Joan Vinge - Heaven Chronicles

He waited, not responding because she hadn't made it a challenge.

“What would you give us if I helped you secure the ship intact?”

Surprised again, he asked, “What could you do to guarantee that?”

Thin hands crossed before her, locked around her thin arms; sleeves that were too long and too wide slid back. “Allow me to finish repairs on the radio … give me parts for it if you have them.” She glanced up, her eyes hard and bright. “Let me make contact with the ship when it approaches, to reassure them that it's safe to come in close, so that you can take them easily.”

“We could do that ourselves.”

“No, you can't. My—our people on the ship know the radio here and its problems, and they know my voice. A stranger's voice would make them suspect somethin' was wrong … and so would radio silence.”

“You may have a point.” Raul nodded.

“Will you leave us the hydrogen if I do that?” No fire showed this time.

“If the ship escapes, they can come back with the hydrogen!” Wind Kitavu burst out. “Don't take away our only chance—”

She turned; her face silenced him. Raul wondered what showed on it. She turned back. “Will you?”

Knowing how easy it would be to lie, he said, “I'll request permission. Maybe I'll get it; maybe I won't.” He waited for her reaction, was puzzled by a kind of exasperation, as if she had wanted him to lie, wanted an excuse to perform treason. Or was it something else? He thought of Wadie Abdhiamal.

“But the crew, then? If you … take the ship intact.”

“If I take them alive?” Her daughter … finding in that sufficient explanation at last. “So she does matter to you?”

Flame Siva started; her eyes were cinders, her voice lost its strength. “Yes … of course she matters …” And suddenly defiant, “They all matter! They're tryin' to save us!” She stopped, biting her lip.

Raul shifted lightly. “If they don't resist us, we'll release your daughter and the other one here; if that's what you want.” That'll be punishment enough . “For the rest—there's a Demarchy traitor on board, who gave 'em the information to hit our distillery. I don't think he's left himself much of an option.” But I still want an explanation . “And the outsider crew, what's left of it—they'll cooperate with our navy, one way or another, I expect.”

“You'll never let them go.” Not a question.

“I don't think either the crew or our navy will ever be in a position to negotiate about that.”

She nodded, or shook her head, a peculiar sideward motion. “We do what we can, here … and take what we can get. We're responsible for our own actions.” Again the defiance, the spite, the fire … she faced the ghosts incarnate of the Lansing assembly. “We take the consequences.”

“Sandoval.” Raul signaled him forward. “Take her back, let her work on the radio. And whatever happens, don't let her broadcast anythin', repeat, any thin', until you get the word from me.”

“Yes, sir.” Sandoval saluted smoothly and led her away, her head high, flanked by guards.

Raul delegated two more men to guard the airlock, keeping one with him. The prime minister and the assembly members waited, aware once more—as he was aware—of their lack of consequence, their loss of control.

The prime minister turned to Wind Kitavu, his robes opening like a blossom. “You. What are you doin' down here like this?”

“You know what I was doin'.” Wind Kitavu jerked into an arc away from the wall. “The baby. You all know, don't act like you didn't!”

The prime minister drew back, an undignified motion. “Then don't expect anythin' from us! You knew what would happen. Accept your own mistakes … get back to work.” He stretched his arm.

Raul saw dirt still crusting it from wrist to elbow as his sleeve moved. He heard one of his crewmen laugh out loud again, seeing it; did nothing this time to check it. He turned away. “Wind Kitavu.”

Wind Kitavu halted his sullen drift toward the door.

“Are you goin' out onto the surface?”

A nod, faceless. “Got to tell my—wife. Tell her about the baby.”

“Then we'll follow you up. I want to see those damned gardens.”

“Damned gardens …” It echoed, someone else's voice; Wind Kitavu moved toward the exit. Raul did not turn to acknowledge the Prime Minister of all Heaven Belt.

Raul followed his unresponsive guide through more tunnels, this time feeling the upward slant. Brightness grew from a point of light ahead of him, widening as he rose to meet it—an intensity of light that could only be the sun's. But this time he approached day in the way that had been natural for the human species through the countless years of its existence, a way that for him was entirely novel and unexpected: he crossed into the daylight freely, easily, unhindered by any barrier.

And stopped, absorbing, absorbed by the blinding greenness that enfolded him as he emerged from the hillside. He had a sudden, vivid memory of the hydroponics greenhouses of the Harmony, the heat and humidity that made them a sweltering hell to the average citizen. His crewman retreated into the tunnel's entrance behind him; he ordered him back sharply. Periodic hydroponics service was required of all citizens, a shared trial. He had done hydroponics service in his youth; but as a Hand of Harmony, it was no longer required of him. Maybe rank does have its privileges .

But the handful of ragged workers clustering now didn't look any more uncomfortable than the ones in the tunnels behind him. Insulated by his suit, he would never experience the reality of the gardens, of how life had been on Old Earth. Two futures waited here with him, in the balance of life and death—and either way, he would never have this opportunity again.…

He looked back at the shifting knot of sullen, dirty faces, at the genetic deformities that marked them like a brand. Above them all, latticed and embroidered by the fragile looming trees, the roof of the sky was a transparent membrane, disfigured too by blotches of clumsy patchwork. Once there must have been something more, a shield of force to protect them from solar radiation … a protection that had long since been lost. In the Grand Harmony permanent hydroponics duty was given as a punishment. Here it was a punishment too, in a different way; for the crime of having been a victim.… He left his helmet on, the idea of contamination back in his mind again: not the contamination of disease but a more pernicious contamination of the spirit. It was not a place he wanted to get the feel of, after all.

“What is it now?” One of them clutched at Wind Kitavu's sleeve, pulling his torn shirt halfway off his shoulder. “Are they wearin' suits to come out an' preach at us now?”

Wind Kitavu worked free, jerking his shirt back up his arm. “No …” His voice dropped, his hand gestured at them as he explained. Raul lost the words as an atmosphere in gentle motion hissed sibilance. He watched the lithe motion of the reaching trees, watched an expression that was growing too familiar spread from face to face in the group of workers, the desolation so complete that it could not even re-form into anger.

Wind Kitavu asked something in return, and the man who had stopped him pointed vaguely away. Without asking permission, without turning even to look back, Wind Kitavu left them, disappearing between the shrubs, loosening a slow shower of pastel blossom petals where he passed. The baby . Raul made no move to stop him, remembering what it was he went to do and having no desire to be a witness to it. The other workers began to drift back and away, still watching him warily as their bare feet pushed off from the springy mat of trampled vegetation.