Spinneret

Chapter 23

The Rooshrike hydroponics tanks actually wound up arriving a day late, but as Astra's microbiologists took that long to get their cultures of gene-tailored algae going anyway, Carmen wasn't inclined to press the point. The Rooshrike ship captain, apparently used to stricter insistence on contractual fine print, seemed greatly relieved at Carmen's leniency. She accepted his thanks gracefully, but made a mental note to learn more about normal interstellar business practices as soon as possible. She didn't mind getting a reputation for fairness, but she didn't want anyone thinking they could get away with murder, either.

The metal delivery was another matter entirely, and clearly under the command of someone who knew what he was doing. The heavy-duty shuttles dropped out of the sky with clockwork precision, each gliding down on its swing-wings to the new landing region north of Mt. Olympus, discharging its cargo of scrap metal, and lifting on repulsers in time for the next shuttle to take its place. The pile of boxes grew; and as it did so. Carmen worried alternately about what would happen if the leecher kicked in prematurely, and what they'd do if it didn't kick in at all.

Fortunately, the need to explain either never arose. The last shuttle was climbing into the sky, and workers were beginning to spread the piles of boxes for better ground contact, when the leecher worked its quiet magic. Carmen was standing next to the Rooshrike project manager as the metal began sinking into the ground; and though his startled comment came out untouched by the translator, she found herself nodding in full agreement.

There were some things that were universal.

In the Spinneret control tower the mood was considerably less philosophical, hovering as it did between excitement and frustration. "It's starting," Major Barner repotted, holding his headphone tight against his ear. "Leecher's gone on."

Hafner nodded, his eyes sweeping the garish control board and trying to follow the changes in the pattern of lights. It was an unnecessary exercise, of course; the cameras that had been painstakingly set up were recording every square millimeter of the tower's controls, as well as synching their data with a hundred other monitors both above and below ground. But Hafner felt useless enough here as it was, and studying the indicator lights was better than doing nothing.

The short-range radio crackled in his ear. "Got something on level ten," one of the other observers reported. "Whole bank suddenly lit up. Anything happening to correlate?"

"Hang on, I'll check." Hafner relayed the message to Barrier, then stood chafing as the other checked his own comm net. The most painful part of this, Hafner knew, was that he had originally agreed with Meredith's insistence that only a single longrange radio be allowed at each observation point. From a security standpoint it still made sense; but Hafner hadn't counted on the frustration such an awkward setup would generate. First a den mother, now an organic telephone relay, he groused inwardly, staring at the vigilant Gorgon's Heads flanking the doorway.

Why should we really care if someone gets a peek at the controls, anyway? How would they get in to do anything—bribe one of the Gorgon's Heads?

"The long coil's starting up," Barner announced.

Hafner's mind snapped out of its reverie. "You mean that solenoid that knocks flyers out of the sky?"

"That's the one." Barner listened a moment longer. "Hope it's all right—it's got a hum they can hear right through the wall, and the pitch has changed twice already."

Hafner frowned, raised his radio. "Stimmons? Have those lights changed at all?"

"Yeah: two of 'em have gone out. And listen—I just figured out what the light pattern reminds me of. It's almost like a periodic table with the top right-hand section chopped out—"

"All the nonmetals?" Hafner interjected.

"Yeah. But there's also three more rows of lights underneath where the actinide series usually goes."

Barner had moved close enough to hear both sides of the conversation. "I thought there were only a hundred and seven elements."

"Maybe the Spinners found some new ones," Hafner suggested. "The cable's made out of something we don't know about."

"So what is the coil doing, sorting out the metal that's coming in by element?"

"That'd be my guess," Hafner said, a little surprised at Barner's quickness. "They could be running the solenoid like a giant linear accelerator, where the frequency of the driving electric fields will depend on both the mass and charge of the ions being accelerated. Either it's keyed to go through each element in sequence, or else the stuff that's coming in determines what goes through first."

"Mm. You know, this whole place is using up one hell of a lot of power. You had any indication yet where it's coming from?"

"Probably put their generator at the end of a tunnel somewhere. That's sure where I—" He broke off as Barner's face abruptly changed. "What's wrong?"

"Doctor," the major said slowly, "that coil down there. If it can knock out a flyer's repulsers a thousand meters up … what's it doing to the men in the tunnel with it?"

"Why … " Hafner felt his mouth go dry. The medical people had okayed all of the observer positions … hadn't they? "But weren't you just talking to them?"

"No—it was the men in the outside hall." Barner was tapping the call signal.

"Edmonds, are you in contact with the men inside? … No, I mean since the humming started? … Damn. Get that door open and—"

"Wait a second," Hafner interrupted. "Ask them to test first for electric field strength in the hallway where they are. If there's no reading, the wall may be acting as a shield, and they'd better not breech it."

"It doesn't matter," Barner said quietly. "The door won't open anyway. It seems to have locked itself."

Hafner stared at him, then let out a quiet sigh and turned away.

The solenoid ran for another two hours before finally shutting both itself and the door safety interlocks off. The two men who'd been inside were found in contorted positions against the door, dead.

And at sundown, in full mechanical indifference, the Spinneret sent its cable out toward the equally uncaring stars.

Two more men, Meredith thought wearily, his eyes fogging slightly as he read the report. Two more men.

Sighing, he leaned back in his chair and stared out the open window into the darkness outside. It was late, and he knew he'd pay for that the next day, but his mind was far too keyed up to sleep. The whole event had come off virtually without a hitch: they'd successfully produced a cable to order, had taken disks and disks' worth of data on the Spinneret's operation, had obtained their first clues as to what boards in the tower controlled which activity.

And the deaths of two men had turned it all to ashes.

There was a tap at his open door, and Meredith looked up to see Carmen standing there. "Up late, aren't you?" he asked, waving her to a chair and flipping his terminal to standby.

"I saw your light and thought I'd drop in on my way home," she said, sitting down and handing him a disk. "You might be interested to know we now have an official balance with the Rooshrike of just over one point eight billion dollars."

"Which makes us either a fair-sized corporation or a small country," he grunted, plugging in the disk and scanning the financial data recorded there. "That's, what, two billion minus the hydroponics tanks?"

She nodded. "And we've got several hundred million in other stuff on order, so this won't last very long. But for the moment, at least, we're rich."

"Um." Ejecting the disk, he handed it back. "I trust the Rooshrike are happy with their new plaything?"

"Delighted. Last I knew they'd caught one end of it and were starting a long, leisurely turn toward the proper shift direction."

"I hope the cable shifts with them."

"It should. Sileacs tal Mors kith indicated they've done some tests with normal cables trailing behind starships. Besides, the Spinners obviously got the stuff out of the system." She paused, her eyes searching his face. "I understand we lost a couple of men today."

Meredith nodded grimly. "Burned-out brains or something— none of our doctors are really sure of the exact mechanism."

"I didn't realize electric fields could kill."

"Neither did I. Neither, apparently, did anyone else." He sighed. "Looks like Perez is going to turn out right again. We're simply not going to be able to handle everything here by ourselves. The colony population was designed for geological studies and fanning—period. Dr. Hafner and the others have made some damn good guesses all the way down the line, but none of us really knows what we're doing down there. It's a wonder more people haven't gotten themselves killed."

"So what's the answer?" Carmen asked after a moment. "Import experts from Earth?"

"It's that or let the aliens in on it. The real question is whether Saleh will be hardnosed about it and lump people in with everything else he's embargoing."

"You're going to be making a list of people you'd like to invite?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You've been talking to Perez, have you? Ah" —he added as the light dawned—"it was you who pulled the Scientific Directory out of cold storage for him to give to the Ctencri, wasn't it?"

She blushed violently, but almost instantly the color vanished into a look of surprise. "He did what! But—he said he only wanted to make up his own list for the scientists to vote on."

"Apparently he decided to skip the procedural details," Meredith said dryly. "He must have given the Ctencri a stack of invitations to deliver. I wonder how he expects them to get the UN to provide transport."

Carmen still looked confused. "But how did you know—I mean—"

"We checked his computer usage after he gave a packet to the Ctencri at the security meeting. He hadn't gotten around yet to clearing the file you dumped the Scientific Directory into." He smiled briefly as she suddenly looked striken again.

"Don't worry; I'm not mad at you for doing it—he would have gotten in one way or another. There's probably no real harm done, though I'm going to wring his tail for bypassing me like that."

"Only if I don't get to him first," Carmen growled. "That smooth-talking—"

"Save your anger," Meredith advised. "Consider him as now owing you a big favor, and make sure he knows it. It may help keep him in line."

"I doubt it." Carmen shook her head. "I just can't figure him out, Colonel. One minute he's on our side, and the next minute he's pulling something underhanded like this."

Meredith shrugged. "He's never been on our side; we've just occasionally been on his. He has a vision for Astra and has been pushing us toward it ever since he got here."

Carmen's lip twitched. "Yes—his paradise for the poor of Earth. Probably want to put a duplicate of the Statue of Liberty in orbit somewhere."

"Actually, as matters stand now, his huddling masses are probably the only new colonists we're likely to get. Permission to leave Earth lies with individual nations and, ultimately, the UN, and Saleh's not likely to let us lure away the brightest and best."

"Which means," Carmen said slowly, "that unless the Ctencri are personally bringing Cris's scientists here, they're probably not coming."

"Probably." Meredith glanced at his watch. "Well, I'd better let you get home.

You're bound to be busy taking orders tomorrow after the way today's operation went."

"Yes." Carmen sighed and got to her feet. "Are we going to have a proper funeral, or are you going to keep the deaths secret from the aliens by giving them a private burial somewhere?"

"We'll have a funeral. We don't have to advertise how they died." Hitching his chair closer to the desk, he reactivated his terminal. Taking the cue, Carmen left.

For a moment Meredith stared through the terminal, wondering for the millionth time why this burden had fallen to him. / never asked for this, he reminded the universe resentfully. I wanted to make Astra a modest success, collect my brigadier's star, and go home. Why the hell couldn't the Spinners have turned off their damned voodoo machine when they left?

The terminal had no answer for him. Shaking his head, Meredith cleared his mind of questions and got back to work. At least, he told himself, he'd soon have some experts here to help share the load—presuming, of course, that the Ctencri came through on their end of Perez's deal.

Loretta Williams was just putting the vegetables on the stove when the doorbell rang. "Kirk, can you get that?" she called, grabbing the potholders. "I've got to get the roast out."

"Sure, Mom," the teen's laconic voice came from their tiny living room.

Preoccupied with the roast, Loretta didn't hear the door open; but the next thing she knew, Kirk was standing in the kitchen doorway. "Couple of guys to see you," he announced. "They say they're from the government."

"Dr. Williams?" the taller of the two asked.

"Yes," Loretta acknowledged, stepping forward and handing Kirk the potholders.

IRS? she wondered. Or even FBI? The second man looked vaguely Iranian; could this be about that pottery fragment she'd brought back from the Dasht-i-Kavir?

The tall man already had his wallet open. "I'm Stryker; CIA. This is Mr. Taraki from the UN. We'd like to talk to you for a few minutes."

"All right," Loretta said through dry lips. The CIA? "Kirk, please finish getting dinner ready; you and Lissa can start eating without me."

Closing the kitchen door behind her, she led the men to the farthest corner of the living room. It wasn't until they were all seated that she noticed they'd subtly maneuvered her into the corner chair, putting themselves between her and any exit. Consciously relaxing her jaw, she waited for the axe to fall.

"Dr. Williams, I have a letter here for you," Taraki said, his English good but with a strong accent—Farsi or one of its dialects, she tentatively identified it. Pulling an envelope from his pocket, he handed it to her.

The seal was already broken, she noticed as she withdrew the paper. The letter was short, but its message left her with the feeling of having been out in the desert sun too long. She read it twice, hoping that would help. It didn't.

Finally, she looked up. "I really don't know what to say," she murmured. When neither man spoke, she went on, "I mean, I recognize that Astra is a trouble spot right now, but it's still flattering to be invited to go work on translating the Spinner language."

"Would you like to go?" Stryker asked.

She hesitated, wishing she'd kept more up to date on the flap going on out there.

"I'd like to, yes. But I thought the UN had banned travel to Astra for the time being."

"It has," Taraki said. "Your letter was brought to Earth aboard a Ctencri ship. You were supposed to sneak out the same way."

So that's what the business about contacting the Ctencri was all about, she thought, her eyes flicking to that part of the letter. "Oh. That sounds … rather illegal."

"It depends," Stryker shrugged. "How good an American do you consider yourself to be?"

"Why, I—pretty good, I suppose," she managed, taken somewhat aback by the question.

"And what do you think of the UN?" the CIA man continued.

Loretta shot a glance at Taraki's impassive face. "The tirades against America annoy me sometimes, but they've done a lot of good in the poorer nations. I guess that, on the whole, I support them."

The two men exchanged looks, and Loretta caught Taraki's shrug and fractional nod. "In that case," Stryker said, turning back to Loretta, "we'd like you to accept the invitation … on one condition." He paused. "That you agree to turn over all your findings directly to the UN."

She looked at them for a half-dozen heartbeats, shifting her eyes back and forth between their faces. "You want me to be a spy," she said at last, trying hard to keep the distaste out of her voice.

Taraki apparently heard it anyway. "You seem to think that working against traitors to humanity is somehow wrong," he said. "The colonists are attempting to keep the Spinneret for themselves, in violation of orders from both Secretary- General Saleh and your own President Allerton. If a group of terrorists were planning to mine the Strait of Hormuz or reconstruct the smallpox virus, would your conscience also act irrationally?"

"I—well, no, probably not. But the Astran colonists aren't terrorists—they're just normal American citizens, most of them—"

"Not anymore," Stryker interrupted quietly. "They've declared total independence from Earth."

She sat for a moment in silence, trying to digest that. Surely something that newsworthy would have penetrated even her normal inattention to such things.

Which meant the government was keeping the news a secret. Which meant …

what? "I'm very sorry, Mr. Stryker; Mr. Taraki," she said. "But I really don't think I could do what you're asking."

Stryker pursed his lips. "Actually, Dr. Williams, I'm afraid you really don't have a choice. You're the only linguist on the Astran list who possesses both the skill and the—ah, other qualities—that we're looking for. If you won't go voluntarily, the President has prepared a special executive order drafting you into the armed forces."

Loretta licked her lips. Two thoughts—that's a pretty totalitarian thing to do and things on Astra must really have them worried—chased each other around her mind. But it was all simply mental gymnastics. Confronted with an order like that, she knew she'd give in. It was far too late in her life to learn how to buck that kind of authority. "I'll need a few days to make arrangements with the university," she said. "Also, to have someone look after my children—"

"All taken care of," Stryker said as he and Taraki stood up.

"A car will pick you and your children up at nine tomorrow morning."

"Wait a minute," she put in as they turned toward the door. "Why do Kirk and Lissa have to come, too?"

"We'll be announcing Astra's rebellion sometime in the next week," Stryker told her. "At some point your supposed collaboration may leak out, and of course we won't be able to explain your true role anytime soon. There could conceivably be violence, and we'd rather your kids be where we can protect them."

"Oh." Loretta's throat felt tight. That was an aspect to this that hadn't occurred to her. "But … what about school and—"

"It'll all be taken care of, Doctor, trust us," the CIA man told her soothingly.

"They'll be fine—and when you come home they'll get to share in the honor you'll have earned. Now, don't worry about anything, and be ready to leave at nine tomorrow. And thank you."

She saw them out, then walked slowly back to the kitchen. Kirk and Lissa were nearly finished, their usual bickering subdued by the knowledge that something unusual was going on. She broke the news as best she could, which they fortunately took without argument or complaint. It's something that has to be done, Loretta thought as she dished out her own food, and it's now up to me to do it. Who knows?—maybe I'll find out being a spy queen is a lot of fun.

But despite the pep talk, the expensive roast still tasted like so much warm cardboard … and she was long falling asleep that night.