Freenet (15 page)

“I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Simara sighed with relaxation as though a difficult task had been accomplished. “I know you will.” She shook her shaggy mane and shrugged off her business persona like a cloak, a role easily played and cast aside. A younger, innocent girl looked at him with a glint of mischief in her eye, a girl he had met in a geyser pool on a planet far away. “Now take off your pants to seal the deal with a friendly Bali hand like the girls do back home. I’ve been alone too long thinking about you, and I want to see what all the fuss is about.”

His face blossomed with fire. “No, I can’t, not like this.”

“C’mon, Zen.” Simara took his hand and placed it on her breast. “You’re ready for this. We have to secure a mutual understanding of human trust in the core programming of our physical being. This is how it’s been done for centuries. You can hear your hormones talking, can’t you? You feel that right down into your groin. Your tactile senses are going straight to your midbrain, where evolution has charted pathways for procreation and survival. You’re hardwired by your genome to find me attractive. You can’t help it.”

Her voice sounded hypnotic and gentle with reassurance, the warmth from her body a balm of delight. His dream was coming to fruition, his final fantasy. “You scare me when you talk like a machine.”

“You scare me too, Zen, on so many levels.” Simara reached to loosen cellulose at his waist.

“Wait,” he said as he stilled her hands. “I can’t do it. Not like this.”

Puzzlement flitted in her eyes. “I thought you liked me. Don’t you want to show me your big secret?” She arched her eyebrows at him in whimsical flirtation, but it seemed forced and artificial now that he had made up his mind.

“You deserve better than this, trapped like a sex slave in a cage. It’s cheap and demeaning. Can’t we wait for a better place?”

Simara studied him with a frown, recalculating her options, and for a moment he wondered if he had ruined his last chance at romance. She pulled her hand away from his pants. “I’m so sorry. I thought this would be the natural thing for you, given your expertise in the area. I didn’t mean to offend.”

“No, no, it’s not you. It’s me. I just need some time.”

“That wasn’t the response I was expecting from a Bali boy.”

Zen winced and tried a smile. “I’m finding it a hard reputation to live up to.”

“Ha, pun intended?” She laughed and waved a hand. “No, it’s fine, really. I’m not ego invested. Or maybe I am. I suppose I’m jealous of all those other girls.”

“I don’t want you to be just another girl. You’re special.”

“Well, that’s sweet.” She studied him with pleasant surprise. “I had no idea you were such a complicated man. I’ll wait for you, if that’s what you want. We’ll defer gratification and consummate our fake marriage with fireworks when the time is right.”

“From anticipation blooms the flower of desire.”

“Oh, you’re a poet also? You do make an extraordinary package.”

He felt a blush of shyness and ducked his eyes, secretly glad to change the subject. “Actually, I do write a bit of poetry when the stars are properly aligned. Indulgent, cathartic stuff.”

“Really? I’d love to read some.”

“I’d be embarrassed to show you, a woman of your vast experience and intellect.”

She fluttered fingers as though to dismiss any notion of superiority. “I’m a neophyte when it comes to poetry. You had me with the skyfall princess line.”

They chuckled together at the memory now distant, and rested in a moment of solace. Life had seemed simple then, and opportunities bright and boundless. Now the future was restricted and reality confined to a dark tunnel forward. Simara shifted gears with machinelike efficiency as she began to go over the details of their mission. She outlined the schematics of the troopship from memory and specified locations for spacesuits and supplies. Everything had to be arranged without digital record. Surveillance cameras would have to be disabled at strategic points. Inventory records would have to be surreptitiously altered. An intricate plan emerged, an improbable confluence of knotty details, and by the time his conjugal visit had ended, Zen’s head was spinning with worry. Simara was counting on him, and everything had to be perfect for any chance of success.

Time seemed chiselled out by a miser as Zen completed his tasks one by one. He picked up extra tubes of goop at parties and hid them away. He borrowed extra pressure-packs of oxygen, claiming difficulty breathing due to claustrophobia in his bunk slot, playing the tourist. There were only twelve spacesuits aboard the vessel, fully geared up for emergency repairs outside the hull, and it seemed unlikely that a fleeing crew would disable equipment in deliberate betrayal, but he pulled two suits out of the line-up and hid them in a secret locker according to Simara’s instructions. In deep storage he found two ablative shields—pointed rocket heads made of heavy ceramic and lined with fireproof insulation. He had to haul each one up a ladder against acceleration with a rope harness around his shoulders, clenching his teeth against pain and reminded of home—dragging metal salvage across hot desert sand.

At night he dreamed of a dangerous jump into open space with Simara, flying through celestial heavens to distant pinwheel galaxies, colourful, spinning whorls with millions of suns and countless virgin planets to choose from. In the dream he landed on a paradise world and wandered psychedelic gardens of delight in juva ben flashbacks with a nurse in white cellulose—a land of fragrant honey and milk from anatomically egregious vessels. He woke soiled with shame each time, wondering why he was such an idiot.

By the time they approached Cromean orbit, Zen was fully prepared in his mind and primed for action, but his stomach thought otherwise, a twisting and churning worm in an ulcer of doubt. Simara had warned him to keep his protein levels high and his muscles toned with a daily regimen of exercise, but he continued to fight for control of his spirit. Who could he trust if not the woman he loved? Kiva would help him, bless the Lord of life. Kiva would guide him.

The floor lurched beneath his feet, and sudden buoyancy allowed him to float upward. He flailed and grasped a conduit for support. The rockets were dead. Gravity had failed.

“Emergency muster,” the intercom sounded. “Reactor shutdown. All crew muster to launch couches for airlock containment.”

The lights darkened to a bluish tinge, and Zen twisted to reorient himself in weightless space. Deceleration had stopped cold, and the troopship was still pointed ass-forward to Cromeus and probably coming in fast with momentum. Was this the signal he had been waiting for? The drama Simara had envisioned? He touched his ear. “Login. Simara Ying.”

::Hi, Zen. Get to your launch couch right away. This is an emergency muster for possible decompression.::

The air in his lungs felt suddenly precious, and he held his breath to test the moment. “Is it a drill?”

::It doesn’t matter. This is a military transport, and all orders must be obeyed without question.::

Simara sounded right in character, civil and obedient, the epitome of cooperation. All Zen had to do was play dumb. “I’ll be there in two minutes.”

::Where are you?::

Zen checked the bulkhead. “I’m in an observation room, 32B.”

::That’s less than two minutes. Don’t take your oxygen for granted.::

“Okay, okay.”

“Emergency muster,” the intercom resounded and began to repeat the message.

Zen pulled his body mass under an archway and floated into the hallway, a helpless amateur again as he’d been on Trade Station. He clambered along the walls and grappled with conduits to maintain balance as a flurry of staff troopers flew by in both directions around him. He floated up the long ladder to his bunk slot and slid inside. The door closed behind him and sealed with a hiss. “I’m here.”

::Good. Sit tight. The captain will probably make a statement shortly.::

They waited, but no announcement broke their radio silence. The quiet became ominous as power flickered and went dead. A few more seconds passed, and Zen strained to hear sounds beyond his tiny cell. Were the crew packing the lifeboats even now? Jumping ship to trap them behind? Would they blow the hatch and leave them to die? He squirmed to turn around in his bunk and peered at the palm sensor on the door. He tapped 8339 on the battery touchpad, and the door popped as pressure released. He pried the portal wide with his fingers and peered out into empty space. All the bunk slots were open, and all the troopers were gone, just as Simara had envisioned. Time was short now and scheduled with precision. Zen looked back once and dove out into bluish twilight.

They met at a prearranged spot just outside their secret locker, and Simara launched herself into his embrace. They bounced off a wall and hung together as she clutched him, and she seemed like such a tiny, frail creature, a clinging elf. She pushed away finally and tapped the wall for stability. “Sorry,” she said as she hovered before him with a grin of victory. “For being such a stir-crazy pervert. It just feels so good to be out of my cell.”

“Are we still okay?”

She smiled with reassurance. “We’re not dead yet.” She tapped an access code to open their locker and peered inside. Two rigid spacesuits with ablative shields stood upright like white cruise missiles. “Good job, Zen. You are totally my hero.”

A muffled explosion sounded in the distance and left behind a squeal of escaping air.

“Vacuum breach,” Simara shouted into a whistling wind. “Get in your suit and stay close to the wall.” She dove headfirst into her bulky spacesuit and quickly sealed it up as Zen floundered to get his in position. He tipped his head back into the belly of the enclosure and squirmed his way up toward light coming down from the faceplate. The suit felt stiff and top-heavy below the armoured dome. He tucked up his legs and stepped into rigid leggings, then inserted his arms. He clamped the front of his suit and powered it up. The system whined with a whir of hydraulics. “Can you hear me?”

“Hurry up.” Simara’s voice sounded panicky, and she looked like a robot with a rocket cone above her head. “We’re dropping like an asteroid and picking up speed.”

“Are you okay?”

“No, I feel wretched. I think I’m going to piss my panties.”

“You said you’d done this.”

Simara floated to the airlock hatch and peered through a dark portal. “Simulations are wonderful things, but it seems more real when it’s real.” She tapped the override code into the failsafe mechanism, and the lock clunked inside. “Give me a hand with this door. Do you have air? Are you secure?”

“I’m fine. Almost pure oxygen on the meter.” Zen leaned against the handle and grunted as he slid the door open to endless night. “Holy Kiva.” The curved edge of Cromeus lay below, a blue jewel wreathed in cloud. “It’s beautiful. So calm and peaceful.”

Simara edged up beside him. “Think good thoughts. You go first. If you have any trouble, I might be able to help.”

Zen peered out at the emptiness of space and felt a gut-wrenching solitude. “It looks like a long way. I can’t jump that far.”

“Yes, you can. Just line it up and push off. Gravity will do the rest. Don’t try to look back for the ship or worry about me. The first few seconds will be the most dangerous part. One drogue chute will deploy from your feet to grab any stray molecules up this high and help point you down. Keep your arms and legs tucked under your shield during deceleration. When we reach terminal velocity, your shield will eject and a second drogue chute will deploy from your back for free flight. Try to control any spin by using your outstretched arms like a bird. An uncontrolled spin will push blood to your brain and black you out. In less than five minutes your paraglider will deploy, and you’ll be home free.”

“Do you know we’re going to survive? Have you seen the future?”

Simara sighed with exasperation. “No. I don’t know, Zen. I’m not a fortuneteller. We don’t have any guarantee of divine grace. I have a feeling that you might survive, okay?”

Zen turned back to face her. “If this is our last jump to glory, we should settle things between us.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. You want to talk about our relationship? Now?”

“This might be our final moment together.”

“Don’t think like that. You’ve got to stay positive if we’re going to get through this—joke around a bit and consider death elusive. It’s called wartime camaraderie.”

Zen held Simara’s gaze. “I love you, Simara. Right here, right now.”

She blushed and fumed behind her faceplate, but kept her eyes steady. “Fine. I love you, too.”

“Okay, then.” He grinned to himself in victory. “Let’s do this.”

Simara turned to look out the open portal. “Our timing will have to be impeccable. This dead hulk will be accelerating fast, and we don’t want to go in with any speed greater than the terminal velocity of our natural mass. I’ve been calculating some trajectory simulations on the fly, but there are a lot of estimated parameters.”

Zen peered again into the gaping maw of space and felt rekindled fear. “What do you suggest?”

“Now would be good.”

“Now?”

“Give or take a few seconds.”

Zen clenched his teeth and stared at Cromeus in the distance. Could invisible tentacles of gravity reach up this high to claim him? Or would he float forever in the stillness of vacuum? He lumbered into position in the doorway and readied himself. “Thanks for crashing in my backyard, Simara. I’d rather die here with you than spend my life in a cave mourning my father.”

“You’re not going to die, Zen. People pay big money for extreme sports like this. Just go ahead and jump.”

He studied the surface of Cromeus. The famous blue planet was actually more brown than blue on close inspection. Plenty of dry land, and cities with lights in the creeping shadow of darkness. The notion of choosing a target seemed ludicrous. Does a meteor have any choice where it lands? Does a skyfall princess? He tipped forward and pointed his ablative shield down. He positioned himself with precision—straight like an arrow to the heart of Cromeus! Think good thoughts. He dove into nothingness.