A Taste Of Despair (The Humal Sequence) by Robert Taylor Read Free Book Online Page A

up against the hull, there was little discernible curve to the corridor. It would even have dwarfed the Humal station they’d discovered.
    Hamilton had heard of the station before – it was being built years before he had joined Vogerian’s expedition - so he assumed the structure had been completed within the last few years during his prolonged cryo-stasis. He hadn’t expected it to be so big, though. Clearly the Imperial coffers had far too much money in them. A station a quarter the size would have served just as well.
    At the end of the corridor there was another door, which gave onto a kind of reception room. Like the corridor, there were windows that allowed a view outside. An officious looking individual sat behind a curving desk, looking bored. Hamilton ambled over to him, noting the second door in the adjacent wall.
    “Good day to you sir!” The man stated. His voice was cheerful enough, but his eyes said “terminally bored”. “How may I help you?”
    Hamilton smiled at him. “It appears I have been released from isolation. The name’s Hamilton. James Hamilton.”
    The man nodded and consulted a display out of Hamilton’s sight. “Ah yes! Mr. Hamilton. Welcome to Q-section.”
    Hamilton nodded. “What’s the drill?”
    The man punched some keys, then handed Hamilton a key card. “This is a key to your personal quarters. You’ll also need it to access the section’s facilities and obtain food and so on. The section’s rules are simple. Make no trouble and don’t try and leave the section or enter the rest of the station. If you break any of those rules, you’ll end up back in isolation. Understood?”
    Hamilton nodded. “Like crystal.”
    “Good. Then I wish you a pleasant stay and I hope you’ll be released completely as soon as possible.”
    “Gee! Thanks.” Hamilton said, injecting what he hoped was the right amount of sarcasm into his voice.
    “Any questions?” Either the man was used to it, or the sarcasm had gone right over his head.
    “I think I can take it from here.” Hamilton told him.
    The corner of the man’s mouth twitched.
    Got you that time!
    “Then by all means, make your way through.” There was no cheerfulness in the man’s tone now.
    Hamilton took his new card and went over to the second door. As expected, it had a slot to one side. Hamilton pressed his card into it and the door slid open silently.
    The corridor that led off was carpeted, at least, unlike the purely functional ones he’d walked along so far. A four-way intersection was just ahead, so he walked up to it, passing doors on either side labeled medical and gymnasium . Further signs to the left and right told him that guest quarters and other facilities lay in those directions. He was interested in the straight ahead route, though, for the simple reason that he could hear talking and laughter coming from it. The sign above the corridor read lounge area .
    There was no door to the lounge area. The corridor just opened straight into it. A variety of tables, chairs, comfortable benches and little alcoves dotted the place. It was designed to be all things to everyone. A utilitarian mess area, a quiet drinking hole, a comfortable relaxing zone. It all depended on where you sat.
    The area was well occupied. Hamilton saw most of the dozen or so people he’d gone into cryo with. He also saw a number of the crewmen from the Ulysses . Most of them seemed content to keep to themselves, but a handful were sitting amongst Hamilton’s companions, chatting amiably.
    Jones spotted him first and raised a shout. Soon, Hamilton found himself surrounded by his companions, each asking what he had said, how the interviews went and so on. All of his former crewmates were there with the exceptions of McDonald, Lewis and the Morebaeus survivor, King. Hamilton knew McDonald was dead from his conversation with Rames and King was little more than brain-dead after so long in the old cryo-tubes. It was no surprise that they