Power Play Page 8

  8

  The repair bay light was still on by the time Diego and Bunny reached the corridor. The light meant that the outer hatch was still opened and no unprotected personnel could enter. A skeleton crew, suited up with oxygen and gray boots, would shepherd new arrivals on board and tend to any emergency needs. Diego had observed such procedures on many stations before.

  The light would go off when the outer bay door closed and the oxygen levels returned to normal. Then it was usually okay to go in and look around, if you kept out of the way. Right now the light was staying on for what seemed an unusually long time to Diego. He hoped there wasn’t a radiation leak or some other problem that would prevent them from having a look-see. He also didn’t want Charmion and Bailey appearing, bored as usual with what was commonplace to them, and taking Bunny off before she had a chance to see what really did interest her. He knew she’d enjoy observing actual repairs to a spacegoing vessel, but she sure wouldn’t if Charmion was there to act as if it were all so boring and so grubby, while Bailey made another try at sweet-talking Bunny.

  Just when he found he was getting bored by the interminable wait, the light went off. He tugged Bunny’s hand. “Come on. Act like you belong here.”

  At that point the inside hatch irised open and six figures, still suited and helmeted, which was a little weird, emerged and headed down the corridor in the opposite direction from Bunny and Diego. As they disappeared, Diego said, “That’s funny.”

  “What?”

  “First thing folks usually do is crack open their helmets! Hmmm.”

  “Maybe they’re coming right back,” Bunny said. “I don’t usually wear my parka and snowpants in the house either, but if I just have to go inside for a moment, it’s easier not to take off all those clothes first.”

  Diego shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe.”

  But he peered through the viewport first. The derelict was alone in the repair bay, the outer hatch closed. The hole in her side was big enough to drive a good-sized shuttle through. He checked the dials on the lock.

  “Well, there’s oxygen inside, so maybe they just did go to get something, Bunny,” he told her. “And no one’s inside. So we can at least take a close look at that damage.”

  “Won’t we need some kind of code to get through here? Or will the bracelet give us access?” Bunny asked.

  That was a good question. He hadn’t counted on the bay being empty. He’d planned to ask the repair crew, but they’d gone off. Generally crews didn’t mind letting you look, if you asked first and kept out of the way.

  But at the door, he was surprised to find that the iris still bore a pupil of space in its center where it hadn’t completely closed. By sticking his hand and arm through the opening, he got it to enlarge enough to let a body squeeze through.

  Bunny reached around him to one of the folds and touched something shiny. “This is caught.”

  “Can you use it to pry the door open a little more?” Diego asked.

  “I think so,” she said. Sure enough, when she had wiggled the bit around, the hatch creaked fully open. When they had both stepped through, Bunny pulled the object free and the hatch closed behind them, silently this time. There was a faint smell of singed protein in the air the same smell Diego had noticed when the dentist drilled his teeth.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that,” she said with a backward glance. “We might need it to get out.”

  “Nah, the crew will be back pretty soon. Come on, let’s see what holed the ship.”

  Their shoes clanked hollowly on the metal grid floor as they walked toward the lone ship squatting like a toad in the cavernous bay. “It’s a queer shape, isn’t it?” Bunny asked, whispering. “It doesn’t look much like the other ones.”

  “Probably wasn’t manufactured by an Intergal company,” Diego said, dropping his own voice to the same level. Though why they were whispering he didn’t know: their footsteps were loud enough to wake the next watch. “Maybe that’s why people went to such trouble to drone it in: figure out its design capabilities or something. It’s a derelict, for sure.”

  Bunny was slightly ahead of him, and she peered around the corner of the hole. “Uh-oh. Diego?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Look.”

  He looked over her, his chin resting on the top of her glossy black crown. The interior of the hull was not empty.

  The hole sure had been big enough to fly a shuttle through, and that’s just what somebody had done. A good-size shuttle—a twenty-seater at least, from what he could see—crouched inside the hull, wearing it like a disguise. Beside the shuttle lay the bodies of seven people clad only in their underwear.

  Bunny turned over a woman who had been lying on her stomach. A burn hole had been drilled through the center of her forehead. A gingerly examination of the other bodies showed similar burn holes.

  “Frag!” Diego breathed. He peered anxiously at the shuttle, but nobody stirred.

  “Diego?” Bunny asked. “Why were these people killed?” Her voice had a plaintive note to it, and he thought that whatever the dangers provided by Petaybee’s weather and conditions, mass murders didn’t happen on Petaybee—at least not yet. She looked pale under the brilliant white lights of the bay. Shock, he thought, a little numb himself.

  Then he thought: Think. “I’m not sure, gatita, but I’m willing to bet the guys we saw in the space suits weren’t crew. These guys were. And Gal Three just got boarded by unfriendlies. And if the legit repair crew were wearing security bracelets, then those . . . murderers are wearing them now. I think that we’d better tell Marmion, so she can alert that commander dude.”

  “You’re right, Diego. That’s what we’d real fast better do.”

  “There should be an alarm right here someplace . . .” he said, crossing to the far wall. But where the alarm activation mechanism had been was a large hole. He turned to look for the comm unit, but the screen was blank, the buttons dark.

  “We’ll have to locate a working unit,” he told Bunny. “Wait. Maybe—shouldn’t we do something to the shuttle, maybe? Disable it? So they can’t get away with this?” She sounded angry now, which put more color in her face.

  “Buns, gatita!” Diego said, throwing up his arms in a dramatic gesture. “They’re on a shipping deck. There’s plenty of other vehicles here they could use. We’ve just got to keep them from breaching the security of other levels. Or whatever they’re on this station to do. You coming?”

  “Sure,” she said, but the hatch refused to reopen.

  “The last time I saw them, they were watching the collies bring in a derelict,” Millard told Marmion.

  “Yes,” Sally said, “that’s right. But they were told they’d have to wait for Charmion and Bailey.”

  “Right,” Yana said drolly. “And kids always do as they’re told, don’t they? Look, never mind. They’re my responsibility. Just tell me how to get to the repair bay.”

  “I’ll show you, Yana,” Marmion said. “I’m sure they’re fine. Sally, go put in a page for them, will you, dear? And Millard, if you would let Faber and the others know to meet us in my salon in three-quarters of an hour, that would expedite matters considerably.”

  Millard looked dubious and started to say something, but just then Macci strode up to them, looking less languid than Yana had ever seen him before. He visibly relaxed when he saw her, as if he’d been searching for her and her alone.

  “Macci, dear, I don’t suppose you’ve seen the youngsters, Diego and Bunny, around anywhere, have you?” Marmie asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I have, entering Bay Sixteen.”

  “Which one would that be?” Marmie asked.

  “It would be my pleasure to escort you there.”

  Millard still looked anxious, but Marmion waved him away. “How considerate of you, Macci, but then you always are, and you’re the perfect escort. Millard, you can then go ahead and get the meeting arranged for me, will you? Thanks.”

  Yana was treated to a view
of Macci’s splendid back and the smiles of encouragement he tossed over his shoulder as he led them down the corridors. They passed a number of people in the first few levels of their descent. On reaching the docking area, Macci led them on a twisting, turning route until they found themselves in a long silvery tunnel, the kind of passage that always reminded Yana of being in the guts of a large worm. At the far end of the tunnel, several figures approached clad in white helmeted suits of the type one wore for making ship’s repairs or effecting an exterior ship-to-station link.

  “Now, there hasn’t been a leak anywhere, has there?” Marmion asked, surprised.

  “Oh, we’d’ve been denied access to this area if there was, but I’ll just check it out, ladies,” Macci said, and sprinted athletically toward the men. Marmie and Yana increased their strides so they were not far behind him.

  Yana and Marmion could hear him speaking, though not what he said. Then, suddenly, he crumpled to the floor. The men stepped over him, blocking him from the women’s view. The leading figure was holding a weapon pointed at Marmie and Yana. Instantly Yana flung herself into Marmie, knocking her to the floor. She heard no projectile zinging toward them, no snake’s-strike hiss of laser, only a sort of slow whine. She looked up, her nose filling with a sweet perfumy fragrance. A pink cloud blossomed between her and the men, obscuring them and enveloping her and Marmie.

  “Shit,” she said, remembering to hold her breath and wondering what she could do to stop being gassed again. That’s when she remembered the alarm Marmion had given her. She got her fingers to the buttons and pressed what she hoped would be the right ones before she lost consciousness. Her last thought was: Not some kind of fraggin’ gas again.

  Kilcoole

  Sinead didn’t worry about making her “guests” comfortable.

  “They can bed down with the dogs,” she told Aisling. “Maybe if they have close acquaintance with some animals, they’ll acquire a little more respect for them.”

  “Now, alannah . . .” Aisling’s soft reproof carried out of the blanket chest from which she was busily flinging bright woolly throws onto the bed. “They’re offworlders, and freeze-up has begun. Even if they were poachin’, sure it won’t look good if they freeze to death their first night here. What are you cookin’?” Aisling was always suspicious when Sinead cooked. Aisling Senungatuk was a very good cook, but Sinead’s repertoire was limited to spitted small game over a campfire. And that she was likely to get half-done if she was too hungry, or incinerate if she became preoccupied. “Fox,” she said.

  “Fox?”

  “They killed it, they’re gonna eat it.”

  “But nobody eats fox,” Aisling said.

  “Not as a rule. But they don’t need to know that.”

  “At least let me add a few spices.”

  “Not a one,” Sinead said with an evil grin.

  “Well, take them out a few of these blankets. They’ll need ’em.”

  “What? With all those warm pooches around? Nah, I don’t think so.”

  “Sinead . . .” Aisling let her voice take on the tone her partner would recognize as signaling impending doom.

  “Oh, all right. But you worked so hard making those pretty blankets and they’re gonna end up smelling like dog.”

  “Then you can help me wash them later. Call those men in to eat now.”

  “No, we’ll eat out front.”

  “Sinead.”

  “There’s not enough room in here, Aisling. Come on out and join us. You can give the fox-killer advice on how to sew up the pelt so it won’t show the holes he made skinnin’ it.”

  The next morning, before first light, Liam Maloney and Seamus arrived to a howled greeting from the dog team. The clamor from the dogs woke their guests, who rose painfully, stretching stiff joints and complaining of the cold. Dr. Ersol was scratching.

  “If I turn out to be allergic to fleas, madame, I’ll have you before the company court,” he told Sinead.

  “There aren’t any fleas on Petaybee,” Aisling told him. “Too cold. But if there were, you could’ve as easily got them from the fox, so don’t go blaming the dogs. Sinead takes better care of them than she does herself sometimes.”

  “We won’t be after botherin’ the dogs this mornin’, though, sure we won’t,” Sinead said in the broad brogue she put on with outworlders who annoyed her. “No snow for them, y’see. No, Mr. Maloney here and Mr. Rourke and me will be takin’ the curlies. I’m afraid you fine gentlemen will need to walk.” She eyed the three men Liam and Seamus had brought with them. She was not impressed, despite all the fine equipment and special clothing they were sporting.

  Seamus looked at her as if she were daft. To the men he said, more jovially than anyone had addressed them since they’d arrived on Petaybee, “Ah, that girl missed her callin’, sure she did. She shoulda been a general in the company corps, she’s that hard.”

  “Them as abuses animals can do without their services, I say,” Sinead defended herself.

  But Liam said, “True enough, but they’ll only be slowin’ us down if they walk, cheechakos that they are. They can use Mother’s Sidhe and Da’s Oosik.”

  “Come to that,” Aisling said, “one of ’em could use Darby. She’s gentle.”

  “Fine then,” Sinead said. “You three newcomers can take the curlies first shift. The poachers here can walk for a spell.”

  After rounding up the horses in question, the eight of them rode—and walked—away into the sunrise. Two hours later Sinead was forced to relent. The two poachers had suffered hard treatment at her hands the day before. Neither of the outworlders had been able to sleep well among the dogs, at first because the men feared the dogs, and later because as soon as the dogs stopped licking their visitors’ faces or sniffing their behinds, they managed to steal the blankets. When the poachers began to stumble and fall more often than they walked, Sinead had two of the newcomers dismount and allowed the walkers to ride.

  A short time later, they came to the first culling place she was willing to show them. She had disarmed Ersol and de Peugh of their high-tech weapons the previous day, and though she, Liam, and Seamus all carried daggers, short thrusting spears, and bows and arrows, the other three—Mooney, Clotworthy, and Minkus—had not been allowed even those.

  “Frag, there must be ten or fifteen rabbits in there,” Ersol said, seeing the hole where the rabbits sat or lay, waiting for them.

  “Probably. There have been about that many since spring,” she answered.

  “So, you gonna stab ’em, or shoot ’em with your bow?” one of the others asked.

  “Neither,” she said. Gently she lifted one rabbit by the scruff of its neck and, avoiding the mouth, twisted its head, saying, “Thank you, little brother, for giving your life that we can live, for your flesh to feed us and your fur to keep us warm. We honor you.”

  “Excuse me?” Nigel Clotworthy, systems analyst, looked at his companions in a puzzled fashion.

  “She was talking to the rabbit, not you, buddy,” de Peugh answered.

  “We gotta talk to rabbits?”

  “Yeah. Hey, Sinead, baby, what if Harvey there says he doesn’t want to get his neck wrung and he’s not so crazy about being your earmuffs either. Do you let him go, say ‘Sorry, my mistake’?”

  “They’re here,” she said, pausing to wring another neck with an emphatic crack and murmur the same prayerful thanks before she continued her explanation to the hunters, “because they want to be killed. Rabbits tend to overproduce. These will be the sick ones, the old ones, the extra bucks or does who couldn’t find a place. Rabbits are very sensitive, actually, and they get depressed if they’re not wanted. They know we have a use for them, so they come here. It’s like that with all the animals in the culling places only more so with rabbits.”

  “What about foxes?” Ersol asked, meeting her black look steadily.

  “Foxes,” she said, “don’t get depressed. But sometimes they do get sick, or too old. Or there’s not enough
food and they decide to become culls.”

  “Sounds unnatural to me. I mean, it’s survival of the fittest and all that, but everybody wants to live, as a rule.”

  “Yes,” she said. “As a rule. So it’s sure a shame to kill something that doesn’t want to die, isn’t it?” Her glacial blue gaze caught and froze his.

  “It’s not very sporting though, is it?” observed Minkus, one of the other hunters.

  “Killing is serious business,” Sinead said, with a shrug. She handed him the rabbit she had just picked up. “Here, you try this. Make sure the break is clean, and say part of the thanks before you finish him so he knows you’re doing it.”

  “Lady, I never try to hurt anything any more than it takes to do the job, but you people have gone over the top. This anthropomorphism shit is crazy. The whole universe is going to have a big belly laugh at your expense. First you try to tell us the planet is sentient, and then you want me to believe you’re intimate with the psychology of bunny rabbits and foxes.” Minkus snapped the rabbit’s neck in anger.

  First Sinead said thanks to the rabbit. Then she had words for the hunter. “You don’t think we just made all this up, do you? We learned a long time ago that the animals are willing to come to these places to die as long as we are courteous and grateful for their sacrifice. But if we forget our manners, there’ll be no rabbit, no moose, no caribou, bear, or fowl, and we’d better hope the vegetable crop was good in the summer because the long and the short of it is, there’ll be no meat at all. It’s the same with the sea creatures.”

  “Come on, you people have only been here a couple hundred years,” de Peugh said.

  “Yessir, that’s right, we have,” Seamus put in. “By the time we came, our ancestors back on Earth on the Inuit side had taken to outside ways and didn’t listen to the animals no more. And you know what? Them animals got extinct—at least as far as men knew, for they never came near ’em no more. Except for the polar bears, that is.” Seamus grinned. “They just turned the huntin’ round the other way. You boys manage to snag a polar bear, I want to warn you for your own good, be real polite to the one you take or his kinfolk will take exception.”