Presently, Sidney no longer heard Madame Bernet slashing about in the cockpit. Instead, he heard the radio blaring from that direction. They’ve found an override frequency, he thought, recalling when he had shut off communication.
“Shamrock Five!” a voice said over the radio speakercom. “You do not have takeoff clearance!”
Sidney rolled cautiously to the cockpit hatchway.
“Shamrock Five!” the radio blared. “Acknowledge!”
Sidney looked around the doorway with one eye, saw the meckie crouching in a corner, knives crossed in front of its body. A piece of plastic skin on the back of one of the meckie’s hands had been peeled off, and Sidney saw metal gears and nylon tendons inside.
A meckie! he thought. Is it out of power? He recalled the comment he had overheard concerning a killer meckie, shivered with fear.
Sidney lifted a manual from the floor, hurled it at Madame Bernet. The meckie did not move.
“Shut down your engines!” the radio commanded, “or we will blast you away!”
Sidney lunged for the instrument panel, replied: “Accidental takeoff. Do not fire upon us! Your mayor is a passenger in one of the trailers!”
The line clicked on, then went off.
They’re checking, Sidney thought. She probably didn’t have time to get off.
Sidney cleared debris off the command chair and slid into the seat.
The Shamrock Five and its mass driver trailers cleared Saint Elba’s docking tunnel and darted into open space. Sidney saw twinkling vastness ahead, flipped on the semi-automatic Direct Command Mode. A red “Standing By” light went on under the mode’s handle.
Presently the voice returned to the radio, and it demanded, “Shut down your engines! Hit the master switch!”
“Request refused,” Sidney said. “This ship is not turning back!”
“Why not, for Rosenbloom’s sake?”
“Call it a holy mission.”
There was a pause, followed by: “You’re crazy!”
I don’t think so, Sidney thought.
After another pause, the voice said, “Release the trailers.”
The Mayor IS aboard, Sidney thought. “I’d be happy to,” he said. “How is that accomplished?”
“We’ll find out. Stand by, Shamrock Five.”
“Standing by for course coordinates,” the ship’s computer said.
Sidney flipped through a console-mounted clip-file which miraculously had survived the meckie’s onslaught. Ah, he thought. Here it is!
“Course eighty-four degrees, seventeen minutes, C.P.,” Sidney said. “Fifty-eight. . . . ” He paused, adding, “Wait a minute, computer. This says takeoff was supposed to be yesterday! Won’t that change the coordinates?”
“Give me the original figures,” the computer said. “We are tracking the comet, and will correct.”
The comet? Sidney thought. If I’m nuts, so is this computer! Sidney completed the entry of coordinates.
“Course received,” the computer said. “Over and out.”
Sidney felt acceleration in the gravitonically normal cockpit, was pushed back against his seat. They’d better tell me how to release those. . . .
“Shamrock Five, this is Saint Elba. Locate a green panel box on the cockpit bulkhead, just behind the co-pilot’s chair.”
Sidney turned around, reported back: “I see it.”
“Open the box. Push two green buttons inside. Hit them simultaneously.”
“All right,” Sidney said. “But no funny ideas about firing on me afterward. I’ll have the rear guns trained on those trailers.”
“No tricks,” the radio voice agreed.
Within seconds, Sidney had cut the trailers loose. On the console screen, he watched two ships close in on the trailers. Sidney gave the command for maximum speed, and the Shamrock Five hyper-accelerated. The images on the screen became pinpricks, then disappeared entirely.
He glanced at the killer meckie out of the corner of one eye, thought he saw an eye open. Sidney did a double-take, but he saw nothing unusual the second time. He looked away, took a deep breath.
I must have been seeing things, he thought.
* * *
On a page margin of the history primer, the tall, fat youngsayerman penned this note: “If there be a nerd Heaven, Sidney Malloy is there.”
Wait a minute, the youngsayerman thought. Did the cappy die?
He flipped ahead to find out. . . .
Chapter Thirteen
THE ECONOMICS OF FREENESS, FOR FURTHER READING AND DISCUSSION
Patent Law 78 was an unwritten law mandated by the Council of Ten in 2366. It stipulated that the government would buy out and shelve any patent which threatened national economic security, and further that future patents were to be denied upon any such items.
Thursday, August 31, 2605
Master Edward sat alone in the Central Chamber, staring down from his perch at the round illuminated floor screen in the center of the room. Only half conscious that it was nearly two o’clock in the morning, he studied a video schematic of the Great Comet’s trajectory.
“Blast!” he said in an angry undertone, noting that the future paths of Earth and the garbage comet continued to meet. A digital readout at the bottom of the screen described the comet’s Estimated Time of Arrival:
Impact Countdown:
DAYS 1
HOURS 16
MINS 5
SECS 46
D/SECS .38
He watched desperately as the deciseconds and seconds flipped away, then mentoed for a videograph report.
There, he thought as the graph appeared on the screen, pointing in the low yellow light of the room. That is where I altered Earth’s orbital speed yesterday. And then the comet changed its own trajectory to remain on a collision course. . . .
His gaze moved to the point where the tuxedo meckie had increased the orbital speed again the prior evening. Master Edward shook his head sadly as he saw the comet had altered its own course to match that change.
At Master Edward’s memo-command, the screen changed once more, and he watched the Great Comet as it flashed across space. The comet emitted bright blue and amber tones, illuminating the ceiling of the room. He felt fascination, fear and awe.
He considered fleeing in an escape rocket but discarded the thought almost at the moment it came to him. If I have any hope of reversing the aging process, he thought, I must remain here.
Master Edward longed for a simpler time. His life had grown unbearably complex in a few short days. He touched the handle of the knife at his waist, thought, I could end my misery in an instant.
He gazed at the screen with unfocused eyes, reminding himself as he had several times since killing Uncle Rosy that he could never be as great a leader as the Master had been. Uncle Rosy must have sensed I could not handle the job, he thought. That is why he delayed. . . .
An overwhelming feeling of loneliness came over him.
“Master!” a voice called from across the chamber. “Might I have a word with you?”
Master Edward saw a hood-robed figure standing in the doorway which led to the antechamber containing the Basins of Youth. Surprised, Master Edward called back: “Who is there?” He realized as the words came out that he had forgotten to speak in the tone of Uncle Rosy. Did he notice? Master Edward wondered.
“Lastsayer Steven.”
“Enter,” Master Edward said, remembering to use the resonant tone of Uncle Rosy.
The robed figure rolled forward to one side of the floor-screen, and Master Edward saw Lastsayer’s smooth face in the illumination of the comet. Too much light in here, Master Edward thought nervously, pulling his robe over the lower part of his face and nose.
“Peace be upon you, Master,” Lastsayer said.
“What is this about?’ Master Edward asked without returning the blessing. He peered over the edge of his robe, heard his own words muffle in the robe and pulled it several centimeters out from his mouth.
“And you are here about a promotion?” These words dripped with acidity. Master Edward looked for the tiniest indication that Lastsayer had noticed the earlier vocal faux pas, saw only fear and curiosity in Lastsayer’s expression. One of the others would have noticed immediately, Master Edward thought, relieved. This sayerman has not been here long enough.
“No, Master. It is something far more important.”
“And what is so important that you could not sleep?”
““Undoubtedly you already know of what I am about to tell you. . . . ”
“I have no time for dilly-dallying, Lastsayer! Get straight to the point or get straight out of here!”
“I should have come to you sooner,” Lastsayer said hurriedly. “Sunday morning, I saw Onesayer high on Happy Pills . . . and he performed disrespectful imitations of you.”
“I can hardly believe that!” Master Edward exclaimed, showing false emotion.
“It is true, Master. Although I risk my position in the Sayerhood by speaking against him.”
Master Edward smiled grimly to himself, and said in Uncle Rosy’s voice, “Tell me more.”
“Onesayer seemed bitter about you remaining as Master. I received the distinct impression he wanted to take your place.”
“By force?”
“It did not seem so to me at first, but as I thought about it more. . . . ”
“You saw this nearly four days ago, and waited until now to inform me?”
“I was not certain if I had been here long enough to recognize improper behavior.”
“You think disrespect for me is commonplace?” Master Edward snapped. He studied Lastsayer’s smooth face in the comet’s reflection, saw trembling fear. The lower lip quivered. No hatred there, Master Edward thought. Not yet.
“N-no,” Lastsayer stammered, shifting uneasily on his feet.
“You WERE disciplined at Pleasant Reef, were you not?”
“Yes, Master. There is no excuse.”
Master Edward pulled the robe tightly about his face, thought, Maybe I should bring an armadillo meckie in here to guard me. One of the sayermen could kill me easily if my plan occurred to him. . . .
Master Edward stopped at the thought, felt himself welcoming the serenity of death. Twosayer would kill me for sure, he thought with a macabre sense of humor. I could force it by promoting Steven to Onesayer—
Noting Lastsayer Steven awaiting further instructions, Master Edward pulled the robe out from his mouth and said, “Go now, Lastsayer. And say nothing of this matter. I will deal with it.”
During the early morning hours according to New City time, Sidney remained attentive hit the cockpit, scanning the sky for a first sign of the Great Comet. Presently, he grew weary of the unchanging scenery and began nodding off.
As he slipped into slumber, the command chair on which he sat began to straighten, forming a sleeping platform. A soft pillow popped out beneath his head, and Sidney rolled over on one side to get comfortable.
Nervously, he opened one sleepy eye to peer at the meckie. Something seemed different. The meckie remained rigid, knives crossed in front.
It’s turned a little! he thought with a sinking feeling. Toward me!
Sidney sat straight up. No, he thought. I imagined it. Or the motion of the ship did it. . . .
Sidney searched the cockpit for a weapon, opening compartments quietly and looking under chairs and behind instrument panels as he stayed out of range of the killer meckie. Nothing was found. Then he rolled into the passenger compartment, thinking, I can’t sleep in that cockpit! The hatch shut behind him upon his memo-command.
The ship’s flying smoothly, Sidney thought, staring at an oxygen cart which was secured to the forward bulkhead. And with gravitonics near Earth normal . . .
Sidney released the oxy-cart, rolled it in front of the cockpit hatchway. There, he thought, mento-locking the cart’s wheels. At least I’ll hear the damned thing coming.
He found a passenger seat, and it folded flat invitingly as he lay upon it, accepting the weary frame of the inexperienced space traveler. Soon Sidney was fast asleep, dreaming of magical things and wondrous places.
Sidney pictured himself in full dress Space Patrol uniform, riding in an open limousine down American Boulevard. Cheering throngs of people lined the street, and they waved national banners while calling out to him: “Captain Malloy! Captain Malloy!”
In the dream, a pretty girl threw flowers to him and blew kisses. It was Carla, his darling Carla! He reached out to her. She smiled, and her image faded into a crowd of smiling faces.
Suddenly, his pleasant dream became a terrible nightmare. Where Carla had been, he saw Madame Bernet, slashing spectators with both knives. Then the killer meckie leaped into Sidney’s limousine, swinging its knives viciously.
“You did it for yourself, didn’t you, fleshcarrier?” the meckie screeched in a familiar tenor voice as it cut Sidney’s face and chest. “You don’t care about other people!”
Sidney sat bolt upright on the sleeping platform, found himself drenched in perspiration. Wide-eyed, he stared across the shadowy passenger compartment at the cockpit hatch. The hatch remained closed as he had left it, with the oxy-cart in front of it.
Gradually, fitfully, Sidney fell asleep again.
The morning of the state funeral celebration was grey and cloudy. President Euripides Ogg stood regally on a red-and-yellow gazebo trailer parked at the base of Astro-Burial Inc.’s number three launcher. He shivered as a cool gust of wind blew in from the east.
“Tell Bu-Tech to warm this weather up,” Ogg snapped to Billie Birdbright, who rolled up a ramp onto the trailer. ‘This is supposed to be a celebration!”
“They need clouds for the special effects,” Birdbright said as he rolled to a stop. “The sun will pop out when—”
“I know, I know. But they could have made it a little warmer—” Ogg brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes and surveyed the crowd which stood silently below, waiting for the eulogy to begin. An ocean of faces looked back at him, and for the first time in many years, Ogg was struck by the sameness of their features and dress.
Birdbright leaned close to President Ogg and whispered in his ear: “It’s all set, Mr. President. We’re locked in on the comet’s trajectory. These caskets are going right down the maw of the comet!”
“Very good, Billie,” Ogg said, unsmiling.
As Birdbright left, the President shifted his gaze, looking to his right at two astro-disposal casket capsules which rested side-by-side on the launch track. The capsules were draped with white-and-gold ministerial cloths, weighted at the ends and emblazoned with large star-shaped purple badges signifying that the men inside had been killed by malfunctioning products. Ogg suppressed a smile at the thought of Munoz actually being killed by a faulty waterbed during a homosexual encounter instead of in the auto accident the government said had occurred.
President Ogg cleared his throat and mentoed his auto-speech implant. He began to speak at the direction of the programmed track. “This is both a sad occasion and a happy occasion,” he began in a hesitating, remorseful tone. “We are saddened at the passing of General Munoz and Dr. Hudson . . . two great leaders who guided their respective bureaus through the challenges of our age.” Ogg smiled on cue, adding, “But heartened we are at the thought of these men buying eternally in the Happy Shopping Ground!”
“May Rosenbloom bless them!” the crowd thundered in a tremendous outpouring of emotion.
Ogg reached into one of two urns which rested on a ledge at his side, removing a handful of white confetti, then dipped into the second urn with his other hand and brought forth strands of multi-colored plastic streamers. He opened both hands, casting their contents out upon the casket capsules with these words:
Paper to paper,
Plastic to plastic;
Take them, Uncle Rosy,
On a journey fantastic!
>
A gust of Bu-Tech-made wind picked up the confetti and streamers, carrying them up into the air and away over the heads of the crowd. As this occurred, the sun broke through a cloud layer, casting warm golden rays upon the casket capsules. The crowd oohed and aahed at this, for indeed it had to be a message from Uncle Rosy.
Ebullient now, President Ogg said happily, “To your bosom, Uncle Rosy, take them today!” Then he mentoed the magne-launcher, catapulting the capsules out along the length of the nine-thousand-five-hundred-meter-long launch track into a patch of blue sky. The crowd turned their heads in unison to watch the path of the capsules, cheered moments later when they heard a sonic thump.
President Ogg thought of the garbage comet traveling toward Earth along the same trajectory. “There, you bastards,” he cursed bitterly under his breath. “Stop the comet yourselves!”
* * *
“In this chapter,” Sayer Superior Lin-Ti said, “you will see why our modern social hierarchy was developed. Uncle Rosy set up a wondrous AmFed society . . . but ultimately it relied upon the control of the Sayerhood . . . and the Sayerhood relied upon Uncle Rosy. Everything hinged upon one man, you see, and when he died, chaos reigned.
“But this should not be interpreted as a failure of the Master. For he advanced humankind, hoping it ultimately could stand on its own. Today we are closer to that goal, much closer indeed.”
Chapter Fourteen
UP CLOSE WITH THE MASTER, FOR FURTHER READING AND DISCUSSION
“Do not shoot at something until you know what it is. It may shoot back.”
Admonition from Alafin Inaya to Uncle Rosy during a hunting trip they took together in the Kenyatta Highlands, September, 2312. (As related in Emmanuel Dade’s unpublished notes.)
SHIPLOG OF THE AMFED SPACE CRUISER SHAMROCK FIVE
SP4607 Date: Thursday, August 31, 2605—early afternoon
Sidney's Comet Page 27
