Compete (40 page)

I pick up a bite of something alien and spicy with my fork after swirling it around on my plate. “Well . . .” I mutter. And then I explain to Vazara that I don’t expect to be doing much flying or much dancing. “If anything,” I say, “I’ll be operating the Zero-G tech together with Gennio, and making sure the levitation and gravity transitions happen properly with the music. Now that to me is the most exciting part of this event. I can’t wait to see how it all works!”

But Vazara does not give up. “You know, I can show you how we dance in
Atlantida
—all the latest modern dances. It’s really easy and so much fun! You can learn in a few hours!”

Poor girl. . . . She has no clue she is talking to Gwen the Klutz.

“Look, I really appreciate it,” I tell her. “But, maybe next time. I’m really not up to dancing right now. And I’m sure you have better things to do than get your feet crushed by an elephant. Besides, wouldn’t all the boys be looking up the girls’ fancy skirts as they’re flying around, up there in Zero-G? I don’t really want to deal with any of that silliness. . . .”

“Oh, goodness, no!” Vazara bites her lip with the effort of explaining it to me. “The outfits are made cleverly to hide your underclothing—either in the way they fold and unfold during dancing, or with extra hidden layers that cover you from below as you fly. And in some cases you can always wear additional form-fitting shorts underneath.”

But I shake my head. “Sounds way too complicated.”

Vazara watches me sadly. “All right, but please let me know if you change your mind. I am very eager to help you!”

I smile. “Yes, I can see.”

W
e chat for a while longer, and I find that Vazara is extremely pleasant, but somewhat too “girly” for my usual kind of pal. She goes on and on about formal dresses, shoes, party decorations, shoes, and dance music—and did I mention, shoes?—until my eyes start to glaze over. I admit I miss my friend Ann Finnbar from back home in Vermont, and I seriously miss Laronda, Dawn, and Hasmik, my Qualification friends.

At last we part, and I promise Vazara that the moment I need any help whatsoever, I will contact her or drop by her quarters in the Green Quadrant, Command Deck Three.

Yeah,
that’s
likely not going to happen, at least not in the near future.

I return to my cabin and plop down on my bunk and think.

Just, think.

Where is Logan? Is he still doing the interrogations down in the bowels of the ship? Yet again I flash back to the image of Logan—grim, intense, and surprisingly cold and clinical in his levels of patience—facing off that tough Earth Union girl. . . . That’s definitely a new side of Logan I’ve never seen before—hard and calculating. I’m not too sure what to think of it.

And then I recall the look in another person’s eyes, when we were down there in that one-way observation chamber adjacent to the interrogation room. Aeson Kassiopei, watching me with raw, inexplicable eyes. . . .

Talking about—where is the CP? Do we have the voice training today or not?

A strange little twinge of concern comes to me. I haven’t seen him all day.

At 8:00 PM, I arrive dutifully at the CCO, and the guards let me inside, and there’s no one there. I sit around for about ten minutes, waiting. Then it occurs to me to check my email.

There’s a message from Command Pilot Kassiopei:

“
Lark, my apologies, but we have to cancel your voice training again for tonight. I am going to be unavailable all night. I will see you tomorrow. —A. K.”

The message is terse and typical, and for some reason I can easily imagine it being spoken in his deep cool voice.

Okay, why exactly am I thinking about this?

Frustrated at myself, I get back to my cabin, grab a favorite old book from my duffel bag and try to read a little before bedtime.

It doesn’t occur to me to check my video messages until it’s after 10:00 PM, lights out in all the dorms and barracks.

Because there’s a message from Gracie.

“H
ey, Gee Two!” my sister Gracie says, peering closely into the camera, with her noisy barracks in the background. Somehow, in just a few days, she looks all grown up and serious, with her hair gathered neatly behind her and her Cadet Insignia star pinned on her uniform. “Sorry I missed your calls, but things are pretty busy here, we don’t get much time off. Talking about time off—we all got permission to attend the Zero-G Dance on other ships, but only if someone invites us. So—here’s our chance to hang, if you invite me over to your ship! I really wanna see ICS-2, and party with you. Okay, I know you don’t party, but you know what I mean—anyway, call me!”

Oh, great
, I think with excitement.
A chance to see my little sis! I can invite Gracie here for the Zero-G Dance!

And so I go to bed, resolving to get Gracie over here, one way or another.

Instead of solid sleep, I get woken several times in the night by the voice of the ship’s computer, announcing various trans-Neptunian Kuiper Belt Objects, including Pluto, Eris, Makemake and Haumea.

“
Now in orbital range of dwarf planet Pluto. . . .”

And on, and on. Seriously, I get it; it’s unbelievably cool. I mean,
Pluto!
So amazing, and it even has a heart-shaped area on its surface! But for once I am too cranky with sleep.

And then, toward morning, I hear:

“
Now entering heliopause.”

A few seconds later, the next ominous announcement makes my pulse race and wakes me up completely from a shallow sleep:

“
Now leaving solar system heliosphere. . . . Interstellar space begins in ten seconds. . . .”

I bolt upright, almost hitting my head against the low overhang of the storage compartment directly above my bunk.

Dear God, this is it.

We are out—out of the solar system, beyond the safety bubble of the solar winds, having reached the boundary where the solar wind pressure equalizes with the pressure of the interstellar medium of our galaxy.

Cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. My heart palpitates with full-blown panic, with space vertigo.

If it’s any consolation
, I whisper to myself,
at least we’re still in the Milky Way.

For now.

I
n the morning, to my amazement, the CCO is filled with people. Not only is Aeson Kassiopei there, but so are Anu, Gennio, and a constant stream of officers and crew who drop by every few minutes to ask the CP for various permissions and specifications, in regard to the Blue Quadrant-hosted Zero Gravity Dance event.

How crazy-big is this thing going to be anyway?

The moment I walk in, Anu hands me a handheld tablet with a checklist of tasks and the event schedule for the big day tomorrow.

“What’s this?” I say, meanwhile glancing in the direction of the CP.

This morning Aeson Kassiopei looks even more icy and irritated than usual, a particularly lethal combination that creates a perfect storm of disdain on his handsome lean face. As a result, his responses to the various officers are curt and somewhat dismissive, while he barely glances away from his work and focuses on his screen.

He must really hate this
, I think.

“Check your email for more incoming instructions,” Anu says. “This is the timeline for every ark-ship. The Dance itself begins at 7:00 PM, and runs until midnight on all ships. But first, see all these other things that must happen tomorrow. And here on ICS-2, we are responsible for them!”

“Great,” I mutter. “Resonance Chamber panels diagnostics and sound check at 9:00 AM . . . Decorations start at 11:00 AM . . . Lighting at 1:00 PM . . . Music programming at 2:00 PM. . . .” I look up. “So, no other work or classes scheduled for tomorrow?

Anu snorts. “Why? Would you like some of my work added to your schedule?”

I roll my eyes at him and return to scanning the list.

And then I fill up with courage and ask about my sister.

“Command Pilot,” I say. “What must I do to have my sister Gracie formally invited here to our ship for tomorrow’s Dance?”

Aeson Kassiopei looks up at me. “What?”

“My sister,” I repeat. “I want to invite Gracie here.”

“That is fine,” he says. “Talk to Gennio and have him check the personnel balance sheet.” And then his attention returns to the display.

“Okay. . . .”

I turn to Gennio and he explains to me that the number of personnel physically present on each ship has to be specially accounted for—literally. It has something to do with the maximum weight limits allocated to each vessel in order to maintain the required flight velocities, and to retain the formation balance necessary to keep us all within the Quantum Stream.

“Wow, I had no idea it’s so complicated.”

“Oh, yes.” Gennio nods thoughtfully. “Each ark-ship has to carefully preserve the weight range throughout our journey. For every person, shuttle, or unit of freight that leaves one ship, approximately that much needs to be brought over from another ship, within a specific tolerance ratio. People and things come and go all the time between ships, but the ship systems keep careful track of all arrivals and departures—”

“So each time one person comes and goes, it can mess things up?” I say, thinking with sudden guilt about how I basically stowed Logan away on a shuttle and brought him over here without asking.

“One person is no big deal,” Anu says. “But with all these people getting invited to other ships for the Dance, everyone will be coming and going all over the place, all on the same day. So we have to be extra careful not to upset the weight balance everywhere. That’s why we have personnel balance sheets. The system automatically checks it for discrepancies and dangerous weight fluctuations across the Fleet.”

Gennio types on his console. “Okay,” he says. “I just allocated Grace Lark to ICS-2 for tomorrow, so she is cleared to arrive after 8:00 AM and can stay until midnight.”

“Thanks, Gennio!” I smile at him.

And then I glance down at the checklist on the tablet in my hands. “This is crazy . . .” I mutter. “All this effort for some silly dance.”

“Agreed.” It’s the Command Pilot who responds. He looks at me momentarily and I see the weariness in his gaze hiding underneath the general irritation. “And yet,” he adds, “it’s necessary and has to happen. It’s a morale booster, intended to make people forget the bad, at least for a short while.”

“Yeah, I get it.” I watch him steadily, but he quickly looks away.

T
he rest of the day is a hassle-filled mess. The other two CCO Aides and I are sent on errands all over the ship, checking the Manufacturing Deck where the 3D printers are cranking out endless production items, testing points of various networked systems, and otherwise getting ready for tomorrow’s precise schedule.

Most of the time I simply tag along and watch and observe, and help occasionally with whatever Gennio and Anu delegate to me—mostly easy tasks such as handling and carrying computer parts. As a result of this, I also don’t get to attend any classes. Oh, I think, Hugo is going to be
so very mad
at me for not showing up to Pilot Training. . . .

“Will there be food and drink at the Dance?” I ask at some point as we are testing network lines somewhere on Cadet Deck Two.

“Yes, basic refreshments,” Gennio says. “But drinks in closed containers only, because of constantly changing gravity.”

I imagine a giant room filled with weightless dancing people and millions of airborne floating droplets of liquid.
Yeah, no.
That’s not a bright idea.

“I’m surprised you guys would risk any drinks at all,” I say. “Spills happen. Can’t expect every single person to be careful with their closed beer containers. Especially if they’re already drunk.”

Anu glances at me. “No alcohol,” he says. “There’s no liquor allowed during Zero-G Dances.”

Gennio nods. “The combination of changing gravity and alcohol can make people really sick.”

“Good to know.” I file that away under interesting facts—nothing that would ever affect
me
personally, since I don’t drink, but hey, good to know.

A
fter dinner I call Gracie, and let her know she’s been approved and is coming over tomorrow. Gracie expresses her joy at me through the screen by reverting to her inner twelve-year-old self and squealing loudly. Then I get to hear about her fancy formal outfit that she’d just emailed to the 3D printer on her ship, and how she’s going to dress up in blue, because everyone will be dressed in blue, and how Blue is awesome for hosting the Dance.

She then tells me how even Gordie, our socially-oblivious brother, is into the idea of Zero-G Dancing—and not only because he’s in Blue, and his Quadrant is hosting, but just because—and he’s going to go to the dance held on their own ship and check things out. “I bet Gee Three will just stand at the wall like a doofus and stare at the special effects till his mouth falls open.” Gracie giggles.