by Ben Bova
“I’ve just told Ned to order all passengers not in cryo to return to their staterooms for the duration of our meeting with the aliens’ ship. I anticipate your staff will be getting requests for explanations from them just about any time now.” He paused and walked around the big table to stand before him. Partane was not a tall man, but somehow, with the weight of the last day and a half pressing on him, the captain seemed smaller still.
“Drew, most of the passengers would probably be more curious about the Sarpan ship than frightened by it, but I’d just as soon play it safe and keep it quiet. I think it’ll go smoother if they don’t even know it’s there, all right?”
He nodded, and pulled his own handheld from his shirt pocket. “Do we know what orientation their ship’ll have at rendezvous?”
“On their present heading they’ll come up from behind and under us.”
He tapped a few commands into the tiny unit, muttering softly to himself, then said aloud, “System.”
It took only a split second for the room system to recognize his voice code and open the appropriate data paths for his area of the Sylvan’s computer net. “Yes, Mr. Hattan?” it said in a friendly, but bland, voice.
“Please take external monitors nine through fifteen off line.”
There was a confirming chirp from the room system, then, “Ready.”
“That’s all for now.” Again, a high-pitched chirp from the system as it reset. He slipped the handheld back into his shirt pocket and regarded the captain once more. “That’ll keep the stateroom holoscreens from being able to orient on the Sarpan ship’s approach angle. Let me know if their approach changes and I can feed in new values.”
“Thanks, Drew.” Partane walked with him the few steps it took to reach the door, but before they came within the pickup range of the opening mechanism he hesitated. “I know you’ve done this kind of thing before, so I’m sure you’ll be able to handle any questions they may have. But I have some other serious concerns.”
“I don’t think there’ll be a problem with the passengers. If anyone asks about the holoscreen blackouts for those angles, I can explain it away easily enough as a temporary—”
Partane held up a hand apologetically to cut him off. “I know, I know; but it’s not you I’m worried about, Drew. It’s Conté.” Partane sighed heavily and stared briefly at the ceiling. “They’re only offering to help us out a little bit here, and why shouldn’t we let them? They’ve been cleared by every Imperial higher-up we were able to reach before linking the dish back to the techs at Copenhaver. Hell, the SIS was derived from their shield technology in the first place, so why shouldn’t we let them have a look at it? They may be our best shot at figuring out what the problem is.” He paused again. “If there really is anything wrong with it.”
“What does Vera have to do with it?”
Partane looked at him and sighed heavily again. His breath was sour after too much coffee and too little sleep. “Look, nobody’s comfortable with them when they’re around, including me. But I’ll be damned if I can understand this … this hatred she has for them. I can’t have her talking to the passengers.”
Drew nodded. He knew Vera intimately, knew only too well her feelings for the aliens. Partane was right. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Good.” He took a step closer to the door and it slid obediently aside for them.
Vera Conté was outside, leaning on the opposite wall of the corridor. Her face beamed the moment her eyes met his, but the smile disappeared as soon as she saw the two men together. She crossed her arms before her, then moved wordlessly several paces down the hallway and leaned once more against the corridor wall, waiting. She didn’t look their way.
“Anyway,” Partane said, taking his hand in a firm grasp. “If you run into anything you can’t handle, refer them directly to Ned. I’ll be on the bridge if you need me.” He turned away and walked briskly in the other direction toward the lift that would take him to the upper portion of the command deck of the jumper.
“That was nice,” he said sarcastically once the captain had disappeared down the corridor. He tried to make himself sound angry as he confronted her, and remained standing just outside the briefing-room door. “What’re you trying to do, get yourself busted out of the CTS?”
“He won’t do anything about it,” she snapped back defiantly, turning away from him and staring at the opposite wall, refusing to look at him directly. “He’s on edge, everyone is. He’ll dismiss it as a bad overreaction on my part.”
“Yeah, you’d better hope so.”
She said nothing for a moment, then suddenly seemed to let loose with what had been boiling up inside her since Partane had mentioned the aliens. “I can’t believe he’s going to allow one of those … those things on board!” she went on, and as she spoke Drew saw that this outburst made it possible for the genuine rage she felt at the captain’s decision to begin to drain from her. He realized this was just what she needed to vent her feelings, and listened in silence as she paced the narrow width of the corridor, listing what seemed an endless string of complaints with the just-concluded briefing.
Where before he had actually tried to be angry with her, he now felt himself soften as he watched her. She wore the same steward’s uniform as he, but the light blue shirt and matching shorts looked strikingly attractive on her, despite their unisex design, and he suspected she had altered them herself to give them a more alluring fit. Her pacing slowed, and each time she reversed direction he admired the way she turned. He found himself paying less attention to what she was saying than to the athletic curves of her body and the way her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders at every sharp movement she made. He wondered idly if the captain knew about the two of them, or was even suspicious. A few of the other stewards were in on the secret, and he thought Rentil might have some idea, but if the captain suspected anything he’d never even hinted at—
“Helloooo … ? Anybody in there?” She was smiling at him now, all traces of anger spent. “Did we numb out there for a moment? Maybe I was ranting a little bit, but to shut me off entirely! Really!”
He felt his face flush as he realized she had stopped pacing and was now standing before him, staring, hands on her hips. He started chuckling in embarrassment and noted how good the sound of his own laughter made him feel. Vera allowed his embarrassment to continue as she coyly raised a hand to her lips, trying—without much success—to hide her own amusement.
The sound of her laughter—the first hint of humor he’d heard aboard the Sylvan in hours—felt good to his ears. If she was frightened by the SIS problem, she didn’t show it. Then again, maybe her mind was just so occupied by the approaching alien ship …
He glanced around and, afraid that they might be spotted, said, “Come on, let’s get off the command deck.” He took her by the hand and led her to the lift at the end of the corridor.
There was another steward already on the lift, so Drew hit one of the passenger-level buttons at random. The man’s name was Ternez and he knew that Drew and Vera were “involved.” Vera didn’t know he’d told the other man, of course, and Ternez made no overt comment as to the two of them being together at a time when each should have been doing separate chores in different parts of the ship. The man teased Drew incessantly about his ongoing affair with her, but with the SIS problem hanging over the ship like a dark cloud he probably didn’t even notice they weren’t where they should be.
The three of them chatted as they rode. Ternez told them that, just as the captain had predicted, there had been a number of inquiries regarding Milliron’s order for passengers to return to their staterooms, but they hadn’t posed any problems that couldn’t be handled without his direct attention.
“That’s good,” Drew offered. “Has anyone asked to talk to Partane?”
Ternez shook his head. “No, none at all. I think Ned made it all sound fairly routine. Most of the walkers are new to jump travel and probably assume it’s all normal procedure.�
� He stopped and eyed the readout panel absently. “So, where are you two headed?”
“Partane wants me to be sure the walkers are all right in case they have any questions, but it sounds like everything’s fine. Listen, could you handle any last-minute stuff that comes up with them? You can page me if you need me.”
“Sure. No problem.”
The lift stopped on five and he got out, and after the doors had closed Drew touched one of the buttons on the control panel. The lighted button indicating the deck he’d originally selected went dark, and he punched in a new destination. Vera noted his actions, but said nothing.
The lift opened after a few moments onto one of the stateroom decks and the two of them stepped out into the dim corridor. This level was filled with staterooms, and on a shorter flight would have been occupied, the halls filled with passengers eager to utilize the ship’s many recreational and entertainment facilities. But on a longer jump like the one to 87 and then, through it, to Gate 21 at Barnard’s, most of the passengers where in the cryotanks and had no need for the frills of the luxury cabins that made up this level.
He looked quickly down one way, then the other, and, satisfied the corridors were empty, reached out and pulled her to him. As he kissed her, she let her hands hang limply at her sides for several seconds in mock annoyance of his maneuvering her into a secluded area, then slowly put her arms around his neck and returned the kiss.
“You really make me crazy when you do things like that back in the briefing room,” he said softly when their lips parted. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh.”
He held her at arm’s length and looked into her eyes. “Sometimes I don’t know why I put up with you.”
“Because you love me,” she whispered, taking one of his hands in both of hers. “The same reason I put up with you.”
He released her reluctantly. “Listen, Partane doesn’t want you to interact with any of the walkers. He’s afraid you’ll say something that might panic them.”
She pulled away suddenly. “Well, he can go to hell if he thinks I’m—”
“Wait a minute! Wait! It’s all right. Just listen to me for a minute, would you?” He reached out for her again, putting his hands firmly on her shoulders and pulling her closer. “He asked me,” he said, his voice becoming soft and suggestive, “to personally see to it that you didn’t talk to them.”
“Oh, is that so?” She softened instantly, and allowed him to pull her closer still. As he held her, he could feel whatever traces of anger left within her melt away. “And just how do you intend to do that?”
He leaned close and kissed her briefly, then took her by the hand, leading her to the nearest of the stateroom doors lining the opposite wall. Without a word he pressed his thumb on the entrance plate mounted in the doorframe. The system recognized the chief steward’s print immediately, and the door slid aside to admit them.
The room was cold and dark. This level and the staterooms it contained had not been needed for this jump, so most systems—including heat and lighting—had been set to standby levels. The door slid closed behind them and he faced her, pressing her back to the wall. Again, they embraced tightly and he kissed her passionately.
“System,” he said, pulling momentarily away. Vera continued to kiss his cheek and moved her lips slowly down his neck.
A high-pitched chirp. “Ready.”
“Bring room temperature to normal; set lighting at fifty percent.”
“Cancel!” Vera smiled at him, then said softly, “Bring room temperature to normal, but set lighting to twenty percent.” Again, the confirming chirp. “I like it darker,” she whispered into his ear.
“Then darker it is.” He kissed her again, and moved the palms of his hands from her shoulders, slowly guiding them down the front of her shirt. Her breasts were soft but firm, and through the thin fabric of the shirt he could tell she was wearing nothing underneath. He slid his right hand inside the open collar of the shirt, softly caressing one of her breasts.
She smiled again and wordlessly unfastened the buttons one at a time, then pulled the shirttail out of her shorts and slipped it off her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor.
He used both hands now, rubbing them slowly up to her shoulders, massaging her neck, and back down the front of her again. The room had not yet reached normal temperature, and her nipples were hard and erect beneath his fingertips in the chilly air.
“I like when you touch me,” she whispered, and took one of his hands in hers and kissed it, then pressed it to her chest again.
His heart pounded as he kissed her neck, and he felt himself wanting her more than ever. Without looking around, he tried to remember the layout of the stateroom, wondering where the bed was so as not to appear too clumsy as he maneuvered her in that direction. He leaned down, running the tip of his tongue down the center of her chest. Vera’s breath came in short gasps as he did. It had been a long time since they had last made love, much too long, and it felt so good, being with her like this.
So why did he feel a mysterious queasiness come over him that he couldn’t quite place? The unexplained feeling went away as suddenly as it had appeared and he put it out of his mind. He started to kiss her, but the feeling came back almost immediately, and with no more warning than it had the first time.
He straightened cautiously, his stomach turning. He looked at her and noticed that her breasts seemed to rise slightly, and that her hair was becoming fuller. When his eyes met hers, he saw an expression that was half confusion, half panic.
“Drew, I don’t think I feel very—oh!”
And instantly, they were falling. The room seemed normal. There was no sound that hadn’t been there a moment earlier. There had been no indication that anything was wrong, but they were unexpectedly without gravity.
The sudden involuntary movements each had made when the gravity field died now sent them tumbling, with both of them scrambling to grab on to anything close enough that offered solid support. Vera managed to snag hold of the doorframe leading into the stateroom lavatory and, gripping the frame as tightly as possible, twisted herself around to find him.
Drew had not been so lucky, and floated through the center of the room several armlengths away from any solid object. He made a futile, almost comical effort to “swim” to the ceiling fixture, but his frantic gyrations served only to keep him tumbling wildly. He had never spent much time in zero g, and the constant falling sensation was making him sicker. As he spun, he caught sight of Vera dangling from the doorframe. She was clearly terrified by what was happening, and he forced himself to calm down.
His arm brushed something, the edge of a wall, and as his feet swung around he managed to push away toward the opposite side of the stateroom, the effort sending him thudding much more forcefully than he’d intended into a low table mounted firmly to the wall. He caught the edges in both hands as he slammed into it and stopped himself at the same instant he heard a grisly pop! from his left shoulder. He cried out as an intense wave of pain shot through him.
“Drew!”
He gripped the table, holding himself down flat on the top as best he could with his good arm, and tried to ignore the pain in his shoulder. “I’m all right,” he said, forcing his rapid breathing to slow. “I think I dislocated something when I hit. It hurts like hell, but I’m all right.”
She started to say something, but he cut her off. “Hold on. Stay put and don’t say anything for a minute.” He surveyed the room, trying to figure out just what was going on.
The edges of the bed covering seemed to float, and Vera’s shirt drifted between them. Hanging tightly with one hand, she snagged it with the other and pulled it to her, but made no attempt to put it back on. There were a few other small objects tumbling through the air that he couldn’t make out in the dim light, but otherwise everything else seemed, like the table to which he clung, to be securely fastened to either floor, wall or ceiling. There was a small closet about halfway between th
e stateroom entrance and the doorframe where Vera floated, its outline glowing steadily in the dim light. The thumblatch blinked an ominous red, but he doubted that, from her awkward angle, she could see the first confirmation he’d been able to find that something was dreadfully wrong.
“Drew, what happened?”
“I don’t know. System!”
There was the familiar faint chirp of the system acknowledging his query, but nothing further.
“System!” Vera tried. Again, a confirming chirp but no access. “System! System!”
“Listen, we have to get back up to the command deck; or at least to a working comm terminal. I … I’m going to need a hand.”
She nodded and tucked her shirt into the waistband of her shorts, then oriented herself carefully in his direction and pushed gently off the doorframe to sail gracefully across the room. That she had spent more time in the zero-g recreation area than he had was immediately obvious as she landed smoothly at the edge of the table. Her long hair, a floating mass of brown without g, tumbled forward around her face as she stopped and cursed softly under her breath. Satisfied she was steady for the moment, she carefully pressed her fingers through the tangled mess and drew it behind her, then deftly tied it into a knot that left a short ponytail bobbing at the back of her head. Holding on with one hand, she helped him wrap his legs around the edge of the table and coaxed him into a sitting position.
“This may hurt,” she said in warning, then took his dislocated arm and placed his hand against his chest. He winced, and sweat beaded on his face as she worked to tie her shirt around him to keep his arm firmly in place against his chest. “How’s that? Can you move?”
“Yeah, if I don’t pass out,” he joked weakly, realizing as he heard the words that there was a good deal more truth in them than he would have liked to admit. “Let’s go.”
“All right. Follow my lead, but don’t thrash around. Let me guide you over.” He should have felt embarrassed at being carried along like an invalid or, worse, like a small child needing constant attention on a family outing. But the manner in which Vera viewed the situation in her matter-of-fact way told him she was just doing what needed to be done at the moment. There was no judging on her part. It was one of the things he liked best about her.
