“Our labs will want to look over your medical records.” David Ray
frowned. “Unfortunately, comm systems are down, even between ship sections. It might be easier
if I walk you over to the labs, which will give me a chance to stretch my legs.”
The genetic labs and birth center were in another spire of the
ship-turned-habitat, on the same level as the legal offices. David Ray escorted him around the
connection wheel that held the spires together, while they chatted about the differences
between the
Pilgrimage III
and the
Journey
IV
. The traffic in the wheel’s semicircular-shaped corridors was light. They saw fewer
than thirty pedestrians and only two equipment carts, which surprised Matt.
“Third shift is downtime. That’s why they’re doing maintenance on the
comm.” David Ray motioned Matt to follow him as he turned off the wheel. “I’ll have to warn you
about Dr. Lee. She’s our oldest geneticist.”
“Warn me?”
“She may seem grouchy, but don’t be fooled. She hides a generous spirit
under her vicious wit.” David Ray smiled. He obviously had a soft spot for Dr. Lee.
They stopped at a door labeled S6 LEVEL 19—BIRTHING CENTER TWO.
“She’s always running her music. That’s how I bribe her, by finding
obscure selections.” David Ray waved his hand over the switch and opened the door.
Contrary to what he just said, the stark glass and metal laboratory was
silent. A tall woman stood at a lab equipment station with her back to them. Her hair was white
and loosely piled up on her head, topping off a ramrod-straight back. Her crew coveralls and
white lab coat didn’t hide her lean hips and long legs. When she turned, the wrinkles about her
lively eyes and the papery skin covering her thin aristocratic features revealed her
age.
“David Ray!” She stalked toward them, scowling. “What’s happened to my
music feeds?”
Matt was amused to see panic cross David Ray’s face. “We don’t have
ComNet access, Lee. Maintenance, you know.”
“I don’t like depriving the children, and I can’t even access my local
library. What are they doing up front? They won’t answer my calls.” She crossed her arms over
her chest and looked down her nose at the general counsel. “Up front” was shipspeak for the
control deck.
“Let me try, Lee,” David Ray said.
Matt watched David Ray scuttle past counters to the end of the lab. The
attorney started tapping commands and muttering codes into the panel next to a vertical
airlock. When Matt turned back to Dr. Lee, she was looking him over with narrowed eyes.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped.
“Getting cleared to make donations.” He handed her his slate. “Matt
Journey, at your service, ma’am.”
She smiled and her face transformed, looking much younger.
“It’s all an act, you know.” She jerked her head toward David Ray. “He’s
at least two hundred years and not a day younger. He does his ‘respect the elderly’ routine to
irritate me. We grew up together, but I fell behind doing a tour at headquarters.”
“The control deck isn’t answering and they’ve locked down the central
data store,” David Ray called.
“I could have told you that, you young twit!” Dr. Lee looked up from the
forms on the slate and winked at Matt. “I’ve got to keep stroking that male ego, particularly
when it’s sitting in such a well-formed rack. Oh, is that too much information?”
“Only if you want to be obvious.” Matt hid his awkward flush by turning
away to examine the birth chambers.
There were ten chambers along the wall, with shining fronts and small
circular doors. The occupied ones were labeled with dates, name, lineage, and a few other
indicators. Each maturing baby represented a feat in human engineering; yet this process caused
fear and loathing in the grav-huggers, who called them “crèche-get,” as if there were something
subhuman about them. Matt had matured in one of these chambers, as had anyone conceived under
real-space conditions.
When humans had first considered long trips in real-space, they had
never anticipated the problems of bearing children in low or changing gravity. With less
gravity, there should be advantages for the mother. No more swelling, fewer problems with
pregnancy-induced hypertension and preeclampsia. However, no one foresaw how finicky placental
interchange could be when exposed to gravity different from Terra.
“Good. You’re birthed from a well-recorded generational line. We won’t
need to do testing for recessive genetic nastiness such as cystic fibrosis, sickle cell, or
thalassemia,” Dr. Lee said. “But I need to look at your records.”
Matt extended his hand and she pointed toward a hand outline on the lab
counter. He used near-field data exchange to download parts of his medical records in his
implant to local lab memory.
Dr. Lee scrolled the results on the wall. “You’re negative for five
types of human immunodeficiency viruses, as well as any sexually transmitted diseases. All your
health indicators are well in the green.”
“Aw shucks, ma’am.” Matt pretended embarrassment.
Dr. Lee rolled her eyes and pushed him toward the vertical airlock where
David Ray still tapped and frowned. “Go up one level and start working on a sample,” she
said.
Above the lab, Matt found a quiet little lounge with a small bar,
several private cubicles, and a closed hatch that read AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. He had the
donation center to himself. Unbidden, his imagination started wandering toward Ari—
no
. He couldn’t allow his conscious mind to explore that possibility; it would
lead to complications. After all, Ari was
crew
. Then Diana Oleander
floated into his mind. Deep down, he wondered whether Diana was merely a stand-in for
Ari.
Better get on with this and catch my ride to Beta
Priamos
. Before the comm maintenance, he’d checked the incoming ship schedules. His
ticket to Priamos had arrived early. He started scrolling through the v-play titles listed at
the bar.
Ariane dreamed she was at the Naga pilot controls again, listening to
Cipher and Brandon argue about whether they should stay to collect data from the probe.
But it’s not a probe
.
“The mission brief was wrong. It’s not an intelligence payload.”
Cipher’s eyes were large, her short orange hair plastered to her head with sweat.
Why would they lie? Didn’t the civilian authorities trust us to
do our mission?
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ari. The maintenance crew that removed it from
storage and prepped it—they had to know.”
Suddenly, she was standing next to Cipher, watching Brandon throw
himself toward the director of operations.
“The DO had to know, regardless of what he said when we
returned.”
Did Brandon know?
Ariane looked at Cipher.
The orange hair turned to deep burgundy. The face lightened; then the skin melted and cracked
away, leaving bone.
“You know we all deserve to die,” said the grinning skull. “More than
four billion souls are gone, Ari.”
She was back on the Naga ship, which bucked and
stretched
. Console lights faded and recovered. Multiple alarms went off, one of
them pinging over and over.
It was her wake-up alarm.
“Quiet. I’m awake!” She rolled over, and her breath caught at the sharp
pain. Rolling over a stim-healed, recently cracked rib was torture.
When the alarm was finally quiet, she lay still and assessed her
injuries. After a couple hours of sleep, she couldn’t believe how bad she felt. If there was
any option that avoided getting out of bed, she’d take it. She groaned in frustration and pain.
She had to get to Priamos: The contractors needed the reporting matrix and they’d have
questions. Matt was depending on her, and there was no one else to back her up.
Before they’d left Athens Point, he’d familiarized her with all the
contractors, what they did, and the streamlined reporting.
You’re a full
partner now
, he’d said,
and you never know when you might have to
represent Aether Exploration
. At the time, she’d doubted she’d need the background. How
wrong she’d been.
Carefully, so
very
carefully, she pushed
herself upright and got out of bed. If there was any time for analgesics, it was now. She took
a triple dose, knowing her metabolism could handle it. Then she stuffed the entire remaining
inventory of pain medication into the pockets of her business coveralls, adorned with the
Aether Exploration logo, clean and ready from the steamer. She looked at them specula tively;
how was she going to get into them?
Walking gingerly about in her underwear, she entered the galley and made
her morning Kaffi. She and Matt made sure to stock the real stuff, ground from roasted beans
grown on Hellas Prime. For some reason, drinks made from coffee beans, tea, or dried herbs were
processed enough to pass Matt’s crèche-get sensibilities.
The Kaffi and analgesics loosened up her body enough to use the hygiene
closet and get into her coveralls and safety jacket. She checked her implant, where she carried
copies of the new reporting matrix that the CAW SEEECB had approved for Aether Exploration. She
also had copies on the slate she slipped into her coverall pocket.
She was ready to go and miraculously on time, but she hesitated at the
airlock. Muse 3 had been uncharacteristi cally quiet.
“No arguments, Muse Three? No chiding or fussing about bed rest?”
“None, Ari. Analysis of past discussions has proven that Matt will
reconsider his decisions as a result of reasoned questions and answers, but you will
not.”
She raised her eyebrows. Did Muse 3 just call her pigheaded? The tone
sounded smug, but Muse 3 used Nestor’s voice and that little pervert always spoke with a
superior tone. Did Muse 3 know it was delivering an insult? This begged the question regarding
Muse 3’s interaction training, or lack thereof, while she was gone.
“Muse Three, try my request again for a ComNet search. Once you get it,
find visual records of all past and present wives of Terran State Prince Isrid Sun
Parmet.”
“I have periodically attempted to get bandwidth from the
Pilgrimage Three
, since you didn’t cancel your original request. All have been
denied, with no estimate given for when there may be bandwidth available.”
This was yet another troubling coincidence. When she added it to other
oddities, such as Joyce being here, her scalp began to prickle. To quell her unease, she
grabbed one of the few weapons in the locker. It was a nonlethal ministunner and small enough
to go unnoticed inside her jacket.
This jacket was for safety: It could light up with various messages, had
a shrink-to-fit safety vest, tons of straps and pockets to carry items, and was fitted with
internal webbing that she could hook to all sorts of tie-downs. She checked her emergency
accessories: a small knife with an extending blade, airless light source and flares, and a
folding emergency mask. Another alarm beeped; she had barely enough time to get down to the
surface.
“Continue the bandwidth requests, Muse Three. When you get ComNet
access, do the search and send the results to my slate. Remember that all your comm to the
surface has to go through the Beta Priamos Command Post.” She paused, considering her next
words. “I’m giving you control of any sensors that can be used while the ship is docked. In
addition, you’re allowed to reveal your presence under circumstances that fit within CAW Space
Emergency Procedures, series number twelve. Better read up on them.”
“I already have. Thank you, Ari.”
Matt was going to have a fit about the energy bill if Muse 3 abused the
sensors, but she didn’t worry about it as she locked up the ship and scurried to the space
elevator as fast as her bruised body would allow. Again, the station seemed deserted. The curt,
scowling young man who handed her an emergency mask for the elevator was the only person she
saw as she took her leave of Beta Priamos and rode the elevator to the moon’s surface
alone.
“You done yet?”
Matt jumped at David Ray’s voice, turning away from the list of v-plays.
The counselor’s head was sticking up into the vertical airlock.
“I’m trying to find something to watch. I don’t understand all these
titles about engines.”
“Euphemisms, my boy,” David Ray said. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll make
an appointment for you tomorrow—”
They both frowned when they heard a man’s harshly accented voice say
something below in the lab. Dr. Lee’s voice protested, another male voice mixed into the
mélange, yet Matt couldn’t distinguish words. David Ray headed down the ladder. Matt moved to
the door, stepped through into the airlock tube, wide enough for several people to stand about
the inner port, and looked down.
Perhaps it was a freakish coincidence, or perhaps St. Darius himself
decided to help out a shipmate in distress, but when Matt shuffled a bit clockwise around the
port, he could see David Ray’s figure outlined against the back of the airlock tube due to the
brighter light in the lab. David Ray had his arms up in that universal signal of
surrender.