"Will do, Skipper,” said Simon, acknowledging Ellis’ request. “Now what's this about recon work? The Sanson won't even be ready to leave orbit for another two weeks."
Ellis looked from Simon to Laura. “Where's Natalie?” asked Ellis, realizing that the ship's communicator was not on the Command Deck.
Laura Peters let out a slow breath. “In the infirmary. When Earth went silent, it was too much for her. She collapsed."
"The Emergency Med Tech gave her some Proxom to calm her nerves,” explained Simon.
Kirsten frowned. “Proxom interferes with the communication's implant. Are you sure that's wise?"
Simon Yermakov shrugged. “It seemed better than having her hysterical. The Med Tech suggested it for a dose or two, then we'd see if we can bring her off."
Ellis nodded approval. “Good. We'll need her back to duty as soon as she's able. In the meantime, I want to talk to you two,” he nodded to Peters and Yermakov in turn. “I have been appointed a Captain in the Alpha Coma Space Fleet with the mission of finding out just what exactly has happened on Earth. Kirsten has volunteered the Sanson to serve as my command.” Ellis chewed his lower lip for a moment and Simon made a motion as though he were about to interrupt, but seemed to change his mind. Ellis continued, “I want to make it absolutely clear that no one aboard the Sanson is obligated to come on this mission. You are civilians and this is a military mission. However, the Sanson has a good crew that works well together. I do not want to break this crew up if I don't have to. If you two stick with me, I'm sure most of the crew will come along. All of us want to find out what's happened to our friends and family back on Earth. I need you. Are you with me?"
"You can count on me, sir,” piped Laura Peters.
Simon Yermakov looked down at his feet. Briefly, he looked back up into Laura's beaming face, then saw Kirsten's supportive smile, then looked nervously at the imposing figures of Fire and Manuel. He looked back at his feet and shook his head. Lower lip trembling, Simon stepped over to the command deck's holographic viewer and looked off into the image of space.
Captain Ellis lifted his hand, indicating that the rest of the people should stay where they were. He alone went up to Simon and put his hand on the first mate's shoulder. “Simon, is there anything I can say to persuade you?"
Simon took a deep, shuddering breath. “Skipper, I have a talent for geography. When I was a kid, I could name the capital of every one of the major planets and tell you just where it was located before most kids could tell you the ABC's. I'm a good mathematician and a decent physicist. All of those talents brought me to the galactic cartography division of the TransGalactic Corporation. I like maps and equations better than people—that's why I shipped out. What do I owe the people of the Earth?"
"What about your parents? Siblings?” asked Ellis, softly.
"I never knew my father,” said Yermakov. “But, what else is new? My mom left Earth after I went to work for TransGalactic. She lives on New Earth. My sister followed her."
"The Cluster is a threat to humans everywhere,” explained Ellis, calmly.
Simon slammed his palm against the wall then took a few deep breaths and nodded. “I'm a good map maker. I should have been captain of this ship. Not you."
Ellis inhaled deeply and looked up at the ceiling. Simon Yermakov had been up for promotion to the captaincy of Sanson when he, G'Liat and McClintlock had started looking for a ship that could take them in search of the Cluster. G'Liat had pulled strings with the TransGalactic Corporation and landed them jobs on the Sanson. Kirsten Smart had confessed to Ellis that she had not wanted Yermakov as captain. The same thing that placed Yermakov on a ship to begin with—the fact that he didn't enjoy working with people—was the same thing that kept him from the captaincy. Kirsten considered it a blessing when Ellis had been named the new captain. Ellis blinked and looked at Yermakov's back. “What would you do if you were captain of the Sanson?"
Yermakov's back stiffened. “My first order of business would be the repair of the ship,” he said simply.
"What would happen after the ship was repaired? What would you do?” Ellis stepped up to Yermakov and whispered in his ear. “TransGalactic isn't responding. There are no instructions."
"You know damned well what I'd do,” growled Yermakov. “I'd consult Kirsten. She's the corporate officer. It would be her decision."
"And you know damned well what she wants to do,” Ellis growled back. “She's back there, ready to take this ship into Hell to find out what's happened."
Yermakov turned suddenly and looked Ellis in the eye. “Only because of you, Captain, sir,” he spat. “She loves you."
Ellis put his hands behind his back. “This is the critical question, Mr. Yermakov. Has that love really changed her? Would her decision to go back to Earth—resources permitting—be any different? Or, are you just using my presence as an excuse?"
Yermakov looked down at his feet. “Damn you,” he said, simply.
Ellis risked putting his hand on Yermakov's shoulder. “Will you come with us to Earth? You're more than a good mapmaker. You know this ship better than me—better even than Kirsten."
"Mahuk knows the ship. He has family on Earth—he'll go with you."
"But, Mahuk isn't the first officer. You are.” Ellis squeezed Simon's shoulder. “I need you. Kirsten needs you. Mahuk needs you."
"I have to think about it, Skipper,” said Yermakov simply. “If you're sincere that we're not obligated to follow, you'll at least allow me time to decide whether or not I'm going to Earth, won't you?"
Ellis nodded. “Will you, at least, agree to stay on for the next day or so and oversee the repairs to the ship?"
Yermakov looked into Ellis’ eyes again. This time, the gaze softened. “I'll do that much for you, sir. I have to think about the rest."
The captain stepped into the hologram of space and looked around at the floating images of stars. “The government of Alpha Coma Bereneces has put all of their resources at our disposal. Given that, how long do you think it'll be before the ship can be ready to proceed toward Earth?"
"I'd have to consult Mr. Mahuk,” said Yermakov. “But I'm guessing it'll only take three to four days with unlimited manpower and no wait time for parts."
"Then meet with Mr. Mahuk and speed up your repairs, Mr. Yermakov,” trumpeted Ellis. More quietly, “You have two days to make up your mind.” The captain stepped back to the rear of the command deck where Suki and Manuel waited. Natalie had returned to her post at navigation and Kirsten had stepped into her office. “Shall I show you to your quarters?” asked Ellis.
"Please do,” said Fire, nodding to her son.
"Then find us some food,” said Manuel. “I'm starving."
* * * *
Eva Cooper awoke several hours later. Her head swam as she tried to remember what had happened before she fell asleep. The memories came back to her in a rush. She bit her lower lip, feeling both liberated and frightened. Thighs sticky and hair mussed, she sat up, realizing that she would have to exit through the Oval Office. Looking at her watch, she gasped at the time. Anyone could be there. Peeking into the hall, she saw that there was a restroom across the way. She did her best with the sink and washcloth to make herself look presentable. Returning to the bedchamber, she finished dressing, then went to the door that led to the President's office. Eva eased the door open and looked in to see the President meeting with the holographic images of numerous Senators from around the planet. Their discussion had an eerie, almost philosophic tone. They were talking about diseases that the doctor knew to be incurable. However, as she listened, she realized that the President and the Senators were talking about cures—and the cures sounded completely plausible and obvious. It was as though there wasn't such a thing as an incurable disease.
Jenna Walker looked up, smiled and waved very briefly, then returned her attention to the meeting.
Eva Cooper stepped into the room, moved through, but lingered near the main door. As she did
, she caught snippets of conversation about humanity moving into the future and cleaning up the Earth. No one seemed worried about the Doomsday Dead except for the logistics of dealing with the bodies. It was as though they suddenly knew the answers to Doomsday and were no longer concerned. Neither were they concerned about the Clusters and the fact that Earth was out of touch with the remainder of the Galaxy. Eva swallowed hard, knowing she had some research to do. She looked at her watch and saw that it was time for her dose of Proxom. With the emotion-stabilizing drug in her system, she'd be better able to deal with whatever she learned.
* * * *
Swearing mildly, Samuel “Old Man” Coffin dug though his sea chest, in search of a tobacco pouch. While it was true that Coffin was addicted to nicotine, he smoked his pipe less from addiction than from a sense of history. His home was the island of Nantucket and legend said that Nantucket was created when God dumped out his gray pipe ash in the Atlantic Ocean. In the late 25th century, many people in old Nantucket families took up smoking as a way to set themselves apart from off islanders and to retain a sense of island history. The drug Dairtox, introduced to reduce toxins in the lungs from air-borne pollutants, made smoking a relatively safe pastime. After several minutes of searching, Coffin still could not find the tobacco. He sat down on the floor in front of the chest and stroked his snow-white beard—eyes searching a room that was at once familiar, yet not his own.
Old Man Coffin sat in a guest room of the Ellis house—one of the last homes on Nantucket that was still owned by one of the old families. While Suki and John Mark Ellis were searching for the Cluster, Coffin stayed at their home—a sentinel guarding the old house against off-islanders, tax collectors and vandals. Coffin stood, joints complaining, and hobbled out of the guest room. He pondered the Clusters. Watching the teleholo the night before, he'd learned that four had appeared in orbit above the Earth. After watching a short time, he shut off the teleholo and went to bed, spending a restless night huddled under the covers, wishing the Ellises were back from their sojourn in space. In the morning, Coffin awoke. Not used to owning a teleholo, he hadn't bothered to turn it on. Instead, he sought the comfort of his familiar pipe. Though he'd found the pipe, he couldn't find the tobacco.
Coffin descended the creaking, wooden staircase and searched the living room to see if John Mark Ellis or his late father had left any tobacco behind. He saw a familiar rack of pipes on the fireplace mantle—but ignored them. More promising was a wooden box—the lid carved with the image of a sailing ship—next to an old couch. Coffin opened the box and discovered that it was a small humidor containing a few cigars, but no pipe tobacco. For a few moments, Coffin was tempted to take a cigar, but decided that he really wanted the comfort of his old pipe. Sighing, he realized that he had no choice but to ride out to his shack in the nearby village of Madaket.
Coffin pulled himself upstairs and found a backpack and shoes. As he prepared for the short trip, he grew light-hearted. It had been too long since he had been out to his own home. While it was only a shack, it contained the last vestiges of his life: his own books as well as books left behind by his ancestors, memorabilia from old whaling days and from the days when the Coffins turned their attention to studying, rather than killing, whales. Coffin realized he'd been inside too much. He needed fresh air.
Samuel Coffin made his way back down the stairs and locked the front door of the Ellis house. Stepping into the backyard, he retrieved a bicycle from the shed and began peddling toward his home, five miles away. For his age, he was in good shape and refused to buy a hover car. While his joints groaned and complained, riding the bicycle kept them from seizing up entirely. “The day I have to buy one of those hovers is the day they'll bury me in the island's sand,” he'd said once. Hovers were loved by off-islanders who sped around the island looking for souvenirs or admiring the island's “quaint” charm. “The island's charm can't be seen at 200 kilometers per hour,” complained Coffin another time. “You have to drink it in slowly."
On his way through the village of Nantucket, Old Man Coffin rode past a red brick building with white columns—truly an impressive example of Greek revival architecture. It was the Coffin school, named for one of the old man's ancestors. Indeed, one of the island's original English settlers was Tristram Coffin and, by the middle of the nineteenth century it was claimed that most of the island's young people were descendants of Tristram Coffin. Now, in the late 30th century, Samuel Coffin was the last living descendant who bore Tristram's surname. As he rode through the village of Nantucket, Coffin did notice that the streets were strangely quiet. Again, he remembered the reports of the Clusters orbiting the Earth. “People must be inside, noses stuck in the holos,” said Coffin to himself, blissfully unaware of the Doomsday Dead.
Samuel Coffin sped past the school and out of town, then followed a plastic roadway most of the way to the village of Madaket. As with Nantucket, both the road and the village were unusually quiet. Twisting and turning his bike through the streets of the tiny village, Coffin was relieved to see a few old friends—like him, descendants of the old families. He waved at them as he sped by on his bike. He grumbled the word “off-islanders” at a few of the people whose families had moved to the island recently—within the last century or two.
Most of the village behind him, Coffin found himself riding along a trail of decayed asphalt out into the moors. Finally, even the ancient asphalt disappeared and Coffin dismounted and pushed his bicycle over the sandy road rather than try to peddle. At last, he arrived at a small, dilapidated shack sitting alone in the sand save for some scrubby green plants. He leaned the bike against a gray, wooden wall and licked his lips.
Old Man Coffin sighed as he stood in front of his shack and stared at a carving of a whale's spout that hung outside the door. The shack's electrical power generator had failed since his last visit, and the force field that protected the sign had also failed. Without protection, the sign would rot away in the island's wet weather.
Entering the shack to look for a step-stool, he recalled words from Herman Melville's novel, Moby-Dick: “Moving on, I at last came to a dim sort of out-hanging light not far from the docks, and heard a forlorn creaking in the air; and looking up, saw a swinging sign over the door with a white painting upon it, faintly representing a tall straight jet of misty spray, and these words underneath—'The Spouter Inn:—Peter Coffin.’”
What most people didn't realize was that Peter Coffin of New Bedford really existed. Like Samuel, he was a descendent of Tristram Coffin. Melville likely stayed at Coffin's inn, and then wrote about it in the novel, Moby-Dick. Finding a stool, Coffin carefully pulled the sign of the famous Spouter-Inn off of its hooks and lovingly brought it inside.
Gaunt, white-haired and back-bent, the moniker “Old Man” fit Samuel Coffin very well. However, the fact of the matter was that he'd earned the nickname when he was in his thirties. The young Samuel Coffin, a marine biologist, bought a large ocean-going boat and took the young people of Nantucket—including John Mark Ellis, at one time—out on cruises to instruct them in ocean science and the history of Nantucket and the whaling industry. Coffin frequently told students how ship captains had been known as “the old man.” The students, who dearly loved their captain and teacher, teased him by calling him the old man of Nantucket. Soon, this was shortened to simply referring to Samuel as Old Man Coffin. Samuel Coffin's career as an ocean-going teacher was a natural choice given his love of family history. His ancestor, Admiral Sir Isaac Coffin purchased the first training ship in the old United States—the Clio—that took Nantucket students to far-off lands in the mid-nineteenth century.
Old Man Coffin made his way through the shack, pausing to look at a nineteenth century sextant. A few steps further on, he picked up a copy of the “Nautical Handbook” from the twentieth. Shaking his head, Coffin knew that he should take some of these things to Ellis’ house and thought about packing them into his backpack. Sadly, he realized that he didn't really have the room.
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br /> At last, he found the object of his quest—a pouch of Navy Flake pipe tobacco. Coffin crumbled some of the tobacco into the pipe he'd brought with him and smoked while he continued to contemplate his collection of antiques. Old Man Coffin's eyes fell on a polished round of whale baleen. On the bone was a black etching of a sperm whale. Coffin sucked in warm, soothing smoke—drinking it in like mother's milk—as he contemplated the scrimshaw. It was unethical to own a piece of a murdered whale. However, the scrimshaw had been in Coffin's family for centuries. Either way, he realized he should not leave it in the shack where anyone could get it. It would be safer in Ellis’ home.
Coffin packed his pouch of tobacco, the scrimshaw and a few other odds and ends into his backpack. He stepped out of the shack and locked the door. A futile gesture, he knew, looking at the ancient, rotted wood. Still, he didn't feel he could leave his shack open to just anyone. The tourists would never come out this far—Coffin's shack was too far from the plastic roadway.
Coffin looked out toward the sea and smoked his pipe a little while longer. Black-accented gray clouds met white-accented gray ocean at the horizon. The old man longed to be on a ship, sailing the waves. The ocean was the true domain of the Nantucketer. The pipe smoldered to a finish. Almost ceremonially, Coffin dumped the pipe, adding his ash to God's own. He climbed on the bike and rode back to Nantucket Village.
Night was falling as Coffin brought his bike to the storage shed behind the Ellis house. He stowed the bicycle, went inside and turned on the teleholo while he ordered a simple meal of quohog chowder and ale from the food preparation unit. As he noisily slurped the chowder, he watched a rerun of Gaean President Jenna Walker's speech at Arlington Planetary Cemetery. Turning up the volume, he heard about the deaths around the Earth. Coffin picked up the glass of ale and swallowed a large gulp. “Where's John Mark when we need him?” asked Coffin, taking a deep breath.
Heirs of the New Earth Page 6
