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

  This book and parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by the United States of America copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual persons, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  Visit us on the web at: www.solarclipper.com

  Copyright © 2015 by Nathan Lowell

  Cover Art J. Daniel Sawyer

  First Printing: October, 2015

  Books in the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper Series

  Trader Tales

  Quarter Share

  Half Share

  Full Share

  Double Share

  Captain’s Share

  Owner’s Share

  Shaman Tales

  South Coast

  Cape Grace*

  Fantasy by Nathan Lowell

  Ravenwood

  Zypheria’s Call

  The Hermit of Lammas Wood

  * Forthcoming

  To my grandfather, Ralph M. Lowell.

  He taught me to fish and the value of work.

  He was a gentle soul who

  always smelled of fresh cut wood and tobacco.

  May he rest in peace.

  Chapter One

  Port Newmar:

  2374, May 25

  A lot had changed on the campus since I’d left it in ’58. Sixteen stanyers in the life of a public institution would do that. From the observation deck, I could pick out the hulking edifice that was Hutchins Gym. The buildings still hugged the ground, most a single story. Where the old admin building used to be, a new glass and steel office tower stood shoulders above the tree line. I snorted as I realized that it couldn’t be more than five floors, but it towered above the rest.

  “Captain Wang, sar?”

  I turned to find a cadet waiting at attention. “Yes?”

  “Commandant’s compliments, sar. I’m to show you to the Visiting Officers Quarters and see that you’re settled comfortably, sar.”

  “At ease, cadet.”

  He snapped to a perfectly rigid parade rest.

  I sighed and read his name badge. “Mr. Udan? Is that Ou-dan or You-dan?”

  “Oo-don,” he said with the emphasis on the second syllable.

  “I’m glad I asked. Thank you, Mr. Udan. Please stand easy.”

  His posture relaxed fractionally, but he didn’t look anything like comfortable. The two stripes on his sleeve marked him as a second-year student.

  “Looking forward to a summer cruise, Mr. Udan?”

  “Sar?” He looked genuinely perplexed.

  “You’re second year. Isn’t the academy on summer break?”

  “Oh, yes, sar. The cadet has not qualified for a summer cruise, sar.”

  “I see. Well, in that case, lay on, MacDuff.”

  “And damned be him who first cries ‘Hold! Enough!’ sar,” he answered.

  His answer forced a laugh out of me.

  He came back to attention and held a flat palm toward the ladder off the observation deck. “Your quarters are this way, sar.”

  With a final scan of the campus from the terminal overlook, I nodded to him and led the way down the ladder, both grav-trunks trundling along behind. Out on the tarmac, I heard shuttle engines warming up with their characteristic whistling whine, a sound I hadn’t heard since I left. It sounded like home.

  The terminal lay nearly deserted. The outgoing traffic had cleared out as had the half dozen mechanics I’d shared the ride down with. They’d left me to my own devices in the back of the shuttle while they carefully kept eyes forward and voices down. After letting me debark, they’d arrowed straight for the terminal exit.

  “Would the captain prefer to walk or ride, sar?”

  “Walk, I think, Mr. Udan, and if it wouldn’t strain your training protocol too much, the captain would prefer to be called by his name.”

  Red crept up the back of the boy’s neck. “Of course, sar.”

  “Good,” I said. “VOQ still over by Admin?”

  “Yes, sar.”

  “Walk with me, Mr. Udan. You can regale me with tales of student life.” I set off at a stroll toward the exits and smiled to myself when Mr. Udan fell into step.

  “Tales of student life, sar? I’m sure the capta—uh—I’m sure I don’t know what you might find amusing about student life, sar.”

  “Commandant Giggone still holds the flag here?”

  “Yes, sar.”

  “I’d have thought he’d have retired by now.”

  “He, sar?” Udan gave me a sharp side-eyed glance.

  “Commandant Giggone. Robert Giggone?”

  “Oh! No, sar. Commandant Alys Giggone.”

  I laughed again. “Small universe.”

  “So I’m told, sar.” Udan stepped forward to trigger the automatic doors that opened onto the plascrete plaza fronting the terminal building.

  “How long has she been here?”

  “I believe this is her fifth term as commandant, sar. She was here when I got here, but some of last term’s graduates knew her father.”

  We strolled down the tree-shaded path toward a cluster of smallish bungalows sheltered in the stunted trees.

  “She was my first captain,” I said. “She put me in for the academy herself.”

  I saw Udan giving me a skeptical look out of the corner of my eye. I grinned at him. “Don’t look so surprised. She recommended a lot of students. I was number thirty-four. I have no idea how many she ended up with.”

  He stopped in front of one of the bungalows. “This is your cottage, sar.”

  I looked at the comfy little building, all brick and wood. White roses bloomed on a trellis highlighted by the late afternoon sun. “I used to trim these roses when I was a cadet, Mr. Udan.”

  He cocked his head and looked at me, surprise painted on his face with a broad brush.

  “It’s true. I had problems with the physical training so I was assigned a rather unorthodox teacher.”

  “And he had you pruning roses, sar?”

  “She had me pruning roses, trimming trees, raking leaves, and planting flowers. Among other things.”

  His brow furrowed as if he couldn’t make sense of what I’d told him.

  “What self-defense discipline have you worked with, Mr. Udan?”

  “G’wai G’wah, sar. Some tae kwon do.”

  “When I was here the PT instructor said I had the killer instincts of a lawn chair. He brought me out here to meet my new teacher.” I smiled at him. “I’m hoping she’s still here. I could use some refresher work.”

  “How long ago were you here, sar?”

  “Class of ’58.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know any instructors who’ve been here that long, sar.”

  “Is the old dojo still there? The one with the big windows behind Hutchins?”

  He blinked. “Well, there’s a building over there, yeah. Big windows and almost overgrown with ivy and vines, sar.”

  I smiled. “And have you ever noticed a gardener working the grounds? Older woman? About this tall?” I held up a hand to show what I meant. “White hair. Wears a floppy canvas hat? Her name is Margaret Newmar.”

  “I don’t know that name, sar, but there’s a little old lady who tends a lot of the gardens. I see her around so
metimes.”

  “That’s her.”

  “She was a martial arts instructor, sar?”

  “I still am, Mr. Udan.” The voice came clear and piping on the late afternoon air.

  We turned to find Sifu Newmar strolling toward us along the path, her ever-present gardening gloves in one hand and a pair of trimmers in the other.

  I locked my hands together and bowed, student to master.

  She smiled and handed her gloves and trimmers to Udan before returning the bow, teacher to student. “I’m pleased to see you, Captain.”

  “I’m pleased to be here, Sifu.”

  Her left eyebrow twitched ever so slightly and her lips curved up on the right. “You always were polite.” She shook her head. “But you still can’t lie worth a damn.”

  I had to laugh. “I’ve been practicing.”

  “You’ll never be a good liar. You have other admirable qualities.”

  Mr. Udan’s eyes looked like they might bug out of his head.

  She held out her hands to him for her gear. “Mr. Udan, you have duties, I believe.”

  He stopped in mid-salute on realizing she wasn’t in uniform and just nodded. “Yes, sar. Ma’am. That is. Yes.” To me he said, “If there’s anything you need, Captain? There’s a card on the desk inside.” He came to attention and saluted me, holding it.

  I returned the salute. “My compliments to the commandant, Mr. Udan. Thank you for your assistance.”

  He nodded once and strode off toward the admin building.

  “He’s a good lad,” Margaret said. “He just doesn’t pay attention to the details.”

  “You know him?”

  “I know of him. He’s one of Alys’s problem children.”

  I looked after the retreating cadet. “That why he’s not on summer cruise?”

  Her lips twitched but she just winked and shook her head. She looked to the rose bushes beside the door. “What do you think of those iceberg climbers?”

  “I think you’ve been saving them for me.” I looked at her. “How’d you know I’d be here?”

  She lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “We may be in the ivory tower, but I still follow the news. After what you’ve been through? I’m half surprised you haven’t shown up sooner.”

  “And Chief Stevens told you I’d be coming?”

  She pursed her lips and gave me a half smile. “Maggie Stevens is a sweetheart. She’ll be here later in the summer, I think.”

  “You don’t think she’ll stay with DST?”

  She looked at me. “No. She got what she went for. She’ll be back to work on the new edition of the book by the end of July. Wouldn’t surprise me if Alys convinces her to stay on and teach in the fall.”

  I gave a little laugh. “And what about me? What do you see me doing?”

  She handed me the trimmers. “For starters? Those climbers need some attention. Why don’t you give them some.”

  I looked down at my dress uniform. “I should probably change.”

  “Practical thought,” she said. “I’ll be on the floor at 0600, if you’d care to join me. Maggie says you need some help with the Four Corners.”

  “I may not have been as diligent as I might have been over the stanyers.”

  She sniffed. “It’ll come back.” She ambled back the way she’d come. “Bring the clippers back tomorrow,” she said over her shoulder. “Might be more work for you.”

  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.

  “Than
k 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.