Starbound (Stealing the Sun Book 5) Read online

  “The answer to those questions are not pressing, and the existence of Star Drives themselves means we have plenty of time for that work when it becomes valuable,” Parson said. “Our current star will last centuries, even with Universe Three’s warcraft burning through it like they are drunk kids in college.”

  Lark broke in. “I concur. And I note for the record that we’ve already come to consensus on the view that it will be most valuable to focus our recommendations on planets we know can harbor life.”

  Murmurs of agreement came from around the room as the translations completed. An impatient cough rang out from a back corner.

  “The planets in the Alpha Centauri system could still harbor life,” Torrance said.

  “Not likely,” Parson retorted. “Do you know how long we’ve been tabulating a catalog of planets with habitable biomarkers? We have, um, more than a few. Eden is not on that list.”

  “Eden has O2 signatures.”

  “Yes, but it also has sulfur and no water.”

  “Limited water,” Torrance snapped back.

  “Not enough to rank in the top 100 prospects. Probably not the top 500.”

  “It’s number 752 by the Denning Method,” another person added.

  Torrance fought a grimace.

  The Denning Method of ranking habitable planets was created years prior by a gathering of scientists led by Clare Denning, a professor at Canyon Cave University, an institute in Arizona. It clearly did not score Eden well.

  “There is still relevant science to do there,” Torrance argued. “For example, if there is oxygen resident on the planet, why is it dying? Or maybe it’s on a growth cycle.”

  “Look, Torrance,” Parson said in a voice that said he had lost what little patience he might have started with. “We all know this is your pet project, but you can’t be serious. I mean, that kind of science isn’t even a simple jump run. A full scan of a planet that’s likely poisonous requires a landing team and all the logistics and long-term support that such a team would need to survive.”

  “That is a very high cost,” Lark added.

  “There are much better options,” Parson said.

  Heat rose in Torrance’s cheeks.

  He was going to lose.

  That much had been obvious from the beginning, but Parson’s categorization of the effort as something everyone knew of as his personal pet project made it clear Torrance had crossed the line from “finished” to “treading on ground littered with pits of career quicksand.”

  How much of his reputation was he willing to lose?

  A wave of despair dug at his gut.

  He was a hero, after all.

  Torrance had saved hundreds of people on Everguard, and his performance on Orion had been critical to the courts-martial of several military personnel who had gone rogue, killed Universe Three’s charismatic leader, and effectively triggered the full-blown interstellar war with the U3 terrorists.

  He understood how this worked, though.

  If he clung to this position, everyone here would say he was an ideological quack. They would say he couldn’t see the world through anything other than his own lens. In this world, where the act of having an open mind was a blood sport, the ability to at least pretend to change their opinions carried a certain cachet.

  If he stuck to his guns, the people here would stop working with him. He would be just another old military guy trying to milk his past record, and his career would soon be filed under What have you done for me lately?

  “You’re right, Fredric,” Torrance said. “I apologize for taking such time from the agenda.”

  “Thank you, Ambassador,” Lark said. Her smile showed the relief of not having to proceed down a disciplinary path. “Please let your OC controllers know we will table the idea, but leave it on the record for future consideration.”

  When the conversation moved on, he breathed his own sigh of relief.

  His defeat sat like a rock in his gut.

  He ran his fingers across the data cube again, and felt a now-familiar sense of loss.

  A memory of the regret that seemed perpetually pasted onto his father’s expression came over him then. And the way his father’s voice would trail away in the few times that Torrance had been able to talk about the idea of dreams and the future. He hadn’t thought of his dad for a while. Torrance’s father had been born an optimist in general, but was hardened down by the passage of time and probably more than a few moments of bad luck. The thought lay on his mind like a sleepless night.

  Unless you have a certain sense of power, Torrance thought, some things in this world are just not meant to be.

  The exploration of Eden was among those things.

  CHAPTER 2

  Europa Station: Jovian Science Center

  Local Date: September 5, 2215

  Local Time: 1850

  The hallways of the Jovian Science Center were wide and bright. A crispness in the air made Torrance think about the air handling system. It being late in the day, the corridors were also empty enough that Torrance could hear the tread of his footsteps against the soft composite that made up most of the station’s flooring. The artificial gravity here was created by combining the rotational effects of the station itself with a state-of-the-art controller that allowed for personalized adjustments in the pull the system exerted on the atomic structure of each person. Torrance had his setting turned to something that made him feel like he was nearly floating.

  He missed Systems Command, and realized then that he should have already checked in with the shipboard systems leader just to pay respects.

  Torrance was tired now, though. His brain was numb. He felt beat down and still annoyingly restless about having failed to get his mission on the priority list. He pulled back his sleeve and scanned messages as he walked toward his office. Thirty minutes ago Tia Lark pounded the traditional gavel and brought the three-day debate to its end. Per protocol, he had turned off all personal channels during the session, so a backlog of chatter rolled over his system in a stream long enough to make his eyes go crossed.

  At least the conference was finished and the decisions had been made—the scientists’ part of the decisions, anyway.

  Next, Lark would take the proposed mission list to her commission leaders. The business people would make their arguments, then the United Congresses would tear it down and build it up again for the supreme president’s signature. But Torrance understood how this process would work now. The system would massage words and passages so that everyone could say they had a part in it. Certain things would be lost or dumbed down, but at the end of the day the list wouldn’t change much. Politicians who went against the recommendations would be exposing themselves to ridicule if something went wrong. Beyond that, many of the scientists were in the pockets of businessmen who had various interests across the system anyway, so the list already had their interests baked into it. Other than the need to get their names on the operational papers, neither CEOs nor political leaders had much incentive to overwork the process.

  Torrance drew near his office.

  He planned to send a coded brief to Ambassador Reyes, then head back to quarters where Marisa would be up and cooking. Just the thought made his stomach throb. Lunch had been early and coffee had been often. The idea of Marisa pushing the limits of her recovery from the burns she received on Everguard made him smile, too. She had never cooked much before, but she was also never one to be able to sit still for long. As a result, where doctors had suggested years of recovery, Marisa was already up and working.

  As he approached, the door opened.

  He stepped into his office.

  The overhead lights were off, but the soft glow from Jupiter streamed through a wide window and highlighted the silhouette of a man standing with his back to him.

  Torrance drew up short.

  Even before the man turned, it registered that he was young.

  “LC,” he said.

  Torrance knew the voice immedi
ately.

  “Thomas!”

  Now in his early twenties, Kitchell had found his height but still had room to fill in his lanky frame. When he put his hand out to shake, it levered forward with an awkward motion that made it seem like his arm was growing.

  Torrance grabbed Kitchell’s hand and shook it vigorously.

  “I knew you were coming, but it’s still a great surprise to see you. How did you manage to sneak into the office?”

  “I pulled a bit of a string.”

  “Kulpani,” Torrance said.

  Given Torrance and Kitchell’s history, the station’s CEO and president would likely have authorized the kid to do about anything to surprise Torrance.

  “I figured you would have just rejiggered the security system,” Torrance said.

  “Those days are behind me, I think.”

  “I suppose that’s for the best.”

  Kitchell scanned the office. “Looks like you’ve managed a heck of an upgrade.”

  “Huh,” Torrance replied. A satisfied grin spread over his face. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t.”

  “Come have a seat,” Torrance said, guiding Kitchell to the desk and chairs that filled the room opposite the observation window. “Let me get you something to drink. Have you had dinner?”

  Kitchell waved his hand as he settled into a chair.

  “Nothing to drink right now. I’m planning to do the Central Pavilion for dinner in a little bit. I’ve heard it’s good.”

  “Marisa will kick my backside all the way to the ice fields if she hears I let you skip out on your first night. And there’s nothing at the Pavilion that’s as good as what she’s fixing up now. You can go somewhere else tomorrow. I’ll let her know you’re coming.”

  Kitchell shrugged. “Yes, sir.”

  Torrance tapped a message. Marisa replied almost before he finished.

  He smiled. “No ice fields for me.”

  “Good to hear.”

  The office seats were plastifoam, and amazingly comfortable. Still new enough to smell occasionally of their packaging. Their frames adjusted to the person who sat on them, and could be heated or cooled with a comment or the touch of a pad. The pentagonal desktop had an ultrahigh-resolution projector node embedded in each corner, each projector node direct-linked to Abke.

  “Sweet system,” Kitchell said, admiring the projector closest to him.

  “Very edge,” Torrance replied.

  “That phrase is deader than a brown dwarf, LC.”

  Torrance gave a sheepish shrug. “Sometimes I tell the seats to heat up and cool down just because I can.”

  Kitchell continued his examination. “Five-D projection.”

  “Seems like a bit of an overkill, really. All I do with it is read reports.”

  “Kind of like using a wormhole jump to go from Earth to the moon,” Kitchell said.

  Torrance chuckled. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. It would have been great back when we were on Everguard,” he said.

  Torrance glanced around the office while Kitchell finished his own examination. He realized then that he had already begun to take for granted the observation shell that rolled back from the window whenever the station’s position allowed the hardened windows to protect against Jupiter’s radiation field.

  All in all, this was a true executive’s office.

  He found himself, however, not wanting to tell Kitchell about the security features of the office that came with the title of ambassador.

  “It’s interesting how quickly the world around you can become mundane,” Torrance said.

  “You’ve come a long way.”

  Torrance nodded. “To be honest, I kind of miss being down in the bowels of Everguard.”

  “Once a systems guy, always a systems guy.”

  The two of them sat smiling for a fraction of a second too long.

  “So you’re here to intern,” Torrance said. “We should probably come up with an assignment.”

  Kitchell’s smile was nearly as luminous as Jupiter outside the window. He leaned back in his seat, and crossed his hands in front of his belly. “Already have one,” he said.

  Without conscious thought, Torrance felt the outline of the memory crystal in his pocket.

  “You’ll get creamed if you take on the project I think you’re suggesting.”

  “Maybe,” Kitchell said. “Maybe not.”

  The kid seemed to glow.

  “What do you have up your sleeve?” Torrance said.

  “It’ll take a while to describe. Lieutenant Harthing might like it better if we talked about it tomorrow.”

  “Or over dinner?”

  “As long as it won’t bore her.”

  “Marisa is dying to hear something technical.”

  “Fair enough, then.”

  “Let’s hit the boosters, then.”

  Torrance stood, and Kitchell followed.

  He led them both out the door, which locked behind them.

  It felt great to be with the kid again. Kitchell reeked of hopes and of dreams. Torrance’s stride lengthened and smoothed out. The smell of the corridor seemed fresh now rather than merely clean.

  They made small talk as Torrance led them through the academic wing, and into the station’s spindle. Five minutes later, a lift tube deposited them in the zone of private quarters.

  Marisa would be waiting.

  It wasn’t until the next day that Torrance realized he hadn’t sent Reyes his initial report on the conference.

  CHAPTER 3

  Europa Station: Jovian Science Center

  Local Date: September 5, 2215

  Local Time: 1930

  “It’s a new piece of math,” Kitchell said after he took a bite of the bruschetta Marisa put on a plate before him. “It basically comes from cryptograph folks who were looking for ways to hide information.”

  “Leave it to the spooks, right?” Torrance replied.

  Marisa sat down across from Torrance, with Kitchell to her left.

  Her hair was growing back, but was still short. The scarring on her face was obvious, but Torrance knew the skin on the rest of her body was worse. She was embarrassed by the pity other people directed her way because of her scars. It was a medical miracle that Marisa Harthing had survived her burns at all, and a testament to the nursing professions that she had recovered as well as she had. The regrowth of skin had been painful to watch, and almost certainly unbearable to experience.

  He wondered how the experience would change her in the long run.

  “This bruschetta is fantastic,” the younger man said to Marisa.

  The bruschetta was perfectly grilled and covered in a mix of cheese, garlic, and oils that created a gloriously rich sensation that rolled all the way through Torrance’s body. He hadn’t realized he was so hungry.

  “Thank you,” she replied, covering the side of her face as she gave an involuntary smile.

  Dinner was linguine and a meat sauce. Kitchell opted for beer, but Marisa and Torrance shared a red wine blend. Kitchell raised a fork in preparation of attacking the linguine.

  “How are you doing?” he asked her.

  Torrance liked the kid’s direct manner. It seemed to him that Kitchell had been born with some kind of internal marker that let him understand other people. When the boy was a kid, he used that compass to help him dig under people’s skin, but now that he had grown up he was turning the skill to more useful pursuits. Today Kitchell’s directness and matter-of-fact tone combined to give the conversation a sense of safety that would help Marisa open up. Someday Kitchell was going to make a brilliant mentor.

  “I’m good,” she replied. “Really just trying to get my energy up to normal.”

  “After her stamina comes back, Marisa is going to have bot-surgery and genetic reconstruction to do a complete reset of her skin,” Torrance said.

  “Ouch,” Kitchell replied.

  She shrugged and ate linguine. “Pretty good
if I say so myself.”

  “You can,” Kitchell said.

  “Maybe more rosemary next time,” she replied.

  “I’ve heard skin regen is painful,” Kitchell said.

  Marisa chewed. Her eyes got a distant expression, and she took a breath. “Can’t be much worse than what’s already happened.”

  “It will get rid of the scarring,” Torrance said. “And it will be a stronger barrier to disease than she has now. It’s amazing how complex your skin is.”

  “When will you be done?” Kitchell looked at Marisa.

  “Depends. Could be months. The doctor says a lot depends on me, so I’m trying to get active again.”

  “PT every day,” Torrance said. “Even if it’s just for a few minutes.”

  Kitchell’s face took on the expression of a son asking what Torrance’s intentions were toward his mother—which was a helluva big question right now. Torrance and Marisa had dated on Everguard, but Torrance screwed that up and then their career goals seemed to be so divergent it hadn’t made sense to be anything but friends. Then came the attack and Marisa’s injury, and the opportunity to help her. All Torrance could say right now was that he admired the hell out of her. But until the past few weeks, the entire thrust of their new relationship had been focused so intensely on getting her back on her feet that there hadn’t been time, opportunity, or even reason to think about that kind of question.

  At least that was his excuse.

  Now that she was getting back to being herself, Torrance didn’t know how she really felt about him anymore. He had wanted to talk about it, but the idea scared him. What if she didn’t want to stay? He had been looking out after her for over six months now. It was a long grind, really. At first he had known how self-serving his diligence had been, that his caring for her had come from a guilty place. He had been the one who ordered her to cover Rear Deck, so her injuries were on him.

  Somewhere along the line, though, that sense of duty wore away.

  Now he was here because he loved Marisa.