Reading the Wind (Silver Ship)

by Brenda Cooper

  Jenna said, “The blue dot represents Koni station. Even though it’s physically closer to us than Silver’s Home, it’s really farther away because we would have to turn and slow to dock.” She stopped, making sure Alicia and Bryan understood, waiting for each of them to nod in turn. “The blinking green light on the planet is Li Spaceport.”

  I knew the map; our trajectory danced more clearly inside me than the one on the wall. Bryan sat still and quiet, watching thoughtfully, and Alicia’s expression flickered through amazement, curiosity, and a touch of resentment. She stared at the wall, one hand drumming softly on the table, her black hair loose and falling down her back.

  A pink line showed up: a circle all the way around Silver’s Home, touching the atmosphere a quarter-turn of the planet away from the spaceport. As it hit the yellow of the atmosphere, the line fuzzed out a little, a flash of purple. And on the other side, it came down neatly in the middle of the green light representing the spaceport.

  Jenna continued, “There is no easy way to talk real time with anyone except the Port Authority until we get into the atmosphere. Tiala is trying to reach members of our affinity group, and I hope to talk to them as soon as I can.” Finally, she was giving up information freely. “In the meantime, I need to give the Port Authority an answer soon. I’ll let you all hear what I tell them.” She sat, still next to me but not touching for the moment, watching the screen pensively.

  I dove deeper into the data, my eyes still open but my focus inward so that I saw the data streams first and foremost. I tested my reach into every reporting device and sensor I knew of, calling in reports, checking. What if the port was closed? What if we had to maneuver really fast? Could I give the ship commands quickly enough?

  Preparing to land felt as new and scary as the first time New Making rose under me, thundering and surging toward the open sky as we fled Fremont.

  No matter what happened, this was the end of that beginning. Let it be good.

  Jenna’s jaw moved in that slight way I’d learned meant she spoke to her earset subliminally. Words flashed on one screen. On the other screen, the red of our path extended a bit closer to the planet. I read Jenna’s message:

  “New Making to Port Authority. Previous communication acknowledged. We are pleased to be coming home. Regret to inform you we need to land at Li Spaceport for medical and cargo reasons. Will discuss on landing. Please provide landing instructions.”

  Bryan smiled at Jenna’s polite message, but Alicia’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you being so nice?”

  “Because they can still shoot us out of the sky.” She looked almost sorry for Alicia. “If we can talk or bluff our way home, we will. Besides, any communication may show up in court later.” She ran her fingers through her short gray hair. “Like coming before the Town Council. We cannot be the aggressor. And I’m betting they cannot afford to.”

  Alicia grimaced. “You sound like Chelo.”

  “Good.” Jenna turned back to look at the screen. “We should hear back soon. We’re close enough there’s just about zero communication delay. I’ve left everything open; you’ll all be able to see any messages.”

  Bryan stared intently at her, as if measuring her. “And the conversation has already started. So why wait, now?”

  Having nothing useful to say, I stayed deep in the data. If they weren’t going to shoot at us, what could they do? I reviewed our trajectory. We had entered the right coordinates days ago, during the long wait for a response from Silver’s Home. Now, I just needed to tell the ship when to use the commands already embedded in its myriad systems. As long as Jenna or I gave it the go-ahead in time, we’d be fine.

  Apparently Jenna thought the same. She turned to address Alicia and Bryan. “When we land, I expect all of you to stay near me. Don’t answer any questions unless I tell you to. Don’t let them separate us. Pretend you need me.”

  Bryan laughed, slightly edgy. “That should be easy. We do.”

  Jenna looked long and hard at Alicia, her voice as steely as her gaze. “You, too. You will need me when we get there.”

  Alicia blinked up at her, unafraid. “For a while.”

  Jenna narrowed her gaze in anger, but turned away. “That will have to do.” She took a few steps toward the screen, where a return message glowed.

  I nearly jumped out of the chair as a deep masculine voice began to speak. “New Making. Li Spaceport is closed. Jenna, you are not a trained pilot. Turn and dock at Koni Station.” The message was repeated verbally, and left glowing on the screen, taunting me.

  Jenna frowned.

  Did they think she was the only one aboard? Had the Journey returned with a full manifest of who was alive and who was dead? Was that why they took so long to answer? Was everyone, even Jenna, listed as dead?

  She composed a return message, the frown sticking to her face and the small muscles in her neck tight. “Pilot Joseph Lee is aboard. We are in good shape to land at Li.”

  A break in the steady flow of the ship’s data drew my attention; one by one, each sensor reported out. I hadn’t commanded that. My breath came faster. I reached down to push myself up a little. “Jenna. Someone is querying the ship, making it report status. Is that normal?”

  In moments she was at my side. “You’re sure?”

  “All systems have reported out to something I don’t recognize. Not to me, nor to Starteller.”

  “They can’t do that,” she whispered. “There’s no Wind Reader strong enough to query our data from way out here.” She put her hand on my shoulder and looked at the screen.

  I dove deeper. All was quiet. “I don’t see any trace right now.”

  “It wasn’t Starteller? You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “It can’t be a person. It must be something automated. Something new.”

  Bryan and Alicia sat still, watching us.

  Another tug. I closed my eyes, feeling the hum and movement of the ship, focusing on the low growling engines, on the interface to Starteller. Swimming in a stream of data, facts and figures brushing my consciousness. There: a presence. Working with Kayleen, I had sometimes felt her in the data streams. This felt like her, but not. Someone else. Stealthy, but strong. Stronger than Kayleen. I sank into the interface, struggling to find the intruder. There. I felt it. Probed.

  It didn’t give, didn’t let me read it. It felt like a mirror, reflecting my queries, visible more by its absence and its location, its disturbance of the normal.

  I pushed harder, trying to force it open like I had the colony’s computers. It stuttered, the sequence out of balance to my awkward bashing at it. Then it—turned—querying me. Not words. Curiosity. Surprise. It wanted to read me. I heard my physical voice screech as I clamped down, closed myself off, and surged back to the surface.

  “What happened?” Jenna asked.

  I’d lost it, gone too far. I’d cut myself off from everything. I shouldn’t have done that. “It’s in the interface.”

  “Where?”

  “To Starteller. But it’s not Starteller.”

  Jenna must have seen the desperation on my face. Her voice was firm, supportive. A gentle command. “Go back down. No physical harm can come to you. Stay open, stay friendly. Stay like the messages I’ve sent. We have nothing to hide.”

  Fear arced up my spine as I opened myself back up. This was not Fremont; Jenna was not Nava. I couldn’t refuse—the others depended on me. Closing my fear away, I breathed deeply and whispered my old chant, the one I’d made up when I was five and first learned that data sang in me. “Blood, bone, and brain.”

  Fluids and fuel began to feed into the thrusting engines ahead of the command we had not even given. Whatever, whoever, was trying to steer the ship.

  My ship.

  “Blood, bone, and brain.” I dove, opening the conduits between myself and the ship’s systems, myself and Starteller and the hydraulics and the robots. I fed the engines a command to wait, to stay until Starteller gave them a set o
f instructions from me.

  The engines waited.

  So deep, the ship was my body and I existed inside its nervous system.

  Had Starteller been compromised?

  I’d surprised whatever was here. Data moved so fast—what had happened while I was out? I probed. Our instruction set looked untouched, ready to execute. I didn’t see anything else. Where were we in time? Could we tell the ship to follow our commands now, take control? Did I dare run up and ask Jenna?

  I wove a warning bot into the interface, forcing myself to slow enough to be sure it was strong, telling Starteller to let me know about any commands, even commands that came from me. I bounced a query command against my warning and it pinged inside me. Perfect.

  Clenching my fists and wiggling my toes, I pulled myself up into my body, feeling the flow of breath and blood again, and then not, past that to a more normal physical space. I didn’t lose all access this time, but floated along the top layer of the data streams, attuned for messages from Starteller.

  My eyes opened. Jenna leaned over me, close. My voice babbled in my ears, into the air of the room. “It’s there. They want to turn the ship. Tell them … tell them not to.” The edge of the headrest near my cheek felt cool, a contrast to the heat pouring through my body. I checked for activity and heard Starteller’s silence and the engines’ silence. Good.

  Jenna’s voice, firm, polite. Barely polite. “New Making to Port Authority. Don’t force us.”

  It came again, strength I couldn’t control. I dove deep, surrounded it. “Who are you?” I asked.

  Surprise. Wonder. Human emotions. A voice, information resolving into a query. “Marcus. How do you know I’m here?”

  I was right: a person. “I hear you.”

  Still surprise. Starteller sent me Marcus’s knock at the interface door.

  Did it/he hear me? “You’re trying to turn us. I can’t let you do that.”

  “Who are you?”

  What to say? “Joseph Lee. Why are you trying to stop us?”

  “It’s a task the Port Authority gave me.” The foreign data stream opened, and I felt a presence stronger than me, scary. Human, but more. Beyond it, through it and then beyond, an ocean of data full of waves in languages I didn’t understand, fast, terrifying. Everything on the planet below us as data. All of it connected to Marcus. I wanted to fall into it, to ride the connections and see what lay at the ends of them. They felt so full and deep I could go into them forever, lose myself.

  Was so much data real, or was it a trick?

  I couldn’t follow that path right now; I needed to focus on the ship. Who was this Marcus to stop me, to tempt me? My own anger danced around the edges of my consciousness, and I pulled hard on it, using it for a focus point, drawing myself back fully into New Making.

  Stronger or not, it was separated from the ship in a way I wasn’t. Whoever it was had a time delay built in. Nanoseconds, but I was faster.

  I bounced through the interface to Starteller, starting our command sequence. Early, but I calculated and added the right delays.

  This was my ship.

  I turned my attention back to the presence, bristling against its strength. It flashed up, big, melding suddenly with New Making’s data streams. Too big, nanosecond delay or not. Marcus could wrest control from me with a flick of thought.

  Marcus laughed. At first I thought he was mocking me, but his laughter was warm, touched with true humor.

  He let the first set of our commands reach the thrusters.

  More information, no voice to it, just raw information turning to words. “Joseph Lee. Perhaps you are as good a pilot as your father.”

  I stopped, jerked inside myself. “You knew my father? Is he alive? Is he down there?”

  “Later.”

  I wanted to know now. But I needed to fly, and whoever Marcus was, I couldn’t win against him.

  He let me win.

  I hated that.

  The others needed to know what I had discovered. As I opened my eyes, sweat dripped from my forehead and the heat of data ran through me like a small fire. I moaned and blinked. “It’s okay,” I whispered.

  The Port Authority voice spoke again. “Cleared to land. You will be met.”

  What and who had I felt and talked to?

  Jenna’s voice, confused. “What happened?”

  My vision cleared. Alicia and Bryan, seated and still, watching; Bryan’s face worried, Alicia’s curious. It’d be nice if she was worried, too. Straying. I was straying. I couldn’t afford it. “I … talked to something or someone. Marcus. It said it would help us land. At Li, I think. I don’t know why.”

  Jenna frowned and pursed her lips. She glanced at the message on the screen, and when she looked back, her gaze was a little lighter, and the frown gone. “Marcus. Has he grown so strong?” She paused. Long moments stretched before she said, “I know why he might help. An old debt. And your strength. That would … impress him. He will have seen your value.”

  I smiled, feeling stronger and a little proud, if still shivery and quaking. But I didn’t have time for fear. “I gave the sequence to the ship.”

  She handed me a glass of water, watching as I drank it. “Are you okay?”

  “Sure.” I handed her back the glass, sinking into the chair, the ship still singing in my bones.

  “Good.” She gestured and I straightened out, fitting myself into the chair. She attached the straps, pulling them tight across my legs and torso and forehead, turning the command chair into a re-entry couch. There was time, but I understood from her actions that I might not come up fully again until we were inside the envelope of the atmosphere. She leaned down and whispered in my ear. “Fly, Joseph. Bring me home. Bring us home.”

  “Home.” The word tasted scary.

  I wanted to ask her more about Marcus, but a soft shift in the ship pulled me back down. Marcus was still there, silent, watching. Was he testing me?

  He didn’t invite attention, just hovered in the data stream.

  Fine. If he wasn’t going to help directly, I had work to do.

  I willed relaxation, willed openness, picked up the threads of data, riding them, querying them. They felt right. Ship’s robots tucking themselves into safe positions, thrusters opening for the slight turn down, the ship’s gentle response, less dissonant than braking. Smooth.

  Time passed, a readying, a waiting. Through it all Marcus was there beside me, doing nothing. Not approaching, not falling away. Just watching. Perhaps he knew he frightened me?

  I checked and rechecked. Aware always of the strange presence that didn’t belong there with me, but made no new moves. The joy of flying took me, and I rode down deep in the ship’s embrace, offering myself to it totally. It seemed like days, but time immersed in data is tricky, and I knew we approached the atmosphere in a lazy slow circle around the planet that really only took hours.

  Other ships flew through the space, keeping distance, going about their business.

  I watched our trajectory, marking time by our movement. I had left Fremont’s atmosphere in this ship; I knew what to expect. Braced. The New Making shivered as we touched the shell of air around Silver’s Home, slowed, shivered harder, but she didn’t buck, didn’t alter course. Her skin heated and tiny coolers in the smooth surface absorbed the heat and fell away, skin shedding, their sensors ripping from me as they separated, new ones awakening. The New Making fought free, and then we were through the atmosphere, and on a long, slow course for our landing.

  Thirst and heat pulled at me, demanding to be slaked and damped. The ship was past the point of no return; she would land. For now, a few long moments of simple flight inside the atmosphere. I set alarms to tell me if Marcus did anything, unsure if I knew how to really tell.

  Irrationally, I wanted him to tell me how well I’d done. As if I should trust him. Not yet!

  At the surface of the data, I twisted my head. “Straps. Take it off.”

  No response. Oh, right, they were strap
ped in, too. “Jenna?”

  Then she was at my side, loosening the brow strap. I reached for her. She handed me a glass of water, and as soon as I drank it, she bathed me in more water so it dripped down my face on either side, making small puddles in the chair, cooling my heated skin. “You’ve done well so far.”

  I licked the water from my lips, smelling my own sweat and exhaustion.

  “Are you ready to take us down?”

  I’d never landed. Just taken off. I took a deep, steadying breath. “Sure, ready as I’ll ever be.” Marcus wouldn’t let me make a fatal mistake. The thought startled me. Was it right? “Marcus knew my father.”

  She blinked at me. “Yes.” Her hand stroked my forehead, soothing. “Don’t ask now. Finish this.”

  “Did you call your sister?”

  “Not yet. It’s time for you to go back down.”

  I went.

  Landing was poetry of machinery and data, of the physical and of light. Flight: the big engines off now, the little thrusters adjusting, the ship’s surfaces adjusting, interacting with air and gravity and wind, slowing us. A dance—force and balance and weight, the pull of gravity and the strength of the engines.

  A stop, far above, seconds or less, our nose pointed up at the sky we’d just powered through. Silent engines. The beauty and sheer terror of being so big and resting against only sky, if just for the space of a quick breath.

  The engines flaring to sudden life, a pillow of exhaust under us.

  The long, slow settling of the ship as it lowered itself laboriously, carefully, to the surface. Marcus watching, a distant presence as we touched down.

  And then it was just me, testing and checking one last time. All of the systems that controlled flight and movement quieted, each winking into rest. Even my companion Leo, gone to storage for the landing.

  14

  SILVER’S HOME

  I had landed the New Making. I was a spaceship pilot for sure now. I opened my eyes. Jenna leaned over me with a worried look, as she worked the straps free from the chair. “Come on. We need to hurry.” I was glad of her help; my arms felt too heavy to move.