Engineman Part 11

Delgardo gestured. "Not to worry. It's great to hear from you again. It's been a long time."

"Years," Hunter said, aware that they were both beating around the proverbial bush. "Too many years."

Jose Delgardo was something of a paradox: head of one of the Organisations responsible for putting the bigship Lines out of business, he was nevertheless a believer, a Disciple. He had trained to become an Engineman, and even pushed briefly as a Gamma before ill-health had forced his early retirement. Hunter had known and liked him when both men worked for the Hartmann Company on Mars in the early days of interface development. He had been the obvious person to approach about this matter.

Hunter cleared his throat. "I take it you've considered my communique?"

Delgardo sat up, equatorial sunlight falling about him through the window-wall of his office. "I must admit, Hirst, that my first reaction to this-" he tapped a sheaf of print-outs before him on the desk "- was that I found it hard to believe."

"And your second reaction?"

The Director of the Keilor-Vincicoff Organisation pursed his lips, considering. "Frankly, my second reaction was still one of disbelief."

"But the consequences, if we ignore it..." Hunter began.

Delgardo made a sound that was part sigh, part laughter. "You don't for a minute expect me to order the closure of all the 'faces, just like that?" He snapped his fingers.

Hunter was ready with a reply. "Not immediately, no. The shutdown could be phased in over a number of years."

"But my investors-" Delgardo began.

Hunter laughed. "You don't sound like a very good Disciple."

Delgardo smiled ruefully. "Five years in this job is enough to corrupt the best."

Hunter leaned forward in his armchair. "We've given this a lot of thought, Jose. Please hear me out. The obvious course of action is for the KVO to reinvest in the shipping Lines. Don't you hold the legal right of tender on many of the main routes? If you began putting capital into ship-building right now, then there's no reason why in two, three years you wouldn't be running a vastly profitable Line."

Delgardo leafed through the report, unconvinced.

Hunter was less nervous now than he had been before speaking to the Director for the first time in years. At least he was giving Hunter a hearing.

"Okay," Delgardo said at last, "just supposing all this is true, supposing I, the heads of the other interface concerns, and the United Colonies agree that we should shut down the network - you don't think for a second that the Danzig Organisation would meekly agree and quietly close down their operations?"

Delgardo turned to a keyboard on his desk and tapped in a command. The entire window-wall behind him darkened, then showed an overview of the galaxy. It focused in on the Rim quarter controlled by the Danzig Organisation.

The Danzig planets flashed orange.

Delgardo said, "They own nearly two hundred planets in this quadrant, and they all have interfaces. Plus they have links to junction planets all around the Expansion. They aren't likely to give it up that easily - especially if we have the jump on them as regards the bigships."

Hunter smiled in complete agreement. This perhaps would be the hardest part of his communication with the Director. "We realise this - and realise also that we might have to neutralise the Danzig Organisation by force-"

"But their militia is second to none! Look what they did to put the rebellion down on Xiang last year."

"If the UC acted as one," Hunter continued, "along with the other interface Organisations, we would overpower them with ease. The only reason they gained such a stranglehold on the Rim is that the UC never squared up to them in the past. They opposed them with petty sanctions which never had any effect." Hunter gestured. "Besides which, to a large extent the conflict would be fought out by guerrilla hit squads. We need only to destroy their interfaces to render them powerless, after all." He paused. "Purely as a humanitarian issue, we can't let them get away with the genocide of the Lho."

Delgardo sat in silence for a long minute. "How can I be certain that your claims are fully justified, Hirst? As I said, I personally find it almost too incredible to believe."

"I don't by any means expect your full and immediate support right this minute," Hunter said. "You have every reason to doubt my story. But I can substantiate it. Just give me time, Jose. Soon, I'll have proof that everything contained in the report is accurate."

Delgardo leafed through the read-out again. He looked up. "How soon?"

Hunter hesitated, took a risk. "In two, maybe three days. I'm coming to Malaysia then. I'm arranging to meet Earth's UC representative at the disused airbase at Ipoh. If you could be present, I promise you won't be wasting your time. Of course I'll be in touch before then to finalise the arrangement."

"Very well, Hirst. I'll do my best to be there - for old time's sake. I've never known the Hunter of old to stick his neck out so far, if it wasn't worth the risk of losing it."

Hunter smiled. "Thank you. You have no idea how grateful I am, Jose."

They chatted for a while longer, before Delgardo excused himself and cut the connection. Hunter sat back in his armchair and released a long breath. Yesterday he had contacted Johan Weiner, the UC representative on Earth, and discussed his report with him. Like Delgardo, Weiner's response had been guarded - but he had not dismissed Hunter's claims out of hand, and had agreed to meet Hunter and his team in Malaysia. It was all Hunter could reasonably ask.

Of course, the meeting at Ipoh would come to nothing if he did not succeed with his plans over the next couple of days.

Which reminded him...

He glanced at his watch. It was almost twelve, and time for his dinner engagement with Mirren and the others.

Chapter Ten.

Mirren and Dan Leferve hurried along the crowded avenue towards the golden bauble of the Gastrodome. Hordes of tourists promenaded, enjoying the clement evening. Within the vast dome which covered central Paris the temperature was controlled: not for these rich visitors the sweltering night heat that suffocated the rest of the city. High overhead, tiny lights on the inner curve of the dome simulated the constellations.

Caspar Fekete was waiting for them beside a news-fax kiosk. He was impressive in a magenta djellaba, his bulk emphasised by the console, surely augmented since his discharge from the Line, which spanned his shoulders.

"Ralph, it's wonderful to see you again." He took Mirren's hand in a limp grip, gold bracelets and rings flashing.

He was conscious of Fekete's gaze taking in his unkempt appearance: his balding head, his gaunt, unshaven face. They strolled along the avenue.

Fekete said, "Have you ever been to the Gastrodome, Ralph?"

Mirren gazed at the dome. "I've always thought it a bit up-market."

"You're in for an experience." Fekete smiled to himself.

"I've been," Dan said. "Once. Hated the place."

The restaurant was the decommissioned astrodome of a bigship - or rather the inflated inner mylar membrane - removed and set down on the banks of the Seine. The dome stood on a circular plinth of marble which served as a staircase, and was surrounded by an exotic display of extraterrestrial flora. Unlike in the outlying districts of the city, where xen.o.biological specimens flourished without restraint, this garden was designed and tended by a team of the finest off-world horticulturists. Similar gardens had been all the rage eighty or ninety years ago, when the first bigships forged their way to the stars and returned with all manner of botanical wonders. Then it had been a status symbol to own land given over to the trees and flowers of Hakoah or Songkhla. With the arrival of the interfaces, however, and the subsequent invasion of the alien spores, such gardens had become pa.s.se pa.s.se. This one, and everything about the Gastrodome, was an intentional exhibition of nostalgia, a harking back to an era when Paris was the centre of the s.p.a.ce industry on Earth - a display, thought Mirren, of kitsch for the nouveau riche nouveau riche of Oceania who had never experienced Paris and the s.p.a.ce-age in its hey-day. of Oceania who had never experienced Paris and the s.p.a.ce-age in its hey-day.

They mounted the marble steps to one of the triangular entrance hatches. From within drifted the sickly strains of a band playing the hits of twenty years ago. Mirren recognised Continuum Blues Continuum Blues, but done with an excess of strings to emphasise the sentiment. The maitre d' maitre d' met them on the threshold. "Gentlemen... a table for three?" met them on the threshold. "Gentlemen... a table for three?"

"We're meeting a Monsieur Hunter at midnight," Mirren said.

"Of course. If you would care to come this way." The maitre d' maitre d' was garbed in the dark blue uniform of a bigship Captain - but there was something overdone, almost pantomime, in the width of the scarlet piping, the chunkiness of the epaulettes and the jutting peak of his cap. His dress, like everything else about the place, was more lampoon than honest imitation. was garbed in the dark blue uniform of a bigship Captain - but there was something overdone, almost pantomime, in the width of the scarlet piping, the chunkiness of the epaulettes and the jutting peak of his cap. His dress, like everything else about the place, was more lampoon than honest imitation.

The interior of the dome was a series of ever smaller galleries which rose in tiers from the floor, encircling an inner area where the band played and patrons danced. Each gallery was sectioned off into private dining booths with a view over the surrounding gardens.

As they were led to an elevator plate which whisked them up to the fifth gallery, Mirren turned to Dan. "I see what you mean," he said.

"Wait till you see the prices," Dan said.

"Let's hope Hunter will be picking up the bill."

"To be honest, it won't feel right - dining with someone directly responsible for the closure of the Lines."

They stepped off the elevator and the maitre d' maitre d' steered them around the circ.u.mference of the walkway. steered them around the circ.u.mference of the walkway.

Hunter was scanning a newssheet when they arrived. He looked up, the disfigured half of his face glowing a fiery crimson in the lighting of the booth. He stood as Mirren made the introductions. "Mr Fekete, Monsieur Leferve, you cannot imagine how pleased I am to make your acquaintance."

They shook hands amicably, Dan and Fekete concealing any hostility they might have felt towards the Danzig Organisation executive. Mirren recalled their first meeting. It was almost as if the big off-worlder had the ability to neutralise suspicion, win people over with his persuasive charisma.

On anyone else, Mirren thought, the growth would be the thing which attracted attention. With Hunter, after the initial surprise, it ceased to be a point of significance beside his attentive demeanour and charm.

"Please, take a seat. May I offer you an aperitif?"

Mirren sat with his back to the soft wall of the dome. He looked around for Hunter's bodyguards but saw no sign of them. He guessed they would not be far away, mingling with the diners. Fekete sat to his right, Dan to his left and Hunter facing him.

"I take it we are not to be joined by Ms Elliott?"

"We couldn't contact her, or Olafson."

Hunter waved in good-natured acceptance.

They ordered. The menu was interstellar and the prices, Mirren thought, astronomical. Hunter exhorted them to try the braised prawns from the waterworld of Shanendoah - the most expensive starter listed. He gave a running commentary on each dish throughout the process of ordering. Mirren calculated that the bill for his meal alone would come to almost double his usual weekly food allowance.

The food arrived and they ate. Hunter sampled his dish. "Delicious! I'll say this for the place, its fare is far more appealing than its appearance, but then how could it not be? I a.s.sumed when I booked the table that it might prove an apposite venue. Unfortunately, I reckoned without the city's innate skill in prost.i.tuting its former glory."

Mirren had ordered a cut of meat grown in the vats of Amethyst, with a side dish of the planet's finest vegetables. He ate in silence, unable to appreciate the meal. He was aware of a tension around the table, which Hunter strove to defuse with a flow of small talk.

Dan was unable to check his impatience. He laid down his knife and fork. "Forgive my curiosity, Monsieur Hunter, but what did you have in mind when you said that you wished to see us?"

Hunter nodded to himself, suddenly businesslike. "No at all, Monsieur Leferve. We have important matters to discuss."

Fekete said, "I take it that Ralph was mistaken in his a.s.sumption that you wish to sell us flux-time?"

Hunter dabbed his lips with a napkin. "Mr Mirren was actually closer to the truth than you might think-"

Dan interrupted. "What the h.e.l.l is someone like you doing selling flux-time?" Mirren glanced at his friend. Dan was shaking with barely controlled rage.

"Someone like me, Monsieur Leferve-?" Hunter began.

"You work for the Danzig Organisation," Fekete said. "You were responsible for buying out Lines and shutting them down. You were behind the bombing of ships which killed innocent s.p.a.cers-"

Hunter tossed his napkin into the centre of the table. "I worked worked for Danzig, Mr Fekete. I no longer do so. As for my past actions, I a.s.sure you that those deaths were unintentional and deeply regretted. You might find this hard to believe - I know I would if I were in your position - but at the time I believed that what I was doing was for the good of humanity. The methods I employed might have been deemed underhand and unjust, but they were the means that justified a greater end." for Danzig, Mr Fekete. I no longer do so. As for my past actions, I a.s.sure you that those deaths were unintentional and deeply regretted. You might find this hard to believe - I know I would if I were in your position - but at the time I believed that what I was doing was for the good of humanity. The methods I employed might have been deemed underhand and unjust, but they were the means that justified a greater end."

"The pre-eminence of the Danzig Organisation in the Rim sector?" Fekete asked, a sneer in his tone.

"The means of easy access to other planets for the average citizen," he said. "Whatever you might argue were the benefits of s.p.a.ce travel, it was prohibitively expensive for the average citizen. I genuinely thought that I was working for the good of-"

"You're making me cry," Dan cut in. "You were working to line the pockets of your Organisation, and don't try to deny it."

Hunter smiled. "You are quite welcome to make your own interpretation of my actions," he said. "I have offered my motives."

The conversation lapsed. Down below, the band swung into its own rendition of Nada Riff Nada Riff. Thankfully at this range the music was mere background noise.

Mirren cleared his throat, nervous. "You said that I was close to the truth...?"

Hunter sipped his wine. "That's right, Mr Mirren. I am not offering to sell you flux-time. I am giving it to you. Or rather, I intend to pay you to flux again. I have a proposition to make."

Mirren stared at Hunter, his body cold with sweat.

Dan almost whispered, "What proposition?"

From the inside pocket of his grey jacket, Hunter withdrew a silver envelope. He pa.s.sed it across the table to Mirren. "Please open it and take out the photographs."

Nervously Mirren unsealed the envelope and pulled out three large, glossy pictures. He stared at the first pix, looked up to see Hunter smiling at him. He was aware of Fekete and Dan watching him with a mixture of curiosity and impatience.

He pa.s.sed two photographs to Dan and Fekete, keeping one for himself. It showed the side view of a short, stubby smallship, its silver paintwork marked with meteor impact slashes and flame excoriations behind the booster exhaust vents.

"An ex-Indian navy cruiser," Mirren said. "Hindustan Cla.s.s II." He peered at the insignia on the flank and tail-fin. "I'd guess it was built in the Calcutta shipyards about thirty years ago."

Hunter said, "It's actually twenty-five years old, but you are correct in every other detail."

Dan stared at the photograph in his hand. "It's a little beauty. I've actually pushed one - a shuttle flight between Mars and Triton."

Fekete murmured, "It certainly is magnificent."

Mirren was watching Hunter, dry of throat, while the others prattled on. The off-worlder was smiling to himself.

"I am glad you're impressed," he said. "I own the smallship."

Dan was the first to voice an objection. "That's impossible! They were all sc.r.a.pped, made inoperable. The interface people made sure they bought out every Line and junked every last 'ship. Even those that went to museums had their guts ripped out."

"And the Organisations," Fekete added, "are vigilant in their campaign to ensure that no-one ever gathers the parts and puts them back together."

Hunter shook his head. "They like to give that impression, and they were vigilant in the early days. They owned all the transportation licences and they didn't want their territory invaded. But latterly they've grown lax. Ship parts are expensive, and who would have the funds to put together and fly such a cost-consuming machine?"

"Where did you get it?" Mirren asked.

"I bought the sh.e.l.l of the 'ship itself from the New Delhi Universal Science Museum; the fittings, computers and such from various sc.r.a.p yards and second-hand dealers in Europe and Asia, mainly London and Seoul. The flux-tank I located here, in Paris. Perhaps the most difficult part of the entire operation was finding engineers and technicians I could trust. But I succeeded." He gestured at the pictures.

Mirren was aware of a hard pressure of excitement in the centre of his chest like an incipient coronary. He could hardy bring himself to ask Hunter the all-important question.

Dan had no such reservations. "What the h.e.l.l are you planning to do with it, Hunter?"

"I need," the off-worlder said, "a number of Enginemen to push the boat out to the Rim and back."