Gingezel 2: Bad to Worse

By Judi Suni Hall and Donald S. Hall

Gingezel 2: Bad to Worse, Illustrated 2nd Edition with AI Art by Judi Suni Hall and Donald S. Hall

Guilt can destroy you. But there is no time for guilt with the Drezvir colony in peril.

In the second novel in the epic Gingezel sci fi series Dr. Mitra Kael, Power Systems Engineer is en route to Drezvir to face the deadly consequences of the overpower of her reactor.

Dr. Durstin Fallor, Chief Power Engineer on the planet, is facing those consequences in a much more real way. He is struggling to keep the colony alive in a red blizzard.

Her lover Dreen, head of Nemizcan Computing, is frantic to find Mitra but he has other problems. His hackers are losing their battle. His VP of Marketing is in for emergency surgery requiring Dreen to return to H.O. And just as he’s about to leave, musician friend Bojo reveals the truth of his disfiguring ‘accident’ and asks for dangerous help seeking revenge.

Joran desperately wants to help his best friend Dreen and to find Mitra. Unfortunately those aren’t the same thing. He has come out of hiding and reclaimed his position as one of the galaxy’s top pop stars with a poignant love song to Mitra. Still mentally fragile and fighting his drug addiction, no one, including Joran, knows what he will do.

Chett Linderson, Nemizcan’s VP of Field Operations, is the link between all of these events. He’s vindictive and plays mean. He learns it’s always a mistake to ask what else can go wrong as he is forced into a decision. Will he go after his dreams, or tear them up and be the hero?

Science fiction by scientists. Cliffhanger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gingezel Inc
• Release date: Jan 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9798215365052

Judi Suni Hall

I am sharing this author page with my husband and co-author Donald S. Hall.Co-authors Judi Suni Hall, PhD. and Donald S. Hall, PhD. have shared their lives and careers since marrying as undergrads.They both did PhD’s in theoretical physics, then moved into industry and worked at AECL, Canada’s nuclear research lab.Judi’s PhD. is in theoretical nuclear physics, the kind of modeling used to do stellar interiors. Judi started out designing safety systems for Candu reactors. She shifted to industrial risk analysis, ending up Technical Manager of AECL’s RARE (Risk and Reliability Evaluation) Consultancy. In that capacity she worked with a number of industries, including the Canadian Space Agency at the time when the Canadian involvement in International Space Station was first being defined. That lead to the permanent love of the idea of humanity spreading into space.Don’s PhD. is in theoretical physics modeling liquids. Don started out doing research in the design of self-powered neutron detectors, then moved to tomography, and finally Artificial Intelligence. In that role he had the opportunity to work with some of Canada’s leading experts in Artificial Intelligence.En-route to represent Canada at a NASA conference Judi caught a severe virus that changed both of their lives. She shared the infection and the next 10 years were a write off as they struggled to rebuild their lives.Don now runs Apps & More Software Design. It has recently expanded into psychiatric testing on the iPad and iPhone in collaboration with a Johns Hopkins trained psychiatrist. He also has the caregiver role since Judi spends almost half of her time in bed unable to even read.In addition to writing science fiction, Judi and Don are internationally published haiga poets.

Book preview

Chapter 1

As the Genie hurled up from Candi Dua through the Gingezel atmosphere. Mitra had never been subjected to so many g’s. There was good reason why the Genie design made the best hyperspatial racing yacht in the galaxy! Her tiny frame was forced back into a seat designed for passengers of average size. Usually she cursed the problem, but this time she was unaware of the discomfort bordering on pain. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered. She was going back to Drezvir.

She’d sworn she would never visit that rock pit of a mining planet again. Mitra had been proud of her work there, proud of her hybrid reactor. She had hated every minute there though, hated the place, hated being an Outsider.

Talk about false pride. The damn thing blew up! Dr. Mitra Kael, Power Systems Engineer. Right. In a quiet way Mitra had been so pleased to be having her own design implemented. Her design was going change the colonists lives, give them a level of comfort they had never dreamed of. Sure. The reality was that the system blew and took the geothermal energy base out with it. The colonists who were going to be so much better off were now fighting for their lives to survive a red blizzard on backup power.

It was all her fault. Tranngol and Elin from Risk and Safety were telling her not to jump to conclusions, but Ari was right. She’d messed up. Not just messed up, killed people.

Now that she couldn’t keep busy organizing her departure there was no way to hide from the facts. Blayne and Max were dead. Blayne, Lilla’s husband, sweet Tessa’s father. The limited report said that the same mining crew she had worked with to install the geothermal units were fusing an unstable rock wall when the power went. Blayne and Max were directly under it. Galaxy! She hope the rest of them weren’t still in the mine.

Mitra tried to raise her hands to cover her face but the webbing held them immobile. She blinked large unfocused blue eyes. A tear escaped, then another until they formed a river on each cheek. Her dark hair framed a face that was ashen.

Where was Dreen? She needed him here with her. No, of course, not here. He had nothing to do with Drezvir. She needed to have seen him, told him. In her mind she saw him, so comfortable and loving. He had never said he loved her, but his eyes did. His appearance wasn’t anything special, medium height, medium build, lived-in face, dark hair already graying. But their time together had been so special. Why had she kept it like that, an isolated bubble in time? She didn’t even know how to reach him once he left the Crescent Bay hotel. She should have left a message, but she couldn’t do it. How did you say something like I killed some people to a blank screen. Dreen! Sobs started to keep her tears company and the shaking was back.

***

Dreen, the oriental man at the desk called when they were about halfway across the opulent lobby. Mitra’s been calling for you every five minutes. He turned back to the elderly couple who were checking in.

Every five minutes? Joran raised his expressive eyebrows. She sounds serious. You’d better be careful my friend. You’re one of the last surviving bachelors. There was more than a hint of teasing in his brown eyes and on his black face.

Serious is fine by me, Dreen said as a smile spread across his comfortable, slightly rugged face that was showing a bit of color from the sun.

He was in a surprisingly good mood for a man whose software system had just been destroyed by a hacker. His back ache from the all-nighter spent trying to solve the problems had eased by the time they reached the harbor-side restaurant, and they had lingered over a long lunch of delicious white fish. They had sat and talked about Bojo, although Joran had skated around what Bojo wanted and simply said that he would have Bojo come talk to Dreen when Dreen woke up from his nap.

Then they had talked about the composition software Dreen was designing for Joran, and Joran’s plans for turning the M single he had written for Mitra and Maillie into an album. It had been so good to see Joran looking the way he used to, lean, black, handsome, confident. The Galactic pop superstar, not a drugged wreck. Apparently the album was almost finished. Now that Joran was over his block, all the music that had been tumbling around in his head was insisting on being captured. The album would be a total departure for him and the Anton Band, consisting exclusively of romantic lyrical ballads like the love song M, with nothing experimental. After that, Joran had said he’d see.

Reluctant to leave, they had continued talking about nothing in particular. That had taken them through probably too much wine for midday, but Dreen was headed for sleep and wine never seemed to bother Joran. Then just because it was such a gorgeous day they had walked even further down the harbor, watching the half a dozen or so sail boats heading out into the lake. Dreen had to admit that although he should be viewing the hacker attack as a disaster, or at least as a serious problem, he couldn’t remember a recent time when his work had been such fun.

Alone with Joran in the elevator Dreen said, You know, I almost proposed the other night.

Almost? Joran prompted.

You know how it is. The mood was right, and I was thinking about it, but I hesitated. To be honest, I was afraid she’d say no. Then the waiter came along and the mood changed. The elevator door opened and they stepped out. There hasn’t been a right time since.

Then make one now, you bloody fool! Joran said gruffly. I’ll get lost.

Dreen shook his head. It won’t take me ten minutes to show you what I mean on that interface.

With the Nemizcan tool kit templates he could mockup the essential features of a design in minutes. In this case, Joran was looking for composition software where he could take advantage of his synesthesia and paint music.

I’ve got a suspicion the palette approach we usually use won’t give you the speed and fluidity you want creating shapes, but it’s easier to show you why. Why don’t you take a drink out on the balcony? Then, Dreen smiled, you can be the first to congratulate us - or help me finish getting drunk.

Dreen didn’t really expect Mitra to say no. And Joran was right. He’d been stalling. The only thing wrong was that Mitra wasn’t here, and they couldn’t celebrate the way he’d like to. But he’d fly her here, and they’d fix that.

Joran hesitated. He wasn’t sure he want to be around for something personal like a proposal, and definitely not this proposal. But he did want that interface finished, and he seemed to temporarily have Dreen’s full attention. He shrugged and they stepped into the opulent apricot and green room that served as Dreen’s home until the Nemizcan Computing’s UltraSecure Hyperweb was on Gingezel. He got a mineral water from the bar fridge, and headed for the balcony.

Dreen waited until the sliding door closed, then put the call through. He knew he had a stupid smile on his face, but it all felt so right. He knew nothing could go wrong.

The elderly woman at the desk answered, not Mitra in her room. I think Miss Kael has been trying to reach me?

Oh, Dr. Pendi. She’s gone.

Well, almost nothing could go wrong. Sightseeing must have finally won. He couldn’t blame her. Depending on when she started calling, she could have been trying for a while. They hadn’t hurried lunch.

Dreen said tolerantly, Did she say when she’d be back? Mitra had flatly refused to get an on-planet number for her compad so he had to call the hotel room to reach her.

You don’t understand. She checked out.

Checked out?

To Dreen it had always been a ridiculous cliché, but his world turned upside down. She wasn’t calling to say she loved him. She was calling to say goodbye. But that was impossible. He remembered their loving as well as sexy farewell, his whispering to the half asleep Mitra from the doorway that he loved her. It was the first time he’d kept a pilot waiting on the runway. She couldn’t have left him.

The woman was watching his face. They had seemed like such a nice happy couple. She was sure the trouble had nothing to do with Dr. Pendi. She gave a fast glance first at the concierge’s desk, then to the manager’s office. But everyone was busy.

She said hurriedly, I shouldn’t be saying, but a secure sealed call came from off-planet, and she booked a Genie to leave right away. She had me calling you every five minutes until she left for the spaceport. She was very upset.

When did she leave?

Thirty-five or forty minutes ago.

She left while he was laughing with Joran. Dreen felt sick. They’d been fooling around, and Mitra had been facing some crisis alone. She needed him, he was sure of that, and he hadn’t been there for her. And now she was gone.

Did she leave a message or forwarding address? He was hoping against hope, but he had to ask.

I’m sorry Dr. Pendi.

Well, thank you for your help. Dreen was preparing to break the connection, but the woman spoke quickly.

I’m sure this isn’t the time to ask, but will you be wanting your room kept until you return?

Return? What for? No, Dreen said curtly. Could you have housekeeping pack my things and ship them here? He had only packed a bare minimum in his attaché - underwear, pajama bottoms, an extra shirt. He’d planned on a quick round of damage control then returning to Mitra.

Certainly. A courier will have them there later today. She broke off.

***

For a long moment Dreen start blankly at the space where the woman had been, then he pushed himself to his feet, needing the help of both palms flat on the table. Reluctantly Dreen walked to the balcony door. Joran was leaning out over the railing watching something going on on the terrace below. He didn’t move as the door opened.

Dreen spoke to his back. She’s gone.

Joran stood for a long moment not seeing the children on the terrace below. They were the same ones he had played with yesterday, and the little girl with her short brown pigtails and bright blue eyes had turned a few moments earlier, seen him and waved. Now all he could do was hear the words ‘she’s gone’.

Mitra had left Dreen! That meant she was free, that Dreen didn’t have prior claim any more. He felt an intense, primitive surge of emotion, and stood there bent over the railing trying to compose himself before turning around. It seemed to Joran that it took forever to calm that wash of emotion, to be able to see the lake, the terrace, the laughing children. When he dared, he straightened up and turned around, his eyes searching Dreen’s face. His friend looked twenty years older, and his skin was a sick color. Comparing Dreen to how he had looked half an hour ago Joran couldn’t stand it.

Where?

I don’t know. She got an urgent off-planet call and booked a Genie. She left for the spaceport thirty-five or forty minutes ago.

Then she might still be there. Joran shouldered Dreen aside and ran through the doorway.

*****

Chapter 2

Dreen didn’t have the energy to come back inside. What did it matter? She was gone. Behind his back he heard Joran muttering to himself with increasing impatience as he was shunted from person to person. Apparently he finally hit success.

Miss Kael? Yes she booked with us earlier today.

I need to speak to her.

I’m very sorry, Kristina, the woman who had handled the departure, said, but the flight has departed.

So, where’s it going? Contacting the Genie class of hyperspatial yacht mid route was tricky. Joran knew that from his own. Most pilots refused calls. He’d just get a runaround if he asked her to try that.

I’m sorry, sir. Kristina gave the poorly groomed T-shirted man the benefit of the doubt with a ‘sir.’ After all this was Gingezel. I’m not allowed to give out that information.

Bloody hell you’re not. I -

That outburst brought Dreen around with a snap. Joran!

Joran gave him an indifferent look and returned his attention to the fresh faced young woman whose was freezing into ice. Appearance had him mistaking Kristina’s age and authority.

Kristina had had plenty of experience in dealing with difficult members of the public. This one she judged as touchy at best, impossible when he wanted to be, and currently very upset. She was glad he was elsewhere and calling her, not directly across from her at her desk.

Listen you little idiot. I want to talk to your superior and - He’d get the little bitch fired. What the hell were they doing hiring someone like that? He hadn’t set this planet up to run like this. Besides being furious, as the creator of the Gingezel consortium Joran had strong ideas about exactly what the visitor experience on this luxury planet should be like.

Shut up Joran! Dreen was close enough now for Joran to have to notice. He took hold of a shoulder and roughly pulled Joran out of the seat at the console and took it himself. He spoke to the icy mask. I apologize for my friend’s behavior. My name is Dr. Dreen Pendi, President of Nemizcan Computing. Given the treatment you just had, I don’t expect you to accept that at face value. May I transmit my credentials?

The woman’s head inclined slightly. Dreen pressed his wrist cuff into the appropriate spot, and waited while his identity and professional credentials were transmitted and the woman read them. The glacier thawed slightly.

Kristina liked her current Nemizcan interface. There had been some problems with it when the spaceport introduced the Genie service. The man she understood was actually going to run the Gingezel Hub came all the way from Crescent Bay to fix them himself. He had said his name was Wayd and apologized that he had meant to send someone competent but they had called in sick so he hoped he remembered how to do interface design, not just boss people around. That had just been self deprecation though, Wayd had done an excellent job. She’d heard Nemizcan Computing was improving the Gingezel hyperweb with a new ultra-secure version, and when she asked Wayd, he had told her about it. It would really make her job easier.

So this was the man who ran the company. Kristina looked at Dreen with some interest. He was a pleasant enough looking businessman, early middle-age she’d judge by the greying hair, but not feeling well.

She said politely enough, How can I help you Dr. Pendi?

I really do need to contact Miss Kael as soon as possible. I appreciate you can’t say where she’s going, but can you take a message and relay it if you should be in contact with her?

There was no sense asking the woman to send a message to wherever Mitra was going. She would refuse that as she had refused to give Mitra’s destination.

Kristina thought. I don’t see why not, but you know a Genie rarely checks in with either its departure port or destination port mid run.

Yes, but if by chance they do, it will save me time. Just tell her Dreen Pendi of Nemizcan Computing needs to talk to her right away, and if she can’t reach me easily on Gingezel, my executive assistant at Head Office will know how to contact me at anytime. And Lindy would too. Dreen wasn’t going to make any more mistakes of that sort.

It was a harmless enough message. Kristina repeated the warning it would probably never be delivered, and disconnected wondering what it was really about. She sighed. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet, and it was looking like one of those days. Besides that nut case just now, she owed personal favors to two caterers and four chefs for depleting their supplies to fill the Genie Miss Kael was travelling on. And, if she wanted life to stay reasonably pleasant she’d better start making those chefs happy before it was lunch time and they had unhappy diners on their hands.

***

She could have told you where Mitra was going. Joran was angry, leaning against the wall and staring down at Dreen.

No she could not, Dreen said shortly. If it had been you on the Allegro, and I had been some singularly unpleasant member of the press you were dodging, what would you want her to do? He took the sullen silence as agreement on the point. There are better ways.

Joran brightened. You’re right. If she didn’t get hold of you, she probably called home, assuming that isn’t where she’s going. You can just call there and get her folks to tell you where she’s headed.

If I knew where home was. Dreen was talking to his shoes.

You don’t know? Joran was incredulous. What the hell have you two been doing? Never mind, cancel that question. I can guess. He rubbed his hand across his face. Okay, what about the hotel here? They’ve got to have her home address. It’s the first place she stayed at and -

Dreen cut across him, And they are no more going to give it out than the spaceport, for exactly the same reason!

C’mon Dreen. Joran’s expressive face showed his incredulity. You’ve been living and working here for months. These guys know you. All you have to do is ask.

I will not take advantage of that Joran, anymore than you will take advantage of the fact you own this planet. Besides, he added hastily after looking at Joran’s face, would you want them to tell another guest who you were and give them your private address just because that guest had been around long enough to become familiar to the front desk?

Dreen was being impossible.

Don’t you want to find her? The look of pain on Dreen’s face made Joran want to bite back his words.

Of course I do. And I will. Have you ever heard of databases? he asked sarcastically.

Joran actually smiled. Oh, I see. The Gingezel UltraSecure Hyperweb man isn’t going to admit to the locals he hasn’t got around to finding out his lady’s contact information. He’s just going to quietly pull it from the database. Nice move, he added approvingly.

No by galaxy he is not! Dreen exploded. How the hell could I pretend to be providing a secure - I repeat secure - hyperweb if I have no more morals than that myself? And, assuming morals are a totally irrelevant issue to you, he glared at Joran, let me remind you that such information will be on the old Gingezel hyperweb, not on the Nemizcan one and it will be stored with high security. They will routinely monitor for unauthorized insider or outsider access, report it, and probably figure out who it was. You already have a good system and good staff. How the hell do I explain my breach to Ralin? Ralin Heusgar was the head of Gingezel Security.

Tell him you’re in love!

He would kill Dreen in about another minute. Joran stalked out to the balcony and took a steadying breath. He couldn’t get Dreen’s face out of his mind. He wondered if he’d made any more sense when he first heard about Maillie’s death. He remembered walking offstage mid-concert and the flight to Dreen. Probably not. He went back in.

I’m sorry, Joran said simply. What are you going to do?

Use the legitimate databases.

Right. Joran forgot he was humoring Dreen. There can’t be more than a few million M. Kael’s out there. You want to die of old age first?

Have you forgotten I started my career with an involuntary stint of database management? It’s not that impossible a job.

Dreen was totally sincere. He already had about half of the filters he needed worked out in his mind. Of course there were the obvious ones of age and sex. He would also try putting in a minimum level of education and income bracket, if he could remember the bases that were likely to be publicly accessible and more than just glorified address books. Just by her conversation he was sure Mitra had a college or university degree, but he’d better not bound that one too tightly. If he could access bases with physiological data, her height would really thin the sample down. But with everyone’s identifying characteristics on their wrist cuffs, stored physiological data was pretty much restricted to medical bases, and they had some of the tightest access justification requirements around.

Now, who else might collect that kind of data? He knew he was drifting off the point, but he didn’t care. He had to keep thinking, thinking about anything at all. He wouldn’t want to use a commercial search engine for these volumes of data either. What would they have back on Tranus at Head Office?

Joran had been standing there watching him. You’re punchy, he said bluntly, and even though I am trying to help - believe it or not - all I’m doing is making you angry. Do you want me to clear out, or is there some grunt work a layman can do on the database stuff?

Dreen focused on the impersonal hotel room, and realized with brutal impact why Joran had headed for his place when Maillie died. Yeah. Start with working out as many spellings as you can for Kael, and include all of the dialects with strange spellings I wouldn’t think of. Just because we’re all educated and have been speaking StanGalLan doesn’t mean it’s her first language. It isn’t yours.

StanGalLan was the common language of business between planets and fluency was a requirement for any university degree in the galaxy. So it had been adopted as the primary language on a lot of planets, including Dreen’s home planet Tranus and Gingezel. Joran however was from Laurion and his first language was Latino.

Also, think about whether or not she had an accent you can place. It would give an idea of what sector to start searching in and your ear is better than mine.

Joran nodded, but he stopped at the bar fridge on his way to the table and opened the door. He gave its contents an assessing look. He’d had a lot of chances to explore the possibilities in the bar fridges of luxury hotels. He selected a small bottle of liqueur usually used a few drops at a time to flavor other drinks. The manufacturers used a singularly interesting combination of mood altering herbs, and stopped just short of legal problems with the drug boys. It should see Dreen over the shock, and if he wasn’t paying attention, and Joran was betting he would not be, well down the road to out cold. Joran poured a solid double. For himself he poured a splash of his favorite rum derivative. He’d had it stocked in his and Dreen’s bars. Then he added a lot of mix. One of them had to stay sober. Joran walked back to the table and handed Dreen the drink.

Dreen was already lost in something he was entering in his compad’s notebook and took the glass automatically.

Thanks. Dreen took a drink, made a minor face without comment and went back to muttering to himself.

Joran took a sip of his own, and settled in a chair, alternating his attention between watching Dreen and thinking about languages. When the level in Dreen’s glass was noticeably lower and his color improved, he focused on Kael.

***

Shit!

This exclamation brought Dreen back to the hotel room with a start.

Joran slapped his compad down on the table with dangerous force. Do you know how many ways there are to spell Kael? There’s a C A L E , K A L E , C A I L, C A I L L E, C A Y L E -

The spelling lesson was interrupted by the tone of the communications center.

Hell. Dreen swore. He must have forgotten to turn his call tone on again. Sure it was Mitra, Dreen hurried over to the unit.

Dreen, you have an off planet call. Can you take it?

Yes.

The pathetically eager look on Dreen’s face told Joran what he was thinking: they’re between the first and second hyperspatial jumps and she’s calling. Dreen had used that time interval on his commercial class yacht to call Joran often enough. But Genies didn’t work that way. Every precious second was used by the crew to calculate the position for the next jump, then to shift to that position. Communication tied up both them and their equipment. Used to racing, the pilots all went flat out from one end of the run to the other. A call from a Genie mid route meant one thing - disaster. He judged the level in Dreen’s glass and prayed to who or whatever he had been praying to a lot these last few years that it was someone at Nemizcan.

*****

Chapter 3

Rodd Turpene, Dreen’s Vice-President of Marketing appeared. Five years older than Dreen, mid height, and sandy haired, he usually had an outgoing, professionally cheerful manner. Right now he did not look at all cheerful.

Dreen, I’m glad I caught you in your rooms. How’s the battle going with the hacker?

They had talked the night before.

The calling card managed to escape encapsulation and it took the system down about three, no four hours ago. The hacker didn’t erase anything, just added code for some really creative interference. Now we’re rechecking what he altered line by line to figure out why he hit certain points. We’re not predicting his moves all that well.

Oh oh. Then I probably have really bad timing. I had been going to ask you to come back to Head Office.

What’s the problem Rodd?

There had been no mention of problems in his last call, and it took a beaut to get Rodd asking for help. He was the type who could weather almost any storm.

This has nothing to do with Nemizcan, Dreen. It’s a personal problem. I went for a routine checkup this morning and the doctor found something that made him unhappy. Did a few diagnostics before they let me loose.

Rodd ran a hand through his hair, a sure sign to Dreen that Rodd was very upset. Rodd was particular about his hair style.

To make a long story short, I’m in for surgery in four days time. I tried to argue for more lead time, but it didn’t cut any ice. There’s going to be a fair convalescence and rehab too they tell me. Better part of a month, maybe more.

Assuming the surgery went well, but he was not admitting that part even to himself. Thank God for the tranquilizer they had given him before they let him loose. He kept feeling like he was watching and listening to someone else, but he was keeping moving and doing the things he had to. That mattered a lot to Rodd. Competence and unflappability were key parts of his self-image.

I hoped to spend at least half a day with you before then.

Dreen was perfectly aware of Rodd’s need to feel in control of things, and an excess of sympathy would be the last thing he wanted.

I’m truly sorry Rodd. Let me think.

Everything was taking on an air of total unreality for Dreen. First Mitra, now Rodd. Rodd wasn’t much older than he was. He’d spent just as much time in the gym. He couldn’t have a life-threatening illness, which was essentially what he’d just said. Dreen tried to put that out of his mind and be practical. The Exec, the corporate yacht, had been sent back to Head Office months ago. He’d have to charter. It was almost three days’ travel, two and a half anyway, even if he could get something right away.

It’s tight Rodd, without the Exec. Just in case I can’t make it, can you brief Chett to cover until I do?

Rodd looked at Dreen in real surprise. Dreen was always on top of the company.

Chett is on that swing to the periphery Dreen. He won’t reach the furthest point, Drezvir, for about a week depending on how the rest goes, then he has several stops on the way back.

Rodd hesitated. He and Chett pretty much functioned autonomously without direction from Dreen, but when it came right down to it, it was Dreen’s company and he called the shots.

Do you want me to call him back? He can’t get here before I go in, but if you have to stay on Gingezel.… Rodd let the sentence die.

Dreen had totally forgotten about Chett’s trip, and short of asking Rodd, he knew he wasn’t going to dredge up those other stops. But the one on Drezvir was worth the trip alone.

Nemizcan Computing had never done critical application software, but operator consoles were an interesting gray area and the recent ergonomic theory was that there would be fewer operator errors in the control room if they weren’t staring at the same displays all of the time. That made the easy-to-alternate and easy-to-modify Nemizcan interfaces a natural. Ari Dellmaice was extremely interested in how it turned out, and so was the Farr Sector Mining Guild since they would be building units of their own.

Equally important, the project was Chett’s first software development management effort, and Dreen knew how much it mattered to him. For some time Chett had been letting it be known he wanted to get a hand back in on the technical side, not just manage the hubs. He hadn’t been in a hurry he said since there had to be a fit that didn’t tie him to Head Office.

Drezvir had been that fit. Dreen hadn’t thought of Chett at the time he, Ari Dellmaice, Tina Kern from ContSaft who usually supplied the power station displays, and the various regulatory bodies explored the concept. At that time Chett had been perfectly happy touring the galaxy and managing the hubs. Dreen had assumed the work would largely be done by Jann and her team, with him there if she needed extra assistance. Needing help was unlikely though. Jann had been with Nemizcan Computing since start up and was their most senior interface designer. Then the inevitable delay between all of the excited talk and finding the right reactor to use such a system on had stretched longer than he expected, and to be quite honest Dreen had thought the project would never go ahead.

Then all of a sudden Ari wanted the system on Drezvir for use with a hybrid reactor bought by the Farrese Mining Guild. By then Dreen had been tied up on the Gingezel UltraSecure Hyperweb. With the operator console system being installed in the Farr sector there would be a lot more administrative overhead than planned because that sector had reverse jurisprudence. It wasn’t the sort of thing Jann could, or would be willing to, handle. Dreen couldn’t commit to working at opposite ends of the galaxy and still run a company. So the Drezvir installation had been Chett’s chance.

Dreen shook his head. No. Drezvir alone is worth the trip.

To give Chett what he wanted, Dreen had made Chett’s role more than administrative. He had given him a significant amount of the software to design and implement. Chett had certainly done enough coding over the years at Tranus Dynamics. Still, he didn’t have the formal training as a software designer most staff at Nemizcan had, so Dreen had told Jann to double check every move Chett made - quietly and privately. She was to tell him if there were any signs of problems.

For that matter, with all the legal problems associated with working in the Farr Sector, Dreen had done some checking of the key portions of the design, both Chett’s and Jann’s work. There been no need though. It was an excellent design. So Dreen had never interfered at all, had not even gone to the commissioning, because he wanted this to be strictly Chett’s achievement. The system, by all reports, was a real success, and he had one happy Vice-President of Field Operations.

Sorry it slipped my mind. He was exhausted. Dreen ran a hand over his face. He couldn’t keep Rodd waiting there like that. The man had his own problems. I’ll break this and see what the spaceport can do for a charter. I assume Chett took the Exec? It had more or less become Chett’s home away from home and his personal yacht.

Rodd nodded.

Not that it matters, the charter is faster. The room was getting unsteady. Then I’ll wake up Gali. He’s been partially briefed to take over here anyway. While they’re bringing in a yacht I can finish that, then -

No you can’t Dreen. Joran’s voice was firm.

Dreen looked at him in surprise and Rodd automatically followed the glance, seeing nothing of course.

Joran stepped into the camera’s range, and Rodd recognized him. Trust Lantonnel to turn up like a bad credit, and to be there for a private conversation too.

Joran would have had to be a lot less adept than he was at reading relative strangers to not have read that.

He said quietly, I’m sorry you’ve got troubles Rodd, and I’m equally sorry I ended up sitting in on a private talk between you and Dreen. It wasn’t intended that way. Dreen’s in the middle of a mess of his own and I’m helping out. We didn’t expect your call.

Dreen was about to open his mouth, but Joran put hand on his shoulder. Dreen subsided. He was too exhausted to even try to deflect Joran. He watched Rodd anxiously though. Rodd and Joran didn’t have much use for each other at the best times.

Dreen has been up for the better part of thirty hours right now. I know that’s not a big deal. He can sleep on a flight back. But while we were out having a lunch so he could unwind then sack out, the future Mrs. Pendi was trying to reach him. She was called away by some personal crisis, chartered a Genie, and left. Due to some phenomenal mess up in communications, which we’re trying to sort out, we don’t know where she’s gone or why. Dreen feels terrible, both because he wasn’t there for her, and because he has no idea what’s wrong. We’ve literally just started to find out.

Now, Joran thought, come the big lies. He continued, In three or four hours we’ll know a lot more about what’s going on. And Dreen will have had enough sleep to be functioning. Is it a major problem, Rodd, if the logistics of how he gets back wait until late afternoon and he calls you then?

The future Mrs. Pendi? Rodd’s brain seized on the one understandable and good part of what Joran was saying. That was news, and the first good news today. He and Hana had thought for years that Dreen would be happier with a wife. It wasn’t that he needed to settle down. His lifestyle was very quiet. They just worried about him being alone. Rodd was pretty sure he got the rest wrong. He tried to think, to remember exactly what Joran had said. It was a gift he had perfected, to be able to repeat in his mind exactly what someone had said up to an hour after the conversation. It didn’t work. He gave up and with his left hand totally destroyed what remained of his hair style.

Look, Dreen, Joran, I’m really sorry but we’re going to have to take this one in baby steps, one at a time. The stress - he ran his fingers through his hair again. Oh, to hell with it. I’ll be blunt. Being scared half to death plus whatever happy pills the doctor gave me seems to have my head not working right. I feel like I’m sitting here watching and listening to someone else in my body, and whoever that somebody is, his grip on reality isn’t great.

Dreen could identify with that description. He gave a fleeting thought to exactly what Joran had poured into him, but found he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Rodd continued, I think I got the first part. There is to be a Mrs. Pendi?

Dreen nodded. At least, there was going to be if he ever found her.

Well congratulations, Dreen! I’m very happy for you. The social amenities seemed to come out on their own. Is it anyone I know? Rodd was thinking of recent attachments of Dreen’s and not getting far on one becoming permanent.

Dreen brightened. There was always the chance Rodd might know her. Mitra Kael.

Meetrah Cayl. Did that ring a bell? Whatever it was was gone before he was even sure there was anything. Rodd knew the name Cayl in various forms of course. He dealt with Roween Kael quite a bit, and the terraformers often used a totally different set of screens if Roween was working with them. And then on planet there were the Cayle brothers, both superb athletes. The older was slowing down a bit, but the younger had taken the triathlon last month for his fourth time. And then there was Maurine Caille, a brilliant violinist. They’d been to her concert last year. Perhaps that was what had rung the bell, an M. Caille. But Meetrah?

Rodd shook his head apologetically. Sorry Dreen, I don’t think I know her. Is she someone you met on Gingezel?

Dreen nodded again.

Rodd gave a conscious effort to what came next. This time his mind dutifully replayed Joran’s next words. That was an improvement. They weren’t making a lot of sense though. And she’s hit some sort of crisis? he asked cautiously.

Joran was the one who answered. We have to assume so. All we know is she got an upsetting off-world call and within an hour left in a Genie. You don’t charter a Genie for no good reason.

Rodd nodded. Hana already had the family prepared to rally around him, but none were taking a charter of any kind, much less a Genie. They were coming on commercial flights. That was the next baby step behind him. Now came the one he was pretty sure he’d messed up on. And you don’t know what’s going on?

Again it was Joran who answered. He’d reached out and dragged up a chair and was sitting beside Dreen. It was starting to get through to Rodd that neither looked so great.

She was calling every five minutes, but Dreen had his call tone off. I guess when it came right down to it, she couldn’t face leaving a message. And when she got to the spaceport, she forgot to tell them to give us her destination. That’s who we’ve been talking to and getting the run-around from.

Rodd’s frown cleared. That was about what Hana would do. He remembered one terrible afternoon when he got a call from the maid. She’d been busy in the laundry, and came upstairs just in time to see an ambulance pulling away, and Hana and his daughter nowhere to be found. When he couldn’t reach Hana, he had called every hospital in the city, only to be told it couldn’t give out information without the patient’s authorization, unless of course the patient was in critical condition and unable to communicate in which case the next of kin was contacted. This had been only marginally reassuring in that it must have meant Hana at least was not in critical condition.

It had been three hours later when Hana finally called. Their daughter had fallen off a swing, put her teeth through her lip, given herself a bloody nose, and had two black eyes. Hana had refused to leave her for a minute until they were sure the concussion was minor and she hadn’t wanted to talk within earshot of her daughter. She was convinced she’d done the right thing. It had been one of the worst afternoons of his life, and Rodd wasn’t at all sure she had.

Oh, I see, he said in a tone that clearly said WOMEN. I expect she’ll call eventually, but in the meantime Joran is right. You need to sort things out and get some rest. A few hours won’t make any difference at this end.

Are you sure you’re all right? Dreen asked.

More or less. Hana and Celise are in the outer office fussing around. They’ll keep me in line. Celise was his executive assistant. Despite his protests and his hope for a while to get used to things, she’d called Hana the minute he returned to the office with the news. I’ll keep busy with the routine stuff, and make some briefing notes for you or Chett.

I’ll be there, Dreen said.

Now Dreen, Rodd said with surprising firmness, neither of us is having a good day. Let’s not add our first fight to the list. I know you think that’s the responsible thing to do, so you’ll do it. But until you get hold of your fiancée, you won’t know if it’s the right thing. You have to pull together from the start you know. He blinked and ran his hand through his hair again, wondering just why that had come out. Talk to you later. Rodd broke contact.

Dreen reached for his compad. Joran was faster. He slapped it shut and slipped it into his pouch.

Sleep. Now.

Dreen gave him a dirty look.

C’mon Dreen. You’re too tired. You’ll just mess up. This wasn’t getting anywhere so Joran tried distraction. Say, Rodd was almost human at the end there.

He’s all right, Dreen said defensively.

C’mon Dreen. I feel sorry for him too, but let’s not rewrite history. You don’t like him much better than I do. What I can’t figure out is why you kept him around after your old man died.

Rodd had been brought into Nemizcan on the advice of Dreen’s father when Oren had finally accepted with disappointment, but no real surprise, that Dreen would never be seriously interested in the marketing side of the company. Rodd was the son of one of Oren’s friends and colleagues.

Dreen was too tired to tell Joran it was none of his business. It was easier to answer him. I keep him because we work well together. So far he hasn’t disagreed with my corporate vision, and we don’t have the sorts of technical-marketing squabbles some companies have. And, he held out his hand for the compad, he doesn’t interfere with how I do things like one of my friends does.

Dreen. The syllable was a protest.

If I don’t stay busy I’ll fall asleep.

I thought that was the whole idea.

If I sleep, I could miss a call, Dreen said stubbornly.

So that was it. Dreen was one really solid sleeper. Once he was sound asleep, a band could practice in same room and he’d never know the difference. That was literally, not metaphorically, true. Joran had tried it a couple times when they were students rooming together.

That’s okay, he said softly. I’ll stay here and stay awake. Now will you sleep?

Reluctantly Dreen nodded. Now do I get my compad back?

Joran took it out of his pouch and put it out of reach on the table. It won’t go anywhere. Bed!

Then he looked at Dreen’s glass. Can you sleep? You didn’t drink as much as I hoped with that call. He reached into another pocket of his belt pouch and pulled out a partially used strip of pills. One of these would help.

What are they?

The white ones, Joran pointed, "are a relatively harmless sedative. By relatively harmless I mean they won’t interact with booze and overdose you, or for that matter with an amazing number of illegals. On the downside, they’re psychologically addictive and play pure hell with your dream cycle. That’s why there’s three, then a red one. So you don’t go psychotic.

The red ones, Joran continued, have a good dream cycle but you have to be clean.

Dreen said dryly, You’ve become quite the little pharmacist, haven’t you?

Joran was uncomfortable. He knew where Dreen stood on drugs. He hadn’t once dared mention his problems to Dreen, and while he was at living at Dreen’s after Maillie died he’d had to sneak out to rehab when Dreen was at work.

I had to be. I just wanted to get through until I wanted to live again, not to kill myself. Joran stared out the patio doors unsure how much he dared say. You don’t know what it was like. Sometimes I could just keep busy working. But there’d be months at a stretch when that - that didn’t work. By the time I came down from a concert, and it was time to rest for the next, I wouldn’t know what I’d been doing. So, if it was red pill time, and my system had to be clean, I had to be alone with the ghosts. He shuddered.

It’s all right. Dreen laid a hand on his arm. I know all about it.

Joran froze. How?

It was better to finally get things into the open now that Joran was finally talking.

It didn’t take much imagination given the state Jon and Arn delivered you in. Jon Melchrist and Arn Torson, two of Joran’s pilots had shown up at his door with Joran propped up between them.

I got the details from the band. When you and the band weren’t talking to each other, they were all, at one time or another, talking to me. They wanted to know how you were. Mostly though they wanted to sound off. They spelled out exactly what was not going to happen again if you ever wanted to play with them. It had been a pretty grim picture too.

Joran wet his lips with his tongue. He said carefully, You never told me.

Dreen shrugged. You were trying to clean yourself up by then. I figured if I passed it all on, it could be pretty awkward meeting the band again.

Thanks. Joran was unsure he could have faced the band if he’d known.

He held up the strip. It’s just a security blanket now. But, he felt compelled to be honest, I can’t bring myself to throw them away yet.

There didn’t seem to be much to say to that, so Dreen nodded.

So, do you want one?

Dreen shook his head. I’ll try staring at the ceiling first.

Joran nodded. I just had to offer.

Thanks. Dreen went into the bedroom, and without undressing lay down on top of the bed.

***

Joran sat quietly thinking for some time. When the change in Dreen’s breathing indicated Dreen was asleep, he slipped silently into the bedroom and pulled open a drawer. Then he took a thick blanket out, and spread it over Dreen. He bent down and muted bedside call tone, then taking one last look at the sleeping figure, went out, closing the door tight.

Seating himself at the sitting room communications center, Joran tried to decide what to say to Bojo. The man was crazy, meddling in Ennup 10 after all the trouble he’d already had. Still, he owed Bojo a lot so he’d set up the visit with Dreen. The other calls to Jon and Rodd would be a lot easier, but Dreen was not going to thank him for them.

*****

Chapter 4

Perhaps now was the time to speak to Chelan. Roween Kael turned onto their street. A sudden gust of wind plastered snow over the window, obscuring her view. She didn’t see the patch of black ice and skidded slightly.

Watch it! Chelan protested.

I have been watching it all the way home, Roween thought mutinously, and set her jaw in her best formidable expression. She had not told Chelan about Mitra’s call immediately. After all, by the time she’d calmed the hysterical child down, there had barely been time to put her desk in order before she taught her last class of the day. After that Chelan had been at a tenure committee meeting. He always found them exhausting - too much petty bickering he said. Roween had never understood that point of view. Surely the university’s reputation was terribly important if the already tenured faculty were to maintain their galactic status.

At any rate he had come out of the meeting forty minutes late and had asked her to drive home. Of course, because he was late, supper time traffic was at its peak. There was a fine snow coming down and sifting around in swirls. That on top of the glaze from the ice storm late in the morning made the normally difficult rush hour driving hazardous. She had concentrated on driving.

Chelan - Roween slowed to turn into their driveway.

Dr. Kael! The front door of the neighbor’s house opened, and the young man was there, cupping his hands. Dr. Kael!

Bother, Chelan muttered, pointing to the pear tree, his usually amiable plump face looking cross. I’d better go see what he wants. He dug in his pocket for a fuzzy cap to pull over his thinning hair.

The wind and freezing rain earlier in the morning had loosened a branch on their old wine pear tree, and it had fallen in the neighbor’s yard.

Chelan sighed. Start supper. I’ll see to our neighbor and the tree.

Roween suspected he was more worried about the tree than the neighbor. It grudgingly produced a minute amount of delicious deep wine colored fruit late every summer, and Chelan treasured every bite.

Their old neighbors, the Brocks, had retired eleven months ago and moved to be nearer to their daughter. The new neighbors were young, rather noisy, and inclined to fuss if the smallest thing went wrong. Being a realist, Roween nodded, let Chelan out, parked the GV, and went in to cook.

Twenty minutes later Chelan came in, rubbing his gloved hands from the cold and looking for a nice hot plate of anything. Those tenure committee meetings always made him ravenous, and the current chairperson seemed to think that having anything more than a beverage available lowered the tone of the meeting - the pompous ass. A nice plate of pastries, or better still, deli sandwiches would give a person something to focus on while certain committee members made a point of letting everyone know how superior they had been to the tenure candidate when they had been that age. The current candidate was a cultured young woman from Rujjipet with fourteen papers to her name already, nine of which she was sole author. Chelan suspected that was what brought out the jealous, defensive streak in certain people.

Chelan padded into the kitchen on sock feet, enjoying the warmth of the heated tiles and thoroughly expecting to find Roween stirring industriously at something or other on the cooktop. She wasn’t though. She had the pots and pans cupboard open and was standing staring at it like the contents were foreign objects and she hoped for divine inspiration to tell her what they were. Roween looked weary and every day of her age. Her still thick dark hair had escaped it’s coil, the blouse she wore almost as a uniform to lecture in had ridden up and made her look, well, just a little lumpy, and a half-empty wine glass was in one hand.

Ever since their marriage cooking supper was part of Roween’s self-image of superwoman. She had always been determined to be one of those women who juggled career, family, and home effortlessly. Using the cater unit was a cheat. Meals had to be prepared by hand from fresh ingredients. Failure to do so upset her terribly. The only allowed excuse was simply not being able to think of anything that sounded good. In the past few years that frequency had been going up.

Well - Chelan saw Roween give a guilty start. She had obviously been so abstracted she hadn’t noticed him. "We’ll have to have someone in to work