“Pick any form, shape, and shade and I’ll be yours obliging,” she countered, as training suggested.
“Iron Maiden, I fancy blondes with long tresses,” and Jennan pantomimed Lady Godiva-like tresses. “Since you’re immolated in titanium, I’ll call you Brunehilde, my dear,” and he made his bow.
With a chortle, Helva launched into the appropriate aria just as Spica made contact.
“What’n’ Hell’s that yelling about? Who are you? And unless you’re Central Worlds Medical go away. We’ve got a plague. No visiting privileges.”
“My ship is singing, we’re the JH-834 of Worlds and we’ve got your vaccine. What are our landing coordinates?”
“Your ship is singing?”
“The greatest S.A.T.B. in organized space. Any request?”
The JH-834 delivered the vaccine but no more arias and received immediate orders to proceed to Leviticus IV. By the time they got there, Jennan found a reputation awaiting him and was forced to defend the 834’s virgin honor.
“I’ll stop singing,” murmured Helva contritely as she ordered up poultices for his third black eye in a week.
“You will not,” Jennan said through gritted teeth. “If I have to black eyes from here to the Horsehead to keep the snicker out of the title, we’ll be the ship who sings.”
After the “ship who sings” tangled with a minor but vicious narcotic ring in the Lesser Magellanics, the title became definitely respectful. Central was aware of each episode and punched out a “special interest” key on JH-834’s file. A first-rate team was shaking down well.
Jennan and Helva considered themselves a first-rate team, too, after their tidy arrest.
“Of all the vices in the universe, I hate drug addiction,” Jennan remarked as they headed back to Central Base. “People can go to hell quick enough without that kind of help.”
“Is that why you volunteered for Scout Service? To redirect traffic?”
“I’ll bet my official answer’s on your review.”
“In far too flowery wording. ‘Carrying on the traditions of my family, which has been proud of four generations in Service,’ if I may quote your words.”
Jennan groaned. “I was very young when I wrote that. I certainly hadn’t been through Final Training. And once I was in Final Training, my pride wouldn’t let me fail…
“As I mentioned, I used to visit Dad on board the Silvia and I’ve a very good idea she might have had her eye on me as a replacement for my father because I had had massive doses of scout-oriented propaganda. It took. From the time I was seven, I was going to be a scout or else.” He shrugged as if deprecating a youthful determination that had taken a great deal of mature application to bring to fruition.
“Ah, so? Scout Sahir Silan on the JS-44 penetrating into the Horsehead Nebulae?”
Jennan chose to ignore her sarcasm.
“With you, I may even get that far. But even with Silvia’s nudging, I never day-dreamed myself that kind of glory in my wildest flights of fancy. I’ll leave the whoppers to your agile brain henceforth. I have in mind smaller contributions to space history.”
“So modest?”
“No. Practical. We also serve, et cetera.” He placed a dramatic hand on his heart.
“Glory hound?” scoffed Helva.
“Look who’s talking, my Nebula-bound friend. At least I’m not greedy. There’ll only be one hero like my dad at Parsaea, but I would like to be remembered for some kudo. Everyone does. Why else do or die?”
“Your father died on his way back from Parsaea, if I may point out a few cogent facts. So he could never have known he was a hero for damming the flood with his ship. Which kept Parsaean colony from being abandoned. Which gave them a chance to discover the antiparalytic qualities of Parsaea. Which he never knew.”
“I know,” said Jennan softly.
Helva was immediately sorry for the tone of her rebuttal. She knew very well how deep Jennan’s attachment to his father had been. On his review a note was made that he had rationalized his father’s loss with the unexpected and welcome outcome at the Affair at Parsaea.
“Facts are not human, Helva. My father was and so am I. And basically, so are you. Check over your dial, 834. Amid all the wires attached to you is a heart, an underdeveloped human heart. Obviously!”
“I apologize, Jennan,” she said.
Jennan hesitated a moment, threw out his hands in acceptance and then tapped her shell affectionately.
“If they ever take us off the milkruns, we’ll make a stab at the Nebula, huh?”
As so frequently happened in the Scout Service, within the next hour they had orders to change course, not to the Nebula, but to a recently colonized system with two habitable planets, one tropical, one glacial. The sun, named Ravel, had become unstable; the spectrum was that of a rapidly expanding shell, with absorption lines rapidly displacing toward violet. The augmented heat of the primary had already forced evacuation of the nearer world, Daphis. The pattern of spectral emissions gave indication that the sun would sear Chloe as well. All ships in the immediate spatial vicinity were to report to Disaster Headquarters on Chloe to effect removal of the remaining colonists.
The JH-834 obediently presented itself and was sent to outlying areas on Chloe to pick up scattered settlers who did not appear to appreciate the urgency of the situation. Chloe, indeed, was enjoying the first temperatures above freezing since it had been flung out of its parent. Since many of the colonists were religious fanatics who had settled on rigorous Chloe to fit themselves for a life of pious reflection, Chloe’s abrupt thaw was attributed to sources other than a rampaging sun.
Jennan had to spend so much time countering specious arguments that he and Helva were behind schedule on their way to the fourth and last settlement.
Helva jumped over the high range of jagged peaks that surrounded and sheltered the valley from the former raging snows as well as the present heat. The violent sun with its flaring corona was just beginning to brighten the deep valley as Helva dropped down to a landing.
“They’d better grab their toothbrushes and hop aboard,” Helva said. “HO says speed it up.”
“All women,” remarked Jenna in surprise as he walked down to meet them. “Unless the men on Chloe wear furred skirts.”
“Charm ’em but pare the routine to the bare essentials. And turn on your two-way private.”
Jennan advanced smiling, but his explanation of his mission was met with absolute incredulity and considerable doubt as to his authenticity. He groaned inwardly as the matriarch paraphrased previous explanations of the warming sun.
“Revered mother, there’s been an overload on that prayer circuit and the sun is blowing itself up in one obliging burst. I’m here to take you to the spaceport at Rosary—”
“That Sodom?” The worthy woman glowered and shuddered disdainfully at his suggestion. “We thank you for your warning but we have no wish to leave our cloister for the rude world. We must go about our morning meditation which has been interrupted—”
“It’ll be permanently interrupted when that sun starts broiling you. You must come now,” Jennan said firmly.
“Madame,” said Helva, realizing that perhaps a female voice might carry more weight in this instance than Jannan’s very masculine charm.
“Who spoke?” cried the nun, startled by the bodiless voice.
“I, Helva, the ship. Under my protection you and your sisters-in-faith may enter safely and be unprofaned by association with a male. I will guard you and take you safely to a place prepared for you.”
The matriarch peered cautiously into the ship’s open port.
“Since only Central Worlds is permitted the use of such ships, I acknowledge that you are not trifling with us, young man. However, we are in no danger here.”
“The temperature at Rosary is now 99°,” said Helva. “As soon as the sun’s rays penetrate directly into this valley, it will also be 99°, and it is due to climb to approximately 180° today. I notice
your buildings are made of wood with moss chinking. Dry moss. It should fire around noontime.”
The sunlight was beginning to slant into the valley through the peaks and the fierce rays warmed the restless group behind the matriarch. Several opened the throats of their furry parkas.
“Jennan,” said Helva privately to him, “our time is very short.”
“I can’t leave them, Helva. Some of the girls are barely out of their teens.”
“Pretty, too. No wonder the matriarch doesn’t want to get in.”
“Helva.”
“It will be the Lord’s will,” said the matriarch stoutly and turned her back squarely on rescue.
“To burn to death?” shouted Jennan as she threaded her way through her murmuring disciples.
“They want to be martyrs? Their opt, Jennan,” said Helva dispassionately. “We must leave and that is no longer a matter of option.”
“How can I leave, Helva?”
“Parsaea?” Helva asked tauntingly as he stepped forward to grab one of the women. “You can’t drag them all aboard and we don’t have time to fight it out. Get on board, Jennan, or I’ll have you on report.”
“They’ll die,” muttered Jennan dejectedly as he reluctantly turned to climb on board.
“You can risk only so much,” Helva said sympathetically. “As it is we’ll have just enough time to make a rendezvous. Lab reports a critical speedup in spectral evolution.”
Jennan was already in the airlock when one of the younger women, screaming, rushed to squeeze in the closing port. Her action set off the others. They stampeded through the narrow opening. Even crammed back to breast, there was not enough room inside for all the women. Jennan brought out spacesuits to the three who would have to remain with him in the airlock. He wasted valuable time explaining to the matriarch that she must put on the suit because the airlock had no independent oxygen or cooling units.
“We’ll be caught,” said Helva in a grim tone to Jennan on their private connection. “We’ve lost eighteen minutes in this last-minute rush. I am now overloaded for maximum speed and I must attain maximum speed to outrun the heat wave.”
“Can you lift? We’re suited.”
“Lift? Yes,” she said, doing so. “Run? I stagger.”
Jennan, bracing himself and the women, could feel her sluggishness as she blasted upward. Heartlessly, Helva applied thrust as long as she could, despite the fact that the gravitational force mashed her cabin passengers brutally and crushed two fatally. It was a question of saving as many as possible. The only one for whom she had any concern was Jennan and she was in desperate terror about his safety. Airless and uncooled, protected by only one layer of metal, not three, the airlock was not going to be safe for the four trapped there, despite the spacesuits. These were only the standard models, not built to withstand the excessive heat to which the ship would be subjected.
Helva ran as fast as she could but the incredible wave of heat from the exploding sun caught them halfway to cold safety.
She paid no heed to the cries, moans, pleas, and prayers in her cabin. She listened only to Jennan’s tortured breathing, the missing throb in his suit’s purifying system and the sucking of the overloaded cooling unit. Helpless, she heard the hysterical screams of his three companions as they writhed in the awful heat. Vainly, Jennan tried to calm them, tried to explain they would soon be safe and cool if they could be still and endure the heat. Undisciplined by their terror and torment, they tried to strike out at him despite the close quarters. One flailing arm became entangled in the leads to his power pack and the damage was quickly done. A connection, weakened by heat and the dead weight of the arm, broke.
For all the power at her disposal, Helva was helpless. She watched as Jennan fought for his breath, as he turned his head beseechingly toward her, and died.
Only the iron conditioning of her training prevented Helva from swinging around and plunging back into the cleansing heart of the exploding sun. Numbly she made rendezvous with the refugee convoy. She obediently transferred her burned, heat-prostrated passengers to the assigned transport.
“I will retain the body of my scout and proceed to the nearest base for burial,” she informed Central dully.
“You will be provided escort,” was the reply.
“I have no need of escort.”
“Escort is provided, XH-834,” she was told curtly. The shock of hearing Jennan’s initial severed from her call number cut off her half-formed protest. Stunned, she waited by the transport until her screens showed the arrival of two other slim brain ships. The cortege proceeded homeward at unfunereal speeds.
“834? The ship who sings?”
“I have no more songs.”
“Your scout was Jennan.”
“I do not wish to communicate.”
“I’m 422.”
“Silvia?”
“Silvia died a long time ago. I’m 422. Currently MS,” the ship rejoined curtly. “AH-640 is our other friend, but Henry’s not listening in. Just as well, he wouldn’t understand it if you wanted to turn rogue. But, I’d stop him if he tried to deter you.”
“Rogue?” The term snapped Helva out of her apathy.
“Sure. You’re young, You’ve got power for years. Skip. Others have done it. 732 went rogue twenty years ago after she lost her scout on a mission to that white dwarf. Hasn’t been seen since.”
“I never heard about rogues.”
“As it’s exactly the thing we’re conditioned against, you sure wouldn’t hear about it in school, my dear,” 422 said.
“Break conditioning?” cried Helva, anguished, thinking longingly of the white, white furious hot heart of the sun she had just left.
“For you I don’t think it would be hard at the moment,” 422 said quietly, her voice devoid of her earlier cynicism. “The stars are out there, winking.”
“Alone?” cried Helva from her heart.
“Alone!” 422 confirmed bleakly.
Alone with all of space and time. Even the Horsehead Nebula would not be far enough away to daunt her. Alone with a hundred years to live with her memories and nothing… nothing more.
“Was Parsaea worth it?” she asked 422 softly.
“Parsaea?” 422 repeated, surprised. “With his father? Yes. We were there, at Parsaea when we were needed. Just as you… and his son… were at Chloe. When you were needed. The crime is not knowing where need is and not being there.”
“But I need him. Who will supply my need?” said Helva bitterly.
“834,” said 422 after a day’s silent speeding, “Central wishes your report. A replacement awaits your opt at Regulus Base. Change course accordingly.”
“A replacement?” That was certainly not what she needed… a reminder inadequately filling the void Jennan left. Why, her hull was barely cool of Chloe’s heat. Atavistically, Helva wanted time to mourn Jennan.
“Oh, none of them are impossible if you’re a good ship,” 422 remarked philosophically. “And it is just what you need. The sooner the better.”
“You told them I wouldn’t go rogue, didn’t you?” Helva said.
“The moment passed you even as it passed me after Parsaea, and before that, after Glen Arthur, and Betelgeuse.”
“We’re conditioned to go on, aren’t we? We can’t go rogue. You were testing.”
“Had to, Orders. Not even Psych knows why a rogue occurs. Central’s very worried, and so, daughter, are your sister ships. I asked to be your escort. I… didn’t want to lose you both.”
In her emotional nadir, Helva could feel a flood of gratitude for Silvia’s rough sympathy.
“We’ve all known this grief, Helva. It’s no consolation, but if we couldn’t feel with our scouts, we’d only be machines wired for sound.”
Helva looked at Jennan’s still form stretched before her in its shroud and heard the echo of his rich voice in the quiet cabin.
“Silvia! I couldn’t help him,” she cried from her soul.
“Yes, dear, I kn
ow,” 422 murmured gently and then was quiet.
The three ships sped on, wordless, to the great Central Worlds base at Regulus. Helva broke silence to acknowledge landing instructions and the officially tendered regrets.
The three ships set down simultaneously at the wooded edge where Regulus’ gigantic blue trees stood sentinel over the sleeping dead in the small Service cemetery. The entire Base complement approached with measured step and formed an aisle from Helva to the burial ground. The honor detail, out of step, walked slowly into her cabin. Reverently they placed the body of her dead love on the wheeled bier, covered it honorably with the deep blue, star-splashed flag of the Service. She watched as it was driven slowly down the living aisle which closed in behind the bier in last escort.
Then, as the simple words of interment were spoken, as the atmosphere planes dipped in tribute over the open grave, Helva found voice for her lonely farewell.
Softly, barely audible at first, the strains of the ancient song and requiem swelled to the final poignant measure until black space itself echoed back the sound of the ship who sang.
Charles Gannon’s Terran Republic series has grown rapidly to have a major fanbase. His story here, “A Taste of Ashes,” is part of the main story arc of the series, but is primarily focused on the character of Trevor Corcoran, Caine’s ostensibly-soon-to-be brother-in-law and fellow cast-away and prisoner of war during the opening acts of the second book in the series, Trial By Fire. When Trevor’s path parts from Caine’s to lead an assault team into occupied Indonesia and coordinate the final attack upon the combined enemy forces, he suffers even more than Caine in the course of events, so this is Trevor’s story through to the end of Trial By Fire.
A TASTE OF ASHES
CHARLES E. GANNON
“For I have eaten ashes like bread, and
mingled my drink with weeping.”
Psalms, 102.9
NOVEMBER 14, 2119
OUTBOUND FROM BARNEY DEUCY, BARNARD’S STAR
The cell door opened without warning; an Arat Kur guard scuttled hesitantly into the strangely spacious chamber in which Trevor Corcoran had been imprisoned. Despite the exosapient’s smoothly articulated armor, it still looked like a cross between a horseshoe crab and a mammalian cockroach. Muffled by the hardsuit, the Arat Kur’s pensive chittering was audible before the translator in its multi-purpose backset began converting it to English. “You will please refrain from any unpermitted movements. To do otherwise would necessitate the use of lethal force.” The Arat Kur started back for the cell door. “Please follow me.”
Infinite Stars Page 63