Fatal Boarding (28 page)

“Friendship,” was her reply. It made me look
up to her.

Without my consent, a feeling of sadness at
leaving her arose within me. Because I knew she sensed that, it
embarrassed me once more, and at the same time I wished I would see
her again.

“It will be so,” was the next unexpected
reply.

She turned and moved back through the door.
It made me realize that she had actually been in the room with me
this time, and had not the times before. She looked back and smiled
in my mind, and the door slid shut.

I began to breathe again. I collected myself
back to the real world, thought “thank-you” to her, and left with
as much of the golden feeling as I could hold on to.

The ship modifications took seven,
twenty-four hour days. By then, we had used up all our electronic
supplies and support expendables. Everything was in place that was
going to be. The engines had been programmed to talk to each other.
The new software had been tested and retested. The large cargo area
selected to protect us, had been set up in the best possible ways.
A specially orientated bed had been set up for Perk. There was
nothing left to do. Everyone just wanted to go home. Some were
referring to it as the flight of the phoenix, after a very old
James Stewart movie.

There would be no helm control. Navigation,
the jump to light, and the return to sub-light would all be done by
timing the individual computers dedicated to the systems to which
they belonged. No central control, no navigation array. In addition
to our other firsts, we would essentially be ballistic. It had
taken us two months to reach this area of space. We had been
cruising at sixty-eight percent of light speed capability, the
normal econo-cruise power level. The arguments for how to run the
engines on the way home were long and arduous. If we used
sixty-eight percent, the trip back would be another two months. If
we dared to run at ninety-percent, the return time could be cut
down to about forty-five days. The slower speed was the safest for
the engines, but it meant spending more time in space, which in
turn increased our chances for other problems. In the end, a vote
of the department heads was unanimous. Ninety-percent power,
forty-five days. If it all worked, we would decelerate a safe
distance from our solar system.

On the day pf departure, jump time was set
for 10:00 hours. People began to show around six. Most of them
lined up against the walls as though they were about to be shot.
Others were camped out on the floor near them. It was surprisingly
calm and quiet. A computer station had been set up near the front
of the room. Telemetry was minimal, but a systems simulation had
been synchronized with ship’s chronometers, so we could see a
little of what was actually happening, and all of what was supposed
to.

With all hands accounted for, the room grew
dead quiet as the ten second mark approached. The person at the
temporary computer station began an ominous ten second
countdown.

At zero, there was no waiting. There was an
erratic shifting like a small earthquake, then a gradual pull
toward the back of the room. As the acceleration continued, waves
of gravity came and went, making us heavy, then light, then heavy
again. The jump corridor approached rapidly, bringing with it some
strange effects. There was a blurring of vision, then double vision
and popping of the ears, culminated by a strange kind of bump that
caused an exclamation from some people. Abruptly, everything came
back into focus. The ride became smooth. The simulation showed us
at ten percent of light speed and climbing. As the rate increased
to seventy percent, we opened the hanger entrances and allowed the
engineering teams to attend their stations. We had made light,
without missing a beat.

The strategy had been for all crew to remain
within the confines of the protective cargo bay habitat. If for any
reason the light speed engines failed and we came out of light
unexpectedly, anyone outside that safety net could be injured or
killed. The plan was that only essential personnel would leave and
return as required, but as the days went by, that rule grew more
and more slack. For management, it became an understandable risk.
We did not clamp down. People spent time in their quarters for
needed privacy and solitude. Some new, intimate relationships
developed. There were a number of services for the friends we knew
were lost. The cargo bay became a kind of home base. People were
always there in groups, or just occupying themselves with their
favorite pastimes, but the complement was usually down to around
twenty or thirty. The place became decorated in a dozen different
ways. Permission was given to paint murals on the walls. Flowers,
some artificial, some real, were everywhere. The modest food
preparation area grew larger, and the portable freezer units
remained overly-stocked with non-essential food items. It became
very apparent, that the Doctor and I were not the only ones who had
smuggled alcohol onboard.

Three days before we were scheduled to drop
to sub-light, the excitement and tension began to build once more.
The cargo area’s usual occupancy grew larger. The tone of the
voices was raised, and more energetic. There was the deep
anticipation of getting home, combined with the apprehension of an
untested deceleration.

On that highly anticipated day, they again
began to gather early. Someone had installed a large countdown
screen at the front of the bay. The mood devolved to somber but
resolute, with people greeting each other, and trying to be
reassuring. The cargo bay had taken on the atmosphere of a
church.

In the final hour, a headcount was taken to
ensure all of the family was present. The doors were sealed. Some
people held each other in embrace, others prayed, and some just
stared hopefully at the big screen. Under ten seconds, a few voices
could be heard quietly counting down, and at zero, we immediately
knew it was happening.

It began with a shifting left to right,
forward to back beneath our feet. It gave me a surge of euphoria to
know the programming was happening right on time, though I quickly
returned to the same trepidation we were all feeling. Next, there
was gentle roller coaster waves of up and down that intensified
into a harsh washboard effect, making some people nervous. Suddenly
there was a loud bang from somewhere forward.

I woke up on the floor. Everyone was down.
Others around me began to wake. I climbed to my feet and quickly
surveyed the area. No one appeared to be injured. A navigation
technician beat me to the doors. He ran out and down the corridor
with RJ and I close behind. An entourage quickly formed behind us.
Slapping the doors to Navigation open, we stared at the big forward
view-screen. In the center of it, was a star, much bigger and much
closer than any of the others around it. It was our star. It was
home.

Chapter 29

We had rigged up a weak transmitter of
sorts, but in the end did not really need it. Within four hours, an
Earth ship rendezvoused with Electra, dispatched by central
command. They hadn’t been expecting anyone.

I did not get to hear the exchange between
our com officer on duty and the other ship’s crew, but was told it
was an excited rambling of everything that had happened, dispensed
in too few fragmented, unconnected phrases, in far too little time,
ending with the poor woman running out of breath and nearly
fainting.

As information began to flow, tugs were
dispatched to tow Electra. We were immediately declared a
quarantined vessel. A special medical ship was dispatched to meet
us on the inbound journey. Containment of the unknowns was
considered an absolute priority. Because there were no outposts or
stations large enough to handle her crew under such alarming
circumstances, a large escort to Earth orbit was arranged.

I have never seen such a lack of discipline
on any ship as I saw on Electra in those days of towing. As acting
captain, I prided myself on not caring, but the truth is it made my
heart glad. It was like the Adrian Tarn mentality had taken over.
It was like running naked on the beach without a care. There were
parties on every level. The clean room in Life Sciences had
confetti all over it, with pieces of dried cake on the floor. On
one occasion, an elevator opened to a pile of clothes at my feet,
and two naked people kissing. I let the doors close and waited for
the next one.

Perk was allowed to sit with his left arm in
a sling. He and I drank apple juice with the sickbay doors open,
and watched the absurd party go past the door at too frequent
intervals.

Part way through the trip, the medical ship
showed up complete with tiger teams intended to contain the alien
threat. They all wore complete environmental hazard suits and they
set up an isolation area in Data Analysis. They created their own
little airlock and atmosphere control to protect themselves from
the threat of infection. The absurdity of the situation became even
more pronounced as the parties and celebration went on around the
funny people in the white plastic suits trying to evaluate,
document and secure the ship.

We were brought to a synchronous Earth
orbit, and because of quarantine and the fact that there were no
orbiting stations or shipyard facilities prepared to take us all, a
series of isolation shuttles were diverted to bring everyone down.
To my relief, there was no chance for a ship-wide meeting, which
meant I did not have to get up in front of everyone and try to sum
it all up in some meaningful way. I will always thank God for
that.

They sent special recovery crews to take
over Electra, the people trained to go into an area where there has
been a bad crash. Despite their specialized training, there was no
way to prepare them for a storage area of transformed humans, and
one ugly little alien man in suspension, who had a certain
mind-control power, if he became conscious. I escorted them to the
appropriate areas, briefing them as best as I could, and witnessed
their nervousness as they called in for additional instructions,
not having a procedure for such unusual circumstances.

Eventually RJ and I reached the point where
we were no longer needed. It was time to go. Except for the
recovery teams, we were the last. A special security shuttle was
waiting at the main airlock. They were not about to turn us loose.
Interviews had to be conducted, reports filed, information
assessed. Accommodations would be prepared for us in the central
office in Washington until our debriefings and medical clearance
could be completed. Decisions had to be made, and then perhaps we
would be released on our own cognizance.

I asked RJ to wait for me at the airlock.
There was a last thing I needed to check. As his elevator left, I
headed for the Captain’s quarters. At the entrance, I scanned the
maintenance panel. The recovery crews had not been here yet. I
entered and closed the doors behind me.

The door to the Emissary’s quarters was
open. She was nowhere to be seen, nor did I feel her. I slowly
entered her former domain. It was the most sparsely furnished
quarters I had ever seen. In the center of the room was a waist
high pedestal. On it was a small crystal ball, about the size of a
walnut. It was there for me, a present from a friend. I picked it
up and felt static electricity within it. It was changing color
within and without so subtly that you wouldn’t notice unless you
starred at it for a few minutes. I squeezed it and thought,
“Thank-you,” and turned and left.

At the airlock, RJ was waiting. We turned
and looked back at Electra. Not understanding why, there was
remorse at leaving her. There should not have been. It had been the
worst nightmare imaginable. Why such affection for a ship that had
just returned from hell?

I knew only to thank her. I choked, and
swallowed to hide it. I would follow her progress, and keep track
of her. She had been my ship, and would always be.

Chapter 30

We sat on Cocoa Beach in flimsy lawn chairs,
Perk, RJ, and I, watching two of Florida’s finest go by in tiny
swimsuits that tested the limits of local law. We balanced our
drinks on the narrow armrests so as not to lose any from the
passing distraction.

Perk took a swallow from his bottle and
calmly announced, “Incoming, nine o’clock.”

We turned in unison to watch Nira bouncing
down the ramp from the pier, carrying a bucket with ice and
bottles. Her bikini was sky blue with clouds. She made it look like
the best bikini I had ever seen. She strode up to our appreciative
gazes, and plunked the bucket down between us.

“I’m heading for the water, you land
lovers.” She turned and trotted along the sand toward the
waves.

RJ began to sing in a low tone, “Mmmm, I’ve
looked at clouds from both sides now, da da da da…”

I interrupted, “I can’t believe they made
you guys bridge-level.”

RJ took issue, “Hey, look who’s
talking.”

“Damn right,” Perk agreed, and he and RJ
clinked bottles.

I raised my bottle. “Point taken.”

RJ brushed sand off his ereader. “By the way
Adrian, it was physicians.”

“What was?”

“Ten letter word for givers of pain and
pleasure, physicians.”

“Damn, I should have gotten that.”

“So, you goin’ back up any time soon?”

Perk cut in, “I am.”

RJ admonished him, “You? You’re a wreck. I’m
supposed to keep an eye on you.”

Perk was defiant. “I’m pretty much all
healed up.”

“What’d you mean? You still got that big
patch on your chest.”

“I’m all healed up under there. That’s just
some kind’a medication patch. The Doc said I can go in the water
with it and everything.”