Stories: All-New Tales

The first jump covered four thousandths of one light-year; recharging for the next would take thirty-six hours.

“Are we going home?” Leif asked. He sounded sleepy, and had not touched the buckle that held him in his seat.

Brennan said, “Right.” He was refolding Leif’s suit.

“You’ll have to walk in the spinner,” Ena told Leif, “just like Brennan and me. Just like you did on the trip out. Can you do it?”

Leif seemed not to have heard her.

“Two hours a day,” Brennan said. “If you don’t, your legs will break when we get home.”

Ena was inspired. “Your limbs, Leif. That’s your arms and your legs. You know what happens when limbs break.”

Leif stared at her. “The nests fall down.”

“Exactly!”

“I’m going into the spinner now.” Leif released his buckle. “Three hours. Three hours every day for me. I won’t forget.”

When Leif had gone, Brennan chuckled, wrapped Ena in his arms, and kissed her. When they parted, he whispered, “You were always the smartest woman on board.”

They were recharging for the fourth jump when Ena heard the first bird, its clear trills carried through the ventilation system. A twenty-minute search found it in Specimen Storage number 3, where it had nested among her neatly labeled sacks of rocks.

It was somewhat larger than a crow, and was not (she decided) exactly as a bird should be. That sinuous neck, armored in diamond scales, might have belonged to a snake; the sides of its long, curved beak were toothed like the blades of saws. It spread its wings when she approached, threatening her with retractile claws that sprouted from their forward edges.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Ena said softly. “Really, I don’t. You’re very, very valuable to all three of us. You’re an alien life-form, you see.” It was difficult to remain calm.

The bird rattled its feathers—a warning buzz, loud and abrupt.

She kicked off from a specimen bag, backing away. “I’m going to bring you something to eat. I don’t know what you’ll like, so I’ll try several things.” Could it eat their food?

Brennan was checking the recharge readings. “Pile’s running good,” he told her. “Next jump should be right on schedule.”

“Leif’s birds are real.” She had drifted over to her console.

“Are you kidding me?”

Seeing his skepticism, she nodded. “Sure. But don’t you hear that noise? Listen. I think it’s coming through the vents.”

After a moment he left his seat and kicked off, stopping aft vent. Ena smiled to herself.

“That’s a bearing getting ready to fail. Probably one of the fans. I’ll see to it.”

As he shot out into the corridor, she called, “Good luck!”

She was checking the pile herself when Leif wandered in. “Do you need me?”

“Not really.” She smiled. “The best thing you could do right now is to shower and put on a clean uniform. Will you do that? For me?”

Leif nodded.

“Thank you! I really appreciate it. Put the one you’re wearing in the laundry, and I’ll see to it. Don’t forget to empty the pockets.”

“There’s nothing in there.” Leif seemed to wait for her to speak. “All right, I’ll empty them anyway.”

It was almost time for the jump when Brennan returned. “There’s a bird on the ship!”

“No shit?” Ena feigned surprise.

He grabbed at a handy conduit and swung to a stop, panting. “Sweetheart, you ought to see it! It’s taller than I am.”

“If you’re going to sniff solvents,” Ena said icily, “I don’t want you to call me sweetheart. Cut it out. Cut it out right now. This is the only warning you’ll get.”

“It’s down on H Deck. Come on, I’ll show you.”

“One of us has to stay on the bridge, and since you’ve been sniffing, it had better be me.”

“Leif can do it.”

“Leif isn’t around, and God only knows what he’d do if he were alone here.”

“It’s real. Do I have to take a picture?”

Feeling almost sorry for him, she shook her head. “No. No, you don’t, Brennan. Catch it and throw it off the ship. It’ll be out in space somewhere, and I can pick it up in my viewer.”

“Don’t you understand what this means?”

“Yes. It means that Leif can infect others with his hallucinations. Or else you’ve been sniffing. I like the second one better.”

“I’m going to catch it,” Brennan told her. “Catch it and confine it. Then I’m going to show it to you. Don’t jump without me. You’re not qualified.”

“You mean I don’t have the paper. By this time I know how to do it as well as you do.”

“Don’t jump!”

Then he was gone. Ena smiled to herself as she tried to track him through the surveillance cameras. When FULL CHARGE appeared on her upper-left screen, she jumped.

A DAY AND MORE passed before Brennan returned. Ena slept on the bridge, tethered to a hatch handle and hanging weightless among 552 instruments. Leif wandered in and volunteered to bring her food and water. She was using the surveillance cameras to search for Brennan when Brennan touched her shoulder.

“You jumped—I felt it.” He was trying hard to look severe, but could only look haggard and triumphant.

“Sure,” Ena said. “I knew you would. I jumped, and that’s why the pile’s burning and power’s flickering. I don’t know what that vibration is, but it darned near—”

“Very funny.” Brennan belted himself into his console seat. He studied the screen, clicked twice, and studied it again.

“Did you catch the bird?”

“I did.” Brennan nodded. “I got a number three cargo net and rigged it up to close when the bird tried to get through. When it was ready, I drove the bird in front of me with a welding torch.”

“Where is it now?”

He sighed. “Empty ration locker, or I hope it is. It may still be tangled in the net. I don’t know.”

“We can’t keep it there for fifteen years.”

“Right. We’ll let it out, v-tape it, kill it, v-tape it some more, strip the bones and save them.” Under his breath he added, “If it has bones.”

Ena said, “Tissue specimens, too. Maybe we should freeze the head.”