The Last Flight of the Argus

by E. R. Torre

  Maddox didn’t move. His eyes were volcanic fire and locked onto the Independent.

  “I suspect B'taav knows you don’t like him, so staring him down is rather pointless,” the gray haired lady said. “Get Rasp out of here.”

  Maddox finally relented. He put away his fusion gun and dragged Rasp out of the engine room.

  “I’m no fool, B’taav,” the gray haired lady said when they were gone. “But neither am I unappreciative. We keep this crazy pace up and it won’t be long before you and Inquisitor Cer are also at each other’s throats. As reluctant as I am to do so, I’ll allow you both some rest. Five hours.”

  She headed to the door leading out of the engine room.

  “Keep your cool, Independent, and maybe -maybe- we’ll cut you in on the action. But get out of hand and I’ll let Rasp, and Maddox, take care of you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The five hour rest flew by, and Inquisitor Cer and B’taav both rose wearily from their cots just outside the engine room of the Xendos. They went back to work and progressed without the added burden of significant fatigue.

  The two replaced almost all the burnt circuits in the engine’s core computer system as well as the last of the fuel lines. Finally, they cleaned the primary energy connections.

  Rasp no longer hovered over B’taav, but the Independent knew at least one camera was still trained on him.

  Later in the evening Inquisitor Cer left him alone, only to return with a tray of food. She ate with the Independent.

  “They said we can have another five hour rest.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “We should unionize. Force them to give us vacation and sick leave.”

  “We’re not going to make the deadline,” Inquisitor Cer said. “We are at great risk.”

  “Agreed. Given the amount of work left to do, I estimate we need at least three more days.”

  “Two days past our deadline.”

  Inquisitor Cer put down her drink.

  “You said it would be dangerous to remain beyond four days, B’taav. What is the risk of staying six?”

  “Lieutenant Daniels is probably using a standard search procedure. He’ll keep his fighters spread out and circling. Their sensors will shine on each asteroid and every crevice within. They know we used some kind of escape craft, and therefore know we can’t be too far away. If they get the Dakota in close enough, they could release the ship’s complement of probes and rewire them so they sense any heat or electronic signature. Even assuming the probes aren’t close, they likely will equip them with a motion detector system. You get a few hundred motion detectors spread out in this zone and every movement will be detected, however minute.”

  “Even if he doesn’t find this base, we might already be trapped.”

  “On the plus side, the asteroids are not stationary. When we launch the Xendos we could emulate their movements. Doing so might allow us to slip through.”

  “You don’t sound very optimistic.”

  “One should always maintain a sense of optimism, so long as it isn’t blind,” the Independent said. “Our advantage is that Lieutenant Daniels doesn’t know when we bailed out of the Pilgrimage and therefore has a lot of space to cover. We need to have faith he doesn’t get lucky.”

  “There you go, talking about faith again.”

  B’taav smiled and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket.

  “Here’s another list of material we need.”

  Cer wearily eyed the paper.

  “Since you brought dinner, it’s a shame I can’t offer a movie in return,” B’taav said. “On the other hand, there isn’t anything quite as romantic as slaving over an antique engine.”

  “That's funny,” Inquisitor Cer replied. “I thought Rasp was more your type.”

  Cer and B’taav exited the Xendos and walked past the escape sled and to the main door leading into the station. It had been a while since B’taav was there and he found the rooms closest to the entry door tidied up and converted into living quarters for the rest of the passengers of the Pilgrimage. None of the room’s occupants, however, were present.

  The two made their way through the narrow passageway and to the storage room. The rooms on either side of this corridor were used as offices during the Erebus War. Their interiors were visible through large glass panels. B’taav noted several small cots within. Some were neatly tended while others showed signs of use.

  When B’taav and Cer were halfway to the storage room, B’taav detected movement in one of the dark, adjoining rooms. The person ran quickly out of a side door, as if in a panic.

  “What is it?” Cer asked

  B’taav’s jet black eyes pierced through the room’s darkness. Inquisitor Cer followed B’taav’s gaze but was unable to detect anything.

  “Call the others,” B’taav said. “Tell them to come here, now.”

  “What is it?”

  “There’s a body in there. Someone's been killed.”

  A communicator appeared in the Inquisitor’s hand.

  “This is Inquisitor Cer. I’m in the corridor outside the main storage room. We have a body in one of the rooms.”

  She put the device away. It took a little while for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. When they did, she too saw the corpse.

  It was a male. He lay face down on a cot. Sheets draped over him spilled onto the floor. The clothing he wore was white, but a large, dark stain covered his back. At the center of the stain protruded the handle of a knife.

  Inquisitor Cer slid her fusion gun from its holster and cautiously stepped through the room’s front door. B’taav followed close behind.

  The two leaned against a metal desk bolted to the floor. Cer tapped B’taav on the shoulder and pointed to a light switch. B’taav reached for it and the room lit up.

  Inquisitor Cer aimed her gun in an arc, covering all corners of the space before her. The Independent approached and examined the body.

  “He's dead alright,” B'taav said.

  Fresh blood covered the man’s back as well as the handle of the knife sticking out of it.

  “It went right through his heart.”

  Inquisitor Cer’s rigid pose relaxed. The Independent and she were the only living occupants in the room. She approached B’taav’s side and, with the Independent’s help, gently turned the man over. The victim’s face was twisted into a mask of pain. He survived only seconds after sustaining this fatal injury.

  “Rasp,” Inquisitor Cer said.

  B’taav’s eyes moved from the corpse and to the half-open side door leading out of the room and into a parallel hallway.

  “Whoever did this went that way,” the Independent said.

  B’taav and Cer stepped to that door. B’taav inched his head closer to the threshold and listened for any sounds coming from beyond. He heard the shuffling of feet.

  “Someone’s heading down the hallway.”

  Cer nodded. She grabbed the door’s handle and pulled. The door didn’t move. Its hinges were frozen. B’taav lent his strength to Cer’s and together they pulled it wide enough for them to pass through.

  “Only a small person could get through that crack,” Cer whispered.

  “You mean the boy? He couldn’t do this.”

  “Maybe he saw who did.”

  The two stepped into darkness. Inquisitor Cer motioned for the Independent to remain behind her. He looked over the hallway and noted it extended forward and to the right. A third corridor, the one behind them, headed back to the landing bay.

  “Do you see anything?”

  “No,” B’taav replied.

  “Which way?”

  “I can’t be sure, and we’ve got three choices,” B’taav said. “It’s best we split up. You go to the right. I’ll scout back to the landing strip and the other hallway. I’ll work my way here and to you.”

  “You might run into the killer.”

  “If I do, I’ll appeal to their better natu
re.”

  Cer reached into her jacket pocket and produced a small knife similar to the one lodged in Rasp’s back. Upon seeing it, B’taav’s eyebrows lifted.

  “Standard issue for Inquisitors?”

  “Standard enough,” Cer replied. “Take it.”

  B’taav did as told, although he noted Cer’s fusion gun was now aimed at his stomach.

  “Don’t make me regret giving you this,” Cer said.

  “Inquisitor, we haven’t left each other’s side for the past day and Rasp was murdered only minutes ago. It's clear neither of us had anything to do with his death.”

  “The same can’t be said about the rest.”

  “We share that knowledge, at the least.”

  B’taav examined his knife. It would be adequate in a close fight, but very inadequate should the Independent face someone carrying a gun. “If I see anything I can’t handle, I’ll yell.”

  “If you see anything at all, yell,” Cer replied.

  The two split up.

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  B’taav pressed his body against the cold metal walls and moved along the corridor. He inched his way deeper and deeper into the heart of the base. The area around him showed considerable age and neglect. A heavy layer of dust covered the floor and walls but heavy foot traffic indicated recent movement.

  The Independent continued down the hall and stopped every few feet to listen. At one point he thought he heard the sound of someone moving in the area before him. The sounds died as suddenly as they began.

  B’taav inched forward even more cautiously. In time, he again heard footsteps. The person making them was very close.

  B’taav crouched down and stepped forward. He held his right hand and the knife ahead. After a few more steps B’taav paused and listened. A grim look filled his face. In spite of the darkness, he had located his target.

  B’taav straightened up and took several more steps. The corridor took a sharp right turn a few feet away, and the footsteps were coming from just beyond that turn. B’taav licked his lips and eyed his blade.

  Here we go.

  The Independent was off, sprinting around the corner. The muscles on his face were tight; his eyes became thin slits and blood throbbed heavily through his veins. The darkness in his eyes was a cold void.

  And, just as suddenly, the void and the tension vanished. B’taav slid to a stop and drew back his knife. Standing before him was the boy. His hands were bare. His face had the look of someone who had lost his way.

  “Nathaniel,” B’taav said. “What are you doing here?”

  The boy walked forward, toward B’taav, seemingly unaware of the Independent’s presence. B’taav took a deep breath and allowed the last of the tension to leave his body.

  “Come here, Nathaniel,” the Independent said. He laid his free hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “Your mother must be worried,” he said. “Let’s get back to the—”

  B’taav stopped talking. He heard the sound of another set of footsteps coming from farther down the corridor. Whoever it was, they were coming fast.

  B’taav pulled the boy to the wall and again drew his knife. The footsteps started as a hasty jog. They turned into a full run.

  B’taav pushed the boy further back, toward the corridor’s turn. The Independent held the knife against the darkness. The echo of the footsteps increased.

  B’taav’s eyes, so sensitive to the darkness, spotted the vague outline of the figure running toward them. It was a short man with a slight build.

  He was carrying a fusion gun.

  B’taav hastily picked Nathaniel up and rushed back around the corner.

  As he did, the runners pace increased yet again. The approaching man spotted them.

  Once around the corner, B’taav set Nathaniel down and turned. The running man was only steps away. The Independent leaned back and prepared to jump him the moment he rounded the corner. The man, however, stopped. He stood just beyond the corner, no more than a couple of feet from B'taav and Nathaniel.

  B’taav didn’t dare look past that corner junction and, likewise, knew the man on the other side was hesitant to do the same.

  “B’taav? Nathaniel?” The voice came from around the corner.

  “Maddox? What are you doing here?”

  “Searching for Nathaniel. You have him.”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t you dare hurt him.”

  “Why would—”

  “I saw the knife, B’taav. Don’t you dare hurt him.”

  “I have no intention of doing so.”

  “Good. Slide your weapon my way and come out with your hands up.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  B’taav did not answer. Instead, he eased back a step while making sure Nathaniel remained behind him.

  “What’s this about?” Maddox asked. “Who gave you the knife?”

  “Inquisitor Cer.”

  “Why the hell would she do that?”

  “We found Rasp in his cot, dead.”

  “Rasp’s dead?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How?”

  “Someone stabbed him.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Let me get this straight: You and Inquisitor Cer find Rasp. He's dead, the victim of a stabbing. So the Inquisitor, in her infinite wisdom, decides to give you a knife?”

  “Inquisitor Cer and I have been together the entire day. Neither of us could have killed him.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Thanks to the camera in the Xendos' engine room, you don’t have to believe anything I say. Just look at your security footage. It will confirm everything. Did you put cameras anywhere else within the station?”

  “No,” Maddox admitted. “We only have the one. Looks like we should have brought more.”

  “Before we got to Rasp's room, someone exited through the side door. The corridor split, so Inquisitor Cer and I did the same. She gave me the knife, just in case I ran into his killer.”

  “You have any idea who did it?”

  “None. Up until now, the only people I’ve seen are you and Nathaniel. If I had to choose a suspect between you two…”

  “I have no reason to kill Rasp.”

  “As you put it so bluntly, Maddox, why should I believe you?”

  “Listen, Independent, for all I know Rasp is alive and well and you took that knife from Inquisitor Cer’s corpse. So now what? Do we spend the rest of the day here?”

  B’taav noted movement coming from the far end of the corridor. Inquisitor Cer’s yellow hair bobbed in the distance. She was on her way.

  “Sit tight for a few more seconds, Maddox,” B’taav said. “The cavalry is coming.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  The first thing to come out from around the corner was Maddox’s gun, held up gently by its barrel and pinched between two fingers. Maddox lowered the gun to the floor and released it. As he did, B’taav noted a dark stain on Maddox’s shirt sleeve.

  When the gun was down, Maddox stepped out from his hiding place. His hands were in the air.

  “Satisfied?”

  Maddox glared at the Independent. B'taav expected him to be relieved to see the boy was fine, but his expression remained stubbornly neutral.

  “B’taav was right to take precautions,” Cer said. She now held the only weapon, having taken B’taav’s knife and demanded Maddox disarm himself as well. “I assume he told you about Rasp?”

  “Yeah,” Maddox said. “He was stabbed?”

  “While he slept.”

  “May I retrieve my weapon now?”

  Instead of answering, Inquisitor Cer picked it up.

  “Allow me to hold it, for the time being.”

  She put Maddox’s and her guns into holsters on her belt.

  “Fine,” Maddox muttered. “Let’s see the body.”

  B’taav, Nathaniel, Maddox, and Cer walked back to the door leading into Rasp’s room. T
he three Mercs were standing just inside the room. Each of the men carried a Bandera Fusion rifle.

  The Merc with the harshest features stepped forward as B’taav and his group approached. He aimed his fusion rifle at them. In his burly hands, the fearsome weapon looked like a toy.

  “Who goes there?” he asked.

  “It’s me,” Maddox said. “I’m with Inquisitor Cer and Nathaniel.”

  “Don’t forget me,” B’taav said. “We wouldn’t want them to think I’m not part of this group, too.”

  “Yeah. It would be too bad if they thought you were a meddling outsider and shot first and asked questions later.”

  Inquisitor Cer pushed past Maddox and stepped up to the Merc.

  “Is the area secured, Balthazar?” she asked.

  “Yes ma’am,” the Merc identified as Balthazar said. His eyes drifted from Cer to B’taav. His mouth twisted into a grimace.

  “Is everyone accounted for?”

  “They are now. Everyone else is in there.”

  Balthazar pointed to Rasp’s room.

  “Good.” Cer faced the other two Mercs and said: “Melchor, Kaspar, you two scout the corridors. Though the odds are very low, there is the possibility we might have an intruder.”

  “Yes ma’am,” the two remaining Mercs said. They walked past B’taav and Maddox and disappeared into the darkness.

  Inquisitor Cer motioned to B’taav, Maddox, and Nathaniel. Maddox put his arm around Nathaniel’s shoulder and pushed him forward. B’taav followed along but at the entrance to Rasp’s room Balthazar pressed the barrel of his gun against the Independent’s chest.

  Inquisitor Cer noticed Balthazar’s actions and was about to say something. She didn't have to.

  “Let the Independent in.”

  The voice was female, older. It was the gray haired lady. She spoke as she reached out to embrace Nathaniel.

  Balthazar sneered at the Independent but nonetheless stepped aside.

  B’taav entered Rasp’s room. The remaining members of the escape sled, with the exception of the three Mercs, were inside. The gray haired lady escorted Nathaniel away from Rasp’s corpse and to the far side of the room. They came to a stop before Stephen Gray, the morose man in white, and the man B’taav identified as a Phaecian Cardinal.