Диана Дуэйн - Storm At Eldala

"All right," she said. "I concede that installation may as well be done on Grith. But the general risk still gives me pause in comparison with, say, mining." She reached out to pour another glass of kalwine. "A cargo of ore does not go stale, nor does it have value until one delivers it to the processor. This kind of
cargo is more sensitive and needs to be better protected." Helm looked up at that. 'The weapons allocations," he said. "We need more guns," Gabriel said, "or upgrades on the old ones." Helm grinned.
Gabriel brought up another page of price lists, and Helm commented at length on the virtues and vices of the weaponry available in this part of the Verge.
"I have my own preferences," he said, "and you don't have to go all the way to Austrin-Ontis for decent weapons any more. You should think about upgrading that rail cannon, at the very least. It would be even better to get rid of it. What I'd really like to see you get would be a mass cannon, but—" Gabriel laughed. "Oh, sure, let's just stop the next passing Star Force cruiser and pull one off!" "Some day," Helm said, "the cost of the things will drop so that people who aren't military can get their hands on one." His expression suggested that he intended to be the first. "Meanwhile, those upgrades. I have a friend who knows where you could get a discount."
"Delde Sota," Gabriel and Enda said in chorus. Enda chuckled. "Helm, is there any business in this system that mechalus does not have her braid or her brain plugged into?"
"You want good machinery," Helm said, "go to a mechalus. Who would know it better? The good doctor collects favors from everyone she fixes up. She put me onto somebody who's done fairly well by me. Any more figures?"
Gabriel looked over at Enda and said, "I don't think this is a decision I should make by myself, no matter how you insist that the things I did got us the awards that would make this possible." Enda merely produced one of those demure little fraal smiles.
"You were a marine too long," Helm said to Gabriel. "You were good at taking orders, but now you have other problems— staying alive, mostly. That means making decisions, not taking orders." "What made it hard," Gabriel said, "was the prospect of moving too far from where my trouble happened."
"You haven't had much luck with tracing the ones responsible, have you?" Helm said. "Not much. The trail leading back to 'Jacob Ricel,' or whatever his name was before he boarded Falada, is cold. There's no way for me to go where it might still be warm without being arrested. The marines have never been happy with the outcome of my trial. They'd prefer to do it again their way." Gabriel shook his head. "Grid information's cold as well, or getting that way, and getting at it is expensive."
"Whereas if you were hauling data," Helm said, "you would have periodic access to the drivesat relays from which you were hauling . . . and hauler's discount on data access, while spending a lot of safe time away from the Conkers."
Gabriel nodded. He had no desire to spend time closer to Concord space than he had to. There were bounty hunters who would be willing to turn Gabriel in for the reward. Yet outside of Concord space there was no resolution of his problem. Sooner or later, Gabriel would have to go back with what evidence he was able to garner and take his chances with Concord justice. "As regards 'riding shotgun' for us," Enda said, "would you be available?"
When Helm looked up from pouring another splash of Bols, there was an odd expression in his eyes. Gabriel thought it looked like gratitude, but it sealed over quickly into the old no-nonsense humor. "Been waiting for you to make up your mind. My schedule's wide open. When do we leave?" "About a week," Gabriel said. "Getting the data tanks installed will take most of the time." "And arranging to see what kind of first load we can acquire," Enda said. "I will see to that." "I'll talk to the doctor in the morning," Helm said. "Meanwhile, I could use a nap, and I have to clean up after myself. Cooking!" He stood, looming over Enda, huge and amused. "I did it with an autolaser. In a pot."
"You do most things with an autolaser," Enda said mildly. "The pot was doubtless added in a moment of inspiration."
Helm laughed, picked up his bottle and put it on the table for them, and went off down toward the airlock. "Call me in the morning," he said to Gabriel, "when you get your schedule sorted out."
"I will."
The airlock cycled shut behind Helm, and Gabriel got up to help Enda clean up after their meal. It was something they were both punctilious about—a ship in which some parties are tidy and some are sloppy soon turns into a little hell. Once the table was uncovered and folded away and the plates and utensils were washed and stowed, Gabriel folded a chair down and just sat there looking at the screen, which had defaulted to that view of the green field under some alien sun, the long grass rippling silkily as water in the wind that stroked it.
Down in her cubicle, Gabriel could hear Enda moving around, putting her bed in order for the night. A year ago he had known nothing of her, known no fraal at all and precious few aliens of any kind. Now he could hardly imagine a world without her—a world circumscribed by these scrubbed gray walls and floors— the fire of starrises and starfalls, some new primary burning golden or blue-white or green through the front viewports, the tierce sky-blue of Enda's huge eyes.
Once the world had been different, not gray-walled but white-walled, the color of marine country in a Star Force ship. Life had been simple, explicable, neatly circumscribed. You went where you were ordered—or were taken there. You fought who you were told to, and you cleaned up afterwards. Ready to fight . . . He had been, but the nature of the enemies had changed overnight, and the conflict had become difficult to understand. Too difficult for the marine he was then—and Gabriel had found himself cashiered, cast loose on a world he didn't know, alone and friendless.
Then Enda had turned up. There were aspects of their first meeting and their subsequent dealings that Gabriel still did not understand. But he was certain that it was a better world with her in it, and that he owed her most of what he had now. He was partner in a ship, half of a business, and had come through some difficult times getting used to it. He had survived, but there was always the question of how long he could keep on doing it.
"You are thinking harder than usual," Enda said. Gabriel glanced up. "Does it show?" "I heard you. You are still unsure . . ."
Gabriel chuckled. "Mindwalkers. I can't even brood without being overheard any more." She pulled down the chair opposite him. "I have had much less training in the art than most. However, if you think loudly, I cannot help it. You also must not think I desire to pressure you in any direction. If I have been doing so, you must tell me so."
Gabriel shook his head. "You misheard me. You can be pretty forceful, but not that way. In fact, it's hard to get you to tell me what to do even about little things."
"Perhaps I refuse to be lured into a role that you would accept too easily," Enda said. "Gabriel, is your choice firm?"
"Yup. Let's get out of here."
Enda tilted her head to one side, one of the fraal versions of the human nod.
"We had not discussed how we will leave. Do we make starfall to Terivine by ourselves, or hitch a ride with some larger vessel?"
"Maybe not on the first leg," Gabriel said. "If you set out on your own, sometimes people assume you're going to keep going that way. If we picked up a hitch after we make our first starfall …" He shrugged. "This deviousness," Enda said, "suits you well enough, you who were such an innocent only six months ago. Beware lest you lose track of who you are beneath all the twists and turns." She smiled as she said it, but Enda's look was more than usually thoughtful. Gabriel had never had a living grandmother to look at him in this particular way. Now it occurred to him that this was how one might look if she were about a meter and a half tall and so slender that she looked like you could break her in half like a stick.
"There are times," Gabriel said, "when I've considered that." Enda blinked at him. "What exactly?"
"Losing track, of who I am, or was. A little discreet cosmetic surgery, maybe … a change of look, a change of name. Let Gabriel Connor have an accident somewhere. Change the name appearing on Sunshine's registry. Become someone else . . ." "It would be a logistical problem to change our registry," Enda said. "Not impossible, but expensive, and it is impossible to do such things without leaving an electron trail. Additionally, for those who are determined to know where you are, and who you are … I question whether the stratagem would work for long."
"More to the point," Gabriel said at last, "is whether I really want to hide. I don't want to throw away my name. I want to clear it."
"But you are finding that hard," Enda said, "and potentially harder as time goes on."
"Without the evidence I need to prove I didn't kill those people willingly, yes."
"The frustration," Enda said softly, "can wear a soul down, if allowed to do so."
"Even a stone wears down under water," Gabriel said. "Every time someone hears the name 'Gabriel
Connor' and looks at me that way—'Oh, that Gabriel Connor, you were on the Gridnews, you
murdered your best friend and got away with it, some legal loophole or other. Aren't you proud of
yourself?' Every time I see that look, it's another drip on the stone. Is it so strange to wish it would just
stop?"
He tried to look steadily at her. Even now, even with half a year of time between him and the deaths of his comrades in that shuttle explosion, it was hard to talk about it, even with someone as coolly compassionate as Enda.
"It is one of your people's sayings," Enda said, "long ago I heard it. 'When Heaven intends to confer great office upon a man, it sheds disaster upon him and brings all his plans to naught; reduces him in the sight of the world, and confounds all his undertakings. Then it is seen if he is ready.' " Gabriel laughed. "That's all very reassuring if you know that you're intended for some 'great office.' Otherwise, it just seems delusional, a way to rationalize the act of the universe doing what it usually does—crapping on the ordinary guy."
"In this then," Enda said, "plainly there is universal justice. The great and the lowly are treated the same. Perhaps what makes the difference is in how they react to it."
Chapter Two
A STARFALL AWAY FOR a big ship, or five or six starfalls off for a small one, a Concord cruiser slipped massively through the outer fringes of the Lucullus system. If no one in the system was sure what its business was, that state of affairs well suited one of its passengers.
Lorand Kharls sat quietly in the room he had occupied since arriving aboard the cruiser. It was very bare, for he did not have time to go in for much decoration. His work required him to change residence often, and he disliked having to pack much more than a change of clothes and a box of reference works, books and solids and so forth. He had come far enough along in his job that this was more than enough to help him get his business done—that, and hours of talking and listening.
There was a soft knock at his door. "Yes?" he said, and his assistant, a tall young man wearing mufti and a complete lack of expression, slid the panel aside. "She's here."
"Thank you, Rand. Ask her to come in."
The door slid wider, and a dark-haired young woman walked in. She wore a Star Force uniform with Intel pips at the collar, and an expression pleasanter than his assistant's, though as neutral. She would never have been able to manage anything like his assistant's fade-into-the-veneer quality. Her face had too much character—a stubborn forehead, strong chin, and those large brown eyes that somehow made the rest of her face seem insignificant. "Aleen Delonghi, sir," she said, saluting him. "You're welcome. Please sit down."
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