Between the Strokes of Night

“Warm enough,” he said. “I suggest we all open our faceplates and conserve air in the suits — we may need it.”

He took another cylinder from his case. “Here.” He handed it to Elissa. “This will improve the atmosphere. Bleed this into the central circulator for the dome, then we can take that face mask off Peron.”

“Is he alive?”

“For the moment — but he’s still in danger.”

Elissa took the cylinder across to the air circulation unit and snapped it into position. She cracked the nozzle. At first it seemed that nothing had happened. Then the chilly air of the dome took on a heavy, perfumed weight, as though the oxygen in it was bleeding away. Elissa turned frowning toward Wilmer. She noticed that he had closed the faceplate of his suit. She wanted to ask him what he was doing, but she could not phrase her thought. The moment stretched. Wilmer was motionless, watching and waiting. There was a final, odd sense of detachment, as though she were rising to the ceiling of the dome and leaving her body behind.

And now… she was awakening… to find Peron standing anxiously over her. She blinked her eyes to clear the blurred image.

“Elissa? Are you all right?”

He put his arm around her shoulders and raised her to a sitting position. She shivered uncontrollably, from a mixture of emotion and freezing cold. She looked down at herself. She had been wearing thermal clothing in the dome, now she was naked except for a transparent membrane of fine cloth.

Where was she? How had she come here? She struggled to think clearly. In the moment of waking it was hard to be logical. And what did logic matter? Peron was here, alive. She felt peculiar, chilled but fluffy-headed and giggly. Explanations could wait for a few more seconds. She snuggled into Peron’s embrace.

“Here I am,” she said. Everything was pleasant and vastly amusing. “But Peron, I’m cold.”

“Good, you’re waking up.” He pointed to an assortment of garments in a heap by their side. “Help yourself to any that fit you. I’ve got to see how the others are doing.”

“Peron!” She shivered, then reached out and gave Peron a hug strong enough to make their ribs creak. “Explain. What’s been happening to me?”

“Tell you later.” He returned the embrace with interest. “Come on. I may need help to get Lum out. He should have been called Lump.”

Elissa rummaged through the pile and found an adequate set of coveralls while Peron opened the door of the next tank and did his best to pull out its occupant. There was a good deal of grunting and swearing. Lum was semi-conscious, and offering plenty of disorganized resistance.

“Here. Let me have a go at him.” Elissa moved round to the other side and leaned over. She took hold of Lum’s hair and gave it a great tug. He came suddenly upright, his eyes popped wide open, and he yelped in protest.

“No need to do that. I’m awake.” His eyes closed again, and he started to sink back. “It’s all right, I’m awake, I’ll be up in just a minute.”

“Pull his hair again, then give him a hand with his clothes,” said Peron. “See if you can find anything big enough. Kallen’s next, but I bet he’ll be easier. Rosanne told me Lum sleeps like a dead man, even under normal conditions.” In a few more minutes Rosanne and Kallen had been brought back to groggy wakefulness. Peron left them sighing and shivering and searching for warm clothes. Sy was processed last of all. He went instantly from sleep to full attention. Even as his eyes popped open he was twisting sideways like a cat, moving his body to a defensive posture.

“Relax,” said Peron. “You’re with friends.”

Sy gave Peron one brief, incredulous look, then stared around him. “Where am I? Last thing I remember we were in the Whirlygig dome. What happened?” “That’s a long story. Get some clothes on, and follow me. I’ll explain as we go.”

Peron led them to the dining room, where Ferranti and the others were finally showing signs of movement. Garao was halfway to the door, one foot clear of the floor.

“I wanted each of you to see this to save arguments,” said Peron. “Or you might have told me I was chewing dillason weed. Fourteen hours ago I was in that condition. That’s S-space. Remember how much we were troubled by the idea that the Immortals could travel to the stars in days?”

“I still don’t believe it,” said Sy. “They can’t exceed light-speed.” “You’re right — but you’re wrong, too. Here’s a question for all of you. How far does light travel in one second, or in one year?”

There was a brief silence.

“We all know the answer to that,” said Rosanne. “So I assume it’s a trick question.”