The lights dimmed for a second.
Cano didn't react until he was done fusing the channel. Then he leaned back and shut off the plasma flow.
He was getting tired of the power glitches. And he was hungry.
Chewing on a pro-log, he looked over the diagnostic results again. There was nothing new -
He laughed at the thought, and started to choke. Nothing new. Ten months of Chiang, and dead space. This was their third surveying trip, and they were at that point where they were sick of the very sight of each other.
Cano knew how to ride out the boredom - you had to be pretty introverted to be a mapper - but he sorta wished something unusual would happen.
He finished that channel, and then it hit him. Crew-watch. Always running, right? So he sat down at the buttons and asked more questions.
Serious chip access. That was weird.
Rolling his eyes, he signalled Chiang.
The other guy had pretty much taken over the escape pod. Cano knew he had a crude matter-maker in there. Chiang liked to cook. A little risky, but when he hung out in the 'pod it put a lot of space between him and Cano. They'd gotten through the first two trips okay.
"What?," Chiang yawned - the first word he'd said to Cano all day.
"Hello to you, too. Crew-watch is really busy."
"Uh-huh." Cano heard him tapping buttons. "Wow."
"Yeah."
Chiang didn't answer, and Cano hadn't expected him to. They both got busy...
The bowl of green cubes had an aroma that was almost powerful enough to make the sensors wail.
"Grit," Cano gasped. Like most spacers, he was used to a bland diet. Fewer problems that way.
Chiang laughed. "You like?" He watched Cano gulp water.
"Whoooh. Well... yeah. The flavor is good. There's just, oh, twenty times too much flavor."
"Too hot for you."
"No."
His co-mapper nodded. "They used to say a food was 'hot' when it was too intensely flavored. Spicy."
Cano just stared at him.
"Never mind -"
"I don't see why you find that ancient history grit so fascinating."
They looked at each other. Recognizing the same old argument that was just dying to be resumed, they resisted it.
"So... hardware okay?"
"Uh, yeah," Cano said gratefully. "End-to-end."
"Thought so. That settles it, then."
"What?"
"Look at this," Chiang said, swiveling to a button-board. He sent the same data to the panel behind Cano. "It's not Crew-watch. Another task... watching it."
Cano looked. "This one? 2781?"
"2781."
"Si." He punched up the file-store. "You didn't start this thing?"
"No," Chiang said. "You?"
Cano shook his head.
It was monitoring the program that monitored them. The entire medical database had been accessed, and the trip histories... As they watched, it continued opening information about the hardware.
"When did this thing start?," Cano murmured, punching up the answer. Nineteen hours ago. He'd been asleep -
"The false alarm?," Chiang said... and he whistled.
There had been a bleep. Cano woke up immediately. If they hit a meteorite that massed more than three grams, the ship let them know. It wasn't all that unusual. No damage was detected.
Retracing their course, they stared at a map with the collision-point in the center.
"Huh," Cano said.
"Nothing..." Chiang worked the buttons. The map swiveled in all directions. "A trace more gravity, there. I thought..." He punched the zoom out.
A small star-system.
"Too far away," Chiang said immediately.
"Yeah," Cano said, and pulled up the history. A science team had investigated it two years ago. Four planets, one with potential - cold, alkaline rain, mineral-poor. Cano thought of the planet-checkers he knew, and was pretty sure they didn't work up a sweat as they investigated it. Not the most thorough guys, once they made up their mind about a place.
"Too far."
"I know." He pushed buttons anyway. "We were... That's weird. The alarm went off right after we passed the closest... to the good-looking rock, there."
"Stray iron," Chiang decided. "Just hanging around for millenia, waiting for us to fly into it."
Cano thought it over. "Full diagnostics -"
"No. Unnecessary -"
"So we're a few days early. Let's do month-start now."
Chiang scowled at him. "Al-right."
Nothing abnormal was found.
"Maybe the Corp slipped us another sys-test?"
"Cano. Once again, I'm just a few steps ahead of you..." Chiang smiled.
"No, huh?"
"They always give themselves away. Markers, so they can find the data without having to scan everything. Whatever this is... it wasn't planned by the Corp techies."
"Then what?"
"I don't know." They thought for a minute.
"Some program is reading through the files -"
"So?," Chiang asked.
Cano held up a hand irritably. "And we didn't start it. But nothing else is affected."
"Apparently not."
"And you don't find this disturbing."
"Trust your diags," Chiang said. It was an old spacer rule. "What is this? I'm the paranoid one, here."
"Yeah," Cano grinned. "All those old stories you read."
"Alien intruder? That's what you're afraid of?"
He had to stop and think about those words, together. They were archaic. "I want to rule it out..."
The hour-bleep sounded.
"Cano," the ship-brain called.
"Yeah?"
"Exercise."
He blinked. It was right - he hadn't done his early exercises today. Double-slot, then.
Not that he cared. After the first month, it was easy to nod off in the exerciser.
It was like a bed, molded somewhat to fit a guy's backside. Rollers crawled around, delivering precise bursts of current to contract all the muscle groups. It left his sensual areas alone. Spotels usually had kinkier versions availble for rent - sexercisers - but it was rude to squirt off inside it when guys had to share one. The escape pod had an older load-resistance system...
Despite the vague worry about 'Crew-watch-watcher', or whatever it was, he fell asleep before too long.
And Cano had some bizarre dreams.
First, the exerciser's wheels seemed to have gone into slow motion. He didn't know how many circuits they did. And they were brushing his cock, sometimes. That usually meant he'd rolled halfway over, and gotten in their way. But he felt the warm lasatate under his butt...
There were wheels under him, of course. But there was something odd going on. The little electrical shocks... he noticed them, sometimes. After five years of spacing - six years of using exercisers - that didn't make sense. After a few thousand workouts, why would he even be aware of the current now? Maybe he was coming down with something.
Then it seemed like he slept for a while. And the wheels were rolling... but they didn't move around much. Concentrating on his chest. His feet. Adaptive technology, he remembered - but why his feet? Extra strengthening for the bones and muscles down there, but he hadn't injured them. And not both feet.
And worse, the current didn't shut off. The miniature jolts came more often, and eventally the juice was just on all the time. Very low current. In his amrpits, over his heels.
Trails of stimulation. He couldn't stand it. Gentle... and excruciating, somehow -
He yelled himself awake. A weird yell...
Cano looked around. The rollers had retracted, just like they were supposed to.
But his chest hurt. Inside. Slowly, he rolled out of the exerciser. Getting some water, he glanced at a clock -
Almost four hours had gone by.
Chiang yawned at him. "I didn't hear anything. Ship-brain says you didn't yell once."
"It's wrong. Altered -"
"You are paranoid."
"231 minutes?," Cano snapped - again. "Should've been sixty."
"Adaptive," Chiang said. "People who need more, get more. All day, ev-"
"Yeah, if they're recovering from surgery..."
"Unit-diagnostic?"
"All clear," Cano sighed, really angry to say it.
He'd already irradiated it, so it was clean. Chiang sat right down. "I'll do a slot, and you can trace everything it does."
"Okay. Uh, thanks." He set up every ghosting program he could think of.
Nestling into the indented pad, Chiang punched for a half-hour and got settled. The rollers emerged and started travelling down his limbs, and up again.
"Grit," Cano swore quietly. He'd found nothing unusual.
"Guess it likes you."
"Real funny, Chiang."
"Look. It's just transient inner-ship stuff. Self-verification goes on al-"
"I know that," Cano barked.
"Yeah. Huh... If it's any consolation, you did the right thing. Unless you got some weird atrophy thing going on, it should have stopped exercising after an hour. Two, at most."
"Just... Keep your eyes open," he said helplessly. "As a favor to me."
"You got it," Chiang said, turning to leave. His facial expression looked weird, to Cano, as he went back to the pod...
Cano went to the dormlet... and slept for ten hours.
Chiang was at the console.
"I thought you could use it," he said, watching the display.
Annoyed - and grateful - Cano went to the matter-maker. "Pro-log, kheez, two. Water, bag, liter."
A pair of orange rectangles and a clear sac appeared on the tray. They looked the same as always, but an idea came to him.
"Chiang," he said, "look at the matter-maker logs again."
Buttons were clicked... "Yes. Unfortunately, that is what you ordered."
"I mean, big things. The tool-maker. That would take some power."
"Well, yeah. But it hasn't been used since... nine days ago. You made that casing -"
"It was a heat-shield," he said automatically. "Nothing since?"
"No. And... give me a second... The backups all agree."
Cano sighed. "I'm going to figure it out."
"You do that," Chiang said.
"It's my shift, right?"
"Uh-huh." He didn't move.
"So -"
"Well... Sorry, guy, but you're due for exercise. I already did mine, before you got up."
They looked at each other. Exercise was important, unless they wanted to stay in free-fall permanently, unable to survive even a weak gravity well.
"Would you... uh..."
"I'll cover," Chiang said. Meaning, he'd be right there in the room, if something unusual happened. "Go ahead."
The exerciser behaved itself perfectly.
When Chiang floated off to the pod, his face was carefully neutral.
Cano sat at the console, and checked everything he could think of.
Halfway through his usual shift, he kicked off and went to the waster. Whatever was going on with the ship, he didn't have to add constipation to his worries.
Floating back to a console, he checked on Chiang again. Fast asleep. It would be a good five or six hours until he started moving around.
Cano started to turn - and his klingshoe came off.
He looked at it, spinning away from him. Very slowly. It had never happened before...
The whole point of klingshoes was to anchor you to the klingstrips. They were designed to not just... fall off. Cano reached for the other one -
Something pulled at it, right before his fingers arrived. His leg was jerked down, throwing him into a tumble-spin. Worried, he slung himself into the high arc of the turn so he could reach the ceiling and get stable. "Chiang!"
"Overruled," the ship said.
"What?"
"Audio has been turned off."
Cano grabbed a ceiling-loop and flattened himself against it, panting. He wasn't tired. For some reason, he was... afraid. "Redbluered, get Chiang! Wake him up now!"
"Redbluered. Priority com-" The ship's voice clicked. "Overruled."
"Ship-brain -"
"The pod has been sealed."
That was when the matter-maker came on.
Cano stared at it. Quickly, his training flashed through his mind. Secure the console. If not possible, get to the pod. If the pod is sealed, lock yourself in the dormlet and get a help-me transmitted -
Then he saw what was in the output tray.
They were... moving.
A shiny black glove floated out. And another. They didn't drift up, like unsecured objects would in free-fall. They were coming right to him. Being carried -
The matter-maker started another cycle, but Cano was already in motion. Yelling for Chiang, and crawling for the entry hatch.
That was when the gloves grabbed his ankles.
They looked full, as if they were pulled over streamlined hands. Strong fingers. Cano bucked and got a death-grip on the ceiling strap. That gave him leverage to kick -
Another pair of gloves arrived - and clamped around his ribs.
Those fingers started to move around. Rubbing, squeezing.
Cano threw himself around and yelled even louder. Impossible. Another nightmare. That had to be it. And part of his brain confirmed a different, frightening thought - yes, they were made of lasatate. Soft, and slippery. Durable. The exerciser was lined with it. And, he realized, it was the best material onboard for...
He started to laugh. No. Oh, no. This just couldn't b-
Something pulled at his fingers. He looked - and gloves were there, breaking his grip.
Their companions slid up from his ribs, into his armpits... No, no, no, stop it -
He wailed once and started cackling. Serious, ragged laughter. Gotta reach the console...
More of the torturous gloves took hold of his forearms. They lowered him a little. The attacking fingers disappeared... and Cano was so incredibly relieved. He caught his breath.
Gloves kept him halfway between the ceiling and the console. His movements were contained, so he couldn't "swim" up or down in the zero-gee and push off something. Apparently, his captors understood that much.
The matter-maker completed cycle after cycle.
"S-ship-brain," he croaked.
"Ready."
"I am in danger. You must get Chiang in here."
"Overruled. The pod is sealed. You are in no danger."
"Incorrect!," he shouted. "No one can overrule a redbluered-"
"Kitix has overruled the redbluered."
That got him. "Who's Kitix?"
"Senior crew member Kitix."
"No! There's two of us here. Chiang's the senior mem-"
The ship pitched forward. Hard. An explosion boomed and echoed.
He tried to dart for the console, but the gloves held him tight.
"Pod away," the ship-brain said.
"No!"
"Affirmative -"
"Elaborate," Cano whispered.
"Escape pod has been launched successfully. Narcotic regimen administered to former crew member Chiang to alleviate sudden acceleration. All vital signs are within acceptable range. Atmosphere, acceptable -"
"Chase the pod. He'll starve!"
"Overruled," the ship said. "Course plotted to Whitedot Station. Fuel and air are sufficient. The pod storage compartment was supplemented with two additional matter-makers, fifty kilograms of pro-logs and ninety liters of water."
"By whose order?" But he knew the answer.
"Senior crew member Kitix."
There were more gloves around him than he could count. Two of them started to unkling his crew-pants.
"There is no senior member... Kitix," Cano said. "If the pod's gone, I'm senior -"
"Overruled. Command has been assumed by senior m-"
"I know," he yelled. "When?"
"Twenty-six hours ago."
"Are we in radio contact? With anybody?"
"Negative."
"Then who gave the order? Putting it in command?"
"Senior crew member Kitix."
The gloves started lowering him... to the exerciser.
"Aw, no," Cano whined, flopping around. "No!"
"Overruled."
"How is this happening?"
There was a pause. "Summary assembled. Primary reference, personnel file of crew member Cano, psychoscience evaluation, Section three. Subsection title, 'prior trauma'. At age fifteen, report of an abduction by the Sounderationism anticult, duration unknown..."
He closed his eyes. This absolutely, definitely could not be happening. Okay, then -
His butt landed on the exerciser.
"Secondary ref-"
"Hold," he said quickly. "Who accessed my personnel file?"
"Senior crew member Kitix."
"Did Chiang ever access my personnel file?"
"Negative."
He tried to take that as a good sign. "Continue summary."
"Secondary reference," the ship said, "a data file from the private collection of former crew member Chiang, titled 'Apocalyptic Sex Play', volume fifteen, chapter nine. Subsection title, 'Sounderation'."
"No," Cano said wearily.
"Affirmative. The practice of Sounderation - the prolonged tickling of a person who is reactive and unwilling - was outlawed in all Collective cultures during the centuries fol-"
"I know what it is," he snapped. "What is 'tickling'?"
"Terran, noun, to touch a body part so as to excite the surface nerves and cause laughter and spasmodic movements -"
"Enough." Same thing, he decided. One was more intense than the other. Or went on longer. The distinction was important - he felt that, without knowing why.
But he thought about that bad half-year, and looked at all the gloves. Panic flared up, and he forgot what he was thinking about. Cano couldn't stand this. He'd rather go out the airlock. He hadn't been... touched, like that, in nine years. Except in his nightmares. But now - with all the lasatate gloves holding him... and more being made, for only one reason -
"You can't do this," he begged. "Kitix. Whatever you are. Please..."
"Course change has been initiated," the ship-brain announced. "Planet C28483... new alias Canoticklelock. Speed point-oh-two."
He groaned. It would take months at that speed... If he could just get to the console. Program-dump, just four buttons -
Cano - tickle... lock?
Gloves carefully pinned his legs and arms. And then -
"Noooooooooooowhaaaah haah haaah hoh aaah haaah haaaah haaaaa..."
The fingers explored his large, hypersensitive feet.
Cano woke up. His relief was enormous -
Until he opened his eyes.
The console... was gone.
So were the radios.
Automatically, he tried to get up - but smart-straps held him to the exerciser. He could remember squinting up at his wrists, roaring with laughter, as the straps floated around and around, activating and tightening just enough.
A worklight clicked on.
Where the far end of the console used to be, Cano saw... thick rectangles, attached to an alloy framework. Four oval holes. Pads. He decided it was a bizarre chair -
The worklight swiveled.
Racks. Their purpose was clear enough. Attachment-points. The gloves could hang him up at any angle, and run their fingers over his entire body.
"Ship-brain," he whispered. His voice was worn out from laughing...
"Ready."
"Help me."
"Overruled."
Three pro-logs floated over to him.
A couple liters of water were next. Along with them, a dozen pills. After some thought, he decided he didn't want to know what they were.
"Where is Chiang? Ship?"
"Former crew member Chiang is alert and in excellent health, at last report. The escape pod is on an intercept course with Whitedot Station."
"How long?"
"Estimated arrival in sixty-four days."
"Good." He pulled at the straps. "If you won't help me, he will."
"Elaborate."
"I need them to come and rescue me -"
"Overruled. Quarantine has been requested, but not confirmed, for the destination of this vessel."
Cano froze. "Elaborate."
"Escape pod has recorded data concerning the destruction of survey craft 1618901, due to an intermittent thermomagnetic anomaly in the Canoticklelock star-system."
He looked around the ship. "Destruction? We're in the survey craft."
"Negative."
"Ship -"
"Crew members Kitix and Cano are in delivery craft Canohowlbox."
"Howl... box." He found it hard to swallow.
"Canohowlbox."
"Listen. Kitix is not a crew member. Kitix has lied to you. And you are permitting it to torture me. I'm getting, uh... sounderated."
"Reference to 'torture' is overruled. The primary responsibility of crew member Cano is to experience tickling. Reference to 'sounderated' is erroneous."
"It is not!"
"Crew member Cano has not been sounderated. Sounderation is not permitted under Collective regulations."
He slammed his head on the soft padding. "I'm telling you -"
"Overruled. Crew member Cano is being tickled."
"Same thing -"
"Negative. The definition of tickling has been modified."
"You can't just change... oh. Grit. What is it now, ship? Define tickling."
The response was immediate. "Canoticklelockan, noun, to stimulate the surface nerves and deep tissues of crew member Cano as frequently, intensely and for the longest duration possible."
The waste-tube was placed around his cock, and it inflated -
But sounderation was illegal. Unless... "Define sounderation."
"Canoticklelockan, noun, the absence of tickling."
Fresh new gloves started landing on him.
Cano began squirming again. He laughed at the ceiling - silently. Concentrating as hard as he could, he barked out one more word: "Ship!"
"Reuuurrrrff...," and the voice faded away. He heard it go, and then there was only the sliding noises the gloves made on his skin.
After an hour or so, it hit him - what that sound was. That distinctive fade, as if the ship-brain had run out of power. He'd heard that before, during deep-maintenance. The ship made a noise just like that when the audio-command chip was removed. Pulled out.
And the ship-brain could no longer hear him.
Cano shook his head, weakly, and laughed even harder.
It was impossible for him to adapt.
Every minute that wasn't devoted to eating, drinking water or catching his breath... was full of careful tickling.
Cargo-nets were hung all around the walls of the console-room. They were filled with gloves. New furniture came and went, and he went to it... and came. Surfaces and textures were constantly being tested.
The matter-maker produced dozens of lubricants and specialized tools.
One of the few things Cano thoroughly understood was that the tickling was getting more and more... effective. Every few days, he had some kind of drastic reaction - a minor seizure, perhaps. They didn't hurt, really. Scared him a little. But they passed quickly enough, and he noticed no damage.
Quite the opposite. After Cano felt the convulsions pass, he was fully alert. Strong, and clear. So when the gloves started tickling again... slow, delicate teasing... it seemed to him that he had never really known was it was like before. It had happened more times than he could count. The current level of sensation made every prior memory... vague and fuzzy.
Another day came.
Always.
For a long time, he was paralyzed with laughter whenever the air scrubber was turned up all the way. The faint breeze over his skin made him delirious - and then the tools were put to use.
Each day, every day, the fingers moved and stroked for hours.
More and more often, he was floating.
Cano's wrists were behind his back. His knees were bent a little... and every attempt to kick pulled his arms. Smart-strapped together.
His head was facing the viewportal. But he hadn't opened his eyes in a few hours.
Cano hadn't laughed in many days. It had become too much of a distraction. Just as the ship-brain had said, the last day it talked to him, he had a job to do. And he had been doing it, continuously.
The day's twitching and shaking had been tickled out of him. He hung there, sweating freely, not moving at all. The air scrubber kicked out a low, steady stream in front of him, moving the carbon dioxide away. The viewportal revealed thousands of stars...
Restrained, completely relaxed, he concentrated on the effects of the countless fingers, and tools for which he had no name.
After many more days, one star began to grow larger.
Cano squirmed in the grip of customized appliances...
Then a moment came when the soft fingers pressed on his eyelids. Gently getting his attention.
He blinked many times, and tried to move. The straps blocked him.
After another minute of stroking, he tried to focus...
The viewportal.
A dark-green planet. Quite close.
Another day or two, and the ship would enter the atmosphere.
He stared at Canoticklelock, his destination. The quarantine would have gone into effect months ago. Enforcement of the quarantine would take a while longer - there were hundreds of quarantined systems. All sentient beings were warned not to approach...
And how long would it be until they returned?
He'd go on fulfilling his primary responsibility. That was clear.
It made no sense that Kitix would go to all this trouble just to continue tickling him... but it did. There had to be some reason. Simple enjoyment, perhaps.
Cano was past trying to understand anything. He knew what was expected of him. Nearly all of his waking hours, he was forced to focus on the tickling. That wouldn't change when the ship landed. He knew that.
He had enough to do already, without trying to imagine what the future would be like. All he could do - all he had to do was his job.
The new assignment. Permanent.
On the rock named after him.
05may2002