This Alien Shore Read Free

“You’re carrying a program that’ll explain it all to you, all in the proper time. I made sure of that.”
    â€œWhere are you sending me?”
    The footsteps were closer now, and shouted words could be heard to echo down the corridor. That way! Check the locks, sir? Hurry!
    â€œUp-and-out,” he said, keying in the final instructions. “There’s a metroliner on its way out of the Sol System now; you should be able to catch up to it in this.” He added hurriedly, forestalling her objection, “It’s the only place you’ll be safe, Jamie. Trust me.”
    Trust him, the inner voices chorused.
    â€œI do,” she choked out.
    â€œI altered the launch records; if they manage to track you at all they’ll think you went to Earth. By the time they discover that lie for what it is you’ll be well out of their reach. Here’s the data you’ll need.” He reached into the pod and pressed a small case into her hand; his own flesh was sweating. “Read through it as soon as you can, so that it’s familiar to you.” He hesitated, and for a moment she thought he was going to lean forward to kiss her good-bye, or pat her on the shoulder, or ... something. But instead he reached up to the door of the tiny vehicle and began to close it. “I’m sorry, Jamie. Forgive me.” He hesitated, then whispered, “Forgive us all.”
    The pod door snapped shut, sealing her inside the small vehicle. The voices beyond the door were muffled, as were several loud noises which followed, that might or might not have been explosions. Then absolute silence enveloped her as the air surrounding the pod was pumped out, leaving it in vacuum. She forced herself to breathe steadily as the pod began to move, feeling the mattress that surrounded her conform to her shape as the lauching programs kicked in. PHASE THREE STRESS, her wellseeker warned. ACTION?
    There was a sudden jerk as the pod was launched, like being kicked in the chest with an iron shoe. The mattress cradled her, absorbing the impact. ADJUST, she told it, visualizing the key icon in her mind’s eye. Deep within her brain the image triggered a flurry of electrical activity, biological and mechanical, and her brainware, which was a combination of both, took control. Her pulse slowed. Her blood pressure lowered. A thousand and one symptoms of stress released, dissolved, dissipated.
    Outside the small window—a token hole no larger than her face, its purpose not to afford a useful view as much as to counteract the effect of close confinement—she could see Shido Habitat falling away behind her, its sunward surfaces gleaming with liquid brilliance. Beyond it was the blue-and-white crescent of Earth, home to nearly ten billion souls. It and its habitats were the only home she had ever known, and now she was leaving them forever. The pain of it was a cold knot in her heart, only partly ameliorated by the flood of healing chemicals her brainware had loosed into her bloodstream. She could have asked it to do more for her, but she didn’t. What did a brainware network know about despair? How could it “adjust” for the nameless agony of losing everything and everyone you valued all at once, and not even knowing why?
    â€œOh, God,” she whispered. Tears streamed down her face. TEAR DUCT OVERFLOW, the wellseeker informed her. ACTION? She wiped away the wetness with a shaking hand. There was a flash of light from the direction of Shido Habitat, but the satellite was behind her ship now, and so she couldn’t make out its cause. What’s going to happen to me? She hoped to God that her tutor was going to be okay. She knew, deep in her soul, that he wasn’t.
    My job was to kill you.
    Undetected, unpursued, the tiny pod fled Earth’s crowded skies, and headed toward the up-and-out.

There are those who would pay a fortune to discover how our outpilots navigate the ainniq, and