by Trent Evans
There was no way he was going to get that lucky.
The lifeboat moved painfully slow, seeming to be frozen in place on the projection overhead. He engaged the booster pack on the shuttle as soon as she was clear of the station; D would need every meter of distance she could put between herself and Charon 90.
“Diandra, I… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he muttered, clenching his jaw, replaying the thousand tiny choices he could have made in the past that would have prevented him from facing the fate hurtling his way through the nothingness of the void.
“Eye. How long now?”
“Less than a minute, sir.”
Shit.
“Inbound on viewer,” he barked.
His heart sank as it began to take shape, at first a tiny dot in the blackness of nearby space, then taking on the distinctly slender, yet menacing silhouette of a cruiser, its braking thrusters still firing full blast.
Tension crept into his muscles with every second, and he took to pacing to deal with it, the last seconds agonizingly slow, slipping away like an ebbing tide.
He never imagined a man could actually grow impatient as he awaited his time to die.
* * *
The steam of the auto-sterilizer slashed down in an X pattern before the airlock, momentarily hiding it. The station shuddered as the retention arms clamped down, securing the shuttle in place at the docking point.
Martin had watched the shuttle’s telemetry as it had separated from the main vessel’s sensor signature, the Eye locking on and guiding it in during terminal phase without incident.
Did you think it was going to be the bad guys rushing in, guns a blazin’?
He wasn’t sure what he expected, but what emerged from behind the hiss of gray-white steam surprised him. It was four figures, one — who seemed to be the leader — was dressed in a gray, skin-tight jumpsuit, the shoulders, hips and legs scored with narrow black stripes. His dark hair was cut close to the scalp, his jawline strong. He wasn’t particularly physically imposing; Martin guessed him at about six feet tall. The man’s eyes though, were so brilliant that their deep azure seemed to almost… glow.
I’ll be damned.
Flanking the leader on either side were two other men clad in the distinctive dark, armored suits one commonly associated with front-line Coalition assault troops. Both were heavily armed, the men toting what he guessed were rail-guns, the silvery, sleek lines of the weapons belying the terrifying, brutally efficient instruments of death they truly were.
Most definitely military issue.
But there was little doubt in his mind that these were no Coalition soldiers.
Martin dropped his shotgun, the harsh clatter of the weapon against the floor grating causing both of the armed men to train their guns directly on him.
“You don’t need to bother with those,” Martin said, hoping with all his might that the pounding of his heart didn’t make his voice quaver. Looking down the muzzles of the rail guns, he felt like Theseus gazing upon the abyss of Hades.
Rather than reply though, the leader looked first to the left, then the right, a hand on the shoulder of one of the guards seeming to signal them to stay where they were.
“My name is Antaeus Elazar.” The man’s voice was soft, almost… gentle. “You are the commander of this installation?”
But there was anything but gentleness in the cool depths of his keen gaze.
Then he set eyes on the fourth member of the little “boarding party.”
Oh lord.
The figure at first was indistinct, hidden behind one of the hulking troopers, then stepping out of the shuttle, she became quite distinct indeed.
She was entirely naked, and even more shockingly, her head was devoid of even a single strand of hair. Pale, her face drawn, she looked as if she hadn’t seen so much as a photon of sunlight in months. Yet, the fierce blushing at her cheeks was almost… fetching.
Her body was lush, the soft, pale flesh set off in a barbaric contrast by the heavy chains draping her frame, her arms cuffed before her at the wrist. She shuffled carefully forward, her ankles burdened by thick leather cuffs linked by the most abbreviated of gleaming chains, her bonds reducing her movement to little more than awkward shuffling. Her breasts and bottom swayed and bounced as she moved, and somehow Martin knew the woman’s predicament was intended to do that very thing to emphasize her debasement, the blatant display of her bound body at once provocative and a concrete, irrefutable statement of her place among this motley — and menacing — crew.
Displaying steel studs at nipple, navel, and rings at eyebrow and lip, she was positively dripping with piercings. Her sex, a tight, close-lipped — and very bare — peach, huddled between trembling, but firm, thighs, her genitals festooned with yet more metal, as if such accoutrements were intended to draw the eye. A bizarre, and yet, striking tattoo reached from just under her jaw, down either side of her slender throat and ended in a dazzling pattern that spread up the inner curves of ripe, heavy breasts. Her deep coral nipples were very erect indeed, perhaps from fright, the coolness of the docking bay, or the merciless steel stabbing through her tender flesh.
The woman dared a quick scan of her surroundings, not quite meeting Martin’s eye, then she returned her attention to the floor grating, the clink of her chains going silent as she stilled, two paces behind Antaeus.
“Martin Acres?” Antaeus’ lips quirked, and then he stride directly toward him, stopping only when their noses practically touched. Antaeus’ eyes bored into him in silence, and Martin wanted to do anything but be within a light year of this… being. But he stood his ground anyway.
“That’s me.”
“On your knees, human.” The cold words startled him, the muzzle of a rail-gun suddenly pressed to the side of his head.
Martin obeyed the order, lacing his fingers atop his head, certain what was coming next. His life expectancy could now be measured in seconds.
The accelerator of the rail-gun began to whine. The end was very near indeed.
Antaeus stood over him, his face placid, serene. “I have only one question, Martin. Where is your lifeboat going?”
Martin’s stomach sank, but he lied anyway. “It’s empty. Station jettisoned it — I think it’s a malfunction.”
“A malfunction, you say?” Antaeus’ voice was a mockery of concern. “Now, what makes you think that?”
“Because I was supposed to be on it.”
“Hmm, could be. Could be.” The words were the softest of murmurs. Then Antaeus arched an eyebrow. “But I didn’t ask you if it was empty, did I? Who is on that precious escape craft then?”
“Nobody. It’s empty — I’m still here, aren’t I? Why don’t you stop jerking me off and do what you’ve got to do.” He closed his eyes, tensing, insanely wondering if he’d hear the shot that would splatter his brains all over the bulkhead behind him.
“I don’t suppose it matters, really. But I wonder about something. I have a problem, but no solution. I hope you can help me with it. The Company’s transport node lists the last shuttle to arrive here as having but a single occupant — an artificial human occupant, to be specific. I’d very much like to speak with this… person. And yet, my ship’s scans on approach showed only one person on board this station, confirmed by the human standing before me at this moment. So, here we are — one human, zero artificials. Either our scans are wrong, or your Company’s transport node is wrong. Do you see my dilemma?”
Martin took a breath, trying to steady his voice. Though he had already resigned himself to his impending death, his heart was still jackhammering in his chest. “I have nothing to tell you. I’m the only crewmember on this station.”
“Where is the artificial, Martin?”
He stayed silent though. He knew it was close. Almost there. Another minute and there was no way they’d be able to track a target that small.
Come on, baby. Make the fucking gate!
Antaeus said nothing for a moment, then shrugge
d, tapping his temple with a fingertip. “Gunnery. Prepare to fire on that lifeboat before it gets out of range.”
“No! I — you don’t need to do that. I’m not resisting — please, take what you need. The lifeboat is… nothing.”
“It will be, in approximately five seconds,” Antaeus intoned, his lips quirking, the dark, unsettlingly brilliant eyes locked upon him. “That is unless you have anything else to—”
“It’s not empty.”
Antaeus smiled. “You humans are such simple creatures. I need you to tell me who is on the lifeboat, and in exchange I’ll grant you a quick end.”
“The Company’s transport node — it’s bullshit. It’s part of a… trick, I guess. It was actually a person — a human.”
“You really expect me to believe that? Make me wait any longer, and I’ll have the lifeboat vaporized. Just to be sure, you see.”
“It’s true, goddammit!”
Antaeus watched him for a moment. “Let’s say I believe your dubious story. Let’s say this really is a ruse by the Company. Let’s say the person on that little helpless craft is indeed another human. This mystery guest of yours. And yet, if I were to go along with your story, how do you explain why that person escaped… and you didn’t?” He nodded toward the trooper holding the weapon to Martin’s head. The rail-gun accelerator began to spool up, the whine increasing in volume.
A single, hot tear tracked down Martin’s cheek as he choked out the words. He knew they were the last words he would utter in this life. “Because the person on that lifeboat is… my wife.”
Shockingly, nothing happened. Instead, Antaeus took a knee in front of Martin, an elbow resting on his thigh. “Now, that is something I didn’t expect. I knew today would prove interesting.” The muzzle of the gun was taken away, the motor cutting out with a subtle crackle of electricity. Antaeus’ voice became a murmur as he stared into Martin’s eyes. “What to do, what to do…”
Chapter 15
Warm wind washed across the terrace, the breeze normally one I relished. We were one of the few couples this high up in the Vella 7 arcology lucky enough to have such a stunning view. More than a thousand meters above the surface one felt more a part of the heavens, rather than the Earth somewhere far below.
And without my husband, none of it mattered. The strange sense of helpless frustration, of profound loss was my new reality, my existence without Martin like a fatal wound bleeding out, the beauty of my surroundings draining away into so much lifeless gray.
I had been told it was all normal, of course. The weeping. The uncontrollable shaking. The despair. The rescue vessel’s captain — I thought his name might have been Marston — had told me it wasn’t out of the ordinary for a lifeboat survivor to wish she had never been picked up. That he had seen it all before was supposed to be a comfort, but for me, it only emphasized the banality of my pain, the cold, hard reminder that my anguish meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.
I could still remember the strangeness of the scene, the light in his eyes that I so wanted to be sincerity, but resembling a shopworn weariness instead. He had smoked as he sat there with me in the debriefing chamber, the blue-white wisps framing his craggy face; I had only ever seen someone smoke in old movies. Cigarette smoking hadn’t been legal on Earth in decades.
He said a lot of “old ways” were rediscovered out in deep space.
More than once, I had stood at the precipice of our balcony, and stared down, the wind’s cool fingers whispering through my hair. I knew I had to let it go, to accept that which I could not change.
He’s not dead.
But I knew, in my heart, that he had to be. No word in almost three months? The most frustrating part was the utter lack of any information from the company. Each time I contacted them, I was told: “An investigation remains ongoing.”
A non-answer answer.
This wasn’t some mishap, a minor irregularity. This was my husband — and it was probably too late for him.
No, it’s not.
I didn’t know what to believe anymore. Logic said, not a single peep in ninety days… meant the worst. What other conclusion could one reasonably reach?
How about the truth?
But if he wasn’t dead, what had happened to him? Then the gloomy thought settled in my mind then like a freezing January fog.
What if the company was lying?
“Hell, this whole fucking thing has been a lie,” I whispered to myself, pushing away from the railing, and trying to not to think about how strangely fascinating the image was of me sailing right off the edge.
It would feel like flying, for those last few seconds, wouldn’t it?
Stop it, Dee. This isn’t helping you get him back.
No, I had to hold on to hope. It was all I had left.
There was more to it than just hope of finding my husband again, Oh, so much more. It buoyed me, those thoughts. Maybe those thoughts were delusional; I had no doubt there were plenty of head-shrinkers who would simply label them a coping mechanism, denial, even bargaining.
I had changed — and so had Martin.
Entertaining such things was predicated on me accepting he wasn’t dead though. So, I did. It helped — even though it presented more questions than answers.
Even though it tied my brain — and my heart — in Gordian knots.
Because those questions would remain, even if I did eventually discover my husband was indeed alive.
What if the changes Martin and I had experienced… meant we could no longer be married?
Did I even know Martin anymore?
Could I still be with a man… if this was really what that man wanted?
Wasn’t that the whole point of this mess? To see who he really was? Well, you’ve got your answer now, don’t you?
I was old enough to know better, that some questions shouldn’t be asked… because one might not like the answers.
And yet, I had plowed ahead anyway — straight into a disaster.
Thinking with your pussy does that every time.
Yet, even there, it still wasn’t all of it.
The fear was undeniable, no matter how much time I spent rationalizing it away, or distracting myself.
What if I wanted what he wanted? I thought I was adventurous, courageous, even a little brazen. But now? I was in so far over my head I didn’t know up from down anymore.
I may have patted myself on the back for my courage, but did I have that same courage to confront what it might say about me if I not only wanted what Martin wanted, but needed it.
Need? Like a junkie needs her fix?
Maybe so. Being that much a slave to my own twisted desires… might mean I was every bit as messed up as my husband.
It was another question I feared I didn’t actually want the answer to. Everything about this was fucked-up. My self-loathing and fright was bad enough.
What this entire mess had revealed though — about both of us — was even worse than the unknown.
I wasn’t one to just sit there and helplessly lament my fate — or my husband’s.
It was time to act, and I knew just who to see first.
He was going to talk — I’d make damn sure of that. No more company double speak non-answer bullshit.
Yes, I knew who had the answers, and I wasn’t going to stop until he gave them to me.
* * *
The irony was not lost on him that he was now imprisoned in the same bed chamber he had locked D into — after he had saved her from the very men who had taken him prisoner. It was the very space he had used to degrade, debase, and objectify a woman who may or may not have been his actual wife.
Fortunately, the trooper had removed Martin’s blindfold before slamming the door closed, the steel on steel clang leaving a piercing ring in his ears as he blinked his eyes over and over, trying to focus in the dim light.
It was more of a tomb than he had realized when he was utilizing it for a… much different purpose.
&nbs
p; The only illumination was a slender crack below the door, and the ghostly cyan glow provided by the life support monitoring unit installed in every room of the station.
He still couldn’t believe he was alive. Up until the very moment the rail-gun motor cut out, he was sure he was but seconds away from meeting his maker.
As if your maker would be inclined to grant you an audience. After what you’ve done?
He was no closer to knowing what was going on here, but he knew one thing — they had let D escape.
The feeling of immense relief mixed with a strange sadness filled him the moment the gate transfer was complete, the lifeboat disappearing from telemetry. Up until the very last moment, he had feared Antaeus would order the lifeboat be destroyed.
The question to his mind was — why? Whoever Antaeus was, he had no reason to grant any mercy. In the thirty seconds after Martin met the man, he knew without a shred of doubt that there was not a scintilla of mercy anywhere in that man’s makeup.
There was something about him as well, something… other.
It was clear that this group, band — whatever they were — had to be behind the nearby mining stations going offline. There was no other conclusion one could draw. The question remained though. Why?
And what was the fate of the crewmembers of those stations? The possibilities chilled him to the bone.
The view he had been able to get of the mystery ship on visual sensors could not be magnified enough to get a one hundred percent certainty confirmation, but what he had been able to figure out was that the vessel that had launched the shuttle with its little boarding party was highly likely to be a Coalition cruiser, the slender but strikingly elongated profile strongly indicating a Ticonderoga class. He had a good friend who had served on one years ago, and the stories he came home with left Martin awed — and not a little disquieted — at their sheer destructive power.
Such mainline warships were literally never seen that far out at the galactic rim; it was the quintessence of out of place.