“I’m just starting. I don’t have anything to prove,” says Shell.
“Campions are champions,” says Hank.
“Jesus, stop,” says Shell. Shell remembers that their father used to say that too.
They talk some more, this and that, everything and nothing.
Not a lot of companies use Kennedy Space Center any more, but strong nostalgia draws a crowd, and publicity matters, or so MaxGalactix tells Shell. Geographically, KSC is good for launching into an equatorial orbit, but new sites that are more favourable in orbital mechanics terms and friendly to American interests have popped up. KSC is prestige and history.
Parade.
Nobody told her there would be one, so now she is embarrassed because she doesn’t like crowds or displays of . . . whatever this is. So many of them wave, some with American flags, some with the mission patch.
She waves back, because that’s what you do, but she would like to be out of the Florida sun and inside the shuttle. You wave with your hand lower than your shoulder so that it doesn’t obscure the face of the person behind you. They teach you that too.
Blast off; God’s boot on her entire body, both hard and soft, and behind her the reaction of the seat. Shell is not a fan of gs, but training has made her tolerant.
Do not come to heaven, mortals, says God, and tries without success to kick them back to the surface of the planet.
Why am I here? I shouldn’t be here.
But she is, and she will deal with God’s boot and come out the other side.
The Earth is behind her and the Ragtime lies ahead.
Short, shallow breaths, wait it out.
Gs suck.
After docking, Artificials from the shuttle escort and usher Shell and other passengers from the airlock through the entire length of the ship to their pods. Medbots stick IVs and urine tubes into her while a recording goes over Ragtime’s itinerary. First hop is from Earth to Space Station Daedalus, then bridge-jumps to several space stations till they arrive at Space Station Lagos for a final service before the last jaunt to the colony planet Bloodroot.
“You’ll be asleep at Lagos, so don’t worry about anything you may have heard about Beko,” says Ragtime.
“What’s Beko?”
“Oh, you don’t know. Lagos has a governor, but the real power is Secretary Beko. She has a reputation for being very intense. It doesn’t matter. You will not be interacting with her, so relax.”
“All right. What about on Bloodroot?”
“You’re not meeting anyone on Bloodroot either. We enter orbit, they send shuttles to get their passengers, we turn around and come home. Easy.”
“Won’t I need furlough by then? It’s a ship, Ragtime. It can get boring.”
“I don’t see why you can’t spend time on the surface. You’ve had all the necessary vaccinations. If you want to, just tell me at the time.”
Shell starts to feel woozy. “I’m getting . . . getting . . .”
“Don’t worry, that’s the sedative. I’ll wake you when we get to . . . and . . .”
The world fades.
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