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Marghe tongued the channel on. No longer the doctor. All those things I said before, about isolation, about spending time somewhere unspecified before going home. Marghe listened to her heart kicking under her ribs. She breathed, seeking calm. Never refuse information, her mother had taught her when she was just six years old, you never know what you might need. But her mother was dead. She managed a Go on gesture. Not ever. I had a. On the planet. Was one of the initial batch taken off Jeep for study. She promised to be in touch.

I think someone else wrote her mail. Just listen. It seemed fine at first. A very long time. When I got her response, I knew. Marghe said nothing. She wished she had just taken that last step, not listened to Hiam—this new Hiam.

In the World of Hyboria Book1 and Book2

The real one? Hiam watched Marghe intently, then laughed, a short, hard bark. Why you let me get this far. Hiam stepped right up to the glass, close enough for Marghe to see the pleats of her irises.


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But, Marghe. You seemed. I just thought. Marghe did not know what to say. Marghe shook her head. This was the reason she had swallowed her pride and set aside her misgivings about Company, why she had recontracted with SEC after they had betrayed her, why she had traveled vast distances, literally and metaphorically: to come to Jeep and study over a million people who had been out of contact with humanity for two or three hundred years.

There would never be another chance like this, never. Hiam turned away abruptly. Red for danger. The known dangers she had prepared for, as far as humanly possible.

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The vaccine would be waiting for her in D Section. As for the unknown dangers. Well, they were unknown. Nothing she could do about them. She stretched out her hand, clumsy in the gauntlet, and tapped out the sequence slowly and carefully. The red panel blinked off and the lights around the door flared green. The door slid open. B Section was silent and dark. Ice glimmered in the dim sodium glow of the emergency floor lights.

Marghe stepped over the sill and the door closed behind her. It was done. The lights ran like runway flares down a narrow corridor between stripped, bare beds, each with its entertainment hookup coiled neatly at the head. Her breathing was loud.

Conan's Hyborian Age, End of the Hyborian Age and Rise of Modern Man (Part 5)

She felt utterly alone. She was the first person who had walked here for five years; five years since the glittering dumbbell shape that was Estrade had been hurriedly converted from an orbital monitoring and communications station to a research and decontamination facility. Five years since the station crew had taken refuge in Section A, leaving Sections D and C for the decontamination of occasional Jeep personnel.


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Marghe watched her boots rise and fall through the orange glow; there was no dust. The lights at the airlock blinked a reassuring green. The door opened and the wall display told her to blank her visor and hold out her arms; she keyed in the sequence on the next door, stepped through. The corridor seemed a mile long.

The familiar orange running lights gleamed on unsheathed metal and exposed wiring. Gravity decreased rapidly as she approached the center of the shaft; her suit automatically activated the electromagnets in her boots and she had to slide her feet instead of striding. There was another airlock at the center of the corridor.

She went through the dictated procedure, familiar now. The microgravity and her sensitivity to the strong magnetic field under her feet made her dizzy. She closed her eyes and took three fast breaths to trigger a meditative state, monitoring for a moment her heartbeat and electrical activity. She went on: more corridor, another lock. C Section. In C Section there were beds, like B Section, but each had a hood waiting to be lowered over an occupant to suck out her blood and lymph, ready to push physical and electrical fingers deep into her intestines to kill and remove the swarm of bacteria and yeasts, eager to sear away the first layers of skin and lave red, raw tissues with colorless fluids until new skin grew back.

Tombs for the living. She hated them. They had not been able to save her mother. She walked faster; she wanted to be out of C Section. In the lock. Eyes shut and arms out. Key sequence. The panel still flashed red. Marghe stared at it. If she could not get through into D Section, she was trapped. The lock systems would not permit her to retrace her steps without a record of her having undergone either isolation in D or fluid replacement in C.

Perhaps she had input the wrong number sequence. She had been in a rush. Precisely, accurately, she tapped in the code a second time. No change. She tongued on the comm channel. Her helmet speaker clicked. Go ahead. In the locker to your left. Marghe opened the left locker, then the right. They were both empty. And all the emergency blow patches have gone. We had to clear everything, just in case someone infected tried to blow her way out. Let me think. Marghe stood in the dim light and breathed precious air. Eighty minutes. She did not want to die here, alone, surrounded by nothing but dead machinery and empty space.

The audio relay clicked back on. She—hold on. Minutes dragged by. Marghe concentrated on increasing her blood flow to tensed muscles, washing away fatigue acids and stress toxins. She checked to make sure her boot electros were off. She had seventy-one minutes of air left.

Hiam was serious, Marghe realized, in spite of what she believed about Company and the fate of contaminated employees. Hiam laughed, only this time it was not that awful bark, but longer, lighter, more friendly. Her breathing was strong and even: there were people on her side.

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Try seven-eight-four-six-nine. A four instead of a three. A difference of one digit. Marghe input the sequence: seven, pause, eight, pause, four, pause. The door lights flicked from red to green. D Section was dark. She had not expected that. She switched over to suit broadcast. D was square, only four beds.