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But he hadn’t been given a choice. Four days earlier, Sean and his teammates had just returned to Fort Lopez from a furlough, when they were summoned to a classified briefing for their next assignment: an expedition to a human-habitable planet located in HD 76700 system. Like the rest of the team, Sean was intrigued by the prospect of being the first people to visit a world that might possibly support a human colony; it was the sort of assignment for which he’d joined the Corps of Exploration. His enthusiasm waned, though, when they were informed that the ship that would transport them to the danui system was the Carlos Montero; he didn’t need to be told who its commanding officer was even though it was a revelation to the others that Captain Andromeda Carson was Sean’s mother. Sean had never told anyone in his team about his mother, and he was particularly reluctant to air the grievances between them.
A bump from the gyro’s undercarriage caused Sean to return his gaze to the window. The coast of Albion was within sight, and the pilot had lowered the landing gear. A quick glimpse of the port city of New Brighton, then the aircraft made the left turn that would bring it toward the spaceport on its outskirts.
If I’m lucky, he thought, I won’t see much of her. And if I do, I’ll just have to suck it up. But why the hell did it have to be her?
The gyro swept over the spaceport, passing low above shuttles and freighters parked on its vast concrete expanse, until it came in for a touchdown near a row of hangars on the military side of the field. The pilot cut the engines, then reached up to yank the T-bar that unlocked the passenger hatch. “Here you go,” he said. “Good luck.”
“Thanks. Buy you a drink when we get back.” Cayce unbuckled his seat belt and stood up. “All right, then,” he said to the others. “Grab your gear and follow me.”
Sean reached up to fetch his duffel bag from the rack above his seat, pulling down Kyra’s bag as well. She was closer to the hatch than he was, so he waited while she followed the lieutenant from the aircraft. Once again, he found himself admiring her. Petite yet athletic, with olive skin and jet-black hair habitually tied back in a bun, she looked more like the university student she’d once been before enlisting in the Corps. Nonetheless, the Corps uniform suited her well; it was hard to ignore the way its blue unitard clung to her slim body. The contrast she made with Sandy—short and stocky, looking as if she wrestled creek cats for exercise—was striking; there weren’t many women in the Corps as good-looking as the one with whom he’d shared a bed during their recent furlough. Unfortunately, that was another reason why he wasn’t looking forward to the mission; once they were aboard the Montero, the two of them would have to refrain from their usual playtime. Sean didn’t want to have to introduce his girlfriend to his mother.
The gyro had landed near two spacecraft. One was a Federation Navy shuttle, the recently built version of the type used to ferry passengers and freight to orbiting spacecraft; its side hatch was open, a ladder had been wheeled into place beneath it, and a small group stood below its port wing, apparently waiting for the Corps team. The other was a landing craft; a little larger than the shuttle and nearly thirty years old, with collapsible delta wings on either side of an indigenous-fuel nuclear engine, its midsection cargo hatch open to allow the ground crew to bring aboard the rest of the team’s equipment.
“We’ll be riding up with Montero’s crew,” Cayce said, as they walked toward the shuttle. He had an annoying trait of explaining that which was already obvious. “Hand over your bags to the...”
“That won’t be necessary.” A woman stepped away from the group. “If those are your personal belongings, you’ll want to keep them with you.”
“Oh... all right, then.” Cayce stopped in front of them, raised his right hand in a formal salute. “Lieutenant Amerigo Cayce, commanding officer of Special Survey Team Three, Coyote Federation Corps of Exploration. You must be Captain Carson. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
The woman smiled without returning the salute. Tall and slender, with dark hair twisted into a long braid that nearly reached her waist, she bore absolutely no resemblance to Sean. “Pleased to meet you, too, Lieutenant,” she said, “but I’m not the skipper.” A few chuckles from the people behind her, which she acknowledged with an amused wink before looking at Cayce again. “I’m Melpomene Fisk, the helmsman. Thanks for the salute, though.”
“Oh.” Cayce’s face reddened as he dropped his hand. “I see. So who is...?”
“I am.” Another woman spoke up from the center of the group. “Don’t bother with the salute. I’m not impressed.”
How like her, Sean thought, as his mother stepped out from among her crew. Let some poor schmuck make a fool out of himself just so her people can get a laugh at his expense. He didn’t realize it, but this was the first time he’d ever felt sympathy for Cayce.
“Captain Carson.” Cayce did his best to recover from the gaffe although even his own team were hiding grins behind their hands. “Sorry, ma’am. I only assumed...”
“Yes, yes, I understand.” A nonchalant flip of her hand brought an end to any unnecessary explanations. “I know this is when your people are supposed to be introduced to mine, but we’re on a schedule here. The Montero has been given priority clearance through Starbridge Coyote, and before that we need to rendezvous with the gatehouse to pick up our last passenger.”
“We have someone else coming along?” Cayce was puzzled. “I wasn’t informed of that.”
“Guess you haven’t read the memo, then. A senior representative from Janus will be joining us. He’ll have the hyperspace key to the danui system.” Captain Carson was becoming impatient. “That means we need to get out of here soon, so if you’ll get your people aboard...”
“Yes, ma’am.” Pulling together what remained of his dignity, Cayce turned to the others. “You heard the captain. Let’s get moving.”
“Yes, sir,” Sandy muttered, barely able to suppress the sarcasm in her voice. The rest of the team hefted their bags and headed toward the shuttle. The five Montero crew members received a quiet nod from their commanding officer and fell in beside them; together, the two groups formed a line in front of the ladder leading to the shuttle’s passenger hatch.
Sean avoided meeting his mother’s gaze, and for a moment he thought he might be able to board the spacecraft without having to speak to her. She was having none of that, though. He was about to walk past her when he felt her hand on his arm.
“Sean?” she said quietly. “Aren’t you going to say hello?”
Sighing inwardly, he paused to look at her. “Hello, Captain. Good to see you again.”
As always, there was no expression on Andromeda Carson’s face, yet the look in her eyes betrayed her surprise at the coldness of his tone. “Good to see you, too, Corporal,” she replied. “I was surprised to learn that you’re on this mission. I’m looking forward to...”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Sean took a step forward, freeing himself from her grasp. “If you’ll excuse me...”
“Corporal.” From behind him, Mark Dupree spoke up. “Before we go, I think we ought to make sure our equipment has been properly stowed.” Sean glanced at him, and Mark nodded toward the nearby lander. “The gyro, I mean.”
Sean was about to tell Mark that he was sure the gyro was in fine shape when Cayce stopped at the foot of the ladder. “Good idea, Sergeant. Captain, with your permission... ?”
“I agree.” Andromeda Carson nodded. “We have time for a quick inspection.” She gestured to a large, red-bearded man wearing the insignia of a chief petty officer. “Zeus... please take their gear and put it beneath their seats.”
Sean surrendered his bag to the crewman she’d called Zeus, as did Mark; then they turned to walk across the apron to the shuttle. Several ground crewmen were standing beneath the belly hatch; they waited while the two Corpsmen approached them. Mark glanced over his shoulder, then looked at Sean.
“So... want to tell me what’s going on?” he whispered. “With your mother, I mean.”
“C’mon, man. Don’t make me give you an order.” Mark was Sean’s superior officer, but the two of them seldom observed the difference in status. They’d joined the Corps at the same time and gone through training together, with both qualifying for Special Survey, and it was only because Mark had scored a few points better on their final field test that he’d been made sergeant instead of Sean. They were friends first and foremost, though, and only rarely did Mark pull rank on his buddy. But this was one of those times. “Do you have a problem working with her that I should know about?”
Sean hesitated. “Look, it’s not something I really like to talk about. Can I just say that we don’t get along and leave it at that?”
By then, they’d reached the shuttle. Looking up at it, Sean read its name, stenciled across the port fuselage beneath the cockpit windows next to the Coyote Federation flag. Something else had once been there, and Sean vaguely recalled that it was the name of some Central American socialist or another. But that name, along with the Western Hemisphere Union flag, had long since been painted over, with a new one in its place: Gilbert Reese, after the United Republic of America colonel who’d been one of the original Alabama colonists, if Sean wasn’t mistaken.
“You’re going to be flying this thing, aren’t you?” he asked, trying to change the subject.
A quick smile from Mark. “If I’m lucky and someone else doesn’t beat me to it.” He knelt to look at the tandem-mounted wheels of its forward landing gear, then stood up again. “I’m not trying to pry into your private life,” he went on, speaking quietly. “I just need to know that if she gives you an order, you’re going to follow it.”
Ducking his head, Sean stepped beneath the lowered left-side door of the belly hatch and peered up into the cargo bay. Suspended from a trapeze within the bay was the expedition gyro; with an aft-mounted pusher-prop, winglike stabilizers, and a main prop whose four blades were neatly folded together above the narrow canopy of its cockpit, the small aircraft was just large enough to seat a pilot and four passengers. Even so, they’d practically be sitting in each other’s lap.
“If she gives me an order, I’ll follow it,” Sean said, reaching high above his head to grab hold of the gyro’s starboard skid. He shoved at it, and was satisfied to see that it barely moved; the trapeze would keep the gyro from banging around during launch and landing. “Just don’t expect me to have tea with her.” Not that tea is what she usually drinks, he silently added.
Sean and Mark took another minute to make sure the aluminum cases containing the rest of their gear had been loaded aboard the Reese, then they left the lander and trotted back to the shuttle. By then, everyone else had gone aboard, and the aft pods of the spacecraft’s hjadd-made reactionless drive were already glowing. The ground crew held the ladder while Sean and Mark climbed aboard, then they wheeled it away, leaving it to Sean to close the hatch and dog it tight.
The rear compartment was cramped; the shuttle was meant only for ground-to-orbit sorties, with passenger comfort a lesser priority. Mark had already found a seat, so there was only one left; Sean was relieved to find that it wasn’t next to his mother, who’d gone forward to join Melpomene in the cockpit. On the other hand, Zeus had decided to take the seat next to Kyra, which meant that Sean found himself having to sit with Cayce.
“Everything all right?” the lieutenant asked, as Sean pulled his harness straps around his shoulders and waist.
“Yes, sir.” Sean clicked shut the six-point buckle and made sure the straps were tight. “Loaded and locked down.”
Cayce nodded. There was a mild jar as a tractor attached itself to the shuttle’s forward landing gear and began to tow the spacecraft out to the launchpad. Cayce gazed out the starboard window beside them, and for a few moments, Sean was able to hope that the team leader would leave him alone. But it was too much luck to count on because the tractor had just detached itself from the shuttle and moved away when Cayce turned to him again.
“That was a rather cold reception you gave your mother.” His voice was none too quiet; on the other side of the aisle, two other Montero crewmen—the name patches on their jumpsuits read R. KURTZ and j. RESSLER—turned their heads slightly as if to listen in. “I hope this isn’t going to be a problem.”
“It won’t be.” Sean glared at Kurtz and Ressler until they looked away again, then he turned back to Cayce. “And forgive me for saying so,” he murmured, “but how I get along with my mother is no one’s business but mine . . . sir.”
Cayce scowled at him, and for a couple of moments, Sean thought he was going to have a quarrel with his CO. Which was fine with him. He was willing to respect the lieutenant’s position as team leader; despite his shortcomings, Sean also had found a few things to admire about Amerigo Cayce in the eight months they’d worked together. Yet there were times when Cayce could be overbearing; unlike Mark, he wasn’t hesitant about pulling rank. There was nothing in Corps regulations that said Sean couldn’t argue with a superior officer, though, and Cayce had already learned that Corporal Carson was willing to take him on.
“Very well, then.” Cayce dropped his voice a little. “I’ll let you two work it out on your own . . . so long as it doesn’t get in the way of our mission.”
Sean was about to reply when, as if on cue, his mother’s voice came over the ceiling speaker: “All hands, stand by . . . Launch in ten seconds.”
That ended the conversation, much to Sean’s relief. Grasping the armrests with both hands, he lay back against the heavily padded seat, forcing himself to relax as much as possible. This wasn’t the first time he’d been aboard a spacecraft; nonetheless, he still had to ignore the skeeters in his stomach whenever he went into orbit.
A low, hollow moan from the engines’ pods rose gradually to a high-pitched whine, then there was a slight jar as the shuttle lifted off from the pad. There was no exhaust plume as it ascended to five hundred feet upon its negmass thrusters, then the nose tilted upward, and, with very little noise, the shuttle leapt toward the sky. Careful not to turn his head toward the window, lest the mounting g-force cause his neck to suffer whiplash, Sean watched from the corner of his eye as the sky gradually faded from blue to purple to jet-black. A green and brown horizon, gently curved and crisscrossed by the blue veins of rivers and channels, swept into view; moments later, the vast bulk of 47 Ursae Majoris-B appeared beyond Coyote, the silver sword of its ring plane lancing straight out into space.
They were on their way.
CHAPTER FOUR
TWO AND A HALF HOURS AFTER THE SHUTTLE LIFTED OFF from New Brighton, it rendezvoused with the Montero. From the copilot’s seat, Andromeda Carson watched as Melpomene Fisk deftly manipulated the control yoke. Melpomene had been Montero’s helmsman ever since its original pilot retired and Andromeda was forced to recruit a replacement; Fisk had demonstrated her ability to fly anything that could leave the ground, including spacecraft retrofitted with reactionless drives. All the same, Andromeda quietly made sure that the shuttle was on course before allowing herself the luxury of gazing out the cockpit windows.
Even half-hidden within its orbital dry dock, the CFSS Carlos Montero was magnificent. Three hundred feet long, with a dry weight of nine thousand tons, it was a long, fat cylinder that gradually tapered at its midsection to a slighter smaller service module from which the nacelles of its four gas-core nuclear engines were mounted on outriggers. At the bow was the broad dish of its deflector array; just aft of the crew module were the maneuvering thrusters. Lights gleamed from portholes along the hull; as the shuttle came closer, Andromeda could see that the lander bay was already open in preparation for Reese’s arrival.
If any spacecraft could be called a tall ship, then the Montero met the definition for such an antiquated term. The ship was old, even obsolete by some measures; indeed, it was a starship in name only since it had been originally designed for travel within Earth’s solar system and had made its first starbridge jump only after it had
been refitted with a hyperspace-rated AI. Yet even after all these years, Andromeda hadn’t become jaded to the sight of her vessel. It was one of the few pleasures she still derived from being a captain.
“Shuttle Romeo Navajo Six-Two to Dry Dock Alpha Six, requesting clearance for final approach and docking.” Melpomene listened to her headset for a few moments. “Thank you, Alpha Six, we copy. Over.” She glanced at Andromeda. “Port hatch, skipper? Or do you want me to use the bay?”
“Port hatch, please.” Andromeda knew that the Reese was scheduled for launch a half hour after the shuttle’s departure, and she didn’t want the bay to still be occupied by the shuttle when the Reese arrived. Regulations mandated that a starship’s landing craft should be flown to orbit by a harbor pilot; the rule was a nuisance, and she suspected that it had been put in effect mainly to provide employment for spacers who otherwise wouldn’t have jobs. At least it meant that her crew would all board the ship at the same time; only two or three dockworkers were presently aboard the Montero, and they’d leave as soon as the captain and crew came aboard.
Andromeda stole a glance through the cockpit door. She’d hoped that her people would use the time to acquaint themselves with the Corps of Exploration team, but it appeared that only her chief petty officer, Zeus Brandt, had made the effort to do so, and probably because the Corpsman he’d chosen to sit next to was young, female, and good-looking; Andromeda hoped that Melpomene wouldn’t notice her boyfriend’s flirtation with another woman. Jason Ressler, her first officer, ignored the two Corpsmen sitting across the aisle from him. Rolf Kurtz, the chief engineer, and Anne Smith, the communications officer, were seated side by side, neither of them speaking to Lieutenant Cayce or Sean even though they were within arm’s reach.