So Daniels’ cabin, like those of their colleagues, had been made as large as was physically and economically possible. Within reason, it included every possible creature comfort that could be included in its design. Adjustable lighting at the head of the bed allowed for easy reading, or a change of mood, or whatever kind and color of illumination its occupants desired. The bed rested against the far wall of the room, beneath a hexagonal port that featured a multipart view of the cosmos beyond.
The spectacular sight, the adjustable lighting, the wonderfully comfortable bed—none of it mattered. Because like all of the crew cabins on the Covenant, this one had been designed and built to accommodate the needs of a husband and wife. Instead of comforting Daniels, its comparative luxury only reminded her that she was now half a couple. Her life, like her marriage, had been truncated in the most abrupt, unexpected, and violent manner possible.
“Cry it out,” Oram had told her. As far as she was concerned, such advice had the emotional equivalent of going to the bathroom. She had been too deadened even to slap him. Not that she would have done so, anyway, she told herself. She was too well trained for that. Too well trained, perhaps, to cry—even had she felt like acting on his suggestion. When it came to serving on a starship, emotion was more likely than not to prove a liability.
She knew she shouldn’t really blame Oram for his clumsy attempt to console her. At least give him credit for trying, she told herself. More than an efficient drone and less than a natural leader, he had been thrust into the unwanted role of captain. Like every member of the crew he was extremely proficient at his specialty. Forced now to engage outside the realm of life sciences and biology, he had to deal with organisms more active and more contrary than his beloved specimens.
She allowed herself the slightest of smiles. It wouldn’t be too bad with him in command. Karine would always be there to give him quiet counsel and offer corrections.
Ignoring the splay of stars outside the port, she sat down on the king-size bed. It was a real bed, its reassuring mass made possible only by the wonder that was artificial gravity. There would be no sleeping while floating in nets, not for the crew of the Covenant. Yet the bed was no longer comforting, and she couldn’t bring herself to move away from the edge and toward the center. It beckoned behind her, a wide homey expanse that could no longer be filled.
Her gaze, open but indifferent, took in the rest of the cabin. Duty boots stood carefully placed beside hers inside the open storage area; left boot always on the left side, right boot always on the right. A man’s clothing hung neatly above them, his always on the left, hers on the right. Nearby rested Jacob’s prized collection of antediluvian vinyl records and their lovingly restored player, its parts cannibalized over the years from half a dozen similar devices.
Stored elsewhere, but likewise visible from where she sat on the side of the bed, was their climbing gear, brought along in expectation of being able to resume an old hobby on a new world. Neither of them would have been happy settling on a world without mountains.
“Doesn’t matter what the ambient temperature is, or the geology, or anything else,” he had told her on more than one occasion. “Anywhere the colony settles, there’ve got to be rocks to climb.”
“What if it’s a water world?” she had countered playfully. “Or what if it’s so old that the mountains are all worn down and it’s as flat as the Great Plains?”
“If it’s the first, I’ll build scaling walls out of salt or calcium carbonate. If it’s the second, I’ll pile up dirt and silicate it.”
Always optimistic, was Jacob. Always showing a cheerful side. Wonderful qualities to have in a captain. Wonderful qualities to have in a husband. Her gaze came to rest on a hard-copy printout of the exterior of his pet project.
The throwback log cabin.
Her husband’s dream.
Ex-husband, she corrected herself silently. Deceased husband. Cremated hus—
The door chimed melodically and without apology at the interruption.
Now who could it be, at this hour of the night? That had been one of Jacob’s running jokes. In interstellar space it was always night. But it had never been this dark.
She stepped to the door and opened it. It was Walter. She saw that he carried a small box.
“Good evening. Do I intrude?”
Pleasant, polite, considerate. Why couldn’t he be the replacement captain? But that was not possible. Synthetics, no matter how efficiently programmed, were designed to serve. To follow, not to lead. Never to lead.
She contemplated sending him away, then decided that any company was better than being alone with her own thoughts.
“No. Come in. Good to see you.”
He entered, waited for the door to slide closed behind him, then held out the box. “I brought you something.”
She took it, opened it. Inside were three perfectly formed 4Cs—combustible chemical channeling cylinders. Or, as the remarkably persistent terminology from another time declaimed, joints. She couldn’t keep from smiling.
The personification of droll, Walter explained. “The atmospheric conditions in Hydroponics are ideal for cannabis growth.”
“I could acquire the same cannabinoids via a pill,” she told him.
“True, but I believe there are certain aesthetics attached to this mode of consumption that can augment the overall experience, and thereby add to its efficacy. Also, it will require that you focus mind and fingers to consummate the act. It is an ancillary benefit to the ingestion.”
“You think of everything.”
“It’s just my programming.”
As was the modesty, she told herself. “That’s not true.”
“If I may…” He hesitated just long enough before continuing. The pause was also a consequence of good programming, she knew, but she didn’t care. “I understand that keeping active can be an effective method in helping to process trauma. Would it be useful to go back to work?”
“Oram took me off the duty roster.” She made a face. “Captain’s orders. Bawl, don’t work.”
“I wasn’t suggesting we inform him. It’s a big ship. There is a great deal to do in places that are infrequently scanned.”
She was still doubtful. “I’ll be seen on security monitors.”
“It depends where you work. The ship’s security coverage is ample, not ubiquitous. There is also the fact that security is monitored by Security. I doubt Sergeant Lopé will care where you choose to spend your downtime. As for our new captain, he has a great many other things to do. I believe you said earlier that you wanted to check on the status of the heavy equipment in the terraforming storage bay? Considering the general damage we have suffered, I agree that area is certainly in need of closer, hands-on inspection.
“As I said earlier, I will accompany you, if you wish.”
Her expression was full of gratitude.
The terraforming chamber was enormous. Huge vehicles of all descriptions, intended to build the colony not just from the ground up but from out of the ground itself, were clamped and tethered in position. At least, Daniels hoped they were.
As she and Walter moved through the bay she was gratified to see that despite the violent, momentary unsettling of the ship’s equilibrium as it rode out the flare, everything appeared to be in place. No tie-down clamps had released prematurely, no chains or straps had come loose or snapped. Everything was still positioned as it had been when first loaded on board the Covenant.