Galaxy Blues Page 2

  IV

  Four bells through the loudspeaker, followed sixty seconds later by a vibration passing through the floor, told me that the Lee had activated its differential drive. The ship was now on the way to rendezvous with Starbridge Earth.

  A quick glance through the hatch window to make sure I was alone, then I turned the wheel counterclockwise. Beyond the airlock lay an EVA ready room, its walls lined with suit lockers. I found one that was empty and shoved my suit inside, then eased open the door and peered out.

  I was on Deck One, the ship’s lowest level, about one-third of the way back from the bow. The central passageway was deserted, yet I knew that it was only a matter of minutes before the captain called an end to GQ and the crew would be able to move about freely. Closing the hatch behind me, I moved quickly down the narrow corridor, heading toward the bow.

  From either side of me, I heard voices from behind the closed doors of various compartments. If an encounter was unavoidable, I was prepared to play stupid: whoops, silly me…you mean this isn’t the way to the lounge? Yet I didn’t run into any crew members before I found the ladder leading to Deck Two. A quick jog up the steps, and from there it was a short walk down another passageway until I reached the hatch to the passenger section.

  I peeked through the window. No one in sight. I took a moment to straighten my cravat and run my fingers through my hair, then I grasped the wheel. The hatch opened with a faint sigh as I stepped out into the narrow alcove leading to the restrooms. The signs above the doors showed that they were all unoccupied. I quietly opened the door of the nearest one, shut it just loudly enough to be heard, and then commenced down the center aisle.

  Before it was seized by the Coyote Federation during Parson’s Rebellion—an incident that was something of a coda to the Revolution—the Robert E. Lee belonged to the European Alliance, where it’d been known as the EASS Francis Drake. Once it was rechristened and became the flagship of Coyote’s fledgling navy, the vessel had undergone a major refit that allowed it to serve as the principal means of transportation from Earth to the new world. Although most of Earth’s major governments had signed trade and immigration agreements with the Coyote Federation, the easiest way to get to 47 Ursae Majoris was to buy passage aboard the Lee. Tickets were cheaper, tariffs were lower, and—provided that one possessed the proper credentials—the customs hassles were fewer.

  When I arrived on Highgate ten months ago, I didn’t have a ticket, nor did I possess a tourist visa. Circumstances made it impossible for me to obtain either one, or at least not by legal means. Over the course of the last ten months, though, I’d scraped up enough money to buy first-class passage aboard the Lee, and the same sources who’d provided me with Lucius Guthrie’s identity were happy to do the same again, this time with fake documents proving that I was a gent by name of Geoffrey Carr. The real Geoffrey Carr was a naïve young lad from England who had become stranded on Highgate after failing to make a living as a nightclub comedian. As luck would have it, he’d run into Lucius Guthrie, who’d been willing to provide him with a ticket home in return for a little subterfuge on his part, no questions asked.

  So it was Geoffrey Carr who had a private cabin reserved for him aboard the Lee, along with the visa that would allow him to pass through customs once he reached Coyote. All he had to do was show up at the right gate at the right time, present his credentials and ticket…and once they were scanned, disappear into the loo just before the passengers were allowed to board ship. If Geoff did all that, he’d find a third-class ticket back to Earth waiting for him in my abandoned quarters, along with forged documents that he’d use to establish his identity as Lucius Guthrie.

  This was the only part of my plan that depended upon me trusting someone else. I was confident that Geoff wouldn’t let me down—in his own way, he was just as desperate as I was—nonetheless, I couldn’t help but feel a certain twinge of anxiety as I strolled through the second-class cabin. I distracted myself by sizing up my fellow travelers. Seated four abreast on either side of the aisle, some were immigrants heading for a new life on another world; mothers and fathers held their childrens’ hands as they gazed through the portholes, taking one last look at the planet they’d once called home. A pair of clergymen in black suits, both wearing the helix-backed crucifixes of Dominionist missionaries. A couple of rich tourists, dressed in expensive clothes, speaking to each other in German. Businesspeople in business suits, studying business notes for business meetings in hopes of making business deals on the new world. And dozens of others, of all nationalities—except, of course, citizens of the Western Hemisphere Union, who were forbidden under law to use space transportation not chartered by the WHU—about whose reasons for being aboard I could only speculate.

  I’d almost reached the front of the cabin when a uniformed steward stepped out of the galley. Surprised to see a passenger up and about, her eyes widened when she spotted me. “Sir, what are you doing out of your seat?”

  “Very sorry. I had to use the…um, facilities.” I feigned embarrassment. “Just a little nauseous, I’m afraid,” I added, clutching my stomach. “Shouldn’t have eaten before coming aboard.”

  A sympathetic nod, yet her eyes remained suspicious. A quick glance past my shoulder told her that all the second-class seats were occupied. “Where are you supposed to be?”

  “That way.” I nodded toward the bow. “Cabin…”

  All of a sudden, I realized that I’d forgotten its number. After everything I’d just been through, that one small detail had slipped my mind. “Sorry, can’t recall,” I mumbled. “But it’s just over here…”

  I started to step around her, but the steward moved to block my way. “Let me help you. May I see your ticket, please?”

  “Of course.” I reached into my jacket, pulled out the plastic wafer. There was a scanner attached to her belt. If she used it to examine my ticket, she’d see that, although Geoffrey Carr had passed through the passenger gate, for some reason his ticket hadn’t been processed before he entered the pressurized gangway leading to the ship. If that happened, I’d have to hope that my only possible excuse—someone at the gate neglected to process my ticket; why, is that a problem?—would be enough to convince her.

  Yet the steward didn’t unclip her scanner. Instead, she glanced at the name and number printed on the card. “Cabin 4, Mr. Carr,” she murmured, then glanced up at me. “Wonder why I didn’t see you earlier.”

  “My mistake.” I assayed a weak smile. “Haven’t been to my cabin yet. Went straight to the head as soon as I came aboard.” I hesitated, then moved a little closer. “You may want to have the other passengers avoid using it for a while. I switched on the fan, but still…”

  “Yes, right.” The steward hastily turned toward the passageway leading to the first-class cabins. “This way, please…”

  My accommodations were no larger than the airlock I’d cycled through, with barely enough room for two persons. Two seats facing each other across a small table, all of which could be collapsed into the bulkheads to make room for a pair of fold-down bunks. It’s questionable whether being able to stretch out and sleep during the sixteen-hour voyage was worth two months’ salary as a longshoreman, but the added measure of privacy was priceless. However remote the possibility that I would encounter someone who’d met either (the fake) Lucius Guthrie or (the real) Geoffrey Carr, that was a risk I didn’t want to take. Hence the private cabin.

  The steward showed me how everything worked, then inquired whether I would like anything from the galley. My throat was dry, so I asked for orange juice. She left, returning a few minutes later with my drink. Another admonishment for not being where I should’ve been during launch, but this time it was only a mild rebuke, like that given to a mischievous child. I accepted the scolding with good grace, and then she left me in peace, sliding the door shut behind her.

  Alone again, I settled back in the forward-facing seat, sipping my OJ as I watched the Moon drift past the starboard window. Too
bad I wasn’t seated on the other side of the ship; if so, I could have bid Earth a fond farewell. Perhaps it was just as well, though, and maybe even appropriate. I’d turned my back on home a long time ago…

  Considering this, I couldn’t help but chuckle under my breath. No, that wasn’t quite right. I had covered the bases. It was about time to steal home.

  V

  It took nearly six hours for the Lee to reach Starbridge Earth. I passed the time by playing solitaire on the table comp, now and then glancing up at the small wallscreen on the bulkhead. It displayed the ship’s trajectory as it traveled from Highgate toward the starbridge, with occasional departure-angle views of Earth and the Moon. The steward stopped by to offer the lunch menu. I ordered Swedish meatballs with spinach pasta, and after I ate, I switched on the DO NOT DISTURB light, put my legs up, and took a nap.

  A birdlike chirp woke me. I opened my eyes just as a woman’s voice came through the wallscreen speaker. “This is Commodore Tereshkova from the flight deck. We’re now on primary approach to the starbridge, with final approach to hyperspace insertion in about ten minutes…”

  Realizing who was speaking, I sat up a little straighter. I wondered how many of my fellow travelers recognized the captain’s name. Anastasia Tereshkova, former commanding officer of the Drake and, before that, the EASS Columbus, the first European starship to reach 47 Ursae Majoris. After she’d led the Drake’s crew in mutiny against the European Alliance, Captain Tereshkova had defected to the Coyote Federation, where President Gunther had subsequently appointed her commodore of its navy. To be sure, her fleet consisted of one starship and a small collection of shuttles and skiffs, but nonetheless I was surprised that she was still on active duty. Apparently the commodore wasn’t ready to hang up her astronaut wings just quite yet.

  “As a necessary part of our maneuvers, we will soon deactivate both the main drive and the Millis-Clement field,” Tereshkova continued. “This means that we will lose artificial gravity within the ship. For your safety and comfort, we ask that you return immediately to your seats. Put away all loose items, then fasten your seat straps and make sure that they are secure…”

  I located my waist and shoulder straps and buckled them into place. Outside the door, I could hear stewards moving past my cabin.

  “Once we enter the starbridge, the transition through hyperspace will take only a few seconds. The entire event will be displayed on your screens. However, if you are prone to vertigo or motion sickness, we strongly recommend that you switch off your screens, lean back in your seats, and close your eyes. Stewards will provide you with eyeshades if you so desire…”

  The last thing I wanted to miss was going through hyperspace. Yet I could already imagine some of the passengers making sure that vomit bags were within reach, while perhaps regretting that they’d ordered lunch only a few hours ago.

  “Once we’re through the starbridge, our flight to Coyote will take another ten hours, at which point you will board shuttles for transfer to the New Brighton spaceport. In the unlikely event of an emergency, please be reminded that this ship is also equipped with lifeboats, which may be boarded from Deck One below you. Stewards will escort you to those lifeboats, which in turn will be operated by a crew member…”

  I couldn’t help but snort at this. Although the Lee could still serve as a military vessel in a pinch, insurance underwriters on Earth had insisted that, once it was refitted as a civilian transport, certain accommodations had to be provided to ensure the safety of her passengers just in case there was a catastrophic accident. I doubted that the lifeboats had been jettisoned since their test flights.

  “We will have engine shutdown in four minutes, and commence final approach to the starbridge five minutes after that. For now, though, just relax and enjoy the rest of the ride. Thank you very much.”

  Tereshkova’s voice was replaced by classic jazz—Miles Davis’s “Sketches of Spain”—and the image on the screen changed to a forward view: the starbridge, seen as a small silver ring illuminated by moonlight, with red and blue beacons flashing along its outer rim. It had grown to twice its original size when there was a knock on the door.

  Before I had a chance to respond, it slid open. Instead of the steward, though, a man about my own age stepped in. He wore the dark blue uniform of a Coyote Federation spacer, the insignia on his shoulder boards telling me that he was the chief petty officer.

  “Mr. Carr?” he asked. “Mr. Geoffrey Carr?”

  “Yes?” Pretending nonchalance, I gazed back at him. “May I help you?”

  “Just want to make sure that you’re secure.” His gaze flitted about the cabin, as if he was searching for something. “Your belongings all stowed away?”

  “Yes, of course.” I forced a smile. “Thank you. The service has been excellent.”

  “Glad to hear it, sir.” Another quick glance around the compartment, then he gave me a perfunctory nod. “Be seeing you.”

  I waited until he shut the door, then I unsnapped my harness and stood up. Moving to the door, I rested an ear against the panel. I heard a voice just outside—the petty officer, speaking to someone else—but the constant thrum of the engines rendered his words unintelligible.

  I returned to my seat, fastened my harness again. Perhaps it was only a courtesy call by a senior crew member to a first-class passenger, but I didn’t think so. The way he’d studied my cabin…

  Laying my head against the back of my seat, I stared out the porthole. Safe on third…but the catcher had become wise to the play.

  Stealing home might be trickier than I thought.

  ( TWO )

  Forty-six light-years in five seconds…

  trouble comes knocking…

  a chat with the Commodore…

  truth and consequences.

  VI

  I watched through my cabin porthole as Starbridge Earth grew steadily larger, its gatehouse passing by so quickly that I caught little more than a glimpse of the small station that controlled access to the ring. I wasn’t able to eavesdrop on communications between the gatehouse and the Lee’s bridge, but I knew that, at the five-minute mark, our AI would be slaved to the one aboard the station, ensuring that the Lee wouldn’t enter the ring until, at T minus sixty seconds, the wormhole was formed.

  Once again, I wondered if many of the passengers appreciated the delicate yet infinitely complex ballet of quantum physics that made this miracle possible, or just how much their lives depended upon split-second calculations that only a pair of AIs could make. If everything worked right, the Lee would be transported across forty-six light-years in little more than the blink of an eye…well, fifteen blinks of an eye, if you really want to nitpick. If anything went wrong, the ship and everyone aboard would be sucked into a singularity and reduced to a stream of subatomic particles…at which point, the notion of using lifeboats would be too absurd to even deserve a laugh.

  I tried not to think about this, and instead sought solace in the fact that no ship had yet suffered such a fate. Even if I was in the command center—which is the place where I really belonged, not sitting in first-class—there would have been little that I could’ve done. So I grasped my chair armrests and took slow, deep breaths as I continued to watch the monitor.

  The chronometer at the bottom of the screen had just reached the sixty-second mark when, from within the center of the ring, there was a brilliant flash of defocused light. I winced and involuntarily raised a hand to my eyes, but not before I had a retinal afterimage of every color of the visible spectrum, swirling around each other as if caught in the cosmic whirlpool of the wormhole’s event horizon.

  And then the remorseless hand of gravity shoved me back in my seat, and the Robert E. Lee plunged into the maelstrom.

  VII

  The transition through hyperspace was as violent as it was swift. I tried to keep my eyes open. Really. I wanted to see what it was like, to be shot through a wormhole like a bullet down the barrel of God’s own gun, but maybe there are
some things that the Great Spirit just doesn’t want us to see. In any event, my eyes squeezed shut as, for the next few seconds, reality itself seemed to twist inside out. The ship shook so hard, I thought I’d lose a molar or two, and when it turned upside down, I opened my mouth to scream only to find myself unable to breathe. Only the pulse hammering in my ears told me that I was still alive. So I clutched the armrests and gritted my teeth, and then…

  It was over. As suddenly as it had begun, the violence ceased.

  I opened my eyes, let out my breath. On the screen, all I saw at first were stars, yet even then I noticed that their patterns weren’t the same as those I’d seen only a few seconds earlier. I had an urge to retch, but managed to fight it down. Sure, I knew how to keep from throwing up, yet despite years of training and hundreds of flight hours, hyperspace was the most grueling experience I’d ever endured.

  The screen changed a few seconds later, this time to depict a schematic diagram of the Lee moving away from a different starbridge. Tereshkova’s voice came over the speaker: “We’ve successfully made hyperspace transition. Many apologies for any discomfort you may have experienced. We will soon restore internal gravity, and then we’ll reactivate the main drive and commence the final leg of our journey. If you require assistance, please alert the nearest steward and they will help you as soon as…”

  I ignored the rest. Unfastening my harness, I pushed myself out of my seat and, grabbing hold of a ceiling rung, pulled myself closer to the porthole. The hell with what was on the screen. This was something I had to see for myself.

  For a minute or so, I saw nothing but stars, with a white sun shining just beyond my range of vision. Then the Lee rolled to port and an immense planet hove into view. Swathed by wide bands of pale blue, violet, and purple upon which nearby moons cast small black shadows, the gas giant was encircled by silver-blue rings, so close that it almost seemed as if I could reach out and touch them.