"I'm not blaming you, Kammie.” Before he could say more the tall man who had shared the podium stepped up behind her. Dev's fingers closed into fists as Alvarez casually slipped his arm around her slender waist. He nodded at Dev, the smile on his face warm and genuine.
"I was wondering where you'd gone,” Alvarez said. His gaze moved to Dev. “Are you one of our volunteers? I certainly hope so. We can use every pilot we can get."
"I . . .” Dev's throat seemed to close, the scent of Kammie's skin roaring in his senses. He forced himself to take a step back before he lashed out at the man. “I have to go.” He spun on his heel and vanished into the trickle of bodies still making their way out of the hangar, the veins in his temples pulsing as he struggled not to turn around, his heart breaking as if he was twelve years old again and watching while the only person he was allowed to love was led away.
* * * *
The morning was a waste, his mind spinning in dark clouds that refused to part. Dev preflighted his shuttle and left the station, but only made one run, nearly sending the container he grabbed careening sunward because he forgot to secure the grapple forks around it. Feigning illness, he returned to berth and locked down his ship, then left without bothering to shower or change out of his flight clothes. Letha was waiting for him when he stepped inside the apartment. He started to say something inane but she cut him off with a kiss.
"I've been following the chatter all morning on the forums,” she said, her arms still around him. “I think you should go."
"What?” Dev stared at his wife in obvious amazement. It was the last thing he expected her to say. “I'm not going anywhere."
"Look, lover . . .” An almost embarrassed smile creased her face. “I've already played this scene out in my head a few thousand times today, so just shut up and let me talk. You're going to tell me that you can't join your mates going off to save Portius because I'm preggers, then I'm going to tell you that I'm just starting my third trimester and you'll be home long before my water breaks, and even if you're not it's the docs who'll deliver the baby, not you. I'll be fine.” Letha paused for breath. “What they're trying to do out at Portius is a good thing. And god knows we could use the bonus they're offering."
"This isn't about the money,” Dev said.
"No, it isn't.” She laid her head against his chest and let him draw her closer. He drank in the clean scent of her hair, her breath warm against his shoulder. Though he couldn't see her face, he was sure she was crying.
"Let's sit down.” He guided her to the little couch in the corner of the room. They dropped into the worn-out cushions, her head still resting against him. He stroked her upper arm, reveling in the softness, refusing to compare her with Kammie Tule. “How much do you know about my past?"
"I know you're wasting yourself here,” she said, her voice falling. “You should be flying starships, not shuffling containers."
"Letha..."
"Damn it, love, I'm trying to be noble here.” She pulled back and looked up at him. “This might be your one chance to do something that matters, something that people are going to talk about for generations, and I won't have you blaming me for missing it."
"I could never blame you."
"You say that now. But when the rest of the pilots around here board that freighter you're going to hate yourself for not being with them. I don't much like the thought of being alone, but I likes the thought of you hating yourself even less. Go, would you?"
The computer chimed, an incoming message, but neither bothered to glance toward the screen. Around them, as if the mural was reading their dark moods, a thunderstorm built on the horizon, casting a purple glow across the tiled floor. Dev chewed on his lower lip before launching into the things he had never told a single person. “I'm not saying you aren't right,” he began. “But I have to tell you some things about me that I don't think you're going to like. You know my family belonged to a gypsy-freighter, right?"
"You make it sound like you were slaves.” She smiled weakly.
"Not much difference.” He shrugged. “Out in the reaches where we traveled, there aren't any restrictions on what geneticists can do. When people say I'm a born pilot, they're right. I was gene-tailored, just like my parents and their parents before them. I come from a long line of star-pilots, so it was just assumed I'd stay with our ship, or be contracted out to fly somebody else's. But that's not the worst of it. We weren't just gene-tailored, we were line-bred like race horses."
"All right.” Some of her usual cockiness returned. “So far you're proving my point."
"There's more.” Dev swallowed, his mouth dry. “The captain and the owners made sure before I was ever born that I would pass my genes on with another pilot. Part of the tweaking that was done to me was to make sure I would fall in love with the person they wanted. I was born with a physical addiction to a girl named Kammie Tule whose mother was the pilot off another freighter. We were raised together like brother and sister, except it just assumed that when the time came, we would marry and keep the line going."
He paused, letting the words sink in. Letha stared at him, her wide brown eyes full of hurt and fear as if she had already guessed much of what he was telling her. In some way, he realized, she probably had. Dev drew a long breath and continued.
"When we were twelve, the owners made a string of bad buys and the ship went bust. To settle debts, the freighter was sold and the crew left stranded. My parents hitched a ride to Oasis. Kammie and her mother went back to her family's ship. When we saw each other for the last time, my heart broke. I didn't speak to anyone, not even my mother, for nearly six months. I almost starved to death, and for a while I was put into a hospital. I never thought I could care about anything again. Even after I got my license and started flying, it didn't matter to me. I was just going through the motions. Then, I met you."
He kissed her, but knew the gesture seemed false. Letha pulled back, her eyes bright with tears. “She's here, isn't she?"
"Yes."
"And that's why you don't want to join the mission?"
Dev nodded slowly. Letha looked away, reached up with her free hand and brushed her fingers through her thick, dark hair. “I love you.” She lifted her mouth to his and kissed him hard, then pulled back, her lips quivering as she smiled. “I trust you."
Dev held her, soaking up her warmth and wishing to whatever nameless gods might exist that he could trust himself.
* * * *
The Blanca Rosa departed the next morning, bearing her load of refugees for Novus. Despite everything, Dev found himself standing among the onlookers watching the little bit of history play out. He watched as the crew made their way to the airlock, Alvarez the last to step inside. The captain turned and kissed Kammie Tule so passionately they seemed to be part of some old romantic vid, lovers torn apart by the onrushing war, star-crossed but defiant. The crowd cheered as Alvarez broke the kiss, waved to the onlookers, then strode up the sloping ramp while the heavy doors slid shut behind him.
Dev watched from the railing one level above the floor, secretly thrilled to see Alvarez gone while Kammie remained behind to take the volunteers back to Portius. She turned and found him staring down at her. This time, neither bothered to look away from the other.
* * * *
A bulk container was leased to carry the pusher-ships back to Portius, along with one of the largest star-drive equipped tugs, the Elizabeth Toland, to tow it and house the volunteers. Dev kept busy over the next three days, helping load the bulky ships and provisions into the canister, the normal flow of goods through Oasis on hold until the rescue ship was away. By the time the final pusher was stowed and the container secured for flight, he felt as if he hadn't slept in a week, his body on the verge of exhaustion.
And still he couldn't keep Kammie Tule from his thoughts.
A farewell party had been organized, the Pilot's Association hangar now fitted with wall screens blazing light shows and raucous music. Dev could actually feel the
bass notes through the soles of his boots as he walked toward the trans-rail. The station seemed deserted, everyone who was anyone at the party. Dev's mouth twisted in an ironic smile as he wandered toward the waiting cars, the hypnotic call of the music reinforcing his decision to stay behind at Oasis. Weary to the core, he swiped his card through the pay-slot and the gate clicked open. The steel rail felt cold in his hand as he pushed it open. Behind him, he heard a soft, hesitant footstep.
"Dev?"
For one moment he considered not turning around. “Hello, Kammie. I thought you'd be at the party."
"I was.” She wore her flightsuit again, the blue padded jacket emphasizing her slender hips and long legs. Her blond hair looked tousled and yet perfectly in place, gold highlights cast by the overhead lamps. “Guess I wasn't in the mood for crowds."
"Yeah, me either.” Somehow his legs seemed to have taken on a mind of their own, carrying him within arms reach of her. “I hope things go all right on the mission."
"Thanks.” She sighed. “Wish you were coming with us. We could use you."
"I don't think that's such a good idea.” Dev pushed his hands into his jacket pockets, feeling like a nervous teenager. “I'm glad things have worked out for you. Piloting the Rosa, I mean. And, you know, you and Alvarez.” He could barely say the name.
"Thanks. Good luck with the baby.” Her smile trembled slightly at the corners of her mouth. “Must be wonderful having a family. I even think about it now and then.” She edged closer, but stopped short of touching him. “I wish I could kiss you goodbye, but..."
"Yeah, but . . .” Dev tipped his head back and stared up at the high ceiling, the open girders casting shadows across the gray surface. Sweat broke out on his back despite the cool air blowing through the chamber, every instinct screaming to take her in his arms. Instead, he forced a grim smile. “Take care of yourself."
"You too."
Turning around was the hardest thing he had ever done. Not until he was seated and the car moving did he allow himself a final look back, his heart breaking all over again as he watched Kammie waving one last goodbye.
The day passed in a blur, normalcy slowly returning once the transport departed, carrying away most of Oasis's pusher pilots with it. Dev tried to keep busy, but in the end he wound up simply wandering the labyrinth of corridors until he was certain the transport had broken dock. Even then he couldn't face going home to Letha, his anger and resentment too near the surface. He needed time to bring himself under control, time to start forgetting about Kammie Tule all over again.
When at last, nearly six hours later, he did return to the apartment, he found Letha sitting at the computer. She turned and looked at him, her dark eyes wide with fear.
"What's wrong?” he said, rushing across the tiny room. “The baby?"
"No.” Letha shook her head. “We're fine. It's . . .” Her voice broke. “Word just came in from Departure Control. The transport canister exploded thirty seconds before engaging their star-drive. They don't know if anyone on the tug survived."
The room, so solid only a heartbeat before, began to dissolve, the floor no longer able to support him. Dev felt his knees buckle and kept from falling only by clutching a nearby counter. Letha hurried to him. A dull roar howled in the background, his own pulse thundering as the room continued to lose substance.
"How?” It was the only word he seemed able to force out his lips.
"Nobody knows.” Letha steered them both to the small couch. “Everything was green on their board. Then, just as they began the jump, their telemetry went dead. Departure picked up a debris field on radar a few seconds later.” She paused, her own voice far from steady. “No one official is saying it yet, but everyone suspects a bomb."
Cold rage flooded through Dev, the shock giving way to the mounting fury. He had friends aboard that ship. They both did. People they had known and worked with for years, nearly half of the active shuttle pilots on station lost because of some fanatic's need to make a political statement. His fists bunched together, the muscles on his arms tensing as he fought to hold in the anger and despair, one overriding thought burning in his mind. Kammie Tule was dead.
He was on his feet and halfway to the door before he realized he had stood up. Still on the couch, Letha called after him. “Where are you going?"
"Out there.” He didn't need to explain where there was. “My ship is fueled and ready. If the tug didn't explode there could be survivors. I'm going to bring them back."
"Dev . . .” She struggled to her feet. “Let the authorities handle this."
"Piss on the authorities.” He pulled the door open, the faintly stale air outside the apartment spilling in. Dev took his wife in his arms, her pregnant belly hard against his own. He held her, not quite sure which of them was shaking the most. “By the time the emergency teams are dispatched, this will be a retrieval mission, not a rescue. I can be there before they even have their ship fueled."
"Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"This is about her, isn't it.” Letha said it as a statement, not a question. Dev flinched, the words sharp as a slap to the face.
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?” She glared at him. “At least be honest with me if you can't be honest with yourself. If that was me out there instead of her, would you be so quick to throw your life away trying to bring me back?"
He bit down on his lip, holding in an angry, senseless reply. “I love you,” he finally said. “I don't care what you might think, I love you.” Dev slid the door open and stepped out of the apartment. By the time he reached the trans-rail he was running, his back soaked with sweat, thoughts of Letha and his unborn child all but forgotten in his need to reach Kammie Tule before what hope remained faded to zero.
He swam in a sea of numbers, his enhanced nervous system calculating the outbound vectors nearly as fast as his shuttle's computers. He had gambled, taking an extra fuel tank rather than a survival pod, instinctively suspecting that reaching the damaged starship and bringing it back would give any potential survivors a better chance. Besides, Dev reasoned, hating to admit it, a pod couldn't accommodate all of the volunteers and crew, forcing him to damn at least half of them to almost certain death.
"Four-Eight Uniform?” Departure Control tried for the third time in less than two minutes to contact him. He continued to ignore them. “Four-Eight Uniform, do you read?"
He bit down on his lip, knowing full well how much trouble he was facing when he returned. Dev seriously considered turning his telemetry off but decided against it. If nothing else, the official emergency teams could follow his signal. Again, the speakers in his headset crackled, the words echoed on his text-screen.
"Four-Eight Uniform? Mr. Verlain?” A brief pause. “Dev, if you can hear me, be advised that we strongly advise you not to attempt a rescue on your own. However, in case you are hearing this, the most recent scans of the debris cloud indicate a region of density 11 degrees south by 14 degrees west of the solar axis, receding at 38 KPS from Oasis. We can't be certain this is the tug, but we are dispatching our own teams to that region."
Dev nodded to himself, silently thanking the nameless voice for the tip. He made a slight course correction, aiming toward what he could only hope was the tug, the flight computer confirming what he had already calculated. If the tug had been at jump velocity he would use nearly his entire fuel reserve just to reach them. He stared out the tiny forward window at the bulk container grappled in front of him, wondering if the extra fuel it held would be enough. No matter how he played the numbers it would be close.
Too close.
For a moment he considered sending a private message back to Letha, but decided against it, the commo gear aboard his shuttle far too primitive to keep the news-hounds from intercepting his words. Things were going to be bad enough between them without his broadcasting their private turmoil across the nets.
Ahead, most of his view blocked by the fuel tank, he saw a diffuse glow, spille
d fuel, and water from the exploded canister illuminated by sunlight. Dev's fingers tightened around the armrests, the foolishness of what he was doing only now sinking in. Any debris he encountered, no matter how small, would be as lethal as a missile at the velocities they were moving. His mouth tightened into a grim line as he began transferring the fuel from the external tank into his ship. Although the combustible mixture wouldn't ignite in vacuum should the tank rupture, it was under pressure and the resulting burst would be enough to send him out of control.
Time hung, the simple concept of minutes no longer bearing any real meaning as he rushed outward. The cloud in front of him continued to grow, becoming less defined the closer he approached. Dev checked his own speed and saw he was moving at nearly 60 KPS, fast enough to overtake the wreckage. Reluctantly, he shut down his engines to conserve fuel for the return flight.
To his left, just at the lower edge of the fuel tank, he saw a twinkle. Dev leaned forward against his restraints, holding his breath, not sure he had actually seen anything. Just as he began to pass it off as wishful thinking, he caught the reflection again. Something large enough to be seen by the naked eye was out there, tumbling and occasionally reflecting back at him. He focused his radar on the region, pushing the sensors to their maximum. A small dot flickered into existence on the screen, bright red against the cooler yellows and blues in the simulated view.
"That's got to be it,” Dev whispered, trying to convince himself. If he changed course now and the object wasn't the tug, he wouldn't get a second chance. He felt cold inside despite the sweat pooling between his shoulders as he made the minute course adjustments, the change in vector so slight he barely felt it in the seat of his pants. Now, all he could do was wait.
His gaze traveled outward, not to the debris cloud, but beyond it to the unblinking stars. For the first time in years he began to daydream about being out there, traveling between worlds instead of pushing freight containers. Suddenly, he craved the rush, the danger as enticing as the need for sex or food. Something within him had awakened, but whether it was the accident and his insane rescue attempt, or simply having Kammie flung unexpectedly back into his life, he couldn't say. No, he corrected himself. He didn't want to say, the possibility that every emotion he felt right now, from guilt to longing to abject fear was inspired by the same genetic twists that left him addicted to a woman he could never have.
Analog SFF, October 2010 Page 20
