Beyond the Starport Adventure (Bullet Book 1)

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Beyond the Starport Adventure (Bullet Book 1) Page 54

by Richard Fairbairn


  About thirty seconds passed before there was another sound. The voice belonged to Frank Brooks. It was sudden, unexpected and contained an obvious note of artificial optimism. But it broke the silence, even if Michelle Vazquez felt shivers run down her spine at the gravelly drone of each slowly uttered word.

  “Then we’re... deep space explorers,” Brooks spoke bravely, “Adventurers and discoverers like Christopher Columbus or Linda Locherbie.”

  “Sure, Frank,” Michelle Vazquez nodded solemnly, “That sounds just fine to me.”

  2195AD - Seattle.

  The explosions started. At first, the sounds were like fireworks in the distance. The windows rattled and the stars embedded in the walls flickered a little, but stayed lit – apart from the ones that needed their bulbs replacing. Hal was cleaning glasses when it all started. The automatic polisher had been broken for months now and he was shining the shot glasses by hand. Pretty soon there would be a shift finishing and a bunch of men would come through the doors. They’d want cold beer, hot sake and whiskey vapour. The vaporiser was ready, the beer glasses were cleaned. Now he was rubbing up the heavy shot glasses.

  There were eight hundred lights built into the ceiling and walls of the bar. Of these, twenty eight had stopped working. Nobody noticed or cared very much. Over the years Hal had gotten to know each bulb. He walked towards Orion’s belt, situated just to the right of the ageing mahogany bar, and tapped Mintaka’s bulb lightly. He didn’t expect that this new addition to the dead stars would come back to light and he was right. But he tapped it again a few times and twisted the bulb left and then right.

  “Goodbye Mintaka,” he sighed, “Welcome to the dead stars club, I guess. Maybe Miss Alexander will finally get round to…”

  There was the unmistakable sound of an explosion. Five, maybe ten miles away. Something much larger than a firework. It made the whole bar shake. One or two glasses fell from their hooks, landing on with heavy thuds on the wooden floor. Hal hadn’t experienced anything like this before. He rushed to the door and pulled it open with one pull of his powerful left arm.

  The air outside was cold and it hit him like a wall. He was used to it and zipped his coat up to his chin. Dusk was falling and the sky was darkened with the shadow of a spacecraft lumbering into the air from the nearby spaceport. Hal didn’t recognise the two hundred metre long ship at first, but he soon realised it was one of the two lightly armed ships parked at the starport six months previously. This particular frigate was the USS Obama. Above the Obama, perhaps a half mile into the night sky, its sister ship - the USS Eldridge - was already the size of Hal's thumb. But there were more objects in the sky than just the two long parked space fleet ships. Other, larger, ships were taking off from the spaceport. Orange lights twinkled from the many escort craft that assisted one massive ore carrier – the SS Sally Anne Lee – from what Hal had thought was a permanent mooring point at the north part of the spaceport.

  “Where the Hell is Sally Anne going?” he muttered to himself.

  There were other lights in the sky. Blue and red lights from police flyers, yellow lights from construction tugs. There were moving dots of light, like shooting stars, that Hal knew were spacecraft reflecting light as they flew round the globe. But in amongst these pinpricks of light he could see flashes of brightness. Explosions in space.

  He walked away from the bar, moving across the road to a place where he could garner a better view of the spaceport. There were flashing red lights hovering over the north east section. In the dim light he could make out a column of black smoke rising from the ground and partially obscuring the flashing red lights floating above it.

  There was a brilliant burst of blue light. He brought his hand up to shield his eyes. He didn’t see the four Enrilean dart fighters zooming past the SS Sally Anne Lee. A second later, he heard the muffled sounds of the attacking fighters slamming the massive freighter with their weapons. He took his hand away from his eyes. USS Eldridge had become a massive ball of fire. The blue flash he’d witnessed had been caused by a massive Enrilean warship which now filled the sky.

  Hal didn’t have any words to say, but his mouth hung open. Its shape and size set it aside from anything he’d ever seen above the spaceport. It was huge, about a mile long and a third of a mile across. It dwarfed the massive Salle Anne Lee. To Hal’s horror, he realised that the larger craft was firing on the freighter. Tiny flashes of yellow, white and blue betrayed the release of various types of ordnance. Moments later, the big freighter’s hull began to erupt in many places all at once. Meanwhile, USS Eldridge was falling from the sky in a ball of sparkling yellow blue flame. Other smaller craft buzzed around it. Hal recognised the familiar outlines of police cruisers, rescue transports and fire trucks. But amongst them were larger, alien craft that swarmed around the others.

  There was another explosion on the ground. This time, Hal caught sight of the ground erupting about a mile to his east. Flames lit the spaceport as a fuel store was detonated from above. Then, more explosions. Closer. The ground was beginning to shake. More spacecraft were descending at speed, their alien shapes becoming obvious as they grew closer. Hal looked back towards the bar just ten metres away. The heavy door was still open. He began to run towards it, but he stumbled as the ground around him shook. Another explosion erupted nearby, stunning him with its shockwave and the blast of sound that made him cry out in pain.

  He rolled on the ground, narrowly avoiding the Silverman Avenue signpost that slammed into the ground behind him. He could feel intense heat and, looking up, realised that a spacecraft had crashed into the streets less than a quarter mile away. There seemed to be nothing left of Alexander Boulevard but fire and twisted metal. None of the three storey apartments were left standing, Hal realised. As he watched, a streak of green light flashed down to the ground. He staggered to his feet as the Sloane Road erupted in multiple explosions. Above, the roaring thunder of passing Enrilean Dart fighters filtered through his ringing ears. He ran for the Starport Bar as more explosions sounded behind him.

  The crippled USS Eldridge had been plummeting to the ground, continuously and unnecessarily bombarded by a squadron of Enrilean Dart fighters. It landed at the corner of Alexander Boulevard and Sloane Road, its fusion reactor exploding spectacularly. The blast pushed Hal into and through the door of the bar. He slammed it shut behind him as the little starlights in the bar blinked and died. Instinctively, he fastened the top and middle latches screwed and bolted into the heavily painted old wood.

  The blast from the USS Eldridge ruptured an underground gas line leading to a fuel store just on the edge of the nearby spaceport. The fuel store exploded into a massive, fireball that spread outwards along the ground. It covered most of the south section of the spaceport, incinerating the few men still working on the ground. Then the flames moved outwards towards the city. They reached Silverman Avenue first, enveloping the whole street in a sea of fire. The Starport Bar disappeared within the flames. The waves of orange, yellow and red spread outwards, washing over Sloane Road, Alexander Boulevard and Vazquez lane. The fire burned all the way through Brooks Street and down Apple Avenue.

  In the wink of an eye, everything Megyn Alexander had built had been completely destroyed.

  THIRTY

  2195AD - Crantarr.

  Matt Silverman opened his eyes slowly. The room was almost completely dark, but there was a light source about two or three meters away. It produced a faint blue glow that melted from a deep, marine blue to a light sky blue. It reminded Silverman of a night light his father had kept. He watched the light and thought of his father, remembering the box of “special things” that had come into his own possession after his father’s murder. An ordinary cardboard box that contained ordinary things; Baby teeth stored in an old tobacco tin, an infant’s body suit with an orange cartoon crab emblazoned on it, tickets to the Glasgow Science and Technology Centre and four old photographs removed from his karate license as he’d grown. The first photo showed a happily
smiling four year old boy. The boy in the final photograph wasn’t smiling, and the last picture stuck to his long ago discarded license showed a very unhappy face indeed. There were other things in the box, but these were the things that Matt Silverman remembered. He closed his eyes again. Looking at the blue light hade the room start to spin very slowly. He was scared that he’d retch yet again.

  His throat ached with the seemingly never ending nightmare of dizziness, nausea and sudden, uncontrollable retching. He lay still, keeping his eyes closed and his head stiff against the single pillow. The waves of nausea came upon him, but the sick feeling was not as overwhelming as before. Something was different. He lay quietly for a long time, breathing carefully through his nostrils. He fell asleep without realizing it. By the time he awoke, another twelve hours had passed.

  The room was still dark and the little night light was shining brightly still. There were sounds beyond the door that he could not see. Clunking sounds. Occasional thuds. Clicks, tings and hisses. He’d heard similar sounds as his mind had wandered in delirium, but now he had the presence of mind to wonder what was making the noises. He turned his head, an activity that not so long ago would have caused him to spin helplessly into a fit of nausea and vomiting. But although his stomach grumbled with unease, the room did not begin to spin. He could not realize that the massive swelling on the left side of his head had reduced to a deathly grey coloured bruise.

  “Hell.,” his mouth was so dry that the words caught in his throat, “Hello…”

  He had wanted to shout out for help, as he’d done endlessly during his confused week of dizziness and vomiting. But there was only enough strength left in him for a weak moan. Still, the sounds beyond the door changed and he knew that whoever was out there had heard him. For a moment there was silence. Then, he could hear the obvious sound of heavy footprints walking briskly in his direction.

  “Hello?” he said weakly, suddenly afraid, “Who’s out there?”

  The door opened. It was where he’d expected it would be. The bright, painful, white light flooded the room and he remembered, vaguely, the silhouette of a woman that he now saw yet again.

  “It’s me, Cass Linn,” the voice was female. Soft and feminine, familiar and yet strange all at once “Please don’t be afraid. Are you still afraid of me?”

  The light was too bright to see the woman clearly. The name seemed familiar, but his memory seemed to be failing him. The woman’s dark shape moved towards him slowly, fading into black as the door swished shut behind her.

  “You sound different,” Matt spoke hoarsely, “What... what happened?”

  “Everything’s going to be alright,” the voice, soft and gentle, ignored Matt's question, “We’re on Bullet. Do you remember?”

  He remembered the name Cass Linn. It was still difficult to focus his concentration for more than a few seconds, but he struggled to think. Distorted flashes of memory were mixed in with the many exquisite dreams, disturbing nightmares and multi-faceted hallucinations of the endless days and nights he'd suffered. But the name Cass Linn invoked thoughts of a boxy, metal monster and a metallic buzzing voice, not this delicious sounding creature.

  “Where's Cass Linn?”

  “I am Cass Linn.”

  “You sound different.”

  “I am different,” Cass Linn's enthusiasm was restrained, but Matt could hear the subtle excitement in her tone, “I feel different.”

  “What... what have you done?”

  “I’m afraid Mr Quinn didn’t survive,” Cass Linn's voice was a whisper, “Bullet crash landed. He... he was killed. There wasn't anything I could do to help him. I buried him on the hillside along with the others. That was two weeks ago now. You’ve were injured in the crash, but it looks like you’re going to be alright now.”

  Somehow, Matt had already known that Quinn was dead. Cass Linn' confirmation dido'

  “I can’t see you,” Matt said nervously, “Can’t you please put the lights on?”

  “I don't want to do that yet,” Cass's voice trembled as she whispered, “I... I don't want you to see me yet. I wanted to speak to you first.”

  He felt a shiver run down his spine. Goosebumps appeared on his forearms. He remembered the bulky, dangerous shape of the robot girl that had screeched and buzzed at him. He knew that, despite the realistically sumptuous femininity of the voice, he was still talking to a machine. This voice and that ugly, misshapen creation were one and the same.

  “Why? What... what have you done?” he asked tentatively, recoiling a little from the voice in the darkness.

  “I’m lonely. My father's dead. I know now that I'll never see him again or tell him how much I love him and miss him,” she sniffed, and Matt imagined her shedding a tear in the darkness, “I'll never see anyone again. Except you. I’ve been alone before. I... I can't face it. It’s… it’s the worst thing I’ve ever experienced. But you're here now,” Cass Linn's voice was filled with hope, “I've changed myself for you. I was hoping you'd... prefer me like this.”

  Matt was sure he could feel a waft of soft breath as she spoke. There was a faint odour of something a lot like jasmine and ginger. He sensed her moving closer to him.

  “I’m sorry,” Matt said, “I'm sorry you were lonely. But you're right. I am here now. You can turn on the light. You don't need to worry about it.”

  She didn't say anything. The three strip lights that Matt now remembered flickered to life, blinding him momentarily. But even through the immediate glare he could make out the slender, hour glass figure that stood three feet away from him. Cass Linn stood five foot and six inches tall. Her arms and legs were thin and shone like mirrors as they reflected the new light. The fingers of her right hand curled around nervously as he studied her body. Her curvaceous hips swayed back and forwards ever so slightly as his eyes grew accustomed to the light. He realized that she was wearing a vaguely familiar, nurses’ uniform. His eyes travelled up now, and he wondered about the strange lines that travelled vertically upwards from her abdominal area to her bosoms. And when he reached her round, metal chest he realized what Cass Linn had done to herself.

  Cass Linn moved closer to her patient. The floral scent was almost overpowering now and Matt Silverman resisted the urge to cough or even retch. He recognized the squashed ball of a head now, but Cass Linn had made some changes to the robot nurse’s countenance. The two dark holes through which Cass Linn now watched Matt had been carefully decorated with blue eyeliner. Perfectly symmetrical pencil thin eyebrows arched above each eye. The eyes were still jet black. The facsimile of a nose had not been altered, but beneath it the rigid metal lips had been afforded a subtle coating of lipstick. Strawberry blonde hair that Cass Linn had carefully removed from Megyn Alexander’s head was now carefully fixed to the top of her silver metal head. The horrific outline of Megyn’s scalp was concealed by a headband that Cass Linn had fashioned out of discarded portions of the nurse’s uniform.

  She inched towards him. It took all of his courage not to shiver, shake or cry out in shock. He stared at the centre of the monstrous face and forced a quavering, nervous smile. There was a slot between the still lips. Behind it, Cass Linn mimicked the breathing sounds that she’d been practicing for days. The shining black eyes watched and, within the microscopic matrix of the robot’s brain, Cass Linn waited patiently to hear what Matt had to say.

  It took Matt Silverman two full minutes to think of something to say.

  “Everything’s going to be alright,” he whispered, “I promise.”

  The end

 

 

 
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