by Eric Brown
Das tried to keep the disdain from her face, but failed. “Political apathy never helped anyone, Jeff. Ah, here we are...”
He watched her as she gazed through the viewscreen, and he wondered at the complex loyalties she kept in check behind her shrewd, gimlet eyes.
They had passed into the deep blue of space while they’d chatted, and beyond the screen Chandrasakar Station was sliding into view.
What struck Vaughan first was its immensity, and then the complexity of its detail. It seemed to hang at an angle, a canted spinning top bristling with a thousand decks and ports and columnar living quarters, all of it scintillating gold and silver in the ceaseless sunlight. Second only to the startling fact of its dimensions was the sheer number of craft either making their way to or coming from the Station. He counted more than thirty - from shuttles to great voidships - before giving up.
Discreetly, he enabled his tele-ability and was amazed to find that not one mind of the many that teemed in the hive of the station was readable; his probes encountered thousands of static patches denoting mind-shields. He killed the program.
“Impressive, hm?” Das said.
He nodded. “And I thought the spaceport on Bengal Station was huge.”
“Chandrasakar had this built when Bengal spaceport reached capacity. It’s a small continent out there.” She pointed. “And if I’m not mistaken, that’s the voidship that will be taking us out to Delta Cephei VII.”
She indicated a docked ship that more resembled something from the insect kingdom - a hybrid wasp and praying mantis, perhaps - than anything mechanical. “He calls it Kali’s Revenge, Jeff. It’s the latest in voidspace technology.”
The shuttle docked, pressure equalised, and they filed down the long umbilical that snaked around the perimeter of the station. Zonia led the way, with the scientists and technicians, and Das and Vaughan, in her wake. Minutes later they came to a viewing platform metres away from the golden epidermis of Kali’s Revenge, where they paused to take in the waspish liner.
“Any other ship would take at least five or six days to get to Delta Cephei,” Das said. “This thing will do it in about two days.”
“Quite a boat.”
“Cost fifteen billion euros to construct.”
He looked at her. “That’d feed the starving of South America for a decade.”
She glanced at him, then back to the ship. “Don’t play me for a fool, Jeff. I’m not that crass.”
He let it ride, and their guide escorted them through the entry iris and into Kali’s Revenge. Their guide paused in a plush atrium more like the foyer of an expensive hotel.
“We will be phasing into the void in a little under two hours, ladies and gentlemen. If you would care to make yourselves comfortable in your respective quarters...” She indicated a corridor to their right. “You will find nameplates indicating your rooms. Mr Chandrasakar will be dining in the main observation lounge at phase-out, and you are invited to join him.”
Vaughan left Das and made his way along the corridor to the individual berths. He found his name on a sliding door, which opened at his touch.
The room was surprisingly spacious, with a large bed, a shower unit, and a long viewscreen looking away from the Station. He crossed to it and stared out. Earth turned below; India was moving towards the dark side. He imagined Sukara getting Pham and Li settled for bed and he felt a quick welling of love for his family.
He sat on a chair beside the viewscreen and tapped a code into his handset, enabling the void-space program. He used it now, just to check that it was functioning, even though his regular communication program would have sufficed.
Seconds later the screen flared and Sukara beamed out at him. His heart kicked at the sight of her.
“Jeff!” she cried. “Where are you?”
“Aboard Kali’s Revenge. We phase-out in a little under two hours. I’m missing you already.”
“I’m missing you, too, Jeff, and so are the girls. They send their love. What’s your room like?”
“Imagine the Hilton in space, only smaller.” He stared at her, wishing he were there. “I’ll soon be back, Su. And I’ll call every day, okay?”
“I’ll look forward to that. So... tell me about all the people you’ve met so far.”
“A medic called Pavelescu and a woman called Das. I think she’s been detailed to keep tabs on me.”
“She pretty, Jeff?”
He smiled. “To be honest she looks like Mahatma Gandhi and I think she thinks I’m politically apathetic.”
“Well, you are,” she laughed.
He smiled. “God, Su. I wish I were with you now. I’m due to have dinner with Chandrasakar and the rest of his team, but I’d rather go with you to the Ruen Thai.”
“When you get back, okay? We’ll all go out to celebrate.”
“Good idea.”
They chatted about nothing in particular until a chime and a soft female voice announced dinner in the main observation lounge.
“Must go, Su. See you soon. I love you.”
“Love you too, Jeff. Take care.”
He signed off, then stared down at the Indian Ocean, at where he thought Bengal Station might be.
He left the room and made his way to the observation lounge.
One thing that puzzled him, as the door slid open to admit him into the oval-shaped chamber beneath a bell-jar dome, was that Chandrasakar should choose to entertain his team during phase-out, the transition period when the ride was far from smooth.
A dozen scientists stood beneath the dome, clutching wine glasses and chatting. A waiter approached with a tray bearing an ice-cold bottle of Blue Mountain beer. Vaughan smiled and accepted the drink.
Parveen Das came over to him. She had exchanged her severe uniform for an evening dress, and she looked almost feminine. She wore her hair long, and had even applied pale indigo eyeshadow.
“Ready for the transition?” she asked him.
“I’ll keep tight hold of my beer,” he said, hoisting it.
“No need. You won’t notice a thing, unless you’re looking out into space.”
She introduced him to a couple of scientists - a biologist from Japan called Kiki Namura and an Australian geologist, David McIntosh. The latter was clutching a beer in a big fist and laughing at something Namura had whispered behind her small hand.
They exchanged polite small talk for a while, Namura excited about this, her first extra-solar trip, while McIntosh recounted his last voidship voyage to study the volcanic rock formations of Vega III.
Eyes turned to Vaughan, who told them he’d visited two colony worlds, and on the second had read the minds of elephant analogues. They thought he was joking and laughed politely.
“Parveen?” McIntosh asked.
“This will be my fifth field-trip off-world, and potentially the most interesting.”
They were interrupted by Chandrasakar’s clearing his throat and then ringing his sherry glass with a spoon. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced. “Dinner is served.”
The twelve diners seated themselves around an oval table, where nametags had been arranged on a table-top made from some black alien marble which scintillated with tiny silver lights like a starscape.
Vaughan found himself between Namura and McIntosh; Parveen Das was seated to Chandrasakar’s right. To his left was a bulky Sikh, whom Chandrasakar introduced as Singh, head of security. He continued around the table, introducing his team one by one. When he came to Vaughan, he smiled and said, “Jeff Vaughan. Jeff is a telepath, and one of the best.”
Vaughan lifted an ironic glass to the tycoon, aware of suspicious stares from some of those around the table.
Dinner was served by mechanically efficient waiters - vegetarian Gujarati fare with rice and naan - and Vaughan listened to McIntosh as he recounted his experiences on Vega III. Only Kiki Namura asked him about his telepathic ability, staring at him timidly with big eyes and saying, “But it must be terrible to be privy to the se
cret thoughts of others.”
He nodded, pleased and surprised at her common sense; most people assumed that mind-readers were a privileged elite, eavesdroppers on secrets they’d use to their own advantage.
The tintinnabulation of silver on crystal rang out again, as Chandrasakar bombastically called for hush. When he had it, he made a show of consulting an old-fashioned pocket-watch. “Ten seconds to phase-out and counting. Ten, nine...”
Despite Das’s reassurances, Vaughan made sure he was holding his beer as the scene outside the dome began to flicker: the Station vanished momentarily, like the picture on a faulty holo-vision, then returned briefly, vanished again to be replaced by a uniform grey backdrop streaked with marmoreal veins of white.
Vaughan glanced at his beer; not so much as a ripple disturbed its surface.
A polite patter of applause greeted the transition. Chandrasakar raised his glass. “To the success of the mission!” he said, and the words were echoed around the table.
Chandrasakar proceeded to hold forth; he was an able if single-minded raconteur, telling humorous stories about his travels around the Expansion and recounting some of the odder customs on the human colonies he’d visited.
At one point he reached for Parveen Das’s hand and clutched it. Vaughan glanced at Das; she was laughing with him, more than comfortable with the tycoon’s attention. Vaughan wanted nothing more, then, than to probe her mind.
Dinner broke up after coffee; some of the team excused themselves and made for their rooms, while others moved to the adjacent bar. A couple of Chandrasakar’s crimson-uniformed staff moved among the travellers, asking if anyone would care for sedatives to put them under for the duration of the voyage. Vaughan thought about it, and elected to accept the offered drug.
Tired after a long day, he retired to his room and stared out at the streaked grey of voidspace. He fingered his handset, wanting to see Sukara’s face, talk to her. It would be the early hours of the morning now, so he resisted the urge; instead he replayed the conversation they’d had earlier, and froze her face from time to time when he found her expression irresistible.
He lay on the bed, and on impulse enabled his tele-ability. He probed, sliding around the dozen or so mind-shields on the upper decks, and aware of perhaps thirty or more below, where other techs, scientists, and members of the security team were berthed.
He stood and made his way to the door, exited and moved down the corridor towards the bar with the intention of picking up a night-cap. He passed Parveen Das’s room; her mind-shield static was absent from the room. He moved through the observation lounge. As he entered the bar he saw Chandrasakar and Parveen Das leave by the opposite exit, hand in hand, and take the elevator-plate to the next level.
He returned to his room, drank his beer, and probed. High overhead, two areas of static came together and melded into one.
* * * *
EIGHT
A JOB OFFER
Sukara dropped Pham off at school at nine that morning and was strolling back through the Level Two park with Li when her handset chimed. A cheerful European woman smiled out at her. “Chintara Sukarapatam?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Louise Graham, Dr Grant’s PA. Dr Grant will be working with you and Li over the next few weeks at St Theresa’s. I’m calling to ask if you’d be able to bring Li in at some point this morning?”
“I don’t need an appointment?”
The woman smiled. “Your daughter is a private patient. I understand that Mr Rabindranath Chandrasakar is underwriting her treatment. She will be receiving priority care from now on.”
“Well... I’ll bring her in straight away, if that’s okay? Say, ten?”
“That’s fine. Ask at reception for Dr Grant. We’ll see you at ten.”
Sukara thanked her and cut the connection.
“Nursery school!” Li cried, hanging on Sukara’s hand.
“After we’ve been to the hospital, Li. A nice doctor’s going to examine you again.”
Li pulled a pantomime face of exaggerated forbearance. “Not again, Mum?”
“Not for long, and if you’re a brave girl the nurse might give you another certificate.”
This excited her. “Can I put it on my wall near the other one?”
Sukara nodded. “Anyway, how are you feeling today?”
Li stuck out her tongue and rolled her eyes. “Bit ill, Mum.”
The trouble was, Li was an expert at feigning sickness for effect. She had Jeff wrapped around her little finger. Li’s slightest cough had had him running to the medicine cabinet. He’d been surprised, the other day, when Sukara had told him that Li was no worse than usual and was just winding him up. He’d turned to Li, to find her grinning like a guilty imp.
They made a detour across the park towards St Theresa’s.
Beyond the open end of Level Two, Sukara saw a voidship approaching the Station. The sight of its colossal bulk reminded her that Jeff was light years away and getting more distant every second. Soon, she thought, he would be a thousand light years away, as far as any human being had travelled from Earth.
It had been great talking to him last night, the line as good as if he were here on the Station. But later, when he’d cut the connection, a cold and vast loneliness had set in, depressing her. It was as if she were back to being the Sukara who’d arrived on the Station years ago, who’d met Jeff Vaughan for the first time, realised what a good man he was, and feared that the last thing he’d want was to get involved with her.
Those few days had been the loneliest of her life.
Then he’d called her from his hospital bed, to say he wanted to see her again, if she’d care to visit.
Sometimes she felt a terrible dread at the thought of what might have happened to her if he’d not bothered to call. She would never have known all the love and happiness she would have missed, of course, but the thought that it could have all been so different made her almost physically sick.
“Here we are!” Li carolled and dragged her through the hospital’s revolving door to the reception desk.
Sukara gave Dr Grant’s name and seconds later she was riding the elevator to the fifth floor. She was ten minutes early, but a nurse ushered her through a plush anteroom into the surgery.
Dr Grant was a tubby European in his sixties, with a mass of silver hair and a reassuring smile. He was good with Li, telling her that he was going to take a little of her blood but that he’d pay for it with tokens she could use in the hospital shop. Li liked the idea of this and proffered her arm willingly to the nurse.
The small Indian woman drew an ampoule of blood and hurried off into an adjacent room. Li spotted a box of toys in the corner of the room, skipped over to it and immersed herself in play-acting spacemen and monsters with the latest holo-movie tie-in action figures.
Dr Grant read Li’s case notes from a big screen on his desk, then swivelled to face Sukara. She felt her pulse race.
He placed his fingertips together, looking at her like an uncle with bad news to impart.
“Now, Sukara. No doubt Dr Chang informed you of the gravity of the situation. Your daughter is seriously ill, but with the right treatment we should be able to have Li on her feet again in no time. Her condition is known technically as acute lymphoblastic leukaemia, which stated simply is when the body produces immature white blood cells instead of mature cells which fight off infection...” He went on in this fashion, mixing vague abstractions like “pull things round” with terms such as “blast cell anomaly” and “platelet regeneration”; Sukara felt out of her depth, understanding very little of what he was saying and wanting just the bald, uncategorical assurance that Li could be cured.
He finished and watched her. “Do you have any questions?”
Her throat felt dry, and she was twelve years old again, sitting tongue-tied before her teacher who was chastising her for poor results in English.
“Dr Chang... he told me that there was a seventy per cent chance that eve
rything would be okay.” She shrugged. “When you get the results from the blood test, will you be able to tell me any more?” She stumbled and stuttered with her words, and sounded like one of the illiterate street-girls she taught.
“Sixty, seventy, eighty... it varies from case to case. If Li were older, say in her teens, then the chances of a lasting cure would be much reduced. But she’s...” He referred to the screen, “just over four. I’ll be able to tell you more when I’ve had time to examine the blood tests.”
“When that will be, please?” she asked, and knew she sounded impatient.