The Unborn Read online

  “It’s hard on everybody.”

  “But not that much. I think my body’s trying to tell me something.” He grinned. “Maybe it doesn’t like to be bent.”

  “Silly, we aren’t bent in the process. We just bend space, or the spacecraft does.”

  “Whatever it is, I don’t think I’ll accompany you on these trips anymore.”

  They stepped out onto an arrival platform at the main Seattle clickport, with Meredith remaining at his side, ready to support him if he started to fall. He looked better now.

  The two of them had just ridden inside one of the smaller click chambers, to cross the solar system. All around them in this immense terminal were chambers of varying sizes, including some so large that they were filled with shipping containers, as well as trucks, aircraft, prefabricated buildings, and military equipment and supplies. She saw several soldiers in uniforms stepping out of another click chamber.

  Clickports only existed in the United States; it was a proprietary technology of the powerful and influential Polter Industries, and they refused to allow it to be used by other nations. Through the high-level connections they had, Polter executives also managed to keep the technology away from the military and the U.S. government, but allowed them to use it, at high fees.

  According to the experts, there was no limit to the maximum size of a click chamber. It didn’t really need walls, which were only for passengers, to make the trips less frightening. When larger cargo was shipped, it was just enclosed in a large click-frame, with illuminated transport forces shooting this way and that. Theoretically, entire moons and planets could be moved, if enveloped in a click-chamber force field. But anyone who tried that would have to be crazy, Meredith thought. God put the cosmos together the way it was for a reason....

  “I’m sorry to hear you won’t be going on these trips anymore,” she said to Piers. “I’ve always thought we worked well together, sir.”

  “I know, we’ve always been a team. But don’t worry, I’ll find someone to go with you.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that, didn’t want to think about it. They had been close for years, a very professional, cordial relationship. In view of his advancing age she’d known it would have to end someday, but this seemed so abrupt. He’d been fine the last time they crossed space. Maybe he would change his mind when he had time to rest and think about it.

  CHAPTER 3

  Riggio had kept driving toward Seattle, following the program in the navigation system. The male computer voice in the unit was peculiar, a Slavic- or Russian-accented English, it seemed to him. The voice kept telling him what to do, and he found it irritating. But he couldn’t figure out how to turn it off, and when he considered it more he didn’t want to change anything in the system, because there could be an exact destination in the city that he hadn’t figured out yet. A clue. No street address had shown up on the screen yet, just the city, and how many miles remained to go.

  He’d made several fuel stops, picking up ready-made sandwiches, slices of pizza, and snacks along the way. He had no credit cards in his wallet, but he did have the money he’d found on the floor of the car, thousands of dollars in a variety of denominations. The more he thought about his identification papers, the more suspicious they seemed to him, and he had no real memory of where he’d been living or what his prior life had been like. He didn’t know where his hometown might be, but maybe it was ahead. He didn’t think it was anywhere in Florida.

  It was early morning and he was only a few miles east of Seattle. The fuel gauge was low, so he took an exit, passing through an airlock to leave the tubeway. On the surface streets of a small town, the internal combustion engine switched itself off and connected to the solargy grid system. The engine grew quiet.

  At a fuel depot, he stepped outside and waited while an attendant filled his tank. It was an overcast summer day and a little warm, but not uncomfortably so. One of his earlobes itched, and when he scratched it he felt something odd there, a strange lump. He felt on both sides of the lobe—something hard was there. Looking in a mirror on the console he saw it was an earring post, the sort of thing women wore to keep their pierced ears open. He unhooked it, pulled it through, and then did the same on the other ear, which also had a post. It was yet another mystery he could not explain.

  As the attendant filled the car with fuel, he watched Riggio, looking curious.

  Riggio didn’t say anything, didn’t need to explain himself to anyone. For all the man knew, Riggio was gay, or one of the men who had no trouble with their sexuality, those machismo sorts who wore earrings anyway, defying anyone to say something. Deciding to assume that demeanor, he pocketed the posts and glared at the attendant.

  The man’s smile faded, and he looked away.

  Across the road, perhaps a quarter mile away, Riggio saw an immense, dark gray structure that was shaped and textured like a beehive, with a pair of yellow cranes looming over it, and construction workers on the roof.

  “What in the world is that?” he asked.

  The attendant, a man with a boyish face, said, “The salvation of our little town, that’s what. You’re looking at the famous Sam Howe’s newest entertainment facility, the Beehive. You’re looking at the thrill ride part.”

  Riggio stared at him blankly.

  “You’ve never heard of Sam Howe?” the man asked.

  “Can’t say I have, and can’t say I haven’t.” It was a veiled reference to his own lack of memory.

  The attendant nodded, finished the fueling and made change for the cash payment. “Sam Howe has facilities all over the place—most of them here on Earth. He’s a real showman, dresses outlandishly. He’s also a wealthy philanthropist.”

  “Sounds like a great man.”

  “Everyone around here thinks so. He visits regularly to check on the progress of construction, making sure everything is exactly the way he wants it. My wife works for a restaurant in town, says he sat at one of her tables the other day. According to her he dresses in costumes and has an air about him, but I can’t blame him for that. He left her a big tip. Other folks in town say similar things about him. He’s making a lot of friends around here—some of whom helped his security force drive protestors away this morning.”

  “Protestors?”

  “Yeah, they’re always hounding Sam, saying he’s harming the environment, that he’s destroying the land. A bunch of crazies, radicals.”

  ~~~

  Curious about the unusual facility, Riggio drove toward it, and parked with other cars and small trucks on a wide paved area that had a job shack on it, and construction equipment. The beehive structure was on the other side of the job shack, and additional smaller buildings were under construction, more traditional in shape. Looking up along the face of the large gray building, he saw three orange-helmeted workers on the roof, walking along the sloped surface with special shoes. They stepped into a cage that swung from one of the crane booms, and were lowered slowly to the ground.

  Noticing a group of onlookers, Riggio walked over and stood near them. Listening in, he decided that most were curious locals, including a number who looked like farmers. The bizarre building towered over them.

  “Never seen anything like that,” one of the farmers said, a man in tattered coveralls.

  “Had a little version of it in my backyard last year,” another said, “with wasps going in and out of it. Can you imagine this thing full of wasps?”

  “Would take a lot of pesticide,” the first man said, “that’s for damned sure.”

  They chuckled and made quips and small talk.

  Riggio heard a buzzing sound that sounded very much like bees. For a moment, this caused him concern, until he saw a passenger capsule speeding on a track around the outside of the hive, buzzing and spiraling higher and higher. The capsule was yellow and black, and shaped like a bee. A man in a golden jumpsuit was lying inside, looking forward. He was visible through the front and side windows.

  Not far away, a ta
ll man in an Uncle Sam costume emerged from a bottom-level doorway in the beehive. He was accompanied by an attractive black woman who caught Riggio’s attention. Wearing a business suit that fit snugly over her full figure, she carried a briefcase. He wondered if the man might be Sam Howe. He was talking and gesturing toward the beehive with his hands, while she listened attentively.

  At the base of the beehive, men in golden jumpsuits formed a line and boarded half a dozen bee-capsules, one pilot in each. Another capsule sat on the ground. A mechanic leaned into an open compartment on one side, working on something.

  One after the other, the additional capsules started in motion, at first going slowly around the bottom level, then spiraling upward on the outside track and buzzing, going faster and faster, before darting inside the hive at differing levels, disappearing from view.

  Now the beehive glowed and became transparent on the outside, showing only an interior framework along with the tracks inside and capsules on them, speeding passenger units going this way and that, barely missing one another where the tracks crossed. Riggio caught his breath at the precision, split-second timing, the near misses when all the capsules were in operation at once. He hoped a disaster did not occur. It looked very dangerous to him.

  All the while, the pretty black woman held an electronic device in her hand, pointing it at the beehive, focusing a powerful blue light on the places where the capsules nearly collided with one another. She moved from one spot to another. It seemed to be some sort of a test, or an inspection.

  Finally, the beehive returned to its normal gray, opaque color. One by one, the capsules returned safely to the bottom level, and the crews climbed out.

  ~~~

  “Too close for comfort,” Meredith said, putting the device back in her briefcase. “My risk-scanner indicates the capsules are avoiding collisions by only one point four seconds. That will never do. I want you to adjust the timing so that they avoid one another by at least seven seconds.”

  “That would take all the excitement out of the ride,” Sam Howe protested. “How about three seconds?” He was a tall man in his fifties with a white goatee, and often wore the traditional Uncle Sam costume—blue coat with tails, vest with stars, trousers with red-and-white stripes, and a white top hat emblazoned with a star.

  She knew he loved America, and everything it represented. This was his way of showing it.

  Meredith looked away, thought for a moment. “Five seconds, or I can’t get a company to insure you.”

  “I’m rich enough to self-insure this place, without any damned insurance policy.”

  “Not a good idea, Sam, and you know it. Don’t forget, I’ve seen your financial statements, because you were required to submit them to us. And I think you’re spread thin right now, because of the new facilities you keep opening up. This one, as well as the four connected sky towers in Kansas City, and all of the resorts and entertainment centers around the world—including that huge underground resort near Seattle. What are you going to call it?”

  “Sun Under,” he said. “We’re testing the artificial sun right now, and expect to have the whole facility operational in eighteen months. Sun year-round, no matter how much it rains in the northwest. They call this the Great Pacific Northwet, you know.”

  “So I’ve heard. How’s your cash flow going?”

  He scowled. She knew she’d struck home with this, but he said, “Don’t forget, I always make money for my investors, and they know it. They’re willing to give me considerable leeway. I specialize in entertainment facilities, rarely straying far from what I know.”

  “You’re a smart businessman, Sam, so you understand that insurance spreads the risk by creating a pool of premium payments to pay claims. It’s a time-tested system that prevents any policyholder from suffering a catastrophic loss. And the only way we’ll insure you, my friend, is if you follow my risk-management recommendations.”

  “All right, a five-second gap,” he said, nodding. But he didn’t look happy.

  “Good, now I want to go for a ride myself, with only my capsule in operation. It’s part of my inspection process.”

  “All right. I’ll send my best man out with you.” She knew that Sam would prefer to have the rides operate on automatic systems, without human pilots, but the insurance company had forbidden that, specifying instead that there had to be human pilots. Sam had also tested automatic collision avoidance systems, both with robot and human pilots—but on these elaborate tracks the systems had not worked, because they kept stopping the cars.

  “And a professional pilot will operate every capsule when you open too, taking one passenger at a time? No exceptions?”

  “Of course. Anything you say.”

  ~~~

  Riggio was getting ready to return to his car and leave, when he saw the pretty black woman climb inside a capsule, accompanied by a jumpsuited pilot. The capsule went into motion, accelerating around the beehive.

  But on the second tier of the spiraling trackway, the capsule locked up, skidding and screeching on the track, shooting sparks behind it. The underside started to catch fire. Riggio saw the pilot exit on the other side, but he lost his footing on the track and fell, tumbling around twenty feet to the pavement. The door on this side of the capsule seemed to be jammed, because he saw the woman inside, struggling with it and unable to open it.

  Riggio ran to the beehive and climbed up its rough, sloping surface until he reached the capsule. The flames were starting to lick up around the lower part of the capsule. He pulled hard on the door handle, ignoring how hot it was. At first it resisted, but finally he was able to jerk it open. The woman looked terrified. He pulled her out by her arms, protecting her against the flames. Then he steadied her as she got her footing on a narrow ledge beside the track. They hurried along it, getting away from the flames.

  “Thank you so much,” she said, squeezing one of his hands tightly. It hurt him, because he’d burned them, but he didn’t complain. “I was trapped inside, didn’t think I could get out. The open doorway on the pilot’s side was engulfed in flames, so I couldn’t go that way.”

  “I’m just glad you’re OK,” he said, with a big grin. The woman was older than he was, perhaps ten years or so, but she was very attractive. Her eyes were large and hazel, her hair black and lustrous, and her cheekbones classically high. She didn’t seem to be injured at all, but Riggio was in pain himself.

  His hands were hot and bright red.

  She noticed now. “Your hands!” she said. “Do they hurt?”

  “Only a little.” He was lying. They hurt a lot.

  “And you have scratches on your arms.”

  “I’ll be all right.” He’d already had the scratches, when he’d come to awareness in the car. His sore shoulder throbbed beneath his shirt, where she could not see it.

  “I’m Meredith Lamour,” he said.

  “Riggio... Tarizy.” The mysterious last name he’d found on the documents.

  “Pleased to meet you. Very pleased to meet you.”

  He smiled.

  On the pavement, many people were gathering, looking up. The pilot who had fallen was sitting up, but he looked battered and was bleeding on one side of his head. A fire truck rushed across the parking area, its siren wailing.

  Within minutes, the flames were out, and Riggio was helping Meredith down a ladder that the fire crew had extended. A security officer told Sam it might have been sabotage by environmental protestors, and he would have it investigated.

  “This young man needs medical attention,” she said.

  A medic looked at Riggio’s hands, put a cooling cream on them. “Looks like second-degree burns,” he said. “This cream will help, but you need to see a doctor right away.” He gave Riggio a small tube of the ointment.

  Riggio didn’t know where he would find a doctor, but nodded. “I’ll do that.” He turned to leave.

  “Thank you,” Meredith said. She went to him, handed him a card. “I’m a risk manager,” she
said. “I find ways to reduce insurance costs, and I sell insurance, too. If you’re looking for work, I’ll see what I can do for you.”

  “I’ll give it some thought.” Riggio stuffed the card in his pocket, hurried back to his car. His hands felt a little better. Maybe he didn’t need to see anyone; maybe he would get better on his own.

  Just before driving away, he saw Meredith climb into a small roto-plane, and it lifted off into the sky.

  CHAPTER 4

  It was early evening, and agent Sariah Jantz was still in her office, sifting through evidence documents and writing reports on the multiple cases she was handling. She wasn’t the only one working late; through her open door she heard other FBI agents and assistants talking. There had been more federal criminal activity than usual in recent months, and everyone in the office was being asked to do more. Additional staff was being trained, and construction was underway on a new wing of the Washington, D.C. headquarters building. It was job security, but not a good sign for the country.

  She sighed, got up from her desk and activated the exosuit that enabled her to walk, despite being paralyzed from the waist down. A pale orange glow went on, surrounding her lower body. Her suit consisted entirely of energy beams, and the only portion of it that had any weight at all was the small power pack and control unit, which she wore at her waist.

  She heard the energy field crackling with her movements, and for a moment she watched the hypnotic play of the beams of light. The technology was distracting to her at times and not perfect, but she preferred it to a motorchair. The exosuit had settings that enabled her to attempt to move her crippled legs on her own, and even though she kept trying she’d had no success. Still, it was her stubborn refusal to act like a helpless victim.

  Thick-boned and stocky, she had a square face with a firm chin and large green eyes. Instead of contact lenses or holo-surgery to improve her nearsightedness, she wore round eyeglasses. Her henna hair was clipped short so that she could manage it more easily. She cared little about personal appearance any more, but was fastidious about cleanliness. She was fifty-one but knew she looked older.