by Rob Dearsley
Hale coughed, and the moment broke, Dannage and Arland moving apart, suddenly self-conscious.
He could still smell her on his skin, his face. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her and never come back again. He reached out for her, tentative. Remembering her lost expression in the briefing room. Her fingers closed around his hand. Her hands were rough, small scars on her knuckles. Working hands. He wondered why her nannites didn’t fix the scars. In a way, he was glad. They were part of her.
He turned to Hale. “What happened?”
“You lost yourself in the link. If Arland hadn’t been here, I don’t know if we’d have gotten you back?”
He could remember it, still feel it now. It had felt so right. He glanced over at Arland. This, this was real. This was what he was fighting for. “Did this ever happen to you?”
Hale shook her head. “No, but I had an easier time, the strength of the implant can be turned up and down, we’re introduced to different sensations one at a time. Systems of increased complexity. You’re being thrown in the deep end. Worse I’d say, you’ve got way more range than my implant.”
What was happening to him? He put the question out of his mind. “What was your centre?” he asked again.
Interlude Two
(Terran Office Training Station, Terran System, 50,000 years ago)
Iopen my eyes to the clean metal of the overhead. My body tingles with the after-effects of the sedative. I feel odd. Everything’s new. The metallic tang of the recycled air tastes sweeter. The red medical logos and bright orange flashing on the waste containers seem brighter, more vivid. I don’t have the normal, woolly sensation of remaining drugs. My mind is fresh, scrubbed clean. I feel almost invigorated.
“Lieutenant Hale?” The medic looks down at me, half his face covered by the sterile white mask. His eyes – the only thing visible – are bracketed by well-worn lines.
“I’m good, sir.” What I really want to ask is, did it work? Do I have the ship link?
He must see the questions on my face. He pulls the mask down and smiles. “Everything went well. Your mind is accepting the ship-link.”
I push up onto my elbows and look around the room. The bed linen feels cool and crisp beneath my hands. I almost fancy I can feel each individual thread. The doors open with a mechanical buzz and Bates, one of the training officers, enters.
As he walks toward me, I find myself fascinated by the razor-sharp crease in his trousers. He notices my attention and smiles. “I remember the hypersensitivity. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
“Is it always like this?”
“At first.” He sits on the bed beside me. “It fades slightly, and your mind will adapt, but you’ll always have a higher perception. Notice things more.”
“Like the tramlines.” I point to the double crease over his knee.
He chuckles and places a hand over the offending knee. “Just so. Now shall we turn your link on?”
So soon? I thought they’d make me wait. Memorise more manuals and diagrams. Seemingly endless reams of information crammed into my head. Although now the time has come, I’m nervous. I can’t imagine what it will be like to share my mind with a computer. I guess I’m about to find out. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” He gestures to the medic, who passes him a flex. “Ready?”
I nod, and he taps a control on his screen. For a moment, nothing happens. Is that it? Disappointment leaks into my good mood.
A wave of information slams into my head, washing away any thoughts.
I can see myself and Bates from behind. I’m hunched forward, not moving. Bates and the doctor watch me, keeping their distance. I expand my attention, the room distorts, wrapping around until I can see the whole space at once. It’s enough to make me nauseated. I focus on Bates and the rest of the room falls away. That’s better. The nausea fades.
Bates’s temperature is higher than normal. I’d guess he’s just eaten. And the room is filled with the vivid false colour hues of thermal imaging. Glowing power lines trace through the walls. I peg the cooler ducts as data lines.
Bates checks something on his flex. “Good. Now, time to come back. Focus on your own thoughts and feelings, let them push the data feed aside.”
I think about my hunched form. I see myself tense. Nothing happens. I try again, pushing against the link, concentrating on my breathing, my heartbeat. The sensations of my own body. For a moment I can feel the linen beneath my hands, the cool air against the back of my neck. I can see the flow of cool air from the vents, drifting through the false colour of the scanner feed.
“It’s okay.” Hearing Bates through both the sensor feed and my own ears is odd.
I try to focus on his voice and let it bring me back. But it doesn’t work.
“You need to find something that’s unique to you and concentrate on it. What’s the first thing you think about in the morning, the last thing at night? Where does your centre lie?” The last part sounds like something he’s repeated over and over.
What is the most important thing to me right now? All I’ve been thinking about recently is the ship-link, but I already know that won’t work. I have to look deeper.
My parents float into my mind. Their colony farm on CTX74205-Alpha, one of the outer planets in the Sagittarius arm. My father was always up at the crack of dawn to tend the animals, while my mother made breakfast.
When I was little, I’d get up early and wait by the door, my wellies in hand, until my father came down. He’d smile, tousle my hair and scoop me up into his arms, and I’d giggle as his stubble tickled my face. Out on the farm, he’d let me ride on the tractor as we went out to the field.
The back field rises up to a ridgeline. At the far end, he would stop the tractor and we’d sit on the front, looking out over the valley, the smell of fresh bacon rising from the sandwiches he’d packed. Reclining there, in companionable silence as the sun rose over the valley. Trees and stone-built buildings being touched by the first rays of morning light. Sometimes he’d tell me stories or talk about what he had planned for the day. But my most enduring memories were of the silent contemplation.
I’d forgotten it until now, let it drift to the back of my mind and lost among the excitement of a military career. It was a simpler time with simpler pleasures. But this is my perfect moment. My centre.
I take that memory and let it fill my senses, focusing on each in turn. The taste of bacon on my tongue, the scent of freshly tilled earth. The warmth of the sun against my face, taking the chill from the morning air. I take a breath, imagining frosty air burning down into my lungs and open my eyes.
Bates says, “Good work, Hale.” I hear the smile in his voice.
I’m back in my own skull. Everything feels tight and constricted after the freedom of the scanner network. I run my hands over the sheets, feeling the threads, and look over to Bates. The hypersensitivity is enough of a rush to bring me back to myself.
“You did well.” Bates rises from the bed. “Pulled out quicker than most.”
“Is that what it’s like?” I ask. “The ship-link?”
The medic laughs, and Bates says, “Just a taste. You were only connected to the sensor dome.” He points to the dark half sphere that watches us from the ceiling. “As you improve, we’ll connect you to more and more complex systems. You’re dismissed. Grab some chow and shut-eye, the real work starts tomorrow.”
The training procedure was in one of the many documents I’d memorised. I hop off the bed and practically bounce down the hallway to the station’s canteen.
In the canteen, I sit with two others who have just got their ship-links. For a time, we eat in silence, revelling in the heady tastes and textures of the simple food.
“You think that’s why it tasted so bland before?” The middle-aged man to my right, Tucker, asks between mouthfuls of creamy mash.
I chew my own food, enjoying the smooth creamy texture. I can feel small lumps in the mixture which burst with seasoning as they brea
k apart. It’s divine.
“What did you think of the sensor dome?” I ask, hacking off a section of sausage.
“Linking?” the girl opposite me asks.
I nod, still chewing.
“Trippy as hell,” Tucker says around a mouthful of sausage.
“You’re telling me,” the girl says. “I threw up on my training officer.”
We stop eating to laugh.
After we’ve wolfed down our food, the girl turns to us, her eyes intense and a little hesitant. “What was your thing? Your centre?”
Tucker answers straight away, without thinking, face brimming with pride. “My boys. What about you, Mauve?”
Considering she brought the subject up, Mauve seems oddly hesitant to answer. “My brother, he used to help me with my homework when I was younger.” She pulls a locket from the front of her tunic, it shows a young man, little more than a teen. The image catches him mid-laughter, his eyes twinkling.
“Looks the same age as my oldest in that photo. What’s he doing now?” Tucker asks.
Mauve looks at the table, pulling the locket back to her chest. “He died four years ago. Killed in the terrorist attack on Orion Station.” Tears glimmer in her eyes. She swipes them away before continuing. “That’s why I joined up. To stop something like that happening again.”
Tucker gives her shoulders a quick squeeze. “What about you, Hale?” Tucker asks, bringing the attention to me.
The question feels like a personal intrusion. I hesitate to answer. The memory is mine, it almost feels like sharing would dilute it. That the memory would lose its power. It’s mine, and I want to keep it.
“Hale?” Mauve places a hand on my arm. “It’s okay.”
I look over at her, her eyes still sparkling with tears. It felt wrong to not say after her revelation. I take a breath, steeling my resolve.
“Breakfast with my father. I used to get up early so we could eat together.” The memory doesn’t break or fade away like so much smoke. It’s still mine, still my centre.
◊◊
Over the next four weeks, we learn about life with our ship links. Linking with increasing numbers of systems. I’m stretching my mind like never before to keep everything straight, and before too long the phrase “Find your centre” is ingrained into my mind. The memory of father holds strong.
It’s the last week of training and I’m excited again. We’re going to be allowed to connect with a real core mind. The same ones they use on the ships. From what I’ve read, each core mind has its own personality or flavour.
The antechamber for the testing chamber is all dull grey and off-white, punctuated by the muted hushing of the air circulators.
New faces join us for this session. Our normal instructors mingle with captains, their rank bars shining from the shoulders of their olive, functional uniforms. Each captain bares a different service badge. They’re serving officers, actual ship captains. I can’t help but wonder what they’re doing here, with us.
The chief training officer steps forward. “Go and take a seat. We’ll call you through one at a time.”
My pulse quickens. The captains, individual assessment. I’m caught between excitement and nerves. The emotions tangling into a knot in the pit of my stomach. I look around for Bates, but there’s no sign of him.
We file over and drop into muted grey chairs. I run my hand over the coarse fabric of the chair. The hypersensitivity has lessened, just like Bates said it would, but my sense of touch remains heightened, especially when I’m stressed. Each strand of the fabric prickles, like rope beneath my fingers. I focus on my breathing, my heartbeat. Going through the meditation rituals they’ve taught us.
“Lieutenant Hale.” I look up to see Bates, flex in hand, waiting by the door.
Taking a breath, I push up from the chair and start toward the testing chamber.
As I pass, he places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “You’ll smash it.”
I only wish I were as confident as him. But then he probably knows what’s going to happen next.
The room is a mock-up of a bridge, officers manning their stations along the side walls. And up a pair of steps, on the command level, waits a captain. He’s one of the captains I’d seen outside.
“XO, status report,” he orders without turning. I guess I’m playing the role of Executive Officer.
I reach for the systems, opening my mind to the computer. The same as I’ve done dozens of times before, expanding my mind reaching for these new inputs and processes. The core mind reaches back, its thoughts slipping into my own. Angels, it’s an odd sensation. I’ve trained with reactive systems before, but the core mind is different. Organic, like it is part of me, an extension of my own mind and memories. I know the status like I know my own name, information integrated so smoothly it’s disconcerting. The ship is in flight, I’m on the edge of a system, CXT5816-223. No other ships in range. I’m at full capacity, the steady beat of the collider ring, background noise. Something niggles at the edge of my perceptions. Solar array L-five, it’s offline. Repair teams are already replacing the main interface bus.
Sunlight, warm on my face. The taste of bacon.
“Ship reports all systems nominal. System transit time thirty-seven minutes.”
The captain nods and turns to face me. Beneath close-cropped, salt-and-pepper hair, his face is rough and pitted, his posture tight and controlled. He’s like a statue. “We’re to run a close pass scan of the system’s sun, checking for signs of coronal decay. I’ll need you to run herd on the science and scanner techs.”
“Yes, sir.” I give him a smart salute and head for the science stations.
I can feel the captain watching me. I ignore the itch between my shoulders and concentrate on my work, looking over the science officer’s shoulder. I can’t believe I’m running a real – ish – ship, linked with a real core mind. Scanner feeds filter through to the front of my thoughts.
We approach the sun, its warmth heats the ship's outer hull. Vent patterns modify through the starboard side, keeping the internal temperature stable. Solar panels along the aft hull come online, drinking in the solar radiation.
Pushing the link down, I check the science console over the junior officer’s shoulder. The sun looks stable so far. Everything within normal parameters. At the back of my mind, the ship informs me that temperature in the starboard compartments is up five degrees. Hull temps are still within specifications.
“Sir, the hull temperature is rising. We’ve got another four minutes before we need to back off.”
“Thank you,” the captain replies. “Any signs of coronal decay?”
“Nothing yet-”
The back of my neck crawls. I spin around expecting someone to be there watching me. Contact, the ship nags.
“XO?” The captain takes a step toward me.
“Sensor contact, on the edge of the system.”
The captain turns to the scanner officer. “Detailed scan.”
I can see the information as it comes in. Enemy ship. Threat. Danger.
The officer reports, “Cruiser, unknown configuration, running weapons hot.”
Heat burns along my left side. “Captain, thirty seconds, we need to pull away from the sun.”
He nods and passes the orders along. The ship’s hull cools quickly once we’re clear, and our weapons come online to greet the enemy.
“XO, suggestions?” the captain asks.
“Defence grid is primed, main weapons are charging. We should try contacting them but keep our distance. We don’t want to seem-”
Impact slam into me. The pain stabbing into my side is almost overwhelming for a second as compartments blow out. Bulkheads slam down, sealing off the damaged sections. They attacked me. Return fire. Hurt them back!
“XO, find your centre.” The voice is new but the words familiar.
I picture that valley, waking to a new day. Bacon, fresh earth. “Damage to port side, rear section. Compartments sealed off. Damage
control teams on-route. Sir, their weapons range is nearly twice ours. Suggest closing, max thrust. Maybe we can disable them.”
The captain smiles. The ship's engines are already spooled up and light off at the touch of the helmsman.
Something feels wrong. Like indigestion. I focus on it for a moment. “Helm, reduce engine power to ninety-five percent.”
The grumbling fades.
“XO?”
“Damaged power converter. Would have blown under continued load.” The ship screams a warning through my head as an overhead siren sounds. “Brace for impact!”
The captain and I grab for the rail around the command level as the ship rocks under more weapons impacts. I still feel the damage to the ship like pain, but I’m ready this time and it’s further back, more like a memory.
“Weapons range in five seconds,” calls the tactical officer.
The captain nods. “Fire main plasma gun and bring us in for a starboard side barrage.”
I feel for the ship's weapons, checking readiness. “Port side, sir. Starboard weapons are still in a cooling cycle.”
“Belay that, port side barrage.”
I watch as the ship's plasma beams slam into the front end of our attacker in a lance of incandescent force. Its armour is barely scratched.
Should we run? At my thought, the subspace drive spins up.
We swing along the enemy’s port side. Both ship’s weapons fire. Our defensive screen takes the bite out of the attack, but it still hurts.
“Captain, enemy ship has taken negligible damage.” The tactical officer informs us.
“Copy that. All hands prepare for emergency jump.”
The bridge buzzes with relayed orders and I feel the heady rush of power as the ship spools up to jump. External sensors squawk for my attention.
“Go evasive!” I snap. The helm officer obeys without question and the ship jinks aside just in time to avoid a blast that would have ripped through the jump drive.
The helm officer reports without looking around. “Jumping in five, four, three, two, one. Jumping.”