CHAPTER 7
I know I was a trifle bleary-eyed the next morning when I reached the launch pad on which my scout ship, the Rodrigo, stood, but I knew that something was amiss.
My crew made busy in and around the ship. As each of them caught my eye, he or she would salute me. I returned the gesture with alacrity, though my mind was perforce elsewhere. My primary interest was my luggage.
When I did not see the matching cases on the impact-resistant pavement, I went aboard the Rodrigo to check where they had been bestowed. Some of the cases were for long-term storage, as the contents would not be required until we reached Nacer, but the rest I required not only in transit to the interstellar carrier Bonchance, which would convey us to a position near the frontier jump point into the Autocracy, but aboard the carrier and thereafter. Yet an inspection of my cabin revealed that a few items I had packed were not present.
Oh, I was accustomed to Parsons going through my wardrobe and removing garments of which he disapproved. For that reason, I had brought potentially confiscatable items with me in a small floating valise, so they would not be out of my sight before launch. In any event, no garments had been removed from the collection I had packed.
No, the objects that I sought were vital to my occult studies. In particular, I could not locate my prized crystal ball. I knew that I had packed it in the flat circular case, padded by my silken robes and two round cushions I could repose upon should there be no room to arrange my scrying chair. The case in question was absent without leave.
It weighed more than other single item in my luggage, but I was dismayed and annoyed by its absence. I suspected Parsons. A quick essay with the golden pendulum I kept handy in my belt pouch determined that he was indeed the one who had taken it. When confronted, he did not deny it.
“It is not standard issue, sir,” Parsons informed me.
“I insist that it be restored to me,” I thundered. Unfortunately, Parsons had equipped himself with a conversational umbrella. The precipitation of my disapproval did not spatter him.
“I am afraid not, my lord. It weighs twenty-one kilos, which can be better deployed for fuel and foodstuffs.”
He stopped me in my verbal tracks. Just the meaningful way in which he emitted the last word drew my attention.
“Foodstuffs?” I inquired.
“Yes, my lord. Dainties to please a discerning palate, even when far away from one’s preferred providers, of quantities suitable for the length of the journey. Not to mention the devices to keep those comestibles at the appropriate humidity and temperature.”
“Go on,” I said, “I am listening.” I kept my expression imperious. It was a perfect reflection of Parsons’s.
“Sir, dantooth caviar is in season at this time. You will recall that it is sustainably harvested by law, but I took especial care in choosing the purveyor. The packaging is very fragile, and it requires constant refrigeration just above the freezing point. Variation of more than three degrees either way results in irrevocable harm to the caviar. Six kilos were harvested this season.”
“You didn’t obtain six kilos of dantooth?” I asked, breathlessly.
“No, sir, I am afraid that one kilo was all that was obtainable. Some wealthy patrons were placed on the list ahead of you. And your imperial cousin took delivery of the majority of the harvest.”
“He would,” I mused mournfully. “My cousin the emperor does maintain a superlative table. But at least I will have some of this delicacy for my own.”
“Indeed you will, sir.”
“And crysbort lemons?” I asked, with growing excitement. “They are the only ones with suitable acidity and sweetness to complement dantooth.”
“Naturally, sir,” Parsons said.
“Capers? Blini?”
“I would not have omitted anything that is expected.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” I said, expansively. “I impugned you and I apologize. I cannot wait to see what my crew thinks of the finest caviar in the galaxy. But that hardly makes twenty-one kilos, let alone the weight of the case in which my crystal ball travels. And the folding table with appropriate silk velvet drapings. And my scrying chair. And my hand-sewn tent with the embroidered stars picked out in microscopic crystals and diamonds.” I perused my memory. “No, wait, the tent is still there. I saw the bag in the hold.”
“No, indeed, sir, it does not. I will provide you with a full manifest of the foodstuffs if you require it, but would you not care to enjoy the element of surprise as each fresh offering is revealed?” One of his eyebrows rose perhaps two millimeters on his forehead.
I weighed the notion in my mind and found proximate curiosity overwhelmed by the joy of anticipation. The way to my heart eventually finds its way past my stomach, but it needs to get past my curiosity first.
“I would rather wait. As always, Parsons, you know my mind better than I do. You will, of course, partake of these marvelous delicacies with me, won’t you?”
“I am gratified, my lord. Will you please finish the inspection so we may get under way?”
I fetched a sigh of pleasure. I did love my ship and my crew.
As always, I found the Rodrigo as clean, ideally equipped and perfectly maintained as if it had been extracted directly from the text of the military manual. No dust soiled any surface, no lingering smells wafted from the food or sanitation systems, no odd or worrisome noises issued from life support or the engines. I offered praise to each of the crew as I encountered them. As always, Nesbitt turned red with pleasure in the ordnance and shields station. Anstruther, in her seat overseeing the last moments of maintenance on the electronics systems and communications array, had trouble meeting my eyes. Oskelev was too busy over the pilot’s console to do more than wave at me. My ostensible responsibility while we were in transit was to oversee the life support station, which doubled as the hydroponics center. I stopped off to install a tiny stone carving of the Buddha, to add a touch of serenity to the already peaceful green space.
“Present as personal goods,” Redius said, taking me aside as I checked in with him in engineering. He opened his left belt pouch to reveal tiny lights twinkling.
“Your circuit!” I said, in pleased surprise. I showed him the one chuckling to itself in my own belt receptacle. We shared a conspiratorial grin, and I went off to find Plet.
She was outside the shift, aft and below the tail, examining the exterior ports of the engines. To the consternation of the ground crew, she had discovered faults unobservable to the naked eye. Repairbots moved in, tweaking away at single particles, for all I knew. Parsons stood a few meters away, still and watchful as a benevolent statue.
“Good morning, lieutenant,” I said, offering a friendly salute.
“Good morning, my lord lieutenant,” she said. “How did your inspection go?”
“Very well,” I said. “Everybody is at his or her station, and all will be ready to go very soon.”
“Did your visit serve any useful purpose, or did you merely pass the time of day?”
I waggled a playful finger at her.
“Ah, you are testing me, Plet. Oskelev has updated charts, showing the debris from an exploded asteroid left in place five light minutes off the second jump point where the Minchin Mining Megalopoly demolished it in quest for transuranics. When I left, Nesbitt was checking the sonic range of the deflectors. I believe he was concerned about the microwave capacitance, but the indicators say that those are in the amber section of the meter, not red. I believe that means he has found the problem and is undertaking its correction.”
She nodded, not changing expression. I believe she must have been taking lessons in stoicism from Parsons.
“Very observant, lieutenant,” she said. “I have sent your viewpad a reminder detailing your responsibilities for the transit to the Autocracy. Among them is overseeing the comfort and safety of our civilian guests.”
I distinctly heard the plural.
“You know that more than just my cousin is coming along with us?”
A raised eyebrow confirmed she had been communing with Parsons.
“Of course I do. The commander issued us Infogrid files on each of our guests five days ago, my lord,” Plet said.
“You knew that we were going to have a horde traveling with us five days ago? You know all their names?” I asked. “I only found out yesterday!”
Plet was calm. I turned to Parsons to express my outrage. He studied me blankly, as if I were an uninteresting museum exhibit. I returned my glare to Plet.
“Naturally I would get that briefing as soon as possible, sir,” she said. “With Commander Parsons acting as your aide-de-camp, I am the ranking officer of this mission. I must have information on all personnel and freight requirements. But I did forward it to you when I received it—five days ago. All that data was available on the official briefings. If you had only troubled to read them when they were sent to you, you would have had it ahead of time.”
“Touché,” I said. Hoist by my own petard. I lowered my head, chastened. Plet did not dwell upon her victory, at least not outwardly.
“I leave you to deal with them,” she said. “Please see them installed in the quarters prepared for them.”
I presented a second salute, and only just in time. The ladies were arriving.
A gigantic limousine set down just beyond the public edge of the terminal building. A marquee panel along the broad side of the vehicle displayed Jil’s family coat of arms over a background of her favorite clear blue, the color of Keinolt’s skies. All of the noble family was precleared for departure, and those traveling with us were required to do so as well, so they emerged on the space side of the building in scarcely more time than it would have taken merely to walk from one door to the other.
Jil bore down on me like a bad cold. She overwhelmed my senses and distracted me. I hardly need to add that her perfume filled my nostrils so that I could smell nothing else. Privately, I resolved to remove all scents from her cosmetics kit and jettison them while we were in deep space. She was clad in a rich green, form-fitting travel dress that clung to her body to the knees, then flared outward. On her feet were high-heeled ankle-high boots that would be ill-suited to traversing deck plates, but I was certain that she had footgear she could exchange for them as soon as she was on board.
Her friends were similarly attired for travel. Marquessa was the best turned out, in powder blue with leather piping, and black shoes with soft wedges that gripped the pavement with every step. Much more suitable. Sinim was swathed in overlapping thin cloths of rainbow hues. One of these had been wound into a complicated headscarf-hood arrangement, from which her small face eagerly peered. Banitra and Hopeli had suits much like Jil’s, and similar ridiculous shoes.
Behind them came a robocarrier laden with eight blue crates, each the size of the bed I slept in as a small boy. On closer examination, I realized they were matching luggage, their surfaces carved in fanciful designs, and code-locked with the latest security devices.
“Welcome, Lady Jil,” Parsons said. “Ladies.”
“Allow me to introduce the senior officer of the Rodrigo,” I said, “apart from myself, of course. You met her last night at my party, but perhaps you do not recall her name. Lieutenant First Class Carissa Plet.”
I could tell by the wrinkle that interrupted the perfection of Plet’s smooth brow that she disagreed with my interpretation of rank, but in my view the matter had been settled long ago. But she was in charge of the ship’s physical well-being, which included those who traveled aboard her.
“Welcome,” Plet echoed. “Lieutenant Kinago will see to your needs.”
“Lieutenant Kinago!” Sinim shrieked, delightedly. “Oh, Thomas, you look so official!”
“Thank you,” I said. “Your luggage will need to be placed on board at once. Have you marked each bag to indicate whether it will go in your cabin or the hold?”
“They have to go in my cabin!” Jil exclaimed. “I need all my things with me!”
“No, you don’t,” Banitra said, taking Jil’s elbow. “Remember, I went over everything with you last night. Just the one with the blue tag is for the transit, Thomas. I believe you said it would only be a day or two until we rendezvous? The others can be stored until we are on board the Bonchance. Then she will just need the one with the green tag. All the others can wait until Nacer.”
I blessed her for her organizational talents, not the least of which was managing my cousin. But I was caught by the obvious concept, or omission thereof.
“Just a moment,” I protested. “Which bags belong to the rest of you?”
“Oh, these are only mine,” Jil said, laying possessive hands on the cases. “My friends’ bags haven’t arrived yet.”
“They will be here at any minute,” Banitra said, giving me an engaging smile. “I was very stern with the cargo company to make certain they would be here before launch.”
“How many bags do you have?” I asked.
“Only five. Not as big as these.”
“I have six,” Hopeli said, with a laugh. “Small ones. Well, comparatively.”
“Four,” Marquessa said.
“Just two,” said Sinim. “But they’re bigger than those.”
I gave Parsons a sour look.
“Surely my crystal ball and its attendant impedimenta would have taken up less than a single one of these enormous receptacles.”
“If I may remind you, the Lady Jil is not a serving member of the Imperium Navy, sir.”
“Heavens, no! But it would seem as though a battleship will be required to carry her luggage!”
Overnight, Parsons had provided me with Infogrid links to each of the ladies’ files. I studied them closely. Marquessa was a personal shopper at the local Colvarin’s Department Store embassy cum shopping center. Sinim had become a correspondent with her via the Infogrid over a mutual interest in the designs of a graphic performance artist. Their acquaintance with Jil was not of long standing in any of their cases, but that did not surprise me. Jil had a tendency to form lifelong friendships on first meeting. And they had proved to be interesting conversationalists as well as good dancers. It should not be a dull journey. The addition of a group of ladies would keep Jil too busy to meddle in my mission and, as Parsons had suggested, their presence would prove a useful diversion for interested onlookers.
“It will be all right,” Banitra assured me. “We have everything organized. All she has to do is enjoy the trip.”
“I am in your debt,” I said, sounding a bit more formal than I would have preferred. I rather liked her and the other companions. I simply had to remain perched on my toes to avoid any romantic entanglement with either her or Sinim. I had sent an early-morning message to my great-aunt Sforzina (who had also avoided attending my party, undoubtedly to forego such a confrontation), but she had not replied.
“This will be such fun!” Jil said. She stopped and surveyed me up and down. I straightened up automatically, as though my mother were looking on. “I just realized! Why are you in uniform, Thomas? Haven’t you been separated from the service yet like the rest of us?”
“Well, you see . . . ,” I began.
“Lord Thomas has been returned to active service as a favor to the Emperor by his lady mother, the First Space Lord,” Parsons said, appearing at my side like my own shadow. “He proved to be of some minor use to the Imperium in the past. The First Space Lord felt that his presence on this mission would be of similar aid. He is to represent the Emperor to the authorities of the Autocracy. Therefore, official costume will lend him greater authority when he encounters those whose assistance he needs to request.”
“Ah,” Jil said, with a mix of spite and malice such as only she could blend, “this is your punishment for the skimmer race!”
At an almost invisible nod from Parsons I bent my head in shame.
“You need not put it exactly like that,” I said. “It’s no worse than your reason for taking temporary leave of Keinolt.”
This time Jil dipped her countenance. I felt momentary sorrow for that thrust, seeing as it was delivered with less than perfect tact before her friends. I was about to apologize when yet another luggage carrier appeared on the scene, rumbling under the weight of its load. It had been piled as high as a mountain with bags of every color and configuration. I executed a perfect double-take, to the amusement of the ladies.
“And where is all that going?” I inquired.
“Well, wherever it will fit!” Jil said. “You can’t expect my ladies to travel stark naked.”
“And by ‘stark naked’ you mean fewer than twelve layers of clothes?”
“Just exactly,” Jil said, laying a delicate hand upon my arm. “I am so glad you understand what I say, Thomas. It will make the trip much more entertaining.”
What could not be cured must be endured, I mused. I turned my back on the loader.
“Gentlewomen,” Plet said, inclining her head a few millimeters. “Welcome aboard. Lieutenant Kinago, please see to their comfort.”
“It would be my pleasure,” I said. I applied a salute to my forehead, then extended an elbow to Jil. “Please come along and see your quarters.”
Jil battened on, and I proceeded toward the boarding ramp.
The cooling system was in full operation, so the ambient temperature within was several degrees lower than the desert sunshine outside. After a moment of shivering, the ladies had acclimatized. They looked around, their brows wrinkled with curiosity. I followed their glances, taking in the thin layer of the cream-colored inner hull against the steel-blue of the shielded and armored outer hull. Beside the hatch were glassteel-fronted cases containing emergency gear, each with a series of images instructing on their use. Beyond the airlock, the size of the average foyer in the Imperium compound, a short corridor led to the main passage. I was accustomed to its appearance, but I realized how utilitarian and forbidding it might seem to civilians.
“Why don’t we start with a tour?” I asked. I directed them to the main corridor and to the right, where the ship’s artificial gravity took hold and turned us thirty degrees. “This way is the bridge.”
“Here we have the nerve center of the entire ship,” I said, entering the command module with understandable pride. “You see all the screens and tanks that provide telemetry for all information the crew will need to pilot the ship and take care of its many functions. The four station chairs are for command, navigation, communications and defense, and are fitted with complicated padding and harnesses to protect the officers during launch, landing and any rough travel.”
“Battle?” asked Marquessa, with a frisson that shook her delectable flesh. As she was not related to the imperial family, she had not had to go through the academy for two years’ service. Instead, she had taken part in an ecology program on a planet being terraformed in Colvarin’s Department Store system. I imagined what it must look like to her to enter a warship for the first time. The walls full of screens and scopes must be a trifle overwhelming.
“If need be, of course, but our first move would be evasive tactics,” I assured her.
“Why are there six chairs?” Hopeli asked, pointing out the obvious.
“Well, that one is mine,” I said, pointing to the one slightly behind and to the right of the center of the bridge. It had superbly comfortable padding and an enhanced sound system installed. Its extended frame was custom-fitted to my long back and legs.
“Where do we sit to watch the launch?” Sinim asked, eagerly, peering around. “I don’t see any other seats.”
“Not in here, I am afraid.”
I led them off the bridge, past the hydroponics garden and conference room, showed them briefly the location of ladders and conveyance chutes around to the cabins and bathing facilities, storage facilities, and repair bays. I explained the spinning core that ran through the center of the ship, to provide normal gravity while in the void. I looped back briefly to the cargo bay at the far aft just behind engineering. With all the goods needed for the trip, including military skimmers and aircycles already occupying a large portion of the area, the addition of the ladies’ luggage filled it up to the toes of the evac suits hanging on the walls in their individual cubbyholes. We had just room to squeeze all the way around to observe the aft airlock and back again. Our tour ended in the common room.
“This is where you will observe launch, or anything else you choose,” I said. I flipped on all the lights.
The enormous chamber, thus revealed, elicited appreciative oohs from my audience.
“This is the entertainment center,” I said, my voice echoing off the white enameled panels that were the default walls of the room. “It doubles and trebles as the refectory, tri-tennis court, exercise room, theater, party venue and whatever else helps keep the crew healthy and pass the long weeks or months that the ship may be in transit. Here is where you will dine.”
I showed them the tables that rose from the floor, then operated the control to activate the kitchen.
The food service section hummed into life. It occupied a large cubbyhole of its own. A wide conveyor, self-cleaning, led to the dishwasher-cum-food recycler that all cycled down into a system that was part of life support. Dishes and utensils left the washer and stacked themselves neatly in a cabinet beside the mechanized food preparation area. Prepared meals need only be placed on the IO platform for each section to be heated or chilled to temperature.
“You are not expecting us to eat processed glop,” Jil said, horrified. “I left that behind at graduation!”
“Certainly not,” I said. I pointed. “Cold storage, including walk-in freezer or refrigeration units for real food, is behind this section. You have access to anything not marked with somebody else’s name. I have ordered excellent supplies to see us through the transit and beyond the frontier. Rank has its privileges. But look here,” I added. “You will enjoy this.”
I opened a few of the wall hatches to show them the clever storage units concealed within. My sports equipment had been secured in the storage lockers along with that belonging to my crew. I took out my favorite tri-tennis racquet, a Williams model in black high-impact compound with electric blue and pink flashes, and swished it through the air. The ladies opened one hatch after another to have a look. They found bats, hoops, nets, balls of every size and configuration, exercise equipment, weights, variable resistance machines and so on, secreted behind panels all over the large room.
“Yes, but one does not always want to play sports,” Jil said, bored already with the delights of the chamber.
“One is not expected to do so,” I said, activating a control on the wall. A black glassteel panel slid up to reveal a state-of-the-art video center and music player, compact enough for one person to operate, but with extensions and connections for three dozen to use. Tri-dees, old videos, thousands of subscriptions to holographic and sound magazines and countless other media were stored for recall by anyone who had time to kill. Myriad games, with appropriate controllers and joysticks, needed only to be unlocked to be enjoyed. “Every file is available anywhere on the ship on demand. Come take a look.”
Jil allowed herself to be persuaded to seat herself at the console and peruse the listed media selections. She ran her finger up and down the screen, frowning at some entries, smiling at others.
“Oh, Ya!” she exclaimed happily. “You have Ya!”
“You’re a fan, too?” I asked. The video series was an import from the Autocracy, starring an all-Uctu cast. Our distant ancestors would have called it a soap opera. I had been a devotee of it for years.
“Of course I am a fan,” Jil said, with a moue for my stupidity. “You knew that. You bought me season six for my eighteenth birthday.”
“Oh, but that was so many years ago, cousin,” I said. “Oof!” She hit me in the stomach with her elbow. I folded over the blow, giving her enormous satisfaction.
“What a wonderful collection,” Sinim said, her eyes aglow as she scrolled down the list. “We’ll enjoy all of it!”
“Yes,” Marquessa said. “It won’t be as bad as I thought it would be.”
“Well?” I asked, waiting for the inevitable reaction from my cousin.
“Well, what?” Jil asked.
“What do you think of my ship?”
She looked around, her lower lip pushed out in thought.
“It’s a trifle small, isn’t it?”
“Small!” I was taken aback and said so. “How many other Kinagos have their own warship?”
“Technically, it’s not yours,” she said, teasingly. “It belongs to the Imperium Navy.”
“Then I suppose it belongs to my mother,” I said. “And you should be impressed. She has thousands of ships. Of every size.”
“I wonder if she gives them pet names,” Jil said. “I would, if they were mine. The White Star would become Trinket. How does that sound? And this one would be Neeps.”
“Rodrigo,” I said firmly. “It is named for my father. But I quite agree. Some of them would be the better for a nickname. They are only meant to sound fearsome to our enemies, not to the brave souls serving aboard them. I shall run us up a copy of the naval manifest, and we can rename all the ships in the fleet.”
Jil clapped her hands. “That would be splendid!”
My viewpad buzzed. I lifted it to see Plet’s severe face staring up at me.
“Launch in ten minutes. To stations. Countdown beginning.”
With that terse order, her image disappeared, to be replaced by clock numbers tolling downward.
Jil pouted.
“Do you really have to go?” she asked.
“Plet gets very annoying when she’s being officious,” I said, casually. “I had better get you situated, cousin. Oskelev is the most amazing pilot, nearly as good as I am, but technical glitches can happen to anyone. I should hate to see you bruised when the event is so preventable.”
I went around the room, pulling down crash couches and seeing to it that the guests were properly buckled in. The veteran of many transstellar voyages, Marquessa fastened her own harness expertly. I was glad there was one I did not need to worry about. Hopeli became intricately tangled in the padded straps, and did some most intriguing contortions to get free. I remembered from her Infogrid page that she was a fellow student in a dance class Jil took in town. The others waited for me to secure them in place. I flipped buckles and grip-pads expertly, and had them safely strapped in no time. I had learned from several hours’ practice the most efficient order in which to secure the various parts of the harness. I could tell that my guests were impressed.
With less than five minutes remaining, I hurried to the bridge and threw myself into my crash couch. Parsons was already serenely fastened in.
Plet gave the order to Oskelev, who opened communications with the tower.
“Oromgeld, this is scout ship CK-M945B, ready for departure.”
“Rodrigo, we read you. Safe journey. Prepare for launch in six, five, four, three . . .”
I braced myself against the coming thrust of engines. I always adored takeoff.
“. . . Two, one!”
Oskelev planted her big furry hands on the controls. I felt the skin of my face seem to part and slide toward my ears as g-forces took hold.
We were off.