The Crystal Variation by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Read Free Book Online Page B

not.
    The combat warning came before breakfast, and the transition warning overlaid it almost instantly. Neither his bunk nor his chair were attached to the deck within his isolation unit—nor was the tree secured. His orders were clear—he was to observe the tree until released to general duties.
    Jela yanked his bunk against the wall of the wider room, ignoring the ripples in the flex-glass, and pushed the tree, still within its own cocoon and attached to its various umbilicals, into the corner thus made. Flinging himself against the bunk he hugged the tree’s base through the flexible walls, internal clock counting the beats until—
    “Go, dammit! Go!”
    His voice rippled the flex-glass walls, and that was all the effect it had. The ship shuddered with the familiar shrug of launching fighters . . . but no stand down from the transition warning followed. He did the calcs out of habit, assuming a nearby threat in the line of travel—why else launch now?
    There was another kind of shudder in the ship now—this one less familiar. Perhaps a jettisoning of mines, or an unusual application of control jets?
    Maneuvering was starting. The direction of up shifted slightly, and then again, and as if it hadn’t already sounded, the transition buzzer went off again.
    He ought to be with his wing! His duty—
    He took a breath, and another, and did what he could to relax. Around him, the ship went absolutely still as it slipped into transition. He wondered, then, and with an effort, how long breakfast would be delayed, and how many pilots they’d left behind so that breakfast was an issue.
    BREAKFAST FAILED TO arrive , and it was nearing time for lunch. Jela remained close to the tree, concerned that any moment might bring them into normal space with unwanted, deadly, motion. He was still sitting beside the tree when the commander arrived, four hurried helpers in tow.
    “Take your samples, quickly,” she ordered. She half-bowed, half-saluted Jela, who rose as quickly as he could.
    “Wingleader, the medical department has been advised that they are no longer concerned with the possibility that you have become infected by contact with your tree. As they assure me you show no signs of physical abnormalities, other than those any M grade soldier might show at this point in his career, we shall shortly have an opportunity to discuss the matter I spoke of earlier. Please, Wingleader, prepare your computer for removal as well.”
    Jela went to the desk and snapped the unit together, watching with some relief as the technicians inserted a hosed connection to the outer lock of his chamber. In a few moments, the structure sagged around him and the outer flex-glass rippled as the technicians peeled apart the seal. A moment later and the inner seal sighed open and two technicians strode in, heading toward the tree. Only one was face-marked.
    “The tree? I may take that with me?” he asked the nearest tech—the unmarked one—but was rewarded only with a half-formed shrug. He risked annoying the officer, whose attention was focused on a medical reader connected to the room’s telemetry.
    “Commander? The tree—I will take the tree with me as well, I assume?”
    She didn’t look up from her study of the reader, her answer heavy with irony. “Yes—the tree, the computer, your boots—whatever will make you comfortable, Wingleader!”
    He nearly laughed; then wondered if he’d really put up that much of a fuss when they’d told him to leave his boots outside the isolation area. Yet, as a soldier and a pilot, he deserved certain politeness, and he was as aware as they that his treatment had misused his station.
    The commander was quick.
    “You, Corporal. You will carry this computer, and walk with us to the Officer’s Mess. You, Wingleader, may help the other tech as you will, or carry the tree if you prefer, and we shall together retire to the mess so that you may be fed.”
    In the end, Jela carried the tree, while one of the