Sidney's Comet by Brian Herbert

Author:Brian Herbert [Herbert, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, General, science fiction
Publisher: WordFire Press
Published: 2014-07-16T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

BASIC DISINTEGRATION THEORY, FOR FURTHER READING AND DISCUSSION

1. Wherever possible, the product or a key component is constructed of a fragile material; 2. Ideally, the product should self-destruct, taking other products with it; 3. Never rely on one part to break down—systems should be designed so that several key components fall apart at once.

Monday, August 28, 2605

It took an hour for the priest to complete the blessings.

When Sidney rode an entry lift up the side of the HLLV passenger rocket with a group of clients and attendants, he thought about how old and dingy the rocket appeared. Dull silver flecks of EZ-plating hung from the great bird’s skin, barely reflecting sunlight, and numerous dents gave the ship an anachronistic appearance. Some rivets were missing. Others hung loose, ready to fall at any moment.

“Why do you suppose this ship hasn’t been replaced?” a man behind Sidney asked. Sidney turned his head to look at the speaker, a thin man in a green client’s smock.

“I was just wondering the same thing,” Sidney said, scratching one of his black, bushy eyebrows. “Something got bogged down in red tape, I guess.”

The lift came to a stop, and the attendants escorted their clients through an oval doorway into the ship’s worn interior. Like Sidney, some clients moto-shoed under their own power. Others had to be carried or pushed, and some rolled in shakily on moto-crutches.

As Sidney entered the rocket, an overwhelming stench burned his nostrils. The odors made him nauseous. They were an amplification of the unwashed crowd smells he had experienced since being taken into detention. Trying to breathe through his mouth, he glanced around the compartment while awaiting instructions.

All seats in the passenger module had been removed, and the grey creme painted walls had a wide, dark green stripe along the bottom. An attendant told Sidney to sit on the floor against one wall beneath a tiny porthole. Sidney brushed away rust flakes from the dirty metal floor, then sat down cross-legged. The floor was cool under his thin smock. His twisted left arm ached.

“Put her over there,” a burly male attendant said. Sidney watched two white-uniformed attendants guide a saggingly heavy retardo client to her spot on the floor. Stringy brown hair almost covered her face. She sat facing Sidney with her knees hunched up, lolling her head from side to side and appearing to laugh uncontrollably without uttering a sound.

Sidney laughed too, then looked away to watch the attendants leave. Presently, he looked back at the woman. The smiling mouth changed now, almost imperceptibly, to a grimace. She seemed to be screaming out in silent pain, and it was no longer funny.

“Is there anything I can do?” Sidney asked her.

The woman did not reply. She continued to smile and grimace. Then she rocked forward and back, her hands clasped together about bruised and scabby shins.

All the clients were told to take seats on the floor, and Sidney felt the suffocating press of humanity all around him. The doomies were pushed and dragged into the compartment.

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