Under Strange Suns (10 page)

They were a contrasting pair. The larger of the two waited about a meter closer to the new arrivals than the other. And he was big, maybe six-four, and weighed in about two hundred twenty five pounds at standard gravity. Aidan put him about his own age, maybe a couple of years older. He wore a green polo shirt and loose slacks bearing lots of pockets. He had grown his hair a bit longer than Aidan would have allowed himself and he was offering a big smile that dissipated as Aidan drifted into view.

The second greeter was a fidgety squirrel of a man, maybe five-seven if given enough time in zero gravity to let his spine expand to full length. He had an expressive, chubby-cheeked face. He was dressed much like the first man, but where the larger man stretched his shirt through shoulder and chest, this one’s bulged at the midriff and sagged at the shoulders.

“Welcome aboard, Captain,” the first greeter said. “No problems to report, no fires to put out.”

“Thank you, Thorson, I knew I’d left her in capable hands.” Vance stabbed a thumb in the direction of Aidan and Sam. “And here is the rest of the crew complement. Sam McAvoy, Aidan Carson, I’d like you to meet Michael Thorson and Quentin Burge. Thorson is my first officer and chief pilot. Burge is the loading officer and purser, overseeing cargo and supplies. McAvoy is our Exo-geology Sciences Officer and Carson is Security Officer and our dirt-side excursion leader.”

Burge offered welcoming smiles, but Thorson frowned at Aidan’s introduction before providing a smile and a nod of his own. What, Aidan wondered, was Thorson’s deal? He was pretty sure he had remembered to shower. Did the man have a thing going with Vance?
Not that it’s any of my business
, he told himself.

“I’ll help the shuttle crew shift your gear and supplies, Captain,” Burge said. “They’ll just heave it in if I don’t oversee them.”

“And I’ll get back to the com, Captain,” said Thorson.

“Right, carry on,” Captain Vance said, and Thorson floated off like an ungainly dolphin. She waited for Burge to duck into the shuttle. “You two, come with me. I’ll introduce you to the rest of our motley band and show you your quarters.” She pushed off and arrowed toward the forward end of the docking bay cylinder with practiced grace, following Thorson. Aidan did his best to emulate her, and did pretty well thanks to his zero-g training aboard a number of military satellites. But, judging critically, he had to admit Sam McAvoy was his superior in zero-g mobility, appearing as at home in the weightless environment as a trout in a lake.

The forward hatch of the docking bay led to an even larger part of the ship, sectioned off into compartments. Most were storage, doors labeled with the contents of the compartment behind. Farther forward, Aidan heard the mechanical hum of a motor.

“We’re in the hub,” Captain Vance explained. “What you hear is the motor that spins the habitation module. That door there leads into one of the spokes. Any one will get you to the hab.”

“Captain,” asked Aidan, “Thorson looked none too pleased to see me. There a problem I should be aware of?” He hoped he hadn’t stuck his nose into Vance’s personal business. But to be effective at his job he had to gather intel on any potential trouble spots.

Vance cast a glance over her shoulder, gave him a look that was half-frown, half-smile. “Problem? No. That’s just Michael Thorson, übermensch. He’s convinced he could run this ship pretty much single-handed. He sees no reason he couldn’t assume your responsibilities as part of his First Officer’s duties.” She cleared her throat “Okay, through here.”

The module revolved ahead. Bulkheads circled past. Moving forward was like stepping aboard a moving carousel, in the absence of gravity. Once through, this section felt perfectly stable. Looking behind him, it appeared to Aidan that it was the section of the ship he’d just passed through that was spinning. Captain Vance opened yet another pressure door. A tube, lined with only ladder rungs set into the spoke’s wall, and LED lights beckoned. Vance floated in, grabbed a rung, and reoriented herself to face the other two men, her feet now toward the far end of the tube. “Trust me, Carson, you don’t want to do this headfirst.”

Aidan laughed. “Trying to haze the new guy, Captain? If I recall correctly, part of the reason you hired me was due to my zero-gravity training.” He followed Sam into the spoke, used a ladder rung to flip himself over, and began the descent. Soon enough he felt the growing tug of gravity as he felt the increasing influence of the hab module’s centripetal force.

The spoke culminated at, of course, another pressure hatch. The ladder continued on into the habitation module. The illusion of gravity increased with each rung Aidan descended, until upon stepping onto the floor he felt at home, though with the same occasional Coriolis force induced inner-ear discomforts he’d experienced on Cayman Station.

The hab rose above and behind him. “I’m a hamster,” he said. The wheel’s central corridor was unpainted gray plastic, relieved by an incongruously green carpet that reminded Aidan of a mini-golf course’s artificial putting surface. Tubes of led lights curved about the ceiling like so much illuminated macaroni. Aluminum ribs housed pressure doors at twenty-foot intervals.

“Hamsters wish they had it so good,” Captain Vance said. “You have your own quarters–small, sure, but private. We’ve got recreation and exercise facilities, so you’ve got workout options besides just running in the wheel. We even have a galley. Trust me, that’s a perk. Otherwise you’d be eating nothing but prepackaged meals for months on end.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m not a hamster.”

A pressure hatch opened nearby. It was on the forward side of the hab module and just a few steps spinward from the spoke entrance. Above it was the stenciled legend “Command/Navigation.” A slender man with Asian features emerged. He was speaking over his shoulder and had yet to notice the newcomers. “Yes, sir! You have the com, sir!” Then, “Oh, welcome aboard, Captain. Good to see you again.”

“And you, Park. Young Park, Sam McAvoy and Aidan Carson. Geology and Security. You guess which is which.” Vance grinned at her own joke with a childlike manner Aidan found charming. “Young Park is the
Yuschenkov’s
Chief Engineer. His love for the engines and the Y-Drive is criminal–found to violate Sharia Law in a dozen countries across the Middle East and Southeast Asia.”

“I have dreams about schematics,” Park said. “Wet dreams. Good to have you aboard, gentlemen.” He extended a hand.

Aidan noted the hand was a prosthetic. He reached out to clasp it. Aidan had seen plenty of prosthetic limbs over the last couple of years, mostly attached to men he’d worked with. This one was high end. There was a sheath of skin-analogue stretched over the mechanism that closely matched the tone of Park’s own skin. The prosthetic even felt warm, a nice touch.

“I’m headed to the galley for coffee, if anyone cares to join me,” Park said.

Vance said, “Why don’t you request Roberts, Matamoros, and Foster join you? I’ll give these two the nickel tour, then meet you all there. Get these introductions out of the way so everyone can get back to work.”

Park nodded and left.

“Let me guess,” Aidan said. “Mr. Park found trouble getting a top wrench job aboard any other ships because of the hand?”

“I am more and more impressed with my own hiring instincts, Carson. You are one astute Security Officer. Park told me all the big concerns he interviewed with offered him a dirt-side job, or at best a third-class mechanic’s rating. They say without complete tactile sensitivity, he’d be a risk to the ship. Morons. The man is first-class, two hands or no. Now, follow me.”

She showed them around the module, pointing out the toilet facilities and the two shower cubicles. Aidan had seen enough abandoned telephone booths to understand the archaic analogy McAvoy made upon seeing the showers. Vance took them by the gymnasium, a surprisingly expansive room on the aft side of the hab module, equipped with wall-mounted resistance machines and aerobic training devices. There was even an auditorium of sorts, a wedge-shaped room with theater seating for ten–fifteen if they were all very good friends. It served as a movie theater for crew members who’d tired of watching films alone in their bunks, as well as a location for Captain Vance to address the crew in person. She left the command room off the tour, saying they didn’t need to disturb Thorson while he was on the bridge.

“And here we are at the crew quarters,” the captain said. “The first three forward are available and there are six unoccupied aft. Take your pick, gentlemen.”

Aidan pushed the “open” button on the first pressure door forward. He’d slept in less spacious quarters, but those accommodations had usually been in the field, a shelter-half or a tarp. Walls, a bunk, a couple of shelves, a mirror on the inside of the hatch, and a touchscreen. Windowless, like the rest of the rooms. Spartan, but sufficient.

“Last stop, the galley,” the captain announced. The galley rivaled the exercise room for size. Aidan could see a kitchen in back, partially screened from the rest of the room by a lunch counter. The front of the room squeezed in four tables, each with seating for four.

One of the tables currently hosted four people. Young Park, Aidan already knew; he held a plastic cup of coffee in both hands, watching the steam curl up to cavort in the odd currents created by the spinning hab module and the continuous operation of the ship’s air scrubbers/recirculators. To his left sat a tall, spare, black woman. Aidan judged her to be in her late forties, though it was hard to be certain given the unlined quality of her face and her runner’s physique, apparent even as she sat. Next to the woman and across from Park slouched a red-haired youth, paunchy, face marred with acne scars. He was methodically devouring a pastry. The plate before him held two more. To his left, her back to the galley entry, sat a woman, dark hair cut short above her shoulders. She turned as Captain Vance led the new crewmen aboard. Aidan immediately wondered, Inca or Aztec? She met their arrival with large, expressionless eyes and the merest hint of a raised eyebrow. They all wore the ship’s
de facto
uniform of polo shirt and cargo pants, though there was no agreement of color or style.

No one leaped to attention, Aidan noted. Well, coming from the special ops side of the military he was accustomed to informality. A civilian ship would have its own protocol; he’d adapt. He was pleased to notice that they all paid close attention when Captain Vance spoke. Even the red-head set his Danish down on the plate.

“Right, I’m back. I’m sure you’ve been anxious to get underway. Well, now we can get to it. I’d like to introduce Sam McAvoy, Exo-Geology Sciences, and Aidan Carson, Security Officer and Planet-side Expeditionary Leader. Something along those lines, anyway. Titles are still a work in progress. Gentlemen, you’ve already met Park. To his left is Doctor Grace Roberts. Her infirmary is located across from the gymnasium. Next is Gordon Foster, Assistant Engineer. He keeps Park from having to clone himself. Park, if you manage that I want half the Nobel money. If it happens on board my ship, I’m responsible, right?” That got a laugh, not a big one, but more than polite, please-the-boss laughter. “And finally, Sophia Matamoros, Electronics Officer. Short title for a big job. Her portfolio includes all the computer systems, assisting Park with all the electronic components of the ship, communications, monitoring the ship’s sensors, and helping me open my damn email.”

Aidan looked them over, the remaining volunteers aboard this ship of fools.

He followed Sam to the table, shaking hands all around.
Friendly
, he reminded himself,
but not too friendly. Keep a professional distance. You might need to toss any one of these people into a makeshift brig
. And on the topic of space jail, he made a mental note to ask Captain Vance to suggest a likely candidate. Something that could be locked from the outside, without access to command and control electronics or weaponry.

“Right, people,” Captain Vance said, once introductions had concluded, “McAvoy, Carson, stow your gear. The rest of you, let’s get prepped for launch.”

* * *

If Aidan had been expecting to blast off into the cosmos five minutes later, he was disappointed. Quentin Burge spent hours fussing with the storage of the cargo Captain Vance had brought. Young Park’s checklist seemed endless, every system and backup system requiring his approval. He and Foster took the twenty-minute jaunt aft to the engines and were gone for the rest of the day. The Y-Drive, the reactor, and the engines could be reached by going EVA along the girders, or by “the coffin,” as the engineers referred to the tight capsule that ran along a rail system between the hub and the aft section of the ship two kilometers distant. The coffin fit two, uncomfortably, and carried a two-hour air supply. Matamoros ran diagnostic after diagnostic, then retrieving the coffin remotely, she went aft to join the engineers.

Vance told Aidan she was off to the bridge with Thorson, and that was the last Aidan saw of her until dinner. He spent the time exploring. While poking about, he saw Sam leaving through a hatch into one of the spokes.

“Inspecting the digger,” McAvoy explained. “See you for dinner. We dress on this ship, white tie.”

Bored, Aidan dug out his workout clothes and tackled the equipment in the gymnasium. He found Doctor Roberts already there, pounding along on a treadmill, VR glasses strapped to her head displaying her route in vivid three-dimensionality. Aidan left her to it, hitting a circuit to get accustomed to the machines. He lost himself in the exercise, memories fusing via the absurd logic of dreams with musings about the future. He and Master Sergeant Summers were loading magazines, preparing for marksmanship qualification aboard the
Yuschenkov
, which somehow possessed a firing range. First Officer Thorson, dressed as a World War I fighter pilot with a Buck Rogers ray gun strapped to his thigh, was telling them that McAvoy had found a planet made entirely of gold, but they’d have to fight the alien armada surrounding it so they’d damn-well better get to target practice.