The Boneyards of Nebula

by Rod Little

  “Yes, I know what an island is,” Loxtan Vahr spoke from behind a large desk in his presidential suite onboard his transport ship. “How clever. He wants to keep an eye on us, keep us in an enclosed area, just in case.”

  “Bear in mind that we still have the support of the people. They do not.”

  “They have the weapons.”

  “Hmm. Good point, Mr. President.”

  Loxtan rubbed his temples. A headache was forming. “The first civilians are ready?”

  “A few more days of preparation for the effects of Earth: sunlight, heat, gravity and other elements. They'll be ready by the time we land, Sir.”

  “Good. I'm not sure that I am ready, but I will be. I'll meet with Lusus before we land.”

  “One more thing, Sir. There has been a new development at the Earthling Starbase.”

  “What new development? What do you mean? Lusus has attacked them again?”

  “Nothing so dramatic. In fact, his rebel blockade seems to have withdrawn back to Earth. However, a ship has left the Starbase itself and headed toward... Andromeda, oddly enough.”

  “Really? Why?”

  The deputy minister stopped pacing. “I assume... to rendezvous with one of their patrols.”

  “You don't think they're planning an attack, do you? I understood the Earthians were out of this. Are they not?”

  “We assumed so. The Ancients have been away for so long... and silent. But why else are these people sending a ship into Andromeda? I can see no clear motivation.”

  “Indeed. Possible they are going to find help. That does not guarantee they will find it. I think we're okay for now. In any case, the rebels seem well armed. In a conflict against the Earthians, we fight on the same side.”

  “Lusus does have his uses, for now.”

  “For now,” the President repeated. “For now. But eventually everything wears out its welcome.”

  * * *

  The rebels picked up two more Earthlings headed for the New York detention center, and carted them off for questioning. If lucky enough to pass muster and prove they are not spies, they would be allowed to leave in a few days on the Earthian ship.

  Lusus had also been informed about the Praihawk's trip in the direction of Andromeda, and he offered no reaction to it.

  “This smells too much like a military maneuver,” an ambitious sub-commander named Enos said to Yota and Lusus. His tone was full of self-importance. “Have they somehow made contact with the Ancients?”

  Yota did not like the man, and dismissed his notion. “I believe I can allay some of your fears. They are responding to a distress call from the Nebula. It's a rescue mission.”

  “Rescue? Who could possibly be in the Nebula? It's a dead zone.”

  “An automated signal, perhaps.”

  “Like fools, they chase it down.” Enos was still quite full of himself, as if his words somehow brought something new to their cause. “They think they can save everyone. It will be their undoing.”

  “Enough!” Lusus shouted. “Get back to your post. Have all the prisoners been debriefed? The new weapons housed, and cared for properly? Then get to it!”

  “Yes Sir.” The zealous sub-commander blushed, turned and left hastily.

  “I do hate that man,” Yota whispered.

  Although he agreed, Lusus did not acknowledge the comment.

  “We'll meet with the President first.” Lusus spat the word President as if speaking a curse. “Vahr will have to live by our rules, according to our terms.”

  “The activity in the dead zone does not concern you?” Yota asked.

  “Quite the opposite. It may solve one of our problems.”

  “You mean: the battleship.”

  “I do.”

  “One thing is certain, Sir. The chances are small that the Praihawk will come out of the Nebula alive. Few ships ever do. So... that is one less problem for us to worry about.”

  Lusus grinned. “I do like the sound of that.”

  Chapter 7

  Twenty-four hours into the journey, the four members of the Praihawk crew had slept very little. Restless and uneasy, they moved from task to task, maintaining the ship or cleaning bulkheads that did not need cleaning. Anything to pass the time. They played cards for an hour and ate two small meals. Much of their time was spent reading or thinking in silence. They passed hours contemplating the past and the future – each in his own spiral chain of thought, or spellbound by the stars on the other side of the window.

  But they rarely talked.

  Sam read his tablet. He had missed his last test, so he felt he should at least make it up by studying. He devoured everything that was written on the subject of the Nebula – which wasn't much. It hadn't been visited often, and few who traveled there ever came back to talk about it.

  Now he lay on the floor of the bridge, reading leisurely, while Bohai piloted the ship and Dexter studied the data constantly coming in from the ship's sensors. George slept in one of the back rooms. Teak – ever the last to join a conversation – was hidden away in some dark corner, resting.

  “Listen to this,” Sam said. “It's from the Earthian Star Charts. They have notes next to each entry, short interviews or ramblings from pilots who've visited any part of the galaxy.”

  “Yeah? Anything helpful?” Bohai asked.

  “Check this out. It says: 'Nothing good lies in that narrow river of space, just bits of blood and metal from a time long gone. No one should enter those stars again. The thing about Nebula's Boneyards is that it's where Death goes to sleep. If you go in, you might just wake it up.' That's from one pilot.” He looked up. “That's exactly what it says.”

  “Well, that just sounds... awful,” Bohai said. He swiveled his chair. “Anything else?”

  “Another crew member says: 'Take your heart with you. There is none where you go, if you cross that veiled line into the dead zone.' Hmm. A bit dramatic, if you ask me.”

  “And not helpful,” Bohai pointed out. “It's like the old sea maps where they wrote: Here there be dragons! Not helpful, but... scary.”

  “Keep in mind,” Dexter said. “There is no proof that any of those men actually went into the Boneyards, or even the Nebula. Those are akin to folk tales on my world. What we do know is that there is a strange pull inside the Nebula, a dark zone. If a ship gets caught in it, functional engines are needed to get out. Any ship with working engines can easily escape the zone, but derelict ships floating in space will always get pulled in and are trapped there forever. Over the years, it has collected the dead remains of a hundred ships. Maybe more.”

  “But it says here that a few pilots went in and returned,” Sam said. “They wouldn't talk much about it, but they said it's a spooky place.”

  “We've heard the stories too, but... where is the proof?”

  “I guess we'll find out,” Sam said. “We're going to know soon enough.”

  “Indeed we will,” Dexter muttered and went back to examining the sensor data. “Indeed we will.”

  The ship sped on.

  Sam went into his quarters and closed his eyes to get some rest. He doubted he could actually fall asleep, wired for the mission as he was, but he felt he should at least rest his eyes.

  As he lay there, he thought about the people back on Starbase 21, now buzzing like a small city, healthy and active. Was this mission jeopardizing all that? Was this a bad idea? To rescue only a few humans caught in space, can it be worth it?

  It's worth it to the humans in trouble. It would be worth it, if it were me.

  But what if we bring something worse back?

  And the other side of him countered: What if we bring something good back? It cuts both ways, guy.

  He tried to distract his mind, think of something else. First he focused on the main points of the rescue operation, which he had memorized; but that only made him more tense. He'd never get to sleep that way. He shifted focus to some good memories. It was when he ruminated about being a child again and watchi
ng old movies at the Rialto Theater, that's when he finally drifted off to sleep.

  Sam woke up. No clue how long he had been out. A quick glance at the timepiece next his bed indicated he had been sleeping for six hours.

  Six hours! That's great, he cheered to himself. We'll be there soon, just a little longer.

  He stood up and stumbled into the bathroom, splashed water on his face, then dressed and walked back toward the bridge. The ship was unusually quiet. Bohai had stopped playing music, and no one was talking. The corridor was dimly lit, normal energy-saving procedure for such a small crew, but it made him feel cold. The ship felt eerie.

  Sam stepped onto the bridge and was surprised to find it empty. Even Dexter was gone from his post.

  “What the frak!” He said out loud. His voiced echoed off the walls. “Guys you can't leave the bridge unmanned.”

  He marched back through the hall and checked all their quarters. Empty. The kitchen and back bay were also empty.

  Not good not good not good, he thought. But there's an explanation. There has to be.

  “Guys!” He called out. The word reverberated back to him again and again. No reply. The only other sound was the hum of the ship's engines as they plowed forward.

  No one else was on the ship.

  Panic gripped the boy, and he ran back to the bridge. He checked the controls and navigation, which revealed they had come further than they should by this time. They were already inside the Boneyards!

  “Why is the monitor off?”

  Sam activated the front screen, which should never have been deactivated, and an image came into focus. A giant eyeball looked back at him. Was it hovering in space, or was something on the ship – looking into the camera lens? The whites were bloodshot, and the pupil began to dilate. It blinked.

  “Who is that? What is that?” he asked.

  “It's the devil girl from Mars,” a familiar voice spoke from behind him. “She's out there.”

  Sam swung around and faced a young man standing in the doorway. It was Ken!

  “What the hell... Ken!” Sam cried out. “We thought you were dead. We left you back in that small town...”

  Ken raised a skeletal hand, no skin from the elbow to the fingers, and pointed a bony finger toward the screen. “I am dead. This is where we all go when we die.”

  Something rattled in the hall behind Ken.

  “Who's back there?” Sam asked. “What have you done with the others, with my friends?”

  “I'm your friend,” Ken said hoarsely. “Right?”

  “Yes, but... where are the others?” Sam felt his arm get hot. Should he fire the spark at this creature? Surely it wasn't really Ken; it's an illusion.

  Another raspy noise in the hallway, and an alien beast appeared with three eyes and two fangs. It reached out a claw and grabbed Ken in one swipe, then dragged him back down the hallway.

  Ken screamed and then Sam screamed, too.

  He tried to spark up, but nothing came. His spark was impotent. He stumbled forward and fell to the floor. When he looked up again, a gush of water came spilling through the ceiling, flooding the deck. He felt he might drown.

  Bohai stuck a hand in the water and pulled him out.

  Sam stood up quickly. He was back in his room, dripping wet. Bohai had thrown cold water on his face to wake him up. It dribbled off his chin and pooled on the floor at his feet.

  “Sorry, man, it was the only way I could get you to wake up. You were screaming in your sleep.”

  Sam breathed heavily, wiped water from his cheeks. It was mixed with sweat. Briefly he was relieved it had been just a dream, but then doubts set it. Was he losing his mind? That would be worse.

  I'm not crazy. I'm scared, but not crazy

  “You okay, Sam?”

  “How long was I asleep?”

  “About two hours.”

  “Oh. Damn, we've still got a long way to go.”

  “About nine hours or so, yeah.”

  George poked his head in the doorway and started to say something, then hesitated when he saw the water dripping off Sam onto the floor.

  “Did you pee yourself.”

  “What? No, I didn't pee myself!” But Sam actually wondered if he had peed himself, too. He didn't want to look.

  “Listen,” George said, “Dexter wants to run through our plan again. If you ladies are done playing around, please join us on the bridge.”

  Sam gave a mock salute. When George left, he checked his pants. The water had splattered onto his jeans, but it only looked like a pee stain. It was just water.

  No pee. Good.

  “You sure you're okay?” Bohai asked.

  “I am, just let me take a quick shower. Tell them I'll be there in a minute.”

  “Hey, we're all scared, so take it easy. We'll be fine.”

  Teak crawled through the doorway to check on them. He scampered up the wall and inspected Sam's room.

  “He's worried about you,” Bohai said.

  “That's sweet. But I'm fine.”

  Bohai wasn't entirely convinced, but let it go for now. “Yeah... well... See you on the bridge. Maybe change your underwear, too.”

  “Haha, funny. I did not pee myself.”

  Chapter 8

  The main garden, the largest of seven on Starbase 21, hosted new ripe fruit and fresh blossoms today. Mark and Dylan now bent to the task of picking the ripest fruit for the kitchen. They took turns climbing the ladder to reach the purple bulbs – an apple/papaya hybrid – while the other boy steadied the ladder.

  The station's single remaining centipede scuttled away from the next tree they approached, and it made Mark stop cold in his tracks. He studied the strange creature and waited for it to disappear before starting up the ladder.

  “That thing is so creepy,” he muttered.

  Dylan agreed. “Yeah, I don't like it. I mean, normally yeah, but not this one. I always liked centipedes, they look cool. But this one...”

  “Yeah. This one is weird.”

  A clump of extremely ripe fruit caught his eye above the reach of the ladder. Mark stepped off the rungs and clambered into the branches of the tree. As he climbed higher, he noticed something white and shiny above his head. He squinted, but couldn't figure out what it was, so he climbed higher.

  “What are you doing?” Dylan asked, craning his neck to look up. “That's too high. You passed the fruit. Its over here, to your right.”

  “There's something else.”

  “What?”

  Mark finally reached the white object. It was oblong and bigger than him, resembling a giant white pea pod the length of a boy. It glistened under the UV lights. At a certain angle, a rainbow of color swept across its shiny outer surface.

  He started to reach out and touch it, but then snapped his hand back. The object had twitched. Something inside him said this wasn't like touching a dead squirrel or an ant hill back home. This thing was different. Its form pulsed like a beating heart.

  It was alive!

  He pulled a leafy branch aside and saw other white objects deep inside the tree. More of them!

  Suddenly the centipede appeared above his head. It wound around the branch next to him and hissed. It's tentacle-like antennae lashed out at the boy. Mark was startled and lost his footing; he skidded down two branches before catching himself. The centipede reared its head again and spat down at the child. Mark scrambled for the ladder, then fell the last seven feet to the ground. He landed on the plush grass, cushioning his fall.

  “Hey! You okay?”

  Mark got up and brushed himself off, all the while staring up at the centipede. His eyes never left it. Though he was badly bruised, and his ankle hurt, nothing was broken.

  “Come on,” he said. “We gotta go tell someone.”

  “Tell them what?”

  “Let's get outta here. I'll tell you on the way.”

  The two boys left the fruit behind and bolted up the long sidewalk and then out of the garden dome.

&
nbsp; Shane and Stu sat the boys down and tried to get them to calm down and repeat their story as clearly as possible. Mark had told them a fantastic tale about a living giant pea pod and a killer attack-centipede guarding it. The men tried to make sense of it.

  “And there's more of 'em!” Mark exclaimed. “I'm telling you, there are a whole bunch.”

  “Did you see them?” Shane asked Dylan.

  “I saw one, but... I guess there are more. It's hard to see from the ground.”

  Stu grunted. “This might be a threat to the station. Seal off the garden for now. Let's get that Kelvin fellow and his robot in on this.”

  “Yeah, and I hope they know what these things are. Call a meeting, and don't scare anyone else! You two boys don't say a word to anyone else except Kelvin and Bem. Come with us.”

  They met in the conference room with Bem, Kelvin, Filla and Walter. After Mark told his story again, and Dylan punctuated it with plenty of “that's right” exclamations, they stared across the table at their hosts.

  “I don't know,” Kelvin stated honestly. His eyes were wide with candor, wrinkled at the edges from the toll of years, but without guile. “I've lived here my whole life and never saw anything that looked like a… pod. And those centipedes never bothered us. Not once.”

  “I can confirm this,” Bem said in his uninflected single-tone voice. “They have never interacted with me.”

  “They might not be a threat,” Walter offered. “But we can take precautions. It is possible that they reproduce every few decades. This appears to be like pupa or some form of chrysalis. Any mother would attack you, or seem to be attacking you, if you threatened her babies. We don't know if these centipedes intend to do us any harm.”

  Shane frowned. “We don't know; that's the problem. But until we're sure, I want that garden sealed off. And I want to have the other gardens searched. Let's see how many of those things are on the station. If a hundred new centipedes are about to hatch, I want to know where they are.”

  “While their threat may not be direct, as of yet,” Bem said, “They could have the capability to decimate our food supply. In the past, the few centipedes on the station ate very little. However, should hundreds or thousands of them suddenly appear, they might pose a problem for our fruit supplies.”