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_Curious_. Who could want to see him? Maybe some colleague had pulled
strings -- no. There was no one he knew who would touch a doctor convicted of
illegal medical activity. He let his hopes dissipate as he was escorted out of
the area of holding cells and into an elevator. It stopped one floor above, at
the level below the courts where bonded clerks abounded, processing data on
trials, sentences and shipments. He was guided past a couple of alcoves and
into a small conference room, usually reserved for those few prisoners who had
someone to represent them. His heart thumped in his chest when he saw who was
waiting on him.
The man was middle aged, with a slightly lined face set below close
cropped graying hair. He wore the silver tunic of a Tremaine space force
officer, with gold leaves adorning the collar of his tunic. His face held a
slight, enigmatic smile, reacting to Porter's surprise.
"Sit down, doctor. Guard, you may leave. Wait outside."
Once the door to the conference room closed, Porter let his surprise
burst into voice. "The Crazy Ships!"
The officer's smile broadened a tiny bit. "Yes, Doctor Porter. The
Crazy Ships. I'm making up a crew and component of colonists. You're included
if you want to take the chance."
Porter knew little of the theory of faster than light travel, but he
knew what any informed person did: An even fifty percent of the ships aiming
for the Altairan solar system, or any other extra solar place, disappeared,
never to return. Of the fifty percent that arrived at their destination, half
again disappeared on the return attempt, leaving only a one in four chance of
a successful round trip. He also knew that very few old people were ever given
the option of a chance to try.
"Why me? I didn't think the Crazy Ships took old people. And why you,
for that matter? You don't look like the usual rejects they send to command
those ships."
The officer touched a hand to the gold leaf on his lapel. "This leaf
should be silver, doctor, or perhaps an eagle by now. And look at my nametag."
_Tremaine, Donald_, it read from just above his left breast pocket.
"Oh. I see. Or do I? The last I heard, the Tremaines were still in
control of such government as we have left. Did you mess up somewhere?"
"You might say so, at least by concatenation. My family was the losers
in the recent adjustments in the government, including the military arm. We're
still in control, but just barely. Some of us think that won't last long. Have
you any idea of what might happen to our whole family should we lose power?"
Porter remembered. When the Tremaine Corporation had taken over
government reigns, the symbolic bloodbath didn't make the news, but it was
common knowledge: most of the old guard had been stripped of their shares
through quasi-legal shenanigans and most of them shipped to Africa without
even an option of chancing the Crazy Ships. Since then the Tremaine
corporation shareholders had run the government. Now, though, their hold
appeared to be slipping.
"You could be shipped to Africa."
"If I wait, I could be," Tremaine said. "We've held power simply on the
basis of our monopoly of the products from Sporeworld, but that's coming to an
end what with falling imports. The Plemmon Corporation has been readying a
takeover for years, and now we think they will succeed, what with less of the
life-extending drugs from Sporeworld. And some members of our family have
been, um, shall we say indiscreet. It has given the Plemmons ammunition. Not
that that's any concern of yours, other than the choice I'm prepared to offer
you." _And not that you need to know the other reason I'm going, either,_
Tremaine added to himself.
"You mean a berth on one of the Crazy Ships. Still -- "
"Be at ease, doctor. There are other factors you need not be concerned
with just now. Suffice to say that I'm looking at the long term. I'm willing
to risk a fifty-fifty chance of making a jump to the Altairan colony while I
still have the option. We still control the colony government, and will for a
some time to come, I think. In the meantime, I've been sifting through court
records with the idea of making up a crew. Your name came up. You're old, but
you're knowledgeable, and we get very few physicians. If you are willing, I
want your help selecting who goes with me on the ship."
Porter didn't take much convincing. Anything was better than Africa.
Still, there was an undertone here he didn't quite understand, as if Major
Tremaine was concealing an underlying motive. It didn't matter, though. He
decided quickly that he would rather take a fifty percent chance of starvation
(or whatever happened aboard the ships which didn't come back) rather than the
certainty of a hellishly short life in Africa.
"Sure," Porter said. "Whatever assistance you need, I'm willing to
give. Can I see the lists of prospects?"
"I'll provide you with all the information you need, along with the
criteria I'm interested in."
"Criteria?"
Tremaine tapped his desk with a fingernail. "Criteria," he repeated.
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