“Zi Ongola,’’ Paul suggested.
“Yes, the very one,” Ezra agreed. “If he runs into any trouble, I can have Stev at the interface for expert advice.”
“Forty years, huh?” Emily said, watching Paul underline the final choices on the pad. “Rather longer than we’d bargained for, my friend. Let’s start training replacements.”
Inevitably their thoughts went to Wind Blossom, so obviously a frail vessel to continue the work her grandmother had begun.
Avril’s suspicious nature was aroused not by anything she heard, although what she did not hear was as significant, but by what she saw in the weary hours she manned the sled’s scope. It was usually trained on the Mariposa, sitting at the far end of the landing grid. The night before every one of Kenjo’s jaunts he had done exterior and interior checks of the craft. Fussy Fusi! Her use of the nickname was not quite derisive, because she simply could not figure out how he had managed to stretch the small reserve of fuel on the Mariposa as far as he already had. She had seen some activity about it last night but no sign of Kenjo. In fact, with neither moon out, she had just barely seen the shifting of shadow that indicated activity about the craft. She had been quite agitated. The only thing that reassured her was that several figures were involved. But no one entered the gig. That perplexed her.
At first light, so early that no one was yet working the donks at the skeleton of the shuttle that had been the center of considerable activity all week she was surprised to see Fulmar Stone and Zi Ongola approaching the vessel. Her apprehension, honed by weeks of watching spurred her to remove the protective cover from her sled in preparation for a quick departure. At full speed, she could reach the landing grid in less than fifteen minutes. Early morning traffic into Landing would be sufficient to give her cover.
She had a moment’s anxiety thinking that perhaps the Mariposa had developed a problem and they were scavenging replacement parts from the shuttle. Kenjo had flown a mission three days before with his usual economical takeoff and landing. She had to hand it to him – he was gliding in smoothly with no power at all. Only where was he getting the fuel to lift?
The three men, moving with almost stealthy speed, slipped inside the little spaceship and closed the airlock. Well, the access to the engines was through exterior panels, so she began to relax. They remained inside the ship for three hours, long enough for a full interior systems check. But that did not presage a usual flight. Maybe the Mariposa was bollixed. Scorch Kenjo for ineptitude. The Mariposa had to be spaceworthy. Avril swore.
Or had something happened to Kenjo so that Ongola was taking the ship up? But how? There could not be much fuel left. So why were they checking internal systems? Why were they making yet another jaunt? Displeased, Avril finished her preparations to fly.
Sallah Telgar-Andiyar was feeding her daughter her breakfast in the shady covered porch of Mairi Hanrahan’s Asian Square house when she caught sight of a familiar figure striding down the path. It was covered by loose overalls, and a peaked cap was pulled well down over the face, but the walk was undeniably Avril’s, especially from the rear. Never mind the greasy hands, the exhaust pipe carried so ostentatiously in one hand, the clipboard in the other. That was Avril, who only sullied her hands for a good cause. No one had seen her since she had left Big Island. Sallah continued to watch until Avril mingled in with the crowd at the main depot, where technicians jostled each another for parts and materiel.
Ever since Sallah had overheard Avril’s conversation with Kimmer, she had known the woman would attempt to leave Pern. Did Avril know of Kenjo’s fuel dump? Irritably Sallah shook her head. Cara blinked her huge brown eyes and stared apprehensively at her mother.
Sorry, love, your mother’s mind is klicks away.” Sallah gathered more puree on the spoon and deposited it into Cara’s obedient open mouth. No, Sallah told herself fiercely, because she wanted to believe it so badly, Avril could not have discovered that fueclass="underline" she had been too busy mining gemstones on Big Island. At least, up until three weeks before. And where has Avril been since then? Sallah asked herself. Watching while Kenjo flew the Mariposa? That would certainly set Avril Bitra to thinking hard.
Well, Sallah was due on her shift soon anyway, and as luck would have it, the sled she was servicing was on the grid. She would have a clear view of the Mariposa and those who approached it. If Avril came anywhere near, Sallah would set up an alarm.
There had been no talk of Kenjo making another attempt to clear Thread in the atmosphere. Then, too, Kenjo’s flights were usually plotted for the dawn window, and Sallah’s shift began well past that time.
It all happened rather quickly. Sallah was walking toward the sled she was servicing as Ongola and Kenjo, suited for space travel, left the tower with Ezra Keroon, Dieter Clissmann, and two other overalled figures whom Sallah was astonished to recognize by their postures as Paul and Emily. Ongola and Kenjo had the appearance of men listening to last-minute instructions. Then they continued on almost at a stroll, toward the Mariposa, while the others turned back into the met tower. Suddenly another suited figure began to wander across the grid on a path that would intercept Ongola and Kenjo. Even in the baggy space gear the figure walked as only Avril did!
Sallah grabbed the nearest big spanner and started at a jog-trot across the grid. Ongola and Kenjo disappeared behind the pile of discarded sled parts at the edge of the field. Avril had begun to run and Sallah increased her own pace. She lost sight of Ongola and Kenjo. Then she saw Avril pick up a short strut from the pile and disappear out of sight.
Rounding the pile, Sallah saw both Kenjo and Ongola flat on the ground. Blood covered the back of Kenjo’s head and Ongola’s shoulder and neck. Sallah ran flat out, ducking down to keep scrap metal between her and the Mariposa. As it was, she just made it as the airlock was closing. She threw herself inside and felt something scrape her left foot; there was an immense hissing, and then she blacked out.
* * * * *
Mairi Hanrahan thought it odd that Sallah had not rung at lunch time to tell her she was delayed. With so many small ones to feed every mother tried to be there at mealtimes. Mairi got one of her older children to feed Cara instead, thinking that something very important must have demanded Sallah’s attention.
None of the people at the met tower or admin building expected any contact from Ongola or Kenjo while the shuttle was moving through the ionized atmosphere. Ezra, seated at the desk of the voice activated interface, could follow its course via the activated monitor screens on board the Yokohama. The Mariposa was closing fast and soon reached the docking port. “Safely there,” Ezra announced when he rang through to both tower and administration.
Half an hour later, children playing at the edge of the grid came screaming back to their teacher about the dead men. Actually, Ongola was still barely alive. Paul met the medic team at the infirmary.
“He’ll live, but he’s lost more blood than I like,” the doctor told the admiral. “What ‘n hell happened to him and Kenjo?”
“How was Kenjo killed?” Paul asked.
“The old blunt instrument. The paras found a bloodied strut nearby. Probably that. Kenjo never knew what hit him.”
Paul was not sure he did either, for his legs suddenly would not support him. The doctor beckoned fiercely for one of the paras to help the admiral to a seat and poured a glass of quikal.
Paul tried to dismiss the eager hands. The implications of the two deaths greatly disturbed him. There was no antidote for Kenjo’s loss, though the wretched quikal eased the intense shock that had rocked him. In the back of his mind, as he knocked back the drink, he wondered where Kenjo had cached the rest of the fuel. Why, Paul seethed at himself, had he not asked the man before? He could have done so any time before or after the last few flights Kenjo had taken in the Mariposa. As admiral, he knew exactly how much fuel had been left in the gig on its last drop. Now it was too late! Unless Ongola knew. He had mentioned to Paul that there was not much left at the original site, but that Kenjo had been supplying the Mariposa. The figures Sallah had initially reported to Ongola indicated a lot more fuel than Paul had seen in that cave the other night. Well the misappropriation – yes, that was the right term – had had a final appropriate usage. Maybe Kenjo’s wife knew where he had stored the remainder.