04. Birth of Flux and Anchor (19 page)

"I shall not be going with you this trip," he concluded, "but I will be out there soon. I can hardly wait, and I envy those of you going now. It is one
hell
of a way to run a railroad, but this railroad runs very well Thank you, and God bless you all."

Another voice—the officious female version of the generic ship's voice—now took over.

"D-deck passengers will gather their personal modules now and prepare to load," she said. "Remove and leave your shoes and other footwear, and as your billet numbers are called, proceed with only your personal modules to the nearest F-deck stairway and down. Personnel will be at all points to direct you. You will undergo a sterilization procedure before being allowed through the lock to the transit ship. Everything except your personal modules will be taken at that time."

Haller looked over at his two traveling companions. "Well, it looks like we'll all know the bare facts on this run."

"I wish they'd started with C deck," Millie grumbled. "It could be another
hour
or two!"

"Feel lucky," Candy told her. "You heard the director. Those early ones get to stand around for two or more hours twiddling their thumbs in the buff while we sit comfortably. Our turn will come."

And, over an hour and a quarter later, it did.

"Billets one twenty through one thirty, remove your footwear and proceed to F deck using the stairways only," instructed the voice.

They all sighed and got up, having long ago gotten rid of their shoes. "Hi-ho and away we go!" said Haller, but his tone wasn't very convincing.

They passed near the now deserted cafeteria, and Haller had a twinge of hunger as he smelled something cooking. They hadn't been fed, on orders, for eight hours prior to embarking, and it was beginning to really tell on him. The first thing he wanted when he got to New Eden was a thick, juicy steak or a leg of lamb. Forget the leg, he told himself. I'll take the whole lamb.

Virtually no one balked at stripping when they reached the sterilization chamber—it was standard in a lot of places, although not usually unisex—but after stepping in and being bathed in those ticklish rays and half-blinded by the lights, and then exiting the other side, many protested the discovery that they had no new clothing on the other side.

White-clad transport personnel wearing breathing masks took them in tow and led them, one by one, down an antiseptic tube that bridged the airlock between the freighter and the transit ship.

Toby Haller was shocked to see the size of it. The brightly lit single chamber into which they were taken seemed to go on forever, and was filled with long, transparent tubes going from a black base that rose perhaps thirty centimeters off the deck all the way to a similar black solid holder on the ceiling four meters overhead. He could see about two thirds of the tubes were filled with human bodies—all standing. He immediately sympathized with D deck. Then he was at his own, and they took the two modules from him and inserted them into two drawers inside the base, then he was told to get into the tube. The ship was hot and stuffy, and smelled like three tons of old sweat.

He suddenly realized that almost all the white-clad transport workers were women, and became more than a little uncomfortable and embarrassed by his nudity. Although they were busy and wore masks, he couldn't get it out of his head that they were all staring at him and either laughing or giggling. He could see a couple of other people in similar cirucmstances from his tubular vantage point, but noting their discomfort did nothing to relieve his own.

After a while his legs started to hurt, and he leaned against the tube for some support. It was not wide enough for him to sit down or even do a decent crouch.

He felt an unpleasant sensation, and realized that he'd never asked what one did if one were standing there and suddenly had to pee.  He tried to get the attention of a transport worker, but didn't succeed.

He was just beginning to feel that he couldn't possibly hold it anymore when a tinny voice came to him from above.

"Attention Gate Four passengers. We are clearing the ship of all base personnel. In a few moments a mild sedative will be administered to each of you to make you relax. Departure will be shortly after. Upon arrival you will be met and taken off by Gate Personnel. Follow their instructions. Thank you."

Bloody bitch,
he thought.
Bet she had three squares and a shit today. Damn Einstein! Bet he was never far from a toilet when he needed one!

He suddenly felt at once very dizzy and yet very stiff, unable to move a muscle. His eyelids closed like heavy weights, and he found even breathing labored. The whole world seemed to give a tremendous shudder, as if an earthquake had hit, and there was an itching, almost burning sensation throughout his body.

He was conscious of the passage of some time, but whether it was a few seconds or a few hours he wasn't sure. He only knew he felt a bit dizzy, then opened his eyes and looked around. Nothing seemed to have changed, and he wondered if it had worked or if his anesthetic hadn't taken. Well, at least he didn't feel like he had to piss anymore.

Then he noticed that the transport workers were back, and he was sure that something had gone wrong.
All this way and all that deprivation and the damned thing misfired!
he thought with disgust.
It
would
happen on my trip!

He waited his turn, feeling very depressed, knowing that he might have a pretty good wait. It turned out, though, that the anesthetic had been very well thought out; it was barely five minutes or so before a white-clad and masked transport worker undid the seals and opened the door. It hissed slightly. She knelt down, removed the two modules, and handed them to him.

"What went wrong?" he asked her.

"Everyone asks that," came the reply, a bit tinny and electronic behind the mask. "Nothing. Welcome to New Eden. Follow the personnel officer in yellow down there and we'll route you through to your destination."

He felt like he'd been hit by an electric shock.
New Eden!
It didn't seem real.

They were led in small, relatively silent groups down to the lowest deck, then down a long corridor to the center. The place was filled with modules, large and small, all marked with destinations and code numbers. The cargo, in this case, would be unloaded last.

A large hatch was open in the ship's middle, and they were instructed to climb down the ladder to the tunnel below. There would be a second "debusing," as the personnel man called it, then they would give their name and ID to the officer on the other side and be taken to their final destinations.

The chamber below was brightly lit; its walls and even floor were rounded and were of a translucent greenish color. They stopped in the middle, had the familiar sensation of being cleaned inside and out once more, then the light in the next section of tunnel went on and they proceeded down it. At the end of the next section there was a woman sitting on a stool in front of a small machine that came out from the wall. As each new arrival came to her, she asked crisply, "Last name, first name, middle initial, and company or military ID number, please."

"Morgan, Jeremiah K.," said the large, balding man in front of him. "76554-65845-6745LH. Say—when do we get some clothes?"

She checked her screen, nodded, then said, "We have no room for that here. Index finger in the slot, please." She didn't wait but grabbed it and stuck it in. She nodded again. "Proceed to next station. Next, please!"

"Haller, Toby G.," he told her, then gave his own long string of numbers. She nodded again, and he stuck his index finger in the slot—and felt a sting. "Ow!"

"Thank you! Proceed to next station," she said crisply. "Move along, please! We're behind schedule now."

He went along, thinking that he had worked with a number of computers with better, personalities and more human kindness than bureaucrats.

The end of the tunnel was stunning, and he almost forgot anything else when he saw it. A couple of times back on Titan he'd visited the inner area of the small Point that powered the base, but it was nothing like this. Just beyond the energy regulator, the only part of the massive amount of computer and machinery that was exposed, there swirled a beautiful maelstrom of pink and white cloud in which golden sparkles of energy were constantly flashing. He knew it was an optical illusion caused by all sorts of fancy physics, but it was stunning all the same.

And that was why, at this point, they had planted a sergeant in full uniform, and why they'd picked one who was two meters tall and weighed at least a hundred and fifty kilograms with no evidence of fat.

"Name and destination Anchor!" he announced, more than asked, in a deep but highly officious voice.

"Um—Haller, Toby G. Anchor L."

The sergeant's right hand pointed to his right. "That way!"

He looked and said somewhat sheepishly, "Uh—there's only a blank wall that way."

"Just walk into it. Don't worry, bub—you'll get there."

He shrugged and walked into the wall. There was a sudden absence of all light, and a feeling of falling, but it was only momentary. Suddenly he was standing on a round metallic plate inside a huge pit. Beyond he could see people sitting behind folding tables with large cartons in back of them, and he went forward and approached the first one.

"Name, please?" said the woman.

"Haller, Toby G," he responded.

"You want that table over there," she told him. "Can't you read?"

For the first time he saw that they had hand-lettered signs tacked on the front of the tables. He was at the one marked A TO F

"Haller, Toby G.," he said yet again, this time to the G TO K table lady. She nodded, leaned back, and a young soldier in Logistics blue brought her a sealed box that, he saw, had his name and number on it.

She pointed to a small portable signature plate on the table. "Sign here," she told him. "Then proceed forward before opening the box and dressing so as not to block others."

He signed with the stylus provided, then took the box and did as instructed, joining several others. He had a lot of questions to ask, but first he wanted whatever was in his box.

It turned out to be some military-issue underwear and socks, all white, a pair of decent jeans, a flannel-style work shirt with two breast pockets, and a pair of solid low-cut work boots, black, also military issue. He put them on and was surprised that they fit so well. There was also a wide-brimmed cream-colored hat, creased in the crown, and it fit, too, although he almost never wore hats. Going further, he discovered a small case with basic toiletries, generic issue, a multifunction pocket knife, a wristwatch that read 0918:08 and said nothing else, a clip-on green-bordered ID card that had the same lousy hologram of him that he'd had on his company badge back on Titan, a small gray book marked
Orientation Manual, Pocket Edition,
and, wonder of wonders, a chocolate bar. After clothing himself, the chocolate bar got first priority.

While munching it, and discovering that it even had nuts in it, he looked around and saw another personnel officer standing there, looking over the new arrivals. She, at least, looked human—and slightly bored. He went over to her.

"Excuse me, but
now
where do I go?" he asked her.

She peered at his badge. "Up. There's a lift to the side, there, that will take you to the surface. There'll be a line of tents above. Look for the one with the Engineering logo on it. They'll get you settled in." She stopped a moment, then read the badge again. "Oh, my! They'll be quite happy to see you. Dr. Haller. We all are."

He was startled. "How's that?"

"Well, you're department head for Landscape Engineering, and God knows we need you bad. You'll see when you get topside."

He nodded. "Urn, thanks—I think. By the way—that wall I walked through to get up here? I had been led to believe that matter transmission was impossible. Flux or no Flux. Did I miss something?"

"Oh, no. As far as I know, the kind of matter transmission you're talking about
is
impossible. Too many losses in transmission, I believe. The tube, as we call it, is a direct-by-wire transmit and receive system. You're zapped at one end, then transmitted, one at a time, along a closed, sealed line running well below the surface all the way from there to here. It
does
save time, and the one thing we have here is energy to spare. There's a line to each of the four Anchors in this region from the Gate. Good to remember if you have to get from here to, say, Mary, in a hurry."

"Mary?"

"Anchor M for Mary. This is L for Luck, although some folks have other less pleasant names for it."

"I see. Yes, that will be convenient, I suspect." Convenient, hell! It meant that he'd be able, if need be, to travel the 6035 kilometers between L and M—urn, Luck and Mary—in a matter of minutes. It sure beat walking.

He was surprised at the lack of cargo robots about, but he realized that the instant transit system wouldn't handle the modules of the enormous size he'd seen on the lower deck of the transit ship. They'd have to offload and bring them in the hard way.

The lift turned out to be an enormous, dirty platform obviously designed to lift or lower heavy machinery and construction robots up and down. The pit, he realized, was a lower floor of what was to be the operations and control center. The seven antennae were in place and rose majestically from the floor up to a height far beyond ground level, but as yet nobody had put the building on top of this foundation. Of course, it was impressive as it was, even if it didn't
look
that way. Just to be at this point, he realized, he was already standing on about a square kilometer of Kagan 7800 computer and associated control and command rooms and equipment, all powered by direct lines tapping that Point over eighteen hundred kilometers distant. It looked like warmed-over shit, but it was a really impressive technological achievement.

He still didn't really believe he was now on some distant moon, perhaps not even in the Milky Way galaxy although no one was really certain. When he reached the top, though, he began to feel not only distant but the full weight of what the personnel woman had told him.