Bless Me On My Way - English Edition by dublinertinte (beach read book .TXT) 📕

Dear Reader,
Please note that I'm no English tongue and translated this story from German language. Please forgive some strange expressions and errors. Thank you. ;0)

The sharp sound in the computer room woke Bessinger. She had only slept for half an hour, the noise made her think immediately of one more shitty computer malfunction, she lifted her foot in the lying position and hit with the heel the intercom on the wall.
"Roger, you take care of the alarm."
She screamed into the intercom, without lifting her head. From the speaker somewhere sounded Rogers voice from the ship and he sounded pissed off, as most of the time.
"Take care of it yourself, Bee. I am all the way in the circuitry of the processing plant. You have your ass yet again on the mattress. Go over and switching it off."

Bessinger turned off the intercom in the same way as she had turned it on.
This is not a normal

acoustic-my-ass brokes apart

, she thought, but she did not get up. She stared at the ceiling. It reminded her of something, but she could not define it. Too short sleep stages. Too much stress and pressure. It took too long to get back in trip, but if she slept longer, she needed chemistry to be really awake. Then only the chemical prevented that she confused dreams and reality. A side effect of the job that did occur often and had decimated many a team.
"Bastard."
She swung her legs from the couch, stretched her arms over her head and stomped over in the computer room. In the connecting corridors, they had reduced the lighting to the minimum. Why turn the full Halloween lighting on the station only for a handful of soldiers and two pilots, mechanics and hyenas.
In the computer room, connected with headquarters and control of the ship, the bright-green signal blinked on the screen, accompanied by this penetrating tone. It was not the main screen, but one of the small screens that were connected to the decoupled system. Bessinger had raised her arms still staring at the screen, let them fall at last.
At last she remembered the signal, but what she saw there was not possible. She activated the box, typed in the code and directed the signal to the control center of the ship. In the computer room the intercom was broken and not to turn off. If you were in there, you should be careful what you said because you could never know who would listen to you somewhere in the ship.
"Roger," she shouted, louder than earlier, "to the central! This is not a malfunction!"
Roger did not answer. She knew that he was already on the way through the corridors to the central office. They worked together so long, they recognized the urge in the voice of the other.
Bessinger would not beat his ass as long it was serious. And that was not a malfunction. This was serious.
The ways in the ship were long, but the majority of lines were equipped with hyper-connections and Roger stood in the same time as Bessinger in the central. In the semi-circular screen, which occupied the whole wall, a waterfall roared. After years in orbit, the crew was tired of having to stare at the stars, or to see as small but important parts of the ship loosened and burnt in the atmosphere of this cursed planet.
Roger, half a head shorter than Bessinger, with short straight hair under a baseball cap, let his commander step first into the room. She had put on weight, but he was longer looking at her sweeping ass when she walked in front of him. The signal was clear now and Bessinger turned off the waterfall. The signal arose from a small electrical unit called the tracker and was used for hyenas and pilots. In the best case, and if the defaulting tracker done his task correctly, they showed the location of the vehicle, accurate to an inch. If the tracker was coupled with the combat equipment of a hyena, he also showed live images and vital signs, and the name and rank.
In the ship which was circling in orbit, it was primarily hyenas which were sent in gliders down to decimate the Tusk. They had done it in the last few months so well that the mining company machines could do their work without interruptions. Sometimes they were sent to take over rudderless ships, or to relocate miners from somewhere. They did that for which they were paid, but most of them cleared up.
It was three weeks ago that a hyena had gone out with a glider and only to make a test flight and two hours after the man returned to the ship.
"One of the tracker," said Roger, "but see the ID. We do not use them anymore.”
They stared at the signal on the white noise of the optical control field, stared at the missing data.
"I remember the transponder," said Bessinger. She took a step aside, using the field of general communication systems and started the first warning. The last time she used the warning was half a year ago when a short circuit in the medical station had caused a fire and had they all had to be prepared for a possible evacuation.
Roger made no unnecessary questions. He slipped his the upper body in the overalls, which had hung from his hip, so he had more freedom of movement, moved to the lock and turned the shade of his cap backwards. He was already sitting in the co-pilot seat of the little glider, strapped on and activated the launch sequence, as Bessinger said: "This is Jack's Tracker. Let's go down."


Jack was on his way home. Because Hudd the blacksmith of the conviction preferred to work under a full moon, as the wrought iron could be processed better and would last longer, they worked continuously through full moon nights. The forge and small cottage where he lived were outside the village at the foot of the mountains, because the hammering would not disturb the other inhabitants in their sleep. For Jack it was okay to work at night and come home at dawn.
The only things which could discourage him from sleeping during the day were the barking dogs around the house and Rachel, who forgot that she should try to be quiet. He walked down the hilly mountain path, smelling of smoke, fire and metal and this strong odor he would wash away in a long bath in the shallow arm of the river. With an SUV, he would quickly come forward, but in this part of the world there are no SUVs. The residents knew that there were motorized vehicles, but they had none. For the transport of heavy loads they used the mountain ponies and carts, these were enough for all purposes. On the narrow streets and paths was no room for anything other than sure-footed ponies.
Jack went on foot because he was too big for a pony, and had with these beasts, even after such a long time still closed no friendship. When he approached them, they turned their backsides to him, unless he brought apples and carrots. Rachel had tried to teach him how he had to deal with them and what he could do in any case, but they had a point immediately that something was different about him. He was not among them.
The farmers did not lock the ponies in stables or in gates. They could walk around freely and they prevented that they left the area by feeding them every morning. In the early light hours of the day, the ponies came from the woods, found one of the houses to collect their daily ration and let themselves be captured and harnessed to work. They were damn smart. They knew that they would do some work and get food for it. Rachel had two ponies that would overtake him on the way home, Jack knew.
The valley was cut off both from the outside world as well as from the sun. The valley was surrounded completely by the mountains and the dense forests protected them from the intense solar radiation and it rained frequently. The temperatures were always mild, there was no winter and no hot summer, and Jack knew that the Ciudad indeed counted the years, but it was not oriented to the seasons, but on much more complicated things that the water level of the river and the stars when they got to face them. Thus it was that Jack was the only one who knew that he lived for three years and five months with them, for his own timing was exact.
"You can count the sunrises," Jack said, "and so count the days, then the weeks, months and years."
"Why should we do that?" replied Rachel, "I was born in the year when there was no water in the river and that happened only five times. It is five times ago. Why should I count how many times it gets light?"
On the way home, in the full moon night, which was almost over, Jack arrived the part of the forest which Rachel called the forest of the spirits. She said she would not like to go there alone, for many reasons.
The part of the forest did not differ in the slightest from the rest of the wooded hills and plains, but Rachel said that the spirits dwelt there and sometimes they received messages from them. Mostly the direct relatives would report on upcoming events or about events taken place in the past. Jack was convinced that this was something that had brought by their ancestors, the runaway miners who came to this planet for work from their original home planets. He did not believe in this things and he wasted no thoughts about these spirits when he walked through this part of the woods.
When he heard Rachel's voice on his right side, he shuddered and stopped. Her voice said, accompanied by the rustling of the trees and the whisper of the branches: She will not let you down

.
That was all. Jack was waiting for more, staring into the darkness and cried, "Rachel? What are you talking about? Rachel?"
Then he realized that no one was there, only him and the forest and the soft voices of the trees whispering.
Must have dreamed, he thought, not more.
He had already forgotten this whispering voice, as he saw the first houses in the early day light.

Rachel was in the garden and cut herbs, as he entered the house. The ponies were already with her, drank from the glut and flapping their thick reddish tails to the flies. They heard him, lifting their heads, and Rachel turned to Jack, raised her hand and continued to select individual stalks and leaves thoroughly. These were the Ciudad - always focusing on what they were doing and living aimlessly from day to day. Hudd forged tools, tires, belts, knives, belt buckles, all types of containers, he traded these things for vegetables and fish, against a rabbit that someone had captured or against a new garment. But most of the time he sat in front of his hut, smoking the terrible herb that women like Rachel collected, dried and then bartered, and scratched his dog.
Jack made himself breakfast, chased away the mouse, which had come out of the brickwork between the wall and window,