by G J Ogden
“That’s good to hear.”
“Satomi is stabilizing him, and then we’ll come back for him later, with the medevac gear.”
Casey’s smile fell off her face and she pushed herself up, but Taylor caught her, placing a hand on her shoulder and gently halting her advance.
“Woah, not so fast, Casey.”
“But Captain, we can’t just leave him here,” Casey protested. “I should stay with him.”
“He told me you’d say that, Casey,” replied Taylor, improvising and also compounding the lie with more lies. “but we need you to help take out that soldier. That’s our best way to help Blake now, Casey, do you understand?”
Casey glanced across to where Satomi was tending to Blake, and then back to Taylor. She rested back against the wall and gently patted Taylor’s hand, which was still on her shoulder, “Aye, aye, Captain Taylor Ray.”
Taylor smiled and released his hold on her, “Thanks, Casey. We’ll be back in no time.” Casey nodded hesitantly and shut her eyes again. Taylor took the opportunity to leave, feeling sick to his stomach and ashamed. Blake may have been right, but the deception would leave a scar that would never heal, because Casey would not get the chance to say goodbye. She might forgive Blake for that, in time, but whether she would forgive him for his complicity he did not know. Perhaps it was selfish to think of himself, but the trust of his crew mattered more to Taylor even than the mission, and he couldn’t bear it if Casey felt less of him as a result.
Taylor skidded down the last of the rubble and stalked towards the last-seen location of the Hedalt soldier. He reached the corridor and waited, listening intently for any indication of movement, but there was only a deathly silence, punctuated by the occasional crack of a broken electrical system and click of a malfunctioning overhead light. He glanced back towards where Satomi and the others were still concealed behind the rubble of the wrecked balcony and then made a decision that he knew was stupid, but resolved to follow through with anyway. He would go after the Hedalt alone to ensure no-one else got hurt. They were his crew and his responsibility. They were only two weeks away from the end of their mission; two weeks away from when they should be heading home with enough pay for them all to start new lives. Blake would not make it back, and he wouldn’t let Satomi or Casey share his fate. He had insisted that they take on this mission, because rules were rules and the mission came first. But none of them deserved to die on an unknown rock twenty thousand light years from Earth. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to die here, either.
ELEVEN
Taylor edged around the corner at the end of the long passageway, weapon raised in readiness, and glanced into the adjoining space. According to the basic schematic that Satomi had found in the computer system, this new area should lead on to one of three possible hangars, hopefully containing the equipment they needed. But, first, the threat of the Hedalt soldier had to be dealt with.
As Taylor crept further inside, he could see that the space was split into two sections, one of which resembled a small lecture theater, with glass walls, while the remainder of the room had a more casual layout, with seating areas and a variety of different breakout spaces that he couldn’t properly identify the purpose of due to the dim lighting. As he stepped cautiously inside, he found his mind wandering and exploring extraneous thoughts, such as the strangeness of seeing chairs and tables, since he’d never imagined a Hedalt to sit in the same way humans did. Then again, he’d never been inside a Hedalt base quite like this, so everything he was seeing was new. He tried to focus on more useful thoughts, and surmised that it was perhaps a combined briefing room and ready room, which if true would mean that the hangar and flight deck would lead on from it, increasing the odds of finding salvageable parts to repair their ailing Nimrod-class cruiser.
He checked the area contained within the glass walls first, finding it empty. In fact, Taylor could find no evidence that it had ever been populated or used in anger. Other than the dust, it seemed untouched. He moved back outside, cautiously sticking to the walls as much as possible. Unlike the command center, the ready room, if that was its purpose, was open-plan and contained few places to hide or launch an ambush from, and Taylor was diligent in ensuring that any such nooks and crannies were thoroughly checked. The Hedalt had got the jump on him once already; not again.
The door to the hangar lay ahead and he crept slowly towards it, but then his foot slipped forward and he had to react quickly to stop himself from falling. Crouching down, he noticed a liquid shimmering on the bare metal deck plating. He touched it and rubbed it between his fingers; it was thick and dark. Hedalt blood... he realized. He stayed low and scoured the deck for other traces of the substance, quickly spotting a thin trail leading to the exit doors into what he assumed would be the hangar. He tightened his grip on the handgun and followed the path traced by the blood up to the door, noticing as he got closer that there was more blood on the handle. He took several deep breaths, placed his hand next to the bloody mark left by the Hedalt soldier and then pushed though.
His heart was beating faster than the movement of his hands, as he checked right then left, and then dashed for cover behind a stack of storage containers. He’d half-expected to be shot or clubbed around the head the moment he had sprung through the doors, but his gamble had paid off, this time. He peeked around the side of the containers to get a better view and it quickly became apparent that their assumptions had been correct; this was indeed a Hedalt starship hangar. It was huge. Taylor could see rows of Hedalt Corvettes lined up, side-by-side and as he counted the ones he could see without breaking out from his position of cover he calculated that Blake’s estimate had been on the money. There were perhaps fifteen or twenty Corvettes inside, though the hangar could accommodate considerably more. But just one of the Hedalt vessels would be sufficient in order to salvage the components needed to fabricate new RCS thrusters in their ship’s workshop.
Like the other parts of the base, the hangar looked both ancient and also as if it had never been used. Stacks of containers, like the ones he was hiding behind, lined the rear of the hangar, behind each ship that he could see. Whether they were supplies that had been intended to be loaded onto each Corvette , or just equipment for the hangar, Taylor couldn’t be certain, but they would provide the cover he needed to approach the closest Corvette, hopefully undetected.
The next nearest stack of containers was about twenty meters away, a distance he could cover in a matter of seconds if he moved quickly enough, but if the Hedalt was hidden somewhere inside, lying in wait, it would also provide it with ample opportunity to execute another ambush. Taylor took a deep breath and got ready to run, tensing every muscle in his body so that he was like a coiled snake, ready to strike. Then he sprang forward and made a dash for the second stack of containers, but he barely made it five meters before the air was ignited by purple bolts of energy, which seared the deck plating all around him. It was either poor aim, perhaps due to the Hedalt’s injuries, or sheer fluke, but Taylor somehow managed to not get hit, and as he dropped behind the second stack of containers, he knew he was lucky that his prideful and reckless actions hadn’t got himself killed. Let’s hope fortune does truly favor the bold, and that I’m not just fortune’s fool… he thought.
His musings were interrupted by shards of energy lashing into the containers above his head, showering him with sparks. He pressed back against the metal boxes as two more bolts seared past, before the firing abruptly stopped. He tried to catch his breath, but his heart was thumping like a frenzied boxer and his arms and legs fizzed with adrenalin. He hadn’t seen where the Hedalt had fired from, but the angle at least put it in the first quarter of the hangar, assuming it had not immediately moved after firing. He peeked around the side of the containers and a bolt flashed past his face, close enough that he could feel the heat on his skin.
Damn, it Taylor, think! he scolded himself, while ducking deeper into cover behind the containers, several of which were now either on fire or melting. H
e was in a bad spot; he couldn’t retreat back through the door into the ready room without risking being shot at again, and he doubted his chances of being able to get an accurate shot off at the Hedalt before a plasma shard seared through his chest.
“Come on, think, there must be an option!” Taylor roared, this time out-loud in case hearing the words in his own ears would trigger his brain to come up with a solution. Then he looked up and noticed that the topmost containers were high enough to allow for an elevated view across the entire hangar. If he climbed to the top, he might be able to spot the Hedalt soldier, and possibly even get a shot off at it, before it realized where he was. It was risky, but as more purple energy bolts thumped into the containers two meters from his location, he decided there wasn’t really a choice.
“Satomi is going to kill me for doing this...” he told himself, as he started to climb up the dense stack of containers, which wobbled precariously as he rose higher. Weapons fire from the soldier continued to flash all around him, but all of it was focused at ground level; the Hedalt had evidently not assumed that Taylor was stupid enough to scale a tower of burning and melting containers.
He reached the top and stole a look over the edge. Bolts of energy lashed towards him, but still aimed low. The Hedalt hadn’t seen him; not yet. He leopard-crawled forward, handgun still gripped tightly in his grasp, until he was able to see down into the hangar below. He stretched out the weapon and aimed into the space ahead, waiting for the Hedalt to fire and give away its position; it duly obliged. Taylor traced the bolts back to the source and saw the soldier, perched on the wing of one of the Hedalt Corvettes, using its hull for cover and the advantage of elevation to gain a better viewpoint, exactly as it had done for Taylor.
“Now I’ve got you!” said Taylor and he squeezed the trigger, unleashing a controlled burst of armor-piercing rounds towards the Hedalt’s position. His shots landed wide, but penetrated into the metal of the ship’s wing, just close enough to force the soldier to withdraw. Taylor saw it slip and then dangle precariously from the edge of the wing before falling just out of his view. It would have been a controlled fall of perhaps two or three meters; not enough to kill it, but certainly enough to wind it and, hopefully, make it think twice about pressing its attack.
Taylor pushed himself up into a kneeling position, craning his neck in an attempt to reacquire his target, and then he saw it stagger out from underneath the cruiser and take cover next to a maintenance station. Taylor fired again and the rounds from his powerful weapon penetrated through the station and forced the Hedalt to scurry from cover, firing blindly in his direction. At times like these you need luck on your side, but the roll of the dice had not gone Taylor’s way. He watched as the bolts of energy seemed to approach him in slow motion, and as he twisted his body away from the approaching shards, he felt the containers beneath him give way and collapse. The sensation of falling was brief and terrifying, and was followed by the crushing agony of his head hitting the deck.
TWELVE
There was a flash of brilliant, white light and Taylor found himself standing on the balcony of an apartment overlooking a great river. It felt familiar, but also completely alien. He was resting on the balcony with a glass in his hand containing about an inch of amber liquid. He smelt it then took a sip, and the smooth vanilla finish of the whiskey was vividly familiar, yet it also felt like the first time he’d ever tasted it.
He heard voices and spun around, spilling his drink in the process, to see Satomi, Casey and Blake sitting and chatting at a table behind him. They looked strange, as if a thin rubber sheet had been stretched across their faces. They suddenly stopped talking and looked at him, before raising their glasses. Taylor opened his mouth to speak, but they vanished, then the balcony, river and everything else melted away, and he was again surrounded by an intense white light that should have been blinding, yet it did not hurt his eyes.
There was the sensation of falling again, and then his feet hit metal and the white light fizzled away, as if there had been a spotlight shining in his face that had just been switched off. His eyes adjusted and he instantly recognized that he was on the bridge of a Nimrod-class cruiser, sitting in the command chair, though he couldn’t be certain that it was his ship. The other stations were occupied, but instead of Casey in the pilot’s chair, the seat was occupied by someone he did not recognize; a sort of faceless mannequin. He looked at the tactical station and then the mission operations station and both were occupied by similar-looking humanoid mannequins that appeared to have no discernable age or gender, or any distinguishing features that could tell one apart from another.
The viewport switched on, showing the predatory shape of another Nimrod-class cruiser bearing down on then. No, wait, not a Nimrod… Taylor realized, suddenly conflicted despite initially being certain of what he was seeing. It’s a Hedalt Corvette. Or is it? The confusion was short-lived as the heads of the faceless mannequins all spun towards him like they were possessed and cried out in chorus, “Captain, what do we do?” Taylor was too much in shock to answer, and then they chorused again, “Captain, they’re firing at us!” Taylor saw the flash from the enemy vessel’s cannons and the whole ship shook as the shells slammed into the hull. The viewport exploded, followed by each of the three main consoles – pilot, tactical, mission ops – leaving the faceless mannequins burning lifelessly at their stations, like Guy Fawkes effigies on a bonfire. Taylor screamed and tried to run to help them, to pull them out of the flames, but for some reason he could not move his feet. The ship was rocked again by pulses of energy and alarms sounded all around him.
“Abandon ship!” Taylor ordered, and then he had a dread sense of déjà vu. He looked down at the console screen in his command chair and could see that the hull was breached in several locations and that their main reactor core was damaged. He knew the ship was dead in space; he’d been here before.
“Abandon ship!” he cried out again, “The Hedalt have attacked. Send a signal to Earth Fleet Command, the Hedalt have attacked. It’s war!”
The bridge of the ship seemed to crumble around him and Taylor had the sensation of being thrown into the air. Then he was falling again and he felt himself slipping into darkness, but it was not the same as unconsciousness. He pressed his eyes shut, expecting to crash into the deck of the bridge at any moment, but then the falling stopped, and everything was still and quiet.
He opened his eyes and discovered that he was lying prone, but instead of his face being pressed against the cold, silver metal decking of a starship’s bridge or the Hedalt hangar deck, he was lying on a pure black surface that felt unlike anything he’d touched before. It had no texture or temperature, and it felt neither hard nor soft, yet it resisted the press of his body. It was as if it wasn’t there at all, yet it prevented him from falling further into the darkness that now enveloped him.
He pressed his hands to the surface and pushed himself up. He was in a corridor with black walls and a black ceiling constructed from the same impossible black material that he had woken up on. Am I awake? Am I in a coma? What the hell is this place? These and other questions invaded his mind, but all of them were equally unanswerable.
He stepped forward a few paces and his footsteps made no sound, despite the obvious sensation of his boots stepping on something solid enough to oppose his weight.
“Hello?” he called out, but his voice vanished into the darkness without any echo or reverberation as if he was standing at the peak of a mountain and his breath had been swallowed whole by the wind. “Hello, is there anybody here?” he called out again, but the words vanished as before, and there was no answer. He felt panic and terror start to swell inside his gut, but he fought back his primal fight-or-flight instincts. Come on Taylor, hold it together…
He continued to move cautiously forward, and the corridor seemed to grow and stretch out in front of him endlessly. Taylor quickened his pace as panic again threatened to overwhelm him, but then out of the darkness a door formed, bri
ght and sharply-defined against the blackness, like a star in the deepest, clearest night.
He moved up to it, but there was no handle. He tried pushing the door, but though his hands landed on the surface and he felt it push back against his weight, like the floor beneath his feet, there was no sensation of texture and it was neither hot nor cold.
Taylor spun around and pressed his back to the door. The shock and strangeness of his new environment had initially dulled his senses, but despite his efforts to control his emotions, his mind was now fully giving in to fear.
“What is this place?” he shouted out. “Is there anyone here? Help me! Somebody, please help me!”
He ran away from the door, back the way he had come, but the corridor just stretched out endlessly in front of him, as before. He stopped, feeling breathless and giddy, and spun around again. The starlight door had disappeared and now he was surrounded only by an oppressive darkness that seemed to be pressing in on him. He screamed, but then without warning the walls, floor and ceiling of the corridor seemed to change and become opaque, and he was surrounded by pinpricks of light and swirling clusters of gas. The sense of vertigo was intense and Taylor fell to one knee, feeling dizzy and nauseous.
The disorientation passed quickly and he was able to stand again and take in his new surroundings, and as he looked all around, above and below, he suddenly realized what he was looking at. He was standing in space, encircled by stars and nebulae and galaxies, but also strangely removed from it all, as if he was looking through Casey’s pilot’s viewport. But this was not a virtual reality; it was too pristine, too perfect for that. This was something else.
He continued along the corridor, the surfaces of which were still faintly visible, like looking through thick glass, feeling calmer, despite his predicament not having improved. And then, out of the starlit darkness ahead of him the door appeared again, bright and flawless, but just as impassable as before.