Sundowner

by Claremont, Chris

  “Only one way to find out.”

  As Nicole motored over to the harbor market to top off the fuel tank and grab provisions for the day, she asked Canfield—belatedly, a reminder to herself that she wasn’t yet firing on all cylinders—if the jaunt was safe.

  “For my bionics, you mean?” was the reply. Before Nicole had been born, Judith Canfield was one of NASA’s premier astronauts, part of the first cadre to fly the Baumier/Cobri starships. As signal a group in their own way as the original seven Mercury pilots had been a generation earlier, when the farthest anyone had thought to travel was the Moon.

  Towards the turn of the century, with the Soviet space program collapsing along with the Union itself, and its American counterpart floundering in search of a true mission, a French-Canadian physicist named Jean-Claude Baumier wrote himself a chapter in the history books with the discovery of a means to push matter beyond the speed of light. An expatriate Soviet rocketry engineer, Emmanuel Cobri, was the only one to see the potential inherent in Baumier’s theories—which most of the establishment scientific community had debunked as being one step removed from science fiction—and the two men, working like galley slaves, took the equations and translated them into schematics for a functional, practical stardrive.

  Somewhere—and there were rumors galore about that, mostly centered around the Odessa Mafia—they found sufficient funding to bankroll a prototype and sufficient clout to persuade NASA to test it out of the atmosphere. One spectacular success spawned another until the moment at last came for a manned flight. By all accounts, the raw suspense—as much for those aboard the vehicle as those left behind waiting for its reports—was akin to what had been felt by those watching Chuck Yeager’s legendary flight aboard the Bell X-l, during his attempt to break the sound barrier. Only that had been a flight of mere minutes; this turned into one of days.

  Once the Challenger—named in tribute to the lost shuttle—returned, events tumbled one after the other like a line of falling dominoes. Humanity literally exploded out into the cosmos, with the pent-up energy of a race who’d begun to believe there were no more frontiers to conquer. Plans, long dormant, for bases on the Moon and the outer planets were hurriedly pulled from archival data bases and brought into being. The Patriot space station became obsolete within a couple of years of its launching as demand grew for a far larger and more extensive facility. And after Sutherland in near-Earth space came Hightower, the first L-5 colony.

  Meanwhile, the first generation of Cobri starships was blazing trails outbound from the Sol System. Canfield hadn’t been part of the initial Challenger flight, but she’d been the one to chart Faraway, the first habitable planet discovered outside our own. Then, disaster. A shuttle crash that left her a multiple amputee, so badly maimed that any semblance of a normal life was considered out of the question, much less the continuation of her career as an astronaut. But there’d been advances in the fields of bionic prosthetics to rival those of spaceflight, and she was fitted with artificial limbs that matched perfectly what she’d lost. With the aid of Nicole’s father—who pled her case all the way to the Supreme Court—Canfield won reinstatement to the astronaut corps. All that, before Nicole had been born.

  “They’re sealed systems,” Canfield said, gazing down at the sleek legs stretched out before her. She’d cheated a bit when they were made, designing herself an extra couple of inches of height, as well as sleek, muscular curves. “Proof against water, fresh or salt. There’s swimming on the Moon, Nicole, it’s excellent cardiovascular exercise.”

  Nicole knew that, she’d simply forgotten.

  She took Sundowner down the harbor first, a ways below Coronado Bridge, before reversing her course and making for the open sea. She wanted to work the kinks out of her own body and see how she and the boat and Canfield all handled themselves under sail. The General’s ignorance was near total, but she only had to be told what to do once.

  The sun was already fierce, the occasional marshmallow dots of cumulus providing only brief and scattered protection as the wind pushed them merrily along. Nicole handed out sun block and smeared lotion liberally on her bare skin.

  “That tan safe?” Canfield asked as she did the same. Even with the block, Nicole had spent enough time in the open to turn her skin a moderate bronze. It made for a striking complement to her jade eyes and dark russet hair—although the sun had bleached that color more red than black.

  “I’m screened every quarter, as well as a Class-A medical each year. So far, no cataracts, no cancer.”

  “You can’t be too careful.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you?”

  “I’m human, General.”

  “Is that an excuse?”

  “I don’t see the need for one. Merely an explanation. What happened yesterday was an aberration.” Although, even as Nicole said that, a small voice deep inside her thoughts wondered, Was it? “I want to fly,” and both women knew she meant far more than simply in the atmosphere or local space. “I’ll do whatever’s necessary to fulfill that. Even wait,” she finished pointedly.

  “You’re a valuable asset, Nicole—you find that amusing?” Canfield asked, responding to Nicole’s derisive snort.

  “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”

  “You haven’t answered the question.”

  “I suppose that depends on the relative perceptions of value. Yours and mine are different.”

  “You’ve been spending a lot of time on this boat.”

  “My own time, ma’am. On no occasion have my duties or responsibilities suffered.” Nicole’s back was up and she didn’t bother hiding it.

  “Agreed. Your evaluations have been first-rate.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” Nicole demanded, both of them very much aware of how insubordinate she sounded.

  “I could ask you the same,” was the counter, in the same conversational tone Canfield had used from the start, refusing to rise to Nicole’s provocation.

  For a time, there was silence between them as Nicole headed away from land until the shore was a low smudge on the horizon. In the middle distance, even farther out, they saw a plume of spray, then another, marking the presence of a pair of humpback whales broaching the surface for a breath. Nicole altered course to run parallel to them, and keep her distance.

  “They’re beautiful creatures,” Canfield said, standing by the mast, shading her eyes with a hand for a better look.

  “And territorial, especially when they’re traveling as a family. Spook ’em, we could get ourselves bumped, and worse.”

  “That happens, every so often, doesn’t it? Sailboats being sunk by whales.”

  “It’s the ocean, General. Everything happens here.”

  “Profound.”

  “Want a drink?” Nicole offered.

  “Beer, please.”

  Nicole thought a moment about taking one for herself, then settled on a bottle of water spiked with lemon.

  “I’m very impressed with your work on the new shuttle design,” Canfield said, joining Nicole in the cockpit.

  “It’s a team effort, General.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. The project wouldn’t have gone as smoothly and quickly without you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “That was a compliment, Nicole, not an insult.”

  “And it’s appreciated.”

  “But it’s not enough.”

  “No,” Nicole said flatly. “It isn’t. Not anymore. It’s been five years since I won back my wings, and I’m still stuck on the high desert. Some of those wannabe hotshots back at the hotel had barely started at the Academy back then; they’ve got starslots, why don’t I?”

  “I don’t recall seeing any guarantees on the oath you swore.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “We don’t always get what we want.”

  “I’ve done everything asked of me, General, and more. I’ve earned my shot.”

  “It’s your great good fortune
—as well as your curse—to possess unique qualifications.”

  “Give me a break! I’m not the only blue suit who speaks Hal. Hell, I taught most of ’em!”

  “Precisely. You taught—us how to deal with them and them how to deal with us. Gallivanting about the galaxy may be more personally satisfying, Nicole, but I submit it is also of infinitely lesser value, to your service, to your world.”

  “Is that it, then? I mean, is this what I have to look forward to? At least when I was grounded, General, I didn’t have the option of flying. Now, I have the skills, the training, the ratings—I could step on board a starship tomorrow, into damn near any position—but I’m not allowed to go.”

  “Are you asking me to change that?”

  “Is that what it takes? Hell, I’ll even beg.”

  “We’re awfully far out,” Canfield said, looking aft towards the horizon. There was no sign of land, the shore hidden behind coastal haze, plus some smog that had strayed south from the Los Angeles basin.

  “Yeah.”

  “What?”

  “Hmnh?” Nicole asked, confused by the General’s suddenly sharp question.

  “Something in your tone.”

  “Nothing. I was woolgathering.”

  “I don’t believe that any more than you do, Nicole.”

  “Watch your head,” Nicole told her as she pulled on the tiller, “I’m coming about.”

  There was a momentary loss of headway as Sundowner’s bow broached through the oncoming swell, and then the big main boom swung across the boat with a crash and clatter. In those same moments, Nicole switched sides herself, monitoring the automatic winches as they reoriented the jib; she did the fine adjustments manually—pulling on one line, easing a couple of others—refining the trim of the sails just as she would the control surfaces of any aeroplane.

  “To be honest,” she said, plucking a water bottle from its holder and taking some hefty swallows, very much aware—as was Canfield, she knew—that she was stalling, “I’m not altogether sure. Just a feeling—some feelings—I’ve been having lately. To use one of the twins’ equestrian metaphors, I am chafing at the bit. I’m angry, I’m frustrated, I’m scared; I feel boxed and I don’t know why.”

  “For a long time,” said Canfield, “it looked like the closest Alan Shepard would get to true space was his fifteen-minute suborbital aboard Freedom 7. And until Apollo-Soyuz, Deke Slayton didn’t even have that much. How d’you think they felt? Not to mention all those third and fourth generation sky-pilots whose chance for a ride crashed and burned with the original Challenger. Think of it, they’d all but resigned themselves to a space program that was in permanent retrenchment. Returning to the Moon was becoming a pipe dream, much less anything more ambitious. Then, along came Baumier and Cobri. And the stars were at last well and truly our destination. Only they were a shade too old, just that fateful little bit beyond the performance curve.

  “Me, folks like me, we were in the right place at the right moment in history. But we were always aware of those who got left behind. Thing is, now I’m one of ’em.

  “I stay and watch youngsters like you blaze trails across the galaxy, when all I really want is to be flying along by your side.”

  Nicole took a long breath, let it out in a huff, painfully aware of how childish she sounded.

  “I know it’s unprofessional, feeling sorry for myself,” she said.

  “You’re not alone. As you said, we’re only human. We all have missed opportunities and regrets.”

  “You and my dad?” The words were out of Nicole’s mouth before she could stop herself, yet while part of her was aghast at her temerity, another was cheering herself on—Way to go, woman, it’s about bloody time.

  “What has Conal said?” Canfield asked, taking the question totally in stride.

  “I’m asking you, Judith,” Nicole said, deliberately using Canfield’s first name to put them on an equal footing. Canfield’s initial response was a sharp, assessing look—almost hawklike in its intensity—capped by a shallow nod, accepting Nicole’s terms.

  “He saw me through a fair chunk of my therapy, physical and emotional. Two years of court battles. Hard under those circumstances not to form any emotional attachment. Probably impossible. Was it love? I like to think so. We were lovers. And grew from that into best friends.”

  “But when it was all over...?”

  “I wasn’t fighting for a principle, Nicole, although that was what my victory established. I wanted my slot back, same as you did five years ago. I wasn’t about to give that up, for anyone or anything. And Con couldn’t follow me up to the Frontier.”

  “Arrythmia. He can’t even fly suborbitals because of ascent/descent G-forces.”

  “One of life’s ironies. Medical technology rebuilt me better than before, but it couldn’t do a thing for him.”

  “I don’t think he would’ve gone anyway,” Nicole said. “He loves all this too much.” And she waved an arm wide to encompass the sea and sky about them.

  “Did it hurt, Nicole, walking away from him? More than anything, and that includes being maimed. Do I regret my decision?” Canfield shook her head. “Not for a moment.”

  “So you won’t begrudge me the same ambition. And determination.”

  “Are you satisfied with the performance of the Swiftstar?” Canfield asked after another small silence.

  “Access the program files, they’ll tell you everything.”

  “I have.”

  Nicole let her active concentration slip for a few moments, confident in her boat and body’s ability to handle themselves on automatic, imagining herself on the flight deck of the sleek, wedge-shaped spaceplane.

  “Atmospheric tests were all we’d hoped for and more,” she said at last. “The prototype handles like a dream, with so few glitches we’re starting to get a tad nervous.”

  “You don’t trust perfection?”

  “More like, don’t believe in it. We’re waiting for Murphy’s Law to kick in. It’s sort of a perverse inverse-square relationship—the better that beast behaves, the bigger the backlash when it comes. And perhaps less prepared the flight crew’ll be to cope. We’re a superstitious lot, test pilots.”

  “And in low Earth orbit?”

  “On profile, the whole way down the line. But there’s only so much you can simulate; eventually, you have to try her for real, that’s the acid test.”

  “That’s next, correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am. A standard mission, launching from a platform in high orbit, making an unassisted approach to a landing stage here on Earth, then a lift-off and return to origin. All inertial systems, no refueling.”

  “You sound confident.”

  “I know the beast, she’ll do fine.”

  “You’re flying left seat?”

  “Unless somebody tells me different.”

  “There’s a lot riding on the Swiftstar. The one absolutely critical inhibiting factor in our—and by that I mean us and the Hal together—exploitation of known space is our ability to transit from vacuum to atmosphere and back again. Not simply exploratory landers but heavy-duty cargo lifters. Standard STS shuttles require a whole launch complex to get off the ground, and suborbital ScramJets don’t have the full range of capabilities we need. Swiftstar has.”

  “You’ll get the best we’re capable of, ma’am,” Nicole said, about spacecraft and crew both, “that’s all I can guarantee.”

  “From you, Nicole, I’ve never expected less.”

  For all the good that’s done me, Nicole couldn’t help thinking sourly, and wondered how much of the thought showed on her face. The General’s eyes narrowed, lips thinning, as though she wasn’t happy with what she saw. Well, screw that, Nicole thought, and with all due respect, General, screw you! I am what I am, and a lot of that’s what you made me; you don’t like it, that’s your problem.

  “You’re still living with the Hal at Edwards, yes?” Canfield asked out of nowhere, and Nicole wondered why, becau
se she had to know the answer.

  “Pretty much.”

  “How’s Kymri?”

  “Fine, last I heard.” Although, based on the last video he’d sent her, she’d seen him looking better. And told him so herself in her reply. She’d heard nothing since.

  “Which was when?”

  Nicole shrugged, certain this, too, was a question to which Canfield already had the answer. “Not in a while, actually.”

  “You and he kept a fairly close correspondence after his recall to s’N’dare.”

  “We went through a lot together.” Up to and including an attempt on President Charles Russell’s life. Nicole and Kymri prevented the assassination, but the Hal Commander came away from the incident critically wounded, so much so that he never fully recovered. His return to the Hal homeworld was prompted in part by the realization that there were limits to how much help Terrestrial medicine could be to him, and the hope that his own people would be able to accomplish far more.

  “What’s this all about, General?” Nicole demanded. “Has something happened to him?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. I was just curious.”

  “Excuse me for stating the obvious, ma’am, but Generals are never ‘just curious.’ ”

  “I’ve assigned you to starship berths four times in the last five years.”

  Nicole stared, thunderstruck.

  “Each time,” Canfield continued in the same flat tone, “the order was countermanded by higher authority.”

  “What are you talking about? You’re a four-star General... ” Nicole’s voice trailed off as pieces clicked neatly into place.

  “The White House?” she asked.

  An imperceptible nod.

  “Why should they care? I mean, okay, I helped save the President’s life but other than that I’m really just a junior blue suit, a dime a dozen around the Beltway, barely worth the time of day.”

  “They care, youngster, because somebody made them.”

  “Emmanuel Cobri? The closest he could come to revenge over what happened with his son?” Even as she spoke, Nicole knew she was wide of the mark. Canfield’s reply confirmed it.

  “Just because Russell felt he couldn’t officially acknowledge what you put in your report—that Amy Cobri was responsible for the Wolfpack you encountered during your first... ”