The Escape by Dean Wesley Smith, Kristine Kathryn Rusch
Authors: Dean Wesley Smith, Kristine Kathryn Rusch
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this Control had been over twenty years Real Time ago, and then he had transported right to the surface from inside the smaller time chamber of the Back Room. He had caught scavengers who had jumped forward to the 1106 days after the Second Exodus. There had been six scavengers and it had been easy to scare them back to their Real Time without many problems. They had been a religious bunch and he'd played on those fears the way a professional musician played an Alcaharp.
Ten years earlier a small ship of PlanetHoppers trying to salvage had set off another alarm in this Period. After a day of having equipment and metal appear and disappear around them as they tried to work, they had left orbit without so much as a souvenir. PlanetHoppers, when faced with a huge ghost port like this one, were easily influenced by suggestion. In all his years, ghostlike antics had not failed him yet.
He studied the old magnetic railcar that was parked near the opening of the tunnel. The car was a small, oblong-shaped bullet made of once-shiny metal. Now, however, the car was buried in dust.
Carefully, he wiped the dust from the car's side, pulled on the handle, and winced at the snap! as the handle came off in his hand. He sighed, making dust particles float around him. It would have been nice to save himself the ten-kilometer walk and half-akilometer climb through the dark. Of course, he had just been dreaming, and a part of him knew it.
Even in a dry climate like this, too many years had gone by since anything but a few shuttles had been serviced and maintained against the years. Well, he was never one to shirk a good workout. He would get a sense of what kind of condition the tunnels were actually in. He dropped the handle in the dust, then started up the tunnel.
For the first half kilometer the tunnel went up at almost a forty-five-degree angle. He was sweating and covered with dust before he'd gone even a part of that distance. He slowed to a stop, letting the dust slowly settle around and behind him.
"This is stupid," he said, wiping dirt from his forehead. He was all for regulations-a Watchman should always use natural means of transport when available (watchmen Regulations, Section 4,221, Article 96)-but pot when those regulations asked him to be both grimy and exhausted. He opened the bag and removed the control for his personal, transporter. Some of the swirling dust finally caught in his throat and a coughing fit dislodged even more dust from the ceiling and walls.
Dimly he was aware he was making matters worse.
Finally he held his breath, choking back any coughs that threatened, until the dust settled enough to be only a foglike substance swirling in the lamplight. Then he made himself breathe slowly, promising himself a deep satisfying cough attack when he reached the surface. He flipped open the Attached panel for the transporter on his belt.
Then he opened the panel for the personal invisibility shields, located on the other side of his belt. Only Watchmen and high-security lowprofile police were allowed invisibility shields (watchmen Regulations, Section 66,719, Article 2), and for that he was grateful.
It would make his job extremely difficult if the average Alcawellian even knew invisibility properties existed.
Still, invisibility wasn't perfect. For a fraction of a 1108 second, he wouldn't be covered when he reached the surface. tHe couldn't transport and have his invisibility screen turned on at the same time.
They hadn't solved that problem yet. Or at least hadn't given the solution to him yet. He would have to chance that the PlanetHoppers wouldn't see him. They rarely had sensors that good, and even if they did, he'd be gone almost instantaneously.
They'd never trace him.
He punched the transporter button and the next thing he felt was the cold wind blowing sand against his face like stinging hailstones. "Wonderful climate," he said, turning away from the wind and keying in his invisibility shield. "I almost
Ten years earlier a small ship of PlanetHoppers trying to salvage had set off another alarm in this Period. After a day of having equipment and metal appear and disappear around them as they tried to work, they had left orbit without so much as a souvenir. PlanetHoppers, when faced with a huge ghost port like this one, were easily influenced by suggestion. In all his years, ghostlike antics had not failed him yet.
He studied the old magnetic railcar that was parked near the opening of the tunnel. The car was a small, oblong-shaped bullet made of once-shiny metal. Now, however, the car was buried in dust.
Carefully, he wiped the dust from the car's side, pulled on the handle, and winced at the snap! as the handle came off in his hand. He sighed, making dust particles float around him. It would have been nice to save himself the ten-kilometer walk and half-akilometer climb through the dark. Of course, he had just been dreaming, and a part of him knew it.
Even in a dry climate like this, too many years had gone by since anything but a few shuttles had been serviced and maintained against the years. Well, he was never one to shirk a good workout. He would get a sense of what kind of condition the tunnels were actually in. He dropped the handle in the dust, then started up the tunnel.
For the first half kilometer the tunnel went up at almost a forty-five-degree angle. He was sweating and covered with dust before he'd gone even a part of that distance. He slowed to a stop, letting the dust slowly settle around and behind him.
"This is stupid," he said, wiping dirt from his forehead. He was all for regulations-a Watchman should always use natural means of transport when available (watchmen Regulations, Section 4,221, Article 96)-but pot when those regulations asked him to be both grimy and exhausted. He opened the bag and removed the control for his personal, transporter. Some of the swirling dust finally caught in his throat and a coughing fit dislodged even more dust from the ceiling and walls.
Dimly he was aware he was making matters worse.
Finally he held his breath, choking back any coughs that threatened, until the dust settled enough to be only a foglike substance swirling in the lamplight. Then he made himself breathe slowly, promising himself a deep satisfying cough attack when he reached the surface. He flipped open the Attached panel for the transporter on his belt.
Then he opened the panel for the personal invisibility shields, located on the other side of his belt. Only Watchmen and high-security lowprofile police were allowed invisibility shields (watchmen Regulations, Section 66,719, Article 2), and for that he was grateful.
It would make his job extremely difficult if the average Alcawellian even knew invisibility properties existed.
Still, invisibility wasn't perfect. For a fraction of a 1108 second, he wouldn't be covered when he reached the surface. tHe couldn't transport and have his invisibility screen turned on at the same time.
They hadn't solved that problem yet. Or at least hadn't given the solution to him yet. He would have to chance that the PlanetHoppers wouldn't see him. They rarely had sensors that good, and even if they did, he'd be gone almost instantaneously.
They'd never trace him.
He punched the transporter button and the next thing he felt was the cold wind blowing sand against his face like stinging hailstones. "Wonderful climate," he said, turning away from the wind and keying in his invisibility shield. "I almost
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