“Okay, you won’t apologize. I get it. You’re a cat. You don’t give a rat’s ass—”
“—I can catch a rat and give you its ass as a trophy—”
“—No, no,” Tripp gave up the ghost and turned to Manuel, “That’s not what I—It’s a turn of phrase. Means you don’t care.”
Jelly didn’t feel the need to respond. Tripp, once again, was spot on with his assessment - and she wasn’t going to correct him. She genuinely didn’t give a rat’s ass about his feelings.
“And to be quite honest I’m starting to know how you feel.”
“Miew,” she offered, politely.
“Stop talking,” Tripp prepared himself for action. Work needed doing, feelings be damned. He snapped his fingers at Manuel.
“Jaycee is at Weapons and Armory. Wool’s at Medix. Can we try to establish comms with Charlie once again, please? Provide something of a salutation for their arrival?”
“Certainly, Tripp.”
Jelly rose out of her chair, “I need the bathroom.”
“Yes, go and get ready. There’s a good girl,” Tripp lifted the keyboard and hit the return key, “Manuel, I’m going to my quarters to get ready. I’ve advised the others to do the same. In the meantime, commence connection to Opera Charlie on a frequency of zero, four five, niner—”
SPRIIIIISHHH…
Tripp turned around, slowly, hoping the sound coming from the corner of the control deck wasn’t what he feared it would be.
No such luck.
Jelly crouched in the corner and relieved herself all over the floor. He couldn’t help but sneer and lament the fate of the universe.
“Really?”
Jelly shrugged and continued her business with a ‘when you gotta go, you gotta go,’ look on her furry adult face.
“Unbelievable,” Tripp shook his head in dismay and walked out.
Chapter 10
USARIC Data Point
Space Opera Charlie
Days traveled: 545
Distance to Enceladus: 178,616 miles
The Hyper-Sleep Chamber
Level Five
A low hum crept around the chamber. It dispelled an otherwise perfect silence. The lights snapped on, illuminating the circular quarters.
Three hyper-sleep pods fanned out like a star from the central feeding column.
The first of the three pods shimmied to life. The screen blanketing its occupier slid into its housing.
WHIZ-WHIR.
A pair of eyebulbs blinked, “Captain?” Its squeaky voice woke Oxade from his slumber.
He opened his eyes and immediately squeezed them shut, shifting his body around the pod’s foam interior, “Oh, God. My head.”
“It’ll take some time to get oriented.”
Oxade pressed his elbows onto the fabric and lifted the top half of his body upright. Poz Bass, one half of the death drone duo, spun his head around three-hundred-and-sixty-degrees.
“Welcome to the vicinity of Enceladus.”
“Are we there?”
“Yes, five-hundred-and-forty-five days of sleep,” Poz extended his rope-like arm and thumped the glass case on Nutrene’s pod. She didn’t react, “Manuel-2 asked us to wake you up for debriefing ahead of the others.”
“Okay.”
Oxade threw his legs over the side of the pod and placed his bare feet on the ground. Poz forgot that his captain was only wearing a pair of briefs He looked away in shame.
“Hey, it’s okay, Poz. We’re all guys together,” Oxade stood to his feet and gripped the oxygen tube attached to his pod. His balance was all over the place, “This is going to take some getting used to.”
“I respect your modesty, Oxade,” Poz trundled over to Alex’s pod and pressed his ‘nose’ - which resembled more a mini ventilation shaft - against the screen, “Look at him. Fast asleep.”
“What did you and Neg do to pass the time?” Oxade ran his fingertips over his five o’clock shadow as he stared in the mirror.
“We played chess for a while,” Poz chirped. “I won, of course.”
“Of course,” Oxade cleared his throat and opened the slider next to the mirror. His enhanced leather USARIC mercenary jacket floated inside, “I’d expect nothing less.”
“Men are much better at games than women, aren’t they?”
Oxade threw his arms into the jacket sleeves. The five letters in his name lit up on the outer part of his upper right arm, “Well, technically, you and Neg are both sexes,” he said as he reached into his pockets.
“Don’t patronize me,” Poz moved his head away from Alex’s pod and watched his captain unfold his gloves, “We are both, yet we are neither.”
“You’re vicious little bastards,” Oxade finished, snapping his gloves onto his hands, “How did you get on with Manuel-2?”
“Oh, she and Pure Genius cheated. Destroyed me in five moves—”
“—No, not in chess, you dummy,” Oxade removed a belt from the cupboard and strapped it around his waist, “I mean generally.”
“Neg is at the control deck with Manuel-2. They’re trying to communicate with Opera Beta.”
“I want an update,” Oxade fanned his fingers out on both hands and pushed them down his thighs. A tight synthetic material unraveled from his waist, down his thighs, past his knees and secured around his ankles.
“We found what we are looking for. We want to bring you up to speed before the others awake.”
Oxade snapped his fingers “Suits me. Is it bad news?”
“I’d say so, yes.”
Oxade made the mistake of patting Poz on the back. The metal crept along his glove for a second and fizzed up a mini electrical storm, “Oww.”
“It’s better that you don’t touch me.”
“Yes, I forgot. I’ve been out of action for the best part of two years,” Oxade made for the door and took a final glance at Alex and Nutrene’s hyper-sleep pods, “I dunno why they bothered with two separate pods.”
“What are you implying, Captain?” Poz couldn’t process the funny quip.
“Nothing,” Oxade returned to the door, “Okay, my messed-up friend. Let’s go and see Manuel-2. We’ll wake the two lovebirds up after the debrief.”
Control Deck
Space Opera Charlie
Opera Charlie’s control deck was of similar build and shape as Opera Beta’s, only on a smaller scale. The flight panel stood in front of the windshield. It offered a glorious view of Saturn and the surrounding galaxy-scape.
Oxade’s acclimation had all but been resolved, “Right, where is he?” he asked Poz, who followed behind.
“They’re here, somewhere.”
Oxade noticed something unfamiliar and out of place resting against the wall by the communications deck. A five-foot-high slab of metal in the shape of a sword. A five inch slit formed at the top and drew down the surface, “Ah, you’re awake.”
“Did that weapon just speak to me?”
Poz shook his head and chuckled, “Neg, stop playing around. Show Captain Weller some respect.”
“Sorry,” the slit crept down the length of the blade and stretched in half. The two shafts of metal formed into Neg’s original size and shape - a three-foot droid with blue lights streaking across her ‘scalp’, “Just calibrating. Preparing for the inevitable.”
“Neg, I want you to go to the hyper-sleep quarters and release Hughes and Byford.”
“Why do I have to do it?” Neg twisted her head around and bounced up and down on the spot.
“Because I said so. I’m your captain. Are you defying a direct order?”
“No, no, no,” she said. “It’s just that I get all the crappy jobs.”
“Yes. And until Poz perishes, that’s how it’ll always be. Now, just shut up and do it.”
“Yes, Captain,”
She stuck her tongue out at Poz and made her way out of the control deck.
“Honestly,” Poz shook his head, “Didn’t she read the instruments and articles man
ual on appropriate conduct?”
“Speaking of which, where’s Manuel-2?”
Oxade trained his eyes on Saturn and absorbed her wondrous beauty.
“Manuel-2?” Poz bounded around the room with excitement, “Your captain is here.”
A holographic book appeared in the air by the flight panel. A husky feminine voice issued from the pages, “Good whenever-it-is, Oxade. I’m glad you could join us, finally,”
“Manuel-2?”
Oxade walked around the book and took in Manuel-2’s ridiculous thickness. She resembled an encyclopedia more than Opera Beta’s paperback autopilot.
“Please, Captain. For the sake of confusion, I’d rather you refer to me as Manny,” the weighty book slapped its back cover to the floor and fanned out, “We don’t have time to waste. Are you ready for the debrief?”
“Yes, show me.”
Manny projected a holograph of their current coordinates. Saturn, represented as a giant circle, hung to the right of a flashing Enceladus.
“We entered the vicinity of Saturn forty-eight hours ago. After establishing Enceladus, we noticed a foreign object in its orbit. It wasn’t there when we set off, according to the Star Drone reports.”
“Do we know what it is?” Oxade moved into the holograph and enlarged the tiny object with his fingers, “This white thing, the resolution is worse than 8k definition. I can barely make it out.”
“That white thing, as you put it, is Space Opera Beta.”
Shocked at the news, Oxade swallowed hard and enlarged the image as far as he could. He flung his arms sideways and walked through its blocky rendition, “It’s the shape of a cone. You’re right. This must be Opera Beta.”
“It is Opera Beta, Oxade,” Manny said. “Don’t question my reports. They are infallible.”
“Have you established communication with them?”
“Several times, yes.”
“And?”
“No response. I can reasonably deduce from their lack of communication that the crew are all dead, or—”
“—or in hyper-sleep?” Oxade nodded at Poz. “Can you sat-link to Opera Beta and retrieve their autopilot’s set of data points? Get some idea of the state they’re in?”
“Certainly,” Poz rolled over to the communications panel and fired it up, “We don’t know the link code, though. It’ll be protected.”
Oxade reduced the image and made his way over to the control panel, “I find it difficult to believe that their Manuel refuses to talk to ours. They must be dead.”
Poz tapped away at the keyboard and looked up at the screen, “Good. Makes our job a lot easier, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does,” Oxade turned to Manny to find her lying on the floor, “Okay, that’s enough. Stop lying on the job.”
“Yes, Oxade.”
“Tell me about Weapons & Armory,” Oxade unbuckled the leather on his left sleeve and inspected his forearm’s Individimedia panel, “Patch me into Beta’s comms frequency.”
“Certainly,” Manuel beeped and threw a bolt of green light at the glass on the comms panel, temporarily diverting Poz’s attention as he worked on the keyboard, “Hey. Ask first.”
“Shut up, you ball of technological inferiority,” Manny’s sultry voice sounded more of a come-on than a put-down.
Poz twisted his cylindrical head around and scowled at the book, “What did you just call me?” His rope-like arm stiffened, forming a serrated edge, and prepared to strike her.
“You heard.”
“No. I didn’t. Repeat it—”
“—Hey, enough of your lessense,” Oxade stepped in between them and held out his arms, “Damn it, you’re meant to be state-of-the-art technology. Not jumped-up, melodramatic simple machines. Okay?”
Poz fought hard to suppress his desire to stab Manny in her chest. Of course, it would have proved to be futile. Knowing Poz’s fortune of late, he’d end up walking through her and spearing his own body.
Manny threw a beam from her central pages and made contact with the communications deck, “You may be our captain, Captain. But don’t ever call me a simple machine again.”
Oxade clenched his fists, struggling with the sheer temerity on display by his two colleagues, “Christ alive. You two really do put the artificial in artificial intelligence, don’t you?”
“He started it,” Manny affected a sarcastic huff and started to extract the data from the comms panel via her beam.
“I did not start it,” Poz muttered. “I’ll shut you down and use your memory as toilet paper.”
“You don’t have an ass, you ass.”
Oxade threw his left arm forward.
SCHUNT-CLICK.
A Rez-9 firearm slapped into his palm, having traveled up the length of his sleeve.
“I swear to God. If you two don’t stop bickering, I’m putting a bullet right in the middle of the deck.”
“Okay, fine,” Manny said. “I’ll look the other way.”
Oxade stepped over to Poz, “Suits me. What’s the situation with the live link to Beta?”
“Need the pass-code.”
“Try A-W-A-K-E-4-5-7,” Oxade looked at the transparent password box hanging in front of the deck, “It’s what Beta uses to reactivate their antiquated piece of junk autopilot.”
“On it,” Poz punched away at the keys. He kept a crafty eye on Manny, who had spun around to face the windshield.
BZZZZ.
“Incorrect,” Poz said. “Got any other suggestions?”
Oxade slammed the deck, “Sonofa—”
“—There’s no need to swear, Captain,” Poz said.
“It’s my goddamn ship and I’ll fricken well swear if I want to, okay?”
“It’s beneath you,” Poz looked at the empty pass-code box, waiting for an intelligent response.
“Make no mistake, my little ball of death. You’re beneath me in this particular hierarchy, and don’t you ever forget it,” Oxade ran his hands through his slicked-back hair and took a deep breath. He needed to calm down and keep his professionalism intact; both for the sake of the crew and his own sanity, “We haven’t been here a day and already we’re failing.”
“Transfer complete,” Manny spun around and displayed the text results across the central pages of her book-body.
Oxade tried to read the text but it was far too small, “What does it say?”
“Last recorded data point suggests that the crew were on seventy-two hours oxygen. According to Beta’s second-in-command, Tripp Healy, many of them have fallen one-hundred-and-eleven.”
“Eh?” Oxade leaned into the text on her page and raised his eyebrows. Manny had mistaken the word ‘ill’ for a number.
“It says ill, you cretin. Not one-hundred-and-eleven.”
“I’m sorry, I thought it was numeric—”
“—Captain, I am at a loss for what to type as the password—” Poz announced, before being rudely interrupted.
“—Shut up for a minute,” Oxade returned to Manny. “How long ago was the data point recorded?”
“Two years ago. Approximately. Would you like the exact time in days, hours, minutes and seconds—”
“—No, I’ve heard enough,” Oxade went to pat Poz on the back, remembered the intense pain it caused the last time. He pulled his hand away and stared at the vicious-looking lump of technology, “Ah, forget it.”
Poz cylinder ‘head’ revolved as his eyebulbs followed Oxade to the door.
“Did you want something, Captain?”
“Three days of oxygen in two years? No response to our communication attempts? They’re definitely all dead. This is going to be the easiest salary we’ve ever earned,” Oxade palmed the panel on the wall and opened the door, “Manny, how long till we can bridge with Beta?”
“Three or four hours.”
“Keep establishing contact every ninety seconds. The more they don’t respond, the more likely they’re dead. We’ll get on board, take what we want, kill anything we find, and
go home."
Oxade walked out of the control deck, “And try not to tear each other’s throats out until I get back, at least.”
Poz and Manny scowled at each other.
***
Alex struggled with the jarring effects of his hyper-sleep. He gripped the edge of his pod and suppressed the urge to vomit.
“God, my organs feel like pâté.”
Nutrene, on the other hand, was used to the feeling. Alex couldn’t understand how she was able to hop to her feet and casually make her way over to the sink.
“Hey, it’s perfectly natural to feel like crap,” Nutrene said.
She looked into the basin mirror and focused on his trim figure. Dressed only in her USARIC-issued underwear, she licked her lips at the glorious sight, “You should scrunch your toes and walk around for a bit. Try to reorient yourself.”
She turned to the corner of the chamber and saw Neg spinning around, calibrating her extended arm.
“Neg, can you get our friend, here, a glass of water?”
“Certainly.”
“Yeah,” Alex pushed himself to his feet and stumbled forward, “Oh dear, no. No.”
“Hey,” Nutrene raced over and caught him as he fell to the floor. She hooked her arms under his and lifted him back to his feet, face-to-face.
She looked into his eyes, “Alex, stand up straight. It’s the best thing for you.”
“It doesn’t feel like it,” he pushed her back and tried to remain still.
“Muscle fatigue. Quite normal after such a long journey.”
Alex moved his hands in front of his body. He took one step forward and wobbled on the spot.
“A bit like learning to walk again,” Nutrene watched as he put his other foot forward, “There, you got it.”
Neg rolled over to Alex and extended her metal retractor. At the end of it was a glass of water which she offered to Alex, “Drink this. Fresh H2O.”
“I know what it is,” Alex took the glass from Neg and sniffed around the rim, “Fresh?”
“Yes, Charlie has the latest filtration system installed. Fresher than fresh, actually.”
He took a sip. The trickle of water worked its way down his throat and into his stomach. So intense was the sensation that he visualized the liquid revitalizing his body and organs. It made him close his eyes, thankful for the small mercies in life.
Star Cat The Complete Series Page 59
