The Boneyards of Nebula

by Rod Little

  They cantered back to the control room, and Bohai slapped Sam on the back. “Good job, man.”

  “Thanks.”

  George added: “For a skinny guy, you're not entirely useless. My mom would call you a tall drink of water with no more meat than a toothpick, but you do get the job done.”

  “Thanks, George.”

  Dexter started the engines and slowly maneuvered the ship out of the black clearing and into the heart of the ship junkyard. Sam and Bohai took seats at the stations next to him, and George stood and looked over their shoulders. The sea of space debris ahead of them looked even less inviting than on their entry into this mess. And now, knowing about the creatures, it had an added feeling of being watched.

  Bohai let Dexter steer, and cracked open one of the books, hoping to find some information that would help them. An entire section was dedicated to Nebula's Boneyards, but any map would be useless: its contents shifted daily.

  “The Boneyards eat their dead,” Bohai read aloud. “And the dead spirits eat the living.”

  Sam looked sideways at him: “What the frakk?”

  “Sorry man, I'll try to filter what I read out loud. But it's what it says right here...”

  “Skip the scary doomsday stuff, and try to find something useful, man. Okay?”

  “I'm on it, Chief.”

  Dexter ignored them both, concentrating solely on the narrow corridor of space in front of the ship. Navigating the Praihawk through the maze would be like threading a needle.

  The severed wing of a glider coasted into their path, and three Saratu creatures balanced on top of it – waiting for their moment to jump onto the Praihawk. Their white eyes glowed in the darkness of space.

  Sam was at the weapons station, and fired a laser. It sent one of the Saratu flying off the wing and spinning hopelessly into a void beyond.

  “We have minimal power for weapons,” Dexter warned him. “Please act accordingly.”

  Sam took his hand off the trigger and waited to see how close they might come to the creatures.

  Dexter inched the ship forward, turning slightly to starboard to avoid the rogue wing. They avoided it, but were close enough for the two creatures to jump. One creature missed and spiraled into space before landing on another island of junk on the other side. They could not guess whether it lived or not. The other Saratu's jump was successful. It thudded onto the top of the Praihawk and prowled its way toward the back of the ship: the vents.

  “Lovely,” George said, grabbing a rifle and loading it. “I'll be in the back, if you need me.”

  “Need any help?” Bohai asked.

  “Nope. I got this. Dexter, you keep those engines open. Get us out of here, and I'll keep the critters from getting in.”

  Dexter did not answer, but kept his eyes on the screen in front of him. The ship continued to advance, bumping small parts of broken ships and pushing them out of the way. One lone engine, hopelessly lost from its host, drifted in front of them. The Praihawk's nose hit it harder than expected and sent it careening into another heap of parts. That sent a wave of motion down the line, and the whole of the Boneyards started to sway – a domino effect. The landscape changed and created a whole new maze to be negotiated.

  “Why does this seem harder than it was coming in?” Sam asked. He stood up and took a place behind Dexter's chair, and peered into the screen.

  Dexter bit his lip and concentrated on driving. “Because the layout is different now. It might be from our own interference, or...”

  “Or someone else?”

  “I always said that science vessel had to have back-up, somewhere out there.”

  Two gunshots echoed from the back engine rooms. They tensed up and waited for a signal.

  “We're good!” George yelled out.

  The tension level dialed back a notch, and the ship continued meandering through the labyrinth of space junk. Minutes later, the fragments started to part, and a large clearing presented itself straight ahead. Stars could be seen in the lane beyond; it looked like the doorway out of this ship graveyard was clear and wide open.

  Dexter increased speed. Soon they would be out of this grim space jungle of dead ships, and could put this cursed mission behind them. But still, they felt they were being watched.

  Sam was clutching the back of Dexter's chair so tight, his knuckles started to hurt. When he realized this, he loosened his grip and tried to inhale and exhale in even breaths – the way Bohai had taught him.

  The ship cleared the last of the obstacles. Behind them, a confused mesh of metal floated in their wake and blocked the corridor they had just passed through. In the monitors, they watched the doorway close. One lonely Saratu creature appeared suddenly on a stranded vessel, snapped its jaws, and stared longingly as their ship escaped its wrath. It was too far away to be a threat.

  Leaving the Boneyards sent a swell of relief through the ship. Sam realized he had sweat on his brow and wiped it off absently with a sleeve. Now they could make haste out of the Nebula and head back to Starbase 21.

  But still, they were being watched.

  Part III

  “Then in rapid succession... terrific explosions occurred inside and outside the three ships standing above close to their rep-ray generators, and all signals from these ships thereupon went dead.”

  ― Philip F. Nowlan, Armageddon 2419 A.D.

  Chapter 26

  Terror finally morphed into something less: a mere nervous discomfort. Inside the refugee tent city on Earth, John and Gena did their best to calm down the rest of the Earthlings while they waited for whatever happened next. Even if the ship did come and rescue them, what might come after that? Few knew what to expect up there on Starbase 21, or the “sky city” as some people were calling it.

  The attack of the strange creatures had made everyone jittery, and now the guards were scared, too. That made them belligerent and less accommodating. One guard even punched a civilian man for asking for more food. His comrades pulled him back and issued a word of caution. Their commander had given strict orders not to kill anyone, or hurt them too badly. Why? They didn't know yet. A peace treaty perhaps. All they knew was that these people in the tents would be taken away someday, maybe even this week. And then... the planet Earth would be rebuilt for them.... for the people of Neptune.

  Erakan wove through the refugees, stepping over torn bags of clothes and last belongings, backpacks full of the poignant remnants of someone's old life, what they would take to the new world. He jostled through the crowds until he found Gena and John. The soldier pulled them aside.

  “Thanks for saving me,” he said earnestly.

  “No problem,” said Gena. “I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you ain't no soldier. I mean, you don't fit in with all this. Do you?”

  Erakan's cheeks flushed. “I didn't want... I mean, I joined because I was told... well, we all have a duty to perform.”

  “Yeah, but this ain't the regular army, is it? I mean, this is some rebel warlord's party, right? So why are you in with 'em.”

  “What my wife is sayin',” John added, “is that some of these soldiers, well they do seem to enjoy this. The violence suits them. It don't suit you, brother.”

  Erakan looked both ways and pulled them further aside, behind one of the tents. “If something happens, I'll help you. But you need to know, I plan to desert.”

  John crossed his arms over his chest. “What exactly you got in mind, son?”

  “I want to go to that Starbase with you. I'm going to pretend to be an Earthling, and I need your help.”

  Gena's voice softened. “That could be dangerous, honey. If they find out... if either side finds out, well, I'm not sure which side would barbecue you faster... yours or ours.” Everyone younger was honey to Gena.

  “I don't know what you mean by barbecue, but my people would kill me.”

  “That's about what she meant,” John said. He took a toothpick from his shirt pocket and stuck it in the side of his mouth
. “You'll need to change out of that uniform. I'll see if we can rustle up some clothes for ya. But when do you plan to make the switch? Pretty sure your buddies there are gonna notice you gone.”

  “Fighting has been breaking out all over,” Erakan said. “It's getting confusing, men being transferred from here to there. They won't notice me gone, but they will notice me here in civilian clothes. I'll wait until just before the refugee loading, when your ship comes. I'll march on with you two, if you don't mind.”

  John shared a “you sure?” look with Gena. She nodded her agreement.

  “We don't mind,” John said. “We'll find you some clothes and keep them close. You stay near us. When the time comes, you can switch outfits. I think it might just work.”

  “Remember, don't talk too much when we get on that new ship,” Gena said. “You sound like an alien just about every way to Sunday. Don't act so surprised about little things like apples and orange juice! Try to blend in and pretend you've had fruit before.”

  “Quick question, though,” John said. “Curiosity has me here. I thought you folks came to Earth for the sunshine and the flowers. Or something like that. So why you givin' it all up to go live on some star city in the sky, no sunlight, and a bunch of strangers around you. What's up with that?”

  “Simple fear,” Erakan said. “I'm afraid of Lusus, my commander. I fear he will breed nothing but death here on Earth. I don't think things are going to turn out the way we all planned.”

  “Nothing does, honey,” Gena said. She squeezed his arm with a reassuring pump. “Best we can ever do is improvise.”

  John shifted the toothpick in his mouth. “Been doin' that for forty-some years. Guess we can do it a bit more. Duck when they shoot, bend when they try to break you, and keep your eyes open. Improvise.”

  Erakan had no idea what they were saying, but he liked them. Almost as much as he liked Earth.

  Chapter 27

  At the edge of the Nebula, the Praihawk's course was blocked by two obstacles: two Sayan warships were converging on their trajectory and their intention was clear: they aimed to prevent the Praihawk from leaving the accursed space lane. The warships' weapons had already powered up and taken aim on the Earthian craft, but had not yet fired.

  “We can take them, right?” Sam asked. “I mean, we outgun them.”

  “Not if we intend to get home,” Dexter said. “We have barely enough power for the long journey back to Starbase 21. If we engage these two in battle, we will destroy them, but we will not have power sufficient to reach our home base.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Wake up our guest. Bring her in here, please.”

  George left and came back in two minutes, dragging Sheni with him. Her hands and feet were cuffed. He laid her gently in a corner of the control room, where she could see the display screens.

  “Your friends?” Dexter asked. “Army or Rebel?”

  “They are here to collect the Oculus Seed.”

  “That trinket we pulled from the Orca?” George asked. “Well, they ain't getting it.” He paused, then added, “But they can have you back.”

  “They don't want me. They want the Seed, the weapon.”

  Dexter spun in his chair to face her. His eyes were sharp and serious. “I need you to tell me what it does. I need you to tell me now.”

  “I honestly don't know,” she said. “I don't. But I do know they want it. Everyone wants it.”

  “Everyone wants it,” Sam mimicked her. “What the hell does everyone want? What in the name of the Pumpkin King is it, lady?”

  She sat silent, defiant. She didn't show any fear or concern for her life, and Sam wondered if that was real or merely an act. True enough, she did not seem afraid, and that scared Sam a bit.

  “They're not getting it from us,” Dexter said decisively. His voice was equally defiant.

  If these two square off, it could get ugly, Sam thought. Best to keep them apart.

  Dexter continued, “And they are not getting her back, either. We are taking both the woman and the artifact back to the Starbase, so that Bem can examine them both.”

  “I'm with you on that,” Sam said. “As long as we can get home. So, what do you want us to do?”

  Dexter contemplated the question, came up empty and turned to each of them. “I am open to suggestions. We need to get past those ships without extra expenditure of power.”

  All four of them including Sheni stared back at the scientist with blank faces, until Bohai looked like he had an idea. He started to speak, then stopped.

  “Never mind.”

  “Whatever it is, son, we need to consider it,” Dexter said. “Right now my only proposal is to obliterate those ships, get as close to Starbase 21 as we can, which might only be halfway, then drift in space until someone finds us.”

  “Is that likely?” Bohai asked. “That someone would find us?”

  “Not very.”

  “Not a great plan,” Sam said,

  “And if someone does find us, that 'someone' who finds us might be Lusus,” Dexter reminded them. “We and this object we collected may end up floating into their hands. So, if you don't mind... we need better ideas.”

  Bohai gave in and explained his far-fetched plan: “What if we pull those ships back into the graveyard?”

  “Lure them into the Boneyards?”

  “Yes. And let the Saratu take care of them.”

  “Interesting.” Dexter started making calculations at his station, instantly off in a world of his own.

  “What about us?” Sheni asked. “Those creatures could get in here again. It's suicide.”

  George shifted the rifle in his hands. “We can take care of anything that crawls on board, because we already know what to look for. I'm betting our enemies over there can't. They may not even know about the critters until they flood into their vents, engine lines, and what-not. We have information they don't.”

  “Interesting,” Dexter repeated again, never looking away from his screens. “There are large clumps of heat signatures here and here. These could be Saratu hives. If we could lead the two enemy vessels to them... it might work.”

  “I'm on navigation,” Bohai told Dexter. “You're on speed control and power levels. We need to work together, and work fast.”

  Dexter brought the Praihawk to a full stop. They waited anxiously as the two Sayan warships came closer and closer. Then Dexter set the bait: he sent a message that the Seed was in their possession, along with crew members from the science ship. The two enemies vessels did not respond, but they closed in faster.

  Now the Praihawk retreated. Bohai pulled the ship back into the Boneyards, slowly picking his route with great care. He avoided contact with any debris and wound deeper and deeper into the tangled mass of metal ruins. A few Saratu appeared on tops of ship parts, but most of them remained crouched in hiding, waiting.

  Waiting to pounce, Sam thought. He did not like this plan.

  The enemy vessels followed the Praihawk into the darkness of the ship graveyard, as Bohai took them behind the large broken hull of an ancient cargo freighter. There he shut down their systems, and waited. The engines' hum evaporated into still air.

  The world went dark.

  Quiet air swallowed them, a blanket of emptiness. The deadly atmosphere of this place still haunted the crew. It was an uncomfortable wait.

  Something bumped into their tail, and the ship creaked, then tilted slightly. It was a gentle tap from a discarded fuel cell that had been drifting in this space yard for centuries and was still in search of a resting spot. After it tapped the Praihawk, it spun sideways, then floated on its way.

  The two enemy warships entered the dark area on the other side of the frigate, and there they halted, but their engines remained on. The heat signatures started moving toward the power source.

  “We need to get them closer,” Dexter said. “The hives are moving, but they may not be able to jump that far. I'm taking us in deeper.”

  �
��Be careful,” Sam whispered. “Both of you.”

  Dexter did not restart the engines. Instead, he tapped the emergency thrusters, sometimes used for guidance in tight spaces. These were small reserve mechanisms that could only be used twice, so he only spent one short burst. It sent the Praihawk gliding away from the protection of the dead cargo frigate and into range of the two Sayan ships. Lights flashed on both ships; they were in battle formation.

  “Their weapons are locked on us,” Bohai said.

  Dexter shook his head. “I don't think they'll shoot us. We have what they want. They mean to board us, not destroy us.”

  A laser beam skimmed across their bow and missed their nose by inches.

  “Of course, I may be wrong.”

  “That was just a warning shot,” George said. “They don't want us going in there.”

  The Praihawk jolted farther in reverse with the last remaining burst of its back-up thrusters. The engine vents remained sealed. The ship had enough momentum behind it to send it crashing into the aft debris, which caused a new wave of movement through the shipyard. It had the effect Dexter had sought: the hives were able to jump ship to ship and get within reach of the enemy vessels. Two giant hordes of Saratu, white against the black of space, covered the two enemy ships in a teeming mass. They scrambled into the vents and infested both ships.

  “Time to go,” Bohai said.

  Dexter didn't have to be told twice. He started the engines and flew at full speed toward the narrow aperture, out of the Boneyards and into open space. They hit a small dead sensor hub on their way out, but it had no effect on them. The hub soared off at an angle and escaped the Boneyards. Eventually the magnetic pull would bring it back into the graveyard, but not today. It was free for the moment.

  Enjoy the free ride, Sam thought with some amusement. He wished the tiny hub a bon voyage.

  But the Praihawk had power and was barreling forward. Within minutes it was out of the Nebula and happy to leave the desolate wasteland behind them.