by J. N. Chaney
In the Goliath Sector, the chance of that happening is less than zero. Even a stubborn archeologist like myself knows that now.
The gate ship symbols continue to glow, sometimes flashing at the edge of perceptible vision. Something similar occurred when we were attempting to use the comm station. Each complex image is black or a faint pulsing purple illumination. But it’s there, and there is a pattern that gives me chills. The door is trying to communicate.
The lights fade.
Nothing is revealed.
I feel like an idiot for hoping there was something there. This isn’t a supreme revelation I can use to save my friends. This is a concussion and the foolish imagination of a man too far from home.
“I thought you had to vomit,” says the guard, disgusted. “Come on.” He yanks me to my feet and turns me away from the passage we just left.
“What’s your problem, Orphan? What are you trying to pull?” asks the second guard.
“That door was talking to me, maybe to you. Did you hear it?” I mimic a small child’s voice. “Let the archaeologist go.”
One of them, it’s hard to say which, punches me in the face with an uppercut I of course don’t see until it hits. I hear lots of things after that. All kinds of Alice in Wonderland fantasies burble through my head now.
I’ve got to stop hallucinating and start thinking. I need to fight smarter, not harder. Too bad I’m still weak as a newborn foal. I hope my friends are in a better position than I am.
I don’t know how much time passes, but I’m in a different place now, much closer to the landing bay, I think. Now that I know what to look for, I see fabricated doors and panels that probably have almost no utility except to hide the appearance of the original ship. It’s still strange and weird because these modifications were probably done by Protheans or some other race before Hadrians ever came here. But I can tell someone didn’t like the original architecture of the ship.
Jack talks somewhere behind me, giving orders, demanding answers, and just generally being a big shot. We’re in a busy part of the ship, an expansive room joined by several intersections. Large and in charge, that’s my friend. He barely pays attention to me at all. I’m sure my time will come, and it will be unpleasant. Maybe he will stash me in a dank cell for several years, then release me to talk about ancient ruins to my heart’s content when he’s conquered all the stars he can. Surrendering to that fate might be a lot easier than fighting everyone in the Goliath Sector, which is what I feel like I’m doing about now.
Bound hand and foot, I can’t do much. The only positive is that I’m healing. Strength returns slowly. Will it be enough? I’m not quite to the point of caring yet.
I think about my friends. Jack said they didn’t escape, but I hope he was lying. My suspicion is confirmed when I see a nearly invisible silhouette of Pats drifting through the air without moving her legs. Of course she’s not flying. She’s being carried by Garin.
“You’re getting good at that, kid,” I mutter. “I wish I could make the cat go invisible on command.”
“No one leaves until you get new orders from me,” Jack says.
I still can’t see him. Is that intentional, or am I already forgotten? The young Hadrian soldier watching me doesn’t seem like a fountain of information.
He yawns. “What? Don’t make me regret volunteering for this. I thought it would be easy duty. That doesn’t mean I want to listen to you run your Orphan mouth.”
“I’m not going to give you any trouble.” I shift slightly to draw his attention away from Garin and the cat. He’s instantly suspicious, I think, but also lazy.
A quick look around reveals that Jack and most of his soldiers have moved out. It’s just me, the young guard, Garin, and an invisible Orphan Gate cat now.
“See that you don’t.” He looks around, but he’s just sweeping his eyes here and there, not really focusing on anything or wanting to find anything that might require him to work. The young man looks tired. He’s not one of Jack’s Earth commandos jacked up with Orphan upgrades. I also realize he’s not from the planet Sarsten but someplace I haven’t been yet.
There is a lot more to the Goliath sector than I realize. Something tells me that fact will be important in my future.
Garin moves perilously close, and I realize he’s going to try to hand me something right in front of this guy.
I stand up with effort.
The guard shoves me back down. “Hey, we talked about this. I’m already working a double shift, and I don’t need any crap from you. I already lost money when the Dark Eye didn’t throw you out of an airlock.”
Acting like I’m going to sit, I change direction at the last moment and step away from him.
“Hey!” He grabs me and throws me down hard.
I land on my side, unable to cushion my fall with my hands. Garin hangs back, tucked between two equipment loaders, so that even if his invisibility wears off, he’ll be concealed. I don’t want to think about what this grumpy guard will do to a kid he catches in the middle of a rescue attempt.
The intercom pipes up. “Red squad one and two, report to the landing bay for immediate duty. Blue and green squads report to the armory for equipment. All personnel, stand to your stations. No movement is permitted on the ship without a military escort. I repeat, no movement on the ship is permitted. Anyone in violation will be placed in the brig.”
I look at my guard. “What’s that about?”
“Some of the crew, the new volunteers, are being difficult. Something about a video that’s been going around on all of the technical screens,” my guard says.
Whatever is happening, I’m sure Garin had something to do with it. Several theories run through my mind about how he found a video and made it go viral. I think, but it’s just a hunch, that the Hwelas probably have something to do with it.
“What do you mean, video?” I ask.
He groans, rolls his eyes, and finally looks at me. “You’re not going to shut up are you? Here, look at this. This is the nonsense that has everyone worked up. Stupid, if you ask me. Everyone’s doomed on that planet anyway.”
He points toward a small screen on the back of a piece of loading equipment near us, then taps it twice to activate it. The screen is chipped and scratched from heavy use. I doubt that it was made for entertainment purposes, which also means that whoever crews this piece of equipment probably uses it for that as much as possible. I can also see it was brought to the ship, not original to the ship. The longer I’m here, the more I realize the Orphan Gate ship has had a lot of modifications over the years.
“Show me the planet fighting video,” he says.
A moment later, I see a battle zone on a planet. I think it must be Sarsten, but the terrain is much different than Tamondran Island or the mountains. A sleek version of Prothean ships race over the landscape, low to the ground, firing energy weapons. These fighters don’t resemble statues, but the basic shapes and angles are clearly Prothean. Towns and villages are blown apart by their energy weapons.
A group of armored vehicles rolls out of the forest to ambush a different group of the invaders. For a moment, they seize the advantage and do incredible damage to a single column of marching Protheans. Then hell rains from the sky, annihilating their position.
Snippets of other disasters pop into view—cities burning, ships sinking on the high seas, and shuttles arcing toward space only to be blown out of the stratosphere.
“Someone leaked that video somehow?” I ask. “And now people want to get back home to help the people they care about.”
“Can’t think who would do that. Someone poking around in parts of the ships they shouldn’t,” he says, then stands a little straighter as a sergeant and a squad of heavily armed soldiers approach. “I’m still watching him, Sergeant.”
“See that you do. It’s a simple job. I’m leaving two more to help. That man is the Dark Eye’s nemesis, after all.” The sergeant chops his hand toward two soldiers, one of them five or ten years old
er than the others, than me. “He doesn’t leave here unless you talk to me. I’m counting on you, Yeager.”
A blast door opens when the rest of the squad leaves, and I hear angry shouting in the corridor. The door slams shut, and the sound is cut off with grim finality. I give invisible-Garin a warning look. If we could talk, I would tell him to go find Shaina or anyone else who hasn’t already been captured.
My guard pops his knuckles. “We almost have enough for a card game.”
One of the soldiers has a gold helmet that has seen better days. “We could play checks. Don’t really need a board if you can remember not to cheat.”
The first two laugh. The third man, Yeager I think, glares at me, then his companions. “You two are idiots. Do your job before we all get thrown in the brig.”
I test my bonds. They’re too tight to wiggle free from and too strong to break even with my returning Orphan strength. I think about Zedas and the others and despair at how badly this mission is going. The sight of Garin, the cat, and Wak-wak clarify my thinking. There’s no time for negativity, not when the Three Musketeers are about to make a serious mistake.
Garin edges forward, holding Pats in one arm and Wak-wak by one of his arms with his other hand to share the blessing of invisibility.
They chained the invisibility, I realize, amazed and horrified. The three of them just look like trouble. Right now, I hope that is only aimed at my captors. If we get out of this, I will need to set some ground rules for these three.
My guards form a triangle around me and face outward. This provides certain options since their backs are to me, if I wasn’t bound hand and foot to the point of it causing injury—Orphan healing or no Orphan healing. Something has caused them to go on alert but has also drawn their attention outward.
A squad of Jack’s elite commandos race by the doorways to this room on a motorized cart. The wheels slide frequently, like it was never meant to be driven on this unique surface. The more I watch the scene, the more I feel like none of us should be here. This ship wasn’t made for us.
It’s a crazy thought. Take a breath and put your imagination in check, I think. Garin points at himself, then off into the ship, and then at the guards like it should mean something to me. I don’t know what he wants me to do.
Garin creeps even closer, determined to hand me something.
I hold up one hand to stop him when the guards face a new noise, a wrenching sound in the ship frame that puts my teeth on edge.
“What was that, Butch?” the second guard asks.
The first guard who gave me such a hard time, Butch, as it turns out, shakes his head. I notice he has a braid with a pink ribbon clipped to the bottom of his helmet, right near the back. He sounds young, and I wonder if he’s even a teenager. Is the ribbon a memento from a family member or childhood sweetheart? Will that matter when he shoots me during the escape attempt?
“I don’t know Yeager. Something is wrong with my eyes. Keep seeing blurry spots, three of them, right there,” he says, pointing at Garin, Wak-wak, and Pats.
Yeager and the gold helmet guard raise their weapons toward my invisible rescuers.
“And that’s why I demand representation!” Forcing myself into a standing position, I shuffle awkwardly toward the gold helmet. “This is a travesty of justice!”
All three of them turned to face me, weapons aimed.
“Shut your mouth,” Yeager orders.
Butch cuffs me across the back of my head. “Yeah, no crazy talk from you, Orphan.”
A door near the other side of the large room opens. Charge weapons fire back and forth. We are safely out of the line of fire, but I don’t know if that will last.
“By the freaking void,” Yeager says as all three of them face the commotion. None of them leave their posts, but at least they’ve stopped hitting me and looking at my three troublesome friends.
Next thing I know, Garin is right beside me, cutting my bonds off with a laser knife.
“Hurry if you’re going to cut that,” I mutter, keeping my eyes on the three soldiers. Other doors open and close. The fighting grows more intense. I feel these three soldiers wanting to get involved and suspect they will turn around at least once to look at me before they run toward the fighting. Then they will argue about which of them has to stay on prisoner duty.
And it will be too late because I don’t think they’re going to react well to my escape attempt or the sudden appearance of my rescuers.
Garin and Wak-wak materialize, each holding their own charge pistol. I pick up the third weapon, barely able to close my numb fingers around the butt of it. Finding the trigger guard takes a comically long time. My heart races. There is no way the men won’t turn around before we’re ready and gun us down.
Gold helmet turns first. His posture stiffens as he realizes that not only am I escaping, but that I have confederates who appeared out of nowhere to aid me.
“Drop your weapon!” I shout.
“Go to hell, Orphan,” he shouts as his charge pistol comes up seemingly in slow motion.
He’s fast, but I’m an Orphan, and that is worth something. The thought rolls through my consciousness as I aim and fire faster than either of my young companions can join in. If three men have to be shot, there’s no reason Garin or even Wak-wak should have to live with the consequences.
Gold helmet’s body spins away. Butch manages to twist toward me and fire, scorching my left bicep. Yeager also makes a full rotation but hesitates when he sees who I’m with.
I can’t read their expressions because of their helmets, but I suddenly feel a mountain of guilt crushing down on me. These three men had been doing their jobs. They hadn’t treated us evilly or been cruel. Rough, sure, but I’ve been tortured and know the difference.
Butch falls backward, crying out in pain as he succumbs to his wound and drops his gun. He had been able to fire on raw nerve impulse, but his death was a foregone conclusion. His brain and his hands just hadn’t caught up.
Yeager falls to his knees, holding one arm with the other, blood pooling on the ground in front of him. Gold helmet guard lies face down, unmoving.
“Do you have a med kit?” I ask.
Yeager groans and curses.
“Yeager! Do you have a med kit?” I grab the side of his helmet and turn his face toward me.
He nods toward his left thigh. “In the pouch, behind the picture slate of my family.”
Working quickly, I remove the kit, strip off the armor of his wounded arm, and apply a tourniquet. He flinches in pain and curses continuously.
“Got something worse in my side,” he finally manages.
He’s right. Tourniquets are easy. Practically anyone who’s watched a movie knows how to use one on an arm or leg. Plugging a hole in someone’s abdomen or chest is much different. I look back through my memories with my Orphan enhanced imagination and find a combat first aid kit from Army reserve training. Torso wounds are much more complicated and difficult to treat.
“I’m going to put on a pressure bandage and give you something for the pain.”
“No. Nothing for the pain. That’s what medics do when they know someone will die no matter what,” Yeager says.
I don’t buy that argument, but there’s no time to argue. I rip off his armor and his clothing, attach the pack and wrap the bandage around his torso several times. “I can’t stay here to help you.”
He nods and waves me toward the door. “I’m already in bad trouble for screwing this up. Just get out of my life.”
“Come on, Garin. Let’s go.” Wak-wak and Patty-pats race alongside us into a hallway full of smoke and noise.
32
There are multiple doors leading out of the room, all of them large enough to handle heavy machinery. I’m not sure if that was the original purpose of this area, but it works well for loading and unloading of equipment pallets. It works less well, apparently, for keeping prisoners like me from escaping.
In one direction is the shuttle b
ay, another leads to the barely explored portion of the gate ship where I had my quasi-hallucination about being watched. In two other directions are the more frequently used passages, and beyond them, a complex system of corridors. That is where most of the sounds of fighting come from.
Charge weapons and soldiers shouting are familiar enough, but there’s something else. I think the Protheans have arrived. Screams of terror punctuate some of the more violent encounters that echo through the ship. A tremor ripples through the ship, then another farther away, like someone punched a hole in the ship’s exterior.
“I don’t want to get in the middle of the mutiny, but we’re not going that way until we have no other choice,” I say, pointing toward an archway filled with purple light and strange symbols. My skin tingles at the thought of the old ship.
“Let me and Pats lead the way. I can signal you if it’s clear,” Garin says. “I’m good at sneaking around. If people are fighting in that direction, there must be escape shuttles or something else people want. We should definitely go that way.”
“Now you’re thinking, kid.” I give him a nod and follow the moment he charges off. Neither the boy nor the cat turn invisible, which worries me, right up until the moment a group of running soldiers ignores them. Maybe he is invisible, to adults at least.
Wak-wak clicks twenty questions at me in his language. I nod and make noncommittal sounds as we hurry through the passages.
“That’s Murphy!” A powerful voice shouts as we pass through an intersection. “After him!”
I keep moving, urging my companions to greater speed as I realize who just shouted the order; Slade, Jack’s right-hand man and one of the more advanced Orphans on his team. “Don’t slow down, kid.”
“Wasn’t going to!” Garin shouts back. He reaches a corner, nearly misses it as he slides, and darts out of sight. Wak-wak and I run after him.
We make two more turns before I bark at Garin to cut through a maintenance hallway that is much narrower. We popped through into another main hallway, and I hope that I have at least slowed our pursuers.
