Chapter 12
With a gentle jolt the shuttle docked with the station. Clamps locked in place; the cabin lights came on; air hissed into the transition chambers. Passengers undid their harnesses and began to recover their luggage from the overhead lockers. Their movements, for the most part, were awkward and uncertain. The velcro slippers which covered their other footwear made little tearing noises as they moved with little steps toward the exit. They surrendered the slippers to a flight attendant and then made the disorienting transition into the station ’ s pseudo-gravity environment.
Jack and Claury, now Lothar Kolyad and Ain é O ’ Connor, followed in the last trickle of disembarking passengers. Jack entered the station with apprehension. There were people here who knew him. Especially Hilyer Kern by whom Jack definitely did not want to be seen. He would have no credible explanation for what he was doing here, in this outfit, and heading straight toward the Lister Diamond ’ s embarkation gate.
They ’ d seen the giant ship hanging off the starboard side as the shuttle drew closer to the station. The huge sphere dwarfed the station ’ s disk, making it appear that the station was the attachment, rather than the other way around. A strange feeling had overcome Jack as he stared out at the ship that was going to take them to Earth, and whose hulk seemed to fill the sky.
The Daniel-Lewis , now just another dwarf, was floating off to one side with two small maneuvering pods attached to its ‘ tail ’ ; waiting for the leviathan to vacate the docking port. Jack had wondered why he felt nothing at seeing the ship he had piloted for almost a year now. Or maybe there was a tinge of an emotion, possibly of relief that this chapter of his life was finally over.
Once inside the station, Jack and Claury headed straight through the arrivals area and into the direction of the departure gate. Jack kept looking around anxiously, ready to duck out of sight the moment a face he didn ’ t want to see happened to appear. He hoped that at least Rigoster was still on the surface. That immediately halved the number of people who knew him by sight—and he was happy for any advantage fate had to offer.
A steady stream of people were trickling past the check-in and into the tube connecting the station to the Lister Diamond . Jack and Claury handed their ‘ cards to a young female attendant in the GenSpac Line ’ s blue, skin-tight uniform with the red diagonal stripe across the chest. She smiled professionally and held them against a sensor pad.
“Joining us here?” she said brightly when their data came up on a display. “Welcome aboard! I hope you have a nice trip.”
She studied the display. “No luggage?” she asked.
“We intend to purchase most of our requirements on board,” Jack said.
“Of course,” the young woman replied. “You ’ ll find establishments catering to all your needs on the Promenade.”
She returned them their ‘ cards and they ‘ climbed ’ up a long spiral staircase toward the center of the station. As they proceeded, the centrifugal pseudo-gravity decreased to almost zero. The tube connecting the station to the Lister Diamond was attached here. Its inside appeared to be rotating slowly, though it was the station that was spinning.
Jack and Claury grabbed the hand rails and hauled themselves along toward the other end. About a hundred meters further on they reached the entry lock to the Lister Diamond . A sign displaying a human figure indicated which way was going to be ‘ down ’ once they entered the ship. They brought their bodies into alignment with the figure and stepped into an airlock. The door behind them hissed shut and one in front opened. They stepped across an invisible threshold and gravity suddenly tugged at them. Claury ’ s hand tightened on Jack ’ s arm until the moment of disorientation and dizziness passed.
Jack and Claury produced their ‘ cards, which were examined again. When these were found satisfactory, they continued along a long corridor, the floor of which consisted of a slowly moving conveyor. The far side was sealed by a door.
“Please stand in place,” they were told. As the conveyor transported them toward the other end they passed through a battery of scanners which probed them for the presence of contraband: weapons, illegal or dangerous substances, outlawed implants.
They came to the other end. “Thank you for your compliance,” a carefully modulated voice told them. “Welcome aboard the Lister Diamond . We hope you have a pleasant transit. For a guide to the ship please touch your personal device to any of the clearly marked data-outlets.”
The door slid open. The freedom of the ship was theirs. They stepped into a hall with a huge vaulted ceiling. Around the sides, five evenly-spaced levels, with broad walkways which provided access to a bewildering array of shops of all sizes: the Promenade. A total of five elevator bubbles provided transit between the levels. For those who were willing to exert themselves, several stairways were also provided.
What a waste of space. The spaceman in Jack recoiled at such frivolous abuse. Not even the Berenice had had such an extravagant design.
~~~
“Can I help you?” Jack and Claury stopped gaping at the sight and looked around. A male attendant in a GenSpac uniform smiled at them. “I have been dispatched to show you to your quarters. Since you are joining us here you may not be familiar with the ship ’ s general layout.” He smiled. “It ’ s not as complex and forbidding as it appears at first sight.”
Claury nodded. “Show us the way.”
They followed the young man to the other side of the Promenade, listening to him chatter away, explaining, as he must surely have done a thousand times, the basics of the interior layout. And, yes, he was human. Humoids had been deemed to be unsuitable for certain ‘service’ roles for many years now.
One hemisphere the young man explained, all two hundred and sixty million cubic meters of it, was completely dedicated to housing people, crew and passengers alike. The bridge, nav-eng section, and crew quarters occupied a relatively small volume at the imaginary apex of the ‘ people ’ area of the ship. Another somewhat larger volume, containing the ‘ supply ’ areas, was situated almost exactly in the middle of the hemisphere: food and equipment storage; kitchens; laundries. At the base of the hemisphere were more storage areas, waste-processing and life-support systems, as well as a small emergency fusion reactor. In twenty parallel rings around the inside of the hull sat six hundred life pods which could hold up to ten people each and would provide life-support for the maximum complement for a period of up to ten days. Any or all of these could be jettisoned within seconds if an emergency arose.
The first-class cabins formed a layered series of rings wedged between those created by the life pods. All of these offered the privilege of a direct view into space through at least one transparent MetaPlast porthole; a luxury not afforded to those in the second and third classes, who were confined to cabins closer to the center and the base of the hemisphere.
The whole of the passenger section was connected through a bewildering network of lifts and stairs, as well as an even more bewildering, albeit invisible, network of pipes, ducts, cables, crawl-ways, and service shafts and lifts.
Passengers ’ movements were restrained in a hierarchical fashion. Except for particular social occasions, the rule was that ‘ lower ’ classes had no access to the living areas of the ‘ upper ’ ones; nor could they access their ballrooms, lounges, bars, and restaurants—except by special dispensation from a ranking crew member or an ‘ approved ’ invitation by a first-class passenger. On the other hand, ‘ upper ’ classes had unlimited access to ‘ lower ’ class areas.
The exception was the Promenade, an area of democratic congress, where folks of all classes would mix without regard to their status; though, of course, everybody made sure that they either displayed or alternatively hid their true status, depending on their dispositions.
Despite all this, the distinction between ‘ upper ’ and ‘ lower ’ classes aboard this ship really was one between the very rich and the merely well-off, for even the most menial berth aboard the Lister Diamond cost more than an equivalent on even the most luxurious of combi-transporters. However, traveling on this vessel also provided a greater degree of luxury—and sheer living space—than any combi-trans could ever hope to provide.
Jack ’ s head was still reeling from the size of the Promenade. Things got worse as their guide—a certain Kofaba M ’ bili, whose pale skin stood in stark contrast to the ethnic origin of his name—took them to their cabin.
“You could find your own way without any problem, of course,” he said. He pointed at a square pad at a wall next to him. Jack and Claury had noticed these things all over the ship.
“These identify you by finger or voice print,” Kofaba told them. “On request, they will provide you with the most efficient route from your current position to your cabin, or any place you care to go to. They also act as general purpose communication devices throughout the ship. We discourage the use of UnIFacs for this purpose, since the intercom is much more reliable.”
And traceable , Jack thought.
The cabin took their breath away. All the crew quarters of the Daniel-Lewis taken together would have filled up less space than this one room with its walk-in wardrobe and adjacent bathroom. Their guide declined a gratuity and left them to their own devices.
Jack closed the door.
“Wow!” said Claury. “Do you believe this?”
She walked over to the porthole, a flat rectangle about a meter wide and half a meter tall. “Look at this view!”
Jack joined her. As it happened, their window provided a good angle on the shuttle dock where the vessel that had brought them to the station was detaching, while another was already waiting to dock. “I ’ d certainly hope so,” he said dryly. “Nineteen thousand EUs from Herrykairn to Earth.”
She made a little sound of disbelief. “You ’ re joking.”
Jack shrugged. “Nope. But don ’ t worry about it. It ’ s only about half of my fee for a four-week trip.”
She stared at him. “You guys do rake it in, don ’ t you?”
“With bonuses it can come even higher. Depends on the contract of course.”
“Wow!” She turned from the window and looked around the room. Her eyes fell on the bed. Jack followed her gaze and grinned.
“One of the nice things about this low gravity stuff is that you don ’ t really need a bed,” he told her.
“Sir!” she considered him with mock severity. “Are you suggesting— ”
“I certainly am.”
“Indeed!”
“Actually,” Jack said and looked around thoughtfully. “This being a first-class cabin with no frills spared—” He considered the walls, reached out, and touched one. It felt soft and resilient. Glancing around he noticed the absence of sharp edges and pointed corners, and the way the covers were wrapped around the bed.
He grinned broadly.
“What are you looking at me like that for?” Claury asked, her eyes laughing.
Jack came up to her and put his arms around her waist. “Gravity to one percent normal,” he said loudly.
Claury squealed as he pushed himself, and her as well, off the floor, and both started to float toward the ceiling.
“Thought so,” he whispered in her ear.
“Zero gravity,” he said louder and they continued floating upward until they bumped into the ceiling, and bounced off to begin a slow, languorous tumble through the room.
“Now we can both be on top together.”
Claury pulled his face to hers and kissed him fiercely. In the process they completely lost all sense of up and down.
“But how do we get our clothes off?” she whispered. She let go of, only to grab him again as she started floating away.
He laughed and pulled them closer together. “Let me show you. Though you’ll find that gravity makes getting down to serious business much more fun. ”
“ Is that a personal experience observation? ”
Jack kissed Claury as they continued to drift around the cabin.
“ Not personal, ” he whispered. “ Hearsay from shipmates. ”
“ Truly? ”
“ Would I lie to you? ”
She pulled back and regarded him from close up.
“ No, ” she said softly and looked down at the bed below them. “ Gravity to one percent normal! ”
She held onto Jack as they sank onto the bed.
“ Serious business coming up, ” she whispered into his ear.
“ Full gravity, ” Jack said loudly.
They sank into the bed and he pulled her on top of him.
~~~
“Please prepare for departure. This ship will begin maneuvers in exactly one half-hour. All passengers must be strapped into an emergency web for the undocking procedure.”
“Damn!” Claury nibbled on Jack ’ s ear. “How about we have a shower and pick up where we left off later?”
Jack laughed.
“We ’ ll need something to wear,” Claury said, glancing at the crumpled mess of clothes on the floor and the bed.
They rolled off the bed and made their way into the shower.
“ We’ve got half an hour, right? ”
~~~
“Undocking procedure commencing.”
Jack and Claury sat, strapped in emergency webbing, in a pair swiveling seats attached to the wall just beside the viewport in such a manner that the occupants could choose to face the spectacle outside. It occurred to Jack that the designers had thought of just about everything.
The artificial gravity almost completely masked the acceleration as the ship pulled away from the station. From their point of view it was as if the station simply coasted away. It continued to do so at an increasing rate until it had shrunk to a tiny dot against the backdrop of Herrykairn ’ s oceans and landmasses. Presently the planet itself drifted off to one side and out of their field of view, to be replaced by the sharp pinpoints of the stars.
“I ’ ve never seen it like that,” Claury breathed, her gaze fixed on the outside view. “On all those ships there ’ s never been a view like this.”
Jack nodded. “Same for us Pilots, really. Viewports are a dangerous luxury. They weaken the integrity of the hull and require additional reinforcing structures. Besides, the visual effects associated with a ship in A-space are known to drive people crazy. That ’ s why even Pilots don ’ t see the world through viewports but screens.”
“Undocking procedure terminated. Emergency webbings may now be released.”
Claury tore her attention away from the viewport. They undid their webs and caused the chairs to retract into the walls.
“What now?” Claury asked, eyeing the bed.
Jack laughed. “Are you serious?”
She turned to look at him. Her face displayed a number of rapidly shifting, conflicting emotions.
“I ’ m scared.”
“Of what?”
Her hands dropped from his face. She turned and made a gesture encompassing the cabin.
“That all this is going to end,” she said sadly. “That it ’ s all going to be taken away again. You know what I mean? Don ’ t you feel like that”
“A bit.” Jack took her hands. “Remember what your dad told you,” he said. “Sometimes it happens.”
She gave him a wry grin and shook her head, “Still the same old Jack,” she muttered. “Always assuming the best.”
“This time I ’ m right.”
“You ’ re incorrigible.”
He kissed her on the cheek. “Of course I am. And you love me for it.”
Claury sighed. “I always have.”
“I know,” he said. “And I love you, Claurinda Finisterre. And now that we ’ ve got that straight, I suggest we get on with our lives and stop fretting over imponderables. Besides, wasn ’ t it you who decided never to allow herself to be driven into despair?”
“I had nothing to lose then.”
“So?”
“You ’ re incorrigible.”
“You already said that.”
“Repeatedly.”
He kissed her on the mouth, to which she responded with enthusiasm. When they separated he hooked an arm under hers. “Time to shop,” he told her. “And then, when we get back— ”
~~~
“Jack?”
The voice was familiar: like it might belong to Cale Perdek. Jack put down his cup of coffee. He took his cue from the direction of Claury ’ s gaze and turned around.
It was Cale. Wiry, black, bald, and grinning from ear to ear. His Pilot ’ s uniform was crisp and creaseless.
Jack got up from his seat and held out a hand which Cale enfolded in his own.
“Jack, you old rascal! It ’ s good to see you!”
Jack laughed and shook the hand. “And you! What ’ re you doing here?”
Cale drew himself up. “I work here. ” H e grinned , showing white even teeth.
“Good going! Congratulations. Since when?”
“Just a few months.”
Cale grinned and clapped Jack ’ s shoulders. “It ’ s great to see you!” He looked at Claury. “And who ’ s this?”
Jack introduced Claury.
Cale ’ s eyes went round. “ That Claury? He finally found you? I don ’ t believe it! Do you know how long this guy ’ s been looking for you? Do you know what ‘ obsessive ’ means?” He shook his head. “Unbelievable!”
Jack motioned at a chair. “Have you got some time?”
“Sure! My off-shift.”
Cale sat down and took in Jack ’ s outfit. “I almost didn ’ t recognize you! You ’ re not wearing the uniform and all that. Are you changing professions or something?”
Jack nodded. “Something like that.”
Cale frowned. “Why? You ’ re one of the best.”
Jack smiled cynically. “Thanks, but it seems you ’ re one of the few who think so,” he declared.
Cale shook his head. “Not really. The Register says otherwise. Last time I checked you ’ d pushed Postas Held out of tenth place. At that pace you ’ ll be back in the top three within the year.”
“Register positions don ’ t help much if employers shit themselves when they look at your decision-making processes.” Jack looked at Claury. “The ‘ Register ’ contains the Guild ’ s current evaluation of a Pilot ’ s standing, relative to his peers. My index was set back to zero when the tribunal found me partially responsible for the loss of the Berenice .”
Cale nodded. “Yeah, and look where he is now!” he said to Claury. “Right up there again!” To Jack: “And you want out?”
Jack shrugged. “I ’ ve had enough. Too much of it. Too much shit from the companies. The ones I ’ d like to work for won ’ t even look in my direction. They ’ re too scared that I ’ ll trash another multi-billion EU investment.”
“What ’ re you going to do?”
Jack shrugged. “Don ’ t know yet,” he said vaguely. “Right now we ’ re heading back for Earth. We ’ ll see after that.”
Cale sighed. “Damn shame, if you ask me.”
Jack waved it aside. “Nice of you to say so, but that ’ s the way it is.”
He glanced at Claury. “Cale ’ s one of the good guys. One of the few who didn ’ t shun me after the Berenice incident. And he happens to be one of the few who knows my new face—if for no other reason that he came and visited me in hospital. The only one actually— ”
He had a sudden idea—but immediately thought of Polkad Mobil and decided that it wasn ’ t so good after all. He wasn ’ t going to drag someone else into this mess. Especially not Cale.
“How ’ s your career doing?” he asked his friend.
Cale grinned. “Good. When they ’ re taking you on here it ’ s got to mean that you ’ re on your way up.”
Jack nodded. “Quite a place,” he agreed.
“Isn ’ t it ever!” Cale agreed. “Did you know this thing ’ s got the largest mobile reactor ever built? Even bigger than the Berenice . And those linacs, short as they are, still can get us to critical velocity within ten hours. They never do, mind you; but it ’ s possible.”
Jack noticed that Claury was listening to them with increasing incomprehension. He chuckled. “Boys-and-toys stuff,” he told her with a wink. “The mine-is-bigger-than-yours syndrome expanded to a grotesque scale.”
Cale laughed. “That ’ s one way of looking at it.”
“How ’ s the reactor behaving?” Jack asked.
Cale shrugged. “Seems all right. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, you know me,” Jack said vaguely. “Still paranoid.”
Cale gave him a queer look. “Jack!”
“ It’s a big reactor, right? You know, the probability of cusping goes up exponentially with the volume. Stuff like that. I was just wondering how the regcomp is coping.”
“Seems fine,” Cale declared. “A few glitches here and here, but that ’ s to be expected.”
Jack nodded and glanced at Claury. He didn’t like the sick sensation in his belly.
“ What is it, Jack?’ she asked.
Still looking through him like she’d always done.
“ Nothing. ”
“ Jack! ”
Jack shrugged.
“ What is it, Jack? ” Cale asked.
“What kinds of glitches, Cale ?”
“Nothing serious. The usual. Sporadic instabilities. Slips into the cusp, but then it regulates itself back out of it. Nothing to worry about. The regcomp is the latest and greatest. Even has a quantum processor ancillary unit. The system doesn ’ t even generate reports for trivial deviations anymore. If parameters exceed their limits by the preset tolerances it does, but they ’ re set quite broadly.”
“By whom ?”
“The big muckamucks in engineering, ” Cale said. “There ’ s nothing to worry about, I tell you. This reactor ’ s been up and on-line for over a year without a glitch .”
“So was the Berenice ’ s . For several years, I believe.” Jack shrugged with a carelessness he didn ’ t feel. “Still, if you say it ’ s all right, who am I to question it? Just remember that any two spaced closer than, say, a minute, are critical, no matter what your parameters are set to.”
Cale frowned. “Says who?”
“I do. It ’ s a sure-fire indication that the regcomp isn ’ t coping.”
“Two a minute? You ’ ve got to be kidding! We ’ re talking about a microsecond response time!”
Jack nodded. “Exactly. Which is why the Berenice is no more.”
“Meaning?” Cale leaned forward and looked closely at his friend.
Jack shook his head. “Nobody listens to Jack.” He grimaced. “I told the tribunal the same thing. Did they listen? Ha! They didn ’ t even read my report—not if their questions were anything to go by.”
Cale grimaced. “Look, Jack, I know you— ”
Jack made a placating gesture. “It ’ s all right, Cale. Don ’ t worry about it. I mean, it ’ s not likely to happen—but just remember what I said. It won ’ t hurt to keep an eye on it.”
Cale shrugged. “All right. Why not? I ’ ll tell the others. And the engineers.”
Jack laughed. “Just don ’ t tell them why! I don ’ t think they ’ d like to know this tidbit originated with Jack Corwin.”
Cale nodded thoughtfully. He looked troubled. “I guess you ’ re right. Well, I don ’ t care what they think. I ’ m not going to throw it in their faces, but I ’ ll keep an eye on it.”
Jack smiled. “Thanks.” He patted Cale ’ s shoulder. “The chance is remote. I ’ ve calculated the risk factor once. It worked out to some pretty good odds against it happening.”
Cale pursed his lips. “Yeah, but when you ’ re talking about plasma cusping, you know what your stats are worth.” He stood up. “Look, I ’ ll let you two get on with becoming familiar with everything. Maybe we can get together for dinner soon?”
“That would be lovely,” Claury told him, and Jack saw in Cale ’ s face that she had made another conquest. Claury was like that. When she had decided that she wanted a slave, she generally had no problem in getting one.
“We ’ re in B-124,” Jack told Cale.
“Oh, I ’ ll find you,” Cale said easily. “There ’ s no way anybody can not be found around here.”
That was the problem! How long would it take Cale to ascertain that nobody by the name of Jack Corwin was on board?
Jack thought fast and decided on the most straightforward course. “Maybe not as easy as you think,” he told his friend. “I ’ m not here as myself—if you know what I mean.”
Cale gave him a puzzled look. “Why not?”
Jack shrugged. “Privacy. I ’ m trying to put things behind me. They remodeled my face. I thought I might complete the process.”
Cale shook his head. “Man, you ’ re serious about getting out!”
“Yeah.”
“Must have cost you a packet!”
“It didn ’ t come cheap,” Jack agreed. “And I had help— ”
Cale, still bemused, nodded pensively. “Hmmff. Well, who am I looking for?”
“Lothar Kolyad.” Jack spelled the name.
“Fair enough.” Cale gave Claury a little bow. “I ’ ll see you two around, huh?”
He shook their hands and departed, disappearing in the crowds milling around this level of the Promenade.
Claury looked after him. “He seems like a nice fellow,” she said.
“He is,” Jack agreed. “One of the few who didn ’ t shun me when it all came down.”
She put a hand on his. “I ’ m glad you weren ’ t alone,” she said softly.
Jack shook his head. “When we needed each other we were both alone,” he said.
Claury squeezed his hand but said nothing. For a while they sat in silence watching the activity around them.
“What ’ s ‘ cusping ’ ?” Claury asked.
“Techno-speak for something going wrong so badly that it can ’ t be fixed,” Jack told her.
She looked at him like she wanted to know more.
“In this case we ’ re talking about fusion reactors of course; about the current state of the reaction in the compression chamber. The reaction is controlled by the regcomp, whose purpose it is to keep it within the required tolerances. It does that by adjusting the magnetic and gravitational fields in the chamber, and injecting new reaction materials when necessary.
“Unfortunately, reactions on such a small scale—and a ‘ small scale ’ it is when you compare it to what happens in the interior of a star!—are always unstable, and the regcomp tends to have its hands full to keep them in line. In order to make the job easier it attempts to compute the likely future states of the reaction and anticipate what ’ s going to happen; rather than waiting for it.
“A teacher of mine once likened the state of the reaction in a fusion chamber to the situation of a metal sphere rolling along a smooth surface in a hilly landscape. The regcomp attempts to adjust the landscape so that the sphere keeps rolling in the desired direction.
“Problem is that the landscape contains a lot of holes. If the sphere falls into any of those, the reaction will either collapse, or, more likely, go out of control. End of story for everyone on board. That ’ s a ‘ cusp ’ .
“The regcomp attempts to look ahead, spot the potential holes, and adjust the profile of the landscape so the sphere rolls around them. In terms of real time, the time over which the regcomp needs to look ahead is of the order of millisecond s if you ’ re lucky, and microseconds if you ’ re not. And if you ’ re really unlucky then it won ’ t spot them at all and the sphere just drops down the hole and then boom!”
“In other words, we ’ re sitting on a live bomb,” Claury said tonelessly.
Jack nodded. “A carefully controlled bomb. And the complexity of the regcomp ’ s task grows exponentially with the size of the reactor chamber; which is why decreasing reactor size, while it also drastically decreases the efficiency of the reaction, makes for much, much safer technology. Of course, on board a ship you want maximum efficiency even more than on planet-based systems, and so the reactors tend to be on the large—and unsafe—side.”
“And on the Berenice it all went wrong?”
Jack nodded. “Problem is that some parts of that landscape have more holes than others—and the regcomp is unable to predict that in advance. So it might actually guide the reaction into a part of the landscape where there are so many holes that there ’ s no way it can possibly deal with them all, and no hope of ever finding a way out.
“ I suppose the ancillary quantum computing unit can explore many more potentially fatal scenarios than the regcomp itself. But these still have to be evaluated by the regcomp. And that takes time. And so we’re back to square one, even though people seem to think they’ve got their asses covered. Which they don’t. They just become even more overconfident that their technology has got it all under control. Which it hasn’t. ”
He wanted to say more, but the feeling of unease in his belly was intensifying.
“ And what can you do if things go out of control? ”
“ Depends. If they’re really serious, there’s nothing you can do, because it’s all too late. Usually the safest solution is to vent the plasma; but in some situations even that may not help, but will accelerate the catastrophe.
“There are danger signs. What I told Cale—about the less-than-a-minute intervals—that was something I ’ d figured out long before the reactor on the Berenice went critical. But would they listen? No way. That was just speculation as far as they were concerned.
“It always happened when reactor load changed significantly: like when the Berenice started a major acceleration cycle; or just before we entered A-space; or right after we came out of it.
“I knew the thing was going to go critical that time. I told them to vent, but they wouldn ’ t. They procrastinated until it was too late. In the end I had to put my neck on the line and use my override authority to force them to evacuate the ship. Which they did—screaming bloody murder and ruination all the way. A couple of my co-pilots backed me up, but that was all. Everybody else was just too shit-scared of the company.
“At that point I got carried away. Well, greedy actually. Thinking of the salvage fee; my reputation; shit like that. Besides, I was arrogant enough to believe I could salvage anything.
“I persuaded Lee Won to stick around. My idea was simple. We ’ d use the navcomp, interfacing with us intuits, to help the regcomp figure a way out of the dangerous landscape. The way I saw it, the situation wasn ’ t all that different from finding your way through A-space. You ’ ve got to feel your way out of this.
“I was sure it could be done. We were going to push the reaction to a state where the plasma could be safely vented. That would have nicely solved the problem.
“We probably would have succeeded—if luck hadn ’ t decided to look the other way. The regcomp missed a prediction; the ball rolled into one of the holes; the reaction went ballistic. The bulk of the ship protected us against the worst. Lee Won got fried—and I don ’ t think they had much hope for me either.”
“But what you did… You should have been a hero!” Claury exclaimed.
Jack grinned cynically. “I was. For a few days anyway. The man who saved a thousand lives and put his own on the line. That ’ s until they decided to re-write history and the facts.”
“Who?”
Jack smiled cynically. “The company reps on the tribunal. The whole thing was their fault, and they went right into spin-control mode. After all, they had been endangering lives by using unsafe technology—whose main purpose was to wring the last bit of profit out of the ships. To replace one of those large reactors would have taken four smaller ones—which would have cost significantly more and greatly reduced the energy-to-reactor-mass ratio. Which means the Berenice —and the Lister Diamond for that matter—would end up much less cost-effective.
“So, they re-wrote the truth. Blamed the ultimate explosion on Lee Won and me; for ‘ inappropriate interference ’ with the regcomp ’ s standard algorithms. Especially on me, of course; mainly because I was still alive, and because I was the one who ’ d used my override authority; which the companies consider a pain in the butt anyway, but which the Guild has, so far, been able to maintain despite all opposition.”
“But somebody must have listened!”
“I suppose so. But I couldn ’ t say anything. When the hearing was over I was offered a deal: don ’ t stir shit and you can get back into the game. Start making trouble and we ’ ll crucify you.”
Claury stared at him aghast. “That ’ s terrible!”
Jack shrugged. He reached over and ran a finger along her cheek. “It ’ s no worse than what they ’ ve done to you.”
Claury exhaled and made a grimace.
“The way of the world,” Jack noted dryly.
“ So that means,” she said, “that right now we ’ re sitting in a ship that could blow up any moment? ”
Jack made a negligent gesture. “True. But they ’ ve added safety features. The reactor in this ship can be jettisoned as a unit. Which means no more need to vent when it all goes critical. Instead you dispose of the whole reactor. There ’ s also a small secondary reactor which can, I believe, handle basic life-support in case the big one goes. But, of course, the ship would drift helplessly in space because navigation controls would be non-existent. And if that happened in transit and far away from an inhabited system, it would also mean that rescue might never come.
“Still, it ’ s a major step in safety—even though it ’ s all useless if those who run the ship don ’ t recognize the danger signs.”
Jack looked at his coffee, which had gone cold while he ’ d been talking, and the bags of purchases arranged around their seats. “I think we ’ d better get these into our cabin.”
Claury ’ s eyes twinkled. He could see that the suggestion had temporarily diverted her thoughts into more cheerful directions.
“Quite,” she said, “There ’ s so much we have to do!”
He laughed. “You have a one-track mind!”
She stuck out her tongue.
~~~
“How are we going to find these people?” Claury asked. She was kneeling on the bed behind Jack and looking over his shoulder at the screen of his UnIFac, which displayed a list of names and associated details.
Klovis Renfield. Male. 58. Field-generator engineer. Single. Origin: Earth.
Claire Zuniga. Female. 32. GenSpac Sales Rep. Single. Origin: Earth.
Said Khatabi. Male. 47. Artist. Single. Origin: Fargo 5;
Three people with whom Jerad Arundel had had contact during their stay on Herrykairn. There might be more, of course, but that was speculation. These three were definite candidates. Any one or all of them might carry the message.
Jack had looked at each of the faces on the UnIFac ’ s screen and asked the same question: “Are you the one?”
But, this time anyway, there had been nothing. He had hoped that his sense would tell him something, but it seemed that he needed more. A personal contact maybe. A few words. A few more clues. Whatever it was that intuits needed to make decisions.
“I don ’ t think finding them is going to be that much of a problem,” Jack told her. “But what are we going to do once we ’ ve identified the courier? Or couriers? We can ’ t just walk up to them and demand that they hand over the message!”
“Which they might carry in their heads anyway,” she added.
“Quite.”
Claury leaned her chin on his shoulder and her cheek against his. “First things first, huh?”
Jack nodded. “Let ’ s find these people. We ’ ll jump off all those bridges when we get to them.”
He put down the UnIFac and looked around their somewhat untidy cabin. Shopping bags lay strewn around the floor where they had dropped them in their haste to, as Claury put it, ‘ get into each other ’ s pants ’ .
“Let ’ s get dressed. We ’ d better make a start on this. Right now it looks like we have a lot of time, but I have a funny feeling that ’ s illusion.”
He felt her nod. “Hmmm.”
He knew how she felt. There was a conceptual abyss between what had been happening between them during the last hour or so and what they had to do ‘ out there ’ . A kind of existential discontinuity almost.
“Hmmm?” he said. “That ’ s an agreement, I suppose?”
“Hmmm.” She nibbled on his ear and lifted her head off his shoulders, before bouncing herself off the bed and retrieving the bags from around the room.
Some considerable time later she pronounced herself ready to depart. Jack looked at her and wondered how it could possibly have taken so long to put on the sleek tight-fitting gray-and-green overall she now wore.
Some things, he said to himself, were not his to know. At the same time he noticed that he was probably more at ease than he had been for as long as he could easily remember back. He tried to trace the feeling back to its source, but failed. In the end he gave up, promising himself that he would come back to it some time, when he was in a better disposition to comprehend what the hell was going on.
While Claury was getting dressed, he had busied himself with one of the com outlets in their room. Locating their three quarries was even simpler than he had hoped. Klovis Renfield, Claire Zuniga, and Said Khatabi were all first-class passengers whose cabin numbers were accessible to any other first-class passenger. Obviously nobody had considered that there might be any but the most innocuous of reasons why anybody from first class might desire this kind of information.
Which was fine with Jack; in this instance anyway. He added the cabin numbers and their locations to the suspect-database in his UnIFac.
Claury came over just as he finished. “Next step?”
“We can hardly knock on their doors are invite ourselves in,” he noted dryly. “I ’ m open to suggestions.”
“The whole thing is impossible,” Claury declared. “Even if we knew… I mean, short of killing them— ”
“Let ’ s just start at the beginning. Besides, I ’ m hungry.”
Jack took her hand and they left their cabin. Claury started heading toward the descensor shaft, but Jack tugged on her sleeve and pointed in the opposite direction.
“I want to have a look at something.” She followed him to the end of the corridor, which was only a few steps away. It ended in a door marked ‘ Pod G145 ’ . In the center of the door was a levered handle, under a transparent plate, set in a red, circular frame. Imprinted on the plate was a symbol depicting a fist smashing it. Jack bent down and read the notice underneath the number.
“What are you doing?”
He straightened. “Just making sure. On the Berenice the life-pods had to be centrally released for use. Sheer paranoia and stupidity. As if someone was just going to jump into one and take off. It meant that almost half of them were still inaccessible when they were needed, since the release signal didn ’ t come through because of some cock-up in the central processor.
“I ’ m relieved to see that they ’ re not doing this here. Every now and then sanity seems to prevail.”
~~~
Jack checked his time-piece. Six hours had passed since the Lister Diamond had detached itself from the station. Maybe another five or six until it would enter A-space. As Jack knew from his previous experience, there was a calendar of social functions, carefully arranged to distract the passengers from the inevitable boredom that comes with being cooped up inside a metal shell for protracted periods. No matter how luxurious and fancy; it was still a prison of sorts, and people ’ s attention had to be diverted from that fact. That was part of what they paid their exorbitant fares for.
Particularly stressful situations had been anticipated and the calendar scheduled accordingly. The time of entry into A-space happened to coincide with the early ‘ evening ’ , ship time. This was a suitable occasion for the ship ’ s social director to arrange for a general get-together with a dance and on-stage entertainment. Everybody was going to be distracted, and by the time the affair was over the ship would be coasting through the incomprehensible void of A-space.
These functions were known as ‘ Stress Minimization Activities ’ .
“Are we going to go to these things?” Claury asked him.
Jack nodded. “I hate them, but that ’ s where you meet people. It ’ s socially acceptable way to get to know people. With a bit of luck we ’ ll run into our candidates there. Then we ’ ll see what we see.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I ’ ll see if my ‘ sense ’ tells me anything.”
“And then what?”
Jack shrugged. “We ’ ll improvise.”
Claury looked around herself. The Promenade was crowded, as always. “And until then?”
“We ’ ll look around the ship. As first-class passengers we have the run of most of it. Then we ’ ll have some dinner; and then, I suppose, it ’ ll be time for the social events to kick in.”