Vyyda Book 1: The Haver Problem (25 page)

             
A sensor emitting a triple-chirp from the cockpit grabbed Caroline’s attention.                “What is it?”

             
“Not sure,” Stovall said.

             
“Are we alone?”

             
“Should be.  No sign of anything out there.”

             
Neither Stovall nor Caroline was familiar with the finer points of the Selphen.  She joined him in the cockpit and they worked separately, searching the controls for some indication of what had sounded the alert.

             
“There,” Stovall said, pointing at an indicator for the displacement drive.  “The drive is getting too cold.  I need to spin it a few times, keep it fresh.”

             
Caroline nodded and reclined in her seat.

             
“What if we hadn’t been alone?” Dorsey asked.  It was a reasonable request for someone not privy to the workings of the HSPB.

             
‘”Hmm?” Caroline asked, turning halfway toward him.

             
“Another vessel comes along.  What do you do?”

             
Stovall caught her eye, shook his head.

             
“Nothing,” she said.  “We move along.  Come back later.”

Dorsey felt he understood Caroline Dahl well enough now to tell that she was
lying.  Perhaps she didn’t want to alarm him.  He could only wonder how much apprehension there was for anyone from Earth venturing out into U-Space.

             
Forced migration.  Dorsey had never really doubted that it took place – not even as a boy.  He simply resisted giving it much thought.  His father, Tomas Witt, orichasers spread across the stars of uncontrolled territory could go on and on about it.  The reality was that whatever led to the separation of the human race was over and done.  But now, in the company of a pair of what he assumed were Earthers, Dorsey had the temptation to ask.  What would they say if he pushed them to answer for forced migration?  What would Caroline Dahl’s reaction be to a recounting of the journal found on FTC-45?

             
Tomas Witt had raised Dorsey’s level of interest considerably.  But there had been mention of visiting Luna when the Haver problem was resolved.  Would he risk that to ask about how he and billions of others had ended up shut off from the home planet?  Not just yet.  He wasn’t convinced that the trip to Luna was a genuine offer, but neither could he dismiss it as pure fabrication.  Dorsey Jefferson did what was frequently difficult for him.  He held his tongue.  

19.

Rollos

             
While Dorsey was far away, events rolled on as scheduled for Sykes.  Transports began to arrive at the appointed hour, unloading rough-looking passengers in single-file lines, one attached to another by chains and cuffs.  Dirty, bearded and thick-limbed, the transient laborers marched slowly toward the holding area set aside for them, directly underneath the promenade.  What had once served as working space for maintenance personnel needed to be transformed into a de facto prison – secure as any penal settlement to be found in U-Space – before Sykes could host the special “guests” in orange coveralls. 

Pietro Sklar had promised
everyone.  Guaranteed that nothing would go wrong on these layovers. 

             
Sklar was walking a thin line.  Sykes needed the revenue to survive.  Faculty and students alike would only stay if they could be convinced of their they were safe.

             
The Sykes security contingent Dorsey had seen awaiting their unpleasant duty only hours earlier watched as the guards guiding the Rollos along the well-cleared path to their billet arbitrarily shocked one or another of the laborers with stun-bars.  Giggles among them, taking turns doling out unnecessary punishment to defenseless men.

             
Strangely, the Rollos reacted not one bit.  They trudged on, as if it were part of their existence; something which they had no capacity to change.

             
When, four hours into the process of moving the transient laborers into their confinement area, the vessels continued to land, one of the Sykes security team contacted Pietro Sklar.  They were overloading the facility.  The agreement had been for three dozen Rollos, give or take.  More than one hundred had been deposited already with more transports waiting their turn to land.

             
Sklar tracked down the “owners” of the labor collective.  Three brothers – the Pillorrees.  It was a violation of the terms of the contract, Sklar told them.  They didn’t care.  Their contract was with the consortium that held the title on Sykes, not with Sklar.  As one of the brothers Pillorree spat at Sklar’s feet, backing him up, the message was clear:  no one on Sykes could stop the overload.

             
It may not have been as secure or comfortable as his quarters, but Sklar remained on the landing platform.  He watched from a distance as the final Rollos were guided into lockup, bringing the grand total to one hundred forty-three.  Relief only came when the chambers holding the Pillorree’s workers were locked up tight.

             
Sklar dismissed the Sykes security personnel, returned to his own rooms and sent off an urgent comm to his liaison to the ownership of Sykes, registering a complaint and plea for assistance.  They might not be able to do anything about the excess Rollos this time, but Sklar determined that he’d keep the Pillorrees away in the future.  They could find somewhere else to keep their laborers.

             
The barracks that had been built alongside the fortified enclosure that housed the Rollos was also bursting at the seams.  All of the different guards required to watch over nearly one hundred fifty rough and potentially unruly specimens made for a large group.  Once Sklar had departed the area, the eldest of the Pillorree brothers scooted the last of the guards into the barracks.  Each guard carried a pack with provisions enough to last for several days.

             
The youngest Pillorree, meanwhile, walked casually to the double doors that led to the Rollo confinement, peered through one of the portholes and caught the eye of an older, badly scarred Rollo sitting on the floor, up against one wall.  Nothing passed between them except the brief look. 

Pillorree entered a code on the lock mechanism
beside the double doors, turned and trotted over to the entry to the nearby barracks – which was waiting open for him.  The barracks were closed up and locked once he was inside.

It didn’t happen all at once, but after several moments, one of the Rollos pushed the doors of the confinement area wide open.  A handful of the laborers came out, cautiously at first.  Watching the entry to the barracks, as if expecting it to burst open and release a flood of guards, they waited.  When nothing happened, one of the Rollos broke into a half-toothless smile, nudged another and pushed ahead.  The Rollos were free.

20
.

In Flux

Once, as a boy of seven, Dorsey Jefferson had been given an unusual gift by a visiti
ng cargo jok to Hyland.  Joks were known for showing up at settlements along their routes with curiosities acquired through their travels.  Tight-lipped about where such items had come from, they worked to get the best offer for these odd little treasures. 

If, however, there were no takers and nothing to suggest intrinsic value, joks were content
to discard the items.  No sentimental connections had they.

In Dorsey’s case, he’d been in the vicinity, looking on, as the cargo jok in question found zero interest expressed in his ‘exotic’ piece.  And, rather than toss it away, the jok simply handed it to him.  It was the first and only time that Dorsey had come in contact with anything like it:  a piece of paper. 

Paper.  Who could say how long it had been at that point since even Earthers had regular contact with paper.  Somehow, this single example of what used to pass for a courier of ideas and images had found its way off-Earth, throughout U-Space and into the hands of the seven year old, yellowed and somewhat brittle.

             
While Dorsey was interested in the physical properties of the item, he was even more taken by the letters and pictures (a series of squares with varying numbers of small dots within) on the paper which had three perfectly even edges and one ragged (an indication that it was pulled from a book, if Dorsey had had any idea at that point what a book was).

             
Before he could even begin to decipher the meaning of the words on the page, before he had the tools for literacy, Millar Jefferson discovered the paper in Dorsey’s possession (contraband, officially) and burned it.  Years later, as the speaker and reader of multiple languages, Dorsey would wonder what the page had contained. 

             
Now, as he sat in the HSPB vessel, hurtling toward Haver, he thought of the childhood experience for the first time in quite a while.  He recalled the feeling of being on the brink of something seemingly impossible to grasp. 

He was there anew.  He’d never heard of Halliston.  The eleven Earthers on Haver existed as nothing more to him than stereotypes; ciphers, in his mind.  They weren’t people to him.  Not really.  They were the
idea
of people.  And a decidedly uncertain idea at that.

Dorsey’s limited view of Caroline’s face from behind provided little insight.  Yet, he did notice one difference from the sharp focus she’d had in Sklar’s office.  Her eyes had drifted gradually to the floor of the craft, gazing at nothing in particular.  Her head was tilted ever so slightly and she was, it seemed, lost in thought.  She didn’t look mercenary or devoid of humanity as Dorsey had originally perceived.  She was pondering.  She was uncertain.

In all fairness, Caroline had plenty about which to be uncertain.  As they grew closer to Haver, she’d have to construct an explanation as to why she’d brought this young, contrary “expert” with a ragged molka warmer in place of Lad Bankenshoff instead of leaving Sykes with nothing.

She also had the experience of hearing Stovall use the word spetcher in a derogatory fashion for the first time.  She’d never seen that side of him.  Interesting to know how much he really meant it.

The fate of the Earth kids, the complication of bringing the parents into it.  Too many questions without answers.  Not to mention the assertion by Dorsey Jefferson that what they were dealing with involved at least one Salginian.

Caroline climbed from her seat, joining Dorsey aft of the cockpit.

“What do you know about Salginians?”

“Probably not as much as you,” Dorsey replied.

“I don’t know the language.”

“True,” he said. “One thing I
can
tell you about them:  there’s a strong motive to hurt anyone from Earth.”

“You obviously think that some survive to this day.”

“The message tells me as much.”

“And based on what you know, how would that have happened?”

Dorsey sat forward in his chair for a moment, thinking.

“What were
you
taught to believe about Salginians?”

“How does that help you answer my question?”

“It doesn’t.  But I’d just like to know how the story goes on Earth.”

Caroline considered the request.

“Salginians posed a threat to Earth and her interests.  They committed acts of violence on a large scale.  People died.  Measures were taken to prevent the attacks.”

Dorsey shook his head and leaned back in his seat once more.

“You want to say something.”

Dorsey shrugged.  “Nothing I could say will get past the ‘history’ you’ve had pounded into your head.”

“You're so sure?”

“You’ve got it wrong about Earth interests being the only target of Salginians.”

“What else did they target?”

“Anyone with something worth taking.  The Salginians, by the way, weren’t violent.  They were tricksters, shape-shifters in a way.  They could be anything to anybody at a moment’s notice.  Entertainers originally.  Lots of stories about how they’d travel from one settlement to another, perform entertainments and pilfer whatever appealed to them before anybody knew.”

“And where do you get
your
information?”

“From a life spent in a place where nobody had to tell a lot of little lies to protect one big one.”

“So if you were to hazard a guess, what do you suppose Salginians want from us?”

“Other than a chance to kill Earthers and exact some revenge?  Can’t think of a thing.”

“They’ll kill eleven from Earth.  That’s their goal in raising the ire of the HSPB?”