Operation Starseed

Part 3-3

The others are already crammed on the nav

deck when we show up—Vallery in her seat and Leena in mine, Shanley

and Johnson leaning against the wall on either side of the door. A

steady blip blip blip signals an incoming transmission, but

they’re waiting for us to arrive before accepting it. All four crew

members turn as we enter, and Leena hops from my seat to Vallery’s

knee, where she perches, waiting. They’re all waiting. When I sink

into my chair, Dylan sits on the armrest and I flash Vallery a

tight grin. “Well,” I start, but I can’t think of anything else to

say so I turn to the control panel, watch the blinking light on the

transmit button. I wait.

“The fighters are patched in,” Vallery

tells me. I nod, that’s good, they’ll hear the transmission too,

but I have no clue what happens next. You hit the transmit,

a voice inside me whispers. You say hello. It’s not that hard,

is it?

No, not in theory. But who’s on the other

end of that signal? What voice will answer mine? I don’t know, and

that’s what terrifies me. I glance up at Dylan—he’s the captain so

this is his show, right?

He nods at me and takes a deep breath. “Here

goes,” he says, and before he can think it through, he hits the

transmit and opens the comm-link. Empty space yawns around us, the

open channel waiting like baited breath, waiting—for a

moment I think he’s not going to speak, for the first time since

I’ve known him he doesn’t know what to say, and I place a

comforting hand on his knee. He slips his fingers into mine and

clears his throat, and it’s his strong, authoritative voice that

says, “Semper Fi, standing by.”

Static crackles through the room. Dylan’s

hand tightens in mine, and I don’t even realize I’m holding my

breath until a young, male voice comes across the comm-link.

“Semper Fi, this is S410. Welcome.”

Relief floods through me and Leena claps,

Vallery laughs, even Johnson grins at Shanley and they both step

closer to lean over the backs of our seats. Clicking on the

intercom, I ask the pilots, “You guys hearing this?”

“Ten four,” Milano says, and Parker

murmurs his assent.

A quick glance at the stats screen shows her

pulse rate’s up, Parker’s too, their veins are flooded with

adrenaline right now. I’m about to tell them to take it easy, these

are humans we’re talking with—not a forgotten relay, not aliens,

humans and Dylan’s been right all along, this is one

of the Starseed colonies and I’m going to kiss him silly tonight,

tell him he was right, he’s amazing, they’ll name a star after him

for this for sure—but another burst of static grates across the

comm-link and then the stranger speaks again. “I repeat, Semper

Fi, this is S410. Welcome.”

Johnson gives Dylan a playful shove. “Answer

him,” he says, grinning like a cat.

Dylan glares at him. “What should I

say?”

“Ask him if he’s cute,” Leena

offers.

“Leena!” Vallery squeals, but she’s

laughing and we’re all relieved, this is turning into something

incredible, there are humans out there!

Leena looks around at us and shrugs,

perplexed. “What?” she wants to know. Shanley grins and Johnson

laughs. “What’d I say?”

I hush them as Dylan leans on the transmit.

With deliberate care, he speaks slowly, his voice even and sure.

“S410, my name’s Teague. I’m the captain of Semper Fi. We

picked up your signal just outside of the Epsilon system and were

sent to investigate. We’re in this region on a two year star-map

jaunt and… um…” He turns to me for help.

“Are you cute?” Vallery whispers, and

Leena falls back against her, giggling. Dylan kicks her shin to

shut her up.

“Tell them we’re on our way,” I

suggest.

He nods. “We picked up your signal—”

“You said that already,” Johnson

mutters. Dylan glares at him and God, they’re going to think we’re

the most unorganized ship in the fleet if we keep this s**t up.

At least lay off the transmit, I think. They don’t need

to hear the comments from the peanut gallery.

When there’s no reply, Dylan adds, “We’re

under the belief that this is uninhabited space. Our annals show no

life in this sector.” With a grin at me, he adds, “Some of our crew

think you guys are all dead.”

Still no reply. “Great,” I whisper. “You’ve

pissed them off.”

“I didn’t,” Dylan starts.

Then I realize he’s still on the transmit

and I take his hand in mine, hold it down in my lap. Now the

channel flares to life again, a barrage of static lacing the

masculine voice, already in midsentence. “—Much alive, we assure

you. Forty-two strong and ten of our women are expecting. What

union are you affiliated with, Captain Teague?”

Dylan laughs. “I like the sound of that,

Captain Teague. Finally getting some respect,” he says, but

Leena slaps the back of his head and he ducks out of reach with

another laugh. “No union,” he transmits. “You have a name,

kid?”

“Conlan,” comes the reply. “What

union—”

“No union,” Dylan repeats. Dixon runs

his own station, hiring out to whoever pays the biggest commission,

and everyone signs up for each individual run, if it’s something

they want. This is my second stint with him and Dylan’s first.

Dixon likes to keep a young crew, no one over thirty. Starmapping

can take its toll on a body, long, lonely hours out in uncharted

space, you need fast reflexes and most riggers don’t like to hire

anyone handicapped or sick or old, not if they can help it. Dixon

stays out of the union and doesn’t have to follow EOE guidelines,

keeps his station the way he likes it and changes crews each trip,

almost. I already sense he’s not going to offer me a position on

the next run, even though I know he wants Dylan to pilot again.

We’ll see how that works out.

“No union,” Conlan echoes, as if

repeating it for someone else. Then he asks, “What’s your

armament?”

When Dylan reaches for the transmit,

Milano’s voice fills the cabin. “Don’t you dare tell him that,

Teague. The fucker doesn’t need to know.”

He looks at me and I nod. “She’s right,” I

say. It’s an odd question—does this guy seriously think we’re going

to tell him what we’re packing here? We’re assuming he’s friendly

but we can’t bank on that. “Don’t—”

“Light artillery,” Dylan says into the

channel. “D-5 right now, no threat detected. I repeat, defcon-5

currently activated. We’re not aiming for you boys, just covering

our asses.”

Another long pause. I check to make sure the

comm-link’s still open and it is. Behind me Johnson shifts

nervously and in the other seat, Vallery picks at her nails. We

watch the console as if we can will a reply with the weight of our

collective gaze alone. In a soft voice, Shanley suggests, “Maybe

that’s not what they wanted to hear.”

Suddenly static erupts from the speakers and

we can hear Conlan beneath the white noise. “I repeat,” he

starts.

Dylan rolls his eyes. “Jesus,” he whispers,

leaning back against me. “He doesn’t clue in too quick, does

he?”

“What is your armament?” Conlan

continues. I fiddle with the controls, trying to diminish the

interference, and as he speaks, his voice grows louder then falls

away, swings towards us, grows quiet. “We need an accurate count of

weaponry and personnel before we can issue clearance into the

colony—”

“They have a colony?” Leena asks,

awed. “You know this puts us in the annals, right? Operation

Starseed actually worked.”

I shake my head. “We don’t know that,” I

tell her—we don’t know this is a Starseed colony, we don’t know

anything yet, but I can look around at the others and know

they’re already believing this, we’re already heroes in their

minds, I can read the visions of glory in their eyes. Dylan’s

especially, and I want to take him in my arms, turn him around,

make him look at me and listen to me and make him

realize we can’t be jumping to conclusions right yet, we can’t be

celebrating this when we don’t even really know what this

is.

If we were alone, just the two of us, I’d do

just that. But it’s not only us here, it’s the whole crew, and

Dylan’s not hearing me, he’s arguing with Milano over the intercom.

“If we’re going to land,” he tells her, “he says he needs an

inventory—”

“Bullshit.” The word is spat angrily,

and I can picture her frowning face in my mind, she’s the only one

of us cautious about this whole thing. “Tell him we have fighters

and that’s it, Dylan. You can’t compromise our position just

because he says so.”

“f**k,” he mutters, because he knows

she’s right. Into the comm-link, he says, “We have eight crew

members, two fighters. I’m not at liberty to say anything more, but

this is a peace mission. We’re starmappers, not space pirates or

militia men. No unnecessary weaponry.”

Parker’s voice comes over the intercom.

“Shut him up, James,” he growls, and I ease a protective arm around

Dylan’s waist. “Tessa’s right, they don’t need to know what we’re

carrying. Jesus, what if they’re out there aiming at

us?”

“I’m not—” Dylan starts, but I tighten

my arm around him and he falls silent. In the window in front of

us, I can see his reflection, the furrow of his brow, the pout on

his lips. “If we’re going to land—”

“Who said anything about landing?”

Vallery counters.

Dylan glares at her, then at Leena, on her

lap. Then he turns, his gaze falling on Johnson, on me, on Shanley

behind us, anger and confusion warring on his face. I want to kiss

it all away but I can’t, not here, not in front of the others.

Tonight, I tell myself, and I hope he can read that promise

in my eyes. Tonight I’ll hold you, baby, and kiss you and make

it all better. I’ll let you be right. “If we’re not landing,”

he asks, looking at me like he expects me to be the one to answer

him, “then what the hell are we doing out here, anyway?”

“We’re landing,” I assure him. “Dixon

wants this checked out, that means we land.”

Conlan speaks again, the static in his voice

scratching his syllables. “Eight crew,” he confirms, and then, “We

need certification that the decontamination procedures have been

implemented for each member.”

Leaning past us, Shanley presses the

transmit, raises his soft voice and speaks clearly, slowly. “I am

Dr. Evan Shanley,” he says, his words unmistakable. “The crew

medical files record the results of the decon tests. If you have a

DAQ-185 compatible system, I can transmit the information to

you.”

“We do, thank you.” Conlan’s reply

this time is quick, unhesitating. “But we have to set up the system

first. We’ll contact you in a half hour’s time for the transmit,

and then the committee can review the findings before you land.

S410 out.”

The static disappears as the connection is

closed. “Bye to you, too,” Leena mumbles. She looks around the room

and her gaze stops on Shanley, kneeling by the console and already

setting up our DAQ system to transmit the files the next time

Conlan calls. “They’re real keen on knowing all they can find out

about us, aren’t they? What’s your armament? What’re the results of

your decon tests? But what did we learn about them?”

“Nothing,” Johnson says. Vallery nods

in agreement and Johnson glares at me like it’s my fault, I

should’ve talked to the guy, not Dylan. “We didn’t learn

shit.”

“Forty-two colonists,” Dylan says.

With one hand he traces the seam of my jumpsuit along my inner

thigh. When I try to cover the spot nonchalantly, he begins to pick

at the seam, pulling the material up around my fingers because he’s

bored and restless and he wants to get this party started, he

doesn’t want to wait another two hours until we land, he doesn’t

want to talk about this anymore. Where he leans against me,

I can feel his body hum with unspent energy. “Didn’t he say that?

Ten pregnant women. That’s why they want to make sure we’re not a

threat.”

But Johnson shakes his head. “I don’t like

this,” he declares. “Let me talk next time, I’ll pump them for

information. What are we gonna tell Dixon when we call this in? Oh,

we don’t know anything about them, we forgot to ask?”

“We don’t have to call it in yet,” I

remind him. “Not until we have something concrete. We’re probably

too far out to transmit back to the station anyway—”

“We should at least try.” Johnson pins

me with a hard stare but I look away. I’m not calling Dixon. I

don’t want to hear any cracks he’s going to make about Dylan and me

now that we’re back together. When I don’t answer him, Johnson

sighs dramatically. “All I’m saying is maybe he should know what

we’re about to do.”

“He knows what we’re going to

do,” Vallery points out. Johnson glances over his shoulder at her

and then sighs again, stalks away from my chair and throws himself

against the wall by the door, angry. Vallery looks at me as if for

confirmation. “This was his idea, wasn’t it? Sending you guys,

sending the fighters—he knows we’re going in.”

From the far side of the nav deck, Johnson

mutters, “I still think we should give him a heads up.”

Dylan opens his mouth to reply, a hot retort

on his lips, when Shanley’s soft voice silences him, stopping us

all. “There’s really nothing to call in yet, Mike.” In his corner,

Johnson makes a sardonic noise in the back of his throat. “If we

call him, he’s going to ask what we know, and what is that,

exactly? I mean, at this point—”

“At this point, we know nothing,”

Leena says, and Shanley nods, turns back to the control panel,

where he’s configuring the DAQ system. Leena watches him for a

moment before she looks up at Johnson. “If we call him, Dixon’s

just going to tell us to wait another few hours, you know how he

is. Wait til we get down to the colony and know something more,

then call it in.”

Johnson glares at us as if he knows we’re

right, there’s no reason to contact the station yet, and he hates

that. He hates that none of us agree with him on this, I can see

the way it’s eating at him, it’s in his angry frown, his glittering

eyes. “Fine,” he says, hitting the power switch to open the door.

The steel irises out of his way as he steps into the corridor. When

the door starts to close, he adds, “But I get a chance at them,

next call. We need to know as much about them as they do about us

before we land.”

“Fine,” Dylan agrees. The door shuts

Johnson out of the deck and we can hear his boot heels ring off the

steel corridor as he storms away. “Can we go back to our food now?”

he asks no one in particular. “We’ve got a half hour—”

“Twenty minutes,” Leena corrects,

standing. She stretches languidly and rubs at her already tousled

hair, mussing it up further. “Going on fifteen. I hope you boys can

make it fast.”

Dylan leaps up, pulls me to my feet. “You

heard her,” he says, steering me towards the door. The intense look

on his face and the way he smacks the power switch to open the

door, ducking through the steel partition before it even fully

opens, tells me he’s hoping to finish what we started now,

he doesn’t want to wait until tonight.

Out in the corridor, the two of us finally

alone, I let him wrap his arms around my waist and nuzzle my neck.

“My room,” I tell him. I don’t want any interruptions this

time.