“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
“You see?” Andrй 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 Andrй.
The CNIS could undoubtedly use firsthand intelligence data on the disposition of ships around New California, which the
Which just left personal factors. I don’t want to go into the front line again.
“It’s an important decision,” he muttered.
Andrй 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.
“What do you mean, loyal enough?” Madeleine asked hotly.
Andrй 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.
