Hot Sleep by Orson Scott Card

Author:Orson Scott Card [Card, Orson Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Science Fiction, General
ISBN: 9780441343454
Google: oRH_PAAACAAJ
Amazon: 0441343457
Publisher: Ace
Published: 1979-04-15T10:38:43+00:00

9

STIPOCK WOKE with the sleep helmet still on his head, and as he moved his arms to the sides, he realized to his surprise that he was still in his coffin. It had never happened before. His body was soaked in sweat from the waking drugs, and his mind refused to clear. Bright spots appeared in front of his eyes. He blinked. The spots went away.

He reached up to the sides of the coffin, pulled himself to a sitting position, and looked around.

Not a Sleeproom at all, he knew instantly. The mass of controls placed within arm’s reach of a chair could only be a ship’s control board. The space was cramped. Garol Stipock had never been in a warship before, but he had seen loops, and he recognized quickly that this had to be the control cabin of a ship of the fleet.

He also recognized the man standing at the head of the coffin, who said softly, “Is everything all right, Dr. Stipock?”

“Jazz Worthing,” Stipock said, and his body flushed with heat as everything fit together— waking in a starship, and Jazz Worthing, one of the prime enemies of the people of Capitol, standing by his side.

“I’m in a colony ship,” he breathed, the words not sounding real.

“Very quick,” said Jazz Worthing.

“Why? I never volunteered—”

“Not so quick, then?”

“No,” Stipock said. “We must have launched our little coup attempt. We must have lost.”

“In a nutshell,” Jazz said, “that’s so. There are more ramifications, of course. But I doubt they’d interest you.”

“They interest me very much. Who else was caught?”

“Everyone.”

Stipock turned away, suddenly conscious of his nakedness, suddenly aware of how vulnerable he was. “Can I have some clothing?”

“The ship has it ready for you.” The clothing landed in a pile in the foot of the coffin. Stipock clambered out of the box.

“Is there a shower first?”

The starpilot pointed, and Stipock went in, showered, urinated, and came back out and dressed. His thoughts began to settle down in the process. Colonies. Death. No more somec. The raw emotions never reached panic; instead he began to think: Adjust. Fit in. Get along. Survive.

“What kind of planet is this?”

“Agricultural,” Jazz answered.

“Most are,” Stipock retorted, “at first.”

“This one always will be,” Jazz said. “Fossil fuels are buried too deep to get to without metal tools. Copper and tin are extractable with wooden tools. Iron is only within three kilometers of the surface at one place, the middle of an uninhabitable desert. This planet will have a very hard time getting out of the bronze age.”

Stipock was surprised at Worthing’s attitude. “Don’t you have any heavy equipment?”

“Yes,” Jazz said.

“Then what’s this about the bronze age?”

Jazz smiled. “Awake for three minutes, and already you know more than the captain.”

Stipock flushed with anger, and grew angrier at himself because he knew that his pale skin always turned red when he was angry, making it impossible for him to hide his emotions.

“What am I supposed to do? Where are the others?”

“The others are all outside. You’re the last.”

Stipock didn’t know how to take that.

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