Читать книгу Nebula's Music - Aubrie Dionne - Страница 4

Nebula’s fingers struck the keys of the Steinway and a cascade of chords tinkled down like falling stars. Above her, the dusty, reddish-blue galaxy hovered through the window, illuminating her pale skin in mottled hues. The other crew members sat poised in the shadows, watching her performance in silent awe as the crescendo of Rachmaninoff’s piano concerto resounded throughout the hall, echoing off the glass hull of the ship. Though she lacked the emotional swells, Nebula knew the technique would be fluent and flawless.

As her finger struck a particularly poignant note, a distant memory flashed in her mind. Daises bloomed in an open field, bowing to a light wind underneath a sky of gold. Nebula closed her eyes, trying to hold onto the flighty notions. She hadn’t ever seen a sun. At least, not from the surface of a planet. Still, the farfetched images returned each and every time her fingers touched the keys, causing a black void to ache in the center of her being. She felt like she missed a vital part of her identity, as if she were made incomplete. The emptiness was one of the only emotions she’d experienced in her short existence.

The note resolved, and the idyllic scene disappeared when the angst of the chord dissipated into resonance. As always, the fragments of thought were insistent and ephemeral. They visited when her fingers brushed the keys but never lingered.

Nebula’s hands flowed off the piano and fell to her sides, and there was a surge of applause from the crowd. She gave a modest bow and walked off stage to the reception area to greet and thank the guests as they dispersed. Next time, she would program Mozart. The decision to do so was instant, almost as quick as it had taken her to download the Rachmaninoff from the circuit board of the computer mainframe.

As the first audience member approached her, warning lights flashed around the deck. The captain’s tenor voice came through the speakers. “Code six. All senior officers on the control deck.”

The crowd scattered as everyone rushed to their stations. Nebula slipped into the dressing room beside the stage. Considering the ramifications of a code six threat, she slid off her black, sequined concert gown and stepped into her United Planets in Action uniform, fastening the silver buttons with her nimble fingers. She took the elevator to the main deck and placed her cold hand on the panel to gain access to the control room. A green light blinked above and the doors parted, dissolving into the sides of the threshold like melted glass.

The control room surged with chaos. Angstrom ran between screens, collecting coordinates and inputting data. His tube-like hair stuck out at all angles and she could tell he’d come right from bed. Oso clutched three sets of headphones over his three sets of ears, listening intently to the communications tower. Captain Ritter talked in heightened whispers with his first in command, Venus, whose glowing blue face told Nebula she was afraid.

Beyond all the activity on deck, what caught Nebula’s attention was the main sight panel. A Gryphonite Warbird hovered off the front bow, firing at a small cargo freighter of unknown origin. No. Nebula focused on the side of the vessel. It was a rebel ship, further complicating matters.

“Nebula! Good, you’re here.” The captain left Venus’s side while the first in command was in mid-sentence and sprinted over. “I need the probability factors of the Gryphonite ship attacking us if we defend the rebel freighter.”

Nebula’s gaze glossed over as she accessed the inner recesses of her mind. “Sixty-five point six three percent to one with no defense of the freighter. Seventy-eight point three seven percent to one after freighter assistance.”

Captain Ritter’s bright eyes narrowed, the skin crinkling around the corners and showing the oncoming signs of middle age. “I thought so. What are the odds of the Warbird overtaking our speed?”

Nebula leveled her gaze at the construct, taking in all possible angles, the engine capacity and the probable weight. “The chance of successfully outrunning the Warbird is ninety-four point two four percent.”

The captain smiled at Nebula like she’d become his best friend. Nebula frowned, unable to interpret his rush of favoritism. All she did was calculate the odds. Captain Ritter whirled back to Venus, and Nebula understood the smile was not for her at all, but for his first in command. “Looks like you’ve won.”

Venus held her hands to her heart. “Thank the gods.”

He turned to the crew. “We’re not going to save the freighter, but we’ll save them.” He drew in a quick breath and sighed. “We’re going to phase out the people on the freighter. By the time the Gryphonites board their ship, hopefully we will all be long gone.”

Oso turned, his eyes black and intense. “But sir, they’re rebels. This will put us at odds with the Gryphonite-UPA alliance negotiations. The rebels are considered outlaws. We would be aiding terrorists.”

Venus stood by the captain. “Oso, these are people in need of help. You and I both know those savages will use the rebels as slaves. Besides, under the terms of the UPA agreement, they aren’t supposed to attack anyone.”

Oso lifted an eyebrow. “And what if the rebels attacked first?”

Nebula stepped forward. “The odds of a rebel freighter attacking a Gryphonite Warbird are one hundred ninety-nine to—”

“Enough, all of you.” The captain raised his hands to his head as if the banter was clogging his ears. “Let’s just get those people out of there and be on our way.”

Nebula analyzed the situation. Chances were the crew could evacuate the rebel freighter and jump to flight speed in enough time to evade the Gryphonite Warbird, but the captain was running a risk. Venus, as always, was the sympathetic thinker, and Oso, the logical, self preservationalist. She noted both parties’ disagreement for the log.

The captain tapped his fingers. “Angstrom, how are you doing on those coordinates?”

Angstrom’s tube hair bounced as his head whipped around. “Almost got them, sir.”

“Nebula, I need you to go to the phase chamber to greet and assess the victims.”

“Yes, Captain.” Nebula raised her hand in the formal UPA salute. As she walked back to the threshold, the captain grabbed her slender arm. In the dilation of his pupils, she saw doubt. “Log everything.”

Nebula made sure to hold his gaze. “You know I will.”

“Yes, yes.” He spoke mostly to himself and turned back to his crew. “Oso, prepare for optimum flight speed. Let’s hightail it outta here.”

Nebula did not wait to hear his reply. The glass doors closed behind her in a whisper of wind. She rushed through the corridors to the phase chamber. A new mission loomed, and missions always brought her pleasure, if one could call it that. They gave her a sense of accomplishment and filled the void, the dark place where the impossible memories liked to hide.

* * * *

When Nebula entered the viewing room, the phase chamber was empty. The ship shuddered and the floor tipped under her feet. The Gryphonite Warbird must have fired a blast at their hull. Nebula’s mind turned to her calculations. Two more blasts at that power would breach the shields.

She did not have time to consider it further as particles twirled in the phase chamber below her like dust motes in the sun. The people in the rebel freighter were being channeled onto their ship. Nebula estimated thirty or so beings and waited patiently until their forms solidified.

As their bodies came into clarity, she identified mostly humans and a few other closely related life forms. They all wore the bold red streak of the rebel defenders on a sash across their chests and were equipped in blast-proof vests with laser holsters at their sides. Thank goodness Angstrom had filtered out the weapons.

They were not happy to be brought on board without their consent. A young, punk-styled rebel beat his fist in the air. “Hey, what’s going on?”

A woman with flaming pink hair and tattered fishnet sleeves snarled at the viewing box. “What do you think we are? Tourists?”

Nebula took the intercom in her hands. Her bland, ambivalent voice was perfect for such hostile situations. “Remain calm. We of the Flightship Freedom have saved you all from certain and immediate slavery under the claws of the Gryphonites.”

She felt the deck move underneath her feet, not from a blast but from the propulsion into optimum flight speed. Oso must have maneuvered the vessel out of the blast zone. Coldhearted as he was, he was an excellent navigator. Nebula logged the time and the tactics used. Her probabilities had all proven correct.

The rebel punk looked at her through the glass. “I demand to speak with your captain.”

Nebula pegged him as their leader and continued in her monotone voice. “Captain Ritter will be with you in a moment. Right now we need to determine if anyone requires medical assistance.”

“What we need are some answers,” the rebel leader called back, “and a real person to speak to, not some walking corpse.”

Nebula felt the sting of the slight like the first time she’d felt cold water hit her face. The crew members of the Flightship Freedom had always treated her with respect, but these people were flagrant outlaws with cutthroat reputations. They were civilians who’d decided to take matters in their own hands, not trained professionals like those around her. She blinked a few times, bit her lip and remained silent. She had no programmed response for discourtesy.

The retorts came at her in a wave of curses and accusations, forcing her to shut off the intercom and silence the voices in the room below. Their arguments were beyond her hands now. She pressed the button to the control deck. “Captain, you are needed in the phase chamber immediately.”

Nebula tried to control the rush of the strange new feeling and catalog it as it coursed through her. It was the bitter slap of prejudice. She wanted to understand the roots of the vagabonds’ discrimination. Scanning the crowd, she studied their features and every gesture, as if they were a different species.

The pink-haired woman huffed and sat against the wall, crossing her tattooed arms over her legs. Behind her a man emerged from the crowd, stealing Nebula’s attention. He had dark features like a Romanian gypsy and large blue eyes tinged with sadness. While the others were aggressive and bloodthirsty, this man possessed an inner tranquility, as if his fate was already decided and he was a reluctant passenger along for the ride.

Although he had the punk appearance, with his black hair spiked and dyed in cobalt highlights and an outlander’s cloak, Nebula could sense that more was lurking underneath the rough facade. As her gaze took him in, a wistful melody echoed in her mind. Every line in his face spurred another note, as if he were somehow connected to her music. Nebula shook her head, but the soaring sounds came back, insistent. She resisted the urge to turn away.

It was impossible yet there he was, staring back at her as if he recognized her. His face changed from fierce defiance to shock. He pushed through the other rebels. When he was just feet below the viewing room, he looked up, mouthed a word that began with an “m” sound and held up his hand, as if reaching for his own salvation.

Nebula’s finger hovered over the intercom speaker. If she turned it back on, maybe she could hear what he was saying.

Just then, the doors opened behind her and Captain Ritter came in, followed by a group of guards. “Nebula, are you okay?”

She pulled her head out of the trance she was in and shifted away from the glass. “Fine, sir.”

“Report.”

“There are thirty-one rebels, mostly human with three other humanoid races. The leader is the man front and center. They are hostile, sir, and demand they speak with you.”

The captain rubbed his head. “Great. We go and save them and now they want to wage war here instead. All right. Good work, Nebula. You are dismissed.”

While the captain instructed the guards, Nebula lingered in the viewing chamber just a moment longer than protocol, surprising herself. There was no way she could have known that man, and yet his face drew her in like a puzzle demanding to be solved. The black void ached inside her.

Nebula left seconds later, walking faster than she normally did down the corridor to her room. She knew there was no way for her to speak with him. At least not until later, after the rebels were processed, filtered of contaminants and questioned by the captain.

If the man ignited the music, and the melodies spurred the memories, he could be connected to her past. Nebula didn’t know anything about the woman she once was, or if the mental pictures she sifted through were true memories of the past. What she did know was how to access the memories, and now who to look for. This time she would be welcoming the visions instead of questioning them. This time she would get answers.

Nebula entered her room in a rush and sat on the bench in front of the Steinway. She struck the keys, hesitant at first, then gained speed and force as she progressed, trying to find the melody that sight of the rebel summoned in her thoughts. She searched for the recollections lurking in the haunting tones, the glimpses of a past she couldn’t possible have, yet belonged to her as intrinsically as her own name.