E c tubb, p.5
E C Tubb, page 5
"Captain!" The voice spoke from the speaker behind his ear. "New arrivals on their way in. You want to check?"
"Later."
"Coop them in a hut?"
"Just keep them happy."
Varl turned, narrowing his eyes as he studied the rolling expanse of vegetation that filled the area as far as he could see. An echo rose from the past as had his memory of vomit; the things he had seen could never be washed from his mind. The vegetation that grew in what had once been a desert drew its sustenance from soil created by the bones and flesh and blood of twenty million dead. The Debacle had created a garden, if nothing else.
He turned to the stairs to meet Erica as she came toward him. She looked crisply cool even though dark patches of sweat marred the armpits of her blouse. She carried a clipboard in one hand; the papers it bore were heavy with names.
"A fresh contingent," she said. "Volunteers."
"I know. I saw them come in."
"And had them put on ice. Harvey told me. Aren't you interested?"
"I need workers. The hull is still incomplete and the armament has yet to be installed. Where is Brice? What the hell does he think he's doing?"
"Checking supplies."
"I don't need a trained ship engineer for that. Werne?"
"There was some trouble with a generator." She caught his arm as he turned toward the ship. "There are only so many hours in a day, Kurt."
"So?"
"Only so much can be done. Keep up the pressure and you'll have a mutiny."
She regretted the warning when she saw his face. The workers might rebel, but if they did there would be blood on the soil and the echo of screams in the air. Varl would see to it. Varl and the men he had on watch -- armed, ruthless men handpicked from the workers sent to rush the adaptation of the vessel. Sometimes, when they looked at her, she saw the animal in their eyes.
Within the ship, where most of the alterations were complete, the confusion was less. Erica followed Varl as he moved from point to point, checking, questioning, and finally halting to look down at a man busy with a generator.
"How bad?"
"This?" Werne looked up and shrugged. "It could be worse. I can fix it, given the time. Just a matter of adjustment. Don't worry about it, Captain; leave it to me."
"Get it out of here."
"What?"
"Dismantle it. Throw it out. I don't want it -- and that goes for you too."
"Now just you wait a minute!" Werne rose to his full height. "I'm under contract to Earth Confederation. You can't fire me."
"Who is your assistant? Siddharti?" Varl looked at a man with soft brown skin and luminous dark eyes, with the hands of a woman and the body of a boy. "Take over. Dismantle and dump this junk and replace it with new equipment. Have it done by dark and you take Werne's place."
"Right away, Captain!"
"No!" Werne moved as if to stop him, but halted as Varl stepped close. "You can't do this! I'm a trained man, an electronics engineer. That generator -- "
"Is junk. Men are going to risk their lives on its continuing to function. You won't be one of them, so I guess you don't care. But I do. Now, are you going to get out of here under your own power or do I help you?" Van waited as Werne gnawed at his lip. "If I see you anywhere when I leave this ship I'm going to break both your arms. Is that clear?"
"You wouldn't dare!"
"No, Kurt!" Erica stepped between them as Varl drew in his breath. "Leave this to me!" As Varl moved away she spoke to Werne. "Don't be a fool. He will do exactly as he promised. Leave now.
There's a shuttle which will take you south within the hour. Here!" She scribbled a note on a scrap of paper. "This is an official release from your duties on the grounds of sickness. Now leave!"
"My things?"
"I'll have them sent after you. Now please hurry!"
Varl was in the hold, an oasis of relative calm in the general bustle and noise. As he examined stanchions with the aid of a flashlight Erica stepped close to him, waiting to speak until he lowered the beam.
"There are ways to handle men, Kurt."
"I know."
"The way you dealt with Werne was a mistake. He has his pride, and -- "
"To hell with his pride!" He turned to face her, his face blazing with anger. "Will his pride keep men alive because he didn't do his job? How many others like him are on the project? Well?" Her silence added fuel to his rage. "I asked for men I could trust, hard workers who knew their job, all the supplies and equipment I needed. Kalif agreed. You were there and heard him. So why am I lumbered with idiots like Werne?"
"The machines -- "
"Picked him, I know."
"You make it sound like an excuse," she accused. "How else to find the best?"
"The best by whose definition? Damn it, girl, I want men, not ciphers! Not cunning bastards who've learned how to pass examinations and fill out forms and answer the given questions in the right way. This isn't a cost-effective project but a special assignment. Werne should have known that. They all should know it. This is one time when we can't afford other than the best."
"All right, Kurt! All right!" She lifted her arms in abject surrender. "I believe you!"
"Then -- " He broke off as he saw her smile and the mocking lift of her eyebrows; his expression changed to match her own. "Sorry."
"Shall I tell Werne that?"
"No. He asked for it. Anyway, he'll serve as an example to the others. I suppose you sweetened his
departure?"
"Just a note to salve his pride."
"Do it again and you'll have a real use for salve for personal application." He was not joking. "Let's hope he doesn't shoot off his mouth."
Varl moved on to the engine room. New additions dwarfed the original installation and turned the ship into a virtual power plant. Among the apparatus, a man was busy calibrating dials, making checks, annotations, and adjustments.
"Kurt!" He looked up, smiling. "Good to see you, Erica. Come to check on progress?"
"And to see you, Ben."
"You flatter me." Ben Lydon was at least twice her age. A man with a thin, intent face and hollowed temples, he had devoted his life to the pursuit of arcane knowledge. The apparatus at which he worked held the fruits of his discoveries. "We're ready when you are, Captain. If my theories are correct this contraption will do the job. If it doesn't then I've wasted my life."
"Not wasted," Erica said quickly. "Even negative findings can be of value."
"If everything is ready," Varl said, "then there is no need for you to be down here. I'd like you to circulate and pick up general impressions together with specific attitudes. We'll have to select the crew soon, and the more I know the better."
"I will be among them?"
"Can anyone else operate your machine? No? Then why ask foolish questions?" Varl slapped the man on the shoulder. "You're in, but don't let anyone know. Now where's Emerson? I want to see what's holding up those guns."
At dusk Erica made her way to her quarters in the communal hut. Other women, equally tired, forced her to wait for a shower, and she was irritated. But pressure alone was not the reason she had had to vacate her own rooms and private bath: Only by living close to the others could she evaluate their strengths and weaknesses.
"Erica!" A tall, dark-haired girl wearing an almost transparent dress and a profusion of makeup lifted an arm in greeting as she entered the lounge. "Where have you been hiding all day? I've been looking for you."
"What for?"
"To see if you're interested in a party. Good food, plenty to drink, and some of the latest shows on videotape, all donated by a couple of young men who just hate to spend an evening alone. They came in with the latest contingent and seem to be loaded. Nice clothes, good manners, and intelligent enough to guess what a girl needs most in a place like this." She smiled as she displayed a flask of perfume. "There's one for you if you want it."
"If she doesn't, I do." Magda, another brunette, stepped in. "Anyway, why can't we all go to the party?"
"No room. Two only. I'm one and -- Erica?"
"Sorry." She shook her head as if disappointed. "I couldn't make it anyway. I'm working tonight. But try and get me that perfume."
"No luck." Magda was firm. "I go, I get it. No argument, Erica. You had your chance."
Later, in his office, Pat Harvey said thoughtfully, "Two men, uh? Both young and heavy spenders, and on the latest contingent." He reached for a file. "Did you get their names?"
"Brad and Hank. I couldn't dig too deep."
"A pair in cabin 32B. We spread them out after taking them off ice. They certainly wasted no time.
Perfume, eh? That's out of character for a start. Do you smell what I smell?"
"Bribery," she said. "Someone's curious."
"And we can guess why." Harvey reached for his transmitter. "Captain?" He paused, waiting.
"Harvey here. Just to give you warning. Better get your answers ready." He paused. "That's right. The cover's blown. They're moving in."
--------
*CHAPTER 8*
MORE came in the following afternoon, flying up from the Cape -- the noses, ears, and eyes of an inquisitive society. An earlier age could have controlled these pests, but the Debacle had put an end to government secrecy and the rule of bureaucrats as the hydee had liberated captive, taxpaying populations. Like vultures, the news hounds dove in for the kill.
"What are you doing here, Captain Varl?" Jane Gosser -- aged, sharp, and acid -- fired the question. "I mean really doing."
"An investigation -- "
"Spare us the crap." Stefan Wilson, as old as the woman but even more cynical, signaled to his cameraman to get close-ups. "There are no mineral deposits here, and even if there were, you've the wrong equipment to go after them. Give yourself a break, Captain. Tell us the truth."
An agent of Earth Confederation warning that the original story no longer held water and to repeat it would be a mistake.
"There's word out that you're conducting illegal experiments in the field of atomics." Clair Omney, young and eager, edged closer with a flash of white teeth in the scarlet cavern of her mouth. "What are you hiding in the ship, Varl? Animals? Isotopes? How about letting us have a look?"
"Yeah, why not?" A young man backed the suggestion. Sweat pearled the dusty velvet of his skin and clung to the crisp wool of his hair. "Let's get in there!"
"No!"
"Why not?"
"Would you let me into your house to root around?" Varl met the man's eyes. "That ship is private property. Respect it -- or get the hell away from here!"
"Now, Captain, take it easy." An older man was quick to pour oil on the trouble waters. Another agent? It was possible; Earth Confederation did not lack manpower. "You can understand why we're curious. A ship stuck out here in the Kalahari. Equipment. Men. Some of them are employed by Earth Confederation, right? How come, if the project is private?
Werne -- the bastard had opened his mouth. Varl lifted both hands and smiled as he gestured toward a hut.
"Let's all calm down. There's ice in there and drinks and air conditioning." And girls carefully chosen by Erica to look nice, talk at length, but say nothing while they served refreshments.
Erica handed Varl a tall glass filled with fruit juice and ice. "I heard. What happens if they insist on looking inside the ship?"
"We let them."
"The armament?"
"I'll tell them." She smiled as if he were telling her a joke. "Relax. Lydon will take care of the ship, and I'll manage the rest. Just keep the drinks flowing. My men in position?"
Enca nodded. Varl's men were disguised as workers, clerks, or casual wanderers who would isolate the visitors from others; people who could be chosen at apparent random and who knew just what to say.
As the noise subsided Jane Gosser got to the point. "There have been rumors, Captain Varl, about you and what you're doing here. The public has a right to know, and we have a duty to keep them informed. I'm sure you are willing to cooperate."
"Of course."
"Then why the mystery?"
"No mystery." Varl took a sip of his juice, then smiled. "I'm adapting an ordinary ship for a special purpose."
"Is that all?" She frowned as he nodded. "But why here? Why not in a shipyard?"
"I didn't want to advertise."
"So we're back to the mystery. If -- "
"No," Varl said sharply. "There is no mystery. Secrecy, yes, but the need for that is surely obvious.
My backers have no desire to invite competition and -- "
The young man interrupted. "Sam Mboto, _Cape Star._ Do your backers include Earth
Confederation?"
"Directly, no."
"But some of your workers are under contract to them. Do you deny that?"
"Three specialists were hired via the government agency: Rees, Fletcher, and Werne. The last proved unable to stand the pace and is no longer with the project. Fletcher finished his contract and left the day before yesterday." The truth now followed by a semi-lie. "Rees will cooperate with you and answer any questions you may put to him. That can come later. For now I suggest you let the girls recharge your glasses."
A man standing at the rear of the assembly said dryly, "Trying to get us drunk, Varl?"
"Your name?"
"Connors. _Tri-world News."_
"The day I could get you drunk, Connors, will be one to remember. But if you're afraid of decent gin the girl will get you some milk."
The cheap joke did not merit the weak laughter it received, but Varl had shown himself amiable, and the news hounds were willing to throw him a little comfort.
"Why not just give us the story in your own way, Captain?" Stefan Wilson suggested. "Let's start with why you want the project kept secret."
"Sure -- you want my life with it?"
"The runaround," Mboto said disgustedly. "He's giving us the treatment."
Varl looked at him. "How long you been on the job, Mboto? Not long, I guess. Certainly not long enough to learn basic manners. Talk to me like that again and I'll have you thrown off the site.''
"Try it! Man, I'm the press! Ruffle me and -- "
"Cork it, Sam!" Wilson shook his head. "You came for a story, right? So why start a war?"
"Didn't like being called a liar," Wilson said. "I can't blame him. I wouldn't like it either. Nor would I stand to be threatened by a visitor I hadn't invited. Now have a drink and calm down. Captain?"
"There's a place beyond the Coal Sack," Varl said without preamble. "A cluster of worlds which are the kind of thing prospectors dream about. It's a real bonanza. A once-in-a-lifetime chance to make it rich. If you want to know more, forget it. I've already told you too much."
"The pot of gold, uh?" Jane Gosser looked dubious. "You could have told us that before."
"Did you give me a chance?"
"Maybe not, but what's so secret about that? A rich strike out among the stars -- how often I've heard it all before!"
"We all have." The older man who had interceded before smiled and shook his head. "It's an old story, Captain, but I wish you luck. You're going to need it."
"Now that's out of the way, how about explaining a few things?" Clair Omney was not satisfied. "The guns, for example. Afraid of pirates?"
"Pirates and lifeforms which could damn near swallow the ship and others which could bury it. Life can be rough beyond the frontiers."
"And the supplies?"
"Where I'm going there are no stores, factories, canteens."
"And Ben Lydon?" Jane Gosser had waited for her moment. "What about him, Varl?"
"He's an expert."
"Of course." She pressed her attack. "But why should any prospecting vessel need an expert in psychic phenomena? A ghost hunter? A medium? Are you intending to contact the dead?"
"Should I give them a message from you if I do?"
"Don't dodge the question," Mboto said. "Why the expert?"
"Because he's just that -- an expert. Out there beyond the Coal Sack things aren't like they are here.
The suns are close and the worlds are wrapped in skeins of force which create odd patterns of influence.
I'm carrying guns to take care of material danger. Lydon may give us a different kind of protection. Call it insurance. Now, is there anything else you'd like to know?"
The barrage continued, and he answered with honest directness. The hull was being equipped with
extra scanners -- it was dark in the Coal Sack. The added stanchions were to protect the vessel from spatial stresses likely to be encountered where they were going. The guns they knew about. The supplies the same. The unusual equipment? Well, the improved generators were a precaution, as was the hydee unit enhancer. Yes, Lydon had installed a device of his own, the PEAP. Psychic Emission Amplifying Projector. To ward off ghosts, naturally -- what else would a psychic expert invent?
The drinks circulated as the sun lowered toward the horizon, but the news hounds seemed as immune to alcohol as they were to flattery. But Clair's voice was a little slurred as she leaned against Varl.
"The ship, Captain. What's its name?"
"The _Odile._ And it isn't an 'it.' She's a 'her."'
_"Odile?"_
"It means 'Wealth.'" Varl lifted his glass and pressed his own body against her curves. "Let's hope I get enough of it to make me attractive in your eyes."
"You're that already." Her stare was bold. "Do we meet again? Later? When we can talk alone?"
"Tomorrow?"
"What's wrong with tonight?"
Everything -- but he did not say it. Hoping to repel her, he had accomplished the opposite, even though her interest was not so much in him as in the facts she hoped to gain by the use of her body. As a news hound, Clair had all the right qualifications and the priorities to go with them.
"Captain!" Erica came to his rescue. "You asked me to warn you about the time. It's late and you have the final checks to do on the life-support system in sector nine."
"Final?" Drifting close, Jane Gosser pricked her ears at the word. "So you're almost ready to leave?"
