London Wild

by V. E. Shearman

  ‘Looks like we were right not to let you drive then,’ George commented over his shoulder.

  ‘I guess,’ February replied, calmer now, ‘but then, being in charge and knowing I could escape just by hitting the accelerator might have made all the difference to the situation.’

  ‘Hitting the accelerator with all the soldiers about,’ Maureen commented, ‘we wouldn’t have gotten five yards. I’m glad George is driving.’

  February snapped back, ‘I didn’t mean I would, just that knowing that I could would’ve made the situation…’ She dried up; what was the point? Maureen had judged and sentenced her the moment they had met, and there was no point trying to explain anything to her.

  The traffic to the north of the checkpoint was moving at a fair pace again, the vehicles leaving the checkpoint far enough apart to make a little bit of room for lane changes and speed fluctuations, for overtaking and being overtaken. February relaxed and rested her eyes. There might be dogs at the spaceport, but now that she knew that the stuff did protect her against being detected, their presence didn’t really bother her. It was still a couple of hours before they would reach the spaceport. There was plenty of time for her to grab a quick nap. She closed her eyes, resting her head against the back of the back seat, jostling Stanley a little to get comfortable, and then waited to drift into a gentle sleep.

  She was woken as they approached the turning road into the spaceport. Stanley had leaned forward carefully, trying not to wake her, but had failed, and he was asking George, ‘Any idea where to park?’

  ‘When Kitty isn’t handed in today, they’ll come looking for me,’ George replied in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘When they find my car here, they’ll impound it. I don’t think it matters too much where I park. However, I thought I might park in the long-term section, just in case.’

  ‘You know,’ Maureen piped in (from her tone it was clear she thought February was still sleeping), ‘we could always hand February over and claim that she is Kitty. Problem solved.’

  ‘No,’ George replied strongly, ‘February took Kitty in and looked after her when she didn’t need to; the least we can do is reciprocate.’

  ‘February is a good friend,’ Kitty added almost angrily. ‘I wouldn’t allow anything to happen to her.’

  February said nothing as she sat more upright; there didn’t seem to be anything she could say. Instead she looked out the window at the buildings that they passed as they found the right terminal and parking for the same, reading the big friendly signs that said, ‘Welcome to Manchester Spaceport!’

  Walking along the short corridors from the underground car park, February became more than a little concerned over the number of dogs that seemed to be on patrol about the terminal. The war between the Herbaht and the herd was taking place many, many miles away in London. Surely they didn’t need all these dogs here? Maybe they weren’t all trained to hunt down her kind; most spaceports also had dogs to detect the location of illicit drugs and quite probably other contraband. Looking at the security guards that held the dogs on their leashes eased her mind a little. The guards were armed with nothing more than a short truncheon each; if the dogs actually detected a Herbaht in the halls, the security guards themselves would be helpless, able to do no more than radio for help. That would give her, or anyone, plenty of time to make an escape.

  None of the dogs even so much as looked in her direction as she passed, and she decided it was best to find something else to think about. It was good that that spray had lasted so far, but how long would it be before her natural scent would claw its way through? Stenhas had claimed it was good for twenty-four hours, but he couldn’t have been sure, and it couldn’t be good that she was sweating profusely under the three tops she had put on. She decided to remove at least one of them when she was through the check-in area. She didn’t think it would matter too much if she carried it in her hand, and she could always put it on again if someone complained.

  Maureen seemed to be pretty much leading the way as they walked the short distance to a fairly large open area. This seemed to be the hub of this terminal. Escalators and elevators went both up and down from this floor, and a large stand-alone map was positioned in the middle of the area so people could find out easily where they needed to go. The area was scattered with comfortable-looking chairs, many of which were occupied by bored-looking people. They were chatting or reading books or just gazing off into the distance. Mainly they were waiting to greet friends on arriving flights. There were several pot plants, some of which seemed tall enough to touch the ceiling, while others were small enough to be placed in great number as a border around the closed sides of the escalators. There were a number of pictures, and these told the evolution of the spaceport, from its earliest days as a small field bordered by a few hangars to house biplanes to its current status as the spaceport for the north of the country.

  After a few seconds’ use of the stand-alone map, Stanley led them towards one of the down escalators. At the bottom of the escalator he led them around the back of it towards rows and rows of check-in desks, all belonging to different companies. Between two companies that catered only to European flights, he found the desks of the company for whom their tickets were valid.

  Although Stanley moved fairly quickly and with a purpose, the others seemed to trail some way behind him, most especially February, who felt uncomfortable when any of the herd were behind her anyway. She was looking about the area carefully as she walked, checking her getaway route in case she needed to escape at a moment’s notice. She was slow, although she tried not to lag too far behind the others. Nevertheless her eyes were very busy, looking everywhere, taking in everything.

  The line for the check-in desk was long, but it flowed easily and soon they were at the head. They bought an extra ticket for February and had already checked in their luggage. All they needed now was the time of their flight.

  ‘It’s a shame you added a fifth person to your itinerary,’ the check-in woman told them, as a holographic image of what was available on which flight hung in the air between them. ‘I could’ve gotten you on the three-fourteen with just the four of you. But I assume you’d all prefer to travel together?’

  ‘Yes, we would,’ February offered quickly.

  ‘I don’t know, though,’ Maureen piped in. ‘If February were to catch a later shuttle, we would all be on Mars that much the sooner.’

  ‘No,’ February replied resoundingly. Under normal circumstances she might have agreed to such an offer, and maybe all Maureen wanted was a few hours away from her. But February didn’t trust Maureen an inch; she could imagine the woman calling the spaceport security from the shuttle and denouncing her. She could imagine them trying to tell Kitty that she had betrayed them all and wouldn’t be following after all. Kitty was an intelligent girl, but she was still very naïve about many things.

  Maureen seemed to changed tact. ‘Or maybe I could catch the later shuttle. I don’t mind.’

  ‘No,’ February insisted again, ‘we all go together.’ Actually, as Kitty would be with her, February couldn’t see what Maureen might have to gain from such an offer, but February didn’t trust Maureen enough to be willing to find out.

  ‘Well, the first shuttle I can get all five of you on is the seven-fourteen, but that is a long time yet. However, I can seat you all within a couple of rows rather than scattered about the shuttle.’ The check-in woman tapped something into her desk computer. ‘Three on one row and two on the next. I was hoping to find you something a little earlier, but everything else is booked. Mars seems to be a very popular destination at the moment.’

  ‘The seven-fourteen will do nicely,’ Stanley replied quickly, trying to change the subject. ‘I’m sure we can keep ourselves occupied until then.’

  The shuttle was divided into three sections. Each section was divided from the next by soundproofed curtains that rather than actually being barriers were just there to demark the sections and could be pushed aside easily if necess
ary. Right at the very front of the shuttle were those who traveled first class. The seats here were large and luxurious, the sort of seats you could lose yourself in, plenty of room for those who were willing to pay as much as ten times the standard price of the trip, all for just a little luxury.

  Then there was business class. It wasn’t as comfortable as first class by a long way. The tickets were only three times the standard price, but to those in coach class it looked like luxury.

  Stanley and company were seated in coach class. It was right at the rear end of the shuttle. Beyond this section was only the galley, such as it was, and then the tank carrying the liquid fuel for takeoff and landing. As with the other two classes, each seat had its own holoviewa, but whereas those in first class and business class would have a small library to choose from, coach class passengers had a choice of just two, and these were both relatively old movies.

  Kitty sat nearest the window and started to look through it excitedly. George sat next to her, and then February sat on the end of the aisle where she felt most at ease. Stanley and Maureen took seats in front, apologizing to the gray-haired man who was already in his seat on the aisle as they clambered past him. Maureen sat by the window seat and almost immediately pulled the blind closed. Stanley took the middle seat, and he promptly poked his head through the gap between the headrests of his and Maureen’s seats to smile reassuringly at Kitty and also to give her a little wave. ‘This is it,’ he commented. ‘Excited?’

  Kitty nodded happily at him and went back to looking through the window.

  Actually this wasn’t really it, as they were still stuck on the ground until the last passenger had found their seat, and that alone seemed to take a small eternity. Then they seemed to be waiting and waiting, probably for the shuttle’s captain to go through all the control checks that were necessary before takeoff.

  Finally a disembodied voice began the standard speech, the captain of the shuttle in his cabin using the intercom and repeating the same thing he said for virtually every trip. ‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, my name is Justin Bowers and I will be your captain for this trip. The journey will take between three and four hours in total, our time, from liftoff to landing. It will take us approximately ninety minutes to reach a decent enough orbit from which we can engage the light speed engines and then a similar amount of time to land. You are warned not to look out of the windows at the moment when we hit light speed. There will be a reminder just before we do so.’

  As one of the human stewards stepped to the front of the shuttle, while the captain began to go through the standard safety drill, Kitty turned to the professor and asked, ‘What does he mean our time?’

  ‘Time dilation,’ George replied almost patronizingly. He then started to explain time dilation to her, but she just nodded and looked away, stopping him from continuing.

  ‘Yes,’ she commented when he stopped. ‘I know what time dilation is; I just didn’t think he put it clearly that that was what he meant.’

  ‘Are you aware,’ George asked, obviously trying to fill a lull, ‘that light speed has never actually been achieved?’

  ‘Sorry?’ Kitty looked at him, surprised, and so did February.

  ‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘take this shuttle for example. Its so-called light speed engines will probably only transport us at a rate of about a third of the speed of light. Making the engines faster costs exponentially more money, and as yet there hasn’t really been a call to fit a passenger shuttle with a faster engine. If the engines could actually reach light speed, then I very much doubt that we could afford the tickets. I expect military shuttles have a higher LS rating.’

  ‘You learn something new every day,’ February commented. She fastened her seat belt because a little light came on suggesting that she should do so.

  ‘So what about Goldberg and the other ships?’ Kitty questioned.

  ‘That was a special situation that involved the agreement of many countries, all of whom helped to spread the bill, and even then the engines weren’t fully light speed. At around ninety percent, the price actually more than doubles for every extra percent or so, and at ninety-six to ninety-seven percent I believe it even quadruples. The engines on those craft were tuned to ninety-seven percent of light speed.’

  ‘So we’ve been lied to for all these years,’ February put in. She sat back into the seat, her arms on the armrest vying with George for a moment for the one between them. Eventually she let him have it. ‘Why does that not surprise me?’

  ‘Well,’ George started to reply, ‘not so much lied to as…’

  Then the voice of the captain over the intercom interrupted, ‘Please make sure your safety belts are secure; we will be leaving the second we have clearance. Thank you.’

  Soon the shuttle was in the air. Everything seemed peaceful; there were robot-serving trolleys scuttling up and down the aisles serving drinks. Occasionally a human steward or stewardess could be seen answering more personal requests, and George sat there explaining some of the finer points of space travel to Kitty. ‘Did you realize that what we now accomplish in three to four hours our ancestors would take more than six months to achieve?’

  One of the serving trolleys stopped beside February. It was the same sort of deal that all spacelines offered: you could get alcohol from the server, but it would require extra funds, whereas if all you wanted was a soft drink of some description, that was effectively included in the price of the ticket. February requested some lemonade and watched as the slow deliberate metallic arm went through its machinations. First it took a transparent plastic glass from where it stored them and filled it with as much ice as it could possibly hold. Then it poured in the lemonade, making the ice crack as the warmer liquid hit it. The arm then extended, offering the drink that was more ice than lemonade to its awaiting client, February.

  The serving trolley then asked George if he would like something to drink. Unfortunately George seemed to be in mid-froth, explaining something to Kitty, and in the end February had to nudge him with her elbow to get his attention. Not that February cared too much if George got a drink, but Kitty might be thirsty, and February did care about her.

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ George said to her as he turned to find out what she wanted and saw the trolley. Then to the serving trolley he said, ‘Just something light, please, a cola.’

  For a moment it seemed as if the robot hadn’t heard the order, but then it began to go through the same process as it had with February’s lemonade. The robotic arm then seemed to extend a couple of extra feet as the drink was passed directly to George, so carefully that not even a drop of condensation fell on February as it reached across her.

  ‘You know,’ said George, taking the drink, ‘there are some airlines and spacelines that have little drink machines at each seat. I think you have to travel first class for that service, though.’

  ‘First class?’ February commented dryly. ‘Can you imagine paying for a first class ticket, just for something like that?’

  ‘Some people do. At least the alcohol is also free in first class,’ George replied defensively.

  ‘Maybe,’ February commented, ‘if you happen to like alcohol.’

  Soon after, Kitty had also been handed a drink and the robot trolley had moved on to serve those in the seats in front of them. February watched as it served, her interest caused more from a lack of anything else to look at. The gray-haired man who sat on the outer seat of the aisle ordered a gin and lemon, Stanley in the middle ordered a cola like his brother, and Maureen, sitting by the window, turned down the offer of refreshment. ‘Maybe next time,’ she commented.

  The little trolley moved on again, and February turned her head away. She couldn’t spend the whole trip watching the serving trolley go up and down the aisles. She turned to see how George and Kitty were getting on with the trip. Kitty sat peering out of the window again, watching as the earth diminished slowly in the distance below them. George, on the other hand, had taken an interest in
the controls for the holoviewa. Perhaps it was some movie that he had a real desire to see, but a moment later he was engulfed in light emanating from the projector.

  It was weird watching a holomovie from the side. Sometimes what February could see was just a mess of color, and yet other times the mish-mash made some sort of sense. These were spaceline holoviewas; they wouldn’t have the same interactive feelings that even the most modern of in-home systems had these days. The watcher would still have the sensation of being there, because that was how the movie would have been made, but none of the senses would be engaged, no feel of wind, no smell of flowers, and no taste or flavor. Though the sound was aimed directly at the viewer, February could occasionally hear a confused babble coming from George’s direction.

  Time seemed to be passing very slowly for February, but then the captain’s voice could be heard over the intercom again: ‘Hello, ladies and gentlemen. This is just to let you know that we are now ninety-seven minutes into our flight and are about to engage the LS engines. Please be advised that it is better to experience light speed with the window shutters closed. Thank you!’

  George didn’t stir. There couldn’t have been much of the holomovie left, but it was still going strong. Kitty seemed to be trying to look through the center of the mass of color and then over the professor’s head, trying to attract February’s attention.

  ‘Why do we have to close the shutters?’ she asked. She seemed a little disappointed at the notion.

  ‘You don’t have to,’ February said back, trying to look around the professor in much the same way. ‘That was just a request.’

  ‘Well, why?’ Kitty asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ February explained, shrugging her shoulders. ‘I’m sure they have some reason.’

  Stanley stuck his head over the back of his chair and smiled at Kitty. It was clear he had overheard the question, because he said, ‘Generally speaking, nothing bad will happen to you if you look out the window when we go to light speed. As we enter light speed, the earth will vanish suddenly and will possibly be replaced by Mars, depending upon our approach vectors. If it’s on the other side of the shuttle all you’ll see are stars. To most people this is nothing worse than looking at two pictures, one after the other. However, some people don’t seem to be able to cope with the sudden change. It makes them physically sick. Personally, I think it’s more to do with light speed itself than just seeing things appear to vanish or appear. They want you to close the shutter so that if you are one of those people, they won’t have to clean up the mess after you.’