Ship Who Searched (26 page)

In what was either a burst of inspiration or insanity, he jammed on the braking motors. The sled stopped dead in mid-spin, flinging him sideways against his safety-belts—

And flinging the jackal-dog off the back of the sled entirely, sending it flying into the pack, and tumbling at least a dozen of them nose-over-tail.

At that moment the team reached the second dome.

The flash of light as they opened the door told Alex they were safe, and he no longer had to make a target of himself. Alex burned air back towards Tia; she dropped open a cargo-bay, activated restraint-fields and hoped he’d be able to brake in time to keep from hitting the back wall. At the speed he was coming—the restraint-fields, meant to keep the sled from banging around too much in rough flight, wouldn’t do much.

He didn’t even slow down as he hit the bay door, which she slammed down behind him. Instead, he killed the power and skidded to a halt on the sled’s belly in a shower of sparks. The sled skewed sideways and crashed into the back wall—but between Alex’s own maneuver and the restraint-fields, the impact wasn’t bad enough to do more than dent her hold-wall. Once again, Alex was hurled sideways against his seat-belts. There were a half-dozen impacts on the cargo door, indicating the leaders of the pack hitting it, unable to stop.

He sat there for a moment, then sagged over the steering wheel, breathing heavily. Nothing on Tia’s pickups made her think he was hurt, so she waited for him to catch his breath.

When his breathing slowed, and he looked up, she focused on his face. He was flushed, but showed no shock, and no sign of pain.

“Well,” she said, keeping her voice calm and light, “you certainly know how to make an entrance.”

He blinked—then leaned back in his seat, and began laughing.

It was no laughing matter the next day, when Haakon-Fritz emerged from his shelter and was confronted by the remainder of his team. He had no choice; Tia had threatened to hole his dome if he didn’t, giving the beasts a way inside. It was an empty threat, but he didn’t know that; like any other fanatic Practical Darwinist, he had never bothered to learn the capabilities of brainships.

Les took charge of him before he had a chance to say anything; using some kind of commando-tactics to get a hold on the man that immobilized him, then frog-marching him into the ship.

By common consent, everyone else waited until Les and Tia had secured Haakon-Fritz in one of her cabins, with access to what was going on in the main cabin, but no way of interrupting the proceedings. Any time he started in on one of his speeches, she could cut him off, and he’d be preaching to the bare walls.

As the others gathered in the cabin, Doctor Aspen looking particularly shaken and worn, Tia prepared to give them the news. It wasn’t completely bad . . . but they weren’t going to like part of it.

“We aren’t pulling you out,” she said, “although we’ve got that authority. We understand your concern about leaving this dig and losing essentially two years, and we share it.”

As she watched four of the five faces register their mix of relief and anticipation, she wished she could give them unmixed orders.

“That’s the good news,” Alex said, before anyone could respond. “Here’s the bad news. In order to stay here, we’re going to order you to stay in your domes until the next courier shows up with your new generator and parts for the old one. We ordered one for you when the old one slagged; the courier should arrive in about a month or two with the new one.”

“But—” Doctor Aspen started to object

“Doctor, it’s that, or we pull you right this moment,” Tia said firmly. “We
will not
leave you with those canids on the prowl unless you, each of you, pledge us that. You didn’t see how those beasts attacked Alex in his sled. They have no fear of humans now, and they’re hungry. They’ll attack you without hesitation, and I wouldn’t bet on them waiting until dark to do it.”

“What’s better?” Alex asked shrewdly. “Lose two months of work, or two years?”

With a sigh, Doctor Aspen gave his word, as did the rest—although Fred and Aldon did so with visible relief.

“If they’d just supply us with damned guns . . .” Les muttered under his breath.

“There are sophonts on the other continent. I didn’t make the rules, Les,” Tia replied, and he flushed. “I didn’t make them, but I
will
enforce them. And by the letter of those rules, I should be ordering you to pack right now.”

“Speaking of packing—” Alex picked up the cue. “We need you to bundle Haakon-Fritz’ things and stow them in the hold. He’s coming back with us.”

Now Les made no attempt to hide his pleasure, but Doctor Aspen looked troubled. “I don’t see any reason—” he began.

“Sorry, Doctor, but we do,” Alex interrupted. “Haakon-Fritz finally broke the rules. It’s pretty obvious to both of us that he attempted to turn his politics into reality.”

In his cabin, the subject of discussion got over his shock and began a shouted tirade. As she had threatened, Tia cut him off—but she kept the recorders going. At the moment, they couldn’t
prove
what had been on the man’s mind when he locked his colleagues out. With any luck, his own words might condemn him.

“Doctor, no matter what his motivations were, he abandoned us,” Les said firmly. “One more fighter might have made a difference to the pack—and the fact remains that when he reached shelter, instead of doing anything helpful, he ran inside and
locked the door.
The former might only have been cowardice—but the latter is criminal.”

“That’s probably the way the Board of Inquiry will see it,” Tia agreed. “We’ll see to it that he has justice, but he can’t be permitted to endanger anyone else’s life this way again.”

After a bit more argument, Doctor Aspen agreed. The team left the shelter of the ship, gathered what they could from the dig, and returned to the domes. Well before sunset, Les and Fred returned with a grav-sled laden with Haakon-Fritz’ belongings stowed in crates—and by the rattling they were making, the goods hadn’t been stowed any too carefully.

Tia didn’t intend to expend too much effort in stowing the crates either.

“You’ll keep everyone in the domes for us, won’t you?” Tia asked Les anxiously. “You’re the one I’m really counting on. I don’t trust Doctor Aspen’s common sense to hold his curiosity at bay for too long.”

“You read him right there, dear lady,” Les replied, tossing the last of the crates off the sled for the servo to pick up. “But the rest of us have already agreed. Treel was the most likely hold-out, but even she agrees with you on your reading of the way those jackal-dogs were acting.”

“What will happen to the unfortunate Haakon-Fritz?” Fred asked curiously.

“That’s going to depend on the board,” she told him. “I’ve got a recording of him ranting in his cabin about survival and obsolescence, and pretty much spouting the extremist version of the Practical Darwinism party line. That isn’t going to help him any, but how much of it is admissible, I don’t know.”

“Probably none of it to a court,” Les admitted after thought. “But the board won’t like it.”

“All of it’s been sent on ahead,” she told him. “He’ll probably be met by police, even if, ultimately, there’s nothing he can be charged with.”

“At the very least, after this little debacle, he’ll be dropped from the list of possible workers for anything less than a Class Three dig,” Fred observed cheerfully. “They’ll take away his seniority, if
they
have any sense, and demote him back to general worker. He’ll spend the rest of his life with us undergrads, sorting pot-shards.”

“Assuming he can
find
anyone who is willing to take a chance on him,” Alex responded. “Which I would make no bets on.”

He patted Tia’s side. “Just be grateful you’re not having to go back with us,” he concluded. “If you thought the trip out was bad with Haakon-Fritz sulking, imagine what it’s going to be like returning.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

There was a message waiting for Tia when they returned to the main base at Central, with Doctor Haakon-Fritz still confined to quarters. A completely mysterious message. Just the words, “Call this number,” a voice-line number for somewhere in the L-5 colonies, and an ID-code she recognized as being from Lars.

Now what was Lars up to?

Puzzled, she left the message in storage until Alex completed the complicated transfer of their not-quite-prisoner, and accompanied him and duplicate copies of the records involving him down to the surface. Only then, when she was alone, did she make the call.

“Friesner, Sherman, Stirling and Huff,” said a secretary on the first ring. There was no delay, so Tia assumed that the office was somewhere in one of the half-dozen stations or L-5 colonies nearby. “Investment brokers.”

“I was told to call this number,” Tia said cautiously. “I—my name is Hypatia Cade—” She hesitated as she almost gave her ship-numbers instead of her name.

“Ah, Miz Cade, of course,” the secretary said, sounding pleased. “We’ve been waiting for you to call. Let me explain the mystery; Friesner, Sherman, Stirling and Huff specialize in investments for shellpersons like yourself. A Mister Lars Mendoza at
Pride of Albion
opened an account for you here to manage the investments you had already made. If you’ll hold, I’ll see if one of the partners is free—”

Tia
hated
to be put on hold, but it wasn’t for more than a microsecond. “Miz Cade,” said a hearty-sounding male voice, “I’m Lee Stirling; I’m your broker if you want to keep me on, and I have good news for you. Your investments at Largo Draconis have done
very
well. Probably much better than you expected.”

“I don’t know about that,” she replied, letting a little humor leak through. “My expectations were pretty high.” There was something about that voice that sounded familiar, but she couldn’t identify it. Was it an accent—or rather, lack of one?

“But did you expect to triple your total investment?” Lee Stirling countered. “Your little seed money grew into quite the mighty oak tree while you were gone!”

“Uh—” she said, taken so much by surprise that she didn’t know what to say. “What do you mean by total investment?”

“Oh—your companies split their bonds two times while you were gone; you had the option of cash or bonds, and we judged you wanted the bonds, at least while the value was still increasing.” Stirling was trying to sound matter-of-fact, but couldn’t keep a trace of gloating out of his voice. “Those bonds are now worth three times what they were after the last split.”

“Split?” she said faintly. “I—uh—really don’t know what that means. I’m—new at this.”

Patiently Stirling walked her through exactly what had happened to her investment. “Now the question you have in front of you is whether you want to sell out now, while the value of the bond is still increasing, or whether you want to wait.”

“What’s happening on Largo Draconis?” she asked. After all,
her
investment had been based on what was going to happen in the real world, not the strange and unpredictable universe of the stock market. And from the little she had seen, the universe of the stock market seemed to have very little to do with “real” reality.

“I thought you’d ask that. Your companies have pretty much saturated their market,” Stirling told her. “The situation has stabilized—just short of disaster, thanks to them. The bond prices are going up, but a lot more slowly. I think they’re going to flatten out fairly soon. I’d get out, if I were you.”

“Do it,” she said flatly. “I’d like you to put everything I earned into Moto-Prosthetics, preferred stock, with voting rights. Hold onto the seed money until I contact you.”

“Taking care of it now—there. All logged in, Hypatia. I’m looking forward to seeing what you’re going to invest in next.” Stirling sounded quite satisfied. “I hope you’ll stay with us. We’re a new firm, but we’re solid, we have a lot of experience, and we intend to service our clients with integrity. Miz Friesner was formerly a senior partner in Weisskopf, Dixon, Friesner and Jacobs, and the rest of us were her handpicked proteges. She’s our token softie.”

“Token—oh! You’re all—”

“Shellpersons, right, all except Miz Friesner. Oh, we all worked on the stock, bond, and commodity exchanges, but as systems managers. We couldn’t do any investments while we were systems managers, but Miz Friesner agreed to join us when we bought out our contracts.” Stirling chuckled. “We’ve been planning this for a long time. Now we’re relying on grapevine communications within the shell-net for those like us who want to invest, for whatever reasons—and would rather not go through either their Counselors, their Supervisors, or their Advocates.” He sent her a complicated burst of emoticons conveying a combination of disgust, weariness, annoyance, and impatience. “We
are
adults, after all. We can think for ourselves. Just because we’re rooted to one spot or one structure, it doesn’t follow that all of us need keepers.”

She sent back a burst that mirrored his—with the addition of amusement. “Some of us do—but not anyone who’s been out in the world for more than fifty years or so,
I
wouldn’t think. Well, I’ll tell a couple of friends of mine about you, that’s for certain.”

“Word of mouth, as I said.” Stirling laughed. “I have to tell you, after that phenomenal start, we’re all very interested in your next investment choice.”

“I’ll have it in a couple of days at most,” she promised, and signed off.

Well, now it was certainly time to start digging for that second choice, and she couldn’t hope to happen on it the way she had the last time.

This time, it was going to take a combination of stupidity on someone’s part, and her own computational power. So she concentrated on sorting out those colonies that had been in existence for less than a hundred years. It was probably fair to assume that anything repetitive that
she
would be able to take advantage of would have to take place within that kind of cycle.

That narrowed the field quite a bit—but it meant that she was going to have to concentrate her search by categories. Floods were the first things that came to mind, so she called up geological and climatological records on all of her candidates and ran a search for flood patterns.