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Space Trap by Juanita

Coulson

CHAPTER ONE

"Ken! Ken Farrell! So they finally let you come back from the

boonies, huh?"

The boisterous greeting startled Ken out of his reverie. He

blinked, recognizing the man approaching him. Reflexively, Ken

braced for the familiar punch on his bicep and held out his hand

to be shaken. -The clock seemed to turn backward as he

exchanged the usual meaningless insults with Dave Saunders.

As a matter of fact, Ken had last seen his former classmate in

this very hallway, shortly after they'd been pronounced spacemen

by the Academy, slightly over a year ago. They'd shaken hands

then, too, saying goodbye and wishing each other good luck.

They'd both been eager and and a bit apprehensive at the

prospect ahead of them: their apprenticeships. Appropriately

enough, this place was the traditional jumping-off point for

newly-commissioned graduates. Decorated with a series of

plaques and solidopic portrayals of Space Service's most

illustrious grads, Pioneer Hall's centerpiece was a mock-heroic

statue christened "Outward Bound."

"You look great," Dave commented as the two of them leaned

carelessly against the statue's pedestal.

"You too. Bio-Sciences treating you okay?" Ken asked politely.

"No complaints. Hey, I see Survey trimmed you down, huh?"

The tall redhead winked and prodded Ken's beltline. Ken took

the ribbing good-naturedly; his own big-boned frame didn't fit

the public image of a spaceman, while Saunders' lean and lanky

physique did. But public images didn't count for much in Survey

Service.

Ken gossiped idly with Saunders, but his attention drifted

down the hall to the door of the Dispatcher's office. What was

keeping Captain Zachary so long? Ken had reported back from

leave in plenty of time and the captain had filed their lift-off

schedule with Control Central. Just a few final details, Zachary

had said. If they didn't meet that schedule they'd have to abort

launch and refile for tomorrow.

"Well, sometimes we get too wrapped up in our work to eat,"

Ken said, keeping the conversation going despite his worries

about the deadline. "Sometimes it can be strenuous. But there's

not a lot of exercise except on final planet checkouts. Survey's a

soft assignment."

His classmate lifted an eyebrow skeptically. "Soft? Not the

way I heard it. You're clearing ground for the pioneers out there

on the farthest frontier— just like they advertise in the

recruitment tapes."

Ken laughed and said, "So that's why you chickened out and

transferred to Bio-Sciences? You shouldn't believe everything you

hear. Survey's been a good deal."

"Even if it means working for Iron Man Zachary? I'll give you

points, Ken; you sure had guts, signing apprentice with him."

Saunders lowered his voice and inquired confidentially, "Is he

really as tough as they say?"

One of the nearby solidopic cubes drew Ken's eye. The display

was a three-dimensional portrait of Survey's first graduating

class—all the famous names, many of them now legends: Chao Li,

Greschovski, Noland Eads, R.C. Zachary___

He was tempted to build on the myth, but honesty won out.

"Most of R.C.'s temper is bluff, Dave. A lot more bark than bite.

Oh, he demands top performance. But I appreciate that. In

Survey we're in the survival business; there's no margin for

mistakes. And R.C. Zachary's the best damned pilot in Survey."

"At least since Eads quit and dropped out of sight," Saunders

reminded him.

"Maybe." Unwilling to concede the point, Ken argued, "I've

watched R.C. touch down on planets you'd think nobody could

approach. He doesn't jostle the most delicate mapping gear.

That kind of skill is crucial out there in the Deep."

"I'll say," Saunders murmured, envious. "Must be

fantastic—spacing out on the fringes."

"We're a long, long way from home," Ken said. "If we get into

trouble it's months before anyone spots the signal for help. That's

why I'm glad to be Zachary's second."

"Mmm, but I remember him from the training sessions when

he guest-lectured," Saunders whistled and shook his head. "Can't

be fun cooped up with a hermit like that, and for months on

end."

"We get along fine," Ken replied offhandedly. He checked the

Dispatcher's door again, his impatience growing. R.C. should

have finished his briefing by now. He explained to Saunders,

"We use sleep-suspend getting out to the frontier so it doesn't

seem so long between planetfalls."

"Great invention!" and Saunders launched into an

enthusiastic endorsement of the suspended animation

technique.

Ken listened with half an ear. The latest technology wasn't

much use if your captain couldn't even meet the lift-ship

deadline. Where the hell was Zachary, the paragon Ken had just

praised so highly? Surely R.C. wouldn't be wasting time in casual

conversation with the Dispatcher.

R.C. was a "stickler" for routine. Ken mentally reviewed his

just-completed assignment—twelve planets second-surveyed and

certified ready for colonization. There had been no problem at

all; it had been a textbook tour. In those months Ken had learned

a lot, including affectionate respect for his superior officer.

"… once they get the transcender perfected we can make our

space warp jumps in one hundredth the time," Saunders was

saying. "Imagine! People used to travel at less than light-speed!"

"Time marches on," Ken cliched, then brightened. The door to

the Dispatcher's office finally slid open. Warily, Saunders

followed Ken's gaze. Ken's disclaimers apparently hadn't

convinced his former classmate that R.C. Zachary wasn't an ogre.

As Cap-tain Zachary strode out into the corridor, Ken tugged his

uniform tunic into a neater line and said, "Captain, you

remember Dave Saunders, from the cadet tour___"

Zachary's acknowledgment was barely civil. His brow was

drawn in an ominous frown and his lips thinned. "Glad to meet

you, Saunders," he said, sounding quite the reverse. "Let's move,

Farrell." Without breaking stride, he swept past the two younger

men, arms swinging and jaw thrust forward.

Under his breath Saunders muttered. "Yeah, you sure have

got a creampuff of a commander, Farrell."

"He isn't usually like that," Ken said, chagrined.

Captain Zachary halted at the corridor junction and glared

back at Ken. "You coming, Farrell? We've got a ship to launch."

Ken bit off a retort. Zachary hadn't spoken to him in that tone

for months, not since early in Ken's first duty-tour. He wasn't a

raw recruit any more, and he thought he had earned Zachary's

friendship on that assignment. Furthermore, it was Zachary who

had caused the delay.

But he was the captain.

Ken threw Saunders a rueful parting glance and hurried in

Zachary's wake. By the time they'd reached the shuttle ramp,

Ken was walking alongside Zachary. He tugged at his blond

thatch impatiently, trying to achieve last minute neatness, then

asked, "Was there some trouble with the new assignment,

Captain?" Zachary eyed him narrowly. Ken risked elaborating. "I

mean, it seemed to take quite a while."

They stepped onto the slide belt that would carry them out to

the ship's berth. R.C. studied the backs of his hands for several

long minutes and Ken was afraid the man would ignore the

question. But at last Zachary's mood eased and he said casually,

"Just talking over old times."

"I see." Ken wanted to take the explanation at face value. It

would explain Zachary's snappishness; the man hated idle

chit-chat. If the Dispatcher had cornered Zachary for a rehash of

past history, it would have left R.C. in a very bad mood.

The slide belt bumped them off at Berth Ten. Suddenly, there

was no time for further questions. There were hatches to close, a

hundred and one last minute checks to make and finally,

clearance from the Terminal to code.

Any friction with Captain Zachary seemed unimportant now.

Ken's pulse quickened. This was where the real living began;

those months in space on his first assignment had proved heady,

addictive. He had felt out of place and somewhat bored here on

Earth, marking time until he could lift ship for the deep again.

In a few moments they would receive permission to launch.

After rocketing out of Earth's orbit, out of the solar system, the

ship would head for the stars. A distant sector of space, visited

only once before by a ship from Initial Survey, was their

destination.

Out there, Ken felt he belonged. In the unknown.

CHAPTER TWO

Ken shook his head and tried to refocus. The ghostly vision

had faded from his console. An instant before, large, black eyes

filled with silent pleading were superimposed on Ken's mapping

screen.

Was he hallucinating? A pair of disembodied eyes on board a

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