Sidney's Comet Page 17

  Sidney nodded appreciatively and peered out the porthole again. The IOTV moved to a position on the south side of the orbiter’s sextagonal hub to wait with another ship that was about to dock.

  Sidney barely made out the name of the other craft. The Shamrock Five, he read, recognizing it as an Akron class long-range space cruiser. Hey! That’s my ship!

  Being faster than standard transport craft, the Shamrock Five arrived at Saint Elba almost simultaneously with the IOTV carrying Sidney.

  “You have priority, Shamrock Five,” the radio on Javik’s command console blared. “We’ll bring you in.”

  Alone in the cockpit, Javik mentoed the Auto-Docking Mode, scanned the blinking lights and glowing dials of the instrument panel.

  From the IOTV standing by several hundred meters away, Sidney watched Javik’s ship enter the docking tunnel. Just coax ‘er in, Tom, Sidney thought, seeing a tiny form in the cockpit of the sleek black and silver ship. What a beauty! Then Sidney recalled what Javik had done for him at the reunion and glanced down at his twisted arm.

  It twitched.

  Why would Tom want ME? Sidney wondered, feeling self-pity. He said I’d he treated here first—Sidney thought of Carla now, and of his former co-workers, neighbors and friends . . . people he might never see again.

  At the same instant, Javik thought of Sidney. Maybe Javik half-noticed a round-faced fellow with curly black hair peering out of a porthole on that IOTV, but surely it was too far away for recognition. Still, Javik too reflected upon the reunion, and looked forward to his rendezvous with Sidney on Saint Elba.

  They’d better turn him over to me without a runaround, Javik thought, or somebody’s going to wish he didn’t get in my way. . . .

  The Shamrock Five was drawn by titanium magne-drive deep into Saint Elba’s cavernous docking tunnel. Squinting under the glare of exterior docking spotlights, Javik said to himself, “So far so good.”

  He flipped on the console screen and checked four outside views of the docking operation. “No problems,” he murmured.

  “Docking five hundred meters,” the onboard computer announced.

  “Passenger cabin view,” Javik instructed, leaning forward to speak into a speakercom.

  The screen flickered and showed Madame Bernet seated alone in the ten-seat passenger cabin, eating a sandwich. Nice feature, he mused. Wonder how the meckie processes the food. As the meckie finished the sandwich, it licked its fingers.

  Javik looked away for a moment to watch the dock come into view, a broad, dimly-lit platform with several ships tethered at the sides. I’ll take a trouble detector through the ship tomorrow before liftoff, he thought. I don’t want to leave the cockpit with that sub-human wandering around.

  As his eyes darted back to the console screen, Javik saw Madame Bernet staring directly at the camera. She seems to know I’m watching. How in the hell? . . . He flipped off the screen, and it went dark.

  Maybe the damned thing IS human, he thought, reflecting on the way the meckie continually stared at him. And it has the hots for me. Javik realized this was a feeble attempt at levity, and he felt uncomfortable.

  “Docking two hundred fifty meters,” the computer reported.

  Let’s see, he thought, planning his activities of the following day. I’ll look at the ejection pods and other safety equipment. That would be through hatch seventeen—

  Javik saw the docking platform clearly now. He watched dockworkers in white bubble suits as they scurried about on moto-boots.

  Saint Elba’s magne-drive turned the Shamrock Five to one side, and the ship began to approach the dock sideways. Presently the ship jerked, then rocked gently and settled into place in its padded docking slip.

  As Javik and Madame Bernet rolled off the Shamrock Five onto Saint Elba’s shadowy docking platform, Madame Bernet yawned. The meckie stretched, locked its fingers together and cracked the knuckles. “God, I’m drained,” it said. ‘Took a couple of sleep-sub pills in flight, but now all I can think about is a nice soft bed.”

  For Christ’s sake, Javik thought. This meckie is overplaying its part!

  Low-wattage light standards dotted the platform, providing enough illumination to cast weak shadows of the two as they rolled side by side toward an arched doorway. As they rolled through the doorway into a more brightly lit area, a loudspeakered woman’s voice announced: “Welcome, brave crewmen! I am Mayor Nancy Ogg.”

  Javik focused on an illuminated glassplex viewing area above them. “There,” he said, nodding his head in the direction of the viewing area. “She’s a looker, too!” Javik realized too late that this was the sort of sentiment he used to share with Brent Stafford. He missed Stafford.

  “I see her,” Madame Bernet said.

  “Decontamination showers are directly ahead of you,” Mayor Nancy Ogg said. “The inconvenience is necessary, since we must be concerned about the tiniest micro-organisms brought in from outside.” She paused and added, “But you understand this.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Javik replied with a cordial grin. “I most certainly do.” They’re worried about Zero-G Plague, he thought. No one dares speak of it because of space superstition. He recalled that it had been almost three decades since the epidemic at Saint Michaels killed sixty-six thousand people. . . . Stringent decontamination procedures had been established after that.

  Javik watched as Madame Bernet entered a women’s shower room silently. Wonder if she’ll rust, he thought.

  After the showers, Javik and Madame Bernet dressed in fresh Space Patrol uniforms they found in the dressing areas.

  A tweed-suited Mayor Nancy Ogg greeted them in the hallway, accompanied by Sergeant Rountree. Javik passed the release authorization to Mayor Nancy Ogg and asked her to locate Sidney immediately.

  “A cappy?” she said. “What do you want with a miserable cappy?”

  “He’s to be captain of the ship,” Javik said with a bit of irritation. He stared down the bridge of his nose at the Mayor.

  “What?” she said. “A cappy?” Dr. Hudson’s electronic letter was in the lapel pocket of her suit. We’ll lose Malloy for a couple of days, she thought. It won’t be difficult.

  “You’re to treat him quickly and release him to me.”

  Mayor Nancy Ogg studied the release form intently. “General Munoz signed this?” She handed it to the security sergeant, adding, “We’ll have to do some checking, of course.”

  “You weren’t notified?”

  “No.”

  “Christ! All right. Check all you want, but make it fast. If Malloy’s not treated and ready to go tomorrow, the comet intercept mission is off. And you probably know it isn’t headed toward any mining base.”

  The Mayor’s dark brown eyes flashed angrily as if to say that Javik was acting impertinently to one of her status. So you know that comet’s coming down our throat, she thought. Well you’ll go alone at the last minute—out of patriotic duty.

  Mayor Nancy Ogg said nothing further about the Malloy matter, and turned her attention to Madame Bernet. “Who might you be?” she asked, sweetly.

  The meckie identified itself, after which Javik explained, “Madame Bernet is a meckie, our Onboard Systems Coordinator for the mission.”

  So THIS is the killer meckie, Mayor Nancy Ogg thought. It looks human, except for the eyes.

  “This way, please,” the Mayor said, motioning toward a nearby conveyor transporter. A strip which moved slowly and noisily, the transporter carried pop-up metal chairs.

  Javik started to roll toward the conveyor, but stopped as he saw Madame Bernet and Mayor Nancy Ogg hold back.

  “After you,” the Mayor said to Madame Bernet in a syrupy, overly gracious tone. I’m not going to turn my back on this . . . monster! she thought.

  Madame Bernet’s eyes flashed angry glances at the Mayor and at Sergeant Rountree. “Thank you,” the meckie said, smiling warily. It rolled by Javik.

  Do they sense what I do about Madame Bernet? Javik thought. Or do they know s
omething?

  “Step aboard,” Mayor Nancy Ogg instructed as they all reached the transporter. “Disembark at Landing Platform One.”

  Mayor Nancy Ogg watched the meckie and Javik take seats. Then she and Sergeant Rountree sat behind them. Mayor Nancy Ogg recalled seeing a decommissioned Atheist killer meckie once in the War Museum. She felt fascination and fear.

  After a short ride on the conveyor transporter, they transferred to a monorail car destined for the habitat’s outer rim. They sat in triple-wide seats, with Mayor Nancy Ogg and her sergeant on one side, facing Javik and Madame Bernet.

  “There aren’t many people moving about at this time of night,” the Mayor said, glancing around the car at four scattered attendants in other seats.

  Javik smiled at her, caught her gaze.

  She looked away.

  She carries herself with an air of superiority, he thought, feeling captivated by the Mayor’s almond-shaped brown eyes. But I see a passionate woman beneath the facade. Javik flicked a glance to his left, saw Madame Bernet staring bleakly out the window.

  The monorail car jolted.

  Sergeant Rountree looked across at Javik and said, “I’m sorry the ride is so rough. We’re working on the tracks, you know.”

  Javik insisted it did not bother him. Then he looked at the Mayor and asked, “Forgive me for prying, Your Honor, but are you related to President Ogg?”

  “My older brother,” she said, pinning her gaze on Madame Bernet. The meckie stared out the window at the blackness of the tunnel’s interior, apparently unaware of the Mayor’s interest.

  “Fine, man,” Javik said.

  “Yes,” Mayor Nancy Ogg thought. But a bigot? she thought.

  “I’d vote for him tomorrow,” Javik said with a flirtatious smile in the Mayor’s direction, “but there are other more pressing matters requiring my attention.”

  “I’m certain my brother understands,” she said stiffly.

  Cool one, Javik thought. Too bad I don’t have time to soften her with my charms.

  When the monorail car exited the spoke tube, it began to decelerate. Javik saw the lights of an arch-glass terminal building ahead, and beyond that the twinkling lights of a resting city.

  They disembarked at the terminal. Sergeant Rountree led them along shadowy motopaths past a fruit tree orchard and into an area of apartment buildings surrounded by illuminated Japanese gardens.

  “We’re just outside the habitat’s principal shopping district,” Mayor Nancy Ogg said as they negotiated an arched bridge.

  “Very nice,” Javik said, noting carefully manicured dwarf shrubs and trees along each side of an illuminated stream.

  “I’m terribly sorry about the temperature,” Sergeant Rountree said as they reached the end of the bridge and entered a narrow motopath. “We’ve had trouble with the solar heating system. It’s been four degrees on the cool side for a week.”

  “There’s no need to apologize for everything,” Mayor Nancy Ogg said sternly, flashing an angry glance at her sergeant.

  Sergeant Rountree did not meet the Mayor’s gaze; he mumbled something in an apologetic tone.

  “Hardly noticed the temperature,” Javik said, amused at the confrontation.

  They stopped at a fourplex building, where Mayor Nancy Ogg handed Javik and the meckie plastikeys. “Separate apartments have been prepared for each of you,” she said. “The apartment numbers are on the keys.”

  Then she turned to leave and remarked, “I’ll send for you in the morning. We’ll breakfast together. Your ship will be recharged and ready to go by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I’d like to see Malloy right after breakfast,” Javik said with a tone of authority.

  “We’ll see,” Mayor Nancy Ogg said.

  After decontamination showers in the Hub, Sidney and the other clients were allowed to use the bathrooms and were provided with fresh clothing. As the fatigued group boarded a monorail car for the trip to the habitat’s outer rim, an attendant said, “Saint Elba’s night barrier is in place now, shielding the reflected rays of the sun. The barrier moves back and forth automatically, creating day and night in the habitat. We even have seasons!”

  They disembarked at the arch-glass terminal building, and from there were herded unceremoniously into the back of an autotruck. The truck moved quickly through shopping and residential areas. Presently, Sidney saw the lights of a massive building which stretched laterally as far as he could see. In height the structure was perhaps one hundred stories, limited as it was by the thickness of the outer rim.

  “Elba House,” an attendant said.

  A few minutes later, the clients were lined up in the lobby of Elba House, awaiting admittance. Toward the front of one line, Sidney watched six desk attendants as they matched clients with counselors. Loudspeakered voices rang around the room as the attendants called for counselors. When Sidney’s turn came, he rolled to the desk.

  “I’m supposed to get rush treatment,” Sidney said, leaning forward and speaking in a low tone to a beefy, flat-nosed male attendant. “I have a very important mission. . . . ” Sidney caught himself as he noticed the attendant sneering at him.

  “Everybody here is on an important mission,” the attendant said. “Especially the mental cases!”

  Two attendants seated nearby tittered.

  The attendant grabbed Sidney’s right wrist and read the plasti-tag. “Malloy, S.,” he said. “Client number one-six-five-six-three-two-oh-two-nine.” The attendant checked his log-book, then spoke into a voice-amp: “Counselor, Ruth Bremer. Is Ruth Bremer present?”

  A woman called out with military precision: “Present.”

  Sidney turned to watch a slender woman with neatly trimmed dark brown hair moto-shoe to his side. She wore a plain white Bu-Med dress emblazoned with a triangular Bu-Med lapel crest. “I am Bremer,” she announced curtly.

  Sidney studied his counselor as she leaned over the desk and mentoed an auto-pen to sign the custody form. The pen moved across the page without being held. Of a bit less than middling height, the counselor had hard features, with a protruding chin and a tiny nose. Sidney became conscious of how tired he felt. The excitement had begun to wear off.

  “Take Malloy to one-four-six-five-eight in R Wing,” the attendant instructed.

  Bremer nodded and grasped Sidney by his good arm. “A maximum security wing,” she confided as they rolled toward a double-wide door marked “SUBWAY.”

  “Maximum security?” Sidney almost spat the words out. “I’m not dangerous!”

  “They know that,” she said with a hint of condescension in her tone. “Anyone can see you’re not in chains.”

  “Then why?”

  “Orders, fellow,” she said stiffly. “I just do what I’m told.”

  Pausing at a subway loading platform, they watched as a four-passenger mini-car approached. I’ll complete the necessary forms to get you out of there as soon as possible,” she promised.

  “Thanks for that,” Sidney said. “But I’m supposed to—”

  “Don’t thank me!” she scoffed. “That will cost you two work credits! I don’t fill out forms for nothing!”

  “A Lieutenant Javik of the Space Patrol is going to ask for me tomorrow,” Sidney said, “I’ll be going with him.”

  “Sure,” the counselor said. “I’ll put the whole staff on alert.”

  “Thanks,” Sidney said. Then he caught her frigid gaze and realized she was insincere. Sidney fell into silent and troubled thought.

  R Wing was a six-minute ride away. They took an elevator to the fourteenth floor and moto-shoed down a long, curving hall which was punctuated with signs. One sign appeared more frequently than others:

  THANK ROSENBLOOM

  FOR

  FULL EMPLOYMENT

  “This is it,” Counselor Bremer finally announced, stopping at a maroon door. She read an attendance screen on the wall, added, “Your roommates are already in bed. Enter quietly and find a bunk. I’ll set up your therapy sche
dule in the morning.”

  She mentoed the door. It slid open to one side, revealing a darkened room with bunk beds along the opposite wall and a table with two straight-backed chairs near the entry. A tiny barred window was high on one wall.

  “I’ll hold the door open for two minutes to give you more light,” she said.

  Sidney hesitated, then rolled across the threshold. But he felt a sudden wave of fear and turned to re-enter the hall. An unseen barrier in the doorway halted him abruptly.

  “Ow!” he said, rubbing a bruised eyebrow. “What was that?”

  “Thought barrier,” she replied stiffly. “Get to bed. Now.”

  “But why? . . .” Sidney remembered and said, “Oh. Maximum security.”

  Counselor Bremer did not respond, stared at him coolly.

  Sidney looked down at his twisted left arm, noted sadly that the elbow, wrist and fingers were lock-bent. Every muscle and tendon ached and appeared taut to the point of bursting. Angrily, he tried with all his energy to straighten the arm and hand. But it was to no avail. He stood there for a moment afterward breathing hard and glaring across the thought barrier at Counselor Bremer.

  “You have forty-five seconds,” she said.

  Sidney turned like a whipped meckie-pup and found an unoccupied upper bunk. He unsnapped his moto-shoes quickly, then laid his weary body upon an electric lift which had dropped silently from above. His body weight activated the lift, and it carried him to an upper bunk. Darkness fell across the room as Sidney rolled into bed, wearing a thin green Bu-Med smock like the one issued to him on Earth.

  How long will my treatment take? he thought. Will Tom find me here?

  “Bremer’s a tough one,” a husky voice whispered from below. “She’ll chew ya up and spit ya out.”

  Sidney did not respond. He lay awake with his eyes open watching faint shadows cast upon the ceiling by the high wall window. Tired to the marrow, he tried to collect his thoughts. The room gradually filled with light snoring sounds. As Sidney’s thoughts ran together in a blur, he too drifted off to sleep.