by C M Benamati
The boy looked up towards the bow. They had circled around, and the floating docks were only a hundred feet in front of them. Lobstermen loaded floating carts with traps. The boy smiled for the first time since he had left the shore.
“You see,” said the fisherman, “We didn’t sink. The water didn’t hurt you. Now take that piece of knowledge and put it in your toolbox to use against fear another day. Will you do that for grandpa?”
The boy nodded.
“You’re welcome,” said the fisherman. He reached down and pulled the boy in close. “Now, out you go, little fish.”
“Go where?”
“Back to dry land.”
∆∆∆
Am I dead? No. His aching ribs and splitting head were proof enough of that. But where was he? It was warm. Something hard was pressing against his back. He opened his eyes and found himself propped against a plastic crate.
He was in a large square room filled with cargo. The walls, ceiling, and floor were shiny metal. Thick support beams ran up to encircle a large dome light. The light cast a dim yellow glow that was just enough to see by.
Something moaned next to him. He turned. A man was sitting on a barrel a few feet away. His gray uniform was torn and bloody.
Morgan’s head snapped up as the image of an exploding fighter came to him. “Liz!” He struggled to his feet and hammered his fists against the crate’s lid. “Liz! Liz!” A few people turned to stare, the rest ignored him. I wasn’t good enough to save her. The red characters on the lid made no sense. His forearms were wrapped in bandages with the same writing, a flowing script of tiny red characters. An alien language. He whirled.
There were only humans in the bay.
He began limping around, looking for any familiar face. Everywhere he turned were the blue uniforms of command officers and the gray uniforms of enlisted crewmen. They regarded him wearily. Many were nursing wounds.
Why am I still alive?
He tripped over someone’s outstretched leg.
“Hey, watch it, idiot.”
Morgan looked down. A group of people were sitting in a semicircle between barrels. They were wearing gray uniforms, except for the closest person, who wore a leather jacket. His black hair was matted with dried blood, and he had a bandage with strange lettering on the back of his neck. His jacket was scuffed, his jeans torn.
“Victor?”
Victor looked up, and his bloodshot eyes widened. “H..h..how?” he stammered.
“We stole some fighters.”
“Ah.” Victor’s eyes were glazed. He stared through Morgan for a moment before speaking. “The medics got us out. The doctors stayed behind to help those that couldn’t be moved. When the escape pods were attacked I thought I was done for. Somehow they missed ours.”
“Who attacked?” said Morgan. “Did you see them? Are we on one of those black ships?”
Victor didn’t seem to hear. “Andy’s dead. He got out with the others, but their Fireflies were shot down before they could get up to speed.”
Morgan swayed. “The pilots are dead?” He sat down next to Victor.
“They’re all dead,” Victor moaned, scratching at the back of his neck. “All of them! Dead. Dead!”
The crewman on the floor next to Victor began sobbing into her shirt. Another crewman glared at them. “Shut up and stop reliving it.”
Victor took no notice. A change came over him, and he grabbed Morgan’s shoulder. Morgan tried to pull back, but Victor’s hand was a vice. “What about Elizabeth?”
Morgan opened his mouth but no words came.
Victor’s face was a rictus of horror. “What about Liz?”
“She didn’t make it.”
Victor blinked. “Elizabeth dead?”
Morgan turned away. “I’m sorry.”
Victor’s voice broke. “How? Tell me, now.”
Morgan clenched his fists. “Does it matter? She died like everyone else did. Jack and Captain Stone, Yin, the security guards…they’re all gone. And you…” He turned back and pushed a finger into Victor’s chest. “Somehow you’re still alive. How is that fair? You should have died on that ship, not her. If you’d treated her better, if you hadn’t made her crash…if you really cared…”
Morgan trailed off. Would she still be alive? Would I even have met her? He knew he didn’t mean what he’d said, but it was too late to take it back. Victor shoved Morgan’s shoulder so hard that it popped. Morgan fell over and Victor scrambled to get on top of him.
“You have no idea what I’ve gone through, and don’t you ever suggest that I don’t care about her!”
“If you cared,” gasped Morgan, pushing Victor off with one of his feet, “she never would have left you. But you’re just a loser, a pathetic druggie.”
Victor tried to stand, but Morgan scrambled, grabbed Victor’s leg, and pulled him back down. Stop it! What would Liz think? He hesitated, fist raised. Part of him wanted to beat Victor to a pulp. And just what would that accomplish?
Before he could do anything else, someone put him in a bear hug and pulled him off Victor. Morgan writhed, but the arms squeezed tighter. He staggered into a crate and twisted around. “Alright, I’m sorry. Let go!”
The man let go. Morgan took in the green uniform, the blond hair, and the sideways grin. “Jack!”
Jack’s hair was matted to his forehead. His bloodied uniform was torn at the shoulder, revealing a bandage not unlike those on Morgan’s forearms.
“Hey kid,” said Jack. They regarded each other for a moment. Then, Jack laughed and pulled Morgan into a hug, pounding on his back. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up. I’m glad you made it!”
“So did you! I thought you were dead.” Out of the corner of his eye, Morgan saw Victor slouch off behind the crates. “What happened out there?”
Jack’s grin vanished. “One minute we were launching, the next some huge ship shredded our formation with energy cannons. Our shields didn’t work at all. By the time the Sagitta’s computer sent us updated shield parameters it was too late. My systems were fried and I was adrift. The others…” His voice trailed off. “And then, well, I was captured.”
Morgan hung his head. “At least you lived.”
“Yes.” Jack was quiet for a moment. “I haven’t seen your lady friend.”
“She’s dead. I couldn’t save her. She got disabled by one of the aliens, and her fighter exploded when the Sagitta went up.”
“I’m sorry,” said Jack. “When I heard how you two escaped from that monster in the hangar bay, I hoped that maybe she was still out there somewhere.”
Morgan searched Jack’s face. “How do you know what happened in the hangar?”
Jack whistled, beckoning someone over. “There’s someone else who’s been waiting to say hi to you.”
Morgan turned. Wally was limping over to them. “Hey kid, glad you made it. I was worried you wouldn’t wake up.”
“Wally!” Morgan staggered as the big man clapped him on the back. “Glad you’re here.”
Wally grinned. “Me too. I saw what happened to the girl. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” said Morgan.
They stood in awkward silence for a moment.
“So, what do we do now?” said Morgan.
“We wait for Del Toro,” said Jack.
“Who?”
“The boss man,” said Wally. “Lieutenant Commander Del Toro. He’s the highest ranking officer that’s been picked up so far, but he’s hurt bad. The Hellcats took him.”
“The what?”
“Hellcats are what we’re calling the aliens,” said Jack. “Nasty things. Half the people in here fainted when they saw them for the first time.” He pointed at Morgan’s bandaged arms. “You were unconscious when they took you. They’ve been treating the wounded, doing triage.”
The silver ships must have lost. “They’re going to kill us all,” muttered Morgan, remembering the monster that had climbed onto his fighter and penetrat
ed his mind.
“Or they might not,” said Jack. “We don’t know what they want. They treated our wounds and gave us water. Let’s not jump to conclusions until we learn more.”
Morgan’s adrenaline was wearing off, and he slumped against a plastic barrel. We’re the first humans to leave the solar system, and we’ll be the first to be tortured by space aliens. “I’m sorry guys, but I need a moment. I’m going to go sit down.”
Jack and Wally looked at each other and shrugged. “Sure,” said Jack. “We’re here if you need us.”
“Not like we’ve got anywhere else to get to,” said Wally.
Morgan turned and walked back to where he’d woken up. He sat down and closed his eyes, trying to think of something besides Liz. It was no use. Her green eyes bore into him, her voice calling from far away.
Why did you let me die?
∆∆∆
Someone was yelling. People were rushing to hide behind the containers. Morgan coaxed his aching body out of the fetal position and maneuvered around the crate.
Someone from the Sagitta crew barked an order. “Nobody do anything unless I say so. Alberto, you ready?”
“Yes sir.”
A burly man pulled a sharp piece of plastic out of one of his pockets. It was the same shade of dark green as the containers in the bay.
“Shhhh,” said a woman. “Here they come.”
Morgan peeked over the crate. The doors parted—doors much too large to be meant for humans. Two nightmares stepped into the bay, each holding what looked like an energy pistol. He ducked as the lead hellcat swept its pistol in his direction. Hellcat was a fitting name. If Earth’s big cats were given a few million years to evolve, they might look something like this. Assuming at some point they shacked up with gorillas.
Both hellcats wore loose-fitting tan vests that left their muscular shoulders and arms exposed. The vests were tucked into leggings that stopped just short of their powerful calves. Their feet were bare. Curving claws protruded from between their stubby toes.
The alien on the right curled up its lip and hissed something at the other, revealing sharp fangs. The other hellcat bobbed its head.
The two aliens parted, allowing a closely-huddled pack of humans into the bay. There were at least a dozen of them, all disheveled and weary. A few wore loose-fitting garments that might have been cobbled together by someone who didn’t understand human anatomy. The rest wore ISF uniforms.
“Stand down, everyone,” said a short man with dark brown hair as he entered the bay. He wore a blue uniform with three stripes on the collar. “We’re ok. They healed us up, and did us no harm.”
Chapter 30
The king was missing, half of Sledgim was without power, and there were only ten working ships left in the entire Navy. The fact that the Maurians had not been wiped out was due to what? Mog’s brow furrowed. Chance? Fate? He flexed his claws. His muscles still ached from gripping the arms of his command chair during the battle. What does it matter? We won. At the end of the day, we’re still here. All that matters is what we do next.
The watchstander at the hangar entrance was a young cadet, recently assigned from Sledgim. She was pacing back and forth with the same bounce to her step that had infected half the Narma Kull’s crew. Mog glowered at her as she stopped to salute. Go easy. Let her be happy. She hasn’t felt the bitter kiss of war, but she’ll learn soon enough.
“Commander!” she said, straightening. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing,” said Mog. He indicated the hangar bay. “Kremp’s in there?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good.”
The cadet stiffened, some of her pep evaporating as Mog brushed past her. Inside, Kremp was balancing on the lip of an alien fighter’s nose, guiding a wiring harness through the vessel’s open cockpit into the hands of a technician.
“How’s it coming?”
Kremp looked up. If he was surprised at all by Mog’s unannounced visit, he didn’t show it. “I’m getting there. We’ve just fabricated a bunch of connectors that should interface with their system. Once it’s hooked up it shouldn’t take long for our computer to make sense of their operating system. I’ll page you as soon as that happens.”
“Understood,” said Mog. “I’ll be in the briefing room with Professor Drakmara.”
“Professor who?”
“Drakmara. He’s one of Ruba’s councilors, supposedly a wizard at linguistics.”
Kremp looked up from his work. “Are you going to try and talk to them today?”
“I hope so. We’ve determined they use acoustic signals like us to communicate. The doctor analyzed their vocal organs, so we know what range of sounds they can produce. I’m counting on you to get their computer working. We’re assuming it has a linguistics database. We’ll use that, combined with the recordings from the cargo bay, to program a translator.”
“I see. I’ll send the data up as soon as I sort it out.”
“Thanks. And Kremp, good job getting that PPC turret working. If you hadn’t, we might not be having this conversation.”
Kremp’s ears perked up. “Just doing my job.” Mog turned to leave when the engineer added, “Hey, do you want to know what I’ve found out about these little ships?”
Mog looked over the four alien fighters that had been recovered. They were small, perhaps half the size of a Maurian fighter, of which no examples were left for a direct comparison.
“I have to meet with Drakmara,” said Mog. “I just stopped in to see if you needed anything.” Kremp’s disappointment was obvious. “Although, perhaps I can spare a few moments.”
“Good,” said the engineer. “I’ll make it quick then.” He scampered around the fighter’s canopy and walked out onto one of the sweeping wings. He pointed at what looked to be a grid of recessed emitters. “Do you know what these are?”
“Shield emitters?”
“No. Those over there are the shield emitters. At first I thought these were graviton panels, but they actually seem to be some sort of subatomic harmonic exciter. They’re similar to our graviton plating, although they can work in reverse.”
“Like a bidirectional tractor beam?”
“Sort of, but it isn’t graviton based. It’s much shorter range, and has a much faster response time. They’ve got them all over the hull. A lot of the ship’s computer processing nodes seem dedicated to making these things work.”
“For what purpose?”
The engineer’s ears drooped. “I’m not sure. I was hoping you’d have some ideas.”
“Maybe,” said Mog. “I’ll think about it. Right now I’m late, but I’ll let you know if I come up with anything.”
He turned and exited the bay. Hopefully it wouldn’t take long to get translators working. He wanted to meet the aliens as soon as possible. There was a set of naval procedures—more of a book really—for first contact with a new species. He’d read it once as a young cadet, and skimmed it again last night just long enough to decide to dispense with the whole thing. They already knew the aliens’ tactical capability, and there wasn’t a direct threat to the Narma Kull now that the creatures’ ship was gone. The rest of the procedures were concerned with deciphering the alien’s language, then learning their social and religious customs so as not to offend them.
Thankfully he had a professional linguist on board for the first part. As to the second, he didn’t care if they were cannibals who ate their own parents and worshipped black holes. None of that mattered. All he needed to know was what they would take in exchange for an alliance.
“Commander Mog!”
He turned. Ja’tar was sprinting down the corridor, his ears standing straight up.
“Ja’tar, what are you doing?”
Ja’tar stopped next to him, panting, fumbling with a tablet.
“Trying to find you. Well I was, but now I’ve found you. Uh, we got a message. It just came in, disguised as background noise. I’ve decoded it. It’s from mar-Ruba.”
Mog snatched the tablet out of Ja’tar’s hand and stared at the message. There wasn’t much to it. Not including the text that authenticated Ruba’s security code, the message only occupied a fifth of the device’s screen.
“Strange, isn’t it?” said Ja’tar. “Get to the planet of the furless aliens. Seek asylum there. Tell Drakmara that Azhra lives.”
“The first part is clear enough,” said Mog. It also happened to be exactly what he’d been planning to do.
Ja’tar stepped back. “Well yes. I mean, the second part. What does it mean, Azhra lives? He can’t mean that Azhra, can he?”
Mog reread the message. He wasn’t about to admit to Ja’tar that the Ta’Krell could actually be Lord Azhra’s immortal army. The book of Ramas is a joke. It’s all crap. It has to be a hoax. He swallowed hard. But why would Ruba say this?
He handed the tablet back to Ja’tar. “I have no idea.” Now that he thought about it, the first part bothered him too. How did the King know what the newcomers looked like? Ruba must have seen them. The Ta’Krell must have taken prisoners off of the alien ship. If so, then his entire plan was in danger. He had to find the alien homeworld before the Ta’Krell did.
“Are we going then?” said Ja’tar.
“Of course,” said Mog. “We need them, especially the technology they used to get here in the first place. I’m sure they won’t object to us bringing them home.”
∆∆∆
Morgan made little headway learning about the Sagitta’s warp drive from his fellow prisoners. They either didn’t seem to know anything about it, cited the classified nature of the project, or were simply not interested in talking to him.
Lieutenant Commander Miguel Del Toro was less than helpful. After filling everyone in on his group’s experience of being poked and prodded by alien doctors, he had ordered Morgan and Victor to the other side of the bay, citing their lack of a security clearance. As if that mattered, lost as they were halfway across the galaxy. He just thinks I’m some stupid kid.
Now the commander sat huddled, talking with the remaining crew.
He can’t order me to do anything. I’m not even in the ISF. Yet here he was, skulking back across the bay with his tail between his legs. What would Liz think of him?