Giotto gave a twisted grin and raised an eyebrow. "You need it. Let me know if you want company."
I wasn't sure how to take her comment. "I'm sure I'll manage now the routine is programmed, but I'll give you a shout if I do."
She seemed about to laugh but held it back, probably to be polite about the sorry state of my fitness. I went to get cleaned up, then headed back to the control room.
"Anything new?" I said. Hernandez had left but the others were there.
"Only that the closer we get, the less I want to be here," said Logan.
"You and me both." I slid into the main pilot's seat and checked the range to the Atoll on the display. "If we give up on replenishing the CASTOR tanks, we could scoot right past them and head to deep space."
"I'm tempted," Logan said. "But I don't want to risk it. The only thing you need in an emergency is whatever you don't have."
"Plus we couldn't pick up the prisoner," Aurore pointed out.
"I could live with that," Logan said. He was peering at the distant Atoll on the screen. "It'll make things more complicated."
He was right, but I was clinging to the idea that they were handing over Paek. And if that was the case, I'd have happily traded the Shokasta, down to the last fastener.
"I don't think I ever realized how big they are," I said. Even at a distance, the Atoll was immense. Outside of the main hub, which was two-thousand meters across, the main spokes pushed outward. There were five spokes made up of two main sections each and cross-connected with smaller thruways. The readouts showed each of the main sections was over ten kilometers in diameter and over twenty-five kilometers long. All we could see was the pale gray outer skin, but inside each was a giant O'Neill cylinder forming a multi-level habitable area of almost twenty-thousand square kilometers. I did the math in my head—the Atoll had a total surface area larger than New York state, and about the same size of the old British United Kingdom before it was torn apart by the Euro-schism war. It wasn't purely chance that the Atolls had dominated us for so long.
I spotted an Atoll cruiser docked at another of the outer ports. We had no information on what ship it was, but the last time I'd had a run-in with one of those, things had gotten more than a little hairy.
"Do I hand over control?" I turned to Logan. It was his call, and he nodded.
"Hope we don't regret this," he said.
I felt much the same way as I transferred guidance to their control. "Stand by for remote piloting everyone. Stay secure until otherwise informed."
The main engines died almost instantly then triggered again in short bursts, bringing us parallel with the long face of one of the large cylinders. It wasn't immediately clear, but they'd have to bring us in somewhere on the central hub as that was the only place to easily dock. As we approached, the Atoll filled the display, its size became even more apparent. I switched the view onto the ship-wide screens so everybody could watch.
As we closed, it seemed as though the remote pilot became increasingly confident in handling the ship and the movement smoothed out as we picked up speed once more. The front of the main hub filled the screen, and what had seemed like a solid gray surface from a distance broke up into geometric patterns that looked like an impossibly solid example of fractal geometry swirling down to microscopic levels.
The slab wall was getting near, and I started sweating. I hoped they realized how big Shokasta was. We might have been small next to the Atoll, but we weren't a mosquito to an elephant, even if that was how it felt at that moment.
We slid upward, and an area of Atoll hull peeled apart to form an entrance. It was a neat trick because the sections vanished into the rest of the wall as though they'd never been there. I was still trying to figure out how they'd done it when we edged through the opening into the red-lit interior.
It was hard to judge the size of the chamber precisely. The instruments told me the nearest side was five-hundred meters away. The docking bay was large enough to swallow one of their cruisers whole—a sobering thought.
Using the smallest of blasts with the thrusters Atoll Control brought us close to one edge of the bay. I switched pickups to see a mundane docking tube extending out toward us. To be honest, I was half-expecting a weird alien device, and I was reassured seeing something familiar.
The ship reverberated as the tube attached to our airlock and the controls locked in place. The comm system trilled, and a young-looking man in a pale green uniform stared at us. He didn't have that "ideal human" appearance the Atollers typically presented. For one thing, his ears stuck out like a pair of radar dishes, and his chin formed a weak bony point underneath a thick black mustache. Despite that, he looked at us as though we were something he'd unfortunately stepped in.
"I am Lieutenant Kartar Norline of Fardosh Baird Traffic Control. In a few moments, we will unlock the connection between your ship and the station. We will permit only two people to come onboard, one of whom must be Joe Ballen. These individuals will undergo a level three decontamination process, during which all clothing must be removed. They will not be returned. No space suits will be needed and will trigger alarms if worn.
"After decon is complete, the individuals will enter the transport tube adjacent to the processing chamber, which will take them to the exchange area. Under no circumstances are these individuals permitted to enter any other part of the Atoll. Is that understood?"
I triggered the comm channel. "This is Joe Ballen. Your instructions have been received and understood. Myself and another person will be at the airlock in approximately five minutes." I switched off and looked at Logan. "Who's the lucky one?"
He drummed his fingers on his armrest. "The engineer in me would love to see inside that floating country, but if there's a prisoner involved, you need to take someone from the MilSec team."
Aurore nodded. a gesture that seemed to say "no way is my husband putting himself into the clutches of those Atollers."
Logan activated the comms to Hernandez. "You heard that, Sergeant? Who do you want to send?"
There was only the slightest delay. "I'll send myself. Diplomacy isn't a strong point with these apes of mine."
Jeers and grumbles sounded in the background.
I unfastened my harness and pushed toward the exit. "Meet you at the airlock."
I was putting on a one-piece coverall when Hernandez came in, his usual cheery demeanor absent. He stowed his uniform in a locker and pulled on some slacks and a t-shirt, barely acknowledging my presence.
"Did your pet snail die?" I had no shoes I cared to lose, so pulled on some disposable StickySox. They were designed to go over a set of space boots and fit like long johns on a flea, but some tape took care of that.
"Why no suits?" Hernandez pointed at my feet. "You got some of those for me?"
I opened a storage locker, pulled out a fresh pair of socks, and handed them to him. "No suits is safer—for them."
"'Tollers. After everything, they're still treating us like filthy animals." He followed my example and taped the socks. "Sullivan told me they'll incinerate everything we're wearing and disinfect every room after we leave."
I'd heard of the procedure and didn't like the taste of it anymore than Hernandez, but I understood why they did it. "Hard to believe, but it's not entirely racist. Their environments are cleaner than ours, so they have lower resistance to disease. Plus, some of the dangers on Earth weren't around when their ancestors abandoned the planet. Our bacteria adapted as the climate changed."
"You're defending them after what happened to you? They're a bunch of arrogant bastards that need bringing down several notches." Hernandez pulled a pistol from his uniform and slipped it into his pocket.
"I'm not defending them. But I understand some of their motivations, and they're not all the same." I took a breath. "You better leave the gun here."
"No way." He tapped his chest. "I'm MilSec—no matter what they want to think of us—my job is protection"
I'd not seen him belligerent b
efore—the Atolls sure brought out the best in people—and although I sympathized to an extent, I wasn't stupid. "They won't let you keep it."
"We'll see about that."
I shrugged and handed him a comm-set. I didn't care what he did, as long as he didn't take me with him.
The outer lock beeped, and the indicator light turned green, confirming there was a breathable atmosphere outside. I thumbed the comm button. "Logan, unlock the hatch. We're ready to move out."
"Watch yourself, Joe."
The safety disengaged, and I pressed the button to open the door. Outside, a familiar corrugated tube led into the distance, the lines of hand-loops providing an almost dizzying perspective. We couldn't see outside the tube, but the inside was well lit. I knew there was gravity on Atolls, at least in the habitation cylinders, but here in the central hub, we were weightless. I reached up to grab the first loop, pulling myself out and into the tube, moving forward by batting the loops with my hands.
"Try to keep it smooth," I called over the radio to Hernandez. "It's less tiring that way."
His reply was nothing but a grunt, and I glanced behind to check on him. He was pulling himself hand over hand using the right technique but obviously lacking experience. Even in the short time we'd been underway, he was over fifty meters behind me.
I could see the far end now, the round airlock door lit up with a circle of white lights. I continued, eager to leave the tube but also reluctant to find out what was waiting for us.
"Wait up, Ballen," Hernandez called. "I can't move that fast."
He'd fallen farther back. I didn't want to waste my forward momentum by stopping. It would make it harder to get going again, but I couldn't leave him to struggle. I grabbed the next loop firmly, holding tight as my momentum tried to push me around and curve me into the sidewall.
It took several minutes for Hernandez to catch up. His face was flushed, and he was grimacing. I grabbed him and guided him to a halt. "Take a break, or you'll have a heart attack before you get there."
After a short break, we set off again, with me bringing up the rear so as not to outpace him. His confidence improved the farther we went, and soon we were at the entrance to the Atoll airlock. It was open, and we squirmed in.
When I closed the outer door, a shrill warbling filled the small airlock, so piercing it made it difficult to think. An artificial voice sounded, almost inaudible against the alarm.
"Illegal weaponry detected. Remove and deposit in compartment B or this chamber will be sterilized. You have sixty standard seconds to comply."
I gave Hernandez an I-told-you-so look that he ignored, but at least he pulled the pistol out of his pocket and placed it in the compartment.
"Think I'll get it back?" he said.
"I hope it's not an heirloom."
The inner door opened, allowing us access to a larger cylindrical room. On one wall was a chute marked "Disposal," and the floor had several red circles painted on it, each about sixty centimeters in diameter. They didn't look decorative.
The voice sounded again. "Remove all clothing and place in the disposal chute then stand in the decontamination spots with arms outstretched. A small screen lit up showing a yellow glowing silhouette to indicate the required position. We did as requested. The sooner this was over the better.
"Stand by for decontamination."
The lights switched from dull to a painful blue-white, and a liquid hit us from all sides. My skin burned intensely for several minutes, and I almost choked on the acrid chlorine-like smell. Another spray blasted us, then the lights returned to normal. I felt like I'd lost several layers of skin, which might not have been far from the truth.
"Now I know what a microwaved chicken dinner feels like," I said.
A panel opened, and I looked inside. I pulled out a one-piece garment with a zipper and hood—the sort of thing you might wear in a clean room environment. The material rustled like dry leaves and felt papery, though I doubted there were any trees involved.
Hernandez frowned. "A necking onesie?"
"You'd rather be naked?"
He muttered a reply that I didn't catch, but I could take a guess. I pulled on my new sartorial statement, and the faceless voice spoke again.
"Cover your heads before proceeding."
My head was shaved as usual, so that seemed pointless. Hernandez on the other hand had a short wiry regulation cut.
"If you're worried about lice," I called out, "we only keep them as pets these days."
"Cover your heads before proceeding."
"I don't want to find there's an actual person behind that voice," Hernandez said. "I might be tempted to tear their arms off."
His Geneered body barely fit the suit when he zipped it up, and it was tight enough to be embarrassing. He'd probably have felt less exposed if he had been wearing nothing. He pulled the hood up, looking a bit like an unfinished superhero cartoon.
The door at the other end of the decontamination chamber opened, and we received another instruction.
"Enter the travel tube."
We stepped into a cylindrical elevator car about five meters long with bench seats on both sides. I sat down and found a lap belt that I snugged tight. Hernandez did the same, and the car accelerated at high speed, throwing us sideways. At one point, I felt a strange twisting sensation then the car slowed. When it stopped, we were in a gravity field—the car must have taken us inside one of the Atoll's arms.
The door reopened, and we walked out. It felt like we were in one-g, but I couldn't be sure without doing tests. It was enough to be tiring after the lower force we were used to on the Shokasta. We were in a mid-size room that appeared to be a regular office. A large window dominated the far wall showing the surface of Mars far below us, but it must have been a view screen. Not even the Atolls would be crazy enough to put such a large window in a space station.
Hernandez walked toward the screen. "Look at that." He was almost whispering. "Hard to believe people died to keep the Atolls from taking over that desert."
A large desk filled the area by the window with one seat behind it. Other than that, the room was a featureless light blue box without even a hint of decoration. The floor was unusual—it looked like marble tile but almost certainly wasn't. I wanted to take a closer look, but a click alerted us to someone entering.
I turned around, and for a second, I couldn't think of a thing to say.
"Hello, Joe. It's good to see you again."
Her voice was warm and low, and her silver rough-cut hair was all too familiar. Finally I recovered my wits. "McDole?"
Chapter Ten
McDole smiled and sat in the sole chair. "I'm pleased you remember me, Joe."
"Given the circumstances, it would be hard to forget."
A frown touched her lips. "An unfortunate experience. I'm sorry about what happened—then and later."
If it had been anyone else, I'd have walked out. But I knew McDole well enough to understand it was her cultural reticence that kept her words in check rather than any support for Paek. After everything had unfolded, she'd advocated unsuccessfully with the Atoll Archipelago Directorate for him to be handed over.
"You know this... lady?" Hernandez looked at me as though I'd grown a second head. No doubt he expected me to be hostile to all Atollers.
"Commander McDole, this is Sergeant Hernandez, our MilSec representative on this trip."
"Hello, Sergeant. I see you've recovered." McDole pointed at his leg.
Hernandez whistled. "You people sure keep tabs on us, huh?" He laughed and pointed down. "Broken leg. Climbing accident."
"Two years ago, wasn't it?" McDole placed a DataPad on the table.
"This might be a wild guess, but I'm betting you're not our prisoner." I felt awkward standing there, as though I'd been dragged into the principal's office. "Is that the Goeppert docked outside?"
She nodded. "I'm still in command of her—just about. We'll get to the matter of the detainee in a while. First, let
me apologize for the atrocious cleansing process you've been put through. I assure you it wasn't my choice. The residents of Fardosh-Baird are rather irrational when it comes to matters of hygiene."
She reached down and produced a dark green bottle and a set of glasses. "I remember you enjoyed the Jacobson-Niller, so I'm sure you'll appreciate this. It's a Cabernet Sauvignon from Vin Lustrous on Euler—very palatable with excellent notes of cloves and cinnamon."
McDole poured three glasses and pushed two toward us, lifting the third and sipping from it.
The aroma of fruity alcohol made me salivate. I could cheerfully have guzzled the whole bottle. Not because it smelled delicious, though that was part of it. It was more a self-destructive siren call. Part of my brain wanted—no, needed—the release it knew alcohol could provide. But I didn't touch my glass.
Hernandez was clearly having no such problems. "That's good. Strong finish."
"Surely you're not suspicious, Joe?" The light from McDole's glass created a flickering reflection in her eyes.
"This visit is strictly business." I leaned over the table. "So, how about the prisoner?"
"You've surprised me again, Joe." She took another drink. "We have a USP citizen who has been our guest for several years. We'd like to return him to his people, where he belongs."
Hernandez carried on sipping dreamily on the wine, not paying much attention to what was being said.
"That's very enlightened," I said. "What's it going to cost us?"
McDole laughed. "You're always so practical, Joe. That's one of the things I like about you."
"So how about being nice and telling me who the prisoner is—and what you want in return?"
"Easy, Ballen." Hernandez seemed to come out of his daydream. "There's no need for so much hostility." His response was markedly different to his anti-Atoll comments on the way over.
"Do you love the Atollers, Sergeant?"
"Sure do—they serve good booze."
I lifted his glass and sniffed. I couldn't detect anything, but the shift in personality was too much to ignore. "A psychoactive drug in the wine? Are you crazy?"
Transformation Protocol Page 11
