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  Outward Bound

  Children of the Stars Book 2

  Juanita Coulson

  A Del Rey Book Published by Ballantine Books

  Copyright © 1982 by Juanita Coulson

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada, Limited, Toronto, Canada.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Jacket art by David B. Mattingly

  With sincere thanks—again!—for invaluable help, advice, and encouragement to: Gary and Kay Anderson, Harry J. N. Andruschak, and Terry Adamski.

  Through an agony of distance I have gazed on other stars, Where the roadways of the heavens

  Reach beyond the course of Mars. I have seen the stellar glories

  And the darkness in between, Where the gods have left their planning To mankind and his machine ...

  —Apodosis, Canto IV Anonymous

  CHAPTER ONE

  Separate Paths

  As Brenna Saunder and Derek Whitcomb started up the slope toward his cliffside home, Derek stopped at the mine tailings, looking for interesting rock specimens. Brenna went on ahead, climbing to a vantage point a few meters higher. She turned and, shading her eyes against the late afternoon Sun, looked out over the pioneer village. Eos Chasma Town resembled dozens of other little Martian communities: housing units, shops, agricultural domes, a shuttle landing strip, a surface transport depot. The town's industry lay below the surface in a network of tunnels. Every now and then Brenna felt a tremor as the automated mining equipment tore loose new pockets of ore far beneath her feet. Minerals meant economic survival for Eos Town and much of Mars Colony. The machines never stopped.

  The human work force, though, was on short shifts today because of the holidays. Local citizens thronged the village recreation center and the narrow streets. Brenna and Derek had spent several pleasant hours mingling with them and watching the friendly competitions staged for the event. Colony Days. Thirtieth anniversary! This was a special celebration for all Mars' dwellers. There had been athletic contests, land vehicle races, and prizes for the workers who sorted ore samples the fastest. The entertainment was easy-going, amicable, light-years away from the pressures and problems of Brenna's normal existence. For a while, she had almost forgotten her worries.

  She adjusted the breather mask to a more comfortable position and glanced at the cliffs ringing the town. Terraform Division's oxygen-generation towers loomed above the canyon. Like the mining operations, terraforming never ceased. Yet there wasn't much noticeable change in Mars' thin atmosphere. That was expected. It would take far more than thirty years to soften the environment. Humans were newcomers to this rugged world. At present, no one could leave a building or a life-support dome without first putting on protective gear. Brenna had learned that when she was a kid, just as every Martian colonist had.

  Derek finally straightened and scrambled up the slope to join Brenna. "Look," he said, holding out a chunk of rock. Brenna brushed auburn curls out of her eyes and peered at the specimen. Derek pointed to the glint of poor-grade pyrite. "Fool's gold." His breather mask muffled his voice, but his amused disdain was obvious. Derek tossed the worthless piece of slag onto the tailings, a long pitch, but nothing that would win him prizes in the village's contests. "I'm glad to see they're maintaining the standards my father set up. The inspectors are right on the job, not letting through junk like pyrite. Only top-quality stuff in this town's shipments," Derek said with pride. "Not like Earth. Back there, they're still killing themselves over cheaper trifles than that."

  Brenna suppressed a sigh. When her private train car had arrived at the local depot four days ago, she had looked forward to a carefree interlude. Precious time spent with Derek, in one of his family's company towns. The people here, Derek promised, would respect his privacy and Brenna's. It sounded like a perfect chance to forget the outside world. And for the most part, these four days had been idyllic.

  But occasionally Derek would make a remark that raked invisible claws through Brenna's nerves. Like that crack about Earth's decadence. She shared his scorn of their birthplace, to a degree. Derek's prejudices were far stronger, though, and as time went on he was getting more vocal about them. Inevitable.

  Hibernation Stasis Ship Corporation put its recruits through an intensive indoctrination program. They wanted their future interstellar colonists—such as Captain Derek Whitcomb—to be weaned completely away from any loyalty to Earth. If Derek was an example, the corporation was succeeding admirably.

  No, there was nothing new in Derek's attitudes; the source of friction came from within Brenna. The pressures of the upcoming manned test flight were riding her, no matter how hard she tried to put them out of her mind.

  Breakthrough Unlimited—her company, co-owned with her cousin Morgan McKelvey. The Saunder and McKelvey fortunes were legendary. It cost a fortune to keep Breakthrough Unlimited going, though. Problem two: Their Terran Worlds Council charter would be up for renewal in a few months, and some of the committee members had let it be known they were pretty impatient to see some results, after five years of FTL spacecraft experiments. Problem three: Staff members, leaving Breakthrough Unlimited to take employment with other companies. Like the T.W.C. committee, they were discouraged or impatient or losing their nerve. After all, Breakthrough Unlimited's record was a messy one. The dangers were past calculating. One mistake, one tiny flaw, and ...

  Dammit! Why couldn't she forget?

  Warily, Brenna glanced sidelong at Derek, remembering against her will. Three years ago. Breakthrough Unlimited's first attempt to shatter the light-speed barrier. Prototype I. A radical design, a first for humanity. Other species, such as the Vahnaj, which mankind had barely begun to know, had FTL, out there in the galaxy. But not Homo sapiens. Not yet.

  Three years ago Morgan's parents had been at the controls of Prototype I, hoping to join that special club of star travelers. Somewhere along the line, there had been a mistake, a fatal one. In helpless horror, Brenna had seen the ship blow to pieces, killing her aunt, uncle, and their third pilot. Derek had been with her and Morgan then, part of the Breakthrough Unlimited team, a hero of Space Fleet, recently attached to Brenna's company as liaison officer. He had shared Brenna's and Morgan's grief.

  Team of three. They had been playmates, had grown up together. The Whitcombs were one of the wealthy families who moved in the same social circles as the famous Saunders and McKelveys. Brenna's other cousin, Stuart Saunder, was too old to join in their games, except to play bully. But Derek was the same age as Brenna and Morgan. They had formed a bond, Morgan and Derek as best friends, Brenna and Derek as lovers, in their late teens. The space brats, growing to maturity on Earth, Mars, Goddard Colony, and half a dozen other natural and artificial worlds. Learning to handle spaceships, all of them qualifying as top pilots. Unbeatable. A solid triad.

  Until that moment three years ago when tragedy struck.

  More had died in the explosion than Morgan's parents and Navigator Cesare Loezzi. Something had died in Derek. He had quit Breakthrough Unlimited shortly afterward. The love he had for Brenna, his friendship with Morgan—those remained. But he was an outsider now, going a different way, devoting himself to another pathway to the stars.

  Even if the test eight days from now was a total success, Brenna knew that she would never be able to go back to that earlier happiness. She and Derek could recapture the former closeness only for a tiny space of time, on such stolen vacations as this.

  A workman heading along the path west of the tailings saw the young couple and waved. "Happy Colony Days, Whitcomb! You, too, Saunder!"

/>   Derek returned the greeting. Less enthusiastically, Brenna did also. She waited until the miner was out of their hearing, then asked, "Does everyone in this town know who I am?"

  "What?" Above his mask, Derek's turquoise-blue eyes widened with surprise. "Of course. How could they not know Brenna Saunder? You're famous. Hey! I told you—quit worrying about that. My father built this town. The people are dead-on loyal. No one will blab to the newshunters. The only one who knows where we are is Morgan, and it'll stay that way until we come out of hiding."

  "At least the ComLink reporters won't dig for us," Brenna agreed grudgingly. "It's a relief having a family monopoly in the news business. Saunder Enterprises usually runs the entire communications show on Mars. But Colony Days is bringing in TeleCom and all the gypsy gossip columnists. And with you and me expected to put in an appearance at the President's gala in the capital tomorrow..."

  "Face it, my love. That's the price of fame." Laugh lines crinkled the skin around the sides of Derek's breather mask. "We're both celebrities. The interviewers pant to get an interview with a Saunder, a McKelvey, or a Whitcomb. Confess! Deep down, you enjoy the adulation. It goes right in tune with our space pilots' egos!"

  Brenna glowered at him, and Derek softened his teasing with an affectionate hug. She gave up, chuckling. "I suppose so. I want the fame on my terms, though. When I'm doing the PR routine, I'm Captain Showmanship. Sure. But..."

  She felt a trifle desperate, unable to pin down the emotion precisely. Half-formed fears rattled in her thoughts. Not now. It was too soon. But time was ticking away. Morgan would take the controls of the Prototype in eight days. Eight days! To immortality—or to a repeat of the last disaster? No! She couldn't face it, or the reporters. Not yet. Not yet.. .

  Derek pulled at her gently. Brenna fell into step at his side. Then, as they climbed the hill toward Derek's home, they moved apart, watching their footing. There were no stairs or escalators or other effete luxuries to ease their way across the rubble-strewn slope. Brenna kept up with Derek's pace, sometimes moving ahead. It never occurred to her to ask for his help in making her way over the treacherous ground. He would have been astonished if she had.

  The manual air lock of the cliffside housing units opened onto a spartan hall. Derek's private quarters were at the far left end. Despite his father's role in founding the town and Derek's rank with Hiber-Ship Corporation, he received no special privileges. The room was cozy but very small, as plain and no-nonsense as every other dwelling in the canyon.

  They took off their protective gear, stowing it in the appropriate cabinets. Then Brenna switched on the vid, wanting to catch some newscasts. Derek headed for the food dispenser. "What would you like for supper?" he asked politely.

  Brenna shrugged as she watched a series of scenes of Colony Days celebrations and documentaries about the growth of Mars' human settlements. "I don't care," she said absently. "Something light."

  "Again?" Derek didn't hide his concern. "Your appetite's awful. I thought getting some fresh air and watching the contests this afternoon would make you hungry."

  Brenna felt as if she were walking a tightrope, and the rope was swaying. "Did you?" she said with deceptive calm. Derek's hands poised on the food dispenser controls. He gave Brenna his full attention, very much on his guard as she continued. "You've been working that theory hard ever since I got here. The lovely romantic tryst. Splendid isolation. Beautiful scenery. Escape to a temporary hideaway among the honest mining folk. Oh, and we mustn't forget the sex. Lots of that. Erotica in the wilderness. Playground of the slumming rich kids. I'm sick of it!"

  Derek raked a hand through his fair hair and beard. He abandoned any attempt to program supper for them and propped himself against the wall, long arms dangling, his tall, athletic frame bent in a spine-abusing slump. "You didn't have to come," he said, very softly.

  There had been an undercurrent running through their time together these past four days. Fighting her own inner worries, Brenna had pretended the telltale signs weren't there. Now she couldn't ignore them any longer. Not only her tension filled the room. Something was eating at Derek, had been eating at him all along.

  "No, I didn't have to come," Brenna said. "But I did. I'm not very good at turning down your invitations. I never have been. And you know it," she finished with a flare of resentment.

  That tempting invitation: "I've got a few days' leave, Brenna. What say we get away from it all? Eos Chasma Town. You know the place. You and me. That privacy you adore. No big crowds. Hey, we need some R and R, love, if we're going to be on display at the President's bash. Bren? Please? Meet me there?"

  Sweet memories, happier times, came with those words. They had been irresistible. Brenna blushed when she recalled how quickly she had jumped at the chance. She should have thought it over, at least discussed it with Morgan before she agreed. She hadn't. She had dumped everything in Morgan's lap and given him no advance warning that she was going to pull a juvenile stunt like this.

  Guilt twisted at her. Before Derek's invitation, Brenna and Morgan had planned a complete schedule for the Breakthrough Unlimited test pilots. Everyone was supposed to do a certain amount of PR work. Pose in the spotlight. Rake in the publicity —and the potential investors. How they needed those! As Derek said, pilots did enjoy the applause. But there was a limit, and this Colony Days festival was going to be a social ordeal. Brenna owed it to her cousin and to Breakthrough Unlimited to get in there with the rest and butter up the fat cats. Part of the team.

  Yet Derek had snapped his fingers, and she had run away. Morgan had swallowed his annoyance. "Okay. I'll hold the fort. But try to be back at least in time for the President's party, huh? Your father and Aunt Dian expect you to be there. So do I." He hadn't quite called her a shirker, but close.

  Brenna had noticed the deepening crease between her cousin's eyebrows when she had left Saunder Estates to come out to Eos Chasma. That worry line was a permanent part of Morgan's craggy face now, evidence of his own fears about Breakthrough Unlimited. Morgan's parents had died in the first test; he was going to pilot Prototype II.

  And she had had the gall to leave him holding the bag during a major fund-raising opportunity! There had been no recriminations. No rumbling basso voice telling Brenna to grow up and quit jumping whenever Derek said "frog." She wished Morgan had chewed her out!

  "Brenna?"

  She came out of her dark musings, staring at Derek curiously.

  "I'm glad you came," he said simply. Sometimes that tone of voice could melt her resolve. This time it was canceled out by the hovering tension.

  "Okay. You're glad. So am I. But that doesn't change the rest of it. Why? Why have you been leaning over backward to ... to avoid the subject?" Brenna demanded.

  "The subject?" Derek took a deep breath and pushed himself away from the wall, walking toward Brenna. "Breakthrough Unlimited versus Hiber-Ship Corporation? That subject? Faster-than-light drive versus cryogenic stasis and the Isakson photon ramjet starcraft."

  In a nutshell. Rival theories on the best way to get out of the Solar System. Once Derek had believed in FTL and Breakthrough Unlimited. Now he believed in cryogenic stasis, a sleep cubicle, and a crawling, asteroid-sized Colony ship that would take seventy-five years to reach the Kruger 60 planetary region.

  Derek and twenty-five hundred other colonists, signing up for a trip that demanded they sleep for decades. Frozen. Unaware.

  But FTL—Breakthrough Unlimited's graviton spin resonance drive—would reach out to the stars in months, weeks.

  If all went well on the upcoming test...

  Derek caressed Brenna's face. "I'm sorry I was so obvious," he said with charming frankness. He didn't deny he had been putting on a performance the past four days. "I wanted things to be perfect for us for as long as possible. Things don't always work out right, do they?"

  Brenna knew every nuance of that handsome face. She knew what Derek was planning when that blond head cocked, that strong body drew itself up to
its full height.

  She toyed with the emblem on his lapel. A Hiber-Ship insignia button. Derek was part of their piloting team, one of the experts they would need to take the colonists down to the planet when they reached their destination. Since he had left Breakthrough Unlimited, though, most of his piloting had been done jockeying between public appearances on Earth and in the colonies, recruiting volunteers for the great cryogenic stasis ship. Derek was good at that, particularly at convincing nubile and healthy women to become future colonists on an uninhabited world.

  "The vacation has been perfect," Brenna said. "Almost." Derek took her hands in his as she added, "I wish we could have more times together like this. But with our mismatched schedules, that's so damned difficult."

  Derek nodded. "And from now on I'm afraid we'll have even less time together."

  "Less?" She managed a shaky laugh, nonplused at the statement.

  "That's why I wanted this holiday for us. I ... I needed a special time and place so I could tell you." There was a long aching pause, then Derek murmured, "And I hate to, because once I've said it, it's done. The program's complete and the engines have fired."

  Beneath Brenna's boots, the floor trembled. Blasting going on, down in the mines. The queasy sensation radiated from the soles of her feet up to her belly. "What are you talking about? Tell me what? Listen, I meant it when I said I'm glad I came. These days on leave—God! How I needed them! Morgan and I knew the crew needed some rest, but we did, too. Three months we've been shuttling back and forth from Mars to FTL Station. If the gang didn't get a break ... and Colony Days was the perfect reason…

  She was babbling, trying to avoid the fathomless darkness lying under that tightrope.

  Derek's eyes impaled her, choking off the flow of unimportant words. "I've been assigned to full-time ferry duty and ship liaison, Bren," he said with obvious pain. He had no qualms about the new job, of course. That was a promotion, a heady one. His reluctance turned entirely on what his work would mean to their relationship. "I'll be in charge of taking the final supply shipments out to New Earth Seeker's orbit, near Jupiter. Everything's in the last stages now. No more recruitment tours. The lists are nearly full. Yan Bolotin and the other Hiber-Ship board members will make the announcement next week for the general public. The computers are ready; star charts the Vahnaj Ambassador gave us, on the boards." He closed his eyes momentarily, steeling himself, then said, "We leave next March."