Tara bit her lip. “How bizarre is it gonna get if she reappears all of a sudden, and we end up meeting each other? For that matter, won’t the paradox cause the universe to implode, or explode, or some such?”
“It didn’t disintegrate into a swirling ball of nothingness when our Mbeki met his alternate,” Grady said. “Perhaps that hoary old theory is just that, a theory. Given our existing situation, I guess it’s comforting to know that meeting another version of yourself doesn’t mean the end of all life in the multiverse.”
“C’mon, though,” Tara said, leaning down to scratch Gizmo’s ear. The creature uttered a contented chirrup. “You gotta admit, it’d be the strangest thing ever to come face to face with yourself.”
“Strange doesn’t even begin to describe it. I’m glad it’s not something I need to worry about.” A ding sounded from the console and Grady tapped the pilot’s holo. “Pre-flight checks complete.” He eyed the sensor display, where a plethora of green dots represented the departing rebel flotilla. Data populated the screen, detailing each vessel’s designation and composition. The ragtag fleet was an eclectic mix of warships—few larger than Adventurer—and civilian craft that had been pressed into service by the IC. The smallest—fighters lacking FTL capability—were crammed into a pair of blocky, slow-moving freighters.
“Mal, departure status?” Grady said, glancing at the ceiling.
“All systems are ship shape and barnacle free, Matey,” came the AI’s reply. “Though Squirt told me to remind ye to go easy on the fusion drive. It’s been actin’ up again durin’ his and Lian’s attempt to improve on the temporary fix before we shove off.”
“Noted,” Grady said. He keyed the internal comm. “All hands, prepare for departure. We will be executing a pre-planned series of short hops at FTL on our way to New Heb.” He heard a grunt from the weapons station. Zoe had been withdrawn, saying little since the results of the vote were announced. Six-to-four in favor of remaining in the alternate reality long enough to help lift the blockade and ensure the retreating rebel fleet reached safety. The voters included Mal, at Grady’s insistence, though no one objected. And, as Lian predicted, excluded the pair of incarcerated diplomats, whose treachery had lost them the right to have a say in the mission’s conduct.
He hadn’t been surprised that Zoe—despite her instinctive soldier’s urge to bring the fight to the enemy—now stated her firm desire to return to their own dimension, eager to reunite with the Rosie she knew and loved. Grady could only imagine how heart wrenching it would be for his second-in-command to meet the Rosie from this reality, only for the woman to give her a blank look, devoid of any recognition. Whatever had happened to Zoe’s counterpart, it was clear she never made it to New Heb to meet and become involved with alternate Rosie. He glanced over his shoulder, tempted to ask how she was feeling. But Zoe’s head was down as she studied the weapons holo, seemingly lost in concentration. Or, he mused, tamping down the emotions that must be roiling her thoughts as Adventurer set course for New Heb.
Hawthorne, Sam, and Mbeki rounded out those who favored not becoming involved in the dangerous situation facing the insurgency in this dimension. The sergeant stated his duty compelled him to complete their original mission and help provide the IC, their IC, with an answer regarding the alien transmission. Hawthorne had no desire to die in a foreign reality far from his home and family. Sam, when pressed, declared it wasn’t their struggle. They had arrived in this part of the multiverse by accident and didn’t belong here. There was no reason for them to remain and risk their lives on behalf of strangers, however much of a resemblance the doppelgängers bore to those from their dimension. Instead, he insisted they should head for the location where they last encountered the alien vessel, Epsilon, in the hope of finding Fidelon waiting there so he could have his ship open a wormhole to take them home.
Grady surprised himself by voting to remain until the rebel fleet reached New Heb, despite his stated intention to prioritize their primary mission. He thought he knew why. Throughout his life, he’d always harbored a powerful compulsion to support the underdog. The rebellion in this parallel universe was clinging to life and needed any available help. And it wasn’t as if he would be reneging on his duty. The detour to New Heb should only take a few days. By that time, he hoped, Fidelon would have completed his investigation of the uncommunicative monitoring station and returned to rendezvous with Adventurer.
A familiar chime broke him from his reverie. “Incoming comm,” Mal announced as Grady leaned forward. Though he had the choice of directing the AI to activate the comm for him, most of the time he preferred to key the controls himself. “Adventurer here. Go ahead.”
Kotov’s deep baritone flowed from the speakers. “The fastest ships are all set to leave, Captain,” he said, without preamble. “New Heb beckons.” Zoe let out an audible gasp at the major’s declaration and her hands balled into fists.
“Understood,” Grady replied. “Our fusion drive misalignment means we’re unable to remain at FTL for extended periods. We’ll perform a series of shorter jumps to reach the agreed gathering point this side of New Heb.”
“Yours is not the only vessel that can’t sustain FTL for long,” Kotov said. “If you are willing, I’d like your gunship to provide support for convoy of freighters and other slower craft.”
“You can count on us,” Grady said. Now that he and a slim majority of his crew had voted to help the rebels reach New Heb, he wanted to do everything possible to protect the ragtag armada. “Will there be other escorts, or just Adventurer?”
“I’m detaching a heavy bomber and two fighters as additional support. I’ve made it clear to the pilots that you’ll be in command of the makeshift squadron. You can coordinate a sequence of FTL hops with them.”
Kotov cleared his throat and added, “That’s all the ships I can spare for you, I’m afraid. Latest intel indicates blockade of New Heb remains in place, no doubt hoping to catch any ships that drop out of FTL near to station. I’ll need all the firepower I can muster to smash our way through.”
“It sounds like you plan on attacking before our convoy joins up with you,” Grady remarked.
“Only if my hand is forced,” Kotov said. “Depends on how dire the situation is on New Heb. I’d prefer to wait until Adventurer and slower-moving vessels join us before attempting to breach blockade, so we can combine our forces and launch coordinated attack. The freighters are ferrying shorter range fighters and their crews that will be essential to the engagement with the Earth Galactic fleet. And, what with the firepower Adventurer carries, your craft could tip the balance in our favor.”
“Fair enough,” Grady said. “Then we’ll do our best to ensure the freighters and the other ships you’ve assigned to us arrive undamaged and in good time.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Kotov gave a gentle cough, his tone softening. “I appreciate this technically isn’t your battle. I admit I was surprised when you offered to help us. Your crew must be most valiant to agree to stay and fight in war far distant from your own reality, even with incentive of access to New Heb’s repair docks.”
Grady avoided looking at Zoe and kept his gaze fixed forward. “In light of the unique circumstances in which we find ourselves, I wasn’t prepared to order my crew to place their lives at risk, so we voted on it. Not everyone agreed with the decision, but I’ve every confidence we’ll pull together as a tightknit unit to help you overcome the blockade.”
“And after that, what then?”
Now Grady did flick a hasty glance at Zoe. She was staring, unblinking, at her holo, her freckled cheek paler than usual. Positioned straight-backed in her seat, her body was rigid with tension as she listened to the exchange. “I can’t commit us to staying any longer at New Heb than it takes to repair our fusion drive,” he said. He turned to face the wraparound screen again, even though it only displayed an image of the research station’s gray exterior. “We have a previous mission to complete—a duty to our own IC—and friends and family who miss us.”
“Ah, then what I am about to relate may complicate matters for you,” Kotov said. “At least personally.”
Grady’s brows knit together. “What do you mean?”
“You asked me earlier about New Ireland, correct? Where you grew up.”
“That’s right,” Grady said, wondering what was coming next. “Have you learned something new?”
“Da. After we spoke, I thought to check our own personnel records. Seems one of our newest pilots is also from your home colony. She joined us only a few months ago. I asked her if she knew of your family and she tells me, of course she does.”
His chest tightening, Grady’s hands coiled around the control stick. In his peripheral vision, he was aware of Tara sitting bolt upright, her mouth agape, and Gizmo’s sudden growl, as if her abrupt movement startled him. “What did you discover?”
“Simply this, Captain,” Kotov said. “She gives me name of colony’s longstanding, and current, leader. It’s Maeve Grady. Your mother, if I’m not mistaken.”
15
Glass cradled in his hand, Grady let out a halting sigh and smacked his lips as he took a generous sip of whiskey. He leaned back, savoring the bite of the fiery liquid coursing down his throat, and allowed his gaze to drift to the framed pictures nestled above the narrow desk in his quarters. “She’s alive,” he whispered. “I still can’t believe it.” He downed another slug, draining the last of the small shot he’d allowed himself after stepping from the sonic shower following a few hours’ sleep.
Adventurer and the motley convoy relying on her for protection were traveling at faster-than-light speeds, undetectable by friend or foe, immune to attack—for now. But before long, the small flock he was shepherding would be forced to drop out of FTL. The venerable freighter that traveled at the rear of the group—hangar bay jammed to the bulkheads with rebel fighter craft—had been lagging further and further behind, overworked fusion drive on its last legs. If the ship was forced to rely on sublight engines alone, its crew, along with the essential fighters and their pilots, would be vulnerable to detection and attack by predatory pirates and roving Earth Galactic patrols.
Grady interlaced his fingers behind his head and stared at the photo of his mother. He had asked Kotov not to let anyone on New Ireland know about his or Tara’s presence in this reality. He wasn’t sure what sort of reception they would receive from his family—or what was left of them after his counterpart’s death and alternate Tara’s disappearance. His pulse raced, mouth going dry, whenever he thought about comming his mother, or using the limited amount of time while the fusion drive was being repaired to journey—Tara by his side—to the colony itself.
“Not certain either course of action is the right thing to do,” he murmured, his head tilted as he eyed the picture. “Hells, how would I react if I were in her place? She’s mourned my death in this dimension for the past few years. Then I—or a version of me—appears out of nowhere all of a sudden. If it comes down to it, he thought. I want to look Mum in the eyes and tell her myself. See her reaction in real time. Reassure her that my apparent resurrection from the grave isn’t a trick. I’m real. I’m your son. Just not the same Jack you raised and later watched leave home to join the armed forces.
“What if she rejects Tara and me?” He uttered a low moan, cursed, and sat forward, face dropping into his hands. “Could I blame her if she did? We’re not the Tara and Jack she knew. How weird is that?” Shaking his head, he sat back and glanced at the bottom drawer of the desk. Almost of its own accord, his hand stretched out, grasping for the handle. Before he made contact, he let his hand drop. “Better keep my wits about me. No telling what’ll be waiting for us when we join up with the rest of the rebel fleet from the Badlands and square off against the enemy picket line.” His gaze rested on the photos once more. “We’re on our way, Mum, at least as far as New Heb. If we decide to make contact, I only hope you’ll be happy to hear from us.”
He glugged water from a stainless-steel bottle resting in a holder clamped to the side of the desk and heaved to his feet. A few swift strides brought him to the compact bathroom, where he gargled mouthwash to douse the reek of whiskey on his breath, then headed for the entrance. “Lights off,” he said, before stepping into the corridor, the door sliding closed behind him with a sibilant hiss of compressed air.
A chronometer high on the wall at the end of the hallway told him he had time for a hurried breakfast before going on duty. His stomach muscles clenched, and he swore, turning instead toward the bow. I’m too wired to eat. Maybe later. Right now, all I can think about is Mum. Do I comm her using New Heb’s long-range transmitter, or pilot the shuttle and drop in on her unannounced—so long as she doesn’t have a heart attack when she sees me? Or do nothing and focus on my original mission, heading back to our home dimension as soon as the fusion drive is fully operational? He bit back another curse, straightened his hair, smoothed his jacket, and stalked along the passage.
