Talking Man

CHAPTER ELEVEN - ORBIT

Dear Dad,

I'm writing just moments after hearing the news. I've only landed three hours ago and have barely torn myself away from the bullshit, the paperwork and the post-trips and the clean-swabs. Aten took a hit from a rock the size of a pea that split a rivet seam, so the Corporation's insurance agents are going to need to do an inspection and I'm going to need to give them an interview. Honestly I don't know when I'm going to be able to rest. I can't remember the last time I slept.

They told me Mom passed last month. I try to think what I was doing at the moment but I can't, because I have no way to reference the time. Time is different the farther I go, and I went far.

You seemed upset in your message. Of course you seemed upset. But don't be upset with me for not responding sooner; they can't pass us personal messages while we are on missions. And don't be angry with the Cooperative for the code that I agreed to. You knew what it entailed when I gave them my life. I'm not my own person anymore.

I wish I could have seen her one more time. The last few missions were longer than the normal, so I don't see how I would have made it home any time in the last eight years, but it would have been lovely nonetheless. When is her funeral? I can't promise that I will be able to attend, but perhaps I can try if you give me the date.

Can you make it to New Mexico? I'm in Aurora housing until the next job. I'll probably be off as soon as the ship is cleared. I don't know how long that will take but would love to see you. If you can travel here then it's a sure thing. We can have dinner. If needed I can send travel money.

Love you Dad. I'm sorry about Mom.

-Louisa

* * * * * * * *

"We're here."

The words came through strong and clear, the first time the intercom had made any sound since Traver's takeover.

A strange excitement as well as unexpected relief swept over the remaining doctor and five scientists. Once the initial shock upon Friedrich's and the others' deaths had abated, the survivors had begun to entertain the fear that Traver had died shortly after entering the cockpit, perhaps murdering Lance as well. The prospect that the ship might be pilotless was somehow worse than being in the hands of a madman.

"We're here," Traver repeated. And yes, there was palpable excitement. Arrival at the planet meant a resumption of the mission as it had been planned. It meant the scientists going back to work. It meant discovery. Explosions and murders be damned; things might finally be getting back on track. For these traumatized researchers, most of whom had rarely in their life stepped foot outside a lab, the only familiarity that remained was the work itself.

Louisa Fletcher was neither excited nor relieved. But she was stirred. Patiently she had waited for an opportunity to take back her ship, and now that waiting might be nearer an end, for better or worse.

Yes, she had waited, but not idly. The first hours after Traver had shut himself inside her control room she had spent in the vent system beneath the cockpit. It was pitch dark, and the heat hellish. She crouched like a tiger ready for the pounce, one hand on the hatch that separated her from the illicit occupant of her pilot's seat, the other holding a knife.

The hatch remained locked.

"Unlock the port" she had whispered, or rather breathed, to Lance as he'd reluctantly followed his master. She thought he had heard, that he had comprehended the message. Any moment the hatch might unlock (as it could not be accessed from the outside without the command from the console).