The Tiger dropped out of jump at the edge of the
Lalande system and made a few short jumps to synch its velocity to that of
Lander Station. Lander was the interstellar hub for the system and another
transshipment logistics center. It was also the financial center for the sector
and had the highest concentration of wealth outside of Earth and Sirius.
There would still be a few hours of one-g deceleration until
the pilot ships and tugs met them near Lander, so Meriel returned to her cabin
after checking the cargo. Her lawyer said he’d be on the station, so Meriel
thumbed a text to him.
Will be on Lander by 2300. Where should we meet? M
Then another to John.
I owe you a scotch. M
To which she received an immediate reply.
Ack. On duty. Will collect at TarnGirl.
Meriel knew the place, a spacer bar in Lander’s blue-zone docks,
just around the rim. Her thoughts drifted to John standing at the window gazing
at the nebula. Like a tree rooted to the deck, she thought, looking
up at the stars. She shook her head. No time for that now.
She pulled up her personal log and added a new category, attacks
in open space, and included what she had learned from Cookie. In her
calendar, she added a reminder to talk to John or Jerri about coordinating in
space.
Nav, she thought and fiddled with the sim-chip on her
necklace, the chip with the jump program that had rescued them a decade ago.
She took off her necklace and plugged the sim-chip into her link. So what
was it that Mom wanted me to know?
She opened the research on Home and scrolled to a holo file.
It was unreadable, like all of the other files on the sim-chip, but she knew
from the file name what it was—the single thing that said that her mom was
right about Home, the most sought-after real estate for everyone who didn’t
already live on Earth.
She cued up a copy from a conspiracy site that had the same
name as her mother’s file: “Interview with J. Mouldersen.” The vid was a
low-res, fuzzy version of a hologram squeezed onto 2-D, maybe shot using a
personal link held in an unsteady hand while autofocus struggled to find the
right subject—or by a holographer trying to hide. A forest of white jackets
filled the foreground beyond which two men and a woman sat at a table looking
haggard, or maybe tipsy, but smiling. Meriel could not make out any insignia of
affiliation.
The woman behind the table stood. “Ladies and gentlemen, I
have the most wonderful news,” she said. “A few years ago, one of our remote
survey probes returned and found what we’ve all been searching for. The data
looked crazy until we found a key. We discovered something wonderful that—”
A woman’s voice interrupted the speaker. “Cut the hyperbole,
Jeannine. What did you find?”
“An earthlike object that—”
Loud grumblings interrupted Jeannine again. The conversation
was almost inaudible and sounded like they were speaking inside a tin can with
their mouths full of bread.
“We’ve found lots of earthlike objects but not like
enough to be livable,” said another voice.
Livability was always the issue. People existed on lots of
habitable bodies in space, but habitable referred to what humans could survive.
The best were domed structures like Mars and Moon-1, that had enough wealth and
energy to provide continual artificial gravity. The worst were low-g communes
or overcrowded arcologies. These were hellholes
that stretched the limits of what could be called human life.
Jeannine continued. “It’s really earthlike—liquid water,
[incomprehensible static] high oxygen atmosphere, close to one-g, temperate—”
she said, her voice disappearing in loud mumblings.
“It’s bad data, Jeannine,” said a new voice. “This is a scam
or faulty instrumentation. The probe should have come back with the others
decades ago.”
“Yeah, how did it get lost?” someone asked.
“Apparently, there’s lots of EM noise and dust nearby,”
Jeannine said, “and the probe got confused. It took the AI algorithm a while to
figure out where it was in order to get back home. Clever thing used spectra in
the Magellanic cloud to orient itself.”
“Did some real-estate speculator sign you up for this?”
“No, no, really. Have an independent lab review the data,”
she said, and others at the table nodded.
Meriel heard scuffling on the vid, and the image spun and
looked up—as though the camera had been dropped under a chair—as black boots
and tailored cuffs walked past the link.
“Meeting over. Stop recording,” a man’s garbled voice said. After
a few unintelligible sounds, the vid cut off, either due to a dead battery or a
judgment that the rest was just noise.
After her mother’s death, this clip, and the hope it
represented, gave Meriel something to hold onto and sustained her with the
dream of a home for the orphans. She and Elizabeth dreamed about Home and
researched it obsessively. Even after the troopers put all the orphans into protective
custody and fostered them out on different ships, Meriel and Elizabeth searched
the archives for different versions of this video clip that might give them
additional clues.
But before that first year ran out, the dream was gone. When
Meriel was just thirteen, too young to protest, they gave her a psych
evaluation and put her on meds to control her nightmares. The meds numbed her
emotions, and she stopped caring about pretty much everybody and everything and
hid herself in her work. She never told Elizabeth she had lost faith in Home,
and she excused her apathy by calling the vid an amateur production, a teaser
for a screenplay. By then it was too late; the social workers contracted Meriel
out to another ship to split her from her sister, and Meriel drifted away.
So what can I do now? she thought, playing with the
sim-chip. In less than twenty days, the Princess will be gone and
this will only be a dongle.
Meriel put the sim-chip back on her necklace and fiddled
with it while she switched back to her incoming messages.
Elizabeth K ET 2187:58:14.3
Hey, M, miss u!
I finished nav-2 training and am ready to solo, not that I
really need to solo, but I can’t rightly tell the test committee I jumped a
ship when I was ten, now, can I.
Met Penny at her last stop at eIndi. Some pretty face on the
Murititius has turned her into a love-sick puppy. He’s sweet but dull as a
bolt.
M, regarding your last question about my well-being…squawk…hiss…reception
is breaking up. Ha. How am I doing? Feeling low. My LI (love interest) swapped
ships for a promotion, and I won’t see him for at least a month. I don’t know
if it was me or the new contract, but either way, he dumped me. That leaves me
the only eligible female on the boat. His replacement is a horror, some hairy
beast who thinks he’s gonna move in, and I can’t be caught alone. There’s a
slot in security on the Tjana that matches my marine-2 qual. If the
troll persists, I’ll transfer.
I’ll be at Etna about the time you are, and maybe we can meet.
LU always. Littlebit.
Crap! I don’t want her dragging spacers out of a drunk tank.
“Reply,” Meriel said to the console. “Sis, we want you on
the bridge, not in security. Don’t volunteer to be in the line of fire yet.
Stay with comm for now; it’s safer. And use the marine training to tame your
admirers.” What can I tell her about the Princess that would be
helpful? Nothing. “Bad news from the lawyers. I’ll tell you when I see you.
Love, M. End reply.”
She clicked on the message from twelve-year-old Harry
Fisher, who still missed his older sister, Anita. A vid of Harry popped up. It
looked like he was in his bunk with the covers over his head.
“Meri. I wanna be with Anni,” Harry said on the vid. “I
don’t like it here. The captain’s fine, and Ms. Lanceux is OK, but the kids
tease me about being a foster. They play pirates all the time, and it’s creepy.
They don’t get it, and I can’t tell them.
“I haven’t seen Anni in a year, M, and I’m not gonna see her
for another month. I want to be with Anni, M. Please, please, please.”
God, what do I say to him? she thought. His
fosters have their own plans, and they’re never gonna put him back with Anita.
“Reply. Audio,” Meriel said aloud. “Begin. Harry, hon, hang
in there. I’ll do what I can. The logs show you at Cygni about the same time as
Sam. I’ll make sure that you touch base. M. Stop. Send.”
Harry’s birthday is coming up. That’s the worst of
this, not having family at your birthday. It’s like celebrating on an asteroid
all by yourself. Sure, friends help, but family is different. I’ll have to do
something special for Harry.
Meriel rose and chugged a juice pack. She shook her head.
Maybe I should have left them alone. Then they could adapt to the separation
rather than giving them hope of getting back together again. Now they
miss what we lost, and it stops them from finding happiness where they are, especially
Harry. He was young enough to bond with a new family, and I keep tempting him
with something I can’t deliver.
She went back to her console and pulled up the calendar that
showed everyone’s birthdays. Now, where will the kids be on Harry’s birthday?
It was one of her duties to get at least one other family member at every
birthday celebration, or something special if no one could be there. But Meriel
never thought of her own birthday.
Doc Ferrell’s call caught XO Molly Vingel by surprise.
“Can we do this later Doc?” she asked. “I’m updating the ship’s logs.”
“Exec, I need Hope’s confidential file,” Ferrell said.
“Why?” Molly asked.
“I think she’s off her meds, and that means she’s
dangerous.”
Molly paused. “The Jolly Roger cleared her, Doc.”
“It was conditional,” he said. “She’s a loose cannon, and if
she goes off, it will reflect badly on my tour here.”
Molly remained quiet.
“Do this, or I resign,” he said.
Captain Richard Vingel, Molly’s husband, leaned in from the
adjoining ready room after hearing the word resign and raised his
eyebrows.
Molly scribbled untreated narcissist in her log and
held it up to show the captain and then returned to her link. “OK, Doc. Then
keep this confidential, and focus on her performance,” she said. “You stir up
her past, and I’ll write you up—with prejudice. Your tour will be over. Clear?”
“Clear,” Ferrell said and Molly switched off her link.
“You don’t trust him?” the captain asked.
Molly leaned back in her chair. “Nope,” she said. “He’s the
league’s pick. We had to take him or the insurance would break us. I’m trolling
for a replacement.”
“Shame that Doc Griffin had to leave so suddenly.”
“Death in the family, he said, but I’m not sure about that.
Griffin is older than dirt and should have outlived all his relatives. And he
didn’t seem to care about losing his tour bonus either. He was just in a big
damn hurry to leave.”
“Let’s find out where he went. Put a flier out for his
whereabouts,” the captain said and left.
***
Dr. Ferrell opened a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a
drink while waiting for Meriel’s file to appear.
“Open private journal. Create new record,” Ferrell commanded
his link. “Title Meriel Hope. Ship ID. Subtitle summary of confidential file
review. Entry. Time stamp.”
When the link chimed, he used hand motions to project the
data on the wall to scan the file.
ET/2177:38:57 Enterprise Independent News Wire: LSM Princess
(GCN 13442:88), family merchant ship, found near Enterprise outer beacon,
Procyon system with only one survivor from an unexplained tragedy. Unfolding.
Well, that’s pretty sketchy. He did a quick search on
comp with Princess and survivors and turned up only the same article.
ET/2177:38:59 Global News Network:
LSM Princess attacked in deep space by unknown assailants.
Unidentified surviving minor in protective custody. Station authorities deny
rumors of piracy…
They buried the story ten years ago. That would have made
her almost twelve.
ET/2177:105:19 Meriel Hope:
Daughter of Esther and Michael Hope. Born ET 2165:85. Residence:
family merchant ship Princess until attack ET.2177:37:10. Princess severely
damaged and recycled. Details sealed by order superior court 4, Enterprise, to
protect minor.
ET/2178:102 Meriel X: foster child in protective custody of
Enterprise Station. Released to unidentified merchant vessel, Cargo-0 trainee.
Huh. Unidentified vessel. Witness protection? he
thought. So what did she witness? The next item was a news vid dated
ET/2181:86:13.
This is Lance Freiden of GNN on the dock of the LSM Thrace.
Sixteen-year-old Meriel Hope has surfaced today after four years in protective
custody. Hope is the only survivor of an attack on the LSM Princess. Claims of
piracy have been repeatedly dismissed by authorities…
He searched the net for more information about the Princess
and Meriel but found nothing. That’s it, he thought. God, what a
childhood. He scanned the training and certification logs.
“Rated nav-two, logistics-five,” Ferrell said into his link.
“Ambitious.” Only twenty-two and made logistics-five. Admirable, he
thought. “Marine-three.” Yikes, what’s she preparing for? He
waved his hand to skip forward to the arrest record and keyed in his ID for
access to her private records.
ET/2181:83 Dexter Station. Aggravated assault. Ruled
self-defense.
ET/2183:147 Ross Station. Resisting arrest. Charges dropped.
ET/2184:220 Wolf Station. Disorderly conduct. Charges dropped.
ET/2184:259 Lander Station. Aggravated assault on a bouncer.
Charges dismissed as self-defense. Treated in blue-zone infirmary and released
to outpatient physical therapy.
Ferrell smirked. “Journal entry. Subject has evidence that she
is not invulnerable,” he said.
ET/2185:315 Ross Station. Disorderly conduct. Charges dropped.
Doctor testified as personal reference. Released without charges.
Profile—psych:
Here we are, Ferrell thought.
Tests: EMR 485. STM 223. KRTT 454, Briggs and Hall E3R4
“Tests out as a loner and driven,” Ferrell said into his
link. “E3R4 borderline psychotic. Request data that produced that score.”
ET/2180:115:19.50 LSM Thrace (GCN 23492:06) X. Johansen,
PhD.
Quick learner. Highly motivated. Gets along well with crew.
Continuing nightmares of childhood trauma on Princess.
During therapy, she still speaks of the Princess as her ship and plans
to reclaim it. She also speaks of getting custody of supposed orphans from the Princess
and chartering routes in Sector 42. Requests to the captain for legal
assistance have been denied. Court records are sealed, and no evidence has been
found of legal rights to, or existence of, the Princess or any other
survivors…
Ferrell poured himself another drink. “No evidence of any
other survivors,” he said aloud to his journal. She was alone but thinks
that the other kids are still alive. “Survivor’s guilt.” Damn, that’s
tough.
Diagnosis: severe neurotic delusions, bordering on psychosis.
Severe agitation occurs when delusions are challenged. Well-adjusted teen as
long as fantasy remains intact. Continuing to work with her to adapt to the
reality that all of the crew and her friends on the Princess were lost.
Prescribed mandatory antipsychotics. Psychogel-H (H1804-005) (aka
Aristopine).
Makes sense.
“Private journal entry,” he said. “Adaptation to trauma by
creating a fictional reality. Truth too difficult to face head on.” So which
world is she living in now?
ET/2184:115:20 LSM Commodore Levski (GCN 65512:43) Dr. Botev
Excellent crewmember. Commendation for diligence.
Resistant to therapy and analysis. Not willing to discuss the
events on the Princess. Court records are sealed, and no evidence to
substantiate delusions. Continuing mandatory antipsychotics.
ET/2186:152:12 LSM Jolly Roger (GCN 41223:21) Dr. L.
Kustenov
Excellent crewman. Eager to work.
Bailed out on Lockyear for illegal tranq boost. Reluctant to
discuss it. Continuing resistance to therapy and analysis. Will discuss nothing
of the events on the Princess. Continuing mandatory antipsychotics.
Check of comm traffic (Cpt’s approval on file) indicates communication with a
low-rent lawyer (J. Bell esq. of Lockyear). Discussions confidential, but
believed to regard custody of the Princess and the fictional orphans. As
long as she has that fantasy to structure her reality, she appears in control.
Without it, or the meds, her stability is uncertain.
ET/2186:283 Captain’s commendation for exceptional service.
Unconditional recommendation.
Ferrell paced the three steps across his tiny office. Damn,
he thought. The entire crew was killed—parents, kids, everyone. Man, what
hell she must have been through, and maybe still going through. How could she
survive? How’d she get back to a station? He sat down at the console again
and drummed his fingers on his desk. Delusions and barely in control, never
lost it on duty, but maybe dockside at Lander Station. Now she’s brought this
cheap lawyer into her fantasy world?
“Append file, Meriel Hope,” Ferrell said. “Entry, ship ID,
time stamp now, name. Begin entry. Hope comes highly recommended. No meeting
yet to form professional opinion. Continue mandatory medication. Close entry.
Append private journal. Entry. Insufficient information to modify treatment.
Monitor to assure continuing medication. Recommend continuing trauma-counseling
therapy. Close record.”
I sure hope she opens up to someone about this before it
eats her up, he thought. Poor kid. It’s a shame what happened to her.
Ferrell poured himself another drink, which emptied the
bottle. Huh. Whiskey rations get smaller every year that I’m out here.
(c) 2014, Benjamin R. Strong, Jr.
(c) 2014, Benjamin R. Strong, Jr.
No comments:
Post a Comment