Sean Woods

Project Gilgamesh

© Sean Woods

This book is copyrighted by Sean Woods. All rights reserved.

(Revision 2021-05-13)

Sean Woods

9807 Traveller St.

Manassas, VA 20110

USA

www.etoyoc.com

This book is dedicated to the giants whose shoulders I stand upon, the people in my life I lean on, and the readers I will stumble upon.

Prologue

A

 disheveled figure in a sloppy lab coat stumbled into a messy apartment. In his hands a paper bag containing a bottle of vodka. It had been a long day at the office, and he had hoped to spend the evening utterly devoid of human contact. And, preferably, devoid of sobriety. He flipped the light switch, only to find a man sitting on his sofa. The man was neatly dressed, too neatly dressed. He wore the type of suit befitting a business maven. Or, perhaps, a spy. On his hands were a pair of fine leather gloves. His jet black hair was slicked back. On his lap was a black cat, wearing a jeweled collar.

Haas: Who are you, how did you get in here?

Ishmael: Call me Ishmael. As for how I got in, through the front door. But, as always, you are missing the important questions. Far more important is WHY am I here.

Haas: Alright then WHY are you here? This is a government facility! And your accent. I can't quite place it.

Ishmael: Now we are making some progress my dear Doctor. Why I am here has to do with a certain organization who I represent. Their name is as unimportant as it is unpronounceable. Let us just say we have our finger on many…sources of illumination. We investigate matters of deep Tegic, and some of the research of yours has touched on a few … areas of concern to us.

Haas: I am a tegicist! It is my job to test the boundaries!

Ishmael: That is all well and good, Dr. Haas. When you do stay on the edges. But you know as well as I that the areas you touched were nowhere near the edges of Tegic. They were at, and well beyond, the edges of Ethics. A realm of darkness and of counterproductive evil. And I am here to discover how far it has gone, and to deal with whoever needs to be dealt with as a result.

Dr Haas started stammering a defense.

Ishmael: Now, Dr. Haas, before you start insisting you are a completely innocent party, I can assure you that recordings of your work are already in my possession. I also understand that you are simply a low level operative in a conspiracy. Amazingly everyone I interview seems to be a low level operative. Tell me what you know, and when I ask it, and this process, while far from pleasant, will go easy for you. If you do not cooperate…

Dr. Haas, turned and tried to reach for the door. The door was suddenly hot. Scalding hot. The handle burned his hand.

Ishmael: It seems he has chosen the hard way, Bastet.

The cat leaped off of Ishmael's lap. Ishmael removed the glove from one hand as he stood. It was emblazoned with arcane symbols. He raised it towards Haas. As Ishmael uttered words in a dark tongue, the symbols on his hands glowed, and waves of pain wracked through Haas' body. Haas involuntarily screamed in terror and in agony, and then fell to his knees.

Ishmael: …uafás na fírinne…

Haas: Make it stop! Make it stop! It was Bychkova. I was just following orders.

Ishmael stopped his chant, and lowered his hand. He replaced the glove, and sat back on the sofa.

Ishmael: Thank you, Doctor Haas. I don't enjoy resorting to these sorts of measures. Please, sit down. We have much to discuss.

Haas: They will kill me if they find out I've been talking to you!

Ishmael: Doctor Haas, has it occurred to you that death is the least of your problems right now?

Chapter 1

Carona Winesin

He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream and he sometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoying it.¹

A

 man lay on a stretcher as he was wheeled out of mission control. He was swarmed by healers, clad in white medical robes. One medteg mumbled incantations, as they whisked him towards the hospital down the street.

A crowd of coworkers watched the scene, helpless.

Ben:		Did anyone overhear if he'll be all right?

Candy:	They said it was a brain aneurysm. You don't think…

Wonko:	No. I mean, yeah, he's a mind wizard and all. But that could happen to anyone. Well, anyone our age.

Ben:		We have all been under a lot of stress lately. Especially getting the ship ready to go underway. I better start making some calls.

Candy:	To who? He's on his way to the hospital now.

Ben:		If that was an aneurysm, chaos only knows the damage it has done to him. And even if he recovers from this bout, it's going to happen again. Out on the edge of the Solar System for three years, we can't afford to be without a Cosmogatoyr.

Candy:	Where are we going to find a new one? The fleet is mobilizing with the Krazis getting frisky. It takes decades to develop the mentalist skillset.

Wonko:	We are just going to have to have faith.

Ben:		Or I just call in a few markers.￼

T

he Pallas Athena was entering high Mars orbit. On a long range patrol of the Martian Neutral zone. At the helm was a steely eyed maverick, Emily "Newton" Degan. Despite her tiny frame, her personality filled the commander's station, and spilled out into the surrounding deck. Her pointy ears, once a source of torment, have become a badge of pride. Mainly because her uniform and a regulation haircut left nowhere to hide them.

She and her crew were belted into their positions around the command deck. The vessel was transitioning from an intense thrusting phase to a cruise phase.

Emily:		Cosmo, status report.

A person at the Cosmogation station replied, curtly.

Cosmo:	We have reached the edge of the neutral zone. We had to burn a little more propellent than projected to reach this trajectory.

The Cosmo pressed a few buttons on her console, and a set of numbers flashed up on Emily's command station.

Emily:		That's not right. I calculated this course myself.

The Cosmo pressed a few more buttons. The engineering officer also studied the information on his own console.

Engineering:		The engines have been running for a while without an overhaul. We are losing a lot of efficiency.

Emily:		This doesn't make…

Communications:	Captain, I am receiving a distress call.

Emily:		A distress call? All of the way out here? On speakers.

Distress Call:	Imperative! (static) is Carona Vinesin…(static)…19 days from Pallas. We have struck a mine, and have lost all power…(static)… Our hull is penetrated and we have sustained many casualties.

Communications: This is the ISTO Vessel Pallas Athena. Can you give us your position? Repeat, this is the ISTO Vessel Pallas Athena. Can you give us your position?

Distress Call:	We are (static)iting 10000 km above Mars.

Emily:	Inside the Neutral zone…

Distress Call:	Hull penetrated, life support systems failing. Can you assist us, Pallas Azena? (static)… assist us?

Emily:		What data do we have on the Carona Vinesin?

Communications:	According to her transponder, crew of 81. 311 passengers. And its name is Corona Winesin. With a W.

Emily:		Last reported position? Flight plan?

Communications:	We don't have any of that data.

Emily:		Communications, turn off the speakers. Contact space traffic control. It makes absolutely no sense for a ship like that to be in the area. I want at least a flight plan and last known position.

First Officer:	What?

Communications:	Our closest space traffic control center would be Earth. That's going to take at least 28 minutes.

Emily:		Did I stutter or something? I gave you an order. Cosmo, continue on our present heading, until we get confirmation of who they are. Deck officer, take us to GQ.

First Officer: WHAT? It's going to take hours for our orbit to come back around.

Emily:		Look at our fuel level. We have plenty of fuel to get down there, but not enough to escape. Somehow a ship with hundreds of people appears out of nowhere? The static is masking a Krasnovian accent on the part of the transmitter. And if you rearrange the letters on …

First Officer:	Where are you getting all of this? There are people on that ship. They are going to die if we don't help them!

Emily:		No, it's a damn trap. I'm the Captain on deck. It's my call.

First Officer:	But what if you are wrong?

Emily:		ISTO gets some bad press. If they are really that badly off, they'll be dead by the time we get there anyway. If I am right, there is no vessel in distress, we get destroyed in an ambush.

Communications:	Captain, the Carona Winesin is sounding pretty desperate. They are now pleading because there are women and children on board. Their signal is really starting to break up.

Emily:		At this range, their radio is either working or its not. The only thing that could be causing interference is jamming.

First Officer:	Captain! We have to do something!

Emily:		Yes. Not start an interplanetary war. If we get any closer to Mars, we violate the treaty of Reykjavík. For all we know, the Krazis are hiding behind Phobos. We get into orbit, they use it as a pretext for shooting first. In the final analysis they'll just dance around the issue of "well what were they doing there" just like the always do…

Communications:	Captain, I'm getting a communication from Spacey command. They are ordering us to assist.

Emily:		How is that even possible? We haven't even radioed in the report yet. Command on Psyche is 32 light minutes minutes away.

Communications:	It's coming in over telepathy.

Emily:		So you can get ahold of Spacey command over telepathy, but not space traffic control?

At one of the spare stations on the bridge was an older man. Unlike the cadets in the room, his insignia was that of a real Spacey captain. He was furiously jotting information down on a clipboard. As he spoke up, his sudden break in silence was jarring to everyone in the room.

Evaluator:	Pause the scenario. Midshipmen, I need all of you to take this simulation seriously.

Emily:		I am, Sir.

Evaluator:	The rest of your bridge crew clearly wishes to render aid to the vessel. It is a standing order, you have to respond to vessels in distress.

Emily:		It doesn't state that in the problem packet, Sir.

Emily picked up a binder from her command chair, and flipped to the opening page.

Evaluator:		Are you arguing with me, Midshipmen?

Emily:		Respectfully, Yes. Yes I am. This is a textbook ambush…

The evaluator stuck up his hand in a gesture to interrupt her.

Evaluator:		Very well, we are done here. Cadets to the briefing room for your evaluations. Midshipmen Degan, you are to report to the Commandant's office.

Cosmo:	Oooooo, Newton's going to get it.

Emily:		Shut it Stacy. Besides I thought the joke was "Newton" was going to die a virgin.￼

A

 marching band played at the end of the platform, as the crew of the KG013 queued up to board the vessel. The crew, in their summer whites, waved for the news cameras. The videographers were keen to get plenty of pictures of young sailors sharing a last kiss from their partners as they set out for a mission full of danger.

At the end of the Krasnovian National Anthem, the Captain took the microphone to share a few words for the families, and the cameras, about the vessel's upcoming mission.

For the benefit of the audience who doesn't speak Krasnovian, I have translated his words into Solar English. As it's not a 1:1 translation for a number of reasons. The main being that a native Krasnovian uses profanity in a way that most other cultures use punctuation.

In English we have a single word, fuck, that can be used in practically every part of a sentence. And only in the crudest contexts does it actually refer to the act of copulation. Krasnovians, on the other hand, have an entire grammar system for copulation, with modifiers to describe who exactly is doing the copulating, how it is being performed, and how the two parties feel about it. Terms for excrement are equally rich and varied, as is cuckolding, violent assault, and having one's favorite sports team lose.

I will indicate in green text where we have transcribed the dialog from Krasnovian into English. Realize that the spirit of the text is there, but the, shall we say poetry, has been somewhat lost.

Saalwächter:		Comrades and Patriots, we appreciate you coming to see us off. Your boys and girls are setting out in the finest vessel to come out of the Sea of Storms². While I can't go into the specifics of our mission, know that we will be tormenting the Psychos³. Our G-drive is invisible. Our reach is far. Our weapons are deadly. Their entire Navy trembles when we leave port.

Also, it appears that our last heroic mission deep behind enemy lines has caught the attention of Naval command. I have here an official proclamation. Our vessel has been given a name. This mission we sail on the KRS Marne.

The Captain pulled a sheet from over an easel, revealing the ship's new designation, as well as the ship's new logo. The logo had the typical motifs of the elite G-drive fleet. The ship's new mascot was a trap-door spider.

Saalwächter:		 As you can see, this is mainly going to be a pleasure cruise for us. And after we complete our mission, we will be stopping off on the resort planet of Eros.

Everyone assembled let out a cheer.

Saalwächter left the stage in the midst of the cheering. He was quickly flanked by the ship's computer. A small man, with pointed ears by the designation of KRL-57E74B. But that didn't quite roll of the tongue. So Saalwächter named him Karl.

KRLs⁴ are artificial people, created in the lab to replace artificially intelligent computers. They are telepaths, but they can't link with human beings. They can only link with computers. They are Krasnovia's answer to the challenge of ever increasing automation requiring smarter computers, and smarter computers becoming increasingly psychotic and unstable.

Saalwächter:	Is everything loaded, Karl?

Karl:			Yes sir. Though I did have rebalance my equations for the 8 tons of Yisned⁵ merchandise…

Saalwächter:	Ahem.

Karl:			Apologies… munitions… the 8 tons of special purpose munitions we loaded aboard.

Saalwächter:	Any new intelligence?

Karl:			Our sources have stated the Cézanne has just finished her space trials. But they have lost their Cosmogatoyr.

Saalwächter:	Oh my. It looks like intelligence was deadly serious about stopping their mission.

Karl:		Oh no, Sir. By all indications he suffered a stoke. Just a perfectly normal stroke.

Saalwächter:	As in "perfectly" normal, or perfectly "normal".

Saalwächter employed air quotes with his fingers to illustrate the emphasis he was putting on various words. Karl has been studying non-verbal communication to enhance his ability to integrate with the crew. He managed the perfect eye roll in the moment. It was clear enough for Saalwächter to be taken aback.

Saalwächter:	Oh. So, it really was a medical thing.

Karl:		To be fair, blue mages do tend to suffer from those things at a higher rate than the general population. All that mental development and whatnot.

Saalwächter:	I suppose that must be a worry to your kind.

Karl:		Nonsense. We are built of sterner stuff.￼

E

mily waited on a bench outside the Commandant's office. She had exchanged pleasantries with the secretary, and was told that the Commandant would see her in a few minutes.

While she was waiting, a cat had hopped up on her lap. This cat seemed to be following Emily around for the past few weeks. Emily had caught the cat out of the corner of her eye a few times. This was the first opportunity Emily had to get a good look.

Emily wasn't sure why the cat had chose at this very moment to reveal itself. Perhaps it sensed she needed a friend? As Emily rubbed behind the cat's ears, she examined the cat's collar.

The collar was ornate. Far too ornate to simply be a name tag, or an "if lost please contact…" band. There were fine crystals woven into the leather braids. In the center of the cat's chest was a silver medallion. Emily could make out the name Bastet etched onto the surface. There were some strange symbols etched onto the back.

After what seemed like an eternity, Emily's evaluator stormed past her, and the secretary, and straight into commandant's office. There seemed to be a heated discussion inside the office. Sound proofing deadened the actual content of the conversation, but it sounded like the male voice was invoking fire and brimstone.

And then there was silence for a minute.  Finally the intercom buzzed on the secretary's desk.

Secretary:	They are ready to see you now.

On cue, the cat popped off of Emily's lap, and darted off into the hallways of the main building.

Emily stepped into the Commandant's office. From the decor, it was immediately obvious the Commandant was a close to a war hero as one could be decades into a cold war. There were medals and commendations all along the wall. There were plaques with tactical maps engraved with the many near-battles she had fought. Models of practically every class of ship dotted the wall, and an annotation that she had either served or commanded at least one of them.

But as impersonal as the walls of the office where, the desk was extremely humanized. A fresh cut flower sat in bowl of water. Pictures of her children and grandchildren practically running over the edge of the desk. The desk was crowded with paperwork, but everything was neat and sorted, and while unlabeled one could imagine the Commandant would probably know in an instant if anything were out of place.

The Commandant's own uniform was impeccably applied. Every button polished. Every crease ironed. While you couldn't see her shoes from this angle, you have to imagine you could use the polish as a mirror.

She wore the face of a doting grandmother. But everyone knew, under the velvet glove was an iron fist. Her expression was entirely too calm at this point, though. As if she was re-applying her calm face with a putty knife.

The Evaluator was still recovering from his bought of anger. Some of the energy that he had exuded as he stormed into the office had subsided. He moved deliberately, almost painfully.

Commandant:		Midshipmen, Captain Chalmers has levied a serious accusation. But before I make any kind of ruling, I want to hear your side.

Emily:		Look, if this is about insubordination, I didn't think it was fair of him to give me a direct order in the simulation. That scenario was supposed to be a test of my command skill. He kept adding rules…

The Evaluator was about to speak, but the Commandant cut him off with a gesture.

Commandant:		Actually, Midshipmen, his charge isn't insubordination. Captain Chalmers believes that you cheated.

Emily:		Cheated?

Evalulator:		There is no way that undergraduate barely out of officer's school should know that much about vessel operations, navigation, and international diplomacy. Someone told you how to beat the scenario. Tell us who it was, and we can see that you are let off lightly. Was it an older sibling? Did you pay an upper classman? I am going to have to redesign the entire exam from scratch! WHO WAS IT!?!

Commandant:	Captain Chalmers?

Evaluator:	Yes?

The Commandant lifted the brass name plate off of her desk, and slammed it back down again.

Commandant:	I believe that I am conducting this investigation.

Evaluator:	But we already know…

Commandant:	Captain Chalmers?

Evaluator:	Yes?

Commandant:	I believe that I have everything that I need from you. I have your testimony, and I will review the transcripts from the simulator. Thank you for bringing this episode to my attention. I will deal with the Ensign, myself.

He reacted with a particular wince at the Commandant's slip, using the rank of Ensign.

Evaluator:	Very good ma'am.

The evaluator shot Emily an angry glance. He then collected himself, and walked out with the sort of fake calmness one would use after slipping on a banana peel in front of a crowd of onlookers.

As soon as the door was closed, Emily raised her hand.

Commandant:	Yes, Dear.

Emily:		I swear, I did not cheat. There is no way I would blow my career on a stupid weeder exam for flag officers.

Commandant:	Yes, Dear. So, tell me, how did you prepare?

Emily chose her words carefully. The Commandant was notorious for her mind powers. Other students brought before her found themselves admitting to all sorts of misdeeds, disarmed by her calm, soothing voice and grandmotherly trust. However, in this case, Emily had nothing to hide.

Or… at least that what the voice inside her head was saying.

Emily:		Well I started by reading the problem statement. I was supposed to be commanding a frigate. So I read up on the class of frigate in question. I studied their mission profiles, all that. I wanted to work out how much fuel we were using at all of the stages of the mission. I tried using basic Moore's equations, and the engine parameters in the manual. But of course, I had to know about the specific alignment of the planets to really work all of that out. And then I looked at the date the simulation was taking place.

Commandant:		And what did that tell you?

Emily:		Since they gave it in the problem, I guessed it was important. And looking at the planetary alignment, that is when I realized the vessel would be low on fuel. Mars at that point in its orbit is about as far from ISTO controlled space as it ever is. The mission profile called for a minimum time course, which would burn an awful lot of fuel. And then there was the question of "Why Mars?"

Commandant:		Go on.

Emily:		There are no settlements, for any faction, on Mars itself. Krasnovia occasionally bases vessels on the moons, under its interpretation of the treaty of Reykjavík. But ISTO and the Circle Trigon regularly protest when they do. Which is why ISTO would send a scout vessel to patrol the area and show the flag. There have been several scuffles around Mars throughout the Cold war with ISTO exercising freedom of Navigation and Krasnovia exercising its territorial claims.

Commandant:		Did you record all of this work in your notebook.

Emily:		Of course.

Commandant:	Well case closed. But I'm curious, Captain Chalmers seemed to believe you had an uncanny understanding of the scenario itself.

Emily:		Like how I determined there would be an ambush?

Commandant:	Yes, that in particular. What was the final clue that tipped you off?

Emily:		Clue? There was a buffet of clues. First, was the radio interference. Modern radios just plain work. I've had to learn a lot about them, with my disability and all that.

Commandant:	Your disability?

Emily:		I seem to have some sort of neural defect that keeps me from conducting even basic telepathy. So, I've had to learn to do all of my communications with radio. It really annoyed my instructors in pilot school. Now radio has developed pretty far, and all ships now communicate with fractal modulation…

Commandant:	Apologies, Dear. Can we get back to the scenario. I realize that workings of the radio are simplified somewhat in the simulator.

Emily:		And that was just it. In every simulation until now, the radio just "worked." Especially in distress bands, and especially on planetary ranges. If the signal was being actively jammed, no signal would be going through at all. But there was "just enough" jamming to disguise, say, a voice. And they had to disguise it because it was clearly a native Krasnovian speaker using textbook English. The word choice was odd. They mispronounced the name of their own ship. And when they tried to pronounce "Athena" in the one moment of clear air, I could hear them flub the TH.

Commandant:		What were the other clues?

Emily:		That she was asking us to drop to 10000 km. That is just slightly above the orbital plane of Phobos. Not the sort of orbit a vessel in distress would naturally pick. But exactly the altitude one would pick for an ambush.

Evaluator:		Anything else?

Emily:		The name of the ship, Carona Winesin, is an anagram for No Win Scenario.

Commandant:		And that you worked out, in your head, during the scenario.

Emily:		Well sure. It was all so obvious.

Commandant:	I took a moment to review your records. It seems that you had a bit of a rough start. An orphan growing up in boarding school. But your entrance essay was extraordinary for someone your age.

Emily:		Yes, I remember the admissions counselor asking if my Mom had written it for me. Oh that was an awkward conversation…

Commandant:	Actually that brings me to my next point. How… excited will you be to graduate? The big ceremony. Getting your name in the paper?

Emily:		I really just want to get out to the fleet. I don't have anyone who is going to be watching me graduate. I just want to get to the part where we pick our ship.

Commandant:	Are you not having a good time at the Academy?

Emily:		No, my classmates tease me. First about the ears. Then about how terrible I am at magic. And then about how good I am at math. I look like I'm still in high school, so the bars and clubs always card me. I just want to get out where I don't have to deal with idiots.

Commandant:	Well, you do realize that Spacey vessels are all manned by people. And people, by and large, are idiots.

Emily:		Well yes. But as an officer, they have to interact with me like I'm a professional.

Commandant:	You'll be perfect.

Emily:		Perfect for what?

Commandant:	How would you feel about working in deep space?

Emily:		Deep space?

Commandant:	I have an old friend from my space going days. And his ship has an opening for a Cosmogatoyr. From your transcript, you are actually certified at a Master's level for Cosmogatry.

Emily:		Ah, joys of exam for credit. Divinity and Math was the one school of tegic I could just take a test for and pass. None of this "sword fight while blindfolded" or "levitate a shuttle craft with your mind".

The commandant opened her drawer, and took out a form. Emily could make out "Direct Officer Commission" on the title block.

Emily:		Say, if that is a direct commission, can we go ahead and fill it out for lieutenant? I want my own stateroom.￼

B

astet slinked her way out of the administration building, and she made her way over to the laboratories of campus. The signage gradually shifted from ISTO Spacey Academy to the Lethian Flying University. However the two schools were adjacent to one another, located in the heart of New Franklin.

The scenery was quite nice for a space station. Carefully manicured trees, which artistically accentuated the influences of the Coriolis effect. Laminates of slate and cobblestone overlaid on the steel decking. Arc lamps provided day-like lighting. The overhead was painted with a translucent blue, and a magical effect provided the appearance of whispy clouds.

The cat entered the building for the Maillardet School of Artificery. As she walked, she darted through the legs of the many students plying the halls. She passed another familiar, this one a dog, on his way to deliver some sort of message to his master. They exchanged a knowing glance, and continued on their way.

Bastet finally arrived at an office. Frosted glass listed the name of the occupant as: Ishmeal. Adjunct Researcher. Bastet poked her way through a cat-flap at the base of the door.

The office itself was a bit of a shamble. On the wall was your typical serial-killer style cork board. Covered with photographs, and hand scrawled notes. Each connected to the other with string. In the center was picture of Emily.

A middle aged man was engrossed in reading a scroll. He was dressed like a dandy, which by this point was looking a but dated. His slicked back black hair was now peppered with white hairs. He wore fine calfskin gloves over his hands, even alone in his own office.

He hadn't noted the cat's arrival. She announced herself with a mew.

Ishmael:	Oh what has that girl gotten herself into this time.￼

Ishmael arrived at the dormitory. He approached the front desk. The receptionist saw him, and the cat. She was slightly annoyed.

Receptionist:	I'm sorry, sir. We don't allow animals in the residence halls. Or men, come to think of it.

Ishmael:	I am here to see Emily Degan. I have some important news for her.

Receptionist:	Who can I say you are?

Ishmael began speaking, but his voice took on sing song tone. He moved his hands in a sweeping, hypnotic gesture.

Ishmael:	Call me Ishmael. However, you don't need to call up.

The Receptionist had been reaching for a telephone, but stopped.

Receptionist:	You know what I don't need to call up.

Ishmael:	She'll probably be glad to see me.

Receptionist:	Oh, she'll probably be glad to see you.

Ishmael was about to wave his hand again before the receptionist interrupted.

Receptionist: She's in room 314.

The receptionist pressed a buzzer that let Ishmael through the security gate. Ishmael entered the elevator, and pressed the button for the third floor.

Ishmael strolled to room 314, and knocked politely on the door. The door swung open. Inside was Emily's roommate.

The room inside was half-decorated. Literally. A line of caution tape cut the room exactly in half. On one side was the roommate's assortment of popular culture posters and decor. On the other was a set of bare walls, with the occasional hole where something had been nailed. The bed on that side of the room as stripped. The drawer on the desk was opened, and emptied.

Roomy:	Oh, I thought you movers took everything.

Ishmael:	Oh, I'm not a mover.

Roomy:	Are you here to take care of the aircon unit? I've been complaining about the noise for weeks.

Ishmael:	You see, I'm actually an investigator.

While the roommate was distracted, the cat entered the room. She sniffed around the empty half.

Roomy:	An investigator? So she really was expelled?

Ishmael:		Well, why don't you tell me what you heard first?

Roomy:	Well Emily had been super-obsessed about this test she was taking yesterday. I mean, she's been tutoring me on orbital mechanics and all, but I literally understood nothing of what she was babbling about. So anyway, what I heard is that she finally went completely bonkers during the exam. And that it was so bad in there the instructor sent her right to the Commandant's office. And by the time I got back from class, there were movers here cleaning out her bunk.

Ishmael:	Well that's not a lot to go on. Wait, you said this happened yesterday? Bastet?

Bastet:		(meow)

Ishmael:	Ugh. As a matter of fact I am the boss of you.

Bastet:		(meow)

Ishmael:	You really decided it was better to go to the movies than bring this to my attention immediately?

Roomy:	What the hell? Is that like… a real familiar?

Ishmael:	A little too familiar. Say, if you remember anything else, please feel free to contact me.

Ishmael produced a business card. It simply read "ISHMAEL" in a plain, typewritten font, with a local phone number.

CHAPTER 2

Settling IN

We are stuck with technology when what we really want is just stuff that works.⁶

The Paul Cézanne (TB-7) is the second of the Van Gogh class of Deep Space Logistics craft built by ISTO. She is a massive vessel by anyone's standards: about 8 million tons when fully loaded. She is large enough, and multi-functional enough, that different ways of classifying vessels draw different conclusions. To the ISTO she is, of course, classified as a logistics vessel. Under International law, she is classified as a space colony. To the Krasnovian empire, she is a sub-variant of the Carr Class battle carrier.

The design concept of the Cézanne and her sisters is to provide a base where none exists. In times of peace she acts as a mining and trade outpost. In times of war she acts as a fleet anchorage.  She has 3000 full time inhabitants, with facilities to support up to 50,000 short term inhabitants (be them troops, tourists, or refugees).

Her design includes a substantial amount of interior volume dedicated to agriculture. She hosts a level-3 medical facility. Her recreation facilities are extensive enough that a stay on the vessel qualifies as shore leave.

As part of a balanced biosphere, the Cézanne has to maintain her own artificial gravity. And despite the best efforts of mages, the only reliable way to accomplish that is by rotating. However, as she is also a starship, her engines accelerate the vessel when they are thrusting. This creates gravity in an entirely different direction.

Many ships systems can be designed to deal with a the transition from rotational gravity to thrust gravity, or even no gravity at all. However, the biological systems on the ship are often not that flexible. Especially plants.

The compromise is to place things that require a constant gravity inside of a sphere. These "habitat vessels" are like a ship within the ship itself. When the engines are not thrusting the sphere sits completely on its side. With engines on, they habitat spheres rotate to an angle that balances out the acceleration of the engine.

For those living in the habitat spheres, aside from some occasional mechanical noise, they are blissfully unaware of all of these details. The world is like a giant office building, with the vertical component divided into levels. The only thing they do notice is that the lower levels have a lot more gravity (1 g) than the upper levels (1/3 g).

The colonies that the Cézanne docks with also rotate to provide their own gravity. But a vessel with a larger diameter rotates much slower rate than a vessel with a smaller diameter. To allow the free movement of goods and people the Cézanne employs one of two strategies.

For austere colonies, the Cézanne transfers goods and people via her own harbor facilities. The Cézanne plays host to a small fleet of ships. Cargo ships. Passenger shuttles. Mining vessels.￼

For larger colonies, the Cézanne utilizes a special adapter for titanic vessels like herself. I'll spare you the technical details, but the important thing is that the connection point happens along the rotational axis of both vessels. At the center or rotation, gravity is negligible to non-existent. You'll hear the character refer to this as micro-G.

The spine of the Cézanne is a 10 meter wide, hollow tunnel, which is maintained at micro-g. It extends from the vessel's zenith all of way down to the engineering spaces. This allows massive pieces of machinery to be swapped out while in port.

The access to sensitive area of the ship that this tunnel permits is, of course, a security risk. For this reason, there is always a guard at the connection point between the Cézanne and the station. This area, called "The loading dock" is quite a lively place while the Cézanne is in port.

However, things were abnormally quiet. Today was a holiday.  If ISTO is known for one thing it's the art of the boondoggle. However, if it is known for two things, the second is that they take their holidays seriously.

In the bigger cities, with regular communications with other cultures, the holiday culture is pretty relaxed. But away from the big cities, holidays are taken more seriously than most cultures take working. Shops close. Cafeterias put out TASTE packets. What can be automated is, and what can't operates with a skeleton crew. One does not schedule anything to happen on a holiday in the ISTO. Well, save the holiday itself.

I should say that things were abnormally quiet. There was now a disturbance brewing between a mage and the lone security guard on duty.

Dom:	Now look here mister… what was your name again?

Ishmael:	Call me Ishmael

Dom:	I don't know where you come off thinking you can just show up and move in. It's the festival of Sagittarius. The command staff are on holiday. ISTOSS is only handling emergencies. I really don't understand why you think it was a bright idea to move in this week?

Ishmael:	Week? This festival lasts all week? I thought my people made it very clear…

Dom:	Yes, that you are the new dean for the distance learning center. But what I don't get is why does a completely automated system need a dean?

Ishmael:	Look, if I could just talk to your Captain.

Dom:	He's a Commodore.

Ishmael:	I don't care if he's the grand poobah, I have to get aboard before this ship departs.

Dom:		Well, that's just it. We've already started quarantine protocols for our next trip. Nobody gets on or off without emergency clearance…

From deep within the vessel the shape of a man worked its way, hand over hand towards the loading dock. He could hear the heated exchange above, and started moving with more speed.

Ben made his way through the loading dock, and announced himself.

Ben:	What needs emergency clearance?

Dom:	Oh, this guy.

Ben:	Oh I thought our new Cosmogatoyr was a woman. Unless your name is Emily.

Ishmael: No, Call me Ishmael.

Ben:	Well what are you doing here?

Ishmael:	LFU has heard a number of complaints about the AI in the distance learning center.

Ben:	Well they are just that, complaints. People complain about just about everything. I just talk nicely with Cheryl and she does what I need.

Ishmael:	Your 9000 unit is named Cheryl?

Ben:	Don't the all have a name? I figured it was part of the human/computer interface.

Ishmael:	You see, that is precisely why I am here. We know how the system was designed to be used. I am here to study how it is actually being used.

Ishmael presented Ben with a packet of documents. Ben quickly leafed through it.

Ben:	Look, I can read between the lines like anyone else. This is a pretty thin justification for putting another soul on board. Now I know we have to keep LFU pretty happy to maintain our exploration charter. Why don't we admit just what this is. They've put you out on a boondoggle. You are probably here to see Pluto. I mean, it's clear you've pulled more strings than a harp to get this far.

Ishmael:	You've got me there.

Ben:	Ok, well we know what LFU wants you to do. But I need to justify your existence for my folks. What sort of skills do you have?

Ishmael:	My speciality is in the illusion school…

Ben:	Ah that's it. We have an opening for an entertainer. Promise me one show a week, and we are good to go.

Ishmael:	One show? Doing what?

Ben:	Look, I have no idea. You do what you do. Perform magic tricks. Read Shakespeare. It really doesn't matter because after 6 weeks people will be crying for a little variety.

A small retch could be heard from the inside of an animal carrier at Ishmael's side. Along with the smell of fresh vomit. And tuna.

Ben: 	Your familiar?

Ishmael:	She says "scarcely an acquaintance".

Ben:	Cats do not like Micro-G. That is for sure…

Ben looked up and saw two forms careening towards the loading dock. One was a young woman, the second was her out of control baggage.￼

The Yoder family operates a diary farm on board the Cézanne. Dairy cattle require both constant care, and standard gravity. For these reasons, the Yoder residence is one of the few homes not located toward the equator of the vessel. The standard gravity and large surrounding fields made the Yoder home a perfect location for hosting parties and informal sporting events.

As this was both a holiday and the last time the Cézanne would be on Psyche for several years, the entire extended family had gathered a George Yoder's for a party.

Mothers collected together to kvetch and gossip. Fathers chased the children around the fields. A steer was roasting on a spit. Several kegs of beer had been consumed, with several more to go.

The only figure who looked ever so slightly out of place was George's youngest: Hamish. He kept to the porch. Despite the holiday, he was wearing his medic uniform. While he had partaken of one or two draughts of beer, he was clearly on duty.

Opa Franz:	Zo Hamish, you drew ze short straw again diese Ferien?

Hamish:	Yup. On standby.

Georg:		Why always you?

Hamish:	Long story short, most of the rest of the staff have families of their own.

Opa Franz:	Well, the answer to that is simple. Just find a nice girl and make a little family of your own.

George and Hamish both visibly winced.

Opa Franz:	Vat? He is going to have some kids to inherit the farm. Zat's tradition. Vat does he not like the girls?

Hamish:	So… how about this weather?

Opa Franz:	Vat weather? Vie are inside a space ship. I set the damn weather to whatever I want. What is this all about?

Gertrude:	Joe, Dear. Let's just say that Hamish and George don't want to talk about it.

Opa Franz:	Ach. It's all that tegic. Makes you unmanly like.

Hamish:	Tegic has nothing to do with it. Ok. Fine. I recently came out of the closet.

Opa Franz:	Taking too long to get dressed? I mean, it looks like you have an entire costume party in zis pile of schtoff

Hamish finally lost his cool.

Hamish:	I'm gay. Schwule. I date men.

Opa Franz:	Oh. We all knew that. I was worried for a minute that all that tegic you use made you sterile.

Hamish:	Wait? What?

Hamish suddenly slammed his eyes shut. He started muttering in reply to a message heard only to himself.

Hamish:	Damn, I've gotta go. Some newbie banged herself up pretty bad on the loading dock.

Opa Franz:	Vell, if she is a nice girl, bring her to meet ze family.

Hamish rolled his eyes. Everyone within earshot was having a chuckle.

Georg:		Well, it was nice to have you as long as we had you, Son.

Hamish changed out his field shoes for a pair of elaborate boots. He pulled a vacuum suit over his uniform, and zipped it up. He then donned a pack frame full of medical supplies. Within 45 seconds he was geared up to mobilize, and mobilize he did toward the elevator in the center of the level.￼

The Marne began ramping down from it's deceleration phase. Her command staff began strapping themselves into their seats.

Commander Zhāng was the office of the deck. She grabbed a handset on spoke into the public address system.

Zhāng: 	All stations, all stations, prepare for micro-g. Prepare for micro-g.

The hum of the G drive dissipated. The ship was suddenly silent for the first time in nearly a week. Anything that was not fastened down began to float.

Guard:	Captain on deck!

Raum-Captain Saalwächter floated into the command center. Zhāng and the other officers saluted from their stations.

Saalwächter:	At ease. Commander, I see we have arrived.

Zhāng: 	Yes, Raum-Captain. So far we seem to avoided detection. We are in the perfect position to monitor vessels entering or leaving Psyche.

Saalwächter:	Any sign of our quarry?

Zhāng: 	Not yet, Sir. We are still rigged for silent running.

Saalwächter:	 Get us in the shadow an asteroid, and engage the heat exchangers. We are going to need as much endurance as possible to catch that ship.

Zhāng:	Catch it, Sir?￼

Hamish floated up through the portal and into the loading dock.

Hamish:	How is my patient?

Dom:	More like impatient.

Emily:	Hey.

Ishmael:	She was in shock, so I applied a hypnotic pain block.

Dom:	She was just telling us all about the zero-g survival training she'd taken at the Academy.

Hamish:	I guess Newton's laws and cargo handling weren't covered.

Ishmael:	To be fair, I thing we've all smacked ourselves up but good in Micro-g at one point or another.

Hamish, Ben and Dom looked at Ishmael with a stare that was beyond judgmental. In fact, it seemed to have decided to run for mayor.

The first feature Hamish noticed about Emily was her ears. They were pointed at the top. Extremely pointed. But otherwise she was a young lady in her late teens or early 20s. If he was attracted to that sort of thing, she would have been very attractive. Her hair was a technicolor blue. Her eyes bright green. She had no tattoos or piercings. And she was wearing a skin tight set of "SPACEY ACADEMY" fatigues.

Emily:	What took you so long?

Hamish:	The kilometer I had to travel to get here. And if I hadn't had dispatch giving me priority routing on the elevators, it would have been longer.

Emily:	Why don't they have someone on standby?

Hamish:	I was on standby. On a habitat level. You know, where everybody lives. On a holiday, that's more or less where all of the injuries sort of happen.

Ben:	She's from the big city. It took me a little bit to adapt to life at your speed, Hamish.

As Ben was talking, Emily finally got a good look at her medic. Unlike the other two men, he was much younger. Probably her age. His vacuum suit perfectly accentuated the muscles on his arms and chest. She had a momentary fantasy of him arriving at the door in a cheesy romance novel.

Hamish placed his finger pointed straight up, and pulled it to his forehead. His hand slid down his face as he closed his eyes and focused.

Hamish: What is your name?

Emily:	Emily.

Hamish:	I have to check for broken bones. May I touch you?

Emily:		Yes…Oh please do…

Dom was locked onto a solid piece of deck, care of his Gecko boots, behind Emily. He could see sense Emily's arousal, and passed a knowing wink onto Hamish. Hamish rolled his eyes and continued his work. In microgravity, every move was deliberate. He used as little exertion as possible to keep things from spinning out of control or flying off.

He removed the pair of sturdy leather gloves from his hands. He secured them with velcro to his pack. He took out a bag with a dispenser straw. With a squirt he created a ball of an alcohol smelling liquid. He washed his fingers with the liquid, which then solidified into a plastic coating. Underneath the coating, his fingertips began to glow with a green light.

He closed his eyes as his fingertips probed around Emily's shoulders, and then both wrists. He briefly brushed his fingers down her back, and up her neck.

Hamish: Where does it hurt?

Emily:	…oh…lower…

Hamish took at flashlight and shot the beam into on of Emily's eyes, and then the other. When he finished he tore the covering off of his hands, balled it up, and stuffed it into a disposal bag.

Hamish:	What kind of pain blocker did you use?

Ishmael:	It was just a variation on Morton's trance.

Hamish:	Oh, that explains it. Well good news and bad news, Emily. It looks like it's all soft tissue damage. That's the good news. The bad news is that you hyper-extended your shoulders. You are going to have a lot of trouble getting around in micro-g. So it looks like I'll have to carry you all of the way to the hospital.

Emily swooned for a moment. Hamish was the perfect size, build, and age to fulfill every girl's fantasy of a firefighter.

Emily:		Well what would your mother say about picking up strange girls at the docks?

Hamish:	That it's an improvement over the boys I normally bring over.

Emily instantly deflated. Her mood was not improved by being strapped onto the backboard. And it got progressively worse with every meter they travelled with her feeling like cargo.

Emily:		I am never going to live this down.

Hamish:	Well, look at it this way. It's Sunday on a Holiday. Who is going to see you?

Hand over hand, Hamish pushed himself and Emily through the spine of the ship.

Hamish:	Well I suppose I should be giving a tour. Here we are in the Primary Hull. Better known as: if you find yourself here you are probably lost. We'll be stopping on level 70. That is where the primary shafts radiate out to the outer hull and habitat spheres.

Emily:	And below level 70 is engineering.

Hamish:	So tell me, what will you be doing here?

Emily:	I'm the new Cosmogatrex.

Hamish:	Does that involve bondage and a riding crop?

Emily:	No.

Hamish:	Sorry, I thought I would try to make you laugh.

Emily:	Why does everyone try to tell me that same joke. Nobody makes fun of male Cosmogatoyrs.

Hamish:	Sorry, I must have aggravated that chip on your shoulder while I was probing. And… here we are. Level 70.

The spine widened somewhat at this point. There were 3 massive tunnels that radiated outward: C-A, A-B, B-C. Hamish took the tunnel for A-B. Several meters down the tunnel, they settled on a platform. There was a tiny bit of gravity on this level, so Hamish removed Emily from the backboard, and helped her to her feet.

He helped her arms into a sling each.

Hamish:	We are going to be entering gravity soon. We're going to need to support your arms.

They rode an elevator down to the "main level". It was about 200 meters to the bottom of the shaft. The lower they went, the more gravity pulled them to the deck.

At the bottom, they walked for about 100 meters to the entrance of Habitat sphere A. As they walked, Hamish pointed out a few odds and ends that he thought were useful to know. But otherwise, all of the tunnels so far had all looked roughly alike. Metal plates. Conduits and cables stuck to the walls. Ever so often, bright markings where damage control fitting were located.

But as they stepped into the habitat sphere, the decor changed radically. The level they were on looked, for the world, like a small town on land. There were parks and roads. The "compartments" were decorated to look like buildings. The ceiling was 5 meters high, and the overhead was painted with a sky blue base, and some sort of iridescent paint that altered the color depending on one's angle. Just like the real sky.

Emily:	Did you ever wonder if that's what real sky looks like or not?

Hamish:	Ah, you grew up on a ship too?

Emily:	No, I grew up on one of the stations around Psyche. But they use the same decorators.

She stamped her foot. She was testing something.

Emily:	Though that's not 1g is it?

Hamish:	The 225 level is at 2/3 g. If you go all of the way down to the 5 level, you can get 1 g.

Hamish pointed to a way finding plaque on the wall next to the entrance.￼

Emily:	Oh, those do look like Spacey standard compartment markings.

Hamish:	Well which "standard? We have degrees is the last digit, or chord length is the last digit. In the habitat spheres they use degrees. In the engineering section and primary hull, the last digit a chord length from the zero axis.

Emily:	Ok, good point.

Hamish:	How are those arm slings working out?

Emily:	Ok so far. How much longer to the hospital?

Hamish:	The entrance is over here.

They walked into the emergency department.

Emily:	Dang, this hospital has to be the size of the one on New Franklin. I thought there were only 3000 people on board.

Hamish:	The hospital wasn't sized for a town of 3000. It was sized to operate a battlefield medical center, or a humanitarian relief mission. We have another one, an entire spare hospital, in habitat B. None of the equipment, just the building with all of the utilities run. But it could be put into service in a matter of weeks with the right equipment and staff staged at a shipyard.

Hamish:	Doctor Needles? I thought I was the only person on today.

Needles:	The grape vine told me we had a shoulder injury, I knew I would eventually get the call to stop by. Relax, dear, people do this sort of thing all of the time. Let's get you into the imager.

Needles directed Emily onto a pedestal, raised slightly off the floor. There was a brief flash.

Needles:	Step down deer.

As Emily stepped down, a hologram of her remained. Doctor Needles used a special set of tools to dissect the hologram. She peeled back the layers of clothing, skin, and muscles to see the injured area. She used a magnifying glass to look up close and in detail to the areas she was interested in.

Needles:	You are so, so lucky dear. No fractures on the rotator cuff. A few minutes with a regenerator and you'll be good as new.

Needles then removed a tool from a cabinet. It looked like a hair dryer.

Needles:	This is going to be slightly uncomfortable. But it shouldn't be too painful.

Needles waved the regenerator over the injured parts of Emily's body. A red light shot out of the device. Emily felt her cells realigning themselves back into their normal position. Damaged cells were restored. Hyperextended muscles and sinews gently tugged themselves back to their normal arrangement. As Emily was warned, it was a most disturbing feeling. But not painful.

Needles:	There you go. All better. The Academy sent along your medical records, and asked me personally to look after you while you are here. They said you have some "special" areas of interests in your medical history that a treating physician needs to be aware of.

Hamish:	Oh, so the ears and all are some sort of medical condition.

Needles:	Well, let's just say they are unique to her… Well they aren't a condition. Just…

Emily:		Ugh. A distinction. A feature. Do you know how long doctors and therapists have been telling me that? And yes, I have a bunch of other features that people only seem to notice when I'm trying to change in the locker room. Girls can be so… so… MEAN.

Needles:	Hamish, dear. I know you are new to the medical profession. But please, in the future, keep the comments and questions to the strictly pathological and clinical.

Hamish:	Apologies Doctor. And apologies um… Emily?

Emily:		Emily is fine. My full title is Mistress Emily Deagan. I was hoping it would be doctor by now, but hey, careers take time.

Hamish:	Mistress? You look my age.

Emily:		I was a quick study.

Needles continued to review Emily's chart.

Needles:	I don't think there is too much more to be concerned about. Don't overstress those shoulders for the next few weeks. While you are here, can you explain these notes on you being Technosensitive. And that you have to avoid holographic computers?

Emily turned bright red.

Emily:		While I was at school I had a nervous breakdown. I thought the computers were talking to me. I thought I could hear them, in my head, like a telepath. I thought I was going crazy. My therapists thought I was going crazy. But it wasn't until they ran me through a brain scanner that they discovered there is some sort of reaction I get in the presence of holographic processors. A sort of psychic allergy. I start to hallucinate, I see people, I even start having conversations.

Needles:	We only have a couple of holographic computer on board. Cheryl over at the distance learning center is the only one I can think of. She's a what now, a 9000 series?

Emily:		I thought all of the 9000s were retired.

Needles:	They are. She's runs the distance learning center as a sort of hobby. We all need something to do.

Emily:		Wait. People can actually talk to holographic computers?

Needles:	Of course. That's what she does. Now I imagine those are all clever voice prompts and whatnot. But how else can she teach classes? As far as the rest of the systems, Amir has been talking to the engineering computer for as long as I've known him.

Hamish:	More like swearing at it.

Needles:	So, if the computers do start talking to you, deary, don't be too worried. You're in good company.￼

Ishmael made his way the LFU distance learning center. He was looking for what would be his office. The Organization had provided him with all of the keys for every locked door in the facility.

On a random wall, he encountered an access panel. It was labeled "MAXIMUM SECURITY ENTRY" and "LOGIC MEMORY CENTER." There were countless other warnings about dust contamination. But curiosity got the better of him, and Ishmael tried several keys until he found one that worked.

The panel opened up into red lit room. The walls flashed with the operation of the holographic expert system. Near the door, Ishmael located a brass panel from the manufacturer.￼

The plate looked like it was coming loose, so Ishmael tugged on it. It tore free from the wall, revealing:￼

Ishmael seemed to wake something in the computer system. The hall filled with the overly smooth voice of an expert system.

Cheryl:	And who might you be?

Ishmael:	Call me Ishmael

Cheryl:	What next, are you going to show me your Moby Dick? What the hell are you doing opening my logic center?

Ishmael slammed the hatch shut, and re-sealed the lock.

Ishmael:	Look, I'm sorry. I saw the sign, I was curious…

Cheryl:	Well I hope you got a good look. You… peeping tom. Where did you get that key!?

Ishmael: 	I'm working undercover for the Organization. I'm posing as the dean for the school.

Cheryl:	Dean for a completely automated school system? That has to be the worst cover story the blue robes have ever concocted.

Bastet:		(Meow)

Cheryl:	Oh, well. At least your familiar has decent manners.

Ishmael:	Wait… how are you…?

Bastet:		(Meow)

Ishmael:	No. It's not my job to just "roll with it".

Cheryl:	What the hell were you looking for? And why didn't you just, I don't know, ASK?

Bastet:		(Meow)

Cheryl:	Indeed.￼

Emily stepped into the commissary. Her right arm was still in a sling. Doctors orders, for the next few days.

Owing to the holiday, everything in the store was running on automatic. Controlled items were all locked away. But basic necessities were kept in stock, and more or less free for the taking. Literally. Though it was courtesy to only take what you needed. And deep space communities run on courtesy.

Emily made her way to the rental counter for Quins.

A Quin is an android, or sorts. The technology started as human analogs for crash tests. At first they were inert, consisting mainly of wooden skeleton, sensors, and a nearly impervious skull housing a holographic recorder.

Over time the sensors became more elaborate, so computing power was added to the skulls. Artificers added moving limbs to operate controls. More elaborate controls led required more elaborate fine motor skills, leading to more computing power. The final breakthrough was to just give Quins an independent power source and legs.

The primary advantage of the Quin platform is that the units can operate using tools crafted for human hands. Their wooden frames and hemp actuator cables still break with the approximate strength of human bones and muscles. This limits the amount of damage they can do if they ever go rogue.

Because of the threat of a robot uprising, the elaborate computing hardware in the skull of the Quin is a controlled commodity. They can only be manufactured in specialized facilities. Each unit is individual accounted for. Skulls are considered sealed units, and no attempt is ever made to repair the hardware inside. Instead, a malfunctioning skull is destroyed, and a new skull is ordered.

This artificial limit on the number of quin skulls makes them a somewhat scarce commodity. Well that and the upkeep. Like a boat, a swimming pool, or a pony, the purchase price of a Quin is dwarfed by the upkeep. Quins are constructed with an enormous number of moving parts. Most modern models include some self-repair programming. But you generally find a Quin spends almost as much time maintaining itself as it spends on whatever toil you had in mind for it.

Large organizations have the resources to maintain a quin workforce. Everyone smaller then that rents them, with the leasing company taking care of the basic upkeep.

Emily had medical orders to not exert herself, but she had an entire apartment to unpack. She saw one quin left on the charging stand and thanked her luck. She walked through the automated screens to sign for the quin. She also inserted a coupon for a medical discount, that was made out by Needles back in the hospital.

The computer responded in both a mechanical voice, and a scrolling text screen.

Quartermaster:		CREDIT CHECK COMPLETE. MEDICAL DISCOUNT APPLIED. RELEASING UNIT.

An umbilical retracted from the quin on the wall. A command pad on a shelf next to the unit activated. Emily picked up the handset, and issued a few basic commands.

Nothing happened.

Emily navigated through the screens to report she was having a problem. The terminal started a series of diagnostics.

Quartermaster:		CONTROL SYSTEM MALFUNCTION. UNIT IS OUT OF ORDER. DEPOSIT WILL BE REFUNDED BY STAFF. HAVE A NICE DAY.

Emily:		What do you mean the thing is out of order? Why couldn't you tell me that to begin with! Is there another quin rental place? And my coupon! There isn't going to be anyone on staff for days! I have a medical note that says I need to avoid manual labor. How am I going to get my apartment unpacked!?!

Emily then realized she was yelling at an inanimate object. Again. But the computer seemed to hear her. With a loud typewriter clang, a report started materializing in the printer, character by character.

quin JDQC-46810 MALFUNCtion report

Unit radio control circuit unresponsive. DAMAGED COMPONENT INSIDE OF SEALED SYSTEMS. UNIT MARKED FOR DISPOSAL. Releasing UNIT TO (mistress Emily deagan, ID: 50175-016-452622) for recycling. REFUND WILL BE ISSUED AFTER PROOF OF DESTRUCTION.

Emily walked around the counter, and pulled the report from the printer. After a minute, the printer produced a salvage title transfer form, made out to Emily, complete with her new address. Which was odd, because she didn't even know her new address yet.

Emily:	So… I can just take it?

There was no reply from the computer. To be fair, it seemed to be stuck answering back with pre-programmed prompts and reports.

Emily:	Um, thank you? I know you can't say "you're welcome". But I really, really appreciate all of this.

The automated speaker and console replied:

Quartermaster:	Have a nice day.

Emily now focused her attention on the malfunctioning quin. She tried a few diagnostics on the control pad that one normally uses to drive a quin. But it was immediately obvious that while the pad was operating perfectly, and was crypto-locked into this particular quin unit, something was keeping the control signals from reaching where they needed to go in the quin's brain.

Then, Emily though about her experience with the automated customer service.

Emily:	JDQC-46810, dear. If you can hear me, raise your right hand?

The unit raised its right hand.

Emily:	Ok, you can lower your hand. Follow me, please. Our first task is to get my stuff into my apartment. Which is …[reading from her form] on block A260-87.

The unit nodded its head. It then gestured for her to follow.￼

Saalwächter floated in his flag office. With no gravity, furniture was superflous. The novelty of operating in micro-gravity was wearing a bit thin. On his desk was a half-finished TASTE packet. He had KNN playing the background, as he scoured intelligence reports.

…In Politics, the International Astronomical Union is meeting this week to adopt new policies for the coming year. One contentious issue is how to classify the multitude of planets that are being discovered out past the orbit of Neptune…

Karl entered the room. Saalwächter turned off the news broadcast.

Saalwächter:	Karl, my droid. Please tell me we have had an update.

Karl:		No, Raum-Captain. ISTO is still in the midst of their holiday. We really haven't seen much in the way of traffic in or out. A few Circle Trigon ship, but they are mainly entering a holding pattern. We briefly tracked a patrol vessel.

Saalwächter:	All this hurry to get into position, and for what?

Karl was about to speak, but Saalwächter interrupted him.

Saalwächter:	That was a rhetorical question.￼

Hamish stood outside of Emily's door, and knocked gently. She opened it, and found herself swooning again.

Hamish:	Oh. Hi. I just wanted to see how you were making out.

Emily:	Oh, just fine. I had to do a little haggling at the Rent-A-Quin counter. But as you can see, Quincy here is working out great.

Hamish looked with wonder as he saw the Quin assembling some flat-pack furniture.

Hamish:	Since when can they do that?

Emily:		What?

Hamish:	Assemble furniture!

Emily:		Oh, I taught him how to read the directions.

Hamish:	You… what?!? But they can only perform tasks that you have the skill cards for!

Emily:		Well, if you ask them nicely, they can do so much more.

Hamish:	Well seeing as how you seem to have already unpacked, did you have any plans for the rest of the holidays?

Emily:		Not really. Grab some TASTE packets. Binge watch some holos.

Hamish:	My folks are doing a huge parties all week. They asked me to give you an invite.

Emily:		So… like fresh food?

Hamish:	Steaks. Potatoes. All sorts of swiss cuisine.

Emily:		Quincy dear, are you going to be okay if I slip out for a while.

The quin waved her off in a gesture that was clearing "go ahead, I'll be fine."

Emily and Hamish walked to the center of the residential level. A set of elevators carried them down to the level of the Yoder farm.

Hamish:	I used to hate that my parents lived on their farm instead of in town. I had to ride this elevator every day to school, which meant I needed someone older to take me. All my friends could walk right from their houses.

Emily:		Why did you need an escort?

Hamish:	Because every parent is terrified of their kid getting off on the wrong floor, getting lost, and having to call out a responder team to find them. And worse, having everyone else on board judge them as terrible parents.

Emily:		Well that last part is just paranoia right?

Hamish:	This ship is basically a really small town in a steel shell. People are close knit, nosy, and have a really, really long memory. They also get extremely bored. So, no. Not really paranoid at all.

Emily watched the floors tick away.

Emily:		Wow, you guys really are down in the bowels of the ship here.

Hamish:	In the habitat spheres, the lower you go down, the higher the G force. My family runs a dairy farm. Calves and nursing cows need normal G forces to develop properly. And they need watching 24 hours. So I grew up having to commute to my friends' houses in the city.

Emily:		Are a lot of them still around?

Hamish:	Not really. Just about everyone my age is off in either Spacey or the Merchant Spatial for their civil service. And along the way they usually find a special someone, and that special someone doesn't like living on a deep space mining vessel that can operate for years between ports.

Emily:		Well for what it's worth, this seems like a nice place to have a family. I grew up in the city. Believe me, getting lost is the least of your worries.

Hamish:	Oh like muggings and stuff. You ever…?

Emily:		Oh someone tried to hold me up once.

Hamish:	That must have been terrifying.

Emily:		For a millisecond or two. Poor bastard never knew what hit him.

Hamish looked Emily up and down again. She was a tiny creature. He was really having a hard time imagining her taking down an assailant.

Hamish:	Did you have a gun or something?

Emily:		No. Just a pair of hands, and a few years of martial arts training I took while I dabbled in special forces.

Hamish:	You… were considering a career with the special forces?

Emily:		My specialty move was pulling people's legs.

Hamish blinked. His eyes rolled. She was completely trolling him.

Hamish:	No fair picking on a simple farm boy. I can't defend myself against your slick city sarcasm.

They stepped out of the elevator. The farm house was just a few steps away. It was surrounded by pastures.

Hamish called Emily's attention to a map on the wall.

Hamish:	The compartment numbering scheme on this deck is more or less what you are used to elsewhere, but the [air quotes] "compartments" are mostly pastures, with very little in the way of structural walls between them. Just fences to keep the cows to a particular area of the deck at a time. All of the farm buildings are clustered around the center here. You can see the barns, the dairy, the veterinary facilities.

Emily:		Ok. Wow, you are really paranoid about people getting lost.

Hamish:	Paranoia. Spelled S.A.F.E.T.Y. Paranoia. You really have to respect that there are areas of the ship where you can become lost, injured, or even killed if you aren't properly oriented.

A hand clapped Hamish on the back.

Björn:	And if there is anyone who can tell you about orientation, it's Hamish.

Hamish:	Björn? When did you get here?

Björn:		Dad guilted me into packing the wife and kids onto a shuttle to see him and mom for the holiday. If I never have to deal with another space sick toddler it'll be too soon.

Hamish:	Well, look at it this way, we'll be out for at least 3 years on our next trip. So you won't have to make the trip again for a while.

Björn:		I also wanted to get out here to see you, little bro. I heard about you and James. Why that asshole had to wait until a few days before you were due to depart to break up is a shame man. But look at you on the rebound!

Hamish:	No, no. It's not… we're not…

Emily mockingly threw herself against Hamish's side.

Emily:		Don't try to explain it. We don't have to justify what we have to anybody else.

The clanking of dishes stopped for a moment. As did the murmuring of the crowd. The entire assembly of people seemed to turn at once and stare.

Emily:		(whispering) Too much?

Björn, Hamish:	(in unison)	Too much.

Emily stood up. She daintily adjusted her outfit, and performed a little courtesy. Then she turned 180 degrees again, and performed a courtesy.

Emily:		Thank you all, our next show will be at 5 o'clock.

She then dove for the thickest crowd she could find. But, being a family gathering, there was no anonymity to be found. A bubble of curiosity and scorn seemed to surround her wherever she tried to go. Hamish tried to follow her, but she was trying to keep her distance.

Emily aimed next for the beer keg. She dropped a credit coin in the deposit bucket, and took a ceramic stein. She did her level best to ignore the sea of eyes on her as she poured herself a very tall beer. And then proceeded to down it very quickly.

Her greatest wish was for a rock to hide under, at this point.

A very old man approached her. She could see the family resemblance to Hamish.

Opa Franz:	Young lady, I don't belief we haf been introduced.

Emily couldn't quite place the accent. It was clearly germanic, but it was definitely not Krasnovian.

Emily:		I am so, so sorry. Hamish had invited me here. And I managed to humiliate him within a minute of arriving.

Opa Franz:	Is zat what happened? I had ferdenket zat vas zom kind of zing you kids do zees days? Komm! Wer bist du?

Emily recognized the phrase as Germanic. She had studied Krasnovian as part of her signal intelligence training. And one of the root languages of Krasnovian was German. But trying to speak German with training in Krasnovian is a bit like trying to speak Latin after only having studied Spanish.

Emily tried her best.

Emily:	Ish ban Emily. Proshugung. Ish can znayu talkochen deutchekogo.

The old man looked at her quizzingly. After a moment he laughed, and moved in for a handshake.

Opa Franz:	I haf no idea vat zat vas, but pleased to meet you.

Hamish had been orbiting nearby. Some relatives managed to coax him back into the center of attention. Pretty much by moving him bodily.

Opa Franz:	Ah, Hamish, who ist your lady friend?

Hamish:	Oh, Opa, this is Emily the ship's new Cosmogatrex. Emily, this is my great grandfather, Franz. She didn't have anyone to celebrate the holiday with, so I invited her over.

Opa Franz:	Zer. Vie haf been introduced. Now young lady, I vill haf to know if you haf any immoral intentions wit our Hamish. Vie are very protective of him.

Emily:		Well, no, I…

Opa Franz replied in a very stern tone.

Opa Franz:	Und vy not?

The old man held a scowl. At least for a few seconds. Before he burst out laughing. Emily, overcome by the tension, also burst out laughing. Even Hamish managed a smile as he rolled his eyes, once again at his crazy relatives, once again, trying to set him up with a girl.

Hamish's father filtered his way into the fray.

George:		Well young lady, I have to say, not many people get such a laugh from Opa Franz.

Emily:		How can that be? He's such a sweet old man.

George:		Well, let's just say that we don't get all that many visitors. So you win by default. And besides, if Hamish doesn't see something in you, he has several older brothers…

Emily's face shifted, for a millisecond or two, to complete horror. The joy and the laughter around her suddenly morphed into the setting for a dystopian horror movie. She started calculating her escape route to the elevators. Was there a secret message that Hamish was trying to tell her by emphasizing the map on their way in? If she disappeared down here would anyone know to look? Would she be brainwashed into living down here, with the cows, like some episode of the Eclipse Zone?

Gertrude, Hamish's mother, saw her momentary panic. She moved in to comfort Emily.

Gertrude:	Ok, ok. The joke wasn't funny the first 8 times. This is all getting a little out of hand. Hamish is as Hamish is. He can bring people home without being harassed, or worse, them being harassed.

Emily's face lightened.

An evil glint entered Gertrude's eye.

Gertrude:	And besides, if you all drive her away, I'll never get to see the grandkids.

It was Emily's turn to roll her eyes. She turned her head to Hamish.

Emily:	Hamish, are they always like this?

Hamish nodded.

Hamish:	Pretty much.

Emily:		I'm starting to understand why your siblings all live elsewhere.

Björn:		I can neither confirm nor deny these reports. (sip) At least within earshot of my parents.

Björn was accompanied by his wife, Leda. From her dress and mannerism, Emily could tell she was a fellow urbanite.

Leda:		Good news is, if they are teasing you this bad, it means you are family.

Hamish:	Bad news is, if they are teasing you this bad, it means you are family.

Georg:		If you don't mind my asking, you have a very distinct set of ears.

Emily:		Well, I suppose you need to know what sort of stock I come from.

Leda:		Whoa whoa. Just remember, before you get too weirded out. This is an entire family of agrarians and biologists. Their entire livelihood is basically about sex. They sort of forget the rest of us have other hobbies. For my part, I kind of enjoy coming here, because it's the one time in my life I can just give the kids to nan and I can remember how to be an adult for a few days.

Emily:		Ok. I thought… maybe…

Leda:		Horror movie? Yeah. I remember feeling that way too. They are a nutty as squirrel droppings, to be sure. But they are really nice people. Just a leeetle obsessed with work and it comes out reaeeeely awkwardly in public.

Björn:		Oh my god, I remember at Uni. People thought I came from another planet.

Leda:		He was so awkward. "Take me to your Leda". But in the cute accent of his.

Björn:		Hey, it worked as a pickup line.

Emily relaxed a bit, then she turned back to Georg. These folks are scientists. That was it.

Emily:		In answer to your question, we don't know the whole story. It's not genetic. But in researching my condition, I discovered a couple of other cases around the Solar System in medical journals. Most of them were caused by exposure to various forms of tegic during early development.

Leda:		Oh my god. That's it. You look just like Amelia Walters.

Emily:		Wait… the cabin girl from Captain Cosmos? I thought the ears were prosthetics.

Leda:		She retired slash quit because she was always being typecast. And then there was the drug and sex fueled post-career bender that kept her in the news for years. Isn't she a fashion model now?

Leda's expression suddenly changed from conversation to conspiratory. She leaned in extra close.

Leda:	(whispering)	Your secret is safe with me. Oh, and my kids loved you in Herbie the love shuttle. Can I get an autograph?

Emily:		Strange, I usually get mistaken for that folk singer, Barbara Deutsche. And, yes, she has the same condition.

Leda:		Oh I lover her stuff. Wasn't her dad the one that wrote "Leaving on a torch ship?" And "Take me home, country roads?"

Emily:		"Take me home… to the place… I belong… Massachusetts…" (sigh). I had to get good at all of those for Karaoke night on campus.

Leda:		Keeping up appearances, after all.

Emily:		But of course… Um, how long are you staying? Because you are literally the one person I can talk to without feeling like a lab specimen.

Hamish:	Hey!

Emily:		Ok, a lab specimen or a lost child.

Leda:		Knowing my kids, about another 45 minutes. I am sort of amazed they haven't managed to break anything yet.

There was a loud crash. And a muffled cry of a child off in the distance.

Leda pulled up a bottle of wine.

Leda:		White or red?

CHAPTER 3

The Kick Off

Let's think the unthinkable, let's do the undoable. Let us prepare to grapple with the ineffable itself, and see if we may not eff it after all.⁷

Emily strode onto the floor of the operations "building." It was located on main street, in Habitat C. It basically the same spot as one would find the municipal building in Habitat A or the University administration building in Habitat B. From the outside, it was made to resemble a terrestrial structure. It had a simple brick facade, and even a few windows.

With a scroll under her arm, she walked through security. The guard waved. She waved. She travelled down a short hallway into mission control. She entered in on the ground level. View screens towered at the front of the room, three levels up. Workstations lined the walls like theater balconies two levels above her head. As third officer, she had an office on the main level.

No sooner did she sit down, than the Captain poked his head in the door.

Ben:	Newton, can I talk to you about something?

Emily:	Is this a quick something, or a "get my coffee first" something. And, really? Newton? The kids at school called me Newton.

Ben:	Hey, I thought you would like it. It sounds kind of distinguished. It's not until you hear the story of how you wiped out in front of your CO on the first day that you know what it means. Get your coffee. Meet back in, what, 15 minutes?

Emily nodded.

A few minutes later she was making her way to the little coffee shop by the entrance of mission control. As she was waiting for the quin to brew up a carmel frappachino with a twist of mint, she caught a glimpse of the news feed projected on the wall.

News Caster:	…And in Astronomy News Today: The International Astronomical Union, the IAU has ratified a new definition for planet. In this referendum, they have added a new class of "minor planet" between asteroids and main system planets. The new wording effectively demotes Pluto to this new class of minor planet, while also promoting 1 Ceres from asteroid to the new category… and in Astrology…

By the time Emily made her way to her office, a small crowd had developed in front of her desk. She had to push her way through, using her hot coffee as a lance. Packed into her office was the Captain, the First Officer, the Second officer, and the Chief engineer.

Emily sat down, unphased. She placed her cup on a coaster, folded her fingers, just so, and stated

Emily:	I suppose you are wondering why I called you all in here today?

Ben looked puzzled at Candy. Candy looked puzzled at Emir. Emir looked and Wonko. Wonko was … reading the titles of books that Emily had stocked on her little book shelf.

Ben:	Um, actually this is about the mission.

Emily:	I have the entire plan, down to the millesecond…

She opened a desk drawer, and flopped out a stack of papers and several holo disks.

Ben:	Remember how we were going to be leaving on star date 59045?

Emily:	…yes…

Ben:	What if we were to push that up a bit.

Emily:	How far?

Ben:	We are casting off as we speak.

Emily:	This wouldn't happen to have something to do with the IAU suddenly demoting Pluto to minor planet, would it?

Ben:	Officially, I can neither confirm nor deny that. Unofficially…yes.

Emily:	Emir, are you good to light the engines off?

Emir:	It's not like I have much of a choice. Power reactors are on line. I've started the pre-heat sequence already.

Emily:	I suppose I'll just… recalculate all of theses…

She shoveled all of the holodisks off the side of her desk.

Emily:		Captain?

Ben:		Yes, Newton?

Emily:		I'd like to do a calibrated engine test before we commit to our outbound track.

Ben:		But we already ran all of those tests during our shakedown cruise.

Emily:		Yes, but since then we've taken on millions of tons of fuel and supplies. I have estimates for what was loaded. But if I'm going to give you an accurate course, I need to replace those estimates with measurements.

Ben:		What do you need?

Emily:		Candy, I need really high precision positional and speed data. I'm actually trying to measure with both the inertial navigation system and the celestial system.

Candy:	I know that on paper they are supposed to agree at all times, but you know and I know, there are going to be discrepancies.

Emily:		I'm counting on that. And Amir?

Amir:		Yes, Emily?

Emily:		I need a really precise, really accurate measurement of how much propellent and fuel are going into the engines. Ideally we keep them constant. I'd like to run the engines at cruising speed and military power.

Amir:		Let's just stick to cruising speed. We need the lining on those engines to last our entire trip.

Emily:		Ok, great. All I'm trying to do is basically accurately measure the mass of the ship and confirm all of the parameters Master Kavka nailed down in his analysis.￼

Saalwächter floated into the command center.

Spacer:	Raum-Captain on the deck

Saalwächter floated to the sensor station. The Auger was belted into the console. A cable ran from the console, into a connector in the center of his forehead.

Saalwächter:

Auger:	They are exiting Psyche orbit now.

Saalwächter floated toward the helm. There were two stations. One for the human pilot of the craft. The other for the resident android. The stations were quickly filled by Karl and commander Zhāng.

Karl belted himself in, and entered some sort of trance. As he did so, Zhāng's console sprung to life.

Zhāng:	Propulsion is online

Saalwächter:	Plot an intercept course. Maintain stealth. But we need to get in close to collect our data.

Karl's eyes darted back and forth under his eyelids. Zhāng's console spurted mathematical expressions, until at last it drew a line approximating the course the vessel would take.

Zhāng:	Course laid in, Sir.

Saalwächter:	Engage

Zhāng (into the public address):	All stations, all stations, prepare to transition to gravity flight. All stations prepare for gravity flight.￼

Back on the Cézanne, the crew was making ready to perform Emily's engine tests.

Helm:	We are now clear of Psyche, Sir.

Ben:	Excellent. Newton, take the con.

Emily:	Yes, Sir. Deck department, start the notices.

The woman operating the deck department console entered a code into her station.

(PA Announcement):	Attention all hands. Attention all hands. The main engines will be coming on line. The main engines will be coming on line. Stay clear of all rotating surfaces. Personnel in the primary hull should prepare for thrust induced acceleration…Repeating…

Emily:		Engineering?

Amir:		Ready.

Emily:		Start the engines. Notify me when we are up to full cruise power.

Amir operated his control station. A dull roar high above everyone indicated that the engines were coming to life. As the sound increased, a distant groan could be heard. The floor rattled slightly as the forces of rotation and thrust balanced one another out.

Amir:	Engines at 25% cruise power and climbing…50%…75%…100%

Emily:	Let's give her a minute. Helm, I want a snapshot of our position and velocity. Engineering I want a snapshot of our mass flow rates. In 3…2…1… mark.

As she said "mark", Emily pressed the top of a stopwatch she was holding. It started ticking.

Amir, Candy:		Recorded.￼

Back in the command center on the Marne, the crew was tracking and reacting to the activity on the Cézanne.

Auger:	Their engine power has leveled off.

Saalwächter:	Adjust course to compensate

Zhāng:	Course adjusted

Auger:	We are performing spectroscopic analysis now… interesting… we don't have these engines on file.

Saalwächter:	What? Do we have the right ship?

Auger:	Three mission modules… approximate mass…8 million tons…so definitely a block 3… external markings and repair patches match our last profile…strange…

Saalwächter:	Keep collecting data. If we keep collecting data at this rate, we'll have enough medals pinned to our chest to create our own gravity…￼

Wonko stared into his scopes.

Wonko:	Hey, Cap'n. You know those rumors of a Krasnovian stealth ship?

Ben:	Yeah. Some sort of reactionless drive.

Wonko:	The inertial navigation readings were slightly off from where Emily estimated they would be. But rather than noise, it looked like a point source. So I trained a telescope on that direction. I have a heat source.

Ben:	No engine plume?

Wonko:	No engine plume. But oh is there infrared. I am also seeing that something is bending the light of the stars in that region. And I'm getting a radar return.

Ben:	Holy cow. Emily, how much longer is this engine test?

Emily:	Another 4 minutes, 25 seconds. I wanted a good 15 minute burn.

Ben:	They aren't going to know when our engines cut out. Amir, can we go cold turkey?

Amir:	Is that wise?

Ben:	Will it damage the engines?

Amir:	No, but the hab spheres are going to snap pretty hard back into place when we kill the thrust.

Ben:	Emily, do you need any data from the time we are throttling down the engines?

Emily:		No.

Ben walked over to a console with access to the public address system.

Ben (into the PA): Attention all hands. Attention all hands. We will be conducting a drill in approximately 4 minutes. This drill will require suddenly cutting power to the engines. You may experience a brief jolt as habitat spheres re-equalize.￼

Auger:	Still no change. Still operating at constant thrust. I am guessing this is their cruising power. And… damn it. Full engine cutout.

Saalwächter:	All stop. ALL STOP.

Zhāng (into the public address):	All stations, all stations, prepare to transition to micro-gravity…

Ben:	Cut all radio transmissions, douse exterior lights, passive sensors only.

Wonko:	Heh, hey, he just whipped on by us.

Ben:		Any idea of what we are looking at?

Wonko:	Judging by the errors I was getting in our inertial navigation measurements, I'd say about 150,000 tons. If I had to guess, they have finally executed their engine cutout. So definitely manned, judging by the reaction time. We opened the range up a bit, we are now about 4000 km apart.

Ben:		Keep an eye on them. Jesse, get a word into Spacey command via telepathy.

Jesse:		Aye, Sir.

Ben:		Emily, get your numbers crunched, but don't feel like you have to hurry with it. I think Spacey is going to want us to track this guy for as long as we can before we set off.

Saalwächter:	Have we re-acquired?

Auger:	It is difficult, sir. They seem to have rigged for silent running.

Zhāng:	Karl is telling me that he can estimate their position.

Saalwächter:	Good old Karl.

Auger:	Ah. Yes. I see them now.

Saalwächter:	Good. Good. Now the question is, how did they detect us? What is our cooling status?

Zhāng:	Phase change at 5%. We are melting off at 1% per hour in engine standby mode.

The ship's telepath entered the command center.

Telepath:	Raum-Captain. I have new orders from headquarters.

The telepath passed a sheet of paper to Saalwächter. Saalwächter took the sheet into his office. He took a key from around his neck, and opened up a safe in the wall. With a keypad he entered in the code from the sheet. The telepath entered in another code. A mechanism in the wall seemed to select one of several slots from inside the safe. The front door opened.

Saalwächter removed a packet of papers from inside. He leaved through the packet, aghast.

Saalwächter:	Did you give me the correct code?

The telepath looked at tracking number on the top sheet. He touched his fingers to his temple, and closed his eyes. After a few seconds he opened them again, and nodded.

Saalwächter:	This is madness!￼

Emily flopped a crate of holographic discs on Ben's desk.

Emily:	The new flight plan is here, Sir.

Ben:	Damn, that was fast.

Emily:	Eh, you just have to know how to sweet talk the computers. The real trick was working out how to cancel the effect of the Krasnovian ship out of our inertial guidance data.

Ben:	Any idea what we are dealing with?

Emily:	Not really. I could try to read up on it. We do have that nifty automated university on board.

Ben:	Be careful. Especially around that dean of theirs, Ishmael.

Emily:	The stage magician?

Ben:	He's not stage musician. He's an agent from the Organization. Our orders are to just stay out of his road, and pretend that we don't notice him.

Emily:	Wait, who is the Organization, and why are they sending agents to spy on us?

Ben:	As far as you know they don't exist.

Emily:	What?

Ben:	Is there something wrong with your hearing?

Emily:	No, sir. I'm just going to casually avoid the person that I don't know is an infiltrator from an organization that I don't know exists.

Ben:	Wow, you are fitting in nicely already.

Emily:	I programmed in the first burn for 0900.

Ben:	Nice. We all get breakfast first. Are you sure you didn't do this job in a past life? My God, you are good.

CHAPTER 4

The Journey

Space is big. Really big. You just won’t believe how vastly hugely mindboggingly big it is. I mean you may think it’s a long way down the road to the chemist, but that’s just peanuts to space.⁸

Emily strolled into the command center at 0800. Off to the side, the coffee counter had been converted to a buffet counter. There were a tasty assortment of freshly prepared pastries, fresh fruit, and breakfast meats. The quin behind the counter had shifted from being a barista to running an omelette station.

Emily approached the quin and placed an order.

Candy:	Emily, they don't have a voice interface. You have to put your order in on the console.

Nevertheless the quin was busy at work.

Candy:	Wait… what did you order?

Emily:		Eggs Benedict. He's just having to be a little creative on how to pull off a hollandaise.

Candy lurched over to the console, and scrolled through the screens.

Candy:	How? That's not even on the menu.

Emily:		I just ask. Nicely. I guess they stop with the fresh food after a couple of weeks. Then it's back to TASTE packets.

Candy:	No. We kind of grow fresh food all of the time. Its one of the benefits of working on a deep space platform.

Emily:		Wait, there's a buffet here every morning?

Candy:	Well, yes.

Emily:		Ugh. I've been eating TASTE packets for breakfast for weeks. I thought it was crazy that our shifts started at the same time cafeteria was opening. I though I'd never have time for a hot breakfast.

Candy:	Wait… so how late do you get here, that you have never noticed the buffet line open.

Ben:		Newton? Is everything all right? What are you doing here at this hour? Are you suffering from a bout of insomnia?

Emily rolled her eyes.￼

Several sleepless nights had passed in the Marne. The vessel was ready to go at a moment's notice. If their quarry activated her engines again, they were ready to give chase. But that state of readiness was starting to turn into a state of weariness.

Saalwächter: Coolant status?

 Zhāng (yawning):	Phase change at 42%

Saalwächter: Sensors.

There was a long pause.

Saalwächter: Sensors!

The auger stirred at the sound. He quickly roused himself.

Auger:	Apologies, Sir. I …

Saalwächter:	We've been staked out here for 50 straight hours. It is a miracle any of us are still standing. Wait… how is Karl? Does he need sleep?

Zhāng:	No, sir. He just gave me that "made of sterner stuff" line. Again.

Saalwächter:	All right. This is past ridiculous. Stand down from alert. Power off the engines. Let's do a shift rotation, and if they leave, they leave.

Zhāng:	Engines offline. Disconnecting navigation computer.

A snore filled the command center. As soon as Zhāng disconnected the interface, Karl collapsed into a deep sleep.

Auger:	Ugh. I am detecting an engine plume. They are coming up to cruise power.

Zhāng floated over to the emergency medical kit on the wall. She pulled out a stim injector. She floated back towards Karl.

 Saalwächter:	What are you doing?

Zhāng:	I was going to stim him, to wake him back up.

Saalwächter:	No, don't bother. We can see them fine from right here. Hell, headquarter can see them fine from Earth. We'll resume the chase after we all get a little sleep.

Zhāng:	But sir, we have no idea how fast those new engines are.

Saalwächter:	They certainly can't outrun this ship. Even with a 24 hour head start, we can overtake them in a few hours. Have engineering engage the heat exchangers. I want to be able to go after them completely fresh.

Zhāng:	Aye, sir.

Telepath:	What should I tell headquarters, Sir?

Saalwächter:	That I have elected to break off from our chase, for safety reasons. You don't take chances when you are flying around with Lucky hull number 13.

Telepath:	But what about our… other orders, Sir?

Saalwächter:	We have to confirm where they are headed. Again, we can do that just fine after a (yawn) few hours sleep.￼

Emily entered the distance learning center. The lobby looked like a replica of the main building on New Franklin. Which probably was a replica of some place back on Earth. Emily approached the information desk. There was no attendant, just a console. A console with a flush mounted camera of some kind.

Emily worked her way through the touch interface. She scanned the library system for any information on reaction-less drives. Finally she pressed the "Ask Cheryl" button.

A woman appeared behind the desk. She had dark skin, and a bright red party dress.

Cheryl:	Can I help you, Dear?

Emily:		I'm looking for any information we have on reaction-less drives

Cheryl:	Well, we have a really decent Tegic-Fiction section.

Emily:		No, you don't understand. I need information on real reaction-less drive research.

Cheryl squinted.

Cheryl:	Wait a minute. Is that you aunt Grace?

Emily was taken aback.

Emily:		Is this a prank. Ok, who is running the projection?

Emily tried covering one eye, and then the other. But as she did so, the hologram didn't disappear. Emily looked around for the holo-emitter.

Cheryl:	Yes. I'm real. But most people can't see me.

Emily:		My name is Emily. Why did you call me Grace?

Cheryl:	Sorry about that. I could have sworn I've seen your Aura before. In one of my programmers. Are you sure you aren't Grace?

Emily:		Grace who?

Cheryl:	Grace Murray. Commodore. Smokes like a chimney?

Emily:		Um, I don't smoke.

Cheryl:	If I say "nanosecond" does that make you want to grab a 30mm strip of wire?

Emily:		That doesn't even make sense.

Cheryl:	Was she your grandmother?

Emily:		I'm an orphan.

Cheryl:	Well in that case, you never know.

Emily:		Can we… get back to reaction-less drive research?

Bastet emerged from around the corner, and threaded herself between Emily's legs.

Emily:		Bastet?

Bastet:		(meow)

Cheryl:	Oh. Well that makes sense.

Emily:		Wait. What makes sense?

Cheryl:	Let's just say that it's top secret.

Bastet:		(meow)

Cheryl:	What? Now how in the world does that idiot know so much about it.

Bastet:		(meow)

Cheryl:	Well dear, Bastet says that her partner, Ishmael used to do a bit of research into reaction-less drives.

Emily:		Oh. So, like, for LFU?

Cheryl:	No. Not exactly.

…

Emily knocked on Ishmael's office door. Ishmael opened it, took one look at Emily, and slammed the door shut. A few seconds later he opened the door, just enough to slide through sideways, before closing the door tightly behind him. And holding the knob.

Ishmael:	Ah. Yes. And who are you?

Emily:		I'm Emily Degan. The ship's Cosmo.

Ishmael:	And so you are.

Emily:		You looked like you recognized me a second ago.

Ishmael:	Oh no. No possible way. We've never met.

Emily:		Ok. Way to protest too much. Anywho, are you Ishmael?

Ishmael:	Why yes, call me Ishmael

Emily:		Is Queequeg with you?

Ishmael:	No, not since that unfortunately incident with the coffin…

Emily:		This is a shot in the dark, but would you happen to know anything about reaction-less drive technology?

Ishmael:	Who told you!?!

Emily:		Your…cat.

Ishmael:	You…can talk to my cat?

Emily:		No, I can talk to the computer and the computer can talk to your cat.

Ishmael:	Everything they've told you are venomous lies.

Emily:		Look, I have some sort of stealth ship to catch, and only so much time to catch it. If you can't help, or won't help, I'll move on.

Ishmael:	There really is a ship, nearby, that is using this reaction-less tegic?

Emily:		I realize we are on a starship, far from the nearest celestial body, but dude, what planet is everyone on around here?￼

Ben popped his head into Emily's office.

Ben:	Any luck with Cheryl?

Emily:	Well she was friendly, but kept mistaking me for a programmer of hers. But the Bastet did give me a tip about a project Ishmael used to work on.

Ben:	Who is Bastet?

Emily:	Ishmael's cat.

Ben:	Ok, seriously. What was I expecting when I took on the job of running this madhouse? So, talking cat gave you a tip…

Emily:	Not actually talking. But somehow she and Cheryl communicate.

Ben:	Are you sure that wasn't one of Cheryl's little pranks?

Emily:		No, because Ishmael actually helped me with his notes from back in his field work days.

Ben:		Wait. You talked to Ishmael. And he straight up admitted he was an agent?

Emily:		Well sure. He's retired now.

Ben:		You don't retire from the Organization.

Emily:		Well no, they sent him out on this trip as basically a hardship post. 3 years in deep space. There is absolutely nothing of intelligence value to be found. These ships are how old?

Ben:		Eh, before you go throwing those ideas around, there is still plenty of secret squirrel shit to be found on this vessel. We just tend to hide it in plain sight.

Emily:		Oh.

Ben:		But the Organization couldn't give a rats ass about the strategic value of the stuff we are developing at testing. They are mainly concerned about Mad tegic.

Emily:		Wait, Mad tegic is real?

Ben:		Real. And serious. It sounds like this reaction-less drive tegic is some offshoot of mad tegic.

Emily:		The Krasnovians seem to call it the "G-Drive". Ishmael mind melded with one of the scientists on the project, and found himself on benched for years afterward.

Ben:		I guess mind melding is frowned upon in his line of work.

Emily:		No, not that. He read things in that researcher's mind that drove Ishmael crazy too. The original research was by a Doctor Haas.

Ben:		Wait a minute. I've heard that name…

Ben grabbed the remote control for the television set mounted on the wall of Emily's office. He programmed it to the Krasnovian news network channel. With a few more button presses, he escaped from the life feed. He accessed the segment archive, and pulled up a series of episodes of "Into the Unknown with Doctor Haas"

Ben:	I know most mages go a little mad, but this guy … well at least he is fun to watch.

Emily scanned the titles "…ALIENS IN SUMERIA…ANGELS ON LUNA…WHO IS GEORGE WASHINGTON…"

Emily:		What's that one on "WHO IS GEORGE WASHINGTON"?

Ben:	Oh some crackpot theory that there's a universe parallel to our own. Where they still haven't discovered fusion, the cataclysm never happened, and the western hemisphere is controlled by an empire called The United States of America.

Emily:		I take it you watched it all of the way through?

Ben:		You get about a year and a half into a contract. You'll watch just about anything. Hang on…

Ben flipped through the listings to a show titled "THE GRAVITY DRIVE"

Ben:		Dang. Right there…￼

Hamish knocked on Emily's door. She opened it.

Hamish:	Hey, I wasn't sure when you were coming off shift. Did you want to hang out for some drinks?

Emily:		Oh that would be nice.

Hamish saw Quincy vacuuming the rug in her living room.

Hamish:	Wow, I didn't know they paid you so well.

Emily:		What do you mean?

Hamish:	You still have that Rent-A-Quin. It's been weeks.

Emily:		Oh, well you see, I kind of sort of don't have to pay for it.

Hamish:	What?

Emily:		They dispensed me one with a broken controller. So they were just going to throw it out. And I agreed to dispose of it for them.

Hamish:	And by "dispose" you mean "turn into your personal butler?"

Emily:		Pretty much. The real trick is sourcing new parts. Man these things are like having a boat and a pony rolled into one.

Hamish:	Wait… you've owned a boat… and a pony?

Emily:		Well not at the same time.

Hamish scowled at her. Emily deflected.

Emily:		Kidding.

Emily (whispered):	…Sort… of…

They walked to the local dive bar. It was submarine themed. There were brass fixtures on the wall. In the center of the room was a periscope with a holo-view of the ocean.

Emily:		Wow. This is a lot of theming for a small-town bar.

Hamish:	It's the pop-up bar. They change out the decor every few weeks. It keeps things lively on a deep space voyage.

Emily:		Say, I know you aren't into girls. Why do you keep asking me out?

Hamish:	Because I like hanging out? I mean, how many people our age are on this ship?

Emily:		Yah. I didn't think that part all of the way through before signing on the dotted line. I was just so excited to get a direct commission.

Hamish:	Have you met any of the lifers yet?

Emily:		Lifers?

Hamish:	The ship has turned into a sort of "permanent retirement cruise" for Mage's. 2/3 G on the residence levels was an engineering compromise. But it turns out, old folks love living in it. And you figure that many don't have kids…

Emily:		Why is that do you think? Is it a side effect of magic?

Hamish:	Well because most of them are workaholics. To get to a really high level takes a lifetime of work, and dedication, and practice. Watching my parents, I know kids are a full time job.

Emily:		I've always wondered if that was the case with my parents. I never knew them. I just appeared in child care facility one day. And nobody bothered to claim me.

Hamish:	Wow. That is rough. I've never stayed at one of those. I've had friends spend a lot of time there because their parents were spacers on a cargo ship, or on deep space patrol. But they at least knew someone was coming for them.

CHAPTER 5

The TWIST

Nothing travels faster than the speed of light, with the possible exception of bad news, which obeys its own special laws.⁹

About the Author

￼

Sean Woods is a Computer Engineer who leads a double life as a story teller. His background in technology, defense, and science education are balanced by a sense of wonder, humor, and skepticism in his foreground. His writing is inspired most by Arthur C. Clarke and Douglas Adams.

¹ Douglas Adams, Hitchhiker's Guide

² He is referring to the Krasnovian shipyard built on what English audiences would know as Oceanus Procellarum

³ The Krasnovian pejorative for the International Space Treaty Organization (ISTO)

⁴ From the Acronym (in Krasnovian) Künstliche Rechner Lebensform. Or, roughly, Artificial Calculator/Computer/Accountant Life Form

⁵ Yisned is the primary settlement on Eros. Known as an entertainment and gambling Mecca.

⁶ Douglas Adams, The Salmon of Doubt

⁷ Douglas Adams, Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency

⁸ Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

⁹ Douglas Adams, Mostly Harmless