by Trent Falls
“Aye, aye.” John replied, slipping on a pair of gloves.
The Tequesta shuddered a little but the turbulent episodes had died down. John could feel that they were much lower in altitude. John hopped in place, like a prize fighter ready for a bout. He had spent so very long as a school teacher.
The Tequesta was slowing down. The lights in the ship switched from bright white to UV purple. John grabbed a handhold build into the nearby bulkhead just behind the main braces for the ramp motor assembly.
Another deep breath. The Tequesta slowed. John’s legs got that skateboard feeling for a brief moment. They were now hovering.
“Alright. I’m pinging your radio navigator.” Alex’s voice noted over John’s wrist com.
John raised the device on his wrist. A small screen on the device lit up, giving him his current planetary coordinates, his starting point, which he could use to navigate his map.
“Got it.” John replied back over the com.
“Good luck my friend.” Alex’s voice said finally.
John kept his grip on the bulkhead handhold and depressed the release for the rear ramp. The motor for the ramp clanked then whirred as the huge steel ramp lowered. The sound of the Tequesta’s engines suddenly got a lot louder with the ramp open. The air in the cargo hold became cold and wet. John could feel the circulation of natural air on his exposed skin. It was surprisingly cool outside.
John walked to the robotic boom arm of the hold. He threw the line extending from the hold out over the side of the now cantilevered loading ramp. His gloved left hand held on to the rope as he looked out over the side.
It was very dark beyond the ramp. The Tequesta’s few running lights illuminated only a very faint outline of what appeared to be giant maple trees or massive box elder mixed in with the peaks of conifers. The trees swayed madly in the Tequesta’s wash.
John inhaled, took a firm grip on the rope with both hands, and stepped out over the edge. The sudden shift in his weight to his hands and arms was almost shocking. He hadn’t fast roped in an eternity. He damn near would have fallen off the rope if his survival instinct hadn’t kicked in. Quickly he descended into the dark. The air was not just cool; it was cold. The darkness below was all devouring. John breathed, waiting for his boots to finally hit solid ground. He didn’t know jack about the planet. For all he knew he could have been fast roping down onto the back of a two ton water bug and not know it. It, in a way, resurrected a childish fear of the dark, if only briefly.
Finally his boots hit the ground with a thud. He was standing solid on both feet before letting go of the rope.
John’s wrist com went up to his mouth. “Okay, haul the line back up. I’m down.”
The black nylon rope zipped back up into the Tequesta’s hold. John followed the rope up with his eyes, seeing the faint purple glow of the open cargo hold about fifty feet up.
“See you soon.” Alex’s voice called back finally.
The glowing purple seam at the rear of the Tequesta vanished as the cargo door closed again. John could see the lifting body outline of the Tequesta’s underside for a brief moment, black on blackish grey sky, before the massive transport shuttle drifted forward and out of view.
The engines of the ship roared for a moment but trailed off just as fast, fading into the rumble of the nearby storm.
John’s eyes were still adjusting to the dark. There was a sharp chill to the air. The forest around him looked like the Pacific Northwest of the United States. The trees were fairly large. He could hear dripping water popping off the leaves around him in a choir of diminishing rainfall. It was still very dark!
John took a moment to scan the area around him, aiming out with his M10. It didn’t seem as though anyone had spotted him descending. With his face painted and his hands gloved John was fairly well blended in with the surrounding foliage and darkness. Only the whites of his eyes looked out over his gun.
Feeling secure John pulled out his map. He got a compass bearing on his wrist com navigator and checked his starting coordinates against the map. He was careful not to get the map wet. John oriented his body to the north, then turned right to face north by northwest, the direction he needed to travel. John put the map away and took a step forward.
Since grade school, he had learned the geography of Earth to the point where he somewhat instinctually knew which way he was oriented. As it was his home John had a decent idea in most instances where he was and where he was going, particularly over the last ten years of living in South Florida.
John Carn was now standing on an alien world. He was alone and hundreds of light years from South Florida. The forest around him was as dark as anyplace he had ever been. He could hear animals foraging around him. He could hear the trees swaying and creaking in the nighttime breeze. It was cold. It was wet. There wasn’t even much of a moon out.
He continued walking on, knowing that Julie was several kilometers ahead of him. Nothing would stop him from reaching his objective.
Dekker’s remembered self stared at Lyle Ramirez for a while. The image of Ramirez on the screen was frightening. At a distance, Ramirez was about two inches tall on the screen. His glowing eyes stared back in a blank yet ominous manner at Dekker and his men. Conroy was at his left, his automatic rifle halfway up to his sight but paused. Jensen and Carn were slightly to his right ahead of him. Both were trying to move up slowly to where Bradley was laying, writhing slowly in pain. Ramirez, or the creature that looked like Ramirez, remained standing over Bradley’s body.
“Leave this planet.” Ramirez noted loudly to the group, echoing loudly in Dekker’s mind almost resulting in a kind of feedback on the electrical mindscanning equipment. “Never come back.” Ramirez added, turning away to walk back towards the jungle.
“Wait a goddamned minute!” Conroy snapped his AUG-22 rifle up to his sight. He moved up quickly after Ramirez.
“Patrick! Don’t!!!” Jensen called out after Conroy using his first name.
“Fuck that Major! This guy hurt our people!” Conroy shouted back, giving chase to Ramirez, moving as quickly as he could while keeping his weapon up ahead of him.
“GODDAMNIT!!!” Dekker shouted. “Get back her, Conroy!!!”
Lyle Ramirez vanished into the foliage. Conroy reached the same point where Lyle had vanished a few seconds later.
Dekker ran up to Bradley’s body. John was already crouched down over Noah to examine his wounds. Jensen knelt a few feet away, keeping his assault rifle trained out into the jungle.
John ripped open Noah’s olive drab BDU blouse. There didn’t seem to be any trauma externally. No lacerations. A few scrapes were evident in the upper left of his chest where it looked as though he had been hit.
“How ya doing, Noah?” John asked in an even tone as he pulled out his pocket ultrasound. The ultrasound was actually an array of medical scanners that provided ultrasound with limited x-ray and MRI like features in a casing that resembled a portable shaver.
“Oh… geeez!!” Noah grimaced.
“He’s, uh…. bleeding internally.” John noted evenly, double-checking the scan again on the scanner.
“Fuck!” Dekker cursed. “Veracruz was our medic. We need to get him back to the Wayfarer.”
Dekker looked up to the jungle where Conroy had vanished. Clearly, Dekker seemed to be silently and quickly making a decision.
There was a sudden flash of light in the jungle. Conroy screamed out. The sound of automatic rifle fire cracked out in staccato anger. The trees near the source of the gunfire shook violently Conroy, unseen, let out another blood-curdling scream. A flash of light accompanied the scream. Both suddenly ceased. The trees became still again.
“Did you see that?!?” Jensen shouted, his voice cracking slightly with panic.
“Conroy!” John exhaled sharply.
“We need to go after him.” Dekker said finally.
“Conroy? Did you see that light?!? I mean…” Jensen spoke aloud.
“No.” Dekker
stated with certainty. “We need to go after Lyle Ramirez.”
There was a sudden alarm from the medical equipment; a beeping pulse. Roberts turned around quickly to attend to the present-day Max Dekker. The far more aged man shuddered slightly as he lay on the table attached with numerous electrodes and an electrode scalp cap.
Roberts checked the main screen showing Dekker’s vital stats. He then pulled out a stethoscope to check Dekker’s heart.
“His BP is crashing.” Roberts pulled off the stethoscope, slapping it down on the cart next to him. “Just like I thought it would.”
The mind scanner continued to produce images on the screen. Rochette looked back at Dekker to check the old man’s condition then looked back to the screen.
The memories had shot forward an undetermined amount of time. Dekker was looking at Ramirez. He was very close! The bright white ghostly brilliance of Ramirez’s eyes pierced back through the monitor. Rochette himself couldn’t help but become apprehensive at the sight of him through Dekker’s eyes.
The beeping from the monitoring equipment came more furiously – as a full out alarm. Dekker’s real body convulsed on the table.
“Fuck!” Rochette exhaled, glaring at Dekker’s real body then back at his memories replaying on the screen.
The younger Dekker of memory looked up, amazed, through a break in the canopy top jungle. High above, a dark tower seemingly hewn into the side of a sheer mountain cliff rose up into the sky. The tower had to be at least 2,000 feet high.
The image vanished.
Rochette glared back at the real Dekker. It was as though the bulky merc hated the old man the way he hated cable television when it would cut out at a vital part of the story. Dekker, to Rochette, had become but a vessel of information. He hoped that Roberts could patch him up, if only to get a few more minutes out of the old man’s memory.
Rochette looked back at the screen. He was fixated by the sight of Dekker in some massive granite chamber. Carn and Jensen were there. Noah Bradley was on the ground, still in pain from his internal bleeding. Jensen was crouched over the young Marine, telling him something he couldn’t hear. Dekker, in his memory, turned to the right. Rochette froze as he saw Lyle Ramirez again, his eyes still glowing. Another humanoid male, dressed in some kind of unfamiliar robe, stood before Dekker. The cut of the balding man’s robe seemed very unorthodox and unearthly. His eyes glowed as well. There was a third humanoid alien in the group, a black male, but the image was difficult to make out.
In the blink of an eye the images vanished from the screen, fading into dull white noise.
Dekker’s monitor let out the familiar even tone of a flatline. The old man stopped convulsing and laid perfectly flat.
“FUCK!” Roberts’ movements became more swift. He immediately pulled out an electric respirator then hauled out an Automated External Defibrillator. The Velcro cover of the AED ripped open. The pads were snatched out of the bag. Roberts set down the pads in a panic and tore open Dekker’s gown. He slapped the AED pads on Dekker’s chest. The auto respirator in Roberts’ hand went over the old man’s face. With his free hand Roberts activated the AED. There was a high pitched whine that sharpened in pitch until it was inaudible as the capacitors in the AED charged.
“CLEAR!” Roberts pulled his hand and the auto respirator away from Dekker’s body.
There was a staccato beep. A sharp charge followed, contorting Dekker’s body as it shot through his torso.
The monitor beeped once… twice… and returned to a flatline. The AED capacitor charged again. Roberts continued using the respirator for a few seconds until the AED was ready again.
“CLEAR!!!” Roberts yelled again. He hit the AED firing button.
Dekker’s body shot up in an arch only to collapse after the charge.
Still flatline.
Roberts was desperate. He keyed in a security code into the auto respirator he held over Dekker’s face. The bulky white device whirred. The mask on the device extended tendril arms that wrapped around Dekker’s face. Roberts no longer needed to hold the device in place. The tendrils held it firmly over Dekker’s face. Inside the mask, tubes shot out through the central assembly of the mask. Two went in Dekker’s nose. A thicker tube burrowed down into his throat.
Roberts stepped back and pulled the attachments of the auto respirator out of its case. He pulled out an external module, which housed a power supply, a ventilator pump, and a medical drug suite. Roberts hooked the external module up via a thick tether to the respirator masked fixed on Dekker’s face. He then plugged the external module’s power cord into a nearby outlet. The AED was then tied into the external module, which would control delivery of the charge.
It was a desperate move. The idea was that the computerized systems would take over Dekker’s body functions entirely. Only about 8% of patients who were slaved to the life support equipment survived; and most who did were far younger than Dekker.
The flatline persisted. Roberts stepped back, watching with Rochette and the Xen and human tech as the life support mechanism dug in deeper into Dekker’s body.
The AED fired again. Flatline. Dekker’s chest expanded and settled from the air forced down the auto respirator’s tracheal tube.
The men in the room remained dead silent. The only sound in the room was the auto respirator and the AED charging. The respirator was keeping Dekker breathing but his heart refused to kick over.
The flatline tone persisted.
Rochette and the others watched silently for almost two minutes as the respirator did its best to try and revive and stabilize the patient.
“That’s it.” Rochette said finally. He let out a deep sigh and hung his head.
“No.” Roberts shook his head slightly, his eyes still fixed on Dekker’s body. “Give it another minute. He might….”
“He’s dead!” Rochette looked back at Roberts. The merc then looked at the screen again and the monitor showing Dekker’s cerebral activity. The signals from Dekker’s brain were trailing off. “His brain is dead. It’s done.”
Rochette walked a few steps away.
“Turn that damn thing off.” Rochette ordered the tech, pointing to the life support equipment.
Roberts let out a frustrated breath. “I’ll do it.” he stated with a hint of reluctance. Roberts powered down the life support system. The flatline tone continued until Roberts keyed in the override on its touchscreen. The tubes retracted from Dekker’s nose and throat, as did the tendrils holding the device to his head. Roberts pulled the clear respirator mask from Dekker’s worn and aged face. Dekker’s jaw fell slack, remaining open slightly in his dead repose.
Roberts stared down at the corpse for a moment once all of the life support machinery was removed. There was a cold finality to seeing Dekker lying on the table lifeless.
“What do we do with the body?” the Xen tech asked. He too was looking blankly at Dekker’s corpse.
“Clean it and wrap it.” Rochette replied. His back was still towards Dekker. It was as though he didn’t want to look. “The basement is cold enough for now. We’ll leave him there until I can contact Scott and see what he wants to do with the body.”
Rochette paused in thought for a moment. He looked at the mindscanning equipment and all its monitors and computer systems in front of him.
“You did get the recording of the last few moments, right?” Rochette looked over his shoulder at the Xen tech.
“Oh yeah.” The Xen soldier nodded slightly. “I got it.”
“Good. I’ll beam that information to Euler as well.” Rochette noted. “He should be back on the Ao Shun with your boss.”
Rochette again looked out at all of the monitors of the workstation. A part of him hated himself for what he had done. He winced, knowing no one could see his expression. Feeling that he had done the best thing in the interest of all humankind he walked away silently, leaving Roberts and the techs behind in the lab to clean up the mess.
Julie looked out the window
of her cell to the outside world. The forest in the valley beyond was dark; haunting. It was about four in the morning local time. She was in her third week of captivity, she imagined. Time seemed to move so slowly it felt like an eternity. She had absolutely nothing to do. She was still wearing her blue top and black pants that she had worn to the Intergy concert a lifetime ago. Her clothes smelled. She hated it! She desperately wanted to be back home. She wanted a bath. She wanted to go shopping. She wanted a different pair of damn shoes!
Julie couldn’t help but pace in her cell. She did so every time they took Dekker away. In the time they had spent in the stockade they had become somewhat friends. They were partners in a shared miserable circumstance. Dekker, though aged, had lived through a lot. She found his ability to discount the horror of what they were enduring to be reassuring. Even though she knew he was being tortured, Dekker’s ability to walk off the pain was kind of comforting. If he could get through it, she imagined, so could she.
Rochette and his men had yet to torture her. Perhaps they didn’t have the stomach for it. At times she got the impression from her captors that none of them wanted to harm a pretty blonde 18 year old girl. Other times she was convinced that they could easily take her out back and put a bullet in her head without thinking.
Julie pushed that thought out of her mind. She didn’t want to accept that such a ruthless world could exist. This was the great frontier of space. This is where she always imagined finding amazing worlds. Wondrous discoveries. A bold new future. Julie was beginning to get the feeling that the idea of the bold frontier of space was a fabrication of high school teachers and marketing departments. She was in a jail cell on a distant planet, guarded by dozens of mercenaries… and it was cold in her cell.
The sheets on her single bed were messy. She had abandoned the practice of making the bed days ago. She had just set down on the bed when the sound of boots outside caught her ear. Julie jumped back up to her feet and walked towards the bars of her cell.