Jumping off the Planet

SPINNING

When we woke up in the morning, the gravity was completely sideways. Except it wasn't gravity—it was centrifugal force. We were so high, the pull of the Earth was insignificant. Sometime during the night, they had spun the car on its vertical axis, enough to give the feeling of one-third gravity. We all wanted to see how high we could jump, but after Stinky bumped his head, Dad told us to stop, so we did—at least while he was watching. Instead we practiced walking back and forth for a while. It felt funny to be that light.

Of course, there was a video about it. You couldn't pour a cup of coffee because it would take forever to pour. And if you took a shower, the water would splatter and bounce every which way, and the shower would take an hour to drain. That sounded like fun, but the video showed that it would also be very hard to dry off, and possibly dangerous. You could drown.

And even if you weren't trying to pour a cup of coffee or take a shower, it would still be dangerous—not being used to micro-gravity, you could bounce off the walls or the ceiling every time you took a step. And trying to get upstairs or downstairs would be a nightmare. People would get hurt.

The door we had come in by was now on the ceiling—"How're we going to get out?" wailed Stinky. Weird went to one of the side walls and opened a circular hatch. Last night it was locked, because it would have opened onto a vertical shaft; but now it was a horizontal corridor so we could walk the length of the car—except Dad wanted us to stay in the cabin. He had an unhappy expression and I wanted to ask him if he'd accepted the Sierra bid, but before I could, the door chimed and Mickey arrived with our breakfast trays.

He didn't say much; he just laid out everything on the table and then left quietly. He looked grim. Dad eyed him warily. Douglas looked like he wanted to say something. I was hoping someone would say something—but nobody did. Mickey was as carefully noncommittal as if the room was bugged. Only Stinky, who didn't know better, was in an insufferably cheerful mood, asking questions about everything. I would have happily strangled him. I'd been thinking about strangling him all my life. This morning seemed like a good opportunity, especially when he asked Mickey about how the room had turned sideways overnight. So of course Mickey took the time to answer him. Finally, though, he said, "I have other people to take care of. Maybe you should ask your big brother. He knows a lot about how the elevator works too."

Mickey left and we all just looked at each other. Then we sat down and ate without really tasting—which was just as well. The food had apparently gone tasteless.

Hurricane Charles was all over the news. The winds were still too high for the cleanup and the rescue crews to go in, and there had been a lot more damage at Terminus than they'd expected. They were already calling this the hurricane of the century. They expected Line traffic to be disrupted for weeks. There wasn't even going to be enough room to stash all the cargo that was still arriving downside, let alone the passengers returning to Earth. And this would certainly cripple the relief efforts in Africa and Asia. I was glad we weren't dropping back down into that mess. The pictures were awful.

While we were watching, the door chimed—at first we thought it might be Mickey, but it was Señor Doctor Hidalgo. The fat man.

The nine point five. He looked flushed and impatient. "Señor Dingillian, I apologize for interrupting your morning, but I must speak with you. I had hoped to see you at breakfast, but that did not happen. The attendant told me that you were keeping to your cabin—good morning, muchachos. Buenas dias. Please, may I come in?"

Dad let him in and offered him a seat. "Would you like some tea, coffee? Something to drink? We have a bar."

"No, no—muchas gracias, anyway. I appreciate the thought. But you cannot afford to feed me or give me drinks in the style to which I have become accustomed. Even I cannot afford the style to which I have become accustomed. Never mind that—we must talk frankly. Can you send the boys out?"

"Out where—?"

"Yes, there is that. I cannot ask them to wait in the bathroom, can I? Very well then, I shall have to speak candidly in front of your sons. May I?" He pushed Stinky's monkey out of the way and sat down on the couch. He sank down into it, although he didn't sink as far as he would have the night before. Even in micro-gravity, he was still heavy. Dad sat down in the chair opposite him. I noticed he didn't sit too close.

"Please forgive my bluntness, Señor Dingillian. There isn't much time—I had hoped to be more circumspect, more gentle. I hope you will forgive me, this is not the way I normally handle affairs of this significance, but things are happening—things that mostly do not concern you—but unfortunately you have inadvertently become part of a larger equation. Events are moving in several different directions at once and I have no idea how all the different crises will resolve, if they will resolve at all. It would take far too long to explain—but the point is, sir, the people I work for know that you are carrying something of some importance. These people would be willing to pay you very handsomely—much more than your present employers—for the package. Two times, three times as much. Plus whatever other protections you need. Perhaps even, a guaranteed colony berth ... ?"

Douglas and I exchanged looks. I grabbed Stinky—and the monkey—and dragged them both toward the bathroom. "Come on, monster, I've got this neat trick we can teach the monkey. You're going to love this one—it'll make all the girls scream."

"No!" screamed Stinky. "I wanna stay with Daddy!"

"Charles—" Dad held up his hand. "I appreciate your intentions. It's all right. I'd just as soon have you stay." Dad stood up. "Thank you for coming by, Doctor Hidalgo. I appreciate all your courtesies." He offered his hand—whether to shake Dr. Hidalgo's hand or help him out of the couch, I wasn't sure. Dr. Hidalgo took the hint and levered himself up to his feet.

"I am very sorry you feel that way—I had hoped we could negotiate."

"There's nothing to negotiate. I don't know who you're working for, and I don't much care. I'm not carrying anything. And I'm offended at your offer. I'm not the kind of person who sells property that is not his to sell."

Hidalgo sighed. "Yes, I see. Of course. In that case, I must tell you—please do not take this the wrong way, I am not threatening, but I mean this in the sincerest sense—I am seriously worried about what will happen next. I told you about the money. Money does what it wants. Money buys whatever it has to. I am afraid that the money will try to stop you, may even try to hurt you or your sons. They told me that if you would not sell it—whatever it is, you know, they know, I don't know what it is—but if you will not sell it, they will have to try other ways to prevent its delivery, and I do not want to see you hurt, or the boys. Please reconsider—I will be available to you, wherever you are. If there is anything that I can do to help you, I would consider it an honor and a privilege to be of service—"

Dad was standing at the door, holding it open for Dr. Hidalgo. I sort of felt sorry for him, for both of them. I'd never seen Dad looking so grim. I know it hurt him to behave rudely toward anyone.

"We have nothing else to talk about, Doctor Hidalgo. Thank you for your courtesy and your concern. Now please go."

Dr. Hidalgo looked like he wanted to say something more, his mouth opened and closed a couple of times, but no words came out. He looked very upset, like he was going to have to go tell someone some very bad news. He shook his head and sighed and shook his head again and finally pushed himself through the hatch. Dad sealed it behind him.

"Okay, Dad," said Douglas. "If you're not carrying it, where is it hidden?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Douglas. I'm not carrying anything."

"Uh-huh. Right. And our Christmas presents weren't hidden in the closet behind your file cabinets either."

Dad looked startled. "How did you—" He shook his head, exasperated. "Never mind. Just drop the subject, okay, Douglas?"

"He threatened us, Dad."

"I'm not deaf, Douglas. And I'm not stupid."

"Neither are we, Dad. What's going on?"

Dad turned to Douglas and took both his hands in his own. "If I ask you to trust me, will you?"

Douglas gave him that sideways look he does so well—the one that translates out to, "Excuse me? Did you really just say that?"

"Douglas, please—?"

"The money for the trip, right? That's where it came from."

"I can't talk about this. And you mustn't either."

"Uh-huh. Right. It's our lives too—and we're not allowed to know. You did it to us again, you son of a bitch, didn't you?" Douglas pulled his hands free and started toward the door, but he pulled free too hard and both he and Dad bounced in different directions, which would have been funny if it hadn't been so scary at the same time.

"I'm trying to protect you—goddammit!!"

"I don't want your protection!! I want the truth." And Douglas was out the door—I thought about following him, but didn't. Stinky had suddenly decided he wanted me to show him the new monkey trick after all.

Anyway, after that, everything was back to normal. Totally screwed up.