The Sunspacers Trilogy (5 page)
Unable to sleep deeply, I floated over Morey, who was asleep with hands gripping the arm rests, and drifted out into the passageway. Slowly, I pulled myself along to the men’s washroom in the midsection. Suddenly it seemed that the nose was the bottom of a long drop. I cried out, expecting to fall.
Jake LeStrange was in the small lounge, drifting against one wall, dragging on a cigarette. He looked bored when I floated in.
“Hi, kid. Can’t sleep?”
“Guess not.” I didn’t like the “kid” bit.
“It’s common the first time. Later you can’t wake them. Reminds them of being in Mommy’s belly.”
“Really?” I asked sarcastically.
He scratched his shaved scalp. “Something you want, kid? The toilet’s in there. Read the instructions before you let loose.”
“Thanks, I think I can figure it out.”
He grinned.
I didn’t like him, I decided as I drifted into the enclosure and slid the door shut. Sunspacers and earthies just weren’t always going to get along, I realized, wondering how much was my fault, if any.
A jungle of graffiti grew on the walls. A few lines caught my eye:
Principal products:
Moon—green cheese.
Mars—red sand.
Earth—salt water.
The meek shall inherit the Earth.
They can have it!
The rest of us are going somewhere else.
Watch out for the coriolis force on Bernal.
Wear a mask when you pee!
Most of the others were just as dumb, or confusing. Pride lay behind the words, misunderstanding, as well as political and economic grievances that would have to be settled before real hatred took hold. Maybe it was already too late; no one was sure what would happen if the miners on Mercury went on strike, as they were threatening. Earth was importing too much from Space to ignore the possibility of major shortages. It seemed to me that the Sunspacers were doing a lot, and not getting as much respect for it as they would have wished.
I wondered if Jake might have written all the graffiti, since they all seemed to have been printed by the same hand. It wouldn’t have surprised me.
I opened one eye. The Moon was on the screen.
“Breakfast in ten minutes,” the whispery voice said. “Open your slot and remove the contents while they are still hot. Put everything back when you are finished and please make sure the cover is closed.” The voice sounded half asleep and bored with reading the instructions for the thousandth time.
“We’ll be docking at Bernal One early this afternoon,” it continued. “Have a pleasant morning and be careful when moving around.”
I heard a laugh. Jake was floating in the passage. “What she never says is how many people have broken their necks in zero-g.”
“Thanks for telling us,” I said sarcastically, hoping he would go away. Morey was waking up.
“Sure,” Jake went on. “They think because they’re weightless their heads don’t have any mass either.” He chuckled as he held on to the hand bar, sounding as if he were gargling saliva. He probably tried these stories on anyone who would listen.
“Who’s the voice?” I asked.
“Sylvia’s the copilot. You should hear her when she’s been up a week.” Morey opened his eyes, looking angry. “Do you mind? We’re just getting up.” Jake slid the divider shut.
“A pest,” Morey said.
“Sure is. How do you feel?” He looked pale.
“My circulation feels bad. I get dizzy.” He focused and looked at me. “How about you?”
“Okay, I guess. Sometimes I get the feeling that we’re falling in that direction.” I pointed toward the nose.
He grunted. “That’s exactly what we’re doing.”
“Breakfast,” I said. The light was on over the utility slot. I brought up my seat, slid open the panel, and reached in for the tray. It was hot in the small space. Morey drew up his seat as I took out the tray and placed it on his magnetic handrests. Everything on the tray was held down by stick strips. I took out my tray and sat back, held in place by the strap.
Coffee and juice came in suck tubes; oatmeal in a big squeeze bulb; scrambled eggs and ham in a widemouth bulb.
Our divider slid open halfway. “Food okay?” Jake asked. Morey nodded.
Jake looked at me.
“It’s okay.”
“It used to really stink,” Jake said, floating away.
“Feel better?” I asked as we continued eating. There was some color in Morey’s face now.
“I think so.”
He stretched and yawned when he was finished. I got rid of the trays.
“Thanks,” he said, staring sadly at the screen, as if he were trying to remember something.
“What is it?” I was beginning to worry about him.
“Earth is so small.”
“It happens when you go far away from something.”
“It looks lost,” he said, ignoring my joke. “We’re leaving everything behind. Most of what has happened to human beings happened
there
.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said, trying to sound sympathetic. I thought of all the windows I had broken in the condemned sections of Westchester before we moved to Manhattan. I wondered if Willy, my fellow destroyer, still lived there. The area had been rebuilt into a residential arcology, housing a half million people in a tall pyramid, and the new windows were unbreakable.
“There’s more than Earth now,” I said. “We’re not all in one place, but I know how you feel. I was thinking the same things about four o’clock this morning.”
“I’ll miss the pizzamat near my house,” Morey said.
“Don’t worry. As long as you can order the same recipe on Bernal, it’ll be just the same.”
At 2:31 in the afternoon, Bernal One slid into view on the screen—a huge ball with what looked like tire tubes piled up on its north and south poles.
“Please strap in,” Sylvia said.
The ship was turning for its approach as Morey and I buckled in. Bernal One grew larger, but it sure didn’t look sixteen kilometers across, or as if fifty thousand or more people could be living inside; but there was nothing in our field of view with which to compare it.
Braking thrusters fired, pressing us into our cushions. We came in high over Bernal’s north pole, then twisted slowly to face down into the hole of stacked tires, which now looked more like doughnuts, where the open docks were located. The ship made minor corrections as we drifted into the mouth. I caught sight of several space suited figures making repairs outside with welding torches. Bernal settled down on us, obliterating the stars as we drifted inside and nudged to a halt.
Morey smiled at me. “Well, we made it.”
“Routine, almost dull,” I said, not meaning it.
“Sure,” Morey replied, sounding much better.
People drifted past us in the passage. Morey and I unstrapped and joined the flow, pulling ourselves along the handbars to the rear exit, where we floated out into a large, drum-shaped zero-g space. Handrails crisscrossed this interior, snaking in and out of openings. About a hundred people were waiting, hanging on the rails like so many coats on a rack.
Kik ten Eyck darted in through an entrance at my right, and stopped where the rails crossed in the center.
“You’ll go inside in small groups,” he said loudly, “and your counselor will take you as far as the dorms.” He looked around at us for a moment, then shot out of the chamber.
“Some service,” Morey said, looking pale again.
A girl floated toward us after a few minutes. She was dressed in a white leotard, brown shorts, and stick boots. Her red hair was braided and piled on top of her head. I guessed that she was about twenty.
“Hello,” she said, attaching herself to the drum wall with her boots. “I’m Linda ten Eyck. We’ll be entering the biosphere through its north pole, the same zero-g axis along which you docked. Your sense of weight will increase as we move off that axis toward the equator, where it will feel almost Earth normal. Remember, ‘gravity’ here is really centrifugal force, so
try
not to trip over your feet, and don’t
jump
. It’s not too dangerous, but you may not land
exactly
where you expect. Even a sphere rotation of less than once a minute can’t reproduce the perfect illusion of a genuine gravitational field. Oh, one more thing. Going through zones of varying gravity may temporarily affect your balance, but don’t worry. Most people get their space legs quick.”
I was watching her as she gave her talk. Her green eyes were a bit slanted. She was younger than I had first thought, maybe my age; self-confidence made her seem older.
“Let’s go,” she said, and launched herself across the drum. Morey and I crept along the rail. What if I couldn’t adapt? Maybe I had a fussy inner ear that knew how to balance only on Earth. I was a little worried about Morey again; she had implied that there were people who couldn’t adjust.
“This way!” she called without looking back. Her body was slim, but I noticed a surprising roundness in her hips as she jackknifed and slipped into the exit.
“She’s probably ten Eyck’s sister,” Morey said as we pulled through after her.
“That’s right.” The name had gone right past me.
Suddenly we were floating straight up on a cushion of air. Linda was waiting halfway to the top of the tunnel. White light shone across her body. I heard Morey breathing next to me as we drifted up level with her.
“In here,” she said, seeming impatient, and I felt that she thought me hopelessly clumsy. We drifted by her, into what looked like a rail car. The top was transparent, and there were large windows on the sides.
Morey and I pulled ourselves down into two empty seats near the back.
“Buckle in,” Linda said loudly. I noticed another car ahead of ours. Both were now full.
“At least the seats look upright,” a man said to his son in the seat in front of us.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, buckling in. “We could be sitting on the ceiling and it wouldn’t matter.” The man turned and looked at us, then turned away, and I realized that it had not been necessary for me to share my knowledge. I was excited by our arrival, and a bit worried about Morey.
A few students looked confused. One father was holding his son’s hand. I caught a glimpse of Linda in the front car. She seemed amused as the vehicle moved forward.
I peered out into the darkness of the tunnel. We slipped suddenly into daylight. A hollow world curved away in all directions, closing into a ball at the south pole, far below the ring of sunlight on the other side of the equator.
I didn’t know much then about the system of mirrors and windows that brought sunlight into the colony, so it was hard to make perfect sense of what I was seeing. We were attached to our seats, heads pointing to the center of a great hollow ball. Suddenly it seemed I was looking
down
at everything.
“There’s some weight,” Morey said with relief. The illusion of looking down was gone. Morey took a deep breath. “Fresh air and greenery.”
The cars ran on a monorail that gradually left the zero-g axis, delivering passengers from the space dock to the inner surface. The hollow ball was a giant centrifuge. Its spin threw you out from the center, but the inner surface was there to stop you, so it felt almost like gravity to your feet. Put a bucket of water on the end of a rope, whirl it around fast, and the water will stay inside. Not gravity, but just as good where you can’t get any. I couldn’t feel the difference.
Looking back, I saw the tunnel mouth rising away from us as we moved along the curved surface. I faced forward and looked around for Linda, but she had disappeared.
“Your sense of weight,” her voice said suddenly over the speaker, “will increase as we near the equatorial zone. You can see the university ahead, to the right of the lake.”
Again it seemed that I was looking down through a giant balloon. “Look at that!” I said, nudging Morey, but he had closed his eyes. Then the perspective reversed itself, and it seemed that we were traveling uphill toward the lake; but I was still getting flashes of downhill motion. Things started to look more normal when I stopped thinking about it and simply accepted the direction of my feet as down. After that the curve of the landscape was just an exotic detail.
I looked at Morey. He still seemed pale, but his eyes were open and he was looking around. I was glad.
“Feeling better?”
“I’ll be okay,” he said, still looking a bit embarrassed. “How about you?”
“Great. Can’t wait to get outside.”
Bernal Hall
I began to feel heavier as the monorail slipped toward the equator. Looking up, I saw a pedal glider moving across the bright open space of the globe. “That’s not a dead-stick glider,” Linda’s voice explained. “It’s a human-powered aircraft with a propeller.” Far to my right, a group of people seemed to be playing football, except that they were high jumping and somersaulting in low gravity.
Everywhere I looked there were houses—old and new designs, two and three stories high, some of them looking as if they had been snatched off twentieth-century Earth, or earlier, and attached to the inner surface of the hollow sphere. Country roads passed slyly in and out of forested areas. The equatorial lake spilled a river around the world; streams branched from the main flow; small bridges straddled the waterways; people were everywhere, accepting their world in the ordinary way.
It was ordinary to them, but it couldn’t be that for me, not yet anyway, if ever. It filled me up with its reality, its impossible neatness and order. I couldn’t believe that we were traveling to a dorm room; everything would be different here, even beds, desks, and bathrooms. I was inside a world on the other side of the sky; a few centuries ago that would have meant that I had died and gone to heaven.
“Many people from Earth,” Linda’s voice continued over the speaker, “have the idea that space habitats are small, cramped places …”
“We’re not
that
uninformed,” Morey said sourly.
It still seemed to me that Dandridge Cole University lay at the bottom of a hill, but the angle was flattening out. I saw circles of buildings on the left shore of the lake.
“… and that’s the park in the center,” Linda was saying. “Dorms in the inner circle, classrooms in the middle one. The outer ring is for research and advanced studies. Agriculture’s in the farm toruses—those doughnuts stacked on the outside, which you saw during docking.”