by C M Dancha
He pushed these thoughts of doom and gloom out of his mind and went back to asking the other two Trifect questions.
“Brothers, I’m going to take the afternoon off. Is there anything else before I leave?”
“Ah, yes, Lead Trifect. Most departments in the government are getting communications from Morg’s heirs. They want to know when he will be officially declared non-functioning. They want his estate, pension, and benefits.”
“How did they find out about the transport blowing up? Did you two tell anyone?”
“No, Lead Trifect. We told no one, but I know it spread like a wildfire.”
“So, on top of everything else, we have a leak here within the palace executive chambers. That’s great.”
Once again, the two Trifect sat at the conference table looking like two innocent school-age Yandies. They hadn’t thought how strange it was that everyone on Yanda knew about the transport explosion. They didn’t seem to care that information was leaking out of the palace. Or, they hadn’t put two and two together to realize there was a leaker.
The Lead Trifect wanted to get up and leave the room. He feared if he stayed, he might overreact and throw half of the palace employees into solitary confinement. It was time to take care of the leaker in the palace.
Instead, he got up and walked around the room. His underlings knew better than talk while he did this. There was something gnawing at the deepest levels of his consciousness. It had been there for days, but he couldn’t bring it into the open. On his third trip around the conference table, it hit him. It was so obvious. Why hadn’t he realized it before? He must be getting dim-witted in his old age. A broad smirk crossed his face and he turned toward his brother Trifect.
“What is it, Lead Trifect?”
“I figured out why Commander Fritase rushed the transport bridge.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Do you remember when I played his recording for you? You didn’t see the entire recording, but when he first boarded the transport, he knew something was wrong. He decided to take a defensive position and hunker down in the hallway. He was going to wait and see what happened. Almost as soon as he said that he rushed the bridge. Why would he do that?”
The Lead Trifect didn’t wait for them to guess. He went ahead and answered his own question. “Somehow he knew the transport was going to blow. Maybe he heard the detonation devices activate. Or, he saw or heard something which tipped him off. It was his last-ditch effort to avoid a catastrophe. If he could get to the bridge, he might have a chance to stop the detonation.”
The two Trifect understood what he was saying but didn’t understand the implications.
He felt a hundred times better now. Taking the afternoon off would be somewhat enjoyable rather than dour and anxiety filled.
“Brothers, Morg and the Earthling are alive. They weren’t on that transport and Commander Fritase knew it. I don’t know where they were, but they weren’t there.”
The other two Trifect had quizzical looks on their faces. They leaned over the conference table waiting to hear more.
“Don’t change a thing. Keep sweeping the area for debris from the ship that blew. And, keep looking for the 38. It went somewhere. Someone has it. We need that Interceptor back. But, above all else, we must contact Morg. I know you don’t know where he is, but you must figure out a way to get ahold of him. He’s our only chance to exert pressure on Conway. If Conway thinks we aren’t going to return his son, he might adjust his attitude and consider signing the CASETA Agreement. His son might be the bargaining chip we need.”
He looked at his two underlings. He could see they were finally following his explanation. To be certain, he asked, “Do you understand what has to be done?”
“Yes, Lead Trifect. We understand.”
“Brothers don’t let me down. And, don’t let Yanda down. Find a way to contact Morg. And, one last thing. You are not to mention to anyone that Morg and the Earthling are alive. If this leaks out, I’m going to send both your asses to the worst, most remote military station we have. Understand?”
“Yes, Lead Trifect.” It was one of the few times he could remember the two underlings standing and saluting.
22
It was one and a half light years to the nearest medical depot. It put the transport closer to Earth, but they were still over three light years away from their ultimate destination.
Morg was doing the best he could to pilot the ship and take care of his two sick passengers. If he was well, nursing the Earthling and Trikian would be tolerable. But he was getting sicker and the energy he had available to devote to others was dwindling. The mere thought of walking from the bridge to the sleeping quarters to service patients was exhausting.
The Trikian was the sickest. It was most likely because he caught the disease or infection a week or more before Morg and the kid. When he wasn’t comatose, he was delirious talking to invisible visitors, comrades, and family members. He went back and forth between a high fever and extreme cold. Morg was either piling thermal blankets on him or lowering him into a space chamber containing ultra-frigid molecules taken from outside the transport. The molecules were gradually warmed to fifteen degrees below the being’s normal body temperature. At this cool temperature, a sick patient's temperature could be controlled. It was a simple and effective way to stabilize a being with a high fever.
Morg and the Earthling were exhibiting the same symptoms but to a lesser degree. It was only a matter of time before they became as sick as the Trikian. With luck, they would reach the medical depot before that happened.
On the morning of the third day after rescuing the Trikian, Morg was awakened by screams coming from the sleeping quarters. He couldn’t make out what was being shouted but it sounded as if someone was fighting for his life. Morg shuffled as fast as he could to the sleeping quarters. He found the Trikian unconscious and flopping around on his gyro cot. He was screaming at someone about a rich deposit of Molum crystals. These were the most sought-after crystals in the universe. One crystal could power an entire city for a year or more. The cost of this mineral was outrageously high, but the pay-back was higher.
“What do you mean we can’t lease this land? You’re not using it and we’ve offered you an above-market lease price. Well, will you sell us the land?”
The Trikian trashed about as he whispered to a phantom comrade. “Don’t say anything to Helmer about the crystal deposit. We must get this contract before someone else discovers what we found. It could be the largest deposit of Molum crystals ever discovered. The vein runs at least a hundredth of the circumference of the planet. I can’t believe it’s in a valley between two ancient lava flows.”
The Trikian stopped wiggling in his stupor. A contented and thoughtful expression crossed his face. If Morg didn’t know better he’d guess the Trikian was devising a scheme to get his hands on the crystals.
“I’m not sure what to do if Helmer doesn’t lease or sell us the land. Maybe we should call in Bentwa. You know, Bentwa the fixer. He can be very persuasive. Remember the dope he talked with on Cresma? One look at Bentwa and he signed over the land to us immediately. By the way, do you still have his private comm number?
The Trikian stopped mumbling and started laughing. The only other time Morg saw beings laugh while unconscious was on the battlefield. Some mortally wounded troopers laughed hysterically right to their last breath. Morg assumed it was the body’s way of dealing with extreme pain. Now, he wasn’t so sure. It might be that the dying watched a review of their life and found a specific memory that was laughable. For a Yandan it wouldn’t be something considered funny because they didn’t understand the finer points of comedy. It was more likely to be something ironic or sarcastic. Could it be the Trikians had the same perspective on what deserved a laugh?
Morg wanted to lay down in the gyro cot next to the Trikian and sleep but this might be his last chance to learn what the Trikian was jabbering about. He forced his eyes to stay open
and leaned closer to the patient. He had listened closely to the Trikian’s speech patterns for the last couple of days. He thought he could imitate his dialect and pretend to be a fellow Trikian.
“Yes, I still have Bentwa’s comm number. What would you like me to tell him?”
The Trikian didn’t answer immediately. Morg started to worry that even in his stupor he knew another Trikian wasn’t at his bedside. But it was too late to worry about what was going through the dying Trikian’s mind. Morg had taken a chance and imitated the Trikian’s language and dialect the best he could. If the dying being knew he was an imposter, so be it.
Morg got up and hobbled toward the adjacent gyro cot. If the Trikian was going to die without divulging any more information, then Morg was going to rest. He had seen enough death for one lifetime. Watching the Trikian die wouldn’t be any different than witnessing a hundred battlefield deaths.
“Call Bentwa and see if he is available for a top-secret assignment. Offer him top pay to make himself available.” Morg whirled around and looked at the Trikian. There was no question he was still unconscious. Droplets of yellow secretion were forming on his forehead and began to combine with other droplets to run down the side of his face. Morg sat down on the side of his cot again. His breathing had grown more labored in the last couple of minutes. Beneath his near-transparent, fluttering eyelids, Morg could see the Trikian’s eyes gyrating every which way.
Morg waited to hear more. He didn’t know if the Trikian was done speaking or taking time to piece together other thoughts. In a mind so fragile and under duress the Trikian couldn't be a hundred percent lucid. Morg resigned himself to another waiting game. A game he didn’t feel well enough to play.
Shivers started to run up and down Morg’s back. His head throbbed, and images were going in and out of focus. He needed to lie down soon. It was either that or fall to the floor unconscious. He caught himself before passing out and managed to lay down next to the Trikian. As sleep started to butt out consciousness, he heard the Trikian somewhere in the distance. “Tell Bentwa we will meet him at the Mytop 2212 glider tube in ....”
23
Morg was awakened by the transport’s Roboland system. Several hours of sleep had restored a bit of energy to his body and clarity to his mind. Echoing throughout the ship, Morg heard the Roboland system giving instructions for docking at the medical depot. He needed to get to the bridge and make sure the transport landed without a hitch. He swung his legs over the side of the cot and prepared to stand. Before making what was now a huge effort, he remembered the Trikian. He looked over his shoulder to check on the sickest being aboard the transport.
Morg had seen enough corpses to know the Trikian was dead. There was nothing he could do for the alien other than cover his face with a thermal blanket.
He struggled to his feet and trudged toward the bridge. What normally took two to three minutes now seemed like hours. He weaved back and forth through the hallway, stopping every so often to grab a stationary fixture and catch his breath.
He made it to the captain’s gyro chair in the nick of time. He fell into it and forced himself to do a quick review of the transport’s auto-landing approach to the docking bay. Everything seemed to be in order even though he could only muster enough energy for a cursory inspection of the control panel. Thankfully the Roboland was an automated procedure. In his present condition, he would never be able to land the transport without Roboland.
“Engage gyro chair restriction belts. Prepare for harness beam lockdown in ten seconds. Ten, nine, eight, seven….”
A jarring thud pulsated throughout the hull as the harness beam attached itself to the transport. It would be another five minutes before the transport was pulled into the docking bay and set in its stall. Morg was exhausted even though he had done very little. As he sat in the captain’s chair watching the medical depot draw closer, he started thinking about the Trikian’s last words. So much of what the Trikian said was whispered, screamed, or slurred. There was a good chance the ship’s surveillance system hadn’t captured all his words correctly.
He needed to record the Trikian's last keywords before the illness wiped them from his memory. “Record on.” Morg leaned forward and held his head with his two, oversized pincher hands. He squeezed slightly hoping this would lift the fog in his head and bring back everything the Trikian said.
“Molum crystals…, Helmer…, huge deposit…, in a valley…, between ancient lava flows…, Bentwa.” That was all he could remember even though there was something nagging at him. There was at least one other keyword, but his illness was blocking it out. Maybe when he felt better a review of the ship’s audio log would reveal what he was trying to remember.
“Record….” Morg stopped before shutting off the system. Mytop 2212. It was Mytop 2212. That’s what he was trying to remember. The name of a Feltte Six vice and pleasure park catapulted into his head. “Glider tube…, Mytop 2212. Record off.”
Even in his weak state, he was able to put two and two together and deduce that the Molum crystals might be on Feltte Six. Everything the Trikian said on his deathbed, plus the recording he pirated from the Trikian ship, pointed to Feltte Six. It seemed like an odd place to find Molum crystals considering how populated Feltte Six was and its extensive history.
Morg wondered how the crystals could remain undiscovered for thousands of years. Had erosion finally exposed the crystals? Or, did geothermal forces within the planet finally push the crystals to the surface? Both explanations seemed unlikely, but somehow the Trikians found them. After all, they were professional treasure hunters. They knew their business better than anyone else and had the riches to prove it.
* * *
The docking bay on the medical depot planet was filled. Morg's transport got the last available stall even though there were several ships waiting outside the planet’s flight boundary. The fact that the transport was Yandan gave it a priority and expedited clearance. The beings who ran the medical depot knew who paid their bills and salaries. The last thing they would do is delay docking privileges to a Yandan or Alliance ship.
When the transport came to rest Morg looked out the viewing port. It was mass confusion everywhere he looked. Medical orderlies and doctors wore hazard abatement suits over their entire bodies. Each suit was a forest green color and identified with a Yandan Medical Corp insignia. Air and waste filtering systems within each suit permitted the wearer to work without fear of contamination. Each suit also had a nourishment port which allowed the wearer to drink liquid meals.
Morg lost count of all the floatation stretchers he saw moving the sick and dead. With all this commotion, he wondered how long it would be before he and the Earthling were examined. That was the last thing he remembered until someone started to poke and prod his outer shell near his right arm.
“Officer, officer. Please wake up. I need to get you processed and in to see a doctor. Are you awake, sir?”
Morg opened his eyes to see two optic-scan lenses from a hazard abatement suit looking down at him. He had no clue what type of planetary being was inside the orderly suit. In his present condition, he didn’t give a damn. All he cared about was getting medical attention for himself and the Earthling.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m awake. How long was I out?”
“I don’t know sir. I’m too busy to notice things like that. Sir are you the only being on this ship?”
Morg shook his head from side to side trying to dislodge the last cobwebs in his mind. “No. There is an Earthling and Trikian in the sleeping quarters. The Trikian is dead. I’m not sure about the Earthling.”
The orderly made a notation of what Morg said and headed for the sleeping quarters. “I’ll be right back. Try to relax.”
Morg wanted to laugh but he knew it would hurt too much. Try to relax? Was the orderly joking? Every tendon and skeletal membrane in his body screamed in pain. He had been wounded many times in battle, but nothing compared to this. Pain resulting from wounds was usually local
ized, but this illness radiated a pulsating pain throughout his entire inner and outer body.
Morg went back to watching the activity on the docking platform. The bustle hadn’t let up since he passed out. Every floatation stretcher he could see held a body. It wasn’t hard telling the dead from those still clinging to life. The death stretchers contained more than one body and were pushed by a robotic android. They moved at a speed much slower than the stretchers with a living being. The robots walked each death stretcher into the Refuse Room where the bodies were dumped into an acid tank. Within two minutes each corpse dissolved to nothing.
In the sleeping quarters, the orderly examined the kid who was in the initial stages of full-blown delirium. He thrashed about and talked with invisible visitors. If the orderly had bothered to listen, he would have heard an outline of the invasion of Yanda. He did take notice when the kid screamed at someone named Prefect Conway. The orderly turned around and did a quick scan of the sleeping room to make sure this Prefect being was only a figment of the patient’s imagination.
The orderly locked down the kid on the gyro cot, so he wouldn’t have to fight with him during the examination. Fluid and skin samples were required of each new patient regardless of their condition, rank, or planetary affiliation. The samples went to the depot’s testing facility for chemical and medical analysis. Within thirty minutes the doctor knew what disease or illness the patient suffered from. He relied on a data bank containing the records of every illness or disease reported in the last hundred years. If any other being in the universe had contracted the same disease, it matched automatically with the newest patient. The doctors wouldn’t have to see the analysis report to know what was wrong with the Earthling. His symptoms were identical to thousands of other patients who arrived at the medical depot in the past couple weeks.