IGMS Issue 2 (23 page)

"Actually," she continued, using a few holograms of the
Russell
for emphasis. One of them showed the ship in hollow form, deck by deck; besides the core chamber and the skin itself, which I had been told aided in propulsion and navigation, there seemed to be very little in the way of equipment or armament. I'd been told that there
was
an armament system, but it sure wasn't obvious here. "Actually, the most you should notice while we transit a wormhole is something analogous to driving a car over a speed bump. We'll see more in the way of turbulence in actual space than while in a wormhole. And I use the word 'in' advisedly, since the transition from here to the other side will be, for all intents and purposes, instantaneous."

I stood up again. "But Cap," I asked, noting the slight scowl that passed over Jameson's face at the assumption of rank, "what's to keep us from tumbling end over end as we come out the other side, like, well, a golf ball off a nine iron?"

A few titters from the audience, but Jameson was unfazed. "Think of it as someone handing that golf ball gently through a doorway. One moment it's on one side of the door -- the next moment it's on the other side."

"And that 'bump' you talked about?"

She smiled -- and I'd remember that smile later; it was a little too knowing. "Just a bump," she said.

Just a bump, my rump.

When it happened the first time, I thought for sure the entire ship had blown to pieces. One moment I was in my bunk, strapped in like we'd all been told, speaking my brilliant thoughts into my thumb recorder -- and the next second it felt as if someone grabbed me by the chest hairs and tried to yank me up through the bunk above me. Anything in the room not tied down made a bee-line for the ceiling, including the one personal effect I'd brought, my
Pearson Journalism Award
-- and then, just as abruptly, everything, including the
P.J.
, now in four pieces, shot back at the floor -- and that hand rammed me back into my bunk.

Alarm claxons were going off all over our deck, and I could hear Jim Postelwaite, one of the science specialists, in the bunk above me, groaning. The lights went off and just as quickly back on.

"Postelwaite, you okay?" I asked; and after a moment he answered.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Gonna have a bit of a bump on my forehead, though. Forgot to pull my upper chest restraint tight."

Out in the hallway I heard running and shouts -- and then the S.O. came on the horn.

"That was the 'little bump' I told you all about," she said, and I swear she had a little chuckle in her voice, and I'm paranoid enough to think it was just for me. "I trust you all were strapped in as instructed." At this, Postelwaite groaned and made an amendment to Jameson's title, adding a 'B' to the end, that would live in
Russell
fame.

But even Postelwaite forgot his woes a moment later when the S.O. added: "I'm happy to report that all systems are working. Ladies and gentlemen, we find ourselves at the beginning of a great adventure, and, hopefully, a successful mission. All chosen participants in Mission A please report to the bay in twenty minutes."

At that moment a holo opened on our opposite wall, as it did in every compartment on the ship, and there was a collective gasp of wonder: there, floating like a bizarrely colored Earth, with bright blue oceans and dark brown, almost black, land masses, punctuated by brilliant Kelly green patches, was our destination, planet two of the Epsilon Eridani system. Epsilon Eridani itself, smaller and redder than Sol, lay in the background, a deep red eye looking baleful.

"Think we'll find anything brainy on it?" I asked Postelwaite, but it was Koprowski who answered.

"I don't know," he growled in his basso voice, "but they better as hell be
polite
."

He jumped down from the top bunk at that moment, and I saw him slip a long length of heavy-looking pipe into the leg pocket of his work overalls. He winked at me. "I know about the reg on no weapons," he said. "And if anybody asks, this ain't a weapon -- it's a
toothbrush
."

I was at the entry to the docking bay fifteen minutes early, and still had to wait on line. There were eight of us going, I saw -- the S.O. was already inside and with her was her second, Bill Felder, a grin on his face as usual, and two of the other Specialist One A's: Marjorie O'Hearn, and Rasha Pikal. Rasha had something to do with biology and planetary atmospheres, and played an excellent game of chess. Marjorie was the closest thing I had to competition on the ship; she was the equivalent of a publicist, and I'd already had a couple of run-ins with her over what I considered censorship of the press. But she was a pretty good sort, and so far we hadn't come to blows.

Koprowski and three other techs rounded out the crew. Two of them bore equipment; Koprowski and the remaining crewman were engine specialists.

As I passed the S.O. into the shuttle I cracked, "We in for any more bumps, Cap?"

She pretended not the hear me, but Bill Felder laughed for both of them. "Just a routine ride this time, Mr. Fowler," he said. "Hopefully I'll put the shuttle down nice and easy."

"I'm counting on it," I said.

Inside, the shuttle was almost spacious compared to the cramped quarters of the
Russell
. My seat was padded, and there was even a footrest. I made sure to strap myself in tightly, though.

My nearest seat mate, Rasha Pikal, was asleep, which was a shame, because I was in the mood for a game of chess -- he had already beat me twice to my one win.

The ride down, which took a thousand times as long as the
Russell's
trip through the wormhole, was, as advertised, strictly routine. There was a little turbulence as we hit E-E 2's atmosphere, but Felder did as promised and put the boat down as gentle as a breath. I was out of my seat and toward the lock before Jameson's voice, sounding more and more like a true captain every minute, barked over the horn, "All personnel are to stay put until we finish atmospheric testing. Then, Mr. Pikal and I will disembark."

"C'mon, c'mon," I muttered, returning to my seat. "You tested the damned atmosphere from the
Russell
."

"Might be very different at ground level," Pikal said, yawning himself awake now. His coffee-colored face was impassive. "Pockets of toxins and such."

"Whatever. You owe me a game of chess."

Pikal smiled. "Perhaps you are still regretting that Queen to Rook 5 move you made yesterday?"

"It wasn't
that
dumb --"

"It was exceedingly dumb," Pikal replied, and then he laughed. "If it was a good move, I'll look forward to you making it again."

I answered sourly: "Like I said: whatever."

He grinned. "It would be my pleasure to beat you a third time."

"Don't be so sure --"

Jameson's voice intruded into my about-to-be foul language. "Mr. Pikal, please report to the air lock."

"That's my cue!" Pikal said, moving past me.

It was the last I ever saw of him.

We waited an hour, twenty minutes past the prescribed time, for Pikal and the cap to return. When they didn't, and when Felder couldn't raise them on either their direct link or the backup radio, he formed a rescue party made up of himself and two of the techs, including Koprowski. I noticed that one of the other techs, a guy named Quint, was paying a lot of attention to a section of the shuttle behind the pilot seating that looked a lot like a gunnery console; it had been sealed shut till now.

Seeing my interest, Felder said, "We've got more in the way of protection than the Council liked to let on. It was politic to keep it quiet. I assume you'll keep it quiet for now, also."

"Only too happy," I said, probably revealing more of my relief than I'd intended. I'd been truly afraid we'd come on this mission naked as a jaybird, as far as armaments were concerned.

"And the
Russell
?" I asked.

"Plenty there, if needed," he answered. He added quickly, "We hope it's not needed, of course."

"Of course."

He surprised me by saying, "Want to come along?"

"You don't need to ask twice!" I replied, retrieving my recording equipment and meeting him two minutes later at the lock.

I sidled up to Koprowski as the outer lock door slid open and said, "Still got your toothbrush?"

His grin spread from ear to ear. "I
always
worry about my teeth."

"Well, worry about mine, too."

He kept his grin as we stepped out.

It was greener -- and much brighter -- than I thought it would be. Apparently we'd landed in one of the 'vegetation oasis,' as Pikal had dubbed the green sections visible from orbit. The black patches, he'd explained, were analogous to sand, only more oxidized. "Like former organic areas that had been burned out," he'd said.

The sky was a sickly yellow-blue, with high, thin, wispy clouds. The ground was loamy and loose underfoot. But it was the trees that startled me. In no way could this be called a jungle -- the vegetation was set too wide apart -- but the trees were the most vivid shade of green I've ever seen, and the same color all the way from their boles up their smooth trunks to the tips of their broccoli-like leaf bunches, a couple of hundred feet in the air.

"Never did like broccoli," I said, but no one laughed. Felder was busy with one of the techs, pointing off into the thickest part of the 'forest'.

"Weren't the cap and Pikal being scanned from the
The Russell
?" I asked.

Without turning around, Felder replied, "Of course. One moment they were . . .
there
," he pointed to an area between two huge plants that was slightly darker than the surrounding area, "and then they were gone."

"I don't like that word: gone," I said.

"Neither do I," Felder answered.

It was then we heard shouts for help.