Starclimber Page 8

  He let me hold it, and it was amazingly light—like holding nothing at all.

  “It feels warm,” I said in surprise.

  “That’s just ’cause I rub it.”

  I chuckled, but the glamour of the rock was undiminished. Where had it come from? Before it struck earth, it must have passed through countless worlds. Was it a fragment of planet that had met its doom? Had other galactic creatures touched it, as I did now?

  “Bit of a lucky charm,” Tobias said, shoving it back in his pocket. “I take it down with me whenever I dive. Figure I’ll need it now.”

  Grendel Eriksson ushered us through a set of doors and across a plaza toward the coliseum. It looked twice the size of the one in Rome. We went inside through one of the enormous archways.

  “Welcome to the trial by fire, gents,” Eriksson said, with some delight.

  “What the hell is that?” said Tobias, gazing up.

  In the middle of the open-air coliseum, hovering at one hundred feet, was a lightweight metal platform, held aloft by a hydrium balloon at each corner and tethered to earth by ropes. Dangling from an opening in the middle of the platform’s underside was a wispy rope ladder. Safety nets had been strung beneath it.

  “This is Altitude Familiarization,” said Eriksson.

  “You want us to climb up there?” Tobias muttered, looking queasy.

  “For starters,” said Eriksson. “Let’s go, gents, one at a time. Douglas, you’re first, you lucky devil. Further instructions when you’re topside! The rest of you form a line. No pushing. Everyone gets a turn, I promise!”

  I was second in line, with Tobias right behind me.

  We all moved under the shadow of the platform to the rope ladder. Douglas took a breath, gripped the rungs, and started climbing purposefully.

  “You do this all the time, I suppose,” Tobias said to me in a low voice.

  “Are you afraid of heights?” I whispered back.

  “Not until now. What’re we supposed to do when we get up there?”

  I shook my head.

  Douglas was now halfway there. The rungs were baggy, so climbing was no easy thing. The ladder swayed with every step. He seemed to be getting on all right, though he did falter for a moment after looking down.

  “Cruse, you’re next,” said Eriksson.

  I grasped the rope and started up. I felt no fear. After a while I glanced up to see Douglas clamber shakily through the opening in the platform’s underside. I checked on Tobias below me, doggedly hauling himself up, staring straight ahead, and hoped he wasn’t scared. I was almost at the platform and wondering what was going to happen next when I heard a cry of pure terror. From the corner of my eye, I saw Douglas plunge earthward, arms and legs flailing.

  I froze, staring. When he was no more than twenty feet from the ground, Douglas slowed miraculously, hovered for a split second, and then bounced back up. It was only then I noticed the slim cord trailing from his ankles. He soared halfway back to the platform, bounced a few more times, and was then lowered gently to the ground. Two attendants removed his ankle harness, and the line was winched back up.

  I swallowed and kept going, pulling myself through the opening and onto the platform.

  “Good morning, Mr. Cruse.”

  Captain Walken stood there grinning, as if our paths had just crossed in the town square.

  “Sir,” I said, “I’m very, very glad to see you again.”

  “As am I.” He grasped my hand in both of his and gave it a warm squeeze. “I’m delighted Mr. Lunardi was able to lure you away from Paris. I understand you’ve had some very interesting adventures since we last spoke.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I look forward to hearing about them. But for now,” he said, nodding at the platform’s edge, “how do you fancy a little land diving?”

  “Douglas seemed to enjoy it,” I said.

  Captain Walken chuckled. “The first time’s always the hardest. But you’ve jumped off higher things, Mr. Cruse.”

  I smiled. Over the Pacificus he’d seen me swing from a rope into the gondola of a sinking hot-air balloon. And he knew how Vikram Szpirglas had pushed me off the Aurora’s back, and I’d flown and grabbed hold of the ship’s fins. Lighter than air, they used to say about me.

  “I think I can manage,” I said.

  “I have no doubt. Hugo and Walter will rig you up.”

  From one side of the platform a narrow gangplank jutted into thin air. Two assistants quickly fastened the elastic rope to my ankles.

  “The Pentecost Islanders were the first to do this,” said Captain Walken. “Apparently they use vines. Oh, here’s a little puzzle they want you to solve while free-falling.”

  He tossed a kind of cube to me, with colored segments that could be rotated and turned.

  “Just get all the red squares on the same side. It’s fairly simple.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  “Jump on the count of five,” said one of the assistants. “One, two—”

  But I saw no point in waiting. I leapt, arms out, putting on a bit of a show, and giving a whoop of delight as I soared through the air. I’d never feared heights. Funny, how time can stretch out so long when you’re moving so fast. Each second was like a little room I could explore. Clouds through the coliseum’s open roof, one in the shape of a blue whale. Light on the tiers of arena seats. The faded chalk lines of the racetrack. The ground attendants watching my fall, hands raised to shield their eyes from the sun.

  I almost forgot about the puzzle. It was pretty simple; you just had to turn the cube segments a few times. I think it was just to see if you could concentrate on something else while free-falling. I got it done before the second bounce.

  If I was expecting any praise from Eriksson and the other attendants, I was disappointed. They silently unfastened my diving line, checked the puzzle, and scribbled on their clipboards.

  “Back of the line,” Eriksson told me. “You’ve got another dive ahead of you. But this time we’ll be moving the platform higher.”

  I took my place in line and watched Tobias do his land dive. He made no noise at all, but when he joined me a few minutes later, his eyes and hair were wild.

  “I didn’t like that,” he said.

  “You did it, though,” I told him, clapping him on the shoulder.

  “I dropped the stupid puzzle,” he muttered.

  “You’ll get another shot at it.”

  He grimaced. “Can’t wait.”

  I was good at the land dives, but my confidence quickly evaporated on the obstacle course. The Airship Academy had us all on a regular exercise regimen, and I’d thought I was fairly fit, but I was no match for some of the other fellows. They left me in their dust as I jumped hurdles, scrambled over piles of logs, and scaled brick walls. Tobias and I kept pace through most of the course, but toward the end he pulled ahead. By the time I crossed the finish in ninth place, I was drenched, my chest and throat burning. I staggered about, hunched and gasping. I watched Eriksson check his stopwatch and silently jot notes on his clipboard.

  “Don’t worry, gents,” said Eriksson when everyone was done, “you’ve got time for a nice shower before lunch.”

  What Eriksson meant by a shower was cringing naked in a wooden tub as icy water poured down on us. The water slowly filled the tub until it was at our knees. At first it was almost blindingly painful, like a vise around my legs, but after a few minutes a seeping numbness took over and I started shivering violently. A rubber-coated assistant kept shoving a thermometer between my teeth and checking my temperature, writing on his clipboard.

  “Can you feel your fingers?” my assistant asked.

  “Yes,” I said, teeth chattering.

  “Toes?”

  I looked down at my submerged feet. “Think so,” I gasped.

  Beside me, in his own tub, Tobias shuddered, arms tight across his chest.

  “Can you feel your toes?” his assistant asked.

  “No!” he
shouted. “No, I bloody well can’t! I haven’t felt my toes in ages!”

  “Some blueness around the lips,” his assistant noted.

  “Yes, I’m blue!” said Tobias. “You’d be blue too if you were in here!”

  After lunch, Eriksson led our group down to a large hall in the basement.

  “Welcome to Centrifuge Training,” he said.

  Crouched in the middle of the room like an enormous tarantula was a fascinating piece of machinery. Radiating from its circular hub were ten many-jointed wooden arms, each of which ended with a single-seat open cockpit.

  “It looks like a fairground ride,” said Tobias warily.

  “That’s exactly right,” said Eriksson. “Just a kiddie ride—called Buzzy Bee if I’m not mistaken. Pick a cockpit and strap yourselves in, please.”

  I hopped into my seat and was a bit surprised to see both a lap belt and shoulder restraints. I buckled up. In front of me was a panel with a row of colored buttons.

  “This one’s a piece of cake, gents,” said Eriksson. “Just sit back and enjoy the ride. The colored buttons will flash in various sequences. Red, green, blue, or what have you. Then, when it pauses, you just press the buttons in the same order. Simple, yes? Let’s get to it.”

  “What are all those buckets along the wall?” one of the trainees asked.

  “The ride used to be called Buzzy Bee,” Eriksson said with a wolfish grin, “but we’ve made some modifications. We call it the Scrambler now.”

  Tobias and I exchanged a glance. I tightened my belts. Eriksson disappeared inside a little control booth. Through the smoked window I saw him turning a large crank. A motor spluttered to life.

  Gently the machine began to turn. A peppy carousel tune crackled over hidden speakers, and I couldn’t help smiling. A couple of the men laughed. My father had once taken us to the Summer Exhibition, and I had a sudden and very clear image of him watching me, smiling, from the sidelines as I whirled on a merry-go-round.

  The Scrambler picked up speed and my lights flashed blue, red, blue. This was too easy. But within seconds the sequences grew longer and more complicated. Purple, yellow, yellow, red, purple. Green, red, yellow, red, purple, blue.

  We were going at quite a clip now, and suddenly my cockpit was yanked out of its circular orbit into a jerky figure eight. I looked up and saw that all the Scrambler’s jointed wooden arms were flexing and extending, hurtling everyone’s cockpits toward each other, veering clear at the very last moment. Faster and faster we careened about. I hoped that whoever had made the modifications knew what they were doing.

  Yellow, purple, green, green, yellow, red, blue…

  The lights gave you less and less time to respond, and then launched right into the next sequence.

  We weren’t just spinning now but rising jerkily up and plunging down. The carousel music became faster and more desperate.

  Red, green, green, purple, yellow, yellow, green, red, white, orange, yellow.

  Was it purple after the first green, or yellow?

  Without any warning, my cockpit twisted upside down. I gave a shout and heard it echoed by the other fellows as we whirled crazily about each other. Now I understood the shoulder straps. My buttons flashed away, heedless of my discomfort. The Scrambler’s music was all but drowned out by the shrieking of its wood and metal joints. We whirled so fast that my body was pressed hard against the side of the cockpit. My cheeks felt like they were flapping.

  I was having trouble focusing on the lights. They smeared together into a rainbow. My body felt terribly heavy, my hands clumsy as anvils as they struggled to hit the right buttons.

  Just when I thought I might black out, my cockpit abruptly spun right side up, and the Scrambler began to slow. When the machine had been going full tilt, I hadn’t felt sick, but now, as its movements became deliberate and sluggish, my stomach gave its first queasy lurch. I wasn’t sure if closing my eyes made it better or worse. Some of the men didn’t even wait for the machine to come to a complete stop before jumping out and rushing to the metal buckets along the wall. There they retched miserably, in between their curses.

  I stayed seated, breathing slow and deep, and gradually my stomach unclenched. I glanced over at Tobias, and though he looked a bit green around the gills, he gave me the thumbs-up sign.

  “How’d you do with the lights?” he asked.

  “I missed a lot toward the end,” I said.

  “I could barely see by the end,” he said. “But at least we didn’t throw up.”

  “All right, gents, everyone out,” Eriksson said. “The next group wants its turn.”

  They worked us right up to dinner, and after that we were left to ourselves. The dormitory had a rooftop terrace, and Tobias and I joined a large group of the other trainees, who were smoking and chatting as the sun sank into the west. My legs ached pleasantly from all the running. I felt good about my land dives, but knew I’d have to get better at the obstacle courses. As for the icy shower and the Scrambler, I had no idea how I’d done. Our assistants never told us anything.

  Tobias and I found a place near the balustrade, a bit on the fringe of things. I think both of us still felt self-conscious about being the youngest.

  He offered me a cigarette, and I shook my head.

  “Don’t know about you,” he said, lighting up, “but I could use a drink.” He gazed longingly in the direction of downtown. “Course, that’s impossible since they’ve got us all locked up like chimps.”

  Mr. Lunardi didn’t want any of us leaving the facility, except on Sundays. I think he was worried we’d blab about the space program. And the city seemed already alive with rumors. This morning’s paper had a story about the Canadian space race, and suggested there might even be secret goings-on in Lionsgate City.

  “Will it be like this every day, you think?” Tobias said. “Jumping and spinning?”

  “Scares off the weak ones,” said a fellow to my right. “Standard first-day tactics. It’s the same in the Aeroforce.”

  He wasn’t in our group, but I recognized him as one of the military types I’d spotted earlier. He was in his early twenties, a strapping tall fellow with a big, slightly aggressive smile.

  “You’re a pilot, are you?” I asked.

  “First Lieutenant Joshua Bronfman,” he said, extending his hand. “And this is Captain Chuck Shepherd right here.”

  Shepherd was leaning against the balustrade, staring out over the city. He had a thick mustache and high forehead. He turned his cool, appraising eyes on us and gave the smallest of nods. I put him at no more than twenty-five. And already a captain. Confidence wafted off him like heat from a tar roof.

  “We’re both test pilots,” said Bronfman smugly.

  I was impressed, but Bronfman already seemed so impressed with himself I refused to show it. Test pilots were usually considered the best of the best. Any new ornithopter design the Aeroforce came up with, these fellows put it through its paces.

  “Have you flown the new Avro class machines?” I asked, for I wanted to show them I was a sky sailor myself.

  Bronfman grinned and nodded over at Shepherd. “Sure, we’ve taken them up for a few spins. We’ve got ’em working pretty good, eh, captain?”

  “We have indeed,” Shepherd said laconically.

  “The Avro is one fast machine,” said Bronfman. “Some people said she wouldn’t even stay up, but she stays up just fine. I worked her so hard once, I thought her wings would come off, but she’s built strong. And no one’s taken her faster than the captain.”

  “She’s got a bit more speed in her,” Shepherd said, and looked back out over the city.

  He was a man of few words, Captain Shepherd. But Bronfman more than made up for him.

  “You hear eight people dropped out today?” he said with a smirk. “The land dives and Scrambler finished ’em off.”

  “Maybe I’ve got a shot after all,” said Tobias, looking cheered up.

  “Of course you do,” I said.

/>   “How many astralnauts you figure they’ll pick?” Tobias asked. “I heard six.”

  “I heard nine,” I said.

  “They’re not telling,” said Shepherd.

  “Well, you better hope it’s more than two,” Bronfman said smugly, “’cause that’d be Bronfman and Shepherd.”

  He looked over at the captain, as if for approval. Shepherd didn’t laugh, but his right eyebrow lifted ever so slightly in amusement.

  “I’m planning on being on that ship,” I said, hoping I sounded cockier than I felt.

  Bronfman clapped me on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit, kid, but the competition’s pretty stiff. I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

  My shoulder stiffened. I hated being called a kid.

  Bronfman looked over at Tobias. “And you’d have a better shot if you knocked off smoking.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” said Tobias, lighting another cigarette off his last.

  “Good luck,” said Shepherd, walking off across the terrace. I guess he figured he’d spent enough time talking to kids.

  “Nice meeting you two,” said Bronfman, following his captain. “See you tomorrow—if you’re still around.”

  “They’re quite a pair,” I said to Tobias after they’d gone.

  He shook his head in disgust. “I don’t know which one I hate more. No, I do. Bronfman.”

  “He’s just full of hot air,” I said. “Shepherd’s the scary one. The way he just stares at you, like you’re a waste of space.”

  “I heard he got almost perfect on the Scrambler.”

  “How would anyone know?” I said irritably.

  “He probably didn’t even turn blue in the shower,” said Tobias.

  I grinned. “He probably just stared straight ahead and said, ‘That’s mighty refreshing.’”

  We had a good laugh over that.

  “You think I should quit smoking?” Tobias asked.

  “They say it’s bad for your lungs,” I said. “Didn’t stop you from beating me in the obstacle course, though. Maybe I should take it up.”

  We wandered over and sat down with some fellows from our own group. Most everyone seemed tired, but as the stars brightened, they got more talkative, their voices rising up into the darkness. Reg Perry said he wanted to see the canals of Mars. Tim Douglas said he was bored with being a fireman and wanted a new challenge. One fellow, a surgeon, said he’d seen a picture when he was a kid of a train leaving the station on a track that tilted right up to the moon—and he’d never forgotten it. Still another trainee said he wanted to see his name in the history books.