suit pants looked very tight around his encased knee. “But Mendoza thought caution was in order.”
“Understood.”
“You’re going to do a three-volley salute. I heard you rehearsing.”
“Solomon relayed the audio, huh?”
“Yeah. Where is he?”
“You want him to come?”
Chris looked bewildered. “He did fight alongside our guys. Even if he’s a dogbot or whatever.”
Solomon heard all. “I’ll join you at the gate,” he said. “Give me a few minutes to walk out there.”
Funerals were never simple. Trinder hadn’t been to many, and they’d all been elderly relatives, not friends lost in wars. When he reached the gate with Chris, Solomon was already waiting in his quadrubot frame. He settled on the deck of the crew compartment, looking more functional than canine. Trinder, all dressed up like a Swiss admiral with the folded flag on his lap, was suddenly struck by the weirdness of the moment. Chris was parked
in the gap between the banks of seats with a faint smile on his face that could have spread into a big grin or dissolved into tears. It was borderline.
“Jamie would probably laugh his ass off if he could see us,” he said.
Perhaps this would be one of those celebrations of a man’s life rather than raw grief, then. But Jamie was young, and when Trinder stepped down from the APC and saw the crowd outside St Thomas’s, one glance told him it would be grim. He could tell right away who was from Kill Line and who the transit camp people were, too. It wasn’t just the clothing. The mourners were mostly men, but there were also women and kids, and some were wiping their eyes already.
A camp of a hundred people. There’s nobody you don’t know well and didn’t face tough times with. Well, shit.
Chris was whisked away almost immediately by a group of his buddies. Trinder lost sight of him and went to find the minister to drape the flag on the coffin. When he came out of the church, Fonseca looked like she was doing a drug deal from the back of the APC, but a chubby guy with dark curly hair and an older man with an excited search dog at his heels seemed well pleased with the boxes. Trinder walked over to the vehicle.
“Just handing out the samples of our in-house manufacturing,” she explained.
“Well, we’re in deep now,” said Trinder. “For better or worse.”
Fonseca nodded in the direction of a woman who looked like she’d gone to a lot of trouble to dress up with what little she had. “That’s Erin Piller.” Solomon approached her and she greeted him like someone she knew, another of those laugh-or-cry moments that Trinder was never going to get out of his head. “Not the girlfriend, according to Solomon, but probably the one to give the flag to.”
“Okay. Got it.”
The honour guard didn’t take part in the service, according to the manuals Trinder had managed to find, so he stood at the back of the church with Fonseca and Luce, rifles propped diplomatically behind a pew. If that was a breach of etiquette, Reverend Berry didn’t mention it. He didn’t even react when Solomon walked in and stood next to Luce.
The church was so packed that some mourners had to stand in the churchyard by the open doors to listen in. It was a comforting service with at least a couple of familiar hymns from Trinder’s childhood, and people got up to say good things about Jamie. Eventually Chris wheeled up to the front and gave his address. It was short, very short indeed.
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