“So I’m not losing my mind.”
“Unless we both are.”
This time her smile was genuine. “So what do we do about it?”
“I guess we’ve got to talk to the commander.”
She groaned and screwed her eyes shut again.
“Well, the doc’s got no idea ’cos there’s no way a good night’s sleep is going to fix anything.”
“And the commander’s going to have any answers?”
He shrugged.
“All right,” she gave in. “When?”
“The sooner the better. Let me grab my jacket and boots.”
He left her alone for a minute and she slowly rose to her feet and gazed aimlessly around the room. She picked up a cushion that had somehow managed to find its way to the floor and tossed it onto the lounge. She couldn’t explain the warm feeling that crept up inside her.
* * *
John looked up from the nightly reports as the bridge door opened. McReidy and Gillespie – they’d both been looking off for the past few days. And they weren’t looking much better today.
“Sir, can we have a word with you?” Gillespie asked.
“My office. Mister Humphries,” he handed the report over, “the bridge is yours.”
John took his chair behind the desk, his eyes drifting between them.
McReidy sank into a chair and let Gillespie explain.
“Got to be more than coincidence,” John agreed, “but I have no idea what.”
“What am I supposed to do?” McReidy couldn’t keep quiet any longer, slapping the arms of the chair. “I don’t want to go to sleep at night.”
“Then we better find someone who can tell us what’s going on.” John turned his attention to the console on his desk.
“Who?”
“Mark.”
“Really?” McReidy rolled her eyes. “No one else?”
“And I’m not saying he’ll have answers,” John continued as he put the call through and switched it to the screen on the wall. “Maybe just a bit of insight.”
Mark was in. McReidy winced.
John briefly outlined the problem. Mark’s attention settled on McReidy.
“You’re the one who is most affected by this?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone else on the ship, or just the two of you?”
“I don’t know. It’s not the type of thing that comes up in social conversation.”
“Agreed.” Mark smiled as the slight edge in her voice was directed at him. “You’ve both been to Manados?”
McReidy and Gillespie nodded. John was ignored in the conversation. He was merely an outsider whose opinion meant nothing.
“Tell me everything you remember. Don’t worry about anything you consider personal… I know Governor Cush read your mind.”
A look of horror crossed McReidy’s face.
“We had a discussion about a month ago.” Mark explained. “He has a great deal of respect for your… imagination?”
McReidy shrank into her chair, turned her head away and lifted one hand to cover her mouth as she mumbled something unintelligible.
“Just tell me about your dream.”
She dropped her hand, straightened up, took a breath and composed herself.
John let his attention wander; he didn’t need to hear it again. A small blue light glowed on the console. He switched on the small screen and opened the message from Command: a change to their orders.
He glanced up. McReidy was still talking.
He dropped his attention back to the small screen and read. Change of orders: two pickups – including Manados. He glanced to McReidy then kept reading.
Another ship had been sent to pick up the listed ambassadors but had gone missing before it could do so. Bismarck was to loop around and pick them up. A side note stated that the safety of the ambassadors already on board was their priority. Scout, report and pick up if safe to do so. There was also a list of instructions regarding Governor Cush – and John reasoned that was why someone else had been given the pickup in that area in the first place. He and the Governor had barely managed civility for the half hour of negotiations. The time required to get back to Earth – that could start a war in itself.
Five ambassadors had agreed on a mutually convenient location and John switched the small screen to those co-ordinates. He also brought up their own plottings but there was no enemy activity or ships they’d placed in that area.
The office was silent. John looked up to see that McReidy had stopped talking. Gillespie was sprawled comfortably in a chair, his chin to his chest. Mark rubbed his chin slowly. His eyes drifted between the two of them but his focus was inwards.
“It seems to make some sort of sense,” Mark spoke quietly, almost to himself. “Have you tried to get involved in it? Either of you?”
“No,” they chorused.
“Why?” McReidy asked.
“Yes, why?” John added.
They could have been forgiven for forgetting he was there.
“It seems to me as though you’ve both been receiving a telepathic message,” Mark answered.
“That’s impossible,” McReidy blurted out.
Mark raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a better explanation?”
The dark eyes stared through her. She shook her head. “No.”
“I’d like an explanation here, if you don’t mind,” John cut in.
“We’ve had no contact from Manados for a while now,” Mark told him. “My guess is that it has been taken over by the Andromedans –”
“We’re heading out there.”
“What?” McReidy spun her chair to face John.
“We got a change of orders to pick up Cush and bring him in.”
“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
“It’s just come through.” John turned the small screen around so she could see.
She barely glanced at it before turning back to the main screen.
“That explains everything,” Mark nodded. “The listening post wasn’t operational when we lost contact. I can only assume this is their attempt at contact. Although there is no record of telepathic communication through space, Cush is a powerful individual and you, Lieutenant Commander, are extremely susceptible to him. When you’re asleep, your mind is at its most vulnerable and open to suggestion.”
He hesitated, and John sensed him sussing out her vulnerability. It put him on edge.
“With your permission,” Mark continued, “I’d like to try a little experiment.”
“Hold on a minute –”
“Keep out of this, John. It’s got nothing to do with you.” Mark’s voice was softer when he turned his attention back to McReidy. “Go to sleep. Relax completely. When you feel yourself dreaming, step into it. Find out if it is Cush in your head. Talk to him.”
“Don’t I have to be conscious to do that?” McReidy sounded a little doubtful.
“I don’t believe so. The contact has already been established.”
“How will I know if it’s Cush?”
“You’ll know.”
“And if it isn’t?” John persisted. Memories of the Nebola hit the front of his brain.
“Then it is a power greater than anything I have ever encountered. And, yes, it could be a great danger… Although I fail to see the reasoning behind singling out Lieutenant Commander McReidy.”
“What about me?” asked Gillespie.
“I believe you’re only a failsafe. You’re not getting the same detail, but you provide the confirmation. And you, my friend,” Mark turned his attention to John and smiled knowingly, “worry too much. It can all be done under the supervision of your doctor if you prefer –”
“No, thank you,” McReidy interrupted. “I prefer to do my dreaming in my own bed, without you lot around. A girl’s entitled to some privacy.”
“Then you are willing to try?” Mark asked.
“Yes… I don’t think I’m in any danger.”
“I’d be most
interested to hear the results.”
Why did it seem to John that Mark already knew the results? Probably because he was confident in his theory. He was well respected among the alien worlds and prided himself on knowing more than he ever revealed.
“There’s some others in the pickup. I could do with your help,” John added.
“Give me your list and I’ll send what I can.”
“Thanks.”
When the communication ended, both John and Gillespie turned to McReidy.
“Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “You’re going to have to wait until tonight. I couldn’t go to sleep now if I tried.”
“I believe you have the bridge tonight, Mister Gillespie,” John hinted.
“And I don’t need a babysitter.” She pointed a warning finger at John.
*
“Change of course. We have more ambassadors to pick up,” John announced as he took his chair back from Humphries.
Giacomo’s head dropped.
“Don’t worry, Giacomo,” John smiled. “I’m not asking you to accommodate them.”
“Yes,” the pilot whispered, his fist clenching on the controls.
John flicked the intercom. “Engineering, I need you to set up the cargo bay to accommodate some ambassadors.”
The line remained silent before Case eventually answered. “Sir, we’re building weapons in there.”
“I know. You’re going to have to move everything into one bay. We need to accommodate six races.”
“Numbers, sir?”
“No idea,” John shook his head. “Set up some partitions to give them their own areas. They don’t have to go to the ceiling, just high enough to give some privacy. And grab every mattress, blanket and pillow that’s not being used.”
“Basic hygiene?”
“The doc’s not going to be happy, but they’re going to have to use sick bay.”
The silence was more telling than any complaints would have been.
“Yes, sir,” Case acknowledged and the intercom switched off.
Back to top
Chapter twenty two
It was quiet when McReidy settled down to sleep that night. Or didn’t settle, as the case was. She was tired, but every time she closed her eyes a hundred different things kept racing through her head. She tossed and turned. The pillow was uncomfortable and received a good pounding for its trouble. Eventually, it was sheer exhaustion that won.
She began dreaming. She spoke. Not in words, but in thoughts. Cush answered. She looked around. It was dark, but not a dark like night or a place without light. It was a dark nothing. She couldn’t see or hear Cush, but he was there. She could feel his presence all around her, as she had when he’d probed her mind previously.
Yes, Manados was now under Andromedan control; the listening post gone. The ship due to pick them up had been destroyed. Bismarck must not return or she would suffer the same fate. McReidy became anxious as Cush began to fade. He was losing his strength. The effort was draining him. He locked into her mind the co-ordinates of the moon some survivors had managed to escape to. Then he was gone.
McReidy awoke with a start. It was an incredible experience and she vividly remembered everything that had happened. She looked at her clock. It was a little after three. She wondered if she should call John and tell him. It was nothing that wouldn’t wait until morning. The thought of waking him up just to annoy him was tempting. She resisted and settled back down. Another thump on the pillow would have to content her.
She spent the rest of the night undisturbed – there were no more dreams.
John couldn’t wait for work and joined her for breakfast. She summed up the situation in a couple of sentences, telling him where he could pick up the survivors, and smiling to herself. The tension disappeared from him and she knew that he did worry. He’d probably been awake all night waiting for her to call, though he would never admit it.
* * *
The five ambassadors may have agreed on a mutually convenient location. That, however, was the only thing they had agreed on. There was nothing but petty bickering from the moment they arrived.
John greeted each one formally as they materialised on the transporter pads with their entourage. Most acknowledged politely and moved clear of the pads for the next arrival.
Barely had the last one finished materialising when he stepped off the pad and strode towards another, a raised finger pointing in anger and the rear end of a sentence spewing from his mouth.
“Gentlemen, please.”
The two stopped mid confrontation, glared at each other and turned to John with assumed airs of innocence and civil formality.
A polite smile was fixed on John’s face as he remembered what Mark had told him about Druins and Fragettes. He reeled off the greeting to the latter and received the appropriate response.
“Mister Rodgers?” John queried the transporter operator.
“That’s everyone, sir.”
John nodded and turned back to the ambassadors, noting that Antal and Buron were holding hands. He recalled the closeness of the twin worlds of Adule and Omecra. No wonder their worlds had been at peace for thousands of years.
“If you will come this way,” he indicated the door, “I will show you to your accommodation.”
They were met in the corridor by dominoes. Having become bored with running them along the floor, Humphries had run them up the wall and across the ceiling, forming an archway they had to pass through.
“What is this?” Kerrod the Heedran asked as he peered closely at the tiny bricks rising up the wall.
“It’s… um… a gravitational experiment by one of my bridge officers.”
They all accepted the explanation easily.
John felt his hair begin to rise. He didn’t know if it was his misleading guilt or the fact that he was standing under the arch. He was partly right in his explanation. The dominoes were gravitationally attracted to the walls and ceiling. A trip to engineering and Kowalski’s help soon made that possible.
John’s head and shoulders were attracted to the ceiling. His hair stood up in all directions as though he had received a burst of static electricity. He stepped away from the arch and moved further down the corridor. His hands went to his head and tried to flatten his hair into some sort of normality.
The ambassadors studied the arch as they stepped through it, the hair on their heads teasing upwards. Ersog’s beard rose to level out with his chin, slowly drifting in an arc in front of him. The Fragette brushed it down as he cleared the arch.
The interest of the entourages remained on their ambassadors and the anticipated hostilities of the others. Yet they stepped carefully, keeping their bodies and errant clothing well away from the bricks.
John took them to the cargo bay, ignoring the inquisitive looks and quiet murmurings. He wasn’t giving them the full tour – there were too many of them and he wasn’t there for their amusement.
The cargo bay door was open. Engineering had cleared out all their materials and set up partitions that allowed privacy.
“I am afraid I must apologise for the accommodation. This is a transport ship and we simply do not have the facilities to cater for you.”
“There is no need to apologise, Commander,” Antal smiled.
“We are grateful that you could retrieve us,” Buron added.
“This is unsatisfactory.” Kerrod spoke over the top of them. “I cannot be expected to share with my entourage, let alone… them.” He glared towards the others.
“All the other ambassadors are sharing with their entourages,” John explained.
“I do not see them being treated like livestock,” Kerrod’s eyebrows slowly folded down to narrow his eyes into slits of disapproval.
“There is no other accommodation. Short of kicking my crew out and having them sleep in the corridors, which I will not do.”
Kerrod saw John’s answer as open defiance. His jaw jutted and his chest puffed out as he filled out to his full frame, n
ow standing a good foot taller than John.
“Do you know who I am?” he seethed.
“You are a guest on my ship.” Bluff or intent, John didn’t care. “If this is not suited to you, there is always the brig.”
The Heedran hesitated, then his jaw lowered, his chest deflated slightly and he shrank down the few inches to his original height.
“This map,” John pointed to the basic outline stuck to the wall just inside the door, “shows where you are permitted. The intercom is set up to translate,” he indicated the button below the map, “as are all the intercoms in the permitted areas and corridors. There are several races on board and I expect you to treat each other with respect and civility or you will find yourselves restricted to the cargo bay. Are there any questions?”
“I won’t be anywhere near him,” Delma pointed to Ersog.
“And I won’t be anywhere near you,” Ersog replied clearly before the translators lost his next comment.
The argument that had ceased in the transporter room was about to erupt here as Delma rushed at the Fragette. Ersog suddenly pulled a weapon. Delma struck him before he could aim, his head flying back, the weapon waving about. The two struggled over the weapon, which fired into the ceiling.
John swore under his breath and lunged for Ersog, smashing his fist into his weapon hand. The grip loosened momentarily and he wrenched it from the Fragette’s hand as Kerrod involved himself. Kerrod had Ersog under the arms and picked him up, easily holding him off the ground at arms length.
“Enough,” John roared.
The ambassadors froze; their entourages had backed to the safety of the walls. As Delma’s body jerked to a stop, his fist lost momentum and skimmed across Ersog’s shoulder. Ersog lifted an arm to strike back and Kerrod squeezed him tighter.
“Enough, Fragette,” Kerrod hissed.
John was fuming as he thumped his communicator. “Madison to Gillespie. We’ve just had a weapon discharge in the cargo bay. It’s under control now.”
“Sir,” Gillespie acknowledged. His console had lit up the moment the weapon had fired.
John let out a breath before turning his attention back to the ambassadors. “If there is nothing else...?” His voice was strained. “I have a ship to run.”
When the Dust Settled Page 38