Senescence (Jezebel's Ladder Book 5) (3 page)

Stu plotted a path from Saturn to Earth to minimize fuel
consumption and arrive the week before the stockholders’ meeting. This approach
gave them almost two months to prepare. Each day,
Pratibha, Mira, and the doctor listened to radio broadcasts and wrote
summaries.

As
they orbited Earth, meetings became more frequent. Since most took place in or
near the control room, Stu would eavesdrop during his shift on the bridge. He
was supposed to be watching the skies for approaching star drives.

Gesturing
to the screen, Zeiss said, “If you filter out the new ore haulers, Fortune
customers had more ships than this on back order when we left. What happened?”

Mira
analyzed the data. “There’s less colonization on the moon and in the asteroids
than anticipated. The transponder signatures fall into five distinct groups.”

Zeiss
peeked over her shoulder. “Did governments restrict access after the war or are
companies just too loss averse?”

“That’s
something Oleander will need to poke around to discover,” Mira said, adding to
the list of questions.

“Not
enough data?” Zeiss asked.

“Too
much,” Mira replied. “Near-Earth signal intelligence picked up several billion
transmitters. We can’t process them all. We did discover that the heaviest
population centers are under what we would term military or totalitarian
control. However, these regimes seem more relaxed than in our day.”

The
commander rubbed his temples. “How is the stealth gear coming? Earth people are
going to be harder to fool than pandas in the jungle.”

“Sneak
suits have been customized for both Oleander and Joan, as have survival packs,
weapons, data taps, and encrypted communications,” Pratibha said. “Joan
practices every day. As short as she is, she has trouble clearing the landing
zone before security teams surround it in the drill.”

“By
the time we drop, Oleander and Yvette will have her trained to evade,” Zeiss
said with confidence. “And the assault armor?”

Pratibha
sounded grim. “The exoskeleton spinal column was damaged. We can’t give Stu
extra arm strength or back-mounted launchers.”

“Which
means that Herk’s spine was damaged,” Zeiss deduced, frowning. “Will Stu have
enhanced running, carrying, jumping, and kicks?”

“Yes,
sir. We were able to adjust the armor to … cover the holes,” Pratibha
explained.

“Good.
We’ll just emphasize ‘we come in peace’ and ‘meek as lambs.’”

Forgetting
he wasn’t invited to the meeting, Stu spoke up from his control couch. “Herk
was like an uncle to me. He taught me to fish. It feels wrong to take his
equipment.”

“I
understand the feeling, but he’d lend you anything if it improved your odds of
survival,” Zeiss said. “You want to honor him? Do your job and get him the best
medics on Earth.”

“Yes,
sir.”

“When
they capture you, make a big deal about being raised in low g. They’re trained
to treat it like a handicap and might let you keep the leg amplifiers,” Zeiss
advised. “Have you practiced the landing on the simulator?”

“Twenty
times, sir. Without grav cues, I crashed twelve of those runs,” Stu admitted.

Zeiss
smiled. “Mira made the scenarios harder every time you passed.”

When
Stu didn’t lay back down and put his head under the interface cowl, Pratibha
pointedly asked, “Is there something
important
you’d like to share?”

“Our
spies gaining access to Earth’s government data is going to be a sticking
point.”

The
commander turned to face him. “You have an idea?”

“It’s
a little theatrical, but it should get us several of our goals. The main idea
is to get the people holding me to do the work for us.” Stu explained his plan.

Mira
approved, adding a few twists, including listening devices. She coached Stu
about using his natural charisma to create a spectacle. “The media loves a
circus. You don’t have to tell the truth for them to publish it. As long as the
story is interesting, people can overlook a few facts.”

****

On the day of the drop,
Stu wandered down to the shower level, wearing a loud, orange Hawaiian shirt.
Joan and Oleander were already dressed in their snug sneak suits. The suits
wouldn’t withstand a vacuum, but they could handle nearly every environment on
Earth. The Zeisses waited next to an old spacesuit on the bench like squires
next to a knight’s armor. Since Stu hadn’t arrived from Earth via the shuttle,
he would need to use Lou’s suit.

Joan
snorted. “Somebody’s finally awake!”

“Dad
always told me to get plenty of rest before a mission,” Stu explained. “You
never know how long you’re going to stay awake if things go wrong.”

The
doctor put a nozzle the size of a garden sprayer next to Stu’s shoulder and
squeezed the trigger.

Stu
yelped and rubbed his shoulder. “I thought I already had my shots.”

“That
was another spectrum of immune-system boosters. It will only last a couple
days. Keep your breathing mask on, and don’t shake hands with anyone,” the
doctor said.

“Don’t
worry, the clashing colors will keep people away,” Oleander joked. “The kid can
differentiate twenty colors of blue into the UV spectrum, but he can’t dress
himself.”

“I
wore this to honor Herk,” Stu explained.

“With
a lime green stripe on your sweatpants?” Oleander said, shaking her head.

“You
asked for distracting. Can we get on with this?”

The
Zeisses helped Stu into his spacesuit. In tandem, they sealed his gloves while
Oleander snapped on the helmet. They tested all functions before giving the
thumbs-up.

Joan
placed a bare hand on a section of flooring, and it lowered to form a ramp,
revealing a pear-shaped escape pod.

“The
shower stall is bigger,” the doctor remarked.

With
another touch, she raised the clear canopy to allow them access.

Stu
climbed into the center of the pod. “Start with the biggest items. Oleander,
take the right side and lie across my chest.”

Oleander
sealed her mirrored helmet. She squeezed in with help from the Zeisses but had
to leave her dignity outside. “Good thing I didn’t eat a big lunch.”

“Joan,
take the smaller, left lobe and hold onto my leg.”

Mira
handed down equipment and a shard of the enemy telescope array.

Stu
objected. “Whoa. That wasn’t on the manifest.”

“Props,”
Mira insisted.

Joan
crawled around the luggage to nestle against him. She had slept like this often
as a toddler.
Despite her creepy special abilities and training, she was
still a young girl. Stu whispered, “I won’t let anything happen to you. We take
care of one another.”

“I trust you. I just can’t watch.”

****

At four o’clock Pacific time, during the keynote speech of
the Fortune annual meeting,
Sanctuary
dipped low over the ocean, causing
all manner of gravity distortion. Winds howled. Waves leapt.

Stu pushed the launch button and
left home for the first time. He struggled to brake the pod’s descent as the
high winds battered him. With this much weight, the controls weren’t very
responsive. A white vapor trail streamed behind them as they streaked toward
the California coast.

His grin couldn’t get any wider.

An alarm on his suit sounded.
Something had painted the pod with radar.
Already? These people must be
paranoid.
When he sensed the missiles arcing toward him, he turned on the
ancient UN friend-foe transponder from
Ascension
. The rockets didn’t
veer off. The pod didn’t have countermeasures, so he improvised. Spiraling
wildly, he dumped his reserve fuel tank.
Sanctuary
control shouted in
his ear, but he said, “Audio dampers full.”

Explosions rocked his little craft,
sending it farther off course.

“I’m going to puke,” Joan
complained.

“Just a little turbulence,” he
insisted in his most soothing voice. One of the thrusters caught a fragment of
shrapnel. More fuel leaked from the hole.
This bucket is already overweight.
I need to borrow some fuel fast. That little cloud over there is perfect.
He broadcast Mayday over civilian air-traffic channels and then told his
passengers, “I have to perform emergency braking. It may get loud.”

Oleander said, “Open your mouth all
the way, baby.”

The detonation of all thrusters
against the cloud rang his bell worse than his black-belt exam. As he
recovered, he watched a crack form in the pod window. Their speed wasn’t good,
but it was better. On
Sanctuary
frequencies, Stu broadcast, “We’re not
going to reach the target landing zone. I’m aiming for a cluster of TV
transmissions on the beach.”

He dropped altitude as fast as
possible, but the crack in the canopy continued to spread. The pod hugged the
waves, almost skipping across them as they rocketed toward the sand. “I’m going
to create a diversion. The pod will self-destruct sixty seconds after we
eject.”

When he reached the source of the
TV transmissions, he was traveling sixty kilometers an hour. However, the beach
was far too crowded for a landing. There was a grandstand surrounding a sand
playing court of some kind.

By now, the crack spanned most of
the window. Stu targeted a spot twenty meters from shore and shut down all
engines. At the moment of splashdown, a safety gel called supergoo filled the
pod to further cushion the occupants. He felt like fruit suspended in a gelatin
dessert. After the impacts died down, the goo relaxed into a thinner liquid.
Stu blew the canopy off, and seawater washed away the goo.

Oleander’s shimmering suit of scale
mail was composed of a hundred palm-sized, alien, ceramic disks, resembling the
cover of some fantasy magazine. However, when she activated her belt controls,
the disks displayed images of the pod interior, allowing her to vanish from
normal sight. The sneak suits also were built on a neoprene base and operated
efficiently underwater. Twin splashes were the only indication that Oleander
and Joan had left the craft.

After Stu pressed another control,
the ejection seat propelled him in a high arc, closer to shore than he had
planned. People on the grandstands pointed at him as he plummeted feetfirst
into half a meter of water. His amplified muscles and the ocean prevented
damage. Then, a wave brushed him farther ashore on the floating seat.
Uncontrolled spinning made him a little dizzy. He detached from the chair,
staggered onto the sand court, and bumped into a tall net.

Any landing you can walk away
from is a good one.

The group of women stopped their
volleyball game to stare. Scores of cameras pointed at Stu as he unscrewed his
helmet.
So many people!
They blurred together into a sea of faces, heads
of wheat moving in the breeze.

Using his best Shakespearian
diction, he announced, “I come in peace. I am Stewart Llewellyn, the ambassador
for the starship
Sanctuary
. I ask to present our terms to the board of
Fortune Enterprises. I have a proxy from Commander Zeiss that gives me the
right to speak in open meeting.”

Camera drones closed in as security
guards circled. He could have sworn he saw a shimmer blur toward the ambulance
parked just off the field. The sneak suit “invisibility” didn’t mimic
surroundings well at high speeds.
Focus the crowds on me until the ladies
are in the clear.
“We’re willing to trade the technology of the Magi to the
nations of Earth. However, before we begin, the UN must recognize our
independence, as well as drop the charges against our leaders. As the first
child born in space, I am a native of
Sanctuary
and subject to the
charter, not your laws.”

Seconds later, seawater erupted in
an explosion. Stu threw himself protectively over the closest two players,
knocking both flat. Spectators shrieked. Camera drones bobbed from the
shockwave.
The self-destruct.
The pod had practically disintegrated.

A jet roared over soon after. The
athletes buzzed with excitement.

“Are you ladies okay?” Stu asked,
rising again. He had never seen a bikini before, but the advantages were
obvious. The fabric highlighted curves and valleys he had never suspected. He
held out a hand to assist the brunette on his right. Her knee was scuffed. “I
do apologize. I was afraid the jets were going to shoot at me again. I didn’t
want any of you getting hurt.” He addressed the referee on the ladder. “Could
you call a medic for this woman?”

Three guards surrounded him,
weapons drawn. “All right, you nut job. Hands up.”

“I’m unarmed and not resisting in
any way,” Stu shouted, placing his hands behind his head. “Your ricochets may
harm the crowd. I will do as you ask, provided you don’t touch me or cough on
me. My immune system may not be able to cope with your viral mutations.”

One of the guards ordered,
“Biosafety protocols.” Each man slid a blue surgical-style mask over his nose
and mouth.

A paramedic and a teammate helped the
injured girl limp off the sandy court. As guards searched Stu for weapons, his
face filled the giant wall of TV screens at either end of the field.

A bold drone with a Telemondo label
hovered over Stu’s forehead, communicating in a tinny voice. “Permission to add
you to the celebrity registry and stalk you, sir?” Two others repeated the
request, the last one offering him a 0.1 percent share of any increased
advertising revenues.