Sister Ships and Alastair - Chapter 21

21. Go Thou Unto Nineveh

"I've got to get back in there!"

"You are so not going back in there. If you go back in there you, and far more importantly, I, may not be seen alive again. Those guys make silverback gorillas look underdeveloped."

"Why do they have a right to speak, and I don't?"

"Because they're Candidates and you're not!"

Turpin still had one hand firmly caught up in the shoulder of Ant's coat, preventing him from running. Ant was pressed up against a door labelled J JERKOW, MAYOR. Underneath the label, a sign said THE MAYOR IS: OUT.

"I think it would be a bad idea for you to talk Parts with the mayor while I'm with you", said Ant. "I might have just ruined his chances of getting a plum job in the new administration."

"Fine, except for the fact that I'm not letting you out of my sight. You'll just run straight back to the canteen and cause trouble."

"I WILL NOT. ON MY HONOUR -" Ant looked around, suddenly worried. "Hey - where's Vladlena?"

Turpin released his grip on Ant and looked right and left.

In the far, far distance, a tiny voice could be heard echoing through the corridors. The voice was screaming, and what it was screaming was:

"LET ME GO, RUNNYING DOG LYACKEYS OF CYAPITALIST OPPRESSORS! DAY OF GLORIOUS RYEVOLUTION YIS COMYING! THE YEAST YIS RED!"

"Oh no", said Ant.

"We really ought to do something about that", said Turpin, clearly not wanting to.

"We'll get our heads kicked in."

"We really ought to do something about that", repeated Turpin, and ran off down the corridor in the direction of the noise. As they turned the next corner, they saw Vladlena being frogmarched toward them by no less than three of Candidate Ortega's bodyguards, one of whom was shrieking as Vladlena sank her teeth into his arm.

"LET HER GO", said Turpin. "Vladlena, stop struggling. They're going to let you go."

Reluctantly, Vladlena relaxed in the guards' grips. The man she had bitten swore and limped clear nursing his arm. The tallest of the three, a blond giant who looked carved out of granite, did not release his grip on Vladlena, but instead sneered disdainfully down at Turpin as if at a mischievous puppy. All three men, Ant noted with disquiet, were a head taller than Turpin.

"And why would we do that?"

"You haven't any reason to hold on to her. Let her go."

"She's a threat to the security of our Candidate."

"She's a fourteen year old girl. And you've got no right to hold on to anybody." Turpin stepped forward, to a distance where he would have been eye to eye with the blond guard, if he had not been eye to chest instead. "You're not US Zed police; I don't see any badge numbers on your uniforms. So those uniforms are just uniforms - they don't mean anything. Don't think I'm fooled by that. You're nothing but a bunch of hired goons dressed up to look like soldiers. Your candidate hasn't even been elected yet. I, on the other hand, am a Lieutenant in the US Zed Navy, and although you may have a head's height on me, I have an armed starfighter, sitting upstairs on the pad fully weaponed up, on you. And if you don't let go of her right now, I am going to go upstairs, take that starfighter, and use it to fill your Candidate's nice shiny new spaceship full of big nasty holes. Please don't think I won't dare do it. I've done far worse things with government property."

The blond guard stared Turpin down for several seconds.

"She doesn't go back to the canteen", he said. "She doesn't cause any more trouble for the Candidate."

"Agreed", said Turpin.

The blond nodded to the other two men; they released Vladlena, who shook herself loose arrogantly as if she had broken free purely under her own power.

The blond guard turned away; then, without warning, he suddenly twisted and hit Turpin in the face, knocking him to the ground. The sound of the blow was like a rugby ball being drop-kicked.

Turpin sprawled on the concrete, nursing his bleeding nose. The giant looked down at him grimly, then turned and stalked off down the corridor, followed by his minions.

***

"Hold your nyose up, Lieutenant. You are good myan, brave soldier, fine Communist." Vladlena held the standard-issue USZ toilet tissue, hard as sandpaper, over Turpin's bleeding nose. "He was cyowardly cyapitalyist man."

"Whad did you do do bake deb so aggry?" said Turpin, looking down his nose at Vladlena.

"They myake me so angry", said Vladlena fiercely. "Cyandidate Yortega say that US Zee Navy hyave ryescue me from Krasnaya."

Turpin thought about this.

"Well", he said, "dad's drue, iddn't id?"

"Yis most cyertainly nyot true. Cyandidate Yortega also say that US Zee Navy and Polaryis Tryeaty Navy are fyighting Red Star Flyeet to ryescue me."

Ant's eyes widened. "Fighting the Russians? We didn't see a single Russian ship! Not with anyone alive on board, at least."

Vladlena ground her teeth together in anger. "I tyell Cyandidate Yortega if US Zee Navy yever fight Red Star Flyeet, Red Star Flyeet kyick US Zee Navy's scrawny byackside byack to US Zee. Red Star Flyeet is byeautiful Communist Russian fleet, good as yany US Zee flyeet and byetter. I yam patriotic Russian", she said, pounding herself on the chest.

She shrugged philosophically. "Cyandidate does nyot see my point of view. What are you doing hyere in cyorridor?"

"We gabe here do dalk do Bayor Jerkow", said Turpin. "Addony, id he bag in hid offid yet?"

Ant peered round the corner. "Don't think so. But we're not going anywhere. We are going to walk right back into that canteen and show our faces. That bloody nose of yours is going to be the death of Mizz Ortega's election campaign."

Turpin's eyes widened. "I'd dot sure aboud dat. Dey bight hid be agaid. I do'd like beig hid."

"It's what Cleo would do", said Ant, "if she weren't acting like a cretin. I have to be Cleo while she's otherwise engaged."

"How we gyet into cyanteen", pointed out Vladlena, "pyast Cyandidate's bodyguards?"

From his position at the crook of the corridor, Ant could see a group of crewmen walking out of one of the surface elevators - big men in USZ flight uniforms, slapping each other on the back, talking to each other loudly in American-accented English, but every so often, unmistakeably if unintelligibly, in Russian.

"I think", he said, "I have an idea. It involves a slight amount of physical discomfort for comparatively great gain. Vladlena, do you bruise easily?"

***

"IT IS NOW TIME", said the drab little grey-haired man wearing the OFFICIAL RETURNING OFFICER sash. "FOR US TO CAST OUR VOTES." He reached up above him for a pull cord, and the black drapes at the far end of the room swept back. "VOTING CARDS AT THE READY, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PLEASE - INTO THE HOLLERITH MACHINE."

Behind the curtains were two tiny, windowless cabins the size of passport photo booths, appended to the back of a gigantic, throbbing, glowing mass of glass bulbs connected by a forest of wiring. Next to the machine, a tiny, spry old gentleman stood with an expression of infinite worry. He was watching each bank of red-hot vacuum tubes like a hawk, screwdriver at the ready.

"What is that?" said Cleo, slightly frightened.

"You may not have seen one of these before", said Candidate Ortega, patting Cleo's hand happily. "This is the very latest in USZ technology, and is called a computer. It counts all the votes people make, faster than people can."

"We have something of the same sort back on Earth", said Cleo. "Of course, ours are nothing like the size yours are."

"I'm sure they'll improve, given time", said the Candidate magnanimously.

"Imagine what you could do with it if it was more advanced and complicated", said Cleo. "You could play games on it, or even use it to keep recipes."

"Let's not get into the realms of science fiction, honey", said Ortega, squeezing her hand affectionately. "Now come along and watch the good folks vote for me."

Suddenly, the main door to the canteen opened. The two large Ortega goons posted by the entrance for the Candidate's safety were shouldered aside by a knot of six heavy-set men with grimly murderous expressions. Forming a human avenue on either side of the door, arms folded, they gave access to Vladlena, Ant, and Lieutenant Turpin. Turpin's nose was a single purple bruise, which he was still holding. So was Ant's eye; so was Vladlena's. They glared up at the podium, saying nothing, silently accusing.

Cleo saw Candidate Ortega turn to the head of her security detail and hiss: "Franco! You idiot!" More tellingly, so did most of the rest of the canteen.

The Returning Officer cleared his throat and broke the silence, speaking into the mike: "UH - SALEM SOUTHSIDE EXTENDS A WARM WELCOME TO ITS NOVAYA ALYASKAN COMPATRIOTS. AS I WAS SAYING, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN - PLEASE FORM AN ORDERLY QUEUE -"

Ant glared up at Cleo. Cleo looked down at her shiny new USZ uniform shoes. The population of Salem Southside, looking sourly up at Candidate Ortega, began forming up to walk into the voting booths.

Ant and Vladlena were standing on either side of a massive Alyaskan, who resembled a granite model of a human being on a larger-than-lifesize scale, dressed in a ridiculous fur hat. He was looking leaden death into the eyes of an equally gigantic member of Ortega's security team. The two men were standing centimetres apart. Ant was surprised sparks were not travelling between them.

" Если вы ушибаете моих маленьких друзей снова, то я нахожу новое место для вашей головки между вашими батокс", growled the Alyaskan.

"What did he say?" said the bodyguard to Vladlena.

"You really do nyot want to knyow", said Vladena gloatingly.

"Though none of it was about your wife, mother or children", added Ant quickly.

The bodyguard pouted in disappointment, and satisfied himself with tightening his folded forearms with a sound like truck tyres grating on tarmac.

The voting took a long, long time. During that time, Ortega's guards gradually stood back from the Alyaskans with the speed of melting glaciers, and the Alyaskans did the same.

"BAYOR JERKOW, WHADDA BLEASURE TO SEE YOU!" said Turpin. "YOUR BRODDER SEDS HID REGARDS!"

Mayor Jerkow's eyes almost revolved in his head, and his teeth ground desperately. His face, however, did not relax from a strangulated election grimace.

"Your brodder also seds ad urgend request for assistance. Sbecifigally, he gabe me a list ob hydrobonigs barts needed at Salem Nordside. I hab id here id by bocked -"

"Uh, we're a bit busy right now", said Mayor Jerkow. "Electing the Candidate and all, you know? We're low on hydroponics parts too", he added.

"Your brodder dinks you mighd hab dese", said Turpin, unfolding the scrap of paper. Jerkow's eyes flickered up towards Ortega in terror.

"He does nyot want to be syeen hyelping her yenemies", said Vladlena in contempt.

"She ain't even been elected yet", muttered one of the Alyaskans without moving a muscle.

"Mayor Jerkow needs to get down the quartermaster's office and requisition hisself a spine", said another.

From behind Turpin among the Alyaskan uniforms, Ant heard a low voice say: "You feeling okay, Lieutenant?"

"I'b had worse", said Turpin, which was true. "Dangs for de helb, Sergeand Romanov. Ad fangs for punchig all de childred id de face for us."

"It was the least we could do for a superior officer, sir."

"Hab your beoble on Alyaska boded yet?"

"Sure we voted, every one of us. We threw Ortega out on her ass, just after she turned up and told us it was our patriotic duty to fight the evil Russian menace."

"I gan see how dat mighd nod go dowd well. Uh, does dad mead you all boded for Lebkowidz?"

"The hell we did. Lefkowitz's all up here." A finger thick as a tree branch pointed to a furry-hatted temple. "He's dead below the neck, and Ortega's dead above it. We never vote for a man we can't imagine drinking with."

Turpin considered the merits of this as a political idea. then shrugged and pointed across the room. "Loogs lige dey're aboud do addoudce de result."

The queues at the voting booths had dissipated, and the Returning Officer had returned, appropriately, to the podium. Leaning forward to the microphone, he said:

"MR. PROUDFOOT, ARE ALL CARDS IN?"

The wizened attendant of the voting machine squinted at a roll of ticker tape reeling out of the side of the machine, double-squinted at it, looked up, and nodded.

"THEN YOU MAY PULL THE LEVER."

Mr. Proudfoot reached up, spat on his hands, and yanked down on what looked a hugely unnecessarily huge lever. Immediately, the machine went into overdrive. Its arrays of bulbs sparkled like glass galaxies. Cleo could feel the heat it was giving off. Mr. Proudfoot began cooling it with a large pair of bellows.

Eventually, the machine rumbled unsteadily to a halt, the vacuum tubes died, and another length of ticker tape shot out of the side of it. Solemnly, Mr. Proudfoot tore it off, took it up as if it were the Holy Grail itself, and walked across the room to present it to the Returning Officer.

The Returning Officer squinted down at it through bifocals thick as bathyscaphe windows.

"I hereby declare", he said, "that the 2000 Presidential Election in New Salem Southside finds, at five hundred and thirty-two votes to sixteen, for Doctor Randolph Lefkowitz. Congratulations to the winner, commiserations to the loser."

Ortega's face twisted like a crumpled-up scrap of paper. Then it straightened, as if being flattened by an invisible iron. She sashayed forwards to the microphone with predatory grace, raised it to her lips, and said:

"Uh, LET ME BE THE FIRST TO CONGRATULATE THE VICTOR. OF COURSE, THIS ONLY MEANS YOU'VE WON THE BATTLE, NOT THE WAR, RANDY; WE ALL KNOW WHO'S GOING TO WIN THAT ONE! I'D LIKE TO SAY A FRIENDLY GOODBYE TO SALEM SOUTHSIDE! HERE'S HOPING THE FOLKS UP AT NORTHSIDE HAVE A MORE FORWARD-THINKING ATTITUDE -"

She stopped in mid-sentence, looking at her head bodyguard, who was listening to a gigantic mobile telephone. The guard shook his head gravely.

"- AND FOR ALL YOU WONDERFUL SALEM SOUTHSIDE VOTERS, DON'T FORGET ELIZABETH ORTEGA, BECAUSE REST ASSURED, SHE AIN'T EVER GOING TO FORGET YOU."

With a smile as glittering as an ice barrier, she vacated the stage followed by her entourage, shaking hands for all of half a second with Randolph Lefkowitz, who was slowly unfolding an ominously thick set of Thank You speech cards.

"Uh - thank you, Elizabeth. As we enter this new millennium, there are many challenges facing the US Zee -"

"What did she mean by he's only won a battle?" said Ant, suddenly dismayed.

"She means", said Sergeant Romanov from behind him, "that Lefkowitz has only won one vote in the Senate today. In order to win the Presidency, he needs fifty-eight."

"But New Salem's one whole colony!" said Ant. "There are only thirteen colonies in the whole of the US Zed! He's won one thirteenth of the whole vote!"

The Sergeant shook his head. "He's won New Salem Southside. Maybe even Northside too, by the look of it. That's one vote, maybe two. New Salem is a low population planet. The high population worlds get more votes, 'cause they have more people. Arcadia has twelve, for example."

"Then if she wins the vote on even a few of the high population worlds", said Ant, "she could still win the election. Even though New Salem didn't vote for her. Though Alyaska didn't vote for her either. And Gondolin certainly won't vote for her."

"That's about the long and short of it."

"Then what's the point of living on a low population planet?"

"A lot of us", said the Sergeant, "have been asking ourselves the same question."

" - and to stride forward boldly into the future", said Doctor Lefkowitz. The audience applauded unenthusiastically. Doctor Lefkowitz glowed with satisfaction.

"Whad aboud dose hydrobonigs bards dow, Misder Mayor?" said Turpin.

Mayor Jerkow stared at him in utter desolation.

"She's going to win the election, you know. All you've done is made this planet a very powerful enemy."

"De bards", repeated Turpin.

"Yes, you can have the goddamned parts", spat Jerkow, and stomped off to his office.

***

The elevator doors closed. The airlock stank of fermented cow.

"How come there are Russians on an American world?" said Ant. "Novaya Alyaska, I mean."

Sergeant Romanov stood immobile as a mountain. "Did you ever hear of the Russian Tea Room?"

Ant shook his head. Romanov shrugged.

"Well, I'm told it's a pretty famous restaurant on 57th Street in New York, on Earth. One of New York's most stupidly expensive restaurants, so I hear. It was founded by people who left Russia because of the rise of Communism during World War One. And in World War Two, large parts of the Red Army rebelled against Stalin and fought their way west -"

"On the side of the Germans", put in Ant, looking at Vladlena, who hid her face in embarrassment.

The elevator whined up, and up, and up.

"Well, they didn't really have much of a choice, fella", said the Sergeant. "It was pretty much either fight for Stalin or fight for Hitler, and it gives you some idea of how much they hated Stalin that they plumped for Hitler. In any case, around 1945, a whole division of Russian troops turned on their Nazi commanders, took the city of Prague off them, then surrendered to the Americans. The official historical line is that Russia then asked for those men back, and that America meekly handed them over to die in forced labour camps."

"Is the official line wrong?" said Ant.

"A little. America realized even then that Russian speakers would be valuable to it in the fight against Communism. What actually happened in Prague was that some of those soldiers - the lucky ones - were recruited as American special forces men. As far as Russia knew, those men were dead. What better spy than a man the enemy knows is dead? America needed a place to settle them, of course. And after a few years spent in barracks after base after safe house all over the USA, Novaya Alyaska turned out to be ideal. Novaya Alyaska means 'New Alaska' in Russian, incidentally. Alaska used to belong to Russia once upon a time. The Russians sold it to the Americans."

Ant looked up at Sergeant Romanov's furry hat. "Is it as cold as Alaska on Alyaska?"
Romanov grinned. "Terribly, awfully cold."
One of the Alyaskans looked down at Ant. "Cold enough to freeze a sneeze before it hits a handkerchief."
"Cold enough to make your pants hard like iron when you put 'em on in the morning", said another.
"Horrible, awful cold", said Sergeant Romanov.
The elevator doors opened, letting in a flood of neon green. The air was fresh as fluoride toothpaste. The sky writhed overhead. They were walking across the concrete now towards the parked ships.

"Что это?" said one of the Alyaskans, forgetting to speak English. "Модный парад?"

Ant squinted into the distance. In it, he could see Cleo standing in the middle of the landing pad, surrounded by Alyaskan flight crew who appeared to be admiring her shiny new uniform. One of the crewmen was hiding something behind his back. Cleo was turning round glaring at the men with murder in her eyes.

"One of you", said Cleo, "has my cap. I am going to count to three, after which time, if one of you still has my cap, my cap will not be on my head. And if my cap is not on my head, my uniform will not be complete. And if my uniform is incomplete, I will be jolly angry, actually."

Knowing Cleo better than the Alyaskans did, Ant treated this threat with grim seriousness. The Alyaskans, meanwhile, continued to play Pass The Hat behind their backs with foolish disregard for their own safety, smirking up at the incandescent sky.
Cleo's own hands were also clasped behind her.
"Id all righd", said Lieutenant Turpin, straining to look down a nose elevated to drain blood back into his head. "She'd wod ob ud." Hearing Turpin's voice, Cleo turned and looked at him venomously.
Ant looked closely at what was in Cleo's palms. "Cleo, put those hat pins back in your hair."
Disgruntled, Cleo took one of the six-inch-long pins out from behind her back and replaced it in her topknot. She held the other out in front of her, point upraised, waiting. The Alyaskans went even paler than they had been originally. The man who currently had Cleo's cap handed it back to her and bowed. Cleo curtseyed acidly in return, slid the cap back onto her head and nailed it in place with the second pin.
"She's one of yours?" repeated Sergeant Romanov disbelievingly.
"Would you rather have her on your side or the enemy's?" said Ant.
"Point taken", said the Sergeant.
"Uh, we actually do really like your uniform", said one of the Alyaskans. "It sort of fits you and don't hang off of you and stuff."
"Yeah", said another of the flight crew. "Our uniforms look like what comes out of the back of a cow."
Cleo was confused. "Your uniforms look like milk?"
"Yeah", grinned another crewman. "That sort of milk you don't like to step in." He held the breast of his jacket open; green sky showed through gaping holes in the seams. He stuck a finger through one and wiggled it about. "Had this jacket seven years now."
"I can sort that out", said Cleo.
"It'll take more than being good with a needle and thread to sort this out, cadet", said the crewman.
"I mean, I can get you a new uniform", said Cleo. "One hundred pounds per uniform. Maybe more depending on how fancy you want it."
Turpin looked up sharply. "Wod huddred poud?" he said.
"I can kit out Gondolin too", said Cleo. "Just give me designs, measurements and, uh, a little, um, money."
"Id nod poddible do buy a made do meadger dood for wod huddred poud", glared Turpin.
"He says it's not possible to buy a made-to-measure suit for one hundred pounds", translated Ant.
"Who's the Earth creature here?" said Cleo, "him or me?"
But despite Turpin, wallets were already coming out of threadbare jackets. Fingers were being licked to leaf through wads of notes.
"It has to be Earth currency", said Cleo hastily. "British pounds, for preference."
The crewman nearest to her nodded. "Will US dollars or Russian roubles do?"
"I've got a whole load of Brazilian reais."
"Britain, doesn't that use the Euro now?"
"Got to. To get to Britain you aim for Europe and miss."
With a clear expression of having bitten off far, far more than she could chew, Cleo accepted two fistfuls of brightly coloured currency.
"Are you sure this adds up to a hundred pounds?"
"Bound to."
"That many reais? Sure."
"Er - I'm going to need your measurements."
"Hang on, I've got a tape measure. Hold still, Yuri."
"Hurr, that tickles."

"Now, you'll have these uniforms ready for us next time you're up here, right?"

Other elevator doors were opening far away in the dark. The turmoil in the sky made it seem as if there should be a howling wind, but the air was actually still, and a loud female voice could be heard over the sound of boots crunching on gravel.

"Goddamned milk-sucking peasants, don't they know class when they see it? When I win Vinland, they can whistle for planetary evacuation, I don't care how big the comet is." Candidate Ortega ground her gloved hands together until the thin calf leather squealed. "I am going to win Vinland, aren't I, Manny?"

The miniscule man walking beside her nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes, Elizabeth. Current exit polls show you with a clear lead of fifty points -"

"Manny, the only exit polls on Vinland are done by you, usually with the help of a paper and pencil and your own imagination. What's happening in the real world?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure you're going to win, Lizzie..."

"WHAT the HELL is THAT?" Candidate Ortega stopped in her high-heeled tracks, staring up at Zodiac One, her beautiful gleaming ship. Fresh dribbles of bright pink paint ran down the hull. The campaign ship's logo had changed.

"Is that a flying pig?" said Manny innocently. "Have they turned our flying fish into a flying pig?"

"A pig in lipstick", said Ortega, her lips thin as knifeblades.

All around Ant and Cleo, the Alyaskans stood in respectful silence.

"Kazak Kubuida", muttered Sergeant Romanov, "you have been a bad, bad bear."

A guffaw which Yuri had tried to bite back in his mouth escaped from his nose. A gobbet of snot shot out of one of his nostrils onto the concrete. All around him the other Alyaskans began convulsing silently, undergoing terrific pain to hold the laughter inside. They began filing quietly, and with difficulty, into their ship.

"HEY!" yelled Candidate Ortega. "HEY, YOU! WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?"

Manny, meanwhile, was inspecting the pitot spike at the front of the ship. Something seemed to be tied to it.

"Is that a wooden spoon?" he said.

The Alyaskans' airlock ground shut. Motors began whirring in the hull.

"I dink", said Lieutenant Turpin softly, "we really bedder go dow." He turned to Cleo. "I'b afraid we dode hab room for four od board. You'll hab to go back wid de Caddidate."

"He says we don't have room for four on board -" began Ant.

"I heard what he said", said Cleo. She stood watching Ant, Turpin and Vladlena climb into the Fantasm.

Candidate Ortega noticed her. "Oh, this is still here? What did you mean with that jumping off the stage, huh? Did you think that that made us look good? What are you standing there like that for? You want us to fly you back to the North Pole to all your widdle Wefkowitz-woving fwiends? Let me tell you now, you'd better ask nicely, young lady -"

Cleo stared hard enough at Ortega to cut scratches in the Candidate's contact lenses. Then, she shrugged out of her brand new beautiful USZ jacket, held it out at arm's length, dropped it on the concrete, turned, and stomped off toward the elevators.

"HEY! HEY, STOP RIGHT THERE! YOU'RE STILL WEARING PANTS AND BOOTS MY CAMPAIGN PAID FOR, SISTER -"