Quarus Read online

  ‘Silvie wants to go home,’ Alex answered simply. ‘She feels she’s learned enough about us now to help her people understand us better. We’ve been asked to go with her because while she’s been learning about us, of course, we’ve also been learning about her, so we’ve been asked to go and do what we can to improve things between us and the quarians. And this, obviously, is a huge and very important step in that, because we never are going to be able to make friends with them all the while we’re keeping them secret and pretending they’re not even real. So if we want to be friends we have to be open about it. And seeing how well people have reacted to the discovery of Carrearranis – a human world, of course, but still a very unusual one, and right on our borders – the decision has been made that people may be able to cope, now, with knowing the truth about Quarus.’

  Ungeline looked sceptical. ‘But why would people be scared?’ She asked, with a child’s naivety. ‘Are they dangerous?’

  ‘Not at all. They don’t have any starships, or any weapons, no army, no violence, not even any crime on their world.’ Alex told her. ‘They’re the most peaceful people you could ever want to meet. As for why people get scared…’ he held up his hands in a gesture of helpless incomprehension, ‘Don’t ask me why groundsiders get such panics on,’ he said. ‘I only know that they do. I don’t know, perhaps it’s something about living on one planet that gives people a very small perspective of what’s normal and safe. They get upset even when people come from other worlds in the League who look different or speak and behave differently. Spacers, we travel around so ‘normal’ for us is a whole range of things and we just find different worlds and people interesting, you know, not scary. It has to be said, though, that spacers do think groundsiders are a bit tup about this… a bit silly about it,’ he corrected, as if just realising that he’d used the Carrearranian word. ‘It’s as if they can’t tell the difference between sharks and dolphins; like they think that any world where people practice genetic engineering means they must be heartless, brutal cyborgs like Marfikians. But quarians are the gentlest people imaginable. I would like to be able to show that, by introducing Silvie and then by sending back footage from Quarus so people can see the reality of that for themselves. But we can’t, of course, if that’s going to get people racing to the shops to panic-buy or fleeing from the cities en-masse.’

  ‘So – does that mean that if people panic you won’t be able to go?’

  ‘Oh no, we’ll still go.’ Alex said pleasantly. ‘But the authorities will have to say that we were trying to use the Quarus story as a cover for top secret operations somewhere else. That will be tedious and a lot of hard work for people to keep trying to make it look as if we’re somewhere we’re not, so we would rather just tell the truth, easier all round as well as important diplomatically. But yes, Ms Beeby, we will still be going, and however things work out we will be doing our best to keep that door open for friendship with Quarus.’

  ‘Oh.’ She considered that. ‘So… will you be declaring war on them, then?’

  ‘No!’ Alex was shocked at the suggestion, and it showed. ‘No, no – thanks, Silvie,’ he gave another spluttering laugh as Silvie was hooting with delight. ‘Shhh, remember? Off camera.’

  Silvie managed to control her laughter, mimed zipping her lip and sat there grinning hugely. Ungeline was laughing too. It was as if Silvie’s own merriment was irresistibly contagious, sparkling out of her with an almost visible radiance.

  ‘Sorry,’ Alex composed himself too. ‘No, absolutely not.’ He said. ‘The declaration of hostilities on Carrearranis was because they were a pre-industrial world in need of our help and that was the quickest, easiest way to provide it. Quarus doesn’t need our help with anything, their technology is every bit as good as ours. They could build starships for themselves if they wanted them, for sure, but they’re not, you see, an exploring people. They’re perfectly happy on their own world. I can’t imagine them ever wanting to live on our worlds, either – some of them would just like to be able to visit, that’s all, particularly worlds which have clean and beautiful oceans.’

  ‘Like ours?’ Ungeline asked eagerly.

  ‘Well… maybe,’ said Alex, being tactful since Silvie’s opinion of Therik’s oceans had not been complimentary. Therik actually had a very low environmental pollution rating. It was noted for its green spaces even in the biggest cities and for a generally clean, spacious and relaxed lifestyle. They were strict about mining, too. Most mining took place on other worlds and moons within the system. What surface mining was allowed on Therik itself was tightly controlled and not been allowed to deface any landscape. They had not, however, felt it necessary to enforce such rules for mining in the deep ocean, where huge crater-gouging machines crawled about the sea bed sending up plumes of silt. They had tectonic management systems, too – mighty industrial machines straddling stress points between plates and on faults liable to earthquake, drilling and pumping so as to ease the movement into thousands of tiny quakes rather than one great big jolt. Silvie said she could taste stinking silt in currents even hundreds of kilometres from sea-bed quarries. The tectonic systems generated a popping hum which resonated right through the oceans, too, and it had given her a headache. ‘If quarians do come to visit our worlds, it will be up to the government of each world to decide whether to invite them or not,’ Alex said. ‘And I doubt that many of them actually will want to come – it is a long trip for them, after all, and they’re not people who like leaving their own world. It’s just that they would like the choice, you know, as a matter of principle.’

  ‘But… this really is real?’ Ungeline’s tone was imploring, not challenging – the tone of a child desperate in case something wonderful was snatched out of her grasp at the last moment.

  ‘Yes,’ Alex said quietly. ‘It really is. And a huge thing, of course, right across the League. The Diplomatic Corps have been working for months, briefing system authorities and working with them and with the media to ensure that this news is handled calmly and with sensitivity. It will take weeks, too, for the initial news to be raced to all our worlds and the decision on whether to confirm this or pull back and say I was having you on won’t be made until the Senate on Chartsey has a first response from all our worlds, too. So if any worlds freak out and panic, that will be that.’

  ‘But…’ Ungeline was puzzled. ‘People will still know.’

  Alex shrugged. ‘They knew last time,’ he observed. ‘There were pictures, interviews, official statements from system presidents, the works. Then a couple of worlds panicked and word went out to pull back, so it was ‘exposed’ as a hoax and people accepted that, too. On the whole,’ he mused, ‘I’ve noticed that people tend to believe what they feel most comfortable with. It was easier for people to believe that Quarus was a hoax than to have to deal with the reality of people who look – and are – so very different from ourselves. But that was then and things are better now – I hope they’re better now, that people are more open minded, less scared, better informed and more confident. But you have to understand, Ms Beeby – when you go back with your footage and upload it to Wellerton Net, it will be grabbed not just by the media on Therik but by couriers already on standby to rush this footage out to every world in the League. It will be like laying a fuse to massive fireworks on every one of our worlds, with governments and the Diplomatic Corps waiting for that spark to arrive. That is, that really is, a tremendous responsibility to lay on any single journalist, never mind the fact that you are only twelve years old. I have been promised that you will be fine with it and will have every conceivable support, but still, I cannot reconcile it with my conscience to let you go off without understanding how enormous the consequences of uploading this story will be – and if you feel at all uneasy about that, in any way, that is absolutely not a problem. We can re-set, delete the footage you’ve just shot, and do another interview just about Carrearranis and other things, with no mention of aliens, or Quarus, at all.’

&nb
sp; ‘Don’t you dare!’ It was one of her beloved granny’s expressions, and came strangely from the child, but it was delivered with great ferocity – she even started to get up, as if she meant to grab hold of her camera and defend it against any attempt to delete the precious contents. ‘I mean…’ she suddenly realised that that had been remarkably rude, and stammered a little, ‘Sorry, it’s just that… no. It’s the Story! It’s my Story! You won’t delete my footage, will you?’ She had gone from fierce to pleading in just a few seconds, a hint of tears welling up in her eyes.

  Alex felt his wristcom pulse – since it was set to bar all calls he was not surprised to see, when he glanced down, that it was a message from Silvie. Security barriers were no impediment to her, and though generally compliant with them as a matter of courtesy, she reserved to herself the right to override security measures on higher moral imperative. On this occasion, having been asked not to speak within the camera range, she was communicating in the only way open to her.

  Alex, stop fussing – she’s a strong, intelligent young woman and as passionate in her quest for truth as you are in your Principles.

  He did not need to look to know that she was giving him a slightly worried and reproachful look. But he glanced over to her anyway, a quick reassuring look which he then transferred to Ungeline herself.

  ‘Sorry – no, of course I won’t take your footage,’ he said. ‘That was just something I felt I had to say, all right? I know you’ll be fine – and they’ll go through it all with you at the Embassy anyway.’

  That had already been arranged, that Cait would meet her back at the spaceport and take her to the Embassy where they’d go over the footage together. Ungeline had understood that certain parts might need to be blurred out if anything was in camera range, or was said, which Cait said was classified. Cait would help her to edit it, too, into all the clips and tags that a professional journalist would offer to broadcasters.

  ‘Okay,’ Ungeline said warily, looking very tense. ‘But they won’t delete it, will they?’

  ‘No,’ Alex promised. ‘You’ll be able to upload it within a couple of hours of going groundside.’

  ‘Okay.’ She breathed again, then a thought occurred and the inevitable question popped out. ‘The media will be straight on it, wanting to know if it’s true – asking you if it’s true.’ She looked curiously at him, ‘So will you just say ‘no comment’ or what?’

  ‘I won’t say anything,’ Alex said. ‘Because I won’t be here. The Heron, you see, began our orbital lift about two minutes after you came aboard.’

  He pointed to the wall-sized holoscreen and when she looked she was amazed to see that the view from it had changed. The planet was gone, no more than a dot against a busy background which she couldn’t make out. She could see, though, that the sun was now below them – Therik’s star looking very odd to her eyes, shining brightly in a black sky surrounded by stars which didn’t even twinkle the way she was used to. But it was below them, and it was clear even to her inexperienced eyes that the ship was moving very fast.

  ‘Oh!’ she gasped, and looked at Alex with some alarm, then, as if fearing that she was being shanghaied.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he assured her quickly, ‘there’s a shuttle waiting to take you back, and you’ll be leaving us well before we launch. But by the time you are back on Therik, you see, the Heron will already be superlight and heading away at high speed.’

  ‘But…’ Ungeline was bewildered, ‘You’re not leaving until next week – it was on the news that you’re going on a training flight next week. But next week, not now!’

  ‘Yes, well,’ said Alex, with mild regret and rather more amusement, ‘I’m afraid,’ he told her, ‘that we don’t always tell the truth.’

  Two

  Once Ungeline had been seen off the ship, Alex went back to the command deck. He arrived just in time for the second major launch ritual, the sealing of airlocks with the traditional warning from the skipper.

  ‘All right, ladies and gentlemen,’ Alex said, slipping into his place at the command table as he checked the seal on his survival suit. He glanced at the screen which was subdivided into views of all the working areas across the ship. Everyone was already in survival suits, already at their launch stations. There was an atmosphere of happy tension. ‘Anyone who doesn’t want to go to Quarus,’ said Alex, ‘speak up now.’

  There was a ripple of laughter through the ship which exploded into cheers when the skipper, having waited for three seconds, gave the nod for the airlocks to be sealed. There was, in fact, no reason why people could not be taken off the ship even at this late stage, in an emergency, and they could always leave the ship post-launch anyway. But this was part of the ritual, a process which had begun nearly two hours earlier with Alex conducting the ceremony of reading in. It had been immensely satisfying, that – the archaic language declaring his intention to embark the ship upon the perils and hazards of space, calling upon all those aboard the ship to state whether they were willing to embark upon that venture. The Aye that had rung out had echoed off the bulkheads. Since then, every tech access hatch and locker door had been sealed with a physical tab certifying that the contents were launch ready. The ship had been cleaned so thoroughly that not a mote of dust remained anywhere. There had been another cheer when the ship rose out of parking orbit – rather strangely, with the skipper not on the command deck, as he was at that time being interviewed by Ungeline Beeby. Now he was back, though, and in time to seal the airlocks, a psychological break between the ship and the planet they were leaving.

  They were, by then, approaching three quarters light speed and accelerating hard. The launch tunnel lay ahead of them, a vast array of superlight field generators which would boost their own engines and power them into wave space. With just a few minutes to go, they moved into the penultimate pre-launch ritual.

  ‘Last calls, ladies and gentlemen,’ said Alex, as he always did, and that too got a cheer.

  People did make calls, though. Many of them had families at the Fourth’s base, either living there or visiting while the ships were in port. It would be at least a year before they were able to talk to them directly again. Once they were launched, they would be able to send messages, but there would be a time delay for those even while they were in long orbit outside the system, and they would be beyond comms entirely within minutes of turning away. After that, they’d be reliant on the couriers which would keep them in contact with their base world, via Chartsey.

  There were some poignant calls, though it had to be said that they tended to be more tearful on the side of those who were being left behind. Spacers would not be spacers if the yearning to get out amongst the stars was not stronger for them than the pull of home and family. They had, too, been at Therik for more than three months, a long time for the Fourth to be in port and more than long enough for the joys of groundside life to pall. And they were going to Quarus, a destination so thrilling that most of them would have crawled from their own deathbeds to get in on the mission.

  There were a lot of new faces on the ship, as Alex looked at the screens showing areas around the ship. They had lost almost half their crew at Therik, either because people’s secondments were up or because they’d been headhunted for other opportunities in the regular Fleet. The Second Irregulars, too, had managed to snare several of their people on a ‘borrow’, as they’d put it, whisking them off to work on high priority R&D missions. Amongst them had been their missile specialist, Micky Efalto. They had also lost two of their people whose term of service in the Fleet was coming to an end – CPO Martins, their quartermaster, and Lt Commander Martine Fishe. Both had been transferred to base duties to wind down over their last few months before retirement from Fleet service.

  Alex was going to miss them both. Both had been with him from the earliest days on his first command, the corvette Minnow, before they’d moved onto irregular terms of service and become the Fourth Fleet Irregulars. Martins had been a backbone memb
er of the crew, the core strength that held them together. And Martine, with her motherly warmth and wicked sense of humour, was a friend as well as one of his most trusted officers. She had, Alex saw, sent them a message – just a flash holo of herself with her son, waving goodbye. Within a few months, the two of them would be off on their own adventures aboard the freighter Martine was already in the process of buying.

  Alex, though, made no final call himself. He had already said his goodbyes, and the most important of those had been said five days ago, when Yula Cavell had departed on her own ship.

  A smile touched his face as he thought about Yula. They had known one another for years – she had, in fact, been his skipper and instructor during his tour of duty with the First Fleet Irregulars, which was the official name of Fleet Intelligence. There’d been a spark between them then, which was possibly why Yula had been chosen for the difficult job of handling his security while the Fourth had been on operations at Telathor. After she had saved his life, Yula had been pulled out of professional role with him and in the tropical atmosphere of Telathor, romance had not so much blossomed as detonated. In the natural way of Fleet service, he hadn’t known when, or even if, he might see her again. But up she’d popped, wholly unexpected, with precious time given to them from, of all sources, the Senate Sub-Committee which oversaw Fourth’s affairs.

  Now, she and her team were on their way to Dortmell, racing ahead of the Minnow and the Whisker which were heading there on operations.

  Glancing at the screen, Alex saw that the corvette and patrol ship were precisely on-station behind them, following on their own launch runs.

  Sorry, he thought, wishing yet again that they were coming with him. The Sub-Committee had been insistent, though. The operations at Dortmell were vital in combating the manufacture and export of illegal drugs which had made Dortmell the drugs capital of the League. Sleaze and corruption were endemic in all government and law enforcement authorities there, and where that failed, the drug lords did not hesitate to employ violence. It was rated so dangerous that no member of the Fourth would be allowed to set foot there, even to allegedly secure bases, while they were on operations. It was a horrible assignment and Alex felt bad at leaving them to deal with it while the Heron went off having fun. He could not, though, in all conscience, make any case for needing the Minnow and Whisker on the Quarus operation; the only honest reason he could give, in fact, for wanting them to go too was that he didn’t want them to miss out on the adventure. That would not have cut any ice either with the Sub-Committee or the First Lord of the Admiralty. Dix Harangay had been firm – the Heron could go to Quarus, fair enough, but the Minnow and Whisker must go to Dortmell and kick drug-lord backside just as hard as they could. Their task would be to seize as many ships as they could which were carrying toxic cargo, then take them back into the system and destroy them in the most spectacular manner possible.