Children of the Old Star

by David Lee Summers

  "A demotion,” muttered Ellis, heart-broken. “I'm not sure I can accept that."

  Strauss closed her eyes, her patience taxed to the limit. “Then you had better be prepared to resign your commission."

  Ellis looked up at her, his brown eyes wide, jaw hanging open. He thought for a moment about arguing that the fleet had to do what it could to at least try to communicate with the Cluster before more tragedy struck. The look in her eyes warned him off that path. He sighed, though, knowing he must find the Cluster. He must talk to the Cluster. Somehow, he knew it was the only correct answer. John Mark Ellis took a deep breath and without thinking about it too much longer, lest he stop himself, he let the words fall out. “Admiral Strauss, I hereby resign my commission as an officer of the Confederation Space Fleet."

  The admiral closed her eyes for a second, then turned back to her terminal. “I expect your belongings off the Firebrandt in 24 hours."

  WHERE NO ONE KNOWS YOUR NAME

  John Mark Ellis stood in a silent hallway outside admiralty headquarters in the human pressure dome on Titan and thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket. The silence should have given him time to think about how to contact the Cluster. Instead, he found himself wallowing in despair, simply wanting to escape. He cursed mildly as he felt around the pocket and realized he had crushed a cigar. He removed the damaged cigar and examined it. Scowling, he thrust it in his mouth and lit it anyway. Smoke issued from a myriad of cracks in the surface.

  He looked up just in time to see Frank Rubin stepping his way, waving a computer wafer. “Sir!” called Rubin excitedly. His booming voice echoed off the walls. “I just received a promotion!"

  "Congratulations,” grumbled Ellis. He bit down hard on the cigar, almost chopping off the end with his teeth.

  "Is something the matter, sir?” Concern showed in Rubin's wide blue eyes.

  "Calling me ‘sir’ isn't appropriate anymore, Mr. Rubin,” snorted Ellis. He looked down at his wrist chronometer and nodded. “I've got just about enough time to get to the space port and catch a flight to Earth. Would you be so kind as to send my duffel down to my home on Nantucket?"

  "Of course, but...” Rubin's mouth hung open as Ellis stormed off through the white corridor. The newly promoted A-Com bit his lower lip, feeling frozen in place. Finally he gathered his wits and ran to catch up with his former commander. When he almost caught up to Ellis, he saw him turn to enter the busy spaceport area. Ellis plowed a straight line through the crowd toward the ticket counter, smoke issuing hurly-burly from the crushed cigar like a fog bank surrounding his head. Rubin was nearly out of breath when he finally reached Ellis leaving the counter, ticket in hand.

  "Can you believe that,” grumbled Ellis around the forlorn cigar, waving the ticket in Rubin's face. “The only flight to Earth tonight is on one of those tramp freighters that doesn't even have graviton generators."

  "What's going on?” Rubin brushed the ticket away from his face.

  Ellis was still waving the ticket, unmindful of Rubin. “Have to ride all the way to Earth on some smelly ship that doesn't even have gravity.” He looked down at the ticket. “They don't even serve a goddamn meal!"

  "Sounds relaxing.” Rubin's voice dripped sarcasm. He looked into his former commander's eyes. “Sir, what's the matter? What happened in there with Admiral Strauss?"

  Ellis finally removed the cigar, his expression softening a bit toward Rubin. Again, he looked down at his wrist chronometer. “This flight, such as it is, doesn't leave for another hour. Let me buy you a drink and I'll tell you about it."

  Again, Rubin found himself following Ellis through the crowd. This time, however, the pace was less frantic. The two sat down at a gleaming silver bar. Ellis ordered scotch. Rubin declined a drink.

  By this time, Rubin had guessed what happened. At first, he had been frightened when Ellis had fainted as the Cluster attacked the Martha's Vineyard. Knowing the commander as well as he did, it simply seemed impossible. When Ellis had returned from the Vineyard, his suspicions had been confirmed. The Cluster had communicated with him a second time. “I don't get it, why wouldn't they confirm your promotion to captain? What about the Cluster? What about Sufiro?"

  The drink arrived and Ellis downed it in one shot and ordered another. “They say Sufiro was an accident. They say I couldn't have handled the crisis without my grandfather's help.” He stared at the empty glass. “As to the Cluster. They simply won't believe I've been in communication with it. They think I'm making the whole thing up."

  "What?” Rubin looked toward the bartender and waved him over. He decided he needed a beer. “I can't believe they're going to cashier you over Sufiro."

  "They weren't that upset about Sufiro.” Ellis shook his head. “They canned me because I fainted on the bridge of my own goddamned ship."

  "But you didn't faint,” stammered Rubin. He tried to find words but failed. He might have known what really happened to Ellis, but it could not change how the admiralty saw the situation.

  The second glass of scotch arrived at the same time as Rubin's beer. Ellis picked up the glass and stared into the golden liquid. He returned the cigar to his mouth for a moment. Finally, he set it down to let it burn out the rest of the way. “Besides, they didn't exactly cashier me,” he said quietly. “I could have returned to active duty as first lieutenant aboard a star cruiser."

  Rubin took a long swallow of beer. “You mean you quit?” The lieutenant looked behind the bar, into a large mirror. He looked at his own face, then turned to Ellis again. “Why?"

  "I've got to find the Cluster,” said Ellis just before swallowing the second scotch in one gulp. “I can't do that as first officer of a star cruiser.” He leaned back against the bar. “Besides, what do you suppose the odds would be of my being promoted again?"

  "Pretty damn high,” said Rubin forcefully. “You're a good officer, any captain would see that. The Cluster can't be that important.” Rubin began to turn red. “You can't throw away your career for it!"

  "Who says I'm throwing away my career?” Ellis waved off the comment, turning on the stool, so he wouldn't have to look Rubin in the eye. “I'm still on the reserve list. The admiral says that if an emergency comes up, they'll reinstate me."

  Rubin snorted frustration. “Mark,” he said. Ellis turned as though struck by an electric charge. The use of his first name was almost too much to bear. “Mark, tell me this, how are you going to find the Cluster without the Fleet?"

  "The Ellis family has a little money and my mother has some influence,” said Ellis thoughtfully. “I'll find a way.” Sighing, Ellis returned the glass to the bar. He looked across the crowds of people between the bar and the gate where his ship was docked. “I'd better go,” said Ellis, his head down.

  Frank Rubin sighed. “Take care of yourself,” he said, his normally deep, booming voice quiet.

  Ellis took Rubin's hand. “Godspeed Mr. A-Com Rubin.” He reached out and embraced his one-time first officer. Ellis reached into his uniform jacket and retrieved his last cigar. “I'll be back,” he said with a devilish grin. With that, Rubin watched John Mark Ellis disappear into the crowd.

  * * * *

  Clyde McClintlock wrote furiously. He did not write about anything in particular. Instead he wrote down everything that was on his mind. He wrote about his family moving to Sufiro from Iowa. He wrote about his early years in the Gaean military and his decision to leave to assume a career in the military on Sufiro. With a sigh, he wondered if he had abandoned honor for glory.

  Flipping the page in his pad of paper, he started writing down as many of the images the Cluster put into his mind as he could remember. He wrote about a young man, a teenager actually, pulled from his yard in New Granada while teaching his little sister to ride a bicycle. The boy had been forced to work in the Tejan mines. Although Clyde had not been directly responsible for that boy's predicament, he had fought for the country that had stolen the boy from his family.

  Clyde stared at
the paper after he wrote this scene. He wondered what would have happened if the Cluster had not put that, and other, images in his mind. If not for the Cluster, Clyde would have been unaware of the downtrodden in New Granada. The scenes were packed with emotional energy. Why had the Cluster shown these scenes to him?

  Clyde held the paper to his chest, and vowed silently to find the answer.

  * * * *

  John Mark Ellis arrived at the spaceport in Boston feeling grungy. His jacket hung askew over the top of his rumpled jump suit. His auburn hair felt too long and kept falling into his eyes. Not only had there been no gravity on the freighter from Titan, there had been no showers. Consequently, his beard ached, sticky with dried sweat. The one thing there had been on the cruiser was a teleholo. Mark Ellis tried desperately to drive the image of his mother's face as he told her about leaving the fleet from his mind. Ellis searched his coat desperately for a cigar. He growled when he remembered he had smoked his last cigar on Titan.

  Ellis’ eyelids felt heavy, despite the fitful nap he had managed to catch on the two-hour trip to Earth. He stood in the dingy port, realizing he was too tired to make the trip home to Nantucket, but too many thoughts buzzed to allow him to sleep. Grumbling, he ran his fingers through his hair, disheveling it even further. His stomach began to growl.

  Ignoring the crowds, he stepped out of the port and made his way to a motel that looked as grungy as he felt. Bright neon meant to be cheery only added to the building's dismal appearance. Inside the lobby, he rang the little electric bell. A bald man with four days’ growth of beard stepped up to the counter.

  "I need a room for the night,” said Ellis wearily.

  "No rooms,” rasped the man. “Just compartments."

  "Great,” muttered Ellis, handing his credit chit to the man. The man took more time than necessary processing the chit. Finally, he handed Ellis the chit and key.

  "You staying more than the night,” sneered the man.

  "Not if I can help it,” said Ellis, snatching the key. He stormed out to the street without visiting the compartment he had reserved. He knew the space would be no more than a cabinet. He didn't really care, but it did remind him of how crowded the planet was. He would be glad to get back to his spacious house on Nantucket.

  Ellis stood in the street trying to sort out his feelings. Mostly, he felt numb, not sure where or how to begin his search. Still, there was some gnawing, underlying feeling. In his mind, he saw Admiral Marlou Strauss, angry. He saw his mother, disappointed and trying to understand. The green eyes of the woman from Ellis’ vision haunted him. The ex-commander's mind was muddled with images of women tormenting him, hounding him, and giving him platitudes. His stomach rumbled again, reminding him he hadn't eaten since well before the meeting. All these feelings combined together, causing a dark memory to surface. Ellis knew where he would go for food.

  Numbly, Ellis hailed a hover taxi. “Take me to Cambridge,” he said to the cabby.

  "Sure you wanna’ go there sailor?” asked the hack with a sour laugh. “It's gonna cost."

  "Fine,” said Ellis as he climbed in the back behind the hepler-proof glass. After a moment, when the cabby didn't lift off, Ellis rapped on the glass. The cabby simply pointed downward. Ellis sighed, looking at the slot for the credit chit. He inserted the chit and the cabby lifted off.

  A few minutes later, Ellis found himself standing across from one of the ancient ivy-covered buildings that used to be part of Harvard University. Now, the red brick building covered in rotting ivy was a tenement house for as many people as it could hold.

  Ellis thrust his hands deep in his pockets and walked up Garden Street to another large brick enclosure topped by a lurid, gleaming dome. The dome, in turn, was covered in blinking neon proclaiming the name “Hernando's.” He nodded satisfactorily, seeing the building that once was Harvard College Observatory. The city lights gleaming brilliantly and exotically off the pollution in the air above had rendered the building useless as a research facility long ago. The photographic plates that had captured images of the heavens now sat collecting dust in the basement of a West Coast museum. Humans, possessing the stars for themselves, were not interested in the antiques. The door opened and a cacophony of voices and music poured out with the people who emerged. Ellis took a deep breath and stepped through the door.

  Inside, the walls were black, but glaring spotlights illuminated stages and tables. The erotic sounds of twentieth century rock music throbbed through the very fibers of Ellis’ being. The air was filled with pungent smoke. It helped enhance his grungy demeanor. He paid a cover charge to a man standing just inside the door and made his way to a table facing one of the small stages.

  A woman wearing enticingly little slunk up to the table and took his drink order. “Scotch, neat,” said Ellis, brusquely.

  Soon, a short woman stepped onto the stage as new musical rhythms began. Ellis recognized the heavy beat of Arabic belly dance music. He looked at the woman on the stage as she began to move in time to the music, thrusting her hips to the pulsing rhythms. Ellis’ drink arrived and he paid the bill.

  Ellis looked back to the woman on stage, watching her taut brown skin and dark eyes. She gave him a smile and reached behind her back, undoing the scanty silver bikini top. She swung the top over her head and dropped it to the stage. Ellis found his eyes drawn to her pert, firm breasts, bouncing to the music. He smiled in a kind of delirious amusement as he saw them jiggle and jump. He noted the little bumps surrounding her nipples and how they were just slightly imperfect, not like the even symmetries of the spheres of the Cluster.

  Ellis frowned, stunned at the thought. He grabbed his glass of scotch and sipped it, then looked back at the dancer. The beat became heavier and she thrust her hips toward him. Still, Ellis’ eyes lingered on her breasts, his thoughts tarrying on how they continued to remind him of the Cluster.

  Finally, the music stopped and there was muted applause. Most of the men in the room sat in a stupor. The waitress ambled by and refreshed Ellis’ drink. Ellis let his eyes wander over the other patrons. He was stunned to see two beings with orange skin and purple mustache-like growths sitting at one of the other stages. “What would Rd'dyggian warriors find interesting in a place like this?” Ellis asked himself. He stood and stepped over to their table. He saw they were wearing translator boxes.

  "Welcome to our humble planet.” Ellis tried to sound enthused.

  The lead Rd'dyggian grunted, his “mustache” wiggling. Ellis recognized the gesture as polite acknowledgment. They remained facing the stage, though and Ellis wondered why Rd'dyggians would even be interested in human women. Their sexual triggers were quite different. For one thing, Rd'dyggian women did not even have teats of any form. Ellis shook his head and sat down at the table ignored by the seven-foot tall warriors. The next woman who took the stage was pale with black hair and large, ebullient breasts. Her glistening red nipples seemed all wrong against the gleaming surface of her pale white skin.

  Ellis swallowed his second drink in one gulp and sighed. He had come to this place to find some sense of release. He tried to let himself be drug into the music and the undulating body on the stage. He was angry, hurt, and lost. In a way, what he wanted was to spend a night viewing women as sex objects and not as colleagues. Yet, these women seemed no more real than the woman in the Cluster vision did. Even more frustrating, he found he could not stop his eyes from wandering to the women's breasts, which also reminded him of the Cluster.

  Finally, Ellis gave up trying to find anything erotic in the figure dancing before him. He looked back at the Rd'dyggians and realized that it was not simple curiosity that had brought him to the table. On Sufiro, the Rd'dyggian warrior, Arepno, had helped his grandfather Firebrandt. In a sense, Ellis was looking for a Rd'dyggian to help with his current dilemma. Painfully, Ellis realized that he was not going to receive any help from the Rd'dyggians who were still absorbed in the music. Cursing mildly, he stood and made his way through the room to a t
able standing alone in a dark corner of the bar. Idly, he picked up the menu, scanning it quickly.

  Many minutes later, a waitress arrived and he gave her his order for a hamburger and fries. The throbbing music reawakened the headache that had been pulsing mildly since his head hit the deck grating many hours before. He tapped his foot impatiently waiting for the food to arrive. It was time, he decided to eat and get back to his cabinet for a night's sleep.

  When he heard a throat clear behind him, he lifted his arms from the table, assuming it was dinner. He was actually a little annoyed to discover it was one of the dancers. Golden hair tumbled over a black negligee.

  "Table dance?” she asked with a smile that was too white.

  Ellis eyed her with some exasperation. “No thanks,” he sighed. She looked disappointed and turned to leave. Ellis looked at the floor. As she began to move toward another table, he looked up and cleared his throat. She looked around, hopefully. “Do you know where I could find a cigar?"

  The dancer eased back to the table, eyeing him with a curious expression. “Cigars are made from tobacco aren't they?"

  "The ones I'm looking for are.” He smirked.

  The dancer shimmied by Ellis and sat at the table. “Tobacco is illegal on Earth, sailor boy."

  He looked down at his uniform, then back at the dancer. “May I buy you a drink?"

  "Sure,” she cooed. “I was beginning to think you were a eunuch. I've never seen a man look so coldly at a woman's body. It's as though you were studying for some kind of exam."

  "I guess I'm so used to seeing naked women that this just doesn't faze me much.” Ellis gestured around the room. The piping hot food arrived and he ordered a drink for the dancer.

  "A sailor through and through,” she said. Her too-pink lips framed her too-perfect smile. “They say that men and women aren't even segregated on those Navy ships. You even sleep together."

  Ellis took a bite of the greasy hamburger and put it down thinking. “We sleep in adjoining bunks."