Michael Kube-McDowell - The Quiet Pools

Keith’s gaze was faraway and sad. “Tau Ceti.”

Christopher gaped. “In what?”

“You really don’t know, do you?” Keith said, turning back. “ Memphis isn’t hurt. Not that badly. But they’re not going to take any more chances. They’re going to move her. Everyone knows that. The only question is how far. I think they’re going to load her up and light her up the first chance they can, and not look back.” His mouth twisted into an acerbic smile. “That’s what I’d do, if I was Sasaki. And she’s at least as bright as I am.”

His own future vanishing with his friend’s, Christopher found himself hollow and numb. “Why are you going to Prainha?” he asked finally.

“Because I’m like you. I want them to make it no matter what they do to me,” he said. “I’m almost to the gate, Chris. I can’t stay on.”

“Wait—how’s the Houston staff getting to Memphis?’”

“Through Technica, I think. On the big bus. Jesus, Chris, you’re not going to try—you don’t think you’ll get near them, do you?”

“Why not? How many stowaways on Ur ? ”

“Sixteen. Trust me, they all had better plans than this.”

“Things are going to be crazy on Technica and Memphis both. It’s the last days of Saigon, man. And I think I ought to be able to pass myself off as a Project archie, don’t you?”

A long hesitation. “No,” Keith said. “Too many people from here know about you and Jeremiah.”

“Then—”

“Shut up. The Munich people are going through Horizon,” Keith continued. “You’ll have a better chance there, as a Houston staffer caught away from the center when the orders came through.”

Christopher had run out of words. “Thanks. You didn’t owe me that.”

“I know,” Keith said. “I said a better chance. Your chances are still piss-poor. Do me a favor, will you? Try not to let me find out if you make it. I want to be able to think it came out either way, depending on my mood.”

“Sure,” said Christopher, his throat hot.

“I’m up. Time to go. Have a life, huh?”

“I’ll try. Better days—my friend.”

“Fuck you very much.”

Christopher didn’t know how long he sat there, wet-eyed and stiff-backed, after the phone blanked. He had prepared himself for a marathon, but the only race open to him was a sprint. Last call, everyone in the blocks. But his feet, like his thoughts, were churning in mud.

Ready to go?

Not.

Gun in the air—

Wait!

But the starter paid no heed. The race was on. He had to start moving or walk away, disappear into the tunnel.

I have to get to Horizon .

That was almost an executable thought. The missing operand was Deryn. Without her permission or presence, he seemed to be able to do nothing on Sanctuary.

Where did Deryn say she was going?

Sanctuary’s infuriating phone net had no way to call persons , only places . He called all eight schools, harangued the net operator, even went to the door and called for her down Summer Corridor. Finally, out of desperation, he called Anna X.

“McCutcheon,” she said. “Your timing is very good. I was about to send someone for you.”

“I have to find Deryn. Do you know where she is?”

“No. Do you remember the way to my Circle Room?”

“Where we had our meeting? Yes.”

“Then come here, please. As quickly as you can.”

“With no escort?”

“There is a man named Mikhail Dryke in Entry, with several armed and armored friends, suggesting that we turn you over to him. I thought you might like to be involved in the decision.”

Christopher ran, ignoring the startled stares.

There were six goons in Entry and who knew how many more on the twenty-four-seat Transorbital shuttle docked to tunnel 2. As near as could be told from the monitors, they were carrying splatterguns and shockboxes, both of which could be safely used inside a pressurized space, though there’d been no shooting so far. In all probability, they also carried enough cutters and shape charges to come through the bulkheads and locked doors which presently contained them.

Shelter had been emptied and sealed without incident, but two Entry staffers were still at the main desk, keeping Dryke and his men company. They were not exactly hostages, since discussions were still technically polite, with no hard refusals or locked doors yet tested. But the women’s position was tenuous and their presence was a complication.

“This is the man who killed your father?” asked Anna X.

“Yes,” Christopher said, studying the monitor with hard eyes. “Are you going to give me to him?”

“Do you want me to?”

“No,” Christopher said, shaking his head. “I have to get to Horizon.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t think he means to allow that.”

“Have you admitted I’m here?”

“We are still discussing technical issues—the validity of his police powers, the status of our agreements with Brazil and Kenya, certification of his warrants—”

“He has warrants this time?”

“Conspiracy and unlawful flight. Purely ceremonial. This is not a question of law. The paperwork is to keep up appearances. The real warrants are his soldiers and the weapons they carry.”

Someone had found Deryn at last, and she came into the room at that moment. “Dryke,” Christopher said to her, gesturing at the screen.

Looking up at Dryke and then at Christopher, Deryn sat down beside Anna X on the open end of the bench. “Are you going to surrender Christopher?”

“I would rather not.”

It was welcome news to Christopher. But there were others in the room, all of whom had dropped into sullen silence when he arrived. Now one spoke up.

“Shelter was meant for women, not for cocks,” she said. “Why are we risking our home for him? It’s not our fight.”

The object of the objection was unmoved. “I would not like it said that either Sanctuary or Anna X can be threatened.”

“Here come the certifications,” called a woman across the room, looking down at a comsole.

Anna X did not stir from her seat. “We’ll take some time to study them, I think.”

“Is there any other way off the station?” asked Christopher.

“Yes. Two ways. They control the passenger side of the hub, but not the freight side. And there is a small slug freighter there. There are also emergency boats, of course.”

“Can either reach Horizon?”

“Either can.”

“Can either reach Memphis? ”

Several eyebrows went up.

“No,” Anna X said.

Christopher looked at the docking monitor. The blue and red Transorbital shuttle was clearly visible, anchored to the slender pylon which projected from Sanctuary like the axle from a bicycle wheel. The white docking tunnel angled up to it from the half-gee Entry ring at a forty-degree angle, like a flight of covered stairs. “Can you keep Dryke from leaving?”

She nodded slowly, acknowledgment but not encouragement. “Dryke and the men inside, yes. His shuttle, no.” She smiled faintly. “Run, fight, surrender—all three are possible. As you see, none are attractive. Do you have a preference? Or a solution?”

“Anna,” Deryn said sharply, looking up at the main screen.

The two women were no longer behind the desk. Two of Dryke’s soldiers had them in hand and were walking them briskly across the floor to the opening of tunnel 2, at the end of which lay Dryke’s shuttle.

“Idiot,” Anna X muttered. “Trionna—cut the shuttle loose. Seal the lock.”

On the docking monitor, Christopher saw a smoke-ring puff blow outward from the oval tunnel just a half meter from where it was attached to the shuttle. Between the inner and outer locks , Christopher thought, remembering his own arrival. The tunnel was flexing and shaking in long, wavelike undulations from the jolt and the flying load of the four people inside it. Meanwhile, the shuttle had drifted a few meters from the pylon, trailing the stub end of the tunnel from its main port.