by Jake Elwood
From the wardroom window Tom could see neither the tether nor the counterweight. He could certainly see the station. Just over a kilometer wide but only two decks high, it glittered with light shining from hundreds of windows. A UW starburst decorated the top surface of the station. The rest was a marvel of white hull plates and glass.
Three ships were docked to the station, a frigate and a pair of corvettes. A mini carrier floated a couple of kilometers above the station and well out to one side to avoid the tether. Another corvette hovered below the disk.
This is it, Tom thought. These are the ships that could put up a defense if the Dawn Alliance launched a surprise attack.
"Your shore leave will be delayed," Brady said. "I want you supervising hull inspection and maintenance. And when I say supervising-"
"You mean I'm going to watch and keep out of the way," Tom finished for her.
"You're learning," said Brady. "There's hope for you yet. Report to me when hull maintenance is done, or to Mr. Boudreau if I'm not around."
As Tom headed aft to get his vac suit he faced a wave of jubilant spacers heading forward to start their leave. He felt like a schoolboy made to stay late after the bell rang on a sunny day. The image amused him, and he was smiling by the time he reached the airlock atop the forward section. I'm going out on the hull of a starship as it orbits Garnet. I'm a hundred and fifty light-years from home, and I'm not a bloody tourist, either. I'm a naval officer. I'm not going to complain because I don't get to rush into the nearest bar quite yet.
The ship's artificial gravity field bled through the upper hull, giving Tom a vestige of weight. He felt light-headed as he stepped out of the airlock, and chalked it up to the reduction in gravity. When his first step ended in a stumble, though, he realized something more complicated was going on. His feet had something close to their proper weight. The pull of the force field dropped away quickly, until his head was nearly weightless. The belt around his waist felt as if it weighed about half what it should.
He grinned at the novelty of it, made sure the magnets in his boots were holding, and started a slow march across the hull.
The hull inspection process was completely automated. Three robots did the inspecting, one on the forward section, one along the spine, and one aft. Tom found the first robot mincing its way across the top of the hull and followed as it ranged back and forth. The robot looked like a mad scientist's vision of an octopus, with a compact body the size of a man's chest and five flexible, writhing arms, each ending in a magnetic pad. It marched along, scanning as it went, and Tom plodded along behind it, watching.
He followed the robot from the top of the hull to the starboard side, where it made a ninety-degree turn and began to move straight "down" the side of the ship. Tom managed the corner without too much difficulty, careful to keep one boot firmly planted as he worked the other boot around the corner of the hull. He'd done something similar at Capricorn, but without the strange gravity shift. He was dizzy and disoriented by the time he finished, but he made it without mishap.
Now, "down" was a new direction. He stood at the edge of a steel cliff, the vertical face being the top of the Kestrel's hull. He spent a moment enjoying the transition, then turned to follow the robot.
Once he'd made a complete circumnavigation of the forward section of the ship he was bored. He stopped just aft of the bridge windows, ignored the robot for a moment, and took in the view. The station was a massive circular plain just ahead of the ship, bristling with antennas and gun pods. The other frigate was directly opposite, the top of her hull showing as a dark, irregular oval. The corvettes were barely visible, one off to the left, one to the right. They looked puny and inconsequential against the bulk of the station, made small by distance and contrast.
The mini carrier was surprisingly hard to spot from this angle. He saw it mostly as a dark gap in the stars ahead and to one side. Tom spent a moment looking at the ship itself, then turned his attention to the stars, which were glorious and uncountable.
Garnet was directly below, hidden by the bulk of the Kestrel. He'd seen it as he crossed the side and bottom of the hull, a blue orb wreathed in clouds, land masses showing as brown and green blobs in that endless expanse of ocean. I'll have to make sure I see the ocean while I'm down there.
First, though, duty called. Suppressing a nagging voice that told him he was doing nothing useful, he left the forward robot to its repetitive duties and headed aft. The Kestrel had three cargo pods, half her capacity. The pods were distributed evenly around the spine, one at twelve o'clock, one at four, and one at eight. The hull inspection robot was on the top cargo pod, working its way back and forth along the cylindrical hull.
The transition from the forward section to the spine was easy, since the hull sloped downward instead of making a sharp corner. At the bottom of the slope, however, Tom faced a vertical wall where the end of the cargo pod met the spine. It would have been a breeze in zero gee. He just had to lean back, lift one foot, and plant it on the vertical surface in front of him. With his weight changing with every shift in position it proved challenging, and he was glad there was no one to see him as he fell flat on his back.
He watched the second robot work for a while, telling himself it was possible the robot would make a mistake. Without human supervision, who would ever know? The robot seemed to be covering every meter of the cargo pod, though, and he didn't doubt it would cover the other pods and the spine of the ship just as efficiently.
There would be places the robot would have trouble reaching, narrow gaps where the pods came close to the spine. However, any space too tight for the robots to inspect was a space well protected from meteorite damage. Tom shrugged to himself, satisfied the robot was doing an adequate job, and headed aft.
He stayed away from the engines, which would still be hot from the journey. Vacuum made an excellent insulator, and the engines would be a long time cooling. The third robot, made of tougher stuff than a puny human being, traipsed across the engines fearlessly. Tom satisfied himself with watching from a distance.
Another flock of robots, smaller ones this time, spent an hour or so making invisible repairs to the cargo pods and the hull plates of the ship. They filled microscopic pits and repaired tiny cracks, and when they were done Tom couldn't see the slightest difference. He watched the robots detach themselves one by one and go drifting across to an open bay atop the disc of the station. Then he headed inside, more than ready for his shore leave to begin.
Instead he spent several hours at the forward airlock watching spacers go in and out. In theory he was watching for contraband coming in and stolen Navy property going out. Brady's instructions were clear, though. He would need a very good reason to actually detain or search anyone. So he sat and watched as spacers and marines trouped out, excited and full of chatter, or plodded back in, often disheveled and smelling of drink.
And finally it was his turn. A senior noncom took over and Tom walked through the lock and into Garnet Station.
The inside of the station was depressingly similar to the inside of the ship, so he followed the flow of foot traffic, knowing it would lead him to a shuttle. His bracer chimed with a message from Brady, and he read it on the way down to the planet.
Don't get drunk with crew. It's bad for discipline. Officers tend to gather in the Leaky Lifeboat and the Admiral Nimitz. Stay out of brothels. You don't need the crew gossiping about you. Spacers tend to like the Rose District and the Tulip District. Marines like the Daffodil District. Officers usually stick to the Lily District.
Have fun.
Right. He rolled his eyes. For God's sake, Brady, I'm on leave. Let me be.
All the same, he was glad to have a bit of guidance as the shuttle touched down and the passengers spilled out onto the tarmac. He could see spacers glancing at him, taking in his uniform and moving away. They didn't want supervision on their shore leave any more than he did.
He stood for a moment in the shade of the shuttle, a hand raised
to protect his eyes. He hadn't seen direct sunlight in quite some time, and he was pretty sure the light back on Korus wasn't as intense as the sunlight here. Half a dozen small ships perched on the asphalt all around him. Judging by the stream of hung-over spacers heading toward him, the shuttle beside him was about to take off again. He lowered his hands and followed his fellow passengers toward the terminal building.
There were no customs or border formalities, just a wide lobby with advertisements and information kiosks. He ignored it all and headed out into the city of Green Haven.
A cloud of hawkers and vendors immediately surrounded him. He realized he'd made a grave error by not keeping up with the other passengers; this mob of entrepreneurs had no one else to focus on but him. He pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring brochures and sample souvenirs and sales pitches. They gave up before long, and he soon had the street to himself.
He supposed Green Haven had to have residential and industrial neighborhoods, but the area around the shuttle station was dedicated entirely to separating visiting spacers from their pay. Every building was a bar or restaurant or a souvenir shop, and advertisements filled every stretch of blank wall. He peeked into a tavern called the Purple Parrot, saw a pair of spacers arm in arm on a low stage belting out an off-key song, and kept walking.
"Hey there."
He glanced around.
A young woman leaned against a lamp post. She was quite pretty, wearing a sleek short dress that managed to be simultaneously businesslike and provocative. The look she gave Tom was distinctly flirtatious. "Where you headed?"
He spent a moment staring at her, half a dozen replies flashing through his mind. He settled for, "Nowhere in particular," and walked over to join her.
Her teeth flashed in a dazzling smile. "Have you ever tried surfing?"
Disappointment hit him like a punch in the gut. On the tiny chance that she wasn't selling surfing excursions – that she was about to invite him to go surfing with her – he said, "No."
One hand came up from behind her back with a flashing data sheet. "You'll love it. It's an incredible experience. We have excursions to-"
"Excuse me," he said, and spun on his heel.
He found the Lily district and peered into the first bar he came to. A pair of commanders sat at the nearest table, slumped forward, staring gloomily into beer mugs. Beyond them a young lieutenant stumbled from table to table, both hands out to keep himself from falling over. It was utterly depressing, and Tom shook his head as he returned to the street.
He had a backup plan for his shore leave, an address his parents had insisted he save. Back on Earth the idea had seemed utterly lame. Now …
"I can't go empty-handed," he muttered, and scanned the street. A narrow gap between two bars held a shop, the front window decorated with pictures of pills and bottles. Tom went inside, and a clerk looked up from a data pad, sizing him up with jaded eyes. "I got Sunnies and Happies and Franklins. Or you need something to get your pecker hard?"
"I'm looking for tobacco."
The clerk twitched one eyebrow up. "Old school. I can help you out." He dropped out of sight behind the counter, rummaged for a minute, then rose with a package in each hand. "I got hand-rolled cigars, and I got cigarettes." He set his burden on the counter, poked through it, and held up a small box. "And these. Harlow Gold. Don't worry, it's legal here."
"I need actual tobacco," Tom said. He looked at the selection on the counter. The cigars looked expensive, each one encased in a metal tube. "I'll take the cigarettes."
Outside the shop he paused to check his bracer. His destination was a good seven or eight kilometers away, farther than he cared to walk. He would have liked to walk at least part of the distance, but zip cars would be a lot easier to find close to the port. He walked until he found a car, then hopped in and read out an address from his bracer.
The car took him through two more blocks of bars and restaurants, then block after block of apartment buildings with shops lining the sidewalk. On the outskirts of the city the apartment buildings ended. The shops became sparse, and palm trees filled the gaps between buildings. The car finally slowed, pulling to a stop in front of a low building with a sign that read "WHISKEY JACK STORE".
He took a moment to admire the design of the building, which was simple but strangely pleasing. The store was a simple rectangle. Massive wood beams formed the bones, with smooth panels of dark red in between. The exposed beams gave the structure a sense of rustic elegance, an old-fashioned solidity that modern materials lacked.
The door jingled as Tom opened it. He smelled dust and leather, the scents strangely comforting after so much time in the sterile environment of the ship. The inside was surprisingly bright, sunlight streaming in through several skylights. The store had a cluttered, haphazard feel, filled with Native-American-themed tourist junk. Dream catchers hung from the ceiling, while moccasins and fur caps crowded the shelves. It was not what he'd expected, not what he was looking for, and he started to turn away.
"Hello." Floorboards creaked as someone approached from the depths of the store. A stoop-shouldered man appeared, gray hair framing a lined face. He wore a denim shirt and a string tie, and he stopped when he saw Tom. "Oh," he said. "Tanisi."
"My Cree is pretty rusty," Tom said, embarrassed. "Do you mind if we speak English?"
The old man nodded. "I'm Ned Summer. Welcome."
"Tom Thrush," Tom said, then hesitated, unsure what to say.
"What brings you here, young Tom?" Ned's eyes flitted over Tom's uniform. "Besides the Navy, that is?"
"I ..." Tom stuck a hand in his pocket, grabbed the pack of cigarettes, and thrust it at the old man. "I brought you this."
Ned looked at him for a moment, the crow's feet around his eyes deepening in amusement. At last he took the cigarettes with a spotted hand. "Thank you." He turned. "Come. It's much nicer out back."
He led the way through the clutter to the back of the store where he ducked through a low doorway and straightened up in bright sunlight. Tom followed him, then stopped, looking around and smiling. This was truly the edge of the city, with no buildings visible in two directions. A rectangle of mowed grass defined an uneven yard of sorts, with wild nature pressing in on every side. Palm trees fought for space with flowering shrubs and twining vines. Planters of gray wood spilled trailing flowers, side by side with wild vegetation. It was all a hodgepodge at first glance, but somehow the overall effect was pleasing, soothing.
Ned lowered himself into an Adirondack chair. "Have a seat, son. I've certainly done all the standing I care to."
Tom lowered himself into a chair. A silence stretched out, comfortable at first, then becoming awkward. He squirmed, then started to rise. "I need to-"
"You need to sit right where you're at." Ned nodded at Tom's chair, and Tom found himself sitting back down in spite of himself.
"I'm not sure why I came here."
Ned smiled. "You came because you needed some time around trees and plants and soil. You needed to hear some birdsong."
Something fluttered at the edge of the yard, and Tom saw birds, a species he'd never seen before, squabbling at a feeder on the trunk of a palm.
"We're a strange people, we Cree," Ned said. "We've always been connected to the land. But we've got a spacefaring tradition too. When we go into space, we spend our time disconnected from the world." He gestured around him at the trees and the grass. "That's why we need places like this. It's not like the land where our ancestors hunted and trapped. But it's land. It lives. It gives us all the things you can't get from a metal box in space."
Tom nodded warily, wondering if he would get another lecture about Cree not belonging away from Earth.
Ned chuckled. "You're too young to value the wisdom of your elders. Maybe you even joined the Navy to get away from that sort of thing." He winked. "And yet you're here. You even brought me tobacco."
Tom shifted uncomfortably.
Ned said, "I was seventeen when I joined t
he crew of a long-haul freighter. I swore I'd never set foot on the rez again. But after twenty years on ships, I missed the land. So I moved here. And I realized it wasn't just the land. I missed my people, too. So I made this place."
He stood, gesturing for Tom to remain seated. "I'm going to make some calls. Kitchi has been pestering me to do a sweat lodge. Tonight is as good a time as any. If I know the Navy, they've kept you running night and day. You need some time to hear your own thoughts. To hear your own language, even if you don't understand every word. You need to hear drums." He started for the back of the store.
"You can head back to your ship tomorrow, complaining about how a bunch of old men kept you up half the night and you never even got a chance to get drunk." He paused in the doorway, grinning. "That's how you know you've got your balance back. When you got something specific to complain about. Right now you don't know what's bothering you. That's how I know you're out of whack."
He walked into the store, and Tom stared after him, wondering if he should leave while he still could. A strange feeling had crept over him as he listened to the old man, though.
A feeling that he was exactly where he needed to be.
He leaned back in the Adirondack chair and decided to stay where he was.
Chapter 15
"I hope you all enjoyed your shore leave, because it's time to get back to work."
Captain Nishida's gaze moved around the long table in the boardroom, making Tom want to squirm in his seat. Which was an odd reaction, because he seemed to be more fit for duty than almost anyone else in the room. The officers around him all looked hung over. Carstairs may have still been a bit drunk. Even Nishida had a red tinge to her eyes.