Sloan rubbed his bald head. “Why do you say that, Commander?”
“Look at me, Sloan, and drop the commander shit, all right? You're second-in-command and we have to work together.”
Sloan straightened the green shirt of his uniform. “You want me to go into it here?”
“Please.”
“All right,” he said. “To begin with, you let Darron run on too long, draw you in. The moment he questioned our orders, you should have slammed the hatch shut.”
“What else?”
He shrugged. “You defended General Loran against Darron's charges. I know morale's suffered in the fleet because of continued setbacks, and there's chatternet about corruption and depravity at the top, including the Emperor's court, but you shouldn't do that, Stella. In the service, people have been routinely executed for insubordination and dereliction of duty. Our physician is your subordinate. He answers to you, not the other way around.”
She nodded as Sloan went to the wall. “What's your pleasure, ser?”
“Coffee, please. Black.”
He keyed a panel and a moment later handed her a squeeze bulb.
Sloan selected a drink for himself and returned. “Mine's hot cocoa. He grinned. “Been crazy for it ever since—”
Suddenly he slipped on something and dropped it. Stella's hand shot out and caught the container before it fell ten centimeters.
“Bloody damned Scaley!” He blinked at her hand, and then stooped to pick up the offending object-a silver pen.
“Must have dropped it earlier,” he said, accepting the bulb from her. “My God, it's not just strength, is it? I never saw anyone move so fast.”
She thumbed off the lid on her straw. “The servos respond instantly to the brain's signal. I've been told it's nine times quicker than normal.”
“I believe it.” He took a sip, and then rubbed his large nose. “We haven't talked about your, uh, condition.”
“Go ahead.”
“I've never met anyone as ... synthetic as you. About sixty percent?”
“Nearly seventy. They couldn't clone me-something wrong with my DNA. And while they did manage to save half my bones, I'm basically high tech. Strictly state of the art, you might say.”
“Well, you sure surprised George and the rest of us. Prosthetic surgery must have come a long way lately. You're obviously faster, stronger, and more efficient than any of us.”
She swallowed some coffee. Faster and stronger, yes. Certainly more efficient. Unlike her facial expressions, she had mastered her new body's fine and gross motor skills within a month. But she could barely taste the coffee and only faintly feel the sun on her ‘skin’ or the wind on her back. If she was careless with a laser knife, she could cut off a hand without even knowing it.
And I haven't felt anything sexual since even before the surgery, she thought. Even if a man wanted me, I'd be like stone.
“What about you, Sloan?” Her mouth curved in a good imitation of a smile. “How long have you been getting a space tan at the Emperor's expense?”
He grinned at the old joke of enlisted personnel. “Thirty-two years, man and boy. Came up the hard way. I've been a loader, a ship's steward, a shuttle station maintenance Johnny, you name it. Finally earned a run at one of the systems guilds in nav and com.”
Stella found herself liking this homely man. “According to records, you've been a first officer for nine years but never applied to the Academy to command your own ship. I was a first officer too, and did apply, though they kept turning me down.” She paused. “If you don't mind my asking, was it money or connections that kept you from applying? I know they're important.”
Sloan dropped the container in a wall disposal unit. “Important? Stella, without them, there's no chance at all they'll let an enlisted grunt like me enter the Academy and command his own ship. That's the way it is in this caste-ridden empire, no matter how good you are. Everybody has their station, and there's no rising above it.” He shook his head. “But the truth is, a man's got to know what he's cut out for. Being the one at the top who makes all the decisions and bears all the responsibilities-I'm just not suited for that. But you are.”
“Even after my recent performance?”
“Shaky performances are common for new commanders. I've served under several, and believe me, you're already far from the worst. Besides, the meeting wasn't that bad, especially the way you tamed George.”
“Thanks, Sloan.”
“Sure.” He stifled a yawn. “I'm zacked, think I'll turn in.” He headed toward the door, and then stopped. “Just out of curiosity, do you still sleep?”
She nodded. “About three hours a night. It used to be six.”
“Commander, I need only one,” a voice said.
“Jason?” She stiffened, remembering.
“I tried to warn you,” Sloan said gently. “Remember? I asked if you wanted to speak here on the bridge, but you wouldn't listen.”
She watched him leave, and then turned to the wall above the holovid screens.
“I would have patched out, Commander,” Jason's rich voice said from everywhere, “but except for the officers’ personal quarters, I'm programmed to have continual and full access to the ship and its instruments.”
“I didn't know that.”
“Forgive me for asking, but weren't you supplied with op specs for this craft? My schematics should be among them.”
She turned away, and then realized his ‘eyes’ were everywhere. Embarrassed, she touched the padded command chair located in the center of the bridge. “The files I was given were vast. I didn't have time.” She knew that was no excuse, for she was the one in command. At the moment it seemed she couldn't stop making mistakes.
Jason was silent. Stella turned back to the wall above the holovid screens. “You seem different from the implant pilots we had on other ships. They were limited, interfaced only with the drive systems. And they...”
“Had bodies?” Jason's voice permeated the room from all directions. “With all due respect, I am a much improved model. You see, Commander, I am the ship.”
You ARE the ship? My God, Stella suddenly realized, he's even more artificial than me. Except for his brain, he's all metal.
“Tell me about it, Jason,” she said. “What's it like being an implant pilot?”
“What's it like? Ser, I'm not only much more efficient than earlier models. I feel different.”
“Feel different? How?”
“Commander, I'm afraid it will sound strange.”
“Tell me anyway. How do you feel different?”
“How?” Jason hesitated, and then grew enthusiastic. “When I'm in space, I can feel the solar wind on my skin, feel the power surge through my engines. I ... I'm no longer just a little man with a limited body who's trapped in a dull routine. I'm far more than that. You see, I am the ship, and all of you are like living cells within me.”
Bloody Scale-face, Stella thought. He not only sounds strange, he sounds half-mad.
“Commander, do you see the stars?”
She gazed out the plexiport at the glittering vastness of space.
“Aren't those lights beautiful?” he almost sang. “When I'm thrusting at full power, I hunger for them, and all I want is to race beyond those distant stars. I want to devour the void, consume it forever.”
For once, Stella was glad her face did not easily reflect emotion. Troubled, she studied the stars, feeling as if they formed some mystic pattern she must solve.
“Commander,” Jason said, “may I make an observation about one of your main systems officers?”
“Proceed,” she said. Jason now sounded subdued, no longer filled with pride and manic joy. At the same time, the resonant tones stirred something inside her.
“After our meeting, I'm more concerned than ever about psyche-physician Darron,” Jason said. “To be honest, I'm worried.”
“Please get on with it,” she ordered, slipping fully into the role of command. “If you have
any information at all, you must share it.”
“Yes, Commander. Dr. Darron on two occasions has told crewmen that this mission is stupid and reckless.”
“As he did at our meeting.”
“Yes, but he went further, and both incidents involved engine techs. I don't have to tell you how improper that is.”
“No, you don't. What else did he say?”
There was a pause. “That we're a decadent, corrupt empire past our prime and the Scaleys have not only crushed us in every single battle, but will ultimately destroy us completely. That General Loran is old and no longer capable of leading.”
“I see,” she said.
“And ser, at your meeting, Dr. Darron challenged you. If you'll pardon my saying, ser, your officers should support you in your difficult task, not try to tear you down.”
“Thank you, Jason.”
“Ser, I just want you to know that I will always be here for you, even when others aren't. You can count on me.”
She felt moved by Jason's warm support and pledge of loyalty. Then she recalled she was talking to a disembodied voice. What was happening to her, and why was it happening on her very first command? She had been ordered to launch in twelve hours. Should she delay on such hearsay? For God's sake, grumbling and complaints were common on every ship she had served on.
But what if Darron was sowing sedition among those who maintained the engines?
Still, what kind of observer was Jason? Could she really believe someone who had sounded so emotional? What did anyone really know about the effects of being an implant pilot? The procedure was so new.
“Commander,” Jason said, “is everything all right?”
This time, despite her concerns, his voice stirred her, reminding her of desire she had forgotten. But she couldn't feel desire; all her organs and hormones were artificial.
“Commander?”
“Thank you for informing me,” she said with an effort. “Please continue to do so if you observe anything suspicious.”
“Aye, aye, ser.”
She nodded. “Good night, Jason.” Even as she left the bridge, she heard his soft parting words.
“Good night, Commander. Rest well.”
Oh God, she thought, what a voice! I wonder what he looks like.
[Back to Table of Contents]
* * *
CHAPTER TWO
Pain.
She writhed in agony, trying not to scream. Something pressed against her arm. She heard clicking.
"Shit. She's over a thousand rem. We'll have to isolate her."
"Right. Let's go."
Sounds, footsteps. Something touched her. “Okay, Tom ... ready? One, two, three ... LIFT."
She seemed to soar, weightless in a bubble of her own torment. A disembodied voice wafted through her dream.
"Shane okay?"
"Yeah. Says she saved him. Knocked him on his ass to the side and took it full blast herself."
"Shit, look at her skin. All the scrubbing in the world ain't gonna help. The stuff's in her bones by now."
"Well, we can try parts."
"Or clone."
"Have to see a gene scan first."
Suddenly a rift opened and she was more aware. She heard the wheels of a gurney turning beneath her. Above, a ceiling with bright lighting raced by. She could just make out two men moving quickly at the foot of the gurney. They were dressed in green rad suits and the light gleamed on their transparent face guards so she couldn't see their features.
"Any word yet?"
"Hear it went solid. They couldn't get any coolant into the reactor loop."
"So it's blown?"
"Any time now."
Something slammed behind her head, and double doors burst open and then closed behind the figures. She couldn't see them, and they were unaware of her. Angry, awash in pain and struggling to breathe, she tried to sit up, but hands lifted and glided her into an enclosure. Bleary, sinking into semi-consciousness again, she peered about.
"There, there, dear,” a woman said from behind a protective window. She looked a million kilometers away.
A steel arm extended a hypo held in metallic fingers. Another arm swabbed her arm with disinfectant, as if procedures must be followed at all costs.
"Don't!” she cried, but so weakly she barely heard it. Oh God, why couldn't she breathe? Why did her chest hurt? “Don't cut! Please don't cut anything off!"
The needle slid into her arm, withdrew.
"No pros ... prosthe...” She tried to remember a word but felt herself fade. Soon all that remained were faces watching her from behind windows. That, and the pain.
Soon, no pain. No faces.
Only her pounding, pounding heart.
* * * *
She came awake in the middle of her cabin. The heart she had felt racing in her dream beat calmly in her chest as always, sixty-two times a minute. All the terrors or physical strain in the world wouldn't increase its pace by one beat.
Yes, she was efficient.
Removing her sleeping gown, she stepped naked to the full-length mirror, seeing a tall, slender blonde woman with a stiff face. She forced her lips to smile. How easily and naturally she had smiled once. Now, unless she was careful, her face resembled a frozen, expressionless mask.
Her hand rose, cupped a small, synthetic breast, which she could barely feel.
I should have told them to go all the way, make me like Jason. Only a brain with no frail legacy of flesh to confuse me.
She sighed. Even if she had renounced her flesh, would she have been any happier? Perhaps she'd be even more miserable.
Going to her desk comconsole she made two calls, ordering the officers to be in her cabin in ten minutes. Then she started to dress. Halfway through, though, she made another call. The person who answered seemed surprised but said she'd be glad to show Commander McMasters around her department in half an hour. No trouble at all.
Now why did I call her? Stella thought afterward. What possible purpose would my visit there serve?
But the appointment was made, and she used the time before her officers’ arrival to call up Jason's schematics. A blue holo outline of the ship appeared, overlaid by red lines emanating from the bow where Jason's brain was located. The lines seemed to go everywhere except for a few private quarters.
After she finished reading the specs, Myles Uxman arrived, followed shortly by Sloan.
“The first thing I want to ask,” she said closing the door, “is whether Jason has access to this particular cabin? Myles, that should fall under Internal Security. I've studied Jason's schems and he does seem to be excluded from a few places.”
Myles and Sloan shared a look of surprise. “That's correct, ser. While he has virtually complete access to this ship, he is excluded from the cabins of main systems officers.”
“You're sure?”
Myles’ round, plump face frowned. “I've examined the interface specs personally, Commander. There's no way he can patch into restricted territory.”
“So he can't override? He can't listen to us now?”
Myles and Sloan shared another look. “What is it, Stella?” Sloan asked.
Folding her arms, Stella told them of Jason's excitement, of his concern about Dr. Darron.
When she was finished, both men looked worried. “I didn't know Jason was acting like that,” Myles said.
“You see the problem, don't you?” Stella coaxed. “I can't have an unstable pilot in charge of the ship.”
“There shouldn't be any danger of that,” Sloan said. He glanced at Myles. “We went over Jason's schems together. In related ways, we're both responsible for his operation. Myles is concerned about his effect on security, me with Jason's nav instructions. We've both found nothing to worry about.”
“But he's a new development, isn't he? A high-tech breakthrough. We haven't really had time to find out what effect it will have on one's sanity to be totally removed from the body for an extended period. I know Jason's
not supposed to be on-line for more than three months without being relieved, but the fact is, he could become mad or delusional within a single day, couldn't he? He referred to us all as being like cells inside him, and said he wanted to ‘devour the void forever.'”
Sloan shrugged. “I've talked a lot with Jason. He's had two short missions like this before. Besides that, he's got a good sense of humor and impresses me as being very dedicated to his position.”
“The Empire shares your optimism,” Stella said. “Especially since a disembodied brain is more practical, able to use the ship's systems more quickly and efficiently.”
“Surely,” Sloan said, “the Empire wouldn't rashly sanction his use without ... Bloody damned Scaley, do you realize half the ships in the fleet have similar pilots?”
“What did he say about the stars?” Myles said. “That he ‘hungered’ for them?”
“Yes,” Stella said. “And while we're considering Jason's possible godlike delusions, let's not forget that he may also be paranoid.”
“But his suspicions about Darron make sense,” Sloan said. “Stella, that's another reason Jason interfaces with most of the ship-so he can check human circuits as well as mechanical ones and report dangerous conduct to head systems officers. It's another way he's cost-effective.”
“I think I see what Commander McMasters means,” Myles said. “He—”
“Call me Stella, Myles.”
Myles hesitated, and then smiled. “All right. It's conceivable that Jason's near-omniscience could lead to delusions that he's...” He shook his head. “But I can't believe it. Like Sloan says, the Empire—”
“Did Jason inform you of Dr. Darron?” Stella said.
Myles blinked. “No.”
“Shouldn't he have? I just scanned his schems, Myles. Jason is supposed to report directly to you, the Director of Internal Security. Not to the commander.”
Myles pursed his lips. “That was irregular, I admit. I'll speak to him.”
“There's another possibility too,” Sloan said. “Dr. Darron could be the security risk. His conduct at the meeting bordered on insult and insubordination.” He rubbed his bald head, which gleamed in the overhead light. “Perhaps he's trying to get the engine techs to strike-or worse.”
Beyond Those Distant Stars Page 2
