Brothers to Dragons by Charles Sheffield

Author:Charles Sheffield
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction, Science Fiction, Bible, General
ISBN: 9781618240552
Publisher: Baen Books
Published: 1992-11-14T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

I go whence I shall not return, even to the

land of darkness and the shadow of death.

— The Book of Job, Chapter 10, Verse 21

Job had seen maps of the country. He knew that the Nebraska Tandy lay more than a thousand miles west, fifty times as far from the city as he had ever been, halfway to the western ocean. But maps were one thing. Physical experience was another.

Thirteen hundred miles by aircraft, eighteen hundred by road: it meant eternity, seven bruising days sitting in a hard seat on a stinking, broken-springed bus, with no chance to wash or change clothes. As they came closer to their destination, Job yearned for the sight of the Nebraska Tandy. Anything was better than another day of travel.

Outside it had been snowing for forty-eight hours. Inside it was hot and stifling, with the stench of sick and pent-up humans growing steadily worse. The bus rumbled on at a steady thirty miles an hour, over ruler-straight roads whose surface was cracked and broken. On either side, the white plain ran from horizon to horizon. Xanadu should be only a couple of hours ahead. Job stared out through the forward window.

Now and again they hit a real break in the roadbed, one that jolted every passenger and threw them from side to side. No one but Job seemed to notice. They slumped on the frayed seats, eyes open and placid. Back in the city, Job had been the first to board. He had watched in horror as the bus made its stops and the other prisoners appeared. They were all men, and every one was pleasure-drugged to the point where no physical discomfort would rouse them. At four-hour intervals during the journey, the two drivers moved around the bus and stuck a little patch onto each prisoner's neck. Job had ripped his off before there could be any effect, but the pads proved to be no more than skin-penetrating stimulants. Within thirty seconds the others were sitting up and taking notice. They were fed a packaged meal and permitted to use the roadside as a toilet. In five more minutes the jolt from the stick-on patch wore off. The prisoners returned to their usual blissful apathy. Sores from the seats were ignored. As the days wore on, the trance deepened. Some of the prisoners began to foul themselves where they sat.

Seeing them at the beginning of the journey, Job had appreciated the favor that Wilfred Dell had done in decreeing that Job did not need to be sedated, and that his drip-I/V could contain not drugs but water. By the third day he was not so sure. The other prisoners could not talk to him, or he to them. He could not speak to the driver or his assistant without revealing his own unique situation. And the ride was too bumpy to let him sleep for more than a few hours a night. All he could do was ride the jolts, stare out at the dreary landscape, and worry.

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