Linc plodded slowly along the lane of yellow lights, moving carefully inside the bulky pressure suit. He was fully aware that a mistake now—a slip, a stumble—could send him tumbling off the ship, never to return.
But Jerlet had trained him well. Linc could see that there were footholds and handgrips studding the outer skin of the tube-tunnel. The metallic soles of his boots were slightly magnetized, so that it took a conscious effort to lift a foot off the metal decking. The oxygen he was breathing made him a trifle lightheaded, but he felt safe and warm inside the suit.
The main trick was to avoid looking out at the stars. After the first few moments of awestruck sightseeing. Linc realized that the ship’s spinning motion made it impossible to stargaze and walk a straight Linc at the same time.
So, shrugging inside the cumbersome suit, he kept his eyes on the winking yellow lights, on the handgrips and footholds that marked his way back to the Living Wheel.
Linc had no idea of how much time passed. He was sweating with exertion long before he neared the Living Wheel. He knew that he should feel hungry, because except for sips of water from the tube inside his helmet he had eaten nothing. But his insides were trembling with exertion and excitement. His only hunger was to reach his destination.
As he neared the outermost wheel, gravity began to make itself felt. The footholds turned into stairs that spiraled around the tube’s outer skin. There was a definite feeling of up and down that grew more certain with each step. Instead of walking along a path, Linc found himself climbing down a spiraling ladder.
Abruptly, most unexpectedly, he was there. The last winking yellow light gave way to a circle of tiny blue lights that outlined the hatch of an airlock.
Linc stood there for a long moment, his feet magnetically gripping the ladder’s final rung, one hand closed around the last handgrip. He studied the control panel set alongside the hatch. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the stars pinwheeling majestically as the largest of the ship’s wheels turned slowly around the distant hub. He had come a long way.
With his free hand, Linc pushed the button that opened the hatch. He barely felt the button through the heavy metal mesh of his glove.
For an eternity, nothing happened. Then the hatch slowly edged outward and to one side. Nothing could be heard in the hard vacuum, but Linc could swear that the hatch creaked as it moved.
He stepped inside the cramped metal chamber of the airlock, and touched the buttons that would cycle the machinery. What if it doesn’t work? he asked himself in sudden panic. I’ll have to go all the way back to the hub and fight my way down the inside of the tube-tunnel!
But the machines did their job. The outer hatch slid shut and sealed itself. Air hissed into the chamber. The telltale lights on the control panel flicked from red through amber to green, and the inner hatch sighed open.
Linc clumped through into the passageway.
He was home.
The passageway was empty. It usually is, down at this end, he reminded himself. After all, they call this the deadlock. It’s not a happy place to be.
He thumped up the passageway, heading for the living quarters. He felt oddly weary and slow, only gradually realizing that here in normal gravity his pressure suit and backpack weighed almost as much as he did himself.
But he was too eager and excited to take them off.
He was approaching the farming section when he saw the first people. A group of men were coming out of the big double doors of the farm area.
Linc wanted to run toward them, but his legs were too tired to make his motion more than a clumsy shamble.
“Hey… it’s me, Linc!” he shouted and waved both arms at them.
They froze. Seven of them, sweat-stained and dirty-faced, stopped dead in their tracks and stared at Linc, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.
“Slav… Cal… it’s me, Linc!”
Terror twisted their faces. They broke and ran up the corridor, away from Linc, screaming.
Linc clumped to a stop, laughing. All they see is the suit!
Slowly he pulled off his gloves and started to undo the neck seal, so that he could remove his helmet and let them see his face.
They probably couldn’t even hear me, from inside this bowl, he realized.
Before Linc could get the helmet off, Slav and three others came creeping down the corridor, armed with lengths of pipe. They moved as slowly and quietly as they could, but there was no way for them to hide in the bare corridor. They saw Linc and stopped, crouched, wary, scared.
Linc held up both hands. Then, realizing that they wouldn’t be able to hear him even if he shouted from inside the helmet, he reached down and touched the radio control studs set into the suit’s waist.
“I’ve come from Jerlet,” Linc said. The radio unit amplified his voice into a booming, echoing crack of doom. He turned the volume down a little.
“It’s me, Linc. I’ve come back. Jerlet sent me back to you.”
One of the farmers dropped his weapon and sank to his knees.
Slav scowled at him and held his ground. “What kind of monster are you? What have you done with Linc?”
“Wait,” Linc said.
He finished undoing the neck seal and lifted the helmet off his head.
“I’m not a monster at all, Slav,” he called to them in his normal voice. “I’m Linc. I’ve come back to you. Jerlet sent me.”
Slav and the others fell to their knees.
It took many minutes for Linc to convince them that he was just as normal and alive as they were, even though he was wearing strange garments.
The four farmers watched, goggle-eyed with a mixture of fear and fascination, as Linc slid the heavy backpack off his shoulders, unstrapped the support web beneath it, and finally pulled off his cumbersome boots.
Slav was the first to recover.
“You… you are Linc!” He slowly got to his feet. The others, behind him, did likewise. A bit shakily, Linc thought.
“Of course I’m Linc.”
“But you went away. Monel and the others said you died,” one of the farmers muttered.
“I didn’t die. Did Magda ever say I was dead?”
They looked at each other, puzzled, uneasy.
“I don’t think she ever did,” Slav replied.
Linc was glad to hear it.
“I didn’t die,” he said. “I’m as alive and normal as any of you. I found Jerlet. He told me many things, and gave me this suit to protect me so that I could come back to you. And he also gave me good news. The yellow star isn’t going to swallow us. It brings us life, not death.”
The good news didn’t seem to impress them at all. But at least they didn’t look so frightened.
Stav walked up to Linc and put out a hand to touch him. He peered closely at Linc’s face. A slow smile unfolded across his broad, stolid face.
“You really are Linc,”
“Yes, Stav. It’s good to see you again. Can you take me to Magda?”
Nodding, Stav answered, “Yes, yes… of course. But I think Monel will be on his way here before we can get to the priestess.”
Monel did arrive, almost breathless, with four more men behind him. They were all armed with lengths of pipe and knives from the galley.
Stav and the farmers had picked up the various pieces of Linc’s pressure suit, their faces showing awe more than fear. Linc still wore the main body covering of the suit, and felt slightly ridiculous with his stockinged feet and bare hands poking out of the bulbous blue garment.