By Dawn's Early Light

by Jason Fuesting

  At his escort’s impatient glance, Eric assured the clerk that he understood policies on bio hazardous material. His inspection period, brief as it was, confirmed that every item listed on the intake sheet save the shorts was inside the case. Pretty sure that’s everything I had on me. By the time he’d finished informing the clerk their inventory seemed correct, his escort had the door open and was waving him on.

  Minutes later, Eric stood by himself at the end of a painted line on one of the Shrike’s shuttle decks. Looking over the bay, lines like the one he stood on had been painted in five other areas. Groups of people waited at the end of each line, most in prisoner orange. Less than a minute had passed before another pair of marines dropped off a burly gentleman similarly clad in orange.

  Eric opened his mouth to speak, but the man shook his head. Eric flinched at the sudden whine of an energy rifle discharge and looked over his shoulder. Prisoners backed away from a prone man on the opposite side of the bay. Steam and smoke rose from the dead prisoner as his coveralls smoldered.

  Eric’s eyes rose to the darkness above. He had thought the darkness beyond the harsh lighting hid only ceiling, but squinting, he could barely make out a catwalk that ran the length of the bay. Three figures paced back and forth above them. A fourth still had his rifle aimed at the other group.

  “That’s why, son,” his companion whispered. “They’re still listening.”

  Eric did not utter a single word for the thirty minutes it took for them to board the small transport that took them off-ship.

  “Welcome aboard the Relentless, citizens,” a man in dark blue coveralls greeted them as they debarked after less than an hour of cramped flight. “If you will follow me, I will show you to your staterooms.”

  Eric shared a glance with his burly companion before hefting his case of belongings and doing as bidden.

  “Before we get far, I need to inform you that conversations with ship’s company beyond those strictly necessary are forbidden,” their escort noted.

  “Define ‘strictly necessary’, uh, spacer?” Eric asked as they crossed the noisy hanger.

  “Petty Officer, actually.”

  “Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to demote you.”

  “No worries. Most prisoners aren’t subject to this rule. You two, on the other hand, have been flagged for quarantine during our transit. Now, I haven’t been briefed on the specifics,” the petty officer told them. “And I do not want to know them,” he stressed. “However, both of you know something considered controlled information and the quarantine is to prevent you from talking to others not cleared for that information. Provided you conduct yourselves accordingly, the main benefit for you is much better quarters than the rest.”

  “Better quarters?”

  “Yeah, much better. This is a warship. We’re not equipped for extensive prisoner transport and we normally don’t do it. The Provost usually handles all of that. Between that and where we’re holding you, I would imagine whatever it is you know, and please don’t tell me, is pretty important.”

  “Okay, that’s twice now you’ve said you don’t need or want to know, why?”

  “I’d prefer to stay on this ship when we get to where you’re going. Whoever you tell, if they’re not cleared, will likely get a one-way ticket to the surface with you or a quick execution.”

  “Wow. I bet that fucks with morale.”

  The man gave him a half-hearted smile. “Not really, you’ll be isolated for most of the trip.”

  “So, you said much better? How ‘much better’ are we talking? I’ve spent most of my life aboard ship, and there’s not exactly a lot of variety when it comes to living quarters.”

  The petty officer’s eyes narrowed for a moment. When he answered, Eric could hear an underlying coldness that had not been there before, “Officer’s staterooms. Two of you, one stateroom.”

  “Hoo, boy!” Eric’s companion said with a grin.

  Their escort remained tight lipped as they traversed several decks. Some ten minutes later they drew up short outside a locked door.

  “Well, here’s your accommodations. Food will be delivered from the Officer’s Galley during scheduled meal times. Reading material has been provided, though you will not have network access. We expect to arrive at our destination inside the month,” the petty officer informed them as he swiped a security card.

  Eric followed his partner in and looked over his shoulder when the door hadn’t closed immediately.

  “Your accent,” the petty officer said. “It’s not from Engleston, is it?”

  “Can’t say I’ve ever been there.”

  “Former Navy? Provost?”

  “Not based off what they charged me with. This does look pretty comfy though. Would you like one yourself?”

  “Fuck you, pirate,” the petty officer spat.

  “Run along, little man,” Eric dismissed the man as he triggered the door.

  Eric turned, dropping his case by the nearest rack, and looked up to see his companion regarding him warily.

  “Pirate?” the man asked.

  “That’s what I was charged with,” Eric replied. He held his hands up when his companion’s expression darkened. “Hey, they execute people for piracy, remember? They found me not guilty.”

  “Then why’d they charge you in the first place? The Provost doesn’t usually lose their cases.”

  “Couldn’t tell you, don’t remember. Some doctor told me I have some sort of brain injury that interferes with memory.”

  The man chewed on his lip for a moment and slowly nodded. “Until three months ago, I was a machinist first class on the Bystro. She’s a cargo hauler out of Unity. If you wake up one morning and remember you were a pirate, keep it to yourself.”

  “Fair enough,” Eric left a pregnant pause at the end as he regarded the man questioningly.

  “Jeff. Jeff Simmons. Yours?”

  “Eric Friedrich. And if I do ever get my memory back, I’ll do as you say. Until then, you think we can actually talk? I mean, I’m pretty sure that guy wasn’t supposed to ask any questions. Also pretty sure if this is a navy vessel, they’re probably not likely to be wired for sound like the Shrike was. That, and whatever it is we both know about, I’d imagine there aren’t too many people cleared to know, so who would they get to do the listening?”

  “Avoid anything related to your charges, just in case.”

  Eric nodded and sat on his rack. Woah, it’s a real bed. I could get used to this. “So, what were you charged with?”

  “I wasn’t.”

  Eric coughed. “Say again?”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “How’s that work?”

  “The way they put it, I didn’t commit a crime. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. My sentence is considered administrative, not criminal. Those bastards had the balls to tell me they were going out of their way keeping me alive.”

  “Wow.”

  Jeff grunted and settled onto his bed. “Oh, this shit is soft! Not hard as deck plates like the prison cots.”

  “Was just thinking that. So, wrong place, wrong time?”

  “We had a drive malfunction a few days outside of Unity. Surprisingly, we got dumped into normal space instead of spread across the black as highly energetic dust. We spent a few days trying to patch the drive up enough to limp her home when our sensors picked up something nearby. Captain was curious, so we used the in-system drive to catch up to it. Damn fool.”

  “So what was it?”

  “Well, it’s hard to describe. It was clearly man made, but there wasn’t anything wrong with it other than it didn’t have any power as far as we could tell. You could fit most of it in this room, actually. Big dish transmitter on one side. Either way, Captain had us pick it up.”

  “And?”

  “And what? That’s what I don’t get. Electronics and that on it were ridiculously primitive. Weird thing though, it had this gold plated copper disk on it with these odd markings. The disk was mi
ldly radioactive. Heard one of the tech guys say something about electroplated uranium. We got back to port, Provost scooped us all the next day.”

  “How’d that go?”

  Jeff grunted, “Poorly. I was eating a bowl of greasy noodles at one of the starport mobiles. Next thing I knew I had weapons pointed at me, folks yelling at me to get down, folks yelling at me to put my hands up, folks yelling don’t move.”

  “Wow. And they didn’t shoot you?”

  “Oh yeah, they shot me. It was a total clusterfuck,” Jeff grimaced, flexing his left hand. “I lost most of my left hand when I tried to put my hands up. Bystanders caught stray shots and I’m pretty sure the mobile was on fire when someone finally hit me with a stun.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah. They weren’t happy about replacing it. My company had hired a lawyer I heard from a few times before we left system. That was maybe three weeks ago. The hand still feels funny. Tech said that’s normal for a rapid replacement and should go away in a few weeks. Looks weird as hell without the scars.”

  “Well, my memory is really foggy. I was on the Shrike for a while, I think quite a bit longer than you. I didn’t even know we stopped somewhere.”

  Jeff snorted, “Stop? The Shrike barely slowed down. The provost pilots were bitching about it. She popped in, announced her visit was time restricted, and any business that couldn’t be conducted in six hours would wait until the next provost patrol came through. I got the impression that what we’d found was the only thing that delayed them those six hours. Whatever that thing was, someone thinks it’s important.”

  “Sounds like it. Any idea what’s so important about it?”

  Jeff eyed the compartment and leaned in. “It was old. Real old. You know what a RTG is?”

  “R-T-What?”

  “Radioisotope generator.”

  “Can’t say I remember those.”

  “Most folks wouldn’t. They’re rare as an Nthcom droid today, but they were used as emergency power back in the day. I grew up working in a ship boneyard, tearing apart old ships, going through wrecks, that kind thing. When your job has you taking ancient hulls and pulling everything useful out of them, you see all sorts of things. Radioactives make heat as they decay. RTGs convert that heat to electricity. Our electronics shop chief was a buddy of mine, we pulled one of the thing’s tiny RTGs apart. He ran the numbers on what juice it still had left and what we figured it was supposed to supply new. Nearest he could figure it was between five hundred and maybe seven hundred years old.”

  Eric gave Jeff a confused look.

  “Only one place sending that kind of tech out, that long ago, son. Earth. If you’re in here with me, you know something about Earth, too. Might be locked away in that broken head of yours, but you know something they don’t want out. I can’t tell you if you’re better off remembering or forgetting it, but you’d best figure that out right quick.”

  “Not following, Jeff.”

  “Well, you don’t remember now, right? Well, maybe they’re tossing you away for good, but can you be sure they aren’t stuffing you in a hole so they can get you back when you remember?”

  “Good point. You have any clue where they’re sending us?”

  “Not a single one, sorry.”

  Eric shrugged. He looked around in his container of belongings and pulled out the tablet. Curious, he pressed the power button. The screen went from pitch black to a slightly lighter black for a few seconds before swapping to text on a white background. He had just enough time to read the highlighted section before the screen flashed and went black.

  The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Eric frowned and hit the power button again. Again the device reset suddenly. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Another reset, this time scanning lower on the screen. Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight: My goodness, and my fortress; my high tower, and my deliverer; my shield, and he in whom I trust; who subdueth my people under me.

  The tablet screen went black again and Eric sighed.

  “Something wrong, Eric?”

  “Meh, something’s up with my tablet. Keeps shutting off right after I turn it on.”

  “Have you tried a hard reset?”

  “No? I don’t remember how.”

  “Oh, most models, you just hold the power button down for a bit.”

  “I thought you said you were a machinist?” Eric asked, holding the power button down.

  “Cargo haulers don’t have a lot of crew. We cross-trained.”

  The screen lit up momentarily, flickered, and went black again without going to the text. Seconds passed. Maybe I broke it for good? The screen flickered, white text streaming from bottom to top momentarily before freezing. Initializing cryptographic API. Keyring loaded. RAMDISK driver loaded. What’s all this? The screen blanked and a large circular logo hovered amid a deep blue background. A second later, a box filled with text popped up in the center of the screen. Department of Defense Computer System? Usage constitutes consent for monitoring? What the shit is this? He tapped the red x at the box’s upper right and it closed to reveal logo that filled most of the screen. Department of the Navy. United States of America. Neither label on the logo meant anything to him.

  “That help?” Jeff asked.

  “Nah, not really. I just realized I don’t remember my login either.”

  Jeff snorted. “You’ve got shitty luck, man.”

  A speaker in the overhead crackled. “Tattoo, tattoo, lights out in five minutes.”

  “Well, guess it’s bed time. See you in the morning.”

  “Sounds that way,” Eric replied as he turned off the tablet. After returning it to his case, Eric laid back and stared at the ceiling. Time ticked by as he listened for the sound of boots outside his door that never came.

  “Reveille, reveille. All hands heave out and trice up. Now man the translation watch,” the overhead speaker droned.

  Eric sat up in his rack, rubbed his eyes, and looked across the room at Jeff’s snoring form.

  “Hey, jackass, wake up.”

  “Fuck off! Shit, can’t a guy finish a dream with tits in it just once?”

  Eric rolled his eyes. “They’re stationing observers for translation, Jeff.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, we’ve been in FTL for over a few weeks, right?”

  “Something like that. Will be nice to get out of here. The food’s been nice, but the monotony, not so much,” Jeff commented, rolling out of bed.

  “So, tits, huh?” Eric asked as he stretched.

  “Oh yeah, great ones too. She looked like this one dancer at the club outside of Marxport. Dark eyes, dark hair, boobs the size of melons, and those legs. Yeah.”

  “Woah there, Jeff. You need a cold shower? I’m starting to feel a little uncomfortable over here.”

  Jeff snorted as he ducked into their small bathroom.

  “You’re safe,” Jeff said through the open door over him using the toilet, “You’re not my type. I don’t imagine I’ll be seeing anything that nice again.” Eric heard genuine regret in the man’s words. The toilet flushed. “Hah, just in time. Line safety just engaged. We should be popping into real space any minute now.”

  Eric sighed as he traded spaces with his roommate. “I’m still pissing anyway.”

  “Better do it quick then. Transition shift can do weird things to people. Don’t be like the one guy we had in engineering on the Bystro.”

  “Oh?” Eric asked. He vaguely knew he wasn’t unfamiliar with FTL transitions, but this sounded like a funny story wanting to be told.

  “Yeah, l
ost his balance with his junk in his hand. Hit his head on the piping. Huge mess. Still holding it when we found him. Poor sap never lived it down.”

  Eric was still laughing when his stomach jumped into his throat and the floor fell away. His sinuses burnt, as if they’d been pressurized suddenly. The Relentless had transitioned back into real space and had done so extremely close to a gravity well. Eric devolved into sneezing coughs.

  “You alright in there? That was pretty rough. These Navy folks must be made of sterner stuff.”

  “Yeah, that or they’re crazy.” Eric replied when his sinuses stopped trying to kill him. The line safety indicator blinked back to green and Eric flushed.

  “Flight quarters, flight quarters. Flight crew to your flight quarters stations,” the overhead speaker rattled.

  Someone knocked on their door. As they both turned, the door opened, revealing several armed guards and two naval armsmen who tossed a pair of packages into the room.

  “Foul weather clothes, put them on,” the woman who opened the door told them, “You’re off my ship in twenty minutes.”

  Eric traded glances with Jeff.

  “What are you waiting for?” One of the armed guards barked, “We can drop you off without them if you want.”

  They stepped forward and opened the boxes.

  Solitude

  Day 0

  Bundled in a parka, the walk down to the flight deck was stifling. Another crewman in blue coveralls and a white vest stuffed something in Eric’s hands as they crossed onto the flight deck.

  “What’s this?” he yelled above the engine noise.

  “Oxygen mask. You’ll need it below until you can get to lower ground,” Eric barely heard through his ear protection.

  “Lower ground?”

  “Crew chief will explain. Get moving.”

  Another flight deck crewmember in a gold vest trotted over and led him over to a small idling troop transport. The woman helped him aboard where the she settled him into a seat and hurriedly showed him how to secure his harness.