Beltrunner

by O’Brien, Sean

  Collier wrestled with his emotions. All Tacat said was true — if it weren’t for the Ganymedians, he would almost certainly be dead by now, and Sancho would be permanently lost in deep space. They had indeed done him a great service. If a corporation had done the same things the Ganymedians had done, the fee would be an unbelievable sum of money that would take a lifetime to repay. He would end up a wage slave to the corporation that had rescued him. Surely that was far worse than what Tacat was asking of him.

  But there was a comfort in the familiar: no matter how harsh the financial burden he would owe a corporation, it would at least be a known quantity — a number. Numbers were not frightening, even when they were enormous. He himself had never been scared of the debt he had owed (and still owed) Starcher, even though the number had pressed guiltily down on him. What Tacat asked was far less crushing, but was nevertheless new and therefore frightening.

  “I thank you for all you’ve done, Mr. Tacat. But—”

  “Just Tacat. No “Mister,” he said softly.

  “Uh, yeah,” Collier felt awkward enough already, and the demands Tacat’s strange gender identity placed on language weren’t helping. “Like I said, I thank you for all you’ve done. You saved my life and my ship. I do want to cooperate and pay my debts to your community. All I own, Tacat, is myself and my ship. I guard them both jealously. Maybe too much so.”

  Tacat smiled understandingly. “That’s just your capitalist upbringing. My grandparents had the same issues to overcome. I understand. I also give you my word we will not harm you in any way, or alter your body or mind at all. The memory process is quite harmless. I admit that you will feel rather tired and drowsy during it, and for a short time afterward, but no permanent effect will linger.”

  Collier nodded, but said firmly, “I understand. I haven’t agreed to any such procedure, Tacat. Before I do so, I will need to see it and be taught all about it to my satisfaction.”

  “Of course,” Tacat said, his voice tight.

  “And I will need to consult with my computer before I make any decision.”

  “Ah, yes. Your computer. We also ask you to download your computer’s contents to our database. That, at least, you can’t have any objection to.”

  Collier chafed. “As it happens, I do. I will need to decide what I want to share and what I don’t.”

  Tacat’s smile was completely gone now. “Captain, you’re being unnecessarily obstructionist. Nothing we are asking for is in any way a loss to you, and we have spent considerable resources on your ship and your health. We really must ask you to acquiesce to the wishes and needs of the community.”

  Collier responded, his own anger rising. “I’m beginning to see just why you saved me and my ship, Tacat. It wasn’t just for the humanitarian goodness of it all, was it? You need and want me, my brain, and my computer.”

  Tacat stood up. “I can see my initial estimate of you was correct. You don’t understand what we are trying to do here. You’re locked in a capitalist mode and can’t or won’t break out of it.” Before Collier could sit up, Tacat pressed the restraint activation button and once again, Collier was held fast.

  “We’re going to get out of you what you could have given us voluntarily. It may be less pleasant this way,” Tacat said icily, all traces of his bonhomie gone.

  As Collier struggled, Tacat snapped, “Don’t. You’ll just hurt yourself. We’ll start your procedure shortly. As for your ship, I believe we can bypass any security you think you have for your computer data. You’re going to give us what we want.”

  Collier stopped his fighting and said, “So much for your enlightened perfect society.”

  Tacat had moved toward the door when Collier’s words struck him. He half-turned, replying over his shoulder. “It’s you who are unenlightened. I blame myself for not being able to convince you of the rightness of this. But we will have what we require from you, and still, you won’t be hurt permanently.” He exited the room, and Collier could see him in the hallway beyond discussing something with the orderly.

  Collier tested the restraints carefully as he thought about his predicament. “Good work, Skipper,” he said to himself. “Really told him, didn’t you?” He shifted his weight as best he could to try to find a loose spot in the restraint system. The belts, though snug, allowed some slight measure of freedom, but the restraints clamped down on any direct resistance.

  “So now what?” he said aloud to the room. Maybe I ought to reconsider, he thought. What is so bad about what they want? A little sperm, find out what’s in my head, and download Sancho’s files. How does that hurt me?

  He cursed himself for his lack of cleverness. If he had gone along with Tacat at least on the surface, maybe he could have argued more effectively later. Certainly he would be better off if he wasn’t strapped down to the bed.

  “You’re a stubborn shit, Collier,” he said to himself. “Always thought it was going to get you in trouble one day, and now…” he tensed and tried to tear through the restraints.

  The belts gave slightly, but he couldn’t break free.

  He fell back onto the bed sheet. Why couldn’t he just call the orderly, tell him/her that he had changed his mind, that he would be a good little boy and they could do their little brain technique to him and he would assist them in downloading Sancho’s files. They were going to do it all anyway: he might as well put himself in a position to have at least some power to influence events to his liking.

  But the words wouldn’t come. For one thing, he simply couldn’t allow them to have full access to Sancho, since by doing so they would learn of the magic wand. Based on what Tacat said, he could not imagine the Ganymedians leaving that alone. They would demand to know how it worked and would most likely just take it from him. He couldn’t let that happen.

  Besides, he wasn’t going to let them hypnotize him, or drug him, or perform any kind of brain surgery on him.

  At the moment, however, he was at a loss as to how he was going to prevent any of it.

  Worse, he had to piss.

  He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. The urge had been rising in him for some time, but he had managed to push it aside during his talk with Tacat. Now that he lay motionless, the need pressed on him too forcefully to ignore. He squirmed as best he could to relieve the pressure, but after several minutes, he realized he would not be able to contain himself indefinitely.

  He opened his mouth to call for the orderly when the idea struck him. It was somewhat humiliating, to be sure, but it might work. If the orderly shared the near-universal dislike all hospital personnel had for mess and uncleanliness…

  Despite his need, Collier had to think past his own objections to urinating on himself before he could let loose. He grimaced, feeling the twin feelings of relief and disgust as the warm, wet patch grew at his groin. Presently, the faint ammonia odor wafted up to him and he was committed.

  “Uh, hello?” he called to what he hoped was the orderly outside. “I need … uh … a little help here. Seem to have had a bit of an accident.” He didn’t need to feign the embarrassment in his voice.

  The same orderly that had originally wrestled him to the bed returned to the room. “What is it?” sh’he asked warily, approaching the bed and scanning Collier’s restraints. His nose twitched and he saw the slowly-spreading stain on Collier’s tunic.

  “Sorry. I’m a little … scared, I guess,” Collier murmured.

  The orderly looked back at Collier’s face for a moment, and Collier could see the other’s searching eyes weighing the situation.

  “If you can’t help me out, I get it. But it’s pretty damn humiliating.”

  “I can’t let you out, even for that,” the orderly said, but his/her voice betrayed his/her uncertainty.

  “Right. But the…” Collier motioned to the stain with his eyes. “I mean, you can’t even get me a towel, or blot at it, or
anything? I just have to lie here in my own piss?”

  Collier could see the conflict working on the orderly. From what Tacat had said, Collier guessed that the Ganymedians believed they lived in a more civilized and cultured community than anything that existed or had existed in the system before. Although they were willing to subject Collier to some kind of procedure to get at his brain, he was betting the orderly was not willing to let his prisoner lie in his own filth.

  “Well … all right. I’ll see what I can do.” Sh’he rummaged around the underside of the bed and produced a small hand towel, then examined the stain. Collier was restrained by six straps that fit tightly across his shoulders, chest, abdomen, thighs, shins, and ankles, as well as separate straps on his wrists.

  “I can’t release you, but I’ll blot you dry as best I can,” the orderly said, almost apologetically.

  “Uh, okay. Please be careful,” Collier said. He was not at all sure how his ruse was helping. He was hesitant to press the situation further, but he didn’t see how he had improved matters so far.

  That changed when the orderly released the abdomen and thigh straps to get at the stain better. Sh’he began gingerly blotting at the wetness at Collier’s crotch, and Collier knew it would be only a matter of perhaps a minute before the orderly would decide sh’he had done enough and the belts came back on. He would have to put his faith in Tacat’s unfamiliarity with the restraint system. Perhaps the Commissar had placed the belts on their lowest strength setting. Now that the abdomen and thigh straps were released, it was possible that the shin and chest straps wouldn’t be strong enough to…

  Collier suddenly thrust his hips upward, violently throwing himself against the shin and chest straps. The chest strap slipped perhaps two centimeters, but the shin strap, after digging into Collier’s flesh, snapped off from the left hand side of the bed near the orderly.

  The orderly had taken a step back in alarm at Collier’s upward surge, then quickly moved forward to manually restrain his prisoner. Collier twisted his lower body and managed to unshackle his legs from the ankle straps before the restraint could tighten against his resistance. His lower body was now free. With a grunt, he kicked himself upward toward the orderly’s head, which was close to Collier’s stomach, while sh’he fought to restrain Collier’s legs. Sh’he opened his mouth to shout something, but Collier’s upward kicking had placed him in a position to put the orderly’s head in a scissor lock with his knees.

  He squeezed his legs as tightly as he could, and the orderly’s shout was cut off before it began. Sh’he gurgled incoherently for a moment, his/her arms flailing about trying to dislodge Collier’s legs.

  Collier silently reversed himself on the detachable spacelegs idea. He had not imagined he would ever have needed to place a hermaphrodite hospital orderly in a leglock, but fortune favors the prepared.

  He continued to squeeze, then said through gritted teeth. “Unlock me. Or you’re going to lose oxygen and pass out eventually.”

  The orderly continued to struggle, his/her voice a faint gurgle. Collier managed to squeeze a little harder. “Unlock me, I swear I’ll knock you out. Can’t promise you won’t have brain damage.”

  Collier had never rendered anyone unconscious from a leg scissor before, and didn’t even know if it was possible. He hoped the orderly was beginning to feel lightheaded, but truthfully, he didn’t know if he could apply enough pressure to cut off blood flow to the head. But it couldn’t be pleasant for the orderly.

  “I won’t hurt you. Unlock me,” he said again. The orderly’s attempts at getting free were becoming less forceful. Collier was himself growing short of breath due to the compression on his own lungs his awkward posture created.

  A few seconds more, and Collier’s uncertainty about the effectiveness of the pressure he was exerting disappeared. The orderly’s struggles had become less and less vigorous, until sh’he slumped down on Collier’s stomach and lost muscle tone.

  Collier did not want to hurt the orderly if he didn’t have to, but neither did he want the other to promptly wake up. He maintained his grip for a few more seconds, then released him/her and immediately started flopping about on the bed to spring the chest strap. He could feel the strap giving way, and after the third violent surge, he was free of it. His wrists were still held fast, as were his shoulders, but he now had the ability to twist his lower body and midsection. He turned awkwardly to bring his left heel toward where he believed the control panel was. He had seen the Ganymedians press buttons near his left hip, and at least one of those buttons released the restraints. He kicked and swatted at the bedside, twisting and wrenching his torso to gain leverage, dealing himself several sharp blows to his heel and calf in the process, but not managing to release the restraints.

  One of his violent twists rocked the bed enough to temporarily lift two of its wheels off the ground. He seized the momentum and swiveled his hips on the return upswing, sending the entire bed crashing sideways to the floor. It narrowly missed the body of the still unconscious orderly, and Collier took a half-second to realize he might have seriously hurt the man/woman had the bed landed on him/her. Collier managed to check the fall somewhat with his legs, and the impact on the ground loosened his left wrist strap. Even in the low Ganymedian gravity, the impact was enough to stun him, and he shook his head to clear it. He was now lying on his side, still strapped by his wrists to the bed. The impact had bent the left side restraint bar where the belt attached to the bedside, and with enough rattling and twisting of his left arm he managed to work his wrist out from the restraint. That left only his right hand, which was still held fast by the strap. Collier got up from the bed, his right hand still attached, and kicked violently at the handrail on the now upright right side, seeking to dislodge the restraining strap.

  Rather than break the belt that held his wrist, the entire plastic handrail broke loose from the bed frame. Collier was free, though his right wrist was still attached to a half-meter long plastic bar. He didn’t stop to curse the manufacturer who had made the restraint system stronger than the actual bar to which it was attached: he just hopped over the body of the orderly and went to the doorway.

  The loud crashing from his room would certainly have alerted anyone who might have been monitoring it — either there was no one besides the unconscious orderly who was assigned to the room, or whomever was supposed to investigate was already on his/her way. The chamber beyond his room was a large circular one, with an unmanned (“unstaffed,” he corrected himself wryly) computer center in the middle. A quick glance to his left and right and he had the basic layout of the whole area: he was in a starfish-shaped pod, with five rooms arranged around a central station. The orderly must have been the only one in the central core, unless there were others in what Collier assumed were other patient rooms.

  He scrambled to the central station and looked around frantically for anything that could help him. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but any information about the complex would help. One of the computer holos had a small representation of the status of the different rooms, and Collier quickly scanned the data for anything that could help him. The medical nomenclature was unfamiliar to him — one patient was labeled “Unc/Reass” while another was “Recl/Harv.” He wasted no time trying to understand the meanings of the acronyms: he needed a way to get to his spacecraft.

  He left the computer station and scanned the walls and doors of the circular arrangement. On the opposite side of the central station to his room was a hatchway that looked different from the other doors. He vaulted the countertop of the central station and hurried over. Near the hatchway was a placard that read “Transpod to Hab 4.” He found the button to open the hatch, but nothing seemed to happen when he pressed it. Above the hatchway he could see a status bar moving steadily from left to right — presumably, he had summoned whatever vehicle would take him to Hab 4, which he assumed was a habitat module. He stood to the side of
the hatchway, holding the plastic bar he was still attached to as a makeshift truncheon.

  A soft chime sounded, and the hatchway door opened. Collier flexed his fingers on the bar, ready to strike, but after several moments, no one emerged from the pod. He peeked around the corner of the hatchway and saw the empty pod waiting patiently for him.

  Collier entered the beige interior of the pod and studied the control panel. It was quite simple: the only controls he could see were labeled “Hab 4” and “Hos 4.” He pressed the Hab 4 button and the pod’s doors closed gently. The acceleration was surprisingly strong — he stumbled when the pod began its journey to the habitat module. He thought about standing near the control panel and hiding as best he could, but he decided boldness would be his best option. If anyone were going to use the pod to go to the hospital, he would have to burst past them and enter the habitat module. What would happen next was anyone’s guess, but he could not afford to go backward.

  The same soft chime sounded as the pod decelerated, and the doors opened gently again. This time, they revealed another circular chamber, but unlike the hospital this was more reminiscent of the quadrangle on Ceres. There were not as many people milling about, but neither was the area deserted. There were many transpod hatchways in the chamber, and before some of them waited Ganymedians in various cream-colored clothes. Other hatchways were opening and dislodging some others into the chamber. This was clearly a central station — if he was lucky, one of these pods would lead him to the hangar where his ship was held.

  He left the hospital pod and started reading the signs near the various hatchways. Those Ganymedians nearest him glanced in his direction, and he could sense already the growing alarm in the room. He must have been a sight — he was clad in a hospital tunic, stained at the crotch, and was dangling a plastic bar from his right wrist. More than that, he mused, his masculine appearance must have been quite a sight for the men/women of this community.