Outward Bound

by Juanita Coulson

  The Earth-based Saunders regarded him with fear and loathing. The Councilman had made himself clear. He had a weapon to hold over them for the future. So did Terran Worlds Council. Power plays. Protectors of Earth's downward slide out of power would continue, and accelerate. Terran Worlds Council's ascension of the throne would continue, and accelerate. And from now on, the dowager Saunder queen and her rebellious, degenerate son would stay on the sidelines and count their wealth—no more—if they were wise. Carissa blubbered about Earth First Party and insane space pilots and thefts of sacrosanct Vahnaj property...

  Quol-Bez finally spoke up. "I have explained to my government, Mrs. Saunder. We will a-bide by the treaty. They understand."

  The Councilmen leaned back, nodding smugly to one another. Case closed, at least from their point of view. From Brenna's, they had shown the bewildered listeners just a glimpse of secrets beyond a heavy door—and they weren't going to show them anymore. Space Fleet confidential info. Politics. Knowing where the bones were buried.

  Brenna studied her aunt's face, and Stuart's. They knew where the bones were buried! And they were terrified that Ames and Bolotin would dig them up and spread them out for all humanity to see.

  The Council had won. Carissa and Stuart—fighting each other as much as they had been fighting the offworld government body—had lost.

  So had Tumaini Beno. So had the Vahnaj, who were now short one FTL ship.

  Breakthrough Unlimited had never been the target of their hatred at all! Stuart's sly hints about helping Brenna out and doing her a favor—all scheming to turn the tables on his mother. Again! Was he never going to stop trying? And was Carissa never going to stop trying to keep him, and her pet politicians, under her thumb?

  No.

  Stuart lunged to his feet and charged at Carissa. Only fast action by the elite Space Fleet guards protecting Quol-Bez and the Councilmen prevented Stuart from overwhelming his mother. They held him until the moment of fury had subsided, at least a trifle.

  "Your fault! Always your fault! Never let me be!" Stuart shrieked. "Well, it's not going to work. I don't care what they've got on us. You're not going to hold me..."

  Carissa shook her head at him, making small tut-tut noises. "Don't be silly. Displays like this never gain anything."

  Stuart pulled an arm free and pointed at her. "You can take Felicity and throw her to your dogs!" His dissipation-lined face twisted with ugly rage. "She'll get more from them than she will from me. Oh, I'll tumble her quite merrily, Sweet Mother Carissa! But you can wait a long time in hell before she gets any kids from me. Forever! Do you hear me? It's over. I'll outlast you and her. I'll outlive you both, and then who'll have the final laugh? Huh?"

  The lawyers were whispering to one another frantically. Bolotin was hammering for order, scowling. Councilman Ames sat back, exchanging a look of tired patience with Quol-Bez and Brenna.

  Carissa never stirred from her chair. She waited until Stuart had run out of steam. Then, in a voice that chilled Brenna, her aunt said, "Will you outlive me, my dear? I wonder. Not the way you're going."

  Stuart's face crumpled. "I will! I will!" He sounded like a petulant child. People gaped at him in disgust.

  "If there is nothing further to discuss, you can consult with my legal firm," Carissa said. She rose, not asking permission, and swept out of the room gracefully, leaving astonishment in her wake.

  "We'll do that," Ames muttered. "As Todd is wont to say-rely on it."

  Yan Bolotin dismissed the hearing, warning Stuart's lawyers that they were to keep their client, and his mother, in readiness for further questions, should the need arise. Then he waved them out of the hearing room. Stuart's flunkies had to help their boss along. Brenna and Yuri stayed behind for a few moments to speak to Quol-Bez and Ames, thanking them for their leniency toward the junior pilots. The matter would be hushed up. Space Fleet wasn't eager to have its faults exposed. How would it look if it was known the conspirators had penetrated military secrets and used them to help the Breakthrough Unlimited pilots steal the Vahnaj ship? Ames assured Brenna that wouldn't happen again. She recalled Dian's counsel—when the former general spoke in that tone, it was better not to ask exactly what he meant.

  Tumaini was dead. The Ambassador's ship destroyed. Three good pilots in disgrace, out of flying for a year and a half.

  And none of it had been aimed—really—at the Vahnaj Ambassador or at his ship or at Breakthrough Unlimited at all!

  Brenna swore under her breath. Politics! Why did the Saunders persist in getting mixed up with it? Politics had destroyed part of the former generation. Carissa ought to have known what would come of it in this generation!

  When Brenna and Yuri went out into the anteroom, they found Stuart carrying on about the dirty deal he had gotten, ranting about Carissa and the Council. Brenna shrugged and interrupted him. "That's what comes of playing in the controlled-violence arenas, Stuart. Some of the contestants are out for blood. They don't think it's amusing when people get killed and property is destroyed and an interstellar war hangs in the balance."

  Beneath Stuart's flaccid, pasty-pale skin, there were good bones, the shell of what had once been a handsome face. Brenna had seen him in his teens, before his rebellions and hell-raising had ravaged his looks, and his hopes of an easy inheritance from Carissa. What a waste! A good mind. Wealth beyond counting. Potential to influence future history. And he was throwing everything away on sensuality and futile efforts to escape Carissa's clutches.

  "Look, we can work together on this, Cuz..."

  "I gave you my answer on that last summer, Stuart. God, but you learn slow!"

  Stuart's voice rose, cracking. "They're going to make me pay for that damned alien's ship!"

  "Restitution. Of course. Price of being naughty."

  Stuart actually pouted for a moment. The effect was ridiculous. "That's the way you're going to be, eh? You'll be sorry. I'll manage. I can pay the fine. And when I come out of this..."

  Beyond Stuart, in the doorway of the main chamber, Quol-Bez and Sao were watching and listening. Brenna could read their thoughts without any need of telepathy. She felt burning shame that they had witnessed this, and that they knew Stuart was related to her.

  "That's all it means to you, doesn't it? Money. Your silly problems with Carissa."

  "Money is everything, Cuz ... the only thing—"

  He didn't get to finish. Yuri Nicholaiev brought his fist up hard and connected with Stuart's pointed chin. The older man collapsed, sprawling on the floor. Bodyguards moved—Brenna's and Stuart's. Then they froze. They didn't know what to do. Brenna stared admiringly as Yuri loomed over Stuart's prostrate form. His fists were still clenched, waiting for another opportunity. Stuart had been stunned speechless for a few moments. As he regained his wits he clutched his face and screamed. "You can't get away with this! I'll..."

  "Have your agents kill me, the way you killed Tumaini?"

  The fierce accusation silenced Stuart. He crawled away from Yuri, his aides helping him to his feet. "Don't you touch me. Eli! Eli! This man hit me! I want you to sue him for everything . .

  Brenna touched Yuri's bicep lightly, conveying approval. Then she took a step toward Stuart. Stuart flung up his hands defensively, looking as if he were about to scream for help. "Do that, Stuart. Sue him. Won't that look good in the media? Brave test pilot grieving for his friend is insulted by Stuart Saunder. Saunder shows no remorse for criminal acts. Shall we hire Charlie Dahl to do the story? He'll crucify you. And I'll help him, even if it is Charlie. Crawl! Go on! Your best way out of this is to go home to Carissa. Your only way out."

  She had struck him a mortal blow. He would keep trying to break free, and he would keep failing, and eventually he wouldn't try anymore. He would sink deeper into degeneracy, and Carissa would tighten the leash—the noose—until he strangled on his own self-hatred. The aging playboy would never fly away from the nest. Carissa had broken him.

  Stuart gagged, hands over his mouth
, and his flunkies hustled him out of the anteroom.

  Quol-Bez approached Brenna and Yuri. Sao nodded to the Russian, silently applauding what he had done. Now that he had his temper tamed, Yuri was taking an inordinate interest in his knuckles, looking embarrassed.

  "What will you do, Brenna?" Quol-Bez asked.

  No preliminaries. Reading her mind? Again?

  The blowup with Stuart had been a catalyst. Brenna knew what lay ahead, what path she would follow, as she had never known before.

  "Go to Mars. Talk to Morgan. Try to put Breakthrough Unlimited back together. We'll have a working ship in April, and I'm going to test her."

  "Ah! The re-place-ment ship you will provide me with," Quol-Bez said lightly, trying to make a joke. Then he grew serious. "You must not grieve for the decisions that have been made. It is done. I made my de-ci-sion—to come to your worlds." And what that had cost him! His own species, removing part of his being! "Morgan made his, to ex-per-i-ment with graviton spin resonance. You must make your de-ci-sion."

  "I already have." Brenna was aware of all eyes on her. Yuri's sympathetic stare, Sao's knowing one, and Quol-Bez's enormous black eyes, product of evolution under a distant star. "New Earth Seeker left orbit this morning."

  Derek. Leaving.

  "Be sure it's what you really want."

  It wasn't. But she couldn't have both things she wanted. She had had to choose. As Quol-Bez had said, he had made his choice—to live among aliens. Derek had chosen to leave the Solar System in cryo sleep. Morgan had chosen to risk his life, and had paid, was still paying.

  Now it's my turn.

  Brenna gestured emphatically to Yuri. "Come on. We've got a shuttle to catch, and a light-speed barrier to crack. The only way the Ambassador is going to visit Vahnaj now is on our ship. Let's prove her out!"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Breakthrough Unlimited

  They had objected, long and loud and with barely a letup. Brenna had dug in her heels. George Li had resisted, arguing. Helen Ives had gotten into the act, even though she wasn't the duty med officer at FTL Station anymore. Yuri had been especially vehement against the plan.

  Only Morgan had been on her side. Or was he?

  Brenna had brought them the tape Morgan had made. She hoped it would clinch her case. She could overrule them all, of course. But it would be a much better experiment if they would cooperate willingly. Stony-faced, they had watched the tape of Morgan.

  "It's feasible," he had explained. Diagrams spun out on the monitors as he spoke. Some of the crew hadn't been able to look at the screens while Morgan's image was there. Like Derek, it hurt them too much, and they remembered too well what Morgan had been like before the accident.

  "All mechanisms can be operated by servos. The major purpose in the two- or three-man crew is spreading the glory around." It required a great deal of effort for Morgan to pronounce that many words, but he took the trouble, for Brenna's sake, knowing how badly she wanted this. And yet the glance he had given her showed he was seeing far beyond surface desires. Morgan didn't see her face as a face anymore. He read other things. When he spoke to anyone, it was important. He couldn't afford to waste his strength. "I'm giving Brenna my proxy on this one, George, Yuri. She has the final vote. The ship's ready as she stands. It's Brenna's option...

  Brenna didn't want to rehash the protests. George Li: "We need more unmanned tests." Yuri: "We need to recruit more people." Dr. Ives: "It's sheer lunacy to go without six months' simulation."

  The arguments had raged. And all the while Brenna had felt Breakthrough Unlimited trickling through her fingers like Mars' sands. After the fiasco of Quol-Bez's ship, they had lost nearly two dozen team members. People were afraid of being caught in a Saunder Enterprise collapse, or they were simply giving up.

  The new, full-sized, fully equipped FTL ship had been delivered late in March. Tobiyah High-Tech Engineering had beat its deadline on the oscillator redesign.

  It was April. The deadline was in August. Everyone argued against an immediate manned trial. Morgan showed Brenna the data—and then seemed to back away.

  "Nobody else will be hurt—or killed—testing one of our ships."

  One way to make sure of that was to eliminate anyone who wasn't a co-owner. Brenna couldn't say when that wild idea had taken hold. But it was embedded in her mind now, and she wasn't going to give it up for anyone—even if she had to operate the entire test by remote computers.

  "Set it up," Brenna ordered finally. She had heard them all out, and she had decided. They looked at her with dismay. Several times, these past few weeks, Brenna had overheard a comment from members of the Breakthrough Unlimited team. "... changed ... getting awfully set in her own ways ... like she's a different person..."

  Not different. Older. One birthday hadn't made the change. A lifetime of hurting and mourning was doing it.

  As Morgan had said, the procedure was possible. The third faster-than-light ship, with its new oscillator and much-strengthened hull material, was at FTL Station. Brenna had never stopped physical training and fitness exercises. She had gone by the book for years. Maybe that was the problem, she decided. She trusted Morgan's research. Nearly a year of thinking—nothing but thinking. Now it was time to prove out what he had learned.

  No simulation. No big PR push. Pool reporters like Ife Enegu would be there, on command. Saunder Enterprises' ComLink still possessed enormous clout—more than it had, since the decline of some of the Hong conspiracy supporters who had been funding Nakamura and Associates and Alamshah's network. Still, it was going to be a small show. Expectations were low. Brenna found she didn't mind. The push for glory no longer seemed the important thing.

  I promised Morgan I'd take care of everything. And I promised Quol-Bez I'd provide him with another ship. Either this does it, or...

  Even though the team had agreed, it took a while to arrange everything. Brenna remained in daily contact with Morgan. She was used to seeing Quol-Bez or Sao on the monitor when she called Mars now. She spoke to them as often as she did to her parents or to Morgan—far oftener than she spoke to Morgan, in fact.

  She and Morgan had said all they needed to say. Morgan's most vital contribution had been made. It was the one irreplaceable ingredient. The ship would work. Without fail. Guaranteed.

  Somewhere, Brenna had heard that before.

  She didn't let herself dwell on the past. Work was a panacea. She pushed it just to the brink of exhaustion, then quit before her doctor pulled a medical-emergency routine to shut the preparations down. Brenna was walking a tightrope across high vacuum. All the years of spaceflight and the long-nursed hopes for Breakthrough Unlimited seemed to be fitting together at last. The keen cutting edge wasn't there. Something else had taken its place. She didn't know if it was the fact that Derek was gone out of her life or that she was accepting Morgan's permanent isolation, finally. But the results were visible to others, and they shaped Brenna subtly.

  Not cocksure. Not bragging and strutting, the ace space pilot, laughing at danger.

  Brenna Foix Saunder. Morgan Saunder McKelvey's partner. Co-owner of Breakthrough Unlimited. Pilot of ...

  "We're not going to call her Prototype III," Brenna had announced a week before the test. George Li and Yuri and the rest had been shocked. Before they could drag it out into discussions, Brenna had said firmly, "No. We're not. No superstitious nonsense about third time's the charm. I won't have the media using that. This is a new breed of ship. She needs a new name. She's Saunder Enterprises FTL One."

  They had rolled the name around on their tongues, murmuring to one another. Some of them still didn't like it. But nobody was willing to make it a major cause. The new name was etched into the nav systems and identity circuits in anticipation of registry with Space Fleet.

  The routine. Once more. Good-luck messages from Grieske and Ames and all the other familiar dignitaries. Watchful waiting. Would Breakthrough Unlimited pull it off, this time? Brenna didn't blame anyone for skepticism
. She was amazed anyone was optimistic, actually.

  No message from her parents. She had thrashed that one out, too. They didn't speak of it when she was with them. She existed, and their love for her existed. Breakthrough Unlimited did not.

  A last message from Morgan. "Take her out to Jupiter and beyond, Brenna." He would be watching, in his isolation room on Mars. His future lay with her. His only hope of seeing the universe.

  Brenna went through Suitup procedures without enthusiasm. Yuri kept up the logical arguments as long as he could. Brenna finally cut him off. "I'm going alone, Yuri. And you're flying Chase. That's it. Who else have we got? We're not exactly overburdened with experienced pilots!" They had taken on two possible future hotshots, but neither was ready to handle a Chase ship yet, much less ride co-pilot on the FTL craft. And it would be months before Habich, Zyto, and Nagata could consider coming back to work for Breakthrough Unlimited.

  The newcomers, and a bare-bones emergency medical crew, were posted out at the completed hop point; that was as much as Brenna could afford.

  She softened, reading Yuri's desperate concern. Brenna hadn't put on her helmet yet, and she surprised the others in Suitup—and Yuri—by leaning forward and kissing him. He turned bright red as she smiled. "That's for luck, for both of us. Maybe I'm superstitious after all. Let's go!"

  Still blushing, he managed to get out a hearty "Valjaitje! Da!"

  Brenna had been through the whole routine before. This time it was special. She had dropped away from FTL Station before. She had peeled away from the base and set a ballistic course anti-Sunward, racing for infinity, before.

  But then she had been riding Chase. This was the first time she would be in the main ship. She had wanted it desperately, once. Now she simply accepted.

  Automatic. Reflexes. All the run-throughs and checks. "Nominal on pressure, George. Life-support is optimum. Power consumption well within predicted range . .

  Yuri, with one of the new pilots riding in the second seat, was flying nearby, opening up some distance, per the test schedule. Thirty kilometers. Easy rescue distance.