“Jimbo, can you do me a favor?” she asked.
“Name it.”
“Remind me to kick Shaw's ass when I get back.”
Jim smiled. “Roger that.”
“Oh, and remind me to take a nice relaxing vacation. Something medieval, like maybe a couple of weeks on the rack or a round of waterboarding,” Hume said.
“You're right on track. The perfect flight path. Really damn good, for full manual.”
“Tell Shaw I said, 'Fuck you.' Okay, Jimbo? Feels like the goddamn nanites are eating me alive. I’m so awake, so alert, I can't ignore them. And, whatever else she gave me isn’t suppressing the pain, I just don't give a shit.”
“That is only part of the plan,” Jimbo joked.
“Did I tell you I loaded up the collection of First Century Films into my HUD? You know those classic films Barcus loved so much, but I never watched. Movie nights in the back of Peck's Halfway. The 1G pub.” She said.
“Are you okay, Hume? Seriously?” Worthington asked.
“I just finished one called It's a Wonderful Life. Ever see it, Jimbo? The faces of those people. The way they lived. Happiness and despair.”
“Hume?” Jim asked. He muted the transmission and called out, “Ben! Get Dr. Shaw on the link. NOW!”
“I have watched thirteen films, so far. Have you ever seen a real horror film, Jimbo? I watched one called Night of the Living Dead. I'm glad I have a catheter because I would have pissed myself, otherwise,” Hume said.
“I thought you were fearless, Hume,” Jim said, trying to engage her.
“So did I! No more horror for me. I can't believe people just think that shit up.”
“Keep her talking. I'm monitoring her vitals,” Shaw said, on a side channel.
“What will you watch next, Hume?” Jim asked.
“One called The Maltese Falcon. I flew a Falcon-class deep space fighter craft once. Best inertia dampeners, ever. Want to watch it with me?” Hume asked.
“I'd like that, Hume. As long as I don't distract you,” Jim said, and then muted the connection. “She sounds drunk, Shaw. Is this what you expected?” he demanded.
A window opened in his personal HUD. An image of a lion roared.
“She is amazing, Captain. She is doing great. Don't worry. You won't distract her. I will keep monitoring. Just be with her,” Shaw said. She sounded optimistic.
***
They took turns. Hume never noticed the shift changes. She stopped noticing that the people speaking to her changed every four films or so.
Her HUD fed Hume navigation data that she never deviated from. Jim began to relax after the second scheduled ‘stretch’ where Hume left the cockpit and moved in free fall, to keep her limbs alive.
Jim started to worry, again, during the 111th hour.
Hume became quiet.
“Hume, we have time for a couple more films before the entry point. What's up next?” Jim asked. Jim and Cook were on the bridge of the Memphis now. The full tactical display was up on the main screen, showing the remaining flight path.
“Hume?” Jim repeated.
“Where's Sharon? I miss Sharon,” Hume said.
“What?” Jim asked, looking at Cook.
“Is Sharon Hamilton mad at me? You know, because I was following her?” she asked.
Something occurred to Worthington, just then. He muted Hume. “Ben, locate Sharon Hamilton.”
“Sharon Hamilton is currently off-line,” AI~Ben replied.
“When was the last time anyone saw Hamilton?” Jim received no response from the people on the bridge. “Cook, find her. NOW.”
Cook rose and left the bridge.
Jim spoke to Hume, “Hume, why were you following Sharon?”
“The weapons locker. I thought it might be her.” She seemed sleepy.
“Dr. Shaw. Status,” Jim demanded.
“Her heart rate is elevated. The nanites are really putting it to her. She has a fever that is higher than I’d like. She is also saving the last of the liquid nourishment for just before the insertion.
“Sir, the sensor package is indicating the cockpit is running hot. She needs to roll away from the sun.”
“Hume, listen to me. You need to turn away from the sun, to cool off the cabin,” Jim said.
She didn't reply.
There was a delay now, of a few seconds, due to the distance.
“It’s beautiful you know…Tell Dr. Shaw I'm not feeling so good right now,” she said, slurring her words.
“Jim, she’s drifting off course,” Muir said.
On the tactical, the perfect green line separated into a blue and a red line, they were no longer synchronized.
“Hume, you are off course. Look at your display,” Jim said.
“So sorry...please...no...” Hume was choking, then they heard her vomit inside her helmet.
Dr. Shaw got on the comm. “Hume, use the evacuator for the vomit. Don't breathe it in!” Dr. Shaw frantically pressed controls. They heard more choking and coughing.
“Help. Me. God…No...” There was more vomiting.
Dr. Shaw typed, furiously.
“Dr. Shaw,” Jim said, calmly. “Talk as you work.”
“I activated the helmet suction, remotely, but there is a lag. If she breathes it in, there is no way to help her. I have applied the emergency meds we prepped. It's up to her, now.”
There was more coughing, and then, silence. The seconds dragged.
“Hume, talk to me, please,” Jimbo said.
There was a long pause.
“Just when I thought this hell couldn't get any worse, he fucking says 'Please’,” Hume said, between spitting sounds. “I'm here, Jimbo. Tell Shaw I think I just started my period, to top off everything else.”
“Thank you, Hume,” Jim said.
“Just fucking great. Please and thank you? I must be in serious, goddamn trouble. The rest of this flight is really going to suck now,” Hume said, sounding more alert than she had in days.
“She has brought it back on track, Jim,” Muir said.
“Jimbo, when was the last time anyone saw Hamilton?” Hume asked.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Coff
“In the cave time had stopped. Days and weeks and months went by and I hand stopped counting. I wasn’t running from anything or toward anything. I was lost. Then Coff arrived.”
--Solstice 31 Incident Investigation Testimony Transcript: Master Chief Nancy Randall, senior surviving security member of the Ventura's crew.
<<<>>>
Coff slowly approached the cottage. There must have been 100 candles lit in there.
“Coff, come in,” Tannhauser said, from one of the chairs in front of the fire. “Warm yourself.”
“Have you eaten? We have some rabbit pie left,” Vi said, from the kitchen.
“Tan? Vi? What is going on here? We need to get out of here. Now.” He pointed out the still open door. “I will explain, later. Come.”
“Coff, it's alright, they won't hurt you, if you just sit and let us explain,” Tannhauser said, from the armchair as Coff came another step deeper into the room.
The door clicked closed behind him.
“I insist,” Rand said, from the now-closed door that she had been standing behind.
Coff stumbled backward, away from her, and deeper into the large room. He drew his knife and pointed it toward Rand, more as a talisman than a weapon.
Everyone ignored his near panic.
“Tan, you don’t understand. She’s a witch. She can…There’s a thing out there…” At that point, he slipped entirely into Common Tongue. Rand understood perhaps one word in ten. Coff was not telling them anything they did not already know.
Eventually, Vi came up to him, took him by the elbow and led him to the chair at the far end of the large dining table.
She forced him into the chair like a child, then said, “Yes, yes, we know that and much more. There is no need to fear. Have some food first and settle in a
bit.”
She went to the kitchen as he sat there, knife still in hand. But, what made him relax was the fact that Rand casually sat down in the chair opposite Tannhauser and took off her boots.
He watched as first one, then the other, and even her socks, came off. She reclined back, flexing her toes toward the fire. Rand would learn, later, that removing your boots in front of someone was a gesture of deep trust, in their culture.
Tannhauser went back to the leather he was working into something, as Vi set a tray in front of Coff with bread, cheese, a rabbit pie and a steaming hot mug of soup.
A moment later, she returned with a large mug of ale.
Coff took the ale first. After two long pulls, he looked up at Vi.
She glanced at the large hunting knife he still held and raised an eyebrow at it.
Coff looked at it and was almost startled it was there in his hand.
He took another drink.
Vi spoke softly, gently, even though her words were weighty, serious. “Rand is our friend. She has proven that, time and again. If she had wanted to kill you, you would not have seen it coming. She told us about meeting you. About what happened.”
“I apologize for the pain I caused you, Coff,” Rand said. “I trust there were no lasting, ill effects.”
Coff didn’t reply. She knew she had not permanently damaged him.
Vi continued, while still standing at his elbow, “Mercenaries followed us from above the gorge. They captured us and tortured us.”
Coff looked at Vi then, to judge her words. He saw the scar on her face that had not been there the last time they met. He had seen the High Keep’s soldiers torture people this way.
“She saved us.”
“Tan, I never knew you to dance around an anvil, so casually,” Coff said, as Rand rested her head back and closed her eyes.
“We owe Rand our lives. Who do you owe?” Tannhauser said.
Rand’s eyes were closed, but she watched Coff, carefully, via the Fly drone. Tannhauser’s last comment struck Coff like a slap.
He said nothing and sipped his soup before it got cold.
***
“This would be simpler, if he were to just allow Keeper Kochan to land his shuttle on the Citadel’s roof landing pad,” Mason complained, knowing he would be saddle sore tomorrow.
High Tracker Tolwood laughed. “Go ahead. Tell him that.”
Mason blanched at the thought, as they passed through the Citadel gate to the mountainside road. It was steep and had little protection from the edge, as they descended a gentle road that had many switchbacks.
Before the first turn, he twisted in his saddle, to look back. He could see his personal balcony from there.
Ty stood on the balcony railing, where it met the farthest wall, just as he told her. He saw her. He saw that she was naked, for him. A good girl. He would reward her.
As they neared the bottom, the road widened, but stayed beside the sheer wall that climbed up to the Citadel. Side streets intersected the highway there. At one of these side roads, a team of horses and a heavy cart stood, waiting for them.
They rode by it without pausing, and the team fell in behind them.
It took the better part of an hour to reach Keeper Kochan’s estate. It was sprawling and opulent. Grooms, on ponies, met them as they passed through the main gates, and led them to the landing pad.
The black, stone statue that fell from the sky lay in the center of the large, flagstone pad. Tolwood leaned over to Mason and spoke in low tones. “They ended up destroying three wagons getting it here, so far. The last one, while it was en route. To off-load the statue, they had to secure it to that tie-down block and fly the shuttle out from under it.”
As they dismounted, they saw the men had erected a tripod of long, thick beams and had attached a large block and tackle.
The workmen paused, briefly, to bow as they worked. Tolwood knew they planned to raise the statue and then back the wagon up, to lower it on. The process would be reversed at the Citadel.
The manor staff waited. “Please follow me, my Lords. I will show you where you can wait and refresh yourselves.
They entered a large house next to the landing paddock. It was impressive, for a guesthouse.
They were left in a parlor, filled with sofas and chairs and six fireplaces. Mason made a line straight for the side tables that were heavy with foods of all kinds.
Servants were scattered all over the room, as perfectly placed as the furniture. As Tolwood snagged a strip of bacon and bit it, his eye was drawn to a flash of red hair.
He walked over to the girl. Her head was properly bowed to the floor, presenting the nape of her neck.
“What is your name?” Tolwood asked, quietly.
“Fa, my Lord.” Her voice trembled as she recognized his High Tracker tabard.
Tolwood popped the button at the nape of her neck and her dress fell into a pool at her bare feet. Her skin was pale, her shoulders and her breasts were freckled.
Without a word, he took her by the braid and walked to one of the side rooms. “Don’t bother me, until I’m finished,” Tolwood said to Mason, who had just completed filling his heaping plate.
“Mmm-mm,” was all Mason managed, since he carried a pastry in his mouth.
Tolwood and the girl disappeared.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Hammerhead Probe
“Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but if you are attempting to prove that we were insane, that Hammerhead run is all the proof you need from me.”
--Solstice 31 Incident Investigation Testimony Transcript: Lieutenant Valerie Hume, the security chief on the Memphis.
<<<>>>
Hume had been decelerating for the last ten hours. By the time she neared the hole, her speed would be less than 100 kph.
“Hume, you are now on the correct vector, heading, and speed for the run. You need to begin the roll and then shut the grav-foils completely down,” Muir said.
“I know. I know. How many times do we have to go over that? Jesus, this is going to suck.” She belched. “Doc can you hook me up with more nausea suppressors, love? I'm dead, if I start puking again at high rpm. Plus, there will be no comms link once I start the run, until I’m down on the surface, in a few hours. I will need to pull up and grav down, slowly.”
“Use the turbines as soon as you can. They will help slow your descent. The descent max is 300 kph. Though, 100 kph will still get you down, on a cold descent, in less than an hour,” Jimbo reminded her.
Hume took a deep breath.
“Whatever that was you just gave me, doc, bless you,” Hume said.
“You now have all the updated surface maps we could render. You also have the last known coordinates of the EMs on the surface,” Cook stated.
“You should be on the surface in less than three hours. We don't lose line of sight there for eight hours.”
Everyone went quiet for a minute.
“I love you guys,” Hume said. “Beginning the roll.” They lost contact before anyone could tell her anything.
***
Hume had programmed her HUD to give her a normalized, tactical view of her progress. Once she got the roll going and the grav-foils shut down, she hugged herself and closed her eyes. In her vision, there was no spin, and no spattered, bloody vomit smeared on the inside of her visor. There was just a small, spinning icon, on the inside of an array of small sats.
The passive sensors in the package filled her HUD with extremely high-definition imagery, as she passed through the hole. She watched the progress drop from -10km, to -5km, to -1km, and then to zero. It flipped to 1km, 5km, 10km, and at 20km, she reached for the controls and slowly stopped the spin.
She opened her eyes. She was alive. She raised the puke-covered, polarized, inner visor to a much clearer outer visor.
The grav-foils initiated and the acceleration stopped. Her descent rate slowed and stabilized at 100 kph at about 50km from the surface.
; She fired up the turbines, and the engines easily took hold of the craft. Hume had forgotten how high the performance was in a Hammerhead, in the atmosphere where it was designed to fly. As the planet's natural gravity equalized with the foils, another wave of nausea hit her. She dropped the inner visor and activated the suction in the evacuator.
She puked, again. Hard.
She could not believe there was anything left to regurgitate. When she opened her eyes, she saw it was mostly blood.
“Great. I blew a gasket,” she said, to herself, as she raised the inner visor again and turned toward the transmission coordinates. She passed across the day-night line as she continued.
The spots in her vision got bigger, more distracting. She had to hurry.
***
At the same time, Coff was finishing his meal, when they all heard it.
AI~Poole reported, in Rand’s head, “Something is coming in the main entrance. Something loud.”
Rand was on her feet, cursing herself for taking off her boots and pressing on her helmet. Behind the door, she tossed aside a cloak that covered her rifle.
“Stay here,” was all she said, as she headed out the door.
Running up the path, she felt the backwash of the hovering turbines, the sound made worse by the echoes within the cavern.
A tiny ship set down and Rand activated her targeting package. A window in her HUD showed what the scope on the rifle saw. It zoomed in, close.
She watched the canopy slide forward and then up. The pilot stiffly climbed out of the tiny cockpit and stood next to the forward turbine.
The pilot reached up and unlocked the two latches on the helmet interface, turned the helmet a quarter turn and lifted it off. The helmet dropped and rolled away.
The pilot’s face was covered in blood. It was a dark-skinned woman.
She collapsed to her knees, vomited black liquid, fell forward onto her chest and completely stilled.
***
“That's it, Jim,” Muir said, as he turned from the tactical station and stood up. “Our line of sight is gone for this orbit.”
Solstice 31: The Solstice 31 Saga, Books 1,2,3 Page 56