by Chris Hechtl
“Don't you give up,” the captain said, suddenly realizing he was serious. “I want you to be in there with them, every moment.” She pointed at the door. “Every moment, Doctor. Piss in a bottle, shit in a bucket, whatever it takes. Neither one of them expire on your watch or mine. Got it?”
“I'll certainly do my best,” the doctor replied with a nod.
She eyed him coldly. “Do better.” He winced as she stalked off seething. But at least he didn't have to endure her presence anymore.
No, he'd get it later when the inevitable happened.
:::{)(}:::
Kelsea did her best to be on hand with Doc Cloutier, help him with whatever he needed to do, but she knew despair and inevitability when she saw it. She'd seen it when her gram had slowly died in the hospital years ago. When her uncle had been crushed in an accident and left to die in a hospital bed, withering away. There was nothing they could do but accept it.
She was the only one who came into the compartment on a regular basis—well, her, Bruno, and Mackey. The others only stayed when duty required, and they lit out as fast as they could when that duty was filled.
She couldn't blame them.
:::{)(}:::
Sputtersque's hearts couldn't take the stress; she was pushed past her limits. Brrfrak watched them flutter, watched her dorsal blowhole gasp in and out in harsh rasps. He wasn't sure why he lived on, what drove him to meekly accept their shared fate while she rebelled so strongly against it.
Finally, in the night as the two-legs dozed, her hearts stopped. Alarms sounded and the two-legs tried to revive her. A part of him wanted them to succeed but another didn't. Another wanted her to succeed in her final wish. Her final curse to him, to live alone with their tormentors. His penance he realized, his final punishment for bringing them to that fate. His eyes closed in pain as the two-legs gave up their efforts. After a long moment, they turned to look at him, expecting him to give up on life as well.
:::{)(}:::
More care was taken with the male once the female died. “We need to keep him engaged,” Doctor Cloutier stated.
“And how do you propose you do that, Doctor?” Chief Faver asked.
“We can't talk to him,” D' Angelo stated. “So …”
“We need games. Something to get him curious and out of his shell. Something to focus his mind and get him to not worry about himself.”
“A renewed purpose. You said will is important, Doctor,” Kelsea said, wrapping her arms around her chest.
“Yes. I know we're talking about stopping in Nightingale for supplies.”
“We have to. We won't have enough fuel or fish paste to go further, Doc,” Mackey said. “It's the one golden moment out of this mess, the death of one of them has freed up enough fish paste to make sure the other has enough to eat to get there.”
“Okay, so … what if we tried to train him? To be useful?” Kelsea said.
Chief Faver wrinkled his nose at her. “Like?” he asked dubiously.
“I don't know; I'm just throwing the idea out there and seeing if it sticks,” Kelsea admitted.
“It won't. Like we could get him to do anything,” Mackey said. “Do what, bob in the tank?”
“No, she's right,” the doctor said slowly. The others turned to stare at him. “Chief, I think I've got an idea, but it's going to take your people and some sacrifices from the crew if we're going to pull it off.”
“Okay.”
“The good news is, if it works we'll shave our transit time down a lot,” the doctor mused, thinking hard and fast. “We'll need to tie into the ship's systems—the computers of course, but the helm as well.”
“You're thinking about communicating? Wait, why the helm?” Chief Faver demanded, eying the doctor with a grim look.
“You'll see,” the doctor said.
“I think we'll all see, but you'd better run it past the skipper first,” the Chief replied ominously.
“Plan to stop in Nightingale and along the way to get fish paste.”
:::{)(}:::
To their surprise the captain bought into the plan and gave it her blessings. They had to try something, and she knew it might be a Hail Mary, but it was the only thing they could try. It wasn't like they could turn around and drop the thing off! Not that she would. She'd get a token reward if and when they brought a body back, but a living specimen was far more important.
Doctor Cloutier's plan was for the crew to hack a VR headset. While he worked on the body of the female Ssilli, the engineers rigged the convoluted device to the Ssilli's eyes stalks. The device fed basic image data to communicate with the alien in rudimentary terms as well as a simulation of helming a ship in hyperspace. The computer and attempt to communicate sparked a withered bit of curiosity in Brrfrak, though he couldn't wear the device for long without the need of lubrication for his eyes.
“I think he's okay with it. And blinding him like this will keep him more docile and help us to work on the other body,” the doctor said to Kelsea once the Ssilli had started to engage into the tutorial she and D'angelo had rigged up.
It wasn't much, but it was a learning program. It could track the alien's eye movements and direct the small image of itself around in a virtual world. The coders in the ship promised more … when they could get around to finishing it.
:::{)(}:::
Over the weeks the doctor and engineers figured out how to rig motion sensors to turn swimming motion and head motion into actions in the virtual world. They used incentives to get the Ssilli to do different actions and behaviors. Movements allowed him to navigate in the virtual world and interact to some degree. He appreciated their feeble attempts to make an ocean environment, but his sonar told him another story.
He waved his fin stubs feebly to navigate. Initially, he had thought the false world they were feeding his senses was an attempt at communication, but when he didn't get any feedback, he realized it was some sort of swimming simulation.
:::{)(}:::
“It's working!” Doctor Cloutier exalted as the bridge reported back the good news. “He's shaving time off our transit.”
“I'm still keeping a helmsman on duty. No way am I trusting our safety to a fish, Doctor,” the captain growled.
“Aye aye, ma'am. But you see it works,” he said.
“The proof is indeed in the pudding. Navigation tells me it might,” she held up a forestalling finger, “might shave a few days off our trip.”
The doctor bobbed a nod. Any victory he thought, over and over. Even the small ones were worth it since they were the foundation for bigger victories to come.
More importantly, by engaging his patient he was buying time and getting him out of any suicidal thoughts he might have.
:::{)(}:::
Weeks turned into months, but his activity at the helm began to tell with the ship's clocks. He could swim in virtual hyperspace for the entire voyage; his brain would shift between lobes to keep at least one active and engaged in the virtual world and thus piloting the ship. He swam through rings and followed a phantom image of another Ssilli that floated before him.
Various maladies afflicted Brrfrak however. His eyes strained over time. Without water they began to dry out and cause problems. The lack of salt water in the tank made the brackish fresh water caustic to his rubbery skin. More sores opened up on his skin.
:::{)(}:::
The Doctor was constantly berated for the problems but got to the point where he just shrugged helplessly and spread his hands. Kelsea learned to duck and cover or look busy whenever the skipper came calling.
Changes to the life support by Bruno and other techs eased some of the problems. Adding the last of the cook's sea salt and half of their table salt wasn't enough. But it did make Brrfrak feel slightly better.
Captain Bellerose stalked the ship and did shift checks with the Ssilli at every opportunity. Over and over she vowed to pick up what they need in Nightingale to keep him alive. They had some trade goods to use up but she co
uldn't do much more. She wracked her brain and Mackey's trying to find something, anything to use in trade. They came up with a list, even listing components of the ship in order to get what they needed.
:::{)(}:::
Whenever Brrfrak lost interest in the game and started to wander in the virtual world, the two-legs used electric prods to force him back into compliance. When he became disinterested in the outside world, they began feeding him by the hated tube that was shoved into his beak and kept there. One by one his tentacles were cauterized or restrained if and when he fought back.
An IV port with supplies helped to keep him alive. As he shifted about in discontent, the sores all over his body ripped or reformed. The straps reduced his circulation and made breathing difficult.
Doctor Cloutier used gel packs under straps to try to ease problem. They used straps to roll the Ssilli from side to side to ease his discomfort. It was a hard endeavor, one the crew liked to grumble about. But it was necessary.
For the young Ssilli, it was painful. There wasn't enough water in the tank, and the straps dug painfully into his flesh despite the gel packs. He sagged in the straps, and it was rough to breathe sometimes.
Doctor Cloutier shook his head. “It's like taking care of a comatose patient—one several tons in weight and as big as an apartment,” he said when the skipper came by for an inspection.
“We get paid ten times as much if we deliver him alive than dead, Doctor. Keep this one alive.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“The other?”
Doctor Cloutier's eyes wandered to the shrouded dark tank. They'd covered it to minimize the distress of their surviving prisoner. “We've taken samples. The female was near egg spawning apparently, so that might have been a factor. They spawn similar to Terran Salmon. Quite fascinating actually …”
The captain waved abruptly to get the doctor to back off on his lecture. “Fascinating I'm sure. Make sure you preserve all of it.”
“Oh, I am. But we lack sufficient facilities to rig a full scale stasis pod. Engineering couldn't do anything about that. Freezing is a problem; the ice crystals will shatter cell walls. It'll ruin DNA.”
“So …”
“So I took the samples and placed them in a human sized stasis pod. I filled it up to the brim actually. Hopefully it will remain fresh until we get to Horath.”
The captain eyed the doctor with a cold glower. His payday had been halved, and they weren't out of the dead end nexus just yet. The crew was in an ugly mood. “Hopefully for your sake, Doctor. I don't need to mention what sort of living hell you'll be in with me and your crewmates if you allow this one to die and for all our hard work to be for naught.”
The doctor gulped, seeing the stern expression on her face. “I'll try not to, ma'am, but there are no …”
“Don't fracking tell me there are no guarantees! Figure it out!”
“The problem is, it's up to the patient as well as the medical staff. The other, the female, she lost the will to live. So far this one has not for some reason. I'm counting my blessings, but I don't know how long it will last, ma'am.”
“Then keep him that way. Keep him entertained, whatever it takes,” the captain ordered.
“I'll … try.”
“You'd damn well better,” she growled darkly as she stalked off.
:::{)(}:::
Brutalized, the young alien was forced to watch the two-legs and serve as their helmsman. His one brief moment of wonder came when the ship made its initial break out. That stunning display in the false world sparked questions in his mind.
They gave him time to rest and recover while they crossed the star system and then hooked him back up to the machinery to try again. He watched as another piloted the false Ssilli body at first. Then his impatience got the better of him, and he tried to get involved. Eventually they let him. He found it to be like riding a great wave—a wave in his mind and senses though.
He didn't know or understand the concept of slavery. He knew only that for some strange reason he liked what he was seeing. It was the one bright spark in his miserable existence.
:::{)(}:::
Kelsea grinned at Bruno. He snorted, ducked his head, but he couldn't fight the infection of her smile. She really thought they'd turned a corner with their prize. He was playing along, despite the occasional fits of refusal to help or go the way they were supposed to. The skipper had to keep the navigator on top of him at all times. The engineers and code geeks were constantly figuring out new ways to feed the alien information to make the ride smoother and more efficient. The skipper was no longer sour, and even Doc Cloutier had been known to crack a rare smile or two.
In short, things were looking up.
:::{)(}:::
When Marengo jumped into the empty Class F brown dwarf star system of B443, the entire crew sighed a collective sigh of relief. They were finally in the space lanes, not off the beaten path in the dead-end nexus.
Chief Faver shook his head as they crossed the star system. They'd shaved a lot of time and fuel by having the Ssilli run the helm. It had made the difference; they now had a slight reserve for their margin of safety in Nightingale.
He snorted at the captain's various attempts to prevent him or others from knowing where they'd been. He knew what she was up to, she planned to keep as much of the reward for herself as possible. Let her think that. It wasn't like the entire crew didn't know where the nexus was. They even knew how many jumps to the detour. They just didn't know that final vector. But he was pretty sure he could find out given enough time and searching through the records.
A lot of their time was wasted in sublight transit. The skipper had ordered they go ballistic to conserve as much fuel as possible. The wedge was too weak half the time to give them much more delta V to pick up or lose speed. Navigation did their best, but the empty star systems they were passing through didn't give them a whole hell of a lot to work with. Hence, the new plan he was hatching.
Now, if he could convince the skipper to try skipping with the Ssilli, they might save even more time and energy.
:::{)(}:::
The captain put down the idea of skipping. They plodded through subspace in each empty star system, conserving fuel and going ballistic as much as possible, then they would jump.
Finally, after months of effort, their destination was near. One final hyperspace translation and they would be in Nightingale. It wasn't the end of their journey, barely the beginning, but it would be an important, if brief, rest stop. Mackey had better come through, the skipper thought darkly. Fuel, food …. She knew he had little to use, but he'd do his best—or die trying.
Chapter 2
PO Blake Hale grinned as he saw the image of the planet on the view screens. The skipper had assented to putting it up where everyone could see it. It was a blue pearl, precious to them even if it had a hint and air of danger about her that belied a planet's normal innocence.
“Nightingale. A prettier planet I haven't seen me in a looong time,” he drawled.
“We've been away for years but don't expect much to have changed. These hicks can't find their ass with their elbows.”
“I don't care. I just want a fresh steak, baked potato, and a woman who can pretend to be loving for a whole evening,” Blake drawled.
“Well look at you, a whole evening? You wouldn't last five minutes,” Oswald said.
Blake scowled. “Wanna bet?”
“With what? Skipper is taking all our creds to get food and fuel so we can get on to the next stop.”
“Frack,” Blake muttered. His vision of liberty was rapidly fading.
“There goes your lady friend. Don't worry. I've got a good pic and you can always use your five fingers like you've been doing,” Oswald tormented.
Blake held up his hand then dropped all but one telling finger in return. Oswald smirked back at him insufferably.
“We've got a healthy reserve even with the skipper skimping and saving with us on ballistic. Just gettin
g the stink out of the air would be nice for a change,” Oswald said.
“Fat chance on that. I know Bruno's trying but no way can he get the fish smell out. We're stuck with it until we get home.”
“Joy,” Oswald muttered. He tapped at his controls then frowned. “Hey, something odd here,” he said.
“Odd?”
“As in out of place. There is an IFF orbiting the gas giant, two of them. I just picked them up.” Oswald wrinkled his nose. “It's too far to get a reading with our sensors though.”
“Ships?”
“Possible. One probably, but what is the other? It's pretty low in the atmosphere …,” he frowned as he pecked at his controls, working his fingers around the broken or sticky keys as best he could. When he finished his inquiry, he hit the execute button then sat back and rubbed his fingers together to get some of the stickiness off. Angelo and his damn sugar kick he thought with a corner of his mind as the computer broke the IFF down further.
“Yeah,” he grunted. “One's a tanker; the other one is, get this, a gas refinery!”
“You don't say!” the PO said, now curious. “When the hell did they get the tech for something like that?”
“The tanker? I don't know.”
“Anything more?”
“IFF says to quote 'inquire when we make orbit. Payment is expected.' Unquote,” he said.
“Shit. Frack, no way can we afford it.”
“I doubt it. Skipper wants enough fuel for one or two jumps. If this is refined … you think HE3?” He was referring to Helium 3. “Or Deuterium?”
“No fracking idea. It'd be nice though. Expensive I bet. I'll let the skipper know,” the PO stated.
“Yeah, you do that,” Oswald sighed. He leaned back and stretched as he watched Blake type out an email or log entry. Their ship had been in transit for a decade and a half. That was a hell of a long time to be away from home. He'd heard of longer voyages, and they'd damn near become one of those that never came back.