Juanita Coulson - Children of the Stars 04 Read online

  BOOK FOUR OF THE SERIES

  CHILDREN OF THE STARS

  JUANITA COULSON

  A Del Rey Book BALLANTINE BOOKS • NEW YORK

  CHAPTER ONE

  Space 2155

  Dan McKelvey completed his check of spacecraft systems. Some independent haulers let servos tend to such chores, but a smart spacer didn’t trust his life entirely to machines. Satisfied with the readouts, Dan put circuits on standby and cycled through the airlock. He swam to a nearby gantry platform and turned to look back at his ship.

  Major carriers’ megakiloton ships dominated the orbiting garage. They made single-stage FTL starhoppers like Dan’s Fiona seem tiny. Size wasn’t everything, however. Fiona had come to him secondhand, but she had proved solid, better for his needs than a spacegoing behemoth. He threw her a grateful salute. Thanks to Fiona, he’d be able to pay off his debts in a few more years. Then? Maybe he’d go partners with a fellow tech-mech pilot. They could invest in another ship or two, plus some planet-side transports. Why not? Dream big! Several of his ancestors had created now-powerful Saunder-McKelvey Enterprises Interstellar from the ground up. And S-ME’s competitors, Le Societe Famille Universel and Nakamura Kaisya, had built their present-

  day successes on similarly humble foundations. A “little guy” still had plenty of opportunities to make it on Terra’s starlanes.

  Yeah. That was what he ought to be doing right now. But instead, he was loafing around Free Port Eighteen, watching other indies grab his slot on the dispatchers’ outbound lists.

  Dammit, Adam, where are you? You promised that you and Dad would meet me here five days ago. Don’t you know—or care—how much you’re costing me by these delays? Show up soon, or I’ll load cargo and lift!

  Dan sighed. He was kidding himself. He couldn’t leave, because he didn’t want to miss this chance to see his father and brother. No matter how late Adam was for the appointment, Dan had to stay, and continue losing money.

  A movement at the edge of his vision made him glance toward the end of the gantry ramp. A Whimed hovered there, readying a skimmer sled for takeoff. Dan switched his suit com over to Terran-Whimed channels and hailed the alien. “hast. You at the sled. Are you traveling to the torus? May I ride with you?”

  Felinoid eyes shimmered behind the Whimed’s faceplate as he considered the request. Dan explained, “The bus doesn’t arrive for another solar mark. I don’t want to wait.”

  He wouldn’t have wasted that argument on a contemplative, slow-moving Vahnaj. As for the other species using the Port, Lannon were too unpredictable, and Ulisorians and Rigotians operated on such nonhuman wavelengths that Dan was uneasy dealing with them. The Whimeds, though, shared many traits with Homo sapiens, including impatience.

  The alien gestured to the sled’s jump seat. Dan climbed aboard and locked his safety tether only seconds before the Whimed fired thrusters. The sled shot off the ramp and out into glaring sunlight. Dan winced and keyed his helmet’s polarization to a darker setting. He envied the Whimed; felinoids had unbra-laca pupils that permitted them to look directly toward a bright star without pain, as the sled’s driver was doing now.

  Free Port Eighteen was a galactic crossroads, a satellite complex orbiting Terran Settlement World Clay. Torus, garages, warehouses, and human and e.t. trade HQs wheeled majestically against velvety blackness. Small intraport vehicles darted like metallic insects among the planetoid-size structures.

  Main Docking was busy. The Whimed’s sled took its turn in line with a horde of other craft. Buses and skimmers delivered incoming passengers from the parking garages or on-loaded those heading to departing shuttles and FTL ships. Finally, Traffic assigned a berth, and the sled Dan rode edged forward. He admired the driver’s touch on vernier jets and retros and the smooth way he cut power and let them coast into the bay. Inertia and the Hub’s adherers did the rest.

  Dan expressed his thanks, expecting no acknowledgment. The felinoid headed for his species’ mercantile check-in area as soon as the sled was secured. Dan took another access, one connecting to the rental lockers and lifts. He stowed his much-patched pressure suit and caught the first upbound car, squeezing in beside four Terrans and a trio of Vahnajes wearing diplomatic robes .

  The Terrans were crewmen off an S-ME liner. They eyed the muscular, sandy-haired, independent pilot scornfully. Dan returned an amiable smile, amused by their snobbery. He wondered how the crewmen would feel if they knew he was related to the owners of S-ME Interstellar. Not closely related, true, but part of that famous clan, just the same.

  As the car began to move, riders reacted to the gravity shift from free fall at the station hub to nearly Earth-normal at the outer torus. Dan gulped hard, relieving the pain in his ears. He had to touch his med patch five times during the ride, graphic proof of Free Port Eighteen’s size; it was a long haul from Docking to the “upper” levels.

  When the car stopped and doors whispered open, he let the others exit ahead of him. They, no doubt, had schedules to meet and places they needed to be. Not Dan McKelvey—nothing to do but spend parking fees and cool his heels.

  The concourse was as busy as Docking. Most of the crowd was Terran, though neighboring stellar civilizations were well represented, too. Dan moved through polyglot chaos. Dozens of languages, dialects, and chittering translator devices yammered at him. He bumped elbows with Port staffers, military personnel, traders, recent immigrants, ships’ crews, indie haulers, techs, mechs, Terran and alien officials and diplomats, and a smattering of tourists from every sector.

  Wending past the worst of the confusion, he eventually reached the Traffic dispatching offices. He wasn’t seeking a cargo today, but this section of the torus was a gathering spot for any independent pilots currently in Port. Dan dodged a knot of congestion at the dispatchers’ desk and entered the lounge, seeking an empty chair.

  “Hey, McKelvey!” a veteran spacef yelled. “Still playin’ non-contrib, huh? You one of them trillionaire tourists from Earth?” The old-timer’s buddies took up the game.

  “Yeah, what a do-nothin’!”

  “Uh-huh! Y’see how he turns down everything a dispatcher offers him? Wish / could afford to do that!”

  “Aw, them McKelveys and Saunders can always dip into their private fortunes when they run a little short...”

  Dan forced a tired smile. “Come on, jettison that,” he pleaded. “You’ve got me mixed up with my rich relatives.”

  “Sure we do!” the others jeered. Their laughter was friendly, though. Dan chuckled with them. Being a good sport was the fastest way to get them off his back. The pilots were well aware that he was no better off financially than they. However, ragging him was a ritual, one Dan had to endure as part of the price he paid for his lineage.

  The Saunders and their McKelvey cousins were humanity’s prime movers and shakers, influential in nearly every field and backed by enormous wealth. In a century, the family had risen from nothing to become Terra’s uncrowned royalty, regarded as the representatives of mankind and of Earth by many aliens as well as their own species.

  There were embarrassing exceptions to that pattern, rare, failed stars in the constellation of conspicuous power. Dan’s father, Reid McKelvey, had made some very bad investments and lost his inheritance and a big chunk of that of his kids, as well. Dan’s older siblings had been adults when the roof fell in. They’d coped fairly well. He had been twelve. And his father’s bankruptcy had meant the collapse of his universe. There had been an abrupt end to his private tutoring and no more servants, luxuries, or first-class tickets. His dreams of completing his education at a prestigious institution and becoming an engineer-inventor di
sappeared almost overnight. While his rich cousins continued to be treated as princelings, he’d learned a humbler, common settler’s life-style. He’d gained apprenticeship as a tech-mech, sometimes hiring out as a brawn laborer to pay the bills. He’d earned his pilot’s regs the hard way, without benefit of a sponsoring kinsman or a fat credit account. A few years ago, he’d spent what remained of his trust fund to buy Fiona. She’d provided him with a decent if modest income since then. But it was light-years from what he had once imagined things would be. Even now, the loss of his birthright hurt, a lot.

  Yet his fellow haulers always put him through this verbal gauntlet, accusing him of slumming.

  Didn’t he wish he were!

  Finally, the game ended. Conversation turned to other topics. Relieved to be out of the spotlight, Dan listened to the gossip. Indie pilots competed for jobs, picking up crumbs left by the major carriers. No independent hauler could possibly handle all the cargo headed for isolated Settlements, so they passed tips on to their cronies—if that didn’t dent their own profits. It was an efficient grapevine, often getting the news long before the big com networks did.

  “... fresh load of purgatio coming up from Clay Settlement, they say...”

  “Yeah? Wish my name was on top of the list. I’d sure like to load some of that stuff on my junker...”

  “Anybody know where I can get a good replacement unit for a T-45 oscillator?”

  “There is no such thing as a good T-45 ...”

  “... as bad as trying to deliver a cargo to Earth since those damned Renaissancers put through the last tariffs...”

  “... ain’t you heard their slogans? They’re just ‘keeping the Mother World safe for generations yet unborn.’ ”

  That brought a chorus of groans. The veteran spoke for them all. “Heard their slogans? We’re sick of ’em. Those New Earth Renaissancers are a bunch of crazies. Let ’em have the fornicating Mother World, if they’re so in love with it. Who wants Earth, anyway? Give me a Settlement planet or space, any day!”

  The group agreed emphatically. As talk drifted to the upcoming trade fair in the Luyten’s system, Dan was surprised to hear himself paged. Across the room, a dispatcher beckoned.

  He hurried to the desk. As he reached it, the dispatcher said with a nasty smile, “Still cluttering up the Station? I’m sure sick of you using our library and rec facilities and our commissary. Why don’t you get an honest job?”

  Dan swallowed a retort. The woman wasn’t teasing, as the indies had been; she hoped to sting him into an angry reaction. He couldn’t afford to take the bait; dispatchers had the go-or-no-go say on whether an indie got cargo to haul. Shrugging, he said, “Well, it’s just one of those things. I did file my layover plans, remember, when I pulled in.”

  “Oh, sure!” the woman growled. “Commander McKelvey’s baby brother knows how to fill out all the forms. Learned it from the Fleet, didn’t you? That’s how they work. By the book, and to hell with justice.” Her manner turned very ugly. “I had friends on 6I Cygni Settlement. Your brother rounded them up during that insurrection there in ’53. Sentenced them to fifteen years on a mining asteroid. That’s death. No way they can serve out that time, and he knew it.”

  Dan studied her warily. Many Portside staffers hated Space Fleet. They resented the military’s high pay, prestige, and clout. This dispatcher, though, was nursing an extra grudge on top of the normal animosity toward the service. He said, “Uh... sorry about your friends. But from what I recall of the case, Adam didn’t pass sentence; he simply carried out the Council’s judgment.”

  “That’s the way the media told it,” the woman said bitterly. It was plain she didn’t believe the reports or Dan. “Doesn’t matter. I only brought it up because every time you come in here and loaf, you remind me of your damned brother. Weil, that’s over. After today, I don’t expect to see your face for a while. That cruiser you’ve been waiting on? She’s docking. So you tend to your business and ship out pronto. No stalling. Clear?”

  “Adam’s ship? It’s here?” Dan exclaimed. “But... but his last message said it’d be two more days...”

  “Never trust a Fleet communique,” she said, her voice dripping acid. The dispatcher tapped a vid monitor. “There’s the ETA. Just posted. You’ve lost your excuse for wasting our equipment and time.” With a smirk, she added, “Better hurry, or you’ll miss your big rendezvous.”

  He was happy to take the advice. Dan made his way around the torus to Fleet’s visitors’ lounge and checked the update monitor eagerly. TSS General Ames had indeed docked. But none of her passengers had arrived at the torus yet, and unauthorized civilians couldn’t use the elevators, so he couldn’t ride down and meet his family halfway. Curbing his impatience, he sat and waited.

  He and others in the lounge appeared to be suspended in a starfield. Tri-di technology created the illusion that people, furnishings, and even the transparent floor floated in deep space. A thousand points of light danced on the inner surface of a black sphere. Some lights were marked by standard chart identifier codes. Those points represented thriving Terran and alien solar systems. Far more suns Sacked inhabited worlds. Barren, ilu-v shone among bright islands of humanoid civilizations. The display illustrated the vastness of the universe, and its emptiness.

  Dan made a leisurely visual survey of the display and admired the ingenuity of Fleet’s engineers. He watched a newscast. He planned how he’d get an outbound cargo, after meeting with his family. And he waited. And waited.

  At last the elevators began disgorging officers, enlisted crew members, and military liaison e.t.s from the cruiser. Dan searched the mob for an older mart in civvies. Where was Reid? He couldn’t spot him anywhere.

  “McKelvey? Dan McKelvey?”

  He turned to face an ensign, a stranger. The junior officer smiled and held out a small object. Dan started to ask what was going on. Then he knew. With great reluctance, he took the package. “I see. A holo-mode letter?”

  “Yes, sir. The Commander wanted it hand delivered. He regrets he won’t be able to meet you.”

  Disappointment cut at Dan. He felt compelled to say, “My Dad and brother aren’t on that ship out there, are they?”

  “Oh, no. Commander McKelvey and his entourage transferred to the Invincible last week. Didn’t you get the message? New orders from the brass. The Commander is making an inspection tour of TeiTan-Whimed treaty regions en route to his post. You know how these last-minute assignment changes are,” the ensign said cheerfully.

  Dan snapped, “No, I don’t know. And nobody told me about this change of plans, either. Adam probably didn’t think I was worth the price of a com signal.” He heaved a sigh and went on, “lust ignore that. It’s not your fault. And thanks for bringing the letter. Did you happen to see my father while he was still on board the cruiser?”

  Belatedly aware that he’d been the bearer of bad news, the young man was anxious to make amends. “Reid McKelvey. Oh, yes. I saw him and the Commander almost every day...”

  “How was Reid? In good health?”

  “He seemed pretty spry,” the ensign assured Dan.

  “Li!” The call made the officer jump. A captain gestured sharply to him.

  “I have to leave now. Glad to have met you...”

  Dan nodded absently, opening the package and sliding the holo-mode out onto his palm. So this was the long-anticipated rendezvous! A letter! He was tempted to hurl the wafer against the bulkhead, but mastered the impulse; this holo was going to be his only contact with loved ones for the present. If he smashed it, he wouldn’t have even that.

  Resigned to the situation, he found an unused monitor and fed the letter into its playback slot. Images formed: Dan’s father, Adam, and Adam’s family.

  “Hi, son! Too bad we can’t make connections this trip. We’ll get together soon, boy, count on it!”

  Commander Adam McKelvey’s tone was stiff, as usual. “I assume this will reach you with minimal delay. Li will explain our altered s
chedule. It’s not possible for us to stop at Port Eighteen, as we originally planned. It’s off our new course.”

  “I suppose it also wasn’t possible for you to notify me any sooner than this, so I wouldn’t waste my time waiting for you,” Dan grumbled. It was childish to complain to a tri-di, although that did help boil off anger.

  Trina, Adam’s wife, spoke for a few minutes then. Like Adam, she was a Fleet officer. Unlike Adam, she was a warm person. Dan was genuinely sorry not to see her in the flesh today. He wasn’t so certain he regretted the missed linkup with Adam.

  Isabel McKelvey said “hello” in a bored voice. She was fifteen, and Dae suspected his niece would have preferred to be elsewhere flirting with her father’s male cadets.

  “This sure has been a long trip, son,” Reid said, waving an age-spotted hand. “We traveled clear back to the Mother World a few months ago. Did I tell you that in my last letter? Or... was that when we were on our way to Earth?” Frowning, the old man scratched his head. “I guess it doesn’t matter.”

  A painful lump filled Dan’s throat. His father looked much worse than he had in that last letter. Ensign Li thought Reid was okay. An honest mistake; the officer hadn’t known Reid McKelvey in his prime. Dan, however, could see the years taking a toll. Since his wife had died in 2150, Reid had gone downhill fast. That once-strong body was frail, his mind faltering.

  “All in all, things aren’t too bad on Earth, Danny. Oh, they’re stagnating, but they’ve been doing that quite a while What they need is a shot of pioneering. That’d keep ’em in shape like us real Terrans. Remember when we homesteaded on Arden? And that time we helped the stasis ship colonists unfreeze and adjust after they reached Kruger 60?”

  Reid’s memory was going. Dan hadn’t been bom yet when his parents and older siblings had assisted the Hiber-ship settlers. Like many old-timers, his father suffered from increasingly fuzzy recollections. His hands trembled and occasionally his gaze wandered, further evidence of time’s cruelty.