EIGHT
The communications center was located a few stories below, under the executive suites, on the one hundred and ninety-seventh story of the Tower. Surprisingly, the incident on the landing pad allowed Darski to save time. Since there were only small-timers in the colony, he didn’t have to fawn on the financial sharks and could get on with it. That’s why he’d made his way straight to where he was supposed to appear after talking to the CEO.
The barges, which were to take the Delta’s inhabitants aboard and deliver them to the transporters and arks, were expected within thirty minutes. By that time, at least five thousand colonists would have passed through the spaceport checkpoints, currently being intercepted and manned by Henryan’s subordinates. The captain knew that it wouldn’t be easy to persuade men and women of Delta to leave their possessions at such short notice and run away. Especially since they had to relinquish one of the few places in the Known Universe that really deserved to be called Paradise. Even if they’d spent only a third part of their lives on it, for two-thirds toiling in the mines located on Delta’s moons.
And what did he have to offer them? On the one hand—rescue, but on the other … Months or even years of misery on distant orbital stations or on low-category planets, somewhere on the outskirts of the Universe. The smartest colonists would figure it out very quickly, so the only question was, “How many people will they turn around?” If Darski had been a cynical person, he might have wished there were many of them. Leaving the malcontents behind wouldn’t have weighed on his conscience too heavily since it would have been them who refused to evacuate and brought their fate on themselves.
The problem was, Henryan could not—and would not—condemn anyone to certain death. Not after what he’d seen on the recordings from a dozen or so already destroyed colonies. Not after what he had experienced in Draccos’s penal colony.
As Etoile Blanc Corporation did business in all the metasectors, many colonists would probably find new homes in the newly discovered worlds in the Outer Rim. The rest would go back to the old way of life, known to them before they traveled to the Ulietta system several years ago. Eventually, the former and the latter would come to terms with this necessary change and with time, they might even forget about the lost Paradise. Darski kept telling himself this was true, although he didn’t feel assured. He knew people all too well. However, he couldn’t show weakness. Not now.
Entering the communications center, he started to bark out orders.
“Corporal White, please secure the posts.”
Two noncoms dragged both technicians from their seats and took their places; a couple of gendarmes, armed to the teeth, put the kicking and cursing men against the wall. Nobody paid any attention to the protests of the four officials. Henryan had decided to proceed this way during the flight. Of course, he could have done it differently, but time was of great importance.
“Lieutenant, recordings!”
Toranosukenjiro handed a crystal to White, then another data storage device to the staff sergeant sitting next to him.
“Cameras!”
“Aye aye, sir!” Hondo said as several spherical objects hovered in front of Henryan’s face.
Darski lifted his hand to silence the still grumbling chief of police and Ninadine, who was supporting him bravely. The logo of the Third Fleet appeared on all the displays of the communications center. A few moments later, the screens got dark, and when they brightened again, Darski’s face was on them. This, and the enraged officials in the background. It was also a part of the plan.
“Three, two, one!” White counted down, holding up successive fingers.
“Citizens of Ulietta, my name is Captain Henryan Darski, co-commander of FSS Djangonzalo Cervantes. By the order of the Admiralty of the Combined Fleets, we’re taking control of your system. In less than forty hours one of the nearby stars will go supernova. The unimaginable force of this explosion will render sterile many systems, Ulietta included.”
At this point, in the upper right-hand corner of the screens appeared a clock counting down the time to the expected arrival of the alien liners.
“Due to the inevitable annihilation of this part of the sector, the Admiralty have decreed the state of emergency on Ulietta and the immediate evacuation of the entire colony. In a moment, a special bulletin will be sent to your comlinks, describing the evacuation procedures in more detail. Along with it, each of you will receive a number entitling you to a seat on a shuttle which will take you to the transporters and arks. Follow the instructions, and no harm will come to you.”
Henryan nodded toward the soldier at the second console. The staff sergeant had already put the crystal into the reader, so now he just had to activate the transmitter.
“The Third Fleet will make every effort to provide safe passage to each of you. However, I’m warning you that all attempts to get onto our barges out of turn, as well as refusal to board them, will be punished by depriving such an individual of their number and moving them to the end of the waiting line.
“I’d also like to inform you that none of my subordinates can change your status, so all attempts to bribe them will come to naught. If someone offers you a speedup, report it immediately to the local police or our officers, because you have most certainly become the victim of a scammer.”
Hondo, who stood beyond the cameras’ field of view, waved his hand, telling White to turn the recorder off.
But Darski didn’t stop talking. He just straightened up, as if he were moving on to more important matters.
“To expedite the evacuation, we’ll temporarily requisition all private and corporate extra-systemic vessels. The owners of these ships are to go immediately to the landing pad number nine of the spaceport, where they will receive further instructions. This also applies to the vessels currently en route and at rallying points in the jump zones. Anyone trying to avoid requisition or escape from the system will be treated as a traitor and severely punished as such—”
“Captain,” White interrupted him.
“Can’t you see that I’m delivering an address here?” Darski snapped.
“I can, sir, but you told me to report if someone tried to run away on their own accord.”
“Visuals!” Darski said.
Some of the screens showed the edge of the local star’s photosphere and its jump zone with the escorts, left there by the convoy to distract the enemy from the evacuees. Seeing the cruiser and twelve destroyers, the Aliens would first set off in pursuit, and only then would they return to Delta—their attempt to destroy the Fleet’s vessels a failure because the commanders of all the ships had been ordered to make subspace jumps as soon as things started to slip out of control. Thanks to a similar maneuver, Khumalo had bought his people some extra time, and now each minute thus obtained would allow the embarkation of further refugees. However, no one on Delta could know about it.
That’s why the sensors weren’t aimed at the gravitational wells and warships. In the middle of the displays, those gathered in the communications center saw a small streamer. The ninety-foot-long, needle-shaped hull ended with a ruff, separating the utility section from the reactor and nozzles. A vessel like many others, neither new nor too old. Something anyone could afford, even a small business owner, who didn’t have to work on the bottom rungs of the corporate ladder.
“To the pilot of a civilian vessel approaching the jump point. This is Captain Henryan Darski, the co-commander of FSS Djangonzalo Cervantes. Please identify yourself.”
There was a moment of complete silence, then the transmitter came to life.
“It’s Zulu Echo Kilo Foxtrot seven nine one, what do you want?”
“How many people are there on board your vessel, Zulu Echo Kilo Foxtrot seven nine one?”
“And what’s that to you?”
“If you don’t have a full set of passengers aboard, you have to return to the nearest boarding zone immediately.”
“You don’t say! I’m traveling with my family on board my own streamer. All the seats are occupied.”
Darski looked at one of the noncoms.
“Check it.”
“Yes sir!” The staff sergeant leaned over the displays. A few seconds later, he reported, “The Cervantes’ scanners have detected two spectra peculiar to living organisms. This reading’s been confirmed by the duty officer of FSS Deighton.”
“Did you hear it, Zulu Echo Kilo Foxtrot seven nine one?” Henryan looked at the screen again, and when there was no reply, he repeated his call in a louder voice.
Again, there was no answer, but the streamer’s engine nozzles began emitting brighter light. The tiny spacecraft accelerated as it changed its course, turning to the nearest gravitational well.
“You have to break off the approach and reverse immediately. If you don’t do this within fifteen seconds, we will open fire on your vessel.”
This time Darski got through.
“By what right, I wonder,” the pilot said mockingly.
“Under the provisions of the state of emergency decreed in this system,” Henryan explained calmly. “We’ll find you guilty of attempted murder of at least four people, because your vessel could carry as many additional passengers.”
“Bullshit.”
“Eight seconds,” White said.
“Suck my dick!” the runaway yelled. “I’m not afraid of you!”
“Break off the approach, this is your final warning!” Darski raised his voice.
“Fuck you!”
The captain nodded and Corporal White typed a command. Two seconds later, the little ship exploded, struck by a laser beam invisible to the human eye.
“Murderer!” Truffaut cried out. She managed to take two steps toward Darski before one of the gendarmes stopped her.
The other officials and the technicians, forcibly dragged away from their consoles, stared incredulously at the flotsam.
Henryan looked into the holocameras’ lenses again.
“To all vessels within the Ulietta system. If you don’t have a full set of passengers on board, return to Delta immediately. From now on, we’ll shoot without warning at anyone who tries to violate the order. End of transmission.”
He stood motionless until the corporal signaled to him that the cameras were off. Only then did he let the air out of his lungs and looked at Hondo.
“What do you think?”
“It went better than I thought.” The lieutenant didn’t take his eyes off the holopad. “The vast majority of vessels going toward the jump zone have already changed their course.”
“Great.”
“‘Great’?! What are you, because you can’t be human, that’s for sure!” Truffaut flipped out again. “Why are you acting as if nothing happened? You’ve just killed two innocent people. Civilians trying to save their lives. Would these four seats really make such a big difference?”
Henryan turned to her slowly, casually. She was dumbfounded when she saw a wide smile on his face; with her mouth dropped open, he could have counted all her teeth if he’d wanted.
“Can you name a type of a six-seat streamer, which has a quantum communicator on board?” he asked in an indifferent tone.
Ninadine goggled at him. She understood neither his reaction nor question.
“Well, there’s a clever clone-of-a-bitch for you …” Lescaud muttered, then chortled.
As an experienced cop, he knew the truth before the civilians did. Ninadine turned to him violently as if he had stabbed her in the back.
“What?”
“It was all just a hoax, boss,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “A show. Nobody shot anyone.”
“These six seats wouldn’t change a thing,” Darski admitted. “But we’ll cram a few hundred, maybe even a thousand people on board all the vessels which are returning to Delta as we speak. Plus, those yachts and ferries will go there and back at least twice before—before the cataclysm occurs.”
“Well-engineered,” the chief of police said. “Even I fell for it.”
Truffaut stood between them, disoriented. She kept her eyes trained on the officers occupying the communications center and you could almost see the cogs in her brain moving. It took her a moment or two, but eventually she understood what had just happened.