15

PreviousTopNext

 

After some long hours of reprogramming by Phila and Siggerson, the robots worked for them. Records showed that the City had not moved from her current position for at least half a century, perhaps more. The question remained now: could she be moved at all?

Kelly settled himself at his station in central control. Seats had been rigged up for them; robots didn’t need seats. These were not comfortable. The controls were spaced at the wrong intervals. There were many that were marked off limits simply because Siggerson could not figure out what they were for.

Siggerson had argued that they should try to rewire the attack ships docked in the hangar area beside the ruined Alliance ships. But they were totally robot ships, not designed for living pilots at all. It just wasn’t practical to use them, but Kelly was bringing them along for scientists to study. This whole massive ship would jump Alliance technology ahead by years.

If they could move her. If they could navigate her. If they could make the proper interdimensional jump to get them home.

Siggerson had lost weight. But he seemed completely absorbed in his work and showed less and less strain from his experiences. As for Phila, there were dark circles beneath her eyes and she was unusually subdued. But Kelly knew she was still dwelling on her actions in the genetics lab. He had tried to talk to her, but she evaded the subject. Kelly worried. He’d gone through this himself, over and over, and he’d seen plenty of his fellow officers go through it. In time she would work through it on her own and come to grips with it, or it would fester and ruin her.

Flashes of binary came in over myriad communications lines as robots and automatic functions reported in. Kelly couldn’t translate fast enough. He stopped trying. At this point the bots could report what they wanted; the City was moving, ready or not.

A beep sounded, startling him from his reverie. He flipped a toggle to open a voice line.

“Beaulieu to control.”

“Control, Kelly speaking. How’re they doing, Doc?”

“Everything’s as ready as I can get it. The vats look like they’re designed for movement so I’ve gone ahead and started the cloning process with batch number one.”

Kelly frowned. He had not forbidden Beaulieu to clone the DNA codes, but he remained skeptical.

“Yes,” he said impatiently. “I meant Caesar and 41.”

Caesar remained dangerously weak without benefit of life support facilities. Because Beaulieu would not let Caesar be moved for any reason, it had been necessary to strip down a sick bay from one of the destroyers and transfer the equipment to the genetics lab. Kelly had helped her, leaving Phila and Siggerson to get on with the even larger job of preparing the City for flight. Robots had transported the heavy stuff, but Kelly had been faced with wiring it into a not always compatible power system. The work had been made even harder by a restrained Holborn gibbering insanely to himself and 41’s presence—wide awake, eyes staring vacantly, responding to none of the wide range of stimuli Beaulieu tested upon him.

“Yes,” she said. “Now that I’ve finally got something besides a dull knife and a tom-tom to work with, I can report Caesar safely stabilized. I’m feeding him a transfusion right now, and I’ve been able to seal the incision in his lung. He’ll do.”

Kelly smiled tiredly. Even Phila and Siggerson looked up with interest. “That’s great, Doctor. And 41?”

She hesitated so long Kelly’s hopes went plummeting again.

“Well,” said Beaulieu finally. “I put the neural scanner on him, and there’s less actual damage than I suspected at first. The hemorrhaging looked worse than it really was.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Kelly, he’s retreated psychologically. There are some very good therapy units on Station 4 and even better ones on Station 1, but I’m not sure anyone will ever be able to reach him. His psych profile has always been unsure. That, plus his catalepsy, puts him pretty deep. Beyond hypno-scan and certainly beyond probes, which I think would just make him worse.”

“What about a Salukan mind sieve?” asked Kelly.

“Maybe,” but her voice was doubtful. “I’m sorry. That’s the best I can offer right now.”

Kelly sighed. “Thank you. I’ll let you know when we’re ready.”

“Standing by.”

Kelly broke the line with a frown. Restlessly he got to his feet and paced around. Siggerson, ever careful, was running a last series of systems checks. Phila called them off for him. She sounded tired. Kelly rubbed his eyes, longing for more sleep than the two hours he’d snatched somewhere. They all needed rest.

But they all wanted to get home.

Kelly paused at the observation port and stared out at the stars. Familiar stars shining upon a time he did not belong in. By Siggerson’s calculations if they simply went back to Earth, they would be two thousand years in her past. It was almost tempting to see what the sixth century was like firsthand.

“The Dark Ages,” he muttered aloud.

Phila glanced up. “What was that?”

Kelly came away from the port. “Are we ready?”

“Almost,” said Siggerson. Ouoji wandered in and curled up beneath his chair. She smelled of singed fur and unguent. “Just one last simulation. Won’t take but thirty-eight seconds.”

“Fine,” said Kelly. “Then we start, Mr. Siggerson.”

Siggerson’s eyes met his. Siggerson looked grim, not very confident. But he made no protest. The arguments were long over.

“The simulation checks out,” said Phila. She shut off her list and tossed it aside. “Time for the real thing. Commander?”

Kelly resumed his seat. There was no safety harness. He felt naked. Rubbing moist palms across his thighs, he steadied himself.

“Secure the ship for takeoff,” he said.

Phila reached out and activated the dozens of binary messages that flashed through the City in nanoseconds, giving commands that locked all mobile robots into place, shutting down gravity, heat, and air to non-essential areas, closing stress bulkheads at key points, switching off all teleport grids.

“Ship secure, sir.”

“All right,” said Kelly. “Warm the engines, Mr. Siggerson.”

“Engines warming.”

Back after they first realized the ship was truly theirs, Kelly and Siggerson had teleported to the engine room. Even now Kelly remained in awe of what he had seen. He could not describe it, for the technology was incomprehensible to him. Long, sleek tubes where the power mix took place. A vast tank sealed with a transparent lid containing a dark blue sludge no one could identify although Siggerson guessed it was some kind of organic coolant. A little too genetically similar to the Visci for Kelly to feel comfortable close to it. Row after row of generators feeding ship power into life support systems, which they guessed had been supplied for Holborn’s research team. It was amazing how life support was supplied effortlessly to every corner of the City although the robots did not need it. Certainly the Visci themselves had not.

Matter coils as massive as Kelly’s waist fed through the bowels of the ship. They had not taken the time to trace them all the way to the drive units.

“Drive units show nominal energy levels,” said Siggerson now as he hunched over his control panel. “Rapidly achieving complete mass. Ready for ... cast off?”

Kelly almost laughed. They weren’t docked, yet the formal term seemed best. What else was there to say? Ready to move?

Lips quirking, he said, “Cast off, Mr. Siggerson.”

“Aye, sir.”

Phila caught Kelly’s eye. They both smiled. Siggerson’s intense expression did not change. He was sweating a bit. The responsibility for the correct navigational calculations rested on his bony shoulders. He looked nervous.

“How long a run do we need before we can jump?” asked Kelly. He had asked it before but he kept forgetting. Maybe he was nervous too.

Siggerson didn’t seem to mind answering. “My estimates are that we need to attain a speed equivalent to TD 8. The course is already laid in, but you do realize, Kelly, that this ship’s massive power is designed to open gates, not propel her through them. I don’t think—”

Kelly raised his hand. “Go, Siggerson.”

With a sigh Siggerson complied. There came an almost subliminal rumble through the ship.

“Under way, sir,” reported Phila. Her voice rang out with excitement.

Kelly glanced at her. He observed her glowing eyes and the renewed quickness of her movements. She’d be all right. Healing was coming already.

Siggerson had no less than twenty specialized computers assisting him in piloting this behemoth. Her immense mass demanded constant, infinitesimal course corrections to keep her stable.

Kelly sat back in his chair and tried to look calm although his nerves kept twitching. An eternity passed while they picked up speed. She was slow, as slow as the eons, yet imperceptibly she accelerated. Smooth, powerful, gaining in her own majestic fashion, she took an hour to reach TD 8.

Eight, thought Kelly. The symbol of infinity.

He turned his head. “Launch log buoy.”

“Launching log buoy,” replied Phila.

If they failed to jump the time barrier, two thousand years from now perhaps someone would find this record of their attempt to get home.

Kelly reopened the line to Beaulieu. “Make ready, Doctor. We’re about to jump.”

“There’s no change,” she said, although this time he did not ask. “Take us home, Commander.”

Kelly glanced at Siggerson. The pilot’s face was tense with strain. He had worked the calculations a dozen times at least, wanting to make no errors with an unfamiliar system of computations he barely understood.

“Boosting,” Siggerson said. “The computers will take it now. I still don’t know if we can do more than open the gate. And if anyone is on the other side ...”

“Do it,” said Kelly, and braced himself.

Siggerson switched over to full automated. The City shuddered her full length, and Kelly saw indicators reflect a massive powering up. The lights flickered and dimmed.

“Gate opening one kilometer dead ahead,” said Siggerson excitedly. “I hope to God it’s the right time.”

“Put her on the loop,” said Kelly.

Siggerson’s hand stretched out, curled with hesitation, then touched the necessary controls.

The lights went out completely. A force slammed Kelly in the chest. His cry of pain remained muffled in his throat for he had not the air to express it. The ship seemed to be whirling about him, spinning madly on her axis until he was flattened and thinned to a thread of existence in the centrifugal lash. He saw a blur of colors, dazzling across the full spectrum, flowing into him with beauty too exquisite to comprehend. His own shape blended with them so that he became color too. And he had no existence save this river rushing forever between the banks of infinity. His mind never lost consciousness as it had before. He felt the calmness of center. He saw the links and connections of life itself. He understood the greatness of creation, recognized the limitless combinations and possibilities. Awe filled him. It was so simple, so perfect, so beautiful.

Slowly ... slowly the spinning lessened. The colors ceased to blend. They separated, became distinct and harsher in definition. He lost them, lost sight as well, and with it his comprehension, his calmness—all of it flowing away from him despite his efforts to cling to it. He might as well have tried to hold water in his hand.

The City’s power drives deaccelerated fraction by fraction, as smoothly as she had accelerated. Magnificent, immense, her hull shining as black and sleek as the day she was built—she shimmered through the time gate of her own making and let it close behind her, cutting off the loop of time.

At last the City sailed to a dead stop, resting in space precisely fourteen meters from her departure point. Her automateds switched over to new relays, shutting down the massive power coils, and restoring partial control to the manuals of helm and navigation. She purred at ready, waiting for new commands. Within her, all lay still.

 

“Hailing unidentified ship. Hailing unidentified ship. Please respond. This is the ESS Hoyt calling. We have peaceful intent. Please respond.”

The message was repeated over and over in a multitude of major languages, cycling from Glish Standard to Minzanese Prime to Saluk to mathematical symbols. It came over the speakers attuned to outside frequencies.

At last it roused Kelly. He blinked and with an effort lifted his head. It felt like a five-ton rock balanced on the end of his neck. He listened a moment without comprehension, then slowly the words became clear.

A smile spread across his face. He lifted his hands and peered at them, flexing them to test their solidity. Then eagerly he switched on the scanners and examined a formation of Alliance ships at a cautious range of nine thousand kilometers. They looked tiny in proportion to the City.

He opened a hailing frequency and spoke in Glish. “This is Commander Bryan Kelly of the ...” He hesitated a moment. What had her owners called her? What Visci name had christened her? He would never know. “This is Commander Bryan Kelly of the City. We have peaceful intent.”

A request for visual came across. Kelly glanced at Siggerson and Phila, both still unconscious. He complied, and as the bridge of the Hoyt shimmered upon his screen, he could hear whoops and cheers in the background. A human face stared at him.

“I’m Captain Komaki. Are you Kelly of the StarHawks?”

“That’s right,” said Kelly, grinning even more broadly.

Komaki whistled. “What the hell kind of ship are you in? I’ve never seen anything that big in my life.”

“It’s a Visci configuration,” said Kelly casually. “Are you going to escort us home?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess so. Admiral Jedderson and Commodore West request permission to beam aboard. Is that vessel secure?”

“Yes,” said Kelly, straightening hurriedly. “Stand by for confirmation, Hoyt.”

He snapped off the visual and left his seat.

He intended to go to Siggerson and Phila to awaken them. But his legs were unexpectedly jellified. He staggered and nearly fell. By then, however, Siggerson was groaning and coming around.

“Are we there?” he asked without opening his eyes.

“Yes,” said Kelly. He took a more cautious step this time.

“Smooth ride,” said Siggerson. “I don’t remember a thing. What are you doing?”

Kelly smiled at him. “Trying to get my space legs back. Smooth or not, I don’t think man was intended for time travel. Wake up Phila, will you? We’re about to be boarded and I want us at least able to make sense.”

“Boarded? By whom?”

“Our boss.”

“Who?”

Kelly frowned. Siggerson was never going to fit in Special Operations. He remained too civilian, too indifferent, even down to who he worked for. “Jedderson,” said Kelly impatiently. “Fleet-Admiral Jedderson. The founder of the Hawks, now—”

“Yes, yes. I know who he is. Commander in chief of all Allied forces.” Siggerson rubbed his face and blinked to put himself in focus. “How’d he get here?”

“We’re there, Siggerson. We made it. Take a look at the scanners. A whole flotilla is sitting off our port side.”

A smile, perhaps the first genuinely warm, excited smile Kelly had ever seen from him, flashed across Siggerson’s face. He pulled himself woozily to his feet. “Damn! Are they? I can’t believe it.”

In his excitement he stuck out his hand to Kelly. A little surprised, but delighted, Kelly shook it firmly.

Siggerson ran his hands through his thinning hair, making it stick straight out. He laughed. “What a ship. I don’t understand a third of her controls. I never thought we could do it.”

“Well, we did do it. And Jedderson is coming aboard.”

“Right. Shall I pick up the coffee cups and swab the deck?”

“Just switch systems back on,” said Kelly around a smile. “I’m going down to check on Beaulieu.”

Ouoji bounded after Kelly as he left central control. By the time he reached the first teleport grid, it was operative. Picking up Ouoji, Kelly stepped onto it and had himself flashed to the genetics lab.

Beaulieu wasn’t there. Ouoji jumped down and streaked out of sight on some purpose of her own. Kelly found Caesar sleeping beneath the sedative of a drug patch on his throat. His round, snub-nosed face had lost its gray pallor. Gently Kelly smoothed back Caesar’s unruly hair and smiled down at him.

41’s bunk, however, was empty. Ouoji paced back and forth along it, switching her tail. For a moment Kelly’s heart stopped beating. His mind raced behind a nameless dread. Then he saw the broken restraints, and he could draw breath again.

“Find him, Ouoji.”

She jumped off the bunk and made a small, searching circle. When she chittered, Kelly came hurrying.

41 sat curled in a corner behind an overturned chair. His hands were clamped upon the back of his head; his face was buried against his knees. Kelly gently moved the chair aside. He reached out to grasp 41’s shoulder, but Ouoji got in the way with a warning switch of her tail.

Kelly crouched on his heels. Inside, little pulses of hope kept bursting against his breastbone. He tried, however, to heed Ouoji and not rush things.

“41,” he said gently. Now he really did wish he knew 41’s name, especially whatever 41’s beloved Old Ones had called him. The number itself was a buffer, an act of defiance against convention, a barricade that no one could cross. What had 41 said once? That his name had been taken from him so many times he had vowed never to wear a name again. Sad.

“41, it’s Kelly. I’m here. 41?”

No response. 41 looked frozen in that position, fetal. Kelly sighed, feeling helpless. Needing comfort himself, he glanced at Ouoji. If 41 could never be reached, then ...

Tears shimmered in Kelly’s eyes.

Ouoji chittered softly. She came to him as softly as smoke and sat up on her haunches to place her paw upon his face.

Comfort flowed into him, blunting the sharp edge of grief. As soon as he realized what was happening, Kelly drew back in startlement. The contact broke immediately. He stared into Ouoji’s blue eyes.

“Empathic?” he said softly.

Her eyes shone as blue as Earth’s sky. She dropped to all four feet and padded to 41. She touched him, and he jerked violently, his arms flailing. Ouoji was knocked tumbling. Kelly reached out to roll her onto her feet. Beneath her soft fur, he could feel her sturdy body tremble.

41 glared wildly at them without recognition. Terror filled his face.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Kelly with a hand still upon Ouoji. “No one is going to hurt you.”

41 bared his teeth. Ouoji moved toward him, and he pressed himself deeper into the corner. A feral noise rumbled in his throat.

“Ouoji, careful,” said Kelly in alarm.

The tip of her tail crooked, but still she went toward 41. He screamed at her, the sound so bestial a chill ran up Kelly’s spine. Ouoji sprang, and 41 thrashed in an effort to fight her off. But she clung to him until she could wrap her tail around his throat. 41 froze, so tense Kelly could see him tremble. The whites showed all the way around his irises.

Keeping her tail around his throat, Ouoji pressed both her forepaws to his cheeks.

“No.” The word was guttural. 41 shook his head, shuddering. “No!”

Ouoji did not desist. After a moment 41’s eyes sagged closed. The tension faded from his body. Kelly held his breath, hoping she could do something, praying she could do enough to bring 41 within reach.

Ouoji removed one paw from 41’s face and glanced at Kelly. He edged closer until he was beside her. She mewed almost silently at him and put her paw against his cheek.

At once Kelly felt the link. He stiffened, but overcame his instinctive resistance. If it would help 41, he had to try it.

For a moment his mind was awash with totally alien images. Dimly he recognized them as belonging to Ouoji. But before he could begin to decipher any of them, they faded away as though she blocked them from him. He touched instead a cry for help.

41’s cry.

Concerned, Kelly tried to reach out to him. He wished he had genuine psionic ability, wished he knew even some rudimentary techniques.

He passed through a flaming curtain that tried to enfold him. Gasping, he broke free of it and found himself looking at a world unknown to him, a world so vast, so wide and flat it seemed too great to comprehend. Over him burned a sun like white fire, with light so clear it cut edges into him and etched his shadow with precision. A wind like song blew against his cheeks and ruffled his hair. It brought scents to him, alien scents. Some were sweet, others acrid. Plants, game spoor, the pale powdery soil itself, all mingled their fragrances within his nostrils.

A shadow flew over him. He looked up and saw a great winged creature sailing the skies, circling him. It gave a mournful, haunting cry, and he felt strange urges stir in his blood. He ran, chasing the winged one as it flew above him. He ran effortlessly, skimming the ground, with lungs and legs that never gave out. He ran until he laughed and flung out his arms, trying to fly, trying to follow the winged one as it flashed through the sky and left him.

It was the world of the Old Ones, Kelly realized while the images continued to flood his mind. The place of 41’s early childhood. The place where he had been happy.

Were the Old Ones Svetzin? Was it possible?

The images darkened. The air became cool enough to make him shiver. He entered a place of stone and silence, a place that smelled old, a place where dampness seeped slowly to form deep, bottomless pools of sacred water. He sat, alone for the first time in this place of the Old Ones, and felt small. The Old Ones touched him, and he flinched. They had always been gentle, but their touch remained ever to him as a brand searing his mind, hurting him although he knew they meant him no harm. Afterward, he lay a long time upon his face, weeping. And when the next time came, the pain was just as strong, and he wept again, shamed that he should fail.

Yet their touch left knowledge in his mind each time. It was his education, formed bit by tiny bit within the compartments of his brain. After a time he understood the pain and knew he was not a species designed to learn in the way of the Old Ones. Yet they had no other means by which to care for him. Their patience was great; each lesson was infinitely small. He grew and he learned. In time the pain became a normal thing, something almost to be ignored because it was so familiar. He learned not to flinch, not to cry.

Those images faded too, and Kelly found himself in nothing. He realized in a way that the link remained, but nothing crossed. What was Ouoji doing?

Then old memories of his own filled his mind. Sensations first: gentle hands rubbing oil into his baby skin, a voice crooning him to sleep, sunshine with the double shadows of the Irani binary system. Running after Drew while their laughter echoed through the garden. Eating chocolate by putting a square upon their tongues and letting it melt across their taste buds. Stalking Kevalyn through the shadows of the house until she screamed, convinced a ghost was haunting her.

Sharing, Kelly realized. Ouoji was pulling their minds together, back and forth, equally.

He wept for the death of his sunshun, Pablo. Streaked black with age, fur turned coarse and brittle, Pablo feebly licked his hand and died.

His parents, proud and dressed in their finery, bringing the new baby home to be examined by Drew, Kevalyn, and him. Her face was tiny. He stared at the dark lashes upon her soft cheek, at the fierce tuft of hair upon her head. She smelled of lavender and they let him hold her first.

Again the images faded to darkness. Kelly waited a long time, afraid to move, becoming aware of the hardness of the floor and Ouoji’s soft paw upon his skin. Had the link broken?

Kelly saw himself and was startled. Was he that tall, that fit? It was night upon a world of snow and ice. He moved through tall drifts in a clumsy, zigzagging pattern. His black hair absorbed the moonlight; his face reflected it.

The image blanked, returning to a bar filled with gritty smoke and flickering holos at every table, according to the customer’s fancy. A bar on the down side of town, unrestricted, filled with dangerous types that watched for the entrance of the unwary. He sat, absorbing the fear scents of the skinny, mud-colored informer beside him while Ultan made the deal in the back room. It was his job to guard the door to that room. He sat, his chair tilted back so that his head touched the wall. A heavy pulse cannon lay across his thighs. His finger curled negligently around the trigger. He had no feelings. He simply watched, knowing that if Ultan made the deal they would have work. And work meant the chance to die for money.

“41,” whispered Kelly, wanting to back away from that terrible loneliness that was like acid in the soul. He did not want to share such emptiness.

Another image came from 41: the pool, racing through water as warm as silk, laughter in his soul.

“Kel-lee.”

41’s voice snapped the link. Ouoji’s paw dropped. Kelly’s eyes opened. He stared at 41 ’s face anxiously, hoping this had been enough. Ouoji unwound her tail from about 41’s throat and jumped off his chest. Kelly took his hand, willing 41 to open his eyes and know him once again.

“41, Maon is dead,” he said. “It can’t hurt you again. You’re safe. You’re home with us. 41, this is Kelly. I’m here with you. I’m here.”

41’s eyes flickered open. They were dull, tired, but they focused upon Kelly’s face. Awareness filled them, and Kelly could not breathe for fear the moment would fail. 41 searched his face, then he frowned. Kelly saw the pain of remembrance come. His grip tightened upon 41 ’s hand.

“Maon is dead. It’s gone from you.”

“Kel-lee.”

“Yes?”

“I could not ... fight it.”

“But you did fight it,” said Kelly gently. “You kept Maon from killing the rest of us. You distracted it and gave us the chance to defeat it. You did well, 41. You did very well.”

A faint gleam lit 41’s eyes for a moment. He seemed almost to smile. “I’m ... tired.”

“Sleep,” said Kelly. “It’s safe to sleep. You’re home.”

“Does not smell like ... home.”

Kelly wondered if he meant Station 4 or the nameless world of the Old Ones. Kelly smiled, caught somewhere between a laugh and tears of relief.

“You’re home, whether it smells like it or not. Trust me.”

“I trust you, Kelly.” 41 mumbled something else and let his eyes fall closed.

Kelly gathered him up and managed to carry him back to his bunk. He spread the blanket over him and watched him sleep for a moment. Fatigue dragged at Kelly’s mind. He glanced at Ouoji and at that moment there was nothing he wouldn’t have done for her.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

She chittered smugly and butted his leg with her head. Do not tell the others about me.

Kelly met her gaze. “I won’t,” he promised.

Still, it was not a homecoming to celebrate. He had his squad although Caesar clung to life by a stubborn thread, 41 looked too fragile to touch, Phila ached inside the hell of guilt, and Siggerson would probably quit the Hawks as soon as they returned to base. They had gone out unprepared; their return was a miracle.

The admiral and over two thousand crew and officers, however, would have no homecoming save a memorial.

Kelly bowed his head.

“Kelly,” said Beaulieu’s deep voice.

He started and looked away, keeping his face averted until he had control of his emotions once again. Then he turned to her and blinked, stunned at the sight of his father standing in the doorway beside her.

Kelly took a half step forward. “Dad.”

His joy bubbled up, only to choke in his throat. He stood locked in place, unable to go to him, unable to accept the idea that death could be cheated.

The admiral stood there wrapped in a silver thermal blanket, naked otherwise. His gray hair was rumpled and damp, curling as though he had just stepped from his bath. His skin glowed a soft, pearly pink. The pink of new skin, baby skin.

Fresh from the vat.

Kelly’s throat swelled. He swallowed hard, forcing down the lump. He couldn’t stand this, couldn’t stand looking at him and wanting to run to his father’s arms to feel the warm solidity of his father’s body against his. He couldn’t stand knowing that his father’s—no, this copy’s—mind was as blank as an unused data tape.

“Son?”

Kelly flinched at that voice. The tone was exactly right: rueful, slightly amused, warm.

“Aren’t you going to give the old man a hug?”

Kelly shook his head, not in refusal but in denial. Yet the copy’s blue eyes were keen, intelligent, aware. Not blank. A sudden hope ballooned in Kelly so fast it hurt.

He glanced at Beaulieu. She looked smug.

“First batch finished and out, dripping tracks all over the place,” she said. “I never thought the process would be this fast. I forgot all about collecting clothing. I guess they’ll have to raid the destroyers in their birthday suits. Which perhaps is appropriate. The admiral, however, insisted on a blanket.”

“Dignity of the rank,” said the copy.

Only he wasn’t just a copy. Kelly couldn’t keep holding the comparison in his mind. His father was back, just as though he’d never left.

“Dad,” he whispered, tears welling up in his eyes. “Dad.”

“That’s right,” said the admiral. “Oh, I’m missing a few scars here and there but otherwise I’m just about the same. Your mother won’t mind, I daresay, unless she decides I have younger skin than hers. Maybe we can open a spa and make a fortune to supplement our military pensions. Think so?”

Kelly laughed. He rushed forward and embraced the old man hard. The admiral squeezed him back and thumped him on the shoulder. When they parted, both of them were misty in the eyes.

“I’m glad,” Kelly said, too choked up to say what he really meant. “I’m just glad.”

Beaulieu cleared her throat. “Well, Commander. You’re welcome.”

Kelly went to her and kissed her cheek, making her chocolate skin flush darker. “Thank you,” he said. “I guess I was wrong.”

She smiled and slipped something into his hand. Its label marked it as Visci DNA. Kelly frowned and put it in his pocket. Not total extinction, after all, for Maon’s kind. Someday, perhaps humans could face the Visci again.

Beaulieu went to check on her patients, leaving Kelly and the admiral alone.

They stood there in awkward silence. “Dad,” began Kelly at last. “I didn’t want to try the ... oh, hell. Do you know what happened to you?”

“Do you mean am I aware that my original self is dead and that I’m a copy?” said the admiral in a tone that put shivers through Kelly. “Yes, son. I am.”

Kelly looked away, wishing he’d never brought it up. “How—how do you feel about it? I mean—”

“I don’t know.” The admiral gazed into the distance, wondering, sober. “I suppose I ought to be afraid. I keep pinching myself to be sure I didn’t dream this. My mind tells me what happened, but I can’t emotionally believe it. I don’t feel any different. I don’t feel like a copy. I feel like I had a damned fine bath. That’s all.”

Kelly drew a breath and made a decision. “Then let’s think of it as just that. You’re the same.”

“I don’t know what the ramifications are of this technology,” said the admiral. “Moral and medical. Maybe this is a way to live forever. I don’t want to touch any of those questions with a ten-foot pole. I don’t want to tell Elizabeth or your brothers and sisters. I don’t want to see in their eyes the look that you first gave me.”

Shame burned through Kelly. “I’m sorry.”

“Son.” The admiral gripped his shoulder. “You’ve always been the least predictable of my children. Oh, Kevalyn is always getting herself into messes out of some stupid urge to defy me. But even that is as predictable as a book. Drew is solid, like his mother. Nothing fazes him. Nothing fires him up, either. J.J. is all spunk and no stamina. But you, Bryan, you’ve carved your own path. You always have, although it’s cost you. I know what the others will do when they know the truth. But you’re the one I really have to face.”

“Dad, I—”

“We can’t keep it a secret forever. The Fleet will sit on this until they decide what to do with it. Then—”

“You’re still my father,” said Kelly. “I’ve been around this galaxy enough times to see some pretty strange things. I can handle it ... if you can.”

The admiral’s eyes got wet. “You mean that?”

“I mean it,” said Kelly.

The admiral put out his hand, and Kelly shook it. A smile touched his lips and widened.

“Hell,” said the admiral, wiping his eyes. “You got a handkerchief?”

The comm buzzed. Siggerson’s stubbled face showed on the screen. “Kelly, have you got things together yet? The Hoyt is getting impatient.”

“Tell them to wait ten more minutes,” said Kelly.

“How am I supposed to tell Fleet-Admiral Jedderson to wait?” asked Siggerson.

“Be diplomatic,” said Kelly with a grin. “Have Phila assemble about three hundred robots at the central teleport grid. We may as well put on a show.”

Siggerson raised his brows appreciatively. “I see. Do you want carriers or fighters?”

“Make it half and half. We don’t want to scare the landing party with too large a force.”

Siggerson turned to relay the order to Phila, then glanced back. “This wouldn’t be showing off in order to get us a new ship, would it, Kelly?”

Kelly’s lips quirked. “What makes you think such a thing, Mr. Siggerson?”

“Oh, just a rumor I heard once that Fleet-Admiral Jedderson is not easily impressed. And Commodore West is notoriously tight when it comes to replacing equipment. After all,” continued Siggerson, “I have my reenlistment to consider.”

“I think that if we don’t get a new ship to replace the Valiant,” said Kelly, “we can probably just keep this one. Salvage rights are ours. Prize money if we want to sell her. My father has already suggested we open a spa. We could get Caesar to run the casino and—”

“—41 to be the bouncer. Right,” said Siggerson dryly, but with a gleam in his eyes. “Let’s make it three hundred robots of each kind. They’ll fit if we teleport the landing party to the holding area where the prisoners were kept.”

“Look, son,” broke in the admiral, “you run Jedderson and West through hoops if you want. But while I may be a little damp behind the ears I sure as blazes haven’t forgotten that you lost your ship saving my hide. The Valiant will be replaced. That’s a promise.”

Siggerson’s whoop nearly shook the speaker. “I will never make insulting cracks about your having an admiral for a father again,” he said fervently.

“Thank you,” said Kelly.

“Me either,” chimed in Phila.

“Thank you.”

“Now,” said Siggerson eagerly, his fatigue dropping away. “What are your precise orders? Would you like the robots to put on maneuvers? We could rotate the City, or—”

“Just bring the landing party over,” said Kelly nastily.

“Whatever you say ... boss.”

It took Kelly a moment to absorb what he’d said. He stared at Siggerson, who was smiling a bit defiantly, a bit shyly. Kelly knew then that never again would Siggerson be outside the team. He would probably continue to grumble and drive them all nuts with his fussy attention to details, but he was one of them now.

“I’ll relay the teleport coordinates to the Hoyt now.”

Kelly’s smile faded slightly. “Whoa! Let me shave first.”

“And me!” said the admiral. “Damn! I’ve got to be in something besides a blanket if Jedderson’s here.”

“You can borrow 41’s uniform,” said Beaulieu, returning. “It won’t fit very well, but—”

“Yes, that will do,” said the admiral. “Wearing the wrong uniform is better than none at all. You may give my blanket to Captain Serula. Why you chose to put her in a batch with all men is beyond my understanding.”

Beaulieu raised her brows while Kelly used a lab knife cautiously to scrape his chin. His ancestors must have been crazy to shave like this all the time. He nicked himself and swore.

“Men,” said Beaulieu. “All vanity and very little sense of humor.”

“Women,” retorted the admiral. “Far too smug and clever for their own good.”

Beaulieu met Kelly’s gaze with a smile that held a question. “Satisfied, Commander? Will he do?”

“He’ll do,” said Kelly, and smiled as he gave her a thumbs-up.

Beyond the Void
titlepage.xhtml
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_000.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_001.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_002.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_003.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_004.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_005.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_006.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_007.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_008.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_009.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_010.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_011.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_012.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_013.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_014.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_015.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_016.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_017.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_018.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_019.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_020.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_021.html
Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03] - Beyond the Void (v1.0)_split_022.html