The Seeds of Time (4 page)

Brisher’s face grew tight around his eyes. “Whatever it takes.”

“If the hearing doesn’t go well, guess you’ll have to find someone else to baby-sit Zee, huh?”

“You worried Clio? You have a reason to worry?”

“Not if I get justice, Ellison. I had nothing to do with those deaths.”

He swayed gently from one foot to the other, thinking. “Ah yes. Justice. I’m sure you’ll get your share.”

After the door closed Clio lay back on her pillow, drenched in sweat. Brisher would enjoy handing her over to DSDE if the hearing could prove she used illegal meds. He admired DSDE. The Department of Social and Drug Enforcement was cleaning up the country. Queers and drugs are destroying our youth, spreading the epidemic. He’d see her in that light.

They had been clearing the dinner table, she and Mom and Elsie, when it happened. It was Clio’s turn to help. Petya was in the living room already back at work on the clock he’d taken apart. Her younger brother liked to fix things. And he could fix anything. Retarded in most ways but that one
.

Elsie lit a cigarette and started running water in the dishpan. She always smoked when she did the dishes. And then Mom was standing stock-still. She hissed a warning, and they listened for what she heard, but Clio never knew what it was. Mother swung around, grabbed Clio’s elbow, pushing her to the stairs. “Run!” she cried, her face wild, and then at Petya, “Petya, now!” And then she ran for the door and threw the bolt, yanked Petya to his feet, and then there were footsteps on the porch and Clio was already in the spare room upstairs, inside the closet and fumbling at the window
.

They always left the window open far enough to get your fingers under it to raise it. A large empty spool of thread kept it open, the sash long since broken, and despite the bitter cold winters they always left it open that far. Clio heard the front door smash, and still she waited for Petya. But finally he was beside her, and she held the window for him and he got onto the roof, all six feet two inches of him, and then into the big blue spruce tree, just like they’d practiced a thousand times
.

Now on free time, Clio went hunting for Hillis in his usual hangout, Observation and Mapping, Biological Survey
Section. Here, Vanda’s great science deck was shared by dozens of science teams and staffed around the clock byclusters of serious, white-shirted analysts seeking knowledge and fodder for their next publication. Monitors hugged the curved outer wall, scrolling and blinking in a hypnoticvisual array!

Clio walked through the astronomy section, where screens showed not stars but numbers, a desiccated version of what she saw on every mission. A few techs looked at her, then through her, turning back to their work. Clio put a strut into her walk. Go ahead, stare.

Up ahead, Hillis wasn’t alone at his computer station. She’d have to share him today. As she walked up to them, the young man turned and saw her, poked at Hillis, who was bent over the screen. Must be Zee, she guessed. He was tall and slender, as though grown in too little light. Hillis glanced up, waved Clio over, then went back to his keyboard.

“You’re Clio. I can tell,” the young stranger said.

“How can you tell?”

He pursed his lips. “Subtle clues.” And he smiled. A nice smile, helping to soften the impression of his colorless face and ears a little too big. Clio liked him instantly, despite Brisher, despite Ahrens. But she always made up her mind about people instantly, it did no good to analyze, either way you were bound to be wrong half the time.

She smiled back. “Well, they said you were smart.”

“Now I can see why they call you the Red Queen.” He was looking at her in frank: dazzlement.

This time Clio didn’t wince at the title, found herself genuinely smiling. Felt good, a real smile. “And you’re Golden Boy. Zee, of Princeton.” She held out her hand.

He grasped it, released it hurriedly. Clio suppressed a hoot. My God, too hot to handle! The kid’s sweet, real sweet.

Hillis looked up at them, taking it all in, looking pointedly at Clio with a knowing smile. Means what, Clio wondered. Jealous? Maybe. But of who?

“They say you’re going to prove that Dive pilots don’t have to burn out,” Zee said. “You’re going to be the first.”

Clio’s mood crashed in a hurry. “Why burn out when you can burn up, I always say. Live fast, Zee. Didn’t they teach you anything worthwhile at Princeton?” She took the seat next to Hillis. “How’s old Gaia doin’?”

“One day at a time …” Hillis was punching the keyboard, shifting the colors on the map screen, deep into the Hillis crusade.

“What’s Hillis up to today, Zee? You got it figured out, or is all you care about protons and stuff?”

“Well, technically, most everything has protons, so I like to think of myself as a generalist. But to answer your question, this is forest ecosystem mapping.” Zee watched the screen as though it made sense to him, and perhaps it did.

Clio swung back to the screen. Now she could detect the general outline of a northern chunk of South America, with a dark purple artery and veins that must be the Amazon. Well, if it was forest research, that would be the Amazon, of course. The last forest. From space, the last big expanse of green that was visible on Earth.

Hillis had windowed down to a local section. Resolution was poor. He frowned and plunked at the keys irritably.

“I’ve never been off-planet,” Zee said. “Seems kinds of funny.”

Clio swung back around. “What does?”

“An astrophysicist nervous about being in space.”

“You mean here? Vanda?”

Zee glanced over at the corridor wall. “No. Out there. On mission.”

“Well, space is the easy part. It’s the Dive that’s tough, and you’ll be asleep for that part. No sweat.”

Hillis chimed in, “And when you wake up, you’ll be in a different solar system.” He had swung around, joined them. “And that’s an astronomer’s dream, right?” The computer clicked at him, and he turned back, jabbing a key, blanking the screen.

“Right. All for science,” Zee said.

“Shuttle’s leaving in a couple hours, Hill,” Clio said. “The Bureau’s called a hearing.”

“I know.” Still punching in commands. Always doing two things at once.

“You coming?”

He turned to her. “Think I’d let you go Earthside without me?” He resumed his program. “After the hearing, we’ll take a car trip.”

“We will?”

“Sure. Have some fun.”

Clio watched his profile, intent on his task. How could he worry about the Bureau when he had the whole Earth to worry about?

He glanced quickly over at her. “Hey.” Flicked his shoulder, dismissing the Bureau. “Piece of cake.”

Earthside, Clio sat on a hard bench outside the hearing room at the BTM, Bureau of Time Management. By now her backside ached in protest. Teeg, next to her, shifted his position again, leaning forward, hands clasped between knees, glancing up at the clock over the hearing-room door.

“It’s still four o’clock, Teeg.” Clio was sick to death of Teeg after three hours of him.

“Yeah? My watch says four-ten. Here we are at the center of the fucking time universe, and the clock is ten minutes slow.”

“Guess you can just hardly wait to testify, huh?”

“Hey. I don’t mind. As pilot, I can tell them exactly what happened. They need me. Those other guys? Those retroids weren’t on the bridge, they weren’t
there
. So they spend all afternoon talking to every freeping crewmate except the man who knows the score. Ain’t that the bureaucracy for you?” He shook his head slowly at the palpable idiocy of the thing.

Clio wasn’t listening. She concentrated on digesting the last of her stomach. Repeating her story to herself. Practicing surprise at the discussion of her missing blood sample.
But the doc can tell you, sir, we got a sample, all right. Must be there
. Blink innocently.

“Plus, I can put in a good word for you, Clio, if things go bad in there.” Teeg glanced to see if he had her attention, pushed on anyway. “They’re always trying to pin shit on the pilots. I can tell them you did just fine.” He patted her knee. Looked up at her. Withdrew his hand.

“Trouble with you Teeg?” Clio said. “You just don’t
get how the Bureau works.” The pat on the knee had pushed her over the edge. “See, the Bureau doesn’t give a shit what happened, or who was at fault. That don’t mean null to them. What they care about is who’s the most expendable son of a bitch they can pin this on so they can get rid of some troublemaker, write up a nice report and get out of there before supper. And at your salary, might be you they’re ready to retire. Bring in some young hotshot willing to work for half your wage. Yeah, it’s probably you that’s gonna take the fall.”

A deep frown creased Teeg’s forehead. “You bloody bitch. You think you don’t need anybody, Clio, but someday you’re going to need me. Then we’ll see how you do, Miss Red.”

Clio hoped desperately that Teeg would now shut up. She needed time to worry. It was deep shit this time, no mistake. The Bureau was real touchy about the rules, and it was against the rules to get crew killed. But, damn, that was Russo’s fault, not hers. Truth was, she had pulled
Starhawk
out of the trouble she got it into, with only a dent in the side of the ship. But sending the mission out when there might be damage—bad damage as it turned out—that was on Russo or Biotime, no way you could blame the Dive pilot. Except that, as a side matter, they drew blood, and, oh, by the way, pilot, you’re busted.

Illegal drugs. They would jump on that. The Bureau liked simple answers, they worked better in the press release.

This was her first hearing at BTM. Could be her last. Here’s where her whole story, her whole life, could unravel. Pick a thread and pull. Start with a routine accident investigation, start probing her past, learn about Mom and Elsie, their crimes. And Clio’s crime. Get Social and Drug Enforcement on the case. Oh, there was enough to put her away a long, long time. Slam her in a quarry and forget she’s there. Her mother’s fate.

Despite all the plans and the practice escapes, the quarries waited. Slap the queers and the druggies and the dying
in quarantine. Tuck in a few political undesirables. Keep them out of sight of the clean families.

When the door opened, both Clio and Teeg snapped to.

“Antoinette Speery-Hall.” Clio got to her feet. Shit. Nobody had called her that since she joined Biotime. No respect.

Teeg looked up at her incredulously.
“Antoinette?”

Clio threw him a dazzling smile. “As in the French queen, you know?”

Teeg twisted around to watch her disappear through the door. “Didn’t they cut off her head?” But the door was already closing behind her.

She entered a shadowy room, cavernous, high-ceilinged, and quiet. Along one wall, narrow, mullioned windows stretched to the ceiling, revealing a rare elm tree outside which was so massive its foliage permitted only a thin gruel of light to enter the room. As Clio moved forward, she saw that the committee sat at a lone table anchoring down a maroon Persian carpet of faded splendor. Over the table, a scar on the ceiling revealed where a heavy chandelier had once filled the room with light.

Around the heavy, dark table sat Russo, Brisher, and the Bureau official, Gerald Meres. Russo was perched on her chair like she had a bad case of hemorrhoids. Clio realized that she had never seen Russo off ship or station, probably because Russo hated being off ship or station. Russo waved her to join them.

Brisher was wedged into his chair so far it might have been growing out of him. He gave her a sober smile, just the right balance of support and sternness.

Meres was rustling with papers, hadn’t looked up. When he did, Clio’s heart wilted. Out of a pinched, narrow face stared eyes that bored into hers, seeking to ransack her mind. She crumpled into the chair next to Russo.

“Lieutenant Hall,” Meres began, looking down at the papers in front of him.

“That’s Finn. Lieutenant Clio Finn,” Clio said, trying to sound respectful.
I need my name
. At least that much. A privilege of Dive status, to pick your name.

Meres looked up, frowning.

Russo interjected: “Nobody’s called her Speery-Hall in years, Gerry. I think we can go along with her on this.”

Meres glared at Russo. Eventually he said, “Very well.
Lieutenant Finn,”
making it sound like an unsanitary thing.

Clio smiled in relief. Bless Russo’s cold little heart. Maybe she underestimated Russo, maybe Russo wasn’t ready to hang her.

“You were Dive pilot on
Starhawk
for the Crippen mission, is that right?”

“Yessir.”

Meres looked up at her, as though already probing for lies. “I want you to tell me,” he continued, “as thoroughly and as accurately as you can recall, what happened as the
Starhawk
came out of Dive on that mission.”

Clio swallowed. “Yessir. As
Starhawk
surfaced from Dive, the alarms were sounding, and the screens showed an object in close range bearing down on the ship. I scanned the instrumentation and took evasive action, firing thrusters to bring us around and out of the collision path. When I …”