The scientist had a perfect right to use Company equipment, so there was neither theft nor malfeasance in her use of the shuttle or the ultralight. There were no local traffic control restrictions, so her near-orbital insertion and flight were entirely allowable. Unfortunately, Hadeishi was sure the nauallis had logged a directive to place the planet off-limits as well as ordering the civilians to depart. The captain doubted the nauallis would fail to notice another ultralight following him – his panel made Anderssen's course perfectly clear – and the old Nбhuatl was bound to react explosively to her disrespect.
Does that matter? A quiet voice much like his father's intruded on his thoughts. Will the judge return to the land of living men? If he does not raise his voice to trouble the mighty, no harm will come to her. If you say nothing, then nothing will have happened. If the planet takes them both, who will know she disobeyed his orders?
Hadeishi felt rising discomfort at the prospect. Hummingbird's departure – with only a single aircraft and minimal supplies – was rash and Anderssen's pursuit rasher still. Uncomfortable at the thought of leaving them both to die, the chu-sa tapped up the archaeologist's service record. He skimmed through the educational certificates, notes from the Mirror about her political reliability, reports from her various supervisors. After a moment he grunted, lost in thought. She is not without experience in such a place, Hadeishi allowed. Anderssen, in fact, had logged more hours in z-suits, in hostile environments, than the judge had. Hummingbird will be surprised.
The thought filled Hadeishi with bleak amusement and his mood lifted. That would be a fine tale to hear, he chuckled to himself, should either of them live to relate the particulars.
"Sho-sa Kosho?" The exec looked up. The end of the duty watch was fast approaching and Thai-i Gemmu had joined her at the secondary command station, preparing for changeover. Susan's face had a familiar pinched expression. Gemmu – though he was a loyal and dutiful officer – did not quite match the exec's rigorous expectations.
"Sir?"
"Shut down the comm feed from the Palenque and dump all transmission logs – raw and processed – to my station."
Kosho stared at the captain for a long moment – even a fraction longer than was polite – then abruptly nodded her head, fingers moving on her panel. Hadeishi saw the transmission begin and tapped in his own series of commands, dispatching a horde of system dorei to scrub all records of the transmissions from the Palenque, the voice and video log of bridge chatter and any other accumulated telemetry from the Cornuelle's memory. This required more than one override and Hadeishi became acutely aware of Kosho's continuing and entirely impolite stare as he worked.
After a moment there was a soft chime in his earbug, indicating a private channel had been opened from the exec's station to his.
"Yes?" Hadeishi kept his tone light, as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening.
"Kyo -" Kosho stopped, unable to bring herself to voice a question. Hadeishi smiled inwardly. Aboard an Imperial warship – even more so than among the rival navies of Anбhuac in the centuries before unification – the commander held absolute and unmitigated power. A captain's orders simply were not questioned by his subordinates. Hadeishi was keenly aware of this tradition – constantly reinforced from the highest levels of the Fleet – often led to tyranny and abuse, but in this tight instant of time he was glad for the shield.
"Nothing, sir." Kosho shut down the channel. Hadeishi did not look at her, knowing the usually proper officer would be struggling to contain embarrassment and chagrin. Showing any awareness of her near-insubordination would only make matters worse.
Hadeishi's panel made a polite chiming sound, indicating the dorei had finished scrubbing the logs. The chu-sa felt a little uneasy for a moment, but then put the entire matter from his mind. Long experience with such unpleasant events allowed him to shut his own memories away into a quiet, discreet box.
"Duty watch reporting," Gemmu announced to the bridge. Hadeishi nodded, looking up at last. Kosho was already gone and the second watch officers were taking their stations.
"Thank you, Gemmu-san." Hadeishi said, shockchair unfolding as he stood up. "You have the bridge. Hold current course, thrust and emissions control level."
"Hai, Chu-sa!" The junior officer's response was crisp. "Have a good evening, sir."
Near the Stonespike Massif, Northern Hemisphere, Ephesus III
Choppy wind gusted across a basin striped with long, low dunes. Veils of dust and sand streamed toward the west, casting watery shadows on the floor of the valley. Gretchen felt the Midge shake and rattle as she banked into a landing approach. The engines whined as the ultralight angled into the wind. Through cloudy, pitted glassite, Gretchen could just make out the long scar left by the shuttle crash. Most of the skid – which had seemed so sharp and dark in Magdalena's video – was gone, wiped away by blown sand. A few bits of scattered metal remained, glinting in fading sunlight. The main bulk of the wreck was visible off to her left.
The Midge labored through the turn, coming into the wind, and her airspeed sank like a stone. Gretchen blinked sweat out of her eyes, gritting her teeth as she lined up for a landing. Ahead on the windswept plain, she could see the shining gray shape of Hummingbird's ultralight and a dark speck beside the aircraft. Yeah, a single thought burned, I'm coming to visit, old crow.
Gagarin wobbled down, battered by the gusty wind, and Gretchen tried to keep her hand from clenching tight on the stick. Flight comp was burning cycles at a ferocious rate, trying to keep the nose up, the wings aligned, and the overheated engines from shutting down. The busy little processors didn't need her trying to wingover into the deck and smash them all to tiny bits. A rumpled red quilt of thumb-sized pea-sand rushed up. Gretchen felt nauseated, her eyes glued to the altimeter. Numbers spun down to single digits. She tweaked the stick forward, popping the nose up, and there was a screeching jolt as the tires hit the ground.
The Midge shuddered, bouncing twice, then three times. A gust caught the ultralight from the side, slewing the back wheel around. Gretchen corrected, nearly blinded by sudden sweat, her hand moving in molasses. Dust plumed behind the aircraft and she feathered the brakes. Terrible high-pitched squeals answered, but the ultralight jounced and quivered to a standstill. Anderssen exhaled, staring at the looming mass of torn and blackened metal filling her field of view.
A figure in a z-suit emerged from the shadow of the broken shuttle, wind snapping dun-colored robes tight against a stocky, compact body. Gretchen let both engines wind down and the Gagarin settled into loose sand. Her arm trembling, she reached down to unlatch the door. As she did, the Midge shook in a fresh gust of wind, lifted a meter, then slammed violently down again. Anderssen gasped, breath knocked from her lungs, and put differential power to the engines. Obediently, Gagarin spun in place, nosing back into the wind. Gretchen locked the brakes, then waited, fingers light on the stick.
Another gust rolled across the sand, rushed over the ultralight and the whole airframe shook, lifting off again. The Midge jounced back five, ten meters.
"Oh, Mother of God!" Gretchen cursed, feeling queasy. Bile bit at her throat. "We're too light!"
She shot a glance outside and saw the suited figure squatting in the minimal shade of the other aircraft, which was tied down in a pentagonal pattern with sand anchors.