“Pretty standard clamps, son.” Trench Coat Man slips a chewy mint between his lips and turns back to his controls. Which puts the onus on me to find out...
What’s taking Sergei so long?
Maybe he’s taken a wrong turn somewhere, but I can’t see how. There’s nowhere else to go. I backtrack to the dark room and shout his name. No answer. The puri chamber is locked from this side; I’ll need permission to gain entry. But I can’t see him inside either. He must still be struggling with the magno-clamps. Now I’m a bit embarrassed for him, and for me—chrissakes, I admitted I was too weak to wind an imaginary crank! Not the best lead-in to an entrance exam.
I return to tell Trench Coat Man Sergei’s having trouble. He’ll have to help.
“I think he knows what he’s doing,” the man assures me.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He slouches back in his seat, sighs, and points to a flashing alert on his console. “Take a look for yourself, Jim.”
It reads, Warning! Tailgate open. Close immediately or maintain current vector heading and decrease speed.
“What? Why would he—”
“Look! There.” He taps the starboard rear-view monitor with his knuckle. “He’s all right, Jim. He made it.”
I can see Sergei, a tiny dot kicking up a trail of dust across the desert. He’s headed in the opposite direction from me, as fast as his sand bike will fly.
CHAPTER 4
A Trillion Minus One
The dark room doesn’t so much brighten as illustrate itself, one wall panel at a time, as we sit at the triangular digitab. Liquigraph images morph to life on the panels. They’re shockingly clear and three-dimensional; I feel like I could step inside one. Each depicts a famous moment from the history of the Interstellar Planetary Administration. I recognise most of them.
Condor Fifth Wing Squadron taking off from the spindly, sea-swept runways of Altimere, led by Cardie and Brink, the legendary fighter aces who would die within a matter of hours during their famous last victory on the eleventh Forjorean moon.
Congressman Galkaneka, the first non-human delegate to be sworn into the Core Congress, over seventy years ago.
Completion of the Gilpraxia Moon Bridge, the greatest human engineering feat ever undertaken. It joined the planet Gilpraxia with its static moon, using a single flexible gravity shaft thousands of miles long, to help import vital mineral ore.
“Tell me, what sports do you like, Jim?”
“That part of the test?”
“No. All that’ll come later. I just thought it’d be a good opportunity for us to get to know each other a bit on the way. Talk guy stuff. It’s a fairly long flight to the facility. And you should know that once the official training curriculum starts, the only adults you see will be your instructors.”
“I thought you were an instructor.”
“In the beginning. Not any more.”
“How come?”
“My duties lie elsewhere. Plus, I don’t really have the time these days.”
I fold my arms and shrug. He’s trying hard to be friendly, but I’ve just lost everything I care about in the world. No, worse than that; everything I care about in the world has just run out on me. I want to be on my own. Better still, I want to turn around and go back...
But it’s too late now. This was my choice. My big decision. One I’ll somehow have to live with.
“I can see he means a great deal to you, Jim.”
Gazing into the star tunnel screensaver to avoid eye contact with him doesn’t work; he catches my reflection in the glass. So I give the Moon Bridge image another pass instead.
“It might seem like he’s abandoned you, but that was a very selfless thing he did, making sure you got on board before he left. Very selfless indeed. He could have flat-out refused to come along, and you’d have probably gone with him, back to your old life. But he knew you had to get on this ship. That it’s the best thing for you. He’s a helluva guy, your Sergei. A helluva guy. There’s no replacing someone like that. And we’ll never ask you to. The important thing is to use what he’s taught you, to be the best you can be. He wants that for you. Remember that, Jim. He wants you to ace this thing.”
All I can think of is Sergei and me pigging out on that epic breakfast shortly before we took off on our last sand bike adventure. We laughed so hard we found it impossible to keep our mouths full; the chunks of scrambled egg all over the carpet can attest to that. We had our whole lives ahead of us...together. We were going to grow up as kings of the oases, master skimmers, never taxed, never found out, never...apart.
“Will I ever see him again?”
“I don’t know, son. I wish I knew.”
The stars on the desktop wheel by on all sides as I try to gaze into the future through the bottomless dark at the end of the virtual tunnel. I see nothing. Only deep space. It’s where I’ve always dreamed of going. Just not like this.
Not on my own.
“You still haven’t told me what to call you, sir.”
“Mister Thorpe-Campbell.”
“Yeah right. Whatever.” Another bogus alias, like Herapeth. Charlie Thorpe-Campbell was a famous orbital runner, the orbital runner, and the first human to make contact with an advanced alien species. Well over a century ago.
“You don’t believe me?”
I pull my best Are you for real? face. “I believe the Mister part.”
He laughs. “Spoken like Sergei.”
“At least you do look a bit like him, sir. We couldn’t say the same for Herapeth.” She was a woman.
He laughs harder, slaps his thigh. It’s a little overdone. He’s trying too hard to be friendly again. But come to think of it, he does look a lot like Charlie Thorpe-Campbell. Maybe he’s a descendent, and that really is his surname.
It’s suddenly kind of cool to be sharing a shuttle with somebody called Thorpe-Campbell. Sergei would dig it, too.
“And you’re a Trillion,” he says. “Descended from Megan Trillion, a member of the first manned mission to Mars. One of the original colonists! She gave birth to the first human born on Mars. That’s some legacy.”
“I guess. And you must know about the other side of the legacy.”
He nods. “No Trillion has ever left Mars since then. Is that why you came? To be the first?”
“No.”
“So why did you come? Just between you and me, before the official questionnaires and psychological testing starts—we both know that’s a bunch of bull anyway—tell me, what made you want to get on this shuttle?”
“The same reason you tracked me down.” I don’t even know why he tracked me down, but two can play at this game. He’s being cryptic. He keeps secrets. I can keep secrets.
“I see,” he says. “So why did you help me that day in the café?”
“I can’t remember.”
“And what on Earth made you think of throwing me a severed head?”
“I thought you were about to lose yours.”
His lips purse into an icy line, as though he’s trying his best to fight a grin.
“Why were you being followed that day?” I ask, leaning forward, elbows on the desktop. It’s time I found out a few things about him.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Those white collar men were watching you and your friend. And you were watching them. I know because I was watching you watch them watch you.”
He winces. “No wonder you went for the severed head. Jeez.”
“Sir, what happened to your friend? We didn’t see him—”
“He made it out safely. Don’t worry about him.”
“And those were Sheiker insurgents, right?”
His rifling gaze bores into me. He doesn’t blink. “Right. Those were Sheikers.”
“And they wanted to get hold of you because of this project you’re with? The training project?”
He doesn’t answer. It feels like I’m pulling teeth, but Sergei always said I could
be a stubborn little git when I wanted to know something.
“What’s so special about this project, sir? What’s it for?”
“You must have some idea, Jim, or you wouldn’t have agreed to come.” He’s good at dodging questions with more questions. “If I asked you what you thought the project was—right here, right now—what would you say?”
“Ice sculpting.”
He starts to smile, then frowns a little instead. “What makes you say that?”
“I dunno. Trying to be funny, I guess.”
“You didn’t know that we were travelling to the far north? To the polar cap?”
“How could I? There are no windows in this room. We could be dusting crops for all I know.”
“True. So whose idea was it to drag me through the sewage pipe?” he asks.
“Um, mine.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Any time.”
“And Sergei carried me the whole way, I take it?”
“Yeah. I-I helped a bit.”
“But you were ready to leave me outside your hotel and split? To let the authorities get hold of me?”
I don’t like where this is going. He started out so friendly and now it sounds like he’s accusing me. “It was just an idea. We wouldn’t have done it.”
“I see. You were just spit-balling. You’re full of ideas, aren’t you, Jim?”
“Sometimes.”
“Think you can trick classified information out of me, when we’re supposed to be having a friendly chat?” His voice is getting sharper.
“No.”
“Feel like tricking me again?”
“No, sir.”
“Why do you want to join this project?”
I bite my lip. Say nothing. Anger’s rippling me all over, and I’m dying to get up and walk out. But I don’t. I can’t. Not now.
“Do you want to go back and join Sergei?”
“No, sir.” I can’t believe I just said that. It’s so...final.
“We’ll soon be approaching one of the final fair weather outposts. Do you want to get off there, go back to your old life as a skimmer?”
“No, sir.”
He springs up from his seat and glowers down at me. I’m five years old again, alone, faced with a world I don’t understand.
“Now then, one final question,” he says. “Coke or apple juice?”
“Excuse me?”
“To drink.”
“Oh. Coke.”
“Good man.” He scrubs his face, then gives an “Ahh” of relief. “You can relax now, Jim. Sorry about that. I just had to be sure, that’s all.”
“Sure, sir?”
“That you weren’t wasting my time.”
“Oh.”
Somewhere on Mars there’s a severed head. It might be mine.
“I didn’t mean to be so rough on you, kid. But you were grilling me something rotten. That’s never happened before.”
“Sorry.”
“No. Don’t be. You go right on asking your questions. That’s what life’s all about.”
My legs are shaking under the table, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “I’ll remember that for the interview, sir. You think it’ll help me pass?”
“It just did.” He glances over his shoulder on the way out, flashes me a sly grin. “You’re in, kid. Welcome to the future.”
CHAPTER 5
Polar
Thorpe-Campbell is a decent enough bloke. He’s given me access to the podnet on the digitab, so I can watch anything I want, find out anything I want. He’s unlocked the galley for me as well, which is full of unbelievably tasty packaged snacks and bottled drinks that Sergei would go nuts for. And he’s made up a bed for me, one of the flank bunks in the forward passage. It’s comfortable enough, but I can only sleep fitfully. It’s the first night I’ve been alone since I met Sergei. All I can think of is: Where is he now? What’s he doing out there? Is he missing me as much as I’m missing him?
But whatever happens, Thorpe-Campbell says, I’m not allowed in the cockpit. There are no windows in my part of the ship, so I’m flying blind, which is how he wants it. The location of the training facility is a big, fat galactic secret. All I know is it’s in the northern polar region. So I guess I’ll be needing something a bit woollier to wear.
For a full day and night I see hardly anything of the man I’m trusting my life to. Surfing the podnet gets old fast. I keep checking my favourite message boards in case Sergei’s tried to get in touch, but he never really was into the whole cyber thing. Probably hasn’t had chance to get access either. Not yet. He’ll be tearing across the desert on his sand bike, gunning his engine to within an inch of its life, reaching speeds he’d never have reached if I was with him. He always kept an eye on me, never let me go too fast. Now that he’s got rid of me, there’ll be no stopping him.
I decide to call up the interactive satellite map for the whole of Mars. Every inch of the surface is rendered in blistering detail, and you can wander about at will, at any speed, at any height. It’s a great way to navigate, or to find out exactly where you are when you get lost. Just take a quick three-sixty photo of the surrounding topography, upload it to the sat map, and the pattern recognition software will pinpoint your precise coordinates. Or if it’s nighttime, scan a vertical photo of the stars overhead and you’ll get the exact time, your coordinates, and directions to the nearest burger shack. I can’t see outside, so all I can do is plot an imaginary course from the resort where we left my sand bike, Mellow Vista, to our destination, say, the North Pole.
I set the speed to 300 kph and imagine the digitab simulation is a real-time window, so I can see where I’m going. Structures we pass include the giant Krauss Aqueduct; the expensive retirement dome for old timers, Timpani Shakes; and one of my favourite resorts on the planet, the famous Big Red theme park. Sergei and I once blew a month’s wages on two weekend passes there, but we went on every ride at least five times. After all that, I ended up puking during one of the lamest kiddie rides! Sergei never let me live that down. I still say those skanky burritos we had for lunch were to blame.
We’ve barely reached the frosty slopes of Rupes Tenuis on the border of the northern polar region—on my simulator, that is—when heavy turbulence buffets the ship. A voice booms over the comm, “Strap yourself in while we land, Jim. There’s a belt that pulls out from the left side of your seat. It magno-locks on the opposite side. Hold on tight.”
Turbulence rattles my teeth and makes me clench all over. Thankfully it’s over in a few minutes. The ship sets down on ground I can’t see, in a place I can only imagine, for this new career I know practically nothing about.
Thorpe-Campbell storms in, muttering to himself, a little ticked off about something. He throws me a kind of multi-layered, temperature-regulated radsuit. My size. Navy blue. It’s the most expensive thing I’ve ever held in my hands. “Put that on,” he says, pretending not to be ticked off.
“You mean over the top of—”
“No. Dump all the rest. This suit’s your second skin from now on. Nothing must come between it and you.” He turns his back to give me a bit of privacy.
It’s a snug fit and immediately gets rid of my slouch. In fact, every movement I make feels easier, bouncier, as if the suit’s enhancing it somehow. I was a pretty fast runner before; I could probably win the Colonial Games in this!
“Okay, kid, follow me.”
He hands me a pair of insulating gloves and an oxygen breather as we walk. He leads me out the way I came in, through the puri chamber and the airlock. Here the pang of sadness hits me hardest. This was the last place I ever got to see Sergei, probably forever. I try to force myself not to think about that but it’s impossible. Who am I without Sergei? He’s taught me everything I know and he’s protected me from everything I don’t know. Thorpe-Campbell promised me I’d get to leave Mars at the end of the training; it feels like I already have, because my world is not the same.
From now on, it will
never be the same again.
A freezing wind punches into the airlock as Thorpe-Campbell lowers the ramp. He magnoes my suit collar up to my chin, so that every inch of skin is now covered. “Take it all in, kid. Don’t miss a thing. This is your time now.”
Whatever that means.
It’s twilight in the frozen north. Eerie blues and indigos and purples bleed through wispy rashes of cloud that hover like night caps over the sleepy arctic peaks. The area is so remote and chilly it seems insane to build any kind of facility out here, let alone one for kids. I can’t see it, wherever it is. What I can see is a large, hollowed-out tunnel through the ice cliff ahead. It’s hidden from above by an overhanging ledge, which looks completely natural, and from either side by jutting walls of ice. It’s the kind of place you’d never find unless you knew where to look.
I’ll remember that.
The solid soles of our suits have tiny spikes that grip the ice, making it easy to walk. Once we’re at the tunnel entrance, Thorpe-Campbell speaks a command into his mask-com and our ship takes off on its own, correcting its ascent this way and that in the strong winds, before speeding away out of sight like a bullet from a gun. It leaves behind a streaming wake of cosmic fumes that’s quickly dispersed by the icy gusts.
Before I can tell him how impressive that was, it strikes me as an unbelievably stupid thing to have done. We have no emergency supplies. If something bad has happened to his precious academy and things aren’t as he expects, we’re stranded out here, plain and simple.
“Sir, how far—”
“Through the tunnel. We usually bring candidates in in groups, but this was a last-minute shuttle, so you’ve got the whole thing to yourself. If I was you, I’d take it all in.”
That’s the second time he’s said that, so I’m especially watchful. The arched walls of the tunnel are smooth, as if they’ve been meticulously sculpted out of the ice. It’s dark inside, so Thorpe-Campbell demonstrates how to use the suits to create light. He performs a single star jump, one of those dumb keep-fit exercises most athletes do to warm up before competition. His suit instantly glows blue, but not enough to illuminate the walls. He performs four more star jumps. Within seconds, he lights up like a human torch.
Star Binder Page 6
