No. Not this time. I won’t let myself. I can’t. Not again. How do I tell you, Happy? How do I let you know how much it hurt? First Moriah, then Sword, and finally Gage? Not again. I couldn‘t take it.
“And the new people?”
“Pretty good. I’d say they’ll be proton crackers once you get them broken in. For the time being, everyone is getting to know each other.” Happy paused, narrowing his eyes in a conspiratorial squint. “Between you and me. What’s this all about?”
Sol chuckled under his breath. “Haven’t got the slightest idea.”
Happy glanced up. “Heard through the net that Kraal went up to see you in person.”
“And he wouldn’t tell me a thing.”
Happy scratched the back of his close-cropped head, short hair standing like bristles. “Huh. Seems like we’ve got half the Council coming aboard. That’s not normal. I get the sneaky hunch that something big’s cooking.”
“All Kraal would say is that humanity is hanging in the balance. Very melodramatic.”
Happy pursed his lips. “You know, Cal and Gaitano and I, we snuck out to the tavern section. Didn’t stay for more than a beer. I tell you, Sol, it was downright hostile. Thought for a minute we’d have to fight our way out—but a bunch of Patrol showed up. Just standing around like, watching things. We drank up and left. Lot of talk under people’s breath. I’d heard we weren’t exactly popular. I guess the Sirians have been pushing. Want to open Brotherhood computer banks to everyone.”
“Most of humanity isn’t ready for that.” Sol sighed and took a deep swig of his coffee. “Kraal’s been feeding material into the Confederacy as rapidly as he can. Dump too much, and you’ll bankrupt several planetary industries. How many people do you think we’d put out of work at the Star shipyards alone?”
“We’ve been blamed for a lot of things, recently.” Happy shook his head. “I don’t know, I guess it’s just a way for the Sirians and their kin to get rid of our political involvement. At least, that’s the skinny I get. Stuff scrawled on the walls accuses us of being worse than the Soviets.”
“You know the deep space surveys are trying to find us a way out if things become too rough.”
“Yeah.”
“I read the manifest. The Sirian Political Director is one of the Representatives.”
“No joke?”
“I wish it were.”
“I’ll watch my back.”
“Still, Cap, it’s good to have you back.”
Sol sipped his coffee again. “Happy, it’s only for this run. Kraal asked me as a personal favor. When we come back, I’m handing the ship over to Dart.”
“I thought ...”
Sol shook his head. “Kraal said if I didn’t take it, he would.”
“You know this Archon character spent quite a bit of time with him. I met his daughter. Quite a girl. Better watch yourself. She’s a looker . . . and sharp to boot. You met Archon yet?”
“No.”
“I think you’ll like him. Spacer to the bones.” Happy took a swig of his coffee and stood. He grinned. “I guess, then, that we’re in for another interesting time, huh?”
Not this time. I couldn’t take it. “Oh, it’ll be about routine, I expect.”
“Well, I suppose I ought to get down to Engineering. I just wanted to drop in and see how you were doing.” Happy hesitated, fidgeting.
“Yes?”
Happy beetled his brows. “Look, Cap. I know you had reservations about taking a command. It’s no secret that you resigned. But listen. If you need anything. Even if it’s just to sit around and talk, let me know, huh? I‘m not that busy.”
“Sure. I’ll do that.”
Happy winked and started for the hatch.
“Oh, Happy?”
“Yeah, Cap.”
“Thanks.”
* * *
Art walked into the lounge, looking around. He’d been through prior to leaving Frontier—and seen what looked like wreckage as Brotherhood crews had begun renovation. Thereafter, he’d spent all his time learning the ship, taking her though jump to Arcturus. He hadn’t even used a monitor to check on progress. Red velvet tapestries hung from the walls covering sensors. Three long tables stood at one end of the fifty by thirty meter room for banquet facilities. A bar had been installed along one wall with numerous dispenser spigots. The gaming booth remained, with its fake captain’s chairs. The floor had been carpeted with some thick fabric, done in a less exuberant hue than the wall tapestries. Overhead light panels kept the whole brightly lit.
Two men, Forney Andrews of the Patrol and Arness, the Representative from Range sat at the comm, in contact with Arcturus over some last minute business.
Bryana emerged from the corridor leading to the personal quarters. Art cocked his head as she joined him. “Well, all settled in?”
“That’s the last of them. Mikhi Hitavia, the Reinland Representative. Nice man. Some of these others, I don’t know. Politicians all of them. Fan Jordan, the one from New Maine is the worst. Earl of something or other.”
“That’s okay, I’ll take him. I just got Norik Ngoro settled in. Now there’s a weird guy. Just looked right through me. His aide, Amahara, on the other hand, is real people. Does all the talking for them.”
“Then we’re done. That’s it, Everyone’s aboard.” She frowned. “The Rep from Gulag . . . um, Malakova, that’s him. Lecherous bastard pinched my butt.”
“Maybe it’s some quaint local custom on his station?”
Her glare was cold enough to burn.
“Captain?” Art turned to the nearest comm. “We’ve got the last of the diplomatic parties aboard.”
Audio only, the response came back. “Very good, First Officer. If you’ll join me on the bridge, we’ll space immediately.”
“Yes, sir.” Art cut the connection and met Bryana’s eyes. “Curtain time.”
“And he’s just been sitting on the bridge? Doing what, do you suppose?”
“When I took him up there, he just stood for a moment, looking around. He ... well, didn’t say a thing to the ship. Normally, that’s the first thing you do is say hello. He just stood, staring at the command chair, cheek muscles jumping.”
“And that’s it?”
“Yeah, other than having me call up the log from the first jump.” Art gestured with his hands as they walked. “Then he told me to get the diplomats on loaded as quickly as possible. But it was his hands. He . . .”
She stopped just beyond the security hatch to the bridge. “Go on.”
Art shrugged, “He just kept wiping his palms on his pants. You know, like they were sweaty or something.”
Bryana filled her lungs and exhaled. “Great. Well, let’s get out of here. Sooner we get to Star’s Rest and back, the sooner we’re off this lunatic wagon.”
Art led the way onto the bridge and dropped loosely into his command chair. Carrasco’s face appeared drawn, haggard.
“Captain, are you feeling all right?”
“Fine, First Officer,” the voice hummed tightly, almost hostilely. “It’s your helm.”
“Yes, sir,” Arturian agreed, shooting a quick look at Bryana. Art dove into checking with the Port Authority while Bryana got a line to Engineering. Happy’s face formed on the screen and began reporting reactor stats and systems checks.
“Speaker Archon, please.” Carrasco settled back in his chair. Art stumbled in his countdown procedure as a dashing redhead formed on the monitor.
“Captain?” her voice came melodiously through the system. “My father is occupied at the moment. May I help you?”
“You’re Constance?”
“Yes, sir.” She smiled, and for a brief second, Art’s heart stopped. Bryana’s warning glare put him back to work.
“I am ordered to obtain course data from the Speaker. If you would be so kind, could you—”
“I can help you, Captain.” Her blue eyes tried to tak’e his measure through the comm. “Please establish course for Star�
��s Rest.” She hesitated. “Captain, my father and I would appreciate it if you would keep that destination confidential.”
“Of course, ma’am, we will see to it,” Carrasco agreed stiffly. To Bryana he added, “Security clearance, First Officer Bryana.”
“Confirmed,” she shot back.
“Captain Carrasco,” Constance began, picking her words carefully, “If you could find time as soon as we are accelerating for jump, would you do my father the honor of sharing your company? He has a few things to discuss with you. For now, we realize you’re very busy.”
“I assure you, that’s the first item on my agenda,” Carrasco returned.
“I won’t keep you, Captain. Until then.” The screen went dead.
Tugs had latched on and were bringing the big white ship out from the gleaming sides of Arcturus. As they moved away, the seemingly endless station disappeared into the gaudy red light of the giant sun. A marvel of human engineering. From above, Arcturus looked like twirling rings of silver wire looped around the star. The largest settlement in human space, it had grown from the single orbiting station that had once housed the government of the fledgling Confederacy. Now, it was an orbiting mass constantly in need of adjustment against tidal effects, and so large no one even tried to guess at the number of people, businesses, and industries that inhabited that band of metal. The one and only planet in the Arcturian system had been a ball of molten metal which had been shipped up and turned into most of the station. Now, asteroids from the LaGrange points had been carted in and prefab material arrived in a steady stream from Sirius, Eridanus, Cygnus III, Ambrose Sector, and other places Art couldn’t remember.
“Ship!” Carrasco’s voice cracked weirdly.
“Yes, Captain?”
“What is your ETA for Star’s Rest system?”
Carrasco’s face looked deathly pale and sweaty when Art stole a glance. The Captain glared at the speaker as if he hated it.
“At standard twenty gravity acceleration, 1033 hours plus or minus three.” Boaz intoned.
Forty-three days, ship’s time, just to get there. Art closed his eyes. Coming home would take at least that long on top of it. All that time with this nervous Nellie as captain? He checked the resistance factor of the hull as they were moved into position for the catapult and released by the tugs.
“Port has given us clearance, Captain.” Art knew his voice sounded nervous. Blast! He felt like a green cadet taking his first training flight. There was so much tension, the bridge reeked of it. He could see it in the surreptitious glances Bryana shot Carrasco. She sat, spine rigid.
“Initiate.” Carrasco sounded mechanical, driven.
“Initiated and logged, Captain,” Art responded automatically and cleared through Port Authority. The concentric rings before them looked like an endless tunnel as they lit up with that weird green glow.
Electromagnetic fields pulled Boaz inexorably forward as the first ring began to crawl past. Art kept his eyes on the hull resistance, manipulating it so the ship pulled straight, reversing polarity if a ring began to get too close.
“First Officer,” Boaz intoned, “I could handle hull polarity with much greater efficiency.”
“You’ve got it, then.” Art nodded, searching out secondary duties.
“First Officer,” Carrasco’s voice grated. “Keep your concentration on that readout. Be ready for manual override should the margin of error become excessive.”
“Yes, sir,” Art snapped, eyes darting back to the resistance meters. Damn it! The ship said she was capable of doing the job. She proved it, too, maintaining perfect alignment in the endless bore. He swallowed, looking up at the monitor, the sensation that of falling into an endless well of chartreuse. The effect mesmerized, rings flashing past as Boaz dove faster and faster into the series of fluorescent lime-green circles. A black dot formed in the bottom and leapt to meet them, the walls of the cannon a green blur. The circle gained in diameter and swallowed them. Blackness sucked them up as they shot free, stars peppering the screens.
“Time to reaction?” Carrasco called out.
“Fifteen seconds,” Boaz informed.
“Count down, Happy!” Carrasco’s voice snapped like a lash.
“Five, four, three, two, one, ignition, Captain. First Officer Bryana, it’s your hell-hole!”
Art could see Bryana’s eyes go vacant as her headset fed her information on the giant reactor.
Inertia pushed them back into the command chairs for a brief second before the grav plates took over to compensate for the acceleration. Without those plates, they’d have been crushed to bloody pulp.
“Course to Star’s Rest?” Carrasco asked.
“Laid in, Captain,” Boaz answered.
“Condition, First Officer Bryana?”
“Green on all fronts, Captain,” Bryana’s voice sounded loud in the quiet room. “Acceleration is constant at 20 gs, sir. Reactor demonstrates no fluctuation. All departments are reporting condition Green.”
“Very well, First Officer. From the chronometer, it’s now your watch. Give a holler if you need anything.” Carrasco stood. “First Officer Arturian, may I see you beyond the hatch for a moment?”
Art shot a quick look at Bryana, glimpsed the fire in her eyes, and stood. “Yes, sir.”
Passing the hatch, Art met those brown pools of emotion and felt himself growing angry. That look of steel didn’t mean a damn thing! He’d never been chewed out since he was a senior at the Academy on Frontier!
Carrasco’s voice surprised him, gentle, almost forgiving. “I didn’t mean to sound so tough in there, First Officer.” A faint hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “I’m a little nervous ... as you and First Officer Bryana no doubt realize. I belayed your order only because we have a new ship. With new systems—no matter how well designed, no matter how simple the task-always keep your eyes open and your reactions ready . . . just in case. When we’ve had time to assess the backups, recheck all the redundancies, you can relax—at least a micron or two.”
Art nodded, frowning, realizing he’d never thought of that. Anger faded. “I suppose it’s the same if external conditions change ... or repairs or maintenance have been performed?”
Carrasco gave the first real smile Art had seen from him. “Exactly, First Officer. You’ll live longer that way. My compliments to you and First Officer Bryana for an excellent spacing. Well done. You are dismissed.” And Carrasco was gone, striding briskly down the companionway.
CHAPTER VII
In the aftermath of the Aan, she waited alone—impotent master of the universe which spun in wreaths of fusion-powered light. The damning spring remained invulnerable, the ever present bane of her existence. Unable to affect the events around her, the insanity within burned ever deeper, ever more engulfing. And the spring made a lie of her abilities, goading, maddening, obsessing her incredible brain until the knot of hatred and frustration pulled tight.
She watched the heavens, seeing the legacy of the Aan’s conflict, the balance of interstellar media skewed, uniformity broken by the areas of vacuum where her powers had annihilated vast portions of space. In untouched tracts, gravity changed the swirling patterns of matter, ever expanding, twirling the suns into galaxies, singularities forming, mass and matter thrown into a confusion of chaos. About her, space boiled turbulently.
While galactic patterns defined themselves, another form of organic life struggled up from the mud, a simple creature of replicating carbon based molecules in the misty soup of a steaming planet.
Eating and being eaten, the Chorr battled for their survival. Larger carnivores preyed upon them as they themselves preyed on lesser life. The strongest and smartest survived, reproducing the successful genotype. The day would be lost to the fog-mantled past, when the first Chorr employed a sharpened section of exoskeleton to kill one of the large predators. That lonesome individual promptly engorged itself on the body of the slain hunter and fissioned, duplicating the knowledge of weapons. T
hat knowledge radiated—transferred by the molecules of inheritance. Millennia of season changes later, a Chorr looked up from the highest point of the planet where it sought metal rich rock for smelting. Through the thinning clouds, it saw the lights dancing above and wondered—as did the hundreds of successful offspring. Crippled by fission reproduction, the Chorr advanced ever so slowly into the realm of science.
Halfway across the Chorr galaxy, she waited. Knowing another organic form of life would come to her. Soon, so very soon.
She keened insanely to herself as she devised ways of leading the next organic intelligence to its destruction. Hatred burned a bitter acid as she waited for a being to work the spring and condemn itself to the fate of the Aan.
In the meantime, the Chorr launched their first spacecraft.
* * *
Solomon Carrasco got lost three times and finally had to access the ship before he located his quarters. He stopped before the door, staring at the lock plate.
It’s all right. You handled the bridge—got through fine. You can handle this. It’s just a captain’s cabin—like any
other cabin. Just like the one aboard Gage . . . Gage is dead. You can’t bring her back.
“Dead is dead. But why is it so hard?” Hesitantly, he reached forward, palming the lock plate, leaving his hand there for a moment to allow the detector to register his print and body chemistry. About him, the presence of the ship seemed to hover, waiting, watching, expecting.
The pressure door slid open with a slight hiss, the lights beyond going up. Sol swallowed, the effect like a knotted sock stuck halfway in his throat.
Inside, every light on the comm unit flashed colorfully.
“What is this?” he muttered, noting absently that his kit had been neatly placed on the bunk. He studied the long list of calls, unnerved.
“All these people want to talk to me? But I ... why, for God’s sake?”
“Mostly invitations, Captain,” Boaz’s voice sent a shiver down his spine. “The diplomats are all anxious to make your acquaintance. Similarly, Engineer Anderson would like to speak to you at your leisure and Speaker Archon would like to know how soon you might meet with him to discuss the mission.”
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