Heritage Lost

by S M Wright

  "No matter what ship you pilot, Mina, it will have a Magistrate registration, marking you as a target." She tapped a finger against the sensor console. "Into the fire, my instructor would say. Our situation could be worse."

  Mina pursed her lips and stared ahead as if expecting the enemy ship to materialize in front of them. Beads of sweat lined her brow, and they still had a ways to go. Katya cut the communications system. While often ill-equipped, there were no guarantees that this Plasovern vessel wouldn't have instruments capable of picking up frequencies from Magistrate communications consoles.

  They crept on. The enemy vessel, meanwhile, remained an immobile fixture on the screen. Were they waiting for something?

  Flipping communications back on, she rotated between frequencies.

  Mina hissed a question, but it went ignored.

  What were they after? A freighter? Cargo, maybe? Most frequencies were silent. This far out, not many ships would be sending out unencrypted calls; conversely, this far into Magistrate space, the Plasovern crew would likely be following strict silence. Frequency followed frequency.

  "What are you doing?" Mina asked in a strident whisper, her attention wavering from her navigation console.

  "Pay attention—"

  A black command bar flashed across the communications console's screen at its center a white box waited for a passcode.

  "Feeling naughty?" Valens's conspiratorial, rakish tone cut through the ether. She recalled the tattered paper being slid toward her, facedown. His smirk, the way his blue eyes gleamed. "Type this in sometime . . . you'd be surprised where it gets you. Pays to have friends in the upper echelons, aye, Cassius?"

  The passcode might not be live anymore, much like its handl—she couldn’t finish the thought; instead, she typed nine numbers and three letters into the passcode box.

  PING! It engulfed the cockpit. Mina jerked at the sound, her face becoming more ashen. 969.021. Why hadn't she minded the frequency number? If Magistrate technicians ever found it on their communications system’s records . . . Restricted was restricted, and only the most foolhardy would eavesdrop on private frequencies allotted to the Magistrate's elite military forces. More mechanical clicks followed, eerily echoing, as a code was ticked out. Long, short, shifts in tone—

  "What's that?" Mina asked.

  She shook her head, tuning out everything else. The code proved unrecognizable; it definitely wasn't taught at the academy. Then it stopped. A deep animalistic scream shattered the silence. Her hands collided with her ears to preserve her eardrums. It, whatever the creature was, shifted octaves, going higher, then lower, gruffer. A pause. The mechanical beeps and clicks returned, followed by a shrill bray. Katya flinched. It reverberated against the metal walls of the cockpit, chilling her. The beast stopped. The beeps resumed and lasted several minutes before the frequency went dormant.

  "Can they trace us?"

  Possibly. Class-A warships, run by Elites, had the tech to do so if they had reason to guard the transmission; first, they'd trace the passcode back to a dead man. That'd only leave them scratching their heads for a short time before pursuing it the rest of the way, to The Maelstrom.

  The beeps picked up. The creature then rumbled a response. Silence. Katya shut off the communications console. Blip. The purple dot expanded, and then the spot it had inhabited on the sensor screen went blank.

  She blinked. "They dumped waste and jumped."

  "What's going on?" Mina squawked.

  Nothing appeared on the sensor. So they'd jumped for good. Was a Magistrate ship on its way? Katya sank back into her chair. Her father might have recognized the clicks and squeals; he excelled with languages and would have been tickled pink to connect it to a species, a culture. She'd never had that gift, barely acquiring the two languages required at the academy.

  "That was an Elite frequency. They're nearby." Mina opened her mouth, but Katya refused to be interrupted. "Keep going in the direction we were headed. We'll correct as needed."

  "What if they traced us?"

  Katya stretched their sensors’ range but pulled in no other vessels. "We’ll deal with that if we need to."

  "They sounded like monsters."

  Elites often were, but the girl didn't need that perception reinforced.

  An orange-colored message darted across the viewscreen. "Mina, slow down."

  The teen's hands flattened on the panel. "Now what?!"

  "A Magistrate detour probe." The corner of her lips dipped further when accessing the probe's data via the sensor console brought nothing. "The path isn't clearly marked." The absence of additional probes was strange as well.

  Reaching for a slate she had left at the workbench, Katya inserted the route number to access previous Magistrate work. The last had been more than a month ago: border security measures. No other ships were listed in the area, presently or in the near past. She left her seat and approached Mina and the main navigation console. Pressing two of her fingers against its smooth surface, she magnified the area. No alternative lanes stood out to her. Perhaps it'd been forgotten by the work detail.

  “Go around," Katya said. "I’ll monitor.”

  Mina did as instructed. As they went, Katya lost all sense of time, remaining focused on the navigation system and sensors, monitoring for space debris or any other signs of trouble. Tingles passed under the skin of her arms and legs, her muscles tight coils waiting to spring into action.

  A faint reading pulsated on the screen. A blue aura barely stood out against the black background. It held no definite shape or text that marked its make or status, though the blue suggested it was Magistrate. In the pit of her stomach, a knot formed. She’d seen this type of aura before and associated it with dying ships. Katya pumped her fisted hands. It was blue, the only blue on the screen besides her own ship's signature. She clenched her eyelids shut. Duty beckoned.

  “I’ll take over.”

  Mina glanced over at her, uncomprehending until she noticed what loomed on the fringe of the navigation console’s screen. “What's that?”

  Katya slid into the pilot seat as Mina assumed her role at the other console.

  “I'm not sure. But we’re checking it out.” And while Katya embraced hands-on learning, when it came to unknowns, she preferred control.

  Mina gaped at her. “Why?”

  "It's Magistrate, and it's having trouble. Rein and I wear the uniform. If we can help them before life support goes, we have to." Katya increased their speed, the Boita shuddering a complaint through the console's metal. "Whatever it is, it's not conveying credentials, which suggests it's on minimum power—that's when you stop with pleasantries and drop everything into life support and communications."

  "Couldn't we com them?"

  "Search the frequencies for distress calls, but don't break our silence. There's no telling where that Plasovern ship went. The Elites could be on their way, or they could be hunting that ship. All the same, we'll check things out and provide what aid we can."

  Redirecting their course, Katya became absorbed with the chatter of the communications console. Absently, she ran her fingers along the lever controlling the solar sails. Ten minutes to return them, her mind chanted. A lot could happen in that time span. Plasovern loved setting traps, and they could be entering one right now.

  As minutes rolled by, it would only be a matter of time before Rein got antsy and returned to the cockpit to voice his opposition.

  "It's coming up in twenty minutes," Mina said.

  Those minutes dragged. Katya counted in her head, her hand tightening on the solar sails' lever. She decreased The Maelstrom's speed. Then one notch down, followed by two more until the sails collapsed. Ahead on the front viewscreen, a silhouette loomed, only distinguishable from space and the nebula behind it—the Nag’s Head, according to the charts—by a faint metallic gleam. She retracted the sails into their metal compartments and activated the reverse thrusters, which brought them to a crawl.

  Her breaths grew shall
ower.

  An A-Class warship stretched a good distance before them, dwarfing their vessel. Flickers of electric sparks covered its entire starboard side. Katya swallowed against her tightening throat. Who was even capable of this? She lifted The Maelstrom's nose and used the forward thrusters until they ran alongside the battered warship, its ravaged surface filling the viewscreen. With a few bursts of the reverse thrusters, Katya hovered over its serial number, visible though scarred.

  "Mina, run the number in my slate. It'll give us the name and what we're dealing with, plus their frequency." She already knew it was an Elite ship—they didn't hand out A-Class warships to just anyone.

  She piloted their vessel farther down its length. A large chunk had been blown off the upper levels. A flickering energy shield prevented catastrophe for those inside; however, Katya suspected some radiation had leaked in despite safety measures.

  She flinched when the hatch behind her opened and Rein entered.

  His jaw went slack, creating a gap between his lips. "Wh-what is that?!"

  Katya edged away from the crippled warship. "Mina?"

  "Search is still running."

  She reactivated the thrusters. The landing dock, at least one of them, wouldn’t be far. Katya searched the exterior for an undamaged docking cluster.

  Rein's hand landed on her shoulder. "What are you doing?"

  "Finding a docking cluster."

  His grip compressed, making Katya cringe and shift in her seat.

  "It's our duty, Rein. We help our own."

  "That's an Elite ship!"

  "Their signal isn't working." She wrenched her shoulder away from him. "We're required to provide aid. The next time we stop for maintenance, our navigation system will show that we were here and did nothing.”

  Katya tempered their speed. Arriving at her mark, she popped the clamp and rooted them in place.

  "We'll radio the location. No one would blame us for not entering an Elite ship. We can't do anything for them. Our ship is too small, and we only have enough supplies for ourselves. They'll overwhelm us, take what they want, and we can't stop them."

  "G-guys." Mina cleared her throat, attempting to hide the quiver in her voice. "It's Oneiroi. The ship’s called Aletheia. According to this, it's supposed to be en route to Meracus Domus on a delivery order. No cargo listed."

  Could the cargo have been explosive?

  Katya dismissed the notion. The damage had been caused from the outside. Standing, she said, "I'm surprised that much is listed. Mina, try to get them on the communications system."

  Her charge followed her instruction but received no response beyond static. Katya ran her hands against her uniform front, hitting every gold button. More static. Her chest tightened. "Mina, keep a close eye on the sensors. If anything shows up, alert us immediately. Rein and I will make contact."

  "Oh, oh no—we're not going on that ship!" he shouted as he chased her through the doorway like a Mramorian badger. Thankfully, he was more bark than a real one.

  Beating a steady path along the catwalk before sliding down the ladder, Katya stayed in front of him, though he remained at her heels. His mouth never paused in its ravings. Then he caught her, forcing her to stop or lose all balance when he clasped her upper arm.

  She spun on him, his nails digging into flesh, the top of his hand brushing against her breast.

  "Don't ever," she snapped, pushing his hands from her. "Touch me. Again. Or I will make you bleed."

  He blinked but relented, dropping his hands to his sides. This allowed Katya the opportunity to restore an appropriate distance between them. She straightened her uniform jacket, her glower never leaving him. They'd grown too lax in the time since Reznic. Far too lax.

  "I am your CO. I am ordering you to aid our fellow soldiers. Is that clear?"

  "Think for a moment." Rein ran his hands through his hair. "They may be on our side. But sometimes those on your side can’t be trusted.” His tone grew bitter as he scrunched up his mouth. “They're Oneiroi, capable of messing with our minds. We find a relay signal, and we report the location. That's the best we can do." After she continued down the ladder and toward the docking attachment, he shouted, "Listen to me!"

  "I have. We will do our duty." Katya didn't pause in her even stride. "Suit up and prepare to go through the decontamination and pressure chamber."

  In the prep room outside the chamber and docking attachment, Katya went on one side of the lockers, Rein to the other. With a split crew, she had rearranged it that way, allowing for privacy. The last thing she needed was Rein ogling her stripped-down form; it was bad enough that he did it when she was fully clothed.

  Tugging her service pistol out of its holster, Katya set it on a bench. The Avitus MP-13, nicknamed The Preserver through a lengthy service, carried a full charge, ready for action. Yanking off her stiff uniform jacket, she tossed it aside. From one locker, she withdrew her spacesuit and tugged it on over her pants, regretting not having retrieved fatigues from her quarters. At least the suit, standard Magistrate-issued, didn't cut into her skin. Despite its three layers of tough material—designed to lessen radiation exposure for a time and prevent punctures from forming—it proved comfortable, and its interior climate control features kept the temperature bearable. Grabbing her helmet, she fastened it and slid her pistol into the suit's holster, which latched it in place.

  Rein waited by the decontamination chamber's door, fully suited with a basic toolkit in hand. As she approached, he punched his code into the door's panel. "I hope you know what you’re doing, Captain," Rein said, hitting the next number.

  "Let's get this over with."

  He entered the last digit, and the hatch flung open, fine mist seeping into the locker room. Without a word between them, they stepped into the sterile chamber.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Coldness. Its starkness struck Katya upon entering the Oneiroi vessel's decontamination chamber, which failed to release its disinfectants and other chemicals. Despite her suit’s climate control, the chill bled through and sunk into her limbs. At her wrist, an environmental instrument beeped. Lifting it closer to her face, she took in the readings. Oxygen present, below normal readings but acceptable. Radiation, low, nonthreatening. Even so, her helmet remained in place. All it took was one second, one environmental shift—instant death. The wavering emergency lights didn't bode well.

  "I imagine the survivors would have stayed together . . . probably on the bridge."

  Rein glanced around, his helmet’s light bouncing of the ebony-hued wall. “They’ll swamp us." The bright beam landed on Katya before being redirect down the corridor. "The quest for continued life makes us all rats in the end, scurrying onto whatever refuse floats. Trust me, I know sentient nature. I’ve seen it at its best.”

  The way he emphasized best suggested a tale, perhaps several. “It won’t come to that.”

  “Have you ever met an Oneiroi?”

  “Have you?”

  Through his tinted helmet, she made out his frown. All he had was the same hearsay and rumors that everyone had. Shadowy figures, cloaked by Magistrate bureaucracy, purveyors of phantasms. Brutal, effective. Katya brushed her hand against her service arm. How true those stories were remained to be seen.

  "Mina,” she said into her com. “Send over the specs for this class."

  Mina voiced her affirmation, and Katya headed out of the decontamination chamber into a corridor with two doors: one to the lockers, another to the hangar bay. As she approached the latter, the lights vanished.

  "She doesn't have long," Katya said. "We have to hurry."

  “If we must.”

  The door refused to budge, even after the lights returned.

  “We can still turn back,” Rein offered.

  She extended her hand to him. "Just hand me the torch."

  After a slight delay, Rein yanked the instrument from the toolkit and pressed it into her palm.

  With the mash of a button, a blue flame shot from the
tube's end, and Katya used it to weaken the door, specifically a section loaded with wiring and clasps. The lights fluctuated throughout the process. The blowtorch, during their absences, cast a bluish hue on the pair and their surroundings. Paired with the chill, they became otherworldly, dredging up remembrances of the mostellarias that her brothers had loved with their cheap light effects and mechanical props that lurched at visitors in hopes of gathering screams.

  Once the metal bubbled and turned orange, Katya deactivated the blowtorch.

  "Let's get this open." She stepped back so Rein could place a small detonator, which had enough juice to pop open the door.

  He applied it to the weakened metal and pressed the device's center. After receiving her nod, he yanked out the pin. A click was followed by another, and they both retreated, hunkering down behind a metal locker. Katya mentally counted, reaching ten before pop! The door had opened, marginally.

  A beep echoed from her wrist device. Good job, Mina. Katya launched the newly received file. A projection of the vessel's schematics materialized into being, hovering inches above her wrist.

  "Ahead is the main hangar bay. If this ship isn't a custom, we should proceed through the bay and reach this corridor"—she ran her finger along the route, a green trail chasing the movement, marking a path on the spec file—"and access this maintenance hatch. From there, we'll have to climb to the bridge. It won't be easy."

  "That's an understatement. How many levels is that?"

  "Ten. It'll be a race."

  He gestured toward the door. "I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’d feel better if I knew what our game plan is once we make contact. We only have two service pistols—"

  "It won’t come to that.” Katya shouldered past him. “We’ll behave like Magistrate officers, and so will they. Elites they may be, but they're humanoids and speak proper Magistrate. It's not like we're talking Jar'rasks."

  "They may wear skin, look humanoid, but that doesn't make them any less a threat, or any more human. Mammals rip each other apart all the time."

  An ominous sensation brewed in her chest. It prickled up her limbs, unearthing memories of delving into the Cassius family crypt to leave offerings during Parentalia. "Just help me with the door."