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A worried glance. “Yessir.”
“I’m telling you this because I suspect one of your crew made the discovery and communicated it to me, secretly, which is also not for general consumption, and when the commander briefs you, don’t let him know you know either—how I heard could bring one of your crew before a court martial, do I make myself absolutely clear on that?”
“Yessir.” Dekker’s voice was all but inaudible.
“The public story has to be that, having experience with this ship, we’re going to be re-evaluating certain crews for reassignment—”
“Break crews? Is that what we’re talking about?”
Damnable question. Touchy question, considering the Wilhelmsen disaster. He paused in the corridor short of the marine guards outside Percy’s office, outside their audio pick-up, he hoped, or their orders to eavesdrop on an officer. “Not by fiat. I’m asking for any crews who might want assignments re-evaluated—in the light of new data. No break-up of existing crews unless there’s a request from inside the crew. We recognize, believe me, we recognize the psychological investments you have.”
“Why in hell—” Dekker caught a breath, asked, in bewildered, betrayed tones: “Why didn’t you catch it before this?”
“Mr. Dekker, when we began this program, in an earlier, naive assumption of welcome here, we trusted the UDC to know Sol mindsets better than we did. We were absolutely wrong. We didn’t understand the prejudice involved, against the people we most needed. And your crew is the most foreign to their criteria. More so than Shepherds. Maybe that explains how it turned up with your group. But what I’ve told you can’t go any further. Hear me?”
Dekker drew a shaky breath. “Yessir.”
“I have to take your word, Mr. Dekker. Or, understand me—court-martial Ben Pollard.”
“I’m giving you a two-day stand-down, Mr. Dekker,” Porey said, the friendliest Dekker had ever seen the man, me quietest he’d ever imagined him. It still didn’t include warmth. “I don’t want you near the labs for forty-eight hours.”
Graff said, from the side of the room, “I’d recommend longer.”
Frown from Porey, who rocked back in the desk chair. “We haven’t got longer. You have a mother a great deal in the news... which you know. You may not know there’s a special bill proceeding through a JLC committee, that requires the military to surrender perso
A complete shift of attack. Another assault on memory. Sometimes he thought he lost things. “My mother, sir,...”
“He’s not gotten the headlines,” Graff said. “His schedule’s been non-stop for days...”
“Your mother, Mr. Dekker, has a battery of very expensive peacer lawyers, your mother is a cause that’s burned a police station in Denmark and gotten a MarsCorp chartered jet grounded in Dallas on a bomb threat—do you know that?”
No, he didn’t. He shook his head and Porey went on, “The whole damned planet’s on its ear, there’s a lot of pressure on the legislative committee, and you’re essential perso
He saw the lieutenant out of the tail of his eye. Graff wasn’t looking at him. Hadn’t told him... God, how much else had Graff kept from him?
Porey said: “We’re talking about a fault in the Aptitudes, and I want your well-considered opinion here, Mr. Dekker, whether you want a go-with as-is, or whether you personally want to make a perso
“Yes, sir,” he managed to say. “Extremely well. Pollard and Aboujib?”
“Exactly.”
“Can I talk to them?”
THUMP of Percy’s hand on the desk. “You’re the pilot! Gut decision! Which?”
An answer fell out. “I’d ask them, sir.”
“Correct answer,” Graff muttered, looking at the floor.
Hard to argue with Porey. Hard to think in Percy’s vicinity. But there was Graff. Graff agreed with him... Graff handed him secrets that could mean Graff’s own career; and Graff had failed his promise to tell him if there was news from Sol One...
Porey said, “Then we’ll put the decision up to them, since that’s where you want it. No preferences. You’ve lost one crew. Let’s see if this one’s worth the investment. Meanwhile, Mr. Dekker, do some thinking about your own responsibilities—like executive decisions. Do you make executive decisions, Mr. Dekker?”
“Yessir.”
“Do you remember your instructions, regarding what you’ve seen and heard?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What are they?”
“Silence. Sir.”
A hesitation. A cold, cold glance, as if he were a morsel on Percy’s plate. Then a casual wave of the hand. “Dismissed. Two-day stand-down.”
“Yessir.” Anger choked him of a sudden, out of what reserve of feeling he wasn’t sure. But it wasn’t at Graff. He refused at gut level to believe Graff had deliberately lied to him. The service had. The out-of-reach authorities had, and not for the first time in his life. He saluted, turned and reached for the door.
“Mr. Dekker,” Graff said, from the side of the room. “Excuse me, sir. —Mr. Dekker, outside, a moment.”
“Yessir.” He wasn’t enthusiastic. He didn’t want to talk. But Graff followed him outside, between the guards.
“Mr. Dekker, I failed a promise. —Do you want the information, on your mother’s whereabouts?”
He nodded. Couldn’t talk. He was acutely conscious of the guards on either hand; and Graff steered him well down the corridor, toward the corner, before he stopped. “Your mother is on Earth at the moment—everything funded by the Civil Liberty Association, as far as we can tell.”
“Why?”
“The peace movement finds the case useful—the Federation of Man, for starters—as I warned you might happen; there is a financial co
“It doesn’t make sense! She’s not political!”
“I’m afraid it’s rather well left the original issue. It’s the power of the EC that’s in question. There’ve been demonstrations at the Company offices in Bo
More and more surreal. “I don’t believe this....”
“There’s a great deal of pent-up resentment against the Company, economic resentments, social resentments—so Saito tells me: mass population effect: the case came along, it embodied a concept of Company wealth and power against a helpless worker. The Company is understandably anxious to defuse the situation; they’ve offered a settlement, but concession seems to have encouraged the opposition. Salazar’s plane was forced to land in Dallas because of a bomb threat, that’s what the commander was talking about: whether that was a peace group or a random lunatic no one knows. I can’t overstate the seriousness of what’s happening downworld.”
“She’s never been on Earth. She can’t have any idea what’s going on...”
“We certainly wish she had decided against going down.”
“Did she ever call back?”
“No: my word on that, Mr. Dekker, I swear to you. Most probably her lawyers advised her against it. Most probably— considering who funds them.”
“I’ve got to call her! I’ve got to talk to her—”