by Allen Steele
Andromeda looked away. On one hand, she couldn’t blame her crew for being a little standoffish. They’d been on shore leave for the past six weeks, and most of them had spent the ground time with their families; Mel and Zeus were the only crewmen who didn’t have spouses, and from what Andromeda had heard, Zeus made up for it with a long list of girlfriends, his relationship with Mel notwithstanding. The new mission had brought an abrupt end to their vacations; so as far as they were concerned, the Corps team was little more than a group of unwanted passengers.
Perhaps that would change once the ship was under way. It would take the Montero twelve hours to reach Starbridge Coyote and its gatehouse; in the meantime, she could call for a general meeting. No, even better... lunch in the wardroom. Much more informal. She’d made sure that the galley was stocked with a few gallons of wine; maybe that would be a good time to break out a bottle or two. Regulations prohibited the flight crew from drinking while on duty, but she was the captain, after all, and she could bend the rules a little if she...
Oh hell, woman, she thought, admit it. You don’t care about making friends with any of these people. You’re just trying to find a way to talk to Sean, maybe make peace with him. She winced. Yeah, right. Fat chance...
“Skipper?” Melpomene’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Coming in on final approach. Alpha Seven Control on Channel Two for you.”
Andromeda snapped herself back to awareness. Through the windows, she could see that Melpomene had maneuvered the shuttle toward the dry dock’s open forward end and was slowly guiding the small craft toward Montero’s port side. She tapped her headset mike. “Montero CO to Alpha Seven Control. Request permission for rendezvous and docking.”
“Roger that, Montero CO.” The male voice on the other end of the comlink sounded bored. “Welcome back. Dock crew standing by to hand over the ship.”
“We copy, Alpha Seven, thank you. Montero CO over.” Andromeda muted her mike again. A needless formality, but it could be worse. When she’d been with the Union Astronautica, and her vessel was named after a long-dead Cuban president, she would’ve had to endure a final meeting with a Patriarch before being allowed to board her own ship. The traditions of Coyote’s merchant marine were much less demanding.
Melpomene performed a 180-degree roll to align the shuttle’s port hatch with Montero’s, then coaxed the craft the rest of the way in, carefully maneuvering past the dry dock’s mooring cables. The hull gradually grew larger until there was a dull clang as the shuttle docking collar telescoped forward to mate with the Montero . Melpomene reached up to flip a couple of switches, and there was a soft hiss as the shuttle’s internal atmosphere depressurized slightly. “Docking complete, Captain,” she said.
“Thanks. Good job.” Andromeda unfastened her harness and pushed herself out of her seat, reaching down to retrieve her duffel bag. The others were already pulling their own bags out from under their seats when she floated into the aft compartment. It was customary for the captain to be first to board her ship, so the crew and passengers waited for her to undog the hatch and pull it open.
On the other side of the gangway tunnel, Montero’s primary airlock was open, with three men already waiting for her in the narrow compartment. “Welcome aboard, Captain,” said the harbor pilot as he handed her a datapad. “Ship’s ready to launch. You’re all set to go.”
“Thank you.” Andromeda slipped the pad into a thigh pocket; she’d read his report later. “See you when we get back.” The pilot nodded, then he and the other two men pulled themselves aside and watched while Montero’s crew floated through the hatch, followed by the Corps team. Once everyone was aboard, the three men would board the shuttle and fly it to the dry dock’s control module, where they would remain until the starship had successfully launched.
Just beyond the airlock was an access shaft leading forward. Barely touching the rungs of its ladder, Andromeda pushed herself forward to Deck Four, where the crew and passenger cabins were located. She opened another hatch, then entered a circular corridor that wound its way around the ship’s interior; behind her, she heard the others coming up the shaft. The ceiling lights were already on, the passageway pleasantly warm. The dock crew had done a good job of bringing the Montero back to life; there was little to show that the ship had been cold and lifeless during the six weeks it had spent in parking orbit before being moved to the dry dock for preflight maintenance and refueling.
Grasping a ceiling rail, Andromeda pulled herself along the corridor until she reached her quarters. She slid open its pocket door and pushed herself inside. It wasn’t much larger than any other cabin, which meant that it was about the size of her bathroom back home, but she’d done her best to make it comfortable: paper books secured to the shelf above her fold-down desk, a handmade quilt on the bunk, landscape watercolors by a favorite artist affixed to the bulkheads. There was an old picture of Sean on the bulkhead beside the porthole, taken on his tenth birthday; there had once been one of Dean, too, but she’d removed it long ago. It didn’t do her any good to be reminded of her ex-husband.
Andromeda stayed only long enough to stow her bag and put on a pair of stickshoes before leaving again. As she pulled herself down the passageway, she saw her crew putting stuff away in their own cabins; Jason caught her eye, gave her a quick nod. “I’ll be right up, skipper,” he said in response to her unasked question.
“Very good,” she replied, then moved on. In the next cabin, Mel was having a quiet conversation with Zeus. The helmsman and the chief petty officer fell silent as the captain went by. Andromeda ignored them, but once again she found herself wondering how much longer she could pretend not to know that the two of them were sleeping together during voyages. So long as it didn’t affect their jobs, Andromeda was willing to look the other way; she didn’t like it, but it wasn’t any of her business.
Just before she reached the hatch leading to the main access shaft, Andromeda entered the part of Deck Three where the passenger cabins lay. Unlike her crew, the Corps team would have to share quarters. Even so, it looked as if Lieutenant Cayce had claimed one cabin for his own: another indication that his sense of leadership left much to be desired. But just as Andromeda was about to open the shaft hatch, Sean floated out of the next cabin. He caught sight of his mother, and for a moment the two of them silently regarded each other, as if waiting for the other person to say the first word.
Andromeda broke the silence. “Doing all right, Sean?”
“Fine, Captain.” Again, his tone was stiffly formal. “No problems at all.”
“Good. Glad to hear it.” She paused, trying to find something else to say. “If you need anything, just...”
“Thank you,” he replied, then he withdrew into his quarters. Andromeda had a quick glimpse of Sergeant Dupree, his cabinmate, then the door slid shut.
For a moment, Andromeda had an urge to pull herself over to Sean’s cabin, knock on the door, ask Dupree to give them some privacy, then... well, what? Another fight with her son, with her crew and the Corps team as witnesses? Perhaps she could ask for forgiveness again, knowing well that it wasn’t coming anytime soon. Or maybe she could just yank him out of there and haul him to the airlock while ordering Jason to call the shuttle back so that it could take home a troublesome passenger. After all, that was her prerogative; as captain, she could bounce someone from her ship without cause, and no one could do anything about it.
Or maybe none of the above. Which was the best option, really. Leave it alone, she told herself as she opened the hatch and pulled herself into the access shaft. You don’t have time for this. You’re back on your ship, and you’ve got a mission ahead of you. So knock it off.
Andromeda closed the hatch behind her, then glided up the shaft, passing the hatches for Decks Three and Two until she reached Deck One. The top hatch was closed; she pulled its locklever counterclockwise and shoved it open. The command center was empty, but the dock crew had switched on the consoles and screens before leaving, a
nd the room was alive with light and sound.
Andromeda never got tired of that particular moment, when she had Montero’s bridge all to herself, if only for a few minutes. Inserting the toes of her shoes within a foot rail behind her wingback chair, she gazed around the bowl-shaped compartment. Surrounding her were the horseshoe-like carrels of the flight stations, with flatscreens arranged along the consoles below them. Within the shallow dome of the ceiling were portholes, and the forward bulkhead could become a massive wallscreen, showing whatever view she desired. Directly in front of her was the navigation table, a holotank within which Montero’s present position could be projected within a three-dimensional sphere.
This was her home, really; her place in New Brighton was only the house she stayed in when she wasn’t on her ship. It’ll be a sad day when I leave this behind, she thought, idly running her fingertips across the worn faux leather of her chair. This may be the last time, though. I’m getting old, and I can’t...
Movement from the open floor hatch behind her; she looked around to see Jason coming up the manhole. “You’re always the first one here, aren’t you?” he asked, a smile upon his face.
“That’s my job.” A new thought occurred to her. “Did you tell Ted Harker that I was thinking about retirement?”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “No. Are you?”
Andromeda ignored the question. “Well, someone did... or at least someone told someone else, and word got back to him.” She shook her head as she withdrew her toes from the foot rail; planting the soles of her shoes against the carpet, she carefully walked around to her seat. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter. Let’s get started.”
Jason nodded, then pushed himself over to his chair, to the right of her own. Watching him, Andromeda felt a twinge of nostalgia. Jason Ressler had been her first officer for as long as she had been in command of the ship, back when both of them had been in the Union Astronautica. He was older now, too, his hair turning grey, and a small pot nestled in the place where a flat stomach had once been, but there was a time not so long ago, shortly after they’d taken the Castro through Starbridge Earth and announced their intent to defect to the Coyote Federation, when they’d had a furtive little affair of their own. It hadn’t been good for either of them, though, more an act of desperation than anything else, and they’d amicably put an end to it. He’d married since then, to a woman he’d met in Liberty during the crew’s involuntary sabbatical, and although he and Andromeda remained close friends, they seldom mentioned the brief period when they’d shared a bed. Indeed, that was the last time she’d had an affair with anyone; even when she’d been making love to Jason, she’d felt as if Dean were in the room.
Andromeda settled into her seat; fastening its waist strap, she then pulled the side-mounted console across her lap. In her thigh pocket was the datapad the harbor pilot had given her; she was still studying his report and comparing it to the data on her console when the rest of the flight crew showed up for work. One by one, they floated up the manhole and went to their respective stations: Melpomene at the helm to Andromeda’s left; Rolf at the engineering console beside her; Anne at the communications station to the right of Jason; Zeus at the chief petty officer’s carrel next to her. Two stations were vacant—remote survey and probe control—but it wouldn’t be necessary to fill them until after the last passenger came aboard at the gatehouse and the ship had reached its destination. Once everyone was where they should be, idle chatter came to an end, and the serious work began; pulling on their headsets, the crew members murmured to one another as they started going through the prelaunch checklist.
It took nearly two hours, but at last Andromeda was satisfied that the Montero was ready to leave port. By then, the Reese had arrived, the dock crew securing it within the lander bay. The wallscreen displayed an aft view; the bay’s double doors were shut, and the last couple of workers were moving away from the ship, the flash of their maneuvering units giving them the appearance of fireflies.
“Time to go,” Andromeda murmured, and Jason nodded in agreement. Signaling Anne to open a channel, she prodded her mike. “Alpha Seven Control, this is Montero CO. All stations reporting green-for-go, requesting permission to initiate final launch sequence. Beginning five-minute countdown on your mark.”
“We copy, Montero CO,” the familiar voice replied. “Initiate launch sequence... mark.”
Andromeda glanced over at Melpomene. The helmsman tapped codes into her keyboard, glanced at her screens, then nodded to Rolf. The chief engineer responded with a silent nod of his own, then entered the commands that would commence the main engines’ primary ignition sequence. Across their consoles, lights went from orange to green; Andromeda glanced at her own lapboard, saw that there were no warning signals.
From here on, there was little for her to do except watch. It was up to her people to work in concert with Montero’s comps. She looked over at Zeus. “Inform the passengers that we’re launching in five.”
“Aye, skipper.” The chief petty officer touched his mike and murmured something she couldn’t hear, then touched a button on his console. Four bells rang through the ceiling speakers, announcing the five-minute warning. Down on Deck Four, the Corps team would be strapping themselves into their bunks. There would be little for them to see, though; their cabin flatscreens and the view through their bulkheads wouldn’t show them very much. Sean was probably in his bunk, impatiently waiting for the ship to start moving. If only he could be on the bridge...
On impulse, she turned to Jason. “Call Sean,” she said quietly, “and tell him to come up here.”
The first officer blinked. This was an unusual order. “Any particular reason?”
“I’d like for him to be here, that’s all.” Andromeda paused. “Don’t tell him it’s my idea,” she added. “Just say that his presence on the bridge is requested.”
Jason said nothing for a moment. He was aware of the tense relationship Andromeda had with her son. Then he reluctantly nodded and prodded his mike.
The countdown had reached the two-minute mark when Sean appeared. He pushed himself through the manhole, stopped himself by grasping a bulkhead rung. “Something I can do for you, Captain?”
“Not at all.” Andromeda looked over her shoulder at him. “Just thought you’d like to have a better view of the launch.” She gestured to the vacant seat at the remote survey station, to her right next to Rolf. “Sit there.”
Sean hesitated. “Thanks, but I’d prefer to be below.”
“Too late now. Regs say everyone has to be strapped down. You can’t get back to your cabin in time.” Andromeda pointed to the empty chair. “Sit.”
Sean scowled, and for an instant Andromeda thought he might disobey her and duck back down the shaft. He didn’t argue, though, but instead pushed himself over to the unoccupied station. Andromeda waited until he’d fastened the lap strap. “See?” she said, offering him a smile. “Better than watching from your cabin, isn’t it?”
Sean stared straight ahead. “Bigger screen,” he muttered.
Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, would it? Andromeda wisely kept her thoughts to herself as she turned to Jason. “Status?”
“T minus one minute, five seconds.” There was a sympathetic look on the first officer’s face; no one else in the command center appeared to have paid attention to what was going on, but Andromeda suspected that everyone had been quietly listening in.
“Detach mooring lines,” she said. “Switch comps to full autopilot.” Rolf and Melpomene moved to obey; on the forward screen, she saw the bow lines float away. She touched a stud on her console; above the nav table, a translucent blue sphere materialized, showing a tiny replica of the Montero hovering within its dry dock. “Anne...”
“Comlink open, ma’am,” the communications officer said, anticipating Andromeda’s next command.
“Thank you.” Andromeda touched her mike again. “Alpha Seven Control, this is Montero CO. Launching in”—a quick glance at the chrono
meter on her console—“T minus twenty-nine seconds.”
“We copy, Montero. You’re clear for departure. Good sailing. Alpha Seven over.”
“Thank you, Alpha Seven. See you soon. Montero CO over and out.” Andromeda silenced the mike, slowly let out her breath. Yet another moment she relished: the ship leaving port, bound for the stars. Glancing around the bridge, she saw the same expectant expressions on the faces of her crew. No one who worked on a starship could be unmoved by that particular instant, no matter how many times they might have experienced it.
Sean remained stoical, though. His arms were folded across his chest as he continued to gaze at the screen. “Enjoying yourself?” Andromeda asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.
Andromeda was still staring at him when the countdown reached zero, and Montero’s four engines fired. A dull rumble as the hull shuddered, then Andromeda felt a gentle but insistent hand push her against her seat. Looking away from Sean, she watched as the dry dock slowly moved away from the ship until there was nothing to be seen ahead except the broad blue-andgreen curve of Coyote’s horizon, shining bright against the pitchblack darkness.
For the next several minutes, the only words spoken in the command deck were the occasional comments of the flight crew as the Montero eased itself out of high orbit and commenced the .05-g thrust that would take it to the starbridge. Coyote disappeared from sight, to be replaced by Bear, its rings no longer resembling a blade but instead becoming a silver ellipse around a blue-banded world. As the starship left Coyote behind, the stars began to come out, until space wasn’t a black abyss anymore but instead a tapestry of distant suns.
Melpomene finally reported that the Montero had reached cruise velocity, and Andromeda ordered her to reduce thrust to one-quarter. Zeus rang two bells, signaling that general quarters was over. Andromeda unfastened her lap strap and rose from her seat; now that the ship was at low gravity, everyone would be able to stand and walk around, at least until the Montero reached the Lagrange point near Bear, where Starbridge Coyote was located.