Galaxy's End: Book One

by LeRoy Clary

  There were times when they simply thanked him and moved on. More often than not, they insisted on a reward. Bill shuffled his feet and hung his head as he protested that they were giving him too much for his small, good deed.

  That routine had fed the two of them countless times over the years. It didn’t hurt anyone, and the reward was usually enough to buy food for a day or two.

  Now, he was talking and acting like the captain of a starship. If not a captain, certainly a valuable crewman. He fit right in.

  I was the odd duck.

  Bert fit in. Fang did too. I could sway people with my mind, but how often was that needed? During the negotiations of a trade with a client, I might help. Not always but sometimes. And what would I do on a starship the rest of the time? Sleep? Followed by naps?

  I wouldn’t be an engineer. My idea of fixing something was to tell Bill it needed repair. Ships didn’t require pilots because they have computers. I knew nothing about electronics or workstations.

  “There it is,” Fang snarled.

  A red blip had appeared at the edge of the screen in front of him.

  Bert said, “I have it on my monitors, too. That last boost in power you added increased our detection range by seven percent.”

  “Do you think they know we spotted them?” Fang asked.

  Bert hesitated and I imagined him researching his answer before speaking. He broke the silence when he said, “The MK-8 is the standard unit for detection on almost all ships of this type, and most others. It has the highest sensitivity of any civilian detection equipment sold. Their consistent range that they stay behind shows they know that and are attempting to remain just out of range. Only our fluctuation in speed gave their position away.”

  Fang continued for him, “It could be they have the same equipment, so now and then they surge ahead slightly, just enough to see us for a moment, then they slow and stay on our tail.”

  “Meaning they are definitely following us,” I said.

  The buzzer for the door sounded and I looked at the screen to find Captain Stone on the other side. I let her inside.

  She said, “Thank you, Bert. I heard it all.”

  Bill and I exchanged a glance. We were wondering what she was going to do.

  She took her seat and stared at the little red dot, a slight smile on her lips. Fang misted himself again and turned a pair of questioning eyestalks in my direction without turning his head. I ignored them. We three waited in silence.

  As often happened, Captain Stone surprised us again. She said, “Okay, we know they are there, and they don’t know that. Good. Keep a watch on them.”

  She settled back in her seat.

  I couldn’t help myself. “That’s it?”

  Stone said, “I’ve spoken with my ship. Well, not spoken, but messaged each other. Heshmat has an old military ship-for-hire in orbit. My First Officer is hiring it. Since we know where we’re going, he can supply the coordinates to the military ship to wait and intercept it, as well as lay mines and have warm torpedoes to convince that ship back there to stop for inspection. My First Officer will lead the boarding party.”

  Fang said, “That sounds expensive. If you need more funds, I may be able to help, for a small fee.”

  Captain Stone laughed, the first genuine laugh I’d heard from her in a day. She said, “Thanks, but we have it covered. I’ll pay their fee, which is minimum because we’ve also offered a split on any compensation if we should capture the ship and sell it back to the owners.”

  Bill said, “Are you sure that we are not pirates?”

  We all turned to him.

  He shrugged. “This will be the second ship we’ve taken over in two days. Well, more than that because we won’t take over the second ship for a week or so, but you get my point. The way it’s going, by the time we arrive at Heshmat, we may have another ship or two in tow.”

  It was not funny, but we laughed.

  Captain Stone told the AI to sound an alarm if the pursuing ship started to close the distance between us. I decided to head for the galley. I hadn’t eaten since sleeping.

  Bill said with a sideways glance my way, “We’ve determined that one of the galley crew, the ship’s stewards, is most likely the killer.”

  There went my idea of a full meal served at a table in the galley. To date, I had enjoyed eating food served by others twice. Both times on this ship.

  I called in a voice slightly louder to draw attention, “Bert, I was counting on that meal. Have you cleared any of the Dreamer’s stewards?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have a suspect?”

  “No.”

  I sighed.

  Captain Stone, yes, I was getting used to using her title now that we were able, glanced my way. She said, “You could make something for yourself.”

  Feeling obstinate, I said, “The poison may have been applied to the ingredients days ago.”

  “There is that,” the captain said as her head turned, so she could watch the ship following again. It was not the red blip that she was thinking about but the ship it represented. Which ship was it, why was it there, how did it know the correct distance to follow undetected, and most important, was it armed?

  Rather than draw her away from her duties, I opened the door and slipped out. I heard the chink of the locking pin being inserted before strolling down the passageway. I paused at the door to the dining room and composed myself.

  I was about to do a little sleuthing on my own.

  Inside were three passengers huddled at the same table, two females, and one of indeterminate sex. One steward stood aside, cleaning the tabletops, the chair seats, and anything else that didn’t move.

  He was a young male, wearing a white uniform, as all stewards did, and an apron wrapped around his middle. His skin was mottled and wrinkled in patterns, much like the water-monsters on Roma. They were a species of quasi-reptile that ate anything that got too close to their ponds and swamps. Their camouflage coloring and rough-textured skin allowed them to lie in hiding until prey innocently walked past.

  They didn’t care about the size of their prey. They swallowed small creatures whole. With larger ones, they used the hundreds of sharp teeth in their long snouts to rip a huge mouthful of flesh before throwing their heads back and swallowing. Nothing deterred them.

  I looked at his eyes and found them surprisingly calm and serene. As I decided the killer couldn’t be him, I reconsidered. What better disguise than to appear innocent.

  “May I get you something?” he asked politely.

  “An unopened bottle of water, please.”

  He made a slight frown, then cleared it off his face and said blandly, “Anything else?”

  I wanted to ask for anything in a can, tin, or sealed container. Instead, I shook my head, listened to my stomach growl, and faced the table with the three people watching me. I said, “Good-day.”

  “Join us?” the non-human asked, as it ignored the slight scowls of the others.

  I would have refused the invitation on other days, but the scowls offended me. My way was to directly confront slights, insults, and poor manners. After all, their words and actions couldn’t hurt me. If they tried anything else, I intended to leave with two fists full of hair, one from each of them.

  Forcing a smile to appear on my face, I stepped near them and introduced myself. They didn’t. However, they had questions. A lot of them. The steward brought my water. The cap had been removed, probably as a courtesy. I wouldn’t drink it.

  It hadn’t been an invitation to join them socially, but to answer their barrage of questions. I provided sincere double-talk, contradicting my earlier answers. But my smile remained in place until I begged off, pretending I needed to complete chores.

  Instead, I inspected the small kitchen. The cooler contained supplies. Nothing I would eat. In the cupboards and pantry were foods of all sorts.

  Another steward entered from a side door. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
/>   “Looking around,” I said. We had not yet made it known that we suspected a crewman as the killer of their captain and that it had probably been a steward.

  “If you want something, ask one of us. Otherwise, this area is for us, not you.”

  It would have been easy, but not appropriate, to take the rude woman’s attitude and translate it into the one a killer would have. Just as dismissing the quiet, polite one was wrong.

  I left the kitchen. The three at the table watched me pass by without a word.

  But my mind was racing. The earlier captain had been killed by an injection into the side of his neck as if someone had come up from behind and jabbed him. Someone he allowed inside the bridge area. Someone he trusted enough to turn his back.

  However, despite the puncture wound, there had been other signs of a weapon, probably a hypodermic needle. While not wanting to kill anyone else by mistake, the killer may have taken the needle to his or her cabin for safekeeping. It might still be there.

  I headed for the bridge again. Captain Stone could order all the stewards to the galley while Bill and I searched the rooms.

  Before reaching the hatch, it swung open violently, striking the wall with enough force to vibrate the nearby floor. It was Captain Stone. Her eyes were wild, her face flushed. She pulled to a stop and growled, “Kat, have you used your empathy power again?”

  “No,” I said with almost a stutter at the surprise question.

  “Well, someone on this ship sure as hell has.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Captain Stone

  Captain Stone faced Kat in the passageway outside the bridge and knew from the girl’s reaction she had not used her empathic powers on her or tried to. However, as an anti-empath, Stone knew that someone nearby had tried to enter her mind and sway her thinking, and that action both scared and infuriated her.

  Kat said, “I didn’t feel anything.”

  “Have you ever?” the captain snapped as she brushed past the girl.

  Kat followed closely behind. “No. I guess I never thought about it. Either that or nobody ever tried doing it to me.”

  “Remember how I knew when you touched my mind at the arena that you were a young woman and needed money?”

  “Yes, that puzzled me. Still does.”

  They stood at the door to the galley. Instead of opening it, Captain Stone waited and turned to Kat. She said, “This time it was a man. Over thirty, probable closer to forty.”

  Kat said, “There are only two male stewards, one young. The other matches your description.”

  “I know. We’ve deducted the killer is a crewman and a steward. We will go inside and order ice cream. You will follow my lead.”

  “Yes, captain.”

  Stone opened the door and entered as if totally calm. She sat at one of the vacant tables after nodding a brief hello to a few of the passengers, however, she turned her back to them, making it clear she didn’t want any of them to sit with her or ask questions. Kat took the seat opposite, where she could watch them.

  A steward came up, a woman. Captain stone visibly relaxed and placed the order for two bowls of ice cream without looking around to find out if the steward they were seeking was nearby. He was. Kat fought to keep her eyes off him.

  Nearer forty than thirty, the male steward deftly handled his duties while not bothering to look their way, or perhaps avoiding making eye contact. She couldn’t tell which. Kat leaned closer and asked, “Are you sure it is him?”

  “Yes.”

  The abrupt response pushed Kat back in her seat. The male steward flashed a wide smile to a woman he served as he whispered something for her ears only, and she responded with a giggle.

  Stone leaned closer to Kat. “Have you ever noticed that someone not looking at you is just as telling as when you catch them staring?”

  Kat silently shook her head.

  The captain remained close and said, “Use your powers to convince him to look at us. Not too much, just a little nudge because I think he is trying not to look this way.”

  Kat shifted positions. Her eyes squinted slightly became unfocused as she tried to project. She eased the idea into his mind that he should look at them.

  The male steward slowly turned. His eyes locked with the captain’s eyes. It was her turn to smile. She called softly as she crooked a finger, “Come here, please.”

  He tried to bluff. “I’m not assigned to that table. May I get your steward for you?”

  “Yes, you can come over here,” purred the captain, as if they were old friends and she leaned closer as if telling him a secret. When he was closer, she said clearly and loud enough for all in the dining room to hear, “You can get me to allow you to live a while longer if you sit down until we’ve eaten our snack and then accompany us to the bridge. I’m certain you remember the way. It’s where you murdered your captain.”

  His face flushed—then paled in rapid succession. He inhaled and started to deny.

  Before the first word came forth, Captain Stone said, “Talk without my permission and you die. Here and now. Kat, is that bio-gun of yours pointed at him?”

  “Yes,” Kat said evenly, probably never having heard of a bio-gun in her life, but it sounded dangerous.

  The steward glanced at Kat and found a perfectly blank face staring back at him. Her hands were in her lap under the table, out of sight. This was not the time for joking or trying to amuse the captain. She allowed a slight amount of empathy to make him fearful, not enough to sprint away but to do as the captain asked.

  * * *

  Kat:

  There came the merest touch of a strange sensation inside Kat’s mind. It was him, the steward sitting across from her and Captain Stone. She didn’t try to block it or manage it in any manner. She trusted Captain Stone would keep control of the situation, however, Kat wanted to understand how it felt to be on the receiving end of an empath.

  The steward’s attempt to convince her to put aside her weapon was crude and abrupt. The idea of releasing him came in a wave that anyone should be able to reject, she decided. Besides that, the mental touches were contrary to her wishes and beliefs. There was no chance she would do as he wanted. However, it showed how poorly he was skilled. Or perhaps it was just a quick response without any planning.

  Her method was softer, often a small step at a time. Gentle suggestions and doubts about the alternative, both at the same time were effective. Tiny thoughts implanted and left for the other to work out until they came to his or her point of view. She would plant an idea and allow it to simmer instead of telling someone what to do.

  In other words, the steward stomped on the mind of his victim. He may as well have shouted. The difference was between the nudge of the elbow of the person sitting next to you and a slug on the shoulder.

  The experience helped Kat in a hundred ways. There were times she had tried the same approach as he had—and she had often failed. Not always, but usually. Her method took longer. It was also more subtle and allowed the person to lean in her direction before making a choice.

  She didn’t feel pressured to do what he wanted, which was a surprise. Instead, she had thoughts that conflicted with what she’d been thinking. It reminded her of sharing a meat pie with Bill years ago. She was hungry. He was hungry. There hadn’t been food for them in three days. He’d offered her the first bite.

  Instead of taking half the pie, which was fair, she had bitten off two-thirds. That only left Bill the far end, and she would have wolfed that down too if he hadn’t reached for it and tossed it into his mouth. However, what she chewed seemed to sour. His eyes accused her, not his words.

  “I’m sorry,” she had mumbled.

  “Okay,” he agreed.

  After that incident, she didn’t feel she had earned his trust back for half a year or more. With that single huge bite, she almost lost a valuable friendship.

  That was the way the steward used his empathic ability. Like a sledgehammer smashing a finishing nail, she reali
zed. Or a selfish person eating more than his share.

  Kat had learned a good lesson with the experience with Bill. She applied that to dealing with the steward. It was time to see what else she could learn. The ice cream arrived in a pair of bowls and they ate and talked genially about starships. They discussed how they were traveled so fast through space. Stone explained using the wormhole universe was like passing through the veins in bodies that connect to other people. Captain Stone explained that it would take generations to travel from star to star without the intricate wormhole system where a ship entered at one nexus and left at another, perhaps a hundred light-years away.

  They ignored the killer-steward sitting with them.

  They discussed how emerging civilizations were considered taboo for contact as long as they were planet-bound or attempted to only navigate the deep-dark between stars. Once they figured out the wormholes, they were welcomed into the galactic club.

  Some reluctantly accepted the invitation. A few kept their independence and used wormholes sparingly. Others, like humans, embraced it.

  The steward sat stiffly and contributed nothing to the conversation. The passengers in the dining room didn’t either. They sat, listened, and watched the interactions play out. They sensed the discussion was far deeper than it appeared. The accusation by the captain had quieted the entire room, but she knew as soon as their snack was finished and they left, those passengers were going to sprint to tell their tales and impressions.

  The captain again seemed to be one step ahead. She asked the serving steward to clear the room of passengers, and to remain at the door, on the outside, to prevent any others from entering for a while.

  When the three of them were alone, Kat lifted a spoonful of ice cream and paused just before placing it in her mouth. She held the steward’s eyes as she asked, “You haven’t been trained, have you?”