“As I understand it, he's dying, and there's nothing to be done to save him,” I said bluntly.
Evlyn Travis blinked. “It's—very serious, yes. So you can see why—”
“In which case,” I continued, “I don't see that it makes a hell of a lot of difference if he's here, there, or orbiting Mars. His residence fees will be paid until the end of the month. If there's paperwork to be done, please have it completed as soon as possible. I'll sign anything necessary to relieve you of responsibility.”
“It's neither the money nor the liability we're concerned about,” she said stiffly. “We simply feel that the most beneficial health care option would be for Mr. Paixon to remain with us. His wish to leave does not seem . . . rational.”
“Then thank you for your concern, Ms. Travis,” I said coldly. “It certainly seems rational to me. And I'll tell Mr. Paixon that everything is arranged.”
I didn't wait for her to say anything else, and broke the connection. Yes, it was rude, but my heart was pounding and my chest felt swollen with repressed sorrow. And anger. To suggest that Hirin was not in his right mind! I pushed away from my desk and stood, pulling a deep breath and moving into the familiar rhythm of my tae-ga-chi workout to try and calm down. The fluid ease of the form, with its interlock of sweeping hand movements and choreographed steps, was my favourite way to regain focus and center my mind. Block, bend, step, balance, reach . . . muscles loosened and relaxed into a meditative, physical mantra, leading my emotions to follow suit. I could complete this particular form inside a three-foot square, making it perfect for small shipboard spaces. After only a few moments, my body settled into the well-known cadence and I started to feel better.
Another incoming call beeped and I moved to the screen, chest tightening again. This time it was Hirin himself. His grizzled face looked about as angry as I'd ever seen it, and he was breathing fast. “Luta? You won't believe the visit I got from the administration here this morning!”
I leaned toward him. “It's okay, Hirin, calm down. I think I can guess, as a matter of fact. They're trying to talk you out of leaving?”
He barked a short, humourless laugh. “As good as told me I wasn't allowed to leave, if you can believe that. I gave them a piece of my mind, I can tell you.”
I smiled. I could just imagine how that had gone, and now I knew what had prompted my call from Evlyn Travis. “I hope you didn't give them too much. They already seem to think you're getting a little short in that department.”
He stared at me, uncomprehending, then chuckled. “They called you.”
“And I told them in no uncertain terms that you were sane, you were leaving, and that was the end of it. Don't worry. When the Tane Ikai lifts off, you'll be aboard. I promise.”
Hirin drew a deep breath. “I haven't told Maja yet.”
“Well, she's not going to like it, but she can't stop you.”
“I think we should tell her together, if you don't mind.”
I nodded. “I think you're right. Just let me know when, and I'll be there.”
We ended the call, and I went back to my tae-ga-chi. It took a while before I felt better.
Three days passed in a frenzy of preparations. If PrimeCorp was following me around, they were being much more covert about it, because I didn’t notice any more suspicious flitters or individuals as I made my way around the spaceport and the city. Dr. Ndasa had accepted my tender. I took cargo hauling jobs for Mars, Eri, Rhea, and Renata, but nothing beyond that, so that my ultimate destination wouldn't be on the records. I couldn't find any other passengers. I wasn't too disappointed about that. Most people would have backed out when they heard we were going through the Split, anyway.
Not surprisingly, no-one on the crew had a problem with that, and if they were willing, then I could accept the risks, too. Viss stated flatly that he was not going unless he had a chance to clean those plasma intakes and tinker with a few other things, but I gave him the go-ahead and then he was fine with it. Baden raised his eyebrows but said nothing. I already knew Yuskeya was willing, and Rei let out a whoop of joy.
“I get to pilot the Split!? No blago?” She turned to Viss. “Better get busy on those plasma intakes.”
“Tane Ikai can do it, Rei dam-Rowan, she's done it once before. Have you?”
“No,” Rei retorted, “but I know the drill. I've studied logs and field data from every known Split run that's ever been made.”
Baden turned to her and drawled, “And why would you do that, Rei? It's not a common run.”
Rei flushed suddenly, her clear skin a bright pink beneath her pridattii. It was something I'd only seen happen once—maybe twice—before.
“It was for another job,” she said evasively. “We made a lot of runs in the vicinity. I wanted to be prepared, just in case.”
Everyone had to know she was lying—the only ships that made regular runs through the Split were usually running from something—but no-one called her on it. We all had things in our pasts that we didn't care to talk about, and so we all naturally respected each other's right to those secrets. It was always interesting when a revelation happened by accident, however.
“Okej. If Dr. Ndasa's willing to take the chance, we'll do it. We'll have one other passenger, but I know he won't object.”
Rei smiled and the others looked the question at me. “Hirin's coming with us,” I said. “He'll be in the guest quarters.”
“Hirin?” Viss frowned. “Isn't he rather—”
“Old?” I shrugged. “Sure. He's ninety-two, and he's quite ill. He wants to die in space, to be perfectly honest, and there's no telling when it might happen.” I couldn't believe how steady my voice was. “I'm telling you this so that you won't be surprised if it does. Is everyone okay with that?”
Baden grinned. “The old space dog! I hope I'm thinking that clearly when it's my time to go.”
Yuskeya snorted. “You! You'll be all safe and cozy in an old folks' home, whining and moaning and pinching pretty young nurses when they come to give you a sonic shower. No way you'll be wishing you were shipboard.”
Viss still looked worried. “That's kind of you, Captain, but won't it be awfully difficult? I mean, he is a relative.”
I nodded. “It won't be easy, you're right. But if I can do this for him, then I want to. I'll be fine.” I stood up. “So that's everything. We start taking on cargo tomorrow and we ship out the day after that. Any other matters I should know about?”
No-one spoke up, so I told them to try and have a little fun in the short time we'd be Earthside and headed for my cabin. I wanted to change my clothes and mentally prepare for what lay ahead. Hirin and I were meeting with Maja, and while I know I shouldn't say such a thing about my daughter, I wasn't looking forward to it at all. With Karro on the space station, we'd have to tell him everything via WaVE, but he'd accept it. Maja would be another story.
I pulled a dove-grey biosuit out of my drawer and looked at it dubiously. It wasn't exactly me, but it was more refined and elegant than my usual jeans and t-shirt. Maja might consider it “acting my age.” I drafted Rei to pin up my hair, something I can never seem to manage myself unless I'm going for the tousled, just-got-out-of-bed look, and kept the makeup to a minimum.
The last few years I've paid special attention to my appearance whenever I'm going to see Maja. She's over fifty, still looks a young forty, but her mother still looks thirty. Maja takes good care of herself. However, she can't possibly look younger than I do, and that's just not a healthy mother-daughter situation.
When I surveyed my efforts in the mirror, I still looked thirty. I sighed.
We met at the nursing home, where Hirin was waiting until it was time to ship out. They were still making some noises about bad ideas and paperwork, but I just kept telling them that Hirin was leaving with me and it was not up for discussion. I didn't get as many stares as I went down the lavender hallway this time. Maja's voice reached me before I opened Hirin's door, and already she wasn't happy.
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“But Dad, I want to know—” she broke off and turned around when I pushed the door open. It was easy to see what had made her think something was up. Despite the paperwork issue, Hirin had already packed up all his belongings and the room was as stark as a hospital cubicle. Even his usually cluttered desk was clear. He was making a statement. He was going, no matter what administrative obstacles they tried to throw in his path.
The skin around her sapphire-blue eyes tightened when she saw me and she drew a deep breath. “Hello, Mother. I might have known you'd have something to do with this.”
“Hello, Maja. It's nice to see you, too.” Damne. I'd promised myself that I'd be polite and stay calm for Hirin's sake, and I was screwing up already. To mask the sarcasm in my words, I crossed to her and gave her a quick hug and a peck on the cheek.
I didn't say she looked good, although she did. She seemed to resent it when I remarked on her appearance at all, no matter how flatteringly. Her hair was still devoid of grey and hung in shining blonde layers to her shoulders, her makeup was impeccable, and she wore an emerald biosuit overlaid with a leaf-patterned swirl of translucent fabric. I sent up a silent prayer of thanks that we still might look like sisters, at least. The day she started to look like the mother would probably be the last day we'd see each other.
She briefly looked surprised, then narrowed her eyes. “All right, that was rude of me. Now that you're here, maybe you'll tell me what this is all about? Dad won't say a thing and his room looks like he's already moved out.”
Hirin said calmly, “Would you both sit down? I've asked the nurse to bring us tea, and we'll have a nice visit, shall we?”
Ha, I thought, but I sat in one of the two worn brocade armchairs and Maja perched on the end of the bed. Hirin sat at his desk chair, saying he preferred the straight back.
“Now,” he said, “Maja, I'll tell you what's happening. I was just waiting until your mother got here. You must understand that this is all my doing. She's only helping me out because I've asked her to.”
Maja opened her mouth as if she'd protest already, but closed it without saying anything.
The nurse arrived with the tea just then, so we had to wait while she settled it all on the desk and surveyed us with a sunny smile. How nice, the man's daughters coming to have tea with him, I knew she must be thinking. Finally she left us alone again.
“Honey,” Hirin continued, and his voice was very soft, “Maja, I haven't got much longer. The virus is at it again and, well, there's just nothing they can do.”
“But what about—”
He held up a hand, very gently. “There's nothing. Nothing I want, anyway. I do have one last request, and that's why I've asked for your mother's help. I don't want to die here, in this place. I want to go back to the stars, just one more time, and I want the end to come out there somewhere.”
Maja's eyes widened. “You can't be serious! Dad, this is crazy! If you stay here they'll make you comfortable, at least, they'll look after you . . .”
“They won't make me comfortable up here,” he said, tapping a wizened finger to his temple. “And that's what I want most now.”
“But it's too dangerous! Think of the risks! You'll—” She saw his face and switched tactics. “Why don't you come home with me, instead? I can take care of you. And if you needed a doctor there'd be one close.”
“That would be lovely, dear, and I'd come and stay with you for a while if I had more time. However, I don't, and this is my chance, when your mother heads out again. I want to take it.”
“But does it have to be right away?”
I nodded. “I have jobs I'm committed to, and a passenger. And a lead on your grandmother,” I added.
She rounded on me. “Dio, are you ever going to give it up? I can't believe you wouldn't stay here with him instead of hauling him off on some space bucket,” she hissed. “But oh, no, you've got your precious jobs. How can you do this?”
I looked at her sadly. “I offered to stay here, Maja. I told him I wouldn't take another job as long as he needed me Earthside, but he doesn't want to stay here. This is his idea, it's his wish, and I have to help him as well as I can.” I took a chance. “I love him too, you know.”
She looked at me for a long moment, then her face crumpled and she buried her head in her hands. It was suddenly clear to me that for a long time now she'd viewed me, not as her mother, not as Hirin's wife, but as someone she had to compete with for his affection. Despite our shared past, to her I was more like the stereotypical younger stepmother than her real mother. That hurt.
I moved to sit beside her on the bed and put an arm around her. Dankas Dio, she didn't pull away. “Honey, I'm his wife. I've been his wife for almost sixty years. He loves us both. He always has.”
Maja managed to turn a sob into a long, deep breath. “I know,” she whispered. “I know. It's just so hard. I feel like I lost you so long ago. Now I'm losing him, too.”
My heart clenched at that and I couldn't force any more words out.
Hirin got up and shuffled over to the bed, sat on the other side of Maja and silently put an arm over her shoulders.
“When do you go?” she asked finally in a muffled voice.
“Two days' time,” Hirin said. “I love you, Maja.”
We sat like that for a long time, grieving for what we'd had, what we'd lost, and what was about to change forever.
Chapter Four
Secrets Lost and Found
I arrived back at the Tane Ikai that night to find a notebug from PrimeCorp waiting for me, hovering outside the main bridge hatch. Viss Feron was there, too, lounging beside the closed hatchway with something cradled in the palm of his hand. His thick, greying hair was untidy, and he still had his shipsuit on—he rarely wore anything else. Took some ribbing about that whenever we were planetside, too, but his usual dry response was that women had always loved a man in uniform.
“Yes, but usually a clean one,” Rei would point out. Viss would merely grin and shrug.
He nodded towards the notebug as I approached the hatch.
“It must be for you,” he said. “It's already scanned all the rest of us. Wait a second,” he said, holding up a hand to halt my approach before I got close enough for the bug to scan me. “I could take care of it if you want.”
He opened his palm and I saw what he held—a bug scrambler, commonly known as a “zapper.” They were illegal tech; they scrambled the bug's message and the ID implant tags of anyone it had scanned. They also eradicated the bug's memory cache so that it couldn't return home and was essentially “lost.”
This wasn't the first time Viss had suggested something outside the strictly legal, and I knew it wouldn't be the last. In the five years I'd known him, I'd come to suspect that his former careers had included time in the military and on both sides of the law enforcement line. I also knew that in any situation, Viss would do what he considered “right,” and on those kinds of decisions, we always saw eye-to-eye.
I considered it, I confess. But the appearance of a second message so soon was unusual. PrimeCorp had docilely accepted my ignoring them the past few years. I was curious to see what had changed.
“That's all right, Viss, I'll take this one.” I didn't mention the zapper. “Who knows, it could be something interesting.”
He snorted a laugh and I stepped up for the scan. The tiny 'bot settled delicately on my forearm over the spot where my implant lay, ran the initial ID scan and buzzed, “Luna Paxon?” Tiny antennae sprouted from the top, twitching as it waited for my response.
If it had been a real person I might have bothered to make the point that my name was Luta, not Luna, and that it had the last name wrong, too, but no-one ever bothers to fix bug software, and it had already identified me from the scan. The voice confirmation was just a redundancy. I rolled my eyes at Viss and said, “Konfirmi,” and the notebug direct-transferred the message to my implant. I felt the usual small zap, like a shock of static electricity, to signal the end
of the message, and then the thing flitted away. Trust PrimeCorp to go to ridiculous lengths to preserve its “privacy.” They could have just sent me another e-note.
Viss watched the thing disappear past a battered insystem shuttle docked beside us, then opened the hatch and gestured me in ahead of him.
“Do you want the good news first, or the bad news?” he asked as we entered the bridge. Yuskeya and Baden were both there, and looked up as we arrived.
“I'll take the bad, I guess, unless you're going to tell me you couldn't get the plasma intakes cleaned. I don't want to hear that at all, now or later.”
Viss grinned. “No, that's done and she's ready to take on the Split as far as I'm concerned. Actually, that was the good news. The bad news is that I don't think we should head into the Split with a full load of cargo on board. I don't know what plans you've already made, but I think the forward pod should be clear when we get to that point.”
“Is there something wrong with the skip drive?”
“No, no, it's not that. The drive is fine. I just ran a new diagnostic I got from a friend who's had . . . experience with the Split. The runs seem safer when the field stresses are lowest, and that means reducing the weight load. Is it a problem?”
I shook my head. “No, we weren't going to carry a full cargo load anyway, and we'll be offloading some before we get to GI 182. I just wondered why. Baden can tell the steves to keep Pod One clear. Thanks for the input.” Viss had some questionable friends, but sometimes they came in handy.
I headed for my cabin, wondering what the PrimeCorp message might say. When I outloaded it to my datapad, I saw that the tone had changed considerably from the previous missive.
Received: from [205152.59.68] PrimeCorp Main Division
NOTEBUG-V.: 25.7
Encryption: securetext/novis/noaud
Receipt recording: internal/enabled
From: “Chairman Alin Sedmamin”
Nearspace Trilogy Page 4
