Dawnwind 1: Last Man Standing

by George R. Shirer

  “And the second reason?” asked Elo.

  “Because I’m going to offer you another story, Ms. Lis,” said Juv. “Compensation for the one you’re giving up on.”

  “If I give up on it,” said Elo.

  The waiter returned with their tea. Polum filled their cups. For a moment, the three of them sat around the table, savoring the bitter blue brew.

  “All right,” said Elo, putting down her cup. “What’s this new story you’re offering, Mr. Juv?”

  “Officer Epcott’s past is off-limits. However, his future is another matter.”

  “Meaning what?” asked Elo.

  “Epcott is about to be made a First Officer. How would your agency like to do a story on his first command, a three year tour of the Colonies?”

  Elo hesitated. It was an interesting offer, but she had her concerns. “What sort of access would we have?”

  “Full access,” said Juv. “Of course, your material would need to be vetted before it could be released to the public, but. . . .”

  “Think about it, Elo,” said Polum. “This story has all the elements of the one you set Mosu on, with the added benefit of full cooperation from the Guard and the Defense Authority. What other news agency, commercial or public, has ever had this kind of access?”

  “One of my grandfathers used to say that if something sounded too good to be true, it’s probably because it isn’t,” said Elo. “I find it hard to believe Guard Command would go along with something like this, Mr. Juv.”

  Juv inclined his head. “I’ll admit that certain elements within Guard Command are not enthusiastic about this project, but they will come around.”

  “Will they?” said Elo.

  “First Guard Officer Netevu supports this endeavor,” said Juv.

  “I’ll have to go to the network with this offer before I can agree to anything,” said Elo, cautiously. “It’s too big for me to authorize, and if the network agrees they’ll have their own conditions, Mr. Juv. You can bet on that.”

  “Of course,” said the old man.

  “There would definitely have to be a formal agreement between all the relevant parties,” said Elo. “The Guard, the Defense Authority, Officer Epcott. . . .”

  “Epcott’s agreement isn’t necessary,” said Juv. “You’ll be getting redacted copies of his formal reports to Guard Command. What Command does with those reports is none of his business.”

  Elo’s laughter caught Juv off-guard. “We’ll need more than just Epcott’s reports, Mr. Juv. If we do this story, we can’t just regurgitate information from an Office of Media Affairs press release.”

  Juv frowned. “What would you need?”

  “Access to all the official logs, and copies of the intraship public comm files...”

  Polum chuckled. “You want the whispernet files?”

  “What for?” asked Juv.

  “Because gossip, Mr. Juv, is the spice in the soup,” said Elo. “We’re going to need to paint a picture of Epcott, something the man on the street can understand and empathize with. Not just the xenos, but also the average citizen. Don’t forget the man is an alien. That’s going to be our hook with the masses, but it’s not going to be enough to keep their interest. The public will need to see the man inside the uniform, not just the uniform.”

  “I see,” said Juv. “You want the crew’s candid observations of him.”

  “Exactly.”

  Juv nodded. “Make your pitch to the network, Miss Lis. I’ll send you my comm-code. Let me know when you hear back from them.”

  Elo nodded. “I’ll contact them tomorrow.”

  “What about Mosu?” asked Polum. “How is he going to handle all of this, Elo?”

  “Fi? He wants his name to blaze, and he doesn’t care what sets it on fire. As long as his name is somewhere on this project, he’ll be happy.”

  * * * * *

  Dodimo Lujo, Sixth Officer of the Junian Guard’s Second Fleet, was not pleased. He set his PIN on his desk and said, “Netevu has lost his mind.”

  Guardsman Imi Zejaf, his personal assistant, turned away from her workstation. “May I ask what Guard Officer Netevu has done now, sir?”

  Lujo scowled. “He’s going to turn Epcott’s command into a propaganda tool.”

  “Isn’t the idea a good one, sir?”

  “It has possibilities,” admitted Lujo. “Of course, depending on how the mission progresses, it could also blow up in all our faces.”

  “Don’t you think Officer Epcott can handle it, sir?”

  “I’m sure he could. If he was aware that everything he was going to do for the next three years was going to be scrutinized, filtered and then broadcast over the public infonet.”

  Imi frowned. “Officer Epcott doesn’t know about this? How can they do that, sir? Isn’t it a violation of the privacy laws?”

  “Not according to the legal counselors. Command is going to be sharing redacted reports and intraship comms with the newsmakers. Any information transmitted over Guard comms belongs to the Guard. Command can do whatever they want with it.”

  Imi looked scandalized. “But that means that private conversations made over a Guard comm. . . .”

  “Belong to the Guard,” repeated Lujo.

  “Why isn’t Epcott being told about this project, sir?”

  “It was a condition the newsmakers insisted on. They think if Epcott knows his comms are being monitored that it will taint his responses.”

  “What are you going to do, sir?”

  Lujo sank back in his chair. He plucked the comm from behind his ear, eyed it for a moment, and then tucked it away in his desk.

  “Right now, Zejaf, I want you to order me a new comm. I seem to have mislaid my old one.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And ask Guardsman Lopil, down in Tech Services, to come to my office. My workstation is malfunctioning.”

  “Again, sir? That’s the third time this month.”

  “Faulty components, I suspect.”

  “Of course, sir. Anything else, sir?”

  “A cup of green tea would be nice.”

  “I’ll get right on that, sir,” said Imi.

  The Fleet Officer smiled. “Zejaf, what would I do without you?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know, sir,” said the young woman. She turned back to her workstation, to carry out the Fleet Officer’s orders.

  Clearsky

  5823

  Junian Calendar

  Sunlight pouring from the bedchamber’s wallscreens woke Kami Guso. For a moment, the young woman lay there, blinking, something niggling at the back of her mind. A warm body was pressed up against her, a hand lightly clasping her own. She glanced at the timeline on the wall and stiffened.

  “Oh lonelies!”

  “Kami?” Otup Wes roused, slowly, blinking. “What’s the matter?”

  “What’s the matter? What’s the matter? Otup, you great lump! You forgot to set the bed to wake us! I’m going to be late!”

  Otup blinked. Kami was tearing off her sleeping gown, running around the bedchamber in her bare skin. There were, Otup considered, worse sights to wake up to.

  “Relax. You’re not due at the base until highsun. You’ve got plenty of time.”

  She waved a hand at the timeline on the wall. Otup glanced at it and frowned. That couldn’t possibly be right. Could it? He plucked his timeband from the bedside table and squinted at it.

  “Oh, merciful pantheon!”

  “See!” shouted Kami, from the wetchamber. “I’m going to be late!”

  “Be quiet and get dressed!” shouted Otup.

  He threw back the bedclothes and pulled off his own sleeping gown, went right to the closet and started rummaging for something to wear. By the time Kami emerged from the wetchamber, Otup had pulled on a pearlescent trouser-suit and was hunting for shoes. Kami was already dressed in her uniform. The black and green outfit made her scarlet hair seem even redder.

  “Do we have time for eyepaint?” ask
ed Otup.

  “No,” said Kami. Grimacing, she jammed her feet into knee-high boots.

  “Not even sparkle?”

  “There is no time!” said Kami. “Get the car! I have to. . . .”

  “You both need to calm down before you rupture a blood vessel,” said a calm, authoritative voice.

  Kami looked up, saw their housemate, Jote Zalo, standing in the bedchamber door, sipping a cup of deggo. He wore bright red overalls, almost the exact same shade as his hair. The eyepaint around his eyes was all blue and gray, with just a hint of sparkle.

  “I can’t calm down!” said Kami. “I’m going to be late!”

  “No, you aren’t,” said Jote. “You’re dressed, Otup is dressed and I’ve got a groundcar waiting to take you to the base. So just relax. Okay?”

  “My things!” said Kami, looking around, panicked.

  Jote sighed. “You sent them to the ship last night, heartsong. Remember?”

  “Oh.” Kami blinked and sat down, hard, on the bed. “Oh gods. I’m running around like a crazed scuttle-bird!”

  “You’re just excited, that’s all,” said Jote. “Now, get up and put some sparkle on those eyes! This is a big day for you! You might as well look happy!”

  “We don’t have time,” said Kami.

  Jote cut her off with a wave of his hand. “There is always time for sparkle, heartsong.”

  “I told you things were going to be fine,” said Otup, primly.

  Kami jumped on him.

  * * * * *

  The groundcar whizzed through late morning traffic. Kami sat in the back seat, next to Otup, holding his hand. Her fingers were hot and moist. She didn’t know if it was because she was nervous or if it was Otup. In the end, she decided it didn’t really matter. She tightened her grip and leaned against her friend. Jote sat in the front seat, sipping his deggo, calm and collected as usual. Kami reached forward and took his hand.

  “Thank you, Jote. For this morning.”

  He smiled and squeezed her fingers. “It was my pleasure. Now, you have our comm-codes, right? You’ll let us know how it goes out there?”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “That’s a promise we’ll hold you too,” said Jote.

  “I wish Teelo was here,” said Otup.

  Kami blinked back sudden tears. “Me too.”

  “He’s with us in spirit,” said Jote. “I’m sure of it.”

  Maybe so, thought Kami, but it wasn’t the same thing. She clutched her friends’ hands as the groundcar sped along, weaving in and out of traffic.

  Kami could see their destination now, through the groundcar’s dome. Ted Dov Base stood west of the city, a complex of glittering silver towers, reaching for the heavens. Even as Kami watched, she saw a transport rise from the towers, floating upwards, its hull shimmering as its contragrav field distorted the light.

  “Did you hear?” said Otup. “The Committee for Scientific Evaluation has decided to stop funding teleporter research.”

  Jote grunted. “I’m not surprised.”

  “I thought you were making progress,” said Kami.

  “Not enough.” Otup sighed. “They’re going to invest the money in new ship designs.”

  Kami squeezed his fingers. “I’m sorry, Otup.”

  “Me too,” said Jote. “How’s the rest of your team taking the news?”

  “Not too badly. Most of them were ready to pursue other interests anyway.”

  “But you weren’t?”

  Otup smiled, shrugged. “I still think we can crack it.”

  “If anyone can, it will be you,” said Kami. “I won’t be surprised if I come back and find you’ve done it. They’ll probably give you your own chair at Gomis University.”

  “That would be something, wouldn’t it?” said Otup. He smiled at her. “And you! When you come back, you’ll probably be a big space hero! They’ll make you First of your own ship!”

  “Not likely,” said Kami, but grinning nonetheless. “Not for a while yet.”

  “Careful,” teased Jote. “The gods like to surprise us.”

  Kami laughed. “If the gods make me a First, that won’t be a surprise, Jote, that’ll be a joke!”

  * * * * *

  The groundcar slowed as they entered the base’s traffic lanes. There were other vehicles around them, with higher clearances, and their own car gave way before these. Kami fretted, glancing at her timeband. Jote abandoned the front seat to squeeze in next to her. He threw an arm over her shoulders.

  “It’s almost time,” said Kami.

  “Do you want us to come in with you?” asked Otup. His eyes were wet and shiny.

  “We will if you want us to,” added Jote.

  He took her hand, squeezed her fingertips. They were hot. Kami wouldn’t have been surprised if they burst into flame at the moment, she felt so nervous.

  “I don’t know,” said Kami. “It’ll probably be easier if we just say farewell in the car.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Otup.

  She drew a breath and forced a brave smile. “Yes.”

  Jote swallowed. “If you’re sure, heartsong.”

  Her eyes were wet now, the moisture threatening to spill over into tears. She turned and hugged Jote, then Otup. They huddled together in the back of the car, their arms around one another, and their heads almost touching. The car slid to a gentle stop.

  “Destination achieved,” said the auto-driver.

  Sniffling, Kami was given fierce hugs by her housemates. The air in the back of the car took on the subtle tang of misery. Eventually, Kami untangled herself from her dearest friends and opened the car door.

  A cool breeze wafted in, bringing the familiar scents of the base to Kami’s nose. She took a deep breath and gave Otup and Jote each a final farewell hug. They clung to her hands until she had climbed out of the car.

  “Be safe!” said Otup.

  “Comm us!” said Jote, giving her his best serious look. “Or we’ll pack up and come out there after you!”

  “I will,” said Kami. “I promise!”

  The auto-driver bleeped for attention, warning them that they had reached the end of their idle time. Another car was waiting to pull up to the base’s curb, to disgorge its own passengers.

  “Farewell!” said Otup.

  “Farewell!” said Jote.

  Then he pulled the door shut and the car pulled away from the curb. Kami stood there, waving at the departing vehicle, until it had vanished.

  And then, like that, she was alone.

  * * * * *

  “Kami Guso,” read the guard at the security checkpoint.

  She was a mature woman with dark red hair and severe eyepaint. Her black and green uniform fit her like a glove, emphasizing the woman’s muscular body.

  “You’re the Ninth aboard the Dawnwind?”

  Kami stood at the scanner, her hand pressed to the identification plate. There was a line of people behind her.

  “Yes.”

  “I hear that’s quite a ship,” said the guard. “Sorry about the wait. The network is slow today.”

  “I understand,” said Kami.

  Eventually, the guard’s panel chirped, confirming Kami’s biometrics. She was admitted onto the concourse.

  “Your transport leaves in ten minutes, miss. Platform Seven.”

  Nodding, Kami trotted down the concourse. She felt miserable. Alone.

  I’m lonely, thought Kami, and shuddered at the realization. Glancing around, she saw other Guard personnel, hurrying to their own destinations. Most of them looked perfectly fine, eager even, but some mirrored Kami’s own expression, miserable and uncertain.

  Merciful pantheon, thought Kami. What am I doing here?

  Back at the Institute, Kami had looked forward to this moment. It had been the focus of her studies. Perform well. Get a posting on a ship, heading outbound. See the galaxy. Explore alien cultures.

  But now that the moment had arrived, that the event was imminent, all Kami f
elt was sick. Intellectually, she knew her reaction was normal. She was leaving her friends, some of them she had known since the nursery! Her familiar social group had vanished. She was suddenly cast adrift in a sea of strangers. Disorientation would be normal, and expected, at least for the short term. She knew that she would bond with her shipmates, that they would form a new group, but knowing something and experiencing it were quite different.

  She already missed Otup and Jote.

  And Teelo.

  Teelo worst of all, because she wouldn’t see him again. Not until she road with Uxipe down the River of Sleep, and saw him in the White Fields. There, they would be reunited and would wait for the rest of their loved ones to join them.

  Oddly enough, that thought gave Kami comfort. She straightened her back, picked up her pace, until she was almost running for Platform Seven.

  * * * * *

  The transport was already boarding when Kami arrived. An attendant guided her to her seat and made sure her safety straps were secure. Another attendant wandered by, offering beverages and health pills. Kami asked for a bottle of water.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a health pill?”

  “No, thank you. I won’t need it.”

  “Ah.” The attendant smiled. “You’ve traveled by contragrav before?”

  “I’ve piloted them,” said Kami.

  The attendant smiled, went on his way. A moment later, the pilot announced that the transport was ready to depart. Attendants took a last walk around the interior, double-checking that the passengers were secure. Kami felt the familiar tingle associated with contragrav drives. They began their ascent.

  An older woman with the insignia of a Seventh on her shoulder began to sing an old travel song, “Lady Huwi Walked to Town.” Others joined in, voices blending and weaving in and around the woman’s voice. As the woman finished the first verse, a grinning young man with bright red hair started to sing the second. Belatedly, Kami realized the young man was singing the ribald version of the song. It was welcomed with loud laughter and syncopated clapping.

  Twenty minutes later, they arrived at Doorstep Station. Kami heard the familiar thunk of docking clamps latching onto the transport, felt the artificial gravity shift as the contragrav generator powered down and they fell under the influence of the station’s gravity generators. The attendants circled the cabin again, checking on passengers. There was the hiss of the airlock cycling open.