“I think we are eating fruit. It is red and yellow on the outside, and yellowish white on the inside. Immensely sweet to taste,” Ken replied. “Citrus fruit, is it?”
Janae shook her head, “I think I heard Jerome using one of his old idioms once. Some phrase about ‘comparing apples to oranges’ which meant something about trying to compare things which cannot be equally evaluated,” Janae said as she bit into the fruit again. “I asked John about apples and oranges—I thought the later was a color—and John explained that there used to be hundreds of different kinds of fruits. An orange was that color, as well as a type of fruit. Citrus was group of fruits, I think, but I am not sure what we are eating.”
“Well, this fruit is red and yellow on the outside, but that skin is,” Ken went on and gave a detailed description, but was careful to make it sound like he was only talking to Janae. He was confident the machines were listening to him, and he did not want to disclose any evidence for Kimberly’s existence.
Kimberly said to them both, separately, “It sounds like a variety of apple. Is that the only food source?”
Ken replied to that as well, by answering as if Janae had asked, “Janae, all those things in the cold-temperature storage cabinet look like some kinds of long-ago food. Long curved yellow things, purple colored things, and small brown things which are oblong shaped. There is a container of oblong white orbs, smaller than that red and yellow food. There are also some packages, but I am not sure what is in those.” He swallowed the last of the apple, having even eaten the small brown seeds, stem, and calyx.
Janae caught onto what Ken was doing in his speech, and she narrowly avoided calling Kimberly by name. Instead, she said, “Ken, with antique foods like this, were they supposed to be prepared in some way? Did we just consume something that will make us sick? I am pretty sure there was a procedure the ancient people followed when making organics safe to eat. Oh, not as elaborate as the manufacture of the Dome 17 food ration bars, but some detailed method for making those organics safe to eat. I do not remember what they called that process.”
Kimberly answered, “Cooking was used in ancient times. That is usually unnecessary with fruits, melons, and vegetables. However, there are exceptions. Regarding consuming the apple, you both should be fine. Apples were consumed raw, as well as cooked and transformed into various entrees, side-dishes, and desserts, by selectively cutting them and combining them with other things.”
“All this food, and flowing water,” Ken said in awe. “We must get everyone here.”
“Ken, that is our problem. The only real problem we face right now. Nothing else matters! We are in a prison here, and all our equipment has been confiscated. I am not even sure if there are humans around here. We only spoke to that one—well two, I guess—via the old radio system. They led us to that hanger, and then we just encountered machines. Was it a trap the whole time?”
Ken walked back to the door to the condominium. He pushed, pulled, and twisted the lever, but the door remained stuck. “If we had our tools, I could use that molecular torch and cut our way out.” He then pounded on the permalloy door, his fist making sad, empty thumps. “I want to talk to someone!”
Janae examined more of the room with the cold cabinet—the food room. There were a variety of utensils in one drawer. Several small scoops, a couple of tine-headed pokers, and a few knives. The largest knife was only about seven centimeters long. A few pots, pans, and a kettle were in a lower cabinet. These were made from a softer metal than permalloy, some steel alloy.
“I have found nothing in the food room that can help us much. Some basic, primitive hand utensils, and some pots. No precision tools or implements which could even scratch permalloy,” Janae announced. She walked to the lavatory.
Ken searched the room with the table and the chairs. The table was made from some unfamiliar material. It was relatively solid, with a smooth surface. The general color of the table was lighter brown than their RAM clothing and it had whirls of an irregular pattern on it. The whirls were a deeper brown in wavy lines, and looked like they were beneath a clear finish of something on the surface. Ken walked around the edge of the room, and gently touched each piece of furniture as he described it aloud. He wanted as much conveyed to Kimberly as possible, and knew the artificial intelligence could not observe what he was seeing. Ken desperately wished for one of the com-links, and the rest of his gear. As he ran a hand along the edge of the armrest on the couch, he felt a button on the side. He pressed it.
A display opened on the opposite wall. About two meters tall, and three meters wide, the display showed some kind of scene. “Janae? I found some art work of some kind. I think.”
Janae walked back into that room, and looked at the display. “Ken? Ken, that is not art work. It is a window of sorts.” She rushed forward and pressed her hand up against the clear permalloy window. For a brief moment, she had the sensation of being back in the FTL scout and looking out at the sights. There she had seen the blackness of space, the gray nothingness of FTL transition, and then the dark images of the Trailblazer. Here was the anthesis, the colors were anything but dark.
“…and what a wondrous view. That is a real biome. Real plants! It is inside the colony ship, for sure, for look at that illumination source high up on that far-distant ceiling,” Ken was saying, but Janae had missed his first few comments. She knew he was speaking both for her and for the benefit of Kimberly.
Janae did look up, and as far as she could see there was a streak of yellow light. It made a line from side to side, all the way across the whole vista. It was not a ball of light, like she had read about as a sun, nor was it the kind of technological illumination of which she was familiar. Although, she knew it was some kind of created light source. She turned to Ken, whose face held a child-like wonder and awe as he looked out.
“The food must come from in there somewhere. It is grown in that biome,” Janae added. “But does it look natural? It is very regular and planned, and I can see permalloy between the plants. Looks like a building to me, not like ancient records of wilderness or forest. It is a building with foliage growing out of its sides, and everywhere.”
“But what growth of such amazing plants!”
Looking out, Janae estimated the window was about ten to fifteen meters up from the floor level. She was observing a structure, not too far away, one of many such structures. That building had stacked levels, one upon the next, all the way up for dozens of levels. The illumination source high in the ceiling was partially blocked from view by that forest-covered building, which overall was a multitude of greens, some yellows, and some browns. The permalloy layers were a light gray, but only intermittently seen beneath and around the growth. A few other windows were visible, though which Janae saw a few figures moving about.
“People are over there!” Ken exclaimed as he too had seen the movement of someone in one of those windows. “Are we in a structure like that? From the walk we took, I thought we were in a much larger and wider complex. That building over there is probably about forty meters on the side, like a giant rectangular block set on its end. We are not close enough to see details on those people’s faces, but they are people moving about.” Ken waved his arms. “They sort of look red or white, masks or hoods?”
There was no response from any of the figures.
“I wonder if they even see you,” Janae said. “They seem oblivious to our presence.”
Kimberly, who had been following the descriptions conveyed to both of them, “I am not sure how to advise you. Currently, the hanger has been shut down. No illumination of any kind is here. My sensors show only small amounts of residual energy flowing through channels in the walls, ceiling, and floor. I do still have contact with the com-links, but have not remotely activated them for fear of detection. I can only plot their positioning.”
“I wish we knew where we were, especially in relation to everything else,” Ken said, trying to be nebulous, yet ask Kimberly a question.
; “I can only receive audio, and send audio. I cannot track your locations. I could activate the com-links, but we have no idea who has them, nor what the response to that would be. Right now, the machines believe all the equipment was dysfunctional, and that is to our advantage,” Kimberly replied. “I realize your predicament, and applaud your choices of words and phrases. I will assist as I am able, and report should anything change in the hanger.”
Janae pulled up a chair, she wanted to ask about the failure of the data sticks, and the location of the teleportation equipment, yet that would too would reveal Kimberly’s presence. She burned to reconnect with Dome 17 and report Jubal. Calming herself, she just sat and looked out at the world beyond her window. It was strange. Some kind of flying creature flapped its wings, lifted off, and soared away from the closest forested building. “Ken? Is this a true window? I mean are we actually looking through clear permalloy and out at what is genuinely there, or is this a clear permalloy layer over the top of a display showing some kind of visual recording?”
“Interesting. I have no way of telling,” Ken answered as he tapped the clear permalloy. “The perspective seems correct, and I see no distortions, like we saw in the old historical recordings. But with a modern projection or display system, how would you tell?” He slammed a hand against the window. “Again, I want someone to ask about all this!” He raised his voice and called out, “Anyone listening? I want to talk to someone! Please! Our friends are in danger. Let me explain what we need.”
There was no response.
Ken paced back and forth and examined every part of the condominium. He found nothing else. The food room had the most items, but each bedroom had sheets, blankets, and pillows in a small cubby under the bed. The mattresses were nice and soft. The lavatory had access to running water, large tub, shower, and a toilet which used water to flush away wastes. It was astounding to Ken how much water was wasted.
Janae pondered as she watched out the window. As the hours slipped by, the light outside there began to grow dimmer. She stepped closer to the window, and looked upward toward the light source set so far away in the ceiling. It was dimming gradually all along its great length. “I wonder if that runs the entire span of this cylinder? Perhaps, that is what gives light, and heat to the biome. A sort or replacement sun.” Janae regretted not looking closer at the Earth’s sun after the launch. She had been so committed to contacting Dome17, she had missed seeing something she would never experience again. Awash in regret, shoulders feeling the pull of immense burdens, and yet with a sense of helplessness, Janae walked to one of the bedrooms.
“Ken? I am going to try to sleep, do you think we need to post shifts as guards?”
“There is not much we could do anyway, except to alert each other if something happens. I will stay awake if you want me to.”
“No need, I think we will hear if the door is opened. Auditory stimulations are fairly good at arousing me.” As soon as she said arousing, she expected an innuendo from Ken, but none came.
Instead, Ken just nodded and said, “Yes, I think we will hear whatever needs to be heard.”
Kimberly affirmed the subtle message they were saying, “I will be listening for your messages. If you leave the implants on, I will hear whatever you say. I wish I could hear what you hear, but I can only hear your words. If I have news from my scanners here, I will awaken you. I regret that is all I can offer.”
11
The Benefactor’s Representative
“I am sick again!” Ken complained. “That fruit stuff just goes right through me. I never knew I had so much water inside my body.”
“At least we have water to resupply, but that diarrhea has hit you hard,” Janae responded.
“I was worried when all that water was running down the window to outside. They must have repaired the leak of the water system,” Ken commented, remembering earlier in the day—shortly after the light had come outside—when water had begun to dribble all over the window. They could not see where it had originated—somewhere above their location—but the water had flowed for hours. It had been more water than either had ever seen at one time before.
“Indeed, they stopped that leaking, and we still have all the water we could ever use in here. If only we could escape, and find our gear. We must build the teleportation pad.” She was standing outside the partially open door to the lavatory. She was wearing the RAM pants, and just the white undershirt of the suit. The jacket was lying on her bed.
“Ten hours of this is torture. I thought Doctor Carolyn said we would be immune from diseases and such.”
“Doctor Carolyn, hum? I wonder, just what we did receive. You have not had it constantly for ten hours, but I understand. My bowels are rumbling and grumbling as well. I wonder if that medical kit we had would have been able to fix this.”
Kimberly, the AI, interjected to Ken, “I do not believe you are diseased. The dietary changes you have been forced to make may be the causative agent, not a pathogen, although without access to the medical kit, and using only your audio descriptions, my conjecture is not of high confidence. I believe it is dietary, however there are other potentials. It could be bacterial, viral, fungal, or prion, but the symptoms do not fully support a pathogenic etiology. Yes, the medical kit would have offered a much greater chance of proper diagnosis and treatment.”
“I am hungry, all the time,” Ken complained again. “And some of those organics you said needed proper preparation. I burned that rice stuff earlier, and I just cannot figure out what some of it is. I have…,” he caught himself, just before he let slip Kimberly’s name. He still wanted the AI’s presence to remain a secret.
“Ken, you did better with that organic muscle mass—that animal protein was easier to heat—but I too am not satisfied with this diet,” Janae added as she licked her tongue around her mouth. “The flavors of things eaten linger for too long while. I am going to try working on that door again and see if somehow I can jimmy or prize it open.”
“I will stay here wasting fluids. I think I am nearly empty. Then, I am going back to only eating the RAM suit’s recyclables. When I am done here, I plan to unload that cold temperature cabinet again, and see how that food is being replenished.”
“Go head, but I tell you, it comes via a small conduit which is of no use for an escape path. Like the air ducts, the water pipes, and energy sources, every egress point to this place is too small to pass through, except the door.” Janae grabbed a small make-shift tool kit she had assembled from the food preparation items. She took those to the door, and again jammed the knife into the tight slot where the door slid into the pocket of the wall. Just as she had gotten the blade into the slot and was working it around, the door slid open.
Janae, caught unaware, slipped and fell backward, landing on her butt.
A person was standing in the doorway.
“The Benefactor sends greetings, salutations, and solicitations,” the woman stated, and bowed a bit. Her face was decorated with a red band across where her eyes and eyebrows were located. Red and silver ornamentation coated her lips. Her hair was brown, pulled back, and held together by some kind of small wiry net. Flowing robes, of multiple colors hung down from her shoulders.
Janae leapt to her feet, “Who are you? Why are we prisoners here? We need to get our equipment back, immediately!”
“I am Butterfield. I am here to check up on you refugees. I am your case manager,” the woman said and slipped past Janae. The door slid shut before Janae could get out. “Now, where is the male one? He interests me.”
“I will be out in a moment,” Ken called.
“Well, personal hygiene, is important, certainly,” Butterfield replied with a wave of her hand.
“Again, I demand that our equipment be returned,” Janae insisted. “Our mission is to save our people, and we have been in this prison too long already.”
“You are in protective custody while we adjudicate your case,” Butterfield replied. She moved into the room
with the window. “The Benefactor has seen fit to grant a pardon on you both. Execution will not take place. It is obvious that you were unwittingly used by someone else. Oh, those beings are sly in their ways, yes they are.”
“Execution?” Ken snapped as he stepped from the lavatory. He too was just wearing the white undershirt, and his RAM pants. His complexion was washed out and pale.
“Yes, but be not afraid. You passed all the genetic screenings, and while we could not pinpoint your origin, it is clear you were not born on Axis Mundi. Nonetheless, normally those who use unregistered vehicles in restricted space ways are executed. Most often, they are already well advanced in their conditions, and termination is a blessing and relief of their sufferings. But the Benefactor is merciful and gracious, and understands. Security is now looking for where your nest might have been among the eight biomes. The Benefactor also empathizes with you and knows that mentally challenged individuals—like yourselves—can become pawns in the greater games of intrigue.” Butterfield sat down at the table. “Your genetic profiles show no tant influences, and surprisingly good purity. Your breeding potential is excellent, and that was also in your favor. Your lack of formal education can be compensated for with remedial training.”
Tracking the Trailblazer (Colony Ship Trailblazer Book 1) Page 16
