The unbounded, p.32
The Unbounded, page 32
“Why?” Io asked, shocked.
“I might have been too much for them. But the series of abandonments was starting to wear me down. Finally, though, I was placed on a family ship—my dream. The Emerald Bay.” Lanezi paused to let the wave of grief roll past. “Inner sectors. So much adventure, excitement. Earth, Mars, the Moon. Have you been to Earth?”
“Yes,” Euro nodded.
“On Pilgrimage,” Io added.
Lanezi nodded, trying to savor the good memories, the amazing planets, the home of humanity. “They loved me. I had a younger brother and sister even. When I was 15, they left me at pilot certification training for two months.” He stopped.
“The Emerald Bay was lost,” Euro whispered.
Lanezi nodded, unable to go on. Io chanted a prayer.
“Well, you know about Sunburst,” Lanezi went on. “I thought I would never pilot again. Every ship I’d been on had been lost. And for some reason, I survived. But I was sent to Cheetah. And met Katie. And thought things would be better. But now the Cheetah might even be gone.”
“But Katie is okay, and you will be together again,” Io declared. It was a sweet idea and he would savor it until the end.
“Anyway,” Euro said, “we’re your family now and we’re not going to give you back.” Lanezi was going to start crying if they kept on and he didn’t want them to suspect that he didn’t expect to live, so he tried to lighten up.
“Well, Zahar made me your supervisor, but I’ll never take the place of your parents. And that’s where we’re going next, God willing, to take you home.”
“Okay,” Euro said, “Until then, we’ll be your parents.”
“Yeah!” Io declared. “Time for bed!”
“Did you do your exercise?”
“No more rough-housing!” The sudden emergence of the strong S-Tro accent could only have been the voices of their parents. It sent the three of them laughing.
“Stop fussing!”
“Do your math!”
“They always got us mixed up,” Euro said, wiping the tears from his eyes.
“Calli! Gany! Euro! Io!” Io laughed. “I was always last.”
“Even though it was always your fault!”
Lanezi put his arms around them and they laughed and cried together. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll be your family until you get back to them.”
“No!” Io declared.
Lanezi looked at him, startled. And Euro clarified, “You’ll be our family, always.”
31 COLD DARK MATTERS
14-Grandeur
Cheetah, in the pocket
Melawn hesitantly entered the Command Bay. It had been weeks since he’d seen Thayne. He hadn’t been allowed—hadn’t wanted—to see him, but Nkiroo had called him.
“Hi Melawn,” Nkiroo said distractedly, “Thanks for coming.”
Melawn grabbed the back of the empty chair left of Thayne and Thayne turned to look at him, but Melawn didn’t meet his eyes, not after everything that had happened. Not after you are nothing to me, which still echoed in his mind. Thayne reached out and put his hand over Melawn’s on the chair. “Melawn,” he said softly, “so good to see you,” so sweet and friendly as if he was no relation to the monster who’d set the bots on them.
Melawn slid his hand free and turned to the panel, managing to whisper a neutral “Good morning.” Thayne brushed his arm, but Melawn turned away.
“In the case we aren’t able to jump out this attempt,” Nkiroo began, “the Captain wants us to consult about whether we could send a message out.”
“What?” Thayne turned sharply towards Nkiroo. “Is she crazy? The greatest minds of humanity have been working on that for 200 years.”
“You are one of the greatest minds of humanity, and you have not been working on it,” Nkiroo replied calmly.
“If we can find the thread that goes out, we don’t need to send a message, we can just jump out,” Thayne said, exasperated.
“The question is, if we can’t find the thread out,” Nkiroo clarified. “She suggested that now that we know the gravity ball frequency, that might be a starting point.”
“We’re not trying to communicate with a gravity ball!”
“The captain suspects that other, more advanced races, whoever built the gravity balls, for example, might know how to send messages through jump space.”
“Sure, they probably do. But that doesn’t mean that we know.”
“We need to figure it out,” Nkiroo insisted.
Thayne turned toward the screen, folded his arms and sunk down in his seat, frowning. Nkiroo glanced at Melawn as if he might offer a suggestion, but he wasn’t about to. Except he couldn’t stop his brain from considering it. “Well . . . we know that the Ramians jumped into our space during our jumps.”
“Four times. And the Drumheller info confirms that they were homing in on active jumps,” Thayne said.
Melawn was stunned by this information. So was Nkiroo by his expression. “How do we know this?” Nkiroo asked.
“Oh, it’s in the classified packets,” Thayne waved his hand dismissively.
“Maybe it would help if we saw those,” Nkiroo suggested, not able to keep an edge of annoyance out of his voice.
Thayne, who had been strongly warned to cooperate for his freedom, entered some command into the computer, so fast, and a bunch of files popped up.
“The Ramian implants can somehow detect an active gravity ball,” Thayne explained. “That’s why they’ve jumped into our space and, consequently, crashed into our a-rings. And since the fact that they were destroying themselves didn’t get back to them, because no one ever came home, they somehow concluded it would be sensible to keep doing it.”
Nkiroo ignored his attitude. “They can detect active gravity balls during a jump?”
“No, once they reach jump velocity, then they jump in that direction.”
“How is that different than what we do?” Nkiroo asked.
Thayne frowned. “Maybe the path is more obvious. We would need to ask Evan.”
Nkiroo and Melawn exchanged a frown. “Evan’s afraid of you,” Nkiroo said.
“That’s ridiculous. Call him,” Thayne said
“He won’t come,” Nkiroo said.
“Why?” Thayne asked.
There was a strained pause. Melawn took a deep breath and squeezed his own arm where all the supportive writing was.
“Why?” Nkiroo repeated. Thayne looked at Nkiroo, thoroughly puzzled. “Do you remember setting the bots on him?”
“Oh. That.”
Melawn was starting to breathe heavily. Like there was not enough oxygen in the Command Bay. The nerve. The insanity. The supposed innocence. He remembered the bots and Zahar screaming.
“Oh that!” Melawn couldn’t help himself. He was out of his chair. “You have no care for your crew that you terrified and abused and . . . forced to—” he could not even choke out what he meant to say.
“Melawn,” Nkiroo had grabbed him gently and was guiding him out the door.
“You’re a monster!” Melawn yelled at Thayne. “I can’t believe I ever defended—” The door shut. Nkiroo let him go, hands up in peace, shaking his head sympathetically.
“Sorry. Sorry Nkiroo. I can’t do this.”
Nkiroo sagged. “I don’t think I can either.”
“He doesn’t care what he’s done to us—oh my God—we’ve left him alone in the Command Bay!”
Nkiroo spun and hit the door control and it opened, to their great relief. Thayne was exactly as they left him, hands in the same place even, but with a slightly different expression. The element of calculation, of how stupid are you people, was back.
“Go,” Nkiroo told him, patting Melawn on the arm.
15-Grandeur
Zahar and Nkiroo looked up as Melawn peeked in the Conference Room, checking left and right.
“He’s not here,” she reassured him. “Although he made it through lunch today, before we had to escort him back.”
Nkiroo nodded. “I’m grateful Dr. Tenshi is sharing the load with me, Captain. It’s very challenging.”
She squeezed his shoulder. “It is beyond challenging, but you’ve been so patient, and Caspia says it’s helping. She says the fact that he is up and ready to come out every morning is a sign that he wants to be with other human beings.”
“Maybe he just needs his pawns,” Nkiroo said. “How do we get him to stop using us?”
“We don’t let him,” Zahar insisted.
Evan hung his head. “I’m sorry I’m not helping.”
“Caspia insists that you don’t,” Zahar said. “You, Melawn and I are too emotionally charged to interact at this first stage. Don’t have a worry about it. Besides, you have a more important job.” At first, she’d felt awkward patting their shoulders or reassuring them, as she was so much younger, but she saw now that they really looked to her as Captain, that they were all hurt, all scared, and needed support. When Thayne was not around, Zahar was determined to build unity with the rest of the crew. They settled down and she nodded to Nkiroo.
The main screen went on with a map of their current position. “These are NAV2 stars of course,” Nkiroo said. A blue ellipse blinked. “That’s the best I can pinpoint our target. We entered this space within .001 lightyear of this spot.”
“About the width of a star system?” Zahar asked.
Nkiroo nodded. “That’s the best we can do.”
Evan blinked at the map. “So you want me to just . . . aim for that spot?”
“Yes,” Nkiroo explained. “We hope a non-looping thread will appear to guide you.”
“And if not?”
“I’ve written a return program optimizing our turning time without dumping more speed than we have to—but it’s possible we will loop around again.”
“How will I know?”
“We’ll get a fix from NAV2 stars which will trigger one of two different return programs. We’ll save what speed we have and try again.”
“But that will take . . .”
“Months. Yes. Possibly years if we lose too much speed,” she nodded. “There are no other options.”
Evan swallowed hard, lifted a nervous hand as if to indicate himself.
“Hard jump,” Nkiroo sympathized. “We know. Whatever happens, the crew won’t blame you.”
“Thayne blames me—for jumping here.”
“Thayne is Thayne,” Nkiroo shrugged, nothing positive to say.
“I’m not counting him in the crew,” Zahar said, a little angrier than she meant to, “at least not until he earns it. So either we’ll get out, or we’ll loop around and dump out, and try again. What else could happen?”
16-Grandeur
Drumheller, in the Tundra a-rings
In the last moments of the jump, Jarvie tried to focus on Tektite.
“Unlock, then, to their hearts, O my God, the portals of Thy knowledge, that they may recognize Thee as One Who is far above the reach and ken of the understanding of Thy creatures . . .”1
BUMP. Breathe. Two more, Jarvie thought.
“Alone, We communed with Our spirit, oblivious of the world and all that is therein. We knew not, however, that the mesh of divine destiny exceedeth the vastest of mortal conceptions, and the dart of His decree transcendeth the boldest of human designs.”2
BUMP. His chest hurt. He wasn’t sure about this piloting business. Please, just get a breath.
“The birds of men's hearts, however high they soar, can never hope to attain the heights of His unknowable Essence.”3
Thank you, Jarvie prayed, relaxing in relief. The bumps were over. He floated his mind as if he had finished the most grueling exercise routine.
With Beezan as jump pilot and Sequoia assisting, he had no worries about finding the path—and they suddenly appeared. Yellow and brighter yellow, greenish yellow and several lesser paths. Beezan had warned him there would be several.
Jarvie!
He jerked out of his serenity. Quay?
Jarvie. I call on you. Hear me. Come to Friendship. The monster devours us.
Quay’s dear preschooler voice sounded so different. Intense, yearning, but still with that element of trust.
Jarvie’s mind tentatively reached for his friend. And was gently pulled away.
Jarvie!
Quay! Jarvie threw his mind towards Quay, striving to hear, to communicate, even if it was only a strange vision.
The gentle force, Beezan, he recognized, started to pull him back again, and then Wham! He was jerked away.
Jarvie!
Quay? Where are you? What’s happening? But it was too late. They were in a path, and Quay was gone.
Beezan felt a planet-size mass behind them as they dropped into normal space. He struggled to orient himself. They did not jump to Tektite. That he was sure of. It had been more of a tug-of-war than a jump. A wave of annoyance washed over him, but he sent it away. Be calm. We are where we are meant to be. Even his 17-week disaster jump with Jarvie had turned out to be for good.
He popped his helmet. Sequoia, on his right, did the same. Not so serene. “Where are we? What happened?” she demanded. Then she frowned and stopped, realizing that she had overcorrected and pulled them off the path. She had not trusted Beezan to correct for Jarvie, as he was always prepared to do. “My fault,” she whispered.
She did not trust him. She doubted him even for a mid jump. He recognized it and her disregard for him as pilot of the jump. He was saddened and discouraged, but he didn’t have to say anything. She knew.
“I’m sorry, Beezan. Captain. I’m so sorry. We are not at Tektite.”
“No,” he agreed. Though disappointed, the jump had not been too deep, so depression wasn’t terrible. But now he was worried. “Drumheller, report.”
“Searching for beacon.”
Beezan checked Jarvie and the crew in the Passenger Lounge, all green. “All crew, remain seated.” Jarvie wasn’t moving, which concerned him. “Jarvie?” Meanwhile, he and Sequoia stowed the cocoons and helmets and he let Sky out, who let Star out and then climbed in his lap. “Drumheller?”
“No a-ring beacon.”
Beezan froze. Sequoia gasped. Not possible. They just jumped to the wrong station. He couldn’t accept any other answer.
“We did jump,” he confirmed.
“Yes. We’re no longer at Tundra,” Sequoia confirmed.
“We must be near Tektite.” But away, towards—he almost said it, Chike space. “Drumheller! Search for the nearest star, for Tektite, NAV stars or any beacon. Scan behind us!”
What’s wrong with Jarvie? He reached over and shook Jarvie’s arm gently. Jarvie jerked and started thrashing around.
“More dreams!” Sequoia said. “He was pulling us off course.”
“Jarvie. Calm. Calm. Sky, check Jarvie.”
Sequoia frowned and shook her head. If she had no confidence in him, she certainly had none in a podpup. “No obvious star system,” she said. “We must be a long way out.”
Stay calm. I’ve done this before. Long run in. That’s all. More company this time.
Sequoia pounded the panel, scaring him. “Captain, I’m so sorry.” She hung her head and shook it back and forth.
“Sequoia, I forgive you. Things happen. I only ask you to trust me next time.”
“You should put me under next time.”
“We all must learn to work together.”
She nodded, tears starting. But she angrily wiped them away and went back to her scanning.
Beezan put the main screen on in the Passenger Lounge. “I’m sorry,” he told the crew. “We are not at Tektite. Stand by.”
With Sky’s help and prodding, Jarvie finally stirred. “It was Quay!”
“Again?” Sequoia asked in frustration.
But Jarvie looked imploringly at Beezan. “He was calling me. They need help at Friendship. Did we jump to him?”
Oh my God. “No,” Beezan said. “At least I don’t think so. We don’t know where we are.”
“We’re not at Friendship,” Sequoia said sternly. “That’s on the other side of human space.”
Jarvie seemed confused, upset, and although it hurt for Beezan to admit it, Jarvie seemed disappointed in him.
“It was a dream, Jarvie,” Sequoia insisted.
Beezan scowled to himself. Maybe I should put them both under next time.
A map, mostly of empty space, popped up. “Tektite located.”
“Thank God,” Sequoia breathed.
“ETA?” Beezan asked.
“17 years, 5 months—”
YEARS? God in heaven! He gripped the arm of the chair, forced himself to stay calm. “Nearest star? ID and ETA?”
“8J is the nearest star. ETA 12 years 7 months.”
8J was historically known as a jump of no return. Probably in Chike space. Beezan’s chest hurt. He forced himself to breathe. Sky brought him a protein pack as he hung in his chair, just trying to think.
“Drumheller? Could there be a-rings with no beacon?”
“We are not in a planetary system. A-rings are not expected.”
“What’s the mass behind us?”
“Rogue planet. Gas giant. No moons.”
Great.
The nearest star had at least the hope of a-rings. He could take the time to consult with the crew. It would only cost them a few months. But he was the Captain. He switched to a visual of the Passenger Lounge. They were biting their lips. He reached for the microphone button—
“Ship beacon detected.”
A new screen took priority. A red mayday beacon flashed on the screen. “Heaven help us,” Sequoia said. “Another ship is stranded here.”
Beezan checked the location. “It’s orbiting the rogue planet.”
“Quay?”
“I don’t think so,” Beezan said, not willing to say anything was impossible. “Drumheller, ship ID?”
“High power mayday and location broadcast only.”
“ETA?”
“2 weeks, 6 days—”
“Stand by for boosting! Sky, Star, heads up.”
“Ready in the Passenger Lounge.”
“Drumheller, burn for the beacon. And send a query.”
