Stepping Up (9 page)

Her narrowed gaze says it all as her hand reaches for the
cup.  She sips; her eyebrows shoot up at the wintergreen flavoring.  “Speak.”
She knows I want something, she just doesn’t know what it is.

As brightly as I can, I say, “Hi, Doc, quick question for
you:  Is there a man that works for you, ‘Avi’ I think his name is? I was going
to see if he’d like to share a table at chow sometime.”

Her chair turns until she faces square in my direction with
a curious, almost accusatory, look in her eye.  Is it jealousy? I hope not. I
don’t need the drama. “It’s actually, ‘Avinoam,’ but he does go by ‘Avi.’ I’ll
drop a hint for him, sweetie.  I’m a fair to middlin’ matchmaker.”

“Thanks, Doc, I hope I’ll owe you.”

She mutters something I don’t catch, but she goes back to
her reports so I leave the matter alone.

Back in my workshop I’m up to my elbows in wires, circuit
boards and Lacior shaping resin when my perCom chirps. Johan has been assigned
to me for the armor project as the micro circuitry subject matter expert.  He
looks at the unit resting on the shelf.  “Caller ID says ‘Dr. Took.’”

“Well, answer it already,” I grouse.

“I would if my hands weren’t covered in flux and resin.” He
holds his hand up and spreads his fingers, webby from the goop on them.  “Sort
of feels like I reached into a bucket of…”

“Enough you!”
Urrgghhh!!! Now I know what the exclamation
“Men!” means
.  I tap a screwdriver on the ‘respond’ and ‘speaker’ buttons. 
“Sonia MacTaggert,” I say towards my perCom.

“Hello, Miss MacTaggert, Dr. Avinoam Took here.”  His
voice.  His words don’t jump out of the speaker, they flow; like warm honey. 
Johan has perked up too.

“Hi, Avinoam.” I grab a rag to wipe the gunk off my hands.  I’d
rather not have this conversation on a loudspeaker. “Let me get my hands clean
and…”

“Call me ‘Avi’, please. I saw you reading a book the other
day and thought I would see if you would like some company with a guy who can
spell?  That is…can I interest you in supper and drinks on me tonight?”

“Sounds good; about when?”
Nervous much?

“You would? I promise I am not grabby or trying to get laid,
uh, well, not tonight anyway, I mean. Crap, I always say the wrong thing.
Anyway, if you’ll really date anybody, oh damn…”

Silence.  Did he just hang up on me? The perCom chirps,
announcing the arrival of a text message.  I use my screwdriver and tap the
inbox icon.

It’s a text message from Medical. 
I’ll be in the lounge,
table 12, for a meeting with Aria at 2000. Avi Took.
  I don’t know whether
to laugh or cry.  The boy sounds as nervous as I will be when I get there.

Johan has decided to giggle. “I hope you go easy on him.”

“Oh...shut it, you.” But for the best advice, go to your
closest friends.

“Gorb, do you know Avi Took?” He nods, so I press on.
“Nice guy or a jackass?”

“Dr. Avi vewy nice guy.  Not always happy like you, Shownya.
But never mean to me.  Gives me candy a lot.”

“That’s good.” 
Mental note:  Chocolate bars for Gorb are
now part of my daily uniform.
  Speaking of uniform, my shift is over. 
“Time for me to go, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Bye, Shownya.  Will we work on sumfing together tomorrow?” 
He has a huge grin on his face, but I feel a sense of loneliness or maybe
despair flow from him to me.  
His smile doesn’t go all the way to his eyes
as Mummy used to say.

“We’ll do that. I need your help with some of the actuators
for the armor exoskeleton anyway. I’ll see you then.”

“Danks, Shownya! I love you! See you tomorrow!”

Back in my stateroom Hurricane Sonia makes landfall.  I’m
going through mental convulsions.  Is this a date or isn’t it?  If it is, I
should dress up even if it’s just a little.  It’s a great time to try that
outfit I bought at the starport on Saxon.  Hey, it turned a queer’s head, so it
must have potential.  But if it isn’t I should just wear my coveralls.  Okay,
just the cover…oh yeah, what man can resist a woman dressed like a shapeless
cucumber? That blue flight suit I have, it’s snug in the right places and loose
in the strategic ones.  Yeah, that’s the ticket.  And I don’t have to shave for
it.  Okay, no makeup…no excessive makeup, but I am going to take a shower. 
Perfume? A bit, but not the ‘take me now’ stuff.

Cleaned up, minimal makeup, hair gathered in a low side
ponytail, form-hugging flight suit and I’m off to the lounge.  Once there, I
see Aria and a man sitting at table twelve.  It’s the one in the forward
section of the ship so the stars seem to flow right by the portals.  Aria is
wearing a sleek black dress.  It’s not a cocktail dress, but it’s not far from
one.  I suddenly feel like I’m wearing a potato sack.  Dr. Took looks to be in
his early thirties, probably an inch less than six feet, maybe two hundred
pounds.  By any standards, he is a good-looking man.  He stands as I approach
the table.  “Miss MacTaggert, I am Doctor Avinoam Took.  Call me ‘Avi,’
please.  I am pleased to meet you.”  He pulls out a chair for me.  He also
sounds like he’s reading from a script.

“Good evening, Sonia,” Aria says.

“Hi, Aria,” I say.  “Avi, it is a pleasure to meet you. And
it’s ‘Sonia,’” I add taking the proffered chair. “I’ve met your boss, Dr.
Traynor, she seems a sweetie.  I’m guessing she’s great to work with?”

“Sonia it is, then,” Avi says.  “She can actually be quite a
challenge.  But we have a history that enables us to work together.  Can I get
you a pillow? Damn, where is that waitress?” He has the last syllable out as
she walks up to the table.  To be fair, he wasn’t looking in her direction. 
She clears her throat. He blushes crimson and says.  “Oh, there you are.”

Aria looks at her perCom.  “Oh, I have let the time slip by
again.  I have an appointment with the Captain.  Have a good night, you two.”
She drains her glass and begins to stand.

For a split second, I wonder why she has a perCom.  I know
she is networked into the ship. And her brain is surely the most accurate
timepiece aboard.  For that matter, what happens to whatever she drinks?

I put my hand on hers. “Must you go?”
Please don’t leave
me,
my mind pleads. 
He might be an axe-wielding, homicidal
necrophiliac.
“One more round? Can you stay for one drink?”

“Oh, I guess I need not leave just yet.  Thank you, Sonia.”

Amber has a pad in hand, stylus poised for orders. “What can
I bring you Sonia, a warm stout?  I have a bottle set out for you.”

“I’d like a…” I point to the glass in front of Avi. “I’d
like whatever he’s having.”  It’s a colorful concoction.  Its base color is
orange, but it has little flecks of light dancing in it, like sparkles that
won’t settle.

Avi speaks up.  “Bring the lady a Koralayan’s Summer Mead,
please.” Rachel  writes that down and leaves. He looks at me. “I hope you like
it, it’s a favorite of mine.  If not, I’ll get you an ale? Gin and tonic? No,
she asked if you wanted a stout.  You like stouts? Cool.  So Miss—I mean Sonia,
how do you like
Night Searcher?
  You look very nice tonight.  Are you
hungry? How about that pillow? Would you like some bacon and mushrooms? They’re
very good.  Rachel!” he calls after her, “bacon and mushrooms, please!”

“Take it easy, Avi. Breathe. No pillow, but thanks for
asking. 
Night Searcher
is huge. It’s great but it’s huge.  And from
what little I’ve seen of her, the refits keep her on the leading edge of any
fleet.  The mushrooms and bacon look quite tasty, thank you.”  I pick one up by
the toothpick holding the bacon in place. It is quite tasty.  I put some on one
of the serving plates Rachel brought with them.
Note to self:  If he becomes
a regular, I must increase my treadmill time.

Avi reminds me of a puppy I used to have.  Always eager to
please, but never certain how he was going to do it. The waitress brings me my
drink in a tall frosty glass.  It doesn’t look anything like his.  Mine is a
very dark purple.  I look up, befuddled.  Rachel explains that it will change
color in response to the heat from my hand.  I pick up the glass and marvel at
the orange corona that spreads around my fingertips. She also sets down a plate
of mushroom caps with bacon wrapped around them.  I take a sip of the drink. 
It’s very sweet, but it has a little kick worked into it as well. 
Me likey!

Avi is about to start babbling again when Aria saves him:
“Shall we get back to your theory on Quantum Mind Hopping?”

Now, that
does
sound interesting.  I’ve read about
quantum theory, but I’m more about the button pushing than the theory.  “‘Mind
Hopping’? What’s that?” I ask.

“A theory of Avi’s that psionically trained minds can move
between physical hosts, and not necessarily with the receiving body’s
permission.  If correct, it would go a long way towards explaining possession
disorders and quite possibly multiple personality disassociative disorders. 
The historical record does substantiate the possibility. Allegedly, it happened
to a certain colorful figure in history.”  She looks like she just found half
of a dead rat in her holiday turkey.  That colorful figure must have been Lord
Collins.

Avi blushes a little, but he can’t hide his pride.  “It’s
just a fat hypothesis right now. It’s a long way from publication. And it’s not
really in my field of expertise.  But I have enrolled for a doctorate in
neuro-quanta mechanics.”

Just because I don’t muck with the theory often doesn’t mean
I’m not familiar with it.  “It sounds plausible.  If there are subatomic
particles linked to psionic activity the same way gravitons are related to
gravity, they should follow similar rules.  From the biologic side, would
anything inhibit the transfer of mental energy? Do you think distance would be
a factor?”

Avi stares at me with such intensity I begin to wonder if
there’s something hanging from my lip.  Or nose.  I’m raising my napkin to my
face when Aria breaks the silence: “I told you she was not just a pretty face. 
Now, I simply must leave.  Have fun, you two.”  And she leaves.

“Uh,” Avi stammers, “Anyway…maybe…I haven’t decided if
distance may be a factor, but as you probably know it isn’t for gravitons.  I
suppose proving the existence of ‘psions’, for lack of a better word, would be
the first step.  Would you like some more?” He gestures at the platter of bacon
and mushrooms.

“No,” I say a little more forcefully than I mean, “thank
you. Actually, I’d like to take a walk. Or listen to some music. Is there a
music conservatory or some such aboard?”

“Music? I have a little.” He starts fiddling with his
perCom. “A conservatory? Not as such, most of us download songs we like to our
perComs and trade them around.  There’s a pretty big library on the casCom
site.  You’re from the Scotian Highlands, right? Maybe you like this?” 
Bagpipes, flutes and drums blare from the small speaker.  Every head turns, so
Avi quickly turns the volume down.

“My family is from the Highlands.  I’ve never been there
personally.  Mummy and Da had a lot of recordings though. I haven’t heard such
since I was a wee thing.  Och, such fond memories o’ the heather!  Pictures of
the heather, anyway.”  We listen to it for a few minutes until the glares from
our neighbors induce him to turn it off.  Apparently, my rendition of “Wild
Mountain Thyme”—even muted—is as bad as Fuzzbutt always implied.

Avi shuts off the music and returns the perCom to his
pocket. “Well, I’m sure you’ve a long day tomorrow.  I must prep for my shift
in Med Bay and get to my studies and research,” he says as he stands. 
Tall
and well sculpted. Nice.

“What’s your hurry? Care to split an ice cream and watch the
stars for a while?”

“I wish I could, Sonia. But my shift starts at 0300, so I
have to turn in very early.  May I COM you later?”

“Please do.”  I’m disappointed and try to hide it.  But I
don’t try too hard. I hope I failed at it.  Miserably.

The Transit to Terra is long and without my Armor project
would be very boring.  But tinkering keeps me occupied.  The Captain has
allocated Engineering an additional two million credits to build one set of
prototype armor.  Mack wants to follow me on my designs.  (In school we called
it “peeking”.  Da always referred to the process as “micro managing”.)  I can’t
say I blame him.  With that much money on the table, both of our backsides will
be in a blender if I can’t deliver.  The good news is I don’t have to do the
actual searching for the materiel. I just tell the loggy pukes—I mean the
underpaid, undervalued hard workers in the logistics train—what I want and they
make it appear as if by magic.

“Bridge, Engineering,” I say.  “Securing from Transit in
three…two…one… Execute.”  My Big Babies start spooling down.  Welcome to Terra,
‘Earth’ to those who went to private schools or are over thirty-five.  There’s
an unusual indicator on the panel. Blue lights don’t usually blink.  I switch
to the departmental circuit after asking the diagnostic computer about the blue
blinker.  “Hey, Mack? The engines say they are due for a five year service.”

“Yep.” Mack responds.  “And while I have you, we have two
weeks of shore leave.  The engines will be serviced in that time and—before you
ask—no, you will not stay to supervise that.  Your predecessor often got into
heated discussions about Transit engine operation outside gravity wells.  I
lack the resources and desire to bail you out of the local jail if you follow
suit. I want you at least two thousand miles from the starport. Or I’ll have
you arrested and confined to the brig until after we Transit.”

I know when I’m not wanted. “Well, you just be that way.
I’ll see you in two weeks.”

“The ship will be berthed for eighteen days.  Be back in
seventeen.  Stay out of trouble!” 
Now where’s the fun in that?