Iástron

by James C. Dunn

  Justus held his hand up to the door, not quite knowing what to expect of the person waiting inside.

  ‘Araman’s harmless,’ Ketrass had told him earlier that day. ‘And something of a genius too. It doesn’t stop him acting like a freak though. Odd would be an understatement. My advice would be get in and get out! Most of what he says doesn’t even make sense. Kramer says his idiocy’s catching. That’s why he keeps him out of the way down there.’

  Justus held his breath and knocked twice. He would have done so a third time had the metal door not swung back before his knuckles found it again. ‘Heavens!’ cried the occupant, whose curious face stared suddenly back. ‘Good heavens! Antal Justus?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s—’

  ‘Come in, come in!’ He took Justus by the collar and almost dragged him into the small, cluttered room.

  ‘This is your workshop?’ Justus asked, brushing down his dark uniform and staring about.

  ‘It is indeed. You like it?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s—’

  ‘Thought you would! They say you’re from Earth. That true?’

  ‘Well, yeah, I—’

  ‘Brilliant. What you think of this?’ The enthusiastic young man pulled out an old, dust-ridden contraption which half resembled a visual comm-link device. ‘Ever seen one of these back there?’

  ‘No—’

  ‘I’m not too sure what it does. I mean, what it did.’

  ‘So you’re—’

  ‘Yes, of course—how rude of me!’ He brushed his palms on his sides and took hold of Justus’ hand with both of his, shaking it wildly. ‘Araman,’ he said. ‘Araman Alwar. And you—’

  ‘Okay,’ Justus stopped him short. ‘I don’t know where you’re from or what you’re taking, but I swear I’m going to have to thump you if you don’t take a breath.’

  ‘Oh, of . . . of course,’ Araman mumbled, flushing pink.

  The oddball was shorter than the captain, with tidy blond hair and ruby-coloured cheeks which left Justus picturing the old fashioned dolls which were gathered in the house he grew up in.

  Araman Alwar coughed in an attempt to gain his attention, which had drifted off among the heaps of objects littering the small but extremely tall room. ‘I’m sorry,’ he squeaked. ‘I don’t get out of here too often . . . ha! . . . if you couldn’t tell. The old captain used to come and talk to me all the time, but he’s gone now—obviously!’ He pointed at Justus’ uniform. ‘Avéne hardly comes down anymore. Kramer and Lesper only summon me when I can be of use. I guess it’s just nice to see a new face.’

  ‘I can relate,’ Justus said, trying to appear understanding. ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘Since the beginning. Got plucked right out of the university on Mar-Andra by Commander Lesper. Never left.’

  ‘Never left? How are you not insane?’

  ‘What part of our introduction left you with the impression I was sane?’

  Justus laughed. ‘Ten years is a long time to spend down here.’

  ‘Worth it, I hope.’

  ‘What exactly are you anyway, fourteen?’

  ‘Actually, I’m almost thirty!’

  ‘You’re older than me? How the hell is that possible?’ They both laughed. ‘Doctor Ketrass said you’re some kind of genius.’

  ‘Did she?’ He sounded grateful. ‘Well . . . I guess so.’ His face fell and he sat down. ‘I’m guessing somebody sent you here for something,’ he said. ‘I can’t imagine another reason to expect company.’

  Justus bit his lip. He pitied the young chap, left on his own, unappreciated and ignored. He considered inviting him for a walk or a drink, but his mind wandered rapidly when his eyes caught the glistening flicker of an item, mounted on the wall a little way up.

  ‘Is that a . . . wow! It can’t be!’

  ‘Is what a . . . oh, yes,’ Araman replied, realising what he’d seen as though he too was often distracted by the item. He pushed over a stool and climbed on top of an unsteady-looking pile of discoloured manuscripts. There he lifted the sheathed blade of an historic rapier from the stand above. ‘You’re an enthusiast?’ he asked as he offered it over.

  ‘You could say that,’ Justus said, taking the blade from Araman and gently raising the hilt to his eye-line, before taking it out, grasping it firmly, and striking the pose he’d been taught to adopt from an early age. ‘Traditional rapier,’ he said. ‘Thirty-six inch blade. Wire wrapped. Weight . . . oh, two pounds . . . four ounces?’

  ‘Five.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Impressive,’ Araman said. ‘You play?’

  Justus smiled as he recalled his early years living in the manor on Earth. Countless memories flashed up and he drove the latter few from his mind. ‘A fair bit,’ he said, sheathing the rapier and handing it back. ‘Lesper mentioned you have something ready for me. He said something about a prototype.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Funny we should begin by sharing a mutual passion—above all this one. Hang on a moment.’ He hurried off before returning, as luck would have it, with a long, coiled blade, about the length of his forearm.

  Justus took it and admired the golden-laid metalwork. The young man certainly was talented. ‘Why do I get the feeling this isn’t your standard coilbolt?’

  Araman laughed. ‘No fooling you, I see. You’d think it was standard by first glance. Ignite it.’

  Justus obeyed. He flicked the switch and found to his surprise that the steady hum of the metal was joined, not by the traditional blue and purple glow, but by a dazzling dance of intense ruby-red sparks.

  ‘I call it the advanced coilbolt,’ Araman said. ‘I don’t like the word prototype. This one’s just as good as the others.’

  ‘Others?’

  ‘Lesper’s having me make many more. Yours is the very first.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘These are only used on Titan. What’s the need for them here?’

  ‘I have theories. But I figure: the only way to find out is to do what I’m asked. It’s taken years but I’ve managed to combine the technologies of both Titan and Crilshar, and this is the finished product: a coil that can project electrical bursts of power and yet ensnare enemy attacks and return them as rapidly as Crilshan blades can.’

  Justus gestured with the red-glowing weapon like a child fooling around with his father’s heavy blade. ‘Well, I’m impressed. And the fact it’s red?’

  Araman smiled. ‘A secret I’ll keep to myself if that’s okay with you. For the time being, at least.’

  ‘Have it your way,’ Justus said, extinguishing the coil.

  It may have been the contagiously optimistic mood surrounding Araman Alwar, but all of a sudden the Captain felt that much more cheerful. It felt good, like he used to feel with his crew. He thought of Adra Dimal and felt warm again. So far from civilization, and deep within a suffocating mountain of indeterminate substance, he simply hoped it would last.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  ADRA DIMAL WOKE with alarm, her blaster gripped tightly in her hand. For a moment she wondered where she was, but the disappointment quickly caught up. She sat back in her chair in the cockpit of the Crimson Flux. Outside the wind howled against the window, while the Accentaurian sun joined that of Accentaurib on the horizon. Kondogopas appeared in the distance, a shining blotch on a deadly yellow dune.

  ‘Oh, Justus,’ she muttered. ‘Where are you?’

  She checked the time on the dash, realised she’d only been snoozing for half an hour. She sighed deeply and bent down to fix her boots, before standing and putting on her coat. She’d made up her mind. Enough debating. Time was running out. Rotavar was besieged, though the emerald soldiers of the Defence had fought every day.

  Silence as Dimal collapsed back into her seat. It was hopeless. They were trapped. Almost three weeks since Justus abandoned them. She was exhausted.

  A knock on the cockpit hatch. Noah Nuveen shuffled in, followed by Raj and Shree Timbur, and finally a timid Aíron Veryan. All wer
e yawning and rubbing their eyes, blood-shot and irritable.

  ‘You called?’ Raj said.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘We need to talk. I’m just going to go ahead and say it. We’re in the shit.’

  Noah started to choke, and Raj thumped him on the back.

  ‘I mean it,’ she said. ‘We’re a couple of days away from running out of food. One of us needs to do something.’

  ‘What we need,’ Noah coughed, ‘is to get away from here.’

  ‘I know. I know. I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to head into the city. See what I can find out. Colony scans look like they’re gathering soldiers from all the northern cities.’

  ‘I’ll go with you,’ Raj said.

  ‘No, Raj. You’re the only other crewmember able to pilot the Flux with any sorta’ knack. You’ll stay.’

  ‘Then take Shree?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I’m trying to stay unnoticed. No offence, Shree.’ Shree shrugged her huge shoulders. ‘It’s better if I go alone. You can contact me anytime via comm. Don’t use any names. Call me Desert Fox.’

  ‘Why do we need code names?’ Noah asked cynically.

  ‘Because it’s exciting!’ Raj answered.

  ‘Then why Desert Fox?’

  ‘The old holo-film?’ Dimal said. ‘Not remember?’

  ‘No idea, Dim.’

  ‘Really?’

  Noah coughed.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘Bigger picture.’ She looked to Aíron. ‘We’ll be alright. As captain I’ll do everything I can. Share my rations between you. I’ll pinch what I need out there.’

  ‘Be careful,’ Raj said.

  ‘Keep in contact,’ Noah advised.

  Shree nodded and Aíron smiled weakly.

  ‘Let’s hope I find something.’ Dimal breathed out. ‘If not, we’ll be stuck here with these blasted Crilshans until we starve. Or worse, they find us.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  ANNA BERENGUER FORCED her eyes open. Her head throbbed painfully. Her stomach was executing summersaults. She gagged at the thought that it was only because she was so hungry. Stretching, she attempted to remember where she was. It was only as she sat up, however, that she realised she was not actually sitting at all. A slack black belt hugged her belly, holding her down against the metal floor. Her legs floated in the air before her, while her arms—wait, no—her whole body hovered as though she were in—

  ‘Space!’

  ‘What?’ came a voice.

  ‘We’re in space!’ she cried aloud.

  ‘Wayta’ catch up, Annie.’

  ‘Jon?’ she said. ‘Gílana?’

  Across the low-ceilinged opening she saw them, also floating in the middle of the room. They straightened themselves up and pushed off from the wall, gliding effortlessly towards her.

  ‘What happened? Where are we?’

  ‘You don’t remember?’ Jon asked.

  ‘I remember running. I remember crawling through a tunnel. I remember holding Gílana . . . and I . . . I hit my head.’

  ‘You did,’ he said.

  ‘Really hard,’ Gílana added, patting her own. ‘Even harder than me!’

  ‘But we made it? We definitely made it?’

  ‘Barely,’ Jon said. ‘The gate gave way just in time.’

  ‘Next stop Mars then,’ she said with a laugh.

  * * *

  It had been such a relief to discover they had made it onboard the vessel. Jon and Gílana had dragged Anna’s unconscious body through from the shuttlecraft and into the great vessel’s empty dock. From there they had lugged her down into the desolate depths of the ship, isolated and unseen.

  Managing to survive the launch of the shuttlecraft on Titan was one thing, but the three were quickly faced with a considerably more dismal problem. As far as Anna was concerned, running out of food so fast would be the most embarrassing way to meet her demise. But their food and water had indeed almost run out, mainly due to the unexpected addition of Gílana and the fact that only one small bag had made it onto the trip with them. Their situation was desperate. Hunger was a more stubborn companion than Gílana had become.

  The youngest Berenguer groaned beside her big sister and Jon told her to stop whining. But even he had his gripes. Of blatant importance was the fact that they had no gravity. Anna explained to the others that artificial gravity was an extremely hard state to maintain; she recalled from her studies that there were sensors planted throughout the vessels which identified when a member of the crew was in a certain section, area, or room.

  ‘And if there isn’t,’ she said, ‘then the room shuts down and power is rerouted.’

  ‘But there is someone in here,’ Jon reminded her for the sixtieth time.

  ‘Yes,’ Anna said. ‘But not a member of the crew. Perhaps they haven’t realised anyone’s down here.’

  And by perhaps she meant hopefully.

  They had done well to strap themselves down whenever they rested or slept. Anna had her belt, Gílana a disconnected power cable, and Jon a torn off section of his shirt. So far they had been just fine, though Gílana had been sick a couple of times.

  ‘Will we have enough oxygen?’ Jon asked again.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she told him. ‘It’s much easier to keep oxygen running throughout the whole vessel than to control and cut it off.’

  ‘But won’t we . . .’

  ‘Won’t what?’

  ‘You know,’ he said, anxiously. ‘Go dizzy, or fall unconscious or . . . or anything like that?’

  ‘Not if we keep ourselves active. I’m sure that’s what we were told at the Institute. We need to spend time keeping our muscles and bones in use. Otherwise we’ll just float about, useless.’

  If there was anything Anna felt, however, it was useless. Over the next twenty-four hours, though without a way to tell they could not be sure of the day or time, they became more and more disorientated. Despite taking plenty rest, the three felt increasingly drained—or, as Gílana termed it, “flimsy.”

  While not as bad as Gílana, and despite doing what exercise they could make themselves do, Anna and Jon soon began to feel the effects of zero gravity. Nausea, insomnia, and frequent headaches quickly kicked in, and after what felt like several days, though it could have been a little less or indeed many more, they had all become so restless that Anna considered leaving their hideaway to see what news she could find. Jon put a stop to that idea right away.

  On top of all of that, she could not stop herself from worrying about her uncle. They were on their way to freedom, leaving behind the war and strife; she only wished that she had left a message behind. Who knew how her uncle had reacted, or even if he had survived the attack at all? On the fifth night since their departure from Titan, Anna forced herself once again to ignore her regrets and worries, and she attached her belt around her middle, closed her eyes, and slept.

  * * *

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’ Anna put her arm around her sister. ‘The log Jon hacked into said we’d be making for an outpost overlooking the Martian Colony on Mars. I had hoped we could skip onto a vessel heading for Earth from there.’

  ‘And how long should it take us to reach this outpost?’ Gílana asked, more weary than she had been thus far. The following day was just like the last: they sat and spoke, ate a little, exercised, and then slept again.

  ‘Only a couple of days.’

  ‘I wish we knew how many it’s been,’ she said. ‘We should be there by now. Jon’s messed up again!’

  ‘I am here,’ Jon said, drifting above them with his legs straightened out and his hands behind his head.

  ‘Lucky us,’ Gílana mumbled. ‘But you know what I mean. What if we’re not even heading for Mars?’

  ‘You think we’ve not considered that?’ Anna said.

  Gílana leaned away. ‘It’s just too bad he couldn’t have figured out this was a bad idea before he brought you and me along!’

  ‘Again, still here.’ He
floated to the other side of the rectangular room, as though travelling lengths in an elongated swimming bath.

  Anna bit her lip and leaned in close to her little sister. She would have had to tell her the truth eventually. ‘Gílana, I . . . I was going to go with him anyway.’

  ‘You were what?! How could you? Leave me and uncle Ruben alone . . . leave me on my own? You’re meant to be my big sister!’

  Anna did not reply. She was right. There was nothing she could say; not even sorry would cut it. She glanced up, expecting Jon to move over and join in. But he wasn’t there.

  ‘Jon?’

  She unfastened her belt, rising from the ground as she did so, tightened it up, and placed it back around her waist. Together the two sisters drifted across the room toward the place Jon had disappeared.

  ‘Jon? Jon, stop fooling around.’

  ‘I don’t feel very well,’ Gílana said.

  ‘Go back then, sis.’

  ‘And be on my own? I don’t think so.’

  At the end of the room there hung down great pipes, dark and oppressive, and the girls held onto them, pulling themselves along. Pitch-black tunnels led through into many more.

  A thought occurred to Anna at that point.

  ‘You know what?’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’ve been talking about how we’ve not reached the Martian Colony. But down here, so deep, how would we even know if we had?’

  Gílana went to reply. But Anna was right. Maybe they were already there. Maybe they had arrived and left again, and the stowaways had been none the wiser—

  ‘ARGHHH!’ burst a cry from around the corner.

  The girls would have jumped, had they been able. Instead Anna kicked out with both feet, booting Jon hard in the jaw.

  ‘Wow! It’s only me,’ he said, massaging his chin and laughing.

  ‘I know it is!’

  ‘You fool!’ Gílana said. ‘That’s not funny!’

  ‘Of course it is,’ he said, and he took Anna’s arm. ‘You won’t believe what I’ve found!’

  Jon led them along the darkened tunnel, through the hidden bowels of the interstellar vessel. Everything was silent, like the ship had been abandoned. All life was above them. No one ventured down amid the dark. Eventually Jon stopped. A small door with an even smaller window presented another compartment. When he forced the unbolted door open all three landed on their feet, then fell at once to their knees, unable to stand. Cool air swept past their faces and Anna sighed with relief.