I recalled Juliyana’s note. What if your breakdown was their way of getting you out of there, where you were digging too deep?
What if my reputation wasn’t all on me? What if they had arranged that, too?
“Maybe I’ll have good news for you when I get back,” I told Farhan.
“The good news is that you’re leaving.”
There was nothing I could say in response, so I did what he wanted. I left.
We were dropped into our shells as soon as we boarded the Queen. The carpet was worn smooth between the shells. The soft lining of the fuselage was dented. The shells looked newer—just.
I sank into the liquid beneath the impermeable surface and wriggled as instructed so it settled around my back, ass, head and legs, reflecting that military shells were far easier to use. Juliyana clearly agreed with me, for her jaw was set as she fought to arrange the gel around her properly.
The gel came right up to the level of my shoulder. As I held my breath, expecting to be submerged, it settled.
So did my heart.
“We’re right there at the gate, already,” Juliyana fumed. “None of this is necessary.” Her voice was muffled, for the shells rose twenty centimeters above the gel itself, while they were open. The pilot, if he deemed it necessary, could snap the shells completely closed, containing us inside if he was forced to high-gee maneuvers.
That had never happened in my lifetime, though.
“They’re just being cautious,” I ventured from my own shell. There were two dozen other passengers in the cramped cabin, and the crewman moved along the lanes, checking to ensure we were all settled properly, before heading for his own shell. He paused by my shell, gave me a startled look, then double and triple checked I was properly inserted into the shell.
I stared right back.
He gave me a stiff smile and moved on. I heard him flirting with Juliyana, who shut him down fast.
I watched the screen attached to the ceiling of the cabin, while Farhan’s withering observations about insurance came back to me. I coupled it with the crewman’s extra precautions over me. “Cautious for insurance reasons,” I added.
Juliyana’s snort was a fair comment.
The Aurora Queen lifted gently from the deck of the Judeste, then moved ahead slowly.
Gentle and slow were a commercial crawler’s raison d’être.
I dialed with my finger, switching the screen above me to an external view. It had been a long time since I had seen the Umb Judeste from a far perspective, although five kilometers out wasn’t that far at all. It was enough to see the entire ship at one glance, though.
Only a commercial craft drifted out so far, before coming around in a slow, gentle curve to line up with the gate at the end of the ship, then pick up speed—still at a pace which put us at just over one gee.
As we approached the gate, the view cut to an advertisement spouting the joys of shopping with Cygnus Commercial. All transactions bonded and warranteed! Hakim Hext Cruiselines was mostly owned by Cygnus Intergenera. I sighed and switched off the screen.
I had also forgotten that commercial flights killed brain cells with boredom.
The transition through the gate was seamless. Our first stop was Melenia Station, the biggest commercial hub on this side of the empire. At just over one hundred and fifty parsecs away, it was only a hop, skip and a jump from the Judeste’s current position, which meant time in the hole was correspondingly longer. Hours longer.
And none of us could move around the cabin in that time—a luxury I had forgotten about.
I think I slept. I’d been short on sleep lately. No dreams. I couldn’t sink deep enough to dream, which was a good thing. Thrashing about would scare the other passengers.
The screen switched on when we emerged from the other end of the hole, showing an orange-red globe in crescent view. Also sparkling in the red sunlight was Melenia Station, a sprawling, former donut-shaped construction in geo-synchronous orbit around Melenia IV, below.
The sun glinted off a dozen other craft, all heading to or from the gate which laid behind us.
It took another six hours to reach the station itself at crawling speed—which was what gave commercial craft their name.
By then, I was seething. As we were checked off-board and handed our sacks, I said to Juliyana, “Change of plans.”
She raised her brow as we walked through the shield doors into the station proper, and into the stream of humanity moving along the concourse. I got startled looks. I ignored them, but I tried to pick up my pace, aware of the people behind us making irritated noises.
“See if you can change our tickets to head to Zillah’s World.”
She pursed her lips. “It’s way over by the Rim.”
“Exactly. Another long haul like this one will kill me…or I’ll kill someone instead. Zillah’s World is far enough away that time in the hole will be reduced to an hour or so. And if I remember properly, the gates are close to the station, there.” I raised my brow at her.
She nodded. “They are. Only, you wanted military grade crush juice. Zillah’s World is purely a civilian hospice.”
“It will have to do.”
Juliyana looked as though she wanted to protest. Probably something about cancelation fees and going off-plan. Instead, she looked around. “There’s a lunch bar there. Park yourself. I’ll sort out the tickets.”
I moved over to the long counter and sat on a stool, suddenly grateful for the respite. Moving fast had taken the pith out of me.
The menu wanted me to order. I ordered water. It defaulted to the same welcome message and cheerfully and politely insisted I order something. So I moved through the river of people finding their landing bays, over to the outer wall of the station, which was white and pristine tensor
