To The Stars

Jan now knew the code for the lock on the cell door. The next step would be to alter one of the other keys to broadcast this same code. Without the computer he could never have done this. He used it to clear the memory from the key’s circuitry and then to implant the new memory. This was mostly a trial and error process, that was speeded up when he wrote a learning program for the computer that was self-correcting. It took time — but it worked, and in the end he had a key that he was sure would open the cell door without giving an alarm. Debhu looked down dubiously at the tiny plastic cylinder.

“And you are sure that it will work?” he asked Jan.

“Fairly sure. Say ninety-nine percent.”

“I like the odds. But after we open the inner door — then what?”

“Then we use the same key on the other door at the end of the passageway. Here the odds are greater, perhaps fifty-fifty that both locks are opened by a key with the same combination. If they are the same, why then we are through the doors and away. If not, at least we have the advantage of surprise when the outer door is opened.”

“We’ll settle for that,” Debhu said. “If this works we have you to thank for it…”

“Don’t thank me,” Jan said roughly. “Don’t do that. If we all weren’t under death sentence already I would not even have considered this plan. Have you thought about what will happen if we are successful? If we get out of this cell and perhaps even manage to escape from the ship?”

“Why — we’ll be free.”

Jan sighed. “On some other world, perhaps you would be right. But this is Earth. When you get out of this spacer you’ll find yourself right in the middle of a space center. Guarded, complex, sealed. Every single person you encounter will be an enemy. The proles because they will do nothing to help you — though they will surely turn you in if there is a reward being offered. All of the rest will be armed enemies. Unlike your people they know about personal combat and enjoy it. Some of them enjoy killing too. You’re leaving one certain destiny for another.”

“That’s our worry,” Debhu said, laying his hand on Jan’s. “We’re all volunteers. We knew when we began this business of rebellion where it would probably end. Now they have us captured and mean to lead us like sheep to the slaughter. Save us from that, Jan Kulozik, and we are in your debt no matter what happens afterward.”

Jan had no words to answer with. Imprisoned, he had thought only of escape. Now, with this possibility close to hand, he was beginning to consider the consequences for the first time. They were very depressing. Yet he had to make some plan no matter how small the chance was of succeeding. He thought about this in the few days remaining before their arrival and worked out one or two possible scenarios. Lying quietly, side by side and speaking in a whisper, he explained what had to be done.

“When we leave the cell we stay close together and move very fast. Surprise is our only weapon. Once out of the cell we will have to find our way out of this ship. We may have to capture one of them, force him to lead us…”

“No need. I can take care of that,” Debhu said. “That is my work, why I commanded the food ships. I’m a construction architect. I build these things. This craft is a variation of the standard Bravos design.”

“You know your way around it?”

“In the dark.”

“Then, the important question — how do we avoid the main lock? Is there any other way out of the ship?”

“A number of them. Hatches and airlocks both, since these craft are designed to operate in and out of an atmosphere. There’s a large hatch in the engine room for heavy equipment — no, no good, takes too long to open.

He frowned in thought. “But, yes, close by that. An access port for resupply. That’s the one that we want. We can get out that way. Then what?”

Jan smiled. “Then we see where we are and figure out what we do next. I don’t even know what country we are coming down in. Probably the United States, Spaceconcent in the Mojave Desert. That presents a problem too. Let me think about it. It’s a desert location with only a few road and rail connections in and out. Easy to block.”

It was after the next meal that the guards entered in force, heavily armed.

“Line up,” the officer ordered. “Against that wall, faces to the wall. That’s it, arms high, fingers spread so we can see them. First man, get your chunk over here. Kneel down. Get working on him.”

They had brought a sonic razor. The prisoners were manhandled forward, one by one, and the operating head run over their faces. The ultrasonic waves gave a perfectly clean shave, severing the facial hairs without affecting the skin. It worked just as well on their heads too, removing every trace of hair from their skulls. They were shorn and humiliated; the guards thought it was very funny. The floor was thick with tufts and hanks of hair before they left. The officer called back to them.