Ecolitan Prime (Ecolitan Matter) (45 page)

“I’m quite afraid I don’t understand,” protested Walkerson.

“You don’t have to,” declared Sylvia. “We’re just going to keep you company for a time, Port Chief, at least until the next shuttle to orbit control arrives later this morning.”

“You’re leaving so soon?”

“Let’s just say that we’ve completed as much of the study research as we can while here on Artos,” replied Nathaniel. “The next phase will take place on New Avalon.”

“You’re going to Camelot?” asked Walkerson.

“That’s the idea,” said Sylvia sweetly.

“But why?”

“I think you know why.” Nathaniel smiled, ignoring the throbbing in his arm. “Why do you think we’re going?”

“I couldn’t say…after all, you are the Ecolitans.”

“In technical terms, then, you can tell everyone that too much of Artos’ infrastructure is tied up with that of New Avalon.” Nathaniel’s voice went cold. “While we can certainly point out areas where improvement is necessary, even vital, it makes no sense to recommend remedies that are mere technical exercises and cannot be implemented politically.” He smiled politely. “As you may recall, the Institute is known for its emphasis on
practical
solutions, and we are going to be working very hard for a practical solution. Not that there seems to be much interest on Artos in a practical solution, since everyone seems quietly bent on setting up to destroy the other fellow, in order to ensure that you all lose.”

“You’ve totally lost me, Whaler. You’ve gone absolutely batty.”

“Me? The infrastructure economist and diplomat selected for the high-profile fall? Dragging down Professor Ferro-Maine in the process?”

Walkerson turned to Sylvia.

Her gray eyes were like cold stone. “I don’t care much for men who declare they have a duty when they ignore what is really happening.”

“I do have work to do…” Walkerson looked helplessly at the office door.

“The most important business you have,” said Sylvia, “is to stay with us until the shuttle leaves. Otherwise…”

“Also, once we leave,” added Nathaniel, “you might want to check up on your help at the Guest House. They’ve gotten into rather nasty habits lately.”

Walkerson swallowed. His forehead dampened visibly.

“Now I know,” continued Nathaniel, “that our arrival placed everyone in a rather tense situation. After all, it would be most embarrassing to New Avalon to have a civil war—or was it going to be a war of independence—break out while we were here.”

“I am afraid I don’t understand, old chap.”

“You understand, Port Chief Walkerson,” said Sylvia. “That’s why we’re going to be very close together until the next shuttle lifts. Very close.” She smiled.

Walkerson swallowed.

N
ATHANIEL WALKED ON
Walkerson’s right, Sylvia on his left, as the three headed across the permacrete of the ramp to the waiting orbit shuttle.

“It has been an interesting time, Port Chief, especially for a place that you called quiet when we arrived.”

“So quiet that there have only been four attempts on our lives—just about one every other day.” This time Sylvia smiled. The smile was not pleasant.

“You had a little time to think.” Nathaniel studied the hangars to the south where the two remaining Port Authority flitters were hangared. “In view of everything that’s occurred, is there anyone you would suggest we contact while we are in Camelot?”

“I couldn’t tell you who would help with your study.”

“Walker!” snapped Whaler. “Can’t you get it through your thick Avalonian skull that your usefulness to just about everyone is limited?
If
New Avalon manages to hang onto Artos, you’ll be the scapegoat, along with us, probably, because we brought an unpleasant mess to everyone’s attention when they wished it would go away. If not, how many people are going to be happy with the lead representative of New Avalon’s Defence Ministry?”

“You really are serious, aren’t you, old chap?”

Nathaniel wanted to roll his eyes. Instead, he glanced at Sylvia.

“Some men are particularly dense.” She emphasized “men” just slightly.

Walkerson swallowed. “Not that I believe you—I think you’re overreacting terribly—but you might pay a call on Minister Spencer-Hawkes or his Deputy, that’s Alsion-Welles. Alsion-Welles might be better, really.”

“We will make the contact.” Whaler smiled. “Of course, there’s no guarantee they’ll want to take this seriously, either. But there are others that will.” I hope, he added mentally.

Nathaniel and Sylvia paused at the ramp to the orbit shuttle, where Nathaniel handed the two datablocs to the crewrep who waited.

“Well…professors, it has been…enlightening. I’d like to see a copy of your report when it’s finished. I would be quite interested to see your conclusions and recommendations.” Walkerson offered a nervous smile. “And the supporting documentation.”

“It has been enlightening.” Nathaniel nodded, taking the data-blocs back from the crewrep.

“And you’ll have a great deal of proof even before then, I think.” Sylvia offered a cold smile. “You’d better hope you don’t, but I’m not terribly optimistic, Port Chief.”

Both Ecolitans nodded, and then stepped up the ramp.

Walkerson looked dumbly after them, then shook his head, finally wiping his sweating forehead as he turned and walked back toward his office.

The ramp swung up, and the shuttle engines began to whine.

“I
JUST HOPE
this Frankan ship arrives on time.” Sylvia lurched slightly with the gravity fluctuation as she stepped through the open reinforced arches that joined two sections of Artos orbit control, past the concealed pressure doors, and into section two, distinguished from section one by a darker gray shade of the plastic spray that coated the bulkheads.

Even alerted by Sylvia’s lurch, Nathaniel still found himself staggering through the slight change in gravity. He shook his head—just another example of slow decay. Grav-field generators were comparatively large, expensive, and needed constant maintenance, power, and tuning—and the closer they operated to a planetary field, the more they needed of all three, one reason why they weren’t practical for atmospheric use.

“We slept better—” he began.

“Safer, not better.” Sylvia rubbed her neck. “I still feel like a pretzel.”

“I stand corrected.” His own shoulders were tight, but how much of that was from uneasy sleep and how much from constant surveillance of their surroundings was another question.

They passed a flat expanse of plastic on the outboard side of the corridor, thin enough that Nathaniel could make out the outlines of what had once apparently been a ship docking area. At the edge of the comparatively newer plastic were large globules of gray.

Did the panels beneath his feet flex more than they should? The Ecolitan wasn’t sure. Once he started doubting, he got skeptical of everything, and they had plenty to be skeptical of at the moment.

His eyes flicked ahead to the sign that read Lock 3. Lock three was empty, with seal-tite across the access doors to the lock itself. The handful of plastic benches were scarred and darkened with age.

They passed under a ventilator that puffed warm metallic air at them with intermittent wheezes.

“What are we looking for?” asked Sylvia.

“More indirect evidence, although I suspect we’ve already seen enough.”

“As someone once told me, by the time the evidence is solid, you’ll be too late to do anything.” She flashed a brief smile.

“I wonder who said that?”

“I wonder who.”

He paused as they passed two older, hard-faced women in Halstani singlesuits. Both were nearly as tall and muscular as Nathaniel.

After the women had passed, Sylvia turned and raised her eyebrows. “Hands of the Mother?”

“Probably former Hands. They train some as pilots. No one ship-jacks a Matriarch vessel.”

“I wonder why.” Sylvia laughed harshly, then frowned as they passed another blank expanse that might once have held a receiving lock. “The whole station’s pretty run-down.”

“Not exactly the picture of an up-and-coming colony planet about to become prosperous and independent.” Nathaniel’s tone was low and wry.

“No.”

“Ready to return to Clyde’s Cafe?”

“Since I’m hungry, and since we’ve got a few more hours to kill, and since there’s nowhere else to eat…why not?” Sylvia flashed a bright smile that showed too much tooth.

“It’s a bit safer here.”

“Except from maintenance failures.”

They both grinned.

N
ATHANIEL SLIPPED THE
pocket tools from his field pack and fastened them to his belt, then glanced around the three-by-four-meter cube that qualified as a standard cabin on the
Omnia Gallia
.

“I thought a Frankan ship was going to be safer.” Sylvia glanced at the tools.

“I thought so, too. But you said the head steward recognized us somehow, or showed some sign of recognition.”

“I said I
thought
he did.”

“That’s good enough for me. I’ll trust your instincts any day.” Nathaniel grinned at the dark-haired former dancer and agent.

“Don’t blame this—”

“I’m not blaming. I’d do it anyway, but your senses are solid confirmation.”

Sylvia smiled, briefly. “I can see why a lot of people don’t like Ecolitans. You don’t spend time presenting logic and facts.”

“That’s a good way to get killed. You have to be prepared a long time in advance.”

“You brought those tools, planning this?”

“Not exactly. The tools are there to carry out a number of contingency plans. I’ve also got a mental listing and their specs, in case I’d lost these.”

“I still don’t know…I have trouble with the Institute’s act-first philosophy.”

“Most of the Galaxy does. People would rather see a lot of people hurt and a lot of damage before taking drastic action. That way they can rise in righteous revenge and be justified.”

“If everyone has that much trouble with the Institute, why are you all still here?”

“Because our resources are dispersed, and because we do act faster than our opponents. If someone decides to gather a fleet, the entire universe knows, and they know that we know, and they also know that we wouldn’t hesitate to destroy their entire ecology.” Nathaniel laughed. “Of course, we haven’t done anything that drastic in four hundred years, but they all fear we could. So they don’t.”

“That just could be what caused this mess,” suggested Sylvia.

He nodded. “I’d wondered about that—covertly dragging the Empire and Accord into war to avoid facing the Institute and its sanctions. It’s clever, and unless we can do something, it just might succeed.”

A hiss of something came over the small speaker above the plastic cabin door. “We will be approaching the first jump point in approximately thirty units. Passengers have ten units to return to their cabins. Passengers have ten units to return to their cabins.”

Nathaniel smiled briefly and glanced at the narrow door. “We’ll wait about two or three units.”

“And…?”

“We’ll find the chief steward. Or he’ll find us, and somehow, I’ll bet he’s wearing a stunner. They’re not supposed to, but most do.”

After the scurrying in the corridor subsided, the two Ecolitans slipped out of the minuscule cabin.

“Which way?” asked Sylvia.

“Aft…there.”

“I know which way—”

“Sorry.”

The blue-clad steward hurried forward to meet them, his shoulders squaring as he neared.

Nathaniel waited.

“Ecolitan…I must insist that you both return to your cabin.” The steward’s hand dropped toward the stunner even before he finished speaking.

Nathaniel’s leg and foot were faster. As the big man doubled over, the Ecolitan’s knee caught his chin, but the steward’s hand still clutched the butt of the stunner, and his body turned sideways.

The steward slumped. Nathaniel looked up to see Sylvia massaging the side of her hand.

“Out of shape for this.”

“Thank you.” Nathaniel wrestled the stunner from the steward’s hand and reversed it.

Thrumm!

“That should hold him.” He extended the stunner to Sylvia. “Cover me. Stun anyone who looks this way, even if it’s the pilot or an officer.”

“I suppose you could pilot this, too.” Sylvia glanced up the empty corridor.

“Yes. So don’t worry if you put someone under. What we have to worry about is the mess down underneath.” He knelt on the rubberized mat, looking for the releases.

“You’re sure there’s a mess there? I don’t want to even think about what they’ll do to us if you’re wrong.”

“I’ll find someone to blame it on.”

“You just might.”

“Not really. You get a feel for these things, and when we both feel the same way…” He shook his head, then inched back up the corridor toward the ship’s stem, mumbling, “Hope this is a standard design.” He felt the mat, then jerked. The access plate to the ventilator was there. In quick motions with the hex wrench he unfastened the plate, then laid it aside. He felt the smooth sides of the ventilator tube, then nodded and sheathed the wrench, coming up with the cutter. Five quick motions, and he held a plastic oblong, grinning. “Keep guarding.”

Another set of motions, and he had a second oblong, and an opening into the drive section.

“What…” Despite her comment, Sylvia’s eyes remained on the passageway, stunner ready.

“I’m going into the drive section—this is modeled on an old corvette design.” Nathaniel slipped his legs through the hole he had cut and eased his way into the dim light below, careful to stay to his left. The last thing he needed to do was bruise one of the supercon lines…or get fried if someone else already had.

The lines were clear, gleaming dusty silver in the dim light of the drive section. First came the converters, with no obvious goodies attached or out of place. Then he turned to the lines from the firin cells—also unbruised silver.

Thrummm!

At the sound of the stunner, he called, “You all right?”

“I’m fine. Another steward. Just do what you have to.”

“That’s what…I’m doing.” The Ecolitan turned to the various field generators, hoping no one had tampered with the grav-systems. They seemed fine, with no gratuitous hardware, and his eyes flicked to the shields. What looked to be a cutout switch had been attached to the controller. He nodded to himself—easy and standard.

But dropping the shields alone meant nothing. He followed the spider thin line to the inner hull plates where it split. Each section disappeared into an off-color circle, presumably running to the outer hull plates as well.

What else?

The seal on the emergency signal generator had been replaced, badly.

Nathaniel eased around the generators to the backup, sealed drive controls, ripping the plastic off the intercom. He tapped the square red stud. “Captain, this is Ecolitan Whaler. I’m down here in your drive section, and I’ve found some rather interesting equipment here. My associate is guarding the corridor, but I’d suggest you trigger the exterior locks on the passenger compartments.”

The return squawk was almost unintelligible.

Whaler shook his head and repeated the message in Frankan.

“What? How are we supposed to believe you? We’ll be at the jump point in less than five standard units.”

“If you jumpshift, you’ll emerge with no atmosphere and no shields. Needless to say, I’ll stop you if you try it—at least until you send the engineer down. Oh, and I suspect you’ll find a deep space suit in the lead steward’s quarters. I just don’t know who else might be with him. Don’t worry about him, though. We already took care of that problem.”

“You…Ecolitans…you think you know everything, do you not?”

“Hardly, Captain. I thought a Frankan ship would be safe.” Nathaniel eased toward the silvered apparatus beside the supercon line to the converter. Beyond them, looking at an angle, he could still see where the two hull plates had been altered. “Are you going to pull the jump-generators off-line, or have me do it? I can read the backup indicators as well as any engineer.”

An exasperated sigh came over the intercom. The green lights on the small board went to amber. Nathaniel took a deep breath. He had at least ten units, because it would take that long for the repowering sequence.

“Sylvia! One engineer should be headed our way. Just one. Stand back and let him come down here. If he tries anything else, stun him, too.”

“Stet!”

While he waited, the Ecolitan cut away the seals and wires locking the drive backups. “You don’t trust anyone, do you?” he murmured to himself. “As if you should, these days.”

“Easy…” Sylvia’s voice drifted down to Nathaniel.

Nathaniel watched as a large pair of shipboots filled the narrow opening in the ventilator. The bearded young Frankan officer swallowed as he saw the dart gun.

“They don’t register on detectors. Pardon me if I’m a little suspicious these days. I’d like you to look at the device under the emergency signal plate. It doesn’t look like any signal generator I’ve seen. You might also check the plate just abaft frame forty.” Nathaniel eased back.

The Frankan opened the plate cover. He swallowed, and his eyes went to the plate. He swallowed again.

“Now, look at that handy-dandy cutout switch on the shield generators.”

The bearded man studied the cutout, laboriously tracing the micro-filament line to the hull plates. He stiffened, then looked at the Ecolitan. “Might I, sieur, might I call the captain?”

“Be my guest. That’s a good place to start.”

A ham-sized hand depressed the red stud. “Sieur…the Ecolitan…he is correct. There is a strange device—”

“Shaped charge,” Nathaniel murmured.

“A shaped charge…in the signal generator.”

“Put him on, Faquar.”

The engineer stepped back.

Nathaniel gestured with the dart gun. “Over there.”

The engineer eased away from the Ecolitan.

“Whaler here. You want to believe me, now?”

“It is my ship…might I change positions with my engineer?”

“I’ll send him right up. That way, he’ll be able to report without coercion.” Nathaniel nodded at the engineer. “Go on back to the control room.”

“Go?”

“Of course. I’m as interested as you are in getting to New Avalon in one piece. Maybe more interested.” He raised his voice. “Sylvia! One engineer coming up.”

“Stet.”

The engineer glanced from Nathaniel to the opening cut in the ventilator, then struggled up and out of sight.

The captain appeared, seemingly almost immediately, scanning the drives and generators before turning to the Ecolitan. “Claude Muerotte, Captain of the
Omnia Gallia
.”

“Nathaniel Whaler, Ecolitan Institute.”

Captain Muerotte glanced at the signal generator and then shook his head. “Why me?”

“Because I’m on your ship. Now…I can defuse that…if I can have the manual. The polarities differ depending on the installation, and I’d rather not guess.”

“If I might?” Muerotte gestured toward the intercom.

“Be my guest.” The Ecolitan lowered but did not put away the dart gun as he stepped back.

“Faquar? Send down the manuals. Number three, I believe, with the blue band, which deals with the signal system…”

“Captain…” began another, lighter voice. “There was space armor in LaTour’s room…what about energy loss…we’re past—”

“Bousie, just cut back on the drives to headway, and deliver the manuals.” Muerotte stepped back, glancing warily at Nathaniel.

“As I told your engineer, I have a great interest in arriving at the New Avalon orbit control station in one piece. There are those who don’t share that interest, including those who bought off your steward. Of course, they didn’t intend for him to live either.” Nathaniel inclined his head toward the signal generator.

“Captain,” a voice called through the hole in the deck, “could we open the main hatch?”

Nathaniel shrugged sheepishly.

A faint smile cracked the captain’s lips.

Light flooded over the standby drive controls, and the engineer stood above the ladder. Nathaniel caught a glimpse of Sylvia, standing well back, stunner trained on the bearded engineer.

“You get the manuals,” said Nathaniel, “and find the schematic for the generator.” He added. “And could you have the engineer tie up the two stewards?”

Muerotte stiffened, then shrugged. Nathaniel could sympathize. Captains didn’t like being ordered around on their own ships. But they liked the idea of losing the ship even less.

“Faquar…tie them up.”

“First the signal generator…” murmured Nathaniel after tracing the schematic and turning to the colored circuit lines. “Like so.”

He took a deep breath. “One down.”

Muerotte moved aside as the Ecolitan went back to the shield generators and the cutout switch.

“Hmmmm…could be simple…and it might not…still…” Nathaniel removed the cover with the tiny long-bladed hexdriver. “Double bypass. So…there.” He took a second breath, then moved back to the backup drive controls, and flicked the overrides back to the cockpit, then rewired the shutouts.

“Let’s head upstairs.”

Muerotte cleared his throat. “I appreciate this…assistance…but…”

“You’re not in the clear yet, Captain. We need to reroute your jumps.” Nathaniel gestured to the ladder.

“There’s no way, not without going into Conglomerate space.”

Nathaniel took a deep breath. “What if we increase the power to the jump generators? Cut out the grav-draw?”

“Do you know what the passengers will do once we dock?”

“Do you know what the Fuards or the Hegemony will do if you come out anywhere close to your normal jump points?” countered the Ecolitan.

“But we have a transspace agreement with…”

“Whoever it is will blame the other—or Accord or the Empire.” Nathaniel’s eyes turned cold. “I really must insist, Captain. You can file protests with anyone you want, but I’d like to have us all get there so that you can.” He paused. “You head up. I’m going to enable the cross-connects. Tell the second that’s what I’m doing. Otherwise those amber lights on the board will upset her.”

Muerotte pressed the intercom stud. “Bousie, the interlock safeties are coming on. It’s not a failure. Just stand by.”

“Yes, Captain.” The resignation carried above the slight crackle of the intercom speaker.

Muerotte picked up the thin manual, then looked at the Ecolitan. “Why did they select the
Gallia?
” He started up the ladder.

When Nathaniel stood in the low-grav of the corridor, he answered. “Because we selected your ship, and that means someone wants two Ecolitans to disappear along with an entire Frankan craft.” He paused. “Since we’re all going to be in the cockpit, Captain, I’d suggest these hatches be closed.” He extended the hex wrench from his belt to Faquar. “This will handle the nuts for the access plate.”