“Nobody gets sick on board the Astron, they just grow old. Do you want to blame me for that?”
“We work at many tasks,” Noah sighed. “Be patient with us, Sparrow. And with yourself.” He meant well but I was too newly cynical to appreciate it.
The next time period Pipit told me that I had been reassigned to Exploration. I was to report there immediately.
There was nothing to pack; my waistcloth was my sole possession. I hesitated outside the hatchway, Pipit beside me, not knowing how to say good-bye. I hadn’t spoken to her since I had discovered the real Astron and accused her of deliberately deceiving me. I recalled too late how she had probably saved my life. I flushed and turned away; I wanted to thank her but a seventeen-year-old’s shyness had made me mute.
Pipit was smarter and more compassionate than I was. She said, “I hope your memories come back, Sparrow,” kissed me lightly on the cheek, and ducked back inside the shadow screen. I was left with my apologies dying on my lips.
It was the end of a shift and the passageways were filled with crewmen hurrying to their living cubicles or to the various shops. They were naked except for their waistcloths, color-coded for the division in which they worked, and their instrument belts. Like the caduceuses worn by Noah and Abel, their specialty insignia were stenciled on their shoulders. A few of them called out to me, but the children playing in the side corridors stared in silence as I drifted by.
I was a man without a past, a freak, and everybody knew it. I anticipated being pitied or patronized and was prepared for it.
I wasn’t prepared for the reality.
Exploration was three levels down and I slipped in unnoticed. The first time I had seen the compartment, it had looked neat and scrupulously clean, the equipment racked in tidy rows against the bulkheads or strapped down in military files along the deck:
Everything was still tightly secured but now the compartment reeked of age, the dust hard-packed in the corners, the ancient exploration suits still holding the shape of the crew members who had worn them last. It was already crowded with tech assistants like myself and the stink in the air was a thick stench of sweat and herbal perfume.
Ophelia had placed a star chart on the bulkhead and stood over it, pointing to various areas as she talked. Her bored audience hung from cluttered work tables or bulkhead rings like so many bats in a cave. I pushed my way past racks of ancient life-support gear and small heaps of motor parts covered with a dense frosting of dust and grease. There was an abandoned Rover in the corner, gaping wounds showing where it had been cannibalized for parts. I drifted over and sprawled out on its one good seat.
I stole a quick glance at Crow and his friend who had been with him on board the Lander, both perched nearby. Neither had noticed me. A few meters away, in another Rover lacking both wheels and a rear seat, a tech assistant my age dutifully stared at Ophelia with the unblinking gaze of one who is sound asleep. Next to me, hidden by a row of ancient exploration suits, a young machinist’s mate explored other interests with a girl, both of them oblivious of my stare.
The crewman who had once wished me dead, and who had spent hours in sick bay studying me, slouched against the far bulkhead. I would have recognized him by his pale skin alone, skin so fine and free of hair that you could see the twitching of the individual muscles beneath. He chewed on a fingernail, ignoring Ophelia and watching me. I looked away but I could feel the hair on the back of my neck ripple.
I forced myself to forget the others and concentrated hard on what Ophelia was saying. There would be landing drills on the hangar deck, equipment familiarization, required attendance in the rotating gymnasium so we could adapt to a gravity-plus environment, and an endless list of lectures on possible planetary flora and fauna.
All of this was would take up a major fraction of our lives, Ophelia assured us. We were coming up on Aquinas, which had at least one planet in the CHZ—the continuously habitable zone surrounding the primary. As we approached it and the spectrometers picked up more information, the drills would become increasingly intense and specific. The estimated time of arrival was expected to be eight months.
Eight months!
Too soon, I thought, startled. Even traveling at near light speed since leaving Seti IV, it was still too soon. Planetary systems didn’t occur that close together…
“That’s all,” Ophelia suddenly announced. “Same time, same place two shifts from now. Sleepers will draw extra duty—your names will be posted.”
There was a collective groan. My fellow techs broke for the corridor, heading for their living quarters, the gymnasium, or the division mess.
“Duncan,” a voice suddenly said. An older, thin-faced engineer had drifted up to pump my hand. “Gannet,” a young woman offered, with just the right amount of reserve and interest. Next was Roc, a chubby electronics expert with a nervous smile, then Crow’s cocky little friend with the crooked grin and the cracked voice, who slapped my back, laughing when I jumped. “Loon—glad you’re back, Sparrow.” He had been a lot more restrained on board the Lander but that was when he had thought I was dying.
Most of the others filed up after him, with the pale-skinned crewman last in line. He was taller than I by a centimeter or two and looked in his early twenties. His skin had an odor that was vaguely pleasant, like the spices Pipit had crushed with her fingers. His pale eyes were steady and open, though I still couldn’t read what was behind them. He shook my hand before I could pull it back.
“I’m glad you survived,” he said. “My name is Thrush.” His voice was husky and smooth as heavy silk.
I stared, uncertain how to react, while he searched my face, reading the state of my health with more accuracy than Abel ever had. I was still physically weak and psychologically vulnerable, and he knew it. He touched me lightly on the shoulder, then turned and dove down the passageway. A few meters away, he twisted into a graceful somersault, glancing back to flash a broad smile.
“Welcome back, Sparrow!” The words trailed after him like a ribbon of velvet.
I was still staring when behind me Ophelia said sharply, “Sparrow.”
I grabbed a ring and spun around. Ophelia’s eyes were narrow and faintly hostile, her voice brusque. “You’ve got a lot of catching up to do. You’ll have to do most of it on your own but Tybalt will help you and so will I. If you need assistance, ask—you’ll be disciplined if you don’t.”
It was more of a command than an offer. She didn’t wait for an answer. I watched her as she left, her muscular legs kicking hard against the bulkhead when she rounded a corner. She was almost a matron but still an impressive woman, one that I admired in the same way you might admire a beautiful painting or a piece of sculpture.
Only Loon and Crow were left. I guessed that Crow had been assigned to keep an eye on me and suddenly felt irritated. I didn’t need a keeper or a bodyguard.
“Ophelia asked you to watch out for me, didn’t she?”
He looked hurt.
“I volunteered, Sparrow. And it’s not to watch out for you, it’s to show you around.”
I recalled his clumsy concern for me on board the Lander and felt ashamed.
“I don’t know where I live,” I admitted.
His smile was quick. “Friends?”
I nodded and felt the chip slide off my shoulder. He laughed, hit me on the arm, then turned and shot down the corridor, followed by Loon. I sailed after them, leapfrogging over their shoulders when I caught up and almost panicking when Crow nearly collided with the metal deck. He caught a ring to slow himself and we continued to chase each other down three levels and over two decks, ignoring the annoyed shouts from crewmen in the more dimly lit passageways where some of the glow tubes had burned out. As adept as Crow and Loon were in flying through the corridors, I surprised myself by being even better.
They finally braked to a halt in front of a small, shadow-screened compartment halfway down a short corridor. “This is ours,” Crow panted. “You’re next door. Come on in
.”
I followed them through the shadow screen into a cubicle much like the ones I had seen before. There was a worn plastic pad sealed to the deck, a narrow ledge that jutted out from the bulkhead to hold an ancient palm terminal, a wider ledge that served as a table, and two string hammocks that were stowed on hooks next to a small locker. On the other side of the locker was an exercise rig of springs and cables. Judging by Crow’s arms and shoulders, he used it often.
The opposite bulkhead was covered with a large foam model of an Earth-like canyon and above it a slate painting of a stream and a forest clearing. Both were exquisitely done.
Loon rummaged around in the locker for a battered harmonica and settled in a corner, hooking his feet through a floor ring. He watched me, curious, while he quietly played scales. He was a little more reserved than Crow—wary of me and protective of his friend.
Crow used the end of his waistcloth to wipe the sweat from his chest. “Take off your eye mask, Sparrow, I want to show you something.”
I hesitated. I had been lied to once, I didn’t want to be lied to again.
Crow shrugged.
“You want to wear your mask forever, go right ahead—but you’ll go crazy looking at the same things all your life.” He searched for the right words, trying to make me understand what Pipit hadn’t been able to. “You’re not on a sailing ship, Sparrow. If you want to see something different, you can’t stare at the sky and watch the clouds change shape.” He grinned and patted the terminal. “Besides, you’ve never seen it and I want to show it off.”
Loon put down his harmonica, expectant. I unsnapped my mask. The falsie for the cubicle was a shock, though the first thing that struck me was the low murmur of music.
“It took us a long time,” Crow said proudly.
The compartment was now a spacious room with huge windows overlooking a square two stories below. The windows were open, “sunlight” streaming in from a recessed glow tube and lace curtains moving in a breeze that really wasn’t there. It was a nice touch. The painting of the clearing and the model of the canyon still hugged the far wall but now there were colorful tiles on the deck, an eating nook where the table ledge was, and a recessed pit holding a bed whose level was the same as that of the deck mat. There were overstuffed chairs, a swinging sofa suspended from the overhead in the same position as the hammock, and a large screen in the corner, alive with swirling colors.
They could sleep on the mat or in their hammocks, eat off the table or use the screen as a terminal for the ship’s computer. There was little they might do that would spoil the illusion. I followed Crow over to the “windows.”
“They called it St. Mark’s Square,” he said, filled with enthusiasm for his own creation. “Don’t ask me who St. Mark was.”
The plaza below was thick with flocks of birds and with pedestrians threading their way past them. Just beyond were an ancient bell tower and a canal with small boats bobbing on the choppy waves. Each boat carried several passengers and had a boatman manning an oar in the stern. In the far distance, several rocket trails marked the location of the local spaceport.
Crow had even included background sounds of birds pecking their jerky way over the stones of the square, the distant rumble of the rockets, and the muted murmur of people talking.
“Loon did the sound,” Crow added.
“It fits,” I said.
Loon winked at me. “I didn’t think he’d mention it.”
I turned to Crow, accusing. “The two of you had help.”
Crow nodded, pleased by my doubts. “We copied it from an image in the computer’s memory matrix.”
He leaned out of one of the open windows and I felt a touch of vertigo before I realized he had programmed his fantasy wall a dozen centimeters in front of the real bulkhead. His movements were practiced, the illusion perfect.
“I keep wondering who owned the boats and who traveled in them,” he mused. “Or if they regularly collected the bird droppings and sent them to Reduction. I think they must have, don’t you?”
I had no idea. Crow sat on the window ledge and for a moment I thought the compartment had gravity.
“I wish I had lived then—and there,” he said slowly. He waved at the scene outside the window. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
He was homesick for a planet he had never seen, a city that no longer existed. He stared out the window for a moment longer, then “slid” off the ledge and swung into the hammock/sofa in one practiced movement. It wasn’t just that the falsie was a work of art, it was how he moved inside it.
He curled up in the hammock, laced his fingers behind his head and looked at me with a face that was a study in innocence.
“If there’s anything I can tell you, Sparrow, ask me. I won’t lie to you.”
The moment he said he wouldn’t, I knew that he would. With the best of intentions and for my own good. And because, for some reason, he was oddly anxious to please.
I hugged my chest and floated with the air currents. “You and I were good friends, weren’t we?”
He nodded in confirmation.
“What was my job—what did I do?” I asked.
“You worked in Exploration with Ophelia, myself, and the others. Planetary profiles, equipment checks, team monitor for drills—that sort of thing. You were pretty good at all of them.”
Which wasn’t really what I wanted to know from him. I’d find out soon enough what my job description was.
“What made me different?” I said slowly. “What made me… me?”
He was suddenly hesitant, trying to translate feelings into words—or trying to figure out what was safe to say and what wasn’t.
“You liked to play chess—you used to play with Noah. You liked all kinds of games. You read a lot, you were hardworking, sometimes you were funny. And you were easy to be around.”
He listed more of my virtues, but there was nothing personal, nothing of substance. Did I belch after I ate, did I talk in my sleep, did I wait too long between showers, had we ever raided Hydroponics together? Who hated me and what had I done to deserve it? And if that wasn’t the right question, then who loved me? And why?
Maybe Crow and I hadn’t known each other very well after all. But I knew that we had.
When he finished, I said, “We didn’t find anything on Seti IV, did we?”
By now both Crow and Loon were sweaty-faced and I wondered if they would contradict each other if I asked them the same questions separately.
“On Seti IV? No, we didn’t find anything, Sparrow.”
How long had we stayed? I wondered. Had there been any hint that life had touched the planet, if only for a moment? I could ask Crow but I couldn’t trust what he might tell me.
“My mother—she never came to sick bay.”
“She died years ago,” Crow said quickly.
Besides the unexpected sense of loss, there was the suspicion that he had answered too fast, that perhaps he had rehearsed his answers with Noah.
“And my father?”
“Biological?” He looked genuinely surprised. “None of us know our fathers, Sparrow—you’ve forgotten that.” His voice suddenly caught and he turned his face toward the windows so I couldn’t see his eyes. “Your father is… whoever takes an interest.”
It was very quiet in the compartment now, the only noise that of the crowds and the squawking birds in the square below.
“Somebody must have taken an interest,” I said desperately.
“A lot of people did.” Then, even more hesitantly: “There was another casualty on Seti IV. Laertes. Volcanic eruption, the hot gases cooked him in his suit.” Crow must have been there when it happened, but he said it with all the emotion of a man who had memorized it.
“He was my father?”
“He took an interest.”
I clipped the mask around my face, the plastic covering my eyes and curling into my ears. The windows and the fluttering curtains disappeared, the city below vanished, the murmurs
of the birds and the people stopped. The three of us were alone in a tiny cubicle with sweating bulkheads.
“I want to see where I live,” I said quietly.
Crow pushed off the ledge and disappeared through the shadow screen behind him. I followed, finding myself in another small compartment not that much different from his own. A table and a mat, a hammock and a locker and half a dozen waistcloths tied to a bulkhead peg.
Plus a bookcase with twenty or more volumes.
I gently broke the slight pull of the magnetic headband that held one of them to the shelf and opened it, the plastic “paper” feeling greasy and fragile in my hands. There were volumes of fiction, more of essays and history, a few of poetry, and some technical manuals that were close to crumbling.
Books were enormously costly and I wondered how I had ever acquired them. I glanced around the compartment again but the only thing remarkable about it was the books. Still, there was the indefinable air of somebody having lived there before me. It was difficult to accept the irony. The compartment was haunted by myself.
Crow wasn’t sure how to judge my silence. “The division has its own mess, Sparrow. We usually eat together. If you want me to show you—”
“I’m not hungry,” I said in a distant voice.
“Friends?” he repeated. There was an agony of uncertainty in his voice.
I turned cold.
“Privacy, Crow.”
He looked wounded and vanished through the screen.
“You’re a fool!” Loon cried. “He would die for you and so would I!” Then he, too, slipped through the shadow screen.
I was seventeen years old, I held grudges, and I knew Crow had lied to me about my father and my mother and even about myself.
All of them had lied to me, I thought sullenly, starting with Pipit.
****
I read for ten minutes, then slipped quietly out of my hammock and went exploring—I wanted to see the ship for myself.
The corridors were almost deserted; those few crewmen floating through them acknowledged me with a nod or ignored me altogether. There was a glow tube still on in Exploration but the compartment was empty. I pushed past it into one of the long residence passageways, listening to the faint sounds of slumber or the quiet hum of conversation from the other side of the shadow screens. By the time I reached the end of it, I was having second thoughts about my tour. I was tired and I wanted nothing more than to curl up in my hammock and drift off to sleep.
The Dark Beyond the Stars Page 4