Strontium-90 Read Online Free PDF Page A

axe. Then he rattled his last breath.
    ***
    Later, a weary Kulik emerged from the glacier. He bore mighty bear claws in a pouch. And in his quiver, he carried a double-length arrow. Its name was Blood of the Lurii .
     

Strontium-90
     
    1.
     
    Although he was weightless and feeling sick, CS1 Blake stared at the floating corpse. The open mouth with its protruding tongue and the way miniscule globules of spit floated around it disgusted him.
    Blake turned away, and with his Velcro-soled shoes making tearing -cloth sounds, he walked out of the Captain’s Module. He entered a steel corridor with float rails on the sides and a Velcro rug on the floor.
    Lanky, sandy-haired and rather vacant-eyed, Blake was the computer specialist for the Deng Lo Attackship. He rubbed his hurting forehead before tapping a pad on his neck. He whispered, “The Captain’s dead.”
    “Say again?” Blake heard the tinny voice from the implant embedded in his left ear.
    Blake squeezed his eyes together, trying to will the headache away. He tapped the neck pad again. “I said the Captain’s dead.”
    “Where are you?”
    “Outside the Captain’s Module.”
    “Don’t move.”
    Blake leaned against the bulkhead. He felt no vibration. There hadn’t been any for over two years. Slowly, his headache receded. For some reason it left his mouth tasting cottony.
    “CS1 Blake, please stand at attention.”
    Blake turned. Two men floated toward him along the red-lit corridor. The lead man, the political officer, was small with unhealthy, pockmarked skin and a neat gray mustache. He wore a shabby uniform and stuck a stimstick between his thin lips. The second man was the Deng Lo ’s doctor. He was medium-sized and wore a white smock. He was bald, had pink eyes, never frowned or smiled and had impossibly smooth skin. Blake wasn’t certain, but it was possible the doctor was an android.
    The political officer Velcroed his feet to the carpet and squinted suspiciously at Blake. Red smoke curled from the stimstick to a vent that opened, whirred and sucked the smoke away. The political police—the Pak Dow—never gave out the names of their officers. It had been Chairman Feng’s first dictate.
    “Check the Captain,” the political officer said. With a nod, the doctor floated into the module. The political officer continued to suck on his stimstick and watch Blake.
    Blake’s head throbbed anew. He hated the narcotic smoke but was afraid to say anything about it. It made strange memories swirl, ones that struggled for attention. He was afraid of those memories and always pushed them deeply away.
    The doctor floated back out and said in his dull monotone, “He’s dead all right.”
    The political officer flicked ashes at the vacuuming vent. “Find out how, and please hurry.”
    The doctor disappeared back into the module.
    “CS1 Blake,” the political officer said, “do you realize the Captain was to make his decision today, in less than an hour?”
    Blake’s head began to hurt anew.
    “Two years, Blake. We’ve journeyed two years to let the Captain make his decision.” The political officer’s eyes radiated menace.
    The doctor poked his bald head back out of the door.
    “Well?” asked the political officer.
    “His skull was crushed.”
    “Please tell me how?”
    The doctor pursed his bloodless lips. “I’d say his head was slammed against the computer table five or six times.”
    The political officer closed his eyes as he dragged deeply on his stimstick. “How long has he been dead?” he asked.
    “...Three, four minutes.”
    The political officer looked sharply at Blake. “Did you witness this death?”
    Blake’s headache pierced between his eyes, making him groan in pain.
    “What’s wrong with him?”
    The doctor’s cold fingers probed over Blake’s body. Then a handscanner make its clicks as the doctor waved it over Blake’s head. “He checks out,” the doctor said matter-of-factly.
    “You, CS1 Blake,” the political