by Rob Dearsley
Before we get more than halfway through medical, we’re attacked again. More of the turned soldiers rush us. This time the Marines are ready and open fire. I’m not and clap my hands over my ears as the thunder of weapons fire fills the corridor
In the muted half-silence, I can hear the voices, the X-ships screaming bloody vengeance against the human race. The universe must burn. There will be nought but ash.
Matthews grabs me by the shoulder, hauling me to my feet. I don’t remember falling.
“Come on,” he screams, and we run.
We whip down corridors, sprinting through turnings. I have no idea where we’re headed, and I doubt Matthews does either, just as long as we’re away from the monsters that used to be our friends. Behind us, the Marines keep up a constant stream of fire, their rifles ripping into the creatures, our crewmates – no. I can’t think like that. It’s the X’s fault, they did this to them. Made them mad, like it is. Now, we’re the ones who have to put them down. Have to live with this blood on our hands. In this moment, I envy the mad.
The thunder of Marine fire is punctuated by cries of “reloading” and “mag out.” Eventually, inevitably changing to “last mag.”
We slow as the final Marine runs dry. We’re in a long corridor somewhere high up on the ship, near engineering. On our right is room after room of cryostorage.
“Go on,” the Marine commander says, pulling out a large knife. “We’ll hold them here.” I can’t be sure in the low light, but his eyes look matte black.
Matthews and I turn and run down the corridor.
“It’s no good, we’ll never make to the shuttle dock,” Matthews says, pulling up to catch his breath. “I’ve got an idea.”
He drags me into one of the cryo rooms. Behind us is a warbling cry as one of the creatures rips its way into the Marines.
I look down at the cryo-pod. It seems like the ultimate cop-out. I could climb in there and sleep away the deaths of my friends, my captain, my lover. The pod matrix could be jettisoned and there was a chance I’d make it back to the fleet. Not a very good one, but a chance nonetheless.
I am tired, so very tired. I long for nothing more than to just lie down and wait for the end, to join my friends in the next life. But the pod won’t give me that. If I clamber in, I’d be leaving all this behind.
“Quickly,” Matthews urges me, helping me out of my clothes and into a cryo-gown.
“Matt, come with me.”
He pushes me down into the pod, the fabric beneath conforming itself to my body. He shakes his head, tears running down his face.
“I’m sorry, Hannah.” He pulls up his sleeve, his arm is already turning brown. As I watch, bones shift, ripping a cry of pain from his throat.
The sounds of battle are right outside the door. I don’t want him to go, don’t want to be left.
The pod closes, and locks shut with a metallic hiss. He bends and presses a kiss against the outside, his breath misting on the rapidly cooling glass. I can feel it coming, the drugs pulling me toward sweet oblivion. But I fight it, fight for every last second that I can see him. I wish I’d told him, told him I love him. Told him yes, let him put the ring on my finger. It’s a Herculean effort, but I manage to reach into the gown’s pocket and close my fingers around the ring. The last of him, here with me and my regrets. I force my eyes open again, but he’s gone, and I have nothing left to fight for. I let the drugs take me and pull me down into nothingness.
I’m alone.
Six
- TDF Hlin, Present Day -
Hale was crying openly by the end of the story. Dannage resisted the urge to go to her, to take her into his arms. Crying women always affected him this way, and the impulse to offer comfort had gotten him into trouble more than once. It was part of the reason he liked Arland so much. She never cried.
He felt for Hale, having everything she’d ever known, everyone she’d ever loved taken from her by some insane computer system. He couldn’t imagine losing the Folly and his friends.
He looked over to Arland. She was exchanging some serious looks with the doctor. He had no idea what that all was about.
Hale turned her tear-streaked face to him. “It was all our fault. We created them. We let them loose.”
“And now your descendants have to pay the piper,” Arland said, her tone icy.
“Arland,” he snapped, not liking her tone and not knowing where it had come from. This mess wasn’t Hale’s fault. She’d suffered as much as anyone at the hands of these – what had she called them? Core Minds.
“What I don’t get,” Jax said over the speaker system, “is how these X designation ships managed to ‘convince’ your ships’ cloned minds to join their cause.”
Hale looked up at the overhead speakers. “If only I knew. Perhaps some sort of computer virus, or perhaps the Core Minds were open to their rhetoric. The Core Minds are semi-sentient.”
“You enslaved human minds to run your ships, and you’re surprised when they turn on you?” Arland said, her voice still cold and angry.
“It’s not like that.” Hale’s own anger rose in response. “We clone human nervous systems and then load an intellect program onto them.”
“Tabula Rasa!” Arland turned on her heel and marched out.
“Okay, does someone want to tell me what all that was about?” Dannage asked.
The doctor sighed, stepping forward. “Miss Arland strongly believes in the government’s anti-wetware stance.”
“Come on, let’s give Hale a bit of privacy.” Luc picked up a small pack Dannage hadn’t noticed before. “Ma’am, we managed to find some clothes while we were over on the Hlin. Thought they might be better than what you have on.” He tossed the pack at her feet before bustling Dannage and the doc out of the room, leaving the Terran alone with her thoughts.
Dannage lingered for a moment before kicking off and sailing across the hold to join Luc by the entrance to the bridge.
“What do we do now?” he asked Luc.
The blond just shook his head. “Way I see it, we’re safe for now. So, I say we hole up and wait until this thing drops back into normal space. Then we can go back to the ‘run like hells’ plan.”
“Maybe.” Dannage scratched his head. “There has to be something we can do, some way to stop this ship.”
“Cap’, if we could destroy or cripple this ship, and that’s a damn big if, doing so while we’re in hyperspace, or subspace or whatever this place is called, will get us all killed.”
Luc had a point, and Dannage wasn’t the martyr type. He was all for crazy plans, but there had to at least be a realistic way out for when things went sideways.
◊◊
Arland tumbled across the cargo hold, glad no one was around to see her. It was her own fault she’d kicked off too hard in her frustration. The Terrans had built their entire military on those cloned minds and they’d been surprised when, given half a chance, they turned on them. It was stupid to expect them not to. No one wanted to be a slave. Now they were paying for the mistakes of the past.
She bounced off the far side of the bay, steadying herself on a cargo strap and pulling herself toward the crew quarters.
The porthole in her room looked out over the now deserted loading dock. The decompression had cleared out the creatures, and apparently, hard vacuum was keeping them away – for now.
Throwing herself down onto her bed, she reached into the overhead locker and pulled out a small box. It opened with a loud snap, revealing a silver five-pointed star set into blue felt. The Valour of the Stars. It was the first proper medal she’d ever earned, one of the highest honours that could be bestowed upon her by the SDF, and the only one she could legally keep after her court-martial. She had memorised the quote on the inside of the box, beneath the felt.
Let no man take away the Valour of another, for it is the first and last of the honours. Beyond the noose, beyond the stars, beyond all hope, there is Valour.
They were beyond all hope no
w. Inside the belly of the beast, literally. She snapped the box closed and clutched it to her chest. Tears sprang to her eyes. Stars, she missed the SDF. It was like a family. Everyone, everything she’d known and loved had been taken from her that day. Even her parents – both career officers – wouldn’t talk to her after the hearing. The stupid medal, her Valour, was the last thing left of that life. Of the person she wished she could be again.
She wanted to scream, to rage at the injustice of the world, but she couldn’t, she wouldn’t let herself lose control like that, not again.
That first week after her trial, she’d gotten into so many brawls, trashed so many bars. Mostly it was the release, something to take the impotent rage out on, but part of her, a much smaller part, hoped it would go too far and someone would end it all for her.
She would never let herself get like that again.
The com chirped, and she tapped the answer button without thinking.
“Shauna?” Jax’s voice filtered through the small speaker by her head. She didn’t reply. “Shauna, please.”
Please, please what? Come back and be the big strong saviour for us again? Pull our muppet captain’s arse out of the fire, again?
“You’ve been good to me.” Jax continued despite her lack of response. “Patient, kind. Stars, you’re amazing, so brave. I wish I was more like you.”
She laughed at that. “I’m broken, Jax. You don’t want to be like me.”
“Everyone’s broken in their own way,” Jax replied. “Do you know why the captain called his ship the Folly?”
“No, why?” Arland was willing to play her part in this conversation. It was the least she could do for the engineer.
“You know what folly means?”
“Fool?”
“True enough, but the captain heard of another meaning. A place of safety, somewhere to hide.”
“Is that true?”
Jax had already cut the com, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
Hope was in rather short supply at the moment.
◊◊
Dannage sat in the pilot’s seat, glaring out at the empty bay. He wished there was something to do.
Beside him, Luc seemed to be wrestling with something.
“Okay. Spit it out, man,” he said, as Luc made his fifth aborted attempt to talk.
“Cap.” Luc studiously avoided his eyes. “While we were in the Hlin’s engine room, where we found the partially mutated crew… there was a bomb.”
“A bomb?” Dannage asked, keeping his tone carefully even.
“Yeah, a bomb. Looks like they were tryin’ to blow up the ring.”
“Think we could finish the job?”
“Maybe, but we still have the issue of being in subspace.”
Dannage sighed. That was the problem. But, they wouldn’t always be in subspace. He just had to know when they would drop out.
He heard the swish of the doors as Hale ducked in and dropped into the back seat she’d been using before.
“You doing okay?” Luc asked.
“Better, thank you,” she replied, “your medic administered some sort of neural blocking agent. It seems to be suppressing my ship-link, for now.”
She was wearing the brown and navy boiler suit that Luc had brought back. It fit her surprisingly well, maybe a little long in the arms, so she’d rolled the sleeves up. Looking at her, the merest kernel of an idea started to form.
“Hale, do you know where this ship is going?”
She paused, her brow knitting in concentration, her eyes wandering to the ceiling. “Maybe. Do you have a star map?”
Luc turned in his chair and tapped a few controls to pull up a local cluster map on his screen. Another touch of his console threw it onto the HUD.
“We were here.” Dannage gestured to Feldspar on the map.
She leaned past him, inspecting the holographic map. “There,” she said, pointing the centre of the display.
Both men fell quiet. Luc dropped his gaze. Dannage’s eyes fixed on the star. He didn’t move at all. If he moved, he feared he would shatter into a thousand pieces.
It was a simple system, six planets orbiting a fairly average yellow star toward the middle of its lifespan.
“Gypsum,” Luc said, without looking up.
Dannage nodded, it was one of the most heavily inhabited systems in the region. There were nearly fifty billion humans living across the three habitable planets and dozens of stations and orbital habitats. Including Dannage’s sister.
He met Luc’s eyes. “We have to stop this ship.”
He spun, punching the com open. “Jax, we need to work out exactly when this ship is going to get to Gypsum.”
“Gypsum? Yes. Well, we know their FTL isn’t as efficient as our subspace highways, otherwise, we would be there already. You’d need to ask the Terran. Is she there?”
“I’m here.” Hale looked up. Everyone looked at the ceiling mounted speakers when they talked to Jax.
“Okay, we’ll have to assume they’re taking a straight route. That means it’s a twenty-three-point-two light-years distance. What’s the average speed of your jump drives?”
“The transit speed is a function of the distance. Give me a minute.” Hale turned and began working the computer. After a moment, an inverted U-shaped graph appeared on her screen.
Jax must have been monitoring. “I’d love to see the physics of an engine that works like this, it’s got to have some crazy subspace mechanics.”
“Jax, transit time?” Dannage prompted.
“Sorry, based on this, twelve-hour journey time. We’ve been in jump for nine hours ten minutes, so you’ve got two hours fifty. Give or take.”
Luc let out a low whistle. “Less than three hours. Not long to come up with a plan.”
The time wasn’t Dannage’s main concern. They’d need Arland on side for any plan they came up with to stand a chance of working.
“Luc, work with Hale and see if you can come up with something. I need to speak to Arland.”
He crossed the bay to the crew compartment. Back in normal gravity, he rapped on the door to Arland’s small cabin.
“Who is it?” she called through the door.
“It’s me. Can I come in?”
The door clicked and hissed to one side. She was on the small cot that dominated the room. He’d not seen the inside of the room since she’d claimed it. Part of him expected her to have changed it, added personal effects. But as far as he could see, little had changed beyond the good cleaning she had given it when she’d first arrived.
Even in their current circumstances, the memory brought a smile to his face.
“Sir?” she asked, looking up at him.
“Sorry, never thought I’d be in your room.” He crossed the threshold, so he was actually in her room.
“Don’t get any ideas, sir.” She gave him a look daring him to try anything funny.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He smiled. She didn’t return it.
He moved to sit on the bed, resting his elbows on his knees, raking his hands through his hair.
“I’m sorry for the way I reacted.”
“No worries,” he said without thinking, his mind still working through what he needed to say, how to get her on side again. “Look, Arland, I’ve never pried into your past. Frankly, I don’t care about it.”
“Sir?”
“Will you stop sir-ing me, damn it.”
“Sorry, sir.”
He shook his head, then turned to meet her eyes. “I need you.”
“And I said no funny business.”
It took him a moment to realise she was making a joke. “No, damn it, not like that. This ship is heading for Gypsum. We need to find a way to stop it. Can you work with Hale?”
“I’m a professional.” Now she was smiling, but there was no mirth in it. It was something cold, hard and pitiless. It scared the crap out of him.
Nervous, Dannage smiled back, his warmer but still forced. He had his
security officer back, and she was ready to kick some arse.
◊◊
Hale scrunched down into the cramped chair, the metal frame groaning beneath her weight. That was this ship all over, cramped and tattered. She’d never imagined the future would be so damn small. And so lonely. Her fingers slipped beneath the jumpsuit's neckline, rubbing over the ring. Matthews.
The captain, Dannage turned in his chair, giving her a sidelong look. He was nervous around her. They all were.
Could she really blame them after everything they’d seen? The remnants of the Imperium, angry, still trying to destroy everything.
Sensing her attention, Dannage turned back to the flight console, his fingers tapping a retort against the controls. Hale tugged on the too-short sleeves of the jumpsuit.
The bridge door sighed open to admit Arland.
“Feeling better?” Luc asked.
Arland nodded, then turned to Hale. “Commander, sorry for the way I reacted.”
What could Hale say? Arland didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. The feelings from the Heimdall’s Core Mind flashed through her thoughts, raw and angry. Maybe Arland wasn’t so wrong after all. “It’s fine.”
“Right,” Dannage said, clapping his hands to draw their attention. “We’ve got to take out this ship, and we’ve got—” He looked at the screen. “—one-and-a-half hours, to do it.”
The crew looked at each other, nerves slipping past a veneer of false calm.
Arland was the first to speak, breaking the rising tension. “The taking out shouldn’t be that hard. The Hlin’s crew did most of the work.” She looked over at Hale. “It looks like they’ve set up a bomb under the collider ring in engineering.”
The crew must have been desperate as all hells to try and bomb the reactor. It might even be enough to destroy the ship, or at least cripple it. “Where exactly?”
Arland stopped to think, her blue eyes searching the overhead. “It was at the base of the gantries, under one of those c-shaped things.”