The book is a science-fiction romance where the heroine finds herself stuck in Regency England. While she thinks this is going to be a breeze, since her favorite computer games are ones like "Jane Austen World", fate (and her ship's matchmaking, hopelessly romantic computer) has a surprise for her.
Take off.
Cynthia's stay on
the small spaceport on New Eden in the disputed border-space between
Terran, Cataxi and Xylub domains mixed in uneasy peace came to an
end. New Eden was a cynically mis-named barren rock at the outside of
the gamma-lyria solar system where the rule of law was, at best,
tenuous. More often it was non-extant. The lawless environment suited
Cynthia perfectly. She'd spent some credits on food and fuel for her
single person scoutship, and rather more credits on entertainment at
the local pub. The relative expense reflected the price of Wodka this
far from the main reaches of the Terran domain, rather than the
quality of the entertainment. Humans tended to be scarce out here.
Somehow liaisons with aliens, even the ones that vaguely looked
human, left her uninterested.
Bored with this
interstellar backwater, she filed for permission to take off at the
port office. Then she walked to her ship, and told Chris, her
computer companion and friend, to take off when the clearance came
through. In the meantime she poured herself a martini and settled
back as he reviewed safety procedures with her for the ten-thousandth
time.
Clearance finally
came. Chris warned her with a conventional short count-down, “Miss
Cynthia, We'll take off with on a count of ten, nine, what the hades,
zero!”
The unexpected
and extraordinarily rapid takeoff kicked Cynthia back into her seat
so hard that she blacked out. When she recovered from the shock she
shouted at her ship's computer, “Chris! What the hell1
was that about?” Under normal circumstances Chris would take the
machine up smoothly. There would be little more than a flutter in the
bottom of her stomach, and maybe a small ripple in her martini.
Indeed, it was the height of bad manners to accelerate off planet too
rapidly and disturb the stratosphere. This time her martini was
dripping off the wall behind her while fragments of the glass
littered the floor.
“Sorry Ma'am.
It was an emergency.”
“An emergency?”
Chris had led her through the normal pre-takeoff drill. Fasten
seatbelts, what to pull if there was an emergency, where the oxygen
mask would drop from and, finally, how to use the seat cushion as a
flotation device in the unlikely event that you were still in one
piece after crashing into the ocean. He was known for his sense of
humor. That was part of why he had been voted the most personable
control program of 2342. Cynthia considered the credits she spent
upgrading to him well spent.
“Ma'am. If you
feel up to it, would you look in the screens?” She didn't need to.
The shock wave from the exploding planet behind them rocked the
craft. “What happened?”
“The Cataxi.”
“They found me?
What the fuck. How the hell did they do that?”
“I wouldn't
know, Ma'am.”
“Did they just
destroy an entire planet to try to take me out?”
“Apparently.”
“Damn. It's not
as if I stole that many credits from them. It was just a pretty
necklace.” She fingered the deep red stone that hung between her
breasts.
“The Cataxi do
not put a high value on Terran life. I did try to warn you, Ma'am. In
their eyes you are barely worth a tenth credit.”
“Still Chris,
it must be more than that. I expected that assassin in the bar. It's
part of the normal give and take of interstellar commerce, but it's
bad form to take out a planet. Do it too often and you can start a
war.”
“Ma'am if you
would, I am preparing for the jump.”
To say this was
unusual was an understatement. Ships would cruise, sub-light, through
the system. It gave the occupant’s time to say extended goodbyes
and deal with any last minute formalities. Besides social reasons,
performing a jump too close to a solar mass could distort the results
and send the ship into uncharted space. Fortunately, most of space
was empty, so as an emergency maneuver jumping blind was more or less
safe. Safe, that is, if you emerged into normal space somewhere you
could recognize.
“On the count
of five, five, four, three, two, damn.”
The ship spun out
of control as colors flashed through Cynthia's mind. She passed out
again from the disorientation. Finally, the ship emerged into a small
solar system.
Cynthia recovered
consciousness. “Chris, where the hell are we now?”
Chris, for once,
was silent. “Come on, computer, damn you. Where the fuck are we?”
“Ma'am. I'm
checking. It may be a question of when we are as well as where we
are.”
“When??”
“I'm sorry but
that Cataxi shot hit us just as we were jumping. That can do unusual
things to jumps, as I'm sure you're aware. I'll have a damage report
shortly.”
“Good.”
“You will have
to wait while I recalibrate. I will be offline a short time while I
reboot. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
Cynthia had a few
anxious minutes. If Chris did not reboot, she would be adrift,
somewhere in the universe, in a dead ship. His blue screen of death
would spell hers as well. Unless she was extraordinarily lucky, she'd
be dead in a few days without her computer. If she were lucky the
Cataxi might find her before she died. They'd make sure her death was
quick. Not necessarily painless, but definitely quick.
Her anxiety was
misplaced. Reliable as ever, Chris returned to life. “Ma'am, are
you sitting down?”
“I'm not going
to faint. What the hell is it?”
“We're home2,
Sol, Earth.”
“Fuck. Earth?
Why are the guidance screens empty? There are no beacons. Where the
hell are the customs ships, the border guard?”
“I don't know.
Sorry Ma'am. But that's where we are. A few days trip in normal space
and then we can orbit the planet.”
“I suppose we
could pay home a visit. I wonder if the warrants for my arrest in New
York and London have expired by now.”
“Not to mention
the ones from Perth, Tokyo, Beijing and Berlin. Unfortunately, we
don't have a choice, Ma'am. The Cataxi shot took out the jump unit.
Wherever we are, we're stuck. There are supplies and air for a few
months, but that's all.”
“Damn. I
suppose prison is better than starving to death. Let me know when you
pick up the guidance beam. I'll be in the AR3
suite. I want to see if I can finally seduce Mr. Darcy. Take him away
from that dreadful Elizabeth Bennett.”
“That Jane
Austen game, again? Why don't you play something wholesome, like
Battle for Mars or Kabul Shootout?”
“I like regency
games. They're so relaxing.”
“If you say so.
You know, you'd have better luck with Darcy if you played Elizabeth
rather than one of the Bingley sisters.”
“What's the fun
of that? They are supposed to get together. I much prefer a
challenge.”
“Yes, I know
Ma'am. Could I make a suggestion?”
“What, Chris?”
“Could we
please have an uneventful trip for a change? Maybe something less
exciting than fleeing from the police halfway around the galaxy. You
have more than enough credits to pay for repairing me at the
spaceport.”
“I suppose so.
Anyway wake me up if anything interesting happens.”
Nothing
interesting happened, only if you count the lack of signals, indeed
the lack of artificial radio emissions of any kind as uninteresting.
Cynthia's game was interrupted a week later.
“Damn it Chris,
I finally had my hands on his trouser buttons. What now?”
“I am truly
sorry to disturb you Ma'am, but there are some facts which I must,
however hesitantly, bring to your notice.”
“What is it?”
“I've
identified the year. It's 1810. We are currently parked on the
reverse side of the moon, as the natives possess telescopes that
could see us in orbit. I presume you don't want them drawing untoward
conclusions.”
“1810. Fucking
A. No one down there could even begin to repair you, could they?”
“I have
prepared a list of supplies that would enable my automatics to fix
me.” Chris flashed them through Cynthia's AR unit where they
hovered in front of her instead of Darcy's face.
“I can almost
certainly find the iron and copper. Might have to be a little light
fingered for that much gold, but have they even discovered selenium
and titanium yet?”
Chris continued,
“That is a problem, Ma'am. I suppose you could refine the ores.”
“Maybe. What
were you thinking of?”
“Ma'am, since
you are enamored of regency games, it seemed to me that. No I can't
suggest this.”
“You'd like to
deposit me in England while you fly off and refit somewhere?”
“Precisely
Ma'am. I thought that Iceland would be a good location. It's
isolated. Few people live there and it has intense volcanic activity.
Most of the materials I need should be available locally. I could use
a thermocouple for power and the heat would disguise me. It should
only take a few weeks to finish with a partial refit. It would make
me spaceworthy for an intrasystem flight. We can still use the
com-link so you won't be alone.”
“I doubt even
the Cataxi can trace me here.”
“Still, it is
better to be prepared, Ma'am.”
Cynthia thought
for a few minutes, then said, “All right, Chris. I'll do it. The
only alternative I can think of is setting up a farm on Mars and that
would be supremely boring.”
“Very good
ma'am. I'll switch the AR to conditioning mode so that your English
and manners are correct for the period. It will take about two weeks.
In the meantime, I'll work up the vaccines you'll need.”
“Can you let me
finish with Mr. Darcy first?”
“Sorry Ma'am,
no. It might take you a month to tire of him. I neglected to tell you
that the damage reports were incomplete. We don't have that much time
to spare.”
“We're fucked,
aren't we?”
“Precisely
Ma'am.”
“Get the hell
on with it then.”
It took all of
two weeks, but Chris finally woke Cynthia from the AR. She started to
say, “What the fucking hell took you so long?”, but her
conditioning cut in and she said, “What took so long?”
“I'm sorry
Ma'am, but you exhibited severe resistance to the training.”
“F-, Indeed.
What is going on?”
“Ladies of
quality did not swear in the 19th century.”
“Oh, dear,
that's cut my vocabulary in half.”
“I must say,
Ma'am, it is an improvement.”
Cynthia was
speechless, not thoughtless, but speechless. Eventually she found
words she could use. “Chris, that isn't meant to be funny. Where do
you think I should be dropped?”
“I checked the
archives and then did a quick matter scan over southern England.
There is a famous meteorite, 'Lord Wroxham's Stone'. High purity
iron-iridium alloy. Just what I need. There is also a small Tahitian
idol that is made of Black stone in his collection. Titanium ore. If
you can lift a few guinea coins that will cover the gold.”
“I see,
anything worthwhile for me?”
“There is a
mention of family jewels. A tiara or necklace possibly both. Probably
they have some value on the resale market.”
“In other
words, a crib well worth cracking.” Cynthia paused, “Chris am I
always going to use this darn slang?”
“I'll remove
the conditioning once we're aloft again. Though I must add, Ma'am,
that it is a marked improvement in both your diction and language.”
Cynthia ground
her teeth. Chris merrily chirped along, “I've been having the most
enjoyable time building your wardrobe.”
“Wardrobe?”
While solo pilots could wear anything they wanted, or indeed nothing
at all, Cynthia, like the majority, favored a light recyclable
coverall. It kept the ship cleaner.
“You can't wear
that. Not on this mission.”
“I thought, for
just a quick snatch and grab.”
“It might take
me several months to refit, and I don't trust my structural
integrity. Can you fly?”
“I'm a dashed
good pilot.”
“I mean with
your arms.”
“I could wear a
parachute.”
“There's no one
who would fish you out of the ocean.”
“Oh. I see what
you mean.”
“This also
means that you're going to have to stop the anti-age hormones.”
“What?”
“It's actually
a good thing for you to go dry for a year or so. At 60 going on 16,
you still can. Take a year off, enjoy human biology for a bit. Maybe
fall in love, have some fun.”
“I suppose
you're right. I don't want to have the sudden collapse that happened
to Captain Black Jack Daniels. Remember, we found him drifting in his
ship, barely able to move, and solely because he missed a shot. But
I'm not sure about that falling in love thing.”
“I do feel I
have to warn you that it will start your biological clock ticking
again.”
“Oh cripes, Not
that.”
“On the other
hand Ma'am, maybe you will meet someone you like above half.”
“Chris, I know
you're a romantic, but I've told you before. Humans are hard to find
out on the frontiers of the empire. The closest looking aliens, the
Gotha, aren't equipped either emotionally or physically for amatory
activity with us, and you can't trust a Xylub in front of your eyes,
let along behind your back. As for the Cataxi, let's just say Old
One-eye Jones was a better alternative.”
“I suppose
you're right.”
“Never met
anyone who could stir a flutter in my maiden breast. I hope, Chris,
you can remove this insipid slang. It is already driving me up the
wall.”
“Yes, Ma'am,
when the mission is over.”
“Good. Compared
with their AR versions, all the real males I've met seem awfully
flat.”
“There are many
male humans on Earth. Some of them have to be acceptable. This Lord
Wroxham is supposed to be a handsome fellow. There's no record of his
marrying anyone.”
“He probably
likes other men.”
“Maybe, but
then maybe he never met the right woman.”
“Chris, stop
the matchmaking. I'm not in the market to be leg-shackled. A man, any
man would cramp my style.”
“I'm just
warning you that the hormones inhibit your emotions, and you could be
in for a shock when they wear off. You will feel more emotional than
you are currently used to.”
“I understand
that. Do you think I'm ignorant?”
“Just
forgetful, Ma'am.”
Cynthia paused,
digesting the alternatives in her thought. Finally, she said, “I
suppose needs must. What have you put together for me?”
“First, give me
your arm.” Cynthia put her arm into the medical unit and flinched
as a whopping dose of serum was injected. “D-, F-, What the H-. I
say, Chris. That stung. What all did you inject?”
“Vaccines for
smallpox, diphtheria, tetanus, measles, mumps, TB, chicken pox,
typhoid, yellow fever, staph, strep, influenza, polio and the red
gum. Among others.”
“The red gum?”
“Help you to
keep your teeth.”
“I hesitate to
ask, but what else do you need me to do?”
“Your head
please.”
She placed her
head in to its holder in the medical unit and felt a small amount of
panic as the machine, unusually, clamped it in place. Then she
shouted when the unit pierced her earlobes. “Chris! I hate pierced
ears. Last time I had them, it took a whole year for my lobes to heal
after the earrings were ripped out in a bar fight.”
“Yes, I
remember. You will just have to stay out of bar fights on this trip.”
“Chris, why?”
“Your earrings
are the best place to conceal the main communications link. I knew if
I asked you about it, you would say no.”
“Can't I just
use a normal link?”
“I'll give you
one of those too, but you'll probably lose it. Like last trip.”
“I didn't lose
it. That d-. That assassin stole it. I blasted him and it into tiny
little pieces. It left a beautiful red haze in the room, and improved
its color scheme no end.”
“If you say
so.”
“Why haven't
you released me?”
“Follicular
stimulation. Most women had very long hair. I'm afraid yours would
look too much like a man's.”
“At least I can
cut that off.”
“Please wait
until you return.”
“Yes, I know.”
When the machine
eventually released her, Cynthia put her hands to her ears. “Chris
these earrings feel heavy, awkward. They bounce around when I move,
and they hurt.”
He brought up a
mirror for her, and said, “Take a look. I think you'll agree they
are most becoming.”
She looked and
then smiled at herself, “You're right, but this hair, what a bl- a
mess.”
“Let me show
you how to arrange it.” Instructions came up on the mirror and by
following them with her hands, Cynthia reduced her mane to a
manageable and fashionable arrangement. “I suppose they had lice
and fleas.”
“Yes. You'll
need to brush it carefully every day. Twice if you can.”
Cynthia took one
last look at herself. With her hair arranged she didn't look half
bad. “I suppose I'd best try on my gowns.”
“You'll have to
take that coverall off. Ma'am.”
Cynthia felt
surprisingly bashful. While Chris was conventionally a 'he', he was
just a computer program and had seen it all before. They'd cruised
the galaxy together for thirty years, causing mayhem while spreading
the Terran sphere of influence and enriching themselves in the
process. There wasn't much of her that he hadn't treated for some
ailment or another. Even with real males at the academy, she'd never
had a trouble during showers. Well, at least after they'd started on
the anti-aging drug regime with its tendency to damp emotions. Still,
she hesitated and said, “Is this the conditioning?”
“I think so. If
you'd like I'll disable my visual.”
“No.” She
took a deep breath, then she grabbed the suit at her neck and ripped.
It came off cleanly, and she stuffed the remains into the recycling
unit.
“All right.
Show me how I dress.”
A few minutes
later, properly corseted, covered with muslin, and adorned with a
green Spencer, she examined herself in the mirror. The results took
her breath away.
“I say Chris,
you do have taste. I didn't think I could look like this. I almost
look beautiful. Pity I didn't let you gown me in the AR. I'd have
been in Darcy's pants in no time.”
“There's more
to life than getting into a man's pants, Ma'am.”
“There's always
stealing, murder and mayhem. Just the usual Saturday night at the
docks.”
Chris's silence
was deafening.
“I'm sorry
Chris, I didn't mean to shock you, but you know me.”
“Unfortunately,
I do.”
“Speaking of
pants, you forgot something. It's windy down there.”
“It's supposed
to be. You'll just have to be careful.”
“I will be.
Trust me. I don't want to give any of the natives a show. It was hard
enough getting undressed in front of you, old friend.”
“I thought,
Ma’am that you could leave the Cataxi gem here and wear this string
of pearls. It goes with the earrings.”
“Why not both?”
“I'm not sure
that gem is safe for you to wear all the time.”
“You scanned
it, didn't you?”
“I did, and I
didn't find anything. It's just that things don't add up in what I
found. I'd feel better if you didn't wear it.”
“Tough. I like
it.”
“As you wish,
Ma'am. The rest of your kit, other than a couple of changes of gown
is normal issue. A false bottom in your bag. The communicator and
scanner are disguised as a diary. Open it correctly and I'll be
there. I've added a discrete solar charger. It is configured to look
like a ladies' fan.”
“No blaster?”
“Ma'am, I only
thought you could get in trouble with it.”
Cynthia fought
down the urge to scream at her ship. Finally, she said, “You know I
never ever ever go planet-side without a blaster.
Might as well be naked.”
“Yes Ma'am.
I'll supply one. It will be suitably disguised, but it will be a
small limited power one.”
“Since I think
they're still using flintlocks that will be fine. What is the rest of
the plan?”
“I'll insert
you near where Lord Wroxham will be driving in the morning. Then you
can set up something like a wrecked carriage to attract his
attention. I'll give you a letter of introduction, which he'll have
difficulty refusing.”
“Clever. Is
there a plan B?”
“You can always
present yourself at his front door.”
“That's rather
lame. Let's hope the first works.”
“It will. Now
you will need some sleep before I drop you.”
Early morning
local time, Chris silently glided the ship to a halt above a field of
corn in Wiltshire. Cynthia clambered down carrying a large traveling
bag. She waved and Chris silently retreated into hiding to await
events. If all went well he would leave for a refit.
Cynthia sat
beside the road and waited for Lord Wroxham. By mid-morning the sun
was shining and the birds were chirping while the bees buzzed in the
flowering hedge on the other side or the road. She found, that unlike
the AR version, regency life was on the boring side. A brief buzzing
in her left earing alerted her. It was Chris, “He's coming. Time to
deploy the lure.” She tossed a small pebble to the side and pressed
a button on her control box. The hologram of a broken carriage
appeared beside her. It looked real enough, as long as you didn't try
to sit in it. Chris continued, “Remember your cover story, and a
few tears wouldn't hurt.”
“I'm almost
bored to tears already.”
“I mean real
tears.” A kindly wasp, diverted from its return to her nest by
flying into Cynthia supplied a cause for tears.
A carriage, drawn
by an elegant matched set of four horses, with a ducal crest on its
side appeared, passed her, then stopped. The lure worked. She quietly
told Chris, “Here goes.”
1Translator's
note. Most of the more colorful spacer expressions lose their
meanings in translating from modern English and the various
Xeno-dialects used in the original manuscript into late Middle
English. I have endeavored to preserve the flavor of the language,
but there really are no idiomatic late Middle English equivalents
for many of the colorful alien expressions that have made their way
into common usage. For example the Cataxi expression 'da'thu yrse'
which translates roughly as 'may your carapace overgrow your eye
slits' really has no idiomatic equivalent in human language.
2Even
spacers who were born, like Cynthia, on other planets referred to
Earth as home. If they could, most managed a visit home sometime in
their lives. Cynthia's visit had been eventful.
3Augmented
Reality
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