The Great Hydration

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Investigations Room aboard the pursuit ship Invicta was a forbidding place. The walls were panelled in dark brown wainscoting that seemed to press in on the quite small enclosure.

Across a teak table Commissioner Amundsen faced a bleary-eyed Karl Krabbe and Boris Bouche, the latter wearing his typical lopsided smirk. Ranged alongside the pair were planetologist John Spencer (Carlos Castaneda had been Krabbe’s first choice, but he was seriously ill and comatose), lawyer Harold Shelley, Joanita Serstos (though why the partners had included her in their team mystified Northrop), and Roncie Reaul Northrop himself, whose presence had been demanded by the Commission. Krabbe had raised his eyebrows on hearing this, but had made no comment. Northrop guessed, or rather hoped, that it had something to do with his attempted bond renunciation.

He felt much better now that he had fed and rested. Two officials Amundsen had not bothered to introduce flanked the Commissioner on either side, each with a stack of files in front of him. Two armed guards stood against the wall. The Enterprise, too, lay under the Invicta’s guns. If the gogetter ship tried to depart it would be replaced to junk.

Also, the Enterprise’s entire data files had been downloaded into the Stellar Commission ship. The Commission knew everything that had been going on.

Commissioner Amundsen, a purse-lipped man with pale blue eyes, radiated a steely absence of sympathy. His face was like a parchment on which was recorded the worry-lines of a bureaucratic life: battle-scars for which, one suspected, he sought revenge on anyone who crossed his path.

He cleared his throat and spoke dryly. “This is an investigation. It is not yet a trial. Facts will be established. Arguments may be presented. Wherever possible parties involved will be given the opportunity to present evidence.”

He touched a key on a small panel before him. On the wall to Northrop’s left, wainscoting slid aside.

A large split screen was revealed. They were looking into two other rooms elsewhere aboard the Invicta. In one, suitably asperged, were two hoary Tlixix. In the other there squatted two Artaxa.

“The specimens you see will represent the interests on the planet below,” the Commissioner went on. “We cannot, of course, arrange for all the species described as dehydrate to be present. The two individuals here were submitted by the tribe most opposed to the species claiming to be rulers of the planet.”

Shelley coughed nervously, and spoke.

“Before we proceed, my principals have a right to know how the Commission was apprised of the location of the Enterprise. Did this information come from anyone on the staff of Krabbe & Bouche, Partners? I cite Clause Fifteen of the statutes of Bonded Service. An act of disloyalty by a bondperson constitutes a felony. The Commission has a duty to disclose such felony if it has occurred.”

Krabbe waved a hand. “Leave it, Shelley. I can’t believe any of our people would do that.”

Joanita Serstos started in her seat and squealed. She was staring at Northrop.

“So that’s what you were doing in the communications room!” she declared.

Northrop’s heart fell. He looked back at her with feigned incomprehension.

She turned to the partners. “It was just as the survey team was going down. I caught Northrop coming out of the communications shack, where he had no right to be. He could have been sending a message!”

“That’s no proof of anything,” Krabbe protested mildly, a frown on his big face.

In a stony voice the Commissioner replied to Shelley. “I can confirm that the Enterprise transmitted details of its location while in this system, by anonymous voice. Voice analysis keyed out to one Roncie Reaul Northrop, awarded a doctorate in nuclear engineering by the University of Chicago.”

Amundsen paused, then added scathingly, “His subsequent career appears to have been undistinguished. Just the sort of drifter to end up with a gogetter firm.”

Krabbe looked stunned.

Joanita changed her tack. She looked piteously at Northrop. “Oh, Roncie, why didn’t you tell me?” she wailed. “We could have escaped from this dreadful life together!”

She clasped her hands imploringly and appealed to the Commissioner. “Can I talk to you in private, sir? It’s Krabbe and Bouche who are the real villains!”

Amundsen responded to the outburst with a patronising smile, his first sign of human feeling. He harrumphed and muttered an aside to one of his officials.

“I’ll make a note of that.”

Thanks a lot, Joanita, Roncie thought. He turned away from the glare of malice which Boris Bouche was directing at the two of them. The woman would obviously do anything to extract herself from an awkward situation, even if it meant betraying her sworn employers.

Amundsen resumed.

“Three indictments have been filed to date. First, the firm registered as Krabbe & Bouche, Partners, has engaged in commercial treaties with alien governments while subject to revocation of licence. Second, the firm registered as Krabbe & Bouche, Partners, has engaged in geological interference of the planet designated Tenacity, to the detriment of its inhabitants, in defiance of Clause Four of the Statute of Alien Treaties. Third, the firm registered as Krabbe & Bouche, Partners, has incurred costs to the state in respect of the state’s obligation to remedy such criminal acts.”

He paused again to allow this statement to sink in.

Shelley, battling bravely, once more spoke up.

“Commissioner, the firm of Krabbe & Bouche, Partners, strenuously denies all these charges. In the first place, the firm of Krabbe & Bouche, Partners, immediately appealed against the revocation of its licence, and not having been informed of any outcome of such appeal, does not consider the revocation to be in force. Secondly—”

Shelley was following the strategy that any argument is better than none, however flimsy. Amundsen was having none of it. He shot Shelley a threatening glance.

“I have not yet finished.”

“Sorry sir,” Shelley muttered.

Amundsen went on, “Hereunder are appended the persons answerable for these charges.

“Karl Henry Krabbe, resident upon the star vessel Enterprise.

“Boris Oliver Bouche, resident upon the star vessel Enterprise.

“Roncie Reaul Northrop, resident upon the star vessel Enterprise.”

Northrop spluttered. “That’s ridiculous! I’m a bondman! I’m not responsible!”

“Normally, that would be correct,” Amundsen replied calmly. “A bondperson takes an oath of obedience and so is not accountable for acts ordered by his or her master. However you broke your bond when you informed on your masters to the Commission. You are therefore responsible for your part in the rehydration project, which was a substantial one.”

“If it weren’t for me you wouldn’t be here!” Northrop protested.

Amundsen remained cold. “The law is not to be trifled with. The charge stands.” He nodded to Shelley. “Now you may proceed.”

Shelley shuffled his papers. “As to the second charge, it has no substance. All my principals have done is to rectify a natural calamity which took place only a hiccup ago in geological time. I cite the precedent of Sauram, Runne and Harker, Partners, who diverted an asteroid on course for Alar IV. I further cite the precedent of Haynam and Khaire, Partners, who rendered assistance to T358 III after a comet struck, reverting and stabilising the climate. Neither of these operations was deemed illegal within the meaning of the statute.”

Northrop jumped up raving. “Why are you crucifying only me? What about the rest of the staff? Their bonds are null and void by reason of revocation of licence! Why aren’t all their names on the charge sheet?”

“It is a fine legal point, and one which has been amply dealt with by precedent,” Amundsen told him implacably, “and not in your favour. “You will resume your seat.”

“As for the third charge,” Shelley went on after Northrop had subsided in defeat, “it falls down with the second one.” He swallowed. “I now request that the Commission allow a submission from the long-term possessors of the planet, who are also signatories to our treaty.”

The Tenaciteans had been briefed previously on the form the proceedings would take. An aged Tlixix shuffled closer on the screen. A hoarse but dignified voice came through, rendered into comprehensible speech.

“What the Earthman says is true. Dehydration is not our world’s natural condition. If your laws are just, they will grant us the status quo ante.”

It fascinated Northrop, despite his predicament, to hear the creature speak in archaic legal phrases. It didn’t know any Latin, of course. The translator had simply cottoned on.

The lobsters were proving to be good lawyers.

Not so the Artaxa. One leaped to his feet and seemed about to attack the screen on which the hearing had been displayed. The translator rendered his protests in a reedy, aggressive tone.

“The Tlixix belong to the past! They are but one tribe, and we are many! It is our world, and has been waterless since the time of our arising!”

The Tlixix retorted in domineering fashion. “We own you. We created you from lower animals. You have no right to exist at all, except at our behest.”

The translator was unable to handle the stream of invective which this statement provoked. It issued a mish-mash of meaningless noise.

“May I say something?” Karl Krabbe asked, with a show of affability. “Frankly, I don’t know what this fuss is all about. There’s no doubt at all that the lobsters were the political masters of this planet when we arrived, and are biologically superior. You wouldn’t do business with somebody’s horse or pet dog, would you?”

The second Artaxa jumped up. “But for your interference in flooding the world with an evil fluid, the Tlixix would have been exterminated by now! They do not belong in our world!”

“It is you who will be exterminated,” the Tlixix informed him.

“Enough,” said Commissioner Amundsen. “I order a twelve hour recess for evaluation of evidence.”

He stood up and glared at the partners, with a look which seemed to say, you have saddled the state with a difficult situation.

Which was true. If Krabbe & Bouche—and Northrop—were guilty then the administration had a dilemma: either allow the rehydration to persist, with the consequent extermination of all dehydrate tribes, or reverse it, followed by the massacre of the Tlixix. The only way out of the mess was to relocate either the dehydrates or the Tlixix on a more suitable planet, which would be immensely complicated and expensive.

All others in the room followed protocol and rose also. “Fine,” Krabbe said, as though the recess had been partly his idea. “May we return to our ship meanwhile?”

Amundsen said crisply. “You will take your rest in the holding cells.”

He swept out. Northrop could not help but notice Joanita’s fluttering eyelashes, or the Commissioner’s attempt to mask his reaction as he left.

Despite his continuing tiredness, Northrop did not think he would get any real rest during the adjournment. Lying on a narrow bunk in a metal-lined cell, he tossed and turned, marvelling at the legal tangle in which he had trapped himself.

Yet at some point he must have fallen asleep. He had no idea how long it had lasted when a hand on his shoulder shook him awake.

“Roncie.”

It was the thrilling contralto of Joanita Serstos. Northrop forced his drooping eyelids open. Her face hovered over him, misty in his bleary gaze. A glistening grey tab was stuck to her temple. Had she cut herself?

“Get up. Let’s go.”

The cell door was open. Wonderingly Northrop obeyed. He rose and followed Joanita. A short walk brought them to the Investigations Room. Waiting there were: Krabbe, Bouche, Spencer, Shelley. In other words, the rest of the Enterprise’s delegation.

Each bore a grey tab on the temple, like Joanita’s. Northrop raised a hand and felt his own forehead. He had a tab, too. He tugged at it.

Joanita chuckled. “Don’t pull it off, Roncie, or you’ll fall asleep again. It won’t come off, anyway. I used adhesive.”

Northrop’s confusion was clearing. He was beginning to understand. He looked straight at the partners.

“Why?”

“We’re saving your bacon, Roncie,” Krabbe replied dryly. “Let’s get out of here.”

The party filed through the room’s main door, opposite the exit leading to the cells. An alarm began to shrill.

No one seemed perturbed by it. Down the corridor two guards lay sprawled on the floor, snoring.

Led by Boris Bouche, they headed for the skin of the Commission ship, and came to the docking port. A light was on over it, showing that a vehicle was docked on the other side. The inner door was open. O’Rourke stood by it waiting for them. His face betrayed no unusual tension, only his habitual frown of concentration—his badge of determined professionalism.

“Is everything in order, sirs?”

“Everything’s fine.”

Northrop hung back, wondering whether to run back down the corridor and lose himself in the bowels of the Invicta. He was afraid to go with the partners now they knew what he had done. They had the legal right to kill him. He felt lost, trapped, a born loser.

Seeing him about to sidle away, Krabbe glared. “What is it now, Northrop?” he snapped.

“Leave him here if that’s what he wants, Karl,” Bouche said, a dismissive sneer on his face. “It’s what he deserves.”

“There’s no point in being vindictive, Boris. Or in leaving ourselves short of a top class professional engineer. We’ve no one to replace Northrop.”

“Dummett could do it.”

Krabbe shook his head. “He’s an amateur. He doesn’t have Northrop’s qualifications.”

He advanced on the quaking Northrop. “All right, Roncie, this is what goes down. You’ve disgraced yourself, there’s absolutely no doubt about that at all. But despite everything, you can still start over. We’ll give you a chance to renew your oath to us, if you mean it this time. No jumping ship, no sending sneaky messages behind our backs. But nobody’s forcing you. You won’t go into the brig, this time.

“If that’s not good enough for you, then stay here. And face the Commission’s charges all on your own. Believe me, I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes if that happens. Amundsen will squash you like a fly.”

Northrop blanched. Krabbe pressed home his advantage.

“Tell you what, I’ll even throw in Joanita, how’s that?”

Just like she was a piece of meat, Northrop thought. Yet he had to admit that the prospect sent a thrill running through him. He couldn’t resist glancing at her sidelong. Joanita took him by the hand. “Come on, Roncie, don’t be a damned fool.”

Limply aware that in truth this was the only way out of the legal trap he had set himself, he allowed her to lead him through the port. The eight of them made the lighter’s cabin crowded. O’Rourke handled the controls. He disengaged from the port and ferried them the short distance to the Enterprise. Behind them, the Invicta lay dead in space, effectively unmanned.

Minutes later they had gathered in what was generally known as the Ops Room. Joanita was applying a freezing cold liquid to the grey patches, enabling her to peel them off. Boris Bouche rubbed the frigid sensation from his temple with his fingers. He glanced accusingly at Northrop.

“Take a lesson from this, Roncie. Some people still know how to serve their masters. Miss Serstos has behaved magnificently.”

“Yes, I think I’ve worked out why she was included on the defence team,” Northrop replied, in his best sarcastic voice. He added, “I take it you’ve used a neural damping field.”

“Obviously. But first we had to switch off the Invicta’s electronic defences. That was Joanita’s job.”

Pulling a tab off Shelley, Joanita smiled with pleasure at the praise she was receiving. “Three hours in the Commissioner’s private quarters! That old stick is sure going to be mad when he wakes up.”

Krabbe too had a broad smile on his face. “Bureaucrats are such fools! All she had to do was flutter her eyelashes and Amundsen was practically giving her the keys to the kingdom!”

You had to hand it to the partners, Northrop thought. They really knew how to exploit people’s talents.

A neural damper was not a common device, but as a pursuit ship the Invicta would be protected against that and similar perils by a buffer field. The partners’ answer was simple. Get Joanita to disable the buffer.

The grey tabs were an antidote. They stimulated the brain’s mechanism for consciousness arousal, the ascending reticular system, and so kept one awake even inside a damping field. Joanita would have been wearing one when she turned the buffer off. O’Rourke, watching like a spider on the Enterprise, would have seen the buffer go down and projected the damper in almost the same instant. With everyone around her unconscious, all Joanita had to do then was find her way to the cells and apply tabs to the partners and their bondmen.

A most resourceful woman. An asset to the firm of Krabbe & Bouche, Partners.

Northrop wondered briefly if he had unwittingly played a part in the theatrical performance at the hearing. Had his defection already become known?

No, he didn’t think so. Krabbe’s shock had been genuine.

“A neural damper,” he repeated. “That’s illegal technology.”

He had not seen it or the reticular stimulator before, though he had heard the latter could be a mind-bending torture instrument, keeping a victim awake indefinitely. Bouche answered with a dirty chuckle.

“Sure it is. But I’m not certain we actually used it. At least, I doubt if Amundsen will put it in his report. He’ll be too embarrassed.”

“Let’s go,” Krabbe ordered.

The drive was engaged. The Enterprise shot off into interstellar space, to look for pastures new.