“And who would be left to live there?” Suzenne countered. “Children under five and elders over ninety? They’d take everyone else.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous,” Kulasawa growled.
“I don’t think so,” Suzenne said. “But whether I am or not is irrelevant. The decision has been made, and we’re not going to change it.”
“Fine,” Kulasawa said. “If you won’t bring freedom to your people, Jimmy and I will have to do it for you.” Jimmy, who’d been largely frozen in place ever since planting himself near Peter’s end of the couch, came unstuck in a rush. “Who—me?” he gulped, his eyes turning into dinner plates.
“You’re the only one who can help them, Jimmy,” Kulasawa said, her voice abruptly soft and earnest. “The only one who can free them from the prison King Peter and his power elite have locked them into.”
“Wait just a second,” I protested. “If the people have decided—”
“The people haven’t decided, Smith,” Kulasawa cut me off scornfully. “Or haven’t you been paying attention? What proportion of the people here, do you think, would jump at the chance to get out of this flying coffin and see the Universe?”
“We can’t let even one of our people leave here,” Suzenne said. “If there was so much as a single slip on anyone’s part, the entire colony would be doomed to slavery.”
“There’s that slavery buzz-word again,” Kulasawa scoffed. “Do you feel like a slave, Jimmy? Well, do you?”
Beneath that mop of hair Jimmy’s face looked like that of a cornered animal, his eyes darting around as if seeking help or a way to escape. “But if they don’t want to do it—”
“Do you feel like a slave?” Kulasawa repeated sharply. “Yes or no?”
“Well... no…”
“In feet, you’re extremely well paid for what you do, aren’t you?” Kulasawa persisted. “And with opportunities and privileges most teens your age would give their left arm to have.” She stabbed an accusing finger at Peter and Suzenne. “And that’s what these people are afraid of. They’ve been the big ducks in the small pond all their lives. And they know the only way to hold onto that power is to keep their people ignorant.”
Her lip twisted. “Slavery, you said, King Peter? You’re the real slavemaster here.”
“But what can I do?” Jimmy asked plaintively, his expression still looking hunted. “If they won’t let us leave—”
“You can save them, that’s what,” Kulasawa told him. “You see, those plates I had aboard the Sergei Rock aren’t deep-probe sonics. They’re actually highly sophisticated monodirectional resonance self-tuning loudspeakers. Loudspeakers which are at this moment scattered at strategic points all around this asteroid.”
She reached her left hand beneath her brocaded jacket-blouse and pulled out a small flat box. “And this is a wireless player interface to them.”
“You can’t be serious,” Rhonda said, a sandbagged look on her face. “You want to take the whole colony back?”
“Can you think of a simpler way to solve the problem?” Kulasawa asked. “The choices will be presented to the citizens, and they’ll be allowed to decide for themselves what they want to do. Those who want to enter the musicmaster profession—I suppose we’ll have to come up with a new name for them—can do so. Those who don’t can go on to new homes or the world of their choice.”
Rhonda glanced at Peter and Suzenne, looked back at Kulasawa. “And the Freedom’s Peace?”
“As I said, there are technological secrets here that will benefit the whole Expansion,” she said. “The colonists will be properly compensated, of course.”
“And what makes you think our people will just sit by and let you do this?” Peter asked.
“The fact that we can do it without leaving this room,” Kulasawa said, her right hand dipping beneath her jack-et-blouse. “And the fact that I have this.”
I looked at the tiny gun in Kulasawa’s hand, a sudden hollow sensation in the pit of my stomach. “It’s called a Karka nerve pistol,” Kulasawa continued, her tone almost off-handed. “It fires needles that dissolve instantly in blood, disrupting neural chemistry and totally incapacitating the target. Usually nonfatal, though an allergic reaction to the drug will kill you pretty quick.”
There was a soft click as she moved her thumb against the side of the gun. “There’s also a three-needle burst setting,” she added. “That one is fatal.”
She clicked back to the one-needle setting. “We can all hope that won’t be necessary. All right, Jimmy, come over here and take the interface. Be sure to stay out of my line of fire.”
Jimmy didn’t move. His eyes darted around the couch one last time—
And stopped on me. “Captain?” he whispered.
“You don’t need to ask him,” Kulasawa said. “You’re the one who holds the key to these people’s freedom, not him.”
“It’s not our decision to make, Jimmy,” I said quietly, knowing even as I said it how futile my words were. If there was one button guaranteed to start Jimmy’s juices running it was the whole question of personal freedom versus authority. Stupid rules, restrictive rules, unnecessary impositions of power—I seemed to go around that track with him at least once per trip. Kulasawa couldn’t have come up with a better way to trip him to her side if she’d tried.
And then, to my eternal amazement, Jimmy squared his shoulders, turned to face her, and shook his head. “No,” he said. “I can’t do it.”
From the look on her face, Kulasawa was as stunned by his answer as I was. “What did you say?” she demanded.
“I said no,” Jimmy said. His voice quavered slightly under the blazing heat of her glare, but his words were as solid as a sealant weld. “Captain Smith says it’s wrong.”
“And I say it’s right,” Kulasawa snapped. “Why listen to him instead of me?”
“Because he’s my boss.” Jimmy looked at me. “And because I trust him.”
He turned back to Kulasawa. “And because he’s never needed a gun to tell me what to do.”
Kulasawa’s face darkened like an approaching storm. “Why, you stupid little—”
“Leave him alone,” Rhonda cut her off. “Face it: you’ve lost.”
“Sit down, Chamala,” Kulasawa growled, gesturing Jimmy toward the couch. “And if I were you, Blankenship, I’d keep my mouth shut,” she added to Rhonda, all her heat turned to crushed ice now. “Of all the people in this room, you’re the one I need the least.”
She looked back at Peter, her face under control again. “Fine; so our lap-dog of a musicmaster is afraid to make decisions like a man. I’m sure one of your musicians out there will see things differently. Where’s the room’s public-address system?”
Peter shook his head. “No,” he said.
Kulasawa shifted her gun slightly to point at Suzenne. “I don’t need her, either,” she said.
Peter’s lips compressed briefly. “In the throne. Controls are along the side of the left armrest.”
“Thank you.” Standing up, Kulasawa started to circle around the table.
I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, but there’s just one little thing you seem to have forgotten.”
Kulasawa stopped, her gun settling in to point at my chest. “And that is?”
“One of their musicians might be able to whistle up some flapblacks for you,” I said. “But none of them can tell you how to get back to the Expansion.”
The gun lifted a little. “I’m disappointed, Smith—I would have thought you could come up with something better. I’ve got the Freedom’s Peace’s coordinates, remember? All I have to do is work backward from those and we’ll wind up back at Angorki.”