Ben used the hand grips along the bulkhead to work his way to his console.
"Can we get Current Control?" Ben asked. He dropped into his couch and cinched up.
"Not without giving up our position."
"We got out too easy," Ben said. "They've got a bug on this thing, anyway. "
"Had," Rico said, smiling. "I did an E-sweep when we left the harbor, thinking the same thing. Found it. Elvira here jettisoned the little devil into a netful of krill that we passed about a dozen grids back."
"Good work, both of you," Ben said. "All right, then let's try that cargo train below. "
The Flying Fish was buffeted again by something like a huge fist. Elvira wrestled with the controls to keep them out of the kelp.
Rico knew, as they all knew, that any damage to the kelp could be construed as an attack. A lot of kelp lights were active in this sector. Besides the red and blue telltales of a waking stand, this kelp flashed its cold navigation light at random and occasionally flooded them with the brighter fiber-optic sunlight that it transported from the surface. If the stand was one that had awakened, any mistake could get the foil and themselves torn apart at the seams.
"Didn't Flattery just go on the air to tell us how safe he'd made the kelpways?"
"Just goes to show," Rico said, "you can't believe that bastard for a goddamn blink."
The cargo train passing in the opposite direction beneath them was having even more trouble than they were. A relatively tiny foil could stop in midchannel and hover if necessary, but the cargo train needed to maintain a constant speed for maneuverability. The grid system was set up so that the trains, Pandora's lifeline, could travel the kelpways swiftly and undisturbed with minimal course changes. From what Rico could see of the bucking cargo, the crew below at both ends of the train had their hands full.
"It's bending," Rico said, watching the Navcom monitor that marked out their grid system. "The whole grid's bending."
"We'd better surface," Ben said. "Prepare for — "
"Negative," Elvira said. "If this is a surface disturbance, things will be worse up there. We need information."
Ben grunted acknowledgment.
"Cargo train identity signal is registered to the Simplicity Maru," Elvira reported, fighting the controls to maintain hover and an equidistance between walls of the kilometer-wide channel. This ordinarily simple maneuver was made nearly impossible by the ever-changing walls of their kelpway. Rico noticed a sweat beading on Elvira's brow and upper lip.
Ben keyed for a low-frequency broadcast. He hoped he didn't have to explain the absence of their identity signal.
"Simplicity Maru, this is Quicksilver," he lied. "Do you have reports on current disruption?"
Static hissed back at them, then a microphone clicked on. The message came in badly broken. Undersea communication, especially around active kelp, was always difficult.
"Simp. Maru. Negative. into kelp." There was the sound of shrieking metal in the background.". king up. We are preparing. ballast. Repeat, preparing. "
Elvira threw the throttles forward and in spite of a violent buffeting the foil leaped at her touch. Her lips were pressed into a tight line and her knuckles shone white on the controls.
"Wait, we can't. " Ben said. His body pressed further into his couch. "We can't go into deep kelp."
"They're blowing ballast," Elvira growled. "That whole cargo train's going to pop up into us like a cork."
Rico felt every fixture aboard rattle like his teeth.
"Ben, is the girl secure?"
"She's strapped in," Ben said.
Just then they cleared the rear cabin of the train. It blew past them toward the surface, containers and cabins tumbling like toys. A few of the containers snagged in the walls of the kelpway, walls that still vibrated with light and that same strange force.
"This is too weird," Ben said. "Let's surface and take our chances with the Director's air cover. This ride's getting much too ugly."
Elvira nodded curtly and the foil started its ascent. As though alerted by their control panel, the kelp fronds began closing above the Flying Fish. First they formed a canopy, then, a tight and impenetrable mesh. A sudden change of current lurched them to starboard and sent the foil tumbling end over end. Elvira righted them manually, her face very pale.
"Shit!" Ben fisted the arm of his couch. "Somehow Flattery must've got to Current Control. " He snicked his harness release over Rico's protests.
"I'm checking on Crista," Ben said.
He had to use the handholds to make his way aft on the rolling deck. At the galley's hatch he turned, suddenly a bit pale himself, and Rico knew what thought had just struck Ben. Rico smiled.
"Rico," Ben said, "what if. "
"What if the kelp knows she's here?"
"Yeah," Ben said. "What if the kelp knows she's here?"
"We'd better hope she likes us."
"She probably doesn't have any say in this," Ben said, and undogged the hatch. Rico didn't care for the snap in his voice.
"Somebody has a say in this," Rico muttered. The hatch slammed, dogged itself. That was when Rico remembered when the kelp could have had a whiff of Crista Galli. It was the only time that hull integrity had been breached.
That bug! he thought. That goddamn little mercuroid chip of Flattery's.
"We ejected that transmitter, Elvira, and we ejected it in cabin air." He thought he detected an infinitesimal stiffening of her posture. "If that kelp can sniff, and I hear it can, then it knows there's more in this can than us worms."
Mercenary captains either are or are not skilful soldiers. If they are, you cannot trust them, for they will always seek to gain power for themselves either by oppressing you, the master, or by oppressing others against your wishes.
— Machiavelli, The Prince
The young security captain, Yuri Brood, was rumored by his men to be the unacknowledged son of the Director, product of an early tryst with a Merman woman from the Domes. The men based this notion on the strong physical resemblance between Brood and the Director, and on Brood's quick rise to an advisorship that went beyond the formalities of his rank. The two men shared a ruthlessness that did not go unnoticed outside the confines of the squad.
Captain Brood and his squad had been reared in a Merman compound near this Kalaloch district. Brood himself had been schooled privately in the mathematics of logic and strategy — that was standard operating procedure for anyone anticipating an executive position with Merman Mercantile. Brood himself preferred the more direct solutions of physical pressure to the subtleties of politics. His superiors shrugged it off as a phase, agreeing that Brood got results where others failed.