Forty Thousand in Gehenna Read online

  In silence. Deathly silence. "We're clear," Gutierrez said suddenly, and turned and looked at the rest of them, at shaved, hollow faces, male and female, hairless, browless, at eyes which had gone from blankness to bleak fatigue. "We're clear, hear it?"

  There were some braver than the others— a female face startlingly naked without brows, a too-thin mouth that twisted into a struggling grin; a darkskinned man who looked less naked, who shouted out a cheer that shocked the silence. Another reached up and rubbed the tattoo on his cheek; but that would have to wear off, as the hair would have to grow back. "You're Hill?" Gutierrez asked of his assigned roommate. "What field?"

  The thin, older man blinked, wiped a hand over his shaved skull. "Ag specialist."

  "I'm biology," Gutierrez said. "Not a bad mix."

  Others talked, a sudden swelling of voices; and someone swore, which was what Gutierrez wanted to do, to break the rest of the restraints, to vent what had been boiling up for three long days. But the words refused to come out, and he walked on with Hill— 26, 24, the whole string down past the crosscorridor and around the corner: 16, 14, 12… He jammed the keycard in with a hand shaking like palsy, opened the door on an ordinary little cabin with twin bunks and colors, cheerful green and blue colors. He stood inside and caught his breath, then sat down on the bed and dropped his head into his hands, even then feeling the tiny prickle of stubble under his fingertips. He felt grotesque. He remembered every mortifying detail 19

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  of his progress across the docks; and the lines; and the medics; and the tape labs and the rest of it.

  "How old are you?" Hill asked. "You look young."

  "Twenty two." He lifted his head, shivering on the verge of collapse. If it had been a friend with him, he might have, but Hill was holding on the same way, quietly. "You?"

  "Thirty eight. Where from?"

  "Cyteen. Where from, yourself?"

  "Wyatt's."

  "Keep talking. Where'd you study?"

  "Wyatt's likewise. What about you? Ever been on a ship before?"

  "No." He hypnotized himself with the rhythm of question and answer…

  got himself past the worst of it. His breathing slowed. "What's an ag man doing on a station?"

  "Fish. Lots of fish. Got similar plans where we're going."

  "I'm exobiology," Gutierrez said. "A whole new world out there. That's what got me."

  "A lot of you young ones," Hill said. "Me— I want a world. Any world.

  The passage was free."

  "Hang, we just paid for it."

  "I think we did," Hill said.

  And then the swelling in his throat caught Gutierrez by surprise and he bowed his head into his hands a second time and sobbed. He fought his breathing back to normal— looked up to find Hill wiping his own eyes, 20

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  and swallowed the shamed apology he had had ready. "Physiological reaction," he muttered.

  "Poor bastards," Hill said, and Gutierrez reckoned what poor bastards Hill had in mind. There were real azi aboard, who went blankly to their berths wherever they might be, down in the holds— who would go on being silent and obedient whatever became of them, because that was what they were taught to be.

  Lab specialists would follow them in three years, Gutierrez knew, who would bring equipment with which the new world could make its own azi; and the lab techs would come in expecting the fellowship of the colony science staff. But they would get none from him. Nothing from him. Or from the rest of them— not so easily.

  "The board that set this up," Gutierrez said quietly, hoarsely, "they can't have any idea what it's like. It's crazy. They're going to get people crazy like this."

  "We're all right," Hill said.

  "Yes," he said; but it was an azi's answer, that sent a chill up his back. He clamped his lips on it, got up and walked the few paces the room allowed, because he could now; and it still felt unnatural.

  vi

  T-12 hours

  Aboard Venture docked at Cyteen Station

  "Beaumont." Conn looked up from his desk as the permission-to-enter button turned up his second in command. He rose and offered his hand to the special forces captain and her husband. "Ada," he amended, for old times' sake. "Bob. Glad to draw the both of you—" He was always politic with the spouses, civ that Bob Davies was. "Just make it in?"

  "Just." Ada Beaumont sighed, settled, and took a seat. Her husband took one by her. "They pulled me from Wyatt's and I had a project finishing up 21

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  there… then it was kiting off to Cyteen on a tight schedule to take the tapes I guess you had. They just shuttled us up, bag and baggage."

  "Then you know the score. They put you somewhere decent for quarters?"

  "Two cabins down. A full suite: can't complain about that."

  "Good." Conn leaned back, shifted his eyes to Bob Davies. "You have a mission slot in Distributions, don't you?"

  "Number six."

  "That's good. Friendly faces— Lord, I love the sight of you. All those white uniforms…." He looked at the pair of them, recalling earlier days, Cyteen on leave, Jean with him… Jean gone now, and the Beaumont-Davies sat here, intact, headed out for a new world. He put on a smile, diplomat, because it hurt, thinking of the time when there had been four of them. And Davies had to survive. Davies, who lived his life on balance books and had no humor. "At least," he said charitably, "faces from home."

  "We're getting old," Beaumont said. "They all look so young. About time we all found ourselves a berth that lasts."

  "Is that what drew you?"

  "Maybe," Beaumont said. Her seamed face settled. "Maybe there's about one more mission left in us, and one world's about our proper size about now. Never had time for kids, Bob and me. The war— You know. So maybe on this one there's something to build instead of blow up. I like to think… maybe some kind of posterity. Maybe when they get the birthlabs set up— maybe— no matter what the gene-set is; I mean, we'd take any kid, any they want to farm out. Missed years, Jim."

  He nodded somberly. "They give us about a three year lag on the labs, but when that lab goes in, you're first in line, no question. —Can I do anything for you in settling in? Everything the way it ought to be?"

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  "Hang, it's great, nice modern ship, a suite to ourselves— I figure I'll take a turn down there and see where they're stacking those poor sods below.

  Anyone I know down there?"

  "Pete Gallin."

  "No. Don't know him."

  "All strange faces. We're up to our ears in brighteyed youth, a lot of them jumped up to qualify them…. a lot of specs out of the state schools and no experience… a few good noncoms who came up the hard way. Some statistician, fry him, figured that was the best mix in staff: and we've got the same profile in the civ sector, but not so much so. A lot of those have kin elsewhere, but they know there's no transport back; blind to everything else but their good luck. I suppose. Or crazy. Or maybe some of them don't mind mud and bugs. Freshfaced, the lot of them. You want kids, Beaumont, we've got kids, no question about it. The whole command's full of kids. And we'll lose a few."

  A silence. Davies shifted uncomfortably. "We're going to get rejuv out there, aren't we? They said—"

  "No question. Got us rejuv and some crates of Cyteen's best whiskey. And soap. Real soap, this time, Ada."

  She grinned, a ghost out of the tunnels and the deeps of Fargone, the long, long weeks dug in. "Soap. Fresh air, sea and river to fish— can't ask better, can we?"

  "And the neighbors," Davies said. "We've got neighbors."

  Conn laughed, short and dry. "The lizards may contest you for the fish, but not much else. Unless you mean Alliance."

  Davies' face had settled into its habitual dour concern. "They said there wasn't a likelihood."

  "Isn't," Beaumont said.

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orty Thousand in Gehenna

  "They said—"

  "Alliance might even know what we're up to," Conn said… Davies irritated him: discomfiting the man satisfied him in an obscure way. "I figure they might. But they've got to go on building their ships, haven't they? They've got the notion to set something up with Sol, that's where their eyes are at the moment."

  "And if that link-up with Sol does come about— then where are we?"

  "Sol couldn't finance a dockside binge. It's all smoke."

  "And we're sitting out there—"

  "I'll tell you something," Conn said, leaned on his desk, jabbed a finger at them. "If it isn't smokescreen, they swallow our new little colony. But they're all hollow. Alliance is all trade routes, just a bunch of merchanters, no worlds to speak of. They don't care about anything else at the moment… and by the time they do, they're pent in. We might be fighting where we're going, give or take a generation— but don't expect any support. That's not the name of what we're doing out there. If they swallow us, they swallow us. And if they swallow too many of us, they'll find they've swallowed something Alliance can't digest. Union's going to be threaded all through them. That's what we're going out there for. That's why the whole colonial push."

  Davies looked at his wife. A crease deepened between his eyes.

  "Jim isn't only special op," Beaumont said, "he's out of the Praesidium.

  And it doesn't hurt to know that… in closed company. I have— for the past half dozen years. That's why Jim always got transferred to the hot spots. Isn't it, Jim?"

  Conn shrugged, vexed— then thinking it was the truth, that there was no more cover, no more of anything that mattered. "Jim's getting to be an old man, that's all. It looked like a good assignment. My reasons are like yours. Just winding down. Finding something to do. Praesidium asked.

  This is a retirement job. I've got a good staff. That's all I ask."

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  So they were on their way, he thought when he had packed Beaumont and Davies off, Beaumont to a tour below and Davies to his unpacking and settling in. They were sealed in, irrevocably. Venture would use an outbound vector decidedly antiterrene, as if she and her companion ships had a destination on the far side of Union space instead of the outlying border region which was their real object; she had a false course filed at Cyteen Station for the obstinately curious.

  So the auxiliary personnel, military and otherwise, found their way aboard among azi workers; and military officers chanced aboard as if they were simply hopping transport, common enough practice.

  It was all very smooth. No mission officer took official charge of anything public; it was all Venture personnel down there on the docks seeing the azi aboard, and seeing to the lading of boxes labeled for the Endeavor mines.

  The clock pulsed away, closer and closer to undock.

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  II

  THE VOYAGE OUT

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  Forty Thousand in Gehenna

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  Military Personnel:

  Col. James A. Conn, governor general

  Capt. Ada P. Beaumont, lt. governor

  Maj. Peter T. Gallin, personnel

  M/Sgt. Ilya V. Burdette, Corps of Engineers

  Cpl. Antonia M. Cole

  Spec. Martin H. Andresson

  Spec. Emilie Kontrin

  Spec. Danton X. Norris

  M/Sgt. Danielle L. Emberton, tactical op.

  Spec. Lewiston W. Rogers

  Spec. Hamil N. Masu

  Spec. Grigori R. Tamilin

  M/Sgt. Pavtos D. M. Bilas, maintenance

  Spec. Dorothy T. Kyle

  Spec. Egan I. Innis

  Spec. Lucas M. White

  Spec. Eron 678-4578 Miles

  Spec. Upton R. Patrick

  Spec. Gene T. Troyes

  Spec. Tyler W. Hammett

  Spec. Kelley N. Matsuo

  Spec. Belle M. Rider

  Spec. Vela K. James

  Spec. Matthew R. Mayes

  Spec. Adrian C. Potts

  Spec. Vasily C. Orlov

  Spec. Rinata W. Quarry

  Spec. Kito A. M. Kabir

  Spec. Sita Chandrus

  M/Sgt. Dinah L. Sigury, communications

  Spec. Yung Kim

  Spec. Lee P. de Witt

  M/Sgt. Thomas W. Oliver, quartermaster

  Cpl. Nina N. Ferry

  Pfc. Hayes Brandon

  Lt. Romy T. Jones, special forces

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  Sgt. Jan Vandermeer

  Spec. Kathryn S. Flanahan

  Spec. Charles M. Ogden

  M/Sgt. Zell T. Parham, security

  Cpl. Quintan R. Witten

  Capt. Jessica N. Sedgewick, confessor-advocate Capt. Bethan M. Dean, surgeon

  Capt. Robert T. Harrill, surgeon

  Lt. Regan T. Chiles, computer services

  Civilian Personnel: to be assigned:

  Secretarial personnel: 12

  Medical/surgical: 1

  Medical/paramedic: 7

  Mechanical maintenance: 20

  Distribution and warehousing: 20

  Robert H. Davies

  Security: 12

  Computer service: 4

  Computer maintenance: 2

  Librarian: 1

  Agricultural specialists: 10

  Harold B. Hill

  Geologists: 5

  Meterologist: 1

  Biologists: 6

  Marco X. Gutierrez

  Education: 5

  Cartographer: 1

  Management supervisors: 4

  Biocycle engineers: 4

  Construction personnel: 150

  Food preparation specialists: 6

  Industrial specialists: 15

  Mining engineers: 2

  Energy systems supervisors: 8

  TOTAL MILITARY 45

  TOTAL CIVILIAN SUPERVISORY 296

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  TOTAL CITIZEN STAFF 341; TOTAL NONASSIGNED

  DEPENDENTS: 111; TOTAL ALL CITIZENS: 452

  ADDITIONAL NONCITIZEN PERSONNEL:

  "A" class: 2890

  Jin 458-9998

  Pia 89-687

  "B" class: 12389

  "M" class: 4566

  "P" class: 20788

  "V" class: 1278

  TOTAL ALL NONCITIZENS: 41911.

  TOTAL ALL MISSION: 42363

  Male/female ratio approx. 55%/45%

  i

  T-00:15:01

  Communication: Cyteen Dock HQ

  CYTDOCK1/USVENTURE/USCAPABLE/USSWIFT/STANDBY

  UNDOCK.

  T-00:2:15

  CYTDOCK1/USVENTURE/YOU ARE NUMBER ONE FOR

  DEPARTURE.

  T-00:0:49

  USVENTURE/CYTDOCK1/SEQUENCE INTIATED/THANK YOU

  STATIONMASTER/HOSPITALITY APPRECIATED/ENDIT.

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  ii

  T00:0:20

  Venture; en route

  They moved. The stress made itself felt, and in spite of the tapes which had instructed them how all this would be, Jin 458 felt the shudder and shift of weight through the thousands of bodies jammed into the aisles of the bunks— stacks of bunks which leaned crazily together like watchtowers, stacks already filled with bodies, azi all crowded up together and holding onto each other as they had been told to do. In spite of all the instruction, Jin felt afraid, deep inside, not letting it out. A sigh went up, one united breath, when the weight stopped and they had the falling-sensation again.

  "Hold tight." a voice told them over public address, and they held, a painful clenching of hands on shoulders and on the frames of the bunks and whatever they could hold to, so that they would not come drifting loose when the weight came back again.

  And come it did, with a crash and rumble of machinery, an au
thoritative settling of feet firmly back to the floor and of clothes on bodies, a kind of crawling sensation far from pleasant.

  "That's it," the PA told them. "We have G now. You can let go and find your places. You're berthed by alphabetic and numeric sequence. If you can't find your bunk, report to the door where you came in."

  Jin stood still waiting as the press of bodies slowly sorted itself out, until it became possible to move again, and people who had been jammed into the bunks were coming down the ladders to find their proper places. He could see a tag where he was, bunk M 234-6787.

  "The center aisle," the PA voice said again, "is M 1 through M 7. Row two spinward is M 8 through N 1…."

  Jin listened, shrank aside as azi needed to pass him to get to their places.

  So they were bunked by alphabet and birth-order, not by gene-set. He would not be near his sibs. It was all very confusing, but they were being 31

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  told what to do and it was all, he supposed, moving with considerable organization under the circumstances.

  It was hard to hold on with the ship moving as it was and people stumbled into him, thrown by the movement and the floor curve Everyone hurried, at the pace of the PA voice, which kept throwing instructions at them. He reasoned that it MNO was spinward of the aisle, then J had to be the other direction, and when he had a clear space he went, handling his way along the bunk rails and not letting go, along aisles and past rows until he had come to a K and turned toward the front of the ship. He found himself among J designations, to his relief, and he kept searching, as others did, having figured out the system, passing muddled wanderers who were probably under T class, unable to read.

  He located it— refuge, berth J 458-9998 right on the bottom, so that he would not have to climb the ladders which towered up and up atilt in the eerie slantwise way that things were built on the curved floor of the ship.