Chapter 13

Medic Fling Yazzer, who was slated to arrive from Australia Main to replace Gath as the fourth medic at CVS, never did show up. It seemed that the “good spaceborn ... fully in favor of the concluding resolution”, as Colonel Lister put it, changed his mind and declared opposition. This kept Gath at CVS another two days while Lister tried to find another replacement. When he was unsuccessful in this endeavor, at least on an emergency fill basis, he decided to simply send Gath out anyway and leave his base a medic short. After all, CVS could operate with only three medics—it had done so before. The sooner he could get that pastry-puff trouble making groundie off his base, the better.

The orders came to Gath by way of Weasel, who personally carried them all the way from his office to the clinic—a trip of less than twenty meters that, nevertheless, slightly winded him.

“You are to leave as soon as you can gather your belongings and report to the hangar,” he told Gath triumphantly. “You are booked on the 1320 local flight from NAWM to Homeport Ground.”

Gath looked at the time display, doing some quick mental arithmetic. It was 0905 currently. The flight to NAWM by hover took a little more than ninety local minutes. He had to be present and ready to board by 1300 at the absolute latest. That gave him about two local hours he could safely remain at CVS—plenty of time to set the plan into motion.

“Sounds good, Coolio,” Gath told him. “I’ll call the OD adjunct when I’m ready to fly.”

“I expect that to be within the next thirty minutes,” Weasel told him, using his authoritative voice.

Gath simply shook his head. “Sorry, hume,” he told him. “That’s not going to happen.”

“What do you mean it’s not going to happen?”

“I mean I got a lot of slag that needs to be packed up.”

“You haven’t packed your belongings yet?” Weasel demanded.

“I didn’t know when they were shipping me out,” Gath said with a shrug. “Now that I know, it’s going to take me a little bit to stow everything.” This was not the least bit true. Gath had had his few belongings ready to move out ever since his two guests had moved in, but he needed an excuse to stall for time.

“Well ... how much time could it possibly take to pack your belongings?” Weasel demanded.

“At least an hour,” Gath told him.

“An hour? But...”

“And then I have to go say goodbye to a few humes.”

“Goodbye?”

“Goodbye,” Gath said. “You know? Stop by, see them, tell them it was nice serving with them? After all, I’m probably never going to see anyone on this base again, right?”

“Well ... I suppose,” Weasel allowed.

“Don’t worry,” Gath assured him. “I’ll make my connection at NAWM. I guarantee it.”

“You’d better!” Weasel said, using the threatening voice again. He then stormed back to his office to do whatever it was he did in there.

Bong and Rif, the respective Medic and med tech for the day, had watched the whole scene silently. Now, both got up from their chairs and walked over to Gath.

“You’re really going,” Bong said with a sigh.

“I’m really going,” he confirmed.

She threw her arms around him, drawing him into a tight bear hug, her breasts grinding into his chest. Her voice, choked with emotion, told him how much she was going to miss him.

“It’s okay, Bong,” he told her, returning her embrace, patting her back. “Don’t write me out of this place just yet. I have every intention of making my way back here when this is all said and done.”

“I’m sure you will,” she said, obviously not believing it.

When she was done hugging him, Rif gave him the old friends who are parting and probably will never see each other again shake, which consisted of three elbow bumps of the right arm and then a loose embrace with two pats on the back followed by two slow hand slaps.

“I know we don’t see eye to eye on this concluding resolution ratslag,” Rif told him, “but you’re a damn good medic and I have nothing but respect for you. I’m sorry you’re getting slagger-torked like this.”

“Slag happens,” Gath told him. “And I’ll always remember you, Rif. You’re the hume who lit me up with TOB when the Norcals blew out my leg. A man doesn’t forget slag like that.”

“I’ll always remember you too,” Rif promised. “Say hello to Taz for me—if you see her, that is.”

Taz had been transferred out of CVS two days before, shortly after declaring her opposition to the concluding resolution and asking specifically for a transfer to Mars. It was a request that Colonel Lister had no trouble granting. At this moment Taz was on an orbital lifter out of Homeport Ground headed for Topside. Her departure was no coincidence. She wanted to go on the mission that Gath and Ox were planning even if it meant going AWOL. Neither Gath nor Ox had really wanted her to risk her career like that—she was not really necessary for the plan to work—but she had insisted. Gath was glad he would be able to continue seeing her—assuming they could pull this off—but he was anticipating a certain amount of awkwardness when it came to sharing a small ship with both Taz and her husband.

“If I see her, I’ll surely do that,” Gath promised.

He made his leave from the clinic, promising he would stop in one last time before he headed to the hangar. He then went directly to the OD adjunct’s office.

“My orders are here,” Gath told Sparky. “I’m to leave as soon as possible and catch the 1320 from NAWM to Homeport Ground.”

“All right then,” Sparky said with a slight smile. “Let’s get this ship out of space dock then.” His face was strained from dealing with the stress he had been under—stress from being removed from his command and stress from participating in something that might ultimately be ruled a mutiny. He did not back down, however. Sparky was an honorable hume.

He opened his holo screen and started manipulating things. His part of the plan took about ten local minutes to accomplish. Gath watched him as he worked, keeping his mouth shut so the lieutenant could concentrate.

“Done,” Sparky told him.

“Just like that, huh?” Gath asked.

“It’s as official as I can make it,” Sparky told him. “I have Private Gulch assigned to fly you and your two friends to NAWM. He is one of my people, loyal to me and opposed to the resolution. He does not know why you are taking two homers out of CVS, but he does know it is not authorized officially. He will ask no questions. Tell him no lies.”

“Got it.”

“All you have to do is get those two homers to the flight line and into the hover without anyone noticing.”

“We’re going to use the same ploy as before,” Gath said. “Hide in plain sight. I’ll dress them in the armor and walk them into the AVTOL like it’s just another mission. Once we’re in the hover, I’ll have them take off the armor and we’ll send it back with Gulch.”

Sparky nodded. “Once you arrive at NAWM, you should be good to go. I’ve put in an entry about how two homers have requested asylum on Mars. I put in their names and a quick briefing on their story. I’ve got their fingerprints and voiceprints on file so they’ll be able to enter and exit the various vessels you’ll be riding on. I have you listed as their escort. The problem will come if someone decides to open the file and see what the two homers are all about. If they do that, they’ll find no cultural anthropology report, no detailed mission briefs, no detailed homer debriefs, and no official declaration of granted asylum from a command rank marine officer.”

“In other words,” Gath translated, “the entire scheme will fall apart like a torkin’ comet in a gravity well.”

“Correct,” Sparky said. “If that happens, you and I will probably be arrested and scheduled for courts martial. Your two friends will probably be sent back to their homes.”

“Let’s hope no one gets to curious about them then,” Gath said.

“Yeah,” Sparky said dryly.

“I appreciate you hanging your slagger out in the wind like this, Sparky,” Gath told him.

Sparky, by now, had been around Gath long enough to have picked up on his groundie analogies. He nodded solemnly. “Can’t say I like it hanging out there,” he replied, “but it’s the right thing to do. You just pull this mission off.”

“I’m sure as tork going to try,” Gath assured him.

Gath really did spend the better part of an hour saying goodbye to people. This was partially to keep up appearances for the plan, but mostly because he really did have a lot of friends at CVS and it was entirely possible he would not be seeing them again. He exchanged many parting friend handshakes and received many hugs. Even those in favor of the resolution were, for the most part, sorry to see Gath go. He had earned their respect as a medic—despite his groundie heritage—long before the concluding resolution became a topic.

Once the goodbyes were done, he walked back to his quarters where Fears No Darkness and Catches No Fish had been staying since their arrival four local days before. The two Modoc warriors had not enjoyed their stay much, finding their isolation to be quite claustrophobic, though they were slowly getting used to it. Gath had taught them how to access the holo stage for entertainment and research purposes but their fascination with this had only lasted long enough for their marvel over the three-dimensional pictures that were not really there to diminish. They found most of the entertainment programs incomprehensible as they did not understand most of the cultural references or situations upon which they were based. As for the research database, their lack of literacy kept them from fully appreciating the wealth of information they had at their voice command and they quickly grew bored—even after Gath taught them how to get the holo to read aloud the textual pieces. They certainly did not enjoy the food he brought them. They could hardly eat anything at all out of the roach pit, so bland was the cuisine, and even when Gath prepared their meals fresh, they could not get over the fact that the meat they were consuming was not really meat, but processed plant protein. Both had learned the use of the shitter quite well as the food caused them to spend a lot of time in there with stress and digestive induced diarrhea. Both refused any medications from him to help alleviate their symptoms.

“All right, humes,” he told them now. “It looks like we’re on.”

“On?” asked Fears No Darkness, confused. “What are we on?”

“Sorry,” Gath said. “I mean it’s time to go. We have a scramjet to catch.”

“Why did you not just say that then?” asked Catches No Fish.

Gath nodded. “Good point,” he said, looking them over. They were dressed in fresh shorts and pullover shirts and both were clean and freshly showered. About the only thing they really liked about living in Gath’s room was the shower and its endless spray of clean, warm water. Both took at least three showers a day. “Let’s get you back into the armor.”

“Do we need to get naked again?” asked Fears No Darkness.

“No,” Gath said. “We won’t put on the under-armor layer. Just pull the pieces on over your clothes. You’ll get a little warm without the circulation system, but you’ll only have them on until we get to the hover.”

The two men nodded wisely, as if they had the slightest idea what he was talking about, and then set about doing as they were told, picking up the pieces of the armor from the edge of Gath’s bed and putting them on one by one.

“Tell me again how fast this scramjet of yours travels,” said Catches No Fish. He was clearly not enthusiastic about the coming travel itinerary.

“About five thousand meters per second,” Gath told him.

“Per second?”

“Per second,” Gath confirmed. “Don’t worry though, you’ll hardly feel the acceleration at all.”

“Because of the artificial gravity?” Catches No Fish said. They had been over this more than a few times.

“Correct,” Gath said.

“How is artificial gravity produced?” asked Fears No Darkness.

“I don’t have the slightest idea,” Gath admitted.

This did not serve to comfort the two warriors. “You do not?” Fears No Darkness said.

“It’s a complicated and highly technical aspect of physics,” Gath said. “It has something to do with magnetism and particle physics ... I think.”

“You think?” Fears No Darkness said.

“I think,” Gath confirmed. “Don’t worry though. The engineers understand it and it does work. I can attest to that, and on a cargo scrammer there are most likely no viewscreens to the outside. You’ll hardly even know we’re moving.”

“Wonderful,” Fears No Darkness said. He had learned sarcasm during his stay with Gath. He returned to his task of putting on the armor. He asked no further questions.

Once they were dressed and disguised, Gath picked up his transport bag that contained all of the belongings he would be taking with him. He then directed Catches No Fish to pick up a box that contained all the cooking machines he had collected since his arrival. The box was heavy, but the warrior had no problems with it. Gath then directed Fears No Darkness to pick up the case that held his acoustic guitar—which he had only played two or three times in his entire stay.

“All right,” he told his charges, “the same plan as before. We walk to the hangar just like we have every right to be doing so. You two don’t talk to anyone, even if they talk to you. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them you’re rolling on a mission and volunteered to help me carry my slag to the hover. Understood?”

They indicated that they understood.

“Fair enough,” Gath said. “Let’s do this thing.”

As before, it was absurdly easy. They passed three people during the trip, only one of whom acknowledged them in any way. That had been Corporal Bingbutt, who stopped Gath long enough to tell him goodbye and exchange the parting shake with him. She did not ask who the armored people were or where they were going. She hardly even glanced at them.

Upon arrival in the hangar, Gath led his two friends quickly around the perimeter of the building to the departure area, where a hover was sitting with its rear ramp down. They walked up the ramp and into the interior of the aircraft. An armored figure was sitting in the cockpit seat. The moment they were inside he told the Flyer to close the ramp.

“That you, Gooey?” Gath asked, using the common name for Private Gulch.

“The one and only,” Gooey replied.

“Thanks for doing this for me,” Gath told him.

“Thank me once we pull it off,” he returned. “Now how about we make like a Fluxarian Navy ship and get the tork out of here?”

“Let’s do it,” Gath said. He turned to the warriors. “Go ahead and get out of the armor. Just pile it there behind Gooey.”

They did as they were told while Gooey told Flyer to proceed with the engine start sequence. By the time they were back down to shorts, shirts and moccs, the hangar door was open and they were taxiing out.

“Go ahead and grab a seat, humes,” Gath told him. He then sat down himself, eschewing the seat next to Gooey so his guests would be more comfortable.

Less than three local minutes later they took off, the two warriors once again grasping desperately at the hand holds as they watched the ground drop away beneath them. Once airborne, however, their fascination with the sights took hold and Gath played tour guide for them again.

“Those are the Sierra Nevada Mountains,” he explained as they climbed up to 3500 meters to clear the higher peaks in their path. “On the other side of them is the high desert of Nevada region. As we get further south we’ll be over the Mojave Desert (he pronounced it “mo-jave”, not knowing or caring about the old Spanish language’s nuances of pronunciation). That’s where we’re going on this leg. North American West Main base is near what used to be the city of Las Vegas. Have you heard of it?”

“A center of gambling and sexual decadence, the tales of old tell,” said Fears No Darkness.

“That is what our tales tell as well,” Gath said. “These days, no one lives in the city. The pre-collapse structures are still there but have already been stripped of the recoverable water and conduit pipes that the gathering class like to trade in. Apparently, it’s too hot for any group to settle there.”

“We always wondered why anyone built a city in a desert in the first place,” said Catches No Fish.

“You never can tell what idiocies white people will do,” said Fears No Darkness.

“I guess I can’t argue with that,” Gath told them.

They landed on time and without incident or challenge, touching down on the tarmac and taxiing to the edge of the scramjet terminal. One of the flying wing scrammers was parked in the loading area already, undoubtedly their ride.

“Is that the machine we’re going to be flying on?” asked Fears No Darkness, his dark eyes looking at it nervously.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the one,” Gath confirmed.

Both warriors continued to stare at it as Gath led them along a yellow line painted on the ground to the terminal doors. Only when they entered the air-conditioned building did they return their eyes to the task of navigation.

A marine corporal wearing shorts and a duty shirt manned a security desk just inside the doors. He looked at the trio carefully, his eyes flitting mostly between the two warriors, who were quite obviously natives. Having refugees pass through this point was not an unheard of event by any means, but it was not an everyday event either.

“Welcome to NAWM, humes,” he said. “Catching a scrammer to Homeport Ground?”

“Indeed, we are,” Gath replied. “I’m Medic Stoner escorting these natives to the Mars colony. This is Fears No Darkness and Catches No Fish from the northeastern California region.”

“Demonic names,” the corporal commented. “If you’ll all lay some derm for me?”

“Absolutely,” Gath said, going first. He put his index finger on the screen and the corporal looked at the text that popped up on his holo display.

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “Your orders are confirmed, Medic Stoner.” He looked at the warriors. “Next?”

Gath looked at Fears No Darkness and gave him a nod. The quarterback stepped forward and put his finger on the screen.

I hope you know what you’re doing, Sparky, Gath thought nervously, keeping his face carefully neutral.

Sparky did. The text appeared and, after reading it for a moment, the corporal gave a nod. “Fears No Darkness,” he said. “You are confirmed on the 1320 as well.”

The quarterback nodded and stood aside, allowing Catches No Fish to step up. His fingerprint cleared as well.

“All right, Stoner,” the corporal told him. “You want to take your friends over to gate 11. Through the door behind me, hang a left, and follow the signs. You’ll be boarding within the hour.”

“Thank you, corporal,” Gath said. He looked at his two charges. “Shall we?”

Gath would suspect, but never fully appreciate just how much terror Fears No Darkness and Catches No Fish were choking back over the next six hours. They had lived their entire lives on the ground, in a known and familiar environment, and now, suddenly, they found themselves in the midst of hundreds upon hundreds of star people and facing the prospect of flying in their machines at unfathomable speeds so they might leave the very planet and go into the vacuum of outer space.

Why did I agree to this madness? Fears No Darkness asked himself as he walked through the narrow doorway and entered the cramped passenger area of the scramjet. He felt immediately claustrophobic. The ceiling was low and the smell was of stale air and human sweat. There was no view to the outside, only the gray curving walls. There were five rows of seats, each with six seats across. Perhaps ten of the seats were taken up with other star people—all but a few wearing the same clothing as the soldiers on the base he had just left. Marines, Gath called them, though that word, to his people, meant something mated to the sea.

Gath led them to the back row and indicated for them to have a seat. They did so, finding the chairs to be comfortable.

“You say we are on the tip of the wing of this machine?” Fears No Darkness asked.

“Well, the entire thing is a wing,” Gath said, “but yes, we’re on the right tip of it. This is primarily a cargo carrying aircraft and most of the space is allotted for that purpose. There are passenger carrying compartments on each tip, however.”

“What sort of cargo are we carrying?” Fears No Darkness asked, curiosity fighting a bit through the fear.

“Probably nothing,” Gath replied. “The cargo is carried from Homeport Ground to here for distribution to the secondary bases by smaller aircraft. There is usually nothing going in the other direction except passengers.”

“I see,” the warrior replied.

A few more passengers arrived and found seats, none of them near their group. Fears No Darkness was almost starting to relax a bit when the entire vehicle suddenly shuddered and a loud noise—a mechanical whine—began to fill the cramped confines. He, like Catches No Fish, instinctively grasped the armrests as adrenaline flooded into him.

“It’s okay,” Gath told him soothingly. “It’s just the engines starting.”

“It’s so loud,” Fears No Darkness said.

“It’ll get louder,” Gath told him. “Military cargo craft aren’t known for the quality of their sound insulation.”

Soon the engine noise increased a bit and the vehicle began to bump and shudder.

“Rolling toward the runway,” Gath explained. “We’ll be taking off in a few minutes. You’ll know when the engine noise really starts screaming.”

Fears No Darkness only nodded, his hands still gripping the armrests.

“Shouldn’t there be some kind of restraint harness in here?” asked Catches No Fish.

Gath simply shook his head. “These things never crash,” he assured him. “But if they did ... well ... a restraint harness wouldn’t help anything.”

“That is comforting,” Fears No Darkness told him, again employing his new gift of sarcasm.

The bumping and shuddering came to a halt a few minutes later and then the true terror began as the whining of the engines wound up to full. The aircraft shuddered and bumped again and the sound of something rattling reached his ears as well. Aside from that, however, there was no sensation of movement. Though the noise was loud enough to hamper conversation in the cabin, he took a little comfort from the fact that none of the other human passengers sharing the ride with him seemed the least bit concerned. Several, in fact, seemed to be dozing off.

The bumping, rattling, and shuddering suddenly stopped and all became smooth, though the whine of the engines still screamed and there was a curious, almost uncomfortable sensation of vertigo spinning in his head.

“We’re in the air now,” Gath said into his ear. “The bumpiness was from the wheels rolling on the ground.”

Fears No Darkness nodded, picturing the aircraft climbing into the sky but unable to feel it or see it. Another, lower pitched whine sounded from beneath them.

“Landing gear coming up,” Gath told him. “We’re accelerating now to scrammer speed. Once we’re at about twenty thousand meters altitude and moving faster than sound, the scramjet will kick in and things will quiet down.”

“How long for that?” Fears No Darkness asked him.

“About the time it takes to clean ten fish,” Gath assured him.

“So ... about twenty minutes?” Fears No Darkness asked. He had learned a few things over the past few days.

“Exactly,” Gath said with a smile. “Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

“Unlikely,” the quarterback replied. He just wanted it to be over so the next, even more terrifying ride could begin.

Sure enough, in approximately ten fish cleanings the whine of the engines disappeared and was replaced by another noise, a rhythmic whooshing that occurred every two seconds or so, a sound that was gentle, almost soothing in nature. Fears No Darkness was not soothed much, however. The sensation of vertigo returned, a little stronger this time. It peaked at just below the point where he thought he might vomit in a few minutes and then gradually faded away and disappeared.

“That’s the conflict between the actual acceleration and the artificial gravity that is countering it,” Gath explained to him. “Even with all our technology, we’ve never quite been able to cancel out the difference in the two completely. Your inner ear notices the difference and the conflict between what your eyes are seeing and those sensations causes the vertigo and the nausea. Now that we’re at cruising speed, there isn’t much of a conflict.”

“Your people have to deal with this every time they fly in one of these machines?”

“You get used to it the more you do it,” Gath told him. “For instance, flying on the scrammer or the surface to orbit doesn’t bother me a bit. The actual space vessels though ... well ... the sensation is considerably stronger there.”

“It is?” he asked, not relishing the thought at all.

“Only when the engines are burning,” Gath qualified. “Once we reach cruising speed, we’re coasting. You’ve heard of Newtonian principals?”

“Not by that name,” Fears No Darkness said, “but I believe you’re referring to the idea that an object in motion remains in motion unless there is something to slow it down or stop it?”

“Exactly,” Gath said, obviously pleased by his knowledge.

“I’ve never quite believed in that idea,” put in Catches No Fish. “If true, why do your aircraft have to remain constantly under power to keep moving?”

“Because they’re in the atmosphere and the atmosphere causes drag—friction that slows the aircraft down. Once in space, there is no atmosphere—none to speak of anyway. No atmosphere means no drag. We accelerate to our cruising speed and just coast until it’s time to turn around and slow down with another burn.”

“Ahh ... I see,” said Catches No Fish. “At least I think I do.”

“All of this requires a great deal of mathematics, correct?” asked Fears No Darkness. “Mathematics to figure out how fast to go, how long to run your engines, when to turn around, what direction to point in?”

“It does,” Gath confirmed, “although truthfully, the computer pretty much figures all that out for us these days.”

“Again, comforting,” the quarterback observed.

Perhaps one and a half telling’s of a fireside story by Runs From Snakes later, the rhythmic pulsing of the scramjet engines suddenly ceased, bringing almost complete silence to the passenger area. An engine malfunction? Fears No Darkness thought, a fresh burst of adrenaline rushing into his bloodstream. Was a crash imminent? How long would it take to fall from thirty thousand meters in the sky? Again, however, the warrior took comfort in the observation that no one seemed alarmed by this.

“The engines have stopped?” he asked Gath, feigning calmness—and doing a pretty good job of it at that.

“They have,” Gath said. “We’re beginning our descent. Atmospheric friction will start to slow us down in a few minutes. The vertigo sensation may return when that happens.”

Fears No Darkness nodded, bracing himself. Sure enough, Gath was right. About ten fish cleanings later, he began to hear bumps and creaks that Gath explained was turbulence from the thickening air. At the same time, the vertigo returned, barely noticeable at first, but gradually increasing as the shudders, shakes, and creaks increased. This went on for the better part of a fireside story by Runs From Snakes—again, almost to the point where he feared vomiting—and then it suddenly eased up. The whine of the engines came into being again, though it was gentler now, not nearly as loud as before.

“We’re back on the turbine engines,” Gath explained. “That means we’re subsonic again and coming in for approach to Homeport Ground. We’ll be landing in another ten fish cleanings or so.”

“How far did we come?” Catches No Fish asked.

“From NAWM to the Galapagos on the equator,” Gath said, pondering. “I think it’s about seven thousand kilometers, give or take a couple hundred.”

“Seven thousand? Kilometers?” asked Catches No Fish, in awe.

“Give or take,” Gath confirmed.

“And we traveled that distance in under two of your hours?”

“We did.”

“Amazing,” the warrior said.

Fears No Darkness was equally impressed, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

The landing came as scheduled and involved another frightening sequence of strange noises and sensations—machinery grinding, engines whining in various pitches, a few bumps and bounces, vertigo that came and went, seemingly at random, and, finally, a thump from beneath them followed by the terrifying roar of the engines screaming at nearly full power.

“We’re down,” Gath assured the warriors. “That’s the engines using reverse thrust to slow us.”

A few fish cleanings later, the engines wound down and fell silent. The door at the front of the passenger compartment opened and the passengers all stood and began to shuffle toward it. Gath kept them in the rear of the crowd and they were the last ones to exit the aircraft. He led them down a long, enclosed tube and into a cavernous room filled with dozens—perhaps hundreds—of other star people, men and women both, most wearing the clothing of marines, but a few dressed in different clothing. It was by far the most crowded place the two warriors had been in so far on their strange adventure and the sheer amount of star people made them extremely nervous.