Ghost of the Argus

by E. R. Torre

  “The slave trade?”

  “It’ll stop… for now,” Overlord Octo said.

  “What about me? What about Inquisitors Deveri and Loalla?”

  “What do you think, Inquisitor? As a senior member of my staff, how do you think the Council will feel about you three? You’ll be found complicit in my crimes. If they were to get their hands on you, they’d give you a nice… nice show trial before handing out the maximum sentence. Death.”

  Inquisitor Cer lowered her weapon.

  “You see what’s coming, don’t you?” Overlord Octo said. He was fading. Drool and blood dripped from the side of his mouth.

  “If the Inquisitors didn’t give me an antidote, who did?” Inquisitor Cer asked. “How am I still alive?”

  “It… it doesn’t matter.”

  “You know.”

  “What I know is that there are angels… angels and devils. They’re real. They fight in the shadows of Empires, pushing Phaecia and Epsillon this way and that… playing their games. Someone… something… is out there…”

  Overlord Octo paused and caught his breath. He wiped the blood from his lips.

  “We’re not as independent as we’d like… as we’d like to think. The shadow people move… subtly toward their goals…”

  Overlord Octo let out a breath. His body relaxed.

  “For us… the game is over,” he said. He noted the cup still at his side. “A pity you couldn’t join me. I hope you feel no pain…”

  The Overlord took one last breath before closing his eyes. Inquisitor Cer heard a faint beep emanating from somewhere within his dark robes.

  At the sound, Inquisitor Cer jumped to her feet. Without hesitation, she ran as quickly as she could toward the Xendos’ decompression chamber. All the while, the beeps behind her grew louder and louder.

  When she reached the decompression chamber’s entrance, she grabbed three space suits from the Charging Rack and threw them inside.

  She then grabbed Inquisitors Loalla and Deveri. The gagged Inquisitors looked at Inquisitor Cer with a mixture of anger and confusion. Inquisitor Cer pulled the two into the decompression chamber before facing the door’s computer panel and initiated it.

  The decompression chamber’s door slowly –too slowly– closed.

  Inquisitor Cer grabbed the door’s handles and pulled with all her strength, trying to get it to shut and seal. The ancient machinery, however, took its time and would not be hurried.

  The beeping stopped.

  Inquisitor Cer felt a heavy rumble and was nearly knocked off her feet.

  In his final act, Overlord Octo set off explosives in the ship!

  Inquisitor Cer held on. When the initial shock was over, she continued to desperately pull at the door. Abruptly, the air around her was sucked away in a hurricane-like gale. The winds slammed Inquisitor Cer against the closing door.

  She tried to lift herself up but couldn’t.

  Inquisitors Loalla and Deveri, their faces masks of terror, tried to wedge their feet and legs into the machinery around them. But their bodies along with the space suits were sucked to the closing door.

  Inquisitor Cer reached out and grabbed them just before they rolled out of the chamber. For a second Cer had Deveri by the collar. The young Inquisitors’ looked up at Cer and fought to keep from moving. One of the space suits was sucked from the chamber and disappeared down the corridor, leaving two behind. Still the air roared out, pulling the Inquisitors away. Inquisitor Cer’s grip on Deveri’s collar weakened. The duo was simply too heavy to—

  The fabric on Inquisitor Deveri’s shirt ripped and the Inquisitors were sucked out of the Decompression chamber along with the second spacesuit.

  “NO!” Inquisitor Cer yelled.

  Despite her horror, she grabbed the last space suit before it too was pulled out.

  It was all she’d need now.

  Inquisitor Cer remained in place, trying her best to remain inside the Decompression chamber. She felt the cold of space and the lack of atmosphere. The rushing air slowed, but only because it was almost all gone. Cer’s grip on the Decompression door loosened. She could barely move her joints. The cold was overwhelming.

  Finally, the Decompression door closed and sealed.

  The violent suction was over and Inquisitor Cer fell to the icy floor. In mid fall, the Xendos’ artificial gravity gave out along with the rest of the ship’s primary systems. Inquisitor Cer hit the floor and bounced up. She hovered in mid-air while red emergency lights came on.

  Inquisitor Cer shook her head and focused her thoughts. She reached for the space suit and struggled to put it on. She moved as fast as she could, yet far too slow for comfort.

  Once dressed, she activated the suit’s life support system.

  Warm air flowed through her suit and Cer greedily took it in. Her strength slowly returned.

  Inquisitor Cer activated her magnetic boots and set them on the metal floor. She walked to the decompression chamber’s door and looked out the window and at the corridor beyond.

  Floating outside the chamber were the bodies of Inquisitors Loalla and Deveri.

  Overlord Octo didn’t intend for anyone to survive the trip back home.

  He almost succeeded.

  18

  PLANET ONIA, Border of the Epsillon Empire

  The burial was a solemn affair.

  There were only three witnesses and when it was done, they returned to their automated desert vehicle, loaded up, and departed.

  The vehicle’s thick tires skimmed the bright white sands of the Onian desert and left a cloud of dust in their wake. Night was falling fast, and the stars grew bright in the sky. Directly before them and another thirty miles away were the even brighter lights of the once mighty Onian Capital. At one time it was the largest and most modern of the Ports within the Epsillon Empire, a stepping stone for trade between the Epsillon and Phaecian Empires. But the buildup to and eventual Galactic War between the Empires and the cold peace that followed wrecked the planet’s fortunes.

  A souring economy and environmental disasters turned this once fertile, green planet into a harsh, superheated desert housing crumbling buildings, dead end tech, and scavengers. Few visited Onia and those who did kept their visits brief.

  For the occupants of the desert vehicle, the Space Port at the center of the city was their destination, but to get to it they would have to first pass through the city’s decaying outer edges. The bumpy sands receded, replaced by bumpy roads. This outer section of the city was filled with dark streets and boarded up buildings.

  After a few minutes, they passed the decay and found lighted streets and sparsely inhabited buildings. They were fewer of either each year. They eventually reached the Star Port and the desert vehicle parked in its designated space. Her side door opened.

  Closest to the door sat a young boy. His name was Nathaniel and by the bewildered look in his eyes, he was greatly confused by his surroundings. He had short black hair and a white medi-cast over his right arm. Though he recently lost a finger, he did not appear to be in any obvious pain. The memories implanted in his brain were those of Nathaniel Torin, Captain of the once long lost ERF Super Juggernaut Argus. Those memories were decaying and it wouldn’t be too long before the boy carried no memories at all.

  Dave Maddox sat beside the young man and held his left hand. Maddox was a short, slightly built man in his late thirties. He had slick, jet black hair and walked with the aid of crutches for he too suffered a recent injury. In his case, an errant fusion blast dissolved his lower left leg. Each move he made was followed by a wince or grunt. The pain from his lost limb and the treatment to regrow it caused considerable discomfort, all of which he bore with each facial tick.

  The two exited the vehicle and were followed by the last of the trio, the Independent known as B’taav.

  A sonic boom was heard and they looked up into the night sky. They spotted the lights from the shuttle craft Solaris high above. It was coming in for a landing.
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  “There’s our ride,” Maddox told the boy. “Right on time.”

  The boy did not react.

  They made their way past empty counters and sparsely populated subsections within the Port and were soon in the Solaris’ waiting area. They watched from behind thick tinsel glass windows as waves of sand whirled around, blasted by the shuttle’s thrusters as she came in for a landing. Once on firm ground, the thrusters shut down and the sands settled. There were only a handful of passengers waiting to board the ship. They grabbed their luggage and made a line to the door leading out.

  “I guess this is goodbye,” Maddox told B’taav.

  For most of their just completed mission, Maddox didn’t trust the Independent and held him in great contempt. It wasn’t until the mission neared its end that Maddox realized B’taav and he shared the same goal: the destruction of the Argus. With the super juggernaut gone, Maddox’s life mission was realized. He chose to spend the rest of his time taking care of the boy with the decaying memories.

  Young Nathaniel laughed. He watched in wonder as the last of the sands swirled on the landing pad. He pointed at the Solaris and tried to speak. Whatever thought he had proved too difficult to put into words.

  “I… I will miss…” the boy managed. The smile on his face disappeared, replaced with a look of confusion and frustration.

  “I’ll miss you too,” B’taav said. He laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder and addressed Maddox. “You know where you’re going?”

  “I have some ideas,” Maddox said.

  “Good,” B’taav said. “Keep them to yourself.”

  The Solaris’s loading ramp slid into place on the landing deck. Over the departure gate, a green light came on.

  “What about you?” Maddox asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “C…Cer?” Nathaniel said. “You… you want to see her again.”

  “She’s an Inquisitor, Nathaniel,” Maddox said. “She’s in Phaecia. She won’t come back—”

  “You go… go to her.”

  B’taav released the boy and nodded.

  “I’ll try,” he said.

  Maddox leaned in closer to the Independent.

  “Is the boy right? Are you planning to…?”

  He didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he slapped himself on his forehead.

  “Of course you are,” he said. “It takes a child to show me how blind I am.”

  B’taav said nothing.

  “You’ll have to smuggle yourself into the Phaecian Empire,” Maddox said. “No way they’ll let an Independent in legally. I know some trade vessels that skirt the borders. They have contacts within the Empire and may be able to help you find her. If you want I can give you a list.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “I don’t have to tell you what you’re planning is dangerous.”

  “I know.”

  “Then… take care of yourself, B’taav.”

  “I will.”

  Maddox offered B’taav his free hand and the two shook.

  “I’ll see you around,” Maddox said. “Maybe.”

  There was no more fanfare. Maddox and Nathaniel walked to the departure door and joined the short line of passengers. The group made their way into the shuttle, with Maddox and Nathaniel the last to climb aboard. Shortly thereafter, the Solaris’s outer door closed. Soon after, the ship’s thrusters came to life and again sent desert sands swirling. The ship took flight and it wasn’t long before the star port was well below her.

  The shuttle craft shrunk until she was a tiny speck in the sky and then nothing at all.

  Five full days passed since Inquisitor Cer left the Dakota.

  During that time B’taav endured a series of grueling debriefings regarding the events leading to the destruction of the Argus. Epsillon Military Intelligence needed to satisfy themselves that the super juggernaut and all Intel within her were indeed gone. After the debriefings, Maddox, Nathaniel, and he were released. Along with Inquisitor Cer, they were the entire group that ensured the super-juggernaut’s destruction.

  Inquisitor Cer.

  Images of her flooded the Independent’s mind. Of his time with her. Of their last meeting. Of her gentle touch…

  She laid her hand on his cheek. Her touch lasted only seconds yet the warmth remained. In Inquisitor Cer, B’taav found an unexpected kindred.

  Young Nathaniel was right. He had to see her again. And to do so, he had to somehow get into the Phaecian Empire.

  I will find a way.

  B’taav walked from the star port’s central building outside. He stood on the faded gray sidewalk. Around him were only a few transport vehicles and even fewer people. With the Solaris gone, there was no reason for anyone to be here as there were no other shuttles scheduled to come in until the following day.

  B’taav had no specific plans as to where he would go from Onia. He had a room in a dreary hotel on the west side of the Capital and intended to stay another day or two. He would develop his plans during that time.

  He motioned for a Hover Cab. It picked him up and he was off.

  The cab driver was flesh and blood, a throwback to ancient times.

  “You looking for tours?” the cabbie asked B’taav. “Girls? Boys?”

  “Peace and quiet.”

  “Huh?”

  “You heard me.”

  The cabbie shut his mouth and drove on.

  B’taav’s dark eyes were on his surroundings as the cab moved through the city. An Independent is always aware of what goes on around him. Just in case.

  As it turned out, such attention often proved necessary.

  The tail wasn’t hard to notice as there were so few other vehicles on the street. There were two people in the cruiser following the cab. Both were male and both had intense looks on their faces.

  B’taav wondered who would send someone after him and, in that same moment, whether they were babysitters or if he was in any kind of danger.

  What of Maddox and Nathaniel?

  It seemed unlikely anyone would follow them. B’taav and Maddox kept the Epsillon military staff in the dark about Nathaniel’s memory implants. For all anyone knew, Maddox was an ornery bartender and the boy a damaged orphan, neither of which were worth bothering over.

  They’re after you.

  B’taav’s many years as an Independent made him a host of allies and enemies. Either could be following him.

  “Take a left here,” B’taav said.

  “Didn’t you want to go to—”

  “Now.”

  The driver shrugged and made the left. The cruiser behind them did the same.

  “Turn right,” B’taav said.

  “Sure,” the driver replied.

  The car turned into a dark alley and B’taav reached for the fusion gun within his jacket. He gripped the handle of the weapon and looked back.

  The cruiser following them continued straight.

  B’taav released the gun’s handle and faced the driver.

  “Thanks,” he said. “It’s been a few years since I was here. Just wanted to see the old neighborhood.”

  The driver looked around and frowned. Surrounding them were dreary, decaying buildings. It didn’t look like anyone had lived here in many decades.

  “It’s your money. Anywhere else you want to go?”

  “No,” B’taav said. “Head to the Hotel.”

  The Cab arrived at the Berkeley Hotel a few minutes later.

  B’taav paid the fare, exited the vehicle, and took a few moments to check if his tail was already there, waiting. He spotted neither the cruiser nor the individuals in it. B’taav walked into the Hotel’s lobby. Video monitors along the lobby walls displayed newsfeeds from around the Empire. Though the Independent had no interest in catching up on the news, his attention was drawn to one of the six monitors on the lobby’s east side. On it a reporter was talking and over his left shoulder was the image of Overlord Octo.

  B’taav approached the monit
or. Motion detectors sensed his presence and the monitor’s volume automatically increased.

  “…to locate any possible wreckage or survivors. We will bring you updates—”

  “Replay story,” B’taav said.

  The screen image froze before repeating the news story from the beginning.

  “Representatives of Phaecia are reporting the disappearance of Overlord Octo, one of the senior most members of the Council of Twelve,” the reporter read. The image of Overlord Octo appeared once again over his left shoulder. “Though reports are incomplete as of this hour, Overlord Octo is reported to have been returning to the Council Homeworld when his transport craft disappeared from traffic sensors. Attempts to contact the ship, listed as the Xendos, have thus far yielded no results. Phaecian authorities are sending rescue vessels—“

  “Stop.”

  B’taav’s voice was a ghostly whisper.

  Cer.

  B’taav’s recalled the first time he, Maddox, and Inquisitor Cer stood before the Xendos. The ship sat abandoned for over two hundred years in her landing pad on the lost Phaecian Asteroid base. They wondered if they could get her moving again…

  “Our first step is to fix any leaks and replace batteries, liquids, and fuels.”

  “Let’s hope none of that material has degraded, and there’s enough to take us where we need to go.”

  As old as the Xendos was, she took them to the Argus. When their mission was done and the ship was safely parked on the flight deck of the Dakota, it was thoroughly checked by Epsillon military. Their job was to make sure no intelligence from the Argus remained aboard. Their secondary goal was to make sure the ship was ready for her trip back into Phaecia.

  Had the Dakota’s techs missed something?

  That was unlikely. All defects were found and fixed. The last thing the Epsillon Empire needed was to be blamed for any harm to a Phaecian Overlord.