“No, computer science.”
He made an appreciative, grunting noise. “Unusual, but I’m sure you will be useful. Most of the survivors are military, or crazy guys who sleep with guns under their pillows. You’re the first teacher I’ve heard of making it through the tests.”
“I own a farm,” I explained. “And I had a shotgun handy when they came.”
“Ah, good, I see,” Crow said.
I could tell that just being a farmer moved me up in his estimation. I thought about the type of person who was likely to survive the tests I’d been given. Logically, they would be physically tough, quick-minded, decisive people who were probably somewhat paranoid. That didn’t describe my colleagues at the University, I had to admit.
“Listen, Jack,” I said, “have any of us contacted our governments yet? Why don’t we fly these ships to our capitols and set them down and hand them over to the authorities?”
Crow snorted. “Rude, since the ships would shoot up anyone who threatened us. But it just doesn’t work that way, in any case. These ships chose us. They won’t let us do whatever we want.”
“So far, the ship has done everything I’ve asked.”
“Try landing and getting out. It won’t let you. Not unless you do some very nasty things to yourself—and maybe not even then. It won’t let other people around you either, now that you have established full control.”
“I opened up the floor by accident and could have killed myself.”
“It might have looked that way, but the ship wouldn’t have let you fall out.”
“You mean we are prisoners?”
“We can do what we want. But we have to stay in our ships. We are on our own, and setting up our own organization. That brings us to my next question.”
“What?”
“Will you, Kyle Riggs, join me—join us? I have over thirty ships in my fleet. I’m an ex-naval captain and I know what I’m doing to some extent. We need you, and I’ll give you the rank of Ensign to start with.”
I stopped talking for a moment, stunned. What was this man talking about? Was he forming some kind of political force outside his own government?
“What gives you the authority to do any of that?”
“These ships give us the authority. Nothing on Earth can stand up against them. We are the only ones who control them. To let someone else take control of them, we have to die. I’m not interested committing suicide for the benefit of any government. So, what do you say?”
“But why? Why are these ships here and what are they doing?”
Crow paused. “You don’t know yet?”
“I’m clueless.”
Another harsh laugh from my only contact with the world. I didn’t like his laugh; it was the laugh of the bully who tripped the skinny kid.
“You’ve got a lot more to learn, Kyle. And none of it is good.”
-6-
“Tell me everything. I’m listening.”
“So, you’re joining us?” asked Crow. I could hear the eagerness in his voice.
I hesitated. “Not yet. I need to think.”
“Don’t go rogue on me, Kyle. I need new people. Join the team.”
“I don’t know enough to make such a choice yet. I have to learn more about the situation. I’ll have to get back to you. I’m kind of shaken up right now.”
“I understand—your kids and everything, I’m sorry about that. But rogues are left outside the loop, you should know that much. They don’t get to join in our pool of information. That’s one of the benefits of joining my outfit.”
“Are there any other outfits?”
Mean laughter again. “Didn’t I just say there was no more free information? Right away, you try to get around the first rule I give you. But I like you mate, so I’ll give you this factoid for free: no, there aren’t any other organizations.”
“Okay, I’ll be in touch,” I said. I told the ship to break the connection and I blinked in thought. An organization of ships like these? What sort of people would survive all those tests and then try to organize on their own? Probably not the most pleasant, considerate people. Probably, they were a bunch of militia-types, vigilantes. Or worse, they could be pirates. What the hell was I getting myself into?
I thought about Sandra and my kids then. It was time to check on them.
“Alamo, are my children—repaired yet?”
“The older female is conscious. Revival and repairs have been successful.”
Hope flared up again, bright and glowing, in my mind. It was an evil thing. If the ship could bring back Sandra, who had been well and truly dead, wasn’t it reasonable to think it could revive Kristine and Jake? There had been only minutes between the deaths—minutes, miles and the type of injuries sustained. Could this ship really bring back the dead? A voice in my mind told me every emergency room could do that, up to point. What would you call a heart attack survivor or drowned kid who had been resuscitated other than the dead returned to life?
I recognized the voice then, the one in my head that was saying these attractive things. It was the evil, chattering hope-monkey. I had met this creature before, mostly in dreams, after Donna had died. She would be alive in my dreams and I would awaken, smiling, planning my day with her. But each morning I’d rediscovered with fresh despair that she was still dead, of course. A grief counselor I’d talked to had named the phenomena the hope-monkey.
I was awake this time, but the cruelty was the same. The hope-monkey intently whispered unbidden things into my mind. After the ship told me Sandra had made it, the voice grew stronger with every passing second. The hope-monkey hopped about in its cage, screaming, wanting to be let out. I could hardly breathe.
“What about the other two?” I asked a second or two later, trying to control the warble in my voice.
“Revival has not yet been successful.”
Yet, said the hope-monkey. Not yet.
Pain. A bolt of it, right behind the eyes. I’d let hope in, and it had done its vile work instantly. Now I realized that if this didn’t work out, I would have to endure the pain of losing the kids all over again.
Unless they did rise from the dead on those strange metal tables that were all part of one piece, coming up out of the floor. What were those skinny black arms doing to my kids’ bodies?
“I want to see Sandra. Open the door.”
“Command refused.”
“What? Don’t you know what I mean? I’m talking about that section of the ship where you have my children. I will refer to that area of the ship as sick bay or—” what did they call it on ships sometimes? “Ah, call it: medical. Understood?”
“Understood. Area named.”
“Then open the door to Medical.”
“Command refused.”
I paced, frowning, becoming angry now. “Why not? I’m the commander here, aren’t I?”
“You are command personnel.”
“Then why can’t you open the damned door?”
“Command personnel must be protected from indigenous life forms.”
“From my own kids?”
“From all macrobiotic life forms.”
I heaved a sigh. She was alive, that was the important thing. “Alamo, can I see her through a window, or something?”
“Current configuration prevents transparent surfaces.”
I rubbed my temples. “Can’t you just tie her up, or something?”
“Command accepted.”
I looked up, eyebrows rising. I had a feeling Sandra wasn’t going to like this. I thought about countermanding my order, but the ship had already begun working on it. The walls vanished between the bridge and the main chamber where the big arm-thing originated. I’d decided by now that was going to be called the cargo bay, as it seemed to be the room from which the ship reached down its arm and plucked things from the surface of the world. Next, Sandra was brought onto the bridge with me.