Balant: A Beginning

by Sam Smith

  I had anticipated gas, instead felt my mouth and nostrils fill with liquid. I choked, coughed, struggled violently to be free; and, recalling the woman and the child drowning in the Nautili's gel, I lost consciousness.

  I awoke alone upon the floor. My nostrils and mouth smarted with every breath. And with the pain came memories.

  I rolled my head to look the length of that room. All the partitions had been returned to within the walls.

  My limbs were stiff from sleeping on the metal floor. Easing them to new positions, I realised that I was naked. Sitting up I put my hand to my head. My face and scalp had been shaved.

  Now that I was sitting I could see a pile of clothes near the door. Groggily getting to my feet I unsteadily crossed the room. On top of a folded tunic lay a pair of slippers. That they did not yet intend killing me lifted slightly my abject despondency.

  In dropping the tunic over my head I recognised the smell wafting up from my body — the smell which had previously eluded me. It was disinfectant. I had been decontaminated.

  I later learnt that the mask which had been pressed over my face was of a type used upon cattle by planetary veterinary surgeons — the surface blood vessels in the nose readily absorbing the medicinal spray. In that long bleak room I realised that I must have been given an antibiotic cocktail and a sedative; and I wondered at the dearth of compassion in men who would employ such terrifying equipment on an intelligent being.

  Now that I was dressed, had nothing other to do than wait, my hunger reasserted itself and growling ate into my stomach. However, I did not have long to wait, for, no sooner had I stepped away from the door, than it slid open and the man called Zapper stepped into the room.

  I realised that he must have been watching me through a monitor; and I was grateful for the consideration he had shown in waiting until I was dressed before he had confronted me. Was there, I wondered, a decent civilised being lurking under that homicidal exterior?

  His eyes shaded by his beetled brows and his thick black hair, he gazed expressionlessly down on me.

  "You're but a boy," he said. Possibly it was desperation on my part, but I thought that I detected a hint of pity in his tone. Was there in this man some remnant of civilisation to which I could appeal? Such a notion, however, was immediately dispelled by his next gruff utterance.

  "Come. And no questions. Or else," and he tapped the gun at his side.

  Once beyond the door I took a deep breath, savouring the comparative freedom of the corridor. At least it was not that oppressive room.

  Zapper paused to study me; then, with another laconic,

  "Come," he led me along corridors and up ramps. In trotting along behind him I saw that, besides the gun in his holster, he had another gun tucked into the back of his belt.

  Zapper stopped outside a door. We had met no-one. I came to a halt beside him.

  "Keep your trap shut in here boy. It's the only defence you've got. And that's scarce little.” Again I had the feeling that this man, despite his curt manner, had my interests at heart.

  Having said his piece he, stooping, opened the door and stepped within. I followed. It was the crew's canteen, most of whom were clustered about some gaming machines at the far end.

  I will spare you a detailed description of the crew, suffice to say that I had never before encountered such a bunch of degenerates. They wore a variety of bizarre garbs, had peculiar hairstyles, all of which were intended to inspire fear in the beholder. At my appearance they jeered and leered at me. By their staring eyes several, I decided, were suffering from psychotic disorders. Two indeed had the flat unwrinkled features of the outright insane. All were armed.

  Zapper ignored them.

  “Sit down,” he told me, pointing to a table. I obediently sat. He thrust a plate before me. "Eat."

  I needed no encouragement, began shovelling the food, real space food, into my mouth.

  While I did so three of the crew sidled up the canteen towards us, then capered about my table, darting suddenly forward to grimace into my face. Despite my fear, and my indignation — for their every other word seemed either a profanity or an obscenity — I made no attempt to rebuff them, used my month only for eating. They, however, took confidence from my immobility and began to taunting touch me. Fear closed my throat.

  "Leave him alone."

  The quietness of Zapper's words belied their authority.

  Two of the men, however, being so curtly spoken to, glanced sharply and resentfully up at Zapper, where he stood opposite me. So fierce was their demeanour that I expected them to fall furiously upon Zapper there and then. But the third crewman grinned crookedly at Zapper, made a lewd remark about Zapper's designs upon me, and cackling and hooting they all three returned to the far end or the canteen.

  If such men went in fear of Zapper, I realised that he must be far worse than they. Now I was as frightened of him as I had been of those who had just goaded me. Zapper, though, stood still and silent opposite me, continued to gaze unblinking down at the crew. His silence unnerved them. I could see them jittering under his disinterested scrutiny, muttering among themselves.

  The moment my plate was emptied Zapper said,

  "Come." I preceded him out of the door. It closed on the excited babble of the crew.

  In the silence of the corridor I asked Zapper,

  "Can I go to the lavatory?" He led me to a door.

  "Be quick,” he said as I entered.

  I emptied my bladder, paused to look in the mirror above the handbasin. This was not the boy who had left his mother's outstation: with my shaven head, and the scar on my forehead, I looked as villainous as the other members of the crew.

  A rap on the door brought me out of my shock. As soon as I opened the door Zapper said his one word,

  "Come,” and I hastened after his long strides.

  At a turn in the corridor he unexpectedly stopped.

  "Answer questions,” he told me. “Don't ask any." He stared hard at me to make sure that I had understood. When I nodded he turned and continued along the corridor.

  Unlike every other ship I had been on, or had looked over, with their profusion of signs at every corridor junction, with at least one label on every door stating what lay beyond it, this nameless ship had none. I was, therefore, surprised to suddenly find myself in the command room.

  We were in the bubble on top of the ship. On every side were screens and one vast circular console. On a dais in the centre or the room was a swivel chair. Sitting on that chair was a fat man with thin blond hair.

  "The technician Boss,” Zapper said. The fat man span around in his chair. Small gluttonous eyes studied me.

  "You a technician?" his voice was as deep and as sonorous as a cello. I told him my qualifications.

  "Theory," he dismissed them. "Are you any good?"

  "I repaired the shuttle. The one we crashed in. And which," I could not stop myself adding, "you destroyed."

  "Insolence I won't tolerate on this ship boy," Boss growled at me. “Can you fix this?”

  Rising from his seat, he beckoned me over to a console segment. Despite his bulk, his flesh did not wobble: he was more like a party balloon inflated to bursting point.

  "Tube," he told the console.

  An airlock opened below us and a large telescoped tube began sliding out from the side of the ship. Except that the further the tube was extended the more it stuck on one side, soon had a distinctive curve to the left.

  “See what's wrong?" Boss asked me.

  Stood beside him I realised that he was almost as tall as Zapper.

  How's it powered?" I asked him.

  "Hydraulics."

  "Fluid leak," I shrugged, so obvious as to be not worth considering.

  "No trace of fluid in the tube," Boss refuted my diagnosis.

  On the outer end of the tube was a soft fabric.

  "The end of the tube open?"

  "Yes."

  “Then it's evaporating into space," I said.
<
br />   "’Course it is!" Boss cursed; and, turning to Zapper, told him not to let another of the crewmen near anything on the ship again.

  "Can you fix it by tomorrow?" Boss asked me.

  "Is it within an airlock?”

  "Yes.”

  "I'll try."

  "Your life depends on it," he stated that threat as a simple fact; then addressed himself to Zapper, "Take him there."

  Zapper turned to go. I, however, couldn't leave without first having received an explanation for the destruction of the shuttle and for the attempt on our lives.

  "Why did you destroy our shuttle?” I asked him.

  The large head jerked around to me.

  "So there were three of you," Boss's tight mouth came close to smiling at having caught me out in a lie. I saw nothing now to be gained from persevering with that lie.

  "What will become of them?" I asked.

  "Their problem,” he dismissed them.

  Such indifference to the fate of fellow spacemen, especially from one in authority, appalled me, left me speechless.

  As Boss walked back to his seat he did, however, deign to briefly give his reasons.

  "I run a very delicate business operation in this part of the universe. I don't want police blundering in where they've no right to be."

  “But we were transmitting a Mayday!” I protested.

  At that Boss swelled with anger. Zapper's hand fell on my shoulder, gripped it. Boss restrained himself, looked from Zapper to me,

  “Pay heed to him boy. Your life depends on it. Now fix that tube."

  At that moment I knew, with absolute certainty, that Zapper had just saved my life.

  Out in the corridors, Zapper led me down to the airlock in which the tube was housed. Glad of something to do, I examined the hydraulics. The tube wasn't designed to lift great weights: I decided that the outer airlock door would withstand a little pressure, and I searched for the manual controls. Zapper asked what I was doing. I told him.

  "No sabotage boy," he said. The idea had not occurred to me. Wondering at the working of these men's minds I began to gently increase the pressure in the hydraulics. The leaks soon manifested themselves. A section of piping had been bent and cracked, the seals on either end leaking. I showed Zapper the fault, asked it the ship carried spares.

  As I again followed Zapper through the corridors I queried the competence of the technician they had on board.

  “No questions boy," Zapper said without turning around. "The least you know the better off you'll be.”

  I found the stores to be surprisingly well stocked: a far more comprehensive selection, certainly, than there had been on the Yilan. I soon located a piece of pipe the correct size, and some seals, bade a minder follow me back to the tube airlock. Having drained the system I instructed the minder. The bent pipe was soon replaced. When I came to fill up the system I, of course, found that I did not now have enough fluid.

  We again descended to the stores.

  These trips with my taciturn companion were beginning to familiarise me with the layout of the ship. As to my silent companion: I became aware how Malamud must have felt in my company, for I was bursting with questions; but the only response I got from Zapper was when I said that I didn't see how the ship's technician hadn't noticed the loss of fluid.

  "Probably topped it up on the sly,” Zapper said. "Skiving bastard."

  Zapper's reply answered another question. I had wondered on Balant, when Zapper had asked me about the food in the shuttle, why they hadn't quizzed the shuttle's console. Any half-way competent technician would readily have found the message I had left there for, ironically, our would-be rescuers — so that they would know in which cave to find us. I owed my life to that technician's laziness.

  When I had topped up the fluid, had put the tube controls back to automatic, had closed the airlock door and returned all the equipment to the stores, we made our way up to the command room.

  "He wants to test the tube,” Zapper announced our presence. Boss turned in his seat, studied the pair of us.

  "I'll do it,” he said. Not one of these men, I realised, trusted any other.

  Unbidden I followed Boss over to the console. When he gave the command the tube slid out of its airlock as its designers had intended. Boss nodded.

  "That takes care of tomorrow. Now we need that other gun fixed before we unload the cargo."

  "I know nothing about guns," I ventured.

  "It's the mounting," he informed me, turned to Zapper, “Now lock him up. He could do too much damage on the loose.”

  According to Space time it was now night. I followed Zapper's giant strides down towards the canteen. We turned off, however, before reaching there. Zapper opened a door, motioned me into a small room.

  "This is as much for your own good,” Zapper said. "Only Boss and I have keys." And with that he closed the door.

  Again I was locked behind a door that could not be opened from within. (Those locked doors have given me a phobia I own still: even today it takes an effort of conscious will for me to open any cupboard door. Cupboard doors have handles only on one side.)

  Despite Zapper's assurance that only he and Boss had a key to my room, I did not feel at all safe, for I was as just as afraid of Zapper and Boss as I was of the rest of the crew. Those fears, though, were real; and I had accepted them as I had learnt to live with my fears on Balant. As I lay down upon the bed, with much to think about and little on which to base my thoughts, I decided that the greater torture, for someone with my quizzical turn of mind, was not being allowed to ask questions.

  Chapter Twenty

  I discover what ‘civilised’ human beings are capable of, and the horrors that a human mind can endure.

  I had become so used to sleeping on the floor of the cave, or curled within the angle of the shuttle’s uptilted seat, that the cloying softness of the bed was a deterrent rather than an inducement to sleep. Add to that my stunned reflections on all that had taken place since our shuttle had been destroyed, and sleep was an age in coming.

  When, finally, exhaustion did overtake me, my slumbers were but for a brief moment. I started out of a dream of suffocation aware for the first time of — what I then thought was — the full horror of my predicament. Yesterday the novelty of my surroundings had offset — to some extent — my fears: this day I knew what to expect.

  On all sides were enemies who would kill me without compunction. My life so far had been spared only because I was of some value to them, because I was capable of assisting them in their illicit undertakings.

  In those waking hours I bitterly railed at my former naiveté, at my unpreparedness for such as this. Savages on a planet, the Nautili I had been prepared for; not, though, for these deviants from my own civilisation. The police owed their existence to the existence of criminals: why had I never thought on it before? And what was the nature of those criminals' activity? And could I thwart their felonious intentions without endangering my own life? For, I must confess, that at that moment that was my paramount concern. Yet, to stay alive, I would have to abet, if only indirectly, the furtherance of their crimes.

  I rose and washed my naked face, again studied myself in the mirror. So this was the boy who had, with such hopes and innocent trepidations, boarded the Yilan? This was the boy who had promised his mother he would be diligent in his daily practise of his violin? This was the boy who had been befriended by Dag and Malamud? And what of my two friends now, back on Balant? What would become of them without the shuttle? Without the cave which we had made our home? Without hope now of ever being rescued?

  I sat back down on the bed, tried to conjure some stratagem whereby I might escape the ship, reach civilisation, and return to Balant to rescue my friends.

  This nameless ship was most unlikely to go near civilisation, although it must have its contacts with civilisation to be able to take on the spares and supplies that it required. Yet, to have dealings with a ship and a crew such as this, any member of civ
ilisation would have to be as big a criminal as them.

  I resolved to be vigilant and to grasp whatever opportunity might be presented to me. But, not knowing in what shape or form that might be, I had no way of imagining how it might come about and, therefore, of being able to plan for it.

  Once again in dire straits, I mused on the nature of luck. It had been lucky that I been the one to be captured: had it been Dag or Malamud they would probably have been killed outright. It was lucky that I had told them that I was a technician before they had killed me. I was unlucky to have been captured by them. We were unlucky to have had our shuttle destroyed. It was lucky that Zapper had decided to protect me. But what did he want of me in return for that protection? I recalled the crew's lewd remarks the previous day; and, so wondering about Zapper, I was startled by his opening the door. He noticed my fright, said,

  "Eat," and departed in the direction of the canteen.

  Not all the crew were there, and those that were had the stillness of sleep about them. Only one — one of those I had judged to be psychotic — was frenziedly banging at the buttons of a gaming machine.

  "Fix this!" he suddenly shrieked at me. "Fix this!”

  "He's got more important jobs to do first," Zapper told him; and, signalling me to sit, he collected food for us and sat beside me. The psychotic reverted to banging the machine. Zapper and the others ignored him.

  This day, having decided that at the first opportunity I would somehow escape, I was determined that I should learn as much of the ship as possible, so that — on my return to civilisation — I could indict them all.

  From what I had seen the previous day, I judged there to be about fifteen crew. Five of whom were now sitting at other tables idling over their breakfast, with the psychotic still clinging to and shaking the gaming machine. I wondered why this ship should need so many crew, when a large freighter like the Yilan had required only six; and I wondered where the other eight crewmen could be.