“What is it?” Zena asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said.
We went back into the hall. It was long and straight, without any of the dead ends, stairs, or sudden turns that you ordinarily expect to see in any normal hallway. It was straight as a string. That was strange and different, too.
I noticed the numbers 44-2 painted neatly on the wall by the door of the room. There was a red line that started at the doorway, moved to the center of the hall and made a sharp right turn to run beside green, yellow, blue, orange, and purple lines that continued past, running down the center of the hall.
“Let’s see where the lines go,” I said, and set off down the corridor.
* * *
It was late, past dinnertime, when we got back to Geo Quad. We came out of the ducts from our original opening just down the hall from Zena’s home. My stomach was starting to notice how long it had been since I had eaten and I had a healthy appetite.
Zena hesitated for a minute outside her door, and then she said, “You’re much nicer than I thought you were at first.” And then, rapidly, as though to cover that statement up, she said, “Good night,” and went quickly into her apartment.
When I walked in, Daddy was just getting ready to go out for the evening. He and some of his friends used to get together regularly and build scale models and talk. Models of machines, animals (bones and all), almost anything imaginable. This group had met on Sunday nights for as long as I had lived with Daddy, and he had a whole collection of the models he had made, though they hadn’t yet been unpacked since we had moved here from Alfing.
Actually, I had no fault to pick with his models. Daddy used to say that everybody needs to have at least one mindless hobby to occupy himself with, and I had several.
Daddy asked, “Where have you been?”
“Up on the Sixth Level,” I said. “What do we have on hand to eat?”
“There’s some Ham-IV in the kitchen, if you want that,” Daddy said.
“That sounds good,” I said.
I liked Ham-IV very much. It comes from one of the two or three best meat vats in the Ship, though some people find it too strong for their taste. Gamey, I think they say. Still, they have to put up with it because it’s one of the best producing meat cultures on the Ship. It doesn’t hurt to like the inevitable.
I started for the kitchen and Daddy followed.
“Isn’t the Sixth Level completely shut up?” he asked. “I didn’t know you could still get up there.”
“It’s not that hard,” I said, and started getting food out. “Just why did they tear everything out the way they did?”
“Nobody has ever told you why they closed it down?”
I said, “Before today, I didn’t even know that there was a Sixth Level.”
“Oh,” Daddy said. “Well, it’s simple enough. At the time they converted the Ship it was pretty Spartan living here. We had more space than we needed with the colonists gone, but not enough of everything else. They stripped the Third and Sixth Levels and used the materials to fix up the rest of the Ship more comfortably. They changed the Third to as near an approximation of Earth as they could, and closed the Sixth down as unnecessary.”
“Oh,” I said. That seemed to make sense out of the tomb that we had seen.
Daddy said, “I guess I’d forgotten how barren the Sixth Level is. If you want to find out more about it, I can tell you where to look it up. Right now, though, I have to be on my way or I’ll be late.”
Before he got out of the kitchen, I said, “Daddy?”
He turned around.
I said, “I changed my mind today. I think I’d like go with you next weekend after all.”
Daddy smiled. “I was hoping you’d change your mind if I gave you a little time. You make your share of mistakes, but most of the time you show good sense. I think you did this time.”
Daddy is nice, so he wouldn’t say, “I told you so,” but I was certain that he thought that it was seeing the Sixth Level and not getting stricken dead for it that had changed my mind. It wasn’t, though. I think I changed my mind on the ladder—there are times when you have to go forward whether you like it or not, and if Zena Andrus could do it, as scared as she was, so could I. That’s all.
I smiled and said, “Do I get unfrozen?” I was at least half-serious. For some reason, getting Daddy to say so was important to me.
Daddy nodded. “I guess you do. I guess you do.”
I was still smiling as I sat down to eat. It was just about time I started to do a little growing. It was then that the thought struck me that if I did start to grow, in not very long at all I wouldn’t be able to squeeze my way into the ducts.
Well, you can’t have everything.
Chapter 5
WHILE I THINK OF IT, I WANT TO EXCUSE MYSELF in advance. From time to time, I’m going to say terribly ignorant things. For instance, when I come to speak of boats shortly, anybody who has ever sailed will probably find reason to laugh and shake his head at my description. Please forgive me, I’m not writing technical descriptions, I’m simply trying to tell what I saw and did. When I felt the need to grab onto something, I didn’t grab onto a “gunwale,” I grabbed onto the plain old side of the boat. That’s what it was to me.
In any case, through the week before we went to Grainau, my spirits slid down again. Having decided to go on Sunday, if I had left on Monday I wouldn’t have felt bad at all, but unfortunately I had a whole week to mull things over, worry, and imagine. Friday night, the night before we were to leave, I lay awake for hours, unable to sleep. I tried to sleep on my stomach, but bleak possibilities came into my head, one after another. Then onto my side, and imaginary conversations. Onto my back, and thoughts of all the things I might be doing tomorrow instead, if only I could. Finally I did go to sleep, but I didn’t sleep well.
At breakfast, Daddy advised me to eat up, but I couldn’t. My stomach was nervous. After breakfast, we got on the shuttle and traveled down to the First Level, and then over to the bay in which the scoutships sit waiting to take damned fools places they’d rather not go.
We arrived in the scout bay fifteen minutes before we were supposed to leave for Grainau. Daddy said, “Wait here, Mia. I’ll be right back.” He went over to a cluster of men standing by the nearest scoutship.
I stood there in a great entranceway carved in the rock, feeling just a little abandoned. Daddy had brought me here, and now he was just going off and leaving me. I was nervous and scared. If I could legitimately have gone back home and crawled in bed, I would have—and not gotten up again for two days, either. If I could have done it without losing face. Unfortunately, it was now harder to back out than to go on, so I was going on, carried by the momentum of my Sunday night decision.
It was the first time I’d ever been in the scout bay. Hesitantly, I looked around. The rock roof arched over the long single line of ships, all squatting over their tubes, waiting for the catch bars that ringed their rims to be released so they could drop out of sight. Scoutships are used for any errands planetside where the Ship can’t go itself because of its size. These include delivering and picking up traded items, tooting off on joyrides, carrying diplomatic missions like ours, and dropping kids on Trial. The scoutships are pigeons that nest in a cote that hoves between the stars, and some are out and away at almost any time. To keep my mind off my unhappy stomach, which was growling sourly, I counted the ships that were home, and there were a dozen. The ships are disc-shaped, with bulges top and bottom in the center. Each of them had at least one of its four ramps lowered.
In a moment, Daddy came back with one of the men he’d been speaking with—a young giant. He was at least a foot taller than daddy. He was very ugly, unpleasant-looking and formidable. I don’t think I’d have cared to meet him at any time.
“This is George Fuhonin,” Daddy said. “He’s going to be our pilot.”
I didn’t say anything, just looked at him. Daddy prodded me. “Hello,” I said in a small,
distant voice.
“Hello,” he said, in a voice I’d have to call a bass growl. It was deep and it rumbled. “Your father tells me that this is going to be your first trip outside the Ship.”
I looked at Daddy out of the corner of my eye, and then I looked up at the big, ugly man. I nodded warily, the least little dip. He scared me.
“Would you like to take a look around the scout before we take off?” he asked. “As your pilot and your father’s regular chauffeur, I guarantee I’ll leave out nothing.”
I wanted to say a definite no, and was just about to when Daddy pushed me forward and said, “Go ahead and enjoy yourself, Mia.” He motioned toward the other men. “I’ve got some things to settle before we leave.”
So this man, this monster, George Whatever-His-Name-Was, and I walked up the scoutship ramp, me feeling totally betrayed. I sometimes think that parents enjoy putting their children in uncomfortable situations, maybe as a way of getting back without admitting it.
I don’t say that is what Daddy was doing, but I certainly thought so at the time.
The top of my head came to about the bottom of this George’s ribcage, and he was so big that one of his steps was worth two and a half of mine, so that even when he was walking slowly that half-step kept me either ahead or behind him. If I’d been feeling better, it would have seemed like playing tag around a dinosaur. As it was, I’d just have enjoyed a hole to hide in. Black, deep, and secret.
The main part of the scoutship was at the level we entered. In the center, surrounded by a circular separating partition about four feet high, were lounge beds with sides that stuck up a foot or more like a baby’s bed, comfortable chairs, magnetized straight chairs that could be moved, and two tables. In the exact center was a spiral stairway that led both up and down. Around the edge of the ship were storerooms, racks, a kitchen, a toilet, and a number of horse stalls with straw-covered floors. Two horses were being led into place as we came up the ramp and into the ship.
The monster said, “Those are for your father and his assistant after we land.”
I didn’t say anything. I just looked stonily around.
When the colonies were settled, they took horses to work and ride, because tractors and heli-pacs have such a low reproductive rate. There weren’t any opportunities to set up industries on the colonies, simply time enough to drop people and enough supplies to give them a fair chance to survive. Then the Ships would head back to Earth for another load and another destination. Those supplies included very little in the way of machines because machines wear out in a few years. They did include horses. Nowadays, when we land on a planet when they haven’t made any progress in the last 170 years, we ride horseback, too.
At that time, of course, I hadn’t learned to ride yet and I was a little shy of horses. When one was led past me and wrinkled its lips and snorted, I jumped back.
I noticed the toilet then. We were only a few feet away from it. I looked up at the giant and said, “I have to go to the bathroom.”
Before he could say anything, I was inside with the door locked. Escaped, for the moment. I didn’t have to go to the bathroom at all. I just wanted to be left alone.
I looked around at the bare-walled room. I ran the water and washed my hands. Altogether, I managed to stay inside for a full five minutes before being alone in the little empty room with my nervousness got to be too much for me. I kept imagining that Daddy was on board by now, and I even thought I could almost hear his voice. Finally I was driven outside to see.
When I opened the door, the giant was standing exactly where I had left him, obviously waiting for me. There were people moving things on board, the horses were locked in their stalls and moving around, and Daddy was still outside somewhere.
Exactly as though I’d never been gone, the giant said, “Come on upstairs,” in his deep voice. “I’ll show you my buttons. I keep a collection of them there.”
Resignedly, I preceded him up the flight of metal stairs that led upstairs, winding around a vertical handpole like threads winding around a screw. It was obvious that he was determined to keep me in his charge, and I wasn’t feeling up to arguing, even if I’d dared to. At the top we came out in a bubble-dome in which were two seats hung on swivel pivots, a slanting panel directly in front of them with inset vision screens, dials, and meters—the slant of the panel low enough so as not to obscure vision out the dome—and beside these, perhaps enough room to turn around twice.
The giant waved a paw at the console at the base of the panel. “My button collection,” he said, and smiled. “I’ll bet you didn’t think I had any.”
They were there. Enough buttons to keep a two-year-old or a pilot occupied for hours. It was obvious that in his way this George was trying to be friendly, but I wasn’t in the mood to be friendly with any large, ugly stranger. After one brief glance at the panel and console I turned away to look outside.
Through the dome I could see the rock roof glowing gently all above us. The ring of the scoutship’s body cut off the view directly beneath us and I couldn’t see Daddy or the men with him at all. It’s no fun to be deserted. It’s a miserable feeling.
This George said, “Your father will be a little while yet.” Feeling caught, I stopped looking for him and turned back around.
“Sit down,” the giant said, and somewhat warily I did. The chair bobbed on its pivot as I sat down. I kept my eyes on George.
He leaned carelessly against his panel and after a moment he said, “Since you don’t seem to want to talk and we have to be here together for a while yet, let me tell you a story. It was told to me by my mother the night before I went on Trial.”
And with that, he launched full into it, ignoring the fact that I was too old for such things:
Once upon a time (he said) there was a king who had two sons, and they were twins, the first ever born in the country. One was named Enegan and the other Britoval, and though one was older than the other, I don’t remember which it was, and I doubt anyone else does, either. The two boys were so alike that not even their dear mother’s heart could tell one from the other, and before their first month was out they were so thoroughly mixed that no one could be sure which to call Britoval and which Enegan. Finally, they gave the whole thing up as a bad lot, used their heads, and hung tags on the boys and called them Ned and Sam.
They grew up tall and strong and as like each other as two warts on the same toad. If one was an inch taller or a pound heavier at the beginning of the month, by the end of it they were all even again. It was all even between them in wrestling, running, swimming, riding, and spitting. By the time they were grown-up young men, there was only one way to mark them apart. It was universally agreed that Sam was bright and Ned was charming, and the people of the country even called them Bright Sam and Charming Ned.
“Hark,” they would say as a horse went by on the road. “There goes Prince Charming Ned.” Or, alternatively, “Hey, mark old Bright Sam thinking under yon spreading oak.”
The boys did earn their names, and honestly. Ask Sam to do a sum, parse a sentence, or figure a puzzle and he could do it in a trice, whereas Ned just wasn’t handy at that sort of thing. On the other hand, if you like charm and heart, courtesy and good humor, Ned was a really swell fellow, a delight to his dear mother, and a merry ray of sunshine to his subjects, while Sam at his best was a trifle sour.
Then one day the Old King, their father, died and the question arose as to which son should inherit, for the kingdom was small and the treasury was empty, and there simply was not enough for both.
The Great Council of the Kingdom met to consider the problem. They met and considered, considered and voted, voted and tied. At first they said it was obvious that the elder son should inherit, but they found that no one at all could say which was the elder. Then an exasperated soul proposed that the younger should inherit, and all agreed that was a fine way out until they discovered that it was equally problematic which was the younger. It was at this point that they
decided to vote to settle the question—but the vote turned out a tie, for half said, “A king should be bright so as to be able to rule intelligently and deal wisely with the friends and the enemies of the kingdom. Nobody really has to like him.” And the other half said, “A king should be beloved by his subjects and well thought of by his neighbors and peers. The Council can always provide the brains needed to run things if brains are ever required.”
At last, finally, and in the end, it was decided by all that there was only one way to settle the matter. Charming Ned and Bright Sam must undertake a Quest and whichever of them was successful would become King of the Realm, and take his fine old father’s place. If neither was successful, they could always bring in a poor second cousin who was waiting in the wings, hat in hand. Kingdoms always have second cousins around to fill in when they’re needed.
The Quest decided upon was this: It seems that many miles away—or so the story had come to them in the kingdom—there was a small cavern in which lived a moderate-sized ogre with a fine large treasure, big enough to handle the kingdom’s budget problem for some years to come. It was agreed that whichever of the two boys could bring the treasure home where it belonged would have proved to the satisfaction of everybody his overwhelming right to be king.
At this point the story was interrupted. One of the three crewmen stuck his head up through the stairwell and said, “We’re all tight, George. Miles says we can leave any time now.”
George said to me, “Strap yourself in there,” and pushed the button that locked himself into his own seat. Humming slightly to himself, he rapped a switch with the back of his hand and rumbled, “Ten seconds to drop. Mind your stomachs.”
In ten seconds, the rim bars pulled back and we dropped slowly into our tube and then out of the Ship. I was leaving home for the first time. Geo Quad, even at its worst, was still “Us” rather than “Them.” As we dropped into the tube, the dome went opaque around us and lights came on. There was none of the stomach-upsetting moment of transition as we shifted from the artificial gravity of the Ship to the artificial gravity of the scoutship of which George had just warned us, though there might have been. Which meant that whatever else he might be, this George creature was a relatively effective pilot.
Rite of Passage Page 6
