When his eyes started to feel blurry and his brain felt soft, he went down to the Arrow and assisted with the retrofit, helping Chellox design and install new sensor arrays and navigation equipment. He also demanded he be allowed to redesign the crew quarters, sick of the tiny little impersonal spaces they all put up with because they were what were there.
Chellox talked to his people, when he could, helping teach them about humanity. He wanted the races to get along. They weren’t fighting, but the truce still felt uneasy, and Chellox found that he liked humanity, over all. It was, in essence, no stupider, crass, or self-defeating than his own people, and he wanted that to be the basis for a lasting partnership. He didn’t have much time for it, though, what with his work on the Arrow. He helped design new engines that melded Tsyfarian technology with human in ways no one had considered yet. Surprisingly easy to replicate, the advances he started could go on to revolutionize space travel for both races.
Bee split her time fairly evenly between retooling the Arrow, working mostly with Chellox and the Ratzinger’s engineering team, and spending time with Bushfield. They’d met after the Tsyfarian Incident, as the records called it, and bonded, originally, over learning to deal with the cyclone of leadership and personality that was Jonah Madison, Mud’s father.
That common point of interest may have been why they talked, at first, but it quickly became a tiny blip in what kept them together. They saw the universe the same way, most often, and enjoyed the freedom of their relationship, along with the closeness. It also amused them that, since the Madisons considered them both secondary family at this point, their relationship was greeted with a huge out-pouring of celebration. Two of their ‘adopted kids,’ as Bee felt sure they were thought of often, had found something between themselves, and it made Jonah and Shae happy.
Mud, though never less than happy with the relationship, did express some concern over Bushfield and Bee working together. Bee only shook her head at him, pointing out that his own parents were the founders of the first Insertion Team and since they, she laughed, were his parents after all, that maybe he could get over it.
The truth, though, which Bushfield and Bee knew, was simply that Mud considered them both to be his best friends, separately, and now dreaded anything happening to the relationship that would make everything strange for all three of them. Bee considered it sweet, and frustratingly selfish of him.
The Arrow came together over a few days, in plans at least. Full fabrication and design builds would take weeks, testing would be another few weeks after that, and, overall, a new ship wasn’t going to just appear lovingly out of thin air.
The night they locked the new Arrow design down, Bee lay in bed with Bushfield, avoiding the party. “You sure this is OK?” she asked Bushfield, in their tangle of sheets.
“They want to throw a party for you, for doing your job and designing a ship that isn’t even tested yet. And right after they also had to tell us all off in public? Feh.”
“Speaking of,” Bee said, “they’re doing some kind of test based on your communications attempt?”
“All right,” Bushfield said, sitting up, “first of all, how is that ‘speaking of’? At all? Secondly, yeah they liked the idea and are setting up a bigger test of it the next time a comm blackout happens.”
Bee shook her head. “That’s not...it’s not smart, Sarah.” She ran a hand along Bushfield’s back. “The risk of stress pulls don’t go down. They’re gonna get someone killed.”
“Probably us,” Bushfield agreed, “and then we’ll have to save them.”
“Wait, but in this scenario we’re already dead, I thought.”
“Since when does that abdicate our duty?”
“Only one of us is actually carrying a rank.”
“You could sign up.”
“And you could join the Insertion Team.”
Bee sat up, and the two women looked at each other. They laughed together, Bee stopping only to glance at the clock that sat on a small shelf near the bed. “I really should put in an appearance at that stupid party.”
“It has to be winding down,” Bushfield said. “So might as well skip the whole thing.”
“No, come on, it’ll be fine. We’ll go for ten minutes, steal a bottle of something, and come right back here.” Bee got up and headed for the room’s small shower.
Sighing dramatically for effect, Bushfield got up and followed her. “For the booze, fine. I’ll go to the party. Ten minutes, though. I’m feeling selfish.”
“Oh, trust me, I don’t mind that,” Bee told her.
CHAPTER 13
What Bee called a party was really most of the Arrow crew, some engineers, and Mills. Housed in a conference room, someone had made sure to at least move all the chairs to the walls and fold away screens and dismantle the center table to create space. Everyone stood around, mostly talking shop and milling about, sipping cheap alcohol out of disposable cups. A plate of random, small finger foods from the mess hall sat on a separate side table from the drinks, almost completely untouched.
“So you’re running the test tonight?” Mud asked Mills as Bee and Bushfield entered the room.
“The blackout test?” Bee said, in a rush. “Tonight?”
“There’s a blackout going on. We’re not sounding alarms for them anymore because they keep increasing in frequency, and no one needs constant alarms dulling them to other problems. So, since you have the test ready—”
“But how are you doing it?” Bee glanced nervously at Bushfield, then at Mud, trying to will them to join her in stopping this.
“This isn’t the place,” Mills said. He looked around the room and shrugged. “Though no one would care and we all have clearance. Fine. It’s the same thing Bushfield did, on a bigger scale. Hooked up a large-scale engine to a communications array, drifting off the ship, in the current blackout zone.”
“Sir,” Bushfield said, “that may not be the best idea.”
“The engine isn’t attached to the ship and is floating free at twice what we worked out as a safe distance, just in case. We need the data, and can record this from outside if it goes sideways. If it works, then even better—we have a plan for now. What’s the concern?” Mills waited, knowing these people weren’t prone to needless worry.
“I’m thinking having the Ratzinger inside the same system as the test is the problem,” Mud said. “Bee, back me up on this, but we don’t know how wide the effects could be.”
“We really don’t,” she agreed. “Bushfield’s ship got torn apart—”
“And the ships near her were fine,” Mills said.
“Yes, sir, but if you increase the power you’re putting into the test, then the power coming out should increase as well,” Bushfield said.
“Plus,” Bee said, trying to do the math in her head as quickly as possible, “we don’t know the conversation rate, in to out. The power of Bushfield’s engine affected her ship and, let’s say, a hundred feet away from it, the other ships wouldn’t have been harmed, but if that scales exponentially and not linearly, then...” she trailed off, watching Mill’s face carefully.
“We have no proof of that, and the engineers doing the test were sure that—”
“So they did a small-scale test first?” Mud asked, cutting him off.
“No, they said they modeled it, and—”
“Sir,” Bushfield broke in, “they modeled it based on partial data from one data point. How could you approve this, sir?”
“Over my head, mostly. No, let’s be honest here, I signed off on it, too. And I shouldn’t have,” Mills said, walking toward the door. “Come on, let’s go stop this.”
Mud, Bee, and Bushfield followed Mills. As he left, Mud waved off Steelbox and Olivet, both at the party, to stay behind. He also signaled them to make sure their comms were on, just in case.
They walked, quickly, a military march of a stride, through the ship to the science observation deck. Mills burst in, demanding the test be shut down. A nu
mber of people in the room, all previously splitting their time watching both their monitors and out the observation window, nervously informed him the test was already underway. The woman in charge hurried over, trying to settle everyone down at once.
“Lieutenant Commander Mills, sir, the test is going fine, as you can see.” She swept her hand grandly, indicating the observation window. “Everything is proceeding according to plan.”
“Except I’m telling you, Doctor...”
“Harrison,” she told him, trying to not show how put out she was that he couldn’t be bothered to remember her name.
“Right, well, Doctor Harrison, there’s a new plan,” Mills said. “Shut it down.”
“It’s an automatic routine,” she said. “We can’t just shut it down.”
“Why not?” Bee asked, moving to one of the consoles and leaning over the person currently using it.
“Because it’s automatic,” Harrison said slowly, as if she spoke to a child.
“Automatic with no contingency?” Bee asked her. “No, never mind—Mills, fire her later, please? For now we do this dirty. Bushfield, get in a ship and blow that engine out of the dark.”
“On it,” Bushfield said, not waiting for Mills’ consent.
“I can get there faster with a GravPack,” Mud said.
“You’d have to get too close,” Bushfield said, already at the door. “Sir, permission to launch?”
“Go,” Mills said.
Bushfield ran out of the room. Harrison started to loudly proclaim how wrong this all was, who she would bring it up to, and how badly it would go for everyone. Mills looked at her, taking a slow, deep, breath. “Sit. Down,” he told her evenly. “You’ve done a lot of good work, so no,” he glanced at Bee, “I won’t fire you, but no contingency? That’s dreadfully negligent. We’ll review your record later and deal with this when we’re all calmer. For now, please, just sit and let me run the room.”
Harrison sat, glaring at the three intruders to her space. Bee asked the person still sitting in front of the console she was standing over to move. They did, and she sat heavily into the chair, not sure what she felt most annoyed by: possible impending doom or the ruining of the remainder of her night. They tied, really.
Mud stood there, feeling useless. “Bee, Mills, what can I—”
“Get your team on standby,” Mills said without looking. “I’ll assume we won’t need them, but if we do, we’ll need them quick.”
“For what?” Mud asked.
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t need your team. All right?”
“Right,” Mud said, and turned to face a corner of the room. He spoke quickly into his communicator and made sure everyone would be at the Arrow and have it ready for quick launch, waiting for him and Bee, if the situation called for it. He gave them a quick update, sparse on details, and turned back to the room. “Bee, where’re we at?”
“Deep Water launch in three. The test engine is still spinning up and will try to punch communications through in four, if I read this right. It’s gonna be close. She’ll take at least two minutes to get to the engine, another to destroy it. That’s two minutes we might not have.”
Her communications open but muted, Bushfield heard Bee’s timetable and cursed, doing her systems check as fast as possible while still not being unsafe. No point in a gamble that left you dead. Then again, taking too long to launch...she cursed again and fired her engines bright. Crew ran, leaving the very last of the safety checks alone, and opened the hangar for her. Shooting into space, Bushfield turned wide, homing in directly to the engine.
Blaster fire would cripple it but not shut it down instantly. She checked missile stores, thankful the refuel and restock had went as planned. Pulling up a HUD target display, she sighted the engine carefully, had the computer’s targeting system back her up, and fired three times, two more than should be needed. They wanted that engine gone, she’d damn well make sure it was gone but good.
The missiles headed to target, all three dead on. The engine used all of its power to push communications packets out. The missiles grew closer—a hundred feet, sixty, fifty—and at twenty feet to target, the engine...changed.
No one looking would swear to what the engine actually did. Explosion felt like the wrong word, implosion also sat wrong. It folded, was the eventual agreed-on word for what happened. The blackness of space lit up white, causing Bushfield’s canopy to darken instantly as safety measures cut in.
On the Ratzinger, alarms screamed, flashing lights and blaring warnings. The science observation window darkened, same as Bushfield’s canopy, causing a spate of cursing to erupt in the room. Mills demanded someone get the view back, as well as demanding to know what was going on. No one had answers. No one possibly could.
Outside, in the blackness of space, a Fold happened, and slowly split open.
Bushfield drifted nearby, flipping switches and trying to get her engines to cut back in. They’d switched off not long after the white light had hit her canopy. Physics still applied, however, and so she drifted at speed toward where the engine had been, with no engines of her own to turn her.
Her sensors gave off readings that she dismissed as impossible as they sputtered back to life. They’d gone dark when the engines had and were just now coming back online, which let her try her engines again. No luck.
The Ratzinger’s sensors and engines still worked, but the readings they were processing made as little sense. Mills looked at the readouts, turning to Mud. “If that data is even partially correct—”
“Arrow’s gone as soon as step foot on it. Old ship’s still in dock. Bee! Let’s move!”
Bee looked from her screen to Mud and back again, “Sarah’s—”
“About to get a pick-up. Come on!” He nodded at Mills and spoke into his communicator. “Arrow. We’re on the way to you. We launch the second we get there.”
“Engines already cycling, Cap,” Steelbox said. “Got your suits and packs on board.”
Mud ran over to Bee, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Bee, we need to go now.”
Bee looked at him. “Two seconds, have to set up a message first. Sarah’s comms will be down, everything will be screwy, but,” Bee hit a button and stood, “she’s smart enough to get this.”
Mud nodded at Mills. “Arrow to launch and find out what the hell just happened.”
Mills nodded, “Then go!”
Bee gave her monitor one last look, hoping her message would get through. “Don’t touch this station,” she said, to no one in particular. And I swear,” Bee looked at Harrison, “if you broke the fabric of space we’re going to have words when I get back.”
“Punch her later, rescue mission now,” Mud said, turning to run out of the room. Bee followed, leaving Mills with a last look.
The ran in silence, dodging past Ratzinger crew rushing to ready stations, all the way down to the hangars.
Out in space, drifting toward the Fold, Bushfield considered her options. She could bail on the ship, would have to soon enough. She didn’t want to get so much as touched directly by whatever she’d seen. She also couldn’t quite tell when it would be too late to bail. While she tried to work out her timing—based on incomplete, and incomprehensible, data—she noticed a hollow, echo-filled thrum starting from her canopy. She went still, closing her eyes.
There was a pattern to the vibrations. Laughing, she rested her hand on the ship’s canopy. Her communications array didn’t work. There’d been no way to talk to the Ratzinger, but Bee’d be there watching. And she’d solved it. Bushfield grabbed the pencil and paper all pilots kept stored under the console for emergency use and made markings. The vibrations were in an old code pattern. Bee must’ve rigged up a laser, Bushfield thought, to vibrate her canopy with a message. How she’d worked out tracking to keep it going with her drift, well, that was Bee.
The message, decoded, read only, “Sit. Arrow,” which wasn’t really great, but gave her enough information to work out the rest. St
ay in the ship, hold on, the Arrow was en route. Fine. She’d wait. And while she did, she would gather, look at, and back up all the sensor data she could.
The Arrow burst free of the hangar and headed directly toward the Fold. “How’re we doing this,” Mud asked the crew, “do we tow or just grab Bushfield?”
“That ship might have sensor data we can’t replicate,” Steelbox said. “I think we have to tow.”
“If the Fold,” Bee said, “I’m calling it the Fold, I’ll show you why later but it’s a Fold, I don’t know how—”
“Bee,” Olivet said, “tow or grab?”
“Right,” she said, trying to focus, “if the Fold isn’t growing and we can get close enough—”
“How close is safe?” Chellox asked. “It killed her engines, right? Otherwise she would fly free, so do we know that won’t happen to us?”
“No,” Mud said, “we know basically nothing. Right, then. We’ll start a tow the hard way and abandon if needed.”
“Mud—” Bee started to warn him.
“I know, but it’s the best way. I’ll go out and push. You scan the ship from a distance. If there’s radiation, anything making the ship unsafe, signal me, I’ll grab Bushfield and let her fighter go to hell.”
“That’s...Mud, that’s not the best plan,” Chellox said as they came within visual distance of Bushfield’s fighter. “We scan the ship first and—”
“Quick, what state is Bushfield in?” Mud asked. No one answered him. No one could. “Exactly. We don’t know. And until we do know, we assume she’s incapable of helping herself. We take care of her first, worry about stupid plans later.”
“And if it incapacitates you, too?” Steelbox asked.
“Then you folk come up with a second plan that’s much, much smarter and rescue both of us.”
“Cap, that’s—”
“Mud—” Olivet and Steelbox said simultaneously.
The Endless Sky Page 9
