Charon (8 page)

 
The doors snapped shut. I waited expectantly, as the air was pumped out, to hear the scream of someone who hadn't moved fast enough, but there was no hint of melodrama. If anyone had taken that way out, the fact was not evident.

 
"At my command," the voice barked from speakers along the ceiling, "you will turn right and walk slowly in single file, as far forward as you can. There you will find a special shuttle that will take you to the surface. You will take forward seats first, leave no empty seats between you, and immediately strap yourselves in."

 
I heard some muttering from a few of my fellow prisoners, and instantly a brief but very visible spurt of light shot from a side wall. It did not strike anyone but hit with an audible hiss just in front of the offenders' feet. They jumped slightly at this demonstration of power. All the grumbling and mumbling immediately ceased.

 
The voice, which had paused for this digression, now took up its instructions with no reference to what had taken place. None was needed.

 
"Right turn—now/" it commanded, and we did as instructed. "Walk slowly forward to the shuttle as instructed."

 
We walked sflently, definitely in no hurry. The metal floor of the corridor was damned cold—at least the shuttle would be preferable to this damned refrigerator.

 
The shuttle itself was surprisingly comfortable and modern, although the seats weren't made for naked bodies. I sat about three rows back and attached the safety straps, then waited for the rest to enter. My first impression had been close, I noted. The shuttle itself could seat twenty-four, but there were only eleven of us, and only three were women.

 
The hatch closed automatically, followed by the hiss of pressurization. I felt a violent lurch and knew we' were free of the transport and on our way down.

 
The shuttle was much too modern and comfortable for mere prisoner transport, I told myself. This had to be one of the interplanetary ships regularly used for transportation between the worlds of the Warden Diamond.

 
The overhead speakers crackled, and a much nicer female voice that actually sounded human came on. It was a great improvement

 
"Welcome to Charon," the voice said, sounding for all the world like it meant it "As has no doubt been explained to you, Charon is your final destination and new home. Although you will be unable to leave the Warden system after debarking on the planet, you will also no longer be prisoners. Rather, you will be citizens of the Warden Diamond. Confederacy rule ended the moment you entered this shuttle, one of a Seet of four shuttlecraft and sixteen freighters owned in common by the Warden Worlds. The System Council, a corporate entity fully recognized as internally sovereign by the Confederacy, has a seat in the Confederacy Congress. Each of the four worlds is under a separate administration and the government of each planet is unique and independent. No matter
who
you are or what you have been or done in the past, you are now citizens of Charon and nothing more—or less. Anything done prior to this moment is past history that will
neither be remembered, filed, or
ever again referred to. Only what you do from this point on, as citizens of Charon, Warden System, will matter."

 
It—or she, I wasn't really sure—paused for that much to sink in. The contrast between the attitude and tone taken now and what we'd all been subjected to previously was enormous. But if she expected me to believe that the powers-that-be on Charon didn't know anything of our past she had a very low opinion of my intelligence.

 
"We will arrive at the spaceport at Honuth in approximately five minutes," she told us. "You will be met there by representatives bringing clothing and then taken to an orientation center where all your questions will be answered. Please be prepared for hot, wet weather and for a level of technology below what most of you have come to expect. This is still very much a frontier world, with even more restrictions than on any frontier world you have ever known. But please don't be unduly upset by that. Charon is not without its comforts. Again, welcome to Charon."

 
Although the lid was off, nobody really said much for the rest of the trip. Part of the reason was that we were still conditioned by our recent imprisonment; the rest was nerves, mine included. This was it, I told myself. Here we go.

 
There were a few bumps on the way down, particularly once we were firmly in the atmosphere; but, overall, the ride was smooth and efficient. Then
came
a level-off, a slow descent, and a glide right up to and into the dock.

 
In less than a minute I could hear the airlock door mechanisms operating, and the indicator moved from red to orange to green. Following a pneumatic hiss, the doors rolled back.

 
For a moment, none of us moved, but finally those near
est
the hatch stood up and walked out the open door. Sighing, I did the same.

 
The docking area was small but quite modern and fully air-conditioned. Walking along the glassine tubelike egress arm, I could see Charon, which did nothing to improve my spirits. It was raining like crazy, so heavily I could hardly see a thing.

 
The terminal was quite small but nothing like the log hut I had been expecting. The air-conditioning was positively chilling. Two very ordinary people, a man and a woman, waited for us. They were both dressed in pullover black shirts and briefs and wore thick, rubber-soled sandals. They looked more like a couple that had just gotten rained out at the beach than officials of a planetary government

 
"Welcome to Charon," the woman said, and I recognized the voice as the same one in the shuttle. Remote controlled from the ground, then. "Please step over to that table, pick out clothes and sandals in your size, and put them on," she instructed in a businesslike tone.

 
Part of my briefing had included Park Lacoch's sizes, but I quickly discovered that all the men's clothing was too large and that I would have to go to the women's section to outfit myself. It didn't really matter—ft all looked the same anyway—but I did get some idea of how Lacoch developed his nasty complex and bad identity problem.

 
The modified beachwear was apparently standard attire, at least here—where was it?
Honuth, that
was it. I wondered if the stuff was waterproof.

 
I dressed and was standing around waiting for the others to get similarly set when the fact really hit me. I was here, on Charon—and even as that first blast of air-conditioning had hit me, my body was being systematically invaded by an alien organism that was to be my permanent jailer.

CHAPTER THREE - Orientation

After getting dressed, we were gathered around the two greeters in the small terminal.

 
"All right—listen up!" the man called out, his voice almost lost in the sound of the heavy rain hitting the roof of the building. "We're going to leave here and go into town where
,we
have set up temporary quarters for you. I strongly recommend that you follow us closely, since Charon is a world that can kill the newcomer in a minute. Mechanized transportation is not allowed in town, so well have to go in two coaches that are parked outside now. Don't be startled at what's pulling
them,
just get in the nearest one."

 
"Got any umbrellas?" somebody called out
The
man and woman both smiled a bit but didn't reply.

 
I became acutely aware of my physical disadvantage in the group. Everybody, male and female, was taller than I, and so I was forced to watch our hosts from a small break in the gathering that opened and closed. The whole thing was very frustrating.

 
"Come on!" the woman called to us. "Don't run or rush—those sandals have fair traction, but on the slick pavement just outside they'll slip on you." With that both Charonites turned, and the man started leading us out, the woman bringing up the rear.

 
It wasn't just bad outside, it was worse than I had imagined—incredibly hot, almost like a steambath. The rain seemed to be pouring out of some giant faucet in the sky, so thickly was it coming down. The rigid awning to the street offered little protection thanks to a hot wind, and we were
an
soaked in moments. Still, the ugly climate wasn't the real shock—it was what waited for us at the curb.

 
Two huge wheeled coaches made entirely out of what appeared to be wood, were there: pulling each of them was a pair of monster lizards, each almost four meters tall. Well, they weren't
quite
lizards, but that was the closest you could come. They were bipedal, standing on enormous, muscular legs, balancing themselves by use of a long, thick tail. Their saurianlike heads, with unblinking eyes of burning red, were not only enormous but looked full of row after row of sharp teeth. Two small arms ended in handlike appendages now flexed in apparent anticipation—or boredom. Those hands, smaller versions of the enormous feet, were composed of three, long Jointed fingers connected by webbing that made them look like giant leaves. The fingers ended in suckerlike tips. The splayed hand and foot was, as I later learned, a feature of many of the
animals
of Charon. Instead of having reptilian scales, the great creatures were smooth-skinned, and colored a uniform and ridiculous-looking perfect baby blue.

 
Each wore an elaborate looking bridle, with a network of reins rivaling a marionette's strings in number and
complexity, that
stretched back into a raised driver compartment above the coach proper. The driving compartment was completely enclosed, and included a windscreen with a huge windscreen wiper.

 
I jumped into the nearest coach, almost slipping on the smooth paving despite the warning—that rain was so fierce it almost hurt—and found myself jammed in with five other prisoners and the male Charonite. The coach was quite comfortable, with soft, padded upholstery but it would have been a lot more comfortable with two less people.

 
After closing and locking the door, our coach, the lead one, started off with a strong jerk. The ride was not at all comfortable; extremely hard and bumpy all the way, with the coach lurching this way and that, more like a ship at sea in a storm than basic ground transportation. I saw the Charonite looking at us with some amusement, probably wondering if any of us were going to get seasick. "Don't
worry,
it's not a long trip. Sorry about this, but it's considered deluxe transportation here on Charon."

 
'This ain't Lilith—machines operate there," a big man sitting next to him grumbled.
"How come all this primitive shit?"

 
"Some
machines operate here, when they are permitted to," the native responded somewhat enigmatically. "Fact is
,
most of this misery is a sort of compromise. Machinery's so easy to foul it isn't worth a damn here anyway, so we go with what we can. For the most part though, it's this bad or worse. Better get used to losing a couple of thousand years, "
cause
that's what you just did."

 
"Damn foolishness," the big man grumped, but the rest of us remained silent, either because we didn't know enough or out of real depression.

 
Within five minutes the coach rolled to a stop with a jerk even worse than the start. I thought to myself that these vehicles could use seat belts more than the space shuttles, but said nothing. My situation was still too new and I was far too green, not to mention soaked and perspiring from the heat.

 
It was a relief when the door was opened, since at least it let in a breeze with the ram. The Charonite emerged and stood there, almost oblivious to the rain, helping us all down and pointing to a nearby door, which we made for. Once inside that door we were all dripping wet again and a little dazed, but after a half a minute or so I got my bearings and was able to look around.

 
When they said the place was primitive they weren't kidding. The buildings seemed to be made mostly of various kinds of native wood, along with other plants of the area. They were well-crafted but very utilitarian, that was for sure. Along the walk of polished mosaic in front of the buildings on this side of the street, were what appeared to be wick-lamps, burning oil of some kind magnified through polished glass. The reason they didn't fall victim to the rain was ingenious: between the walk and the street a wall of some glassy substance ran the length of the street and had a roof attached to the roofs of the buildings themselves. Although there was some seepage through cracks in the walk, it was pretty well watertight—a clever idea. There was also some airflow, which felt oddly chilling, although I couldn't figure out where it came from.

 
Our host, as soaked as we, examined us with a sour smile, and I knew we probably looked worse than he did.

 
The second coach arrived shortly after, and the rest of our party joined us and went through the same drying out—not that we were dry by any means.