by Robert Culp
“Yeah yeah, whatever. I’m just happy I don’t have to squat to pee.”
One more call to make.
“Aria, Sonia MacTaggert. Is the software for the Strike Armor Heavy Weapons Interface compartmentalized? One of the Troopers has asked me to tweak the connection a little. Could I get a copy?” With any luck I’ll be able to make myself a baseline copy. I can always restore it if I have to start over.
“Of course,” Aria says. “I will send it to you shortly. Have fun, pursue excellence and do great things. But in the meantime, I believe you have other tasks. We will be ready to Transit in one hour.”
Already? We’ve only been here three days! “I’m on my way.” One of the downsides to androids is you’re never sure if they’re being sincere or sarcastic. I finish what I’m working on and dash out, twisting my hair into a low ponytail on the way to my station. I eyeball the board and look for Mack but he’s nowhere in sight. Gorb hands me my helmet before donning his own.
I check the board twice and give my report: “Bridge, you are green for Transit.”
Being caught up once the ship is in Transit, I experiment and take the boss at his word. I stop in the lounge for a quick ale. I spy my two friends Ron and Johan at a table. Johan is making quite the fashion statement with his hair in a lavender high and tight. I sit, we chat. “Guys, I have a question: Do either of you know of any unattached hetero guys who are more into friendship than exchanging bodily fluids?”
Ron giggles. “I’ve heard such exist but I’ve yet to meet one.”
Johan recoils as if I slapped him. He’s cute, but still disturbing on a few levels. “What’s wrong with me?” he asks with a pout. “I’m a great friend. I’ll help you with your nails, I’ll brush your hair without complaining and I won’t try to nail you. If we get drunk together and you start throwing up, I’ll be the one holding your hair and not pushing your skirt up. What more could you want?”
I pat his hands. “Oh, you are a great friend. But one day I may actually want my skirt pushed up. That’s a bill you just can’t fill…”
“Got that right,” Ron quips. “He wilts when he hears a woman’s name.”
“And I’d rather already be friends,” I add.
Johan sighs, “Well, you can always try the spacers or the gunners. Or that beefcake in Medical—what’s his name? Avi maybe? I think it’s short for something but I don’t remember what.”
Ron says, “I think that’s right. He’s ‘Dr. Took’ if you want to be formal. He keeps to himself a lot, so I’m not sure. And when you get tired of him, see if you can toss him my way.” The discussion quickly spirals downhill. Johan states that alcohol and salt kill bacteria and viruses. That being the case, drinking margaritas and eating nachos should cure a cold or an infection. After my third mug of ale, I confess the idea does make sense on a certain level.
Two days later I’m passing Medical and stick my head in. I find Dr. Traynor going over personnel examination reports. I place a cup of piping hot coffee where her now comparatively cold one is.
Her narrowed gaze says it all as her hand reaches for the cup. She sips; her eyebrows shoot up at the wintergreen flavoring. “Speak.” She knows I want something, she just doesn’t know what it is.
As brightly as I can, I say, “Hi, Doc, quick question for you: Is there a man that works for you, ‘Avi’ I think his name is? I was going to see if he’d like to share a table at chow sometime.”
Her chair turns until she faces square in my direction with a curious, almost accusatory, look in her eye. Is it jealousy? I hope not. I don’t need the drama. “It’s actually, ‘Avinoam,’ but he does go by ‘Avi.’ I’ll drop a hint for him, sweetie. I’m a fair to middlin’ matchmaker.”
“Thanks, Doc, I hope I’ll owe you.”
She mutters something I don’t catch, but she goes back to her reports so I leave the matter alone.
Back in my workshop I’m up to my elbows in wires, circuit boards and Lacior shaping resin when my perCom chirps. Johan has been assigned to me for the armor project as the micro circuitry subject matter expert. He looks at the unit resting on the shelf. “Caller ID says ‘Dr. Took.’”
“Well, answer it already,” I grouse.
“I would if my hands weren’t covered in flux and resin.” He holds his hand up and spreads his fingers, webby from the goop on them. “Sort of feels like I reached into a bucket of…”
“Enough you!” Urrgghhh!!! Now I know what the exclamation “Men!” means. I tap a screwdriver on the ‘respond’ and ‘speaker’ buttons. “Sonia MacTaggert,” I say towards my perCom.
“Hello, Miss MacTaggert, Dr. Avinoam Took here.” His voice. His words don’t jump out of the speaker, they flow; like warm honey. Johan has perked up too.
“Hi, Avinoam.” I grab a rag to wipe the gunk off my hands. I’d rather not have this conversation on a loudspeaker. “Let me get my hands clean and…”
“Call me ‘Avi’, please. I saw you reading a book the other day and thought I would see if you would like some company with a guy who can spell? That is…can I interest you in supper and drinks on me tonight?”
“Sounds good; about when?” Nervous much?
“You would? I promise I am not grabby or trying to get laid, uh, well, not tonight anyway, I mean. Crap, I always say the wrong thing. Anyway, if you’ll really date anybody, oh damn…”
Silence. Did he just hang up on me? The perCom chirps, announcing the arrival of a text message. I use my screwdriver and tap the inbox icon.
It’s a text message from Medical. I’ll be in the lounge, table 12, for a meeting with Aria at 2000. Avi Took. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. The boy sounds as nervous as I will be when I get there.
Johan has decided to giggle. “I hope you go easy on him.”
“Oh...shut it, you.” But for the best advice, go to your closest friends.
“Gorb, do you know Avi Took?” He nods, so I press on. “Nice guy or a jackass?”
“Dr. Avi vewy nice guy. Not always happy like you, Shownya. But never mean to me. Gives me candy a lot.”
“That’s good.” Mental note: Chocolate bars for Gorb are now part of my daily uniform. Speaking of uniform, my shift is over. “Time for me to go, I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Bye, Shownya. Will we work on sumfing together tomorrow?” He has a huge grin on his face, but I feel a sense of loneliness or maybe despair flow from him to me. His smile doesn’t go all the way to his eyes as Mummy used to say.
“We’ll do that. I need your help with some of the actuators for the armor exoskeleton anyway. I’ll see you then.”
“Danks, Shownya! I love you! See you tomorrow!”
Back in my stateroom Hurricane Sonia makes landfall. I’m going through mental convulsions. Is this a date or isn’t it? If it is, I should dress up even if it’s just a little. It’s a great time to try that outfit I bought at the starport on Saxon. Hey, it turned a queer’s head, so it must have potential. But if it isn’t I should just wear my coveralls. Okay, just the cover…oh yeah, what man can resist a woman dressed like a shapeless cucumber? That blue flight suit I have, it’s snug in the right places and loose in the strategic ones. Yeah, that’s the ticket. And I don’t have to shave for it. Okay, no makeup…no excessive makeup, but I am going to take a shower. Perfume? A bit, but not the ‘take me now’ stuff.
Cleaned up, minimal makeup, hair gathered in a low side ponytail, form-hugging flight suit and I’m off to the lounge. Once there, I see Aria and a man sitting at table twelve. It’s the one in the forward section of the ship so the stars seem to flow right by the portals. Aria is wearing a sleek black dress. It’s not a cocktail dress, but it’s not far from one. I suddenly feel like I’m wearing a potato sack. Dr. Took looks to be in his early thirties, probably an inch less than six feet, maybe two hundred pounds. By any standards, he is a good-looking man. He stands as I approach the table. “Miss MacTaggert, I am Doctor Avinoam Took. Call me ‘Avi,’ please. I am pleased to meet y
ou.” He pulls out a chair for me. He also sounds like he’s reading from a script.
“Good evening, Sonia,” Aria says.
“Hi, Aria,” I say. “Avi, it is a pleasure to meet you. And it’s ‘Sonia,’” I add taking the proffered chair. “I’ve met your boss, Dr. Traynor, she seems a sweetie. I’m guessing she’s great to work with?”
“Sonia it is, then,” Avi says. “She can actually be quite a challenge. But we have a history that enables us to work together. Can I get you a pillow? Damn, where is that waitress?” He has the last syllable out as she walks up to the table. To be fair, he wasn’t looking in her direction. She clears her throat. He blushes crimson and says. “Oh, there you are.”
Aria looks at her perCom. “Oh, I have let the time slip by again. I have an appointment with the Captain. Have a good night, you two.” She drains her glass and begins to stand.
For a split second, I wonder why she has a perCom. I know she is networked into the ship. And her brain is surely the most accurate timepiece aboard. For that matter, what happens to whatever she drinks?
I put my hand on hers. “Must you go?” Please don’t leave me, my mind pleads. He might be an axe-wielding, homicidal necrophiliac. “One more round? Can you stay for one drink?”
“Oh, I guess I need not leave just yet. Thank you, Sonia.”
Amber has a pad in hand, stylus poised for orders. “What can I bring you Sonia, a warm stout? I have a bottle set out for you.”
“I’d like a…” I point to the glass in front of Avi. “I’d like whatever he’s having.” It’s a colorful concoction. Its base color is orange, but it has little flecks of light dancing in it, like sparkles that won’t settle.
Avi speaks up. “Bring the lady a Koralayan’s Summer Mead, please.” Rachel writes that down and leaves. He looks at me. “I hope you like it, it’s a favorite of mine. If not, I’ll get you an ale? Gin and tonic? No, she asked if you wanted a stout. You like stouts? Cool. So Miss—I mean Sonia, how do you like Night Searcher? You look very nice tonight. Are you hungry? How about that pillow? Would you like some bacon and mushrooms? They’re very good. Rachel!” he calls after her, “bacon and mushrooms, please!”
“Take it easy, Avi. Breathe. No pillow, but thanks for asking. Night Searcher is huge. It’s great but it’s huge. And from what little I’ve seen of her, the refits keep her on the leading edge of any fleet. The mushrooms and bacon look quite tasty, thank you.” I pick one up by the toothpick holding the bacon in place. It is quite tasty. I put some on one of the serving plates Rachel brought with them. Note to self: If he becomes a regular, I must increase my treadmill time.
Avi reminds me of a puppy I used to have. Always eager to please, but never certain how he was going to do it. The waitress brings me my drink in a tall frosty glass. It doesn’t look anything like his. Mine is a very dark purple. I look up, befuddled. Rachel explains that it will change color in response to the heat from my hand. I pick up the glass and marvel at the orange corona that spreads around my fingertips. She also sets down a plate of mushroom caps with bacon wrapped around them. I take a sip of the drink. It’s very sweet, but it has a little kick worked into it as well. Me likey!
Avi is about to start babbling again when Aria saves him: “Shall we get back to your theory on Quantum Mind Hopping?”
Now, that does sound interesting. I’ve read about quantum theory, but I’m more about the button pushing than the theory. “‘Mind Hopping’? What’s that?” I ask.
“A theory of Avi’s that psionically trained minds can move between physical hosts, and not necessarily with the receiving body’s permission. If correct, it would go a long way towards explaining possession disorders and quite possibly multiple personality disassociative disorders. The historical record does substantiate the possibility. Allegedly, it happened to a certain colorful figure in history.” She looks like she just found half of a dead rat in her holiday turkey. That colorful figure must have been Lord Collins.
Avi blushes a little, but he can’t hide his pride. “It’s just a fat hypothesis right now. It’s a long way from publication. And it’s not really in my field of expertise. But I have enrolled for a doctorate in neuro-quanta mechanics.”
Just because I don’t muck with the theory often doesn’t mean I’m not familiar with it. “It sounds plausible. If there are subatomic particles linked to psionic activity the same way gravitons are related to gravity, they should follow similar rules. From the biologic side, would anything inhibit the transfer of mental energy? Do you think distance would be a factor?”
Avi stares at me with such intensity I begin to wonder if there’s something hanging from my lip. Or nose. I’m raising my napkin to my face when Aria breaks the silence: “I told you she was not just a pretty face. Now, I simply must leave. Have fun, you two.” And she leaves.
“Uh,” Avi stammers, “Anyway…maybe…I haven’t decided if distance may be a factor, but as you probably know it isn’t for gravitons. I suppose proving the existence of ‘psions’, for lack of a better word, would be the first step. Would you like some more?” He gestures at the platter of bacon and mushrooms.
“No,” I say a little more forcefully than I mean, “thank you. Actually, I’d like to take a walk. Or listen to some music. Is there a music conservatory or some such aboard?”
“Music? I have a little.” He starts fiddling with his perCom. “A conservatory? Not as such, most of us download songs we like to our perComs and trade them around. There’s a pretty big library on the casCom site. You’re from the Scotian Highlands, right? Maybe you like this?” Bagpipes, flutes and drums blare from the small speaker. Every head turns, so Avi quickly turns the volume down.
“My family is from the Highlands. I’ve never been there personally. Mummy and Da had a lot of recordings though. I haven’t heard such since I was a wee thing. Och, such fond memories o’ the heather! Pictures of the heather, anyway.” We listen to it for a few minutes until the glares from our neighbors induce him to turn it off. Apparently, my rendition of “Wild Mountain Thyme”—even muted—is as bad as Fuzzbutt always implied.
Avi shuts off the music and returns the perCom to his pocket. “Well, I’m sure you’ve a long day tomorrow. I must prep for my shift in Med Bay and get to my studies and research,” he says as he stands. Tall and well sculpted. Nice.
“What’s your hurry? Care to split an ice cream and watch the stars for a while?”
“I wish I could, Sonia. But my shift starts at 0300, so I have to turn in very early. May I COM you later?”
“Please do.” I’m disappointed and try to hide it. But I don’t try too hard. I hope I failed at it. Miserably.
The Transit to Terra is long and without my Armor project would be very boring. But tinkering keeps me occupied. The Captain has allocated Engineering an additional two million credits to build one set of prototype armor. Mack wants to follow me on my designs. (In school we called it “peeking”. Da always referred to the process as “micro managing”.) I can’t say I blame him. With that much money on the table, both of our backsides will be in a blender if I can’t deliver. The good news is I don’t have to do the actual searching for the materiel. I just tell the loggy pukes—I mean the underpaid, undervalued hard workers in the logistics train—what I want and they make it appear as if by magic.
“Bridge, Engineering,” I say. “Securing from Transit in three…two…one… Execute.” My Big Babies start spooling down. Welcome to Terra, ‘Earth’ to those who went to private schools or are over thirty-five. There’s an unusual indicator on the panel. Blue lights don’t usually blink. I switch to the departmental circuit after asking the diagnostic computer about the blue blinker. “Hey, Mack? The engines say they are due for a five year service.”
“Yep.” Mack responds. “And while I have you, we have two weeks of shore leave. The engines will be serviced in that time and—before you ask—no, you will not stay to supervise that. Your predecessor often got into heated discussions about Tran
sit engine operation outside gravity wells. I lack the resources and desire to bail you out of the local jail if you follow suit. I want you at least two thousand miles from the starport. Or I’ll have you arrested and confined to the brig until after we Transit.”
I know when I’m not wanted. “Well, you just be that way. I’ll see you in two weeks.”
“The ship will be berthed for eighteen days. Be back in seventeen. Stay out of trouble!” Now where’s the fun in that?
Back in my stateroom I dig into the TransEarthWeb and start piecing together a vacation package. I’ll take the MagTrain to Scotia and stay there about eight days. Then down to somewhere tropical for about six. I find a nice bed and breakfast in Scotia for two-hundred a night. It’s near some old castles and looks out over the North Sea. Then off to southern Lemuria—that ought to punch my ticket. My perCom beeps. It’s Freddie.
“Hey, Squatter,” he says. “You got plans for chow tonight? Eats and drinks on me. Whattaya say?”
“Sounds good. May I bring a date? I’ll cover him if need be.”
“Cute doctor fella? Yeah, I’m sure he’d let you do that. No, I got both of you. Meet us at the Roaster’s Squalor at 20:00. Think you can find it?”
Man, word does travel fast. “Yeah, I’ll listen for the sound of raucous toy boys.”
Click.
That’s right, it’s payday. I check my own bank account. Wow. 30,000 credits. And a 3k bonus. Girlie got major bucks!
I call Avi. “Hey, you, two questions: One, do you have plans for tonight? I’d like you to join me and some friends at Roaster’s Squalor, and two, I’m going to visit Scotia then Lemuria over leave. Would you like to come with me?”
“Sorry, I wish I could, but I have to turn down both invitations. I’ve got the duty tonight so I can’t make supper. And I’m escorting Dr. Traynor to see some relatives in Northern Siberia. You’re welcome to come along, but it won’t be much of a vacation.” He catches my surprise and adds, “Which is why I didn’t mention it earlier.”
