Even as David was speaking, Edward’s acknowledgement arrived. David waited, and a few seconds later Edward spoke again.
“I see you have company there, Captain. It’s wonderful to see you’re in good health and the colony is thriving. We didn’t quite know what to expect.” He made a gesture to show he’d finished and had turned the conversation back to David.
“The good news is we have lots of space here, Mr. Harper, and we’ll be pleased to welcome you and your crew. There’s a lot of folks here who can’t wait to meet you.” He indicated the full room behind him.
“Thank you, Captain. Allow me to introduce my second in command.” He held out a hand to a slim figure who joined him on the sofa from which he was broadcasting. “This is Carla Lewis.”
Carla gave the camera her most winning smile. “It’s a great pleasure to speak with you, Captain. We are both so looking forward to meeting you in person.”
Somewhere, deep in the back of David’s mind, a voice sounded a warning. There was something about Carla Lewis he didn’t like. But perhaps he was just imagining things, and besides, it was hard not to be carried along with the wave of enthusiasm emanating from the room behind him. “As are we,” he replied, “as are we all.”
“My god!” John said. “A hundred? A hundred of them! How could they possibly fit that many people in the Inspiration?”
David shrugged. They’d continued their conversation with Edward and Carla for almost an hour and learned more about their mission. The second major surprise, after learning they were coming at all, was the sheer size of the Inspiration’s crew.
“They had over thirty years to improve on their technology,” he replied. “I imagine their ship has more efficient drives and better stasis chambers. And don’t forget, they didn’t bring a shuttle. That will have saved them a lot of mass.”
John blew his cheeks out. “Where are we going to put them? We only built housing for eight.”
“We’ve lots of space in Haven. Remember, we expected to grow to over a thousand, even two thousand, before expanding,” Grace said.
John shook his head. “They’ll be here in three days.”
“More like four or five, I’d say,” Heidi said. “They’ll be in orbit in three days, but it’ll take them a while to get ready for landing.”
John didn’t look convinced. “We need more time.”
“Maybe we can convince them to wait,” Josh said. “Give us time to prepare.”
David nodded. “That makes sense. I’ll raise it with Edward. If they can’t wait, though, we’ll put them in Solar Park. We’ll fabricate tents to pitch around the pavilion.”
“Good idea,” Grace said. “They’ll be comfortable there.”
“Hmmph. Well, I suppose we could build smaller units,” John mused. “That would be quicker.”
David nodded. “That’s a great idea. We can always build larger houses later. The small ones won’t go to waste; our kids will need them soon.”
John’s mouth dropped open, then he grinned. “I hadn’t thought about it, but I guess they might grow up and leave home at that!”
Nigel spoke up now. “What about this story of theirs, about their communications failure?”
Carla had explained to them how they hadn’t crossed the interstellar void unscathed. A mid-flight collision had destroyed their primary communications array, leaving them unable to make contact until they were close enough to use their secondary array.
“Sounds like bullshit to me,” John said.
David frowned. He had to admit there was something about Edward and Carla’s story that didn’t ring true, like hearing a tale from his kids explaining how they couldn’t have had anything to do with that broken window.
“It’s possible, I suppose,” he said.
“It’s possibly bullshit,” John said. “Right, Heidi?”
Heidi shifted in her seat. “Well, the Hope’s secondary array could’ve got a signal through from many light-years out. And unless the accident happened before they left the Sol system, they could’ve sent a signal when they left.”
John nodded and looked at the others, his silence saying more than any words could have.
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” Grace said.
“That’s what worries me,” John replied.
David found he had no words of comfort to offer.
Click, click, click. Vasily exchanged a look with Joyce. There was no mistaking the rhythmic tapping of Carla’s boots as she approached the bridge, echoing down the corridor like a metronomic countdown to doom.
“I wonder what the mistress of the ship wants now?” Joyce said.
Vasily’s answering grimace revealed a growing frustration that threatened to boil over into direct action. Joyce had been trying to keep him calm, afraid he would make their situation worse, but she wasn’t confident she could do this for much longer.
Click, click, click. Carla reached the bridge and paused, wrinkling her nose as she looked at Vasily and Joyce.
“Well, are we on course?”
Joyce fought to keep her voice even, for Vasily. She knew the slightest hint of anger would be all the encouragement he needed.
“Our course appears nominal,” she replied. “Ma’am,” she added, just a fraction of a second late.
Carla said nothing, but spent five long seconds staring at Joyce with eyes like chipped ice.
“What do you mean, appears,” she demanded.
“We’re taking manual sightings. By tomorrow we’ll be able to confirm that the flight computer is correct.”
Carla sniffed. “See to it.”
Click, click, click. Joyce watched her go, and thought dark thoughts.
Late that night, they lay together in bed, Joyce with her arms and legs wrapped around Vasily. “Not bad for a sixty-year-old,” she whispered in his ear.
“And the night, it is still young,” he replied, lifting himself onto his elbows.
Joyce gasped. “Maybe I’ve had enough.”
Vasily chuckled. “We will see.” His expression turned serious. “Tomorrow, I will wake Viktor and Natalia.”
“What will Carla say?”
“I’m past caring what that pizda thinks.”
“Vasily!”
He grinned. “A word made for such as her.”
Joyce shifted her hips under him. “You’re a bad man.”
“Let me show you how bad I can be.”
Carla watched and listened. They were so naïve – did they think they weren’t under surveillance in their quarters? Or that she wouldn’t understand them if they spoke Russian?
Vasily Abramovich had become a problem that needed to be to be dealt with.
Her breath became ragged as they started to make love again, and her hand stole down between her legs.
Tomorrow. She would deal with him tomorrow.
They ate a quick breakfast. Vasily stood, swallowing the last of his coffee. “Let’s go.”
He led the way to the stasis suite where Viktor and Natalia waited. Carla never allowed the four of them to be awake together. Joyce knew Vasily’s plan was for them to join forces to find out what Edward and Carla planned, and put a stop to it. She wasn’t sure if he knew himself whether this would lead to a full mutiny. She did know that stopping him after he decided to act would be very difficult, if not impossible.
He went straight to Viktor’s chamber, only to find the controls did not respond.
“Locked!” he said, scowling. “We need a way to unlock it.”
“I don’t think so.”
Vasily spun to see Carla standing at the door. “You!” he said. “You will listen to me!”
Carla stepped into the room, shaking her head. “No. It is you that will listen to me.”
“I am the captain of this vessel!”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You are only the pilot. One pilot,” she said, looking at Joyce.
Vasily glared at her, fists clenching and unclenching. Joyce’s heart sank. S
he had little chance of stopping him now.
“Enough!” he said, striding toward Carla, nostrils flaring.
“Stop!” Carla demanded. Her words fell on deaf ears. Time slowed for Joyce. Her eyes grew wide as she watched Carla draw a flat little pistol from behind her back and swing her arm up. Joyce wanted to act, to move, to save Vasily, but her frozen limbs wouldn’t obey her frenzied mind.
There was a sharp crack as Carla fired, once, hitting Vasily in the chest. He flinched and looked down, hands flying to the projectile lodged there. He looked up, head moving in slow motion, and then his eyes rolled up and he collapsed to the deck.
Joyce regained control of herself and moved to help.
“Don’t!” Carla snapped. “If you want to live, stop right there.”
Joyce came to an abrupt halt, chest heaving. She could feel tears pricking her eyes. She focused on Carla and her gun, looking for an opening. Reason departed her mind, replaced by a visceral need to hurt the person that had attacked her mate.
Carla motioned toward Vasily with her eyes. Despite herself, Joyce couldn’t help following her gaze to her husband, lying face down on the deck.
“If you want him to live, stand down.”
Joyce’s anger evaporated under a surge of hope mixed with relief. “H-he’s alive?”
Carla smiled her shark smile, all teeth and no sincerity. “Why would I kill our lead pilot? It’s just a tranquilizer.”
Joyce’s desire to believe overwhelmed her. “Why are you doing this?” The words poured from her in a sob. She couldn’t hold back her tears as she looked at Vasily.
Carla said nothing. She waited.
Joyce looked up at her again, her expression blank and shoulders slumped. Her voice was quiet, subdued. “What will happen to him?”
“I’m afraid I can’t allow him to continue like this. He has to go into stasis until we’re ready to land. Until then I’ll rely on you to get us there.” Carla’s eyes held Joyce’s for a heartbeat, her lips parting. “Can you do that for me, Joyce? For all of us?” Her eyes flicked to Vasily, lying prone on the deck. She lowered her gun, then returned her gaze to Joyce, gray eyes intent.
Joyce looked down at the man she’d devoted her life to. What else could she do? Carla held Vasily’s fate, and hers, in her hands. “Are you sure he’ll be OK?”
“He’ll make it if we all work together.”
Joyce could feel tears beginning again. “OK. I’ll do it.”
The day was difficult for Joyce. With Vasily gone, she had to assume the role of both pilot and navigator. The flight computer could do the job without her help, but she still needed to run the checklists to ensure it behaved.
To her surprise, Carla helped fill the gap. She’d left Joyce alone for several hours after they’d loaded Vasily, heavy like a limp grizzly bear, into his stasis chamber and activated the field. To Joyce’s relief, it seemed Carla had spoken the truth – Vasily had been breathing and had a pulse when they laid him down in the chamber. Also, there’d been the tranquilizer dart she’d pulled from his chest – a quick-acting sedative, according to Carla, which would wear off in less than an hour.
And then Carla had joined her on the bridge, and helped her go through the checklists, displaying a surprising amount of knowledge.
“There,” she said. “That’s the final checklist for orbital entry.” She smiled at Joyce, who suppressed a shudder and looked away.
“Look, I know you haven’t any reason to like me –”
Joyce snorted. “Like you? You have no idea, do you?”
Carla pressed a hand to her chest. “Everything I’ve done has been for the success of the mission. There was no ill will on my part. It was never personal.”
Joyce just shook her head.
Later, Carla joined her for dinner, an unprecedented occurrence. Joyce’s surprise must have shown, because Carla seemed to feel the need to explain. “I’m not evil, you know. Despite what you must think, I put the mission first. It’s just I have … certain constraints.” She tilted her head toward Edward’s office.
Joyce’s eyes widened. “You mean …”
Carla put a finger to her lips and shook her head, and Joyce nodded. She leaned forward and placed her hand on Joyce’s arm. “What happened with Vasily – I didn’t want to do it. But you saw him, you know what he’s like. He scared me, Joyce. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Joyce looked down. She did know how Vasily could be.
“I want to make this mission a success, Joyce. I know you do too. Just a few more days and we’ll be at Haven, and you and Vasily will be among friends again.”
Joyce had trouble sleeping. Her heart ached for Vasily, and she couldn’t stop thinking about Carla. She found it difficult to believe she wasn’t so bad, but today she’d seemed so genuine. It took until after midnight ship time before she fell into a troubled and fitful sleep.
Carla joined her for breakfast.
That wasn’t the only surprise. The entire time Joyce had known her aboard ship, she’d dressed in a tight black ship suit and black leather boots. She’d worn only a little makeup and drawn her hair back into a severe bun. Today, a revelation. She wore a knee-length red floral dress that would have been modest, had it not been for the generous hint of cleavage the neckline allowed. A pair of red pumps showed her legs to their best advantage, and she’d brushed her long dark hair until it shone, letting it cascade loose. Makeup softened her features.
At Joyce’s raised eyebrow she threw back her head and laughed, and turned on the spot, arms outstretched.
“Sometimes,” she said, “a girl just wants to dress up.”
Despite herself, Joyce couldn’t help but return her smile. “Sometimes,” she agreed, “a girl just does.”
This day was set to be the most dramatic of those remaining in the Inspiration’s long voyage, as they would enter orbit around Serendipity. They flipped the ship end for end and brought its drives up for a long two-hour burn that slipped them into an orbit five hundred kilometers above Serendipity.
They worked through the checklists together, all the while bathed in the light from the huge display on the bulkhead in front of them. It showed an ever-changing view of the planet below as they orbited overhead.
Before long they finished and Carla reached across to give Joyce a high-five. “Well done,” she said, and leaned in to give her a hug.
“Thanks,” Joyce replied, still disbelieving the change.
“Come, let’s celebrate,” Carla said, standing. She grabbed Joyce’s hand, pulled her up with a smile, and led the way out of the bridge.
When Carla had said celebrate, Joyce hadn’t expected to end up in her quarters. She’d pulled her inside, holding one finger to her lips like a naughty schoolgirl as she shut the door.
Joyce looked around. It surprised her to find the room decorated in a sensuous style. Peach-colored walls started at the floor in a deep, dusky shade and faded almost to white by the time they reached the apex of a high curved ceiling. Plush carpet covered the deck, but the dominating feature was the decadent four-poster bed projecting from the far wall. The contrast with her own spartan quarters couldn’t have been more jarring.
Carla kicked off her shoes and walked to the small bar in one corner, producing two glasses and a bottle of champagne. The cork flew off with a pop, and she filled two glasses, offering one to Joyce.
“Here’s to our successful arrival,” she said, raising her glass.
Joyce sipped her champagne and flicked a glance to the label.
Carla smiled. “Don’t worry, we’ve spared no expense.”
Joyce shook her head. “I believe it.” This was how Alice must have felt after plunging down the rabbit hole – somehow, nothing seemed real. A little voice whispered at the back of her mind, telling her perhaps things with Carla weren’t quite as they seemed. She wanted to believe, though. She wanted to hope Carla could be different.
Carla slipped her hand into Joyce’s again. “Come.”
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For all its plush decor, one thing Carla’s quarters lacked was anywhere to sit. So Carla led Joyce to the bed and they sat on one side, facing each other.
“Here’s to a successful landing,” Carla said, raising her glass again. They talked, for once not about the mission or the ship. Joyce felt her tense muscles relax. The champagne was flowing, and soon she felt a pleasant buzz which helped relax her even more. Everything was going well, until Carla leaned in and kissed her, full on the mouth.
Joyce pulled back, her muscles tensing again. Carla leaned forward to brush an errant lock of hair from her face, then rested her hand there. “Have I shocked you? Don’t be. We’re not doing anything wrong. God, if only you knew how I’ve longed for a gentle touch. I’ve been so alone.”
Joyce pulled Carla’s hand away from her face, taking care to take her time. “Carla, I …”
“Vasily need never know. It’ll just be between us.”
Hearing Vasily’s name was all Joyce needed to jerk her back to reality. She stood and looked Carla square in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Carla, I’m just not oriented that way.”
Carla’s expression was a storm change. She regained her feet and faced Joyce, her eyes glittering. “Get out!” she snapped. “Get out while you still can!”
Joyce held her gaze for a moment, then turned and left without saying another word.
The old-fashioned door to Edward’s study slammed open. Edward looked up, startled. Carla stood there, wearing nothing but a pair of thigh-high leather boots. She had a riding crop in one hand and a half-empty bottle of champagne in the other.
She slammed the door.
“Get your clothes off,” she snapped. “Now.”
Edward swallowed. For a moment, he felt irritation rise. She pushed his limits. But his body betrayed him again. It was a weakness he cursed but always capitulated to. Carla knew how to manipulate his desires, and he had long since given up trying to resist the need for satisfaction at her hands.
The Seasoning Page 3
