by Strong, Ray
Harry’s birthday is coming up. That’s the worst of this, not having family at your birthday. It’s like celebrating on an asteroid all by yourself. Sure, friends help, but family is different. I’ll have to do something special for Harry.
Meriel rose and chugged a juice pack. She shook her head. Maybe I should have left them alone. Then they could adapt to the separation rather than giving them hope of getting back together again. Now they miss what we lost, and it stops them from finding happiness where they are, especially Harry. He was young enough to bond with a new family, and I keep tempting him with something I can’t deliver.
She went back to her console and pulled up the calendar that showed everyone’s birthdays. Now, where will the kids be on Harry’s birthday? It was one of her duties to get at least one other family member at every birthday celebration, or something special if no one could be there. But Meriel never thought of her own birthday.
***
Doc Ferrell’s call caught XO Molly Vingel by surprise.
“Can we do this later Doc?” she asked. “I’m updating the ship’s logs.”
“Exec, I need Hope’s confidential file,” Ferrell said.
“Why?” Molly asked.
“I think she’s off her meds, and that means she’s dangerous.”
Molly paused. “The Jolly Roger cleared her, Doc.”
“It was conditional,” he said. “She’s a loose cannon, and if she goes off, it will reflect badly on my tour here.”
Molly remained quiet.
“Do this, or I resign,” he said.
Captain Richard Vingel, Molly’s husband, leaned in from the adjoining ready room after hearing the word resign and raised his eyebrows.
Molly scribbled untreated narcissist in her log and held it up to show the captain and then returned to her link. “OK, Doc. Then keep this confidential, and focus on her performance,” she said. “You stir up her past, and I’ll write you up—with prejudice. Your tour will be over. Clear?”
“Clear,” Ferrell said and Molly switched off her link.
“You don’t trust him?” the captain asked.
Molly leaned back in her chair. “Nope,” she said. “He’s the league’s pick. We had to take him or the insurance would break us. I’m trolling for a replacement.”
“Shame that Doc Griffin had to leave so suddenly.”
“Death in the family, he said, but I’m not sure about that. Griffin is older than dirt and should have outlived all his relatives. And he didn’t seem to care about losing his tour bonus either. He was just in a big damn hurry to leave.”
“Let’s find out where he went. Put a flier out for his whereabouts,” the captain said and left.
***
Dr. Ferrell opened a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a drink while waiting for Meriel’s file to appear.
“Open private journal. Create new record,” Ferrell commanded his link. “Title Meriel Hope. Ship ID. Subtitle summary of confidential file review. Entry. Time stamp.”
When the link chimed, he used hand motions to project the data on the wall to scan the file.
ET/2177:38:57 Enterprise Independent News Wire: LSM Princess (GCN 13442:88), family merchant ship, found near Enterprise outer beacon, Procyon system with only one survivor from an unexplained tragedy. Unfolding.
Well, that’s pretty sketchy. He did a quick search on comp with Princess and survivors and turned up only the same article.
ET/2177:38:59 Global News Network:
LSM Princess attacked in deep space by unknown assailants. Unidentified surviving minor in protective custody. Station authorities deny rumors of piracy…
They buried the story ten years ago. That would have made her almost twelve.
ET/2177:105:19 Meriel Hope:
Daughter of Esther and Michael Hope. Born ET 2165:85. Residence: family merchant ship Princess until attack ET.2177:37:10. Princess severely damaged and recycled. Details sealed by order superior court 4, Enterprise, to protect minor.
ET/2178:102 Meriel X: foster child in protective custody of Enterprise Station. Released to unidentified merchant vessel, Cargo-0 trainee.
Huh. Unidentified vessel. Witness protection? he thought. So what did she witness? The next item was a news vid dated ET/2181:86:13.
This is Lance Freiden of GNN on the dock of the LSM Thrace. Sixteen-year-old Meriel Hope has surfaced today after four years in protective custody. Hope is the only survivor of an attack on the LSM Princess. Claims of piracy have been repeatedly dismissed by authorities…
He searched the net for more information about the Princess and Meriel but found nothing. That’s it, he thought. God, what a childhood. He scanned the training and certification logs.
“Rated nav-two, logistics-five,” Ferrell said into his link. “Ambitious.” Only twenty-two and made logistics-five. Admirable, he thought. “Marine-three.” Yikes, what’s she preparing for? He waved his hand to skip forward to the arrest record and keyed in his ID for access to her private records.
ET/2181:83 Dexter Station. Aggravated assault. Ruled self-defense.
ET/2183:147 Ross Station. Resisting arrest. Charges dropped.
ET/2184:220 Wolf Station. Disorderly conduct. Charges dropped.
ET/2184:259 Lander Station. Aggravated assault on a bouncer. Charges dismissed as self-defense. Treated in blue-zone infirmary and released to outpatient physical therapy.
Ferrell smirked. “Journal entry. Subject has evidence that she is not invulnerable,” he said.
ET/2185:315 Ross Station. Disorderly conduct. Charges dropped. Doctor testified as personal reference. Released without charges.
Profile—psych:
Here we are, Ferrell thought.
Tests: EMR 485. STM 223. KRTT 454, Briggs and Hall E3R4
“Tests out as a loner and driven,” Ferrell said into his link. “E3R4 borderline psychotic. Request data that produced that score.”
ET/2180:115:19.50 LSM Thrace (GCN 23492:06) X. Johansen, PhD.
Quick learner. Highly motivated. Gets along well with crew.
Continuing nightmares of childhood trauma on Princess. During therapy, she still speaks of the Princess as her ship and plans to reclaim it. She also speaks of getting custody of supposed orphans from the Princess and chartering routes in Sector 42. Requests to the captain for legal assistance have been denied. Court records are sealed, and no evidence has been found of legal rights to, or existence of, the Princess or any other survivors…
Ferrell poured himself another drink. “No evidence of any other survivors,” he said aloud to his journal. She was alone but thinks that the other kids are still alive. “Survivor’s guilt.” Damn, that’s tough.
Diagnosis: severe neurotic delusions, bordering on psychosis. Severe agitation occurs when delusions are challenged. Well-adjusted teen as long as fantasy remains intact. Continuing to work with her to adapt to the reality that all of the crew and her friends on the Princess were lost.
Prescribed mandatory antipsychotics. Psychogel-H (H1804-005) (aka Aristopine).
Makes sense.
“Private journal entry,” he said. “Adaptation to trauma by creating a fictional reality. Truth too difficult to face head on.” So which world is she living in now?
ET/2184:115:20 LSM Commodore Levski (GCN 65512:43) Dr. Botev
Excellent crewmember. Commendation for diligence.
Resistant to therapy and analysis. Not willing to discuss the events on the Princess. Court records are sealed, and no evidence to substantiate delusions. Continuing mandatory antipsychotics.
ET/2186:152:12 LSM Jolly Roger (GCN 41223:21) Dr. L. Kustenov
Excellent crewman. Eager to work.
Bailed out on Lockyear for illegal tranq boost. Reluctant to discuss it. Continuing resistance to therapy and analysis. Will discuss nothing of the events on the Princess. Continuing mandatory antipsychotics. Check of comm traffic (Cpt’s approval on file) indicates communication with a low-rent lawyer (J. Bell esq. of Lockyear). Disc
ussions confidential, but believed to regard custody of the Princess and the fictional orphans. As long as she has that fantasy to structure her reality, she appears in control. Without it, or the meds, her stability is uncertain.
ET/2186:283 Captain’s commendation for exceptional service. Unconditional recommendation.
Ferrell paced the three steps across his tiny office. Damn, he thought. The entire crew was killed—parents, kids, everyone. Man, what hell she must have been through, and maybe still going through. How could she survive? How’d she get back to a station? He sat down at the console again and drummed his fingers on his desk. Delusions and barely in control, never lost it on duty, but maybe dockside at Lander Station. Now she’s brought this cheap lawyer into her fantasy world?
“Append file, Meriel Hope,” Ferrell said. “Entry, ship ID, time stamp now, name. Begin entry. Hope comes highly recommended. No meeting yet to form professional opinion. Continue mandatory medication. Close entry. Append private journal. Entry. Insufficient information to modify treatment. Monitor to assure continuing medication. Recommend continuing trauma-counseling therapy. Close record.”
I sure hope she opens up to someone about this before it eats her up, he thought. Poor kid. It’s a shame what happened to her.
Ferrell poured himself another drink, which emptied the bottle. Huh. Whiskey rations get smaller every year that I’m out here.
Lander Station—On Station
In the constant drizzle of condensation from the high ceilings and the smells of oil and stale beer, Chief Hope wrangled her cargo loader. Lander’s wide, cigar-shaped cross section made unloading easy for her cargo crew and the faceless labor droids. She stopped the cruiser when a text appeared from her lawyer.
Meet me at Pierre’s, w4552. J
White zone, she thought and looked down at her stained fatigues. Totally inappropriate.
Cookie led the off duty crew out of the lock but stopped near the dockside ramp and waved to her. “Meriel, we’re heading for the TarnGirl. Gonna join us? John will be there.” He gave her another cagey smile.
“Sure. Later,” she said. “I need to finish up and do some shopping first.”
A few hours later, Meriel and her crew finished unloading, and she walked down the blue-zone docks wearing a more stylish bracelet link heading for white-zone to meet her lawyer. But white-zone was special, with fancy shops and clubs intended for station administration and finance personnel that were too bright and expensive for spacers. So Meriel altered her course to green-zone for a more suitable dress.
Once in green-zone, Meriel paid cash for some stationside clothing. She picked out a versatile high-collared outfit that would cover her scar and mimic a range of styles and then pressed a tab on the sleeve to select the “little black dress” option as the most neutral. Discussing the orphans with a lawyer violated the no-contact court orders, so without thinking, Meriel stuffed her fatigues into her bag, lowered her head to hide her face from the pervasive surveillance cameras, and left the store camouflaged within a group of women.
Well-dressed adults and children without the lean and nervous look typical of spacers filled the white-zone concourse. When passersby looked at her, their generous smiles disappeared, and their eyes narrowed with suspicion. Meriel felt out of place and wondered if her simple dress made her too obviously a stranger. Then she remembered that the cold looks might simply be the security scans of android nannies.
At Pierre’s, a uniformed man briefly glanced at a link, smiled warmly, and opened the door for her. Past the door, she entered a busy public square with a ceiling so high that clouds drifted above. Tiny white and pink blossoms drifted in the air from the cherry and plum trees surrounding the square, and pigeons pecked at seeds between the cobblestones. Artists sketched young couples while mimes entertained the children, and the scents of coffee and pastries drifted past. A jazz trio near the corner played something upbeat. Meriel smiled and switched the dress option from black to a white sundress with a rose print.
“Ms. Hope,” a voice called, and Meriel turned to see a man waving from a small table at an outdoor café nearby. It was Jeremy looking quite professional in an impeccably tailored business suit. She walked over, and they shook hands. Then he pulled out a chair for her. No spacer would ever treat a woman this way, so she blushed. He snapped his fingers, and a waiter brought over a glass containing a dark-red liquid.
“Nice, huh?” he said. “It’s Montmartre, Paris, on Earth. That’s the cathedral behind me.”
Meriel smiled. “Is this all for me?”
“Yes, of course, my dear,” he said with a broad smile and a flourish of his arms. “Really, my clients invited me to lunch here,” he said, but his sincerity was insufficient to overcome her anxiety and impatience.
“The drug impound was supposed to be a technicality and temporary, Jeremy. That’s what you’re working on.”
“Let’s order first.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I insist,” he said. He called the waiter over and ordered something in French. She looked for the kiosk that would synch with the dietary profile on her link but did not find it. Jeremy just smiled and shook his head.
When the waiter left, Meriel leaned over the table. “She’s ours, Jeremy. The Princess is ours.”
“Not for long. They want to close the case as a drug deal gone sour. The Princess has been impounded for a decade, and the station wants to recoup the dock fees. Forfeiture will let them do it.”
“My folks would never do anything like smuggle drugs,” she said. “And they never found anything to implicate the Princess or crew.”
“No one has adequately explained an attack in deep space, Meriel. A bad drug deal is the easiest interpretation.”
“And the most convenient,” she said. “If they ruled it piracy, the merchant fleets might refuse to fly.”
“Yes, yes, and the stations would die without the trade,” he said. “You’re right of course, and it’s all circumstantial. If the Princess had simply disappeared, they would write it off as bad nav or pilot error. Showing up the way you did leaves only piracy or smuggling, so they’re stuck with a drug drop as the only acceptable explanation.”
“But they have no evidence!”
“Absence of evidence is not proof of innocence,” he said. “With all else equal, the simplest explanation, the one with the fewest assumptions, is usually the truth. That’s how they see this.”
“That’s Occam’s razor, Jeremy. We have science and facts now.”
“Meriel, these are judges, not scientists, and law is much older than science. Most scientists believe everything taught is the truth and build on that; they extrapolate in one direction or another. Judges see scientific explanations as temporary agreements that live only until better explanations arise. From Newton to Einstein and now Nakamura, science evolves better explanations. The judges have nothing but speculation, but it is the most logical and useful speculation.”
“Useful for them,” Meriel said.
The waiter came back with two small plates. Gracing her plate was a pastry containing a variety of fruit and vegetable sprouts surrounded by abstract patterns drawn in dark-brown and red sauces.
Meriel stared with her mouth open. Oh my God. She leaned over to Jeremy. “Is this fresh?” she asked quietly, and Jeremy smiled and nodded. Meriel blushed with fear. “Am I paying for it?”
Jeremy grinned at her discomfort, leaned back, and shook his head. Meriel sighed, having been saved from a debt she might never be able to repay.
“Enjoy it. My clients have paid for it all,” Jeremy said. “Where were we?”
“Jeremy, they have no proof.”
“Your parents are guilty until proven innocent. It’s Napoleonic law out here, Meriel, not like America before the UNE.”
“How can they do this? My folks never did anything wrong,” she said while toying with her lunch.
“They were in debt,” Jeremy said.
“Everybody’s i
n debt. They’d never carry anything illegal or dangerous. Papa even did long jumps to keep us near stations.”
“It was a big debt,” Jeremy said.
“Never, J, never!”
“Then prove it.”
“We were just kids, Jeremy. We had to depend on the Biadez Foundation investigation, and the private investigators never seemed to get any further. I don’t have a lead.”
“Get one.”
“My ship will stop at Enterprise next week, and I can stop by the Princess.”
Jeremy shook his head. “You’ll need a court order and that will take too long.”
Meriel sighed. “Then what the hell can we do now?” She clutched the sim-chip on her necklace. “The police went over every bit of computer data on the ship and found nothing—the pirates wiped all of it.” She held out the sim-chip for Jeremy to see. “And the police screwed with my chip. It’s the only thing my mom left us, and they screwed with it. The police and troopers went over every inch of the Princess, every deck plate and hidey-hole, and found nothing but a pair of counterfeit designer shoes and some unidentified hair.”
“That hair came from a stim user, Meriel.”
“Not our crew! Not on our ship!” She threw down her fork, leaving her lunch untouched, and lowered her head to hide her tears. Jeremy put his hand on hers.
In a soft voice, she said, “The cops took everything, Jeremy, even our stupid toys. Liz and I don’t even have a single photo of our folks. And now they’re taking our ship.”
Jeremy laid a handkerchief by her hand. “Photos of the adults could be dangerous for the kids, Meriel,” he said. “They’re still in protective custody.”
Meriel took the handkerchief and brought it to her eyes. “Well, I’m not,” she said. “And so what?” She held out her sim-chip again. “This and the Princess are all my sister and I have to remember our folks and our friends. The other kids have nothing at all.” She shook her head and exhaled slowly. “What about an extension?”