Evergence: The Prodigal Sun

by Sean Williams

  Under pressure from Dato troopers within the building, she and her allies had been forced to the roof. Two Enforcement flyers commandeered by Major Gyori's squad had harried her from the air while Enforcement used mortars to weaken their position from below.

  But still Roche had not given up. One of the flyers — the one containing Major Gyori — had been damaged in the battle. And somehow she had taken remote control of the landing party's shuttle, possibly to seek refuge in the transmitter station orbiting the planet.

  It was at this point that luck had turned in favour of Sergeant Komazec, who had assumed command of the landing party following Major Gyori's untimely death.

  Weakened by casualties of their own — and the neutralisation of their reave — Roche's band had turned against her. Knowing that escape from the planet was impossible with the Dato ships enforcing the blockade, and that any defense of the landing field was temporary at best, they had overpowered her and attempted to negotiate. Speaking from inside the shuttle, one of them had coordinated a meeting between the landing party and the rebels, the intention being to exchange Roche for safe passage.

  The meeting had taken place on the roof of the DAOC Administration building. Sergeant Komazec had agreed to everything. The ultimate fate of the rebels — and, indeed, DAOC Enforcement itself, a one-time ally — was irrelevant. The AI and its courier were all that mattered.

  Roche, unconscious and injured, was brought out of the shuttle, with the AI, and handed over to the soldiers of the Dato Bloc.

  Once Roche was safe, Komazec had opened fire upon the rebels and regained control of the shuttle. He had left no survivors. Not one. Such ruthlessness might once have appalled Kajic, but now, with his priorities burning so effectively into his conscience, he felt only indifference. All that mattered was that the AI and Roche had been successfully returned to him. His mission had been accomplished.

  He directed his attention to Roche in the sick bay holding cells. She was still unconscious, still attached to the AI. The stolen combat suit had been removed, and the burns on her scalp, face, and neck were undergoing treatment, as were minor injuries to her ribs, shoulder, and hip; apart from that, she had been left in peace. Until they were certain how deep the link between her and the AI extended, the Ana Vereine's surgeons would not dare sever it from her.

  In less than a week she would be a captive of the Presidium, an unwilling accomplice in the ongoing state of tension existing between the Dato Bloc and Commonwealth governments. She would become a traitor of the worst kind, one whose involuntary betrayal meant the deaths of friends, family, and colleagues.

  This saddened him, obscurely. She had no choice in the matter — an impotence he could empathise with. It would have been better for her if she had died on Sciacca's World.

  That way, her mission would only have failed, not been perverted to her enemies' ends.

  He looked forward to the opportunity of meeting her properly, when he could speak to her face to face, one soldier to another. She had been a worthy adversary throughout his assignment ...

  return to Szubetka Base

  As he scanned through Komazec's report one final time, he noticed a minor item in the inventory that he had missed earlier. The body of an elderly Eckandi male, apparently killed during the attack, had also been returned to the Ana Vereine. His exact identity was unknown, but, from what little the rebels had said when handing over Roche, Komazec had received the impression that it had been the Eckandi who had arranged the message to the COE High Equity Court. Possibly he was a clandestine member of the Commerce Artel; not unlikely, given his citizenship in the Eckandar Trade Axis. The body, with its distinctive flash burns from a Dato weapon, had been recovered as a precaution to divert the powerful Artel's wrath.

  Kajic had to admire Komazec's quick thinking. Such a move had been entirely in accordance with his own orders. Second only to success, stealth had been the important thing. And, while the mission might not have gone as well as he had hoped, at least he could say that nothing had been overlooked. His crew had acted without fault, which would reflect well upon his command.

  Yet how near defeat had been: the panicky moments before Komazec's return; the interminable waiting, the lack of information; then the apparent malfunction of his own systems, and Makaev's almost open defiance. A few minutes longer ...

  But now, with Roche safely aboard the ship and the remains of the penal colony receding into the distance, those moments were irrelevant. The end result was all that mattered.

  Twenty-eight hours away from the penal colony, he arranged for the body of the Eckandi to be placed in cold storage, performed one last check of his ship, then resigned his higher functions to oblivion.

  Sleep, he mused to himself as darkness slowly fell. The one true reward after battle.

  * * * *

  He dreamed —

  ... of voices he could almost hear, faces he could almost see, people who almost existed ...

  ... of chains binding him tightly, binding his nonexistent body, holding him firmly while some terrible threat approached, against which he could not move to defend himself ...

  ... of things forgotten, things not noticed, things he should have attended to ...

  ... of his home planet, which, from above, appeared as a woman's face, a once faceless woman whose features were even now strangely blurred ...

  ... of details too small to focus on in a picture too large to comprehend ...

  ... of a person, another face, a voice calling him —

  "Captain? Can you hear me, Captain?"

  Filled with a premonitory dread, Kajic awoke with a mental jerk.

  A few seconds later, the voice spoke again: "Captain?"

  "Atalia?" Slowly the sleep-numbed layers of his mind peeled away. An image of his second in command appeared, staring directly into a camera, directly at him, concern pressing at her features. "What is it? What's happened?"

  "Nothing, sir," she said, the words belying the look on her face. "I just need to speak to you in private."

  In private? Kajic echoed in his thoughts. Then her news couldn't be urgent. The ship must be safe. The relief, after the ominous dreams, was almost overwhelming.

  "Very well," he said.

  She turned away from the camera and took a seat while Kajic gathered his thoughts, mentally sweeping his mind clean of the detritus of the dream. More hints, more unconscious suggestions — he was sure of it — but they would have to wait until later. Taking a moment to access the events he had missed while his higher centres were sleeping, he realised that they were fifty-two hours from Sciacca's World, just over two-thirds of the way. He had slept for almost an entire day.

  Remarkable though that was, he didn't let it bother him. With their departure proceeding smoothly and a major campaign behind them, it was unsurprising that he needed rest.

  A few seconds elapsed before he formed his hologram in the command module where Makaev sat waiting. She stood instantly to attention, then relaxed when he waved her at ease.

  "I assume this has nothing to do with the ship," he said after she had returned to her seat.

  "Not exactly, sir, no." Makaev sighed, shifting uneasily. "It's the crew. They are restless — nervous."

  "Of what?"

  Makaev paused, as though what she was about to say pained her. "Of ... ghosts, sir."

  Before he could respond, she quickly added, "I know what you're about to say, Captain, and believe me, I thought the same thing myself. But in the last six hours I've received three separate reports and heard rumors of several more. The sightings are all confined to the lower decks, to maintenance areas and cold stores. The witnesses have all been single crew members performing unscheduled duties. The encounters were all brief, comprising little more than a glimpse of another person — who instantly vanished."

  "What about security?" said Kajic thoughtfully.

  "No trace has been found on any of the recordings. Even in the three cases where we've had exact times and lo
cations, nothing out of the ordinary has been seen."

  Kajic mulled this over for a moment. "The obvious possibility is that we have unwittingly taken aboard a stowaway or two. Transportees, or some of the rebels perhaps ... ?"

  "My thoughts exactly, sir," said Makaev. "After the second report, I contacted Sergeant Komazec. He assured me that there was no possible way anyone could have smuggled themselves onto the shuttle. The only other bodies aboard, apart from crew, were Roche and the Eckandi. One of those is dead, and the other hasn't even regained consciousness.

  "Furthermore, I have also checked with the main computer. No stores are missing; we are showing no extra mass and no unexpected demands on life support. And every one of the crew can be accounted for, which rules out the possibility of substitution. If what we have here is a stowaway, then it might as well be a ghost."

  "Nevertheless," said Kajic. "The fact remains that the crew is restless. Correct?"

  Makaev nodded. "And the more word spreads, the worse it becomes."

  Kajic regarded her steadily for a few moments, biting back irritation. "Well, the only thing we can do about it at this stage is to step up security, to make sure every area below deck is watched at all times. If we do have some sort of stowaway, ghost or otherwise, it's bound to appear eventually."

  "Which is why I've come to you." Makaev paused and leaned forward. "As suggested by yourself, the crew is now on soft duties following our mission. I am reluctant to give them more work at the moment, not until we're at least out of the system. Yet we have to do something now. Let the rumors continue unchecked, and the Ana Vereine runs the risk of — "

  "Enough," Kajic cut in. He could see where she was headed. "You want me to conduct the security sweeps?"

  "It seems logical, sir. You are more vigilant than any single member of the crew, and you have direct access to the required systems. In fact, they're integral to you." She hesitated, as though suddenly realising something. "Of course, that's if you're up to it, sir. I mean, it has been a difficult week ... "

  Kajic was glad for once that he didn't have a physical body to betray his autonomic responses — otherwise a flush of rage would have turned his face a deep, bright red. How dare she? Did she think him stupid? If he agreed to conduct the surveillance of the ship, then he was placing himself under unnecessary stress and perhaps risking a potential breakdown — but if he said no, then he would be admitting weakness at a time when he couldn't afford to do so.

  Her blatant attempt at manipulation was clumsy, to say the least — so much so that it might feasibly, and perversely, have been entirely innocent.

  Either way, he had no choice.

  "For the sake of the crew's peace of mind," he said, "I think your suggestion a sensible one. I shall begin immediately."

  She sighed with apparent satisfaction and stood. "Thank you, sir. I'll see that you have all the information immediately. The sooner the rumors are quashed, the better."

  He nodded, agreeing with that, at least. Although he denied the existence of either ghosts or stowaways, the very act of looking would undoubtedly reassure everyone in the lower decks. And when he turned up nothing, and no more sightings were reported, the Ana Vereine could return to normal.

  Yet the feeling of dread that had remained with him after awakening only intensified as he accepted the data from Makaev and examined it carefully. Had something gone wrong? Something that he had overlooked or simply not anticipated? With victory so close, he couldn't afford to discount that possibility.

  The Box had been handed to him on a plate once already, and Roche had snatched it away, again and again, until he had almost begun to despair at his inability to outwit her. She had eluded his forces on the Midnight, in space, through the wilds of Sciacca's World and, finally, in the streets of Port Parvati. Neither the DAOC Enforcers nor the Dato landing party had been able to locate her, until the very end — and even then, she had almost eluded them once again.

  Was it so unbelievable that she might do so again?

  Only with the sternest mental effort was he able to smother that doubt before it found purchase in his thoughts.

  He commenced the search of the lower decks.

  After the first hour, he realised that he had something to be grateful for. The sweep kept him occupied, when otherwise he might have drifted aimlessly through the ship, agonising over his future. The ship could monitor itself; if anything untoward happened, either the automatic systems in his hindbrain or Makaev herself would notify him immediately. By being occupied, he was spared the uncertainty and given an opportunity to do something constructive.

  Still, it was tedious work, and his mind tended to wander. After the third hour of staring at empty storerooms and quiescent machinery, he began to alternate the sweep with glances at Roche in her cell, as though to reassure himself that she was still there. She showed no sign of activity; indeed, far from preparing to take control of the ship, she hadn't once regained consciousness. And to Kajic, that in itself was a concern. A brain-damaged informer was not much better than a dead informer — although better than none at all, he supposed.

  Of the 'ghosts' he had found nothing at all so far. The lower decks were cluttered and cramped, with plenty of hiding places for a single stowaway, but security cameras covered every centimetre. A significant proportion of the crew spent much of their time in these hidden, unglamorous areas, performing small maintenance checks, repairing minor breaks, and ensuring the ship's battle readiness. It was an area rarely visited by the superior officers, and referred to in the vernacular as 'the maze' or 'the warren'.

  Kajic estimated that a thorough search of the warren would take between twelve and fifteen hours, yet after only nine hours he had satisfied himself that nothing out of the ordinary existed on the ship. As far as he could see, the only 'ghosts' haunting the crew were the same ones that tormented him: guilt, doubt, and uncertainty.

  In the eleventh hour, however, another sighting was reported.

  In a deep portion of the warren, a maintenance tech stood describing the incident to a workmate. Kajic watched and listened carefully as the woman described seeing a man dressed in grey at the far end of the corridor. The man had looked up, she said, seen her, and suddenly disappeared.

  "But he was there," the woman insisted. "I swear it!"

  Although her testimony was incredible, Kajic didn't doubt her obvious sincerity. Sending himself furiously from camera to camera, he quartered the area around the woman, sweeping through a blur of rooms and corridors — all identical, all unoccupied. Exactly what he was looking for he wasn't sure, but he didn't stop. If he didn't try now, he might never be so close again.

  One minute passed, and he had covered every square centimetre within one hundred metres of the sighting. Two minutes, one hundred twenty-five metres. Three minutes, and he was just about ready to give up. Four minutes of strobing, split-second views, and —

  He saw it.

  It was in one of the little-used stretches of corridor deep in the bowels of the ship. The ambient lighting was low in this particular area, but there could be no doubt. Centred in his field of view were the head and shoulders of a man, a man who shouldn't be there. A man, what's more, whom Kajic didn't immediately recognise.

  And then, suddenly, the man was gone. The corridor was empty.

  Kajic hesitated for a moment before calling Makaev. What could he say? That he, too, had seen it? That he had succumbed to delusions along with the rest of the crew?

  "There has been another sighting," he said when she took the call. "Section Green-24. The same as before."

  "I heard." She glanced up from her work station. "In the warren again, and not far from the other sightings, either."

  "I know."

  Makaev paused. "Did you see anything, sir?"

  Kajic kept his face carefully neutral. "No," he said. "No, I didn't. However, I will examine the security recordings for a trace. If anything does appear, I will keep you informed."

  Kajic retreat
ed into the depths of his mind to study what he had found. The face had been captured by his long-term memory banks, and reappeared before him as vivid and startling as before. And as unfamiliar, even after enhancement removed the shadow that obscured it slightly. Kajic was prepared to bet his life that the face didn't belong to any member of his crew.

  But if it didn't, then who did it belong to?

  The only possible way of finding that out was to run a complete security check on the features. But with only a rough demographic to narrow the search, the check could take hours. Every face in the ship's databanks — and there must have been trillions — would need to be compared to the picture to arrive at a negative. Only if a positive match existed would the search take less time.

  Kajic mulled it over, then ordered the search. It couldn't hurt. If his only other avenue came up with nothing, he would still have something to hope for.

  Putting the image aside for the moment, he accessed the ship's security records. First, he turned to the moments before the maintenance technician had triggered the alarm. The image was sharp, not yet archived to compressed memory. She stood out clearly, examining a faulty circuit that had failed while she was in the area. Her back was to the camera, and Kajic could see without obstruction to the end of the corridor.

  Then, abruptly, the technician stood, gaping. She backed away a step and hit the nearest alert switch. Moments later, her workmate joined her, staring in confusion in the direction she pointed —

  But there was nothing there — and, as far as Kajic could tell when he scrolled the recording back, nothing had been there.

  Increasingly puzzled, he switched to another camera and another time. The dimly lit corridor where he had seen 'his' ghost appeared in a window next to that containing the technician, now frozen in mid-gape. He sped the recording forward, then backward, waiting for some sort of change.

  Nothing.

  The corridor, even at the exact moment when he had seen the face, had been completely devoid of life.

  At that moment, he was relieved that he had not mentioned his own sighting to Makaev. And he intended to keep it that way as long as possible. The obvious interpretation was too damning, too convenient for anyone looking for an excuse to pull the plug on him.