Vale of Stars (32 page)

“Can I, Grandonly?”

“Of course, dear. But don’t touch.” 

“I won’t.” Viktur led Sirra aft to look at the cyborg submersible.

Khadre and Yallia stood perhaps two meters apart and watched. Khadre had dozens of questions to ask the Prime Original but could not begin to frame them properly. Mostly, she wanted to know why the Originals had taken such an interest in the creatures. She was not naïve—pure science for its own sake was rarely held in high esteem by politicians, even ones as enlightened as the Originals. Why, then, the sudden interest, to the point of sending the highest-ranking member of the Family to personally oversee the study?

Khadre could not ask the questions. It was not for her to receive explanations from her elders. She simply did as she was told and hoped for encouragement and praise.

The next two hours were uneventful. To Viktur’s obvious surprise, Sirra did not tire of the novelty of being on board the skiff—she still thrilled at the buck and spray of the sea. She spent most of time near the bowsprit, bracing her teeth into the wind and laughing as the ship heaved gently, its internal gyros absorbing much, but not all, of the roll of the sea.

“Coming up on target area,” Khadre called out form the conning platform. “I’m going to slow us down to one-third.” The hum of the motor changed pitch and the craft gradually decelerated.

“Khad, put her back on auto and come down to help me with Nimmo.”

“I want to get closer manually. Less work for Nimmo.”

“I’ll help you, Viktur,” Sirra said, advancing toward the cyborg.

“No, skipper, this is for me and Khadre to do. You have to watch out for monsters, remember?” 

Sirra smiled at Yallia and turned back to the bowsprit and looked out at the sky. Yallia looked fondly at her back. The girl was too old to believe in monsters, but she was willing to humor the young man.

Khadre eventually came down from the conning platform and helped secure Nimmo to the hoist. She activated the winch and lowered the drone into the water.

“Now we go into the control cabin to monitor and guide the drone,” Khadre said to Yallia, who nodded gravely and turned to Sirra.

“We’re going to go into the cabin now, Sirra. Come on.”

“Okay,” she said, but something in the sky caught her attention. “Hey, Vik, a bird!”

Yallia began, “Sirra, come on. We’ve no—”

“Wait a moment, Madame Prime,” Viktur interrupted. “What do you see, Sirra?” He scrambled past a startled Yallia and came up next to Sirra. She pointed to the sky where a black speck hovered near the horizon.

“What is it? Why such excitement over a bird?” Yallia said, annoyed, despite her own protestations against her pseudo-noble status, that Viktur would so causally interrupt her.

“We’re over one hundred and fifty kilometers from land. Much too far away for solo birds. We’ve never encountered any this far out,” Khadre said.

Yallia wondered at the worry in her voice, but before she could comment on it Viktur shouted from the bow, “Khad! Can you get the binocs and take a look at this?”

Khadre bounded to the conning platform and opened a compartment, withdrew a pair of binoculars, and focused them on the speck.

“It’s not a bird,” Khadre said, unable to convey any emotion save surprise. “It’s a flyer. Coming at us.”

“A flyer?” Yallia said, shocked. She came to the bottom step of the conning platform and reached for the binoculars. Khadre handed them over without a word.

Viktur said to Sirra, “Okay, I’m going to show you something fun now. It’s down in the cabin, though. Come with me?” He said, trying to keep his voice calm but firm.

His very playfulness and rapport with the girl now worked against him as Sirra reacted to the almost undetectable hint of anxiety in his voice. She broke from him and ran to Yallia.

“Grandonly, what is it?”

Yallia lowered the binocs and held Sirra with her free hand.

Viktur took the binoculars from her and watched the flyer. “If it keeps coming at this speed, it’ll be over us in about a minute.” He lowered the binoculars and added, “We’d better hail them, see what they want.”

“Mister Ljarbazz,” Yallia said softly but with iron in her voice, “that is a Dome flyer.” 

Viktur started at her. “Of course, Madame Prime.”

“It is almost certainly a drone, like your submersible. There’s no one on board.”

“But surely if we hail them, whoever is controlling it will hear.”

“Hear us? Certainly. But that won’t stop them. You don’t have anything we can use on them, do you?” she asked calmly.

It took Viktur a moment to understand what she meant—she had refrained from speaking directly because of Sirra. But as realization dawned on him he shook his head.

“Do you want me to hail them or not?” Khadre said from the conning platform, her eyes glued to the approaching flyer. There was no need of binoculars now—the outline of the machine was clearly visible to the naked eye.

Yallia hesitated. She was loath to give away their position, but the flyer was obviously approaching them. Whatever secrecy the mission had started under had been lost. She looked up at Khadre and said, “Go ahead.”

Khadre immediately switched on the communicator and spoke into it. “To unidentified flyer: this is the research vessel
Beagle
. What can we do for you?” The flyer had slowed, its twin engines changing configuration to turn it into a sort of helicopter. When it was completely transformed, it hovered perhaps one hundred meters above the skiff.

Yallia let go of Sirra suddenly and strode up to the conning tower while Khadre still waited for a response. Viktur held Sirra, who let out a fearful whimper.

Yallia snatched the transmitter out of Khadre’s hands and snapped, “Dome flyer! You are interfering with peaceful Family scientific research! You will withdraw immediately!” Khadre could barely hear her, despite her shouting, above the roar of the flyer’s engines.

Khadre looked at Yallia, startled. What was she doing? She sounded as if she wanted a confrontation with this thing.

There was still no answer from the flyer. Khadre shouted to Yallia, “What do they want? Do you think they’ll try to board us?”

“There’s no one in it,” Yallia shouted back. “It’s a drone.”

“But what—” Khadre’s eyes widened suddenly. “Get down!” she screamed, pushing Yallia off the conning platform as the two slugthrower emplacements on the flyer shed their camouflage and spat projectiles at the
Beagle.

Viktur and Sirra crumpled to the ground as soon as the shooting started. Yallia and Khadre crawled down the steps of the conning platform, scraping skin off their elbows and forearms as they went, making their way to Viktur and Sirra.

The flyer rotated to cover them and continued to pump high-velocity bullets into the skiff. Most of the slugs tore through the flimsy materials of which the skiff was constructed—only a few bounced off the tougher metallic elements of the craft.

“Over the side!” Khadre said. She started to push Yallia over the railing, but could not accomplish this without getting to her knees and lifting the older woman. She knew that by getting up, she would lose whatever soft cover she had behind the conning platform, but she needed to save the Prime Original. Yallia entered the water gracelessly but at least now had the bulk of the skiff between her and the flyer.

The deafening roar of the autocannons ceased, and Khadre wasted a split second in looking at the flyer in renewed horror. A new weapon sloughed off its camouflage and began to track the skiff. Khadre did not know weaponry, but this belly-mounted cylinder looked distinctly more powerful than the slugthrowers. With a sudden flash of understanding she knew the flyer’s cybernetic brain (or human pilot back in the Dome) had decided the time for antipersonnel weapons was over. Khadre saw the flame shoot out of the flyer’s belly turret and strike the skiff mid-ship. The heat of the blast almost knocked her out and the air displacement sent her skidding against the portside railing. The skiff was ablaze and would soon founder. She crawled towards where Viktur had sheltered Sirra with his body and grabbed her partner by the shoulder. He fell away from Sirra, his face reduced to a pinkish mass of bone pulp. He must have been hit by one of the first bursts from the flyer’s autocannons as he had dived to save Sirra. Khadre forced herself to look away from Viktur and saw Sirra huddled under the lower stair of the conning platform. She was still alive—her eyes met Khadre’s in terror.

Khadre reached out and grabbed Sirra. The heat from the burning skiff was intense enough to cause Khadre to lose consciousness for a split second. When she came to, she was back at the portside railing somehow, still holding Sirra. She rolled over the side and entered the blessedly cold waters of the Bitter Sea. Instantly, Yallia’s arms were around her granddaughter.

Khadre looked back up at the flyer and saw it slowly lose altitude, as if searching the wreckage. Khadre realized that its infrared sensors were no use in the heat—the craft was forced to use visible spectra to search for survivors.

The fire must have reached some of the diving pressure tanks just then, for a titanic explosion shattered the skiff from inside. Khadre, Yallia, and Sirra were only a few meters away from the port side of the boat when the vessel exploded—much of the debris slammed into them and sent them rushing away from the skiff. Khadre was stunned momentarily when a chunk of the skiff smashed into her head, but she had the presence of mind to hang on and ride the wave. When her head was clear, she searched frantically for Yallia and Sirra and saw them several meters away, amid more wreckage. They were both unconscious but floating in the saltwater. Khadre was about to move towards them when the whine of the flyer’s engines changed pitch. As she watched, the flyer hovered shakily, then began to change configuration. The flyer seemed to be having trouble morphing back into its high-velocity shape, though Khadre could not see any external damage. If the flyer had been alive, Khadre would have called the erratic behavior indecisive. The machine turned unsteadily, then moved back away, more slowly now but still quick.

Khadre did not watch it for long. She made her way painfully through the debris to where Yallia and Sirra floated and checked their vitals. They were both alive and seemed strong, just unconscious. Khadre looked around her at the shattered remains of the skiff and cried, since there was no one to stop her.

Tann scowled at Nessel when she entered her office. She gasped to find him there, then hardened her features to cover her surprise.

“What is the result?” Tann snapped.

Nessel didn’t answer until she had placed herself behind her desk. Tann was far too seasoned a politician to be deceived at her action—she wanted him to think she was taking her time and establishing herself as the dominant one in the conversation by moving to her official seat, but her stiff posture betrayed her fear. She wanted a desk between herself and this old, gnarled adviser. So be it.

“The flyer destroyed the research ship. There were four people on board.”

“Dead?”

“Presumably.”

Tann’s eyes flashed. “What do you mean? Are they dead or aren’t they?”

“The flyer was damaged in the attack. An explosion on the research craft. The flyer was forced to withdraw back to base for repairs. We’ll send another one out as soon as possible.”

“Why?”

Nessel looked at him quizzically. “To confirm they are dead, of course. Or to pick up survivors.”

“Why would we do that? Leave them be. Dead or not, it doesn’t matter. Our attack on the scientists is enough.”

“They weren’t all scientists, Mr. Tann.”

“Whatever they were,” he said in annoyance.

“One was a child.” She said this with unnatural distinctness, and again Tann saw through her. She had waited to reveal this fact out of some perverse sense of revenge. Hers had been the command to attack, it was true—she saw herself as the final authority in the Domes, no matter what this Carll Tann thought. He met her iron with steel.

“Whatever they were,” Tann said again, clearly and forcefully, “the exiles will seek revenge.” He smiled a crooked half-smile. “And we will be ready for them.”

“But to leave them out there….”

“So? Were you not aware that this is a military action, Nessel? People die in wars, or hadn’t you been told?”

“Not children and civilians.”

Tann shook his head. “Especially children and civilians. That’s what makes war ugly. That’s why we must do this—to stop a greater ugliness. The death of a few innocents now will prevent mass slaughter later.” Tann started to add that only mutant outcasts were dying now, but he refrained. Nessel was not of a mind to hear that line of reasoning.

Tann sighed inwardly as he watched Nessel grapple with what she had set in motion. Again, he thought, I am forced to do my work from underneath a weak, vacillating fool. Left to the likes of her, this colony would be destroyed by internal warfare in a generation. Left to the old, departed Commissar-General Jalen Newfield, the colony would have been torn to pieces by genetic class struggles. And had Tann not acted all those years ago when he first put this plan in motion, the colony would surely be in ruins now. He had to stay alive and keep working until this crisis was past.

He had heard the talk in the Domes from the various left-wing movements preaching ‘integration’ of the outcasts and a reintroduction into Dome society. He had even heard vague talk of ‘reparations’ to them. His spy network had the various leaders and orators of the “People’s Party,” as they liked to call themselves, under surveillance. Aside from the outcast group itself, this proletarian movement represented the greatest threat to society he could imagine. Eliminate the outcasts, and the movement would have to dissolve—there would be nothing to champion except a memory.

He cursed inwardly. Daydreaming like a child! His fifty-seven-year-old brain was still sharp, but it required an exercise of will sometimes to keep it focused. He closed the door on his ruminations about politics and social upheaval, but not before he made a mental note to increase the level of surveillance on the People’s Party leadership.