Catalyst

by Fletcher DeLancey

  “Go!”

  Either she had killed everyone in that room, or whoever was left had given up. Nothing stirred while the two security officers jumped in quick succession. The moment Korelonn was in, she hit the manual control for the door and breathed a sigh of relief as the two halves sealed themselves shut.

  “Delafield, we’re all in. Get us out of here.”

  “Confirmed. Hold on tight.”

  She wrapped her hand through the nearest grab strap just as the deck tilted under her feet. A growing engine throb filled her ears.

  “Com, end open channel.” She looked around the eight tired faces lining the bay. Some seemed shocked, others simply relieved. Gizobasan sat on the floor with one leg tucked up and the other out straight.

  “Can I pass this back?” Blunt asked, holding out her rifle to Roris.

  Ekatya had forgotten she was still holding hers. She passed it off to Korelonn and watched as both rifles made their way into the rack.

  The deck suddenly went out from under their feet, sending everyone crashing against the bulkheads. Only their grab straps kept them from flying through the air. As the shuttle leveled and they all found their footing again, Delafield’s voice came over the bay com.

  “Sorry, everyone. One of those crazy torquats just tried to ram us. I guess they got tired of their ammunition bouncing off our shields. They really do not want us to leave.”

  “A suicide pilot?” Ekatya asked incredulously. “What the Hades is in those files?”

  “I don’t know.” Kitt scowled. “But I’ll work day and night until I find out. I owe that to Ensign Bellows. He could have decrypted these files in an hour; he’d already done it once. It’ll probably take me a week. But I’ll find out. I’ll—” She stopped, her jaw tight and eyes shining with tears.

  “I know,” Ekatya said. “Lieutenant Kitt, decrypting those files is your top priority. You have no other duties until you finish that job. I’ll inform Commander Kenji of your assignment.”

  Kitt looked at her gratefully. “Thank you, Captain.”

  A few minutes later, Delafield informed them that he had outpaced the chasing Halaaman fighters and they could release their grab straps. “Since you’re my cargo, I can save you a trip to the decon chamber,” he added. “If that’s your preference, Captain?”

  “Yes, good idea.” Ekatya spoke in a slightly louder tone to reach the bay coms. “Positions, everyone, and it looks like Lieutenant Gizobasan could use some assistance.”

  Torado helped Gizobasan back to her feet, and they all stood with legs spread, arms above their heads, and eyes closed.

  “Ready,” Ekatya called out.

  “Activating decon now,” Delafield said.

  A warning klaxon sounded, followed by the shuttle computer’s voice. “Commencing cargo bay biohazard decontamination in five seconds…four…three…two…one…begin.”

  Once again, light filtered through Ekatya’s eyelids, but this was not the overwhelming flash of a stun bead. Instead, a faint blue glow came and went as the sterilizing beams moved through the cargo bay. She had watched it enough times from outside the decon chamber to know exactly how it looked: planes of deep blue light passing over everything in the room and from all directions. A direct hit on her face made her wince and screw her eyes shut even more tightly. They were all inoculated against the various forms of radiation in those beams, but direct exposure of sensitive eye tissues was never a good idea.

  She had read stories of the early spacefaring days, when decon involved stripping to the skin and being scrubbed down by a team of specialists in tightly sealed suits. It was time-consuming and inefficient, given the number of biohazards that regularly seemed to survive the process—and not something she would ever want to participate in while surrounded by the crew she was commanding.

  The blue glow died away; the computer announced the completion of the process, and they all filed into the passenger compartment. Ekatya took the copilot’s seat, appreciating both the view and the cushion. “This is quite a bit more comfortable than banging around the cargo bay,” she said.

  Delafield glanced at her and then did a double take. “Captain Serrado, are you all right?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “You…” He gestured toward his own face, at a loss for words.

  It was only then that Ekatya realized what she must look like. “It’s not mine,” she said shortly.

  Her tone of voice must have warned him off. Other than mission updates and calls to the Phoenix, he did not speak again for the rest of their flight.

  As planned, Commander Lokomorra had brought the Phoenix nearly into the stratosphere to cut down on their escape time. He called Ekatya and Delafield on the quantum com, looking harassed. To his credit, he did not even raise his eyebrows upon seeing Ekatya’s bloody face.

  “We’re under heavy fire from three warships, but their weapons can’t penetrate our shields. I’m getting very irritated, Captain. They won’t listen to reason. I’m starting to think about hitting one of them just to get their attention. At this rate, we won’t be able to get you and the fighters into the bays.”

  “Tell them exactly that,” Ekatya said. “Tell them that we only want to leave their space, but you will not hesitate to return fire on the next ship that fires on you. Say that you would prefer to leave peacefully, but the decision is up to them. And then act on it.”

  Five minutes passed before the com lit up again.

  “They’re moving to a safer distance,” Lokomorra said. “It took some fireworks to make it happen. One of them is flying a little more slowly since we took out their starboard engine.”

  “Well done, Commander. Any contact from the Great Leader?”

  “Yes, he’s demanding that you return their stolen property and apologize for your grievous breach of courtesy, as well as face charges for multiple murders.”

  Ekatya’s smile was cold. “I’d admit to the stolen property part, but we were the ones using nonlethal force until they were discourteous enough to try to kill our entire landing team. Are we clear for entry?”

  “You are. Come home, Captain.”

  “With pleasure. Get us out of this system the moment we touch down.”

  When they reached the Phoenix, the Halaaman warships were far enough away to pose no threat. Which was not to say they didn’t try. Each of them launched missiles, but their missile propulsion was slow and the Phoenix had no trouble neutralizing them before they got anywhere near the escapees.

  The fighters peeled off for their bay on the port side, while Delafield flew directly over the surf engines to enter the shuttle bay at the ship’s stern.

  Ekatya watched the sides of the tunnel slide past, the guidance lights on its walls flashing a pattern that led them forward. They emerged into the cavernous shuttle bay, flew over a row of parked shuttles, and settled down in the one open space. As the engines spun down and the ground crew rushed to lock the landing clamps in place, Delafield informed Lokomorra of their safe arrival. It was all so very normal. Ekatya dropped her head back against the seat and breathed easily for the first time in what felt like days.

  Home, Lokomorra had said. Home.

  Exiting through the passenger door inspired a comment from Kitt that leaving was easier than boarding, but otherwise the group was quiet as they walked across the deck. Torado stepped up next to Ekatya and held out his hand. “Captain?”

  A shining ensign’s insignia sat in his palm. She picked it up and tucked it into her chest pocket. “Thank you, Trooper Torado.”

  He nodded and dropped back, letting her lead the group out. When they passed through the door into the comfortable quiet of the interior corridor, Ekatya stopped them.

  “I know we’re all weary and heartsick,” she said. “Ensign Bellows was a good officer and a fine young man. But he gave his life for a purpose. We will make certai
n that it wasn’t wasted.”

  She glanced at Lieutenant Kitt, who was nodding.

  “You all have tomorrow off. Record your reports and then take some time for yourselves. Remember that there are people on this ship you can talk to. They understand, and they can help. I’ll tell the chief surgeon what happened. She will inform her psychologists, and if you choose to speak with someone, they’ll already know why you’re there. You won’t have to explain.”

  She looked around the group and gave a single nod. “Take care of yourselves, and take care of each other. Lieutenant Gizobasan, report to the medbay and get that ankle looked at.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Well done, everyone. Dismissed.”

  She watched them walk away, then turned in the opposite direction.

  It felt healing, walking through these corridors. She had always loved the Pulsar design, with its beautiful mix of artistic aesthetics and practicality. The ceilings were higher than on many ships, giving a sense of open space that enhanced the crew’s mental health and productivity. The arched doorways were a nod toward pure aesthetics, but the plantings that adorned them were entirely practical, an efficient means of carbon scrubbing and oxygen production. Flowering plants stood in softly lit alcoves, mostly Filessian orchids but several other species as well. All of them had been chosen not just for hardiness but also for their specific blend of scents, which neutralized the often metallic, stale smell of machinery and recycled air. Ekatya took a deep breath, enjoying the unique Pulsar scent: woodsy, ever so slightly floral, always fresh.

  Between the flower alcoves were mosaics of colored tiles, lit by recessed spotlights in the ceiling. Every Pulsar-class ship had different mosaics, created by artists who competed for the honor. Ekatya had spent years wandering the corridors of the Caphenon, getting acquainted with the hundreds of mosaics that graced it. Now she had new ones to learn.

  She paused in front of one, its abstract pattern of blues and grays reminding her of the ocean back home on a rainy day. She lost track of time as she stood there until the soft click sounded in her head and she heard an unwelcome voice.

  “Captain Serrado, this is Dr. Wells.”

  Wells sounded irritated, and she had not offered the courtesy of a double-click call. Ekatya would have appreciated being able to answer when she was ready. Or not at all.

  She reminded herself that she was still on duty and thus subject to instant access calls. “Yes, Dr. Wells.”

  “May I ask where you’re going? Because your locator shows that you’re not on your way here.”

  “I’m going to my quarters, Doctor. To take a much-needed shower. Is there anything else about my personal plans that you need to know?”

  “Captain, you’ve just returned from a mission in which you were injured. I didn’t think I’d need to remind you of protocol.”

  “I’m perfectly aware of protocol, thank you. My injuries were minor. I think they can wait until I’ve showered.”

  “If I had a bar chit for every time I heard some variation of that, I’d be an alcoholic. Report to the medbay, Captain.” She cut the call.

  Ekatya clenched her jaw in sudden fury. “You picked the wrong day for that, Wells.”

  Her anger had not abated when she stormed into the medbay, finding Dr. Wells waiting for her at the entrance.

  Wells took one look at her and nearly dropped her medpad. “Slight injuries? How are you even walking? Come on, let’s get you treated.” She reached for Ekatya’s upper arm and began guiding her toward the nearest treatment room.

  Ekatya yanked her arm up and away. “Do not touch me without permission,” she snarled.

  Wells frowned. “Captain, I need to—”

  “You need to think before you speak to me, and especially in that tone of voice. I didn’t get shot; Ensign Bellows did. I’m just the one who caught his body. This is his blood, and his brains are probably in my hair if you want to take a sample.”

  Wells stood frozen, her jaw slack. “Oh, stars. Captain Serrado—I’m sorry.”

  Ekatya spun on her heel and stalked into the treatment room. She was already sitting on the bed when Wells entered.

  The doctor was silent while she shut the door and activated the privacy screen. As the transparent wall turned opaque, she said, “Please accept my apology.”

  “Why should I? You wouldn’t accept mine.”

  Wells sighed. “And that was a mistake. I should have.”

  “What convenient timing.”

  “Look, Captain—”

  “I would like you to finish my examination, as your precious protocol demands, and let me get back to my quarters so I can wash Ensign Bellows’s blood and brains off of me. That’s all I need, so if you would just get to it without any unnecessary conversation?”

  Wells bowed her head. “I understand you were affected by a stun bead explosion.”

  “More like half a dozen of them, but since Ensign Bellows’s dying act was to helpfully fall on top of me and shield me, I don’t have any lasting effects.”

  “Oh, for the love of flight! Captain, stop, please!” Wells held up her hands, palms outward. “Truce. I call a truce. Please? This is… I just want to help you.”

  Ekatya’s fury drained away, leaving her defenseless against the sympathy in the doctor’s eyes.

  “Fine,” she muttered. It was the most she could manage through the constriction in her throat.

  Dr. Wells opened a drawer and picked up a small probe. “I need to assess the possible damage to your ears. I’ll have to touch you to do that. Do I have your permission?”

  Ekatya nodded, then closed her eyes against the gentle press of hands on her head. Something pushed into her ear.

  “Your eardrum looks fine,” Wells said softly. “Please tell me if you can hear this.”

  A tone sounded, deep inside her head.

  “I can hear it.”

  “Good. Tell me when you can’t hear it anymore.”

  The tone rose in pitch, higher and higher, until it vanished.

  “It’s gone.”

  “Very good. You haven’t lost anything on that side. I’m moving to your other ear now.”

  Ekatya hated the careful way Dr. Wells was treating her, as if she were fragile and on the verge of shattering. But she had asked for it—no, demanded it. Wells could hardly behave any other way.

  Her other ear was pronounced in good shape. She held up her head and stared into a too-bright light as her vision was assessed, then demonstrated her ability to visually track an object.

  Dr. Wells stepped back. “Did you lose consciousness?”

  “No.”

  “Any dizziness, headache, nausea?”

  She shook her head.

  “All right. I need you to take off your jacket now.”

  It should have been easy. Just unfasten the six tabs holding it shut and pull it off. But her fingers had developed a pronounced tremble, as well as an appalling weakness, and she could not get the first tab open. She tried again and again, yanking at the throat guard and getting more upset with every passing second.

  “Will you allow me to help?” Dr. Wells asked.

  She wanted to refuse. She wanted to shout at her, to tell her not to treat her like a damned victim, but the words would not come. Instead, she nodded and dropped her hands to her sides.

  Wells pulled the tabs with infuriating ease, her hands steady and strong. When she opened the jacket, her intake of breath was audible.

  “It’s not mine,” Ekatya said. For some reason, this seemed to be an important point.

  “Is it all right if I make sure of that?”

  “How much is there?”

  “There’s…a lot.”

  “I felt it, you know. When they pulled me upright, I felt it going down my collar. But I didn’t pay much attention, bec
ause I was trying to get it off my face. I couldn’t even open my eyes—” A laugh tore out of her, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Shippers, it isn’t funny. I didn’t mean—”

  Dr. Wells looked pained. “I understand.”

  “You can’t possibly understand.”

  “I’ve had people die in my arms, too.”

  “He didn’t. He died before that. They blew his head off. That’s why there’s so much blood, because his heart was pumping it out and it was all landing on me. But he died before I caught him. He died because I was one second too late. I tried, Dr. Wells. I tried to stop him. I knew something was going to go wrong, and when I saw him opening that door—” Her breath caught. “I tried.”

  “I know,” Wells said. “I know you did.”

  Ekatya let her head fall back and took a shuddering breath. “Please finish this examination.”

  “I will. But first I think we need to get rid of this shirt. May I take it off?”

  At Ekatya’s silent nod, Wells untucked the shirt and pulled it over her head. It was only then that Ekatya realized it was still damp; the material felt slimy as it peeled off her skin. She took the white hand towel Wells offered and refused to look as she rubbed her chest dry and attempted to clean her face. The blood there had already dried, so she shrugged and held out the towel.

  “There’s a wet patch in your hair, if you don’t mind my help with that.”

  Again Ekatya nodded. Her words had run dry.

  She felt Dr. Wells dabbing at a spot on the side of her head and knew it was not blood she was removing. Wells threw the towel into the laundry chute in the corner of the room, pulled a medshirt out of a cupboard above it, and helped Ekatya put her arms through the sleeves.

  “I’ll close it when we’re finished,” she said.

  She went through the remainder of the exam swiftly and with a gentleness that almost hurt, always explaining what she was going to do before she did it. True to her word, she sealed the shirt when she was done, then helped Ekatya put on her jacket and refastened the tabs. She had not even asked. Somehow she had known Ekatya would not want to walk through her ship in a medshirt, even when the only alternative was a blood-soaked jacket.