Starflight (Stealing the Sun Book 1)

by Ron Collins

  He kneaded away the headache that was beginning to grow. He had a lot more work to do on this idea.

  “You have a call from the captain,” Abke said in its base monotone.

  Torrance snapped back to attention.

  Damn it!

  He looked at the clock and ran his hand through his hair, shaking some life into his arms. Fifteen minutes had flown.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Each morning, after his yoga and before his morning fruit cup, Alexandir Romanov reviewed security reports generated the night before. The reports were complete and concise, a running list of each offense against standard code of conduct by each member of the crew.

  They were all upsetting, of course.

  Neural scientists could talk about body chemistry, dopamine reaction patterns, and synaptic pathway channels until they were out of breath. Free will, they said, wasn’t so free. People were a slave to their brain chemistry.

  But Romanov saw these things as simple: know the rules, follow the rules.

  He didn’t understand why people did things they shouldn’t be doing.

  But one name on his list bothered him beyond all others.

  The door chime rang as he stared at the name.

  “Lieutenant Commander Black, sir,” Abke said.

  Romanov sat back.

  “Let him in, please.”

  The door slid open.

  Torrance stepped into the captain’s office.

  It was crisp and clean, much like Torrance remembered Romanov’s personal quarters, but more so. Dark blue carpet spanned the floor. The walls were coated with full-scale active slate that would allow any portion to be used as a projection device. Most panels were dark now, but three held feeds with reports from Romanov’s direct staff. Torrance wondered if the captain had left Kip Levitt’s status memo on the wall closest to him on purpose or if that was a fluke of random luck.

  “Please have a seat,” Romanov said tersely.

  “Good morning, sir,” Torrance said as he followed Romanov’s command.

  The captain glanced at his screen, then back to Torrance. He wore ship fatigues and the gaunt look that spoke of limited sleep. Everyone assumed the return flight would be a piece of cake, and it should be. But it was still a big piece of cake, and despite the quips of several crew members, Romanov was as human as the next guy. For a moment, Torrance wondered if the flight back was more than the captain could handle.

  When Romanov remained silent, a gangly sense of unease crawled up Torrance’s back. A film of sweat moistened his palms, so he rubbed them on his pant legs. The room smelled dangerous.

  “What can I do for you, sir?”

  “I have been looking at your performance.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I know in the past we had discussed…possibilities.”

  “Yes.”

  “I doubt very seriously whether this can happen.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “As I’m sure you are aware, the fleet has been building several new ships, all of them Star Drives with young crews performing extravagant feats. Given the speed of transmission, I suspect that we’ll begin receiving updates on them in a year or so.”

  “I’m sure we will, sir.” Torrance wondered where this was going. “What’s wrong with my performance?”

  “Technically,” Romanov said. “It has been spotless.”

  Torrance waited.

  “However,” Romanov said. “The performance of a lieutenant commander who is not on a Star Drive has to be better than technically spotless in order to be considered for advancement. This is especially true given the competition that will await such a lieutenant commander.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So, you see why I suggest I will be unable to promote you.”

  “No, sir. I can’t say that I see anything, yet.”

  “Mostly it has to do with data files.”

  Torrance felt ice grow in his chest.

  “Data files, sir?”

  The captain’s gaze was so sharp Torrance could imagine curled talons. “Display Report C, masked,” he said to the system while keeping his gaze on Torrance. A panel flickered with a new report, all line items but one blacked out. That one read: Black, Torrance – ZA1252, SLT 2158,76543, SLD 22050111, Sector D-12. It was, Torrance realized, an access report that had picked up something he had missed in his cleanup.

  The ice in his chest turned to a ball of fire.

  Romanov knew.

  “Was I not clear in my directions?” Romanov said. “Did you not understand that you were to drop the issue of life on Eden?”

  “Yes, sir. I understood.”

  “And still you have pulled data from classified memory space.”

  Torrance remained silent.

  He didn’t know exactly what to be mad about—Eden, himself, or Romanov—so he let them all jumble together in one simmering mass. He had screwed up somewhere. He had all the base files in his own system, but occasionally still had to access certain tools and applications from other places. Somewhere along the line he had forgotten to mod an access log, or been overseen somehow.

  Totally stupid.

  “I’m not sure what to say, sir,” Torrance replied.

  “I think truth is the best option,” said Romanov.

  Torrance’s defenses rose, and in a flash he also realized a weakness in Romanov. The captain wasn’t certain what he was dealing with. And kept secrets can cut both ways. While it was true that Torrance had been hiding his work, it might be equally true that Romanov had been hiding it, also. The idea left him stunned for a moment. He understood the game he had to play now, but he wasn’t certain he was…bold…enough to play it.

  The question at hand now was to discover if Romanov was pulling a standard security report, in which case Security Officer Casey would also be aware of it, or if he was doing his own sleuthing.

  “I’ve not lied to you, sir,” Torrance said, gripping the arms on his chair.

  Romanov gave a gruff snort.

  “I’m not talking about today, Lieutenant Commander, and you know it. You haven’t actually answered my question. So, I ask again: do you deny having pulled data from secure storage?”

  “I have no comment on it either way, sir.”

  Romanov pursed his lips.

  “I see.”

  “Hypothetically, though,” Torrance said. His heart pounded, but the words came out sounding almost confident. “I think it might be an unhappy case for both of us if it ever came to light that such a thing had actually happened.”

  The captain put his fingers together and regarded Torrance with a new fire in his eyes.

  “Be very careful, Lieutenant Commander. I can absorb more than you think I can.”

  That was all Torrance needed.

  Romanov was working on his own here. Casey was in the dark.

  “I’m being as careful as I can be, sir. And I wouldn’t want you to have to absorb anything you didn’t have to. We both know how tenuous long and successful careers can be.”

  “Very diplomatic today, aren’t we?”

  Torrance didn’t respond, so Romanov continued.

  “I agree with your overall assessment, though.”

  The captain sat upright and put his hands together before him, elbows on the table. A wave of his aftershave rolled over Torrance.

  “And I agree that the record of your relatively harmless dalliance should be kept off the record. I also think, however, that you can see why I say it is still unlikely that you will be seeing a full promotion anytime in the near future.”

  “Yes, sir, I can see reasons for both of those comments.”

  “I also need to tell you that while the specifics of this insubordination will stay off the record, I am considering a formal reprimand for your handling of access codes.”

  Torrance clenched his teeth. “I was only—”

  “You were only looking for life on Eden. Something that you and I both agreed we
would not do. I will play your game, Torrance, because I know your lack of self-control is not putting the mission at risk, and because it is the wisest thing for me to do. I will not, however, be lied to and then held for ransom without providing some form of repercussion.” The captain paused.“I was not lying, either, when I said I can absorb more than you think.”

  Torrance swallowed and tried to come up with a reasonable response before finally settling on the truth.

  “I didn’t mean any harm, sir. I tried to keep it to myself.”

  “This is not a small issue, Torrance. You understand that, right? I went very far out on a ledge for you. I expect you will honor that. You are right that I would prefer it kept quiet, but you should understand that this only goes so far. If this crashes and burns, I promise you that I will come out of it well enough, whereas you…will be buried.”

  Torrance felt the stakes rise as Romanov called his raise and raised him back.

  “And, if this ever happens again, Torrance, I’ll have Security Officer Casey on your ass so fast he’ll be gnawing on your spleen before you even know it’s gone.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  Romanov sat back. His chest rose with a breath that he let out from his nose in one long stream.

  “I have decided to refrain from formal reprimand,” he said. “But your name is on a security record and I cannot let this go totally unremarked upon. So let me be clear that I will put a notice in your dossier, though its wording will be vague—for now. Rest assured that if I find you in restricted memory space again, I will not be so forgiving.”

  Torrance swallowed hard, hesitated as he parsed words carefully.

  “I will never access that memory space again, sir.”

  Romanov pressed his lips together. “That is what I heard the last time.”

  “Is that all, sir?”

  “Yes, Torrance. You can go.”

  Torrance stood and left.

  Technically, he had not lied.

  That’s what Torrance told himself as he stomped through the corridors of Forward Deck, ignoring glances and comments from crew members who parted before him as plowed ahead. He wanted to punch the wall, but restrained himself. He had been an idiot, of course. Stupid as hell. But Romanov’s threat was the last domino to fall, the last piece of shit to hit the ventilator.

  He could live with never seeing another promotion.

  He didn’t care. The idea of rising in the ranks sucked platypus.

  The realization was strange and invigorating at the same time.

  It felt like freedom.

  Life was too short for this crap.

  But ignoring the files was just not going to happen.

  He took a deep breath and began walking again, this time slowly, with his head down and his hands clasped behind his back. The controlled swing of his pace and the rhythm of his feet on the soft composite flooring calmed him. As he watched his footsteps, he thought about the artificial gravity system that made Everguard so easily inhabitable.

  That had been a concept-shattering advance, hadn’t it?

  And all it had taken was one person to stick to her guns to make it happen.

  Of course, the concept of creating artificial gravity by lassoing the atomic weak force had been developed by big science and commercialized by the UG’s favorite conglomerate corporation, but it had sprung from the mind of Emily Michaude, a lone physicist who followed an unpopular idea about antigravity to its seemingly illogical conclusion. That was the way of science, wasn’t it? The way of almost all things in life, really. Sometimes he thought he was just being romantic, but in reality it was right. Every big idea came from one person. The Star Drive concept itself was born of a thought experiment related to Einstein’s and Hawking’s work, but extended by a single person—in this case, as oddity would have it, a painter. Almost all ideas of merit, inventions and concepts and structures that actually change the lives of people, come from a single place and then spread.

  He loved that idea.

  As he thought about antigravity, and Star Drives, and wormhole pods, his anger subsided. His body swayed with his stride. His mind settled. And as his mind settled one thought kept coming to him.

  He hadn’t lied.

  Romanov said to stay away from classified memory space.

  Torrance had made that promise.

  But that meant the old bastard didn’t know that Torrance had saved the data to his personal system.

  Torrance nodded to himself as he walked.

  He needed to be alone. He needed to think this over.

  CHAPTER 21

  UGIS Everguard

  Ship Local Date: January 13, 2205

  Ship Local Time: 1033

  Thirty minutes later Torrance sat alone in the open cafeteria, spooning his cup of cold coffee to stir up the sweetener. Stars glimmered against the constant blackness outside the observation window, and the sound of dishes clattered in the distance. Something about the contrast between the immensity of space and the clatter of dishes made him angry. A field of stars, he thought, should not be accompanied by KP duty.

  The mess hall was open and cavernous, but a sense of claustrophobia still managed to press on him.

  “Torrance?”

  Marisa stood beside the booth, her own coffee cup in one hand, fingertips of the other resting on the back of the bench across from him.

  “You look glum.”

  He raised his eyebrows and held back a grimace. He had no desire to speak, which made the silence between them awkward.

  “Can I join you?”

  “Sure.”

  “So much enthusiasm.”

  She slid into the seat and wrapped her long fingers around her cup as she cradled it before her.

  “What’s the matter?”

  He gave a derisive laugh, trying to decide how much to tell her.

  It was only fair that she know something. But how far should he go? How much could he say without giving her so much that the government security officer, or anyone else for that matter, could use her to piece together a story that was closer to the whole truth?

  “Romanov filed a notice against me,” he said.

  “Whoa.”

  He put the spoon down and left his coffee swirling.

  “That’s not fair,” she said.

  “Romanov can do anything he wants.”

  “Yeah, but coming down that hard on you isn’t right.”

  When Torrance didn’t say anything, a new expression crossed Marisa’s face.

  “What did you do?”

  He choked down a swig of cold coffee as another delaying tactic.

  “I pulled secure data without authorization.”

  “Ouch,” Marisa replied. “What data?”

  “I don’t think you really need to know that, now, do you?”

  She pursed her lips and put both hands around her mug. “No, I suppose that wouldn’t be right. I’m sorry I asked.”

  He gave her a doubting expression.

  “I am.” She sipped her coffee. “That’s harsh for Romanov, though.”

  He shrugged.

  “A notice for a first offense is pretty hard-nosed.”

  “It’s not a first offense.”

  She smiled again, cradling the coffee cup on the table in front of her, her fingertips running lightly over its lip.

  “Knowing you like I already do, I’m sure you’ve been playing with a billion things no one else would even think to touch. But what I meant was that if he hadn’t told you—”

  “I know what you meant.”

  Torrance looked at her. She frowned. He gripped the cup hard enough to wonder if the composite might crack under compression. No, he thought, giving himself a caustic, mental laugh. The material might shatter in an instant under tension, but the bones of his hands would crumble before the cup would break in compression. Why was he like that? Thinking these trivial things in the middle of things that were so much more important?

  He was such a
dumbass.

  “Romanov gave me the order a long time ago.”

  A pallor came over her face, and her stare became hard.

  “That was dumb, then,” she said.

  The words were like a knife to the lungs.

  “Tell me how you really think.”

  “A captain gives you a direct order, you have to follow it.”

  “I wasn’t hurting anything.”

  “Like that matters?”

  “You can leave anytime you want.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, but now that they were out, it felt good.

  “Don’t be an ass, Torrance. I’m just trying to help.”

  “Berating me for things you don’t understand isn’t what I would call helping.”

  “What is it you think I don’t understand?”

  He stopped. How could he possibly explain what she didn’t understand? She would never understand what those files represented to him. How could she when he couldn’t even say exactly what they meant to him?

  Life, maybe? Truth?

  Yes.

  But it was more than that, too.

  He looked at Marisa as she sat across from him with raw judgment on her gaze, and the idea of losing the data files brought him a wave of panic and despair that made his chest ache. Those files were personal. They were a moment where he had stood up for himself, a pinpoint in time where he alone had made a decision to do the right thing. His entire world was falling in on him today, and here was Marisa—the one person in the entire universe that he thought he might actually trust—and she was—

  “Torrance.” Marisa touched his arm.

  He flung her hand away and slid out of the booth to tower over her.

  She flinched back in the seat, and something inside him went nova.

  “Those files are important,” he said through teeth clenched so hard it hurt. “They mean something—I’m absolutely certain of it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He put his hands on the table and stared down into her face.

  “I did it. I opened the files and I worked with them.”

  “Well—”

  “And if I did it, that means they were important enough to do it, all right?”

  “I still don’t unders—”