“Even if it saved the ship,” Quint said.
“Especially if it saved the ship,” she said. “That ship is part of the fleet and the fleet is an entity in and of itself. Lose too many ships and there is no fleet. So you must develop some kind of system to save individual ships that is efficient, quick, and easy to execute. Professor Dane's system is none of those things.”
“And yours is?” Quint asked.
She shrugged and leaned back, grabbing her mug of beer like a shield. “He's had decades to think about this. I've been working on my theory for two whole days.”
Quint stared at her for a long moment, as if he was sizing her up. Then he said, “You do know that there's an entire scientific wing here devoted to recovering lost technologies.”
“For science majors,” she said.
“Why aren't you one?” he asked. “You seem to have the interest. You could see if your out-of-phase thing is even possible.”
“When I'm a post-doc,” she said.
“What is it Professor Dane says?” Quint asked. “Romans weren't built in a day.”
“Rome,” Rosealma said. “He said Rome.”
But she wasn't thinking about the ancient saying that Professor Dane had taught them. She was thinking about efficiency and cloaks and cargo ships.
She could study something here that would actually have a use on the Bounty. If she could discover how to replicate stealth technology, cargo ships could travel through difficult and dangerous parts of the sector, and deliver goods on the far side of the known universe. It would increase profits and safety all at the same time.
“You hadn't thought of studying science, huh?” Quint asked.
She smiled at him for the very first time—a real smile, not a polite one to get him to leave her alone. “You want me to study magic.”
“Hell, yeah,” he said. “Because I believe you're actually onto something, and I'd hate to work on your theory all alone.”
* * * *
Now
Squishy had forgotten that Quint had been there from the beginning. She had forgotten until just now.
Then perhaps it was fitting that he was here on The Dane, the ship she named for that incorrect professor to remind herself how often she had been incorrect, despite her arrogance.
Or maybe—like Professor Dane—because of it.
She cleared her throat, set her surgical instruments down, then let her hands hover over them as if she was going to use them as weapons. She didn't glance at The Dane's control panels, and she didn't look at exactly where they were going. She didn't want to think about that, at least not yet.
Nor did she want to think about all the implications of this conversation. But she had to think about it.
She couldn't put off thinking about it any longer.
“How do you know that there are some things I don't want to live through?” she asked Quint.
He finally touched his face, his fingers briefly brushing against the cuts. Then he stopped as if he realized he was violating an instruction. Which he was. She had asked him not to touch the wounds, even though she had known that would be hard for him.
“I could say that I know you, Rose. You would have believed that once.” He clenched his hands into fists, then flattened them against his thighs.
The feeling had to have been coming back to his face. But she didn't offer him any more numbing agent. She wanted to wait.
“What do you mean I would have believed that once?” she asked.
He shook his head slightly, not looking at her. “You never really gave me much thought, did you, Rose?”
“You're being elliptical,” she said. “You know I hate that.”
And he did know that. He was right: he knew more about her than she knew about him. She hadn't bothered to learn him in the same kind of depth that he had learned her.
She used to attribute that to the fact he wanted the relationship more. But she hadn't learned Turtle well either. Squishy liked people. She liked being around them. But they didn't interest her as much as ideas or science or medicine.
Quint sighed. “I work in Imperial Intelligence, Rose.”
She frowned, suddenly feeling confused. “You used to work in military intelligence. Then you moved on. On the station, you were head of security. You told me yourself.”
He shook his head ever so slightly. “I didn't tell you that. I implied it. You didn't really care enough to investigate.”
He was right: she hadn't cared. She had been more concerned with keeping him away from her than she had been with the intricacies of his job.
“What does that mean, Imperial Intelligence?” she asked. “And how is that different from military intelligence?”
He let out a small sigh. “It's different in degree, Rose. Military intelligence is child's play compared to what I do. I was promoted after you left. I run an entire intelligence division now. I have more information at my fingertips than you could ever imagine.”
Her stomach turned, although she wasn't sure why. Something about what he was saying disturbed her, and disturbed her so deeply that she didn't want to look at it closely.
“So what are you doing here with me?” she asked. “How come you're not on one of those ships or contacting the Empire or something?”
“You're my Achilles’ heel, Rose. You know that reference? It's not from Professor Dane's class, but it's from the same department. Lost cultures. Cultures so old we only have stories about them.”
“I don't remember the story,” she said, “but I know what the phrase means.”
And it frightened her. How could she be his weakness? They hadn't seen each other in decades.
“I should have reported you,” he said softly. “I should have reported you the moment The Dane crossed into Enterran territory.”
It felt like her heart stopped. Then she realized she had forgotten to take a breath. “What do you mean?”
“Squishy,” he said, standing up. He started to come toward her, then seemed to think the better of it and stopped. “How can you let them call you Squishy? You have a beautiful name. You're a beautiful woman, Rose.”
Her hands floated toward the control panel. She was trying to leave, as if she could escape him by hitting some commands on the panel. She couldn't do that. Not without being obvious anyway.
She clasped her hands behind her back. She just didn't want to listen to him. This was the kind of thing that made her uncomfortable, that had always made her uncomfortable.
She raised her gaze to his. He was watching her closely, and she didn't know exactly what he saw. Did he see how uncomfortable she was? Did he see her slow understanding of what he meant?
He knew she had lived outside the Enterran Empire. He knew her nickname. He knew much more about her than she had ever known about him.
“For the first time in your life,” he said, “when you left Vallevu, you didn't leave it entirely. You stayed in touch. You let some people know how you were doing. You didn't say much in the messages, but the messages came from the Nine Planets Alliance.”
She gripped the edge of the control panel. Had she made a mistake coming here? Not for herself, but for all the others? For the work she had been doing back at the Nine Planets? Had she let the Empire in when Boss and the team had worked so hard to keep the Empire out?
“Don't worry,” he said, “I couldn't track you inside the Alliance. They have good protections in place.”
Her heart started pounding. She had forgotten that he used to do that, answer her questions even when she hadn't spoken them.
“But I have a hunch I know what got you out to the Nine Planets,” he said. “There've been credible rumors that the Nine Planets has made breakthroughs in stealth tech. I know enough about stealth tech to know that the person who understands it best is you.”
She almost denied it. She didn't understand it best, not any more. Now there was an entire department of people who worked with the anacapa drive, who had worked on it all of th
eir lives, working with knowledge passed down from generations. Now she was behind in her understanding of the technology.
Although not in her understanding of the technology that the Empire was developing. Theirs only opened a small crack in the anacapa drive. That's why imperial stealth tech consistently malfunctioned and killed. Because imperial stealth tech tried to harness a burning log with a rope. Sometimes the rope held for just a moment, but eventually it would get burned as well. Everyone who worked in imperial stealth tech believed that the log was the technology. They didn't even see or understand the fire.
“I wanted you back here,” he said, extending his hands. She looked at them, then looked at him, keeping her gaze level, showing as little emotion as she possibly could. He was scaring her. He probably knew how much he was scaring her, and by extending his hands, he tried to calm her.
Slowly, he let his hands drop.
“I wanted you working for us again,” he said. “You know so much and things have gone so wrong.”
“You're the one who leaked that information,” she said. Anger she hadn't even realized she was feeling made her voice tremble. “You're the one.”
He nodded. “I figured it would bring you back. And it did.”
* * * *
One Year Earlier
Squishy stood in front of the schematics for the small anacapa drive displayed on the table before her. She had her hands clasped behind her back. Six people crowded around her. The room was long and narrow, adjacent to her office, an office she rarely used. Mostly, she was in the various labs, working on a dozen projects.
Once upon a time, she supervised all of the work on the space station, but she couldn't any longer. Too much was being done. So much, in fact, that Boss—or to be more accurate, the Lost Souls Corporation—had recently purchased another space station for different kinds of work. Squishy didn't know what happened at the new place except in theory. Most of the work there was dedicated to historical and anthropological research, as well as ground sciences like geology, things that held no interest for her.
What interested her—what had always interested her—was this technology. More than biology, more than all of the medicine she studied, she wanted to know about anacapa drives.
She stood back from the schematics, then ordered up a holographic version. It rose and floated above her. She tapped the screen so that she got a three-dimensional model of the drive. It floated next to the schematics, about the size of her fist, encased in black. She ordered the casing removed and studied the drive.
It looked wrong to her, but she wasn't the expert. The people beside her were, but the person whose opinion mattered was Bradley Taylor.
Taylor had come from the Ivoire, the working Dignity Vessel that Boss had found four years before. He was young and when he first came to the Nine Planets, he hadn't been old enough to get work in the Ivoire's engineering department. But he had a knack for anacapa drives. He loved them as much as Squishy did, and once here, he had become her de facto right-hand man.
The Ivoire's crew had scattered over the years. Many stayed with the ship, but some—like Taylor—didn't ever want to travel by spaceship again. They certainly didn't want to be on a ship with a functioning (and occasionally employed) anacapa drive.
Still, Taylor had valuable skills, and he wanted to use them. Squishy was more than willing to put him to work in her labs. The design before her was mostly his.
“It doesn't look complete to me,” Squishy said, directing her comments to Taylor. The others listened.
“It does seem small,” he said, “but I can assure you that it works.”
She programmed both holographs so that they revolved. Then they turned upside down, moving in all three dimensions. She watched, but that discomfort remained.
She shook her head. “Something's wrong. I just can't tell what it is.”
Taylor didn't seem upset. Instead, he leaned into the images and watched them move as if they held the answers.
“I wish we could run some tests,” he said.
“No tests until I have some idea that this will work,” she said. Too many people had died in “tests.”
No one from the Ivoire objected either. The only reason they were at the base was because their anacapa drive had malfunctioned a long, long time ago.
“We know that the anacapa part will work,” said Sadie Juarez. She had come from one of the top universities in the Nine Planets. She was a brilliant theorist, but she still hadn't grasped the dangers of the research. “Maybe there's some kind of way we can isolate the experiment . . . .”
She let her voice trail off so that everyone knew what she was saying, even though she hadn't finished the thought.
“We're not the Empire,” said Ward Zauft. He had helped Squishy since she'd started her research at Lost Souls. He was thin and wiry, had too much energy, and was always keeping an eye out for problems in experiments. She liked that the most about him. “We don't let eighty-five people die just because we believe the experiment will work.”
Squishy nodded, then frowned. Eighty-five was a specific number, and it was too small to encompass all of the people who had died in the last few decades.
She turned toward him. “Eighty-five?”
“Haven't you heard? That's the latest loss. Eighty-five people because some stealth tech experiment went awry.” He wasn't even looking at her. He was clearly thinking about the drive in front of him, not the news he was passing on.
“Where did you see that?” she asked.
Something in her tone seemed to catch his attention. He looked away from the rotating drives, his gaze meeting hers. A slight frown creased his forehead.
“It got leaked and made some of the science news sites just this week,” he said. “They said the eighty-five people who died were the latest tragic accident in a program plagued by them.”
“I heard it too,” Juarez said. “The story said that the numbers couldn't be confirmed but that maybe as many as eight hundred people have died in stealth tech related experiments in the past twenty years.”
Squishy was shaking. She knew of the first two hundred of the dead. She had a hunch that eight hundred figure was too small.
“So they're warning people away?” she asked. “Telling them not to work for the imperial science programs?”
“It wasn't that kind of news,” Juarez said. “It was my impression that they were just interested in the statistics, nothing more.”
Statistics. Squishy let out a small breath. “I don't want anyone running an experiment on this until someone who has worked with anacapa drives for a decade or more looks at it.”
Then she excused herself and went to her office. She felt lightheaded and off balance.
The Empire was still experimenting with stealth tech, even after she and Boss had tried to shut them down. And people were still dying in the experiments. Over and over again, people were dying.
What would it take to convince the Empire that stealth tech was too dangerous to pursue? Or could it be persuaded?
Maybe she and Boss had been on the right track six years before. Maybe they should do everything they could to destroy the research. All of the research.
But that would mean destroying the scientists, too, and Squishy couldn't do that. Destroyed research and a large accident—one that ruined everything but didn't kill anyone—might make the Empire think twice about continuing the research, at least in the direction it was going. It might force some of the scientists out.
She leaned against her door, looked at her office, saw the neglect. A sweater she hadn't worn in months hung over the back of her chair. A cup that hadn't been washed in probably that long sat on one side of her desk.
She didn't like the way her thoughts were going, but she recognized the feeling. She couldn't keep working here while people were dying back there. Particularly if they were following protocols she had developed decades before.
The scientists with the Empire's program were following fault
y assumptions with old information, and that wasn't just dangerous to them. It was dangerous to the entire sector.
Something had to be done. But what?
* * * *
Now
Quint ran his hand through his hair. He stood and walked toward her. It took all of Squishy's strength not to back away.
She had forgotten how big he was, how muscular. She had always found that both appealing and intimidating. Only now, the appealing part was gone. She felt smaller than she ever had beside him.
“When The Dane entered imperial space,” he said, “I was actually hopeful. I thought you had come back to help us.”
“I did,” she said softly.
“No, you didn't,” he said. “You came back here to destroy us.”
* * * *
One Year Earlier
She found Boss next to her latest project, a reconstructed Dignity Vessel that Boss had deliberately kept nameless. Boss was thin and ropy, preoccupied, her hair cut short, new lines near her eyes. But she didn't seem tired, even though she was working impossible hours. Lately, Boss seemed energized, as if the Dignity Vessel projects had revitalized a part of her.
The Dignity Vessel itself dwarfed everything else in the bay. The ship was huge. Squishy always forgot how big the Vessels were, even though she had now been inside several of them. The first Dignity Vessel, all those years ago, had been a derelict, floating in space, and even though it had taken a long time to dive it, the ship hadn't seemed as big as these. Space itself made everything seem small.
Since Squishy had come to work at Lost Souls, she had worked on five derelict ships. Then the Ivoire had arrived and some members of the crew had helped repair one of the five derelicts. This ship was another found ship, and it needed a lot of interior work, which Boss was supervising.
“We did it once before,” Squishy said as she walked beside Boss, staring up at the Dignity Vessel. The ship jutted above them, shading them from the lights at the top of the bay.
Asimov's SF, October-November 2011 Page 8
