Yesterday's Tomorrow: An Oz Garrett Novel

by Paul Rix

Chapter 31

  The excited atmosphere in chamber five became more orderly once Captain Maxwell and Major Thompson returned. Three guards were now permanently stationed at the hatch, keeping a lookout along the central core for any signs of the enemy. The rest of Trask's guards were busily checking their weapons or performing stretching exercises to ease some of the aches and pains from their time in cryo-stasis.

  Trask's personal physician, having completed an examination of the grand president and discovering no significant anomalies, was now going around the weaker guards to carry out cursory checks and ensure everyone was properly rehydrating. Several guards had remained in their pods, either due to fatigue or because of severe side-effects from the cryo-stasis.

  Thompson and Maxwell were now in front of Trask, holding onto a pair of pod doors so that they didn't float away. Trask's skin color had returned and his eyes were more keenly focused. He now resembled the man Maxwell remembered making bold speeches to large crowds, although she was still trying to come to terms with whether it was weeks or years since she had seen him being cheered wildly by his supporters.

  "Captain. What do you really know of this man, Garrett?"

  "Not a great deal, sir, other than what I already told you. He was in my command room when the ship started an emergency reanimation. Oz admitted to instigating the process but is adamant that it was an accident. It was then he informed us we had been dormant for thousands of years."

  "Why did you believe him? He was a total stranger on your ship and disturbed you for no apparent reason."

  "At first, we didn't. It is a fanciful tale, after all. Dr. O'Brien expressed concerns our bodies were in a worse state than expected, but that was all we had to go on. The first proof was when he took us to his spaceship, which is docked close to the main airlock. The technology on that ship is way beyond anything we dreamed of on Earth. You must see it for yourself because I can't explain most of it. I am sure the tech can't have been developed in just a few years. There were some serious advancements. The clincher was when he shared details about our relatives and families that he couldn't possibly have known."

  "That information could still be fake," said Trask. "And there is always the possibility that Garrett could be an alien. Who knows what we could encounter in different regions of space? Our top scientists warned us to be prepared for anything. It sounds as if you have no independent information to corroborate Garrett's version of the facts. And that concerns me."

  "That's true, but—"

  "Did you spot any of his accomplices?"

  Maxwell shook her head. "We spent a night on his spaceship. There was no one else and no room for anyone else. He mentioned a rescue team was on its way but it isn't due for another four days."

  "You're very trusting. And you've followed no security protocols, putting us all at risk."

  "Sir, there aren't any protocols for this eventuality. We expected our first contact to be with other Project Exodus colonists."

  "You've been grossly negligent, captain. Do you know for sure that Garrett isn't a scout, with the rest of his team waiting close by for the opportunity to board Britannic once he tells them it's safe to do so? Have you considered that his accomplice may have already been on this ship when he reanimated you?"

  "No, I haven't," admitted Maxwell, who was doubting herself in the face of Trask's accusations. "Why so many questions?"

  "We need to know the facts," Thompson interrupted. "It's essential we understand if knowledge of the grand president's presence on this ship was leaked. Our mission requires absolute secrecy to be successful."

  "I assure you it was secret," Maxwell said, bitterly. "Maybe Earth signaled the PEAs once they realized what you had done."

  "Not possible," Trask replied with a smug expression that was mirrored by the major. "I ordered all deep-space communications facilities to be destroyed as soon as they transferred me to Britannic."

  "You did what?" Maxwell almost screamed in astonishment. "You ensured no one on Earth ever found out if Project Exodus was successful?"

  "A necessary precaution. It will not aid my plan to govern the Stellar Cluster if the early settlers are aware of my presence. That's probably the reason why you have unwanted visitors on your ship."

  Maxwell clenched her fists tightly, trying to remember it was the grand president in front of her. Her day was becoming crazier by the minute. "If they know you are here, why haven't they come for you? I'm more inclined to believe Garrett that those people are marauders. I don't believe you can complete what you set out to do. If Garrett is telling the truth, there's already an established system of government. You won't be able to overthrow it with a handful of guards. It doesn't matter how experienced and loyal they are."

  Trask gave her a condescending look. "Captain, you're forgetting my many years as a politician and world leader. I didn't achieve my position by going along with the majority. Instead, I brought people along on my journey. I'm the most persuasive person you're ever going to meet. You've seen how I fought for Project Exodus and then ensured it was a success. It wasn't easy, I can tell you."

  "I'm sure. And I appreciate what a great effort you made. I know every person who made it to the Stellar Cluster knows it was you that made their lives possible."

  Trask sat forward, his body, for such an old man, becoming quite energized. "Exactly my point. They should all be grateful and allow me to see the project through to its logical conclusion."

  "But two thousand years have passed. Do you still think you're relevant or in people's thoughts?"

  The grand president groaned dismissively. "First, let me tell you, I don't believe Garrett. However, supposing that it is true, then that means Project Exodus was successful. I imagine they have built statues in my image and that my name is taught in every school. Maybe cities, and possibility planets, have been named after me. I'm regarded as the savior of humankind. Can you imagine what the reaction would be to a legend coming back from the dead?"

  "They would adore you, my love," his consort said, looking lovingly at him. "As we all do."

  This sudden change of heart astonished Maxwell. From the look of joy on Trask's face, it was apparent he was considering what his life could now be like. This was not the person she had seen portrayed as a selfless leader.

  His wife seemed even more taken by the possibilities. "We'd be treated as gods. Can you imagine, touring all the brave new worlds, receiving the adulation of millions of grateful men, women, and children? How could they not want you as their venerated leader? It would be a peaceful coup."

  "No coup is peaceful, Magdalena. No politician likes to surrender power willingly. But the will of the people always prevails."

  "One step at a time, don't you think?" Maxwell said. "It's only seconds ago that you didn't believe Garrett."

  "It's called flexibility, my dear," replied Trask, still basking in thoughts of splendor. "I hope I'm not giving away too many of my secrets, but being able to exploit any set of circumstances separates the truly outstanding leaders from the mediocre."

  "Wouldn't it be truly amazing if we have traveled into the future," Magdalena continued. "Ready-made worlds and palaces. No more hunger, strife, or sacrifice. It would feel like karma if we have arrived at a point in time where we will be honored for our achievements rather than have to continue the fight to be acknowledged."

  Maxwell was lost for words. The conversation had become surreal, and she wasn't sure if she was in the right place. She glanced at Thompson, hoping that he may be able to instill some common sense to the debate, but he stoically refused to make eye contact.

  Before she could object any further, a slight commotion coming from the hatch disrupted the chamber as one guard made his way toward the major.

  "What is it, Ramirez?" Thompson asked.

  "There's movement along the corridor. Someone is heading in this direction."

  Thompson's eyes narrowed. "Are they armed?"

  "I don't believe so. I couldn't spot any weapons
through the telescopic lens."

  "Take no chances, major," ordered Trask, concern etched in his eyes.

  "Could it be Garrett?" Maxwell asked.

  "We'll soon find out," Thompson said as he indicated to Ramirez that she follow him back to the hatch. Thompson took four guards with him out into the central core. The room fell silent as the guards disappeared out of sight, with everyone staring expectantly at the hatch.

  After less than a minute, Maxwell heard muffled voices coming from the central core. She didn't recognize the voices, but there didn't appear to be any tension.

  Several seconds later, Major Thompson re-entered the chamber and looked immediately at Maxwell. "He says he's one of yours. Doctor Luke O'Brien."

  She released the breath she had been holding and looked over Thompson's shoulder as O'Brien entered the chamber. The fear in his eyes and the swelling blue bruise on his cheek instantly quashed any relief she felt.

  There was one burning question she had to ask. "Where's Sakura?"

  Chapter 32

  After experiencing double the normal gravity levels, returning to the weightlessness of space felt like a blessing for Garrett, particularly in one of his own spacesuits. Despite being physically fit, his back and legs ached from the thirty minutes he'd endured on Raptor.

  Without Major Thompson’s guards slowing him down, he was making quick progress as he pulled himself the last fifty meters along Britannic's hull. This section of the ship, near the bow, was severely cratered and scarred from meteoroid strikes, giving him better opportunities to get a secure grip.

  On his back, his weapons case contained an assorted array of rifles, pistols, and thermic grenades. Although the case was full, he regretted that Murphy had not stocked Raptor with a wider selection when he'd had the opportunity. He told himself he would correct that error at his next stopover wherever and whenever that might be.

  As he approached the immense, curved hangar doors, Garrett cursed as he saw the amount of severe damage it had suffered.

  “This had better not be a dead end,” he said to himself.

  The steel structure of the doors was not as well shielded as the rest of Britannic's hull, with only half the thickness of material to absorb strikes from space debris. Close up, he could see the force of the impacts had buckled the metal plates. In one of the larger craters, there were even deep holes wide enough for him to put his fist through.

  His worst fears were realized as the doors remained stuck fast. Either Maxwell could not open them from engineering, or there was too much damage for them to open. The reason did not matter; his way back inside the ship was blocked. He briefly considered returning to the emergency airlock and, just as quickly, he ruled it out. There was no strategic advantage to going back to the rear end of the ark, and he had already taken enough time getting this far.

  He pulled himself along the edge of the hangar doors, searching for any hint of a crack that would allow him inside. There was nothing. When he'd almost given up all hope, he found a hole that could be large enough to slide through. He reached it and was initially encouraged by its size. Shining a flashlight into the hole, he could see that an object had gone all the way through the shielding.

  This was his way in.

  “Computer. Is there any change in the status of Scorpion?”

 

  “Okay. I’m going back inside Britannic. I’ll likely lose comms with you.”

  It was a tight fit but, after he had passed the weapons case through the hole, Garrett cautiously squeezed himself through, taking extreme care not to rip his suit on the sharp steel edges. Once through, it was like being on the inside of a cave. The hangar was in complete darkness, blacker than anything he had experienced.

  As he flicked on the lamps built into his helmet, the hangar lit up to reveal its splendor. The space was more cramped than he had expected, with the stubby nose of the landing craft less than two meters away. Being so close, the craft took up nearly all the usable area. The heat shield near the hole showed some minor damage and as he slowly turned his head.

  “Ouch!” Garrett uttered as he spotted the space rock that had ripped through the door. It was now embedded in the hangar's rear wall which, fortunately, had heavier shielding. Intrigued, Garrett floated across to the rock and spotted the deep blue telltale signs of iron-rich ore indicating it would be almost indestructible.

  Thankfully, the rock had missed the landing craft by a matter of millimeters. He had never been this close to an actual landing craft. The only one he had seen was a museum replica, sealed behind plexiglass to protect it from the elements. This was his dream machine, and he longed to fly one, however, now wasn't the time to re-live childhood memories.

  With no time to admire the interior, Garrett collected his weapons and slid along the side of the landing craft to where the main entrance hatch was located. What he hadn't appreciated was that the craft's stubby wings were folded up along the length of the fuselage. It meant, however, there was no way to access the hatch, and. the only way to reach the airlock to the central core was through the landing craft.

  Garrett knew without having to check that there was no way to release the landing craft from its docking clamps connecting it to the sturdy airlock sitting on the top of the vehicle. And there were no other access ports that he was aware of.

  He floated around the hangar again, quickly determining there was only one solution. Retrieving his photonic rifle, Garrett positioned himself in front of the co-pilot's window and braced himself against the bulkhead.

  “Sorry old girl,” he whispered as he fired two shots in quick succession.

  The first cracked the glass, while the second caused the glass to shatter. There must have been residual air pressure inside the craft as shards of shattered glass flew outward, narrowly missing a surprised Garrett. But the two blasts had the desired effect. Where there had once been a solid windscreen was now an ample space for him to fit through.

  Garrett wasted no time passing through the flight deck and into the main cabin which he knew would normally be filled with enough rows of seats to accommodate thirty colonists. Now, those seats were laid flat, and the space filled with crates. He quickly checked three of the crates and saw they contained scientific equipment designed to test air and water purity. Historians were going to have a field day once they got their hands on it all.

  He continued through, following a narrow corridor that took him directly to the airlock. Thankfully, this one had a manual override allowing him easy access but, with no power, he was unable to pressurize the airlock. Instead, he opened the exterior hatch directly into the Britannic's airlock. Sealing the hatch to the landing craft, he swiftly removed his spacesuit.

  Before moving to the central core, he opened his weapons case and removed two guns, three spare power packs for his rifle, and his laser optical sight. Only once he was sure the weapons were secured to his belt and the sight was fastened to the top of his rifle did Garrett open the hatch and step through into the central core once more.

  It was only then that he took a moment to consider his next actions. Ever since he'd seen the name 'Scorpion' on the side of the sleek enemy spacecraft, he had fought the urge to run. If the president was involved in what was occurring elsewhere on the ship, it could only mean bad news to attempt to oppose it. He was outnumbered and outgunned by the most highly trained soldiers.

  But why the need for secrecy?

  Surely the arrival of an intact PEA was cause for celebration.

  It was safe to assume that he had been speaking with someone on Scorpion when he sent his request for help. The ship must have already been en route to intercept Britannic, and they had intentionally lied him to. And now they were blocking his comms with the rest of the Stellar Cluster.

  He had never had an interest in politics, rebelling against his father and brother who had both thought it the only career for people like them. Garrett didn't care who was in power, or th
eir policies, just so long as they didn't interfere with his life. He knew it was a blinkered view, but the alternative was to rant and rail at politicians who would continue doing what they did despite everything. Which was why the only thing he knew about the president was her name.

  If it wasn't for Captain Maxwell, along with her crew and the colonists, the smart thing would be to get as far away as possible. But Garrett felt responsible for them. If only he had kept his curiosity in check and not ventured aboard Britannic, he would have been none the wiser but there was no point fretting about consequences now. He had to save everyone on the ship, or at least die trying. And that might not be a bad alternative. At least he'd be back with Mercy.

  Before he made any further rash decisions, his priority was to find out as much as he could about the enemy. He was currently at a distinct disadvantage and there had to be a way to even the odds. At the moment, the only advantage he had was none of the enemy were aware he was at the front of the ship. He had to keep it that way for as long as possible.

  Using the optical sight, he looked along the length of the central core for any signs of traps or the enemy. It enabled him to see all the way to the engineering section, over two kilometers away. Using the scope's AI filter enhancers, he could see three of Trask's guards keeping a watchful eye outside chamber five.

  “Ah. There you are.” Two soldiers, dressed in black armor, and carrying advanced photonic rifles. The range finder stated they were eight hundred and forty meters away. Easily within range if he wanted to take two shots. He knew he was more than capable. But, without knowing how many others there were, as well as their location, killing them now was a dumb move. He would be revealing his position yet gaining no tactical advantage. He suspected the soldiers were also wearing electronic repelling shields that would dissipate any accurate shots he made.

  He had to get closer. He told himself the right distance was two hundred meters. From that range, a direct hit by his photonic rifle would overpower any protective devices. If he could get any closer to his targets, it would be a bonus. The relaxed posture of the two soldiers revealed an arrogance and surprising lack of professionalism that he would never have tolerated in his days as a gunnery sergeant. They almost deserved to be punished.