Space Lift

By Kay, Afsheen

A child of Mars, Najib has a wanderer’s heart, and ventures to Psyche for work. But he finds factory life on the asteroid intolerable, and escapes to Callisto. When the arrivals officer misspells his name, Najib takes the opportunity to reinvent himself. Najib ends up finding love, but also encounters both sides of Callisto’s underbelly—a crooked governor and an honorable crook who, when Najib tells him of his dream of seeing Earth, advises him that “in order to go east, you should head west.” There is no direct route to Earth for an off-worlder with a questionable past, so Najib again reinvents himself, becoming a respected bio-archeologist despite the interference of his manipulative boss. A chance meeting with a street philosopher ultimately changes Najib’s life and keeps him on track. His trek to Earth continues to be circuitous, introducing him to several more people who will ultimately have a profound effect on Najib. But it seems that his wayward past is starting to catch up with him. Will Najib be punished for his deceptions? Or will the experience and wisdom he’s gathered in his travels lead him to an unexpected conclusion?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Iguana Books
• Release date: Dec 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781771801515

Book preview

Lift.

Chapter One

Escape

He was walking fast—not so fast as to catch anyone’s attention, but fast enough to make his heart race. The oversized coat, buttoned all the way to the upturned collar, flapped as he walked. His shock of blond hair contrasted starkly with his large-lensed black sunglasses. His briefcase, almost the same color as his coat, was hardly noticeable.

He walked along a seemingly endless hallway lined with abstract paintings. Wan daylight filtered through the windows, and yellowish light cast by parallel lines of ceiling lights added some warmth to the naturally cold environment. Just enough people walked the hallway to make him anonymous, one face among many.

He stopped in front of a huge information screen hanging from the ceiling. Psyche to Callisto shone on the first line, and below that, in smaller letters, Vessel: Samson – Departure in 44 minutes. Beyond the screen, at the end of the hall, the security checkpoint loomed.

A chill ran down his spine, as if ice water were trickling from his neck all the way down his back. It lasted only a second before he collected himself. There was no time for second thoughts.

He continued forward then turned right into the men’s washroom. As the door closed behind him, he pulled a small spray can out of his pocket and sprayed a dark, sticky substance on the security camera. He’d have a couple of minutes before the substance evaporated, which was more than enough time.

Entering one of the stalls, he set the briefcase on the toilet seat, opened the lid, and exchanged the long overcoat for a faux leather bomber jacket. He removed the blond wig and put it and the dark shades into the case and snapped it shut. Stepping onto the toilet seat, he pushed up on one of the ceiling panels and threw the case as far as he could inside the drop ceiling before replacing the panel. He left the stall, paused to check his face in a mirror, and ran his slender fingers through his dark hair, which had been compressed by the wig.

Only one thing left to do.

He pulled a plastic bag out of the pocket of his jacket and extracted a small pocketknife. He removed the cover of a wall outlet, then gently pushed the wiring aside to expose a second panel fixed to the wall frame. Again using the knife, he removed the panel to reveal the main power cable. Next, he opened the bag, removed a dead mouse, and placed it right near the cable, then dribbled a few drops of liquid from a small glass vial onto the cable.

Working quickly, he returned everything to its original appearance, threw the vial and knife into the drop ceiling, and paused again at the mirror. He adjusted his clothing before stepping back out into the hall and merging into a group of people. He moved less quickly this time and almost lingered in the hallway.

The power cut out for a few seconds before the backup systems kicked in. Half the ceiling lights and the air conditioning came back on sequentially. As he approached the check-in counter, he could sense a growing chaos. Robots were moving randomly back and forth, murmuring in binary.

Passengers waiting in line grew agitated. The state-of-the-art security scanner was down and could not be brought back online under emergency power. The Category Three robots could not let the passengers past the checkpoint and into the three-meter-long tunnel. This was the security scanner, which could sniff, scan, and check biometric properties such as DNA and facial patterns while revealing any illegal weapons or contraband gadgets. This ensemble of scanners and robot officers were so efficient that not one unpleasant incident had occurred in the past decade.

Now, though, all was fair game.

After a few minutes, a large, middle-aged police officer emerged from the security zone and shouted in an authoritative tone, We are sorry for the delay, folks. While technicians are working on the power grid, I’ll do the security check myself. Please be patient and cooperative.

Standing at the end of the line, the man overheard nearby passengers whispering appreciatively, Oh, he’s a real cop; thank god he’s not a robot. Their comments reminded him of a night almost a year past.

The bar was packed. The bartender, a Cat Two robot in the likeness of an athletic man in his forties, refilled glasses while giving common sense advice to entertain drunken customers.

A tall, chubby man in his seventies, his mustachioed face as round and orange as a pumpkin, sat at the bar bragging loudly. At first Najib didn’t pay much attention to him, but as the old sergeant—as the chubby man revealed himself to be—continued his never-ending story, Najib became more interested.

Kid, I am a seventh generation cop. All my ancestors were in the law enforcement business—do you hear me?

Yes, sir, Najib replied in a discouraging monotone.

Now I’ll tell you why I’m unique. Don’t say a word; just listen. You’re too young for this, but you should know: I am not just one of these drones that try to imitate the cops.

Najib looked at him. How so?

Come closer. The sergeant put his arm around Najib’s shoulder and pulled him in. The damned drones are useless without their gadgets.

Najib’s eyebrows rose. What gadgets?

Ah, that is top secret, the sergeant replied smugly. There are only a few people who know this information. Sorry, I can’t tell you.

Najib shrugged and pulled away to sip his beer. But then the sergeant blurted out his next words as if they erupted from his mouth. What’s your name, son?

He sighed. Najib.

Strange name. Mine is Roco. He waved his hand dismissively. Whatever. See kid, I have an instinct about people. I’ve learned who you can trust. He took a sip of his drink and again lowered his voice. I tell you, those idiot robots can only process the data collected by scanning machines. Otherwise, they’re useless.

What is a scanning machine? Najib asked.

Oh, my poor, innocent child, Roco exclaimed indulgently. Have you never taken an interplanetary trip?

Only once, when I flew from Mars to the asteroid belt, three years ago.

Then you should have seen one there, at the departure gate on Mars, Roco told him.

Najib shook his head. No, absolutely not. I remember every detail of that day—it was the worst day of my life.

Again Roco waved his hand. I don’t care if it was your wedding day. You can’t get out of any departure gate without going through a scanning machine.

Annoyed, Najib insisted, I’m telling you, I remember that day clearly. My father accompanied me right to the gate and after we hugged, I turned around and passed through a metal-walled loading tunnel to enter the ship. I was surprised that none of the officers at check-in asked me anything, he admitted. They didn’t even check my passport.

Roco laughed so loudly that he drew stares from the other patrons. That was it, boy! It checks your biometric data, analyzes and compares the readings with its data bank, then reports the results to the robots working with it; it’s nearly instantaneous. He stopped to gulp down the rest of his drink, then joyfully called the bartender to order another double.

He turned back to Najib. Where was I? Oh, yes…And at the same time, the machine runs a variety of scans, using several ultrasound and microwave bands, and gives the robots several views of the passenger’s body and whatever the person might be carrying in their clothing, their hand luggage, even in their stomach.

That’s fascinating! Najib said, and meant it.

Roco’s eyes were glowing with excitement. Grinning, he whispered, But if something happens to the scanner, the whole squad becomes useless. The poor robots don’t have the expertise to handle undefined situations.

So you mean humans can do better than machines?

Roco nodded. Let me show you.

What?

Let me show you how an expert does it the old-fashioned way.

No, I mean—no. No, Najib protested, sensing trouble. I’m not going anywhere.

You don’t have to. I can show you right here, right now. I’ll search you the old-fashioned way.

Now everybody was looking at them, which seemed to increase Roco’s enthusiasm. On your feet, you bastard! he bellowed.

Najib did not know what to do. He had no experience with a situation like this. In fact, he had never been this close to a real cop before. And now here was this half-drunk giant standing in front of him, trying to search him.

On your feet, and put your hands where I can see them.

Reluctantly Najib obeyed. Roco seemed to be enjoying this. It must be a dream come true for him, Najib thought, eyeing the cop who stood with his legs apart, chest thrust out; an inexperienced kid, a large audience, and the perfect setting.

Now put your hands in the air and keep your feet wide apart. On saying this, Roco gently kicked one of Najib’s feet aside. Najib caught his balance and complied. Roco’s movements were fast and certain, like a savage predator attacking his prey. He did not seem chubby or old anymore. First rubbing his right hand over both of Najib’s hands, Roco patted Najib under his arms, then around his chest and waist. He swept one hand down Najib’s backbone and then, leaning over quickly, checked his inner thighs and around the genital area. He took his time around there, as if he were counting something.

Poor Najib was afraid of an unintended erection, but Roco was a real expert. He left the area in time and finished the job, patting down Najib from his pants to his shoes.

Jumping back up to his feet, Roco brought up both hands in a flourish. Voilà.

Everybody clapped. This had been a performance few would have seen live before. Young Najib, who felt even younger now, stood frozen as Roco settled back on his stool, caught the bartender’s attention, and pointed two fingers toward his glass. As soon as the glass was filled with a double rum, he drank it down.

Najib took his seat again, and ordered another beer.

Sir, step here, please.

It was him! Sergeant Roco, all sober and serious. Najib approached him and stood with his arms outstretched and his legs apart. Roco performed the search quickly. Searching some forty passengers must have sapped his energy, but he seemed in good spirits. After all, Najib thought wryly, he’d just had another opportunity to prove himself—and to show everyone that all those sophisticated scanners and mechanical monkeys were useless.

Your passport, please. Najib handed him his passport. Roco opened it and scanned the first page. Well, Mr. Fidel, why are you traveling to Callisto? he asked, looking up.

To work. That was all he could say, but to his surprise, that was enough, because Roco gave a short nod and handed him back his passport. There were probably a good number of passengers going to Callisto for the same purpose. One man working alone would not have time to get into details.

Sir, you are good to go, Roco said, already turning to his notepad.

Najib put the passport in his pocket and walked the seemingly endless ten meters to the elevator that would take him right up into the passenger cabin. He didn’t dare look back. He heard Roco’s voice shouting, All done, close the gate, as he stepped into the elevator.

A petite, smiling stewardess greeted Najib when he stepped into the passenger cabin. Welcome, sir; can I check your name, please?

Fidel.

She went through the list of passengers twice then finally looked up, a slight frown pinching her eyebrows, to say something, but the captain’s voice burst from overhead speakers, drowning her out.

Cabin crew, get ready for takeoff.

Sir, I can’t find your name on my list, and we don’t have time to find your designated seat, she said. Fortunately for you, this flight is not filled to capacity. Please take an empty seat in row twelve and follow the takeoff instructions. We will verify everything after.

He nodded and moved down toward the last row. As soon as he’d selected his seat and settled in it, a large helmet decorated with attachments lowered slowly from the ceiling. Najib adjusted his head a little as it descended so the helmet would fit properly. Two strong metal straps crossed his chest and thighs to latch onto the opposite side of the seat, anchoring him firmly. He was left feeling safe and secure.

Najib’s little trick had delayed departure by almost an hour. Unbeknownst to the passengers, in one hour Psyche, Jupiter, and Callisto could move tens of thousands of kilometers in different directions. Although the spacecraft’s powerful computer could recalculate a new flight path, sometimes an hour’s delay at the beginning of the trip could cause several days’ delay on arrival. The captain would have to use more fuel to compensate for the delay. This was not a desirable option.

Najib did not know all these details, but he was counting on the captain to push to minimize the delay. The rush to depart had prevented him being caught at the checkpoint, or forced to leave upon boarding the ship.

The earphones built into the helmet played soothing music, making him drowsy. He could sense the gentle push of the main thrusters on his back as the ship moved away from the asteroid, the gravitational direction changing gradually. Najib watched the spaceport and then the whole asteroid shrink through the window. That was all he remembered before he and the other passengers relaxed into a nice, deep sleep—the best luxury the captain could offer.

A change in his body’s position woke Najib. It felt as if somebody had rotated the bed, and his body weight settled onto the seat again.

Do you prefer to have your safety straps removed? asked a gentle voice from his earphones. When he answered yes, the straps and the helmet retracted. Najib stood, testing his balance and his difference in weight. He estimated the presence of a gravitational field of about 0.10 g. Not bad; much better than Psyche’s surface.

The petite stewardess paused while serving snacks and drinks and asked him to show her his ticket and travel documents. Suddenly at a loss for an excuse, Najib struggled for a moment, then decided to tell the truth. I don’t have any travel documents.

Oh, did you leave them at the checkout desk? No problem, I will ask my superior to take care of it.

Grasping at that excuse, Najib stayed silent and smiled weakly.

Half an hour later, a humanoid appeared in front of him. Their gender could not be determined from their appearance—heavy boned and a little shy of two meters tall, they could be male, but the high heels, light application of makeup, and the gentle quality of their movements suggested the opposite. But it has a flat chest, Najib groaned inwardly in confusion.

The humanoid sat elegantly on the seat beside him, took a moment to appraise him, then looked into Najib’s eyes and said in a tone that made Najib quite sure that he had been born male, So, you don’t have travel documents. Is your passport fake also?

Najib just nodded.

Regretfully, I’ll have to inform the authorities that we have an unauthorized passenger on board. They paused for a few seconds, perhaps waiting for Najib’s reaction. He didn’t offer one. The humanoid shrugged. Don’t worry, it’s not a big deal. They will cuff you upon arrival and probably exile you to Triton or Pluto for twenty-five years.

And what if I don’t want to be exiled? Najib said, as if a business proposal were embedded in his words.

Well then, you should buy a ticket.

Where and when? Najib asked quickly.

Here and now.

Najib tried to hide the enormous amount of relief flooding him. So there was a way to sort things out. He only had to negotiate the price. Okay. How much is a ticket to Callisto?

Normally it costs 299 nova dollars, but you should have bought it before departure from our office in Psyche.

And how much will it cost me, here and now, as you said? Najib asked, stifling a knowing smile.

Nine hundred.

Okay, but how will you report this to your superiors? Maybe you won’t, but there’s still the problem of it appearing in your account as income, things like that.

That’s why the charge is tripled. To…help smooth any problems, they said with another shrug.

What if I pay you in cash, and no questions asked from either side? Najib countered.

The humanoid sat back. I’m listening.

Actually, I am a little short on money and can only afford to pay ND500.

Seven hundred, it replied.

Six hundred.

Deal.

That was easy, Najib thought, and decided to get a little more in exchange for his money. He arranged six one-hundred nova dollar bills like a stack of cards on the palm of his hand and displayed them provocatively. But when the humanoid tried to grab them, Najib moved his hand back.

Just one question, he said.

The deal included no questions, remember?

Yes, but this is not that kind of question. Just tell me what I should do when we arrive at Callisto.

Oh, just tell them that you don’t have a passport. Everything will be fine. They gently reached out and took the money out of Najib’s hand.

Who is ‘them’?

You will see for yourself, the humanoid answered as they rose and walked away.

Now relieved and feeling safe, Najib looked around the passenger cabin. He estimated it was about ten meters wide and twenty meters long, with a high ceiling and only forty-eight seats in this section. Almost a quarter of them were unoccupied. The windows were now covered, but space ahead of the ship was displayed on a big screen at the front of the cabin. It looked like a picture.

Most of the other passengers were within the hoods of the personal computers supplied at each seat. Najib decided to do the same, and explore the spaceship Samson first virtually before getting more daring. He pulled down his hood; a screen appeared in front of him, and he felt the headphones settling near his ears.

The gentle voice whispered, State your command, please.

Educational programs, he said into the microphone.

State your area of interest, please.

"Spaceship Samson."

I am sorry. I do not have such a program in the Teaching Library. I suggest you choose ‘civilian interplanetary spaceships.’

Okay please, let’s do that.

One moment please.

The program was divided into thirty-minute lessons and each session offered several choices. Najib chose the first lesson on general characteristics of medium-size passenger spaceships.

The Samson and similar vessels consisted of two cylinders of different diameters, he learned; one in front of the other. The front one ended in a conical bulkhead. The passenger compartment and the cargo hold were located in the bigger cylinder, almost thirty meters long and ten meters in diameter, the diameter narrowing to half that in the front compartment, which was some fifteen meters long. This was the part where the crew lived and worked. All the navigational, command, and communications systems were located in this part of the ship.

Najib sighed impatiently; much of this information he could have discerned from a spaceport window. He considered stopping this module and moving to the next, but then the narrative became more detailed and he settled back, his interest captured.

The conical section of the ship possessed thick metal bulkheads as part of the anti-collision safety system; it was here that the radar and ultrasound warning systems were housed, as well as a laser gun and a couple of short-range missiles, all controlled by an AI computer.

This system will trace any obstacle in the ship’s path and deal with it using the appropriate equipment, the narrator’s voice declared.

Najib studied the graphic displayed on his screen. Overall, Samson was like a huge silver bullet with a tail—the tail being a space frame that carried twelve cylinders, evenly distributed around the axis of the ship in two rows. The cylinders contained H2O destined for the reactor at the end of the space frame, which vaporized it, and converted it into the plasma that powered the thrusters, or extracting the oxygen for the ship’s air supply. There was also a complete system of generators and capacitors that delivered electricity as needed.

Najib did not leave his seat very much the first day, but on the second solar day, after a delicious breakfast, he began to explore the ship. A staircase led from the passenger cabin to a gym that occupied half the area of the lower deck. He’d already come to this level, as the other half was where the washrooms were located, from simple toilet and sink lavatories to full bathrooms containing showers and bathtubs, and a public area holding two large whirlpool tubs, one filled with cold water and the other with hot. There were also three private cabins that could be reserved by passengers.

A few people were working out in the gym, with a Cat Three robot gym instructor assisting where needed. A couple of other robots performed routine maintenance alongside some passengers using the bathing area. Najib decided that from now on, he’d work out morning and afternoon at the gym, then sample other facilities in the bath area afterward. He wondered if there was a sauna he hadn’t seen yet. It’s possible; this is a nice ship, considering. I may as well enjoy myself; who knows what will befall me when I reach Callisto. He squelched that thought. I’ll find good work there; I may even be so successful that I’ll have my own sauna! He smiled at that, and climbed back up the staircase, passing by the passenger level and continuing to the upper deck, where the kitchen and food stores were located.

Najib already knew that people could go there and do their own cooking, or just watch the robo-cook working on a large display screen. When Najib stopped in front of the screen, he learned that lunch was currently being prepared by the robo-cook Luci. He watched Luci combining different proportions of only three basic ingredients—starch, fiber, and water, along with a few seasonings—that would ultimately become a selection of bread, pasta, cakes, and mashed potatoes and fries via different mixing techniques and varied cooking methods.

Najib turned away. Maybe I’ll come back some other time and see how she cooks fried chicken or steak, he thought absently, wondering what he should do next.

He realized that he hadn’t studied for over a week—he’d been so obsessed with his escape plan that he couldn’t concentrate on any learning programs. Normally he took two-hour professional classes three times a week, and three general science classes on the other days of the week. Time to remedy that. His usual courses weren’t available on the Samson, but when he sat down in his seat and put the hood on, he decided to continue learning about spaceships, requesting the artificial gravity course for his second session.

After reviewing kinematic and mechanical laws and formulas, Najib learned that the gravity on Samson and similar ships was mainly produced by centrifugal forces.

When the spaceship lifted off, in order to get to the desired speed, its main thrusters worked for several hours, giving push and consequently acceleration to the ship. At this stage the ship was moving practically in a straight line and the direction of inertial force acted on passengers like gravity, pushing them back in their seats. The passenger health protocols limited the maximum gravity produced in this stage to 0.5 g.

When the main thrusters were about to shut off, the ship began to rotate around a theoretical travel line at a distance of about one hundred meters, while rotating along its own axis at the same time. This was accomplished with the use of a couple of small radial thrusters, each the size of a regular lightbulb. The period of rotation around both travel line and ship’s axis was kept equal so that rotational and revolutional angular speeds were the same, resulting in a gentle gravity with a head-to-foot pull aboard ship. There was no limitation on intensity at this stage, but since more gravity meant more energy costs, every transport company tried to keep the gravity at a minimum, which was 0.10 to 0.15 g.

Now Najib could understand why the windows were covered shortly after departing Psyche. Looking through windows that showed movement in three directions and two different spins for weeks was more than most people could bear.

Najib sighed. This trip was scheduled to take four weeks, three days, and seven hours, but it was the most affordable one for regular people, and especially for immigrants heading to the outer planets and moons to make good money and find what they called freedom. Najib had heard the rumors about outposts where law and order were poorly enforced and where greed was the primary incentive.

By the fifth day of the trip, Najib had settled into a routine. One hour of exercise in the morning before a shower, then breakfast, then two hours of study occupied him until noon, when he would spend at least an hour on socializing and walking around. Then he would be ready for lunch sometime between 1:00 and 2:00 pm.

On the fifth day, during his one hour of leisure time before lunch, he saw the head flight attendant approaching. Since the day of departure, Najib had learned that the androgynous creature was male. Now he had an ambiguous smile on his face.

Hey, Mr. Fidel, how is everything?

Najib shrugged. Not bad.

You seem a little bored, am I right?

Well, I have no specific complaint, but you know how lonely a man might feel on a long trip like this, Najib admitted.

The attendant’s smile turned knowing. Why don’t you spice it up a little?

Najib lifted a brow in query. How?

Oh, I don’t know, the attendant drawled. Have you booked a private cabin yet?

Of course, Najib replied. Tomorrow night from midnight to 8:00 a.m., cabin number two will be mine.

The attendant nodded. Good, I hope you enjoy it.

I will. He was looking forward to the few hours of total privacy.

The attendant leaned closer. Can I ask you a personal question? Without waiting for an answer, he continued. Do you intend to use the sex machine?

Najib drew back. Well, I don’t know what to say. In fact, that’s a very personal matter.

You are absolutely right, the attendant said, nodding quickly. But please remember that we share a secret, and also keep in mind that I have a lot of experience spending weeks, even months, on board. I highly recommend that you listen to my advice.

Najib relaxed. Okay, go ahead.

Thank you. I assume that you will use the sex machine. In fact, it is highly recommended that people use it on long interplanetary trips. Needless to say, it eases stress levels and stimulates the body.

Well, thank you for your advice. I was intending to do so, Najib said stiffly.

No, that’s not all! That was only the introduction. You can, and I recommend that you do, make every session a journey into your sexuality and explore your hidden desires.

Najib felt his face heating. Oh, well, I don’t know…I will think about that, but I’m not sure—

Don’t be shy, just see what will happen if you follow my recommendation. There are thirty-five passengers aboard. With three cabins available in three eight-hour shifts daily, on average everyone can use one once every three to four days.

Najib allowed a shy smile. I like that kind of math.

Just consider trying something new in the next session. You might spend some time beforehand thinking about it, the attendant suggested.

I guess so.

And afterwards you’ll probably be dreaming about it for some time, the attendant added, chuckling.

Najib felt his face flush again. Yes, that seems likely.

Then think about it. That might not only kill some time, but it also could be fun. The attendant clapped him on the shoulder