Starclimber (10 page)

I couldn’t help myself and started laughing.

“What?” Kate said.

“You are
so
bossy,” I said.

“Yes. Now read!”

I must say, I was quite relieved when Mr. Lunardi came down and asked if I wanted to take a turn at the wheel.

It was a quick walk from the Inner Harbour to the quiet, tree-lined street where Miss Karr lived. Gulls cried out over James Bay; from the busier streets came the occasional clip-clop of carriage horses and the sputter of a motorcar. Mr. and Mrs. Lunardi walked along arm in arm, chatting happily. I wondered if Kate and I would ever be able to stroll like that in public. I glanced over at her, but she was lost in thought, no doubt worrying about what she was going to say to Miss Karr.

“Here we are,” said Mr. Lunardi.

Beyond the picket fence, a path led through an overgrown garden to the veranda. For such a famous person, Miss Karr was obviously not vain about her house. The windows had an unwashed look, and the gutters needed mending. Paint flaked from the gables.

Mr. Lunardi held the gate open for Kate and me, and then stepped back.

“You’re not coming with us?” I asked.

He gave a quick shake of his head. “I think I’d just annoy her. Inflame her artistic sensibility and all that. Last time I came, she set her dog on me. Her guinea pigs too. You’ll have much better luck without me. Holler if you need help.”

Kate and I walked up the path.

“Guinea pigs can be quite fierce,” she said, and we both had a giggle.

I rapped on the front door, which after a moment swung open by itself. It took me several seconds to realize that a monkey had opened it.

He was a tiny thing, not more than a foot tall. Dressed in a sailor suit, he had large gray sideburns and looked like a very short, very old British admiral. He peered up at us expectantly.

I glanced over at Kate, not knowing what to do.

Speaking very slowly, Kate said, “Good—morning. We—are—here—to—see—Miss—Karr.”

The monkey gazed back at her pensively.

“You’re talking to the monkey?” I asked.

“Well, he does look quite bright,” she replied.

The door swung open wider and the monkey scampered back, as if inviting us inside. We hesitated, but the little fellow chattered so insistently that we stepped into the hallway.

“Hello, Miss Karr?” I called out.

There was no reply. I peeked into the parlor—or what I thought was the parlor. It was hard to tell because there was so little furniture in it. Then I looked up and saw that all the chairs dangled from the ceiling by ropes.

“Oh, I read about this,” Kate whispered. “She hates visitors, and only lowers the chairs if she wants you to stay.”

I nodded. “Makes perfect sense.”

The monkey barraged us with more chittering and then scampered deeper into the house, looking back to see if we were following.

“He seems to know what he’s up to,” Kate said, smiling.

The back room of the house was enormous, with a high, pitched ceiling. Sunshine streamed through the skylights and large windows. This must have been Miss Karr’s photography studio, for there were large lamps on stands, and umbrellas with silvery undersides, and several large cameras on sturdy tripods.

Hung carelessly on the walls were some of Miss Karr’s most famous photographs. There was the Prime Minister, sitting on the cowcatcher of the first train through the Rockies. There were our Parliament buildings, encased in ice and glittering like a fairies’ palace after a winter storm. And there were the polar bears of Churchill, sitting in a row and staring like bored children in a church pew.

But where was Miss Karr? The monkey scampered out into the backyard. It looked more like a zoo. There were all sorts of birdcages, and there were dogs and rats and cats and guinea pigs capering about.

And there, beneath the shade of an arbutus tree, sat Miss Karr behind a small easel, painting. She was a stolid woman in her early forties, dressed in a shapeless, stained smock. On her head she wore an odd kind of hairnet with a band around her forehead. The monkey leapt up onto her shoulder and pointed back at the house.

Miss Karr turned and stared. She hurriedly put down her paintbrush, stood, took her painting off the easel, and slammed it facedown on a table. Then she stomped toward the house, the monkey clinging to her shoulder.

“Does she look angry to you?” Kate said worriedly.

I nodded. “Yes, I’d say so.”

Miss Karr strode into the house and glared at us.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“Miss Karr,” I said nervously, “my name’s Matt Cruse and—”

“Yes, yes,” she said, with an impatient wave.

“And I’m Kate de Vries,” Kate said. “Mr. Otto Lunardi asked—”

“Parasitic little weevil,” Miss Karr muttered darkly.

I glanced at Kate, hoping she wouldn’t contradict Miss Karr. To my relief she said, “That’s a very fine Javanese monkey you have.”

Miss Karr grunted. “You know your animals, I see. This is Haiku. I found him two years ago in a curiosity shop in Chinatown.”

“Hello, Haiku,” Kate and I chimed in at the same time.

Miss Karr stared hard at us, wiping her hands on a rag.

“I’m sorry if we interrupted your painting,” I said.

“It’s nothing,” she said tersely. “Stand over there. In front of the backdrop.”

She was referring to an enormous piece of canvas, violently painted with swirling blacks and grays and whites like weather you’d do anything to avoid. Kate and I glanced at each other, then promptly did as we were told.

Miss Karr stepped behind one of her cameras, peered through the viewfinder, then busied herself adjusting bamboo blinds to sculpt the light in the room.

“Miss Karr,” Kate said, “I’m a huge admirer of your work. I particularly like—”

“I particularly like people who
don’t
flatter,” Miss Karr cut in.

Kate swallowed. I don’t think she was used to being spoken to so curtly.

“I know why you’re here,” Miss Karr said. “Now, stand close together. Closer! You make a very handsome couple.”

Kate cleared her throat. “We’re not really a couple, Miss Karr. We’re just—”

“Yes, yes,” the photographer said impatiently. “Matt Cruse, point and stare off into the distance. You’re contemplating a long and dangerous space voyage.”

“Like this?” It seemed best to humor her, so I furrowed my brow and tried to pretend the backyard was the shores of Mars.

“And Miss de Vries,” the photographer instructed, “look longingly at Mr. Cruse. Goodness knows when you’ll see that brave astralnaut again.”

“I’m going with him, actually,” Kate said, sounding a bit put out.

“Pretend you’re not,” said Miss Karr sternly.

Click
went her camera.

“Now,” said Miss Karr, “Miss de Vries, you are going to swoon, just like a heroine in a penny dreadful.”

“I’m sure I’ve never
swooned
,” Kate said indignantly.

Miss Karr ignored her. “Arm up, throw one hand across your brow, let’s have that other hand clutching your heart. And, Matt Cruse, move in close to catch her in your arms when she faints away completely.”

Miss Karr was certainly eccentric, but I found it rather fun to play at these clichéd parts. Kate, however, did not seem to be enjoying herself.

“Miss de Vries,” said Miss Karr angrily, looking up from her camera, “you are supposed to look distraught. That is not distraught. That’s ‘My tea is cold and is there no marmalade for my crumpet?’ Can we have something a bit more hysterical, please?”

“Think of Miss Simpkins,” I suggested.

“Think,” said Miss Karr, “how disappointed you’ll be if I don’t come on this space voyage.”

Kate looked utterly horrified, and at that moment Miss Karr clicked the camera.

“That was quite good,” the photographer said.

“Miss Karr,” said Kate, sounding desperate, “you really must come on the expedition. It’s a historic moment for our nation. Only you can capture it in words and pictures to show the world.”

Miss Karr gave a snort. “Why bother with outer space? It can’t be photographed.”

“I’m surprised to hear you say that, Miss Karr,” I said, suddenly remembering something I’d read in one of Kate’s books. “Didn’t people once tell you the Canadian forest couldn’t be photographed? But you showed them how wrong they were.”

Katie nodded eagerly. “And didn’t you say recently, Miss Karr, that there was nothing more you wanted to photograph. Well, maybe not on earth. But outer space would present you with a new challenge to master!”

I thought I caught a glimmer of a smile on Miss Karr’s face, but it was quickly replaced by a stern frown.

“Matt Cruse, get down on one knee as if proposing to Miss de Vries.”

“Is this really necessary?” I asked, feeling uneasy.

“I pretended to swoon,” Kate pointed out with a mischievous grin.

The monkey scowled at me. I got down on one knee. I didn’t want to do it, for it seemed too momentous a thing even to play-act. Kate peered down at me with great satisfaction, like she was hoping I’d quote love poetry, or at least yip like a puppy.

“Look her right in the eye, Matt Cruse!” the photographer instructed me. “This one’s going to take some convincing.”

I was starting to feel very uncomfortable. I wondered if Miss Karr, like my mother, had already sensed Kate’s steely character.

“This is great fun,” said Kate.

“Take her hand, Mr. Cruse. That’s it. Now look at her beseechingly. Very good. Now, Miss de Vries, what would you say to this fellow?”

Kate gave me a glacial stare.

Click
went Miss Karr’s camera.

“You’ll have a battle getting a yes from her,” Miss Karr cackled, clearly enjoying herself immensely.

“It won’t be a battle at all,” Kate said breezily. “I’ve decided I’m never going to marry.”

I laughed nervously.

Kate turned to me. “You think I’m joking, Mr. Cruse? I’ve been thinking about this a great deal.”

“Is that right, Miss de Vries?” I said, as though this were just polite conversation. I glanced awkwardly at Miss Karr, embarrassed. She was watching with great amusement. Haiku hopped up and down giddily.

“Absolutely,” said Kate. “I reject the whole institution of marriage. Did you know, not so long ago women were considered the legal
property
of their husbands. Like a comfy armchair, or a
rug
.”

“That’s changed,” I pointed out.

“In the letter of the law. But once a woman marries, she’s just a wife. I’d cease to be my own person.”

“I can’t see you being anyone’s person but your own, Miss de Vries,” I said, attempting a pleasant laugh. I honestly wasn’t sure if Kate was serious or still playacting for Miss Karr’s benefit. If she was, she was overdoing it a bit, I thought.

“Men always make all sorts of promises,” Kate went on, “but once they’re married, they expect the woman to stay at home and cook and fetch their slippers and pass them their pipe…”

“Not all men smoke pipes,” I said, meaning me.

“There’s too much I want to achieve,” Kate said. “It’s hard enough as a woman. As a wife it’s completely impossible. Miss Karr, what would you say on this matter? You’ve achieved great things.”

Miss Karr nodded, looking amused. “I doubt any man would have allowed me to work and live the way I have.”

“Precisely,” said Kate. “I mean to live my life on my own terms! I won’t marry.”

“I’ll come,” said Miss Karr.

Kate and I both looked at her in confusion.

“To outer space,” Miss Karr said. “I’ll come on your expedition.”

“You will?” I said.

“You’ve piqued my interest. And you’re right. What a challenge to capture outer space in words and pictures. I wouldn’t miss it, especially not with you two aboard.”

I didn’t dare tell her that I might not be coming.

“What wonderful news, Miss Karr!” said Kate. “Thank you so much!”

“I have one condition,” she said. “Haiku comes too.”

“I’m sure that won’t present a problem,” Kate said without a moment’s hesitation.

“Good,” said the photographer. “Now, go outside and tell Mr. Lunardi I won’t set my guinea pigs on him. I’ll just need a moment to get Haiku changed and into his pram, and then I’ll take you all to lunch at the Empress.”

D
renched to the skin, I ran, my burning legs spattered with mud from the rain-churned field.

It was day nine of training, with only a few days to go, and I was on the final stretch of the obstacle course. We were down to forty-two candidates now, and everyone was a little leaner, and lot fiercer. We knew that most of us wouldn’t make it to the end of the week, and we were pushing ourselves hard.

“Come on, gents!” yelled Eriksson from the sidelines in his rain slicker. “You can do better than that!”

Shepherd and Bronfman had the lead, as usual, but not by so much this time. Every night after dinner, I’d been doing extra laps on the track—it was the last thing I wanted to do at the end of the day, but I needed to build my endurance, and I thought it was working. Tobias was keeping pace with me, though I could tell he was flagging.

We reached the timber wall, the final and most dreaded obstacle. Twenty sheer feet with only a rope to help us over.

“Can’t believe I gave up smoking for this,” Tobias wheezed.

He grabbed the rope and started up, but the wood was slick, and he was exhausted. He didn’t even make it halfway up before slipping down into the mud.

With every second, Shepherd and Bronfman were pulling farther ahead. I looked back and saw Reg Perry and Tim Douglas coming up fast.

Tobias gripped the rope for another try, but I shoved him out of the way and started hauling myself up. I didn’t look back. I didn’t want third place. I wanted first, and I knew I had a shot at it. This morning we’d done more underwater trials, and even though I was a bit better, I was still clumsy and slow. Tobias was by far the best. He was my friend, but he was also my competition, and I needed an edge over him.

I scaled the wall, rappelled down the other side, and sprinted after Shepherd and Bronfman. Shepherd had the lead, and Bronfman was slowing. Maybe he thought he could slack off now. I gave it my all, and though I didn’t catch up with Shepherd, I skimmed past Bronfman and heard his shout of surprise as I crossed the finish.

When Tobias came in sixth, I went over to him.

“Sorry about pushing you,” I said.

He was hunched over, catching his breath. He waved a hand. “’S okay,” he panted. “I was just slowing you down.”

I thought he looked a little hurt, but I didn’t regret what I’d done.

Day eleven, and I swung my aching body out of bed before I was even fully awake, the morning bell ringing in my ears. Like everyone else in the dorm, I sat for a moment, staring at the notice board and the white piece of paper pinned in the middle. Wearily we all stood and made our way over. Bronfman was there first.

“Looks like you can sleep in, Cruse,” he said.

I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. I couldn’t speak. I staggered over to the board.

There were two names on the paper, but neither of them was mine.

Bronfman slapped me on the shoulder, laughing. “Should’ve seen the look on your face, kid.”

“You’re an idiot, Bronfman,” said Tobias.

“Hey, it was just a joke,” the test pilot said, grinning. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

I should’ve been angrier, but all I felt was relief.

“Just some questions we’d like you to answer, gents,” said Grendel Eriksson, handing each of us a booklet as thick as an atlas. “Nothing too difficult.”

“What’s that?” Tobias asked, pointing across the room.

“That’s where you’ll answer the questions,” said Eriksson.

Suspended from a complicated set of scaffolding was a narrow metal tube. Attached to its outside were all sorts of wires and mechanical arms and hosing. There was a small hatch at one end of the tube, and a wheeled set of stairs pushed up to it.

“One person goes in the tube?” I asked.

“Five people go in the tube,” Eriksson said with a smile.

It was day twelve, and we were down to thirty-six candidates. Our group only had five people now: me, Tobias, Shepherd, Bronfman, and Perry.

“When you finish your questions, you can come out,” said Eriksson. “In you go. Don’t forget your pencils.”

My stomach curdled. It was hard enough to see how one person would fit in that tube, much less five.

“Don’t like small spaces?” Shepherd asked me.

“Doesn’t bother me,” I lied. And to show him I wasn’t afraid, I walked up the steps first.

The hatch was tiny, and I had to crawl through on my hands and knees. The tube had no windows, just a single very dim light. I instantly regretted going in first, for I’d have to move to the very end. The space was so cramped, it was hard to twist myself into a sitting position. My knees were almost at my forehead. Tobias came next, then Shepherd, Bronfman, and Perry, all of us squished tight together.

Eriksson’s face appeared outside the hatch. “If there’re any problems, just sing out.” And he sealed us inside.

“This’ll take hours!” Tobias said, flipping through his booklet. “It’s eighty pages!”

“Best get at it,” said Shepherd calmly.

I did not feel calm. My heart pounded, and it was hard to keep my panic reined in. Was this what our spaceship was going to be like? It couldn’t be so small, could it? Maybe I wasn’t cut out to be an astralnaut after all. I closed my eyes, but that only made things worse, plunging the world into blackness. I opened my eyes and stared at the metal beneath my feet, focusing on the rivets holding the plates together. Beyond the metal plates was the outside: the room, and the building, and beyond it the whole wide world. Somehow this thought helped ease my claustrophobia.

I got to work. The first page was multiple-choice questions, fairly simple logic problems.

There was a mechanical drone from outside, and the tube tilted—not a lot, just enough to slide us all to the right, squishing against one another even more. Perry, at the low end, got the worst of it.

“Can you get your elbow out of my armpit, Bronfman?” he asked.

“Nowhere else for it to go,” Bronfman replied.

The tube leveled off, then rotated suddenly. We all pitched forward, banging our heads on the wall. We shuffled on our bums, readjusting ourselves.

“How’re we supposed to work like this?” Tobias demanded.

“That’s the point,” said Shepherd implacably, turning to the next page of his booklet.

I worked steadily for maybe ten minutes and then noticed the sweat trickling down my flanks. I glanced over and saw everyone’s forehead slick with perspiration.

“Hot in here,” said Perry.

“Open a window, would you, Blanchard?” said Bronfman. “And feel free to jump.”

“Bronfman, you smell bad,” Tobias said.

“That’s the sweet smell of success,” the test pilot retorted. “I’m on page twelve, by the way.”

I was only on page eight. My sweaty hand was smearing my answers.

“We’ll run out of air at this rate,” Perry said, just a trace of alarm in his voice. “Is anyone else feeling dizzy?”

I was, but wasn’t about to admit it.

“They’re testing us,” said Shepherd. “They want to see how we cope.”

“This thing’s got to be ventilated,” said Tobias.

As if on cue, there came a loud hiss, and I could feel the tube cooling.

“That’s better,” said Perry.

But it got colder and colder, and before long I was shivering, the sweat icy against my skin. I tried to keep working, but my fingers were growing numb.

A deafening bang against the tube made me drop my pencil. Then came a second bang, and a third, from different parts of the tube. The noise kept up and did not stop. My head rang. I saw Shepherd take the chewing gum from his mouth, break it into two, and stick it in both ears. He kept working.

The banging went on for some time, and after the banging came a high shrieking sound that was even worse. When the shrieking finally stopped, the tube got very hot again, and started swinging back and forth. I was used to the pitch and roll of airships, so the movement didn’t bother me too much, but I saw Perry dragging his hand across his sweaty forehead and looking a bit desperate.

“Yee-haw!” said Bronfman. “This is my kinda ride!”

“Put a cork in it, Bronfman,” said Perry.

“Can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen,” Bronfman said, pumping his legs to make the tube swing higher.

I was worried Perry might take a punch at him, but at that moment the light went out. The tube suddenly seemed much, much smaller.

“Great,” said Tobias. “How’re we supposed to do the blinking questions?”

There was a tiny flare of light, and Chuck Shepherd was holding a slim battery-powered flashlight. Its beam was very small and lit only the page of his own booklet. He kept working.

“You’re a regular Boy Scout, Shepherd,” I said.

“Always prepared,” he said.

“Can you lean that light over here a little, captain?” said Bronfman.

“No can do, lieutenant,” said Shepherd.

There was nothing to do but wait and sweat and try to ignore the ripe smell that was building inside the tube. To my relief, the light came back on after five minutes, the swinging stopped, and we could all get back to work.

“Damn it,” Tobias muttered.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“These math questions. Six pages of them. There’s no way I can do these.”

I was well into that section. Math had never come easily to me. At the Academy I’d struggled at first to master it, but now I mostly got by, and I certainly could handle the questions on this test.

“Just skip ahead,” I told him, and kept working.

I wanted to beat him. I wanted to beat everyone. Shepherd and Bronfman might fly ornithopters, but I bet I’d spent more time aloft than both of them put together. The sky was my domain. And I certainly had more right to the stars than an underwater welder. I realized I was glad Tobias was having trouble—and that made me feel suddenly ugly. I remembered how I’d shoved him out of the way on the obstacle course.

“Here,” I said, looking over. “Maybe I can help.”

I started showing him how to solve some of the problems. Tobias was smart; he’d catch on quickly enough.

“What’s the matter with you, Cruse?”

I looked up to see Shepherd staring at me in disgust.

“You’ve got an edge over him,” the Aeroforce captain told me. “You think you’re gonna get on that spaceship by being a nice guy?”

Bronfman sniffed, as if he couldn’t believe my stupidity.

Head-splitting screeching noises started up inside the tube, and I could feel the temperature drop swiftly. The tube began rotating back and forth in little erratic jerks. It was nearly impossible to read the questions.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” muttered Perry.

“Just holler and Eriksson’ll spring you,” Shepherd said.

“More room for us,” quipped Bronfman. “But I bet you find your name on that bulletin board bright and early.”

“I’ve had just about enough of you, Bronfman,” Perry said.

“Can never have too much of a good thing,” said the test pilot.

“Bronfman,” said Tobias, his teeth chattering, “you’re so full of yourself, I’m surprised you don’t explode.”

“Pipe down, all of you,” said Shepherd. “The sooner you finish, the sooner you get to leave.”

“Maybe there’s a faster way,” I said. I was so cold that I was surprised my brain was still functioning. “There’re five of us. We divide the questions into five, and each does a chunk. We all finish at the same time. We get out sooner.”

“Sounds like cheating to me,” said Bronfman, shivering, but I thought he sounded interested.

“Why’s it cheating?” I said. “All Eriksson said was, when we were done we could come out. He didn’t say we couldn’t work together.”

“They want to see how we fly solo, Cruse,” Shepherd said.

“To hell with that,” Tobias said. “I’m in.”

“Me too,” said Perry.

“What about you, Bronfman?” I asked.

He stole a glance at Shepherd, then shook his head. “Nice try, kid, but I trust my own answers, not yours.”

We divided up the rest of the questions three ways and got to work. The tube swayed and jerked, grew hot and then cold again, and deafened us with its noises, but somehow we managed to finish the booklet. Perry slapped on the metal hull.

“Hey! We’re done in here! Let us out!”

Seconds later the hatch opened and Eriksson looked in. “That was quick. Who’s done?”

“Me, Cruse, and Blanchard,” Perry said.

“Interesting,” said Eriksson, stepping back to make room.

It really did give me an amazing amount of pleasure to crawl over Shepherd and Bronfman on my way out.

“Big mistake, Cruse,” the Aeroforce captain murmured.

“Hey, watch your knees, Cruse!” Bronfman said.

“See you fellows, later,” I said. “We’ll save some dinner for you.”

Day thirteen, the last day of training, and my body was so sore I could barely sit up in bed. My eyes went to the piece of paper on the notice board. I feared my name really would be on it this time. Maybe Shepherd was right, and we’d cheated inside the tube yesterday.

As usual, Bronfman was first to the board. He stared at it so long, I wondered if he saw his own name there.

“Who got the chop today?” Shepherd asked, walking over.

“It’s a death threat,” said Bronfman.

“You’re hilarious, Bronfman,” I said.

“No joke,” he said.

We were all over in a trice. The typed note was very brief.

Quit this dangerous enterprise before disaster befalls you.

The heavens were not made for man.

There was no signature. I felt a chill. Whoever had written this, they knew about the astralnaut program. They knew where our secret training facility was, and they knew how to get inside.

Eriksson strode into our dorm with his clipboard. “Congratulations, gents—no one got cut today. What’s this?”

He saw the note on the board and angrily ripped it down. “Mr. Lunardi’ll want to see this,” he said, and disappeared.

“Who’d write stuff like that?” Tobias asked.

“Babelites,” I said, suddenly sure.

“Who’re they?” Perry asked.