The End of All Things (43 page)

“Danielle Lowen,” Harry said. “I did. She’s a diplomat in her own right as well.”

“Yes, of course,” Durham said. “But the fact that she was the secretary’s daughter is one reason why the United States, if no one else on Earth, will still speak to us. So thank you for that.”

“Just doing my job,” Harry said.

“I hope we gave you a medal for that.”

“You did,” Harry said. “The CDF gave me one, too. I’m all medaled up.”

“Very good,” Durham said. “Now let me buy you a drink to go with them.”

Wilson smiled. “I knew I liked this posting.”

Shortly thereafter Durham excused himself and exited the reception area, to find Renea Tam and his luggage, ported by a State Department employee pushing a cart.

“I don’t think you need that many clothes,” Tam said, looking at the cart. “You’re going on vacation, not moving away.”

“My vacation is three weeks long,” Durham said. “I want to spend very little of that time doing laundry.”

“You’re staying at an embassy,” Tam said. “They have
staff
there. Who would do your laundry.”

“In the future I will set forth with a single change of clothes in a duffel bag,” Durham said. “But as my shuttle to the
Chandler
is leaving in forty minutes, this time I’ll just have to manage.”

Tam grinned at this, and the three of them headed toward the shuttle to the
Chandler
. Durham took his leave of his assistant at the shuttle door and took a seat on it, across from the only other passenger, a young man with dark hair.

“I liked your speech today,” the young man said, after the shuttle had departed from Phoenix Station and was making its way to the
Chandler
.

Durham, who had been resting with his eyes closed, cracked them open and glanced at the speaker, looking him over. “You look familiar.”

“You were introduced to me earlier today,” the young man said. “Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to remember. I expect you shook a lot of hands today.”

“You’re in the diplomatic corps?” Durham asked.

“No,” the young man said. “But a friend of mine is. Hart Schmidt.”

“One of Abumwe’s people.”

“Yes. He and I went to school together. Well, he was about three years ahead of me. But our dads were friends, so I got to know him. When he found out I was going to be on Phoenix Station on my way to the
Chandler,
he invited me to the ceremony. I was in the back for most of it. I’m Rafe Daquin.” He reached over and held out a hand.

Durham took it. “You’re crew on the
Chandler,
then,” he said.

“Yes,” Daquin said. “I’m a pilot.”

“That’s not a bad job.”

“Thank you,” Daquin said. “I get to travel and see the universe. I expect you get to do the same as a diplomat.”

“Not as much as I used to,” Durham said. “I’m a bureaucrat now. The most I get to see of the universe these days is my desk.”

“Why are you traveling now?”

“Vacation,” Durham said. “I’m going to Huckleberry, to see friends and do some hiking.”

“Why travel on the
Chandler,
if you don’t mind me asking?” Daquin said. “We’re a cargo ship. I’d think you’d just have one of your diplomatic ships take you.”

“Borrowing a diplomatic corps ship to taxi me to my vacation spot would be looked on as misappropriation of resources, I think,” Durham said, smiling. “And also there were none going my way when I needed it. Anyway the secretary encourages us to support private enterprise.” He closed his eyes again, hoping Daquin would pick up the hint.

He didn’t. “Do you really think diplomacy is treason?” Daquin asked. “That the Colonial Union sees it that way, I mean.”

Durham kept his eyes closed. “I may have been exaggerating for effect,” he said. “But it’s certainly true that given a choice, the Colonial Union would rather shoot than talk. It’s gotten us in trouble.”

“You know about the disappearing ships?” Daquin asked.

Durham cracked his eyes open again at this. “Disappearing ships,” he said.

“More civilian ships are going missing over the last couple of years,” Daquin said. “Cargo ships, mostly. Ships like the
Chandler
.”

“There’s always been piracy,” Durham said. “That’s one of the reasons why the Colonial Defense Forces were formed. That and other intelligent species trying to kill us.”

“Right, but pirates usually go for cargo,” Daquin said. “They don’t make ships disappear.”

“What do you think it is?” Durham asked. “What are the rumors?”

Daquin shrugged. “If you ask me, it’s got to do with us losing the Earth. Other species know we’ve started rationing our military to deal with major problems, so they’re starting to pick off trade ships to weaken the Colonial Union’s infrastructure.”

“Seems a long way to go about it,” Durham said.

“Every little bit counts.”

“This doesn’t make you afraid?” Durham asked. “You’re a pilot on a cargo ship. Presumably you’re a target.”

Daquin smiled. “I have to eat.”

“That’s a very practical way of looking at one’s potential fears,” Durham said.

“That, and I’ve been through some close scrapes before,” Daquin said. “I should have been dead a couple of times already because of ship failures and accidents. I’ve survived.”

“Have you,” Durham said. “Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know,” Daquin said. “I think I may just be luckier than most people.” This time it was Daquin who closed his eyes and put his head back to rest. Durham watched him for a few moments before doing the same.

*   *   *

Three days out from Phoenix Station and less than one day prior to the skip to Huckleberry, Durham asked for and received a private audience with
Chandler
’s captain, Eliza Perez.

“What is this about?” Perez asked. The two of them were in her stateroom, which, like everything else on the
Chandler,
was cramped. “If you’re going to complain about the accommodations, as you can see, you are traveling with the same appointments as the captain.”

“The accommodations are fine, of course,” Durham said. “Captain Perez, I have something to confess to you. I came onto your ship under false pretenses.” He had his PDA in his hand. He activated it and handed it to Perez. “I booked passage on the
Chandler
with the story that I am headed for vacation on Huckleberry. In fact, I am going somewhere else entirely.”

Perez took the PDA and looked at what was on the screen. “What is this?” she said.

“It’s an official request from the State Department for you to take me to a destination I will give you once you give me back my PDA,” Durham said. “It’s a secure and official request, which is why I’m showing it to you on my PDA rather than just transferring the document to your own PDA. It’s awkward to do it that way but this way you know the orders aren’t forged.”

“You just said ‘orders,’” Perez said. “That’s substantially different than a request.”

“Officially it’s a request, which you are able to refuse,” Durham said. “Unofficially we both know it’s not in your interest to refuse it.”

“Where would I be taking you?”

“To a system that has nothing at all of interest in it, which makes it a good place to have a secret meeting.”

“A secret meeting with whom?”

“That I can’t tell you.”

“Then I can’t let you borrow my ship.”

“That’s not wise.”

“Sending the
Chandler
to a destination far off our schedule for ‘secret meetings’ isn’t
wise,
either,” Perez said. “You either tell me what you’re asking me to do, or it won’t get done.”

“And if I tell you?”

“Then it still might not get done,” Perez said. “Because I still have to make a decision. But there is a difference between ‘won’t’ and ‘might.’ So you don’t have a choice.”

“I’m meeting with representatives of the Conclave to—informally—discuss an alliance with them.”

“Seriously,” Perez said, after a moment. “An organization of four hundred alien species, most of whom tried to murder us, and you want to make friends with them.”

Durham sighed. “Captain Perez, I don’t think I actually have to tell you that the Colonial Union is in a deep well of shit at the moment,” he said. “The cargo ships that whoever it is are picking off are just the start. Sooner or later someone is going to go after an established colony. Sooner or later someone is going to go after the Colonial Union itself. We’re vulnerable and becoming more so every day. All they’ll have to do is wait until we’re weak enough to be attacked.”

“And we think joining the Conclave is going to fix this.”

“Not
joining,
” Durham said. “An alliance. A mutual defense against aggression pact.”

“This after the Colonial Union tried to destroy the Conclave,” Perez said, and noted Durham’s expression. “Yes, we all know about that. About the incident at Roanoke. I run a trade ship, Mr. Durham. You can keep news away from the official channels if you like but trade ships have their own lines of communication. We travel. We talk. We know.”

“Then you know why the meetings have to be secret for the time being,” Durham said. “If this round succeeds then we can do something more public. If it doesn’t then it will never have happened. Another reason, incidentally, to have the
Chandler
take me to the meeting, and not one of the State Department’s ships.”

“There is a small matter of the cargo we’re carrying,” Perez said. “Gaalfruit and other highly perishable products. We timed our travel to arrive at Huckleberry just before the gaalfruit ripens. If we arrive even a few days late we can’t sell it. Insurance won’t cover the loss if we can’t tell why the cargo didn’t arrive in time.”

“Obviously the Colonial Union Department of State will purchase your cargo.”

“All of it.”

“Yes, and before you ask, yes, at fair market value,” Durham said.

“It’s not just about the cargo,” Perez said. “We have relationships with distributors. We are supposed to pick up new cargo as well. Also agricultural products. Also highly perishable. If we’re not there when we’re supposed to be, they lose out and we damage that relationship.”

“State will cover it all.”

“That’s going to cost a lot of money.”

“Yes, well,” Durham said, and smiled. “The Colonial Union actually creates the money in question, so I don’t think covering your expenses and expectations will be a problem.”

Perez was silent for a moment.

“Is there anything else you would like?” Durham asked. “Would you like me to promise to wash and wax the
Chandler
after I am done using it?”

“I don’t like this,” Perez said.

“I can understand that,” Durham said. “I do apologize for presenting it to you this way. I am under orders. You can, at least, understand why secrecy is actually important for this mission.”

“Do you think it’s going to work?” Perez asked. “The mission, I mean.”

“I think if it doesn’t, you should probably spend all the money you’re going to make off this trip,” Durham said. “And spend it as quickly as you can.”

*   *   *

The first thought that came to Rafe Daquin as he bubbled up uneasily into consciousness was,
I can’t feel my legs
.

The second thought he had, after another moment, was,
I can’t feel my anything
.

Rafe sunk back into unconsciousness after that, falling through a blackness of indeterminate length and depth.

*   *   *

Rafe was dreaming and knew he was dreaming, because this was one of those dreams where he stood still and everything moved around him.

He started on the bridge of the
Chandler,
beginning his first day as an apprentice pilot, after six months at navigation and a year in the ranks of the engineers before that. The
Chandler’s
chief of pilots was not entirely pleased to find Rafe in her charge. Rafe had been dumped into her lap by Captain Walden, and he knew that Lieutenant Skidmore thought Walden had been bribed by Rafe’s family to accelerate him through the ranks. And, well, she had; Rafe’s father told him as much the last time the
Chandler
was at Phoenix Station. In Rafe’s dream he was experiencing Skidmore’s thinned lips and otherwise carefully neutral demeanor for the first time.

Rafe’s response in the dream was the same as it was in life: outward careful politeness and attentiveness, inward lack of concern because the fix was already in, and he was going to be a pilot whether Skidmore liked it or not. She hadn’t liked it. She left the
Chandler
not too long after. This occasioned Rafe’s promotion to assistant pilot, right on schedule, which was to say, ahead of schedule and ahead of others.

A blink-shift and he was in the headmaster’s office at Tangipahopa Hall, waiting for either his mother or father to arrive. This time it was for punching one of the sixth-form students in the head; other times it would have been for infiltrating the dining hall at 3
A.M.
, stealing one of the custodial carts for a joyride, or taking money to change grades for other students (and then not doing it, which prompted one of his unsatisfied customers to complain). Rafe was hoping it would be his father, who graded transgressions on a curve, as opposed to his mother, who emphatically did not. Rafe’s eventual graduation from Tangipahopa required his father agreeing to speak at the graduation ceremony, and his mother funding a science lab.

Another blink and it was the day after Rafe’s graduation from University of Metairie, with an ordinary degree in engineering, earned less by lack of ability than by overall lack of attendance and interest. His mother was telling him she wouldn’t sign off on the release of his trust fund, which customarily was given to the Daquin children on completion of their degree. Rafe pointed this out; his mother noted that “customary” was not the same as “obligatory,” and then stood there daring him to argue the point with her, she who regularly argued cases before the Phoenix High Court.

Rafe did not take the challenge. He instead looked to his father, whose face was carefully blank. He was not stupid enough to argue with Colette Daquin either. Nor could he do anything on his own; by the rules of the Daquin Family Corporation and Trust, both parents, if they were living, had to sign off on any trust disbursements prior to thirty-five years old (standard). Colette Daquin wanted her slacker child to get a job that would fill in the large and obvious blanks in his education,
not
with the family business. Jean-Michel Daquin suggested the Colonial merchant space fleet. An old supper club acquaintance would find an opening on one of his ships.