by Ginger Booth
Ben had altitude to lose to get closer to the ring ecliptic, where ringships dwelt. But first he checked how long his remaining fuel could keep this orbit from decaying. Three weeks. Well, that was longer than his life support would hold out, anyway.
He didn’t have enough fuel to jump from here to Prosper. He shuddered to imagine what might happen if the power cut out during jump. Best case scenario, he’d be dead in space, falling into Pono.
A few more calculations persuaded him that spending fuel to lose altitude was worthwhile. It cost him time, but then saved it by placing him closer to rescue. It also put him within comms range of a larger swath of the rings. He keyed that course in and set it to execute.
Sixteen days of fuel left.
No doubt Cope was going insane. Ben regretted that. Finding a needle in a haystack was trivial compared to the challenge of finding this shuttle. Well, it wasn’t quite that bad. The sky drive kicked out a little radiation, and the flimsy vessel didn’t shield that much. Some thousands of his nanites per minute probably expended their microscopic lives cleaning up his DNA damage.
He had a transponder squawking away. He checked. Yeah, he could afford to feed a little more power and range into the transponder. That only cut an hour into his life expectancy.
There was one thing he could do that made a big splashy noise anyone could spot. Ben thought it through. He was only about 75% convinced Cope would reach this conclusion. But Teke would, 100%. Ben wasn’t sure when. Best not to burn his flare until he reached the lower altitude and settled into his new orbit, in…12 hours.
Then he’d generate the warp pattern. Teke would see it. He hoped. Because gunning the star drive up to level 8 would leave him with only…
Eight days. After that, the shuttle would run out of the fuel needed to prevent its slow decay into Pono.
His suit didn’t have power for that long. But he had time to jury-rig a charger. So long as the sky drive kept burning, Ben’s suit would stay alive, and 48 hours afterwards on the charge.
Not that he’d notice. The only way he’d survive ten days was in cryo.
He hoped to make contact before that.
Sorry Cope. Best I could do.
“He should have lit up the warp by now,” Cope repeated. He lay back on the floor, knees up, because Teke wouldn’t tolerate him pacing anymore. “We missed something. There’s some other way for him to contact us. What?”
“I know you’d like to believe that,” the physicist replied from the engineering podium above him. “But it isn’t true. As soon as he thinks of lighting up the warp, that will be his plan. Because it’s his best shot. And I’m sure he figured that out within minutes of arrival. He’s here, Cope, somewhere. He’ll light the warp and we’ll find him.”
“But it’s been twelve hours, dammit!” Cope cried. “Why would he wait this long?”
“I don’t know,” Teke reminded him. “I’m not a pilot, Cope.”
The engineer sat up abruptly. “Lavelle and Gorky. I’ll call and ask them.”
“THERE!” Teke yelled, jumping up from his bar-stool seat. The warp signature flared for only 10 seconds before he locked a tight beam on it for comms. “Ben! Respond!”
Cope hung on the shorter man’s shoulder to watch. Immediately the warp lights doused.
“Teke! Ben here, good to hear your voice! Re-entry coordinates follow.” Ben reeled off the numbers.
“Damn, too high above the rings,” Cope murmured. “That’s why. Ben! Welcome back!” His voice cracked. He didn’t care.
Teke was hailing Kassidy to capture the moment for posterity. That was pointless. She’d already missed the main event.
“Good to be here, Cope! You wouldn’t happen to have coordinates for Gorky and Lavelle, would you? I’m seeing you as a bit out of range.”
“You sure you don’t want to wait for us?” Cope’s heart sank at the idea of one of their recent pursuers being the one to catch Ben first.
“Not really an option, buddy. Coordinates and bearing?”
Not an option? By the time Cope finished sending coordinates, he’d already figured out that comment, with a sinking feeling. “How long have you got, Ben?” His eyes flicked to one of Kassidy’s damned camera drones in anguish, then away.
Ben appeared, helmet off, mag boots up. He’d finger-combed his sweaty hair up as though moused, freshly groomed for the camera. Showboat. Cope swallowed. With one hand stretched to the console, Ben busily calculated something on the navigation calculator, scratched his nose, and calculated again.
“Checking something,” the captain eventually remembered to reply.
“I’ve got visual on you,” Cope assured him. “Sight for sore eyes. You scared me to death. Don’t do that again.”
Ben glanced to the camera with a half-smile. “Sorry not sorry.” He tapped the calculator one last time. “Both. Give them my coordinates and have them give me a call. ASAP, chief. Let me do the talking.”
He never answered the question, Cope noticed. His heart thumped harder. But he patched the other captains onto the line in seconds. He’d bugged them rather a lot over the past 12 hours. He supplied coordinates and bearing to establish their own tight beams onto the shuttle, and begged them to let him listen in. The slightly different time lags on his three connections provided a funky echo.
“Mon cher petit!” Lavelle hailed first. “There you are! Your Copeland, he has been very worried!”
“Hey, dumb-ass!” Gorky chimed in. “Whatcha doing way over there without your ship?”
“Mayday, mayday!” Ben returned. “Thanks for calling. Could I persuade either of you fine gentlemen to come pick me up? You’re about equidistant. I’d prefer bound for Mahina Orbital. You know, if I have a choice.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Lavelle crooned. “It would take me nine days out of my way. You, Gorky?”
“Oh, I wasn’t going that way at all,” Gorky played along. “What are you offering?”
“You still work for the Vultures?” Ben inquired sweetly.
“Ooh, check the news, Ben!” Gorky admonished him. “My case was easy. Restitution court already reversed my sale to RV. I’m a free man.”
“Oh, yeah!” Ben said wonderingly. “We’ve got a new government on Mahina now, huh? Who’s the new bonehead, Spiegler?”
“Atlas Pratt,” Gorky supplied. “Retired creche administrator? Just until elections.”
“Oh, wow!” Ben returned, genuinely enthusiastic. “Pratt’s an old friend. Yeah, my dad and kids are freeloading at his apartment now in MA!”
“That’s unfortunate,” Lavelle murmured. “He’ll recuse himself from your case. You’re doomed to the wait-for-elections queue.”
“Damn,” Ben acknowledged. “So about you, Lavelle. Why were you after me? I never did quite understand that reversal. We were allies, you incorrigible pirate.”
“We remain allies!” Lavelle professed. “Always, mon petit capitan! But I learned that Vultures sent Gorky to attack you. I must leave the paddies to protect our agent on Prosper.”
“Your agent?” Ben asked. “Is that Sophie, or…”
Elise Pointreau, Cope easily supplied. She’d rejoined them at the podium by now, and shrugged impishly at his glower. Probably getting paid twice, too – an agent for Pollan at MO, as well.
“Well, if you do not know, darling Ben,” Lavelle returned. “But let us say Hell’s Bells is deeply invested.”
They have one hell of a better claim than the Vultures, Cope conceded. They wouldn’t have achieved warp without Elise’s expertise.
Ben asked, “Can you promise to keep your paws off my toys until you rendezvous with Prosper?”
“I will!” Gorky promised. “Ben, you can trust me!”
“How could you think not?” Lavelle cried, in faux offense.
On the camera, Ben mimed bad options to either side of him. “Lavelle, you’re my best hope,” he admitted.
“What’s the damage, Ben?” Gorky inquired, suddenly solemn.
>
Ben named a time eight days hence, to the minute. “That’s when I run out of fuel. Neither of you can reach me by then. And I’ll be in cryo, unable to respond or help.”
“Cryo!” Cope gasped.
Ben’s eyes flicked up to the camera, but otherwise he pretended not to hear him.
“This is bad,” Lavelle allowed.
The three captains put their heads together to evolve a plan. Then after a few more rounds of good-natured insults, they signed off.
Ben turned to look straight into the camera. “Cope, this is the hard part. I love you. Put Judge on the line for me.”
“Judge! Why?”
“Because he’s done this before. Talked a crewman down into cold sleep. And you shouldn’t have to. Get me Judge.” He pulled his helmet back on, strapped in, and pressed the sequence to depressurize the shuttle. A single power line attached him to the console. He switched off more lights, until the shuttle fell into blue murk.
Teke summoned Judge for him. Apologetically, the spacer edged Cope aside.
“Hey, Ben, great to hear from you!” Judge prattled. “Everyone’s overjoyed. This crew, they really love you, man. I do, too.”
“How do I do this, Judge?” Ben asked. “Any special tricks?”
“None at all. Press the blue button on the med bank, reply to the heads-up prompts. Let me know when you’re done.”
“Done,” Ben replied after a moment. “Now what happens?”
One of Cope’s knees buckled. He reached an arm to the console for support. The shorter Teke snaked an arm around his ribs to hold him for emotional support.
“Easy-peasy, cap,” Judge crooned. “Just relax. Nothing to be scared of. It’s nice. You feel cold at first, then real warm and safe-like. And you are. Perfectly safe. Yeah, I’ve been resussed three, no, four times. No biggie with the Yang-Yangs. You want to say hey to Cope?”
“No, I don’t want to hurt Cope.”
“You’re not hurting him a bit, buddy.” Judge met Cope’s eye compassionately while he lied. “Just doing what you need to do. Teke’s hugging him now. You let all your worries go. That’s the ticket.”
Judge prattled on, with pointless babble suitable for boring night terrors into submission. Then a light flashed from green to blue on Ben’s suit on the screen. “It’s done. He’s out of our hands now.” The spacer lifted a fist as though to bump Cope’s arm. Apparently he thought better of it, and dropped his hand.
Cope returned him a jerky nod in acknowledgment. Teke said thanks and made the crewman go away.
“Cope,” Teke murmured once they were alone. “We need to tell Nathan and the kids. That we found Ben. We have a retrieval plan, but it’ll take weeks. You need me to do that for you?”
That was when Cope lost it. Teke lowered him to the floor and held him while he sobbed, releasing twenty hours of crushing anxiety. There wasn’t a damned thing he could do but wait. Ben’s fate was in Lavelle’s hands, not Cope’s.
I did this to him.
94
“Hey,” Ben crooned muzzily, with a big smile. Cope held his hand and petted his brow. The captain awoke to a med bay – his own med bay. “Guess it worked, huh?”
“It was touch and go for a while,” Cope admitted. “Be glad you missed it. Lavelle rendezvoused with us about an hour ago.”
“He steal your stuff?”
“No. Well, Elise Pointreau says not, anyway. And Teke.”
Ben nodded, floating in his mind. “Denali don’t think like us about property. If it’s important, three worlds should own it. Not Spaceways.”
“Yeah, we had that conversation,” Cope allowed. “You’ve been offline a long time. How do you feel?”
“Drugged to the gills,” Ben confided. “You’re pretty. Why do people say I’m pretty and not you? They have no taste. Because you’re pretty.”
Cope chuckled softly. “You’re really looped, aren’t you?”
“All sunshine and rainbows. No scary blue fractals. My prince of engineers is holding my hand. Good drugs!”
“Kassidy wants to bring in her cameras.”
“Bad idea,” Ben told him solemnly. “I’ll tell them I’m a closet frill.”
“No, you don’t want to do that,” Cope urged, laughing at him.
“No. Hey, when do we talk to Sass? We have a fancy moose-bot. Let’s call Sass! She should be at this party. And what’s-his-name. Hunter’s dad would be proud. Like my dad.” Ben paused to contemplate that. “Is Dad really sarcastic? About what I did?”
“Very,” Cope assured him.
“Good. I think that means he likes me and doesn’t want to show it. Or I’d get spoiled.”
“I’m sure that’s what it means,” Cope agreed, lip tilted.
“Or he thinks I’m an idiot.”
“Hard to tell with Nathan.” Cope’s eyes lit.
Ben liked to make him laugh. He was sad for so long. “Cope, no one should jump into the pretty fractal again in a little ship. Maybe this will make them build the big ships like you want. New hoppers like Prosper.”
“Let’s hope,” Cope agreed kindly.
That brief exertion of logic wore Ben out. “I’m sleepy.”
“Yeah, you nod off again. Tomorrow we’ll call Sass.”
Ben’s eyes drifted closed, then popped open again. “Dogs and ponies.”
“I’ll take care of it for you,” Cope promised.
“Good. I missed that. Partners. When you take over cuz I can’t anymore.”
“Always.” Cope grew more intent. Ben wasn’t sure why, as he drifted off again.
“Moose-bot! Incoming!” Teke’s voice came over the ship-wide address channel. Ben, running from the bridge, was the first to reach him.
“Sass?” he asked in wonder, slipping onto the bed beside Teke. Cope hadn’t slept in this cabin for quite a while now. Teke and Elise shared it these days.
Calling Sass was no mean feat. Once Ben was up and about again, and Prosper on course for Mahina Orbit, they tried to call, and got a dead screen.
After a couple days, Cope tried during that daily window when the cache woke and sent a signal. That worked – the screen came alive. Unlike Sora’s spare lab, Sanctuary had an answering machine on their antlers. A polite voice with a strange accent invited them to leave a message. The screen echoed the same instructions in English, French, Spanish, and a couple versions in unfamiliar alphabets. Cope had explained his errand, to speak with Sassafras Collier. He also named the rest of her crew, and said they were incoming toward Sanctuary from Mahina, Aloha system, on a JO-3 or PO-3 model asteroid hopper named Thrive.
Or they’d be happy to speak to anyone else on Sanctuary.
No one replied. That was a week ago. But now she smiled at him, clearly delighted in silvery gray scale. Sass hadn’t changed a bit.
“Wow, look at the two of you!” she marveled. “All grown up!”
Ben and Teke told her briefly what they’d grown up into, while Cope and Hunter, Kassidy and Eli piled onto the bed behind them. Ben felt bad about leaving out the others, but no more could fit. He told her who else was on the ship.
“Not Abel and Jules?”
“No, we split ways with Abel,” Ben confided sadly. “Just recently.”
“Correction,” Cope added. “Abel and I are ironing things out.” Ben was practically sitting in his lap by now, Cope’s arms around him possessively from behind.
“Oh, good!” Sass encouraged. “Cope, I always admired the way you and Abel worked together. You’d clash, then apologize and hash it out. You both bring such different strengths.”
“We do,” Cope allowed. “He keeps getting better at money. I’ll never catch up.” He shook his head, and changed the subject. “So you reached Sanctuary! How is it?”
“Well, that’s a long story,” Sass began. And they leaned in to hear the tale.
Part III
Sanctuary Thrive
Map
Thrive floorplan.
95
; The original Colony Corps constructed and crewed the vast refugee ships of the final exodus from Earth, bearing as many as a quarter million souls per transport. These crews deposited their charges at their destination star systems, tarried a few years to help out, then departed. – Quasar Shibuya, The Early Diaspora.
“Goodbye,” Captain Sassafras Collier said, her face frozen in a smile. Her partner and first mate, Clay Rocha, caressed her shoulder and reached to click off the recording. Rather than allow time for second thoughts and video editing, he hit Send before she could stop him.
This was their final farewell to their old shipmates before they vanished from the Aloha star system for two decades. No further communications would be possible. The Thrive’s current crew, including Clay, had sent their intimate goodbyes to family. But Sass’s crews were her only surviving family. She saved her closing video for last.
Forty minutes from now, they’d receive the data burst on Mahina. The moon lay 700 million kilometers beneath them on the planetary ecliptic. Pono, the gas giant Mahina orbited, also hurtled away from their last meeting.
By the time her friends could reply, Sass would be gone.
She released her aching smile and sat back thoughtfully in her chair on the bridge. “Why am I not crying?”
“Because the real goodbye was eighteen months ago,” Clay reasoned. Back then they hugged and kissed these people in person, and cried a river. “By now, my honest wish is to get on with it.”
“True,” she agreed, though she did regret not feeling more…regret. Even after a few years, the revelation of her wetware-computer nature still generated self-doubt at the damnedest times. Would I be bawling now if I were a real person?
Clay was no help. The gorgeous man, matching her at an apparent age of 20, was actually 109, five years her senior. His facsimile personality ran on the same nanite operating system as hers did, ever since their originals died within minutes of each other back on Earth, 70 years ago subjective. Or 78 years objective, adding back the eight years they skipped in the blink of an eye on the way to Aloha. Here she was, about to skip forward another eight years relative to her friends.