Nearspace Trilogy

by Sherry D. Ramsey

  “Thankful for small victories,” I said, and raised my mug.

  He leaned forward to touch his mug to mine. “Speaking of victories, your evidence really helped us out, Luta. No-one could argue that it was just Protectorate harassment or trumped-up charges. The Protectorate is going to be grateful. Quiet, but grateful.”

  “Huh. If they'll turn that gratitude into a new, upgraded main drive, that might compensate me for my trouble.” I was still not entirely over the way Lanar had gone behind my back with Yuskeya, but I never could stay very angry with him. I changed the subject. “So I suppose you'll be wanting my navigator back now. Where am I supposed to find another one as good as Yuskeya?”

  Lanar glanced away, not meeting my eyes, then back. “Actually, I want to talk to you about that. I hear you're taking Mother back to Kiando. Could I leave Yuskeya with you for that trip? I want her to meet with our agents there to—discuss a few things.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “I'm suspicious already, but sure, I'll take her back. She can spend the time bringing me double caff and cinnamon pano to make up for lying to me.”

  “I don't think that's in her job description,” he said, grinning again. “Any of them. But you can try.”

  Maja knocked on the door of my cabin one evening as I was looking over cargo manifests for likely jobs. The repairs to the Tane Ikai were almost complete, and we'd be shipping out for Kiando soon. Might as well travel with full cargo pods, even if the Protectorate had paid for the new drive. I put the datapad aside when she came in.

  She wasn't the same Maja who'd come aboard on Eri. Her blonde hair spilled down from a girlish ponytail and her blue eyes were lively. She smiled at me as she settled herself in my big armchair and tucked her feet up comfortably.

  “Are you making plans for taking Grandmother back to Kiando?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Looking for some likely cargo to haul on the way there, anyway. She's anxious to see Gusain Buig again, so I don't think she'll want me to make too many stops along the way.”

  She licked her lips. “I've been thinking . . . I'd like to stay on for a few runs, if it's all right with you. I'm starting to think that I didn't give space travel enough of a chance when I was younger.”

  “Does my communications officer have anything to do with that idea?”

  She flushed slightly. “You know about that?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Maja, I'm your mother. And we both know why, despite my age, I'm not senile just yet.”

  She laughed then, a sound I couldn't hear often enough. “Do you mind?”

  “Why should I mind? Baden is a good man. He wouldn't be on my crew if I didn't think so. He does have a bit of a reputation—”

  “As a womanizer. I know all about it.”

  “—and I thought he and Rei had something going—”

  “Baden told me about that, so I talked to Rei, too. She laughed, very nicely, and said he was 'amusing' on long runs, but that she has a fiancé back on Eri whom she'll be marrying 'when he's old enough.'” Maja raised her eyebrows. “What's that about?”

  Sankta merdo! I'd known the crew had secrets, but the ones I'd learned lately were not what I'd expected. “I have no idea, and nothing you or anyone else does is any of my business. I can't keep track of it, anyway. So yes, I'd be very happy if you stayed with us for awhile, and so would your father. There's a lot in Nearspace I'd like you to see.”

  She leaned her head back against the chair. “I had a nice talk with Grandmother, too, today. I thought at first I'd feel angry with her, since she was really the beginning of all this. But I don't.” She took a deep breath and looked around my cabin thoughtfully. “Everything I worried about for so long seems to be awfully far away now. And everything important is right here.”

  I smiled. “That's a good thing.”

  She nodded. “That,” she said, “is a very good thing.”

  Weeks later, back on Kiando, Mother and I took a long walk together, a real outdoors walk through some of the vineyards where the fruit for jarlees wine grew. They were reminiscent of vineyards on earth, although the jarlee vines grew over tall, arching trellises and sported pale, burgundy-veined leaves. Anyone seeing us would think we were sisters, not mother and daughter, and I was thinking about how alike we were, and how alike Maja and I were also turning out to be.

  “So you're staying on here for a while.” It wasn't really a question; the relationship I'd suspected she had with Gusain Buig had turned out to be very obvious, and she'd already been talking about getting back to her ongoing research. The trip to Schulyer Group's labs was in the works, and Dr. Ndasa was keen to show her what they'd done.

  She nodded and sighed. “And you're not, I suppose.”

  I smiled. “Part of me would like to. We still have years' worth of things to catch up on. But you're going to be pretty busy for a while.”

  “That's for certain. But I'd squeeze you in.”

  “I know. I think it will be even more fun if I come back later, and bring Karro and Aliande, and their children, if they'll come. I'll mention it to Lanar next time I talk to him. We'll have a real family reunion.”

  “That would be wonderful.” Her voice was warm, and there was a catch in it.

  I pulled a dark violet jarlee fruit from one of the vines and rolled it in my fingers, enjoying the plump promise of sweetness.

  “Hirin came to see me about the new breed of bioscavengers,” she said. “I explained what they could and couldn't do for him. But he seemed happy for whatever they'll accomplish.”

  “He's already had the treatment?” I was surprised he hadn't told me.

  “Yesterday. Maybe he wanted to surprise you.”

  “Hmmm. Maybe.” I thought it might be something else, but I'd have to ask him later. “Mother, it's kind of strange, but—now that the die is cast, I think I understand your hesitation to unleash immortality on humans.”

  Mother laughed. “Oh, really? You told me rather bluntly that it wasn't my business to decide for the entire race.”

  “Well, something like that, I guess. But when I think about people like Alin Sedmamin and Dores Amadoro, I wonder if you weren't right after all. We could do a lot of harm if mortality isn't an issue anymore. There seems to be an almost limitless capacity for greed and mean-spiritedness in us as a race.”

  “We could.” She picked a jarlee fruit and popped it into her mouth. “On the other hand, we might get over the short-sightedness that's plagued us for centuries. Might be more mindful of the hundred-year consequences of our actions if we have every expectation of being around to experience them. We have great capacity for kindness and compassion, too.”

  “True.” I grinned. “I guess we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?”

  “I guess so. There's a quotation from an old Earth writer that's always intrigued me. It goes, 'I don't believe in ageing. I believe in forever altering one's aspect to the sun.' I don't know what she actually meant by that, since she killed herself years later, but I've always taken it to mean that instead of worrying about getting older, we should instead be able to use time to change our perspective on things. Change how we see the universe and the face we present to it.” She laughed a little. “I guess that's what I hope this research will ultimately enable people to do. Alter their perspective from time to time, because they'll be around long enough to do it.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said. “I guess that's what I've been doing for years, I just didn't realize it.”

  We walked a long way in silence after that, and it was perfectly okej.

  That night when we were getting ready for bed, I told Hirin about my visit with Mother.

  He smiled. “I'm so glad you finally found her. All that time—it wasn't wasted.”

  “I wouldn't have said it was wasted, anyway.” I sat beside him on the bed. “We had a lot of good years out there on the Tane Ikai.”

  “And a lot of close calls,” he said with a chuckle. Then his face grew serious. “Luta, this
has turned out so differently than what we talked about when I left Earth. You've gotten into something you didn't expect . . . or maybe even want.”

  I'd suspected as much. I turned to meet his eyes, eyes I'd looked into for decades, loving them with every glance. They were no longer clouded with age, no longer sunken—the bioscavengers had taken a good fifteen years off his appearance and probably fixed him up inside even better than that.

  None of that mattered to me at all. I'd never felt that he'd aged beyond me, only that he'd been subject to forces that had bypassed me, like an illness to which I'd been blessed with immunity. Our souls were the same age, and that was what had brought us together and kept us together all that time, anyway.

  “Mother said you went to see her yesterday. Looks like you don't have to worry about dying in space—or anywhere—just yet.”

  He nodded. “But you weren't counting on that, and I'll understand if you'd rather—”

  I kissed him, which shut him up briefly, but then he pulled away and said, “No, I'm serious about this—”

  “And so am I.” I kissed him again, harder this time. “You silly old man. You're not getting rid of me that easily. Unless you're thinking you want a younger woman now—”

  At which point he made it very clear that, in fact, he did not.

  THE END

  Acknowledgements

  Every novel bears the name of at least one author on the cover, but in truth, no book comes into being through the efforts of just one individual. This one is no exception. I've had readers, consultants and editors galore in the process of creating this novel, and I thank you all.

  In particular, I'd like to mention the folks at National Novel Writing Month, under whose crazy auspices the first draft of this novel came into being, and the (anonymous) Atlantic Writing Competition judges who provided valuable commentary on an early incarnation of the novel. For feedback, advice, and proofing on many and various stages of the book (until I'm sure they were sick of looking at and hearing about it), huge thanks to Nancy Waldman, Julie Serroul and my sister Krista Miller, and special thanks to my husband Terry Ramsey for helping me untangle the intricate web of Nearspace wormholes. For advice, cheerleading, and general encouragement, I must thank my incomparable writing group colleagues in The Story Forge and The Quillians.

  I owe special thanks for many thoughtful editorial insights to my editor, Margaret Curelas, who in particular helped me find my way to the best ending for the book.

  And of course, none of the rest would really matter at all without the ongoing and unfaltering support of my family and friends.

  Finally, thanks to anyone who ever told me (sincerely or not) that I did not look my age, since that's what sparked the whole idea.

  Even with all that help, there will still be imperfections . . . they are entirely my fault, and I can only hope that perhaps in some alternate universe, even those have been fixed.

  Dark Beneath the Moon

  Sherry D. Ramsey

  Dark Beneath the Moon

  Published by Tyche Books Ltd.

  www.TycheBooks.com

  Copyright © 2015 Sherry D. Ramsey

  First Tyche Books Ltd Edition 2015

  Print ISBN: 978-1-928025-31-3

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-928025-32-0

  Cover Art by Ashley Walters

  Cover Layout by Lucia Starkey

  Interior Layout by Ryah Deines

  Editorial by M. L. D. Curelas

  Author photograph: John Ratchford

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage & retrieval system, without written permission from the copyright holder, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third party websites or their content.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this story are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to persons living or dead would be really cool, but is purely coincidental.

  This book was funded in part by a grant from the Alberta Media Fund.

  For Emily and Mark

  because it’s not always easy to have a mom

  who spends almost as much time with her characters

  as she does with you.

  Away! the moor is dark beneath the moon,

  Rapid clouds have drunk the last pale beam of even:

  Away! the gathering winds will call the darkness soon,

  And profoundest midnight shroud the serene lights of heaven.

  ~ “Remorse,” Percy Bysshe Shelley

  Prologue – Jahelia

  Planet Quma, 2276

  THE SMALL, DINGY room where my father lay had taken on the cloying scent of death. It clung to the yellowed lampshade on the night table, to the blue and green embroidered coverlet my mother had once smoothed so meticulously, to the curtains he’d insisted on keeping closed for weeks now. He would not leave this room alive, and he and the room—and I—knew it.

  He’d been dying by inches for months. The tiny machines that had toiled vigorously inside his body for decades had finally begun to fail, and there was no-one in Nearspace who could fix them.

  At least, that was what he had told me. I’d asked him over and over, and his answer was always the same. Until the last time.

  “It’s my own damn fault,” he wheezed as I held the glass of water close to his lips, waiting for him to take a sip. It wasn’t cold any longer, but he preferred it this way. It might calm the cough and it might make it worse: every swallow was a toss-up.

  “Shhh, paĉjo. Just take a little drink, now.”

  He pushed the glass away with a hand that shook more every day, but was still strong enough to make his will known. His mind had flown into the past, still retracing old regrets. “I should have waited until we were further along. Until we knew for sure that we had it right. I jumped the gun. But PrimeCorp—”

  He launched into a fit of coughing that wracked his entire body, from his sunken chest right down to the thin, mottled sticks his legs had become beneath the coverlet. I rubbed his back, feeling the bones sharp through his thin pyjamas and fragile skin. When the cough released him, he dropped against the pillows and lay still, panting.

  “There’s no-one else from your old team who might know something? Anything that might help?” I prodded again, although I was convinced by now that it was useless. He hadn’t contacted anyone for help when Mamma was dying—he wouldn’t do it for himself. But I had to ask. I was sure he was holding out on me, and equally sure that he would take his secrets to the grave with him.

  He lay staring at the ceiling, unmoving for so long that I was tempted to put my ear to his chest to make sure his heart still beat. If I watched closely, though, I could make out the shallow rise and fall of his breathing.

  “How are you feeling, Lia?” he asked finally. The change of subject, and the sudden use of my childhood nickname, threw me for a moment.

  “Me? I’m fine, Dad.”

  He turned his gaze to me, his rheumy eyes red-rimmed and watery from the coughing fit, yet still piercing. He nodded. “You’ve got the next generation. Not the same as mine. Not the same as your mother’s. You should be fine. I don’t want you worrying.”

  I shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden chair next to the bed. “I know. It’s okej.”

  His eyes found the ceiling again, focused as if he were trying to count every crack in the aging plaster. His next words were barely louder than a whisper. “But I don’t know for sure. Not for sure.”

  I tried to keep my voice light. “Well, no-one knows much for sure, right? We all have to take it one day at a time. We’ve already had more than most. And anyway, once you feel better—”

  He shook his head, slowly. “We shou
ld have known for sure.”

  I patted his hand, my unlined one a stark contrast to his newly age-spotted skin and deeply grooved lines. The changes had come on suddenly, alarmingly. “I’ve had a good run so far. I’ve got no complaints.”

  He twitched his hand out from under mine as if my touch were hot. “I made a promise,” he said, his voice stronger than I’d heard it in days. “I made a promise and I kept it, goddamn it, but I’m not taking it to my grave. I’ve done some things I’m not proud of, but they don’t matter now.”

  I wondered if he was starting to ramble, and bit my lip. I itched to get up and open the curtains, let some light in to the stifling room. Instead I straightened the things on the night-table. His water glass and datapad and glasses. He’d only started wearing them two months ago and resented them heartily.

  “At least your mother never knew.” His voice was lazy, distant.

  I’d been worried for weeks now that his mind would start to break, not sure how I would handle that. “Shhh, Dad,” I tried. “It’s okej. You should rest, not worry yourself about the past.”

  He reached out and grabbed my hand again, squeezing it. “But this does matter. It matters to you, and your future. It will matter if your bioscavs ever start to fail, too.”

  His hand squeezed mine painfully, but I didn’t pull away. If your bioscavs ever start to fail. The one thing I feared the most, now. Now that I’d seen it happen to both my parents.

  “There is someone. One person in all of Nearspace who could help. A woman. My old team leader. In spite of—in spite of me, she’d help you, I think.”

  Something dark clutched at my heart. “What? I’ve asked and asked you this! Why didn’t you say—”