Transformation Protocol Read online

  Dollie spun around and momentarily her face lit up, then quickly hardened. "What are you doing here?"

  "Everything I shouldn't be."

  Dollie sniffed the air between us. "You've been drinking."

  "Not nearly enough." All my preparations had evaporated the moment I saw her, and all that remained was a sense of bitterness. "I'm glad you're having fun. Celebrating the big day, I imagine."

  "Big day?"

  I laughed harshly. "Drop the pretense. You owe me more than that."

  "I don't owe you anything."

  "Not anymore." I crumpled the divorce eFlimsy in my hand and tossed it to her. "It could have been different. If you'd tried."

  "Tried what? Crawling inside a bottle with you?" Her face darkened. "Or subjecting myself to fertility treatments in the hope I could satisfy your chauvinistic urges?"

  My hands clenched and my head swam from the booze I was carrying in my bloodstream. After Dollie lost the baby, she was warned not to try again. The stress on her biological systems would have been too great and most likely end in another failure. Stupidly, I'd asked if Geneering might help, thinking she still wanted children. But she'd twisted it around, making it seem like I was forcing her into becoming a brood mare. "All I wanted was to make a family with you. Is that so—"

  "All you wanted was for me to risk my life so you could prove you were a complete man."

  "Dollie, that's not—" I reached out to take her hand in mine, but that was another mistake.

  "Touch me, and I'll break your arm, Joe." Her voice had shifted to its lower male register, telling me she was deadly serious.

  "What's taking so long, Dollie? Are you seducing the pizza guy?"

  I recognized the voice. It was Sigurd, Dollie's one-time lover. She poked her head around the door and froze. She wasn't wearing her usual complete isolation alt-real suit, and I saw her face for the first time. She was at least fifteen years older than Dollie with a pixie-ish face under a tight shock of gray hair.

  "Neck off, Ballen. No one wants you around here, this is girls only."

  "Ballen?" Another voice sounded from inside the apartment, and seconds later, Sarah, Dollie's alternate dispatcher, appeared. "Hey, Joe! Good to see you again We were just ta—" She stopped when Sigurd nudged her. "Why don't you come in and have a drinky?"

  Sigurd ushered Sarah back inside. "Come on, you need a refill."

  Sarah sounded pretty inebriated, even to me. "Seducing the help now? You used to be better than that."

  Dollie slapped me across the cheek, the blow hard enough to jar my alcohol-sozzled brain, and my vision blacked out momentarily.

  "It's none of your business." She breathed heavily several times. "I'm not your business."

  "Divorce doesn't have to be forever." I was blabbering, but only part of my brain knew it, and it wasn't the part in charge of my mouth. "We could make it work. All we need to do is try."

  "I'm not going to be here anymore." Dollie looked away as if embarrassed, which she never was. "There's no point coming here again."

  "I still love you, Dollie. You know that, don't you?" I saw her jawline soften a little. "Tell me you don't feel the same."

  Dollie hesitated, and I felt I'd reached her. Then she sighed. "I'm going away, Joe. I don't know when I'll be back, maybe never."

  Her words didn't sink in. "Going where? That's stupid. You can't leave. What will I do if you—"

  Dollie snarled. "For once, try thinking of someone other than yourself. I'm leaving, and you can't follow me."

  "Are you joining a nunnery or a private sex retreat?"

  "Not everything is about sex."

  "It is with you." My mouth was leading a life of its own.

  Dollie pulled her hand back to slap me again, and I waited almost eagerly for the blow to land. "If you must know, I've got a new job."

  "Job?" That was crazy—she had the cab company to run.

  "I've got more taxis than drivers qualified to fly them and too many bills to pay. With everyone going space happy, most of my guys are heading off-world."

  I knew that and would have been out there myself, if I wasn't barred for refusing to hand over the Shokasta. A job was simply another way for her to leave me behind. "That's stupid, you—"

  "StriPizza for Buntin," a voice called from behind me.

  I turned to see a young guy carrying pizza boxes, wearing nothing but a pair of crotch-hugging gold shorts and matching gold running shoes. His body was oiled and glistening from his bulging biceps to his perfect six-pack. How I'd have looked fifteen years ago—if I'd spent all my earnings on Geneering instead of pounding my way through engineering school.

  "Who gets the special sauce?" The guy gave me a dubious glance then turned to Dollie more hopefully.

  Dollie reddened and pushed her credit chip at him. "Take ten for yourself."

  "What about the show?" Oily-guy asked.

  "Just take your money and go," Dollie hissed.

  Dollie glared at me over the pizza boxes. "I didn't arrange that, Joe. One of the others must ha—"

  "Yeah... not everything is about sex," I snarled. "Sorry I interfered with your delivery."

  Dollie slammed the door, and I turned to leave, my blood boiling inside my veins. At the Jump-Off, I pulled out my Scroll and was about to call a cab, then stopped to peer over the drop. L7 was over one-hundred meters up, plenty high enough to do the job. I edged closer, feeling the wind buffet my torso as if goading me to do it.

  My Scroll beeped. I had a message directing me to report to the Off-World Testing Center for pre-departure induction. I guessed a certain engineer with the name of Logan had filed an application on my behalf.

  *

  The following morning came all too soon, and I woke with a headache like two black holes colliding. While my brain might not be creating gravity waves, the surges of nausea were all too real. My Scroll was beeping despite the fact that I remembered switching it to "only in the event of death," which meant it could only be one of two people who knew the override code. I hoped it was Dollie. I owed her an apology for last night, but I was less surprised when Logan appeared.

  He took me in with one glance. "You look like crap, my friend."

  "That's appropriate."

  I rubbed my hand over my face, feeling my eyes crunch under my fingers. I'd carried on with the vodka after returning home and had a vague memory of calling out to order a second bottle. A fact that was confirmed when I rolled over and let my feet drop, kicking away an empty that matched the one on the floor between the bed and the miniature dining area.

  "You have an appointment this afternoon."

  "I couldn't pass a field sobriety test, let alone an entrance exam for the space eligibility program."

  "You confirmed your acceptance last night. The least you can do is show up."

  Again, I had a hazy recollection of marking my thumbprint angrily against my Scroll to accept the invitation. I had the crazy, drunken idea of showing Dollie I still had it, mixed with the equally delusional thought that if I returned to space she'd miss me so much she'd want me back. Neither was going to happen, and the test was a rather sad joke.

  "You know I can't pass. Not with my issues and not in my current state."

  "Get your ass down there. And don't disappoint me."

  I shook my head. It hurt and I stopped. "Sure. I don't mind wasting my time. But what about the asteroid project?"

  "Palmer has been notified of our indefinite absence. I'm sure he's reworking his schedule as we speak and cursing both our names."

  "Great." So regardless of what happened, I was out of a job again. "You sure enjoy making my life difficult."

  Logan grinned. "When you need me to."

  I ended the call and staggered over to the shower cubicle, grabbed a handful of nerve-tranq from a stash I kept especially for days like this, and punched the Max button for the coffin-like shower. I wanted to login to the net and check the employment registry. If Dollie had taken a job, it wou
ld confirm it. But, first, I needed to try and put myself back together, or at least reach a passable facsimile.

  The Lofts didn't run to luxuries like a high pressure drier in the rudimentary stall, and I was still dripping when I opened the infosite and logged in—hoping Dollie hadn't changed her access codes. The screen flashed red with an Access Denied message, and I cursed. This was looking set to be yet another perfect day.

  Chapter Three

  The Testing Center was in Greenbelt, Maryland on the site of the former NASA Goddard Space Flight Center. It was now a major center for space flight and research in the USP and hosted the newly formed Extra-Solar Expansion Coordination Center—with the aim of managing new activity arising from the Jump drive. Based on what I saw in the news feeds and the inside stories I heard from Logan, that was a task comparable to a blind man herding black cats, in ZeeGee, in the dark.

  There was no direct transport link from where I was living, but Logan had made sure that I couldn't use this as an excuse. There was a notification on my Scroll telling me that a pre-paid aeromobile would be at my apartment block to pick me up at 1.30 PM.

  The driver made good use of the SkyWays to deliver me to the Center by the appointed time. I hesitated by the towering glassite doors, my hands shaking with a combination of the DTs and neural degradation. I swallowed another mouthful of nerve-tranq pills. My pride wouldn't allow me to do less than my best, even though I had no chance of succeeding in my current state. Whether I was able to pass the reaction response tests or not, the blood work would show huge amounts of 'tranq in my system.

  I marched through the entrance on legs like week-old celery stalks, trying not to display the limp that had recently returned. A bored-looking receptionist checked my ID without comment except to direct me to room three-zero-seven where I was scheduled to meet my personal testing agent.

  The room itself was stark white and antiseptic. The only color came from animated promotional posters on the walls, advertising the work done at the center. The tumble of images made my head hurt, and I dropped into a chair, waiting for my tester to arrive. I took several deep breaths, hoping it would help but knowing it wouldn't and silently cursed Logan for dragging me into this.

  "Joe Ballen?" A voice like gravel sliding over rock came from the door.

  Logan Twofeathers was standing there with a sheaf of eFlimsies in one hand and a big grin plastered across his face.

  "What's going on?" To say I was confused would be an understatement. "You're my examiner?"

  "By special arrangement."

  It wasn't hard to guess who'd made that happen. "When do I start the tests?"

  "You already passed." Logan laughed. "All I need is a biometric imprint from you to make it legal."

  "You could have told me." I felt stupid and relieved at the same time. "Why did you put me through all this?"

  Logan tapped a thick finger against my chest. "I needed to know there was still some of the old Joe in there."

  "What now?"

  Logan dropped the eFlimsies on the table in front of me and waited until I'd pressed my thumb against the bottom of the topmost sheet.

  "There's an MRT AstroFreighter waiting to take us to the High-Rig. I assume you don't have any reason to go back to town."

  His words stung, reminding me that the last time I'd done anything like this I'd said goodbye to Dollie. The AstroFreighter was new though.

  The data crystal I'd been given by GaTanHa had a complete record of all the information the Ananta had collected on its travels. This included space maps and details of extra-terrestrial races we had yet to make contact with. It also included a large cache of data on physics and engineering beyond our current knowledge that had spawned a research niche of its own, with thousands of scientists poring over the data. Everyone from the USP to Old Europe, the PAC, and United Africa, along with the Atolls and Corporates was in a race to decipher what they could. But the concepts were obscure, and progress was slow. The AstroFreighter was one of the first practical developments to emerge.

  "So, are you in?" Logan raised an eyebrow and held out his hand.

  "I don't appear to have a choice."

  "I didn't intend giving you one." He grabbed the eFlimsies and filed them into a reader by the wall. "You're registered. All licenses restored."

  "I'm not handing over the Shokasta until Paek is brought to justice."

  "That's your call. In the meantime, we have some investigation to do."

  I stood and looked him square in the face. "Tell me again why you're my friend."

  Logan's laugh rattled the partition walls in the tiny office. "Because I'm the only son-of-a-bitch dumb enough to put up with you."

  I followed him, and we turned to the right, away from where I'd entered. "We're walking to the ship? I expected a secret conveyor belt at the very least."

  "Budget cuts." Logan called over his shoulder.

  *

  The AstroFreighter was bigger than I'd expected. It looked like a giant arrowhead pointing at the sky, as tall as an L50 high-rise. An array of thrusters was clustered on either side of the lower superstructure, and in the center a large circular elevator provided loading access to the main payload bays. Lift capacity was up to eighty thousand kilograms, more than enough for just about any large-scale project. As it used nothing but water as a propellant, it was perfect as a launch freighter to Earth's orbit, but it could also work as an intra-system heavy carrier depending on the configuration and requirements.

  We were lifted on a smaller personnel elevator—almost fulfilling my joke of a secret conveyor belt—like ants getting drawn into a skyscraper. I looked down as we climbed, the height alarming even for an old hand like me. I felt a pang deep inside and wished Dollie were somewhere out there waving me goodbye, but it was too late for that. Instead, I whispered goodbye to her.

  "Things turn around." Logan seemed to almost read my mind. "You'll see."

  The cockpit was the standard dual control setup, and we clambered awkwardly into the seats that were rotated ninety degrees. As I strapped in, I looked over at Logan. "One day, somebody needs to do something about this. I'm getting tired of being a space monkey."

  "Yeah, and the day that happens is the day you'll retire permanently. You taking her up?"

  I wrapped my hands around the controls, feeling a flood of adrenaline. For what must have been the first time in months, I genuinely smiled. "If you think I'm capable."

  "Aren't you the guy who boasts he can fly anything?"

  "I think you're confusing me with some arrogant jerk."

  Logan leaned back in his seat, hands nowhere near the controls. "Time you began earning your pay."

  The launch sequence was already programmed into the flight computer. I checked air-traffic control, and they opened a corridor for us. We'd pass out of reach of any local traffic in short order, so it wasn't difficult for them to make room, and having a military clearance didn't hurt.

  "I don't see why they needed to send a boat like this. The Space Elevator or a regular military launcher would have been plenty," I said, as we waited for the clock to tick down.

  "Under normal circumstances, you'd be right. But we're piggy-backing on a delivery of military ordnance. People are worried about recent events—they want us to be more prepared."

  "This thing could carry enough weaponry to resupply the entire High-Rig."

  "We're loaded up with a few gadgets to help make our job easier, including some detection equipment upgrades. They'll be fitted to the Shokasta before we leave."

  "They're going to a lot of trouble."

  "No one knows what we might be up against out there."

  Space flight might be relatively routine, but interstellar travel was new, with almost every journey a leap into the unknown. Theoretically, the danger was no greater than a regular space operation, but the vast distances made everything more difficult. Keeping exo-bases resupplied was a big problem, which was why so many people were being pushed through crash-course
s in JumpShip training.

  I checked the countdown—three minutes until lift. Our status was green, and the injector sequence was building to full pressure. Then I tested the manual flight systems in case of an abort, and all the indicators lit up with go signals.

  There's an old saying in engineering that says every time you overcome one set of issues, you run face-first into another, and interstellar travel did nothing to change that. The Jump bypassed the speed of light limit for the ship and its contents, peeling open a fissure in the manifold of space-time and allowing instantaneous, at least from a human perspective, travel to anywhere within range. But once at the destination, Einstein still ruled. Communication back home would take years and left us in a situation more like seventeenth century sea travel where the fastest route for information and news was the ships themselves. And where "out there" was lonelier than anything in human experience.

  Even quantum links didn't work. Whatever physics we tapped into when we popped through the inter-dimensional rifts fractured quantum entanglements like glass, making high-speed communication between stars just as impossible as it was before the Jump.

  Logan interrupted my thoughts. "We're also carrying several CASTOR units. Shokasta is getting a refit."

  The CASTOR engine was a revolution in Casimir power that could turn almost any liquid into a superheated plasma steam inside a star chamber. The steam was then focused into a jet to provide higher levels of thrust. That would be an extensive refit for the ship though. "How long is that expected to take?"

  Logan shrugged. "You'll have to ask the guy in charge."

  That put me on edge. We were about to take a long trip into the depths of interstellar space. The idea of hastily installed systems bolted in by no-name engineers didn't help my confidence. "Do we know who that is?"

  "Some crazy bastard named Ballen."

  The launch warning sounded, and I put my hands on the controls in case of a problem. The autopilot kicked in, and it felt like a nuclear bomb detonated behind us, punching the ship upward. Despite the mass of the AstroFreighter, we were pulling over five-g, and as our speed increased, the engines throttled back to stay within safety parameters. We hit Max Q, the point of maximum pressure on the ship, in under a minute, and the engines throttled up bringing us to just under seven-g.