“Just been…” Madeleine glanced from AndrÉ to Iain Girardi, then back again. Understanding brought outraged astonishment. “You
accepted a retainer from him?”
“Oui,”
AndrÉ snapped.
“Oh, Jesus.” The shock of his admission silenced her.
“You spoke about Lalonde,” Iain Girardi said. “Did the Confederation Navy rush to your aid while you were there?”
“Do not speak about an event of which you know nothing,” Desmond growled.
“I know something about it. I’ve accessed Kelly Tirrel’s report. Everybody has.”
“And we have all accessed Gus Remar’s report from New California. The possessed have conquered that world. By rights we ought
to sign on with the Confederation Navy and help eradicate every one of them from this universe.”
“Eradicate them how? This is a dreadful calamity which has befallen the human race, both halves of it. Dropping nukes on millions
of innocent people is not going to bring about a resolution. Sure it was chaos at Lalonde, and I’m sorry you were hit with
the worst of it. Those possessed were a disorganized terrified rabble, lashing out blindly to protect themselves from the
mercenary army you carried. But the Organization is different. For a start we’re proving that possessed and non-possessed
can live together.”
“Yeah, while we’re convenient,” Madeleine said. “While you need us to run the technology and fly starships. After that it’s
going to be a different bloody story.”
“I can appreciate your bitterness, but you are wrong. Al Capone has taken the first steps to solving this terrible dilemma;
he’s proposing a joint research project to find a solution. All the Confederation Navy is doing is working on methods of blowing
the possessed back into the beyond. I don’t know about you, but I certainly don’t want them to triumph.”
Desmond bunched his fist, one toe coming off the stikpad, ready to launch himself at the man. “You traitorous little shit.”
“You’re going to die,” Iain Girardi said remorselessly. “You, me, everyone on board this ship, everyone in Chaumort. All of
us die. It can’t be helped, you can’t reverse entropy. And when you die, you’re going to spend eternity in the beyond. Unless
something is done about it, unless you can find a living neurone structure which will host you. Now I ask again, do you want
Al Capone’s project to fail?”
“If all Capone is interested in is spreading happiness across the galaxy, why does he want to hire a combat-capable starship?”
Madeleine asked.
“Protection in the form of deterrence. There are Organization representatives like me in dozens of asteroids looking to sign
up combat-capable starships. The more we have in orbit above New California, the more difficult it will be for anyone to launch
a strike force against it. The Confederation Navy is going to attack New California’s Strategic Defence network. Everyone
knows that. The First Admiral has got the Assembly screaming at him for some kind of positive action. If he can crack the
SD network open, he’s cleared the way for an invasion; have the marines round up all the bad guys and shove them into zero-tau.”
Iain Girardi let out a heartfelt pained breath. “Can you imagine the bloodshed that’ll cause? You have seen firsthand how
hard the possessed can fight when they’re cornered. Imagine the conflict in your lower lounge multiplied by a billion. That’s
what it will be like.” He gave Erick a sympathetic glance. “Is that what you want?”
“I’m not fighting for the possessed,” Madeleine muttered sullenly. She hated the way Iain Girardi could turn her words, make
her doubt her convictions.
“Nobody is asking the
Villeneuve’s Revenge
to fight,” Iain Girardi said earnestly. “You are there for show, that’s all. Perimeter defence patrol, where you’re visible,
a demonstration of numerical strength. Hardly an onerous duty. And you get paid full combat rates, with a guaranteed six-month
contract; in addition to which I have a discretionary retainer fee to offer. Obviously for a prime ship like the
Villeneuve’s Revenge
it will be a substantial one. You will be able to afford to have the worst of the damage repaired here at Chaumort, plus
Erick can receive the best medical treatment available. I can even arrange for a brandnew spaceplane on very favourable terms;
New California astroengineering companies make the best models.”
“You see?” AndrÉ said. “This is the kind of charter to be proud of. If the Organization is right we will have helped to secure
the future of the entire human race. How can you object?”
“No, Captain,” Madeleine said. “I’m not sharing the life-support capsules with the possessed. Not ever. Period.”
“Nobody is suggesting you do.” Girardi sounded shocked. “Obviously we understand there is a lot of suspicion at the moment.
The Organization is working hard at breaking down those old prejudicial barriers. But until more trust is built up, then obviously
you will have your own crew and no one else. In a way, that’s part of establishing trust. The Organization is prepared to
accept an armed ship crewed by non-possessed orbiting the planet providing you are integrated into its SD command network.”
“Shit,” Madeleine hissed. “Erick?”
He knew it was some kind of trap. And yet… it was hard to see how the possessed proposed to hijack the ship. This was one
crew totally aware of the danger in letting even one of the bastards on board. Iain Girardi might have made a major mistake
in approaching AndrÉ.
The CNIS could undoubtedly use firsthand intelligence data on the disposition of ships around New California, which the
Villeneuve’s Revenge
would be ideally placed to gather. And he could always jump the ship away when the data was collected, no matter what objections
Duchamp raised. There were items stowed in his cabin which could overcome the rest of the crew.
Which just left personal factors. I don’t want to go into the front line again.
“It’s an important decision,” he muttered.
AndrÉ gave him a puzzled look. Naturally he was pleased some of the (diabolically expensive) medical nanonic packages were
off, but obviously the poor boy’s brain still hadn’t completely recovered from decompression. And Madeleine was asking him
to decide.
Merde
. “We know that, Erick. But I don’t want you to worry. All I need to know is which of my crew is loyal enough to come with
me. I have already decided to take my ship to New California.”
“What do you mean, loyal enough?” Madeleine asked hotly.
AndrÉ held his hand up in a pleading gesture. “What does Erick have to say, eh?”
“Will we be docking with anything in the New California system? Do you expect us to take on any extra crew, for example?”
“Of course not,” Girardi said. “Fuel loading doesn’t require anyone coming into the life-support capsules. And if the unlikely
event does arise, then obviously you’ll have a full veto authority over anyone in the airlock tube. Whatever precautions you
want, you can have.”
“Okay,” Erick said. “I’ll come with you, Captain.”
• • •
“Yeah?”
“Fuck, I might have guessed, who else is going to call this time of night. Don’t you people ever sleep?”
“Everybody wants favours. I don’t do them anymore. I’m not so cheap these days.”
“Yeah? So you go run and tell my comrades; what use will I be to you then?”
“Mother Mary! You’ve got to be… Alkad Mzu? Shit, that’s a name I didn’t expect to hear ever again.”
“Here? In the Dorados? She wouldn’t dare.”
“You’re sure?”
“No, of course nobody’s said anything. It’s been months since the partizans even bothered having a meeting. We’re all too
busy doing charity work these days.”
“Mother Mary. You believe it, don’t you? Ha! I bet you lot are all pissing yourselves. How do you like it for a change, arsehole?
After all these years waiting, us poor old wanderers have gone and got us some real sharp teeth at last.”
“You think so? Maybe I just resigned from your agency. Don’t forget what the issue is here. I was born on Garissa.”
“Fuck you, don’t you fucking dare say that to me, you bastard. You even so much as look at my family, you little shit, and
I’ll fire that fucking Alchemist at your home planet myself.”
“Yeah, yeah. Right, it’s a sorry universe.”
“I’ll think about it. I’m not promising you anything. Like I said, there are issues here. I have to talk to some people.”
• • •
The party was being thrown on the eve of the fleet’s departure. It had taken over the entire ballroom of the Monterey Hilton,
and then spread out to occupy a few suites on the level below. The food was real food; Al had been insistent about that, drunk
possessed could never keep the illusion of delicacies going. So the Organization had run search programs through their memory
cores and hauled in anyone who listed their occupation as chef, possessed or non-possessed. Skill was all that counted, not
its century of origin. The effort was rewarded in a formal eight-course banquet, whose raw materials had been ferried up to
the asteroid in seven spaceplane flights, and resulted in Leroy Octavius handing out eleven hundred hours worth of energistic
credits to farmers and wholesalers.
After the meal Al stood on the top table and said: “We’re gonna have a bigger and better ball when you guys come back safe,
and you got Al Capone’s word on that.”
There was a burst of tumultuous applause, which only ended when the band struck up. Leroy and Busch had auditioned over a
hundred musicians, whittling the numbers down to an eight-strong jazz band. Some of them were even genuine twenties musicians,
or so they claimed. They certainly sounded and looked the part when they got up onstage to play. Nearly three hundred people
were out on the dance floor jiving away to the old honky-tonk tunes which Al loved best.
Al himself led the way, hurling a laughing Jezzibella about with all the energy and panache he’d picked up at the Broadway
Casino back in the old days. The rest of the guests soon picked up the rhythm and the moves. Men, Al insisted, wore their
tuxes or, if they were serving in the fleet, a military uniform; while the women were free to wear their own choice of ball
gowns, providing the styles and fabrics weren’t anything too modern. With the decorations of gossamer drapes and giant swans
created out of fresh-cut flowers the overall effect was of a grand Viennese ball, but a damn sight more fun.
Possessed and non-possessed rubbed shoulders harmoniously. Wine flowed, laughter shook the windows, some couples snuck off
to be by themselves, a few fights broke out. By any standard it was a roaring success.
Which was why at half past two in the morning Jezzibella was puzzled to find Al all by himself in one of the lower level suites,
leaning against its huge window, tie undone, brandy glass in one hand. Outside, star-points of light moved busily through
space as the last elements of the fleet manoeuvred into their jump formation.
“What’s the matter, baby?” Jezzibella asked quietly. Soft arms circled around him. Her head came to rest on his shoulder.
“We’ll lose the ships.”
“Bound to lose some, Al honey. Can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs.”
“No, I mean, they’re gonna be in action light-years away. What’s to make them do as I say?”
“Command structure, Al. The fleet is a mini-version of the Organization. The soldiers at the bottom do what the lieutenants
at the top tell them. It’s worked in warships for centuries. When you’re in battle you automatically follow orders.”
“So what if that piece of shit Luigi takes it into his head to dump me and set up all on his own in Arnstadt?”
“He won’t. Luigi is loyal.”
“Right.” He chewed at a knuckle, thankful he was facing away from her.
“This bothers you, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah. It’s a goddamn problem, okay? That fleet is one fuck of a lot of power to hand over to one guy.”
“Send two others.”
“What?”
“Put a triumvirate in charge.”
“What?”
“Easy, lover; if there’s three of them in charge of the fleet, then each of them is going to be busting his balls to prove
how loyal he is in front of the others. And let’s face it, the fleet’s only going to be away for a week at the most. It takes
a hell of a lot longer than that to get a conspiracy up and running successfully. Besides, ninety per cent of those soldiers
are loyal to you. You’ve given them everything, Al; a life, a purpose. Don’t sell yourself short, what you’ve done with these
people is a miracle, and they know it. They cheer your name. Not Luigi’s, not Mickey, not Emmet. You, Al.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, drawing his confidence back together. What she said made a lot of sense. It always did.
Al looked at her in the drizzle of starlight. The personas were combined tonight: a feminine athlete. Her dress of sparkling
pearl-coloured silk hinted at rather than revealed her figure. The allure she exerted was terrifying. Al had been hard put
to control his temper that evening as he picked up the swell of hunger and lust from the other men on the dance floor every
time she glided past.
“Goddamn,” he whispered. “I ain’t never done anything to deserve a reward as big as you.”
“I think you have,” she murmured back. Their noses touched again, arms moving gently into an embrace. “I’ve got a present
for you, Al. We’ve been saving it up as a treat, and I think the time’s right.”
His hold around her tightened. “I got the only treat I need.”
“Flatterer.”
They kissed.
“It can wait till the morning,” Jezzibella decided.
• • •
The lift opened onto a section of Monterey Al didn’t recognize. An unembellished rock corridor with an air duct and power
cables clinging to the ceiling. The gravity was about half-strength He pulled a face at that, free fall was the one thing
about this century he really hated. Jez kept trying to get him to make out with her in one of the axis hotel cubicles, but
he wouldn’t. Just thinking about it made his stomach churn.
“Where are we?” he asked.
Jezzibella grinned. She was the knowing and carefree girl-about-town persona this morning, wearing a snow-white ship-suit
which stretched around her like rubber. “The docking ledges. They’ve not been used much since you took over. Not until now.”