Dawnwind 1: Last Man Standing (42 page)

She already missed Otup and Jote.

And Teelo.

Teelo worst of all, because she wouldn’t see him again. Not until she road with Uxipe down the River of Sleep, and saw him in the White Fields.
 
There, they would be reunited and would wait for the rest of their loved ones to join them.

Oddly enough, that thought gave Kami comfort.
 
She straightened her back, picked up her pace, until she was almost running for Platform Seven.

* * * * *

The transport was already boarding when Kami arrived.
 
An attendant guided her to her seat and made sure her safety straps were secure.
 
Another attendant wandered by, offering beverages and health pills.
 
Kami asked for a bottle of water.
 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a health pill?”

“No, thank you.
 
I won’t need it.”

“Ah.” The attendant smiled.
 
“You’ve traveled by contragrav before?”

“I’ve piloted them,” said Kami.

The attendant smiled, went on his way.
 
A moment later, the pilot announced that the transport was ready to depart.
 
Attendants took a last walk around the interior, double-checking that the passengers were secure.
 
Kami felt the familiar tingle associated with contragrav drives.
 
They began their ascent.

An older woman with the insignia of a Seventh on her shoulder began to sing an old travel song, “Lady Huwi Walked to Town.”
 
Others joined in, voices blending and weaving in and around the woman’s voice.
 
As the woman finished the first verse, a grinning young man with bright red hair started to sing the second.
 
Belatedly, Kami realized the young man was singing
 
the ribald version of the song.
 
It was welcomed with loud laughter and syncopated clapping.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at Doorstep Station.
 
Kami heard the familiar thunk of docking clamps latching onto the transport, felt the artificial gravity shift as the contragrav generator powered down and they fell under the influence of the station’s gravity generators.
 
The attendants circled the cabin again, checking on passengers.
 
There was the hiss of the airlock cycling open.
 

Kami undid her safety straps and carefully stood.
 
The man next to her stood too quickly and staggered.
 
She reached out and steadied him with one hand.
 
He offered her a wan smile.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” said Kami.
 
“It’s the gravity shift.
 
Your body needs time to adjust to the change.”

The man laughed.
 
“You think I’d know that by now.
 
I’ve been shipping out from Doorstep for over thirty years.
 
Just too eager to get back to my ship, I suppose.”

He thanked her again, and then carefully made his way toward the airlock.
 
Kami stood for a moment, flexing her toes inside her boots and taking slow, quick breaths.
 
Then she joined the departing crowd.

Doorstep was as busy as ever, to Kami’s eyes.
 
Guard personnel in black and green uniforms hurried about, some in small groups, others alone.
 
People called to one another, laughed, shouted, slapped each other on the back, embraced.
 
Kami drifted through the crowd, too aware that no one was waiting for her.

An infoscreen told her the
Dawnwind
was moored on the upper ring, and suggested the quickest route.
 
She found the nearest tube and drifted up, through the station’s many levels, until she reached the upper ring.
 
Clambering out of the tube, Kami saw the
Dawnwind
through a viewport.
 
It clung to the station by its own umbilicus, an oblong vessel, glowing white against the blackness of space.

It did not appear large, but Kami knew that looks could be deceiving.
 
The
Dawnwind
had science labs, a fully equipped infirmary, industrial synthesizers, and a transport bay.
 
Everything it could reasonably need on its extended mission.

And it will be my home for the next three years, she thought.

Her fingers warmed with emotion.
 
She headed for the gangplank.

* * * * *

 
Dodimo Lujo, Sixth Officer of the Junian Guard’s Second Fleet, stood in one of Doorstep Station’s observation parlors.
 
Here, the bulkhead walls projected a real-time image of the station’s exterior.
 
It was like looking through glass.
 
He
 
could see the white bulk of
Dawnwind
, clasped to the station’s upper ring, technicians and engineers in EVA suits scurrying across its surface, carrying out last minute maintenance.

“What do you think of her, Lujo?”

Imes Zetajo, the First Officer of Doorstep Station, stood at the Fleet Officer’s side.
 
Zetajo was in his fourth decade, his red hair framing a lean face.
 
His eyepaint was very conservative, all pallid blues with the barest hint of black.

“She’s impressive,” said Lujo.
 
“The finest piece of engineering I’ve seen in years.”

“That she is.
 
What do you think of her First?”

“A good choice.”

“Really?”
 
Zetajo frowned.
 
“You don’t have reservations about him?”

“No.
 
Why?”

“Several people I know have expressed . . . concerns.
 
About how quickly he’s risen through the ranks.”

Lujo smiled.
 
“Is that all they’re concerned about?”

Zetajo looked uncomfortable.
 
“No.
 
Some have expressed, in private, that they aren’t entirely comfortable with the fact that he’s an alien.”

“And have these people examined Epcott’s service record?”

“I . . . don’t know.”

“They should.
 
His scores were some of the highest the Institute has ever seen. And his field record...”
 
The older man smiled, shook his head.
 
“You heard of the hostilities at Napiso, a few years ago?”

“I saw the newsfeeds,” said Zetajo.
 

His eyes narrowed for a moment and he rubbed the tips of his fingers together.
 
Sewkari raiders had attacked the colony.
 
Over two hundred people had been killed before a Guard ship arrived on scene, driving the Sewkari off.

“Epcott was aboard the
Harmonious Maiden
, the ship that responded.
 
The ship the Sewkari fired upon, before fleeing.”

Zetajo frowned.
 
“There was nothing in the feeds about that.”

“Over half the crew was killed.
 
Her chain of command almost obliterated.”

“Merciful pantheon,” murmured Zetajo.
 
“I had no idea.”

“Very few people do,” said Dodimo.
 
“We would have lost the entire crew if Epcott hadn’t rallied them.”

“I wasn’t aware of this.”

“You should review his record,” said the older man.
 
“It makes for interesting reading.”

The station officer raised his eyebrows.
 
“There were similar incidents?”

“Oh yes,” said Lujo, smiling.
 
“Several.”

* * * * *

John Epcott strolled along the promenade of Doorstep Station, oblivious to the curious looks he received from the Junians he passed.
 
He had gotten used to being an object of curiosity several years ago.

His hair attracted the most attention.
 
Black hair was simply unheard of among Junians.
 
Those first few weeks on Juni, people had kept asking him if he was sick.
 
After weeks of patiently explaining that he was perfectly fine, he’d gotten irritated with all the attention and shaved his head.

That had been a huge mistake.
 
Black hair might have been a curiosity, but baldness among the Junians was a sign of imminent death.

When he had commed all this to Jata, expressing his frustration, the response he had gotten back had been unexpected.
 
It consisted of a video of the
Undaunted Spirit
’s First Scientist rolling around on her bed, laughing hysterically.
 
After that, John had pretty much gotten used to the curious looks and concerned questions.

He paused outside one of the station’s shops.
 
The shop in question was a bookstore, its wallscreen displaying popular literature from a dozen different worlds.
 

John glanced at his timeband, decided he had enough time for a quick look, and stepped into the store.
 
The interior was brightly lit, the better to display the hot pink shelves, jammed to capacity with books, scrolls and Zerraxi speaking-stones.
 
There were a handful of other patrons.
 
Most were Junians, but John spotted an Archivist from Xoi Gwa as well as a Burjan in a shapeless brown weathercloak.

A clerk approached John, smiling.
 
Her neon blue hair fell in a wild tangle around her cinnamon-colored shoulders.
 
She wore a long mesh dress, the color of polished brass, and matching sandals.

“Can I help you find anything?” she asked him, smiling.
 
Her eyes drifted to his hair.

“Do you have anything by Uqqex of Zerrax?”

“We have her
Halls of Ancient Charm
,” said the woman.
 
She tilted her head.
 
“May I ask about your hair?
 
It’s just, I’ve never. . . .”

John smiled.
 
“I’m not Junian.”

“Really?
 
You look Junian.”

“I get that all the time,” said John.
 

The woman laughed and turned, plucked a speaking-stone off a table.
 
It was sheathed in a thin layer of transparent material to prevent it from being activated.
 

“Here.
 
Uqqex’s
Halls of Ancient Charm
, in the author’s own voice.”

“Thank you.
 
How much?”

She told him the price.
 
John nodded, pressed his cashring against her register.

“I don’t know if you’re interested, but my personal comm code is on the receipt.”

“Oh?”
 
He flashed a smile.
 
“Do you give that to all of your customers?”

“Just the ones with good taste.”

“I’m actually on my way out of the system,” said John.

“Oh? For how long?”

“Three years.”

The woman’s eyes widened.
 
“So long away!”

They chatted for a few more minutes, before John left.
 
He slid the speaking-stone into his shoulder bag, and hurried along the promenade, weaving in and out of the crowd.

He found a tube going to the upper ring and stepped into it.
 
As he floated up, John shook his head.
 
If someone had told him, twenty years ago that this would be his life, he would have said they were crazy.
 
But here he was, far from Earth, the last human, being chatted up by a pretty, blue-haired alien woman on his way to take command of his own spaceship.