The Engines of Dawn (3 page)

Cleddman placed a hand on Holcombe's shoulder, meaning to be sympathetic. "I never thought the
Haven
would go up. I've ridden her myself. I thought she was invincible."

"We all think we're invincible every now and then."

"I'll make sure you get the full report on the accident as soon as it's decompressed at the next port," the Cloudman said.

"I appreciate it," Holcombe said. "Thanks."

A junior member of the mathematics department in the back of the Council hall stood up and looked around. "Excuse me, Captain. Shouldn't one of the Auditors be present at this meeting? It's written in the faculty bylaws. It's part of our charter."

"I notified them," Cleddman said, turning. "But they're preparing for Friday-night services."

"Then perhaps we can wait until tomorrow or Monday," said the faculty member. Like the Ainge priests and the university administration personnel, this young man wore a gray tunic. Holcombe despised gray….

Captain Cleddman cut off the faculty member a with slight gesture. "I understand your concern, Dr. DeGroot, but we are letting the Kuulo stand in for High Auditor Nethercott. Will you allow that?"

Off to the left of the podium stood a hologram projection stage. A 3D image hovered there, that of the ranking Enamorati, the Kuulo Kuumottoomaa. The Kuulo was actually somewhere deep inside the Enamorati compound at the far end of the giant ship. It was easier for him to be present this way and to speak without being locked in his e-suit.

The alien looked in the direction of Dr. DeGroot. His Standard English was flawless as he spoke. "I will advise Mr. Nethercott on the content of the meeting as soon as he is available. Our Ainge brothers will be fully informed."

"That's acceptable," Dr. DeGroot said.

Holcombe thought he could detect a note of disappointment in DeGroot's acquiescence. Everybody knew there were factions on the ship that were itching to catch their pilot, who was not of the Ainge religion, in a lapse of protocol. But Cleddman would never give them the chance. Hooray for Cleddman.

The alien's next words, surprisingly, were for him. "Albert Holcombe, we, too, share your loss. Many of our own perished on the HCSV
Annette Haven.
The loss is no less meaningful to us. I can assure you that our engineers will do what they can to make certain that a similar accident doesn't happen to us."

The pilot cleared his throat. "That's why I called this meeting. This is as good a time as any to bring the matter up, but in light of what's just happened to the
Haven,
I think it's time we took up the proposal Physics and Mechanical Engineering made last year when the
Aurora Lee
was lost in transit to Beta Draconis 5."

The Council hall fell absolutely silent. Even Holcombe hadn't expected something like this.

"No offense, Kuulo," the Cloudman said, "but humans feel better if they're working on their own problems instead of waiting around for someone else to deal with them."

"What are you saying, Mr. Cleddman?" someone asked in the rear.

"Physics and Engineering have three different stardrive systems in development that could rival the capacities of an Onesci Engine. The math is there and I've seen the schematics. I think we should consider shifting all of our technical resources over to Physics and Engineering to see if we can get one of the stardrive systems up and running. For real."

The forty-member Council started rumbling and shifting about in their seats. Holcombe noticed that the 3D image of the Kuulo Kuumottoomaa remained impassive.

"You're thinking about going your own way, aren't you," someone else said.

"Our
way," the Cloudman responded. "I have made it clear many, many times that I don't like my fate being in the hands of… others. Sorry, Kuulo. This is the best opportunity humankind has had in two hundred years. We've got to try sometime. I think now is the time."

Dr. DeGroot stood up once again. "I can see why you didn't want the Ainge here, Mr. Cleddman," he said heatedly. "Without the Engines, the Ainge would have no authority on a human vessel, now, would they?"

"Dr. DeGroot, this isn't about the Ainge," Cleddman said firmly. "This is about powering our own vessels with our own engines, doing our own technical checks to see that all systems are working the way they should be working-and if they
do
blow up in trans-space, then we can examine the engines themselves, if anything's left, to see for ourselves what went wrong."

Holcombe though he could hear a page of history turning over a massive leaf. Cleddman had suggested nothing less than an act of absolute liberation, an act many human beings-billions of them, in fact-might not want. Those people, members of the vast Ainge Church, would have the most to lose, at least in terms of political influence.

The Enamorati Compact was signed on Tau Ceti 4 in 2205 C.E. by Ixion Smith, president of the Ainge, acting on behalf of the Human Community. It formally bound humans to respect the religious aspects of the Onesci Engines. No ship using Onesci Engines could engage in war; acts of piracy or unprovoked violence were forbidden. But along with the Enamorati engineers, several humans, high priests of the Ainge religion called Auditors, would always accompany the Enamorati. Their relationship to the Enamorati was special and inviolate. Cleddman had just suggested an end to all that.

Humans
did
have a form of trans-light travel, but it was limited, employing molecular compression based on nearly ancient fractal mathematics. So-called bullets of compressed matter, the biggest a millimeter in diameter, could be shot through trans-space to allow for a decent system of real-time communications between worlds light-years apart. The mysteries of trans-space, let alone Engines efficient enough to move people through it, still eluded the best minds of the Human Community.

The Kuulo Kuumottoomaa held up his hand, pleading. "Mr. Cleddman, we believe that our Engines are the best that can be made, especially for a ship this size. And I hope you understand that we have no desire to die in space, either. When we know more of what happened to the
Annette Haven,
we will do everything we can to make certain this great ship will not suffer the same fate."

"I'm sure you will," Cleddman said. "But I would much rather have a greater say over how I live and die than I have now. If the problem
is
with the Engines, then
I
want to know exactly why. But you're never going to share that information with us, and that we can no longer tolerate."

"Speak for yourself, Alex," said Dr. DeGroot.

"I'm speaking for myself and every human being who has died in-transit in the last hundred years. I'm also speaking for you, too. I'm an equal-opportunity pilot. I fly anybody. I just want to arrive in one piece."

"The odds of perishing in-transit are still ten million to one," Dr. DeGroot said. "And I trust the Enamorati
and
their Engines."

A female faculty member from Biochemistry stood up. "Captain, you can't possibly do this without the approval of the university administration and faculty. We're a university first, a spaceship second."

"The Eos University charter allows me to take control of the ship if or when the
vessel
is threatened. I'm not invoking that charter now. But, I
will
if I have to. And if I have to, I want to be ready. This shouldn't disturb the functions of the university. And, yes, I will consult the administration if or when the time comes for us to break away."

"Are we close?" a voice asked from the rear.

"Not yet," Cleddman admitted.

"Then isn't this a little hasty?" someone else asked. "We don't know what happened to the
Annette Haven.
It may have had nothing to do with its Engine."

"This has been brewing for quite some time now," Cleddman told them. "I'm not the only pilot in the H.C. who feels this way.

But as far as I know, we're the only ones in a position to test the advances we've made so far. And, I might add, if we pull this off, Eos University will be unsurpassed in excellence and fame."

"You're doing this because you don't like the Enamorati," Professor DeGroot said.

"No, I'm doing this because I don't like to be blown up," Cleddman said. "And I don't think you do, either. In any event, when the time comes I will run this through all the proper channels and nobody on the Council will be left out of the debate. But as I said earlier, it's my job to maintain our safety. This is definitely
not a
political matter."

"Not yet, it isn't," grumbled Professor DeGroot.

With that, the 3D image of the Kuulo winked out. Evidently, the Kuulo had heard all he wanted to hear; so had a number of others.

The impromptu meeting seemed to be at an end.

4

In the oval arena of Eos University's ShipCom center, Cutter Rausch shook his head at the information on the large monitor screen in front of his subordinates. Rausch was a slender, quiet man in his mid-thirties, and calmness had served him well over the years. Chaos and confusion could be everywhere around him, but rarely was the communications chief moved by outside calamities. However, the news of the
Annette Haven's
demise had unsettled him deeply. His staff wasn't taking it well either.

Their computer, the greatest in the H.C., had massive databases; every book, every journal known to humankind was in storage, and this included all current information on businesses and corporations that was in the public domain. Rausch had found the most up-to-date crew manifest for the
Haven.

"Look at that, Cutter," observed his second-in-command, Lisa Benn, a fortyish blonde who was frowning at the screen. "The crew all have Ainge names. Turley, Romney, Mullin…"

Rausch's third-in-command, dark-haired Maree Zolezzi, saw something else important. "I don't see any known members of the KMA on the crew. If it's all Ainge, somebody's bound to think the KMA blew the ship up."

Rausch rubbed his chin as he pondered the list of the ill-fated ship's crew. "Maybe," he said. "Maybe not. There are other political factions in the H.C."

"But none are as outspoken as the KMA," Benn said.

Rausch shook his head. "Even the most radical factions of the KMA would never be this brutal. Even if Jack Killian were still alive, he would never have sanctioned something like this, no matter how many Enamorati might have been on board. He'd lose most of his supporters, including me. We're just going to have to wait until the final reports come in. In the meantime, let's just hope the Police Council doesn't go on a witch-hunt."

Maree Zolezzi steepled her fingers before her as she thought at her console. "A ship is going down now about once a year. It just
can't
be mechanical."

Rausch nodded. "Unfortunately, the energies of trans-space absorb unprotected matter, so there's no way to know."

The other members of Rausch's crew included three junior officers and an intern from the university. This intern, Clare Kronmeyer, looked more worried than usual. She said, "If the crew and the passengers were entirely Ainge, don't you think heads are going to roll? I mean, the High Councillor is Ainge and so is most of the H.C. Council. Anybody in the ship corps who isn't Ainge could be out of work."

"Children," Rausch said. "If Mason Hildebrandt and the High Council want to fire us, they can come all the way out here and get us. The one thing I know for sure is that Alex Cleddman isn't going to hand the ship over to anybody for any reason."

A small row of yellow warning lights appeared along the bottom of one of the monitors on the giant wall before them.

"Good," Cutter said, almost relieved. "Something to take our minds off politics for a while."

"Unless the ship's about to blow up," Lisa Benn muttered.

"Wouldn't
that
be interesting," Rausch said.

They set about determining the source for the yellow warning lights.

Ben Bennett walked the halls of Eos University with a dead bear in his arms and trouble on his mind. Friday afternoon and the place seemed unusually quiet. Perhaps there
was
something to the Ennui. Perhaps it was spreading. Perhaps the little bear in his arms had gotten tired and somehow decided to stop living.

So what
was
an Avatka doing in Babbitt Hall?

Ben went door-to-door through Cowden Hall trying to find this Julia Waxwing person. He did come across several of her friends who recognized Jingle Bear and were sad to see that he had died. But they didn't know where Julia was. Jingles, Ben learned, was a polar bear from Earth that had been growth-locked in its infancy and gene-engineered to passivity, and had become a pleasant fixture in the dorm. The girls were deeply saddened.

Ben also learned that the bear was only three years old, so it clearly did not die of old age.

"Now what?" he muttered, alone at the end of the hallway, having run out of Cowden Hall rooms in which to look for Ms. Waxwing. She was probably on a date, having dinner in the student commons perhaps….

His com/pager chimed out just then. "Go ahead," he said to the receiver in his collar chevron.

"Ben, this is Eve Silbarton. How far from a transit portal are you?"

"About ten feet," he said, bear in arms. "Why?"

"Get to Physics as soon as you can!"

Hugging poor Jingle Bear, Ben walked to the end of the corridor and entered the transit portal. "Physics, alpha lab," he said aloud to the portal's computer.

"Access to Physics, alpha lab, is denied,"
the voice said.
"May I reroute you to nearest portal that has access to the Physics lab ? "

"Sure," Ben said, wondering why regular access was blocked. "Why the hell not."

An energy tornado swallowed him. He and the dead bear were routed instantly, via fractal compaction, to a transit portal nearest the Physics main lobby and reception desk, a quarter of a mile from Cowden Hall and the other student dorms.