Beyond The Frontier

by J Malcolm Patrick

  Chapter 6 – The Box

  Darkness.

  If there was something to see, he’d never know it, not even a sliver of light reached his eyes.

  Avery tried to wiggle his wrists again. What felt like cold hard steel—braced them against a flat surface. Only his skin shifted when he tried to move.

  A similar sensation gripped his neck and held his head rigid against another hard surface. His ankles were no different. He was completely immobile. At least the barbarians hadn’t removed his clothes.

  His captors boarded his crippled ship and seized the crew immediately on emerging from the wormhole. He couldn’t be certain how much time passed, but it wasn’t long until they were transported to their present location.

  The way they herded the crew, no one knew if they were aboard a ship or planet-side. Their captors placed masks on their faces blocking all sensation each time they changed location.

  Now, their captors kept them in one small square space, no larger than his averaged sized quarters aboard Endeavor. Fifty-five men and women stacked together.

  Although, they’d been given water and something that tasted like wheat as rations, they never saw their captors. The rations were dropped through an opening in the overhead. There were no clues as to where they’d been taken. No noise . . . no humming or vibrations. It’s almost as though they were in a vacuum.

  The masks were removed for all the good it did—the box was completely dark. The crew could only tell one another apart by their voices. Feeling around the box for something—anything—revealed only flat surfaces. Most of the crew resigned to huddling on the floor.

  He didn’t know what changed but soon they’d hustled him from the box—as the crew began to call it—and placed him in this confinement. A drop of water on his dry lips would be a mercy now.

  Woosh.

  A hiss of air escaped the room. Someone had entered. He strained his ears. Nothing. Then lights flickered. A man sat in front him. He wanted to believe he was conjuring this image, but he knew somewhere somehow it was true. The man just wouldn’t quit. He looked exactly like the image on file they’d documented after the battle of Atlas Prime.

  Ben James.

  Chapter 7 – Outer Rim

  “I’d threaten physical violence but I think you’d just laugh” – Aaron Rayne

  Recovery Ward, Medical Deck

  Aaron drifted between sleep and wake for two days. The apprehension he felt about letting himself sleep had faded somewhat, and he’d drifted into the first restful slumber he’d had the past two weeks.

  Unlike the last time staying in this insufferable place, he wasn’t being hauled off to some tribunal immediately. He allowed himself to relax.

  He could sleep for a week.

  Distant voices reached his ears. Except this time he was sure he was awake. This isn’t a dream. He kept his eyes closed and strained his ears. He recognized those voices. The first voice belonged to Max.

  “Critical . . . stage of . . . I cannot predict . . . Shepherd . . .”

  A second voice responded.

  “Doctor . . . but this is critical . . . Aaron has . . .”

  They were really arguing about him while he was in another room? That just wouldn’t do. He stretched and crawled off the bed into the cold wheelchair. Max said he’d be able to walk again soon, but he’d have to work hard at it. He was sure the doctor could magically fix his legs, but was instead choosing to make him do it the hard way.

  It was strange, he didn’t get the sense he was learning to walk because of the injury, more almost like he’d never walked before. Maybe Max could give him some legs like Lee’s arm. Vee, Lee, Flaps and the others, were probably off on some thrilling assignment, and he was stuck here. Time to be the insufferable, angry, frustrated patient. Medical people didn’t like difficult patients, especially difficult and cranky ones.

  He wheeled himself outside his room. Probably Max’s idea to give him this antique wheel chair instead of an anti-grav floater.

  He saw his targets. Max was backing him and Shepherd stood in front the doctor. Max would soon reconsider the decision to give him this chair. He wheeled it right into the doctor.

  Max let out a muffled squeal and turned to swipe at whatever had hit him.

  Aaron grinned at Max. “Oh sorry. I haven’t quite learned to control this thing yet—easy to get going, but not so easy to stop.”

  Max shifted and stood next to Fleet Admiral John Shepherd, Supreme Commander. The head honcho over all the United Star Systems Fleet. Shepherd was a full head taller than Aaron, and that made him a full two heads over Max. From the wheelchair that gave him an even more imposing glare than usual.

  Shepherd’s features had not a trace of age, no lines, no creases, only slightly greyed tips by his temples. It was intriguing because it was common knowledge Shepherd never indulged in anti-aging treatments. He might reconsider when his bones turned brittle. It wasn’t uncommon to live in good health past 120 years. However, medical advancements couldn’t compensate for declining brain activity as well as it could the physical body, and most people stopped the anti-aging treatments around that age and accepted the inevitable.

  Max was about to respond but Shepherd beat him to it.

  “He looks in good spirits to me, and almost quite able,” Shepherd said. He looked down at Aaron. “Commander . . . Aaron, I am thrilled to the bone to see you . . . moving around. I was just discussing your progress with the doctor.”

  It seemed like he was about to say more but Max cut in.

  “Aaron,” he said. “Turn around and wheel yourself back into the ward. You’re under my care and I haven’t cleared you for any kind of duty.” Max was serious. He never got serious, unless the welfare of a patient was in jeopardy. What’s really going on here?

  Aaron shook his head. He wasn’t playing this game again.

  “Someone needs to tell me right now what you two are bickering about out here, and what it’s got to do with me.” He almost forgot he was speaking to the Supreme Commander.

  Almost.

  Aaron gritted his teeth and pushed his palms down on the arms of the wheelchair. His veins bulged, either the arms would break or he would stand. Max reached out when he realized what Aaron was doing.

  Aaron groaned with one final shove and stood.

  He felt woozy from the effort. Standing probably hadn’t been a good idea. “I’d threaten physical violence but I think you’d just laugh. Someone talk to me.”

  Max shook his head. “Stubborn . . . pig-headed . . . I’ve toiled these past few months, sweat and tears and you’re going to undo it all.”

  “No one lives forever, Max. I got a second chance. Aside from a few kinks, I’m fine.” He rubbed his temples. And an infernal headache.

  Max threw his hands in the air. “Right, right, ‘no one lives forever’. Your silly lifelong motto. But no one tries their best to end it soon either.” With that Max stormed down the deck towards the medical ward.

  Something was deeply troubling the doctor. Aaron could never fluster him. He turned to Shepherd.

  “Sir?”

  Shepherd hesitated before he replied.

  “Commander Alvarez, as you know, took command of Endeavor three weeks ago. He was on a mission for me. He was investigating the disappearance of one of our survey vessels near the Terran Union.”

  The Terran Union, a small human enclave, twenty light years beyond USS space. Three star systems and Lumia, a tech-4 world, was the capital planet.

  Aaron’s knees felt weak. More from the effort than from Shepherd’s story so far. He eased back into the chair. This was something he should listen to sitting down.

  Shepherd looked him over. “Follow me to my office, Commander.”

  ***

  He wheeled his chair behind Shepherd to his office on the administration deck. It was midnight station time and not much personnel were around.

  The Supreme Commander had a bottle of Aaron’s favorite carbonated drink.
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  Shepherd handed him a personnel device with scanty details on it. “The news of the sudden appearance by a vessel claiming to originate from the Outer Rim has rattled nerves here in Sol. We have little info about the human enclaves that far out. The only thing I can tell you is they are the descendants of early space explorers and colony ships which left Earth in the latter half of the twenty-first century. That and some other fanciful rumors floating around from some not-very-credible sources, all of which is detailed there on your handheld in the full mission brief.”

  Shepherd looked at the bottle, shrugged and poured some for himself. “Even with current modern FTL tech, the Outer Rim is a five-year journey. That fact alone makes the appearance of a ship claiming to be part of such an alliance ominous. We only know bits and pieces about the Outer Rim. Mostly tales told by long haul freighter captains and crew, and not much else. It’s not exactly a trip to Rigel.”

  The SC sipped the drink slowly. His mouth twisted. “Rayne, this stuff is horrible, how could you drink this?

  Aaron shrugged. “It’s an acquired taste, sir.”

  “Right.” Shepherd picked up his thought. “Constellation reappeared seemingly from nowhere . . . and they were immediately attacked by the ORA warship. An Imperial ship fought them off but Endeavor vanished during the attack. Although, not before she sustained heavy damage.”

  Aaron raised his eyebrows. “Vanished?”

  “That’s the second ominous fact. Constellation returned through what we now believe to be a stable Einstein-Rosen bridge. During the battle, Alvarez took Endeavor through to prevent her destruction by the ORA. He must have felt it was a gamble, but given that Constellation returned, the only other choice was…”

  “A Trident scenario again. I understand, sir.”

  Shepherd rounded to face him. “We’ve debriefed Constellation’s crew. After their unexpected trip down the rabbit hole, the event horizon at their exit point closed. Not to be discouraged, although stranded many years from our sector, they found the other side clear and decided to do what scout ships do—scout.

  “They detected first the construction of a large orbital structure in deep-space not far from the wormhole. After skulking around a bit at warp, some other ORA ships must have detected them and moved to intercept. That’s when Constellation decided to try their luck and returned to the coordinates of the wormhole. Apparently open for business now and stable, they entered and reappeared amongst the showdown. No one knows if their entry from the other side caused the stable formation on our side. There was nothing there apart from strange anomalous readings nine days ago.

  “Since then, we’ve received an audio only communication, matching the voice pattern of the ORA commander, claiming Endeavor and its crew are their prisoners having violated their sovereign territory. We don’t recognize the ORA, and we certainly don’t recognize their absurd claim to deep space. The nearest planetary system is twenty light years beyond the wormhole on their side. Their continued detention of our people and the attack on Endeavor is an act of war.

  “We will respond accordingly. First, we want back our ship and our people. Another covert team on one of our covert ops corvettes has confirmed the location of Endeavor and where the crew is held. They went in before we received the ORA communication and didn’t have the resources to affect a rescue. At the time they couldn’t get comms through the wormhole, so they returned with this information. However, the captain deployed a covert observation drone in the system. If the crew or Endeavor is moved, we’ll know it once you arrive.

  “Phoenix is your ship, Rayne. You will officially take command, head to that sector, take her through the wormhole and find out what’s really going on out there. Your primary mission is the safe return of Endeavor or her crew. Your secondary mission is gathering intel on just what in blazes is happening on the other side of that wormhole. I would prefer you didn’t confront the ORA in any direct engagement. But you use whatever means necessary to complete your mission successfully. How you execute it . . . is entirely up to you. You’ll find your usual accomplices aboard Phoenix and some additions.

  “I’ve re-routed a taskforce to the location. We’ve still got some internal security concerns. There are still those within the United Systems and the Baridian Empire who haven’t taken kindly to the overtures of peace. Political wrangling and unknown allegiances are the worst of it for now on both sides. But I won’t deploy the Homeguard and leave Sol undefended. Phoenix is the only ship here not assigned to the Homeguard. Task force Sierra, led by Exeter and Valiant will be on location several days after you’ve arrived to provide support from our end. All I need from you is a simple message—whether or not to bring the pain.”

  Aaron considered the disposition of the Fleet at the moment. It was spread thin. During peacetime, ships didn’t roam around in squadrons or wings by the dozens. The USS was responsible for peacekeeping a 500 light-year area of space. Such amalgamation of ships into fleets occurred only during war or other crises.

  “Might I ask, sir, why you’ve considered giving me this assignment despite Doctor Tanner’s objections?”

  “I wouldn’t send you, if I believed for one moment you weren’t fit. I’ve had the other doctors assessing you these past two weeks. Aside from the hiccup with your memories and your awkward legs, they’ve reported you’re in good health and fit for duty. You aren’t going in guns blazing. You’ll understand when you meet your crew. I need your good sense, and your keen grasp of Phoenix’s abilities. You had one month to familiarize yourself and your crew with that ship before you reached the Border Worlds. What I saw during the battle of Atlas Prime was phenomenal. You used the ship’s unique abilities in ways I wouldn’t have thought to that soon. That’s what I want on the other side of that wormhole.” The SC had a harried look on his face. “I believe the doctor has more personal reasons for trying to confine you, although I don’t know what they are. Maybe you should ask him.”

  What could Max be trying to save him from . . . other than himself. Before he got lost in the thought, Shepherd sucked the wind from him.

  “I have one favor to ask of you, Rayne.”

  Favor? The Supreme Commander doesn’t need to ask favors. This was going be something he would never consider otherwise. Shepherd was skirting it cautiously.

  “I’ve assigned Lieutenant Delaine as your ship’s Intelligence officer—”

  Not happening. He shook his head. “Sir, she left me for dead. You can’t be serious. If not for Lee, I’d still be on Atlas Prime, or whatever remained of it, I should say.”

  “It didn’t happen like that, Commander. I’m asking you to trust me. I’ve earned that much from you. There’re many things you don’t know about your last mission, but you know for certain that neither myself nor Delaine were part of any conspiracy. Delaine had a job to do and she did it. I’ll leave it at that. But in the end, I think she’s best suited in your new full-time assignment. As an experienced starship captain you bring a great element to a covert ops starship on intelligence assignments. She brings the intelligence aspect and is perfectly suited to be the expert on those matters. It worked out well enough before. However, I won’t order you to take her on.”

  Aaron sighed deeply. “It’s not about me, sir. If her being along increases the chance of success in our present mission, then I would be indifferent to refuse her help.”

  “Indifference is only natural for you, Rayne. You’re strong willed, stubborn, sometimes reckless…”

  “I get it, sir.” Aaron said, lowering his head before the SC could continue. Why did everyone always like quoting from his file?

  Someday he’d like to know who wrote some of those things.

  Chapter 8 – A Good Crew

  “I’ve been off exploring my own final frontier” – Aaron Rayne

  United Fleet ship—Phoenix

  Twelve hours later, Aaron disembarked a small shuttle after it whisked him from the station to Phoenix, which waited nearby. The crew was assembled
aboard and his executive officer was awaiting his arrival.

  He was officially assuming command. Sometimes, such an occasion as this demanded some type of ceremony. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case here. Despite adequate training in protocol and diplomacy, Aaron never stood on ceremony—it just wasn’t a part of him and never would be. The training had been mandatory at command school. One never knew when a starship captain might have to mediate a dispute between other feuding enclaves.

  Although human space nations settled dozens of planets, they didn’t all subscribe to a universal umbrella of local planetary law. Most independent human worlds respected the stability the United Fleet engendered, and they adhered to interstellar law ratified by interstellar treaties. But sometimes, major territorial or trade disputes occurred.

  Thankfully, he’d never had to suffer through any such assignments. His low tolerance for stupidity was very topical among Fleet Command.

  Particularly, how he dealt with said stupidity.

  His thoughts drifted to the crew. Apparently, the new personnel were excited to be aboard and to be part of the infamous Aaron Rayne’s crew. Hopefully, they hadn’t set themselves up for a big disappointment.

  Aaron’s gaze swept across the hangar deck. He smiled when his eyes rested on Star Runner. She was a high-speed courier built and used by the Intelligence services. They’d used it during their mission to the Border Worlds. Phoenix’s two auxiliary combat craft—Hammerhead and Reliant—occupied two of the three remaining hangars. There’d been four such auxiliary craft originally. Where were the other two? He’d check on it later.

  At the center of the deck, the crew stood line abreast at attention in full dress uniform. A white outer jacket, pulled over an inside shirt. The jacket didn’t button and fell slightly below the waist with an angular cut inwards. Affixed to the left breast of each uniform was the sparkling gold United Fleet emblem—an old starship accelerating into Earth’s orbit . . . and onward to great glory. He swallowed a chuckle.