by Chris Reher
She had been tempted to make inquiries or to pull up personnel files but then decided not to. Looking up a fellow captive of the Shon Gat siege might just catch the attention of her counselors who still monitored her post-trauma state.
Dakad tugged on his nose, something he did when putting his words together. “Whiteside. Stay a moment. The rest of you are dismissed.”
The others filed out, not without throwing a few curious glances in Nova’s direction. Boker rolled his eyes and gave her a smile meant to encourage. Dakad rarely dealt with his pilots individually. It was usually a sign of trouble.
The captain tipped his head toward the exit and waited for her to get up and join him. Puzzled, she walked with him around the clearance of the landing chutes and then into the interior corridor of the carrier. “Whiteside, I want to give you some notice about the rotation to the skyranch,” he said finally.
“Sir?”
“We’ve had noise about rebel movements and there was some evidence found to assume sabotage attempts on the station.”
“I’m aware, sir.”
“General Ausan decided to provide Skyranch Twelve with additional security units. In fact, she’s rotating the current skyranch and elevator security personnel to the base and vice versa to give everyone a change of scenery.”
Nova winced. “Major Trakkas is coming up here?”
“No. He’s going to command the Shon Gat garrison at the elevator base. The skyranch is commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Thedris until we turn it over, so we’ll be working under him. We’ll make the announcement tomorrow.”
“I don’t suppose Major Trakkas is very happy about that.” Nova peered up at him, suddenly realizing why he was telling her this now. “Ausan transferred the ground units up, too, didn’t she? Beryl and his thugs.”
“Yes. She doesn’t want to use pilots where ground pounders will do. They’re providing security around the loading docks up there. Patrolling the construction sites. They’ve been there a while and I wanted to give you some warning. I don’t have to tell you…” he trailed off as if he actually planned to say nothing further.
Nova stopped walking. “To keep my door closed? To make no trouble? Not hit him, maybe?”
“No. I won’t do that. I am giving you the option to transfer to Zenta squad flying out of Siolet if you prefer. No one will think less of you for that, Lieutenant.”
“I’m not running from him,” she said at once.
“Think about it.”
They continued to walk toward the officers’ quarters. His offer, made in private, seemed sincere. It would mean less tension among his pilots if she transferred and it would certainly be a relief for her. Perhaps one of her well-meaning counselors had even suggested it. Still, hiding from Beryl was utterly unacceptable to her. It felt like running away. She had found acceptance, even friends, within her unit, especially after the gossip about Beryl’s blackened eyes had circulated.
“No,” she said. “I will stay with my squad.” She hesitated, needing to know. His ire over her decision would tip the scales here. Did he really think of her as so fragile? Perhaps punching Beryl had not been the best way to display self-control and fortitude under pressure. “What is your preference, sir?”
He did not look at her. “You’re a fine pilot, Whiteside. You have the grit. The men respect you and that’s where it counts. You will make Hunter Class and that looks good on me, too.” He allowed himself a faint smile. “I see no reason for you to transfer.”
Nova kept her expression carefully neutral. “Thank you, sir.”
“I also think you can work out your issues with him here. Deal with it. You don’t have to interact. I can perhaps try to get his gang scattered a bit. But anything more would require explanations to our new CO and perhaps even the General. And that will raise questions about the reporting by both you and Major Trakkas.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Nova had heard the note of disapproval in his comment about the reports. She wanted to ask him, but then decided not to press him about it. “Thank you for giving me the option.”
He gave a curt nod and opened the door to his quarters. “Whiteside,” he called her back when she continued along the hall. She turned. “I’m pleased by your decision. I think maybe I was wrong about you.”
* * *
“Now this is what this entire place is all about.” A Centauri officer waited at the door for her small gaggle of tourists to gather on the catwalk overlooking the elevator hub. Skyranch Twelve was not designed to attract much of a tourist crowd, unlike the ones above the ice-bound Feron where few inhabitants had ever seen food grow above ground or Feyd where a thick atmosphere made launching into space from an orbiting platform far more affordable.
The two orbiters that would serve Bellac were designed purely for the manufacture of food and electricity and down here, on the lowest level where the tether from the ground met the station, things were pretty much utilitarian. Nova had expected a modern passenger handling area, perhaps kiosks where one could get more information about the tether’s nanotube construction, or a spot to take some video of the distant planet hanging over their heads.
Instead, the area they were now shown looked like any loading dock she had ever seen on any base station or transport ship, albeit much larger. Metal floors and walls, cold metal railings, hoists, trolleys, storage containers and control stations. Workers bustled in the clear space around the tether to prepare for a new arrival from the ground. Nova’s group leaned over the railing to watch, restricted from entering the well-ordered burst of activity on the floor.
“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” Boker propped his elbows on the metal bar. After Lieutenant Rolyn had decided to abandon him in favor of the skyranch, Boker had given up his plans for Siolet’s alehouses. Besides, the orbiter had two very nicely stocked lounges. His eyes travelled upward along the cable. “Look how thin that tether is. You don’t notice that down on the ground.”
Nova nodded. Their temporary guide chatted about tensile strength, payloads and velocity while actually holding a cross section of the nanotube belt in her hands. On the ground, near Shon Gat, the bottom part of the elevator was protected by graphene cages as well as the shielding. As support for a system of sensors, com gear and defensive measures, its width seemed far more reassuring than this ribbon. Maybe the extra girth near the ground was intended to keep passengers from fleeing in terror. “I think I might be too scared to go for a ride down this thing,” she said. “The skyranches I’ve been to weren’t tethered.”
“Imagine sitting in a box tied to this for three days.”
Nova turned to the guide who had stopped to take a breath. “Will this be used for passengers?”
“Not at this time. It just takes too long. Once we’re fully staffed, the station will operate a commuter shuttle for round trips every fifty days. We’ll have emergency vehicles, of course, and a private transport company is going to offer trips to the surface if you can’t wait for the shuttle. So far we have just cargo pods travelling along the tether. Eventually we may bring in a passenger car for those who want the experience of travelling through space that way. It’s not a priority for Bellac.”
A slight vibration ran through the metal plates on which they stood and then a massive climber descended from the ceiling. Those among the pilots who had not seen a climber at the Shon Gat base gasped in awe at the sheer size of it, looking like a small transport ship sliding down along the tether. Nova had expected rollers and cables or perhaps magnets but the assembly attaching the climber to the elevator reminded her of one of the frustrating engineering puzzles at the academy. The cargo bins, once released by the protective shielding, slid effortlessly onto tracks leading into the adjacent holding area.
“Not a box, then,” Boker said. “Might actually be fun.”
“I prefer to be in charge of steering whatever is hauling me through space,” Nova replied.
“The elevator is of course powered by solar energy,” their
guide gestured downward although from here they were unable to see the transparent dome on the other end of the station, surrounded by vast arrays of solar panels and communication systems. “But we also use the regenerative braking power of the downward crawler to power the upward movement.” She smiled. “Of course, up and down is a matter of opinion. Halfway there, gravity plays a big part no matter which way you go. And since the station’s gravity spinners are now below us, the planet is actually above our heads. We are, from Bellac’s point of view, upside down.”
Nova watched the dock hands unload the container. “What’s all that?”
“Supplies for the station, water, gases. Much of that will of course be manufactured right up here eventually but we still have a lot to do before the farm rings are producing. We also accept shipments of export goods. Beyond those doors are air locks able to accommodate five transports at a time. The freighter leaving from there is taking those barrels of anai oil into Trans-Targon. It’s worth a lot there. So by acting as a shipping port, the station is already starting to pay for itself because those shippers don’t need to land in the atmosphere. Currently, we see one of these transports once every few rotations, but eventually the traffic will be constant.”
“That’s a lot of anai oil,” Boker said. He bent far over the railing to look over the rows of shipping containers waiting to be handled. Nova resisted an impulse to grab the back of his jacket to keep him from going over.
“Bellac also exports frozen seafood that your people eat in huge amounts, Lieutenant. Skyranch Thirteen will be at sea and include a sub-surface processing plant. By using the ranches for most of Bellac’s import and export activities, we should be able to curtail the smuggling of mince and exotics.”
“Drugs and slaves,” Boker translated out of the side of his mouth. Nova boxed him lightly in the ribs.
Their guide had heard him. “Unfortunately that is true, Lieutenant. The demand for mince outside Bellac is increasing. Fortunately, so far no one has tried to smuggle slaves using the elevator. We have, however, confiscated animals in stasis destined for the pet trade, a horrible practice and of course a violation of other planets’ ecosystem management policies.”
“Huge demand for churries on Targon,” Boker said wisely. Some of the others snickered.
“What about security here on the platform?” Nova asked.
The officer pointed around the domed hall, probably glad for the change of subject. “This area is normally restricted to all but transport personnel. We’ve got video surveillance, armed guards on all levels, and this access area to the tether can be closed off from the station in a matter of seconds. Air Command presence here will depend on current threat levels. The tether itself is shielded in ways that I can’t tell even you, Lieutenant, and of course the cargo bins are shielded individually against radiation and temperature fluctuations on the way to and from the planet.”
“She probably doesn’t know, either,” Boker mumbled behind his hand as they dutifully trotted after their host and out of the shipping area.
“Expect some gravity shifts,” she advised as walked along a curving passage. “We are going to walk around the gravity generators on our way to the upper levels. If you use the lifts this will hardly be noticeable. They move horizontally as well as vertically. Of course, you won’t have much need to come down this way.”
They soon reached a broad observation level that allowed a view of the exterior of the orbiter as well as an overlook into the hollow interior space. They were able to step out onto the bowed wall and, as pilots and inured to vertigo, all of them took that option to look down into a central recreational area and then up to see the massive skylight. The station core was flooded with sunlight and its floor and terraces showed the beginnings of gardens and green space. Five levels of residential and work areas overlooked this space, alleviating the claustrophobia that struck so easily on base stations and long-distance transports. Some levels were still open as work crews completed the construction.
“As you will have seen during your approach here, the station is spindle-shaped with the gravity generator at the center, which is now slightly below us.” She gestured through the window. “The residential and administrative wings are operated at point eight of Bellac’s gravity and dampened toward the station terminals.” She turned to Boker. “The pointy ends.”
Nova poked him again before he could retort with some wisecrack.
“As you noticed, gravity down at the elevator hub is much lighter, making work there more efficient and allowing for far larger containers. The same is true for the upper end of the station, where the solar collectors are nearly weightless. Below that, of course are the two combat plane levels. A much grander landing bay is centrally located between the grow rings for the most spectacular view of the station upon approach. All civilians and off-duty personnel use those locks.”
Nova left the interior wall to walk across the broad, empty concourse to look out over the exterior of the station. The central portion of the orbiter was surrounded by multi-level, mostly transparent rings where they would grow food and recycle water and gases. Two of the rings were in place, a third was nearly complete. She saw people moving through them, partially afloat in the curving tubes. Against the black backdrop of space it looked as surreal as she remembered from past visits to places like these.
Some of the others also strolled over to where she stood with her hands pressed against the transparent walls.
“We maintain minimal gravity out there, basically just what the station pulls,” the guide said. “The shells can be adjusted for radiation and light. The arms holding the rings are lined with conveyors that transport the bins of…”
Nova was no longer listening. “I’ll see you later, Heiko,” she whispered to Boker.
“Eh? Where are you going? I thought you wanted to see the place.”
“Got something to do. They won’t let us into the construction sites, anyway. Or the Command center.” She stepped away from the group and hurried upward along the curving concourse and then took a lift to the next level. The design of this station included improvements over those built before it but she knew her way around well enough. The exit she sought was a quarter of the way around the station from where she had left the tour.
“Evening,” she greeted a technician standing near a workstation.
The Centauri looked up briefly and then back again when he realized that she was uniformed. “It’s morning over there,” he pointed through the glass frontage before them and the planet below. “Though my stomach says it’s supper time. I’ll never get used to it.”
She smiled. “Me neither.”
“Kind of out of your playpen, aren’t you?” he said. “Don’t often get pilots coming around up here.”
“Grew up on a skyranch,” she shrugged. “Lots of memories. And there’s someone here I know. Maybe you can help me find him.”
“Sure. Got a name?” The tech tapped on his screen to pull up a duty roster.
“Djari,” she said and held her breath while he consulted his system. “Nathon Djari.”
“Oh, I know that one. Human but from Bellac. You’ll find him in the upper ring.” He noticed her hesitation and gestured toward a service access ladder nearby. “Go on. Not restricted.”
She followed his direction and climbed up into the transparent tunnel reaching out toward the farm rings. Humid air met her and she soon wished that she had left her jacket behind. Gradually, the pull of the station’s gravity released her and she bounced lightly as she moved. Open service carts lined the wall to transport produce and supplies and probably some of the more adventurous staff to the ring. A transparent door swished aside when she approached and she was greeted by another draft of hot and humid air.
Some workers, more sensibly dressed than she was, looked up with some alarm but soon identified her by uniform as a pilot, not a security detail armed with some dreadful news.
So far, the growing platforms were empty exce
pt for a few racks of experiments. To Nova’s untrained eye, the seedlings looked perky enough to eat, whatever they were. The transparent shell of the ring was fogged in places, hinting that some balancing and fine-tuning was still to be done here.
She bounced along the central pathway, respectfully dodging workers and their carts, prepared to pace the entire circumference of the ring to find Djari. Aisle upon aisle of trays marched off into the distance and she paused at each one to see if he was to be found. He would stand out among the garnet-skinned Bellacs working up here.
She had come about halfway, starting to get bored of this, when she finally spotted him near the end of one of the aisles. He was turned away from her, busy with some sort of system of tubes and gauges. He wore the loose-fitting white coveralls made for this climate but she recognized his powerful build and the shock of sun-bleached hair even from this distance. It came as a bit of a surprise to her to feel a surge of excitement upon seeing him again. She hurried past the shelves to where he stood.
“Djari!” she called out.
He turned and a broad smile spread over his face when he saw her. The one that could light up the dark and that had kept her from utterly despairing during their brief captivity in Shon Gat. But as quickly as it appeared, it vanished and when she reached him he turned his face away from her.
Nova faltered. “Djari? No hug for your favorite officer?”
He glanced at her only briefly. “I… I hadn’t expected to see you up here. They said you were at the gate now.”
She frowned. “Yes, but we rotate often. What’s wrong? Aren’t you glad to see me?” She peered at him more closely. He did not resist when she reached out to turn his face toward her. “Gods, Djari,” she breathed.
He faced her for a moment before turning away again. “Didn’t turn out so pretty, did it?”