Vyyda Book 1: The Haver Problem (24 page)

             
“No, sir.”

             
“We’re confident of a secure connection now.”

             
“I see.”

             
“So…there’s no reason for you to be here.  Agreed?”

             
Doone cleared his throat.  “I serve at the pleasure of the Bureau.”

             
“That would be me.”

             
Doone wasn’t about to reject the notion.  “Yes, sir.”

             
“How long were you waiting in front of LesenFalver, like an orphaned kitten?” Leach asked.

             
“Around two hours, sir.”

             
“Do you know what was taking place inside?”

             
“The families.  Meetings.  That’s all I could say for sure.”

             
“Members of the GLB – certain members, that is – are trying to convince the parents of those we believe are hostages on Haver not to make the trip.  They’re attempting to talk sense to them.”

             
“I see.”

             
“President Fannin has assured that one family member for each hostage will be given passage to Haver, if they wish.”

             
“I didn’t know that.”

             
“Of course not.  You’ve  been spending your time here trying to catch up.”

             
“Yes, sir.  I have.”

             
Leach sat across from Doone, tossed the towel aside and folded his hands.  He looked hard at the young agent before him.

             
“What do you think of President Fannin?”

             
“I…he’s our president.”

             
“Did you vote for him?”

             
“I was at the Academy when he was elected.  I didn’t vote.”

             
“You’re from here – from Berlin, correct?”

             
“Yes, sir.”

             
“Did your parents vote for Fannin?”

             
Doone swallowed hard and shook his head.  “No, sir.”

             
“And who did they vote for to represent them in the GLB?”

             
“Marsh Van Grundall.”

             
Leach nodded, as if in agreement with their choice.

             
“He’s one of the GLB ministers over at LesenFalver trying to convince those family members to stay home, start learning to forget their lost children.”

             
“I hope he’s successful.”

             
Leach’s face soured for no apparent reason and he got up from his chair.  He moved across the room to his men, speaking quietly in the ear of one.  They left the room.  Leach returned to the mirror, attending to his hair. 

             
“My parents…”

             
“Yes?” Leach said, not looking away from the mirror.  “Your parents…what?”

             
“They campaigned for Minister Van Grundall.”

             
Leach turned.  “Then they’re concerns about the security of mankind are well-placed.”

             
“They are, sir.  Yes.”

             
“And they wouldn’t be able to say the same thing if they had voted for President Fannin.”

             
Doone said nothing.

             
“Do you find what I just said treasonous?”

             
“I…”

             
“It’s a simple question.”

             
“No.”

             
“Why not?”

             
“The Bureau answers to…” Doone cleared his throat.  “I’m an agent…and -- ”

             
“Doone.”

             
“Yes, sir.”

             
“Answer my question.”

             
“President Fannin doesn’t…represent my feelings.”

             
One of Leach’s men returned to the room and delivered a message in a quick whisper.

             
“Not everyone feels the way you do, Agent Doone,” Leach said, gesturing for his man to leave.

             
“Sir?”

             
“The meeting with the families is over.  Six of them are going to Haver.”

             
“Sorry to hear that.”

             
“I’m going to send word to Cyril Redd back on Luna.  You’ll be with me for a while.”

             
“I will?”

             
“Yes.  You will.”

17.

You Were Warned

More than two hundred well-wishers gathered at the Berlin lift field to see the six parents from Halliston who had chosen to make the trip to Haver.
  Most in the crowd wore orange -- the predominant color of the Hallistonian flag.  The trend toward orange demonstrated just how much the rest of the world had learned about Halliston over the preceding twenty-four hours.  The names of the hostages and their family members had been released, bios of the town and its prominent citizens shared and even interviews with certain of the citizens who were willing to make themselves available to talk about the crisis.

 
              The big cities were every bit as engaged as the smaller communities which had more in common with Halliston.  The wave of orange in Berlin was proof of that.  Good drama and potential tragedy, it seemed, appealed to everyone.  Some elements of human nature are absolutely consistent.

 
              The six parents were outfitted in slate-gray protective garb provided by the HSPB and, looked not unlike a team of intrepid explorers jumping off into unknown realms.  That is, unless one could get a clear view of the faces.

 
              Vera Garrity, mother of Leo (best friend of the Haver eleven ringleader Trewn Shepherd), couldn't look at the crowd.  It didn't matter that they were all there in support.  Fear, it seemed, kept her eyes locked on the ground, focused on forcing herself to make each daunting step toward the space elevator platform where officials awaited the group.

 
              Ingram Wells was right behind her.  He glanced periodically at the crowd, somewhat puzzled.  It may have been pure politeness which caused him to raise one hand in recognition of the voices that called out to him.  Wells’ son, Peter, only eighteen, was one of the youngest hostages.  More than once, residents of Halliston who consented to comment on the eleven kids pointed out that Peter Wells was a complete surprise.  "A very obedient young man, from what I've always seen," said one.

 
              Also among the six, bringing up the rear on the ascension to the space elevator ramp, was Noah Shepherd.  His son, Trewn, had been the single most vilified figure in the unfolding story of Earthers on Haver.  Trewn Shepherd, it was discovered, had been at odds with his father for years.  Most in Halliston were at least somewhat aware of the rift.

             
Among the government officials already on the platform, lined up for a final goodbye to the parents, was Marsh Van Grundall.  Lithe, with a pointy nose and small eyes, Van Grundall wore the robes of a GLB minister – the same garment donned for lawmaking sessions in Sydney.  It signaled solemnity and solidarity.  Yet, as Ingram Wells reached Van Grundall, the minister leaned in and spoke into his ear, above the din of the crowd:  “Remember.  You were warned.”

             
Wells pulled away, glaring at the man who represented both Berlin and Halliston in the Global Legislative Body.

             
By the time Noah Shepherd reached Van Grundall, he was prepared, putting his palm up to the minister’s chest and shoving him away before an embrace could be forced.  Shepherd would abide the threats of Van Grundall – regardless of the power he wielded.

             
And, in the name of power, the individual who brought up the rear, following the six Hallistonians onto the platform, roused the gathered crowd to greater heights with a sweeping wave of his arms.  John Fannin.  President of Earth and master politician.  He has a facial expression for every occasion and the ability to match them perfectly. 

             
Ingram Wells extended his hand to the president.

             
“Thank-you.  Thank-you for riding over with us…and thank-you for letting us go.  If the GLB had been able to stop it…”

             
“Don’t worry about the GLB.  Take of yourselves,” Fannin said.

             
Once the six were aboard the space elevator, Fannin, Van Grundall and the others departed the platform.  Within a minute, the all clear was sounded and the lift began to rise, slowly at first.  Once it reached the acceleration height of two hundred meters, the elevator shot into the sky, up the tresanium cable and toward its destination:  the transfer platform seventy thousand kilometers above the Earth’s surface.

             
Van Grundall moved toward Fannin.  He was initially stopped by the president’s retinue of protectors, but Fannin waved them aside, allowing Van Grundall to get closer.  He even smiled.

             
A native of Sydney, Fannin had long been called “big-shouldered John” by those who admired him (and something less seemly by those who didn’t).  Big shoulders to place his Sydney football club on when he was one of the high profile players in the world league, big shoulders onto which he could balance the woes of the world and hopes of Earthers.  John Fannin feared no one.

             
“You had the power to do this, of course,” Van Grundall said.

             
“What’s the use of having power if you don’t exercise it when the time comes?” Fannin replied.

             
“And now you’ll pay for it.  Sending any Earth vessels off into U-Space – for a meager eleven fools who didn’t know well enough to stay at home…well, that’s scaring people.”

             
“I think you underestimate them.”

             
“
You
underestimate the GLB.  We have the votes.  A no-confidence ballot within days.  See if the people continue to believe in you when no good word comes from Haver.”

             
Fannin looked out across the people who were still gathered around the departed lift platform.  “Those kids are coming back.  They’re coming back with their parents and U-Space won’t seem so far away any longer.”

             
With a final smile, Fannin departed, leaving Van Grundall in his wake.

18.

The Waiting

             
Dorsey’s sleep was brief, interrupted by the discomfort in his stomach.  Beyond hungry – reminiscent of his earliest days away from Hyland – he gave himself permission to make a docile request for something to eat.  It was nice, he thought, that Caroline complied with a simple smile.  He didn’t
really
know her, but there was something that told him it was in Caroline Dahl’s nature to feed someone who was hungry, if it was in her power to do so.  Forget the weapon, the association with Earth and the fact that she had, for all practical purposes, kidnapped him.  There was the rare quality of basic decency that he felt sure existed within the woman with the short fringe of white hair.  Dorsey hadn’t encountered it very often in his life, but a purely decent act always made an impression on him.

             
“The waiting…it’s kind of miserable,” Caroline said, presenting Dorsey with one of the pre-packaged meals carried aboard the Selphen.  Provided a fork, he stabbed lightly at the golden-brown crust that topped the dish, finally digging in and prying it open to see what lay beneath.

             
“It’s a pie,” Caroline told him.  “Vegetables – no meat.  I don’t know if your system’s capable of handling that.”

             
A mouthful of the food brought a slight grimace.  Dorsey had been raised on the synthetic sustenance of U-Space.  Nothing natural had ever passed his lips.  It would take getting used to, at the very least.