The platform slid out through the open aperture of a hatch, wobbled a little as it adjusted to the new bearing, and sailed on over the landing field. After a few seconds, Alex really did forget all his troubles.
He was home….
Although it had lost its former prominence, the spaceport was still fully alive. Two shuttles were landing simultaneously. At a distance, Alex identified them as a couple of old Manta Rays, maybe the third or fourth model. He guessed what they were not so much by their shape as by the piloting trajectory and landing speed. In the middle of the field, spreading wide the three rings of its supports, stood a heavy Cachalot freighter, probably of the maximum tonnage allowable in this spaceport. From it crawled a line of auto-loaders clutching tanks and containers in their grippers. Working on a delicate pleasure ship, Otter, were small repair-robots that crawled along the ship’s surface, checking and repairing the skin.
Here was the only place worth living. Here and in flight.
Alex was smiling.
His mood was no longer affected by the dull grayness of the sky, where smog and rain clouds blended into a foul-smelling cocktail. Above this sky was another, clear and boundless, created for the freedom of flight… for him personally.
Then the platform skirted the Otter, and Alex saw his own ship. Mirror stood in the launch-ready position. It looked as though a giant discus hurled by a titan had stopped in midair and remained, hovering above the ground, in no hurry to soar into the sky. A bio-ceramic disc of ninety-eight point four feet in diameter, six supports, three main engines in a slightly unusual arrangement clustered in the stern… well, that might even be a good thing. The bulge of the bridge deck was slightly larger than average for a vessel of this size. It looked like co-piloting was possible.
Alex swallowed to get rid of a lump in his throat.
Mirror was blindingly beautiful. The perfect ship, with its enlarged bridge, its unusual engine configuration, the tender green of its armor…
It was love at first sight. Just the ship’s appearance was enough.
The same feeling as when a person capable of love is shaken at the sight of a face in a crowd. There might be dozens, hundreds, or thousands of other faces around, but they all are no longer important.
Sometimes Alex regretted not being able to love other humans. But only till he fell in love with a ship.
“Hello…” he whispered, gazing at Mirror.
The platform slowed down. Alex jumped down onto the concrete and walked up to the ship. Reached over, touching the armor carefully with just his fingertips. The bio-ceramic surface was warm and resilient. Alive.
“You know who I am…” said Alex quietly. “Right? You can see me… Hello…”
He went around the ship, touching the armor with his hand as far up as he could reach. The ship was silent. It was studying him, too.
“Do you like me?”
Now he was glad that there was no one aboard. This was his moment. Or, rather, he shared this moment with the ship.
“Receive your captain.”
The identity chip below his collarbone remained motionless. Mirror had not requested a full identity check. And that was nice. It was a sign of reciprocity. Of trust.
A hatch opened overhead, and down slid a ladder with a small platform on the bottom end. Alex stepped onto it and let the ship take him up inside.
The cargo bay turned out to be standard. Three high-speed spacesuit blocks, a strapped-in scooter. Alex waited for the skin plating to grow together beneath his feet, stepped off the platform, which had become part of the floor, and walked over to the central hall of the ship.
So far, everything was as usual. The configuration of the ship dictated the layout of the inner quarters, with only one alteration—the side engines had been moved aft and replaced by battle stations. The inspection should always start with them. Then he had to open the envelope with instructions in the captain’s quarters, and only after that, proceed to the bridge. But now he did not give a damn about the prescribed procedure. He started walking toward the bridge. The ship ran a gentle wave of light in front of him along the hallway, adjusting to his speed rather than setting the pace.
“Captain’s access,” said Alex, stopping in front of a hatch.
This time, his identification chip pulsated. The ship could not give him complete control without a full identity check.
Then the hatch door drew itself into the wall.
The bridge was indeed constructed for two pilots. Alex stood for a moment, evaluating the small oval space—the screens in the walls shone with a matte whiteness, the pilot chairs were open, the reserve panels fully charged.
All was normal. He had been afraid that a two-person bridge on such a small ship might turn out to be uncomfortable. But so far he saw no such thing. The captain’s pilot’s chair was slightly in front of the other one—an appropriate symbol. Maybe two pilots would even be a good thing.
Although a lot depended on who became the co-pilot.
Alex walked over to the pilot’s chair. Lay down, fastened himself in manually.
The ship waited patiently.
Alex closed his eyes.
Was it fear? No… not fear. More like excitement, the kind a teenager feels before his first kiss, when it is already sure to happen, lips nearing each other… but everything still undiscovered, wonderful, never experienced by anyone ever before…
Alex had been a master-pilot on ships far larger than Mirror, but had captain’s access only on the old training-vessel, a Heron, one of three at the flight academy.
To continue the analogy—the Heron was a whore. An experienced, skillful, good-natured prostitute, each day instructing another young novice in the art of flying. Alex remembered his first ship, thought of it often with warmth and gratitude, but now everything was different.
Or would be…
“Contact…” he said, dropping back in his pilot’s chair.
And felt a warm wave take root in the back of his head, and then, flaring up, rush through his body. The altered neurons of the occipital lobe of his brain entered into a resonance with the neuro-terminal.
The world vanished. It died away in a blinding flash, and then was reborn.
Alex turned into his ship.
He stretched. Every bit of his discus-shaped body quivered slightly on its supports. Felt the beat of the ship’s gluon reactor. He turned on his sensors and took in the space around the port. The newly-landed Manta Rays, a Cayman just entering the stratosphere, sharp needles of gliders, dipping and soaring over the city, beyond the no-fly zone…
But this was not yet the complete confluence. Somewhere very close, almost interwoven with his consciousness, the ship had its own life. It was lending him its body—it became an extension of his mind—and yet it was watching him from a distance. Alex turned off the sensors and remained in the dark silence of the inner space.
One-on-one with the rainbow-colored haze.
“Touch me…”
Iridescent fog, sun-illuminated clouds, swarming lights.
“Become one with me…”
The rainbow trembled and spilled into a rain of flares.
They became one being.
Spaceships, like supercomputers, fully automated factories, ocean liners, and other semi-animate creatures, were not true individuals. Humans did not need competitors. Some people thought that the artificial minds of ships were limited to the intelligence level of dogs; others compared them to rats. Which comparison was most flattering was a matter of opinion.