by Joe Vasicek
She gave a nervous laugh that made James nod, just to reassure her. Though she spoke rather quickly, she seemed friendly enough—very friendly, in fact. Her eyes were deep green, her dark brown hair long and straight, and she had a nervous habit of twirling strands of hair behind her ear with her finger. Though she was a bright and attractive young woman, however, she was not Sara.
“Anyhow,” she continued, her expression suddenly serious, “I talked with the techs who were there when Sara, well… they told me they did their best, but there was nothing that could have been done. A small percentage of people never wake up from cryo—at least she didn’t feel any pain.”
James nodded mutely. He didn’t feel like saying anything.
“Do you want me to leave, Commander? If you need more time…”
Her voice trailed off, but he shrugged and shook his head. She stood awkwardly for a few moments before quietly taking a chair.
“If it’s not too hard, may I ask who she was?”
“Don’t you know?” said James, glancing over at her. “I thought you were the ship’s historian.”
“I know that she was the last patrician’s daughter, but I don’t know what she was to you.”
He sighed heavily and looked back down at the floor. “She was the girl I never thought I’d get, and when I did, it seemed too good to be real.”
“You were lovers, then?”
“Yes.”
Deirdre nodded. “That’s hard. I’m sorry for your loss.”
She touched James’s arm as if to reassure him, then awkwardly drew it back. For a few moments, neither of them said anything. James continued to stare at the white tile floor.
“There’s something else,” she said, reaching into her skirt pocket. “We recovered this note from the private storage compartment beneath her cyrotank. It’s addressed to you.”
She leaned forward and handed him a nondescript synthpaper envelope. Sure enough, his name was written on the back in Sara’s handwriting.
The contingency letter.
His hands trembled as he held it in his hands. Sara’s last words to him—the ones she had felt so strongly about writing. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart started to race. He tentatively reached with his finger to open it, but stopped short.
“In any case,” said Deirdre, rising to her feet, “I’d better be going. Is it all right if I visit you again?”
“Sure,” James muttered. He quickly stuffed the envelope into the chest pocket of his jumpsuit.
“Welcome back, Commander McCoy. It’s good to have you with us again.”
She hesitated by the doorway as if she wanted to say more, but left without another word. As the door hissed shut, James bit his lip and tried very hard not to feel utterly alone.
* * * * *
“Ah, Miss Johansen. Please, come in.”
Deirdre stepped into Captain Carlson’s office and walked up to his desk. He stood and reached over a stack of papers to shake her hand, then motioned for her to fold down a chair.
“I trust you were able to gather the background information I asked for,” he said as she took her seat. “The commander seems to be more, shall we say, prone to mood swings than we expected.”
“With all due respect, sir, I don’t think his reaction was all that unusual.”
“Still, we almost had to call on security to restrain him. Violence is hardly a normal part of the grieving process.”
Deirdre rolled her eyes. “With the way Maggie tries to strong-arm everyone, can you blame him? He’s not a threat, Carlson—trust me.”
“Is that your professional assessment, Deirdre?”
“Yes,” she said, hesitating only a moment. “I mean, I’m not a therapist or anything, but everything he’s said and done so far fits perfectly with what I’ve read.”
Carlson leaned forward with his elbows on his desk and rested his chin on his hands. He eyed Deirdre in a way that told her he had some plans, and that she was about to become a part of them. She shifted nervously in her seat.
“Very well, Deirdre. I’ll trust your judgment in this matter. In fact, I have a special assignment for you.”
Uh-oh.
“Yes, Captain?”
Carlson stood up and folded his chair into the wall, giving him room to pace. “As chief historian of the Chiran Spirit, you’re uniquely suited to serve as a liaison between the founding generation and our own. For that reason, I find it particularly gratifying to see that you and the commander have hit it off so well.”
Deirdre blushed. “Well, I wouldn’t quite put it that way…”
“There are many adjustments that Commander McCoy will have to make in the coming days,” Carlson continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I anticipate that it will be quite difficult for him, especially considering his loss. Everyone on this ship is a stranger to him, and we cannot reanimate any of his compatriots until we’ve arrived at Chira and begun the settlement process.”
“I understand,” said Deirdre. “He’s got to feel like a man stranded outside of his time. But what’s the assignment you have for me?”
“Simply to serve as a guide for him until he’s made the transition.”
“That’s it?”
Carlson smiled. “Of course, since this will be a full-time assignment, I’ve arranged for the housing committee to change your unit assignment to level sixty-two. You can make the move as soon as you’re ready.”
“Level sixty-two?” Deirdre asked, frowning. “Isn’t that—”
“Couples housing? Indeed. We couldn’t have McCoy sharing a unit with you in any of the single female units, couldn’t we?”
Hot blood rushed to her cheeks as her inner fan-girl just about died. Her eyes widened, and she clasped her hands to her mouth in shock.
“But—but the couples units only have one bed! Am I, ah, supposed to sleep with him?”
“Of course not, Deirdre. We’ll assign you a hammock.”
But I haven’t slept in a hammock for over ten years, Deirdre wanted to say. Hammocks were for children. Did they even make one large enough for her?
“You do know how this is going to look, don’t you? Everyone on the ship is going to think I’m sleeping with him, even if I’m not.”
“I’m afraid that’s unavoidable,” said Carlson. “McCoy needs someone who can be there for him morning, swing, and alter—not just anyone, mind you, but someone close enough to understand his needs better than he does. I saw how you took to him in the cryo chamber, Deirdre, and I’m confident that you are the right person for the job.”
Deirdre swallowed hard. “Really?”
“It won’t be easy, of course,” Carlson continued. “But even if it means giving up your research for a while, I want you to do all you can to help him adjust. If he doesn’t become acclimated before we arrive, the burdens of leadership may be too much for him.”
Are you kidding? Deirdre thought. Spending every waking moment with James is exactly what I need for my research! So what if everyone on the ship thought that she was sleeping with him? To hell with what they thought!
“I’ll be fine, sir,” she said out loud. “I’ll do my best to meet your expectations.”
“I’m sure you’ll exceed them,” said Carlson, putting a hand on her shoulder.
Deirdre barely heard him, though. Her mind was already racing with all the opportunities that this assignment had opened up to her.
* * * * *
The sound of the door chime woke James from a dreamless nap. He opened his eyes and rose wearily to his feet, his body still sore.
“Come in.”
The door hissed open, and the same girl from before walked in. Her outfit gave her a strikingly feminine appearance.
“Hello again!” she said brightly. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
“No,” James lied. “Deirdre, is it?”
“That’s right. And you’re James McCoy, of course—can I call you James?”
He shrugged, eliciting a
girlish smile. For a moment, he wondered if she was about to ask him for an autograph or something.
“Well, James, I’ve been assigned as your guide to the ship. I’m sure a lot has changed since you were last here with us, so I’m here to show you around and help you adjust—if that’s all right, of course.”
“It’s fine,” he said, adjusting his jumpsuit. The fabric was thin and slightly itchy, but otherwise fit him well. As he hooked his thumbs around his belt, the upper half went tight enough that he could feel Sara’s contingency letter against his chest.
“Here,” said Deirdre. “Let me give you the tour.”
She took his arm in hers and led him through the door. It seemed a little forward of her, until he realized that everyone he’d met on the ship so far seemed to have no concept of personal space. Rooms were smaller than he was used to, and the doctor had stood so close to him that it had made him uncomfortable.
“Have you had a chance to look around the ship much?” she asked.
“Not really,” said James, even though it wasn’t exactly true. He’d recovered fairly quickly from the cryothaw, but he hadn’t really been in the right spirits to leave his room. Besides, with the narrow, warren-like corridors, doctors and nurses bustling about everywhere, and the ever-present smell of disinfectant, his room had seemed like a safer place to stay.
“Well, you’ll definitely have plenty of time to explore,” said Deirdre. “We just arrived on the outskirts of the Chira system, but Chira V is still three standard weeks away.”
“Three weeks? Why did you wake me so early?”
“I’m not sure,” said Deirdre. “It was Carlson’s decision, not mine—Jeppe Carlson, the ship’s captain. He’s in charge of piloting, astrogation, inter-ship relations, and pretty much everything that falls outside the General Assembly.”
So our democratic traditions have been preserved, James noted. He wondered what Lars would think to see this, then realized that Lars was gone.
As they walked down the corridor, he had to turn sideways every now and again to let a nurse or physician through. Several of the medical staff smiled as they passed, but James was in no mood to stop and chat.
“The main office is through here,” said Deirdre, pointing to the bulkhead at the end of the curved hallway. The door was wide and plated with solid durasteel, almost like an airlock. She palmed the access panel, and the door opened to reveal a quaint office with a row of cubicles against the outer wall. On the right, a ladder ran up through a wide manhole in the floor and extended up through a similar hole in the ceiling.
“You’ll have to sign out at the front desk,” said Deirdre, motioning to the receptionist. James hardly noticed her, though—he was too busy staring at the ladder.
It was actually three ladders arranged in a triangle, the rungs sharing three vertical poles. The hole in the floor through which the ladder passed was about six feet in diameter, with a lip made of a foamy material. As James stared, a man in a gray jumpsuit with a utility belt full of tools shimmied down the far side of the ladder, moving with a speed born of practiced experience. “G’day,” he said, nodding as he passed. James peered over the edge and immediately jumped back—the shaft extended more than five levels down.
“Commander McCoy,” said the receptionist, her cheerful, businesslike voice betraying a hint of sternness.
“Sorry,” said James. “Where were we?”
The receptionist, a smiling middle-aged woman with short hair, handed him a plastic pad with a synthpaper printout clipped on and a scanner attached to the side.
“This is your release agreement,” said Deirdre. “Just put your thumbprint on the scanner, and she’ll take care of the rest.”
James skimmed the release agreement, but his mind became jumbled in legalese after barely two paragraphs. He examined the scanner and found a digital pad for taking fingerprints on the back of it. When he was done, he handed it back to the receptionist, who used the laser to read the bar-code at the top of the printout.
“Your thumbprint is now associated with your medical records and ID information,” said the receptionist, smiling cordially as the scanner beeped. “Welcome back, Commander McCoy.”
James returned the smile, but Deirdre was already leading him away toward the ladder.
“Identification information?” he muttered.
“It’s standard procedure. We use thumb-prints for everything around here.”
Before he could ask anything more, she bounded onto the ladder and climbed halfway up before turning to face him.
“Well? Are you coming?”
“What happened to the elevators?” James asked, looking nervously down the shaft. The ladder was just far enough away from the lip that he couldn’t climb on without committing himself completely, and it was a long way down.
“We dismantled all but one of the elevators over seventy years ago. They were too inefficient—ladders are much faster.”
James swallowed and leaned tentatively forward, arms outstretched. With both hands tightly gripping the sides, he brought one foot onto a rung, then the other. Deirdre laughed, but not unkindly.
“Do children use these things too?” asked James, looking up at her as he hung on for dear life.
“Parents with children are authorized to use the last remaining elevator,” Deirdre answered, “but most just use child slings until the kids are old enough to climb themselves. You all right?”
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
Deirdre climbed quickly up the ladder, moving as naturally as if she were walking or running. James struggled to keep up, but soon got used to it. From his vantage point beneath her, he saw that her skirt was designed to prevent anyone below from seeing up between her legs. Her shoes, like his, were barely more than slippers.
As he climbed, he noticed a profound difference in the air. It smelled fresher, earthier—as if it had come straight out of a greenhouse. The air in the medical bay hadn’t exactly been stale, but the sanitizers had masked just about everything else.
“What’s that smell?” he asked.
“Aquaponics. They’re located just below the medical bay.”
James looked down and noticed that many of the people crawling up and down the ladder below him were wearing aprons and lab coats. Apparently, the guy with the utility belt was something of an anomaly.
As he watched, someone passed him going down on the right, giving him a bit of a shock. He gripped the ladder with sweaty hands as the vertigo made him cringe.
“What’s the matter?” asked Deirdre, already almost a level above him.
“This—this ladder,” he said, holding on for dear life. “Are you sure we can’t just take the elevator?”
“Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe. Watch.”
She jumped back and let go, falling past him with a smile of amusement. He opened his mouth to cry out in shock, but before he could react, an alarm sounded and several rope nets constricted like circular apertures in the floors below. Deirdre landed two stories below him, while the people below shouted at her.
“See?” she said, grinning up at him. “It’s totally safe.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure! The motion sensors are everywhere, and the nets work every time. If you like to slide, you have to be careful not to go too fast, otherwise they’ll catch you.”
“But—but what if your head hit the edge of one of those manholes?”
“They’re made of advanced impact foam,” she said, pulling herself back up. “The higher the impulse, the more cushioning they give.” As she eased her weight onto the ladder, the alarms turned off and the nets retracted. Without any apparent concern at all, she passed him and continued on her way.
“You all right?”
“Yeah,” James groaned, forcing himself to climb up another rung. Even though he knew it was safe, the vertigo still froze him with fear.
“Just a couple more levels to go,” she said, coaxing him. “You’re doing fine.”
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The next few rungs weren’t so bad. Whenever anyone passed him, he cringed and his heart beat a little faster, but at least he didn’t freeze up as he had before.
“Here we are,” said Deirdre, stepping out from the ladder onto the level above him. James climbed up to where she’d stepped off and glanced at her over his shoulders. She stood on the edge, offering him a hand.
“Come on, James. You can do this.”
He glanced down and gulped. Even if the nets caught him, this was going to be a long jump.
“Don’t think too hard about it,” she said encouragingly. “Just take my hand and step off.”
He took a deep breath and jumped. For a hair-raising second, he felt as if he were jumping off the top of a ten story building. Then, his foot landed on solid ground, and he stumbled into Deirdre’s arms.
“Oomph!” he said, almost knocking her over. She laughed and pulled him on.
“Whoa! Better work on your landing there, Commander.”
“Sorry, I—”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ve got another three shafts to go—plenty of time to practice.”
James frowned. “What?”
“Oh, sorry. Each ladder only runs up about ten levels. To get to the higher parts of the ship, you have to switch ladders two or three times.”
Was this your idea, Sterling? James wondered as he followed her up the next shaft. As the vertigo started to make his head swirl, he swore he’d have a word or two with his former copilot. Then he realized that he never would.
“Here are the sleeping quarters,” she said as they passed a brightly decorated level. “The family level is on the bottom, nearest to the medical bay, followed by single men and then single women. That’s a coed level for recreation and exercise, though,” she said, pointing out another one. “They try to intersperse those living areas with the sleeping quarters, so we don’t have to climb up and down a dozen levels on our off hours.”
“Where are we going?”
“The childless couples level. It’s up near the top—don’t ask me why.”
“Wait,” said James. “Couples area? You mean like married couples?”
