The Worlds of the Sheaf

The Bescot - Part 3

They emerged from the airlock to find the first group staring in wonder at the felisian ship; a long, cigar shape twice the length of the Jules Verne and looming a mere dozen yards or so away from the Tharian ship. There was a circular opening in the hull, presumably the airlock, illuminated by a circle of lights around it that spilled illumination onto the surrounding hull. The rest of the ship was lit only by the ruddy red light of Derro, now the only sun in the sky. Thomas looked around for Tharsol, but they were now so far from it that it was just another star, indistinguishable from the rest. He could see half a dozen that might have been the friendly yellow sun of his homeworld. The graphic indication of just how far they were from home made him shudder.

Matthew had been briefed previously on what to do, and was already pushing himself away from the Jules Verne. One end of a length of rope was in his hand. The other end was tied to the railing. Thomas saw that the surface of the silver ship was covered by dozens of recessed handholds, sized for hands twice the size of the largest human. Many of them were clustered around the airlock, and when the flight leader bumped into the alien ship he grabbed hold of one of them and tied the rope to it. The two ships were now linked by rope, and the soldier pulled himself back along it, showing the others, most of whom had never spacewalked before, how they were to reach the silver ship.

To reinforce the demonstration Thomas went across first, having done this before, while Matthew remained behind to send the others across one at a time. He would be the last to cross, once all the others had safely made it.

The felisian airlock was three times the size of the Jules Verne's, and he could see to his relief that there was easily enough room for all of them. Good. He wouldn't have to spend another painful few minutes alone with Saturn. There was no gravity inside. He suspected that there was no gravity anywhere in the alien ship, but the inside walls had plenty of handholds and he grabbed one to stop himself drifting around the chamber and perhaps back out into space.

The others came across one at a time. Timothy first, then the two junior soldiers, looking unhappy and nauseous as if holding their food down by sheer act of will. Saturn was next, and Thomas squeezed himself into the corner to keep out of his way, keeping his eyes on Matthew so that it wouldn't look as if he were afraid to look at the older wizard.

It took just a few minutes longer for the rest to come over. It was Parcellius who took the longest, clearly afraid and unhappy and struggling to keep himself under control. His robes waved around as he pulled himself across hand over hand, and several times they wrapped themselves around his head, forcing him to stop while he sorted himself out. Finally, though, they were all across and Matthew untied the rope before pulling the door closed behind him. Later, someone would gather up the rope and take it back inside the Jules Verne, ready for the next time it was needed.

The inner door had no window, but beside it was a square panel on which strange symbols appeared and moved around. Writing in some alien language, put there by some form of natural philosophy that no Tharian could hope to understand. Parcellius was entranced by it, though, and stared at the symbols, touching the panel with his calloused, chemical stained fingers and finding it as smooth as glass. The symbols seemed to be nothing more than changes in the colour of the metal, if it was metal, and Thomas saw the alchemist's brow furrow as he tried to work out what compounds and formulae might accomplish such a trick. I bet he's happy he came now, thought Thomas with a mental grin.

They gradually became aware that sound was returning, and soon they were able to talk again, their voices strangely tinny and muted at first but returning to normal as the air pressure rose. Then the inner door opened with a hiss of inrushing air and the felisian Saturn had seen in the scrying mirror was floating there, holding onto one of the handholds that also littered the interior of the ship.