Kitra, p.3
Kitra, page 3
My heart jumped. I looked at him. “Wasn’t? Past tense?”
He gave me a loud sigh followed by a smile. “Yeah. Past tense. You got me, like you always do. You and your crazy friends.” Marta squealed, wrapped him in a hug, and kissed his cheek. I was sorely tempted to join her. Instead, I gave Fareedh a grateful smile. He winked at me. I had to admit, the boy was full of surprises. I’d had no idea he’d been sold on shipping out with us. If he hadn’t come through when he did, the whole idea might have fallen apart.
“But I’m only committing to one trip,” Peter went on after Marta let him go. “After that, it’s my option whether I stay on or not.”
I nodded. “Fair enough.” I’d take what I could get.
Erkki’s server, a thin young man I knew by sight but not by name, arrived with our orders on a shiny platter. He set it down in the center of the table. On it was a silver pitcher as well as five small cups, steam rising from them. My nose wrinkled. The fifth cup smelled like sandalwood and varnish remover. I pushed it in Pinky’s direction. “I think this is yours,” I said.
Pinky accepted the cup with a clumsy four-fingered hand. He made an exaggerated sniffing sound, the vapors disappearing momentarily into his fingers, then waved his other hand at the proprietor. He rolled his head back in mock ecstasy and called out, “Good choice, Erkki!” The old pilot nodded cheerfully in response.
I took a deep breath, appreciating the aroma and the rich head of foam on my coffee. Peter was mixing in a healthy pour from the sugar pitcher.
“This calls for a toast,” I said, grabbing my cup and standing. The others joined me…except for Pinky, who just lifted his pseudopod and stretched it into the air until his cup was as high as ours.
“To being a crew!” Marta fluted.
“To a fun time,” Fareedh drawled in reply.
Peter muttered, “To a twelve-month doctorate.”
I looked down at Pinky. “Anything to add?”
“Oh no. I think I’ve said enough.”
“Then…to a new beginning,” I said. I took a sip, scalding my tongue a little.
It was perfect.
“Then…to a new beginning!”
Chapter 3
Eighteenth of Red, 306 P.S.V. (Launch -49 days (Standard))
By the time the sun had set, risen again, and was about to set once more, I realized I was in for a lot more than I’d bargained for. I paged through lines and lines of notes on my sayar, everything I could think of as being necessary for outfitting my new ship. I looked up from the screen, over the desk and out the open window of my bedroom. It faced north, so the long shadows from the trees and the fountain in the garden streamed rightward across the perfectly manicured lawn. Windchimes tinkled softly, hanging at strategic points around the green space. I had a pang of nostalgia, and for a moment, I half-saw Pinky, a fraction of his current size, running clumsily across the grass. He was never fast enough to catch me at tag, but he always found me when we played hide-and-go-seek.
I shook my head to clear it. So much to do! I went through the long list on my sayar again. It was a disorganized mess, and I worried I’d left something out, so I grouped what I’d written into a rough timeline. That helped.
I saw that some things could be started simultaneously: we could buy supplies while contractors patched up the holes in the hull and installed new engines and a power-plant. Making the inside livable and updating the bridge to modern standards couldn’t be done until afterwards. A lot of this was work the five of us could do ourselves, but there was also much we’d have to leave to professionals. I sighed. More expenses.
I leaned back in my chair, rubbing the fingers of my right hand together as I thought. We couldn’t expect to make any money on the shakedown cruise of an untested ship, so there were some tough decisions to make. My eyes unfocused, blurring the holos of planetscapes and explorers that lined my walls. What could we afford? Air was close to free, of course, and fuel almost as cheap as the water it came from. Food would cost a bit more. Other things like an air-car for scouting around on planets, advanced sensors, weapons, defenses—those were all luxuries that would probably have to wait for a while. This was going to be a bare-bones jaunt. Still, there was so much to plan. I hadn’t even named the ship yet!
There was a knock at the jamb of my open door.
“Hello, Uncle,” I said, looking up.
Aside from his ridiculous bushy mustache, Uncle Yusuf bore a strong physical resemblance to my mother. But Mom never wore his current expression, one of disapproval. At least, she had never showed it to me.
“You’re really going through with it,” he said, arms folded over his brocaded vest.
I braced for another fight. “I told you I would.”
“Maryam wouldn’t have wanted this.”
“This is exactly what she’d want. It’s what I want.”
Uncle Yusuf opened his mouth to reply, closed it again, then simply said, “Very well.” His eyes became opaque. “You’re going to have to get your affairs in order. Establish beneficiaries and divest yourself of family obligations. Please do not neglect these duties.” His tone was stiff. Final.
“But that’ll take days,” I said. “I need to work on the ship.”
“You have made this decision,” he said, folding his hands behind his back. “You knew what this would mean.”
I looked down and nodded. Yes, I did. Going on this adventure meant abandoning Uncle Yusuf’s plans for my future. He was not going to be responsible for me if I got myself killed out there, as his sister had. I wanted to be mad at him for being so unreasonable, but I found I had no anger in me. Uncle Yusuf wasn’t a bad man. He was just scared.
I licked my lips. “Uncle?” When I looked up, he had already left. I found my vision blurred again, and I blinked to clear it.
Yes, I understood my uncle. But at the same time, I knew he was wrong. My ship and my friends wouldn’t fail me. We would make it to the stars and back, safe and sound. And when we were done, the Yilmaz name would shine more brightly than ever before. I owed Mom that much. I gave the armrest of my chair a little thump, stared at the garden for a while.
Then I went back to looking over my list
Third of Queen, 306 P.S.V. (Launch -14 days, Standard)
The scout finally looked like a spacefaring vessel—from the outside, at least. A lot had gotten done in the last three-day week while I’d been away taking care of legal affairs. The foam and holes and ugly gray were gone. The ship’s skin now gleamed an unbroken brilliant white. Its lines were beautiful, the aerodynamic curves of the hull seamlessly meeting the twin nozzles of the engine. Instead of the old, faded panels covering the big gap amidships, there was now a pregnant bulge: the new power plant. Her amber running lights, at the nose and on the wingtips, glowed cheerily, and a faint low hum filled the hangar. She was alive.
I pushed hair out of my face and tied it back. We just might pull this off, I thought.
I looked at the ship, my ship, and dreamed of horses. My mother had taught me about them and their history. They were native to old Earth and had been brought to many worlds, though none had ever set foot on Vatan. Long ago, owning a horse made one a noble. This ship was my steed, letting me gallop to the stars.
That made me something special. Most ships are owned by big companies, universities, or governments. A privately owned vessel that could travel between worlds, owned by someone as young as me, no less! I had the right to be proud.
I only wished I had a good name for it.
It’s not that I hadn’t thought it over. I’d actually given it a lot of consideration, but nothing seemed right. Looking at the now-sleek lines of the ship, I imagined it with a famous explorer’s name emblazoned across its skin. Like Magellan, Armstrong, or Ansari. No, that could get awkward in communications: This is Kitra Yilmaz of the Armstrong. Or even This is Armstrong. It just sounded strange.
I thought about the suggestions the others had given me. Marta wanted to call the ship Le Swan, but horse metaphors aside, I didn’t think an animal name was appropriate. The ship was bigger than that. I didn’t want it trivialized. For the same reason, I didn’t want a silly name, like Pinky’s suggestion, WingDing. That was just stupid. The ship needed a grand name to match my plans for it. Like Endeavour or Enterprise. I needed to give it more thought.
Stairs led up into the ship. My footsteps echoed metallically as I went up the ramp to take stock of the interior. The ceiling panels of the lower corridor now radiated a warm glow, mimicking sunlight. Nothing had yet been done with the walls and floor, though. They were still dull and gray with preservation foam. I paused at the breach, nostrils flaring. The tang of the stuff was strong, competing with the smells of ozone and dust. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but it always caught me off guard.
Going up a level, the main deck was almost starting to look homey. When we’d first gotten the ship, all the Navy had left us in the upper deck were two pairs of little state rooms, a bridge in front, and a big central area connecting them; all of them empty except for a centimeter of dust. It was up to us to not only make the space livable, but to turn it into a home away from home. Once we got going in earnest, we’d be here for weeks at a stretch.
Things weren’t beautiful yet. They were barely even functional. The big central space was now partitioned into three rooms with raw new walls, circuit fabric forming frayed edges at their joins. I was already looking past the reality, though, imagining the walls whole and painted, with carefully chosen holos on them. I walked into the common area that filled the left side of the space, facing forward. We called it the “wardroom,” a naval tradition. Long and narrow, it had a big table we’d all gather around when we were space-borne. No chairs yet, or decorations anywhere. The wall shelves I’d installed the week before were currently retracted and not visible, but Marta had finished setting up the little galley for making meals. It was actually kind of cute, with little reconstituters, a set of dishes, a small but functional bunch of utensils, and even heaters for cooking from scratch. All of us were bringing makings for our favorite dishes, and we planned to cook dinners for everyone in rotation. My mouth watered as I thought about Marta’s sweet, cinnamon korvapuustit rolls. And Peter’s Gigot d’agneau like his mother made, the lamb shanks dripping with garlicky goodness. And my…um…grilled cheese sandwiches. Well, I wasn’t going to be captain for my cooking skills. In my defense, Pinky’s were worse.
Doors opened on mine and Pinky’s staterooms, and there was a double door that led to the bridge. There was also a door that Peter had installed opposite the staterooms. I went through and found myself in the workshop; it filled most of the other half of the central space. It was more or less complete, with a bench, a bed, a Maker, and several pieces of equipment. This was where we would fix or make new parts, mechanical or organic, if we ever needed to.
I opened up and peered inside the closet carved out of the back end of the workshop. The floor of the small room gleamed. This was probably the only time it would ever be empty. That was okay; you always need a place to throw your random junk.
Behind the wardroom were the two bays for big cargo. I took a quick look at the starboard one to my right. It was cleared out and ready to house an air-car, once I could afford one. They can be sealed up pretty good, and then they’re practically little spaceships of their own, good for scouting or even as escape vessels. Without one, it was best to stick to settled systems and whatever public transit they had there.
I crossed the deck to the port bay and looked inside. It was full. Big boxes. Little boxes. Plastic and metal thingamajiggers, glittery control units. I didn’t recognize most of it, but I knew who it had to belong to. I’d seen these kinds of piles before.
“Peter?” I called out. “Is this your junk?”
I heard an indecipherable mumbling from one of the tall stacks. I moved toward the sound, taking care not to trip over anything.
“What did you say?” I asked.
Peter’s head appeared above a tower of boxes. “I said, ‘No, it’s yours.’”
“Come again?”
“This is mostly stuff that came out of the ship when they put in the new components.”
I looked around, unable to recognize any of it. “I’m confused. We were told the Navy took out everything of value.”
“You mean like the Drive?” Peter said with a quickly flashed smile. He walked around the tower to where I was. “In all seriousness, this is stuff that the Navy probably meant to leave, a lot of it in the walls themselves. I think it wasn’t worth the effort to rip them out to salvage.” He poked a coiled bit of wire gently with his foot. “Some of it’s basic structural stuff we can’t use like old socket junctures, obsolete panel conduit. But,” his eyes glowed and he pointed to what looked like a big gray box inside a bronze birdcage, “I think this is a deep radar unit.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I said. “What are those big round things over there?” They stood out from the rest of the miscellaneous stuff.
“Oh, those are capacitors,” he said. “Like big batteries. They probably charged the weapons bay.”
My eyes widened. “Did they leave us beam cannon?!” The idea was not entirely pleasant. I don't like guns.
“I’m afraid not, hero.” He folded his arms. “I might find a use for them, though. And we could get weapons someday.” He didn’t sound enthused at the prospect either.
I looked over the piles and realized there was some stuff that looked familiar. “What about these boxes? These things didn’t come from the ship.”
“No,” Peter said, and smiled sheepishly. “You caught me. I also brought in my equipment. You never know what might be useful and,” he looked a little more embarrassed, “it’s cheaper to store it here than in a rental unit.”
“Peter, we have limited space.”
“I know, but if we’re gallivanting around the system, we’ll want all the spares we can carry. Especially while we’re putting the ship through her paces. There’s plenty of room if we’re not shipping cargo. It’s best to be prepared.”
He was so into it now, way more like the Peter I knew than the skeptical guy I’d seen at the coffee house. Erkki’d been right. I just needed to give him a place to play with his toys. Impulsively, I patted his shoulder. “I’m really glad you decided to join us. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t.”
I saw his cheeks color. Then he tried to hide it by looking at the floor. “No problem. It’s fun.”
I waved at the clutter and said, “I assume you’re cataloging all of this stuff?”
He looked up, following my gesture. “That’s what I was doing when you called for me.”
“Got it. All right.” I smiled and said, crisply, “As you were.”
Peter gave me an exaggerated mock salute. “Yes, sir, Captain Yilmaz, sir.”
I shoved him gently and turned, heading for the bridge.
My breath caught as I entered the control room. There had been little here the last time. Now it looked…‘eager’ was the only word for it. Ready to go. Glowing panels lined the room in a rough horseshoe, and the Window filled the space above them, to the front and sides. I knew it was just a screen, and yet it seemed to be clear, unbroken glass, the walls of the hangar plainly visible through it. I sat down in the left chair, my chair. It shifted its contours to fit me comfortably. My panel blinked warmly at me, inviting my touch. I quickly found the controls for the Window’s visual filters. One tap, and the hangar became a tracery of glowing lines and right angles. Another, and it disappeared, to be replaced by a fuzzy, monochrome image of the ground and sky. No buildings blocked the horizon. No clouds obscured the sun. That was pretty cool.
I looked back at the panel. The displays were active, streaming information on the ship’s health. None of them were super important in and of themselves, but taken as a whole, we could read them like a doctor reads a patient’s vitals.
My eyes were drawn to the middle of the panel. Right under the Window’s center was a thin, branching constellation of red, yellow, and green lights labeled with the names of all the ship’s subsystems: Environmental, Power Plant, Ship’s Sayar, Engines, Drive, plenty more. I’d be able to tell the health of all the major ship’s systems at a glance. I’m sure the array has a technical name, but I didn’t know it. I decided to call it “The Tree.”
To the right of The Tree was the internal layout display, a real-time blueprint of the ship. There was a glowing dot moving around in the port bay. Peter, if the map was showing people. I looked for me in the control room, and found my dot right way. Hmm. That was odd. It looked like there were two dots on the bridge, not one. I felt the muscles of my forehead knit.
“So nice of you to join me,” I heard Fareedh say from no more than a meter away. I jumped with a small scream. I looked down, and sure enough, there he was, cross-legged on the floor next to the navigator’s seat with a sayar in his hand.
I found my breath, heart racing. “You know, most of us use a chair.”
He quirked an eyebrow and gave me that dreamy smile. “Overrated.” He offered his hand, eyes fixed on mine. “Help me up?”
I rolled my eyes but helped him up anyway. He gave me a little bow, and then sat next to me in the right-hand chair. “Do you want to see what I’ve done?” He gestured to the set of physical and virtual controls jutting from the panel.
Curious, I groped for them. They seemed to meet me halfway, molding to conform exactly to my fingers. They were warm, alive. As my grip tightened, the room transformed. The lights dimmed and the displays now showed other information: altitude, speed, air pressure. A hundred other pieces of data that I, as pilot, would need to know.
“You did all this?”
He nodded, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. “Most of it.”
He tapped his side of the panel a couple of times. The center of the Window returned to a view of the hangar wall, but on the left, partitioned by a pink line, I saw a shimmering marble of a planet. Vatan, mostly full, a thin crescent of night at one side. On the right of the Window, there was an overhead view of a city. I quickly recognized it as Denizli from the starport sprawling at its center.
