by Jim Rudnick
The youngster went back to the arrow troughs and looked like she easily grabbed up the arrows. Seven, he thought. Then she took her stance at the starting line once more. Nodding to the instructor who used a remote to reset the large screen on the sidewall, she watched as the time signal dead ahead counted down to zero, and when it did, she exploded down the course.
Completing the forward somersault in less than a second, her first arrow launched toward the first dummy target, and it pierced the head as she bounced to her feet. The second shot happened in less than a second. Feeding the arrows from her right hand, which held them all, she put that one deep into the mid-section of dummy number two. That bull’s-eye was followed quickly by three more in new dummies that popped up from the floor or slid out from behind hay bales scattered throughout the course ahead, never the same one or in the same order.
Ahanu knew that by the time any of his own tribe were thirty years of age, the Seven Arrow test could be completed in just about ten seconds, so he glanced at the clock to see that this youngster had only four seconds left. Another arrow flew from the bow to pierce the head of dummy number six, and as she jumped off the ledge and down onto the large pile of boulders, arrow number seven flew and missed her mark.
Her instructor hit the abort button, and the time stopped at nine seconds. Good time, Ahanu thought, but the ledge jump at eleven feet obviously had her stumped. He wondered how many times she'd do that one until it became as easy as the previous marksmanship tests, and then it'd be on to the Eight Arrow Test, again done in less than ten seconds. After that, the Nine Arrow test, and finally the Ten Arrows in ten seconds test.
Below, the instructor was going over the process whereby a Kikinamagan learned how to shoot seven arrows in ten seconds. The instructor went over all the nuances of that process—from the use of the draw hand to hold all the arrows to the reason that they were always put on the thumb side of the bow—speed and the resulting accuracy learned over thousands of years as wandering tribes on their old home world.
He nodded to the instructor below and made the sign of respect back at him and then left the Course room, knowing that the Kikinamagan would be tested over and over until she—like the rest of the ship's crew—could match the Ten Arrows in ten seconds test and celebrate their speed and accuracy too.
Turning to his right, he mounted the final wide staircase that led to the offices and again used his thumb in the ID field on the final bulkhead to open the door.
Inside the major administration offices area, he first went to stand in front of the niche that held his band's Ikaria sigil—its Feathered Serpent head stared back at him with yellow feathers and ocher eyes as he bowed slightly and touched the back of his right hand to his forehead as a sign of respect. He always did this and noted that of the other six Row bands on the Keshowse, only he did this by custom. Others like Hassun, Sachem of the Gamma Row, seldom if ever even seemed to notice the serpent sigil, but Ahanu thought that might have been because Hassun was the leader of the Tribal Council by blood from his father in the tribe's patriarchal society.
Noting he was alone, he went over to his compartment and sat in front of the console screen to check up on his latest shipboard messages and requests. With only fifty crew awake right now, as usual, he usually only got a few messages, most with queries about upcoming events or changes of personnel. He handled one or two and was just getting into reading one of the longer messages from someone in the Beta Row band when the administration door opened up silently, but he knew the hard slapping footsteps of the visitor only too well.
"Sachem Ahanu, I see you are busy, but we must speak," Kikinamagan Wematin of the Alpha Row band said loudly. He propped himself against the stall desk next to Ahanu and crossed his arms stiffly.
Ahanu smiled. It always made the person with an attitude calm down a bit, he thought, but he noted that Wematin shook his head negatively.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, Sachem, but you have seen 241 summers if I have your life years right," he said, almost not waiting for the accompanying nod to his statement. "And I was one of the last awakened, just 120 years ago, and it was you who I first saw when the sleeper tank opened," he said."What are you getting at, Kikinamagan Wematin ... you know this as do we all. This is what is bothering you, our ages?" Ahanu asked, knowing full well what was coming. Again.
Wematin shook his head again. He pointed down at his elder.
"No, I'm not still concerned about our tribe rule that we must wake 25 sleepers every 121 years, not that, Sachem, but that this will happen again very soon. And we still have so much more to learn from you who will leave us to go back to the tanks. This is still what bothers me, Sachem," he said.
Ahanu looked up at the gray bulkhead ceiling above them, noting the conduits and vents of the air circulation system and the nozzles of the fire retardant security too. Over on the left, he saw that at some point, there had been a leak of some kind of fluid and the stain remained behind, flat oxidized red. In years gone by, he thought, and I must look into that stain at some point. If I have the time.
He knew that he had less than one year left before he went back to the tanks, and then again in another 121 years, there would be a new awakening of sleepers to learn all of the intricacies of how to crew a starship. How to manage all of the daily chores, the sleeper tank support and upkeep, the computer systems, hydroponics, astrophysics, engineering, air systems ... all things needed to keep them on their path.
The list was a long one, and even Ahanu would admit that it taxed the crew to do both the teaching of same and those chores themselves until the newly awakened sleepers were trained enough to help, then take it over.
"This is how it was decided to be done, Kikinamagan Wematin," he said, "and that was more than a thousand years ago. We left our world and the original tribal crew swore an oath of fealty for us all to follow—and we so swore by our Ikarian Tribe to follow the lore of the sigil. I will sleep once more, and when I am awakened next, we will be at our destination, our own new Heaven." He looked at the youngster in front of him, his strong black brows pinched together as he frowned at the younger man.
Kikinamagan Wematin shrugged; he knew when to stop.
"Then I still have almost a year to try to get you to go to the Tribal Council and ask for a change. This is not beyond what we can do ... and as I see it, it is what is needed. There can always be time for sleep ... and we do not even know what the limits are for us ..."
He pushed himself back up straight and touched the back of his right hand to his bare forehead in the sign of respect.
"Sachem," he said as he left the offices.
He would be back, Ahanu knew ... this argument had been going on for years from many of the last set of awakened sleepers, the Kikinamagan as they were called.
Some said many of the younger band members were against the normal process of sending the older crew back to their sleeper tanks and awakening a new twenty-five because the work was intense for several years until the newly awakened learned enough to help ... then take over the chores of being a crewmember of the Keshowse. He too had worked very, very hard for decades until his own teaching and counsel were enough for the workload to lessen. He had moved up from the Kikinamagan class of newly awakened student to full Sachem and had the leadership anointed for the Epsilon Row band too.
Might be that, he pondered ... but Wematin actually appeared to care for him and perhaps was worried about losing such a friend—Epsilon Row band leader or not.
I am of the tenth crew to awaken on the Keshowse, and so far, we are following the plans of our forefathers, as it should be. He was the Sachem of the Epsilon Row band. He led and was one of the twenty-five members of his tribe that sat on the Tribal Council. And he had less than one year of being a crewmember of the Keshowse.
He signed his respect with his right hand on his forehead over to the Feathered Ikaria Serpent sigil that was in its niche on the far bulkhead wall and turned back to the messages on his screen.
#
Admiral McQueen slammed his hand down on his desk and watched the IN tray jump and come down crookedly.
Shaking his head at being forced to swallow such swill, he thought for a moment as to how the hell he was going to negotiate a middle path on this one and rose to stride over to his bookcase that faced the huge window over Navy Hall Square.
Below he noted the Navy Provost guards were doing their cadenced on-guard patrols, mostly ceremonial but still impressive. He wondered if he yelled down to arrest the Lady St. August, as he watched her and her own EliteGuard squad move across the Square and toward their transport back to the Juno landing port, just what might happen.
Don't mess with Royalty.
Rule one of being a success story in any and all endeavors. He'd learned that more than five decades ago tens of thousands of light years inward. You only make that mistake once. Never again. He nodded to himself and paced to the edge of his desk and straightened up the IN tray, making it line up with the edge of the desk on one side and the leather desk mat with the other. “Done,” he said to himself.
Before I sit, I have to come up with a method to handle this one, he suddenly thought and turned to pace his office. Eleven steps to the far wall with its various display screens of Navy ships in the field, their missions and specs displayed in scrolling sidebars. He found the Marwick and saw that it had left for UrPoPo at 2100 hours last night, so Tanner and crew were out of sight for now.
Turning at his display wall, he took the fourteen steps back past his desk to the wall unit that held memorabilia and Navy trophies and a mish-mash of various keepsakes of his from days gone by.
Fingering a few, he remembered that the Lady St. August hadn't actually threatened him with anything he could put his finger on. The fact that she was against Captain Tanner Scott being made a captain was certain; she had said so flatly. Even though he had played a part in the rescue of the hostages, she did remind him that he was an alcoholic. A drinker. A drinker, who imbibed when he sat in the Comm chair on a 600-foot starship, who could cause havoc and yes, even harm to others. A drinker who should not be trusted with any real authority.
She wanted him demoted down to XO but back on a frigate, a demotion that McQueen knew would strip Tanner of any chance of feeling like a Navy man. And she wanted it done yesterday.
He hefted a small carving made from a bone of an animal from a world he had almost forgotten about, carved in the likeness of clouds surrounding an old world sailing ship in the air. And he smiled as he then remembered he'd gotten it at as a gift from one of the officials on the planet Koo back in the Earldom of Kinross. A tech world but some of their artists had a real eye for historical art ... the ship's sails billowed under full wind load and the cannons filled their ports, ready to fire, he'd always felt.
No demotion he'd told the Lady.
No ship changes he'd told the Lady.
His captain had earned that rank with his defense of the frigate Kerry when they were attacked by the Pirates and strengthened it with his defeat of the Pirates of ITO when he captained the Marwick.
He was the admiral who ran the RIM Confederacy Navy, so it was his decision and his alone.
She, of course, was not happy. She used the very veiled threat that one day she would be the Baroness and would move up to sit at the Confederacy Council table. She was also careful to remind the admiral that the Council was the real power in the Confederacy ... and that they were the ones who hired and fired admirals. But one saving grace was that the Baroness herself had posed no such issues to him. In fact, she had joined with the rest of the Council in congratulating him and the Navy, and yes, Tanner too for the help in ridding the RIM of the Pirates. But not her stepdaughter.
The Lady St. August had left in what McQueen would call "a huff" and barked at her EliteGuards as they marched in step out through the admiral's outer offices. She was upset. And she was a Royal.
Turning the carving over and over, he swore about his bad luck on this and wondered just how he'd ever get Tanner out of the bottle. The man had the best sense of 3D spatial relations and could dogfight with anyone anywhere in any kind of a ship. Even this one, he grinned, placed the bone cloud and ship back on his bookcase, and returned to his desk.
Do nothing. Order of the day. But he added as an addendum, to watch Tanner and keep him away from the Lady St. August. “That too was important,” he said to himself as he sat and looked at the day’s orders and knew it was going to be a long, long day.
#
Inward, toward the galactic center, lay the Carina arm, then the Crux arm, and farther still, the Norma arm ... and then the center bulge of the galaxy, where SagA, a huge black hole ate everything that got within range. Stars ... hundreds of millions of them lay between the RIM and the center, but it was here at the end of the Perseus arm where UrPoPo, the last star in the arm, was found. Smaller than most G-class stars and cooler, it still fused hydrogen and threw its sunlight to the planet.
UrPoPo was a full member of the RIM Confederacy and the last star before the blackness of outer space began in this direction. It was the fourth planet from their sun but not the only one that held sentient life ... no there was another.
Occupying the third orbit was another alien life form that by all reports was technologically capable of space flight yet had never ever left their planet, which did not as yet even have a name. Nor for that matter had they responded with any degree of welcome to the RIM Confederacy Ambassadors that had approached this monarchical planet-wide governing body. No answer. Not in seventy years, it was said as they continued to consider the Confederacy offer.
Strange out here on the RIM, Tanner thought as he hefted his plas-cup to his lips, savoring the Scotch and swallowing slowly to prolong the mouth feel of his favorite brand as much as he could. He had to go on duty up on the bridge shortly, but stared for a few of those minutes out his viewport at the blackness and the single star ahead of the Marwick. UrPoPo was the end of the arm here, he knew, as the Marwick suddenly dropped out of FTL and the teensiest of blurs of other galaxies suddenly came into view.
Millions of light years away, they appeared as fuzzy blurred spots of the twentieth and greater magnitudes against the pitch black of space, and while there were few in this direction, Tanner knew there were millions ahead of them, many just so far away that the light had not had enough time to come into view.
He slurped the balance of his Scotch, went to the head, combed his still thick black hair, and checked his shirt. Only a teensy spill on the right side breast pocket flap, and as he tucked it into the pocket, he thought that'd hide it nicely. “Still got my hair,” he said to himself, “with a hint—a bare hint of some gray at the temples.” His eyes were red but then he hadn't slept much on the twenty-three days out from Juno, now had he. He nodded to himself, which made him wince just a bit.
Uh ... maybe ... and he finished that thought by fishing a hangover pill out of the open vial on his bathroom counter and swallowed it dry.
“Done,” he said. “Now ... to the bridge and finding that first boundary buoy,” and he turned toward his cabin door.
"Captain on the bridge," Lieutenant Rizzo said as the Comm officer of the day and all hands saluted as per regulations.
"Acknowledged," Tanner said dryly, "I relieve you too, Lieutenant," and he went directly over to the coffee station and began to build himself a sweet double-double to have to get going. Least that's what the galaxy said; he grinned as he looked down and stirred the mixture and took the captain's chair.
"Bull, what's our twenty?" he said, sipping the hot, hot coffee.
Lieutenant JG Whiteside slid around on his chair from the far side of the bridge and grinned at his captain, his blond head nodding a greeting as he wiped his hands over his khaki duty pants and half-smiled a
t his captain.
"Sir," he said, "we're about one light-year past UrPoPo, out off the RIM, and our first boundary buoy is supposedly ten degrees to port and only ... uh ... 13,000 miles ahead. Sir." He checked his console again, then turned back, and his head tilted.
"Nine degrees, Sir ... sorry." He corrected himself and sat up straighter. Bull ensigns were not supposed to make mistakes, and his face reflected that fact to his captain.
"Close enough, Bull," Tanner said as he ignored the bull's mistake.
"Helm—Lieutenant Framingham, is that you?" Tanner said, noting that his Helm officer had his back turned away from him, but still pretty sure it was him. Wasn't the Scotch, he thought, and weren't his eyes still good?
"Sir, yes, Sir," Framingham answered. He twisted in his chair to face Tanner and nodded in acknowledgment.
"Buoy is identified and it's in the right twenty for same, I take it, Lieutenant?" Tanner said.
Every single one of the dozens of boundary buoys had a spot on the boundary between the RIM and the rest of the galaxy. At more than fifty feet in length and half again as wide, the RIM buoys were an amalgam of mechanical ports, Ansible arrays, and an AI that was top of the line. At least when the buoy was placed, Tanner thought, though in some cases records showed that could have been up to a decade ago.
"Buoy Audit, Ansible?" he called out to Lieutenant Rizzo and waited for the results of the diagnostic tests the Marwick had sent out to the buoy and was receiving back as the various tests were completed.
"Um ... at eighty-six percent, Sir," Rizzo answered, "and should be done in four more minutes. But one thing, Sir, the logs show no entries at all ... no comets, meteors, or strays of any kind—oh, and no Alien invaders either." He said this with a hint of sarcasm, watching the countdown on his screen.
Alien invaders ... on a ”fix-the-boundary-buoy” mission ... hardly, Tanner thought as he swallowed another large gulp of coffee and almost burned his tongue. Like it mattered, this punishment mission.