The oddest thing about this was trying to catch something if you knocked it over or dropped it. As the gravity increased, so did every object’s acceleration as it fell. By the time we got up to two gees, it was really annoying. If you dropped something on the floor—and we did that a lot because our timing hadn’t adapted yet—it would fall like you had thrown it at the deck and then make a ridiculously loud sound when it hit. If it bounced, it would bounce twice too fast: WHAPwhapwhapwhapwhap! Like it was demanding your attention. It made us all edgy, even though everybody but Daimler and me had been through this once before. I would regularly hear something crash to the deck and then somebody say something like, “All right, all right! I’m sorry I dropped you! Leave me alone!”
It didn’t help that we knew we would be off the NavNet when we got to M5. We would have to find our way back to Brainard’s Planet the way people had done it in ancient times, back when I was a lot younger. We had records of where everything was when we left New Moorea. We knew precisely how fast and which direction everything was moving and how much time would elapse before we jumped for Brainard’s Planet, but still, twenty-thousand light years is a long, long way and everything is moving and interacting all the time. And once we got to M5 we wouldn’t have any visual input that was useful. The light we would be seeing from the Milky Way would be over twenty thousand years old. I brushed up my old astrogation skills, but back in those days we were making jumps of five, ten, maybe twenty-five light years at the very most.
It became obvious that Daimler didn’t want to get to know us. He would only stand watches with Steel. This screwed up the watch schedule and meant that there were only two people on those watches. You can fly a starship with just two, but it’s taxing and there wasn’t any reason to, except that Daimler didn’t want to meld with us. It impacted us in another way, as well. We ended up pulling eight-hour watches. With Steel and Daimler on the first watch it meant that Marcus, Yuri and Alice always had the second and Tamika, Arch and I always had the third. It was okay, but we never got mixed together, never spent any time with each other, and when you’re looking at freewheeling, you want to have as much rapport as possible.
Fortunately, we were trying to hit a spot about four light-months from the outermost stars of the cluster. I’m glad it wasn’t any closer. We ended up less than one light-month from the nearest star with a couple of comets even nearer. It would have ended things really fast if we’d come out in the middle of the star’s Oort cloud. Seven of us would have uploaded onto the net to await new bodies to be grown for us and Alice wouldn’t have and that would have been that.
Marcus demanded a meeting with Steel and Daimler before we jumped for Brainard’s Planet. We had come to a halt relative to the cluster and were already accelerating back toward the galaxy on the impellers so we had gravity to push us into our chairs. Too much gravity, but we were getting used to it. Steel had extended the habitation module. Through the port windows in the common room we could see M5, an explosion of stars that filled a third of the sky. Looming over us was our home, much dimmer, much farther away, its cloudy arms sweeping the night: the island universe we would try to return to.
“We have to do better than this,” Marcus said. “Missing our target by more than three light months? We can’t afford to do that in the galactic disc. We have to be synched up when we freewheel. We have to.”
Daimler started, “There are very good reasons why—”
“I’m speaking to my Captain,” Marcus interrupted, not shouting, but then Marcus never needed to shout to get his point across. “If this discussion requires your input—”
Before Daimler could respond Steel answered, “Of course you’re right, Marcus. I allowed this ... unorthodox practice because I knew we had plenty of room to work with out here. If we had been able to execute an accurate jump, then I was prepared to let it continue. Obviously we weren’t.” She thought for a moment, glanced at Daimler. “We will stand regular watches from here on out.”
“Estelle—”
Marcus stood up and slammed his fist down on the table. “You are not a passenger on this vessel; you are a member of the crew. You will address our captain as such.”
Daimler looked like he’d been kicked in the stomach, but he recovered quickly. “You pathetic little—”
“As executive officer, it is my duty to maintain discipline among the crew. As a watch stander, as a part of the engine you are a member of this crew. This vessel does not belong to you—”
“In that, my friend, you are profoundly wrong.” Daimler rose from his chair and stared hard at Marcus, “This vessel does belong to me. The food you eat, the water you drink, the air you breathe belongs to me.”
Marcus stared back at him, glanced at Steel, then back to Daimler, “Are you relieving our Captain of command? Are you ready to go on the net and make record of such relief? We are a starship in space. Interstellar law is quite explicit—”
“Interstellar law is explicit about kidnapping, too—”
“Do you wish to report a crime?”
Steel raised her hand. “Daimler, please sit down.” Nobody moved. “Please ...” Steel repeated, “Sit down.” They both remained standing so Steel stood up, too. She put a hand on Daimler’s shoulder. “It is essential to me that one particular crewmember’s body is not exposed to anything that would cause it to cease to function.”
Daimler broke his eye contact with Marcus to look at her. “I understand why you would feel that way, but—”
“The only thing that matters right now,” Steel interrupted, “is that I do feel that way.” For a moment no one moved. Then Steel said, “We will stand regular watches. Marcus, generate a watch list.”
So we finally got to know Daimler, after a fashion anyway: kind of like we knew Steel. You occasionally pick up stray thoughts or feelings when you’re synched in to navigate, but I think Daimler was as practiced as Steel was at compartmentalizing himself, disguising himself, hiding.
We weren’t on the NavNet, so we weren’t nearly as jazzed coming off watch, and we weighed too much and had a lot of work to do to prepare for Brainard’s Planet: learning how to use our new equipment, the lasers most of all. All of this impacted the time we had to hang in the common room and talk, but we got closer. Some, anyway. On one watch I caught a glimpse of Daimler’s wife, and he must have caught a glimpse of mine. He, Arch and I were coming off watch when he said to me, “So you were married, hmm?”
I knew why he was asking, so I said, “Yeah.” I couldn’t help adding, “I lost her on Valhalla.”
He raised his eyebrows, “During the uprising?”
I think my facial expression gave him all the information he needed. His response was a mixture of surprise and fear. I enjoyed his discomfiture, but ... I don’t know, Arch was right there and I ... I mean, why do we reassure people in situations like that? I should have let him sweat. “It was a long time ago.”
He didn’t seem all that reassured. “I see. I’m— sorry.”
“Yeah?” ‘Sorry’ seemed inadequate.
“That was a very tough decision to make. To pull out of Valhalla.”
“Forgive me, but I think it was probably a lot tougher on us than it was on you.”
“Of course.” He sighed. “Of course. We knew it would be— would be— But we really felt we had no choice. It was either that or abandon some other project. Valhalla was where it started. We couldn’t afford to let it spread—”
“I guess they were upset about watching their friends die.” The word ‘die’ seemed to reverberate around the passageway. It upset me to realize how much it had crept back into my vocabulary. It certainly upset Daimler:
“Well— well, everyone was compensated—”
I turned on him, “Yes, after the suit was settled all of us got some cash. Now, what was it I replaced my wife with? Oh, right, I remember. Investments.”
Daimler looked at the floor. “You must have loved her very much. I certainly loved mine.”
/>
Despite this confession I didn’t really feel like being pals with him, but Archie asked, “Where did she— I mean where did you— lose her?”
We turned into the common room and had a seat. “It was right before the end of the war,” he said. “The blockade of Circe had been going on for ten years. We all figured that the Pleiades would capitulate in a matter of weeks. Months at most. Still, I asked her not to go.”
“Go where?” Archie asked. I guess I was mildly curious, too, but mostly I just hated him.
“Shangri-La.”
“Oh,” Archie said. ‘Oh’ was right. The Yin had nuked Shangri-La. They just didn’t have the resources to build a space navy big enough to break the blockade around Circe, and the blockade was having a devastating effect. Women were starving to death and unable to re-boot. So the Yin decided they would show Draco that they could still attack wherever they wanted to. Shangri-La is way down in the home worlds, around Xi Boötis, only twenty-two light years from Earth. They were hoping for a huge propaganda victory that would cause Draco to withdraw. It didn’t work. Two days later the D. E. F. wiped Boleyn off the face of Circe and three weeks after that the Treaty of Alcyone was signed. The Yin agreed to come back on the net. Draco agreed to allow the Pleiades to remain politically independent. The whole thing had basically been for nothing.
“And you sold the nukes to the Yin?” I asked. Like I said, I hated him.
“Well, not exactly—”
“What do you mean? You either did or you didn’t.” I just wanted to make this skag squirm in his own guilt. I’m not sure why he felt he needed to defend himself to me— maybe it was because he had seen my memory of Valhalla— but he did:
“They developed the nukes on their own, but we sold them most of their defense architecture. I suppose if we hadn’t, the war would have been quite different. It might not have taken place at all.”
“I hope you made a profit.” I wanted to destroy him. I wanted to shred him. I wanted to dump him into a star the way we had dumped Drake. And then jump in after him, maybe. I don’t know.
“At the time,” he intoned, “we thought we were being socially progressive.”
“By selling arms to people?”
He turned to me. “What would you have done? The Pleiades were a small group of women wanting to try something new and different. Wanting to experiment. They were facing the overwhelming might of Draco. They came to us for help. We thought that if we gave them the means to defend themselves—”
“Sold them the means—”
“All right, sold them the means. Businesses exist to make money. The point is, we were hoping that this would calm things down.” He sighed. “What it did was embolden the more radical faction of the Yin to pass the Independent Network Act and start their gender purification program.”
“You had to have seen that coming! They’d been talking about it for decades—”
“I suppose we should have, but we didn’t.”
There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. We sat there for a moment, then Arch got up and started making some food. Finally, to break the silence or maybe just to keep messing with him any way I could, I said, “So what’s the deal with all the names?”
He left his wife on Shangri-La and brought his gaze back to me. “Names?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I responded. “Steel, Estelle. What’s the big deal?”
“Oh,” he said, and he looked like the past might eat him alive right then. He stared at the wall, while he decided whether it was worth explaining to me. Finally, “It’s their little joke they like to play on me.”
“Joke?”
He smiled grimly. “It’s something they discovered when they were playing together one day. Kristel: Krupp. Estelle: Steel.”
“I don’t get it.”
He sighed. “The Krupp Steel Works were notorious back in the twentieth century for employing slave labor to manufacture armaments for the Nazi regime on ancient Earth. My name—the Daimler name—was also associated with that regime. They never seem to tire of reminding me of that.”
That was it? Steel called herself that just to annoy Daimler? “She seems to take her name pretty seriously.”
He looked hollow, lost. “I suppose it gives them a sense of their power over me.” He rubbed his eyes, then looked up at Archie. “That smells good, but I don’t think I could eat anything right now. I think I’ll get some sleep.” He pushed his chair back, fought double gravity to stand up and trudged out of the room.
When he had disappeared down the passageway I turned to Archie. “Holy skag,” I said.
“Yeah,” she replied. “He must have cloned them right after the war. Can you imagine? Their relationship has been going on for more than a millennium.”
I shook my head. “It couldn’t have always been like this, could it?”
“Like what?”
“You know: fighting, mocking, belittling ...”
Arch stared after him. “I don’t know ... I don’t know.” She held up a pan of pasta. “You want some of this?”
“Yeah, looks good,” I answered.
We ate in silence. When we were finished Arch said, “How about we go have some two-gee sex? It’ll be good for our core muscles.”
“Yeah, okay,” I answered. We put away our dishes and headed to her quarters.
I sat up in darkness—gasping, sweating. I couldn’t call out. I couldn’t ... I couldn’t remember the word. Sheets rustled. A gentle hand brushed my shoulder, slid down my arm.
“What is it, Mo?” Archie’s voice was like dry leaves blowing. She sat up beside me, cleared her throat. “What’s wrong?” She smelled of sleep.
I wanted to answer, but I couldn’t. My chest wouldn’t work that way. I couldn’t catch my breath. “I— I—”
“Did you have another nightmare?”
I stared at the darkness. I managed to nod. Arch slid her hand down to mine, rested her chin in the crook of my neck, kissed my jaw.
“It’s okay,” she murmured. “You’re okay.”
“Yeah,” I managed to get out. “I’m ...” My breathing was starting to slow but I could feel my heart pounding.
She rubbed my chest, draped her other arm over my shoulder. The liquid softness of her breasts warmed my back. “What did you dream? Was it the same one?”
“They’re—” I breathed, “never quite— I mean they’re always ... similar. It’s ... kind of ...”
“What was it?” She held me. “Tell me.”
I blinked, looked around, came back to the world. “It was— they’re always about my— about my— you know, my— That’s just it. I can’t think of the word. I can’t think of the— I can’t think of the word.”
“The one for your maternal parent? What you called her?”
“Yeah. Yeah, she’s—” I rubbed my forehead, my eyes. “She’s in danger. The house is burning, or, or someone is chasing her ... something, something is chasing her or the house is burning or they’re going to do something to her or ... or something is chasing her and I can see it ... chasing her through the burning house. It’s a ... something, some kind of ... I can see her silhouetted against the flames. She’s on the balcony and the roof timbers are falling and it’s getting closer to her ... I’m hiding ... I’m hiding in a good place ... a good place. I want her to ... I want to call out to her, to ... to show her my hiding place, to tell her to run, but I can’t ... I can’t think of the word ... I can’t call out to her because I can’t think of the word!” I was twisting the sheets in my fists.
“Shh-sh-sh-shh,” Archie rubbed my shoulders and down my arms. “It was just a dream. Just a dream.” She put her cheek on my shoulder and wrapped her arms around my waist. “It was very profound, very ... moving to watch the children with their parents on Eden. It wasn’t always nice, but it was always ... intense. The feelings, the emotions were very intense, very ... saturated. I saw a woman actually hit her daughter once. It was ... I don’t know ... disturbing.”
/> I was breathing more easily. Archie’s voice was soothing, like my— like my— like her voice was. My mo— whatever I called her. “I can’t understand why I can’t remember what I called her. I remember what I called my father, all the things: Dad, Daddy, but my ... my ... I can’t remember anything I called my ...”
“I don’t know,” soothed Archie.
“I wouldn’t have erased it. Never. Never. I never would have erased it. I mean ... I mean I’d forgotten the word ‘sister,’ but when I heard it again I recognized it. I was ... devastated that I’d forgotten it, but it had been so long ... so long ago. But I recognized it when I heard it. I remembered then. I remembered. Why can’t I remember ... remember the word for ...”
“Steel was never a very good mother. On Eden. I mean, I don’t think she was. I don’t know. I can only compare her to my caretakers where I was hatched, but ... I don’t think, I don’t think she has the right, the right emotional makeup or the right background or something. Some of the women there took to it very naturally. Others ... It was surprising to me.”
“What?”
“Just the range of capability. It was very difficult not to intervene. The parents would ... would lie to their children sometimes to get them to behave or to ... to establish dominance over them. We could see it when damage was being done, when emotional injuries were being inflicted. But we weren’t there long enough to see what the long-term effects would be. I wish we could have ... I wish ...”
“You wish Steel hadn’t tagged along and screwed everything up?”
Archie sighed, “Yeah, I guess.”
“I wish I could remember what I called my ... I don’t understand it. I don’t understand why I can’t ...”
“Hmm.” Archie’s tone brought my eyes to her.
“What?” I asked.
She looked thoughtful. “I don’t know. I might ...” She kissed my jaw again. “I might check some things. I wonder if my security clearance still works.”
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