Chapter Fifteen
Deckard was shaken awake. The first thing he was Kitka crouching on his chest with her paws tucked under her. She was watching him intently. He opened his eyes and looked around. He was secured to a top berth in a stack of three. There were straps across his ankles, knees, waist, chest and shoulders. His hands were under the waist strap. The berths were full of men and women secured as he was. They were all young and seemingly asleep. Deckard could see little of the room. Kitka began to purr and he was able to slip his hands out of the waist straps and stroke her.
"Get these straps." He whispered to her. She got up, but the entire room shook violently. She lay back down as they room tilted upwards, raising Deckard's feet high above his head.
"Back, get back." He hissed. She crawled back towards his hands slowly and he held her tightly.
An immense roar grew louder and louder and Deckard and Kitka shot forward at an incredible acceleration. His ears popped and he swallowed and worked his jaw. Kitka was wide-eyed and panting heavily. Pressure began to build against his chest as the cabin soared upwards, becoming increasingly vertical. The roar subsided and the cabin began to level off. Or did it just seem that way? The pressure was gone, but he felt extremely dizzy. A speaker near his berth gave a voice of static and then made an announcement.
"Crew to gravity stations. Grav-plus begins in four minutes."
Kitka suddenly gave a short meep and shrouded. Deckard could hear a door slid open behind him, but he couldn't contort his head around to see. A woman in what was obviously a flight uniform entered. She was floating through the air, using the berth handrails to pull herself along. She was checking on the passengers. He could hear low tones of speech.
"Are you sick, do you need a sick kit?" The soft voice said below him.
It was now Deckard's turn.
"Are you sick, do you need a sick kit?" She was sort of pretty in a beauty pageant sort of way and had a blonde bob.
Deckard shook his head and watched her float through the room.
Kitka faded back in. He looked at her as he contemplated what he had seen. There was only one conclusion that he could come to. They were in space.
.
Deckard sat on the floor in one of the larger passenger holds, with Kitka dozing on his lap. From asking around, eavesdropping and being observant, he was able to put the picture together. This ship, the Puttin Tane, was a prisoner transport ship. The crew, other than seeing that the prisoners knew how to use their sick kits and when meals were, had no interaction with them. The sick kit was essentially a plastic bag with a cardboard plate with adhesive on it. When ill from the effects of zero gravity, one peeled off the back and stuck it on his or her mouth. Then one could be sick without having to hold the bag. This allowed one to participate in other actives, such as writhing on the ground holding your stomach, or passing out from pain and exhaustion of dry heaves.
Deck didn't seem to be bothered by it. Plenty of others were. The ship itself could attain a gravity-like state through rotation. These moments were called Grav-plus. Grav-plus could last for several hours, days, or minutes. Null-Grav sometimes returned with no explanation. Deckard assumed it had to do with the piloting of the vessel.
It was not like real gravity, it was weaker. The suffering passengers were able to keep their meals down, though. Meals were hot, brown, eaten out of plastic trays with peel off tops and served three times a day. Other prisoners did the service, while crewmembers supervised. The ship was outbound for five different satellites, space stations really. At each stop, they would unload prisoners, supplies and equipment. The first one that they were stopping at was Dog Green. There was a roster pinned up in the eating area of who was to get off where. Deckard was tapped for Dog Green. The equipment drop list was also posted. It contained a number of odd items: electric and acoustic guitar strings, various electronic parts for amps, microphones, and speakers, and blank recording discs. He was in a stupor for a couple of days, as the tranquillizers had been strong. The other prisoners all seemed as doped up as he did. Faces were full of blank stares and idiotic questions.
They were the extremes of society. Those members that could not fit in, but had not quite committed a crime, not a crime worth jail time or death, so now they were being kicked off the planet, banished so to speak. Deck became somewhat friendly with one of the warders and found out that all of his gear, "baggage" the crewman called it, would be returned at the embarkation at Dog Green. Everything down to his watch had been stripped off him. Even the pockets of his creeper were bare of lint. The warder assured him his gear was secure in his pack. Everybody's was. It was standard procedure to strip a transportee because of Grav Plus.
"Why Dog Green? Is that some type of code?" Deck asked.
"Guy in charge up there changed the name. Usta be OSS 14a."
Icy fingers brushed Deckard's shoulders and ears.
"OSS?"
"Yeah, Orbital Satellite Station, see? OSS."
"Ah."
"Yeah. Nice cat you have there." The crewman scratched Kitka's chin as she lay across Deckard's shoulders. His name was Tom Jackson. This was his forth trip out. The work was mostly boredom with a tinge of danger and excitement. It paid well, and kept him out of the army. Deckard nodded in understanding.
At first, Kitka kept shrouded when anyone else was around. Then Deckard noticed there were some other animals about. A silver tailed squirrel raced about the ship that belonged to an over weight bottle blonde girl with a tattoo on her arm of a heart with a dagger through it. There was a banner on the dagger had a word on it. Deckard thought it might be her name, but he never got close enough to read it. There was also a turtle that sat on its owner's bunk that stayed mostly in its shell, poking its nose out. He never found out whom it belonged to.
There was also a mallard that followed its goofy looking owner around, quacking in short bursts. The owner had a long neck, was slightly bald and wore glasses on the end of his nose. He looked like a college professor that might have crossed the wrong person and wound up here. The duck adored him. He would follow behind the professor, it wide orange feet slapping on the steel deck. When the professor stopped, it would wag his tail-feathers and let off a burst of quacking that sounded like a boisterous laugh. Maybe it was the duck that had been pitched off the planet and the professor was going along for the ride. Deckard could name quite a few people who would be offended by the obscene duck laugh.
After witnessing this occurrence a couple of times, he coaxed Kitka out of her shrouding. No one seemed to think it out of the ordinary.
.
After his full faculties returned, he asked and was told communication from the ship was impossible. There would be a way to communicate with earth from the station, but the station manager would control that. The stations had been abandoned by officialdom for the most part. They were run by a loose association of cliques, cadres, or gangs, depending on the satellite. The Phantom Tones ran Dog Green. More than that, no one could say. The crewman, Tom, supervised the docking and unloading procedures and the only ones that came out to meet the new "citizens" were two flunkies who never said much of anything. They dressed and behaved weird as well, Tom claimed.
"How do you mean 'weird'?"
"Well, they were on the dock, but one had on a suit, real shinny with sunglasses. The other guy, he had on real baggy jeans, an undershirt, and sunglasses. They watched the transportees go on board, giving 'em the eye. Then they both go after one guy and haul him back on board. I tell 'em that that guy is to go on, but they just stay quiet. I talk to the captain, he talks to the Head of the Phantom Tones and then tells me to let them have their way." Tom folded his arms and made a face of assertion.
'Huh," Deckard said, walking off. Once on the station, he would have to get in touch with Bowden. Bowden would be able to clear his way back home with the Section, quicker and easier on earth. Deck doubted that the station manager, the Phantom Tone leader, would let him send more than a short message. He had already compos
ed it: Bowden, get me out of here! It seemed to be to the point. Meanwhile, he had nothing to do, but lie about and relax. He put everything out of his mind and split his time between sleeping, eating and sprinting around the cargo bay. With the lower gravity, he was able to get up some speed and run up the bulkheads and sometimes, if fast enough, across the overhead. The cargo chief was at first annoyed, but then amused. He was a big baseball fan and got Deckard to play catch with him as Deckard sprinted around. The chief would throw the ball up to the ceiling and Deckard would race over, catch it and throw it back. Kitka raced along side of him, sometimes going far ahead, sometimes going off in another direction. If the chief caught it, he would throw it to another part of the bay. The days passed along.
.
At last, the announcement came: "All passengers and crew to Null-Grav stations. Secure for docking at Dog Green." There was a general shuffling off to the berths and action stations. The Grav-plus cut off and with a few seconds, a few passengers groaned and he head the application of sick kits and the sounds of them being used. The speaker came on again.
"The following passengers will disembark at Dog Green as indicated by the lists."
The announcer read the names.
"Follow the instructions by the flight crew to get to the locks."
The blond that had come around to distribute sick kits at the beginning of the voyage appeared again. She obviously drew this type of duty because she was so graceful in Null-Grav. Gliding in, she reeled off a set of instructions. The disembarkees were to unstrap themselves and make their way along the cabins using the handrails. The handrails, chrome with black grips, were numerous and on every empty surface. Deckard, holding Kitka on his chest, unstrapped himself. Kitka dug her claws in and he vaulted out of the bunk and into the nothing.
The others were having more troubles however, and a lot of them were calling for help. As the blond crewmate went to their aid, Deckard propelled himself along with the handrails out into the corridor and into the cargo bay. The shipment for Dog Green had already been off loaded. A pile of various types of bag, cases and satchels was near the opening. The opening was a large circular tunnel. Small observation ports that were on either side and covered before were open now. Out of them, he could see Dog Green.
It was a monstrous construction. Several rotating gravity rings could be seen. It looked as if it were made of jade or topaz. Greenish blue and reflective, it spun at what looked like a rapid speed. The Grav-plus would be heavier on Dog Green, closer to normal. Deckard was the first on in the bay of the other passengers. Several crewmen were busy with assorted tasks in here. Tom was sitting in a funny looking chair near the exit. Handrails had been set up from the entrance to the exit at about four feet off the deck. Using these, he and Kitka, went over.
"Name?" Tom said, looking at a clipboard.
Deckard said nothing. Tom looked up, into Deckard's expression.
"Oh, sorry." He made a mark on the clipboard and after searching for a bit, handed over Deckard's pack. A cursory search revealed that everything was indeed there. He guessed that most of the gear was unrecognizable to the personnel who had stripped him and packed it.
"Good luck, buddy." Tom said, smiling.
"Thanks. You, too." Deckard turned and hand-over-handed through the air lock, into the boarding tube and into Dog Green. Behind him, the others had finally made their way in. Arguments were breaking out and noisy indignations over the conditions of luggage.
Deckard opened the lock to Dog Green and went in. As soon as it was shut, he felt the pull of gravity, and he set his feet down. He set his pack down, opened it, slipped on his wrist guns, his watch, and put his scopes in his sleeve pocket. Kitka climbed down from his chest and sat in a ball on the floor. Hefting his pack, he opened the interior lock and went through. There was a series of locks, and the gravity increased at each one until he stepped into the loading dock of Dog Green. Kitka shrouded as they went through.
The cargo was being handled by a couple of guys with greasy hair in green coveralls. There was an entrance ramp for passengers into the main station. The two characters Tom had spoken of were standing on either side. They were wearing sunglasses and without a doubt giving him the eye. He tensed without knowing exactly why, but did not slow his pace. Then a panel above the passage way blinked red. The two goons took their hands out of their pockets.
"Raise your hands." The suit said. The t-shirt stood there, arms folded, nodding.
"Why?" Deckard shifted his weight to his left foot.
"Just raise them. I gotta check you."
"No." Deckard said, wondering what they would pull out. He found out. Suit pulled out a weighted cosh as T-shirt pulled out a switchblade. It flew open with an audible click.
"Okay, take it easy." He lifted his hands above his shoulder.
Suit came closer. Deckard snapped his foot forward and kicked him in the chin. With a pivot, he planted a blow across t-shirt's nose. They both fell backward, suit crashing into the bulkhead, T-shirt, onto the floor. Deckard looked over at the dockhands. They were looking back, curiously, but said nothing, and then returned to their task. Deckard went through the passageway. It curved around. At the bend, there were five more goons, holding coil rifles of an older design.
"Stop!" One of them yelled out. They were all dressed in an odd type of uniform, same as the guy lying on the deck: T-shirts, baggy blue jeans, boots, greasy hair and sunglasses. It came to him, and Deckard made a noise of realization. The sunglasses. They must all be linked into a central DV processor. Cursing himself for thinking conventionally, he raised his hands. As he did, he felt, rather than saw, the two behind him.
"Set the bag down." Deckard did so. It would be easy to take them out, but the station manager would be unlikely to be on his side after such a display.
There was a commotion further back in the passageway. A towheaded man of impressive size pushed his way through the rifle bearers. He was wearing a white sport jacket, black pants with faint red specks on them, and a black shirt with a wide short red tie. The tie was decorated with images of martini glasses in gold. His shoes were also white, with gold buckles on them.
"Deckard, Deckard Blaine, hey, is that you?" The large man asked.
Deckard looked at his face, rather than his clothes.
"Ray Gibson?" Older, thinner, but the same.
The large man bounded towards him, the ramp shaking, large meaty paw outstretched. Deckard shook hands with him.
"Night-and-day Ray!" He exclaimed. "What's going on here?"
"I'm the manager." Night-and-day replied with a wide grin.
.
Ray called off the guards and sent the dock guards back to check out the rest of the newbies. He led Deckard out into the station. The entrance led to a large area. It had high ceiling. Off in the far left corner was a stage, with a wooden dance floor in front of it. The wall in front of him, to the left and right were shops, bars and restaurants. Neon signs in different colors and designs proclaimed their names. Behind him were booths. At the right side was the exit of the area. Small round tables with chairs dotted the area in between.
"This," Ray said, with a gesture, "Is the medina. If you have business to do, you can do it here."
The cargo that had come in was being tended to and hauled off to different stores. Some of them were simple stands, others were enclosed. From where he stood, he could see a dress shop, a music store, an egg roll stand, and lots of others.
"Let's take a booth, huh?
Ray steered him over to the left. They sat in upholstered booths with small lamps in the walls. As soon as they say, a waitress in a black and white mini-dress walked up and set a large cup of coffee down in front of Ray. Deckard shook his head when she looked at him inquiringly. Men and women were going along the ways of their lives in the medina, around them. Deckard realized that they were all, more or less, dressed in the same style, the style of Rhythm Swing. Ray Gibson had finally finished the Cosmic Club, but not on earth. He ha
d built it into an empire.
After a minute of looking around and thinking of what questions to pose, Deckard gave up.
"Ray, what happened?"
"It's long story, first you tell me yours."
Deckard told him what he thought he might believe, but Ray was aware of more than Deckard might've guessed. In the end, Kitka was revealed to him, and Ray was not surprised.
"I'd read of stuff like this, but this is the first time I thought they were true." Kitka sat in the booth, calmly, next to Deck.
Night-and-day Ray in turn told of what had happened. The waitress brought them glasses of dark beer and nachos. After Deckard had disappeared, ("I was drafted." protested Deck. "Well, no one knew that," returned Ray.) The Club was finished up and rolling along fine. For a time, everything was gravy, then a new club, Venus, opened up, down the block. It was owned by White Mouse ltd, a subsidiary of Zydel Corporation. The operators of Venus offered to buy Ray out, lock and stock, but Ray turned them down. It was a few days after when the police came. Someone had reported the cigarette machine and the authorities used that excuse to raid the Cosmic Club. In between the time that Deckard had first visited the Cosmic Club and now, a law had been passed making tobacco a prescription-only drug. Night-and-day Ray was convicted of drug dealing. His club was shut down, his assets seized and he and Renee were kicked off the planet. They were sent to OSS 14a.
At first things were rough, but Ray managed to settle things down. Deckard had a good idea how he did that. The station officials began to be recalled, one by one. Ray was put in charge of one operation, then another. After every promotion, he put one of his friends in his old job position. He was made manager of the station, and began to run OSS 14a the way he liked it. Right down to the name and right down to who stayed and who went.
"So Renee's around here, then?"
"Yeah, she runs a couple of different places." Ray pointed around the medina. "The Atlas, that's a café, over there, and Socially Correct, the dress shop in the middle."
"Why Dog Green?"
"Because this place is a beach head." He refused to explain further.
"We have every type of industry that you can think of back home, just no undesirables."
"Undesirables? Like what?"
"Hippies." Night-and-day made a face. "They have their own damn satellite." He looked at his watch.
"Look, I've got some deals to set up, I broke off to come see you. Sit tight and I'll get Renee to come by and give you the grand tour." He was up and away, walking towards the far exit. Kitka got up on the table and walked around it, before curling up and casting her tail over her feet. The medina was quite the marketplace. The low stage had a number of fresh produce vendors selling their wares. There was a large analog/digital clock over the far exit, reading about nine twenty in the morning. Deckard wondered how they could tell. He also wondered about the fresh vegetables and fruit. No doubt they had a green house on the outer ring.
Then a familiar form entered the medina. She waved to a number of people, stopping to exchange a word or two with this one and that. She was wearing a mock poodle skirt, saddle shoes and a white sweater. Her hair was cut in a pageboy trim. She spotted him and gave a small wave. It was Renee Gibson. He admired her figure as she came towards him. She looked the same, except for the changes. Kitka stood up and made a silent noise.
"Hi Deck! My god it's good to see you." She bent over to hug his neck before he could get up.
"Who's this?" She put her hands on her knees to lean over and inspect Channelle, who was cleaning her left paw. Renee did not touch her.
"This is Channelle Kitka, she's my, err," he wondered how much to say.
Renee stood up, hands on hips. "Save your breath, Ray told me not to ask. She squeezed into the booth across from him.
"Well, you look the same." Deckard commented.
Renee cocked an eyebrow at him. "You look better."
This surprised him and he said so.
"Well, you do. You're better looking."
"Oh, thanks, meaning I wasn't much to look at before?"
"No," She leaned over and put her hand on his. Kitka stopped her cleaning and bent her ears back at this. "You were - handsome, but not the way you are now. You were more a ruggedly handsome than a pretty handsome." She said with a blush.
Silence between them. Deckard finished his beer.
Renee gasped and put her hands to her mouth.
"What?"
"Your eyes,"
"Yeah, they changed them." The therapy had elongated the pupils. They were able to dilate quicker and wider. Most people didn't notice right away. Trust Renee to.
"They've changed color." She stared right into them.
"No, they haven't, have they?" Deckard looked around for a reflective surface. Renee slid a makeup mirror over to him from out of her purse. He looked in. His eyes, all right, pupils a little larger with faint points. They were green.
"They're green."
"Yes," Renee said. "They were brown before. You forgot, didn't you? Whatever happened to you, it was bad, wasn't it?"
Deckard looked at Channelle. She had edged over nearer him. She returned his gaze and made a sound of inquiry.
"It's nothing, girl, don't worry about it." She went back to cleaning her face.
Renee watched this with a feeling of loss. It was if Deckard Blaine had died and this stranger with his memories had taken his place. Now he was sitting across from her, able to communicate with a cat, better than with her. She, who was once his loving confidant. She was glad that she hadn't mentioned the stripes. She rose from her seat, her face betraying nothing.
"Well, Ray wants you to get the Grand Tour. He also told me to tell you, that he's going to relay your message, but the next supply ship won't come for at least a month."
"And that's my only way off, right?" Deckard stood, keeping one hand on the table. Channelle ran up his arm and perched on his shoulder.
"I'm afraid so."
"Deckard rubbed his temples with the palms of his hands.
"That's just great." At least up here they might be safe from the pulse cannon if anyone had built it yet.
Renee led him to his quarters first and he dumped his pack. The Grav-plus rings on Dog Green were all connected, making a large spiral that spun around the stations main machinery. On the south side (as they called it) was the docking area and Medina. Further in were living quarters and support services. The outer spiral rooms were reserved for the greenhouses and animal pens and aquariums.
Dog Green had a plethora of vegetables and fruits that flourished. It also served as an oxygenating surplus in addition to the filters and combination units. These were units filtered the carbon dioxide into the greenhouse areas and took out the oxygen, combined it more oxygen and other elements and released it back into the station. They had no cattle, mostly chicken, sheep and fish with a spattering of other animals. Every area they went through had men and women tending them and working them. Kitka had jumped down and was stalking her way through.
"There are a lot of cats, actually." Renee said as they toured through the aquariums. "Rats and mice always find there way on board through the cargo, so we need the cats to control them. We cannot risk poisons of any kind. It might get into the food areas or to the other animals and that would be disastrous."
"Do they just wander through the station, or do they stay in certain areas?"
"Well, we did have an area for them to sleep, eat, drink and so forth, but when we started getting so many people in and clear out the, ah,"
"Undesirables?"
"Yes, them. Anyway, most people don't mind having a cat or two and they feed them, so the station takes care of only the litter boxes now."
"Why?"
"We compost and recycle everything we can."
They were in the orchards. They had to wear heavy sunglasses, as that section was on the sun side for now.
They wound up back at Deckard's quarters.
"Well, I'll le
t you get settled. You have the run of the station and no work, so enjoy it. I have to get back to the shops. Lunch is soon and that'll be a bust couple of hours."
"What about the rest of the station?"
"Oh, well, it's just mostly construction and some of it's in Null-Grav and some of it's outside, and no one but workers are allowed to go there. We're constantly expanding. If you really want to see, I could ask Ray, but mostly it's just loud and dangerous."
"No, that's okay. Listen, Ray mentioned Jake, is he here? Is anyone from the old days here beside you and him?"
Renee tilted her head, thinking. "Well, a lot of the people from the club wound up here, but I don't know if you know them or not. I think a few of them are, but I can't remember who right now. Well, it doesn't matter, just come down to the medina tonight, there's always a show."
"A show?"
"Yes, the Phantom Tones play almost every night. That's Ray's band. A few other bands play too. If I don't see you before then, just tell them at the bars you're on the list, that'll run you a tab."
With that, she was gone, walking off down the hallway. Her heels made no noise on the floor, as it covered in a dimpled non-slip rubber. There were also no corners, no sharp ones anyway, the floor ran up the wall with shallow curves. The whole place was a construct of burnished metal. Deckard stood in the hallway for a while, looking at the walls, ceiling and floors. Kitka finally meowed loud enough to be let in. Deckard followed her. His cabin was about the size of a piano box, but it had a shelf that was either a bed or a couch, a sink, mirror, closet, telescreen, bathroom that was a combination shower/toilet, and a small desk. Deckard turned on the telescreen. It was the local station feed. A man and a woman dressed in cocktail era clothes ran through elements of stations doings, including the incident that he had caused. He went to the sink, pulled the stopper up and ran the tap. Kitka jumped up and began drink immediately. It looked so good; he had several handfuls of water himself.
The movie tonight would be "The Deadline of Blood." It starred Humphrey Bogart A and Myrna Loy A. The 'A' after their names indicated that it was a movie built around body imaging and not an actual Bogart movie. It was a common enough happenstance, but it disturbed Deckard, who considered himself a purist when it came to Bogart. The movie itself might have been constructed here on the station. Bogart's body image had been in public domain for some time now. With the proper imaging programs and a good computer, it could be done quite easily. Deckard flipped through the channels of the screen, six of them, until he came to a schedule that was slowing scrolling by. 'The Deadline of Blood' was, in fact, a Dog Green production. A number of technical staff were named, and a writer. The writer's name was Michael Flannery. Deckard knew one from way back when, if they were the same. Everyone called him 'Chevy', though no one knew why. Deckard turned off the screen and flopped on the couch. He began sorting out his equipment. Kitka jumped from the sink to the bed and curled up.
"You're right about that, girl." He sighed. "We might as well make ourselves comfortable.