Although the lid was off, nobody really said much for the rest of the trip. Part of the reason was that we were still conditioned by our recent imprisonment; the rest was nerves, mine included. This was it, I told myself. Here we go.
There were a few bumps on the way down, particularly once we were firmly in the atmosphere; but, overall, the ride was smooth and efficient. Then came a level-off, a slow descent, and a glide right up to and into the dock.
In less than a minute I could hear the airlock door mechanisms operating, and the indicator moved from red to orange to green. Following a pneumatic hiss, the doors rolled back.
For a moment, none of us moved, but finally those nearest the hatch stood up and walked out the open door. Sighing, I did the same.
The docking area was small but quite modern and fully air-conditioned. Walking along the glassine tubelike egress arm, I could see Charon, which did nothing to improve my spirits. It was raining like crazy, so heavily I could hardly see a thing.
The terminal was quite small but nothing like the log hut I had been expecting. The air-conditioning was positively chilling. Two very ordinary people, a man and a woman, waited for us. They were both dressed in pullover black shirts and briefs and wore thick, rubber-soled sandals. They looked more like a couple that had just gotten rained out at the beach than officials of a planetary government.
“Welcome to Charon,” the woman said, and I recognized the voice as the same one in the shuttle. Remote controlled from the ground, then. “Please step over to that table, pick out clothes and sandals in your size, and put them on,” she instructed in a businesslike tone.
Part of my briefing had included Park Lacoch’s sizes, but I quickly discovered that all the men’s clothing was too large and that I would have to go to the women’s section to outfit myself. It didn’t really matter—ft all looked the same anyway—but I did get some idea of how Lacoch developed his nasty complex and bad identity problem.
The modified beachwear was apparently standard attire, at least here—where was it? Honuth, that was it. I wondered if the stuff was waterproof.
I dressed and was standing around waiting for the others to get similarly set when the fact really hit me. I was here, on Charon—and even as that first blast of air-conditioning had hit me, my body was being systematically invaded by an alien organism that was to be my permanent jailer.
CHAPTER THREE
Orientation
After getting dressed, we were gathered around the two greeters in the small terminal.
“All right—listen up!” the man called out, his voice almost lost in the sound of the heavy rain hitting the roof of the building. “We’re going to leave here and go into town where we have set up temporary quarters for you. I strongly recommend that you follow us closely, since Charon is a world that can kill the newcomer in a minute. Mechanized transportation is not allowed in town, so well have to go in two coaches that are parked outside now. Don’t be startled at what’s pulling them, just get in the nearest one.”
“Got any umbrellas?” somebody called out The man and woman both smiled a bit but didn’t reply.
I became acutely aware of my physical disadvantage in the group. Everybody, male and female, was taller than I, and so I was forced to watch our hosts from a small break in the gathering that opened and closed. The whole thing was very frustrating.
“Come on!” the woman called to us. “Don’t run or rush—those sandals have fair traction, but on the slick pavement just outside they’ll slip on you.” With that both Charonites turned, and the man started leading us out, the woman bringing up the rear.
It wasn’t just bad outside, it was worse than I had imagined—incredibly hot, almost like a steam bath. The rain seemed to be pouring out of some giant faucet in the sky, so thickly was it coming down. The rigid awning to the street offered little protection thanks to a hot wind, and we were an soaked in moments. Still, the ugly climate wasn’t the real shock—it was what waited for us at the curb.
Two huge wheeled coaches made entirely out of what appeared to be wood, were there: pulling each of them was a pair of monster lizards, each almost four meters tall. Well, they weren’t quite lizards, but that was the closest you could come. They were bipedal, standing on enormous, muscular legs, balancing themselves by use of a long, thick tail. Their saurian like heads, with unblinking eyes of burning red, were not only enormous but looked full of row after row of sharp teeth. Two small arms ended in hand like appendages now flexed in apparent anticipation—or boredom. Those hands, smaller versions of the enormous feet, were composed of three, long Jointed fingers connected by webbing that made them look like giant leaves. The fingers ended in sucker like tips. The splayed hand and foot was, as I later learned, a feature of many of the animals of Charon. Instead of having reptilian scales, the great creatures were smooth-skinned, and colored a uniform and ridiculous-looking perfect baby blue.
Each wore an elaborate looking bridle, with a network of reins rivaling a marionette’s strings in number and complexity, that stretched back into a raised driver compartment above the coach proper. The driving compartment was completely enclosed, and included a windscreen with a huge windscreen wiper.
I jumped into the nearest coach, almost slipping on the smooth paving despite the warning—that rain was so fierce it almost hurt—and found myself jammed in with five other prisoners and the male Charonite. The coach was quite comfortable, with soft, padded upholstery but it would have been a lot more comfortable with two less people.
After closing and locking the door, our coach, the lead one, started off with a strong jerk. The ride was not at all comfortable; extremely hard and bumpy all the way, with the coach lurching this way and that, more like a ship at sea in a storm than basic ground transportation. I saw the Charonite looking at us with some amusement, probably wondering if any of us were going to get seasick. “Don’t worry, it’s not a long trip. Sorry about this, but it’s considered deluxe transportation here on Charon.”
’This ain’t Lilith—machines operate there,” a big man sitting next to him grumbled. “How come all this primitive shit?”
“Some machines operate here, when they are permitted to,” the native responded somewhat enigmatically. “Fact is, most of this misery is a sort of compromise. Machinery’s so easy to foul it isn’t worth a damn here anyway, so we go with what we can. For the most part though, it’s this bad or worse. Better get used to losing a couple of thousand years, “cause that’s what you just did.”
“Damn foolishness,” the big man grumped, but the rest of us remained silent, either because we didn’t know enough or out of real depression.
Within five minutes the coach rolled to a stop with a jerk even worse than the start. I thought to myself that these vehicles could use seat belts more than the space shuttles, but said nothing. My situation was still too new and I was far too green, not to mention soaked and perspiring from the heat.
It was a relief when the door was opened, since at least it let in a breeze with the ram. The Charonite emerged and stood there, almost oblivious to the rain, helping us all down and pointing to a nearby door, which we made for. Once inside that door we were all dripping wet again and a little dazed, but after a half a minute or so I got my bearings and was able to look around.
When they said the place was primitive they weren’t kidding. The buildings seemed to be made mostly of various kinds of native wood, along with other plants of the area. They were well-crafted but very utilitarian, that was for sure. Along the walk of polished mosaic in front of the buildings on this side of the street, were what appeared to be wick-lamps, burning oil of some kind magnified through polished glass. The reason they didn’t fall victim to the rain was ingenious: between the walk and the street a wall of some glassy substance ran the length of the street and had a roof attached to the roofs of the buildings themselves. Although there was some seepage through cracks in the walk, it was pretty well watertight—a clever idea. There was also some airflow,
which felt oddly chilling, although I couldn’t figure out where it came from.
Our host, as soaked as we, examined us with a sour smile, and I knew we probably looked worse than he did.
The second coach arrived shortly after, and the rest of our party joined us and went through the same drying out—not that we were dry by any means.
“It doesn’t rain like this all the time, does it?” I asked the native.
He laughed. “No, not like this. Usually it’s no more than an hour or two, but in early spring and late fall the rain sometimes lasts two, three days at a clip, dumping up to three centimeters per hour.” He paused a moment for that to sink in, then added, “We do have a good drainage system.”
They’d better, I thought, more amazed than anything else. Three days of such a downpour at that rate would come to almost two meters of water.
“What season is it now?” someone asked sourly.
The middle of spring,” our guide responded. “It’s gonna be getting hot soon.” Unfortunately he didn’t say it like he was joking.
The group was led into the nearest building, which proved to be—well, rustic. It was composed of logs of some kind, including log bracing for the log ceiling, which was very high. There were wicker like chairs around, some tables, and very little else. The building was also lit by those basic lamps, and they did a very good job I had to admit, despite the slight flickering that took some getting used to. The floor was carpeted with a rubbery-feeling tile like substance with an elaborate grooved design—to allow water run-off, I supposed. Still, if this place didn’t flood it must be well designed indeed.
Groaning, we sank into the chairs, feeling as if we’d put in a full day already despite the fact that we had actually done very little. The tension was beginning to wear off, producing a general lethargy.
“This is normally the lobby of the town’s hotel,” the woman told us. “We requisitioned it for a few days so that you could get acclimated. We reserved the top floor rooms for you—although I’m afraid you’ll have to share two to a room for the most part. We need the lower floor for regular guests, and they’re cramped as it is. The guests and townspeople will not come in here while we are using it, and for the first stages of orientation we’ll take all our meals here as well. I would recommend that, pending our series of talks, you avoid any of the townspeople you might meet in the lavatory or on the stairs. Don’t be mean, just don’t strike up any conversations or get into any arguments. Most of them are natives here and won’t understand your lack of familiarity with Charon and it’s no use getting into trouble before you know what you’re getting into.”
Several of us nodded in agreement on that. “What about getting out of these wet clothes?” I asked.
“We all have wet clothes,” she replied. “Well try and get some dry ones for you as soon as we have your sizes down, but for now you’ll have to make do with the ones you have.”
A pretty young woman in our party shivered slightly and looked around. “Is it my imagination or is cold air blowing in here?”
“It’s not really all that cold,” the man told her. “But, yes, cooler air is circulated through a system of pipes that blows cool air from below ground, where there are natural underground river caverns, and some man-made ones as well. The blower system is powered by windmills located on top of the buildings, and it keeps us from frying or strangling in stagnant air.”
Pretty ingenious, I had to admit, although I couldn’t help wondering why the ban on machinery. The spaceport terminal was tiny, it was true, but it was quite modern, electrically powered and air-conditioned, all the rest. Technology then wasn’t so much impossible on Charon as it was banned. By whom? Matuze? No, she hadn’t been in power long enough to produce this sort of thing. This town and the culture reflected by the male native was long-term. By the Lord of Cerberus, that” was for sure—perhaps long, long ago. That made some sense if the ruling could be enforced on a planetary scale. If only the Lord of Cerberus and those he or she designated had access to technology and the training to use it, they would be assured of absolute control.
“We’ll let you go to your rooms first for a while,” the woman was saving. “There are towels and such there, and you can get fairly dried out. We also have robes there, so if you want to change into those you’ll probably be more comfortable. Top floor, pick your own rooms and roommates, and meet us back down here in—say, an hour for food. I know you don’t have watches, but we’ll make sure you get called.”
We made our way to the rear of the lobby area and discovered an alcove in the back with a spiral wooden staircase. From the other side of the alcove, beyond two closed wooden doors, came the smells of food cooking and people talking loudly. The bar? The restaurant? Well, it didn’t matter—yet.
I hung back. I had decided the easiest way to guarantee either that I’d be alone in a room or at least get a random shot at it was to be last, there being an odd number of us.
No such luck on the single, though. The big, gruff man who had made all the sour comments along the way staked out a single and nobody seemed inclined to argue with him. Everybody else, including two of the women, paired off; and by the time I reached the top of the stairs only one person remained—the pretty young woman who had asked about the air system downstairs. I saw her down at the end of the hall looking slightly worried and more than a little confused. She cautiously opened the last door on the right and looked inside then turned back to see me approaching. I could tell by her expression that she wasn’t thrilled by the situation.
“Looks like we’re stuck together,” I noted.
She thought a moment, then sighed. “What the hell—what does it matter, anyway?”
“Thanks a lot,” I responded sourly and walked into the room. It was surprisingly spacious and contained two large comfortable beds, mattresses and all, some closet space and a sink with a cold water tap. I was surprised at that, having expected to have to go down to a well someplace. The beds were not made, but clean linen was folded at the foot of each along with washcloths and towels and, as promised, a robe each.
I saw her hesitating, a little nervous, and I sympathized. “Look, if I’m offending your morals I’ll step into the closet. Somebody my size could practically live in there.”
“No, no, that’s not necessary. After all, we were all naked on the shuttle coming in.”
I nodded, relaxed a little, and peeled off the wet clothes and stuck them on the towel rack to dry. I then took the towel and dried myself as best I could, particularly my hair, which was a tangled mess, then tried the robe. As I suspected, it was quite a bit large for me. So much for standardization. Still, I decided I could manage in it without breaking my neck.
During this time she just stood there, watching me. I began to wonder if she knew who her roommate was. “Something wrong?” I asked her.
For a moment she said nothing, not even acknowledging my comment or existence. I was beginning to suspect I had somebody really ill but she finally snapped out of it and looked at me.
“I—I’m sorry, but it’s been hard for me. I feel like this is all an ugly dream, that I’ll wake up from it sometime.”
I nodded sympathetically. “I know what you mean. But you can’t let it get to you. You have to figure that you’re alive, and you’re still you and not some psych’s dream, and that you’ve got a whole new start in a whole new life. It isn’t as bad as all that.” But, of course, it was. She was from the civilized worlds and probably had never even seen a frontier settlement. Her world, a world she not only had loved but had taken entirely for granted, was now totally and irrevocably gone.
Come to think of it, so was mine.
She walked over and sat on the edge of her bed. “Oh, what’s the use? It seems to me that being dead would be better than this.”
“No, death is never better than life. Besides, you have to consider that you’re really pretty special to the Confederacy. There’s only eleven of us out of the—what? Hundreds?—con
victed at the same time. They saw something in us that they didn’t want to lose. In a sense, they’re saying we’re better than almost all the people in the Confederacy.”
“Different, anyway,” she responded. “I don’t know. I just don’t. Spending the rest of my life in this rotten place.” She looked me straight in the eye. “What makes you so special? What did you do to get here?”
Well, here it was—acid test early on. I decided to take a very mild gamble, but first a proper priming. “You know you aren’t supposed to ask that.”
She was beginning to relax a little now, and moved to get rid of her own wet clothes. “Something you’re ashamed of?” she asked. “Funny. I never thought it mattered.”
“It doesn’t matter to you?”
She thought a moment as she dried her hair. “No, not really. I’m Zala Embuay, by the way.”
“Park Lacoch,” I responded, tensing a bit to see if it got any reaction. He—I—was pretty damned notorious.
She let it pass without a glimmer of recognition. Well, that was something, anyway.
“Well, Park Lacoch, weren’t you some sort of criminal?”
“Weren’t we all?”
She shook her head. “No, not me. Fm different. I may be the only person ever sent to the Warden Diamond because I was an innocent victim.”
I was finding it hard to take her seriously. “How’s that?”
She nodded seriously. “You’ve never heard of the Triana family?”
It was my turn to betray ignorance. “Nope.”
“Well, the Trianas are the ranking political family on Takanna. Ever been there?”
“No, can’t say I have,” I admitted.
“Well, you know at least what it’s like to be a ranking political family, don’t you?”
You bet I did—but Lacoch would have been a little more removed. “I understand it, although I’m a frontier man myself. I’ve been to many of the civilized worlds but I’ve never actually lived on one.”
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