In a corner of the display, the mission timer reached five minutes.
Dana announced, “Everything continues to look good. We’ve cleared the orbits of the innermost satellites.”
To Rikki’s right, the woman grunted, “How long?”
“Will we be accelerating?” Rikki guessed. “I have no idea.”
There must have been an open mike in the crew quarters, because Dana answered. “Better get used to it.”
“I was used to it,” the woman said, her voice a soft, airy contralto. “Then I moved to Mars.”
Rikki had guessed as much. Li was petite, even by Earthworm standards.
“And where are we going?” Li’s companion demanded.
“Another few minutes,” Dana said, “and we’ll be clear of most traffic. Then we’ll talk.”
*
The bulkhead display at which Rikki stared flipped to the interior of the bridge. Blake and Dana, in the gimbaled pilot and copilot chairs, hardly seemed inconvenienced by the acceleration. Earth-normal, Rikki supposed, struggling to see how “normal” could describe any aspect of this situation.
Certainly the stoical expression on Blake’s face wasn’t normal. The mask might fool the others, but she knew. He was terrified.
Dana said, “I’d join you if I could. The conversation we must have should be done face to face. That’s not practical.”
Because under acceleration, with the four of them splayed across the aft-bulkhead-become-deck, Dana would have had to hang like a bat from the forward-bulkhead-become-ceiling. Rikki swallowed the laughter that ached to burst from her. If she allowed it to start, it might never stop.
Dana said, “For what it’s worth, Neil Hawthorne asked me to extend his deepest apologies.”
“His goons abducted me,” Carlos said. “For what it’s worth, apology rejected.”
“He saved your life.” Dana waved off Carlos’s protest. Her eyes darted. Below the view of the camera, her hands did—something.
Rikki gasped as the ship slewed. Safety-harness straps cut into her left side. Their acceleration surged.
“Sorry about that,” Dana said. “As for Neil Hawthorne, hear me out before you condemn him. I don’t believe any of us knows everyone, so introductions first. I’m—”
“The pleasantries can wait,” Carlos interrupted. “I want to know—”
“You’ll know soon enough,” Dana said, with undertones of careful what you wish for. “I’m Dana McElwain, formerly of the Space Guard, and the captain of this vessel. Clermont is, was, owned by Percival Lowell University, which is to say, by the state.”
“I’m Blake Westford, ship’s engineer.”
“Captain, why was I shanghaied?” Carlos demanded. “Why did Hawthorne’s goons ransack my lab? Why—”
“Do you have a name?” Dana asked icily.
“As if you don’t know,” he huffed. “I am Dr. Carlos Patel. I hold the Francis Crick Chair in microbiology and nanotechnology at Bradbury University.”
Despite the brutal acceleration, Rikki risked turning and raising her head. Patel was taller than she. A native Martian, too, most likely. And he was hairy, with a shaggy mop of black hair, a bold, drooping mustache, and tufts sprouting from the collar of his jumpsuit. Hairy, haughty, and hawk-nosed.
“And you, Miz?” Dana’s voice changed. “Hold on, everyone.”
As the ship veered, this time the safety harness mashed Rikki’s right side.
“Can you not fly in a straight line?” Carlos snapped.
“Not today,” Dana said cryptically. “Miz?”
“I’m Li Yeo,” said the petite woman beside Rikki. Li was fine-boned, with expressive brown eyes, flawless complexion, and long, straight, raven hair—in a word, lovely. She might have been any age from forty to sixty. Something about her level gaze impressed Rikki as shrewd. “I’m a psychiatrist, specializing in family issues. Couples counseling, problem children, that sort of thing.”
“A medical doctor, then, too,” Dana said.
“Of course, by training. It’s been a while.”
“Why don’t we finish the introductions?” Dana said. “Antonio?”
“Antonio Valenti. Astrophysicist. Lowell…University.”
Leaving Rikki. She said, “Rikki Westford. Science historian.” Of late unemployed, or self-employed, take your pick, working on a book. Readership at most six, if she finished it.
A cackle tried once more to escape from her.
“Science generalist,” Dana said, “and I predict we’ll make use of that big-picture perspective. A biologist before that.”
Who here would a B.S. in biology impress? Having her qualifications defended only made Rikki feel more insecure. And why had Dana defended her?
“And that’s everyone,” Dana said. “Thank you.
“You now know, even if you first learned of it on the drive from New Houston, that a gamma-ray burst is aimed at us. The likely outcome is mass extinctions across the solar system. Governments on Earth, Mars, and elsewhere have been working frantically to construct new ‘habitats’ that are, in fact, colony ships. That’s why a few of us had been prepping to take this ship on a scouting mission.”
“A colony where?’ Carlos said. “You said the whole solar system was at risk.”
Dana said, “Alpha Centauri, precise destination to be chosen on the scene, because from this distance none of the planets looks all that hospitable. Unfortunately, the most recent data shows that we have only months until the GRB hits.”
Months? They had been told years! As Rikki turned toward Antonio for confirmation, the ship again zigged. Her stomach lurched.
“It’s true.” Antonio’s chin sank to his chest. “The closer the neutron…stars inspiral, the stronger…the gravitational waves they emit and…the shorter the…wavelength. The less…ambiguity in the signal. Older gravitational…wave observatories can now…detect the stronger, faster signal so…we can better triangulate to…the source. The GRB…hits Sol system in about eight…months.
“Put it all…together and…it now looks like Sol system will…be about…one-fourth light-year…from the beam edge. It will take us almost…eight months…just to get clear.”
“So what’s the point?” Rikki raged. “There’ll be no one for us to scout for. The new colony ships won’t, can’t, be completed in that time, much less get clear. Suppose we few do escape the burst. It will only prolong the mourning.”
“I don’t…know.”
“Then what are we doing?” Rikki asked.
“I don’t know,” Antonio whispered. “Hawthorne…he heard my news this morning, and….” The words faded to unintelligibility.
“Hawthorne heard you, and what?” Carlos demanded.
“And…so, we’re here.” Antonio rubbed his chin. “I suspect Hawthorne or…the governor…worried this might…happen. That our preparations would…be cut short.”
“There is a plan,” Dana said. “Thanks to Neil Hawthorne.”
A plan for the six of them? That was nonsense, Rikki thought. Only Blake’s steady gaze kept back her insane cackle.
Dana said, “Everyone, listen. Hawthorne had troops break into a fertility clinic. They stole several freezers of frozen embryos, and the artificial wombs to bring them to term. And with no time to explain himself, or ask anyone’s permission, he brought together the right people, with the right skills, for us to complete the mission.
“Li, to help us raise and nurture a new generation. Carlos and his nanotech gear, to help us fabricate the tools we forgot or lack the space to carry. Antonio, to guide us on our way and plumb the secrets of new worlds. Blake, to keep our ship humming. Rikki, to fill in the gaps between specialties.”
Then we’re screwed, Rikki thought.
Blake leaned toward the camera. “And Captain McElwain to make it work. To make us work. We all follow her orders.”
Dana flashed Blake a glance that was thanks and don’t interrupt all in one. “Humanity still has hope—if we rise to th
e occasion, if we pull together to complete this trip.”
Carlos said, “You believe this can work? Honestly?”
“Yes, I believe it.” Dana’s eyes blazed. “You will, too. You all will. There is no alternative. There are no do-overs. Failure is not an option.”
“And Hawthorne?” Rikki had to ask. “This is his plan. He chose the people. Why isn’t he aboard?”
For the first time in the years Rikki had known Dana, she was speechless.
At last Dana said, “Government representatives today stole thousands of people’s dreams, their babies. People will demand explanations, to know who is responsible, and to see justice done.”
“The embryos have no more future than anyone else,” Li protested. “Not left on Mars.”
Dana said, “Ignorance of the coming disaster is an act of mercy, and keeping that secret means there is no justification for the theft. Hawthorne stayed behind because he wouldn’t let anyone take the blame for actions he had ordered.”
“Then we…?” Rikki choked, unable to put the implication into words.
Dana nodded. “As far as the public is concerned, we six are among Hawthorne’s fellow cultists. We hijacked the Titan ship, plotting to create a utopian society from the stolen embryos.” The ship swerved and decelerated. Seconds after, it reaccelerated. “That’s why we have every Mars-based Space Guard cutter chasing us, and doubtless Belt-based cutters yet to come into our radar range. That’s why I keep taking evasive maneuvers. For what it’s worth, the Guard ships can’t maintain a pursuit for long. Without a DED, they don’t have the range.”
Li asked softly, “What happens next?”
Dana said, “Neil stayed behind to do his duty as he saw it. He expects us to do ours. We will not fail him.”
8
“This isn’t like you, Dana,” said the familiar voice. “You help people. Don’t ask me to believe otherwise.”
The words pierced like a knife.
Dana’s final four years in the Space Guard, she had served under Fred Torrance. On the comm display, seated amid the familiar hushed bustle of the bridge crew, Fred looked older and wearier than she remembered him.
Dana felt old and weary, too. She reached to toggle the transmitter to on— And pulled back. What did she have to say?
Hours ago, Mars had fallen off her situational display. One by one, the ships in pursuit had turned back. Low on fuel? Recalled on some pretext?
But one ship remained in the chase. The blip, not even three light-seconds behind, showed the transponder code for Reliance. Fred’s ship. Dana’s old ship.
The governor, if she was interceding, had waited too long. At this distance, at these speeds, the odds of tracking a ship, much less of getting a message through to it, were slim to none.
And if Hawthorne’s self-sacrifice had failed to contain the scandal? Then Governor Dennison was embroiled, too. Best not expect relief from that source.
“Talk to me,” Blake said. “What are you thinking?”
“That’s my old ship, and my old captain,” Dana said.
“He doesn’t understand,” Blake answered gently. “He can’t.”
“I’m listening, Dana,” Torrance urged.
She opened a two-way channel. “I won’t permit you to dock, Captain.”
Apart from the light-speed lag, Torrance’s response was immediate. “I’m no longer your superior officer, Dana. We’re two old friends, just talking. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Hawthorne can explain when you get back to Mars.” He’ll have to be the one to explain, she thought. I don’t know enough not to contradict his cover story.
“Stealing a ship? Stealing unborn children? Messianic cults? That’s not you, Dana. I refuse to believe any of it.”
“Believe all of it.” Because this was how she would be remembered—for the few months anyone had left.
Blake laid a hand on hers. “Break the link,” he mouthed.
She shook her head.
Torrance said, “Do you remember rescuing the survivors on Logan?”
He was appealing to her better nature, and she chose to misunderstand. “Did you imagine docking with Logan was hard? This isn’t a derelict, inanimate. If you do catch up, this ship will be bobbing and weaving, spinning and tumbling. I won’t let you dock.”
“Nor do smugglers,” Torrance said. “You know the drill, Dana. Don’t force me.”
“We’ve distributed embryo banks throughout Clermont,” Dana lied. “Do anything to disable this ship, and it’s almost certain you’ll destroy hundreds of embryos.”
Silence stretched. Had she gotten through to him? Disgusted him?
“If I have to stop Clermont, the consequences are on your head,” he said coldly. “We will catch up. We almost have. Reliance began this chase with full tanks.”
Dana froze the link, audio and vid. “They can sustain three gees. If they set out with full tanks, they will overtake us.”
Blake hesitated. “What if…?”
“If what?”
“What if we stepped it up to three gees? Maybe a touch more? Would they give up the chase?”
“They would have no choice, but aren’t we topped out?” Dana hated to think about how their passengers were faring after a day at a sustained two gees. But Blake knew about them, too.
“Yeah, a hair above two gees is the DED’s limit. But suppose we also fire up our fusion drive?”
They had never tried running both drives in tandem. With good reason: the bridge controls and sensors weren’t configured or calibrated for that. And what if they needed all their deuterium on the other side?
Because she had to believe they would make it to the other side.
“Let’s try another way first,” Dana said. “Do you trust me?”
“With my life.” Blake grinned. “Every time we launch.”
She reopened the comm channel. “Are you sure you want to know what this is about, Fred?”
“That I am.”
“Only you,” she told him. “No recording, either.”
“Hold on.”
Fred’s image froze. When the display returned to life, minutes later, the backdrop had changed.
In Dana’s years aboard Reliance, she had been to the captain’s cabin maybe a half-dozen times: sometimes to give her candid opinion, twice to get chewed out. She recognized the cabin’s tidy compactness. The holos on the bulkhead behind Fred were new to Dana, but without question were of his wife and sons.
At three gees his trek from the bridge would have been brutal.
Fred had put on earphones. He asked, “Is this private enough?”
“If what we’re seeing is real,” Blake whispered.
“Yes, sir,” Dana said. And she explained.
When she had finished, Torrance asked, “That’s the truth?”
“Every word,” she said. “I’m sorry beyond words that I had to tell you.”
“From you, I believe it.” Torrance saluted. “It has been an honor, Commander. Godspeed.”
The comm display went dark.
“Godspeed to us all,” Dana said.
Ten minutes later, the radar blip that stood for Reliance began to fall back.
9
Dana checked the console chronometer yet again. They had been boosting at two gees uninterrupted for almost six hours. It was past time to give her passengers another respite—That must soon become a session at hard labor.
“Throttling back to one-third gee,” she announced, “in three…two…one…now.”
Over the intercom she heard a ragged chorus of cheers.
Blake unbuckled from his acceleration chair. “Damn, that feels good.”
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Dana advised him. She went on the intercom again. “Forty-five minutes of free time.” That meant taking turns with the bathroom and sonic shower, and grabbing a snack from the galley. “After that, we have work to do.”
“Go ahead,” Blake suggested. “I’ll hold the fort.”
“In good time.” Because passengers came first. Her eyes closed, Dana said, “Marvin, you have the conn. If we come within two minutes of hitting anything, tell me. If we’re within thirty seconds, sound the collision alarm and dodge. Other than that, maintain this course and acceleration. Understood?”
“Understood, Captain.”
“And Marvin, tell me when ten minutes are up. Wake me if necessary.” Not hearing the rustle of Blake getting out of his seat, without opening her eyes, Dana said, “Go see your wife.” And still not hearing him move, she added, “That’s an order, sailor.”
The chair beside her finally creaked. Blake said, “If I don’t see you in the galley in fifteen minutes, I’m mutinying.”
She faked a snore, and he left, chuckling.
Marvin did have to wake her. Yawning, she went through the hatch to the crew quarters.
The little fold-down table had been deployed, and Li and Carlos sat across from each other. Carlos had a cigar in his hand. He sniffed and stroked it before, with a sigh, tucking it away into his shirt pocket. (The last cigar you’ll ever have, Dana thought. And also: I wouldn’t fondle a cigar in front of a shrink.) Antonio stood in the narrow galley, rubbing his chin, intent on the disordered contents of the pantry. Blake and Rikki stood together in a corner, whispering.
After hitting the head and a quick sonic cleansing, after polishing off the sandwich and both juice bulbs Li had given her, Dana felt almost human.
“What’s next, Dana?” Carlos asked.
“Captain,” she corrected. A ship isn’t a democracy.
“Fine,” Carlos said. “What’s the plan, Captain?”
This one will be trouble, Dana decided. “You accompany Blake to the engine rooms. He’s going to start showing you maintenance procedures.”
“I meant longer term than twenty minutes from now, but all right.” Carlos glanced toward the Westfords. “What’s the purpose of me tagging along? You have an engineer.”
“I believe you said you hold ‘the Francis Crick Chair in nanotech?’”
He actually preened. “Microbiology and nanotechnology.”
“I heard ‘tech,’” Dana said. “No one else aboard can say that. If it makes you feel better, I expect you to train Blake to back you up.”
Dark Secret (2016) Page 5