James P Hogan. Inherit The Stars. Giant Series #1
James P Hogan. Inherit The Stars. Giant Series #1
prologue
He became aware of consciousness returning.
Instinctively his mind recoiled, as if by some effort of will he
could arrest the relentless flow of seconds that separated
non-awareness from awareness and return again to the timeless
oblivion in which the agony of total exhaustion was unknown and
unknowable.
The hammer that had threatened to burst from his chest was now
quiet. The rivers of sweat that had drained with his strength from
every hollow of his body were now turned cold. His limbs had turned
to lead. The gasping of his lungs had returned once more to a slow
and even rhythm. It sounded loud in the close confines of his
helmet.
He tried to remember how many had died. Their release was final;
for him there was no release. How much longer could he go on? What
was the point? Would there be anyone left alive at Gorda anyway?
“Gorda. . . ? Gorda. . . ?”
His mental defenses could shield him from reality no longer.
“Must get to Gorda!”
He opened his eyes. A billion unblinking stars stared back without
interest. When he tried to move, his body refused to respond, as if
trying to prolong to the utmost its last precious moments of rest.
He took a deep breath and, clenching his teeth at the pain that
instantly racked again through every fiber of his body, forced
himself away from the rock and into a sitting position. A wave of
nausea swept over him. His head sagged forward and struck the
inside of his visor. The nausea passed.
He groaned aloud.
“Feeling better, then, soldier?” The voice came clearly through the
speaker inside his helmet. “Sun’s getting low. We gotta be moving.”
He lifted his head and slowly scanned the nightmare wilderness of
scorched rock and ash-gray dust that confronted him.
“Whe-” The sound choked in his throat. He swallowed, licked his
lips, and tried again. “Where are you?”
“To your right, up on the rise just past that small cliff that juts
out-the one with the big boulders underneath.”
He turned his head and after some seconds detected a bright blue
patch against the ink-black sky. It seemed blurred and far away. He
blinked and strained his eyes again, forcing his brain to
coordinate with his vision. The blue patch resolved itself into the
figure of the tireless Koriel, clad in a heavy-duty combat suit.
“I see you.” After a pause: “Anything?”
“It’s fairly flat on the other side of the rise-should be easier
going for a while. Gets rockier farther on. Come have a look.”
He inched his arms upward to find purchase on the rock behind, then
braced them to thrust his weight forward over his legs. His knees
trembled. His face contorted as he fought to concentrate his
remaining strength into his protesting thighs. Already his heart
was pumping again, his lungs heaving. The effort evaporated and he
fell back against the rock. His labored breathing rasped over
Koriel’s radio.
“Finished. . . Can’t move. .
The blue figure on the skyline turned.
“Aw, what kinda talk’s that? This is the last stretch. We’re there,
buddy-we’re there.”
“No-no good. . . Had it. . .” Koriel waited a few seconds.
“I’m coming back down.”
“No-you go on. Someone’s got to make it.”
No response.
“Koriel . . .
He looked back at where the figure had stood, but already it had
disappeared below the intervening rocks and was out of the line of
transmission. A minute or two later the figure emerged from behind
the nearby boulders, covering the ground in long, effortless
bounds. The bounds broke into a walk as Koriel approached the
hunched form clad in red.
“C’mon, soldier, on your feet now. There’s people back there
depending on us.”
He felt himself gripped below his arm and raised irresistibly, as
if some of Koriel’s limitless reserves of strength were pouring
into him. For a while his head swam and he leaned with the top of
his visor resting on the giant’s shoulder insignia.
“Okay,” he managed at last. “Let’s go.”