The Long Run

by The Long Run (new ed) (mobi)

  The darkness claimed him again.

  He awoke to numbness.

  He was strapped into an acceleration couch, under high and varying thrust; three and a half gee, something like that. His couch was immediately behind the pilot's chair. The pilot was sitting up; Trent could see the back of his head.

  Trent's voice was slurred. "Who are you?"

  "You're awake."

  Rocket scientist, Trent thought vaguely. "Who are you?"

  "Martin Sedlow. Skipper of the Jack of Shadows, crew of two, me and my wife Marianne."

  "Where's the Vatsayama?"

  "Couldn't make it. Space Force is swarming over Luna. The Jack of Shadows is a stealth ship, painted black, no radar profile to speak of. The Fat Sam's a big ship; when you contracted, nobody had any idea you were going to kick up such a fuss downstairs."

  Trent considered that.

  "Also," Sedlow continued, "it was kind of a weird contract. Pick up a man from Lunar orbit? Without a spaceship? And then when Space Force ended up sitting shiva in high orbit over Farside..." His voice drifted back to Trent. "Sid wanted to cancel; would've if you hadn't paid K'Hin already."

  Trent had to gather strength to make himself heard. "You're taking me all the way to Mars?"

  "Assuming Space Force doesn't get any closer."

  "We're being chased?"

  "Yeah. They're about twenty-two hundred kilometers back, and gaining. They've been trying to lay a laser on us as well, and have twice; that's why thrust is so erratic."

  Trent's throat was horribly dry. "This was supposed to be a fast ship. I paid for a fast ship."

  Sedlow was silent for a moment. "The Jack of Shadows is a torch. It's pretty fast." Another pause. "I do have something up my sleeve if they don't give up the chase pretty damn quick."

  Trent sighed. "Good."

  "No, not really." Sedlow's spoke absent-mindedly. "If I use it I have to replace the rear quarter of the ship when we reach Mars. Radiation damage. Ever hear of the Orion maneuver?"

  "Oh, no."

  "You have heard of it."

  The maneuver is simple. Take a small thermonuclear explosive. The operative word is small. The larger the ship is, the better Orion works. On any ship below the size of a Space Force troop carrier, you kill the torch and load the thermonuclear explosive into the fusion chamber.

  Then you detonate it. The explosion will give the vessel a kick in the pants that cannot be achieved by any other means.

  Usually the ship survives.

  Martin Sedlow said finally, "Damn."

  "What is it?"

  "I don't think they're going to break off."

  "They're kind of pissed at me."

  "No." Sedlow called back. "Marianne!"

  Her voice came from somewhere behind Trent. "Ready!"

  The ship's impact field came on, and suddenly Trent found it very difficult to breath.

  Sedlow said, "Trent?"

  Trent gasped, "Yes?"

  "Take a deep breath."

  The next time Trent awoke they were under high but smooth acceleration.

  Marianne had come forward to check on Trent. For the first time Trent really noticed her. She was plain featured, red hair drawn back into a long ponytail, but with a quality of kindness so clearly marked on her features that under other circumstances Trent would have found her attractive. She sat in a floating chair with supports for her arms and head.

  "Hello," said Trent.

  Her voice was low, gentle. "How do you feel?"

  He surprised himself by how very, very bad he sounded. "Tired. I'm so tired."

  Marianne nodded sympathetically, carefully. "I'm not surprised."

  Trent barely heard her. "This keeps happening to me, I don't know why. Getting hurt like this." He was silent for a moment, his vision drifting cheerfully, insanely in and out of focus. "Vance was there, and Melissa was there again. And I had a dream that Ralf was alive. But that's silly you know, he can't be."

  The woman said awkwardly, "You'll get better. The damage isn't critical; and there are very good medbots at Phobos CityState, as good as any on Earth. We'll be there in less than a week."

  Trent closed his eyes again. "Good. That's good." How long he lay that way, eyes closed beneath the stiff acceleration, he never knew. His senses faded away when he did not concentrate on maintaining the link with Realtime. The Crystal Wind beckoned distantly; there was the ship's computer to explore, including a library of SpaceFarer literature. Two wide-beam masers were wavering in and out of focus on the Jack of Shadows, one of them broadcasting, over and over again, a message from Mohammed Vance; the other line was strangely silent.

  The message was in Mohammed Vance's immeasurably grim voice.

  It said simply, I am going to catch you and I am going to break you.

  catch you and I am going to break you.

  going to break you.

  break you.

  Trent let go of the world and embraced the darkness.

  The music brought him back.

  A man singing about pain.

  * * *

  In dark and vision strong

  This night becomes our day

  This chill becomes our warmth

  This stillness is our say

  "What a horrible noise," Trent said clearly.

  The SpaceFarer twisted back to look at him. "Say again?"

  "That terrible music. What is it?"

  "From an old movie. A comedy," Martin explained. "It's very funny."

  A woman sang the next chorus, her voice sad and plaintive, hurting.

  * * *

  They asked if he would heal them

  And he answered that he dreamed of rainbows

  Refracted from the tears

  that lingered in their eyes

  They asked then if he could

  He said that even ravens die

  * * *

  Trent said softly, "This is going to be one of those long, long trips, isn't it?"

  The SpaceFarer looked at him curiously. "Tell me something. I've been auditing the news Boards, and some of them--look, did you really walk through a wall?"

  Trent did not answer the man; he was not certain whether the voice he heard was imagined, or spoken aloud, or perhaps something he heard through his inskin; the voice, the very soft voice, almost overridden by the sound of the music, whispered, "Good luck, Boss."

  Trent looked at Martin Sedlow; Sedlow seemed somewhat lost in his own thoughts, simply observing Trent as though he suspected Trent were some sort of wild animal, probably a Peaceforcer.

  Trent stared around at the small, empty ship. Ralf?

  Aloud, Trent said softly, "Ralf? Is that you?"

  Sedlow studied Trent, scrutinizing him as though he found Trent's sanity distinctly in question.

  Trent said, "Did you hear that?"

  Epilog

  Sixty-two thousand years before the birth of Yeshua ha Notzri, whom later humans knew as Jesus the Christ, the Time Wars ended, for reasons which no sentient being now knows. With that ending, the Continuing Time began.

  In the Continuing Time of which I write, nearly a thousand years after the birth of the man named Trent, mankind had spread to the stars, and attained a position of pre-eminence among the known sentient species of the Continuing Time.

  In that time, four humans had come to be legend, legend so great that even non-human sentients knew of them, of the dreams and myths that had accumulated about their names.

  Those four were Trent; Daniel, who was the first November; Ola who was Lady Blue; and Camber Tremodian. It was said of Trent that he could walk through walls, and they called him the Uncatchable; it was said of November that he was insane even by human standards; and of Camber Tremodian that he was not human at all.

  Of Ola Blue they knew only that she had once lived, and died; that she was death itself, and sorrow.

  --The Name Historian, Looking Backwards From the Year 3000, published 3018 Asimov.

  * * *

&n
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