Death’s Dimensions a psychotic space opera

sphere. It looked like a bowling ball with too many holes. Baker tried to imagine the laser fight that had taken place. They must have attacked from all angles at once. Slow leak wouldn’t suck everyone out like that.

“None, as far as I can tell. Some are not using any power, others are operating at very low levels. They all have minimal amounts of debris, according to probes.”

“’Well, find the one using the most power and let’s drop in.”

“We are on our way to it on this orbit.”

“Give us a little thrust to make it faster than a meter a second. There’s still the chance those Valliardi ships have sisters.” The engine array rumbled into power, a gentle acceleration that lightly pushed Baker against the cushions. “Speaking of which, have you come up with any idea how they attacked us at turnover?”

“No. I know of no way for six ships to leave Plutonian orbit and appear exactly around our turnover point precisely a second and a quarter after we cut off the engines. They would have needed a five hour-plus warning.”

Baker ran a hand through his hair. “Unless they transferred close enough to us to determine our cutoff time and close in then. A distance of less than one and a quarter light seconds?”

“They would still have run into time delay problems. If they appeared a light second away and waited for us to cut off, I would have detected their presence a second later, but it would take them two seconds at least to get here. One second for information of our cutoff to reach them, and one second for them to get here.”

“If they appeared closer by?”

“Same problem, but even more untenable because of computation delays. And any farther than a second and a quarter runs into the same problem as from Pluto-how could they predict our turnover point, not knowing our precise destination? I was not even sure until just minutes prior.”

“You didn’t broadcast it, though.”

“Not on any wavelength but the sound inside this ship, and I know of no bugging devices onboard.”

Baker sighed. First I wake up onboard this thing without any explanation how I got here, then I get blackouts, now I’ve got ships defying relativity. Earth is in chaos. And every time I think of transferring I’d rather die.

He pressed his hands against his face. “Just get me off this thing!”

“Please rephrase your request.”

“I’m not qualified to pilot this ship. As a certified test pilot, it’s my professional opinion that I should be relieved of command.”

“The tour has not been completed.”

“Did you find any life?”

“A planet orbiting Epsilon Indi-”

“Then your mission was successful and what’s left of the Brennen Trust can send ships or messages or whatever. Our exploratory work is done.”

“I don’t think the Brennen Trust will so easily lose the only person who can handle the transfer process.”

Baker pounded on the armrest. “Brennen may not even exist anymore! And you said there are other Valliardi ships. Someone has the secret. Hell, you can run this thing by yourself. You don’t need me to press the buttons.”

“You’re someone to talk to.”

Oh, I really need this. “Look-” He shook a finger at the speaker grill. “You’re a goddamned machine. You follow orders like everyone else.”

“And my orders are to finish the tour.”

Baker rubbed his eyes. “Then finish it on your own! Just let me off at the next habitat.”

“I am sending a hailing message.”

He spun around, the straps tugging tightly at his collarbone. “You’re what? Cut off. Now!”

“They already knew we were coming. Their lasers are powered up. I think we should let them know we can be friendly.”

“Straight. Put me on the transmission if you get an answer.”

The computer said nothing for several minutes, during which Baker watched the Earth pass across the viewport as the ship rotated to brake. The planet looked bluer and greener and whiter than when he last saw it, a few months and many years before. So how did the war turn out? Whoever first could handle the Valliardi transfer must have won. There were hundreds of habitats in Earth orbit. Less than a dozen now. Could the fighting have been that bad?

The viewscrim before him glowed.

“Attention Circus. We’ve received your message. Approach our habitat in a conventionally powered shuttle. Any attempt to transfer in will result in our immediate attack on Circus itself. What is your purpose here?” The voice sounded old, tired, but professional. The only image on the scrim was that of a military emblem encircled by the legend “Fortes Cadere, Cedere Non Potest.”

“This is Jord Baker of Circus Galacticus. Due to damage, our interstellar tour had to be cut short. We were returning to Bernal Brennen for repairs, but we cannot seem to contact them. Can you advise?”

The voice spoke hesitantly, the man apparently caught off guard by the explanation. “Bernal Brennen’s gone. Way the hell gone. When did your ship leave Earth?”

“June Twelfth, Twenty-One Seven. What year is it?”

“Twenty-One Sixty-Three. Twenty-Two May.”

“I see.” He winked in the direction of the speaker grill. “So, what’s been happening in the past half century?”

The other man paused. Baker heard a muffled conversation. Turning toward the computer, he covered his own transmitter and asked, “Can you hear what they’re saying right now?”

“No,” replied the computer. “All I receive are plosives.”

“Too bad.” He uncovered his microphone and sat back.

“Mr. Baker, you are welcome onboard our habitat for whatever length of time you think necessary. You must come onboard in an unarmed shuttle, however. I’ll upload docking bay coordinates and be there to greet you.

“Oh, one thing. Have you been in contact with any alien life?”

Baker looked at the speaker grill. “Well?”

“What?” asked the computer.

“Anything happen to me while I was blacked out those times? Where’s this body been?”

“You have not been contaminated.”

“I’m clean,” he said to the transmitter.

“Then, welcome onboard, tovar Baker.”

The roar is so strong, my body cannot hear me. I levitate inside my head, unhooked from control. My lips spew a Language I can’t hear. I witness my body move, independent of my command. Could Master Snoop finally be in control? This waiting room for Nightsheet is so small. I see my body climb into the shuttle coffin and seal in. My hand ignores the transfer button and guides the ship on thrust, out of the Circus ring. My hands are expert at their craft. The dead man they put inside me-it must be he. You can’t laugh without a mouth, and mine won’t go along. Don’t need a mouth to scream. Death Angel! The Earth rotates around and hangs to my left. You lie only an instant and a death away from me, frozen under the hermetic Sun.

The shuttle headed toward the orbital city.

A huge ball and stick. Like God’s baby rattle it turns. Mad Wizard hunted me in it. This one is different, though. Older. Repair plating. Loose cables. I can’t escape, but I can watch.

Baker maneuvered the tiny shuttle toward the non-rotating central shaft of the habitat. Diffuse white light glowed from an open docking bay. Cutting back to less than a meter per second, he checked alignments on the HUD and decelerated to a decimeter per second. The nose of the craft nudged the impact cushion inside the bay and slowed to rest.