These provisions were bought, loaded and installed over a period of two days, or at least two intervals between sleeping. During this time, their engine was given a tune up, though Alistair lacked the funds to upgrade their velocity. After these preparations were complete, they decided to extend their stay, an extension which itself was extended until they spent nearly two weeks on the station. An hour each day was given to watering and tending their new garden, and they made sure to cultivate a leg of lamb in the incubator, but most of their waking time was spent in recreation. The station had tennis courts and bowling alleys, a couple dance clubs, even a threedy theater, all of them in shoddy condition and nearly empty but they were wonderful for the three escaped convicts. Had Alistair no concern for his supply of coins, and had they not felt the lingering urge to finish their journey, they might have spent a couple months dining and drinking, shopping and playing, with Gregory and Layla visiting dance clubs and Alistair visiting brothels in the station’s last weeks in operation.
Eventually, they reached the end. Alistair tucked away a reserve of gold and silver coins in a safe built into the wall of the ship, leaving a few more for their enjoyment. When these ran out, they left. The prospect of being cooped up for another year was daunting, but their new supplies and purchases heartened them enough that they boarded in a mood that, if not ecstatic, was at least optimistic. They took positions in the cockpit, and when they received word, Alistair conducted the ship out of the docking bay and back into space. Moving at a slow acceleration, he rotated his craft so they moved backwards and, in the dark cockpit, could face the space station as they left. They said nothing, but Layla waved a goodbye to their oasis, and then Alistair turned the ship around and they faced the desert.
Chapter 86
After another deceleration, their interstellar ship came to a near stop within a hundred thousand miles of Aldra. The three pairs of eyes in the cockpit watched it appear and grow. When they were traveling at a mere forty thousand miles per hour, Alistair flipped the ship so what they knew to be the north pole was up and the south down.
“There isn’t much land on Aldra,” commented Layla from her seat in the back of the cockpit.
“Most of the land is on the other side,” Gregory replied. “There’s only one main continent.”
They came around to the night side of the planet as they continued to draw closer, and Alistair brought their speed down to a few thousand miles per hour. The eastern edge of the main continent was peaking into the light, getting brushed by sunshine. The rest was difficult to see, and this disturbed the two men. Many of the familiar population centers were dark; most of the rest, with the exception of Rendral, were reduced in scope.
“Aldra is sick,” said the doctor.
“Avon is completely black,” said Alistair.
“Arcarius has some lights.”
“Not many.”
“What month is it?” asked Layla, who had heard many stories of Arcarius and wondered if the season might explain the dearth of illumination.
“Hell if I know.”
The planet enveloped their view screen and they lost all sense of its spherical shape. As flames licked at their ship, the main continent spread out beyond their vision, and after that they saw only a coast, a channel north of it, and another coast north of that. This unfolded before their eyes as the flames receded and disappeared, and finally they reduced their speed to zero and hovered a couple thousand feet over Alistair and Gregory’s home.
“Should we try to contact someone?” Greg asked.
“There are lights near the mines in the north. Let’s go there.”
He descended until they were a few dozen feet above the tops of the buildings while at the same time moving north. Uncertain what state the planet was in, but not comforted by what he saw so far, he preferred not to alert any hostile authorities to the presence of his ship. Thus far, there was no sign they were being monitored. He found the ruins of a building whose cement floor was intact and whose walls still reached high enough to enclose his craft. Roofless, it made a serviceable landing pad and, after two years speeding through the interstellar void, they touched down on Aldra.
Alistair and Gregory let out a sigh as soon as the ship settled. Unclasping straps, all three rushed to the exit whereupon Alistair lowered the ramp, opened the door, and in the blink of an eye they were out. Gregory breathed deeply and held out his arms, as if drinking in the cool air through his skin.
“It’s late summer. Almost autumn.”
Layla was already holding herself and snuggling up to Gregory. They were far enough north not to hear the ocean’s waves, but the breeze was strong enough to make a soft whoosh, occasionally whistling over the jagged edge of ruined property, a broken wall or shattered window. It was almost pitch black, so Gregory and Layla could see vague shapes but little else. Alistair made a quick scan of the area and decided they were alone and clear to proceed. He unsnapped the holster underneath his jacket and, seeing this, Gregory did likewise with his. Then the trio left the ruined building and went north.
They walked past lifeless buildings and vacant streets. Somewhere along the way, they became sensible to the sounds of machinery which stood out over the Arcarian wind. Not long after, they entered an area of steep incline into which some of the glow of the workmen’s lights filtered. Finally, rounding a bend, they saw a pair of lights on a couple mobile towers shining down so brightly it seemed like afternoon on a cloudless day in the ring of light they made. There was the open maw of a black tunnel, and a vehicle was emerging from it, its motor growling, burdened by equipment it carried in an open bed.
Several workers approached to unload it. On the edge of this activity Alistair spotted an idle worker, dressed in neon orange like the others and wearing a protective helmet. He made his way to the man and gave him a nod when spotted.
“You in the mood to make some money?”
The man looked him up and down and spared a glance for his two companions. A cautious look crept onto his features.
“You’re tin,” he accused.
Drawing forth a few silver coins, he held them out to the man who did not at first react.
“What’s your order?”
“What happened to Oliver Keegan?”
By the look on the worker’s face, it was clear he was keen to ask a few questions of his own, but the silver now in his pocket procured his discretion.
“Nothing, far as I know.”
“He’s leading the rebellion?”
“Naw, he’s putting down the rebellion. Is that all you wanted?”
Alistair only half heard the question because he and Gregory were sharing a look. He turned back to the man.
“I need to see a directory on the Comlat.”
The man grew uncomfortable. “We’re not supposed to—”
“That’s why you’re being paid.”
He hesitated a moment, looking again at his coworkers, none of whom were paying attention. Sighing, he turned and, with a nod of his head, indicated they should follow. He took them to a mobile office set to the side.
“You’ll need a few more coins,” he said as he opened the front door and entered.
Inside, there was a corpulent man sprawled out on a couch and enjoying a cup of something. Alistair gave him only enough regard to toss a few coins in his lap and say, “Keep quiet.”
Startled, he quickly recovered, set his drink down and gathered up the coins, giving the three strangers furtive looks between ogling his money.
Alistair took a seat at the computer while the man he originally bribed kept a lookout at the window. Gregory and Layla came to stand behind him while he typed at the keyboard.
“Marty, get me some of what you got,” said the first worker without looking away from the window.
The second worker, the fat one, gave the first an indignant look but finally, with a groan, got to his feet to prepare a cup. Alistair continued his work.
“Everybody’s in Rendral,” sai
d Gregory as he studied the 3D display.
“This is gonna be quick, right?” asked the first worker.
“We’ll be gone in a minute,” said Alistair.
Marty brought over a steaming cup to the first man and returned to the couch where he turned his attention back to his coins.
“A lot of this is old information,” said Alistair after a bit of quiet.
“Yeah, it doesn’t get updated like it used to,” said the first man and he took a sip from his cup.
“It didn’t get updated all that well before,” said Gregory. “Alistair, look up my sister.”
After a moment, Alistair said, “Still in New Boston.”
“As of five months ago.”
“Doesn’t get updated like before,” said Marty.
Alistair typed in a couple more things and then shut the computer down.
“Gentlemen, thank you for your time.”
“Is there anything else we can help you with?” asked Marty.
“Have a good night,” said Gregory since Alistair was already outside.
The first worker took one more sip, set the glass down and left. Already the trio were several yards away and a minute later they turned a corner and the city’s cadaver swallowed them.
Chapter 87
Alistair had already decided to look far outside the metropolis of Rendral for a place to park the craft when he was accosted over the transmitter by a severe voice demanding to know his destination and his business. Upon delivering a partially honest reply, Alistair was informed that unauthorized craft were not permitted over the city and if he wished to go to Rendral, he would have to dock at a spaceport outside the restricted zone and come in another way. By the time he turned around, there was already an escort of two other craft on their way to meet him. They never caught up to him, though, for they stopped at the edge of the restricted zone and waited until his craft was well on its way to a new destination.
A short while later they touched down in a field that once grew crops but looked like the scene of a recent battle. There were great smoldering gashes in the ground, and it looked as if large chunks of earth had been scooped up and whipped around. Plants were uprooted where they were not mashed into the soil. The other fields around it were generally in better condition and a few were growing crops. The only buildings in the flat expanse of land, broken only occasionally by copses of trees and ditches and dirt roads, were an old farmhouse and three ramshackle barns, one whose roof had collapsed.
Two men, one elderly and one Alistair and Gregory’s age, came outside and met them. They were dressed in the typical rustic style of poor farmers. The old man hobbled a bit and used a cane for support, while the other was hale and hearty but suspicious. Both were sweating profusely and dirt from the fields covered much of their skin.
“Was there a fight here recently?” asked Alistair in as pleasant a tone as he could manage.
“Not much of a fight,” called the old man in the accent of Rendral.
“An attack,” said the other. “The resistance.”
“Who’s resisting?” asked Gregory.
“There’s always somebody resisting. Can’t ever seem to stamp it out.” The two parties now came to stop a few feet away from each other. “Why they went after my field I can’t say.”
“They’re after the food supply,” muttered the young man, although it was clear the field had not been planted when it was hit.
“What brings you here?” asked the old man with the tone of a change to a more important topic. “By your accent I’d say you’re from Avon.”
“I saw you were missing a roof off one of your barns,” Alistair said with a nod towards the indicated structure.
“Got it that way. Haven’t had a chance to repair it yet.”
“We’d like to park our craft there for a few days. Maybe a couple weeks. We don’t have any Credits—”
“You’ve been gone for a while,” said the young one.
“Credits are gone. No more,” said the old man. “If you want to use my barn you got to have some real money.”
Alistair produced from his pocket several small coins of a golden color and handed them to the grandfather.
“That should buy me a month at least.”
“You’ve got yourself a landing pad,” he acknowledged, impressed with Alistair and the coins in his hand. All suspicion and cautious reserve in their conduct evaporated.
After Alistair put his craft in the barn, he and Gregory covered it with a large tarp and went into the farmer’s home to conduct another transaction and there met several others, some of them family to the old man and some of them migrant workers. While gold was not illegal anymore, it was required that Aldrans hold their gold at one of the five approved private banks. The result was that gold coins were not legally spendable, only bank notes. The farmer agreed to exchange some of Alistair’s gold coins for bank notes, saying he had a friend who could melt the coins down so he, pretending it was former jewelry, could turn it in to a nearby bank for more notes.
The farmer, who made out rather well on the exchange, agreed to give them a ride to the nearest train station. The three travelers piled into a dilapidated auto that rolled off an assembly line around the time Alistair was born and had been patched up and reworked many times since. They bounced over country paths and then, drawing near to a town, bounced over pot holes. The town the farmer took them to, while not teeming with activity, at least boasted a healthy population. Each man and woman moved with a purpose but nevertheless the mood was somber, and the strangers were eyed with suspicion.
The old man left them at the train station with an amicable goodbye, and an inquiry at the ticket booth got them the arrival time of the next train and three tickets to Rendral’s central station. As far as food was concerned, there was little selection but what there was could be bought relatively cheaply. The trio bought a snack and some drinks and settled down in the station.
When the train finally came a couple hours later, as the sun was nearing its zenith, they boarded along with a few taciturn travelers and, in the insulated quiet of a carriage, had their pick of seats. The boarding lasted no more than a couple minutes and then the train, hovering over the magnetized rail, slid out of the station with hardly a sound, leaving behind only a single ripped portion of a poster fluttering in the artificial breeze.
Over flat territory they glided, whizzing by farmhouses, many of them abandoned, and over the occasional brook or ditch. They approached the ghastly corpse of a destroyed town and rushed through without stopping, catching only glimpses of the pale, gaunt faces of looters and scavengers streaking past their window. In the distance, they spotted the tops of some towering spires and from there the land became less and less devoted to agriculture and more and more to habitation.
After some time on the train, Layla lifted her head from the window and looked about. She looked at the two other passengers in their car, then at the landscape outside, then at Alistair and Gregory and all with an air of having awakened and been surprised by her circumstances.
“It’s just noon now,” she declared.
Alistair and Gregory nodded.
“This planet has a fucking long day.” Dispirited, she laid her head back down on the window.
“We usually take a four hour nap about now,” said Gregory.
“I’m not likely to fall asleep with the sun shining on me like this.”
Despite her words, she nodded off, her head sliding forward on the glass and her chin nearly coming to rest on her breastbone. She awoke with a start when the train came to a halt at a station in the outskirts of the city. The carriage now carrying more passengers, there was more bustle as the train exchanged one set for another. When they started moving again, they passed through a residential area. In front of the train, just visible on their side, were the enormous skyscrapers of the downtown section of Rendral, perched on the lip of the Birth Crater, towering over a city sprawling throughout the crater and extending out
side the bounds of the impact’s imprint.
Presently, their train reached the rim and, not pausing to acknowledge it, angled down. For an instant they found themselves on the edge, their carriage hanging over the lip. Behind them was the outer city, before them a long drop and a cityscape extending for miles. Like a great wave on the ocean, the buildings grew steadily in height until reaching the western wall of the crater where the tallest stood, nestled around the base of the tallest skyscraper of all, the one that climbed the wall of the crater and continued past until piercing the sky. It was there, at the western wall of the Birth Crater, that the heart of Aldra’s government lay. Traffic moved on the streets and in the air, weaving around buildings, the sun glinting off windshields. Rendral’s power station shone a constant white, without the dark portions to which Arcarians had become accustomed a few cycles ago. After their moment on the lip, they joined the traffic in the air, descending towards the main train station in the center of the city.
There were myriad clouds, white and unthreatening, scattered about the sky. Though the ordinary Aldran was not aware of it, his home was one of the cloudier ones in the civilized galaxy. This was by design. Though planets were abundant, there were none on which, untouched, a human could live as on Earth. Adjustments had to be made, and even then, there were no planets whose living conditions could be maintained as on Earth, by biological intervention alone.
Withûr We Page 92