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    The Pericles Conspiracy
    The Pericles Conspiracy
    The Pericles Conspiracy
    Ebook492 pages6 hours

    The Pericles Conspiracy

    By Michael Kingswood

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    About this ebook

    Captain Josephine Ishikawa changed the course of history, but no one knows about it.

    She and her crew had an encounter while returning to Earth from the colony worlds, and upon their arrival the government swore them to secrecy about it.

    With the powers that be in charge, Jo did her best to put the incident out of her mind and set about getting her starliner, Pericles, through a major overhaul and back out to the stars.  

    But the circumstances of their return to Earth along with the mysterious death of her Chief Engineer has caused the news media to ask questions, prompting Jo to wonder whatever became of the beings she rescued out in the depths of space, and of the promise she made to their dying parents.

    If you like action and intrigue, The Pericles Conspiracy is sure to keep you on the edge of your seat, and leave you wanting more. 

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSSN Storytelling
    Release dateAug 24, 2013
    ISBN9781498933407
    The Pericles Conspiracy
    Author

    Michael Kingswood

    Michael Kingswood has written numerous science fiction and fantasy stories, including The Pericles Conspiracy, The Glimmer Vale Chronicles, and the Dawn of Enlightenment series. His interest in scifi/fantasy came at an early age: he first saw Star Wars in the theater when he was three and grew up on Star Trek in syndication. The Hobbit was among the first books he recalls reading. Recognizing with sadness that the odds of his making it into outer space were relatively slim, after completing his bachelors degree in Mechanical Engineering from Boston University, he did the next best thing - he entered the US Navy as a submarine officer. Almost seventeen years later, he continues to serve on active duty and has earned graduation degrees in Engineering Management and Business Administration. Fitting with his service onboard Fast Attack submarines (SSNs), he does his writing on Saturdays, Sundays, and at Night. He is married to a lovely lady from Maine. They have four children, and live wherever the Navy deems to send them. Sign up to receive email announcements of Michael's new releases and other exclusive deals for newsletter subscribers here: http://eepurl.com/eND22 .

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      Book preview

      The Pericles Conspiracy - Michael Kingswood

      1

      Pick-up Lines

      La Chupacabra was almost empty.

      A few patrons sat at tables along the wall opposite the bar and two more were at the bar itself: a plump middle-aged man in dirty work coveralls at the near corner and, at the far end, a slender woman with short-cut black hair dressed in dark business attire.

      The bartender idly wiped down the taps halfway down the bar, and a lone waitress chatted with a patron at one of the tables.

      Vidscreens behind the bar displayed the latest headlines and sports scores, but the volume was muted. A tune from the middle of the pop charts played over the bar's speakers, just loudly enough to make it difficult to hear a conversation from more than a few feet away.

      He would have expected more business, considering it was hump day. Just two more days until the weekend after all. But he was just as happy for a sparse crowd. He hated having to search through a throng to find his mark.

      As it was, a quick survey as he paused at the tavern's entrance revealed this evening's objective. He smiled slightly and walked to the far end of the bar.

      He paused as he reached the chair around the corner of the bar from the slender woman. He cleared his throat, but the woman already noted his presence, favoring him with a slight frown and a quirked eyebrow.

      Is this seat taken? he asked.

      She shrugged and looked away, back to the closest vidscreen, where, from what he could tell from the closed-captioning, some talking head was pontificating about what effect the latest elections on Centauri would have on interstellar trade.

      Her choice of programming made sense, considering her occupation.

      As he sat down, he was struck by the woman's appearance. Ten year-long shifts as Captain on a starliner, plus the time to move up through the ranks to reach that station meant she had to be in her early to mid 50s at least. Still, he could have sworn she still had a few decades before she reached her middle years: she did not look a day over forty.

      Her bio said she was the product of a marriage between a Japanese man and an English woman. In his experience, women from east Asia tended to age well, but even still he was impressed.

      The bartender sauntered over.

      What'll it be?

      Bud Light.

      He noticed the woman smirk ever so slightly before taking a sip of her drink as the bartender moved back to the taps. He figured she would prefer to drink something more exotic from one of the colony worlds, but unless he missed his guess, she was drinking a Seven and Seven.

      Hardly the height of sophistication itself, and not exactly a perch from which to scoff at his beer.

      You ever study ancient history?

      She glanced back at him and rolled her eyes.

      I'm not looking for company right now.

      Sorry. Don't mean to impose.

      She sniffed and turned back to her newsvid.

      A moment later the bartender returned with his beer. He accepted it with a smile of thanks and tapped the paypad on the bar. His database implant interfaced with the pay system and applied his standard tip rate automatically. The bartender looked surprised, then pleased, and voiced his thanks before moving away.

      Tipping well was often useful for opening doors, he found.

      He sipped at his beer for a few minutes, watching the newsvid with only the vaguest of interest. It was a moot discussion; whatever effects the election caused had already occurred more than four years ago. Folks on Earth were only now hearing about it, of course. But whatever changes they made in response would also be extremely time late in reaching Centauri ears.

      So what was the point?

      Glancing back at the woman, he noted that she too looked a bit amused at the discussion. Of course, she would know the futility of it more than most.

      Time to try again.

      So I was reading the other day about an ancient Athenian ruler. Guy named Pericles.

      She stiffened slightly when he mentioned the name, but quickly recovered, sipping her drink again without bothering to look at him.

      Is that right? She sounded annoyed.

      Very interesting man. He took another drink of his beer. He took over while Athens was rebuilding from the Persian wars. He fostered the arts, built the Acropolis, endorsed Athenian expansionism. During his reign, Athens became the greatest political force in the region. But then, of course, he pressed too far. Made Sparta nervous. And so, the Peloponnesian War. He didn't live to see it, but eventually Athens fell beneath Sparta's military might.

      "Fascinating. Look, I really don't want company, so..."

      I heard a story about another Pericles recently.

      She froze, her expression suddenly becoming wary. He continued on.

      Starliner by that name comes in from the Gliese system, just like normal. But there's nearly a week's delay in unloading the cargo. The crew is sequestered. Interviewed by government agents, they say. All but the fourth shift are out within a week. That shift's sequestered for more than a month. Six months later, Malcolm Ngubwe, the fourth shift's Engineer, dies under, shall we say, mysterious circumstances? Then that same shift's pilot, one Carlton Hersch, and his wife Alison, the shift's doctor, leave the starliner company for work planetside. He shrugged. Not so unusual, except he was in line for promotion to Captain. Strange time for a career change, isn't it?

      I don't know what you're talking about.

      Yes you do. He leaned toward her, noting her expression shifting from wariness to nervousness. What happened out there to cause so much fuss, Captain Ishikawa?

      She swallowed, pulling away from him.

      Who are you?

      He tapped his thumb and forefinger and waited for a moment.

      When nothing happened, he sniffed in annoyance. He figured she would have upgraded to the interactive database implant by now. She had been back long enough, and those implants made forgetting names a thing of the past.

      He always kept old-style holocards, though, just in case.

      Pulling one from his pocket, he slid it across the bar to her. His credentials were plainly visible: Jeremy Reynolds, Investigative Reporter, Star News.

      She picked it up, her eyes narrowing as she read it. Then she stood, dropping the card onto the bar.

      I've got nothing to say to you, Mr. Reynolds.

      She turned to leave, but stopped as Jeremy grabbed her arm gently.

      There are rumors of a new strain of disease onboard. The public has a right to know the truth, Captain.

      She hesitated, then pulled away from his grasp.

      Good night, Mr. Reynolds.

      With that, she walked away at a brisk pace. She was out the door quickly, and never looked back.

      Jeremy remained in his chair for several minutes more, finishing his beer and shrugging off the bartender's quip about him striking out. There was definitely something there. And he intended to find out what it was.

      As the door to La Chupacabra slid shut behind her, Josephine Ishikawa let out a breath she did not realize she had been holding. It had been two years, and she thought sure interest about her last shift on Pericles had died by now.

      Dammit, that's all she needed, some reporter prying into things.

      Muttering angrily to herself, she stalked to the lift at the end of the hall and punched the down button.

      La Chupacabra was on the third floor of a commercial tower on the east side of town. Far enough from her usual stomping grounds that she was unlikely to run into anyone from work.

      Not that she didn't like the people she worked with, but she generally preferred not to mix business with pleasure. Besides, she saw way too much of them when they were stuck together on a starliner, millions of Astronomical Units from the nearest rock.

      A short lift ride later, she hit the streets.

      Quito was the major hub for travel to and from low earth orbit in the Western Hemisphere. Its location, essentially right on the equator, was ideal. Add in its status as a political hub and its relative proximity to major shipping ports, and it was natural that, as mankind became a spacefaring species, it, along with Mogadishu and Kuala Lampur, would move into the limelight.

      That would likely change once the space elevators were completed; the western anchor point was further east, in Brazil, away from the fault line in the Andes. But that wasn't scheduled for completion for another decade or more - a worry for a later time.

      For the planetbound, anyway. But Jo, like other starfarers, had a different perspective on the flow of time than most people. In another two years, once Pericles' overhaul was complete, she would hop aboard to Gliese once again. The next time she returned, though only two and a half to three waking years would have passed for her, Earth would have seen over forty.

      Some found that disconcerting; culture shock alone accounted for a large percentage of the Company's attrition among new hires. But Jo found it fascinating, being able to observe the flow of history from a position outside the normal timeline. She very much looked forward to seeing the changes when she returned next.

      But for now, she was here, and Quito was booming. Towering skyscrapers, filled with stylish and pricey condominiums. Fine restaurants on every street corner, catty-corner to the omnipresent Starbucks. Shopping establishments that ran the gambit from thrift stores to the highest of high-priced.

      Quito had it all, and with it, congestion. It wasn't worth it to even try to motor yourself anywhere, even if it did not cost an arm and a leg to park.

      A cab stand was situated a half-block down from La Chupacabra's building. Jo flipped up her collar and hurried the short distance, hunching over in the early evening drizzle in a vain attempt to avoid getting wet. The forecast had been for clear skies, so she had not brought an umbrella.

      She should have known better than to trust the weatherman.

      Fortunately, the queue was short and covered with a simple plastiglass canopy, so she was able to avoid the rain while she waited. Within a few minutes, she found herself settled into the cab's passenger compartment. Fortunately, it was an older cab and still had a slot that accepted holocards.

      She inserted her card and said, Home.

      The cab acknowledged in a deep male voice and pulled away from the stand. Jo would give even odds whether the voice was from a voice-actor or just simulated. Either way, she suspected it was supposed to make a lady feel secure, or maybe sound sexy. She had heard the female voice that played for heterosexual male passengers.

      Hopefully they found her as silly as Jo found the male.

      Settling back into the passenger couch, Jo watched the buildings pass, and her thoughts began to drift. She remembered the mixture of wonder and fear when Carl called her to the bridge and she saw what he had found. The exhilaration of applying her crew's capabilities to an unexpected problem. The terror when it seemed like it was all falling apart, and then the relief when it didn't.

      She decided two years ago to put it out of her mind. Even without the security debriefings and non-disclosure agreements, she knew her part of the job was finished. There was nothing else she could do, and it wouldn't serve any purpose to dwell on their encounter. Then, when Malcolm died, it was just one more reason to move on. She had done a good job of it.

      Damned reporters.

      The cab stopped, and she stepped out.

      Her building was a smaller condo complex on the south side, not far from the spaceport. More industrial, with less fancy decoration and greenery, it wasn't a choice neighborhood. But she hated long commutes, so it suited her purpose.

      Her condo was on the sixth floor. The ride up on the lift seemed slower than normal. Or maybe she was just more anxious to get home than usual. It had been a crappy end to a crappy day, and she wanted nothing more than to soak in the tub and hit the rack.

      As she entered, the lights automatically turned on and soft music began to play, streaming from her favorite mix site.

      As the music started, the televid wall in her small living room lit up with a slideshow from Jo's travels during her career in space. Vistas from a dozen worlds flicked past in time with the music. The eternal terminator on Gliese, where the famed Granite Trees with their massive trunks leaned far into the constantly-blowing hurricane-force winds and sent their branches with their hauntingly beautiful flowers straining toward the star that forever lingered on the horizon. The barren mountains of Barren's Holdfast, accessible only in a suit and even then only with permission from colony administration and after extensive EVA training. The Vine Peaks of Talos, rising higher than a number of mountains on Earth and formed entirely by a single growing plant that housed its own micro-ecosystem and dozens of unique species.

      Jo smiled slightly as she took in the slideshow for a moment. It was good to be home after a long day, but there was where her heart truly lay: out among the stars, on a ship at her command.

      Then her smile faded as a dialog box opened on the televid wall. There was a message from Harold Jameson, the Chief Operating Officer of the starliner company and her boss at the moment.

      Crap, she breathed, and tapped the televid control pad.

      The dialog box turned into an image of Harold, bald head and all, looking tired but alert. Seeing her, he perked up and scowled.

      Where the hell have you been, Jo? And when the hell are you going to get an implant?

      Never. I don't want a bunch of electronics in my head that will be obsolete by the time I get back from my next run in forty years.

      Then why can't you turn on your mobile, like every other civilized person on the planet?

      Jo rolled her eyes.

      What do you want, Harry? It's late.

      Harold's scowl faded, replaced by a focused, businesslike expression, with a hint of anxiety that only someone who knew him as well as she did would notice.

      I need you back here ASAP. We're manning the ECC.

      Jo's fatigue was instantly replaced by a surge of adrenalin, and annoyance. So much for her trip to Boston tomorrow.

      What's happened?

      Wu Shin will fill you in when you get here. Hurry.

      The video feed switched off, and the televid switched back to the classical music playlist. Swan Lake began playing, along with the slideshow of landscape photos from the planets she had visited during her time with the starliner company.

      Jo left the condo before the first ten bars had finished.

      2

      Emergency Control

      Corporate Headquarters of McCallister Stellar Transport was located just outside the Quito launch complex fence line, on the south side of the city.

      A sprawling campus of just over twenty acres housed the corporate buildings nestled together inside a guarded wall: a large center tower that stood some fifty stories in height, seven smaller outbuildings, and the cargo warehouses at the back of the campus along the fence line with the launch complex.

      The entire campus, with the exception of the warehouses with their railway terminals and sprawling parking lots for heavy lift trucks, was carefully maintained and planted with the finest greenery available on any of the known habitable worlds. Paved walkways joined the various buildings. No vehicles were allowed inside the campus except for the chief executives' and the cargo trucks, but the truck roads were concealed from sight behind carefully planted trees in front of stout concrete walls.

      It was a quick five minute cab ride from Jo's condo in the light evening traffic; this time of night, more vehicles were going from the campus than towards it.

      She could have walked it in about half an hour, and most days she did. But between the weather and the urgency of Harold's message, she hopped into the first cab she could find.

      The guards at the campus entrance noted her identity as she approached and waved her through with only a cursory glance. Supposedly the process would be quicker and easier with the new implants, but she never had any problem with the identichips in her security badge or holocard.

      The Emergency Control Center was located on the thirtieth floor of the main tower. The lift from the ground floor brought her up with barely a whisper.

      The noise inside the ECC was quite a bit louder.

      Large status displays dominated the wall directly to the left of the entrance. A glance showed her they were being updated by the latest feeds from the stellar Lagrange point navigation satellites as well as those from a pair of starliners: Chamberlain and Leonov. Workstations for the various support organizations were scattered around the floor below.

      Directly opposite the status displays, on a raised platform above the support workstations, the command table was fully manned by the usual people, except for the Incident Commander's station at the center. Li Wu Shin, her principal assistant, was sitting there, and looked relieved when she walked in the door.

      Jo, where've you been? Wu Shin asked, echoing Harold's earlier words as she walked up to the incident commander's station. He stood up, tapping the control console to log out from the command and control voice network as he did.

      Jo didn't bother to answer Wu Shin's question; it didn't matter anyway. She settled down into the command chair and inserted the earbud resting there specifically for her use. Most of the other principals had database implants, so they didn't need one.

      What's the situation?

      Wu Shin leaned over her shoulder as he filled her in.

      The Hephaestus suffered a containment breach in her fusion core. Took out the after third of the ship. They managed to close off the airtight bulkheads, but they're without propulsion and adrift.

      Son of a bitch. Any casualties?

      The Shift Engineer and a Reactor Tech were in the access tunnel troubleshooting the problem when it blew.

      And the passengers?

      Cryo-suspension is uninterrupted. All indications are they're fine, for the moment.

      Jo breathed a sigh of relief.

      When did this happen?

      Earlier today. The distress signal reached us this afternoon.

      Have we notified next-of-kin?

      The casualty assistance office is beginning the process, but they have not yet made contact.

      Very well.

      Jo tapped the command screen and called up the Hephaestus' manifest. They only left two weeks ago. Their velocity can't be that high yet.

      Wu Shin shook his head.

      No, a little under twelve thousand kilometers per second.

      That was something, at least.

      The most dangerous portion of any starliner's voyage was the initial acceleration away from port. When the plasma generators that powered the main engines were in standby, the ship's reactor plant operated at only a fraction of its rated power. But during acceleration, it gradually increased its power output until it reached one-hundred percent, in order to achieve an even acceleration as relativistic effects increased the ship's mass.

      And it did so for just about a full year, in order to achieve nominal cruising speed of ninety-five percent of the speed of light.

      If anything were to go wrong, it was most likely to happen at those higher power levels. And while a rescue from a mishap during the deceleration phase was relatively simple, a mishap during acceleration was a different matter entirely.

      Two months out from the originating star system, it would be virtually impossible to mount a rescue, since the distances involved, and the speeds required for intercept, were beyond the capabilities of most conventional rescue vessels.

      And, of course, by the time the ship reached the destination star, if it ever did, everyone onboard would be long dead.

      Jo inwardly gave thanks for small mercies, that this disaster had not occurred a few weeks from now. Two public funerals would be bad enough. At least there was still a chance to avoid five thousand.

      Have you had a tug powered up?

      Wu Shin nodded. Tugs T-3 and T-8 will be underway in fifteen minutes.

      Jo nodded and waved him away. He took a seat at a support console behind the command table.

      Tapping the control console to log into the command and control voice network, she spoke up.

      This is Captain Josephine Ishikawa. I have relieved as incident commander.

      After the initial burst of activity, the next several weeks within the ECC were less frantic and exciting, but by no means easy.

      There were countless details to manage, from interfacing with the various levels of government to rerouting incoming starliners into a holding orbit so the tugs could have unimpeded access to the docking facilities to offering official condolences to the families of the dead crew members.

      And, of course, there were the press conferences.

      As Incident Commander, Jo was obliged to sit beside Harold each afternoon and field questions, each more inane and brainless than the last. How the hell was she supposed to know what the people stuck onboard Hephaetus were feeling about their situation? How the hell did that news bimbo think they were feeling?

      Each press conference was an exercise in frustration, and she often left with her jaw aching from grinding her teeth so hard.

      She understood where the reporters were coming from. They had their deadlines and were fighting for ratings so they could keep their jobs. But really, would it kill them to at least review basic physics before coming up with their questions?

      But after the first week, with nothing new happening and nothing more dramatic to do than wait for the tugs to rendezvous with the stricken vessel, Harold, at the press corps' request and to Jo's relief, moved the press conferences from daily to twice a week.

      There was another brief flurry of press interest when the tugs made up with Hephaestus and began the long, slow process of re-directing the starliner back toward the Sol system.

      But when it all went according to plan and no one else was killed, their interest quickly faded once again.

      When Hephaestus docked, it was almost anti-climactic. The news media noticed, of course. But the coverage was light, limited to blurbs on the evening news shows and little else.

      Of course, the docking was not the end of the job by any means. But with the crisis stabilized, it was time to stand down the ECC. The normal command and control system could handle it from here.

      Jo had spent the last two and a half months living out of the ECC and her personal office on the thirty-fifth floor. She slept on a couch in her office, and showered and changed clothes, using spare clothing she kept in her office for just that purpose, in the employee gymnasium, which was located in one of the outlying buildings on campus. She was more than ready for a long bath in her own bathtub, and then a little vacation.

      Before the crisis hit, she had planned to go up to Boston, to visit Carlton and Alison. They had both been as disappointed as she when she cancelled, but they understood. They had lived the starfarer's lifestyle their whole lives up until a year ago.

      It still seemed strange to think those two wouldn't be returning to space with her when she got underway again, in a little more than two years. And to think that when she returned, they would both be in their late seventies, suddenly, from her perspective, older than she was.

      It was odd, and more than a little sad, for her. But it was their decision, and they had made it for their own reasons. Who was she to judge?

      As soon as she finished the last details in the ECC, Jo called Harold and informed him that she was going to take her vacation. He raised no objections so she booked herself on the next flight to Boston, leaving early the next morning.

      Alison was thrilled when Jo called to tell her the news. It was obvious Alison wanted to chat more, but as much as Jo enjoyed the discourse, she was exhausted. So she begged off, promising they would have all the time they needed to catch up when she arrived.

      3

      Old Friends

      Carlton Hersch met Jo at the baggage claim in Logan Airport. She was just turning away from the carousel, pulling her checked bag behind her, when he saw her and waved with a grin. She returned the grin in kind, her face brightening as it always did when she smiled, and gave him a hug in greeting.

      Looking good, Cap'n, he said, then winced at the look of reproach on her face. Sorry. I mean, you look good, Jo.

      Try as he might, and no matter how often she told him to do otherwise, he always found himself addressing her by her title when talking to her, almost without realizing it. Serving under her command aboard Pericles for five years was hard to get past, but he was out of that game now, wasn't he?

      Good to see you, Carl, she said, the reproachful look changing to a familiar, friendly smile. How are Alison and the kids?

      She's fine. Tim's enjoying first grade a lot. He has a girlfriend. Carlton found himself shaking his head in amusement at that. Malcolm's starting to say a few words. Or at least I think they're words.

      You didn't have to come all the way out here to meet me, you know. I've ridden the T before.

      Carlton waved off the comment dismissively. Least I can do. You've had a tough few weeks.

      They stepped outside into the crisp winter afternoon. Carlton noticed Jo shivering, heck nearly convulsing, as she pulled her jacket tight about herself.

      Too much time along the equator's making her blood thin, he thought. Not that he didn't find it a bit chilly for his taste, as well.

      He was parked in the short-term lot. It only took a few minutes to reach his car. Jo whistled appreciatively when she saw it, a brand new Mercedes, painted in a green so dark it was nearly black.

      Not bad, Carl. The Airline's treating you well, I see.

      He chuckled. Alison paid for it.

      Alison was an Attending at Beth Israel Deaconess Hospital and made much more money than he did as a senior instructor at Delta's Orbital Flight Academy.

      He could not complain about his work schedule, though.

      The drive from Logan to his and Alison's house took a bit less than an hour. It was after rush hour, but someone from out of town would not believe it from the number of vehicles on the roads. Most people commuted on the T, or in automated taxis or public transport buses, but even still the roads through town were almost always packed.

      Eventually, he turned right off the Riverway onto Longwood Avenue and drove into the residential area adjacent to the medical district. It was like driving back in time. The rest of the city had long ago turned into towering skyrises, but here the residents still maintained old, quaint homes on quiet, wooded streets.

      They pulled into the driveway, and Carlton helped Jo with her luggage.

      Alison was waiting on the porch, beaming a wide smile. She and Jo embraced fondly, and walked into the house, chatting away already.

      Typical, Carlton chuckled to himself as he trailed behind and lugged the bags up the stairs and into the house.

      Alison had dinner ready: a marvelous concoction of braised beef, simmered greens, seasoned mashed potatoes, dinner rolls, and a fine Cabernet that they had decanted earlier in the afternoon.

      And, of course, mashed up baby food for little Malcolm, who proudly wore his meal on his bib before Alison finally gave up trying to pilot any more starships into the tiny docking bay that was his mouth.

      After dinner, the ladies took Malcolm to the family room while Carlton took Tim upstairs to get ready for bed. The usual routine of bath, pajamas, and bedtime story went off without a hitch, and before long Carlton kissed his son on the forehead goodnight and shut the door.

      When he got back downstairs, Alison and Jo were deep into another bottle of wine. Malcolm was lying on Alison' s lap, drowsy eyes halfway closed in sleep that he was clearly fighting.

      Carlton gestured to the little guy. Want me to carry him up?

      No, he's fine. Come join us, replied Alison, pointing to a filled glass that was sitting on the end table next to his chair.

      Settling down into his chair, Carlton took a sip from his glass and smiled. It was a Malbec from Argentina, one of his favorites. So, ladies. What are we talking about?

      Not much. Just reliving some old sea stories.

      Carlton always found it funny how starfarers called tales of what happened onboard the starliners sea stories. There was no denying that many nautical traditions had translated over into the culture and procedures of operating spacecraft.

      All the same, to still use the term after all this time was strangely amusing.

      The conversation lasted late into the night, only interrupted for a few minutes while Carlton carried Malcolm upstairs once he was good and fully asleep.

      But after a while, Carlton noticed Jo drifting off into her own world. Frowning, he glanced at Alison, who shrugged slightly.

      Jo, is everything ok?

      She gave a little start. Oh? Yes, fine, thank you. My thoughts were just wandering.

      Where to? queried Alison.

      Jo took another drink of wine and was silent for a long moment. Then she sighed and asked, Do either of you ever think about our last shift?

      Surprised, Carlton shared another look with Alison. Of course we think about it. How could we not? But, well...

      Alison picked up his slack. It's out of our hands now, and we're not supposed to talk about it. So we don't.

      Jo nodded slowly. I hadn't thought about it for a long time. I've purposely kept myself from thinking about it. But a few weeks ago, a reporter came by, asking questions.

      Alarm bells went off in Carlton's mind. You didn't tell him anything?

      Of course not. You haven't heard from him have you? Jeremy Reynolds.

      Both he and Alison shook their heads. Does he know anything?

      Just conjecture, and even that is far from the truth. It got me thinking though.

      Well that's something, at least. Carlton shook his head. What did Harry say about it?

      Jo took another drink. I haven't told him yet.

      Alison's eyes widened in shock, and Carlton knew his were as well. You haven't? Jo, you know the protocol on this.

      I know, I know! Jo stood up and strode over to the window. From her gait alone, Carlton could tell she was annoyed. I'll tell him when I get back. But look, she turned back to them, fully back in the present and talking in her 'I mean business' tone. This guy might come calling.

      I wouldn't be surprised if he did, replied Carlton.

      Jo stayed with them for three days, but they never again spoke of what happened on their last shift aboard Pericles, or of Jeremy Reynolds.

      It was a fun visit. She had been to Boston before, but it had been years. So for those few days, Carlton and Alison got to be tourists in their own town, showing her all the sights.

      Jo's flight back to Quito departed early in the morning of the fourth day. Once again, Carlton drove her. They sat in silence for most of the trip to Logan, listening to the morning news. When they pulled up into the passenger offload area, Jo smiled and clasped his hand.

      Thanks for your hospitality, Carl. It's been great seeing you two again.

      You too, cap'n. Don't be a stranger.

      And then she walked away, into the terminal.

      Carlton waited a minute, in case she forgot something in the car. But she didn't return, so he drove off. When he got back home, he found Alison just returning from dropping Tim off at school.

      She make it ok?

      Carlton nodded. Ought to be in the air by now.

      You're heading back up to Luna tomorrow morning, right?

      Yes, but only for a week this time. Should be back for Tim's birthday.

      What will I do without a babysitter during the day?

      Carlton chuckled and shook his head. Good to know I'm loved for who I am.

      Alison smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. See you this afternoon. And then she headed out for work.

      Carlton spent the day taking care of Malcolm, as he did most days when he was at home and Alison at work. It was a pleasure, for him and Malcolm both. The little guy cooed and giggled as they played, and occasionally babbled the beginnings of a word.

      But as the day wore on, Carlton's mood grew darker. As he looked at his little boy playing, the conversation from four nights ago came to mind, and he started thinking about what had happened onboard Pericles.

      And about his friend, the man his son was named after.

      And then there were the things they had been given, and what they had been asked to do. What had become of those things, he wondered, after the government took over?

      He would probably never know.

      The lift door opened, and Jo stepped out onto her floor.

      Pulling her suitcase behind her, she walked slowly toward her condo, yawning into the back of her hand as she went. It had been a long flight, made the worse by weather delays over Columbia. It was almost 1 o'clock in the morning, more than three hours later than she thought she would be getting home, and she had a meeting at 8:30.

      She reached her door and pressed her holocard against the door control. The identichip interfaced with the locking mechanism and the door slid open.

      Hello, Jo.

      Shocked, Jo jumped backwards, landing in a defensive stance as she turned toward the deep voice.

      It registered in her head that the voice was familiar in the same instant that she saw the man standing there, leaning casually against the hallway wall.

      He was tall, dressed in khaki slacks and a dark blue collared shirt. He had a lean runner's body, dark skin, and close-cut black hair that grew in tight curls. His face was narrow, but not unattractive. His eyes were dark, his gaze direct and intelligent. As she landed, he grinned, revealing gleaming white teeth.

      She knew him at a glance, but there was one problem: he was dead.

      4

      Back From The Dead

      M alcolm! Jo exclaimed in disbelief, her fatigue forgotten in the shock of seeing him.

      It's good to see you, Malcolm replied.

      What do you mean, it's good to see me? You're supposed to be dead! Where the hell have you been?

      Malcolm's smile faded and he pushed himself off the wall. With a quick, furtive glance both ways down the hallway, he stepped toward Jo and spoke more quietly.

      I need your help, Jo. Can we talk inside?

      She was tempted to say no, to tell him to go away. If he had faked his death—and what other explanation was there—he was certainly up to no good, and that was trouble Jo did not need.

      But he had been a good friend, and once, long ago, more than that. She found herself nodding, and then following him into her condo.

      As usual, the lights turned on as they entered, and her classical mix began to play along with the slideshow of alien landscapes. She closed the door and rolled her suitcase over to the closet. When she turned back toward Malcolm, he was watching the slideshow with a far away look in his eyes and an amused grin on his lips.

      Remember that time on Talos, when we took that picture? You almost...

      Stow it, Malcolm, she said, placing her hands on her hips

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