Alien debt, p.5
Alien Debt, page 5
part #5 of The Long View Series
And yet, once they were together again, the reacquaintance took little time and the old bond of feeling grew as strong as ever. Often Rissa seemed to know what he was thinking before he said it. And sometimes this apparent link was comforting. Right now, though, he found it more of a nuisance. He'd already done his sorting of memories, his reevaluations; he didn't want to hash through them all over again. Not now, anyway.
So he answered, "Trouble sleeping, is all. I'll catch up; I always do." Because she was wearing her worried !ook, he added, "Rissa-unless you have a time machine in your back pocket, to change the past, leave this one to me. I can handle it."
She frowned, but said no more.
VI. Lisele
As long as everyone else practiced gunnery an hour at a time, so did Liesel Selene-even though after fifteen or twenty minutes she got tired and her scores dropped. But when Tregare announced that the contest would be run in ten-minute heats, she changed to fifteen-minute sessions, with rests between.
Her average scores took a quantum jump. Now, two days before the shootout, she entered a sixty-three in the log-and pouted slightly, because it wasn't the best she'd done. Well, maybe on the last day of practice she could get in some extra time.
She was due back in quarters now, to take charge of baby Renalle when their mother went on watch. And while the infant slept, Lisele could get on with her studies. Checking to see that she was leaving the turret in good order, she turned and skipped down to the next level. Seeing grownups there, she slowed down and walked, but as soon as she was out of their sight she went back to a faster and less regular way of moving. Coming to the last stairs she drew a deep breath-could she take this Sight all the way, three at a time? She launched herself and timed her leaps, and it was going fine-and then, below, someone entered from the side and started up to meet her. Lisele grabbed the handrail and stopped her plunge. "Oh, peace!"
"Lisele-are you all right?" It was Dacia, scrambling up toward her. Lisele caught her balance, and stood.
"Oh, sure." Dacia was good fun; she wouldn't scold. "I was trying threesies, was all, and didn't expect you."
Dacia snorted. "Not a very good place for it; this flight's blind at the bottom. Why not save threesies for farther downship, where there's openwork and you can see people coming?"
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It made sense; Lisele nodded. "Sure. Thanks, Dacia." The woman patted her thin shoulder and went on up. Her dare-and-do mood broken, Lisele took the rest of the stairs one at a time, only clattering a little extra to make it sound better.
In quarters, Rissa had put the baby down to sleep and was ready to go on watch. She kissed Lisele and said, "If you have not eaten lately, Tregare stocked the coldbox this morning. And Ellalee will be here as usual, to relieve you at nineteen-hundred. Now-do you have any news for me?"
"Well, I'm doing better on the turrets." She recited her latest scores.
Rissa nodded. "Working in shorter periods, yes. Perhaps you will help Dacia's team win over mine." She laughed, and hugged the child. "If you do, I shall be most proud of you." Then she picked up her watch-officer's gear, and left.
Lisele went over to Renalle, saw that the infant wasn't asleep yet, and reached down to pat her cheek. She was growing, no doubt about that. Tregare claimed she was due to sprout teeth, but Rissa said he was thinking ahead of schedule. Still-gently, Lisele intruded a fingertip and felt along the baby's gums. There was something there....
Renalle was clearly sleepy; time to leave her alone, and the next couple of hours would be a good time for Lisele to study. She got out her materials and sat at her mother's desk.
What did she most need to catch up on? She sighed; the calculus, probably. Not that she disliked math, but her project for Prof Diebolt had gotten so interesting that she'd skimped on the calc. By habit, she set out the filmtape unit and turned her calculator on; then she looked at the lesson assignment and put both units away. Because for the next three sections, Old Numberhead wanted everybody to practice using the older methods-books, sliderules, even the function-tables on paper. "Your math is no good to you," Old Numbers liked to say, "if a dead battery can put it out of business."
Lisele could see his point-but a few minutes later, frowning over a page of log-trig functions, she wished she didn't have to. Then she remembered how to follow his instructions, finally located the log-secant of 2.377 radians, and finished the problem. Well and good, as the old prof liked to say.
When she had worked through the first section, she felt hungry, and closed the books. As she fixed a snack for herself, her mind was still on the math. Differential-calc was clear
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enough; it made sense and you could work it out for yourself. Integral, though-using differentials instead of derivatives- well, she could see that it worked, when you looked at the tables and plugged values in, but how had anyone ever come up with those solutions in the first place?
The heck with it. She put more pickles and cheese on her sandwich, poured some fruit juice, and ate.
She'd finished the calc and a chapter of post-UET economics, and given the suddenly restive baby her bottle, when her relief sitter arrived. "Hi, Ellalee! I've just fed Renalle."
"That's good, Lisele. How are you?" Ellalee Ganelong's smile showed large white teeth against brown skin. Ellalee was Australian, half aborigine, with oddly heavy features. Maybe it was her pleasantness, Lisele thought, that made her seem pretty. But Rissa said she really was, in her own way.
"Studying hard tonight, have you been?" she said now. At Lisele's gesture toward the sandwich fixings, Ellalee shook her head, curly hair jiggling with the move. "I ate at midwatch. Heaps." She had a quick look at Renalle, then sat. Lisele seated herself again at Rissa's desk, and they talked. Ellalee was training for Drive-tech First, about halfway through the procedures that dealt with fine-tuning and lock control circuits. The funny part, Lisele thought, was that new drive-techs began by working with the heaviest power stages, because those controls weren't at all delicate, so it was hard to make any serious mistake. That job carried a Third rating, which Ellalee had held when the Deux lifted. And now going for First. Not bad!
Ellalee had a little driveroom gossip about her boss, Chief Engineer Hagen Trent. A little too fussy, Lisele had heard Tregare say of the man. Ellalee's opinion was: "No experience at being boss, I think-except in a lab, perhaps. But he's come quite patient now, unless someone makes the same mistake twice." She grinned. "Then he gets red and rubs knuckles in what hair he has left, and talks too fast. Not so often now, though." Imagining Trent that way, Lisele had to laugh.
Midway, the laugh turned to yawn. Ellalee said, "Long day?"
"Mmm-sort of." Lisele could, she decided, put her books away tomorrow. "Think I'll go to bed. Good night."
"Yes. Sleep comfy."
In her tiny bedroom and undressed, Lisele felt restless. Biofeedback, maybe? She hadn't used-it much lately. Activating
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the machine, she plumped down on the mat and began the breathing exercises. Soon her mind floated, relaxed; she lost track of time.
When the machine turned off, its soft chime brought her awake enough to get into bed. But not awake for long.
Coming out of sleep, Lisele lay quietly and listened. Her chronometer indicated time for breakfast, so-considering the watch schedules, Rissa and perhaps Tregare should be here, and Ellalee gone. She got up, chose clothing, and went to see.
In the common room, nobody home. Probably in their bedroom, her parents. At this hour, awake and making love, maybe, or talking afterward. At school she'd seen holotapes about sex; it looked pretty funny but people seemed to enjoy it. Just as well, she thought, or maybe she wouldn't be here!
Renalle would, though; the parthenogenetic Hulzein process needed no man. Stowing study materials away, Lisele thought about her sister. Half-sister, really, and no kin to Tregare, at all-but he acted as if the baby were his own blood. Lisele sighed; she sure had a nice family!
Listening at the main bedroom's door, she heard nothing. Still asleep, maybe? So she wrote on the bulletin pad:
Have gone to breakfast. Last night caught up to sked on Calc and Econ. I bet my team (Dacia's) beats yours both! But what can we bet?
Lisele
Outside quarters, door closed softly, she charged up the stairs as fast as she could go. At the galley level, panting, she waited and walked slowly, to be breathing easily when she entered. At the door she paused and looked around. Arlen Limmer was sitting with the blonde, Jenise Rorvik. So Lisele filled a tray and went to a corner table, by herself. While she ate, she thought about Arlen.
On Stronghold as little kids, they'd been together all the time-like brother and sister, maybe even twins. She'd loved Arlen, and had missed him ever since. On Earth, other kids were all right, but not the same. Sometimes she'd pretend Arlen was with her, and tell him all her thoughts. She knew it was silly ...
Then when the Limmers came to Earth, Lisele was thrilled. Because now she was a big girl, close to nine bio-years, and Arlen would be her best friend again, and maybe someday they'd get married or something. The details hadn't worried her.
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Except that living slow on groundside while Tregare's fleet, coming to Earth, chewed time, Arlen was already grown up tall. And Lisele wasn't. So now he sat and smiled at that old harpy-at least twenty, she had to be-Jenise Rorvik, with her bright blonde hair that most likely wasn't even natural!
Wondering how she herself might look as a blonde, Lisele shrugged; Rissa probably wouldn't let her try it. Well, what else? How about the woman in the old filmtaped novel she'd scanned last month? So hopelessly in love that she wasn't even eating. Silly-but maybe not a bad idea for getting somebody's attention. Except, how could anyone do it with a straight face?
And besides, Lisele had already cleaned her tray.
Well, on her way out she'd say hello to Arlen; after all, she did still like him. But it wasn't fair, him grown up and her not.
The saying hello didn't work too well. Rorvik was smiling and friendly, and did most of the talking. Everything Lisele tried to say sounded more and more like a little kid, and she couldn't get the conversation off the subject of the gunnery match. Finally she saw Rissa and Tregare come in, and got away to talk with them a moment. Tregare gave her a hug, and a compliment on her studying; Rissa was glad her daughter wasn't skimping the biofeedback routines. But it seemed clear that both had other things on their minds, so Lisele went up to Turret Six for a practice run. It went well, and she headed downship again.
Approaching a landing, she saw Dacia Kobolak come out of Uncle Ivan's quarters, and waved to her. "Hi, Dacia!"
"Hi." Lisele wanted to talk, but Dacia hurried on past, so maybe this wasn't the time for it. Oh, well-she went on down to captain's digs; she needed a shower, anyway.
Drying herself, she stood before a mirror. When it came to looking grownup, she was pretty hopeless. Skinny like a boy, no butt to notice, no body fur at all, yet. It wasn't as if she was even interested in any sex stuff, at her age and with no real idea how people were supposed to feel about it-but it'd be nice if she looked like some competition for oi' Rorvik!
Squinting sidewise at the mirror, she squeezed the flesh around one pale nipple, to try to make a bulge. It didn't look like much of anything, and when she let go, right away it went flat again. Heck with it. She put the towel away and got dressed. Still thinking, though: in the old novel the woman was "flat-chested" and padded herself to look bigger there. Why? She was grown-up and functional; what difference did sizes make?
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Anyway, if Lisele herself rigged stuff under her clothes to show up with her chest sticking out, who'd believe it? They'd just laugh and want to know what the joke was.
And then she'd be stuck. Because there wasn't any joke.
Later that day, Lisele managed two more practice sessions in the gunnery turrets. Then she sat with Renalle and covered the day's studies, did some biofeedback and went to bed early. When she woke, she felt up to tackling Ozzie Newhausen his own damn self!
Showered, dressed in her sloppiest and most comfortable jumpsuit, Lisele made a light breakfast. Full stomachs didn't go too well with competition. Climbing sedately to the turret deck, she found a crowd there-what Ellalee would call "a fair jam." The whole crew-except, Lisele supposed, for a skeleton watch.
Looking for her team captain, she found Dacia talking with Hagen Trent and Hask Ornaway. A visored cap made the balding Trent look a lot younger. Dacia greeted Lisele with a quick, one-armed hug. "For our team, you and Hask drew first round. All right?" Dacia was certainly sitting on lots of excitement.
"Sure." Why wait around? "When do we start?"
"Not long now," said Omaway, grinning at her. So they waited for their assigned monitors to arrive-someone from another team, to observe and help keep score. And maybe, Lisele thought, have something to do while they waited for their own turns. Anyway, she'd drawn Anders Kobolak, and here he came. They greeted; then over the speaker Jeremy Crowfoot gave a quick recap of the rules. As he finished, Lisele turned to leave.
"Wait," said Dacia, and held out a small, firm cushion. "Here. Try sitting on this; it may help your reach."
Lisele took it. "Sure. . .thanks." But why now, with no time to practice and get used to it? Oh, well-it might help. And in the gunner's seat of Turret Six she found the cushion did give her a more comfortable angle on the control levers. So with the console's function switch on Test she applied power and confirmed that her controls were working: left hand on range lights and the other on her heterodyne loop. Returning the levers to neutral she switched function to Simulation; lights and screen image went dark. Her hands weren't sweaty; it was out of habit that she rubbed them on her jumpsuit. "Ready." Facing her, sitting where he couldn't see the indicators to get any possible
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clues for his own turn, Anders Kobolak nodded. He'd call her scores after each run; she wouldn't have to look.
Then Crowfoot began his countdown, and it all started.
First run came straight and closed slowly. Nothing like making easy points, while I can. Next one had a swerve at the middle, but she caught it fast and scored seventy-five. Then a skew pass aed an abrupt change of target: that's where fast reflexes came in handy! "Fifty-eight."
It kept on; the ten minutes felt like thirty. Not physical fatigue, though; the cushion did help. And when the eight-run sequence ended, her overall score was sixty-seven.
"Nice going, there," said Anders Koboiak, and they went out to the deck, to check team standings. And found that Lisele and Ornaway had given Dacia's group a slight initial lead. "Now if the rest of us can do as well-," Dacia said, and Lisele felt good.
Ornaway touched her shoulder. "Quick galley break, partner?"
Lisele considered. Twenty minutes, before she was due to monitor Rostadt. "Sure. Real fast, though." Their pace downship could have cost them a few safety demerits if Tregare bothered with such things. Ornaway had coffee while Lisele sipped fruit juice, and they did get back on time.
Monitor work, except for watching Alina's concentration and reactions, was dull. All Lisele could see was the numbers. Final rating, overall, was sixty-two.
Mostly by Dacia's own skill, this set of runs helped her team's lead. Then Ivan's shooting put his own group ahead, and the first round was over.
Lisele's second session brought harder runs; she got a fifty-nine total, and Rissa had brought her own team close to Ivan's. "Dacia, we're behind!" Lisele hadn't expected to be so anxious, but found herself sweating. "We have to work!"
"Sure." Dacia nodded. "But so does everyone else." At the end of round two, Rissa led and Dacia came second. A novice on Ivan's team had panicked and jammed the override pedal down for most of his turn, cutting his hits to half-value.
Then Lisele got a bad ran; a simulated hit crippled her "ship's" drive and left her drifting, and she didn't adjust quickly enough. A humiliating twenty-seven for the run, and forty-nine for the round, overall. Avoiding Dacia and everyone else, she wandered a lower deck where she wouldn't have to talk with
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anyone. Maybe when this was all done with, she'd just lock herself in her bedroom and stay there!
In her bedroom! There wasn't time to go down there before she was due to monitor Alina's round, but-she stepped into a utilities locker, closed the door, and sat, breathing the way she should, paying attention to how she felt. With her eyes shut she could almost visualize the indicators of the absent biofeedback machine. She knew how much time she had, and she used it all, emerging with enough to spare so that she could reach her monitoring assignment without haste.
Alina scored well, and then Lisele found a nearer haven to use her next free time for further exercises in relaxation. As she headed, then, back to Turret Six, Dacia called to her. "Lisele! How are you feeling? I haven't seen you..."
