The Quiet Pools

none of our watchdogs have barked. That’s a credit to you.”

“It’s all being handled by staff,” Dryke said, already starting to feel the midday heat. “I haven’t had anything to do with it.”

“Take the compliment and forget the blushing. You’d be blamed if they screwed up,” said Marshall. “Besides, I haven’t gotten to the tough parts. Tell me about the centers. What’s happening in Tokyo?”

“Tokyo is closed down, for all practical purposes,” Dryke said. “The work that could still be done there under siege conditions isn’t worth the risk to our people. We have a hundred or so security officers and a couple of dozen operations techs inside, which is about the limit we can support from the air, with the roof pad.”

“It’s important to protect the building,” said Marshall. “We do want to go back there—or at least be able to sell the building—when Memphis is gone and things have quieted down. What about the other sites?”

“Still more or less normal, except for the absence of the pioneers. Munich can thank the German government. Houston has its own airfield and its own housing, of course—they can probably ride out most anything so long as the fences hold.”

Marshall nodded. “It’s good to know that we’re still ready to fight on some fronts. This new strategy—I guess I’m a bit more of a scrapper than Hiroko. I hate to see us cede anything. Did you sign off on Contingency Zero?”

“It wasn’t my call.”

“And if it had been?”

Dryke was wary. “If it had been my call, I wouldn’t have put the training centers in urban sites in the first place. We’re a lot more secure here than they are in Houston.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Marshall said, “Maybe we should be keeping those people we just talked to here, then. Maybe shipping everyone up to Takara and Memphis is an overreaction.”

“That’s where they’re going eventually,” Dryke said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “And as you said, that part is going smoothly, at least. No harm, no foul.”

The scream of a T-ship passing overhead distracted them briefly.

“Some of us have noticed that you’ve been taking a back seat since you reeled in Jeremiah for us,” Marshall said.

“Resting on my laurels,” Dryke said. A touch of the bitterness slipped out with the words.

Marshall smiled. “I knew Bill McCutcheon. Were you aware of that?”

Eyes widening, Dryke admitted, “No.”

“Well, you would be soon, I imagine. I assume that you’re building a matrix of his contacts, looking for the rest of the Homeworld leadership.”

“Yes.” The truth was that he had not been able to work up any sense of urgency about what was certain to be a massive undertaking, and so had not even begun.

“He beat me to a parcel of land in Mexico a few years back,” Marshall said. “I offered him more than it was worth, too, but he wouldn’t sell it to me. He never did anything with it, either. A lot of his holdings were undeveloped, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh?”

“If ten percent of what he owned produced income, I’d be surprised. He was land-rich and cash-poor. Not your traditional land speculator, though. More a land investor. Up until the last few months, he bought more than he sold—which is the hard way, since you don’t realize any gains until you sell.”

“What was that about the last few months?”

“Bill moved ten or twelve parcels since August. Knowing what we know now, I suppose he needed operating funds—but I’m not telling you anything you didn’t know. I imagine you’re following the money, too.”

Dryke squinted sideways at his companion. “Why did you want to see me, Mr. Marshall?”

“I always valued your perspective, Mikhail,” Marshall said. “Just because the Director is looking past you at the moment, I didn’t see any reason I couldn’t avail myself of it on my own.”

Dryke could find no argument with that. “What do you want my perspective on?”

“Has Homeworld been eliminated as a threat?”

“I wouldn’t assume so.”

“Nor would I. How would you characterize our strategy at this point?”

Lips pursed, Dryke considered. “A controlled retreat under cover of darkness. Abandoning a vulnerable position for a more secure one.” It was clear now that their conversation was a footnote to an argument that had taken place behind closed doors.

“But we’re most vulnerable now—halfway between.”

“Yes.”

“If they find out what’s happening before we’re finished, it’ll be like showing a gimpy leg to a wolf pack.” There was no need to define they—it embraced Homeworld, the media, and any other opponent or obstacle.

“It wouldn’t look good, no.”

“And it could happen.”

“Disinformation campaigns are always vulnerable to the truth.”

“Yes,” said Marshall. “Do you know why I wanted to talk to the pioneers?”

“I assumed it was for the reason you told me.”

“I spoke with Karin Oker this morning, and she told me something that raised the hair on the back of my neck. According to her, when the early call to report went out for the Block 2 and Block 3 pioneers, more than seven hundred—almost twelve percent—opted out. Quit on us.”

It was a stunning, disturbing figure. In past calls, including those for Ur, no more than two percent had failed to report. “I hadn’t heard that.”

“That’s seven hundred leaks waiting to happen. I know the calls didn’t contain any damning information, but the circumstances are damning enough. Someone’s going to talk, and someone else is going to figure out what we’re up to,” Marshall said. “I’m wondering if perhaps we ought to announce it ourselves before that happens.”

“What does that gain us?”

“I know, it sounds like shooting yourself in the foot,” said Marshall, flashing a crooked, humorless smile. “Here’s my thinking. In his last address, Jeremiah hammered at the importance of keeping the colonists here. But once we’ve whisked them all away off-planet, there’s only one way to do that, and that’s to disable or destroy the ship. We’ve done our enemies a favor, really. Instead of a hundred strategies and a dozen attack points, they can concentrate on one goal and one big, fat, inviting target. Do you agree?”

“Yes.”

Marshall stopped and faced Dryke. “Then it seems to me that we can best protect the ship by making sure anyone and everyone knows that there are already three thousand people aboard, with more arriving every day. Considering how the Homeworlders feel about losing them, the pioneers are as good as hostages. They won’t dare a major assault.”

“It doesn’t add up that way to me,” Dryke said with a shake of his head. “If they stop Memphis, they stop Knossos and Mohenjo- Daro and Teotihuacan as well. The numbers don’t look that bad—sacrifice a few thousand to slam the door on tens of thousands. If they were really sure of themselves, they might warn us in advance, tell us to evacuate the ship. But I don’t think that’ll happen. I don’t think they’re going to be as worried about who’s aboard as we’d wish they would be.”

“Then why haven’t they done it yet? What’s holding them back?”

“I think that Jeremiah held them back,” Dryke said slowly. “I think he believed that he had the compelling case—that the ethical and logical correctness of his position guaranteed eventual victory. He wasn’t dueling with us. He was debating with us.”

“Evan Silverman wasn’t debating. Those people in Tokyo aren’t debating.”

“No. Jeremiah saw the writing on the wall. He knew he was running out of time. The game’s being played by different rules now.” Rules that Silverman introduced, and I ratified. “Matt Reid brings up this every time we talk. He agrees—the question isn’t if, it’s when and how. It’s entirely a question of logistics now.