The Long Mars

7

With the stepping rate upped to two a second during operational hours, and with plenty of downtime for testing and system shakedown, the Armstrong and Cernan were able to cover the best part of a hundred thousand steps a day. So, ten days after Cowley’s speech in Madison West 5, the airships were already passing Earth West 1,000,000, and were entering the more exotic band of worlds known to the early explorers as the High Meggers.

Cautiously Maggie allowed herself to relax. Her in-tray of problems both technical and human was dwindling. Despite Mac’s gloomy analysis that the true purpose of the mission was power projection by the federal government, she was collecting no issues from the ground either. And after five long years of labour in the Low Earths and the Datum, she was no longer locked into the huge, ongoing and utterly dispiriting relief effort that still spanned much of Yellowstone-blighted Datum America.

She was thinking, in fact, of giving Harry Ryan his head and letting him open up the throttle to full, ahead of the test schedule, and see just what this baby could do.

That was when Douglas Black knocked on the door of her sea cabin.

After an embarrassed introduction by Nathan Boss, Black sat down opposite her, stiffly. The man who stood behind him, no more than thirty years old, close-shaven, glared at her like a recruiting-ground sergeant at a private.

Nathan got out of there as fast as he could.

Maggie hadn’t even known Black was aboard, and she resentfully remembered Shi-mi’s hints of secrets on this voyage. She had only ever seen this man, Douglas Black, the most powerful, indeed probably the richest industrialist in all the worlds of mankind, from a distance: on stage with the President like back in Madison, or on some media channel, plugging his latest technological initiative, or testifying to yet another senate committee investigating allegations of corporate malpractice. He was smaller than he looked on TV, she thought immediately. Slimmer, older. He wore a plain-looking black business suit and tie. He might have been handsome once, but now his bald pate was liver-spotted, his features, his nose, ears, were old-man prominent, and his eyes were rheumy behind the dark glasses he continued to wear indoors.

Black caught her studying him, and laughed. “You needn’t pull your punches, Captain. I know I’m no oil painting, and a let-down compared with the way the TV people prettify me digitally. Still, check out my youthful smile.” He grinned widely, showing her rows of perfect teeth. “Decent choppers—one thing money can buy, these days.”

His accent was Bostonian, she thought, old school, like JFK in grainy black-and-white TV clips. Old school, but not particularly old money. Everybody knew Black’s story, how he had parlayed a grandfather’s oil-money bequest into fortune and power through dazzling technological innovations, and had acquired a comet-tail of enemies in the process.

“Mr Black,” she began.

“Call me Douglas.”

“I’d rather not. You can call me Captain Kauffman. I had no idea you were even on this vessel until you announced your presence to my wretched XO.”

“Ah, yes. I’m afraid we rather caught that young man by surprise, didn’t we? Couldn’t be helped, I’m afraid. I was smuggled aboard before launch and locked into my private cabin, tucked away in a corner of the gondola—you must come visit. The issue is security, as you can imagine. You must know I am rather, well, vulnerable, and I have accreted rather a lot of opponents. So this unhappy subterfuge was cooked up—with the cooperation of your Admiral Davidson and my security people, all mediated by staff from the office of President Cowley. Everybody’s been very helpful.” He smiled again, self-satisfied.

Maggie was coldly furious. “Helpful? Mr Black, from my point of view you’re a stowaway.”

He was quite unperturbed. “How exciting! And at my age. In that case I should say that I do come with some baggage.”

“Baggage?”

“There’s Philip here, and a small staff—my personal physician, a few scientific advisers, a planetologist, a climatologist. And some specialized equipment. In addition to the general fragility of age, I have endured a number of transplants, and my regime of anti-rejection drugs compromises my immune system. I need protection, you see. Luckily you have a roomy hold.”

“Good grief. How many tons of deadweight does all that represent? And all smuggled aboard without my knowledge.”

“True. Yet here we are. I don’t imagine you’re about to throw me overboard?”

“No. But I may do that to this goon of yours, if he doesn’t stop staring me down.”

“Philip, be polite.” The man Philip dropped his eyes, but otherwise didn’t move a muscle. “I’m afraid he must stay at my side. Another condition of my security people concerning your kind offer of a berth. Well, not your offer, rather the President’s…” He smiled again after dropping that ultimate name, evidently content to wait while she absorbed all this.

“Well, Mr Black, I can’t say I’m not surprised—astonished—to find you here, aboard my ship.”

“That’s because you don’t know me, yet. I’ve always been rather more adventurous than my public persona might suggest.”

“I know you pumped a lot of money into these vessels.”

“Yes. Actually I pretty much bankrolled their development—save for the Chinese stepper technology, of course. I’ve always been glad to support the industries that sustain our armed forces.”

“I know that.” She remembered being shocked at discovering to what extent Black Corporation fingerprints had been all over the fabric of the Benjamin Franklin, for instance. She had always suspected that Black must use his infiltration of the military, from the level of his contacts with the senior commanders who approved his enormous contracts, down to the implantation of his devices in every ship of the line, every tank and armoured car and plane—even in the bodies of some of the troops themselves—to garner information at the very least, or more likely to exert subtle control. “It must have cost you billions, but I guess you bought yourself a berth on this tub.”

“I’m so glad you’re taking it this way.”

“Do I have a choice?”

He ignored that. “You know, I’ve always followed your career with great interest.”

“I’ve no doubt you have.” You and others, she thought, remembering the mysterious “Doctor George Abrahams” who had shown up to offer her troll-call translation technology just when she had needed it, in the course of her mission aboard the Franklin—and then had bragged about the way he had manipulated various situations to advance her career. Oh, and he’d then given her a talking robot cat. She believed Black, like Abrahams, represented a node of a wider web of such control and communication. But this was her ship, and she felt the need to regain command of the situation. “Mr Black, what is it you actually want? Just a ride across the Long Earth?”

“Would that be so surprising? Consider all that I’ve achieved in my life. As I reach my twilight years, can you not believe that I would want to buy myself such final adventures as this? Think, Captain. We have all become rather blasé about the Long Earth, the tremendous higher-dimensional landscape into which we are so boldly striding. And yet, are there not deeper mysteries of existence? Maybe it’s not so strange that a quarter-billion worlds exist for us to explore in this marvellous ship of yours. What’s strange is that even one world should exist… As to what we might find out there: who knows? How could I not go on such a mission, if I have the chance? And I must go now, before I depart the universe myself, all too soon.”

“Oh, come on, Mr Black, I don’t buy any of that. You’re no tourist; you have come aboard with some specific goal.”

“Ha!” He clapped his hands, seeming pleased. “I always knew you were a bright one. Very well, then. What do you think I hope to achieve?”

“How should I know? I didn’t even know you were on this ship until an hour ago. Perhaps you’re seeking the fountain of youth.”

He raised silver eyebrows. “You are surprisingly perceptive. I should say no more. There is something specific I’m looking for, and if we find it, I’ll know immediately. Now.” He began to clamber out of his seat, cautiously; the bodyguard, Philip, lent a hand. “You mustn’t feel you have to make a fuss of me.”

“Believe me, sir, I don’t. This is a military ship. You are cargo. And superfluous cargo at that.”

“Well. That’s an upgrade from stowaway class, at least. But now that I’m out of the brig, so to speak, I wonder if I could see something of your fine ship. Perhaps I could borrow your charming Executive Officer for an hour or so.”

“I don’t see why not. I’ll also put Mac, I mean my ship’s surgeon, Doctor Mackenzie, in touch with you, to ensure your physical condition is taken care of.”

“That won’t be necessary, I assure you. As I said, I have my own physician—”

“That wasn’t optional, sir. This is my ship. I’m responsible for your safety, now I know you’re aboard. Mac will see you tomorrow.”

“Then I shall look forward to it. Where, if I may ask, is our next stop to be?”

She could answer that precisely. “Aside from a few test stops, Earth West 1,617,524. Be there in a few days. Where we’ll be picking up another crew member.” And, she thought with dismay, another set of personnel problems for her. But at least it was her choice this time.

“Perhaps I will have the chance to stretch my legs there.”

“Mr Black, as far as I’m concerned you won’t be setting foot off this ship until she’s back in dry dock.”

Black laughed. “I do admire your straightforward approach, Captain Kauffman. Farewell for now. Come, Philip…”