“Be careful, James.”
Now I wanted to change the subject. “So. What did you get up to down in the city?” I was thinking about that clown Alastair Richards, how I wanted to rip his guts out and use them for yoyo strings.
Sorcha went with the subject change, playing along. She flashed her intense, mischievous smile. I seemed to spend the next five minutes blinking smile-shaped purple afterimages from my field of vision. “Oh, this and that,” she said.
“Didn’t you have company?”
Sorcha saw through me like I was a cheap glass window. “You mean Alastair? That twit?” She laughed.
“I thought you and he…”
She laughed again. It was the most miraculous sound I had ever heard. “I do like him, if that’s what you mean, despite his, shall we say, shortcomings.”
“Shortcomings?”
“He’s rather…” She frowned. “Limited. He’s not much of a space geek, doesn’t have much idea about just plain conversation. Laughs funny, too.” She demonstrated, making a strange tittering-honking noise. “And he says things like, ‘Are those real tits, or what?’ And he says this not just to me, but to other women, like waiters and stuff.”
“Even disposables?”
“You’ve never seen a disposable waiter with a jug of ice water!” She laughed again.
I managed a slow blink. “But he comes on like this perfect HSC specimen or some damn thing, like nobody else is good enough. To say nothing of his charming xenophobia.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t make me laugh — intentionally, that is!”
Just being with Sorcha was making me feel much better.
“So,” I said after a moment, “did you bring me anything?”
“As it happens,” she said, still looking sly, “I brought you … this.”
Sorcha put her right hand gently over my own. I held my breath. Women never did things like this to James Dunne.
Oh, wait, I thought, feeling suddenly cold and sick again. Admiral Greaves had done something very much like this, and more, and look how that turned out. I looked down at Sorcha’s hand, and remembered the Admiral’s face, so close to mine, and how arousing that had all been.
But this … this was something genuine. I knew that Admiral Greaves had seduced me in order to get me to cooperate in her intrigues. And I’d gone along with it, screwed her, humiliated myself, for my own reasons. But now something entirely different was going on. Here was Sorcha, offering something beautiful. She wasn’t trying to get something out of me, or to get me to do something. This was so unbelievably different it gave me a kind of mental whiplash. I could imagine at least starting a relationship with Sorcha, maybe even having a future, having something wonderful in my life.
Now if only she hadn’t sprung this on me right now, on this of all days. I was a wreck; my pulse was racing. I knew what I wanted, but I didn’t know what to do. I closed my eyes, took some deep breaths, and wiped a film of sweat from my face.
I looked at Sorcha again, and managed a weak smile. What the hell was I going to do?
“Um, your hand appears to have strayed, somewhat.” I said.
“Hands will do that,” Sorcha said, smiling.
“I suppose so.” Suddenly I felt like I was trying to defuse a glorious bomb. The slightest wrong step here would destroy me. I tried to breathe.
Sorcha said, concerned, “You feel cold. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Just working hard scrubbing Deck C. Might’ve gotten a chill.”
She was peering at me, trying to get a good look at my eyes, and I was trying to evade her without appearing rude. Her hand felt wonderful, but my mind was full of anxiety and memories of far less pleasant touching. I was thinking, Surely this is a mistake. She’s got me confused with somebody smarter.
Sorcha hesitated a moment, sensing that something was deeply wrong, but leaving it be for the moment. Why ruin this otherwise wonderful moment?
“Now who’s all mysterious?” she said, forcing her own note of lightness.
I waggled my eyebrows, which made Sorcha laugh again, the heavy note between us blown away. “You mad bugger!”
“And meanwhile, speaking of mystery…”
“What mystery?” she asked, her eyes alive with mischief. I think I may have stopped breathing, or at least caring about breathing.
I nodded at her hand, which was dancing its fingers over my own. I was sure the water in my glass would be boiling by now. “Uh, that. Your hand there.”
She leaned forward, and touched the tip of my nose with the index finger of her free hand, laughing a little, as happy as I’d ever seen her. “What can I say? I missed your stupid self.”
I swallowed hard. Swallowed again. I needed to adjust my trousers.
“I did.” Sorcha said seeing my look of confusion.
I was speechless. More hotly nervous than I had been in my entire life, I began to turn my hand over.
Sorcha saw what I was doing. She watched, silent, chewing her lower lip, glancing up at me. I think she might have been trembling. Her palm was moist.
I said, working harder to control my voice than ever before, “You sure you haven’t go me confused with Alastair?” It was a stupid thing to say, but I couldn’t help it.
She looked confused a moment, then got it. “Oh. Alastair. I don’t think you need to worry about Alastair, James. He was interested, but I told him I thought he’d have much more fun by himself, work on that right bicep he’s got going. I did a lot of reading this week!”
I felt myself starting to sweat. “What if he gives you trouble in Engineering? He’s probably not used to women talking to him that way.”
She took a long slow breath, smiling casually. “First sign of trouble, I’ll break his knees.”
“Could I hire you to do Ferguson?”
“Hell with that. Do it yourself!”
Sure, as if it was as easy as that. The mood fading, I took my hand back, rubbing my eyes. “I wish I could.”
“Who was it who said that I shouldn’t put up with officers taking liberties with me?”
She had a point, and it stung. And there was, now that I thought about it, one thing I could try, if things did get out of hand with Ferguson. I imagined he would try anything if he thought he could scare me into revealing what Caroline told me.
I still felt torn up over all this. What a bloody mess. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for what it looked like Sorcha was offering. Much as I wanted to be with her, I felt too weak. And I didn’t like that I couldn’t tell her about the business with the admiral. How could I tell her?
I believed in what Caroline was trying to achieve, but now I wasn’t so sure that Captain Rudyard was the madman she wanted me to think he was, that he was worthy of being spied upon and ultimately thrown out of his job. Not that I condoned what he had done, but I felt closer to understanding the feelings and thoughts that had driven him; I knew the clammy sense of helplessness he felt when trying to decide what to do about these aliens, and what they represented. He was only a man, placed in the most invidious position imaginable for a Service officer. Yet, the Service itself was in sharp need of reform, and the captain embodied much of what was wrong. The way he sailed through that inquiry and wound up with a medal for it. That wasn’t right — was it?
On the other hand, I was also feeling lonely and confused and wretched.
And I remembered what Lily Riordan said, that I needed allies, ones that would help me rather than use me. Ones I could help in return. Not just allies, but friends. People I could count on.
And Sorcha … she was gorgeous, smart, full of passion and spirit.
Sorcha was looking at me, concerned again. “James?”
I was terrified, but in a good way. Smiling, I reached out, intending to ta
ke her hand again—
And in doing so knocked over my water glass and her juice, spilling both onto the tabletop and all over Sorcha’s lap…
I swore. “This is so bloody typical!” I muttered, furious at myself, embarrassed beyond the point of self-immolation. I got up, using my hand to wipe liquid away from her, picking up the glasses, looking around for paper towels. This kind of thing always happened to me in this kind of situation. I was furious, and I remembered how clumsy I had been around Colin, how his all-conquering ability at everything made me feel like a fool.
Sorcha laughed, not seeing the look on my face, my sudden devastation. “Well, it’s all off, then. I can’t possibly go out with a clumsy guy!”
I looked at her, shocked breathless. “Excuse me,” I said at length, voice hoarse, throat tight. “I just have to … go … I gotta go…” I was gesturing behind me, walking backwards, turning, banging into a chair, trying to leave.
Sixteen
Sorcha came after me. “James? James, what’s the matter?” I had time only to sniff, and she was at my side. “Did I say something wrong?” she asked, looking mortified, her huge eyes full of worry.
I chewed my lip. Looking at the ceiling, I tried manfully to control my breathing. “It’s nothing. Just … stuff. I’m just really tired.”
She looked at me for a long, uncomfortable moment. “If you say so. You better go and get cleaned up.”
“Yeah. I better go.” I took a couple of steps, feeling like I might burst with misery.
Suddenly Sorcha was in front of me, holding my face in her warm hands. She reached up, quickly, and kissed me.
And then, while I was too stunned to move, to do anything at all, she was saying, “Be careful, James. Please.”
Then she was gone.
I barely noticed. I was still stuck in that moment when she kissed me. The echo of that sensation, of her warm face before mine, her soft lips against mine. I would be feeling that all the rest of my life, I knew it. My heart was not moving. Nothing was moving. I reached up and touched my mouth. I believe, in that strangest of moments, I said, “Oh…”
Then things began moving again. I started walking.
I was hot all over. Dizzy. “Oh my…”
A smile began to form on my face.
I headed back to my quarters, stunned, my mind unable to deal with everything that was going on. I don’t remember anything about the trip back from the Mess to my bunk. Running on autopilot still, I got a fab working on a new uniform, and I was planning to hit the shower next. The uniform would be ready once I was finished.
Only, I caught a glimpse of my family photos as I grabbed some clean underwear.
That did it. Even as I went into the scaldingly hot shower, I’d started thinking, started remembering things. The photo was a picture of Dad, Trish and me, taken one Christmas, years ago. In the picture we smiled and looked festive enough, but we also looked like refugees, determined to show how happy we were, regardless of how we really felt. Christmas was like that. People didn’t want to see how amputated you felt with two people missing from your family. They wanted to see how happy you were with what you had, regardless. I don’t think we Dunnes ever quite managed that.
I felt, standing there, trying to scour myself clean, suddenly as if I could almost feel Colin nearby. He was, in death, even more of a towering, sky-darkening presence than when he had been alive. His ghost could paralyze me with awe. All these years I’d had him tucked away safe in the basement of my mind, where he couldn’t get me, so I could get on with being my own person, such as I was. But that letter from Trish fixed that. Just hearing about him, how he had begun again to tear the family apart… I could only imagine what Dad must be going through, hurtling across human space, searching and searching. And even though Colin had explained in his suicide note why he’d done it, I knew Dad would still want to know the “real” reason. He’d want an explanation that made sense to him, not what he got in Colin’s note. I wondered if I’d ever see or even hear from my father again. He could spend the rest of his life out there, chasing projections from his own mind, his own guilt. I would have bet money that’s what had happened.
I finished my shower, and dried off. I heard the fab chime, indicating my uniform was finished. I got out of the shower, still not feeling clean, and grabbed my new uniform. It was still warm, smelling of fab process chemicals. My headware chimed as I headed towards my bunk: new mail.
“Uh-oh…” I said. I opened the file and read it while I brushed my teeth.
To: All Members Eclipse Contact Team
From: SSO5 Blackmore, Planetary Science Team
Subject: New Findings — Glass Spheres
SUMMARY:
Ongoing investigations show that the artifacts retrieved from the alien space vehicle are both technological constructs and biological entities.
Suggest full meeting of Contact Team at first opportunity. Will coordinate personally.
JB
Shocked, I sat on my bunk for several minutes, staring at the floor. After a while, I pulled on my uniform, but had great trouble with the fly of my trousers, and the buttons on my shirt and jacket. Brushing my hair proved difficult, I kept dropping the brush.
“Colin — piss off!” I shouted, just as one of my other bunkmates entered.
“Dunne? You all right?” This was Oliver — short, skinny, always looking surprised. He worked in matter processor control.
I looked at Oliver, and tried a smile to cover my embarrassment. “Oh, Oliver. Sorry, didn’t hear you come in.”
“I want to change for dinner,” he said looking at me strangely. “I spent the whole afternoon climbing around in the matter conduits.”
“Oh sure. No problem,” I commented, hoping to keep my voice light, but also wanting to get going.
Oliver headed for the showers; I took my leave, and returned to the Mess, ready for Ferguson. With any luck, I thought, the Contact Team meeting would be tonight, and I could get out of whatever Ferguson had planned for me.
Meanwhile, I had plenty of time to think about Dr. Blackmore’s message. The spheres were creatures in themselves as well as some kind of technology? The idea wasn’t exactly unheard of, I supposed. It was widely thought that disposables fit this category, what you might call “living tools.”
On arrival in the Mess, I noted I still had time to set up Ferguson’s table the way he wanted it done, lay out the cutlery and napkins, and I was ready, standing at attention by the table when the old bastard appeared, looking grim. He would have received the same message, and was probably wondering when we’d finally be done with those alien bug things.
“Mr. Ferguson, sir!” I said, doing my best to deafen him as he came to his table. The other officers in the Mess had gotten used to the sight of me doing this for Ferguson by now; hardly anybody looked up and nobody dared laugh. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the first officer on this ship to go through such treatment.
Ferguson sat and leered up at me. “What a perfectly miserable sight you are this fine evening, Dunne.”
“Thank you, sir! May I inquire after your well-being tonight, Mr. Ferguson?”
“Drop dead, Dunne. Just get me my bloody chunder and you can go. Now piss off.”
“Sir? Are you quite sure you won’t be requiring my services tonight, sir?”
He looked at me again. “You got Blackmore’s note?”
“Yes, sir! Absolutely, sir!”
He scowled. “Will you just lose the Gilbert and bloody Sullivan naval act? All right? And yes, there’s a Contact meeting tonight at 2000. Looks like it could go late.” Rarely had I seen him look so sour.
“Very good, sir. Can I fetch you a beverage?”
Wearily, he said, “Just the usual mug of tea. White and four sugars, got it?” He had to specify, s
ince two nights earlier I had “inadvertently” set the machine for fourteen sugars. Those fab machines were so unreliable.
I was about to leave to fetch his chunder and mug of tea when he grabbed the back of my jacket. I turned, “Sir?”
“I’m not done with you yet, boy.”
“You just sent me to get your dinner.”
He narrowed his eyes. “That’s correct. But I just thought you should know I’m watching you all the time, Mr. Dunne.”
“I’m sure, sir, you must have more urgent duties.”
“What could be more urgent than uncovering spies and traitors?”
I took a breath. “Would you be making an accusation, sir?”
“Not yet, boy. Not bloody yet.”
“Then I respectfully ask you to let go of my jacket so I might fetch your dinner. Sir!”
He let me go. As I turned, he muttered, “I will find out what you’re doing, Dunne.”
“At this moment, sir, I’m doing nothing at all.”
“Keep up your lip, and you’re going on report, Dunne. You hear me?”
I wanted to tell him what I thought. I wanted to clobber him one. Instead, I got his dinner, and I placed the tray on the table before him, but as I went to move his mug of tea, I accidentally dropped it; the china mug broke and its contents spilled. Unlike some of my other accidents with him, this one was genuine.
“Dunne? Dunne!” he bellowed.
I panicked, and cursed Colin’s memory. “I-I’m terribly sorry, sir…” And I was, too. Much as I might have wished for such an event, I would never have done it deliberately. I raced to the counter of the galley to fetch towels. By the time I got back, Ferguson was standing, facing me, uniform stained and wet around the crotch. His face was livid. The whites of his eyes were visible all the way round. His hands trembled at his sides.
“You little scum-sucking bastard, you did this deliberately!” he growled.
“No, sir, I—”
He lashed out and struck me. I briefly saw the moon-sized fist coming, obscuring everything; it took its time arriving — until it hit, sending me sprawling, numb, across the floor, banging into other tables and chairs. Anxious crewmen peered down at me, but didn’t ask if I was all right.
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