Space Corps_Symbiant

by K. D. Mattis

  “Am I helping a murderer?” Gibbs’s nose turned up in disgust. “Why do any of this? Why pretend to help me? You said your people had a choice. What about you? Did you have a choice?”

  The Symbiant’s voice croaked. “Do you?”

  “What?” Gibbs asked, his expression softening.

  Very carefully and very slowly, the Symbiant pushed his body off the ground and slowly eased himself to the edge of the bed. Gibbs watched on and shifted his feet uncomfortably.

  “Why do you fight? You’re fighting a force infinitely more powerful than yourself. Why?”

  The Symbiant’s flat tone and emotionless face put Gibbs on edge. He studied the creature’s face, looking for any hint of humanity, any indication of joy or remorse. He didn’t care. He just needed something, some justification for the way he felt.

  “Did your people fight?” Gibbs asked.

  “We still are.”

  “But what? What are you fighting? The Culdarians? Us? Is that what it comes down to?”

  The Symbiant shook its head. “No. My species is no longer fighting against something. We’re fighting for something. At least, I think we are.”

  “And that is?”

  “Survival.”

  From his jacket pocket, Gibbs removed a pair of handcuffs and tossed them on the bed. A bit of dust kicked up and swirled around for a moment in the thin beam of light pouring in through the window. The Symbiant looked down at the handcuffs but didn’t move to put them on.

  “You like survival?” Gibbs growled. “I’m going to give you one chance, and one chance only. You put those on.”

  “And then what?”

  The commander reached down and picked the man up from the bed by his arm. “We’ll worry about that later.” He shoved the Symbiant toward the bathroom and tossed the cuffs toward the man once more. “Now. Get in the tub.”

  For too long, the Symbiant stood without moving, so Gibbs pulled the pistol from his shoulder holster and pointed it directly at the creature’s head. The two locked eyes for a moment, but neither saw any hesitation or reservation in the other. The light from the television brightened the room in short bursts as the screen once again showed an image of the vessel exploding.

  The Symbiant turned without any further protest and walked into the bathroom and stepped over the edge of the tub. He concentrated on his hands as he fumbled to arrange them the right way. First, he locked his left hand in the cuffs. Then he wrapped the chain of the cuffs around the support bar. With a push, he tested its stability before pushing his right hand into the other side of the cuffs. An extra squeeze ensured they were tight enough for the commander.

  Finally satisfied, Gibbs returned his pistol to his shoulder holster before leaning over the Symbiant and rattling the handcuffs to ensure they would hold. He let out a grunt and turned back to the hotel room.

  He picked up the remote and hit the power button. Nothing happened. He looked around for the batteries and saw them out of reach. Deciding that it simply wasn’t worth the effort, he walked in front of the television and hit the power button, then threw his body backward onto the bed.

  With all the dust that kicked into the air, he instantly regretted the decision. The room wasn’t nice, and it certainly wasn’t well kept, but it was out of the way, cheap, and available. Given his circumstances, he didn’t believe he was in a position to complain, and so he stretched out across the bed, crossed his hands behind his head, and forced his attention on the slowly spinning fan blades on the ceiling.

  Too many thoughts flooded his mind. He couldn’t focus on any one of them, so he attempted to force all of them out of his head. In one instance, he blinked and saw images of the ship exploding above the field. While frustrated with the image, he found it interesting that he couldn’t picture it outside of the old television set in the room. In a sense, it made the incident feel less real. Almost like it was a planned propaganda film designed to distract him from his mission. When he blinked and felt his eyes becoming heavier, he saw the bright flashes and colors of the Symbiant beacon.

  Hours later, after succumbing to a restless sleep, Gibbs jolted upright. Images were still fresh in his mind of the spinning beacon. To him, it was just a beautiful image. As he looked over toward the bathroom containing his temporary prisoner, he couldn’t help but wish he could understand the message the beacon contained. Maybe if he could, he could undo the hatred he felt for the creature in the room with him.

  The next time the commander felt his eyes close, they wouldn’t open again until a new day shined light in his face. He fumbled for his phone and immediately woke, hoping to see new information or new orders. The tiny screen held no answers, and he dropped it on the pillow.

  Leaning over, Gibbs said, “Are you awake in there?”

  No response.

  Rubbing his eyes, the commander pushed himself to the edge of the bed and pushed himself into a standing position with a bit of reluctant effort. His eyes opened wide, and he looked to the door. For a moment, he thought sleep took its toll on his vision, and he squinted to be sure.

  A sprinkling of splinters laid across the floor, and the shine of light reflecting off the freed door strike told the story. Gibbs walked over to the door and ran his hand across the frame. Normally, the frame was rough to the touch from years of neglect. Now, the frame was shattered and splinters reached out, begging for a soft surface to which they could attach themselves.

  A gentle wind blew outside and pressed the door into the room ever so slightly. The commander sighed, knowing the amount of paperwork that would be waiting for him.

  “Hello,” he said into his phone when someone answered on the other end.

  As he walked, he explained the situation to the poor sergeant on the other end of the line. As much as he hated the idea of paperwork, he hated creating it for other people even more.

  In the bathroom, he flicked on the light and looked around. If he hadn’t expected to see a man secured to the bar in the tub, then nothing at all would have looked out of place. Just another run-down bathroom in just another run-down motel.

  Gibbs turned to the window and leaned against the door frame, defeated.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I need to speak with the admiral.”

  29

  He stood at attention and watched the admiral. Every flinch in her expression told a story, and he struggled to read every bit of it.

  “You’re telling me that he just walked away?” Asher asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you didn’t wake up?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Why?”

  Gibbs paused, carefully considering his options.

  “Sir, I wish I knew. There’s no way that the Symbiant escaped on his own. There had to have been others. I don’t doubt that for a moment.”

  “And they walked right in and walked right out? Help me understand that, Commander.”

  The commander shifted his weight almost imperceptibly. The intensity of the admiral’s stare wasn’t that of his longtime friend. He recognized the eyes behind it, and it belonged to someone far more serious than the woman who went through the academy with him.

  “Sir, if I had an answer, I’d be out there apprehending the Symbiant myself. I don’t know what happened. The recon team followed in behind me. They don’t have any answers either.”

  Asher looked down at her tablet and swiped up several times as she skimmed through the report once again.

  “The recon team doesn’t have my commander. I don’t expect from them what I expect from you.” She paused. “Is that clear?”

  Gibbs nodded.

  Asher shot him a look.

  “Yes, sir,” he said, correcting himself.

  The commander was left standing there watching the admiral read over the report again and again. The more she read, the more her stare intensified. At first, he tried to ignore it, but what started as a gentle tremble in her hands turned into a rather obvious shake. Finally, unable to ignore it,
the admiral tossed the tablet on the desk.

  “Sir?” Gibbs started.

  The admiral shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

  “Sir, with all due respect, your hands don’t normally shake like that. It’s not nothing.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. You’ve been through a lot. It’s okay if it gets to you.”

  The admiral stood straight, regaining her composure.

  “Thank you for your concern, Commander. That will be all.”

  Gibbs grimaced and shook his head.

  “You’re dismissed, Commander. I have other things to attend to.”

  After several seconds of hesitation, the commander finally threw up a quick salute and left the room, leaving Asher to her devices.

  She casually walked over to the door and closed it once she no longer heard the commander’s footsteps. As it closed, she leaned against it and hugged herself.

  As she looked around the room, she became disgusted with where she stood, with where everything around her stood. One by one, she gathered the pictures and framed letters off the wall and placed them in a drawer. That didn’t satisfy her, so she gathered the model ships off her desk and put them in a drawer as well. For everything she put away, she felt the need to put away another item until her walls and desk were spotless except for the monitors and tablet on her desk.

  Asher paced in front of her desk and allowed her hands to tremble. When she noticed them, she clasped her hands together until it stopped, only to eventually ignore it again and feel them tremble once more. After several cycles of the same motion, she pulled her phone from her pocket, unlocked the screen, and pulled up her dad’s phone number.

  Everything in her wanted to push that green button to initiate the call. It would be so easy. A single press and she could be talking to one of the few sources of comfort left in her life. For a moment, she considered calling just to tell him that. Surely, he deserved to know.

  A knock on the door ended that train of thought.

  Asher cleared her throat, put the phone back in her pocket, and opened the door.

  “Admiral,” said a young corpsman. “You’re needed in the CIC. There’s been another attack.”

  Together, Asher and the corpsman sped through the halls with a quick, synced step toward the Combat Information Center. Asher reached out for yet another tablet and read through yet another long report.

  “What’s going on?” Asher asked.

  “Sir, the report says—”

  “I can read the report, Corpsman. I need to know what’s going on.”

  The young man shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t have time to go over everything. Something happened on Ambassador Station.”

  Every step took them closer to the CIC and farther from the benefit of continuing the conversation. Deciding that things were difficult enough already, Asher left the man alone and kept walking. He slowly fell behind.

  At the door, two guards cleared the way and allowed Asher to approach an iris scanner. She looked into it, adjusted her gaze, and waited until the orange light in the center turned green. Once it did, the steel door slid out of the way and allowed her to enter. The corpsman stayed in the hall looking for new purpose.

  “Report?” Asher asked as she walked to the table at the center of the room.

  A line of triple-stacked monitors surrounded the room. Each displayed charts, graphs, or metrics important to someone in the room. The others showed a variety of video feeds from all around the world and from several ships in orbit around Earth.

  A lieutenant commander, obviously in charge of the CIC, stepped forward with a brief salute. As if reading Asher’s mind, he immediately dropped the pleasantries and began manipulating the largest screens on the wall, directing the admiral’s attention to them.

  “Sir, as you can see, we’re receiving reports of a series of explosions on Ambassador Station.”

  “Casualties?”

  “Unknown at this time. They’re still working on an initial assessment. Based on video feeds we have from around the station, it looks like no fewer than four sections have ruptured. With no warning, we can assume that anyone working in those sections has been killed in action.”

  Asher watched on the screen as the station floated peacefully in space with nothing but stars behind it. In an instant, brief bursts of flame shot out and were immediately extinguished by the vacuum of space.

  Again, reading the admiral’s mind, the lieutenant commander continued. “We saw nothing on long-range sensors. If this was a ship, then it’s something we haven’t seen before.”

  Nodding, Asher said, “It’s possible, but I doubt it. The Culdarians are more direct than that. At least when it comes to conventional attacks.”

  More people filed into the room. A few took notice of the admiral and made their half-hearted attempt at a formal greeting before rushing off to their posts. Most went straight to their locations and set right to work. In a matter of minutes, the room buzzed with so much activity and excitement that Asher struggled to hear.

  In a daze, Asher did what she did best. She ordered the dispatch of half the First Fleet to investigate the area around the station to look for any anomalies. The rest rushed in to assist and provide medical and mechanical support as needed.

  Over the communications system, Asher heard a familiar voice.

  “This is Commander Cole of the USSC Guardian. Central Command, come in.”

  The admiral walked over to the comm station and grabbed the microphone.

  “We read you, Commander. This is Admiral Asher with Central Command. What’s your status?”

  Gravel filled the commander’s voice. “Sir, Ambassador Station’s comm system has been knocked offline. Auto response systems are still online, but it’s one-way communication outside of that. We’ve dispatched repair support.”

  The pause seemed to spread through the CIC, and everything seemed hushed for a moment. Several screens changed their image to the video feed broadcast by the Guardian. Up close, the debris was more obvious. The image zoomed in and out erratically in an effort to identify the fragments of metal hanging in empty space.

  Several more images flashed on the screen before the changes halted. There, zoomed in and dead center in the screen, was a body floating through space.

  A senior corpsman at the edge of the room put her hand over her mouth. Asher couldn’t help but notice. She shared the same shock but couldn’t risk showing that kind of emotion. The team around her needed a rock, and she intended to satisfy that need.

  “Cole,” Asher said, “provide any assistance you can. Once the area is confirmed clear, board the station. You’re to take command of all emergency efforts.”

  “Understood, Admiral. Guardian out.”

  Motion throughout the room picked back up as everyone snapped out of the temporary haze. Asher continued to make notes on her tablet before approaching the lieutenant commander again.

  “Do you know Thomas Reynolds?” Asher asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I want him reviewing the situation immediately. He designed that station and knows it better than anyone else.”

  The lieutenant commander shifted uneasily on his feet.

  “It’s not a request,” Asher said. “Have him report back to me once he’s done his analysis.”

  30

  “You’re an admiral. Shouldn’t you enjoy accommodations more comfortable than a mess hall?”

  Thomas Reynolds walked into the cafeteria with ease. His arms swung wide, a mixture of bravado and exhaustion. Asher barely looked up from her coffee before the two guards escorting Reynolds snapped to a stiff salute. Asher waved off their formality. The former officer couldn’t help but notice the harsh glare of one of the guards and smirked.

  “See,” Reynolds said, “that’s not something I miss. It’s nothing personal, of course. I never minded saluting you, Kayla,” he said her first name pointedly, ensuring that the guards heard, �
�but not saluting? It’s kind of nice.” Seeing the glare he had hoped for, he added, “Independent consultant. Maybe I can get used to that.”

  The admiral dismissed the guards and motioned for Reynolds to sit across from her at the table. He declined and chose instead to pace around the room, watching the monitors. Asher did the same.

  “So, what did you learn?”

  Reynolds kept walking around the room until he stopped in front of a vending machine. He stared inside, trying to trick himself into purchasing a snack. Looking down, he patted the slight bulge in his stomach and kept walking.

  “You know what we found,” he said at last.

  “The Symbiants?”

  Without stopping, Reynolds pulled out a tablet and played a video taken from inside Ambassador Station moments before the explosion. Even from a distance, Asher could see several men moving methodically to place a device against the wall. They hit a button, and it blew a hole into the hull of the station, cutting the video feed.

  “It’s hard to say for certain,” Reynolds said. “It’s either treason or terrorism. I’m not sure which is worse, to be frank.”

  Asher sat on the edge of a long table.

  “Do we have any names?”

  “They’re sorting it now.”

  “What’s the next step?”

  Reynolds shook his head. “Cole is already on the station. He’s taking it pretty hard, I think. Not that you’d know that by talking to him. You know how he is.”

  “Stoic to the end,” Asher said.

  “As always. Right now, we’re just waiting for more information. The more we hear, the more we have to process. Hopefully it will be enough to do something.”

  “Any known motivation?”

  Shaking his head again, Reynolds said, “If it’s the Symbiants, then no.”

  “I just don’t understand,” Asher said. “They blew up one of the ships. They probably just blew a hole in the station. Why? What’s the point?”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  Asher turned her eyes to the news stream on the wall. It was completely unrelated, something about a business opening a new factory. She cocked her head, surprised that the station attack hadn’t yet made the news.