Authors: Brian Herbert
Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #science fiction
Sidney's Comet (29 page)
I must have been seeing things,
he thought.
* * *
On a page margin of the history primer, the tall, fat youngsayerman penned this note: “If there be a nerd Heaven, Sidney Malloy is there.”
Wait a minute,
the youngsayerman thought.
Did the cappy die?
He flipped ahead to find out. . . .
Chapter Thirteen
T
HE ECONOMICS OF FREENESS, FOR FURTHER READING AND DISCUSSION
Patent Law 78 was an unwritten law mandated by the Council of Ten in 2366. It stipulated that the government would buy out and shelve any patent which threatened national economic security, and further that future patents were to be denied upon any such items.
Thursday, August 31, 2605
Master Edward sat alone in the Central Chamber, staring down from his perch at the round illuminated floor screen in the center of the room. Only half conscious that it was nearly two o’clock in the morning, he studied a video schematic of the Great Comet’s trajectory.
“Blast!” he said in an angry undertone, noting that the future paths of Earth and the garbage comet continued to meet. A digital readout at the bottom of the screen described the comet’s Estimated Time of Arrival:
Impact Countdown:
DAYS 1
HOURS 16
MINS 5
SECS 46
D/SECS .38
He watched desperately as the deciseconds and seconds flipped away, then mentoed for a videograph report.
There,
he thought as the graph appeared on the screen, pointing in the low yellow light of the room.
That is where I altered Earth’s orbital speed yesterday. And then the comet changed its own trajectory to remain on a collision course
. . . .
His gaze moved to the point where the tuxedo meckie had increased the orbital speed again the prior evening. Master Edward shook his head sadly as he saw the comet had altered its own course to match that change.
At Master Edward’s memo-command, the screen changed once more, and he watched the Great Comet as it flashed across space. The comet emitted bright blue and amber tones, illuminating the ceiling of the room. He felt fascination, fear and awe.
He considered fleeing in an escape rocket but discarded the thought almost at the moment it came to him.
If I have any hope of reversing the aging process,
he thought,
I must remain here.
Master Edward longed for a simpler time. His life had grown unbearably complex in a few short days. He touched the handle of the knife at his waist, thought,
I could end my misery in an instant.
He gazed at the screen with unfocused eyes, reminding himself as he had several times since killing Uncle Rosy that he could never be as great a leader as the Master had been.
Uncle Rosy must have sensed I could not handle the job,
he thought.
That is why he delayed
. . . .
An overwhelming feeling of loneliness came over him.
“Master!” a voice called from across the chamber. “Might I have a word with you?”
Master Edward saw a hood-robed figure standing in the doorway which led to the antechamber containing the Basins of Youth. Surprised, Master Edward called back: “Who is there?” He realized as the words came out that he had forgotten to speak in the tone of Uncle Rosy.
Did he notice?
Master Edward wondered.
“Lastsayer Steven.”
“Enter,” Master Edward said, remembering to use the resonant tone of Uncle Rosy.
The robed figure rolled forward to one side of the floor-screen, and Master Edward saw Lastsayer’s smooth face in the illumination of the comet.
Too much light in here,
Master Edward thought nervously, pulling his robe over the lower part of his face and nose.
“Peace be upon you, Master,” Lastsayer said.
“What is this about?’ Master Edward asked without returning the blessing. He peered over the edge of his robe, heard his own words muffle in the robe and pulled it several centimeters out from his mouth.
“I heard of Onesayer’s disappearance,” Lastsayer said.
“And you are here about a promotion?” These words dripped with acidity. Master Edward looked for the tiniest indication that Lastsayer had noticed the earlier vocal faux pas, saw only fear and curiosity in Lastsayer’s expression.
One of the others would have noticed immediately,
Master Edward thought, relieved.
This sayerman has not been here long enough.
“No, Master. It is something far more important.”
“And what is so important that you could not sleep?”
““Undoubtedly you already know of what I am about to tell you. . . . ”
“I have no time for dilly-dallying, Lastsayer! Get straight to the point or get straight out of here!”
“I should have come to you sooner,” Lastsayer said hurriedly. “Sunday morning, I saw Onesayer high on Happy Pills . . . and he performed disrespectful imitations of you.”
“I can hardly believe that!” Master Edward exclaimed, showing false emotion.
“It is true, Master. Although I risk my position in the Sayerhood by speaking against him.”
Master Edward smiled grimly to himself, and said in Uncle Rosy’s voice, “Tell me more.”
“Onesayer seemed bitter about you remaining as Master. I received the distinct impression he wanted to take your place.”
“By force?”
“It did not seem so to me at first, but as I thought about it more. . . . ”
“You saw this nearly four days ago, and waited until now to inform me?”
“I was not certain if I had been here long enough to recognize improper behavior.”
“You think disrespect for me is commonplace?” Master Edward snapped. He studied Lastsayer’s smooth face in the comet’s reflection, saw trembling fear. The lower lip quivered.
No hatred there,
Master Edward thought.
Not yet.
“N-no,” Lastsayer stammered, shifting uneasily on his feet.
“You WERE disciplined at Pleasant Reef, were you not?”
“Yes, Master. There is no excuse.”
Master Edward pulled the robe tightly about his face, thought,
Maybe I should bring an armadillo meckie in here to guard me. One of the sayermen could kill me easily if my plan occurred to him
. . . .
Master Edward stopped at the thought, felt himself welcoming the serenity of death.
Twosayer would kill me for sure,
he thought with a macabre sense of humor.
I could force it by promoting Steven to Onesayer
—
Noting Lastsayer Steven awaiting further instructions, Master Edward pulled the robe out from his mouth and said, “Go now, Lastsayer. And say nothing of this matter. I will deal with it.”
During the early morning hours according to New City time, Sidney remained attentive hit the cockpit, scanning the sky for a first sign of the Great Comet. Presently, he grew weary of the unchanging scenery and began nodding off.
As he slipped into slumber, the command chair on which he sat began to straighten, forming a sleeping platform. A soft pillow popped out beneath his head, and Sidney rolled over on one side to get comfortable.
Nervously, he opened one sleepy eye to peer at the meckie. Something seemed different. The meckie remained rigid, knives crossed in front.
It’s turned a little!
he thought with a sinking feeling.
Toward me!
Sidney sat straight up.
No,
he thought.
I imagined it. Or the motion of the ship did it
. . . .
Sidney searched the cockpit for a weapon, opening compartments quietly and looking under chairs and behind instrument panels as he stayed out of range of the killer meckie. Nothing was found. Then he rolled into the passenger compartment, thinking,
I can’t sleep in that cockpit!
The hatch shut behind him upon his memo-command.
The ship’s flying smoothly,
Sidney thought, staring at an oxygen cart which was secured to the forward bulkhead.
And with gravitonics near Earth normal . . .
Sidney released the oxy-cart, rolled it in front of the cockpit hatchway.
There,
he thought, mento-locking the cart’s wheels.
At least I’ll hear the damned thing coming.
He found a passenger seat, and it folded flat invitingly as he lay upon it, accepting the weary frame of the inexperienced space traveler. Soon Sidney was fast asleep, dreaming of magical things and wondrous places.
Sidney pictured himself in full dress Space Patrol uniform, riding in an open limousine down American Boulevard. Cheering throngs of people lined the street, and they waved national banners while calling out to him: “Captain Malloy! Captain Malloy!”
In the dream, a pretty girl threw flowers to him and blew kisses. It was Carla, his darling Carla! He reached out to her. She smiled, and her image faded into a crowd of smiling faces.
Suddenly, his pleasant dream became a terrible nightmare. Where Carla had been, he saw Madame Bernet, slashing spectators with both knives. Then the killer meckie leaped into Sidney’s limousine, swinging its knives viciously.
“You did it for yourself, didn’t you, fleshcarrier?” the meckie screeched in a familiar tenor voice as it cut Sidney’s face and chest. “You don’t care about other people!”
Sidney sat bolt upright on the sleeping platform, found himself drenched in perspiration. Wide-eyed, he stared across the shadowy passenger compartment at the cockpit hatch. The hatch remained closed as he had left it, with the oxy-cart in front of it.
Gradually, fitfully, Sidney fell asleep again.
The morning of the state funeral celebration was grey and cloudy. President Euripides Ogg stood regally on a red-and-yellow gazebo trailer parked at the base of Astro-Burial Inc.’s number three launcher. He shivered as a cool gust of wind blew in from the east.
“Tell Bu-Tech to warm this weather up,” Ogg snapped to Billie Birdbright, who rolled up a ramp onto the trailer. ‘This is supposed to be a celebration!”
“They need clouds for the special effects,” Birdbright said as he rolled to a stop. “The sun will pop out when—”
“I know, I know. But they could have made it a little warmer—” Ogg brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes and surveyed the crowd which stood silently below, waiting for the eulogy to begin. An ocean of faces looked back at him, and for the first time in many years, Ogg was struck by the sameness of their features and dress.
Birdbright leaned close to President Ogg and whispered in his ear: “It’s all set, Mr. President. We’re locked in on the comet’s trajectory. These caskets are going right down the maw of the comet!”
“Very good, Billie,” Ogg said, unsmiling.
As Birdbright left, the President shifted his gaze, looking to his right at two astro-disposal casket capsules which rested side-by-side on the launch track. The capsules were draped with white-and-gold ministerial cloths, weighted at the ends and emblazoned with large star-shaped purple badges signifying that the men inside had been killed by malfunctioning products. Ogg suppressed a smile at the thought of Munoz actually being killed by a faulty waterbed during a homosexual encounter instead of in the auto accident the government said had occurred.
President Ogg cleared his throat and mentoed his auto-speech implant. He began to speak at the direction of the programmed track. “This is both a sad occasion and a happy occasion,” he began in a hesitating, remorseful tone. “We are saddened at the passing of General Munoz and Dr. Hudson . . . two great leaders who guided their respective bureaus through the challenges of our age.” Ogg smiled on cue, adding, “But heartened we are at the thought of these men buying eternally in the Happy Shopping Ground!”
“May Rosenbloom bless them!” the crowd thundered in a tremendous outpouring of emotion.
Ogg reached into one of two urns which rested on a ledge at his side, removing a handful of white confetti, then dipped into the second urn with his other hand and brought forth strands of multi-colored plastic streamers. He opened both hands, casting their contents out upon the casket capsules with these words:
Paper to paper,
Plastic to plastic;
Take them, Uncle Rosy,
On a journey fantastic!
A gust of Bu-Tech-made wind picked up the confetti and streamers, carrying them up into the air and away over the heads of the crowd. As this occurred, the sun broke through a cloud layer, casting warm golden rays upon the casket capsules. The crowd oohed and aahed at this, for indeed it had to be a message from Uncle Rosy.
Ebullient now, President Ogg said happily, “To your bosom, Uncle Rosy, take them today!” Then he mentoed the magne-launcher, catapulting the capsules out along the length of the nine-thousand-five-hundred-meter-long launch track into a patch of blue sky. The crowd turned their heads in unison to watch the path of the capsules, cheered moments later when they heard a sonic thump.
President Ogg thought of the garbage comet traveling toward Earth along the same trajectory. “There, you bastards,” he cursed bitterly under his breath. “Stop the comet yourselves!”
* * *
“In this chapter,” Sayer Superior Lin-Ti said, “you will see why our modern social hierarchy was developed. Uncle Rosy set up a wondrous AmFed society . . . but ultimately it relied upon the control of the Sayerhood . . . and the Sayerhood relied upon Uncle Rosy. Everything hinged upon one man, you see, and when he died, chaos reigned.
“But this should not be interpreted as a failure of the Master. For he advanced humankind, hoping it ultimately could stand on its own. Today we are closer to that goal, much closer indeed.”
Chapter Fourteen
U
P CLOSE WITH THE MASTER, FOR FURTHER READING AND DISCUSSION
“Do not shoot at something until you know what it is. It may shoot back.”
Admonition from Alafin Inaya to Uncle Rosy during a hunting trip they took together in the Kenyatta Highlands, September, 2312. (As related in Emmanuel Dade’s unpublished notes.)
S
HIPLOG OF THE AMFED SPACE CRUISER SHAMROCK FIVE
SP4607 Date:
Thursday, August 31, 2605—early afternoon
Garbage Day Countdown:
1 day, 5 hours, 17 minutes
When Sidney awoke, he felt a dull pain in his ribcage where Mayor Nancy Ogg had kicked him. He touched the bandage at his temple and was pleased to find that the swelling had subsided. Sidney sat up, stretched and looked across the shadowy room at the cockpit hatch. The hatch door remained closed, and in front of that stood the oxy-cart precisely where he had left it.
His chairback rose automatically seconds later, and as it did the passenger compartment lights brightened. Sidney looked up upon hearing a whir of gears, and watched a tray of food drop slowly from a ceiling-mounted levitator onto his lap.
I AM hungry,
he thought, studying a synthetic egg on bagel sandwich with interest. He stuck his finger in a bowl of reconstituted tomato soup. It was tepid. Sidney wolfed down the sandwich, gulped the soup. As he set the empty bowl back on the tray, the tray returned to its ceiling compartment.
Sidney considered ordering more food, but decided instead to roll across the room. After re-securing the oxy-cart to the bulkhead, he mentoed the cockpit door. As it slid open, he heard the sexless voice of the ship’s computer. “Re-charging stop, twenty-three minutes,” the computer reported.
Re-charging stop!
Sidney thought.
If it’ s not completely automated, and there are people there, I could be in trouble. . . .
Sidney flicked a nervous glance at the still motionless Madame Bernet.
Don’t see any further movement,
he thought, rolling to the instrument panel. Without sitting down, he spoke into the command speakercom, asking, “Can re-charging stop be avoided?”
“Remaining charge two-point-seven-four times greater than anticipated,” the computer reported. “Unexpected beneficial space currents account for increased efficiency, and . . .”
“Answer the question,” Sidney said, slipping into the command chair.
“Answer depends upon variables.”
“What variables?” Sidney drummed a finger impatiently on the instrument panel.
“Comet behaving erratically. It has accelerated and changed course in the past twenty-nine hours.”
“Explain.”
“Orbital speed of Earth has increased twice, to its present factor of one-point-five-three-seven normal. Cause unknown. Comet matched each change, is in apparent pursuit of Earth.”
“So we need less E-Cell charge to rendezvous with the comet?”
“Assuming comet continues at present speed . . . and assuming a rendezvous in deep space is required . . . that is correct.”
“Returning to my original question, do we have adequate charge onboard?”
“Answer depends upon variables.”
“We’ve already been over that!”
“There are other variables.”
Sidney sighed. “Be specific,” he said.
“Comet’s speed and course may change. Space currents are subject to variation. Earth—”
“Assuming an average condition for all such variables, do we have an adequate E-Cell charge to reach the comet?”
“This computer does not deal in probabilities. It deals in facts.”
Sidney slammed the butt of his hand on the instrument panel. “Do not stop for recharging,” he said tersely.
An hour later, Sidney felt bored. He glanced around the cockpit at the white plastic walls and at the still rigid Madame Bernet.
This isn’t what I imagined,
he thought sadly.
The ship is flying itself!
He touched the Manual Mode handle, felt a rush of excitement as he considered taking the ship off its semi-automatic Direct Command Mode.
Should I do it?
he thought.
He threw the handle down in answer to the question and grasped a gleaming tita-steel-plated control stick at his right side. The stick was cool to his touch. Sidney moved the stick halfway to starboard, and the Shamrock Five banked gracefully to the right.
This is more like it!
he thought, suddenly exhilarated.
Sidney pressed a black button in the stick, causing the ship’s twin Rolls Royce engines to blast.
It’s so simple,
he thought, feeling acceleration in the gravitonically normal cabin.
Just as Imagined
. . . .
Sidney pushed the stick to port, giving another blast to the rockets. The Shamrock Five responded quickly, and Sidney leaned into the turn, just as he had done so many times in dreams.
It seemed too good to be true. . . . Sidney at the command of a Space Patrol cruiser, flashing commands to powerful rockets!
I’m the only one who can do it!
he thought,
the only person who can save Earth!
He reached to his uniform tunic with his left hand to feel the medals he had been awarded for past missions, patted his chest where they should have been. “What the? . . .” he grunted.
Sidney looked down at his chest, saw only a thin green smock that had been issued to him on Saint Elba. “Oh,” he sighed. “For a moment—”
“Ha-ha-ha!”
Distant laughter echoed through his brain, grew louder quickly.
“Ha-ha-ha!”
“Enjoying yourself, fleshcarrier?”
a familiar deep voice asked.
Sidney felt warm now, embarrassed at the daydream.
You’re alone out here!
he thought.
Get ahold of yourself!
The cockpit was silent. He looked across the starboard bow at a distant shooting star streaking to his left. The shooting star angled off into the starcloth beyond, then flashed brilliantly, followed by a wisp of white light as it turned toward Sidney.
Wait a minute!
Sidney thought.
That’s no shooting star!
Inadvertently, Sidney pulled the stick back sharply, and the ship’s nose tilted up. He pushed the stick forward to compensate, and the Shamrock Five dropped its nose.
It’s the Great Comet!
he thought. A wave of euphoria passed through his body.
The comet veered heavenward for an instant, and this time its color and configuration changed so that it was a pale blue iceball trailing six silvery jet-ray tails from its nuclear region. The tails were magnificent plumes of gas which swept across millions of kilometers of space, as delicate and translucent as spun glass against sunlight. The midnight blue backcloth of space gave definition to the comet’s icy nucleus, and it occurred to Sidney that he was witnessing the most beautiful spectacle in all of creation.
Now the comet swooped back, much as his ship had done moments before, returning to its original course. As the comet swooped, its silvery plumes turned to fiery yellow, while the pale blue nucleus became soft lavender. As Sidney thought about the comet’s complexity, another thought hit him:
Did it mimic my ship’s motion?
Thinking the comet might follow him away from Earth, Sidney mentoed a directional computer button. The ship turned around one hundred twenty degrees. Nudging the speed toggle to decelerate, he watched the Great Comet on a video console screen.
But the comet remained on course, not flinching an eyelash. Sidney brought the ship around again and resumed acceleration. Then he moved the control stick. First one way, then the other. The comet refused to follow.
Now Sidney closed his eyes and clasped his hands together in prayer.
Please,
he thought, recalling his prayer when the Elba House fire was raging,
swerve and go in another direction. Please don’t kit Earth!
He opened his eyes. The comet had not changed course. Sidney repeated the prayer four more times, but nothing happened.
Elba House was on fire,
he thought, trying to sort out events that had become a blur in his mind.
And the comet is fire. . . .
He tugged at his upper lip pensively, then moved his head from side to side.
Maybe the comet’s too big,
he thought.
Too free. . . .
Sidney hit a red super accelerator toggle on the console, felt G-forces push him against the chair back.
The comet grew visibly larger as the distance between it and Sidney narrowed. He saw its nucleus flare bright red. Then the misty tail plumes changed to emerald and gold. It was a spectacular display of raw primordial power, at once terrifying and delicately beautiful.
I feel
. . .
strangely compelled . . . to continue this journey,
Sidney thought, as
if some immense presence is beckoning to me across the heavens. . . .
Sidney heard faint laughter in a distant cavern of his skull. He rubbed his temples with the thumb and two fingers of one hand. Gradually his head cleared, leaving him with a mixture of intense and conflicting emotions.
The black pearl handled knife lay on Master Edward’s dining module table, and he leaned over the table with both hands on its cool marble edge, staring at the weapon despondently. He felt tired and dispirited. Although it was long past lunchtime of Garbage Day minus one, he had not looked in the mirror at all that day.
No use looking at my face,
he thought, noting deep creases and brown age blotches on his hands.
I know what it looks like.
He sighed.
I am so weary!
Master Edward straightened, lifted the knife. He pricked the tip of one finger intentionally, watched blood squirt out and drip to the table. The blood seemed impersonal, somehow not his own.
“Willard!” the simu-life picture screamed from another room. “Willard!”
“Yes, dear,” Master Edward called back. “Coming, dear.”
I am going to join her . . . and the Master,
he thought.
In death.
He glanced to the doorway at the sound of rolling machinery, saw the remaining tuxedo meckie enter. “You did not call for lunch, Master,” the meckie said. “You are not hungry today?”
Master Edward did not respond.
“Can I get you anything, Master?”
Master Edward stared at the knife, replied: “Serenity.”
“What did you say, Master?”
“I want you to kill me.”
“But no one can kill you, Master. You are the most perfect creation.”
“I am re-programming you,” Master Edward said, extending the knife to the meckie. “What was said before is not true. I
can
die. I
want
to die.”
“As you wish, Master,” the meckie said in its sophisticated, emotionless voice. Its button lights blinked uncertainly.
“Take the knife,” Master Edward instructed.
The tuxedo meckie complied, stood motionless with the knife blade in its mechanical grasp.
“Kill me,” Master Edward said, extending his arms to each side as he recalled Uncle Rosy’s similar words the day before.
The meckie rolled forward quickly and slammed the knife handle into Master Edward’s midsection.
Master Edward grunted and grabbed his stomach. But the injury was limited: his wind had been knocked out. “You tin can fool!” Master Edward gasped. “Turn the knife around!”
“This way, Master?” the tuxedo meckie asked, grasping the black pearl handle.
“Yes,” Master Edward said impatiently. “Now hurry, blast you! Hurry!”
It was Thursday afternoon. Mayor Nancy Ogg had been brought back to Saint Elba three hours earlier.
She passed a stack of telebeam memos across her desktop to Sergeant Keefer. This was Rountree’s replacement, a man whose appearance very much resembled that of his predecessor tall and muscular, just the sort of man with whom she would like to share a bed. Dr. Hudson had been a brain, and that had attracted her to him physically. It certainly had not been Hudson’s appearance. She thought of her longings to be held by Sergeant Rountree. Now he too was gone. . . .
The Mayor sighed, recalling the crisis she faced. She lit a lemon tintette and sat back in her chair with an intense expression. She heard the chair squeak, studied the black-uniformed man who stood in front of her desk. “Beams have been arriving all night,” she said.
Sergeant Keefer flipped through the memos, appeared to be ill at ease.
“Sit,” Mayor Nancy Ogg commanded.
Sergeant Keefer took a seat in a lattice glass suspensor chair, continued to flip through the slips of paper. “News travels fast,”
he said. “I see the psychotherapeutic community wants video-film and brain scan reports on Mister Malloy. Requests from San Dimitrio, Mariana City . . . every quadrant of the galaxy. . .” He paused upon seeing Mayor Nancy Ogg shake her head from side to side, an unspoken comment that she was not interested in such information.
“This Malloy; I’ve never seen anything like him,” Mayor Nancy Ogg said, taking a puff on her tintette. She blew bright yellow smoke through her nostrils, peered through the smoke at Sergeant Keefer.
“Most unusual, Honorable Mayor. Most unusual.”
“Where did Malloy learn to operate an Akron class cruiser?”
“We’re checking his dossier file now, Honorable Mayor. We show him as a G.W. seven-five-oh, Presidential Bureau, Central Forms.”
The Mayor scowled, flipped ashes into an ashtray. “Munoz chose him to command the ship. Why?’
Sergeant Keefer leaned forward to return the telebeam slips to Mayor Nancy Ogg’s desk, remained on the forward edge of his chair and said, “I don’t know.”
“Come now, Sergeant. Surely you can think more clearly than that. General Munoz was drugged—or hypnotized!”
Sergeant Keefer remained leaning forward, looked confused.
Mayor Nancy Ogg snuffed out her tintette in the ashtray, stared at the wall. “Another problem,” she muttered.
“What did you say, Honorable Mayor?’
“Nothing, nothing,” she replied irritably, still staring at the wall. Then, turning to glare at Keefer with angry, smoldering eyes, she announced: “I’m putting the orbiter on immediate Evacuation Alert. Malloy duped Javik and then killed him. Malloy is a saboteur!”