The Lothogy made another growl of disapproval and Keats broke. "Myron! I'm telling you! She won't stand it!"
He'd had enough. Hedric swung hard, his fist connecting with Keats's chin. The man staggered backward, barely catching himself on the metal handrail. Myron needed full concentration to pilot the ship so Hedric followed Keats, bent on subduing the man before the rest of the crew was infected with insubordination. His boots slammed hard onto the meshed walkway connecting the cockpit to the main cargo bay, inches from where Keats was struggling to straighten himself.
"Twelve years," Hedric snarled down at him. "Twelve years I've owned this ship, and she has never once failed me."
Keats got to his feet just in time for the ship to lurch leftward. Hedric caught himself with one arm, straightening to square against Keats again. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had a doubt. It was small but it was there, echoing in Keats's voice. The ship could travel through space. It could negotiate meteor storms with an agility that belied its size. Only once before had they taken her into the ocean and that was barely under the surface.
"Captain," the word was a bite, not a formality. "In the twelve years I've been on this ship I have never seen you so hell-bent to kill us all. You're damned reckless, I know, I've watched you take on the impossible. But you always kept the crew and the ship foremost in your mind."
There was a loud clank just above them and they both looked up. It was small at first, a mere pinprick in size. As they watched, a tear-shaped globule elongated and fell between them, spattering against the grated floor. Water exploded from the inner hull with stinging force, slamming them both to the ground. Hedric smacked into the metal walkway so hard that he felt the checkered grating imprint through his uniform.
Hedric found his feet first, water hammering down on him as he muscled his way to the now broken slat in the ceiling. Covering the hole with both hands, he shoved all his weight against it and grit his teeth. Water rolled down his arm, soaking through his suit so that his peachy skin was visible under the sheer white. Keats appeared at his left with Jellison, who carried a curved sheet of metal several times larger than the hole. It was a joint effort to seal the thing, hampered by the jerk and sway of the Lothogy as Myron continued their course.
"Uh, Captain?" Myron called.
Seeing that Jellison and Keats could finish the repair without him, Hedric went back to the cockpit, leaning over the ledge to see what was wrong. The MEDS screen showed that their course had dove straight inside some abysmal hole, which was getting smaller. Thus far Myron was handling the tighter space with ease, but he could see that would change soon. The more alarming issue, however, were the commands flashing in bright yellow just to the left of the screen.
Launch Antimatter Discs Now.
"She's psychotic," Myron said.
Antimatter Discs were for wormhole travel in space. The so-called brilliant answer scientists had come up with to combat the wormhole's pesky temper. Wormholes would collapse if any sort of matter was put inside, but the Antimatter Discs had a way of tricking a wormhole into thinking nothing was there. The discs were only moderately safe in space, there was no telling what they would do while surrounded by the pressure of several million tons of water.
Or there was a way to tell, his mother just hadn't parted with that knowledge yet.
"Do it," Hedric ordered.
"Captain ... "
"I said do it."
Myron cursed, again, and flipped through the commands. A breathless moment later the ship jolted forward, throwing Hedric off his feet and back into the corridor. His head connected with the walkway hard, pain sparkling into his vision. A strong arm hauled him to his feet and he registered Jellison's boxy face as the man struggled to return him to the navigator's chair. They both fell into the cockpit, Jellison's substantial weight landing half on top of him.
No sooner had they met the cockpit floor than Jellison was up again, gruffly dragging Hedric up and half-tossing him into the chair. He was mildly disconcerted at having been handled like a rag doll, but threw the thought aside for more pressing matters. The Lothogy rattled under sudden speed and pressure, remarkably similar to when it passed through a wormhole, only the MEDS screen showed very little.
Their momentum came to an abrupt halt, the ship going suddenly slack as the visual came clear on the screen. They had either arrived, or were about to explode. For a moment Hedric wondered which option was preferable, and then Myron let go of a tense breath.
"Petrol is nearly depleted," Myron said. "Ionic fuel at forty-three percent."
All the lights and controls went out at once, silencing the pilot. Hedric held his breath, staring into total blackness, and prayed his mother hadn't misled him. The main motor sputtered, struggling to come back to life. Another low groan pulsed around the hull, and then the power flickered back. He breathed again, looking at Myron as he began to push the ship back toward the surface.
There was no command on the screen to do so, but Hedric didn't object. Something felt off about the view in the MEDS screen; an eerie sort of emptiness that crawled up the base of his neck. His mother's words haunted him in the recesses of his mind; "I don't know how it works, son."
He should have asked her for more detail.
*
"The world mourns today as Jennifer Cloacina, the last surviving unaltered female passed away. Aged 87, Cloacina lived to watch all but one member of her female relatives succumb to the Mavirus. Malory Rodstem, Cloacina's second cousin, was among the first of the G.A. - Genetically Altered - women. While scientists still cannot identify why Cloacina was never infected, there is a hope that further study of the woman's remains can shed some light on the mystery." - Associated Press August 22, 2198
Chapter Five
"We've lost contact."
Celeocia took the revelation with grace, staring at the blank screen and trying to remind herself why she had done this. She had a sinking suspicion that this was not a sacrifice she could handle. Was feminine freedom worth the death of her own son?
It would be a good half hour before they had any sort of communication with the Lothogy, if they had made it through. The last report had been the launching of the antimatter discs, but Myron had hesitated for approximately one minute and twenty seconds. They hadn't deviated again but the pause could have cost them fuel and time.
She'd known there would be complications with this mission, those men were headstrong and arrogant, but this was intolerable. Hedric was reckless and charismatic, but he always got the job done. He would manage this time, too, she told herself. In spite of the fact that she'd withheld important information, Hedric and his crew had a way of improvising. Still, she didn't like the fact that she'd essentially lied to him.
Robot and woman warred with each other as Celeocia continued to gaze at the empty screen. The others in the room were quiet, shifting awkwardly in their chairs. She ignored them as she tried to find a balance in herself. There were days when her very existence seemed a cruel mockery of nature. No one should be required to live as only a half human, female or not. The cold, calculating computer taking up half of her brain was callously efficient. It pushed the odds of every confrontation into her view, pointed out the best and only means of survival regardless of the sacrifices needed.
Just as it had when she'd brought this mission to Hedric.
Recognizing that her emotions were getting the better of her, Celeocia turned and left the control room. She needed to be focused when and if Hedric made it through.
***
"I have orders to shut you down, sir." The soldier's voice came out hollow through his Fomorri suit helmet, but David recognized the rank on the shoulder. This was Finnegan, one of Matthew's elite soldiers.
For a moment David wasn't certain he'd heard the man right. Glancing past the Fomorri soldier, he counted five more Fomorri making a strategic, staggered pattern in his laboratory. Each was in the highly mechanized Fomorri armor, a mesh of polarized Kevlar and metal,
jointed and geared to allow the soldiers free movement. The suits were dark green and gray, weapons out to display the gravity of the situation, and David knew by instinct that they would not hesitate to cause violence if he defied them.
"Whose orders?" David stood up from his work bench and struggled between panic and anger.
Had that stupid little imposter managed to leak his experimentation files? He thought they'd caught Mesa in time. Finnegan had even been the one to shoot her down, he knew, but that didn't mean she hadn't found some other way to expose him. If the Community knew what he'd been doing, he'd be banned from the inner council and his credentials would be stripped away.
God, his life would be over.
"Executive orders," Finnegan said. "We're to shut the lab down and escort you back to Earth."
Scowling, David looked down at his work bench. Those were not the orders of the Community and he nearly breathed in relief. He should have known immediately when he'd seen the Fomorri armor. They only "executive" who could command the Fomorri was Matthew Borden himself, David's upstart of a younger brother. Matt had leant the Fomorri to him to subdue the situation with Mesa, but it was quite clear that they were now completely out of David's control.
"Earth," he said and cursed. "And what about my research?"
"Copies have already been transferred. This lab and everything in it will be erased."
"Erased!" David spun to face him. "You can't erase three years of my work!"
His mind reeled to a halt as the first part of Finnegan's statement caught up with him. His brother had copies of his work. And Matt had undoubtedly read it all.
David felt heat seep into his cheeks and for a moment stood dumbfounded in the middle of his own lab. Finnegan leveled the weapon at him, telling him without words that he could and would erase everything in the room, and that included David if he pushed matters. Fear shot through his spine and David swallowed.
"Alright," he said hoarsely.
Finnegan jerked the gun to the left, commanding David to move. He did so, his knees weak and wobbly, and tried to think of some way to convince his brother of the rightness of his cause. But it wasn't really his cause, either, and David couldn't find the passion to lure his little brother into the Makeem. The only reason David had joined the religion was the promise of a future in the Scientific Community. And then, when they'd approached him about this assignment, David had been too curious as to whether or not he could do what they were asking, that it hardly mattered to him where the bulk of his funding came from.
He was led out of the bright, open lab and into the tighter corridors of the Outboard Jupiter station. Everything was clean and white, which made Finnegan's armor stand out all the more. David ignored the horrified glances his staff sent his way. They, too, were in white, blending in with the walls as they passed.
There had to be a way, he thought as he was deposited in a small, two-seater travel ship. There had to be a way to bring Matthew around.
He struggled to remember what Matthew enjoyed, but it had been almost seventeen years since they'd spoken.
Finnegan settled into the pilot seat and began the pre-flight preparations to take them to Earth. From the passenger seat beside him, David watched. He realized in a numb, disjointed sort of way that this was his first trip to Earth in nearly six years.
***
"Magnify," Hedric said.
The MEDS screen zoomed in on the rectangular, half vacant marina in the distance. He could feel the awkward bob of the ship as it rested in the ocean, forcing him to lean against the side of his seat. The instructions his mother had loaded into the Lothogy mainframe flaunted against the corner of the screen, making less and less sense to him. Apparently the next step was to hide the ship somewhere along the coastline, which was problematic on several accounts.
One, there were several open beaches, all heavily populated by scantily clad young people. It had not escaped his attention that half the skin he was seeing was female, which shocked and repulsed him at the same time. The rest of the cockpit was in the same state of eyebrow-raised disbelief.
"What the hell am I looking at, Boss?" Jellison asked. "Eden?"
"I was given to believe Eden was supposed to be tropical," Myron said. "Incoming communication, Captain."
"Finally," Hedric leaned over and punched the commands to accept the communication. The screen went into a static, crackling with white specks that barely began to form his mother's image. "Myron, see if you can clean that up."
"Don't bother," Celeocia said. "Listen carefully. I'm relaying two different coordinates. One will take you to another ship for supplies and repairs. The other will send you to Caresse Zimmerman."
"I need some explanations, mother."
"There's no time," the image flickered and he lost part of her words to the jumble of static. " - in a crate labeled 'acquisitions'. Find Zimmerman and start the journey home."
"I'm not doing anything until I have answers. Where the hell are we? Who is Zimmerman? What the hell is going on?"
"She's important, Hedric." The feed twitched and he cursed before she spoke again, "-Prophet. Remember, Hedric. I need Zimmerman alive."
The image went out, the screen switching back to the teeming, crowded flesh on the coastline. He stared at it for a moment, frustrated because he was so damn blind in this mission, angry because he'd just had to strike Keats - something he'd never done before, at least not to Keats - and more than a little uncomfortable with the suspicions eating away at the back of his mind.
"Jellison, go see what's in the acquisitions box," Hedric turned away from the screen. "Myron, set a course for wherever the other ship is. It probably has enough cover for us too," he pressed the intercom button. "Freeman."
"Thought you'd forgotten about me, Cap'n," Freeman's voice called through the speakers.
"Inspect the ship for any leaks or damages and report them to Keats."
"Roger that."
The intercom went silent and then the room surged to life, Jellison headed out of the cockpit and Myron making the necessary adjustments to their course. Hedric squinted at the screen, trying to make sense of the last half hour. He was partially relieved that his mother hadn't sent him to his death, but even more troubled by what their surroundings could mean. Had the Novo Femina made a secret colony for women? Well, men and women, he thought as an image of a bare-chested male youth crossed the screen.
The complications that went with this line of thought were overwhelming. If the Makeem ever found this place the Novo Femina temple would be razed, its followers executed for gross blasphemy. After the Mavirus Carcinoma had nearly obliterated the female population, the Makeem had risen to power, making a fairly convincing argument that God had chosen to punish women for their vanity. Their proclamations were strengthened when Makeem scientists came up with the only way to save the human race - a genetically altering vaccine that could combat the Mavirus.
But the vaccine came with a price. Mesa had been a prime example of this. She'd been born with only half of her left arm. By the time he'd met her, she had already undergone the surgery to replace the limb with robotics. There were other women, like his mother, who had less fortunate birth defects and were more machine than human anymore. According to the Makeem, this was the natural price that women had to pay. It had always seemed like a jump to Hedric, but Makeem factions were everywhere and quite popular, so he'd never questioned it out loud.
The vanity that the Makeem preached against was evident on the screen before him, seeming to solidify everything he'd ever heard. But then, with sudden faltering shock, Hedric realized what was really bothering him about the display. The women, all of them, were perfect. There was not a glint of metal on any of them. No deformities.
Perfect flesh and blood.
The hair on his arms stood stiff. He was fairly certain he'd heard his mother use the word 'prophet' in that last transmission.
"I've located the other ship," Myron said. "It's not far."
&
nbsp; "Good," Keats said from the ladder, "Because I'm going to have to gut it in order to make this ship flyable again."
"Borden got us pretty good in the belly," Myron frowned as he began maneuvering the Lothogy. "Sorry about that, Captain. I did my best."
Hedric saw the beach scene slide out of view as they headed for a dense thicket of trees. They were still far enough away that no one on the beach had seen them. Myron was smart enough to know that if they were moving to hide, he had to avoid contact with any other vessels along the way.
"Yes, well, half the damage could have been prevented by keeping the ship airborne," Keats' snarky tone caught his attention.
"If we'd stayed airborne they would have killed us," Myron said.
"I meant the continued dive. The dive I demanded we not do, the dive that nearly crushed the ship."
"Keats," Hedric turned from the screen and faced the engineer. "Shut up and fix my ship."
"She's my ship too."
"Not today she isn't."
Whatever argument Keats was about to make ended when Jellison gruffly pushed his way to the top of the ladder. The soldier grunted in effort as he lowered a large, bulky crate onto the walkway and crouched behind it. Jellison looked baffled at the crate, which sent Hedric's alarms off again. With another frown, he watched Jellison pull out packages, all labeled with their names, and begin to hand them out.
Fueled by his growing irritation, Hedric ripped his package open, tearing through the vacuum sealed plastic with relative ease. Given the restrictions on uniforms for people of Hedric's stature, he was taken off guard - yet again - by the civilian garments he pulled from the plastic. Faded blue pants in a material he hadn't encountered, and a nondescript black shirt, both in his size. There was one weapon, a fairly archaic looking 9mm with no serial number and a handheld GPS unit. He recognized the GPS device from history class and choked on the final realization of the day.
Whatever wormhole his mother had sent him through had landed them somewhere in the 21st century. It was the only explanation that fit, as impossible as it was.
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