crispina kemp

An early airing of my wip. Comments, opinions, anything, welcomed…
Impatient, Jess didn’t wait till his data-board was fully operational before scrolling through the barely lit names. He nodded and nodded again at those he recognised, especially when those names were Obs. Train an Obs, keep an Obs. But where was Kookka? He wasn’t on the list, why not? Dread rushed him and took his breath, left him for the moment shaking. No, please, no, don’t let Kookka be dead.
He slammed out of the room – however unpalatable the truth he had to know it – and slammed right into a Tech.
“Zem Jess,” the Tech, cool as a sleep-tank, greeted him. “Why your hurry? Briefing is not for another thirty—apologies, correction, another twenty-eight bits.”
“Where’s Kookka?” Jess asked, no thought to explain. It was a Tech he was asking, the Techs knew everything, reputedly your every least thought.
“Kookka?” The Tech paused for a moment, then answered, “Assigned to Clutch Eight.”
Relief. At least he wasn’t dead, but… “Kookka’s my Obs. I trained him, I want him.”
The Tech shook an unemotional head. “It is for the Techs to assign.”
Jess snarled through clamped jaws. “You can warn the Nexus, I’m not happy at this.” And he thundered off – or would have thundered but for the rubber soles on his soft ankle-boots that merely squeaked against the corridor’s rubberised floor.
*
Corridor, turn ninety degrees – corridor, turn ninety degrees – five times and all apparently on the same level, all the same green-more-than yellow of the public sectors, yet here he was on the top floor of the STC-Transporter despite he had started close to the bottom.
There had been changes along the way, too subtle to notice when in a hurry, except for the savoury smells of cooking that gave way to the sweetness of flowers. However, the music remained the same: distant, and choral, calming and reassuring.
This final corridor delivered him to a soft-shadowed door which at his approach swished open. Within, lights more blue than green. The Nexus, Yeho, sat at an oceanic desk. Waiting.
“Zem Jess.” The coolness of greeting was touched with…what? Compassion? But Yeho was a Tech, as much as the drones on the lower floors, and Techs were devoid of emotion, so said the talk heard since nursery days. “You are angered that, for this present tour of duty, Observer Kookka isn’t assigned to your clutch.”
“I trained him,” Jess said. “We work well together, I want him.” His anger had abated some, what with the walking, the breathing, the floral and the choral tones.
“But Zem Jess, why bring this to me? An experienced Zem – how many tours now? Twelve? Though this is only your sixth as a Zem. Yet even after six you must know that as the Nexus my sphere reaches no further than this transporter. It is not for me to say who is assigned to where.”
“I want him.” Jess found his anger rising again and worked at holding it down. He knew to be angry at the Nexus Yeho was illogical. There was no single Tech responsible for this. That wasn’t how the Techs worked. It was each and every one of them, or at least those responsible for the GM Programme.
Meanwhile, Yeho had slipped into a comms-trance, empty grey-skin seemingly unattended. Grey skin, thickened by years of intergalactic travel until no other colour showed through. Greylegs, the Obs teams called them, and in return the Greylegs called the Obs teams Pinkies. For, take away the more colourful kit of the Obs and Ops, the only distinguishing visual marker between them and the Techs was their skin – and their build. The Obs and Ops were generally taller, sturdier, more robust, the Techs short and gracile. Jess supposed that an effect of their different environments, planets being kinder to growth than the intergalactic STC-Transporters.
Returned from the comms-trance, Yeho grunted. Jess wondered what that might mean. He could easily imagine it as negative comment if the Nexus had accessed his record while in the trance.
“You were a master metallurgist before joining the Programme,” Yeho remarked with what seemed to Jess a hint of surprise, though that had to be his imagination since the Techs were unemotional. “But after the mishap—”
“Yes, I know,” Jess cut in, not needing another to repeat that phase of his history.
Again, the Nexus Yeho grunted. “I wonder, did the Fire-keepers allow you to return too soon? According to your record you were lone-minded when you first joined the Programme. That kind of behaviour can wreck everyone’s work. No—” Yeho held up a hand to kill Jess’s barely risen response. “There is no need, I can see it myself. Despite your behaviour is still at times…shall we say at variance with our desired norms, still decking yourself with native crafts so I see—”
Of its own volition, Jess’s hand went to the offending necklace to finger the shells.
“—yet since working with this Kookka your behaviour has changed to such that the Programme has raised you to a Clutch Overseer. A Zem.
“Were it for me alone to reassign Obs and Ops,” Yeho said, “I would not hesitate. Kookka has proven himself a beneficial influence on you – though I do wonder why he has not been likewise raised. But here we are, ten galaxies away from Programme Control; it is not easy to consult the Assigners. However, I can consult with the Techs onboard this transporter. If a majority says, then I shall say too.”
The Nexus Yeho slipped into another comms-trance. Jess waited. As the bits ticked away Jess shuffled his feet. He twiddled his thumbs. He glanced around at the blue-hued room, at the walls that showed an ever-rolling seascape beneath a blue cloudless sky. Long ribbons of greeny-brown seaweed floated upon that swell. Jess drew in a great breath – and realised the air in Yeho’s quarters smelled and tasted of that same sea. Jess huffed it out, loudly. What was taking so long? As he understood the comms-trance – and the Fire-keepers of Colabri had taught him a similar technique – the trance took the participants outside of time. So why this long wait? It should appear to be instant. Was it done intentionally to keep him guessing? Techs, he grunted alone in his head, nasty manipulative Techs.
Yeho’s grey-skinned body again showed sign of animation. “It is done, Kookka has been re-assigned – to Clutch Six, your clutch.
*
The countdown to Briefing had begun. “Ten bits,” the P.A. warned. Jess turned his feet to head that way and while walking checked on his data-board. Had it been updated? Did it now show Kookka?
The names now were brightly lit in yellow-white. Obs and Ops, all successfully awoken after the jump. All except one which flashed red. An Obs, Joel. Jess didn’t recognise the name.
“Nine bits to Briefing,” the P.A. warned. Had he time to make it down to the Sleep-Hold, to check out this one who was ailing? Joel. A bud? Buds often had trouble with their first few jumps.
“Eight bits to Briefing,” the P.A. warned.
After the concession just allowed him, it wouldn’t do to be late. But if he hurried….