There was no one to appeal to. Both Praxedes and Bassan ranked her. Mild-spoken Iranaputra, motherly Gelmann, kindly Shimoda, and amusingly acerbic Hawkins were all going to die and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. And Heath, who even in his boasting reminded her so much of her father, dead and gone from a small-craft accident when she was ten. She found herself questioning things she’d never questioned before.
Confused, upset, and generally nonplussed, she decided to take Praxedes’ suggestion. Turning away from the puzzled seniors, she headed for the high-arching portal which led out of the observation room, turned right down a vast corridor, and lengthened her stride. Immediately she knew she’d acted correctly. The silence was like a blanket, calm and reassuring.
Unbeknownst to her, Bassan was following her every move. Her reaction to a straightforward discussion of their situation had been uncharacteristically equivocal. They’d known one another for several years and reactionary responses were unlike her. Usually she carried out her orders efficiently and without question, as she had in obtaining a foothold on the artifact.
He made a mental note to tell Praxedes that when the time came to put the seniors to rest, they needed to do it when Ashili wasn’t around. A small courtesy, but one that in her present state of mind he felt she would appreciate. Or perhaps he was overreacting, reading something into her expression that wasn’t there. He shrugged. He’d bring the subject up again when she returned from her walk.
His gaze traveled about the huge room. What phenomena there were to be examined, what lessons to be learned from this wondrous artifact by the scientists of the Candomblean League! As for himself and his compatriots, their lesser minds could only speculate on what marvels lay elsewhere in the colossal ship, waiting to be discovered. Setting aside his concern for the morose Ashili, he moved to rejoin his companions, checking to make sure his weapon was activated.
Ashili found herself running. She was a superb athlete and covered great stretches of deck with muscular, measured strides, stopping only when the soreness in her legs spread to her throat. Hands on knees, she bent over, sucking wind, having momentarily (but only momentarily) managed to forget the five unnecessary deaths she was going to be a party to.
She had been educated by the Candomble, trained by the Candomble, lived for the Candomble; but at that particular moment in time she would have been forced to admit that she neither understood nor condoned the Candomble’s intentions.
Straightening, she took stock of her surroundings. She was in still another corridor. The light was much dimmer than elsewhere, though still adequate for her to see by. Breathing hard but evenly, she walked on while continuing to study her surroundings.
It was good to exhaust yourself once in a while, she told herself. For the mind as well as the body. It helped one to put aside visions of such things as five forthcoming useless deaths.
Surely there had to be another way besides murder for the Candomble to ensure security redundancy?
She had vague thoughts of spiriting the oldsters out from beneath the commando’s guard and slipping them aboard the small warship that waited in the lock, then returning them to Earth. Confronted with a fait accompli, her superiors would be forced to make the best of the situation. As this would still leave them in sole possession of the artifact, she doubted any anger over her actions would last long.
If she encountered resistance, she knew she could take out any one of the commandos, but even with surprise on her side, subduing all four of them would likely prove an impossible proposition. The odds were as bad as her intentions were good.
Among other physical and mental attributes, Ashili had been endowed with a superb sense of direction. She turned left at an intersection, convinced she was heading toward the incredible chamber that contained the artificial ocean. At a second intersection she hesitated, then went right. Judging from the speed at which the horizontal elevator had traveled, she should be close now. If not, she would turn back and begin retracing her steps.
The scale on which the corridor had been constructed denied her the companionship of echoes. Artwork or oversize hieroglyphs appeared periodically on the walls. Aliens or humans could have marched anywhere in the ship twenty abreast without scraping the smooth walls. One could fly from station to station, she marveled.
The artifact hummed softly all around her.
XVIII
Praxedes regarded the prisoners. The gentle mountain called Shimoda sat quietly: eyes closed, lips moving silently, hands folded across the great curve of belly, the pale blue fire of the Autothor hovering nearby. Hawkins glared through the great sweep of observation port at the lunar surface, cursing craters and his situation with equal invention. The serving robot squatted quiescent against the wall, silently recharging. Gelmann, Heath, and Iranaputra sat close together, whispering among themselves. Even seated, Heath towered above his friends, and it was to him that the commando addressed himself.
“I don’t like to waste time.” He gestured to Bassan, who unlimbered a pocket holojector. A few skilled adjustments invoked a compact starfield within the diameter of the holomag. As the commando operated the control box a thin green line leaped from one sun within the hazy sphere to another. As soon as internal contact had been established between systems representations, the entire starfield began to rotate slowly.
“That’s the line from Earth to Reconcavo. That’s where we want you to order the artifact to go.” He glanced in the direction of the blue ellipse. The damn thing made him nervous even though he knew it was intellectually inert. “If it’s half as perceptive as Ashili reported, it should have no trouble calculating the necessary tachyspace adjustments.”
“How do you know, old chap, that the ship is even capable of interstellar travel? We certainly haven’t tried to take her anywhere.”
“Stalling is a way of wasting time. I told you that I don’t like that.” Praxedes waved expansively. “This vessel wasn’t built and buried here to move luggage or individuals from Earth to Europa. Monitors on Earth recorded its passage from over the Atlantic Ocean to its present position. Knowing the time of transit allows us to calculate relative velocity. It had to have traveled through tachyspace, however briefly. You must’ve realized that too.”
“A trip from Earth to moon, you only should eat something soon that gives you chronic diarrhea, is pretty different from making a transstellar jump.” Gelmann glared up at her captor. “What if whatever this ship uses for a drive can’t manage the distance?”
Praxedes gestured casually with the gun he carried. “Easy enough to find out. Give the order.”
Heath smiled cheerily. “What if we decline to do so, you filthy rotten son-of-a-bitch?”
Bassan clipped the holojector to his belt and removed from a pouch the mate to the electric shock device Ashili had used to threaten Gelmann. “I don’t like to use this. There’s usually a lot of noise. Me, I like peace and quiet.” He advanced on Heath.
“No!” Everyone turned to Iranaputra.
Bassan halted and glanced at his superior. Praxedes considered the smaller man. With his slim build and delicate features he looked like a perfectly molded miniature model of a much larger individual. Perhaps things would go faster if they directed their questions and demands to him instead of to the more formal Heath.
Ignoring the threatening whispers of his companions, Iranaputra rose and approached the Autothor. “Evaluate the distances between star systems represented there.” He pointed to the hovering holomag.
“Done,” said the Autothor a moment later. Argolo looked up briefly from where she was watching over Hawkins and Shimoda to whistle appreciation for the Autothor’s speed.
“Are you capable of making such a journey through tachyspace?”
“Really, old boy!” Heath’s outrage was no less palpable than that of Gelmann or Shimoda. Ignoring the drama being played out behind him, Hawkins just kept mooning morosely at Aristarchus.
“Calculating.” Less than two minutes passed. “Yes. There would be no problem making the journey.”
“There, you see?” Praxedes nodded approvingly to Iranaputra, then grinned down at Heath and Gelmann. “No reason to make this any more difficult than necessary.” To illustrate his good intentions he raised the muzzle of his weapon, though he didn’t deactivate it.
“We’ll have a pleasant trip to Reconcavo and turn over the artifact to the research staff that’s already been assembled there. Then you’ll be put on a commercial flight heading back toward Earth, where you can resume your respective retirements devoid of any worries.” The commando lied fluidly and without compunction. “The people of Earth, citizens and retirees and tourists alike, long ago quit troubling themselves with galactic politics. Keep that in mind and you’ll have an easy, relaxed time of it.” When they failed to respond, he added encouragingly, “Why do you care what happens to this artifact anyway? It’s not your property and it’s not your responsibility.”
“I know.” With great ceremony Heath removed his old monocle from a pocket and inserted it carefully in his left eye. “But something in me grates at the thought of turning it over to the likes of you. I don’t like you, you see.”
“That’s okay.” Praxedes took no offense. “You don’t have to like me. Just cooperate and you can hate my guts all you wish.” He nodded to Bassan, who stepped forward, holding the ominous little electrical device before him.
“There is no need for that, sir.” Iranaputra rushed to hover protectively over Mina Gelmann.
Heath glared up at him. “Victor, old chap, if any one socioeconomic body gains control of this ship, it will upset the balance of power among the leagues.”
“That is not my concern or yours, Wes.”
“Listen to your friend,” Praxedes advised. “He talks sense.”
