Fugitive From Asteron Page 6

  The alarm shrilled once again as another missile raced toward me. I turned hard, but the stubborn rocket stayed with me. I could see it at the center of a tunnel that was closing. My shrinking vision was about to be swallowed by eternity. To lose this missile meant pulling more g’s and blacking out. To stay conscious meant flying steady and waiting for the weapon to strike. How did I want to die? Crashing to the ground in a fireball or blasted to smithereens by a missile? More warning lights flashed on the flight deck, and a voice inside the computer addressed me.

  “Four seconds to impact,” the female voice said tonelessly. “Three seconds to impact.”

  I could maneuver no longer. Instead I had to increase my speed to outrace the weapon, but the craft would not oblige. I tried to manipulate the controls to ignite the rockets, but I heard nothing except the high-pitched whine of the missile alarm.

  “Two seconds to—”

  Just then a tremendous explosion jolted the ship. It no longer responded to my controls. Its nose turned straight away from Asteron as the sky behind me ignited with flames. A most amazing force had suddenly seized the craft and catapulted me away. The rocket engines had ignited! The missile, which moments ago had almost touched my craft, now trailed farther and farther behind. The computer informed me that I was on an automatic, pre-programmed flight route, and yes, I was indeed in rocket mode. Feran’s ship had been set to fire its rockets and to begin an automatic flight route just after takeoff—none too soon for me.

  As the ship blasted through the Asteronian atmosphere and journeyed beyond its grip, I turned to the computer that contained the video I had watched at a point that seemed long ago but had only been the previous morning. Repeating the steps I had observed the technician use, I started the device, and the monitor came alive. I engaged the icon that was of interest to me, and soon the alien Alexander, in his white uniform, appeared before me, holding his club.

  Sitting in the commander’s chair of Feran’s spacecraft, I watched the amazing performance. As a ball was thrown to him, Alexander’s body twisted with all his strength, and he struck it. The little white sphere whirled high in the sky, almost out into space. Alexander leaped into the air. He threw his head back. And in surrender to a moment that meant something great to him, he laughed.

  I glanced out the window in time to see Asteron shrink to the size of a small ball, leaving only a serene black void to embrace me. The clutch of gravity had already eased its grip when Alexander’s ball left the arena on screen. With the alien laughing under a shower of fireworks, I unstrapped my harness and set myself free.

  I was not living my final minutes as I had expected, but in fact the moment felt strangely like my first. Where was I going? I had no idea. At that moment, I also had no cares. I tumbled and bounced around, more unruly than Alexander, in the supreme buoyancy of space.

  Chapter 7

  I glided around my new dwelling like a ripple in water, drifting from the flight deck to the living quarters to the cargo bay of the sleek ship. I was intrigued by the new motion that no longer distinguished top and bottom from side to side. Not only was my body now free of gravity’s pull, but my spirit was also free of Feran and his guards, making it too seem lighter. This produced a calmness that I had never experienced.

  The steady hum of the ship’s instruments and the black void outside the windows were like new companions accompanying me as I examined the interior of the craft, with its rounded, blue-tinged walls, bright lights, and compact living quarters. The ship was equipped with a desk bolted to the floor, a sleeping bag strapped to the wall, a treadmill, a small bathroom, and an array of cabinets and packs for supplies. There were numerous magnetic strips and other fasteners to anchor the items needed for showering, dressing, eating, and working in zero gravity. In contrast to the cramped living area, the cargo bay behind it seemed like a hollow barrel, except for a couple of curious objects loaded for Feran’s journey: the mysterious metal box that I had carried onto the ship and an odd protective suit, each fastened securely and intact. I was eager to examine these items and explore the rest of the ship, but first I had a more pressing matter to address.

  I had entered Feran’s spacecraft certain my life would end, but now I urgently wanted to begin it anew. Remaining alive required that I accomplish one thing. I had to alter the course that was taking me to the one place in the universe where I must not go: to Feran’s intended destination. I had to disengage his automatic flight plan, find a suitable new location, and navigate a course to get there.

  I returned to the flight deck to bring my case before the ship’s computer. But to my dismay, I was unable to change my course even after exhaustive attempts over many hours. Although I could use many of the ship’s systems and functions, I could not alter its flight plan and navigate a new one. Programming a flight plan required a higher level of clearance with an additional access code, which I did not have. That left me no choice but to continue on Feran’s flight plan. Would his spies be at my destination to open the hatch when I landed?

  I pondered this situation until I could no longer stay awake. Exhausted, I finally dimmed the lights and crawled into the sleeping bag. I looked contentedly at the dark serenity of space outside my window, then closed my eyes for a much-needed sleep.

  I awoke hours later in the same peaceful state. I lay cocooned in the warm bag, pleased with the new experience of being able to linger in my bed. I yawned and stretched like an animal awakening in its den, feeling calm and secure in a place free of predators. A new thought struck me: I could either open my eyes or shut them, arise or continue to rest, explore the ship or gaze at the stars. I realized that I could decide what to do, and I felt a strange eagerness to begin something that seemed almost solemn: a new day of my life.

  While I was in space, my life was my own, I thought contentedly. But then as I became more awake, the worries seeped in. I feared that Feran’s guards could be at my destination, ready to uproot my sprouting new life.

  I floated out of the sleeping bag to clean up and get to work. A need for fresh clothing brought me to Feran’s dressing cabinet. I was about to grab a pair of pants and a shirt when I recoiled at the thought of wearing clothes that had touched his repulsive body. But this matter was trivial, because I could have a far more disturbing bond to him.

  For the generation of Feran’s rule, many women had conceived offspring with him, or if they were more fortunate, merely with test tubes of his vile protoplasm. He was obsessed with improving our gene pool, a goal he claimed was best achieved by his own contribution. The females assigned to assist with Feran’s progeny were given extra rations and better living conditions than the rest of us, which made selection for such a revolting job a prime way to ward off misery and starvation.

  This matter sometimes troubled me because I did not know who my father was. In Children’s World, where I had been raised, parents could see their offspring on visiting days. I remembered being with my mother, who died in my early school years, but I did not recall any father coming to visit. I sometimes ruminated on the identity of the father I had never known—because I did not want him to be the man I loathed.

  Many of Asteron’s children looked like Feran and surely were his offspring. Did I too have his contemptible genes? I reminded myself that my features were proportional, so I was considered ugly, whereas Feran’s large nose, feeble eyes, and thick lips were disproportional, so he was considered beautiful. At least he had been beautiful until he sustained what appeared to be an accident that injured his face. After his alien-trained surgeons operated, Feran’s face became ugly, like those of the aliens who mined our gold and who somehow had more of everything than we did. Although Feran ceaselessly condemned them, he just as zealously courted them for aid and assistance. We citizens wondered if Feran had used the occasion of his accident to change his looks in order to promote better relations with the aliens through his resemblance to them. People whispered hopefully that the change in Feran would somehow bring more food. But th
is did not come to pass, and our flesh continued to wither away because of the famine.

  With a shrug of my shoulders, I dismissed my preoccupation with Feran’s genes and took his clothes. Then I showered and shaved. I checked my bruises in a mirror and applied fresh ointments, something I had begun doing the day before. With the aid of an alien medicine kit unknown to me on Asteron, my wounds were healing remarkably fast. Patches of healthy new skin were already growing over the lashes on my back. For the first time since my punishment at the Theater of Justice, I could open my eyes completely, because the swelling was receding. My face was changing too, I noticed. The hard cast of anger that had pulled my features tight seemed to have loosened a little into a look of cautious calm.

  Although food had not yet been loaded when I seized the craft, I found potable water and an ample supply of powdered fruit drinks and milk, beverages available to me only rarely on Asteron. I rehydrated some for a satisfying meal. On this new day in space, I was now in the rare state of being well rested, clean, and fed.

  I wished I did not have to be concerned with Feran’s affairs, because outside my window I noticed a bright star, one I had not seen before. I went to the flight deck to take a closer look through the ship’s telescope. With remote controls, I adjusted the telescope’s lens outside the craft, searching on its monitor for the star. It was behind the ship. I marveled at the power of the instrument to reveal so many secrets of the universe and wished I could spend the rest of my life on this ship peering at the stars, so content was I at this task. I adjusted the telescope until the bright little image came into view. Then I gasped. The object I saw was no star. It was a spacecraft pursuing me.

  Suddenly a blast from the radio receiver overpowered the ship’s serene hum, confirming my fears.

  “Animal!” It was Feran. “I demand an account of my ship and cargo. Speak!”

  I did not reply.

  “I order you to respond!”

  Again I said nothing.

  Feran unleashed a string of Asteronian curses before he was coherent again. “If you dare touch my cargo, you will rue the day! I am not far behind, and when I get you—as I will, pig!—I will turn your punishment over to Coquet. She will want to try all her tricks, to linger with you, to watch you die . . . slowly . . . very slowly.”

  Feran had brought with him his favorite companion, the weapon notorious on Asteron for its beams of torture. My moment of calm had ended, and I listened with dread to the plan he and Coquet had for me.

  “We will meet again soon, because I know something you do not.” He laughed viciously. “I know where you are going and how to catch you.”

  Chapter 8

  With Feran’s threats grating on my nerves like a missile alarm I could not turn off, I headed to the cargo bay to take a closer look at the object of his concern, the mysterious cargo I had hauled onto the spacecraft.

  I released the object from the brace that had kept it intact during the violent maneuverings of my takeoff. I ran my hand along the smooth gray metal that covered all six sides of the rectangular box. It measured up to my knees in height and also in width, and half that distance in depth. The object stood on four small feet of the same metal. Each of the four sides consisted of a solid plate of metal. On the bottom there was an impression in the plate, and within it there was a tightly fitting black metal cone, as long as an index finger, two fingers thick at its base, and tapering to a sharp point. I had never seen such an object before and had not a clue to its identity.

  The top of the box had a circular piece of the metal cut into it about the size of a person’s face, with more of the same metal around the rim. Figuring this circular piece was where the box opened, I gently pressed on it, but it was tightly sealed. A large steel pin jutted out from a slot in the side of the box. This pin was loop-shaped and looked as if it had to be pulled to activate the device. A protective cover of hard plastic prevented the pin from being pulled accidentally. When I moved the box, I heard nothing rattle; it felt solidly packed. The box resembled nothing I had ever seen.

  I secured the cargo back in its frame, then examined the other item in the bay, which was strapped down near the box. It was an unusual kind of protective suit, bright purple in color. I unfastened it for a closer examination. It was made of a shiny, flexible, metallic purple material that was a bit thicker than a thumbnail, making the suit not very bulky. The entire suit was made of this material, from the bottom of the feet to the tips of the fingers and to the top of the head. It had a transparent face visor, also tinted purple, that flipped up or down. The one-piece outfit contained fasteners and zippers, all purple, apparently made of the same substance. The suit had no life-support system in it, only various filters of a finely graded metal mesh, also purple colored, under the mouth. I wondered if the air at my destination needed refining through these filters. But why was the rest of the suit necessary? It was not pressurized or powered, and it contained no heating or cooling coils. The suit resembled nothing I had ever seen.

  I drifted back to the living quarters and took a look around. I examined the cabinet over Feran’s desk. Reflecting the mental capacity of its user, the compartment was almost bare. It contained a leather folder with a pen and blank notepad inside. These three items were imprinted with the capital letters MAS. The bold black letters were slanted, and they appeared on the image of a sleek silver rocket. This small imprint—the letters and their design on the body of the rocket—meant nothing to me. Another mystery, I thought, rubbing my fingers over the curious design on the folder, pad, and pen.

  I found no weapons on the ship. Why was Feran traveling alone and unarmed? Where was he going? What was he planning? Why was he preparing his entire fleet of spacecraft to take off, and why would the fleet be launched two days after he had left? Was the fleet going on another mission, or would it follow Feran? Where were the maps I had seen Feran call up on the ship’s computer? They must be accessible only with his password, because I could not locate them in any database open to me.

  Next, I moved to the ship’s airlock, where I found a device called a camper. This was a small, bubble-shaped vehicle used for travel away from the mother ship. With some investigating, I discovered that I could activate it and use its communication system to send a signal to another ship in the Asteronian fleet. Could this device help me throw Feran off my trail? I set to work on a plan.

  After another day in space, a planet that had been merely a bright point in the distance grew to a large sphere filling the windows of my craft. I had passed other planets along my journey, which I had studied through the telescope, but the one I was fast approaching was different. Though the dusty rocks, frozen gases, and spewing volcanoes of the others looked forbidding, the planet looming ahead was a lively swirl of blue, brown, and green patches dappled with wispy white clouds. As I sat on the flight deck, I looked from the telescope’s screen to the ship’s window, observing the curious sphere. It possessed a life-giving mix of sea and land, with green fields and sunlit skies. The sight of this planet alarmed me because it looked remarkably like Asteron.

  The presence of only one moon reassured me that I had not reversed course. It did not soothe me very much, however, because this colorful planet was Feran’s chosen destination—the one place in the universe where I most profoundly did not want to go.

  The spacecraft began firing directional rockets, slowing down, descending. A spectacular pink glow surrounded my craft as I left the black void of space and entered the planet’s atmosphere. While I descended, the automatic flight plan remained engaged. When would it disengage? Feran would probably have programmed his ship to carry him as close to the ground as possible and perhaps even to land for him. He had no desire to curl his hand around the stick and feel the thrill of harnessing the craft’s power himself. The only thrill I had ever seen him display was when he harnessed people. I instinctively touched the scar made by the chain I had so often worn around my neck. Fearing I would have little or no time or fuel to alter the
ship’s destination, I had devised a plan to throw Feran off track. I might be forced to land at or near his programmed spot, but I could make him think I came down elsewhere.

  While the craft brought me to the alien world, I waited for the right moment. Outside my window I observed a clear moonlit night on the planet. I saw signs of intelligent life in the lighted clusters that signified cities and the roads emanating from them. Then a fortuitous thing occurred. I saw that I was heading over a mass of water, a gulf, curled inside a crescent of lights from the land masses on its sides. This was the perfect place to set in motion my plan.

  I was now flying at the reduced speed of aircraft travel, and I could feel the new tug of gravity as I walked to the airlock. I slid inside the camper and activated its systems.

  “Help me. Help me. Can anyone hear?” I said through a communication channel set to reach other craft in the same fleet. “Help me.”

  “Is that you, pig?” Feran had indeed picked up the signal. “But wait! You are transmitting from the camper.” A touch of fear heated his voice. “What are you doing in the camper?”

  “There is a fire onboard. The ship is going to crash.”

  “What? Impossible!”

  “I sealed myself in the camper, where I have life support. Maybe the aliens will rescue me when I eject.”

  “You worthless blockhead! Go back to the craft at once! By my calculations you should now be passing over a gulf. You must not lose the ship! I will have Asteron flight control tell you how to save it.”