CHAPTER NINE
“Agent Corbusier, the station is requesting a channel,” Thompson told the agent politely.
Pierre Corbusier sat up straight and adjusted his uniform. “Establish one.”
The holotank resolved to an image of the same mask they saw from Forge V.
“Agent, I will be reboarding the ship,” the mask intoned. “After I have arrived, see me in the former captain’s quarters. I’ll deliver the landing coordinates at that time.”
“Of course, monsieur.”
The holotank connection ended.
Corbusier fumed silently, never letting a slight hint escape about his growing frustrations about dealing with Champollion and having to handle the crew. And now what was he supposed to do? Champollion gave no time frame, no details about his return. Was he just supposed to sit here on the bridge until he was summoned? Apparently so. He was starting to understand Bedford’s obvious tensions about the academic. Corbusier was also starting to wish he wasn’t gaining further insight into Bedford’s troubles.
Aveline stood next to the captain’s chair, her face impassive, her stance loose and ready. Her eyes were blank and unfocused. Corbusier had no idea what was going through her head. At least she showed solidarity with him, especially now, when he needed it the most.
For lack of anything productive to do, Corbusier remained seated. The transfer of command had unlocked the Fox’s datafeeds for him. He scrolled through screens of data without really understanding what he was looking at. The Confederates’ ship was just enough like the kingdom’s ships to confuse him. What he could understand all looked sufficient. The scrolling became performative more than for information. Corbusier suppressed a sigh. He drew on years of training and experience to deal with this. The screens kept scrolling data.
Lucas found himself back in the cargo bay. What does a captain do without a ship or crew? had occupied his thoughts until he realized where he was.
The four of them were still working on the cargo writing problem. They stopped as soon as they spotted Bedford.
“Atten-tion!” Henderson called out as they all stood straight and snapped a salute.
“I’m not your captain.”
They held the salute.
Lucas sighed, and returned it. “As you were.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but while the Crown might have temporary control of the Red Fox, that doesn’t change your responsibilities toward us,” Henderson explained.
Lucas nodded sharply. “Thank you,” was all he managed to say.
“Sir, we’ve made some progress,” LeRoy said. “The rules are complex, as we had guessed. That said, we’ve hit something of an impasse.”
“Show me,” Lucas requested, glad to be distracted with something, anything.
“Holt, Norwood, reset the crates to position fifty-seven. Davis adjusted the gravity to fifty percent.”
The two men reorganized the crates with Henderson checking the sheet. Soon, the room was a strange arrangement of crates at different levels.
“Now, stand behind me again, please.” LeRoy waited until the men were arranged behind him and then activated his keyboard.
The song was haunting and beautiful, if slow. LeRoy played different bars as the crates slowly descended, showing different configurations of the writing as they passed by LeRoy’s line of sight. However, the song ended discordantly.
“That was at half speed. I won’t delve too deep into the details, but the measurement times are encoded in the upper left corner, the order in the upper right, as expressed in ratios. The musical tones are ones I liked to hear, I have no idea if the instrumentation is even close to what it should be. Let me play it at full speed.”
The music was still haunting. This time, though, Lucas thought he could hear a droning sound underneath.
“Let me play the other configuration that seemed to be in the right direction.”
The second song was similar with a different tempo. Again, the last few measures were discordant.
“Everything else has fallen apart too early, or started wrong, or both,” LeRoy explained. “I don’t know if we’re tantalizingly close to a solution to explain something, or we just accidentally stumbled into what appears to be order because of apophenia.”
“Play it again, Ensign, but stop before it goes off the rails,” Lucas requested. “Also, loop it with the other one.”
“Aye, sir.”
Lucas closed his eyes as he listened. He tapped his foot along. The songs looped a few times. He stopped and his eyes flew open.
“Henderson, it’s not exact, but you know this song,” he spoke in a hushed tone.
“What? How!”
“LeRoy, replace the instruments with fiddle and banjo.”
LeRoy’s eyes widened. “On it. You don’t think?”
“Just play it.”
The songs restarted, this time played by fiddle and banjo. Partway through, Bedford started humming, then, with his eyes half closed and in a low voice, sang.
“The cause of my Master compelled me from home, I bade my companions farewell; I blessed my dear children who for me now mourn, In far distant regions they dwell.”
“By the stars and God’s footstool, Lucas, that’s a near match to ‘The Lone Pilgrim’!” Henderson breathed. “And the second song has to be ‘Wayfaring Stranger.’ What does this mean?”
Lucas looked at LeRoy. The ensign shook his head.
Holt and Norwood waited until the song looped back and started to sing.
“I am a poor wayfaring stranger, Traveling through this world of woe. There is no sickness, toil, nor danger In that bright world to which I go.”
Henderson and LeRoy joined in.
“I’m going there to see my Father, I’m going there no more to roam; I’m only going over Jordan, I’m only going over home. I know dark clouds will gather ‘round me, I know my way is rough and steep; But golden fields lie out before me, Where the redeemed shall ever keep. I’m going there to see my Mother, She said she’d meet me when I come; I’m only going over Jordan, I’m only going over home.”
The five men harmonized the ending measures.
The crates hummed in response.
“Agent Corbusier, I have returned. Please see me in my quarters. Do not keep me waiting.”
Champollion’s voice over the intercom startled Corbusier more than he wanted to admit.
“Yes, sir.”
Corbusier nodded to Aveline, and the two of them left to see what Champollion wanted.
The last notes still hung in the air when Thompson’s voice cut in over the intercom.
“Cap,” Thompson hissed over the intercom in the cargo bay. “Lucas! Champollion is back on board, and back in your quarters!”
“What? How?”
“Same way he left, I’m guessing.”
“Fantastic. Alright, LeRoy, how do we put this back together?”
“Sir, I have a drawing.”
“Of course. Well, let’s get moving!”
As quickly as they could, they restored the crates to where they had been before LeRoy had started experimenting.
“Chief Davis, restore full gravity in the cargo bay,” LeRoy requested over the channel to Engineering.
They did one more pass to confirm everything was squared away.
Lucas bade the men farewell and headed up to the observation deck, humming the ‘Wayfaring Stranger’ as he ascended his ship.
The two odd servants flanked the door to Champollion’s commandeered quarters.
“Go in, the master is waiting,” the sourceless voice said.
Corbusier strode in as the door slid open, Aveline right behind him.
The old man waited in his life-support chair.
“Monsieur Champollion,” Corbusier said with an extended leg.
“On this chip is our destination coordinates and the flight path you must take, including the angle of approach and atmospheric entry time. The atmosphere is thin, and yet does not lack its own set of peculiarities which must needs be accounted for as a matter of course.”
“Of course, monsieur.”
“Dismissed.”
Corbusier bowed.
“Wait. The former captain?” Champollion’s eyes glittered bright and hard.
Corbusier looked the strange man in the eyes. “He knows his place.”
“Oh? I doubt that.”
And with that, the two agents withdrew.
Almost back to the bridge, Aveline collapsed in giggles. “I am so sorry, Pierre!” she managed to gasp out.
Corbusier stood by stiffly, failing to see the humor.
Finally, after wiping the tears from her eyes, Aveline cleared her throat. “Don’t you see, Pierre? Despite everything, it is Lucas who has captured the interest of Champollion!”
Corbusier stiffened even more. “I know.”
Lucas adjusted the couch and tipped his head back to look straight up and into the vast velvet sky. The stars spread out like so many jewels, unfathomably distant, yet so close he felt like he could reach up and touch them.
Pastor Blanchett sat down in the lounge.
“How are you holding up, Lucas?”
Lucas kept his gaze on the stars. He didn’t resent the man’s presence–it just wasn’t what he wanted right now. But Lucas knew the man meant well.
“As good as can be expected. Better, really.”
The pastor chuckled. “It’s because this forced you to actually relax, Lucas.”
This time, Lucas did glance over at the other man. “You didn’t arrange this, did you?” he asked in part jest.
“Oh no! You found me out! As a cast-off of the Kingdom, taken under a foreigner’s wing, I still was able to manipulate the most powerful academic of known space to relieve you of your command!”
Lucas laughed and dropped back into his couch, letting the sweep of stars reclaim his view. “It’s good you admitted that, Bastion. I hear confession is good for the soul.”
The two men sat quietly for a few minutes.
“I should have brought something to drink,” Blanchett said.
“Yes, you should have. I’m not sure if I’m allowed access to the ship’s stores,” Lucas said with a wry chuckle.
“All hands, this is acting captain Corbusier. We will begin transfer down to the planet’s surface in seven hours.” The intercom cut through the lounge with a brisk efficiency.
“You know, Agent Corbusier hates being put in charge like this,” Blanchett commented.
“I wouldn’t go as far as calling it ‘hate,’ Pastor.”
Blanchett shrugged. “Call it whatever, he’s clearly not enjoying it.”
Lucas nodded thoughtfully. “He’s a complex man.”
The pastor laughed. “Hello, pot, this is kettle!”
Lucas scoffed. “Well, we have several hours to kill. Do you want to see what LeRoy discovered about those crates?”
Blanchett broke into a beaming smile. “Of course! Lead the way, Captain!”