Mica

Chapter 2: Getting Ready

I had sent Olivine a letter on a mail packet about three months ago and told her I would be there within seven months travelling the great streams as well as the local "jumpers". I had quite unexpectedly, received a reply two days ago from a speed-bark standing off our system and unloading a few million purses of stream-mail collected from several stops. This long-distance service is prohibitively expensive so when I saw it was from Olive I was especially pleased that she thought enough---. It was a very affectionate note; she said she was looking forward to having me there and showing me around Wentworth. She wished me a safe trip and advised me to stay vigilant. She also said she would have a surprise for me. I skipped with excitement.

Since this is my first breakaway, I needed to have a sit-down with a member of the Transcorps here. I stuffed my shoe in my bag and went barefoot down to the partitions. If you've never been there at the launchport, they are like a grid of colorful boxes all connected with half roofs on each box and three and a half walls. The floors are a pinkish, porous material like an eggshell, the walls are mostly brightly colored orange, purple, yellow, lime-green. Looking up, above each office was a screen with the name of the official followed by a changing display of information I suppose relating to that person.

When I looked in to pale blue partition number 35, I saw a slick brown business surface with a black cushioned seat behind it and facing it, a yellow 2/3 egg chair for the client-me. I sat in it and waited. You never know what kind of person Gov. will stick you with and since you have to get final approval for your expedition you want it to go smoothly. Of course I had already paid for and reserved my flute; this last check-in was mandatory, kind of a last "good-bye and be safe". After several minutes' wait a handsome, slender young man in a black snappy skinsuit whipped in through the door. My smile of greeting was wasted as he strode to his chair, twirled it so it faced away from me, so he could examine some cupboards on the wall as he sat with his back to me-

I found his behavior rude in the extreme when the man pulled out six or seven lulu drinks from a refrigerated cubbyhole and hugging his bottles to his chest, attempted to stand up-still with his official back to me and without a word. He was overburdened and lost his balance. He fell over backwards in his chair still clutching the bottles; feet went up and the chair dumped my host on floor. He disappeared with a crash. I was too surprised to laugh. He picked himself up, stood up straight, still holding two of the bottles and finally looked at me blushing generously. I grinned, he smiled too, as he picked up his chair, I looked at my own bare feet. He looked at them too and back at me and we both broke into relieved laughter. "I'll be right back," he announced, collected the drinks, and disappeared.

Returning he said, "I'm really sorry about being so rude, sometimes I get so full of myself.I was supposed to supply these drinks for the cube party. I'm Mica Rose, I guess you must be Mica too?".It turned out he had attended Flint's and my school about three years after us. He had me sign a release for Gov and gave me a list of planets and systems that Gov recommended we steer clear of. Some were notoriously criminal, a couple were experiencing epidemics, and at least one was acting seismically unstable. I signed the papers that Mica Rose gave me, and accepted an informational folder about my rented flute.

"Have a good and safe trip, Mica," he smiled again-a bit more official but definitely human. "Don't neglect to suffer for me some."

"Thanks Mica Rose, I'll do my best. Have a nice office party."

I hadn't heard the old parting words about suffering for quite a long time, those brave old words-I'd almost forgotten.

Launch

I walked down the echoing launchways: black tubes melted into the subsurface fifteen meters down. Many beautiful gigs, carracks, flutes, caravels, and other odd craft were snugged against their slips. I've always loved sky-boats and seriously thought about a permanent job in a boatyard. I had done a nine-month stint as a fitter's helper at the yard over by Flow. Flint thought it was a waste of time and only would make me duller but it was a great time and I learned a lot about the craft.

Some of these boats were bright and slick like oil, but some were older and needing paint, there were even a couple that should have been back at the shipyard with rips exposed and cords poking out dangerously. 129 is my number. And here she is. What a beauty! Ten meters long, a little beamy but I like a stable look; new paint sparkling purple nose, slashing back into a dazzling white midsection with the access pit cover in yellow, and the yellow continuing back to the stern; yellow above, the white below.

I slid my all-key into the bollard she was secured to and she settled down free on the air cushion with a sigh. Eased the pit cover open, stepped in and snapped it shut over me. Hisses of air seals, auto music and a pleasant "Welcome aboard, Mica, we understand you are breaking for Wentworth in approximately forty-five minutes and twelve seconds. You have all your personal gear aboard ?" I waved to the face on the dropscreen, she was fair skinned and youngish. "Good then lets go through the checks, then you can get settled. It'll take about twenty-five minutes." We went through the communication and guidance controls, checked the flute's tightness and field security, respiration system plus backup. Examined the emergency cocoon. Then we went fore to aft including looking over at my sleeping quarters, very comfortable with like-wood brown and orange trim. Looked over the narrow galley, water processor, head with a new dry-shower and dry-crapper. The inspection actually took about twenty-five minutes.

"I'm ready any time, Admiral," I said as I cinched myself into the safeweb.

"Any time ha-ha" said the controller cheerfully, accidentally giving me a glimpse of her profile-sumptuous! That's a nice sendoff. Of course, she had mapped my departure to the fraction of a second weeks ago. "Of course, you haven't eaten anything in the last twelve hours have you?"

"Not a thing-d'you think I'd want to foul this beauty's interior? I am hungry."

"No problem, as soon as I get you up there you can eat till you pop."

I said another fast but fervent prayer.

With that the music stopped; screen turned to numerals counting down the voice "Bye now." Sweet voice..Things go black. A cork popped out of a bottle violently-pop! My scalp left behind and stomach drops down past feet. All goes dark, can't breathe. Can't breathe!

I fought to the surface like a CO2 bubble. Stomach feels vile mouth tastes bitter-sour. Skin feels like it has hot sand underneath. With great effort I flicked the search on the real- view and squinted at Marble's coordinates. That dot's my home now vanishing. I'm heading for the darkstreams.