Where the Ships Die (28 page)

Not this Orr, though. He was different. Freed from his traitorous wife, his fortune reduced by half, he was psychologically reborn. He had placed his trust in others, and they had betrayed him. Well, not any more. What was the old adage? If you want the job done right, do it yourself? That made sense, a lot of sense, and he would put it into practice.

The fastest way to rebuild his sagging fortunes was to seize control of the Mescalero Gap and the revenues that would flow from it. Then, with his assets restored, he'd go after Melanie. Not physically, because that would be too easy, but financially. He'd make her watch as he took her possessions away, one at a time, till she was begging on the streets. And then, just when it seemed that things could get no worse, he'd use his influence to take her son. She was a drug addict, after all... and there were laws against that. The thought made him grin.

Voices shouted, another alarm was heard, and Orr stepped through a door marked "Exit." His yacht was moored in the harbor and would make short work of the trip to New Hope.

The
Search for Opportunity
was registered as a survey vessel, one of many in the Traa fleet, and mounted weaponry similar to that found on Confederate cruisers. This stratagem allowed the Traa to circumvent the Treaty of Stars, through which all races had agreed to decommission their warships in favor of a single peacekeeping force.

In the unlikely event that the ship's commander was questioned, she could honestly say that the ship was searching for a black hole, never mind the fact that it had been in use for years, and belonged to someone else.

Her name was Na-La, and although she was theoretically equal to Sa-Lo and Ka-Di in rank, her position as the ship's commanding officer gave her an edge. She used this advantage to make the operatives slouch lower in their chairs and avoid direct eye contact, the Traa equivalent of pack-style submissive posturing. The setting, which consisted of her day cabin, added weight to her position. The lighting was dim, consistent with the race's better than average night vision, and the bulkheads were ascetically bare.

"So," she said lazily, "let's see if I understand. After forming an alliance with the human named Orr, and using him to screen your actions, you ventured off on your own." Sa-Lo saw where the conversation was headed and, true to his training as a negotiator and deal-maker, remained silent. Ka-Di, always the warrior, launched a counterattack. His demeanor changed, as did his posture. He was on the attack now, fur standing up along his neck, teeth visible. "What are you saying? That we're incompetent? That we should have stayed on Mechnos after the Voss female left? Recycled air grows stale at times. A tour in the field might clear your head."

The words caused fur to bristle along Na-La's neck. "Perhaps
you've
been in the field too long. Actions without results are like seeds on poisoned soil. Energy wasted and opportunity lost."

Ka-Di growled, and was about to retaliate when Sa-Lo intervened. Ka-Di, though not intentionally trying to do so, had provided him with the opportunity to play peacemaker, a position that seemed innocuous but gave the incumbent power over both sides of the dispute. He postured openness.

"Come now, you two. There's little point in dwelling on that which failed. Success belongs to those who nose the correct trail... and this one leads to the Voss boy."

Na-La felt mollified and tried to seem open. "What about the female? Additional pressure could change her mind."

"Perhaps," Sa-Lo replied soothingly, "but no amount of persuasion could produce information she doesn't have."

"You're sure of that?" Na-La asked skeptically. "Sure she doesn't know?"

"Nothing is sure," Sa-Lo said gently, "but the odds are good. Everything we know about the female suggests that she intentionally rejected the family business in favor of her current career. Why seek to preserve something already refused? And why would the flat-face visit her parents' offices on Mechnos, if not to find the coordinates? Coordinates she'd sell if she had them."

"Let's assume you're correct," Na-La said thoughtfully, "and the female doesn't have the coordinates. What leads you to believe that her sibling has them?"

"Nothing," Sa-Lo replied honestly. "But what if he does? How many ships are currently involved in trying to locate the Gap using conventional means?"

Na-La looked away. "Three."

"And why haven't they been successful?"

Na-La's features took on an expression of profound sadness. "Our best physicists died when the mountain blew, and the rest refuse to help. They regard our project as ethically untenable."

Sa-Lo and Ka-Di, both of whom knew how La-Ma would have viewed their activities, signaled their understanding. The naval officer continued. "That being the case, we are left with nothing but scientific texts and alien contract personnel to do the job. The fact that black holes are optically invisible makes for slow work. You can track the X rays they emit, you can look for Doppler shifts, but you can't see them directly. And, to further complicate things, there are
two
kinds of black holes, the kind that spin and provide a shortcut from one point in space to another, and the kind that don't and will crush you like a bug. All of which means that while we know roughly where the Gap should be, and have some preliminary evidence that it's there, we aren't sure that it's the right one. Not until we find a way to send drones through without the government or our own scientists catching on."

"Fabulous," Ka-Di said disgustedly. "Just frigging fabulous."

Sa-Lo, who disapproved of human colloquialisms, shot his partner a dirty look. "Thank you, Na-La. Forgive my marriage-brother. He spends too much time with aliens. The discussion has been most helpful, if only to reaffirm our existing strategy. Time was lost while you came to get us. That's why we must make all possible speed for New Hope. The flat-face youth may or may not be in possession of the coordinates. We have no choice but to find out."

19

Courage has many faces ...

General Zeen-Nymore Dronk

On the civilian defense of Lake Hypont

Standard year 1613

The Planet New Hope

The sun had risen in the east and threw long black shadows down across the hillside. Thin plumes of smoke, each fed by the minimum amount of wood necessary to cook one family's breakfast, twisted toward the sky. Dogs barked, a door slammed, and the stamping mill thumped its eternal dirge.

Dorn, clad only in a towel with the name DataCom Freight embroidered across the bottom edge, left the relative warmth of the cargo module and headed for the makeshift shower. It consisted of a wooden framework covered with plastic. Water was stored in a fiberglass tank salvaged from a lifeboat. The girl once referred to as "Diddly" now answered to the name Dee Dee. She was fully recovered. That meant she loved to play, and like most children her age, especially those who live in squalor, had a talent for getting dirty.
Very
dirty.

Which was why Dorn, who had grown tired of organizing baths, constructed the shower. And, having done so, took advantage of it himself. The water was damned cold in the morning, though—something Dee Dee took immense pleasure in, since it was her job to fill the tank, and then, when Dorn gave the command—or a tiny bit before, if she felt mischievous— to dump the cold liquid on his semiwilling body. Her voice had a high, piping quality, and came from the ladder located at the rear of the enclosure. "Ready?"

Dorn gritted his teeth and nodded. "Ready."

Dee Dee grinned sadistically, pulled a lanyard, and laughed as the water splashed onto Dorn's head and shoulders. She wasn't supposed to peek—but did anyway. Dorn, whom she had come to regard as part friend and part brother, danced under the cold water and uttered a series of war whoops.

The shower ended two minutes later as Dorn rinsed, pleaded with Dee Dee to stop the water, and toweled himself dry. Breakfast was ready, and he followed the smell. Once they were inside, La-So ladled one of his delicious concoctions onto mismatched ship plates, ordered Dee Dee to wash her hands, and reminded Dorn to lather up.

The lotion, if that's what the thick, gooey mess could properly be called, was a neighbor's creation, and it worked surprisingly well. Smeared liberally over the user's body, the gunk was proof against sunburn, heat rash, and, if the substance's inventor was to be believed, attack from foraging needlefish, which was a rather dubious claim but comforting nonetheless. Careful to minimize contact with the cargo module's furnishings, Dorn slid into his salt-stiff work clothes, herded Dee Dee toward the table, and sat down to breakfast. It was his favorite moment of the day. The prayer, led by La-So, affirmed that each would be granted an opportunity to learn, help others, and harmonize with the universe.

Dorn and Dee Dee chanted the prayer in Traa, while the previously moody La-So smiled approvingly and guided them through the appropriate hand gestures. The change in La-So's personality seemed both miraculous and inexplicable until Dorn learned the importance of triads. When Dee Dee joined the household, she completed the necessary three-person unit and restored balance to La-So's life.

The prayer ended, and Dee Dee waited for La-So's nod. He gave it, and she started to eat. Not like an animal, as she had at the beginning, but with something approximating the manners Dorn had acquired from his sister, and been taught at the academy. Manners that had been intended to be of assistance as he made his way through the highways and byways of upper crust society. His present circumstances were somewhat different, and he smiled at the irony.

"So," La-So said sternly, ever ready to heap more food onto Dee Dee's already full plate, "what sort of mischief do you have planned for today?"

Dee Dee, who had dealt with the same question every morning for weeks now, and who regarded the alien as a sort of grandfather, tried to appear solemn. "Well, work comes first, so I'll do my chores, study the lessons Dorn prepared for me, and then, when you least expect it, I'll follow you around and get in your way. How does that sound?"

"Terrible, just terrible," the alien replied gruffly, "but I have no choice. It's penance for my many sins."

"Maybe," Dee Dee answered serenely, "or just bad luck. Like when Dorn's and my parents died. You never know."

"No, you don't," the Traa replied, "nor do you need to, since we must dwell in the ever present now. Eat some drift-weed ... it's good for you."

Dee Dee made a face, Dorn laughed, and the meal was soon over. When the table was cleared, and Dee Dee had started her chores, Dorn left for work.

He knew the trails by heart, which left his eyes free to roam. They went to the
Mary Voss
like magnets to metal. Approximately two weeks had passed since the beaching party, and, thanks to other ships already aground, the data liner was relatively intact. Dorn still found it difficult to believe that she would be cut into pieces, fed to the mills, and rolled, stamped, and extruded. Into what? Screwdrivers? Soup ladles? Axe heads? It made no difference. No matter what they made from her flesh and bones, it wouldn't add up to a spaceship.

Suddenly the memory that had been eluding Dorn came flooding back. He was transported back in time, to one of the rare occasions when his father had taken him to the best of places, a spaceship. The liner was to be christened that day, and in response to the boy's whining, or on a personal whim, the senior Voss took his son on a tour. The ship smelled new, and to a child the odor of plastic and ozone seemed like a ticket to the places his parents talked about, distant planets that teemed with aliens. He remembered the engineering spaces, followed by vast multilayered memory banks, and long, empty corridors. Most of all, he remembered the U-shaped bridge, control boards, and wraparound view screens. And—the best—the captain's chair, a powered affair with rows of touch-sensitive controls built into both arms, and a swing-out com monitor.

Dorn had been allowed to sit in the chair for only the briefest of moments, and had just begun to explore its many wonders, when a hand pulled him away. The next place they saw held little interest for the boy but seemed important to his father. The captain's cabin was small but nicely finished. Howard Voss dropped to his knees, took a small hand in his, and pressed it against the smoothly finished metal. "Forget the captain's chair, son, the
real
power is here. Do you feel it boy? Vibrating under your hand? It'll be yours someday."

Dorn had felt nothing other than a certain coolness and the urgency in his father's voice. He nodded. "Yes, Daddy."

Howard Voss nodded. "Good. Now, look at the plate. See anything different about it?"

Dorn shook his head. "No, they all look the same."

"Darned right they do," his father replied, "but they aren't. Make a fist and thump three times. Quickly now."

The child did as instructed. Nothing happened in response to the first two thumps, but the third produced a surprising result. A mechanism whirred, and the panel opened. The recess was shallow and lined with foam padding. The ball bearing, for that's what it looked like, was nestled at the center of the space. It gleamed with reflected light. "There it is," Howard Voss said proudly, "the jewel of our empire. We keep a copy aboard every ship we own. The crews don't know about it, not even the captains. It's a way to safeguard our most important secret. But you must tell no one, not even your sister. Promise?"

Dorn had given his word and kept it too. And now he was glad, because he knew, or thought he knew, what the shiny metal ball contained: the coordinates for the Mescalero Gap. What was it his father had said? "... Our most important secret"? What else would qualify? Yes, Natalie might have the coordinates, or know where to find them, but what if she didn't? What if his parents had died without passing the secret along? Would that explain why the money stopped?

His thoughts practically tripped over each other as they moved through his mind. The voice that interrupted them was gruff and accompanied by a shove. "Hey, buster, what the hell's wrong with you? Move or get off the path."