Chapter Six

“Please, gentlebeings, pay attention. This information may save your life one day.”

There was a general groan throughout the opulent dining room as the human steward went through his often-recited lecture on space safety and evacuation plans. He pointed out the emergency exits which led to the lifeboats moored inside vacuum hatches along the port and starboard sides of the luxury space liner Destiny Calls. Holographic displays to his right and left demonstrated how the emergency atmosphere equipment was to be used by the numerous humanoid and non-humanoid races who were aboard the Destiny.

None of the lavishly dressed diners in the Early Seating for Oxygen-Breathers seemed to be watching him except for a clutch of frightened-looking humanoid bipeds with huge eyes and pale gray skin whom Lunzie recognized from her staff briefing as Stribans. Most were far more interested in the moving holographic centrepieces of their tables, which displayed such wonders as bouquets of flowers maturing in minutes from bud to bloom, a black-and-silver-clad being doing magic tricks, or, as at Lunzie’s table, a sculptor chipping away with hammer and chisel at an alabaster statue. The steward raised his voice to be heard over the murmuring, but the murmuring just got louder. She had to admit that the young man projected well, and he had a pleasant voice, but the talk was the same, word for word, that was given on every ship that lifted, and any frequent traveller could have recited it along with him. He finished with an ironic “Thank you for your attention.”

“Well, thank the stars that’s over!” stated Retired Admiral Coromell, in a voice loud enough for the steward to hear. There were titters from several of the surrounding tables. “Nobody listens to the dam-fool things anyway. Only time you can get ‘em together is at mealtimes. Captive audience. The ones who seek out the information on their own are the ones who ought to survive anyway. Those nitwits who wait for somebody to save them are as good as dead anyhow.” He turned back to his neglected appetiser and took a spoonful of sliced fruit and sweetened grains. The young man gathered up his demonstration gear and retired to a table at the back of the room, looking harassed. “Where was I?” the old man demanded.

Lunzie put down her spoon and leaned over to shout at him. “You were in the middle of the engagement with the Green Force from the Antari civil war.”

“So I was. No need to raise your voice.” At great length and corresponding volume, the Admiral related his adventure to the seven fellow passengers at his table. Coromell was a large man who must have been powerfully built in his youth. His curly hair, though crisp white, was still thick. Pedantically, he tended to repeat the statistics of each manoeuvre two or three times to make sure the others understood them, whether or not they were interested in his narrative. He finished his story with a great flourish for his victory, just in time for the service of the soup course, which arrived at that moment. Lunzie was surprised to see just how much of the service was handled by individual beings, instead of by servomechanisms and food-synth hatches in the middle of the tables. Clearly, the cruise directors wanted to emphasise how special each facet of their preparations was, down to the ingredients of each course. Even if the ingredients were synthesised out of sight in the kitchen, personal service made the customers think the meals were being prepared from imported spices and produce gathered from exotic ports of call all over the galaxy. In fact, Lunzie had toured the storerooms when she first came aboard, and was more impressed than her tablemates that morel mushrooms were served as the centrepiece in the salad course, since she alone knew that they were real.

The diverse and ornamental menu was a microcosm of the ship itself. The variety of accommodation available on the huge vessel was broad, extending from tiny economy class cabins deep inside the ship, along narrow corridors, to entire suites of elegant chambers which had broad portholes looking out into space, and were served by elaborate Tri-D entertainment facilities and had their own staffs of servitors.

Lunzie found the decor in her personal cabin fantastic, all the more so because she was only a crew member, one of several physicians on board the Destiny. It was explained to her by the purser that guests might need her services when she was not on a duty shift. The illusion of endless opulence was not to be spoiled at any price, even to the cost of maintaining the doctors in a luxury surrounding, lest the rich passengers glimpse any evidence of economy. This way was cheaper than dealing with the consequences of their potential distress. Lunzie was surprised to discover that the entertainment system in her quarters was as fancy as the ones in the first-class cabins. There was a wet bar filled with genuine vintage distillations, as well as a drink synthesiser.

The computer outlet in the adjoining infirmary was preprogrammed with a constantly updating medical profile of all crew members and guests. Though she was unlikely to serve a non-humanoid guest, she was provided with a complete set of environment suits in her size, appropriate to each of the habitats provided for methane-breathers, water-breathers, or ultra cold- or hot-loving species, and language translators for each.

Dr. Root would have loved the infirmary. It had every single gadget she had seen listed in the medical supplies catalog. Her own bod bird and gimmick-kit were superfluous among the array of gadgets, so she left them in her suitcase in the cabin locker. She was filled with admiration for the state-of-the-art chemistry lab, which she shared with the other eight medical officers. The Destiny had remained in orbit for six days around Astris after taking on Lunzie and fifteen other crew, so she had had plenty of time to study the profiles of her fellow employees and guests. The files made fascinating reading. The cruise line was taking no chances on emergencies in transit, and their health questionnaires were comprehensive. As soon as a new passenger came aboard, a full profile was netted to each doctor’s personal computer console.

Lunzie turned to Baraki Don, the Admiral’s personal aide, a handsome man in his seventh or eighth decade whose silver hair waved above surprisingly bright blue eyes and black eyebrows. “I’m not suggesting that I should do the procedure, but shouldn’t he have his inner ear rebuilt? Shouting at his listeners is usually a sign that his own hearing is failing. I believe the Admiral’s file mentioned that he’s over a hundred Standard years old.”

Don waved away the suggestion with a look of long suffering. “Age has nothing to do with it. He’s always bellowed like that. You could hear him clear down in engineering without an intercom from the bridge.”

“What an old bore,” one of their tablemates said, in a rare moment when the Admiral was occupied with his food. She was a Human woman with black- and green-streaked hair styled into a huge puff, and clad in a fantastic silver dress that clung to her frame.

Lunzie merely smiled. “It’s fascinating what the Admiral has seen in his career.”

“If any of it is true,” the woman said with a sniff. She took a taste of fruit and made a face. “Ugh, how awful.”

“But you’ve only to look at all the medals on his tunic front. I’m sure that they aren’t all for good conduct and keeping his gear in order,” Lunzie said and gave vent to a wicked impulse. “What’s the green metal one with the double star for. Admiral?”

The Admiral aimed his keen blue gaze at Lunzie, who was all polite attention. The green-haired woman groaned unbelievingly. Coromell smiled, touching the tiny decoration in the triple line of his chest.

“Young lady, that might interest you as you’re a medical specialist. I commanded a scout team ordered to deliver serum to Denby XI. Seems an explorer was grounded there, and they started one by one to come down with a joint ailment that was crippling them. Most of ‘em were too weak to move when we got there. Our scientists found that trace elements were present in the dust that they were bringing in on their atmosphere suits that irritated the connective tissue, caused fever and swelling, and eventually, death. Particles were so small they sort of fell right through the skin. We, too, had a couple cases of the itch before it was all cleaned up. Nobody was that sick, but they gave us all medals. That also reminds me of the Casper mission ...”

The woman turned her eyes to the ceiling in disgust and took a sniff from the carved perfume bottle at her wrist. A heady wave of scent rolled across the table, and the other patrons coughed. Lunzie gave her a pitying look. There must be something about privilege and wealth that made one bored with life. And Coromell had lived such an amazing one. If only half of what he said was true, he was a hero many times over.

The black-coated chief server appeared at the head of the dining hall and tapped a tiny silver bell with a porcelain clapper. “Gentlebeings, honoured passengers, the dessert!”

“Hey, what?” The announcement interrupted Coromell in full spate, to the relief of some of the others at the table. He waited as a server helped him to a plate of dainty cakes, and took a tentative bite. He levelled his fork at the dessert and boomed happily at his aide. “See here, Don, these are delicious.”

“They have Gurnsan pastry chefs in the kitchen.” Lunzie smiled at him as she took a forkful of a luscious cream pastry. He was more interesting than anyone she’d ever met or had seen on Tri-D. She realised that he was just a few years older than she was. Perhaps he had read Kipling or Service in his youth.

“Well, well, very satisfactory, I must say. Beats the black hole out of Fleet food, doesn’t it, Don?”

“Yes, indeed. Admiral.”

“Well, well. Well, well,” the Admiral murmured to himself between bites, as their tablemates finished their meals and left.

“I should go, too,” Lunzie said, excusing herself and preparing to rise. “I’ve got to hold after-dinner office hours.”

The Admiral looked up from his plate and the corners of his eyes crinkled up wisely at her. “Tell me, young doctor. Were you listening because you were interested, or just to humour an old man? I noticed that green-haired female popinjay myself.”

“I truly enjoyed hearing your experiences, Admiral,” Lunzie said sincerely. “I come from a long line of Fleet career officers.”

Coromell was pleased. “Do you! You must join us later. We always have a liqueur in the holo-room during second shift. You can tell us about your family.”

“I’d be honoured.” Lunzie smiled, and hurried away.

“That’s nasty,” Lunzie said, peeling away the pantsleg of a human engineer and probing at the bruised flesh above and below the knee. She poked an experimental finger at the side of the patella and frowned.

“Agh!” grunted the engineer, squirming away. “That hurt.”

“It isn’t dislocated, Perkin,” Lunzie assured him, lowering the sonic viewscreen over the leg. “Let’s see now.” On the screen, the bone and tendons stood out among a dark mass of muscle. Tiny lines, veins and arteries throbbed as blood pulsed along them. Near the knee, the veins swelled and melded with one another, distended abnormally. “But if you think it’s pretty now, wait a day or so. There’s quite a bit of intramuscular bleeding. You didn’t do that in an ordinary fall - the bone’s bruised, too. How did it happen?” Lunzie reached under the screen to turn his leg for a different view, and curiously watched the muscles twist on the backs of her skeletal hands. This was state-of-the-art equipment.

“Off the record. Doctor?” Perkin asked hesitantly, looking around the examination room.

Lunzie looked around too, then stared at the man’s face, trying to discern what was making him so nervous. “It shouldn’t be, but if that’s the only way you’ll tell me ...”

The man let go a deep sigh of relief. “Off the record, then. I got my leg pinched in a storage hatch door. It shut on me without warning. The thing is six meters tall and almost fifteen centimeters thick. There should have been a klaxon and flashing lights. Nothing.”

“Who disconnected them?” Lunzie asked, suddenly and irrationally worried about heavyworlders. Perhaps there was a plot afoot to attack the Admiral.

“No one had to. Doctor. Don’t you know about the Destiny Cruise Line? It’s owned by the Paraden Company.”

Lunzie shook her head. “I don’t know anything about them, to be honest. I think I’ve heard the name before, but that’s all. I’m a temporary employee, until we pull into orbit around Alpha Centauri, four months from now. Why, what’s wrong with the Paraden Company?”

The engineer curled his lip. “I sure hope this room hasn’t got listening devices. The Paraden Company keeps their craft in space as long as it possibly can without drydocking them. Minor maintenance gets done, but major things get put off until someone complains. And that someone always gets fired.”

“That sounds horribly unfair.” Lunzie was shocked.

“Not to mention hazardous to living beings, Lunzie. Well, whistle-blowing has never been a safe practice. They’re Parchandris, the family who owns the company, and they want to squeeze every hundredth credit out of their assets. The Destiny Line is just a tiny part of their holdings.”

Lunzie had heard of the Parchandri. They had a reputation for miserliness. “Are you suggesting that this starship isn’t spaceworthy?” she asked nervously. Now she was looking for listening devices.

Perkin sighed. “It probably is. It most likely is. But it’s long overdue for service. It should have stayed back on Alpha the last time we were there. The portmaster was reluctant to let us break orbit. That’s been bad for morale, I can tell you. We old-timers don’t usually tell the new crew our troubles - we’re afraid that either they’re company spies working for Lady Paraden, or they’ll be too frightened to stay on board.”

“Well, if anything goes wrong, you’ll be sure to warn me, won’t you?” She noticed that his face suddenly wore a shuttered look. “Oh, please,” she appealed to him. “I’m not a spy. I’m on my way to see my daughter. We haven’t seen each other since she was a youngster. I don’t want anything to get in the way of that. I’ve already been in one space accident.”

“Now, now,” Perkin said soothingly. “Lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place.”