The tant grabbed at various parts of its body as it was struck, and each time it did, muscle spasms shook its body. The jerky, shaking, involuntary fitful movements were like no dance Ken had ever seen, and he was disgusted by the display.
“The Blow Pipes of Fate!” the woman yelled out. “Oh, how I wish this hero would fight on. What a disappointment. Now, this Ohverdus will never get to round four and the red muleta.”
The riders—the picadors—maneuvered their mounts to each side of the beast, with their staffs lowered at it. The black beast veered away, and then stopped, turned, and looked right at the tant.
With resignation, the tant, arms shaking and legs quivering, regaining some control of its muscles, reached down and licked up the muleta and the dull sword.
The crowd cheered.
Waving the small stick with the cloth attached, the tant did not have to wait long. Francesco the Fierce charged again. The animal’s hooves pounding into the dirt, clods flying up behind it, head lowered, horns seeming to gleam in the overhead lights, the bull raced forward.
“I want my verine surma!” a man yelled on the other side of Ken. Many in the crowd took up that call.
“Verine surma! Verine surma!”
Francesco the Fierce struck the tant right in its chest, and the beast tossed its head upward as it did. The sound of breaking bones cut through the calls of the crowd. The tant’s body tumbled up and over the animal, and came crashing down in a heap. Francesco pivoted and galloped back toward the tant, as it was trying to get up. This time, the beast dipped its left horn down and ripped it into the side of the tant.
An eruption of applause, and elation surged out of the crowd, even though they all remained seated.
The bull carried the tant, skewered by the horn, all the way to the opposite side of the ring. The banderilleros had climbed up and over the rails, and the picadors had ridden out of the gate. As the tant flopped and swung from the horn, Francesco slowed down and tossed his head from side to side. The tant was dislodged, and landed face up in the dirt. The beast rushed around again, and with the other horn gored the tant in the lower abdomen. The bull raised its head and tossed the crying tant into the air where it tumbled head over heels, blood spewing from the two huge puncture wounds. It crashed behind the animal, but it still moved about in a feeble attempt to crawl away. Francesco the Fierce came around again, and with its front hooves stomped onto the tant, then butted the body again and again, and finally gored the tant’s face with a bloody horn.
Ken could take no more. He bolted upright and shoved his way past the laughing and clapping people. Some of them made indignant comments and pushed back at him.
“The fool is drunk!” the woman called. “He could not wait until worship is over!”
A few uncomfortable laughs came in reply, and the people shoved Ken along. He made it to the end of a row and stumbled away and out of the building of horrors. As he rushed away, he could still hear what was being amplified.
“Our hero, our Ohverdus, is dead. Just as all heroes die in vain. Our sacrifice is now made! Until the next time a tant is caught in our biome, we have expunged the curse from among us. Our hero, Ohverdus, has made atonement. Let us all thank the divine Apis, our God, and give praise to Francesco the Fierce, the current incarnation of Apis among us!”
“Praise Apis! Praise Apis!” the crowd was chanting over and over as if in one single voice.
“Glory to Francesco the Fierce!”
Ken rushed away, but physically removing himself, did not mitigate the sights, smells, and sounds which flooded him with emotions. Just outside the building, he fell to his knees and vomited repeatedly. Fear drove him to get up, even as his stomach heaved and he still spat emesis out of his mouth. Into the darkness he ran, but kept on one of the paved pathways.
“Kimberly, they killed a person,” Ken muttered, not caring at all who heard him. “A tant, murdered! Had it slaughtered by some horned beast. A ritualized sacrifice. It was horrible.”
“Ken,” Kimberly the AI replied. “I heard what things you said recently, and wish I had a way of helping. Are you safe?”
“I am fleeing from that place. Too dark to read my map, but I think I must find a place to hide. It was so ghastly.” Ken tried to think of something else. “Is Janae safe?”
“Janae is traversing areas, in a different section of the Trailblazer where radiation is present, but from her reports the RAM suit is protecting her. She has observed some animals which I tentatively identify as a subspecies of Muroidea, commonly called rats, as well as some kind of insect life which might be insects of the order Blattodea, commonly called cockroaches, although both these creatures are not displaying exact characteristics, as described by Janae. Of note, she also described seeing an animal which might be a canine-type, the tants call it an aardwolf, but there is nothing like it in the historical records.”
“Radiation? Is she safe?” Ken snapped back.
“Relatively safe, for the moment. She reports the RAM suit is working, and that technology is very good. None of the animals she has described have attacked, but she is being pursued by tants. She is progressing toward a location, utilizing a map she received,” Kimberly replied. “I am working on the assumption that you both received valid information, and legitimate routes to reach our supplies.”
“Which way do I go?” Ken asked. “It is too dark here to see the map.”
“Is there a light source anywhere nearby?” Kimberly asked. The AI was analyzing Ken’s voice patterns, and the stress levels were dangerously high.
“I will not go back to that ring of slaughter!” Ken said, “But down the path I see some lights.”
Walking briskly Ken put greater distance between him and that ring building. He could hear the merriment the people were making as they were streaming away from it, but he had a head start. Soon he could hear other sounds, and they were strange. Not voices, but a sort of gurgling and gushing kind of noise, along with additional smells.
The pathway ahead of him was lit at a place where some small ramp began which angled the pathway upward. As he got there, he stood as far away from the light as he could, but was still within its illumination, and he took out his map. It took him a few moments to figure out where the tower was that he had been in, and which direction he had gone. He thought he recognized the ring building—from its unusual shape—and it was labeled “Worship Centre” on the map. Like spokes on a wheel the paths led away from that place, and he was unsure which one he had taken. Looking at the destination, he knew he could be lost.
“How was the Ohverdus?” someone asked him, the voice coming out from the darkness.
Thinking quickly, Ken slurred his speech and replied, “I am drunk. I was there, but got lost.” He jabbed at the map. “How do I get to the binge?”
A woman walked out from the shadows and down the angled pathway. “I was admiring the river. It is always soothing to me.” Her red face blaze reminded Ken of Butterfield, but also of the woman who sat near him at the slaughter. Her lips were a shimmering yellow color, which was different than he had seen. “Why do you have a printed map? Such an archaic thing.”
Shrugging his shoulders, Ken garbled out, “I get drunk too much, and get lost even more. Where am I now?”
The woman walked over to him, and looked at his map. Her nose wrinkled up as she stood near him. “You are quite ripe, that is a certainty. You are right at this pathway here,” she pointed to a spot on his map. “Say, what is this arrow? Is it outside nature and up in the shell?”
Ken exaggerated his acting drunk and said, “I have no idea. It was on the map when I got it. I have never been there, but is it a good place to drink?”
“Hardly, it is in the shell. Those despicable, wretched tants are in the shell, and other places,” the woman replied. She looked Ken over and stroked his arm. “I am Witherspoon, and you are a cute one.”
“Thank you, Witherspoon. I am… going to puke!” Ken started to cough and gag.
<
br /> “Come see me in Aspen Tower, number nineteen, when you sober up. And do take a bath soon!” Witherspoon said, but rushed away. “And then we will binge together. No one wants to pass out alone, right? A couple’s slide into drunkenness is much more fun than your solitary drinking.”
“Aspen Towers! but where am I?” Ken played it up again, but then he coughed and fell to his knees and pretended to vomit. Thinking about what he had seen in the ring caused his pretend to become real, and he did let loose another stream of emesis.
After wiping his mouth, he glanced about and Witherspoon was gone. He consulted the map, and saw where he was, and where he needed to go. Walking up the ramp, the way Witherspoon had come, he looked over the side and saw that the pathway had become an elevated walkway—a bridge—over fluids flowing beneath it.
“The river?” Ken asked as he looked down. Splashing, and flowing sounds confirmed his thinking, but the vast amounts of water were almost too much for his mind to grasp. What he had seen from his patio had been a waterway, like in the old historical records.
A voice came from some public-address system, and Ken recognized it immediately. “Good people of Ida. An individual is among us who lives in the Cedar Tower. He is suffering from a mental health crisis, and needs our loving support. His condition—the poor soul has mental impairment—has caused him to be house-bond most of his life, so he is socially inept. If you observe someone or something suspicious, I urge you to report it on the public intercoms. Your message will come right to my office, and your anonymity is guaranteed. Keep alert for something unorthodox, or bizarre, but have pity on our friend. In his deluded state, he is calling himself Ken. He is not a danger to others as much as he is to himself. Please alert me via the public response system so we can get him back into treatment. Thank you for your loving support.”
Ken’s heart raced. He wondered if his performance had convinced Witherspoon, or if she was calling in a report on him. Therefore, he hurried along, all the while knowing that if he drew attention to himself, it would be worse. He again thought of Butterfield’s energy weapon and her deadly proficiency with it.
Walking steadily, not too fast, and not too slowly, he crossed the biome. He saw spots where lights were set at junctions of the pathways, but he tried to avoid those as much as possible. Passing dark forested areas, clumps of permalloy buildings, and large fenced-in areas—where odd animal-type sounds came from—he hurried along. Those animal sounds made him think of Francesco the Fierce, and gave him increased impulses to escape the biome as quickly as possible. His legs were tired, his body was sore, his emotions were ragged. In the dark night, he passed everything in his haste to get to where the equipment was supposed to be located.
Periodically, Kimberly made reports about Janae’s progress, but Ken remained silent, fearful of drawing attention to himself.
The sky tube far overhead began to gradually shine brighter as Ken reached the end of the biome. Fortunately, the pathway network ran the entire length and breadth of the biome, and the map was accurate to the layout of the land.
Reaching the huge end wall, he came to a set of doors. The sky tube’s light was shining down, morning noises were all around, and finally, after the strange and exhausting night, Ken was reaching the end of the biome. Nearby, to the right of the doors, were trees which made up a forest all the way next to the wall for as far as he could see. The forest seemed to get thicker and denser as it got further away from the doors. On the left side of the doors, again following the wall, was a vast grassy plain with some rolling hills. Birds were flying around and about, soaring from the trees on one side, and landing down in the grasses. In the distance, some larger animals lifted their heads and peered at Ken. They were not like the beast Francesco, nor like the animals the picadors had been riding. They were far enough away that he was not really frightened, but cautious.
“Now what happens?” Ken stated out loud.
A blue automacube rolled out from a hidden place in the trees. “Your tools are in the shell of Ida.” It rolled up to the doors and connected a cable into an access port.
“Egress permitted. Please do not allow animals to depart the biome,” a mechanical voice came from the doorway. “Air gradients in place. Machine Maintenance staff approval granted.”
Ken felt air push past him as the doors opened. It was a strong gust, but he stepped against it and into the chamber which was revealed. The room was about three meters on each side and had a second set of doors across from the ones which had opened.
“Doors closing. Doors closing,” the mechanical voice warned. And with a gentle swish, the doors slid shut behind Ken, leaving him in the vacant, empty room.
“Did I just imprison myself, again?” Ken muttered. He rubbed his face, and looked about.
“Biological scan completed. No insect or animal life noted,” the voice said. “You may proceed. Have a pleasant day. Thank you for helping maintain the integrity of the Trailblazer’s unique biomes.”
Ken checked the map and realized the deck plans showed he needed to climb several flights of stairs, but then he would be on the level where his equipment was supposed to be located. He breathed a sigh of relief, and pulled off the robes. They had been swishing around him, and while it was not binding or confining, it was still a reminder of what he had seen in that ring. He folded them up and slipped them into a pouch on his RAM suit. Then he climbed the stairs.
“Was that an AI I spoke to?” Ken asked, he was too tired to care about anyone seeing or hearing him now.
“I have no way to assess that, sorry,” Kimberly answered. “I can only hear your voice, and speak to you. I can report that Janae has made it out of the radiation areas and is proceeding in a section which she claims connects the biome cylinder to the long central part of the ship. I wish I could estimate her location for you.”
Reaching the proper level, Ken looked around. The corridor was clean, adequately lit, and vacant of anyone, any animals, or any flora. It felt roughly like Dome 17, and that was strangely comforting. He proceeded across the way and entered the room which was marked on his map. He was exhausted.
“It is here!” Ken exclaimed as he looked out and saw piles of the Dome 17 technology. He stepped toward his gear, and then dropped to his knees in exhaustion. Something shut the door to the room he had entered.
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Janae rushed up the ladder, and slammed the trapdoor behind her. “Kimberly, I have locked away them three decks away, and I doubt they can follow.”
“Janae!” Ken called out. “You found it too!” He rushed toward her and swept her into his arms.
She hugged him briefly, but then said pushed away from him and held him at arm’s length. “Your face truly looks bizarre, but tell me about it later, after we get the teleportation receiving pad built.”
“Right, it is a long and sordid story,” Ken replied with a smile, as he swept his arm around. “Some hours ago, I found this place, but passed out after getting here.” He looked at her with embarrassment. “I awoke not long ago, and it seems secure, and the right size. I did not note the trapdoor. I am not sure about you but I am still really tired.”
“Never too tired to report Jubal and Larson. We build now, before something else happens.” Janae looked over the area, which was quite large and well-lit, and she was impressed. The main doors were sealed, and looked like some kind of pressurized bulkhead door. She had seen many of those on her trek away from the tants. The room would be more than adequate, in size, for the receiving pad. Banks of monitors were set against a sidewall; whose background color was light green. Those monitors showed a multitude of charts, graphs, displays, and visual images of various parts of the Trailblazer. Workstations with countertops were set at intervals along there as well. Several engineering automacubes were docked into what looked like charging receptacles. Across from them, large pipes went from floor to ceiling, and on them were various labels such as “Waste Water Seven” and “Hydrologic
Sludge” and “Liquified Fertilizer for Biome” all in black lettering. At the far end were two-meter high lockers with doors about a half-meter wide. The lockers were empty, with their doors just hanging open.
“I still have no idea who brought our stuff here, to this place in the shell around Ida’s biome, but I was just doing an inventory of the gear. Most of our equipment is here, minus two fusion packs. All the data sticks and readers are gone as well. Maybe those really were broken, remember they did not work when we tried them in that hanger.” He handed her one of the pistols designed by Willie. “No longer are you, or I, defenseless.”
“The revenger! Yes! But now we build. I will start cutting strips of permalloy for the grid. I think those doors over there will make fine sacrifices for our cause.” She pointed at the lockers.
“Oh, Janae, use a different phrase, please,” Ken blew out air as he thought of the tant who was brutalized and killed by the black beast in the ring. “We will be saving people, not making sacrifices.”
With a quizzical look Janae nodded, “Well sure. I will start cutting the strips, if you just assemble the command and control components.”
Tracking the Trailblazer (Colony Ship Trailblazer Book 1) Page 23
