Powers That Be (3 page)

Brilliant start, Major Maddock, Yana told herself. Everybody on this damned planet seemed to be related to everybody else.

“Okay, Charlie, but I’ll have to drop you and Yana off and take the snocle back. I’m only checked out for another fifteen minutes. I’ll hitch up the dogs to take Yana home and bring you back over here.”

“If there’s time. Giancarlo may requisition your snocle to take us back to SpaceBase, though Terce brought him out. You’ll look after my dogs, won’t you, Bunny? They already think you belong to them, and I want them to be well cared for; they’ve been with me since they were pups.” He dug through layers of fur and found a wallet, then handed her a wad of bills. “Here’s to help you with their food.”

She released one hand from the wheel and accepted the money, stuffing it in her parka. “No problem, Charlie. I’ll keep on looking after them. You didn’t know about this reassignment?”

“No idea. He decided just like that.”

Yana found herself leaning forward, wheezing into Demintieff’s ear: “You’ll be going to Andromeda Station to inprocess and for assignment. When you get there, unless he’s gone now, the master sergeant in charge of deployment is Ahmed Threadgill. Tell him Yana Maddock sends her love and reminds him of the time she alerted him to the Ship Police raid. He’ll know what I mean.” Ahmed would know she was calling in the favor and that he was to look after her friend. It wasn’t much, considering the way she had caused however so inadvertently the situation, but it could keep his hide intact.

“Yes, Major Maddock. Thank you, dama.”

She clapped him on the shoulder, a little feebly, and sat back until Bunny skidded to a halt outside a house a little larger than Yana’s own quarters. The morning’s exertions had left her panting and trembling with fatigue, but she still took note of this house. The snow in front of it was full of huge, strangely shaped lumps, and the crusted snow all around them was lightly dotted with what looked like some kind of shit, which vaguely shocked ship-bred Yana. Stiff oval nets with points at each end hung over the door, three pairs of what were unmistakably skis leaned against the side of the house, and from the back of the house issued a high-pitched keening, like a woman screaming.

“I’ll take you back in a minute, Major, if that’s okay,” Bunny called back as Yana climbed out of the vehicle. “Besides, you’ll want to meet Clodagh. She was asking after you last night at supper.”

Charlie Demintieff grabbed the bundle of cloth from the snocle, and Bunny drove away.

The screams erupted again and Yana hung back, tensed, listening. Charlie, who had already taken a step toward the house, turned ponderously in his furs, saw her staring, and touched the elbow of her coat with his mitten.

“That’s just the dogs,” he said, his mouth spilling clouds of condensation into the air, as if his words were freezing there. “When our dogs were first made, our grandfathers called them banshee-dogs because of that sound, but they’re just saying hello.”

Yana nodded, hearing her own breath rasping in her ears above the screams of the dogs, and willed herself to relax and follow Charlie to the house. A feline with rust-and-cream markings stood on the roof above the doorway and looked down at them as if considering a pounce. On another corner of the house sat the cat’s twin, resembling pictures Yana had seen of the gargoyles decorating ancient Terran architecture. Another of the creatures sat in each of the windows flanking the door.

Just as Charlie reached the door, it opened before him and was filled by the largest woman Yana had ever seen. Of course, people on shipboard were required to keep their body weight to a certain level, a requirement necessitated by the narrow passages, small hatches, and the close confinement of the rooms. Also, anyone in space had to be able to fit into the suits and, should it become necessary, the cold-sleep shells. The rigors of shipboard life plus the uninspiring quality of the nutritious but mostly tasteless rations guaranteed that regulations were easily met by all personnel.

But this woman! She was like a planet herself, or at least an ovoid meteorite, a large round entity unto herself—imposing, to say the least.

“Charlie,” the huge woman said as she opened the door. “I hear you’re leaving us.” She threw a hard look over his shoulder to Yana, as if divining her role in the matter.

The woman fell back, and Charlie Demintieff stepped into the house, holding aside the standard-issue gray military blanket that covered the inside of the door so that Yana could enter.

Demintieff stripped off his hat, muffler, and gloves and loosened the front of his coat; Yana followed suit. The house was small and close, but not as warm as Yana would have expected. Nevertheless, as Giancarlo had indicated, the woman’s upper lip and brow were dewed with perspiration. Yana wasn’t sure, however, if the moisture on Demintieff’s face was sweat, tears, or melting ice from his hair and eyelashes.

The woman embraced Demintieff, her caress oddly delicate and tender for such a massive being. Demintieff returned her embrace with every evidence of affection.

“Don’t worry, Charlie,” the woman said. “Natark is hitching his team now. He should be in Tanana Bay by tonight.”

Demintieff showed no surprise that the woman had anticipated his news, but simply said, “Thanks, Clodagh. I just wanted to say good-bye. Bunny’s taking my dogs.”

“Good. Good. Bunny treats them well,” Clodagh said, making no further attempt to comfort him but seeming to share his sadness. She offered neither a look nor a word of false encouragement that he was likely to return: they all knew he probably wouldn’t.

“This is Major Maddock, Clodagh.”

“Ah, the dying woman,” Clodagh said. It should have sounded tactless except that her tone was vaguely ironic, indicating that she was only referring to Yana’s own opinion of herself, as if they had already had a long discussion about it. A soft smile and the penetrating gaze of Clodagh’s tilted blue eyes also showed that she meant no offense but simply cut straight to the heart of Yana’s concerns as she had to Demintieff’s.

“Come, sit, have tea. Charlie’s sister and the rest of the family are on their way. Bunka will bring you to supper tonight, if you’ll come, but right now we have to talk about Charlie.”

Even as she spoke people began arriving, until the room was crowded with bodies that smelled of wet fur, smoke, and wet dog. Clodagh’s house boasted a big table with four chairs set close to the stove. Yana, still in her parka, was soon stifling from the heat of the stove, but as the room filled up, she had no elbow room to remove her coat. One of the cats jumped up on the table and began sniffing her coat and her face. She let her hand drop to its marbled fur and it purred and took her gesture as an invitation to settle onto her thighs.

Meanwhile, furs and scarves and quilted fabric brushed by her and she wondered that people didn’t singe themselves on the hot stove as they wished Charlie Demintieff farewell. Yana’s debilitated lungs labored harder as the room filled, the lack of oxygen smothering her. She began deliberately taking deep breaths as first one and then another of Charlie’s friends and distant relations stepped up to crowd around him near the stove, envelop him in a furry hug, and step back away to make room for the next person. Yana couldn’t imagine having so much family.

Clodagh stood among them, not as tall as some of the men but distinguishing herself by the space around her. Her hair, Yana noticed, was quite beautiful, cloaking her shoulders in shining black waves, the black of a hue that somehow was not too harsh with the woman’s fair skin. Her cheeks were pink with the heat now and she was perspiring freely, glowing like some benevolent sun. She didn’t appear to be as old as Yana, and yet she effortlessly carried an air of the kind of authority generally conferred only by well-seasoned maturity.

Just as Yana thought she was going to have to fight her way through the crowd for air or black out, people began filing back out the door with last good-byes for Charlie, and suddenly it was the four of them again, Clodagh, Charlie, Bunny, and Yana.

“We have to hurry,” Bunny told the dejected-looking young officer. “I need to drop the major and get you back.”

“Okay,” he said.

Clodagh put something in his hand with a soft pat before he pulled on his mittens. As they were leaving she said, “Major Maddock, will you come to supper tonight with Bunka?”

Yana nodded and waved, and turned back toward the path between the houses to face four excitedly yapping dogs strapped to a low sled.

“Climb in, Major,” Bunny said.

“You’re kidding. There’s not room for all of us.”

“You ride, and Charlie can drive. I’ll run along beside,” Bunny said, “just as far as your place.”

Yana looked at the low, insubstantial-looking sled and the four wriggling, whimpering dogs, who were having their pointed red ears and muzzles scratched by a kneeling, sad-faced Charlie Demintieff. Their faces looked more like those of foxes or cats than those of the dogs Yana had seen pictured. Their coats were very thick and their legs fairly long and muscular, but their paws were covered in little booties. Every time one of them could get close enough to lick at Demintieff, it did.

“How far
is
my place, anyway?” Yana asked. She had not formed an impression of any vast distances within this town; on the contrary, the snocle rides had been brief.

“Just down the road,” Bunny said, gesturing. “But you’re not used to the cold and . . .”

“And I’m an invalid?” Yana asked, hitching her muffler up higher on her nose. “The dying woman, eh? Not dead yet, Rourke. Not by a long shot. You take Charlie back—and Charlie?”

“Dama?”

“Don’t forget to look up Master Sergeant Threadgill and tell him what I told you.”

Charlie nodded once, briefly, his chin set. Bunny tumbled into the sled and settled herself for transport while Charlie, one last time, whistled to his dogs, who obediently trotted off toward the company station.

Yana sighed, sending a plume of her breath up against the crisp blue sky, and began trudging in her heavy gear in the direction of her new quarters. Damn Giancarlo anyway. If he wanted her to spy for him, did he have to start off by doing something that, if the truth were known, would alienate the whole village from her? Of course, there was always the possibility that he, like Yana, had had no idea that Demintieff was
one
local boy who happened to be stationed close to home because he wished to be. But Giancarlo should have known before he went off half-cocked. If this assignment had any significance at all, he definitely should have had Demintieff checked before he decided to replace him. That kind of rashness could blow this mission.

Mission? This was supposed to be her new life! Not that it looked as if it was apt to amount to much. She ought to thank Giancarlo for giving her something to occupy her mind, to keep from going nuts here on this ice ball.

Feathers of smoke curled up from the houses; if there were any shops or supply stores, they were indistinguishable from the dwellings as far as she could see. Each step in her bulky primitive clothing was like walking in heavy gravity. She couldn’t bend her head easily to see the path before her, or her muffler would fall down and her hood ride back on her head. But by turning her head slightly, she saw that many of the houses contained kennels full of dogs and had mysterious-looking lumps out front just like the ones she had seen in Clodagh’s yard. Two of the larger places had not only houses but outbuildings, and in one of the yards two horses were zigzagging back and forth in the snow. Yana thought there was something strange about the horses, but she couldn’t quite decide what. Never mind. She’d return to her quarters and read the briefing. She needed to find out what was regular about this place before she could determine what was
ir
regular.

She made it to her door with only one slight mishap, when she slipped once more on the ice and had to recover from a coughing fit before rising. She hadn’t hurt herself seriously otherwise. How could she, with so many layers of clothing? A passerby—impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman in those wrappings, but the person was short—stopped and waited for her coughing fit to abate, then gave her a hand up. She felt like a bloody baby, and wanted to slap the person’s hand away, but as soon as she was on her feet the person said in a muffled voice, “You got to walk a little duckfooted when it’s slick like this.”

She watched the person waddle away; then, feeling sillier than ever, she fell into a waddling gait until she reached her own door, the last one on the row.

Something bright flashed ahead of her as she opened the door, and she stiffened, until she heard a thud from the direction of the table and beheld one of the orange cats sitting upon it, nonchalantly cleaning the snow from furry paw pads.

To her relief, the log she had left burning in the stove earlier that morning was glowing coals. She wasn’t sure how long such primitive material was supposed to last, but she had the impression it needed refurbishing frequently. She stripped off coat, gloves, muffler, and coverall and sat down on the chair in her uniform. She had best strip off the insignia. She sighed. That would be admitting to her present status. Whatever. She wondered what she would do for clothing here when her uniforms wore out. She had no other kind of clothing, having been shipside most of her life. Considering the assorted outerwear she had seen in Clodagh’s, perhaps the locals had indigenous sources and supplies. She would have to ask Bunny where she got her furs. Meanwhile . . .

She spread the brief on the table, while the cat looked on inquisitively. The report contained a short history of Petaybee and its settlements, as well as maps showing the resource sites and the spots where the missing survey teams had last been seen.

Petaybee: third world from star XR798 in the Valdez system. The original evaluation team found no life-forms, sentient or otherwise, on the planet: the rocky surface was largely frozen during most of the solar year. The Whittaker Effect was suggested as the best terraforming package for the planet and was inaugurated. Colonization was feasible, and procedures were initiated as the planet warmed. The only land-masses available were in the polar regions, where the climate was subarctic, with a long extremely cold winter, temperatures frequently as low as or lower than -100 degrees F, summers barely two Terran months. Daylight is intense and almost constant during the summer, but dwindles rapidly into total darkness for most of the winter. Suitable colonists were chosen from ethnic groups accustomed to such conditions.