The Tachyon Web Page 2

  They were in a ferry halfway between Space Station One and Excalibur, floating away from the massive pinwheel that oversaw all travel within the solar system to the freighter that housed Strem and his girlfriend. The ferry was homed onto a directional beacon aboard Excalibur and would arrive at the freighter’s bay doors without human assistance. Nevertheless, Sammy Balan was keeping a close eye on their approach, which was reassuring to Eric.

  Sammy was as cautious as he was intelligent. Because he was so quiet, kids at school often mistook him as cold, and it was true that his mind seemed to more closely parallel the working of a machine than a person.

  Sammy’s attention to detail, however, did not apply to his personal appearance. When he dressed in the morning, it was as though he put on the first thing his hand touched and didn’t always check to see if it was a viable piece of clothing. Pale and underweight, his short stature was not helped by a chronic slouch. His one physical virtue was his long wavy brown hair, which managed to maintain a lustrous sheen despite infrequent washings. Yet he had mentioned cutting it all off. Sammy didn’t care what he looked like.

  “What do you think the chances are that we will get away with this?” Eric asked. They were sitting before rows of colored buttons and a single dark blue screen traced with shifting speed and distance graphs. A wide window curling back from the tip of the hull provided them with the breathtaking view of the Middle East. Because the ferry was used only for short trips, it was powered by simple chemical rockets and had no artificial gravity. If he were to unfasten his seat belt, he would float away. But he had recently eaten and wasn’t in the mood for acrobatics.

  “There are many variables,” Sammy said. “It’s hard to know.”

  “A ball park estimate would be fine.”

  “I’d give us a two out of three chances of being allowed to make a hyper jump.”

  “I was hoping you would have said a ninety percent chance.”

  “I may in fact be overly pessimistic. It all depends what Central Control asks our holograph of Strem’s uncle. It was impossible for me to program it to respond to every variation.”

  “Will Strem be helping you pilot Excalibur?” he asked, trying to keep the tension out of his voice. He hadn’t slept much last night and when he had, he’d had nightmares of calling his parents and telling them he wouldn’t be home for dinner for about five years.

  “Let’s hope not,” Sammy said flatly.

  The growing Excalibur began to blot out the African continent. There was a brief nudge as the ferry braked. Perhaps when the freighter had been constructed it had been worthy of being named after the mythical sword, but six decades later, moored in orbit beside numerous modern craft, it looked like a clunker. A bulky gray cylinder, its living quarters and control deck were squeezed into a spherical compartment that was stuck like a Ping-Pong ball at one end. It would undoubtedly be retired soon. And yet, compared to the interplanetary ships of a couple of centuries ago, it was incredibly fast. The rear section was devoted to the cargo bay and the graviton drive, and the latter could propel them out of the solar system at about a third the speed of light, to a point sufficiently distant from the sun and planets to where they wouldn’t snap in two initiating a hyper jump.

  The hyper drive itself took up as much space as an ordinary desk. Out of their group, only Sammy had more than an inkling of the mechanics of the Unified Field that made it work. Once he had tried to explain the intricacies to Strem and Eric, and they had both ended up with headaches.

  “Is Cleo aboard?” Eric asked.

  Sammy half smiled, rubbing his eyes, which were red and tired. He must have been working overtime this last week to outwit Central Control’s final check. That would not come until they were outside the orbit of Neptune, where a smaller version of The Tachyon Web had been erected to momentarily halt all traffic. A hundred years ago, when pilot licenses had first been issued, one had to pass through a strict customs aboard Space Station One just to leave Earth’s orbit. Now only those making hyper jumps were closely watched and even that scrutiny was done from a distance – Central Control had complete confidence in their methodology. Eric could feel the sweat gathering between his skin and his green flight suit. It was going to be a long day.

  “She’s on Mars, visiting an aunt,” Sammy answered. “We’ll pick her up before we head out.”

  “Is she bringing her snake?”

  “Probably.”

  “I can hardly wait. Is Strem’s uncle aboard?” Eric was not sure he wanted to meet the man again. After talking to Uncle Dan he always felt as though he should check to make sure he still had his wallet.

  “He filled out the necessary paperwork, hopped over to Excalibur to make it look proper, and immediately snuck back to the station. He’s probably back on Earth by now.”

  Approximately a hundred yards from docking, Excalibur eclipsed the sun. Eric peered outside, away from the Earth, eagerly awaiting the stargazing he could do once they got out into space. He felt the jolt of the ferry’s rockets fine-tuning their rendezvous. After dropping the people off, the ferry would retrace its steps alone back to Station One.

  As the gray walls began to envelop them, he felt the artificial gravity generated by a component of the graviton drive press him into his seat. A couple of scrapes and bumps followed under his feet as they came to a complete stop in slip-fitting tracks. The door slid shut at their back and atmosphere poured into the air lock with an intense but brief roar. A flashing red light on the control board turned a solid green. There was a loud hiss as the ferry’s seals peeked open. Eric felt a sudden rush of fear and almost asked to be taken back. What kept him was nothing heroic. He simply thought of how lonely and bored he would be over spring break, and quickly climbed out.

  They found Strem and Jeanie on the control deck. Their hellos were brief. With the tension in the room, they could have been going into battle.

  A three-dimensional holographic cube dominated the center of the bridge, projecting schematics of their course in relationship to the planets, the latter’s gravitational fields wavering in the haunting red background glow as though they were living ghosts. Taking a seat at the navigational computer, Sammy performed a quick systems check. As he did so, the transparent holographic cube sparked with unwinding white threads representing possible courses for Excalibur on its way out of the solar system. Eric noted how each line curved around a bright red dot – Mars and Cleo.

  “We have clearance,” Strem said, coming up behind Sammy, glancing out the windows, which were uncovered turned toward the cloud-shrouded Asian continent. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “One minute,” Sammy said. “The ferry is still clearing. Did your uncle get the seal on the Preeze Cap repaired? The board shows minor pressure discrepancies.” The Preeze Cap was a sophisticated circulation pump that helped keep the gravitation drive from overheating. It used old-fashioned ethylene glycol.

  “Yes,” Strem said. “Did you need help plotting our course?”

  “Absolutely not, thank you.”

  “Are you as scared as me?” Jeanie asked Eric, leaning beside him against the unlit panel that held the setting for the hyper drive. She was dressed in a black leotard, and her bushy brunette hair was tied with a yellow ribbon in a ponytail that reached to her waist. Sweat glistened on her bare arms from dancing to burn off her nervousness before they had arrived.

  Jeanie was one of the school’s cheerleaders and, after graduating, planned to study ballet, which she would certainly excel at – she looked graceful simply walking across campus. An uncomplicated person to the extent of being slightly dull, she compensated for any personality deficiencies with a fresh beauty that occasionally made Eric wonder if he wouldn’t chase after her if, say, Strem were to meet a sudden and unexpected accident.

  Eric thought of Dentenia; she had similar seductive legs, and Strem had been right that she knew how to answer the phone. But he had been wrong about her automatic yes. She had given him a brisk no just befo
re hanging up. He was still wondering why he had caller her – at least when Carol and Barb didn’t want to see him, they were polite enough to say they had to wash their hair or something.

  “I’ve done worse things,” Eric answered with a straight face.

  “When?” Jeanie asked.

  “In another life.” He nodded towards Strem. “How did he talk us into this?”

  “The same as always – he kept on at us until we said yes.” She squeezed his hand. “Isn’t it exciting?”

  “Ask me after we get back home.”

  “We can go,” Sammy pronounced. He glanced up at Strem, who nodded decisively. Sammy’s right hand moved and as it did, so did the ship, India slipping from the windows and being replaced with starry space as Excalibur turned its back and main drive on the world below. The lights dimmed and the white streak with the holograph turned orange. A low deep hum filled the room, swiftly shifting into a high-pitched whine before suddenly cutting off into a ringing silence. Strem laughed and Jeanie gasped and Eric smiled as the Earth began to shrink like a colorful ball thrown into a deep dark well. In minutes they would be at full speed and in less than half an hour they would be entering Martian orbit. What a great way to start a vacation.

  The time passed swiftly. Strem punched up a hamburger from the automatic galley and just about had to forgo chewing to finish it before the red star swelled into a sandstorm-torn world. Mars was in a foul mood and Eric was glad their destination lay elsewhere. The northern polar cap was practically obscured by airborne dust. Had they landed they would have had to stay inside the domed cities and been unable to go exploring, which would have been worse than laying on the beach at home.

  “This is Excalibur,” Sammy said into the mike. “Number FRE-4316-DH, requesting permission for F-level orbit slot.

  A sweet feminine computer answered promptly. “Permission granted. Welcome to Mars, Excalibur. Please proceed to F-192, coordinates ten point two and six point seven. This is a passenger loading zone only. If you wish to remain longer in orbit than four hours you must request a new slot in a lower zone. Please respond that you have copied and understood.”

  “Gotcha, baby,” Strem said over Sammy’s shoulder.

  “Response insufficient,” the computer said. “We await copy and clarification.”

  “I wish I had a voice like that,” Jeanie said with a sigh. While Strem had been swallowing his hamburger, Jeanine had gone to the cargo bay and fitted herself with a pair of Uncle Dan’s fiber optic pants, commonly called opants. When hanging in a closet, opants resembled bland gray leather pants or jackets. But once on a person, they glowed a spectrum of colors, depicting one’s mood, which they determined by stealthily placed sensors in the wrists and armpits that were able to monitor the wearer’s heartbeat, skin resistance, temperature, and arterial dilation. As Jeanie sighed, her arms shone a faint red, indicating desire. Eric feared if he pulled on a pair and hung around Jeanie, he’d look like a strawberry.

  “I met the woman they got to record those tapes,” Strem said. “She was a dog.”

  “Excalibur proceeding to F-192, coordinates ten point two and six point seven,” Sammy said into the mike. “We shall occupy the position approximately one hour.” He added, “Don’t mind what my partner said about you.”

  “Copy and clarification completed. Reference to dog discarded.”

  Strem scratched his head. “I do remember her having a sense of humor.” He paused. “So is Cleo in the F-zone?”

  “Yes,” Sammy said, typing in the coordinates. The cubical holograph now contained an exquisite two-feet-in-diameter simulation of Mars, surrounded by ten concentric nebulous shells, which Eric assumed were the zone levels. Sammy manipulated the controls and the real Mars outside the windows grew three times in size as a smaller version of Space Station One appeared off their port side, ringed with a myriad of glittering spacecraft. Glancing into a sensor plate, Sammy added, “Cleo’s ferry is waiting. She must already be aboard it.” He sent her a beacon to lock onto, and a voice that could have belonged to a six-year old if it hadn’t somehow managed to sound so tough came over the control deck’s main speakers.

  “Is that you, honey?”

  “Which honey are you referring to, sugar?” Strem interrupted Sammy.

  Cleo’s laugh was high and loud. She had a powerful singing voice, which she exercised regularly in a band The Meek Pulverizers – a revival of very old music style of music Sammy had once referred to as punk music.

  Eric never felt completely at ease around Cleo. She was wild. Her hair was seldom the same colour two days in a row, and she was fond of chains and strange designs on her tight-fitting clothes. Without makeup and paraphernalia though, she was a doll: short and dainty with fine red hair and an innocent dimpled smile. She should have been in a church choir, not on stage shouting about racial prejudice and nuclear holocaust, especially since there was no longer any prejudice or nuclear bombs. Eric had once asked Sammy what he liked about her and Sammy had said he was still working on the computer program that would tell him. Like Strem, her attraction was her energy, but unlike him, she worked too hard trying to get it across. A life-threatening interstellar journey was probably just what she needed to settle her down.

  “Hello, Strem,” Cleo responded sweetly. “How many years are we going to get on Mercury for this?”

  “Let’s discuss that when we’re all together,” Sammy said, obviously concerned about who might be listening. “You’ll be here soon.”

  Soon was twenty minutes later. Eric was grateful she hadn’t brought her serpent, though her quarter-ton suitcase of costumes and makeup might have unlooked-for-surprises inside it. Her dress was unusually conservative, a pink plastic pantsuit dotted with tiny purple spiders, and her hair was its natural red colour. He was mildly curious how a pair of opants would respond to her legs.

  “Give me a kiss,” Cleo commanded Sammy, draping her arms around him and plopping in his lap as he sat before his controls. He managed to obey while keeping an eye glued to his screens. Cleo nuzzled her nose against his ear. “I missed you, honey,” she said.

  “You saw me two days ago.”

  “Didn’t you miss me?”

  “To a degree, I suppose.” You couldn’t fault Sammy his honesty.

  Cleo stood, slightly offended, and turned to Strem. “Give me a real hug, would you, big boy?” Strem was quick to oblige. Jeanie and Cleo even exchanged a brief embrace. The risk they were taking might have been responsible for the tenderness. Normally Jeanie and Cleo moved in separate social circles and were not very close. Cleo even squeezed Eric hello and he squeezed her back.

  Sammy requested and received permission to leave orbit. Mars went the way of Earth, seemingly falling into a bottomless hole. What was different this time was their direction in relationship to the plane of the solar system. They were not heading out toward Jupiter and Saturn, but were arcing ‘upward’ (figuratively speaking, there is no up and down in space) where the planets never traveled.

  As the empty miles grew into numbers the human mind could not properly grasp, the sun shrank and faded, their chatter began to die down. The vastness of the space around them began to cast its spell. The five of them stared silently out the windows, each in his or her way trying to comprehend the incomprehensible, the possibility that they might soon be ‘out there’.

  Eric teetered on a narrow strip of joy and uncertainty. Yet, beneath the conflicting emotions, he had a quiet feeling that he was about to reach a point in his life he had waited a long time to meet. He was unable to fully explain the intuition, or shake it, and it grew stronger the longer he looked at the stars.

  Even travelling at a third of the speed of light, Excalibur needed roughly twelve hours to reach Central Control’s Customs Line. When Strem suggested taking a nap, Eric thought it would be impossible to sleep not knowing whether they were going to make history or end up with criminal records. But when the others greeted the suggestion with approval – except for Samm
y, who could not be pried from the controls – he decided to give it a try and headed for his quarters, a sparse cubicle that had not been designed for the claustrophobic.

  Turning off the light and lying down, the tightness in his neck and the pressure beneath his eyes began to flow out of Eric as if he had just drunk from a narcotic draught. The silent sense that he was about to cross a line drawn by destiny persisted and began to weave rich images as he started to doze. He saw swelling stars that were far older than the sun, consuming in a few violent hours the reserves of a fuel supply that had lasted many eons. And arid planets where people walked that were not really people at all, but beings evolved out of seas that had centuries ago dried on winds that no longer blew. Of course he often dreamed of the unknown, and surely whatever lay beyond The Tachyon Web would remain unknown, and never think of him.

  And so Eric fell asleep.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Excalibur was stopped dead in space. The sun was an overly bright star, nothing more, and The Milky Way was a wide river of a billion softly blended stars. They were literally hundreds of millions of miles away from another human being. Yet, they were being watched. Central Control had noted their passage out of the solar system and wanted to have a talk with Uncle Sam.

  “It’ll work, right?” Strem asked Sammy, who had not left his seat, not even to go to the bathroom, since boarding. Sammy rolled his tired head around and looked up at Strem with his usual emotionless expression.

  “I seem to remember you telling me it couldn’t fail.”

  “You’re the scientist, damnit,” Strem complained. “Tell me it will work so that I can relax.”

  Sammy turned back to his console. His fingers danced over a keyboard and a two-foot miniature of Strem’s uncle, dressed in a trader’s traditional red suit and perfect in every observable detail, suddenly appeared in the holographic cubical. The image was for their reference only. Uncle Dan’s full form was being piped out on a tachyon band directly to Central Control. The authorities would perceive him as standing on an otherwise empty deck. “I wouldn’t relax,” Sammy said.