Leaping to the Stars

by David Gerrold

  I looked back again. It was still just as gloomy down there as before. But was something flickering in the distance? Or was that just a trick of the light and my hyperactive imagination? Ahead looked just as bad.

  "What are we going to do?"

  "I have an idea—can you get the blanket out of your backpack?"

  "Uh-huh. Just a minute." She let go of me and started to drift away. I grabbed her and pulled her back. I held her around the waist. That was nice. She smelled good. After a moment, she pulled the blanket out of the backpack. I turned it so it was dark side out and began wrapping it around us. It was a big blanket with a hood at one corner, so we were able to cloak ourselves almost completely. It reminded me of when we were bouncing across the moon. We wore reflective blankets then too; Douglas had Stinky on his back, I had the monkey.

  J'mee arranged herself and I moved around to the far side of the keel, behind the thickest set of pipes, and hoped it would provide enough cover. There was a maintenance ladder on this side too. The pipes and cables ran through a harness of restraining webs down the center of the tube. If we kept that bundle between us and the windows, and with the blanket wrapped around us, maybe—

  I started pulling us forward as fast as I could. Hand over hand over hand. The pipes rushed past. Past one window. I didn't stop to look. Past the next window. I didn't stop to look. Past a third.

  "Did you hear that?" J'mee whispered.

  "Hear what?"

  "That—?"

  I stopped. I listened. The keel pressed in around us. I looked back down the pipe. Nothing. Or something? I couldn't tell. I looked forward. The same flickering gloom.

  "Something behind us?"

  "I couldn't tell."

  "Let's keep going."

  Hand over hand over hand—

  I had a thought. "Call Boynton. Tell him we're being followed."

  "I can't—"

  "Huh?" I was pulling faster now.

  "I can't link in. Not since we stopped—"

  "Is it the blanket?"

  "No. I think we're being jammed."

  "So we can't call for help—"

  "The good news is that with the jamming, nobody can locate us—go faster, Charles."

  There was somebody behind us. I was almost certain of it now. I couldn't see them, I couldn't hear them, but somehow I knew. Hand over hand over hand—

  Who had the advantage?

  They did.

  They were probably gaining.

  I was carrying J'mee. I didn't have the strength in my arms that a grown-up would. And I had the blanket wrapped around me, limiting my mobility. Not good. How much farther did we have to go? I started watching for signs. We weren't even halfway there. Why did a kilometer have to be so damn long? Just be glad it isn't in miles.

  Hand over hand over hand. The ceramic rungs of the ladder passed before me in a numbing blur. What would they do when they caught up to us? I knew I wasn't going to stop. Would they shoot us with a web?

  Ahead—another spray of light. The glare from a window. It went out suddenly—

  Huh? Why?

  Never mind, I told myself. Just keep going. Without the light, they won't see us. We're shrouded in black—

  And just as we went flying past—three fingers of light came probing in, swiveling and poking. Spotlights! Three different colors. Infrared and ultraviolet too! But who was looking for us?

  Had they seen us? They must have.

  "Charles—"

  "I saw it." I kept going. There wasn't anything else I could do.

  Behind us now, I was certain I could hear voices. Indistinct. Oh, crap. We weren't going to make it. I was starting to feel the fatigue in my arms. Free fall only looks easy—you're still moving the same amount of mass around. In my case, twice as much because J'mee was on my back. Hand over hand—it would be so easy to stop—

  A voice in the distance, calling my name. "Charles, stop! Stop.'"

  Too high pitched for an adult—

  "Charles, wait!"

  J'mee clutched me hard. "It's Trent."

  "I know—they're using him as bait."

  Hand over hand—even faster now.

  "Charles, please—" He was gaining. He was small and light and if he caught up with us, he could web us just as easily as a grownup. It made me angry—that they would use Trent against us like this. What kind of people would turn friend against friend—?

  We had to do something. I was getting an idea. "J'mee, how brave are you?"

  "Why?"

  "Can you keep going without me?"

  "Uh—"

  "Please?"

  "I'll try—"

  J'mee let go of me and we shrugged out of the blanket. I re-wrapped it around her, shiny side out. It didn't have to be perfect; in fact, the looser the better. I wanted Trent to see her, but I didn't want him to see that it was only J'mee—

  "Go slowly," I whispered.

  "Uh-huh—" She moved tentatively. Speed was not an option. She was terrified. She pulled away from me as if every handhold were painful.

  I moved around to the side of the bundle of pipes, trying to keep myself opposite Trent for as long as possible.

  I didn't have long to wait. He was a lot closer behind us than I'd thought. He came puffing up the keel like a little locomotive. He didn't see me until the last moment. He wasn't looking. He was focusing ahead on the flickers of light off the blanket. I flung myself off the wall of the keel and slammed into him like a one-person avalanche. I caught him by surprise. We both banged up against the opposite bulkhead. In the dark, I couldn't see which way was which, but I started flailing in his direction as hard as I could—

  "Stop, Charles! Stop! Stop—" He was crying. He wasn't fighting back—

  I stopped.

  Suddenly, I realized. He was alone.

  "Why are you following us?"

  "Because—" He wiped at his nose, sniffling. "Am I bleeding?"

  "I don't think so. Answer the question."

  "I wanted to help you—"

  "Okay, fine. You helped. Thank you, Trent. Now go home."

  He glanced nervously up the pipe. "You can't get out that way—"

  "How do you know?"

  Instead of answering, he peered up and down the keel, orienting himself by the numbers. "You have to get out here."

  "Why?"

  "Because, you have to! Trust me, please."

  J'mee and I looked at each other. I wanted her to say no. I think she wanted me to say no. But we both liked Trent. We both felt sorry for him. I allowed myself a single exasperated sigh. I was spending too much time around Boynton. I was starting to sound like him. I turned back to Trent, stalling. Trying to figure out what to do next. "Are you all right?"

  He rubbed his shoulder. "You hurt me—"

  "I thought you were going to web us—"

  "I wouldn't do that."

  "I didn't know that. I'm sorry I hurt you, Trent." I looked up and down the keel. I could hear noises, but I couldn't tell what they were. The whole ship was noisy with whooshes and clanks and clunks. HARLIE once said that you could attach a microphone to the keel and with the right amplification and decoding, you could hear every conversation in every cabin simultaneously. Right now, I believed him—

  —And then one of the windows way up ahead flickered again and that decided me. I pulled Trent close and looked into his eyes. "Trent, I need you to understand something. This is very important. If you're lying to us, if you're leading us into a trap, HARLIE is going to hurt a lot of people. I won't be able to stop him. You understand that, don't you?"

  Trent gulped. "I know that."

  "All right. Which way?" I pushed him toward the access hatch. J'mee followed behind. We came out into the cargo passage. The lights were dim here, but the corridor was identical to Broadway and the maintenance way as well—only this one was lined with plastic bags filled with various raw chemicals. After the rest of the ship was loaded, this corridor was just another storage space—and every st
orage space everywhere had to be filled, especially on this trip. I hoped none of these sacs contained ammonia. Even the thought of it was enough to make me gag. I bounced across to the maintenance ladder that ran the length of the corridor.

  "Chigger—"

  "Yes, J'mee."

  "You don't need to carry me anymore. I think I can do this by myself now."

  "You sure? I don't mind."

  "I'm pretty sure. Let me try."

  "Okay. I'll go first, then Trent, you bring up the rear. Let's go, people."

  Hand over hand over hand—it seemed that my entire life was about climbing through free fall. I fell back into the rhythm. Not as fast as before. There were three of us and that slowed us down. J'mee was tentative at first, but she started speeding up after a bit, and pretty soon we were flying again—

  I watched the hatches fly by. The numbers got lower and lower. I began to feel confident we were going to make it—all the way to the command module!

  And then suddenly we weren't—we were hit by a blast of glaring brightness—too bright to look at directly. Too much light—it startled and dazzled us—a barrier of painful light. Four huge figures, all dressed in black, came swimming down out of it—

  One of them pointed a flaring tube at me. I had just enough time to say. "No, please don't—"

  EVIL

  The way the webbing works, it sprays out as a liquid, but by the time it hits you, it's already congealing into veils of sticky stuff, already starting to contract. Instinctively, you close your eyes and your mouth and you end up with your eyes glued shut and your mouth sealed tight. The web stuff is thin enough to breathe through, but just barely. You have to breathe slow and concentrate on your breathing, one breath at a time.

  The thing is, it isn't easier the second time. It's worse. My heart pounded in my chest.

  This time, I couldn't figure out where they were taking me. In free fall, every direction is like every other. We bumped up, we bumped down, we bumped left, we bumped right. Nobody said anything, nothing I could hear or make out. The webstuff muffled sound as well.

  I knew better than to rage—but even when you know better, it's hard not to. And I knew better than to cry—but when you're webbed and hurting, you can't stop yourself. And I knew better than to piss myself in fright. That one I was able to stop.

  There's a trick to that. Mickey taught it to Stinky, and it actually worked. All you have to do is say, "I'm in charge of this body, stop that now." And the feeling actually goes away. I thought it was silly when I heard it, but the next time I had to pee real bad and I wasn't close to a restroom, I tried it and it worked. It must have worked for Stinky too. He hadn't wet himself since we entered hyperstate.

  After a while, we got to wherever we were going, and then I floated alone, forgotten. Then someone was cutting through the webbing around my ears, then peeling it away from my eyes and nose and mouth. My impulse was to say thank you, except that he was wearing a black hood and he didn't look like the kind of person you would thank for anything.

  He didn't say anything to me while he worked. He cut the web-stuff a little in the back, loosening it so I could breathe easier, but he didn't cut it away completely. I still couldn't get my arms or hands free. Or my legs either. Then he pressed me up against one wall and I stuck there. And then he left.

  I was alone and I didn't know where I was. There wasn't much to see. Every cabin looked like every other cabin, but this one had been stripped of everything. It would have been just an empty shell, except the walls were painted over with all kinds of designs and lettering, very small, very crabbed and intricate. I couldn't read it. Some of it looked like Hebrew and some of it looked like Latin and some of it looked Arabic. I couldn't tell.

  I couldn't twist my head very far, but I got the feeling that I had been stuck inside the middle of a five pointed star inside a circle. Like that drawing by Leonardo da Vinci, only this one looked a lot more serious because it was painted in red and there were symbols everywhere. I didn't recognize half of them.

  I didn't know where J'mee was. Or what they had done to her. I couldn't believe I had trusted Trent. I couldn't believe I had been so stupid. All this had taken some planning. I thought about all the things I wanted to say to him—

  The hatch on the opposite wall popped open. Trent swam in.

  —I decided not to say any of them.

  Trent looked serious. He swam up opposite me. "I don't have a lot of time, they'll be coming soon."

  "I hope you're not planning to apologize."

  "Charles, I need you to understand. I had to do it. I care about you too much. This is for your own good."

  That was too much to bear in silence. "For my own good?!"

  "Charles, please listen. I'm trying to save you from yourself. Do you remember those talks we had about how to recognize evil when you see it?"

  "Yeah, I remember. Do you?" I looked him straight in the eye. "The worst kind of evil is when you say you're doing it for someone's good. Because that's all about pretending that you're right while doing something wrong."

  "Like you did when you killed that man?"

  "Huh? You're not supposed to know about that."

  "Everybody knows about it."

  "I had to do it—for good of the ship! For the colonists! You know that."

  "A man is dead, a human soul, and two others were injured. What did you say about the worst kind of evil? About being right?"

  "That's not fair. You and your people benefited too."

  Trent shook his head. "We didn't know until it was too late. This ship was launched in blood. This whole voyage is cursed. The evil is going to go on and on—until it's exorcised once and for all."

  "Trent, listen to me. What you're doing now—that's just as wrong. You say you're doing this for my own good? But what are you doing? You lied to me. Your people kidnapped me. You webbed me. And whatever else you're planning—all that stuff, you're telling yourself that you're right to do so. You're doing evil too, Trent. You're just as bad as you think I am—"

  Trent Colwell shook his head. "No, I'm not." But he didn't sound convinced. "I have to go now, Charles. I'll pray for you."

  Suddenly I didn't like the taste of ketchup anymore.

  Trent closed the hatch behind him and I was alone again.

  MEMETICS

  Time passed. Someone in a hood came in and put a water bottle on the bulkhead next to my head. If I leaned my head sideways I could take small sips from the straw. Then he (she? I couldn't tell) cut the webstuff around my crotch and tubed me up to a bottle, so I could pee if I had to. Obviously they expected to keep me here for a while. At least they were more thoughtful than Alexei Krislov.

  More time passed. Not a lot. Then the hatch swung open again, and Reverend Dr. Pettyjohn came in.

  "How are you feeling, Charles?"

  "Where's J'mee?"

  "J'mee is fine. She's with her father. We sent her back with a message promising that you wouldn't be hurt. We intend you no harm, Charles. We just want to make sure that you can't authorize HARLIE to do anything for a while."

  "HARLIE doesn't need my authorization. He'll act on his own if he has to. He did it on Luna."

  "You know as well as I do that HARLIE is in isolation in the Captain's briefing room. He's not allowed out and no one else is allowed in. He has no contact with any of the ship's machinery—except when you and Commander Boynton allow it. Commander Boynton won't take any chances, son. Not with this mission. So as long as you're here with us, HARLIE is out of service."

  I didn't answer. He was right.

  "But that's not what I want to talk to you about. This is an opportunity we have, a chance to continue the discussion we started a long time ago."

  "I don't want to talk to you."

  "Yes, I understand that. But this conversation is necessary. I'm afraid you really don't have a choice." He stopped. "Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?"

  "My freedom," I said coldly.

  Dr. P
ettyjohn didn't reply to that directly. Instead, he anchored himself opposite me, as if preparing for a long careful session. "It's normal to be afraid, angry, sad, ashamed," he said. "And I'm sorry we have to go through this—but as you'll see, it's a necessary part of the cure. The only thing you have to do is listen. Trust me, this isn't going to hurt. If anything, you're going to find the process like a lifting of a great burden.

  "You see, Charles, I know you're in an enormous amount of pain. Pain is the normal condition of being human. It starts as soon as you're born. You're in a nice, warm, comfortable place one minute, and the next, you're naked, cold, wet, and hungry—and the first person you meet slaps you. And then it gets worse. You spend your whole life wondering what's wrong with you."

  "Maybe that's the way it is for you—" I started to say, but I stopped myself. This was going to be like those conversations with Trent where he already knew the answer and I didn't know anything. And if I let myself get sucked into this conversation, I'd probably end up agreeing with Dr. Pettyjohn that Invisible Hank needs to have his ass kissed.

  "No, Charles. That's how it is for everybody. From the very beginning, the universe is too large and too complex for simple human minds to understand. And the older you get, the more you learn, tfae more you realize how much there is you will never understand. So do you know what people do, what you have already done? You invent simple explanations for yourself—not because they're true, but because they're useful. Nobody really understands the universe, but we do understand the stories we make up about it. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

  "You're saying that there is no God, that it's all made up—?" I thought that was a pretty good zinger on my part.

  "No, Charles, I'm not saying that at all. I'm saying that because God's universe is far too complex for simple minds, simple minds invent simple explanations. And each and every one of those explanations are the devil's traps. They don't come from God, and because they don't come from God—they're pathways away from God. And if we follow them, they take us away from God." He held up a hand, as if to keep me from replying. Except I wasn't going to say anything. At least, not anything nice. His whole explanation sounded like just another made up one, and just as wrong.