by Rod Little
“I like that second one,” Bohai said. He was now sitting up straight, no longer feigning low interest. “Tell us it's the second one: no problem.”
Bem looked back at the panel and its corresponding screen. “There is an active ship inside what they call the Boneyards of Nebula. It is radiating energy, and may be capable of flight. Furthermore, there is still a distress call coming from inside its hull.”
“A ship with people?” Sam asked.
“There are life signs on board the ship. I am unable to determine the quantity.”
“Are they human?”
“Uncertain. There is no way to be sure. There exist heat signatures which indicate living beings. I have no means to determine whether they are human, humanoid, or alien life forms. However, they are still alive.”
“Or creatures from the black lagoon of space,” Bohai said to cover all the possibilities.
“You're not helping,” Sam whispered.
“What is a black lagoon of space?” Bem asked. “There are no black holes in that sector.”
“Never mind,” said Sam. “Tell us more. What else did the probe find?”
“The conglomeration of detritus and ship fragments in that area has been disturbed recently. My assessment is that something has been traveling there, possibly living there, for some time.”
“So why the distress call?”
“The obvious answer is that someone requires assistance.”
“I know that, but... why now? What's wrong with them? Is their ship stuck?”
Bem looked at the boys, then at the panel, then back at the boys again. “I am sorry. I lack the necessary information to form a proper hypothesis.”
“Can you guess?”
“Based on the information provided thus far, I would say that one or multiple life forms, traveling on a ship, entered the Boneyards some time ago and began living there. At some point their ship failed in some manner – engine power, life support or other failure – and now they require assistance. That is my best hypothesis, and it is based on an extremely small data set.”
“I love it!” Sam said. “It sounds right. Let's go rescue those people.”
“Those people?” Bohai asked. “Those people might be vampires from Planet X. Think, man. They're out there, you know. Just ask Jason.”
“Or they're humans who need help, and maybe even have technology to share with us! They might be the Ancients!”
“Unlikely,” Bem stated. He blinked again.
Bohai grabbed Sam's arm. “The robot is right; the pool of facts is pretty shallow here. We don't know much. Those people might want to eat our brains right after we help them.”
“But they're probably humans in need of real help. Space Vampires don't send out distress calls! Humans do. They may even have information that can help us in our war against the Sayans.”
“There is no evidence–.” Bem started.
“I think they're ancient Earthians.”
“First of all, we're not at war,” Bohai reminded him. “We surrendered already. Second, this all sounds very... very... Help me, Bem! What's the word?”
“Speculative,” Bem chimed. “Perhaps too hopeful.”
“Right! It's too speculative. We don't know enough to go out there.”
Sam put a hand on Bohai's shoulder and squeezed. “Are you coming or not?”
“Shane won't allow this.”
“Okay. I'll see you when I get back.”
Sam started walking toward the door, and Bohai hesitated, looking back and forth between Bem and Sam, who now exited the room. Finally, Bohai followed his friend. He needed this rescue mission, too, but was reluctant to admit it. The abandonment of Earth weighed hardest on him. He kept it to himself, but he was drowning in remorse. The spider army fought on, and he had deserted them.
He called after Sam, “Fine! But I'm driving!”
Bem watched them leave, confused. Where did they expect to go, unless he released the docking clamps on their ship?
“Curious humans,” he said, and began cataloging the data from the probe.
Chapter 4
The Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania stretched out beautifully ahead of them, and beyond that, the Pennsylvania turnpike. If they made good time, they might reach New York before the deadline.
“You sure this is a good idea?” Gena asked her husband.
“Nope,” John replied in his usually succinct manner.
“But we're doing it, anyway.”
“Yep. We are.”
John and Gena had been motorcycle enthusiasts since their twenties, and now at age forty-four, they found it as exhilarating as when they were young. The problem was, these were not motorcycles. They were dirt bikes, and not even good ones. They were the kind teenage boys would ride into the mountains for a kick. But it was all John could find – at least all that still had working parts – and the gas mileage was phenomenal. Now that spring was here, the snow gone and the days warmer, it felt good to be back on the road.
Today they drove their muddy dirt bikes – one with a flaming skull on its fuel tank – up a steep winding hill that led to the top of a narrow passageway. It was the fastest route through the hills and on toward Pittsburgh.
“These hump busters aren't gonna be worth a spit on the turnpike,” she reminded her husband.
John adjusted the dew rag on the head. “We'll find something better in the 'Burgh. Harleys. Or better.”
“I hope you're right. My butt is killing me.”
The wheels of both bikes were caked with dirt and mud, and they spun up rocks fitfully on their way to the crest of the hill. The path they followed was barely a path, more of a trail. They had passed a few mountain lions already today, but the cats didn't bother them, and John and Gena Mackey didn't ever bother the wildlife. That was rule number one.
Rule number two: don't bother no people neither.
Their journey was part of a longer plan to get to New York for the pick-up point where – supposedly – a giant space ship would take them to some fairy-tale space station where they could all live safely.
Happily ever after, in the stars. Bull!
“Holding hands and raising chickens. Or something like that,” Albert had told them. “You get there, and you got yourself a good life again. They even got beds up there, enough for a whole town.”
Albert had been a farmer and a good man for eighty years. Now Albert was dead. The trip had been too much, too far; it had taken its toll on him. Yesterday they buried his body – fifty miles back, had a short service, and then moved on.
Gena got to the top first, and halted. She turned off her bike and pulled off her helmet. John joined her, but he didn't have a helmet.
“No need! It's a damn dirt bike!” he had argued from the start.
He watched Gena's expression skew from a tired smile to a puzzled frown. Following her gaze, he let out a whistle when he saw what she did.
“What in the name of Sam Hill,” he exclaimed.
Peppered across this side of the mountain, in the cracks and crevices that broke the terrain, were thousands of cocoons, shimmering with silk. They looked like giant butterfly cocoons, but not two inches, not for a normal Nymphalidae or Monarch butterfly. These ranged from two to five feet in length, white with a rainbow sheen that sparkled in the sunlight.
“Pretty,” she said. “I wonder if ten-foot butterflies are gonna hatch from them.”
“I wonder,” said John. He slid a toothpick in his mouth. “Or something else. Giant moths. Or something not quite so friendly.”
Gently they started riding down the hill, steering around rocks, slow enough to avoid sliding over the loose dirt, careful enough to avoid the cocoons. Up close, the nearest silk bulbs throbbed as if something inside had a heartbeat. Gena shivered at the thought. She was not a squeamish woman, but these strange things bothered her.
From further down, they could see how far the cocoons spanned... and they appeared to cover several miles of the mountainsi
de. A thousand silk casings, maybe two, nestled in protective culverts.
A movement startled them at the base of the hill, ahead on the dirt trail. Figures cropped up from the bushes and stood fast in their path, blocking their way.
Gena and John turned off their bikes. They stepped away and raised their hands in surrender. With no kickstands, the bikes fell on their sides.
“Well now,” Gena said. “Looks like we're getting a ride to New York after all. And it looks like we're flying first class.”
Five Sayan soldiers held them at gunpoint and escorted them to a gilder ship. Two more prisoners for the New York detention center.
Chapter 5
Shane and George made no objection to Sam's rescue plan, and that surprised everyone. Shane had given up on trying to shelter his younger brother from the universe. The universe was coming for them, like it or not; so he might as well buckle up and get ready for it. Embrace it or be bulldozed as it passes by.
“I'm not saying No to any more rescue missions,” Shane announced. “If someone needs help, we go. We've left too many behind already... today we stop doing that. There's a distress call and we will answer it. Simple as that.”
“Agreed,” said George. “We'll send out one ship. It'll keep constant communication with the robot man, and feed a data stream back. If things get sticky, a second ship goes out to assist.”
A large group of the original Peak members sat around a conference table with a star chart in the middle. Even Dexter sat there next to Walter.
“The teams?” Bohai asked.
Shane looked at each of them before answering, “A four-man mission. Bohai will fly the Praihawk. Your crew are George, Dexter, and... Sam. Your special abilities may be of help.”
“Sweet,” said Sam. No argument with his brother – that saved a lot of time.
“It is not sweet,” Shane said firmly. He was becoming a strong leader for all of them, which they needed. He knew it. “You will go in and out quickly. Fast run, rescue, out. Find the people who sent that distress call, repair their ship or bring them back here. If you cannot fix the situation quickly, get back here pronto. Bring the survivors back with you, and we'll quarantine them before they come on board the station.”
Walter eagerly raise his hand: “I would love to go along and study–”
“You're not going,” Margaret, his wife, interrupted.
Shane agreed. “This isn't a study mission, Walt. You'll stay here and analyze the data they send back. This is a rescue mission, maybe even an extraction. But not some study tour. This isn't a class project. You got that, Dexter? Don't waste time collecting samples of space goo! Get in and get out.”
“Roger that,” George said. He and Shane were on the same page.
Sam and Bohai were on a different page, but for now, they kept quiet.
No one ever knew what page Dexter was on, but in this case he sided more with George and Shane.
Shane continued: “You need to get back in time to escort the Vortex to Earth for the refugee pick-up. That's four days from now. Bem says it will take thirty-six hours to get there at full speed, and thirty-six to get back. If you only stay a few hours to complete the rescue, you'll be back just in time for the trip to Earth.”
“My estimates may be off by as much as an hour and twenty-four minutes,” Bem added.
“We can live with that,” George said. “Just stay in contact with us at all times.”
“I cannot guarantee vocal communication once you enter the Nebula. However, we will continue to send and receive a data stream.”
“In other words, we can text message you?”
“Not in real time. There will be a delay of thirty to thirty-five minutes.”
“Again, I can live with that.”
“Dexter, you're being quiet,” Sam said. “Any thoughts on this trip?”
Dexter studied his hands, and did not look up. “I do. I hope they are not Sayan.”
“What?”
“The people we are rescuing. I hope they are not Sayan. With any luck, they'll be some of Kelvin's people lost in space.”
“Is that likely?”
Dexter raised his head and met their stares. “No. It is not. I fear we won't really like what's out there.”
Those words hung in the air, and an anvil of quiet fell onto the room, smashing a little fear into each of them. Sam looked away. Something about the scientist's calm words of doom felt like nails on a chalkboard to him. Shane was the one who hated Dexter, but today Sam disliked him just a little bit, as well.
Shane clapped his hands together and spoke quickly to break the silence. “Okay, on that cheery note, let's get to our stations. The Praihawk launches in one hour. Hazmat and space suits and blaster rifles are already on board. Get to it, people.”
They scattered in every direction, but Sam caught his brother and pulled him aside. “So, why the free pass? No argument about me going?”
“None at all.”
“Why?”
“Why am I not fighting with you? I thought you'd be glad for a change.”
“It's... Well, it's not like you,” Sam said. “You usually treat me like a kid.”
“You are a kid. But you're driving me nuts.”
“Nuts? How?”
“You've been bopping around the station all week, first annoying Walter in the Lab, then Jones in maintenance, then a few hours in the hydroponics lab before they kicked you out.... That was a lovely conversation, I can promise you: smoothing things over with Walter's wife.”
“Oh, sorry. I didn't know the plants were–”
“You're restless, Sammy. And it's making me nuts. You gotta go stretch your legs before someone shoots you out an airlock. Seriously, you and Bohai both need to get out somewhere and... do your thing, fix your mojo or aura. Whatever. Stretch your legs. Just come back fixed.”
Sam stared back, a little surprised. He hadn't thought his frustration was so obvious. “Um. Okay, I guess. We'll go stretch our legs and have a cruise in space. And avoid the space goo...”
As Shane strutted out of the room, he pointed behind him and repeated, “Come back fixed. Both of you.”
Now only Sam and Bohai remained in the room. They stood in an awkward silence to let those last words sink in.
“Your brother thinks you're broken?”
“Yeah,” said Sam. “Don't worry, I'm just a little antsy, that's all. I'm fine. Not broken. I promise.”
“He thinks I'm broken, too?”
“You are broken, dude.” Sam laughed. “You read four hundred pages of the ship's tech manuals. Who does that!”
“One who wishes to fly into outer space. That's who. And I'm ready. Space Vampires, beware.”
“Good to know. I suppose we better get on the ship,” Sam said, slapping his friend on the back. “And bonus miles to you if you fly straight and steady. No turbulence. I hate turbulence.”
“We're bringing someone else with us,” Bohai said. “Our crew will be five.”
The fifth member of the crew came on board at the last minute. He crawled up the wall and nestled into one corner of the small loading bay's ceiling. There Teak, the giant wolf spider, rested until they were well underway.
“Any particular reason?” Sam whispered.
“He needs to get out and explore. Restless, same as you and me. And if the rescued party is hostile, we need an ace in the hole. He can hide in a duct; they won't find him.”
“If we're taken prisoner, can he fly the ship back?”
“Of course not. But he can help us.”
“Just checking. He's been pretty resourceful so far. I was kinda hoping he might be able to... you know... they taught monkeys to go into space.”
“He is not a monkey. He could probably eat a monkey, but he can't fly the ship.”
George popped through the hatch and startled them. “What are we talking about, gentlemen?”
“Eating monkeys.”
“Well, drop your sheets, and take your seats. I
t's time to go where few men have gone before.”
Dexter was already seated at the navigation panel on the bridge, and muttering to himself as he plotted their course. He often looked annoyed when doing calculations.
Bohai settled into the pilot's chair, and Sam sat next to him at a monitoring station. George found a seat at a dormant terminal and reclined in it. His job wouldn't kick in until they reached the ship in distress. As security, he would be in charge of protecting them at their destination, but for now he could relax and enjoy the ride. He had brought along a large assortment of weapons, including the spear gun he was so fond of – the one he pinched from the shop in Mexico – and now he polished it as he waited for the launch.
“You plan on doing some spear fishing in space?” Sam asked.
“Could be,” George said, continuing to rub a strange-smelling metal polish onto the spear tube. “Could be.”
The ship's hatch was sealed, as were the docking bay doors. Bem signaled that the docking clamps had been released, and the Starbase docking bay doors slowly opened onto space.
The Praihawk lit up.
With great skill and care, Bohai took the ship out of its hold and gently crept into the space outside the station. When they had cleared Starbase 21, he hit the accelerator and the metal bird zoomed away at rocket speeds. Within seconds, the station was no longer visible on the ship's rear-view screens.
“Next stop, Pottersville,” Bohai announced with a smirk. “The conductor will be by soon to stamp your tickets.”
“Please keep your jokes to a minimum,” Dexter growled. “This will be a long flight, and I have many calculations to perform.”
“Will do, science officer Dex,” Bohai said. “Steady as she goes. Batten down the hatches, and let me know if you see any pirates or sea dragons on the bow.”
Chapter 6
“The rebels have agreed to a timeline,” the Neptune deputy minister reported, as he paced in front of the President. “They have cleared an area for us. I believe it is an island. It's surrounded entirely by water.”