by J. P. Larson
Adrift
J. P. Larson
Table of Contents
Realization
Revolution
Recitation
Speculation
Execution
Relaxation
Incarceration
Restitution
Introspection
Intervention
Recuperation
Rehabilitation
Installation
Salutation
Interception
Reputation
Matriculation
Conflagration
Celebration
Perception
Miscalculation
Intercession
Absolution
About the Author
Copyright
Realization
Alex Swanson swore at the gauges. “This is not good,” he told himself for the seventeenth time. “How can both the primary and secondary phase inverters be bad?” The hyper drive needed at least one working phase inverter, but with no moving parts, they weren't supposed to fail.
Alex swore again, decided anger wasn’t going to help, and rose from the pilot’s console. “Time for a walk,” he told the ship. “Call me if you decide to start working again. And remind me not to talk to inanimate objects some time, would you?”
The ship didn’t answer.
The Pride was a small ship, and it didn’t take Alex long to make his rounds. The short jaunt around the ship soothed his nerves, and he returned to the cockpit more calmly than he had left it.
“Well, let’s see where we are at least,” he told the ship, fingering the navigation controls. The ship spat out an answer, which Alex didn’t like: Two and a half light years from the nearest star, and nearly thirteen to the nearest inhabited planet. “We’re not getting anywhere interesting on thrusters,” he told the ship.
“I still can’t believe both phase inverters failed at the same time,” he decided. “It has got to be something else.” He retrieved his emergency tool kit from storage and began to dismantle his ship.
Six hours, two walks around the ship, and countless curses later, Alex was no closer to an operating hyper drive. Anger creeping up on him again, he stomped off to the gym. A strenuous workout calmed him down, and a shot through the sonic shower left him feeling fresh. He changed into a set of silk pajamas – a little luxury in the deep of space – then wandered to the cockpit.
Alex stared at the navigation computer for a while then switched to communications mode and keyed in several commands. “Emergency beacon activated,” the computer told him. Alex keyed the computer to let him know if anyone responded then returned to his cabin.
It took hours for sleep to claim him.
* * *
Alex spent the next two days alternating between exercise, dismantling portions of the hyper drive, and scanning nearby space for a friendly vessel. Eventually he slammed the last of the access panels closed in disgust.
“Starving to death is not my favorite option!” he yelled at the ship. Alex knew exactly how long he had left, if someone didn’t stop by with a rescue. He had food for three weeks – maybe more if he stretched it – and water indefinitely, although it would start to taste a little funny after a while. The reclamation system was only so good. But he knew he wouldn’t stretch the food. What was the point? To stretch the food, he would have to stay quiet. And there was a problem with that.
Alex used exercise the way other people used entertainment, alcohol and recreational drugs. He had to stay active to keep his sanity intact. Stretching the food would mean reducing his activity level. He didn't think a couple of months of quietly sitting in a tomb in space would have a positive effect on his mental balance.
Alex spent most of the rest of the week working out or sleeping. When he wasn’t doing either of these, he wrote a letter to his parents and keyed the communication computer to send it off in two months. They wouldn’t get it for 13 years – the time it would take to travel to an inhabited planet – but he had to tell them what had happened.
Sometime in the middle of ship’s night, seven days after the phase inverters had failed, Alex was rudely woken from a nightmare. The ship's alarm was sounding.
“Rescued!” Alex yelled, flinging himself out of his cabin and into the seat in the cockpit. The cockpit speakers were already alive.
Alex listened to the sweetest sound he thought he would ever hear, a woman’s voice warmly saying, “Swanson’s Pride, are you there?”
He hit the transmitter. “I’m here!”
“No need to yell, Pride,” the voice replied. “We heard your emergency beacon. Do you have visual?”
Without a thought to what he was wearing, Alex activated the cameras and turned to his view screen. The two ships’ communications systems negotiated a protocol, and Alex found himself staring into the eyes of a beautiful, dark-haired woman. She was wearing an unfamiliar uniform and appeared to be several years older than Alex’s 28.
“There you are,” she said. “Got you out of bed?”
Alex realized he was wearing his silks and felt his face grow warm.
“No matter,” she said. “I’m Captain Linda Dawson of Jane’s Gift.”
Alex’s smile faltered. “Dawson? Out of Dawson’s Star?”
The woman nodded. “You understand ‘Dawson’ is a rather common name on my home,” she informed him.
Alex let the information sink in. The blush left his face, along with all the rest of the color. He had heard about the women of Dawson’s Star.
“What’s your status, Captain?” she asked Alex. Alex just looked at her, uncertain how to respond. She returned his gaze steadily. “Look, Pride, you’re dead in space, and from your initial reaction, I assume you expect to stay that way.” Alex nodded glumly. “So why don’t you tell me your situation?”
“Both my phase inverters are bad,” Alex finally replied.
“Spares?”
“Who carries spares?” he asked her. “They’re never supposed to fail.”
Captain Dawson arched an eyebrow. “We carry spares,” she informed him. “Are you sure it’s the inverters?”
“No. I’m a so-so mechanic, but I can’t find anything else wrong. However, I don’t carry very fancy diagnostic tools, either.”
Alex watched her give him a “why am I not surprised?” look.
“Well, maybe we should discuss your options, then,” the woman suggested.
“I have options?” Alex asked. Maybe the stories aren’t all true, he thought.
“Of course. There are always options.” The woman began counting on her fingertips. “You can tell us to shove off and continue to try to fix your ship yourself. Maybe someone else will come along and rescue you. Or you could abandon your ship and join us aboard the Gift. You could ask us to try to fix your drive.” She looked at her hand with three fingers held up. “Hmm. I know I’m missing one. Oh, yeah.” She counted one more finger. “You can just space yourself right now.”
Alex looked at her. “No one else is likely to come along.”
“Not in a million years,” Captain Dawson agreed with him. “I don’t even want to try to figure the odds of us having heard your distress beacon.” She lowered her index finger so only the last three fingers were raised.
“I don’t feel like a cold walk right now,” Alex told her.
“You’re not really dressed very well for stepping outside,” the woman agreed.
Alex felt his face warm again and unconsciously fingered the silk collar.
“That’s a better color on you than pasty white,” she told him. His blush deepened. Captain Dawson dropped another finger leaving only two.
“Can you fix my shi
p?”
“Maybe,” she told him, lowering her hand to her lap. “Can you pay us? What’s your cargo?”
Alex looked at her glumly before telling her. “Some artwork, some intellectual property that’s probably of no use to anyone but the people who contracted for me to move it, and some mail.”
“You’re carrying the mail?” Alex nodded. “Well, do you have anything we might want?” she asked him sadly. “Cash at First Universal Station or something?”
“I could pay you something at the end of my run,” he told her. “It’s commissioned, and I’m making a healthy profit.”
While they haggled, Alex took a close look at the woman he was dealing with. Linda Dawson's face was sharp with distinctive features. Her dark eyes were alert, and Alex imagined them reaching across space and boring into his soul. The captain's black hair was pulled over to one side, leaving her small, left ear exposed while just tickling her right shoulder. She was using an attractive barrette to maintain order. A light application of cosmetics completed the look. Alex decided her appearance was definitely a distraction to their negotiations, but he couldn't stop looking at her.
After several minutes, the two ships' captains had nearly reached agreement. Captain Dawson paused then asked the question Alex was dreading. “And how do we know you’ll keep up your end of this agreement, assuming we can indeed fix your ship?”
“I’m honest,” he told her quietly.
“Right. And I’m cautious. You’ll temporarily sign your ship over to us. We’ll leave someone with you. You’ll complete your run then bring my crew member to Dawson’s Star. You’ll pay us and have title of your ship back. Non-negotiable.”
Alex looked at her then nodded. “What if you can’t fix my ship.”
“Then we go back to the earlier options. Do you want my advice?” She paused then resumed. “You’ll join us aboard the Gift, and we’ll take you to Dawson’s Star with us."
“The stories are true?” Alex gulped.
“We’re a matriarchy, Captain, not slave holders or pirates,” the woman told him. “If you don’t like our terms, we can leave you here. But yes, most of the stories you’ve heard are probably true. Somewhat slanted, I assume, but basically true.” She paused. “It’s not a bad life for the men, if they’re not too prideful.”
Alex looked glum. “How do I know you’ll really try to fix my ship?”
“I told you we’re not pirates,” she snapped at him, then looked at him with harsh eyes. “Or slavers, regardless of the stories. Do you see anyone else out here offering to help you?”
“No. How did you even find me?”
Captain Dawson looked at him, saying nothing. Alex felt a tickle in his mind, like a soft breeze blowing across bare skin. Still, the effect unnerved him, and he squirmed.
“The stories are true,” he said quietly.
“Yes, Captain. And we’re quite a ways apart yet. If you can’t handle this, we can leave. We could even tell any ships in orbit around our home about you, but I can offer no guarantee any will be there or that they will come to help you. I consider it unlikely, given our reputation.”
“Please don’t leave, Captain,” Alex asked her. “I’ll take my chances with your mechanic – or with you – over starving to death.”
“You still have thrusters?” Captain Dawson asked Alex. “I would rather spend your reaction mass than ours.”
“The computers have a direction on your signal,” Alex told her. “But not a distance. May I ping you?”
The woman stared at him from the screen for a moment. Direction information was one thing, but distance was crucial if Alex were more than what he seemed. Targeting computers were much happier when they had range information. Alex felt a tickle in his mind again then the woman nodded.
“I trust you won’t take offense if I’m careful,” she told him. “We’ll be doing that again when you get closer.”
“I’m not a pirate, either,” Alex told her. “I have nothing to hide from you. Pinging now.”
Alex told his navigation computer to calculate the distance to Jane’s Gift. The computer sent out a short signal. The signal arrived at the Gift and was immediately sent back. The computer did a round trip time check and displayed the range between the two ships. Alex looked at the number.
“We’re quite a distance apart,” Alex told her.
“Like I said, I’m cautious.”
“It’ll take me several hours to get to your position.”
“That’ll give you time to put on some more appropriate clothes before any of my crew sees you,” the woman told him pointedly. “We’ll contact you again when you get closer. Jane’s Gift out.”
“Swanson’s Pride, out,” Alex replied, ending the transmission.
Revolution
Alex programmed the navigation computer for a polite rendezvous with the Gift, told it to keep him informed of progress, then left the cockpit. He returned to his cabin and dressed in a set of coveralls. If he was going to have guests, he wanted to make sure the ship was presentable.
Two hours later found every surface shining. The galley was spotless, the guest quarters looked and smelled fresh, and all evidence of a dismantled hyper drive was obliterated. Alex was sweaty and rank and was thinking about a workout before cleaning and making himself presentable as well. At that point, the ships chimes sounded. Alex rushed to the cockpit.
“Swanson’s Pride,” he said, keying the transmitter.
“Jane’s Gift calling,” came the voice over the radio. “We’re missing visual again.”
“Hello, Captain Dawson,” Alex told her. “I’m not presentable.”
“Haven’t you gotten dressed yet, Captain Swanson?”
“I’m just not presentable,” Alex explained. “I have guests arriving in an hour. I’ve been busy.”
Alex felt the tickle in his mind again, this time much stronger than previously. He watched as his hand reached for the navigation computer and toggled visual mode. The screens came to life. The face that looked at him was smiling.
“I like to see whom I am talking to,” she told him.
“And you wanted me to know just how true the stories about you are?” Alex asked her.
“That too,” she said. “Sit back and get comfortable. Time for a little soul searching.”
“Do you have to do that?” Alex asked her.
“Do you have anything to hide from me?” Linda Dawson asked him. Alex shook his head. “If you sit back and don’t fight me, this will all be much easier on you.”
Alex found a comfortable position in his chair and finally nodded. He felt a mind merging with his own. “Let’s see what you have for weapons, Captain,” the woman told him. Alex felt her poking and prodding through his memories. He couldn’t help but think about the ship’s weapons: one flechette pistol and a few knives from the galley.
He felt her mind withdraw for a moment, watched her looking at him on the screen. “I want to know about all your offensive capabilities, Captain,” she told Alex. “Shall we try this again?” He felt her mind slam into his and gasped.
“It wouldn’t hurt if you didn’t try to hide from me,” she told him.
“That’s all I have!” he replied through gritted teeth.
Alex found himself thinking about everything on board ship he could conceivably use as a weapon. Heavy tools could be used as a club. Wire and rope, while normally used for repairs, could be turned into a garrote. He supposed he could use the ships thrusters somehow, but didn’t imagine they would be effective against a shielded opponent. Pots and pans in the galley, a sharpened pencil and a pair of scissors briefly came to his thoughts. Finally, he thought of himself as a weapon. His hours in the ships gym kept his body fit, and anyone who walks strange space stations learns a few tricks to staying out of trouble. His military training, of course, gave him some extra benefits he tried not to think about.
“You’re doing a good job convincing me you’re not much of a threat, Captain,” the woman fin
ally told him. “I’m not worried about a solo ex-Navy cadet. Who else is on board?”
Alex felt his mind wandering again, settling on a plant he keeps in his cabin. His thoughts were jerked away from the plant and made to wander the ship, but eventually returned to the plant.
Captain Dawson was smiling. “Don’t you get a bit lonely, Captain? Maybe you should just join us here. You certainly won’t be lonely.”
“Are we done?” Alex asked her coldly.
Dawson’s smile faltered for a moment, then grew larger. “I’ve been spacing for eleven years, Captain,” she told Alex. “And I’m still not used to the attitude of the men I meet. I’m always amazed at my own reaction.” She paused, and the smile disappeared. “I would recommend you avoid that tone with my crew, Captain, if you can.”
Alex tried to beam a thought at her. When she didn’t react, he scrunched his face and tried harder.
“What are you doing?” she asked him.
“Apologizing?”
“By making faces at me?”
He unscrunched his face. “I thought you could hear me.”
She laughed. “I thought you didn’t like me listening, Captain,” she told him, terminating the transmission.
Alex ended transmission from his end, the woman’s laughter still echoing in his ears. “Why do beautiful women always laugh at me?” he asked the ship. Then he realized just who this woman was, and he cursed.
Alex had time for a solid workout and a long, invigorating trip to the sonic shower. Afterward, he dressed in fresh clothes and headed for the cockpit. Sitting down, he keyed his transmitter, with visual. “Swanson’s Pride to Jane’s Gift,” he said formally.
His screens came to life, and a new woman’s face appeared. “Jane’s Gift,” she told him. “First Officer Grey. Captain’s busy. What can I do for you?”
Alex looked at the woman while she returned his gaze. She had blond hair, which she was wearing up, no cosmetics, and a uniform similar to that of her captain’s. Alex guessed her age to be upper twenties, about the same as his. She had an oval face with a small nose. Alex decided she was pretty, but moved his thoughts back to business. “I want to ping you again to get an updated distance,” he told her. “Do you mind.”
