Death Wave (36 page)

“On Earth, yes, of course. But not here.”

Aditi was lying on the bed of Jordan's hotel room, her upper right arm swathed in a spray-on bandage. The doctor stood beside Jordan at the bed's side. He was small, hardly up to Jordan's shoulder, and very slim. His nearly black skin looked shiny, as though oiled. It stood in stark contrast to his white shirt and trousers.

“The nanomachines will deactivate themselves in twelve hours,” he was telling Jordan. “Then you will be free to return to Earth.”

“And she'll be all right?”

With a bright smile, the doctor answered, “Perfectly recovered. Completely recovered. Not even a scar.”

Then we can return to Earth, Jordan thought. If we can get out of this habitat. If they allow us to leave.

To the doctor he said, “I see. Thank you very much.”

“Thank you,” said the doctor, with a little bow.

As Jordan showed him to the door, the doctor said, “You realize, of course, that I shall have to report this to the security people. A gunshot wound, after all. Very unusual. Very rare.”

“I understand,” said Jordan.

Once he had shooed the doctor out, Jordan rushed back to Aditi's side.

“How do you feel?” he asked, leaning over her.

She smiled and patted the bed with her left hand. “You can sit beside me, darling. I'm fine.”

He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and took Aditi's good hand in both of his. “I'm so sorry—”

“There's no reason for you to be contrite. You rescued me, and I love you.”

“I love you, too, dearest. But I'm afraid I haven't really rescued you from anything. Not yet.”

A heavy rap on the door. Jordan thought, That doesn't sound like Cree. Frowning, he got up and went to the door.

A huge dark man filled the doorway, peering past Jordan, at Aditi. Behind him, Jordan saw, was a strong-looking blond woman wearing a skintight sheath of glittering silver. A black giant and a Nordic princess, Jordan thought.

“I am Chandra Natarajan,” the dark Goliath said, his voice stern, “director of security for this habitat.”

Before Jordan could reply, Natarajan half-turned and introduced, “And this is Gilda Nordquist, acting director of the World Council's security department.”

Without bothering to ask permission, Natarajan pushed past Jordan and stepped into the room, with Nordquist right behind him.

Feeling nettled, Jordan said, “I presume you know who we are.”

Natarajan suddenly broke into a jovial grin. “You are not Lakshmi Ramajandran, that is for certain.”

Jordan dipped his chin. “Yes, that's true.”

Nordquist said, “You came into this habitat under a false identity and forcibly took her,” she pointed to Aditi, “from our protective custody.”

“I didn't want your protective custody,” Aditi said, propping herself on her good elbow.

“That's neither here nor there,” Nordquist said.

“No, that's the central issue,” Jordan countered. “We don't want the World Council's protective custody. We want to be free.”

“Free to spread your propaganda.”

“Free to tell the truth.”

Natarajan spread his arms, as if to separate the two of them. “Enough bickering!” he snapped. “Whatever differences you have back on Earth are of no consequence here on habitat
Gandhi
.”

“You can't be serious,” Nordquist said.

“I am quite serious. Totally serious.” Pointing at Jordan, he said, “This man claims neither he nor the woman there accept your protective custody. The laws of this habitat allow them their freedom—as long as they follow our laws.”

“But—”

“No buts!” Natarajan said, making a slicing motion with both his hands, palms down. “Habitat
Gandhi
is a member in good standing of the World Council, but we are not a colony nor a possession. We govern ourselves. If you can show that these two are criminals, we will of course allow you to take them back into your custody and return them to Earth. Otherwise they are free to remain here as visitors.”

Jordan asked Nordquist, “Are there any criminal charges against us?”

“No. The World Council wants to protect you against would-be assassins.” Leveling a finger at Jordan, she added, “There have already been two attempts on your lives, for god's sake!”

Glancing at Aditi, Jordan retorted, “We would rather take our chances with private security protection than be hidden away in some World Council prison.”

“Prison?” Nordquist fairly shouted. “Neither one of you was ever in a prison.”

“We were deprived of our freedom of movement,” Jordan argued. “Kept from speaking to the public.”

“Your wife was working with our scientists. Voluntarily.”

Aditi said, “But I was kept from leaving your underground center. And then taken up here, whether I wanted to go or not.”

Before Nordquist could respond, Jordan said, “Tell Halleck that we neither want nor need her protective custody. We want to be free.”

Almost smiling, Nordquist said, “Very well. You can be free. As long as you remain in this habitat.”

“But we want to return to Earth.”

“Impossible.”

Aditi asked, “Will we be allowed to make broadcasts to Earth?”

“Of course,” said Nordquist. “Under our supervision.”

“That's hardly freedom of speech,” said Jordan.

Nordquist replied, “Freedom to spread propaganda, to dupe the public, is against both sound policy and the public interest.”

“Your interest,” Jordan countered. “Halleck's interest.”

“Enough discussion,” said Nordquist. “You can stay here in
Gandhi
 … under World Council protection. Whether you like it or not.”

 

STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE …

Carlos Otero looked gloomy, Jordan thought.

Sitting next to the hotel room's bed, where Aditi lay, he watched Otero in the holographic viewer. The network owner was apparently in his office: Jordan could see the towers of Boston through the window behind Otero, and a slice of the harbor glittering in the morning sun.

“Halleck is being her bitchy best,” Otero was saying gloomily. “She's referred our complaint to the World Council's legal department. It'll take weeks before they even convene a hearing. Months, maybe.”

“And in the meantime, we're bottled up here in this habitat,” Jordan said.

With a mournful shake of his head, Otero said, “They're not going to allow you off the habitat, Jordan. She's blocking all traffic to and from
Gandhi
.”

“She can do that? Legally?”

With a nod, Otero said, “My legal department tells me she can. She's apparently declared an emergency and invoked some regulation about inspecting all flights into and out of the habitat. She's not stopping any flights, just inspecting the passengers to make sure you two aren't aboard any of them.”

“And this is within the Council's legal powers?”

“Yes, dammit. The International Transportation Safety Commission. One of Halleck's bureaucracies.”

Jordan glanced at Aditi, who was sitting up in the bed. Turning back to Otero, he said, “Well, I suppose we'll have to stay here, for the time being.”

“One other thing,” Otero said, his expression morphing from unhappy to angry. “She's put an injunction on us doing any broadcasts from
Gandhi
.”

“That muzzles us!”

“It certainly does. I've got my legal people protesting it, but again, it'll take weeks to get to a court hearing.”

“She really wants to keep us from speaking to the public.”

“That she does,” Otero said. “The first act of a tyrant: muzzle the news media.”

*   *   *

Once Jordan ended his doleful conversation with Otero, he turned back to Aditi, and was surprised to find her smiling cheerfully.

“You're not upset?”

With a little shrug, she said, “Not very much. Should I be?”

“We're penned in here.”

“We can turn this into a second honeymoon. Or our first, really. We never had an actual honeymoon, if you recall.”

Smiling back at her, Jordan said, “That would be wonderful, except that we can't allow Halleck to keep us muzzled like this. We've got to be able to tell the people the truth.”

Aditi's face grew more serious. “Jordan, have you considered the possibility that your people don't want to be bothered with the truth?”

“Not bothered?”

“They live prosperous lives. They have the illusion of freedom. They take for granted that the World Council watches over them, protects them, takes care of them.”

“And we're trying to shake them loose from that idea.”

“We're trying to make them accept a responsibility that they don't really want to accept.”

“So Halleck is right and we're wrong?”

“No,” Aditi said. “But she's in tune with what your people feel. We're trying to make them change. Change is always painful, Jordan.”

Reluctantly he admitted, “I suppose you're right.”

“So what do you want to do about it?”

He thought it over for all of a heartbeat. “Well … at least we're together. That's the most important thing.”

“No,” said Aditi, quite seriously. “The most important thing is to get the people of Earth to save those worlds that will soon be engulfed by the death wave.”

He stared at her. “Yes, that's so. But how do we do it?”

Aditi broke into a sunny smile. “I believe your people have an old adage, ‘You shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.'”

*   *   *

Mitchell Thornberry was flattered that the chairwoman of the World Council had invited him to Barcelona. Just a quick trip for a face-to-face meeting. But being asked to meet personally with Anita Halleck was an unexpected honor.

Honor or command appearance? he asked himself as the rocketplane arced high above the curving horizon. Looking through the narrow window next to his seat, Thornberry saw the onionskin layer of blue atmosphere. How thin it looks, he said to himself. The lives of twenty-some billion people depend on that thin slice of air.

The plane landed smoothly at Barcelona's aerospaceport and a quartet of World Council flunkies met him inside the terminal to whisk him to his meeting with Halleck.

To Thornberry's surprise, they did not go downtown to the Council headquarters, but out into the hills at the edge of the city, to an impressive mansion.

The flunkies left him at the door, where a stiffly dignified butler in solemn black livery led him through a long corridor to the back of the sizable house.

Anita Halleck was sitting in a chaise longue on a patio by an Olympic-sized swimming pool, wearing shorts and a shapeless green pullover. Thornberry suddenly felt overdressed in his wine red jacket and off-white slacks. No one else was present, only a serving robot standing beside a wheeled cart bristling with bottles.

Halleck got to her feet as Thornberry approached and the butler headed back inside the house.

Extending her hand, she smiled and said, “How good of you to come and see me on such short notice.”

For a ridiculous moment Thornberry felt that she expected him to kiss her hand. He took it in his own and replied, “I'm somewhat mystified as to why you want to see me in person.”

Instead of replying, Halleck gestured to the rolling bar. “I believe your preference is Paddy's whiskey?”

The robot stirred to life and lifted a bottle of Paddy's from the collection.

She knows I like Paddy's, Thornberry thought. There's not much about me she doesn't know, I'm sure.

Thornberry took the proffered drink and settled himself on a cushioned chair next to Halleck's lounge. He saw there was a tall glass of something pink and cool-looking on the small table between them. The trees on the other side of the pool were casting long late-afternoon shadows across the patio.

“As I said, I'm mystified as to why you've invited me here,” Thornberry repeated. Quickly he added, “Pleased, of course. But mystified.”

Halleck smiled coolly. “I wanted to speak to you in private about Jordan Kell and his wife.”

“Aditi.”

“Yes, the alien woman. She's been working with a group of our scientists, you know. They're developing the technology for faster-than-light communications.”

Thornberry nodded. “And how is their work coming along, may I ask?”

“Of course you may. They've built a prototype system.”

“Have they now? And it works?”

Nodding, Halleck said, “Many thousands of times faster than light. We'll be able to have practically instantaneous communications throughout the entire solar system.”

“That's grand!”

“It should open quite a sizable market.”

“Indeed it should.”

Pursing her lips momentarily, Halleck asked, “I want to continue our conversation about developing the commercial market for FTL communications systems.”

Without an eyeblink's hesitation Thornberry said, “Certainly!”

“I believe that I can convince the Council to grant you an exclusive license to develop the technology for commercial use.”

“For how long a period?”

Halleck hesitated just long enough to make Thornberry realize she was toying with him. At last she answered, “Shall we say … five years?”

“Ten would be better. Eight, at least. After all, we'd have to sink a lot of capital into new manufacturing facilities and infrastructure, and—”

“Six years?”

“Eight,” Thornberry said.

“Eight years for exclusive rights,” she mused. “I suppose I could get that through the Council.”

“That'd be grand!”

“If I'm still the Council's chair after next year's elections.”