The two of them, dressed in the bright yellow and rich brown uniform reserved for members of Finder Flight, turned into a passage marked “OBS DK & OFF LOUNGE.” A yellow bar below the sign warned, “High radiation levels inside lounge shield—tags are available at the bar.”
Working asteroid Medevac required the nerve to stare death in the infinite depth of its eyes coupled to an unflinching will to survive—and a dedication tough to find anywhere in the SESC. Although she didn't look it, Dr. Marta Lavan had all that and much more. She served out there among the Belt mines for five years before signing up for the Finder mission and earned the Distinguished Service Stripe to prove it.
Anyone seeing those bars of bright red stroked across her shoulderboards knew immediately that she was no virgin to the rigors of space, yet she had one weakness she couldn't shake. She responded to scenes like the one displayed in the huge ports lining the planet side of the lounge with a severe reaction that demanded the entire contents of her stomach be expelled instantly and violently without regard to where she was, or in whose company.
Lead Officer Alexandra Guzman-Pax was well aware of the doctor's vertigo and took no offense when her junior officer charged in ahead of her. Lavan kept her eyes on the neutral gray carpet like a fastidious housemaid looking for lint, wobbling a little as she went, and secured a chair with its back to half a Jupiter slowly turning in three directions at once—four if you counted the imperceptible polar drift of the station.
JS9 was set in a polar orbit that revolved axially once in the Jovian year, the polar drift, to keep the station out of the shadow of the planet. That motion was so slow it was not noticeable, but the axis of the station was pointed directly at the planet's center and the rotation of JS9 caused the planet to tumble in slow motion combined with the natural movement of Jupiter and the orbital swing of the station.
Pax enjoyed it. There were times when she would sit in the lounge for hours, transfixed, fascinated with the beauty of it all. She slid out a chair and turned it so she could sit looking straight at the panorama and mused for a moment on how, from the station, Jupiter was always half planet, half ghost. The side in shadow glowed dully from its own energy, flashes of lightening giving it the look of deeply dark brown velvet with tiny diamonds sparkling on it. At JS9's tremendous distance from the planet the entire thing and most of its moons were visible, particularly the larger ones, which added greatly to Lavan’s problem. Lavan, on the other side of the table, kept her eyes fixed firmly on the non-reflective surfaces of the bar.
The lighting in the lounge was diffused and cast almost no shadows on Lavan's girlish features. Pax could not help noticing that Lavan's turned up nose was still not quite a nose, like a small child’s it appeared to be developing into one but wasn’t quite there. Her deeply dimpled cheeks were lightly dusted with soft freckles and her eyes were large, watery blue, and dotted loosely with purple flecks. A silver strand here and there peeked from beneath her short-cropped golden red hair, doing little to lessen the little-girl effect.
“Well, Marta, tomorrow we do it,” Pax said, motioning to a waiter who expertly ignored their entrance.
“Huh? Oh...right...tomorrow,” Lavan responded while tracing little looping patterns with an unpainted fingernail on the glossy black table top.
She never uses cosmetics...adds to that just-out-of-puberty look. One of these days I'm going to have to talk to her about that. How does she ever get anyone to take her seriously—or to bed, for heaven's sake?
“Okay, what's troubling you, Marta?”
“Nothing...and everything. I'm thinking about what we're getting ready to do. How wonderfully exciting it all is...and how dreadfully permanent. You know, just sorting through things one last time...before you pull the trigger.”
That's novel. Like I’m holding a gun to all our heads...and I'm the one who has the pleasure of deciding when to pull the trigger. Great, Marta.
“Mm-hmm, I know.” Sorting through things one more time. Permanent. “I'm going over a couple of hours early. You're welcome to accompany me, if you'd like. That way you can keep your eyes closed during the transfer. Where is that waiter?”
“He ducked into the kitchen a minute ago. He'll be back. Why?”
“Because I'm hungry, Marta.”
“No, that's not what I meant. Why go over early?”
“Oh, that.” Were her jitters as obvious as Lavan's? Pax tacked a note to her mental bulletin board to be a little more guarded in the future. “I need to check the Rammix set-up again, and I found some anomalous readings on the hydrogen injector section of the guide tube field generator yesterday. I also want to make a pre-launch rock...and I think it's going to be a long one.”
“Where's the sense in that, Alex? The pre-launch crystal, I mean. We're not coming back...and no one is going to come get us. That’s what I was trying to tell you. This is a one-way trip, Alex.”
Pax fixed her iron gray eyes on Lavan and deep furrows traveled across her forehead. She felt the hint of a tic coming, looked back to the half a Jupiter hanging in the ports and ran the heel of her right hand across her right eye.
Lavan had a point and it struck at Pax's solar plexus like her mother's fist. There was no coming back for any of them...ever. Even the shorter Finder Flights were strictly a one-way proposition. Dreadfully permanent. And if anything went wrong? No rescue, no return. Why do you have to talk about these things, Marta?
“I thought I'd make one for them,” she said and waved her hand in what she thought was the general direction of their destination. “Just in case.” Just in case we all die in stasis and the Rammix takes us in on automatic like it was programmed to do.
“Uh-huh. That’s a truly noble gesture, Alex, and I’m sure they’ll appreciate it. That is, if anyone is home. Have you thought much about that? What if no one is there?”
No, she hadn't thought about it. At least, she hadn't thought about it very much at the conscious level. It was presented as one of the possible mission worst case scenarios, and Whitaker went over all the various reasons it might be so in excruciatingly morbid detail...more than once. It just didn’t find a very high position on her list of concerns. Lavan had, with a simple statement, bounced it into the number one slot. That is, if anyone is home...
From Chapter 2
The ground rolled and trembled under Niki’s feet. The movement was slight, but he knew it to be a warning and braced for what would follow. Then, it came rolling up from deep under the surface, a violent shake that made the dilapidated launching car buck and bounce almost off the track. He dared not stop. Not yet. There remained but fifteen meters to the himark...and beyond that lay the safety of the shed at the top of the track.
Laboring and overheating on the block at the end of the rail, a decrepit winch motor rolled rusted, splintering cable onto its drum, sending little puffs of red-brown dust into the air each time another strand parted. Niki wanted to let the motor cool but there was no time for that. Barely enough time remained to get his boat secured in the sturdy old building and rest a little before hiking over the hill to Sochi.
The ground rumbled again, issuing a deep, throaty growl accompanied by a long, slow rolling movement. He braced himself for a big one...too late. There was an audible snap and a tremendously quick lateral shift that nearly threw him off his feet but, to his relief, the old car stayed on the rails. Niki glanced toward the shed, sighting along the rails. It looked good, only eight meters to go and the track was still straight—or reasonably so.
Acrid white smoke curled from the cracked and corroded motor casing, the machine whining a metal on metal complaint Niki felt at the base of his neck. It was the painful sound of metals stressed to a state of torment, a mechanical cry for help.
Balwin, Vahstok Harbor's aged Controller, appeared as if from nowhere and added his shoulder to the back of the car.
“Lo, Niki. Been wanting to fix that miserable excuse for a motor more’n two years now,” he said as the two of them pushed at the reluctant car with their combined strength.
“Evening, Balwin. You surprised me. I thought you'd already gone over for the Neathing.”
“No, not yet. Wanted to pull that yowling shavecat of a machine first.”
“I can see why. It looks like this may be its final day—cable, too.”
“Yu-huh. Damnable thing quit dead on me and Bolskoi yesterday. Gave it a bath in mackrawl grease last night or it wouldn’t be running now—such as it is—and I got new cable but don’t see no sense in replacing it with the motor like that.”
“I’m glad you thought of it. Neathing’s in the morning and I have to help my father with the vents tonight. If I had to do this without the motor’s help there would be no way I’d make it in time.”
“No, that you wouldn’t, Niki. Parts finally came in from the Continent with the last ship. After this Neathing it’ll be as good as new and I’ll put the new cable on at the same time, you know. Well-l-l, maybe it won’t run like new, but it’ll run better’n it’s running now. Least it won’t scream like a scalded shavecat for another year.”
Three meters more and the car with its load would be snug against the block at the back of the shed.
“Balwin?”
“Uh?”
“Have you ever wondered why the Fathers chose to come here? That is, why they decided to settle in this system?”
“Yu-huh. Can't help but think on it every year about this time. But, who knows why they did a lot of things? Just lucky, I ‘magine.”
Lucky, he said. Lucky? Weren’t there enough stars in the galaxy from which to choose? Say, a nice, single star where its planets pirouetted around it without the malignant influence of a distant partner stretching their orbits so far out of shape?
Vegamwun’s yellow disk closed on the brilliant, white spot that was Vegamtu more each day, proclaiming the Great Eclipse and Perigamia were at hand—and that meant violent, catastrophic events that would grip Paz in gravity’s mighty hand, shake her, tear at her, break her, then toss her out into more stable times—but only for a while...then it would all start again.
Niki thought he resented the Fathers for the legacy they had bequeathed their progeny, for their audacity and arrogance in planting their seed on Paz, seed from which he was doomed to spring. Why, of all the places in the galaxy, did they pick this one?
Niki harbored no animosity for the people of Earth, nor did he question the underlying purpose of the Fathers. They were only doing what people have done for millions of years, ensuring the survival of their kind. Why they were saving themselves was uncertain. The Ancient Record did not include that information, but that was what they were doing.
One day, in a small way,
he would do the same. Niki would have onners of his own to carry his line
into the future. But, he vowed, he would teach them true. True about
this hell called Paz and not the fantasies the schools fed the little ones.
There are many characters, plus several plot lines
interwoven
throughout. You will encounter time lines that change from thirty thousand-plus
years in Earth's past to several thousand years into its future and several
different stories that converge on a single point one hundred thirty light years
from home. Making this trip was not simple, nor was it made frivolously.
This is serious science fiction based on sound principles in a real universe.
So, I give you fair warning. If your memory lasts just a few seconds or you have a tough time dealing with
many names, time frames that move back and forth like rippling water in a
disturbed pond and multiple plot lines
weaving in and out of one another like snakes in a pit, I suggest you forego reading
SEEDS OF MEMORY. Now, before you go accusing me of having an 'attitude', let me be the first to say,
'Indeed, I do have an attitude, and part of that attitude is, if you can't swim,
stay away from the
deep end of the pool.'
Am I risking losing readers by telling you this? I suppose that could be, but I would rather like to think that I'm avoiding having a bunch of disgruntled readers sending me nasty notes and negative responses
because they are unable to keep track of more than one thing at a time.