James Doohan - Flight Engineer Volume 1 - The Rising.pdf

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The Rising: Volume 1 of the Flight Engineer
James Doohan and S. M. Stirling
Fout! Onbekende schakeloptie-instructie.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are
fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 1996 by Bill Fawcett and Associates
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in
any form.
A Baen Books Original
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
ISBN: 0-671-87758-5
Cover art by David Mattingly
First printing, November 1996
Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Doohan, James
The rising / by James Doohan & S.M. Stirling
p. c.m — (Flight engineer ; bk. 1)
“A Baen books original”—T.p. verso.
ISBN 0-671-87758-5
I. Stirling, S. M. II. Title. III. Series: Doohan, James.
Flight
engineer ; bk. 1.
PS3554.0566R57 1996
96-27744
813'.54—dc20
CIP
Typeset by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH
Printed in the United States of America
CHAPTER ONE
“And what happened then?” the bartender asked eagerly, her eyes
shining as she leaned close.
“Why, then I died,” Commander Peter Ernst Raeder said, voice
solemn and low.
“Ooooh!” She whapped him playfully on the shoulder with the towel
she usually carried over hers. “Watch the vid. I ’ve got a bar to clean.”
He sighed and thumbed the controls:
*Flick*
“I want you, Vorn!”
“But, Lyrica, I have a wife, children!”
“You don’t want them, Vorn . . . you want me! ”
“I pity you, Lyrica! For not knowing that there’s a world of difference
between wanting and loving!”
*Flick*
“Genuine anthracite from Earth. Formed millions of years ago of
actual living matter, this glittering stone can be yours for just . . .”
*Flick*
“ Ssssiiiiiinnnnn! Oh, we tried to save them. Our fallen brothers and
sisters. We sought them out and reasoned and pleaded, but they wouldn’t
hear us. And so we turned our backs and fled them and the carnival of
EVIL. They wouldn’t leave. They sold to us a place they thought was a
desert. But we knew that we would make it a paradise!
“And yet . . . temptation was waiting for us. Yes, even here, with only
our brothers and sisters beside us. In the place we sought redemption
there lay a serpent . . . whispering of wealth . . . of pow-errr. We could
buy our paradise, we need not build it. There was so much we wanted
and the means was right there. In an almost unlimited supply of fuel.
And we fell.
“ They wanted it! They would pay any price. . . . And we fell. We sold
them our precious resource, we let them build their factory platforms,
peopled with their own technicians. And WE helped them spread the
black stain of sin across the stars. WE gave them the means to
rrrrraaaappppe . . . ”
“Uh. D’ya mind if I change that? When the Mollie Interpreters start
talking about rrrraapppe like that I get nervous.”
Raeder chuckled and handed over the vid control to the bartender.
They’d been flirting mildly since he’d sat down. She seemed to approve
of his black-Irish good looks, and he didn’t object to her cuddly caramel-
colored prettiness. And it was a very pleasant way to pass the time as he
sat waiting for transit orders.
He looked around. A big square room, the light level was just right,
lightened by beveled mirrors scattered around. The booths were roomy
and comfortable looking, and the tables were big enough to accom-
modate your elbows as well as your drink; even the bar stools made you
feel welcome. Golden oak accented the bar along one side with a
genuine brass foot-rail—spacers were finicky about things like that—and
signed holographs on the wall. The older ones were mostly Survey
Service types; the people who went out and found new systems, or died
trying. Lately it was fighter pilots and gunners and Marines shipping out
to fight the Mollies. The Oblaths Bar of Cape Hatteras Naval Spaceport
was a gem of its kind.
Of all the gin joints in all the bases in all the world, Raeder thought in
a Bogart voice, why did I have to walk into this one? This is what a bar
is supposed to be. He sighed. I’ve only been here once and I already
know I’m really gonna miss it, he thought wistfully. But he wasn’t going
to miss the hospital, with the grueling hours of physical therapy, and he
was eager to get back to work.
The bartender flicked to a sports contest, which broke his reverie. The
wall dissolved into a montage of shapes and thuds and groans, with the
roar of a crowd in the background.
Colorfully clad behemoths charged into each other at full speed,
emitting spectacular grunts and growls. It was a variation on football,
played without the ball. The big men pushed each other down the field to
the goal-posts, grappling and gouging. The viewpoint jiggled and
blinked as it shifted from one helmet-mounted camera to another.
They watched for a moment and then turned away in mutual
disinterest.
“Why did we ever get into a war with those fanatics?” she asked him
in exasperation, referring to the program she’d just flicked away from. “I
mean if the Mollies wanted to separate from the Commonwealth, why
the hell didn’t we just say, ‘So long guys—good riddance’ when we had
the chance? I mean, really?” She rolled her eyes in disgust.
“Apparently you’ve never heard of antihydrogen, hon.” Peter took a
sip of his beer. “Be awfully hard to run the Commonwealth without it.”
Though he could understand the question. The Mollies are so
obnoxious it seems insane to actually fight to keep ’em around.
She wrinkled her pert nose at him. “Don’t bother me with reality when
I’m grumping about Mollies. It’s not polite. And why are they Mollies,
anyway? They sure don’t like women, so how come they’re named after
my favorite aunt?”
“It means Mission of Life Lived in Ecclesia.” Raeder watched her take
that in; she shrugged the corners of her mouth down in disapproval.
“Ecclesia . . .” she muttered. “Sounds like a digestive disease.
Something with gas.”
Peter snorted, then took her hand in his left and said earnestly, “My
dear, I’m sorry to tell you this . . . you have ecclesia. Could you please
leave my office before you explode.”
She exploded in laughter. She was pretty when she laughed. Her eyes
sparkle, Raeder decided.

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