by Rob Rowntree
Kiki flushed and through tightening lips said, “There’s nothing we need from these creatures, nothing at all.”
Alan placed his arm around Kiki’s shoulder, drawing her nearer, “They’re ugly that’s for sure, a little frightening too, but this is quite a momentous occasion. We do need to contact them.”
Shrugging off his arm Kiki backed away, “Communicating with these creatures is a mistake. You’ll see. It’s a huge mistake.”
Before Alan, Woodland or Stowe could respond Kiki left the lounge. Woodland coughed and said, “I hope she’s not going to spoil the party.” Although Alan found his remark flippant, the sentiment felt right. Kiki was unravelling fast.
Chapter Sixteen
Paranoia and Persuasions
“You think she’s that much of a liability?”
Alan tried not to appear exasperated. Could Conway have her safety in mind after everything? “Conway, you and I both know Kiki’s the saboteur and yet we decided to let it ride. We had our reasons and admittedly mine was pretty foolish. We should have restrained her then. Look, all I’m saying is that we should put her in her cabin and lock the door. At least until we are away from here.”
Conway moved to his suite’s panoramic window; possibly to take pleasure in viewing the little moon-world that floated below, its curved horizon slicing into a large arc of the gas giant it orbited. Thin rings drew diamond lines across the sky. Without turning he said, “I really hoped she’d come around. Even you did. Perhaps Rosie Black’s death shaped her reasoning, drove her to the edge.” Conway clapped his hands his decision made. “Right Alan, I agree. Let’s confine her to quarters and restrict her access to the ship’s systems. Collect Woodland and Gibson and then meet me back here.” He checked the nearest clock. “Say ten minutes. Kiki will be stopping by for an informal chat. We’ll deal with her then.”
***
Alan was worried; he’d expected more of a reaction than this, yet Kiki stood aimlessly, her arms clasped by Gibson and Woodland, body relaxed, subdued, Alan thought. Looking again he noticed one difference - her eyes held a fire. Locked onto them, Alan suddenly believed Kiki could prove far more formidable than he’d at first realised. Her demeanour shouted resignation, yet her eyes hinted at something calculated.
Conway was saying, “...and so my dear we have decided to confine you to your cabin for the duration of our stay here. Meals will be provided and delivered to your quarters; there will be an escorted exercise break each day.” His tone grew stern, “I can’t make this clear enough: if you attempt any form of insubordination, vandalism or action leading to the jeopardy of this vessel and her crew I will see to it that you become Jane Doe back home. Do – I – make – myself - clear?” Conway punched out each word.
For a moment Kiki didn’t respond. Her eyes danced with loathing and rage, her breath became ragged and fast. “Conway, your expedition is over. And like those that came before you, your grave will lie in alien soil.” She paused to emphasise her obvious mission, “Earth must remain safe.” She didn’t give a crap what Conway thought.
As they turned to leave, Kiki looked deep into Alan’s eyes almost as if she were trying to read his thoughts. Any other time he would have longed for such depth of passion, but the promise briefly held in her eyes transformed to one of potential violence. Embarrassed by it, Alan dispensed with thoughts of intimacy. Kiki was ‘damaged goods’.
***
When the hour for the landing shuttle’s launch came the crew selection held no surprises for Alan. Conway and Stowe would make the first descent with Alan as pilot, leaving Woodland in charge to baby-sit Pickering and Gibson. Kiki would remain incarcerated as arranged. Conway there for the glory, Stowe to enable her to get first glimpse of new subject matter and Alan... For a moment Alan had toyed with the idea that his planetary landing experience pushed him to the head of the queue, but no, Conway being the out and out bastard he was, left Alan believing his own selection smacked of control and power politics. Keep your enemies close.
Shuttle design had, like the design of the lead-pencil remained intrinsically unchanged since inception. Sure there were improvements, tweaks here, and improved engines there, sleeker looks. But the fundamentals were the same.
Alan sat in the pilot’s chair running through his final check list. Behind him, in a spacious room-for-ten cabin, sat Conway and Stowe. Cabin storage held enough provisions for several days alongside supplementary survival gear. Alan began to bring life to the little ship. Servo’s hummed and clicked, pumps whirled, as they laboured into action, the engine assembly shaking as engaged coolant feeds delivered their radiating liquid. Alan loved this, the feel of a ship’s heart, its being.
“We are five and live, Woodland. Requesting hanger bay depressurisation.”
Waiting a few seconds, Alan fidgeted.
“Alan,” Conway interrupted, “try him again.”
“Woodland, this is the shuttle. Do you copy?” He tried to disguise agitation.
Nothing. Conway blustered, “God damn it. If this landing is aborted because of some lazy control protocol I’ll throw the bastards responsible out of the nearest air lock.” Conway toggled his mike, “Woodland, get this show on the road and depressurise the hanger deck. Have you got that?”
Nothing.
Alan reached for the abort, but before he could initiate the command a warning light flashed.
“What’s that Alan?” Conway asked.
“It’s the shuttle’s outer airlock hatch, it’s opening.”
Moments later a rapping sound came from the rear of the cabin. “Somebody wants in,” Alan said, to nobody in particular.
Conway appeared to relax, “At least we’ll know what the problem is. I can’t stand the lack of communication though. Why didn’t they just link in and explain?”
The inner hatch dogs opened one by one, clanking like bolts into a target. Slowly the hatch swung inward. There were figures there, backlit by bright airlock lighting, silhouetted, they began to materialise.
First Woodland, then Pickering and Gibson shuffled into the cabin; their hands bound in thick packaging tape, feet hobbled. And last a grinning Kiki entered the cabin. She said nothing as she placed a small shoulder bag on the deck at the rear of the cabin, but then she didn’t have to, her gas powered, ceramic flechette-gun did plenty of talking for her.
From his acceleration chair Conway blustered, “Kiki Bech. There are moments when I wish I’d followed a harder line.”
Kiki moved quickly, decisively. The gas gun spat and blood erupted from Conway’s right knee. Conway’s gasp’s billowed in the sudden silence, swiftly turned to a squeal as Kiki brought her foot down on his damaged joint. “You, Conway, are an anachronism, a relic of a bygone and lost era. I’m sickened by your pouring over your relics and history, listening to the last recordings of dying men all for profit; everything is exploitable to you.”
Woodland took a step towards Kiki; she spun, the gun raised, her foot grinding into Conway’s knee. “Okay sailor, take a seat and strap in... Now!”
Woodland slid into the nearest flight couch and buckled up.
From the pilot’s seat Alan had a view of the whole cabin. Kiki’s back was too him, but the distance between them wouldn’t afford him the time her needed to get to her. Fear powering his thoughts, he blurted, “How in the hell did you get out of your cabin?”
Kiki turned, grinding her foot further into Conway’s knee. Above the spluttering of Conway’s pain she said, “I’m the chief engineer, a locked door isn’t a problem. Now before more chit-chat, I require you all to be good little hostages. The flechettes in this gun will not penetrate the hull, but will slice through flesh and bone.” She patted Conway on the cheek and offered a wry smile, “I have no compunction when it comes to shooting people.
She motioned with the pistol. “Right, Pickering, secure the outer airlock door, and then the inner. Take a seat up here when you’ve done.” She beckoned Gibson with a finger, “Gibson, here if you plea
se.”
Gibson scuttled to the indicated seat as Pickering went to the airlock.
Would Pickering be brave enough to run, to reach the bridge and stop the hanger from opening? Wishful thinking thought Alan. If he did, Kiki’s plan, whatever she had in mind, would be in tatters. Alan’s heart sank as Pickering re-entered and dutifully took his seat.
Kiki gave Conway’s knee another impertinent shove, forcing more sharp whimpers before she took up a position at the rear of the cabin. “I can see each and every one of you. If anyone moves from their couch I will shoot them. And that’s a promise.”
“In a few moments the hanger doors will open. Alan, I want you to take us down to the surface and land near the settlement we found; and lover, if you try anything I’ll fill you full of tiny little pricks.”
Alan tried to ignore her crudeness and concentrate. What could he do? Fly erratically? Stall and hope he could regain control after... After what? Perhaps he could depressurise the cabin, no, he’d never be able to get his oxygen supply on before she intervened. Thing to do was wait for an opportunity, there’d be one, there always was.
External pressure dropped steadily, and as the last vestiges of air exited the hanger, the doors began to open. Scraps of paper and several oily clothes shot into space before them. Kiki said, “Take her out Alan, nice’n easy. The rest of you, take a long look at Haqiqa as we leave. It’ll be the last time you see her.”
Pickering coughed and nervously said, “Surely you aren’t going to maroon us down there? It’s barbaric.” Alan glanced in his cabin mirrors and saw tears glistening on Pickering’s cheeks. The poor bastard’s already thinking of what lay below, what befell the Peterson’s crew. Pickering begged, “Kiki, please. We’ve done nothing to deserve this. Take us back to the ship, we can work something out? Whatever your grievances, I’m sure we can reach a mutual accommodation.”
Kiki laughed, the sound demeaning. “You are so pathetic. What is it? You think I’m upset about Rosie’s death or something. Ask Alan or Conway; they know all about my agenda and grievances.”
Pickering faltered, he glanced at Alan.
Here it comes, thought Alan. What a clever little girl you are Kiki Bech - Kidnapped only a few minutes and already you have us fighting amongst ourselves.
“Pickering,” Alan said, “Ms Bech is our saboteur. Think about it... Hector Ramos, my accident on the UTG, Rosie Black and the fire extinguishers and now—” Alan raised his hands to indicate their current predicament. “All courtesy of our very own Kiki Bech, xenophobe.”
Pickering homed in, “You knew? You and Conway knew?”
“At the time it didn’t feel as clear-cut. I—”
“You fucking bastard. You knew and you let it slide for a bit of skirt.”
In his mirror Alan thought he saw Kiki smile. Checking his position and taking a quick look at Haqiqa he made a course correction and burn for atmospheric insertion. The shuttle pivoted about her longitudinal axis, then, two quick bursts from her forward manoeuvring thrusters brought her ventral heat-shielding to face the thickening atmosphere.
Over the little world’s arc, Alan gazed at the closing gas-giant’s ring. It filled a good quarter of the sky and for a moment Alan let his attention wander. This little world and the ring were going to intersect and the way things were shaping up, he might well get a ground-side seat. He hoped Haqiqa’s readings were accurate. Passing through a gas-torus couldn’t be that dangerous, surely.
While adjusting several controls, Alan activated the internal cabin cameras. A flat-screen gave him a split-view showing four images of the interior. He sighed a little, relaxing his shoulders as the tension spiking into his neck eased. She would not shoot him. Not while he flew the ship.
A judder ran the length of the ship as the small world’s atmosphere began to drag away speed. Jolts ensued, each one eliciting a moan from Conway. Alan gave him a cursory glance on the flat-screen. Conway looked pale; a fixed grimace emphasised wrinkles. Poor bastard was gripping his damaged leg above the knee in, Alan guessed, some vain attempt to immobilise his leg as they passed through the upper atmosphere.
Alan said, “Just a few more minutes’ and the buffeting will cease. Let’s hope the ride will be smoother then.”
Pickering shouted, “Don’t ignore me Abrams. You are going to pay for this, and pay good.”
“For god’s-sake man, can’t you see what she’s doing? Every time you argue with me or Conway over something she’s suggested plays for her. She’s using you, like she used me and Conway. Button it until we are down.”
Alan tested the ailerons; they bit a little but not enough. He’d wait thirty seconds and try again.
Readouts indicated a ground speed of twelve thousand knots and falling. Cloud cover obscured the terrain below, radar showed low plains dotted with several small seas. No mountains to crash into. As with earlier models of shuttle, gliding was an integral part of the descent and Alan liked that, he enjoyed stick flying, the fly-by-wire providing the illusion of a touch of nature, a tangible buffeting of the ailerons. It felt good.
Quickly, he checked fuel reserves. This shuttle deviated from early models. His ship held bulk, double the size of former designs and having a more efficient, nano-fuel synthesis system. He possessed fuel to spare. Best glide for a while, then land under power. Once down the ship would produce fuel for a return flight. Alan wondered if there’d be the opportunity.
Testing the controls again, he banked the shuttle left, entering into his long figures of eight. He took a quick look at his passengers.
Conway fought against his pain; to his left, Avram Stowe looked pale and nervous. The artist gazed straight ahead with determined effort. Woodland appeared relatively relaxed. Perhaps he’d had hostage scenario training. Kiki’s agenda probably didn’t coincide with any drawn up by the navy thinkers. She now showed signs of being totally deranged. Anything could happen.
Gibson slumped in his chair, head low. Alan felt for the guy; his lover gone, and now this.
Pickering on the other hand, seethed with anger and Alan hoped that by the time they were down the good Doctor would have calmed.
Examining the situations of others helped to keep Alan centred. Focus on the present, on the controls, the task at hand. Still, worry ripped into his enforced calm, sweat cold on his neck. The possibility of never seeing Jimmy again and knowing that Jimmy would probably remain institutionalised for the rest of his life made Alan feel sick. Anger bubbled, fought for control, yet this brother clung to his rationale, his calm focus. Options for escape would surely come.
A small, nervous smile brushed his lips as he thought of Jimmy watching Cosmic Journey. Jimmy would probably think Alan’s current predicament came straight out of one of the episodes. But right now, right here, Alan couldn’t think of one thing he could do to stop Kiki.
***
Barrelling across the sky like a burning meteor the shuttle would be visible over large areas of the surface: a small sun cruising the blue.
The cabin stayed silent, except for Conway’s occasional grunts. Alan banked the craft around for another run. Speed had dropped to around two thousand knots and fell even faster. Below, several small seas, lakes, flashed past. The onboard sensors took images, but Alan didn’t need to look at them to see that the circular seas had large sandy beaches on one side only, as if the waters were eroding only that section of coastline. Another image revealed that the sandy area occupied the same side of the sea as the one he’d examined seconds before. Peculiar.
“How long Alan?”
Kiki’s boredom felt exaggerated; glancing at her Alan thought she looked tired. Had the burden of keeping secrets finally caught up with her? What did he care now? “Not sure,” he eventually answered. “Half an hour maybe. I’ll want to set her down safely and that may take a few minutes.”
“Good. And Alan, there’s no use in you being a hero. There’s nowhere to escape to.”
Alan found her comments irritating. Could she se
nse his intent, deduce that he had already begun to look for solutions to his predicament? Or maybe it was just her paranoia, her need to maintain control. Alan said, “You think it’ll stop here? Others will follow—”
“They didn’t before,” she snapped. “And besides, we all know, with one or two possible exceptions, that this is just some misguided private venture that nobody will miss.”
Alan wondered whether he should mention the message he’d had Gibson send. Unwise. Better she didn’t know. “Whether they come straight away or later, they’ll come and what good will your little game have brought then? A few years? Ten? Ten years of hopefully hiding Earth’s location. Is that worth the lives of the people here?”
“You won’t know this,” Kiki responded, as if she must. “I have a little daughter back home. Melissa. Ten years, twenty, thirty years of relative safety is worth many lives for the sake of a child.”
Alan immediately thought of the young woman he’d seen struggling through the snow in Broken Ridge. The association was obvious – You could never tell how things would turn out. Kiki’s daughter might make it, but equally, she could be a tramp.
“How do you measure the value of individuals, Kiki? Their worth? Your daughter may grow to be a disappointment, and all of this, what you’re doing right now, would have been for nothing.”
“True, but at least I’d have given her that chance.”
Alan banked the shuttle and increased their rate of descent. The sooner they were down the better.
As the craft turned, Alan gazed down at the rolling grassland. Grass rippled; wind-driven, it surged across the prairie-ocean like pacific swell. Without reference he couldn’t determine the grass’s height. Another sudden motion caught his attention - a herd of fast moving creatures raced away from his direction of flight to mass and swirl as might a flock of birds or large shoals of fish. The beasts flanking the whole appeared to rotate back into the fleeing mass their places replaced by others.