[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
thing recently onWillow two women from Communications Corps had walked me
through the whole procedure, taking every possible chance to brush against me
accidentally on purpose. (The more I thought about it, the more I realized how
everyone onWillow had been keyed-up to the point of craziness: ten times more
wild and impulsive than you got from mere boredom.)
So I went to the cabin's terminal and introduced myself to the ship-soul.
Gave my name, rank, and access code so the computer could fetch my records
from Navy Central not that I had much in the way of records, but at least
there'd be stuff about the Coughing Jaundice and my allergy to apples. (That
ran in the family my father and sister too. The doctor who engineered Sam and
me offered to fix the problem, but Dad ordered it left in. He didn't want his
kids snacking down on a nice juicy apple when he couldn't. That tells you
something about my dad... and it tells you something more that hetold us what
he'd done: "I could have made you perfect, but I didn't want you little brats
enjoying yourselves in a way I can't")
Once I'd given my ID to the ship-soul, I figured it would take a while to get
any response the closest copy of the navy archives was Starbase Iris, a full
light-minute away. But the instant I finished the identification process, the
ship-soul announced I had a personal, confidential, eyes-only recorded
message.
Um.
"Eyes-only" meant no one could read this message before I did... despite the
long-standing fleet tradition that ifyou belonged to the navy, so did your
mail. The only people authorized to send eyes-only messages were admirals; and
there were only two admirals likely to care about Explorer Second Class Edward
York:
1. Lieutenant Admiral Festina Ramos. But if she wanted to pass me a note, she
could just walk down to my room.
2. Admiral of the Gold, Alexander York. My father.
IfJacaranda carried a recorded message from Dad, when had he sent it?
Probably a while ago... whenJacaranda's mission was to make me disappear. I
wondered if the message could possibly be an apology: "Sorry we're forced to
do this, son, but the Admiralty can't let you go home." No, not much chance of
that. More likely, he wanted to call me a disappointment one last time his
final chance before I got dumped somewhere cold and airless.
Well, only one way to find out. "Ship-soul, attend," I muttered. "I'm alone,
so you can display the message."
When the video flicked on, I found there was another possible sender I hadn't
considered. "Surprise!" said Samantha from the screen.
Page 110
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"Hold!" I shouted. The picture froze.
Sam. It was Sam.
The honey brown hair, the giggly blue eyes, the spatter of freckles across
her nose... twenty years and she'd hardly aged a day. Heaven knows how she
managed to get hold of YouthBoost on a planet at war; but if anyone could
manage, it would be Sam.
My twin sister was alive. And that picture of her in my memory, with her gold
uniform soaked scarlet... the jagged hole punched through her rib cage,
gushing out blood...
"Tricks," I said aloud. Something was a trick. Either Sam's death long ago,
or the picture I was looking at now. Experts could play games with computer
images, everybody knew that. I couldn't trust what I was seeing. But who would
be cruel enough to send such a thing if it wasn't real? And who had the
authority to deliver the message with eyes-only status?
"Ship-soul," I said, "identify message's sender."
"No identification."
"No name? No transmission information? Nothing?"
"Negative. The recording itself is dated by the Troyenese calendar, 23
Katshin."
Which meant Sam had made the recording the day afterWillow picked me up from
the moonbase... unless the date was a trick too. Gritting my teeth, I told the
ship-soul, "Resume play."
Sam's picture came back to life. "Poor Edward," she said, "I hope you're not
having a heart attack or something. This must be an awful shock for you, but
you've handled worse stuff than this."
She was talking the way she always did to me, kind of imitating the way I [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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thing recently onWillow two women from Communications Corps had walked me
through the whole procedure, taking every possible chance to brush against me
accidentally on purpose. (The more I thought about it, the more I realized how
everyone onWillow had been keyed-up to the point of craziness: ten times more
wild and impulsive than you got from mere boredom.)
So I went to the cabin's terminal and introduced myself to the ship-soul.
Gave my name, rank, and access code so the computer could fetch my records
from Navy Central not that I had much in the way of records, but at least
there'd be stuff about the Coughing Jaundice and my allergy to apples. (That
ran in the family my father and sister too. The doctor who engineered Sam and
me offered to fix the problem, but Dad ordered it left in. He didn't want his
kids snacking down on a nice juicy apple when he couldn't. That tells you
something about my dad... and it tells you something more that hetold us what
he'd done: "I could have made you perfect, but I didn't want you little brats
enjoying yourselves in a way I can't")
Once I'd given my ID to the ship-soul, I figured it would take a while to get
any response the closest copy of the navy archives was Starbase Iris, a full
light-minute away. But the instant I finished the identification process, the
ship-soul announced I had a personal, confidential, eyes-only recorded
message.
Um.
"Eyes-only" meant no one could read this message before I did... despite the
long-standing fleet tradition that ifyou belonged to the navy, so did your
mail. The only people authorized to send eyes-only messages were admirals; and
there were only two admirals likely to care about Explorer Second Class Edward
York:
1. Lieutenant Admiral Festina Ramos. But if she wanted to pass me a note, she
could just walk down to my room.
2. Admiral of the Gold, Alexander York. My father.
IfJacaranda carried a recorded message from Dad, when had he sent it?
Probably a while ago... whenJacaranda's mission was to make me disappear. I
wondered if the message could possibly be an apology: "Sorry we're forced to
do this, son, but the Admiralty can't let you go home." No, not much chance of
that. More likely, he wanted to call me a disappointment one last time his
final chance before I got dumped somewhere cold and airless.
Well, only one way to find out. "Ship-soul, attend," I muttered. "I'm alone,
so you can display the message."
When the video flicked on, I found there was another possible sender I hadn't
considered. "Surprise!" said Samantha from the screen.
Page 110
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"Hold!" I shouted. The picture froze.
Sam. It was Sam.
The honey brown hair, the giggly blue eyes, the spatter of freckles across
her nose... twenty years and she'd hardly aged a day. Heaven knows how she
managed to get hold of YouthBoost on a planet at war; but if anyone could
manage, it would be Sam.
My twin sister was alive. And that picture of her in my memory, with her gold
uniform soaked scarlet... the jagged hole punched through her rib cage,
gushing out blood...
"Tricks," I said aloud. Something was a trick. Either Sam's death long ago,
or the picture I was looking at now. Experts could play games with computer
images, everybody knew that. I couldn't trust what I was seeing. But who would
be cruel enough to send such a thing if it wasn't real? And who had the
authority to deliver the message with eyes-only status?
"Ship-soul," I said, "identify message's sender."
"No identification."
"No name? No transmission information? Nothing?"
"Negative. The recording itself is dated by the Troyenese calendar, 23
Katshin."
Which meant Sam had made the recording the day afterWillow picked me up from
the moonbase... unless the date was a trick too. Gritting my teeth, I told the
ship-soul, "Resume play."
Sam's picture came back to life. "Poor Edward," she said, "I hope you're not
having a heart attack or something. This must be an awful shock for you, but
you've handled worse stuff than this."
She was talking the way she always did to me, kind of imitating the way I [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]