Runners: Escape Prison World or Die (Empire of Time Series) by John Argo

Page 20.

"Make yourselves at home," Whirrit said as she prepared for her flight.

"You must have pulled some real strings," Amela said to Vigri.

Vigri's smile was enigmatic. "Twenty years here, I have been here longer than any one, even the robots. Don't worry about it. Just focus on what happens when you leave this craft."

The women strapped themselves in a row of seats, with Denla Whirrit in the center as pilot. Amela sat on her right, Vigri on her left. Amela felt afraid.

"Warrant Officer Denla Whirrit to Tower," Denla said. She donned a transparent flight helmet with ear and mouth nodes in matte black. A fat, articulated breathing tube hung from the face plate below. Apparently, the passengers did not need this assist.

After a moment, a disembodied voice said perfunctorily: "Tower copy."

"Flight plan routine…" Denla spoke in numbers and codes, and her equivalent in the control tower responded likewise. It was a brief, routine conversation concerned with getting the disk safely off the pad and out of Aerag-78 air space without crossing any other skimmer's flight path.

The engines aboard the skimmer came to life, and the ship's very frame seemed to tighten in anticaption of flight. As the two warrants conversed, ground lights in the craft went out, and flight lights came on—a dimmer, greener luminescence mixed with orange instrmentation readout speckles. Screens rolled with analog glyphs rapidly and constantly changing in various directions. The technical conversation continued, ticking off wind speed, air vectors, light conditions, and more. The engine noise gained into a thick whoo-oo-oosh sound that seemed to rise from under Amela's feet. Thick rubber deck padding send faint vibrations through Amela's worn soles.

The craft smoothly rose while Denla Whirrit conversed with the tower warrant officer. The skimmer pitched forward a few degrees, causing Amela to hang on to her seat rests. Just as quickly, they were airborned and streaking away from Aerag-78. After all that horrid misery, could escape be this simple?

Distant daylight began to resolve on the eastern horizon. Beyond the horizon, the yellow sun Manaul simmered in a stew of intense purplish and greenish refracting atmosphere.

As the skimmer rose, the atmosphere around them grew lighter. Denla's conversation with the tower was over. She vectored the craft southward while leveling off at one klik altitude. A series of long, slow, smooth attitude maneuvers took her on the precise compass bearing required for a journey into the unknown.

Denla relaxed and peeled off her head gear. She gave her dark red hair a toss, and smoothed it with square-tipped, boyish fingers, whose nails were touched with pink lacquer. "We'll be in the air over four ura," she said. "Make yourself comfortable." She pointed with a blue-clad arm, making her white rank-bars curl on their black epaules. "There's cafir in the galley. You may find some honey foodpaks if there's much left to eat."

Vigri unbuckled and climbed down from the bridge section, holding on to tangled metal tubing as she moved with surprising agility for her age. "Can I get you something, Denla?"

"No thanks." Denla busied herself talking wit a flight stats pad that made her face glow dark red. Her freckles showed faintly as an orange nebula, with her finely shaped nose in the center.

"Amela?"

"I'll have whatever you're having." Amela detached herself and climbed down into the cargo bay that surrounded the central flight deck.

Together, Vigri and Amela walked to a counter stacked top and bottom with drawers, cabinet doors, a sink with water jets, and a cafir maker. "How did you pull this off?" Amela whispered.

Vigri's smile saddened. "Like I said—many years, lots of inside knowledge, and a good share of connections."

Amela waited patiently while the older woman prepared cafir.

On either side of the galley were piles of tools and parts. Some of them, Amela recognized, like the corkscrew awl that Vigri picked up and laid on the galley counter without explanation or comment. The awl had a point over a hand long, and could serve as a deadly weapon.

"Amela."

"Yes?"

"I imagine you like yours sweet."

"Not too."

Vigri laughed—a soft, throaty sound. "You are plenty sweet already, my dear. I'm afraid I have not been entirely honest with you."

Amela felt a pang. What now? "Oh?"

Vigri turned and handed Amela a mug of steamy brown cafir, while she held a mug of her own. They exchanged thanks, and walk part-way around the perimeter to sit down on a steel bench under a scratched but bright rectangular view port. Someone had thrown an old, folded, dirty canvas cargo cover on the hard steel to make it comfortable for soft human rear ends. The two women sat down, facing each other closely, against a backdrop of bright blue sky. White cumulus clouds flew past as the skimmer streaked south, leaving a faint white contrail.

"I didn't tell you that this must turn out a bit differently than expected."

"Oh?" Amela was more puzzled than scared. Many months of prison life had made her easily frightened, but Vigri instilled a sense of trust.

"I am dying of cancer, my dear."

"I'm so sorry."

"Yes, I could have lived a while longer. As it is, I have a few months at most. Back home, I could be treated and never mind the whole thing. Under these conditions, the prison hospital can barely manage an appendectomy. Five medicos and sixty nurseteks, including robots, for ten thousand women. What a shame, huh? There are also about a hundred combat med techs among the POWs. They do most of the medical work, but their skills are limited. There's nothing anyone can do for me. I'm going to die very soon." Vigri's pale, doughy features looked transfixed with sunlight. "I wanted to die on the outside."

Amela said: "Your wish is coming true."

"Yes it is."

"No getting home for you?"

Vigri shook her head gently. "Out of reach for me, I'm afraid. Major Texel may be a horrible bitch by most accounts, but she had a soft spot for me. I was kind of like a parent figure to her, in a strange way. Human nature is strange on many counts. Nothing ever plays out the way you think."

"No…" Amela said slowly, stirring her cafir thoughtfully with one fingertip. "I'd like to get home to my husband and son."

"I know you do. And you have a chance. I will make a chance for you."

"You will? You can do that?"

Thank you for reading. If you love it, tell your friends. Please post a favorable review at Amazon, Good Reads, and other online resources. If you want to thank the author, you may also buy a copy for the low price of a cup of coffee. It's called Read-a-Latte: similar (or lower) price as a latte at your favorite coffeeshop, but the book lasts forever while the beverage is quickly gone. Thank you (JTC).

TOP | MAIN