Chapter 20 — SALVATION

After that it was routine. I found myself in the lifeboat, and the instructions were there, and the controls were simple. Those instructions made all the difference; had we had them for the last lifeboat, we could have mastered it as readily. The captain had kept her word.

I activated the drive and jetted off. "Farewell, Spirit!" I cried as I saw the pirate ship and attached bubble receding behind me. I did not yet know how to work the radio, so could not broadcast any message, but it wasn't necessary. Anyway, such a broadcast might have alerted other pirates to my presence, and I didn't want that.

I watched the pirate ship for some time, making sure it didn't explode, as if my concentration could affect it. As time passed, I was reassured that the rest of the bargain had been honored. Spirit was now becoming the captain's cabin boy.

Now I let the tears flow. It hardly mattered; I was dressed for it. It was all right for a girl to cry.

I have no heart to detail my journey to Leda alone. The mechanics of it were absolutely boring, and the mental and emotional aspect was horrendous. Now I had time to realize that I had in fact sold my little sister into more than a masquerade. Captain Brinker evidently had no use for men in the emotional sense—which meant she might have use for women. Cabin boys, historically, had been notoriously employed as homosexual objects. Now the captain had a cabin girl. Why hadn't I thought of that before?

Because I could not afford to jeopardize my escape? Had I forced my sister into that bed after all, to benefit myself? I could not be sure, but there was no joy in the contemplation.

I was the sole survivor of the original bubble-trek to the better life. All the others had sacrificed themselves, many of them directly for me. At this stage I hardly seemed worth it. Over and over I rehearsed this in my mind, trying to come to terms with my fundamental unworthiness. On Io I had known that no merit of mine justified my survival; now, as I neared Leda, I had no better assurance.

Slowly I concluded that though I was unworthy, I might be able to redeem myself in part. I resolved to dedicate my life to the justification of the sacrifices that had been made for me. I did not know exactly how I would do it, but somehow I would. I would make the universe know that the lives of all the gallant refugees had not been in vain.

With the powerful jet of the lifeboat, I made it much faster than would have been possible in the bubble. I radioed ahead, having mastered the radio by this time, and they gave me landing instructions and took me into custody when I turned off the jet and emerged. They took me in at the station, listened to part of my statement, and told me there was no proof for it, because I was a minor and there were no corroborative witnesses. What irony! There were no witnesses because they all had been captured or killed! No wonder the pirates had free rein in space!

They shipped me to a refugee-detention-camp bubble orbiting Jupiter not far above the roiling atmosphere, and dumped me in with a thousand other refugees gleaned from all around the Jupiter system. I had had no idea there were so many! We had never seen another bubble during our odyssey, but they must have been there. If each of these people represented the lone survivor of an expedition like mine, bounced back from Jupiter on the pretext of a changed policy when in fact they had merely come to the wrong station for admission—it was appalling. What monsters ran the government of mighty Jupiter?

We were strangers to each other, yet not strangers in experience. The others had indeed suffered grievously, and learned in the harshest possible way the realities of space. They were not necessarily nice people, these survivors. Like me, they had learned to steal and lie and kill, just to get by. They had eaten human flesh. They understood full well the horror of our situation. I did not like being among them; I would have felt more comfortable in the company of the nicer people who had made the sacrifices, such as my own parents and sisters and fiancée. Part of the horror of my situation was the knowledge that if I had been a better person, I would long since have died.

The commandant of the detention center summoned us all to an assembly to announce that current United States of Jupiter policy, which was relevant for us, would admit only those refugees who possessed viable commercial or artistic skills, and therefore would not be a burden on society. The rest would be returned to their planets of origin.

Returned to Callisto! Or, for the others, to Ganymede or Europa or some lesser moon. Horror overwhelmed us, and the assembly became a riot. They had to flood the bubble with sleep gas to break it up. We well knew the fate most of us would face on our home moons. Few of us would be kindly treated—and those who were would still be locked into the very situation they had risked everything to escape. I, personally, would face a charge of attempted murder, because of the scion. The verdict was sure.

Callisto meant death for me. I was not concerned so much for myself, as death had brushed past me too many times to be any specter of the unknown. I was concerned for my mission: to vindicate the effort of the refugees who had already died. I was the only one of our original party who remained to make that attempt.

Yet I seemed to possess no skills or arts the authorities considered worthwhile. They weren't interested in information about Halfcal history or culture. They had passed out assorted tests in Spanish, and many forms, and I had duly filled them all out—but they were coded by numbers, not names, and the authorities weren't paying much attention. I wasn't sure they were even reading the completed forms, or whether the number designated for me actually matched the one on the forms I had been given. Probably my answers had been credited to somebody else, and vice versa. This sort of thing happens when men are treated like cattle.

My name was duly posted on the list of scheduled returnees. I would have perhaps a month longer here, while the remaining refugees were processed and the bureaucracy ground its inefficient wheels to produce the necessary transportation. Then a Jupiter ship, in the name of the Home of the Brave and the World of the Free, would deliver me to my doom.

So I am whiling away my time by writing this private history, as it may become the only record of the travails of my family. I have all day, every day, to rehearse my memories and piece it out to the best of my ability. Probably these poor sheets, written in English to prevent comprehension by other refugees—somehow I value this immediate aspect of my privacy, for all that I do want my story to be known after I am gone—will be destroyed with the other refuse of our camp, once we are excised from the detention globe. That will be a secret tragedy. But even so, this writing is a necessary therapy, a coming to terms with my situation. I am about to be eliminated, and my dreams and vows with me. I must tell someone of my pain, even if only a sheaf of papers. At least, for a little while, this enables my family and friends to live again, if only in my appreciation.

Perhaps I can arrange to mail this manuscript anonymously to the scientist of Io who helped us, Mason. Anonymously, because I do not want him to be implicated in my crimes. There must be no direct connection between him and me. I believe he would understand. Maybe he would show the manuscript to his pretty niece, Megan.

I am dreaming foolishly. But I will try to send the manuscript. In a situation as fouled up as this one, my package might get through, especially since they will not suspect a document written in English of originating in a Hispanic refugee camp. Major and Charity Hubris, my honored parents—I love you and grieve for you! Faith, my lovely older sister whom I was unable to protect—how I wish I could have served you better than I did! Helse, my love—O Helse, Helse! I dream of you yet, my woman, my bride, my all! I clip your name tag, HELSE HUBRIS, to this manuscript, hoping you would have approved. And Spirit—