Asimov's SF, December 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  “Something on your mind, Jules?” Ted turned to me as I used a ceiling rail to make my way across the compartment.

  “Damn right.” I was trying hard to keep my temper in check, but I wasn't succeeding. “I can't work with her, skipper. She's insane."

  “Hmm ... yes, I think I see your point.” He thoughtfully stroked his chin as if pondering a solution to the problem. “Well, I'd hate to lose you, but I suppose Emcee can do double-duty as shuttle pilot.” He reached to his earpiece. “I'll put in a call to New Brighton, have someone bring up a skiff to take you home."

  “Whoa, wait a minute! That's not what I..."

  “You just accused one of your crewmates of insanity. Since I picked Rain myself, I suppose that means that you lack respect for my judgment. And if you're unable to work with either of us..."

  “Just a second! I..."

  “I'll give you—” Ted glanced at his watch “—sixty seconds. But that's all. We're rather busy just now."

  He wasn't joking. Ted Harker might be an easy-going chap, but no one questioned his authority on the bridge of his ship and got away with it. I took a deep breath, started over again. “Sir, I have total respect for your judgment. And ... all right, maybe she isn't insane. But you heard what happened out there...."

  “I did, indeed. All of us did. That's why my wife went down below.” His eyes narrowed. “Which is where you should be right now. Why aren't you?"

  “Because ... Captain, how much experience does Rain have with this sort of thing? Seriously?"

  “Very little. In fact, this is only her third time in space ... and her first assignment as quartermaster."

  I stared at him. “Her first ... what did she do before then?"

  “She worked groundside at New Brighton for eight months before signing on with Janus. After that, two orbital sorties aboard cargo shuttles, unloading freight from the Lee. True, she hasn't logged as many hours as you have, but she takes her job seriously and I have complete confidence in her. I'm sorry that you have problems working for someone younger than you, but..."

  “No, sir, that's not it. It's just that ... look, she's been on my case ever since I met her. I've been trying to get along with her, but it's gotten to the point where...” Again, I hesitated. “If you really want me to leave the ship, then I will. I can't work with someone who carries a chip on her shoulder all the time."

  Ted didn't say anything for a moment, and I wondered if I'd just talked myself out of a job. Behind him, Doc was quietly shaking his head. An old pro, he knew how petty feuds among crew members could escalate if left unresolved.

  “Very well,” Ted said at last. “I'll have a few words with Rain once she gets off duty, ask her to calm down. If she continues to harass you, I want you to let me know. As for now ... since you're here, I have a small errand for you.” He glanced over his shoulder at Doc. “Can you get along without me for a minute?” The chief nodded, and Ted unstuck his shoes from the deck. Grabbing hold of a ceiling rail, he pulled himself around the console. “Come along, please."

  I followed Ted to the other side of the bridge, where we stopped beside a locker recessed in the bulkhead behind his chair. “One thing you should know about Rain,” he said quietly once we were away from the others. “She comes from a rather powerful family on Coyote, and they have a lot of pull with Janus."

  “So Morgan insisted that you hire her?” I was no stranger to cronyism—the Western Hemisphere Union is rife with it—but this was something I didn't expect.

  “Pretty much so, yes ... although I meant what I said about having confidence in her.” He produced a key ring from his vest and began sorting through it. “But the Thompson Wood Company is a major investor in Morgan's company, and if Molly Thompson wants her great-niece to have a job..."

  “I see."

  “Yes, well...” Ted inserted a key into the locker. “Off the record, I think she's rather nervous about all this, so she's taking it out on you. Once you get to know her, you may find that she's actually quite nice. But she's had a tough time lately, what with her brother and...” He stopped himself. “Sorry. Think I said too much. And it's none of our business, besides."

  That was the second time I'd heard about Rain's brother. The captain had clearly overstepped the boundaries, though, and I wasn't about to press the issue, not when I'd come so close to getting fired. So I said nothing as he opened the locker and reached inside.

  He withdrew a ceramic jug, its neck sealed with a cork stopper. Since I'd spent some time in Liberty's taverns, I immediately recognized it for what it was: a quart of corn liquor, known on Coyote as bearshine.

  “I've trusted you with one secret already,” Ted murmured as he handed it to me. “Now I'm going to trust you with another. I want you to take this to Ash, and be quiet about it."

  “Yeah. Okay.” I tucked the jug under my left arm; Ted added an empty squeezebulb, which I stuck in a thigh pocket of my suit. “He's an alcoholic, isn't he?"

  “I suppose. But again, he's here because Morgan insists, so what he does in his cabin isn't our concern.” Ted closed the locker. “I'm keeping him on a short leash, though, and that means keeping his liquor supply under lock and key. This should be enough to get him to where we're supposed to go ... after that, he'll have to work for the rest."

  “And what is his job, exactly?"

  “He ... ah, perhaps we should call him an interpreter, and leave it at that.” He nodded toward the floor hatch. “Now off with you. Change out of your suit, then pay a visit to Mr. Ash. I'll have a word with Ms. Thompson. Fair enough?"

  “Yes, sir,” I murmured. “Thank you.” Ted nodded, then began to make his way back across the bridge.

  I stared at the jug of bearshine. A brat and a wetbrain. This mission was getting stranger by the minute.

  * * * *

  X

  I heard Ash's guitar as soon as I opened the hatch to Deck Two, melancholy chords that drifted down the corridor. Whatever he was playing, it had no clear rhyme or pattern, but nonetheless spoke of loneliness and regret. Like finding a bouquet of dying roses in the heart of a machine.

  I lingered just inside the deck hatch for a few moments before I remembered why I was there. Grasping the ceiling rail with my free hand, I pulled myself down the corridor toward Ash's cabin. I was trying to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to disturb him, yet the moment before I raised my hand to knock on his door, the music suddenly stopped.

  “Come in,” he called out. “It's not locked."

  How did he know I was there? Perhaps he'd heard the deck hatch open, but still ... trying to shake off the willies, I slid open the door.

  Ash floated in midair, cross-legged and upside-down, one foot hooked on a ceiling rail, guitar nestled within his arms. Fashioned of fine-grained brown spruce, with silver strings running along a black fingerboard, it was as beautiful as the sounds it produced. It was the first time I'd seen him without his robe; he wore a tan cotton tunic and matching trousers, loose-fitting and almost monkish in appearance. Ash himself was older than I originally thought: lean and bony, with a mop of brown hair growing grey at the temples. His eyes were surrounded by dark rings, as if he hadn't slept well in years.

  “Hi, Gordon,” I began. “Captain sent me down here to..."

  “Bring me a bottle. Yes, I can see.” He idly strummed at his guitar. “You can put it over there,” he added, nodding toward a net for personal items that dangled from the bulkhead next to his sleepsack. “I'll get to it later."

  Apparently he wasn't a social drinker. Well, that made sense; I'd met a few drunks, and the hard-core boozehounds drink alone. Twisting around so that I could attach my shoes to the floor, I stepped into the cabin. “Nice guitar. Heard it down the hall."

  “Thanks.” He didn't look up at me. “And by the way, I prefer to be called Ash. No one calls me by my first name."

  “Sure ... sorry.” I stuck the jug into the net, then pulled the squeezebulb out of my pocket. “Ever use one of these before? You ne
ed to unscrew the top, see, like this—” I demonstrated by removing the cap “—then fit it over the..."

  “I can manage.” Irritation crossed his face. “Incidentally, just so that you know ... I'm not an alcoholic.” His fingers plucked out sharp, discordant notes as he spoke, as if to accentuate his words. “Or a drunk, or a wetbrain, or whatever else you've decided to label me."

  That brought me up short. I stared at him, trying to figure out what I'd said or done to lead him to guess what I thought of him. “I didn't..."

  “Of course you didn't. You're being polite. But I can...” A brief glare, then he looked away again. “Never mind. Just in a mood, that's all."

  “Sure. No problem.” He was making me nervous, so I screwed the cap back on the squeezebulb and stuck it in the net beside the jug. “Well, look, if you need anything else, I'm right next door."

  Ash didn't respond. Seeing that my presence wasn't wanted, I turned to leave. I was halfway to the door when he suddenly spoke up.

  “'Galaxy Blues,'” he said.

  I stopped, looked back at him again. “Excuse me?"

  “The song I was playing ... it's called ‘Galaxy Blues.'” His hands returned to the strings, and once again I heard the same progression I'd caught while I was in the corridor. “Been working on it for awhile,” he went on, his eyes still avoiding mine. “Kind of weird, I know, but ... well, I'm getting there."

  “Sounds nice.” I hesitated. “Got any words for it?"

  “Nope. No lyrics.” Ash glanced up at me, and I was surprised to see a sly smile on his face, as if he was sharing a private joke. “That's what I like about music. You don't need words to get a point across. Just screws things up, really, when all you really should have is..."

  His right hand abruptly shifted further up the neck of his guitar, and he produced a quick succession of warbling, high-pitched notes. “That's you ... trying hard to rationalize something that doesn't really need to make sense."

  I felt my face grow warm, but before I could say anything, his smile became a knowing grin, and the progression drifted to a lower, more solemn bass sound. “And that's what happens when you find that nothing really fits into your safe and conservative world-view. But believe me, out here in the great beyond—” a snake-like ramble of notes—"everything is strange. The sooner you get used to that, the better off you'll be."

  He was beginning to piss me off. “What are you, some kind of...?"

  Something cold crept down my back as I suddenly recalled the first time I'd seen him, peering in through the window of my jail cell. As incredible—let's face it, as impossible—as it seemed, nonetheless it was the only explanation that made sense.

  “Mind reader?” Ash chuckled as he pushed aside his guitar. Uncoiling himself from his lotus position, he pushed himself off the ceiling. “You could say that,” he said as he glided over to where I'd left the jug. “Or maybe I'm just an astute observer."

  Perhaps he was only that ... but all the same, his hands trembled as he uncorked the jug, and he swore under his breath as a few globular droplets of bearshine floated away before he managed to fit the squeezebulb around the neck. Ash finally managed to fill the bulb and close the jug again without wasting any more booze; he looked almost infantile as he put the bulb's nipple to his lips and took a slug that would have choked anyone else.

  “You can go now,” he rasped, as he pinched the bulb shut. “Come back again when you've got more of this."

  A brisk wave of his hand as he dismissed me. No doubt he'd spend the rest of the day getting bombed. Once again, I turned toward the door ... but not before he had some parting words for me. “She really does like you, y'know,” he murmured. “Just as much as you're attracted to her. Too bad neither of you will admit it to yourselves."

  I almost asked how he could possibly be aware of these things ... but I already knew the answer to that, didn't I? And just then, I only wanted to put a wall between us. Hoping that a bulkhead was enough to separate my mind from his, I hurried from his cabin, shutting the door behind me.

  And found Morgan Goldstein waiting for me in the corridor.

  “What are you doing in there?” It wasn't a polite question, and there was no mistaking the anger in his eyes.

  “Captain Harker told me to bring him a jug of bearshine.” I pretended innocence, even though it was clear that he'd been eavesdropping all the while. “Just stopped to have a chat. Anything wrong with that?"

  “Yes.” Morgan kept his voice low. “From now on, you're to leave him alone. If anyone asks you to bring him anything, you come to me first. I'll..."

  “Pardon me, sir, but if the skipper gives me an order, it's my duty to carry it out. I'm under no obligation to ask your permission to do that.” I would have turned away from him, but he was blocking the way to my cabin. “Now, if you'll excuse me..."

  “Of course ... you're right.” His manner softened. “My apologies, Mr. Truffaut. I forgot that you were only following orders.” Morgan moved aside to let me pass. “But in the future, I'd appreciate it if you'd ... minimize your contact with Ash. He's quite sensitive, and needs all the privacy he can get."

  “I'll try to keep that in mind.” Unsticking my shoes from the floor, I started to push myself down the passageway. But then...

  “Just one question, though,” I said, grabbing the ceiling rail and turning back to him again. “Does he drink so much to keep from hearing everyone else's thoughts?"

  Morgan's face went pale. His mouth fell open, but for a moment he couldn't respond. Maybe he was having trouble coming up with an adequate lie. Whatever the reason, I realized that my guess was right on target.

  “He just drinks too much,” he said at last, his voice little more than a whisper. “If I were you, though, I'd keep my distance.” Then he twisted himself around and headed toward the deck hatch.

  I went to my cabin, but even after I closed the door, I was aware of Ash's presence. Through the wall vent, I heard the sound of his guitar. After a little while, though, it stopped, and all I could hear was his voice.

  I couldn't tell, though, whether he was laughing or weeping.

  * * * *

  NINE

  Off to see the lizard ... peace with Rain ... the Order of the Eye.

  * * * *

  XI

  We remained in orbit overnight, Coyote time, and next morning after breakfast the Pride of Cucamonga headed out for Rho Coronae Borealis.

  As customary, all hands assembled in the command center for final countdown. As shuttle pilot, there was little for me to do; once I verified that Loose Lucy was ready to serve as a lifeboat in the unlikely event that we'd have to abandon ship, my only job was to take a seat and watch while everyone else went about getting the Pride underway. Yet Emily was nowhere to be seen until fifteen minutes before launch; when she finally showed up, Mahamatasja Jas Sa-Fhadda was with her.

  This was the first time since coming aboard that I'd seen the Prime Emissary. Jas had remained in hisher quarters while the crew made preparations for the journey, and I'd expected himher to stay there until the Pride arrived at its destination. So I was surprised when the hjadd followed Emily through the manhole into the command center.

  Everyone stopped what they were doing as the first officer led Jas onto the bridge. As always, the Prime Emissary wore hisher environment suit; I would've thought that heshe would be encumbered by it, yet heshe was surprisingly nimble. Reaching up to grasp a ceiling rail with a six-fingered hand, Jas lingered near the floor hatch for a few moments, the opaque faceplate of hisher helmet turning first one way, then the other, as heshe gazed around the deck.

  “Guess heshe decided to come up and join us,” I murmured to Rain. We were seated off to one side of the control console, near the life support station; like myself, she had little to do just then. “Must have gotten curious about how we do things up here."

  Rain gave me a patronizing look, but if she had any insults in mind, she refrained from giving voice to them. “More than cur
iosity,” she whispered. “Without himher, we're not going anywhere."

  This was the first time she'd spoken to me since our altercation the day before. When I'd seen her a couple of hours earlier, during breakfast in the wardroom on Deck Two, she had avoided me as much as possible. Ted must have had a few words with her. Well, if she was willing to bury the hatchet, so was I.

  “How do you figure that?” I asked.

  “You don't know?” She darted a look at me, and I shook my head. “Watch and learn,” she added. “This is where it gets interesting."

  Ted unbuckled his harness and rose from his seat. “Prime Emissary, welcome,” he said, raising his left hand in the hjadd gesture of greeting. “The Pride of Cucamonga is ready to depart. If we may have your permission...?"

  “You have my permission.” As before, an androgynous voice emitted from the mouth grille of hisher helmet. “Please direct me to the navigation system."

  “It would be my honor.” Careful to avoid touching the Prime Emissary, he extended a hand toward the helm. “This way, please."

  Jas followed Ted across the command center. As they approached the helm, Ali turned around in his seat. I couldn't help but notice his sour expression, and wondered whether our pilot harbored a secret revulsion for the hjadd. I wasn't the only one who saw this. On the other side of the deck, Ash was seated next to Morgan Goldstein. Although he once again wore his robe, I caught a glimpse of the sickened look on his face. Goldstein must have observed this, too, because he leaned closer to Ash and whispered something. Ash didn't respond, but instead nodded ever so slightly. Ash had picked up on something ... that is, if I was right, and he was a telepath of some sort.

  Ted stopped beside Ali's console. “Mr. Youssef, if you will..."

  Ali said nothing, but instead typed a few commands into his keyboard before shrinking away from Jas. If the Prime Emissary noticed the pilot's reaction, heshe said nothing. Instead, heshe reached into a pocket of hisher environment suit, then pulled out a small object about the size and shape of a datafiche.