“Not exactly.”
“Even by a stretch?”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you think they thought was going on?”
He shouldn’t have said that. She wasn’t a fool. He was getting that much. Her captain definitely wasn’t. And if the point hadn’t been to set the blue-coats off, could the situation really be that different . . . out in the Farther Stars? Did they really think they could swagger in, start bad-mouthing the EC . . . and not set the blue-coats off?
“They’re blue-coats. They’re suspicious anyway. And there’s a lot of strangers on the Strip. It’s more people on the Strip than I’ve ever seen. So they’re jumpy. Everyone is, case you haven’t noticed. You came in like the devil was tailing you. You scared hell out of people. Figuring is, now, you meant to scare hell out of us.”
“We had a choice, come in slow, way out, and keep people in suspense for days, or come in fast, and not. And this being a touchy star, yeah, fast, if we were coming in close. By what you say, either way people would be upset.”
“Upset doesn’t cover it. This is Alpha, f’ God’s sake. A short hop from Beta. Bogies coming out of the dark upset people here.”
She tipped her head. “What do you mean?”
“You could have talked! Three hours, the boards had just the incoming message. No ID. No origin. Nothing. And the telemetry, when we saw it . . . God!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m sure we sent the ID. First pulse. Always. I wasn’t on the bridge, so can’t say I saw the button pushed, but I’m sure we did.”
“After.”
“Soon as we could. Standard procedure.”
“You saying station’s to blame? You saying station kept it from us?”
“I’m saying I’m sure bridge sent the ID. Didn’t want to scare anyone. We’re not like that. Captain knows about Beta. We all do. He reminded us, last thing before jump.”
“So you say.”
“No reason, Ross. No reason not to tell.”
Even if she was telling the truth, something about that mysterious entry still rankled.
“You and these other ships. You’re all together. Same reason.”
“Definitely.”
“They knew you were coming.”
“Definitely.”
“So why didn’t they say who it was?”
She blinked. “I . . . don’t know.” She stared into her drink a moment, then pressed her lips against . . . dammit . . . it was that quirky smile.
“What?”
“Well . . . it’s Min. Xiao Min. Little Bear’s senior captain. It wasn’t our Senior Captain’s orders, that silence, I can tell you that much. But Xiao Min. . . . he likes moments . . . if you know what I mean. He . . . reads people, situations, by how they react to moments.”
And Finity’s arrival had definitely been that. And if she was right, if Finity had sent that ID on schedule and it was Abrezio who kept it quiet . . . well, this Min might read something into that, for sure. Ross was trying real hard not to read too much into it himself.
“You’re here. Together. You and these ships. Why?”
“To talk to Alpha merchanters. We want it clear it’s not just Finity on her own. We rep a lot of others, that’s what, and they’re here so it’s not just our word on it.”
“But you won’t say who you rep, and what you’re here to talk about.”
“I can’t say when my captain hasn’t, not even if you were Nav 1. And I won’t. Captains need to hear from captains first. Sorry for that. But I can’t. Your captain will get a call. Likely would have already, if the EC hadn’t interfered.”
That was definite. And he couldn’t work past it. He had to respect her loyalty. Situation reversed, he’d do the same.
“So my captain’s gotten called in by admin. Nav chief’s in infirmary with a head injury. We’re loaded up to go, but we can’t go because Alpha’s not clearing any ship to go, which means our schedule’s screwed and we’re losing income and reputation. It’s kind of a hard day, Jen Neihart. All thanks to your ship.”
“We are so sorry. All I can say. None of us did the shoving. None of us closed those doors. And that’s the truth, too. There was no call for that. There was none of us called for anything that threatened harm.”
“Except saying we should take that ship.”
“Didn’t say you should take it. Said the station should give it to somebody who can handle it.”
“I was there,” he pointed out defensively, but thinking back, he realized she was right.
“And I know the Senior Captain wouldn’t say go take it. That’d be against the law.” Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly and she leaned forward, crossed arms on the table. “Listen, Galway. Something maybe you haven’t thought about. You thought our entry was scary-fast. You say station had three hours of wondering what was coming at them and that made tempers hot. You think about what every other station is thinking and wondering right now, knowing that ship out on A-mast exists, wondering if that ship out on A-mast actually has the same engines as brought Finity in, wondering when that ship might actually make a jump and come into their system with a bunch of novices at the boards trying to remember which way’s up, and maybe not finding it before they blow the station to smithereens. Dunno if that was on my captain’s mind, or Min’s, but it’s something to think about.”
Echo of his own worries, and with fewer unknowns. Those stations further on knew that Rights existed, had seen Finity in action. For nearly twenty years they’d known Rights was coming . . . and then they’d have gotten news of that first trial run and its sudden shut-down, aborting the jump. Bryant’s Station, as their destination, had to be wondering . . . what if that first run hadn’t aborted?
He’d be wondering, too. He’d be worried, if he was stuck on one of those stations, sitting target for a badly aimed bow wave.
“I don’t know, Ross,” she said, face earnest as hell. “I’m not the captain. Not certain why he chose to come in close. I do know we could have come in far and spent days and days meandering in while rumors flew, or we could come in the way we did, and by the way, maybe put the fear of God into some people who had better know what they’re putting into the hands of novices. You’re Nav. You know it. If stationers trained on sims ever take that ship out and don’t plot a careful entry, they’re going to kill themselves, and probably a whole lot of others. If Alpha’s really unlucky, they’re going to survive the trip out and then cash it all in on the way back.”
Was that the real reason they’d come? A dramatic wakeup call to the station? Could it really be no more . . . and no less . . . than that? For years the grim humor on the Strip had centered around the ways in which that sim-trained crew could foul up. That humor had turned black and lost the laughter, thanks to Finity’s entry. That much couldn’t be denied.
She’d relaxed, her point made, and sat, head propped on one hand, the other tracing patterns on the table.
“Alpha is the world of not-going-to-happen,” Ross said, to himself as well as her. “Things hang forever. This is a pusher-world: nothing happens fast. An EC world: everything operates on rules. The blue-coats . . . they got scared. They didn’t have a rule. That’s what happened. Somebody tried to make a fast decision about that meeting and nobody had a rule. So it went every which way.” And with a sense of betrayal in the realization, recalling his own thoughts—that Alpha was the best the First Stars had to offer—and realizing how little that meant, in the world she came from: “There’s only one place more backward than here and that’s Glory, which is down to a few hundred people keeping the lights on. You ever been there?”
“Never, well, not since we were Gaia. Then, yes. Me personally, no. Never. You?”
“Regular. Part of our run. Where’s yours go? Pell?”
“Pell, Viking, Mariner, yeah, definitely. Pe
ll’s our home station.”
Exotic places. Places at the edge of the rest of the universe. The Beyond. Rich places. “Different than here, I’ll imagine.”
She didn’t answer right away, just looked at him. Something in his voice he maybe wished wasn’t. Then: “Every station’s different.”
“What are they like, those places?”
“Viking’s plain, all utilitarian. Lot of bare metal. Noisy. Clangs and thuds and echoes. Mariner’s bright. Lot of color, little shops. Lot of Cyteen stuff coming in there. Pell’s got a lot of color, too. Vid displays everywhere you look. And you got Downers moving about: I’ve seen a couple.”
Downers. the indigenous intelligent species of the planet Pell circled. God.
“I’ve just seen pics,” he admitted, trying to sound casual
“Well, it was off at a distance. Not much more than dots, but they were little. Like youngers. But then Pell’s docks—they’re huge. Makes everybody look tiny.”
Ring-docking. Again. He’d seen pictures, sure. But the sparkle in her eyes, the tone of her voice when she said it—was the awe of someone who’d just impressed hell out of the world he knew. Someone who resonated to those faraway things in a way that told him there were wonders out there she knew, and he had never seen.
I knew me a girl once, Fallan had said, in that same tone. I knew me a girl once. I saw old Gaia after her convert, and I knew me a girl . . .
As the pushers faded, and Gaia changed, and everything changed. And Lisa still remembered him, and he remembered her.
She shouldn’t have looked at me. But she did.
The way, he thought, maybe, he was looking at this girl, off Finity’s End.
And she didn’t turn away.
Their hands rested naturally close to each other on the little table-top. He moved his, stopped, because shouldn’t have was the truth. But dark eyes gazed back, eyes that had seen all those sights, and he stared back, thinking, If—
Her fingers touched his. He felt it. He moved his hand forward, fingers to fingers.
And stopped, thinking: We’re not their match. More than the difference in the ships, what she’d seen, who she’d been with . . . they were biologically close to the same age, but in experience . . .
“I know you’re sitting with your friend,” she said, “and hanging close here. But if you’d like company in the watch, I’d be happy to stay. I’ve got nowhere I really have to be.”
Fingers touching fingers. Fingers curled in fingers, and doubts faded.
“The on-call hospice is two doors over. I’m going to check in there for the night. My com’s tagged to Fallan’s room. I don’t expect a call. They’re just observing, and he doesn’t want me hanging about. But the on-call’s where I’ll be. Company for supper, maybe, if you don’t mind this place, which is what we’ve got.” He gathered nerve to say, “Sleepover, if you like.”
“I don’t know,” she said, and it was a reasonable caution on both sides. Their ships didn’t know each other.
He could be a problem. She could.
But Fallan and a Gaia girl had known each other, in the day.
“Let’s just go where it takes us,” he said. “Supper. I’m buying.”
“Fine with me.” She added, not an objection, “Shares.”
She paid for the drinks. They were hand in hand when they left.
And it was more than supper, after.
Wasn’t her first time, wasn’t his. And between strangers, in a first sleepover and under the circumstances, manners were in order, definitely.
Peacemaking, of a sort. She’d have no bad report of Galway when she met up with her cousins; and he couldn’t say his impression of arrogance in Finity held out in Jen Neihart. She was just, well, sweet, somebody he didn’t know if he’d meet ever again after their respective ships left Alpha, and he damned sure didn’t want her ship trafficking in Galway’s territory—but damn, she was nice, no politicking, no fuss, no complaining, no tale-bearing about some other crew. Just happy. Just—
Damn, he wished she were a Galli or a Rodriguez. He’d be glad to go on seeing her from time to time.
Real glad.
He’d checked in with Galway’s autocall. She’d done the same with Finity’s. Their ships had to know where they were, not necessarily that they were together. He’d also checked in with the infirmary, but the report was “doing fine”; and no call came.
Until morning, when the call sounded loud and clear, and he waked to remember he was in bed with someone. She waked and sat up, sheet fallen to her waist.
“That’s the infirmary,” she said, a fact clear enough on the wall-screen. “God, it’s 0900.”
He reached to the nightstand and punched the button. “This is Ross Monahan. Infirmary?”
An actual human voice said, “Mr. Monahan, your party is ready to check out.”
That was good news. It was real good news.
“I’ll be right there,” he said. “Don’t let him leave. I’m coming.”
“Do I get to meet him?” Jen asked.
“Dress,” he said, and looked for his clothes, which were not neatly bestowed in the only chair, but mixed with hers, on the floor. He didn’t order room lights, just started gathering up his—morning shyness, it was, light only from the bathroom. She hugged the sheet to her and asked, “Can you pass my shirt?”
“Sure.” He did that, snagged his own, sitting on the edge of the bed. He tossed clothes over, and they dressed, quickly, took advantage of the complimentary toiletries, put on boots and jackets, his with the triple knot of Galway on the sleeve, hers with the dark of deep space.
And faced each other.
“Do again?” she asked. “I would.”
“Sure,” he said.
“Tonight?”
“If Fallan doesn’t need me.” He opened the door, handprinting the lock, which sent the tab to Galway’s account. “Let’s help him carry the swag home, get him set up in the sleepover. Maybe we can set up a meeting, him with your Fourth. He might like that.”
“Matchmakers,” Jen said. Her slight smile made a set of mischievous dimples. “I love it. Let’s.”
Chapter 4 Section iv
“I’m fine,” was Fallan’s word. He had a gel-patch on his forehead, the dissolving sort, the card said. He was not supposed to take long walks, exercise, or carry heavy loads for a few days. He was not cleared for duty as yet, and he was damned mad about it.
But: “Who’s this?” Fallan asked when Jen came through the door, and he pushed himself up out of the chair. “Don’t tell me I’d forget this girl.”
“You’ve never met her,” Ross said. “Jen Neihart, Fallan Monahan. Fallan, somebody on Finity says they know you. Old Gaia crew. Name of Lisa.”
Fallan sank back down into the chair. “Don’t kid me, boy. You’re saying Lisa? Lisa Marie?”
“Fourth captain on Finity’s End,” Jen said from the doorway. “Lisa Marie.”
“Good lovin’ God.”
“Your Lisa Marie is evidently who sent you a real expensive bottle of whiskey,” Ross said, while Jen stood in the doorway. “She evidently remembers you, too, she’s real sorry you got knocked down, and I’ll suspect she’s apt to have dinner with you when you can walk without wobbling. Doc says no sex for five days, however.”
“Hell,” Fallan said, pushing himself up again, not quite as easily as he might have. “I’m feelin’ better already. God. Alive and well, and Fourth on Finity’s End, no less.”
“Used to be Senior on Gaia,” Jen said. “Fourth on Finity, yes, sir, absolutely. We call her Mum. Most times we call her Mum.”
“Feeling a lot better,” Fallan said, and grabbed his jacket off the bed. “Dinner, you say. I’ll buy. You tell her so.”
“Later,” Ross said firmly. “Day, maybe two. Right now, you’re going right back to
the sleepover. And no fuss, Fallan Monahan. You’re going to do what you’re told at least for tonight. Niall’s going to be all over me if his nav chief dies of pure stupidity. Just take it easy. I’m sure Jen here will relay a message to your friend.”
“No respect. No respect,” Fallan said, beginning to fuss his way into his jacket. “Your generation, no respect.”
Then he stood still, frowning. “Damn. Niall. Abrezio. How’d that summons come out?”
“No idea,” Ross said. “Sorry to say—I was on-call for some old guy in sickbay. And busy.”
“That what you call it?”
“Come on. Jen, you carry his loot. I’ll see he doesn’t take a dive.”
“Walking just fine, thank you.” Fallan held up his hand, with the blue medical stamp on it. “Got my official release from this damn lockup. Stop for breakfast? Stuff here is crap.”
Chapter 5
Section i
Breakfasts and suppers were how the Family got together, operationally speaking and socially speaking. It was the hour between maindawn and maindark, when all four shifts met, shared meals, talked, and caught up on goings-on during the off hours.
The Zenith restaurant served the Olympian Hotel sleepover, and it truly wasn’t bad, in JR’s estimation. Not so fancy as some, and the offerings on the menu were limited, but they did well with what they had, and the menu had some things Finity’s galley didn’t. The fruit juice was heavily processed, but the local Earth-seed non-processed greens were very good. The pancakes were downright special, and made their way onto plates with steak and salad—first and fourth shifts were having breakfast and second and third were having supper, that being their o’ clock, and, the Zenith being an obliging restaurant, there was no snobbery, no division of menus, no “this is the breakfast chef, this is the supper.” Just mix and match as you liked.
“Better than Bryant’s, by a far distance,” was Fletcher’s judgement, with a lot of agreement.
“No plastic eggs,” Madison said. “How do they make those things? That’s what I want to know.”
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