by Webb, Nick
“Thank you, Doctor Liu,” said Danny with a smirk. He glanced back up at Whitehorse. “So do you miss it? I’d imagine it felt like having a limb removed. I’ve come to depend so much on mine that—” he noted Whitehorse’s expression, like she was uncomfortable with the line of questions, like she desperately didn’t want to answer. And it hit him. “You never had a companion, did you?”
Whitehorse’s eyes went wide, briefly. “I . . . did not.”
Ethan looked shocked. “Wait, what?”
She took a deep breath. “At Penumbra, when they were going around injecting everyone with the Valarisi matter, I was pretty busy prepping for the battle. I kept putting it off, and putting it off, and then the battle started and time ran out.” She shrugged.
“Huh,” said Ethan, still eyeing her. “Well. I guess you missed out then—I wish I still had mine. There are rumors that some officers kept theirs, against orders.”
The captain shook her head. “They’ll be spending some vacation time in the brig. And rightly so. I don’t agree with Oppenheimer on a lot of things, but on this? He’s a dumbfuck sometimes but on this he’s right. It’s a huge security risk. We don’t know the Valarisi. At least, not as well as we should, not well enough to entrust them with our deepest thoughts, our national security secrets, knowledge of our fleet movements, weapons systems, the list goes on.”
Liu shrugged. “That’s what someone would say who’d never had one. Never been linked into the Ligature. Once you feel it, feel them, you see it’s not like that at all. There is no guile there, no hidden agendas—and believe me, I used to be an IDF Intel officer. I know guile. I know hidden agendas. It was my job. But the Valarisi? No. It’s not like that at all. They’re beings of pure innocence. Light. They’re as good as the Swarm was bad. Their polar opposite. Oppenheimer is dead wrong.”
Whitehorse shrugged. “Well, regardless. What’s done is done. And you haven’t answered my question yet. Can you do it?”
Danny closed his eyes and reached out through the Ligature, feeling for the familiar sensation, the person of Timothy Granger. He felt a sea of humanity, an ocean of Skiohra, hordes of Dolmasi, and rivers of Valarisi that connected all of them—even the ones who’d had their companions removed left a shadow. But identifying an individual? He asked his companion. Is it possible?
YES.
Oh? Where is he?
To him, the masses of individuals were like clouds of being, oceans of intelligence that floated in the distance all around him. But it became clear that he simply lacked the experience, and the focus, to zero in on individuals. His companion reached out and sifted through them like he was rummaging through a box of tinker toy blocks, searching for just the right piece. Within ten seconds, he pulled that piece out. THERE HE IS.
Danny opened his eyes. “Found him.”
“Where?” said Whitehorse.
“Within a few hundred lightyears or so from his last known position. Poincaré sector.” He flipped open his datapad and motioned through menus until he found the star charts, and searched for the right star configurations that he could see in his mind’s eye as the location of the vague, formless pattern that was Tim Granger. It was more like the hole that was Tim Granger—the afterimage of an intelligence that had at one point been connected to meta-space. “Yeah, it’s relatively close to our course towards Bolivar. We can take you there. Just you and four fighters?”
“Yeah,” said Ethan. “We can pay you, of course.”
Danny waved a dismissing hand. “Pfft. Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Liu shot him a piercing glare.
Danny shrugged. “Well, I mean, if you’re offering.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Veracruz Sector
Chantana III
ISS Tyler S. Volz
Shuttle Bay
The shuttle carrying Danny Proctor and Fiona Liu had no sooner left the bay when Shin-Wentworth strode in, head buried in a data pad as he walked, his executive assistant shadowing close behind him.
“Dammit,” Zivic breathed in Whitehorse’s ear. He’d just leaned in behind her to whisper something.
She brushed him back. “Not now,” she whispered, and waved Shin-Wentworth over. “Commander?”
“Ah, Captain,” he finally looked up, as if he’d been too busy to even acknowledge the captain when he walked in, even though everyone in the room knew the only reason he was in there was that he was looking for her. “I have a few things for you to sign. Crew rotations, requisitions, leave approvals. And when you’re done, you’re needed on the bridge.”
She took the offered data pad and started waving through the various forms, tapping her approval on each one. “This couldn’t wait until I was on the bridge, Commander?” She glanced up and side-eyed her XO before returning her gaze down to finish the approvals.
“Of course, Captain, I suppose it could have waited. It’s just that you’re so . . . busy, these days,” he paused to glance disapprovingly at Zivic. “I wanted to make sure it got done before the next barrage of paperwork—you know how it goes. Stars may die but the bureaucracy never ends.” He ventured a small laugh.
Goddammit, this guy. Zivic debated whether to put the man in a half-choke and escort him gently but firmly out of the bay, or if he should just wait him out. But he had to get over to the Crimson Phoenix before it left. Which was soon.
And he was not leaving without getting some business done first.
He cleared his throat, loudly and obviously. “Commander. Sir. Might I have a moment with my . . . partner? I’m heading out, and given the war and all it might be the last time. You know the drill.”
Commander Shin-Wentworth didn’t even look at him and his tone was dismissive. “Lost my family at Britannia, but sure sure, I know the drill. Captain? I thought I’d also see if you had the time to go over the next crew rotation with me—we are due at New Dublin later this week for shore leaves and reassignments and we need to have it firmed up by then.”
Zivic was about to lose it. His mouth was half open, about to say something he knew he’d regret, when Whitehorse flipped the data pad closed. Suddenly and forcefully. She looked up with a larger-than-usual smile, which Zivic knew was her I’m not taking any more of your bullshit but I’m going to pretend to at least be nice about it smile. “Commander. Thank you for your time. I’ll be along in a moment. Dismissed.”
Shin-Wentworth’s eyebrows shot up and his lips thinned—his taken aback but too polite to say anything about it look—and nodded a single curt nod. “Captain.” He turned and left.
When the door had closed and they were alone, she turned to face him. “Okay Ethan, what is it?”
He held a hand up to his chest in mock-hurt. “I can’t wish my dear future wife farewell before a dangerous mission? My heart.”
“You’re escorting a freighter trying to track down a temporarily misplaced half-senile old man. You’ll be fine.”
“Right. Well, here goes.” He took a deep breath.
“Here goes what?”
He dropped down on one knee and grabbed her hand.
“Ethan, stop. Good Lord, you did this a month ago.”
“Not like this.” He pulled the ring out of his pocket and slipped it on her finger. “Jerusha Whitehorse? Will you marry m—”
“My God. Did you take off my ring in my sleep? You knew I was looking for it this morning. What the hell?”
“—me in a week?”
She fell silent.
“Or, whenever I get back? Whichever happens sooner?”
“My God. Ethan.”
“Was that a yes?”
She paused for a moment. “What the hell do you mean, whichever comes sooner? If you’re not back in a week, you want a virtual wedding? Golly. Romantic.”
“So, was that a yes?”
She chuckled and yanked him to his feet. “Of course it’s a yes. Yes a million. My amazing man. My amazing, goofy, strange, insufferable man.”
“Hey! Strange? Don’t fo
rget hot and sexy.”
She pulled him in for a kiss. And after a minute, added, “Who’s also the kindest, most wonderful human I’ve ever met. Of course yes, my love. I’d do it today if we had the time.”
Zivic glanced down at his watch. “Well, technically I don’t need to be on the Crimson Phoenix for another half an hour.”
She pushed him away. “Go. Get your crew and fighters and get the hell out. And when you get back, we’re doing this thing.”
He smiled a huge, lopsided grin. “Okay, so no time for a wedding, but . . .” he made a show of looking around the empty bay, swinging his head this way and that. “Hey look at that. No one’s here.”
“And?”
“You wanna? You know.”
“Wanna what?”
“My god. Jeru. Sex. It’s code for sex.”
“Ethan! Go.”
“Fine. I’ll be back before you know it.” He backed away, paced a few steps, and kicked his feet together in the air.
“Okay, now that was the goofiest thing I’ve seen all year. And we both know one Commander Rayna Scott.”
“Guilty as charged,” he said sheepishly. “What can I say? I’m the happiest asshole in the galaxy right now. It’s just that, last time we were engaged—”
“Before you called it off,” she added.
“Before I called it off, yes. Hey, it was a rough time.” Rough was a euphemism for hellish. He’d just accidentally killed his mother and stepfather. It technically wasn’t his fault, but he blamed himself for the shuttle accident that killed them during a risky, show-offy maneuver he should not have been doing. The maneuver would have been fine under normal circumstances, but no one could have predicted the failure of the starboard stabilizer when it did. No one could have predicted—but he stopped himself from rehashing the nightmare that had haunted him for years.
“I know dear, I don’t blame you.”
He nodded. “It’s just that, last time we were engaged, I was the happiest asshole in the galaxy. Or so I thought. And for years now, I felt like—it’s like I felt that I didn’t deserve to be that happy again. And here we are. And I’m … even happier—I can’t explain it.” He smiled, large and goofy—before he had the chance to tear up. He was not a crier, and wasn’t going to start today. “Anyway. I’m gone. See you in a week, Captain.”
He strode through the door before she could say more, and hightailed it down to his quarters to pack.
“Now all I’ve got to do is stay alive for a week. Easy peasy.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Poincaré Sector
World IXF-459
Surface
Granger almost wished he’d gone with Lieutenant Commander Rice rather than be stuck with the increasingly nervous Ensign Shin. It seemed the tongue lashing he’d delivered to the young man had done its job, and then some, as the kid didn’t seem to know what to do with himself.
“Ensign, what are you doing?”
Shin stopped and looked up from his sensor package. “Just . . . just . . . uh, scanning the rest of the graves, sir. All bands. Et cetera.”
Et cetera? My god, this kid must be a tech god for him to have made it this far.
“You’re walking in circles. Unless my memory has failed me—which, thankfully, seems to be happening less and less today—you’ve circled this area twenty times now. Stop it.”
“Aye. Aye, sir. Aye. Yes. I’ll, uh, I’ll settle down.” Shin resumed walking the perimeter of the small area of the ruins they were in, but at a far slower pace. The kid seemed to think circling Granger at a trudging pace was better than a regular walking pace. Good god.
Steady, Tim. Set the kid at ease. Remember your leadership training. Your leadership training that is now thirteen billion years out of date. “Where are you from, Ensign?”
“Iowa, sir. Ames.”
“Ames. My ex was from Ames. Good town. Lot of happy memories there.”
“Oh, you were married, sir?”
“No. Not married. Just an old flame. Dated while I was at the academy in Omaha. Waaaay back in the day. What with my thirty-year stint in that black hole, on top of me being sixty-eight, that was, oh, seventy-five years ago?”
“Wow, sir. And … are the rumors true? Are you, like, really, really old?”
Granger raised an eyebrow at him. “They say you never ask a lady her age. Imagine how much more that applies to your captain, son.”
The kid blushed, and he returned to studying his sensor package and continuing his slow, circular trudge.
“Yes. I . . . went somewhere. Out of time. Out of spacetime. I was there a very, very, very long time. Eons. I can hardly remember a lick of it. That’s why we’re here, son. To maybe get some answers.”
Shin nodded. “Glad I’m here to help, sir. And, sorry if I’m seeming a little out of it. My family. They were on Britannia, you see.”
Granger felt a tightness squeeze his chest. He’d been trying to shove the memory aside. He wasn’t yet reincarnated aboard the Skiohra ship when Britannia died from the shattered remnants of Saturn’s moon Titan raining down on it. But he saw the aftermath. Billions. Gone. Partly because of him.
“I’m sorry, son. Parents? Siblings?”
Shin nodded. “Wife. Three kids too. All I’ve got left is a brother I haven’t seen in a year.”
Granger closed his eyes. Steady, Tim. Steady. “I’m sorry, Ensign.” A voice in his head whispered dark thoughts. You killed them. Titan destroyed Britannia, and it was because of you. He tried to shake the voice. Willing it quiet. “What were their names?”
Shin took a deep, steadying breath. “Jayson was ten. Helen eight. And . . . my little boy William was three. We were going to take a family vacation to Earth last month. If . . . if we had have gone just five weeks earlier . . .” He trailed off, and kept pacing, studying the sensor readout.
Not so young after all, if he had a ten-year-old. Granger reached out to grab the kid’s arm as he passed one more time, and looked him in the eye. “You’re doing fine. Keep it up. We’ll all get through this. And we’ll build our world again. You’ll see.”
Ensign Shin met his eyes, just for a few seconds, and nodded quickly before returning to his sensor package. He fiddled with a few indicators. “Sir, I’ve been reading something else in the background. At first I thought it was ambient EM noise from the planet’s Van Allan belts, but the more I look at it the more I’m seeing some patterns.”
“Oh? What kind of patterns?”
“Like, short bandwidth pings every now and then, mixed in with the background noise of the belts. Never seen anything like it. Very low amplitude. I almost missed it. I had to move around to get a better read on it, since even these fallen walls and debris seem to be interfering with the signal just enough to wash it out.”
“Ah. Hence your pacing.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry for not explaining earlier.”
“It’s okay. Can you interrogate the signal?”
“I’ve been relying on passive sensors for now, sir. But I can switch to active.”
He touched a few spots on the sensor package’s readout screen.
“Oh. Oh boy.”
“What?” Granger paced over to the ensign.
“I, uh, seem to have woken something up. Big spike of EM signal. And it’s spatially localized.” He looked up at Granger with a look of fear in his eyes. “And it looks like it’s heading this way.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Britannia Sector
Orbit of Britannia Debris Cloud
ISS Dirac
Bridge
Captain Rayna Scott. It just didn’t have the right ring to it. No. No it didn’t. Why the hell had she said yes to Shelby? Leading a ship full of bags of flesh and water and stupid thoughts, when she could have kept her freedom in engineering? There, she was the queen. On the bridge?
She was a pencil-pusher.
And to silently protest, she insisted on using an actual pencil. Vintage twenty-third century Britannian,
to be precise, which she was. Always. Precision was next to godliness.
“And one last signature here, ma’am. Just a sign-off on shutting down the artificial grav system tonight for its regular testing.” The XO handed her a data pad, underneath the stack of paper he carried, each bearing her scrawled signature in pencil.
“What the hell is this?” she snapped.
“It’s the request from the systems manager to perform the monthly test of the—”
“I heard you, but what the hell is this?” she held up the data pad. “Where’s my paper?”
The XO grimaced. “Sorry, ma’am. That one came in last minute and I didn’t have time to print it off. Just—” He looked back and forth across the bridge, as if to make sure no one was listening. He leaned in closer. “Just let me off the hook this once? Honestly, Captain, this whole thing insisting on paper, it’s really thrown a wrench into my day—”
“Well I’m sorry, dearie, has your captain thrown a wrench into your day?” She kept her voice low, out of what she implied to be respect, but given the furtive glance from her helmsman, not quite enough to keep him from hearing.
“Sorry, ma’am, I don’t mean to be rude—”
“Fine. Give it to me.”
He blinked a few times. “You already have it in your hands, ma’am.”
She looked down at the data pad. Commander Pencil-pusher was right. Precision was next to godliness, Rayna, how the hell did you miss that? Was she getting . . . old?
“I know it is, Commander. I meant, give it to me!” She stared at him, then motioned to stack of paper. “Come on. All of it. I’ll take it all back and you can get my signature on all of it electronically through the data pad, just like you’d prefer. Happy?”
Did he suspect her misdirection? Given the ever-present blank look in his eye, most likely not. Dammit, Shelby, what have you done to me?
“Thank you, ma’am, this will help speed things up immensely.” As soon as she signed the pad, he accepted it back and scurried off, leaving her to return to the latest data just now coming in.
