Exiles of Earth: Rebellion Read online

  Inwardly, Mitchell grimaced, but with an effort, kept his face straight, replying, “Yes, sir.” He paused, then asked, “What about Lieutenant Fitzroy?”

  Ikande’s face snapped into a scowl, and he replied, “That man is living proof of some of your convictions, Lieutenant. His family pulled strings to get him on this ship, largely to get him out of the Solar System for a while, I suspect. I’ll admit that his record suggests a measure of competence in his role, though I do wonder how he obtained some of his test scores, but I find him thoroughly unpleasant. I recommend you stay clear of him as much as possible.” He paused, smiled, then said, “You were asking about him in the context of the training program, of course.”

  “Certainly, sir. Not for any other reason.”

  “Quite so.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “Let him do what he wants, as long as it doesn’t affect the safety of the ship. I don’t need to tell you about the connections of his family, though if he embarrasses them too much, he might find himself on the receiving end of an unpleasant surprise upon his return.” He paused, wrinkled his nose, and asked, “Do you smell something?”

  Mitchell took a sniff, then said, “A sickly smell in the air. Are they planning any work on the life support systems before we leave?”

  “Everything should have been corrected already, long before the crew came on board.”

  Running to the wall controls, Mitchell waved his hand across the screen, then again, the systems resolutely staying dark. He reached to the side, throwing the override control, to no effect.

  Ikande was already on his feet, saying, “Never mind that now. Let’s get out of here.” He walked into the door, his face snarled in rage, then tapped the override, hammering the controls. “What’s wrong with this damned thing?”

  “Circuit failure.” Mitchell said, pushing his commander out of the way. “Got to trigger the override. The manual functions will be out, but the automatics should still be working. I need your sidearm.”

  “Be my guest,” Ikande said, pulling his weapon from his holster and handing it to Mitchell, butt-first. It was a normal service sidearm, a laser pistol designed for use in cramped artificial environments. He reduced the beam as low as possible, then took aim at the ceiling sensor, firing a pulse of energy into the thermal monitor. Instantly, an alarm rang, the sprinklers raining water down upon them, and the doors opened, allowing the two of them to escape into the corridor. Outside, Lieutenant Romanova was waiting, a pair of guards by her side, laser cutter in hand.

  Mitchell passed the pistol back to Ikande, then said, “I had to trigger the fire alarm. The override would open the doors automatically if anyone was detected inside, regardless of any other commands. That’s built into the system.” Glancing at the still-blank screen, he said, “You’d better get your people to check this out.”

  “Who did the maintenance on this system?” Ikande asked, his face curled in fury. “I want his hide. That was either complete incompetence…”

  “That wasn’t incompetence, sir,” Mitchell said, shaking his head. “Not a chance. Not that many systems failing at once. Someone decided that they wanted to take both of us off the table.”

  Nodding, Romanova replied, “That makes sense, sir. Lieutenant Mitchell has by far the most extrasolar experience, and Admiral Forbin wouldn’t assign this command to Lieutenant Hoffman. More likely a new commander would be brought in, and that would take time.” Looking at Mitchell, she said, “We’ve got a saboteur on board.”

  “I want him caught, Lieutenant,” Ikande said. “That is your top priority, overriding anything else. Do whatever you have to do but keep it quiet.”

  “If I might suggest, sir, we ought to tell the crew,” Mitchell replied.

  “What?” Ikande snapped.

  “I think he’s right,” Romanova said. “If someone is willing to play games with the life support systems, then the crew will consider that they are at hazard. It might make them more willing to report suspicious behavior, and to actively look for our saboteur. There’s no point keeping this secret, and the culprit must know that we’d be trying to find him anyway. I’d make that assumption if I was trying to wreck the mission.”

  Frowning, Ikande said, “Very well. But only once we’re under way. Telling the crew is one thing, but I don’t want any word of this getting back to the Admiral.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “I’ll be in my cabin. With the door unlocked. Inform me when my office is fit for habitation.” Turning to Mitchell, he said, “See to it yourself, Lieutenant. Don’t leave it to anyone else. And report to me when you are finished.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mitchell said, snapping a salute. He glanced at Romanova as the commander walked away, then said, “Any suspects, Lieutenant?”

  “We’ve got more than a hundred people on board, and most of them would rather be anywhere else but here.” Looking at the office, she added, “One thing. Make sure you have a sidearm on you from now on. I’ll try and monitor you, but my people can’t be everywhere at once in case our friend decides to do something stupid.”

  “How many people are you monitoring?” Mitchell asked.

  “Everyone, Lieutenant. That is, after all, my job.”

  Chapter 6

  Thiou looked around her confined room, barely sufficient for a narrow bunk high on the wall, a desk underneath it with a single shelf for her possessions, a rail on the wall for her clothes. Including her new uniform, yet unworn, with her nametag attached. She’d had little time to get any of her possessions together, most of it hastily requisitioned by Admiral Forbes’ staff and Commander Ikande. On the wall, freshly printed, was the certificate proclaiming her doctorate. Professor Aliyev had been as good as his word, but it somehow felt wrong, as though she hadn’t truly earned it.

  Perhaps it was the speed at which everything had happened. Forty-eight hours before, she was working a dead-end job and studying in her off-hours, no realistic chance of a career in her chosen field. She’d made the sacrifice, made it willingly. Now her research was the focus of an interstellar expedition, one that the Guard had made their highest priority. All her dreams had come true at once. Which didn’t explain why she felt the way she did.

  Of course, it could just as easily be the rotational gravity. She still wasn’t used to it, couldn’t quite convince her stomach which way was down. She reached for an open bottle on her desk, tipped out a couple of tablets and swallowed them try. The medics claimed that it was something she’d get used to, that it would take a couple of days. Until then, she just had to accept that she continually felt as though she was about to fall over.

  There was a knock on the door, and a grey-haired, vaguely familiar man walked into her room, noting the datacards on her desk with evident interest. She tried to place him, eyes widening as she realized who he was.

  “Professor Wagner?” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I hope I’m welcome,” Wagner replied, with a soft smile. “I’m here as your assistant.”

  “That’s insane,” Thiou said, shaking her head. “You’re the Salazar Professor of Sociology…”

  “Emeritus,” Wagner said. “Forcibly so, I fear. My political beliefs turned out to be a little too much for the Board of Regents, and they decided to terminate my position. I was speaking at the protest you disrupted, and it was made clear to me that some time outside of the Solar System would be good for my health.” Rubbing his hands together, he said, “Not that I mind. I’d have volunteered quite happily if they had simply asked. The chance to look at an extrasolar colony, isolated and abandoned for centuries, is far too good to pass up.”

  “The odds of finding anything…”

  “Even if they never made it, if we can look at their records, we’ll learn something. Failure can be just as valuable as success. More so, perhaps.”

  “You can’t be my assistant, though. That’s…”

  “Doctor Thiou…”

  “Cathy, please, for God’s sake. My doctorate is less than a day old.”
/>   “As you say. I’m old enough that the formalities and the ranks don’t interest me, not any more. That the Interplanetary Guard has launched an expedition such of this is miracle enough. I’d have come along as a maintenance technician if that was what it took.”

  “I’m barely qualified to be your assistant…”

  With a beaming smile, he replied, “I have little experience with archaeology, and I understand you took several courses in that discipline.”

  “Industrial archaeology. It had been something of a lost art, but now we’ve got teams working the ruins of Luna, there’s a demand again.”

  “That’s a skill that will be vitally important if we do find a failed colony world.” He paused, then said, “I suggest we divide our duties, and consider ourselves as Ship’s Historian and Ship’s Sociologist respectively, each taking the lead as appropriate. Trust me, I know my limitations. You’re far better suited to leading any surface expeditions than I am. I haven’t worn a spacesuit in years.” Looking at her uniform, he said, “They gave you a rank?”

  “Technical Officer. I think that means that I’m technically an officer.”

  Cracking a smile, he said, “Though one with no command authority. I’ve been rated as a Spaceman, nothing more than that.” He shrugged, then said, “It doesn’t really matter. The Regents couldn’t revoke my pension, and at least I’m getting room and board. That’s better than my last expedition to Earth. Six months studying the Yucatan tribal groups, and I had to pay my own way. Even though we were on a formal survey for the Commonwealth.”

  “Earth,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t imagine what it must be like to walk out in the open without a suit. To breathe real air, rather than reconstituted.”

  “Forget the romance. You wouldn’t dare go far without a respirator. Everything and everyone down there is out to kill you, one way or another. Predator or prey. I learned a lot, but it wasn’t an experience I would wish to repeat.” Frowning, he added, “Not that I expect to have the change. Those missions only go to people they consider reliable. Too much risk of people running off into the wilderness, never to be seen again.”

  “Does that happen often?”

  “More often than anyone would like to admit, though the casualty rate of runners is high enough. And that’s just when we find the bodies. I doubt anyone born on Mars would live more than a few months on Earth without a lot of luck.” For a moment, his eyes were distant, and he added, “Not that I didn’t understand the appeal. There were so many times I looked out into the jungle, tempted to make a break for it. Even if I only had a few days out there to enjoy it before something managed to kill me.”

  “And the people?”

  He paused, then said, “In the civilized regions, it’s not that different to Cydonia City. Outside, well, it’s been two centuries since they’ve had anything like civilization. Over that sort of time, history becomes legends, or myth. In some areas they’ve held onto some of their culture, their technology. In other areas, they slid all the way back to the Stone Age.” He paused, adding, “Then there are the Dead Zones. I flew over Mexico City at high altitude. It still glows in the dark. Coming in from orbit, the pilots take you over the Eastern Seaboard of the United States. There’s nothing there. Just ruins, craters, rubble. And instant death, even after all this time.” Looking at Thiou, he said, “Everyone should go to Earth once. Just to see what humanity is capable of.”

  “I had a taste of that when I went to Luna, on a field trip. Back then…” She was interrupted by a crackle from the overhead speakers.

  “Attention, attention. Technical Officer Thiou, report to the bridge on the double. That is all.”

  Shaking his head, Wagner said, “The administrative computers here are just as rude as they are down on Mars, I see. You run along. I should be getting back to my cabin. My roommate is less than tidy, and too willing to rummage through my possessions. What he expects to find, I can’t say.” She looked at her uniform, and he said, “You should put it on.”

  “Bad enough that they gave me my doctorate. I don’t want to take anything else I didn’t earn. They can call me whatever they want in the paperwork, but it won’t change a thing. If you need to use an office, feel free to use my cabin whenever you want.”

  “Thank you. I might take you up on that.” He looked avariciously at the floor lockers, and said, “Certainly I might make use of any unused storage space you have.”

  “Go right ahead,” she said, stepping out of the door, almost walking into a tall, balding man wearing a mechanic’s jumpsuit, toolkit in hand. The man glared at her as she half-stumbled into the elevator, tapping the control before she saw that it was already occupied. She looked up at the man, his beady eyes proprietorially running over her figure, and she took a step back towards the wall before the doors opened again, admitting a taller, man, hair greying, uniform fresh.

  “Lieutenant Fitzroy,” Mitchell said.

  “Lieutenant Mitchell,” Fitzroy replied. “I think this is my stop.” He walked past Mitchell, taking a last look at Thiou before the doors closed again.

  “Bastard,” Mitchell, as the elevator burst into life again. “Watch out for him. He’s convinced he owns this ship and everyone on board. Sooner or later he’ll learn differently. Or someone will teach him. It’s dangerous out here.”

  “He’s a scion of the Families,” Thiou said. “You don’t think…”

  “That and a five-credit chit will buy you a cup of coffee out here.” He paused, and asked, “You’re out of uniform.”

  “It isn’t mine.”

  “Nor is this,” he replied, tugging his sleeve. “When you get onto the stage, you have to wear the costume the director gives you. It’s expected. Besides, apparently the Ship’s Historian reports to me. For some reason I can’t quite fathom, but probably because Lieutenant Hoffman is too busy and Commander Ikande is smart enough to keep you out of Lieutenant Fitzroy’s clutches.”

  “I don’t want to wear a uniform I haven’t earned.”

  “Most Technical Officers are only here for a while, and it’s the usual rank to give someone we have to slot into the system with no military training. Gabe Singh’s on secondment from Orbital General. Something about an affair with the Chief Surgeon’s wife. As far as I know, he’s never even set foot on a Guardship before. It’s all about context. The crew need to know how they’re supposed to relate to you, and without the uniform, they don’t. We don’t usually have civilians along for the ride.”

  The door drifted open, and Mitchell led the way onto the bridge, Thiou tentatively following. It was smaller than she had expected, barely larger than the cabin of the shuttle that had brought her up to Endurance. Two chairs at the front, facing an array of touchscreens, each of them changing functions almost faster than she could track, with a larger display on the wall, almost filling it, showing the ship’s current position in relation to Mars, hovering in high orbit.

  On the left and right, two other chairs, both unoccupied, Mitchell sliding into the one on the right, the consoles flickering into life as he took his position, his hands drifting across the controls. At the heart of the bridge, Commander Ikande sat, perched on his chair as though ready to take flight himself, glancing back at Thiou with a smile on his face.

  “I thought you might want to watch us break orbit. Given that this mission was inspired by your work. We’ll be entering hyperspace in a couple of minutes.” Gesturing forward, he said, “Bianchi, throw up the stars, will you? We’re going to be looking at cold displays for long enough.”

  “Aye, sir,” the woman on the right said, her hand reaching across to drift across a control. “Forward view on the main screen, no magnification.” Reaching for her left ear, to a small device buried deep enough that Thiou could barely see it, she added, “Orbital Control has granted us clearance for departure, and Admiral Forbin wishes us good luck and a safe voyage.”

  “Pass my regards to the Admiral,” Ikande replied. “You know the sort of thing.
”

  The trace of a smile passed across the woman’s lips, and she said, “Aye, sir. Coding message.”

  “Hyperspace course is updated, cross-checked with the quantum computers on Phobos,” Mitchell said. “No changes to report. Everything is just as I calculated this morning. Transit time is twenty-nine days, six hours, four minutes, with a two-minute margin of error.”

  “Not bad for more than three parsecs,” he replied. “Helm, take us out. Maintain rotation and keep us moving steadily past the gravitational threshold. No need to push us too hard. We don’t want half the crew down with space sickness.” He looked across at Thiou, and asked, “Do you need to go down to Sickbay?”

  “They already gave me something, sir. Doctor Singh said it would clear up eventually.”

  “It always does,” Mitchell said, with a reassuring smile. “We all get it, the first time out. You feel like death for a day or two, then it always settles down.”

  “There’s a first time for everything, though,” Ikande warned. “Go back to Sickbay if it doesn’t clear up by tomorrow.” The door opened, and a young man walked in, sweat beading on his forehead, running to the vacant position. “Midshipman, you should have been up here ten minutes ago.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Any reason?”

  The young man paused, looked around the bridge, then said, “No excuse, sir.”

  “The Captain asked you a question,” Mitchell said, glaring at the boy. “Why didn’t you report for duty on time?”