Warp Thrive

by Ginger Booth

  “You requested that I raise pressure by 3%. This process began 1.6 hectours ago.”

  “Minutes,” she growled, and received the translation of 23. “Excuse me, Cope!”

  She ran to the cargo hold and jumped over a groggy Clay to scurry down the ladder and see. The water line had already receded half a meter. It took her more like 30 Q&A rounds, and a major assist from Copeland, but eventually she managed to get her desires across.

  Nanomage would push out the water until the cargo hold was empty, while continually monitoring structural integrity. And given how painfully high the air pressure was, the ship could accomplish this with a 1% air pressure increase instead of Sass’s off-the-cuff guess of 3%.

  “Thank you, computer,” Sass growled.

  “Cap, you missed the punchline,” Copeland backtracked. She carried her helmet around by this point to talk to him. “Nanomage can make it to Waterfalls. With half a tank of fuel left over. If you can rise from the sea bed at all. That ship has the only warp lens in the whole Aloha system. You can’t let it slide deeper into the ocean.”

  Yes, that was why she and Clay insisted they had to visit this ship. “That won’t get us off Denali,” she warned.

  “It’s a start,” he growled back, and signed off.

  19

  Jules Greer snatched back her clothing in the cosmo-dome bio-lock in Waterfalls. She hastily tied on her favorite long-tail loincloth and a second matching skin to secure her breasts for modesty.

  In theory, she was all for ‘when in Rome, do as the Romans.’ But some lines she refused to cross.

  Feeling immensely relieved to cloak her gawky and underdeveloped 16-year-old form, she set off down the long terraced hallway to find that rascally husband. She expected him home on Thrive by now. She’d spent days in the ag domes with Sass, and she was home and done. But then Abel headed back to town to wheel and deal some more.

  Time to speed that up, Jules determined. So she told that husband to meet her at the bio-lock, and set out on her own.

  “Jules, sweetie!” Abel cried, and trotted toward her, bare-chested and mottled with a fresh young coating of bakkra, dominated by lavender and peach. He’d only come back to town the day before, so his colors looked a bit sketchy over his cafe-au-lait skin. His wife had yet to reconcile with his hairlessness. He even had his eyebrows, chest, arms and legs waxed, to fit in better.

  And his loincloth line, as he put it.

  In Jules’ opinion, that husband needed on-site supervision. If anyone tried to rip the curlies from her loincloth line, they’d get a piece of her mind! Though one round of trying to wash her long hair with tar at the ag dome, and its resulting strawberry blond shade, persuaded her to join Sass and Ben in the platinum-blond flat-top club. She thought it looked rather butch on her. She aspired to look tough like the older women.

  But skin bakkra was new to her. She didn’t need to contend with that in the ag dome. She wondered what color she’d turn up.

  After a public-proper smooch, they strolled down the corridor toward medical chattering away. A bit of a stretch like Copeland, Jules did not trot in this punishing gravity.

  Abel confided, “I haven’t found the killer products yet. The ones that’ll pay our kids’ way through Mahina University.”

  Jules snorted. “Who are you fooling, Abel? Why would our kids need so much schooling?” She’d quit at 8th grade herself, like most. The Greer family was a bit conceited, all finishing high school. She didn’t like to think her babies might consider her dumb. When they ought to respect her, and fear the wooden spoon of discipline.

  “We own part of a starship,” Abel defended. “It’s up to us to make a profit! Lord knows, Sass and Clay won’t do it for us. Maybe we could even fund Copeland’s next generation ship.”

  “Now that makes more sense than college,” she agreed in satisfaction. “Our own spaceport and fleet, plying back and forth.”

  “Didn’t spot any killer products in the ag dome?” Abel wheedled her yet again.

  Some lady awaited them at the foot of the corridor, blue with red freckles. She bore a large white case marked with a red blood drop. She didn’t interrupt, so Jules ignored her.

  “I mostly thought what we could sell them. Abel, they would go gaga for our fish farm. That freshwater fish tank we rigged for Hell’s Bells? We’ve got fish paste left for samples. I already built the tank and started the rice, but Eli is off wooing that pterry-tamer.”

  She turned to the doctor, and flashed a smile. “Hello, I’m Jules Greer. My husband Abel.”

  “Dr. Tyler,” she replied.

  Abel gave the woman a nod, but continued the exchange with Jules. “Better them than me.” He was one of the fish-haters in the crew. They were introduced to fish as prisoners, after all. Jules had enough mouths to feed that she didn’t brook anyone balking at what she put on the table. “Any particularly good food at the ag dome?”

  “Sure,” his wife replied. “Sweet potatoes, of course, and Abel, they’ve got so many flavors! And the peanut and sesame oil are to die for. But I don’t see skyships bought out of that. I mean, we sell samples and seeds, and we’re done. Bulky too.”

  Dr. Tyler attempted to get a word in edgewise. “Our crops won’t grow on Mahina, will they? I mean, they need heat.”

  “We grow whatever we want,” Jules corrected her. “Probably not as field crops. But we only have a few crops re-engineered to grow in open air anyway, on account of the week-long day cycle. The other crops we grow in greenhouses, or old mine tunnels. Whatever temperature they need, light, humidity. Abel, remind me when we get home to Mahina to roast and sugar the peanuts we bring for samples. Oh, and they have goats to die for. So adorable! And chickens! We need chickens. Eggs prevent you going blind.” This last she directed at the doctor.

  “Ah – yes,” Dr. Tyler acknowledged. “If you could –”

  “Barrels of oil,” Abel suggested. “Peanut and sesame, you said? They really taste any different from corn and soybean oil?”

  “Of course!” Jules insisted. “Even Cope and Ben brought some home to boil things in.”

  Several of the crew took a turn cooking now and then. Cope insisted that the signature cuisine of Schuyler – his hometown and the largest settler ‘city’ – was almost entirely deep-fried. Ben learned to cook in a deep-fryer as a boy, as well. If anyone was a connoisseur of cooking oils, it was those two.

  “Not as cheap as field oil crops, of course,” Jules allowed.

  “No,” Abel agreed, frustrated.

  She’d make sure he ordered some barrels of oil for cargo and the galley. But as she already pointed out, they couldn’t get rich on peanuts and sesame seeds. Not unless they bought their own exotics farm to grow them in. But they didn’t buy into a skyship to become farmers.

  Dr. Tyler attempted yet again to butt in. “You two are the buyers for the Thrive?”

  “We are,” Abel agreed, and backtracked the conversation with Jules. “Anything special about these goats? Aside from cute.”

  “We’ve genetically enhanced them,” Dr. Tyler cut in. “To give milk more closely aligned with human dietary needs.”

  Abel belched apologetically. “No offense, ma’am, but your food doesn’t agree with me too well. Jules, are we eating all Denali, all the time?”

  “Sure are. Need to save the protein stocks,” she commiserated. “Hey, doctor, you got anything for gas?”

  Dr. Tyler blinked. “Do you mean intestinal distress?”

  Jules frowned at her. “I mean gas in the guts. I don’t want you farting in bed, Abel. It’s a marital problem, you see, ma’am.”

  “Ah – yes. I do have a remedy,” Dr. Tyler agreed. “If I could do your physical exam first, so you’re free to enter the city.”

  “Oh, heavens to Betsy!” Jules cried. “Are we holding you up? I’m sorry. You want me to sit on a machine or something?”

  “Right here will do.” The Denali affixed a cuff to Jules’ wrist and frowned at her tablet.
<
br />   Jules was accustomed to ignoring this computer-worshiping behavior from the techs of the crew, including her husband. “Abel, they have the most velvety red ears. And the chicks come out all speckled and streaky like sunset!”

  “The goats?”

  “Of course the goats! Clay loves goats, too.”

  The doctor cleared her throat aggressively. “You need our intestinal pills. To jump-start your intestinal flora. Or your discomfort will continue to increase. Your inoculation uptake was quite satisfactory, though.”

  “Huh,” Jules replied, snaking her hand out of the diagnostic cuff. She turned and murmured to Abel, “Do you know what she just said?”

  “No,” Abel agreed. “Doctor? Our friends Copeland and Ben, when they came through. The settlers, not the urbs like Eli and Sass. Did they take this, um, integrating pill?”

  The doctor pursed her lips. “No. Dr. Rasmussen interfered. But he isn’t the one who needed it. I assure you that Denali enteric medicine is light years ahead of Mahina’s nanites.”

  Abel admitted, “I don’t understand. Better than nanites? To make you healthy?”

  “Yes!” Dr. Tyler’s vehemence on this point startled Jules into taking a step backwards. The doctor’s freckles even flared. “Excuse my outburst. I found Dr. Rasmussen’s…obstruction…most frustrating. I was only trying to treat my patients. Like you.”

  “OK,” Abel allowed. “What is this pill?”

  Tyler’s eyes glowed with fervor. “It primes your intestinal fauna –” She abruptly switched track. “It makes you digest food better. And with better digestion, your mood improves, your entire outlook on life! We have specialized bacterial suites – um, different pills – geared for your personality type and vocation – your work. Hunters, farmers, cosmopolitans like me. Versions to make stressed people calmer, shy people more outgoing, reduce allergies, and so on.”

  Jules and Abel exchanged a smile. Jules said, “We’d like a bottle of each, please. For product samples.”

  Abel harbored doubts. “It’s not a drug, is it? Our captain used to be a cop, so she’s a bit wonky about weapons and drugs.”

  Jules harrumphed. Leave it to Sass to leave it to Abel to make a profit, then interfere with scruples. “Drugs are low-mass and high-margin. We brought home drugs from Sagamore, made by a crazy lady, a criminal!”

  Dr. Tyler looked perplexed. “These aren’t drugs. They’re an enteric… They’re biological. Natural.”

  Abel looked to his wife. “Eli needs to pass on biologicals.”

  Jules nodded. “And when he’s available, we’ll ask him. In the meantime, our doctor advised us to take them.” She beamed at the Denali. “We’ll take them all. Are they labeled?”

  “You take one pill per day for a week,” the doctor attempted. “Then once a week after that to maintain their populations – to reinforce it.” She paused to gaze at Jules in mutual incomprehension. “Yes, they’re labeled.”

  “Great, then!” Jules said. “We’ll take one bottle of everything. Where do you shop in this dome?”

  “Shop? Ah, we don’t encourage personal belongings.”

  Husband and wife frowned at each other. “Your pretty loincloth?” Jules suggested.

  The doctor replied, “I have a week’s worth. When one can’t be mended any further, the laundry has a selection of new cloths or ones from the dead.”

  Jules blinked. “Jewelry…” Come to think of it, she’d never seen a Denali carry anything beyond the tools of their trade. “No shopping?”

  “The community provides all that I need. In return I offer all that I am.”

  Abel murmured to Jules, “You see what I’m up against.”

  Jules nodded emphatically. “We’re in sales, doctor. Which pill makes us more outgoing and confident?”

  Abel confirmed, “We need to keep smiling no matter how many times we’re rejected.”

  Tyler rummaged in her kit and set out all of her gut-bacteria remedies, studying their labels. “Normally I would give this to someone who suffers painful shyness,” she said doubtfully, studying a label.

  Jules and Abel couldn’t read. Computers did that for them.

  “Perfect,” Abel declared, and plucked it out of her hand. He offered a pill to Jules and downed one himself.

  Jules shoveled over a dozen bottles into her shopping bag of out-of-dome belongings. She marked the ‘bold’ pill vial with a fingernail.

  “Put all this on my tab, please, doctor,” Abel requested. “And this will fix my gas?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you so much!” Jules cried sunnily. She took her husband’s elbow to head into the dome, proud that she’d already helped him select cargo. Things were looking up. And after a hard day marketing, she couldn’t wait to try the dead sea pool. Ben raved about it.

  But imagine that, no shopping!

  As soon as she returned to her clinic, Dr. Tyler contacted Selectman Aden to report. As usual, she vented her spleen about the crazy Mahinans. But at least she’d found another local product they were willing to buy.

  “Well done, doctor,” Aden replied, composed as ever. “Keep me apprised.”

  20

  A few days later, after a slow and harrowing ride up from the ocean floor, the Nanomage broke the surface only a hundred fifty meters off the Neptune wharf. Entranced, Sass let it sit and bob on the ocean waves.

  The ship was sound. Belker clearly parked it on the sea floor expecting to return one day. Sass had kept Copeland on the comms with her while she checked it over, but Nanomage’s self-diagnostics were straightforward, and the needed repairs minimal. Rising through the ocean was the time-consuming part, with the need for continual decompression stops along the way, and a gradual purge of the helium and argon in favor of oxygen as lower pressures made that feasible. Fortunately ocean wildlife didn’t enjoy the spaceship’s electrostatic shield any more than they cared for sonic barriers, and she threw both at them. The monsters certainly scared her along the way, but probably not as much as her own imagination.

  Now it was finally sunrise. No, she rapidly corrected herself, was it sunset? She had no idea. At this latitude, this early in the year, sunrise and sunset both occurred in the south, sketching a low arc of at most 20 degrees along the 360-degree horizon. Checking the instruments further, her best guess was more-or-less solar noon.

  But what a glorious display it was! The view screen automatically toned down the brightness to protect their eyes. But the disk of the Aloha sun, especially so close to the horizon, was huge compared to how it looked from Mahina, even bigger than the Sun from Earth, she fancied.

  And the colors! Hot pink and yellow cloud streamers framed a burning red-orange sun, the sky deep turquoise behind, edging into deep cobalt. Then it reached masses of thunderheads, brilliantly bathed in gold from below, reaching upward into grey malevolence. The entire pageant reflected off a heaving pewter sea.

  Applying the thrusters, Sass gently turned the ship to behold the beaches.

  No, there would be no sunbathing and frolicking in the waves here. Rollers washed across vast mud-flats, tinted with peculiar slimy streaks of red, magenta, and turquoise. Denali waterfowl wheeled and squabbled over the ocean bounty like razor-toothed seagulls on steroids. Blubbery sea animals slept in vast herds. Beyond stretched the killer mangroves below chaotic-colored mountains. A volcano, cherry-tinted by the low sun to glow like a hot coal, smoked in the distance.

  Denali looked even more alien in daylight.

  Suddenly she noticed that they’d stopped rocking. Then they began rising. Startled from her reverie, she tilted the Nanomage on its tail and goosed the engines a little, pleased with their power, so much greater than Thrive’s. And she looked down.

  A leviathan rose beneath them. Her mind rapidly re-categorized some of the nearby waves as something akin to a pod of whales.

  But the first law of Denali was that absolutely no living creature was harmless. She hastily vamoosed to set down on the wharf instead of the se
a, before the sea monster could open its vast maw.

  “Incredible,” Clay breathed. “Do you think they’re intelligent?”

  “I think every predator is intelligent,” Sass returned. “Remember raccoons? The practical question is whether we can make friends. In this case, probably not.”

  “No,” he agreed. “No common interests.”

  She parked the ship and contacted her people in Neptune to begin their ascent. She would fly Nanomage to Waterfalls instead of risking the shuttle again. While she and Clay licked their wounds and played deep sea diver, Kassidy and Aurora had sealed the deal with Dr. Yang, persuading him to bring himself and his research home to Mahina.

  Granted, they still hadn’t found a way to get off this planet with enough fuel. But they had several promising leads, including this powerful ship, and several more months before their launch window.

  She and Clay settled in to wait for their passengers through hours of nitrogen decompression. The time passed quickly. They still had years of work cut out for them to sift through Nanomage’s data storage.

  And still unsettled by the robot revelation, Sass was hesitant about returning home to take up her mantle of leadership again. She felt a fraud, and still hadn’t decided whether to tell the crew.

  Clay’s advice was that she had to, before the others let it slip. Five people couldn’t keep a secret. As captain, her best move was to control the narrative, spin it in a way that bolstered her authority.

  She hadn’t figured out a way to do that yet.

  At last, Sass’s Neptune party emerged from the bio-lock – hooked to the door airlock forward of the big cargo door. They were all perfectly bakkra-free, and managed to preserve the Nanomage that way as well by wearing pressure suits outdoors. So their sojourn through the container showers entrance was mercifully brief. She’d already had a long and trying day.