James Wittenbach - Worlds Apart 01

by Meridian

  “It’s a worthy thought,” Redfire assured him. “Some of the Isolationists wouldn’t see sabotage as an evil act, but as a necessary step to save our worlds.” He paused, “A convenient reason for Centurions to slip in among our crew.”

  “Again with the Centurions,” Keeler groaned and rolled his eyes. The door chimed again, and identified the man outside as Medical Specialist Jersey Partridge of Medical Core. “Can I help you?” Keeler asked, without opening the door.

  “Uh, the Watch said you had been attacked. Do you require medical attention?”

  “I’m fine, go away.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Go away or I’ll pull down your pants and mock you mercilessly.” A pause. “All right, Prime Commander. If you change your mind, just comm Medical Core.” Keeler turned back to Redfire, irritation knitting his brow. Redfire lowered his voice. “I think the Reps have a hidden agenda.”

  “I have to disagree with you. The Republicker agenda is quite explicit. They want to make sure everybody cleans their room, eats their vegetables, and engages only in wholesome, state-approved recreational activities. They have an image of an ideal, orderly society, and they want everyone else to follow it.

  “Three centuries ago, and change, travel resumed between our two planets. And for the next hundred and fifty years, Republic, recently overcome with evangelistic fervor at the virtue of planetary unity, tried by means overt and covert, to overthrow our government and install one more to their liking. They eventually gave up, but suspicion remains to this day. They still think of us as reckless fools, mad with freedom,” Keeler shook his head. “They have no idea how much social discipline and hard work it takes to maintain a free society.”

  “Getting back to the point,” Redfire continued. “Some believe they are using the Odyssey Project to bring back the Commonwealth, with Republic as the new capital.”

  “That is also no secret. Republic’s ruling class hopes that Sapphire and Republic are the first worlds since the Collapse to recover interstellar space-faring technology. They see this situation as an opportunity to rule the galaxy.”

  Redfire nodded. “So, you believe me.”

  Keeler took a long swallow of the firewater. “They are an ambitious and power-hungry people.

  However, I believe they are going to be disappointed.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “For the Republickers to build their Pax Republica, there have to be many human worlds out there without any central organization. If this is so, those colonies are likely to have very different levels of development. Some will be centuries ahead of us, some centuries behind. We’re also talking about thousands of years of cultural divergence on each world. Republic proposes to unite them all. While you contemplate the difficulty of this task, would you be good enough to refill my glass?”

  “Of course,” Redfire said, hoping this was a usual level of alcoholic consumption, and not a means of coping with Tyro Commander Lear.

  “In a way,” Keeler mused. “I hope the Reps are behind the system glitches.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because, Republickers want the Odyssey Mission to succeed. Therefore, they’re no threat to my ship.

  Isolationists, on the other hand, they work in the shadows, they’re capable of anything, and they scare the hell out of me.”

  Amenities Nexus

  Matthew Driver was taking his breakfast in the same concession where he always ate. He sat alone, reviewing Prudence’s maintenance records, oblivious to the buzz of chatter around him, or the hum of automechs conveying food orders.

  Lug, who ran the establishment, served Matthew’s his usual breakfast of grain-cereal, soy-milk, and omni-nutrition biscuit. Lug was heavy-set, middle-aged, came from some pleasant tropical island on Sapphire where people apparently did little but eat, drink, and develop colorful personalities. “Here you go, lieutenant of flight. May I ask you something? Why do you eat this same breakfast every day?”

  “That isn’t true,” Matthew replied. “Some days I have rice cakes and wheat meal platen.” Lug shook his head vigorously. “Listen to me. I am from Thessalia, in the Awkward Islands.

  Everybody knows Thessalian cooking is the best in the two systems.”

  “I guess I should try it sometime, but not this afterdawn, good sir.” Lug skulked away. “No wonder you’re so short,” he muttered.

  Matthew turned his attention back to his review, and took another bite out of his biscuit. It occurred to him that he could have come back at Lug with, “No wonder you’re so fat.” Maybe he would remember it next time.

  He was startled when Lug yelled at him a minute later. “O.K., you two. I see you here, both, twice a day.”

  Matthew looked up to see Lug standing between his table and that of a woman in uniform. She was tall and dark, with interesting eyes. Her hair was drawn behind her head in a shaggy black ponytail.

  “You only eat by yourself,” Lug said to the woman, then turned to Driver. “You also eat alone. This afterdawn you are both alone. So why not be alone together, and leave Lug one less table to clean up?” Driver looked at the woman, and the woman looked back at him, both with awkwardness. Finally, he lifted his tray and moved toward the woman’s table under the stern gaze of Lug, who grunted, with satisfaction, and returned to his kitchen.

  “Do you mind if I join you?” Driver asked.

  “Please yourself,” she told him.

  “I’m Matthew Driver, Flight Lieutenant.”

  “Eliza Jane Change, Lieutenant Navigator.”

  “Nice to meet you.” He set his tray down and took a seat. The food on her plate, two blue orbs and an orange and green paste, was unfamiliar to him. “Where are you from?” She rolled her eyes, sighed in disgust and slammed her mug of hot green liquid down on the tabletop.

  Matthew Driver had never been a smooth operator with women, but he couldn’t remember a woman ever having an adverse reaction to him this quickly. “Sorry I asked. I was just trying to make conversation.”

  “You groundlings. That’s practically the first question out of your mouth when you meet somebody.

  ‘What planet are you from?’ What outgassing difference does it make?” Matthew noticed that there was no origin patch on her uniform.

  “I’m from the Mining Guild,” she explained. “I don’t live on planets, I rip them apart to get at their minerals. I never even walked on a planet until I was sent to Republic for this… Odyssey project.” Driver smiled awkwardly, and gave it another try. “Oh, so, Republic was the first planet you ever set foot on. That’s my homeworld, Republic. I was born in the City of Science, but I spent most of my life in Midothian. Uh, what did you think of Republic?”

  She shrugged and jammed her spork into one of the orbs. “A big ball of rock surrounded by gas, same as any other terrestrial planet. They’re all awful. On a ship, you’re in complete control of your environment. But down there… how do you stand having gravity all the time? And atmosphere. It took me three weeks to adjust to that so-called air you have.” She sighed and picked at her orange and green paste. Her tone softened. “It wasn’t all bad. The oceans are nice. I liked the oceans.” Driver knew she was not talking about the shallow seas on his world, a dip into which would have left acid burns. “When did you see the oceans?”

  “During survival training in the desert on Sapphire, a friend took me to a city called Kandor. We went to the beach almost every day. At, first, I couldn’t imagine how being immersed in cold, filthy, unprocessed water could be enjoyable, but it was really nice.” Then, as though she had relaxed too far, she tightened up.

  “I’m sure we’ll find a planet with oceans,” Matthew offered. Eliza Jane shrugged and dug out a chunk of blue orb.

  For an uncomfortable few seconds, there were no words between them. Driver looked her over; tall and lean, dark hair, a hard-looking body. The fact that she was from the Mining Guild gave her a kind of raw, exotic edge. He had seen mining ships close up, flyi
ng out inspection and customs parties from the Ministry of Importation. Until the Pathfinders, they had been the largest machines built in the systems.

  He wondered what she used to do on the mining ship. He wondered what she thought of him.

  “Tomorrow’s the day,” he said. “Do you have any plans for the launch?”

  “I plan to be on the bridge, driving the ship. I’m the navigator-on-duty. Where will you be when we launch?” she asked.

  Her tone made him feel rather stupid and trivial. “Actually… I’m going to be in the command seat of my Aves. I know it must seem kind of stupid to you, but, I’m a pilot, and it seemed like the most appropriate place.”

  “You’re right,” she said, standing. “I’ve got to get to the bridge. Meeting you was not unpleasant, Flight Lieutenant Driver.”

  “You too, Lieutenant Navigator Change.” Only after she’d left did it occur to him to wonder whether she’d meant right that his choice of location for launch was appropriate or right that it was stupid.

  Pegasus – Primary Command/Main Bridge

  Lear sat in the First Officer’s seat on the Inner Bridge, reviewing Power Production Reports and finding it compelling that Fusion Reactor Four was nearly 2% more efficient than the other three reactors.

  She wondered if there was a way to baseline this new performance paradigm synergistically in cross-organizational way.

  The entrance hatch slid open, and Keeler entered. Lear stood up sharply and turned to greet him.

  “Prime Commander, you aren’t scheduled for a Watch until Afterdawn, tomorrow. Not that we aren’t pleased to see you.”

  “Ah, the warm brush of a subordinate’s lips on my rear flank,” Keeler answered brusquely as he crossed to his chair. “I am aware of when my watch begins. What is the status of the woman who invaded my quarters.”

  Lear didn’t miss a beat. “Interrogation is complete. She is on a shuttle. She’ll be turned over to a Sapphirean consulate and then returned to your world for prosecution.” She could almost feel the heat as Keeler’s temper rose to a boil. “Why was she transferred off this ship?”

  “Standard procedure. There was no reason to keep her here, and the Watch was unaware of any explicit orders to detain her onboard.”

  “I told them I wanted to speak with her.”

  Lear felt anger, inappropriate for she knew ship’s protocols were on her side. “Perhaps that order wasn’t given explicitly enough. In any case, it would take hours to recall her to the ship now. Need I remind you, we launch tomorrow?”

  “Who ordered her removed?” Keeler demanded, still at a simmer.

  Lear hesitated, just for the barest moment. “I did.”

  Around the bridge, personnel pretended to be focused on their work, but Lear knew they were listening to every word.

  Keeler spoke in a tone of voice she was more accustomed using than hearing. “Executive Tyro Commander Lear, may I have a word with you in my Command Study?” No one in Primary Command could have missed the anger in Keeler’s voice.

  “Certainly, Prime Commander,” she answered, carefully maintaining respect for him, but broadcasting strength. She followed him into his Command Study. Its deck-to-ceiling observation ports made her feel exposed, but she was ready to defend herself.

  Keeler didn’t even wait to take his Comfy Chair before he began shouting at her. “Why did you ship out the prisoner before I had a chance to speak with her.”

  Lear’s answered him firmly, with a calculatedly ingratiating tone. “Prime Commander, this was a minor security breach. Well below your level of interest.”

  “It was in my quarters.”

  “Prime Commander, with all due respect, Odyssey Project Directive 1037-stroke-11 alpha clearly states that unauthorized personnel discovered on board a Pathfinder Ship within eighty-eight hours of scheduled launch are to be removed immediately. If there had been a verified Detainment Order, I would not have released her, but the Watch did not have one.”

  “Did the Watch tell you I had asked to see her?”

  “Nay, they did not.”

  Glowering, he walked around the table, approaching his seat. He stood behind it, glaring at her, but not sitting down, challenging her. “Who was she?”

  Lear activated a datafile of the woman the Watch had captured. She was wearing an Odyssey Project uniform. “She was identified as Jasmine Phoenix, from the city of Teague, province of Panrovia, Sapphire.

  Trained as a ship’s navigator. Unfortunately, she never adjusted to shipboard life. Her personal stress levels began to adversely affect her performance and health, and she had to be let go. We give navigators a lot of leeway because humans with the necessary gifts to navigate in hyperspace are quite rare. We hoped with more adjustment time, she could serve on a later mission, but, she disappeared before reaching home, and was not seen again until she appeared in your quarters.” Keeler remained grim. “She warned me that there were Isolationists on my ship.”

  “She was delusional. It’s simply not possible, Prime Commander.” Lear told him.

  “How can you be so sure? How can you be assured that these system glitches are not part of some Isolationist scheme to sabotage my ship?”

  Your ship? “I designed the security protocols myself. My security team reviewed everyone connected with Odyssey. We identified thirty-one people on Republic and Sapphire sympathetic to the Isolationists with the expertise to compromise our cybernetic systems. None of them had access to the ship or to the Odyssey Project.”

  “What about indirect access?”

  “Associates of the AI and cybernetics teams were traced to the fourth degree of separation. With all due respect, Prime Commander, I trust my security measures over the incoherent ramblings of a deranged woman.”

  Keeler matched her, tone for tone. “I want you to take every available Watchman and sweep this ship deck-by-deck, section by section, for anyone who doesn’t belong on board.”

  “Respectfully, Sir, even with the full watch, we could not possibly finish in the time before launch.”

  “Then secure some Warfighters from TyroCmdr. Redfire. I guarantee his cooperation. Use and/oroids.

  Whatever it takes, I want assurance that no one is on this ship who doesn’t belong here.” There was a pause, then “Aye, Prime Commander.” He turned away from her, crossed his arms behind his back, and stared pointedly out to the rear deck of his ship. She waited, and was about to ask if she were dismissed, when he turned around again.

  “Tyro Commander Lear, if you ever, ever countermand an order from me again, even on something you think is insignificant, Redfire will be my Exec, and I’ll have you serving cocktails to Sanitation Techs in the UnderDeck Lounge.”

  Lear could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “There’s no need for vulgarity, Prime Commander,” she answered, trying to sound calm and in control. “And there is no Lounge in the UnderDecks.”

  “I’ll make one just for you,” Keeler told her. “You are dismissed.” She exited. This was a learning experience, she told herself. Next time, she would know how to handle the Prime Commander better. Besides, her orders had been clear. The launch of Pegasus must proceed as scheduled, and she would be damned before she let a mentally fragile woman in a black suit interfere with that.

  Pegasus – Keeler’s Quarters

  Keeler was in even too foul a mood to drink when he returned to his cabin. His thoughts were a knot.

  He was commanding a ship whose systems still occasionally fizzled and popped, and possibly one with dangerous unauthorized persons on board.

  He saw that the glass from his skylight had been cleaned and a technician was putting the finishing touches on the replacement. “We’re nearly, sir. Is it to your satisfaction?” Keeler looked up. It was as if nothing had happened. “Looks great to me.”

  “Is there anything else you need?”

  “Nothing that you can give me, Technician…”

  “Halliburton,” he said, the patch on his brown-trimmed jacket
showed the silver ringed torch of Republic. Keeler cursed himself for looking. Halliburton lingered for a moment, as though waiting to make sure Keeler was certain, then let himself out.

  Keeler spoke to his ship. “Show me a schematic diagram of the UnderDecks and other areas outside the ship’s habitation and operations areas.” A hologram model of his ship in cutaway view, three meters long, appeared in his quarters. Great parts of it were taken up by cargo holds, connector passages, artifactories, air and water processing plants, power facilities, Aves launch systems, and other areas the crew was not intended to go. Laid flat, the areas were probably larger than Metropolitan New Cleveland.

  Underneath USNC, Keeler knew, was a network of tunnels and conduits, some of them centuries old.

  Originally designed as part of the university’s infrastructure, they carried heat, water, and power among the University’s buildings. They, also, were supposedly unoccupied. Yet, not a term went by when students were not caught inside them. There was even evidence that, over the centuries, a few people had even lived in them.

  And what very few people knew was that an undergraduate William Keeler and a few friends had once used the tunnels to gain access to the then-Chancellor’s office and redecorate it with green shag carpeting and milk-beast print couches (because he wanted it to look like his furniture was grazing).

  While there, they had also used the Chancellor’s data access to send a letter to the board of Observers, proposing the merger of the Engineering and Erotic Arts faculties into a single department, so the tech-heads could occasionally get laid.

  The point was, Keeler knew that places where people weren’t supposed to go was often where they most wanted to be.

  His thoughts were interrupted by his door alert. Before he could check the identity pad, the Watchman outside had already opened the hatch. “Specialist Third Class Roebuck, bringing your belongings from the Quanrantine Zone,” the Watchman announced. “His presence is authorized.”

  “I guess that’s why he’s at the front door instead of the skylight.” Door? Hatch? Whatever.