Part 22 (1/2)
Nancia gave up on Fa.s.sa for the moment After all, there were other ways to find out what was up on Shemali. Reports on hyperchip production and sales should soon be coming in over the Net. A few in- vigorating hours of compiling evidence against Polyon would calm her and leave her better able to cheer up Fa.s.sa.
She felt a sneaking sympathy for the girl after read- ing her records. Growing up in the shadow of Faui del Parma couldn't have been easy. Losing her mother at thirteen, spending the next five years in a boarding school with not a single visit from her father, then sent out to Bahati to prove herself.... Nancia thought she understood how Fa.s.sa might feel. But I didn't turn criminal to impress my family, she argued with herselt Your family, she replied, wouldn't have been impressed.
Besides, she'd had it better than Fa.s.sa. Daddy and Jinevra and Flix had dropped in regularly during the eighteen years Nancia spent at Laboratory Schools. It was only after graduation that Daddy had lost interest in her progress....
Softpersons could cry, and it was said that tears were a natural release of tension. Nancia looked up the biomed reports on the chemical components of tears, 242.
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adjusted her nutrient tubes to remove those chemicals from her system, and concentrated on the Net records of hyperchip sales and transfer.
There was absolutely nothing there to incriminate Polyon. Two years after his arrival at Shemali, his new metachip design had been approved for production and christened the ”hyperchip” in tribute to its im- proved speed and greater complexity. Since then, production of hyperchips had increased rapidly in each accounting quarter, so rapidly that Nancia couldn't believe Polyon was siphoning off any of the supply for his personal use. The manufactured hyper- chips were subjected to especially stringent QA testing, but no more than the expected ratio failed the test...
and all the failures were accounted for; they were sent off-planet for disposal and destroyed by an inde- pendent recycling company that had, so far as Nancia could discover, no links whatsoever with Polyon, the de Gras or Waldheim lines, or any other High Families. The hyperchips that pa.s.sed QA were in- stalled as fast as they were released, and every sale pa.s.sed through the rationing board. Nancia knew from personal experience how difficult it was to get them; ever since her lower deck sensors and graphics coprocessors had been enhanced with hyperchips, she'd been pus.h.i.+ng without success to get the hyper- chips installed in the rest of her system. Micaya Questar-Benn, when questioned, told Nancia that her liver and heart-valve filter and kidneys all ran on hy- perchips, installed when the metachip-controlled organs began to fail. But she, too, had been unable to get hyperchips to replace the smart chips in her exter- nal prostheses; that wasn't an emergency situation, and the ration board had refused to approve the surgery or the supplies.
Polyon had been nominated twice for the Galactic Ser- vice Award for the contributions his hyperchip design bad made in areas as diverse as Fleet brainroom control, molecular surgery, and information systems. Even the Net, that ponderous, conservative communications sys- tem that finked the galaxy with news and information and records of everything ever done via computer - even the managers of the Net were slowly, conservatively augmenting key communications Sanctions with hyper- chip managers that had significantly speeded Net retrievals. The gossipbyters speculated openly that Polyon would receive the coveted GSA this year, the youngest man - and the handsomest, said Cornelia NetUnk coyly - ever to hold one of the corycium statuettes. Speculation also ran rampant on which distin- guished post he would surely accept after the presentation of the GSA. It seemed such a waste for such a talented young man - and so handsome, Cornelia in- evitably added - to be stuck out at the back of beyond running a prison chip manufacturing plant Yet so far, Polyon had refused with becoming modesty even to dis- cuss offers of other positions.
”StarFleet a.s.signed me to this post, and my honor is in serving where I am a.s.signed,” he declared when-ever asked.
Nancia resisted the temptation to imitate a softper- son raspberry at the files. Sh.e.l.lpersons, with near-total control over their auditory/speaker systems, didn't need to sink to such childish levels....
”ThpSHt,” she declared. There was somettmg wrong on Shemali; she knew it, even if she couldn't prove it.
Perhaps their unannounced visit would give her the data she needed.
Despite her slowdown to cruising speeds, Nancia reached Shemali while she was still mulling over how to identify herself to the s.p.a.ceport crew. Arrival of a Courier Service brains.h.i.+p was an unusual event on these remote planets; she didn't want to alert Polyon, 244.
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give him a chance to cover up-whatever there was to cover up, and there must be somethingl Nancia thought.
In the event, the decision was made for her.
”OG-48, cleared for landing from orbit,” the bored voice of a s.p.a.ceport controller crackled over her comm link while Nancia hovered and wondered how to in- troduce herself without alarming anybody.
She quickly scanned her external sensor views.
There were no other s.h.i.+ps visible in orbit around Shemali, and any OG s.h.i.+p on the far side of the planet should have been out of commlink range. They must be speaking to her - oh, of course! Nancia chuckled to herself. Since the sting operation offBahati, she'd been far too busy to demand a new paint job. The mauve-and-puce pseudowalls of an OG s.h.i.+pping drone still cluttered her interior; the OG stencil was presumably still prominently displayed on her exter- nal skin. Darnell Overton-Glaxely had a reputation for picking up and retrofitting s.h.i.+ps from any possible source. Her sleek CS shape would be unusual for a s.h.i.+pping line's vessel, but apparently not unusual enough to rouse any suspicion in the s.p.a.ceport con- troller. As he droned on with landing instructions, Nancia thought she recognized the calm, level, uninflected voice. Not that voice specifically, but the feeling of detachment from worldly cares. Since when do Blissto addicts hold responsible s.p.a.ceport positions? I knew something was very wrong here. And we - Forister and Micaya and I-are going tofmd out what!
She settled on the landing pad with a sense of exul- tation and adventure. Then, as she took in her surroundings, the bubbles of joyous feelings went as flat as long-opened Stemerald.
”Ugh! What happened to this place?” Forister ex- claimed as soon as Nancia cleared her display screens to give him a view of Shemali from the s.p.a.ceport.
The permacrete of the landing pads was cracked and stained, and the edge of the ”crete had a ragged hole eaten into it, as though somebody had spilled a drum of industrial biocleaners and hadn't bothered to clean up the results before the microscopic biocleaners ate themselves to death on permacrete and paint. The s.p.a.ceport building was a windowless permacrete block, grim and forbidding as any maximum-security prison-which, of course, described the whole planet.
Beyond the s.p.a.ceport, clouds of green and purple smoke billowed into the air. Presumably they were the source of the greenish-black ashes which had drifted over every surface visible to Nancia.
While they waited for the s.p.a.ceport controller to iden- tify himself and welcome them to Shemali, a blast of wind shrieked across the open landing field, catching the ashes and tossing them into whirling columnsof pollution that collapsed as rapidly as they had arisen.
Nancia's external monitors recorded the wind temperature at 5 degrees Centigrade.
”Shemali deserves its name,” she murmured.
”What's that?”
”North Wind,” Nancia said. ”Alpha knows the lan- guage from which all the Nyota system names come. She mentioned the translations once... a long time ago.”
”Is the rest of the planet like this?”
Nancia briefly replaced the view of the outside with magnified displays of the images she'd taken in while descending from orbit. At the time she'd been too ex- ercised over the problem of an appropriate greeting formula to worry much about the surface problems of the planet. Now she and Forister gazed in horrified silence at stagnant pools in which no living thing stirred, valleys eroded from the brutal road cuts lead- ing to new hyperchip plants, swirling clouds of dust and ash blanketing woods in which the trees died and no birds sang.
246.
AnnsMcCaffrey &MargaretBall ”I didn't know that one factory could do so much damage to a planet,” Forister said slowly.
”Looks as if there are several factories operating now,” Micaya pointed out. ”All running at top capacity, I'd guess, with no concern for damage to the environ- ment ... and Shemali's winds will have distributed the polluting waste products planet-wide.”
”Did n.o.body visit Shemali before recommending Polyon for a GSA? Probably not,” Forister answered his own question. ”Who wants to come to a prison planet in a minor star system? And his records are good, you said, Nancia?”
”The public records are excellent,” Nancia replied, ”It appears that Polyon de Gras-Waldheim has truly been making every effort to see that the maximum quant.i.ty of hyperchips is manufactured and that they are distributed as widely as possible.” At incalculable cost to the environment- But that's not a crime....not legally, not here anyway. If Central cared about Shemali, they wouldn't have located the prison metachip factory here to begin with.
A pounding on the lower doors reverberated through Nanria's outer skin. She switched back to ex- ternal auditory and visual sensors. The ones on her landing braces gave her a narrow view of whoever was making this commotion ... a gaunt man wrapped in tattered rags that looked like the remnants of a prison uniform, gray smock and loose trousers, and with more rags draped over his head and bound about his fists.
He was calling her name. ”Nancia! Nancia, let me in, quickly!”
On the edge of the landing field, two bulky figures in gleaming silvercloth protective suits moved slowly forward, awkward and menacing. The silver hoods covered their faces like helmets, the silver suits glit- tered around them like armor. But the weapons in their raised hands were not knightly lances, but nerve247.
disruptors, bulky squat shapes more menacing than any iron lance point.
Nancia slid open the lower doors. The fugitive col- lapsed against the opening doors and fell into the cargo bay. As one of the silver-suited figures raised its nerve disruptor, Nancia slammed the doors shut again. The rays bounced harmlessly against her outer sh.e.l.l; she absorbed the energy without conscious thought. All her attention was on the ragged prisoner who was now pus.h.i.+ng himself to his knees, slowly and painfully unwinding the rags from around his face.
”That may not have been a wise decision,” Forister commented mildly. ”We don't wish to become embroiled with the local authorities. Prison disputes aren't part of our mission.”
”This man is,” Nancia replied. She switched the dis- play screens to show what her sensors were picking up in the cargo bay. Micaya Questar-Benn was the first to gasp in recognition.
”Young Bryley-Sorensen! How did he get into Shemali prison . . . and out again . . . and in such condition?”
”That,” said Nancia grimly, ”I should very much like to know.”
Sev pulled himself upright by one of the support struts that crisscrossed the cargo bay. ”Nancia, don't let anybody else in. There's - you don't know - terrible things on Shemali. Terrible,” he repeated. His eyes rolled up and he slid to the floor again.
”Forister, Micaya, get him out of the cargo bay before those two guards or whatever come knocking on my doors,” Nancia snapped. ”No, wait. I have an idea. Take his clothes offfirst and leave them there.”
”Why?”
”Don't have time to explain. Just do it!” She set her kitchen synthesizers to work and turned on the in- cinerator. What she had in mind would never work if 248.