The Last Flight of the Argus

by E. R. Torre

  The Pilgrimage came to a jarring stop when it collided head on with the asteroid. The ship’s front section crumpled while her rear remained largely intact.

  “This is Tango 13 calling Dakota,” Oscar Theodor said. “Cargo ship Pilgrimage has collided with the asteroid. Repeat, Pilgrimage has collided with the asteroid. She is heavily damaged but structure remains stable. I do not see –I repeat– I do not see any evidence of a breach or loss of internal atmosphere. It is possible there are survivors aboard. Awaiting further instructions.”

  “This is Dakota,” Lieutenant Daniels replied. “Maintain your distance. Wait for us to arrive.”

  “Sir? If someone survived that crash, they’ll need medical—”

  “I heard you the first time. Now listen to me: Maintain your distance and wait for us to arrive.”

  “Yes sir,” Theodor said and shut the communicator off. “I heard you the first time, too, you cold blooded bastard.”

  The twenty four Tango ships did as ordered and kept their distance from the damaged cargo ship. The asteroid the Pilgrimage collided against slowly spun away.

  Idle chatter filled the communicators as members of the flight crews calculated how long it would take before the Dakota arrived and they would be allowed to help those trapped or injured within the useless craft. Ten minutes later, they were glad they were ordered to keep their distance.

  It was at that point that an onboard explosive ripped the Pilgrimage to pieces.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  In the shadow of an asteroid far from the Pilgrimage's remains and just outside the Tango fighter's snare, there was movement. At first slow, then quicker. The object was tiny, less than one twentieth the size of the Pilgrimage. Its slender, cylindrical shape identified her as an escape sled, a bare bones vessel used by crews either in the event of catastrophic failure of the mother craft or as a device to transport personnel from one ship to another.

  The escape sled was a skeletal metal frame propelled by a small engine and open to space. Its range was short. Efficiency, and not comfort, was the primary concern in her construction and use.

  The pilot eased the craft around several asteroids. He ignored the momentary flash of light that lit up the area far before him.

  He and the co-pilot, their features hidden beneath bulky silver environmental suits, worked the controls and increased the sled’s speed. They were still many kilometers from their destination, and there was the very real fear the craft would not have the fuel to make it that far.

  The pilot stole a glance behind, at the other passengers in the sled. Somehow, ten people fit into the remaining cramped space. The passengers’ features were also hidden beneath their environmental suits, but the pilot knew at least one of them for he was much smaller than the rest.

  The boy with the red ball.

  It took nearly a full day of careful piloting before the sled pulled in very close to an enormous gray asteroid. Its two pilots were directed by one of the passengers to the lower section of this rock and told to maintain their position. The passenger giving the orders then activated a transmitter and a faint red light come to life in the asteroid’s lower quarter.

  A small, perfectly rectangular section of the asteroid moved forward and slid away, like some rocky window, revealing a dark, cavernous space within. A faint pattern of white lights that faded into the distance came on. It was a landing strip used to direct ships inside the asteroid.

  “Go on,” Maddox, the man with the transmitter, instructed the pilots.

  They activated the sled’s thrusters and their craft floated inside the hidden base. Afterwards, the rectangular doors shut behind them.

  The pilots flew the sled forward, following the landing lights. Soon, they arrived at a small landing strip.

  The sled’s pilot couldn’t help but marvel at what he saw. There was enough space here for three class C cargo ships like the Pilgrimage. There was little doubt that at more than one time in the past, this landing site was fully occupied. At this moment, however, there was only one large, and very old, spacecraft parked within. The escape sled landed beside her.

  “Xendos,” one of the pilots muttered, reading the faded lettering that identified the ancient craft.

  In seconds the escape sled’s magnetic landing clamps were activated and the vehicle was locked down. The pilots shut their control panel and the lights of their environmental suits came on.

  “We’re here,” B’taav said. “Now what?”

  The Tango squad pilots weren’t experts when it came to salvage protocol, yet did the best they could in recovering the fragmented remains of the Pilgrimage. Afterwards, they returned to the Dakota which, by that point, was parked just outside the search zone.

  One hour after returning to their mother ship, the pieces of the Pilgrimage were spread out on landing strip 12 of the battleship. Lieutenant Daniels eyed those pieces and motioned to the salvage specialists combing through the debris.

  “Any sign of human remains?”

  The salvage specialist closest to Lieutenant Daniels shook her head.

  “None whatsoever, sir.”

  Lieutenant Daniels nodded.

  “Just as I thought,” he said. “That’s the second decoy they’ve thrown our way.”

  B’taav and Inquisitor Cer stepped out of the escape sled and climbed down her short metal ladder. In the airless zero gravity within the asteroid, they did not feel the drag of the suit’s weight on them. They were thankful to stretch, and imagined the other passengers were just as eager to get out of their seats as well. Maddox, however, instructed them to wait.

  B’taav and Inquisitor Cer stepped lightly onto the landing strip floor and kicked up a layer of dust. The lights within the landing bay were very dim, and the duo could barely see the roof or far walls.

  Inquisitor Cer removed a small black case from the underside of the sled and turned her attention to the Xendos. She admired the ancient craft for a few seconds while B’taav increased the power to his suit’s lights. He walked past Cer and to a double door sculpted into the asteroid wall. It led, B’taav presumed, into the asteroid base itself. Inquisitor Cer approached his side and examined the door's controls. Her mind remained on the Xendos.

  “Class 34 Phaecian Cargo ship,” Inquisitor Cer said. “You don’t see many of them around anymore. She was discontinued—”

  “There will be time to admire her afterwards,” Maddox said.

  “Yes sir,” B’taav replied and waved to the seated passengers.

  “Remember, we'll hear everything you say,” Maddox continued.

  B'taav and Cer understood. The environmental suits on board the Pilgrimage were simple, and cheap, civilian fare and contained equally simple communication devices. The devices transmitted on a standard frequency and, as long as they were within range, all others in the environmental suits or using communication equipment could hear what was said between them. There were no secondary channels, there was no encryption software. All conversations were public.

  B'taav glanced at his co-pilot. “Let's not keep our audience waiting.”

  Inquisitor Cer opened the door’s control panel and replaced the long drained energy cell with a fresh one taken from her black case. Remarkably, the door’s controls showed signs of life.

  “I never would have believed this,” B’taav said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because the base is an antique. There must have been some degradation of equipment in all this time.”

  “The last tenants appear to have taken great care in shutting her down properly. Without atmosphere, there is little decay. We just have to give the control panel time to warm up.”

  They did just that. Soon, the control readings were green. Inquisitor Cer entered a code and the door slid open, revealing a long, tight corridor. Here and there were dust covered boxes waiting to be loaded up or put away, but ultimately cursed to remain exactly where they were.

  Cer and B’taav followed the corridor to a larg
e metal door. A wilted yellow plaque identified the area beyond the door as the control tower.

  Inquisitor Cer removed another, larger energy cell from her black case and, after opening this door’s control panel, replaced a similarly sized depleted cell. In seconds, the door locks were charged and ready for operation.

  “Two for two,” B’taav marveled. “Say what you will, they don’t make ‘em like they used to.”

  Inquisitor Cer nodded.

  “Maddox, this is Cer. We have the control room door powered up.”

  “Understood,” Maddox replied. His voice was marred by static. The base was constructed to dampen communication signals, for fear that outside ears might hear.

  “We’ll need the code now,” B’taav said.

  Maddox listed a series of numbers and repeated them.

  Inquisitor Cer keyed the code into the panel. Both Cer and B’taav then stepped back as the ancient door slid open, revealing the cramped control tower and walls filled with ancient computer equipment.

  “We’re in,” Inquisitor Cer said.

  B’taav examined the equipment and zeroed in on the base’s life support system.

  “Over here.”

  “I haven’t seen anything like this in quite a while,” Inquisitor Cer said. She removed a pair of panel covers, eventually finding the life support system’s energy cells. They were far larger than those that operated either of the doors they already passed.

  “This will take a few minutes.”

  Inquisitor Cer removed the straps which kept the cell in place. She set the depleted batteries aside and, for the third time, reached into her black case and retrieved fresh cells. The modern power cell was a fraction of the old cell’s size, but Inquisitor Cer had anticipated the discrepancy. She reached deeper into her black case and pulled out a cradle. She placed the fresh power cell into this cradle and then snapped the cradle into place.

  When Inquisitor Cer was done, she gazed at the terminal monitors. They flickered on after a minute or two. Three of the six monitors sputtered and immediately went dark. Another displayed a faint, blurry image. The remaining two, however, were as good as new. The command options were displayed with crystal clarity.

  Inquisitor Cer keyed in a few commands.

  “How long has it been since anyone was here?”

  “Curious?”

  “If I wasn’t, you’d need to check if I still had a pulse.”

  “Obviously, she’s been here for well over two hundred years and rendered obsolete the second the Erebus War ended. That might be the last time anyone was on board.”

  “When did the base become operational?”

  “That I don’t know,” Cer said. “Could have been a hundred, maybe even two hundred years before the war. Back then, both sides spent unholy amounts of money on intelligence gathering.”

  “Both sides?”

  “To date, we’ve found twenty Epsillon bases similar to this one hidden on our side of Erebus. I doubt we’ve found them all.”

  “Even if you did, I'm not so sure any of our equipment would work after all these years.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “You think they expected someone to come back?”

  “We’re here, aren’t we?”

  “Enough with the chit chat,” Maddox interrupted. “How long before the life support is up?”

  “It will take at least a half hour for the computers to complete a system review. Afterwards, the repair robots will be sent out to take care of whatever problems are found in the various systems. They will do this in order of seriousness.”

  “Let’s just hope the repair robots don’t need repairs themselves,” B'taav said.

  “Anything else, we’ll have to wait and see,” Cer said.

  “What if we can’t activate the life support systems?” Maddox asked.

  “The environmental controls within our suits provide no more than two full days’ worth of air and heat,” Inquisitor Cer said. “If we are to make it any further, our only hope lies in getting these systems working.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  They waited a little over a half hour before Inquisitor Cer activated the central computers. Their processing time was slow compared to modern systems and both she and B’taav worried the computer's internal organs might be damaged. In time, however, all command screens came up.

  “We’re in,” Inquisitor Cer said. She worked the controls and asked for and received information on the status of each and every one of the life support systems within the asteroid base.

  “What do you have?” Maddox asked after a while.

  “I see a few interruptions in the auxiliary circuitry. Minor stuff.”

  “And the energy grid?”

  Inquisitor Cer’s fingers clumsily worked the keyboard.

  “It’s damaged,” she said.

  “How bad?”

  “We’ve got roughly sixty percent power flow.”

  “Are you sure?” Maddox asked. There was alarm in his voice.

  “Yes. The diagnostic system is crude compared to what we have today, but I’ve isolated at least five major problems.”

  “Are they repairable?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sixty percent is pretty good for a system that hasn’t been used for two hundred years,” B’taav said.

  “Good. But not good enough.”

  “What about the repair robots?”

  “If these readings are accurate, only a third of them are still active. They are—”

  Inquisitor Cer pointed to the other side of the room. One of the repair robots, a small square box with a set of black wheels, scurried past them and entered an open panel.

  “Anything you can do to hurry the process?” an impatient Maddox asked.

  “There’s always something to do,” Inquisitor Cer replied.

  B’taav and Cer moved past dark corridors and deeper into the body of the abandoned Phaecian base. The place was a model of Spartan functionality. Rooms and corridors were no larger than they absolutely needed to be. The furniture, all of it bolted to the floors, was boxy, firm, and uncomfortable.

  B’taav and Cer spent an hour criss-crossing the station and repairing energy lines and computer systems. The maintenance storage room proved the only room within the base still carrying a full complement of supplies. The station’s last occupants removed all foods and weapons before departing.

  “Other than the obvious, what did they do here during the war?” B’taav asked.

  Inquisitor Cer lowered her tools. The faceplate of her helmet, as was the case with B’taav’s, was fogged because of her heavy breathing resulting from their strenuous work.

  “You mean other than spy on the Epsillon war efforts? They left behind a cargo craft. Perhaps at one time or another they used it to raids merchant vessels and confiscate their supplies.”

  “Wouldn’t that attract unwanted attention?”

  “Of course. More likely the ship was used for exactly what it was designed: To ferry cargo to the base. For its time, it was quick and she is armed. She has a single fusion cannon mounted on its front.”

  “Hardly a fearsome offensive, or defensive, weapon.”

  “Yet a weapon nonetheless.”

  “Ok, so she moved supplies to this base. Where did she get those supplies from? It’s not like a Phaecian vessel could slip undetected into an Epsillon Displacer and take a ride across the border. Not unless—”

  B’taav didn’t finish his thought. A knowing smile appear on his face.

  “You guys had your own Displacer around here, didn’t you?”

  “At one time. It didn’t survive the explosion.”

  “I believe you,” B’taav said after a while.

  “Oh? Why?”

  “If it still existed, I doubt you would have admitted you had it in the first place.”

  B’taav and Cer returned to the control room a full three full hours after originally leaving it. They were hungry and tired but pleased w
ith their progress. The damaged energy grid was mostly patched up. Energy readings indicated that the station’s power was a little over the desired seventy-five percent.

  “Maddox, do you read me?” Inquisitor Cer said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “We’re ready to activate life support and artificial gravity.”

  “Understood. We’re going to stay strapped in the sled until you initiate the artificial gravity.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Easy with the increments,” B’taav said. “We wouldn’t want anything to come crashing down too hard.”

  Inquisitor Cer pressed a series of buttons and both she and B’taav felt a slow increase in the pull of gravity. After so long without it, it was a welcome feeling. On the opposite side of the room, a pair of crates floating knee-high gently touched down on the floor. All around the station similar items also dropped.

  “The station now has standard gravity,” Cer said.

  “Acknowledged,” Maddox replied. “Now, get the life support systems online. We’d like to get out of these suits.”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  Inquisitor Cer worked the controls some more. Reading indicated a rise in temperature, but because of their environmental suits, neither B’taav nor Inquisitor Cer felt the change. Soon, the displays indicated the station once again had breathable air.

  “I'm seeing no leaks. Atmosphere is stable.”

  “And the temperature?”

  “Best I can do is three degrees Celsius.”

  “Chilly, but livable,” B’taav said. “Now comes the hard part: Taking off our suits. How much faith do we have in the readouts from these old computers?”

  “Just like an Independent to question an Inquisitor’s faith,” Cer said. She reached into one of her suit’s pockets and removed a small black environmental sensor. She activated it and, after reading the results, nodded.

  “That old computer had it right,” Inquisitor Cer said and offered the Independent a wink. “Faith can take you far, but verification completes your journey.”