“Thanks Prof,” She said, “I had a feeling it would be something like that.”
Barrett looked like he hadn't showered in a week, Vazquez thought. His hair was incredible. She couldn't believe that he could be seen in public with it the way that it was. It had the appearance of being heavily oiled or greased and was slicked back where he constantly and unconsciously pushed it away from his face. It was too long and badly needed cutting. Barrett's nervous jerky movements didn't help and kept long locks of his dirty hair constantly flapping around his eyes. It seemed that removing the stray hair had become a long learned habit. Sometimes his hand would brush hair away even when nothing was present.
He caught her staring at him but he was too preoccupied with his work to pay attention to her expression.
“I think they know we're here at least,” Vazquez said to break the silence, “I mean, you almost bumped that off the cockpit window.”
“If there's someone on board then yes, they must be aware that we're trying to help them,” Barrett didn't look at her. His tone had changed slightly. Maybe he'd realised that she'd been looking at him critically.
2195AD - SOTF Rabbit Shuttle.
Jim Quinn had his hands on the controls. The remote gate key turned and twisted in front of his face. Silverman was sitting beside him. The other four passengers were crowded around. Alice Krige had gotten some of her colour back. She'd taken a few pills a few minutes earlier. Silverman didn't know what they were. She was still quiet but she didn't look like she was about to faint anymore.
There was less debris in the wormhole, or at least in the immediate area. Quinn had explained that the debris would stay inside the wormhole forever or until it collapsed. Quinn had pointed out the cockpit towards the swirling circular boundary of the wormhole and the spiralling seemingly never ending corridor of it ahead of them. He'd said that there was something wrong and that the wormhole had been destabilised by the accident. Silverman had nodded as Quinn had pointed towards the edges of the wormhole. The inside walls of the wormhole looked so close, but the nearest was thousands of miles away. The wormhole was vast, one of the largest ever discovered.
“It’s going to collapse?” Matt Silverman said.
“Sooner or later,” Quinn remarked, “Or at least its giving off signs that its destabilising. Mind you, we've had them collapse before. Long time ago it is now, but back in the day I think we lost the Elisabeth II wormhole. It was one of the routes to Haven.”
“What happened to it?” Krige asked. Matt almost jumped in his chair.
“I forget. I think there was some kind of incident inside the wormhole. An unmanned fusion powered transport had gone missing inside the E2 a few months earlier and the speculation was that the reactor went critical and exploded, collapsing the gateway. But they didn't find any debris or any sign of the fusion transport, its cargo or anything else. The wormhole just stopped being. A curious affair it was. I remember it being all over the news back when I was a run burger.”
The latchkey appeared in front of the shuttle again. It was spinning and tumbling like it was out of control.
“That's going to hit us.,” Quinn said calmly.
Silverman was frowning. “What's a run burger?” he asked. Then the last thing Quinn said finally registered and he too noticed the wormhole, “That is going to hit us, isn't it?”
Quinn had closed his eyes.
“Pretty hard, I'd imagine.”
2195AD - SS Glasgow.
Julian Barrett did not lose concentration. He didn't take his hands from the remote controls. He wasn't distracted by Michelle Vazquez's perfume, cleavage or stunning dark looks. He didn't do anything wrong, but everything went wrong anyway.
“I just lost contact,” He said.
“You what?” Vazquez grunted, “What happened? What's happening? Barrett! Doctor… Professor. What…”
“I think its latched on,” Barrett said, “On its own. But I don't know what's going to happen next. I'm not in control of it anymore. Oh dear me. Dear me. It depends what the default settings are. I'm not sure if I set them on that gate key.”
“What does that even mean?” Vazquez said, “I don't understand what you're talking about.”
Vinn Apple was on the intercom. King was shouting something in the background. King didn't usually shout anything. Vinn sounded frustrated.
“Damn it, Shelly, what's going on?”
“Vinn if I knew I'd tell ya. Professor doesn't seem to know what the Hell he's doing. The remote gate keys don't seem to be worth a shit. We've lost three now and…”
The intercom cracked and sputtered.
“Michelle, the shuttle's gone,” Vinn interrupted, “It’s just exited the wormhole.”
“No shit,” Vazquez said, almost incredulous, “They got out?”
“Looks like it,” Apple replied.
Michelle locked eyes with Julian. His eyes seemed to be smiling, or afraid. She couldn't tell. She wondered if he even knew himself.
“I can't believe it worked,” Barrett laughed dryly, “Without the tether, I mean.”
“Yeah,” Vazquez shook her head and laughed lightly too, “Well, Prof, I guess you did it. Congratulations, prof.”
Captain Vinn interrupted.
“Michelle, can you get back to the bridge please. Bring the professor with you. There's something interesting happening. Better hurry too. Please.”
Michelle breezed past the beaming scientist. She noticed that there was a steady shudder running through the ship. She wondered if it had anything to do with the shuttle.
Getting back to the bridge from the torpedo section took a long time. Barrett didn't have anything to say. The silence got awkward and Michelle found herself speaking to the professor again.
“Can't believe it actually worked,” She said.
“Never doubt a hard working science enthusiast,” Julian smiled thinly, his small eyes twinkling, “I just hope the people in the shuttle are safe - wherever they are.”
2195AD - SOTF Rabbit Shuttle.
The remote wormhole crashed into the shuttle. The half metre diameter circle was never designed to hit anything at such a great speed and the protective rubber coating shattered immediately. The remaining fifty metres of tether smacked against the shuttle's cockpit glass, cracking it. The cockpit glass suddenly turned opaque, the safety glass changing its molecular structure to form a hard safety barrier. The window had become a thin wall, no longer transparent.
Instinctively, Matthew Silverman threw his hands up to his face. The older man beside him - the calm and serene James Quinn - did the same. Silverman imagined that he heard Krige scream behind him, but very close. Then some of the others in the shuttle were calling out. The small space vehicle was filled with ear-splitting, high pitched, terrified screams.
A siren sounded from somewhere in the shuttle. Somewhere behind Silverman. Somewhere unusual. Quinn knew that the siren was warning of damage to the shuttle's structure, but he didn't have time to convey that information to Matt. Then there was a sudden, blinding flash of white light. Holes were appearing in the safety glass. Shards of the thin barrier pinged against Silverman's tightly closed eyes. He raised a hand to protect them. He was taking a breath when the shuttle crashed.
He cried out reflexively when the pain hit him. Like diving into icy water or a sudden jab of a dentist's pick; his body just reacted independent of his thoughts. Then he was being thrown around the inside of the shuttle and there was a terrible grinding and tearing noise that made him feel that the whole world was coming apart.
The escape shuttle popped out of the wormhole and, a millisecond later, popped right back in. The tremendous forces disintegrated the remainder of the remote gate key’s tether and ripped the gate key from the hull of the shuttle. The gate key tore a large gouge through the hull as it exploded. A small hole opened in the shuttle, exposing the occupants to the vacuum of space. The shuttle passed through the wormhole a third and final time, still riding the original exit pat
hway. Emergency systems inside the shuttle were sealing the hole in the hull. Fresh oxygen was being pumped in so fast that nobody realised that, for a fraction of a second, there had been a fist sized hole in the hull.
More alarms. Five seconds had passed. Quinn was lying motionless on the floor. He'd fallen or been thrown there. Matt was trying to get to him, but he was being pushed back into his seat. No, not his seat. Somehow, Matt was in one of the passenger seats. There was three metres between him and Quinn's body. He couldn't move to get to the old man, no matter how hard he tried. And it was difficult to breathe. The weight on his chest and the rest of his body was enormous.
The shuttle was slowing dramatically. It lurched hard as it started through the Relathon atmosphere. The alarm tones changed. Automatic systems were calling out to the pilot, but he was in a corner with his right foot bent behind his left ear and both his arms twisted horrifically in a sadly and almost comically forlorn limp armed ragdoll pose. The shuttle was travelling at Mach 32 as it started to burn up 15 miles over Jann Linn City.
Silverman made more effort to move, powered by fear and an inexplicable burst of fury. He reached a hand to Quinn and touched his face lightly. Quinn felt cold, but Silverman was sure he saw the white haired man's eyes twitch..
“Sir. Wake up!” he shouted.
It was no use. There was too much noise in the shuttle. One of the men was moaning loudly. Another was crying. Alice Krige was screaming and swearing. The shuttle sounded like it was going to crack like a giant plastic egg. And there were at least six different beeps and tones that Silverman had absolutely no clue about.
“Jesus Fucking Christ,” Matt shouted, “Jim will you wake up!”
But Jim Quinn didn't move or flinch or register Matt's high pitched squeal.
The shuttle's designers had been talented. The simple thirty year old navigation computer made the correct decision based on the data its sensors were returning. It brought the weak altered momentum engines to life again, adjusting the shuttle's trajectory just enough that the Relathon atmosphere didn't tear right through it. Instead, the pointed nose of the shuttle glowed red hot and plasma fire burned around the little ship.
Silverman knew he was alive. He couldn't tell anything else. There were noises everywhere. Loud, screaming noises of terror and disaster. He expected the shuttle to come apart at any moment. It lasted for about twenty seconds. Jim Quinn did not move or awaken. Silverman had forgotten about him. He was terrified. He was thinking of his father, his mother, his dog Patch. He wasn't really thinking about anything. Everything was just a mess of horrified fleeting images flying through his mind.
The Plexiglas barrier shattered and the dancing pink rabbit finally died a sudden and unnoticed death. Pieces of it flew around the shuttle. Silverman closed his eyes again as small fragments peppered his face.
TWELVE
2195AD - EWS Justice Six.
Sloane was still alive, but he didn't feel like it. He didn't feel like anything. The Quartermaster bullet had grazed his skull and taken away most of his right eyebrow. He was only barely conscious. Someone was carrying him. Voices were speaking words he didn’t understand. He struggled to focus his thoughts, but doing so exhausted his confused and concussed mind. His eyes rolled back in his head and he slipped fully unconscious again. He wasn’t aware that the arms carrying him had dropped him.
Three of the Hard Edge’s security team were carrying Jack Sloane’s seemingly dead body. They’d let him go when he‘d spoken. The other two soldiers kept carrying the dead second officer towards the primary airlock. They had been ordered to eject both bodies into open space.
“Gods,” the security man kicked at Sloane’s side, “He has life! He spoke!”
“It spoke,” Captain Jaxx said, somewhere behind the three men, “It overheard our words. It’s mimicking us. You have your orders. I want them carried out immediately. “
Captain Jaxx had reloaded his Quartermaster. It was in his hand, ready. He didn‘t know for what. He felt an instinctive urge to empty the pistol into the strange creature’s face, but he resisted it. The impulse was borne of some curious fear that he could not explain, but he knew that his crew would question his motives should he suddenly emptied his pistol into the defenceless creature.
“Sir, communications report that we’ve re-established contact with the Empire.”
“Of course,” Jaxx said. Thank you.”
He turned back towards the bridge. He paused to watch the dead and almost dead being carried and dragged away. When he arrived back at the bridge he could feel the urgency of the Empire’s presence. The control centre was quiet and all eyes were on him. He decided, quickly, to say something to the officers there.
“Finn is dead. He was a Relathon sympathiser and he challenged my authority for the last time. I killed him as he interfered with my duty,” he walked towards the communications officer, “Some of you have served with me for many years. You know of my faith and you are aware of how faithfully I adhere to the ancient ways. I’ve run my ship that way since before most of you joined me. As you stayed with me I assume you either agree with my rules or at least respect and understand them.”
There were some solemn nods. Some of the officers did not seem as convinced as he’d imagined. It concerned him only slightly. The discerning faces belonged to younger crewmembers. Too young to remember the war. Too young to remember the greatest moments of the Empire. Too young for respect.
The world belonged to the young, Jaxx thought. He believed in the old ways, but they were being forgotten more and more.
“Sir,” Koo Moolin, one of the younger officers spoke up. He was the communications and navigations officer. “The empire have repeated their order for us to proceed to Jann Linn to recover the scientist Jann Linn.”
“I imagine they have,” Jaxx grunted, “Keen to recover their pet, I’d imagine. Keen to lavish his pathetic ageing corpse of a body with more gratuities and undeserved wealth.”
Moolin stared at Jaxx. He was twenty nine years old. He’d been on the ship for four months. He hated Jaxx but, unlike Finn, he was careful to disguise his loathing. He thought Jaxx was a very, very dangerous man. He also thought that his captain was insane. But he was trapped on the Hard Edge and there was no escape. Still, Moolin had to respect the old man. He wasn’t afraid of the Empire. He wasn’t afraid of anything. The ship really felt like it was his property. He’d already defied explicit orders from the Empire by diverting to investigate the alien wreckage. Then Hard Edge had used the wreckage - and alien survivors - as target practice. Moolin couldn’t believe it. And Finn was the only one on board who had had the courage to speak out. And what had that gained him?
“Send this reply. We’re proceeding to Hoyybchkin mountain on Relathon - the one those fools renamed to please their conquered minions. Tell them we recovered an alien body, but there are more scattered around this area along with wreckage that should be destroyed. We also recovered some alien artefacts.”
The whole bridge had heard him refer to the elders in a dismissive, derogatory and disrespectful manner. Nobody flinched. Moolin started to relay the message. His hands were shaking slightly. The captain didn’t notice. The ship’s pilot, Shiizarr, noticed. She caught the young man’s eye and gave the hint of a smile. He didn’t know what the smile meant. After his shift, he’d find out that it meant slightly more than he could handle.
2195AD - USS Drake.
The Drake arrived at the solar system of the Enrilean by accident more than by design. The newer drive system pushed the large armoured cruiser through the hole in space faster than anything had ever travelled before. When the debris in the ether gate was detected the ship was moving too quickly to avoid crashing into at least some of it. Automatic safety devices came into action, throwing the cruiser and her thirty eight crew back into normal space.
There were a few injuries and the long range sensors were ionised, crippling them for a crucial five minutes. While the sensors were recalibrating,
better protected backup devices surveyed the nearby planet of Enrilea.
“Captain, we’re in the middle of a three planet system,” Neidermeyer said, “Two of the planets are out of sensor range right now, but we’re getting some readings back from the nearest planet.”
Captain Grayson stared at the planet in his monitor. There was heavy cloud cover. Oceans. Continents. It was about one and a half times the size of earth.
“Sensors?” Grayson repeated for the eighth time. “Do we have sensors?”
“Almost,” came the reply, “But we’re getting something else. I can’t believe it.”
“What is it?” Grayson went to the communications officer and eagerly looked over his shoulder, “That’s amazing,” he gasped.
Grayson pressed a button on the communications officer’s console. Garbled chatter sounded loud and clear, like a great and unseen mass of mumbling voices.
“Transmissions,” Grayson stated the obvious, “The planet’s alive. Damn it, where are the sensors?”
The ship’s sensor array was trying to start up yet again . The impromptu exit from the ether gate had energised the hull more than the designer had anticipated. The recovery routine wasn’t working. Technicians in the engineering area of the ship were struggling to discharge the energy.
“Partial sensors coming online,” Niedermeyer said, “Engineering having issues restoring the sensors. Seems the ship didn’t take the fast exit well.”
“This sounds like English,” Grayson said, listening to the cacophony of voices coming from the radio receiver, “Its jumbled nonsense, mostly, but… there, did you hear that?”
The communications officer gave a shrug and frowned slightly. “Sir, it bears some resemblance to English, but it all sounds mixed up and confused. I’m trying to clean it up, but the computer’s having trouble separating the different transmissions. They‘re old fashioned radio transmissions.”
Beyond the Starport Adventure (Bullet Book 1) Page 22