The Quiet Pools

CHAPTER 11 —CGC— “We accept this judgment…”

Night is the winter of the Amazon, and dawn its spring. Shortly after 5 a.m. each day, Hiroko Sasaki left the Director’s Residence to make the twenty-minute walk in the clammy-warm tropical air to the headquarters tower. The walk was her morning tea, awakening her mind, and daily constitutional, unlimbering her body.

On reaching her office, she would hide behind a Privacy One cocoon to read the active files, compose policy drafts, and update her own logs. Unlike the time she spent at the Director’s Residence, this was a working hermitism.

Word of the Singapore disaster found Sasaki there reviewing the October dispatch from Ur. The first report, from Prainha’s operations monitor, was annoyingly sparse—a launch anomaly in Kenya, a T-ship down.

She tried to call Havens at Kasigau, but was told that the center was under Code Black.

“Search all sources,” she told her com system.

Moments later, a single window came up on the display wall. The Current Events stack of DIANA, the Asian information net, had a report of a plane crash in the Singapore Strait. By the time Sasaki reached Havens and Dryke at Kasigau, DIANA was calling it a meteor strike, and Panasian television was offering the first pictures of capsized boats, broken windows, and the anguish of shaken and grieving survivors.

Havens looked chastened, guilt-haunted, and confused. Dryke seemed more under control, though he was tight-lipped, his body coiled anger.

“Mr. Dryke, is the port under assault?” she asked.

“No. It’s over. We—”

“Are the facilities intact?”

“Kasigau wasn’t touched.”

Sasaki allowed herself a moment of relief. “What can you tell me?”

“There was a missile launched against a T-ship. Against the thrust beam, I mean. An occlusion trick. They had salvage fusing, beat the castle defenses. The moment our burn beam lit it up, it blew like a fireworks rocket. Everything we did after that just made it worse. Like judo. They went after our weakness and used our strength against us.”

“More facts and fewer metaphors, please, Mr. Dryke. Site Director Havens,” Sasaki said.

Havens raised her eyes toward the camera.

“Have you suspended operations?”

“Yes. We shut down immediately.”

“Please resume launch operations at the first opportunity.”

Her face wrinkled in puzzlement. “Resume—”

“At first opportunity. Priority is to be given to Memphis cargoes.”

In helpless confusion, Havens looked to Dryke for support. But Dryke understood, as Sasaki expected he would. “Yeah, I agree,” he said, nodding slowly. “If we shut down we’re doing them a favor. If they try to hit us again now they’ll be doing us a favor. Fire up the lasers.”

Havens’s face twisted unhappily. “I have some very shaky people in flight operations—”

“Then rotate a new shift in,” said Sasaki. “But get the freighters flying again. Refer all outside inquiries here. All statements are to come from me.”

“Yes, Director.”

“I will expect a more complete report from both of you in thirty minutes.”

“We’re on it,” Dryke said.

There were six windows on the display wall now. Arms crossed over her chest, Sasaki stood before the wall and surveyed them. DIANA had corrected its story once more; the falling object was now a satellite. Orbital flight controllers on Highstar had provided Allied with a flight track confirming the aborted launch from Kasigau. Nikkei Telemedia had joined Panasian at the scene. The Kenyan commerce minister was demanding a conference. Panasian was demanding a statement. But of Jeremiah, there was no word.

Sasaki was able to placate the Kenyan commerce minister with five minutes of earnest concern and a promise of more. That duty discharged, she composed a brief statement for the media:

“Reports reaching me indicate that at approximately eleven twenty-five Greenwich Mean Time this morning, an Allied Transcon T-3 freight capsule launched from Kasigau Launch Center in Kenya crashed into the Singapore Strait. Allied has begun an immediate investigation into the circumstances surrounding this most unfortunate event. We are deeply concerned by reports of damage and loss of life in Singapore harbor. Allied will extend every possible assistance to the government of Singapore and to those touched by this incident.”

It said too much and too little, but it was better than silence, and would keep the dogs at bay for a time. She recorded it and sent it out to the European and Asian information nets and to Newslink, the private media clearinghouse. Within five minutes, Sasaki’s face had appeared in three of the windows on her display wall.

By then, her staff sociodynamicist had answered her call and joined her in the office. Oker was not far behind. They watched the feeds together, quietly sharing their perceptions, until the Kenyan President called and Sasaki banished the others from the room.

That conference was longer and more difficult than the first. It took nearly half an hour before Jomu was satisfied, and the price this time was much higher.

Havens and Dryke were waiting for her when she finished with Jomu. But she kept them waiting, calling the sociodynamicist back into her office.

“There is still nothing from Jeremiah.”

“There could be many reasons for that,” the sociologist said. “Not least of which are the dead in Singapore.”

“Could it be that he was not involved?”

“Why don’t we ask Mr. Dryke that?”

“I can tell you that we are launching now,” Yvonne Havens said, appearing calmer and more in control. “Operations resumed twenty minutes ago.”

“Very good,” Sasaki said.

“And we do have some further information. The cargo was made up of environmental and navigational subsystems and other black boxes for Memphis. I don’t know how serious the loss is. I’m waiting to hear from the construction office on Takara.”

“Please forward their answer to me when you receive it.”

“I will. Director—what are you hearing from Singapore?”

Sasaki nodded. “My latest information indicates sixteen dead and at least twenty-six missing. As you might expect, I am being pressed for statements, explanations. I have expressed regret, but I will need to say more soon. Mr. Dryke, what can you add?”

“We have what’s left of the boat,” Dryke said. “We have the canister—it was a thirty-year-old bottle rocket, Korean manufacture. Whoever pulled this off has disappeared. We’re searching the coastal area, Malindi. We’re getting some help from the Kenyans on checking sea traffic.”

“Do you expect to find those responsible?”

“I’d like to say yes. But the truth is we may well not.”

“Have you any evidence that Homeworld was involved?”

“It has Jeremiah’s fingerprints all over it. He hits Memphis, he hurts Allied, he gets people wondering about the safety of the T-ships just as the colonists are starting to report. The deaths in Singapore underline the point. All he really lost was a chance to get up on his soapbox.”

“Do you believe that he intended those deaths?”

“Yes,” Dryke said firmly. “At the very least he knew the risk was there, and went ahead regardless. They could have launched sixty seconds sooner and dropped the can in the middle of the Indian Ocean. I think he wanted a good show, a big scare, and rolled the dice.”

“I agree,” said the sociodynamicist.

“I value your opinion,” Sasaki said to Dryke. “All may be as you say. But the moment demands more. An accusation without proof will appear to be an excuse. Can you offer any evidence of Homeworld involvement which the world press would find persuasive?”

“No,” Dryke said reluctantly. “Not yet.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

“Hiroko, we were on top of this,” Dryke added. “We were very close to having him. We would have stopped him, except that one of our people reopened a door we’d closed.”

“That, too, offers little to me now,” she said. Sasaki turned to the man beside her on the bench. “I am ready for your counsel. How should we deal with this?”

“Hold our nose and take our medicine,” was the answer. “I was looking at lightning polls in the outer office. We’ll be seen as responsible whether or not we blame Homeworld. And if we blame them, we publicize our vulnerability to Homeworld tricks—and probably the details of the gag they used against us. In my opinion, it’s marginally better for us to be seen as fallible than as weak.”

“Yes,” Sasaki said. “I agree.”

“Perhaps something can be worked out with the Kenyans.”

Sasaki nodded. “I have already consulted with the Kenyan government,” she said. “They understand the true circumstances and are willing to be helpful. For appearances, they will insist on a suspension of launch operations while an investigation takes place. But I have been promised the restoration of our license, with certain cosmetic changes in the inspection and oversight provisions, in no more than ten days.”

“Wait just one moment,” Dryke interrupted. “Are we talking about taking the blame for this ourselves?”

“Yes,” Sasaki said. “I have decided to issue a statement accepting full responsibility for the accident. Mrs. Havens, we will need to agree on a plausible failure scenario.”

“Yes, Director.”

“What in the hell are we doing this for?” Dryke exploded. “They’re the murderers, not us.”

“We can’t win the war of opinion,” the sociologist said simply. “We have no credibility. This is Robin Hood we’re up against. Who listens to the Sheriff of Nottingham?”

“This is wrong,” Dryke said, shaking his head in disgust. “This is dumb wrong.”

Sasaki sought and held his eyes. Her focus made it as though no one else was with them. “This is reality,” she said. “We must win the other war. We must persevere, and complete Memphis.”

“This is a crime,” snapped Dryke. “A bloody crime. And you want to wash it away.”

“No, Mikhail,” Sasaki said softly. “We will not forget, no more than we forgot Dola Martinez. You must find Jeremiah and put an end to his interference. You made a promise to me. I am counting on you to keep it.”

His eyes questioned, then accepted, her meaning. “There are some threads I can follow.”

“Then do so,” she said, her voice still soft, but her eyes hard. “It is clear that Jeremiah can hurt us. He must not get a chance to try.”