Power Lines (31 page)

18

The committee convened at 10:00 promptly. Matthew had had even smaller, padded detention cells set up in an annex by the temporary boardroom. All prisoners were present and accounted for, although the sergeant in charge had reported that the medics had insisted that the child, Goat-dung, be placed with her sister or they wouldn’t take responsibility for her sanity when it came time for her to be questioned. Matthew shrugged that off. An eleven-year-old was not necessary, not really. The testimony of Shepherd Howling’s senior wife, Ascencion, would be more than sufficient.

He looked about for Torkel, who had had time enough to locate at least one viable ore site. Not seeing the captain among those in the anteroom, he told Ivan to locate the man and have him come, with or without samples. As a well-respected officer of Intergal, Fiske’s word would be sufficient.

As he entered the committee room, Chas, Bal, and Nexim were standing by the windows, watching the thick mist left over from the night rolling across the cracked concrete landing field of SpaceBase. Matthew frowned. The met report had been that the fog would burn off and that they would have clear weather and temperatures slightly above normal for Petaybee this time of year—still too bloody cold, in Luzon’s opinion, for civilized people—but nothing had been said about ground fog continuing right into the day. With an unusual burst of imaginativeness, he realized that he considered this fog to be unnatural, sneaking and insidious in the way it moved, stifling in the way it muffled sound and prevented a clear field of vision.

Shaking off such thoughts, he grabbed Braddock, walking a pace behind him, arms full of notes and documentation, and told him in a low voice to close the blinds. He didn’t want any distractions during the proceedings.

Marmion arrived at the dot of the appointed hour, smiling charmingly to everyone, with just that tall bitch of hers in attendance. She looked pleased about something. Well, that would change! And swiftly, Matthew thought with great satisfaction. As chairperson of this commission, her ladyship grandly invited all to be seated.

The blankness of the main screen altered swiftly to an image of the secretary-general of Intergal, Farringer Ball, seated at his desk, tapping the end of a stylus on the finely grained wood surface.

“Well, let’s not dally. I’ve other matters to attend this morning.” A spray of “snow” across the screen coincided with a rumbling that all could feel, judging by their reactions, as Matthew did, through the soles of their feet and the vibration of their chairs. “What the—I’m losing reception. Get your technicians to stabilize it!”

Matthew signaled for George to do so. “Local interference, Farringer, nothing to worry about. This
is,
as you know, a very primitive planet and the equipment all but obsolete. Generally adequate enough for the purpose, especially considering the time and investment already expended on this wretched place.”

“Let’s cut to the bone: Can this planet be made profitable?”

“Yes, actually it can,” Marmion said, pouncing in ahead of Matthew. “As chairperson of this committee, in case you’d forgotten, I have no doubts about that, Farrie.” She gave him her saccharine smile.

“You’ve found the ores then?” Secretary-General Ball asked hopefully.

“Petaybee is more important to Intergal for a heretofore unexplored source of
renewable
wealth,” Marmion said firmly, “that will require no further capital expenditure while it offers gainful employment to permit the indigenous a decent standard of living as well as a profit for Intergal, and will attract no retaliation from the sentient being who
is
the planet.”

“Oh, come now, Marmion, you can’t prove that,” Matthew said scornfully, “and you know you can’t.”

“The pharmaceutical wealth of Petaybee?” She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Why, the reports from your own team of biochemists are quite clear on that point, Matthew. This planet is a treasure trove of diverse and easily harvested medical components.”

Seething, Matthew managed a weak smile.
How
had Marmion Algemeine got hold of those reports? He had told the head of the team to release information to no one but himself. But then, his team had seriously let him down, their performance declining ever since he had left them alone while he flew to the southern continent. Usually they and their computers were masterful at manipulating statistics to show the results he desired. Since his return, almost every report he looked at reflected data supporting conclusions the opposite of those he wished drawn. More than Petaybean heads would roll when this conference was over. And where the hell was Torkel Fiske?

“Pharmaceuticals? What pharmaceuticals?” Farringer Ball demanded, looking decidedly interested.

Matthew inwardly writhed. Everyone knew that the secretary-general experimented in consciousness stimulations and was still searching for longer-lasting mood adjusters with no side effects.

“Yes, Farrie, some really marvelous concoctions and remedies, guaranteed pure and free of toxic additives and remarkably no discernible side effects,” Marmion went on. “Preparations which, if merchandised properly—that Nova Bene Drug Company you’ve an interest in,” she added, hesitating only briefly over that allusion, “could promote them in an interplanetary campaign—will substantially reduce the debt incurred by the earlier, and unacceptable, purpose of Intergal on this planet. Indeed, we have every reason to believe the planet will assist us in this venture, provided harvesting is carried out in a responsible and prudent manner.”

“As it assisted the murders of four shanachies who had discovered the vast metal and mineral wealth of this rockball?” Matthew asked.

“Murders? What murders?” Farringer looked from one to the other.

“Five, in fact,” Matthew said challengingly, “since the shanachie of the Vale of Tears was so convinced that he would be the next victim that I naturally afforded him asylum on MoonBase.”

“Five? Four? He’s dead, too? Of what?” Farringer Ball was again confused.

“He unfortunately succumbed to a virulent respiratory infection three days ago,” Matthew said quickly, and then pointed behind him, in the direction of the detention cells, “but his death, as well as the murders of the four shanachies, is directly attributable to the concerted program of sabotage, misdirection, and treason perpetrated by the leaders of this conspiracy against Intergal.”

“Who?” the secretary-general asked, more confused by Matthew’s rhetoric than ever.

“By the woman, Clodagh Senungatuk—”

“The Kilcoole biochemist and healer of considerable expertise,” Whittaker Fiske interposed amiably.

“Who, before witnesses, admitted to knowing the toxic quality of the plant which was instrumental in the deaths of the four shanachies!” Matthew snapped back, trying to keep his growing frustration under control. “And the so-called doctor Sean Shongili, the reputed genetic scientist who has, in fact, aided and abetted Senungatuk in her program of sabotage, subversion, and the estrangement of the population from their natural protectors, Intergal!”

“What a load of cod’s wallop!” Whittaker said, shaking his head and raising his eyes skyward at Matthew’s accusations.

“Not only that,” Matthew went on, “I find that Captain Torkel Fiske’s request for a court-martial of Major Yanaba Maddock,
formerly
an agent of Intergal, has adequate grounds on charges of treason and counterespionage. She’s in league with Senungatuk and Shongili and, furthermore, two months pregnant by someone or other!” He said the last four words scathingly.

“I thought Major Maddock was discharged to this planet in a terminally disabled physical condition,” Chas Tung said as he peered at his own notepad. “She’s certainly well over the customary age to conceive a child.” He looked around for an explanation.

“Which is more proof that the healing powers of this planet’s pharmaceutical wealth are most unusual,” Whittaker Fiske said, chortling, “and worth a packet to Intergal.”

“Rubbish! Ridiculous!” Matthew replied. “The true value of this planet is, after evacuating the immigrant population, the minerals and resources Intergal has invested in during its development and has every, right to ship from it, until it is nothing but the core of ice and rock it was when the company first set eyes on it. Once we have extracted what is rightfully ours, we can leave it all by itself again.”

“Ha!” Whittaker jabbed a finger at Matthew. “You said it yourself. You believe it’s sentient, too. ‘Leave it all by itself!’ See, Luzon admits sentience.”

“I admit nothing of the sort! Rock can’t have sentience! That can’t be proved.”

Everything on the table began to rattle; on the screen, Farringer Ball’s livid, baffled countenance dissolved and reformed several times.

“It just was proved by that tremor, Luzon,” Whittaker Fiske said.

“The esteemed doctor has lost his esteemed mind, sir, you see?” Matthew crowed over Fiske’s softer voice. “He now interprets every perfectly natural phenomenon as some sort of statement by the ground he walks upon.”

Fiske didn’t even change expressions as he continued, when Matthew ran out of breath. “Furthermore”—Fiske pointed to a thin mist oozing through the seams of the building, floor, walls, and ceiling—”you may be about to partake of the ‘mass hallucination,’ as my dear son called it, as proof positive of our claims of sentience.”

“What’s hap’ing . . . there?” the secretary-general demanded, the “snow” and static interfering on both sides. “How . . . I possibly un . . . stand what’s going on when I . . . even . . . clearly. Luz . . . what’s . . . matter?”

Matthew was irritated not only by the poor reception but also by the mist seeping in under the doors and the supposedly tightly sealed window fittings. He was further distracted by the note handed him by Braddock that told him that Torkel was unable to locate SpaceBase in the thick mist and his pilot, one of the
Prometheus’s
flight lieutenants, would not risk his craft and his passengers when he couldn’t see where to land.

The secretary-general banged a gavel fiercely. “Fix that . . . screen. Stop . . . fusing issues. Marm . . . on, can you clar . . . matters?”

“I have, Farrie. And we’re working on the reception here. The technician should have things cleared up in a moment. Please raise your hand if you can’t hear me. The planet’s worth more as a pharmaceutical source, renewable
in perpetuity,
than as another strip-mining operation,” she said. “I have had cooperation from all sides and professions on this planet. The indigenous population are hardy, industrious, resourceful people—they have to be to survive in what is a harsh environment. But for four generations they have coped and provided Intergal with strong, healthy recruits who have been a credit to the service and their planet. They have sabotaged nothing, even though the company has given them precious little assistance. This planet, however, registered a complaint which Whittaker Fiske and Torkel, if he’d admit it, have heard, and this committee is in response to that complaint. Petaybee, the planet, has refused to be exploited in a brutal and ecologically senseless
fashion. Its complaint is not only valid but points us in the more feasible and useful direction of considering alternative sources of profit. Why ruin a world for crass metal when its wealth in renewable products is by far greater and longer lasting? I have myself experienced the total communication with it that Whittaker here and most of the population have enjoyed, and hallucination it is not, as Whittaker has already testified.”

At that point, the door opened, admitting an Omnicron officer who, despite Matthew’s scowl, presented him with a large green rock, veined deeply in orange, and a note.

“Aha!” Matthew sprang to his feet, flourishing the rock toward the screen. “The ore samples that were removed from Satok’s craft have been found by metal detector in the woods at Shannonmouth, where they were illegally removed from his vessel and hidden: yet another example of the sabotage that is almost planetwide. This is high-grade copper, according to this quick assay.”

“Copper? Is that the best you can do, Matthew? Copper?” Nexim Shi-Tu demanded. “Not gold, or platmum . . .”

“Lieutenant, did you see any gold or platinum among the samples?” Matthew asked, his eyes gimleting the Omnicron man.

“Sir, I wouldn’t know either in the raw state. I was told to bring this to you because it’s the purest of the lot we found.”

“Pure copper is not to be sneezed at,” Marmion said without a trace of sarcasm, “but hardly in the same category as a respiratory remedy that cures damaged lung tissue, now is it?” A technician bent and spoke to her and she said to the screen, which was still fuzzy but not so noisy, “Is that better now, Farrie?”

“Yes, I believe it is. Continue.”

“D’you have something for immaculate conceptions, too?” Bal asked slyly.

“By whom is Major Yanaba Maddock pregnant, Marmion?”

She shrugged. “Let’s not digress from the purpose of this commission, gentlemen. Major Maddock’s personal life is not at issue in this hearing and should not be at issue in any other hearing as long as she has obeyed her orders.”

“Aha!”
And Matthew once more jumped to his feet. “That’s just it. She hasn’t obeyed orders.”

“But she did,” Marmion replied firmly. “As she was instructed by Colonel Giancarlo, she became a part of the society of Kilcoole and set about learning as much as she could about Petaybee. She learned a great deal, although it was not, perhaps, what her superiors had expected her to discover.”

“Where is she?” Farringer Ball asked, looking around the room. “She was the uniformed one from our first conference, wasn’t she?”

“I believe she has been detained on Vice-Chairman Luzon’s orders,” Marmion said, turning to Matthew with a suddenly implacable expression on her composed, elegant face, “another breach of the civil rights of Intergal officers. And that’s for the record, Farringer,” she added sternly. “Even an Intergal commissioner cannot go about denying officers their civil tights.”

“Of course I had her detained,” Matthew almost shouted back, “as an unrepentant renegade ally of the Kilcoole group. As a matter of course, I had medical tests run on all the renegades—”