The Last Flight of the Argus

by E. R. Torre

  Friendly sort, B’taav thought. He nonetheless extended his hand.

  “Rasp? I’m B’taav.”

  The gaunt man’s mouth, and arm, remained stubbornly unmoved.

  “Pleased to meet you too,” B’taav muttered before returning to controls.

  The next hours found the Pilgrimage passing a series of impressively large asteroids. The craft entered the edges of Erebus’ largest asteroid field. It wouldn’t be long, B’taav knew, before he would have to reduce speed and maneuver carefully around these obstacles. By that time, the ever present star light would be choked off and an almost absolute darkness would surround them. It would feel like the ship entered a tight, mysterious cavern.

  Good thing I’m not claustrophobic, the Independent thought.

  On the sixth hour of flight, Maddox returned to the cockpit with a tray of food. He handed it to B’taav, gave the Independent a few minutes to eat, then took the tray, along with whatever the Independent didn’t eat, and left.

  At exactly the eighth hour of B’taav’s shift, Inquisitor Cer and Maddox showed up. Rasp allowed Cer to take his seat. The Inquisitor activated her console and, simultaneously, deactivated B’taav’s. Maddox checked the Navigator’s controls and verified the Pilgrimage’s course. He then put on a pair of sleek, metallic computer magnification glasses and stared through the ship’s windows. From the cockpit, he had a clear view of everything but the underside of the ship.

  “How ironic,” B’taav said. He motioned to the deactivated instruments before him. “We’ve got all this sophisticated technology yet we’re reduced to looking for Daniels’ boys with our own two eyes.”

  “We’ve got some enhancements,” Maddox said and removed the magnifying glasses.

  “They can’t be too far away.”

  “I expect so,” Maddox said. “We’ll keep following the course laid in. By the time we get to your next shift we’ll switch to the satellite signals as guidance.”

  “Where do we go when we enter the heart of the asteroid field?”

  “Keep the questions to yourself, Independent. You'll get no answers from me.”

  “I’m assuming your plan isn’t just to go hide out among the rocks, because if it is, we will be caught.”

  Maddox motioned to Rasp.

  “Take our guest to his quarters,” Maddox said. “He should be well rested by the start of his next shift.”

  The remainder of the week passed largely without incident. B’taav and Inquisitor Cer exchanged piloting shifts every eight hours and, without fail, Rasp marched B’taav straight to his quarters at the end of the corridor outside the bridge.

  It was obvious there were other passengers on board, but B'taav was kept away from them. Now and again, he heard bits of conversations emanating from the lower passages. He did not recognize any of the voices.

  B’taav followed the prescribed course deeper and deeper into what had once been the orbit of Erebus E. Navigating through the planet’s remains proved a challenge. The asteroid clusters were at times so thick the Independent was forced to slow the ship to a crawl. Maddox wasn't pleased with the delay, but he knew there was little choice.

  When they made it through a particularly narrow stretch, B’taav was confronted by a field of asteroids the size of small moons. Several of them rotated at tremendous speeds, shattering anything they came in contact with. Even after two hundred years, the destruction of Erebus continued. In these circumstances, Daniels’ men would have difficulties locating the Pilgrimage, even with the full use of their sensors. The very thick asteroid field provided an effective cover. Maddox must have known this, too, as he spent less time visually scanning for signs of Daniels’ fighter crafts.

  When Maddox wasn’t on the bridge, Rasp guarded the Independent. The silent man offered no conversation and B'taav soon wondered if he was capable of speaking at all. So silent was Rasp that he said nothing when an alarm screeched throughout the cockpit. Instead, he gave B'taav a murderous glare.

  “Don’t look at me,” B’taav said. “I didn’t do anything.”

  Alarm lights flashed on one of the monitors. The port engine was reading highly elevated temperatures.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  Maddox and Inquisitor Cer ran into the room and, like Rasp, eyed the Independent with suspicion. Cer’s hands hovered close to the fusion guns in her belt.

  “Coolant systems on engine three are offline,” B’taav said. “She’s overheating.”

  Maddox looked over B’taav’s shoulder and at the display monitor.

  “How bad is it?”

  “Bad enough.”

  “Can it be fixed?”

  “With time, yes. But we should stop.”

  “Out of the question.”

  “We need to fully assess the damage. If we keep flying, there is a risk of burning the engines out completely. Do you have any ship techs on board who can look at this?”

  Neither Maddox nor Inquisitor Cer replied. B’taav didn’t expect any words from Rasp.

  “Don’t tell me: Daniels’ boys scared any mechanics you were planning to hire on this trip as well.”

  Maddox nodded.

  “I should have stayed on Titus. At least there I had a fighting chance.”

  “Inquisitor Cer knows quite a bit about ship mechanics, but she's more familiar with Phaecian models,” Maddox said. “What about you, B’taav. Think you can fix our problem?”

  “If it isn't too bad, I might be able to patch it up. But we need to find a hiding place to park.”

  “No. We keep moving.”

  “Listen, Maddox: At the very least we need to shut down engine three so we don't lose any more coolant. When we shut it down, we won’t have full maneuverability.” B’taav pointed out the window. “Around these parts, we need all the maneuverability we can get.”

  “We’re not stopping,” Maddox said. “We’ve got the-Gods-alone-know how many fighter craft on our tail. We stop for any length of time and they will catch us.”

  “I'll fly her,” Inquisitor Cer said. “You take care of the leak.”

  “Fine,” B'taav said. “But if the damage is really bad, we will stop.”

  “How long before you know?”

  “A half hour, give or take. Even with the air units at full blast, it's going to be hot as hell in the Engine room and the air within will be borderline toxic. A half hour is about all the time we'll have.”

  “Can’t we suit up?”

  “No. The place is cramped enough. Based on the speeds this ship is doing, I’m guessing you’ve made some improvements, the type that required a proportional elimination of the free space available within the engine compartments.”

  Maddox eyed Inquisitor Cer.

  “Keep her moving,” he said before escorting the Independent out of the cockpit.

  B’taav and Maddox sprinted down to Engine Room 3.

  For B’taav, it was the first time he saw other parts of this vessel. The view was hardly memorable. Empty corridors and shut doors gave B’taav precious little new information about the craft he was piloting or the passengers it carried.

  “I’ll need tools,” B’taav said.

  “We’ve got a room filled with them on the way down.”

  They stopped at the entrance of Engine 3. B’taav carried his bag of tools as well and replacement circuitry. The Independent felt the engine's door with the palm of his hand.

  “She’s running really hot,” he said.

  Maddox followed B'taav's lead and also laid his hand on the door. No sooner did he touch it that he let out a yelp and drew his hand back.

  “Hot as blazes.”

  B’taav stepped up to an intercom unit on the wall beside the door.

  “Inquisitor Cer,” he called out.

  “Yes, B’taav?” came his answer through the speaker.

  “We’re in the corridor outside engine room 3. I need you to set the air unit to maximum cooling for the engine room.”

  “The AC is alre
ady at a maximum.”

  “Then get the corridor cooled down as well.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  It took a few seconds for the air to filter in from the ceiling wall. The corridor’s temperature dropped noticeably.

  “OK,” B’taav said. He grasped the engine room door’s handle and gave it a sharp tug. He stepped back as a wave of steaming air flooded into the corridor.

  “You can’t go in there!” Maddox exclaimed. He held his hand to his mouth.

  “Either I do, or we shut the engines down.”

  Maddox placed a cloth over his mouth and coughed.

  “Let’s go.”

  “No need for both of us inside,” B’taav countered. “Just keep this door open. Whatever cool airs makes its way in there helps.”

  B’taav took a cautious sniff and sensed the bitter acid and oily discharges.

  “On second thought, you should close the door and head back. The atmosphere is already turning poisonous.”

  “You’re not leaving my sight, B’taav. Besides, I’m not losing one of the crew. Even if it is you.”

  “Fine, but if you feel lightheaded, don’t stay.” B’taav drew several sharp breaths. “Give me no more than twenty minutes…”

  “I doubt this engine will last much longer than that,” Maddox said before letting out another cough. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  As bad as the heat spilling into the outer corridor was, entering Engine Room 3 proved far worse.

  B’taav covered his mouth with a strip of cloth, even though he knew it offered minimal protection. As expected, there was very little space to move within the engine room, and it was far too tight to bring in a fully functional breathing apparatus or environmental suit. Even without this bulky equipment, B'taav knew he would need to press his body through some very tight, and extremely hot, spaces.

  This is going to hurt.

  Before he moved deeper into the room, B’taav checked a computer panel before the engines. The panel’s monitor displayed detailed information regarding the engine’s status. It noted a loss of coolant pressure to subsection 3, at the farthest end of the room.

  “Figures,” B'taav sighed.

  The Independent pushed forward. His path, a narrow walkway, was clear. The engine throbbed and hummed as it should, yet the Independent also noted the unmistakable sounds of heavy strain. At the end of the walkway he was forced to crouch past a red hot tube, and then climb over another rectangular piece of machinery. Deeper and deeper B’taav pushed and the air, throbbing sounds, and claustrophobic setting engulfed his senses.

  Still he moved forward.

  B'taav gingerly avoided brushing against any of the machinery, yet despite his best efforts he couldn’t help but stray. Minor burns didn’t affect him, but as he crawled forward, he accidentally pressed his left arm against one of the many tubes surrounding him. He let out a yell.

  “How’s it going?” Maddox called out.

  “I’m having the time of my life,” B’taav yelled back.

  “You can’t say it’s been a dull date.”

  The Independent shook his head and squeezed between rectangular cases, searing his clothing as he moved, before finally sliding on his stomach through a particularly narrow aperture. He felt hot, oily liquids soak his shirt and pants.

  Coolant fluid.

  He knew he was very close to the problem. B’taav reached into his bag and pulled out a flashlight. He ran it along the walls and spotted a ruptured feeding tube.

  Let it be all that’s wrong, the Independent prayed.

  He crawled forward a couple of more feet, all the while fighting off a growing nausea, until he reached the leak. It was hard to tell the cause of the rupture, and B'taav decided not to try. From his bag B’taav removed a roll of Stern tape and wrapped a dense layer around the damaged tube.

  At any other time, doing so would be an easy task, but B’taav found it difficult to concentrate on the job. His eyes were dry and a dull throbbing headache made it almost impossible to think clearly. Even worse, anytime the Independent leaned in too close, he felt a jolt of electricity.

  “Come on,” B’taav muttered.

  He was taking too long, and the longer he remained...

  Snap out of it. Get it done and get the hell out of here.

  It took several agonizing minutes to cover the damage. By that point, the Stern tape had hardened until it became a solid mass. The only way to remove it would be to replace the feeding tube entirely. B’taav analyzed his work and was satisfied the leak was sealed.

  He began the long trip back.

  In the Independent's mind, this journey felt like it took hours. Meter after painful meter he moved, until, thankfully, he was free from the tight spaces. B'taav climbed to his feet and, for a second, blacked out.

  He leaned against a hot wall and heard the sound of his clothing sizzle, yet the pain came from a million miles away. B’taav stumbled toward the exit door.

  “I’m done,” he said.

  There was no reply.

  Maddox sat beside the outer door, his head down. The fumes and heat had overwhelmed him.

  B’taav ignored the bartender and examined the engine's computer monitor.

  The sensors indicated the room’s temperature was lower and the operating system was green. The danger that the engine would overheat was over. However, the air remained toxic. The air purifiers were offline.

  B’taav coughed and stepped past Maddox and to the front corner of the room. The air system’s controls were only a few feet away and did not require any contortion on B’taav’s part to reach them. He leaned down and drew a screwdriver from his black tool bag and unscrewed the paneling.

  As he did, the screwdriver slipped from his fingers and hit the floor. B’taav reached down to get it, and immediately felt his consciousness slip.

  I have to do this, the Independent thought. He shook his head and momentarily cleared his mind.

  The Independent grabbed the screwdriver and loosened the remaining bolts. With sluggish effort he pried the paneling off. It dropped to the ground with a bang and the Independent stared at the computer system. What he saw was a blur of darkness and blinking red lights.

  He closed and rubbed his eyes several times and tried to get a better look at what lay in front of him. His vision worsened. Suddenly, all the sounds around him stopped.

  B’taav felt his stomach churn. His body felt heavy, so very, very heavy. He needed to sit down. He needed to…

  The Independent tried one last, desperate attempt to make out the controls before him. He couldn’t. Everything was dark.

  He saw nothing at all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  When he awoke, B’taav was lying flat on his back and staring up at the engine room’s ceiling. His vision remained foggy, but at least he could see. Even better, the toxic air was all but gone. The air purification system was running.

  B’taav closed his eyes and allowed a few seconds to pass. Whatever lingering nausea still bubbled within him was settling down. When he reopened his eyes, a young boy was standing over him.

  The boy couldn't have been more than eight years old. He stood only five feet tall and had dark black hair and bright blue eyes. He held a small red ball. The child ignored the Independent lying just below him. His eyes were on the air purification paneling B’taav opened before blacking out.

  “What are you doing here?” someone said.

  The boy didn’t turn or react to whoever spoke. B’taav sat up. The speaker was Maddox. His voice was weak.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

  Maddox was on his knees by the door leading into the engine room. His face was pale and his eyes were red. He tried to keep his voice soft and his words soothing. It took a great effort to do so but it was in vain. The boy did not answer. Instead, he bounced his ball and caught it, then bounced it again.

  Maddox got to his feet and made his way to the boy's si
de. He gently grabbed his left hand.

  “You need to get back to your mother,” Maddox said.

  B’taav sat up and rubbed his head. He followed the boy’s gaze. The child was staring at the green lights flashing across the air purification system's controls. The burnt out microchips were replaced.

  “You did a good job,” Maddox told B’taav as he escorted the boy out of the engine room. “What say we get the hell out of here?”

  “You’ll get no argument from me.”

  B’taav rose. He couldn’t recall finding, much less replacing, the inoperative coolant system microchips.

  Don’t know what you did, or how you did it, but it’s fixed.

  B'taav was in no condition to further analyze anything and decided it was best to simply follow Maddox and the boy out of the engine room.

  B’taav tossed and turned and awoke feeling more exhausted than when he went to sleep. He washed his face and brushed his teeth before heading to the door leading out of his room. The Independent knocked twice and in seconds Rasp unlocked and opened it.

  The silent man accompanied B’taav down the corridor and straight to the ship’s cockpit. Along the way, B’taav heard the distant sound of a ball bouncing against the metal floor. It was a sound he had heard before, now and again, but only now realized its origin.

  “Hello again,” B’taav said.

  The boy stood at the end of the corridor. He was dressed in a gray jumpsuit and had the same dull stare. He offered the Independent neither greeting nor reply.

  Rasp laid his hand on B’taav’s shoulder and squeezed.

  B’taav said nothing more. He resumed his walk to the cockpit but abruptly stopped when a door beside them slid open. A gray haired lady in her mid-fifties rushed into the corridor and almost ran into the duo.

  “Sorry,” she muttered before looking away. She spotted the boy and the worry in her face faded.

  “There you are!” she said. She tried to sound cheerful despite her obvious concern. “Come on child, it’s time for dinner. What would you like to eat?”