Grounded!

by Claremont, Chris

  But he kept his distance, holding out some salve as a peace offering. The cool ointment at least took the pain away but the fingers were still claw-hooked stiff.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She didn’t bother with words, letting her eyes say it all.

  He held out a pair of worn sailing gloves, but at the look she gave him silently pulled them back.

  “Head us in,” she said.

  “Nicole... ”

  “You hear me, Cobri, head us in!”

  “Suppose I say no.”

  “Is this your bloody idea of a bloody good time, chum? You mind telling me what the hell we were doing back there? This was supposed to be a day sail—for the pleasure of it, Alex—not the goddamn America’s Cup!”

  “I got a little carried away.”

  “Keep pushing and you sure will. On a stretcher!”

  “I just wanted to show you what she could do.”

  “Bullshit. That stunt show had nothing whatsoever to do with this boat. You ask me, based on your performance, you haven’t a bloody clue how to sail her properly.”

  “We were going like a champion!”

  “Why?”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “Simple question. Why the need to sail like a champion?”

  “Because I can.”

  “Fine. Get a boat that doesn’t need anyone else and have yourself a ball. I’ll crew if the need arises but I’m not your crew, Alex. Remember the distinction.”

  “Second chance? C’mon, Nicole, you’re here, we’re on the water, it’s a glorious day. Let’s not waste it.” He grinned. “Besides, I know this really great little place over on Coronado for brunch.”

  “Sod,” she said, unable to help the small smile and shake of the head that took the sting from the word. “I was wondering what you guys were talking about.”

  “I’m going to come about, clear us some more sea room.”

  “Gimme a minute to get ready.” She wrapped some gauze around her wounded hand, gingerly pulled the fingerless sailing glove over it, thankful for the padded palm. Belatedly, she became aware that Alex was sailing closer and closer to the wind, building up ever more speed through the water. As they peaked, he spun the wheel into a tight racing turn, trying to spin the boat on the proverbial dime. She didn’t even bother with the jib, letting it flap uselessly as the boat wallowed in the easy swell, she simply stayed where she was, her face an expressionless mask as he hurled commands and curses with equal enthusiasm, until he and the boat finally ran down. Then she turned to confront him.

  “I’m taking the wheel,” she said flatly.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I believe that. As much as I do it’s not you at the wheel.” And without warning, her control slipped, her anger flaring, “God damn it, Alex, you’re a good sailor in your own right, you don’t need a snort of Dust to turn you into the second coming of Dennis Connor!”

  “You think that’s what... ” he began, anger and amusement mixing like a riptide, tangling each other so tightly he couldn’t choose between them.

  “Did it make a difference? Sure, you burned through the harbor like a raving hell-for-wheels nutcase, but so what? It was a wasted effort if it was to impress me, and pardon my arrogance who the hell else was there that mattered? You can’t mean to tell me it made the act of sailing more fun?”

  “I wouldn’t know, I haven’t tried.”

  “What?”

  “You heard. She’s a good boat and I’m a damn good sailor. I wanted you to see that. I set up the port in Virtual, I’ve been running scenarios all week. Yeah, I was showing off. Sue me.”

  “It wasn’t necessary.”

  He shrugged. “Who cares, it’s done. You take the wheel, I’ll lower the sails. Shouldn’t take the engine more’n a half hour to get us back to the mooring.”

  “Shame to waste this lovely a day.”

  “I don’t want to fight, Nicole. I mean, I got my sister for that.”

  “Let’s head farther out, Alex. See what develops.”

  They were sailing fast, close to the wind to give them every ounce of speed, Nicole piloting with one hand on the wheel. The sky was mostly clear, patched here and there by clumps of cotton-ball cumulus up around two kay, a little over six thousand feet, just about ideal weather for flying or sailing. Alex sat slumped diagonally opposite her in the cockpit, feet up, a can of beer resting on his belly, looking down at the deck, out at the water, off towards the climbing sun, everywhere but at her.

  “You’re really angry about Dust,” he said, holding his can out to her.

  “I don’t like it,” she replied, taking a long swallow, using the inside of her wrist to wipe foam from her lips before handing it back.

  “Because of Hanneford?”

  “That isn’t reason enough?”

  “In the right circumstances, you don’t think it can be an asset?”

  “Alex, look what happened to you in the harbor.”

  “I told you—!”

  “Don’t get so steamed, I’m not busting chops. But think about it a minute, as a scientist, as the system’s creator. You trained yourself in Virtual, honed your skills to a peak of perfection.”

  “Hardly, I’ve been away too long. But yeah, I got myself back on track.”

  “But look what happened. You weren’t relating to the realities of the moment—not the capabilities of your craft, nor those of your crew—only to the desire to win. Everything else was subordinate to that, even your own damn wishes. The moment you touched the helm, you snapped into race mode, the hell with every other consideration. You weren’t sailing, you were replaying the Virtual scenario.

  “I haven’t sailed in an age, either, chum; the difference is I know it. I know where I’m rusty and where I’m not. My instincts, my skills, my talents, I know are my own. I put the pieces together, I know how they work, same as you do this boat under ordinary circumstances.

  “My capabilities, Alex, when to push, where to back off, how to bet. Virtual, the way you use it—and Dust as well, in this instance they’re flip sides of the same coin—takes all that and coats it in ways I can’t predict. It makes my analysis of myself flawed and suspect.

  “Perhaps there are situations where it’s necessary, I’ll grant you that, but I can’t help thinking it’s a cheat. And call me the product of a retro-traditionalist household, I also can’t help a belief that the wheel turns and the cheats are eventually caught out.”

  “You wish.”

  “Yeah. I do, really.”

  “Well, I hate to burst so pristine a bubble, L’il Loot, but the only place you’re likely to find so perfect a world is in a Virtual configuration. In this venue”—he waved his arms wide to encompass the horizon—“you’re doomed to perpetual disappointment.”

  “That’s clever.”

  “That’s me. Isn’t that what you hate about traveling? I know I do.”

  “What?”

  “How some folks turn into assholes before your eyes and there’s precious little you can do about it.”

  “Nice talk.”

  “I wasn’t referring to you.”

  “I know. I can’t figure which is worse, Cobri, the attitude you’ve got with the world or the one you use to hammer on yourself.”

  He made a chiding noise between his teeth. “Tell me, that happens in space, what do you do?”

  “Work it out, so I’m told.”

  “That’s right, you only flew the one mission.”

  “And that for only a fraction of the rated trip time. We had a good crew, though, everybody synched.”

  “You must’ve heard stories.”

  “What’re you looking for, Alex, that accidents happen and the rough edgers who won’t smooth out end up strolling without a suit? Or maybe inside one that isn’t quite as functional as it should be? You heard ’em, so did I, hang about the right crowd long enough you can’t help it. Whether any of ’em are true or not, damned if I know. Satisfied?”


  “Why does it hurt so much? Being grounded?”

  She didn’t have a ready answer and just sat in silence for a little while, listening to the hiss of the Pacific as it rushed past, letting the sun bake her bare arms. Once or twice her mouth opened, as though to say something, but no words came, and finally she pushed up to her feet and stepped towards the hatch, pausing momentarily as Alex’s outstretched hand touched her hip, before brushing past and into the floorbelow.

  He started to apologize but she wasn’t listening.

  “Because I only had a taste,” she said, overrunning him, taking refuge in the act of preparing lunch as she had in descending to the cabin. “Ever since I can remember, I’ve looked up at the sky day and night and wondered what’s out there. I wanted it more than anything. I worked, I fought, to get my wings. I barely got to take my first step and now I’m lame. Damnation!” She snarled as the sail shuddered, he’d let the boat fall off a fraction too far, lost the wind, had to struggle to get it back.

  “When was the last time you came aboard?” she asked, after another while, the pair of them sharing sandwiches.

  “Haven’t given it any thought.”

  “That long?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “Just curious.”

  He sipped some coffee. “Must be a year, at least,” he said finally. He tried a smile. “But you wouldn’t believe the places I’ve sailed.”

  “In Virtual.”

  “All the thrills of Fastnet or the Whitbread, only you get out alive and unhurt at the end.”

  “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

  “That’s absolute. Not everybody has the means or the opportunity, you know, to do it for real. Who are you to judge?”

  “The satisfaction of accomplishment?”

  “Fine, sweetheart. But the terms of ‘accomplishment’ aren’t the same for everyone. You and I can actually participate in those races, what about a paraplegic, or a quad, or a geriatric? Leave aside the field of entertainment—though it might make life a whole lot more bearable for someone who’s bedridden—Virtual slave-linked remotes allow them to access their environment, personal and professional, in much the same way as they did when they were fully physically capable.”

  “I’m not denying any of that. But they have no choice, Alex, you do.”

  “A matter of opinion.”

  “Stop.”

  “Just because this ‘reality’ doesn’t have ‘virtual’ in front of it doesn’t make it any less mutable.”

  “You think?”

  “You’re at the bottom of your professional ladder, Nicole, I’ve lived my whole life up top.”

  “What is it between you and Amy?”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “Ask me, they’re all bound together.”

  “You consider yourself part of that ‘all’?”

  She nodded. “Dragged in, I suspect, kicking and screaming.”

  “Welcome to the club.”

  “I’m serious.”

  He took a distancing breath, and said, “We compete.”

  “She’s a kid, Alex.”

  “Try telling her that.”

  “Point taken. It’s as if that pass she has giving her access to every facility on the base applies to people’s lives as well. You’d think, if she wanted anybody to see her ski, to be proud of her, it’d be family. You, or her father at least.”

  “Where’s the accomplishment in that?”

  “So it all comes down to making people do what you want?”

  “Isn’t that the essence of life?” And when she vehemently disagreed, “Controlling your environment? Forgive me, but I beg to differ.”

  “What is it with you guys? I mean, it’s like the pair of you are part of a zero sum equation, one of you can’t be up without the other being down. Everything between you is reduced to gamesmanship, and nothing’s more important than keeping score.”

  “It’s how you know who’s winning.”

  “You’re not taking this seriously.”

  “My privilege, I have to live with it. Besides, you’re wrong. It’s just you can’t, won’t, accept what you’re hearing.”

  “Does she have any friends?” And then, a quirk of expression on Alex’s face telling her how that must sound to him, “Do you?”

  “Nicole, we’re marked, all of us, by birth and circumstance. You in your way, we Cobris in ours. Expectations. Demands. Resentments. In the end, it comes down to being a target. Better we do, more eager it makes folks to cut us down. At least, in my Virtual nest, I define the terms of engagement.”

  “This isn’t Virtual. I’m real, Alex. Flesh and blood. Body and soul. I am as I stand here, you can’t change that with a mod to the primary program.”

  “On the other hand, if this were Virtual, I could dial us somewhere far more appropriate. Sailing two-handed on the open ocean can be a real pain.”

  “Live with it. Not everything’s meant to come easy. Wishes aren’t always commands.”

  “Want to sit by me?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You ever thought about walking away? Kick yourself off the loop, out of the flat spin of your life, find something new? Maybe better?”

  “I still have hope, I guess.”

  “Sure it isn’t fear? I mean, how many of you throttle jocks ride into the deck and splatter when one good tug on the ejection ring is all it’d take to save you? When ground control’s telling you to do it, when you know it’s your only salvation? Because pride—this ’right stuff obsession that if you only try hard enough, think fast enough, you’ll come up with the solution that’ll save both you and the aircraft—won’t even allow you to consider that alternative?”

  “My career heading for that kind of crash-and-burn?”

  “You’re the one who’s grounded, sweetheart.”

  She didn’t like the turn the conversation was taking and said so. Alex’s response was to grab her hand, tight enough to hurt even without the abrasions she’d already suffered, his eyes burning into hers.

  “Fuck this, Nicole, fuck them, bail out now while you still got air enough beneath you. The dockyard on Catalina can give us all the supplies we need, we got an ocean out there waiting for us. You want to explore, let’s start with your homeworld, whaddya say?”

  Her eyes stung and reflexively she brought up the heel of her free hand to wipe away the beginning of tears.

  “Tempting,” she said, mostly to herself.

  “Be daring, then. Yield. I won’t go back if you won’t.”

  Why d’you need me, she thought, and supplied the answer herself, because we’re of a pair. And in his own way Alex is just as scared. Because I think we both know that if we do walk away there won’t be any turning back. Whatever it was drove me down to Earth’ll keep me here, it’ll’ve won, can I live with that? No guarantee, though, that bird’ll fly any better, for all I know I’ll just be exchanging one crash-and-burn for another. She shivered, from a chill that had nothing to do with the wind.

  “It isn’t that easy,” she said.

  “Sure it is.”

  “And every night, Alex, when I look up at the stars... ”

  “It’ll remind you of what you walked away from,” he finished bitterly, letting go of her hand but still staying close. “That’s right. You saying you can’t deal with that? Nicole, would it be any different if you’d broken your back or gone blind?”

  “Yes, it would.”

  “You figure, ’cause your glitch is mental, you can recover?”

  “My body got better, Alex, so can my mind.”

  “Suppose you fight for reinstatement and lose?”

  “Then, if I decide to, I’ll walk away.”

  “What’s left of you will, anyway. Tahiti’s still a paradise, Nicole. Bora-Bora. Slide past the Great Barrier Reef and on to Bali. You’ve got the body for a sarong.” So do you, she thought. “Live for ourselves, not the world’s expectations.”

  He reac
hed to her face, stroking fingers along the line of her jaw, and she couldn’t help turning her cheek into his palm, feeling newly raised calluses that were the price of too long a time off the water. He tilted her head ever so slightly and shifted his fingers to touch the fireheart and silver stud that came as part of the set, to be worn in place of the more formal earring. She leaned forward and their lips touched, very slightly. He was the one to pull away.

  “Don’t you understand, Alex,” she said, searching his eyes, his expression, for a sign that he did but pressing on regardless, “my self, it belongs up there! This is glorious, it’s fun, I love it, but that”—and flashed a look towards the sky—“God help me, is where I belong.

  “My mom used to say, when she was talking about writing, there were many things in her life that she loved, but words, her stories, the act of creation that went with them, that was like breathing. Beyond emotion, but absolutely fundamental, even necessary, to the fact of her being.

  “Space is that for me. And if that ends, it has to be because there really and truly is no alternative. Everything’s been tried, nothing’s left. Maybe I have to auger in, and just pray this is the crash I walk away from. But I have to know. Here”—she pointed to her head—“here”—to her heart—“here”—to her gut. “No second thoughts, no ‘what ifs.’ ”

  “Just like Canfield.”

  “There are worse role models.”

  “It’s getting late.”

  “Come about then, pop the chute?” she asked. “Head her back in?”

  He looked at her, and handed over the wheel, clambering over the cabin to the foredeck.

  “Your call, sweetheart.”

  * * *

  eight

  Alex was out of the Baron even before she cut the engines, hopping off the wing and striding away without a word—which was pretty much the way they’d spent the whole trip back to the yacht club and then the flight north from Lindbergh to Edwards, a silence so strained it was almost palpable. She watched him until he rounded the corner of the hangar, then turned back to the panel before her, automatically following through the shutdown procedures, until she was left sitting in shadows and silence.