“And then one day, in about the second month, they came and took the baby away. They didn’t”—she paused, her voice getting choked with emotion at the remembered pain—“they didn’t even tell her. Just came and took him and that was that. And then they said go, take two months’ leave and do anything you want—then come back. You have to have roughly a baby a year.”
She sighed and I thought I saw the glimmer of a tear, the first time I’d ever seen Dylan cry.
“And so,” she went on in that wavering, distant tone, “she ran to the others, her friends, for consolation, and got none. Either they were hardened to the system or they’d given up and were reconciled to it. The House staff also was very little consolation, finally offering to send me to a psych center so I’d adjust and be happy doing nothing but having babies. I couldn’t accept that, either, so I sort of gave up. Gave up and gave in, like they all do. But Akeba House was located on an outcrop, and there was a small harbor on one side. I used to watch the hunters go out, and my mind went with them every time, as Sanda’s does now. I became their friend, except for the times when I was obviously pregnant and they shunned me like a disease. Finally, during my leave time—after my fifth child—one of them, a very compassionate man I’ll never forget, said much what you did just now—hell, you and he were a lot alike, really. He could be killed tomorrow and probably would be someday, so if risks were his business, well, he’d smuggle me aboard—and he did.
“And you know—nothing much happened. We sighted a bork, yes, but another boat took it and chased it out of view. The whole thing was pretty dull, really—but to me it was everything. It made me alive again, Qwin. I determined to get out of the motherhood, and I worked and schemed and plotted and took my opportunities just like you—and it worked. If it hadn’t been for that joyride, though, I’d still be up there at the House, still having babies and gazing out at the sea, as Sanda is now. Wasting—just like she is. Do you understand now?”
I turned over and hugged her and held her close. “Yes, Dylan, I understand.” I sighed. “So when are you going to take her?”
“Day after tomorrow. I wouldn’t want it on my conscience that I killed a baby, too.”
“All right. If your mind’s made up. But please consider the matter again before you do. You’re risking that sea, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. Call me dumb or a softie or whatever. But I risked it for you, too. Maybe the luck’ll hold one more time. The chances of getting caught are a lot slimmer this time. I’ve got a good crew. They won’t talk, because it’d mark them as disloyals and they’d never get another berth.”
“Your mind’s made up, then?”
She nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Then I’m coming along, too.”
She sat up. “You? After I’ve been trying to get you out for weeks now?”
“Well, maybe if the president’s along the responsibility will be spread a bit.”
“No,” she said firmly. “Come on if you want—hell, I’d love to see you. But there’s only one person in charge of a boat, and that’s the captain. One person in charge absolutely, and one person who’s responsible for all aboard and their actions. That’s the law and that’s the way it has to be. Understand?”
“Okay, Captain,” I responded, and kissed her.
It was a foul morning with intermittent rain and mist, so that you were hardly aware it was past dawn. The sea looked choppy and the boats all rode up and down uneasily on the water. That worried me, but Dylan was actually in better spirits because of it.
“We’ll all be in rain gear, so if anybody happens to be spying from Akeba House they’ll get no clues, not with these slickers, and with her hair tucked up under the rain hat”
She had briefed her crew the day before in the privacy of the open sea. Nobody had objected. They knew her almost as well as I did, if not better, and she had their absolute respect.
The boat had a name—Thunder Dancer—but it was usually used only officially. Informally, it was always “Dylan’s boat” or just “the boat”
We stayed inside the aft cabin where we had schemed and plotted not that long before, and a crewman fitted us with life jackets and briefed us. Dylan, at the wheel, was busy and we respected that.
“You can both swim, can’t you?” the crewman asked, half joking.
“Yeah, although I’m not sure how far and how fast” I responded. “It’s a shame we have to go out on such a rotten day.”
He laughed. “Oh, this is a good day. You ought to be here when we get in really rough weather. Waves over the bow, and even we crewmen puking as we hold it together. Don’t worry about this, though. The front’s only three or four kilometers out, and we’re going a lot farther than that today. We should have warm and sunny weather by midmoming.” And, somewhat to my surprise, we did.
It was an education to watch the fleet move out, the trawlers chugging along slowly with two hunter-killers as escorts while we, as one of the two point boats, cleared the harbor and its buoys and flashing lights. We suddenly rose on two skilike rails, thus tilting the whole boat back as it poured on the speed, suddenly freed of having the bulk of its mass push against the water.
“I have to be at station,” the crewman told us. “You can go up to the bridge now if you want, but hold on to the handrails at all time.”
I looked aft at the rapidly receding shoreline, half hidden in fog and mist, and at the wide wake we were leaving. The shoreline itself appeared ghostly, the great mass of trees rising from the water in and out of fog, punctured only by some distant lights.
“Oh, God! Isn’t this great!” Sanda enthused, rushing from one window to another. She was like a little kid again, squealing, oohing, aahing, and just having a grand old time.
And there I was, the grand old veteran space pilot, feeling funny in my stomach. But that old me had been in a different body. Still, Dylan had come out on occasion in this body and seemingly had had no trouble, so that wasn’t the whole explanation.
“Let’s go up to the bridge,” I suggested as we broke through the squall line and were suddenly hit by sunlight.
“Great! Lead on!”
We walked through the interior, past the electronic detection gear and biomonitors that would locate the masses of skrit on or near the surface and would also warn of borks, through the small galley and up a small set of steps to the bridge itself. There Dylan was sitting, relaxed, in the broad, comfortable captain’s chair with an idle hand on the wheel, looking out. She turned as we entered and smiled. “Well! How do you like it so far?”
“Tremendous!” Sanda enthused. “Oh, Dylan, I can never repay you for thisl”
Dylan took her hand from the wheel, got up, and hugged Sanda. The look on our captain’s face said that the attitude alone was more than payment enough.
“Hey!” I yelled. “Who’s driving?”
Dylan laughed. “The autopilot, of course. I’ve programmed in the course and set it for automatic after we lifted. No more attention required until we get to our zone for the day.”
I felt a bit foolish and even a little ashamed. The same guy who bearded lions in their dens and was confident of taking on Wagant Laroo, who’d piloted starships through trackless voids, was damned scared out here in an alien ocean with no land closer than two kilometers-straight down.
“You look a little green,” she joked, looking in my direction. “If I were the mean sort I’d find some really rough water and give you a workout—but don’t worry, I love you and I won’t.”
The rest of the morning we sat around talking, occasionally bringing Dylan a cup of coffee or light snack from the mini-galley or doing the same for the crew.