Withûr We

by Matthew Bruce Alexander

  An interstellar trip is accomplished in three stages: acceleration, hyperspace and deceleration. The Heim-Droescher Drive converts the photons of electromagnetism into gravitophotons, carriers of one of the three forces of gravity. This gravitational force moves the ship without propellant. After a period of acceleration, the gravitophotons combine with gravitons to reduce the mass potential of the ship, but since momentum must be conserved, the reduction of mass is accompanied by a concomitant increase in velocity. With enough of a mass reduction, the speed of the ship goes past the speed of light, at which point the vessel is forced into hyperspace and the second stage begins. Finally, the HD Drive is cut, the mass of the ship increases, bringing the velocity down, and the ship falls out of hyperspace.

  The optimum amount of time spent in stages one and two depends on the length of the trip. The longer the trip, the greater the benefit of a prolonged acceleration. For a trip between planets in the same system, a few hours of acceleration, followed by mere minutes in hyperspace and a few more hours of deceleration will make for the shortest trip. For a journey between a planet and its moon, the hyperspace jump is not even used. For interstellar trips, acceleration of the equivalent of one g of gravity was the norm, but Alistair chose a slightly higher acceleration, shortening their trip by nearly a week. After about a month, they reduced their mass potential and slipped into hyperspace, going at about a quarter the speed of a standard interstellar liner.

  The oppressiveness of the void was omnipresent, like the soft, constant hum of the engine that may recede to the back of the mind but leaves a residue in its awareness. Under their feet was a solid floor, to the touch indistinguishable from a mountain of granite and yet it seemed a tenuous thing keeping them from floating free in the nothingness. The temperature was pleasant, but every view through a window was a reminder that a mere few inches held back an implacable frigidity.

  Confined, lonely, isolated, one mechanical malfunction removed from death, they did what most humans would do, what they needed to do: they grew close. This happened by degrees as Layla realized Alistair would not bite, then that he could be civil, even pleasant, and finally affectionate after his own fashion. She first stopped casting suspicious glances in his direction. Next, she exchanged words with him. Before long she found he could make her laugh, not from a genuine joke such as a comedian might tell, but from the generous laughter friends give each other but which strangers cannot elicit. Finally, she could stay in the same room with him when Gregory left and not feel uncomfortable.

  There was very little to do during the journey. The cockpit was open, but due to its disconcerting view, Layla avoided it which meant Gregory avoided it. Alistair would occasionally go there to check on the systems or to lean back in the pilot’s seat and stare at the stars. With the cockpit door closed, it was a dark room illuminated only a little by the red and blue glows coming from buttons, knobs and displays. Sometimes he turned off even these lights to allow himself to be surrounded by the brilliant points of light which, in space, do not sparkle.

  Alistair’s bedroom, which became Gregory and Layla’s bedroom too, was used only infrequently when they were awake. With only one couch, they fell into the habit of sleeping in different shifts. Gregory and Layla slept together, and afterwards Alistair slept by himself. The third of the day they were all awake they spent wherever they pleased, but when one was sleeping they mainly kept to the hallway. Alistair used it for exercise; Gregory and Layla were less active and usually sat together, talking away the time. Sometimes they strolled around the circle, and each day they made love and made sure to take an hour doing it.

  The engine room below had a small cooking area and a freezer in which a grown man could fit. Next to it was a small area with a drain and a faucet with a hose. Though intended for machinery, it worked as a shower and all the water they used passed into the drain and was cleaned and recycled. The area was poorly lit but clean, without the stink and stains of burnt oil and only a soft, permeating hum for noise. The engine was a hemisphere roughly twenty feet in diameter, though many wires, tubes, crevices and such marred its roundness. The HD Drive the Singulatarians installed looked like some protruding mechanical growth. There was a blue light leaking out of the engine from inside, and it faintly pulsed in perfect synchrony with the slow rhythm of the hum. There were other lights in the engine room, but other than the ones above the kitchen they rarely turned them on, so the entire subfloor was usually in shadow with splashes of azure.

  The first few days they ate well, dining on fresh fruit, bread, cheeses, eggs and meats, the finest Srillium could produce. After that, they resorted to the freezer and the meats stored there and, with bread they baked themselves, got along for another few weeks. After that, they were left with dried fruits, salty meats and tough, unleavened bread which by monotony quickly made eating a chore. A few months into the trip, when tedium had long ago set in, they found mold on some of the food. This they could at first brush off, but later an increasing amount of food was inedible. Layla and Gregory were alarmed, but Alistair assured them they had enough food despite some of it going bad. A second bedroom was cleared of supplies as they and the mold consumed more and more food. This allowed Gregory and Layla their own bedroom, and when they moved into it, they synchronized sleeping schedules.

  One day, while they sat in Alistair’s bedroom, in the midst of a lull in a wandering conversation, the lights of the spacecraft turned red and blinked on and off. Gregory and Layla were alarmed, but Alistair was unconcerned. Rising from his chair, he made his way to the cockpit with his two friends in tow. On one of the displays a timer was counting down to zero. Flipping a couple switches and turning a couple knobs, he kept his eye on it until it reached zero, at which point he flipped open a small lid and pressed the button underneath. In response, the ship popped out of hyperspace, rotated about so its bottom was facing where the top had just been, and began to decelerate.

  “The first leg is almost done,” said Alistair, and that was the end of the excitement for that day.

  They stopped the deceleration weeks later when they slowed to thirty thousand miles per hour, a snail’s pace. Alistair turned off the navigating computer and took control of the ship. They were still in interstellar space with nothing to see but stars, but on the metal wall acting as both windshield and computer screen there were some readouts and he steered according to these.

  “Strap yourself into a seat, Layla,” he said.

  The young woman pulled down a panel on the wall behind the pilot seat and revealed the other side to be a chair. No sooner did she strap herself in than Alistair began an intense deceleration. Since they were moving backwards now, the deceleration drove them into their seats, and this they endured for about ten minutes. Their breathing sped up and Gregory, blinking and searching the screen, saw they were moving at four thousand miles per hour. Alistair rotated the ship along its north/south axis so they were moving forwards instead of downwards. He then initiated a gentler deceleration and Gregory watched as the velocity lowered into the three thousands.

  On the computer screen/windshield there was now a blinking red dot towards which Alistair flew. For a little while this was all they saw, but gradually a form appeared and grew larger so he turned the dot off. The shape on their screen was something like an auto’s tire but measuring a quarter mile in diameter and a tenth of a mile in height. Myriad lights, some on the outside, others shining through windows great and small, illuminated the space station. They shivered with excitement as they approached this island in the middle of an infinite ocean.

  Like remoras around a shark, many small craft skimmed over its surface, some on their way to a docking bay, others carrying workmen bound for repair duty. They passed such a work crew engaged in extra-vehicular operations as they entered the docking bay to which they were directed. A few larger spacecraft, too large to be accommodated by the docking bays, were clustered outside, their passengers and crew having taken ferries inside. Alistair eventually se
t the craft down on a landing pad, and then all three rushed to the exit, yearning for some time off the confining craft in which they spent the last year. As Alistair hit the button to lower the ramp and open the door, he reached behind a panel in the wall and pulled out a small sack that jingled. Then the exit was open and they raced down the ramp to stand on the metal docking bay floor.

  The artificial gravity was set to match Earth’s, one g. There was a difference in smells, the docking bay having an at once metallic and sweaty one, distinct contrast to the odor of their own vessel they long ago ceased to notice. Layla even wrinkled her nose in aversion.

  Since Aldra was an outlying colony, they had been making their way to the edge of colonized space and thus to less trafficked areas. The docking bay was not bustling with the same activity that buzzed in other space stations, but it was yet filled with the clangs and pounding of blue collar men at work. A man, more interested in his hand-held computer/clipboard than in the new arrivals, approached them with the swift, bold strides of a busy worker. His skin was brown and his features a mix of many races. Giving them a glance and a frown at their primitive clothing, he made his best guess as to which language to use.

  “You have your docking fee?”

  His English was American and flawless. Alistair held up his pouch and jingled it.

  “Minted where?” The man now stood next to them and came to a halt.

  “Private mint. New one. It’s a gold and copper alloy.”

  The man typed a couple things into his clipboard. “We don’t recognize numismatic value unless it’s from an established mint. Just metal content.”

  “I understand.”

  “Have you posted bond?”

  “No.”

  “We’ll have to search and catalogue your ship, then. Unless you want to post bond.”

  “Not this time.”

  “You a subscriber?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to?”

  Alistair considered it a moment. “I’ll look into it.”

  The man typed for a moment more and then yanked a plastic card out of the clipboard and handed it to Alistair.

  “Take it to that guy,” he said with a nod towards a man seated at a desk near the docking bay exit, and then moved past them.

  “Subscribe to what?” asked Gregory as they moved towards the indicated worker.

  “They send out rescue ships to sweep the area, looking for stranded spacecraft,” Alistair explained. “If you subscribe ahead of time, the rescue is free. We could also give them our route before we leave so they are aware of the need to run through that area.”

  “What’s the bond for?” asked Layla.

  “If you post bond they let you through without searches to look for dangerous materials. If they find anything objectionable they are going to confiscate it.”

  “Do we have anything objectionable?”

  “No. But some smugglers carry things that explode. They won’t let it in here unless possible damages are paid for in advance.”

  Having arrived at the exit, Alistair presented the card to the bored worker, slouched in his seat. The man took the card and slipped it into a slot in his computer.

  “Not posting bond?” he asked as he looked at the information on his 3D display, never bothering to sit up straighter.

  Alistair shook his head.

  “How long are you staying?”

  Alistair looked at his companions, and Gregory and Layla, looking at each other, shrugged.

  “Three days,” he finally said.

  “How are you paying?”

  He laid the jingling pouch down on the counter and the man overturned it to get a look at the coins. One by one, he placed them on a small pad where they were scanned.

  “Three days’ docking plus a search.”

  When he had taken enough, he typed in a code on a small safe at the edge of his reach, moving only those parts of his body that were absolutely necessary, and dumped the coins in it. He fished around for a moment before depositing a few silver coins on the counter. Alistair took the silver coins and, along with the remaining gold ones, dumped the disks back into his pouch and put the pouch in his pocket. Finally, the man handed the card back to them.

  “Enjoy your stay,” he said without enthusiasm.

  Passing through the docking bay exit, they came into a dimly lit open mall whose ceiling, hundreds of feet above them, was the ceiling of the space station. Across from them, at a distance of perhaps a rugby field, was a grandiose escalator which, splitting in two, swept up in two spirals past the many landings of the many stories of the station. These stories had railings at the edge and were subdivided into several hallways whose great width made the ceiling, from afar, seem low though in reality it was twelve feet high. A great multitude could have fit in that mall, though the current crowd numbered hardly a hundred, and many of the establishments along the edges were closed and dark. There was little noise apart from some shuffling feet, a couple hushed conversations and a bit of music coming from some bar or other.

  They went to the nearest open bar, a shoebox open at one end, and sat at the counter. Only one other patron sat inside and he cradled a beer in his lap while, leaning back in his chair, he stared at a 3D display on the center of his table. The only bartender was sweeping the floor as they entered, but he dropped his broom and stood behind the counter, greeting them with a nod and awaiting their order.

  “I’ll take a beer,” said Alistair.

  “Water,” said Layla.

  “Do you have any wine?” asked Greg.

  “No wine.”

  “Gin and tonic?”

  “No gin. No tonic.”

  “What do you have?”

  “Beer.”

  “Beer, then.”

  The man set about filling the orders.

  “We need to get some new clothes,” said Alistair.

  The bartender shook his head as he filled a mug. “Not here. Not now.”

  “No clothing stores?”

  The man snorted. “Ain’t gonna be anything soon enough.” The man set a mug down in front of Alistair. “This whole place’ll be shut down less than a year. Way things are goin’.” He set a glass of water in front of Layla and then ran his gaze up and down the three of them. “I agree you need new clothes, though.”

  “What’s the matter with the way things are going?” asked Greg.

  This made him pause as he reached for another mug. “How long you been out there?”

  They looked at each other almost guiltily, as if a professor had demanded an answer they should have known.

  “Earth’s gone.”

  They froze, as if shocked by electricity. Knowing Earth might have been the target of the Kaldisian Juggernaut did little to lessen the impact of the certainty. The bartender had already done his mourning, however, and without sympathy or remorse he filled one last mug and set it in front of Gregory.

  “It’s still there, obviously,” he amended, “but I doubt too many people are living there.”

  So saying, the bartender left them and returned to his sweeping. Alistair immediately thought of Santiago and the son he was trying to find. If Santi’s ship was as fast as his tortoise, which he doubted, he would still be far away from home.

  “Good luck, amigo mio,” he whispered.

  This sentiment, given voice, provoked his two companions to raise their glasses, and they shared the most solemn of toasts. Afterwards, Gregory and Layla spoke a little, but Alistair said nothing. Instead, he stared out across the mall. Standing up, he mumbled something indistinct, and left. Gregory and Layla watched him cross the mall’s open court and it soon became obvious he was going to a brothel.

  “Oh,” said Layla, a little surprised. “I didn’t think…” she shook her head and let the sentence trail off.

  “Didn’t think what?”

  “Giselle said he was a virgin before he met her. I’m just surprised he would go there.”

  Gregory shrugged. “O
nce you’ve had it… It’s been a year. And it’s going to be another year before we get back.”

  Only after they went through several cups did Alistair return, and he came back with the air of satisfaction and pleasant fatigue a man has after a workout at the gym. He said nothing but merely pulled back a chair at the table his companions had moved to and collapsed into it.

  “Did you get it worked out?” asked Layla with a raised eyebrow. Alistair blushed.

  They sat for only a few more minutes, enough time for Alistair to have another cold beer, and then they got a room to stay in. It consisted of a bed only just large enough to fit the three of them, a bare linoleum floor of the same sort found in the hall outside, nondescript white walls and ceiling, a single chair in the corner and a globe of light partially recessed into the ceiling. The bed was a thin mattress with no sheets or blankets, and Alistair was forced to make a trip back to their ship to get some. Being tired, and Gregory and Layla being the greater part of inebriated, they did not go back out once Alistair returned. One blanket they laid as a protective layer between them and the mattress, another they used to cover themselves in a station that, upon ceasing activity, they noticed was a bit chilly.

  They had no way of knowing how long they slept. The station had no day and night, and it made little sense to effect such a phenomenon in a place without consensus as to what constituted a proper length for a day, or what point in that day it ought to be when people arrived. In the past, the station was brightly lit, a cheery and active inn for the weary space traveler. Now, with docking revenues declining, it was kept in a somber but less expensive twilight.

  After waking, Alistair checked on the ship and looked for provisions. It turned out food had risen in price such that, considering he had lengthened their journey to go to the station, he might have been better off buying more food on Srillium and going straight to Aldra. Nevertheless, it was preserved with more advanced techniques and they stocked the rooms with a greater variety of foods and spices. Along the way, he had compiled a list of items they found wanting, and some of these he found shopping around the station. Despite the bartender’s pessimism, they did find clothing, though not much and for exorbitant prices. He also found products that had not occurred to him during the trek but which struck him as desirable once spotted. Not least among these were some soil beds, twelve of which he installed in the circular hallway of his spacecraft. Over each soil bed there was a lamp designed to propitiate photosynthesis, and he, Layla and Gregory spent a few hours preparing their garden. Alistair also spent a large sum of gold in purchasing a special incubator. Fed with their own waste products, some phials of amino acids and proteins, and primed with the proper DNA, the incubator could grow body parts over a period of a few weeks. Alistair purchased lamb and bovine DNA and looked forward to fresher food during the second leg of their journey. An impressive rack of liquor and wine also found its way into the ship’s engine room, an expense which further depleted his now dwindling gold stores but which made the prospect of twelve more months on board seem less unpleasant.