The Last Flight of the Argus

by E. R. Torre

  “She can't,” Stephen Gray said. “The radio amplification beacon was shut off a while ago.”

  “What? How do you know this?”

  “I tend to keep track of important things like that,” Stephen Gray replied. He pointed to the display screen on the sleeve of his environmental suit. A single red light blinked on it. “She can't hear us, and we can't hear her. However, it doesn't change much. She meant to lead us in circles until we were completely lost.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Stephen Gray didn't reply and instead offered the Cardinal a beaming smile. For the first time since losing contact with Francis Lane and the Xendos, the Epsillon industrialist took the lead in their trek. He stepped past one of the many doors on either side of the corridor they were in. Saro Triste followed close behind. They entered yet another dark and clutter filled corridor. After twenty meters, they found a door.

  Nothing around Saro Triste was familiar. Nothing at all.

  “I can’t go on like this,” the Cardinal said. “The walls feel like they’re closing in.”

  “That's probably what the crew of this ship felt, right before they died.”

  “Please—”

  “Why Saro, are you begging? I didn't think a man of your high status would ever do such a thing. It seems...undignified.”

  “Mock me all you want, but please, please get us back to the Xendos.”

  “I wish it were that easy.”

  Saro Triste took deep breaths and felt a heavy tremble work its way through his body. From the moment they first stepped onto the Argus' landing bay, Stephen Gray became silent. Saro Triste tried to engage the man in conversation and was frustrated when he didn't join in.

  Now, Stephen Gray appeared eager to talk, and Saro Triste feared what he had to say.

  “When I was a little boy, I used to capture bugs in our family garden,” Stephen Gray said. “I’d put them in glass containers and set the containers on a shelf in my room. After a day or two of flying around, desperately hoping to find some way out, the bugs’ energy was spent. They'd stop flying and begin dying. Slowly. They'd walk around, one day on the inner lid of the container, the next on the side. Finally, I'd find them on the bottom. This ship…it’s like those glass jars I used to have, and we're the bugs.”

  “Please...get us back.”

  “That’s how Francis Lane planned our deaths.”

  The Epsillon Industrialist opened the door before them and stared in the room beyond. It was one of the ship’s many kitchen areas. A long metal table lay in the center of the room and several chairs were stacked in the corner. Against the wall were food dispensers and cooking utilities. A half-open door lay to Stephen Gray’s left. On the opposite side of the room were three meat locker doors.

  Stephen Gray walked to the half-opened door and shone his light in all directions before turning back into the kitchen. He found Saro Triste before one of the meat locker doors, staring at the contents within. Unseen by the Cardinal, Stephen Gray worked the remote controls on his environmental suit sleeve.

  He checked to see if the communication amplification beacon was still offline. No sense in others hearing this conversation. Satisfied it remained off, he readied another program. When he was done, he noticed Saro Triste was on his knees before the meat locker.

  “By the Gods,” the Cardinal whispered.

  Inside the locker were the frozen remains of at least two dozen people. Every one of the bodies were cut open. Some were missing viscera while others were missing entire limbs. Stacked neatly next to the bodies were body parts, the remains of what could be another twenty or more corpses. There were arms and legs and, wrapped in a bloody rag, what looked like a woman’s head. The crude tools used in this butchering lay on the floor.

  “Cannibalism,” Saro Triste gasped. “When their food ran out, they resorted to cannibalism. This was their refrigerator.”

  “They had to eat.”

  Saro Triste was incredulous at the man's cavalier tone.

  “These were your people!”

  “They lived longer than anyone else stationed in Erebus at the time of the explosion.”

  “You call this living? The Gods will punish you for your words. Unless I do first.”

  The pent up fury within the Cardinal was about to explode. Saro Triste reached for his gun, but as he grabbed for it he stopped. Stephen Gray’s fusion gun was already out and aimed at Saro Triste’s stomach. Saro Triste raised his hands while Stephen Gray took the Cardinal’s weapon.

  “You surprise me,” Stephen Gray said. He tucked the spare gun into his belt. “I was told you were one of the more intelligent members of the Phaecian guard. I can't believe you didn't notice Francis Lane was leading us in circles.”

  “You...you knew?”

  “I knew what she was up to even before we left the Xendos.”

  “How?”

  “I look around, Saro. I notice things. Like the fact that three environmental suits were gone before we dressed up.”

  Saro Triste frowned.

  “Who?”

  “Come on, Saro. Do I have to spell out everything? Francis Lane's Merc, Balthazar, took the third suit. When she said he was looking around the ship for medication for Nathaniel, he was actually suiting up and heading out. He left the ship before us, no doubt sent by Francis Lane to take out your Inquisitor.”

  “You knew she was betraying us, yet you let her lead us out here? Why?”

  “Because in this game, sometimes it pays to let your opponent show his –or her– hand before making your move.”

  “What…?”

  “Neither of us are trustworthy, Saro. I knew you talked to Francis Lane back at Titus and planned to get rid of me once you got hold of the bomb, just like you and I planned to get rid of her on the Xendos. You've tried to be smart, playing to the party you hoped would come out ahead. Unlike you, I always knew everyone was in this for themselves.”

  “I swear by the Gods—”

  “Don’t insult me or your Gods. Even if they exist, they abandoned you years ago…the moment you abandoned them.”

  Saro Triste’s face grew red with rage.

  “You're so very clever.”

  “No, just thorough,” Stephen Gray retorted. “As I said, I like checking everyone out. When I did, I found some interesting discrepancies.”

  “Discrepancies? Like what?”

  “Two things,” Stephen Gray replied. “The first, and most important, is that Inquisitor Cer probably knew about the Argus for quite some time, and that she was working against you.”

  Saro Triste laughed. When he realized Stephen Gray was serious, the laughter abruptly stopped.

  “That can’t be,” the Cardinal insisted. “She’s been at my side for five years. My orders to her are absolute. She knew nothing.”

  “During our lengthy trip to the Titus station, one of my agents intercepted a coded message sent from your so very devoted Inquisitor. I figured it was intended for the Phaecian Command, an update of what you were up to. Imagine my surprise when I found it was addressed to the Epsillon Military.”

  “You lie!”

  “Saro, at this point, why would I bother?”

  “It...it can't be.”

  “From that moment on, I had your Inquisitor watched. She didn’t make any more attempts to contact anyone, so I focused on deciphering her original message. Unfortunately, it has proven a little too tough for my encryption software. Nonetheless, I can make a good guess what she wrote. It would certainly explain how Lieutenant Daniels and General Jurgens were onto us so quickly after we arrived in Titus.”

  “She is no traitor!”

  “Oh, I agree,” Gray acknowledged. “Unlike you, unlike all of us, I think she is one hell of a patriot. The only reason I can think of that she would reveal details of our mission to the Epsillon Military was because she was trying to stop us. As I said before, she already knew about the Argus and she realized we were not here to destroy her and maintain the peac
e between the Empires. You see, Saro, she gave away our mission to Lieutenant Daniels and his boys because she hoped they would prevent us from getting our hands on the Charybdis device.”

  Saro Triste swallowed hard.

  “We sent her after B’taav. Do you suppose…?”

  “Now you’re starting to think,” Stephen Gray said and laughed. “Of course she didn’t kill him.”

  “W...why?”

  “Come on, Saro. The answer’s so clear.”

  “I don’t…”

  “Think about our Independent friend and the circumstances of his arrival a little more.”

  Saro was mute.

  “Don’t you think it peculiar that B’taav showed up just when we needed a pilot? Don’t you think it peculiar this Independent just had to get away from Daniels, as we did, and we were his only means out?”

  “He’s an infiltrator?”

  “Absolutely. I really thought you or Francis would have figured that out by now. Well, maybe Francis did. She's smart. Smarter than you. In the end, the only question left is whether Balthazar took care of them both. If Francis Lane knew the Independent was still alive, she would have warned him. If she didn't, then I wouldn't place the odds on his survival as being particularly high.”

  “You think Inquisitor Cer and B'taav will be waiting for Balthazar?”

  “Why not?”

  Saro Triste swore.

  “You said you found out two things. What was the other?”

  “This one is far less important, perhaps even meaningless to you," Gray said. “I found out B’taav was recently under the employ of a man named Jonah Merrick.”

  “Who is he?”

  “I said it wouldn’t mean all that much to you,” Gray said. “But to satisfy your curiosity, he and I are...rivals in the business world.”

  “You think Merrick sent him after you?”

  “It's likely. Which means our Independent friend might well be playing either or both sides against each other. I simply can't imagine Daniels and Merrick seeking the same ends in this little adventure, although, truth be told, stranger things have happened.”

  Stephen Gray looked at the time display on his wrist. “Well, it’s been long enough, I suppose. I regret our partnership didn’t prove fruitful, but that’s the way things go.”

  Stephen Gray smiled a humorless smile and pressed two buttons on his environmental suit's control pad. They activated the program the Industrialist prepped on Saro Triste’s suit back in the decompression chamber of the Xendos, when he pretended to check if the Cardinal’s suit was on properly.

  “What did you do?” Saro Triste yelled.

  “You'll find out.”

  The warm air in the Cardinal's suit ejected violently. Like a deflating balloon, the Cardinal spun around in place. The glass on the face mask crystallized, but not before the blood in his veins froze and erupted.

  CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT

  B'taav and Inquisitor Cer reached the communication amplification beacon. While the device was still shut off, they were so close to the Xendos that they couldn't risk using their communicators for fear those inside the ship would overheard them.

  B'taav, however, had a solution.

  First he used his computer pad to discover the security codes Balthazar installed on the beacon. After cracking the code, he went to work the control panel and, in a few seconds, nodded in satisfaction.

  “We can talk now,” he said.

  B'taav had reversed the beacon's controls. Instead of amplifying signals, it now inhibited them. Any communication signals in its immediate proximity were dampened and would not reach beyond a few feet from the source. Certainly not far enough to reach the Xendos. To communicate, however, Inquisitor Cer and B'taav had to stay very close together.

  “Nice work.”

  The two walked a few feet from the amplification beacon and stopped at a series of windows that looked out at the Argus landing bay. The two kept to the shadows and were relieved to find the Xendos still in its place.

  “They haven't gotten the plans yet,” B’taav said. He adjusted the magnification in his helmet and pointed to the ship’s still open decompression doors.

  “They've also left the ship's exit doors open.”

  Inquisitor Cer noted the barren area she landed the Xendos in.

  “But how do we get there undetected?” she asked. “They'll close the decompression doors as soon as they see us approach. We won't be able to bridge that distance in time.”

  The two eyed the rest of the landing bay, hoping to find alternative ways to get to the Xendos. After a few seconds, Inquisitor Cer patted the Independent on his shoulder and pointed past the ship and to the blasted landing bay doors she flew the ship through upon entering the Argus.

  “Old saying: ‘If the enemy expects a frontal attack, then assault his rear’.”

  “That almost sounds perverted.”

  “Inquisitors have nothing but the purest of thoughts, even if there is little purity in war. They won’t expect us to approach the Xendos from outside the Argus. It’ll take a while to circle around. Let’s hope they don’t finish their download before we get there.”

  The two headed back.

  Maddox’s eyes filled with bursts of light and deep veils of darkness. He blinked several times and shook his head.

  How long have I been out?

  He was lying on a corridor floor somewhere in the third level of the Xendos. Despite intense pain and exhaustion, he forced himself to a sitting position and examined his wound. The blood around it was fresh. However, it was coagulating.

  At least that's something.

  Maddox let out a chuckle. Tears streamed down his face. He wouldn’t last much longer. He was dying. Dying and alone.

  But armed.

  The fusion gun was still in his hand. For a long moment he thought seriously about ending his suffering. The pain was too much to bear and his mission was a failure. Francis Lane or Saro Triste or Stephen Gray would get their hands on the Charybdis device and the Empires would return to their wars and death and—

  Remember the children of Davanus 4.

  “By the Gods,” he muttered. Old memories flooded back.

  Davanus 4.

  The Phaecian Empire overran that system in the early days just before the start of the Erebus War. Their forces were hardly enough to conquer the planet, and the exhausted soldiers’ only desire was to return to their Phaecian homes. They raided the colonist’s supplies but otherwise treated the people of the planet well. They also showed uncharacteristic compassion by sending a message to the Epsillon Empire explaining the status of those colonists and their limited supplies of food and water. By the time the Epsillon forces were to arrive, the Phaecian soldiers would be long gone.

  The message should have been enough to save the citizens of Davanus 4.

  But red tape and bureaucratic screw ups, along with suspicions of a possible Phaecian trap, delayed the arrival of the Epsillon forces for six months. In the interval, the planet's bitter winter arrived. Over two million men, women, and children –the entire population of that planet– died of starvation and exposure.

  Maddox suppressed a shiver.

  He recalled the holo-images of Epsillon soldiers heaving the bodies of frozen children into a mass grave. Their bodies were like grotesque dolls with fully extended and rigid limbs. Their hair was spread out in all directions. The children that were still clothed had only broken rags to fight off the fifteen degrees below zero temperatures.

  The Epsillon soldiers completed their jobs in a hurry. The bodies were buried in the mass graves and the official records were hidden for nearly two centuries. A single journal entry in a forgotten ship's log brought the tragic story to light. What followed were denunciations and high level meetings. Something had to be done for the forgotten lost of Davanus 4.

  A decision was made and the Empire sent seventy six ships to the planet to finally, finally, recover the lost dead. Bodies were pulled from their mas
s graves, identified, and shipped to relatives. Those that had no relatives were given a proper burial.

  A very young Dave Maddox was part of one of the recovery crews. During his two year tour, he came face to face with so many of the planet's victims. He swore, then and there, that if it were up to him, the suffering from war would never again stain either Empires.

  Never, ever again.

  The bartender gripped the barrel of his fusion gun. Never, ever again.

  He planted his free hand on the slick corridor floor and pushed forward. Despite the pain, despite the exhaustion, he pushed forward.

  Consciousness came slowly to Balthazar.

  He gasped for air while keeping his movements to a minimum. The Accelerant high was spent, and his body was wracked with pain, exhaustion, and, most loathsome of all, weakness.

  How he hated that weakness.

  Balthazar moved his hand and felt firm ground below it. Had he reached the bottom of the chasm? He couldn't be sure. Everything around him was so very dark...

  His mind went over the ambush orchestrated by Inquisitor Cer and B’taav. He could barely contain his fury.

  His greatest anger, however, was reserved for within. For it was he who failed this mission; it was he who was taken for a fool. And not just by the Inquisitor and the Independent, but also by his employer. Francis Lane had arranged his death by his very own hand.

  Balthazar took several short breaths. When he felt he could, he lifted his right arm and wiped some of the engine oil from his environmental suit's faceplate. He spotted a faint light far above him. It was the central computer room. Jagged lines extended from the light and down, making up the torn walls lining the crevasse he fell through.

  They didn’t come down to finish me off yet? he thought. Was he that harmless to them?

  Balthazar let his arm drop to his side and fought off a fresh wave of drowsiness.

  You two were clever, the Merc thought. You cut my oxygen supply to the point where it’s kept me alive but little else. If I sit up, if I try to stand, I'll black out. I'm a prisoner of this suit.

  Balthazar took several more short breaths. He again lifted his right hand, this time to feel his suit’s belt and the remote controls lying on it. He reached for the communicator button but, when he pressed it, heard nothing through his headphones.