Project U.L.F. (9 page)

“Hello, Wyatt,” the nurse’s eyes flashed with something other than just recognition, “It’s been a while since we saw you here.”

“Yeah, I know. I got asked to do this one job as a favor,” he replied.

“Offered,” cut in Robert, still masquerading as Wyatt’s shadow.

“Stasis jab?” the nurse asked.

“Yes, that’s right,” Robert answered for Wyatt again.

“Okay. You know the routine, I’ll be back in a minute.” She disappeared through a door leaving Wyatt and Robert alone in the room. Wyatt took off his shirt and pushed himself up onto the examination table where he sat, staring at Robert.

“What’s with all this answering for me, Robert? Following my every move?”

“You leave tomorrow, Wyatt, we can’t afford any time being lost while you catch up with old friends here on the moon-base. I’m just here to make sure everything goes according to schedule. Don’t take it personally. Given the option, I’d rather let someone else watch over you.” He shot Wyatt a sideways glance and then turned away to read the labels on the colored vials in the nearby cabinet.

Wyatt sat on the table, fuming. He gripped its edge tightly, his arms locked out fully, the sinews in his shoulders standing out like ridges. The nurse returned carrying what looked like a small black gun. She walked over to the cabinet that Robert was studying.

“Excuse me,” she said. Robert stepped out of her way.

The glass door slid away at her touch and she scanned the vials briefly. She looked back at Wyatt once to remind herself of his size and then picked a particularly large blue capsid, inverting it and screwing it into the top of her device. There was a crack and a slight hiss and she gave the vial one more quarter turn before being satisfied that it was home.

She looked at Wyatt. “On your front,” she instructed. He did as he was told, sprawling himself out over the table, the cold leather on his chest causing him to take a quick intake of breath.

“I haven’t missed this bit at all,” he said.

“It’ll all be over in a minute.”

She walked to the table and paused briefly, unbeknown to Wyatt, to admire his musculature, before placing the gun-like gadget against the small of his back, slightly left of his spine. She pulled the trigger and there was a noise like both a click and a snap.

“Christ!” said Wyatt, “Can’t you people figure out a better way of getting that stuff into us.”

“Oh don’t be such a baby, you’re a big boy now,” she said, playfully grabbing his cheek as he sat himself up again. “Will that be all?” she asked Robert.

“Yes, that’s all.” Robert dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

The nurse looked at Wyatt, “Have a good trip,” she said, “Don’t forget to come and see us when you get back.” With her back to Robert she gave Wyatt a wink before disappearing out of the room again. For a second he completely forgot about the spreading fire in the small of his back.

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“These are your quarters for this evening,” Robert said as the door opened in front of them.

“Mmmmm, not bad,” Wyatt said sarcastically. He’d been given one of the VIP suites for the evening because, apparently, Mannheim wanted “the very best” for him. A gesture of gratitude. He stepped into the room, walking slowly as his eyes feasted on all the treats that the room held. “Well, if this is all you’ve got, then I guess it will have to do.”

Robert didn’t laugh. “Do you have everything you need?”

“Yeah…oh yeah…but Robert, if I think of something I’ll give you a call.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then. We have an early start.” Robert turned and walked out of the room. The door slid closed behind him.

“Good night,
Bob
,” Wyatt said to the door.

Wyatt sighed. A huge sigh. His shoulders drooped. He was exhausted and at last he was on his own. He let his bag fall at his feet and then made it to the sofa in two bounds, launching himself over its back before landing prone over its length. He lay there for a few seconds, his eyes closed, savoring the moment. Then he opened them again and raised his head off the sofa’s arm. “I just wish I was going to be here long enough to enjoy some of this stuff,” he muttered.

With great effort Wyatt hauled himself off the sofa and made his way to the drinks cabinet. He poured himself a scotch and then returned to the sofa with the bottle. He sat himself down and ordered the computer to play some late 22nd century music, his favorite music era.

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He lost all track of time as he slowly made his way down the bottle of Scotch and when he did look at his watch he was surprised to see that it was twelve-forty. Reluctantly he climbed out of his seat, placing the half-empty bottle on the nearby table and relocating his bag before heading into the bedroom.

He looked at the bed. It was a double bed and he thought how nice it would be to be sharing it with someone. “They didn’t lay that on for me, did they,” he slurred out loud. “Still, no chance of that for at least the next four months, not where I’m going.”

He pulled off his top and clambered out of his pants, almost falling over in the process, before climbing into the bed. He laid his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. “Not where I’m going,” he muttered again to himself. He was asleep in seconds.

Wyatt had made no attempt to leave the room all evening. He could not have done so even if he had tried. The door to his quarters was magnetically sealed.

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Robert stepped into the room and strode over to the table where the half-empty bottle stood. Picking it up by the neck, he glanced at it and then raised his eyebrows, as if he’d expected nothing less from his charge. He walked into the bedroom to find Wyatt, wearing only a pair of pants, frantically pulling on his shirt.

“Two minutes. Give me two minutes and I’ll be there,” Wyatt muttered.

“Very well. Two minutes.” Robert turned and walked out of Wyatt’s bedroom.

Five minutes later Wyatt emerged from his room. Striding across to his bag, he stooped and lifted it off the floor in one movement. “Okay, let’s go,” he said.

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After Wyatt had acquired his U.L.F. issue kit bag and clothing, he and Robert had walked down to engineering almost in silence. Wyatt preferred it that way. He was thinking about the mission and besides, he had very little to say to Robert anyway. Any attempt at chat between them now would be identified as exactly that and was therefore pointless.

The pair turned into a new corridor to be confronted with a huge archway beyond which was the main engineering concourse. What looked like a building seemed to mold itself out of the wall to their right. Offices, computer rooms, technicians’ rest rooms—all here. To their left the area was clear except for the few buggies that sat between the yellow lines segregating the floor.

Robert raised his hand and shouted and the driver of the nearest vehicle pulled over to where they stood. He pulled the door open and motioned for Wyatt to get in before clambering in beside him.

“Bay 12,” Robert said. The driver said nothing, just nodded his understanding before the vehicle lurched away down the monstrous corridor, which, despite the lighting, disappeared out of sight.

Bay 12 was one of the furthest launching bays from the main concourse and, despite its speed, it took the buggy at least five minutes to turn off into the relevant area in the maze of corridors. The large metal door with a huge “12” embossed on it rolled up in front of them at their approach. The buggy entered the launch bay, weaving its way through the dozens of engineers who milled around the gigantic room and the base of the huge craft standing at its center. Wyatt placed his face against the rounded window of the buggy and craned his neck to look up at the awesome ship. It was an old model. A Caravel craft.

As the buggy came to a stop at the front of the ship Wyatt saw its name, painted in bold black lettering on its hull, just beneath the bridge windows—
Santa Maria
. Columbus’ ship. The relevance of the first comment Robert had made to him after he stepped off the shuttle now became clear. Columbus—discoverer of the New World, Wyatt thought.

Wyatt stepped out of the buggy, never taking his eyes off the ship and thanking the driver only as an afterthought. For an old ship it was in exceptionally good condition but the fact remained that it
was
an old ship.

The craft itself was massive, taller than a ten-story building and occupying probably eighty-five percent of the space in the bay. It was pale gray in color and chunky in design. It looked like a huge block of granite from which someone had chipped away mammoth chunks.

In some areas, mainly at the ship’s base, conduits and ducts emerged through the exterior paneling and ran short distances before turning and disappearing out of sight again. These appeared to all head to the rear of the craft where Wyatt could just see parts of the rocket booster assembly. This model of
 
ship had a solid fuel backup system, should the nuclear generator fail.

Wyatt craned his head back. The bridge windows appeared as nothing more than tiny black squares, eyes that seemed frighteningly too small to guide something of this magnitude.

“Why a Caravel class ship? Was this the best you could do?” Wyatt asked.

Robert stood beside him, he too was admiring the craft, “It was all we had available at the time,” he said dreamily, as if that was explanation enough, and then added, “We had a Clipper class craft come in on Monday but we simply didn’t have the combination of personnel and time to have that ship prepared for you.”

“Does Mannheim know about this?”

“Oh yes.” Robert then realized Wyatt’s concern, “Oh, don’t worry, Wyatt. For your return to earth we’ll have all your quarries loaded into a ship we’ve had specially prepared for the occasion. It’s the latest model of the stealth class craft. You’ll be really impressed with it.” He seemed genuinely excited for Wyatt. “Anyway, you’ll have that to look forward to when you get back. For now, we have to get you aboard this one and ready for the liftoff. Come on.” Robert began to walk toward the ship. Wyatt threw his bag over his shoulder and followed.

As they approached the center of the ship’s underside, a small disc of the fuselage detached and descended toward them, growing like a fifth leg. As it touched down next to them, one side of the cylinder opened and a young engineer stepped out, putting a hand to the tip of his helmet in acknowledgement of their presence before going past them. Wyatt and Robert stepped in and the projection withdrew back into the belly of the craft.

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The lower decks of the
Santa Maria
consisted mainly of storage areas—stores for the ship and holding pens for captured specimens. Regardless, they were all a maze of dank, dark corridors.

The lighting arrangement in these craft had always struck Wyatt as rather odd. He looked down at his booted feet and saw the source of the faint fluorescence beneath the huge grate on which he was standing. He shook his head in puzzlement. Robert turned back to see what Wyatt had stopped for. “The cryosleep chambers are on deck five, two below the bridge. We’ll take a lift.”