by J. J. Green
“Anyway, I don’t like all this talk of hostile aliens,” said Lee. “Let’s talk about something else. Have you watched Their Eyes in the Stars yet? I loved it. Couldn’t stop watching it. Had to watch the whole thing through. Took me eleven hours.”
Jas’ door chime sounded again, and she exhaled with relief, but as she told the door to open, her relief changed to misery. If there was anyone she wanted to see less than Loba, and now Lee, it was the person waiting.
Standing in her cabin entrance, clutching an interface to his chest and smiling a beatific smile, was Sparks. The medical officer was a renowned brown-noser who had clearly decided which section of the crew he favored and which he did not, based on unspoken and unspeakable factors.
He was there for her mental health assessment. Sparks would be itching to have a hand in that.
Lee jumped to her feet, her features confused. She reddened, no doubt embarrassed to be caught in Jas’ cabin, but she also seemed pleased to see Sparks. He was definitely glad to see her, if anything could be gleaned from the radiant expression on his face.
“Navigator Lee, what a pleasure to observe you providing comfort to a friend in her hour of need.”
The officer’s blush faded as she beamed. “I thought C.S.O. Harrington would be lonely in here all by herself.”
Sparks’ already round eyes widened, and he nodded. “Of course, of course. That was very considerate of you. Do you mind if I join you both?”
“I’m sure you’re here for an official reason, Dr. Sparks, so I’ll get out of your way,” said Lee.
Jas almost regretted it as the navigator left them alone.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” asked the doctor as the door closed behind Lee. He sat in the chair the navigator had vacated. Putting the device face down on the desk, Sparks turned to Jas, leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees, and steepled his fingers. His features assumed an earnest expression. “How have you been?”
“Fine,” replied Jas.
Sparks tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. “Have you been sleeping well? Any headaches? Appetite problems?”
“Look, can we cut straight to the mental health check?”
Sparks straightened up. “Hmpf. I’d prefer to do a preliminary general health assessment. It’s helpful in order to make an exact diagnosis.”
“Is that what this is really about? You’ve got machines for the general stuff, haven’t you? I’m mentally sound, and I’d rather not sit through a load of BF.”
Giving her an 'I’m not angry, just disappointed’ look, the medical officer picked up his interface and handed it to Jas. “I think we have rather more to talk about than you imagine, Harrington, but if you’re refusing to cooperate...” He sighed. “It looks as though your outburst in the mission room was probably a symptom of a serious issue. But let’s see the results of the assessment before jumping to conclusions.”
He pointed to the first question on the list. “This one is very important.”
Jas read the question and scowled. “It’s illegal to ask if someone’s natural or modded.”
“You’re right, and for very good reasons of course. But senior medical personnel can make an exception for clinical reasons. A person’s genetic status gives essential information about potential mental health issues and other conditions.” He spoke in a low tone. “And you can rest easy. Your answer is completely confidential.”
The problem was, Jas didn’t know if her genes had been modified. Her parents had died in a colony disaster on Mars when she was a baby, and her records were destroyed at the same time. No one in the orphanage had bothered to have her tested, and as she grew up and witnessed the increasing discrimination against naturals, she’d decided against finding out for herself.
She studied the question and looked up at Sparks, who was gazing at her. She didn’t believe a word of what he was saying. She thought he was digging about her genetic status so he could slot her into his 'us’ and 'them’ boxes, but if she didn’t pass as mentally fit, she might never get back on duty and find out what was on that planet—before it harmed the crew.
Chapter Five
Retiring to his cabin after his duties were complete was almost Master Akabe Loba’s favorite time of day, excepting only what came after. He closed his cabin door, set his corridor-side panel to read Do Not Disturb and shrugged off his jacket, dropping it on the floor as he went to his closet. From the top shelf he took a cylindrical container. He popped off the lid and slid out a roll of very old paper, though it might have been another material such as parchment or vellum. Loba was no expert on such things. He sometimes wondered if he’d been duped into paying an exorbitant sum by the vendor, but it didn’t matter. If the document was fake, it was convincing to him, and he enjoyed the ancient feel and look of the thing. Most importantly, he had found it to be accurate.
His ritual had been the same as far back as he could remember, though if the truth be told, his memory wasn’t as good as it had once been. He should cut down on his habit, he knew, but not today. He would start tomorrow, or next week, when they had cataloged this latest planet, and he could relax a little. Damn that Harrington for causing a delay. He found himself beginning to gasp, and he pushed the memory of the defiant security officer from his mind.
Loba undid and dropped his pants. Stepping out of them, he took two paperweights from the table. One was a fist-sized iridescent crystal he’d picked up from the desert floor of a long-forgotten planet in the days when he’d been working his way up the ranks. The other was a long block of polished ebony: wood of a now-extinct Earth tree. Unfurling the document on the floor, he placed the crystal on one end, then unrolled the rest of the scroll to its full extent before securing the other end with the wooden block.
Every day the same.
Traced in faded ink on the sheet was the figure of a naked man. His arms and legs were outstretched, and his blank eyes were open. Wavy hair surrounded his head like a halo. The figure itself was unimportant to Loba; it was the lines that ran through his body, from his head and spine to his fingertips and toes, that were the focus of his interest. They were meridians: energy paths, where the greatest pain—and pleasure—could be felt.
He ran a fingertip down a line that skirted the groin and followed through to the thigh and leg. It was the meridian he had used for yesterday’s dose. To achieve the greatest effect from his drug of choice, Loba had to apply the doses at each point along the meridians according to a strict rota. Yesterday’s dose had contacted a point at the left-hand side of his groin. Today, he would administer it fifteen centimeters below, in the thigh. Loba relied on memory alone for the order of the dosing points. If any record of his habit were found, it would be professional suicide. This was why he possessed only a physical document to guide him, a document that could be purged into space in less than a minute. Digital information was much more difficult to erase.
Drug abuse had impacted Loba’s functional ability in many areas of his life, but in the matter of remembering the dose position order, his recall was excellent.
He pressed an invisible button on the ebony paperweight. As the block of wood popped open, his breathing quickened. In the lead-lined center of the block was a clear glass vial of carmine liquid. Mythranil. Exquisite purveyor of bliss. Lying next to the vial were a set of fine, hollow needles. Loba could hear himself panting.
Soon, soon.
He removed the vial and a needle and went to the sterilization unit in his bathroom, where he placed the needle in the unit and let it sit for thirty seconds. His hand trembled as he retrieved it.
Only a minute to wait.
He sat on his bunk and removed the stopper from the vial. After inserting the needle in the liquid, he gently sucked at the other end, careful not to draw the mythranil into his mouth. Ingestion destroyed the active ingredients of the drug, and each drop was week’s wages. He slipped the needle from his mouth and quickly placed his thumb over the hole to prevent the liquid from dripping out. Lo
ba took a last look at the image of the spread-eagled man, lay down on his bunk and felt down from the sore spot on his groin to a point roughly fifteen centimeters below.
Just a few seconds now.
Joy suffused Loba as he thrust the needle home, grinning through the pain. His aim was true. He’d hit the meridian line spot on, and ecstasy flowed through him. All cares, worries, and concerns of reality melted away, and he sank into a blissful daze.
***
Loba was in nirvana. He had achieved a state of perfection. He floated in infinity, where time and space were without end, and where his spirit poured forth and returned replenished, fulfilled, endless, and enduring in the void. Colors with no names whirled through his perception, and indescribable emotions washed over him in blissful waves, cleansing his soul, bathing his mind, washing his ego free of corrupting impurities. For an eternity, it seemed, he existed, each moment filled with limitless joy.
A great bell sounded from behind him. What was this intrusion? Loba turned and tried to gaze into the abyss, but he couldn’t find the source of the sound. Again, it rang in his ears, discordant, breaking the serene flow of the universe. He grew confused. Where was the noise coming from? How had it entered the everlasting cosmos?
A third time the bell rang, and Loba cried out as all creation began to disintegrate around him. The terrible noise of the bell was breaking everything apart. He had to find it. He had to stop its chiming before it was too late. He had to destroy it.
Loba flailed in his bunk so hard he fell out and hit the floor with a thump. The shock and pain of his fall brought him somewhat back to reality, and he realized the sound he’d been hearing, which had intruded into his drug-induced state of euphoria, was his door chime. But it was too soon. Someone had disturbed him before the effects of mythranil had worn off.
As if at the flick of a switch, Loba’s mood altered from befuddlement to black rage. He took a moment to figure out where each of his limbs were before rising to a crouch and staggering to his feet. Hands trembling and chest heaving, he snatched the meridian map from the floor and put it in his closet before shutting the door. He put the vial of mythranil and needle into the ebony box and snapped it closed.
He staggered to his cabin door just as the chime sounded for the fourth time. Whoever it was, the idiot still hadn’t realized the grave mistake he was making. Loba turned on his video link to the corridor. A woman. A member of an RA team. He couldn’t remember her name. “Door, open.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he bellowed. “Are you blind or stupid? How dare you disturb me...” Loba tailed off. The woman was speaking at the same time as him, apparently unaffected by his anger.
She repeated herself when he paused. “Master Loba, we found something on the planet surface you need to see urgently.”
“What? Now? What the hell’s so important...?”
“I can’t explain. You must come with me to the planet. You must come with me immediately.”
“The hell I’m going to. I’m not going anywhere. Explain yourself. What is this about? What did you find there? Pah, I don’t care what it is. File a report like you’re supposed to and stop bothering me...” The world spun. He grabbed the doorframe.
“It’s very important,” the woman said. “Very valuable. You must come with me and see for yourself. There’s no other way.”
What was wrong with her? Why wouldn’t she obey him? He was master. Loba clutched his head. Was this even real? Or was he still in a mythranil dream? His initial fury began to melt into bewilderment and confusion. Maybe he should go with the woman. If this was all part of his vision, he might return to bliss by doing what she said.
He peered at her. Why hadn’t she reacted to his fury? He felt chilly, and with sudden horror, he realized he was standing there in his underwear. The woman hadn’t reacted to that either.
Calm descended on Loba. None of it was real. He was still under the influence of mythranil. But it was strange. He’d never run like this before. Maybe he’d gotten the dosage or position wrong. He would just have to go with the flow, see the vision through, and then perhaps he would return to paradise for some time before he woke up.
“Okay, I’ll come with you.”
The woman seemed satisfied.
Chapter Six
Carl was in the middle of destroying the evil mastermind behind the invasion of Planet Zytron when someone rang his door chime.
“Better hide, mate,” he said to a pale brown, furry creature that was clinging to an air vent with his feet and wing hooks. The animal looked like something between a bat and a sugar glider, and it had been Carl’s friend since childhood. Ship’s pets were strictly prohibited on any Polestar vessel, but Carl had always thought little Flux would never cause any harm, so it was no big deal if he smuggled him aboard.
“Righto,” the creature replied, and flew across the room to an open cupboard. He went inside and a wing hook appeared, gripped the door edge, and pulled it nearly closed.
Carl had gone to bed disappointed and hungry after PashaorSasha had failed to show for their date at the shuttle bay. Video games were poor compensation for female company, but he’d concluded that if something seemed too good to be true, it probably was, though he couldn’t understand why the woman would go to the trouble of inviting him on a date only to stand him up. Some people were weird.
He frowned and checked the time. Who could it be at this hour? Had PashaorSasha had second thoughts? Or maybe she’d been delayed and come over to apologize for the no show? A small flame of hope flickered. He leapt up and put on his shirt.
He stepped into his pants and, pulling them up, he hopped to the door. As he opened it, his heart sped up. It was the geo-phys scientist. “Hi, great to see you. What happened...?” His face fell. Master Loba was a short distance away in the corridor. “Sir,” he said, buttoning up his shirt, but the man didn’t reply. He looked out of it.
“You have to take us planetside,” said PashaorSasha
“What?” Carl’s fingers hesitated. “You want me to fly you down there right now?”
“Yes. Immediately. The master must go to the planet, to the site we were at today. There’s something I have to show him.”
“But that’s, that’s...” Carl scratched his scalp. Was it even daylight at that site right now? He didn’t know off the top of his head. He looked at the master again. Loba was leaning against the corridor wall, his white curls mussed up, and his eyes didn’t seem to be focusing too well. Carl had heard the rumors.
He pushed his shirt into his pants slowly, buying time to think. It was all completely against protocol. Teams went down to the planet, not just two people, and it had to be for a legitimate reason. No tourist trips. Polestar didn’t fund deep space vacations. If geo-phys had found something, there was a process to follow. But this was Loba’s order, and the man was known for his vindictiveness. If Carl disobeyed without good reason, there would be serious consequences.
Stepping into the corridor, he closed his door before going over to Loba. “Sir, is this right? You want me to take you planetside?”
The master seemed to take a moment to realize that the pilot was there. He pushed himself off the wall and wavered as he stood upright. “Take us...me and her...” He pointed at PashaorSasha. “Now. Special assignment.”
Carl’s frown melted away as everything became clear to him. PashaorSasha had stood him up because she’d had a better offer. The master of a starship, no less. And now she wanted him to take her and her new boyfriend on a drugged-out trip to an alien planet. Great.
“Right. I get it. Fine, just fine.” What could he do but agree? He didn’t want to kiss his career goodbye. If he refused, it would mean no flying starships through deep space. No sneck uniform. No female crew members to impress.
“Come on then,” he called over his shoulder as he strode away toward the shuttle deck. He knew he shouldn’t talk to the master like that, but the fool was too off his face to notice, probably.
PashaorSasha and the master didn’t act like a couple who were hot for each other, Carl noticed as the two came with him and finally sat down in the shuttle’s passenger cabin, but maybe that was their kink. Maybe they were role-playing. His heart sank lower at the thought that he could have been the one pretending to be on 'official business’ with PashaorSasha.
Taking his pilot seat, he contacted the flight deck. His request for clearance to fly was met with predictable confusion. Of course, the lust-sick master hadn’t informed them of his plans. Carl switched his mic to broadcast in the passenger cabin. “Sir, flight deck requires your personal order. You’ll need to step into my cabin.”
A few moments later, after fumbling with the door, Loba appeared, looking a little more alert and focused. Taking the spare headset Carl handed him, he spoke into the mic. “This is Master Loba. I...er...I authorize this trip, for...er...scientific reasons.” He blinked and looked at Carl as if he were recognizing him for the first time.
After a small delay, the 'clear’ signal flashed on Carl’s controls as he heard the spoken confirmation. Loba’s verbal order must have passed the security check. Myth clearly didn’t impact the voice much.
The master’s hand was resting on the back of Carl’s flight seat. The man hesitated, as if he were about to speak, but he retreated to the passenger cabin.
With more force than necessary, Carl flipped the take-off switches and input the previous day’s coordinates into the flight plan. Would it be night or day at the site by the time they touched down? He didn’t have any idea. Would it matter for what PashaorSasha and the master had planned?
Carl thrust the clips of his harness home.
***
Loba’s head was clearing. Something was very, very wrong. The mythranil was wearing off. His run was coming to an end, and he hadn’t returned to bliss by following the woman. Her interruption of his vision, his requesting the copilot fly them to the surface, and their boarding the shuttle—none of it had been the effects of the drug. It had all been real.