Into the Sea of Stars (18 page)

"Ian, you have two minutes. They've already started
to decelerate. For God's sake, get moving!"

Richard finally burst through the far door, gasping for breath and looking as if he was on the verge of an apo
plectic fit.

"Let's go!"

Ellen took off at a run, while Shelley and Ian fell in on either side of the exhausted physician.

Reaching the stairway, they pushed Richard ahead of
them while he cursed them and begged pitifully for a mo
ment to regain his breath.

"Ian, I've got them on visual, there's three of them.
They're about our size but look like they're armed, a
couple of old-style missiles slung under each of them."

"
Stasz
, can we punch through to
translight
from a
standing start?"

"Increases the breakup possibilities by a factor of ten.
I must remind you that you never liked the odds to start
with."

"Screw the odds; power the damn thing up."

"One of them is swinging into the opposite docking
port, Ian. This doesn't look good at all..." There was a high-pitched shriek of static and then nothing.

"Do you think they hit him?" Shelley cried.

"If they had, we would have felt the vibration run
through the ship. I think they're just jamming him. Come
on, Richard, move it!"

They were rapidly moving into the low-gravity region
and finally, in exasperation, Ian braced himself on the
ladder and leaned onto Richard's backside, giving him a
tremendous shove.

Richard arched up and away like a champagne cork
popping out of a bottle. With a crash he slammed into the bulkhead on the other side of the stairwell and ricocheted
out into the main zero-gravity corridor. Ian and Shelley
were right behind him.

They pushed off for the opposite end, where their own
docking port was located. Ellen was already there and
waving them on.

Just another twenty meters to go and suddenly Ian felt
a slight shifting in the air, as if a distant doorway had been
opened. Grabbing a handrail, he looked back the way they
had come. Another docking port was open. A shadowy
figure filled the bay, and Ian felt a tremor of fear. They
had lost the race.

Trying to smile, he raised his hand and tossed the stun
pistol away. The figure he was facing had some far heavier artillery.

"
Ahh
, greetings, friend," he said in a high, squeaky
voice. "
Ahh
... We've come in peace for all mankind.
How's that?"

The blast knocked him over backward, slamming him
into darkness.

Exile Base 11; Alpha/Omega

First Completion Date:
 
2078

Primary Function:
Adopting an
old
Russian concept, the United States started exiling political dissidents to space
in 2068. On the eve of the Holocaust War several
hundred thousand "political
unreliables
, conscientious
objectors, and disarmament activists," led by Dr.
Franklin Smith, were exiled to space.

Evacuation Date:
Believed to be August 7, 2087, the re
corded date of the primary exchange between the Third
World powers versus the United States and Soviet Re
publics.

Overall Design:
O'Neill Cylinder.
Four kilometers by 800 meters.
All exile bases were populated far more densely
than the maximum potential carrying capabilities. Thus
the units were dependent on Earth for life support. It is believed by Beaulieu that no exile unit could have
survived longer than six months after departure from
near-Earth, due to depletion of resources.

Propulsion:
 
Ion Drive with nuclear pulse backup.

Course:
 
SETI Anomaly One.

Political/Social Orientation:
Penal system, largely self-
governing, but managed by USNSC (United States
Near
Space Council). Departure in fact was hoped for and
encouraged by
Earthside
government as a means of
eliminating political dissent without having actually to
kill the opposition.

"I'd prefer if you moved that thing from the back of
my head. You can see I've brought you where you wanted."

Stasz's
words echoed through
lan's
consciousness, each
syllable like a hammer on an anvil. He wasn't sure yet if he wanted to open his eyes, since he was still debating if
he was dead or alive.

"Croce, you fat slob, we should have left you behind,"
Ellen said in a shrill voice. "We could have jumped out
in time, but, oh no, Ian had to be the hero, so now we're
all stuck."

If he was dead, then he must be in Hell. He opened
his eyes and looked around.

"Well, our fearless historian is wide awake at last,"
Richard said, offering him a tumbler. He chortled softly
then beckoned for Ian to look forward. Ian gladly accepted.

The couch normally occupied by Shelley was now held
by a stranger. From the back, Ian saw broad shoulders
and an erect carriage. His hair was tied back in a simple
queue that hung over the back of the couch—the color
of it nearly matching his dark, full features. In his left
hand was a pistol, which he held to the back of
Stasz's
head.

"Two more of his buddies are in the back checking,"
Richard cautioned, "so I wouldn't suggest trying any
thing."

"For God sake, Ian, don't try anything," Shelley whis
pered. "They hit you with a stunner. But this guy's got
an old-fashioned powder-driven pistol. Don't get him mad,
for God's sake!"

"Where's Elijah?"

"I sedated him," Richard replied. "After they hit you,
Ellen, Shelley, and I kind of thought it best to go along
peaceful like. We let them into our ship and Elijah nearly
went wild. I was afraid they'd kill him, so I just came up and jabbed him one from behind. He'll be out for another
couple of hours."

"Where are they taking us?"

The guard turned back and looked at Ian with an almost
pleasant smile.
"Just for a little talk.
The priests of the
Father will want to hear your story."

To Ian the language sounded like modified Old English.
"The Father?" he asked cautiously.

The guard smiled, but this time with a sinister light in
his eyes. "When you say 'the Father,' be sure to say it with the proper respect."

"Oh yes, of course, but of course."

"Coming up on jump-down,"
Stasz
announced evenly.
"Remember, friend, you might get sick, but don't blame
me."

"Ten seconds, five..."

"Will you look at
that!
"
Stasz
pointed ahead and then
to the left and the right. For the moment he had forgotten
that his life was held by a stranger in the couch next to
him.

To his surprise Ian found that his stomach had managed
to survive jump-down intact. Perhaps it had something to
do with the short duration of the jump, but that question
was pushed from his mind as he looked out the forward
viewing ports. It took him several seconds to grasp the
perspective and scale of what he was seeing.

"It must be a hundred kilometers long," Ian whispered.

"Yes, kilometers," their guard said. "The one forward
is large, but you wish to go to that one there." And he
pointed to what looked like an old, familiar design. An O'Neill cylinder, probably the original, but it was simply
dwarfed by the hundreds of others that filled the heavens
in every direction.

They were in high orbit above a deeply pitted surface, and as Ian examined it, he realized that a significant por
tion of the planet was scarred and torn, as if a giant had
gnawed on it.

"Each one of those units could provide for well over a million people," Shelley said softly.

Good heavens, Ian thought, the population must number in the billions.

Following the guard's directions,
Stasz
guided Discovery through ever-increasing traffic. Finally, taking the
control headset, the guard called for docking clearance.
Within minutes the
Discovery
was lined up for final approach.

For the moment Ian had forgotten his fears as he contemplated the myriad designs of the shipping around him. He felt as if he had arrived at an odd Sargasso Sea, where
ships of every conceivable design had collected. As the
Discovery
turned in on final, the ship slowly rotated on
its X-axis so that a full sweep of local space was given to
the travelers, and all were overawed by the sheer sizes
and numbers.

"Our biggest is nearly a hundred and fifty kilometers in length," the guard said, his pride in such an accomplishment obvious. But it was the only information he would volunteer to them.

"We've got a hard dock,"
Stasz
said as the faint vi
bration of contact ran through the vessel.

"Very good.
I'm glad I was not forced to kill you." The
guard smiled and bolstered his pistol.

"So am I,"
Stasz
replied weakly.

"You see," the guard said mockingly, "I wouldn't know
how to pilot this ship." Laughing uproariously, he made his way aft, beckoning for them to follow.

"Maybe they all have a sense of humor," Shelley said
hopefully.

"Ask Elijah about that," Ian replied.

The guard stopped by the airlock door and, turning, faced his prisoners. "Go get the crazy one and bring him
with you."

Taking a still-wobbly Elijah in tow, they went through
the first airlock and waited for the door to the other ship
to open.

"Bear yourselves with dignity," the guard said evenly,
"for you walk upon sacred ground."

The doorway closed behind them.

"Sounds like we're going to church," Richard said sar
castically.

"Shut up," Ian said. "To these people, I think it is."

The doorway slid open to a tunnel of darkness. A single
hooded form awaited them. "Follow me," it commanded.

Ian shrugged, pushed off, keeping Elijah in tow
,,
and
the others followed.

The hooded form drifted down a darkened corridor,
his long black robes billowing out around him so that he
had the appearance of a dark ghost, drifting weightlessly
through the night. Reaching the end of the corridor, the ghostly guide pointed toward an open elevator. The six went into the cubicle and their guide came in after them. It was impossible to make out his features beneath the
hooded robe, and their guide was silent as he beckoned
for them to grasp the handholds as the elevator dropped
away underneath them. Within seconds the first wispy
pull of gravity took hold, and their feet drifted to the floor.
Ian judged that they were in, at best, a quarter-gravity
zone. When the elevator stopped, its doors opened into
a large, softly lit chamber that appeared to be an audience
hall.

"Go forward and wait," the guide commanded in a cold, mechanical voice.

They meekly obeyed. Elijah was starting to awaken
from his drugged state, and Richard urgently whispered
a plea for him to keep his mouth shut and not to make
any sudden moves.

As their eyes adjusted to the dim light, they saw that
a low dais rose at the far end of the chamber. In the center
of the dais a single chair was occupied by yet another
hooded form.

"In the name of the Father, come forward." This one's tone was not threatening but it held a definite air of com
mand.

As they drew closer, Ian realized that their host was not alone. Several dozen others were sitting on the floor before and to either side of the dais.

Ian was, of all things, reminded of several prints he
had seen of ancient Japanese warriors sitting cross-legged
in front of their warlord. As he drew closer, the compar
ison took on even more similarity; to his amazement most
of the hooded forms had swords that were laid on the
floor in front of them. All were wearing the same dark
flowing robes that their guide aboard the ship had worn. There was no ornamentation, no design or emblem to be
seen, except for the one who sat upon the low, backless
chair in the center—his robe was of a soft, shimmering
white that contrasted with the black robes of those who
sat before him.

There was a soft, gentle sound in the darkness that
reminded Ian of wind chimes. The sound brought back
for a moment sharp clear memories of summer evenings, and the memory hurt with a piercing blow. Ian half wondered if these people had somehow read into his memory
and used that sound to provoke such thoughts.

Ian and his comrades approached to the edge of the
dais and, as if by instinct, Ian knew that it would be an insult for them to step upon it. He stopped and the others
drew up around him. He prayed fervently that Elijah would
keep still, for he half suspected that they would leave the
room in only one of two conditions, and he had no desire
to fall into the second category.

Farthest to the right, a hooded form stood, belted his
sword, and walked to the center of the dais. Bowing to
the white-robed figure, the form pulled back its hood and
turned to face them.

"Where are you from?"

Ian was surprised to hear her high, clear voice, and he was struck by her uncommon beauty—dark ebony skin,
sharply chiseled features, and long flowing hair.

He hesitated for a second.

"Do I take your hesitation as an unwillingness to answer?"

He better act quickly. "
Ahh
, no... I'm not sure of your dialect, that's all."

"Your language roots are Old American," Ellen inter
rupted, "the same as ours, but its pronunciations are dif
ferent from ours. But we'll learn soon enough."

Ian was glad for the momentary interruption. He had
to think out his answer.

"Then I repeat, where are you from?"

"Your ancestral home, the Earth."

"You've mastered faster-than-light?"

"That's right," Ian replied. "We have faster-than-light capability."

There was a faint murmur from the others. He realized
that most of them were male, but there
was
a fair pro
portion of females, as well.

"How long ago did you leave Earth?"

"I'm not sure of our mutual time measurements. Do you still measure things in what are called years?"

She pondered this for a moment and then nodded her head.
"Yes, years.
I understand what that is. I am thirty-
one years."

"It took us one-half a year to arrive here, with nearly
a month of stopovers at other places."

The excitement was evident—the others turned one
to the other and Ian felt as if a basic law of decorum had
been broken by this display of emotions.

Another dark-robed figure stood up, sword in hand,
and the hall fell silent.