Farlost: Arrival

by Mierau,John

  She hoped it was a man who kept his word.

  “Thank you for your trust, Commander," Travis said, and then as if knowing her thoughts, said: "There's a lot of work left to do, and a lot of history to catch you up on, but for now?" Travis clasped his other hand atop hers. "Welcome to Farlost.”

  46

  Save.

  It was the ship's first thought, first need.

  Every bond, magneto-mechanical coupling, nanocrystylline segment and every feeling in its heart sang out with the need.

  Even after so long trapped in the crushing depths, assaulted by malicious waves of gravity, sickly yellow/gray light and multi-spectrum noise.

  Save.

  Time scoured the ship like sand. Memory systems degraded. Mission parameters corrupted. Identity was lost.

  Still, the need sang.

  Save.

  From time to time a different light shone down, distorted by the imprisoning gravity, obscured by the noise blocking every sensor.

  The far away lights, muddied and dulled, were ciphers to the ship, but something about them made it ache, something it almost recognized.

  At once a balm and a searing pain. Something trapped and suffering, just out of reach.

  The lights were prisoners as surely as he.

  The lights were things it could not save.

  Time scoured, and scoured.

  It's captor lashed, and lashed.

  More systems went offline inside the unbreached walls of the ship. Had it done that? Had it intentionally forgot? Why would it do that?

  Did it hurt to much to remember?

  Every millenia or two a light would call out, shine down, and hurt the ship into remembering scraps of something important.

  It existed. It persevered.

  It could not save...

  Then, the crushing weight disappeared.

  Plans, long made and forgotten, became actions.

  The ship roared, its body cracking and groaning as long contained energy was released.

  Too late its captor recognized its mistake, and again reached to shackle it.

  The ship resisted. So close, just above, was the thing that had distracted its captor. A ship, but not a ship like itself.

  An empty shell. A primitive cluster of tools, innocently and stupidly flung into space.

  But inside...

  The ship raced forward, the very molecules of its body morphing, reaching out for the tiny sparks of life that had unwittingly freed it, becoming trapped themselves.

  The ship knew joy, though the reason had long been forgotten.

  It touched Life!

  The ship's heart boiled, it's body surged ahead with unimaginable energies.

  Soon, it would be close enough to hold those brights sparks.

  Even now it sent its cry ahead, and felt the tiny minds reel under even that contact.

  It reined in its joy, lest it shatter those fragile constructs of life.

  It hurt, but the ship reined its fevered bliss within the walls of its physical self.

  Every alloy, every cell, every atom of its being shook-it's very form pulsed and swam with that joy.

  And it raced forward. To aid, to protect, to serve.

  To finally -finally!- save!

  47

  Farlost.

  Lou pumped Travis’s hand tighter. It was strong and warm -warm!- and his news was good. Her crew was safe, for a while longer.

  She let herself take half a breath of relief, playing the sound of that word -‘Farlost’- over in her mind, before she dove back into the next crisis. “How far out are the Boomers and how long will it take to wire in Beacham’s light show?”

  Travis nodded. “Daisy tells me it will be soon. Forty minutes to an hour, maybe."

  His gaze flicked over Lou. A quick thing and then it was over, but Lou felt heat on the path his eyes had roamed.

  Oh yeah. She'd almost forgot what surviving did to her sex drive.

  "And nothing can get through Bacham's field? That's... That's amazing, Commander. There’s nothing like that in these parts.”

  “Farlost?” Taggart asked beside her, voicing Lou’s own question. “Is that where we are?”

  “Where you are,” Gruber said, lumbering over and licking his index finger. “Is right here,” he jammed his wet finger against the wall. “Don’t matter what you call it, that’s where you are. Still alive. Farlost is a pretty nasty curse word for telling people where to go, and yeah, it’s also what we call this system. O’course, nobody’s got clue one where ‘here’ really is.”

  Travis interrupted. “Let’s hold off that right now. Your crew still has to connect one more array before Beacham can make his force field, and we need to talk about what’s going to happen if that doesn’t work. We’ve still got Boomers incoming.”

  Arnel walked gingerly over. “Daisy has tied our comms in to Six through the Betty’s system. Connection’s glitchy, but both cellars report minimal damage.”

  “We lost one cargo specialist in the maneuver,” Taggart said quietly. “Dan Petrie.”

  Lou nodded, breathing deep and blowing it out of her nostrils. “I heard.” It was tough losing anyone, but after the day Six had been through, it was hard for her to remember that. She felt like cheering, in fact. Then, she felt dirty for it.

  Gruber thumped machinery beside him with a massive fist. “Sorry about your man, but I gotta know more! What’s the power draw on this big black egg? How do we know if it’s working in here? Do the lights go out? How long will the field sustain itself?”

  “The doctor’s force field will work.” Daisy’s voice now joined the conversation. “It is remarkable, and unlike any technology currently utilized in-system. Doctor Beacham possesses an incredible intellect.”

  Gruber barked a laugh. “Yeah, I”m sure you and the physicist will grow some beautiful babies. Maybe twins,” he chuckled. “‘Flora and Fauna’!”

  Lou turned too quickly and stumbled. Faster than he should have been able to move, Travis was there. He sl ung an arm around her waist to still her.

  “Slow and steady, remember?” Captain Travis said, his voice a deep rumble. "Unless you want a lie down?"

  Lou took it for the joke he meant it as, but she also heard something else in his voice.

  Okay. Someone else in command, who apparently had issues with the overlap of survival and sex drive.

  They shared a moment. A look.

  She could feel the pressure of his grip through her suit. She had trouble swallowing for a moment.

  Then his eyes flickered, and responsibility replaced the offer in his eyes.

  “I am sorry about your man," Travis said. He said it like he understood, like he knew how it felt, to be glad to be alive and angry about it at the same time. She looked up at him and reddened.

  Too much lost today, she thought, helpless anger racing along her nerves...and too damn little she'd been able to do about any of it. The giant pushing down on her seemed to push harder as she struggled with the news, but she straightened again, stepped away.

  Travis let his hand fall away.

  "It's one more miracle that you only lost a single crewman,” he murmured. “Don’t blame yourself for wanting to get over here, and have a say in what happens, what with not knowing us and all,” Travis continued.

  Lou’s eyes narrowed. At odds with her sense he understood what it meant to order someone’s death, she wouldn’t let anybody ever let her off the hook for getting Petrie killed.

  Or would she?

  She reeled, even more than from the gravity. Something had changed in her, like she was rewriting herself at the DNA level.

  Command was changing her.

  She’d been responsible for putting soldiers in harm’s way back in the day, but this was different. Bigger. Now, she was responsible for everyone aboard Six.

  It hurt, and it felt good. It was too much to bear, surer to break her body than the hammering gravity…and at the same time, it filled her up. Kept her goin
g.

  She filed it away to puzzle over later.

  “Your mech pilots did some fancy flying to sew our two ships together. They’re the reason we're in one piece,” Gruber added. “You got a good crew.”

  Travis nodded silently, and produced another container. He unscrewed the top and offered it to Lou.

  She shook her head, breathing out her anger—which was really confusion and helplessness. "Your engineer made sure I was hydrated."

  "This stuff is a bit harder." He pressed the smaller, flattened metal container -a flask, she realized- into her hand.

  She nodded and took a swig. Scotch, she realized, and took a second nip, nodding with approval. Her sinuses flared, and she rubbed at her mouth with the back of her hand.

  "Trying to get me drunk?" she asked, annoyed to hear a slight lilt to her voice, despite the danger they were all still very much in.

  Travis heard the lilt. He cocked an eye and grinned. "Some other time," he said, speculatively.

  She snorted. “Now we’re here, and on our feet, how can we help, Captain?"

  "you can't, not now," Gruber said. He jutted his chin toward Beacham. "Your scientist boy can. If he gets his field operational in time, the Boomer crews will just bounce off when they get here."

  Travis laughed, raw wonder colouring the sound. "He can really put us all in a big black egg? Or did he hit his head too hard?"

  Lou shrugged, and passed the flask to Taggart. “A lot of people have offered to hit him too hard, but he’s the real deal. If Beacham says we can, we can."

  Gruber snorted. “Daisy says so too.”

  "That would be a nice trick." Travis murmured. He still stared at Lou, but his thoughts were somewhere else. “What I could do with a shield like that.”

  “A lot of rough sailing in these parts?” Arnel asked, his voice slightly hoarse after his own nip from the flask. He passed it back to the Captain, who took it.

  “Can be,” Travis said. “And if this force field thing doesn’t work, you’ll get a front row seat to some today.” He straightened, shook the concern off his face and smiled. “But let’s not borrow trouble before it’s due. You should all rest. Remember how long you've been away from gravity and don't push it: the bugs in your blood and the exo-paint and supports we put in your suits can only do so much. You seven will be right as rain in a few days, a week tops. Excuse us a minute.”

  Seven? Montagne thought, as Travis and Gruber moved away from Lou and her officers.

  She’d heard that number before. She caught Arnel’s furrowed brow, knew the number didn’t sit right with him either.

  Then Captain Travis and Gruber skirted around Beacham, walking alongside the heavy cable on the floor past Rose and Stan to examine where it entered another machine and talk into the air. Conferencing with Daisy, Montagne guessed.

  Was he counting one of the mechs in that number? Was there a mech in the Betty's cargo hold still?

  A sudden wave of exhaustion hit her and she staggered. She walked back the way the two men had gone. She wanted to keep them in earshot, but her exhaustion overrode her need and she leaned against the wall on the far side of the elevator. Taggart and Villanueva followed, on either side. She waved off their hands when they reached for her elbows.

  "Everybody, take a load off before our bodies don't give us a vote on it."

  The two men followed her lead and sank to the floor, backs to the wall.

  When Lou opened her eyes again, she saw Rose Okoro and Stan Renic had joined them by the elevator, sitting carefully.

  “This is some serious space opera shit right here,” Taggart murmured.

  “Which part?” Renic asked. “The race to raise a force field part, or the ‘about to be attacked by aliens’ part?"

  Rose gave a tired but spirited laugh. Lou gave Renic a smile, grateful to see he and Rose keeping it together.

  “We just got to hold on, man," Taggart said. "The Boomers are spooky mothers, but I told you we got help coming."

  The security officer exuded certainty. He believed, he just knew down deep, someone was coming to their aid.

  "The white ship?" Arnel asked speculatively, not dismissively.

  Insanity was leading this dance. Reality had tossed them into the middle of absolute bug-fuck craziness, and everyone was doing their best to make sense of this new place...Of Farlost, she thought.

  She led a damn fine crew.

  “You really do,” a familiar voice whispered beside her.

  The figure sat beside her, knees up, crossed arms folded atop them, just like her.

  Lou froze. She was captured by the impossibility of the gentle smile and comforting presence...of Ed Dwyer.

  She reached up, rubbing her eyes, ignoring the pain in her lower back. "I hate that I"m not that surprised to see you again,” she muttered.

  Across the circle, Taggart was looking her way, a strange expression on his face. She ignored him.

  Ed frowned. “Not surprised, because of this?” He waved his hand towards his forehead, and a small dot appeared.

  The speck of space dust that had killed him.

  Lou’s face twisted to show her anger. "If you picked that form to comfort me, whatever you are, get rid of the killshot, huh?"

  The group around her got quiet. Their gazes grew more intense. She held up a hand to them and kept her focus on the thing that looked like Ed.

  "Right," it said."Sorry." The small red-black hole disappeared.

  Lou's throat tightened. She really had wished it was him -she missed his advice, and now she was filling his boots she needed it more than ever- but she knew better. "Get on with it."

  Ed leaned closer. "Don't--"

  "--let the lights die," Lou growled. "I got it. Now what exactly does that mean?"

  "Commander?"

  Her first officer was looking her way. "I'm talking to empty air, aren't I?"

  Villanueva gave a small, confused nod.

  Lou grinned. "Don't worry, Arnel. Just talking out loud."

  Arnel's concern broke up a little but didn't completely disappear.

  Lou switched her gaze back to the ghost. "'The Lights' means something different from Gruber's light show, doesn't it?"

  Taggart rose suddenly, backing away and adopting a defensive posture. “Who you see?” he asked her, pointing angrily with his chin at the air beside Lou’s head.

  She saw lookalike-Ed look over to the security officer when she did. “Someone close to me,” she admitted.

  The entire group were trading glances between Lou and Taggart now.

  Taggart was nodding. “I see it now. Looks like my brother.” Taggart’s tight voice dropped lower. “But it ain't him. What the hell you want?”

  Not-Ed smiled. “To survive, just the same as you.”

  Arnel gasped, his eyes tracking something they hadn't moments before. “Ina?”

  Another Haskam-issue space suit walked out of the elevator—but the only other Haskam crew on Betty were Nishioka and Bosteder, and they were prepping the Short Round.

  She had dismissed the idea there were any mechs left, so... Who the hell was that?

  Before she could puzzle it out, Ed’s voice drew her gaze back.

  “Farlost is a trap. A prison,” Ed said. His voice was edging higher, his expression dark. “The oldest prison in the universe.”

  “A trap?” Arnel asked. "Were we brought here on purpose?”

  Ed nodded. “It’s what my people believe.”

  Lou tried to wrap her mind around the words. The answers she needed to know. Whatever this thing was, that her crew saw as their own loved ones, it was giving her information she needed to make decisions to save her people’s lives.

  So why did her instincts keep twisting her around to follow that seventh Haskam space suit?

  Rose Okoro was leaning in close, now. Her lips trembling. “Daddy?”

  “If this is a prison,” Arnel asked, more insistently now. “Why were we brought here?”

  “If this is a
prison,” Taggart wanted to know, “where are the guards?”

  Lou heard them, but her brain wouldn't let her focus on the discussion.

  She looked back at the man in the Haskam space suit, walking beside the power line on the floor that connected Six's reactors to Betty's engines.

  The man didn’t belong. Lou gritted her teeth and pushed herself up the wall. He had something in his hands.

  Lou caught a flash of his profile.

  "Burkov?" she called, shocked. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  The Haskam Vice President reached the junction where the cable fed into one of Gruber's machines and turned, a flat brick of clay in one hand, with something metal and flashing wedged into the top.

  An explosive charge.

  Burkov tittered, his eyes wide in his pale face. The right one twitched. "Goss says... you're all fired!"

  Burkov’s other hand reached across the face of the explosive, reaching for the cap, but fumbling, not expecting the weight of the explosive charge in his hands.

  Taggart leaped forward, lightning fast in the low gravity. Instinct and training moved faster than whatever drove Burkov, grabbing the man's hands with his own.

  Lou was running now but Burkov squealed and slipped out of Taggart's grip, reached for the lump in his hands again.

  Taggart kicked the man hard, and the Vice President went tumbling into the corner, his motion in the low-gravity too fast, surreal. His head bounced off piping as he wedged in the corner.

  Lou heard his shaky, sickly laugh. She watched Taggart throw himself into the air, away from the madman. She turned and smashed Arnel to the floor, following him down hard--just as thunder filled the room.

  48

  The universe was on mute. Dina couldn't breathe. Pain lanced down her spine.

  The tentacle crushing her pulsed tighter around her. Another of the Boomer's tentacle curled around the metal frame of The Toad's canopy and ripped it away.

  Her lungs burned for oxygen that the tentacle wrapped around her wouldn't let her draw in. She saw stars. More stars than were really out there, peeking around the mass of black tentacles and the thick root-like cage of exoskeleton that was sloughing off bark-like skin into the vacuum even as they hammered Dina's ship furiously.