I forced myself to calm down, put the recent combat manoevering out of my mind and focus on this as though it had just happened. What was the drill? Right.
The main life support ducts routed through the upper part of Starfire’s hull and must have been damaged when I ripped away from the terrorists’ ship. Pressure valves in the ducts would have closed to stop loss when they sensed vacuum. I just had to reroute air to the cockpit via the secondaries. I’d still be leaking, but it would give me more time. Meanwhile Kakuloa was working on a way to get a guy with no space suit and no air lock from one ship to another. If I tried to reenter with Starfire in the shape she was in, it would be a short, hot, trip.
Or would it?
A hundred and fifty years of aerospace tradition held that when you approach a planet with an atmosphere, you use that atmosphere to aerobrake, scrubbing off your speed on superhot air. Heat shielding was lighter and cheaper than the fuel needed to back down on your exhaust like a Moon lander. But now I couldn’t trust my heat shield. What about fuel?
I scanned the warning lights clamoring for my attention on the control console. Damn! I was leaking fuel too. I quickly toggled the isolation valves and got the leak limited to a single tank. I still had enough.
Would I have enough air?
Ground to orbit takes less than ten minutes—at three gees and high speed. Normal reentry takes much longer than that. With the damage to Starfire’s heat shielding and aerodynamics, I had to keep the airspeed down. At a hundred kilometers an hour through a hundred kilometers of atmosphere, I’d need an hour to descend. Call it fifty minutes to get to where the air was breathable. That was after spending ten minutes at three gees to kill my orbital speed. Crap.
I got back on the radio. “Kakuloa, this is Starfire. Please tell me you have something.”
“We’re working on a couple of possibilities, Starfire. We’re prepping a portable airlock now, we can rendezvous in twenty minutes, but. . . .” the voice trailed off.
“How do I get from the cockpit to the airlock?”
“That’s the ‘but’. Depending on the damage to your ship, we can set it up right outside the cockpit door. You just wait for it to pressurize, open the door and you’re out.”
“And if you can’t?”
“Then we attach it to the hull, with someone inside to cut a hole into the cockpit.”
It sounded risky. “Cutting with what, how do I keep from getting fried?”
“We have an expert on this, he happened to be groundside from the shipyards. He knows his stuff.”
“Shipyards?” I’d read something about the Kiahuna Orbital Shipyards now that he mentioned it. “Do they have a drydock?”
“An airdock, yes. But they’re on the other side of the planet from you now, in a different orbital plane. It’d take you hours to get there.”
Normally, yes it would, using standard orbital mechanics and burning minimal fuel to make changes. “I could warp there, a millisecond jump tangent to the planet, then jump back to the other side.” Assuming my drive was intact, but none of the damage so far was anywhere near the warp generators.
It took Kakuloa a few moments to respond, I could imagine them having gone pale at my suggestion. Then: “You’d still have to match orbits, and you don’t know exactly where you’ll come out.”
“You pin-pointing me on radar after the jump will be faster than orbiting the planet.”
“True. You’ll have almost twenty kilometers a second of relative velocity to kill.”
“Ten minutes at three gees, I can do that.”
“Okay, Starfire, it’s your call. Wait one.” While we were talking he’d uploaded the orbital elements to me, and I started to work my course.
“Starfire,” he came back, “this is going to sound stupid, and I should have asked sooner, but are you declaring an emergency?”
I lost it. Air was hissing out of an unseen leak in my cockpit, bits of paper and cloth were blizzarding around the cabin and sticking to nooks and crannies on the walls, my control panel was a constellation of yellow and red caution and warning lights, my aft cabin was airless, I had a fuel leak, my heat shielding was probably damaged and I had no spacesuit. Was I going to declare an emergency? I laughed until tears came.
“Starfire?”
I managed to stop laughing, gasping for breath. “Sorry Kakuloa,” gasp, pant, “that was the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time.”
I knew why he’d asked, of course. Regulations. I’d already broken plenty, starting with lifting off without clearance, and my maneuvering around the planet would break more. There’d be forms to fill out and reports to file when this was all over. It would go much, much smoother with the bureaucracy if there was a declaration on record.
“That’s affirmative, Kakuloa, Starfire is declaring an emergency.”
* * *
I finished putting in the course. A one-millisecond warp jump would put me about 150,000 klicks from the planet, not quite half the distance from Earth to its Moon. There I’d fire my thrusters to kill the velocity difference between me and the shipyards, then warp back to the other side of the planet to where I could finish the rendezvous on thrusters.
Diagnostics showed nothing wrong with the warp engine, the board showed green for the drive components. I hit the button. With an annoying beep, the MATTER PROXIMITY WARNING lit up. Between my leaking air and fuel, space around the Starfire was too crowded for the warp to engage. Life is not fair.
Would there be any point in declaring another emergency?
I had less than an hour of air left. There was no way standard orbital moves would get me there soon enough, and I was running out of time to do a powered landing.
“Kakuloa, I can’t warp. What’s the timing on a rescue?”
“Almost everything’s aboard now, but it’ll be at least thirty minutes to rendezvous.” Between my skewed orbit and Kakuloa’s rotation, we’d been moving away from each other. “If you could move closer. . . .”
Rendezvous is tricky enough when only one vehicle is doing all the manoevering. I’d caught the terrorists’ ship because I was never far from them in the first place. Trying to meet my rescuers halfway was a lot more complicated. But there was another possibility. “Wait one, Kakuloa.”
I plugged the problem into the computer. It took some persuading to get it to optimize the trip for time, it kept wanting to save fuel. Finally I got the trajectory. It would be rougher than I thought. I radioed Kakuloa with my plans. “Tell Kiahuna that I’m on my way.”
“Roger that, Starfire, they’re standing by. Good luck. We’ll keep this channel open for you.”
“Thanks.” I keyed the last of the sequence into the autopilot. It was too complicated to fly by hand, and I’d be near anoxia toward the end. I was going to do a powered orbit, at higher than normal orbital velocity. The catch was that I’d be pushing down at five gees for nearly fifteen minutes, simulating the gravity of a much heavier planet to force a fast, tight orbit around to where the shipyard would be. Matching velocity to Kiahuna Shipyards was minor compared to that. I could survive it, but I’d have only minutes of air left—if that—when I reached the airdock. I started the sequence. The Starfire rotated into position, then fired main thrusters. I must have been in bad shape; after a couple of minutes at five gees, I passed out.
* * *
I woke up strapped to a stretcher with an oxygen mask on my face, moving along a corridor. A young man in a white jumpsuit was at the foot of the stretcher, guiding it with one hand while propelling himself along the hand-holds with the other. We were in zero gee. He noticed my open eyes.
“Welcome back, Mr. Curtis. You’re in Kiahuna Shipyards, we’re taking you to the sickbay. You’re doing fine.”
I had a strong sense of deja vu, and mumbled something about this becoming a habit. He didn’t get it. But I was clearly safe, and could relax. I closed my eyes again.
* * *
When I woke up again I was in gravity, and Renee
was there.
“Jay, you’re awake!”
“I hope so. Where?”
“Still at the Shipyards, the sickbay’s in the spin gravity section. It’s been a couple of hours. How are you feeling?”
I thought about that. I felt bruised all over, probably from the long stretch at high gee in the powered orbit, and I had a killer headache. I looked up at Renee. “Just great; you’re here.” I said. If she blushed, her tan hid it, but she lowered her eyes for a moment and smiled.
Just then the medic came in. “Mr. Curtis, good to see you awake.”
“Thanks. How am I doing?”
He grinned. “Blood oxygen’s up to 98 percent, a few minor contusions, no permanent damage. I’ll give you something for the headache.”
“How did—”
“You were hypoxic when you came in. If you didn’t have a headache I’d be very surprised.” He peered into my eyes, then looked at the display above my head. “Any nausea? Dizziness?”
I shook my head no, and regretted it. Headache.
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
“Before or after I woke up on the stretcher on the way to sickbay?”
“Good enough. No symptoms of brain damage.”
“You mean other than launching myself after a terrorist ship carrying a hijacked load of antimatter with no plan and no spacesuit?”
He chuckled. “Well, no additional brain damage, anyway.”
“Jay,” Renee took my hand, squeezed it. “That was incredibly brave. They’re calling you a hero.”
“Brave? No, I wasn’t even thinking about that. Something had to be done and I was the only one around to do it.”
The medic gave me a wry smile. “That sounds like a hero to me.” He turned to leave, then turned back. “Oh, and whenever you feel up to it, you’re free to leave, but there’s some law enforcement types who’ll need a statement.”
“Of course.”
* * *
The whole mess delayed the departure of the Eta Carinae expedition by two weeks, by which time the yards had finished repairs to my Starfire. They’d made quick work of it, and aside from a few rents in the hull and the damaged portside fin, the damage wasn’t extensive. I’d done far worse to the other guy. Sapphires are built tough and there are a lot of them around, so any parts they couldn’t fab they’d managed to find within the Alpha Centauri system. I took delivery on-planet the day before Renee’s expedition was due to leave. This time they’d be loading the message torpedoes at a rendezvous somewhere in deep space.
I hadn’t seen as much of Renee as I’d hoped. Between my statements and interviews with police and Space Force officials, and her involvement with the rescheduling of the Carinae mission, we kept missing each other. I began to wonder if she was avoiding me.
The last night before their departure I stayed aboard Starfire. Renee had declined my invitation to join me, even for dinner or dessert, insisting that she had to finish packing, but agreed to meet me there for breakfast. That’s when she dropped her bombshell. I was drinking coffee in the Starfire’s galley when she showed up.
“Morning, Jason,” she said, giving me a friendly kiss on the cheek.
“That’s all?” I got up and reached to put my arms around her, but she backed off.
“No, Jason, I’m leaving today, let’s not drag it out.”
“I’ve got my ship back, how about I tag along with the expedition?” I just blurted that out, I hadn’t considered the implications at all.
“No, Jason, you can’t.”
“But—”
“It’s not the ship, it’s not the expedition, it’s me.”
I had no idea what she was talking about. Oh, part of me knew what was coming, but it wasn’t telling the rest of me, so the next came as a surprise.
“Jason, I don’t know who you are. You scare me, that’s why I’ve been avoiding you.”
“I scare you?” I didn’t think I’d come on that strong.
“What you did, the terrorists. That was brave but incredibly impulsive. You’re unpredictable.”
“But, but I saved the antimatter.” And whatever they were planning to use it on.
“You did, and I’m proud of you for that. But you killed three men, and that scares me.”
“But that was self-defense, they were bad guys.”
“I’m sorry Jason.” Her eyes were tearing up. “I know that, intellectually. It still scares the hell out of me.”
“But. . . .” I didn’t know what to say. I could see it from her point of view: a guy you’ve only known for a couple of days does something foolhardy if heroic and kills three people. I didn’t even feel bad about the last two, they’d been shooting at me. I did feel a little guilty about the pilot, but only a little. And Renee was about to leave on a three year mission, she didn’t need any entanglements. I still felt like I’d been gut-punched.
“I’m sorry, Jason. I shouldn’t have said anything. I know it’s not rational. And you probably wouldn’t anyway, but I don’t want you to wait for me.”
Was that it? Did she think it would hurt less this way? I’d have preferred the truth. Maybe it was, but not all of it.
“Oh, okay.” I put a brave face on, or tried to. “Well, I guess this is goodbye then. It’s been fun.” The words came out mechanically, I could barely think. “Let me walk you to the door,” I said as I got up.
“All right.”
We stepped out onto the spaceport field. The morning sky was overcast. Across the field I could see two of the Carinae Expedition ships, the others would be in orbit. I stood there, staring across the field at nothing, Renee still beside me. She turned to me.
“Jason,” she said, gently, “I didn’t, don’t want to hurt you. But . . . but I did, didn’t I? I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” I said, trying to maintain a brave face while dying inside. “You tried to warn me. I don’t blame you.”
“I’m sorry, Jason,” she repeated, then started to turn away. “I have to go.”
“I know.” I felt my eyes starting to water, I blinked it away. I tried to make light of it. “I can’t even say we’ll always have Parry’s.”
The corner of Renee’s mouth turned up, just a bit, and she moved to give me a last hug, but I forced myself to put an arm up to stop her. “No, you need to go, get to your ship and your,” the word caught in my throat, “husband.”
Her eyes widened and she took a step back, her gaze shifting from my left eye to my right, and back. “How . . . you knew?”
“Not until just now. I thought it might be a possibility, but I wasn’t going to say anything if you didn’t. But this morning you’re wearing a ring.”
“I . . . You do scare me, Jason, but more for what I might do than for what you might do. I’m sorry. We were taking separate vacations before the expedition.” She looked away.
The gray clouds started to spit their first few drops of rain. “I thought it might be something like that,” I said. Had I? Yes, I think part of me knew it all along. “Never mind. Go, get to your ship. Maybe we’ll run into each other when you get back.” Three years. A lot could happen.
“You’ll get over me.” She sounded unconvinced, but turned away.
“Probably,” I lied.
I watched her walk away across the spaceport field to her own ship. The rain was coming down harder now. She turned at the boarding ramp, waved, and then turned again into the arms of another man, and they went into the ship together.
I stood for a moment, watching, the rain pelting me, then I turned. I went back into the Starfire and flopped onto my bed, staring at the overhead, my face wet. A thought came to me. A few days ago I’d searched the entertainment database for Renee’s name. “Audio system: artist Left Banke,” the original was the best. “Title ‘Walk Away Renee’. Play”.
As the haunting violin melody rose, I thought about the Eta Carinae expedition. If, no, when the star went hypernova, the impact—even here 7500 light years a
way—could make a few kilograms of antimatter seem like a damp firecracker. This expedition meant a lot to humanity. I thought Renee had meant a lot to me.
I wished them luck, and hoped we wouldn’t be hearing from them soon.
∞ ∞ ∞
Author’s Introduction to “Light Conversation”
The core of this story came to me while listening to a panel on Alien Languages at FiestaCon, the Western SF convention held in Phoenix in 2009. Making general introductions, the moderator suggested that some organisms, light slime molds, might be too alien or primitive to have language. Dr. Stanley Schmidt, one of the panelists and editor of Analog, joked: "I had a very interesting conversation with a slime mould just the other day." As it happened, earlier at that convention I'd been talking with my old friend Rick Boatright, a technical editor for Baen's Grantville Gazette (based on Eric Flint's 1632 universe), about a water-based display system for a fluidic computer that could be built with 17th-century technology. Ripples in water, ripples in slime—and the story almost wrote itself.
I'm especially pleased with this story because it was my first professional-level sale, to Analog Science Fiction & Fact magazine, where it appeared as the "Probability Zero" feature in the June 2010 issue. And they didn't blink an eye at the somewhat unusual typesetting.
“Light Conversation” copyright ©2010 by Alastair Mayer
LIGHT CONVERSATION
by Alastair Mayer
I almost missed it. If I’d looked away as I closed the refrigerator door, I would have. But the light didn’t go out. Poly explained later that they (he? it?) had shorted out the switch (at some personal sacrifice) to keep it on, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
Starfire & Snowball Page 8
