Wreck of the Nebula Dream

by Scott, Veronica

  Nick shook his head, now not quite meeting her gaze. He had a flashback to the last minutes of his team’s final mission, waiting for the damn evac ship, praying to the Lords of Space for extraction before the enemy arrived, before his men died, until only he was left, gravely wounded, and working clumsily over the sergeant, trying with his limited knowledge to staunch mortal wounds. Then Nick had been left alone with only the fucking information, the data they’d come to steal. But it wasn’t worth the lives of ten good men, no matter what the psych techs said, trying to convince him he’d made the right choices, done the correct things on their mission behind the enemy lines. Ten men died, he survived, although Nick felt at the core of his being he should have died with his team, or else saved them. Ten lives wasted, and for what?

  “For data, a bunch of scientific formulas to maybe give us a clue how to defeat the enemy,” Nick’s throat was raw, acid-scarred, as he forced the words out, “if the secrets get added to enough other bits and pieces of information more good men and women will exchange their lives for.”

  Hearing himself speak out loud, Nick was appalled. When did I start telling all this to her? Must be more drunk than I realized. His cheeks were damp, as if tears had been leaking unnoticed from his burning eyes. Embarrassed, dumbfounded at this unprecedented loss of self-discipline and control, he pulled away from Damais’s gentle hold, to stare into her face.

  She let him go, but then reached in an oddly maternal gesture to smooth the silent tears from his cheeks. The droplets dried under her fingers as if they’d never been shed.

  “I’m sorry, I –” Nick stammered. He stared at the deck, then at Damais, trying to fathom what had happened, what had set him to talking of these subjects. Damn, the last thing I remember is some comment of hers about leaving the cursed Sector. And then I went off on this riff about the disastrous last mission?

  “Perhaps now you won’t have nightmares any longer,” was all Damais said, gazing up at the faux stars for a moment. Bending forward, she picked up her cane again with a stiff, painful stretch, folding her hands neatly around the ivory knob. “Good night, Captain.”

  I know when I’ve been dismissed. He stood up and bowed slightly, then walked away down the long, narrow deck of the observatory. Preparing to descend the stairs at the far end, he took a shaky breath and glanced at the slight, dignified figure of the elderly Mellurean. She remained seated, eyes fixed on the vista she had created. How long was I babbling to her about the mission? He waited in vain for the immediate stab of pain any thought of his lost team or the botched assignment inevitably brought. The poisonous residue of his team’s last mission had resisted the best efforts of the psych techs to neutralize, yielding instead to a few minutes of individualized concentration from the Mellurean Mind.

  Eyes glowing faintly in the dim light, Damais was gazing at him down the length of the observatory deck. She nodded again without smiling.

  “I’ll guard the entry, my lady, until you’re ready to leave,” he said.

  She laughed – a silvery, sweet sound. Impossibly intoxicating, even when a man knew full well it came from lips wrinkled by more than two centuries of living. “None can bother me here, Captain. None can even enter this place unless I will it. You’re the only person I wished to converse with, and now –”

  “Now you’d like to be alone. I get it, madame. Let me bid you good evening, then.” He made her a half bow, oddly pleased with himself that even drunk, he could pull that off without falling down.

  She raised one hand casually and let it fall into her lap, as if carried there by the weight of the great gemmed ring she wore, its varied purple and opalescent stones symbolic of the Mellurean sun and planets.

  Nick paused, one hand on the door latch. Damn it, I have to say it, whether she wants to hear it or not. “Thank you.”

  “For?”

  “Granting me the Peace of Mellure.”

  “You are quite like my son.” Closing her eyes, Damais leaned back. “He would have understood your emotions, your experiences. Hearing them was a gift to me, the opening of a window into a world I couldn’t enter, but where he lived. My son shielded parts of his life from me. I don’t think any other person could have shown me this as you did. So, a gift for a gift. Peace for peace. Perhaps my journey to this forsaken Sector served its purpose after all, even if not as I’d intended, or hoped. Those who tried to dissuade me were wrong. Good night, Captain Jameson.”

  Realizing he was now totally dismissed and to stay would be truly an unforgivable faux pas, Nick left the observatory and marched through the noisy, crowded casino as if he were in a trance. He walked right past the cabin attendant, Helene, of whom he had been thinking superficially earlier, not noticing her, or anything or anyone else as he sought out his cabin on Level Three. He slept a night without nightmares or any dreams at all for the first time in months.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lingering over his synthetic coffee, Nick was staring at the remains of a hearty breakfast the next morning and pondering what to do with his third day on the Dream, how to fill the hours. He’d already been to the Fourth Level and used the gym. This morning, neither attendant had been in evidence. Laid off already? Not likely, not in the middle of a hyperspace run. Maybe reassigned to some other duty.

  Nick had foregone the dubious pleasure of a swim on the Fifth Level, even though he was quite sure he’d have had the beach and pool to himself as well, it being far too early for the ‘Lites to be awake, much less at the “beach.” What I was craving was an anti-grav workout, not swimming.

  Instead he’d showered at the gym and gone to his cabin long enough to change and head out for breakfast.

  “Excuse me, Captain Jameson?”

  Setting his coffee cup on its saucer, Nick eyed the crisply uniformed SMT officer now standing by his table. “Yes?”

  “Second Officer McElroy, sir.”

  Nick rose and they shook hands. “Won’t you join me?” He gestured at the remnants of breakfast on the table. “There’s a bit of synth coffee left in the pot.”

  McElroy shook his head. “No, thank you – had my breakfast a while ago, sir. With the captain’s compliments, I’ve been detailed to give you a tour of the ship today, if you’d like one.”

  Taking a last sip of the now cold coffee, Nick was surprised but willing. “Sure. I understand she has quite a few new features the builders are hoping to offer the military in the next generation of ships.”

  McElroy nodded eagerly. “Yes, right, including the Yeatter engines.”

  “I would like to see those,” Nick said. “I’m not in the regular Navy, but I take an interest in what they fly us Special Forces types around with.”

  Dutifully, the SMT officer chuckled. “Even if the Sectors buy the technology package, I’m sure the ships they design won’t be anything like this one. I flew on enough troop transports during my hitch to know.”

  Nick’s interest was piqued. “Ex-Space Navy, McElroy? Where did you serve?”

  McElroy’s laugh was self-deprecating. “I did the grunt tour. Then I used the veteran’s education benefit to get my inner system flight training. SMT hired me on, and I’ve been working my way up to the interstellar runs ever since.”

  “I didn’t see this tour on the list of cruise amenities the ship is constantly offering me,” Nick said.

  “This is unusual.” McElroy frowned, seeming puzzled himself. “We left you a message in your cabin, but when you didn’t respond, the captain told me to find you in person.”

  “I didn’t bother with the messages,” Nick admitted. “I’d had enough of those already from the Ship itself, extolling the shows and the casino and what have you. Don’t expect any other communications this trip.”

  “We can transmit and receive in hyperspace mode, sir.” McElroy leapt to the defense of his ship. “We have one of the newest transmitters – first one the Sectors ever allowed to be installed on a civilian vessel, in fact.”

  Nick tried not to let his
surprise or his displeasure show on his face. Which heavyweight on the SMT Board ramrodded a favor through official channels? The military tried to keep certain types of technology away from the civvies, afraid they’d fall into the wrong hands. “No disrespect to the Nebula Dream’s capabilities,” he said, smiling at the man’s palpable loyalty to his ship. “I just meant no one’s likely to send me a personal message until we arrive at Sector Hub, since I’m between assignments. A tour of this beautiful lady of yours will be a welcome diversion.”

  “I believe the captain thought so,” McElroy said as they left the dining room. “He’s dedicated to ensuring all the passengers have the best possible experience while aboard one of his ships.”

  “Or maybe SMT felt it had a good public relations opportunity; have a military officer see the ship on its best behavior.” Nick smiled, to take the edge off his cynical remark, as he could tell the young officer was taken aback by his jaded attitude. “Whatever the reason, I appreciate the captain’s courtesy, and yours.”

  Taking the lead, McElroy headed toward the sweeping staircase leading to the upper levels. “We’ll kick off the tour with a brief peek into the control chamber on the bridge, sir. I can introduce you to Captain Bonlors. Then we’ll work our way to the stern and the engines.”

  “Whatever makes sense to you is fine with me. I’m happy to have one day less to find something to do,” Nick said, moving out of the way of a gaggle of giggling ‘Lites as they swarmed past him, on their way to some new experience.

  McElroy led him past Level Two, on toward Level One, then Level B with its dining room, theaters, and shops, Level A with the casino and captain’s dining room, and the command deck above. The young ship’s officer kept giving Nick sideways glances. “You’re not our usual passenger, if you don’t mind my saying so. We don’t get many military fares. Well, actually, none I can recall. Mostly it’s the luxury leisure trade and the business travelers. And the tourists in cryo sleep on Level Six, of course.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. My commanding officer on Glideon was paying off a score against the local SMT agent,” Nick said. “I have to get to Hub as soon as possible, but primarily the colonel was full of himself, ecstatic about finding some obscure clause in the regs empowering him to bump a full-fare passenger and make SMT take me at the government rate.”

  Laughing, they continued up the stairs. The passengers they passed eyed them curiously. We make an odd pair. Nick glanced at his casual khaki pants and serviceable, but obviously old, pullover. McElroy was all spit and polish in his white uniform, trimmed in navy blue. McElroy knew a substantial number of the passengers by name. Building up a potential clientele? For the day he gets a command of his own from SMT? The other passengers probably think I’m either an eccentric generational billionaire, or a stowaway being taken to the bridge before getting thrown in the brig. Smothering a grin, Nick continued in McElroy’s wake.

  Many hours later, nursing a drink in the privacy of his cabin, Nick reflected on what he’d seen. He’d met Captain Bonlors on the bridge briefly before McElroy had whisked him on to a behind-the-scenes tour of the ship’s inner workings. Savoring the brandy, leaning back against the padded headboard – he’d decided the vodka was his undoing, but the brandy was safe – Nick pondered how the Navy ran its ships, lean and mean. This place is totally opposite, off the scale.

  Of Nebula Dream’s large contingent of crew, about two hundred were actually devoted to operating the ship. The majority were service workers, pampering and entertaining the high-paying passengers. The largest concentration of the technical crew members dealt with operation of the cutting-edge Yeatter engines, and had been pulled from all over the SMT fleet to staff the Dream. Some, like the gym attendants, had been hired especially for this cruise and had never even shipped out interstellar previously, which gave Nick pause. This was the crew’s first cruise together, according to McElroy.

  “This is my first cruise with Captain Bonlors, actually,” he’d informed Nick. “Although the Fourth Officer and I were on the SMT Star Dream together. And I understand the First and Third Officers are old hands with this captain. There was a bit of a fuss over who was going to be Second, in fact. The captain favored promotion for Third Officer Mallory, since they served together, but the Line is pretty strict on seniority, and I’ve got the edge there.” McElroy had rolled his shoulders and straightened with satisfaction. “I pulled all the favors I could to get this assignment. I wanted to serve with Bonlors. He has an excellent reputation, good with the passengers, as I was telling you. I’ve learned a great deal already, watching his interactions with them. Some of the First Level passengers will only travel with him, arranging their cruises to coincide with his schedule.”

  “A high compliment indeed, coming from such a finicky crowd,” Nick had said amiably. Hmm, hope his command staff knows what they’re doing, then. Not sure I like the idea they’ve been pulled from all different ships, no shakedown cruise together.

  The engine control chamber at the stern of the ship had been the end of the tour. Nick met the ship’s engineering officer, who was actually one of the designers of the Yeatter engine system. From the latter, Nick absorbed more than he ever wanted to know about the specifications and capabilities of the new propulsion drive. After a while he stopped listening, but kept the interested expression plastered on his face.

  If the Yeatters proved themselves on this maiden run of the Nebula Dream’s, if they broke the speed records SMT was going for, then Yeatter stood to capture a large chunk of the civilian and military starship propulsion business for decades to come. At the current rapid rate the Navy was commissioning new ships, substantial credits were at stake. Billions to be made or lost, probably. Not enough credits on my military pay to buy any stock!

  Nick stood on the engineering observation bridge for a long time, watching the violent interplay of energy between each of the four massive Yeatter units, as they switched between themselves, keeping the Nebula Dream moving forward through space at an even speed. Not only was there an ongoing, spectacular display of visual, rainbow-hued auroras and bolts of power leakage, but according to McElroy, other forms of energy interchanged, invisible to the human eye. Inefficient? So much excess energy going to waste? Nick shrugged. I’m no propulsion engineer. And the physics had gone way over his head, when the SMT design engineer launched into them, glad to have a military contact to lecture on the properties of his engines.

  It was hard to stop staring at the bank of Yeatter units, Nick found. After a while the brain identified recognizable pictures in the display, much as it does when watching a mundane fire burn in a fireplace, or clouds moving across a planetary horizon. At one point he thought he saw a vivid depiction of a man’s face in the corona around engine Number Four. It was so distinct and so unpleasant – the face was contorted as if screaming in anger or fear – or warning? – he took an involuntary step backward, blinking. The image was gone when he reopened his eyes.

  “And does the ship’s AI control this?” Nick asked McElroy, who also appeared to be hypnotized by the sheer power of the engines.

  Shaking his head, the SMT officer broke his visual lock on the energy display flaring beyond the half-meter-thick, protective shielding. “No, the engines are independent of the AI. They coordinate with each other, through a special interlock adapter developed specifically to handle their demands.” He pointed toward the top of the unit closest to them. Reluctantly Nick allowed himself to gaze where McElroy was indicating. I don’t want to imagine that face again; too close to my nightmares.

  “You can’t see it,” the SMT officer was remarking, and for one wild second Nick thought he meant the screaming face, but then he took a deep breath and focused in on the explanation about the adapter, which of course was what McElroy was talking about. “It’s mounted inside the nacelle. I guess you could say the adapter is the key to the whole thing, because without it, you can’t keep multiple Yeatters running in sync. One is good but hardly sufficient
to shove this beast of a ship along at the kind of speeds we want. Need to arrive at Sector Hub within the passengers’ normal life span, after all.” McElroy chuckled at his own small gibe.

  Mulling this explanation over, and adding it to the previous facts he’d been given on the Yeatters, Nick knew he was frowning. Awful lot depending on the adapter technology. In the big, multi-engine military cruisers and battleships, there were redundancies, and the ship’s AI kept in close, controlling contact with its subnet in the propulsion bay. You didn’t want to lose power in the middle of a running battle with the Mawreg, for example. Nick was mildly curious enough to want clarification. “So the Dream can’t even monitor the engines herself?”

  Clearly not seeing any problem with the setup, McElroy shook his head. “No need, since she isn’t involved with their operation, beyond transmitting orders from the bridge.”

  “Well, thanks for the tour. Don’t know if I’m as impressed by the new engines as I expected I’d be,” Nick admitted candidly as they took their leave of the engineering officer.

  McElroy just smiled, a bit smug. “Wait till we arrive at Sector Hub three standard days ahead of schedule, and you will be.”

  Nick did a double take. “Did I hear you right? We’re going to beat the record by three days?”

  Nervously, McElroy checked to see who might be in earshot before he answered. “Yes, but I probably shouldn’t have told you. Are you in the pool on arrival time?”

  “No, no, don’t worry, I won’t say a thing. I’m not much of a gambler, so I didn’t get in on the betting.” Nick grinned. “Trust me, the Ship offered. The Ship excels at communicating when it comes to things like the arrival pool.”