Fairchild
Page 16
“Okay, got a plan,” she gasped between kicks as she tried to stay even with the boffin. “Gonna dive, then come up under you and lift you onto the ledge. Your job to stay up.”
“Got it,” he said. “Hurry, please.”
Fairchild got her head fully out of the water and snapped the faceplate closed. She let the current carry her down while she rested. Swimming like this was a tremendous amount of exercise. It felt good, but she could feel her reserves burning now.
All the walking with Eleanor, trying to escape her past, hadn’t helped.
Okay. Shark Concerto Number 1. I need to add that music when I fix the helmet.
Fairchild slid beneath the waves and let the water take over. She dove to the bottom of the qanat and touched the smooth stone. It would do. Not great, but not icy slick either.
She could work with this.
Forward now, the water was flowing slower at depth than the surface. Probably something to do with the airshafts letting wind in to push the water.
Whatever it was, as long as she stayed low, she could swim easier against it. Not much, but enough that she could position herself like an eel down in the rocks.
Fairchild centered on Chike’s legs and surged upright, driving off the bottom like all the world depended on it.
She caught the boffin by the butt and dolphin–kicked as hard as she could. She felt him tense, and then grow feather–light as she got him out of the current and into the air.
God, that hurt.
Fairchild felt all her muscles clench and strain. She rolled over onto her side and kicked to fight the current as best she could.
Chike was flat on his side, butt back against the wall facing out. One arm still had a death–grip into the hole, so whatever was there was solid.
That would keep him in place until help arrived.
He could sit up when he got warm, and stand if he was careful.
Now, to get them here quickly.
Fairchild pushed herself one last time to get up–current from Chike. She turned and let her feet precede her, popping her helmet open so she could talk to the man.
He was blowing like he had just run a marathon, but this was a boffin. They weren’t supposed to be in shape.
Still, she could save the man. He had saved her, after all.
They all had.
Fairchild pulled the Tomya from her hip holster and held it up. Still set on emergency flare launcher. Safety on.
All set.
She got close to the ledge and yelled.
“Chike, take this,” and slid the survival tool onto the shelf next to his hand.
She felt him try to grab her hand, but she twisted free and left him with only the gun instead.
“Point it up the shaft and fire,” she yelled as she was past him. She turned and let the current carry her. They could hold a conversation without screaming, while the water pushed her farther. “You’ve got three more flares.”
“Damn it, Fairchild,” Chike yelled back. “What about you?”
Fairchild felt her shoulders shrug. Lady Danielle Cooper would be a quivering mass of panic right now. Dani would be trying to hide.
Fairchild wasn’t afraid.
“I want to see where it comes out,” she called. “After Lacumaces and Rain get you up, come find me at the bottom.”
“What if it never comes out?” Chike pleaded with her.
“There are risks in life, Doc,” she said. “Some of them are worth taking, for friends. Thank you for showing me that, and coming for me. And tell Eleanor I made it. She’ll understand.”
Fairchild popped her faceplate closed and dove at that point.
Chike would be fine, up and out of the water where he could get dry. One quick flare and the cavalry would be there in minutes.
But the darkness beckoned her, promising her the secrets of Escudra VI, and maybe Charon as well.
But that the price she was willing to pay.
Chike
Chike didn’t particularly like doing press conferences. And it didn’t feel right, standing alone at the edge of the stage waiting, but he had no choice. It was just him to face all those people.
He told himself it would be just like a lecture hall, only one where the students were awake and actually sober this morning. Probably.
The lectern was all set up, with a microphone already adjusted to his height. Out there, a sea of reporters with camera, notepads, slabs, and smiles like sharks.
And he had to face them alone.
Still, it was possibly the most important archaeological discovery since Heinrich Schliemann identified Troy. And if a simple geologist had to steal the thunder of the rest of human science, that was their own damned fault for being late to the game.
Escudra VI had been inhabited.
Nobody knew how long ago, but there had been people there, of some sort. And nobody could yet answer why they had left, or where they had gone, but they had left behind fingerprints.
Maybe they were in a hurry. Maybe something had happened, but they had created a swamp at the base of a mountain, either accidentally when eternity intruded or for purposes mankind had not yet fathomed.
He would leave that to the hydrologists to argue over. After all, he had been there first.
Chike’s patience wore out and he gave up waiting.
He tugged the unfamiliar tie a bit and hitched up his slacks. The last notch on his belt was barely enough today, but he had lost eight kilos in the last three months.
It would be time to treat himself to a new wardrobe for Christmas.
Chike stepped out on stage to a sudden round of thunderous applause that caused him to stutter a step. Students were never excited to participate in a lecture. Something else different he would have to adjust to.
He reached the lectern and picked up the little clicker remote that would cycle through holograms behind him as he spoke.
It was wrong, standing up here alone, when so much of the glory was shared with Fairchild. Eleanor had flat refused any credit and threatened to sick Alphonse Cooper’s lawyers on him, but Fairchild could not be left out.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen of the press,” he said, working his diaphragm to push the sound across the whole auditorium. “I am Dr. Chike Odille, of Michigan State University, and I would like to share with you some of the recent discoveries on the planet Escudra VI.”
He paused to take a breath and concentrate.
The lights were high enough to see, but low enough to make the hologram behind him stand out at it transformed from a Spartan logo to a map of the Escudra system. Several photographers took that moment to all fire off their camera flashes, blinding him.
They also revealed a face that had been hidden down in the darkness, smiling wryly up at him with the most wicked gleam.
She had been like that since Escudra VI.
Ann–Marta had noticed it. So had several others. Eleanor had refused to elaborate.
But it didn’t matter. She was here.
Chike had been afraid she would skip the press conference completely and be found in her room later, drunk out of her mind.
But she had also stopped drinking since Escudra VI.
It was like a completely different woman had come back than the one who flew into that storm.
“And I would also like to introduce my collaborator,” he said, pointing and smiling. “Ladies and gentlemen, the real explorer and adventurer of Escudra VI. Fairchild.”
She rose from her chair on the second row aisle and utterly beamed at him. She was dressed in a conservative suit today, dark blue or gray, it was hard to tell without better lighting. Blazer over an open–necked, button–up shirt that appeared to be rose colored, or maybe salmon. She even had a kerchief popped out of her breast pocket, providing a peacock background for Eleanor. Jewelry. Fingernail polish.
Wow.
Fairchild stepped to the edge of the stage and hopped up in one bounce, like a cat climbing into a window.
&
nbsp; Chike watched her turn and take the measure of the crowd with a calm, critical eye and that same, wry smile, as if every single person down there was naked and painted blue.
“That’s it?” a voice called from the darkness. “Just Fairchild?”
“That’s right,” he heard her say. “Fairchild.”
Also read Auberon, volume one of the Jessica Keller chronicles.
Jessica Keller faces court martial for disobeying a direct order.
Her actions also prevented a massacre during the latest starship battle between the Republic of Aquitaine Navy (RAN) and the Freiburg Empire.
What does this maverick commander have to do to impress the RAN high command? To get the Freiburg Empire to declare her a threat? And at what cost to herself?
“Auberon”—the first novel in The Chronicles of Jessica Keller—combines adventuring to distant stars with seat–of–the–pants excitement. A fascinating expansion to the Alexandria Station universe.
Available at your favorite retailers.
Be sure to also read the continuing adventures of Jessica Keller in, “Queen of the Pirates”, “Last of the Immortals”, and “Goddess of War”.
Also by Blaze Ward
The Jessica Keller Chronicles
Auberon
Queen of the Pirates
Last of the Immortals
Goddess of War
Javier Aritza Stories
The Science Officer
The Mind Field
The Gilded Cage
Additional Alexandria Station Stories
The Story Road
Greater Than The Gods Intended
The Librarian
Siren
Other Science Fiction Stories
Mymirdons
Moonshot
Earthquake Gun
Moscow Gold
The Collective Universe
Imposters
The Shipwrecked Mermaid
Collections
Beyond the Mirror: Volume 1 Fantastic Worlds
Beyond the Mirror: Volume 2 Fantastic Worlds
Beyond the Mirror: Volume 3 Alternate Worlds
About the Author
Blaze Ward writes science fiction in the Alexandria Station universe as well as The Collective. He also write fantasy stories with several characters and series, from an alternate Rome to epic high fantasy in the desert. You can find out more at his website www.blazeward.com, as well as Facebook, Goodreads, and other places.
Blaze’s works are available as ebooks, paper, and audio, and can be found at a variety of online vendors such as Kobobooks, Amazon, and others. His newsletter comes out quarterly, and you can also follow his blog on his website. He really enjoys interacting with fans, and looks forward to any and all questions—even ones about his books!
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Table of Contents
Fairchild
Chike
Fairchild
Chike
Fairchild
Chike
Fairchild
Chike
Fairchild
Chike
Fairchild
Chike
Fairchild
Chike
Fairchild
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Fairchild
Chike
Fairchild
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Fairchild
Chike
Fairchild
Chike
Fairchild
Chike
Fairchild
Chike
Also by Blaze Ward
About the Author
About Knotted Road Press