Quiet Invasion (37 page)

He rubbed his palms together, feeling skin against skin, feeling how they were slightly damp. Then his thoughts froze the motion.

“How’d he filter out the communications so fast?” Phil straightened up.

You just said he was good.
His imagination supplied Angela’s words.

“Nobody’s that good. He couldn’t just shut down everything; it’d look funny. Someone on Mother Earth would notice.” He touched Angie’s hand. It was warm and dry under the tubes. “A good broad-spectrum communication filter is not something you pluck out of the stream. He must have had them in place.” He turned toward her, eyes shining, despite the fact that nothing had changed with her. “I think Michael Lum’s been less than straight with us about how wired this base is. That means there might be info we could strain out.”

Might be. Maybe. If he was right. But that also meant the not so still waters of Venera ran deeper than he’d believed.

If Michael Lum hadn’t told them how much info he had access to, who else hadn’t he told?

On the other hand, Michael was the one Who’d come to him about the possible fraud involving the Discovery, which made him less likely to be involved in perpetrating that fraud.

“What a mess,” Phil muttered through his teeth. He turned his eyes to Angela’s blanket and its steady rise and fall. “We’re going to have to do some scenario planning here. It’s pretty clear the original Discovery was a fake. They’ve got the guys who actually built it. But I think Michael’s right. There were other people involved in planning the scam. We need to find them.” He leaned back again, a restless, meaningless movement. “And hope for the moment he’s not one of them, although I don’t know….Fake base and real aliens.” Phil shook his head. “I am not buying the coincidence here. Someone is building up to something, and I can’t see what yet.” He frowned, both at his thoughts and at the realization that it was so much easier to think of aliens if they were part of a conspiracy or a cover-up of some kind. That felt strange and a little sad.

Angela stirred, a meaningless, restless movement of her own. “Wake up soon, Angie,” he said softly. “I need you on the beach with me when the wave hits.”

The idiots,
thought Su as she surveyed the broken chunks of metal and ceramic tumbling gently through the void.
They couldn’t wait. They couldn’t hold back.

She floated upright in the shuttle’s observation compartment, one hand hanging on to a wall handle to keep herself still and oriented. The port window currently showed the small debris field. Here and there she could see the bright-yellow suits of the Trans-Lunar Patrol workers, gathering the debris, strapping it into bundles to be hauled into the shuttles and out of the shipping lanes. Small drones spread out in sweep patterns, vacuuming up the dust and marble-sized debris that could pinhole anything that flew through it.

Twelve hours ago, all that debris had been a shipyard engaged in labor negotiations with a union that had outspoken separatist sentiments. The yard was a space station, and the properly of a wholly owned Terran corporation, which got it around the “no ship building” rules that applied to the colonies.

It also meant that the colonists cared a lot less about keeping the place in good shape.

The bombs had scattered the yards and the ships across kilometers of heavily traveled space. The Trans-Lunars and the insurance people were still calculating the damage. At least five ships had been hit by debris. The majority of traffic between Earth and Luna was grounded until they could get the wreckage cleared up. It would take days and cost millions.

They just couldn’t wait.

“The Union has made a strong statement condemning the bombing,” said Glenn Kucera, the U.N.’s Lunar representative, and the person Su kept thinking of as her “host” for this little trip. “They’re saying it’s radical elements within the organization and that the union is committed to peaceful reform.”

“Yes, I heard that,” said Su. She couldn’t look away. The world outside was all sharp edges against the blackness. Everything was too clean, too clear. It all fell, fell endlessly, silver, white, and black. “How many people died in there?”

“Fourteen,” said Kucera. “It went off between shifts.”

“And is anyone is custody?” Her mouth moved and questions came out, but Su felt as though someone else were asking them. She was just watching the tumbling debris and cursing the ones who couldn’t wait just a few days, maybe a few weeks longer.

“Not yet. We’re still following some leads, and of course Mr. Hourani is here to help.” Kucera licked his lips. “Su, we’ve got to diffuse this. Waicek—”

Su nodded. Edmund was down in U.N. City now, having himself a little field day, pointing out what unrest, what independent thought in the colonies led to.

“And he’s got backup.” Su ground her teeth against the curses that wanted to spill out of her. They’d worked so hard to keep things calm, to keep everything going through the transition period. She’d done absolutely everything she could do. Why did it feel like she had never worked hard enough?

Why couldn’t you just wait?

Well, while she was up here, she would take some of the wind out of Edmund Waicek’s sails. That was all ready to set in motion. She just needed to get through this first.

It took all of Su’s strength to turn away from the window and face her host. Even then, out of the corner of her eye, she could still see bits of black and silver tumbling in the darkness.

“I’ll meet with the Union reps,” she said. “Find somebody to arrest, Glenn. Get this under wraps quickly.” Actually, with Sadiq Hourani himself looking into the situation, Su did not give the perpetrators of this violent idiocy long odds.

“I want it under wraps too, believe me.” Although Glenn had been born on Earth, he looked like the classic Lunar—tall, spindly, hair cropped short under his cap. He’d gone pretty native up here, but he hid it so he could keep his post. It was a balancing act that Su understood well and did not envy.

Su touched his arm. “We’ll pull it out, Glenn. We always have.”

He smiled crookedly. “One damn crisis after another, isn’t it?” He gazed out the window. “I just wish they weren’t coming closer together.”

“So do I, Glenn.”

They shared a tired, tight smile with each other. Glenn let go of his strap and pushed easily off the wall with just enough force to take him to the threshold of the passenger bay. “So, can I drop you somewhere?”

“Back to Selene, thank you,” said Su, primly. “I’ve got an appointment.”

“Will do.” Glenn paused. “Thanks for coming up for this one, Su. I know you’ve got enough going on with Venera.”

“I’m not abandoning anybody, Glenn. We’re all in this together.” Almost involuntarily her gaze shifted back to the spinning debris.
At least, we should be.

The landing back in the Selene port was perfectly routine. Su emerged with her retinue and Glenn and then sent them all about their business. She really did have an appointment, but this was not a meeting that needed an audience.

Assisted by the weighted undersuit she wore, Su walked to Selene’s public caverns. Su visited Lima frequently, but she’d never gotten the hang of light gravity, so she dressed like a tourist to keep from hurting herself or from damaging property by inadvertently flinging things across the room.

She found the cafe where the meeting was to take place in the vine-hung public cavern that served as a small park. She took a seat at one of its gilt-wire tables but did not order anything. Outwardly she was calm, but inside, her stomach churned from the memory of the devastation. Her mind kept running through all the areas where damage control would be needed, and the list was expanding alarmingly.

It was ten minutes later when Frezia Cheney finally emerged from the northeast tunnel. Living on the Moon gave one grace, Su decided, as she watched the feeder walk toward her. Especially in those who were born here, there was an unhurried elegance in their small movements. Maybe it was because things around them fell so slowly that there was no imperative to rush when you reached for something. You could grab hold of whatever you wanted and not even gravity would snatch it away from you.

Su stood up politely as the feeder reached her table. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me, Ms. Cheney.”

“I should be thanking you, Ms. Yan.” She beamed the smile of those comfortable with cameras and publicity. “Normally there’s a three-month waiting list to get to speak to anyone in the U.N.”

“Yes,” agreed Su as they both sat down. “We are kept on short leashes.”

“They’ve let yours out far enough to reach Luna.”

Su smiled deprecatingly. “Ah, that took a little doing. I was officially here doing some labor negotiations…” She broke off. “But then, you would know that already.”

“I would.” Ms. Cheney nodded once. “In fact, I’ve written about it.”

“Of course.” Su frequently scanned the stream for her own name. It was partly vanity, but mostly it was to keep an eye on how she was perceived. The bad opinion of her colleagues was one thing, but public opinion turned against her could be the end of her.

Su set that thought aside. “And how was my son when you spoke to him?”

Ms. Cheney’s smile was both curious and sly. “He told you about me?”

“Was it supposed to be confidential?” returned Su.

“Oh, no.” She waved her hand, dismissing any such suggestion. “But I wasn’t aware that you two spoke much.”

Now it was Su’s turn to smile slyly. “We keep that quiet. It’s not good for either of our reputations.”

“I suppose not. To answer your question, I’m happy to tell you he was quite well.” She paused and her eyes slid up and sideways. Su had the distinct feeling some implant had just been activated. Probably a recorder. “Now, may I ask what you wanted to see me about?” asked Ms. Cheney.

Su folded her hands on the table and smoothed her thoughts out. Time to get to work. “Actually, I also came to Luna about a stream piece.”

The feeder tipped her head in polite curiosity. “One I’ve written, or one you’d like me to write?”

I see, Ms. Cheney, that you’ve had experience with politicians.
“One I’d like you to write. If you’re willing to accommodate me, I am in a position to offer you access to the blast site and some of the U.N. personnel involved in the investigation.”
And aren’t I going to have the time convincing Sadiq to go along with it.

Ms. Cheney’s eyes gleamed for a moment, but experience and suspicion doused the light. “A great deal would depend on what you want me to write.”

“Naturally.” Su inclined her head. “You know Edmund Waicek?”

Ms. Cheney’s eyes slid sideways again. Su was certain the feeder was looking Edmund up, fetching the pertinent details from some internally stored database to be displayed on a contact lens or spoken softly into her ear. “Not personally, but I know his political opinions better than I’d care to.”

“You know that his parents died in the Bradbury Rebellion?” Su asked, positive Ms. Cheney had the information available.

One more slide of Ms. Cheney’s eyes.
Look that up. Don’t make any statement of fact unless you’re sure.
“That’s been gone over several times. He’s made speeches about it.”

I have lost more than can ever be recovered, and I am only one of many.
Su remembered the speech very well. He’d done it with tears in his eyes. They might even have been real.

“But did you know that they were Fullerists?” asked Su.

“What?” Ms. Cheney jerked out of her internal communion with her data implants. It was just as well. She would not find this little fact in the shallows of the stream. Edmund had made sure of that.

Su nodded slowly. “The senior Waiceks were friends and supporters of Ted Fuller. They sent their son into politics to be a friendly voice for the colonies. Then the rebellion happened, and one of Fuller’s…less reliable associates feared they’d expose his embezzlements and bundled them off on an unreliable ship with one of the last loads of U.N. sympathizers.”

Neither of them spoke for a long time. They sat there with their own thoughts, letting the world flow around them. Su couldn’t guess at Ms. Cheney’s imaginings. Her own were lost in the thought of the little tin-can ships that were Fuller’s real crime. All those ships, pulled from the repair yards when there weren’t enough sound vessels in port to exile the dissenters, or suspected dissenters. Ships with poor reactor shielding, ships with spent fuel tanks, ships with hulls already weak or pinholed, just waiting to be cut to ribbons by the random stones that flew between Earth and Mars.

No matter what his apologists said about evil counselors, it was those ships—those dead human beings—not his wish for freedom, that doomed Ted Fuller’s cause and all that might have come of it.

“I’m not sure that’s exactly the sort of story I’d be willing to publish,” said Ms. Cheney after a while.

“I see.” Of course. The woman was a separatist. She would not be willing to cast any additional aspersions on the great Theodore Fuller. “Can I ask you to consider the implications that Edmund Waicek covered up his parents’ political leanings? It is one of the great media truths that it’s not the crime, it’s the cover-up, that makes news.”

Ms. Cheney pursed her mouth and nodded. “True. True. There may be something there.” Su could practically read her thoughts. For the mainstream, political cover-up. For the separatists, the loudest voice against colonial rights is the son of Fullerists. Yes, there was certainly something there.

“Why are you telling me this, Mrs. Yan?”

Su was ready for that one. “I deplore hypocrisy.”

“Surely that’s not the whole reason.”

“Surely it is.”

Ms. Cheney leaned back and nodded, an indication that she was prepared to be content with that for the moment. “I believe I can put together something that will return Edmund Waicek’s background to public conversation.”

“Very good.” Su stood, signaling the end of the conversation. “You’ll be contacted tomorrow about covering the blast site. Word will be left that you are—” Her phone spot’s chime cut off the rest of her words.

“Transmission from Ben Godwin to Yan Quai,” said the voice in her ear. “Private recording and decryption process go.”