With that, he returned to his newsletter. Since he hadn’t answered to “Doctor,” Titus deduced that Mihelich was one of the nurses or techs in the huge medical department that did both research and healthcare. From the few words he’d spoken, he seemed to be a North American.
Into the resounding silence, Titus said, “Doctors, this is Dr. Abbot Nandoha, electrical engineer, circuit designer, and computer architect. Where will you be working, Abbot?”
From his seat across from Mirelle and Titus, Abbot answered, “Generating plant, supplying power to your computers, Titus, and life support to the Station.”
He could go anywhere without question. Titus shook off despair. Things couldn’t get any worse now.
“Well!” said Abner Gold. “Bridge, anyone?”
“Actually,” said Mirelle, “poker’s more my game. Perhaps if we play poker, Dr. Mihelich will join us?”
Just then, the speakers came on announcing liftoff. Simultaneously, their little table sank into the floor, and their seats swiveled and flattened as the Captain readied for thrust. Soon, the faint murmur singing through the bulkheads became a thick vibration that blotted out all other sound.
Then Titus felt his back forced into a proper posture by the gathering g-forces. He relaxed into it. Though the decibel level reached the upper limits of toleration, the sound had the reassuring coherence of finely tuned machinery. It was not threatening. It inspired confidence. Even awe.
For the first time, Titus was able to open himself to the experience of leaving Earth. His ancestors had come here in a far more sophisticated craft. But he and his kind had long worked with humans to create this crude vehicle. And now—at last—they were returning to space.
The emotion was as overwhelming as the sound. He caught his father watching him, features distorted by acceleration. There was a fierce joy on Abbot’s face that expressed just how Titus was feeling. He did his best to return it, and for a moment the extra sense that guided the use of Influence flared between them, a fierce embrace.
As they shared their private triumph, Titus knew Abbot loved him just as Titus’s human father, the man who’d raised him, had loved him. Of his genetic father, Titus knew only that he’d been a vampire, and was probably dead. Abbot had wakened Titus, nurtured him, and now wanted him to share this step in the liberation of The Blood from lonely exile.
The sweet warmth of that embrace stole over Titus, feeding his starved soul. There were so few of them scattered over Earth; they couldn’t afford to let factions split them. They understood one another’s needs, knew each other’s moods, and could rely on each other no matter what the imposition. They were a family. The warmth of belonging was something Titus had rarely felt since his human family had buried him, mistaking him for a dead human.
Until this moment, drowning in the universal roar, helpless in the grip of forces stronger than himself, Titus had not realized how deeply deprived his life had been. There was a hollow ache where there should have been parents, sister, brother, wife, and children of his own.
With a gasp, Titus twisted his head away, breaking the contact with Abbot’s eyes. Wife. It was like a hot knife in his heart. Inea. Two more days and we’d have been married.
He clamped his lips shut. He’d vowed never to say her name again. It was over and done. She was human. And she had seen his body dangling from the overturned car by the seatbelt, his abdomen pierced by torn metal.
But the emptiness ached and ached, and Abbot knew how to use it. No, that’s not fair. It wasn’t Abbot’s fault that Titus had crashed the car, or that Titus had made the change too young. None of Titus’s problems were Abbot’s doing. He swallowed the emptiness, thrust aside the pain, and looked at Abbot. Summoning a grin to match Abbot’s, he refused to be drawn back into the whirl of emotions. Yet, with the most negligent effort, Abbot could sweep him back into the depths, manipulate him into doing or saying anything.
Only this time, he didn’t. He let the echoing contact fade, giving mercy that truly felt like love. It was genuine love, but still Abbot would kill him, truly and permanently, in order to send that SOS. His loyalty to The Blood—the luren species, on Earth as well as out in the galaxy—was above all personal considerations, and Abbot expected no less of Titus.
As the noise and vibration finally let up and an eerie silence descended, Titus decided he had to fight. Connie, and everyone else—not the least of all, unsuspecting humanity—was depending on him. He had to buy time for Connie to act.
At last, the couches folded back into chairs and a voice instructed them to keep seat belts buckled during free-fall. Attendants would escort anyone who needed to use the facilities. Compliance with this safety rule was a condition of employment on the Project.
Mirelle rummaged in her chair arm. “Ah! A lovely poker deck! Poker, not bridge, no?” The back of the deck showed a glorious view of Goddard Station, with Earth glowing in one corner and stars in the background.
The mysterious Andre Mihelich resumed reading, ignoring Mirelle. Titus asked her, “Poker? You were serious?”
“Of course, Titus. But not to worry. We won’t play for money. We will play for each other’s handhelds.”
“What!” Gold laughed. “What could an anthropologist do with an Alter programmed for metals analysis?” They had each brought their personal favorite devices, with Apps and programs they’d need because the lunar facility did not yet have a reliable cloud, phone system, or even a network yet. “I had to strip it to fit in all I have to carry. It’s almost useless now!”
She laughed. “That’s the point! You see, the winner redistributes the devices, deciding who gets whose. To get your own back, you have to work the one you have.”
“But I know nothing about metals beyond basic theory,” protested Titus, “and less about anthropology or any of the Cognitives.”
She gazed up at him, close enough that she might discern his contact lenses now that he’d removed his sunglasses. “Titus, how much do you expect I know about astrophysics?”
Titus eyed Abbot but detected no Influence. “I carry a Bell encrypted. I doubt you’d know how to turn it on.” She could have dealt easily with his old Sharp. He pulled his jacket out from under the seat and produced the Bell. Smaller than his palm, it was programmed for all his routine calculations, and had his standard reference tables in ROM with gigs of Project notes. On the moon, it could take him weeks to set up a new Bell or have one reprogrammed from his home files. He hated all the cloud facilities. Abbot raised an eyebrow in sardonic amusement as if agreeing.
They thought they stole it with my bag! Score one!
Titus passed the Bell to Mirelle and watched her turn the smooth case over. “I don’t even know how to open it!” From her bag she extracted a stubby looking, thick instrument that she handed to Titus. “Can you make this do anything?”
Titus didn’t recognize the manufacturer. He found the activation switch, but every command he tried produced an error message in a different language. Gold chuckled and reached toward Titus. “Here, let me try.”
He had no better luck, and handed it to Abbot who said, “Custom-made, isn’t it? How many languages does it speak?” Abbot, Titus expected, could use anything that had ever been made, all the way back to the abacus, and was proud of it.
“It
