by Mark Wandrey
“Sorry,” Terry said. Doc patted him on the shoulder. Terry looked down and out into the spinning abyss. He swallowed. “Is this safe?”
“As safe as space gets,” Doc said. Terry’s eyes snapped up to his, and he saw the man smiling, then laughing.
“Jerk,” Terry said, and punched him in the stomach as hard as he could. It was like punching a bag in the gym.
“Hey, easy there, I’m old and frail. Help me out; these chairs can be repositioned so we can watch Kavul Ato dock.”
Just like Doc said, the chairs were designed to be dismounted from the ‘roof,’ where they were now, and relocated to numerous places in the observation dome. None of them would make the seats perfectly upright, like they would have been if the ship was sitting on the ground. It was enough to sit at a 20-degree angle, though, especially in the low half-gravity, to allow them to watch their last ship dock.
Terry could tell right away something looked wrong. Kavul Ato wasn’t quite on the right course. The captain tried hard to change courses, but there wasn’t enough time. Suddenly they stopped trying and fired braking thrusters to slow down. As Teddy orbited away, Kavul Ato fell back.
“Why’d they stop?” Terry wondered aloud.
“Probably waved off by the Behemoth.” Terry looked at him uncomprehendingly. “It’s a signal you give to someone trying to land if it’s not going to work.” He waved his hands back and forth. “Wave off, get it?”
“Oh, sure. But what now?”
“I suspect they’ll try again.”
They did, and the two watched the transport orbit into view again. This time they were coming in too quickly, and overshot.
“What do we do if they can’t dock?” Terry asked. Pōkole and the Shore Pod were on the other ship. They wouldn’t leave them in Karma, would they?
Doc used his communicator to call Terry’s mom, who was with the bottlenoses on their ship. After a brief conference, he turned to Terry. “If she can’t dock, we’re going to undock and rejoin her.”
“What about the planet we’re going to?” Terry asked.
“That would be off the table,” Doc said. “We have a limited window, and this Behemoth is the only ship going there for the next three months.”
Terry blew air out between his lips and watched as Kavul Ato again orbited into view. He thought it looked out of position again, and he saw some of its maneuvering thrusters firing. However, this time the corrections worked. The ship fell in directly behind them, and he felt a slight reverberation through the hull.
“Kavul Ato has successfully docked,” the captain announced.
“Yes!” Terry cried and gave Doc a high five.
Doc put his hand to his headset. “Your mom says I’m to take you to Kavul Ato so you can help with the orcas there. Ready to go aboard Second Octal?”
“You know it!”
* * * * *
Chapter 11
Kavul Ato, Karma Star System, Cresht Region, Tolo Arm
December 4th, 2037
Moving through Second Octal turned out to be anticlimactic. Terry and Doc climbed out of the belly of Teddy Roosevelt on rungs intended for the other direction. The crew was busy reconfiguring their ship for its unusual gravity orientation, so nobody was at the lock when the two moved through it. It was the same at the other end when they cycled into Second Octal.
“You’d think they’d have some security,” Doc noted.
Terry nodded; that would have made sense. On the other side of the lock, they climbed onto a wide corridor with a slight curvature in both directions. It reminded him of Karma Station’s promenade, which made sense, as Second Octal had nearly the same diameter. Only this is a starship, Terry thought.
He didn’t know which way to go, but Doc set them off in the direction he was sure would lead to Kavul Ato. Unlike Karma Station, there were no shops or aliens moving about on their business. It was completely empty.
They moved along until they saw an elevator shaft going up. Doc examined the sign. “This lift goes to the other areas of the ship,” he said. “You need an access card.”
“Still surprised there’s no real security,” Terry said. Doc nodded, and they continued on until reaching the docking location of Kavul Ato. A crewman from the ship was waiting for them; apparently the same lack of security that didn’t keep someone from entering Second Octal would also not have prevented them from entering the ship without invitation.
“Dr. Clark said you were coming,” the man said and followed them into the lock.
Once in the ship, Terry quickly made his way to the hold where the Shore Pod was. Two marine biologists were already in the tank giving the orcas anesthetic. One of the ship’s crew, a cargo handler, was standing by watching.
“The whales asked to be knocked out,” the crewman said, shaking his head. “They don’t like hyperspace, do they?”
“Not at all,” Terry agreed and he quickly got into his wetsuit and grabbed a rebreather. Pōkole was swimming around his mother, circling over and over nervously.
Once he was in the water, he went to the calf, who immediately turned and nuzzled Terry nervously. “It’ll be okay,” Terry said and stroked the infant’s long, smooth side. He looked to see who was administering the sedatives. “Dr. Patel?”
“Yes, Terry?” the doctor replied a few meters away.
“Are you going to drug Pōkole too?”
“Your mother said it’s up to you.”
“Oh!” Terry said, surprised. He looked at Pōkole floating next to him, and then at the calf’s mother, who was slowly falling asleep. The adults couldn’t handle hyperspace, but Pōkole had been born there, and had shown no signs of trouble for the following four days. “Don’t give him anything,” Terry said, “but you better give me the dosage necessary and show me how to use it, just in case.”
Dr. Patel met him outside the tank a few minutes later. The ship’s techs were pleased with themselves, having installed exits to the tanks on the ceiling and the floor, just in case the ships were forced to dock in unusual orientations. Once they were out of the water, he showed Terry the injector and how it operated.
“Make sure you inject at the base of the flukes,” he told Terry and showed him with a slate. “If you’re smooth with the injector, he’ll hardly feel a thing. Maybe do it while he’s feeding.” Dr. Patel checked the time. “We’re due to enter hyperspace in two hours, so be ready.”
“Yes, sir,” Terry said, and took the injector. “I hope I don’t need it.”
“Me too, son.”
Terry got back in the tank and spent time keeping Pōkole calm and reassuring him. The young orca was confused, wondering why none of the orcas were responding to him. He didn’t remember a few months ago just after he was born. The body language of an orca was easy to detect and uncomplicated. Terry could tell Pōkole was scared.
“Entering the stargate in five minutes,” Terry heard over his underwater earphones.
Here we go, he thought. He swam to the surface and got the milk bottle from its warmer. Pōkole saw and immediately darted over for some food. The calf had long since gotten gentler about his feeding habits, not knocking Terry all over the pool in his impatience. Pōkole used to be nearly three times the Human’s size, and had since grown to over four times.
Based on the medical staff’s analysis, Pōkole was gaining 1-2 kilos a day. Drinking five liters of the fat-dense milk a day certainly helped. There was so much fat in the milk, it was more the consistency of toothpaste than what Terry thought of as milk. Some of the stored and purchased fish was being processed into the milk each day.
“Entering hyperspace,” Terry heard.
He felt the jolting sensation of being destroyed and rebuilt again. Instantly all four adult orcas spasmed in their drug-induced slumber, then settled in the simple fabric slings rigged to keep them at the tank’s surface so the rebreathers weren’t necessary. Pōkole stopped feeding and rolled to look at Terry. His eye was already the size of an adult Human’s fi
st. The calf blinked and focused on his benefactor.
Oh, no, Terry thought. His instinct was to back away, just in case. Instead, he let the bottle float free and ran both hands along the orca’s side. “It’s okay, baby,” he said, sure the sounds would transfer in the water despite the rebreather in his mouth. “You’re safe.”
Pōkole looked around, swimming a slow circle around Terry and observing his surroundings as if he sensed something was wrong. Terry reached back and took the injector. It was too big to hide, but he kept it against his stomach and covered it with the bottle in his other hand to make it less visible. He doubted the calf knew what it was.
Eventually Pōkole drifted back over to Terry and nuzzled against him uncertainly. Terry moved along the calf’s body toward the tail. He kept the mental image of the spot Dr. Patel had said to use as the injection point firmly in his mind, all the while praying he wouldn’t have to do it.
Finally, Pōkole poked the bottle with his nose, a sure sign he wanted more food. Terry exhaled a line of bubbles, then offered it to the calf, who began to eat contentedly. He was going to be alright. Terry tucked the injector behind his back and concentrated on feeding Pōkole.
* * *
“How’s Pōkole?”
“He’s fine, Mom,” Terry said as he walked awkwardly into Teddy Roosevelt’s galley. The crew had done as good a job as they could configuring it to operate upside down. It hadn’t been designed with the same flexibility as Kavul Ato and Kavul Tesh. Regardless of how you looked at the room, it appeared like they were eating on the ceiling. Even the little autochef was held to an exposed support beam by clamps. “He doesn’t show any signs of the adult orcas’ reaction to hyperspace.”
“Good,” she said. Terry got some food from the autochef and joined her. “The bottlenoses are practically drunk with excitement,” she said after he’d sat down on the awkwardly mounted bench.
“I’d like to find out why,” Terry said after he’d had a bite of food. He made a face at the bland concoction. He couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be.
“I think you have enough to do with your studies and Pōkole,” she said, glancing up at him.
“Aw, Mom...”
“Don’t ‘aw Mom’ me,” she said. “Your grades in math last week weren’t great.”
“They were 92%,” he complained.
“Your tests the previous week were 98%.”
“Doc says even the best have an off week once in a while.”
“Doc isn’t your dad.”
“Not yet,” he said, and glanced up at his mom. She was decidedly looking down at her food with a slightly rosy glow to her cheeks. Gotcha, he thought. “Doc and his crew are going over to explore the Second Octal tomorrow. Can I go?” She’d never heard the details of their encounter with the MinSha on Karma Station, and if Terry had his way, she never would.
“I want to go over, too. Can you boys control yourselves until midwatch?”
Terry smiled; it sounded like fun.
* * * * *
Chapter 12
Second Octal, Hyperspace
December 5th, 2037
It turned out getting onto the Behemoth was simply a matter of asking. All docked non-merc ships were allowed free access to the ship’s various common areas. Since it was a kilometer and a half across, those common areas were enormous.
Terry was able to read up a bit on Second Octal specifically. Its crew was listed as “Approximately 4,000” and mostly Maki. While he’d seen Maki on Earth, they were a race he wasn’t familiar with, so he looked them up before bed. They’d reminded him of monkeys when he’d first seen them back home. Now, as he looked at the GalNet images, they were more like lemurs. Only these were much bigger, though somewhat smaller than Humans, had split tails, and were also a merc race. “I wonder what they’re doing running big space freighters?” he had wondered before drifting off to sleep.
“You guys ready for a day on the town?” Doc asked at Teddy Roosevelt’s airlock.
“Town?” Terry asked.
“Yeah, these Behemoths are small cities in space,” he said. “I might have slipped over last night for a couple hours, just to look around.”
“You know the crew are Maki, and they’re mercs?” Terry asked. Doc gave him the appraising look again.
“Mercs?” his mom asked, looking at Terry in alarm.
“I knew they were a merc race,” Doc replied. “I’ve been shot at by them a couple times. However, the Maki aren’t like some merc races.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Well, they’re more like us.”
She had her slate out and was looking at the GalNet image of a Maki. “Doesn’t look a lot like us,” she said. “More like a monkey.”
“Lemur,” Terry corrected.
His mom rolled her eyes. “Same thing.”
“I didn’t say they looked like us, just that their societal structure is more like ours and less like other merc races.” They’d climbed into the ring hallway around Second Octal, where all the ships were docked. This time there were others there. Terry listened to Doc with half his attention as he looked at the aliens. “The Maki society isn’t built around mercs, like the Tortantula or the MinSha.”
“I know what the MinSha are,” she said. Terry glanced at Doc, who winked at him. “What are Tortantula?”
“Giant 10-legged spiders with a gun-wielding chipmunk on their backs,” Terry said. She gasped.
“Close enough,” Doc said. “The point is, their societies are completely structured around a merc life. If you aren’t a merc, you work to support them. Your race gains almost all its income from mercs, and if you aren’t one, you’re a second-class citizen, or worse.”
“How are the Maki different?” Terry asked, also curious. A bunch of lizards, more like snakes, but with six legs, were motivating by. Behind them were tall, Humanoid aliens with water-filled helmets he immediately recognized as Selroth, like the ones on Pegasus.
“I don’t exactly know,” Doc admitted. “Only that they’re a race big into starships, both military and transports. They make warships, too, as well as operate merc space navies.”
“Do they make these?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” Doc said. “I don’t think anyone’s made these for eons.”
Terry looked around as they approached the lift from the other day. The ship looked worn, certainly. However, it didn’t look as old as it was supposed to be. How could a ship operate for thousands of years? More, tens of thousands of years.
“Then where did they get them?” Terry asked.
Doc shrugged and punched a code into the lift’s control panel. It flashed blue. Terry had begun to learn color coding wasn’t the same as Earth in many places. Lots of races used blue as an ‘okay’ color, and green as bad. Doc had said once it was because not all aliens bled red blood; many were green. He guessed it made sense.
The lift opened, and Doc put out a hand to delay Terry. He wondered why, but then a massive brightly purple bulk moved out of the elevator. The Oogar’s beady black eyes regarded the much smaller Human’s as it shambled out. It roared, which made his mom squeak in surprise.
“Greetings,” their translators said.
Doc touched his translator and replied.
“Greetings,” he said in reply. Satisfied, the Oogar shambled off.
“I’d hate to hear it angry,” his mom said.
“It doesn’t sound a lot different,” Doc said. “I met a guy who said the Oogar don’t have an ‘indoor voice.’” Chuckling, the three entered the lift. It had probably been a bit crowded with a single Oogar. It fit all three of them handily. Terry tapped the controls, and the doors closed.
“They kinda smell,” Terry said.
“I bet we don’t smell good to them, either,” his mom said. Doc nodded in agreement.
It seemed like a foreign concept to him, until he thought about it. What would the Oogar think of Humans? Hairless monkeys from a backwater world?
Oogar were mercs, but had the Oogar been a merc itself? Did it even know they were Human? Every day he spent out in the galaxy, Terry felt like his perceptions were being altered.
No, he thought, not altered. Improved. He was about to tell Doc when the lift slowed to a stop. He noticed immediately they were lighter than before. It was similar to what he’d heard the moon was like, a sixth of a G.
The doors opened, and they shuffle-stepped out. Months of living in space had made his reflexes as flexible as his mind was becoming. If you lived in space, you adapted to varying gravity quickly, or got used to bruises. He didn’t like bruises, so he worked hard to adjust quickly.
The lift doors opened. Terry expected to see a corridor like on Karma Station, maybe a wide promenade. Instead, it was more like the inside of a shopping mall. The area was curved and reminded Terry of a sports stadium. There were aliens everywhere he looked. He’d been expecting mostly Maki, but there were hardly any in sight.
As they moved into the open, there was a large interactive Tri-V. It would have been called an information kiosk in older times. Here it was part display, part directory, and part advertisement. Terry couldn’t put his finger on what the place felt like. His mother did it for him.
“It’s like a cruise ship!” she said, a laugh in her voice.
“Yeah, I suppose so,” Doc agreed. “These Behemoths make a lot of their money carrying other ships from system to system. I guess they also make money off the ship’s passengers.”
They quickly learned the area was called the Pavilion by their translators. Terry recalled how the translators worked with a matrix of meanings and only assigned a word if the context was closer. He would have called it a mall.
The space was organized into levels, each one providing different products and services. On the bottom floor where they entered were mostly ship’s services and the most Maki. The busiest was the ship purser’s office, which handled the contracts of carriage between Second Octal and all ships docked for transit. Terry found out the purser also managed the ship’s accounts in relation to cargo and any inside passengers. The latter turned out to number in the thousands as well. Billions moved around the galaxy on various starships. The cheapest way was via a Behemoth.
