Asimov's Science Fiction (8 page)

Only the mission had changed.

They did have a ship to recover as well as one to find.

But their time had run out. They also had to return to real space.

Sabin got the
Geneva
back. Then she contacted Foucheux. Sabin almost asked for a private conference, but knew that was for her. It wasn't necessary and it would take too much time.

Foucheux appeared on one screen to the left of Sabin. Foucheux was tall and thin, and seemed more so on a two-dimensional screen. Her mocha-colored skin looked a bit gray, but that might be the lighting or the imagery.

Or she might be tired from the interruption of the respite period, just like everyone else had been.

Foucheux stood with her hands clasped behind her back. That posture, and the way that she had pulled back her black hair, made her seem more severe than usual.

"It's not the
Ivoire,"
Sabin said, even though she suspected Foucheux had already seen the data. "It's the
Sikkerhet,
and it was destroyed long ago. I have no idea how it got to this part of foldspace or what that even means. The
Sikkerhet
has been missing for decades, and it was nowhere near this section of real space when it disappeared."

Her voice remained calm, normal, in control. She felt like three people—the captain of the
Geneva,
a little girl who had just realized her father was really and truly dead, and the woman who watched them both.

"Regulations require us to continue the search for the
Ivoire
and let recovery teams handle the
Sikkerhet,"
Sabin said. Wilmot was watching her. She had a feeling that Wilmot expected her to countermand regulations. "And in this instance, regulations absolutely apply. The
Sikkerhet
is beyond help, and any crew that survived either took lifepods elsewhere long ago, or expired when the ship got destroyed."

Her voice still remained calm. She felt calm. Or at least the captain part of her did, as did the observer part. The little girl had a metaphorical fist against her mouth to prevent an outburst, and wanted nothing more than to flee to her cabin right now.

There was no right now, not for grieving. Technically, Sabin should have done that a long, long time ago.

"So," Sabin said, "let's maintain our initial plan for the grid search and our initial timeline. I'll send the location of the
Sikkerhet
to the foldspace investigation and rescue team."

Foucheux nodded. Her posture didn't change, but her expression had softened. "I was going to suggest the same thing. But, let me be the first to say to you that I'm sorry."

Sabin had nearly interrupted. She didn't want her crew to know the meaning of the
Sikkerhet.
Nor did she want any more sympathy.

"Thank you," she said, and this time she had just a bit of wobble in her voice. "Now, let's get back to the search."

"We're on it," Foucheux said and signed off.

After a moment, the
Pueblo
disappeared into foldspace.

Sabin took a deep breath and sat down.

"Captain, did I miss something?" Ebedat asked. "Did something—"

"Nothing's amiss," Sabin said, trying to forestall the questions. "We continue the search. Please make sure that Captain Cho, the
Alta,
and foldspace rescue all know about the
Sikkerhet."

"Yes, sir," Ebedat said. "Already done, sir."

"Good," Sabin said, and forced herself to focus, as she waited for the
Pueblo
to return.

"If I could discourage you from this path, I would," Major Zeller said, on the day he became her advisor.

They were sitting in his office on the
Brazza,
a blue-and-white planet visible through the gigantic window on the left side of the room. The
Brazza
was in orbit, while the Fleet tried to decide if the planet would become the next sector base location. A series of post doctoral students were taking part in the studies, so someone in command believed it easier to have the
Brazza
in orbit than in its usual place near the bulk of the Fleet.

"You should go back to engineering, designing, and numbers," Zeller said. "You have a gift for them, and we need someone like you there."

Sabin hadn't expected his negativity, particularly since he was to be her advisor for the next few years.

"I tested well," she said. "In fact, I tested higher than anyone else this year."

"You did," he said. "Tests aren't everything."

"I know that," she said. "But I come from a long line of commanders. My father was a captain. My grandfather made general. My great-grandmother—"

"I'm aware of your family's history," Zeller said. "That's why we're talking. It's your family's history that makes me think you're not captain material."

She felt the shock all the way through her. No one had spoken to her like this before. Until this moment, everyone she had encountered, all of the administrators, instructors, and so many others believed she belonged in command.

"Excuse me?" she said, because she didn't know how else to respond.

"Ever since your father disappeared, you've been on a single-minded mission to find him," Zeller said. "Along the way, you have helped the Fleet. Your design for searches in foldspace is genius. The tweaks you've made to the
anacapa
systems and use are valuable. The designs you've added to the ships are both luxurious and comfortable. But none of that will make you a good leader. In fact, I think you'll be a terrible one."

Her face warmed. If she got angry now, though—or, at least, let him see how angry she already was—she would prove him right.

"My father has been gone a long time," she said.

"Yes, he has," Zeller said. "But I know how this goes. I've lost people too. I was on the first team sent—using your methods—to try to find the
Sikkerhet.
I volunteered because I had family on that ship."

His expression changed just a little, saddened, then hardened again. This was not a man with whom she could speak of shared sympathy.

"The hardest part of being a leader, Victoria," Zeller said, using her real first name, which no one ever did. It made her feel even smaller, "is not decisions, but the attrition. You will lose people. They will fall away like parts off a damaged ship. They will get angry and move planetside, they will transfer, or they will die in battle."

She knew that. She had already lived through it. Even children lost friends when ships went down. The losses had been part of her life, like they were part of everyone's life here in the Fleet.

"But some of them, Victoria, will disappear. Literally disappear. You won't know what happened to them ever. They will be like ghosts who haunt you through your entire career."

"I know that," she said.

He gave her a contemptuous smile. "No, you don't. You think you do because we all lose people, we lose things, we lose ships. But you don't, because you've never been responsible for the loss. You've never ordered a ship to go into a dangerous maneuver or into foldspace or into a battle where no one emerges alive. The responsibility is what's different, Victoria. And the responsibility makes you second-guess everything."

She willed herself not to move. She suspected this conversation was more about him than it was about her. He was probably moved off the career track into academic administration because he couldn't handle the results of his own orders.

"When you start second-guessing," he said, "everything you do, everything you are, is about that ghost. Every captain has one. Generals have dozens. But they acquire them during their commands. They lose people. And not every leader mentally survives those losses."

She was convinced now: this was about him, not her. But she listened.

She had no other choice.

"You already have a ghost," he said. "One that you can't let go of. Your entire life has been about finding your father, and he can't be found. He is
gone,
Victoria, and nothing you do, no search patterns you develop, no tweaks you make to the
anacapa
drive, no command you give when your ship needs to go to foldspace, will ever change that."

She wasn't sure if she should respond. But he had paused for several seconds now, so she said, "I know that, sir."

"Intellectually, yes, you know that. Emotionally, you do not. And someday, you will risk your entire crew because of your father. You will make a decision that has nothing to do with now, and everything to do with that loss. It might not seem obvious. It might seem totally unrelated. But it won't be. And more people will die."

She wanted to say sarcastically,
Thank you for your belief in me, sir,
but she didn't.

Instead, she silently vowed she would prove him wrong.

"I'm not leaving the officer training program," she said. "If I wash out, fine. But I want to do this. I think I'll be good at it. I think I'll be better at it than anything else I've ever done."

He shook his head slightly, as if he couldn't believe her arrogance. Well, she couldn't believe his. Who was he to tell her who she was and who she would be?

"I'm going to be watching you," he said. "The moment I see that ghost making decisions for you, I'm pulling you out. Is that clear?"

She wondered how he would know. Would he fudge results? Would he see a "ghost" where there was none?

But she knew better than to ask. She remained as still as she possibly could, so he wouldn't see her steeling herself for battle with him.

"Yes, sir," she said calmly. "That's clear."

Technically, she should have thanked him. Technically, she should have told him that he was doing the entire Fleet a favor by keeping an eye on her.

But that was admitting weakness.

She wasn't going to admit weakness. Especially not now.

She wanted to command—and she would.

And she would be so much better than Zeller ever was, than Zeller ever could be.

But she didn't tell him that either.

Instead, she would show him. Every single day, for the rest of her life.

The
Geneva
and the
Pueblo
continued the grid search, but Sabin knew after the fiftieth iteration they would find nothing. No trace of the
Ivoire.

She tried not to feel dispirited, and when the emotion threatened to overwhelm her, she privately blamed it all on the confirmation of her father's death.

She didn't let any emotion show. She did her job, coldly and efficiently, knowing she could tend to her emotions later.

Even after the foldspace investigation and rescue team arrived, even after they failed to find the
Ivoire
with a thorough by-the-books search, she held her emotions back.

They did her no good. They certainly didn't help her, or anyone, find Coop.

The
Geneva
took part in a lot of the background investigation, providing support, ferrying teams to various parts of the Ukhandan sector.

And all the while, the foldspace investigation and rescue team searched, doing the math over and over again, trying to find a hole in the logic, replaying the telemetry sent by the
Ivoire,
the coordinates, the estimates—and finding nothing.

Just like the ships that searched for the
Sikkerhet
found nothing all those years ago.

When it became clear that the
Geneva's
role would be minimized, Sabin took some time off—actual time off.

She got some sleep. And she spoke to a mandatory grief counselor. She was proud of herself; she didn't lie. She said the discovery of her father's ship brought everything back up, and created as many questions as it answered.

The remaining information systems on the
Sikkerhet
were corrupted, the life pods were in place in the intact portions of the ship, but all of that meant nothing considering how much time had passed.

The foldspace investigation and rescue team brought the
Sikkerhet
back to real space, and would take it to Sector Base V for study. There they would figure out what the information systems said, what happened in the last few hours of the ship, and how it got to that part of foldspace.

For all anyone knew, that part of foldspace was the part ships went to when they activated the
anacapa
decades ago. Or maybe it was easily accessed from the part of real space where the
Sikkerhet
had been when it disappeared.

No one knew, but they did know they had to answer some questions. Sabin knew that she needed the questions answered as well.

Because, she figured, if they found out what happened to the
Sikkerhet,
they might end up with more information in their search for the
Ivoire.

That search would continue for months, maybe years. Already a mathematics and theoretical physics team had come in to watch the imagery of the
Ivoire
in the moments before it vanished. They were timing the last message, and figuring out why it had reached the ships before the
Ivoire
disappeared, since those two events should have happened simultaneously.

The hope was that they would figure out the differential, use it in the equations that sent ships into a particular part of foldspace, and find the
Ivoire.

The
Alta
had sent another diplomatic ship to work with the Xenth in locating the ships that had attacked the
Ivoire.
If a team from the Fleet got to investigate those ships' weapons systems, they might figure out how the weapons interacted with the
Ivoire's anacapa, if
those weapons did indeed interact with the
anacapa,
and maybe come up with some answers that way.

The
Geneva
was to help transport the
Sikkerhet
to Sector Base V. Sabin knew that she had received a charity mission, one that would let her find some answers slowly, and for once in her life, she didn't care.

Because she had finally come to some conclusions.

As the
Geneva
traveled back to Sector Base V, she asked for a private conference with General Zeller.