“So,
where now?” There is no obvious exit this end of the cargo bay.
“Well, this
monstrosity managed to get into the room somehow...” Jimmy starts.
“It stands to
reason there must be cargo doors at the rear of the bay.” I
concur. “You want me to climb over Crabzilla, don't you?”
“You got any
better ideas?”
“I suppose its
too late to apply for a transfer.”
If we were able to crowd around
the monitors were would have done, but we are under acceleration and
moving about in the ship is dangerous. The pictures beamed back from
the probe as it passes close to the incoming object are unimpressive
in real-time, just a vague dot, maybe a blur, then a dot again. But
the cameras are running as fast as technology allows and enhanced by
the processing power back at base the stills are fantastic.
There is a continual stream of
amazed exclamations and wild theories from the crew, the object is
definitely not a natural formation, almost certainly not of human
manufacture and although it does not show in the visible spectrum,
slowing itself down with some sort of engine. A ribbed vaguely
spherical body follows the more angular, flattened bulb of the
engines. No markings, the surface shows up as black and slightly
shiny, although in places it has been pitted by high speed
collisions.
Ikaro, looking at images from
spectra, gives us a rough estimate of the force, Fernandez uses this
and the object's deceleration to give us a rough figure for the mass;
this thing is heavy. We wait for better calculations from base.
I double check the fuel usage and
course projection figures on my screen, no change from earlier. A
relatively speedy trick to Saturn, loop around the gas giant and then
leave the ecliptic plane to rendezvous with the object somewhere just
within the orbit of Mars. Other points marked on my screen indicate
other missions with the same idea, our rivals. Our ship is mostly
fuel tank and engine, bigger and more powerful than we have ever
needed before. Not for the first time I wonder what the company
originally designed these engines for.
I
slide myself up to what I suspect is Crabzilla's nose, trying not to
look at it. I fail and realise that next to my nose is the horror's
mouth parts, a ghastly maw I could easily fit my arm into. I steel
myself and remember the sight of severing my own arm, suddenly it
doesn't seem so bad.
“I said climb
over it, not kiss it.” Jimmy says, saved from the stench by not
being real.
“Its still more
desirable than many of your romantic hook-ups.” I counter.
I place my hand
on what would have been the underside of the crab's carapace if it
had been the right way up and slide it forwards as far as I can.
There are no handholds. I slide myself to the side and stretch to
hook my elbow around the place where the first leg joins the main
body, briefly wondering if this is a shoulder in a crustacean.
“I'm trying to
think of some words of encouragement, but unless you want me chanting
'Mount that crab!' I think I'm going to remain quiet.” Encourages
Jimmy.
“You know,”
I say between pants and grasps at the legs of over-sized seafood.
“If I knew it would come down to this I would have paid more
attention at school.”
“I've just
had a call from your school,” my legal guardian, a wild-haired,
fifty-something, perpetual bachelor he was never prepared to take in
two kids, but had been too in love with our mother to say no.
“They've giving me a list of things you've done, you're suspected
of having done or you've just plainly refused to do, they are
threatening expulsion, unless I can get you under control.”
“Is this where you tell me how
ashamed my parents would have been, Brian?” I respond with all of
a fourteen year old's defiance and disdain. Behind Brian the next
generation of lower consumption jet engine rotates as it shows the
simulated effects of high velocity airflow, if he was not so irate he
would be trying to explain the intricacies to me.
“No, Will, we both know how
effective that approach is. I'm too busy to have a shouting match
and there are things in the house that I would like to remain
unbroken.” I pause, uneasy at this new tact, vaguely aware of some
psychology being used, but unsure of how to counteract it. “I want
you to take a look at this.” He holds out a tablet, displayed on
the screen is a prospectus for a vocational course.
“You probably don't know the
names of the people on the interview panel, but at least three of
them know yours, they worked closely with your mother. I'm not
guaranteeing anything, but you get the right academic scores and
you're as good as there.” Absently I copy the document to my own
devices as I scroll down open-mouthed.
“Orbital and interplanetary
operations and zero gravity fucking engineering!” I forgot myself
and who I am talking to. “How...?”
“The house
server records more than your searches for porn, you know.” I
wince. Brian continues. “This is bribery, if I see an immediate
improvement I will send the application, you have my support and
backing as you maintain a clean record. Drink, girls, drugs,
parties, well, I know what I was like when I was your age, but if
anything gets back to me, the school or the police its game over. Do
we have a deal?”
“Imogen?” I suddenly remember
my sister, the course, the job, its what I want more than anything,
but it would mean leaving her behind.
“Imogen is doing well, unlike
you she's settled here. By the time you're through with all the
training and earning she will probably be starting out on a career of
her own. Don't worry, I'm not going to kick her out in the cold,
compared with you she's the perfect house guest.”
We shake hands, my teen-aged brain
still trying to work out how it was possible to be both conned and to
get exactly what you want at the same time.
I
push another over-sized leg out of my way, it slides back and I have
to catch myself before it undoes all my hard work and dumps me back
on the floor. I let it know exactly what I think of it loudly and
wait for Jimmy's wisecrack.
“You should
take a rest.” He quips.
“Because a
giant dead crab would make a comfortable mattress?” I ask,
confused on his sudden switch. He gives me a funny look, as though I
was attempting to scramble over a giant dead crab in the middle of a
respectable restaurant.
“No, because
you heart rate has become elevated and your blood chemistry is
showing signs of extreme stress.” Doctor Jimmy is back.
“I really can't
think what could be causing that, although I did miss going for a jog
this morning and I've had a nagging feeling something is wrong and
out of place all day.”
“Remember the
old calming techniques they tried to teach us back in the day?”
“Oh, yes, they
never did realise that I don't control my breathing very well when
thinking about calm blue oceans.”
“Well, try to
imagine something that is not a calm blue ocean, and just take it a
little easier.”
“Yes, oh guru,
should I become one with the crab?”
“I don't think
she's really your type.” I shake my head, take a deep breath and
continue my efforts in a more measured manner.
I cast my eye around the crew as
we all pretend to be busy, but really we are all bored. Fed up of
the constant vibration of the engines, the force of the acceleration,
of each other's habits and company. The excitement will begin soon
enough, but the day-to-day is living in close, crowded proximity,
with little to do that we have not already been doing for the last
few months. More than once Jimmy's casual word has kept me from
harsh and rash utterances.
The last few notes play over my
headphones, it is a rearrangement of some tune I should be able to
name, but cannot place, my latest message from home. The
accompanying text reads -Latest effort, watcha think? I grin to
myself and reply -Too much plink, not enough plonk. I forward the
track to Fernandez, who enjoys jazz and Jimmy, who hates it.
I glance over at Liefman, I look
of intent concentration on her face as she pretends to be running a
diagnosis on the main communications array. Pretty, in a compact
sort of way, astute and smarter than me, she is the sort of girl I
should have probably fallen for thirty years ago. Thirty years ago I
might have fallen for her if she was a guy, I remind myself. But,
concussed and confused, I had pinned everything on a strange and
funny pianist, who just happened to turn out to be the most
marvellous creature in the world. I start to wonder when was the
last time I missed her this much.
Liefman's real efforts are to find
a way to intercept messages between base and certain members of the
crew without anyone noticing. I already had my suspicions when she
contacted me using a repurposed debugging tool with her own, the
company is not telling us something. Once again I tell myself that I
am too old for this and should have resisted the invitation.
Finally
I half slide, half fall off Crabzilla, panting and lying in a
uncomfortable heap between yet more giant legs. I am halfway through
an attempt to right myself when I realise that this particular motion
relies on the leverage gained through having lower limbs.
“Okay, that's
it. This is your last warning, you either rest now or I am going to
do something to make you.” Doctor Jimmy waves a finger at me.
“Like what?
Jazzhands? Naked interpretive dance? Jimmy, you're not real.”
“Don't tempt
me. Look, are you getting good advice from any of your other
friends? No, because just right now I am the only one caring for
you.”
“Don't get your
knickers in a twist. I'm too knackered to go anywhere for a little
while.” I shuffle myself around a little, close my eyes and try to
forget that my pillow is a giant monster from beyond the stars.
“Tell me a bedtime story.”
“Once upon a
time there were two boys, they were the best of friends and maybe a
little bit more, they went everywhere together. But then one day one
of the friends grew bored of his chum...”
“Jimmy, if this
is about my wife, you knew we would never last, you told me to go for
it.”
“No, Bill, this
is much later than that. He locked him in a tall, tall tower.”
“I'm sorry,
Jimmy, I'm not going to start feeling guilty about something I don't
remember, I have too much going on in my life right now.”
“But one day he
hurt himself and really needed his friend. The friend didn't know
how long he had been locked in the tower but he knew his chum really
needed his help, so he did everything he could and hoped he wouldn't
get put back in the tower.”
“You suck at
stories, Jimmy, but I appreciate the company.”
There is another crash from the
inside of the room Liefman is using in our latest hide-away. I knock
loudly, but get no response. The handle doesn't turn and using my
watch to over-ride the lock yields no more success than asking her to
let me in did. I change tactics, hoping the door is of similar
quality to the soundproofing, and apply my left foot liberally.
The door is sufficiently parted
from its hinges by the fifth or sixth attempt to render the lock
mostly useless. I wrestle the now dented door out of the way and
enter the room like the conquering hero to find Liefman alone and
crying, sat on the bed. The room is mostly wrecked, but in typical
Liefman style the electronics equipment is stacked neatly, wires
furled.
“Er...” I start, unsure.
“I...er...thought...” I stop and park myself next to her on the
bed, feel awkward for a second and then place my arm around her and
pull her closer. A couple of people, weapons drawn, peer through the
wreckage of my ingress. I wave them away with my free arm, it
briefly occurs to me that I should probably know their names, but
things have been too hectic lately to make friends.
We sit like that for a while. I
think about the things we have lost, friends, favourite places,
freedom, there is no surety, no constant left in the world.
Everything is a maelstrom and we are at its centre. Jimmy shows
himself, but can offer no help.
“Hseng's message.” She says
at last. We had picked up the message, distributed widely through the
nets as though she wanted everyone to see it, eight months ago,
before the Indian outbreak. A short video of Hseng herself shutting
off all of the safeguards and throwing herself into the molten heart
of an orbital smelting furnace, over the upsetting visuals played a
message sung in the language of the Angels – More and more, but
less and less, broken, failing, mistake.
“Ikaro said he was fragmenting,
Saunders told me there were more and more of him inside his head.
Jimmy thinks that there's a flaw in the Angels' work.”
“She was talking about the
Angels themselves, they were sick, what happened to Ikaro and Hseng
and Saunders and probably some of the others as well, that was what
was happening to the Angels. They were looking for others of their
kind, to try and find a cure.” There is a sense behind it, Jimmy
thought them lonely or lost, desperate fits better.
“And how about you, how are you
coping with that?” In many ways Liefman has become the crux of our
shambolic resistance, I realise how much I rely on her.
“Its odd, we're the same person
so I don't always know where I end and she begins, but we have now
come to an agreement, no conflict, I always was my own best friend.
I hope that's enough for now. And you?”
“Its different, I think.” I
hope.
“So what can we do?”
“Finish it. Hunt Davis down,
the real Davis, destroy him and then go hide somewhere until this can
be fixed and we can't cause any more harm. You think Davis is
suffering?”
“Yes, but every time he
fragments he just shunts it into a new clone.”
