Flight of the Magnus

by L S Roebuck

  “Very well,” the captain sighed. “Let’s have a look. Condi, set course for the origin point of that distress signal. North go ahead and assemble a boarding party. Take Sparks with you — she may prove to be valuable if these people are Chasm. And I’d say it’s about time that Ensign Rhodes got off this ship, too. Have her run your comms.”

  “Yes, sir!” Rhodes said, and smiled.

  “Definitely a ship,” said James Goldsmith, a tubby Marine, with growing excitement in the Valkyrie-class runabout, M.S.S. Prime. “We’ll be in visual range soon. Heh. We found a ship. Here in the middle of nowhere. What are the odds?”

  “I found the ship, James,” Rhodes corrected, as she squinted in vain through the exterior plexiglass port.

  “Why don’t you chill and turn the volume down, Ensign,” The 37-year-old James said with a bit of disgust tossed in for good measure. Rhodes didn’t really like James much, but she generally tried to live peacefully with all her shipmates.

  Goldsmith left Earth when he was 19 to join the Marines at Waypoint Drake, running away from a gambling debt that was getting unhealthy. Even though he was more than a light year away from Earth on Drake, James was still paranoid that one day his past would catch up with him, so he looked for an opportunity to go deeper into space. Rhodes wasn’t yet three years old when Goldsmith signed onto Magnus during its stop at his waypoint. James was 24 at the time. He was a horrible Marine, but Capt. Obadiah took pity on the young man and signed him up for their top-secret mission. With no gambling on Magnus to feed his addiction, James turned to food, packing on the kilos. Obadiah had hoped to leave the overweight and underperforming James on Magellan. But after the battle of Magellan, the captain feared he could not spare even Pvt. Goldsmith, so he put North in charge of James’ physical fitness. James has lost 10 percent of his weight under North’s exercise regimen, but the private could still afford to skip a meal or twelve.

  North, who sat in Prime’s pilot’s chair, thought about chastising James for speaking to an officer, even though she was young, in such a disrespectful manner, but held his tongue. Sparks, on the other hand, did not hold hers.

  “Why do you have to be such an asshole, private,” Sparks told James. The insult smarted James, because he was keenly attracted to the athletic and shapely Sparks. As a civilian, Sparks had no uniform requirement, and thus wore her favorite form-fitting rubberized jumpsuit, jet black with bright violet accents. Her dyed raven-black hair was perfectly trained, not a strand out of place. James decided to cope with his pent-up frustration by insulting Sparks back.

  “You should shut up, too, Sparky. You are lucky you weren’t airlocked, traitor,” James said to Sparks. He meant to be menacing with his tone, but by the time he got to the word “airlocked” he was trying to swallow his own words, and he immediately regretted saying them.

  North didn’t let that one slide. “Private, that will be all,” North said deeply and evenly, almost under his breath. “I would hate to see you have a four-hour shift on recycling sort duty … again.”

  Sparks snickered through her nose.

  Still, North knew James’ words were true: Sparks was a critical member of the rebellious Chasm leadership during the Battle of Magellan. She rammed a runabout not unlike the one they were floating in now into the Magellan gardens, effectively ruining Magellan’s natural food supply. Sparks did surrender at the moment when it mattered most, halting the death of several thousand people, for the offer of amnesty, and under duress with a gun trained on her torso. In the aftermath of Chasm’s surrender, an angry mob immediately tossed most of the Chasm leadership into space, including their mastermind, Kimberly Macready, estranged mother to Amberly. Sparks escaped that fate because of the luck of her physical proximity to Amberly, and the fact a lowly deliveryman – Midas – recognized Amberly. In the end, Amberly’s testimony saved Sparks at the military tribunal from the execution that ended many of her colleagues.

  Sparks, addicted to adventure, quickly took North’s offer to travel with him on the Magnus into the battle as an expert on Chasm intelligence and security. The only other option was to spend more than a decade on the trip back to Earth. For the first few months, she felt sick over her betrayal of the cause for which she had dedicated her life. Chasm was going to create a perfect world – no war, no hate, no greed. Humanity could be perfected, if the smartest and brightest could be uplifted to guide them, Sparks had believed. And if anyone could lead that brave, new future, it was Kimberly Macready and the Chairman. But in the end, Macready for all her genius, had failed.

  For Sparks, seeing her icon martyred by a mob, tossed into the void of space, broke her faith in the cause, permanently. Her cohort brother and co-conspirator, Dek also failed, easily manipulated by the wiles of a woman – the young Amberly Macready at that. What a tool, Sparks thought. She thought of Dek’s messy brown hair, his grey-blue eyes, and pictured him spending the better part of the next two decades detained in the brig on the American Spirit, headed back to Earth for final judgement.

  I was a fool to think Dek was any different than any other weak man, Sparks mused. Kimberly Macready had taught Sparks how to manipulate men to do her bidding, not through instruction, but by example. Macready justified the trail of destroyed men, even her husband, with her religious devotion to the cause. With Sparks’ ties to Chasm gone, the only cause that mattered to her now was herself. She was ready to do whatever it took to have whatever the galaxy could offer her ambitious heart. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted, but she smiled as she looked over at the chiseled North. He’ll help me get it, she thought.

  Pvt. Goldsmith peered into the visual scanner. “I see her. Red hull. I can make out the registry… C.S.S. Ironman. Ironman!”

  Rhodes didn’t wait from the order from the XO. She immediately opened a radio channel with the Magnus. “Magnus, this is Prime. We’ve confirmed contact with the Cortes Spaceship Ironman, please confirm and advise.”

  A gravelly voice replied. “Confirmed Magnus. Captain wants to know if you are receiving any additional communication now that you are in visual range?”

  Rhodes looked over at James, who shrugged.

  “Negative, Magnus,” Rhodes said. “Just the same generic distress signal.”

  “I’m going to bring us around to Ironman’s portside to get a better look,” North said as he eased the Prime’s thrusters to match the speed of the derelict Valkyrie. “Sparks, go below and have Advika and Mateo gear up. And prep the airlock for boarding.”

  “You make me do all your dirty work, North,” Sparks rolled her eyes, offering a faux whine. “They’re your Marines. I’m just a civvy.”

  “I see a light coming from the bridge viewport,” James said, motioning to get everyone’s attention. “Look, someone’s flashing a light from the Ironman’s bridge.”

  “Is it Morse code?” Rhodes asked.

  “No, it seems… random,” Sparks said, as her heart jumped. The code wasn’t random at all; Sparks recognized it as a Chasm code. Clearly, someone on that ship wanted to covertly connect to any Chasm operatives on the Prime. Sparks forced herself to conceal her excitement. Was there hope that somehow Chasm could be saved? Could I be the hero that saved the Chasm operation? Sparks ran through the possibilities, quickly processing them. If the Chasm operative on that ship could help her commandeer The Prime, could she somehow put North under duress so he would help her take over the whole Magnus? What a prize if the greatest instrument of war Earth ever created could be used against the mother planet, to separate Arara?

  Sparks pushed those thoughts out for now. She had to get more information, bide her time, assess the new situation. The Ironman could be a trap. Earth loyalists could have learned the code, and are using it to expose Chasm turncoats. I’m getting paranoid now, Sparks thought as she headed for the lower deck portal. Who am I kidding? I’ve always been paranoid.

  “Well, let’s see if anyone is still alive on that boat,” North said. He looked at the young, female officer. �
�You have the ship, Rhodes”

  North looked at the older enlisted man, then frowned “Don’t give her any trouble, Goldsmith.”

  “Yes sir,” Goldsmith returned the frown.

  Sparks, privates Advika and Mateo, and XO North moved single file through the flex-polymer gangway that connected the Prime and the Ironman. Once the four of them were in the gangway, North turned to seal the Prime’s airlock. Although it was extremely unlikely that pressure would have built up in the Ironman as the derelict floated through space, caution was in order. When they opened the airlock on the Ironman, if the ship was hyper-pressurized, gasses could tear through the gangway through an unsecured Prime airlock, causing catastrophic hull damage.

  “I hope they haven’t locked us out,” Sparks said into the radio transmitter embedded into her helmet.

  “If these people wanted to be saved, they left the door unlocked,” North’s voice crackled over the radio in reply.

  “Commander,” Pvt. Advika addressed North by his rank, “Why don’t we just tow this bird back to the Magnus hanger? Seems like it would a lot safer than what we are doing now.”

  North punched in a manual opening on the Ironman’s external keypad. The indicator light that confirmed the interior airlock was closed illuminated to a pale green.

  “People could be dying? Could be a bomb? We don’t want to accidentally expose the Magnus to dangerous elements? Have you ever heard the story of the Greeks and the Trojan horse?” North asked. Advika didn’t respond, but nodded through her helmet. North put up two fingers and pointed toward the airlock – indicating that for his marines to draw their weapons – energy weapons that stunned human life — and be ready when he opened the door.

  Sparks sighed over comms. “What do you think you are going to find in here?” She stepped in front of the Marines, pushing North out of the way and pressing the open button.

  “Wait! You don’t know –” Mateo said panicked as the airlock opened, exposing an empty interior airlock.

  “Sissies,” Sparks said, and walked inside the Ironman’s airlock. The moment she crossed the threshold, she began to float.

  “No power to the artificial gravity unit,” Advika said the obvious. North slid into the airlock, and looked back at the Marines, still standing in the gangway. “You two stay here. See if you can plug Ironman into the Prime, get this poor girl some juice.”

  Mateo felt as though he would wet his pants. Having to wait out in what looked like an aluminum foil tube in the middle of the infinity of space made him woozy. Sure, Prime’s powerful computers could scan and chart the trajectories of the billion closest chunks of space debris. The ship would automatically dodge or incinerate most of them, Mateo reasoned, but what if one got through and blew a hole in the connecting tube while he was still in it? He could get sucked out into space. His suit would sustain him for what, maybe two or three hours?

  “Hey, I don’t want to wait in this aluminum tube,” Mateo whined. “This is a death trap!”

  “The only dead things here are probably the poor souls that have perished on this ship,” North said.

  “At least you are safe on a ship,” Mateo continued, “not with only a few millimeters of flex material between you and the cold fingers of space.”

  “Quit being so dramatic,” Sparks sighed as he punched the control closing the exterior airlock door again, sealing the Marines outside the ship.

  “But… wait,” Sparks heard Mateo over her radio.

  Looking at her fellow Marine, Advika shook her helmet covered head. “Sparks is right Mateo. You are a sissy. Go pull the power transmission cable and let’s get to work.”

  The interior of the Ironman was nearly pitch black. North produced a multitool and flipped the flashlight on. He started scanning the cargo hold, and saw hundreds of empty ration containers bouncing around, weightless. Sparks floated up behind North, pressing her body next to his and draping her arm over his shoulder. With her eyes, she followed the trail of light cast by North’s multitool.

  “Eerie.”

  The VI Condi spoke into North’s helmet with a pleasantly smooth, deep female voice. “Gaseous readouts put O-2 levels at 10 percent. Safe to breath, XO, but not for too long. No toxins detected.”

  North reached up and pulled off his helmet. It started to float away, but he quickly secured it with his free hand. “Don’t you be going anywhere, I still may need you.”

  Sparks followed suit and took off her helmet. The air smelled like death marinated with fecal juice. She resisted the urge to vomit, holding back a gag.

  “Let’s go topside,” North pointed his light toward the ceiling, looking for a ladder and portal.

  Sparks lifted her sleeve toward her mouth, and spoke into the small embedded comm unit. “Hey, sissy, how is that power transfer coming. I am tired of floating. Let’s get this artificial gravity tuned on.”

  The radio crackled back at Sparks. “Don’t call me sissy,” Mateo was perturbed.

  “Truth hurts,” Sparks offered a sly smile no one could see.

  North found a ladder and floated towards it. His radio sounded. “Rhodes here. We’ve got remote command of Ironman, and she’s plugged into our battery. You want me to turn on the gravity?”

  “Yes. And turn the lights on, too,” North said.

  “The air scrubbers seem to be operational, I’ll turn those on too,” Rhodes said over the radio.

  “How about firing up the climate control, too,” Sparks said. “It’s freezing in here.”

  The ship lights flicked on, and North had a queasy feeling as the artificial gravity grew. Empty packages all around him fell to the ground. North stumbled a bit as he was pulled to the floor.

  Then behind him, he heard a thud.

  Both Sparks and North swirled around to see a human body, female, wearing a dark jumpsuit. She was clearly dead; her ghostly pale face was crowned with dark hair pulled into a pony tail.

  Sparks walked over to the body, considered the emaciated form, and pointed to the right leg.

  “Looks like someone shot her multiple times,” Sparks said, as she drew her stun gun. “With bullets.”

  North smirked as he saw Sparks draw her weapon. “Surely everyone on here is dead, Sparks. What are you going to shoot, their ghosts?”

  Sparks hadn’t forgotten about the Chasm code she saw; obviously from someone still alive. An armed Chasm operative wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in both her and North. An operative would have no way of knowing that she is … was… a Chasm officer.

  “There is a reason I am still alive North,” Sparks said as she followed him toward the ladder leading up a deck.

  “Because of the word of Amberly Macready?” North offered, matter-of-factly.

  “No. Because I am a survivor,” she said, and nodded her head toward her weapon.

  And then they both heard what they least expected: The cry of a young child.

  North quickly moved up the ladder through the round portal to the upper deck. “This is Commander North, Magellan Marines,” he shouted down the topside corridors. Sparks quickly came up the ladder and flanked North. There were six portals which North assumed were crew quarters and perhaps a mess hall. He forced open the powerless door to the first room, creating a hiss as the pressures between the rooms equalized.

  The air felt stale and a rancid odor dominated the thin atmosphere. The room was indeed a mess, as North surveyed a filthy food preparation area and various dishes scattered around a small dining table, bolted to the cold steel floor.

  “They must have sealed off the room, to save energy and reduce the workload of the CO2 scrubbers,” North called back to Sparks. Sparks didn’t follow him in, but instead, weapon still drawn, moved to the next room, a dormer. The bottom bunk was empty, but had obviously been used. In the top bunk, something human-sized was covered in a blanket tied down to the bed with grey polyflex belts.

  “North!” Sparks shouted, and the Marine quickly paced the few meters between them.

>   Sparks indicated the bundle on the top bunk with a wave of her sidearm. North reached over put his hand on the bundle.

  “It’s warm,” he said, with a bit of the grimness melting from his face. He and Sparks both went to work untying the belts. North flipped down the blanket and saw an emaciated, unshaven man, asleep, he thought. His dark hair was ratty and he wore a torn jumpsuit.

  North looked at Sparks. “Do you have the portable medicenter?”

  Sparks shrugged. “It was in Advika’s loadout.”

  “North to Prime – Rhodes, send Advika in here with the medicenter. We found an unconscious man, looks like he hasn’t eaten in weeks.”

  “She’s on her way to through the gangway now,” Rhodes reported.

  The baby cried again, and this time, they could clearly hear the sound coming from the bow of Ironman, probably the bridge.

  “I’ll go check it out,” Sparks said. “You stay here and wait for Advika.”

  C.S.S. Ironman was a mid-sized runabout, not designed for deep space travel, so the trip from the crew quarters to the bridge was less than 20 meters. The bridge door was closed, and Sparks half expected to have to force the door open, but upon her approach it opened automatically.

  The bridge was arranged in a typical three station format, navigation, communication and command, with swivel chairs facing the main viewport. Sparks could see a dark ponytail draped over the headrest of the command chair. Sparks raised her stun gun as the chair spun around slowly.

  “Who are you?” Sparks asked, but she already knew. “And whose is that?”

  In the chair, a painfully thin woman with sullen dark eyes, sat. She wore an ill-fitting red dress and poorly applied red lipstick. In her left hand she had a gun – one that shot bullets – trained on Sparks, and in the other arm, she held a young child. Sparks hadn’t much experience with children, but she suspected this one was just at least a year old, maybe two.