Jeanne G'Fellers - Sisters Flight (2 page)

"The
way they're starting to work My, it may end up being just the two of us most
evenings." I stretched my arms over my head then leaned back a bit
further, enjoying the way the helm seats leaned back just so. "They're
begging for more hands to translate the printings. Paper isn't hard to make,
but there's so much to translate that the scribes can't keep up with the print
offs, much less the paper making."

"The
thinking machine didn't recommend an easier way to do all this?"

"Not
that I know of. And Maeminya says the proper term is computer, not thinking
machine." I stepped to the forward view port a few paces away on the
compact helm level. A dry, cold winter had taken away the mud but not the wagon
ruts that surrounded the spacecraft. Their crisscross reminded me of badly
woven cloth—the loose warp and weft, the way everything seemed to snag and
catch at the rough points. "Mae also told me that the amount of
information is staggering. She says we've only skimmed the surface of Transport
Two's records."

"That
skim seems like enough to keep us busy for a lifetime." Genevic glanced at
the controls and then to me. The helm's recessed monitor scrolled with strings
of transferring data. "What'd you do?"

"Nothing!"
I plopped back into the empty seat to see for myself. I recognized some of what
flew by but not enough to understand, so I reached for the com just as Maeminya
appeared in the hatchway. She was wearing the same faded leggings and
waist-grazing top she always worked in. Not that I or any other breathing
Tekkroon minded—the body-clinging outfit and what lay beneath it was the topic
of many discussions among troopers lucky enough to get a proper look.

"Oh,
joy, it's working!" Maeminya clapped her hands then leaned across Genevic,
input a short command, and the screen stopped, displaying a close-up view of
Langus, Saria's single moon. "There you go, troopers. You're linked with
the main computer. The voice recognition system needs a sample, so speak
up."

"To
who? To you?" Genevic's eyes flicked about, probably looking for the same
invisible someone I was looking for.

"I
am programmed for both aural and oral communications," said a woman's
monotone in carefully pronounced Old Tongue. Genevic and I jumped, looked at
each other and then at Maeminya, who grinned at our reaction.

"I
require the identity of the last speaker for my voice files," the computer
continued.

"That
was Trooper Genevic Leed, one of the pilot trainees," said Mae, also in
Old Tongue as she kept grinning at us. "The next voice should be
identified as Trooper Rankil Danston, the other pilot trainee."

"Pilot?"
I asked in a whisper not meant for the thinking machine's ears.

"Pilot,
helmsperson, one who controls a ship's movement, a guide, and the pilots of
this vessel are to be Troopers Leed and Danston."

"Troopers
Genevic and Rankil." I looked at the ceiling. Where else was I to look for
this faceless woman whose voice came from all directions at once? "We do
not go by our last names, especially when they're Autlach."

"Noted."

"Uh,
Mae?" Genevic bunched her face. "How are we to finish learning to use
the transport ship without proper instruction?"

"You
now have an expert instructor." Maeminya leaned over the helm a second
time, activating a view screen that lowered over the forward port. "The
computer is going to teach you."

"A
metal box that speaks, hears and teaches?" said Genevic in surprised,
despairing Taelach. "It's all somehow humbling."

"If
not frightening," I murmured, then reverting to Old Tongue, asked,
"Computer, how did our ancestors come to find you?"

"I
was created by humans to aid humans in their work."

I
paused to let this sink in. "So, you were built for a purpose. You're not
alive in the sense we are?"

"Correct."

I
raised my brows then looked to Maeminya, who nodded. "Are there living
computers?"

"It
is possible," said the computer. "According to the data banks, this
galaxy was less than one-quarter explored when humans abandoned the mining
colony. Such life forms may have developed."

This
wasn't a new idea. Through the computer, the technicians had confirmed Tekkroon
notions of galaxies containing millions of stars and immeasurable numbers of
planets. The computer had also confirmed that our yellow sun had six planets,
that we inhabited the second of these worlds and had shown us that our human
ancestors had mined the sixth planet, Farstar, until ground quakes had forced
them to leave.

"Enough
questions." Maeminya keyed in a quick entry and the main screen opened.
"You two need to get to work."

"On
what?" said Genevic, but the answer made itself clear.

A
human image took shape on the screen: khaki uniform, dusty brown, knee-high
boots, blond hair pulled up in a loose knot, brown eyes that required respect
but weren't without a sense of humor. "Begin program 2949AQJ, Short Range
Mine Transport Piloting: Lesson One, Captain Tara Conway, instructor."

"Welcome
to Piloting 101, the novice's guide to transport flying." Captain Conway
stood at a helm identical to the one we stood on. "This course is to be
used in the event breathing instructors are unobtainable or too damned busy
digging to teach greenhorns."

"Greenhorns?"
repeated Genevic, and the program stopped.

"An
inexperienced person," said the computer. "There is no comparable
euphemism in my Taelach language file."

"Computer
has been familiarized with most Taelach terms and will stop for any questions
concerning translation." Maeminya turned back toward the open hatchway.
"Each lesson takes about an hour and a practice session follows. Each
lesson must be mastered before the next lesson will begin, so work quickly.
Most of Transport Two's energy comes from its auxiliary power source, and
that's being used in converting memory to text. So power for the piloting
lessons comes from the only serviceable solar panel. Run the lessons during
peak sunlight hours only." Mae moved into the passageway.

"Computer,
please continue," Mae called over her shoulder, and Captain Conway resumed
speaking where she had left off.

"First
we will examine the lay of the control panel. On your left—"

I
was still curious. "Hey, Maeminya?" The program halted.

"Yeah?"
Mae's frustrated face appeared once again in the hatchway.

"Is
the power supply really so limited?"

"You're
to learn usage of the transport's features. Computer says its main energy
source was damaged in the crash, so actual flight is impossible at this
time."

"So
why bother?" Genevic traced the indicators Tara had been speaking of.

"Flight
is part of the training program, so learn it. Besides, Harlis says Longpass's
ranks have overrun every major crossing leading to the Tekkroon lands."
Both Genevic and I nodded at what was common information to hard-fighting
Powder Barrier Troopers. "She wants you to master the scopes to check for
Aut troop movements, for sisters nearing the border, things like that. And then
there are the weapons."

"Weapons?"
Genevic peered down at the console. "Where?"

"Computer
says they're minimal," said Maeminya. "But human minimal will be
terrifying Taelach sorcery to Auts."

"Send
them running for the lowlands." I laughed half-heartedly.

"We
can hope. The last few lessons will teach you how to operate the guns."
Maeminya disappeared again, her voice echoing down the slim corridor.
"You're wasting precious daylight, troopers. Save your questions until
after class. Computer, resume program."

And
Tara Conway's voice began again, this time with two attentive students.

Chapter
Two

Dinner
and the Pit

Master:
Never pity a misplaced sister.

Apprentice:
But they've been through so much.

Master:
To pity them is to disrespect their survival. They should be honored for
their strength. It is a lesson to us all.

Apprentice:
Lesson?

Master:
Yes. There is nothing you cannot bear, nothing you cannot overcome.

Rankil

I
arrived at the scribes' tent just as Myrla's shift ended. She pushed away from
her table, brushed the wrinkles from her pants, then with a nod to her
replacement, headed toward me. I held out her favorite mug. "Let's skip
cooking."

"The
common mess again?" she said with a frown, but I could tell she really
didn't mind. The common mess had become a social hub ever since electric
lighting had been installed in the cavern. Genevic and Isabella were already
there when we arrived and waved for us to join their table, which was as far
from the noisy, fuel-burping generator as they could manage.

"My
hand aches. Fill my mug for me?" Myrla held up her hand for me to kiss
then flexed her fingers one at a time, ending in a wave as she turned toward
Genevic's table. Myrla said converting Old Tongue into Taelach script was
tedious work, but I'm sure she wasn't alone in that thought. Thirty others
shared her workspace, all translating the thinking machine's memory. Captain
Tara had downloaded the mining colony's mainframe before her escape, and most
of it had remained whole. They occasionally came across an incomplete or
corrupted file, but as a whole, if it was there, it was all there. And there
was so much of it! Coordinate programs, cartography notes, recipes, children's
homework assignments, exploratory reports—they were all being translated, one
at a time, by hand, a Taelach-Old Tongue dictionary at every scribe's elbow.
Myrla always told me about the more interesting tidbits she came across, and I
shared my training with her, bringing home manuals that she pored over as much
as I did. In fact, she often helped me study for training quizzes, and could
probably answer the questions better than I could.

I
watched her settle onto a bench then made my way through the line, balancing
jam-slathered bread slices on top of our mugs as I pushed through the crowd.

"I
was just telling Bella about our new teacher," said Genevic as I sat down.
"Captain Tara is quite the task mistress."

"She
does drive you." I straddled the bench beside Myrla as I handed her a mug.
"I'd say I'd be dreaming of terminals and warning indicators tonight, but
by the time I get back from seeing Easton, I may be too tired."

"If
you're going to see Easton, you
will
be tired," said Genevic as she
searched for vegetables among the rich, steaming broth in her mug. "You
sure you're not too busy? Your head still gives you a bit of trouble whenever
you press yourself too hard."

"It
does wear her out." Myrla placed her hand on my arm. "And I do admire
her commitment to Easton, but I won't be able to sleep until she gets
back."

"I
go because it reminds me how good I have things," I said, bringing Myrla's
hand to my mouth for another kiss. "And she sent word that she wanted to
see me. I'll try not to be late." While I appreciated their worry, I was
long past the physical injuries they spoke about. My head was fine, and the
headaches, though I would never tell them, were from something far more
disconcerting.

"I'm
too tired to dream much of anything." Isabella drooped over her mug. Her
medic's training was in high demand. The Tekkroon population had reached over
forty thousand, with another ten thousand in dependent clans, the newest
arrivals kept isolated from the general population until their health could be
determined. Several small outbreaks of the Catching Spots had occurred among
new arrivals, and Isabella's job was to medicate everyone during their
isolation, preventing them from spreading the problem should they be carrying
the disease without symptoms. The work stressed her empathic nature to no end.
Many of the sisters not made ill from their hard journey had been injured in
Autlach attacks. To venture the crossing into the Tekkroon lands was to run a
dangerous race. Most clans lost half or more of their population to Longpass's
relentless attacks. The horrors took their toll on us all.

"An
unusual group of sisters fought their way through High Cliff crossing last
night," said Isabella. "There're only a dozen of them, and they were
all injured. Two of them quite seriously, but they'll all live. They keep
asking for help in finding their people, or so we think." Isabella looked
hopefully at Myrla. "Their language is too foreign for me to understand,
but four of them also speak some Old Tongue, which I took classes in but
remember little of. It took five blunderbuss armed troopers to put them in isolation
and that was only after they were shown what the guns could do. They're not
dangerous, just tired, dirty and desperate to find their clan. I've been given
the go-ahead to treat them against Catching Spots in a seven day, and I'm
looking for volunteers to translate for us. Myrla, do you think you could
help?"

"My
next off day is in seven days." Myrla patted Isabella's hand.
"Rankil, you've had as many classes and practices as me. When is your and
Gen's next day off?"