Fugitive From Asteron (7 page)

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 this 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.”

“If you can get me off auto-flight,
I will head for solid ground and attempt to land before the ship crashes into
the sea. That way I can save your cargo. What is your password to disengage
auto-flight?”

He paused, suspicious. “Flight
control will tell you what is necessary for you to know and nothing more.”

“It is too late anyway. The fire is
out of control.”

“What is this fire, and where is
it?”

I did not reply.

“You have three orders, you
miserable swine: You must not let the cargo sink into the sea. You must not let
it catch fire. And you must not let it crash.”

“Maybe you should order the fire
not to burn.”

“Go back to the ship and put the
cargo in the camper to protect it!”

“What exactly is this cargo, Feran?
What is it you are asking me to place in a safe container while I go back into
the flames?”

“It is something that is
mine
and that you had no right to take. Do you understand that?”

“Fully. There was something that
was
mine
and that
you
had no right to take.
No right at
all!”
I did not recognize the savage cry that was my voice. “For that, I
will watch your cargo sink to the bottom of the sea!”

“Shut up! You have no idea what you
are saying. You must save Asteron!”

“What is this cargo? How will it save
Asteron?”

“Get to the deck for your
commands.”

“There is no time to save my ship.
Oh, I mean
your
ship, Feran.”

He moaned in fury and frustration.
“You must save the ship! I command it!”

“I am too weak to save the ship,
Feran. My rations of animal feed have not fortified me enough for my journey. I
will eject in the camper and save myself.”

“The camper does not have engines
for a power landing on the planet. It could break up on impact. Your despicable
traitor bones are safer if you follow flight control’s orders and save the
ship.”

“I will follow my own orders and
take my chances.”

I shut down the communicator and
jumped out of the camper. Then I sealed the airlock behind me and returned to
the flight deck. I figured that if Feran found evidence of the camper in the
sea, it would lend credence to my story about the fire and make him think that
the mother ship and cargo also crashed there. So I ejected the device. From my
window I watched it fall. My ruse, I hoped, would stall him.

I harnessed myself into the
captain’s seat, waiting for the autopilot to disengage. Why was I not dead yet?
Where were the missiles from the alien planet? Did it not protect itself from
alien spacecraft entering its territory? If this were Asteron, I would have
already been tracked. And why had no alien tried to reach me by radio?

The fuel indicator was approaching
empty. When the autopilot disengaged, I would not have enough fuel to fly any
significant distance from Feran’s destination. My fingers moved restlessly over
the stick, waiting for it to respond.

I was now flying up the coastline
of what appeared to be an ocean, with waves breaking on the beach. The
shoreline glimmered with the lights of cities and with roads flowing into and
out of them like arteries. I was descending rapidly now, flying above one
cluster of lights, then over an area with more scattered lighting. My craft was
set to land near the coast, in a less-populated region on the outskirts of a
city.

With the glow from the lights below
adding to the moonlight, I could see objects. I spotted an expansive wooded
field that appeared to be deserted. It had areas that were sufficiently open
for a vertical landing of my ship, yet surrounded by thickets of trees and
shrubs for concealment. This was where I would touch down if I got the chance
to maneuver. Just when I had given up hope of exerting any control over where I
would land, the computer announced that auto-flight was disengaging.

Suddenly, the stick came alive in
my hand! I quickly turned the ship and headed straight for the field behind me.
Just to be safe, I turned off a sensor that transmitted the craft’s location,
although I did not think it was operable outside of the home planet’s satellite
network.

I maneuvered the ship over what I
judged to be the optimum place in the field for a landing. For a few tense
seconds the craft bumped and scraped against the foliage as I brought it down.
It hit the ground with a thump. I cautiously moved my neck and limbs, and then
I checked the flight deck. My body and the ship seemed intact.

I observed my new planet from the
windows. The shrubbery brushing against my craft seemed astonishingly similar
to that on Asteron, as if someone had transplanted the vegetation from one
place to the other. An instrument onboard registered a benign atmosphere
containing oxygen, so I carefully opened the hatch and took a breath. Warm air,
scented with sea and grass, filled my lungs. I saw no need for the curious
purple suit in the cargo bay because the fresh air felt remarkably similar to
that on Asteron.

To my great relief, no one seemed
to be waiting. My arrival, apparently, was of no interest to anyone. I slid
down from the ship to the ground.

Like the military craft I had
flown, the ship was coated with a substance to prevent detection by thermal and
infrared instruments. Nevertheless, I still had to protect the spacecraft from
detection by the naked eye. Although my landing spot provided good camouflage,
I gathered leafy branches from the shrubs around me and worked diligently to
cover the top and any remaining exposed areas of the craft with foliage so that
it would not be easily seen by anyone.

After completing this arduous task,
I sat in a nearby grassy area to watch fire-red spears strike a cool blue sky.
Opposite the vast sea there was a mountain range, and over it the sun was
rising in my new world.

As daylight arrived, my worries
subsided. I could find nothing to fear. The alien sun was not harsh but warm
and nourishing. The alien winds were not severe but cool and gentle. The alien
sky was clear and bright blue. The alien land was rich with trees, shrubs, and
grass growing abundantly. The alien creatures, birds busy with morning rituals
and little ground animals sniffing around me for food, were not frightening but
harmless and engaging. My new refuge was like a potent drug that numbed my
fears. I lay down on the grass with the sun flushing my face. Instead of
watching for dangers, I closed my eyes for a moment of untroubled rest. Then I
sprang up at the buzz of a plane’s engine. A small aircraft of the most unusual
color—bright red—glistened in the sky.