Enigma (7 page)

When Neale finally left
Tycho
’s bridge she went directly to her cabin, delegating the outcrossing preparations to Rogen. Half an hour later, shortly after the announcement came over the shipnet that
Tycho
had passed beyond the heliosphere, Rogen came by for her. He carried a book-sized leatherette case under one arm.

“The lesser colors are assembling in the library for the pinning. So whenever you’re ready—,” Rogen said deferentially.

Neale lay aside the slate on which she had been reading a translation of Ptolemy’s
Almagest
. “Let me see.”

Holding the case in front of him, Rogen tipped it and opened the lid so that Neale could see its contents: twenty-five Service deep-space theater insignia, twenty-five gleaming black elliptical jewels.

“Never saw so many of them in one place before,” she said, taking the case. “Damnit, I hate this. Giving them out like candy to kids. They’ve done nothing to earn them, but you put one on them and they’ll think they’re as good as you or Sebright or Waite or any of the vets. It cheapens the insignia.”

“It’s just not going to be such an exclusive club anymore,” Rogen commiserated.

“You know, I’ll bet I could still tell you the original complement of all three Pathfinders,” she went on. “We knew everyone who wore the black ellipse. Now I need to use the library just to remember the commanders of all the ships. I’ve never even met most of them.”

“There’re a lot of new faces everywhere,” Rogen agreed. “They tell me Homal had twenty-seven lessers when he took out
Galileo
.”

Neale shook her head in disgust. “Come on. Let’s get it over with.”

There was much happy talk and some braggadocio among the twenty-five crew waiting in the crowded library. Thackery did not take part in either, content to listen and defend the corner of the workstation he had staked out as a seat. He had too many conflicting feelings to freely enjoy the anticipation of his pinning.

For one thing, he had heard that the outcrossing was to be televised. But it was obvious now that that was not true—which meant that he was already gone as far as Andra and any Georgetown alumni who might remember him were concerned. Not that Andra would have been likely to watch, but, still, the ceremony’s importance had been diminished.

At the same time, he remained proud of what he had accomplished. He had set a goal for himself, what seemed an outrageous goal at the time, and—more easily than he had thought possible—he had achieved it. True, that pleasure in his accomplishment remained internal, somewhat tainted for lack of anyone who could revel in the feeling and reflect it back to him. His crewmates were unsuited to that role, having matched his success on the strength of, in most cases, even more experience and expertise.

It’s like going from the top rung of one ladder to the bottom rung of the next. The people you left behind are impressed only to the extent that they want to be where you are—and the people that you’ve joined aren’t impressed at all
.

He came to his feet with the others when Neale and Rogen appeared. All talking ceased, and all turned to face the officers. That was all Neale and Rogen expected; the Service’s heritage lay with the merit-oriented Pangaean Consortium, not the militaristic International Police.

“Since the days of Charan Rashuri, commander of
Pride of Earth
, it has been the ship commander’s obligation to recognize a moment of transition for those among his crew new to the Survey branch,” Neale began.

“I have no doubt that some among you have invested the outcrossing with far more meaning than it deserves. It is an occasion for the exchange of theater insignia. You give up the blue Orbital or yellow System ellipse you now wear. You receive the black Intersystem ellipse. But the difference in color is meaningless in itself.”

Then why do you vets call us lessers?
Thackery wondered, fingering his own System insignia absently.

“Contrary to what many of you believe, this is not a promotion. The Service does not honor you by doing this. All we do here today is to mark the beginning of an opportunity for honor—honor you will have to bring to yourself in the months and years ahead. You wear the black ellipse, but you have not yet earned it.”

A tech to Thackery’s right nudged him and whispered, “Trying to scare us with the tough bitch routine, huh?” Thackery ignored the comment.

“In the last two months, I have even heard some of you use the term ‘cadet’. You mislead yourself if you think of your role here in those terms. There are no ‘cadets’ in the Survey Branch, and even if there were, there would be none in the crew of
Descartes
. A cadet is expected to make mistakes and learn from them. You are expected not to make mistakes. Remember that, always.”

She handed the case to Rogen, opened it, and took out the first insignia.

“Technician Jessica Baldwin,” she called out.

When Thackery’s turn came, he came forward suffused with pride despite Neale’s deflating remarks. She made the exchange smoothly and wordlessly, deftly removing the yellow, handing it to Rogen in exchange for a black, and pinning the new jewelry in place. Then the moment was over. But as he turned away he was conscious of the new weight on his collar all the same.

I didn’t see it happening this way
, he thought as he walked back.
Not full of down-talk, not as part of a human assembly-line, not in a crowded temporary compartment in the hold of someone else’s ship. But damnit, I’m here. We’re on our way. And this is what / wanted, no matter how it comes packaged
.

As Neale was pinning the next-to-last tech a shipnet comtech broke in to announce: “First warning. Craze in thirty minutes.”

Neale waved the last auxiliary forward and called out instructions as she pinned him. “First command watch, forward to the
Tycho
bridge. Second watch, monitor from here. In both cases, I want the navtechs and comtechs to prepare an annotated log and critique of
Tycho
’s watch procedures. Everyone else out of here, they need room to breathe. Questions?”

There were none, and the gathering broke up quickly as the officers left and the various crew scattered to their posts. Thackery fought his way through the congested corridor and caught up to Neale and Rogen at the former’s cabin door.

“Commander, a request?” Neale looked back over her shoulder, then turned to face him. “Thackery,” she acknowledged. “Permission to observe the craze from the bridge. Commander?”

“I’ve sent them as many observers as they will accept. I’m the commander of
Descartes
, not of
Tycho
.”

“Then permission to observe from the library.”

She shook her head. “There’ll be time enough for that later.”

“What’s your interest, Thackery?” Rogen interjected.

Thackery glanced sideways at the bridge captain and hesitated before answering. “I understand that any phobes will be rousted out at Cygnus.”

“That’s correct. They’ll be transferred to the permanent staff there.”

“Well—I’d like to find out right away.”

A bemused smile slowly spread across Rogen’s face, and he walked away chuckling to himself.

“The craze phobia is psychological, not perceptual,” Neale said coldly in answer to Thackery’s baffled look. “If that were not the case, we would be able to screen for it more effectively.”

Flushing rapidly, he said, “I always heard it compared with claustrophobia—”

“An analogy only. Its effect becomes evident only over a period of time. So we won’t know right away whether you are fit to continue on this ship,” she said pointedly. “You have as much to prove here as anyone, Thackery, if not more—and not just in your flight adaptation. So I would suggest you spend less time letting the vets mislead you and more time working to improve your skills.”

She turned her back and entered the cabin, leaving him alone in the corridor. The moment Neale’s door closed, Thackery smacked his thigh sharply with a fist.
Idiot! How could you—

“Second warning. Fifteen minutes to craze,” the shipnet intoned. “Prepare to terminate local telemetry handshaking. Receiving final inmail. Last call for personal outmail.”

Unable to readily shed the foolish feeling or forget the sound of Rogen’s laughter, Thackery made his way back to his quarters. Mercifully, McShane was with the second watch in the library. Mercifully for him, considering his contribution to Thackery’s blunder.

Thackery flung himself lengthwise on his bunk and blew a weighty sigh between his lips.
Well, let’s add up the day. You had to come aboard without being able to reach Andra, found out your new commander thinks most of her crew isn’t worth a straw, and then you proceeded to prove her right. A great start, Thack. A great start
.

Unpinning the Intersystem insignia from his collar, Thackery held it up at eye-level and stared into it, the first time he had had a chance to examine one closely. True to its reputation, the black crystal’s invisible internal facets created a marvelous illusion of a dimensionless void. Though barely three centimetres across the long axis, it was almost possible to believe that it contained a universe as infinite as the one in which it existed.

My compliments to the crystallurgists
.

Thackery recalled having heard on Unity that a vet from the Hugin was arrested for trying to sell his black ellipse to a Filipino businessman. Though nothing had appeared in any official media to confirm any part of the story, the asking price was said to be €75,000.

How many are there, six hundred scattered through 65,000 cubic light-years?—And I have one of them. How could he sell it? Why would he even consider it?

Meaningless in itself, Neale had said.
You’re wrong, Commander
, Thackery thought as he returned the insignia to his collar.
It means enough to make up for what we gave up to get it, what we put up with because we wear it, what it will cost us to keep it. And on days like today, it means everything
.

“Thack?”

He reached across and tabbed the shipnet. “Here.”

It was Baldwin. “Just passing the word. You got mail.”

“What?”

“In the last dispatch before we crazed. It was a big batch. We were receiving almost right up to the last minute.”

“Oh. When can I access it?”

“It’s already queued up under your file number.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

Thackery retrieved his slate from one of the drawers beneath his bunk and switched it on, wondering what he had left unfinished or who he had failed to settle with. To his surprise, there was not one but three messages in the queue.

Touching an icon, he brought the first of them to the slate’s display. He recognized the header immediately: It was the formal letterhead of the Government Service Academy at Georgetown.

The face of Director Stowell appeared. He smiled briefly. “Good morning, Merritt. Or at least it’s morning where I am. I don’t suppose that term applies where you’re heading.

“One of the things I’ve learned in twenty-two years as an educator is that the talented students will find their own way, no matter how bone-headedly determined the institution is to hinder them.

“I believe I told you once that I couldn’t see you as a follower. I didn’t realize then that you had it in your head to be a pioneer. I never had the desire to be where you are today, but the task you have chosen is an important one, and I wish only that your part in it brings you great satisfaction.” He smiled again, in fatherly fashion, and the picture was replaced by a fax of Thackery’s student record. In the space where it had once said ON HIATUS, the legend now read WITHDRAWN WITHOUT PREJUDICE.

The second message was text only, and Thackery found it puzzling at first. There was no header, only a twenty-four-year-old clip from POLINET.

FOR RELEASE: 3:00 p.m. GMT May 12, A.R. 172
)CAPITOL ISLAND—World Council insiders are pointing to Associate Director John Merritt Langston as the most likely candidate for the seat of 75-year-old retiring Councilor Den-Buodi Kuoinmoni.
)A 52-year-old native of Newfoundland, Langston would be the youngest ever selected to the 17-man executive body, and the first North American so honored since the turn of the century…

The rest of the article comprised an unusually positive biography of Langston, in which he came off as being bright without being snobbish, fast-rising without being ambitious, and one who practiced traditional values without being a shill for them. It was sharp, well written, and incisive. And it made not a whit of sense until Thackery reached the end and the creditline:

A NEWS ANALYSIS BY ANDRA THACKERY,
POLINET CORRESPONDENT.

Even then, he only understood who had sent it, with just the barest hint of why. It took Andra’s trailing note to fill that gap—

Merritt—son—

Within an hour of your leaving that day, I came to admit (I always realized) you did indeed deserve to know. Since then I also realized other difficult truths: Most importantly, that when I could not have him, I tried to make you into him, and that I think is a far greater offense.

Even so, I can only make myself tell you now because you are beyond reach, and you cannot disturb him, or me, with your hunger for an alternate past. Don’t wonder at his silence, for he never knew—another choice I made for all of us.

It is impossible to control and too late to change what you feel toward me. But please believe that I am as proud of you as I can be. I have asked a friend to drive with me into the country and help me find Cygnus, so that I can look into the night sky and think of you often.

Andra

Numbly, Thackery asked the netlink for a picture of John Langston. He looked a long time into the eyes of the gaunt face which appeared on the display, then asked for a younger picture. The eyes became stronger, the chin firmer, the folds and wrinkles fewer. He asked for a younger picture yet, and a chill went through him when it appeared. It was as though he were looking into an unfaithful mirror, or at the face of a brother, or—