The Void (6 page)

“Did you expect anything else? The debris field's in deep space. Whatever happened out there, for good or ill, we'll never know. Besides, you and I both know how it is. No one in the fleet cares about the transports. Merchant mariners are disposable. If it weren't for the guild, who knows where we'd be.”

“Amen to that. But I'll say this and it's the God's honest truth,” the old man began, holding his drink in the air. “Whatever anybody says, I'll always believe the survivor was to blame. And it will be a long time till he finds work on any freighter around here, mark my word.”

And there it was. Aidan knew what to expect when he got home. It would be an eternity till they'd forget. It was space, but the men who worked the trade were still sailors, and superstitions ran deep. Aidan threw back the rest of his drink and then ordered another. He took it with him to a small booth in a corner of the bar, a good place, he thought, to get roaring drunk and be left alone. He probably would have succeeded too, if she hadn't come in.

He didn't see her until she sat down across from him. When he looked up, he saw a face that was familiar even if couldn't quite place it.

“I’d hoped I wouldn't find you here. But I admit it was the first place I looked.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't know . . .”

“No, you wouldn't have. I'm Captain Gravely.”

Now Aidan remembered where he had seen her before. “Captain Gravely,” he said, “from the
Alabama
?”

She nodded. “And while you couldn't have known it, the mission where we found you was my last in the Navy.”

“Well,” Aidan said, slurring his words and raising his glass, “congratulations on your retirement. Grab a drink and we'll celebrate together.”

“That's just the thing, Mr. Connor. I've left the Navy but I'm not looking to grow tomatoes in the back yard.”

“No?”

“No. I wanted a ship of my own and now I have one. But I need to assemble a crew. I've got most of one, but I'm looking for a helmsman and a navigator. The fact is, you're the best available.”

Aidan coughed out a laugh and the captain frowned. “You're drunk.”

“What can I say?” he said, still chuckling. “This is an unexpected surprise.”

“Be that as it may, there's nothing in your file that indicates your latest misfortune was anything but that—simple bad luck. But you know as well as I do, no one here,” she said, gesturing to the room behind her, “is going to believe that. They won't be giving you any second chances. They think you're cursed. Bad luck. Who knows how long it will be before you get a job on a ship again. You'll be loading freight just to pay your bills.”

“Is there a point to all this?” Aidan asked. Suddenly, he felt very sober.

“The point is that I need you on my team. But I need you sharp, and I need you sober. The truth of the matter is that something really bad happened to you and not everybody's ready to go back out after that. It's not just superstition that'll keep these people from hiring you. It's a justifiable fear that the next time you go out there you'll freeze up at the wrong moment or crack under the pressure. And then it won't be an accident.”

She was right, and Aidan knew it. It was what they all feared, especially on the smaller ships. One madman was all it took. He had never been good at accepting charity but he knew how grateful he should be for what the captain was doing for him. This was an opportunity he could not have expected or even hoped for.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. I'd be honored.”

“Good,” she said. “She's the
Chronos
out of Dock 23. We leave in three days.”

Aidan stood as she rose to go. The captain nodded once, and when Aidan offered his hand, she took it.

*  *  *

Captain Gravely believed everything she had said to Aidan. She just hoped it turned out to be true.

*  *  *

It was a crisp, nearly autumn Saturday across most of the United States, and the first day of college football season was on the forefront of many people's minds. But on the
Chronos,
only Cyrus cared about such things, and he was too busy to notice. He ran his fingers along the computer control panel, preparing the ship for its most important test of all—today he would run up the engines for the first time. It was unlikely, but if something went wrong, they could be stuck in port for as much as a month for repairs.

They were already behind. The cargo of construction materials bound for Riley was finally loaded a full two days past schedule after an accident had occurred. A grav-loader malfunctioned and dropped a ton of freight on one of the dockworkers. That his death was quick made it no less gruesome.

Captain Gravely heard the whispers. A bad omen, the people at the dock had said, even worse that it was a new ship, one perhaps cursed from the beginning. Hiring Aidan Connor as helmsman had turned into a bit of a scandal and the accident only made it worse. In response, Gravely had driven her crew to the point of exhaustion. The sooner they sailed, the sooner they could put this incident behind them. So when Cyrus heard the roar of the engines firing after a successful run-up, it was nigh on a religious experience. Two hours later, the ship was prepped and ready to embark.

“
Chronos
, this is tower one. You are clear for go.”

Aidan glanced at Captain Gravely who nodded once in response.

“Tower one, this is
Chronos
. We are go.”

“Smooth sailing,
Chronos
.”

Aidan disengaged the magnetic locks and the bridge shook as the ship floated free. He grasped the manual controls and felt the rumble of the engines in his hands. Gravely watched him maneuver away from the dock, with approval. The computers could have handled it, of course, but the best pilots never let them. The best trusted themselves more than they did the machines and it was that bit of self-confidence that could make all the difference in the deep.

“Alright, Mr. Connor,” she said. “You know the way.”

Somewhere below, Cyrus was smoking a cigarette while Dr. Malcolm Ridley sat in his office, drinking scotch and reading the files of his new shipmates. He ran his hands through his thinning salt-and-pepper hair and selected Rebecca Kensington's file. It was she who interested him the most. Kensington, who looked oh-so-much like his mother had when she'd been young. Long before Malcolm's parents had even dreamed of him.

In the passenger compartment, sitting across from Jack Crawford, Rebecca shuddered. But the feeling was gone as quickly as it had come, and she forgot it, passing it off as a physical reaction to the brief moment of weightlessness she had experienced as the ship flew free. Jack was going over the procedure again, explaining what he hoped would happen and the contingency plans if that fell through.

“Gravely is a Naval officer,” he said, “and even if she is retired, she'll follow orders.”

Kensington nodded along, but she was no longer listening. Her mind was somewhere else, somewhere she had never been before. And yet the picture in her mind was so clear that she could almost reach out and touch it. It was only when Crawford put his hand on her arm that the images of dead leaves and screaming, painted horses disappeared.

“Are you with me, Dr. Kensington?”

“Of course,” she said. But then more honestly, “I'm sorry, Jack. I guess I got distracted.”

He frowned, and she immediately felt guilty. “What's wrong?”

She hesitated, feeling stupid for even worrying about it. “It's just . . . well, what if the dreams are as bad as everyone says they are?”

He laughed. “I'm sure they aren't. You have to remember, the people who have the worst reactions aren't like us. Kids on their first trip out. Your rank and file sailors. I think we'll be fine.” But it was the moment before the laugh, the one he hoped that Kensington didn't notice—when he swallowed hard and his skin blanched—that told the truth of his feelings.

“Good. That's good.” She breathed deep and exhaled in one long sigh. “I'm sorry, Jack. I was just being foolish.”

“No,” he said. “No, you weren't being foolish.” And that was the truth.

*  *  *

On the second night out, Captain Gravely hosted a dinner for the crew and her passengers in the dining hall. The great metal doors that covered the window on the port side were open, and they were close enough to the moon to see the sparkling lights of Lunar One below. Gravely had always loved the city, the first of Earth's colonies.

The settlement was built on the moon's termination point, where the moon's dark side met the light. But even though the dark side of the moon was a misnomer, Lunar One never saw the day. It had been built deep in a crater, where the sun's beams did not penetrate and the frozen ice that remained in the shadows could provide the water the base needed to survive. Gravely had trained in the city many years ago and she would often walk the streets beneath the great glass dome that covered it, bathed in perpetual twilight.

The dinner was a special treat, something she had always wanted to do but never could in the Navy. But she had another purpose as well. The trip to Riley was long, the space they had to traverse deep, and Gravely didn't know her crew. She wanted to trust them as she had trusted those on the
Alabama.
But the old assurances, the training, the testing, the experience, it was all lacking here.

She knew a day would come when she would have to put her life in the hands of these men. She needed to be able to do so without hesitation. And that's why Dr. Ridley passed the evening mostly in silence, watching the interactions of the group. Listening to their words, learning their mannerisms and their particular habits. Finding out their demeanor when they were at their most relaxed, most calm, so that he might better tell when one of them was about to snap.

It was well after the final course, when the meal was finished and the dessert had passed, that the several bottles of Prosecco they had consumed started to take their effect, and the awkwardness that had marked dinner began to fall away.

“So, Dr. Ridley,” Rebecca said, “how did you end up out here?”

“On this ship?” he asked.

“No,” she said, laughing freely. Even if he weren't a doctor, her flushed cheeks would have told him that she was slightly drunk. “In space. Couldn't you have stayed planet-side?”

“Ah. Well I suppose you might ask that of anyone here. But as for me, this is the last great clinical laboratory,” he said. “This type of experience is simply unavailable on Earth. It's a sacrifice I suppose, but well worth it.”

“So we are your lab rats then, Doctor?” Aidan asked as he filled his glass. Dr. Ridley blushed and tried to laugh it off. 

“That is one way to put it, but no. It's just that most of my fellows are professors. The fact is, the psych drugs are so good these days that few people planet-side really need a doctor. Not when they can take a pill and make it all go away. Drift off into some happy oblivion and wake up, as good as new. No analysis needed.”

“If the drugs are so good, why not use them here?” Rebecca asked.

“Well . . .” Ridley paused and then coughed. That the answer was obvious didn't make it any easier to give.

“It's the dreams,” Cyrus said. “You need a clear head for the dreams.”

Aidan glanced from Cyrus to Rebecca to the doctor. A cold chill, a shadow, had fallen over the room at their mention, but Cyrus was right. So many of the things they did were inspired by the dreams, so many of their procedures revolved around them.

“You know, I hear so much about these dreams,” Rebecca said tentatively, trying to blow off her fears as mere curiosity. “Are they really so bad? Are they nightmares? I mean, the way you people talk about them, I imagine you must see all sorts of horrible things. Demons, dragons, the creature from the black lagoon.” Rebecca laughed for a second but no one else joined her.

“They are not nightmares, not in the traditional sense of the word,” the doctor explained. “In fact, I would argue that they aren't even dreams.”

“They are too real,” Cyrus said before Rebecca could ask the doctor what he meant.

“And you don't forget them,” Aidan added.

“No,” the doctor continued, “no, your typical dream you might remember right after it happens but even then only briefly and only in parts. I think it is safe to say that we all remember the dreams.”

One by one, starting with Cyrus, every person at the table nodded. Even the captain.

“Wait . . . you remember every one of the dreams you have ever had? How is that possible?”

“They are always the same,” the doctor replied.

“More or less,” the captain added in a whisper that only she heard.

“That's amazing. How is that possible?”

The doctor shrugged. “No one knows. We barely know anything about the dreams, really. Not yet. It is one of the last great mysteries of the mind. Now you can see why I'm here.”

“But if the dreams are so bad, why not just stay awake?”

“Well, the regulations require it, of course.”

“But why? Surely there is a reason.”

“To understand that,” Dr. Ridley explained, “you have to appreciate what a warp drive does.”

“Right,” Cyrus said. “Faster-than-light travel is impossible, of course. And even if it weren't, you've got that whole time dilation thing.”

“A year for you is a decade for everybody else,” Aidan interjected.

Cyrus took a drink of his wine and nodded. “Warping is not traveling faster than light. In fact, it's exactly what it sounds like. The warp drive warps space.”

“How so?” Rebecca asked. Jack glanced at her but she ignored him. She knew all of this, of course. One might call it her specialty, what she did for a living. But she wanted to hear them explain it. Dr. Ridley was enjoying the discourse as well. He'd read her file. He knew the truth. Something about Rebecca intrigued him, however, and he had no interest in revealing her charade.

Cyrus explained, “Well, that's a little bit more complicated. But basically, it stretches and compresses space. Twists it all up and then unravels it. Traveling at warp isn't about moving through space at all. It's about moving the fabric of space itself. Ripping a little hole in it and slipping through.”