by Mark Wandrey
He reached the ship’s bridge. Extruding a data probe from his wrist, Rick plugged into the ship. There were fires in all the major compartments. Nobody was alive. He’d overdone it just a bit. “Dammit,” he cursed. The ship’s fusion powercore couldn’t shut down. The battery bank that was keeping its power electromagnetic buffers operating, containing the miniature star at its core, was going to explode at any minute. No containment meant runaway reaction, which was bad.
His connection to the computer found navigational data. The ship had been preparing to leave, then rendezvous with another location in orbit just 24,000 kilometers away. The derelict battleship. That must be the real base, Rick thought. Which means Sato has to be there. In the rear of the ship, the first battery, heated to over a thousand degrees, exploded. No time remained.
This ship was similar to the ship Sato had bought, down to a bridge with viewports into space. He didn’t have time to get back to the asteroid. Besides, there were no other ships. He moved quickly to the rear of the cockpit/bridge and found a trio of lifesaving balls, like the one Sato had given Dakkar. “This will do,” he said, taking them in the same arm that was holding the laser rifles, and returning to the front of the bridge. Another battery exploded.
“Time to go,” Rick said. Pointing his arm at the window and changing the frequency of his lasers, he made a slashing cut. He pulled himself into a ball as the cockpit glass, weakened by his laser beam, exploded outward, propelling him into space.
Another battery flashed and exploded, and this time the entire battery bank went with it. Fusion containment failed a second later. The little Insertion Cutter’s fusion core pulsed, released from the magnetic confinement of the buffers, and it consumed anything and everything for a handful of microseconds until there was a flare. Not quite a nuclear explosion, the energetic plasma expanded at the speed of light. The cutter exploded, and the shockwave shoved Rick away with a hundred Gs of acceleration.
* * * * *
Chapter Nine
Sato had run out of ideas. Restrained as he was, he’d let his brain run through every imaginable scenario, but none of them found a way out. He dearly wished for his pinplants back. Even the comms feature would allow him to call Rick, or even Dakkar. Fear was quickly overcoming logic and planning.
A slimy sensation sliding along his back would have made him jump if he’d had control of his body. It moved, and he screamed, but something covered his mouth. It was a big, graying mass of wet flesh and suction cups. Dakkar!
“What are you doing here?” he asked as the tentacle moved aside to let him breathe. The Wrogul pulsed light in reply. No matter how many years Sato had spent with Nemo, he’d never learned more than hello in the Wrogul language. He had absolutely zero idea what the young alien was saying. “My pinplants are out; I can’t understand you.”
He felt Dakkar’s tentacles move on his head, realizing what was going to happen a second too late to stop it. A pair of tentacles penetrated his skull, and Sato lost consciousness.
When he woke up, he was standing ankle deep in warm, lapping water. Luscious sunlight shone on his bare skin, making him realize he was naked. In one direction was a long expanse of seashore; up the beach in the other direction was a settlement of modern buildings. Nobody was in view.
“This is Azure!” he realized aloud. The incredibly deep blue water and pink skies were beautiful and made him sigh. His mind hinted at good memories.
“Yes, this is Azure.”
Sato followed the voice and saw an adult Wrogul floating in the air next to him. No visible means of support held the alien in the air, yet its tentacles waved about as if in a current.
“This is a dream,” he realized.
“Not really.”
“Nemo?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m Nemo.”
“If this isn’t a dream, what is it?”
“A message to you, recorded before you left New Warsaw.”
“How did you record a message? Dakkar doesn’t have pinplants.”
“Wrogul don’t need pinplants to exchange memories, old friend. I recorded this when I created my bud to send with you.”
“Why did you record a video like this?”
“Because I suspected you were returning to those who sent you to Azure, and sending a bud was the best way to provide a clear, conclusive ending.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know. To understand, you must remember.”
The world broke apart as if reality were painted on glass, and fragments fell away, cascading and spinning as the universe became an endless void, until nothing remained.
It began to rain shimmering drops of memories. They hit Sato like bullets, tearing through him and lodging in his brain. The trickle became a downpour, which then became a deluge. In moments he was drowning on memories. Eventually, they began to congeal.
* * *
He’d just had his 19th birthday and was standing on the loading ramp of Sakura Maru, the summation of his family’s wealth liquidated into a single ship. His grandfather had chosen him as one of the 34 crewmembers, and he was so filled with pride, he feared his heart would burst. Before them, a hundred reporters called out questions and recorded the event in old-style digital and the newer alien Tri-V.
Out in the family area, Ichika, his girlfriend, waved to him and smiled. He broke discipline for just a moment and waved back. Her smile held a seemingly infinite measure of hope and promise.
* * *
The office had a distant view of the Imperial Palace and the starport construction project in the far distance. His partnership at the research consultancy they’d set up after Sakura Maru had returned had drawn customers from all over the planet. The Four Horsemen had sent inquiries. They had the ear of the Japanese government, and the future was set.
Ichika had graduated and become a doctor. The two worked long hours, but there was never any doubt they would make a family. Father already scowled slightly whenever children were brought up. He didn’t understand; they were just too busy. Soon enough, there would be time.
* * *
“She wants you, Sato.”
He looked at the American and scowled. When he hadn’t responded to the inquiry, they’d sent this man to convince him. Probably because he’d met the man at a symposium on Galactic Union technology last year.
“I know, but I have already been out in the galaxy. Two years.”
“That’s why she wants you.”
Sato looked down at the alien-made slate. It displayed the crew Dr. Adelaide Black had chosen. So far there were 97 doctors, scientists, and technical experts.
“You’re one of the few with a scientific background who’s been out there.”
“I was a kid,” Sato persisted.
“That was five years ago. Now you’re a credentialed scientist in your own right. Think about it, we’re going to circumnavigate the galaxy! She even named her ship Beagle!”
“A tad presumptuous, isn’t it?” Sato asked. “Even for an American?”
“Maybe,” he agreed. “But we’ll be writing the book on the Galactic Union. We all know there’s more than meets the eye; the GalNet has too many dead ends. We’ll see things no Human has ever seen, and for generations they’ll read our books.” Sato felt a smile creep across his face. “Ah hah, there it is.”
Sato made the smile disappear. “I will consider it. How long?”
“She thinks five years.”
Sato sighed and looked down again. “My wife…we want to have a child.”
“She extended the invitation to include Ichika.”
Sato’s head came back up in surprise. “Really?”
“Yes.”
Sato smiled fully this time, then nodded.
* * *
He stood arm in arm with his wife as the shuttle loaded, all 119 crew and staff of Beagle, soon to boost to orbit. He shook his head as he waved to the reporters and gathered family. It was 2033, only 5 years since he’d returned aboard Sakura
Maru, and he was going back out. In the end, it had been space that had called to him. He’d loved his first trip, and to take his wife along this time was a dream come true. Maybe they could have a child out in the stars? Adventure awaited.
* * *
Sato held the conduit as a technician welded. Beagle was moored next to the deep space station as Dr. Black negotiated for spares and stores. The damage done by the aliens, a race of tiger-like beings known as Pushtal, was extensive.
“Why did they attack?” the technician asked.
“I wasn’t on the bridge,” Sato admitted. He’d been asleep, actually. “Dr. Black thinks they were pirates.”
“Space pirates,” the tech said and laughed. He was American, like many of the ship’s technical staff. “I used to watch TV shows about stuff like that in the 90s!”
“You weren’t on the far side of the galaxy in the 90s.”
“That’s true. Hold it there while I tack-weld it in place.” A moment later. “That’s gotten it. Do you think the doctor will turn us for home?”
“I don’t know,” Sato said. “Maybe? We’ve lost 22 of the crew since we left 18 months ago. But she isn’t the type to give up easily.”
His slate beeped. He wiped his hands and checked it. A message from Ichika. “Some good news?”
“Sure,” he replied.
“You are going to be a dad!”
The tech jumped when Sato whooped in joy.
* * *
“Damn it, Sato,” Dr. Black said and slapped a hand on the table. “You, too? That makes 11 going home.”
“Ichika is six months pregnant,” he reminded her. “That last landing we had resulted in a partially detached placenta.”
“She can stay on the ship,” she replied instantly. “Both of you.”
He could tell she didn’t like saying it. But it wasn’t enough. “I traded maintenance work on a Maki freetrader for a ride. We’ll be home in a month, well before the baby is born. If everything goes well, after the baby comes, I’ll be back here before you know it.”
“Sure,” she said, looking up at him. “I’m going to miss you.”
“Same,” he said. “Regardless, I’ll see you when you get back to Earth.”
* * *
“Just let us go,” Sato begged. “We’re not part of the crew.”
“You work for them,” the Aposo snarled and spat. He’d thought they were Veetanho when they’d boarded. The Maki captain hadn’t mentioned he’d gotten on the Aposo’s bad side when he’d cut through their space on the way to Earth. The freetrader had surrendered almost immediately. The 11 former members of Beagle were all floating in the freetrader’s lounge as the heavily armed Aposo ransacked the ship.
“I’m working for passage,” Sato explained.
“We’re scientists,” Terry Pratt said, his eyes wide in fear. “We just want to go home.”
“We’ve heard of Humans,” the alien said, glancing at his cohorts. “You are taking all kinds of merc jobs. Sucking up the good credits.”
“We’re not mercs,” someone else said; Sato didn’t see who.
“I’m scared,” Ichika whispered in his ear.
“It’s okay,” he said back. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“We have some credits,” Lisa Tull said. She was going home with them because her husband, a geneticist, had caught a strange alien bug and died. The trip had lost its luster after that. “You can have them if you just let us go.” It was entirely the wrong thing to say.
“Credits?” the Aposo leader roared. “You think we are pirates? Filthy Pushtal, who cheat and steal for a living?”
“No!” the woman cried out in surprise.
“This is a matter of honor,” the alien said. “You insult us, one of you dies.”
Many of them screamed and begged. The aliens were unmoved. In their nearly two years on this mission, Sato had seen how cheaply many races valued life. The Aposo valued it very little. Between a short lifespan and a bloodthirsty demeanor, they were among the worst of the so-called merc races.
“You Humans pick who dies,” the Aposo said.
Sato felt his blood run cold. Ichika was putting on a brave face, but he felt her shaking as she held him. None of their group were fighters in any way. Scientists and doctors didn’t tend toward violence or bravery. He realized if he left it up to them, there was no telling who would get picked, and he couldn’t take a chance.
“Me,” he said, feeling his resolve solidify.
“No!” Ichika cried and pulled at him. In zero gravity, it was easy enough to hold her off.
“Yes, me,” he said again. None of the others said anything; they wouldn’t meet his gaze. That confirmed his decision. Ichika would be safe.
“Huh,” the Aposo said. “You are protecting your mate?” He pointed a finger at Ichika, his rat-like whiskers twitching.
“Yes,” he admitted. “You have your choice, do it.”
“Certainly,” the Aposo said, and shot Ichika through the chest.
He screamed and held her as she bled; he was unable to stop the bleeding. The blood flowed out into little floating constellations of horror, and he cried out her name over and over. Her eyes went blank, and she died in his arms. The Aposo laughed as they left.
* * *
The starport was a backwater affair. The small group of Humans mainly survived off Sato’s technological prowess. He’d learned a lot about alien technology, and his brain never stopped absorbing new knowledge. He didn’t know why he went on living. The others were constantly trying to find a way home, making money wherever they could. One by one they’d disappeared, dead or gone, and Sato didn’t care. His love had died in orbit over this world, and here he would die, as well.
Two days ago, a starship had half landed, half crashed. Its reactor was failing. It should never have been allowed to land, but the place was a real shithole, so it had happened anyway. As it sat there slowly going critical, the starport’s denizens had fled for their lives.
Sato had calmly walked aboard the ship and stabilized the reactor. The captain had given him a thousand credits, which he numbly pocketed, and went back to his dump of a shop. When a pair of his fellow surviving Humans heard about the money, he gave it to them. When they left, he thought he might be the last. It didn’t matter.
“Are you the one who stopped that starship from exploding?”
Sato looked at the new arrival in his ramshackle repair shop/apartment. “Yeah,” he said. The speaker was an alien he’d never seen. It looked a lot like a howler monkey.
“You are Human, right?” the alien asked. Sato nodded. It looked around his shop, and Sato went back to fixing the little autochef someone had brought in. Figuring out tech was one of the few things he still found pleasure in. “Why did you do it?”
“Huh?” he asked and looked up.
“Why did you walk into a fusion bomb to fix it instead of fleeing like everyone else?”
“I wanted to see the reactor. It was a model I’d never examined.”
“You risk your life to look at a reactor?” Sato shrugged, and the alien laughed. “Why are you here, Human, so far from home?”
“Why do you care?”
“I’m curious about your race. It is my job.”
Sato put his tools down and told him, why he’d been out in the galaxy, why he’d been heading home, and how Ichika had died. “There’s nothing left for me on Earth.”
“Why didn’t you kill yourself?”
The question was more straightforward than he’d been prepared for. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Cowardice, I guess.” Suicide was common in his society. Death didn’t scare him. Yet here he was.
“I don’t think so,” the alien said. “You still find pleasure in technology, it would seem.”
“Perhaps,” Sato admitted. “But that might be all.”
“It was Aposo who did it, right? Killed your mate?”
“Yes,” he said icily. “What do you want?”
“The Aposo have been researching a new weapon. They have developed a fascinating particle beam system that shows great promise. Would you be interested in seeing it? I could arrange to get you into their labs.”
“Aposo labs? Only if I could kill them, too.”
The alien smiled. “That can be arranged as well.”
* * *
Sato walked out of the labs calmly and hailed a flyer. A minute later, as it flew toward the starport, a massive detonation went off in his wake. The robotic cab rocked, and alarms sounded. He’d cut it close. Too close. Behind him, nine city blocks were devastated. The blast had been more than was strictly necessary, but he’d found sabotaging the fusion reactor in the basement much easier than simply setting charges. Everyone in the buildings was Aposo, anyway.
When he sat down in the little pub with a view overlooking the starship landing field, the alien who’d set it all up joined him a minute later.
“Kinda got carried away, didn’t you?” it asked. In the months since he’d met him in the shop several systems away, Sato had learned he was an opSha.
“The entire lab complex was involved in the research,” Sato said. “You told me to shut it all down.”
“You get the data?” Sato slid the little case across to him. The alien made it disappear.
Sato held up his hand with the gossamer web-like glove called a slicer. “This went right through their perimeter encryption like it wasn’t there.” The alien held out a hand, and he reluctantly gave the device back. In exchange, the opSha slid a one-million-credit chit over to him. He looked at the money dispassionately, then pocketed it with a shrug.
