Keshona Far Freedom Part 1

by Warren Merkey

other.

  "I should have enlisted your help when I found him," she said. "I admit the shock of finding him, coupled with your situation, disturbed my judgment. There's a visual log of his physical condition and his medical treatment. If he was any worse I would have taken him to a hospital."

  She waited while Horss linked to the ship's database, found the cocoon medical log, and watched the visual data through his shiplink. It gave her a moment to study him. A class-1 uniform fit the body precisely, showing the shape of the body. She could see he was well age-maintained and probably still as lethal as when he competed in the Navy Games years ago. His face was younger than his real age of sixty, but it retained enough character - a naturally forceful state of expression, almost a scowl - to reinforce his status as commander of the Navy's flagship. His gray eyes broke away from viewing the medical log and bored into her with what she imagined was controlled anger and consternation.

  "So," he said, "why did you send me the Request for Voluntary Reassignment, Admiral?"

  Horss made no comment about the medical log, she noted, but it was a document that would need much longer examination to match to the child he had seen too briefly. And of course there was the "admiral effect" that cast doubt on everything she proposed as truth.

  "The Freedom needed an outstanding captain," she replied. "Such a captain was being denied the Galactic Hub Mission, as though political forces were at work to prevent the success of the Mission. I was forced to bypass the obstructing politics."

  "Why me? There are many good captains."

  "There are not many good captains," she objected.

  "You know what this does to me, to my career."

  "It saves you from being an admiral."

  "Would you explain that?"

  "Younger men than you have made admiral, Jon."

  "I'm as good as them. I came up through the enlisted ranks. I was delayed."

  "Where did they go, those who made admiral before you?"

  "How should I know? The Navy is huge. What's your point?"

  "They disappear, Jon."

  "They retire early when they don't see a further promotion."

  "And then they disappear. I've looked for them. Their Archive records remain incomplete. It's a pattern I've investigated for years. I don't like my data being incomplete."

  "And so I should be grateful for what you've done to me?"

  "I know you see admirals every day, Jon. I've been told you have a very good relationship with Etrhnk. Perhaps you know more than I would expect. But we both know the Navy is not what we would like it to be. And I promise you it is much worse than you suspect."

  "The Navy has an almost impossible job to do," Horss said. "I prefer to think we are only as bad as we need to be to get the job done. We human beings are not the easiest species to watch over. And why is it you I'm talking to? I know you've been involved in the planning and construction of the Freedom, but it's out of your hands now."

  "Let us walk and talk."

  "You intend to follow the boy?"

  "Of course," she said.

  "Of course," he echoed.

  "Activate your i-field," she ordered. "I don't wish to be discovered on this planet and be arrested for trespassing."

  They pushed through the i-field of the yacht. She checked to see that the sun didn't cast her shadow on the ground. She could see Horss only as a data construct in her ocular terminal. They were both invisible. She started a telemetry link to Horss's class-1 uniform. Initial data indicated he was not as stressed as she thought he was in the beginning. Jon Horss was, by all accounts, a very tough person - he had to be, to survive almost ten years in close proximity to the Navy Commander. Despite the volume of data she had gathered on him, despite the battery of profile-analysis programs she had used on that data, Horss was her choice solely by process of elimination - and for having been close at hand. She could only hope he was the right person for the job.

  She had put so much effort into the search for a good captain that the process made some kind of change in herself, as though she must use herself as an example for comparison and for critical analysis. She had found herself deficient in too many ways. She was not even a complete person, thanks to the War.

  "I have very little information on Admiral Khalanov," Horss said, his tone of voice softened almost to a normal conversational level. "Why are you doing this for him?"

  "We're friends."

  "Allies, you mean?"

  "And you suppose that admirals never trust each other and can never be friends."

  "Well, neither of you is an active line officer, so maybe you're different."

  "We have a long history together," she offered.

  Horss didn't respond for a few moments as they walked across the African plain. The admiral received a message from Baby that Horss was researching her service record through his shiplink.

  "You were in the war," he finally said.

  "Khalanov and I served together in the war," she offered.

  "You were killed," he noted. It was like an accusation.

  "Both of us."

  "You were lucky. Damn few ship casualties can be revived."

  "We were not so lucky."

  "You lost continuity?"

  "Yes." She thought her reply in the affirmative was expected yet it still disturbed him. Did he have some pity for her because of her death?

  "Then you don't remember Khalanov from before the war," Horss said, obviously uncomfortable continuing on this line of discourse.

  "Neither of us remembers the other. We met afterward by chance. We've always tolerated each other. Khalanov can be difficult but I always seem to be able to keep our relationship nearly pleasant."

  She and Khalanov had died manning a technical surveillance ship - a spy ship. They had broken cover to warn their task force of a trap. Their small vessel was caught in the crossfire. The record wasn't specific about why the Mnro Clinic volunteered to revive her and Khalanov. Nothing remained of her memories. She wasn't happy that Horss asked such questions. She didn't like to think about the answers.

  "Why did they try to revive you?" he asked, perhaps intuiting how he could aggravate her.

  "I don't know. Because they could. It was a different era. And we were heroes."

  "You risk your life for Khalanov, stealing me from Etrhnk. Why is it you and not Khalanov?"

  "I wanted to get to know you."

  "Why, Admiral?"

  "Khalanov is merely the Engineer in Command of the Freedom during the Ready Trials. I am the Mission Commander."

  "You?"

  "Yes."

  "But you're..."

  "An elderly admiral who's spent too many years as the Chief of Navy Archives," she finished his sentence. She didn't appear elderly, of course. One retained as much vigor as possible - in order to survive. It was a terrible way to live and the revulsion of it passed through her in its old and fetid familiarity.

  "You were a line officer in the war..." Horss offered, perhaps diplomatically.

  "And I lost continuity and retain no useful experience of that time."

  "Yet, you challenge Admiral Etrhnk," he pointed out.

  She would not encourage him to think she might be up to the task before her. It was enough that she was going on the mission herself and accepting the fate of the ship as her fate. "Every admiral has his captains. It may as well be Etrhnk I steal from."

  "And so we're here," Horss summarized, "following a mystery child on a planet forbidden to most people, including Navy personnel."

  ===

  Samson waded across the wide, shallow river. He climbed up the bank. He marched quickly across flat ground, pounding the butt of his spear in the tall grass with each pair of steps. He was happy he could walk so easily - no more cut on his foot! It was proof he hadn't imagined the Navy officers and their invisible ship.

  He glanced often upward as the space elevator loomed larger. He didn't need the elevator now. This was merely a sightseeing trip. Perhaps his
approach to the dangerous old structure would concern the Navy officers and make them follow him. He worried they would forget him. He hardly thought about the space elevator, his mind was so filled with wonder about the Navy. Was it true the Navy was so powerful, its officers so hard, that it ruled all the human races?

  A jumbled mass of broken slabs of concrete - the remains of elevated roadways - filled the spaces between the buildings, making it difficult for a small boy to traverse to the base of the space elevator. Samson stopped in the shade of a cantilevered slab of roadway. He emptied the contents of his pack on the ground and discovered items placed there by the admiral: food and water. He drank the cool water and chewed on a food bar. He unrolled the computer and saw more words on its display surface.

  They're following you.

  "I don't see them. How do you know?"

  I am able to see them.

  "Are you afraid of them hearing you?"

  They are not what I fear.

  "What are you afraid of?"

  Questions, questions, questions!

  "Answers, answers, answers!"

  Milly was afraid of something and would not tell him what it was. This worried Samson for a few moments but there were too many other things to think about now. He wondered what his parents would be like. How many times had he daydreamed of reunion with his parents? One of them was Asian and one was European, but which would be which? Just thinking about how much more possible the reunion was excited him. But why did they never come looking for him? How many times did he ask himself that question? The answer could now be much nearer, and it fascinated him. It also made him wonder about the admiral. She was real, unlike his parents. She might take care of him. He didn't understand why she had