Hell on Earth Read Online Free Page B

neck like rotten cord-wood, how the auxiliary chain that gave thecar acceleration had a lot of extra strain on it for an eight-loop ride.
    As I started up the first hill of the new ride, I thought about what I’d learned. I didn’t know it was all bogus crap made up to impress a ten-year-old.
    The first loop, I worried about centrifugal force snapping my neck; the second loop, I sweated over velocity tearing me out of my seat; the third loop, I fixated on the damned chain coming loose; and the fourth loop was reserved for a ten-year-old having ulcers over the gears stripping. And then I threw up—not a good thing to do when you’re upside down.
    I wonder if that bastard ever knew what damage his misinformation caused?
    As I grew up, I learned how real knowledge could banish fear. You play the odds. You focus on the job at hand. You don’t want to mess up. The childhood trauma was behind me . . . until it came back now on Deimos as I tried to grab a little sleep. Instead of rest, I was back on that eight-loop metal monster, and now it turned into the arms and legs of a steam-demon. When the creature screamed at me and raised its missile arm, I would always wake up; so I didn’t even have the pleasure of fighting or dying.
    I didn’t worry about my stupid dreams, though. It sure beat fighting the real thing. Besides, I was getting off easy compared to Arlene.
    I knew things were bad when I tried to wake her up and she stared with unblinking eyes, not seeing a damned thing. I realized she was still asleep. I’d read somewhere that it’s risky to wake a person from a trance state, and I didn’t require medical training to know Arlene was Somnambulist City.
    There wasn’t time to go hunting for a medical library. A quick check of medical supplies produced a Law Book, wedged between the surgical bandages andantibiotics. I had to laugh. A text on medical malpractice had made it all the way to a Martian moon, and now, by way of a hyperspace tunnel, had almost returned to Earth.
    I wasn’t laughing as I returned to Arlene. She walked in her sleep, striking at the air in front of her. “Get away,” she said to phantoms only she could see. “I won’t leave you. I’ll stay, I’ll stay!”

5
    I f I shouldn’t wake her, there seemed no reason I shouldn’t try to communicate. “Arlene, can you hear me?”
    â€œQuiet,” she said, “I don’t want Fly to hear you. He’s depending on me.”
    â€œWhy don’t you want him to know about me?” I asked.
    â€œBecause you’re evil,” she said with conviction. “You’re all evil, you bastards.”
    She walked slowly down the corridor. So long as she wasn’t in danger of hurting herself, I saw no reason to shock her out of it. “Why are we bad?”
    â€œYou scare me. You make my brother do bad things!”
    Up to that point I did not know that Arlene even had a brother.
    It was weird—I thought we’d known everythingabout each other’s family life. She talked about her parents and growing up in Los Angeles all the time. I was uncomfortable pursuing the matter, but I rationalized away my moral qualms and decided to play out the hand. “Who are we?” I asked again.
    She swayed drunkenly, delivering a monologue like those weird, old plays from previous centuries. “Bad things in the air, in the night, making my brother crazy. He’d never do bad things except for you. I thought I’d never see you again . . . Why’d you follow me into space, to Mars, to Deimos? When I grew up, I thought you weren’t real, but now I know better. You followed me, but I won’t let you get inside me; not inside!”
    When Arlene had kidded me about going down memory lane, I took it in good humor. But if we were going to have to relive all the bad stuff from our childhood as the air leaked away, I was good and ready