Trapped

by Scott Bartlett

  The image snapped back to the newscaster, now flanked by an older man in a poorly fitted suit. “Senior security consultant Dan Egan joins us. Dan, what’s the latest?”

  “Gracie, my sources are telling me that the UHC is determined to investigate the distress call, regardless of IU objections.”

  “But what’s their answer to those IU concerns?”

  “They believe it’s imperative to confirm that this isn’t an AI on the verge of breaking out into the multiverse at large. I think it’s fair to say the UHC’s view is that no AI is a good AI.”

  “Do we know yet what their task force will look like, or who will lead it?”

  “A large carrier battle group has been formed. Who will lead it, and when will it leave? No one’s sure.”

  “But surely we can assume, based on the scrutiny this is now receiving, that they will have to reveal those plans soon.”

  “That’s doubtful, Gracie,” the guest said, without elaborating.

  The newscaster nodded without really seeming to listen, then changed tack. “Various reports indicate the IU is spooling up defensive positions along the disputed zone with the UHC, particularly outside the Saffron and Larkspur systems. Is there a concern that this is a prelude to war?”

  “Tensions are high, Gracie. Every little escalation increases the chances of conflict, but I suspect both sides are already looking for ways to de-escalate.”

  “But it might just be too late,” the newscaster said.

  The guest frowned. Before he could say anything, the newscaster swiveled away to face forward.

  “Thanks, Dan. In other news, humanity’s decision to withdraw from the IU continues to send shock waves through other species in the union, including some who—”

  Husher stopped listening as he finally reached the front of the security line he was in.

  “It’s not as bad as they’re making it out to be,” Admiral Iver told Husher the moment he cleared the security checkpoint and passed into the non-civilian wing of the spaceport. “The IU isn’t up for a fight. They’re already backing down.”

  All around them, men in uniform were moving with even more energy than the crowds outside, although they all turned to acknowledge the admiral as he passed. He returned their acknowledgments with practiced ease.

  Husher matched the admiral’s quick stride, glad to be on the move at last. I’ve been too long out of a starship. A month on land seemed like an eternity to him. As he and Iver hurried forward, he could see orbital transports being prepped, with some departing already. A thrill shot through him.

  He glanced at the new patch on the admiral’s shoulder, and nodded at it. “That was quick.”

  Iver glanced down at the patch that read, “United Human Commonwealth,” with the UHC letters prominent, and smiled. “We still had a few laying around.”

  “I can’t believe we actually left the IU.”

  “Really? I thought you, of all people, would have seen this coming.”

  “Seeing it coming and seeing it happen are two very different things,” Husher said.

  “Well, if that’s a surprise, I might have a bigger one for you.”

  They arrived at the transport that would take Husher to his waiting orbital ship. It was slightly larger than the others he’d seen, and he suspected some of his senior staff were already aboard.

  “Oh, really—” he said, turning, then stopped mid-sentence.

  Fesky was standing at attention beside Admiral Iver. She gave both Husher and the admiral a crisp salute. Iver returned it immediately, but Husher was too dumbfounded.

  She looked nothing like the broken Winger he’d left in a slum a few weeks ago. Where was the Fesky who’d slammed the door in his face and told him not to come back? This Fesky’s uniform was clean and pressed, and other than her missing feathers, everything about her looked as immaculate as he remembered her.

  “Fesky.” His voice came out hoarse.

  “Captain,” she replied with curt professionalism. “Requesting permission to join you.”

  Husher stared into her eyes. They wavered, just for a moment, breaking contact with his before defiantly returning. But in that moment, Husher saw the truth.

  This might look every bit like the old commander that he’d hoped to see when he’d landed on Zakros, but it was just a front. All the turmoil, anguish, and yes, the fear of Husher—it was all there, just buried. The wounds were still fresh and exposed.

  Suddenly, he realized that the best thing he could do for her would be to deny her request. It was too soon—the wounds too raw. It would be a mistake to reinstate her.

  “Permission granted,” he said, returning her salute at last.

  Chapter 10

  Medical Services Bay

  UHC Relentless

  “There’s just no way, Captain,” said Doctor Guzman. “There’s no damn way that you can let her anywhere near combat. Or stress of any kind, frankly.”

  Guzman had spent the better part of an hour with Fesky in his med bay at the direct order of Admiral Iver, although Husher suspected that was just so Husher himself didn’t have to give the order. Guzman had been instructed to determine her mental state, and whether she was fit for duty. His report was less than glowing.

  “I had a gut feeling you were going to say that.”

  “You should have listened to your gut,” Guzman said in his typical brusque manner. “I’m putting an official stamp on it, Captain. She’s unfit to serve. My report is filed, so don’t try to talk me out of it.”

  Fesky wasn’t in med bay any longer. Husher didn’t know where she was. He refused to feel bad about bringing her along. Yes, the decision had felt like a bad idea even as he’d made it, but the longer he marinated in it, the more he came to think he’d done the right thing. Fesky needed help. The Relentless was a good place to get it.

  “Do you think she’s a danger to herself? Or to others?”

  Guzman shrugged. “That’s a lot harder to say. I didn’t see anything that would indicate it. But she’s as fragile as good china.”

  “Is that an official diagnosis?”

  “Call it a gut feeling.”

  “Wiseass.”

  “We go back a long time, Captain,” said Guzman, “so I have a question for you.” The ship’s doctor was putting away supplies on the far side of the office they were sitting in. The room was immaculate. It looked more like a movie set than an office that was actually in use. Then again, Guzman was himself as close to spotless as he could be. He seemed to consider it a point of pride to keep as clean as his instruments. Husher would have found him insufferable, if it weren’t for the fact that he was such a damn good doctor—and so damn willing to tell things like they were.

  “I don’t like where this is going,” Husher muttered, almost to himself. “All right, shoot.”

  The doctor stopped what he was doing and turned to look Husher in the eye. “Why did you do it?”

  “Why’d I do what?” Of course, he knew exactly what the doctor meant.

  Guzman rolled his eyes. He didn’t like to mince words. “Why did you bring her aboard?”

  Husher cocked his head, but didn’t immediately answer. Guzman took that as an opening to continue. “You had to see it for yourself. She’s in no condition to help the ship.”

  “I want to help her,” Husher said, surprising himself with the revelation. “She needs to be Fesky again. I need her to be Fesky again. And if we can’t help her here on the Relentless, well….”

  Guzman nodded, like he was hearing just what he’d expected to hear. “So you want to get her back to shipshape, do you?”

  Husher cringed. “You don’t have to sound so flippant about it.”

  “Did you ever consider the possibility that she’ll never be shipshape again? There’s no cosmic rule that says someone who’s gone through the kind of trauma she has will ever get better. In fact, I can guarantee she’ll never go back to who she was before. That person is gone.”

  Husher sai
d nothing. Guzman was right, of course. There was no guarantee that he’d ever be able to make Fesky well again.

  “I hate to say it, Captain, but I should also point out that you might just be the worst possible person to help her.”

  Husher shook his head. “It wasn’t me that did this to her.”

  “Tell that to Fesky.”

  “She knows—”

  “She might know on an intellectual level that it wasn’t you who tortured her. She knows in her mind that it was that bastard down there in the brig who did this.”

  Husher grimaced. He hadn’t actually told Fesky about who was in the brig. The fewer people that knew that, the better.

  Of course, there was another reason to keep it a secret. Husher knew Fesky would never have come if she knew that monster was down there. But it was too late to worry about that now.

  The doctor pressed on, oblivious to Husher’s discomfort. “It doesn’t matter what Fesky knows with her head, because her heart doesn’t believe it. In her heart, that bizarro copy of you is somehow intertwined with this version of you.” Guzman pointed a finger at Husher’s chest. “Her heart is sure that the evil Husher is somewhere in you, waiting for a chance to get out.”

  Husher shook his head. “That’s a hell of a picture, thanks for painting it. I thought you were just an old sawbones.”

  Guzman shrugged. “What can I say? Being the medical chief on a starship requires you to be a bit of a headshrinker. For what it’s worth, I do have a degree in this stuff, Captain.” He raised his eyebrows. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to come in for a psych evaluation of your own. It’s been a while, hasn’t—”

  The com on Husher’s belt buzzed. “Saved by the bell,” he muttered, digging out the device to reveal Admiral Iver’s face on the small screen. “Admiral.”

  “Captain. It’s time.”

  Husher looked up at Guzman. “Rain check, Doc.”

  Guzman smiled. “I’ll get in that head at some point, Vin.”

  Husher smiled over his shoulder as he left the medical bay. “In that case, my condolences in advance.”

  As he entered the CIC, Husher sensed the shift in the air. Shoulders tensed. Fingers fidgeted. He hardly noticed this kind of thing anymore, at least not in the middle of a mission. But he’d been away for long enough that it showed up on his personal radar—the bustle of everyone looking busy for their captain. He suppressed a grin. “Are we prepared for interdimensional transit?”

  “Aye, sir,” the Nav officer said crisply.

  “Message from the Providence, sir,” said Coms. “We’ve been instructed to lead the jump.”

  Husher wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to hearing the name “Providence” to refer to an active ship again. The Providence was Admiral Iver’s flagship, and a supercarrier, just as her namesake had been—the vessel on which Husher had served under Captain Keyes during the Second Galactic War. To end that war, Keyes and the rest of his CIC crew had made the ultimate sacrifice. Their beloved supercarrier had gone down while Husher was fighting the Ixa on their home planet, Klaxon.

  Under Iver’s command, the new Providence would lead the battle group that answered the alien distress signal. In addition to the supercarrier, the group included the cruisers O’Kane, Regent, and Bunker; destroyers Relentless, Strongbow, Wasp, and Able; frigates Trusty, Martin, Utah, Hurricane, Champion, and Zephyr; and two dozen support ships, chiefly for troop and supply transport.

  Humanity wasn’t sauntering into another dimension without expecting the worst. And Husher had a feeling that Iver shared his belief that the IU wasn’t entirely wrong in their objections to this mission. No one truly knew what to expect, and while the IU fearmongering was little more than that, the risks of the mission were clear.

  “Very well,” Husher said in response to his Coms officer’s news. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that his XO looked surprised. It was an honor to lead the battle group, even if it was little more than ceremonial at this point. The coordinates for the entire transit were locked in for all ships. Even so, Akio Shota was a young commander on his way up, and he clearly considered it a Big Deal that Relentless would take the lead.

  “The rest of the battle group is prepped?” Husher said.

  His sensor operator, Ensign Miles Winterton, nodded. Winterton had served with Husher aboard the Vesta as well, and he felt glad to have the man on this mission. “All support vessels report ready, sir. We have one supply ship reporting a technical malfunction that will prevent her from joining us for the initial foray.”

  Husher nodded. Always something. “Did we get in touch with Ochrim?”

  “Uh, yes, sir,” said his Nav officer, Kara Fontaine. “His route is a bit, um, unconventional, sir.”

  Husher allowed himself a raised eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware that traveling the multiverse was something you did every day, Lieutenant.”

  “No sir, of course not. It’s just that…well, he gave me a set of coordinates that he ‘whipped up on the back of a couple of napkins.’ That’s a direct quote, sir.”

  Husher chuckled, though he noticed a few strained looks from other senior officers in the CIC. “Relax, Lieutenant.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Shota chimed in. “Just look at what the IU has him building on Zakros.”

  Now, Husher really did have to suppress a grin. “He’s a genius, all right.”

  Fontaine cleared her throat. “Just the same, UHC Command thought it prudent that we instead retrace the exact route the probe took when it carried the distress signal to us.”

  “And what did Ochrim say about that?”

  “He said it was fine, if we wanted to do it the long, boring way.” The Nav officer frowned apologetically. “It will take a few hours.”

  Husher shared a glance with his XO.

  Shota shrugged. “Boring is usually the way Command wants things done.”

  “Well, let’s give them what they want, just this one time.”

  The XO smiled. “Just this once, then.”

  “Would you like to give the order, Commander?” Husher said.

  Shota turned serious at that, then nodded. “Thank you, sir.” He turned to Nav. “Coordinates locked in?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Execute.”

  Chapter 11

  Tactical War Room

  UHC Relentless

  Husher studied each of the assembled department heads in turn. It had been a little over two hours since they’d begun to navigate the multiverse toward the destination dimension, and it was as good a time as any to brief everyone one last time on everything they knew about the mission.

  His officers looked restless—eager, even. That brought a smile to his lips. So am I, he realized.

  “Our orders are simple,” Commander Shota said, looking around the table and making sure to hold eye contact with each person. “We must assess the danger in the destination universe, if any, and report back to the UHF so that the appropriate forces can be allocated for a further mission.”

  The information was as dry as burnt toast, but someone had to go over it again. This was the kind of thing that first officers were made for. Shota was clearly enjoying it. Authority was an intoxicating thing when it was new and shiny.

  Shota was also young enough that using the acronym “UHF” didn’t sound strange to him, or really like anything at all. It was just some letters. But Husher was well aware of the original United Human Fleet—he’d lived it, after all—and he found the term both weird and completely natural at the same time, like having a long-lost friend reappear in your life suddenly. The old UHF had had its problems, but it had been proud. Husher just hoped they could avoid the same pitfalls this time around.

  Shota droned on for another ten minutes before Husher stood and put the meeting out of its misery. The XO looked slightly annoyed, although Husher would be damned if he could figure out why.

  Did the man have some big finale planned? Husher couldn’t imagine what it might be. All he knew was that he�
��d never been in a briefing he wasn’t happy to leave. This one was no exception.

  Or so he thought. But that was before he got to the brig.

  * * *

  “What are you doing here?” snarled the man that looked like everything Husher hoped he never became. It was like looking into a cursed mirror that didn’t just age him—it took out his soul and fed it back to him in little pieces.

  What is it that bothers me so much about him? It wasn’t that the Husher from the Progenitor universe was evil, exactly. It was the fact that, in theory, he was a form of evil that Husher also possessed, somewhere inside himself.

  The scariest thing was that Husher couldn’t find that evil. He felt nothing of the seething hatred that bubbled up behind the eyes of his doppelgänger. But that didn’t mean he didn’t possess it—only that it might emerge at any time, without warning, perhaps when he was least ready for it.

  The man before him was Husher. There was no denying that. He’d merely been consumed by the darker side of his nature. What would Husher do if the same thing started happening to him?

  “I’m here for a chat.” He kept his tone neutral and light. He hoped the trepidation he felt whenever he looked at this monster was hidden deep down inside, where it would never surface.

  The two guards on either side of the cell were wearing heavy marine combat gear. Two more were stationed on the opposite side of the passageway, only a couple of steps away. Husher knew a dozen more were just outside the brig. Those inside never holstered their weapons.

  His demented twin wasn’t merely a sick joke. He was the source of almost everything that had led humanity into the Third Galactic War. Maybe he hadn’t started it, but he’d been a willing catalyst, cheerfully contributing what he could to the slaughter.

  A dozen marines hardly seemed like enough.