The Last Flight of the Argus

by E. R. Torre

  She didn’t expect any answer.

  “I’ve got mashed potatoes and gravy and chocolate cake,” she continues as she escorted the boy away.

  When she passed the Independent, her eyes momentarily settled on his. Her lips tightened and she offered a nod, a small acknowledgement and greeting wrapped in one, before turning her attention back to her child. The two returned to the room the lady emerged from.

  When they were gone, Rasp tugged at B’taav shoulder.

  “Lead the way,” the Independent said.

  As he approached the sixth hour of his latest shift, B’taav found it hard to keep his eyes open. His time in the engine room wiped out his energy and the taste of toxic air lingered in the back of his throat. Even more bothersome were the burns on his hands and throughout his body.

  Could have been worse.

  Even as that thought entered in his mind, it suddenly was.

  B’taav straightened in his chair and stared out the starboard side window. Running a parallel course to their ship and far off in the distance was another vessel.

  B’taav gripped the steering yoke and pushed down hard, sending the ship into a steep dive. She skimmed a very large asteroid and hid behind it and out of the other ship's line of sight.

  B’taav swore.

  He didn’t get a good look at this vessel and, for all he knew, she was a scavenger craft and not part of Daniels’ search team. Then again, they were so far away from Titus…

  B’taav eyed the long range sensor control. How useful it would be to click it on, for only a second, and get some idea of what –and who– lay so close by.

  But then they’ll get a very good look at us, won’t they?

  Maddox, who usually watched over B’taav near the end of his shifts, wasn’t there at this hour. Sitting beside the Independent was Rasp. He eyed the Independent’s actions with great curiosity.

  “Sorry for sudden turn,” B’taav told his companion. “I spotted a ship. She might be a scavenger, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

  Rasp pressed a button beside the navigator’s chair. A low, angry alarm buzzed through the cockpit.

  “Turn that damned thing off,” B’taav said. “I can’t concentrate.”

  Rasp allowed the alarm to sound for a few more seconds before shutting it off. By that time, Maddox and Inquisitor Cer entered the bridge. They looked out the windows and at the monitors that displayed a view of outer space from the underside of the ship.

  “What did you see?” Maddox asked.

  “A single ship, off to the starboard side,” B’taav said. “She couldn’t have been much more than two hundred kilometers away.”

  Rasp allowed Inquisitor Cer to take the co-pilot’s chair. She activated her console and hit several buttons before the whine of the engines decreased.

  “You’re slowing us down?” Maddox asked her. “Why?”

  “Phaecian ships use energy readings as well as long range sensors to pinpoint nearby crafts. The less energy we expend the less chance they pick us up. I imagine it’s the same with your Epsillon crafts.”

  “It is,” B’taav said. “As long as we remain hidden behind these asteroids and don't send out too many energy flares, it'll be hard for them to spot us. But we will need to alter our course.”

  “Why?”

  “If she’s one of Daniels’ craft, there are bound to be others nearby. We need to fall back, perhaps circle around.”

  “How far?”

  “I’d recommend a thousand kilometer arc, at the very least.”

  “At this speed, it might take us an extra day,” Maddox said and shook his head. “We can’t afford to waste that much time.”

  “We’ll waste considerably more if we’re caught.”

  “No,” Maddox insisted. “We need to find an alternative.”

  B’taav sighed.

  “It’s very difficult for me to figure out alternatives without knowing where we’re going.”

  “Listen, Independent,” Maddox began. “The last thing I need is—”

  Inquisitor Cer turned away from her monitor and looked squarely into Maddox’s eyes. Maddox caught her icy stare.

  “Look,” B'taav said. “So far I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I haven’t made any demands and I haven’t asked many questions. But things have changed. Daniels’ boys are close, and if we make any mistakes, it will mean the end of our little trip. I need to know where we’re going. That’s the only way I could even begin to plan our route.”

  “You’re hardly in a position to demand anything.”

  “That’s enough,” Inquisitor Cer said. “B’taav knows how to fly and he’s had experience avoiding Daniels. Might I suggest, Mister Maddox, that we spare any more wasted time in pointless arguments and either give our co-pilot the coordinates of our destination and use his skills to plan our trip there or take him back to his room.”

  Maddox’s face reddened, but he offered the Inquisitor no counter argument. Instead, he motioned for Rasp to leave the cockpit. The silent man did so.

  When he was gone, Maddox squeezed between the two pilot chairs and pushed a series of buttons under the central monitor.

  “We have two days flight left before arriving at our destination,” the bartender said. He pressed another series of buttons and the navigational monitor before B’taav’s side lit up.

  “This is where we’re going,” Maddox continued. The center of the monitor displayed a single asteroid within a group of many more.

  “An asteroid?” B’taav asked. “That’s our destination?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “You asked where we're going and I’ve told you. The rest can wait.”

  B’taav considered the coordinates. He pressed several buttons and the monitor screen split in four, displaying the current position of the Pilgrimage in relation to their destination. He pressed another series of buttons and a single blip indicated where the Independent guessed the ship he spotted was located along with the direction she was taking.

  “What are our odds of getting where we need to go before they overtake us?”

  B’taav ran several flight path simulations on the computer before settling on three he felt offered the best chance of a safe arrival. Each involved considerable use of asteroid cover.

  “What are our odds?” Maddox repeated.

  “We won’t know until we try.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  The first hour after spotting the spacecraft was tension filled. There was a very real fear that Lieutenant Daniels and his forces could descend on the Pilgrimage at any second. After that first hour passed, however, those tensions eased. Inquisitor Cer lingered in the bridge for a little afterwards. She reluctantly returned to her quarters, leaving B’taav, Maddox, and Rasp behind.

  The last thing the ship needed, especially now, were two exhausted pilots.

  B’taav skirted the edges of several large asteroids, more than once actually scraping the ship’s underside. There were no complaints from either of his crewmates. As long as they were headed in the right direction and avoided detection, they were fine if their space craft suffered a few bumps and bruises.

  By the end of his shift, B’taav was spent. His hands shook from the strain of gripping the ship’s yoke and his head throbbed.

  Inquisitor Cer took over the controls and noted the progress made to their destination. Because of the proximity the ship kept to the asteroids, her speed was much reduced. Instead of two full days before their arrival, they were looking at closer to three.

  “We need to go faster,” Inquisitor Cer said after taking control of the ship.

  “I don’t disagree,” B’taav said. “But it’s easier said than done. We could change things up.”

  “You have an idea?”

  “Yes. We cut the shifts to four hours each. It'll keep us fresher.”

  “I’ll see you in four hours,” Inquisitor Cer said. “Rest up.”

  “I will,” B’taav replied.
“Good night.”

  The four hour shifts proved more intense than the eight hour shifts, if only because each time B’taav came on, he pushed the Pilgrimage’s speed well beyond what he considered safe limits. Based on the distances covered while he rested, it was clear Inquisitor Cer did the same.

  Once in a while, a loose piece of rock, at times the size of a human head, slammed against parts of the ship. The speed of the debris around them, thankfully, was slow in relation to their craft, and there was little danger of rupturing the hull. Over time, the near constant sounds of rocks slamming into the ship proved unnerving.

  “She’ll need a new paint job,” B’taav said after one such object skipped off the hull.

  Rasp, the Independent’s sole audience, offered no response.

  More hours passed.

  Toward the end of his latest shift, and with their destination no longer very far away, the Independent's thoughts turned to what would happen when they did arrive. Would the crew still need him? If they didn’t, then what? Would he be escorted to the decompression chamber once more, and this time offered only one way to leave?

  “How are we doing?” Maddox asked as he entered the cockpit.

  “Not bad,” B’taav said. He barely noticed Rasp leave.

  “Keeping the pilot shifts short has proven a good idea, Independent. We’ve trimmed some time.”

  “More importantly we’re down to five more hours before our arrival at the...asteroid,” B’taav said. “Give or take.”

  Maddox sat on the vacated navigator’s chair just behind B’taav. He closed his eyes and let his head settle back. The stress of the trip was evident in his face as well.

  “You should get some rest, too.”

  “They’ll be plenty of time afterwards,” Maddox said.

  Despite his words, the bartender’s eyelids dropped. A little while later, his breathing grew heavy.

  B’taav let the bartender sleep. His eyes wandered across the length of the front windows, searching hard for any sign of pursuing craft while keeping the ship as close to cover as possible. So focused was he on this task that he was startled to find someone standing beside him.

  It was the black haired boy from days before, the one he found –or rather had found him– in the engine room. In the boy’s hands was his ever-present red ball.

  “This isn’t the time, kid” B’taav said. He kept his voice low so as not to startle the child or awaken Maddox. “You should get back to your quarters and your mother.”

  Instead of doing so, the boy walked to the co-pilot’s chair, to the left of B’taav, and sat down. Curiosity got the better of the Independent.

  “What’s your name?” he asked the child.

  The boy did not reply.

  “How old are you?”

  Again, no reply.

  “Can you speak at all? No?”

  The boy stared out the window.

  “You’re right,” B’taav said. “That’s where my attention should be.”

  B’taav's focus returned to his piloting. Now and again, however, he glanced at the boy. He watched in fascination as the child examined the de-activated controls before him. After a while he let his red ball slip from his fingers. It fell to the floor. The boy pressed several of the de-activated buttons. His dull, sleepy eyes suddenly came alive. It was as if he had some primitive recognition of the function of what lay before him.

  “That’s how we fly the ship,” B’taav said. The boy grabbed the co-pilot’s yoke and pushed it forward. His movements proved graceful.

  “That’s how we maneuver.”

  The boy released the yoke and allowed it to settle into a neutral position. He then grabbed and pulled at it once more. B’taav allowed the boy to continue playing. After a few minutes, it dawned on him the boy wasn't playing after all. He was mimicking the Independent's moves. When B’taav turned the ship to the left, the boy turned his de-activated yoke in the same direction. When he pressed any series of buttons, the boy did the same on his station.

  “You’re a natural,” B’taav said. At this point, he didn’t expect the child to reply. He was shocked when the boy did.

  “…nat…” the boy muttered.

  “What was that?”

  The boy’s eyes were focused forward, his hands steering the ship with the inactive control.

  B’taav pressed a couple of buttons before him and activated the monitors on the boy’s side.

  “Take a look,” he said.

  The boy’s eyes shifted down to the monitors. On them were readouts of the ship’s status and flight path. The boy stared at the monitors for a few seconds before looking out the front window again. All the while, he continued copying B’taav’s moves.

  B’taav slowed the ship down and performed a tight glide past three tumbling rocks. He banked the craft then steered her hard to the right. He turned the ship’s power up and fractionally increased her velocity before slowing her down and banking once again. The procedure required many actions on his part. When the ship cleared the latest barrier, he glanced at the boy. To his surprise, he realized the child was no longer mimicking his actions.

  He was anticipating them.

  “How could you know?”

  A familiar hiss came from the rear of the cockpit, indicating the door leading inside slid open. The gray haired lady entered the bridge.

  “Nathaniel!” she said.

  Maddox stirred but did not awaken.

  The woman hurriedly approached the boy. She picked his red ball up from the floor and spun the co-pilot’s chair around.

  “I hope he didn’t bother you,” she said.

  “He’s been great company,” B'taav replied. “I'm sorry I didn't call to tell you he was here. Then again, I don't think I'm allowed to use the intercom. And even if I did, I wouldn't know who to address.”

  The boy noted the ball in his mother’s hand. His right hand reached for it, but before it did he noticed B’taav. The sullen expression on his face melted. A very small smile found its way onto his faded lips.

  The gray haired lady noticed this.

  “He’s never done anything like that before,” she said. When she spoke, the child’s smile disappeared. He again stared at his red ball.

  “I gave Nathaniel his medication a while ago,” the gray haired lady continued. “He usually goes to sleep afterwards and, frankly, so do I. And I did. He was sleeping, but at some point he must have gotten up and decided to wander.”

  “Medication?”

  “He’s not entirely well, as you've probably noticed. I do the best I can for him, but fear he will never function as an independent adult.”

  “I don’t mean to pry, but have you taken him to a specialist?” B’taav asked. “There must be some kind of procedure…?”

  “None,” the gray haired lady said. “There was a chance, years ago, when he was a newborn, to treat the infection that crippled his nervous system. Unfortunately, my late husband and I were living in a rather distant world at that time and didn’t have the advantages of modern medicine or technology. It wasn’t until he was four years old that we were able to get him proper care. By then, it was too late.”

  “Sorry.”

  “At least the medication helps. And who knows, maybe one day…”

  She didn’t finish her thought. She motioned to Maddox.

  “He’s been through a lot.”

  “He's not the only one.”

  “Perhaps, when this is over, we can sit down and formally introduce ourselves.”

  “That would be illuminating.”

  “How are we doing?”

  “We're getting very close to our destination and we haven’t been discovered by Daniels’ boys. I'd say we're doing pretty well.”

  “Where are they?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “Why don’t you use the ship sensors?”

  “That wouldn’t be a very good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “The sensor’s resonant waves
give us a view of the area and whatever ships are within range, but the signal’s source can be back-tracked. Those hunting us will have a very clear look at our location. Use the sensors and we see them, but they will see us.”

  “Oh. Well, we’re confident you’ll get us safety to where we’re going.”

  “We?”

  “If I say any more, your sleeping friend will get upset.”

  The gray haired lady leaned closer to the Independent.

  “Suffice to say, B’taav, we have confidence that you’ll get us to safety.” She leaned back and looked around the blank monitors before staring out at the asteroids floating around the ship. The frustration of not knowing what lay around the Pilgrimage was evident on her face. “I really do wish we could use those sensors,” she muttered.

  All was quiet for a few seconds. B'taav took the ship through its paces while the gray haired lady watched. All was serene. All was peaceful.

  And then an ear shattering clatter filled the bridge and the cockpit was bathed in a dull red light. Screeching alarms blared and B’taav lurched forward. His eyes ran across the control panel. It took him a moment to realize the ship's long-range sensors were activated. On the sensor monitor B’taav spotted nearly a dozen blips off the starboard side of the Pilgrimage. He immediately shut the sensor off, but the damage was done.

  “What happened?” the gray haired lady asked.

  “Someone turned on the long-range sensors,” B’taav said. “I…I got a peek at where Daniels’ boys were.”

  “And they saw us…?”

  B’taav’s normally pale features turned even paler.

  “Of course.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  “What the hell is going on?”

  The voice was Maddox’s. His eyes were still half closed but he was waking fast. The door leading into the bridge opened and Cer ran into the room. She drew her fusion gun and trained it at B’taav.

  “What the hell happened?” Maddox continued. “Why did you set off the sensors?”

  B’taav slowly lifted his hands. He did not respond, instead allowing Inquisitor Cer a clear view of the cockpit controls. The frown on her forehead deepened when she noted the boy sitting in the co-pilot’s chair and the displays on his monitor.