by Piers Platt
“We could try. But I have a feeling we’ll always be one part short,” Falken said. “Something will go wrong. It won’t work.”
Weaver frowned. “A few minutes ago you were absolutely certain we could get back to Earth. Now all of a sudden, you’re convinced we’re stuck here. Why?”
Falken opened his mouth, but before he could answer, a loud hissing sound erupted from the entrance to the bridge.
“Ah! Damn it!” They heard Ngobe exclaim.
Falken and Weaver leaped up and hurried to the escape pod. They found Ngobe standing in front of the pod, brushing at a pale blue stain on his uniform, frowning with frustration.
Saltari appeared in the doorway to the bridge a moment later.
“Are you okay?” he asked Ngobe.
“I’m fine,” Ngobe said angrily. “But … god damn it! The very first step!”
“What? What happened?” Weaver asked.
“The first step in the checklist, it said to stir the liquid oxygen tanks. So I flipped the button to activate the stirring mechanism, and one of the tanks burst and vented out into the launch tube.”
“What does that mean?” Weaver asked. “Can it still fly?”
“Can it fly? Sure,” Ngobe said. “But that was the main tank. There simply isn’t enough oxygen in the auxiliary tanks to last the trip. Anyone that takes off inside will be dead within hours.”
“Can you repair it?” Saltari asked.
Ngobe sighed. “I don’t know. We’d have to find a replacement tank somewhere on board and install it. Or weld the broken tank to re-seal it. And then figure out a way to refill it, at high pressure, from a liquid oxygen source here on the ship, assuming we can find one. It all depends on what parts and tools we can scrounge from the rest of the ship.”
“How long are we talking?” Falken asked.
“A year or two?” Ngobe guessed. “This is a daunting task, even assuming we can find the right equipment. I think it’s very likely this pod is beyond repair.”
Weaver looked at Falken, his face crestfallen.
“You were right,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” Falken said.
“How did you know?” Weaver asked.
“I … I just had a feeling,” Falken said, avoiding his gaze.
Weaver looked hurt. “You’re hiding something, Falken. I may not be a good liar, but I can tell when people are lying to me.”
Falken shook his head. “I can’t say.”
“Is there any way off this planet?”
Falken bit his lip. “No. Not for you.”
“Why?” Weaver asked. “How do you know?”
“I …” Falken shook his head, biting his tongue.
“If there’s no way off this planet, at least you can tell me what you know,” Weaver said.
Falken eyed Weaver. There’s nothing you can do, he thought. And I can’t tell you why. Because if I do, they yank you out of here, and put you up in front of the Corrections Committee … Falken frowned, thinking. … the Corrections Committee. Where you would have a chance to argue your case. A slim chance, but … more chance than you’ll get here. The only catch is, I’ll be in a boatload of trouble.
“Weaver, tell me you’re innocent,” Falken said, quietly.
“I have,” Weaver said, frowning.
“Tell me again,” Falken said. “Tell me you didn’t kill Tevka.”
“I didn’t,” Weaver said, his expression full of honest confusion. “I’ve never killed anyone.”
“You give me your word on that,” Falken said.
“Yes,” Weaver said. “Why?”
Falken took a deep breath, steeling himself. “I believe you,” Falken said. “Now listen closely. When you wake up, there’s gonna be a hearing.”
Ngobe grabbed Falken by the arm, his grip shockingly strong. “Falken …” he growled. His tone was cold, and full of menace – Falken had never heard the kind old man speak like that.
“Let go, Ngobe,” Falken said, shaking him off with an effort. “When you wake up–”
“Wake up?” Weaver interrupted. “I don’t … what are you talking about?”
“Listen!” Falken said. “You’re going to wake up, and go before the Corrections Committee. You need to convince them you’re innocent, just like you convinced me.”
“That’s enough, Falken!” Saltari warned. He turned to Weaver. “Our friend Falken has clearly had a psychotic break with all this excitement. He’s babbling.”
Falken pulled the pistol out of his pocket, and pointed it at the doctor. “Another word, and I shoot you and Ngobe, both. Weaver, don’t listen to them, just focus on me. I’m not insane, and neither are you. When you wake up, and see the committee, you need to fight like hell for an appeal, or a retrial, or whatever. You understand?”
“No,” Weaver said, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Say it back to me,” Falken said. “When I wake up, I’m going to remember this. I’m going to convince the Corrections Committee I’m innocent.”
“Falken!”
They turned, and Falken saw Archos stride into the lounge, scowling, with half a dozen burly inmates in his wake. He flexed his fingers, and blue electricity arced and crackled between the pads of the stun-glove.
“No more lies, Bird-man,” the warden said. “That’s enough.”
Falken put his back against the ship’s bulkhead, keeping Saltari, Ngobe, and Archos in his line of sight. He held the pistol up in both hands, ready to fire.
“Say it,” Falken urged.
“When I wake up,” Weaver said, “I need to convince the committee I’m innocent.”
“Stop it, Falken!” Archos shouted, taking a step closer. “You’re upsetting my friend.”
“He’s not your friend,” Falken told Weaver. “None of them are.” Here goes. “Because none of them are real.”
“Falken …” Saltari said, edging toward him.
Falken swung the pistol toward the doctor, and he stopped in his tracks.
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Weaver said.
“You will, soon. Your family is safe and sound, it’s true. But right here and now, you and I are the only things that are real,” Falken told Weaver. “Weaver, you were right all along. Oz is a simulation.”
“Nooooo!” With one voice, Saltari, Archos, and Ngobe cried out, eyes wide in fear and anger. The scream continued, their voices joining and rising to an impossibly high pitch.
As Falken and Weaver watched, the men began to disintegrate, the individual pixels of their horror-stricken faces coming apart at the seams. They collapsed to the floor in a pile of jumbled colors, and then the walls and ceiling of the ship began to rip apart, too – tearing away in great strips to reveal the trees and ocean of Oz. The destruction seemed to spread, accelerating, across the ocean and sky. Tiles of clouds and water and earth slid away, and where the sky and landscape had been, only great patches of pure, deep black remained.
“Falken, what’s happening?” Weaver cried.
“You’re going home,” Falken yelled, as the darkness encircled them. He smiled sadly at his friend. “Tell Vina I’m sorry. Tell her … this was the only way.”
“Vina?” Weaver asked, and then everything went black.
Chapter 32
Sheriff Buckniel stopped the video on his computer. The frozen image showed Rauno Korhonen, holding a pistol aloft, pointing it at the camera. On the other side of his desk, Elize Weaver sobbed into her daughter’s chest, her shoulders heaving.
“It’s okay, Mom,” Vina said. “You didn’t know. None of us did.”
“Including me,” Buckniel admitted, grimacing. “I’m sorry I missed the signs on this one. I got it completely wrong.”
“I’m sorry I accused you and your brother of being out to get my Dad,” Vina replied, patting her mother on the back.
“Forgiven,” Buckniel said, waving his hand. “You had every right to be upset.” He tapped a button
on his computer. “Deputy? Get your patrol car, and meet me out front.”
“Yessir,” Vina heard the reply.
“He’s armed,” Vina reminded Buckniel.
“So are we,” the sheriff said. He stood up, and settled his gun belt into place around his hips. “You two stay here, now. I’m going to go take care of this myself. If you need anything, just see one of the other deputies.”
“Thank you,” Vina said.
He left, and closed the door gently behind him. Elize lifted her face off of Vina’s shoulder, sniffing. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.
“I gave up,” she told Vina, her face guilt-stricken. “I … I knew something wasn’t right, but I stopped fighting to bring him home, and I gave up.”
“Shhh,” Vina said, squeezing her mother’s arm. “There’s only one person at fault here. And it’s not us, and it’s not Dad.”
“We’re going to find him, and bring him home,” Elize said, pulling herself together.
“Damn right we are,” Vina agreed.
* * *
The sheriff’s car slowed to a stop in front of Rauno Korhonen’s house. Buckniel, in the passenger seat, looked out the window, frowning.
“That him, sitting there on the porch?” the deputy asked.
“Mm-hm,” Buckniel replied.
“Spoiling for a fight?” the deputy guessed.
“I reckon,” Buckniel agreed. “I’d rather not give him one, but if it comes to it, let’s be sure you and I go home tonight in one piece.”
“Yessir,” the deputy agreed, nervously.
“Pass me that shotgun,” Buckniel ordered. He took it from the deputy and switched the safety off. Then he opened the door, and stood up carefully, watching Korhonen warily. The older man sat on the top step of his front stoop, hands in his lap.
“Afternoon, Rauno,” Buckniel called. He heard his deputy walk around the front of the car – the younger man had one hand on his pistol, in its holster.
“Sheriff,” Rauno said. “I imagine you talked to my granddaughter.”
“She showed me the video,” Buckniel said.
“She’s a smart girl,” Rauno said. “I didn’t even know she was shooting it.”
Buckniel started up the walk, slowly. He could only see one of Rauno’s hands – the other was hidden in his lap. “You’re a smart man, too, Rauno. Don’t try anything you’ll regret later.”
“Ten years I lied about what happened that night,” the older man said, seeming not to hear Buckniel. “You keep a lie going for that long, and part of you starts to believe it’s the truth.”
“The truth is you still have a chance to make this right,” Buckniel said. “It’s too late for Tevka, but your son-in-law deserves to come home. You could help make that happen.”
“I’m not going to jail,” Rauno said, focusing his gaze on Buckniel. “I’ll not let you parade me downtown in handcuffs, to be humiliated in front of my family.”
Buckniel noticed an empty bottle of bourbon on the top step, next to the old man.
“You’ve been drinking?” he asked.
Korhonen snorted. “Fat lot of good it did me,” he said. “But I figured I should try to enjoy one last drink.” He picked one hand up out of his lap, and Buckniel raised the shotgun, covering him closely.
“Easy,” Buckniel said, seeing his deputy draw his pistol, pointing it at the old man.
Rauno lifted a crystal trophy out of his lap, and set it down beside him on the step. He brushed a layer of dust off the award’s plaque.
“Stand up, please, Rauno. We’re gonna take you in, now,” Buckniel said.
“No,” Rauno said.
“Stand up slow, and show me your other hand,” Buckniel ordered. “You’re making us nervous, and I don’t want anyone getting killed by accident, you hear?”
“Nobody else has to die, sir,” the deputy echoed.
“Just me,” Rauno said. He lifted the pistol to his temple, and fired.
* * *
“You’re sure I can’t come?” Elize asked, holding Vina’s hand as their car sped down the highway, passing under a sign for the spaceport.
“I think it’ll be easier if I go alone,” Vina told her. “When Falken and I visited, he had to talk his way in, we weren’t really supposed to be there.”
“He was going to go back inside the jail, to try to find your father?” Elize asked.
“That was the plan,” Vina agreed. “If they let him – he had to make an appeal with a special committee, I think. But it was a very secretive place, there were a lot of things they didn’t tell me. And I haven’t heard from him since the day I came home. It’s been a couple weeks, now.”
“Perhaps you’ll find him when you go up,” Elize said.
“I hope so,” Vina said. It would be good to see him again. And he’ll be happy to learn what I found out about Dad.
The car took an off-ramp, circling up a highway overpass, toward the terminal building’s departures area. Elize checked her wristpad briefly.
“Your brother will be home tonight,” she said, reading a message.
“Good,” Vina said. “I’ll feel better knowing you’re not alone. And when we spoke, Enzo had a ton of questions about everything.”
“I’ll try to catch him up,” Elize said.
The car stopped next to the curb, and Vina unbuckled her seat belt, leaning over to give her mother a hug.
“If I can’t convince them, be ready to make a lot of noise down here. Go to the newsnets, like we discussed,” Vina said.
“I’ll be the loudest woman on the planet,” Elize said, smiling. “And Sheriff Buckniel said he’d be right there with me.”
They broke off their hug, and Vina reached into the backseat for her overnight bag. “I’ll call you as soon as I can,” she promised.
“Call me with any news, no matter how small,” Elize said. “And if you see your father, tell him … tell him I love him.”
“I will,” Vina said.
She kissed her mother on the cheek, and then stood up out of the car and hurried into the terminal. Ten minutes later, she was climbing up a set of boarding stairs into a fueled spacecraft, as a hot wind gusted across the tarmac, ruffling her hair.
“Welcome aboard,” the flight attendant said, smiling at her.
Vina smiled back, and then ducked down the ship’s center aisle, found her seat, and slipped her bag under her seat. She checked her wristpad for a moment.
I better wait ‘til I’m up in orbit to call Captain Peshai, she thought. Probably best not to call him in public.
The cabin door closed a few moments later, and the attendant passed down the aisle, checking that everyone was buckled into their safety harness. Then the boarding stairs rolled away, and Vina felt the craft lurch forward, starting toward the runway. They waited for two other craft to take off, and then the engines’ dull roar increased to an angry whine, and Vina was pushed back into her seat as the spacecraft hurtled up into the air.
Chapter 33
“Easy, he’s coming up,” a voice said.
Falken opened his eyes, and felt a weight lifted off his face, as an orderly removed the virtual reality mask. He tried to lift his arm, but found that it was still strapped to the chair.
“Just lay still,” another orderly said, drawing an intravenous needle out of Falken’s arm.
“Where’s Weaver?” Falken asked.
“We’re not supposed to talk to you,” the first orderly told him.
Falken looked around the room, but in the dim lighting, he could only make out the shadowy outlines of other inmates strapped to their own chairs. One was close enough that Falken could see his head, but his face was hidden beneath his own mask.
He’s probably not in here, Falken decided. This is still the new batch of convicts they sent me in with. Weaver would be in a different room.
His throat felt dry – he coughed and tried to clear it.
At least my ribs aren’t broken anymore.
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Falken saw one of the orderlies reach a foot under the chair, and toggle its release switch. The chair floated upward gently in the room’s microgravity.
“I need to talk to Captain Peshai,” Falken said.
The orderly pushing the chair shook his head. “Good luck with that,” he said.
“Sh,” the other orderly said. “She said not to talk to him.”
They floated the chair out through the room’s hatch, and then down the ship’s corridor into a room with a vidscreen hanging from the ceiling.
Same kind of room they took me to the first time I got out. But I guess they skipped the checkup with the doctor this time … wasn’t in there long enough.
The orderlies locked Falken’s chair in place and then disappeared. He waited, facing the screen, and the seconds dragged into minutes.
“Hello?” Falken called out, after a time. “Is anyone there?”
What the hell is going on around here? Where’s Peshai?
Finally, the door opened again, and a tall woman with gray, curly hair walked in. Falken frowned, and then recognized her as the chairwoman of the Corrections Committee.
L-something. Lopez?
“Mr. Falken,” she said, nodding sternly at him. “You’ve caused quite the incident here.”
“That was never my intention,” Falken said. “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name …?”
“It’s Locandez,” she said.
Falken glanced past her, but as he did so, the hatch slid shut. “Captain Peshai’s not coming?”
“Captain Peshai is no longer the administrator of this facility,” Locandez said. “I’ve taken over his duties as warden, until we can find a suitable replacement.”
“You fired him for putting me back in Oz?” Falken asked.
She pursed her lips. “Actually, he resigned. But his decision to reintegrate you with the simulation played a large part in it, yes.”
“Is Weaver out of Oz, too?” Falken asked.
“He is,” Locandez said. “He just completed his medical screen.”
“Is he okay?”