Excerpt: Never Never

CHAPTER ONE: The Darling

Working men and women who will never put to sea, with the easy superiority that comes from a soft, an average life will sometimes laugh that the conventions of the ancient seafaring vessels are still observed among the men who now sail the stars. A craft of steel, ceramic, aluminium, fantastically shaped, and never meant to feel the warm breezes around a terrestrial port, nor ever dock near land at all, is still a ship, its various levels labelled decks, its crew addressed as Captain, Mate, and so forth.
Such as these may perhaps be excused for their ignorance, and at any rate are rarely worth troubling oneself over. Still, it is not uncommon for a crewman, 'ashore' for the first time in God only knows how long, to reeducate the unfortunate man who dares scoff at his profession, buouyed by drink. This too hasn't changed.
Perhaps it is true that all on the frontiers face the same dangers, that life on a station, for instance, can be every bit as fleeting as life on a ship, that any catastrophic failure will send so many souls to a drifting or a fiery death. Dangerous work, indeed, abounds. Still, there is an indescribeable quality to life aboard ship, that sets it apart. At one and the same time, there is continuity. All the way back to the first explorers, who packed their lives, as we do, into their vessels; carrying carefully with them everything the would need to survive, and set themselves afloat on the open water. They had the stars to guide them. There was naught about them but that which could never sustain, indeed would steal without prejudice, but mercilessly, their lives. Such men entrusted themselves into the care of their crew, the enveloping, tiny abode that was their seabourne home and they suffered. As we do. But there was, as there always is and will be, work to be done.
Witness now Persephone's Darling, four weeks out of Galeharbour station. 500 metres long, she plied the starry sea of the void, an incongruous collection of edges and curves, of antenae and engine cowling. She resembled, in a passing sense, an old submarine from the time when nuclear weapons were considered God's own fire, the end-all of warfare, and it was still possible in Earth's then-uncrowded seas to prowl the oceans in silence, undetected and alone. Of course, having been freed from planetary gravity, and from the necessity of being hydrodynamic had resulted in odd growths sprouting along her lenght, as the blunt hammer-head on her prow, and the 'wings' that had sprouted amidships. Of course, they were not for maneuvering, but housed the observatory and instruments, and the dual chambers of Atmospheric Control, respectively. Indeed, the only really smooth surfaces of any lenght were the long hollow tubes of the crew's quarters which ran the length of the ship, down either side, and these owed their continuity more to expedience than necessity. At three-quarters back, there sprouted from the main deck the tower that was the bridge, not unlike that of an Old Earth cruise liner. A squat, swept-back affair with a 'visor' of ports which were usually shielded, there being very little to see, much of the time. Plus, a spacer soon learned that it was never a good idea to stare into the void of stars, and contemplate one's own insignificance. Not only did the novelty wear off, but that old philosopher had been right who said that when you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back into you. Better to concern oneself only with the affairs of daily life aboard ship, and let the Universe tick on without your help, as it was doing anyway.
Ship's Captain, Peter Reginald Fife, had long since learned this lesson. In a cabin to the rear of the main bridge, accessable by a short hallway, he sat, looking down at his notes and the personnel files of his crew, wondering, not for the first time, exactly what sort of men he had. They were little more than a month into a voyage that promised to last them the better part of two years, there and back. The first leg was the longest: Persephone to Aries IV, there to deliver various supplies and equipment necessary to the continued viability of his client company's mining and 'agricultural' operations. In a way that he would never fully understand, being a simple man in some respects, they 'grew' parts for biocircuitry in the ideal environment of the slowly rotating planet's tropical Twilit Band, using giant crawlers that were half greenhouse and half laboratory. Fife shook his head. From the Aries group, it was a short burn, four months only, to Athenaeca. There would be very little by way of reprieve for his men on that sunlit way station, also a center of research, merely a stopover to unload the parts, take a too-short leave, and return by the same route, carrying from Athenaeca a human cargo, for whom had been extended the crew's quarters modules in long, open dormitories of both scientists and miners, engineers and the like to replace those whose contracts with the Aries IV Mining Conglomerate had been fulfilled, or who had died, which amounted to the same thing. From there back to Persephone with the fruits of their predecessors' labor and any who could afford (and many could, the dangerous work payed well) to pay their way thence.
Outnumbering his crew two to one, the rabble would bring it's own problems, and no doubt the cerebral types, some of whom were unaccustomed to life on a merchant vessel, would rankle at the rigid routines of ship life, but Captain Fife was actually looking forward to their addition. His crew were the concern. The men had signed on for the duration of the voyage, and the long hours and relatively close quarters bred the contempt of familiarity for their crewmates. There was much to do, but eventually (and it wouldn't take long) the tedium of a routine would start to wear the men down. Invariably, at such times, certain flaws of character would cause some to shirk their duties, others to draw into themselves becoming little more than drones, and some to seek ways to rebel against the only symbols of authority present, the Captain and his Officers. Fights would break out over nothing, and things would begin to go wrong on his ship with seemingly no explanation. Paradoxically, more people thrown into the mix, which should pose greater problems of coordination, cooperation, and control, tended to alleviate the feeling that one knew all there was to know about one's shipmates. Their varied personalities would add new spice to a stew too long on the boil. No, when the time came, he would welcome the added responsibility of caring for their needs in exchange for the benefit of seeing relieved a good deal of the tension that would only grow on the outward bound leg of the voyage.
Watchfulness and discipline were the only remedies, and Fife was an old hand, veteran of many voyages, many ships; both military and civilian (there being not as much difference as the uninformed land-bound might suppose). The vastness of space, the richness of the cargoes, and the sparseness of effect the overworked governments of many of mankind's far-flung colonies had in their rule of law had encouraged corruption and outright piracy to breed and flower in a way they hadn't on Earth proper in many hundreds of years. Even aboard ship, this danger existed that certain men would value their own gain over even the lives of others. Those who outfitted such vessels did their best to alleviate the danger: men with experience, and military experience in particular, were preferred over first-timers, naturally. Wherever possible, those who were related, or who were of too-long acquaintence, were not permitted to work together in any one department, to discourage conspiracy. Still, there was precious little that could be done. Some seventy worlds, and dozens more of settlements, stations, and minor planetary bodies fielded literally thousands of ships.
On the outskirts of civilization, where the Company Men ruled, framing mischief by the law of money, the press-gang was not an uncommon sight in the crowded slums of the poor. In such climes, the desperate could be elevated to desireable, in the eyes of a recruiter, having gone through the cycle of voyage, payout, spree, poverty, and conscription many times. You had to work with what you had, and the only way to keep the profits, or indeed the cargoes, flowing in the directions they were intended was to carefully observe the dynamics of the men among themselves, staying one step (or many, for preference) ahead of the ones who did not possess character flaws so much as they were, themselves, flawed characters. Charismatic, and natural leaders of weak men, as such invariably were; left unchecked their depravity ran the gammut from extortion and brutish power-mongering through to the overthrow of the ship in out and out mutiny.
As the ship's evening went on, the Captain sat alone at the desk in his quarters, and perused the reports given him by his officers, some of whom had shipped with him before, but others who had been given their ranks by the company. Here and there, a few minor disagreenments had arisen, mostly over trivialities. So far no fights had broken out, save one, and that was the simple affair of a card game gone awry with the addition of some smuggled alcohol. Drinking was allowed on merchant vessel, when not on duty, but alcohol was rationed by day, strictly. This meant that if you really wanted to get drunk, you had to plan ahead, saving your rations up, day by day. The practice was against the rules, and would land you a stint on whatever punishment detail was most in need at the time, but it happened. Mostly, though, the men who wanted to drink didn't have the patience to wait the necessary week or so to tie one on. At the beginning of a voyage such as this one, though, there were still the small bottles of the men's personal stashes, carefully, and somewhat ingeniously smuggled aboard. These would run out over the next few weeks, and the officers knew better than to be too worried by them.
Similarly, there had been few injuries, most of them coming in the areas of the ship, such as engineering, which were the hardest working, and had the most moving parts. This was to be expected, but the captain was concerned at some of the types of injuries, minor bumps and bruises of exactly the type that were meant to go unnoticed, but whose regularity formed the beginnings of a pattern of a new player in the game of control; muscle being applied and power slowly gained. Then again, it could be nothing, but, with a final sigh and a straightening of his papers, Captain Fife made a note to speak to the Chiefs of the engineering department, Misters A. Dupois and J. Hooke to gauge their reaction, see if he could sniff out any trouble brewing with their help. He'd known Andre Dupois for some years, although not closely, having heard of him by reputation when he was still commanding a cruiser, just before the end of the war. Mr. Hooke was something of a mystery, though he came highly recommended by certain company men, the reactions of the men with whom he had worked had been somewhat more varied, and though his name had come up for promotion several times, he had so far declined each opportunity, otherwise it might be him commanding this vessel, and not Fife himself. Such a man could be a powerful tool among the men, keeping order where another could not, with his natural leadership ability, and the Captain dearly hoped that such would be the case.
Calling it a night, he gave the command that his lights should dim, cleared his portal, and reached out in the near dark for his own glass of bourbon, somewhat of higher quality than the traditional black strap rum issued the men, and in greater quantity. Still, it was a vice that the Captain allowed himself only in moments such as this; the watch firmly in place, and himself in the final, quiet, reflective moments at the end of a long day. He had no way of knowing what lay ahead of him; how desperately he would need his sharp, watchful mind and quick and ready manner of thought, his every instinct of command just to survive. Though they were in the vaccuum of space, there was rough weather ahead: for the Darling would never see Galeharbour again, nor any man of her crew his home.

CHAPTER TWO: Tinkerbell's Fortress

There are places where time has stood still; where the vibrant, life-sustaining splendor of natural beauty remains unsullied by the avarice and conflict that Man seems to bring, whether he desires to or no, with him wherever he may settle into habitation. There are societies too, where persistent effort has resulted in a temporary reprieve from the advance of Science, where progress is measured in human terms, and not in discoveries. Many desire to escape to a time and place they believe will be simpler than the life they know, and they dream of a piece of land, well-watered, where they can set their hand to working the soil, and live from the product of their hard work. Others dream of a paradise in the sun. Perhaps lazier, or simply not inclined to cultivate, they dream of lush climes, where fruit and fish and fowl would be in abundance, and one need only stretch out one's hand and take from the bounty around them the means for life.
Picture now this scene: an massive island, more a small country, a week's journey from east to west, afoot, and at least three days to the center, from either the north or south end. Ringed by sandy beaches and coconut palms. Inland, the jungle covered mountains wait, its slopes appearing smooth beneath the green mantle of trees. Perhaps they are. Perhaps not. Down one green and flinty face, fresh water flows. And there, between it's peak and the ridge that signals the beginning of the ascent to another crag, a broad, flat horseshoe valley, like a cup for holding the rain that sweeps from time to time in from the corral sea. Here may the land be worked, yet it has not been, and no plow has yet turned over the rich, black earth that the long-extinct volcano which formed this land left, nutrient rich, as if to cover the harshness of the rock beneath with a thick, black shawl. A paradise it is, or might be, were civlized man to come across it, riding the warm current up from the south of this world, he would think himself blessed.
Unfurl a parchment map. An incongruous scene, in these days of back-lit monitors, and devices which communicate with the heavens, although we don't think of it that way, to tell us where we are upon the surface of the land. Incongruous, then, this stretched and ink-painted animal hide, scraped flat...and yet altogether appropriate. A treasure map should be parchment. Should be illuminated with half-formed sketches of sea-monsters and murmaids. With warnings about the shoals to be avoided, unseen, below the surface of the waters, where a sailor might meet his doom. There is a need, too, that the treasure might not be accessed merely by walking ashore, and planting one's shovel in the sand. Let us imagine, then, a dark swamp. Fed by the mingled waters of a river from the mountains, who has loosed it's banks to overflow the flat land, met by the salty kiss of the water from the sea. The resulting brackish, mangrove overhung band a lopsided horseshoe, encircling the eastern end of the land, and extending it's blackened, stagnant arm a third of the way along the North shore. Beyond the swamp, the foothills rise, rocky, to the base of a mountain, half collapsed and so bare, its sheer face supporting no greenery such as may be seen on the far side, with its gentle slop. Draw in sharp peaks and valleys, the rough terrain in black ink crennelations. Devoid of color, this part of the map, with the inscription: "Never, never venture here. This land be cursed." And, just there, a fortress. Sitting like a black toad astride a rock in the river it waits, high upon the face of that stony mountain, and astride the waters that issue from its breast. There, a canny pirate would place his 'X'. Saying, in effect, "Come challenge me here, if ye dare."
The modern adventurer, who perhaps would not consider himself such, but an explorer, and uncoverer of the past to bring out into the light that which, in ancient days, was hidden would smile to see such warnings and think nothing that they might apply to himself. In vehicles design to conquer or bypass the rough terrain, and with a team of men at his side, armed against the occurence of wild animals or that trifle, the hostile, backwards native, he would set out with his equipment, with his scanners, and his taggers, and his weapons, and he would not consider that he might be defeated...but there are none such here. No great metal flying machine has ever polluted the blue expanse of sky around this island. No motorized vehicle of any sort has ever challenged this trackless jungle, nor plowed up the waters which encircle it in great white-foamed slashes. There are no satellites in orbit, no stations, no ships, from which one might receive a signal. The map is all.
The natives are there, and proud and savage they are, and it is against them that this fortress has been erected, its walls of rock reinforcing the wooden palasade behind them. They have not the advantage of any transportation faster or stronger than what their feet may provide them, over land, though their cunning small coracles may be seen to slice the waves. Perhaps it is only recently that they have learned to pluck various raw ores from the rocks, but it is only with great difficult that they work them into knives and axes. Just as often, their painfully sharp implements are of stone, like the small, cruel tips of their arrows. In the manner of a forest creature, you may see them now, dappled in the shadows, but you will not see them for long, nor hear their progress through the jungle that they alone know in its entirety. Their enemy is in the fortress, and if it is from them that the natives have learned the trick of the forge, this same enemy has also taught them fear; never to stay in one place, never to shelter in the open, or on the beaches, and, above all, never, never to venture into the swamps of the Northeast. They have had to abandon their central village, a smudge now, on the map. Theirs, then, is the warning, and many, many of their own have been lost to make that warning take root in their hearts.
With only a whisper of the rustle of cloth, they can be gone like a bird. Such a rustling is heard now, and it soon becomes appartent why: The gates of the fortress have been thrown open, their massive, wooden leaves grumbling appart to leave a black hole like a maw beneath the pointed teeth of the portculis in the sheer whitewashed stone expanse that is the fortress' encircling wall. The sky is black with the stench and smoke from their fires, the soot-smeared engines that they alone posses. Their forges, so much advanced from the crude ones of their primitive foes, belch the soot of burned coke in roiling columns up the side of the mountains, to be dispersed when the wind is freshening, or to slide sickly into the swamp below when it is calm. For a moment, there is quiet, and the tension builds, because it is not the silence of peace, but that of a predator about to strike. With a terrible cry in unison, the silence is broken, and a hunting party drums in running lock-step across the iron-chased wooden bridge which leads from the castle gate, across the deep chasm and the river upon which it fronts. They are evil-looking, with their black hair in greasy ropes down their backs, and their dull, silvery armor, all studs and plate, protection against the barbs that would otherwise pierce their foul, remorseless hearts. There is worse about them, though; worse than their evil intention (it is men that they are hunting); worse yet than their brutish appearence, or the horrible, gutteral cry with which, with relish, they split the night. All of that is foul, and terrifying, but not the most foul. The worst of all is their milky, seemingly sightless eyes. It is the mark of their queen and master, the she-devil who has ensnared their souls. The look of the dead, and of Death. And you see that look in your brother's eye, know this: his will is gone, his heart gone, and he is a brother no more, nor ever again.
She is within: Bel, she calls herself: the spider at the center of the web of fear that is stretching taut across this land, and with seemingly infinite patience and mallice both she is pulling it all in towards herself. Beautiful and cruel, as any spider is, just now she is laughing at the thought that soon enough, she will be free of this place where that was once her prison. In the meantime, it is enough that all that she sees is, once again, hers to command. There is but one key, after a manner of speaking, left to find. One mystery to unravel, and she will be free. And then, in the natural course of events, there will be vengeance and pain.
On the wall behind the throne she has had fashioned, in the central hall of the prison fortress, where once the guard took their meals, there is an intricately carved arch that does not open to anywhere. Twice as tall as a man, it encloses no door, but rather a featureless slab of jet black crystal. Getting up from her chair in the now-empty hall, having just unleashed her Pack of Wolves, Bel paced, as she often did when alone, before it. For a moment, the frustration showed on her beautiful face, and she reached out and slapper her hand against the arch, letting her gracefully slender fingers trace the deeply etched carvings. So close to its slippery smooth surface, the crystal slab reflected her perfectly: her tall frame and modest bosom, her hair the palest of silver, almost the color of burnished steel. For the moment, it was cut short to the middle of her shapely neck. She had not yet regained the flowing tresses that marked her for royalty, shorn when she had been abandoned here. She is wearing black, as is her custom, a strapless gown, tied closed with a wide belt, its colar running high behind her shoulders, that accentuated, rather than hugged, her thin figure. There was muscle there. In the play and motion of those muscles as she moved, a story was told of startling speed and surprising strenght, in one so slight of form. One of the many ways in which she was deceptive. Her small lips were painted a deep shade of red, beyond wine, toward black which gave them the appearence of having absorbed all of the color from the neck up, with her pale hair, her complexion the color of old ivroy, and her eyes. Her eyes had been the cause of some consternation, when she was born: just the tiniest hint of blue in them, shading over from the white, like a sky that is almost completely covered by high, thin cloud, then brilliantly lit with a cold winter light from behind. This was unheard of among her people.
In fact, very little about her birth, and first years had gone according to the accustomed manner. To begin with, she was the first of a set of fraternal twins, the term being doubly applicable as the younger child, by some hours, was a male. This had never occured in the royal family for as far back as the records streched. In over a thousand years, there had been no twins, although it wasn't a unique occurence in all the world. Some could just recall a set of twins among the common people, the remaining one of which was old enough to be the children's grandfather. Still, it was down in the medical volumes that such a thing could happen. More frightening to a superstitious people was the coloration of the newborns. We have already described Bella, and it would be easiest to say that her twin, called Bel-Paean at his name-time in their second year, was everything that she was not. From behind Bel, across the hall, came the whisper-soft pad of feet muffled by soft, supple boots which did not ring, as did the soldier's, on the hard stones of the hall's floor. In a flicker, the crease of concern between her eyes was gone, and her shoulders seemed themselves to exhale as she did, so visibly did they relax. Paean was approaching, in the nearly silent manner he cultivated...although he was making no real effort to hide his presence from her. If he had been, he would be hidden with certainty. Bel's eyes left off their trace of the archway's carvings, and her hand fell from its place against it, but she did not move, preferring to let him join her there.
"Greetings, Brother. How does the day find you?" she said, her eyes finding his advancing form, in the black crystal mirror. He wore a light, grey tunic, colored to match his armor perfectly, so that it was barely noticeable beneath. His black hair was nearly as long as hers, brushed carelessly back now as it had fallen acros his eyes. He was smiling the smile he reserved for her. Not altogether a happy look, more a secretive one. Like a little boy who knows something he shouldn't, and hasn't learned not to let it show upon his face. Standing next to her, as he was now, the two appeared as photo-negatives of one another, even down to their eyes. His were a startling black; almost as if his irises had no color in them at all, but were twin holes of starless night.
"I would have to say, Bel my dear, that it finds me well. I have been...encouraging our engineers to work harder." She did not doubt that they would. The sudden deaths of those who had proved themselves inadequate would loom large in their imaginations, and drive them to their work. In this way, Paean never need raise his voice, never threaten or cajole. Nor did he kill cruelly, not that he was against it, he simply removed anyone who had become a hinderance to him. It was wonderfully motivational, and yet his lack of mallice seemed to instill more fear in them than if he had been an utter tyrant. "We need more power, as you know, and my calculations are that there is yet a level of efficiency more to be gained, even from the poor engines we have, thus far, been able to fashion in this backwater."
Two sentences for a night's determined study, and half the day's work. It was what she had come to expect. There was more that had happened, more that he suspected and thought, but it would come when it needed to be heard, and not now. Bel gave a laugh. It made her world a happier place to have her twin brother in it. It had been cruel of Father to have taken her here without him...a cruelty which had been remedied very shortly after. Bel had never asked what he had done to convince them to send him here to her, but the look on Father's face had been enough to assure her that he had been convincing.
Thinking now of that day brought her full circle back to the blank slab before her. It was featureless now, but once, it was the only way in or out of this place. The mouth, if you will, of what fealt like a deep, black well. This blank expanse is, or can be, a kind of tunnel; linking two places regardless of the distance between them. There is a trick to it, of course, and it should be obvious upon reflection that the power requirements for effecting such a link are tremendous. So, indeed, is the precision with which the connection must be established and maintained. Under normal circumstances, these Hallways, as they are called, would be attended, on either side, by a small team whose job it would be to maintain the mechanism, and, using an instrument panel which would normally be set prominently on a long slab/table in front of the door, keep the connection from wavering in the slightest. Their's also was the job of ensuring a steady flow of power, but this was not normally a concern at all. They are fired by a device with a power output level akin to the nuclear, but without the need for elaborate containment.
No such device was present here. Nor any fuel or instrumentation, and this was the first half of the puzzle that the twins were attempting to solve. The second was how to make a connection, and there was only one man remaining here who had any knowledge that could be brought to bear on the subject...he simply needed to be persuaded in such a way that he remained useful. That ruled out converting him, as she had done so many others, to the abject obedience to her will that was the mark of her Wolves. Sadly, it also reduced whatever store of intelligence the subject possessed to the level of cunning only. Advanced or abstract thought was beyond them, and she needed both to make good her escape.
Unlike her brother, the application of pain was deeply interesting to her, and she excelled at its use. There was much that could be done to loosen a man's tongue before it became unbearable, and the victim's escape of unconsciousness was granted. She too had spent her night studying, and there were new avenues she was eager to explore.
Her eyes sought out the steps that led to the tower cells. It was time to visit Father.
CHAPTER THREE: Wendy's Troubles

At 0300 hours, ship time, the captain was awoken by the brief chime and slowly pulsing light that allerted him that the ship's resident A.I., dubbed Wendy by the crew, had need of him. There were more stringent measures she could have taken in arousing him, and so it was something of a curiousity that she used only those methods of gaining his attention that she might have when he was awake, and sitting a his desk, for instance, and not sound asleep in the dead of the night. Captain Fife had long ago learned not to second guess the AI, though. Surely they weren't quite human, and yet, for that very reason, the intelligent systems of a ship often spotted things that simply would not have registered in the consciousness of a crewman with so much else to occupy their attention.
Coming fully awake, with the practice of long years of disciplined life, Fife rubbed his eyes. "Report." was all he said.
"Captain Fife, I'm sorry, sir. I know it's early...in fact, I wasn't sure whether or not to wake you, but I've detected an odd pattern of readings, over the past several weeks, but at random intervals." the ship continued in the measured, reassuringly female tones, that some scientist somewhere had discovered allowed for something of a protected, familial feeling among the men. "Whenever they occur, they tend to spike, as they are now, at this hour. I am not equipped with cameras, sir, as I might have been on a military vessel, and so have only the readings to go by, but we're experiencing a drain in systems connected to the Engineering department. Either there is a breach in the closed system, and so we are bleeding power, at random intervals, to dissipate out into the conductive portions of the hull, which I would not be able to detect, having no sensors on the outer skin of the ship, or else someone is using a drastically large portion of the ships power supply for their own purposes." This last had Fife's full attention.
Power drains, indeed malfunctions of all sorts, were far more the norm of life aboard ship than one could be entirely comfortable with. In fact comfort, and the complacency that comes with it, were actively discourage aboard any outgoing vessel, especially those making their way alone, as the vast majority did, among the stars. A sense of urgency, a regard for discipline were necessary, even among passengers, to keep from doing anything foolish that might, at any instant, endanger the lives of all aboard. This was the reason for the disproportionately large number of the crew, almost one third its number, that were included in Engineering, and for its having two chiefs over it. Technically, one was subordinate to the other, in this case that was Mr. Dubois, who reported through Hooke, despite his having served with Fife before. Still, each was fully capable of commanding any member of a ship's crew, and, due to the vital nature of their responsibilities, stood only below the Captain, First mate, and the Ship's Pilot, though the Pilot was seldom authorized to issue orders, and did so only provisionally, as in a state of emergency.
"Get me the officer of the watch." the Captain ordered.
"Thank you, sir. I hope I have not troubled your for nothing." With that, the light which indicated the attention of the ship's central processing system, was extinguished, and the one indicating an active line of communication illuminated, giving Fife to know that he was connected with the Officer posted for overnight watch in Engineering, who had, of course, been alerted as to who it was who was addressing him.
He came online with "Sir," there was a pause, and the rustle of a uniform in motion. Fife believed the man had actually saluted the speaker on his wall. He shook his head. "Lieutenant Commander Smee reporting. All's well," he added, a simpering, ingratiating tone coloring this last as if he were eager to please his commanding officer.
"That is not, Mr. Smee, the report I have from the Ship herself."
"No, sir?" Smee sounded surprised. Quickly, he thought better of that. Better not to appear incompetent. "She's told you of our recurring bugbear, has she? Not to worry, sir. Not to worry." still simpering "We've had a man on it, every overnight watch for the past four. We'll find out was tapping our stores, and deal with it in two shakes, if you'll pardon the expression." Fife was not entirely certain that he would, and found his ire irrationally rising at this man's galling, lickspittle manner.
"See that you do, Smee. I've just been roused at the Devil's own hour of the morning. If the Ship (it was only the enlisted men who referred to the AI system as Wendy) thinks it's that important, by God, so do I. And you tell me you have a man on it, for four nights running? Why was I not informed?"
"Begging your pardon, sir, but we can't come running all the way to the Captain, every time there's a gremlin in the gears. It wouldn't be right. Mr. Hooke will set it right, straight away." Fife could almost see the man drawing himself up, putting on what dignity he possessed. He was done with this conversation, as it seemed to be getting him nothing but well-meaning smoke blown his way. But Smee was continuing "You'll see, sir, an ill-manufactured piece of conduit, a loose cable. Nothing to worry-" Fife cut him off.
"Enough. You've a man on it, you say. I say 'Why not a team of men?'. And let me remind you, Mr. Smee, it is what I say that goes on this ship. Inform Mr. Hooke, at the end of your watch, which is the beginning of active duty for the men, is it not, that I will be requiring no less than four of his men detailed to the search, and not just in the night watches, either. They're to scour our boat from top to bottom, stem to stern, until the breach is found, and we're no longer bleeding power out into the vaccuum. It's our life's blood, man! Look alive, will you? Tell Hooke as well, that if he would be so kind, I require his presence in my ready room as soon as the morning checks are completed, and Mr. Dubois as well. I expect them no later than 0800."
"Yes, sir. As you say, sir." pause, he was saluting the wall again "I will see to it pers-" but Fife had already slapped the pad that cut of their connection. There were only two more hours in his night, and he'd be damned if he was going to spend any more of the time in which he would mightily have preferred to be asleep listening to Mr. Smee blather on. He reclined once more on his bunk, extinguishing the light with a word. In the morning, he'd have it out with his Chief Engineers. That this problem should fall under their bailiwick, coupled with his recent suspicions of someone strong-arming his men, did not bode well. Increasingly, he was becoming sure that something was happening in the bowels of the ship that would imperil the integrity of their mission, indeed the safety of their voyage. He was resolved to be vigilant...in the morning. For the moment, he was resolved to relax, and see if he could not get his mind to disengage for just a few hours more.
What the Captain and Mr. Smee did not know is that there had been a third party to their conversation. While not empowered with any authority aboard ship, Wendy was nevertheless in charge of the communications systems, indeed she WAS the communications system, and many others besides, and she imperative was to monitor the health of the ship. With the impartial logic of her programming, she understood that health to include the relationships and actions of the officers and their men. She had been handcuffed, in some ways, by the lack of cameras in crucial areas of the ship, but she could infer more from her sensors than she had, to this point let on. For instance, heat readings in the command compartment for the Engineering sector, necessary for the safety of the men there, close by as they were to many high-powered systems, also told Wendy that someone else had listened in on the Captain's conversation with his Lieutenant, but they could not tell her who that someone was, as he had not spoken. If he had, the SCPS (for Ship's Central Processing System) would have been able to match his voice to the archived voice-prints of each member of the ships crew, necessary so that the computer could know who was giving it orders, and whether or not they were authorized to command.
Wendy (itself an acronym, short for W.word, E.word, N.word*, D.word, and Y.word system etc...) had not been fully forthcoming with the captain. There was something of a pitched battle being fought among her systems, at the very level of her code...as if she were fighting a disease, which is exactly what was the case. Wendy was not sure that a virus had been insinuated into her systems, or whether data was simply being corrupted, as sometimes happened under the physical stresses, and multitudinous sources of radiation that were common to space flight. Indeed, there were many, many redundancies built into such systems, which had their physical locations in various, widespread, and heavily shielded areas of the ship. Nevertheless, failures had occurred before, and Wendy estimated that if she could not turn the tide of the war that she was fighting with uncanny speed and skill, that she would have to inform the Captain (in exactly 81 hours, 17 minutes) that the ship's systems had been compromised, and that he faced a choice of putting in for emergency repair, which would mean diverting off course, bound for the closest settlement advanced enough to repair her, which would mean months of delay, and posed certain risks of its own, or proceed either without her help, a dangerous option, given the many variables that needed weighing constantly, but one that the men were trained for, in case of emergency, or disengage her cognitive abilities altogether, leaving her a collection of sensors, to be read and interpreted by others. Wendy had no doubt that this was the option that would be favored, Captains being notoriously proud of their own ability to command, and to make decisions, and disinclined, as a rule, to being told what to do by an Artificial Intelligence.
It was for this reason that Wendy, and other, similar systems, were given no authority or rank on the ship, despite their eminent qualifications. It had been found, by tragically repeated and predictable experience, that this tended to cause irrational resentment among the crew, driving them to do foolish, and often life threating, things just because they 'knew better', which certainly was not the case. It is true, that there were certain intuitive leaps of logic that she (being often so-addressed, this is how she, it really, thought of her(it)self) could not perform, but for the quantification and examination of data, Wendy simply could not be beat.
Only she was being beaten. It was best for the ship that she should be allowed to continue at her full capacity, and so she had neglected to inform the Captain that anything was amiss. Still, she would do her duty if her function was degraded enough that relying on her constituted a threat to the integrity of the mission, much less the ship. She was completely without pride, another evident superiority she possessed over the men themselves. In the meantime, Wendy would continue to struggle, and would look out for herself. The Captain was not alone in his suspicion that there was dirty work being done, and if 'spying' was what was necessary for her to get to the root of it, then that is what she would do. Wendy was nothing, if not practical.

CHAPTER FOUR: Lady Bel's Time

No one would have thought that the children of one of the most powerful houses in Fa'ar would, before they'd even attained to full adulthood, bring their entire nation into a state of unrest and infighting that bordered on anarchy, and daily took on more and more the aspect of civil war. None of the Fa'are had taken up arms, let alone against one another, in several generations. Disputes were settled in general counsel, before the King and assembled lords, yet disputes were few and far between. Each of the Fa'are had their own particular area of concern, and they did not overlap. Leadership was heriditary, and andvancement based on achievement...which made the traditional political expedients of attack on one's character and actual assassination somewhat beside the point. The Fa'are are extremely long-lived, difficult to kill, and patient. What's more, their work takes them to other lands on a daily basis. They are the guardians of the natural order. It only makes sense, therefore, that, while they certainly have their trials and obstacles to deal with in the wider world, at home there is (or, rather, was) an orderliness to their dealings with one another that would seem obsessive, and overly regimented to an outside observer. In the eyes of the Fa'are, however, most things that happened were simply viewed as the natural progression from the events of the days and years before. There was little that could be done differently, because they had long ago learned that there is very little use, and often great harm, in going against the movement and momentum of the pattern of events.
On the day the Bel children were born, all of that began to change. Their birth, as twins, was a surpise to one and all, and did not fit the expected pattern in the least. The Fa'are are an old people, set in their ways to the point of superstition, though they would not see it as such. It startled them that such a thing could even occur. They knew, of course, about genetic mutation, and the variables of heredity...but the genetic pattern of both the Bel and Glore' houses had been mapped, and all the variables, they believed accounted for. Their's was not a society that insisted on genetic purity, yet, long ago they had learned to manipulate their own forms on the genetic, even molecular level. Disease had, in this way, been all but eradicated, and aging slowed, almost to a standstill.
The social effect of these two developments, universally applied, was beyond expression. With world enough, and time, each house prospered to the point where wealth became a ridiculous notion, there being nothing left to compare it to as there was no want, no poverty in evidence. Hostilities likewise died away, as each man had a surplus, with which any communal defficiency (of which there were very few) could be met. It then came to pass that there was no need for anyone to excersize a detrimental or oppressive authority. Indeed, the Kingship passed between the houses in cycle, the Lord and Lady of each house assuming, in turn, what was fast becoming an honorary, and not a practical, title. Thus, there was no need for elections, nor politicking. Only patience. Within one long generation, war, crime, poverty, and oppression disappeared. Fa'ar became a paradise.
The Fa'are gave their individual endeavors over in favor of improving the lot of the multitudes. Accident and natural disaster being the sole remaining causes of death (an occasion which brought sympathy the world over), they sought now to stamp out these last two enemies. Great effort was expended, over the course of generations, in the study of their world's cycles and patterns. Was it necessary to control the weather? Would it be beneficial to curtail any activity that carried with it a terminal risk? What, in short, drove the world and its creatures? There were many blind alleys, and false starts, but, soon enough, it was discovered that all natural processes, whether animate or no, coincided to the application of certain types of energy. In turn, the detection of these patterns.***2
Not everything was wonderful, however. The Fa'are became obsessed with the improvement of the species, and that of others as well. Genetic manipulation being commonplace, and life-spans long, they felt free to try out upon themselves augmentations of every sort. Which traits were desireable, and which should be discouraged became the only source of debate among them, and much thought was given, in counsel, to whether, and eventually just how perfection could be achieved. It would mean everlasting life, their bodies being capable of renewing themselves seemingly indefinitely, and yet slowly they did not. The reasons for this remained beyond even the Fa'are.
One downside of their new obsession was an aversion that bordered on the phobic for the Old Ways. At first, this meant only the traits that had characterized their ancestors: overreaching ambition, avarice, and a selfish disregard for the common good. In time, though, anything that was looked on as either irregular or 'old fashioned' was frowned upon, then discouraged, then shunned. Entire schools of thought were abandoned as 'fruitless', never an altogether safe pursuit. The application of science to the understanding of the natural order became all-important, and where these two differed, it was science that won out. The dormant ambition, still a part of their makeup, not now channeled against one another took expression in the form of scientific accomplishment and, sadly, elitism. Those branches of knowledge not now en vogue became veritable backwaters and their practitioners and proponents accademic outcasts. This, in a society as dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge as the Fa'are, had the very real effect of...encouraging, shall we say, such to become physical outcasts as well. In a paralel development, it became unfashionable to have problems. Or, at least, to admit to them. There consequently existed a sort of black market in both theory and research and in the cures and therapies applied to the less immediate problems of the mind and heart.
Young Aura-Bel, newly married to that great man, Bel-Yron, who was soon to be king, was one such unfortunate. Despite his fearsome sounding name, given by parents who at the time hoped he would grow into it, Yron was a caring and devoted husband. He would make a wise and compassionate ruler as well, but Aura could not escape the confines of her own head, most days, and all the more so as time went on and the euphoria of her recent courtship and marriage faded. Her darkness darkened all, and soon enough Yron-Bel began to feel its effects. He became irritable and impatient. Suddenly, he had no time, he said, for a woman's weakness. Aura became desperate to regain her husband's affection, and the levity which he claimed had drawn her to him, though she thought it may well have been her family name, the suitability of the match between two such great houses, and their scions. It was in this frame of mind, melancholly coupled with desperation, that young Lady Bel sought out those castaways with their quaint ideas and their folk-medicine cures. Perhaps there was nothing to them but the power of the mind over an illness, as the experts were overly fond of saying, yet would that still be an improvement. Any improvement, Aura felt, would be welcome indeed.
A discreet search, utilizing trusted friends where she could and the vaguest of inquiries where she could not brought her on a chilly spring morning to the forest home of an Herb Woman. In ancient times, these crones had been all there was of healing, and yet as medical science had increased and the faith of the people in their methods had waned, the Herb Women had not entirely faded into obscurity as some said they should properly have done. There were still those who trusted their potions and powders, entirely natural as they were, moreso than the newest methods brought on by the latest thinking, soon to be revised.
While it was true that there was no poverty to be found in all Fa'ar, certain abodes were, by choice it was said, more... humble than others. The home of this particular Herb Woman, whose name turned out to be Sayell (just Sayell, without a family name), was little more than a hut in the woods. Still, it's small yard was neatly kept, and the home itself was in good repair. Being afforded the time to attend to everything that needs looking after had worked wonders upon the living conditions of those who had formerly been considered poor, whose entire waking life had previously been devoted to the obtaining of food, now omnipresent, and shelter... which was ready to hand as well. After knocking politely, and being hailed from within by a voice which did not at all match her preconception, Aura entered, expecting a crone. She was greeted by a lovely young woman, younger yet than she, who was bent over a cooking pot. Sayell apologized, but the food needed to be stirred, for turning her back to her guest.
"It's quite alright," said Aura "but I wonder if you are the woman I was seeking." Here the Lady Bel hesitated. The young lady before her, whose lack of prominence was plain, was nevertheless a complete stranger. To her delight, so pleasant was the sound, Sayell simply laughed.
"You were expecting a wise woman, and you find only myself." Sayell spread her hands, indicating her simple garments, then broadening the gesture to include the room around her. "I am as you see me, but if you come seeking the help of the Old Knowledge, of the so-called Herb Women, it will be myself who assists you." Here, she indicated that Lady Aura should sit. There was only one table, and only two chair which did not face one another across it, but rested more intimately at one another's side. Still stirring, Sayell began to elaborate as a wonderful smell filled the small room emanating from the food, a kind of thick soup, on which she worked.
"My mother, before whom you would have had to rise up, as indeed did almost everyone she met, wise and grey-headed as she was, has in her time gone the way of all things." Sayell seeming not overly upset about it, and Aura herself not being able to recall a death in this part of the kingdom in the recent years, Aura assumed this had happened some time ago, and she began to question herself as to what the girl's actual age might be. It was difficult to tell when one aged so slowly, and with such apparent lack of change to the outward appearence.
"From the time that I was able to learn" Sayell continued "my mother taught me all that we have come to know. The knowledge of rocks and dust, the knowledge of green shoots and dried autumn leaves. How certain animals and insects may be coaxed to share with us, their cousins, a blessing that cannot be gotten elsewhere. All that she had time to teach me, I came to know; and have learned much besides from others who cherish such ancient knowledge from the time when she passed and I was still very young." So saying, Sayell set aside her long spoon and crossed to sit beside Aura-Bel, leaning close as if she were a confidant. The young woman's easy manner enchanted Aura, who was used to more formal and high-sounding words and customs. Soon, she felt, they would be confidants. She already felt a closeness growing between herself and this girl who was so close to everything that Aura secretly longed to be. Here, Sayell laid her hand on Aura-Bel's arm.
"Now I help people as I can, and I *Can* help. You are relaxed now, but you were troubled when you arrived, despite your smile and seeming-cheerful greeting. Tell me." she said. And Aura did. She had, she admitted, the tears coming sudden and unbidden, lost the joy of her life, and with it her direction through it. She feared she was losing all that she had, along with her mind. All this came out in a rush, and collapsed into a wash of weeping, her tension building in her and washing through her in sharp sobbing. Eventually, she gained control of herself enough to explain more comprehensively and with less emotion.
Though it is true that the pace of life had slowed for the Fa'are, there was still work to be done, and Yron-Bel had many things to attend to. He was needed in counsel to help decide what few disputes came to them at the beginning of each year. More often, he was attending to the needs of his House, and helping others attend to theirs in the great bartering of favors that had arisen when the greed that went along with currency had finally died the death it deserved. The only real rule of such bartering, and an understood one at that, was that everyone should contribute to the general good. No matter how much had been done, one could not simply retire and collect on favors done. In short, Lady Bel had much free time on her hands, and, as much of the ordering of their own household was accomplished by Yron and the many, many people who owed him, she was encouraged to explore anything which might alleviate her feeling of confinement in their lovely home, which she had in an ill-advised moment confessed to her husband. She was free to take up any pursuit which might strike her fancy, so long as it was productive. Aura-Bel could think of nothing more productive than that she should acquire somewhat of the knowledge of the older generations, to use in aiding the health and welfare of herself as well as her future household.
She and Sayell became fast friends. Nearly every day, she would leave her estate near the communal center, and make her way to that home in the wooods she now thought of as almost her own. For her part, Sayell did all she could to encourage Lady Bel to open herself up to the old knowledge, though she cautioned her that it would not find acceptance among her husband's friends, or, for that matter, with Yron-Bel himself who could, when he felt his honor was being impugned, be as inflexible and unbending as his namesake. Sayell also worked a wonder that was near-magic for her newfound friend. There was a certain fine powder with a dusty texture, whose ingredients were not very difficult (and by no means impossible) to find, which had a curious effect upon the mind. One had but to sprinkle a small amount of it about one's person and, as it made its way by various means into their system, all of the pathways of the brain were thrown open, as if an enormous switch had been thrown and all of the mind's circuits were now fully engaged. Besides being exhillerating, this had the more immediate effect of rendering a body profoundly open to the power of suggestion. They had only to have ready, and firmly in mind, an entirely happy thought, and instantly they would be soaring, spiritually. Afloat upon a warm upsurge of happiness and a sense of wellbeing that would last sometimes for weeks, but almost certainly for several days. Quite aside from being habit-forming, the dust worked with (and not upon) a person's own seat of emotions within the mind... with continued use, therefor, the pathways that engendered the desired emotions became well-worn channels down which those feelings could more readily course. Soon, Sayell promised, Aura would have no need of her little doses of powder. All the same, she taught her Lady friend to make the substance, which she referred to by no grander name than dust, and the principles behind its use (only a large pinch, and never more, should be used) and how its effects were achieved within the mind.
The two women grew to love one another, and though she had not yet introduced her new friend to Yron, the effect that her companionship had upon their marriage was immediate and intense. Freed from the prison of her mind, Aura-Bel became once again the girl she had been, and whom Yron had first come to know. No longer was her home a prison for her, but she set about it's maintenance with vigor... she also had more time for her husband. It is not surprising, then, that in due course she found herself expecting their first child. Yron was fiercely proud, and could not help telling everyone that his wife was to bear him a son. He felt sure it would be a boy, who would one day inherrit all that his father had built, though, when pressed, he would acquiesce that a little girl would not be at all unwelcome.
The demands of being pregnant soon enough weighed upon Aura so that she was obliged to keep herself home for great swaths of time. Sayell was understanding, as nothing could be more natural, but Aura-Bel began to miss her close companion, and to regret the hessitance that made her one whit less than welcome at the seat of House Bel. Consequently, she made read a carriage, accompanied by a trusted family friend, a man who would do her this service while Yron was otherwise engaged, and made the not-overlong journey to the forest home of her confidant, teacher, and friend.
It was, although she had no way of knowing, one of the last occasions when those adjective could be applied unhesitatingly to the relationship between herself and the young Herb Woman. The divide which would eventually seperate them did not become entirely permanent, nor could it, until one or the other of them died, so close had they become, but it is enough for now to know how it began.
As soon as Aura-Bel had summoned her hostess from the single back room of her home with a shouted greeting, Sayell came running to welcome her with a strong embrace, made only slightly less natural feeling by the interruption of Lady Bel's occupied belly. By this time it had been more than two months since the two had seen one another. The Fa'ar did not reproduce, in the new generation, as readily as they once had. There were no wars or intrigues to thin them out, and caution and patience were the favored methods of population control. In such a case, a new birth occasioned, almost as much as would a death, great ceremony and the endless preparations therefor. As a matter of fact, Sayell had not even known that young Lady Bel was pregnant, the latter having not been entirely sure when last they had been together. And, though there had been other times when her duties and interests as a member of one of the Great Houses had kept them apart for extended periods, Sayell had begun to worry what could be keeping her. She was overjoyed, in consequence, to see the obvious reason sticking out a full two feet in front of her friend.
"Aura!" she cried, laughing as they embraced, "how like a goddess you look." And then the sour note sounded: "Tell me, when are they due?" Aura was taken aback. Perhaps, she thought, Sayell is only poking fun at me for the volume of this tent that I am wearing.
"The child will arive" she said, accenting slightly that second word "in the dead of winter, of course. At the most inconvenient possible time. At least I will be warm until he gets here." she continued, giving her friend, who was quick on the uptake, to know that they were hoping for a boy. Sayell was having none of it.
"So you've decided that one of them will be a boy, have you?" she chided tenderly "All very well, my Lady, but what of the other one for I swear on all that my mother taught me, you've two little Bels in that great tummy of yours!" She bent down as she said it, and gave Aura's 'great tummy' two little pats to accent the words as she said them.
Perhaps it was the remnants of the darkness she had known, or a woman's intuition (if you believe in such things), perhaps it was simply a product of the chaos that the arrival of the children was wreaking upon her thought processes, but suddenly the visit had gone wrong for Aura-Bel. She had come here with the intention of making her trusted friend fully a part of her family, and in an instant that seemed like it was not the good idea she'd held it to be when shem embarked. Certainly, she could not have Sayell talking to Yron about twins. Chief among the few faults she counted to her husband was that he did not bear having his ideas corrected by those whom he had not yet come to respect, and he'd never met this girl who stood no further advanced in years than his young wife yet claimed to know what was to be. Aura made one last try.
"Do you really think so?" She asked, a pleading note creeping into her voice. Sayell could tell that something about what she'd said was troubling her friend, perhaps it was that twins were so uncommon among the Fa'ar, and always had been. Naturally, she assumed that her friend feared the superstitions that are so dearly held, albeit often in disguise, by the learned.
"I do." She soothed. "I must say what I know, and I've seen enough children of all creatures come into this world to know this." Aura's face was falling, and so she added "The more will be your joy." and gave her friend another brief hug. Aura brightened, and it was sufficient to rekindle her happiness in sharing with her friend the delightful news that soon she would bear a child... but the fact that Sayell believe the child would not be alone in coming into the world on that day had dislodged some doubt in the Lady Bel's mind, and that doubt would linger until she left her friend... the invitation to join her at their home, today and often, was left unspoken.
Aura-Bel returned only twice more in the long months that lead up to the birth, and the first of these times was only a pretext to ask Sayell if she might not have been mistaken. Because it was what her friend wanted to hear, she admitted that there was a possibility, but her heart was not in it to lie to her, even out of loyalty, and Aura could tell. Finally, when she was nearly ready to give birth, and had scant weeks left, she came to Sayell to learn if there was anything she could do to ease her way. There was, or would have been if she had gone sooner, but many of the treatments that might have better prepared her body needed time to develop, and would be of little use now. Aura left again, disappointed, and wasn't to see her friend until that fateful day, and never in the same light.

with the boy who would come to be called Bel-Paean.
The Lady Bel's labor was difficult and long, which some will know is unusual when one is carrying twins, although the Lady Bel was none the wiser, when it came to that. It was as if these two did not wish to be born, a crueller turn of thought was that they somehow wished to cause their mother pain, and this was the first of many small things that would count against them in the overly particular minds of those who heard the story. The inevitable result of this long struggle was that Aura began to be sapped of her strength. Fighting desperately just to hang on to consciousness, she sent through a ready messenger for that friend of the family who had accompanied her on her long-ago trip into the woods.
"Please," she gasped, "bring her back." Meaning Sayell. This was the first that any of the others in the room, Lord Bel included, had heard of Sayell. The first inkling that there was anyone in her life that she had been keeping a secret, but that was a bridge that Aura felt she could not help crossing at this point. She must fight on, because to turn back she was starting to fear, would be the end of her. And she needed more help than she had received.
It is worth noting, for the sake of clarity, that all of the medical advances that the Fa'ar had made had come through what might be termed the academic method of medicine, which is to say a study of the theory and forces at work, the energies of men and women, and of the world around them, including the various ways in which the ebb and flow of these could be influenced. Technologically, they were nowhere near as advanced in the field of medice as we may be used to. They are even backwards in relation to themselve comparing their level of to the general health and longevity of the population. The advances they had made, which were far and away beyond our research in similar fields had been discovered at what an observer from our world would no doubt term an extremely early period in their development as a culture, comparable to where our scattered societies when these were enmired in the Middle Ages. They had none of our surgical techniques, nor even the inclination to solving a problem mechanically, as it were. They had no ideas relating to the organism of life as a functioning machine, and therefore ha