Under Strange Suns (30 page)

Echeckok blinked at him. The joon looked about, then back at Aidan. Aidan interpreted a widening of the eyes as comprehension. Echeckok threw aside the blanket covering him and rose to his feet to join Aidan in the search.

“Probably out for a piss,” Yuschenkov said after Aidan had found his bed site and informed him of Frejhig’s absence.

A half an hour later, Aidan said to Yuschenkov, “I think he’s taking shy bladder syndrome to extremes.”

They had been scouring the vicinity, three abreast with about five-yard intervals, taking a circular search pattern that led up the ridge, back down to the plain and repeated in widening loops.

“Okay, he’s not out for a piss. We can worry and speculate while we’re working. Come on.”

Echeckok did not accompany them. He spoke a few words, then continued walking the direction the three of them had been heading.

“He’s going to keep searching,” Yuschenkov translated. “He isn’t going to be much help rigging the transmitter anyways.”

“Be careful,” Aidan said. “Your father will kill me if I lose both of the guides he sent with us.”

He received no gurgle of laughter after Yuschenkov passed along his comment. He figured Echeckok must be truly concerned.

He shared an energy bar with Yuschenkov as they returned to the shed.

“Shit, we split the party,” Aidan said. Then he asked, “What do you think? Animal attack? Fell into a pit?”

“Homesick, maybe,” Yuschenkov said.

“Which home?”

“Exactly. Look, I don’t know where he went and neither do you. Let it go for now. Let’s concentrate on what we can control.”

Back in the shed, Yuschenkov directed Aidan to a stack at the rear, where cool stone curved down to meet the dry sand floor. An array of power cells were stacked atop what had once been a bunk in one of the
Eureka II’s
cabins.

“Help me haul a couple of these out front,” Yuschenkov said.

The power cells were heavy. Aidan could have managed one alone, but it would have been awkward. Yuschenkov must have had assistance toting all this from the wreck.

“You have plans for Gilded-by-Fields, don’t you?” Aidan asked.

“Well, sure. I’ve already introduced a few improvements. The contents of this storage depot could lead to an industrial revolution on Ghark. But I’m taking it slow, building a foundation. The joon are like us: they are comfortable with change only if it’s incremental.”

They deposited the fuel cell outside where Freg was bathing the ground with a clear, teal-hued light and returned for a second, in case the first one proved non-functional.

“Okay, I’ve got power cables back in here,” Yuschenkov said, after wiping his forehead free of perspiration and stretching his back. “I planted a few solar panels in the sod on the roof. We can run the cables to the power cells, let them start charging while we prepare a transmitter.”

Yuschenkov rooted out cables while Aidan scrambled up to the roof. Yuschenkov tossed up a length of cable tied to a rock for weight. Aidan, keeping his weight spread evenly over the uncertain weight tolerance of the roof, inched toward the solar panels. Following Yuschenkov’s instructions, he wired the cables to the output leads of the panels, then wormed back off of the roof.

While waiting for the batteries to store up a charge, they rummaged through the stockpiles for a transmitter and ensured that it was capable of exchanging an electronic handshake with Aidan’s datapad.

They took a break. To Aidan it seemed an almost artificial display of cool. He was certain Yuschenkov wanted–even more than he–to attempt contact with the ship immediately. But it was no doubt sound engineering to allow for a redundant degree of battery supply. And after scrambling about within the dust of the storage depot’s interior, it felt good to relax and sip some water.

“When should we begin worrying about Echeckok?” Aidan asked.

“I’m already worried,” Yuschenkov said. “We don’t know what happened to Frejhig. Maybe whatever grabbed him is still out there. Maybe whatever hole he fell into is right in Echeckok’s path.”

“Oh. I was hoping you’d say that a joon his age is at one in the wild and I shouldn’t worry my pretty little head.”

“I’ll say it if it makes you feel better. But even if he is the joon equivalent of an Eagle Scout, we’re still a day into uninhabited land. It’s dangerous out here. Not as dangerous as the Wall, I’ll grant you. Still, there’s nothing we can do about it at the moment. He’s set on finding Frejhig. We have a job of our own to do.”

“Right. Then shall we get to it?”

Yuschenkov nodded. But despite the resolution, they expended another ten minutes wandering about calling Echeckok’s name. Then they returned to the transmitter.

Yuschenkov ran a cable from one of the batteries to the transmitter. Aidan held his breath as Yuschenkov flipped a toggle switch. Lights blinked on across the panel.

“Remember,” Yuschenkov said, “the ship could be on the other side of Ghark. Don’t be disappointed if we don’t receive a response to your hail immediately.”

“Doc, I figure disappointment is my baseline. Only way to go is up.”

“Okay, Aidan. Make the call.”

Aidan turned on his datapad. “Radio,” he instructed, limiting the transmission and receiver to audio, hoping to improve signal strength and clarity. Then reading the acknowledgment on the screen and ascertaining that it was still set on the ship’s frequency, he said, “
Yuschenkov
, this is Aidan Carson. Over.”

A crackle of static sounded through his implant. That was all.

Despite his claim to Yuschenkov, Aidan still experienced a sagging feeling, like the initial lurching drop of an elevator in need of servicing.

He tried again to the same result. He shook his head, informing Yuschenkov.

“Give it ten minutes,” Yuschenkov said. “We’ll try every ten minutes. They are bound to orbit above this hemisphere at some point and should be in range for ten minutes at the very least, unless they’ve altered to a polar orbit or left Ghark entirely.”

Aidan didn’t want to even consider the latter possibility.

Thirty minutes later, Echeckok trudged up to the shed. The radio had still yielded nothing but static. Echeckok didn’t appear to bear any better news, assuming Aidan was accurately interpreting his slumped posture and lowered gaze.

The joon exchanged a few sullen words with Yuschenkov. Yuschenkov shook his head and said, “No sign of him.”

They tried once more and then ate silently, one of the more morose lunches Aidan could recall.

Aidan wiped the crumbs from his lap and called again. “
Yuschenkov
. Come in
Yuschenkov
. This is Aidan Carson, calling the
Yuschenkov
. Over, goddamnit.”

“There is no need for that sort of language, Carson.” Brooklynn Vance’s voice was distorted by an electronic whine and punctuated by crackling static, but it was unmistakably her voice.

Aidan leaped to his feet and pumped his fist. The other two scrambled up also. Aidan instructed his datapad’s speaker to share the signal he was hearing through his implant.

“Sorry, Captain. I’ll attempt to moderate my language. It is fucking great to hear your voice. Over.”

“Likewise, Aidan. Is–is there anyone else with you?”

Aidan knew she was attempting to diplomatically inquire about Thorson and Burge. His knee-jerk response was “as a matter of fact, yes.” But he felt it was not the most sensitive way to let her know her uncle was, in fact, alive. It diminished the deaths of the two other men; it would almost seem as if that piece of happy news had somehow demanded the sacrifice of two of her crew.

“Captain Vance, I regret to inform you that Michael Thorson and Quentin Burge did not survive the crash landing. Over.” He let that sit for a moment. Yuschenkov, standing to his left, was tapping an impatient foot. But he had waited twenty years, he could wait another two minutes.

“Shit,” Brooklynn Vance said at last. “What about you? Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I bailed out. But before I get into my story, there’s someone here who wants to say hello.”

Aidan held his wrist close to Yuschenkov so the datapad’s microphone could pick up the physicist’s words. He saw a glimmer of moisture beading in the inner corners of Yuschenkov’s eyes.

“Little Brooklynn, is that really you? It is so good to hear your voice. You sound just like your mother.”

“Uncle Brennan? Oh, my... Say something again. Aidan, if you are messing with me...”

“It’s really me, Brooklynn. And what would you do to poor Aidan, strand him here with me? Oh, you have no idea how happy I am to hear you, all grown up. And your mother? How is my sister?”

“As well as anyone back on Earth nowadays. Aidan told you about DC? About..?”

“Azziz. Yes, he told me.”

“Well, Mom is in a condo in Phoenix, a retirement community. Not exactly the sort of retirement she had in mind, no Social Security, no medical assistance. Last I saw, the place is a sort of senior-citizen survivalist compound. Vegetable gardens in the golf course, swimming pool converted to a fish pond. Target practice socials.

“But what am I talking about? I think I’m getting off target myself. You’re alive! We saw the wreckage. It’s amazing you survived. I am so–I don’t know–inexpressibly pleased. You give me hope.”

“Hope? Well, maybe I truly can give you hope. Listen, we wanted to inform you about the situation on the ground, but maybe you had better brief me first. Aidan says your Y-Drive is out, correct?”

“Yes. We can orbit indefinitely. But food supplies are finite. And there are no human inhabited worlds within light years. So it seems a landing of some sort is our only hope for longer term survival.”

“I survived crash landing a starship, so maybe I can give you some pointers, eh? Is that about the size of it?”

“Well, not exactly. McAvoy,–that is Sam McAvoy, our geologist–has an idea about landing, though he’s not confident he can lift off again.”

“Really? Excellent.” Yuschenkov’s lips drew back slowly into a wide, self-satisfied smile, what Aidan considered a shit-eating grin. “Tell you what. If your geologist has a way to land, I believe I can help him reach orbit again if he carries enough fuel. I am a rocket scientist, after all. But wait, there’s more. You’re going to love this. Let me give you some hope for long-term survival off of this moon.

“I can fix your Y-Drive.”

Silence followed that pronouncement.

A new voice emerged from the datapad. “McAvoy speaking. You seem to have rendered the Captain speechless, Doctor Yuschenkov. So let me answer. Yes, I think I might be able to get down there. And I’m relatively confident I can lift off again. It is certainly worth the risk, especially if there is a chance to repair the Y-Drive. We always believed that was impossible.”

“So my former assistant wanted you all to think. You’re a geologist, right? Well, that will prove useful. Can you perform a decent geologic survey from orbit? Specifically, we need a supply of palladium.”

“That I can do, Doctor. Now, I think your niece has recovered the power of speech.”

“Uncle Brennan? You are a goddamn wizard! We’ll come pick you up, you fix our Y-Drive, and we can all go–well, home I guess.”

Aidan broke in. “That’s the goal, Captain. But now I need to bring you up to speed regarding conditions on the ground. You don’t want to drop into a hot LZ.”

“Come again, Aidan? I’m not following.”

“What we haven’t told you is that Doctor Yuschenkov didn’t survive here for twenty years like some sort of Robinson Crusoe in space. This moon is inhabited. One of the natives is right here with us, in fact. Say ‘hi,’ Echeckok.”

Yuschenkov emitted a burst of laughter then said something to Echeckok, who said distinctly, “Carkutake gen.”

“I think that was ‘hello,’” Aidan said. “Yuschenkov speaks the lingo. I’ve only picked up a couple of words.”

“This is, this is –”

Aidan cut her off. He had let radio discipline fall long ago. Interrupting the Captain was an incremental step from there. “I know, pretty amazing. But questions can wait. Right now this is all you need to know. We are bunking with a village of locals that I hereby designate ‘the good guys.’ We’ll help you determine the coordinates in a minute. There is another group of natives who are actively hostile to the good guys. They are currently marching in force across the big mountain range, intent on wiping out the good guys.”

“Maybe we can get you off the moon before they arrive.”

“Negative. We’re not leaving these people high and dry.” The statement escaped Aidan before he’d had a chance to consider the import. But his voice was firm and he realized he meant every word. He wanted to make a stand. He wanted a fight he could finish, one that made a lasting difference.

Yuschenkov didn’t allow time for Brooklynn to respond. “Aidan is right. I will not leave my friends unprotected while I flee. They saved my life. They kept me sane. That is non-negotiable.”

“Okay. Fine. I won’t argue with you. I trust both of you. So what do you need from us?”

Aidan said, “Assuming you can’t just toss some wrenches out an airlock and vaporize the army below, what you can do is provide us intel. If we help you narrow down the likely location of the attacking force, can you get sufficient resolution with your cameras to get an eye on it?”