by C B Williams
Instead, she thought of the day. They’d been in transit for two weeks, which meant today was Jump Day. She had no idea what it would be like to go through the wormhole. Manabu assured both of them the hardest part was aligning the ship perfectly with the vortex so it wouldn’t fall apart. He told them it was actually quite easy, because it relied on his knack and the ship’s computer, so it really wasn’t hard at all.
It didn’t sound easy to her.
It sounded terrifying.
She’d only managed to leave her cabin a few days ago. Max had done it. Coaxed her out by promising to have every porthole covered along her path to the communal areas. She felt foolish and told him so, refusing to leave the sanctuary of her cabin. “Why feel foolish,” he had responded, “when it’s something you cannot control? Some people love it out here and others do not. Simple as that.”
“But to be paralyzed with fear is foolish,” she told him. “It makes me an ineffective body guard. I need to work through this.”
“If you’re going to work through it, then why not begin by leaving your room?”
He had her there.
The first day wasn’t as bad as she expected, especially since she’d been feeling a little cooped up, and the cabin seemed a bit smaller every day. The second day was even better. By the third day she felt able to master her fear enough to do her job guarding Max, in the highly unlikely event that she would be called upon to do so. But what did her old master say? Never let your guard down.
A twinge of guilt prickled through her. She’d let her guard down for days. Lucky nothing had happened. There had only been one small setback. When she removed the washcloth from her porthole and looked out. She shivered just thinking about it. How could anyone see all that emptiness as something beautiful? No wonder Manabu was constantly drunk. If she hadn’t been focused on designing buildings, she would have been tempted to follow his example.
Especially today.
But Manabu encouraged her to join them at the bridge to watch. Even he thought going through a wormhole was an experience not to be missed.
Abruptly, she threw off the covers and jumped out of bed. This was not who she was, she decided as she padded to the washbasin, this whimpering, frightened creature.
Not anymore.
As it happened, Manabu was right. The experience was fascinating. Terrifying, yet fascinating. It took all of Manabu’s skill and concentration to line their little ship up with the exact center of the wormhole’s circumference.
The wormhole was a huge energy vortex, reminding Mouse of the drain in her bathing pool back on Spur. Only it was immense, and their little ship seemed tiny and helpless in comparison, like an almost-invisible gnat.
She glanced over at Max, who was glued to their view port. He was so focused he didn’t notice when she slid a couple of steps closer, nearly brushing against his shirtsleeve.
To her consternation, it helped to be closer to Max, and little warning bells went off in her head. Her deepening affection for him would only distract her from her responsibility. But at the moment the distraction was welcome. His mounting excitement about what was happening out the viewport was contagious. It even managed to break through her Space Sickness for a few precious moments.
Suddenly the Sickness returned with a vengeance, and it took everything she had not to run blindly from the room. She concentrated on Manabu, watching how he delicately coaxed their small yacht to exactly where it needed to be.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, and locked the coordinates. “Hang on, we’re going through.”
Her stomach lurched as the ship was yanked into the very center of the wormhole. She closed her eyes and steadied herself by clutching the back of Manabu’s seat while the ship rotated along its spiraling journey, like water swirling down a drain, while Mouse’s stomach rose and dipped and churned in response.
Max let out a whoop and Manabu laughed while stifling her groan.
It took minutes and felt like years.
At last the ship gave one final shudder and sailed forward, smooth as silk, while Mouse opened her eyes to see a different star field.
“We’re through?” Max asked. He sounded disappointed.
“We’re through,” Manabu confirmed, and held up a hand while he contacted Talamh’s docking coordinators. “And now it’s only two weeks until we dock at Station One,” he said when he disconnected.
“Station One?” Max asked.
Manabu nodded. “There are four stations orbiting Talamh. We were assigned to Station One. I set it up just now when I provided our scheduled arrival time.”
Mouse and Max exchanged a glance. “So the good people of Talamh know we are approaching,” Max murmured and glanced again at Mouse.
“No,” Manabu replied, “They only know our ship’s name, the captain’s name, and the number of crew and number of guests who are arriving from Spur. And since this yacht isn’t in your name, Max, they will have no idea who those two are until we land.”
Max blew out a breath. “Had me worried for a moment. All my planning over the past couple of weeks was about to become moot. Won’t Eaton be surprised when his little meeting with Frasier is really a meeting with me and my new bride, Mouse.”
“Bride!” Mouse blurted. “I thought we decided against that plan.”
He glanced at her and grinned. “Nonsense, my dear Mouse,” he replied while he patted her hand. “I never decided against this plan, and I explained my excellent and compelling reason to you at the time. People let down their guard around honeymooners.”
She felt her face—her entire body—pull into a frown. “I would rather be your bodyguard.”
“And ruin my surprise? That wouldn’t be fun at all, my dear. No, I’ve decided I am traveling to Talamh on my honeymoon to show my beautiful new bride the sights, and thought I’d be polite and visit my good friend Eaton Currington, since we’re there and probably won’t ever return.”
He turned to Manabu, “Now we’re on this side of the wormhole, I will need to communicate with my people on the planet to prepare for our arrival. Is there a private place where I might conduct business undisturbed?”
“The safest place is the com station right here on the bridge. Let me show you how to use it, and I’ll make myself scarce while I use a less private com station to rouse some old friends. How much time do you need?”
“An hour or two?” He glanced at Mouse, “We will have dinner in my room tonight, and I’ll tell you everything you need to know. I’ll even cover the porthole before you arrive.” He grinned. “I’ve been making my own set of blueprints. I’m looking forward to introducing you to my plans.”
With a short nod which told him she wasn’t at all sure she approved of his plans, Mouse rose, stalked to the bridge’s door panel, and waited for Manabu with her ramrod-straight back to Max, shoulders rigid.
“You were right,” Mouse told Manabu while he walked her to her cabin, the muted banks of lights showing them the way. “It’s a love and hate relationship with space, isn’t it? It’s so beautiful, but the enormity of it...” her voice trailed off.
“I can deal with the enormity much better as photographs hanging on my wall back in Spur,” agreed Manabu.
“I can’t imagine flying back to Spur,” she said with an impromptu shiver. “I’m afraid the longer we’re on Talamh, the harder it will be for me to travel back, too. I’m hoping whatever Max needs to accomplish gets done in a day or two. It’s like waiting for a tooth to be pulled. The longer you put it off, the harder it is to suck it up and hit the dents.”
“You can always do what I do. Numb yourself against the fear,” Manabu suggested. “Unlike you, my knack’s got my back,” he continued when he saw the look she gave him, “But let’s not think about that now. Let’s think how we’ll be walking on dirt and rock and roads in two short weeks. Do you know much about Talamh?”
“Only what Wren told me. Aiko took her there to get her new ident after everyone thought she was dead. She told me it
’s a lot like living in SubCity, only above ground. Kind of rough.”
He nodded. “Although it was the first planet we successfully colonized, it never seemed to have lost its frontier feel. I think it’s because it’s a hub for the mining companies. Those rock-pounders are a pretty wild bunch.”
“I think I’d be a little wild, too, if I spent six months out of the year blasting holes in some asteroid.” She paused at her door panel. “You said we were scheduled to dock at Station One. Can you tell where Wren’s ship will be docking?”
“Sure I can, just as long as I’ve got the ship’s name. The Valiant, right?” At her nod he continued. “If we’re lucky, it will be at One, same as ours, but probably wherever there’s room. Those big colonizers take up at least three docking bays.”
Wren shook her head, “I can’t even imagine a ship that big. Doesn’t matter how often Wren tells me its size, I am going to have to see it before I can grasp what the numbers mean.”
“Weren’t they scheduled to arrive around the same time we are?”
“Last I heard, but I haven’t talked to them since we left Spur. Max wanted me to keep it quiet. The fewer people know, the more secure we’ll be. I agree. Wren is going to b, very surprised when we arrive.”
Manabu grinned. “I suspect it will be a pretty big surprise.”
She returned his smile. “Yeah. It’s what’s been keeping me going. That, and my building designs. Imagining buildings of all sorts and drawing the schematics is how I’m numbing out.”
Manabu nodded sagely. “Much easier on the liver.”
Chapter 12
Mouse could have sworn they were back on Spur. It was disconcerting, this feeling of total familiarity, yet total unfamiliarity.
When Manabu shuttled them from the spaceport to their hotel, she took the time to study the city. And it looked just like The City on Spur—same structures, same growth and decay of buildings. But the streets were different and unfamiliar, like a dream where she knew where she was, but couldn’t find where she wanted to go.
There might not be a SubCity, but those who were affluent lived in the newer portions, and those who were not lived in the abandoned, decaying section. On the distant horizon she could make out a distinct line, a wall. Behind the wall were rolling green hills dotted with forests, more like Spur beyond the mountain range separating The City from the town of Rubble. She assumed the true inhabitants of Talamh lived beyond the wall and, as Max had told her, never mingled with the colonizers.
Which brought her attention to the other thing different from Spur. Since this city couldn’t expand beyond the wall, it had expanded upwards. Spur had multi-story buildings, but none like these. These soared high into the sky. And they were ugly, block-like things with narrow windows. She envisioned the buildings in her blueprints and imagined making them taller.
Glorious.
The shuttle drew up to the landing pad on the hotel’s roof. Two men were waiting and she was instantly on the alert. “Yours?” she asked Max.
He nodded. “Mine. Ingot arranged an escort for us. He sent me their idents. I recognize them.”
“I’m getting out first.” She didn’t wait for an answer, but slapped the palm pad by the shuttle door, ducked under the door while it was sliding up, and stood on the lowering ramp.
One of them, a tall, rangy man, stepped forward. “Is this the Beckwith party?” he asked.
They had agreed they would travel and make all the arrangements using Max’s last name since so few knew it. Thus, they could arrive without the need to falsify their idents, yet still be incognito.
Max loved the irony of a supposedly dead man hiding in plain sight. Mouse assumed he had dipped deep into his considerable fortune to keep the news from leaking, but Max assured her his network was watertight, and no palms needed to be greased. She argued, because he originally said he didn’t trust everyone, and that was one of the reasons for this trip to Talamh. He replied that with Frasier’s help, he’d weaned out the “bad fruit.”
But still…
It was her job to assume his network was not watertight, so she stood on top of the windy building scanning the pair, reading their eyes and body language as she had been taught so long ago, and was now second nature. It took mere moments. By the time the ramp touched down and she strode over to meet the two men, she was satisfied.
They appraised each other.
“Name’s Collier.” the second man said. He was shorter, more compact. Looked quick.
“I’m Hollister,” the lanky man said. He wouldn’t be as quick, but he had the reach.
Good pairing, Mouse thought and smiled. “Mouse.” she said.
Collier’s eyebrows shot up. “Heard of you. You’re good.”
She nodded her thanks, masking her surprise. “All clear, Beckwith,” she called without looking behind her. She knew from the duo’s expressions the exact moment when Max emerged from the shuttle. It was difficult keeping her face straight when she thought how much Max must be enjoying himself. She could hear him whistling.
“Max Beckwith, at your service,” he said nodding at the pair when he came to a halt alongside Mouse.
“These are your escorts, Collier and Hollister,” Mouse said when the two gaped instead of introducing themselves .
Hollister closed his mouth and then swallowed before he tried to speak. “You’re dead!” he said abruptly.
“I am absolutely not dead, but I wish that delightful bit of information to remain a secret for now.” He gave them the stare which always made Mouse want to squirm. “You understand, of course.” He put on some clear glasses and a hat which masked his features.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Hollister said, adding, “sir.”
“Thank you. Now, Mouse and I will continue into the hotel and acquire our rooms. You help our pilot, Manabu, with docking the shuttle and then bring our luggage to our rooms, where we will become better acquainted.”
Hollister nodded. “Very good, sir.”
Max tilted his head toward Mouse. “Shall we go?”
The hotel was much nicer inside than out. Because it was Max, the rooms were the best the hotel had to offer: two spacious bedrooms, with a bath and an expansive sitting room in between, the seating arranged in small clusters, with a desk in the corner.
Max waited at the entrance while she swept the rooms.
“Nice, aren’t they?” he asked when she allowed him in.
“Very.”
“We’ll take the room in the back. It should be quieter, and Manabu can have the one in front. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some arrangements to make.” He sat down the desk in the corner of the large room and made himself comfortable.
Mouse watched him settle in with his portable info console, still unsure if she really approved of the sleeping arrangements, although it did solve several problems. For one, they would appear as husband and wife to the staff, maintaining their cover story. For another, she could keep a close watch over him. Plus, they would have Manabu readily available, should they need to make a hasty exit back to their ship. If she weren’t rooming with Max, none of it would have been possible.
It wasn’t as if this was the first time she’d bedded down in the same room as a client. However, it was the first time she’d bedded down with Max without Space Sickness coming between them. The thought had been distracting her ever since he finally convinced her this would be the best way to play what he called his “best gambit yet.” And every time, right behind that distracting thought, came a flock of butterflies in her stomach.
She sure hoped she’d be able to see Wren soon. Wren was sure to be able to help her sort out her feelings, help she’d never needed before…which was another disturbing thought.
Manabu didn’t have much luck finding The Valiant. He said it would be easier when he got on-planet and could access the data banks. Unlike Spur, he explained, this was a very busy spaceport, and with four docking stations, ships could slip in and out even before all the data
was processed and broadcasted.
But that didn’t make sense to her. Wren told her the ship needed a lot of work before it was ready to travel to another galaxy. Worry nudged Mouse from the back of her mind. Perhaps she should contact Flick to see if he could learn anything through Spur’s link with Eloch.
Mouse wandered over to the narrow window and looked out over the tall buildings to the wall, and beyond, the green. Had her mind really been so clouded since leaving Spur? If she hadn’t been so focused on surviving and then coping with her Space Sickness, she would have contacted Flick long ago.
There was a tap on the outside door panel. Mouse glanced at Max, who wore an innocent expression. Expecting it to be Collier and Hollister with the luggage, she went to the door and waved her hand over the viewing panel to confirm her suspicions.
But it was a woman, tall and willowy and regal, with yellow hair wound around the top of her head like a crown. She was laden down with all sorts of parcels.
Mouse glanced at Max again. “Do you know this woman?” she asked, pointing at the viewing panel.
He rose with a smile, explaining while he, despite Mouse’s protest, waved the door open. “By reputation only. Ingot can work such wonders, even from a jump gate away.” As the door slid open, he bowed slightly. “Ah, Yanagi, your reputation precedes you. Please, allow me to relieve you of your burdens.”
Yanagi smiled and handed him the parcels. “You must be Beckwith,” she said in a well-modulated voice. She looked at Mouse and smiled. “And you must be Mouse.” Her eyes skimmed over her and she tsked. “Grey is not your color, my dear. You should immediately throw away everything in your wardrobe that is grey.”
“Then that would be nearly everything in her wardrobe,” laughed Max.
Mouse glared at his back as he strode into their bedroom, then turned to Yanagi, “I’m sorry I’m not aware of your reputation,” she said as she stepped aside to let the woman through and closed the door panel. It went opaque again.
