The Last Flight of the Argus

by E. R. Torre

  “I found her dead in the machine shop the day before we departed. She was in her cot and...she must have been napping. There was no sign of a struggle. Like Rasp, her killer entered the room and…and…stabbed her.”

  “Why would the boy do this?”

  “How should I know? When Francis Lane arrived, she showed up with him. I couldn’t for the life of me understand why she brought him along. She said he needed her care and couldn’t be left with others…I insisted she take him back, but by then it was too late.”

  A wave of emotions passed through Frasier. When they were gone, the man in white stared hard into B’taav’s black eyes.

  “Promise me one thing, Independent,” he said. “Promise me you’ll get us to the Argus so that I can blow that fucker to pieces.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  B’taav and Frasier exited Maddox’s room. Further down the corridor were Saro Triste, Francis Lane, and Stephen Gray. They talked in hushed voices and quieted down even more when B’taav and Frasier approached.

  Francis Lane broke from the group. She wanted to say something, perhaps an apology, but Frasier waved her off.

  The man in white walked past the group and to his room.

  “He’s a good boy,” Francis Lane said to no one in particular. “I know he is—”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Stephen Gray said. “How could anyone foresee this?”

  “She did,” B’taav said. “How long have you known?”

  Francis Lane’s body shook.

  “He…he’s never been violent before. Not ever. At home he’s quiet. He can’t do anything for himself. He’s never hurt anyone.”

  “You should have left him behind,” Saro Triste said.

  “It’s a little late for accusations and second guessing,” Stephen Gray shot back. “Can’t you see she’s under enough stress?”

  “Please, Stephen. Saro is right. I shouldn’t have brought him along. Nathaniel can’t handle all these stresses. He’s acted out in the worst way possible.” Francis Lane fought back a sob. “I shouldn’t have brought him.”

  “Is he under guard now?” B’taav asked.

  “Of course,” Stephen Gray said.

  “Good,” B’taav said. “You better get back to your quarters. We’ll be moving again very shortly.”

  Oscar Theodor shot up in his chair and slammed his fist against the intercom button.

  “They’re moving,” he yelled. He flicked the switch off and added: “Finally!”

  Theodor worked the controls. The engines of his fighter craft quickly warmed up.

  The chase was on once again.

  B’taav pulled at the ship’s yoke. The Xendos rose over the edge of the asteroid and descended down its back before the Independent leveled her off.

  “She’s responding well,” B’taav said.

  “Like nothing happened,” Inquisitor Cer muttered. She sat beside B’taav and checked the computer’s system readings. The door to the cockpit was open and just outside of it stood Melchor, one of the two remaining Mercs. They had long since removed the body of Kaspar from the corridor. All that was left of him were blood stains and the smell of burnt flesh. Each proved a grim reminder, if any was needed, of the events of a couple of hours before.

  “Doesn’t this ship have air filters?”

  “The smell bothers you?” Inquisitor Cer asked. “I figured Tamarin Campaign veterans would be used to the smell of dead.”

  B’taav ignored her taunt.

  “Get to bed,” he said after a while. “I’m good for at least three more hours.”

  Inquisitor Cer rose.

  “By later today we’ll be past the scavenger’s grid,” B’taav said.

  “We may have to use our sensors. But Daniels…”

  “If we’re still free tomorrow, we can safely assume we’ve outrun Daniels and his ships.”

  “Is that wishful thinking or logical analysis?” Inquisitor Cer asked.

  “A little of both,” B’taav replied. “We’ll find out tomorrow, won’t we?”

  Inquisitor Cer nodded and walked to Melchor’s side. She paused for a moment and motioned the Merc into the room.

  “I’m getting some rest,” she told him. “If the Independent does anything funny, shoot him.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Inquisitor?” B’taav said.

  “Yes?”

  “Does Mr. Melchor know what constitutes a ‘funny’ move while piloting a two hundred year old craft through an asteroid field?”

  Inquisitor Cer offered B’taav a serpentine grin.

  “You’ll have to be extra careful. It would be a shame if you got shot for nothing.”

  The three hours passed slowly.

  B’taav made sure to keep Melchor aware of every turn and twist the ship took on its way. All the while, he kept his eyes on any unusual movements among the rocks. He spotted none.

  B’taav wondered if they had indeed lost Daniels’ search party. It was, after all, a very large asteroid field and Daniels could not be sure of where they were or where they were going. Their fighter crafts might well have overshot the Xendos’ location by hundreds of kilometers, perhaps leaving them in the clear many hours before.

  We’ll see, the Independent thought.

  Oscar Theodor hit the intercom button and said, “Ready to disengage primary flight controls.”

  There was a crackle over the intercom. A female voice replied:

  “Secondary flight controls are active. Whenever you’re ready…”

  Theodor pressed another button and the panel before him went black. His copilot was now flying the ship from the secondary cockpit below. Theodor pressed a third button and his seat lowered into the body of his ship. He unbuckled his seat belt and unscrewed several life support hoses. By the time the seat had fully lowered into the mid-level deck, he was free of all restraints.

  Theodor rose and stretched. The middle compartment was just a little larger than a tearoom. A dozen Blue Rogue soldiers sat on the metal floor. Half of them were asleep while the other half killed time by either playing cards, reading, or examining their weapons.

  Theodor turned to his right. A clear glass panel directly below him revealed Karina Wilson manning the secondary flight station and piloting the craft. Behind her was Ramon Mann, the fighter craft’s reserve pilot. It was no secret Ramon was sweet on Karina, though the feelings weren’t mutual. Theodor tapped on the floor and both Karina and Ramon looked up.

  “If you want to take Karina’s shift, do so,” Theodor told Ramon. “Otherwise, she doesn’t need distractions.”

  “Yes sir,” Ramon muttered. To Karina he said: “Would you like to…?”

  Karina was already up and out of the chair.

  “Knock yourself out.”

  Ramon strapped himself into place as Karina walked to the ship’s mid-section. She stopped before Theodor.

  “Want something to eat?”

  “Yeah, that would be great.”

  “Good,” Karina said. “You know where the food’s at. I’m getting some sleep.”

  Karina gave Theodor a mischievous smile and walked past the Blue Rogue Officers. A couple of them eyed the ship’s co-pilot and one blew her a kiss. She ignored them and continued to the end of the corridor. She stopped before a set of doors. One lead to the crew quarters, the other to the food dispensers. Karina entered the door leading to the crew quarters. Before it closed, she pointed to the other door.

  “In case you forgot, it’s over here,” she told Theodor.

  Theodor walked to the food dispenser room door. He eyed the crew quarter door and, for a second or two, considered going there. It had been a long time—

  No, Theodor thought. If there was ever a wrong time to be thinking about that…

  Theodor sighed and entered the food dispenser room. He found Richard Loo sitting before the only table. He held a small computer pad in his hands and was reading something off its monitor.

  “Oh,” Theodor said. “I didn�
��t mean to interrupt—”

  Richard Loo pressed a button and the computer turned off.

  “You weren’t interrupting.”

  The Blue Rogue leader rubbed his bloodshot eyes and slid the computer into one of his body suit’s many front pockets. “Your shift is finished?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be back to work in another ten hours or so.”

  “Who’s piloting the craft now?”

  “Ramon.”

  Richard Loo thought about that for a second.

  “I thought it was Karina’s turn?”

  “They swapped,” Theodor said.

  “I see.”

  “He’ll be fine. He’s fresh.”

  “I’m sure he is.”

  Theodor chewed on his lip.

  “I wouldn’t let him pilot the ship if he wasn’t ready. I can vouch for all members of my crew.”

  Richard Loo nodded but said nothing.

  Theodor reached for the food dispenser. He put a cup under the faucet and filled it with thick brown Nutra-liquid. He sighed.

  “Officer Loo, why do I get the feeling you don’t approve of our way of doing things?”

  “As long as we get results, I don’t much care,” Officer Loo replied.

  “We’ll do whatever you ask. Even if it doesn’t make much sense.”

  Richard Loo’s eyes meet Theodor’s sullen stare.

  “We’re alone here, soldier. Speak your peace. You’ve held it in long enough.”

  “Are we supposed to capture the people we are pursuing or not?”

  Richard Loo leaned back in his chair.

  “Go on,” Loo said.

  “We could have had them a long time ago, maybe even a little after Titus, with minimal effort.”

  “Yes.”

  “So why hide? Why let them move along? And why are we following them around like a horny schoolboy after a cheerleader? It makes no sense.”

  “When did your initial orders regarding this pursuit come through?” Loo asked.

  “Back at Titus.”

  “How close were you to our prey at that point?”

  “Not…” the words caught in Theodor’s throat and his eyes lit up. “Not very.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Wait a minute,” Theodor said. “We weren’t expected to capture them at that time? Why?”

  “You tell me.”

  “The only reason to go all out back then would be to…to make them think we wanted to capture them.”

  “The best way to do that was to have you pilots think the same. We held you back as best as we could, but without being too obvious.”

  “We were ordered to stick close to the Dakota after she sustained her damage. Is she..?”

  “She's damaged all right, but it proved a good excuse to hold you back nonetheless.”

  “And calling us in for that meeting and forcing us to use the Breadcrumbs at the expense of our best offensive weaponry, it was all part of your plan?”

  Richard Loo nodded.

  “If you don't want them captured, what do you want?”

  “Come on, Theodore. That should be obvious.”

  “Where...where are they leading us?”

  “That information will come. In time.”

  Theodor took a sip of the nutria-drink and winced.

  “Gods,” he muttered. He put the cup down and gave his taste buds a few seconds to recover. “There’s nothing out here but rocks and twisted metal, nothing worth bringing in a battleship and its full complement of fighters. Or is there?”

  Richard Loo folded his arms.

  “As I said, the information will come. In time.”

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  B’taav awoke to the sound of a persistent buzz over the intercom. His limbs were stiff from lying in the cramped quarters assigned to him. The buzzing continued for what seemed like an eternity.

  B’taav sat up. He took a quick glimpse at the door leading out of his room and found it closed.

  Locked, too, he thought.

  The Independent stepped into the bathroom. He ran water in the faucet and sprayed it on his face. When he was done, he looked in the mirror and sighed.

  It had been a little over a week and a half since Nathaniel killed Kaspar and nearly did the same to both Maddox and he. Since then, tensions grew aboard the Xendos. In part it was due to the child and his actions, in part it was the monotony of flying around the asteroid fields all this time. Regardless, the anticipation everyone felt about searching for the Argus was tempered by the reality of the enormous area they had to explore and the fact that they were flying blind without full use of their sensor equipment. Even though they hadn’t seen any sign of Daniels’ fighters, they still dared not fully use that particular piece of equipment, for fear of revealing their location.

  The ship’s passengers, for the most part, kept to themselves in their quarters, as if hiding from either B’taav or Inquisitor Cer or the remaining Mercs. Perhaps they understood it was best not to interfere.

  During B’taav’s pilot shifts, either Balthazar or Melchor escorted the Independent. As sadistic and loudmouthed as Melchor was, he was the less threatening of the remaining Mercs. Melchor was the type that let out his emotions, often very loudly. But once those energies were spent, he settled down and became almost friendly.

  Balthazar, on the other hand, neither talked nor threatened his charge. Like Rasp, whenever he was around B’taav, he was completely silent. His cold blue eyes, however, never strayed far from his subject and his fingers gripped the trigger on his gun or rifle much tighter than Melchor ever did.

  There was little doubt he would act decisively if provoked.

  Ned Frasier often came by the cockpit to check on the progress of the Xendos and point out where either B’taav or Inquisitor Cer should take her during their shifts. He, more than any of the other passengers, kept track of the search for the Argus. Yet every time he examined the location estimates, estimates he made with his late wife, he fought off a creeping sadness.

  At the end of his shift, B’taav made it a habit of looking in on Maddox. The man’s condition fluctuated wildly from day to day. Several days before, he developed a high fever and the odds of his surviving grew bleak. Somehow, he fought the fever off and two days after spiking it was gone. During the past couple of days his temperature was near normal. It was starting to look like he might survive the coming week, and B’taav grew cautiously optimistic he would beat the odds and survive until their return to Titus.

  Should they ever return to Titus.

  Ned Frasier proved to be the only other person who regularly visited Maddox. He too tried to be optimistic about his friend’s chances, but didn’t share B’taav’s glimmers of hope.

  The Independent splashed some more water on his face. The steady buzz from the intercom continued to pester him, so the Independent stepped out of the bathroom and to the intercom’s speaker. He pressed a button next to the speaker and said, “Is this thing working?”

  B’taav released the button and found the annoying buzz was gone. Over time, several non-essential systems on the Xendos had spontaneously come to life, like electronic ghosts rising from the grave. Perhaps the intercom was the latest of the lot.

  The Independent dressed in a black suit and walked to the door leading out of his room. He knocked on it.

  “I’m ready to start my shift,” he said. He took a step back and waited for one of the two Mercs to let him out. After a few seconds, he knocked again. No answer.

  “Great,” he muttered.

  B’taav walked to the intercom and pressed the switch. He was about to say something but held back. A frown appeared on his forehead and he hurriedly returned to the door. He listened for any sounds coming from the outside. There were none.

  B’taav returned to his bed and lifted the mattress. Hidden beneath it was a pair of pliers, a screwdriver, and a computer pad. He hid them away several days before, when Melchor seemed particularly distracted. The tools could be used at any
point, should the need arise, but B'taav spent much of his free time working on the computer pad. Only a couple of days before he had successfully entered his own lock picking program within it.

  You never know when these things come in handy.

  B’taav approached his door and once again ran his hands along the paneling to its side. He used the screwdriver to cut through a piece of the plastic paneling and exposed a line of wires. He pulled the wires out and, after examining them, found the one he wanted. He used the pliers to cut two cables and shut the lights of his room off. B’taav then pressed the exposed metal from the wires into the computer pad's input slot. The lock picking program churned out a code and his door slid opened.

  B’taav waited for one of the Mercs to come storming into the room, but no one did. Cautiously, the Independent looked out into the corridor while pocketing his tools.

  There was no one outside.

  B’taav exited his room. The other doors lining the corridor were closed and, upon closer examination, B’taav heard no sounds coming from them. An eerie silence filled the entire area. For a moment B’taav wondered if the rest of the passengers had somehow abandoned the Independent and the Xendos.

  B’taav made it to the end of the corridor and stopped before the door to Francis Lane’s room. He pressed his ear against it and listened for several moments. As with the other doors, he heard nothing. B’taav worked the door’s keypad controls with the computer pad until it slid open.

  B’taav remained in the corridor.

  “Ms. Lane?” he said. He received no answer.

  The Independent cautiously stepped into the room and, after seeing no one was within, noted an enormous window on the opposite wall. Beyond it a series of dark asteroids tumbled away. Just below the window was a communication device and monitor.

  “They gave you the luxury suite,” B'taav muttered.

  The Independent ignored the communication equipment and focused on the room’s other contents. Two small cots were lined up just under the window, their sheets ruffled. In the center of one of the beds was Nathaniel’s red ball. B’taav picked it up and unscrewed the top. The Project Geist memory cube was no longer inside.