Brian came to slowly. He was strapped into a safety harness in a large, comfortable chair. There were two other chairs in front of him. And out of the window ahead he could see stars. Disappointment bit into him. For a brief second, he had allowed himself to hope that he was at home and that he had not really spent the morning with Simon and a madman in a trench-coat being chased by gunmen. The events of the last few minutes clicked into place and waved an urgent flag at the view from the cockpit.
“Tell me,” he said, piecing the thought together with dread, “that we’re not in space.”
Michael seemed to be the only other one awake. His voice was calm and lacked the amused edge that had characterised it all morning.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to deal with the fact sooner or later, so it’s not really worth my lying to you right now,” the man in the trench coat replied.
Brian felt a rush of mixed emotions wash over him. Disbelief, anger, and adrenalised panic struggled for supremacy before being beaten aside by sheer, awful terror. Space. There was no getting out of this box with his friend, a stranger, and a madman. Whatever happened to him now was in the hands of Michael and the lap of the gods. He sat in stunned silence, trying to take in the enormity of what was happening. Everything he thought he knew had been dragged out from under him. He knew, for example, that you couldn’t catch a private underground train from an office block in London to a spaceport. He knew that there was no such thing as a gun that fired blue plasma. He knew that people did not disguise themselves as policemen to assassinate alcoholic hi-fi salesmen. Then he realised. He also knew that Michael’s little grey box was a barometer, didn’t he? He only had Michael’s word for that, and the trench-coated lunatic had only claimed it was a barometer while Simon the aforementioned hi-fi salesman was pointing it at him. Brian unclipped his safety harness, glancing round to see if Michael had left his “barometer” unguarded again. Seconds later, he found himself reflecting wryly that he should have guessed there wouldn’t be artificial gravity in a spaceship as cramped as this. Reality and sci-fi had a habit of deciding which was in play this morning by working out which one would bite him in the arse most.
“I wouldn’t recommend doing that,” Michael commented mildly, his concentration still very much on the array of cockpit controls.
“Thanks for the warning,” Brian replied weakly, feeling on the verge of tears now that sudden levity had taken the last of fight out of him. “How do I get back down?”
“‘Down’ is a rather subjective concept right now, but to get there you should swim.”
The air in the cabin didn’t feel like it should be offering enough resistance, and Brian’s mind was having trouble adjusting to the idea that it didn’t feel like he was in water. Nevertheless, he managed to work his way back into the chair and strap himself in. A groggy voice piped up from the copilot’s chair.
“Are we in space?”
“Yes,” Michael replied simply.
“Awesome.”
Simon had come round, then.
The three of them sat in silence for a while, and Brian contemplated his options. There was still the possibility of getting hold of the alleged barometer in the hope that it was really a weapon, but in zero-gravity it would be on Michael’s person. Obviously barmy as the trench-coated man was, though, he didn’t seem out to harm anybody – despite the way he had traumatised Cat. Maybe he could be talked into getting them back to Earth?
And then a world-shattering thought crossed Brian’s mind. He didn’t dare to articulate the question that had formed in his mind; he was terrified of what the answer might be. He wasn’t even sure how long he had been unconscious. Finally, summoning up his last reserves of courage, he made his mouth move.
“Exactly how far out are we?”
The trench-coated man replied with his usual insufferable mildness.
“We’re just beyond what your scientists call the Oort cloud, about two light years away from the Sun.”
“Ooooooh. Fuck.”
“Glad to see you’re with us, Cat,” said Michael, without missing a beat. “How’s your head?”
“Never mind my head. Where the fuck are we?”
“Just outside the edge of the solar system, as I was explaining to Mister Anders, here.”
“What?!”
“I’m sorry. I really am.” Michael did not sound sorry. “I’m afraid I had to take us out here to make sure that the enforcers chasing Simon here couldn’t get us.”
“What’s that got to do with me?” shouted Cat, her voice bewildered.
“Well, I needed a hostage to stop the police from shooting at us. If it’s any consolation, I’d have preferred to kidnap Jim. I never liked Jim.”
“Well, yes, Jim’s a knob. But I was supposed to be out for Brenda’s birthday tonight!”
“You don’t like Brenda, either,” Michael pointed out.
“No, but at least her birthday party is on fucking Earth, not billions of fucking miles away in space!”
“Can I butt in?” asked Simon in a diplomatic tone.
“Yes,” said Michael.
“No!” said Cat at the same time.
“Where exactly are we going?” Simon asked regardless.
Simon’s question seemed to give Cat food for thought.
“Nowhere,” replied Michael, bluntly. “We’re sitting here and waiting for now.”
Brian’s suspicions were pricked immediately.
“Why?” he asked.
“Well, a shuttle like this is really only for getting off-world. At best, it’s only designed for covering the couple of light years it takes to get into open space. Without a spaceship waiting, we have to trust to luck. A major trade lane passes the outer edges of the solar system, so we should be picked up by someone before the oxygen runs out.”
“And how long is that?” asked Brian, a strained edge in his voice.
“About three days with four of us in here. We’ll be fine. Besides, I’m sure you don’t want to spend your last three days alive in bitter recriminations.”
