One's Aspect to the Sun Page 9

  How badly did I want to know where the crate had come out? It all came down to that. I sighed.

  “A day,” I decided. “We can't wait more than a day to find out about this. Rei, hold this position for twenty-four hours. The crate had no identification markings, so it would be almost impossible to trace it back to us anyway. I'll wait a day to see if Baden gets to name a pinhole, but that's it.”

  I turned and left the bridge before there was any further comment or complaint. Suddenly I just wanted to get away and think for a bit.

  One of the biggest problems with Nearspace travel on a far trader is how small the ship seems after the first few days. My cabin was four and a half meters by almost three, the largest of all the crew or passenger cabins, but it still felt mighty confining at times. The galley was bigger, but it never seemed to be empty. I passed by it, hearing Hirin and Dr. Ndasa laughing over their tea, and climbed down the hatchway to the engineering deck.

  While that had some more wide-open spaces, it was likely that Viss would be back before too long, so I kept climbing down. This brought me eventually to a metal catwalk vaulted high above the floor of Cargo Pod Four. I came here when I needed to think. The biggest volume of empty space on the ship could surround you here, over six hundred square meters of it, and it was heavenly.

  Jettisoning the body of my mysterious assailant had started my mind down the path I'd been avoiding in the days since we'd set out from Earth. What did PrimeCorp really want from me? Well, sure, they wanted to know if my body contained anything they could legally claim. But what could that something be? I thought I might have an answer—at least I had a theory, which recent events had helped me solidify. Here, in the relative vastness and quiet of the cargo pod, I wanted to consider that theory.

  What were the facts? First, not aging. I'd had my personal doctor check me over in every imaginable way when I'd turned fifty, and he'd been completely baffled. “You're in wonderful shape for fifty, Luta,” was what he'd said, but we'd both known it for the massive understatement that it was. If it had just been me, I might not have made the connection to my mother, but since Lanar showed the same persistent youthfulness, well, it made sense. That was when I started looking for her in earnest.

  Additionally, I didn't get sick. The notebug virus was only the latest example. Hirin and I had suffered exactly the same exposure to the virus that had debilitated him on Vileyra—I'd come through unscathed. No colds, no influenzas, no infections, nothing.

  I also seemed, if not impervious to injury, at least somewhat protected. Toxic fumes didn't damage my airways; poisons were flushed from my system with no effect; cuts and bruises healed in twenty-four to forty-eight hours. I'd never tested anything truly severe, like a plasma burn or getting smashed up in a collision, but there had been times I'd been tempted to try something serious, just to see. Luckily, my curiosity had never driven me that far.

  So it was undeniable that something was protecting me—internally—something that did not occur naturally in the human body. I had two theories about it. Initially, that it had something to do with childbirth, since I'd seemed to stop aging after Maja was born. But Lanar's similar condition seemed to disprove that one. The second was that my mother had done something—the details of which were beyond my imagination—to effect this protection for both of us. Even so, no blood scans or DNA tests had ever detected anything out of the ordinary, not even the first ones I'd allowed PrimeCorp to conduct.

  Now Baden had discovered this strange “entity” when he'd scanned for the virus. An entity that was difficult to detect, that rendered itself somehow invisible immediately after it had been observed, that apparently changed its molecular appearance at will—to avoid detection? Whatever I was carrying around was over sixty years old, but perhaps the tech was finally catching up with a leap my mother had made long ago. Baden's “entity” made me wonder if that leap might have involved those helpful little constructs we called bioscavengers.

  They'd been around as early as the middle of the twenty-first century, protein constructs that could counteract the effects of certain toxins, like nerve gases, in the body. The research had grown in leaps and bounds for a while, producing cancer and other disease-specific bioscavengers, then trauma-repair nanobioscavengers. We got that far, and then the Chron war put a stop to everything. Even after it ended, tech made a slow comeback through the thirty-odd years of the Retrogression. First, we were too busy trying to save the species from destruction to worry about how long we could live if the war ever ended, and then we were too busy being thankful and reflective about our salvation. Technology seemed like something that had only gotten us into trouble by catching the attention of the Chron in the first place and was best avoided for a while.

  But finally we went back to wondering how we could keep the body going, keep it healthy, fix it up and make it last. That's where my mother came in, and I had to assume that she'd made a breakthrough. A breakthrough that, for some reason, caused her to break with PrimeCorp. A breakthrough that had set our family on the run. A breakthrough that Nicadico Corp and their Longate treatment had attempted to duplicate, with disastrous results.

  The intruder who'd made his way aboard the Tane Ikai had wanted samples from me: blood and tissue, judging by his techrig. What if he'd been hoping to find, not those things specifically, but something in addition to those things, something that might be present in them? Like a sixty-year-old nanobioscavenger that could do all the things its many predecessors could do, and more, all at once? Such a construct would be a gold mine to someone who could break it down, perhaps reverse-engineer it, and learn its secrets.

  It would answer a lot of questions. It made a lot of sense. It was also pure speculation.

  It was more imperative than ever that I find my mother. Because whatever it was, she must have put it in me. And only she could tell me exactly what it could do, and how long it would last.

  If I were scheduled to live forever, I wanted to start making some plans. If not, I'd like to have some idea just when my expiration date might come up. Neither medicine nor the mirror was telling me anything useful.

  Baden's voice over the ship's comm interrupted my musings.

  “Captain, you might want to come back to the bridge now. I've got some news about the pinhole.”

  I sighed. No matter how much time I spent thinking about things, the answers I needed were simply not in my brain.

  “I'll be right there.”

  I started the long climb back up to the bridge deck and realized halfway up that I was humming—it echoed eerily down the hatchway. I puzzled for a moment over where I'd heard the tune, and then it came to me. It was the little funeral dirge Rei had treated me to earlier in the day.

  I climbed the rest of the way in silence.

  Chapter Eight

  Pinholes, Wormholes, and

  Holes of the Heart

  “It's back!” Baden said as I strode onto the bridge. His face was alight with excitement.

  “Your tracer scan?”

  He nodded. “And you'll never guess where the other end of the pinhole is.”

  “That's right, I won't. So just tell me.”

  “It's in the Keridre/Gerdrice System. There's only one other reliable comm pinhole to that system and it's always overloaded, plus it comes out light years away from any of the inhabited planets, which is why messages take so long. If this one turns out to be reliable, I'll be famous! I even got readings from Nellera, so the terminal point is not very far out in the system.”

  I tried not to frown. “Doesn't this mean that the crate came out in the same vicinity?”

  “Well, yes, but I wouldn't worry about it. No-one's going to notice the homing beacon, and even with that, there aren't any traceable identifiers on either the crate or the body. Unless someone finds it and runs a government Nearspace database search, and what are the chances of that?”

  “Not very good,” I agreed, although I had some misgivings. I smiled. “So what are you goi
ng to name it?”

  “I don't know yet. I have to think about it.” He grinned evilly. “I was thinking of naming it after Rei, since it is a communications pinhole and no-one talks more than—”

  He ducked away from the punch she swung at him.

  “Well, you won't have to worry about me talking to you,” she said loftily. “Captain, would you ask the communications officer if he's done here now, or do we have to hold this position indefinitely while he brags about his discovery?”

  “No, I won't,” I said. “Members of this crew are not permitted to stop talking to each other while on duty. Captain's orders. Rei, get us back on track as soon as Baden's finished with any other readings or scans he needs. I'm going to the galley to have some tea and talk to some grown-ups for a change.”

  The only grown-up still there when I arrived was Dr. Ndasa, who was engrossed in something on the datapad propped up on the table before him. He didn't look up until I'd fetched a cup of hot chai for myself and sat down opposite him at the table.

  “Oh, hello, Captain,” he said vaguely, glancing up from his screen. “I'm just looking over some of Hirin's data from my interview with him Earthside. I haven't done any physical testing on him, but his condition is markedly improved since that time, judging by my own observations.”

  I nodded. “I've noticed that, too. Do you have any ideas about why?”

  “Some thoughts, but nothing concrete,” he said. “The lighter gravity, and the slightly richer atmosphere inside the ship, probably have something to do with it. It's likely he's eating better—both the nature of the food itself and the effects of having more engaging companionship to share it with. But to pin down exactly what's at play is impossible. After all this time we're still not sure about all the effects deep space travel has on the body, human or Vilisian. Most of the research is looking to see how we can address the negative effects—now I'm beginning to think there may be positive things we've overlooked.”

  “That would be wonderful.” I remembered how Hirin had been when he was younger—how we had been.

  “He's told me about the virus. We talked about it Earthside and again since we embarked on this journey. I'm curious to know if space travel has had an effect on its progress in his body. That would be quite a valuable bit of information.” The excitement on his face was an alien mirror of Baden's a few minutes ago.

  I sipped my tea carefully. It was almost too hot to be drinkable, and redolent with spices. The heat of both tingled down my throat. “He mentioned that you plan to run some tests.”

  “Yes. You don't mind if I use the facilities in your First Aid station? I notice you have more than the usual single-function datameds and healstrips in there.”

  “Please feel free. I think one of the previous owners of the Tane Ikai suffered health problems, and he had her outfitted to provide more than just patch-up medical needs.” It had been Hirin, but I didn't say that.

  “Thank you, Captain.” He smiled sheepishly, the amber skin around his eyes puckering. “I'm finding space travel a bit more—tedious than I'd expected, to be perfectly honest.”

  I laughed. “It can't be all hurtling through wormholes and marvelling at nebulae, Doctor. There'll be plenty of excitement soon. Our first skip is tomorrow and we're only a week away from our trip through the Split after that.”

  He sipped at his teacup and shuddered. It had obviously gone cold long before I'd arrived. “Well, there are many different sorts of excitement, aren't there, Captain? I'm not looking forward to that part of the journey now, as intriguing as it sounded back on Earth.”

  “Me, neither.” I finished my tea and pushed my chair back. “Look forward to seeing the other end of the Split, Doc. That's what I'll be doing.”

  We arrived at the wormhole out of Sol system just after noon the next day, shiptime. Although there's no actual “night and day” in space, we cycled through the same hours we would have on Earth or any other planet with a similar-length day, just to keep our own rhythms as normal as possible. Humans seemed remarkably unable to adapt to six- or forty-hour days—our circadian programming was too deeply encoded in our genes to be undone in less than two brief centuries of space travel.

  Rei brought the ship to a halt well away from the almost-invisible dark spot that marked the end of the wormhole. Like any wormhole, it wasn't easy to see; hell, you'd never spot it without sensors to tell you where to look. Think of a black cat on a moonless night, or a shadow on the pupil of an eye. The communications relay, parked a few hundred meters away from it, was a dead giveaway, though.

  Normal wormhole runs are an unremarkable way to travel these days, although it's always interesting to watch passengers make their first one. They're welcome on the bridge, so long as they stay out of the way; it's the only place on the ship with a decent viewscreen, and even if you're a seasoned Nearspace traveller, the inside of a wormhole is something to see.

  It's quite a pretty place. All the radiation pouring into the wormhole gets blueshifted to high frequencies and reacts with the thin layer of Krasnikov matter the skip drive generates to hold the wormhole open. The result is a breathtaking swirl of constantly moving colour, like a hundred rainbows spinning down a drain. As the skip starts and the ship bounces from one side of the wormhole to the next, the effect is dizzying, and not a few meals have been lost in wormhole transit. Of course, the X-rays and gamma rays would fry you in an instant if the shields failed, but we don't talk about that with the passengers.

  Hirin and Dr. Ndasa had both come up to the bridge to watch. Hirin was grinning like a kid and Dr. Ndasa looked nervous, the scent of grapefruit wafting from his skin again. I was glad Hirin was there. If he were going to have any negative reactions to the skip, I wanted him close. He came and stood behind my skimchair while the others were busy making preparations.

  “I never thought I'd see another wormhole,” he whispered. “Thank you, Luta.”

  I swivelled my head around to smile up at him and realized that there were tears in his eyes. “You're welcome,” I whispered back. “Now go and sit with Dr. Ndasa before you make me blow our cover!” I turned back to the viewscreen.

  He squeezed my shoulder and strode over to sit by the Vilisian.

  “Tracer scan reports no other ships in the wormhole or near the other terminal point,” Rei said. “Initiating skip drive sequence.” She looked over for my approval and, when I nodded, launched us into the wormhole.

  No matter how many skips you've done, the wild beauty inside a wormhole always takes you by surprise. I glanced over at Dr. Ndasa just after the wormhole mouth closed around us and the swirling tunnel of colour curved out ahead. He stared at the viewscreen transfixed, his mouth open slightly, nodding at something Hirin was telling him. His long-fingered hands tightened on the skimchair arms when the first skip sent us spinning to the other side of the wormhole, but that was all.

  Hirin looked over and winked at me, so I stopped worrying about him, and a minute later we were in the MI 2 Eridani system, heading for its lone inhabited planet, Rei's homeworld Eri. We'd be on Eri just a day, with one cargo shipment to unload there and fuel to take on, and then we could head for GI 892.

  We were just about to leave Eri when Maja caught up with us.

  I know I stared stupidly at Baden when he said, “Live incoming for you, Captain. Maja Tacan.”

  “What? Where is she?” It couldn't be a live message if Maja was back in Sol system. My heart thudded heavily in my chest. If Maja were here, or close enough to send a live message, something must be wrong.

  “Maja Tacan, message originates from the P. Keinen, Dock 34.” Baden half-turned in his skimchair, sea green eyes quizzical. “Is something wrong, Captain?”

  I shook my head. “No, Baden, it's all right. It's—it's Hirin's daughter. He's asleep. I'll take it in my quarters. Secure messaging.”

  My knees felt watery as I scurried down the corridor to my cabin. “Maja? What's wrong?” I asked as soon as her face appeared on my screen.
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br />   “Hello, Captain,” she said. Her face was set in a serious look that I knew well. She wasn't interested in sparring with me today. Whatever had brought her here was more important, but she didn't seem upset.

  “We're secure, Maja, and I'm alone in my quarters. Where are you?”

  “I'm here on Eri, Mother. Nothing's wrong. How's Dad?”

  I knew she hadn't come all this way, hating space travel as she did, just to ask about her father. “He's doing fine, Maja. He's actually improved since we left Earth. Please, why are you here?”

  She took a deep breath, audible over the comm line. “I decided—I wanted to be with Dad. At the end. I want to come with you, if you have room.”

  Her voice was harsh; it was difficult for her to ask favours of me.

  “Maja, you hate space travel!”

  “I know. It doesn't matter.”

  “What does Taso think about this?”

  Maja shook her head, pressing her lips into a thin line before she spoke. “Taso and I have been separated for six months, Mother. The divorce will be final soon. He has nothing to do with this.”

  I stared at her. I didn't say, “Why didn't you tell me?” because I knew why she hadn't. Instead I asked, “Does your father know?”

  “I didn't want to worry him. He seemed so frail . . .” Her voice trailed off, but she kept her eyes steady on mine. There was a core of steel in my daughter that I could admire when she wasn't wielding it against me. Perhaps I hadn't done her any favours by accepting and mirroring her aloofness.

  “What about work?”

  “Leave of absence,” she said. “It's not a problem.”

  I smiled at her, flooded with relief that the news hadn't been worse. “Well, you seem to have thought of everything. Come aboard, Maja, and we'll talk some more. There's room if you want to stay. Your father will be happy to see you, and I think you'll be pleasantly surprised when you see him.” I pretended not to notice the suspicion in her eyes as I broke the connection.