The Last Flight of the Argus

by E. R. Torre

  B’taav nodded.

  “We’ll switch off in a few hours,” she said.

  “Let’s hope we’re still able to.”

  Oscar Theodor noticed the flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t be sure if it was another spacecraft or a fast moving asteroid. By the time the magnification lenses were over his eyes, whatever he saw was gone.

  Theodor turned his fighter craft around and increased the throttle. Once his ship was headed in the proper direction, he pressed the intercom button.

  “This is Theodor,” he said. “I might have something.”

  “Might?” came the reply. The voice belonged to Richard Loo, the leader of the Blue Rogue 4 squad. He, along with his twenty soldiers, filled the lower deck of Theodor’s fighter craft. Loo looked remarkably young, but there was little doubt he was fully in charge of his squad. His gaze was like steel and whenever he spoke his people listened.

  “I saw movement, but only for a second. I’m going in for a closer look.”

  “Inform me the moment you can verify the contact.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Theodor reached for the communicator and was about to call in his finding to the other pilots and the Dakota before he stopped. He retracted his hand and shook his head.

  This is so stupid, he thought.

  What exactly were Lieutenant Daniels and General Jurgens up to?

  B’taav stared at the monitor to his left.

  It filtered through three different outer camera displays: The area directly above, the area directly below, and the view from the rear of the Xendos. The images were fuzzy, but B'taav wasn't complaining. It was a miracle they worked at all. Asteroids floated by at varying speeds. Some rotated while others were dead still.

  Nearly five hours passed since he spotted one of Daniels’ fighter crafts and ducked the ship among the rocks and out of the way. Since that time, Inquisitor Cer returned to the cockpit and B’taav made preparations to guard the engine. In between, the Independent saw no sign of any other ships or any evidence that the previous ship was following them.

  This seemingly good news, nonetheless, made B’taav uncomfortable.

  The Xendos was still well within Daniels’ reach. If they were lucky, they might outrun the bulk of his fighter crafts in three to four days. Then they’d have another seven days’ travel before reaching the outer edge of—

  The Independent's thoughts were shattered by the high pitched whine of a fusion blast.

  “What the hell?” Maddox sputtered. He jumped from his chair in unison with Inquisitor Cer and B’taav. The bartender approached the door leading out of the cockpit but abruptly turned to face B’taav. He pulled his fusion gun out of its holster.

  “Stay where you are,” he said. “Keep the ship going.”

  Maddox pressed a button beside the cockpit entrance and the metal door hissed open. The acrid smell of charred flesh filled the cockpit.

  “By the Gods,” Maddox exclaimed and swallowed. He stepped just outside the cockpit door and leaned against the wall. He did not move any further.

  B’taav pressed a series of controls and the ship slowed to a stop besides a large asteroid. Both B’taav and Inquisitor Cer headed to the door. Splotches of blood were plastered along the corridor wall and Maddox tried hard not to throw up.

  “What is it?” Inquisitor Cer whispered.

  Maddox pointed to the ground.

  Lying on the floor were the gory remains of one of the three Mercs. The man’s upper body just above his chest was charred black. His head was half gone, disintegrated by the fusion blast. Angry red embers throbbed along the lining of his clothes while smoke rose from the gash that at one point was his lower neck and upper shoulders.

  There was enough of his face left to tell it was Kaspar.

  Inquisitor Cer stepped past Maddox. Farther down the corridor she saw movement. She grabbed her fusion gun and aimed it into those shadows.

  “Someone’s there,” she whispered.

  B’taav and Cer stepped over the Merc’s corpse and moved forward. Inquisitor Cer took the lead. Even though B'taav's eyes were better suited for the darkness, it was Cer who first recognized the figure hiding back there in the shadows.

  When she did, she gasped.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  Oscar Theodor couldn’t help but yell in delight. Far, far away in the distance he finally spotted his elusive target.

  “There you are,” he muttered. He amplified the magnifier lens to their maximum. “Posei, but that ship is old!”

  Theodor pressed the intercom button.

  “I have visual of the target,” he said. He heard his voice echo through the lower levels of his ship. “It’s a Phaecian Cargo ship, classification unknown. She was weaving around some—”

  “Hang on, I’m coming up,” Richard Loo replied.

  In seconds, the door leading to the cockpit silently slid open and Officer Richard Loo squeezed into the narrow space behind Theodor. He stared out the front window.

  “Where is she?”

  Theodor pressed a series of controls and portions of the forward window magnified. The Phaecian Cargo craft was displayed in the center of the view screen. She sat immobile next to a particularly large asteroid.

  “Are you sure it’s our ship and not some other scavenger?”

  Theodor clicked the magnification controls until the digital image was clear.

  “Based on their flight pattern before they stopped—”

  “You're getting very close.”

  “Uh...isn't that what you want—”

  “How long before we intercept?”

  “Seconds.”

  “No,” Richard Loo said. “Reverse course. Back us up and away.”

  “What?”

  “That’s an order.”

  Oscar Theodor pulled on the ship’s control stick. His ship slowed to a crawl and stopped. Theodor nudged her behind an asteroid and out of sight of the Phaecian Cargo craft.

  Richard Loo squeezed beside the pilot. The Blue Rogue squad leader examined the magnification image still on the view screen.

  “Good work,” he said after a while. “What were you saying about the ship not being a scavenger?”

  “I can’t be completely certain, of course,” Theodor began. “We checked up on all ships in the area of Titus and they were accounted for. There were many different models, but none were of ancient Phaecian design.”

  “Are you close enough to get an ID of the ship?”

  Theodor fiddled with the ship’s image software. After a few seconds of doing so, he shook his head.

  “No sir. We’re too far away.”

  “What is the distance between us?”

  “Two hundred fifty two kilometers.”

  Richard Loo nodded. His stare grew distant as he examined the view screen.

  “Sir, we have them,” Oscar said. “Shouldn’t we call in the others? We'll have that ship and its crew captured before dinner.”

  Richard Loo did not reply.

  “Sir?” Oscar insisted. “Shouldn’t we—”

  “Keep your distance,” Richard Loo said. “We’ll wait for them to move again, and then follow. If any of the other Tangos show up you are not to establish contact with them unless they make a move against that vessel.”

  “And…and if they do?”

  “Intercept them.”

  “Intercept my own squad?”

  “Yeah,” Loo replied. “Do not use deadly force, but make damn sure they realize they’re to stand down and follow our lead. The Phaecian craft is to be left alone. When they move, give me a call.”

  Theodor swallowed hard.

  “Sir?”

  “You have your orders.”

  Having said that, Officer Loo retreated from the cramped cockpit.

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  “I see him,” B’taav said. He laid a hand on Inquisitor Cer’s shoulder. “Let me.”

  B’taav stepped in front of her.
/>   “No one’s going to hurt you,” B’taav said. He moved forward, until Inquisitor Cer and he were in the middle of the long corridor. Behind them were Maddox and Kaspar’s corpse. An equal distance before them and in the shadows at the end of the corridor was the shooter.

  “We know you’re frightened,” B’taav continued. “I am too.”

  The figure in the shadows remained still. Despite the violence committed just seconds before, his body was remarkably relaxed.

  “I’m coming closer.”

  B’taav kept his voice low and mild and divorced of any emotions.

  “We won’t hurt you.”

  B’taav took another step, then another. The acrid smell of charred flesh filled his nostrils and made his stomach turn.

  The figure in the shadows moved. B’taav spread his hands outward.

  “I’m not going to do anything,” he said. “I just want to talk.”

  The figure grew still. B’taav again moved forward. From somewhere behind, he heard the sounds of the rest of the Xendos’ passengers rushing in from the opposite side of the corridor. The figure in the shadows once again stirred.

  Inquisitor Cer spun around. Saro Triste, Balthazar, and Melchor ran to Maddox’s side. Inquisitor Cer thrust her hand out and hissed, “Quiet!”

  Balthazar and Melchor obeyed the command. Balthazar grabbed Triste by his collar while Melchor held his position. All was as quiet as before, and Inquisitor Cer gave Balthazar gave a nod.

  The Inquisitor turned. B’taav was less than fifteen feet from the figure in the shadows.

  “Easy,” the Independent said. “I’m going to move nice and easy and nothing’s going to happen. Do you understand?”

  B’taav did not expect any reply.

  “I’m taking another step,” B’taav said. “Nice and easy. It’s been a rough couple of days and I know you must be really tired. We all are. All this excitement and movement wears you down. So from here on out we’re going to slow everything. I’m going to take another step now.”

  B’taav lifted his leg. The figure remained still for a fraction of a second as B’taav’s foot left the ground.

  And then the figure's fusion gun came up.

  For the Independent, time slowed to a crawl. He lurched forward even as the ear splitting blast roared throughout the corridor. A wave of searing heat passed just over his head, a fraction of a second before his body hit the cold metal floor. He hoped none of the passengers behind him were in the path of this deadly blast.

  B’taav rolled away just as another blast slammed into the ground, splintering and melting sections of the walkway.

  Steam from a broken pipe hissed into the air and B’taav was on his feet and running. Before his attacker could get off a third shot, B’taav had his hands around him. He twisted the gun out of his would-be killer’s hands and threw it down the corridor. The figure he held went limp, but B’taav did not relax his grip.

  Through the mist of steam emanating from the broken pipe, the Independent saw Maddox sprawled on the ground. The first fusion blast clipped his left leg. He lay on the floor convulsing in agony. Inquisitor Cer was already at his side. She ripped at the fabric of his pants, revealing there was nothing left of the man's leg below the knee.

  Saro Triste, Stephen Gray, Ned Frasier, and the remaining Mercs approached Cer and Maddox.

  “This man needs medical attention!” Frasier yelled. “Does anyone—?”

  “Rasp…” Maddox gasped between clamped teeth. “He…knew.”

  “But he’s…gone.”

  Francis Lane pushed past the group. She ignored Maddox and ran to B’taav. Tears filled her eyes when she stared at the boy the Independent held so tightly in his grip.

  “Nathaniel,” she cried. “What have you done?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  Oscar Theodor hummed a few bars of an old love song and tapped his fingers against the cool plastic paneling of his fighter craft. To his right was a snow globe with the words “Douglas Gardens” written along its bottom. Within the globe was a holo-picture of a mountain range, one of the prime vacation spots for young military men with free time on their hands.

  How he wished he was there rather than here.

  The Phaecian cargo ship hadn’t moved in what seemed like hours. He eyed his clock and sighed.

  No, not hours. Exactly one hour and twenty-three minutes.

  Oscar shook his head. In that time, he thought up various attack patterns he could use against the Phaecian ship. Each guaranteed their prey would be crippled and captured.

  Captured.

  Wasn’t that their original purpose?

  “Guess not,” Theodore muttered.

  He stopped tapping the panel and sighed. Outside, past the front paneling, lay the asteroid field and the other Tango crafts. They were heading in this general direction. Beyond them all was the Phaecian cargo craft. She hadn’t moved an inch.

  Once again Oscar sighed.

  Why hadn’t they?

  B’taav and Inquisitor Cer finished patching up the ruptured coolant tube in the corridor. Because of the nature of the damage, they had to turn the Xendos’ engines off, a dangerous proposition considering where they were.

  Modern craft had cut off valves throughout their lines and didn’t require a full engine shut off for repairs of this type. Of course, the Xendos wasn’t a modern craft. After the patch was in place, Inquisitor Cer and B’taav headed back to the engine room. Inquisitor Cer noted the coolant line pressure sensor readings.

  “We lost one hundred and twelve cubic kilos of coolant,” she said. “Bad, but not catastrophic.”

  “Let’s get the engines warmed up,” B’taav said. “We’ve been here too long as it is.”

  Inquisitor Cer headed to the central computer panel and flipped a series of switches. The angry hum of an almost cold engine starting filled the room.

  “This will take a few minutes. Let’s get cleaned up.”

  When he finished wiping off the oil and sweat from his body, B’taav changed into fresh clothes and exited his room. The corridor outside was quiet. He walked to Inquisitor Cer’s room and knocked on her door. For several seconds he waited for a reply, but none came. She was probably already back on the bridge.

  Exhaustion was getting to him, and B’taav lingered by the door longer than he otherwise would have. He shook his head and moved off, pausing for a moment beside Maddox’s room. Familiar voices came from within. B’taav knocked and opened the door.

  Inside were Ned Frasier and Dave Maddox. Maddox lay on his bed. A pair of black straps was wrapped across his chest and kept him pinned to the bed. The blanket that covered him was fresh and clean, except for a stain in the empty space where his left leg would have been. Ned Frasier tried to comfort the bartender.

  Maddox grimaced when he saw the Independent enter the room.

  “How are you doing?” B’taav asked.

  Maddox gritted his teeth and said, “F…fu…fucking great.”

  “The boy killed Rasp, didn’t he?” B’taav said.

  Maddox nodded.

  “I was in the outside corridor, looking around for su.. supplies,” Maddox said. “I saw…I saw some movement…in Rasp’s room and figured he was up and about. Before I got there I...I saw someone run out…out the jammed door. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought…I thought it was Nathaniel. I looked through the crack in the door…where he exited…I saw Rasp in his bed…the knife…the knife in his chest.”

  Another spasm shook Maddox.

  “I went…went crazy…forced myself through the crack. I'm...I'm smaller than just about everyone else here, but I still don’t know how I...did it…Rasp died…died in my arms. He didn’t say anything. I ran back to that jammed door…forced my way out…I couldn’t…believe what the boy did. I had to find him…to see for sure. I still can’t…I still can’t believe—”

  Sweat oozed from Maddox’s forehead and into his hair and the pillow below. Frasier reached for a first aid kit on the tab
le next to the bathroom door. He opened it, produced a syringe, and used it to inject a colorless liquid into Maddox’s arm.

  “Easy,” Frasier said. “Go to sleep.”

  Maddox shook for several more seconds before closing his eyes. His body went limp.

  B’taav eyed the sparse contents within the first aid kit.

  “Is this all we have?”

  “We've got a little more in storage. Not much more. I'll have to check around.”

  “Provided no one else suffers any serious injuries, there’s enough medicine here to keep Maddox going for a while. Three weeks anyway. But if that wound isn’t properly treated…”

  “What do you want us to do? Turn back? Give ourselves up?”

  “He may die.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” Frasier spat. “We’ve worked together for over twenty five years. He’s like a…a brother to me. We have to complete our mission, B’taav. If anyone gets their hands on the Charybdis bomb…” Frasier shook his head. “I can’t allow it.”

  “Where is the boy?”

  “With Francis.”

  “Did you know the boy was a killer?”

  “No,” Frasier said. He let out a soft, hopeless laugh. “But back on Titus, we suspected there was a traitor among us. Little did we know…”

  “When did you suspect?”

  “After Kelly Lang’s ship exploded. Our business with him was done. There was no reason to kill him, yet someone in our group did just that. Then Daniels and his ships arrived. It wasn’t too long after that I found Janet dead.”

  “Who?”

  “Janet Donaldson. She was the best damn mechanic Titus ever had. She was never a full member of our group, even though she was my…my wife.”

  Frasier rubbed his eyes.

  “Janet did what I told her and never asked questions. She’s the one that got the information from the Argus probe’s computer. She did all the calculations and came up with a theory of where that damned ship was. She thought I wanted to find the Argus because it would be worth a fortune to me…to us. The last –the only– survivor of the Erebus explosion was within our grasp and she thought I wanted to find her, to salvage her, to sell her. She never knew that was the last thing on my mind.”