Waypoint Magellan Page 7

  “Flora? With North? Please Lydia,” Amberly said. “What would North see in her?” Amberly examined the logs on her screen and saw that there were no anomalies. She cleared the screen, and punched up new logs that needed processing.

  Lydia pushed back an errant lock of her short golden hair that had slipped out from under her headband. “Please don’t tell me you are interested in that Neanderthal. He’s nice to look at, but nothing between the ears. You are so above him.”

  “North’s not that bad.”

  “You are interested in him!”

  “l hadn’t really thought about it,” Amberly lied.

  “Well, there’s no reason to be jealous of Flora if you are not interested in North.”

  “I’m not jealous of Flora. How did this become about Flora? North asked me to go to the Shards with him, anyway.”

  “Well are you going with him or not?” Lydia looked up from the terminal where she was tracking thermal spikes to offer an inquisitive look.

  “I think I am.”

  “Of course you are,” Lydia giggled.

  North had arranged for the use of the corvette exactly one week after the incident at Rick’s. The week went by fast for Amberly, who was kept busy working late hours at the lab analyzing the data collected by the American Spirit. When deep space vessels docked with waypoints, it was customary for the ship and waypoint to exchange sensor logs. A lot of data – locations of high-radiation zones in space, new micro-nebula, uncharted space junk, and more – was transferred via tight beam transmissions between the waypoints, but even with the best data compression, bandwidth for inter-waypoint transmissions was in high demand, and allocated as a scare resource. Secondary data collected by various sensors, data such as the intensity of infrared rays, or gamma radiation emission variances, were not shared over tight-beam communications. Instead, passing ships would capture and share this secondary data when they made a physical network connection.

  Amberly was trained to search this data for anomalies that were suspicious. In doing so, she could detect potential hazards, like lethal radiation from distant solar flares. This information, once analyzed, was fed into the powerful navigational computers, so waypoints and ships could avoid being burnt to a crisp from some unwanted stellar outburst by simply moving out of the way.

  The technology application project Amberly was just starting to work on was to create predictive models based on the anomalous data – so not only could they locate and chart interstellar hazards, but perhaps they would also be better at predicting when solar bodies would misbehave. Amberly’s research was ambitious, and the only reason her superiors in the Science Corps let her work on her pie-in-the-sky theory was because her mathematics aptitude was off-the-charts high. In the standardized theoretical mathematical test administered to those applying to be in the Science Corps, she was in the 99th percentile of everyone who had ever taken the test, on any waypoint or planet.

  “You’re working late tonight, ma’am,” a deep voice came from behind her workstation. Amberly, startled, whirled her chair around to see a burly, blond man, of average height, and of some unguessable middle age.

  “Delivery,” he said. “Just have a new box of data cards. I’m Midas.”

  Amberly was not in a mood to chat it up with some ancient deliveryman. “Um, thanks, do I need to sign for those?” Amberly offered her thumb for biometric verification and, when Midas put his info pad forward, she placed it on the scanner.

  “You’re a Macready girl aren’t you?” Midas offered. “The red hair. Alroy must have been your dad. Damn shame, what happened to Alroy and Kimberly.”

  Many on Magellan knew either one or both of Amberly’s parents, so it wasn’t uncommon for her to run into people who had a story or a fond memory of the Macreadys. Usually, Amberly smiled and politely listened, but today she just wanted to get her work done. “You really look like your mum.”

  “Thanks, um, Midas,” Amberly said, taking the box. “I’ll take those now. See ya!”

  Midas took the hint, tipped his head, and headed out.

  When he was gone, Amberly woke Verne up.

  “Verne,” she said to her info pad AI, “Do I know that guy?”

  The AI responded flatly, “According to my visual records, Midas has delivered about 20 packages when you have been here in the past two years.”

  “I’ve never noticed him before,” she said, as she absentmindedly returned to the stellar data she was processing. “Kind of creepy.”

  Over the course of the week, Amberly had half-expected to see Dek pop up again unexpectedly, after his rejoinder that they might cross paths again. She was sort of disappointed he didn’t. She didn’t see Dek’s “sister” around either and wondered if Dek lied about that being his cohort sister. Perhaps they were cavorting back aboard the American Spirit. She knew Dek was brilliant — maybe not her level brilliant, but still sharper than most. If North was the epitome of brawn, Dek was a beacon of intellect. North was a man of rough honor; Dek seemed more to favor roguish charm.

  Amberly was taking a day off work for the trip to the Shard Caves. The Spencer Belt was nearly at its closest point to Magellan, so the timing for an expedition to the Shard Caves was excellent. They should be able to reach the Spencer Belt in five or six hours, spend a few hours in the caves – Amberly didn’t know exactly what North had in mind – and then about six hours on the return.

  Amberly was walking home from the lab to her apartment the night before her trip when she noticed him again. It was the same man who she had thought to be following her the night she escaped the police with Dek – the one Dek denied seeing. He wasn’t wearing a pilot jumpsuit anymore, but a large and heavy overcoat. If the man was trying to be inconspicuous, he wasn’t doing a very good job. The temperature in most of the public areas of the waypoint was well regulated, around 25 degrees Celsius, eliminating the need for heavy clothing, like the man’s heavy coat.

  Amberly decided to confront the man. He was tall and middle aged, maybe 50 years old. As she approached him from across the tube station lobby, he pretended to ignore her.

  She walked right up to him.

  “Hey, I’m sorry to be rude, but I’ve noticed that you have been … well … spying on me lately. Who are you? Did you come on the American Spirit?”

  The man was startled for a second, and scanned the lobby to see if anyone else was listening.

  “I was wondering if you were with us,” the man said, a smile of friendliness melting across his face. “You look so much like your mother, though I see you’ve inherited your father’s mane. I am so glad that Dek could recruit you to the Chasm. Your mother would be proud.”

  “Chasm? You know Dek?” Amberly was confused and it showed as her eyes narrowed. “And how did you know my parents?”

  “Wait … you mean Dek hasn’t … I mean, I must be going now.” The man turned from Amberly and in a near sprint made for the Tube. Amberly didn’t know if she should chase the man or not. While she was considering, the man vanished into an empty Tubecar.

  Was he dangerous? Or just crazy? Or both? Amberly had some questions that needed answering, and she knew that she would, indeed, be crossing paths with Dek Tigona again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Wow, I think we should tell the police. Do you want me to call Trot?” Kora said, sitting backwards in one of her living room chairs, leaning over the clear table.

  Amberly was lying on an in-wall bench. One arm was draped over the side, with her hand skimming the floor. The other was covering her eyes, as if the lights that illuminated the living room were bothering her. She was still wearing her science lab work uniform, though she had removed the form fitting white jacket and had tossed it on the floor. Kora, who worked as a nurse in the Church medical wards, was still wearing her classic white nurse uniform. Many of the nurses wore practical uniforms — scrub-like garments that were easy to clean and otherwise bland. Kora’s uniform was a bit more feminine than most — she took pride in being s
tylish, but also enjoyed the extra attention.

  Amberly told Kora everything she knew about this mysterious man who seemed to know their deceased parents.

  “What would we tell them? Some crazy guy from the American Spirit claims to know our parents? It’s not like any law has been broken,” Amberly said, sitting up and straightening her undershirt. “Do you know anything about a ‘chasm’?” Amberly asked her sister.

  Kora pulled at her dark hair. “No clue. If you don’t want to tell the authorities, maybe we should let North know, you know. Maybe this Chasm is a military thing?”

  “Ha! Dek is anything but military,” Amberly snorted. “Besides, all we need is North going on some protective man rant.”

  “I don’t know, having a man protecting you doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me.”

  “If mom could hear you —”

  “Mom can’t hear me, Amberly,” Kora said. “And even if she was here, I mean, I loved mom more than anything, but I think she was wrong about so many things.”

  “Because you know so much better than our silly, unintelligent mother,” Amberly projected sarcasm.

  Kora sat down. “I know you were a little bit younger. But I saw how much dad loved mom. And how lucky she was to have him. Either of us would be lucky to marry someone like dad. And don’t say it — you are not going to get married.”

  “You never appreciated mom, Kora. You just lived in dad’s fantasy worlds. And I am not going to get married. I am not having this conversation with you again,” Amberly exhaled in exasperation. “I need to sleep. I’ll figure out what to do about our crazy guy in the morning. North and I have an early start time tomorrow.”

  Kora stood up and stepped toward her room, then turned around and sat down next to her sister, placing a hand on Amberly’s shoulder. “Sorry for going there again. It’s just that – ”

  “You don’t need to be.” Amberly interrupted her sister gently. “I’m just tired and cranky.”

  Amberly stood and picked up her jacket from the floor and started undressing for bed while calling back to her sister. “I’m sort of looking forward to tomorrow.”

  “And why shouldn’t you. North’s a good guy. You’ll have fun tomorrow. I may actually be jealous of you.”

  “Come on Kora, if you wanted to, you know you could have North eating out of your hand,” Amberly suggested.

  “I think you underestimate him,” Kora said in seriousness. “He knows what he wants. Maybe he’s ready to stop playing around. I mean, North didn’t ask me to go with him to the Shard Caves after all.”

  “So you are saying he is interested in the younger, better looking Macready model?” Amberly teased.

  “Let’s not have delusions of grandeur. You are not better looking than me,” Kora quipped back. “North’s a good man.”

  “You said that already. Good night, sister.”

  “Good night.”

  Most of the residents of Magellan, and the guests from the American Spirit, were still asleep when Amberly met North at the hangar. North had already been there for an hour, going over the preflight checklist with the early shift dock master. North was wearing civilian clothes: cleanly pressed brown trousers and a bright white collared shirt with buttons, half-way buttoned up, taught against his broad shoulders. Underneath, he wore an undershirt, also white as a clear night star. Buttons were not unheard of in the fashion of Magellan, but most common clothes used plastic lock strands, adhesive strips, or even metallic zippers. Buttons were still seen in traditional military dress uniforms, but were usually only worn for formal or important occasions.

  His hair was neatly cut and framed his slightly scarred face perfectly. The scar on his chin, about three centimeters long, was the only blemish on his otherwise clean-shaven face. His brown eyes were dark, but still managed to reflect a twinkle of friendly, comfortable light.

  North had won the right for a personal use of the corvette M.S.S. Claire De Lune, a new ship built from scratch on Magellan. The ship was a testament to how independent the waypoint had become. The Claire De Lune was brilliant metallic silver, the exterior a shiny polished alloy that one might mistake for chrome. Not only was Claire De Lune entirely built on Magellan, but most of the materials used to forge the ship were also harvested from Spencer Belt asteroids.

  The corvette was seven times as long as it was wide, which was just wide enough to hold two humans sitting side by side. The Clair De Lune was mostly cylindrical in shape, though it had three rear fins, which were cosmetic in purpose, giving the vessel a sleek, cosmopolitan design.

  Powered entirely by batteries, the corvette had no antimatter generator, severely limiting its range. The forward viewport (the only viewport on most corvette-class ships) was generously large, offering the pilot and the co-pilot a spectacular view of whatever the bow was facing. Behind the tight two-person cockpit was a small zero-gravity restroom and galley. The galley was little more than a place to store pre-made meals, beverages and emergency rations in case, for some unforeseen reason, a corvette was temporarily stranded. The galley also had space-certified suits that the pilot and passenger or co-pilot could don in the event the cockpit was compromised. When she was a schoolchild on Magellan, Amberly had been trained to put on a spacesuit. However, that was 10 years ago. She was out of practice.

  North saw Amberly enter the dock, and he smiled his captivating grin. He half expected Amberly to stand him up, even though the cost of their trip was enormous. He was slightly nervous, though he tried to hide it. Amberly wore an emerald green dress made from synthetic cotton. The dress was modestly cut, though it accentuated Amberly’s natural curves. Her short hair was pulled up into a single tight bun with Oriental sticks holding the bun in place.

  “Wow. You look beautiful,” North said to Amberly, as she appeared from behind a private runabout. North again shot her his trademark smile, with just a little bit of dimple. “Are you ready?”

  “Thanks,” Amberly said with simple, sincere gratitude. “Kora said she was very jealous.”

  “I’m sure she’ll get over it.”

  Magellan’s dock was still full of parked vessels at this hour of the morning with more than 20 private, public and military vessels still in port.

  The deck officer, Jimbo Tunabi, a friend of North’s, walked up to the pair.

  “You’re approved for departure, North. No other traffic from Magellan scheduled for a Sonnet run today – looks like you have the run of the place. A Marine corvette is going to be out today for testing and maintenance, but it should be nowhere near your flight path.”

  “Thanks for the update,” North saluted Jimbo and he returned the gesture.

  “Shall we dance?” North said, pointing toward the exterior access port to the corvette. Amberly climbed up a small ladder, slipped into the port and slid into the co-pilot’s seat. North followed her, deftly slipping his larger frame through the portal. Once inside, North had comfortable maneuvering room. Jimbo sealed the port, turned off the artificial gravity, and gave a visual signal to North that he was clear to test fire the Claire De Lune’s engines.

  “You sure you know how to fly this thing?” Amberly asked.

  “You already asked me that. This is just like the Marine corvettes, only no guns. I got this, no problem.”

  And with that, North released the magnetic locks, and the ship began to float freely.

  “Magellan dockmaster, this is Claire De Lune, requesting depressurization and opening of the hangar doors,” North said into the radio communication headpiece he had put in during preflight preparation.

  “Clair De Lune, this is dock master. Please have all crew and passengers do thumbprint verification at this time.” Both North and Amberly complied, in turn pressing a thumb against the ships biometric reader until a positive ID indicator chimed.

  To let a ship out of dock, first all the air had to be evacuated from the bay into storage tanks. Specialized pressure inlets sucked the air from dock into the tanks – so valuable atmosphe
re would not be lost into space during the airlocking process for the small ships inside the dock.

  Once the atmosphere from the docks was captured, creating a vacuum, the dock master would open the doors. Ships not magnetically attached to Magellan could float out.

  Of course, they did not want to evacuate the air in the hangar when people were inside, so everyone who entered the hangar was required to authenticate entry and exit with a thumbprint. When it was time to launch a ship, people cleared the hangar behind an environmental curtain that fell before the space doors opened. Magellan’s computers then did a headcount to make sure no one was accidentally exposed to a vacuum.

  The hangar doors were large, copper-colored and opened slowly. Normally, the view out of the hangar door was just a star field, but today, the gleam of the docked American Spirit radiated just outside.

  Amberly belted into her seat to keep from floating as the Claire De Lune slipped out of the Magellan’s artificial gravity well into open space. Amberly noted North’s familiar command of Claire De Lune’s navigational thrusters.

  “How about a spin around Magellan, before we head out?” suggested Amberly, as she peered out the viewport.