Six - The Engine
The SSUsufructdrifted ever closer, its darkened mass that of a warship, its silenceforeboding. Sally Droover watched the craft's progress from thebridge, mouth dry and eyes strained to pick out the merest detail,while on the Tomcat'sscreens the unfamiliar beast provoked a riot of colour, an expansivecontrast of visuals. In no way was it trying to disguise itself.Neither did she intend to stand in its way; but still there was nocoherent message.
What did the warship intend? shewondered. Its present course would bring the two vessels nose to nosein minutes.
And then?
'Droover S?'
The voice snatched her attention.‘...Here,’ she replied, pushing the button hesitantly. ‘Friendly,is that you?’
'Right.'
‘Spritzer untangled the link,’she said, more for her own benefit than the engineer's. ‘How'stricks?’
'Fine.Listen - ‘But he was cut off.
Sal jumped from her seat, furious.The screens around her had come alive with pictures, the face theyportrayed composed of tubes and plastic.
'YOU WILLREMAIN WHERE YOU ARE,'the exaggerated tones of a man ordered. 'WEWILL COME ABOARD.'
Sal leaned overthe fascia, tapped a screen. All channels were open, she saw, themasked features broadcast throughout the ship, its internalcommunications subjugated. ‘Says who?’ The co-pilot was in nomood to be pushed around.
The warship took its timereplying; time which brought it within seconds of its stated aim: theshudder of docking, the merchantman trapped...
'RESEARCHSECTION FIVE,'the face said eventually.
Byron scratched his head. Therepairman had told him about Captain Jones, although he'd offeredlittle by way of detail, more interested in what Friendly thought ofErnie's 'projects and idiosyncrasies,' as Rich put it.
The engineerdidn't know what he meant. Puzzled, he made some excuse and buzzedthe bridge, just as a shadow fell across his bed...
Wait a minute.Think, he told himself. One dead engineer; one dead captain. It made- like Rich - no sense. The engine, its complex of walkways andgalleries, inspection tunnels and freefall zones, fuel-tanks andconverters hung in the void like an armoured maze around him, only itpossessed direction, while among the crew there appeared to linger amalady of derangement. And now this further mystery, the Usufruct,she and the Tomcatkissing, exchanging any number of possible viruses, from common coldsto pneumonia-like suspicions...
Think back to Upfront and yourfirst encounter with Sal, the glint in her eye when she heard youwere a flyer, the almost inescapable outcome, there, on that sunlithillside, and later, in the house, waiting for the knock on thedoor...yeah, waiting, he repeated absently, scanning the hiddencountenance of the intruder, the white and purple plastic of his suitas the ship tracked him through the main bow-lock and onward, to hisrear a quartet of similarly attired colleagues, each burdened withguns and unrecognizable equipment.
To what end?
'MAKE ITQUICK,'their leader instructed. He faced the screen, the distant lens,adding,‘I REPEAT: YOU WILL REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE. ANY ATTEMPT TO INTERFEREIN THE RESEARCH SECTION'S LEGAL UNDERTAKINGS WILL BE MET WITH FORCE.YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.'
Byron scratched his head...
They took Amy's body away. Theyexplained nothing, refused all pleas, simply bullied their way in andleft with the captain in a bag, together with samples of herclothing.
‘You're tostay in-system,’ Sally was instructed. ‘You may be subject toquarantine.’
May? ‘What the hell for?’ shedemanded. ‘What killed her? Tell us that much.’
The mask regarded her silently.Then, ‘We don't know; we do what we're told,’ it said.
The threat was obvious; the liealso. ‘And if we leave, say for Proxima?’
‘You'll be destroyed.’
‘Just like that?’ Come on, shethought, give me some information, some idea, some...
‘Nobody is to come or go aboardthis ship until further notice. Failure to comply will result inimmediate arrest. You are not to relate any details to any partyoutside of this ship and/or a proven representative of ResearchSection Five. We'll be keeping an eye on you - understood?’
Sally blew on her fingernails.
The man behind the maskstraightened.
'Tell the bastard to f*ck off,'advised the engineer, the warship's grip relaxed.
She burst out laughing.
He said, ‘You, the crew of thispile of junk may live to regret that.’
May? She stood with her hands onher hips. ‘Goodbye.’
*
Sixty hours,the readout told him. That translated to six in decontamination.
No wonder engineers were a lonelybreed. It was hardly worth it; but if he didn't surface now, at leastfor a while, then the wait would get longer.
He fell asleep.In his dreams a shadow spread across his bed, its substance tangible,heavy, like a blanket. Beneath, swaddled in imagery, parted fromconsciousness, Byron fought against a wind, the blustery air tearingout of a cataract, the rent in the ground impossibly dark, sucking onhis limbs, dragging the blood from his veins as it forced him back,away from the abyssal opening. Somehow, he knew, he had to reach it,had to climb down inside, had to - what? Secrets denied him. His onehope lay in struggle, the matching of human strength and human fear,a contest he was ill-prepared for.
But on waking, getting to hisfeet, he was sure the answer lay within reach.
He'd slept two hours. Minuteswasted. Minutes more he would need to spend ridding his body ofharmful compounds, dismantling those toxins likely to infect others(he himself was all but immune) while smoking cigarettes and readingcomics, a ready supply of which - most in mint condition - occupiedmany a shelf and airtight container.
And he could be pretty sure theyweren't going anywhere, not for a while...
The engine was idle.
*
Kate acted. The apology on herlips was for Sal and Amy and the crew, not for the short man whoseblood dripped now to the stone floor, whose eyes turned inside hishead, and whose legs collapsed below him like the kicked-away legs ofa chair, the pencil he'd tormented her with, its sharpened end rammedforcibly up his nose, the right nostril, into his brain...
She zipped herblouse and took a step back from the desk, letting him slump onto it,slip as the sheets of paper, clatter, soft and hard, to theblue-veined marble.
It seemed to take so long.
The typewriters could still beheard, their sound, the hands behind it reminding her of where shewas, what she had done, the importance of making a speedy exit.
But how? There was, as far as Kateknew, only the one way out, and that the way she'd come in.
Could she risk it? The sooner shewas seen to leave the sooner her crime would be discovered.
Did she have any choice? No,unless...
A second, hidden door.
She found it easily, a section ofwall falling outward at her touch, beyond the gaudily-lit maelstromof the undercity, its sea-encased totality busy with life and living,colours thick and melded, not infrequently astir.
Droover stopped a vacant wheel andsped off through the turgid air, forgetting the office and its blankscreen, wooden desk and leather chair, revelling in the outlandish,actual solidity of this other world.
It was behind her, the murder.Ahead was another thing, a new beginning. The wheel wandered at herinstigation, transparent, globular and comfortable, a cousin to theone that had brought her to 68. Kate relaxed. Kate dozed, and on awhim directed the vehicle toward Bench 1.
She would, Kate decided, do alittle island-hopping.
*
He was lucky unlucky, they said,the crewmen, the flyers like himself. He was Byron Friendly, andjinxed.
But he shouldn't have floored thatcontroller...
All the same, there was no futurein war, he was well out of it. So what bugged him?
Byron, he thought, it's mothertugagain. Unlike before though, the attraction for Earth, the pull ofSol, this feeling was for Upfront, his home, his planet, his peopleand their insecurity. That's what affected him.
‘It isn't fair,’ he said.
It never is. ..
The engine was idle, but itwouldn't remain so. He recalled a time when he was forced tocrash-land a reconnaissance craft on Bid-2's largest moon because ofa retro failure that would have corkscrewed them into oblivion had henot taken manual control, wrestling the ship a full twenty minutes,its captain raving as they spiralled, threatening him withdisciplinary action unless he unfroze the pilot's instruments anddisplays, the whole of which reported there to be no problem expectmaybe in Friendly's head...
Had he flipped? Did he imagine it?
Byron was theonly survivor. His mind played tricks on him, then and since. Therewasn't enough left of the reconnaissance craft to prove the case oneway or another. So they'd stretchered him out, given him a medal.
Still, there were doubts...
He shaved.
The engine roared, that of hisheart and lungs. The clock sounded the hours, those to come, and go.
He cut himself; healed...
He waited.