“I’m going with you,” Joyboy said. “Triton can send a couple fighters to pilot us, and I have emergency training.”
“Since when?”
“Finished the course three weeks ago.”
“Oh,” Ronin replied, turning his craft so it faced the small landing bay running alongside the lower half of the ship. “Time to get you some experience. Follow my lead going in.”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” Joyboy said.
As Ronin approached the landing deck he immediately recognized that the racks containing emergency escape craft were all empty. His Uriel fighter retracted all but two of his thruster pods, reducing the ship’s profile so it could fit in one of the narrow slots for landing craft, and Ronin touched down. There was artificial gravity in the starliner, but he activated his landing clamps anyway. Nothing about the situation felt right.
He climbed out of his fighter, checking his sidearm before he reached behind the seat for the rescue kit. It was a metal case he could carry using its handle or easily affix to his back by touching it to his light armour. He opted to wear the kit and drew his sidearm as he watched Joyboy touch down with a thud. “Easy, this deck is so thin it may as well be decorative.”
“Funny, ship looks really good from the outside,” Joyboy replied. He was out of his cockpit and geared up in under a minute.
“Sure,” Ronin replied, “But these starliner companies cut corners wherever they can. Why do you think we keep getting ghost ships arriving with depleted oxygen supplies or bad heating systems? They still use oxygen tanks and crappy scrubbers that only last about thirty trips, but the emergency deceleration systems are in great shape, because they couldn’t dock anywhere worth flying to otherwise.”
“Yeah, I get it, they’re death traps if you don’t maintain them constantly,” Joyboy replied. “Paula goes on about it whenever a ghost ship drifts near the system.”
“Ah, right, sorry,” Ronin said. “Didn’t mean to go on there.” They saw the first corpse then, perfectly preserved in the vacuum of space in front of the airlock leading to the ship’s interior. “Okay, we have a high-powered plasma blast,” he said as the forensic suite in his command and control unit analysed the body. “This one was killed using a close range weapon.”
“Nearly cut in half with one shot,” Joyboy muttered. “Looks like he was trying to stop whoever was leaving?”
“Yeah, or whoever launched all those pods,” Ronin said. “All right, we’re here to rescue two people. We scan and record everything else, we don’t have time to analyse the scene.”
“Aye, Sir,” Joyboy replied. “Lead the way.”
Ronin plugged an emergency power supply line from his backpack in to a jack at the bottom of the airlock door and triggered it open. He wordlessly led the way into the passenger area, where he and his wingman were confronted by a scene Ronin knew Joyboy would revisit in his dreams. The man was more trustworthy as a pilot and soldier by the day, but he hadn’t truly seen anything like what was in front of them. Ronin had seen worse, but not by much.
The desperate expressions of the horror struck passengers were preserved by the airless cold. “Someone evacuated the air here,” Joyboy said sadly. “Was it the computer? Holocaust Virus got in from an old inactive system somehow?”
“No time to analyse the scene, remember? Stick to the mission,” Ronin said, sure that what he was seeing wasn’t the result of a computer virus.
“Ronin, this is Oz. Triton Fleet Command is watching. Our rescue team leader is staying abreast of the situation and will be there in twelve minutes.”
“This mission clock is ticking slower. The rescue team was supposed to be here in two minutes according to the first estimate your man gave me,” Ronin said. “That puts response time at over thirty one minutes, Oz.”
“That’s why I’m giving you the official go-ahead. Rescue if you can, but if you can’t, keep the situation stable if at all possible.”
“What does that mean, ‘keep the situation stable?’” Joyboy asked.
“It means that if we can’t make the rescue ourselves, we shouldn’t screw it up by making the attempt anyway,” Ronin replied. “Welcome to a real rescue operation.”
As the scant minutes it took to make it all the way to the front of the main passenger deck, past over a hundred corpses that were frozen in poses of dismay, anger and everything in between, it became plain to Ronin that quieting Joyboy was a mistake. He could see the man’s stress readings climbing through the Crewcast display in his helmet. “Looks like it happened quickly,” Ronin said. “But you have to stop looking every passenger in the eye, Joyboy. Stay aware of the situation, there’s nothing we can do for these people.”
“Yeah,” Joyboy replied, “Okay, yeah.”
Ronin was relieved to finally come upon the closet where the faint life readings were emanating from. He examined the doors and took a detailed close range scan. “You seeing this, Triton?” Ronin said. “Two people, crammed together in a support bag made for one. The air recycler in there has almost had it.”
“All right,” Captain McPatrick replied. “We see the scan, that bag is still sealed, and one of them is conscious, but barely. If you get your emergency bag around them, it will take over for what’s keeping them alive right now.”
“Oh my God, that bag only kept their heads and torsos warm,” Joyboy said. “And one of them has no legs, looks they were cut off before they were put in there. Who would do this?”
Ronin didn’t comment, but got his emergency survival bag ready. It was a black self-forming bag that could wrap itself around up to four people and seal in seconds. It would provide heat, air, and medication to the people inside. It was one of the devices everyone adopted once they were found aboard the Triton in abundance, especially since they were so easy to fabricate. “You open the doors, I’ll catch them.”
“What?” Joyboy said.
“You open the doors, step out of the way, and I’ll get them in here,” Ronin said as he pointed to the bag spread out on the deck.
“Aye, aye,” Joyboy said, all hesitation gone. He stepped in, spread the doors apart, and then stepped out of the way.
Ronin caught the intertwined passengers. The survival bag they were stuffed into was transparent, and he saw things he wished he didn’t before he got them onto the deck and atop the Earth technology style bag. He watched as it enveloped them, sealed, inflated and shuffled as it infiltrated the rudimentary life support bag the passengers were found in. The readings on Ronin’s helmet indicated that the pair were immediately put into deep stasis and would survive with serious medical attention. Their major organs were intact.
He squeezed his eyes shut and clamped his jaw, trying to shake the sunken feeling and nausea as he mentally reviewed what he saw before his emergency medical bag closed around the rescued couple. The woman had red hair, fair skin, and was being cradled by the male passenger, who had broad shoulders, was tall, and powerful looking. When the closet first opened he thought he was seeing Ayan and Jake, the likeness was just close enough.
“You okay, Ronin?” Joyboy asked.
“No,” was all he could say.
Chapter 3
The Message
Since he’d arrived in the Rega Gain system, Terry Ozark McPatrick had seen many things. They ranged from the marvellous to the horrific, but he made sure he observed everything he could, regardless of how much he might want to turn away. The injustices visited upon the average Tamber citizen outside of Haven Shore’s embrace were truly difficult to hear about. The number of times he wanted to lower the Triton over a city and wipe out the gangs so normal people could live in peace were beyond counting but he had to pick his war carefully.
There were Order and Regent Galactic forces slowly edging towards Rega Gain, testing their perimeter, and finding that they could come a little closer to the solar system each day. The Triton was ready, and in one week three mid-sized ships would be ready to accompany the carrier when Oz guided it towards Regent Gal
actic territory with the purpose of pushing back. That was the war he chose, and everyone in the Rega Gain solar system – gangster and citizen alike – would benefit if they managed to hold.
He was a military man, trained to be a problem solver, and he still enjoyed that kind of problem. The kind of problem where there were only one or two enemy flags to watch for, and the objective was to force the people carrying them to retreat or surrender. That was the kind of problem he enjoyed, not the kind of complicated situation that awaited him in the Triton’s Medical Centre under heavy guard.
‘They are deeply traumatized, I’m helping to keep them calm,” remarked the Triton’s overseer, a being created in the Sol System to serve as the ship’s heart and advisor. Oz had come to depend on the telepathic link they shared. Thank you, Geist, I’m going to have to take it from here. I want to hear the interview in their words before you play back any of their memories for me. Oz thought in response.
‘You don’t want these mental images, I do not want to do that to you,’ Geist replied.
The guards standing in front of the male victim’s room parted and Oz stepped inside. He was thankful that the man was covered by the medical support bed, because the chart behind him marked that half of one arm, the better part of a leg, and his entire other arm had been removed. Oz assumed that they had frozen unevenly while he was stuck in the storage compartment aboard the spaceliner. The fellow was awake though, and noticed Oz right away.
“You look important,” he said. “I’m Dom, short for Dominick.”
Oz pulled a rolling stool to the man’s bedside and smiled. “Hello, Dom, short for Dominick. I’m Admiral Terry Ozark McPatrick, you can call me Oz. How are you doing here? They treating you well?”
“Well, just got a new nose, they fixed my chin and cheeks, and I barely felt a thing. Things are good. Well, except for a few other missing parts, but they tell me they’re growing those for me, and I’ll be getting them for free?” His question revealed uncertainty and doubt.
“You are, but if it makes you feel better, you do have something you can trade for our services. I need you to tell me what happened to you and your partner.”
“The woman that Wheeler person put me with?” Dom asked. “I only know her name, Antonia Chandler. We never met before he put us together. Is she going to be all right? No one will tell me.”
“She’s going to be fine, but she got the worst of the injuries, even though, from the looks of how you were found, it seems like you were trying to keep her warm.”
“When we woke up in that closet, she said that Wheeler cut off her legs so we would both fit in that emergency bag together. I still don’t get that though, that closet had dozens of bags and suits for decompression. The seats even had decompression safety features built in.”
“Okay, can you start at the beginning? From when the trouble started to happen.” Oz would never forget the name, Wheeler. It belonged to a man who did not care who he betrayed, as long as he did what he wanted and got what he wanted.
“Okay, I was having a great flight to the Rega Gain system. I wanted to apply to join whatever fleet was forming behind the Warlord. I’m a structural engineer, but I thought I could make my experience work for them, and the British Alliance wouldn’t have me because I got caught stealing a shuttle when I was fifteen. I didn’t think the Warlord staff would care. The guy sitting beside me was coming here to work in the jungle, he said he already contacted Haven Shore and they had a place for him, he was a botanical technician named John. Kind of a nervous guy, but nice, really smart. We’re talking about our families before the virus, I think everyone does these days unless it’s too fresh, but my husband has been dead since day one, my dad didn’t make it through the first week, so I just do it to keep their memory alive, but anyway,” Dom turned his head to take a sip from a water tube near his cheek, and Oz helped move it into position. “Thank you,” he said after a large gulp.
“No problem,” Oz replied.
“All right, so we’re talking up a storm, finally,” Dom said. “and this guy walks to the front of the cabin and starts talking, saying that his name is Lucius Wheeler, and he won’t be going all the way to Rega Gain with us. I could feel the ship slowing down, not like gravity, but the rumble of the retro thrusters. The safety restraints on our seats turn on, and we’re all stuck there. He says he’s sorry that only two people would be making it, and then singles me and Antonia out. Four guys, big, cyborgs from what I could tell, pluck us out of our seats, and drag us to the forward compartment where there were four dead attendants. Someone had shot them, as best as I could tell.
This guy, Wheeler, looks us over and says we’ll do, then looks at the bag he’s holding and says; ‘some alterations are necessary.’ One of his guys gets out this blade that’s glowing white hot and starts coming towards me, then Wheeler grins and says, ‘no, cut her legs off, if you cut his legs off, the two of them still won’t fit.’”
I’m no hero, but I see the cyborg turn towards Antonia and I go for the side of him that isn’t metal plated. No one caught me in time, so I try to tackle him, and he doesn’t budge. He may as well be a support beam for all the difference I make, and that metal arm of his backhands me across the compartment. Wheeler leans down and tells me; ‘give the people who find you a message for me. Tell them that they should have let me leave in peace, but they didn’t, so now I’m going to take or destroy everything they have.’ Then he knocks me out.”
Dom turned for another sip of water, and Oz helped him once again. Oz was piecing the story together, what Wheeler was thinking when he chose Dom. From the report he’d already received, Antonia was roughly the same shape, and had the same hair colour as Ayan. Dom’s complexion, height and hair matched Jake’s. Wheeler probably thought he was being clever when he chose them to deliver his message.
“Thanks,” Dom said as he finished sipping. “I woke up in the dark. The life support bag only had enough light for me to make out the top of Antonia’s face. She told me they took her legs, and I could feel the cold coming. I didn’t know what was going on, not really, but I wrapped myself around her as best I could. I couldn’t check to see if she was bleeding, but I could feel something wet, all I could do was try to keep her warm. She was in so much pain, but she passed out a little while later. I did too when the air got thin.”
“Whatever they used to cut her cauterized her wounds. They haven’t woken her up yet. You kept her face and head warm enough so she didn’t need the work you did though, her cheeks and nose are fine.”
“That’s something then,” Dom said. “I wish I could tell you more, Oz. The next thing I remember is waking up here.”
“That’s plenty,” Oz said. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”
“Please, don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter who this madman was after, or what his reasons were, he’s the one who had it done. If I were the kind of man who could track down and punish people, I would make him pay, but I’ll leave that to people like you. You look like that kind of man.”
“He won’t get away with this,” Oz said, putting a hand on Dom’s shoulder. “He’ll get what’s coming to him eventually. Until then, I’m wondering if you could use a job on a large carrier. We’ll be under way by the time you’re on your feet. I’m sure you’ll find something worth doing aboard the Triton.”
“On one condition,” Dom said.
“What’s that?”
“You visit me while I’m stuck here,” he replied.
“You have a deal,” Oz replied.
Chapter 4
Parallels
Jacob Valent could not walk. No thing in his memory was more frustrating, more difficult to cope with than that simple fact. For two days his daughter helped him in the morning for two hours, trying to get his feet, as useful as clubs, to support him while they dangled from inept ankles with little improvement.
He was thinking about his frustration and the sweat that he’d put into so little improvement when his hand
slipped from one of the parallel bars and he fell to the mat like a marionette with its strings cut. It was the fifth time.
He kept his grumbling to himself, but could feel his face flushing red with frustration. Alice was patient and cool as she helped him back up. He didn’t fight her at all, those bars seemed so far away from the padded deck, nearly impossible to reach from where he landed.
With her help he got them under his shoulders and pushed up. Another thing he didn’t understand was why everything but walking seemed to come naturally. His hand-eye coordination was returning, he could sit up without assistance and his balance seemed a little unsteady, but improved. As soon as he tried to walk, his legs seemed to forget what they were supposed to be doing and go on strike.
Alice took a step back when he nodded, indicating that he felt steady again, even though he was only holding himself up on the parallel bars using his arms, there was no weight on his legs. The recovery room aboard the Solar Forge was rectangular, two stories tall, and all the surfaces were a plasticized off white colour. He had mats in one corner, a few balls of various sizes ranging from small for throwing to large for sitting and balancing. Then there were those damned parallel bars. “All right Jake, this is easy,” Doctor Messana said from the other end of what he’d started calling ‘the pill box.’ “I programmed the muscle memory in your legs, so they should already know what a walking motion is, you only have to relax and urge yourself to do it, like you’ve done thousands of times before.”
Jake tried, but the response he got from his leg was a haphazard flop forward. He stared at the awkwardly placed foot. “Are you sure you gave me the right legs? There isn’t someone else with mine having the same problem?”
Doctor Messana shook her head, her lips pursed. “You’re still trying to learn to walk when there’s no need to. It’s easier than that. Your muscles know what to do, you just have to relax and let them do it. You were standing on your own for a few seconds a couple nights ago, remember how easy that was?”
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