Stars in the Sand Page 15

   “Can you vouch for the actions of your people in a century from now? Promise me that some tyrant will not rise up and wipe your democracy into history?”

   “We fought against tyranny. We wouldn’t let it take root at home.”

   “I’m sure those words have been said before. I have taken the opportunity of our trip to read some histories of Earth, and I find them terrifying. You have such potential, but so frequently do you squander it.”

   “Your people can expand as well,” Barbara said.

   Nodding, Ixia replied, “And then we have two expansionist empires reaching among the stars, pushing at each others borders, arguments building mistrust, and mistrust building to fear, and fear building to war. A war such as my people fought before. A war that will end with all of our civilizations swept away into history, waiting for someone to reach for the stars once again.”  Looking out over the sea, she continued, “Perhaps it is the curse of our shared ancestry.”

  “It doesn’t have to end that way,” Cooper said. “Looking out at all of this, perhaps we can learn from the past. Yes, we will likely fight the Cabal, but after that…”

   “There will be someone else. The United Nations, the Lunar Republic, some new grouping that today does not yet exist. I hope, I hope with all my heart, that you are right.”

   “My dad used to tell me that all you could do was make today the best day it could be. That you had to take each day at a time, and not worry about it until it arrived. We can leave the future to our descendants, and just try not to make too much of a mess about our present.”

   “Your father was wise,” Ixia said, taking one last look at the symbols. “I will leave you to your privacy. I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

   She walked away, heading back for the ruined settlement, and Barbara and Cooper watched her until she disappeared over the horizon, then turned back out to sea. It would be a long time before either of them said another word.

  Chapter 19

   Orlova guided the shuttle deftly into a landing, a triumphant smile on her face. She’d known that a manual landing was possible, and though it had been rather expensive on fuel, and taken a lot longer than the computers, she had been certain of pulling it off. Throwing a trio of switches, she unbuckled her straps and tapped a button.

   “Shuttle to Ouroboros. Landing successful.”

   “Finished showing off?” Caine said. “We’ve just about completed refueling; the last of the tankers is on its way back down now. As soon as you get back on board we can get out of here.”

  Glancing at the course tracker, she said, “Right. I should be up in, say, twenty minutes.”

   “It’s a date. Ouroboros out.”

   The hatch to the rear compartment slid open, and Durman poked his head through, a bag in his hand. He looked out over the scenery, and shook his head.

   “I don’t think I’ve traded up. It’ll be good to get back to Driftwind.” He paused, took a deep breath, then said, “I haven’t had a proper chance to apologize yet for what I did.”

   Keeping her back facing him, she replied, “You should have trusted me.”

   “This is our most important installation! I might trust you, but I don’t – don’t dare – trust some of the others. You’ve had traitors on board before, and might still.”

   “What are you suggesting?” she said, turning around, red-faced.

   “That trust is a very rare and precious commodity when you are a resistance fighter.” He waved around, gesturing at the view, “This place is a treasure, a hidden space that the Cabal can’t find. So deep that it can’t be detected by scanners from orbit, not unless you knew where to look. If we ever manage to win our war, then it will because we have kept the secret of this base.”

   Shaking her head, she replied, “Things and places don’t win wars. People do.” Sliding a hand into a pocket, she tossed a data crystal to him, “Our log entries, reports, and last letters. I’d appreciate it if you deliver it to Major Marshall personally on Alamo; in the event we don’t make it back, it contains everything we’ve learned so far.”

   “Including the location of this facility?”

   “No. The Captain decided it would be better to handle that in person.”

   “I see.”

   “One thing,” she said, frowning. “You put yourself in this situation. No-one forced you to volunteer; you could have stayed at Hydra Station, headed to the Confederation on Alamo, and no-one would have thought anything of it. Why did you come in the first place?”

   He smiled, and said, “Two possibilities, really. Either I was dumb and enthusiastic enough not to realize what I was getting into until it was too late to get out of it, or perhaps I thought that two groups ought to get together for the mutual benefit of both, no matter what either might think about the idea.” Hefting his bag, he walked towards the airlock, sliding on a spacesuit. “I don’t think I’ll wait for the transfer van. Bye, Maggie.”

   “Catch you at Driftwind,” she replied, turning to her console and smiling as the lock cycled, and his suited figure walked along the surface, heading for the shoreline rather than the settlement.  While she waited, she started to program her course for the return to Alamo, a vertical climb for almost thirty miles to the surface, then a more conventional trajectory to orbit.

   She shook her head at the regularity of the shaft; she’d never done any spelunking, but she had friends who had, and none of them had ever told her about anything like this. It was almost as if it was carved. Her smile dropped, and she called up a view of the site on her tactical display. This place hadn’t just appeared naturally; someone had built it, and done a very careful job of it. Not that it mattered for the present. Just one more interesting piece of information for the future.

   A loud clang on the side of the shuttle snapped her back to reality; the transfer van had arrived, and the airlock was cycling. She scrambled into the passenger cabin, sure to stand at attention as the door opened. Captain Marshall stepped inside, followed by Brigadier Singh, smiles on both their faces.

   “This must be your Lieutenant Orlova,” Singh said, as she saluted. “A pleasure to meet you at last.”

   “Likewise, sir,” she replied, conjuring up her most formal appearance. “Ouroboros is ready for space, Captain. Lieutenant Caine reports the last fuel tanker is on its way down.”

   “Excellent,” he replied, turning back to the Brigadier. “I think I’m the only thing they are waiting for, now.”

   “May you have the best of luck on your mission, Captain; I shall offer prayers for your safe return.” He placed a data crystal in his hand. “The astrographic data I promised you; the knowledge we have gained of the brown dwarf network in this region.”

   Nodding, Marshall said, “This will not fall into the wrong hands. I give you my word on that.”

   “Thank you for that, Captain. I look forward to meeting you – or whoever the Triplanetary Fleet sends – again.” With a salute, he turned, walked through the airlock, and he hatch slammed closed, another shudder running through the hull as the van headed back to the colony dome.

   “We’re clear for launch, sir,” Orlova said. “I’ve got the course plotted into the computer.”

   “You want to fly us up on manual?”

   “I was planning to.”

   With a smile, he nodded, “I won’t pull rank on you this time; go ahead. I want to take a look at this data anyway.”

   “I thought we were getting information on a single star?”

   “So did I; we’re getting details on three. Which means we can bypass Sinbad Station on our way home.”

   “Peace and quiet once we get out of Denebola would be nice.”

   “I want to match this with the Shrouded Stars.” He smiled, then said, “I can’t wait to see Mulenga’s face when we get this information to him. Hell, we’re going to give the gravitic measurement boys something to do. I wonder
how many others we’re missing.”

   A brief chill ran down Orlova’s spine, a warning registering in the back of her mind, but she shook it of, uncertain what her subconscious had noticed. “I’d better get to the cockpit.”

   “Take us up when you are ready.”

   She slid into the pilot’s couch, tapped a sequence of buttons, and the shuttle began to rise on its lateral thrusters. Normally they were only used for a few seconds, just enough to kick a shuttle up from the surface on an airless world, or to bring down to a pinpoint landing. This time she’d be riding them for ten minutes. The challenge of this takeoff was something she relished, but it was like threading a needle while wearing a spacesuit – damn near impossible, unless you took your time about it.

  Switching the camera angle to look up the shaft, she tapped a button and the thrusters fired, kicking them into the sky. With a series of tweaks, she adjusted the upward course, moving them from side to side to line up with the shaft, then ran the acceleration up as high as she dared, her eyes darting from the throttle to the sensors, occasionally looking at the viewscreen.

   Coming down had been one thing, but going up was proving a lot harder. Some of the protuberances that she had nimbly darted past on the descent looked more like impassable obstacles as she climbed, ducking around them while still trying to maintain her upward momentum, careful not to overcompensate and crash into the wall.

   She wiped a hand across her forehead, rubbing the sweat onto her trousers; she was surprised how much this was affecting her, but she resisted the temptation to switch back to computer control. Something about being totally reliant on the ground worried her, and despite the risks she knew she was running, she felt safer being responsible for her own destiny.

   Finally, starlight began to shine from up above, the end of the passage coming up, and she burst out into free space with a sigh of relief, cutting the lateral thrusters and throwing the main engines to full power, the computer now taking over as it switched onto its orbital trajectory, heading behind the horizon to Ouroboros, skimming low over the planet. Taking the opportunity to do a little snooping, she flashed her sensors down, covering the surface she was flying over as thoroughly as she can, watching to see if anything was picked up.

   “Found anything?” Marshall said, tapping her on the shoulder, jerking her almost out of her seat.

   “Sorry, sir. I wasn’t expecting you.”

   “Don’t worry, I should have known better than to surprise a pilot in mid-flight.”

   Tapping the screen, she said, “Another settlement site, maybe five hundred miles from the rebel base. No sign of any activity.”

   “Not surprising. They must know about it, but any investigation would be obvious if someone else took a look – especially if they landed there.”

   “I don’t think I’d resistant the temptation to take a peek, sir.”

   Looking across at her with a smile, he replied, “Just between the two of us, neither would I.”

   Glancing down at the trajectory plotter, she said, “Ouroboros coming up.”

   “Two more jumps, and we’re really heading into the lion’s den,” he replied. “Looking forward to it?”

   “To have a proper look at the face of the enemy? Yes.”

   “I’ll be glad when its over and we’re on our way home.”

   Frowning, she replied, “That’s not like you, sir.”

   “Maybe I’m getting old, or maybe all of this is beginning to sound like a jump too far.”

   “If it looks impossible, we can always abort. With the new security documentation, we ought to get through security without any trouble. Everything after that depends on what we find.”

   “I’m just thinking what Intelligence would think of this plan. Their covert insertions are usually planned months, years in advance.”

   “I suspect they take advantage of opportunities just like we do.”

   “Probably,” he said. “I’d better let you concentrate on docking. One minute to target.”

   “Aye, sir,” she replied, turning her attention back to the viewscreen. She was on manual again – automated docking was something else that the freighter didn’t have, though the computer on the shuttle was doing most of the work. She tweaked the thrusters back and forth, and smiled as the ship locked into position in the cradle, a crunching sound from above as the refueling cycle began.

   Before she could get out of her seat, the freighter began to accelerate; obviously they were in a hurry to get on the move. She pulled herself up and walked on board, Wilson waving at her as she climbed onto the deck. The Captain was already on his way to the bridge, but she was still shaking off the nerves of the launch, and she paused to check on the shuttle post-flight.

   “No problems down there, Lieutenant?” Wilson asked.

   “Not as far as I know, Chief. Just a bit of a rough flight.”

   “I’ll bet. I watched…”

   Suddenly, as he was talking, a burst of loud, discordant music echoed across the speakers, sending her hands clapping to her ears. It stopped as quickly as it came, and she ran down the corridor towards the communications suite. That was unmistakably Durman’s music, and they were still close enough to the planet that she could make her feelings known if this was some sort of practical joke.

   She reached the suite to find a blushing Cantrell sitting at the controls, a pair of data crystals in her hands. As she entered, the technician turned, raising her hands, and gesturing at the console.

   “I’m sorry, it’s this damn system. I was just trying to back up my copy of the music.”

   “Why can’t you use your own terminal? Half the ship must have been deafened.”

   “It’s too slow, the data transfer rate is lousy. I wanted to…”

   “Well, next time, perhaps you might think of the ship ahead of your own convenience.” She looked around the suite, then said, “I think this room could do with a clean, don’t you, Spaceman?”

   “Ma’am?”

   “Go get to work. I’ll be back in four hours to inspect it, and if I’m not completely satisfied, you can start work on the corridor.” Cantrell sat there for a moment, and she continued, “The clock’s ticking. I’d move.”

   Turning, she decided to head to the bridge, shaking her head. She was going to have to keep a close eye on that one; at this rate, it was only a matter of time before she did something outright dangerous. She turned, and saw Cantrell methodically begin to start work, her attention focused on her task. Maybe, at least, Orlova had found something she was good at.

  Chapter 20

   Cooper walked into the cramped cargo bay, looking out of the small viewscreen in the corner. Ouroboros had settled into a tight orbit around the brown dwarf primary, just ahead of a dull, green-misted world, barely half a million miles from the star. He could make out faint patterns on its surface, storms twisting as they raged across the desolate wasteland; if anyone had ever lived on that planet, the weather would have long ago blasted it from the surface.

   Behind him, Orlova drifted in, Nelyubov alongside her, holding out a datapad. A moment later, the Captain followed, Caine floating after her, and took a position at the head of the room. The brief chatter stopped as he cleared his throat, calling for attention.

   “Well, we’re almost there. One more four-day jump, and we arrive at Ahwaz. You are all familiar with the planet from the briefing we have pieced together, but there are an awful lot of gaps. The official reports won’t tell us the details we really need to know, the information that we have to gather. I’ve given this a great deal of thought, and I have decided that those of us in this room will constitute the three investigation teams.”

   “I still think it is too big a risk for you to go down,” Caine said.

   “We’ve talked about this, Deadeye. I’m listed as the commander of this ship; I’m going to have to go down to the planet anyway to negotiate cargo,
pick up contracts, and talk our way through customs. I might as well do some snooping while I'm down there. Besides, you will be right with me every step of the way.”

   “So I get to keep you out of trouble,” she said, shaking her head. “Story of my life.”

   “We’re going to be in ready reserve. Our job is partly to attract attention, partly to gather information from official sources, and generally to play the tourists. Orlova, you and Nelyubov will be contacting the resistance.”

   She nodded, “That’s not going to be easy, skipper, even with the information we’ve got, but I think we can manage it.”

   “Cooper, you are the strike team. We can’t take weapons down there, so procuring something is your first priority, and then you will be responsible for bringing out the prisoners, with support from the rest of us. The odds are that we won’t be able to meet up and discuss this once we’re down on the surface, not and be certain not to be overhead, so I want to get all of this arranged now.”

   “Am I working alone, sir?” Cooper asked.

   “That’s up to you. If you want to pick a partner, go ahead.”

   He didn’t have to think for long before saying, “Cantrell.”

   “Are you joking?” Orlova said. “I’ve just had to put her on report.”

   “She might not be much on the ship, but I’ve seen her in action, and I think she’s the best choice for the job.”

   “Cooper,” Marshall said, “are you sure about this? She’ll be working with you on the surface, and if anything goes wrong, you are liable to find yourself in the firing line.”

   “I understand that, sir. I’ll talk to her; I think I might be able to work something out.”

   “Very well. You can brief her immediately after this meeting.”

   He nodded, “Are any of the others going down?”

   “On a rotation I’ve worked out, yes. Except for Mr. Race, who will be remaining in command. We can’t risk our astrogator, not with the course we’re going to have to run to get home. None of the others are leaving the immediate vicinity of the starport, though; they have been instructed to act as though they are on shore leave, with strict orders,” he said with a smile, “not to get drunk.”