Still, that would be a ways off as yet. I could see certain real advantages in the body—not the least of which was the fact that I had an extra thirty years or so on my life—but there would also be disadvantages as well. There would be the tendency to treat me as a child—and, because it was my cover, I had to go along to a certain extent. But though children get a bit more license than adults in simple behavioral areas, they are also subject to more rigid social controls. That realization led me onto the path of determining my best and most effective persona. The fact that Bul was a male of the civilized worlds born to a political family meant his IQ and general formative education would be expected to be well above average. The fact that he’d engineered a successful assassination and survived, even being sent to the Warden Diamond, was another plus. I would have no trouble convincing anyone that I was quite a bit. older than my years, which eased the problem quite a bit. Being a tough, smart kid would be an easy and useful role to play.
I lay back down on the cot and put myself in a light trance, going over all the briefing information, filing, sorting, thinking everything out. Particularly important were the details, large and small, of Bul’s short life and family, since it was in that area I’d be most vulnerable to a trip-up. I also studied his mannerisms, nervous habits, and the like, and tried to get myself into the mind-set of a small but deadly assassin.
By the time I reached Medusa I knew I’d better be perfect for my own sake. I had another assassination to add to Tarin Bul’s total still to come, and though I hoped they would underestimate me, I did not for one moment underestimate Talant Ypsir.
CHAPTER TWO
Transportation and Exposure
Except for the regular meals I had no way to keep track of time, but it was a fairly long trip. Nobody was wasting any money transporting prisoners by the fastest available routes, that was for sure.
Finally, though, we docked with the base ship a third of a light-year out from the Warden system. I understood the situation not so much by any sensation inside my cloister but from the lack of it—the vibration that had been my constant companion stopped. Still the routine wasn’t varied—I assumed they were waiting for a large enough contingent from around the galaxy to make the landing worthwhile. For now, I could only sit and go over my data for the millionth time and, occasionally, reflect on the fact that I probably wasn’t very far from my old body—as I’d come to think of it. I wondered if, perhaps, he didn’t even come down and take a peek at me from time to time, at least from idle curiosity—me and the three others who probably were here as well.
I also had time to reflect on what I knew of the Warden situation itself, the reason for its perfection as a prison. I had not, of course, swallowed that whole. Though there was no such thing as the perfect prison, this one had to be close. Shortly after I was landed on Medusa and started wading in and breathing its air I would be infected with an oddball submicroscopic organism that would set up housekeeping in every cell of my body. There it would live, feeding off me, even earning its keep by keeping disease organisms, infections, and the like in check. The one thing that stuff had was a will to live and it only lived if you did.
But the organism needed something, some trace element or somesuch that was only present in the Warden system. Nobody knew what and nobody had been able to do the real work necessary to find out, but whatever it needed—other than you—was found only in the Warden system. Whatever it was wasn’t in the air, because they ran shuttles between the worlds of the Diamond and in them you breathed the purified, mechanically produced stuff with no ill effect. Not in the food, either. They’d tried that. It was possible for one of the Warden people to live comfortably on synthetics in a totally isolated lab such as a planetary space station. But get too far away, even with Warden food and Warden ah-, and the organism died. Since it had modified your cells to make itself at home, and those cells depended on the organism to keep working properly, you died, too—painfully and slowly, in horrible agony. That distance was roughly a quarter of a light-year from the sun, which explained the location of the base ship.
All four worlds were more than climatologically different. The organism acted consistently in what it did to you on each planet. But—possibly because of distance from the sun, which seemed to be the determining factor in its life, the organism did different things to you depending on which world you were first exposed to it. Whatever it did stuck in just that fashion even if you went to a different world of the Diamond.
The organism seemed to be vaguely telepathic, although nobody could explain quite how. It certainly wasn’t an intelligent organism, though it behaved predictably. Still, most of the changes seemed to involve the colony in one person affecting the colony in another—or others. The individual provided the conscious control, if he could, and that determined who bossed whom. A pretty simple system, even if nobody had yet been able to explain it. I vaguely understood, though, that Medusans were unique in the Diamond in that the Warden organism colony inside you affected you alone in some way, not others. Well, we would have to see.
As for Medusa itself, all I really knew about it was that it was terribly cold and hostile. I cursed again at not having been fed the proper programming to prepare me fully—it would cost time, possibly a lot, just to learn the ropes.
Almost six days—seventeen meals—after I’d arrived at the base ship there was a lurching and a lot of banging around that forced me to the cot and made me slightly seasick. Still, I wasn’t disappointed—it meant that they were making up the consignments and readying for the in-system drop of these cells. I faced what was to come with mixed emotions. On one hand, I desperately wanted to be out of this little box that had provided nothing but endless, terrible boredom for such a long time. The problem was, though, that when I next got out of the box I would just be in a much larger and probably more comfortable box—Medusa itself, no less a cell for being an entire planet. And if my new situation would provide diversion, challenge, excitement, or whatever, lacking in this box, it might also prove, unlike this box, very, very final.
Shortly after the banging started, it stopped again. After a short, expectant pause, I felt a vibration indicating movement. It was much more pronounced than before, telling me that I was either on a much smaller vessel or located nearer the drives.
Still, another five interminable days—fifteen meals—passed before we reached our destination. Long, certainly, but also fast for a sublight carrier, probably a modified and totally automated freighter. Then the vibrations stopped and I knew we were in orbit. Again I had those mixed feelings of trapped doom and exhilaration.
There was a crackling sound and a speaker I’d never even known was there came to life.
“Attention all prisoners!” it commanded; the voice was a metallic parody of a man’s baritone. “We have achieved orbit around the planet Medusa in the Warden system.” Nothing I didn’t know, but the announcement was, I reflected, probably telling the others, however many there were, for the first time. I could understand what they must be going through, although, I was lucky to be going in with my eyes open even if no more voluntarily.
“In a moment,” the voice continued, “the doors to your cells will slide open and you will be able to leave. We strongly recommend you do so, since thirty seconds after the doors open they will close again and a vacuum pump will begin sterilization operations within the cells which would be fatal to anyone who remains.”
Nice touch, I thought. Not only did that insure against breakouts en route, you moved or you died on their schedule. I couldn’t help wonder whether anybody chose death.
“Immediately after you enter the main corridor,” the voice continued, “you will stand in place until the cell doors close. Do not attempt to move from in front of your cell door until it closes or automatic guard equipment will vaporize you. There will be no talking in the corridor. Anyone breaking silence or failing to obey orders precisely will be dealt with instantly. You will receive further instructions onc
e the doors close. Ready to depart—now!”
The door slid open, and I wasted no time in stepping out. A small white box, complete with marks for feet, indicated where you were to stand. I did as instructed, galling as all this was. There was something to being totally naked and isolated on a ship controlled only by computer that humbled you more than was right. I experienced a sense of total futility.
I could still look around and realized that I’d been right. The place where we stood was basically a long sealed hall along whose sides the little cells had been attached. I looked up and down and counted maybe ten or twelve, no more. The cream of the crop, I thought sourly. A handful of men and women, naked and bedraggled, beaten prisoners now, about to be dropped off and left. I wondered why my companions had been chosen rather than wiped, considering the transportation costs alone. What had the computers and psych boys found in these dejected specimens that dictated that they should live? They didn’t know, that was for sure. I wondered exactly who did.
The doors snapped shut. I waited expectantly, perhaps to hear the scream of somebody who didn’t move fast enough as the air was pumped out, but there was no hint of melodrama. If anybody had taken that way out, it was not evident.
“At my command,” the voice barked from speakers along the ceiling, “you will turn right and walk, slowly, in single file, as far forward as you can. There you will find a special shuttle that will bring you to the surface.
You will take seats from front to back, leaving no empty seats between you, and immediately strap yourselves in.”
I heard some muttering from a couple of my fellow prisoners. Instantly a brief but very visible spurt of light from a side wall hit with an audible hiss just in front of the offenders’ feet. They jumped slightly at this demonstration of power, but all the grumbling and mumbling ceased.
The voice had paused for this interruption, but now took up its instructions with no reference to it. None was needed.
“Right turn—now!” it commanded, and we did as instructed. “Walk slowly forward to the shuttle as instructed.”
We walked silently, definitely in no hurry. The metal floor of the corridor was damned cold, which made the shuttle preferable to this damned refrigerator. The shuttle itself was surprisingly comfortable and modern, although the seats weren’t made for naked bodies. I sat about three rows back and attached the safety straps, then-waited for the others to enter. My first impression had been close, I noted. The shuttle itself could seat twenty four, but there were only nine of us—six men and three women.
The hatch closed automatically and I heard the hiss of pressurization. Then, without further fanfare, came a violent lurch and we were free of the transport and on our way down.
The shuttle was much too modern and comfortable for mere prisoner transport, I told myself. This, then, had to be one of the interplanetary ships regularly used for transportation between the worlds of the Warden Diamond.
The overhead speakers crackled, and a much nicer female voice that actually sounded human came on. It was a great improvement.
“Welcome to Medusa.” The voice sounded like a cool, urbane tour guide. “As has no doubt been explained to you, Medusa is your final destination and new home. Although you will be unable to leave the Warden system after debarking on the planet, you will also no longer be prisoners, but, rather, citizens of the Warden Diamond. Confederacy rule ended the moment you entered this shuttle, which is owned in common by the Warden worlds, and is one of a fleet of four shuttlecraft and sixteen freighters. The System Council is a corporate entity recognized by the Confederacy as fully and internally self-governing, and it even has a seat in the Confederacy Congress. Each of the four worlds is under a separate administration, and the government of each planet is unique and independent. No matter who you are or what you have been or done in the past, you are now citizens of Medusa and nothing more—or less. Anything done prior to right now is past history that will neither be remembered, filed, or ever again referred to. Only what you do from this point, as citizens of Medusa, Warden system, will matter.”
Yeah, sure buddy. And I also still believe in fairies. If they expected me to believe that the powers-that-be on Medusa didn’t know anything about our past and didn’t keep good records, they had a very low opinion of my intelligence.
“We will arrive at the spaceport at Gray Basin, Medusa, in approximately five minutes,” the shuttle voice told us. ‘There you will be met by representatives of the government, given protective clothing, and then taken to a sheltered center where all your questions will be answered. Please be prepared for extreme cold; Gray Basin is in the northern hemisphere, which is now in winter season, and conditions are extremely harsh. Do not lose your guides or go out on your own. The climate at this time of year can prove lethal in a very short time to new arrivals. Although technologically quite comfortable, Medusa is somewhat primitive by the standards of the so-called civilized worlds, and the physical requirements of Medusans differ from those of other humans. Therefore, expect to find the interiors of buildings quite cold. A special place just for you has been prepared, and you will be taken there. Our government is a model of efficiency, necessary for this harsh world; please do not disregard its authority. Again, welcome to Medusa.”
Although the lid was off, nobody really said much for the rest of the trip—partly because we were still conditioned by our so recent imprisonment; the rest was nerves. Me included. This was it, I told myself. Here we go.
The descent was extremely bumpy once we hit the atmosphere, but whoever was at the controls knew his or her business. Despite the turbulent air, the pilot managed a nice descent, then glided right up to and into the dock.
In less than a minute I could hear the airlock door mechanisms operating, and the indicator went from red to orange to green. There was a pneumatic hiss, then the doors rolled back. For a moment, none of us moved. Finally, those nearest the hatch stood up and walked out the open door. Sighing, I got up and did the same.
The walkway was bitter cold. We were all stark naked, so there was no time to think as we ran for the terminal. A man and a woman, waited for us just as we came inside, by which time I was already turning blue. They shouted at us to get over to a table and take protective clothing as quickly as possible and put it on. None of us needed any urging. Although it was pretty tough finding anything in my size, I did the best I could. I saw that the stuff was standard thermal underclothing, then parka, pants, and soft boots all lined with some sort of fur, with matching fur-lined gloves. Getting them on helped, but I was so damned cold I knew it would take some time to thaw out.
“As soon as you’re dressed, line up here!” the woman shouted in a commanding, drill-instructor-type voice.
I did as instructed, feeling a bit as if I was back in training. Only when I was standing there did the reality hit me. Here I was, on Medusa—and even as that first blast of frigid air had hit me, my body was being systematically invaded by an alien organism that was to be my permanent jailer.
CHAPTER THREE
Orientation
The couple who had met us looked lean, tough, and mean. They radiated an arrogant sort of cold, businesslike power. Both were dressed in fatigue-green uniforms and wore rubber-soled black shoes, but the uniforms were rather light and did not seem to offer much protection against the cold. In fact, these two were dressed in such a way that you’d swear the ambient temperature in the terminal was not below freezing but rather somewhere in the temperate range. Their uniforms bore sewn insignia of rank—if they followed the usual standard here, the man was a sergeant, the woman a corporal—and an odd-looking, snakelike insignia on their right pockets, but that was it.
We all lined up, turned, and looked at the couple, who stared back at us as if we were some kind of disgusting specimens for a lab dissection. I took an instant dislike to them both.
“I’m Sergeant Gorn,” the man said. With his clipped, officious voice he sounded like every sergeant I’d ever heard. ‘This i
s Corporal Sugra. We are orientation leaders and medical technicians for your group. I think you are as dressed as we can manage. Don’t worry if you have size problems—everyone does. When you become more acclimated to Medusa, you will be issued a full set of tailored clothing. First we must transfer you to the orientation center, so follow me and we will board a bus just outside.” With that he started walking and, after a moment’s hesitation, we all followed. The corporal brought up the rear.
The bus was of an odd magnetic-drive design, with hard, molded seats, two strings of internal lights, and not much else. There was no operator and, as we quickly discovered, no heat. It was built like a fort, though, so we would be sheltered from the noisy wind and thickly blowing snow if not from the biting cold. As soon as the last of us boarded, the corporal took a card out of one of her pockets and stuck it in a slot in the front panel of the bus. The doors closed with a whoosh and we were off rather smoothly -and quickly, emerging from the tunnel into Medusa proper.
The spaceport was located some distance from the town. We managed to run out of the blizzard after some ten or fifteen minutes and gained a little visibility of a world that was still totally snow-covered. I could see high mountains off in the distance, grim and foreboding. There was no sign of life out there, though—I had no idea how much snow was there, but it was more than I’d ever seen outside of a polar ice cap.
The bus, however, was an impressive vehicle, smooth and sturdy, that apparently was guided along some sort of under-snow tracking system. The system made sense, for no matter how high the snow piled up the bus would glide just above it.
We slowed, suddenly, but without any jerking, and approached a large building that loomed up out of the sea of white. We stopped, waited, then started up again, stopped again, waited, then glided on, the tracking system now clearly visible ahead.
Medusa: A Tiger by the Tail Page 4
