Without waiting for her answer, he stepped around her and headed for the bridge hatch. “I’ll go round up the crew.”
Kestral let him go without another word.
~
“So, that’s the situation.” Kestral looked to Sarander, Tirri, Angel and Mark, all standing or sitting about on the bridge. To her left, Moamet Jones sat quietly and watched Kestral steadily. “I realize that working for the Rangers isn’t the kind of thing we intended…” she paused, reconsidering her words. “…I intended for us to be doing. But, as I told Mark earlier, I consider this a humanitarian mission. We’re doing this to save lives. And yes, there is a risk. But I believe that we are taking all sensible precautions, and that even the Raians wouldn’t be able to see through our ruse.”
She took a deep breath. “I also already told Mark that I wouldn’t force any of you to go. I’m going, and I’ll fly the Mary myself if I have to, but you are all free to decide for yourselves. It’s your decision.”
The crew of the Mary exchanged glances. Sarander looked to Mark as if for confirmation of Kestral’s comments, but Mark simply sat at the pilot’s station, arms folded, silent. Finally, Sarander said, “Let me get this straight. We have a legitimate paying run. And on the way, we drop off a guy who has the cure for the berserker virus. But if the Spiders stop us, we tell them he’s…?”
Mark cocked an eyebrow at Kestral, and waited for her to answer. “Personal yeoman?” he offered dryly.
“An engineer,” Kestral replied stiffly, returning Mark’s snide look. “An expert on atronic systems, coming along with the cargo to assist the buyers in installing them.”
“Good answer,” Moamet Jones offered.
“Suppose they find this incubator?” Angel asked.
“It is designed to mask its function, its operation, and its contents,” Jones replied. “If they find it, they won’t know what it is, that it’s running, or that anything is in it. It will look inactive and harmless.”
Sarander, Tirri and Angel exchanged glances once again. Finally, Sarander shrugged. “Sounds do-able to me. Sure, I’m game.”
At her husband’s acquiescence, Tirri nodded. “Okay. I’m in, too.”
Everybody looked to Angel. After a moment, Angel smiled. “Hey, you guys gotta eat, right?”
Kestral smiled gratefully. “Thank you, everyone. The cargo will be here within two hours. As soon as it’s loaded, we’re gone. Angel, do you need to do any food shopping for an extra mouth, before we go?”
“No, I picked up plenty already,” Angel replied. “They’ll hold us until we reach New Paropolis.” He turned to Moamet Jones. “Unless there’s something special you need in your diet—?”
“Not at all,” Jones shook his head. “Your food will be fine.”
“Okay,” Kestral said. “Let’s see if we can get the preliminary flight checks done before the cargo arrives, shall we?”
The Mary’s crew had their pre-flight checks done well before the cargo arrived. Once the four trucks of crates arrived at the warehouse, Tirri, Angel and Sarander all assisted in transferring the crates from the trucks to their loaders, and into the Mary’s hold. Moamet Jones looked on from the hold, taking the time to study the crates and familiarize himself with the cargo they would be carrying. Kestral checked the manifests as the crates came aboard, and spoke occasionally to Mary’s drone, which hovered by her shoulder. Mark, having long since finished his pre-flight work, had gone to his quarters to take a quick nap before departure.
To all outward appearances, the Mary was quickly and efficiently taking on cargo for a standard run.
The crates were loaded in half an hour, and at Kestral’s signal, Tirri hit the ramp controls, and the cargo bay began to close up. Kestral signed off on the shipment and handed the pad to a nearby warehouse worker. Then, smiling and shaking hands, she turned and boarded the Mary by the crew hatch.
Moamet Jones met her at the hatch. “Does everything look in order?”
“Yes, it does,” she replied. “I don’t know how likely it is that anyone was actually watching us, but we might as well make it look good, just in case. And I’d say we looked like a freighter crew.”
“Like a very good freighter crew,” Jones complimented her.
“Thank you,” Kestral smiled. “Now, it’s time to get going.”
She headed for the bridge, Jones following her. Upon reaching the bridge, Kestral immediately took the Captain’s station and called the spaceport’s dockmaster, as Jones found a seat at a monitor console along the back wall. Kestral confirmed their filed flight plan to New Paropolis with the dockmaster’s office, neither of them speaking of a planned detour to Deep Abignon along the way. Then the dockmaster gave them clearance to take off within a twenty-minute window, commencing in ten minutes.
“Thank you, dockmaster,” Kestral replied, and switched to the ship’s com. “Mark, we have clearance to take off in ten minutes.”
“I’ll be there,” came Mark’s reply.
Tirri called in next. “Carolyn, we’re all balanced back here. Ready to go anytime.”
“Got it,” Kestral replied. “Thank you.”
“I stand corrected,” Jones said. “An excellent freighter crew.”
Mark and Sarander arrived on the bridge at the same time and took their stations at helm and ops. They ran through final checks on the ship’s systems, and when they were satisfied, Mark slowly rotated the Mary’s main engines into their downward position, and brought them up to idling speed.
“Everything on my desk is nominal,” Mark said aloud.
“Sure is nice flying a brand new ship, huh?” Sarander asked him. “No nagging old problems… no rattling hull plates… no systems blinking off and on at their own whim.”
“You’re not kidding,” Mark agreed. “‘Course, this kind of thing spoils you after awhile. Just wait… I’ll bet the first burnt-out wire on this ship, and you’ll be the first screaming bloody murder.”
“Then fly ‘er easy, so she won’t burn out any wires,” Sarander chuckled. Then he turned to Kestral. “We’re at our launch window, and we have final clearance from the dockmaster.”
“Okay, boss,” Kestral nodded. “Let’s go drop off some cargo.”
At her signal, Mark brought the engines up to full power, then trimmed the exhaust ports for maximum thrust. The Mary lifted off at once, smoothly, and eased into forward motion. Within seconds she was climbing, making rapid headway for the edge of the atmosphere.
Moamet Jones watched Mark and Sarander, and the other miscellaneous screens and readouts around the bridge, and gave Kestral a wide smile. Kestral noticed his expression and said, “You look like you’ve never been up in a space ship before.”
“Oh, I have, of course,” he answered. “But usually, it is a large cruiser, and you can’t even tell you’re moving. This is much more fun!”
“Amen,” Mark grinned, flashing a look at Sarander.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Sarander admonished him. “Remember the wiring.”
“You remember the wiring, boss. I’m just a pilot.”
Within minutes, the Mary was leaving the upper atmosphere of Terra212 behind, and sliding into an orbital plot that would bring it around and angle it towards New Paropolis. Fifteen minutes later, Mark nudged the ship out of orbit and announced, “We’re free of Coel’s influence. Ready to go to C in about forty minutes.”
“You’re the pilot,” Kestral told him. Then, standing, she said to Moamet Jones, “I don’t believe I’ve given you a tour of my ship. Interested?”
“Of course,” Jones replied, standing with her and waving amiably to Mark and Sarander. Kestral led Jones off the bridge, and the hatch closed behind him.
A few moments after the two were gone, Sarander turned to Mark. “They sure are friendly.”
“Aren’t they, though?” Mark replied without looking up.
Sarander gave Mark a sideways look. “You think there’s something going on between them?”
; “Couldn’t say,” Mark told him.
Sarander considered his answer. “Do you think it might have something to do with why we’re doing this?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so, too.”
“But hey,” Mark added, “she’s the Captain. If she decides to bring her own harem on board, and we spend all our time flying around looking for thongs and pasties, that’s her prerogative.”
“I guess,” Sarander nodded. “But the Spiders don’t board you looking for pasties.”
Mark looked at Sarander. “I hate to point this out, but now is not the time to be having second thoughts about this trip.”
“I’m not,” Sarander told him. His hand drifted into his pants pocket and toyed with something, but he didn’t remove it from the pocket. “I just want to make sure I know what’s going on.”
9: First Leg
Even at speeds faster than light, journeys between star systems could take days, weeks, even months. Mary was running at her top cruising speed, and her tesser drives were generating at just below the redline, which had her traveling at a rate generally referred to as “3.5C.” Although many people who didn’t understand the design of the tesser drive system assumed that this designation meant that the ship was traveling at three and a half times the speed of light, this was not, in fact, the case. In fact, the designation “C” was in itself misleading… in the tesser system, “C” did not refer to the speed of light, but the proportional compression effect created by the dueling time fields that accelerated the ship forward in time. And finally, the compression effect was not measured linearly, but logarithmically, making the designation “3.5” a significantly larger figure than three and a half times light speed.
All of that said, it is still difficult for humans to really appreciate the vast distances between star systems that the tesser drives allow them to traverse. Nor are they easily able to accept the idea that taking twenty days to go from star to nearby star is an outright miracle, as opposed to an inconvenience.
The Mary was officially on course to reach New Paropolis in sixteen days. Eleven days into the trip, the Mary was unofficially planning to take a detour, a mid-course change that would take them to Deep Abignon in three days. It was hoped that, by the eleventh day mark, no one would be tracking the Mary, so a change of course would not be detected until they were already at Deep Abignon.
In fourteen days.
Large star ships with equally large crews generally dealt with long intersystem trips by imposing various duties and chores among the crew. Much of that type of work was “busy-work,” that is, just something to keep the crew sharp. But smaller ships, especially privately-owned ships, handled long voyages differently. Some ships’ crews indulged in quiet hobbies or personal vices when off-duty. Some crews played elaborate games, or even play-acted. Some would read, or sit around watching pre-recorded entertainment or sports programs. Some crews indulged in all-out sexual orgies. And some crews simply sat around and talked.
The crew of the Mary had not been together long enough to work out any sort of group activity to occupy their time. So they tended to do whatever came to them, their activities occasionally interrupted by an order from Kestral to tend to some ship’s housekeeping duty. Even Mark, who by nature of his position spent most of his time at the helm, still managed to enjoy some choice literature and cinema selections he had brought along.
Angel was perhaps seen in more places on the Mary than anyone else. He was one of the few people who frequented the upper cargo bays, as his farm was there to be tended. He cooked the meals, two a day plus preparation of mid-day snacks and occasional sandwiches. And he roamed the ship, keeping things neat and orderly.
Sarander and Tirri tended dutifully to ops and the cargo, occasionally together, but this took only a moderate amount of their time. Much of the rest of it was spent in casual proximity anywhere there was enough space to lounge about, including in their quarters. After a few days, everyone on the ship caught on to the fact that, when the door to their quarters was open or ajar, it was all right to stop by or come in. If the door was closed, they expected privacy, and generally got it.
Moamet Jones, having no duties on the Mary, was often seen wandering about the ship, engaging in polite conversation with the crew, or perhaps sitting in the common and reading. Although he had indicated to Kestral that he was willing to assist in any ship-related duties that may need to be done, Kestral had reminded him that he was their guest (as opposed to calling him “unofficial cargo”), and would not be expected to work for his passage.
Kestral herself tried to spend as much time about her ship and crew as possible. She often sat at the Captain’s station, even when she had nothing she needed to do there, just so she could pass the time in conversation with Mark. She visited Angel’s farm, looked in on Tirri’s cargo bays, and wandered about in Sarander’s engine and drive areas. She walked the fine line between friendly inquisitiveness and regular nuisance, and seemed cognizant of when she had overstayed a welcome. Most of all, she was slowly breaking down the walls that had been built up between her and her crew, or as she tended to think of it, “damage control.” And it was working: Day by day, the crew seemed to relax and warm to her, and to each other, until they all began to function and act like a coherent working unit.
And as for Moamet Jones…
Ever since the night on Coel when she had turned him away from her quarters, Kestral had thought about Jones. She had wanted him to stay then, and only denied herself the pleasure of his company in order not to jeopardize his mission. But now that Jones was here, and coincidentally not going anywhere for at least the next twelve days, she did not see any reason why they could not pick up where they had left off.
So, on the third day out of Coel, Kestral was delighted to invite Jones to her quarters, after discovering in casual conversation that they shared a taste in Benyan art. They both happened to have holocopies of their favorites, so they decided to share them with each other, and compare opinions.
When Jones arrived at Kestral’s quarters after dinner, she immediately noticed that his robe, while being the same cut as standard Coelian clothing, was noticeably lighter, and allowed a bit of his build to show through. “So,” she said jokingly, “you’re not all shaped like columns under there, after all.”
Jones smiled, taking the joke, and the complement, as it was intended. “And I see that your hair is capable of relaxing, as well.”
Kestral self-consciously glanced upward at her hair, which she had let down for the first time in days, and returned his grin. “Well, after all, you’re my guest. I want you to be able to relax and enjoy your trip.”
“Well, I certainly am enjoying it so far,” Jones admitted. Then he held up a small pouch. “And speaking of which?”
“Oh, yes,” Kestral smiled. “Come in. I have my holocopies stored in the ship’s memory. How do you have yours stored?”
In reply, Jones reached into his pouch and withdrew four small cubes. “We commonly use DHC’s on Coel. If your ship cannot read them, I can use my personal processor to access them, and you can read them from that.”
“That’s okay. Mary can read these.” She took one of the cubes and walked over to a small desk nestled against the bulkhead. A ship’s brain console and monitor were built into the desk, and a small depression resided next to the console. Kestral placed the cube into the depression, and they could both hear the soft hum of the brain processing the information stored within it.
Kestral tapped a quick instruction into the console, and the lights in the room dimmed. A moment later, a glow appeared in the air before them. Within the glow, like an image slowly coming into focus, an object appeared and solidified.
“Ooh,” Kestral breathed. “The Garden Wind. One of my favorites!”
“You pulled up one of my most favorite, as well,” Jones told her. “Do you have this one?”
“No,” Kestral replied, “but I’ve seen it before, many times. I’ve always a
dmired the way it defines shapes with empty space…” she pointed. “…there, and there. You can actually see…” she searched for the right phrase, and looked to Jones for help.
“The shape of the wind,” he finished for her.
“Yes. The shape of the wind.”
“It has a very flowing, melodic shape,” Jones added. “Very soft. Very sensuous.”
Kestral turned to him. “Yes… very sensuous.” They regarded each other silently for long moments, before Kestral turned back to the console. “What else do you have in here? Aon’s Task? Or maybe The Lost Child?”
“I don’t have The Lost Child,” Jones told her. “But I know of the piece. A small animal, proud but knowingly fragile, debating whether to come out of her safe alcove and brave the world.”
Kestral nodded. “I used to look at that piece, and wonder to myself if the animal ever came out.”
“I’m sure she did,” Jones said, moving closer to her. “She may have known the dangers she would face, but I was always confident that she would gather herself together and take that first brave step.”
“She?” Kestral repeated. “I wasn’t aware of any gender displayed on the animal.”
“Maybe not,” Jones admitted. “I may be projecting my own impressions upon it. Or maybe I am cognizant of the present company.”
Kestral smiled. “Do you see me as that animal?”
Jones inclined his head. “Proud. Defiant. Knowingly fragile. Temporarily safe in the shadows, but knowing you will eventually have to brave the world. Actually, I think it defines you very well.”
And he kissed her. Kestral remembered the night on Coel, and how she had wished they could have spent the night together, from exactly that moment on. Thanks to her exposure to the virus, potential partners and intimates had shunned her out of fear of contracting the berserker. It had been over a year since she’d had the pleasure of another’s touch, and she had missed it terribly. Jones seemed to be aware of it, too, for he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, making sure she could not as easily dismiss him again. Fortunately, dismissal was the last thing on her mind, and she held him as tightly as he held her.
The Kestral Voyages: My Life, After Berserker Page 11
