LOST

The large interstellar liner “Voyager” stood in the dock of the orbital station “Genoa”, preparing for the jump. In the docking compartments boiled the usual bustle, were heard negotiations in dozens of languages, but on the command deck of the liner had already arrived that tense, nervous silence, that involuntarily seizes people before a long voyage. Only in the compartments of economy-class passengers were busily placing their belongings in the tight cubes of baggage nets. The public of first class from the height of its observation deck silently observed this human anthill.

Shaking the air in the dock, the liner roared for the last time. The crew members hastily began to retract the docking frame.

At this moment in the airlock appeared two. The one, who was following behind, made to the technicians some kind of sign with his hand, and they froze, leaving the passageway open.

The late passengers stepped onto the deck. A well-dressed, slim and broad-shouldered young man, putting his hands in the pockets of an expensive “formal” type spacesuit, quickly strode in the direction towards the cabins. His smoothly shaven face was completely calm. However, an observant person by the knitted brows of the stranger and a slight ironic smile could have noticed, that this calmness was feigned. Following him, not falling behind a single step, walked a stocky man of middle years. His helmet was pushed back on the nape. A sweaty, rumpled face expressed simultaneously fatigue, pleasure and tense attention, like of a cat, which is dragging in its teeth a mouse. He not for a second took his eyes off his companion.

On the deck of the liner, not far from the airlock, stood a young girl in a white elegant jumpsuit. For an instant her eyes met the eyes of the late passenger, who was walking in front.

When this strange pair had passed, the girl, Miss Rose, heard, how the technician, closing the airlock, said to his comrade, nodding in the direction of the departed passengers:

“Saw him? Old acquaintance Jim Pompeo, detective from the Earth bureau, caught some young guy.”

“Pompeo?” answered the other technician. “well this one doesn’t hunt small game.”

“Yes, look, how he is dressed. Some kind of specialist in the area of bank safes, if not worse than that.”

To Miss Rose it became creepy. On one liner with her will fly the whole way to New-Washington on Alpha Centauri a criminal, maybe even a murderer. This was exciting and captivating, because until now she had seen only in holonews portraits of these mysterious and terrible people.

Miss Rose hastily ascended to the upper deck. Here, among people of her circle, in this place, inaccessible to ordinary passengers, she felt herself in relative safety. Leaning back in a comfortable chair with an anti-G system, Miss Rose immersed herself in idle contemplation – the best gift of space travel for nerves, tired by city bustle. The transparent dome of the curved screen protected her from the blinding light of distant stars. Above her quietly swayed the leaves of orbital ferns, standing in special niches between the chairs. From somewhere from the side wafted an aromatic smell of expensive artificial tobacco.

“A criminal. Who could have thought?” whispered Miss Rose, still remembering about the meeting at the airlock. And, to finally get rid of the unpleasant impression, she took out a small elegant cigarette case made of white polymer, the work of Martian masters, with constellations etched on the lid, and lit a thin cigarette with the aroma of heather. A bluish streamlet of smoke stretched upwards to the leaves of the ferns.

The liner was departing, cautiously making its way out of the dock. It seemed, as if the liner is standing in place, but the surrounding scenery is moving with the help of a rotating stage. Now the whole station “Genoa” turned to the side of the liner, as if wishing to show itself to the departing for the last time. White modules and residential sectors crowded in zero gravity, like a herd of whimsical crystals. And above them towered the prismatic forms of gravidocks and communication towers. But now someone turned the scenery. Opened a view of the Orion Nebula – a fantastic shining cloud, covered with cosmic dust. Tugs and yachts seemed to be immersed in a piece of dark velvet, on which sparkled diamonds of distant systems, – so clearly were visible all the lines of the vessel through the transparent emptiness. Endless flocks of meteoroids scurried among the whimsical asteroids. Gradually the stars were becoming brighter, until the station hid from view...

“How did you like, miss, your cabin?”

Miss Rose looked around. Before her stood the captain, who included in the circle of his duties to pay polite attention to the most “valuable” passengers.

“Thank you, Mister...”

“Clyde.”

“Mister Clyde, excellent. Will we make a stop on Venus?”

“Mars and New New-York – our first stop. However, maybe, we will delay for several hours at the orbital outpost ‘Gibraltar.’ You wanted to visit Venus?”

“Oh, no,” hastily and even with fright spoke Miss Rose. “I am mortally bored of the Solar system.” And, pausing, she asked: “Tell me, captain, on our liner... is there a criminal?”

“What criminal?”

“Some kind of arrested... rumors reached me...”

“Possibly, that there are even several of them. This is an Ordinary thing. Because this public has a custom to flee from earthly justice to the colonies, and from colonial – to Earth. But detectives track them down and deliver to the homeland these lost sheep. In their presence on the liner there is nothing dangerous, – you can be completely calm. They are brought without handcuffs only in order to not draw the attention of the public. But in the cabin they are immediately put on magnetic bracelets and chained to the sleeping berths.”

“But this is terrible!” spoke Miss Rose.

The captain shrugged his shoulders.

Neither the captain, nor even Miss Rose herself understood that vague feeling, which caused this exclamation. Terrible, that people, like wild animals, are chained to a chain. So thought the captain, although he found this a reasonable precautionary measure.

Terrible, that this young man, so little resembling a criminal and in no way differing from the people of her circle, will sit bound the whole way in a tight cabin. Here is that vague subconscious thought, which agitated Miss Rose.

And, taking a deep drag of the cigarette, she immersed herself in silence.

The captain unobtrusively moved away from Miss Rose. The artificial gravity was ideal, but it seemed, as if a light breeze from the ventilation system played with the end of the white silk scarf and her chestnut curls.

Even here, many kilometers from the station, into the ventilation system, it seemed, still seeped a barely perceptible smell of ozone and metal, like a last greeting of “Genoa.” The giant liner tirelessly sliced through space, leaving behind a distant distorted trail. And the emptiness immediately hurried to close up the scar, formed on the silk fabric of reality.