‘There’s no doubt that the decks exposed by that gash are in vacuum, as may be much of the main hull. But here in the pod at least there’s still an atmosphere, and it’s of a mixture suitable for humanoids.’
Uncomfortable in her environment suit, Colmarrie decided she’s had enough of breathing the air supplied by her backpack. She cracked the seal on her helmet and lifted it off, then sniffed the air. Anderson saw what she was doing and exclaimed in alarm, ‘Shit! Be careful! The air could be contaminated with microbes or all kinds of crap!’
The tall mutant sniffed the air once more, wrinkled her nose then shook her head. ‘I think not my friend. The air is stale, but not bad. It is safe to breathe. I know these things... Remember, I come from the wastelands!’
Anderson looked at Brabazon who checked the reading on his suit sensor then nodded his head. Anderson shrugged and cautiously removed his helmet, followed by the rest of the marines and finally Brabazon. The mutant Dyason was right, the air was musty, stale perhaps, but it had no real odour. If they were expecting the smell of the previous owners, they were disappointed.
Brabazon sniffed the air, sneezed once, then began to breathe normally. ‘Sorry about that Dominator,’ he transmitted. ‘We’ve just taken our helmets off. As I was saying, the atmosphere is breathable, but there’s no sign of our hosts. You can see whatever happened here led them to leave in a hurry, but we’ve found no clues so far as to why.’
‘Time is running short Josh,’ Gulag appealed to the scientist his voice sounding distorted through the micro-earpiece. ‘Can you access the ship’s flight recorder? Are the data-banks intact?’
‘I’m working on it now Gulag. You’re going to have to give me some time!’
‘What’s the situation on-board Dominator?’ Colmarrie spoke into her suit mike. ‘Have you managed to regain control of the ship?’
‘Negative. We’re still being drawn toward that monstrosity in the centre. We’re nearly on top of it now,’ came the strained reply. ‘None of our other systems are being affected and there’s been no other hostile moves against us. But whatever it is that wants us to pay them a visit is determined we’ll be there on time. I need some answers, and soon!’
‘I’m working on it as fast as possible!’ Brabazon snapped back, propelling himself to the main computer workstation. He tapped at the keypad on his arm, ordering the shuttle to feed power to the workstation and main data-banks. The panel lit up briefly then died. He swore loudly then ordered the shuttle to try routing the power again. Once more the panel briefly lit up, then died. ‘Shit!’ he swore loudly.
‘What’s the problem?’ Colmarrie asked drifting to his side.
‘There must be something wrong with the central computer core,’ Josh explained, needing his brow in frustration. ‘Either corrosion has set in over the centuries, or there’s a break in the main power conduit. Power is being channeled from the shuttle to the core, but the bitch isn’t booting up.’
‘Can you fix it?’ the mutant demanded.
‘Not in the next few minutes I can’t!’
‘Dominator will be beside that heap of scrap metal by then, friend Josh. We need answers now. Not in an hour’s time!’ Colmarrie reminded him urgently.
‘I know…I know…’ the wiry scientist snapped back. ‘I’m working on it okay?’
Brabazon pushed himself away from the console, rolled and grabbed the back of the communication officer’s couch. He dragged himself down so he was facing the workstation and pulled a small notebook computer from out of the thigh pocket of his suit. Frantically he attached an adapter that plugged into the data orifice on the workstation, then began scanning the lines of information that sped past the screen of the notebook. This was it! This was what he was looking for! The information wouldn’t be as complete as that on the main data-banks, but it was better than nothing.
‘I’ve got something!’ he called out excitedly to the others. ‘I’ve managed to access the ship’s log which is backed up here, in the same manner as on-board Excalibur. The information we need should be here! I’ll replay the last few log entries now!’
Anderson looked at the screen of his communicator then up at Brabazon, a look of anguish on his face. ‘I think we’re too late Josh!’ he whispered. ‘Dominator’s been swallowed up by that…thing! We’ve lost contact!’
Dominator increased velocity toward the chaotic construction the moment the shuttle docked with the derelict. To Gulag it was as if whoever, or whatever, was overriding the controls, didn’t want them to find the information stored on the wreck. As the computer had indicated before it shut itself down, the answers to what and where this place was, were obviously to be found there. The bitch of it was, it looked like they were going to lose the race to find the answers before the galactic scrap heap swallowed them up.
The inexperienced crew did everything they could to sever the link with the construction, but to no avail. They were locked out of all the flight and engine management systems. He’d even ordered that the power conduits to the main flight controls be physically cut, but all that happened then was that power was restored by some back-up route none of them could even begin to fathom.
As the massive construction came nearer they could clearly see that it consisted of parts from other vessels, all strapped together. What looked like a fuel tank from one of the other wrecks was connected to what was obviously a gutted freighter. It was a chaotic, confusing mass of metal and composite, the purpose of which could only be guessed at. As a section of the thing parted to reveal a huge interior big enough to swallow the Dominator, Gulag desperately considered ordering the crew to abandon ship. But as yet, there had been no further hostile moves against them, no contact with whatever was dragging them in. Given the option between drifting lost in space in a lifeboat, or facing the unknown, Gulag decided they would all stay on-board.
The sensors were all blank, cutoff by whatever was controlling the ship. Their only view of the outside world was through the bridge’s main viewer, which was still projecting images transmitted from the prow cameras. Considering Dominator was over half a klick long, what the cameras showed was just plain frightening. Sections of the moon-sized construction moved apart in a bizarre fashion, the mixture of metal and composite glinting dully in Dominator’s bow floodlights. The ship decelerated and eased through the opening created, the sheer mass of the structure around them having an oppressive effect on everyone on the bridge. Once the stern passed through the orifice all forward motion stopped and the chaotic mass closed behind them, sealing Dominator and everyone on-board inside the artificial moon.
Gulag opened his mind and attempted to feel or see, what was around them. The cameras showed nothing, the floodlights disappearing into a dark void. His mind was void also, he could feel nothing from the construction around him. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but for the second time in only a few hours he was scared.
CHAPTER FOUR
Conference Room, Heligsion Starship — Valvia
Admiral Chelekov looked about him, carefully scrutinising the faces of those around the conference table. Beside him sat Tylosk, the obese general, his rolls of fat barely contained by his gaudy uniform. Chelekov saw his eyes, the fool was obsessed by the pale alien Dauphne, who sat with her ‘priests’ at the other end of the table. The general’s insatiable demand for perverse sexual acts with women and children was no secret in the military junta. Chelekov recognised the way Tylosk looked at the alien seer, it was a look of desperate lust. Which was fine by him—the fat bastard was so obsessed, he wouldn’t know he’d been ‘replaced’ until they hanged him from the rafters.
On the other side of Chelekov sat Polesy the head of Masorak, the Imperial special forces, who was as ever, poker faced. Tall and thin, with a dour face, Polesy never said much at the meetings of the military council—he didn’t need to. With a vast network of spies and informers, he knew what was happening in the many corners of the Empire long before the rest of the council. It was j
ust a shame that even he, hadn’t predicted recent events. Chelekov knew that Polesy took the fact that he hadn’t predicted the arrival of Excalibur and this other vessel as an attack on his personal empire. He was looking for a chance to get even, to reaffirm the authority of Masorak. This made him dangerous, very dangerous.
The disappearance of Nimue and the freak, together with the massive upsurge in civil unrest, meant that there was a power vacuum on Dyason that one of them had to fill. Chelekov was determined that the vacuum would be filled by him. Which was why he was so carefully scrutinising those in the conference room with him.
He ignored the temptation to look out of the panoramic windows at the stars and the planet slowly revolving above them. He couldn’t afford to be distracted and besides, he’d seen it all before. On the right-hand side of the table sat the rebellious scum Hillmead and the bitch Shalok. Chelekov still couldn’t believe that a civilian police inspector, and a junior officer barely out of the academy, could cause so much chaos. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, these two had become the catalyst for planet-wide rebellion. He’d have them both shot, if it weren’t for the fact that the last thing he needed on his hands at the moment, were a couple of martyrs. He would have his revenge though, of that he was certain.
Sitting beside the traitors, acting as their advisers sat the Terran pilots Group Captain Jenson, and Squadron Leader Sandpiper. These were Terrans that Chelekov could understand—they were military men, just like himself. He’d read the report on these two, and he had a grudging respect for the way in which they’d organised the anti-Imperial movement on Earth. The formation of the resistance under Jenson had been instrumental in the eventual defeat of Chelekov’s Imperial navy. He may not like them because of that, but at least he understood them. Which was more than he could say for the young Terran and his woman, who sat on the left-hand side of the table.
Handsome, with dark, thick hair and chiseled features, the Terran was in his early twenties, but his eyes were a lot older. In fact, there was something about his eyes that drew you in—it was hard not to stare. The Terran didn’t look at you, he looked straight through you, as if your innermost thoughts were exposed—which if the reports Chelekov read were true, was exactly what he did. Of all the people at the conference table on-board the alien ship Valvia, he was the most dangerous. Chelekov had no intention of underestimating Moss Pendragon, the legendary potent telepath. Beside him sat Jennifer Hamilton, the Terran’s woman. Beautiful, with long blond hair and a figure her uniform did little to hide, she was also the target of Tylosk’s desires. However, Chelekov knew from the reports he’d read, that this particular young woman had personally dispatched over fifty Imperial storm-troopers. As a couple the Terrans were lethal.
‘Thank you for coming to this meeting gentlemen,’ the alien seer thought at them. Chelekov was still finding it hard to come to terms with the fact that this alien woman communicated with them all entirely telepathically. He’d yet to see her lips move, even to communicate with other members of her crew. At first, he’d thought that the images and thoughts projected to them at the Hall of Representatives were some sort of clever trick, aimed to fool the proletariat who’d invaded the conference. However, the secret service assured him that the female’s telepathic powers at least, were for real. Which meant that whatever the game the Terran’s and this bunch the Heligsions were playing, was even more dangerous.
‘It is my hope and prayer,’ the seer continued with a dour, miserable face, ‘that we can come to some sort of agreement here, today, that will stave off an incredibly destructive civil war on your planet. Time is short, we must conserve our combined resources…’
‘Why is time short?’ Chelekov interrupted. ‘Do you still believe that these…creatures, which attacked your world, will also invade Dyason?’
‘My race has long been aware that there are other humanoids which inhabit other worlds. Our prophets have long foreseen that we should meet and live in harmony with these other humanoids. But there is some…”thing” out there that wishes to ensure that this never happens,’ Dauphne replied.
‘Do you have any proof to substantiate your claim? ‘ Tylosk drooled. ‘Alien bodies, artifacts, something like that?’
The seer frowned, a look of confusion on her pale, almost translucent face. ‘There was no time to gather any of those things amidst the confusion of our leaving. Surely, you don’t doubt the validity of what I have told you, what I have shown you?’
Chelekov and his cronies remained quiet. For the first time Moss Pendragon spoke up. ‘Whether you believe High Priestess Dauphne is, at this stage of the game, irrelevant,’ he said in perfect Dyason with a voice that was surprisingly strong and mature. ‘The point is, the planet cannot sustain another war. The military council knows as well as we do, that there is very little time left before the biosphere collapses. Decades of environmental abuse have polluted your world to such an extent, that very soon it will no longer be able to sustain life. In a few short months admiral, the military council will be out of a job, regardless of who wins this latest struggle. In a few short months there will be no one, and nothing left, to rule over!’
‘Our scientists believe your prognosis to be overly pessimistic,’ Polesy the head of the Imperial secret services retorted from between dry, thin lips. ‘Although we admit that Dyason has an environmental problem, caused by the emissions of factories built by the wasteland mutants, there is no immediate cause for concern.’
Shalok opened her mouth to answer back, unable to believe that Polesy could spout such obvious lies and expect anyone to believe them. Hillmead placed a restraining hand on her arm, he knew the lies were just part of some scheme the Imperialist was plotting.
‘However, just supposing your presumptions were correct,’ Chelekov took over from Polesy’s lead. ‘For the sake of argument, let’s agree that the planet is about to die environmentally. What, exactly, are your proposals to alleviate the situation? I presume you have some proposals?’
‘As I’m sure you’re aware Chelekov, your invasion fleet made a bit of a mess of Earth’s environment before they left. We had to implement our own clean-up campaign on a worldwide scale. Our rivers, oceans and atmosphere were choked with radioactive dust and debris caused by the Imperial invasion. It took time and vast resources to save our environment. The experience we gained from that operation and the technology on-board Excalibur would be invaluable in attempting to reverse the decline of the Dyason biosphere,’ Moss told him in a level reasonable voice, his face giving nothing away.
‘Technology we would have ourselves if you hadn’t stolen the other vessel, from under our noses!’ Tylosk shouted, slamming his fist down hard on the conference table, his fat jowls wobbling.
‘That ship was crewed by your people and captained by Gulag—who is one of your genetic experiments,’ Jenson answered back in a cold, icy voice. He couldn’t abide the fat perverse general and stared hard at him through narrowed eyes. ‘If you’re looking for someone to blame for that, I suggest you point the finger firmly at yourself!’
‘How dare you!’
‘Please gentlemen, arguing is senseless. It achieves nothing!’ a distraught Dauphne called out with her mind. The seer couldn’t believe these races could spend so much time in petty argument. After all that had happened to her own world, to once more see such hatred, was very nearly more than she could bear. ‘We must not let our own prejudices get in the way of mutual co-operation! We do not have the time for such behaviour. Please listen to what we have to offer!’
Tylosk stared moodily at the high priestess but said nothing more. He knew as well as any of them that despite the bluster, Dyason was facing a disaster of unprecedented proportions. The Terran freak was unfortunately right when he pointed out that there was no point in ruling over a lifeless desert.
‘What we offer,’ Moss began to explain in a firm voice, ‘is the technology and expertise on-board Excalibur and Valvia to halt and reverse the deterioration in the atmos
phere. We will introduce new technology which will remove emissions from your factories and power stations. Finally, we’ll help you to rejuvenate the vast wastelands. Together we can make Dyason a pleasant, habitable planet once more.’
‘That is all very well Moss Pendragon. Your offer is very noble, but you’ll undoubtedly require some form of payment for all this aid,’ Chelekov said, a shrewd look on his face. ‘What exactly are you after in return? What do you want from us?’
‘In return, there must be an armistice among all the different factions on Dyason. The Imperial council must agree to democratic elections and be prepared to stand down in favour of an elected government,’ Moss told the admiral bluntly.
Tylosk looked as if he were about to swear and dismiss the offer out of hand, but Polesy gave the obese general a long hard stare before he could say anything.
‘That’s a lot to ask for,’ the head of the Imperial secret service said through narrow calculating eyes. ‘Unfortunately, the military council cannot guarantee the co-operation of all the different rebel factions. Even if we agreed to your demands, you’ll still need the co-operation of the mutant wastelanders and rebels who, as we speak, are trying to overthrow the Imperial government.’
‘However, if you were to offer your…services, freely to the Imperial council, we could ensure that bandits and local warlords do not hinder efforts to restore the environment. We could ensure the safety of your people and speed progress. How many more lives would that save?’ Chelekov added shrewdly. ‘The question of democratic elections could be addressed as soon as stability has been restored to the planet.’
‘Forget it!’ Hillmead snapped at the admiral, his jaw set firm, finger pointing accusingly. ‘You know as well as I do that once you get your hands on any advanced technology, you’ll use it for military purposes. You’ll let everyone else clean your shit up for you, then turn your hands against those that have helped you. There can be no question of assistance until the military council agrees to democratic elections!’
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