Worlds Apart 02 Edenworld

by James Wittenbach

  “Also you don’t dream,” Matthew added.

  “Oh, you do dream,” Eliza said.

  “You can’t dream, your neural synapses are completely inactive.”

  “Neg, neg, you do dream. I went into stasis once when a transport had a one-hundred per cent systems failure in the Sapphirean out-system. I distinctly remember dreaming that I was at Wolf Station watching them while they dispatched search and rescue parties. I even dreamt I saw the SAR ships in space. Then, I was with the SAR party when they found our ship. I remember seeing myself under glass. I remember the boarding party coming on the ship, in their big bulky spacesuites with the Wolf Station Insignia.”

  “Was that the Edward Brisbane transit ship?” Matthew asked.

  “It was.”

  “My Squadron commander was at Wolf Station when that mission was carried out. You were extremely lucky. When they towed the transit ship back to the station, they discovered that the ship’s navigational system had malfunctioned. You were very off-course. The SAR

  Team never should have found you.”

  “I had the sense in my dream that somehow I was leading them back to the ship.”

  “You must have overheard them talking when you came out of stasis, because from everything I’ve been taught, you can’t dream in stasis.”

  Eddie slapped the table-top and pointed. “Hey! What about me? I’m the one who’s going to starve or freeze. It’s like the slagging Dark Ages on this hell-ship.”

  “I already told you, those aren’t your only options. You could also return to the Flight Deck and do the duty for which you were trained,” Driver proposed again. Eddie Roebuck compared the idea of going back to work for Cisco and the idea of being flash-frozen and sent back to Sapphire. It was tough to decide which one had less appeal. “Neg, there must be some other way. What the slag are these?”

  He held up a small basket of dark blue and black chips speckled with white and brown.

  “Charlotte chips,” Matthew explained. “Fourteen grains and five kinds of seeds. I practically grew up on these things.”

  Eddie stared him down. “That explains so amazingly much about you.”

  “What about re-training?” Eliza Jane suggested. “Instead of going back to the flight deck, you could be retrained to serve in another part of the ship.”

  “It’s all the same. They way this ship is structured, most of the people are like you guys, okay. You’ve got the super-high-end-glamour-boy jobs. At the scut end, all the real menial work is done by mechs like my pal Pucky here…” His small pet robot bowed obediently.

  “And in between, they wanted some guys who weren’t particularly good at anything just to hang around and do whatever the mechs wouldn’t do. There’s just no other job on the ship I can do that I’d wanna do.”

  “Why don’t you join Flight Core, Matthew can teach you to become a pilot.” Eliza suggested, in a sly tone of voice.

  Matthew almost blew Charlotte chips all over them. Fortunately, Eddie was already shooting down the idea. “Okay, so imagine I go down to medical bay and have my sphincter tightened up by a factor of fourteen, and then I became a wing-jockey. Then, I’d have to leave the ship and risk my life flying off to some weird planet. Been there. Done that. Acquired the tau-shirt. Forget about it.

  “Case in point, the planet below us right now. I mean, have you dukes checked out any of the surface reports? I mean they’ve got flying human wombats down there. They’ve got half-people half-cloven-hoofed wood-sprite people, they’re got half women, half-horses down there. It’s like slagging God’s lost planet of misfit toys.”

  Matthew paused, a charlotte chip half-way to his mouth, and winced, “Ow!”

  “What?”

  “I think I actually caught one your sub-references.” Matthew’s face relaxed into a reflective expression. “Those flying men are kind of interesting. I guess the low-gravity makes it easier, but you would still need a kind of high-strength, low-weight skeletal structure. Also, how do they work those wings to get the right power-to-weight ratio? And how do they handle thermals?”

  “Last duty shift, I reviewed a report from Gamma landing team,” said Change. “They’ve done some geophysical soundings and discovered huge deposits of carborundum, molybdenum, titanium, platinum, gold, and silver throughout the crust. The soundings have also detected some kind of alloy running forty to one-hundred kilometers below the surface in what looks like a latticework. They don’t think it’s a random geophysical formation. Geological Survey is testing to see if the structure is planet-wide. If it is, it could mean the whole world was terra-formed, on a scale we can’t even contemplate.”

  Matthew was impressed. “That would mean the ancient Commonwealth had even more advanced technology than we ever imagined.”

  Eddie began waving his arms. “Yo! Conversation, I’m over here. Come back to me. I’m the one who’s gonna be frozen and shot off like a slagging Guilder funeral.”

  Eliza Jane’s expression darkened, perhaps in remembrance of some funeral she had witnessed. Matthew might have caught it, but not Eddie. Eddie had given up looking for himself in Eliza Jane’s eyes a long time before. Whatever the thought, she quickly put it aside and made a suggestion. “What about Recreational Services?”

  Eddie brightened a little. “Recreational Services?”

  “This ship has thirty personnel whose primary function is to oversee the development of recreational activities, including sports, games, relaxation, youth and personal development activities.”

  “You mean some assol thought the people on this ship were gonna need someone to tell them how to spend their spare time? That’s gotta be a Republicker idea.”

  “That’s right, Ministry of Recreation, Sport, and Games, Directive 100025-900A.”

  Eddie nodded. “Had to be. Nobody from Sapphire ever needed to be taught how to have a good time.”

  “So, what about it, Eddie?”

  “You mean like teaching people to chill out and stuff. I think I could do that.”

  “Even if you can’t, you are entitled to one hundred duty-shifts for re-training. During that time, you maintain the same privileges of any functional member of this crew.”

  Eddie seemed genuinely excited. “That … sounds too incredibly amazing to be true. If there’s spots like that on this ship, why haven’t I heard about them.”

  “There aren’t any current openings, but the ship’s senior officer can approve a reassignment and training, if she feels it is appropriate.”

  Eddie turned, somewhat surprised. “You would do this for me?”

  “Right.”

  “But you wouldn’t do the other thing?”

  “Right.”

  Eddie looked perplexed. “I don’t get it.”

  “This is different.”

  “How is it different?”

  She fixed him with a look, final and fatal. “It just is.”

  Pegasus – Main Bridge/Primary Command

  Lt. Cmdr. Windjammer was a high-spirited, athletic redhead from the southern extremities of Carpentaria, section chief of Pegasus’s Operations Core. Windjammer was known for sometimes bringing his nine-year-old son, Jacob, along for his duty-shifts. Tonight, however, he appeared alone at the back of the bridge, and made a leisurely course toward the center of PC-1. He made a quick stop at each of the control stations — Environment, Operations, Engineering, Surface Operations, Geological Survey, Communications, Tactical, and Navigation — before finally reaching Lt. Colgate at the Commander station. “Lt. Colgate, it is now 2755 hours, and I stand ready to relieve you.”

  “2757 hours,” Lt. Colgate corrected him. Lt. Felicity Colgate was a Section Chief in Environmental Operations. She was only a little younger than Goneril Lear, one of her many protégés. She handed him the small datapad that contained the latest reports. Windjammer smiled, either because to deny her any satisfaction or because her anal retention genuinely amused him. He reviewed the status report. “Secondary fusion cell 19Alpha Off-l
ine again. Ojala must be going nuts.” He scrolled down. “Alpha Party hasn’t reported in over six hours. Odd that.”

  “Unusual, but there is an explanation.” Colgate took the pad from him and replayed the last transmission made by Captain Keeler’s party from the surface. Keeler stood in front of most of the landing crew.

  “Pegasus, this is … you better know me by now. We are about to undertake a long journey overland to … what we believe may be both a center of government and possibly the site of the original Colonial settlement, perhaps even historical records. We estimate the journey should take anywhere from fifty-six to eighty-four hours. At the request of the indigenous governments, we are suspending communication until we reach our destination. We will contact you at that time. Keeler party out.”

  Windjammer studied the transmission intently. He was one of those big people, who seemed to fill more space than their actual physical dimensions occupied. Part of it was charisma, self-confidence, the aura of an officer who loved his job and played at the top of the heap. Part of it was less tangible. “It doesn’t look right,” he said.

  “Caliph identified it as genuine. Both embedded identification codes were present.”

  Windjammer crossed to Landing Party Alpha’s monitoring station. He put one of his large hands on the shoulder of the specialist on duty. “Status of Alpha Landing Party.”

  A holographic image of the planet was brought up, with the position of the landing party displayed. “They appear to be following some kind of trail,” the woman specialist explained.

  “An ancient roadbed. It leads from the city where they landed to another, somewhat larger city to the north.”

  “No contact though.”

  “There has been no contact for the last six hours, nineteen minutes.”

  “We have continued to monitor them,” Colgate put in.

  Windjammer studied the timeline reports that accompanied the display. He reached out and touched one report. “Marine Specialist Dallas seems to be injured.”

  Colgate explained. “We detected those injuries, but no weapons fire. They are consistent with some kind of misadventure, possibly a fall or an interaction with native plant or animal life. We offered medical assistance, but there was no response from the party.”

  “Under their self-imposed comm black-out, there wouldn’t be.”

  “I am sure they would make contact if the injury was anything they could not handle,”

  Colgate said, in a flinty voice. “Medical Technician Skinner is one of the best in the crew, and fully capable of handling level two injuries.”

  “Level two,” Windjammer put on a thoughtful expression. “Repeat the last transmission from Alpha again.”

  The transmission was put up side-by-side with the ground monitoring. “Four people are no longer with the main group.”

  “It’s in the report. The flight crews from the two Aves remained behind in the population center nearest the landing site.” Colgate looked irritated, her tone was defensive. Windjammer could not put words to it, but something seemed wrong. It could have been nothing more than the tone of Captain Keeler’s voice, or the look in his eye, or some aspect of his posture. What exactly it meant, he didn’t know, but he had a landing party on the surface, and it was his duty to do everything he could to protect them.

  “You’re relieved, lieutenant, have a good night’s rest.” He left Colgate and, slapping the report pad in his hand, made a quick pacing circle of the command center, returning back to Landing Team Alpha’s monitoring station.

  He leaned over the station and asked the specialist on duty, “Listen, do we still have those little butterfly probes. Size of a girl’s hand, wings like water, almost impossible to spot. Come apart in your hand if you grab them. You know the ones I’m talking about.”

  “Zeta-Class microprobes,” she answered him.

  He snapped his fingers. “Za, have some prepared for deployment, optical, sonic, ultrasonic and electromagnetic sensors. Launch a Class Five probe and disperse some of them near the Alpha Party and the rest near the flight crews. Put the class five probe and three more into orbits that will give us constant telemetry.”

  “Said and done, Lt. Commander.”

  “I want to see what’s going down there, at the best resolution I can get.” He touched the communications pad. “Lt. Commander Windjammer to Landing Bay Alpha.”

  “Landing Bay Alpha, here Commander.”

  “Confirm two Aves at hot-ready for possible Evac of Landing Team Alpha.”

  “Landing Bay confirms Aves Hector and Victor on hot stand-by.”

  “Let’s hope they are not necessary. Command out.” He turned to the specialist at the monitoring station. “Let me know when those probes are ready to go.”

  He made another quick check of the bridge before heading for the command chair. As he passed toward it, a largish tiger-gray and white cat scuttled across his path. He reached down and scooped it up in his arms. “Hey fella, what are you doing in here?”

  “Reporting for duty,” Queequeg answered, a little irritably. “I know I’m late. My feet don’t quite reach the pedals on the transport pods.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Check the duty roster Tac. Cmdr. Redfire set-up. I monitor the gamma landing team, every other fourth watch. If you put me down, I can get to my station and start doing that.”

  Windjammer pondered this for a moment or two, then put the cat down. “All right then. Carry on.”

  Pegasus – The UnderDecks

  Many decks below and many sections over, Trajan Lear felt someone gently slapping his face. “Wake up!”

  The voice was unfamiliar, harsh, and authoritative. It seemed to come from some place far away, although the sting on his cheek said otherwise. Trajan was surprised how difficult it was to come to consciousness. He had always been a light sleeper, seldom dreaming, tending to hover just below the surface of consciousness. The slightest perturbance broke the spell and he would be fully aware. This, though, was like coming trying to come out from under anesthesia.

  The slaps came harder. “Time to wake up kid. Hoy!”

  “Stop it,” Trajan was able to say, though his tongue felt thick and dry. He raised his arms to protect his face, and as he did so, felt something cold, hard, and metallic press against his temple. A jolt, like lightning, flashed across his brain. His eyes opened suddenly, painfully hard, and when they did, the sudden light stung them like saltwater. The figure that had been leaning over him pulled away. “Hoy, you’re awake now. Good.”

  Trajan squinted at him, but he could not resolve the man beyond a vague dark form, that blurred at the edges.

  “You are experiencing the after-effects of neuro-synaptic dampening field. I needed to put you in a state of deep unconsciousness.” The words seemed to be drifting by him, and he had to make an effort to catch them as they passed.

  Trajan pulled himself further into awareness. He knew that he was no longer in the locker where he had laid himself down to sleep. He also felt a raw, sore type of pain radiating outward from the back of his jaw where it connected to the rest of his skull. He reached up with his hand and touched it tenderly. When he looked at his fingertips, he was surprised to see a tiny smear of blood.

  “Looking for this,” asked the man in the room with him, still a shadow-shape at the edge of his vision, refusing to come into focus. A hand approached from the dark, blurry form, and held out a small glass globe with a thin sliver of metal inside.

  “Your identification implant, a tiny sliver of silicon alloy micro-coded with your identity, your medical history, your permanent educational record, and all the other minutiae of your life. Every Republicker has one. Supposedly, this Sliver protects you should you ever become lost or injured. It makes your life very convenient. You can walk into any shop on your homeworld, or on this ship, choose any merchandise or service you require, and have it instantaneously charged to your family account. It also allows any Ministry on Republic to track you, shoul
d they secure Judicial Permission, of course.

  “I had to perform a little a surgery to remove it. You will feel a dull throbbing pain for several days, but I am sure the skilled hands of Dr. Reagan will ensure that no permanent scars will mar your smooth and childish features.”

  Trajan squinted hard, trying to make out his surroundings. He seemed to be in a small chamber, unlike any he had ever seen on the ship. It looked to be barely two meters wide and three long. Its walls were dark, and might have been black, or likely dark gray, but without a trace of instrumentation.

  “Do you have anything to say, my young friend? Say something, please, I would be comforted to know I haven’t inflicted any permanent damage on you.”

  “Is this part of my Passage?” Trajan asked.

  The man laughed, a spontaneous, dismissive snorting kind of laugh. “It’s always about you isn’t it? The Executive Commander’s spoiled young whelp. A boyling whose future was sealed by accident of birth, never denied any privilege, never gone wanting for anything you desired, and never been really afraid in your entire life. If only all of us could be born nearly so lucky as you.”

  “Is this part of my Passage?” Trajan repeated testily.

  The voice answered sharply. “This is not about you. It’s time you grew up, little nosewipe. Not everything in the universe revolves around you. Not everything that happens on this ship, or any where else, happens just for the sake of Trajan Johannes Lear, named first for his uncle, who was Minister of Planetary Defense for eighteen years, second, for his grandfather, who served as a speaker in the Legislature and the Council, and finally for his mother, Executive Officer of the New Commonwealth Pathfinder Ship Pegasus. ”