Where the Ships Die Page 4

The sleek six-legged animals known as dasas were native to Mechnos and occupied the ecological niche filled by horses on Earth. Melanie smiled serenely. "Of course, dear. Right after your music lesson. Run along now ... Mommy has a headache."

  Jason was more than a little familiar with his mommy's headaches, and the multiplicity of pills, capsules, and shots that she used to fight them. He skipped toward the entry hall. Orr kissed his wife on the cheek, nodded to her bodyguard, and strode toward the front door. The schedule called for a beautiful day on Mechnos, and why not? Orr Enterprises had manufactured the components for the weather management system. It was programmed to produce rain between the hours of 2:00 and 5:00 a.m. Malfunctions were rare.

  Three identical limos were waiting under the portico in front of the mansion. Logic dictated that Orr and son would be placed in the middle car where the other vehicles could shield them, which explained why the industrialist's security chief, Ari Gozen, directed her clients to the last car, and took the shotgun position. She was thirty-something, had a long lean body, and a face to match. She waited for the privacy screen to fall and wasn't surprised when it did. Orr spoke first. "So? What's happening?"

  Ari knew what he meant and activated her implant. Information flowed into her mind. "We have the Traa under biological as well as robotic surveillance... and they are monitoring our movements via airborne spy-eye and an Orr Enterprises security agent."

  Orr nodded grimly. Double agents were an ongoing threat. No one trusted anyone else. Not with billions on the line. "Good. Tell the driver to take us to the clinic, and when the meeting is over, send the double to Reon IV. When the traitor arrives... fire him."

  The bodyguard nodded as the partition whirred upward. Reon IV was a frontier world located along the axis that connected one end of the Confederacy with the other. Once dirt-side, cut off from his employers, the agent would be lucky to survive, much less return. It was a rather generous parting of the ways, since many of Orr's peers would have insisted on a more debilitating sendoff.

  Ari checked her link, got a green on the route, and gave the necessary orders. The motorcade whispered along the carefully maintained drive. Topiaries passed to either side. Their foliage was lushly green. Jason bounced up and down. "Can I play with the console? Huh, Dad? Can I?"

  Orr started to refuse, remembered what the doctors would do, and nodded instead. Video blossomed and stuttered from one channel to the next as his son played with the remote. Jason didn't know it, but he was about to become collateral for a business deal worth billions of credits and, depending on how things went, control of the Confederacy itself.

  The ship, the only vessel not seized by the Voss Line's creditors, rumbled in on commercial approach vector one-zero-niner, dropped into channel number six, and hit the water with a thump. Spray flew as the Class II freighter dropped water brakes, dumped forward momentum, and coasted toward a well-appointed data dock. Had the spaceship been larger, a tug would have sallied forth to bring her in. The vessel was relatively small, however, and continued under her own power. Due to the fact that the pier had been designed to handle data ships, rather than free traders, it was clean and tidy. Like all ships of her classification, the freighter required little more than a bank of fiber-optic cable ports to load and unload cargo, cargo composed of knowledge, plans, designs, entertainment, and other forms of digitized data. A camera focused on the "Orr Enterprises" sign and sent the image to the bridge.

  Howard Voss sat toward the rear of the control room behind the three-person bridge crew. He spotted the sign on a forward vid screen and growled at his wife. "Look! The bastard took our sign down!"

  Mary Voss, who was even more angry than her husband, gave a short jerky nod, and sat tight-lipped while the offending sign grew steadily larger. Red fingernails rattled against plastic until the first officer chose another camera shot. Mistakes had been made, and Mary took full responsibility. Howard, bless his loyal heart, was blameless. She was the one who had approved the terraforming project only to discover that the engineers had minimized the technical problems while the managers exaggerated revenue. All of which had bled Voss Lines dry and left its owners teetering on the edge of bankruptcy.

  All was not lost, however. Not yet, anyway. The largest gem in a once guttering crown would save them yet. The wormhole known as the Mescalero Gap was theirs by right of discovery. The warp, and the advantage it conveyed to Voss Line ships, was the key to the future, which explained why Mary Voss refused to sell it. Not when a loan secured by the wormhole's value would do the trick, and Voss Lines could and would be rebuilt. Mary smiled grimly. Rebuild, hell; they'd create something better, and wipe the sneers off their creditors' faces!

  The freighter bumped the dock as tractor beams locked the ship in place. Howard Voss released his harness and stood. He was a big man with a big man's strength and forceful persona. He had bright blue eyes hidden beneath bushy brows. "We have an hour before our meeting with Nat. Better get a move on."

  Mary nodded, removed her harness, and followed her husband. It was too bad about Natalie's rebellious ways, but what could one expect? Natalie was her mother's daughter, and that meant independent. Perhaps Dorn would make the more reliable heir, not that Mary had any intention of relinquishing control in the near future, or later on for that matter. A limo stood waiting. They entered and were whisked away. It was sunny, and the day had definite possibilities.

  Ka-Di felt the fur rise along the back of his neck as he followed Sa-Lo into the medical clinic. The act of walking into an enemy cave-home-fortress made him nervous. Alien odors assailed his nostrils, and a naturally produced stimulant entered his bloodstream.

  Above and beyond the physical reactions to an alien environment, Ka-Di felt the persistent emptiness caused by La-Ma's death, and wondered what sort of counsel she would provide. The warrior didn't know why, or what alternatives might exist, but something told him she would disapprove. That made Ka-Di uncomfortable because La-Ma had been more than the mother of the triad's cub. She'd been his doorway to another world, a place where life came after death, and words made magic.

  Now Ka-Di saw nothing but darkness. If the race had been outnumbered before, the loss of the Philosopher Sept made a bad situation worse, and left the survivors with no choice. Survival through domination. The strategy made sense to the remaining Traa and should have been comforting. It wasn't.

  The warrior wore a knee-length cloak. It was projectile-resistant, and side slits provided access to twin hand weapons belted around his waist. They were ceramic and nearly undetectable. The knowledge made him feel better. A lot of aliens would die if they chose to attack.

  The commercial being known as Sa-Lo saw the reception desk, made a quick calculation involving materials, labor, and durability, factored in cultural norms such as "face," and concluded that too much money had been spent. This was knowledge to be filed and used later. An alien rose to greet them, a female. She had flat, undistinguished features, what looked like a pair of chest tumors, and white furless flesh. Disgusting.

  "Citizen Sa-Lo? Citizen Ka-Di? The chairman is expecting you. Please follow me."

  Like all members of the Commercial Sept, Sa-Lo spoke flawless standard. "Thank you."

  There was no sign of anything even remotely medical as the alien led them down a richly paneled hallway. Sa-Lo assumed it was an administrative area and that other parts of the building were devoted to patient care. The hallway ended and doors parted as they approached. Sa-Lo followed their guide into a long rectangular room. Light entered through high arched windows. Paintings, portraits mostly, warmed the walls. A rosewood conference table divided the space in two. Sa-Lo hated human chairs and hoped he wouldn't have to sit in one. A triad of humans waited toward the far end of room. Intentional? Or an accident? Time would tell.

  A tall energetic flat-face who had lost all but a fringe of head fur came forward. Sa-Lo had studied human facial expressions and thought this one conveyed a mixture of forced joviality and a trace of fear. He
liked that and knew victory could be had. "Citizen Sa-Lo ... it's a pleasure to meet you."

  Sa-Lo accepted the outstretched paw, released it as quickly as possible, and turned to the warrior. "May I introduce my associate? Citizen Ka-Di?"

  "Welcome to Mechnos," Carnaby Orr said, shaking the Traa's hand. "How was your trip?"

  "The human inquires as to the quality of our journey," Sa-Lo said in Traa.

  "Tell him it would have been better if humans weren't so homely," Ka-Di replied, his eyes on the humans at the far end of the table. One of them, a skinny-looking female, reacted subtly. She knew Traa, or was receiving a translation. She matched the description he had been given of Orr's chief of security. Interesting. He would watch her.

  Sa-Lo treated his companion to the Traa equivalent of a frown, and took liberties with his answer. "Citizen Ka-Di indicates that while our voyage was pleasant, a truly successful journey has a profitable ending."

  Orr laughed appreciatively. "Excellent! Please inform Citizen Ka-Di that he's a being after my own heart. Business ... that's what makes the world go round. And the Confederacy too. Shall we begin?"

  "Nothing would please me more," Sa-Lo said sincerely.

  "Good," Orr said agreeably. "I happen to admire Traa craftsmanship, and had the opportunity to purchase some investment-grade furniture. I hope you'll try one of the chairs."

  The third flat-face, a male who introduced himself as the Orr Enterprises CFO, pulled a chair away from the table and gestured invitingly. The seat was made from narwood and slanted back to front as dictated by Traa anatomy. The T-shaped back was embellished with a hand-carved hunting scene.

  Sa-Lo cursed himself for a fool. The aliens were more intelligent than he had given them credit for. Either the humans knew how much he disliked their furniture or they'd gone out of their way to make him comfortable. Either possibility suggested a Traalike attention to detail.

  Both groups took their seats and turned toward Orr. The seat at the head of the table was regarded as a power position within both cultures. Orr had avoided it rather than seem presumptuous. "Here's the situation as I see it. Voss Lines is a family-owned company, and, thanks to a poorly chosen terraforming project, has negative cash flow. As a matter of fact, the only thing between the family and financial oblivion is a wormhole called the Mescalero Gap. I'm meeting with the principals this afternoon. By combining resources, we could buy them out. Our ships would transit toll-free. Lower costs would make both partners more competitive. So competitive that we could claim sixty percent of the long haul data business."

  There was a moment of silence while everyone considered the meaning of Orr's words. Beyond a requirement for navigational beacons, and overhead associated with billing, worm-holes were free. The Traa were well acquainted with this fact since, unbeknownst to Orr, they already controlled two warps via secret agreements like the one under discussion. This strategy had allowed them to control half the commercially viable singularities without mobilizing other races against them. Sa-Lo cleared his throat. "There's truth in what you say. But what if the Voss family spurns our offer? What then?"

  The silence stretched long and thin as Orr chose his words. "The Voss family travels frequently. Something horrible could happen. The heirs might prove more accommodating."

  There was no mistaking the human's meaning, and while Sa-Lo approved of the strategy, something niggled at the back of his mind. He felt as though La-Ma was standing next to his shoulder saying something he couldn't quite hear. What would she want him to do? Ignore an incredible opportunity? Why? The flat-faces wanted an answer. He gave them one. "Yes, I see your point. Space travel is dangerous, and accidents do happen."

  Discovery Bay was a large horseshoe-shaped body of water that opened to the west, and was subject to southerly winds that the weather management system hadn't been able to eliminate.

  So, on days when the huge data freighters lay snug and safe beneath the headland that protected North Bay, the smaller and more numerous free traders pitched and rolled as wave after wave marched toward the south, swept past the partially completed breakwater, and broke against their glistening flanks.

  But Natalie Voss was used to the motion and jumped from hull to hull as she marched toward shore. Unlike the quiet, almost meditative feel that surrounded the data docks, Freeport bustled with activity. Sparks flew as repairs were made, voices shouted between ships, children hawked food from fragile boats, exoskeletons minced along the edge of the wharf, and birds screeched as a cook dumped table scraps over the side.

  Natalie loved the sounds, the sights, and yes, even the smells that were part and parcel of Freeport. Taken together, they made up for the physical sensations that were absent while ships traveled through the vastness of space. Fact of the matter was that the young woman liked to load and unload cargo, which was good, because that's what the skipper insisted that she do.

  Natalie jumped onto the last ship in line, crossed her deck, and stepped onto a gangplank. It was made of steel and rang with her footsteps. She arrived at the top, looked back, and saw someone wave from the Sunbird’s cooling tower. She waved in return, waited for an autoloader to rumble by, and wove her way toward the gate. A guard motioned her through. The path was clearly marked with bars, nightclubs, and flophouses. It took ten minutes to locate a dilapidated autocab, pry the door open, and climb inside. The onboard computer listened to her request, checked her universal account balance, and lurched into motion.

  Natalie wrinkled her nose. The vehicle's interior smelled sour, like the inside of a tavern, and she ordered the window to open. It slid halfway down and jammed. The vehicle jerked into motion, pulled a U-turn, and followed Bayshore drive toward the city.

  Million-credit homes jutted out from the cliffs, reminding Natalie of her childhood. Her parents owned one of those houses, though they didn't spend much time in it. Not with a shipping line to run, business deals to close, and planets to terraform. No, she and her brother had seen damned little of Howard and Mary, which was probably just as well, since neither one had any parenting skills.

  The highway curved and traffic increased as the cab entered the city of Fortuna. High-rise buildings shot toward the sky, spidery skywalks tied them together, and aircars cruised vertical streets. It was typical of her parents to meet here, among the trappings of wealth, rather than in Freeport where Voss Lines had been founded. What nerve they'd had then, referring to a clapped-out freighter as their "flagship," and calling themselves "a line."

  And later, when a drive failed during a deep-space voyage, and it looked as if it would take two years to limp back home, Howard and Mary had gambled on what might have been an ender rather than a commercially viable wormhole. That took courage. Real courage that paid off when the twosome emerged at the other end of the Confederation and registered their discovery.

  Yes, Natalie's parents were special people, all right, which was why she spent as little time with them as possible. The cab pulled up in front of an expensive restaurant. The young woman grimaced, wished she had changed her clothes, and made her way up the steps. The doorman frowned but opened it anyway. Maybe lunch would be good. Maybe her parents had changed. Maybe hell would freeze over.

  Jason looked small and vulnerable on the operating room table. Instruments gleamed as preparations were made. Orr swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat as the doctors and nurses laid sterile drapes back and forth across his son's tiny form. Monitors glowed and machines hummed as the anesthesiologist injected a sedative into the child's IV.

  Jason's eyelids fluttered, he said something about dasas, and then he fell instantly asleep. The anesthesiologist looked at the surgeon, and she looked at Orr. The mask hid everything but her eyes, and they conveyed what? Horror at what they were about to do? If so, Orr understood how the doctor felt, because he felt a distinct queasiness in the pit of his stomach. He nodded. "Get on with it." The words emerged as a croak.

  The initial part of the surgery was simple. An incision was
made in the child's abdomen. Bleeders were located and cauterized. The first scalpel was discarded and a second incision was made. It went deeper this time, down through yellow baby fat to the peritoneum, where the surgeon paused again. A laser flashed, and the air grew thick with the smell of burned flesh. A pair of retractors scampered down a sterile ramp, positioned themselves to either side of the opening, and deployed their stainless steel arms. The hole expanded, and Orr felt dizzy.

  He could have avoided the operation, could have waited outside, but had forced himself to watch. Doing so was his penance, his punishment for an act he knew to be wrong, but was determined to carry out anyway. Still, the knowledge that no harm would come to Jason, and that the son would inherit what his father built, salved Orr's conscience. The dizziness receded.

  Orr opened his eyes and saw that the surgeon had cut down through the peritoneum and into the abdominal cavity. There was a pause as blood was sponged away, bleeders were cauterized, and the roboretractors repositioned themselves. The surgeon looked at the anesthesiologist, received a nod, and rinsed her gloves in a basin of sterile water. "Okay, people, let's get a move on. Is the organism ready?"

  The industrialist looked across the operating table and into a Traa's tawny yellow eyes. Which one was it, anyway? The aliens were swathed in OR greens like everyone else, and the specially designed face masks made it difficult to tell them apart. The creature nodded as if to confirm the moment of contact. His voice was muffled behind the mask. “The organism is ready."

  A nurse placed the specially prepared symbiote in a kidney basin. It was small, no larger than a prune, and similar in appearance. It pulsed with internal life, and the sight made Orr queasy. He fought the sensation with his knowledge of what would happen. Once in place, the alien organism would tap into Jason's blood supply and extract nourishment from it. In return for such sustenance, the symbiote would inject naturally produced antibiotics into the child's circulatory system, making both organisms resistant to disease. The only problem was that if left too long, the creature would grow its way out of the boy's abdomen and seek a larger body with which to partner, a process that would kill Orr's son.