JON-B34726-S nodded, appraising the condition of the machine. He walked around it, noting that though it was covered in dust, from the outside the engine appeared intact. He pulled himself up a ladder into the enclosed area and used a hand lamp to examine the control surfaces. After memorizing the positions of the machine’s controls, JON-B34726-S joined Carlton in examining its underside. The engine’s wheels each had a flange that rested snugly against the inner surface of the metal bars, with a large gear assembly joining each wheel to its duplicate on the other side.
Most of the bare surfaces on the machine were covered with an oily residue and exhibited none of the oxidation he’d seen on the metal outside. Reaching up and drawing a finger down a dust-caked panel, the resultant smear indicated the same coating had been applied to the entire machine, most likely as a preservative.
In fact, everything inside the structure appeared to be in very good shape, as opposed to the crumbling and rust-laden containers outside.
JON-B34726-S considered the implications of everything he’d seen so far, and thought the condition of the machine was encouraging. But Carlton was a support technician, and though his knowledge of contemporary equipment was extensive, he was no theorist.
"Carlton, what makes you so sure this machine can be restored? It may have been inactive for some time, perhaps centuries."
Carlton smiled and moved over to the pile of salvaged Earther equipment, then leaned down and picked something thick and rectangular up from the floor. "Is that . . . ?" JON-B34726-S couldn’t complete the question. Such things hadn’t existed in the colonies for centuries.
"Yes! It’s a book! And it’s not the only one I found."
Carlton nodded over his shoulder to a metal cabinet. His smile was bigger than ever, and JON-B34726-S couldn’t help but share it. Carlton deposited the book on a workbench. Leaning in, JON-B34726-S saw an image of the same machine that rested behind them on the cover.
With the proper reverence due such an ancient treasure, JON-B34726-S opened the book. The pages were thin leaves of plastic bound together by heavy plastic rings, and the script was a bit hard to read at first. But after tracing the lines of text on a few pages with his finger, he came to a diagram showing the wheel and gear assembly he’d just been looking at.
The letters above the diagram were much larger, and as he scrutinized each one the meaning of the text below it became clear.
Ex 1450: Asynchronous traction motor and distributed power couplings.
Adjust the resting generator’s main power output until all connected cars register a base charge of 1200v. Maintain output for a minimum of one hour to calibrate drive stems, then increase voltage until initial motion begins.
JON-B34726-S closed the book, resting his hand on the monochrome image of the machine on the cover. He looked at the open cabinet, noting crumpled sections of the door panels approximately the same size as a Delta’s hands. He began tapping his fingers on the book, and looked over at the power generators they’d seized from the dead repair crews aboard the Valiant.
Yes, it should work. Assuming the bar path is still intact, of course, and we can find something big enough to hold us all.
"Scan it. Scan all of them, just in case. Make sure we’ve got a complete set of operation and maintenance instructions."
JON-B34726-S smiled. It wasn’t ideal, but finding the engine was a promising development that gave the mods something they hadn’t had before.
Hope. It looks like Mira Harlan may have had the right idea after all.
Thinking of the Earth woman made him remember his other objective for the evening. And a few long term personal goals, but as far as he knew Carlton couldn’t help him with those.
"Carlton?"
"Yes, JonB?"
"Mira wants us to make sure and select containers in which the Omegas can rest comfortably. I’m not sure she knew something like this was here, but so far I have found her counsel to be remarkably insightful. Wouldn’t you agree . . . ?"
Mira
MIRA HUMMED TO HERSELF, KEEPING THE IMAGE OF her mother wearing her favorite apron in the kitchen at the front of her mind. Whatever alien root vegetable Happy had given her was surprisingly fragrant, and as she peeled the last one she could almost hear her mother’s pleasant drawl.
You have to be happy when you cook, Mirabelle. What you’re doing keeps people alive, and people can’t live on sadness. Put a little heart into everything you do, and there ain’t nothing or no one can give you troubles unless you ask for it.
Annamarie Weston-Harlan was forty-three years old when she died, the mother of four sons and one precocious teenage daughter. The loss of her eldest son Brian put lines on her face that betrayed just how sick she was, but Mira remembered her mother best like this. Happy, alive, and full of down-home joy.
She worked the knife across the whatever it was by the light of a bed of coals, scraping off the skin with quick, sure motions. Seconds later it was cubed and into the pot, joining the others alongside some crushed lemongrass, salt, and a can of evaporated milk drawn from the shuttle’s stores. The smell of the improvised sauce was heaven, and she turned her attention to the birds.
The Gamma memories were devoid of tasks like this, and she enjoyed the feeling of being her own woman again. To do something with her hands, with no other lives offering suggestions as to how to do it better, made her feel—for lack of a better word—human. Happy sat nearby, watching her cook in an eerie echo of Mira’s own kitchen education. The Omega was basking in the happy glow she projected, drinking in the rich emotions that thoughts of her mother always summoned up. It was another area untouched by the Gamma memories, and Mira was determined to keep it that way.
Taking up one of the birds, Mira was keenly aware of Serene’s attention, as well as Katra lurking in the trees. The Alpha child was sitting up on her own now, staring at her from across the clearing. She was wearing Marcus Callaway’s uniform blouse as a belted dress, and in addition to foodstuffs, Mira was glad she’d had the foresight to take as many of the absent pilot’s clothes as she could fit into a duty bag.
The sleeves were far too long for Serene’s small arms, so Mira had done a quick bit of combat tailoring and cut them off at the elbow while Happy was collecting cooking supplies. Other than her first words to Jantine, Serene had yet to speak aloud, but Mira could feel her mind working behind those large, expressive eyes.
Mira had to admit to curiosity about what the Alpha was thinking, but the one time she’d attempted contact she slammed up against a mental barrier much stronger than the one Jantine maintained. The resulting headache was almost as bad as her first minutes as an empath, and Mira resolved to wait until Serene was ready to talk.
Plus, it’s hard not to notice Grumpy crouching behind her, broadcasting a silent challenge to the universe: "Mine!"
Mira ignored the pair as best she could, focusing instead on the meal she was preparing. If Artemus had come back with turkeys, she’d have plucked and filleted the birds for grilling by now and called everyone for dinner. The process wasn’t onerous, but even given how tired she was and the lack of both time and spices, she was thankful for the chance to improvise with these smaller birds.
Conscious of her audience, Mira stood up, positioned the first of the birds on the ground and got to work. With pheasants there was less usable meat, so there was no need to spend a lot of time worrying it off the carcass. She spread the wings and placed her feet on either side of the breast, grabbed the feet together, and gave an exploratory tug. She felt the wing under her left foot shift slightly, so she placed a little more weight on that side, bent her knees, and pulled.
The bird separated cleanly, with the backbone and entrails coming free with the half still in her hands. She set it aside, savoring the surprise in her spectators’ minds at how fast it had transformed from a recognizable animal shape into a collection of parts. Katra’s attention was completely focused on Mira’s actions, and Happy was equally rapt as she cut away th
e wings to expose the bird’s breast meat.
Thirty seconds later Mira had it washed and sliced into finger-sized pieces, and then she dropped them into the sauce. She repeated the cleaning process on the other two birds, this time setting the breasts aside for grilling. She almost asked Katra to come over and pull the last bird apart; her desire to do so was at the front of her mind and easy to read. Despite herself, the Gamma was impressed with Mira’s skill, and Mira chalked the positive thoughts up as a point in her favor.
Looks like I can do something right after all.
The otherwise capable infiltrator was completely out of her element here in the most boring part of North America. Katra’s hyper-vigilance was getting a hefty workout from crickets, night owls, and other small animals sharing the tree line with them, each encounter adding another sound or motion to her list of "things that won’t kill us, yet."
It was odd to think of a trained assassin as a "city girl," but the label fit Katra better than anyone Mira had ever met. Jantine tried to hide it when she thought about the Gamma, but every time the two mods met, Jantine was thinking of ways to get Katra to both relax and think outside the box.
For her own part, Mira was glad Katra was the way she was. Like herself, Katra had been a training officer, and the secret to earning her respect was to demonstrate competence. Plus, despite her overt hostility Katra was always curious about the world around her, and that constant need for information gave Mira something to work with.
An owl took flight, and Mira sensed Katra’s pleasure when she recognized and accepted the sound of its wings as a non-threat.
At least you didn’t shoot at it this time. Before we leave here, the squirrel and field mouse populations will have even better stories to tell than Jantine’s ant.
Happy noted it as well, but for the most part both Omegas ignored the sounds of the night. Mira knew their hearing range was far wider than even what her suit’s pickups could detect; with four ears and a much larger brain, it pretty much had to be. But in general, the Omegas seemed immune to the trivia of normal existence, focusing instead on their projects and philosophies.
Builder is a good name for you two. Everything you do adds to the world, and you like making long-term plans.
As if sensing her interest, Happy’s thoughts shifted into a pattern Mira recognized as "I want to talk to you." She placed the breasts onto a wire frame suspended over the coals by the gauntlets of her hardsuit. She wasn’t sure what the frame’s intended use was, but the Omega brought it to her with a sense of satisfaction as she was setting up her improvised kitchen, and Katra hadn’t objected.
Sitting back on her heels, Mira opened her mind to the Omega while the food cooked. She let her mother’s smile fade back into memory, and then she let the "others" rise to the surface. The hurricane inside her head was getting easier to tame, but Mira had doubts she’d ever come to accept the Gamma memories as her own.
~I am here with you. I am listening.~
Happy’s thoughts were chaotic at first, until the Gamma memories took over and she was able to assign meaning to the concepts he was sharing. She felt ethereal fingers roaming around her thoughts, and an image of the Omega standing in a white room inside a glass case came to mind.
With the aid of those same memories, Mira partitioned herself, leaving enough awareness in her own body to keep an eye on the meal she was preparing. Across the camp, starlight and shadows framed Serene’s odd face, who was still looking in her direction.
In the Omega’s mind, his self-image was reduced in size until he was just over two meters tall. Mira found herself standing just on the other side of the glass, looking into his eyes. A wave of sadness poured into her, and she felt several other presences nearby.
Several meters away, Grumpy and Serene were sitting cross-legged on the floor. The other Omega was also reduced in size to a near-match for Serene’s small form. Mira’s mental eyes widened when the pair began playing patty-cake, and while neither spoke she recognized the memory as one of herself and Debbi McAllister playing in a sandbox.
With her own mind now supplying the scenery, the white room faded into green trees and a summer’s day. Happy remained in the case, looking out at the other mods with his hands pressed up against the glass, still radiating sadness. Mira imagined the case expanding out to enclose her.
Inside, the sadness was much more intense, and she shared Happy’s feeling of isolation.
~You’re wrong, though. It doesn’t have to be this way.~
Mira put her own hands on the glass, and a third child approached the pair as they played. At first it had Debbi’s face, then the image shifted into a young Mira, and finally a small Happy. The combined child sat down and the sandbox melted away, replaced by a sidewalk covered in chalk drawings. When small Happy started bouncing a red rubber ball, Grumpy and Serene turned and smiled at him, the latter pulling a handful of jacks from a shirt pocket and scattering them on the ground.
~Go to them. I’m sure they won’t mind the company.~
Happy shook his head, pressing even harder on the glass. Grumpy and Serene continued playing with the jacks, passing the ball between them and ignoring the other child. The young Happy stood up and started to blur around the edges. It faded from view, and then a group of adult Omegas walked into the scene.
The newcomers came up to the seated pair one by one, and Serene looked up into each of their faces and smiled. The Omegas started sitting down in circles around them, and no matter how many orange faces approached, Serene greeted each one with warmth and affection. All except for the last one, a stoop-shouldered, elderly version of Happy to whom Serene gave no greeting at all.
~Now that’s not fair. Everything is new to her; you just have to give it time. Here, let me show you.~
Mira imagined a handle on the glass, and opened the case to lead Happy out and into the main hall of the Academy. Bright-faced cadets filed all around them, and Mira remembered and shared the pain and isolation she’d felt her first weeks there.
Dream Mira was thin and gangly and everything she’d tried so hard not to be over the last decade. The young girl raised her hand to wave before being carried away in the press of bodies, and Mira painted a few of the faces orange for effect before letting the scene focus on her father, standing proud and tall in his uniform as he waved goodbye to his only daughter.
Brian’s death in a training accident had hurt him too, but instead of wasting away like Momma, he’d buried himself in duty until one day it was all he had. Four years later, his remaining children were grown and living their own lives, his wife was dead, and he took his own life. Mira and Happy stood by his casket as fighters thundered overhead, accepting a folded flag with numb fingers and saluting then-Captain Maranova with tears in their eyes.
~But it didn’t have to be that way. He could have asked for help, told people how much he was hurting. I did, and so did the boys. We got through it together, and so will you.~
Mira’s brothers raised their glasses and cheered as Happy went to fetch another round of drinks. When he came back, she pulled him into a hug, letting the joy she felt being part of a family soak into him and force out all the unhappy thoughts. Her brothers joined the embrace, which then turned into a laughing wrestling match that came to rest next to the campfire.
Mira turned the improvised basket over and gave the pot a quick stir. Katra had moved on, but she could feel Artemus and Jantine coming closer from opposite sides of the camp.
~You have a family too, a good one. I’m the one looking for a place at the table.~
The Omega sent her another image of the cemetery, but this time it was Mira handing the flag to Happy, as they stood next to five graves of assorted sizes.
Mira countered by envisioning a sunrise, distracting Happy until Carlton came to lead him away. She tugged on his memories of plans for the Earth colony, highlighting all the places where he and Grumpy had indicated other hands doing the work.
Mira realized she’d taken the
analogy too far when Happy’s memory of sealing the sleepers into their container came to the fore, and with it an even greater sense of loss. She was unceremoniously dumped out of his mind, and the sudden disconnect left her unprepared when Serene’s consciousness brushed up against hers.
If joining with Happy was like navigating a choppy sea at night, Serene’s mind was being caught in a hurricane on a small raft. Instead of a feathery touch, Mira felt sharp claws digging into her brain, searching for answers and casting aside anything that didn’t relate to life in the Outer Colonies.
~Slow down—you’re hurting me!~
If the Alpha heard her mental cry, she gave no sign of it. The onslaught continued, starting with Doria’s memories of the mission briefings and then focusing on Colony B and the mods who lived there. Feeling herself slip away, Mira imagined a tall pillar of stone and chained a mental image of herself to its base. The pain lessened, but the rummaging continued unabated.
Though she was terrified, Mira sensed something familiar about the way her mind was being peeled back. It was almost the reverse of the process Happy had used to give her the Gamma memories, and true architect of her situation was revealed.
She’s got help, and Grumpy likes me even less than Katra does.
Not knowing what else to do, Mira imagined an ear-splitting emergency claxon, and sent out a mental mayday with all the strength she had left. She felt Jantine, Katra, and Artemus respond to her call for help, but it was Happy who got to her first.
Mira felt a broad hand slide under her shoulder blades, and the hurricane was gone. But Serene’s mental talons were still ripping away the parts of her life attached to the Gamma memories, and Happy had even less of an idea of how to stop her than Mira did.
But there was one thing the Alpha couldn’t get at, because she’d never had a mother of her own. The warm smell of the stewpot rose in her mind, and eight year old Mira climbed up on her stool and reached for the metal handle to raise the lid and check out what they’d made. Momma’s warning came too late, and Mira jerked her hand away and fell backwards to the floor.
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