Wreck of the Nebula Dream (3 page)

Nick didn’t care. Events might be about to overtake them. “I’m far from being an expert, but I think she’s going into labor here.”

The pilot gave in, as the other passengers groaned.

“Fine, we’ll get you to Glideon straightaway,” the man said, throwing up his arms. “We can claim medical emergency, if she’s in labor. They’ll give us clearance.”

“But the
Dream
has a fully equipped infirmary,” protested the lead attendant. “There’s no need to land, even if she is in labor. And she could be in false labor –”

“What do you care?” the pilot said. “We’re going back to surface.”

“But if we miss the departure. . .” The attendant’s voice trailed off as the pilot glared at her even more fiercely, shaking his head.

“I don’t think she’s faking it,” Nick said from his awkward location on the deck. He would have been more than happy to stand up, move aside, and let the man handle his own wife, but the SMT board member made no indication of any desire to intervene. Nick didn’t have the heart to leave the poor woman on her own at this point. She was clinging to him, too frightened to speak, gasping as each new contraction hit. It was pitiful.
This guy must have a heart of stone, ignoring his wife’s distress and pain, allowing a total stranger – a man – to be the one offering comfort.

None of the SMT crew was inclined to assist Nick with their most difficult passenger.
I’m on my own and I’m all this lady’s got until we reach the ground.

As soon as the pilot went to the flight deck, the shuttle made a wide loop in the crowded space lanes, returning to the spaceport. Nick braced himself against the emergency hatch, handles digging painfully into his back, to keep the woman from further injury, as she was now beyond any ability to fend for herself, lost in hard labor. Her husband stood impassively beside them, one hand clenched on a seat back.

The SMT crew had to work around the wife to open the airlock once they landed. Nick stood up, bringing her smoothly to her feet. She acted dizzy, perhaps from loss of blood and general stress. Two of the older wives finally came from the curtained-off compartment at the bow and took her by the elbows, rushing her through the portal before the door had even finished cycling, the pet scurrying in their wake, yelping. Nick caught a glimpse of a waiting med team in the passageway to the terminal.

“We don’t have time to unload your luggage, or we won’t make it to the
Nebula Dream
before she goes interstellar.” The pilot, walking aft from the flight deck, delivered this news to his difficult passenger with relish. “We’ll return the bags to Glideon on the next available freighter, priority status.”

“Fine.” The SMT board member stared at the far bulkhead, over the heads of the passengers, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “My apologies, on behalf of my wife and myself. The drinks on your renewed journey to the ship shall be on me, as minor recompense for your inconvenience. I bid you good speed. And to you, sir, my thanks,” was all he said to Nick for keeping his wife from killing them or doing harm to herself and his unborn son. A quick half bow and then the noble was gone, servants and the other pet scurrying in his wake.

“Well, I never,” huffed the attendant in a hissing whisper to the pilot, as they refastened the airlock portal. “You certainly caved in to his demands.”
 

“Hey, what was I supposed to do?” Slamming the latch closed, the pilot put his hands on his hips, frowning. Keeping his voice low as well, he gave vent to his feelings. “The man owns about half the damn company. And whether she was in labor or not, she was spooking everyone, including me. Better not to have someone so unhinged on board the
Dream
! Talk about a jinx.”

Glancing at the nearest passengers nervously, the attendant shushed the pilot.

He shook off her hand. “Break out the best stuff, and be sure you bill it to him.” Avoiding eye contact with his passengers, the pilot went back to the cockpit.

“Will we still make it on time?” Snagging his sleeve and hanging on, one of the Socialites screeched her question in a high, petulant voice as the officer walked by.

The pilot loosened her grip none too gently.” There are a few rules on excessive speed in nearplanet space, but I’ll do my best for you, ma’am.”

“Rules exist for us to break, man,” drawled another of the Socialites in the affected accent they favored. He was a vapid youth, with blotchy skin and bad teeth, too small for his stylish bronze and purple suit.
 

“Yes, well, I suggest you all remain in your seats for the trip.” The pilot made his escape into the flight deck above the passenger compartment, the slamming of the hatch suggestive of his feelings about anymore passenger face time on this trip.

Nick stood, grimacing at the blood on his best set of civilian clothes. The untended slash in his upper arm burned but had stopped bleeding. Pausing for a second, her floral scent surrounding him like a promise, the attendant smiled. “You were incredibly brave, Mr. –?”

“Captain, Captain Nick Jameson, Special Forces. Miss – “

“Helene, call me Helene,” she said, her brown eyes big, lashes fluttering. “It was impressive.”

Impatiently, the chief attendant called to her.

Helene glanced toward the bow with unconcealed annoyance and then gave her full attention to Nick. “SMT will clean or replace your clothes free of charge, Captain. I’ll see to it. Personally.” And she was gone down the aisle.

Gazing after her in frustration, Nick met the electric stare of the businesswoman, who raised one eyebrow in an elegant arch before shifting focus to her work. Nick was embarrassed, now the crisis was over.
I don’t like being the center of attention, anymore than the husband did.
He sat.

There was a tug at his sleeve as he attempted to raise the now warm and watery drink to his lips. Glancing down, he saw the boy standing there in the aisle by his side.

“Sir, she forgot her pretty knife,” the boy said respectfully, offering the weapon to him, holding it by the lavishly gemmed hilt, stained blade pointed at the deck.
 

In vain Nick checked the aisle for a cabin attendant. They’d all gone into their private cubicle for a moment.
Probably gossiping about the events that just transpired
. He reached for the dagger, wrapping it in a napkin. “Thank you. Extremely observant. I’ll see it gets back to her, okay?”

The boy nodded, seeming to want to continue the conversation but at a loss for what to say next. Nick was willing enough to chat, but the father came and retrieved his son, with a word of apology.

Sinking further into his lush chair, he closed his eyes for a long minute.
Well, okay, Jameson, now the trip will be boring. Hope you enjoyed the only excitement there’s going to be for the next ten days.
 

The engines sequenced up again, this time obviously in response to the application of significantly more power. The trajectory was straight up, pushing the passengers deep into their cushioned seats, as the pilot tried to make up for the lost time. Nick could imagine what the traffic controllers were saying to the flight crew, since the orbits of practically every craft trying to land or leave Glideon had probably been disrupted for the last hour.
Man must have gravity to spare, to get himself returned to the surface on a young wife’s whim. Even one in labor. She could have been suitably cared for in the
Dream
’s sickbay.

“My apologies, folks, but we’re going straight into the shuttle bay, rather than landing at the starboard First Level portal,” the copilot said on the com. “The captain of the
Nebula Dream
regrets he must insist on it, so we can leave planetary orbit on schedule. Have to break the inter-Sector speed record, you know.” False excitement in his voice, the pilot tried to distract them with SMT’s heavily promoted attempt to set a new time for the Glideon to Sector Hub run. “Even seconds may count.”

The attendants, out and around again in the cabin, were doing their best to sell the company line, too, murmuring what a rare treat the passengers would have, getting to see behind the scenes of the liner’s work areas when they left the shuttle and stepped into the hangar bay. Only the boy was buying the story, Nick observed. He was excited, in the manner of children everywhere, offered an unexpected treat. For the most part, the other passengers acted grumpy. Nick wasn’t any too happy himself.
I’ve seen enough of this shuttle and this set of people.

As it turned out, they had to ride through the
Nebula Dream
’s departure from orbit and entry into hyperspace while seated aboard the shuttle, which berthed about three minutes before the deadline. Only then were they allowed to disembark in the cramped shuttle bay, which housed three other SMT private craft. Most of the liner’s passengers had arrived earlier via commercial carriers and taxis, but the cream of the list, such as the majority of the fifty people on this last incoming ferry, had been singled out to receive the individual SMT treatment on its own small fleet of shuttles.

Talk about a perk becoming a distinct disadvantage in this case, since they came close to missing the trip altogether as a result.
Nick scanned the shuttle bay, noting a small army of stewards and stewardesses waiting off to the side, ready to gather the passengers and carry them away to their cabins on the upper decks. The staff had doubtless been pulled from their other duties to deal with this unusual arrival.

Nick managed to find Helene, the attendant, for a second, to hand over the dagger. Visibly reluctant to take the weapon, she shuddered, but did promise to have it restored to the noble on Glideon. Then she had to answer a question from someone else and Nick allowed himself to be drawn away in the crowd of departing passengers.

Her perfume’s too floral for me anyway.

Even he, a lowly military officer traveling on a discounted government ticket, had been assigned one steward to convey him and his single kitbag up to Level Three. The rest of his possessions were checked through to Sector Hub, and would make the journey in bonded stores, he’d been assured. The young steward reiterated the information as they strolled in the wake of the others, going toward the rather narrow ramp providing access to the upper decks, where passengers were expected to spend their time. Transit between passenger decks was via either deliberately retro, elegant staircases, or the more prosaic moving access strips.

“Did you want to see the ship’s doctor, sir? For your arm?” the steward asked, hesitating a bit.

Nick shook his head. “It’s only a scratch, thanks. I’ve had all the military injects for infection, and I heal fast.” He smiled, but the SMT steward didn’t appear reassured. “I can tend to it myself with the cabin’s first aid kit,” Nick said, frowning. “I’d like to get to my cabin and take a shower; change clothes.”

The steward was slightly in awe of Nick, but continued to stare at him, chewing unconsciously on his lower lip.
He’s probably uncomfortable with my unkempt appearance – ripped shirt and dried bloodstains
. The attendant’s next words confirmed his impression. “Yes, well, fine then, sir.” The tone was deferential, but nevertheless, they didn’t move toward the exit. “Speaking of your clothing, I’m afraid we can’t very well go up the Levels to your cabin with you looking like you’ve been assaulted, now can we?”

Rolling his shoulders, Nick loomed over the steward. “I’m not getting undressed on the damn hangar deck.”

Backing off, the other man seemed flustered. “Perhaps I can borrow a crew jacket, sir.”

“Fine. Anything you want, but make it quick.” Nick was rapidly losing what patience he had.

Dashing off, the steward returned in a minute with an SMT jacket for Nick to throw over his shoulders, hiding some of the worst bloodstains from public view. Then, and only then, was he able to follow the rest of the passengers off the hangar deck and up toward the passenger levels. The SMT escort didn’t try to make small talk.
Fine with me. If I’d been sure where I was going, I’d have preferred not to have a guide anyway. Too conspicuous.
Nick tipped the guy a few credits for doing absolutely nothing, handed over the now-stained crew jacket and finally got rid of him, closing the portal of the assigned cabin gratefully.

Standing in the middle of his suite, Nick did a slow 360, frowning.
Too soft and luxurious by half, even here on the Third Level. At this rate, what First Level must be like!
Not that Nick cared. He threw his kitbag carelessly onto an oversized chair in the corner.
 

Walking to the bar, Nick smiled wryly, evaluating the plush accommodations.
I’m going to go crazy in comfort for the next ten days, cooped up in this place, but I’ve got my orders, straight from the base commander’s own lips.

Nick’s frown grew deeper, remembering his last conversation with the base commander, which had not gone well.
Called me a burnout, blamed me for the last mission going south, when it was his failure to send the extraction team.
Acid burned in Nick’s gut.
Then he pulled some kind of a fast one, getting me on this damn cruise ship, with a bunch of civilians. Wanted me off his base. Well, I’ll testify at the review board all right, for damn sure.
 

Throwing his ruined clothes in a heap on the blue gray carpet, Nick flopped on the too-soft bed, deciding not to remember anything else about his time on Glideon, the Review Board, or his disastrous last mission.
Or that prick of a base commander
. Scowling, Nick rose, stalked to the bar, and poured some excellent Suavarian brandy, with a chaser of Taychelle vodka, straight.