Zen felt a twinge of jealousy at his interest. “Yes, very.”
“Don’t you worry that she can read your mind?”
“What makes you think she can do that?”
“I dunno. I’ve heard weird shit.”
Zen squinted with doubt as they walked. “I don’t think she reads minds. If she does, she’s not very good at it.”
Jon Bak laughed and banged the heel of his hand on his forehead. “Obviously. She got caught, right?”
“She’s innocent.”
Jon stretched his jaw down to make an exaggerated face of doubt. “That so?”
Zen nodded sadly, feeling the tangled weight of events fresh on his mind. “It was all a terrible mistake.”
The trooper shrugged and thought for a moment. He looked over and mouthed out the numbers eight-three-three-nine in silence, then winked to garner close attention. He held up a palm and tapped it as though entering code into a sensor, mouthing the numerals again, 8339. “I’d love to meet her some time when you guys aren’t getting busy.”
Zen committed the override code to memory with a surge of satisfaction—mission accomplished! He had earned the trust of Jon Bak from Bali. They made their way to a staff lounge that was not much bigger than a double room on Trade Station, where they sipped dark allkool straight from the pouch and shared life highlights. Jon’s main interest seemed to be chasing woman and performing Bali magic on their souls, a desire probably heightened by so many days away from home. Fraternization among troopers was officially forbidden, but not uncommon, and all staff had to submit to sterilization drugs during their tours of duty. Transolar did not want any liability for unplanned pregnancies or children in the barracks.
Zen played along behind his veil of secrecy. Jon Bak could be a spy planted by the captain to extract information. The override code might be bait to elicit a confession—Simara had warned Zen to expect ploys such as this. But the trooper was a friendly guy and happy to share secret intrigues about troopers hiding clandestine shenanigans like schoolboys in a public dormitory. They downed a few drinks and exchanged epic tales from home, but Zen kept his mouth shut about anything that really mattered. He met a few more guards as the day waned, learned a few names, and acted his role as required—a civilian relying on their goodwill for good times and fun for all. Adam’s Inspiration was scheduled for decommission after this run, the last interplanetary voyage for an aged and trustworthy vessel, so off-duty inebriation was expected in her honour on a regular basis.
Turnaround was announced with a klaxon warning a few days later, and everyone had to strap into launch couches at the precise midpoint of their journey. The antimatter reactor went silent, and rocket thrust stopped cold as the troopship coasted through space. Zen had so internalized the gentle thrum of acceleration that the absence seemed like a cessation of breathing. He squirmed in discomfort as his stomach lurched with weightlessness and sent a wave of nausea through his suddenly floating body. No gravity, no sense of movement, no sound beyond the hum of electronics and whisper of air circulation.
According to calculations performed on a napkin by Jon Bak, Adam’s Inspiration had now reached a maximum relative velocity of one thousand miles per second and would spend the next full week decelerating for landfall. It felt creepy and unnatural to be hurtling across the heavens at such phenomenal speed in a dead cold stasis without any sound or vibration—flying headlong in a black void without foundation.
A short jolt of thrust knocked Zen sideways in his bunk as navigational rockets began to turn the spaceship. Time seemed an agony as Zen hovered weightless and listened to his blood pound in his temples. He could imagine the ship rotating end over end like a stick thrown across the desert. Another jolt of thrust was followed by two more as the troopship stabilized for a new trajectory, and the klaxon hooted anew to announce a five-second countdown. Wham! The antimatter reactor kicked in and rocked Zen into his launch couch with a huff of exhalation. Gravity was back like an old friend, but now the nosecone was pointing away from their destination as they slowed down for an eventual landing.
“I brought you some allkool,” Zen said as he met Simara for his second conjugal visit and crawled into her tiny slot in the wall. “Do you want lemon or cherry?” I’ve got the code, he mouthed, and pantomimed the numbers with his fingers.
“We can speak safely in here,” Simara said. “I’m still controlling communications. Good work.”
“Same to you. So we’re on top of things. Let’s party.”
Simara frowned and sucked her teeth—no such luck. “Our situation has gone from bad to worse.” She was wearing the same cellulose outfit, and she smelled foul with harboured perspiration—no chance to bathe or freshen up in this coffin cell. “And thanks for the offer of a drink, but I can’t tamper with my consciousness now that I’m working with mothership again. I can’t afford any weakness.”
Misery struck home for Zen as he studied her harried face and pocketed the allkool. “So what’s the bad news?”
“All the escape shuttles onboard are being tested under the guise of regular maintenance, and the captain has packed personal effects in a duffel bag.”
Zen’s sweat went cold on his neck. “What does that mean?”
“As unlikely as it sounds, it now appears Transolar will instruct the crew to jump ship and leave us to die in a fiery crash. Have you heard any scuttlebutt from the troopers?”
“A crash? No. Adam’s Inspiration is being decommissioned after this final run. The old tug is scheduled for a recycling facility in New Jerusalem.”
“More like a watery grave with all evidence buried forever,” Simara said. “Transolar can’t ditch the crew safely in the deep void of space, and they won’t risk an explosion in the middle of the traffic zone around Cromeus. Or send a dead elephant like a bomb into the orbiting grid of satellites, microwave generators, and offplanet housing—not to mention the wormhole doorway to Earth, their precious space-time gateway. They’ll have to make it look like a failed orbital approach close to the planet, a mechanical failure. They’ll launch the crew in the escape shuttles and leave me in this slot. Probably you too, now that you’ve volunteered complicity. We’ll have to jump ship during the chaos.”
“Jump ship into vacuum?”
Simara tested him with a firm gaze. “We’ll need two spacesuits with oxygen tanks and ablative shields. We should be within a hundred miles of the surface by the time all the shuttles have launched—close enough for a spacedive. A lot will depend on our angle of entry, but we could easily pull five-g and hit two hundred C on our shields. We’ll program a parachute array in case we black out, two drogue chutes followed by a conventional spread at three thousand feet.”
“Have you done this before?”
“No, but I mastered the simulation.”
“What does that mean?”
“The digital experience, the brain chemistry.”
Zen shook his head and clenched his eyes as his mind reeled in imagined freefall. “I can’t do it.”
“Sure you can. You’re a stud. You’ve got the muscles of an athlete from all your hard living on Bali. If anyone can spacedive and live, it’ll be you. We’ll try to aim for an ocean landing if we can. Our suits will hold pressure underwater, and we won’t be visible from the air. Look at me.”
He blinked his eyes open again, nose to nose with this nightmare girl. He hadn’t signed on for this craziness. No way. But bless Kiva, she was beautiful!
“I need you to listen carefully,” she said. “These instructions will supersede anything I happen to say online to throw our captors off the track. I need you to sequester two spacesuits near our chosen exit point, complete in every detail to my specifications. It’s going to take some fancy finagling with supplies, but I’ve hacked access to all the records. I’m stuck here in this couch like a criminal, but you can operate freely. If anyone asks, you’re just a rookie grounder wandering the tunnels. A simpleton.”
Zen nodded—not too much of
a stretch, truth be told. “Are you sure about this? Do you have any evidence of conspiracy?”
“Mothership was rendered silent at the precise time of the attacks on the omnidroids, throwing our freenet into chaos. That speaks volumes. Our enemy must have advanced technology to interfere with psychic realms, and terrible motivation to attempt genocide across the entire solar system. I don’t have proof for your eyes or ears. I have a feeling, an idea. I can visualize the whole thing.”
Was she brainwashing him with omnidroid strategy? The paranoid ravings of a murderous intellect? No, it couldn’t be. “Governor Blackpoll thinks you have special powers over humans, powers of manipulation and control.”
“Yes, I know. Everyone is fearful of our grand strategy, our master designs to evolve beyond the species and conquer the universe, but all mothership wants is order and harmony for sentient life. Omnidroids are willing servants to that. We were created for good and not harm to mankind. Why are you here if you don’t trust me in your heart?” The narrow space between their bodies was electric with potential, her breath hot against his neck. “I warn you away, I yell at you, ridicule your ancestral faith, yet you follow me like a shadow. Now we’re both going to die in a fiery crash unless you do everything I say.”
Zen studied her face, her cheeks animated with colour, her eyes faithful and true. “Okay.”
“Don’t speak of this online, to me or anyone else. Remember that all the data you access is monitored and recorded, all your private searches, all your Help questions. Don’t leave any clues that might give away our plan. We can’t make any mistakes.”
“I’ll be careful, I promise.”
Simara sighed with relaxation as though a difficult task had been accomplished. “I know you will.” She shook her shaggy mane and shrugged off her business persona like a cloak, a role easily played and cast aside. A younger, innocent girl looked at him with a glint of mischief in her eye, a girl he had met in a geyser pool on a planet far away. “Now take off your pants to seal the deal with a friendly Bali hand like the girls do back home. I’ve been alone too long thinking about you, and I want to see what all the fuss is about.”
His face blossomed with fire. “No, I can’t, not like this.”
“C’mon, Zen.” Simara took his hand and placed it on her breast. “You’re ready for this. We have to secure a mutual understanding of human trust in the core programming of our physical being. This is how it’s been done for centuries. You can hear your hormones talking, can’t you? You feel that right down into your groin. Your tactile senses are going straight to your midbrain, where evolution has charted pathways for procreation and survival. You’re hardwired by your genome to find me attractive. You can’t help it.”
Her voice sounded hypnotic and gentle with reassurance, the warmth from her body a balm of delight. His dream was coming to fruition, his final fantasy. “You scare me when you talk like a machine.”
“You scare me too, Zen, on so many levels.” Simara reached to loosen cellulose at his waist.
“Wait,” he said as he stilled her hands. “I can’t do it. Not like this.”
Puzzlement flitted in her eyes. “I thought you liked me. Don’t you want to show me your big secret?” She arched her eyebrows at him in whimsical flirtation, but it seemed forced and artificial now that he had made up his mind.
“You deserve better than this, trapped like a sex slave in a cage. It’s cheap and demeaning. Can’t we wait for a better place?”
Simara studied him with a frown, recalculating her options, and for a moment he wondered if he had ruined his last chance at romance. She pulled her hand away from his pants. “I’m so sorry. I thought this would be the natural thing for you, given your expertise in the area. I didn’t mean to offend.”
“No, no, it’s not you. It’s me. I just need some time.”
“That wasn’t the response I was expecting from a Bali boy.”
Zen winced and tried a smile. “I’m finding it a hard reputation to live up to.”
“Ha, pun intended?” She laughed and waved a hand. “No, it’s fine, really. I’m not ego invested. Or maybe I am. I suppose I’m jealous of all those other girls.”
“I don’t want you to be just another girl. You’re special.”
“Well, that’s sweet.” She studied him with pleasant surprise. “I had no idea you were such a complicated man. I’ll wait for you, if that’s what you want. We’ll defer gratification and consummate our fake marriage with fireworks when the time is right.”
“From anticipation blooms the flower of desire.”
“Oh, you’re a poet also? You do make an extraordinary package.”
He felt a blush of shyness and ducked his eyes, secretly glad to change the subject. “Actually, I do write a bit of poetry when the stars are properly aligned. Indulgent, cathartic stuff.”
“Really? I’d love to read some.”
“I’d be embarrassed to show you, a woman of your vast experience and intellect.”
She fluttered fingers as though to dismiss any notion of superiority. “I’m a neophyte when it comes to poetry. You had me with the skyfall princess line.”
They chuckled together at the memory now distant, and rested in a moment of solace. Life had seemed simple then, and opportunities bright and boundless. Now the future was restricted and reality confined to a dark tunnel forward. Simara shifted gears with machinelike efficiency as she began to go over the details of their mission. She outlined the schematics of the troopship from memory and specified locations for spacesuits and supplies. Everything had to be arranged without digital record. Surveillance cameras would have to be disabled at strategic points. Inventory records would have to be surreptitiously altered. An intricate plan emerged, an improbable confluence of knotty details, and by the time his conjugal visit had ended, Zen’s head was spinning with worry. Simara was counting on him, and everything had to be perfect for any chance of success.
Time seemed chiselled out by a miser as Zen completed his tasks one by one. He picked up extra tubes of goop at parties and hid them away. He borrowed extra pressure-packs of oxygen, claiming difficulty breathing due to claustrophobia in his bunk slot, playing the tourist. There were only twelve spacesuits aboard the vessel, fully geared up for emergency repairs outside the hull, and it seemed unlikely that a fleeing crew would disable equipment in deliberate betrayal, but he pulled two suits out of the line-up and hid them in a secret locker according to Simara’s instructions. In deep storage he found two ablative shields—pointed rocket heads made of heavy ceramic and lined with fireproof insulation. He had to haul each one up a ladder against acceleration with a rope harness around his shoulders, clenching his teeth against pain and reminded of home—dragging metal salvage across hot desert sand.
At night he dreamed of a dangerous jump into open space with Simara, flying through celestial heavens to distant pinwheel galaxies, colourful, spinning whorls with millions of suns and countless virgin planets to choose from. In the dream he landed on a paradise world and wandered psychedelic gardens of delight in juva ben flashbacks with a nurse in white cellulose—a land of fragrant honey and milk from anatomically egregious vessels. He woke soiled with shame each time, wondering why he was such an idiot.
By the time they approached Cromean orbit, Zen was fully prepared in his mind and primed for action, but his stomach thought otherwise, a twisting and churning worm in an ulcer of doubt. Simara had warned him to keep his protein levels high and his muscles toned with a daily regimen of exercise, but he continued to fight for control of his spirit. Who could he trust if not the woman he loved? Kiva would help him, bless the Lord of life. Kiva would guide him.
The floor lurched beneath his feet, and sudden buoyancy allowed him to float upward. He flailed and grasped a conduit for support. The rockets were dead. Gravity had failed.
“Emergency muster,” the intercom sounded. “Reactor shutdown. All crew muster to launch couches for airlock containment.”
The
lights darkened to a bluish tinge, and Zen twisted to reorient himself in weightless space. Deceleration had stopped cold, and the troopship was still pointed ass-forward to Cromeus and probably coming in fast with momentum. Was this the signal he had been waiting for? The drama Simara had envisioned? He touched his ear. “Login. Simara Ying.”
::Hi, Zen. Get to your launch couch right away. This is an emergency muster for possible decompression.::
The air in his lungs felt suddenly precious, and he held his breath to test the moment. “Is it a drill?”
::It doesn’t matter. This is a military transport, and all orders must be obeyed without question.::
Simara sounded right in character, civil and obedient, the epitome of cooperation. All Zen had to do was play dumb. “I’ll be there in two minutes.”
::Where are you?::
Zen checked the bulkhead. “I’m in an observation room, 32B.”
::That’s less than two minutes. Don’t take your oxygen for granted.::
“Okay, okay.”
“Emergency muster,” the intercom resounded and began to repeat the message.
Zen pulled his body mass under an archway and floated into the hallway, a helpless amateur again as he’d been on Trade Station. He clambered along the walls and grappled with conduits to maintain balance as a flurry of staff troopers flew by in both directions around him. He floated up the long ladder to his bunk slot and slid inside. The door closed behind him and sealed with a hiss. “I’m here.”
::Good. Sit tight. The captain will probably make a statement shortly.::
They waited, but no announcement broke their radio silence. The quiet became ominous as power flickered and went dead. A few more seconds passed, and Zen strained to hear sounds beyond his tiny cell. Were the crew packing the lifeboats even now? Jumping ship to trap them behind? Would they blow the hatch and leave them to die? He squirmed to turn around in his bunk and peered at the palm sensor on the door. He tapped 8339 on the battery touchpad, and the door popped as pressure released. He pried the portal wide with his fingers and peered out into empty space. All the bunk slots were open, and all the troopers were gone, just as Simara had envisioned. Time was short now and scheduled with precision. Zen looked back once and dove out into bluish twilight.
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