Stepping Up

by Robert Culp

  “Gorb! Come here, buddy!”

  He ambles over. “Yes, Shownya?” His eyes catch what I pull out of my breast pocket. Oddly, he puffs up, ready to argue. “Gorb is busy, ‘Gorb loves to help!’ Everyone says so; it must be true.” I can hear the indecision blossoming in his mind, “Of course, Gorb works better with chocolate. So gimme!” He holds his hand out.

  “Not so fast,” I say, “first you have to sit down for five minutes.”

  “Shownya! Ship needs fixing! Chocolate now! Rest later!”

  “And Gorb needs to not fall out and break his nose! Sit!” We lock eyes for a minute. I cannot—I will not—blink first. Oh, he’s good at this. But I used to do this with Fuzzbutt. Gorb blinks first. “Gorb, this is a direct order: Sit down. Right now.” I say it slowly, deliberately, and without emotion. He huffs and puffs, but he sits down. I break the chocolate bar and hand him half.

  “Only half?” he says around browned teeth.

  I have to laugh. “You get the other half when I decide you’ve rested long enough.”

  It’s an incredibly long day. At 1900, I call us all back together for another huddle. “Here’s where we are: The ship is functional We have some meatball engineering that needs to be prettied up. But now is not the time to do it. We’ve been on the bounce for about sixteen hours now. Leave. Sleep. Come back when you wake up. I’m going on the shore party, so, Gorb, you are in charge. Now both of you can’t be here all the time. I want you to split it up into shifts; preferably at least twelve hours. I don’t care who works when. I leave that to the two of you. Keep your time sheets honest. I’ll see you when I get back.” Of course, there are always reports that need to be reviewed, approved, folded, spindled, and mutilated. But first are the reports from the other engineering teams. Gertrude and Jack both report they have some people they can detail to the engine rooms. I forward the list to Gorb.

  I set the alarm on my perCom to beep at 1930 and get busy. I’m dog-tired, but I take satisfaction knowing that my people are alive and well. I head into the ’fresher off the LEO. I drag a wet towel through my stinky bits—not exactly a shower, but it should keep anybody from barfing in the corridor. I head to the lounge. I don’t really plan on being there very long anyway.

  I’m turning into the lounge when I hear my name in a baritone voice. I turn to see Avi walking towards me. Where my coveralls have dirt and grease, his scrubs have dried blood. He has a bag under his arm.

  “Hey, handsome.” I stand on tiptoe to get my greeting kiss. “What’s in the bag?”

  “I took the liberty of securing one burger, one hot dog, two bags of chips, and two half-liters of beer. I thought if your day was like mine, you’d rather get private and have a picnic.”

  “Sounds like a plan. If I’m not mistaken, my place is closer than yours.”

  “You are correct. Lead on, Chief Engineer.”

  Once inside, he sets the bag on the desk and takes me in his arms for a more proper greeting. “Sonia, my sweet?”

  “Yes, Avi, mi amore?”

  “You stink.”

  “Really? I couldn’t tell over you.”

  “Really. You smell like…”

  I put my finger on his lips. “Let’s leave that thought unfinished, shall we?”

  “Hmm. Whatever shall we do?” We share another long kiss.

  “Perhaps we should take a shower?”

  “Is your shower big enough for both of us?”

  “I doubt it, but let’s find out.” We both strip and I toss my clothes into the chute for the ship’s laundry. I start the water in the shower, and we both step in. Turns out, it isn’t big enough for two, but it was fun trying. Avi steps out claiming chivalry and pointing out it is, after all, my place. Okay, fine. I don’t waste any time. He fills the sink and dunks his scrubs in them for a soak. It’s not exactly laundry, but he won’t have to put on the same ultra-funky clothes. He’s done with what he’s doing before I finish. When I come out, he has placed the food on the bed. Everything is in “to-go” containers, so there’s no worry about spills. He hurries into the shower.

  I don’t want to start eating without him, even though I’m starving. So I brush my teeth, then grab a nail file and scrape as much of the crud out from under my fingernails as I can. Through the open door I see Avi wring out his scrubs and hang them from the shower rod. He steps out of the ’fresher.

  “You aren’t dressed,” he notes. Not exactly true, I still have a towel wrapped around me. Well, I did until he walked into the room. Now it’s a puddle of slightly damp terry cloth around my feet. I kick it towards the hamper.

  “You sound disappointed. Is there a problem?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Besides, if I dressed, wouldn’t you feel compelled to do likewise?”

  “Well, I, that is...”

  “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ Did you bring any clean clothes?”

  “No.”

  “Do you really think you’re going to cuddle up to me—in my nice clean clothes or on my nice clean sheets—in those wet, dirty scrubs?”

  “No, I guess I hadn’t…”

  “So help me understand this: You brought nothing else to wear and the idea of both of us being unclothed is disturbing to you.” I put my fists on my hips and fake a pout. “So tell me why you are here.”

  He stands and stammers for about thirty seconds, then—still naked—reaches for the door. One hand is on the door handle. The other grabs a towel to put around his waist. “Perhaps I should go…”

  “Oh, I don’t think so!” I plant another long kiss on him. “I’m sorry; I’m just teasing you. Besides, if your mum found out about you walking the halls naked—well, the results would be bad. Come, sit, do you want the burger or the hot dog?”

  “If it makes a difference, I’ll take the hamburger.”

  I sigh. “I’m always the one who gets the wieners.” He looks crestfallen. I laugh. “I’m joking, Avi. Relax.”

  At 0700 the following morning, I’m in the Small Craft Bay. Aria and the rest of the team are in street clothes with civilian rucksacks and weapons. My shotgun is in pieces in my rucksack; I borrowed an assault rifle. Turns out, it is the one that was assigned to Stan. That puts a lump in my throat, but I suppress it. I have the borrowed weapon slung across my shoulder. Aria and Sherri inspect everyone’s gear. Aria claps her hands and says, “Listen up people, here is the deal. We are going to a starport that is on the largest continent of the planet. The planet has a clean atmosphere, and is estimated to have three hundred million inhabitants. We want information about the solar system and ideally a star map so we can determine our location. Failing that, we need materials to build a large sensor array to increase the range of our own sensors.

  “Team One is Trooper Ralston and I. Team Two is Chief MacTaggert, Troopers Watson and Jones. We will split up and take one end of the facility each. As soon as one team meets success, the other will join them. Miss Landers will fly the launch, and she will stay with it to provide vehicle security. Are there any questions?”

  There are none. “Excellent. There is a coffee steward over there. We board in ten. Chief MacTaggert, a word, please?”

  Crap! Is it something I did or something I should have done? Turns out it’s neither. “Sonia, if you have not figured it out, you are now considered a ‘commander’ candidate for field missions. Thus, you are team leader. These people respect you and will follow your orders. I have read Watson’s report. She was a little fuzzy on the details, but apparently she holds you in very high regard. And she is spreading the word. I have sent Jones’s dossier to your perCom, so feel free to peruse it on the way down.” We chitchat a bit further, then she moves on to something else.

  I get myself a large coffee and board the cutter. It’s bigger than the launches I’ve been in so far. Bigger than the Balder class I came aboard in. It has the capacity to carry a medium sized anti-gravity vehicle. Shawna Landers, is quite feminine, but I wonder if she started out as a trooper. She’s quit
e attractive; her skin is smooth. Her blonde hair is quite cared for and beautifully styled. But I can tell by the way her flight suit fits her muscles are well defined. She is already in the cockpit. Our eyes meet, and we exchange smiles; yep, her teeth are also perfect. She’s checking me out, too. I wonder if she might be Sherri’s “friend.” If so, friend girl has good taste in women.

  The cutter launches and heads for the planet. Darn it! I meant to tell Avi something before I left. On the way down, I tap out a text message for him:

  I have a homework assignment for you. I’m thinking about a ‘hibernate’ state for Strike Armor. Let’s say a Trooper in Strike Armor is wounded, lost, or just wants to hide for whatever reason. If he were to have a gizmo on his Strike Armor that would shut it down to minimal power, it would still need to deal with his breathing, etc. Is it plausible for an auto-injector to pop him with some sleepy-juice with some staying power? I mean to the point where he could be mistaken for comatose or dead? Give it some thought, and let me know what you find when I get back. Love you!

  I read Jones’s dossier: A pretty stout fellow in his early twenties, flunked out of Marine boot camp. Something about “excessive violence.” He’s not the perfect soldier, but he is very, very handy with explosives and hand-to-hand combat. A commander’s footnote says he is horrible in garrison, but a dream in the field. Good to know.

  The cutter lands on the outer platform of the starport. There were no challenges from a traffic control office or anyone else. In fact, there is no COM traffic at all. There are two ships on the platform: A fifty-ton cutter and a one-hundred ton starship. There are no people around. For a planet of one-third of a billion, it sure is quiet here. Where is everyone?

  Once Shawna announces that the cutter is down and secure, Aria directs, “Everybody out! Perimeter centered on the launch, weapons at the low ready.” The shore party spills out of the cutter, and we form a roughly circular defensive perimeter facing outwards with the cutter at its center. Sherri is on my right; Jones is to my left. Jones’ eyes meet mine, and he shakes his rifle. He’s holding it with the muzzle pointing down to the left and the butt stock up by his right shoulder. I copy him and get a wink as a reward. Shawna stands in the doorway, her submachine gun in hand, muzzle straight down. “If you have not done so already,” Aria commands over our com headsets, “lock and load. Move out and take a half-mile look around. Team Two: go west and circle back; check those ships as you get to them.”

  “Roger,” I say. “Jonesy, Sherri, let’s go. Leave any unnecessary baggage here.” We approach the closer of the two ships, the fifty-tonner. We see no lights. “Sherri, anything giving off heat?”

  The wind hasn’t deposited any debris alongside the ship. That tells me it hasn’t been here too long. “Nothing on the infra-red. There are no life signs on the bio-scanner, but these things can be fooled by atmospheric conditions. Or anything trying to hide.” It is a pretty calm day. About 70 degrees F. Anything inside may not have shown on the scans anyway.

  Sherri and I take up over-watch positions while Jonesy opens the cargo door to the cutter. It is empty and in new condition inside. “Team One, Team Two. We’re moving through the cutter, bow to stern.”

  “Team Two, Team One. Roger.” The cutter is empty. It looks like it has never been used. The computer and controls are like new, and I don’t see any stains or scuff marks anywhere. It’s like the ship came from the factory and was parked here and hasn’t been touched since.

  Jones notes: “This bucket looks like it just came out of the factory.” I move to the bridge. I see what looks like a power button. When I push it the control panel comes alive. It’s very similar to our own. After some trial and error, I download the navigational charts to a portable memory unit. “Team One, Team Two. I have the nav data in my PMU.”

  “Roger,” Aria says. “Move to the scout ship. After that, move out for perimeter sweep.”

  “Roger. We’re moving.” We make a similar, deliberately cautious entry. The starship is very similar to a Seeker Class mining ship. It is used primarily for mining asteroids or small planetoids. The instrument panel has a few lights blinking. We find one juvenile female humanoid in what looks like a TMOD sarcophagus in the bay. The bay was initially built to contain ore. The berth is not cabled to a nearby power outlet. I would have expected it to be attached to a power bus, but there is a cable running from the berth aft. I follow it, and it runs directly to the power plant. That’s odd. It is the only thing that appears to be powered in the vessel. Looking through the view ports of the sarcophagus, the girl is roughly three and a half feet tall. She appears to be approximately forty pounds, and around six years old. She’s a little on the gaunt side, but shows no obvious signs of distress. Oddly, the sarcophagus is locked. I don’t mean “locked down.” This puppy has three padlocks keeping it closed. The question in my mind is: Was it to keep her in or something else out? I’m betting on the former. But how much of a threat can a little girl be?

  I repeat the same procedure for the navigational data that I did on the cutter. I power down the pilot console when I’m finished with it. Otherwise, the ship, like the cutter, is in good condition but empty. I report our findings to Aria. She surprises me: “We will finish the perimeter sweep. Wake the child and interrogate her. We need information, and I am beginning to think more than this starport is deserted.”

  She is the boss. “As you wish. I presume you will check the control facility for their logs and such?”

  “Yes, mother, I will.” Gods I hate sarcastic androids!!

  “Leemealone! I’m an engineer, we sweat the details.” I’m smiling. I hope she hears it in my voice.

  “Touché, Sonia.” Good, she heard the smile.

  Foraging in the tool locker, Jones finds a pair of bolt cutters while Aria is needling me. I take them from him. “Stand over there, out of her line of sight. Typically, coming out of cryo-sleep leaves one disoriented. But if she’s some sort of mutant wild cat and explodes out of there, I want you to put two in her head.”

  He nods, slinging his rifle and drawing his pistol. He’s a little too willing to kill a child for my tastes, but that’s a discussion for a different time. I cut the locks and use the cutters to knock the latches open. I activate the “open” switches on the sarcophagus. The unit starts venting, not really unexpected. It looks very similar to the ones we have on Night Searcher and responds similarly when I start the awakening process. I hand Sherri the bolt cutters. I have my canteen in my left hand. With my right, I open the lid to the tube.

  Now is when it gets weird. The girl opens her eyes. She shouldn’t be doing that yet. They are solid white. I don’t mean albino white, I mean featureless, like ping pong balls. No iris, no pupil, nothing. Pure white. She stirs a bit and orients her head to face me. “Hello, Sonia. My name is Gwendolyn. May I have some of your water, please?”

  She shouldn’t be doing that! “Yes, Gwendolyn, I suppose so, here.” I hold the canteen towards her. She doesn’t fumble looking for it, but stretches out her hand and takes it from me. “How did you come to be here?”

  “I do not know. The last place I remember was Taramus IV in what you call the Fazh’eeyan system. My mother and father were killed. I was captured and told I was a slave. I suppose you are my new mistress. If you wish, you may call me ‘Gwen.’ Is that acceptable to you, or have you another preference?”

  “Damn right she’s your mistress,” Jones mutters. “I ain’t gettin’ stuck with watching any frickin’ children.”

  “Can it, Jonesy.” I say with a snarl. I look back to Gwen. “That will be decided later. So you can read minds. Can you do other things with your mind? Do you know who captured you? Can you stand? Walk? Are you hungry?” I fish a piece of pogey bait from a cargo pocket—Gorb’s chocolate. Well, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

  “Slow down, Boss,” Sherri says. “Give her a chance to answer you.”

  “No, thank you,” she replies, “I don’t eat candy. I would like some f
ruit or vegetables if you have any. I can stand and walk, and I don’t make things happen with my mind. They happen all by themselves.” A parent’s dream, a child asking for vegetables. I help her out of the sarcophagus. Good to her word, she doesn’t wobble even a little.

  I brief Aria, telling her all Gwen’s told me and add: “She has some form of mental power also. She knew my name before I said it. Have you found anything helpful?”

  “Roger. We will reconvene at our cutter. We are going to do an aerial recon. We do not see anything or anyone. I fear something terrible happened here.”

  “Roger, we’ll make our way to our cutter.”

  I turn back to Gwen. “I’m sorry. We don’t have any fresh food at all. I want you to come with us, if for no other reason than to keep you safe. I don’t know what happened here yet, but unless you are far more than meets the eye, you don’t need to be wandering around here by yourself. However, I have to warn you: If you do anything to make us think you are trying to harm us, we will kill you. We’ll hate it, but we’ll do it. Do you understand and believe me?”

  “I understand and believe you. The logic is irrefutable.”

  The four of us go to the cutter. Before we leave, I use my perCom to take a few pictures of the berth for study later. Once aboard the cutter, we start the preflight checks and procedures. I put Gwen in a passenger seat and fasten the seat belt. “Stay here, please.”

  Aria climbs in and takes a quick bio-scan of Gwen. “She is free of chemical and radiological impurities. And you have her strapped in. Good.” Then she addresses Gwen, “Hello little one, I am Miss Aria. Please tell me your story. In your native language, if you can.”

  Gwen’s mouth works and sounds come out. It is nothing like any language I’ve ever heard. She speaks for several minutes then stops.

  “I see. Well, please believe me when I say that we are your friends. And Sonia here is your new Mommy. Is that okay?”

  Gwen beams. “Great!!” I suppose she’s happy I’m ‘mommy’ not ‘mistress.’ Wait, ‘Mommy?’ ME?