“Ship secure, sir.”
“All right,” said Kelly. “Warm the engines, Mr. Siggerson.”
“Engines warming.”
Back after they first realized the ship was truly theirs, Kelly and Siggerson had teleported to the engine room. Even now Kelly remained in awe of what he had seen. He could not describe it, for the technology was incomprehensible to him. Long, sleek tubes where the power mix took place. A vast tank sealed with a transparent lid containing a dark blue sludge no one could identify although Siggerson guessed it was some kind of organic coolant. A little too genetically similar to the Visci for Kelly to feel comfortable close to it. Row after row of generators feeding ship power into life support systems, which they guessed had been supplied for Holborn’s research team. It was amazing how life support was supplied effortlessly to every corner of the City although the robots did not need it. Certainly the Visci themselves had not.
Matter coils as massive as Kelly’s waist fed through the bowels of the ship. They had not taken the time to trace them all the way to the drive units.
“Drive units show nominal energy levels,” said Siggerson now as he hunched over his control panel. “Rapidly achieving complete mass. Ready for ... cast off?”
Kelly almost laughed. They weren’t docked, yet the formal term seemed best. What else was there to say? Ready to move?
Lips quirking, he said, “Cast off, Mr. Siggerson.”
“Aye, sir.”
Phila caught Kelly’s eye. They both smiled. Siggerson’s intense expression did not change. He was sweating a bit. The responsibility for the correct navigational calculations rested on his bony shoulders. He looked nervous.
“How long a run do we need before we can jump?” asked Kelly. He had asked it before but he kept forgetting. Maybe he was nervous too.
Siggerson didn’t seem to mind answering. “My estimates are that we need to attain a speed equivalent to TD 8. The course is already laid in, but you do realize, Kelly, that this ship’s massive power is designed to open gates, not propel her through them. I don’t think—”
Kelly raised his hand. “Go, Siggerson.”
With a sigh Siggerson complied. There came an almost subliminal rumble through the ship.
“Under way, sir,” reported Phila. Her voice rang out with excitement.
Kelly glanced at her. He observed her glowing eyes and the renewed quickness of her movements. She’d be all right. Healing was coming already.
Siggerson had no less than twenty specialized computers assisting him in piloting this behemoth. Her immense mass demanded constant, infinitesimal course corrections to keep her stable.
Kelly sat back in his chair and tried to look calm although his nerves kept twitching. An eternity passed while they picked up speed. She was slow, as slow as the eons, yet imperceptibly she accelerated. Smooth, powerful, gaining in her own majestic fashion, she took an hour to reach TD 8.
Eight, thought Kelly. The symbol of infinity.
He turned his head. “Launch log buoy.”
“Launching log buoy,” replied Phila.
If they failed to jump the time barrier, two thousand years from now perhaps someone would find this record of their attempt to get home.
Kelly reopened the line to Beaulieu. “Make ready, Doctor. We’re about to jump.”
“There’s no change,” she said, although this time he did not ask. “Take us home, Commander.”
Kelly glanced at Siggerson. The pilot’s face was tense with strain. He had worked the calculations a dozen times at least, wanting to make no errors with an unfamiliar system of computations he barely understood.
“Boosting,” Siggerson said. “The computers will take it now. I still don’t know if we can do more than open the gate. And if anyone is on the other side ...”
“Do it,” said Kelly, and braced himself.
Siggerson switched over to full automated. The City shuddered her full length, and Kelly saw indicators reflect a massive powering up. The lights flickered and dimmed.
“Gate opening one kilometer dead ahead,” said Siggerson excitedly. “I hope to God it’s the right time.”
“Put her on the loop,” said Kelly.
Siggerson’s hand stretched out, curled with hesitation, then touched the necessary controls.
The lights went out completely. A force slammed Kelly in the chest. His cry of pain remained muffled in his throat for he had not the air to express it. The ship seemed to be whirling about him, spinning madly on her axis until he was flattened and thinned to a thread of existence in the centrifugal lash. He saw a blur of colors, dazzling across the full spectrum, flowing into him with beauty too exquisite to comprehend. His own shape blended with them so that he became color too. And he had no existence save this river rushing forever between the banks of infinity. His mind never lost consciousness as it had before. He felt the calmness of center. He saw the links and connections of life itself. He understood the greatness of creation, recognized the limitless combinations and possibilities. Awe filled him. It was so simple, so perfect, so beautiful.
Slowly ... slowly the spinning lessened. The colors ceased to blend. They separated, became distinct and harsher in definition. He lost them, lost sight as well, and with it his comprehension, his calmness—all of it flowing away from him despite his efforts to cling to it. He might as well have tried to hold water in his hand.
The City’s power drives deaccelerated fraction by fraction, as smoothly as she had accelerated. Magnificent, immense, her hull shining as black and sleek as the day she was built—she shimmered through the time gate of her own making and let it close behind her, cutting off the loop of time.
At last the City sailed to a dead stop, resting in space precisely fourteen meters from her departure point. Her automateds switched over to new relays, shutting down the massive power coils, and restoring partial control to the manuals of helm and navigation. She purred at ready, waiting for new commands. Within her, all lay still.
“Hailing unidentified ship. Hailing unidentified ship. Please respond. This is the ESS Hoyt calling. We have peaceful intent. Please respond.”
The message was repeated over and over in a multitude of major languages, cycling from Glish Standard to Minzanese Prime to Saluk to mathematical symbols. It came over the speakers attuned to outside frequencies.
At last it roused Kelly. He blinked and with an effort lifted his head. It felt like a five-ton rock balanced on the end of his neck. He listened a moment without comprehension, then slowly the words became clear.
A smile spread across his face. He lifted his hands and peered at them, flexing them to test their solidity. Then eagerly he switched on the scanners and examined a formation of Alliance ships at a cautious range of nine thousand kilometers. They looked tiny in proportion to the City.
He opened a hailing frequency and spoke in Glish. “This is Commander Bryan Kelly of the ...” He hesitated a moment. What had her owners called her? What Visci name had christened her? He would never know. “This is Commander Bryan Kelly of the City. We have peaceful intent.”
A request for visual came across. Kelly glanced at Siggerson and Phila, both still unconscious. He complied, and as the bridge of the Hoyt shimmered upon his screen, he could hear whoops and cheers in the background. A human face stared at him.
“I’m Captain Komaki. Are you Kelly of the StarHawks?”
“That’s right,” said Kelly, grinning even more broadly.
Komaki whistled. “What the hell kind of ship are you in? I’ve never seen anything that big in my life.”
“It’s a Visci configuration,” said Kelly casually. “Are you going to escort us home?”
“Uh, yeah. I guess so. Admiral Jedderson and Commodore West request permission to beam aboard. Is that vessel secure?”
“Yes,” said Kelly, straightening hurriedly. “Stand by for confirmation, Hoyt.”
He snapped off the visual and left his seat.
He intended to go to Sigg
erson and Phila to awaken them. But his legs were unexpectedly jellified. He staggered and nearly fell. By then, however, Siggerson was groaning and coming around.
“Are we there?” he asked without opening his eyes.
“Yes,” said Kelly. He took a more cautious step this time.
“Smooth ride,” said Siggerson. “I don’t remember a thing. What are you doing?”
Kelly smiled at him. “Trying to get my space legs back. Smooth or not, I don’t think man was intended for time travel. Wake up Phila, will you? We’re about to be boarded and I want us at least able to make sense.”
“Boarded? By whom?”
“Our boss.”
“Who?”
Kelly frowned. Siggerson was never going to fit in Special Operations. He remained too civilian, too indifferent, even down to who he worked for. “Jedderson,” said Kelly impatiently. “Fleet-Admiral Jedderson. The founder of the Hawks, now—”
“Yes, yes. I know who he is. Commander in chief of all Allied forces.” Siggerson rubbed his face and blinked to put himself in focus. “How’d he get here?”
“We’re there, Siggerson. We made it. Take a look at the scanners. A whole flotilla is sitting off our port side.”
A smile, perhaps the first genuinely warm, excited smile Kelly had ever seen from him, flashed across Siggerson’s face. He pulled himself woozily to his feet. “Damn! Are they? I can’t believe it.”
In his excitement he stuck out his hand to Kelly. A little surprised, but delighted, Kelly shook it firmly.
Siggerson ran his hands through his thinning hair, making it stick straight out. He laughed. “What a ship. I don’t understand a third of her controls. I never thought we could do it.”
“Well, we did do it. And Jedderson is coming aboard.”
“Right. Shall I pick up the coffee cups and swab the deck?”
“Just switch systems back on,” said Kelly around a smile. “I’m going down to check on Beaulieu.”
Ouoji bounded after Kelly as he left central control. By the time he reached the first teleport grid, it was operative. Picking up Ouoji, Kelly stepped onto it and had himself flashed to the genetics lab.
Beaulieu wasn’t there. Ouoji jumped down and streaked out of sight on some purpose of her own. Kelly found Caesar sleeping beneath the sedative of a drug patch on his throat. His round, snub-nosed face had lost its gray pallor. Gently Kelly smoothed back Caesar’s unruly hair and smiled down at him.
41’s bunk, however, was empty. Ouoji paced back and forth along it, switching her tail. For a moment Kelly’s heart stopped beating. His mind raced behind a nameless dread. Then he saw the broken restraints, and he could draw breath again.
“Find him, Ouoji.”
She jumped off the bunk and made a small, searching circle. When she chittered, Kelly came hurrying.
41 sat curled in a corner behind an overturned chair. His hands were clamped upon the back of his head; his face was buried against his knees. Kelly gently moved the chair aside. He reached out to grasp 41’s shoulder, but Ouoji got in the way with a warning switch of her tail.
Kelly crouched on his heels. Inside, little pulses of hope kept bursting against his breastbone. He tried, however, to heed Ouoji and not rush things.
“41,” he said gently. Now he really did wish he knew 41’s name, especially whatever 41’s beloved Old Ones had called him. The number itself was a buffer, an act of defiance against convention, a barricade that no one could cross. What had 41 said once? That his name had been taken from him so many times he had vowed never to wear a name again. Sad.
“41, it’s Kelly. I’m here. 41?”
No response. 41 looked frozen in that position, fetal. Kelly sighed, feeling helpless. Needing comfort himself, he glanced at Ouoji. If 41 could never be reached, then ...
Tears shimmered in Kelly’s eyes.
Ouoji chittered softly. She came to him as softly as smoke and sat up on her haunches to place her paw upon his face.
Comfort flowed into him, blunting the sharp edge of grief. As soon as he realized what was happening, Kelly drew back in startlement. The contact broke immediately. He stared into Ouoji’s blue eyes.
“Empathic?” he said softly.
Her eyes shone as blue as Earth’s sky. She dropped to all four feet and padded to 41. She touched him, and he jerked violently, his arms flailing. Ouoji was knocked tumbling. Kelly reached out to roll her onto her feet. Beneath her soft fur, he could feel her sturdy body tremble.
41 glared wildly at them without recognition. Terror filled his face.
“Don’t be afraid,” said Kelly with a hand still upon Ouoji. “No one is going to hurt you.”
41 bared his teeth. Ouoji moved toward him, and he pressed himself deeper into the corner. A feral noise rumbled in his throat.
“Ouoji, careful,” said Kelly in alarm.
The tip of her tail crooked, but still she went toward 41. He screamed at her, the sound so bestial a chill ran up Kelly’s spine. Ouoji sprang, and 41 thrashed in an effort to fight her off. But she clung to him until she could wrap her tail around his throat. 41 froze, so tense Kelly could see him tremble. The whites showed all the way around his irises.
Keeping her tail around his throat, Ouoji pressed both her forepaws to his cheeks.
“No.” The word was guttural. 41 shook his head, shuddering. “No!”
Ouoji did not desist. After a moment 41’s eyes sagged closed. The tension faded from his body. Kelly held his breath, hoping she could do something, praying she could do enough to bring 41 within reach.
Ouoji removed one paw from 41’s face and glanced at Kelly. He edged closer until he was beside her. She mewed almost silently at him and put her paw against his cheek.
At once Kelly felt the link. He stiffened, but overcame his instinctive resistance. If it would help 41, he had to try it.
For a moment his mind was awash with totally alien images. Dimly he recognized them as belonging to Ouoji. But before he could begin to decipher any of them, they faded away as though she blocked them from him. He touched instead a cry for help.
41’s cry.
Concerned, Kelly tried to reach out to him. He wished he had genuine psionic ability, wished he knew even some rudimentary techniques.
He passed through a flaming curtain that tried to enfold him. Gasping, he broke free of it and found himself looking at a world unknown to him, a world so vast, so wide and flat it seemed too great to comprehend. Over him burned a sun like white fire, with light so clear it cut edges into him and etched his shadow with precision. A wind like song blew against his cheeks and ruffled his hair. It brought scents to him, alien scents. Some were sweet, others acrid. Plants, game spoor, the pale powdery soil itself, all mingled their fragrances within his nostrils.
A shadow flew over him. He looked up and saw a great winged creature sailing the skies, circling him. It gave a mournful, haunting cry, and he felt strange urges stir in his blood. He ran, chasing the winged one as it flew above him. He ran effortlessly, skimming the ground, with lungs and legs that never gave out. He ran until he laughed and flung out his arms, trying to fly, trying to follow the winged one as it flashed through the sky and left him.
It was the world of the Old Ones, Kelly realized while the images continued to flood his mind. The place of 41’s early childhood. The place where he had been happy.
Were the Old Ones Svetzin? Was it possible?
The images darkened. The air became cool enough to make him shiver. He entered a place of stone and silence, a place that smelled old, a place where dampness seeped slowly to form deep, bottomless pools of sacred water. He sat, alone for the first time in this place of the Old Ones, and felt small. The Old Ones touched him, and he flinched. They had always been gentle, but their touch remained ever to him as a brand searing his mind, hurting him although he knew they meant him no harm. Afterward, he lay a long time upon his face, weeping. And when the next time came, the pain was just as strong, and he wept again, shame
d that he should fail.
Yet their touch left knowledge in his mind each time. It was his education, formed bit by tiny bit within the compartments of his brain. After a time he understood the pain and knew he was not a species designed to learn in the way of the Old Ones. Yet they had no other means by which to care for him. Their patience was great; each lesson was infinitely small. He grew and he learned. In time the pain became a normal thing, something almost to be ignored because it was so familiar. He learned not to flinch, not to cry.
Those images faded too, and Kelly found himself in nothing. He realized in a way that the link remained, but nothing crossed. What was Ouoji doing?
Then old memories of his own filled his mind. Sensations first: gentle hands rubbing oil into his baby skin, a voice crooning him to sleep, sunshine with the double shadows of the Irani binary system. Running after Drew while their laughter echoed through the garden. Eating chocolate by putting a square upon their tongues and letting it melt across their taste buds. Stalking Kevalyn through the shadows of the house until she screamed, convinced a ghost was haunting her.
Sharing, Kelly realized. Ouoji was pulling their minds together, back and forth, equally.
He wept for the death of his sunshun, Pablo. Streaked black with age, fur turned coarse and brittle, Pablo feebly licked his hand and died.
His parents, proud and dressed in their finery, bringing the new baby home to be examined by Drew, Kevalyn, and him. Her face was tiny. He stared at the dark lashes upon her soft cheek, at the fierce tuft of hair upon her head. She smelled of lavender and they let him hold her first.
Again the images faded to darkness. Kelly waited a long time, afraid to move, becoming aware of the hardness of the floor and Ouoji’s soft paw upon his skin. Had the link broken?
Kelly saw himself and was startled. Was he that tall, that fit? It was night upon a world of snow and ice. He moved through tall drifts in a clumsy, zigzagging pattern. His black hair absorbed the moonlight; his face reflected it.
Sean Dalton - Operation StarHawks 03 - Beyond the Void Page 18