"We spend a lot of time worrying about stuff like the Great Galactic Ghoul,” he says, “but the thing we really should be afraid of is what we do to ourselves. Space monsters don't exist, really. But careless mistakes will kill you just as quickly."
Copyright © 2010 Allen M. Steele
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Novelette: GHOSTS COME HOME by Justin Stanchfield
When genetics becomes a matter of choice, “nature vs. nurture” takes on whole new dimensions.
The station seemed to rotate on the screen as Dev Verlain brought the shuttle in, the waiting docks a spiny forest of grappling arms and gantries. He played the throttles as he guided the battered cargo container in front of him. It was his third grab of the day, and he briefly considered making a fourth trip, but in the end the lure of going home to his tiny apartment and Letha won out. He brought the boom mic closer to his lips.
"Approach, 7748 Uniform, inbound with cargo. Request vectors."
"Roger, Four-Eight Uniform,” a woman's voice answered. “Computer guidance to commence in thirty seconds."
"That's affirm.” Reluctantly, Dev turned control over to the tower. He had been genetically tailored to fly starships, and despite nearly two decades here he still rankled each time the computers took control. He placed his hands in his lap and waited, splitting his gaze between the flight-board and the vista of steel and carbon that made up Oasis. The station was one of the oldest in service, ugly as child's crude drawing, a thousand sharp facets and angles slipping in and out of the light as the station turned on its axis, forever locked in orbit around its red dwarf primary. It was a nexus for transport to the real colonies light-years away, a refuel point along the way to worlds with names like Seraphim, Allegro, and Novus, worlds with open skies and air scrubbed clean by rain. Worlds Dev Verlain would never see. After so many years fighting the idea, he had at last reconciled himself that the station was, for better or worse, home.
The shuttle surrendered speed and altitude, sinking toward the waiting berth. Other ships came and went, the darkness twinkling with running lights. Occasional bursts of noise crackled in his headset, pilots and computers talking back and forth, the normal flow of traffic a discordant symphony across the flight bands. Dev listened without really hearing, his attention suddenly drawn back to the screen. Ahead, hanging above the station's jagged outward rim, rode the largest starship he had ever seen. He whistled in admiration.
"She's a beauty, isn't she?” the controller answered, no doubt watching the video feed from his navigation console. “Just broke out of N-space in a couple hours ago."
"Where's she out of?” Dev asked.
"Portius. She's hauling refugees."
"Yeah?” Dev's voice trailed off. Something about the massive vessel called to him, reached deep into his soul and woke things he had fought diligently to keep asleep. The starship grew on screen, her sleek white hull making her seem more like a creature from some mythical sea than a mere construct of carbon fiber and titanium. As his shuttle passed abeam, he fought the urge to switch his view to the rear, an almost magnetic pull centered deep in his chest as if he was being drawn backward toward the enormous ship.
Annoyed with himself, Dev fished his phone out of his breast pocket and flipped it open. The screen flashed a cheerful blue while he waited for Letha to answer. A few seconds later he was rewarded with a blurred shot of his tiny apartment before she moved into view and sat down in front of their console. She leaned closer to the camera.
"Hello, flyboy.” Even on the tiny screen her eyes, brown as melted chocolate, seemed to shine. Her smile turned down into a mock pout, raising dimples on her plump face, her dark hair drawn back into a short ponytail. “Ever coming home tonight?"
"I'm about five minutes from docking. Give me an hour to lock down and grab a shower and I'll be on my way."
"Cool true.” Her voice had the typical drawl of an Oasis native, the local slang as polyglot as the population. Her smile returned, then vanished as she panned the camera down past her breasts and settled on her stomach. She patted the obvious bulge with her free hand. “We'll be waiting for you."
The phone went blank and Dev flipped it closed. He sighed as he slipped it back into his pocket, the sight of his pretty and extremely pregnant wife almost enough to keep his mind off the gleaming white transport riding somewhere behind him.
Hair still damp, Dev made his way down from the hangar where he berthed his shuttle to the trans-rail, leaning spinward against the rotation. Deeper inside the huge complex where he and Letha rented their cramped quarters, Oasis's spin wasn't as noticeable, the centri-petal forces generating less than Earth-standard gravity, but out here, close to the skin, any quick turn of the head could send a wave of vertigo crashing against even the most experienced station rat. He found a waiting car and shoved his way aboard, clinging to the handrail as the platform surged forward.
A thousand sounds and aromas brushed past him as they descended level by level, hot peppery oil from sidewalk cafes, ozone from overheated electronics, and the inevitable cloud of too many bodies pressed too closely together. Here and there a bit of greenery flashed by, potted citrus trees or wall gardens, but most of the station felt artificial, gunmetal walls and garish storefronts, a maze of corridors and passages constantly under construction. Dev scarcely noticed. Compared to the ship he had spent the first twelve standards aboard, Oasis was a virtual paradise.
The car entered a wide, sweeping curve, everyone leaning against the new tangent. Dev bumped the man behind him and apologized, oddly self-conscious. Normally, he would have paid little attention to his fellow riders, but today he couldn't shake the sensation that he was being watched. He felt ill at ease, but put it off as simple exhaustion, the result of too many shifts without respite. It would be good, he decided, when the baby did come and he could spend a few weeks at home tending his family before boredom or a lack of funds sent him once more into the cargo lanes.
The trans-car slowed and Dev gripped the rail as the car lurched into the hub. He shuffled off the platform, a cold breeze washing downward from the recirc fans high overhead. Unexpectedly, a sharp pain slid through his stomach, strong enough that he drew a breath between his clenched teeth. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, letting the flow of bodies spread around him until the pain subsided. Despite the cool air, sweat beaded on his forehead.
"What the hell?” he muttered under his breath. Normally, he was a healthy as a horse, his gene-mods keeping him safe from all but the most exotic ailments. Frowning, he turned around and gasped in surprise. Across the hub, one level up, a slender woman with short blond hair stood beside the rail, staring down at him. From the stunned expression on her face she seemed as shocked to see him as he was to see her. Suddenly he felt hollow, emptied, no more substantial than a shell filled with dust. Dev took a step toward the woman and would have walked off the platform had he not ran into the waist-high rail. He shut his eyes and counted to ten, then looked back up at the platform.
The woman, if she had ever really been there, was gone.
* * * *
The door sniffed his palm and slid aside. Blue light bathed him as he stepped inside the apartment, a cool cerulean glaze cast by the wall murals, a tangle of thick branches swaying somewhere in the jungles of Seraphim. It was one of Letha's favorite backgrounds, a scene more inspired by the adventure programs she played in her off time than by any real interest in alien biota. She looked up at him from the kitchen counter and smiled.
"Hello, Luv-B.” She came around the counter, her movements exaggerated by her pregnancy, and stood up on tiptoe to kiss him. His arms slid around her, the hard bump of her belly pressing against him. Dev held the kiss longer than usual, needing the reassurance of her body against his. Finally, he relaxed and let her settle back to the soft-tiled floor.
"Wow.” Letha's eyes went wide. “What was that about?"
"Me being enchanted by my beautiful wife."
"Yes, I am, a
nd don't think for a second flattery will get you anything.” She slapped him playfully on his backside. “I'm too broke to slip you any credit and too pregnant for romping. Besides, supper's here."
She turned and walked back into the kitchen. Dev stood by the door, admiring the view. Letha stood a head shorter than himself, her body voluptuous, generous curves even more pronounced as she neared the beginning of her third trimester. He had been in love with her almost from their first date, but tonight couldn't help comparing her with the willowy blond he had glimpsed in the trans-rail terminal. A wave of guilt swept through him, leaving him feeling dirty, and still he couldn't get the image of the stranger standing at the rail out of his mind.
No, Dev thought to himself, stranger wasn't the right word. He knew the woman as well as he knew himself. After all, they had been created for each other, born to mate, to create the next generation of pilots for a ship now long dead. Two decades of separation vanished as if they had parted only yesterday, a pair of crying twelve-year-olds torn apart, the memory driving a spike through his stomach.
"Luv, you okay?” Letha looked up from the pair of plastic cartons she had set on the counter. “You look like you just bit a turd."
"Long day, that's all."
"Well, sit down and eat. You'll feel better for it.” She gave him another swift kiss. “Besides, I might have been exaggerating that too pregnant to romp’ bit."
He forced a smile and scooped up a bite of the stir-fry in his carton, the tiny red peppers in it so strong his tongue felt ready to ignite. Letha took a bite, paused, and added a dash of hot sauce. Dev held back a chuckle. Like every other native Oasian he had met, his wife was utterly addicted to peppers and curry, the hotter the better. Feeling better despite his burning mouth, he ate, convinced once more that he was a very lucky man.
"By the way,” she said, mopping up the last of her stir-fry with a torn piece of flatbread, “you had a message from the Pilot's Association. They's called a general meeting for tomorrow at oh-nine-thirty."
"Oh?” The imploding sensation he had felt earlier returned. “Did they say why?"
"Nah, it was just a bot call. I'm willing to bet it's about that white ship that's popped in today, though."
"You saw it?” Dev tried to hide his growing unease.
"Saw the tower feed.” Letha worked out of the apartment as a spot trader, buying and selling the various cargo containers off the long-haul freighters that passed through Oasis. Despite having never once been outside of the enormous station, she probably knew more about the various ships docked here than most pilots. “According to her manifest, they's got nearly eleven thousand refugees aboard, most of them kids. I can't even imagine what it must be like down in her decks."
"Yeah. They must be stacked in there like bees,” Dev agreed. Again, the image of the woman at the railing flitted through his mind and he fought down a premonition that she was somehow tied to the gleaming white behemoth tethered outside the station.
"So,” Letha said, waiting as he stood up from the counter. “You want to run a vid?"
"Not really,” Dev replied.
"Good. Then take me to bed.” She kissed him on the neck, her tongue exploring the little hollows under his jaw, then turned and led the way into the tiny bedroom. Rain fell on the wall murals, speckling a slow, sapphire-hued river while a tiny blue sun sank into the trees. They made love gently, careful of her pregnant belly, both of them gasping in spent pleasure as they finished. Letha collapsed against his shoulder and within minutes was snoring softly. Dev sighed and pulled her closer, furious with himself that it wasn't his wife's face he had seen when he closed his eyes.
* * * *
A strange tension filled Oasis, the white ship, the Blanca Rosa, on everyone's mind. Rumors choked every message box, the electronic overflow stating everything from the absurd, that Portius had sent the ship as a vanguard of an invasion, to the barely possible, that the government of the dying planet had secretly shipped their own families away from some ecological disaster that threatened the colony. As nine o'clock and the general meeting approached, Dev toyed with the idea of not attending, but in the end joined the crowd shuffling into the repair hangar the Pilot's Association used for meetings. Cheap plastic chairs stood in rows, the aroma of coffee and spilled propellant thick in the cool air. A low stage had been erected at one end of the hang-ar, a wall screen glowing behind it. Dev found one of the chairs and sat down, the legs scraping against the bare floor.
When he glanced up at the stage his breath caught in his throat. Seated among several other people all wearing identical blue flightsuits and padded jackets was the woman he had seen at the trans-station. She glanced in his direction, and despite being seated five rows back, Dev was certain she saw him, the same electric tingle he had felt earlier stronger now. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and was about to leave when a pot-bellied man with sparse gray hair stepped to the podium.
"Thanks for coming,” the association president said, his voice booming via the sound system. He adjusted his microphone and continued. “I'm sure you've all been keeping up with the texting this morning. I think at last count I had thirteen hundred messages in my inbox.” A polite chuckle ran around the crowd. “As I'm sure you've guessed, this meeting is about the Blanca Rosa, and what's happening out at Portius. They's have a pretty significant request, so rather than me relaying it, I've asked the Rosa's flight crew to explain it themselves. Captain Alvarez?” He nodded at someone standing just off the side of the low stage.
A tall, athletic-looking man with graying black hair stepped onto the podium with an easy, confident grace. He also wore a blue flightsuit and quilted jacket, a white rose holo'd above his name patch. Dev's hands bunched into fists as Alvarez casually brushed the blond woman's shoulder with his hand as he passed her chair.
"Good morning,” he said in a rich baritone. “I'm Fortino Alvarez, Captain of the Blanca Rosa. We are indeed carrying children and selected parents en route to Novus where we hope we can find refuge for them. My ship will be departing tomorrow, but part of my crew will be remaining here, and hopefully returning to Portius with some of you."
Alvarez paused, letting the murmurs die down. “A hundred and fifty years ago when remote probes discovered a planet orbiting a yellow, Sol-like star that had both liquid water and a breathable atmosphere but only primitive terrestrial flora, it seemed too good to be true. We were quick to terraform the world. Unfortunately, some factions on Earth considered colonizing an already established world a sacrilege against that planet's ecology, and in retaliation they released a fungal plague that destroys all Earth-native plant life. By the time the fungus was discovered, it had already spread to the point that widespread famine is a virtual certainty.” He paused. “There is no possibility of evacuating everyone before they starve."
A collective gasp ran across the floor, and again Alvarez waited for the noise to subside. Dev leaned forward, more intent on the glance that passed between the captain and the blond woman than on the impending disaster.
"There is, however,” Alvarez said, “a possibility that we can stop the plague and reseed our world. We have developed an inoculant against the fungus, as well as resistant strains of plants, which can be dropped via canister from orbit.” Alvarez's dark eyes swept the crowd. “But, for the plan to work, we need a large number of pilots and pusher-ships. Portius is an agricultural colony with only a limited space fleet. That is why we are here. Oasis is the only point both in range and with enough experienced pilots to help us. I'll let my chief pilot Kammie Tule explain in more detail."
Dev's stomach lurched. If there had been any doubt remaining in his mind who the blond woman was, Alvarez had just removed it. He stared at the dais as Kammie Tule rose and walked to the podium, her hand briefly twining with the Captain's as they passed each other. Few in the crowd noticed the gesture, but it made Dev so angry his teeth ground together.
"Hello.” Kammie smiled nervously as she took the podium. “I don
't have much to add, other than we need every pilot and shuttle we can enlist.” Whether she meant to or not, her gaze settled on Dev. Time seemed to freeze before she once again began speaking.
"I wish I could tell you that this mission will be perfectly safe, but I can't. These are going to be low orbit drops which all involve aero-braking, and we can't rule out the possibility of sabotage from the people who released the plague in the first place. That's why we're offering a ten-thousand credit to everyone who volunteers.” Her lips drew into a thin smile. “But I can at least promise you it will be over quickly, one way or another. Portius is only six transit days from Oasis. If things go as we hope, we can drop all of the canisters within a week. And, if they go wrong, well . . .” Kammie sighed. “If the mission fails, we will bring you back here before things get out of hand."
She continued speaking a few minutes longer, but Dev heard none of it, his mind locked on her face, lost in the horrible, wonderful, dangerous realization that after two decades she was back. Sweat pooled between his shoulder blades, his breath coming in gasps as if a belt was wrapped around his chest and was being tightened by the second. As soon as the meeting concluded he rose and hurried toward the exit, but the flow of people slowed him, blocking his way. When he finally did make it past the double doors into the service corridor, he let his breath out in a loud sigh, glad to be free.
"Hello, Dev."
He stiffened, then turned around. Kammie Tule stood next to the wall, her arms crossed over her chest, so close he could smell the faint, earthy musk of her skin.
"Hi, Kam.” A wave of dizziness crashed over him and he spread his legs wide to keep his balance. “It's good to see you."
"I didn't know you were here when we docked. I promise."
He shrugged. “Would it have mattered?"
"It might have.” A thin glaze of sweat covered her forehead, the pupils of her deep blue eyes so large they seemed to pulse. She reached toward him, but Dev flinched away. She dropped her arm to her side. “This isn't easy for me, either."
Analog SFF, October 2010 Page 19
