Tracking the Trailblazer (Colony Ship Trailblazer Book 1)

by John Thornton

  “Sirri-Peter and the Outer Limits friends thought helping them would reveal how they flew that strange shuttle past the norms, but she is too stupid to know. She can barely can feed herself. I say she was a norm plant, trying to trick us. Two of us died getting that norm, and what do we have for it? Nothing! Now the friends just want her disposed of, to solve the problem. What is another dead norm, anyway.”

  “And we have to do it! Yuck! Norms are disgusting. The radiation here eventually takes care of norms, so, tell me, why do we have to chase her down? If she somehow is resistant to the rads—which I really doubt, only tants are resistant, the aardwolves, roaches, and rats will get her. Not much left after they scavenge.”

  “The friends thought maybe that Dome 17 place was a town of worms who are all resistant, some genetic emergence, a recessive trait, but I think she is just crazy in the head. Dome 17 is like Wonderland or Oz, just a fantasy world. You and I know only one out of a thousand norms have resistance.”

  “If that many. Like a tant who does not, right? Come on, we will check the next sector.”

  The two tants left. Janae waited for a while to make sure they did not return, then she crawled out from her tight hiding place. Creeping to the door, she listened carefully. Hearing while fully ensconced in the RAM suit was an unusual experience. The toxins on Earth were so bad that outside of Dome 17, one needed to connect cables from suit to suit to hear. But, the toxins and radiation on the Trailblazer did not have that effect on the RAM suit. Janae made a mental note to ask Kimberly about that, when she was sure speaking would not somehow be heard by her pursuers.

  Kimberly was thinking similar thoughts and in a tiny voice, only audible to Janae, said, “Do not speak.”

  Checking her map, and her RAM suit, she tried to recall exactly where the radiation had been listed on the old log reports. Then she admitted to herself it did not really matter. Either her RAM suit would protect her, or it would not, and then she would die. Anger bubbled up in her toward Jubal and Larson, but she shook her head and tried to think. Checking the printed map again, she decided to sprint away from where she thought the compound was located. In her mind, she wondered if she would recognize when she encountered a radiation-heavy locale, or worse yet, one of those areas which were marked as “open to space.” Then she corrected herself, the vacuum areas would have to be contained, otherwise, all the atmosphere in Axis Mundi would have been sucked out into space.

  Taking a sip from the recycled water supply the suit made, as well as a chew from the recycled other materials, Janae sent out to avoid the tants, the radiation, and whatever the aardwolves, roaches, and rats were.

  16

  Ken’s Journey

  Prior to Janae’s escape from the tant compound, Ken had his own troubles. Butterfield had locked him into the studio, and no matter what he did, he could not get the door to open. He had some food preparation items—a single knife, some forks, and some spoons—but they were worthless for doing any kind of mechanical operations. The shaving kit in the lavatory was equally useless for any disassembly of the doors or parts of the studio. And so, he studied the tutorials on the conservation slate. They were child-level simple, but they did explain things Ken had not known.

  He kept speaking aloud, so Kimberly knew what was happening, but he felt foolish.

  One otherwise uneventful day, Butterfield just waltzed into the studio. Her garments were more flamboyant colors, and the red decoration across her face had a black outline all around its rough rectangle. “My dear Ken, how are you?”

  “I am bored, lonely, and want to be able to leave. You gave me some bogus combination which did not work to let me out.”

  Butterfield giggled in a juvenile and almost childish manner. “Oh, you did not want to be embarrassed again going out in public looking like you do! I will not allow you to leave your studio until you know how to be an adult, you silly darling, you. Adulting is important. Do you now know how to be an adult?”

  Ken, forgetting about charm, flirtation, and innuendo—his usual talents—just lost his temper. “I have known how to be an adult for a good many years. I do not need lessons from some painted dandy!” He immediately regretted his words.

  Butterfield stopped, and then giggled again. “Oh, such a manly tantrum. How quaint!” She swept her arms into her robes, and Ken expected the energy weapon to emerge. Instead, she had a small case which she sat on the table. “I have brought you another gift. Yes, I have. Today I will help you learn to be presentable, and perhaps even handsome! No more barbaric aggression or savage nudity.”

  “I apologize for being rude,” Ken said, recognizing that his angry outburst was just mocked by Butterfield, and did not produce righteous results, yet he was fed up with trying to learn the ways of Ida’s society. Kimberly had confirmed, each time he had asked, that the com-links, at least, were still in existence. “Butterfield, it is just I am so worried about Janae, and I still miss my tools and equipment. Is it possible something was not discarded? Have you heard anything about Janae?”

  Butterfield ignored Ken’s questions, and set her parcel down on the table. She opened the top, pulled out a set of flowing robes, and a small, ornate box. “Now, shed off those dreadful—sartorial sacrileges, and put on some alluring clothing. Your—garments might be suitable for repairing sewers in the shell, or delving into the underground aquafer, but it is not proper and acceptable dress for here in the world. Especially not if you are going to be entertaining company, or interviewing for apprentice positions. The Benefactor does not need more manual laborers. Agricultural automacubes can do those chores. Rather, I am hoping you can get a position with a ratiocinationist, or become a student at the feet of a rhetorical practitioner. The Benefactor has left your assignment open, for now, so it is best to make use of every opportunity.”

  “A ratiocinationist?”

  “Oh, sweet ignorant Ken,” Butterfield soothed at him, “that is a person who studies logic, exact thinking, and has an attuned mind. I believe you have the raw capability to do that, even starting so very late in your life, but one wants what is best. Right dearest?” She looked over at Ken and stepped closer. Reaching out to touch his face she said, “You really must shave off this wooly forest of whiskers. You look like a goat out on one of the farms. You sure do not want to get milked, do you?” She winked at him.

  Ken smiled, and fell back on his flirtatious charms, “That would depend entirely on who was doing the milking. Now, Butterfield, I will try on these lovely clothes, and I would like to shave, but as I have told you, I have no tools or gear.”

  “Oh, Ken, in the lavatory is a shaving kit. That should have been explained on the tutorials. You were not a bad boy, were you? You have been studying them, have you not?”

  Ken rubbed his chin. “Yes, I watched that, and it explained it all very nicely, but, before I shaved, I was waiting to make sure I checked with you on what would look the best.”

  Butterfield clapped her hands together in glee. “Most excellent! I brought along a cosmetics applicator, so I can show you how to look as manly as possible.”

  And so, Ken changed out of his RAM suit—all the while Butterfield was ogling him—shaved his face, and then put on the flowing robes. Some flimsy sandals were all that were there as footwear. He felt odd, used, and exploited, but he complied with Butterfield’s ministrations.

  “Now, the finishing touches to make you a real man! Sit down here and watch carefully so you can repeat your beauty treatments,” Butterfield stated as she opened the ornate box. Inside was a small tub of white colored powder, a medium sized brush, several small capped tubes, and a small spray bottle. Taking those items, she deftly stirred the white powder, coating the brush with it. “Shut your eyes, you soon-to-be handsome man.” She then gave a single spray from the bottle and Ken felt a slight stinging sensation as the liquid moistened his eyelids, eyebrows, nose, and cheeks. With the brush, Butterfield sprinkled the white powder evenly across the moistened area. “You will quickly
learn this technique, and once applied, your manly-nature will stay on for a ten span.”

  “Ten of what?”

  “Oh, you silly jokester, ten days of course. Most people use rain day to apply their renewed masculinity or femininity.” Butterfield now opened one of the small capped tubes, and exposed a colored roller. She placed that against Ken’s lips and applied decorative colors. “Of, course, if your marks of sexuality should get smudged, or somehow marred, you can always do a revision at any time. Here, now, pucker up. That is a good boy. But, remember what that child said? You never want to look naked?” Butterfield smiled a wide and pretty smile. Her eyes were dancing as she looked at Ken, while putting the finishing touches on his lips.

  “Never look naked? Not even during sex?” Ken laughed.

  “Sex and looking masculine or feminine are different things, you silly boy!” She bopped him on his head, ever so gently, with the now closed tube. “Now, let me just look at you! Yes, that does it. Oh, I am a wonder worker. You are gorgeous, simply gorgeous. Pretty as petunias in full bloom. Sadly, I really must go now.” She turned to leave.

  “May I go outside now?”

  Butterfield turned and crossed her arms, but caressed her painted lips with a single finger, while she tapped her foot. “You look the part, but I think you better stay here a bit more, until your personality is better formed. I still want to school you in etiquette and protocol. Your speech is already accented far too much, that must be adjusted. I have told people you grew up in a distant part of the shell, but that would barely cover over your frequent faux pas. We do not want my handsome man thought of as being a barbarian—not again.”

  “But soon I will be able to leave here?” Ken pleaded.

  “You just study, and prepare, and soon I will take you out in society with me. Do not worry your gorgeous head about anything else. I will take care of it all, and if you play nice, I may even introduce you to the people around the Benefactor. Is that not delicious?” Butterfield turned to go. “So, sweet-one, I will be back in a day or two and see how you are progressing. The monitors tell me you are much better at self-care, now.”

  “I could come with you now, and you could show me how to socialize,” Ken tried again. “That way I could learn from watching your example, and could model my behavior after the master, you!”

  She stroked his cheek. “Eagerness might be a positive trait in some situations, but here, you need to just behave, and do as you are told. Be my good boy, and be patient. All will come in due time.” Kissing the top of his head, she quickly left. Ken caught a glimpse of the energy weapon which was under the folds of her robes as she turned. That dissuaded him from seeking to force his way outside as the door opened. He vividly recalled her deadly proficiency with the weapon.

  Walking into the lavatory, Ken pulled off the robes, and put his RAM suit back on. The billowy robes were almost too light-weight, and the way they wafted around him was unfamiliar and clumsy. His feet were especially pleased to slip back into the support the RAM suit’s shoes offered. He pulled out the shaving kit and used the mirror to look at his face. “Now, I look like some jester from before the Great Event. White painted face and glowing lips! But maybe it will serve as camouflage should I ever escape from here.”

  Just then he heard a knock on his door. That was unusual, as Butterfield always just came in, so he carefully went to the door. This time, the nine-section color control pad was illuminated brightly. He entered the code Butterfield had given him, and the door hissed open. Standing before him was a blue automacube. In its gripper was a paper. A mechanical voice came from the machine, “Your tools are in the shell of Ida. Depart now.”

  Ken was uncertain how to proceed. He reached over and took the paper, and on it was a diagram of the biome. The automacube rolled into the doorway and prevented the door from shutting. Then its voice came on again, “Gather whatever things you need, and depart now.”

  Stepping back into the studio, ken quickly threw the robes over the top of his RAM suit. It only took a bit of adjustment, and they covered nearly all of him, except the very bottoms of his pants legs, and his shoes. Those areas were visible. Nonetheless, the robes did conceal much of his RAM suit. He then grabbed the conservation slate, some food items which he had in the kitchen area, and what few utensils there were, and found pockets in the robes for those. The robes had a surprising number of pockets, which did not show to the outside, and Ken realized how Butterfield had carried the items she did, like her energy weapon. He wondered what all she had in her arsenal of tools.

  “You must depart now,” the blue machine repeated.

  As Ken walked out of the doorway, the automacube rolled back on its six drive wheels, and spun about. Taking the elevator to the ground level, Ken prepared to face some kind of opposition, but there was no one else in the elevator, and the nearest people paid him no attention as he briskly walked away from the tower. The automacube rolled away at high speed.

  “I am outside the tower now, and on my way,” Ken said by way of informing Kimberly.

  “Janae has found a way out of her predicament just moments ago,” Kimberly replied.

  “If only we could talk directly.” He looked at the map in his hand and grasped the general direction which was indicated. Surprisingly, it was not back toward the nearest wall, where he had come, but was across the expanse of the biome.

  And so, Ken walked along the paved path. The sky tube shone down on the biome, but he could tell it was beginning to fade into the twilight-time of dusk. He had not really observed the biome except from elevated vantage points like the isolation room, or the studio. Now that he was outside in the biome, it felt vastly larger, despite him walking at ground level.

  After again consulting the paper map, Ken carefully folded it and placed it into the pockets of his robes. He knew the general direction he would have to go, and seeing no one else holding anything which resembled the paper, he felt conspicuous. He knew that the next major thing he would encounter was that place marked on the map as the Grand River.

  As he walked, he considered speaking again to Kimberly, but that too would be problematic. He was fairly certain that if he was heard babbling to himself, he would draw attention and so he walked onward in silence. Reaching a junction where several paths came together, the dusk was become more of a nighttime. Chiding himself, he stopped and considered which way to go, for it was too dark to consult his paper map, and he had not studied it enough to recall which path led in the proper direction. It had all seemed easy, when he was basking in the thrill of the escape. The map was small, and he had thought the route looked like a simple winding line, but from the path, it was anything but clear. Ken heard strange, unfamiliar sounds, which he thought of as chirps, grunts, whistles, croaks, clicks, peeps, clucks, yelps, barks, and coughs. None of them sounded human, and they echoed from all around him. Things fluttered overhead, and he was reminded of the flying animal which had been on his patio. He wondered if any of the flying things would attack a person. He wished he had one of Willie’s pistols, the ones Janae had called revengers.

  Glancing around and seeing no one nearby, he risked making a comment, “I seem to have lost my way, in the dark of the biome.” He thought that was something anyone could possibly say to himself at night. Yet, then he second-guessed himself and considered how someone who lived in the biome would not get lost.

  “Ken, I am unable to assist you, much. Janae is in hallways and corridors in a different section of the Trailblazer, and you are lost in the biome. Consider the sky tube. You have said it runs lengthwise, and if so, are you able to use it as a guide, or reference point?” Kimberly the AI asked. “I have no other suggestions to offer.”

  He looked around, and spotted some distant lights, as well as the illumination which came from the windows in the forest-covered towers. It was not enough light to read, but it was something. Straining to look at the ceiling, far far overhead, he could barely make out a tiny streak of gray which he assumed was t
he nighttime sky tube. In his time in isolation, as well as the times in the studio apartment, he had noted that not every nighttime was identical in darkness. He decided to head toward a light source he could see along the pathway.

  Following the path as it wound its way eventually to that light source, he saw it was a single-story structure with an open top. Lights were set on poles rising from the sides of the building. Those lights shone down into the center of that structure. Ken wrestled with going toward a light source, or heading off into the darkness. Thinking to himself that the darkness held unseen dangers, while the lighted place was probably occupied by people, he chose the light source.

  The closer he got, the more he doubted his decision, yet he had to find a way to read his map. A group of people unexpectedly came up behind him and he was caught up in a raucous crowd. They seemed to appear from nowhere.

  “To the ring! To the ring!” the mob was yelling as several hands clasped Ken on the shoulders and arms. He pulled away, but those hands were replaced by others, and some were patting him on the back.