Was this really what she’d come to? Sharing a strange man with the most self-centred woman she’d ever met? Aurora McKendrick cared for two things in life—piloting the Albatross and Aurora McKendrick. Anything else was either a disposable pleasure or something she had to endure. But she was also a hell of a pilot and worth keeping around for that reason alone. Lately, with the increase in competition, the interstellar smuggling business had all but dried up, meaning the Albatross had had to go farther afield and take on more dangerous jobs than she once would have. McKendrick’s bravura piloting was becoming more and more important, a fact that she knew full well.
But Steffi hadn’t always broken laws for a living. Once upon a time, in the clean water days of Rapture’s moon Hellespont, she’d farmed Valerian fruit and hunted buffalo and fished for fourteen months of the year, and she’d been full of hope. The man of her dreams was a few ranches away, only a handful of seasons from earning enough to ask for her hand in marriage. Her dad would have agreed. He would have. If only the earthquake hadn’t taken them both from her and—
She swallowed too quickly. It went down the wrong hole and she coughed.
The mats creaked under Steffi’s feet while she gathered her towels and flip-flops and her underwear and walked away on rubbery legs. The loneliness hit her harder than ever in the corridor outside. McKendrick’s grim chuckle seemed to mock everything Steffi had ever been and ever could be again. So much for a captain having the respect of her crew.
She waited ’til she’d locked the shower door behind her and turned on the water. Under the tepid stream, she cried until her fingertips pruned.
*
Breakfast the next morning smelled and tasted better than it ever had before. The ship’s mechanic, Joey Marchmain, whom they’d nicknamed Flyte for his surname’s literary link to the rich family in Brideshead Revisited—he was polite and well-spoken as well—had cooked up a traditional English breakfast with the rare ingredients he’d bought from the outdoor market on planet October. Scrambled eggs, tinned bacon cut into generous slices, hash browns, handfuls of fried mushrooms, baked beans, what tasted like actual New Cumberland sausages: he’d gone the whole hog and delivered a stunner of a meal.
“Where the hell did you learn how to cook like that?” Chance wolfed down an extra spoonful of mushrooms. “I’ve never even seen half this stuff. Where are y’all from again?”
“Zaragoza, on Santa Lucia,” replied Flyte, brief and taciturn as ever.
Steffi thought she ought to reassert herself after last night’s embarrassment. “He’s the quiet one,” she said of Flyte. “One of those who you know is good at absolutely everything but never brags about it. A hell of an engineer, probably smarter than all of us put together, and the cleanest grease monkey you’ve ever seen. That’s our Flyte.”
“You forgot to mention renaissance chef.” McKendrick saluted him with her fork.
The slightest tug of a smile broke the smooth solemn mould of Flyte’s face. It led to a raising of the eyebrows and a wandering of the eyes—two overcompensations that Steffi saw and smirked at. Though he said little, she knew him better than he realised. The reluctance to form relationships. The obsessive perfectionism. The calibrated mind trapped in a box of broken promises. Flyte was an orphan of moneyed landowners, a thirty-year-old boy lost in the sea of space, and she had taken on the role of big sister far more than captain. He was like the royal physician serving on board a rotting sloop. Penitence was his salvation and his prison. He could be great if he wanted.
If he wanted.
“Yup, damn good, brother,” said Rex Van Rynn, a bear of a man born on a deep space pioneer vessel, whose job it was to load and unload all the Albatross’s cargo. He also doubled as head of security, more for his size and tough appearance than any special knowledge of the discipline. His shiny bald head and perfect white teeth were the first two things a stranger usually saw of him. Black skin, massive horizontal shoulders, he should have been a brute, but Rex loved to joke with his shipmates more than anything. The kind of goofy banter with a grin to back it up that made friends with anyone who happened to be nearby. “You’ve not blown it all on one breakfast, though, have you?”
“Not all, no.”
“Good, ’cause Alex could do with putting on a few pounds.” Rex glanced to his left, to his beautiful pale wife Alexandra. “Sorry, love, but you could, you know. All that healthy organic crap. It might be good for the soul, but it’s bad for the hold.” He winked at her. She clipped his ear. “I mean you look great. Have you lost weight?” he added.
Everyone laughed.
“So where are we headed?” asked Chance. “It all happened so fast, I forgot to ask.”
Silence. Noncommittal glances. Deliberate chewing.
“I guess that depends.” McKendrick slouched over her plate, adjusting her thick navy blue dressing gown about her shoulders.
“On what?”
“On how much you want to avoid the slammer. We might be able to outrun the Royals, but that won’t stop them chasing, not in a million years.”
“We need to lie low indefinitely,” announced Steffi. “If the Albatross so much as pips on the radar of a nearby planet, there’ll be a Royal reception waiting when we land.” Her weary indifference to any possible course of action felt like palming beach balls up in the sea breeze of her mind. “We can either do a big roundabout, go light-years out of our way to avoid this system altogether, or we can just keep this heading…see what we find.” The crew’s heavy silence lent weight to the latter idea. She combined scrambled egg with bacon on her fork for the first time, and it tasted delicious. Her mind was made up. “We’re already on the fringe of explored space. Word is the terra-formers are divvying up entire sectors beyond the asteroid belt. Supposed to be clusters of planets begging to be colonized. Even some with primitive life.”
“Yeah, I heard that too,” affirmed Rex. “It was a news story on Dionysus. They called it God’s Second Wind. Places teeming with life. They reckon in about twenty years we’ll be sending armadas out past the belt. But it’s off-limits for the time being. They don’t want opportunists staking claims, ruining the ecosystems before we can work out the right ways to live there. Anyone know anything about the blockade?”
McKendrick replied, “No. Only that there is one.”
“And what’s that to us?” Alexandra lifted her voice above its rasp, aiming for a rousing note. “Are we fugitives or aren’t we?”
“I don’t know. The amount of time you spent praying last night, I was sure you’d be absolved by now.” McKendrick’s insult stirred a familiar rancour, one that had split the crew, albeit only philosophically, for as long as Steffi could remember.
Alexandra rolled her eyes and shook her head at McKendrick’s taunting tongue. “God understands why we do what we do. And He recognises the shortsightedness of man’s laws. So yes, we are fugitives; and no, He does not condemn us for it.”
“Why not?”
“Because we break none of His commandments.”
“What about the stealing?”
“Re-appropriation.”
“And the killing?”
“Justifiable homicide. Self-defence.”
McKendrick blew her a sarcastic kiss. “Amen to that, sister.”
They all licked their plates clean, gave Flyte a congratulatory handshake, and were about to leave to start their jobs for the day when Steffi said, “Get ready for a long trip, people. We can’t waste any Psammeticum for a warp jump, so it’ll be nearly a week to the asteroid belt. We have enough supplies to last us about six weeks. Sorry, no more smorgasbords. We’ll be rationing from here on. McKendrick, plot us the quickest course past the rocks. Not too close, but not too far away either. It’d be better if we didn’t show up on the blockade’s radar.”
“Aye, Captain. Chance, come on, you’re sitting with me.”
He threw her a mock salute and replied, “Aye, aye, sweet cheeks.”
“Rex and Alex, you sort out what food needs
to be frozen,” Steffi went on. “Then you can help Flyte tune the engine.” She turned to the posh mechanic. “Whatever you need.”
Their clanking steps diminished in opposite directions and she found herself alone again. Not much to do that couldn’t wait until she gave a shit. Any of the assignments she’d doled out could use her help, but that would be entirely too industrious on a day like today.
She shrugged.
Another birthday about to pass like a star’s flicker in the night sky.
She sighed and collected the unbreakable dishes. Washing up bought her a little wallowing time. The familiar perfumed detergent soon killed the rare sooty alchemy of Flyte’s grilled breakfast, the kind she hadn’t encountered since Hellespont almost a decade ago. She packed the washed crockery back into its cupboard then sprayed and wiped the table and the benches and mopped the kitchen and had to stop herself before she set about cleaning the entire ship.
She un-bunched the sleeves of her thin cotton sweatshirt until they caressed her soap-softened wrists. Enough work for a while. The Albatross didn’t need her yet. She went back to her quarters, shouldering a heavy dejection, a feeling of utter uselessness. She stopped at the doorway. Someone had made her bed? Ethereal scent from a single Minervan candle on her bedside table swooned through her brain as she inhaled. On her pillow was a small package wrapped in bubble paper and tied with fluorescent pink string.
There was neither card nor note, but Steffi imagined and mouthed the words, “To a captain, from her crew.” It touched her so deeply she almost didn’t want to open the present, to alter anything about this moment. She just stared and soaked up the funky tenderness and sat on the edge of her bed as though it was a shrine to happy surprises, to her sacred childhood, and to other such contraband in space.
Chapter Three
1001 Arabian Nights (selected tales from), spread across four Albatross nights, was the best read Steffi had had in years. Witty tales, bawdy fables and magical escapism in exotic lands; the crew couldn’t have chosen a better present. Earth had long held mystique for her orphaned generation. What remained of it was scattered and assimilated—recipes, books, ancient music and video discs, seeds, engineered animal life, history and myth blurred forever—but never forgotten. Even centuries after its destruction, Earth remained the symbolic hearth of humanity. Which was why people, wherever they went, no matter how inhospitable the place, would go to any lengths to replicate that mythical idyll.
Steffi wiped a tear from her eye as she traced the creases on the back cover with her fingertips. Beauty did not last forever. But the idea of beauty was incorruptible. Books, music, the stories passed down through generations, they were the seeds that had survived Earth, the real hope bequeathed her generation.
But God had not survived the trip with that same integrity. She flicked through the pages and stuck her nose into the gentle waft. Ah, there it was. The faintest perfume of fresh pulp. This particular copy had to have been cryo-frozen for a long time to retain that flavour. Humanity’s love of myths and legends had lasted. Everywhere she went, people and places were named after the heroes and fanciful gods of myth. But religion?
It had become an afterthought.
In the decades leading up to Earth’s destruction more than ninety percent of humanity had believed in or actively worshipped a supreme being. Now that figure was reckoned to be around twenty percent. Was science to blame? The neo-spiritual revolutions of the last century? Or had man simply become empowered by having to survive in space on his own ingenuity alone? Did humanity need God anymore? Where had God been when that mysterious alien battery had blasted the earth to smithereens?
Restless, Steffi got up to stretch her legs. The Albatross purred while she jogged a few laps of the cargo bay and then walked the full length of the ship to check on the progress in the cockpit.
Alexandra Van Rynn yawned and stretched, contorting her limbs and torso in the pilot’s seat. Every crewmember had to take their turn at watch, even the ship’s resident medic and spiritual guru. Alex wore a silver satin scarf and a woollen bob hat, as well as her usual grey slacks and low-cut blouse with a frilly trim. A mid-priced escort with a criminal past on her home world, she had met Rex, her future husband, at the airport minutes before a spontaneous holiday on the first off-world shuttle to…anywhere. He had got on the flight with her, even though he had a pre-booked ticket for another planet. They had made their own fate that day. Carpe diem. If they had not, life would never have led them to Steffi and the Albatross.
Had fate been kind?
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.” Steffi collapsed into the co-pilot’s seat. “Didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Ha. Not exactly. I was in more of a trance. You finished your book yet?”
“Yeah. My head’s still spinning with all those crazy plots. But it was a good present. Pretty hard to beat.”
“I’m glad. We don’t get to talk much anymore, Steffi.” It was the first time anyone had called her that since Bo’s death. “How are you holding up?”
Steffi turned a knob on the dashboard, illuminating her half of the panel. “No complaints. You know me, just take it as it comes. One port to the next, no regrets.”
“None at all?”
“None that I’d brag about.”
“What about Bo? I’ll bet you’re missing him. You two were close.”
Steffi shrugged. She wanted to say, Yeah, thanks for bringing that up, Little Miss Sunshine. “The place isn’t the same without him. He was dumber than a bag of spanners but handy to have around, you know?”
“I know. I thought he was sweet.”
“He was.” Hint: past tense! “I can’t remember if I thanked Rex for…you know…the burial at sea.”
“You don’t need to thank him. He would never have let you go through that on your own. You might not realise this, Steffi, but you’re well-liked around here.”
How to respond to that. Steffi’s mind was a blank. She blinked self-consciously and pretended she hadn’t heard. Something about Alex always made her feel uneasy—that apple-pie demeanour and righteous positive attitude somehow didn’t sit well with her sordid past. The woman was a convert, a born-again with enough zeal to power the entire ship. Steffi just didn’t believe anyone’s life could make such a U-turn without something being awry…somewhere. It didn’t have to be on the surface. The demons might take years to emerge, but, like all things trapped and patient, they would find daylight eventually.
“What’s that?” Alex pointed to a large blinking shape on the deep-space radar.
Steffi magnified the image. It appeared…black. “No clue. There’s nothing there.” She altered the ship’s course a few degrees, then brought it back. “On the other hand…” the blinking shape reappeared, “…there has to be something there.”
“What could it be?”
Steffi frowned, then tapped her fingers on her armrest. “Buzz McKendrick over the intercom,” she told Alex. “She might be able to figure it out.”
“If she can figure out how to get here, that is. She was drinking late last night with Chance.”
“No kidding. Best give it to her full volume then.”
“Cap, you’re evil.” Alex smirked, then flicked the private intercom switch. As soon as she heard McKendrick’s voice, she blared out the gist of what they’d discovered.
“Huh? You’re blinking the blank, or blacking the blink?” groaned McKendrick in reply.
“There’s a blink where it’s blank, but it’s really black,” replied Alex.
“Anyone there who isn’t flying on peyote?”
Steffi snatched the comm receiver. “Get your ass here right away. We have something on radar. Something massive.”
“On my way.”
Bog-eyed and only half-dressed, McKendrick brought Chance along with her. Alex fetched her husband as well. The five of them studied the green radar screen, watching for the emergency collision alarm. Whatever the object was, its miles-long
rectangular shape appeared far too big for any manmade craft.
“Definitely a solid exterior,” announced McKendrick, “and moving fairly slowly. Faint heat signature. Profiling suggests it’s hollow. Steady vector. Spinning freely on all three axes.” She looked ahead. A great wall of blackness blotted out the constellations, eating more and more until stars only existed in the Albatross’s peripheral windows. A giant black vessel? The crew shared excited glances when she added, “I don’t mind saying…it looks dead in the water.”
Steffi cringed. The unspoken dilemma blazed across the eyes of each person—a dilemma she, as captain, would have to resolve.
Salvage?
No one addressed her, but the silence pressed its own opinion. Out here, they were just as invisible as the mystery object. Their journey—equally as aimless. After such a disastrous job on October, they could not afford to pass up an opportunity like this. She gripped the worn leather arms of her seat.
At the very least, they would have to look for a way in.
“That thing has to be alien,” said Rex. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Some kind of stealth ship? Black ships are illegal, and this one’s big enough to swallow two of those Titan pioneer vessels end to end. What the hell is it?”
“Beats me,” admitted McKendrick.
“And me,” agreed Alex. “It’s your call, Cap.”
Steffi had already weighed the obvious pros and cons before she spoke, but she knew the crew, who would be risking everything alongside her, needed to hear her reasoning. “Right, we’re going to give it a shot. This thing’s too big to pass up.” McKendrick and Rex shared a high five. “We’ll tour the perimeter,” she explained, “see if we can find an access. And if we get lucky, we’ll dock using the airlock extension—that way we can cut the umbilical and get the hell out if things turn dicey. If not, we’ll improvise.”
McKendrick interrupted, her voice fizzing with excitement. “Hold on to your beaus and britches! Check out thirty degrees, halfway up the bow, port side. Looks like an entire section is missing.” After double-checking her readings, she puckered her lips and raised a celebratory fist. “Yep, that part’s been blasted away. Probable access point. Highly probable.”
The Mythmakers: An Impulse Power Story Page 2
