by Ron Collins
A blue banner with crisp white letters proclaiming “Happy Mega-Leap Day” was draped behind the podium.
“Can you effin’ believe it?” Malloy said, tipping a gin and tonic and slurring his words as he pointed at the data screen built into the bar counter.
A schedule of junkets out of Aldrin Station filled its display:
DEC 22 - 0930: JUMPSHIP TO EUROPA
DEC 22 - 1545: SHUTTLE TO MARS COLONY DELIAN
DEC 23 - 1215: EXPEDITION TO MIRANDA
DEC 24 - 0715: SCIENTIFIC SKIFF TO THE PLUTO-CHARON BINARY
“We made it, eh?” Torrance replied.
“Hard to believe, ain’t it?”
He nodded and sipped his bourbon and water—the idea that one-day jaunts across the Solar System had become routine enough to put on a transit schedule was mind-boggling. He had selected the drink because it was something quick and direct that wouldn’t pussyfoot around when it came to getting him drunk. Torrance didn’t really want to be here, but the captain had ordered all hands to attend and Malloy had convinced him it was his duty to tip a few for old times’ sake.
So, like, what the hell, eh?
Like everyone else, it was his last night on the ship.
Unlike most, Torrance knew it was his last night in the service.
Romanov had been chastised, and would pay for his part in the wormhole pod deception by taking a crappy assignment on a shuttle. But Torrance was gone. He assumed that his status as the guy who pushed the button to launch the pods was the one thing that kept his discharge as better than dishonorable.
The music filled space around them, the bass pounded against his brain. Dance music.
Malloy tipped his drink and pointed at tomorrow’s guest list.
“You see that shit?” he said. “Ambassador. Ambassador. Ambassador. Another goddamned ambassador. Assistant to the goddamned ambassador. Ambassador’s delegate. We created this world. You would think we ought to rate at least a goddamned vice president, for crying out loud.”
Torrance snickered. “Don’t knock it. Luna’s grand marshal will be here.”
“Yeah, right.” Malloy swirled his drink and slammed back the last of it. “The grand marshal. Now there’s a real quark on the butt of society. I’ll bet every one of the poor bastards who got roped into this weren’t even aware we were coming until a week ago.”
“Why do you say that?”
He gritted his teeth. “Just a hunch.”
Torrance nodded. “I hear ya, Karl. The world’s had FTL for long enough now that no one cares about us anymore, except maybe as museum pieces.”
“Well, they damned well should. They’ll regret ignoring us. Someday they will. Maybe earlier than you think.”
“What do you mean?”
Malloy shrugged and gave a drunken smile.
“What an effin’ crock this Star Drive stuff is, anyway, eh? We give ’em the effin’ galaxy and all they do is make a new batch of politicians to go scrambling for more effin’ real estate. If we had to do it over again, I think it would be better to send those goddamned pods right back up Hatch’s ass.”
Torrance laughed and took a drink.
“Christ, Karl. Look at us.”
“So, what are you going to do?” Malloy said, picking an ice cube out of his glass to suck on.
It was a question he’d heard at least a hundred times the past month. What are you going to do? More than two thousand crew members and families were buzzing about what came next. It made the entire last stint of the mission feel like senior year, spring semester.
Torrance gave Malloy a sideways glance, and thought about the Eden files.
Casey surprised him earlier today with the news that the original files hadn’t been destroyed, that instead the security officer had ordered them stored away in a place Torrance couldn’t get to until they docked. Sadistic little bastard. He wasn’t sure exactly why Casey did that, except that it had soon become obvious the data itself wasn’t dangerous in any way—only the fact that he had used it to justify sabotaging a mission and destroying government property mattered. The magnanimous expression on the security officer’s face earlier this morning made it clear that Casey thought he as being quite generous, so Torrance figured the gift was just a way for Casey to feel better about being his sorry-assed self.
Casey had never discovered that Kitchell had his own copy of the data and that Kitchell had been digging through it in fits and starts throughout the last legs of the trip. He didn’t know that Kitchell had beaten him to the punch and created a copy of the files encoded on a data crystal that Torrance held in his pocket even as Casey was providing his self-congratulatory form of charity.
Not that it really mattered.
Even with Kitchell’s quick mind and miraculous methods of finding advanced routines, they needed better tools and more time. Without full access to the Signal Processing Lab and with only a few hours here and there to work with, there was only so much they could do.
The kid was brilliant, though.
He was going to do something special, that was for certain.
Kitchell was twenty-two years old, now. He had been just past seven when the mission launched. After serving his volunteer stint, he had officially joined the command as an auxiliary member a year and a half ago, and done a remarkable job. Like everyone his age or younger, Everguard was probably the only home he really remembered.
It was going to be fun to see what happened to the kid. He wanted to see what kind of chances Kitchell would take, and where those chances would carry him. Torrance hoped they would have a long relationship.
He didn’t know much about what his own future held, but he knew it would still have something to do with a search for life on Eden. Free from the restrictions of the military, and with a little money stored away, maybe he would finally be able to spend long, concerted hours digging everywhere.
In the end, he couldn’t help himself. No matter that his studies were turning up empty, he felt a presence on the planet. As crazy as other people might say he was, he believed.
So, yeah, he would work with the Eden files.
But he wasn’t going to tell Malloy that.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he replied. “What about you?”
Malloy swirled the last of the ice in his glass, motioned to the bartender, and tossed off a shrug. “Probably hit France and Italy for a couple weeks first.”
“Really?”
“My dad always told stories about France and Italy. Figure they’ll probably be as good a place to hang around as any. For a while, anyway. Besides,” he said, his smile gleaming, “after a decade and a half cooped up on this ship I think I need to look at a few different women.”
“Well, I hear they’ve got ’em different there.”
Malloy’s grin widened, and the bartender set a fresh drink in front of him. “Maybe after that I’ll get into the Eta Cass thing.”
He was talking about the war.
Universe Three had established a base in the Eta Cassiopeia system, and the news was full of sporadic clashes there as the United Government was still trying to save face by retrieving their stolen spacecraft.
“I don’t know, Karl. That stuff sounds ugly. I mean, they’re talking like it’s all skimmer actions and retaliatory strikes, but the facts look like we’re in a weird full-scale war that’s made even weirder because it’s spread out over light years.”
“Yeah, I know. But it’s important, don’cha think?”
Torrance nodded and took a hit from his drink.
Across the way, Marisa danced with Paul Terrano.
Those two had been an item for a while, but as Everguard drew closer to home Torrance could see it wouldn’t last. Marisa was going to be assigned to a new Star Drive system. Paul was an Ag specialist who worked in Everguard’s Horticultural Command—a service that FTL travel had rendered essentially obsolete.
Torrance sighed.
At least he had patched things up bet
ween them enough that she talked to him. She was smart, and interesting. He had enjoyed her friendship over the past three years. Turns out she gave pretty good advice.
“She’ll leave him, too,” Malloy said.
“What?”
“I said—”
Torrance waved him off. “I know,” he said. “It’s all right. Really, it is.”
“Hey, screw ’em, right?” Malloy said, holding his glass up for a toast Torrance was supposed to join in.
Torrance tipped his glass, drank the diluted dregs of bourbon, and put it down. “I’m turning in.”
“So early?”
“Yeah.”
Malloy stood and held his hand out.
“I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow, LC. But just in case.”
Torrance nodded and took Malloy’s hand. He didn’t have any great words to share, and that made him feel even more embarrassed.
“Be good, Karl.”
“Aye, sir.”
That night or, technically, early the next morning, he slipped into his bed on Everguard for the last time.
As directed, he had packed his wardrobe and all his essentials before the party. They fit in three boxes that were now stacked in a makeshift tower just inside his doorway. The ship stewards would take them in the morning.
The sheets were cool, but heavy on his skin.
Darkness was nearly total.
“Play audio file K-12, Abke.”
The sound came low, a gentle hiss that reminded him of waves on the beach. It was an audio rendition of the Eden “storm” he had made in the old days. It was the one file Kitchell had retooled and repackaged, then slipped to Torrance a long time ago. The white noise was like Mozart or Bach as far as he was concerned. Though it didn’t contain any clear pattern, his brain felt rhythms and melodies in the white fuzz. In the edgy darkness of his quarters, Torrance Black thought about the pod he had left behind, the single piece of equipment he had diverted to the planet known as Eden.
It had been a long time ago.
How long would it take an intelligent species to re-engineer a system like that? What kind of physics would they need to know? For a moment he thought about Adrienne—remarried with three kids now. He thought about Marisa. He thought about life in general.
Everguard’s mission was complete.
His career was finished.
What would he do now?
The question lingered until he fell asleep.
CHAPTER 29
UGIS Everguard
Ship Local Date: September 15, 2211
Ship Local Time: 1015
Torrance had to be on the bridge for the docking ceremony in fifteen minutes, but right now he was in his office, watching the team work for the very last time. They were in their traditional whites today. He used to love the precision of that look, but now it made him feel like a starched mannequin.
Many display screens displayed Aldrin Station as it hung outside the observation port, looking like a silver spider against the black sky. It orbited Luna at Lagrange point 4, its spindlelike access corridors turning silent cartwheels in space, its docking pods glistening like dew with the sunlight.
System parameters flowed over the data screen embedded in his office wall. Everything looked good—power distribution, ionic filtration, environmental controls—all exactly where they were supposed to be. The computer systems were up. Docking mechanicals were on standby. Even the damned toilets were in perfect shape.
Trimming rockets fired as they drew nearer.
He locked the ship’s external service bots into their maintenance bays via the remote interface.
It was a sad chore, actually. Putting his toys away, knowing they would almost certainly never be used again. He sighed and picked a plaque off the wall. UGIS Everguard - Changing the Universe, the inscription read. He flipped it over and scanned the names of his teammates.
The comm panel beeped.
Captain Romanov’s voice echoed through the compartment.
“Ladies and gentlemen, crewmates of the finest rank. Estimated time to completion of this mission is forty-five Earth standard minutes. Please do me the great honor of taking your docking positions. It has been an honor to cruise with you.”
Torrance opened his personal duffel and slipped the plaque into the bag. Straightening, he ran his hands down the hips of his pants, feeling the hard edge of the data crystal there. He pulled his hat from its compartment, and stepped onto the gunmetal platform outside.
He took one last look around the command, breathed one more breath of its air, and walked through the doorway that led to the central corridor—which was a twisting path that led through various commands and offices, and toward the lift tube that would take him to the bridge. It was a long walk, but this time he enjoyed every moment of it, trying to soak in the moment. He passed the storage bays and the deck’s physical fitness center. As he passed the shooting range, the memory of his very bad day came to him. It seemed a long time ago. Ahead of him, corridors that connected the deck to living quarters merged from the right, Pod Engineering was ahead to the left.
As he strolled, the flickering of the lights were the first sign that something was wrong.
Torrance paused, frowning.
What could have caused that?
Then the emergency horns began to blare.
CHAPTER 30
UGIS Everguard
Ship Local Date: September 15, 2211
Ship Local Time: 1017
The tooth-grinding groan of ripping metal screeched through the hallway. An alarm shrieked like a banshee’s wail. The floor warped and rolled like it was made of rubber beneath his feet.
Suddenly Torrance was flying through the air.
The lights went out.
He was on the floor, his arm numb and tingling beneath him, his ears ringing.
Then the pressure of the artificial gravity system was gone, and he felt like he was floating.
Voices came from everywhere, some screaming and crying, some yelling orders. The emergency lights cast scarlet-brown shadows across the darkness. Cold pain shot up his arm when he tried to move.
A broken wrist, maybe?
His head swam in throbbing pain.
He put his good hand to his temple and found his hat was gone and his forehead was tender.
An acidic odor filled the corridor. Electrical fire, Torrance thought.
The lights flickered again, and he realized he was floating in microgravity. Yes. He was. The grav system was dead.
A woman struggled to move up the hallway, her fluorescent white uniform stained crimson by the emergency lighting. Her arms and legs kicked in a windmilling motion that made it look like she might be swimming. A long strand of her dark hair had worked its way loose to coil around her like a snake hanging from a tree.
The emergency siren grew beyond annoying.
“You okay, LC?” Lieutenant Malloy was at his side, holding Torrance by the shoulder. His eyes were uncharacteristically wide.
“What happened, Karl?”
“Something blew. We got no power over three-quarters of the ship. The monitor array is blank. We need to check Forward.” He used the ceiling handrail for leverage and lugged Torrance toward the command deck.
Torrance grabbed hold of the rail with his good hand. “No,” he said.
“Come on, LC.”
“Not that way,” Torrance said.
He pulled himself from Malloy’s grip and turned back to Systems Command. He needed to know what was going on. Something was catastrophically wrong, and he had to see data from the entire ship to figure out what it was.
Malloy argued, but his words faded into the alarm’s drone.
Smoke filled the corridor with the thick smell of burned electronics.
Torrance swung toward a bulkhead thirty meters away, pulling his throbbing hand close to his chest.
What had happened to cause something like this?
A collision?
That didn’t m
ake sense. Except for Aldrin Station and the moon itself, there was nothing out there that could hit Everguard hard enough to cause this kind of damage.
Even a major hull breach from something smaller should be easily contained.
Forward Deck, where Malloy wanted to head, contained the admiral’s bridge and was designed as a series of vacuum-tight compartments in case they hit something too large for the magnetic shield to handle. Every passage to and from there was outfitted with automatic seals that would shut down to compartmentalize any loss of vacuum, and routine diagnostics ran daily to ensure everything was active and functional.
Central Deck, the thick, bulbous portion of the craft where all vital life-sustaining systems were maintained and where most of the day-to-day work was done, had been built to similar standards but with larger sections. A breach there would damage more area, but was no more likely to cascade into a global problem than one in Forward Deck. The rearward compartments housed the crew and their families. The weakest points in the structure were the collection of six equally spaced, enriched-titanium struts that affixed the ship’s collider drive to Central Deck—but they should be under almost no stress at this point in the flight.
So, what the hell was going on?
It had to be something big.
They stepped into Systems Command, Torrance first, Malloy right behind.
The area was functioning on emergency power, and the backup artificial gravity system acquired them as they crossed into the room. Several consoles were still in the process of reinitializing.
The frantic crew examined screens and spoke in terse voices.
“Status,” Torrance said, his voice firm, but drowned in the din as he climbed the stairs that led to the main floor.
The siren blared another two bleats as Torrance scanned the room.
The ache in his wrist surged.
“I said I need status,” he said again, this time loud enough to carry over the bleating siren.
Heads swung around and the chatter came to a halt.
