He had been staring at his hands, not even at her, when he finally admitted why he'd blown the Proteus to Stardust.
She put out her own hand then, gently covering his, which were knotted together on the control panel; his hands felt like ice.
She looked back at John again, at last. He only shook his head, stunned into silence.
Rising from his chair, John came to her side. He put a hand on West's shoulder briefly, comfortingly. And then he put his arm around her and kissed her hair.
West looked up at them, finally, blinking too much, and for a moment his eyes seemed to be made of window glass. She saw pain and loss and confusion in that first second of contact, and then limitless depths of relief… He blinked again, and it was gone.
He shook his head; his face reclaimed its habitual mask of macho flyboy cool.
But at least they were finally ready to work.
"We know the atmosphere here can sustain human life." Maureen nodded at her data on the displays, wondering again whether their luck had just been phenomenally good, or whether this proved the astrophysical hypothesis that habitable planets were actually common in the galaxy. "I've located five hundred rads of radioactive material five miles west of us."
"That's at least what we'd need to get the core functioning again," John said, with actual enthusiasm in his voice. He looked out the viewport at the alien night. "We'll set off at daybreak. It'll be safer," he added, and a smile almost touched his lips as he looked back at West. "Those are my orders, Major."
West flashed him a wise-ass grin and said, "I agree with your recommendation, Professor."
Maureen folded her arms, and her smile took them both in. "Detente is a beautiful thing," she said.
In sickbay, Penny rubbed the alien baby's back gently, to keep it calm as Judy examined it. Its mottled dragon skin was warm to the touch, not rough and cold. The baby blawped contentedly, gazing up at her.
"What's the diagnosis, Doc?" Penny asked, trying for nonchalance, as if it hadn't been love at first sight for them both. "Do we go with cowboy or princess on Halloween?"
Judy looked up again. "Right now she's a girl. But I think your little pal here is from a self-replicating species… you know, like some kinds of lizards back on Earth. At different stages of life she, or he, probably alternates sexes."
Penny's eyebrows quirked, Groucho Marx-like. "Imagine the savings on dating outfits alone," she said. The tiny alien prowled the examining table as she let it go, and began to play with an aural scanner. "She sure is an interesting specimen, huh, Doc?"
"Fascinating," Judy nodded. "The retinal aperture — "
"… Can I keep her?"
"—seems linked to the digital extension — "
"Judy?"
"What?" Judy said impatiently, trying to finish her thought.
"Can I keep her?" Penny repeated.
Judy sighed. "Penny, she's not just another fad you can pick up and toss away." Her little sister's mind always seemed to be off in the clouds; if it wasn't for Mom, Penny would probably starve to death.
"Please." Penny looked up, and Judy saw the depths of loss in her eyes. "She's all alone. I promise I'll look after her. She needs me."
And it was mutual…
Judy nodded finally, and took a deep breath. "The moment you neglect her," she began, "or forget to feed her…" She felt a flash of deja vu. Good grief, I'm becoming my mother. Penny's face brightened. "Don't smile, I mean it, Pen—"
"Thanks, Doc!" Penny said, her smile getting even wider.
She hopped up onto the table beside the baby and began to stroke its head, as Judy started out of the room. "We're both a long way from home, aren't we, little one?" she said, in a quiet voice.
The alien looked up at her intently, and answered with a tiny blawp.
"That's what we'll call you," Penny declared, with sudden inspiration. "Blawp."
Blawp extended a tiny hand, touching one of the ribbons tied around Penny's arm, the red one.
"You like that?" Penny asked. She took the ribbon off and tied it around Blawp's wrist. Blawp looked up, her eyes shining with joy. Penny caressed her cheek with gentle fingers. "Nice girl," she murmured, "Pretty girl… Nice."
Blawp reached up to touch Penny's cheek gently in turn, chirping softly. Her tiny tongue worked as if she were trying to form the same sounds.
Standing in the hallway, Judy smiled as she watched them together, comforting each other. Her smile turned wistful and she hugged herself, feeling the chill as she went on down the hall.
Smith looked up as West entered his cell, carrying a ration pack and bedding and wearing a frown. West threw the bedding and the meal pack down on the bunk and turned to leave.
"Ah, Major," Smith said. "I see you have found a calling that suits your talents… Turn down the bed before you leave."
West stopped; barely controlled tension pulled him around in his tracks. "I gave my word I'd let you live," he said, the words dripping venom. "I never said for how long."
Good boy. Smith smiled faintly. Angry at me, angry at Robinson; angry at yourself now, too? Anger made peo-pie stupid, and West was none too bright to begin with. Only a childish, impulsive fool would have blown up the Proteus like he had, stranding them on this godforsaken planet. And fools were easily led.
Smith started across the room, putting on an expression of grim resolve. "Family hour is over, Major," he said bluntly. "We're dying here." He jerked his head at the alien night beyond the viewport.
West watched him approach; his hand went to his holstered pistol.
Smith slowed as West's face warned him off. "Robinson is out of his league," he said, holding West's gaze. "Look at his eyes. Tell me you can't see his fear—"
West made a disgusted noise, and headed for the door.
Smith leaped forward to block his path. "I fought in the millennial wars, Major!" he said, putting his back up against the door. "Survival is a soldier's game, we both know that. This civilian fool will lead us straight to hell. Robinson needs our help, whether he wants it or not! With minimal force, we could take this ship and assure this mission continues, under your command—"
West slapped his forehead melodramatically- "My God, Smith," he said, "you're right. How could I have been so blind? I'll just run and get you a gun so we can hijack the ship. Okay—?"
"Sarcasm is the recourse of a weak mind." Smith moved away from the door with a dismissive shrug. All right, so West wasn't that stupid…
"I'm hiding my pain. Really." West went out, shutting the door abruptly behind him. Smith heard the lock engage.
He waited another moment, as he had waited patiently ever since they returned from the Proteus; until he was sure that West would not come back. Then he reached into the cuff of his field suit, and removed the control bolt.
He had managed to take the bolt from a robot in the lockers aboard the Proteus, in that brief moment when West had been distracted by the ship's log Robinson had brought up on the displays. The robot that had caused him so much misery had been devoured by the spider-things—how fitting—but there must be others in the holds of this ship. Once he refitted the tool, he would have an unstoppable weapon at his command. And this time there would be no mistakes.
He roamed his makeshift quarters, picking up this, prying at that; auditioning various things he'd destroyed in his rage and frustration. Somewhere among them were fragments strong enough to serve as the tools he would need to retrofit the control bolt.
He had fought in the millennial wars. And war had taught him lessons far more valuable—far more terrible—than anyone on this ship could ever imagine.
He had been a field medic. An incompetent and corrupt commanding officer had led his entire unit into a battlefield hellon-earth. His friends, his comrades—the ones whose wounds he'd treated and whose lives he'd tried to save, day after day—they'd all died. Everyone had died… Everyone except him.
He had been the sole survivor.
Everything he valued had se
emed meaningless after that… everything except, perversely, his own life.
Fools like the Robinsons were not fit to survive in the real universe, the one he knew. And that arrogant, incompetent excuse for a starship pilot didn't deserve to live.
It was West's fault, West's fault alone, that he was trapped here. "I'm hiding my pain," West had said. West didn't know the meaning of the word. None of them did. Not yet.
"Your pain, Major West, has just begun." Smith began to resize the bolt. There were other children on this ship; real ones. Just as there were other robots…
He paused a moment to scratch his back. The wound he'd gotten as they escaped from the spiders still itched and burned. After he took control of the ship, he'd get rid of their little pet, too.
Judy sat alone on the bridge in the pilot's chair, wrapped in a thermal blanket, sipping cold water as she stared out at the alien night. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten, but she seemed to have no appetite for anything more. She looped a finger pensively through the strands of her uncombed hair, twined a lock around and around it. She had left her hair down because it felt warmer that way, and… comforting, like when she was a little girl.
Someone else came onto the bridge; she turned in her seat to see Don West pause just inside the doorway. He glanced past her at the stars. "Star light, star bright…" he recited.
She looked back at the sky. "A million strange stars, and only one wish," she murmured, her breath frosting. "I wish we were home."
Don came and sat down in the copilot's seat, nodding as if it was his own heartfelt wish. She studied his face in profile; noticing how long his lashes were, limned by starlight. She felt the pulse begin to beat in the hollow of her throat, as it did every time she looked at him… as if her heart, or some other insistent part of her, had a mind of its own.
But it was a stranger's face. She looked away again at the night. "I never thought a sky could look so alien…" She broke off. "We really are lost."
West looked over at her, but his eyes were far away. "When the first sailors circled the globe, and saw a brand-new sky, they thought they'd sailed off the edge of the Earth," he said softly, and there was something in his voice that she had never heard before. "But they were just around the corner."
She smiled, grateful and surprised. "We just billow our sails and let the wind blow us home," she said, "is that it, Major?"
He smiled too, almost self-consciously, looking out at the stars again. "So those sailors found familiar shapes in the stars to make the skies more friendly, to help them find their way…" He got up and moved to the viewport. "That's how the constellations were born."
He used his finger to dot the wet film of condensation at its border with stars and connected the stars like dots in a children's book. She watched in fascination as a strangely familiar face began to take form.
"Porky," he announced, with a flourish, "the wise and mighty Pig."
She laughed in delight and stood up, moving to join him at the window. She breathed on its surface and began to draw. "The great big-eared Bunny… Bugs." She looked at her drawing, smiled at it. She turned to look at him, still smiling. "How you got us down here… that was pretty flying." Her mother had told her the rest of the story; what he'd been through, alone. She wanted to say more, but she didn't, uncertain.
Don's smile faltered, making her glad she hadn't, and then widened again as he looked into her eyes. He was standing very close to her; he leaned closer.
Judy felt her body begin to bend toward him, until her lips were almost on his; as if his very existence was a lodestone, drawing her…
"So, my quarters or yours?" he asked.
Judy pulled back, her mouth open in disbelief. "Excuse me?"
Don grinned, and shrugged, straightening up. "Don't play coy. We're the only single man and woman of consenting age in the galaxy. How much more of a setup do you need?"
She searched his eyes for a trace of the actual human being who had been there seconds before. But Don was gone, like a startled cat. The flyboy was back in control.
Judy leaned back against the com panel. "So you figure, just dispense with the pleasantries, get down to business—?" she said mildly.
He moved forward again, and this time she had to control the urge to step away. "You have a way with words, Doctor."
She smiled seductively. "You gonna show me how you handle the helm… ?"
His grin widened. "…Yeah," he said.
She bent her head as she ran a hand along the control panel, letting her hair slide down across her shoulder, and her smile reel him in. "Right here? On this console?"
His face was right up to hers now, their lips only a breath apart. "Oh, here would be fine," he whispered. He closed his eyes; his lips—oft, such kissable lips-parted for her kiss.
Her hand closed around her water glass. She inverted it over his head. Instant cold shower.
Don gasped; his eyes opened wide and the water sluiced down his face, blinding him.
As he rubbed his vision clear, she held up the empty glass. "You just hang on to your joystick…" she said, and tapped his dripping nose. Rising from her seat, she winked at him before she walked away.
"Excellent technique, Major," he muttered to himself, mopping his sodden brow. "Really."
John activated the automated security systems, and crossed the room to his wife. Maureen sat on the edge of their bed in her thermals, brushing her hair—getting ready for their first night's sleep on another world. Long couldn't begin to describe this day, he thought numbly; but then, the words that could describe it probably hadn't been invented yet.
"Will was looking for you," Maureen said.
He nodded, overwhelmed by fatigue as he sat down beside her. "I sent him to bed." He rubbed his eyes, his aching head. "Now he's decided he can rebuild the robot. Wants to stay up all night and show me his designs…" He sighed, wishing Will was old enough to get his priorities straight.
Maureen put her brush away. "Funny creatures, men," she said, her voice getting that tone she had. "You try so hard not to be your fathers… and end up making the same mistakes."
The words were like a rifle shot, causing everything about this terrible day to come avalanching down on him. "We can't get off this planet, much less back on course!" he said angrily. "I don't have time to—" He broke off.
Maureen looked away, as if she was biting her tongue to keep from snapping back at him. When she finally looked at him again, he saw apology in her eyes. She raised her hand and began gently massaging his neck. "John, just listen to him…" she said. "It doesn't matter what he's saying. Just listen. Sometimes, at least in the eyes of their fathers, little boys have to come first."
John put his arm around her, holding her close. He knew as well as she did that her words about his father stung because they were true. He had always sworn that he wouldn't be that way; he would put his family first, and keep his promises. It was why they had come on this journey together. "As soon as we get back into space," he murmured, "we're going to spend some real time together. I promise."
Maureen stared out the viewport; she didn't answer. He felt her body droop as she sat looking out at the night, as if he hadn't even spoken. He held her closer, telling himself that she was just too tired to understand, or he was…
After a moment she looked back at him again, and smiled.
"What?" John asked, perplexed.
Her smile widened ruefully. "It's nice to have our family under one roof. Even if we had to go halfway across the galaxy to manage it…"
Alone on the bridge, Don put the ship to bed; closing the blast shields that shuttered the ports, shutting down redundant systems, ordering the com to sleep. He started out of the room, heading for his own quarters, where he was going to be sleeping alone.
As he walked along the dim and silent corridor, he heard Maureen Robinson say, "Good night, John," and her husband answer, "Good night, Maureen."
He took three more strides.
&nb
sp; "Good night, Judy," Will called.
"Good night, Will," Penny answered.
"Good night, Penny," Judy said.
West stopped in his tracks, shaking his head. "You guys have got to be kidding!" he said loudly. He walked on.
"Blawp" said Blawp.
Chapter Seventeen
LUill Robinson sat in his father's com chair, rubbing his eyes. He was the first one awake, and he felt like his mind had been thinking up new ideas for his robot-building project all the while he slept. He couldn't wait to start implementing them. And nobody else was awake to tell him he couldn't.
The smarting memory of his father's latest rejection faded as he began to wake up the ship. The main monitor read SOLAR BATTERIES RECHARGED. Cool. He could use all the power he wanted, without anybody getting mad. He thumbed a button to open the blast shields, eager for his first real daylight look at the new planet.
He leaned forward, blinking as sunlight streamed in over the displays. As he got his first clear view of the outside, his eyes widened in disbelief.
About a hundred meters out from the ship, shimmering hypnotically on the bleak snowy shore, was a flame-ringed portal exactly like the one they had entered yesterday, up in space. But beyond the threshold of this one he could see a summer day, and a world filled with strange crayon-bright plant life.
Will leaped from his seat and went running out of the room, yelling, "Mom! Dad!" It was definitely time for everybody to wake up.
His wake-up call achieved its purpose with stunning speed, for once. It wasn't every morning your family woke up to an interdimensional portal, instead of cereal and juice.
They all gathered in the dayroom, yawning and fastening their flight suits, for a breakfast of field rations washed down with water. No one complained, though; they were too busy staring at the portal on the display screens.
Judy sat down across the table. Don West came in and sat beside her. Will watched Don pointedly move her water glass as far away as possible. Judy let him, smiling like the Cheshire Cat.
Will wondered what that was about.
A deep rumbling rolled through the ground beneath the ship; even the air seemed to vibrate, distracting him from his sister's weirdness. He'd felt the first tremor just after he woke up, and there had been more since. It seemed odd that they hadn't felt any yesterday.
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