Buried Deep Part 32

"Because you are wondering," he said, and then he paused, tilted his head again, and let his eyes glitter. That seemed to be the Disty equivalent of a polite smile.

Jefferson didn't move. He wasn't sure of the damage he had done.

"And I know you are wondering," Fifty-six said, "because I have made it a lifelong mission to understand all I can about the aliens that surround me. Because you are wondering, I will tell you this: My people are are ill because of this contamination. They have a sickness of something you might call the soul, although that wouldn't be quite accurate." ill because of this contamination. They have a sickness of something you might call the soul, although that wouldn't be quite accurate."

Jefferson opened his mouth to ask a question, but Fifty-six held up a hand. It was a startlingly human gesture, and it made Fifty-six seem even smaller.

"Were there signs of this sickness?" Fifty-six asked, as if neither he nor Jefferson had moved. "No. Of course not. Such a sickness only occurs when what has been buried has been revealed. The contamination becomes real and must be dealt with immediately."

"Which we are trying to do," Jefferson said.

"We are trying nothing," Fifty-six said. "Your people have no understanding of this, and think it a foolish overreaction. My own people are trying to stop a crisis from spreading first, and then we shall deal with the contamination's source. But at the moment, no one is doing that. No one is trying to clean up the source." are trying nothing," Fifty-six said. "Your people have no understanding of this, and think it a foolish overreaction. My own people are trying to stop a crisis from spreading first, and then we shall deal with the contamination's source. But at the moment, no one is doing that. No one is trying to clean up the source."

"So your people would have stayed fine if this grave had remained buried," Jefferson said.

Number Fifty-six shook his head slightly. "Not fine. Better than they are now, but not fine. You have not listened to me."

"I have listened to you," Jefferson said, "and I am hearing a fundamental difference between our peoples. We believe that revealing problems-opening them to the light-is the first step in solving them. You seem to think revealing problems makes matters worse."

"Once again, you see only through the prism of your own experience. Someday, Mr. Jefferson, you should try to live in a completely nonhuman environment and see what kind of perspective you will gain. Until then, I think you a poor advocate for your people."

Number Fifty-six turned back toward the door, and started to leave.

"Wait!" Jefferson said. "What about finding a solution?"

Number Fifty-six stopped but did not face Jefferson. "I believe we have just discovered that there is no solution, at least not one we can find together. We shall take care of our own. I suggest you do the same."

And then he left.

Jefferson bowed his head. He had never failed so spectacularly before-and had never done so with so much at stake.

The rift between the Disty and humans had just become insurmountable.

49.

Flint went through his entire list of contacts. He was unable to reach the governor-general, the mayor of Armstrong, and Armstrong's representative on the Council for the United Domes of the Moon. He couldn't reach any of the city council members either, and the chief of police responded to his link with a pointed message: She didn't talk with Retrieval Artists.

He even tried to reach the Alliance, but got only an invitation to leave his message on a board and wait for a response that would arrive "within a few days."

Flint was feeling lightheaded and desperate. The office had gotten hot again. He would have to realign his environmental controls-something he had to do, it seemed, monthly. He wiped the sweat off his forehead.

He hadn't wanted to contact DeRicci. He knew she was already overwhelmed with the refugee situation. But he had no choice.

He used her emergency links.

She responded audio only: "Can this wait?"

He heard the annoyance in her tone and almost smiled. Noelle DeRicci was under a lot of pressure and wanted less information rather than more.

"No, Noelle, it can't. I may have a solution to the Disty crisis."

DeRicci cursed, which wasn't the reaction Flint expected, and then told him to hold on. The link went so silent that he had to check the function to make sure it wasn't dead.

Then she appeared, full audio and visual, which he routed to his main desk screen. Seeing a tiny DeRicci on a vision screen made him nervous.

"Make this fast." DeRicci's face was set in harsh lines. "I'm talking to the governor-general right now, and she's not happy that I closed down the ports."

Obviously, DeRicci had gone outside politics to do her job. That didn't surprise Flint, but he couldn't ask about it at the moment. He recognized DeRicci's expression. She was so stressed that she would cut him off if she felt he was wasting her time.

"I have found a number of survivors of that ma.s.sacre," he said.

"So?"

"So," he said, "the Disty can use them to decontaminate their people and the Domes."

DeRicci's eyes narrowed. "I know know that. Why should I care about these survivors?" that. Why should I care about these survivors?"

"Because a dozen of them are on the Moon."

The color left her face. Then her mouth opened slightly and she shook her head. She understood exactly what that meant. It meant a solution. It meant that the crisis would end.

"I've been trying to hand these names off to someone, anyone, but no one was taking my calls."

"Except stupid ole me," DeRicci said, and actually smiled. "Can you send me that information? Encrypted."

"Doing so as we speak," Flint said.

"You're sure all the information is accurate?"

"Most of it to the day, a few to the month. Good luck with this, Noelle."

"Thanks, Miles. You have no idea what you've done." Then she signed off.

He clasped his hands behind his head, leaned back in his chair, and let out a huge sigh of relief. He had done what he could. He had served his clients in Sahara Dome, and he might have stopped a crisis-provided DeRicci could make timely use of those names.

Having the governor-general in DeRicci's office made the likelihood of success all that much greater.

Flint stood. He deserved a good meal and a long rest. If the crisis settled down-when the crisis settled down-he would send a final bill to Sahara Dome. the crisis settled down-he would send a final bill to Sahara Dome.

And then he would consider this case closed.

50.

It took DeRicci nearly the full fifteen minutes to explain everything to the governor-general. Getting the governor-general to understand that family members could somehow help with the decontamination process took the most time.

Finally, DeRicci had the governor-general talk to Menodi at the University of Armstrong-after warning both of them to keep the conversation short.

Then, without telling the governor-general where she had gotten the information, DeRicci told her that there were a dozen such survivors-real members of the families that died-on the Moon.

The governor-general's eyes lit up. "We can actually solve this? We can use our Disty to perform some sort of ritual when these ships land?"

"I don't think so," DeRicci said, and wished she hadn't limited the conversation with Menodi after all. "I think we're better off contacting the Alliance, and letting the Disty High Command take this over."

The governor-general studied DeRicci for a moment, then sighed. "I suppose you're right. Let me make the contact and see what we have to do."

She walked to a far corner of the room so that she could have some privacy while using audio and visual links. DeRicci let her have the entire office.

DeRicci went into Popova's office, where she had initially taken Flint's call. Popova was at her desk, placating various people, from the UDM councilors who were still on standby for a meeting that might never happen to mayors of the port cities who were beginning to get nervous about the growing number of Disty vessels hovering outside the restricted s.p.a.ce.

"How many ships are there?" DeRicci asked.

"Fifty at last count." Popova nodded toward the wall screen. Vessels floated against an invisible line, following the requests of the various Moon governments.

"Have any tried to cross?" DeRicci asked.

"Not yet," Popova said, "but it's only a matter of time."

"How many more are coming?"

Popova shook her head. "It looks like they solved the issues with the s.p.a.ce traffic control near Sahara Dome, so a lot of ships have taken off in the last few hours. No one knows how many because Sahara Dome isn't talking to anyone. And other Disty are fleeing from southern cities on Mars-only no one thinks those Disty are contaminated. They're just scared."

"Lovely," DeRicci said.

The governor-general summoned her along the links. DeRicci sighed and went back into her office.

The governor-general was using part of DeRicci's wall screen as a personal viewing screen. A woman DeRicci had never seen before peered out. In the corner, an Alliance logo marked the transmission.

"Can you a.s.sure me-us-that these names are legitimate?" the governor-general asked.

"Yes," DeRicci said. She trusted Flint. He wouldn't have contacted her otherwise.

"You got them how?" the governor-general asked.

"I put a researcher on this the moment I heard of it," DeRicci said, hoping she wasn't lying too badly. "It took some time and some luck, but I got this information in return."

The woman on the screen nodded. "My sources tell me we have to get those survivors to Sahara Dome. I'll talk to one of the Disty here and make sure of procedure. You get those survivors ready to leave the Moon."

"Will do," the governor-general said.

"I'll be back in touch with instructions shortly," the woman responded, and signed off. For a moment, the Alliance logo filled the screen, and then the news reappeared, tiny images of Mars with even tinier ships coming off it like dust in a windstorm.

"You heard her," the governor-general said. "Round these people up."

"That's a problem," DeRicci said. "These survivors are scattered all over the Moon. We don't have a Moon-wide security force to handle this. We'll need the cooperation of all the mayors."

The governor-general sighed. "I'm sure they will when they understand."

"And," DeRicci said, "if these survivors have to leave the Moon, how do we get them out of here? The United Domes has no fleet."

"I guess we commandeer a private ship," the governor-general said. "We'll bring them all to Armstrong and leave out of this Dome."

"We don't have the authority to commandeer a ship," DeRicci said. "We could hire one, but I worry about attracting media attention. If they hear anything about this, they'll be all over it, and I think we need to keep this quiet."

"Agreed," the governor-general said.

"We also have a problem with the pilot, whoever it's going to be," DeRicci said. "We need someone experienced who won't buckle under any kind of pressure."

"See what you can do about that," the governor-general snapped. "I'll handle the mayors."

"We need those survivors as quickly as possible," DeRicci said.

The governor-general glared at her. "I am aware that this is an emergency."

"Good," DeRicci said. "Because there's still a lot that can go wrong."

51.

Jefferson stepped through the tiny square door, feeling like he was visiting a child's playground. He'd never been to the Disty section of the compound before. He felt uncomfortable going there now, but Fifty-six wasn't going to come to him.

They were going to meet on Disty turf.

Jefferson had sent a dozen messages since he received word from Armstrong that survivors of the ma.s.sacre had been found. Half a dozen Disty specialists on the human diplomatic team had a.s.sured him this would solve the problem.

He wasn't sure how, but this time, he was smart enough not to ask.

He only wished he had been smart enough not to lose his temper with Fifty-six in the first place. Number Fifty-six had clearly lost his temper with Jefferson too. Fifty-six hadn't taken any of his messages. Finally, one of the Peyti delegation had intervened.

Jefferson still didn't understand how Fifty-six's pride was more important than the death of hundreds of his people, but then, Jefferson had come to realize he understood next to nothing about the Disty.

Certainly, he didn't understand how they lived. He had been warned that the quarters would be cramped and claustrophobic, but he hadn't realized how very tight they were. He had to walk while crouched, and it took only a few moments for his back to protest.