Sagitta

by C M Benamati

  Victor’s face hardened. “Tsk tsk Elizabeth, and to think you said I was a pig. You should put a leash on this one.”

  The businessman in the aisle seat put up an arm. “That’s enough,” he hissed. “Either you two settle down or I’m calling the flight attendants over here.”

  “Sorry,” said Victor to the businessman. He looked at Liz and flinched. “See, I can’t help myself. I am a screw-up. But I am sorry, for real.”

  “I don’t believe you,” said Liz. “We are not cool, and I’m not taking you back if that’s what you want.”

  “I didn’t say that,” grumbled Victor. “I just said—”

  “Hey buddy, can I get by?” said a man behind Victor. “They’re launching any minute.”

  “Yeah I’m going,” said Victor. He straightened. “See you on Starlight.” He glared at Morgan, then went aft to take a seat.

  Morgan looked at his hands. They dated! For how long? Why didn’t she tell me? He bit his lip. Of course she didn’t tell you. Why should she? She’s not your girlfriend. Get that through your head.

  A low humming filled the compartment.

  “May I have your attention please,” said a voice over the intercom.

  The flight attendants started their routine while the voice on the speakers narrated. He glanced at Liz. “So, you dated Victor?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “We broke up a few months ago. I didn’t expect to see him again, but then he turned up at the race. I shouldn’t have posted online that I was going to enter. Ugh, I can’t believe this.” Her expression soured. “I’m sorry Morgan, I didn’t want to drag you into this.”

  He shrugged. “It’s alright, you’re not the one being the creepy stalker.” He considered offering to beat Victor up if he tried anything, but decided that sounded a bit too macho. “Is there anything I can do?” he said at last.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Let’s just forget about him for now and try to have fun. Alright?”

  “Sure.”

  Morgan fastened his seatbelt as the flight attendants mimed their safety demo. A small part of him hoped Victor would try something. Maybe he is sincere. He followed Liz to the race, sure, but then he got tickets from Batson just like us. It’s just a coincidence he booked this same flight to Starlight. Morgan craned his neck, but he couldn’t see where Victor had gone. I’ll have to keep an eye on him the whole time we’re on the station.

  “Thank you for flying with Commonwealth Spaceways,” concluded the announcement.

  The humming intensified and the shuttle lifted off the pad on its repulsors. The jet turbines spooled up, propelling them higher. Liz was gripping the armrest, eyes sparkling, her face glued to the window. Tucson spread out beneath them, a gray patch on the desert.

  The landing gear retracted with a mechanical whine and the shuttle shot upward. They rose until the spaceport was a dot and the city a mere patch beneath them.

  “Hi folks, this is your pilot,” said a woman’s voice over the intercom. She had a faint southern drawl. “We’re going to light her off nice and easy, then ramp up for a two-gee burn. You all just sit tight and enjoy the ride.”

  Morgan looked down at Liz’s hand and wished he could hold it. Maybe, when the engines fire, if I time it right. Heart pounding, he nudged his hand closer.

  The rocket fired, and he was pushed backwards in his seat as they shot through the thinning atmosphere.

  “Sweet!” said Liz over the roar.

  “Yeah,” said Morgan, gripping his armrests. “Yeah!” He looked down at his hand. It was not holding hers. I am a total wussie.

  Soon they would be in orbit of Earth, their pilot plotting a trajectory to cross to a higher orbit and align with Starlight station. It felt like a tipping point. There were so many possible outcomes, and it all hinged on what would happen over the next few hours. Could he work up the courage to change his future?

  Single or not? Come back home or not?

  He couldn’t believe that he was seriously entertaining Batson’s offer, but if things didn’t work out with Liz then why not? Being a fighter pilot would be much more exciting than working at Greenfield Grain.

  Don’t throw your future away.

  He scowled. The voice in his head was his mother’s, and he was sick of her telling him what to do.

  Chapter 18

  Hrain woke in darkness on a lumpy bed. Groaning, he shoved the blankets aside and sat up. His aching muscles throbbed.

  He squinted, but there was nothing to see. He felt the wall behind him. It was smooth and unremarkable. He spoke into the black.

  “Lights. Lowest setting.”

  A warm glow filled the room. He looked around the vast space. The walls were dull gray and featureless except for a few shelves and a massive door. He noted the low stone stomach chairs, where a creature that walks on four legs might rest on its belly.

  “Thank Ramas I’m alive,” he said.

  This was a Talurian military quarters. Hrain slumped backwards against a pile of pillows—provided for his benefit since the great lizards didn’t do anything soft. Not only was he alive, but he had been rescued.

  He looked down at his bare, gray-furred chest, noting the shaved patches where regeneration bandages had been applied. So, he had needed some doctoring up. What about Angel? He got up, wincing as he put weight on his left leg.

  “Computer, where am I?”

  “Crew quarters sixteen alpha, deck forty-seven,” responded the machine. It spoke in Maurian, but it had a scratchy voice.

  “Deck forty-seven? Deck forty-seven of what?”

  “Orbital Station Dominance, Taluria III.”

  “Home,” he mumbled.

  The station Dominance (the name being only a rough translation into Maurian of the facility’s actual name) was the primary defensive installation orbiting Taluria, and had been his home for almost eight years.

  He limped towards the door, grasped the awkward handle, and threw it open. He was in a wide, brightly lit corridor. He squinted in the harsh light, which was made to imitate the Talurian sun. There were no windows this deep inside the space station. Metal ribs lined both sides of the corridor.

  “Azhark mn-razha ra vharmsta.”

  Hrain turned. A relatively small Talurian was standing in the corridor. The creature, a male as evidenced by his tail barbs, was about nine marks long, although four of that was his tail. He was wearing the purple plate armor of a junior officer and he look annoyed. He stared at Hrain through small black eyes. The slit nostrils at the tip of his snout were twitching.

  “I don’t have my translator,” said Hrain, pointing at his bare ears.

  The Talurian’s nostrils flared, and he gestured at the doorway.

  “Oh,” said Hrain, hobbling back into the room. On a shelf were an earpiece and a change of clothes, probably taken from his quarters on Angel. He threw the shirt on, deciding to not bother changing his blood-stained leggings. He scooped up the translator earpiece and flicked on the power.

  “Sorry about that,” he said.

  The Talurian started talking. For a few seconds all Hrain heard was the unintelligible rasping. Then, the earpiece translated the message using reassembled sounds from the Talurian’s actual voice.

  “I am Vharmsta, the quartermaster’s assistant. The Intendant is expecting you.”

  “I’m doing well, thanks,” growled Hrain. “Where’s my ship?”

  Vharmsta’s beady eyes narrowed into slits, barely visible behind the armored scales on his forehead. His thin tongue flicked out, indicating displeasure.

  “Intendant first, ship later,” said Vharmsta. He jerked his snout, indicating the passageway behind him. “This way.”

  Hrain could force the issue, but it would likely be a futile effort. And to what end? He wasn’t an engineer, and could do nothing for Angel. If he was here, then the Talurians had her as well. The Mekmek are experts at fixing damaged ships. Don’t worry, she’ll be alright.

  Vharmsta turned and headed back
down the corridor on his four scaly legs. Hrain followed as quickly as he could, wishing he had a pair of earplugs to mute the sound of the creature’s claws against the deck. He pitied the Talurian. Having no way to retract one’s claws must be insufferable.

  The elevator at the end of the hallway could have held a hundred Maurians at once, if they were ever allowed on the station. Hrain was careful to avoid stepping on his guide’s barbed tail as he entered. He had in the past stepped on a male Talurian’s tale. He shuddered. The pain of those tail barbs was something one never forgot.

  “Deck two,” hissed Vharmsta. The doors closed and a dull humming filled the elevator.

  “I see you guys haven’t taken my advice and hired a decorator,” said Hrain. “I’m telling you, it would make this place much livelier. You might even get some tourists. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  Vharmsta’s tail twitched. As much as Hrain loved antagonizing the great lizards, it was probably best to save the small talk for Ezek. He at least had the scrapings of a personality.

  “Deck two achieved,” chirped the earpiece, a moment after the computer rasped something unintelligible.

  The doors opened. Hrain wondered if the computer had actually meant to say ‘deck two achieved’, or if something had been lost in translation.

  “This way,” said Vharmsta.

  “I know how to get there,” said Hrain.

  A viewing ring ran around the perimeter of deck two, one level below station command and control. Located in the spherical top of the station, the massive oval viewports offered a three-hundred and sixty degree view. Depending on where you stood, you could see the orbital shipyards, the smaller trading station, and the planet below.

  The section they were on faced the planet. Taluria was an arid world. From space it looked like a featureless tan sphere, except for small green and white patches at the poles. One of Taluria’s two moons was partially illuminated, a gibbous green and blue object that was the reason the Talurians had made it to space in the first place.

  Hrain looked around the deck. Most of the people were Talurian, although there were a few groups of Mekmek present as well. Except for those on break, the Mekmek were at work cleaning the deck and tinkering about in open access panels.

  The Mekmek were small primates from Taluria’s forest moon. Having developed space flight first, they had reached Taluria and helped liberate the lizards from their desert world, only to subsequently be conquered and subjugated.

  The station’s Mekmek wore simple brown skins that covered their hairless bodies. They averted their eyes as Hrain and Vharmsta walked past. A few were sitting down at rectangular tables, sipping steaming beverages and conversing quietly. The grimfaced Talurian aide ignored the small primates, but Hrain offered them a slight bow, which they returned.

  “You know, you guys don’t have enough fun up here,” said Hrain. “You need to learn how to relax.”

  “This is a military installation,” said Vharmsta. “We don’t relax.”

  And that good sir, thought Hrain, is why I live on my ship.

  After a three minute walk around the perimeter, they came to Ezek’s office. The nearby officers were giving the room a wide berth, going out of their way to walk closer to the station’s central core than pass by the windows looking into the intendant’s office.

  “I take it Ezek is in a bad mood,” said Hrain.

  Vharmsta said nothing as they approached the office door. Ezek’s back was visible through the tinted window. The huge ten-mark Talurian was straddling his chair, facing the outer windows looking down at the planet.

  “This is as far as I go,” said Vharmsta.

  “Why’s that?” Hrain scrutinized his guide’s face, but he couldn’t get anything from the reptilian’s stare. He got even less from Vharmsta’s mind—it was only on rare occasions that he picked up an emotion or a thought from a Talurian.

  “The Intendant as you say is in a bad mood.”

  Vharmsta retreated back the way he had come without another word. Hrain eyed the back of Ezek’s head through the window, wondering what was troubling his friend.

  He knocked on the door.

  Ezek’s cracking voice came through a hidden speaker. “Enter.”

  The door swung inward on a silent mechanism. Hrain went in.

  “Hello Ezek.”

  The commander of Dominance Station stood and turned to face Hrian. His golden armor was polished to a mirror shine and flared in reflected light, but his facial scales sagged, appearing only loosely attached to the baggy flesh beneath. He flicked his tongue out.

  “Hrain, you need a bath, I can taste you from here,” said Ezek.

  Hrain snorted.

  “Sit down,” said Ezek.

  Hrain glanced at the belly chairs and wondered how he would go about sitting on one. The contoured stone was meant to fit a lizard’s stomach, with concave cutouts to allow the legs and tail to dangle freely.

  “I’ll stand,” he said.

  Ezek’s nostrils flared. “Whatever.”

  “Where’s Angel? Where’d you find me?”

  “First, you answer my questions,” said Ezek. “You were supposed to bag me one of those ships. What happened?”

  Hrain tensed, but bowed his head and spoke slowly, as respectfully as he could manage. “I will tell you everything you want to know. But first, please, just tell me if the Angel’s Fury is intact.”

  Ezek waved a clawed foot. “Mostly.”

  Thank Ramas. Hrain cleared his throat. “How much damage—”

  Ezek roared. “I will get to that. Now, you talk.”

  Hrain didn’t need to be able to read Ezek’s mind to know he had pushed it too far. He fingered his whiskers and regarded the big lizard. “We did our—that is, I did my best. I approached in stealth mode and hit them with everything…knocked out their power, sent them spinning. But they recovered and attacked.” He proceeded to fill in the details.

  Ezek’s tongue flicked out twice. “This is not good, Hrain. Did anything follow you?”

  “I have no idea,” said Hrain. “Angel flew out on autopilot.”

  Ezek regarded him for a moment, his beady eyes giving away nothing. “We may have gotten lucky,” he said finally. “Your ship arrived here unpursued. Perhaps their warship was overcome by those charges. If they didn’t get a message out, then we might still be safe.”

  “Yes,” said Hrain. He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. He and Ezek looked at each other for a moment. He’s scared. As well he should be. “You said Angel was mostly intact. How bad?”

  Ezek shuffled over to his desk and retrieved a pad, then handed it to Hrain. “This is the report that Fleetmaster Uzhrul filed after looking over your ship. It isn’t pretty.”

  Hrain scrolled through the report on the pad, his insides growing cold the more he read. He forced himself to slow down and read every word.

  “As you can see,” said Ezek, “Almost every system on your little ship was damaged. Some hull segments yielded and will need to be replaced.”

  “The computer,” said Hrain slowly, as he reached the final lines of the report. “Angel’s computer was damaged? How are they fixing it?”

  Ezek hissed and cocked his head, staring at Hrain with one beady eye and then the other. “I have no idea. Your ship is in our most advanced repair yard. Uzhrul’s Mekmeks are doing what they can. Thankfully your ship is small, but its complexity means it will still take time.”

  Hrain bowed his head. It didn’t need to be said that such priority repairs did not come cheap. Ezek was probably pushing out the repair schedules of Talurian vessels to fix Angel. But the computer…if they replace her memory banks, what will happen to her?

  “Thanks,” he said. He didn’t know what else to say.

  Ezek hissed. “This is a miserable failure, Hrain. We have barely more to go on than we did before.”

  Hrain bristled. “Failure? You weren’t there. Now we know just how powerful they are.” And that they’re te
lepathic. He kept that last one to himself.

  “Yes, there is that,” said Ezek. “The Maurians, unfortunately for them, may have learned that too. As soon as your ship is repaired, you’re to go to Mauria and investigate.”

  “Gladly,” said Hrain. “Now, where is she?”

  The lizard looked confused. “Where is who?”

  “My ship. Angel.”

  “Ah,” said Ezek. He typed something into his computer. “I’ve given you temporary access to the repair yard. Go to bay nine. The Mekmek repair leader is expecting you.”

  Hrain turned to go. There was no more need for talk. The Talurians never said goodbye to anyone they expected to see again. Hrain had adopted that peculiarity easily enough. He was halfway out the door when Ezek surprised him.

  “Goodbye Hrain, my friend.”

  Hrain paused in the doorway. He thinks I’ll never return from Mauria. His fur bristled. He may be right.

  He didn’t want to think about it. He stepped out of Ezek’s office without a word.

  He’d have to pull the latest hyperspace charts since he hadn’t been to Mauria in some time. The routes had probably shifted over the years. Perhaps he could stop at Sledgim on the way. The Talurians didn’t know about Sledgim. Maybe it had been spared.

  Home, here I come. Please, please still be there.

  Chapter 19

  The sky was thinning to black. Liz strained against the thrust to get a better view, pressing her cheek against the window.

  “First time, huh?” said the businessman, shouting over the rocket engine.

  She nodded without turning. “Look at all the stars!”

  “Attention,” said a flight attendant over the intercom. “Please prepare for momentary weightlessness as we enter our staging orbit. This is your final reminder to stow any loose items. Note the sick bags stored in the seat pouch in front of you.”

  “Are you ready for the best part?” said Morgan.

  “You mean freefall?” said Liz. “Yeah, I can’t wait.”

  Morgan had experienced weightlessness many times before, usually when he accompanied his parents on business trips to Starlight Station or the Moon. Like any kid, he’d also ridden zero-gravity roller coasters. He asked Liz if she’d ever done the same.