NO DISTANCE TOO GREAT
by Don DÅ‚Ammassa
Don
DÅ‚Ammassa is the author of seven novels and three reference books and over 100
short stories split evenly between science fiction and horror. He lives in
Rhode Island with his wife, two cats, and 55,000 books. Donłs last story for Asimovłs,
“Curing Agent," appeared in our July 2003 issue. He returns to our pages with a
poignant tale about why, for some love stories, there is . . .
The
sky went on forever. Once upon a time, that might have been a figure of speech,
but today, for Jason Tallant and his companions, it was literally true. Except
that it wasnłt really the sky, even though it was blue, sort of, and speckled
with clouds, sort of. What he was actually seeing was the way in which his mind
interpreted part of the external reality of the hyperspatial plane. Which
really was a plain, in both sensesand spellingsof the word.
The
interstellar transport Rollaway had stopped briefly to allow its
passengers to enjoy the panoramic view. The retractable-wheeled vehicle was
perched on the top of a comparatively steep and completely featureless hill,
overlooking what might almost have been a river valley, except there were no
rivers in hyperspace, which meant it wasnłt properly speaking a valley either.
The declivity twisted slightly and disappeared as it turned around a cluster of
broccoli trees, which werenłt trees at all. Nothing was alive in hyperspace,
except during those short periods when ships were traveling through its
indecipherable vastness.
A
voice came from behind him. “Quite a view, isnÅ‚t it?" Jason was en route to his
new assignment on Dropout with Mira Harris, recently promoted to manager of the
corporationłs branch office on that colony planet. Mira had been offered the
position previously but had refused the assignment until Dropout had built its
own translation station so that she could return expeditiously if she so
desired. Following the death of his wife, Jason no longer felt tied to the
earth or anything on it and in fact had been actively planning to end his life
before deciding to first accept a transfer to Dropout. He was only mildly
curious about conditions there, but, more importantly, Kathy had been full of
romantic ideas about traveling to other worlds and he felt an intense need to
see that she achieved them, even if posthumously. Her ashes were carefully
packed in his luggage, a surprisingly small bundle to represent a person who
had made up such a large part of his world.
“Too
bad we canłt take pictures." Mirałs voice was flat, and Jason suspected she was
saying what she felt was appropriate rather than what she was actually feeling.
One
of the other passengers made an amused sound. “Well, you can if you want, but
they wonłt show anything." Humans perceived hyperspace as an infinite plain
dotted with features that were almost always interpreted consistently from
individual to individual. Many of these features had been named, like the
broccoli trees, which were not living creatures at all, but they looked like
trees and they looked like broccoli and everybody saw them as pretty much the
same thing. Having no objective physical reality, however, they could not be
recorded by photograph or holograph, although artists had been able to render
recognizable images.
An
older man crowded closer to look out through the observation bubble. “I donÅ‚t
understand how the captain can find his way through this. I understand the
landscape is different every time they translate out of normal space."
Jason
felt moved to reassure him. “Each of the colony worlds extrudes a beacon into
hyperspace. Wełre homing on the one from Dropout. The landscape may change but
the absolute locations donłt." Jasonłs wife had been fascinated by the concept
of hyperspace, obsessed with the idea of emigrating to one of the colony
worlds, and Jason had picked up a lot of technical knowledge by osmosis. “Even
if we just take a short term assignment, Jason. I want to be able to say that
once in my life I stood on the surface of another planet." She had regaled him
with fresh nuggets of knowledge about hyperspace and the various colony worlds
as quickly as she gathered them. He could, had he been so inclined, have lectured
on the history and reliability of the colonial beacons at considerable length.
But Kathy had never realized her ambition, although she had still been making
plans up to a week before her death. Now she would never stand on an alien
world, but at least in one sense he would ensure that she fulfilled her dreams.
“But
what if the radio breaks down, or we run into some kind of interference? How do
we know wełre on the right course?" The man sounded nervous and for some reason
Jason found that irritating. He recognized the mercurial nature of his own
moods, knew that his calm demeanor masked a cauldron of turbulent emotion, but
he didnłt care.
“Actually
we donłt. The fact that it has always worked in the past doesnłt mean it always
will. We could conceivably wander around out here until we ran out of air."
The
other man paled and turned away to rejoin his party. Mira gave Jason a slight,
mildly puzzled smile. “That was cruel."
“HeÅ‚s
a jerk."
“Even
so."
Harris
would not be his immediate superior on Dropout, but while Jason knew that it
would be politically wise to defer to her, he really didnłt care and
compromised by not responding at all. He did not expect to be around long
enough to be affected by her displeasure.
* * * *
Captain
Emilio Ventras sat back from the control board and glanced at his backup,
unofficially his Shotgun, Shelly Paris. “HowÅ‚s the signal?"
She
shrugged. “Same as always. How are the passengers?"
“The
usual motley crew." The exchange was a ritual between them. This was their
fiftieth trip together and Paris was probably going to get her own command when
they got back. Ventras would miss her.
“Well,
at least we have some nice scenery this time." He glanced out across a
variegated landscape of gently rising and falling hills, mottled with broccoli
trees and a few of the comparatively rare crystal towers, which were neither
crystal nor towers.
“If
we get too bored, we can play cards."
Boredom
would not be one of their problems on this trip.
* * * *
The
engines became audible again and the massive wheels began to turn as the Rollaway
resumed its journey, descending toward a lowland as flat as anything on Earth.
Captain Ventras had considerable latitude in picking a course because there
were no maps to guide him. He could detect his end point, but the territory in
between was terra incognita. In fact, it could change while they were
traversing it. Just because a hill happened to be facing the valley now didnłt
mean the same would be true in an hour. The Conestoga had nearly been
wrecked when a ravine opened up under its wheels a few years earlier, and more
recently the Prairie Schooner had almost run out of air after it had
been overturned by a sudden massive upheaval. In both cases, subsequent
investigation had suggested that one or more of the passengers had been
experiencing extremely ambivalent attitudes toward emigration or had been
undergoing some other form of unusual stress. Successful completion of more
probing psychological tests had been added to the criteria for subsequent
passenger applications.
Jason
was a corporate psychologist and had easily avoided revealing his inner
turmoil. He felt no guilt about doing so. He very much wanted to complete the
trip to Dropout. It was the last thing he could do for Kathy, and while it wasnłt
much, it would have to suffice. And then he could lay down his own burden as
well.
He
glanced around the cabin. There were about thirty passengers, but only one
obvious family, a young couple and their daughter. The parents were excited or
nervous or both; the daughterabout twelvewas bored. The rest consisted of
parties of two to four people, probably on short term assignments, and a
handful of solitary individuals of both sexes, most of whom kept to themselves.
A few of these might be emigrants as well. There were two cabin stewards, one
of each gender, both inconspicuously armed with tranquilizer guns. Despite the
best efforts of the screening boards, a few people each year broke down when
faced with the para-reality of hyperspace. The most frequent manifestations of
HTDHyper Transit Disorderwere hallucinations and agoraphobia. Everyone so
afflicted had recovered quickly after their return to normal space, but they
were routinely drugged if they displayed any extremes of behavior en route.
Emotional upheaval by even a single individual could have tangible effects on
the communal interpretation of the exterior environment, making navigation more
difficult.
Mira
returned to her seat and began studying the screen of her PDAX but Jason
remained where he was, watching the pseudo-landscape flow past the observation
bubble. There had been a time when he would have joined her, more interested in
the world of profit and loss, numbers and arrays, connections and financial
opportunities than he was in the external worldwhat Kathy used to call the “real"
world. Jason allowed himself a hint of amusement. Whatever existed on the other
side of the Perspex bubble wasnłt the real world either, whatever that meant.
Scientists and philosophers alike were still trying to decide just what it was.
They
had reached the flat land and were moving forward more rapidly now. When he
closed his eyes, Jason could not sense movement. The irregularities of the
surface, such as they were, were more than compensated for by the pressure and
shock absorbers beneath him. One theory held that vehicles in hyperspace didnłt
actually move at all. They became immobile relative to the rest of the
universe, which then rearranged itself to bring their destination to them. This
made no sense to Jason. There might be as many as a dozen vehicles in
hyperspace at any given time. The universe couldnłt simultaneously cater to all
their needs, could it?
Their
route took them in an arc around a low butte, and as they turned Jason could
just see a hint of their trail dust. It wasnłt dust, of course, but the
interaction of material from the “real" universe with the hyperspatial plain
resulted in a temporary darkening of the latter, as though the shipłs wheels
were bruising the surface across which they moved. The phenomenon, like most
aspects of hyperspace, had gathered lots of theories but few facts.
Jason
still wore an old fashioned wristwatch, a family heirloom, but it was of
limited utility aboard the Rollaway. Transit times between the same two
points could vary dramatically; the Bigwheeler had been forced to resort
to recycled air during a trip to Upstart when the normal eight to twelve hour
trip consumed an unprecedented thirty hours. Theyłd run into no natural
barriers requiring detours, but it had still taken longer for reasons that
remained a mystery. As with most other ships, the Rollaway had been
refitted to increase its air supply and the maximum passenger limit had been
reduced.
They
passed so close to a copse of broccoli trees that a frond almost brushed the
bubblełs exterior surface. Kathy would have loved this, he thought to himself,
and felt a wave of despair and loss so great that he had to put out a hand to
steady himself. Only the knowledge that he would not have to live with his
grief for much longer kept him from shouting his pain aloud.
Jason
felt weary, in spirit if not in body, and leaned to one side against the cool
plastic. He didnłt quite doze off, but he became less aware of his
surroundings, lost in the landscape of his inner mind, and when he finally
noticed that the view had changed rather dramatically, he had no idea how much
time had passed until he glanced at his wrist again. More than an hour. They
should be not quite halfway to their destination given an average transit time.
They
were no longer traversing a relatively featureless plain. They had slowed so
that the captain could pick his way across an expanse of broken ground. Narrow
defiles zigzagged in random directions, none big enough to seriously endanger
the ship, although the captain was obviously taking no chances. In the
distance, Jason could see shadowy shapes like canyon walls, although the
ridgeline was smooth, a succession of gentle curves. There were broccoli trees
as well, smaller than usual, but much more numerous than before, a virtual
forest.
Mira
slipped into the seat beside him. “DidnÅ‚t you say your wife knew a lot about
hyperspace?"
Jason
suppressed a twinge of painful memory. “She was obsessed with it. My greatest
regret is that she didnłt live to see this."
Mira
paused automatically as a nod to his grief, but her body language was alert and
possibly even tense. “Did she ever mention reading about anything like this? WeÅ‚re
practically surrounded."
Jason
made a show of looking outside again. “Not specifically. ThereÅ‚s quite a range
of possible landscapes, you know. Some of it is the result of fluctuations in
the underlying energy structure, or at least so the experts think, and some of
it depends upon the mental state of the people perceiving it. None of this is
objectively real, you understand?"
“Sure.
Sure. But wełve been going slower and slower for the last half hour and I heard
the attendants talking about possibly backtracking to find an alternate route.
I was just wondering if that meant something was wrong."
Jason
considered his answer. Everything was wrong, of course, in a universe that no
longer contained Kathy, but he didnÅ‚t think that answer would satisfy Mira. “ItÅ‚s
unusual but not unprecedented. It may be that therełs some kind of flaw or
fault blocking our original course and our minds are interpreting the approach
as impassable terrain. I wouldnłt worry about it."
Mira
was obviously not entirely satisfied, but she nodded and went back to her seat.
Jason was considering following her, but before he could bestir himself, the Rollaway
came to a complete stop.
There
was a murmuring from the passengers, some of whom looked around curiously, with
just a hint of concern. The two stewards maintained their blank masks of
amiability and reassurance, but Jason thought he detected a hint of tension in
the way they held their bodies. They were just a shade too attentive, as though
they were expecting trouble.
The
intercom buzzed and the captainÅ‚s voice filled the cabin. “ThereÅ‚s nothing to
be alarmed about, folks, but wełre going to have to retrace our steps a bit.
The way wełve been coming looked pretty clear a while ago, but the surface is
getting rougher. Just to be on the safe side, wełre going to try to find a
little smoother way. In the meantime, we still have plenty of beverages and
snacks and the scenery outside is more interesting than usual." Jason decided “interesting"
was a euphemism, but he wasnłt sure what other term it was standing in for.
After
another few minutes, the Rollaway began to reverse course. The body of
the ship was roughly a cylinder, with the pilot module set on a track above
them. The drive train was fully reversible following a short realignment, while
the captainłs module slowly ran along the track to the opposite end. Then they
were in motion again. The attendants assured everyone that backtracking, while
unusual, was not unheard of. Most of the passengers had already returned to
their work or their conversations and clearly could not have cared less.
They
picked up speed for the next few minutes, but Jason was still at the
observation bubble and he was one of the first to notice when their pace began
to slacken again. Half an hour later they came to another stop.
This
time there was noticeable concern among the passengers. Mira and another man
Jason hadnłt met joined him. She was sweating slightly even though the cabin
was as comfortable as when they had departed. “Any idea whatÅ‚s going on, Jason?"
He
shrugged. “Probably another course change. The captain knows where the beacon
is, of course, but he has to pick his specific route by line of sight." He
gestured toward the exterior. “HeÅ‚s probably having some trouble finding a good
vantage point." The broccoli trees were denser than ever. It was as if the ship
was passing between two dense stands of forest.
“What
if he canłt find a way?" The other man moved his eyes in jerky, frightened
jumps.
Jason
shrugged. “Then he either radios back to our base beacon for a relief ship or
he waits until the landscape changes again. We have food and supplies for at
least four days. Therełs a lot of safety margin built in."
He
expected the ship to start moving again fairly shortly and it did, but it
halted once more, after only a few minutes this time. Jason wasnłt surprised.
He had watched the landscape roughen, ridges rather than hills that almost
formed before his eyes. This was obviously something unprecedented and he was
fascinated, immune to the apprehension spreading among his fellow travelers.
Jason had nothing to fear from death any longer.
Captain
Ventras addressed the passengers again, explaining that they had run into a
denser patch of obstruction than he had expected. “ThereÅ‚s nothing to worry
about. Wełre perfectly safe where we are and we can just wait for things to
shift again. As a precaution IÅ‚ve asked that a relief ship be placed on
standby, so even if wełre stuck here for a while, we can be resupplied or, if
absolutely necessary, there are enough environmental suits for us to evacuate
to the relief vehicle."
His
voice was calm, clear, and professional, but people were frightened anyway. The
attendants suggested card games or other distractions but with little success.
Passengers began to watch each other, or tried to nap, or simply stared at the
floor. Very few looked toward either of the observation bubbles, and Jason had
his all to himself.
There
were no formal sleeping arrangements aboard the Rollaway, but the seats
all reclined. Several people asked about sleeping aids, but the attendants
couldnÅ‚t help them. “WeÅ‚re not allowed to bring any psychoactive agents aboard
a ship except as cargo," they explained. Jason knew that already; minds
affected by drugseven alcoholhad unpredictable effects on the hyperspatial
terrain. He also knew that they werenłt telling the entire truth; the weapons
on their belts fired darts filled with a powerful tranquilizer that suppressed
most mental activity, though they would only be used in an emergency.
Jason
ate and napped for a while, then returned to his seat in the bubble. No one had
usurped his place in his absence.
Time
passed. Twice the ship began to move and twice it stopped almost immediately.
The captain told them he was just topping up the charge on the batteries, but
no one believed him. They were sure that he was trying to find a way out, and
failing each time.
A
full day passed before one of the passengersan older mancreated a
disturbance. He began shouting at the attendants, demanding to see the captain,
and their attempts to calm him only provoked a more animated outburst. They
were forced to subdue him physically and restrain him in his seat until his
terror-fed anger burned out and he wept quietly. Jason was surprised that they
hadnłt tranquilized the troublemaker, but they seemed off their own game, less
attentive than usual, occasionally talking in whispers when they thought no one
was watching. The distraught man subsided, but several other passengers had
become visibly disturbed.
The
weeping man became uncommunicative later that day. One of the stewards went
aloft to speak to Captain Ventras directly for a while, after which the captain
announced that he had requested that the relief ship make as close an approach
as possible so the troublesome passenger could be evacuated. Anyone else who
preferred to return to Earth station could do so if they were willing to suit
up and make the short trek that would obviously be necessary. A half dozen
people indicated their wish to take advantage of the opportunity, but as it
happened, no one ever left.
The
relief ship couldnłt find them.
Radio
works in hyperspace, which is why the beacons function. Ship to ship is a
little trickier, apparently because ships arenÅ‚t anchored in the “real"
universe the way station beacons were. In the past, rescue ships had always
been able to home in on a distress signal, but this time they failed. Ventras
insisted these were minor technical difficulties, but the female steward was
having trouble maintaining her composure and Jason overheard snatches of
conversation between the woman and her co-worker from which he was able to
guess a part of the truth.
The
relief ship could not find the Rollaway, could not even find the patch
of overgrown terrain where they were stranded.
* * * *
“How
are the passengers holding up?" Ventras had wakened from a deep sleep, checked
his instrumentation, and ascertained that nothing significant had changed
externally.
Paris
shook her head. “No further disturbances, but itÅ‚s only a matter of time if we
donłt give them some good news pretty soon." She wiped the hair back from her
forehead. “For that matter, IÅ‚m going to be a little upset if something doesnÅ‚t
happen. What do you think the problem is?"
Shełd
asked that question twice before, and he still didnłt have a good answer.
* * * *
More
time passed.
Jason
had more or less taken up a permanent position in the bubble. He stood up and
walked around occasionally, ate with the others, sometimes napped in his
assigned seat, but he no longer felt as though he was a part of the company. At
times he had trouble assigning sense to what they were saying, although in his
defense, sometimes there wasnłt a great deal of sense there to start with.
Halfway
into the third day, he saw something moving outside, which was impossible.
At
first he thought he had slipped into a daydream, or that hełd misinterpreted
the fall of a shadow. But there were no shadows in hyperspace because there was
no light source, and hełd been completely alert. One of the other passengers
had noticed his start and wandered over curiously. “See something?"
“No.
I just drifted off for a moment." He was impatient for the man to be gone and
when he finally turned away, Jason pressed his face close to the Perspex and
stared outside. Nothing moved. He watched for a long time before reluctantly
deciding that just maybe hełd fallen asleep after all.
And
then he saw it again. Or almost saw it. There was just a flicker between two
broccoli tree trunks, or stalks, or whatever they were. As though something had
moved from concealment behind one to the next. It was cautious rather than
furtive, although he could never have explained how he recognized such a subtle
difference.
He
stared intently at the same spot while trying not to give away his interest to
anyone else in the cabin. If there really was something out there, its
discovery was his and his alone. If he couldnłt share it with Kathy, then he
wasnłt going to share it with anyone.
But
nothing happened for long minutes and once again his certainty began to waver.
The scene outside had in fact changed over the course of the past several
hours. The distant ridgeline was a lot less distant now, and if it had been
actual rock and sand instead of an artifact of human perception, he would have
been able to pick out striations or irregularities, had there been any. The broccoli
forest had thinned out a bit, although hełd never actually seen any of the
individual specimens disappear. He just happened to notice that there were
fewer, although still far too many to allow the Rollaway to pass
through. Some of the passengers had insisted that the captain try to force his
way, but he had declined. Experience had already demonstrated that humans were
incapable of altering their environment in hyperspace, at least by physical
means. Lasers, acid, cutting tools, brute force, even a nuclear detonation had
all been tried.
Jason
fancied that the air was getting a little stale, but it was probably his
imagination. They were good for forty hours even before they went to recycling.
He wasnłt really sure how long they would last after that.
He
did fall asleep then, slumped in the less than comfortable seats provided for
sightseers. He dreamed of Kathy, not surprisingly since he did so almost all
the time now. They were back at the house and he was working in his den. She
was outside, wearing a bathing suit and playing in the spray from the
sprinklers as though she was a child. He was watching her when she turned,
smiled, and came over to the window, rapped on it and gestured for him to come
out and join her.
His
head snapped up and he stared into Kathyłs eyes. They were there just for a
second, then they were gone. And theyłd been on the other side of the Perspex
dome. He was absolutely certain of it.
“Is
anything wrong?" Mira was standing to his left. Her voice had picked up a
slight tremor and her head moved in sudden, birdlike twitches.
“Just
a dream." He stood up and stretched. “Did I miss anything while I was out?"
“There
are two rescue ships out now, but they still canłt find us." She gave a nervous
laugh. “I was told this assignment might be an adventure, but this is a bit
more than I was expecting."
For
just a moment, perhaps because Mirałs mouth twisted into a half smile that
reminded him of Kathy, he felt a twinge of empathy. “WeÅ‚ll be all right. ThereÅ‚s
someone watching out for us."
Mira
gave him an appraising look. “I didnÅ‚t realize you were the religious type,
Jason." She would have read his personnel files, of course.
“IÅ‚m
not, really." He looked away, already regretting his minor indiscretion.
“Are
you all right?"
“IÅ‚m
fine." He kept his eyes fixed on the exterior, and it was several minutes
before he realized he was alone again. The rest of the passengers had drawn
physically closer to one another, seeking mutual comfort. Jason felt no
temptation to join them. He had been alone constantly for the past year. He was
used to it.
He
saw Kathy several times during the course of the next hour. There would be a
flash of movement and hełd spot the shape of a head drawing back into the
fronds, or spot an arm or leg just as she moved from one point to the next.
There was no continuity. She might be to his right one second, to his left the
next. She was never in view long enough for him to focus, and certainly not
long enough for him to call someone else over to confirm what he was seeing. Technically,
he supposed, it might not be Kathy at all as far as objective evidence was
concerned. But he knew it was her, particularly when he caught a glimpse of her
eyes.
Most
of the others were sleeping when she finally revealed herself fully. Jason had
been on the verge of nodding off when movement attracted his attention. A shape
emerged from behind one of the closer broccoli trees. He thought it would be
just another fleeting glimpse, but then she stepped out into the open, hands on
her hips, and looked directly at him. She wasnłt wearing an environmental suit
and he knew that was impossible, but he didnłt care. This was his Kathy. She
hadnłt abandoned him after all.
She
raised one hand and beckoned to him and he knew what he had to do.
The
two stewards were taking turns sleeping. The womanJason had not bothered to
learn their nameswas currently snoring softly. Her partner was sitting in the
second observation dome, supposedly watching over the passengers, although his
eyelids were drooping. Jason stood up slowly and stretched, surreptitiously
watching to see if the steward would react. He did not. Jason began walking
around the cabin, careful not to disturb anyone, and took a drink from the
dispenser. He was almost within reach of the second attendant now, who had
turned partially onto one side. Her holstered tranquilizer gun was facing in
his direction.
He
felt no trepidation when he lunged for it. His mind was filled with absolute
certainty that this was right, inevitable even. The weapon slid out of its
holster and he fired down into the womanłs thigh as soon as his finger slipped
inside the trigger guard. He turned and saw that the male steward had gotten to
his feet but had yet to reach for his own weapon. Jason shot him. The woman was
already out and the man followed with a strangled shout of surprise. He fell to
the floor.
Jason
retreated to one corner as the passengers began to rouse. He didnłt wait for
them to get organized. “Everyone stay calm. IÅ‚m not going to hurt anyone, but there
is something I have to do."
Mira
separated herself from the others, walking directly toward him. “Put that thing
down, Jason. Donłt make a fool of yourself." Her voice was steady, expecting
obedience. He shot her without a second thought and she crumpled to the floor,
a look of complete amazement on her face. The twelve-year-old began to scream.
“Keep
your distance," he warned.
One
of the other men thrust himself forward. “He canÅ‚t get us all, and that thing
just knocks you out for a while. Letłs take him down."
Jason
shot the speaker, then the two men who had been flanking him, then another for
good measure. “IÅ‚ll shoot you all if I have to." He wasnÅ‚t sure that he could,
though. He had no idea how many anesthetic darts were available. Still covering
the others, he edged around to the supine male attendant and quickly
confiscated his weapon. It had never left its holster.
“You!"
He gestured toward the burly man whoÅ‚d introduced himself as Bert Ralston. “Open
the emergency locker."
Ralston
hesitated. “Do it or itÅ‚s sleepy time."
The
man did as hełd been told.
“Now
take out one of the environmental suits and bring it to me." That took a while.
The suit consisted of several components that were assembled around the user
rather than worn. The helmet came last and Ralston tried to use it as a club.
Jason shot him.
“YouÅ‚re
being very foolish, Mr. Tallant." The voice came from the intercom. Captain
Ventras and his team had obviously been monitoring the passenger deck. “Please
put down your weapons and return to your seat. We understand that youłre
frightened, but this isnłt going to help."
Jason
was elated, not frightened. He ignored their instructions and very carefully
began to climb into the lower module of the environmental suit. It was
difficult because he also had to keep one weapon pointed at the others, but he
managed. Captain Ventras addressed him several more times, cajoling, soothing,
promising, threatening. Jason continued to ignore him.
The
suit was almost completely assembled when a half dozen passengers came at him
at once. He dropped three of them with darts and a fourth stumbled over one of
his fellows and landed heavily. The other two reached him but the environmental
suit augmented his strength adequately. He brushed them aside, tossed down the
tranquilizer guns, and sealed his suit.
No
one tried to stop him after that. They didnłt even bother to retrieve the
discarded weapons, which could not have penetrated his suit in any case. He
strode to the emergency airlock, moving rather awkwardly, and activated the
inner seal. No one pleaded with him not to go. They were probably glad to be
rid of him.
She
was waiting for him outside. Jason was surprised at first to see that she didnłt
need an environmental suit. He turned on his radio but the only sound was
Captain Ventras demanding that he return to the ship. After a few seconds,
Jason clicked it off. He and Kathy had never needed words to communicate. He
took her hand and let her lead him away.
The
broccoli trees had retreated ahead of him, forming a pathway that led off into
the distance. They walked directly up the center and Jason felt light-headed
and joyful for the first time in more than a year. “It should be yellow bricks,"
he told her, knowing she couldnłt hear him. But she turned her head and nodded
and he almost fancied that the surface under his feet had shifted color
slightly, the palest of yellows that turned darker where his feet had touched.
Not trail dust, he told himself. Fairy dust.
* * * *
“We
have clearance, Captain." Paris turned and waited for instructions.
Ventras
had been trying to direct some of the passengers to restore order within the
ship. It was physically possible for one of the command officers to descend
into the passenger module, but it was a time-consuming process and in any case
he wanted Paris with him on the bridge. Now he turned and did a quick visual
survey to confirm what heÅ‚d heard. “Engage engines." If there was an
opportunity to escape, he would take it, even if that meant abandoning the
wayward passenger.
Within
seconds, the Rollaway was in motion. A short distance forward, he saw
the figure of a man in an environmental suit turn from the open path into a
smaller one, too small for the Rollaway to follow, and he knew that this
was the last he would ever see of Jason Tallant. And he saw something else as
well.
Jasonłs
path was only faintly visible from the top of the Rollaway, but the
discoloration of the surface created by his passing formed a distinct,
continuous line that disappeared beneath the ship and extended, presumably,
back to where he had disembarked. That was not at all surprising. But Ventras
had a great deal to think about during the balance of the trip to Dropout,
because parallel to that track had been another, slightly smaller but no less
distinct.
Copyright
© 2010 Don DÅ‚Ammassa
Wyszukiwarka
Podobne podstrony:
Campbell, Ramsey [SS] No Story in It [v1 0]Webb, Don [SS] Beach Scene [v1 0]Blur No Distance Left to RunEstleman, Loren D [SS] Wolfe at the Door [v1 0]Davidson, Avram [SS] Or the Grasses Grow [v1 1]Kornbluth, CM No Place to Go v1 0Carlson, Jeff [SS] Planet of the Sealies [v1 0]Gold, H L [SS] The Man with English [v1 0]J J Russ [SS] M is for the Many [v1 0] (htm)Carlson, Jeff [SS] A Lovely Little Christmas Fire [v1 0]Foster, Lori In Too Deep (v1 0)Costa, Shelley [SS] As the Screw Turns [v1 0]Branham, R V [SS] Chango Chingamadre, Dutchman, & Me [v1 0]SMITH Cordwainer No No Not Rogov SS V1 0Dozois, Gardner R [SS] Where No Sun Shines [v1 0]Estleman, Loren D [SS] Preminger s Gold [v1 0]Tracey, Robyn [SS] Siren Singers [v1 0]Gray, Muriel [SS] Shite Hawks [v1 0]Dozois, Gardner [SS] Recidivist [v1 0]więcej podobnych podstron