Rivers of Orion Page 9

  Inside, butted up against the cockpit bulkhead, a set of steel lockers spanned the gap to the passenger bench. Across from the lockers, a weapon rack stood otherwise empty, but for a lone stun baton. Next to it, a pair of net chairs dangled from sturdy overhead mounts. Handrails spanned both sides of the overhead, and all the way at the back, a sign over the door read, “Latrine.”

  Malmoradan secured the interior, while Shona led Orin to the bench. Casey sat down in the cockpit. As she initiated the shuttle’s preflight checks, April joined her in the copilot’s seat, and they secured their safety restraints. “Malmoradan, how are we looking?” asked Casey.

  “Everything’s locked down, and the airlock is clear,” said Malmoradan.

  “Good,” she said. Casey retracted the boarding ramp, and the exterior airlock door sealed shut. Shona buckled Orin into his safety harness and sat down next to him as Malmoradan secured himself next to her. Like a slow crescendo, the engines spun up as Shona fastened her restraints. The wings hummed as they folded down into place.

  In time, Casey taxied out onto the runway.

  Orin closed his eyes as the feeling of rapid acceleration took hold of his guts and forced an uncomfortable thrill throughout his body. He audibly exhaled after the sensation had passed and eased back as much as the collar allowed. Moments later, he sensed someone else’s body heat as they leaned over him, tinkering with the device.

  “It’s not broken,” said April, and Orin opened his eyes.

  “How can you be sure?” asked Casey.

  April laughed. “Because it hurts like hell if I touch any of the leads!” Curiously, she regarded Orin. “Like I thought, it just doesn’t work on him.” Reaching past his field of view, she set to releasing the collar’s fasteners.

  The cockpit had swiveled to face the dorsal canopy, and Casey looked up to peer into the passenger compartment. “And how can you be sure of that?”

  “Because I just turned it all the way up, and he didn’t even flinch.”

  “April!” Casey barked, “why would you—” The shuttle lurched suddenly, though she swiftly righted it. “Why the hell would you do that?”

  “Tell me any other way you’d have believed me.”

  Casey thought about it and looked forward again. “I guess I can’t, but that was extreme. It could’ve killed him! It would’ve killed anybody else.”

  “I know. I’m taking the collar off,” said April.

  “You’d better not! MABAS will climb down our throats if we don’t follow delivery protocol.”

  With a wink, April regarded Orin and touched her finger to her lips. Quietly, she removed the collar and placed it within the equipment locker. She used her sleeve to gently dab Orin’s forehead. “There we go,” she whispered, and she offered him a spouted pouch of water.

  “Thank you,” he said, and he sipped.

  “Casey said he might be an exo-cognitive,” said Shona. “Be careful he doesn’t bewitch you!”

  “He’s not an exo,” said April.

  “You don’t know that for sure,” said Malmoradan, and he glared at Orin. “Don’t think I won’t hesitate to snap your neck if you try anything stupid!”

  Orin regarded him curiously. “Don’t think you won’t hesitate? What?”

  “See what happens, freak!” Malmoradan struck his fist loudly against the flat of his hand.

  “Right, I get it. If I push my luck, you’ll wait to punch my neck,” said Orin.

  Malmoradan seethed. “Just give me a reason!”

  “Boys, please,” said April. She gestured for Shona to scoot, and she sat down next to Orin. “Hi! I’m April Sattari.”

  “I’m Orin Webb. But you already knew that.”

  “I did, but it’s still nice to make proper introductions. Don’t you think?” She glanced toward the others. “The one in the cockpit is Casey Cartwright, our captain. This is Shona Chelsea. She’s our medic, and one of our lifters. That’s Malmoradan Taig, our chief of security and our other lifter. Don’t worry about him; it’s his job to be a blowhard.”

  “Hey,” he shot back. “My job is to keep people safe.”

  “Of course, it is,” said April. Facing Orin, she looked deep into his eyes. “Forgive my bluntness, but what sort of binary are you?”

  “I don’t know.” Orin clenched his jaw. “But you’re taking me to an assessment facility, so I guess you’ll know soon enough.”

  “Perhaps,” said April.

  His posture stiffened. “They’re going to kill me, aren’t they?”

  “They’re not going to kill you,” said April. “Believe it or not, they have to follow the same laws as everyone else, and even rogue binaries get their due process. Of course, if the propaganda discourages binaries from going rogue, they’re not about to speak up.” She tucked her hair behind her ear.

  “You really believe that,” said Orin.

  “I really do,” said April.

  “Then maybe you can tell me what does happen.”

  For a moment, April looked at Shona and Malmoradan. Neither had anything to offer. “I don’t know,” said April. “It’s top secret, and none of us has that level of clearance.”

  “So, they might kill me,” said Orin.

  Primary thrusters stopped firing, countered by a lengthy reverse-thruster burn, and weightlessness took hold. Slowly, the shuttle pitched, and her underbelly thrusters fired again. Centrifugal gravity returned.

  “I can promise you they won’t,” said April. “I believe you’re unprecedented, which would make you the first O-class binary anyone has ever seen outside of a eugenics simulation. They’ll certainly study you, but when they’re done, they won’t kill you. They’ll train you to use your powers. They’ll offer you a position in the agency, give you a silly callsign and a badge, and they’ll send you out on all sorts of adventures.”

  Orin weighed her response. “Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “It isn’t,” said April.

  “And all it’ll cost you is your freedom,” said Malmoradan.

  April shot him an angry look. “That’s not true!”

  “Like you’d know,” said Malmoradan. “You’re lucky you were born psychic. All you had to do was register with the agency. Every other type of binary serves the agency for life unless they’re lucky enough to retire.”

  “It’s paid, right?” asked Orin.

  “Sure,” said Malmoradan. “Plus room and board, but you have to live on one of their stations, or else you’re considered a deserter. They’ll transfer you around a lot too, send you wherever you’re needed, but the only time you’ll get to go planet-side is if you’re on leave, or if you’re there as part of an agency action.”

  Orin’s optimism persisted. “That still sounds pretty good. How do you know so much about this?”

  “My best friend was a G-class electromagnetic,” said Malmoradan. “I doubt you’ve ever heard of him, but he went by Blitzspalter.”

  “Went?” asked Orin.

  “Yeah, went,” grumbled Malmoradan, and he turned away. “I ain’t telling you anything else about him, so don’t ask.”

  Orin looked at the deck under his feet. “I won’t.”

  Shona unhitched herself. She grabbed a first aid pack from under the bench and walked over to Orin. As she tended to his injuries, Orin drifted off to sleep.

  ◆◆◆

  Something tickling his mind, and Orin awoke. Turning his attention to April, he asked, “Are you doing that?”

  She laughed, as surprised as she was frustrated. “I am! You won’t let me poke around in there at all?”

  “I’d rather you not lobotomize me, thanks.”

  “And how would I do that, exactly?” she asked.

  “You’re the psychic,” said Orin. “You tell me.”

  April’s laughter was kind. “How about if I tell you a few things about binaries, and maybe you can figure out on your own why I can’t lobotomize you—or anyone else for that matter. Are you familiar with the nightma
re?”

  “Yeah, sure,” said Orin. “It’s how we travel to other planets.”

  “Do you know how it works?” she asked.

  “I’m majoring in philosophy, not astrophysics,” he replied.

  “Astrophysics?” April shook her head. “It’s more in line with quantum mechanics, but I’m not an expert either. Still, I’ve been flying long enough to pick up a few things.

  “A long time ago, scientists devised a way to transit the space between stars using something they called the superstring highway, now known as Asymmetrical Phase Transit space, or APT space for short. Most of us who use it just call it the nightmare.”

  “Why do you call it that?” asked Orin. “And what’s it got to do with binaries?”

  She held up a finger in response. “Patience. I’m getting there. When you’re traveling through the nightmare, you’re moving along a corridor that resonates with our own universe and its physical laws, but that tunnel also brushes up against every other possible reality in the multiverse. Even a single glimpse of some of those things can destroy a person’s mind. Hence, we call it the nightmare.”

  “Got it,” said Orin. “The most terrifying thing you can ever imagine, times ten. Why would anyone ever look?”

  April folded her hands together. “People have to look. You know how we are, so to counter that, most ships these days close up the viewports during transit.”

  “Good idea,” said Orin.

  “As to the matter of us binaries, we started appearing around the same time humans began transiting the nightmare. No one knows for sure, but most genetic historians believe it was our exposure to the multiverse that awakened the Higgs-Sawyer helix in people like us.”

  Intrigued, Orin asked, “What’s the Higgs-Sawyer helix?”

  “It’s a completely separate DNA chain,” April explained, “unique to humans and paired to our physical DNA, but it’s only ever in phase with the nightmare. Instead of the usual systems like kidneys, muscles, or eyes, the Higgs-Sawyer helix drives growth of its own kidneys, muscles and eyes, or any other organs and nerves it needs to support whatever extraordinary abilities it manifests. With the right instruments, a trained analyst can perfectly describe a binary’s full suite of abilities before they’re even born.”

  “That’s creepy as hell,” said Orin.

  “Why’s that?” asked April.

  “It just is.” He shivered. “How did I slip past the gene screen?”

  April shook her head, adjusting her position on the bench. “I honestly couldn’t say. I don’t know enough about the process.” With a wink she added, “Maybe one of your abilities is good luck.”

  “Luck isn’t a superpower,” said Malmoradan.

  With a cheerful laugh, Shona said, “You need to read more comic books!”

  “I still don’t see how having a nightmare body stops you from lobotomizing me,” said Orin.

  “How well could you perform a physical lobotomy with your bare hands?” asked April.

  “I couldn’t,” said Orin. “Not with my bare hands, or at all since I don’t know how.” Realization struck him. “Oh, wait… Just because your nightmare self can sense certain things, and that gives you psychic powers, it doesn’t give you the ability to reach into someone’s physical brain and do any harm, because it’s out of phase.”

  “Exactly!” April grinned. “So, you see you’re safe with me.” She squeezed his arm and pressed her finger lightly against his temple. “May I please have a peek?”

  Orin breathed out and nodded. “Knock yourself out.”

  “I’d rather not,” she teased, and she closed her eyes, tickling Orin’s mind. At length, she came to and released a frustrated huff. “Orin, I can’t get in. You’re still blocking me.”

  “Not intentionally,” said Orin.

  April studied his expression. “I believe you. That’s all right, we’ll figure it out. It’ll be a few days before we rendezvous with Watchtower, anyway.”

  “A few days?” Orin gulped. “That’s a long time.”

  “Welcome to space travel,” Shona said with a playful grin. “You get used to it.”

  “Why is your spaceship so far away?” asked Orin.

  “Because she runs the ‘old reliable,’” Shona explained. “Matter scoops and fusion torches, and that makes most orbital stations plenty nervous. We park in the back lots of most of the planets we visit.”

  Orin looked at his manacles, then to April. “Can you take these off?”

  “Only Casey has the keys.” She traced his hairline with her thumb. “Sorry, Orin. If it were up to me, I’d let you roam free right up until we transfer you to the assessment techs. But it’s not up to me.”

  His shoulders sagged. “I hate this.”

  Seated in the cockpit, Casey donned a headset and hummed along with the music.

  Chapter 7

  Where the Heart Is

  Rhyon gleamed in the starry expanse. Bright aquamarine oceans cradled her islands and continents. Draped in mossy cloaks of stone, onyx and glistening snow, the land masses slumbered behind mantles of clouds. In orbit around her, a space station with three stacked rings of drab green steel spun slowly, gracefully. Docks and vessels mottled the space station’s surface.

  The starship Paradisum approached from very far away. A chipped coat of drab goldenrod covered most of the tug’s outer hull, and she looked sturdy. Arrays of mounts, clips and rails dotted the hitch deck, along with a massive winch. At the rear of the tug hung a pair of down-swept, oversized thrusters.

  Inside, dingy, cream-colored supports framed the bridge deck’s bulkheads. Circular lamps ran the length of the overhead. Viewscreens angled down over the bridge deck’s stations, and brown, matted carpeting dressed the deck, marred by hardened stains.

  “Movin’ to oh-one-niner, mark three-two-two, steady on approach,” Oliver Webb announced. Secure within his harness, he sat tall, with silvered salt-and-pepper hair, dark blue eyes, and a barrel chest.

  On the other side of a broad navigation console, his captain answered, “Thanks, Ollie. Go ahead and engage the autopilot. Time for final approach.”

  Oliver adjusted his tan, weathered Stetson, flipped a series of switches, and the green lamp just below the “AUTOPILOT” placard brightened. He shifted in his cowboy boots and leaned back into his curved, faded orange chair, as if he expected it to rock back with him. It didn’t budge. “Ah, come on.”

  “You okay over there?” asked the captain.

  “I’m fine,” said Oliver, and his walrus mustache swung down a bit as he frowned. “Still gettin’ used to the new chairs, and the new ship.”

  “And the new captain,” teased Judge. Tattooed murals covered both of his massive arms.

  “You sayin’ you don’t miss the old captain?” asked Oliver

  Judge laughed heartily. “Miss her? Ollie, I married her!”

  “Oh, is that what you did? I seem to remember it wasn’t as formal as all that,” said Oliver.

  “I ever tell you about our wedding night?”

  “All right guys,” interjected the captain, “look sharp. We’re getting close.”

  “We’re ten minutes out!” Oliver protested.

  “Autopilot,” added Judge.

  Sternly, the captain stated, “That’s when we need to be the most alert! According to the operator’s manual, we must maintain readiness, especially on approach.”

  Judge unbuckled his harness. “Excuse me while I pinch a loaf. Good luck with all the readiness.”

  “Get back to your station!” hollered the captain.

  Pulling himself along, Judge paid him no heed. Gracefully, he floated into the privy, where he closed the door and started singing.

  The captain gritted his teeth. “No respect! He’s supposed to be the first mate, but do you see how he treats me?”

  Oliver shook his head. “Judge respects you. If he didn’t, he’d make you live with his cold shoulder. I’ve seen the effect it can have on others—hardened
spacers cryin’ for days. Legitimate Section-8 stuff, so count yourself lucky.” He watched his captain fuming. “Hey, we’ve only been flyin’ with you for two years. Out here, respect is earned, and that takes time.”

  They heard the clunk of the toilet, and Judge drifted out. He cinched his belt and smiled. “I’m telling you guys, coming home always feels faster.”

  “Maybe that’s because we aren’t towing a city dump’s worth of recyc on the return trip,” said the captain. “It’s a simple matter of thrust-to-mass ratios.”

  “Thruster mass fellatio?” asked Judge, feigning shock.

  Blinking pointedly, the captain seethed. “How did you ever pass your assessment?”

  Oliver chuckled and folded his arms across his chest. As Judge and the captain fell to bickering, he shook his head, closed his eyes, and slipped his earphones on. His thoughts drifted to his wife, his son, and his daughter. I should pay the kids a visit, see how they’re holdin’ up. Not entirely sure what to get Orin or Eridani for the holidays, but I’d wager Aurora’s got ideas. She always picks just the right gifts for everyone. He turned the music up loud enough to drown out the argument that had escalated to yelling and empty threats. Much better.

  Fluidly pitching forward as she moved, Paradisum passed a dozen moored service vessels. Airlocks and walkways linked each of them to the upper ring. Exterior lamps shone brightly above every door and socket, creating a sea of dull green gradients. After Paradisum had completed her maneuver—with her top hatch now parallel to the upper ring—station docking clamps engaged. The sound rang through the vessel.

  “Here we are,” said the captain with a relieved grin.

  “That took long enough,” said Judge.

  Overhead, a sealed passage engaged the tug’s main airlock, and minutes passed in awkward silence as air rushed through the vents. At last, the external hatch indicator flashed, “ENGAGED.” The captain climbed the rungs to the interior hatch and threw it open.

  While Judge and the captain figured out who was responsible for which reports, Oliver removed his earphones, coiled them around his fingers and stuffed them into his jumpsuit. He unhooked his harness, stood up, and took a moment to feel the pull of the station’s centrifugal gravity. As soon as he felt stable, he took up his duffle bag, stretched, and crossed the deck to the exit hatch. “See you guys in two weeks.”