Jaydium, Chapter 4

JAYDIUM







by Deborah J. Ross, writing as Deborah Wheeler







Chapter 4





Slatey
gray stones lay tumbled around the tunnel entrance, partly blocking it. About
fifty feet inside, the passageway widened and curved, then straightened for
another twenty or thirty feet and turned again. In the diffuse illumination of
the scrubjet=s running lights, the walls
alternated between matte and highly reflective gloss. Sometimes the rock
surfaces looked as smooth as melted glass, sometimes so rough and jagged that
slivers of it could double as knives.




The
tunnel twisted into the heart of the mountain for a half mile. Then it divided,
one branch leading up and back towards the surface and the other downward at a
steep angle.

Eril,
watching Kithri maneuver the scrubjet through the tangle of intersections,
considered how easily singlo flight could lead to disaster unless the >jet were kept at little better
than a crawl. The craft itself was maneuverable enough to fly two or three
times their present rate. It was the slowness of their unaided human reflexes
that would send them crashing into a curving tunnel wall.









Thinking
analytically about the difficulties of tunnel flight was pure evasion, and Eril
knew it. Duoflight required teamwork, although during he=d rarely flown secondary. When
they=d sorted housekeeping, he=d agreed to let Kithri handle the
controls. So why had he fought her like some rookie, too green not to panic the
moment they hit the storm? Had this mission robbed him of all common sense?




Instinct.
Blind instinct,
he told himself. Whenever there=s
trouble, you never let anyone else make decisions for you. You live--or die--by
your own mistakes.





But
was that any way to inspire Kithri=s
trust, by trying to take her ship away from her?

Weiram,
his squadron chief, had berated him more than once for being a loner.




"You=re a fine pilot, none
better," the old man had said. They=d
been sitting in the disordered cavern that passed for his office, aboard the
flagship that was his last command. His silver-white hair looked sallow in the
ancient jaydium light.




"But
once the lazer fire starts, you forget everything you=ve learned about teamwork. You go
on as if you=re a one-man squadron and can
take all the risks yourself. That=s
not a disaster when all you=re
responsible for is a stinger, but you can=t
run a battleship that way."




Later,
much later, speaking from his coldly efficient administrative suite in the
Federation Control Complex, First Councillor Eades had echoed that judgment.




"The
new Corps needs people with initiative and self control, not glory-hungry
troublemakers."

Eril
kept his face blank and his eyes on the uniform of unadorned black that was
Eades=s trademark. He didn=t know what it was that drove him
to one scrape after another, but it wasn=t
glory-hunger.









"Even
with your war record, that last stunt you pulled in New Paris can=t be ignored," Eades said.
"Five civilians injured and a star-class navigator out of commission for
months. What are you, some kind of thrill addict? I should shunt you straight
into Exploration, as far away from civilized space as I can put you."




Eril
held his tongue. The New Paris riot had started innocently enough, a few
friendly drag-sprints down the back alleys. By the time the crowd mushroomed
into a frustrated, war-sickened mob, he=d
been long gone. But people recognized his face from all the news tri-vids. They
remembered him as the instigator--Colonel Eril Trionan, the war hero.




"Your
father was in Exploration, wasn=t
he?" said Eades, as if that explained all of Eril=s transgressions.




"My
father," Eril said through clenched teeth, "disappeared when I was
five. And yes, he was in Exploration. But I=d rather stay where the action
is. Sir."




"Weiram
put some rather glowing words about you in his last report," Eades said,
"so I=m willing to forgo my better
judgment. For the record, I do so reluctantly. Still, I suppose some allowance
might be made for the fact that until three years ago, you were a source of
pride rather than embarrassment to the Service."




Eril
tried to look trustworthy as he waited for Eades=s decision.









"If
you want a shot at the Courier Corps so much, Colonel Trionan, you go find your
own duo partner. If you can convince anyone to fly with you--someone who
qualifies for the Corps in his own right--then I=ll believe you really mean
it."




Easy, Eril had thought. But the other
veterans, even his squadron mates, shuffled around as they found one polite
excuse after another to say no. They respected him, true, but none would
trust him that far. He=d
been too much the hothead, the hero, the loner.




Luck
finally turned his way again when Hank, who wanted nothing more to do with the
Federation, suggested his old jaydium running partner. "Flies like a space
devil," he=d
said, "and hungry, real hungry to get off Stayman. Assuming she=s still there, you two might
suit. That is, if you don=t
kill each other first."




Now
for all he knew Eril had already managed to alienate her. Fighting her for control
of her own ship was not an auspicious beginning. Maybe Eades was right and he=d be better off with the
Explorers, going years between touchdowns on settled worlds. At least the only
hell to pay there would be his own.




But
maybe he still had a chance. Eril remembered the silken heat of Kithri=s mind in his. That hadn=t been an illusion on his part,
had it? He=d made a bad start, but she hadn=t dumped him at the earliest
opportunity or headed right back to the >port.
She must feel something of the same attraction, no matter what she said. It was
too soon to give up. Somehow he=d
find a way to win her over.




oOo









Kithri
slowed the scrubjet, levelling off in a still narrower branch, and Eril turned
his attention back to the tunnel walls. They were passing through a
particularly reflective section, but the passage seemed more closed-in, not
less so.




"It
feels like the tunnel=s
swallowed us up," he said aloud.




"Hank
had the same reaction," Kithri said. "It drove him to jitters
sometimes. He kept looking over his shoulder to see what was watching."




Eril
had trouble imagining Hank Austin subject to "jitters" of any sort.
Despite his looks, he=d
been an able co-pilot, or neither he nor Eril would have made it out of the war
alive. Eril didn=t
want to waste his breath defending him to Kithri. He changed the subject.
"Where=s the jaydium?"




"Hold
on, we still have to get past the old workings--see, there." Kithri
pointed to a section of wall that looked to Eril exactly like the rock around
it, except that it was perfectly smooth from floor to ceiling.




"Tell
me something about the stuff," he said conversationally. "Something I
wouldn=t learn from the technical
tapes."




"Hank=s probably told you more miners= tales than you ever wanted to
hear." After a pause, she added hesitantly, "Did you know that when
jaydium was first discovered, they thought it might be an organic
residue?"




"I
thought it was quasi-crystalline."




"There=s no identifiable cellular
structure, I didn=t
mean that. But it doesn=t
behave like an ordinary mineral."









Eril
remembered his Academy physics instructor insisting that if jaydium existed
anywhere else besides remote Stayman, it would have been discovered hundreds of
years earlier and drastically altered the course of human spaceflight. Even
now, its nature was still poorly understood. Get any three experts from the
Jaydium Institute together, and you=d
have five different theories as to why it acted the way it did.




Jaydium
gave off light indefinitely in the absence of oxygen, but more than that, its
light was tunable, generating a faster-than-light field around anything it
enclosed. Before its discovery, Terran scientists had already developed a
fabulously expensive fusion-powered drive. Jaydium=s light-field effect slashed the
cost of spaceflight and sent humankind into the stars in hordes instead of
trickles.




Jaydium=s primary drawback was its
perishability when exposed to air. Properly sealed, it would last longer than
the vessel itself, so the replacement demand was small, except when ships were
regularly getting smashed to powder. Eril had piloted some antiquated fighters
late in the war, but their jaydium panels still shone bright and clear.
Sometimes the jaydium was the only thing on those ships that still worked
right.




oOo




They
brought >Wacker to a halt where three convoluted
branches joined in a miniature cavern, far more spacious than the tunnels they=d been travelling. Eril drew in a
tentative lungful as she unsealed the door. The air felt thick, as if it had
sat undisturbed for centuries. He detected a peculiar, almost metallic odor.
"Are you sure this stuff=s
safe to breathe?"









"Jaydium
does have a distinctive smell, doesn=t
it?" Kithri answered. "Hank always said I was imagining it."




"He
also swore his nose was fine-tuned only to Centurion brandy."




"Well,
you=re not Hank, are you?"




"I=m glad you noticed the
difference," he said, and caught her startled reaction.




Their
boots rang as they stepped out on the rock floor. >Wacker stood on a patch of roughened
surface, and the traction was good. Kithri opened an external storage drawer
and took out canisters of sealant and pouches of storage containers. Upon
contact with oxygen, these would foam up into solid, insulated boxes, capable
of accommodating a range of cargo shapes and virtually impervious to mechanical
assault.




"As
soon as we chip a piece, we seal it in slickoil and spray epoxy, then the
insulation," she told Eril. "That=ll give us about six hours before
degeneration starts. We should have plenty of time to duo it back to
Port Ludlow."




 "That=d hold me until the next
glacial age."




She
picked up the lazer cutting tool and handed it to him. "You chip first and
I=ll pack. When you=ve had enough, we=ll switch. You can cut for only
so long before your shoulders get the jangles."




Eril
glanced from the precision light generator to the cleft Kithri indicated as
their chipping site. "Jangles? From what? These cutters can go through
titanium steel without a shiver."




"Jaydium=s different. Jaydium=s always different."









Kithri
showed Eril how to make shallow vertical cuts in the tunnel wall. "Don=t burrow, no matter how tempting
it seems," she advised. "The bedrock=s stable. It won=t collapse on you. But once you
start chipping into a cavity, you get weird vibrational resonances. We wouldn=t be fit to fly again for hours,
and that=s if we=re lucky."




Eril
swept the focused light along the exposed tunnel surface. A layer of dark stone
fell away, shattering as it hit the floor. The lazer felt familiar enough,
although its size was better suited to Kithri=s smaller hands. He=d used a similar tool for
emergency repairs.




Kithri
stood at his shoulder as he worked. "Don=t push the cutter through,
stroke it through," she murmured. "Follow the way the stuff wants
to be cut. Give it a chance to open up in front of the lazer, and ease up when
you finish the stroke."




He
tried his best to follow her instructions. After a few passes, an insidious
vibration began to creep up his forearms. His wrists and elbows felt as if tiny
mallet-wielding devils had taken up residence there. Any sudden maneuver
intensified the sensation. Only the smoothest movement kept the tickling under
control.




"Okay,"
she said, still watching, "you=re
almost there. Just keep on like you=ve
been, nice and easy..."









Eril
managed not to break his rhythm when, a few minutes later, the light of raw
jaydium burst through the slivers of dark rock. Sealed jaydium tended to be
yellowish or orange, green when it deteriorated, but this was rose-tinted, so
subtle it was only a hint of color. Fist-sized slabs of it glimmered from the
surrounding stone, illuminating the entire tunnel.




Kithri
took a fragment from his hands and began swabbing it with slickoil. She looked
very young in the pink light, almost pretty with her huge, dark-lashed eyes and
ruddy cheeks. The dent in her nose was barely noticeable.




"Keep
going and don=t
wait for me," she said without looking up. "I can seal just as fast
as you can chip."




As
Eril went back to work, his confidence returned. He knew he was doing a
creditable job, even for a rank beginner. There was nothing like hard labor for
taking your mind off past indiscretions. Kithri was clearly willing to work
with him, for the time being anyway. Sooner or later they=d stop and he find another opening.




They
worked on, cut and seal, until the passage of time muted in the monotony of
repetitive action. Eril=s
hands and arms began trembling. Prickles shot through his upper body with each
sweep across the jaydium face. He switched off the lazer tool and arched his
back. His muscles shrieked in protest. He stepped away from the rock face.




"Is
it‑‑all right‑‑to leave that?" He gestured toward the facet of glowing,
exposed jaydium.

Kithri
nodded as she placed the last sealed chip in the insulated storage container.
"After a few hours, a layer of ash will re‑seal the face."









She
took the lazer tool from him. "Your turn to pack. First the oil‑‑remember,
be generous--and then the spray epoxy. Keep the stuff off your fingers if you
can, because I don=t
have much solvent. Stop me if I get ahead of you."




The
sealants proved tricky to handle and the oil had an unpleasantly bitter odor
that masked the tang of the jaydium. Kithri cut for roughly twice as long as
Eril had, but she looked tired when she finally put down the lazer tool.




"Let=s stow what we=ve cut," she said. "We=ve got enough time for a bite to
eat and another round apiece."




They
hunkered down the far side tunnel wall with slabs of hardbread smeared with
canned cheese from Kithri=s
supplies. "Why are you here?" she asked. "And don=t give me that line about the
money again. Any guy who can fly like you can doesn=t need to run jaydium, not unless
he=s made himself downright
unwelcome everywhere else."




Eril
took a gulp of stale water from the flask. "Why are you still here
on Stayman?" he countered. "You=re
young, obviously educated, and you=ve
got your whole life ahead of you. Is this all you=ve ever wanted?"




Kithri
snorted in derision. "Before the war I=d have killed for a chance to get
off this rock. To University...to anywhere. My father‑‑he was a chemical
geologist--he tutored me for the entrance exams when he wasn=t studying everything he could
get his hands on about jaydium. But then...we had some expenses. Now with the
Federation hanging on by its toenails, even running jaydium won=t buy me a passage to someplace
better. Not flying singlo, anyway."




"That=s exactly what I=m doing here."




"Talk
sense."









"It=s true that Hank married my
sister," Eril said slowly, not wanting to rush things. "But he was
also one of the best duopilots in my squadron‑‑"




"Your squadron?" Her gray eyes
widened.




"The
war=s officially over," he went
on, "but we=re
still scrambling to keep order in the settled worlds. You=ve been lucky here on Stayman‑‑not
like Pandora or Albion or half a dozen other worlds that somebody considered
easy pickings. The Fed protected you better than most because of the
jaydium."




Eril
paused. Stayman could barely feed herself as it was, and it had been nothing
short of criminal to abandon the scientists and their families here. He didn=t want to appear to be defending
the Fed. "I=m
not on a pleasure trip, I=m
recruiting."




"Recruiting?" Her eyes got even bigger.




He
smiled. "Hank told me about this brushie he=d run jaydium with. He said she
could fly circles around him in her sleep. I had to see for myself."




"Hank
said that? About me?"




"You
got any other candidates? I didn=t
come five parsecs across space to fly duo with that old sourbug in the
tavern."




Kithri
choked down the last of her bread, lowering her eyes so he could no longer read
in them. "Entrance," she repeated. "To what, exactly?"




"Courier
Corps."




She
shook her head. "Never heard of it."









"It
never existed before, it=s
the brainchild of First Councillor Eades. The Council=s too isolated and settled space
too spread out. They need agents who can be their eyes and arms out there so
their resources get put where they do the most good. There are lots of
situations when speed and inspiration are needed more than brute force. At
least that=s the theory."




"And
you=re recruiting for this
thing?"




He
nodded.




She
took a deep breath and looked away. "I can fly surface, yes, but
space--that=s something else. I don=t have any formal training, my
astrophysics is ten years out of date‑‑"




"Never
mind the rest," he said, trying to keep his voice smooth. "You=ve got what it takes, all right.
Compared to a coriolis, space is a vacuum, remember? You kept your head in that
storm, so I know you can think straight." It was a risky thing to say, but
if she was going to hold what happened against him, he might as well know now.




Kithri
scowled, her face flushing. "Why me? There must be more than enough
out-of-work veterans begging for the job."




"Can
you picture Hank on a diplomatic mission?"




"Skies,
no!" The scowl vanished into a fleeting grin.









"Actually,
that=s not the real problem," he
said. "The training sessions will teach you whatever you need to know. The
problem is finding the right people, and it=s even harder when you=re looking for pairs who can fly duo.
Yes, we can recruit from within the Service, but too many of those pilots are
like Hank, and those that are left are spread even thinner than before, with
all our losses and the number of trouble spots to watch. Eades wants new, fresh
blood."




He
studied her face and saw mostly confusion. But there was something darker
behind her eyes. Something he could but not put a name to. He decided to take a
chance and push harder.




"What
do you say? Or are you so afraid of trying something new that you=d choose a jaydium tunnel over
the stars?"




"No!
I‑‑I‑‑," Kithri stammered. "I=m
not afraid. It=s
just that I don=t
like to be pushed into things." She was talking too fast, her words
tumbling over one another. "Of course I=d jump at the chance to get off
this dust‑chip. Your offer sounds good‑‑too good. There=s got to be a hitch somewhere.
Like--like, Why should I give a damn about your Federation?" Her voice
turned harsh. "They were the ones who left us here to rot, cut off the
lithicycline, stuck Port Ludlow there when the jaydium was here
because they didn=t
give a shit about what the miners had to go through to scratch out a
living. I just want off this rock, not into someone=s Do-Good Club!"




Eril
brushed the rest of the bread crumbs from his fingers to give himself time to
think. He=d expected her to object to him
personally or else to vent some vague resentment against the Fed. He hadn=t expected this raw hostility.




No,
not hostility, he realized with an echo of their brief duo rapport.




Pain.









"If
that=s the way you feel about
it," he said quietly, "we=d
better get this jaydium back to the Port." The muscles behind his
shoulders felt tight, as if the only way to release them was to hit something.
He forced gentleness into his voice. "Think about it, would you."




She
looked away. "Maybe I will, maybe...when I=ve got a choice."







o0o





If you can't wait to find out what happens next, you can download the whole thing from Book View Cafe
(And the files will play nicely with your Nook or Kindle, as well as
other devices). If not, come on back next week for the next episode...