The Last Flight of the Argus

by E. R. Torre

  “That’s very old news, Inquisitor.”

  “You’re also a proficient pilot. You’re experienced with small arms and underground work and you’ve shown up in various solar systems and, despite your best attempts to hide it, have always left some kind of mark before leaving. High level corruption exposed, narcotic rings busted, even black markets shut down. Sterling stuff. What exactly did you do to Lieutenant Daniels in Evalba, or is that a secret too?”

  “Depends on your level of clearance.”

  Inquisitor Cer raised her fusion gun.

  “Let's assume my clearance is of the highest level.”

  “You, better than anyone else, should know.”

  “Ah,” Inquisitor Cer said and smiled. “This involved Phaecian assets?”

  “Lieutenant Daniels arrived three months after my arrival at Evalba. He was searching for a Phaecian mole.”

  “Same as you?”

  “I caught the individual shortly after Lieutenant Daniels arrived. I was entitled to deliver him to the proper Industry and collect the bounty. Daniels didn’t see things that way and tried to stop me. I had to smuggle your…asset out of the Gemini Council with Daniels on my ass. We were in a race to Evalba’s Displacer. Just as he was about to overrun my ship, wouldn’t you know it, his cruiser’s engines seized up.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  “To touch an Inquisitor’s ship is to court death. I imagine the same applies to anyone in Epsillon that dares sabotage a Capital Guard ship.”

  “Provided one can prove such malicious actions, yes. As far as anyone’s concerned, that day Lieutenant Daniels had some very bad luck at a very bad time.”

  “Neither of us are friends of Lieutenant Daniels and his group so it’s curious we find ourselves facing him in this particular place and at this particular time.”

  “You’ve had a run in with Daniels?”

  “Yes, though the details are best left unsaid. What is more important is why General Jurgens sent Daniels here.”

  “You know about General Jurgens? Now I’m impressed. My compliments to the Phaecian Empire's intelligence gathering.”

  “Ours is no better –or worse– than yours. We know what we know and make educated guesses about the rest. Now that you're before me, there is little reason to guess as to your purpose, when you can explain it in your own words. So B’taav, why are you here?”

  “I could ask you the same question.”

  “You could, but I’ve got the gun.”

  “I’m checking into suppliers of Accelerant.”

  “Accelerant? The drug is barely illegal. Why would someone of your stature care about someone peddling such a petty item?”

  “It’s related to a bigger case involving piracy and mass murder.”

  “Very noble,” Cer said. “For what it's worth, I’m glad we had this talk. Let me assure you I’m being very sincere when I say I’m sorry.”

  The gun in Cer’s hand rose level with B’taav’s head, but the Independent lunged forward and grabbed Cer’s wrist before she could fire. He twisted her hand and pointing the barrel of the gun down and away. Cer elbowed the Independent in the jaw and, for a split second, all B’taav could see was darkness. He tasted blood in his mouth but continued twisting Inquisitor Cer’s arm. Cer let out a grunt and the gun dropped to the floor and out of sight.

  With the weapon gone, the two broke away. B’taav assumed a fighter’s stance and squared his fists. Cer mirrored his moves with a similar posture. Though B’taav was bigger than Cer, her athleticism and fluid movements gave her advantages over the Independent’s mass. B'taav knew it was no easy feat to best any Inquisitor in hand to hand combat.

  The two circled each other in the cramped area, each waiting for the other to make the first move. They remained that way for several long moments, until Inquisitor Cer relaxed. She straightened up.

  B’taav followed her lead. The two would be fighters stared at each other for several more seconds, until Inquisitor Cer folded her hands across her chest and leaned against the wall.

  “Perhaps some other time,” she said.

  B’taav looked around the floor and spotted Cer’s fusion gun. He picked it up.

  “Not loaded,” he said after checking the weapon.

  “Surprised?”

  “Somewhat,” B’taav admitted. “When you struck me in the jaw, it should have knocked me cold. You held back.”

  “I was curious to see what you were capable of.”

  “Did I measure up?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” B’taav said. He ran his hand over his jaw. “Then again, you had the advantage. You were carrying a gun and you were sober.”

  “You further disappoint me. There’s nothing worse than a sore loser. Given your personnel files, I imagined you were a man of some honor.”

  “Independents can’t trouble themselves with trivial things such as that. We’ve always been a practical group.”

  “Not unlike mercenaries.”

  “Why are you here, Inquisitor Cer?”

  Inquisitor Cer’s eyes narrowed. “Our empire’s activities are our own, B’taav. Suffice to say that we are not interested in the pursuit of pirates and petty drug dealers. Nor do we worry about our next paycheck.”

  “What are you interested in?”

  “That’s for others to explain.”

  The door leading into the heart of the ship noisily came to life. Locks were disengaged and the solid mass slid to the side, revealing a dark corridor beyond. A shadowy figure walked the length of the corridor and came to a stop before Inquisitor Cer and B’taav. He said:

  “The Inquisitor is correct.”

  It was Dave Maddox.

  He carried a fusion gun and didn’t look terribly happy about being alongside B’taav once again.

  “Let me assure you my gun is loaded,” the bartender said.

  “Understood.”

  “Good,” Maddox continued. “Time is scarce, so I’ll tell you what you need to know. As you’ve no doubt surmised, Lieutenant Daniels’ interest in Titus is directly related to us.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “In good time, Independent,” Inquisitor Cer said.

  “Or not at all,” Maddox added. “We’ve come to believe, as do you, that Lt. Daniels is willing to go to great lengths to stop us from leaving this station. His boys pressed the pilots around here very hard. So hard that any potential flight crews we hired are on their way out. Permanently. No one, it seems, wants to take on a piloting job.”

  “You’re telling me,” B’taav said.

  “This forces us to improvise. Among our group, Inquisitor Cer is the only one with military class flight skills. Given the fact that the moment we take off from Titus Daniels and his boys on the Dakota will be on our tail, it would be foolish to attempt our journey with only one experienced pilot.”

  “Which is where I come in,” B’taav said.

  “Our destination is within Erebus, but very far away,” Maddox continued. “While Inquisitor Cer’s stamina is great and she can fly the craft for many hours. But even with that great stamina, she will eventually need to be relieved, and we cannot afford to stop, even for a few minutes. We’re aware that you too are a skilled pilot, as you arrived here with your own craft. We further assume that you know enough about starship maintenance to be able to fix things that might, in transit, break.”

  Maddox walked to the decompression chamber’s outer door, the one that led to outer space. He activated it. The double doors slid open, revealing the small space where the ship’s refuse is packed before being ejected.

  “The way I see it, you have two options. You can help us get away from Lieutenant Daniels, or you can take a walk.” He motioned beyond the door. “The choice is yours.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Lieutenant Lester Daniels swore.

  The officer before him maintained a rigid pose and tried
his best not to react to his superior officer’s growing fury. When it peaked, and appeared to pass, the officer spoke. Meekly.

  “The responsibility was mine,” the young man said. “B’taav was there one moment and gone the next. I offer no excuses and accept whatever disciplinary actions you feel is appropriate.”

  “You’re lucky I need every man I can muster,” Daniels replied. “Get back out there and look around. Maybe we’ll get lucky and spot B’taav when he returns to the hotel.”

  The young officer saluted before leaving the conference room. Daniels waited for the door to close before punching a sequence of buttons on the computer built into his desk. A door on the opposite side of the room slid open and revealed an opulent study. In the center of the study was a highly polished metal desk and sitting behind it was General Jurgens.

  Daniels entered this room. The door closed behind him. Only a very select few on the Dakota knew of General Jurgens’ presence in Erebus, but only General Jurgens and Lieutenant Daniels alone knew of their other, equally important guest held in the luxury suite beyond this chamber.

  “I heard everything,” Jurgens said. He switched off the monitor that transmitted the sounds and images from the conference room.

  “I hope none of this proves a setback, General.”

  “For all our sakes.”

  “How's our guest doing?” Daniels asked and motioned toward the doors leading to the chamber beyond.

  “About as expected, suffering from some mild cabin fever.”

  Daniels shivered. The last thing they needed was to make their guest uncomfortable.

  “If he needs anything,” Daniels said. A faint buzz interrupted his comments. It came from his communication badge.

  “What is it?” General Jurgens asked.

  “I’m wanted on the bridge,” Daniels replied. He hurried out the room.

  Lieutenant Daniels arrived at the bridge of the Dakota and quickly positioned himself before the central monitor. Sensors indicated an unauthorized craft departed from Titus only moments before and was heading straight for the Displacer. The ship showed no signs of slowing down and her pilot was oblivious to the Epsillon fighter crafts on an intercept course.

  “The distance between the ship and the Displacer is four thousand kilometers and closing fast,” the Sensor Op said.

  “Must be some kind of maniac,” Daniels muttered. “Have they responded to any transmissions?”

  “No sir,” replied the Comm Op. She sat to Daniels’ left and shook her head in frustration. “They continue ignoring all warnings.”

  “What is the status of the Tango fighters?”

  “Armed and ready,” the Weapons Officer said. She sat in the corner of the bridge. Before her were three separate monitors. One plotted the course of the Tango fighters and the unidentified craft while the other two provided real time displays listing active weaponry and defensive shields. “They will intercept in forty seconds. What are your orders, sir?”

  “Surround the unknown craft,” Daniels said. “Has the ship taken any evasive actions?”

  “No sir. Unknown’s course remains consistent.”

  “Tell Tango 13 to fire a missile across her bow. He is not to hit the ship, is that understood?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Daniels’ eyes returned to the sensor monitor. A second after the command was issued a blip, coming from the lead Tango fighter craft, appeared.

  “Missile is away.”

  Daniels watched as a blip representing the missile streaked toward the approaching ship. The ship continued its course, just as oblivious to the missile as it was to the Tango fighters and the transmissions sent to her. The missile missed the ship by only a hundred meters.

  “Any reaction?”

  “None, sir. Distance is now two thousand five hundred kilometers.”

  “If they’re trying to enter the Displacer, they should be slowing down,” the Nav Op said. “Either their pilot is one of the bravest souls this side of Erebus or—”

  Daniels gasped. He slammed a series of buttons to the side of the monitor. A larger sensor graphic of the Titus space station and its surrounding area filled the screen. Another small blip appeared on the screen. The ship this blip represented was heading in the exact opposite direction of the unauthorized craft, into the asteroid remains of Erebus.

  Daniels’ face went white. He turned to the Weapons Op and yelled:

  “The ship approaching us is a decoy! Tell the fighters to take her down. Take her down now!”

  Despite its distance from the Erebus Displacer, the explosion from the decoy ship lit up the area around the Titus space station like a fiery new sun.

  B’taav shielded his eyes and looked away as the cockpit of the Pilgrimage burned with the white-hot light. Just as quickly as it flashed on, the light was gone. It took several seconds for the Independent’s eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of the bridge. He double checked the ship’s controls and verified their course into Erebus.

  Maddox stood behind B’taav while Inquisitor Cer sat at the secondary ship controls next to the Independent. Both Maddox and Cer intently watched the navigational readout.

  “It appears our diversion worked,” Maddox said.

  “You loaded the decoy with explosives?”

  “How long did you think a decoy spacecraft would occupy a battleship and its complement of officers? A minute? Two? We needed much more time to make our getaway.”

  “There might be casualties,” B'taav said.

  “I doubt Lt. Daniels is stupid enough to let the decoy get that close,” Maddox said. “Besides, whatever happens from now on does not matter, so long as our mission is accomplished.”

  “Easy for you to say,” B'taav replied. He faced Inquisitor Cer. “What about you, Inquisitor? Our Empires have been at peace for two hundred years. What could possibly make you risk that peace?”

  Inquisitor Cer did not reply. B’taav shook his head in frustration.

  “Even if the Dakota and Wake are disabled, they’ll lock onto us with their long range sensors and see where we’re going,” B'taav said. “When we’re out of range of those sensors, all they have to do is sit back and wait for us to use our sensors to maneuver around the asteroid belt. They’ll follow our progress as if we were carrying a flashlight into a dark room.”

  “We won’t be using our sensors for quite some time.”

  “What do you mean? The asteroid field gets very thick. How will we know where we’re going?”

  “I see you’re unaware of how scavengers explore the area before us.”

  “I didn’t expect to trace their paths.”

  “For now, B’taav, we follow the navigational course plotted into the computer.”

  “And afterwards?”

  “The scavengers don’t use their sensors for the very reason you stated: They don’t want to be followed. Should they give away their positions, there’s the possibility claim jumpers will steal their hard earned discoveries. To avoid that particular problem, the scavengers laid out a series of small satellites over the years and arranged them into a grid. These satellites emit low level signals which the scavengers use to orient themselves and find their way.”

  “How deep into the asteroid field do the satellites go?”

  “Deep enough, for now.”

  “You mean we’re going in deeper than even the satellite grid?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do we do when we’re beyond those signals? More to the point, what if Daniels and his men log into the satellites’ computer and scramble the signals around? They could have us fly in a circle and emerge right in front of them.”

  “They could try, but those satellites use very old tech,” Maddox explained. “The only way to change their transmissions is manually. Quite literally, you have to fly out to them and press their control switches. We’ve kept a close watch on the Dakota and Wake since their arrival. They haven’t sent even a single fighter craft outside the radius of the Displacer and T
itus, and none anywhere near the start of the satellite grid.”

  Inquisitor Cer gazed at the view screen monitor. A mass of asteroids were already visible in the distance, the remnants of one of Erebus’ original six planets.

  “Even with those satellites, without the use of sensors there’s a great danger of collision, especially if we follow this flight path.”

  “Relax, B’taav, this is the easy part,” Maddox said. “We haven’t even entered the first dense asteroid cluster.”

  Maddox tapped Inquisitor Cer on her shoulder.

  “We’ll let our new friend take the first shift,” the bartender said. “Inquisitor Cer will relieve you in eight hours. I should warn you B’taav, the communication system is locked. Any attempt to tamper with it will result in a very loud alarm. This very loud alarm will also be activated should you deviate or slow from the prescribed course. Be a good boy. I’d really hate to have to send you outside.”

  Inquisitor Cer stepped past Maddox and exited the cockpit. Maddox took her seat and flashed B’taav a cold grin.

  “Don’t feel bad,” Maddox said. “At least you’re out of Lieutenant Daniels’ hands.”

  “And into yours,” B’taav replied. “Am I much better off?”

  “Only time will tell,” Maddox said. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  B’taav’s first flight shift proved remarkably uneventful.

  An hour into the trip Maddox awoke from his nap, stretched, and made a brief inter-ship communiqué. In seconds, a thin and morose looking man wandered into the cockpit. Maddox allowed the thin man to take his place.

  “This is Rasp,” Maddox said. “He will watch you from here on out. Make sure to stay on his good side.”

  Maddox said nothing more before leaving the ship’s bridge. B’taav examined Rasp. He wasn’t just thin: he was gaunt, with equally thin black hair and an avian look to his face. His eyes were clear blue and his mouth was locked tight.