The Marann (2 page)

A voice came over the comms. “Ladies
and gentlemen, Interstellar Spaceways Flight 4421 to Chi Orionis,
with service to Tau Ceti station and Epsilon Eridani, has just
docked. Passengers continuing on to Epsilon Eridani and points in
Terosha space are requested to remain in the ship at this time. If
this is your final destination, please gather your personal
belongings and proceed to the nearest airlock. Enjoy your stay, and
thank you for choosing Interstellar.”

That answered what time it
was.

Personal belongings
, she
thought with a wry grin as she climbed out of the bunk. The only
personal belongings Central Command had allowed her to bring were
her clothing and a tablet. The tablet contained her personal
library along with the entire collection of the Casey Public
Library—minus anything to do with technology—and minus music, much
to her dismay. The bags with her clothing had been sent ahead to
the Earth Fleet ship scheduled to take her the rest of the way to
Tolar. She had only a small, worn carryall containing her
identification card, the tablet, and a dental hygiene kit. On Tolar
there’d be no music, no hobbies, no Tuesday night bowling. She
hoped she would be busy enough not to get bored.

She went to the berth’s sink and
cleaned her teeth, then splashed some cool water on her face.
Yawning and stretching again, she gathered up her carryall, left
the berth’s keycard in a slot behind the door, and entered the
sleeper compartment’s narrow hallway.

Garry was nowhere to be seen. Marianne
made her way to the airlock in the next cabin. As she exited, the
riot of color decorating Tau Ceti station’s outer ring assailed her
eyes—and air that had passed through too many lungs tickled her
nose—a uniformed escort greeted her by standing in the way. He
resembled every other Central Command serviceman she’d ever seen:
indistinct features, crew cut hair, no neck. That was the point,
she supposed. They were interchangeable. She sighed and gave this
one her attention.

“Citizen Woolsey,” he said. It wasn’t
a question.

“Yes?” She gazed past him, eyes drawn
to the colorful array of shops and many viewports crowding the
outer ring. She couldn’t see any aliens—that disappointed her—and
she could hear only the busy crowd’s echoing, multilingual chatter.
The shops bustled with activity and bristled with
day-after-Christmas sale signs. She wanted to see the alien wares
and buy a souvenir, even if the price was outrageous.

“Please come with me, ma’am.” He
jerked his head toward a tunnel to the central hub.

“All right.” Eyes still on the shops,
she fell into step beside him. “Where are we going?”

“Sickbay.”

She squinted at him. “Why?”

“I’m not at liberty to say, ma’am.” He
smiled. It didn’t extend to his eyes. She fell silent and let him
lead her past all the tantalizing stalls and kiosks crammed with
colorful items. One stall was little more than a booth containing a
life-sized model of a Terosha. A grinning teenaged boy draped
himself around it, making kissy-faces while the proprietor recorded
the images. The next kiosk held jewelry displays claiming to be
A’aan’. Whether or not the kiosk signs told the truth, the bangles
and baubles looked exotic. She slowed and peered at three matched
filigree earrings in peacock colors. Three?

“Citizen.” Her escort’s voice was
flat. He stood a few meters down the ring, a frown etched on his
face. Marianne hiccupped a nervous laugh and scurried to catch up
with him. He turned on a heel to enter the walkway between the
station’s rings.

When they reached the inner ring, he
peeled left off the walkway and paused to let her precede him into
the sickbay waiting room. Leaving her to a brisk, middle-aged man
in dark blue scrubs, he took up a position near the door and stared
straight ahead, hands clasped at the small of his back. Marianne
bit a lip to keep from laughing at his resemblance to the
stereotype of the featureless, brain-numb Central Command
conscript.

The nurse rolled his eyes. “You must
be Marianne Woolsey,” he said, his face brightening into a pleasant
smile.
His
smile reached his eyes, and she warmed to
him.

“That’s me,” she replied.

“Right this way, hun.” He beckoned her
to follow him down a hall and stopped at a door featuring a red
sign with bold white letters saying PHASE LAB. He opened the door
to usher her in.

“Why am I here?” Marianne
asked.

The nurse was more forthcoming than
her escort had been. “I was told you’re going down to an alien
planet. Anyone we send down to the surface gets a locater chip, so
we can pull them out if we have to. It’s for your own
safety.”

“I see,” she said, and then she shook
her head. “No, I don’t see. I thought the Sural guaranteed my
personal safety?”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” answered
the nurse, “but this is standard procedure. It won’t hurt a
bit.”

“Can I say no?”

The nurse pursed his lips. “You can if
you want to turn around and go home. I wouldn’t recommend
it.”

Marianne took a deep breath. The nurse
gave a shake of his head so slight she almost didn’t see it. She
shrugged and sighed. “All right. What do I do?”

His holiday cheer returned. “Lie down
here,” he indicated a bed with one end pointed at a featureless
metal doughnut of medical machinery, “and let me immobilize your
head.”

She scooted onto the bed and wiggled
until she was comfortable, while he positioned her head in the
doughnut hole by adjusting the bed.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with phase
tech. This machine will use it to place a locater chip directly
onto your brainstem. It will only take a moment. Some people say
they feel a sort of mild tingle in their heads, but most don’t feel
a thing.” A pillow of air wrapped her from the shoulders up. “Can
you move your head, dear?”

She tried. “Not even
slightly.”

“Good.” He paused. A hum filled the
air, followed by a soft click. “We’re done.”

“Already? I didn’t feel a
thing.”

“Exactly.” The nurse smiled as he
reached for a switch over her head, and the field holding her head
in place dissipated. She sat up.

“Not so fast,” he said, putting a hand
on one shoulder before she could slide off the bed. “Any
dizziness?”

She turned her head and tilted it from
side to side. “Not at all.”

He put a step stool below her feet.
“Get up slowly,” he ordered. He kept one hand on her shoulder and
gripped her arm with the other.

“I’m all right,” Marianne protested as
she stepped down onto the floor.

“It’s my job to make sure.” He dropped
the hand from her shoulder, but kept a firm grip on her elbow.
“Especially with those heels. You know those are bad for your
back?”

She laughed. “So I’ve heard,” she
answered. “But I have strong calf muscles. I’m a
runner.”

The nurse made a rude noise. “That
doesn’t matter, but I don’t expect you to believe it, not with that
smug look on your face.” He laughed.

The door hissed open. An Earth Fleet
officer in khaki stood in the doorway, smiling and bouncing on her
heels.

“Citizen Woolsey?” she
asked.

“Now
this
young woman is
wearing sensible shoes,” the nurse said.

She laughed. “I’m on duty, sir,” she
said, flashing a friendly grin. “You should see what I was wearing
at
The Elbow Room
last night.” She turned to Marianne with a
conspiratorial wink, her hands measuring the height of the heels
she’d worn. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” she said, extending a
hand. “Sarah Carver, Lieutenant, Third Fleet. I’ve come to escort
you to the
Alexander
.”

Marianne shook the hand, smiling back
at her. “Pleased to meet you.”

“If you would come with me, please?”
The lieutenant led her back to the outer ring and into the naval
docks, passing through several security checkpoints along the way.
She never stopped chattering.

“I understand it’s your first trip
off-planet,” the lieutenant said as they passed through a final
checkpoint. “How do you like it?”

“It’s amazing,” Marianne answered,
pointing at the starscape out a viewport.

“I love it out here,” the young woman
said. “I love this job.”

“Do you meet many aliens?”

“All the time. Mostly Terosha, because
their federation is so close to Earth space. And the odd Kekrax, of
course—they’re everywhere.” Her nose wrinkled.

“Do they smell as bad as people
say?”

“Oh, not really,” she scoffed. “That’s
just media hype. Most people enjoy having them around. Sometimes
they even smell pleasant, and they’re kind of comical.”

She stopped at an airlock guarded by
two armed marines, who came to attention as they
approached.

“Here we are, ma’am.” She inflated.
“The CCS
Alexander
, best ship in the fleet. After you.” She
tapped a panel on the wall, and the airlock’s outer doors slid
open.

The Central Command Ship
Alexander
, Marianne discovered as the cheerful lieutenant
chattered, wasn’t just the best ship in the fleet, it was the
flagship of the Third Fleet, with a full admiral on board. The
lieutenant’s orders had included escorting Marianne to the
Admiral’s ready room as soon as she set foot on board.

Two couples rose from seats at a long
conference table to greet Marianne when the lieutenant showed her
in. Viewports lined one wall, offering a stunning view of the
planet below, and a presentation screen filled the space beside her
at the door. An elegant sideboard graced the wall opposite the
viewports.

The Admiral, a trim man with graying
hair that obeyed military standards of neatness, stood at the head
of the table. A middle-aged woman in a high-waisted gown of
cream-colored silk velvet rested a hand on his right arm. A blocky
gentleman, in the formal gray of the diplomatic corps and hair the
same color tied back in a black ribbon, stood on his left with a
much younger woman in a gown of deep rose silk. Marianne waited
just inside the door, clutching her carryall and glancing down at
the modern—and more practical—blouse and skirt she wore. Central
Command’s clothing allowance had been generous, but not
that
generous. The Old Regency style of dress in vogue with the upper
classes had cost far too much to consider.

The Admiral came forward, extending a
hand with a warm smile.

“Citizen Woolsey.” He gave her hand a
firm shake. “Welcome to the
Alexander
. I’m John Howard. This
is my wife, Laura, and Ambassador Smithton Russell and his wife
Adeline. I trust you had a pleasant voyage out?”

Marianne shook hands with them all. “I
wish I’d had time to look around the station a little. I would have
loved a souvenir.”

The Admiral’s smile turned regretful.
“My orders are to get you to Tolar with no further delay. Central
Command is in an all-fired hurry, and I’m afraid sight-seeing and
souvenir-shopping weren’t on the approved activities list.” He
chuckled. “But please, have a seat. We were just discussing you and
your assignment.”

Marianne took the indicated chair.
“Nothing bad, I hope?”

“No, no,” he answered with another
chuckle. “What’s your poison? Coffee? Tea? Juice or
soda?”

“Tea would be lovely, thank
you.”

The Admiral punched a button at the
head of the conference table. A young man who looked no more than
eighteen entered the room and served tea in a delicate china cup
with the Earth Fleet insignia on it. After placing a carafe on the
sideboard, he gave the Admiral a crisp salute and left the
room.

Marianne wrapped her fingers around
the cup’s handle and fixed her gaze on her host. He seemed friendly
enough, but the authoritative air he wore and the confidence he
radiated suggested he was not a man to be trifled with. “So when do
we leave for Beta Hydri?” she asked, taking a sip of the tea. Its
delicate flavor spread across her tongue. From New Spain, she
thought, or perhaps Britannia. It was good. Very good.

“We’ve been under way since that door
closed behind you,” the Admiral replied.

Marianne choked a little in surprise
and spluttered. With her back to the viewports, she hadn’t felt or
heard anything to indicate the ship had left its mooring at the
station.

“Damn fine crew,” he said with a
satisfied smile. He poured himself some coffee and took a seat.
“Now, bring me up to speed with where you are. What do you know
about what you’re getting into on Tolar?”

Marianne took another sip of tea. “I’m
going to be teaching in the Middle Ages,” she said, unable to keep
her lips from twitching. Laughter rang around the room.

“Good,” the Admiral said. “Keep that
sense of humor—you’re going to need it.”

“Alone on an alien planet, I just
bet.”

“It’s not so bad,” Adeline said. “They
look just like us, and their leader, the Sural, seems
well-educated, at least for a primitive.”