In Ashes Born (A Seeker's Tale From The Golden Age Of The Solar Clipper Book 1) (2 page)

I laughed and pulled my trunks into the cottage, locking them down and rummaging through to find a shipsuit I could wear to garden in.

Funny. I’d forgotten the smell that clipped roses have. Sure the flower itself smells like a rose, but the stems—fresh with sap, green-smelling. There’s a musky fug to it that I’d completely forgotten until I clipped the first stray runner from the bush. That scent took me back nearly twenty stanyers.

Back before I’d graduated.

Back before I’d found Greta.

Back before I’d found my father.

Back before I’d lost it all.

I kept sniffing because my nose kept running in time with my eyes as if they competed in some contest of runniness. Each time I did, the sharp scent of snipped rose stem reminded me to watch where I clipped, where I put my fingers.

The mess call bugle sounded but I kept pruning. Being a captain meant I could eat when I wanted. If nothing else, it meant I could go into town to find something to eat. Besides, only a meter or so of climbing rose remained. I could finish by the time they piped the colors at sunset.

Chapter Two
Port Newmar:
2374, May 25

I’d forgotten reveille. The academy wasn’t actually a military academy per se, but they followed many military customs as molds into which they poured cadets. The administration had installed speakers across the campus and programmed the appropriate recordings. I’d heard the evening mess call and evening colors, but I’d forgotten the welcoming of dawn. It all came back to me with the brassy notes echoing across the campus.

To be fair, the call came from a distant speaker and probably wouldn’t have awakened a sounder sleeper. I might have ignored it had my day been free of encumbrance. As soon as I heard the first few notes, I crawled out of the rather comfortable bed and did the needful before climbing into workout clothes. Reveille sounded at 0530 and
Sifu
Newmar would be on the floor in her studio at 0600. If I wanted to be on time, I’d need to arrive well before that. Breakfast would have to wait until after our session. I grabbed the clippers and headed across campus.

The morning air carried a familiar tang, the sky above almost translucent as the primary kissed the eastern horizon. Proximity to the water kept the air temps from swinging too wildly, but a faint morning haze turned my march across campus into a stroll through a green fairyland. In the distance I heard an engine turn over and then catch with a low rumble. In a few moments, a large tractor trundled out onto the parade ground, huge squishy tires barely caressing the grass as it drew a mower along behind. The green scent carried clearly, wafting on a stray breeze.

I arrived to find the studio empty. The local primary had risen high enough to cast ample light on the floor so I bowed to the studio and took my position. The old warmups and stretches came back to me. At least some of them. It felt good to be in that space again, to be moving my body and feeling the muscles work. I focused on my balance, on being suspended from the top of my head and keeping a balanced center through my core. I often thought of it as my own planetary axis, aligned with gravity and free of any axial tilt.

The warmth of the primary’s radiation stroked my face. It promised heat later in the day, but the freshness of morning clung to my nose, the air soft on my skin. I could still hear the low thrum of the tractor mowing the parade ground ever so faintly over the rushing of my own blood in my ears.

“Good morning, Captain Wang.”
Sifu
Newmar stepped into the studio with her usual quiet grace. “I saw that you finished the roses. Did you remember to bring the clippers?”

I stopped and bowed, student to master. “I did,
Sifu
.”

“Are you through pruning?” she asked. Her seamed face turned toward the light as if she were a flower addressing the day.

I took a moment to consider. She asked no questions lightly, and she knew I’d finished the roses. “I’m not sure,
Sifu
,” I said.

“You arrived here the first time with thirty kilos.”

I nodded. “With friends to support me and the idea that I’d have a career waiting for me when I left.”

She turned back to me and gifted me with a small smile that reached from her lips all the way up to her eyes. “Shall we begin?” Without waiting for me, she took the opening position and led me into a Jung Long Form.

At the end of the first hour, she called a halt. Sweat drenched my workout clothes, and I felt as wrung out as a recycled scrubber filter. “Tea?” she asked, gliding off the floor as if the previous hour had been nothing at all. For her, I’m sure it had been.

“Thank you,
Sifu
.”

“Do some of the cooldowns while I heat the water,” she said, stopping me from following her into the cooler, dimmer confines of the studio.

“Of course,
Sifu
.” I took the position and began an exercise she called Pumping Chi. It consisted mainly of slowly crouching and pressing down with outstretched hands, then reversing to stand up with palms upward.

“Beautiful Lady’s Hands, Ishmael. Beautiful Lady’s Hands.”

I felt my lips curl into a smile and relaxed my hands. She always knew, even when she couldn’t see me. I let myself forget everything. I became quiet in my head and let the repeated movements carry me. I focused on my hands pressing down even while relaxed. I felt the lift of my thighs when I pulled up. My breath moved in synchronization with my movements—inhaling on the rise, exhaling on the fall. My body became a bellows, pushing out and pulling in.

“Tea’s ready, Ishmael.”

I finished standing and let my arms drop to my sides, feeling the burn in my muscles and enjoying the feeling. I let my eyes close and took two more full breaths, letting them all the way out before taking the next. I listened to the sound of my blood pulsing languidly in my ears, waves on an inner sea. I turned to see her watching me from the shadows.

“Come. Sit.”

I followed her back into the cool recesses where she kept a cozy nook. She used a cast iron kettle and a porcelain teapot. Her cups—each unique—found homes in an old wooden sorting tray. I noticed one empty slot in what I’d remembered as a full rack. “You’re missing a cup?”

Her fingers went to the empty slot in gentle caress. “It fell.” She pulled two cups from their slots, seemingly at random but I’d seen her pour tea too many times to be fooled. Turning to me she said, “Nothing lasts forever. Even teacups.” The smile tugged the corners of her lips. “You can keep them safe on the shelf, but that’s not what teacups are for.”

I sank onto the cushioned chair opposite her and folded my hands on the buttery smooth wooden surface.

She placed the solidly formed, simple clay cup without a handle in front of me and kept the flowered porcelain for herself. It looked like it should have had a saucer under it. It reminded me of something from long, long ago with its cheery flowers, soaring birds, and generously flared rim.

I remembered watching her perform this same ritual when I was a cadet. She seldom picked the same cup twice for herself and the cups for her guests always appeared to have some symbolism. I considered the white shape in front of me as she tilted the teapot over it. The rich, dark tea steamed as it flowed into the simple bowl. She lifted the spout and then lowered it to fill her own cup without spilling a drop. I knew part of it was the teapot, a classic from someplace far away. Part of it was her practiced skill in using it. She placed it on a hot stone slab and leaned forward to let the warm steam from her cup waft across her face.

I tested the surface of my cup with fingertips before committing myself to gripping it. The smooth glaze retained sufficient coolness as the cup’s mass slowly absorbed the heat. I took a careful sip and managed to avoid burning my tongue.

“You’re out of practice,” she said.

“With tea?”

She gave a slight nod toward the practice floor.

“I let my discipline slide.”

“You’ve risen very fast, Ishmael.”

I stared into the simple cup of tea, admiring the smooth lines of the clay and satin finish of the glaze. “I flew too high.” The words came to my lips unbidden but once uttered I knew them too well.

When
Sifu
Newmar didn’t answer, I looked across the table. She was smiling at me.

“What?” I asked.

She lifted the brightly colored cup to her lips and took a slurping sip from its gold-touched rim. Without taking her eyes from mine, she placed it back down on the table. “What would you have done differently?” The smile never left her lips. “Knowing what you’ve learned? Would you take a different path?”

I sighed and shook my head, looking down into my cup again. Small bits of leaf and sediment hung suspended in the tea like dust motes in a sun beam. I stared at them, hoping they might offer some insight. “I let myself become too rigid.”

“Say more.”

I glanced over at her. “What I learned on the
Lois McKendrick
, I took with me.”

“Commandant Giggone will be gratified to learn that.”

“I took it too far. I ignored the evidence of my own eyes and clung to dogma instead of adapting to new understanding.”

“Sort of like tai chi, eh?” One corner of her lips curved up and she hid the crooked grin behind her teacup.

I felt my lips responding with a smile of my own. “I’m out of practice.”

She nodded and replaced her cup on the table. “You’ve some pruning to do and perhaps some new seeds to sow. You’ll have a few weeks to practice, I think.”

“I was planning on a few months.”

“Plans are not actions.” Her eyebrows lifted and her smile broadened. “We’ve rested long enough. Drink up. I have time for a couple more sets before I need to visit a leggy lilac bush across campus.” She stood and crossed to the sideboard to rinse out her cup.

I lifted my cup and drained it to the dregs. “What would you like me to prune? More roses?” She grinned at me over one shoulder and offered a shrug. “I’d like you to cut down your baggage. Can you weed out enough to get down to one grav-trunk?”

Her answer surprised a laugh out of me, but it also made me pause. “It’s everything I own.”

Her eyebrows expressed much more than words might have. She turned to the floor and bowed before stepping into the sunlight.

Chapter Three
Port Newmar:
2374, May 26

An onshore breeze brought the iodine pinch of saltwater from the bay. The system primary had cleared the tree line but hadn’t yet warmed the air. The coolness of it soothed my skin and made the sweat on the back of my shirt feel chilly.

I had nearly made it back to my cottage when Cadet Udan found me on the path.

He saluted sharply but didn’t hold it. Completely understandable since I was out of uniform. “Sar, Commandant’s compliments and would you join her for lunch mess at the Officers Club at 1200 hours?”

“I’d be pleased to, Mr. Udan.”

“Thank you, sar. I’ll let her know.”

“Carry on, Mr. Udan.”

As he marched away in proper cadet form, I marveled that I had ever been that young. I wondered what happened to that boy, then snorted and resumed my stroll toward the shower. It hadn’t even been twenty stanyers since I’d been a cadet. It seemed like much longer.

As I strolled, the images from the
Chernyakova
came back to me. I hadn’t thought of that for a long time, but it had only been—what? I couldn’t remember. When I counted back on my fingers, I realized it had only been three stanyers since we’d jumped into Breakall and found the ship adrift. Less than that, really. Closer to two and a half. A year on the
Agamemnon
and a year on the
Iris
. Only a few months since I left my last ship to the tender care of Christine Maloney.

As far as I knew, the
Chernyakova
still waited for auction in Breakall. The first two auctions had failed. I wondered what would happen with the next one. Docking fees added up over time.

The roses around the door looked fully recovered from my ministrations. The white double blooms seemed to shine in their own light against the rich green foliage. The pile of clippings had disappeared from beside the path.

I stripped off the soggy workout clothes and dropped them into the refresher and rummaged in my grav-trunks for clean shorts and my dress uniform. I could have gotten away with a set of utilities, but lunch at the O Club meant I’d be on display. I owed it to Alys Giggone to put on a good face.