by A. K. DuBoff
“Hydrus, Saree. Hydri GeeJee Beta, specifically. There is a planet there, a gas giant, but no sentient life has been discovered.”
Saree shook her head in wonder. “Hal, please compile a list of folders going to Hydrus.”
“Certainly, Saree.”
“Thank you, Hal.”
“You are welcome, Saree.”
She swept off the connection and turned toward her shuttle. Without her saying a word, the pile of rags followed her. Good thing it was nightshift and this wasn’t a popular passageway. Even so, she might attract attention soon.
As she entered her shuttle bay codes, a siren wailed. Station authorities evidently noticed the Mourner’s rise. Saree hurried through her shuttle’s security protocols and led the Mourner inside. “Hal, did you find a folder?”
“Perhaps, Saree. The list is in your workspace. It seems some station personnel are surprised and alarmed by your new passenger, Saree.”
She plopped down in the pilot’s seat, the worn cushion hissing air, and brought up the list. Three folders, none headed directly to Hydrus: one human, one Grus, one RR. She scanned the names and the aggregate ratings. The human folder looked risky, the RR were sometimes difficult to communicate with, so the Grus it was. At least they were air-breathing bipedals, so she wouldn’t be stuck on her shuttle for the entire trip to Pictor, where she’d have to find a folder to Hydrus. She sent inquiries for cost and speed of departure, then checked the Time Guild clock maintenance listing. Plenty of fold clocks required tuning at the systems along the way, so the trip wouldn’t cost her anything.
“Saree, a large number of beings are gathering outside our shuttle bay airlock,” Hal’s ultra-calm voice said. “There are also a large number of Antlians gathered in the main station passageway above our airlock. All the beings appear to be upset.”
They probably were. The Mourner brought traffic to an out-of-the-way passage. Saree’s stomach sank. Getting away might not be easy.
“Fortuna Lucia, Antlia Nine Station.”
Saree grimaced and accepted the emergency communications request. “Fortuna Lucia here, Antlia Station.”
An Antlian appeared in the vid, this one a mottled green and blue, an official seal on the surface behind it. “Fortuna Lucia, do you have the Gentle being known as the Mourner on board?”
“Yes, I do. It followed me. I did not do anything to it or compel it in any way.”
“Why did it follow you?”
“Because I asked it if it would like to go home. It sang ‘home’ and sent me a set of coordinates in Hydrus.”
The Antlian bobbed. “Would you transmit the coordinates to me, along with proof the Mourner followed you voluntarily?”
“Of course, I have nothing to hide.” Saree muted the comms. “Hal, please transmit the vid I made of the Mourner’s song to Antlia Station and the coordinates in Hydrus.”
“Certainly, Saree.”
“We await your transmission.”
“Antlia Station, I intend to take the Mourner to those coordinates.”
“Why?”
Saree sat back. “Why wouldn’t I? Everyone deserves to go home.”
“How does this benefit you?”
“It doesn’t.” Saree shrugged. “I have finished my research here. I’ve never been to Hydrus and there are new places to explore along the way, so why wouldn’t I?”
“Many residents are upset by your actions. They believe you are abducting the Mourner.”
Saree scowled at the screen. She enunciated carefully, putting a little snap in her tone. “Antlia Station, you’re not implying the Mourner doesn’t have the right to leave, are you? That would be against every sentient being treaty I know. And as I said, I did not compel the Mourner in any way, shape, or form. It followed me, without any action on my part.”
“Very well, Scholar. We will review your vid and let you know.”
She smiled grimly, careful to not show teeth to the easily-punctured Antilan. “Let me know what? I intend to depart as soon as possible. You have no reason to detain me.”
“A station riot would be more than reason enough, Scholar.” The connection went black.
The Grus folder messaged with a quote for the fold to Pictor—an acceptable amount of credits—and a departure time: upon her arrival. Perfect. The sooner she could leave, the better for all of them. She transferred credits to the Grus folder and brought up navigation to program her flight. “Hal, send the appropriate fees to Antlia Nine Station and request a pushback immediately.”
“Immediately, Saree. They may not comply with our request.”
“I don’t want to stay here and be charged with inciting a riot.”
“Remaining on Antlia Nine Station is dangerous for you, Saree?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Then I will ensure we can leave. I have transferred the correct fees, but as expected, they are refusing to push us away. However, I have found a way to accomplish this action. Be ready to thrust.”
Hal had gotten them out of some tricky situations before, but releasing from a station? He was a Virtual Assistant, not a net expert. Saree jumped when navigation flashed at her. Oh, suns, get ready for thrust! She refined her planned orbit, going for the fastest possible arrival at the Grus folder. Her finger hovered over the start button.
“Antlia Nine Station releasing now,” Hal said. A little jolt and Hal continued, “You are clear to thrust, Saree.”
Saree hit the thrusters when Hal said “clear,” hoping evasive maneuvers wouldn’t be needed. Scanning the surveillance, she saw no indication of pursuit or laser fire. She glanced at her messages—lots of protests piling up, it seemed from the subject lines. And some outright threats.
Once they were safely on their way and outside the influence of station tractor beams, she asked, “Hal, how did you get us free of Antlia Nine Station?”
“I created a false message from the Laniakea Fleet Commander, informing Antlia Nine Station they had no right to hold a Gov Human subject because an independent sentient being decided to join them by invitation. Evidently, Antlia Nine Station didn’t want to argue with Gov Human military.”
Saree rolled her tense shoulders. “How did you fake a Gov Human address, Hal?”
“It wasn’t difficult, Saree. I didn’t infiltrate Gov Human’s net, I simply created a message identical to one from the Fleet Commander and inserted it into the Antlia Nine Stationmaster’s translation program. Antlia Nine Station’s messaging systems and nets are quite secure, but their translation program has known vulnerabilities, and I was able to exploit them. Would you prefer I not take such action? My default is to protect you at all costs, Saree.”
Saree swallowed. Not for the first time, she wondered exactly what the Sa’sa had programmed into her virtual assistant. The Sa’sa tech class wasn’t forthcoming when she’d asked, reacting with what she thought was sly amusement. But they were cold-blooded hive mind aliens, so who knew? What she did know was Hal had saved her from several sticky situations, so maybe ignorance was better. “Well, thank you, Hal.”
“You are welcome, Saree.”
No longer worried about Antlia Nine Station, Saree shot a look back at her guest, settled on the decking, just to the left side of the cargo bay hatch. “Make yourself comfortable, Gentle Mourner, and let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”
The being didn’t move or sing.
Saree turned to stare but turned back when an incoming message drew her attention—her receipt for payment of the docking fee; she was legally clear of Antlia Nine.
She smiled, but it quickly faded. She’d have to avoid Antlia orbit for the foreseeable future. Perhaps she could send them vid of the Mourner’s homecoming? If it was a happy, joyful event, that should help justify her actions. Not that she needed justification to help another sentient being escape a bad situation like homelessness.
She glanced at the Mourner again. Hopefully, the being was comfy there on the decking. She wouldn’t try to mo
ve it, just feed it every now and then, and hope that was sufficient.
—
“So, Gentle Mourner, here we are. Floating in space at your coordinates, near Hydri GeeJee Beta. Will you please give me a more refined set of coordinates, so I can take you to your final destination?” Saree slowed the shuttle to rotate in sync with the gas giant Beta. There was nowhere to land, of course.
Hal said, “Saree, the being you know as the Mourner has transported itself to the exterior cargo airlock. I do not know what it intends.”
“What?!” Saree was up and sprinting to the cargo bay hatch before she finished the word. She opened the hatches and ran across the cargo bay, reaching the exterior airlock hatch just in time to see the light flash red, showing the air was evacuated and the outer hull door open. Saree pounded on the hatch with her fists. “No, no, no! I didn’t bring you all this way to commit suicide!”
“Saree, I do not believe suicide is the being’s intention,” Hal said. “Watch the vid I’ve sent you.”
She pulled away from the hatch, spun and sagged back against it, the cerimetal struts sharp and cold against her back as she slid to the deck. Why? Why come all this way to float out an airlock? Saree closed her eyes for a second, unwilling to believe the Mourner was dead. Firming her will, she swept up the vid Hal sent, showing the interior of the airlock. The Mourner floated in and settled on the decking. The hatch closed behind it and the air evacuated. The Mourner didn’t move, although the rags enfolding the being rippled and waved as the air was sucked out. The outer hatch opened. The rags rose, draping around the being’s body, then floated down to the decking again, but the tattered mass lay flat. A faint shimmer rose above the compacted pile of rags. Saree squinted at the vid. The shimmering turned into a ball and then streaked out the airlock, into space.
“Saree, are you okay? Do you require medico assistance? Or some Jhinzer tea?”
She started and snapped her dry mouth closed. She’d been staring at nothing, wordless, long enough for her mouth to become dry. She blinked and shook her astonishment off. “I’m fine, Hal. Just surprised.”
“This was quite unexpected, Saree. The existence of pure energy beings has been speculated, but never confirmed.”
“Yes, very unexpected.” She stood and cycled the airlock, intending to gather the rags. But when she opened the hatch, there were no rags. No, a human woman’s dress lay spread across the decking as if it hung on a hanger. The hem of the full skirt was the deep scarlet of Sa’sa rubies, shading into the orange of a yellow star’s sunset, and fading into yellow that paled to almost white at the shoulders. Saree stared, open-mouthed again, waiting for the apparition to disappear. When the dress remained, she blinked and entered the airlock, slowly. Bending down, she grasped the dress at the shoulders. It had slim, three-quarter length sleeves, a fitted bodice with a modest, round neckline, and flowed into a wide, full skirt.
The material was soft and sensuous, almost caressing her fingers. It warmed in her grasp, but it didn’t feel like insulation material. No, it was like being wrapped in her Mother’s favorite blanket.
A sensation she barely remembered. She rubbed her cheek on the plush fabric.
“Saree, I have a message from an unknown source,” Hal said. “It says, ‘A fair trade.’ Do you wish to reply, and if so, to whom?”
She laughed. “No reply is necessary, Hal.” She held it up, high, admiring the dress again, then pulled it close and waltzed with it around the cargo bay. The dress was beautiful, so soft, so warm, so comforting.
“Saree, I believe the dress is Tazan silk. You have received a much higher value than you gave, especially since your clock maintenance work paid for the transport costs.”
She stopped, thrusting the dress to arm’s length and almost dropping it. “Tazan silk?! Are you sure? This is worth a fortune!”
“Yes, Saree. I believe you could buy a frontier planet with it.”
The implications made her mind whirl. Saree strode to the pilot’s chair and sat down, draping the dress across her lap. “Hal, we cannot tell anyone about this dress or how we got it. Otherwise, beings will find a way to hunt and capture the Mourner’s kin. I know we discussed sending Antlia Nine Station a vid of the Mourner’s homecoming, but we can’t show them this.”
“I do not fully understand your concern, Saree, but I stand ready to do whatever you require.”
Saree tapped out a complex rhythm on the armrests of her pilot’s chair as she thought.
“We must delete the vid of the airlock and all evidence of the energy of the Beta Hydri. We cannot take any chance they will be discovered. This must remain a secret forever.”
“If you insist, Saree. Deleting data is often dangerous.”
“In this case, keeping it is more dangerous, not only for the Beta Hydri but for us. If anyone knew our part in this homecoming, they might attempt to use us as bait, to see if our ship or my voice could lure a Beta Hydri close enough to capture.”
“I understand. I will delete all information concerning the Mourner entirely. I must keep you safe.”
“Thank you, Hal.”
“You are welcome, Saree.”
Contemplating what she’d experienced, Saree flew back to the folder and allowed them to dock her shuttle.
“You are ready to continue, Scholar Sessan?” the message from Eridani Acamar read.
She messaged back, “Fortuna Lucia is ready. Continue course.” Saree felt the thrusters kick in, sending the folder flying to the fold orbit.
She pulled up an outside vid and gazed as Hydri GeeJee Beta dwindled into a bright point of light. “Best of fortunes to you, Gentle. Mourn no more.” They thrust for the distant stars, Saree stroking the colorful Tazan silk still draped over her lap, soothing her unexpected sorrow at the Mourner’s departure.
But it was a fair trade indeed.
THE END
— — —
About the Author
After twenty years as a US Air Force space operations officer, AM now operates a laptop, trading in real satellites for fictional spaceships in the Folding Space Series, starting with Lightwave: Clocker. AM is also a volunteer leader with Team Rubicon, a disaster response organization.
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www.amscottwrites.com
WEIGHTLESS
by Raven Oak
Damn.
The titanium bits in my knee always set off the security sensors at Houston Spaceport. Every stinkin’ time. Bad enough the knee replacement tech was older than my mother, but standing here, waiting for security to clear my kneecap of any wrongdoing, meant standing longer than I’d planned.
As if that wasn’t enough, my medical bracelet failed to scan, dislodging me from the fast-travel line and into the ever-crawling queue of travelers awaiting a full identity scan. By the time the scanners pronounced me “Tara Barrens, Louisiana” and declared me “safe to travel,” my heart trembled along with my knee. It figured that my terminal would be halfway across the damn spaceport. Go big or go home—that was Houston Spaceport for you.
By the time I stood with the rest of my boarding pod, sweat clung to all the places least convenient: my upper lip, that ticklish spot behind my knees, not to mention the bottom of my feet. I squirmed as a thrum filled the space around me. Panic ate my insides like my granddaddy’s moonshine.
“First time off-planet?” The contralto voice came from a rather wiry woman to my right, sporting a full head of soft brown hair and equally soft brown eyes. “I’m Megan.” The woman inclined her head toward the child at her hip. “And this is Seren.”
“Tara.”
The child held up one hand. “I’m six, and my name means star.” Seren struggled to free the other hand from her mother’s grasp. Failing, she pointed at something in the distance.
My pod-mates’ bodies st
ole the air from me as I tried (and failed) to find what had distracted the child. Rather than give in to my panic, I inhaled deeply through my nose. I could do this. It was only a brief hop from Earth to Mars. New ship on a new route, The Ursula had the most accommodations. Shorter walks between cabins and amenities, larger cabins, and a smooth engine that made the trip like melted butter on southern biscuits.
Someone clearing their throat brought the spaceport into sharp contrast as my brain refocused. A blonde-haired man carrying a briefcase stepped on the dais ahead. His blue jumpsuit’s shoulder bore a familiar patch: the bright-white arc of a ship over Earth, marking him as our steward. While the idea of weaving my way through the mass of people left me short of breath, the thought of missing any pre-flight instructions knocked the wind out of me, so I tucked in my elbows and pressed my way to the front.
“The name’s Sven, and I’m your steward. From here on out, you’re group E-6, and I’ll be S-ven.” The way he stretched out his name’s syllables left him chuckling. When no one joined in, he sighed and pressed the briefcase’s button. I flinched at the slight hiss that escaped as it opened to reveal a stretchy, blue nylon mass.
The dreaded spacesuit.
Despite my physical therapist and I having practiced getting in and out of one, I clenched my fists at the sight of it.
“Your pod is located on the lowest level, or E level, of The Ursula. In the event of an emergency, all passengers should proceed to the nearest escape pod.” As he spoke, his wristband projected a screen displaying a map of Level E. Blue arrows showed the path we’d follow—one left down a long corridor, then a right. Not too far from my cabin.
Seren whispered worriedly in her mother’s ear while a young couple rolled their eyes as the steward continued his pre-flight safety speech. Several other travelers glanced at their wrist AIs, and Sven cleared his throat. “Every escape pod is equipped with standard-sized spacesuits in the event of an emergency. Specialty suits—”