Harrison - Chapter Seven Copyright 1990 by Jim Vassilakos. All Rights Reserved. Permission is hereby granted by the copyright holder to copy and freely redistribute copies of this work, so long as no commericial or barter consideration is obtained in exchange for such copies. Hi ya'all... Just found out there's somebody on the net who really is named Michael Harrison. Think I ought to sue him for using my character's name? :-) Hmmm... anyway, for those of you who've been asking, yes... Mike's finally gonna get on a starship this chapter. I know, it's about time, but ya gotta understand, space travel just ain't all it's cracked up to be. Happy Skimming as always........ jimv@ucrmath.ucr.edu Seven A dim, filtered luminescence clung to the cold air as Christina Quatalis re-checked her flight instructions for the fourth and final time, shaking her head with a now comfortable disbelief. The recycler hummed in a shaded corner of the bridge as the computer silently reconfigured her upper boards to account for the installation of turbo-fan chemical jets into the IFM Vista's tertiary ports. Hazel eyes scanned its progress, reading the textures of data with a mixture of apathy and distrust. Over the bridge IC she heard Rrkal's husky voice shouting obscenities amidst the dull background chatter of ground techs. She opened her line, "Some sorta prob engineering?" "Captain?" It was Victor. His York accent was easily discernable over any transmitter. "Com-beta on the third tube is right out. If we had another day we could make repairs, but not in space." "Typical ISS surplus. Don't sweat it. We can still route navcom through manual." "Only if we tear open your panel. And then we'll probably have to reconfigure the whole system from scratch. Is it really worth it?" "We haven't any choice. We're taking-off in five hours." There was a growl from the other end. "What's that?" "Nevermind. It's not repeatable." Chris smiled, "Tell Rrkal to watch his lip. I want you back up here to chart our course." "I thought our course was already registered." "Just get up here; there's been a slight change in plans." "On my way." The bridge lights flickered as local batteries kicked in. It was one of Rrkal's ways of letting everyone know when he was annoyed. Chris punched up another channel. "Gunnery, are you ready for the Jane's files on Wasps." "Ready Freddy," Rita's voice crackled over the IC. "Sending now..." * * * Mike cautiously stepped onto the maintenance grav-plate. The congested workspace of Hanger 183 made him feel conspicuously overdressed. Robin dangled her legs over the edge of the plate as it slowly lifted to the spacecraft above. Large spotlights attached to the wall illuminated the aft of the vessel as water vapor condensed and frosted along the fuel hoses and quickly sublimated back into the air a few meters down the line. A large Vargr, his coveralls stained with lubrication fluid, barked directions to the starport maintenance personnel from a small engine port. An expression of distaste seemed to cross his black, furry snout as he sniffed the pair's scented formals. "Y'da pass'ngerz?" Mike stepped onto the cold, steel hull extending his hand, "That's right. My name's Mike." "Rrkal," the Vargr shot Mike a toothy grin and turned toward the airlock. "Da stat'rhoomz don'da lif'tund beinty stups sdhar'burd. Blu dhoorz." "Thanks," Mike winced as the engineer's breath steamed into his face. "We can find our way around." The airlock's iris valves rotated open as Mike and Robin approached the outer hatchway. A youngish woman with short, sandy-blonde hair stood in the short passage. Her khaki uniform showed command rank. "Ms. Clay, Mr. Harrison, it's a pleasure to welcome you aboard the Imperial Free Merchant Vista. I'm Captain Quatalis. If you'll follow me, I'll be happy to show you to your cabin. Our other two passengers have not yet arrived. Will you be staying together?" Mike and Robin followed the Captain through the airlock's double iris valves and into a hexagonal passage with railings and iron grating floors. "No. What are the accommodations?" The Captain glanced toward Mike, twisting a red lever which opened a set of sliding doors to a small cargo lift. "Two staterooms, double occupancy." The lift descended one level and the doors slid open. Three passages ran to the bow, port, and starboard respectively. The floors and walls were all finished in an artificial, white substance made to look like polished marble, but the metal handrails remained. One was conspicuously bent outward several centimeters. "Bumpy rides?" "We often get comments on that." They followed the captain through the starboard passage and into an oval common area. A wide table occupied the central floorspace, its translucent body suspended from the ceiling by a reflective, holographic projection rod. Gravitic recliner housings lay scattered on the floor around the table like an assemblage of anthills. Nested into the far wall were cupboards, a hydration oven, a squat cooling unit, and two air filters. Sliding, blue doors to either side marked the stateroom entrances. "You'll find the galley down the port passage in case you get hungry. Rrkal, I believe you've met our engineer, he cooks the supper chow at eighteen hours ship time. Otherwise, its fend for yourself. If you need to use medical, that's next to the galley. Rita doubles as our ship's medic; you'll meet her if you get spacesick. If you need anything else use channel zero on the IC. We'll be leaving Tizar in four standard hours, or a little over fifteen cents local time. After we jump into hyperspace we will review your drop-off instructions," Captain Quatalis paused with this last thought searching for the right words. "I hope you enjoy your stay. Good-day." She quickly headed down the passage and made a swift right turn away from the lift. "Apparently in a hurry," Robin poked her nose into the cupboard. Mike leaned against the passage railing, "What drop-off instructions?" "I think she means we aren't landing at the spaceport. Wanna split a can of mash?" * * * At T-0:02 Bill and Niki showed up, packed as tightly as two rats could pack. For Niki, that meant a pair of pris glasses, a string of worry beads and the standard med-kit with bandages and casting-foam. Bill carried his own sort of med-kit, three vials of purified ethanol, ten grams of hexobarbital, a laser blade, and one fiberglass body pistol of last resort. Mike never understood how two people so different could get along so well. Getting Bill and Niki together was a recipe for destruction. At formal banquets they could behave, but in a starship galley... "Foodfight!" "Hey Mike, what's the matter. I thought you liked yogurt." "Wanna smoke an enchilada?" "What the hell is going on here?!" "Uh..oh.. Ah, hi el cap-i-tan. How beautiful you look this evening." "This passenger is drunk!" "Who?" "I want to know who the hell brought drugs onboard this vessel!" "Hic..." Mike began to question the wisdom of bringing along an entourage. Niki was essential, just because without her finding Fork would be next to impossible. Robin was part of the deal, which could have been broken back on Tizar. And Bill, with his aptitude and inclination for brawling, was just cannonfodder. Mike smiled, wondering if he would get that far. "Are you aware of the term `depressurization', Mr. Walker?" "She's gonna space me..." "Only if you're lucky. And as for you miss Sen..." "Tee hee hee..." Captain Quatalis had an interesting method for dealing with drunks. First, they were injected with a nausea inducing compound causing them to sacrifice to the porcelain god the entire contents of their stomachs in addition to several dry heaves just for good measure. Then she had them hooked up to plasma vaccs where they had their blood filtered by the Empire's most sadistic gunner/medic. Finally, she had them stuffed into low berths for one hour of uninterrupted hibernation, just so they wouldn't miss the hangover. Then, after they were thoroughly sobered, she offered them her sincerest apology for having put them through such stringent disciplinary measures and broke out a bottle of Antares' finest spirit, just to show them how much she meant it. If they accepted, they got to go through the whole process over again. Mike sat in the corner of medbay taking notes and plenty of pictures for future blackmail. Half way through the proceedings he felt an unmistakable disorientation. Bill leaned on the plasma filter, pukestance. "Was that the drug or just me?" "We just jumped into hyperspace," Rita Ghomes examined the readings along the med displays. "Oh... that's interesting." "Sweet mama, Mike, get me the hell outta here." "Sorry Bill, captain's orders." "Billy..." Niki curled herself into a little ball around the base of her filter, probably to keep the room from turning so fast. "What is it Niki?" "I feel woosy." "Yeah, that's one way of putting... Mike?" Mike looked over at his sobering companion. Bill had plainly noticed something new in his now undrunken state. "Take off the hat, Harrison." Mike obliged him, relishing the surprise of a half-suspended grin. Niki's was less controlled, and evolved from giggles to more puke which nobody thought she possessed. "What the..." "It's a long story." "Them's head-tricks, Mike. Highly illegal for Tizarians." Mike nodded, "Courtesy of Mr. Clay." "In other words, you didn't have any choice." Mike smiled, "I guess he wants to keep me in line." "Or out of line." Niki looked up from her barf, "I think it's gross." "Look who's talking." "Hey, at least I hit the bucket, okay?" Mike turned about and left, donning his hat only as an afterthought. The dark passage with its white finish and bent railing seemed to flow over with misplaced memories. He leaned against the metal as if testing its strength. Something about the cold steel put him at ease, as if the time-space bubble which now surrounded the ship would take them somewhere else beside Calanna. Even Telmar was preferable. Or perhaps Tyber. Mike remembered the dense, choking atmosphere, mildly acidic carbons and sulfates eating his lungs as he scrambled for a filter mask, tall smokestacks cutting through the lethal fog a mile and more. Even that would be preferable to Calanna. The oval antechamber to the passenger staterooms was dark and cold. Mike searched the table's surface for environmental controls without success, finally fumbling across the IC. "Hello?" The voice was strange. A York accent? "Hi. How d'ya turn the lights on?" Suddenly the room lighted up. The person at the other end seemed to laugh, "I think you found the magic words." "Oh. Sorry." "Glad to be of assistance." Mike switched the line closed and stumbled into a gravitic recliner beside the table. He wondered who he had just talked to, and how many more "strangers" were aboard the Vista. "Computer on." Nothing happened. "Quaint..." Mike leaned over the table and found the switch at the base of the connector. The air above the table began to glow with a luminescent texture as the holo-rod generated a spinning three-dimensional representation of the Vista. Mike paused, waiting for some sort of prompt. The image of the Vista continued rotating. "Hi." "Unrecognized command." "Help." "No help available." Mike went to the cooling unit and returned to his seat empty handed. "Show passengers." "Respecify at unrecognized parameter... passengers." "Cargo manifest." "Records unavailable." "Bullshit..." "Unrecognized command." "Show flight instructions." "Records unavailable." Mike returned to the cooling unit and grabbed a sluice-stick. He bit off the end and sucked out a quarter of its frozen, syrupy contents. "Who the fuck programed you?" "Respecify at unrecognized parameter... the." Mike sat back in the gravitic recliner and let the head tilt back until he rested on a forward incline, his feet sticking upward and out like a gull's tail feathers. "Who... are you?" "Specify data format." "Verbose." "Vista, Imperial Free Merchant, SG-64923. Laid down 124-618, Dimstar, Imperial Dimstar Corporation. Tonnage two-hundred standard, twenty-eight hundred cubic meters displacement. Engineering, one Dopel PF-18 fusion-linked power plant driving two Ditar AG-217e hyperfield generators and one Monoquad MQ-3 fixed impulse maneuver drive with dual Zalpha-X turbofan installation. Gravitics, Napaliastics I-14 Field Generators with standard inertial compensation and zero to two gee sustained gravity adjusters. Range, sixteen point three light-years with unlimited maneuver...." Mike straightened his posture as the holographic display zoomed-in on specific systems aboard the craft. He tried to keep pace with the output as the computer jumped from one topic to the next. The Vista was a 38-year-old retired scout ship built by Dimstar based on a standard design two-hundred ton hull. It had been purchased at discount by the Bank of Ares and leased through the Galactic Press Corporation as a refitted free merchant. Its entire class had a history of excellent atmospheric maneuverability, but the Vista, in particular, had been placed in drydock six years previously with orders that it be scrapped due to a series of critical drive failures. Somehow a deal had been cut, and the defective drives had been repaired. The vessel was crewed by two Galactican personnel, two independent contractors, and three robots. The captain, Christine Quatalis, was born on Tyber. She served as a pilot in the Imperial Scouts before being hired on by the Galactican. Her first mate, Victor Darian, was from Ares. He served Sector Navy as a tac-ship lieutenant before being discharged in naval cutbacks three years earlier. Rita Ghomes, a native of Telmar, was discharged around the same time from her planetary guard while the civil unrest was beginning to brew into open revolt. Rrkal, the vargr engineer, was from the outworld coalition. He worked his passage from the frontier aboard a merchant craft until he was laid off near Dimstar. The three robots worked in cargo, maintenance, and engineering respectively, places which passengers were unlikely to ever see. The passenger roster was classified as were flight instructions. Mike guessed that he could have broken the security if he had Cindy on hand or access to the ship's computer directly. An idea itched away somewhere deep inside his mind, but he put it away shaking his head and smiling. If he hadn't seen the way Captain Quatalis dealt with drunks, he might have been more willing to see how she dealt with snoops. Mike decided he was tired. He peeked down the passage and saw no sign of movement. Niki and Bill were going to spend a few more hours in sick bay for sure. Mike pulled himself to his feet and started toward the closest of the staterooms. "Lights off." The door slid open as the room darkened behind him. He shuffled out of his shirt and climbed into where he though the null-tube should be. "Mike?" It was Robin. "Uh..oh.. I think I stumbled into the wrong room." "It's okay. You don't have to go." "What makes you think I was going to?" She didn't bother to come up with a reply but scooted over to make more room. Mike tried to make out her features in the pitch darkness. He wondered what she was wearing. It! It's an android. Mike tried to refocus his thoughts, but they kept twisting around on him. She moved again, "What are you thinking?" "Wrong question." "You're trying to see me, aren't you." Not your typical android question, Mike thought. "Can you see in the dark?" No answer. "Like, infrared?" His throat felt dry. She moved again, her head very close to his, but without breath. "With a dash of the ultraviolet." He could almost see her smile. Mike closed his eyes and tried to sleep wondering why she would do the same. She seemed to mimic humans in almost all aspects of their behavior. Was it simply a part of her programming or something deeper? After several minutes he felt the suppressant currents slowly rock as she seemed to breath, quietly, peacefully. He finally let himself sink slowly beneath the cover of sleep, the depth of space closing inward like a far away dream realized in a sudden instant. And in his mind's eye he saw the fine red outline of a short fence post, its needle-thin barbs pressing outward, seeking blindly in the static wind as a trio of squat, white figures lay aside, their fluffy forms resting on a bed of green haze. * * * "If I wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it." Captain Quatalis looked mildly irritated. She chewed on the end of a buttersprout and glanced around the galley looking for her lightpen. Victor sat in the far corner of the room still sizing up her intended audience of four passengers as Rrkal and Rita stirred a can of condensed terriak hearts into their joint concoction. Niki studied the map on the near wall, trying to decipher the gist of the implications. "What if we get caught?" Quatalis turned to the Siri, "If we land at the spaceport we'll all be picked up by starlaw, or worse, by ISIS. This is the only alternative." "That's only true if the Calannan guard lets the Imps push them around, which is something I find highly unlikely." "It's more likely than you might think Mr. Harrison, particularly since Calanna has never been a friend of Tizar or the Galactic Press Corporation." Mike nodded, and reconsidered. The drop-off instructions, drawn by an ex-army commander working directly under Jaden and heading the Tizar office's internal security division, were simple and direct; a clean military troop insertion if Mike had ever seen one. Under the plan, the Vista would jump in at the far side of Calanna's smaller moon, dive into the planet's atmosphere, deal with any resistance as necessary, make the drop via gravchutes, and get out. The only problems were the gravitational effects on the hyperspatial drives, and the resistance, most likely in the form of Wasp fighter craft. After the four were safely dirtside, they should easily ditch the chutes and hide in the local terrain. After that, hiking twenty kilometers into Aelflan, a large agricultural community, would be a snap. The incident would be logged as yet another smuggling operation which made it through. Since many government and security officials took part in such activities themselves on a regular basis, no eyebrows would be raised. The Wasps would probably follow the Vista out at a safe distance and let the few ground personnel available handle the drop. Probability of success: 90% plus, or so it was written. And better still, the Imps would be thinking Harrison and company still on Tizar counting the ashes of poor Mr. Fork. "Fine, but how do we get out." It was Niki again. Quatalis had wondered when somebody would ask the obvious question. The fact that it had been asked meant that they had already accepted the plan for getting in. "The Vista's cargo shuttle, the Ariya, will land at the spaceport eight days after the drop. We'll unload our cargo and begin speculating. No doubt we'll attract some Imperial attention, so when you try to get back in contact, be subtle. We'll stick around for ten days after that, or until we are no longer needed. The Vista, herself, will be hiding under scanner range of the system's largest gas giant. In case of complications, I suggest you arrange for a backup spacecraft. Are there any questions?" Seeing none, Rrkal announced open season on the supper, and the crew plus one android dug in. Bill poked at the food with the end of his laser blade, watching the mixture fizzle and flame with tempered distaste, and Niki gathered half-a-bowl in a half- hearted attempt to put something down. Mike just sat around watching the others, his appetite all but evaporated by the discussion. Rrkal grinned at the trio, "Da Pass'engurz don' eet hartz." Bill looked up from his bowl, an enigmatic smile slowly creeping across his face. "Z'hartz goood foood. Ven Z'Droyd noez." Mike looked across at Robin. She was still shoveling it down with an eager hunger bordering on ravenous. "Zhe eetz like und no tomarwoo." Robin looked up from the table, gulping down her mouthful without chewing. "Why iz zat, droyd?" "Because there might not be...." She looked across at Mike with a matter-of-fact smile. Taken together with the fake sleeping, yawning, detachable ears, and punch in the chest, he decided he didn't like smiling androids, not that he had ever known any others to justify the generalization. Mike reflected on his attitude as she resumed eating. "Doz zhe zhit too?" Her eyebrow cocked at the query, and for the first time Mike felt an inkling of interest in the conversation, such as it was. Bill perked up too, as did the captain after a moment's pause. "Not exactly your usual supper manners, Rrkal." "I'm... tirzty." He seemed to search for the last word as if unsure of the translation. Quatalis regarded him with a passing curiosity. "You're thirsty? For knowledge?" "Da." The Vargr grinned, two canines dropping from either side of his snout. He seemed rather pleased that he'd gotten his point across, and had all but forgotten about Robin. Mike looked across the table, "I don't know; Robin, do you?" "Do I what?" Mike smiled at the slated reply, "Y'know, 'zhit.'" Niki spilled her bowl as Mike felt a raw reminder of the pain coarse up his spine, snapping each vertebra as it ascended until it loomed at the threshold of his mind. He awaited the burning, but it just stood there like a flickering candle flame, pausing for some sort of twisted invitation. Mike opened his eyes to see everyone staring at Niki, her face averted in shame as she tried to dry the table. Rrkal slided across and began helping her clean-up as the Captain shuffled out of her recliner to grab a hand-vacc. "Maybe we should have discussed the drop after supper." Bill kept frozen in his place, his eyes sweeping from Niki to Robin, and then over to Mike. As their eyes locked in an understanding that didn't need explanation, Bill reached down to the base of his recliner and switched off, his body slowly rotating into a standing position before the gravitic currents gave way to the surrounding fields. Mike followed suit, and soon found his feet placed firmly on solid decking. "Thanks for the food, but we're not hungry." "Daz okay... mor foood fur uz." Mike followed Bill to the hold, the younger man entering an access code at the lift and again at storage. A security camera watched from the corner of the room as Bill hauled one of the gravchutes off the near wall. "Mama says it's best to strike while the enemy is out to lunch." Mike nodded, "Looks like you've been keeping busy." "I figured it was high time I paid my keep." Bill took his last vial of ethanol from his back pocket. "She let you keep that?" "I told her it was for barter... on planet." Mike snatched the vial from Bill's open hand, twisting off its cap as the younger gatherer broke out a two and a half gram capsule. "I wouldn't drink that if I were you, Mike." "Not straight." "Straight or mixed, you'd die." He began opening the chute's gravitics, snipping a thin wire with the end of his knife and fishing it out. "Ethanol?" "Guess again, Mike." His grey eyes seemed to flicker with amusement he tied the thread around the capsule. "I dunno." "Well, for starters, it's radioactive. The vial's the shield." Mike handed it back without the cap, "Fine... you drink it." "Not very likely." Bill plunged the capsule into the liquid and extended his hand as if for a shake. "This isn't gonna work, Bill." "The cap." Mike handed it over, sweat droplets beginning to form on his forehead. "They're gonna check these things out." "Really?" Bill's eyes widened with pretended surprise. "Really." "Don't be a puss, Mike. It'll take at least fifty claps for the current to dissolve the casing." Bill produced a foam napkin, wrapping the vial and tying it securely at both ends, the thin wire string falling from its interior. "And in another twenty... give or take..." He gritted his teeth as the laser blade burnt the wire back into place. "Then what?" Bill closed the unit and replaced the chute back on its rack, nicking its polymer housing almost as an afterthought. "Boom?" "Neutrinos, Mike. Lots of neutrinos." * * * The Vista hung cloaked beneath the shadow of Baal, Calanna's lesser moon, as its port sensors began scanning the cloudy world below. On the distant horizon, the rutilant giant descended into night, saffron rays slipping carelessly away to space. "Passive EMS reports local clear." "Focus IR, 3rd Octh, Coord 34.21, 84.13." Captain Quatalis cautiously edged the Vista between the jutting walls the dark lunar canyon. An eerie silence crept outside the craft as the joints along her spine began to tingle in anticipation and fear. "How long 'til the batteries..." "That depends," Victor's hand fidgeted over the sensor boon controls while his adjunct talked to the ship's computer and played with the data. "Nothing unusual." "Try Neutrino." "Already done. Minute's clean." "Maybe." Mike sucked in cold air outside the dropshaft, glancing toward the digital altimeter on the far wall. Niki and Bill sat opposite, knees bent upright, boots braced together. Bill wore a worried expression. Niki looked elsewhere, she was ignoring the tension. Mike focused his eyes forward, a cool sweat breaking out along his hairline. Robin gently fingered the straps of her gravchute. "Overweight?" "Paranoid." Mike smiled at the reply as the vessel jolted sharply against a deafening noise. "Minute's clean! Get me DR and ID!" Christina struggled with the helm controls as the Vista rocked and tumbled with the impact. "They're ground to air. Quiet snipers." "They?" "Two mark ten." "Ghomes, are you reading this!?" The Vista's hull armor crackled and glowed against the atmospheric friction as the heat seekers scrambled in pursuit. A swarm of plasma cells jettisoned from the aft and exploded in a fiery blaze over fifteen miles high. "Sending pinpoint on source." "Fire at will!" The robot eye scanned skyward, over the grey and dusty clouds, a cumbersome program slowly analyzing the data. Chemical explosion. Plasma release. A small mechanical motor raised the antenna to an upright position as the launcher's communit broadcast the coordinates of the hit. Within moments only a burning crater remained. "Okay, give me decoys." "Is that neces..." "Yes!" Six gravballs dropped in pairs from the Vista's ventral aft, dispersing about the vessel as it darted toward the cloudcover below. "DR Victor." "Hull breach in tank seven, jump's out also." "Oh, and by the way." Victor smiled at the criticism, then stopped smiling. "Two wasps, cold fuel. No make that four, in close form pairs. They're mark six. Missile range in twelve." "Eyes open Ghomes." "Get me fix." "Sending... Eight goblins folks." A single Hellraiser flushed into the inky black as Victor pronounced the "E" in "Eight." Within scarce moments a billion cubic yards of sky burst into an intense white flame. "One and two nixed. Three and four are breaking up. Four dupes out." "We got lucky." "Four more goblins. Mark five and six." Christina reflexively pulled hard and to starboard as Rita fired an antimissile and loosed a swarm of plasma cells despite the tumbling and turning of the spacecraft. Suddenly the Vista lurched from impact, its steel frame splintering open and erupting from all sides in a fiery inferno of fusion and plasma. _______________________________________________________________ I Jim Vassilakos I Murphy I I University of California, Riverside I - was an - I I jimv@ucrmath.ucr.edu I optimist I ---------------------------------------------------------------