Time passes very slowly in closets. At least, that was how it seemed to me. Rune had given each of us a state-of-the-art chronometer—a flat, razor-thin wraparound that could easily pass for a fashion accessory-type wristband. All fourteen devices had been programmed with voice recognition software and synchronized to keep everyone on schedule.
“Why can’t we use our communicators to coordinate our movements?” Lu had asked.
Rune gave her one of his you’re kidding, right? looks. “Because the signal can be traced. Not that anyone will bother, but I’m not taking chances at this stage of the game. Turn it off until I tell you otherwise and take damned the chronometer.” Which was all well and good, but every time I shoved up my sleeve and verbally activated the flexible display, hardly any time had lapsed.
My mouth got drier and drier as the minutes crawled by—a byproduct of prolonged suspense, no doubt. Before long, my lips were sticking to my teeth, and a sly voice in my head was whispering about the cool drink as near as the small bath located to the right of the closet. But fear and common sense wouldn’t let me risk the exposure. Fear, because it would be just my luck to sprint out of the closet and into the arms of an overly conscientious crewman who had decided to make sure everyone had deplaned after all—an admittedly unlikely scenario, but not impossible. But the common-sense argument for resisting temptation was the real clincher. Two hours hiding out in the small closet would rapidly degenerate from mildly uncomfortable to absolutely miserable if I added a full bladder to the mix. Fortunately, I had impulsively stuffed a handful of hard candies into the deep right-hand pocket of my indigo tunic as I left for the drill. They weren’t much, but they were better than nothing.
Nestled in the gap I had made by shoving clothes to either side—a gap that could and would disappear in a heartbeat if I heard a noise outside my hidey hole—I leaned back against the bulkhead and contemplated the series of sharp, unexpected turns my life had taken in the past six months. Maybe my perspective was skewed by the fact that I was hiding in my own closet, but the journey seemed surreal to me now. Ella Fitzgerald as the kickoff for a rebel launch into the vast unknown? How did that happen?
There was no getting around the fact that I was about to jettison the only home I had ever known. I would never again see Tarrazu, the Bistro, Liriene’s library, or the stern-visaged Greek warrior gazing out from the portrait in my bedroom. I would never stand in front of the ornately scrolled mirror where I had stared at my reflection as I tried to get a handle on the awakening that would eventually sweep me up in its path, depositing me where I sat. Harder still, I would be leaving without so much as a good-bye-and-good-luck to individuals I had lived with all my life. When Maya’s gently rounded face swam in front of my mind’s eye, I experienced a child-like pang, almost as if I were remembering a long-lost parent—which, in a way, I guessed I was. She had called on me a few times since the fateful visit that inspired my research into the Protocols but thankfully, I had been out.
I said mental farewells to Damia, Javan, Publius … even Cecyl Fachtna. The deep, sad yearning I felt on their behalf pressed tears into my eyes. Please don’t let them take your lives, I pleaded silently. Maybe they would wake up one day. Maybe they would all wake up. I took some comfort in the fact that I had made my own small contribution to the cause. After making a copy to take with me, I had Rune decrypt my journal and set up a ship-wide transmission similar to Ke-Ling’s, except mine would drop the diary into each person’s electronic mailbox and have a happier ending. Providing the planet was habitable and the ship made it that far, of course.
I wondered if the life force that had been Ke-Ling was out there somewhere, rooting for us. I didn’t know; I did know I would miss him for the rest of my life. I pictured his last, sad smile and wished with all my aching heart he were hiding in his closet, waiting join us in our perilous bid for freedom.
Check the chronometer. I started, thinking it was almost as if someone had whispered it in my ear. How long had I been daydreaming? I shoved up my sleeve, rapidly blinked the tears out of my eyes, and activated the display. My heart jigged nervously. Almost time.
With five minutes to go, I turned sideways, extending my legs. Moving carefully and quietly, I flexed my feet, bent my knees, straightened my legs again, and gently rubbed and kneaded my thighs and calves. I repeated the process several times, pausing only to check the glowing green countdown. When the readout reached less than a minute, I stood, relieved to note Rune had been right—no cramps or stiffness. The second the display dropped to zero, I flipped open the small access panel embedded at eye level in the bulkhead, and hit the override switch. The wall slid back like magic. I exhaled in relief and whispered, “Thank you,” to the unknown engineer who had possessed enough imagination to provide for the improbable—i.e., a situation where some poor soul might need to get out of a closet.
Tiptoeing probably wasn’t necessary, but it seemed like the thing to do. I made my way across the salon, pausing for a second to lean against the bulkhead. Sucking in a deep breath for courage, I straightened and opened the portal. The only light came from the soft blue glow of the emergency deck strips lining the corridor. I hovered anxiously in place, reaching out with all my senses, tensing at the sound of a softly approaching tread, ready to duck back inside.
Eran’s tall, lean form materialized out of the semi-darkness. He spoke in a bare whisper. “Are you ready?”
“More than,” I whispered back. He took my hand, and together we moved silently up the corridor.
“This is the fiddly bit,” he breathed, his hand on the hatch control panel. “Let’s hope Rune’s diversion has accomplished all its intended objectives. The last thing we need is to open this hatch and find some mechanic gaping up at us.” All I could do was nod and hold my breath while he touched the screen. To my panicky ears, the opening of the hatch raised an almighty racket; in reality, it wasn’t much more than a deep mechanical hum, followed by a quiet hiss. Eran poked his head out for a look around, then pulled it back in to give me a quick, reassuring nod. “The coast is clear,” he murmured.
We knew the gangway would be in place, because the gangways were always in place. In the event of an actual emergency, too much precious evacuation time would be wasted moving them into position. Rune had assured us illumination would be minimal; the hangar bay was only floodlit during drills or when the crews were performing maintenance. Both factors made it easy for Eran and me to slip down the gangway, ghost through the shadows, and work our way around the ship.
Eran paused again, checking to make sure no one else was around, friend or foe. If anyone in our group had gotten a delayed start or jumped off early, we would huddle against our life craft until the coast was clear. But the cavernous bay remained cool, empty, and silent, so we dashed across the tarmac and into the deep shadows next to the towering gangway leading up to the escape ship, flattening ourselves against its base. After another minute of watching and listening, we darted up the ramp, through the hatch, and into the darkened interior.
No one met us, not one head popped out of a portal in greeting, but we hadn’t expected anything like that. Rune’s orders were to get under cover and stay there until he showed up. Eran and I moved swiftly down the corridor, counting as we went. We stopped at the eleventh cabin, and Eran tapped softly on the portal. The moment it opened, we ducked inside. Lu, Alis, and Ziv smiled shakily in apparent relief.
“Who’s left?” Eran murmured once the portal had closed.
“Etsuo, Gregor, and Rune, I think,” Lu answered softly. “Lexi, Jordi, Isidor, and Na’weh should already be with Liriene at her place. At least, I hope they are.” Right then, there was no way to know.
Eran shoved up his sleeve and peered at his chronometer. Rune had given him a dual-readout model reflecting both our boarding countdown and the countdown to Rune’s arrival. “Rune should be in the Gen-Lab now. If all’s going as planned, I put him twenty minutes into the operation. Etsuo should be here in ten minutes, Gregor fifteen minutes after that.”
“So forty minutes,” Ziv said. Eran nodded, and we settled down to wait.
Ω
Chapter 47 coming next week!
© 2010, Kathy DiSanto, all rights reserved
