The Seeds of Time (59 page)

Though the flight deck was cool, her hands left a trace of sweat on the keyboard, marking her every move. Clio wiped her hands on her togs, breathing deeply to keep the shakes away.

“You had it pretty bad out there,” Voris said on channel. “Worse than any of us.”

“Yeah, pretty bad.”

“But you succeeded. That’s the main thing.”

Clio closed her eyes as she felt the bell of the flight deck push down around her, the bulkheads moving in, she was sure they were closing in, in one of those monstrous flights of imagination that, once begun, tend to play out. The flight console crowding down on her body, the control stick aiming toward her chest, and the ceiling controls lowering. She closed her eyes hard, thinking of the jungle, of the close but limitless jungle. No time now for claustrophobia. Six years in space and never felt it. Liked, in fact, the reassuring close spaces, guarding her flanks and sheltering her.

“Are you all right, Clio?”

Clio looked over at Voris. Felt the sweat on her face, rivulets cutting through the grit. Face hot just under the surface and cold as hard space on the outside.

“You don’t look so good.”

“Feel fine.”

Ship was roaring with the main burn, filling her ears, trembling under her feet. All the grey metal on the deck gleamed back at her, glossy, unseeing, purposeful and cold. What was she doing here on the bridge of this infernal ship, all odds against her, the prize stowed away and under tight guard, surrounded by fellow-crew—every last one of whom would die to prevent her from doing what she was going to do?

Voris turned back to Clio. “Remember when we left Vanda and I said it was going to be a piece of cake?”

Clio snorted. “Yeah.”

“I guess I didn’t have a clue,” She looked over at Clio. “What we were up against. Not a clue.”

“Maybe nobody did.” The roaring of engines sounded like the screams of banshees riding the hull.

“I never killed anyone before,” Voris said.

Clio glanced over at Voris, who worked the console, whipping the
Galactique
into motion like a big girl and yet whimpering over a few bodies.

“People die.”

“But we killed them. The gas. Some of our wounded
were maybe still out there. We defended the lander, and we opened the canisters on Tandy’s order. I set one out. We were in a hurry, everyone shouting, the whole camp shouting. I set one out, and the stuff traveled like fire.” She looked up at Clio. “I can’t forget it.”

“It’s war. People die.”

Her brown eyes still looked at Clio, hungry-like. “You’re tough, Clio.”

“Try to be.”

“But you don’t look so good, either.”

“Tell you the truth, feel like my stomach’s about to take a walk.”

“Why did we need the gas, Clio?”

“Cut the chatter,” came Hocking’s order, a tinny voice in the earpiece. Behind Clio and Voris, Hocking and Singh scanned the readouts for pursuers, and punched up ship’s guns, now fully armed.

Voris’ eyebrows came together in a thick brown line. “What about taking a stand, then?”

“Take on U.S. Army?”

Voris hesitated. “If it was right.”

“Being right can get you in a bunch of trouble.”

Voris went back to the flight console, on systems check. “Just the same, it made me sick.”

Hocking’s voice interrupted: “Finn, you report to medlab, on the double.”

“Medlab, sir?”

“You taking orders?”

“Yessir, but …”

“On the double, Finn.”

She turned her chair slowly around, making eye contact, and took off the headset.

“Can I ask why?”

“We’re heading into Dive. As soon as you’re ready.”

“This is too close range, sir. Way too close. We’ve got a planet below, way too close.”

“Close range, and we’re going to risk it, Finn. Niang is expendable. Our cargo isn’t. And it’s orders.”

“Whose orders?”

Hocking sprang from his chair, drew his gun. They were all armed, all the officers, armed from the hour Tandy’s aide was killed. Even Voris carried a small pistol strapped to her belt. He pointed his gun, irrationally, at the ceiling. He clamped his teeth together and tilted his head back slightly, creating a close approximation of authority. “Are you questioning my direct orders?” Looking down at her, down the slick length of his nose, he waited for her answer.

“Yessir.”

Voris cringed into the back of her chair. She whispered harshly, “Clio!”

Clio swung on her. “Dive’ll kick the atmosphere to hell and gone. It’s against all regs, this close to a living world. You want to be responsible for blasting Niang to dust, you willing to take responsibility?” She turned back to Hocking.

“That is not your call,” he said. “Nothing is your call. This is time of war, and you will follow my commands.” Still, the gun pointed at the ceiling, prompting Clio to push just a little harder.

“I want to talk to Tandy.”

Hocking worked his jaw forward and back, dislodging his words with effort. “Colonel Tandy is the source of this order, if you want to know. Colonel Tandy wants us out of here immediately.”

Tandy appeared in the hatchway from officers’ quarters. Singh nodded quickly to him, but Tandy was fixed on Clio.

“Is there a problem here?” Tandy said.

Hocking looked at his pistol, then slowly holstered it. “She refuses to Dive, Colonel.”

Tandy was cleaned up, with shaved face and new uniform, and, for all his reputed hurry, he took time now to gaze at her calmly, and in an even voice said, “Is that right, Clio?”

“Nosir. Not that I refuse. Just questioning the timing.”

He nodded. Not agreeing, clearly not agreeing, but just maybe understanding. Just maybe sizing up the strength of her opposition.

“Clio, I’ll see you in my quarters.” He turned without waiting for her, disappeared down the corridor.

Clio threw herself out of the chair. Down the corridor, she caught up with him just in front of his cabin door. “What the hell is going on here, Tandy?”

Tandy ushered her in to the cabin, closing the door without haste. He strode to the desk console, dousing a thunderous crescendo of violins, and turned to face her. “That theory of Vandarthanan has never been tested.”

“Tested? Of course it’s never been tested. Jesus Christ, who’s going to
test
a cataclysmic storm? You willing to
test
it on Niang?”

“We must hurry, Clio.”

Clio marched into the center of the room, spun around. “You’re in a hurry. I’m not.”

He sat down on the couch, arm along the top, watching her.

“What’s a few more hours in this space?” she demanded. “You think the Nians won’t follow us through Dive? You think Diving early is some tactical advantage?”

“It might be.”

“Might be! But you don’t know.”

He watched her in silence a few more moments. “Still in love with Niang, aren’t you?” When she didn’t answer, he continued. “You still believe Niang is the Great Answer. The happy ending to all our troubles. The great regreening, worth any price.”

“You make my ideas sound so childish.”

He pursed his lips. “Not childish. Idealistic and wrong. I never said you were childish.”

“I won’t Dive this soon. I won’t do it, Tandy.”

“No, I can see that.”

“Don’t try to talk me into it.”

“No. You have your principles.” His voice conveyed a noncommittal tone, verging on irony. He glanced up at her. “And you have bargaining position, after all. You’re the Dive pilot, right?”

Clio grew wary, waiting for the trump card.

“I’ll give it twenty-four hours. Would that suit you?”

Clio thought fast. Twenty-four hours, might be enough, had heard of ships Diving within thirty-six, had heard of ship captains cutting it that close.

His eyebrow arched, waiting for her, while she calculated how far she could push him, now that he had the FTL aboard and was fleeing for his life, in time of war.

“Twenty-four hours, then.”

He patted the couch top. “Done.”

“That easy?”

“A man in my position, Clio, learns how to find solutions. Learns how to listen to his officers, his advisors. How to give up a little, to keep much.”

“What are you keeping?”

“You. Your loyalty. You learn how not to push people past their closely held principles. You push someone past that and you’re dealing with a dangerous man. Or woman. A man who’ll do anything. An unpredictable man. The worst kind.”

“You’ve nothing but contempt for my principles.”

“Not true, Clio. Not true. Your principles are very important to me. I do fundamentally disagree with your positions, but I know what they are. You seldom surprise me. I can count on you. Do you know how valuable that is to a man like me? To count on someone?”

“Nosir.”

“Sure you do.” He got up, smoothing his uniform. “Think about it. You’ll find me surprisingly consistent as well, Clio. And that might be important to
you
, someday.” He crossed the room to the credenza. Opening a bottom drawer, he withdrew a large-caliber pistol and placed it on the desktop. “You know how to use one of these?”

Clio’s throat was so dry she had to struggle to keep her voice natural. “Of course.”

He nodded. “Good. I keep it here in the bottom drawer.” He replaced it, and returned to stand next to her by the couch. “I want you to spend Dive—when we finally Dive—I want you to spend Dive in my cabin. And I want you to kill anybody who comes through that door. No matter who it is. If it’s Captain Hocking himself. Anybody
who’s awake in Dive other than you is the enemy, and you will kill him.”

“I’m supposed to be on the bridge during Dive, sir.”

“Yes. And that’s where an enemy will count on you being. But you won’t be. Do you understand?”

“Yessir.”

He smiled. “No arguments? No principles compromised?”

Clio managed to look in his eyes. “Nosir.”

“Good. Then I can count on you?”

She nodded, words stuck away down her throat, in a knot of bile and self-disgust.

A drop of water plunked onto Clio’s forehead. She jumped. Looked up, saw the hot-water return pipe laden with sweat as it carried ship’s excess heat to dump into space. Here in the deep hold, pipes coiled along bulkheads, fluids sluiced along metal systems, jointed and riveted like any plumbing anywhere. They sweated and knocked and banged, filling the deck with creaking mechanical workings, as though she were in a tenement basement and not lower deck on the freeping scientific marvel of the world.

Damn, where was Ashe, anyway?

Underneath the creaking of ship’s hydraulics, the great hum of
Galactique’s
engines sang through lower deck, asserting the primacy of thrust and movement that gave the ship its purpose. That marked the ship as slower than light, a rocket-driven metal canister daring the distances encompassed by Dive, dwarfed by the immensity of their voyage; a voyage whose terrain was a mere gulf stream in the great ocean galaxy.

Beneath the throb of ship’s bulkheads, the ladder to mid-decks rattled. Someone was coming. Clio backed into a small space next to a stowage locker, tripping the handle of the main compartment. It swung open, its metal panel slapping against her elbow. Shit. Clio pushed it back, clicking it into place. Listened.

Footsteps moving in. Then a whisper: “Clio? It’s Timothy.”

She stepped out. “Jesus, what took you so long?”

“Had to wait until the corridor was clear.” He moved to her, pulling her into his arms.

Clio pushed away. “We have to hurry. I’m on duty any minute.”

He pulled her back. “I know that we have to hurry. Just don’t pull away from me like that.”

She took a deep breath and expelled it into his big shoulder. “Jesus, I’m shaky.”

“It’s good to breathe. Do it some more.” He wrapped her closer to him until she eased off and leaned into him.

“I’m real shaky, Timothy.”

“I know. So am I.”

She pulled back again. “This is a damn mess. Everything’s gone wrong.”

“Not everything. They still don’t know who we are. Who you are.”

“We could’ve just pitched it into the damn Hell Crack and been done with it.” A vent in the bulkhead released a gasp of oily air, ruffling Clio’s pants legs. Unconsciously, she backed away slightly. “Now what are we going to do,” she said. “Storm the bridge?”

A clank from behind jolted her body.

“The CO
₂
exchanger. It clanks,” she said, but whether for his benefit or hers, she wasn’t sure. She raised an eyebrow at him. “So what’s the plan?”

“The plan is easy, Clio. Our best shot is Dive. As soon as crew is out, we comb through Tandy’s quarters …”

“We?”
She wrinkled her forehead, remembering. “You can ride out Dive, eyes open, that right?”

“Yes.” He waited for her, watching carefully.

“It’s just pretty strange, that’s all.”

“Not strange, Clio. Just different. We’ve DNA-engineered Dive tolerance. What’s strange is your whole damn starship crew, except one, out cold for two whole hours.”

“OK, so we go through Tandy’s quarters and find the circuit board, right?”

“Yes. Then we signal my ship to stand off a few kilometers.
We drag Petya to loading bay and make our escape in the lander.”

“OK. Fine.” In the silence that followed, she looked up into Ashe’s steady gaze. “I said fine.”

“I know what you said. I also know you’re not fine.” He paused, voice lowering. “I have no right to try to take you with me, Clio. It’s too dangerous—for you and Petya.”

“Look. We’re going. You said we had a chance. I’m going to take that chance.”

“It’s Tandy, isn’t it?” he said. He stared at her, hard.

“Yes, it’s Tandy,” she threw back. “What if I can’t find it and have to wait for him to wake up? He’ll be real happy just to hand it over.”

“Not my job to make him happy. Not
your
job, OK?”

“I said OK!” She looked around as her too-loud voice resonated through the ship’s bowels.

“He trusts you, Clio. Get close to him.”

Clio turned away, banged her fist against the stowage door. It came unhooked, slapped against her hip. She slammed it shut. “I’m not going to seduce him, if that’s what you mean.”