Porter Tigress, cleared, Report when ready to delock.
Control, Porter Tigress, stet.
Ran though the checklist. Didn’t seem to take quite so long, maybe because it was the real shuttle and not a simmie. Readjusted the restraints once the gravs came on. Another difference. Smaller shuttles didn’t bother with internal gravs. Shuttle one was designed to carry passengers who weren’t used to null gee.
Delta Control, this is Porter Tigress, ready for delock and release this time.
Porter Tigress, dampers released. Cleared for delockmg.
Delta Control, Porter Tigress, delocking this time. Slid the shuttle clear of the tower with two measured bursts from the steering jets. Photon nets didn’t work without forward velocity. Couldn’t use the AG drives close to anything else with mass.
Cleared the station, took in the farscreen feeds. Even after the simmie, the real image of the Magellan gave me a jolt. Wondered how long before Morgan would brief us on our objective. Wouldn’t be until after we left the station, maybe later. Still… had a good idea of what we were facing, just not where, or what was on it. Knew it had to be cold and higher grav.
Porter Tigress, advise incoming at your zero eight zero, plus twenty-eight.
Control, have incoming and will avoid. Incoming was a slowboat, heavy mass reading on the detectors. Probably the last supplies and equipment for the Magellan.
Stet, Porter Tigress.
Pulsed the thrusters, watching the separation until the shuttle was well clear of the station and the delimiting area. Brought up the fusactors to full power and eased in the AG drives. Acceleration was smooth, smoothest I’d felt in a long time. Great to have new equipment.
Could tell from the system repscreens that Deep Find Station was well out in the Hamilton system—Kuiper Belt distance. The station was an anomaly itself. Don’t find many nickel-iron asteroids that far out—not solid and not ten kays in diameter. Also noted the varying dust densities created by the shields of the ships servicing the station. Wouldn’t be that long before they’d show up on even commercial detectors—raylike corridors pointing to the station.
Spread the nets at twenty percent. No reason not to scoop up the extra mass.
For a good hour, just played with the shuttle, testing response, lag time. Made a couple of approaches to an irregular chunk of dirty ice. Harder than another ship or a station, but good practice. Hard enough that I was really sweating inside the armor. Felt good in a way simmies never do.
Checked the time again and swung shuttle one back toward Deep Find Station.
Delta Control, Porter Tigress, inbound this time.
Porter Tigress, understand inbound. Cleared to tower three. Advise slowboat is hot.
Understand slowboat is hot. Meant I had to make an indirect approach because the slowboat was linked to tower two and using thrusters to balance against the mass shifts created by the unloading.
Approach was low-power anyway. Wouldn’t try high-power quick mass-thrust decel and brake with the shuttle’s mass, except in an emergency.
Didn’t want to leave the shuttle after approach and locking. Best equipment I’d had in years. More responsive than most men, and had more power. Didn’t talk back, either. Or condescend behind my back.
Took my time with the shutdown checklist Not too much. Screens said Morgan was waiting to debrief me— and to send Lerrys off. Wouldn’t be fair to Lerrys to stall.
Delta Control, Porter Tigress, powering down this time.
Stet, Tigress.
Pulled myself out of the couch. Weightless without power. Hand over hand to the hatch, then to the lock. Hated to leave… but Morgan was waiting.
17
Barna
Elysen had been more than willing to let me work on a portrait of her. It was more like a series of portraits, but I limited myself to light-matrix versions, because I could always store them. I needed to save the canvases until I knew what would be the best media for the images required by the project.
We had more than enough time for her portrait. I had little else to do until we got to wherever we were headed. I’d wandered the approved corridors, and even lounged in the officers’ mess, where we ate, but the officers were all in a hurry, and, while Elysen would occasionally talk to the other groups of scientists, their words flowed over and around me.
The social scientists were worse. Their words conveyed certainty without artistry and without replicable fact. I tried to smile, but I’d never been that good at it. Aeryana had always insisted that I should never attend soirees without her at my side. That was because I could not manage more than three sentences of small talk.
For her portrait, Elysen had insisted on one condition. Anything that was permanent had to have her approval. That made it a greater challenge.
On sevenday afternoon, I was in the sitting room that we shared, trying to get her eyes right. They were green, but there was something about them that I hadn’t gotten. She had gone off somewhere to check on her equipment.
The hatch opened, and I saw a lieutenant’s uniform behind Elysen before she stepped into our quarters and the hatch closed behind her. The blue of the officer’s uniform and skintights clashed with the blue of the corridor.
For all her size and large bones—and her age—Elysen moved gracefully, almost regally. Yet she had short active fingers on large palms. Those fingers seemed at odds with the rest of her build and her mannerisms. They were never still, even when the rest of her was motionless. She was more of a mystery than ever. There was more to her than met the eye. Years before, I’d decided that was true of all women. My own Aeryana was like that. She’d never liked me calling her my own, and I didn’t. I still liked to think of her that way. A man’s thoughts are his own. At least, I’d like to think that they were.
“How is your equipment?” I asked.
“It’s fine. They were transferring it to my work spaces on the Magellan. I had to make sure they moved it right and that no one unpacked it. That sort of help could do more damage than they could imagine. Oh… you have the work space next to mine. I took a quick look. They’ve mounted all sorts of visual farscreens in there. They said it won’t be long before we can go on board. That will be a relief. I won’t need escorts to go everywhere.” She turned on the old-fashioned kettle. “Would you join me in some tea?” That had become a ritual, of sorts.
“Please, if I’m not using too much of your supply.” I set aside the lightbrush and stood, stretching. The stiffness told me I had been in one position too long.
She smiled, beatifically. I could have used that expression if I’d been doing a religious work for one of the Christian-related sects that had hung on over the millennia. The Covenanters wouldn’t have liked it, though. Their art was far too rigid, with mechanical smiles on pregnant women, and a paternalistic deity stern with unbelievers and overflowing with grace for believers. I never understood what believing had to do with good or evil or why believing made someone more worthy in a deity’s eyes.
“There’s more packed in the equipment,” she added. “It fits nicely into the padding and cases.”
“How much did you bring?”
“Several years’ worth.” She smiled. This time the expression was mischievous. “That depends on how much I share.” She turned to the easel, where my latest effort was projected. “I don’t think my eyes look like that.”