by Darrell Bain
“Could they really copy it, do you think? Without me, that is?” Jamie fingered the thought disk in his coverall pocket; the one attuned to his mind alone.
Whitmire shrugged. “Once they ferry up the computers and generators and we install them, I'm told they probably could. And if they had you, they certainly could—that is, if they could control the main computer. That's why I'm not really too upset with Jeannie. In retrospect, she may have done us a service. However, I see no need to tell anyone else about this, do you? Actually, the only reason you're going on the initial trip is that you're still the only person in the world who can use that damned thought disk the alien gave you. Why couldn't it have made it a general one like Conan brought, rather than specifically tuning it to your mind?"
The question was rhetorical. As theory had it, anything more than superficial communication with the thought disks had to be from one constructed in the presence of the recipient and attuned only to him—and the only beings who could do that were light years away, unless by chance some still survived in the ship still circling Saturn. Jamie understood that much. Even after months of exhausting work, he was still having to relay data from the disk to Scientists, much of it incomprehensible to them both. Without him, it was possible the ship would never return. Even with him it was problematical. The theory behind the technology had never been tested, even by the aliens who conceived it during their sunlight voyage to the solar system. However, Jamie was one of those rare persons able to relax to the inevitable, and to enjoy it, once committed. He had only one more question.
“When will we be leaving? Or have you set a date yet?"
Whitmire smiled, a rare occurrence with him over the last half year. “How does next week suit you?"
Jamie wasn't quite prepared for that answer. “That soon?"
“The ship is complete, except for installing the stress field generators and the main computer components. That shouldn't take more than a week or so. Jeannie will have to go up with the computer, so you may as well all go at the same time. That will give you all a little time to get acquainted with the rest of the crew before you take off."
“And how soon will that be?” Jamie asked.
Whitmire gave his customary shrug. “That will depend on Captain Hawkins. Whenever he decides he's ready."
When Jamie returned to their apartment, Captain Masters and Conan had arrived. The shorthaired brown dog broke away from the menagerie of pets he was getting re-acquainted with and bounded with hardly a limp towards Jamie. His paws reached almost to Jamie's shoulders as he hugged the erstwhile feral dog. He had never expected to see him again after watching him go down with a horrible wound when the Dallas mercenaries made their surprise attack.
“Conan, boy! How are you?"
“Feel good,” the dog said in a rasping voice. His vocabulary was not nearly as extensive as the other pets, nor was he quite so intelligent, his enhanced genes having probably been intermixed with normal dogs, but he had a keen sense of the rightness of humans, and Jamie was his favorite person. After the greetings were complete, and Jamie and Captain Masters were seated, he stretched out by Jamie's feet with his head resting on front paws, staring up at him in a worshipful gaze, for all the world like a dog with his master in the previous century. Fuzzy Britches, of course, promptly appropriated Jamie's lap, considering it his primary domain place when available.
Captain Wasters smiled, making his lined face seem almost boyish, even though he was completely white haired and much older than Jamie. He was a smallish man, but lean and wiry from his years roaming the wilds surrounding the Enclave.
“Where's the rest of the family, Jamie?"
“Jeannie's at the computer center, and Kristi is asleep. She's still sort of tired from your last patrol."
“Well, tell Jeannie I want to thank her for talking John into getting me included in the spaceship crew. He said she was the one who convinced him.” Masters’ eyes twinkled as if he knew a secret.
“I'll be sure and tell her,” Jamie said, remembering Whitmire's admonishment to keep silent about Jeannie's methods—though if he had to bet, he would put money on the ranger already knowing how his selection came about.
“Thanks.” Masters elevated one eyebrow ever so slightly; all but confirming Jamie's suspicions that Masters had a pretty good idea of his own about how the convincing took place.
“Have you met Captain Hawkins before?” Jamie thought to ask. The name was unfamiliar to him.
“I know him. He's a good man. He was one of the floater pilots who came to our rescue when we were in so much trouble. Jeremy Hawkins, his name is. He's about the only person in the Enclave who has any knowledge at all of astronomy anymore. It's been a hobby of his for years, even though he hasn't had much of a telescope to work with. Mostly, he's engrossed himself in the old files still lying around in computer banks."
Jamie had a thought. “Don't any of the space people study astronomy anymore?"
Masters rubbed his chin, where a faint white bristle was beginning to show. “Just from talking to Jerry, I think not, at least not past the amateur stage. Their resources are spent about like ours are; trying to keep things going. Of course, I guess they still have a few of the old ‘scopes on the moon, if they haven't cannibalized them for something more urgent.” His face broke into another smile. “It would be nice to know how to get to where we want to go, wouldn't it?"
“If we get there at all,” Jamie remarked, remembering they were going to use the test flight as an exploration, first of the derelict craft in orbit about Saturn, then on to the star system of the aliens origin.
“Be an optimist, Jamie. The worst that can happen is death, and that comes to all of us, sooner or later. Kristi and I take our lives in hand every time we go outside the boundaries of the Enclave, and it's getting worse all the time. This is getting to be cat country around here, but even so, the rats and mice are increasing faster. We need a break of some kind and this trip may provide it."
“Mice. Yum!” Fuzzy Britches contributed to the conversation. Normal rats and mice were no match for the enhanced intelligence of the Enclave pets, and the enhanced ones were smart enough to stay clear of Enclaves, except under unbearable population pressure such as was happening around the Dallas Enclave now. The high point of the brightly colored cat's life had been his one excursion with Jamie into the wilds where he had been able to stalk the most natural food of small felines. He hadn't minded the danger at all; in fact, he had enjoyed it, other than the times his humans had been hurt.
Masters reached over and rubbed Fuzzy Britches’ ears."No mice in space, Fuzz."
Fuzzy Britches yawned, purred, and closed his eyes again. He was sure in his own way that the Ranger Captain would provide him some excitement in space, mice or no mice.
* * * *
Kristi Carson yawned and stirred, vaguely aware of the conversation leaking through the holographic opaqueness of the bedroom entrance. She stretched, luxuriating in the feel of clean linen and a satiated body. Returning was the best part of any patrol outside the Enclave, even though her restless nature would soon begin demanding another excursion. She had to admit, though, that since joining with Jamie and Jeannie in a family, the demands seemed not so urgent as they used to be. Coming back to a family was much nicer than entering into a casual liaison, soon forgotten. She suddenly recognized that one of the voices she was hearing from the other room belonged to Captain Masters. The recognition propelled her from bed. She swept a brush through her hair, threw on a robe, and walked unhesitating through the silvery holodoor.
Masters looked up from where he was pleasantly reclined. “Hi, Kristi. Are you about rested up?"
Kristi stretched her arms behind her, limning her nipples against the thin cloth of the robe, then relaxed the tension. “Troy, if I were any more rested, you'd have to find a new Lieutenant. How about you?” She went to Jamie and displaced Fuzzy Britches from Jamie's lap and appropriated his spot.
Masters made a place
for him in his own lap as he answered. “As well as an old man can be. I'm like Fuzz, here. Anytime I get a chance I take a break."
Kristi grinned around Jamie's shoulder. “Who's lap do you take your breaks in?"
“I'm not so old that I need a lap, Kristi,” Masters said, but volunteered no other information. He had grown up during the formation of the Enclave, when times were much harder, conditions much more strict and the rather hedonistic lifestyle of the Enclave not yet in vogue. Like John Whitmire and most others of his age group, he was more reticent about sexual matters than the younger people, though certainly not repressed in any way. Kristi, being more orientated towards females than males (other than Jamie and a few other rare exceptions), had never made any sort ofoverture toward him, but after her association with Jamie the last several months, she now found herself suddenly curious about what he would be like in bed. For all his age he was still an attractive man, and in many ways, she suddenly realized, he reminded her of Jamie. Not in looks, but attitude. Like Jamie, he was not even faintly patronizing toward women, and also like Jamie, he was unpretentious almost to a fault. She kept these thoughts to herself, however. Later, though? It might be a nice experience.
Jamie was perceptive enough to sense Kristi's feelings but sensible enough to keep his thoughts to himself, as he usually did, content to wait and see how a situation played out rather than trying to influence it. It was an interesting idea; however, he found it hard to concentrate on it as Kristi began nuzzling his ear. Captain Masters, catching the intent of Kristi's intentions, took his leave.
* * *
CHAPTER THREE
In the underground warrens of Moon City, another conversation was taking place, chaired by Roscoe Bascombe, the “Mayor” of Moon City. In fact, no elections had taken place for years, and the four people in the smoothed rock council chamber dictated the affairs of not only Moon City, but the several space satellites as well. Bascombe was short by moon standards, which was unsurprising, since he was only one generation removed from Earth, and also the oldest of the council members. He shifted his pale, squat body on the thin foam cushion of the rock slab chair behind his desk, getting his thoughts in order. He had a tight, intelligent mind, but it was almost entirely politically orientated. He depended on the other members for actual implementation of policy, and policy and implementation both had suffered the last six months. After the defeat of his mercenaries from the Dallas Enclave, and loss of the alien technology to the Houston Enclave, he had barely kept his position as head of the council. The loss had forced him into a compromise with Earth, which he cared not a whit about. They could all perish, so far as he was concerned, so long as Moon City survived. Now, matters were again coming to a focal point and he was determined to come out ahead this time.
Selene Brown, the director of supply allocation for Moon City and the satellites, was prepared as usual for the council meeting, armed with the latest projections of critical supplies derived from earth, those available on the moon, population curves, and other data, all spiraling down toward a point some indeterminable time in the future, but certainly within her lifetime, where the viability of their economy would probably reach a breaking point.
“Let's get started,” Bascombe said abruptly. “For your information, I've just received word from John Whitmire on Earth that a week from now, they'll be ready for us to ferry up the rest of their crew, along with the main computer and stress generator controls. He informed me that he's decided to send the whole Da Cruz family along, pets and all."
“Oh, damn.” Rob Passing exclaimed. “His family? You mean those two females he consorts with? Now what's that going to do to my plans?
“That's not all,” Bascombe continued. “He's also sending Captain Troy Masters."
“Masters! You mean that Goddamed ranger is coming along? He's the son of a bitch who killed Craig Randall, right when he had Da Cruz in hand!” Passing, as chief of Moon City Police, had organized the elements of the Dallas mercenary force that had failed to reach the downed alien landing craft in time. He, too, had barely survived in power, and he still seethed at Craig Randall's failure.
“Actually, it was Da Cruz who killed Randall with a concealed handgun,” Barley Trask said quietly. He was the newly appointed space transportation director, taking over Craig Randall's old seat after he died on Earth. He was wrong as well. Jamie had not killed Randall, but only wounded him. However, he had tossed him out of the floater and left him to be consumed by rats, which amounted to the same thing.
“Da Cruz is a son of a bitch, too! Him and his pets. They aren't trying to bump any of our crew are they?"
“As a matter of fact, no,” Bascombe said. “Whitmire even said we could take one more person if we wanted to."
“Good. I already have Della Worley lined up to try Da Cruz on for size. Now I need a male to go after his women."
Selene Brown eyed the tall, balding figure of Rob Passing with distaste. His ideas were too bluntly cynical for her to care for him, but she was too concerned with her bleak projections of the future to voice any objections, and under the circumstances, she had no better ideas than his of trying to gain control of the FTL technology through Jamie Da Cruz or his family, just as Passing wanted. A name and a face suddenly popped into her mind like a holoprojection suddenly materializing unexpectedly in front of her.
“I think I might know someone,” she said. Sean Johnson! By God! Have I still got him on my mind? Beautiful body. Blondly handsome, with a personality so overtly sexual as to be almost irresistible. And a mind to match. He's the best young engineer we have in the city. But would Rob use him? Yes. He would be perfect. But would he be controllable? Well, let Rob Passing worry about that.
“Who are you thinking of?” Passing asked, distrust in his voice. He preferred to pick his own agents.
Selene didn't answer for a moment, still remembering. She was middle aged, and handsome rather than pretty, with short dark hair and a slim body that the Moon's gentle gravity had been kind to. Several years ago she had spent the night with Sean, and it had been a most disconcerting experience. His love making had made her forget completely her own importance in the affairs of Moon City, so much that she would have gladly thrown off all trappings of her office simply to feast again and again on the wild sexuality she had felt that one night, but he had never returned to her bed. Apparently the feelings had been a one way affair. He had been unfailingly polite to her ever since, but his gentle refusals of further overtures had finally made her understand that there would be no repetitions. She never had understood that he had seen to her very core that one night and understood that for all of her intelligent, decisive mind, she carried a flaw that she was not even aware of.
Selene thought in her own mind that all her work of balancing the limited resources of the space colonies was directed toward the ultimate survival of the trans-earth population, when in fact, it was her own personal survival she was concerned with. A dark part of her mind saw her own death tied up with the projected failure of the space ecology and that, she could not accept.
“Sean Johnson,” she finally said.
Passing grinned evilly. “Damn right. What woman could resist him? Selene, you're a genius."
Selene accepted the praise, but something inside told her she might be making a mistake.
“If that's settled, let's move on,” Bascombe said. “There's something else that might be important. You all have heard by now that the alien craft came to our solar system because an interstellar dust cloud was destroying their home system. That's what we were told by the earth authorities, anyway."
Barley Trask sat up straighter. As the newest member of the council, he was usually deferential and unassuming, ever in his dress. While Bascombe and Passing typically wore light semi-military tunics, and Selene usually covered her breasts in opposition to the semi-nudity that was the female norm, Barley wore shorts and a simple pullover like most of the male population of Moon City. “Is that information not tr
ue?” He asked.
“No, it's not,” Bascombe said emphatically. “Whitmire has been relatively open with us about most information, and that's one of the things he told us. But it's wrong!"
“How do you know?” Trask asked.
“We still have a couple of old telescopes, and all the astronomical theory is still in the data banks from when the moon was still a research station. I took the liberty of pulling a physicist from other duties, gave him an AI to work with, and had him check the figures we were given. According to Da Cruz's information, the aliens came here from a star called Altair, about seventeen light years away. We put such telescopes as we still have on it, used the AI to contrast and compare what we should have seen if a dust cloud were there, and found nothing. It's as clear as a bell."
Barley Trask's forehead wrinkled below his short brown hair. “What does it mean? Do we have some wrong information somewhere?"
Given his police and military orientation, Passing was the first off the mark. “It means the aliens lied. Which in turn means they were concealing something. Have you told anyone on earth about this?"
Bascombe looked smugly around the room. “No-o, he said slowly. I couldn't see any reason to share that information. It might give us as edge later on."
“Good,” Passing said, his face a tight, satisfied mask. “Anything we can conceal from those earth bastards, we should. There's no telling what this might mean, and there's no telling how it might help us."
“Could this possibly endanger the spaceship?” Trask asked.
“I don't see how,” Passing said, “and it might be important. Say nothing,"
Trask refrained from further comment, but reserved his own opinions about the whole process. While his loyalty lay with Moon City and the satellites, he thought to himself that perhaps more might be gained by whole-hearted cooperation with earth than by attempts to steal their technology, but he was a minority and was by no means certain that he was right anyway. There was no denying that both earth and space ecologies were in dire danger of ultimate collapse, and perhaps the whole human race was heading for extinction. It made for some hard thought, which he felt was best kept to himself for the time being.
