by Isaac Hooke
“We must be diligent. Now is the time when heroes are made. Do not stray from the path. Do not lose hope. This is our greatest test of mettle yet. We will prevail. Captain out.”
He focused on the terminate icon and the transmission ended.
“How did I do?” he asked Maxwell.
“Do you want the lie, or the truth?”
“The truth,” Jonathan said.
“Crew anxiety appears to have increased fifteen percent, thanks to that broadcast,” Maxwell said. “Heart rates are up. As is crew perspiration. Productivity is down across the board, with crew members gathering in small groups to discuss this latest development.”
Jonathan could almost hear the gloating in the AIs voice. But he must have imagined it because that wasn’t possible, of course: AIs didn’t gloat.
“What was that you were saying earlier,” Maxwell continued. “About a mixed human-AI crew operating at a higher productivity level than an AI-only crew?”
“Shut it,” Jonathan said.
ten
Barrick sat at a desk, looking down at the virtual image that existed only in the aReal contact lenses that the woman whose consciousness he had borrowed wore. She just so happened to be looking at his chart.
According to the data, he had several pressure sores—they hadn’t been turning his body enough. Joint stiffness had reduced the range of motion of his limbs—they hadn’t been moving his arms and legs enough. A tube in his bronchial passageway continually cleared excess fluid, at least, sparing him from pneumonia. How thoughtful. His muscles, meanwhile, had atrophied to the point where it was apparently impossible for him to walk on his own.
What a mess.
Then again, perhaps their inattentiveness was good. The medics, with all their degrees and charts and advanced machines, had failed to notice that Barrick had developed a tolerance to the sedative they were using, about one week ago. The increase in his brain activity was nearly imperceptible to their instruments, of course, and not enough to count him anywhere close to consciousness, so he supposed he shouldn’t judge them too harshly. They wouldn’t have even known to watch for such an increase: individuals with his particular mind abilities were centuries down the evolutionary ladder. Perhaps millennia. Then again, when the life expectancy of human beings reached at least two thousand years, other telepaths would begin to manifest the mastery he had attained. So the great sea change would be a combination of evolution and life expectancy, then. Assuming humanity ever made it that far.
It sometimes felt odd to be unconscious and yet still have cognizance. He didn’t need consciousness to access the outside world, not at the level he had developed his abilities. Sometimes, in his previous lives, he had accidentally killed people in the waking world while he slept.
What he experienced at the moment was something more akin to a lucid dream than anything else. A dream based on reality. In it, he could experience the waking world via the crew who inhabited the ship around him, moving from the perspective of one mind to another. His ability to access others depended, in part, on how far away they were from him, and their own innate telepathic strength. The captain was probably the strongest telepath aboard, followed closely by his second in command. And neither of them knew it. So much potential, untapped. No doubt their rise had depended in no small part on their apparently uncanny abilities to predict and read their fellow men. The navy really needed to start testing all applicants for telepathic ability yearly, as it could begin to manifest at any time in life. But that discovery would not occur for at least a hundred years yet, of course.
In any case, because of their strength, Captain Dallas and Commander Cray had been his favorite remote viewing targets. Since they had no idea how to use their abilities, their minds had been left wide open. The readable parts, anyway.
At the moment, he was observing the outside world from the mind of deputy medical officer Maria Young. She was not strong, but she was nearby, and thus made another good target when Barrick grew weary of watching the captain or his commander.
Two days had passed since the fleet had entered that star system so far away from everything the crew had ever known. The task group was nearing the planet closest to the entry Slipstream: that ugly ball of fluorocarbons and rock.
It was time to take action.
There was still a chance he could save the human race. The path was more difficult, and fraught with danger, but he had to try.
The alien he had telepathically linked with had used Barrick’s mind to unveil the many futures of humanity. Barrick believed the aliens couldn’t see those paths on their own, not without a human with his potential abilities. By forcing him to live those many lives, to experience those countless futures, the alien had inadvertently revealed the paths that would save humanity. No doubt it had intended to report the knowledge back to its species, but Barrick had grown strong, forcing the creature to over-exert itself, and the alien had died.
When he had awakened, he had attempted to save humanity. He assumed control of the minds of the bridge crew. He first intended to disable the Salvador, which would have gotten in the way of his plans. And when that was done, he would have destroyed the alien prison ship, along with a certain refugee from the Selene who had remained aboard.
Unfortunately he had failed. Before it had died, the alien had done something to him, clouding his mind, preventing him from remembering the one key person he needed to control. And that was Lieutenant Commander Stanley McTaggert in engineering. Barrick should have had the chief engineer deactivate the main AI. But the alien had wanted him to fail, of course. Wanted the fleet, and eventually humanity, to be destroyed. But there was another way to save them all.
First of all, he had to get off the Callaway.
Unfortunately, in his current state, he could not yet influence conscious minds. But he could plant suggestions in the dreams of those who slept. And while Dallas and Cray left themselves unshielded, so far all Barrick’s attempts to seed their dreams had failed. It was as if their minds naturally raised defenses when they slept, employing a bastion of impenetrable nightmares against his attacks. That happened, sometimes, with telepaths.
He would simply have to sow the necessary seeds in others. He would instruct the doc to shut down and remove the life support apparatus that kept him sedated. Given the atrophy in his muscles, after she had awakened him she would have to suit him up in an exoskeleton simply so he could walk. Like his body, his mental abilities would be relatively weak at first, so he would need a way to ensure his escape proved successful. That would be difficult, given that the AI would report what was happening the moment the doc began to awaken Barrick, and it would bring his escape attempt to a halt before it even began. He could have the doc disable certain key monitoring units, but that would only buy Barrick so much time.
But if he involved another person of relatively high value...
He reached out, envisioning the face of the crew member in question, who just so happened to be sleeping at the moment.
THAT MORNING, JONATHAN arrived late to the bridge for the first time in years. The nightmares had been particularly bad the night before. Admiral Hartford and the deceased captains had haunted him ceaselessly, their accusations grinding into him as he relived the three space battles over and over. Sometimes he was in command of the Callaway, sometimes the Hurricane or another fallen ship.
A robot assistant deposited a steaming cup of coffee at his station, and he accepted it gratefully.
“Maxwell said you might be in need of this,” the silo-shaped robot said.
“Thank Maxwell for me.” Jonathan took a few sips of the coffee, but felt weary as ever. He rubbed his eyes under his aReal and resisted the urge to retire to his office. The couch would be far too tempting at the moment.
He was only halfway through reviewing the morning status reports from the department heads and ship captains when the AI interrupted him.
“Captain,” Maxwell announced. “There is an emergency in si
ck bay.”
Jonathan sat up straight. “What kind of emergency?”
“Barrick is about to escape,” Maxwell stated.
“Seal off sick bay.” Jonathan’s heart pounded. Nothing like adrenaline to wake one up. “No one gets in or out. Prepare to floor the compartment with incapacitating agents.”
“Floor the compartment?” the AI sounded confused.
“Flood,” Jonathan corrected himself.
“Barrick is warning me not to do that,” Maxwell replied.
“Why? Pipe in the video feed.”
In the upper corner of his vision, the view from sick bay appeared. He saw the surgical white bulkheads and the beds covered in their blue hospital sheets. Standing in the middle of the compartment, two sweaty, pale crew members interrupted the otherwise sterile, orderly environment.
Barrick looked like he was in bad shape. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes sunken, his body gaunt. A mechanical exoskeleton supported his weight. He had one arm wrapped around a woman’s upper body, and he hugged her close. The other hand pressed a medical instrument of some sort to her neck. It looked like a laser scalpel. Another woman lay unmoving at the foot of the bed beside them.
“I wasn’t aware he had a hostage,” Jonathan told the AI accusingly.
On the video feed, the telepath’s mouth was moving.
“Barrick is asking to speak with you,” Maxwell said.
“Tap him in.”
“Hello Captain,” Barrick’s mocking voice echoed from the aReal speaker. “If you flood sick bay with gas, I will sense it immediately. And I will kill my hostage.” Barrick glanced at the woman in his arms. “Say hello to the captain.”
“Jonathan,” a woman’s terrified voice came over the line.
That couldn’t be... he studied the woman, but because of her angle to the camera her face was mostly in profile.
He muted the line and glanced at Robert urgently. “Is that Bridgette?” Again, because of the angle the captain couldn’t tell if she was pregnant.
The commander was squinting his eyes, evidently viewing the same inconclusive feed. “It can’t be her. She would have no reason to be in sick bay at this hour.”
“You forget, Barrick can control minds,” Jonathan said. “Maxwell, state the location of civilian Bridgette Cray.”
The telepath swiveled the woman toward the camera slightly. The pregnancy bump became obvious immediately.
“Bridgette Cray is currently in sick bay,” Maxwell replied.
eleven
Jonathan looked at the commander.
Robert’s eyes had widened, and his hands were white-knuckled claws that squeezed the armrests of his chair.
“Why doesn’t he simply incapacitate us, like he did the last time?” Ensign Lewis asked. “Why take a hostage?”
“Either’s he’s too weak,” Jonathan said. “Or he’s afraid the AI will simply take over. And we all know the AI doesn’t care about hostages. It would sedate Barrick regardless of any collateral damage to civilians.”
“Which is the most prudent course of action,” Maxwell stated.
“Who is that second woman lying on the ground?” Jonathan asked the AI.
“Deputy medical officer Maria Young,” Maxwell responded. “She is merely sedated.”
“Captain Dallas,” Barrick’s voice came over the line. “Can I call you Jonathan? I feel I know you.”
The captain unmuted his end of the line. “Captain will do. But Barrick, listen to reason. Bridgette is a pregnant woman. Let her go.”
“I know she is,” Barrick returned. “Why do you think I chose her? I have some instructions for you, if you want to ensure her safety. Unseal sick bay, and clear a path to launch bay two. I want full authorization to open the bay doors.”
“I can’t let you take her off the ship,” Jonathan said.
“You grant me safe passage to bay two, and permit me full launch authorization,” Barrick transmitted. “And I give you my word, at some point I will leave her safely behind. And if not—” He pressed the laser scalpel to Bridgette’s skin and she flinched.
Jonathan winced along with her. He clasped his hands together and rested his chin on the prop formed by his thumbs and forefingers.
“Do as he asks, Maxwell,” Jonathan finally said.
“This is highly ill-advised, Captain,” Maxwell returned.
“Do it!” Robert snapped beside him.
Jonathan glanced at his friend worriedly, and then said: “You heard the commander.”
“Unsealing sick bay,” Maxwell replied.
Barrick’s audio feed terminated.
Via his aReal, Jonathan raised the chief master-at-arms, Gary Trevor.
“Chief,” Jonathan told him. “I want a robot security team deployed near launch bay two.”
“Just robots?” Chief Trevor asked.
“Yes,” the captain responded. “We have a hostage situation involving the telepath, Barrick. Though he seems weak, I don’t want to risk Barrick turning your men against us. Use robot masters-at-arms only. Instruct them to approach to within ten meters of the launch bay two entrance, but otherwise not to interfere.”
“Preparing to deploy a team of MAs,” the chief returned. “Robots only.”
Jonathan glanced at Robert. “Commander Cray will join the team at bay two shortly, and will issue further instructions. Captain out.”
He terminated the call.
“Thank you, Captain,” Robert said.
“Go,” Jonathan ordered his first officer.
The commander rushed toward the exit hatch.
“And Robert,” Jonathan said. “Watch yourself down there. I don’t want to give him two hostages, instead of one.”
The commander left without a word.
Maybe it was a mistake to let him go.
Then again, it was probably too late for the commander to do a thing.
ROBERT RUSHED THROUGH the passageways, hardly seeing anything around him. He was focused on the virtual displays that overlaid his vision: in the upper left, he had instructed his aReal contact lenses to display the different video feeds from the passage cameras as Barrick and Bridgette made their way toward the bay. In the upper right of his vision were the ship’s blueprints, showing him the quickest route to launch bay two.
He sent a message to Bridgette via his aReal:
I’m coming for you, baby.
The misspelled reply came several moments later. Plse hrry. She would have had to “type” that with her eyes.
When he reached the passage that bordered the launch bay, the mechanical security team was already in place. Box-shaped heads connected to high-grade polycarbonate torsos, from which emerged blocky arms and legs with circular joints. The subtle whir of servomotors accompanied their every movement. Laser rifles hung conspicuously from their steel shoulders.
“He’s inside,” one of the robot MAs said in a deep male baritone. “He has a blaster. Took it from one of us.”
“Where’s the hostage?” Robert asked. “He didn’t leave her outside?”
“Negative, sir.”
Robert hurried to the hatch.
“It won’t open, sir,” the robot told him. “The atmosphere is being vented.”
“But my wife is inside!”
“I’m sorry sir,” the robot said. “If she’s inside, unless she is wearing a spacesuit, she’s dead.”
Robert stared through the viewing window. Past the inner airlock, he saw one of the Dragonflies powering up. There was no sign of Bridgette.
“Maxwell,” Robert said. “Location of Bridgette Cray?”
“Bridgette Cray is onboard shuttle craft A-4 in launch bay two.”
The bay doors opened and the Dragonfly floated into the air.
“Maxwell, which shuttle is currently departing?” Robert asked, dreading the answer.
“Shuttle craft A-4.”
The Dragonfly flew into the void.
Robert tried to send her a message.
Bridge
tte, are you there? Bridgette?
He held his breath, waiting for the response.
An automated message appeared a moment later:
The requested crew member is beyond communications range.
Robert smashed the viewing window with the side of his fist.
JONATHAN WATCHED THE shuttle depart from the launch bay security camera.
“Barrick,” Jonathan transmitted. “Please respond. You have not left behind the hostage, like you promised.”
No answer.
“Damn it,” Jonathan said. “Lazur, is the comm node on the shuttle functional?”
“It appears he has turned it off,” Lazur reported. “It is not responding to communication pings.”
“Judging from the microexpressions I have analyzed,” Maxwell interjected. “I believe the telepath had no intention of leaving her behind.”
“You could have told me that before,” Jonathan complained.
“Would it have helped?”
Jonathan considered for a moment. “Probably not.”
He switched to the external camera and watched the shuttle recede toward the planet. The Callaway was passing the uninhabitable world in a high orbit; he had originally intended to use the gravity well to impart a speed boost to the task group as it headed toward the inner planets. But plans had changed.
“Helm, full stop,” Jonathan ordered. “Miko, transmit the order to the rest of the fleet.”
He tapped his lips with splayed fingers as his commands were carried out.
He had agreed to grant Barrick safe passage from the ship. And while he rather liked the idea of getting the telepath off his hands, the fact that the man had brought along Bridgette not only against her will, but against Jonathan’s as well, was not something the captain could let stand.