The Sea is Full of Stars

“I cannot lie,” she told him.

“But you can playact. I saw you with the gown and the wig earlier. I assume you were just trying to mix without having the usual reaction to clerics kick in, but if it wasn’t a lie, it was at least not bringing up an important fact. There are two important facts here that we should keep quiet about, at least for a while: say nothing about this being a deliberate act, and nothing about the possible fuel shortage.”

“Is that really a problem? I thought the scoops brought in enough.”

“No, that’s only true in normal space. Propulsion here is from carried fuel. However, it’s not as bleak as all that. The purpose clearly was to have us not know what went on here, and run dry at a predetermined point. They didn’t count on me being aboard. Once we get this bridge back to some sort of normalcy, if need be I can use some of the cargo ahead. Almost anything works. It’s just not as efficient as the real stuff. Back in the age of steamships on oceans, on old Earth, there would be emergencies, they’d run out of wood or coal, and wind up cannibalizing the ships, which tended to be wood, and any cargo that would burn. That’s what we can do, and we have a tremendous amount of cargo stretching out in front of us. In fact, I’d like to find out what’s really in some of those container modules. I’ll bet you it isn’t all just what’s on the manifest.” He paused a moment, licking his lips. “And then we’ll look over the passenger manifest as well. Particularly the one for the two water modules…”

“You’ll be all right here? I mean—you’re going to be the target next if half of what you suspect is true, and you are a long way from friends and help if I leave,” she said, concerned.

“Well, bless you for the thought, but go ahead, I’ll be all right,” he responded, seeming genuinely touched by her concern. She wondered just how long it had been since anybody had treated him as a real human being. “I’m not as helpless and vulnerable as you think. In fact, I daresay I may be the only person anywhere who these people genuinely fear.”

Most of the people who had been milling around were gone by the time she got back, which was fine with her. She went immediately to her cabin, took a full shower and washed all the crud off her feet, found some sandals with thick soles in case she had to get back up there again, and felt a little better clean and dry. She was concerned about Kincaid even if he wasn’t worried about himself. It was odd how an object of fear and pity had turned so quickly to friend and ally, but she had taken a liking to the man, who had proven not as grim as his outward persona nor as unfeeling in his hate as his reputation suggested. Not that he didn’t hate. She could sense that, and the fact that he cared little about his own personal safety and well-being. He did, however, care about the safety and well- being of others, and that was what she found so likable in him. She had much the same attitude herself.

Angel decided to see if she could get a lighter and calmer fare for her now-empty stomach and then pretty much sit and wait. If any of the others came by and asked, she would give them a limited amount of information. Mostly, she wanted to see Kincaid again and be reassured that he was okay.

A ship’s clock with a standard time setting was maintained aboard so that guests wouldn’t get thrown completely off and some routine cleaning and maintenance by the module computer was possible. By that clock, it was now past two in the “morning,” so she wasn’t at all surprised to find the lounge empty. She was able to use the restaurant automation to order a light room service breakfast—some toast, jellies, and herbal tea—that made her feel much better. Still, as nobody else showed up, she was tempted to make the long walk back to the bridge. The restaurant holographic host, however, advised against it.

“Captain Kincaid is all right,” the maitre d’ assured her. “I have conveyed your concerns to the ship’s computer and on to him, and he states that you are to get some sleep and be prepared to brief passengers in the morning. He also states that you should be prepared to do your service for Captain Dukodny at 1000 hours, if that is convenient for you.”

She nodded. “Send him my thanks. I suppose he’s correct, but it will be difficult getting to sleep after all this.”

And yet, oddly enough, it wasn’t that hard getting to sleep. It had been a long, tense, and tiring day, and the future was even more questionable, but for some reason, she was out as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Angel had never needed a lot of sleep, and she’d left a wake-up call for 0800, enough time to get composed and dressed, talk to people, and then make it up to the bridge. She was still concerned about Kincaid, alone in a possibly compromised bridge with a computer that might be compromised as well, and with a Rithian he felt might be part of it. But she had the strong feeling that Kincaid knew what he was doing and was used to being alone. That, in fact, was his true tragedy—that he lived his life isolated and alone.

Some of the passengers were up and about when she got to the lounge the next “morning,” but she checked first with the computer connection inside the restaurant in the guise of a maitre d’.

“Good morning, madam,” he said in his usual stuffy tones.

“Is Captain Kincaid still up there?”

“No, madam. He and his companion returned about two hours ago. It was necessary for the area to be sealed before it could be sanitized. He said you should meet him here at 1000 hours.”

She thought a moment. “He can’t have had any sleep. Do you think he will be awake then?”

“I have instructions to ensure this. He shows evidence of using tricaps in the past, perhaps too much. I believe he has a more difficult time sleeping than staying awake.”

Angel didn’t like the sound of that. Using that level of stimulant at all was wrong, but using it enough to develop the characteristic pallor and lines and raised blood vessels in the eye said that it was dangerous. It certainly explained his hollow, almost corpselike appearance.

Even if she could override his instructions, which she couldn’t, she still wouldn’t order him to bed now, though. As much as Kincaid needed sleep, and as much as he’d need it even more later on, if he slept, he would be vulnerable, and she saw the problem with that.

She’d been relieved that her feet and ankles weren’t burned or peeling when she’d awakened, but the mixture of rust and yellow had dyed them a striking random pattern. She wondered if it wasn’t mostly the toughness of her skin and the callused soles and sides that had saved her. Save for the times out in the Junction and the little time of masquerading here, she hadn’t worn shoes in two years.

Angel took a light pastry and herbal tea breakfast and let the curious come over to her.

“Well, good morning, Sister Angel,” Ari Martinez said, approaching her small table still carrying a mug of coffee. “So, what was the big mystery and where did everyone go?”

She nodded but didn’t smile. “It wasn’t a very pleasant thing. We found the captain dead and the bridge flooded.”

There was always a slight murmur, an undercurrent of collective conversation, in almost any restaurant or cafe setting. It suddenly ceased, as if somebody had turned the volume down.

Martinez seemed genuinely shocked. “Dead! How?”

“We don’t know. It looks like some foul play back at the Junction. All of this is essentially handled by the various computers, you know. It did appear that it was quick. Then they filled the bridge with pressurized water to keep anyone from coming in until, I suppose, we were in null-space and far beyond any legal jurisdiction.”

“Then we’re running without a captain?”

“No, Kincaid’s a certified captain. A little out of practice, but he can do what little has to be done. At least the ship’s computer thinks he can, and that’s good enough for me. It’s not like we have a choice, is it?”

“Um, no. But—murder you say? And water? Why would anyone do this? How could they do this?”

“When we find out, you’ll be among the first to know,” she assured him.

In the time after the initial breaking of the news, Angel discovered that she’d become quite popular. Some seemed to be pumping her for details; others just wanted confirmation or merely reassurance that the ship was still going to get where it was going.

What she found most interesting were the various people who didn’t question her. She could understand why the Rithians didn’t—Teynal certainly gave them the gory details— but when she thought back on it, neither Wallinchky nor the Kharkovs came near her, nor did that little weasel Tann Nakitt the Geldorian.

And then there was Ming Dawn Palavri. She came over, all right, as friendly and casual as the night before,