A girl with a blue armband and red pixie-cut hair raises her hand. I recognize Alla Vetrova, the Russian girl from the shuttle ride during our transfer to ICS-2. “Weapons!” she says in a confident voice. “How can a military Fleet not have weapons?”
“You are correct.” Instructor Okoi nods at her. “Weapons is indeed one of the important sub-systems on each ship. However, its implementation is managed by all the Four Quadrants—which makes it something we call a broad sub-system. No ship can fire a weapon without the coordinated effort of all the Four Primary Systems, as a security measure. We will learn more about this in the days ahead. What else?”
“Life support!” another girl says.
“Good, yes. Life Support is also a broad sub-system common to all the Four Quadrants. Anything else?”
“What about sewers and water filtration and food production? That’s part of Hydroponics?”
Mithrat Okoi nods yet again. “In part, yes. There is a more accurate breakdown, but again, you will learn the specifics later. For now, this is sufficient.”
The Instructor speaks for a few more minutes. Eventually we are dismissed.
“See you tomorrow,” I tell Hugo Moreno as we get up from our seats.
He glances at me like I’m a nobody. “Yeah, whatever.”
I sigh and start to leave. It’s after 2:00 PM, and I am supposed to be back at work at the CCO at 2:15.
However, there’s Blayne Dubois talking to some people in the back of the instruction deck, as he skillfully turns his hoverboard around, levitating upright. It looks like they’re asking him about his board, or basically just checking out whatever his deal is. It won’t really make me late if I stop just for a minute to say “hi.”
I hurry toward him. “Blayne! Hey, Dubois!”
He looks around at the sound of my excited voice, and there’s the familiar toss of his messy longish dark hair out of his face, partly covering his blue eyes. As soon as he sees me, his one eyebrow rises and he gives me the faintest smile.
“Hey, Lark. Here you are. Upbeat as usual.”
“Yeah!” I make a half-smile, half-grimace. “Good to see you made it! And, you’re here on this ship!”
“Yeah, well, the CP had me transferred here. I guess he has some kind of plans for my bright future.” Blayne smirks, as he orients the board partly in my direction, so he is looking straight at me.
“Same here,” I say. “I am an Aide to the CCO. Which means I basically work in his office part time, and take classes part time.”
Blayne raises one brow again. “Hmm, that explains your freaky presence in this Cadet-only class. So, a Civilian?”
“Undecided, actually.” I speak carefully. It occurs to me that it’s best not to get into too much detail of what my real plans are, at least not here in public.
“They let you do that?”
“Only until the end of the year, then the CP supposedly evaluates me.”
In that moment I glance to the side and see the two arrogant alphas—green armband muscular guy and purple streaked hair girl, from the observation deck the night before—and they are standing right there, listening to Blayne and me talk. I realize they are among those who stayed behind to ask him stuff and check out his hover ride.
“So who are you exactly?” the purple hair girl says to me. “You two know each other?”
“Just taking this class, I guess,” I say. “And yeah, Blayne and I were in the same RQC.”
“Nice. . . . So, both of you get special treatment,” the Green guy says, narrowing his eyes. “He gets the sweet ride, and you get to take your sweet old time and hold off on choosing your future, unlike us dirty peasant rabble. Tell me, who do I need to kiss or kill to get me one of these?” And he points to the board.
“You just need to be in a wheelchair,” Blayne tells him in a voice gone quiet.
The Green guy blinks, taken aback momentarily.
In that moment the purple haired girl’s smart jewelry pendant starts making a beeping “ding” noise, which must be her clock app. “Hey, we’ve got the next class in ten,” she says to him. “Let’s go, Trey. Just drop it.”
I glance at Blayne. “Sorry, I have to go too,” I tell him, biting my lip. “Hey, want to grab dinner later?”
“Yeah, hey, go . . .” he tells me with a kind of dark abstraction that I’ve seen in him often previously, when he is reminded of his disability. He turns his back on Trey and the girl, ignoring them. At which point the rest of the gawking Cadets disperse.
“See you in the Yellow Quadrant, Cadet Deck Four Meal Hall? Around five-thirty?”
“Sure.”
And then Blayne sings a brief note sequence, which makes his hoverboard flatten and rise three feet above the floor. He nods at me and flies away, lying on his stomach like an Olympic Skeleton rider. In just two seconds he disappears down the long corridor, out of sight.
I hurry in the other direction.
Chapter Nine
When I get back to the Central Command Office, I am definitely late. I tiptoe in past the guards, the door opens, and I hear voices inside.
Aeson Kassiopei is speaking in soft Atlantean with someone via video at his desk. The back of his chair is half-turned so that he appears in profile, and the mech arm of the video display monitor is angled so that you can barely see the screen or the person on the other end.
I glance briefly in his direction, and my face flames with heat for a moment, just from hearing the deep pleasant sound of his voice. . . . So I take even breaths to calm my nerves.
Meanwhile Gennio and Anu are working on their usual consoles near the walls.
“You’re late!” Anu mouths the words at me as soon as I am near.
“Sorry!” I whisper, and pull out my own console, and roll up a chair.
“Hush! Quiet!” Gennio gestures with his finger to mouth, and then points to Aeson.
I nod, and settle in.
And then I again glance with curiosity, because the person on the other end of the conversation is female and speaks in a somehow familiar, somewhat superior voice.
Oh, wow . . . it occurs to me. This is the same girl I heard Kassiopei video-talking with once before, back on Earth, when I was in his office at the Pennsylvania RQC-3.
Back then, it had first crossed my mind that he was communicating directly with Atlantis, in real time, without any kind of temporal delay . . . and it blew me away. The amazing idea and the impossible mechanics and physics involved distracted me so much that I didn’t have time to wonder about the identity of the female.
But now . . . That girl—my God, I did not see her face then, only the fall of her very pale, metallic-gold hair, but she sounded fancy and upper-class, and she appeared to be someplace very beautiful, with greenery and waterfalls in the background. And now as I glance over, seeing only a portion of the screen, I manage to see her face.
The Atlantean girl is striking. If Oalla Keigeri can be called merely beautiful, then this one is perfect, so beautiful she is unreal, like a porcelain doll.
Great eyes, of an unusual green-gold tint, somewhere between hazel and honey. They are outlined finely by kohl and luxurious blue-black lashes, underneath delicate arching brows. Her lips are full and sensual, colored with a pearly rose tint, so that a gloss reflection falls upon them, emphasizing the sexy rounded shape against the translucent pallor of her skin.
Her flowing golden hair cascades down, far beyond the video screen, and some strands are intricately braided, threaded with jeweled metallic rope that hangs in garlands. Similar fine strands of metal garland encircle her forehead, and a single pendant jewel descends between her brows. She’s an impossible cross between a delicate elvish goddess and Nefertiti.
Okay, I need to stop ogling, because—well, because it’s none of my business. I have work to do, the continuing chronicle of our journey to write.
I force myself to look away, call up the English keyboard, open my word processor file . . . and then I fall into a daze again an
d simply listen to the tones of their voices—his and hers. Aeson’s confident cool voice has acquired an additional soft inflection, almost gentle. And she, okay, wow . . . The last time I heard her talk she sounded bored, petulant and arrogant. But now she is still somewhat superior, but much more sweet, and she is speaking in an almost caressing tone.
Something strange starts to rise deep inside me, an inexplicable turbulent sense of unrest.
I look up again, because I feel stupidly unable to concentrate. And I don’t even know why. . . .
I reach over and gently nudge Gennio. “Who is that?” I whisper.
Gennio glances at me. “It’s Lady Tiri—Tirinea Fuorai.”
“Who is she?”
“Hush!” Anu interrupts, hissing at both of us.
Gennio nods then continues, whispering even more quietly. “Very important . . . high ranking lady! Tell you later.”
“Okay. . . .”
But I can’t get my mind to focus on anything. Eventually the video call ends, and Aeson disconnects their line, after saying something extremely pleasant, so that the girl fades out on soft laughter.
He then turns his chair and momentarily glances at us. I catch his fleeting gaze and it’s as if I am seared by a force of bright daylight. . . . And then he looks away, and calls up another display screen.
For the next hour I try to focus on my writing, but it’s close to impossible. Eventually Aeson gets up, briskly stretches his arms behind him, then heads out to oversee something in another part of the ship. He merely nods at us briefly, and we are once again left alone in his office.
“Okay, where’s he going now?” I ask.
“Shields Resonance Room, Lower Deck,” Anu says with a tone of chronic annoyance. “They’ve been having problems with field calibration. Then he’ll probably do his gym workout before dinner, then back here again until nine. Sometimes he wanders the ship doing random deck checks. Then more work here in the CCO, calls and meetings. Eventually he might get to his private quarters and bed by midnight, unless he decides to do a midnight jog around the ship via the observation deck, as some of the officers like to do. Let’s see, I can probably give you his entire schedule for the next five days. Want me to keep going?”
“Enough, Anu,” Gennio says, with a sigh. “She will learn the CP’s schedule soon enough. This is only her first day. You will make her crazy.”
“Too late,” I say with a tired smile. “I think I’m already there.”
Anu makes a snort sound.
I decide to use the moment to ask Gennio about that girl. “So who was she exactly, that very dressed up caller who was talking to him just now?” I say in a casual voice.
“You mean, Lady Tiri?” Gennio takes a deep breath. “How to put it? She is—well, it’s complicated.”
“What do you mean?”
“He means, she may be the next Imperial Consort,” Anu interrupts. “You really need to learn the intricacy of our court politics, Earth girl. Your Court Protocol training cannot come soon enough.”
“No, no. . . . Well, nothing is certain yet,” Gennio says. “So we cannot assume anything until it is formally announced—I mean, until the Command Pilot, that is, the Imperial Prince Aeson Kassiopei announces his choice for Imperial Consort.”
“But it’s pretty much a given,” Anu says. “She’s a given. Everyone in the capital expects it to be her, Lady Tirinea, of the noble family Fuorai. She is the frontrunner in the media circus—to borrow your wonderful Earth slang—the media circus that surrounds the choosing of the Bride of the next Imperator.”
The cold feeling that has been burrowing in my gut makes itself known full force, washes over me. What is wrong with me, all of a sudden?
“So,” I mutter in confusion. “The Imperial Prince Aeson Kassiopei is getting married?”
Gennio nods. “Yes, by law he has to choose a Consort within three years after reaching the age of sixteen. Otherwise—there are repercussions.”
“And may I ask how old he is now?” I say softly.
“Eighteen Atlantean years, as of—let me think—the equivalent of last Earth October,” Anu says. “Which is close to twenty of your Earth years.”
“I see.”
“As soon as we arrive on Atlantida,” Gennio adds, “he is supposed to make his announcement. The Imperator expects it, the Court expects it, the public expects it. He’s been putting it off long enough. There are several possible contenders, all from noble prominent families—”
I bite my lip. “Putting it off? Is he in love with this Lady Tiri or not?”
Anu snorts again, rudely. “In love? What kind of stupid Earth crap do you think? This is the Imperator and the Kassiopei Family we’re talking about. They don’t ‘love.’ They make alliances. They exchange DNA to produce the next generation of their ancient bloodline of gods—”
“Anu! Cut it out!” Gennio says in a loud voice the like of which I’ve never heard him use. “You are crossing the line, speaking in such a crass manner about the Imperial Family.”
“Oh, please. She’s going to hear all kinds of things about Kassiopei soon enough. Might as well start her off early.” Anu raises one eyebrow and gives me a sarcastic look.
But Gennio shakes his head. “Don’t listen to him, Gwen,” he says. “Because whatever things you might hear about the Kassiopei, they don’t apply to our CP. There’s a reason he wears the black armband of honor. And when he chooses his Imperial Consort, it would only be for the right reasons.”
“What right reasons?” Anu snorts. “Even the most honorable man cannot escape his obligations when he’s a Kassiopei.”
I remain silent, processing all this, and finding that somehow I am very disturbed.
In that moment, a disembodied machine voice sounds from the walls of the CCO.
“Thirty minutes warning. Approaching Jupiter orbital perihelion,” the ship computer says.
A very timely interruption.
“Oh! We have to see this!” Gennio exclaims, forgetting his upset, and in fact forgetting everything else. His pleasant face lights up with intellectual energy. “To the Observation Deck! Must run! Now!”
I sit up. “Are we allowed to leave our work?”
“For something like that, oh yes!” Gennio closes out his work files and swings the console back into the wall, getting up in a hurry. “Especially since Jupiter will be visible! But only for a minute—or a few seconds! Let’s go!”
He has me at “Jupiter” and “visible.” I fly out of my chair.
But Anu glances up at us with a show of boredom, and just shrugs. “Naturally Gennio can never resist the pull of a fellow gas giant. And apparently neither can the Earth girl. Go on, you two, I think I’ll stay right here.”
We hurry to the observation deck at a true run, while Gennio chatters all the way, telling me various facts of this particular orbital passage. Apparently we are not the only ones. Other teens and quite a few Atlantean crewmembers move quickly throughout the various corridors and decks, and everyone’s converging on one side of the ship—the side which will have a real view of Jupiter.
“It will only be a brief flyby,” Gennio tells me, panting for air, as we reach the crowded observation deck. “It is true that Jupiter has a much wider orbital range than Mars, not to mention, it is huge and easiest to see even from a greater distance. But at the rate of our acceleration, we are already traveling multiple times faster than we were when we crossed the Mars orbital region.”
“So, what does it mean, as far as our actual glimpse of Jupiter?” I say, pushing past Cadets and Civilians and Atlanteans through the tight corridor that opens on the observation deck, after Gennio who leads the way.
“All right, quick numbers here,” Gennio blurts. “Distance from Earth to Sol, your sun, is approximately 150 million kilometers. Distance from Earth to Mars is about 55 million kilometers. Distance from Mars to Jupiter is about 533 million kilometers. But the acceleration rate of our Fleet is sharply exponential. So we might
see Jupiter in a very strange visual trajectory. Maybe—to give you an example from Earth—you drive your car on the road, and a sign post flies by. . . . Poof!”
“Are you saying Jupiter will be like that?”
Gennio smiles. “Sort of—but, just watch!”
And so we stand, bumping shoulders with everyone in the twilight of the observation deck, and stare at the great empty universe and the distant elongated dots of stars. The Sun is not visible from this particular side of the observation deck that spans in a perfect circle the entire outer hull of the ark-ship, so it’s even more difficult to have a frame of reference. And the micro-bead of the Earth too is somewhere out of sight.
“Now entering Jupiter orbital perihelion,” says the ship’s computer.
“There! Oh! Look!” People all around the deck exclaim.
A pale orange ball the size of a large marble makes its presence on the farthest right of the visible windows. Even as we stare, it hurtles past us, so that boys and girls rush to move from window to window, “following” its horizontal trajectory across our visual field.
“Okay, that thing is giant in reality, but looks so tiny!” a girl exclaims.
“Mon Dieu! I thought we would be closer! Merde!” another girl says. “We must be so far away from it!”
“Yeah, and moving so incredibly fast!” a boy says.
Only about forty-five seconds elapse, and Jupiter disappears on the far left of the visual field.
“Now leaving Jupiter orbital aphelion,” the machine voice sounds immediately after, telling us what we just witnessed.
“Wow. . . .” I exhale. Apparently I’ve held my breath for most of the flyby.
“Beautiful, wasn’t it?” Gennio says, smiling blissfully at me.
Wordlessly I nod.
We return to the CCO and Anu greets us with a mumble-grunt. Aeson Kassiopei has not been back to his office yet, so we resume our tasks until 4:00 PM when according to my schedule I have my second class for today.