Project U.L.F.

by Stuart Clark

“Any questions?”

  “No, I think you covered everything most adequately, Robert.” Sarcasm laced the words. “You’re assuming I’m going to remember all of this after two periods of cryosleep and four months away.”

  Robert shot him a look of contempt, “Right, then, if that is all, it’s time you went to the prep-room for your stasis jab.”

  * * * * *

  “Hello, Wyatt,” the nurse’s eyes flashed with something other than just recognition, “It’s been a while since we saw you here.”

  “Yeah, I know. I got asked to do this one job as a favor,” he replied.

  “Offered,” cut in Robert, still masquerading as Wyatt’s shadow.

  “Stasis jab?” the nurse asked.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Robert answered for Wyatt again.

  “Okay. You know the routine, I’ll be back in a minute.” She disappeared through a door leaving Wyatt and Robert alone in the room. Wyatt took off his shirt and pushed himself up onto the examination table where he sat, staring at Robert.

  “What’s with all this answering for me, Robert? Following my every move?”

  “You leave tomorrow, Wyatt, we can’t afford any time being lost while you catch up with old friends here on the moon-base. I’m just here to make sure everything goes according to schedule. Don’t take it personally. Given the option, I’d rather let someone else watch over you.” He shot Wyatt a sideways glance and then turned away to read the labels on the colored vials in the nearby cabinet.

  Wyatt sat on the table, fuming. He gripped its edge tightly, his arms locked out fully, the sinews in his shoulders standing out like ridges. The nurse returned carrying what looked like a small black gun. She walked over to the cabinet that Robert was studying.

  “Excuse me,” she said. Robert stepped out of her way.

  The glass door slid away at her touch and she scanned the vials briefly. She looked back at Wyatt once to remind herself of his size and then picked a particularly large blue capsid, inverting it and screwing it into the top of her device. There was a crack and a slight hiss and she gave the vial one more quarter turn before being satisfied that it was home.

  She looked at Wyatt. “On your front,” she instructed. He did as he was told, sprawling himself out over the table, the cold leather on his chest causing him to take a quick intake of breath.

  “I haven’t missed this bit at all,” he said.

  “It’ll all be over in a minute.”

  She walked to the table and paused briefly, unbeknown to Wyatt, to admire his musculature, before placing the gun-like gadget against the small of his back, slightly left of his spine. She pulled the trigger and there was a noise like both a click and a snap.

  “Christ!” said Wyatt, “Can’t you people figure out a better way of getting that stuff into us.”

  “Oh don’t be such a baby, you’re a big boy now,” she said, playfully grabbing his cheek as he sat himself up again. “Will that be all?” she asked Robert.

  “Yes, that’s all.” Robert dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

  The nurse looked at Wyatt, “Have a good trip,” she said, “Don’t forget to come and see us when you get back.” With her back to Robert she gave Wyatt a wink before disappearing out of the room again. For a second he completely forgot about the spreading fire in the small of his back.

  * * * * *

  “These are your quarters for this evening,” Robert said as the door opened in front of them.

  “Mmmmm, not bad,” Wyatt said sarcastically. He’d been given one of the VIP suites for the evening because, apparently, Mannheim wanted “the very best” for him. A gesture of gratitude. He stepped into the room, walking slowly as his eyes feasted on all the treats that the room held. “Well, if this is all you’ve got, then I guess it will have to do.”

  Robert didn’t laugh. “Do you have everything you need?”

  “Yeah…oh yeah…but Robert, if I think of something I’ll give you a call.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. We have an early start.” Robert turned and walked out of the room. The door slid closed behind him.

  “Good night, Bob,” Wyatt said to the door.

  Wyatt sighed. A huge sigh. His shoulders drooped. He was exhausted and at last he was on his own. He let his bag fall at his feet and then made it to the sofa in two bounds, launching himself over its back before landing prone over its length. He lay there for a few seconds, his eyes closed, savoring the moment. Then he opened them again and raised his head off the sofa’s arm. “I just wish I was going to be here long enough to enjoy some of this stuff,” he muttered.

  With great effort Wyatt hauled himself off the sofa and made his way to the drinks cabinet. He poured himself a scotch and then returned to the sofa with the bottle. He sat himself down and ordered the computer to play some late 22nd century music, his favorite music era.

  * * * * *

  He lost all track of time as he slowly made his way down the bottle of Scotch and when he did look at his watch he was surprised to see that it was twelve-forty. Reluctantly he climbed out of his seat, placing the half-empty bottle on the nearby table and relocating his bag before heading into the bedroom.

  He looked at the bed. It was a double bed and he thought how nice it would be to be sharing it with someone. “They didn’t lay that on for me, did they,” he slurred out loud. “Still, no chance of that for at least the next four months, not where I’m going.”

  He pulled off his top and clambered out of his pants, almost falling over in the process, before climbing into the bed. He laid his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. “Not where I’m going,” he muttered again to himself. He was asleep in seconds.

  Wyatt had made no attempt to leave the room all evening. He could not have done so even if he had tried. The door to his quarters was magnetically sealed.

  * * * * *

  Robert stepped into the room and strode over to the table where the half-empty bottle stood. Picking it up by the neck, he glanced at it and then raised his eyebrows, as if he’d expected nothing less from his charge. He walked into the bedroom to find Wyatt, wearing only a pair of pants, frantically pulling on his shirt.

  “Two minutes. Give me two minutes and I’ll be there,” Wyatt muttered.

  “Very well. Two minutes.” Robert turned and walked out of Wyatt’s bedroom.

  Five minutes later Wyatt emerged from his room. Striding across to his bag, he stooped and lifted it off the floor in one movement. “Okay, let’s go,” he said.

  * * * * *

  After Wyatt had acquired his U.L.F. issue kit bag and clothing, he and Robert had walked down to engineering almost in silence. Wyatt preferred it that way. He was thinking about the mission and besides, he had very little to say to Robert anyway. Any attempt at chat between them now would be identified as exactly that and was therefore pointless.

  The pair turned into a new corridor to be confronted with a huge archway beyond which was the main engineering concourse. What looked like a building seemed to mold itself out of the wall to their right. Offices, computer rooms, technicians’ rest rooms—all here. To their left the area was clear except for the few buggies that sat between the yellow lines segregating the floor.

  Robert raised his hand and shouted and the driver of the nearest vehicle pulled over to where they stood. He pulled the door open and motioned for Wyatt to get in before clambering in beside him.

  “Bay 12,” Robert said. The driver said nothing, just nodded his understanding before the vehicle lurched away down the monstrous corridor, which, despite the lighting, disappeared out of sight.

  Bay 12 was one of the furthest launching bays from the main concourse and, despite its speed, it took the buggy at least five minutes to turn off into the relevant area in the maze of corridors. The large metal door with a huge “12” embossed on it rolled up in front of them at their approach. The buggy entered the launch bay, weaving its way through the dozens of engineers who milled around the gigantic room and th
e base of the huge craft standing at its center. Wyatt placed his face against the rounded window of the buggy and craned his neck to look up at the awesome ship. It was an old model. A Caravel craft.

  As the buggy came to a stop at the front of the ship Wyatt saw its name, painted in bold black lettering on its hull, just beneath the bridge windows—Santa Maria. Columbus’ ship. The relevance of the first comment Robert had made to him after he stepped off the shuttle now became clear. Columbus—discoverer of the New World, Wyatt thought.

  Wyatt stepped out of the buggy, never taking his eyes off the ship and thanking the driver only as an afterthought. For an old ship it was in exceptionally good condition but the fact remained that it was an old ship.

  The craft itself was massive, taller than a ten-story building and occupying probably eighty-five percent of the space in the bay. It was pale gray in color and chunky in design. It looked like a huge block of granite from which someone had chipped away mammoth chunks.

  In some areas, mainly at the ship’s base, conduits and ducts emerged through the exterior paneling and ran short distances before turning and disappearing out of sight again. These appeared to all head to the rear of the craft where Wyatt could just see parts of the rocket booster assembly. This model of ship had a solid fuel backup system, should the nuclear generator fail.

  Wyatt craned his head back. The bridge windows appeared as nothing more than tiny black squares, eyes that seemed frighteningly too small to guide something of this magnitude.

  “Why a Caravel class ship? Was this the best you could do?” Wyatt asked.

  Robert stood beside him, he too was admiring the craft, “It was all we had available at the time,” he said dreamily, as if that was explanation enough, and then added, “We had a Clipper class craft come in on Monday but we simply didn’t have the combination of personnel and time to have that ship prepared for you.”

  “Does Mannheim know about this?”

  “Oh yes.” Robert then realized Wyatt’s concern, “Oh, don’t worry, Wyatt. For your return to earth we’ll have all your quarries loaded into a ship we’ve had specially prepared for the occasion. It’s the latest model of the stealth class craft. You’ll be really impressed with it.” He seemed genuinely excited for Wyatt. “Anyway, you’ll have that to look forward to when you get back. For now, we have to get you aboard this one and ready for the liftoff. Come on.” Robert began to walk toward the ship. Wyatt threw his bag over his shoulder and followed.

  As they approached the center of the ship’s underside, a small disc of the fuselage detached and descended toward them, growing like a fifth leg. As it touched down next to them, one side of the cylinder opened and a young engineer stepped out, putting a hand to the tip of his helmet in acknowledgement of their presence before going past them. Wyatt and Robert stepped in and the projection withdrew back into the belly of the craft.

  * * * * *

  The lower decks of the Santa Maria consisted mainly of storage areas—stores for the ship and holding pens for captured specimens. Regardless, they were all a maze of dank, dark corridors.

  The lighting arrangement in these craft had always struck Wyatt as rather odd. He looked down at his booted feet and saw the source of the faint fluorescence beneath the huge grate on which he was standing. He shook his head in puzzlement. Robert turned back to see what Wyatt had stopped for. “The cryosleep chambers are on deck five, two below the bridge. We’ll take a lift.”

  Wyatt looked up just as Robert was finishing his comment and caught a glimpse of the scattered light speckled on his face. For an instant he looked more animal than human. The fleeting apparition sent a shiver down Wyatt’s spine.

  * * * * *

  Deck five was a pleasant contrast to its higher-numbered counterparts. The corridors were brighter and the floor was solid. Robert and Wyatt turned off the main corridor and into a lengthy room that ran parallel with it.

  Two men on the other side of the room dressed in white overalls rose from their crouched position and turned to face them as they entered. Between their legs Wyatt could see the cryosleep chamber that they had been attending to, like a cocoon set into the sloping wall. Someone had already been “put down,” as they affectionately termed it.

  The chamber already had a thin covering of frost that glistened on the cover glass and obscured the individual’s face so that it appeared as nothing more than an orange ellipse. On the wall behind the chamber, a display was monitoring life signs in a series of colored lines which snaked their way backwards and forwards, some intermittently jumping across the screen while others slowly meandered.

  “When do you plan to have the rest of my team loaded in?” Wyatt asked.

  “Soon. Very soon. They have all been prepped, it’s simply a case of getting them in their chambers.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  One of the men in white overalls took the bag out of Wyatt’s hand and placed it in the hatch above an open chamber. “Ready when you are, Mr. Dorren,” he said, indicating the chamber.

  Wyatt sighed. “Here we go again,” he said and began to take off his shirt.

  When he was naked, Wyatt walked over to the chamber, handing over his clothes to the technician who placed them in the hatch with his other belongings while he climbed into the chamber.

  Almost immediately the other technician began to apply electrodes to his body. One on each of his thighs, three on his torso, one on each arm, a pair on his temples and two on his scalp. He handed Wyatt what looked like a PowerDisc player’s mouthguard and a small rubber plug. The former Wyatt placed in his mouth and the latter he pushed up into his right nostril. The technician then pulled down a tube from somewhere above Wyatt’ s head.

  “This is your oxygen, you know that,” he said. “Ensure that it’s comfortable before we close the chamber. You mustn’t touch it after we have inserted it and sealed you in. Understand?”

  Wyatt nodded his comprehension. The technician then proceeded to push the tube up Wyatt’s left nostril before plugging the remaining gap.

  “Comfortable?” he asked.

  Again Wyatt nodded.

  “Okay. Have a good trip and we’ll see you again sometime.”

  Wyatt gave him a thumbs-up.

  The other man pulled a gun-like implement from his breast pocket—similar to the one the nurse had used in the prep room—and pushed it into Wyatt’s neck. “Sleeping drug,” he said by way of qualification and before Wyatt could even utter a sound through the mouthpiece he felt a sharp pain.

  The technician pulled his head out of Wyatt’s line of vision and the chamber’s cover glass slowly descended until the seal was made. He rapped on the glass as a final parting gesture.

  Robert approached the chamber. “See you later, Wyatt!” he shouted although Wyatt could only just hear him. Wyatt attempted a smile and nodded politely. Robert and the two technicians turned and left the room.

  The drug was taking effect already. Wyatt could feel his head drooping when suddenly he was aware of fluid on the soles of his feet, then rising through his toes until his feet were covered and up to and around his ankles. Slowly it rose to his knees, thighs and crotch area. It passed the level of his stomach and continued to rise towards his torso.

  Wyatt felt panic rising within him. He fought to control it, reassuring himself that he had an oxygen supply. He closed his eyes as the fluid level passed them, and heard, more than felt, his ears fill, all sound suddenly dulled. When he was completely submerged he began to relax again. He breathed deeply and his heart began to slow.

  As he calmed, the sleeping drug took a stronger hold and he was soon unconscious.

  CHAPTER

  5

  70034.........70034.........70034. Alan had been looking at the number on his screen for at least two minutes and still its significance was not apparent. He was daydreaming again. Not daydreaming as such but deep in thought.

  He had not seen Kate since the previous evening when he had put her into the care of a colleague
and told him to ensure that she get aboard Wyatt’s ship. She was a lovely girl and he had grown quite fond of her in the few days she had been here, but her absence was not the thing that was eating at him. Alan had the feeling that something wasn’t quite right and it was something that he couldn’t definitively put his finger on.

  Too many things just did not ring true. The doubt nagged at him.

  One fact seemed to reinforce Alan’s ill feeling. Wyatt had not come to see him while he was here on the moon-base, and if his launch were scheduled for today then there was no way that they would meet before his departure. This was distinctly out of character for Wyatt. The pair had built a great friendship over the years that he had served at the IZP and, no matter how urgent the situation, Wyatt had always taken time out to at least exchange pleasantries with him. Why not this time? Another question to add to his rapidly growing list.

  He called up Wyatt’s ship number on the computer. Bay 12. Alan took his jacket off the back of his chair and pulled it on as he walked out of his office. Bay 12 was going to be paid a visit and Alan Chambers was going to put his mind at rest.

  * * * * *

  People flashed by him as the buggy sped along the launch bay access tunnel. Alan did not register who these people were or associate names with the faces. He was thinking about Wyatt. He imagined he’d pull into bay 12 and find Wyatt there, barking out orders about what was to go where.

  A few of the engineers disliked Wyatt for his attitude but the ones who had served under Alan for years knew better. They respected Wyatt; he had survived many U.L.F. expeditions to destinations where others had perished. He had seen horrors that they could not imagine, and if he knew what he wanted and where he wanted it put, then they would simply obey. It was very easy for the young engineers to be nonchalant; they did not risk their lives at work every day.