I could have studied the scene for hours, but someone in control of the screen switched pictures. Now, I saw stars in glorious profusion. They looked brighter and clearer than I had ever seen them.
Dr. Calidore in his suit took that moment to elbow me. He pointed at the screen.
The screen controller shifted views again. It seemed as if the picture leaped forward.
“Zoom,” I whispered to myself. That was a zoom function of the rocket’s telescope.
I saw what Calidore pointed at, a great…voyager, I guessed. It was a space vehicle that must have been built in space. It was long, with many struts and girders, an engine area in back and giant nozzles. There was a large oval area in front attached to the long strut structure. That must have been the living quarters for the voyage. I noted two other spacecraft. They were much smaller than the larger one and attached to the struts some ways down from the living quarters.
Calidore’s helmet visor slid down. He stared at me from his seat beside mine, interior padding packaging his face. He seemed intent and finally shifted his head and used his tongue to point at a switch inside his helmet.
I got the message, and used my chin to push a lever in my helmet. Immediately, my visor slid down and I smelled the harsh odors of the interior capsule.
“Shuttles,” Calidore said in a low voice, his eyes shifting to the screen to indicate the two smaller craft attached to the larger voyager.
I understood. The shuttles were like lifeboats on an old-style ocean liner. He wanted to hijack one, I thought.
At that point, a voice over the intercom told us to get ready for more maneuvering.
Without telling me, Calidore closed his visor. After some fumbling to activate the interior lever with my chin, I did likewise.
Several minutes later, I heard a loud clang and a jolt to the capsule. I imagined more fuel tanks and engines were being attached to our capsule from other corporation craft already in orbit. I happened to know that we’d climbed in a three-stage rocket, the stages falling away at various points.
Thirty minutes later, we began a lesser acceleration, maybe even less than 1 G. Our capsule had escaped the deep gravity well of Terra, although I doubted we had escaped Terra’s gravitational influence altogether.
Our capsule built up velocity as we maneuvered for the Voyager Manhattan, which belonged to the Allan Corporation. I still had no idea why Calidore believed we were headed toward an extinction-level threat to humanity and thus to Earth. Well, there were still the space colonies. So, wouldn’t an extinction-level threat have to be able to kill those on Mars, Ceres and the moons of Jupiter?
I mentally put that aside. Calidore wanted to pirate one of the shuttles. He meant for his bodyguards—us—to murder whomever he pointed at. If we were successful, wouldn’t the rest of the Manhattan’s crew and passengers storm our shuttle and kill us afterward?
That was only part of the problem. Calidore thought of us as wogs and barbarians, as lesser humans who would kill anyone at any time. I was not a murderer, and I did not plan to become a murderer for anyone. Taking innocent life was wrong. Of course, one could kill to protect one’s life and in case of war, but indiscriminately murdering others…I would have no part of it.
How, then, could I keep my oath to Calidore and help him gain a shuttle?
Elder Paris Roan would have told me that I had insufficient information to make even an educated guess.
I scowled inside my helmet, and I finally decided to force the issue. I opened the visor and turned to Calidore.
He ignored me at first.
I reached over and shook an arm.
His helmet turned to me and the visor opened, showing a displeased doctor glaring at me from the thick padding surrounding his face.
The new capsule engine—much quieter than earlier—still forced me to raise my voice. “I’m not going to murder people for you.”
“What? I can’t hear you.”
“I said, I’m not going to just murder people for you.”
He heard me that time. I could see it in his eyes. He ingested the words until understanding came and then he scowled more.
“Are you trying to alter the deal?” he asked.
“I’m clarifying it.”
“No! You agreed to…to eliminate whomever I pointed at.”
“I’ll protect you as I swore, but I won’t murder for you.”
“You want me to turn this capsule around?”
“Give me a break. You lack the authority to do that.”
His eyes widened, and he hissed, “I’ll have you arrested and executed once we’re on the Manhattan.”
“If you give such an order, I’ll tell them your plan.”
“That’s not guarding me.”
“I’m not going to meekly die for you, Dr. Calidore.”
“You’ll be forsworn if you don’t. The gods will destroy you and your Wolf Clan.”
I scoffed. “The gods will destroy you for trying to force me to murder innocent people.”
He bared his teeth at me in frustration.
“Think of another way to gain a shuttle,” I told him. “I’ll certainly help you, just not in murdering others.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Doctor…we have to save Terra, right?”
“We have to save ourselves first,” he corrected.
“I understand, and I know you’re frustrated. But think of this; guile often works better than force. Surely, this is one of those moments.”
He glared at me for several more seconds until his visor closed and he resettled himself in his crash seat, putting his gloved hands over his chest.
I did likewise on my seat, wondering if I had done the right thing, or if I’d just signed our and the Wolf Clan’s death warrants.
-7-
It took time and maneuvering until, finally, our capsule slowed and jolted against something. We were all rocked in our crash seats by the incident.
Calidore unhooked faster than anyone else and shoved off his chair to float ahead of others still getting up. The doctor was the first to reach the slowly opening exit hatch.
In his chair, Hector managed to open his visor. I did the same with mine.
“Where’s he going?” Hector asked.
“Yeah. I wonder that, too.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know. Let’s unhook and get our gear.”
An interior intercom came on and a woman started giving us instructions. We stood—the thirty of us—grabbing for anchors such as the back of a crash seat or a handle on a bulkhead. I warned Hector and Lee to maneuver slowly and with minimum strength as we floated for the exit. It turned out we weren’t the only rookies, but we three made fewer mistakes than the other obvious bodyguards did. Finally, we all floated into a corridor on the Manhattan.
A small woman in a green Allan Corporation uniform and hat appeared and began shouting at us, giving further directions. We along with others grabbed silver-colored float-rails and dragged ourselves hand-over-hand to a side area.
There, a man in a green uniform and hat matching hers handed out equipment, calling out a name each time. By then, everyone had their visors open, although everyone was still wearing their helmets.
In time, the other bodyguards followed their leaders, leaving Hector, Lee and me alone with the purser. He stared at us before launching and floating away, leaving us alone with the stopped conveyer and our equipment.
“Now what?” Hector asked me.
I detached my right-hand glove from the spacesuit-sleeve and rummaged in a bag until I found my needler and ammo, loading the deadly little weapon. I wasn’t a murderer, but I would kill in order to keep from being murdered, so I’d put up a good fight when they came to space us. I had a bad feeling about Calidore, believing his threat that he’d have us three arrested and killed.
Hector and Lee followed my example. Then we waited until finally a klaxon began to blare.
“What’s go
ing on now?” Hector asked.
I looked around, thinking.
“Okay,” I said. “Secure the gear to the float-rails. Then, hook your spacesuit to a float-rail. I think the klaxon means the voyager is going to start moving.”
We hooked up, put away our loaded needlers and secured our gloves where they belonged. Then we closed our visors and waited. Two hours later, the Manhattan finally started moving.
The acceleration continued for three hours, but it was nothing like on the rocket when leaving the Earth’s surface.
Finally, the acceleration ended, and we were weightless again.
I tentatively opened a visor. Hector did likewise.
We spoke, debating our next move. As we did, we heard rhythmic clangs reverberating down the corridor.
“What is that?” Hector asked.
I craned my neck as the clangs neared. Finally, I saw two battlesuits, the two-ton kind. The clangs were their magnetic boots striking the deck with each step. The battlesuits headed for us. Needlers would do nothing to those. Maybe the welders might, but that would take time to burn through.
Did the battlesuits mean that Dr. Calidore had sold us out?
My heart raced as I thought furiously. We could float away and stay alive a little longer. I calculated fast. Run away and stay alive a few more minutes at least, or try to bull my way through by fast-talking. I was a wog and a barbarian. Who would listen to me?
Think, I told myself. What would Paris Roan do?
I took a deep breath, knowing what Elder Roan would attempt to do. Living longer than a few more minutes was the bigger prize, although it had terrible odds.
The two, battlesuited marines halted, each of them lifting a strange rifle with a crystal on the business-end of the weapon. Were those laser rifles?
I lowered my visor.
“You are in an unauthorized zone,” one of the battlesuited marines said through a helmet speaker.
“We, ah, lost Dr. Calidore,” I said.
“Lost how?”
“The doctor exited the rocket capsule before telling us where to take his equipment.”
The speaker shut off. Were the marines using a radio to check our story?
My heart raced even more, and I jumped as an air-conditioner unit turned on in my spacesuit. That cooled the sweat pouring off my skin, but it had little effect on my heart.
The battlesuit speaker crackled, and the marine said, “Gather the equipment. You’re coming with us.”
“Where are we going?” I asked.
The speaker clicked off. Either the marine hadn’t heard me, or he didn’t care. Damn Dr. Calidore and his murderous plans. Were the marines going to force us through an airlock into space, or worse? I didn’t know, but I obeyed the command and soon we floated after the marching battlesuits with our equipment.
-8-
At their command, we stowed the equipment, shed our spacesuits, handed over our needlers and entered a small cell with restraints on the walls, or I should say, bulkheads. An unsuited man with gray hair appeared and entered the cell with us, securing us against the bulkheads. The two battlesuits with the laser rifles aimed at us watched from just outside the entrance.
“What’s going on?” I asked the gray-haired man.
“Beats the heck out of me,” he said. “You’re prisoners. That’s all I know.”
“Do you know Dr. Calidore?”
“Heard of him, but that’s it. Can’t talk more,” he said. “We’re entering hard thrust in twenty minutes. You should be okay in here, but it might get a little uncomfortable.”
He exited, and the battlesuits caused the hatch to shut. They all left, and we waited.
“At least they didn’t execute us,” Hector said.
I shook my head, wanting to tell them I was sorry for screwing up like this, but too proud to admit we had lost the good fight. This felt like Las Vegas all over again, only worse somehow.
The bulkheads lacked cushions, obviously, but at least we wouldn’t fly around hitting the walls and each other, and breaking bones during acceleration.
The hatch opened suddenly, and Dr. Calidore stood there staring at us. He wore a green Allan Corporation uniform and hat, with a few miscellaneous items attached to a belt. His boots appeared to be magnetized to the deck.
“I chose killers and turned out to have picked conscientious objectors,” he said. “I’m surprised you slew the cat man with a knife. Did you consider him inhuman and thus attackable?”
“The cat man was trying to kill me,” I said.
“I wanted to save the human race. Instead, the captain has blacklisted me, and marines will probably space you three once we reach our destination.”
“What did you tell them about us?”
“Not a damn thing,” he said. “I tried your method, guile, and it failed utterly. If I didn’t have a sympathizer aboard who freed me from confinement—” Calidore swore and shook his head. “We have no more time for recriminations. We are condemned men. Do you understand what that means?”
I’d grown weary of his insulting questions and said nothing.
“Have you lost your will to live?” he asked.
“I’m chained to a wall. What do you expect me to do?”
“Bah! Why did I choose milksops without imagination?” He shook his head again. “It doesn’t matter. It simply doesn’t matter. We have reached a do or die moment and I have no one else to turn to. Now—”
He detached a small unit from his belt and aimed the unit at us, clicking a button with his thumb.
Our restraints fell away and we floated in place.
“Catch,” he said, tossing me a sheathed knife and two needlers. I caught them, checked the guns and saw they were loaded. I gave one to Hector and the other to Lee. I took my belt off partway and threaded the end through the slot in the sheath, back through the loops on my pants, and quickly fastened it again. I don’t know how, but Calidore had found my own blade.
“We have less than twenty minutes to reach a shuttle,” Calidore said. “We’re obviously without spacesuits, so any rupture in the elevator will kill us. Any delay means failure. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“This is a raid,” I said. “I get it.”
“We shall see if you do or not. Now, listen carefully. I’m going to use thirty seconds to tell you how to use the float-rails correctly. I wish I had the C-mutants with me, but I have three Wolf Clan warriors instead, for whatever you’re worth.”
“You’re wasting time,” I said. “Tell us about the float-rails.”
Calidore glared at me and nodded a second later, beginning the quick lesson. Afterward, we exited the cell and started using the rails, pulling ourselves faster and faster.
It was a giddy experience. The three of us had swum in rivers before, so that helped to some degree. Dr. Calidore proved graceful, putting the three of us to shame. I watched him, finally understanding a few tricks he was using, applied them and told the others how to do the same.
The corridors were devoid of people. That helped us immensely. Soon, Calidore warned us, and we slowed ourselves by grabbing the rail and hanging on for a second at a time, jolting ourselves as we slowed by degrees. Finally, we reached a complex-looking hatch.
Calidore activated his magnetic boots, locking himself before a control pad on the wall. “This is the elevator,” he explained. “It leaves the living quarters and slides along the main shaft of the Manhattan. We’re going to head to the second shuttle. It holds a crew, but…” He shrugged. “We’re out of options at this point. If we fail to reach the shuttle before the acceleration begins—we’re probably as good as dead.”
“Understood,” I said. “Shouldn’t we get started then?”
Calidore took a deep breath, faced the controls and began to manipulate then. A wall speaker snapped on, and I groaned inwardly. It was over before it really started. I was wrong, fortunately. A mechanical voice told Calidore that he lacked authorization to access the elevator.
/> The doctor wiped his sweaty forehead with a sleeve and tapped the controls again, possibly trying a new combination. The mechanical voice hesitated before warning us to maintain safety at all times. Then, the hatch slid open.
“Hurry,” Calidore said. “Get inside.”
We entered the elevator, the hatch slid shut and we began moving. At the same time, a klaxon began to blare.
“Does that mean they know what we’re doing?” I asked.
We three floated in the chamber. Calidore was magnetized to the elevator deck.
“What?” he asked. “Oh, no. That’s the warning klaxon. The Manhattan is going to begin acceleration in ten minutes. That’s the last warning to strap in.”
I considered that, and I considered what I’d seen from the rocket-capsule screen earlier. The elevator box had surely left the oval living quarters of the Manhattan. We now moved along the struts or girders that made up the majority of the voyager. How far away had the shuttles been docked from the living quarters? About a third of the way, if I remembered correctly. That still didn’t mean much, as I didn’t know how big the voyager was or how fast our compartment moved.
“Are we going to make it?” I asked.
Calidore glanced at me. Then, he bit his lower lip and shrugged.
The klaxon continued to blare its warning as we headed for the shuttle.
-9-
“I want to know one thing,” I said a few seconds later. “What is the extinction-level threat that we’re supposed to stop?”
Calidore didn’t respond.
“Dr. Calidore, at least tell us why we’re going to die.”
“Your stupidity and stubbornness are the main reasons,” he said, sighing afterward. He stared up at the ceiling and finally turned around to regard me. “What can a barbarian know about deep space? It’s pointless telling you.”
“Try me. You’ll be surprised.”
“I doubt it.”
“The elevator isn’t going to make it in time, is it? You’re sick at the thought of dying and you’re taking it out on us.”
The Imprisoned Earth Page 3
