“Oh, what are you complaining about? It healed, didn’t it?”
“Oh, yes, mine did. But you know what? It still hurts when it’s hot. And it’s so hot in this bar.”
“Why don’t we step outside,” Cole suggested, “where it’s cooler?”
Mark glanced past the two of them. In a short moment, he saw Kestral and Ciana, and most of the restaurant, for that matter, watching the drama unfolding at the bar… he saw Taj, the owner, certainly hoping there would be no violence in his place… and he saw the bartender bring a glass over to him.
“Ah, my drink,” Mark said, calmly reaching about. He grabbed at his other glass, and poured what was left of the old drink into the other. Then he slowly raised it to his lips and toasted Buker and Cole.
“Come on, O’Bannon,” Buker said. “Let’s step outside. Where it’s cool.”
“Can’t I bring my drink?” Before the Rangers could reply, Mark took a sip from the glass. Then he seemed to acquiesce to the Rangers’ suggestion, and started away from the bar carrying his glass.
Back at the table, Kestral and Ciana saw Mark being led away from the bar. Kestral started to get up and go after him. Ciana quickly put out a hand, keeping Kestral at her seat. She smiled in Mark’s direction.
“Wait for it.”
A moment later, Mark stopped, after taking only three steps from the bar. And he lurched, as if in pain. The Lokian Rangers, on either side of him, turned at his unexpected movement. Cole eyed him suspiciously, and Buker sneered. “Can’t hold your liquor either, eh, Kella?”
Mark’s eyes abruptly bulged, a comical sight when framed by his ink-black features, and he doubled over. Everyone in the restaurant stared openly. Both Rangers started to laugh openly at him.
Then Mark tilted his head up and coughed.
It was much as if a pressure valve had popped open unexpectedly. A violent jet of dense steam blew outward from Mark’s mouth, crossing a half-dozen meters in less than a second and obscuring the immediate area. Buker and Cole were both caught in the steam, as well as half the patrons at the bar. Almost as violent as the explosion from Mark’s mouth, came the exclamations of rage and alarm from the nearby patrons, many of whom dived for cover as if they expected Mark to literally blow up.
The jet of steam itself seemed to do no real damage to anyone, other than alarming those nearby. The two exceptions, however, were the Lokian Rangers, who both bellowed in pain and threw hands to their faces. Buker, caught off-balance, fell backwards, his massive shoulder striking a nearby table and upending it loudly, and he crashed into the hard floor head-first. Thereafter, he did not move.
Cole, however, was still standing. He dropped his hands from his face, which was now bright yellow, his eyes completely closed behind puffed and mottled skin. Bellowing with rage, he charged forward, one massive arm swinging in a wide arc. But Mark was already crouching low, and the block-like fist of the Lokian whizzed over him. Mark continued his motion forward, bringing his body into Cole’s just below the waist. Cole’s forward motion caused him to pitch forward, his legs losing contact with the ground.
With a mighty grunt, Mark stood up. His action caused Cole to upend, his legs arching straight up in the air. He seemed to hover there for impossibly long moments, upside down and astoundingly high off the ground. Then he, too, came down with a crash, head-first on the hard barroom floor. His body toppled sideways like a felled tree, and when it landed, the entire room seemed to shudder from the impact.
The room was silent. Mark stood over the unconscious Rangers, and waved a hand desperately at the bartender. “Mother’s milk!” he gasped out.
Kestral and Ciana reached the bar as the bartender rapped a bottle of milky-white liquid onto the bar next to Mark. “Thanks,” he rattled, taking the bottle and raising it full to his lips. Kestral looked to Ciana, who regarded Mark with a bemused expression.
Kestral finally said, “All right, I give up. What just happened?”
“I’ve heard about this,” Ciana responded, while Mark still drank from the bottle. “Mr. O’Bannon is renowned for his knowledge of ways to diffuse conflicts. We just saw a sample of his mixing the alcohols in his drinks together, to form—?”
“A gas that is especially reactive to Lokian skin,” Mark finished for her, his voice hoarse but strong. “The mother’s milk,” he continued, holding up the bottle, “diffuses the alcohols. To make sure I don’t end up with an ulcer.”
Taj walked up to them at that moment, looking pointedly down at the Lokians, and the overturned table next to Buker’s prone body. “Sorry about the table,” Mark said quickly. “I thought I had him angled so he wouldn’t hit any breakables on the way down.”
“Rangers too violent for you, huh?” Kestral said sarcastically. She looked down at the Lokians. “How long will they be out?”
“Maybe an hour,” Mark replied. “Sometimes less. Lokians are notoriously tough.”
“Not to mention vindictive,” Ciana added. “It’s a good thing they started it, or you two would be in serious trouble.” She looked at them both meaningfully, and Mark was the first to catch her unspoken suggestion.
“Carolyn… do you still want a pilot?”
“Yes, I do. And…” she consulted the chronometer on her wrist. “…and Sarander should have the Mary about fuelled up by now…”
“Mary?” Ciana interrupted. “You named your ship the Mary?”
“Ciana, I believe it’s time for us to go,” Kestral declared, pointedly ignoring the look Ciana gave her.
“Of course, dear,” Ciana said, giving Kestral a loving hug. “I’ll make sure things are taken care of here, don’t worry about it. You two go. Good luck in your new profession.”
“Thanks,” Kestral and Mark responded together, then took one last glance down at the Rangers on the ground. “Better tell your Sarander to get those engines warmed up,” Mark suggested.
“Way ahead of you,” Kestral nodded, as they stepped smartly out the door.
~
As Kestral stepped out of the umbilical and onto the deck of the Mary, Sarander stood there waiting, looking slightly irritated. “Got your message,” he said. “Engines are up. Are we in a hurry?”
“Yes, we are,” Kestral nodded.
Mark stepped out of the umbilical after Kestral. He pulled two large duffel bags after him, the sum total of his possessions, and dropped them on the deck.
“Who the Hell is this?” Sarander snapped.
“Say hello to our new pilot, Mark O’Bannon,” Kestral told him.
“Welcome aboard, Mark O’Bannon!” Sarander, instantly changing from irritated to amiable, shot out a hand and shook Mark’s enthusiastically. Now smiling broadly, he turned back to Kestral. “I’ll be in the engine room, doing boss work. Let’s get this shipment moving!”
“That’s the spirit,” Kestral grinned, and headed for the bridge, Mark trailing behind.
“He seemed happy to see me,” Mark commented.
“You have no idea.”
They reached the bridge, where Tirri sat at ops. Upon turning to see them enter, she promptly asked, “Who’s this?”
“Mark O’Bannon,” Mark introduced himself. Tirri looked inquiringly to Kestral.
“Our new pilot,” Kestral explained.
Tirri smiled widely. “Pleased to meet you!” Then, to Kestral, she asked, “Are we in a hurry?”
“Yes, we are,” Kestral and Mark said together. Mark slipped into the pilot’s seat, and instantly began tapping at the console and checking his readings. “Ready to go,” he announced.
Kestral settled into the Captain’s station, tapped at her com controls, and asked, “High Amarillo, this is the Mary. Do we have clearance?”
“Clearance just granted, Mary,” came the reply. “Regards from Administrator Prinz. Have a nice flight.”
“Thank you,” Kestral responded, closing the com. “Okay, Mark, let’s see what you can do.”
Mark nodded and worked over the controls. The Mary
responded instantly, pulling out of her slip smoothly and quickly. Mark’s fingers literally flew over the console, as the ship cleared the gantry, and swung about to face deep space.
“Color us red,” Mark commented. “We’re out of here.” Whereupon a strong but smooth acceleration set in, and the Mary pulled away from the asteroid. Mark set the ship into a wide and graceful curve, swinging her about to point in the direction of her intended course to Terra212.
“Take us to C when you’re ready,” Kestral told him.
Mark watched his console. “I have us locked on course… now. Tessers are synched. Going to C… now.” He tapped the console, and the Mary’s drives sang out. Within a second, their stop at High Amarillo was a distant memory.
~
The small screen on Administrator Prinze’s desk showed the Mary arc gracefully away from the dock. A moment later, there was a mild glow from the ship, preceded by the craft’s vanishing from sight as it moved to C. Ciana smiled as it vanished. “Godspeed, Captain Kestral. Have a good life.”
6: The Berserker
“We’re at three-C, Carolyn.” Mark deftly worked the controls of the Mary, and it showed… somehow, the ship seemed to fly smoother under his hand, than it had under Sarander’s. “On course to Terra212.”
“Good,” Kestral nodded, and tapped the ship’s com. “Angel and Sarander… please come to the bridge, as soon as it’s convenient.”
Mark looked over at Tirri, who was staring significantly at Kestral. She gave Mark a quick glance, too, before turning to Kestral again. Mark looked at the two of them, then said, “Forgive me, I’m new. What’s going on?”
“We’re going to have a conference,” Kestral replied, “when the others get here.”
“Conference? What about?”
Kestral regarded Mark. “Nothing you don’t already know about.”
At Kestral’s remark, Tirri swung her head at Mark, and her feathered lashes flashed. “Hey! Does he know why we left without a pilot?”
Instead of responding to Tirri’s outburst, Mark returned Kestral’s look with one of surprise. “You didn’t tell them?”
Kestral shrugged sheepishly. “I didn’t think it would be such a problem.”
“You’re kidding.”
“What don’t we know?” Tirri snapped.
“Relax, Tirri,” Kestral told her. “As soon as Sarander—”
“Sarander and Angel are here,” came a voice from the bridge hatch. Sarander stepped through, followed closely by Angel. Sarander glanced at Mark and cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, good… you’re still aboard.”
“Was I not supposed to be?” Mark asked.
“It’s okay, Mark,” Kestral said. “Sarander’s being funny. Sort of. Guys, take a seat and get comfortable. It’s time for me to tell you what’s going on.” As Sarander took a seat by the wall consoles, and Angel leaned up against an empty stretch of bulkhead, Kestral glanced at Mark. “To bring you up to speed, this all started when we were about to leave Kyxha, three days ago. We had a pilot arranged. But at the last minute, he backed out on me. More to the point, he backed out because he apparently spoke to a Ranger about my background.”
Angel blinked. “What? Were you arrested or something?”
“No, nothing like that,” Kestral told him. “I was… honorably discharged, due to medical circumstances.” Kestral paused, taking in their reactions so far: Sarander was clearly wondering what this had to do with a missing pilot; Tirri just stared at her; Angel just seemed confused; and Mark quietly took it all in, waiting to see the reactions of his newfound fellow crewmen when the hammer dropped. But she didn’t want to drag out the moment. “I was on the Ranger star destroyer Adamant during the battle at James’ Hole against the Spiders. At that time, I came into contact with the berserker virus.”
“Oh, Christ,” Sarander gritted, and visibly leaned back in his seat. Tirri’s mouth fell open.
Angel, seeing Sarander’s reaction, took a step further away from Kestral. “Virus? What kind? I mean, is it contagious?”
“No, it’s not,” Kestral replied, which seemed to be enough to keep Angel from taking another step back.
“The Spider’s virus?” Tirri asked. Kestral regarded her silently. “Then why aren’t you berserk?”
“Berserk?” Angel repeated, goggling at Kestral.
“Hey, yeah,” Sarander said, relaxing his backward lean and coming forward a bit. “Everybody goes berserk! Then they die.”
“Die?” Angel bleated.
“So it was a mistake. ‘Cause you can’t have the virus,” Sarander finished. He looked to Tirri, and back to Kestral. “Can you?”
“If that’s what you think,” Kestral replied, “then let me be the first to educate you. Point one: Not everybody who is infected by the Berserker succumbs to it right away. Sometimes, it lies dormant in the body, to be triggered later, by no one knows what. Point two: With most of those people, the dormant virus can be detected and removed. If it’s removed before you go berserk, you won’t ever go berserk, and you won’t die.”
“So,” Sarander concluded hopefully, “you had it removed?”
Kestral chose her next words carefully. “I was treated,” she said finally. “But… and this is point three… in a small percentage of cases, the treatment is not completely successful. There are still minute traces of the berserker in my system. The doctors don’t know if it is enough to ever be triggered. But they also cannot remove what’s left.”
“Oh, Christ,” Sarander muttered again.
“Because of the… unsuccessful treatment,” Kestral continued, “I was issued an honorable discharge from the service. And that brings us here.”
“Sitting on the bridge of a potential berserker,” Sarander added. “Great.”
“All right, look,” Kestral said, folding her arms defiantly. “All of this happened fifteen months ago. As of today, that means I have survived longer than any carrier of the berserker virus by fourteen months.” She leaned forward for emphasis. “If the virus hasn’t activated in all that time, it never will. I’m safe.”
“Then why aren’t you a Ranger anymore?” Tirri asked.
Kestral lowered her eyes momentarily, unsure of what to say.
“They blacklisted her.”
Everyone turned to Mark. He took them all in and folded his arms across his chest. “She was in line for a Ranger command, before she caught the virus. But even though she never showed a single symptom of the virus, no one trusted her. No one believed that she wouldn’t eventually go berserk, or spread the virus. And no one wanted to work with her. So she was passed over for promotion, and she was denied command of a ship.”
“How do you know?” Sarander asked.
“I was there,” Mark replied. “I was a Ranger when it happened.”
“Wait,” Angel complained, “who are you, anyway? And who else on this ship is an ex-Ranger?”
“You said you were honorably discharged,” Tirri stated, ignoring Angel’s remark.
“Yes,” Kestral admitted. “It was their way of getting rid of me, after I pestered them for a command, and defied them to prove I was a risk. They couldn’t prove it. But they wouldn’t promote me. So they got rid of me. I was given enough of a severance to combine with my accumulated earnings and buy this ship. And here we are.”
There was silence on the bridge. Kestral looked to each of them in turn, including Mark, who silently nodded his support. “Okay, now you know the facts,” Kestral finally said. “Even if I am positive that what’s left of the virus will never be triggered… I realize it was wrong not to tell you before now. For that, I apologize.” She dropped her head. “I also realize that my apology really isn’t enough. I’ve compromised your trust in me. I know an apology won’t fully win it back.”
She raised her head again, and looked to each of them. “I told you all before: If you want to quit, once we get to Terra212, I won’t stop you.”
Kestral slowly stood from the Captain’s station. “Well, th
at’s all. Mark, Sarander, I’d appreciate it if the two of you would work out a schedule to give Mark some breaks at pilot. If not… call me, and I’ll give Mark breaks.”
Mark and Sarander exchanged glances. “We’ll take care of it,” Sarander replied quietly.
“Thank you,” Kestral nodded. “Anyone wants me, I’ll be in my quarters.” She turned and left the bridge, pulling the hatch closed behind her.
The bridge was silent for a time. Angel was first to break it, turning to Mark. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Angel Shakra, mate and cook.”
“Mark O’Bannon,” Mark offered. “Pilot.”
“Nice to meet you.” They shook hands. “You knew about Carolyn’s virus-thing?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And you still want to fly for her?”
“Yes, I do,” Mark replied. “I have no doubt that we’re in good hands.”
“Why aren’t you a Ranger anymore?” Angel asked.
“Any medical conditions we should know about?” Sarander added drily.
Mark shook his head. “I didn’t like the Rangers. Too violent for me.”
“Uh-huh,” Sarander said non-commitally. “I’ll give you a break in four hours, okay?”
“Sure,” Mark agreed. “Thanks.”
Sarander nodded, and headed for the hatch. Tirri got up and followed him out, giving Mark a backward glance as she stepped out.
Angel and Mark watched them go. When the hatch closed, Mark turned back to the pilot’s console. Angel turned to Mark. “Martian, right?”
“Skin gives it away every time,” Mark said casually.
“Want something to drink while you’re up here? I make a mean red gator.”
Mark turned to him, surprised. “You’re on.”
Angel smiled, nodded, and headed out. At the bridge hatch, he turned and said, “Welcome to the Mary.” And he headed off down the corridor.
Mark waited until he could no longer see Angel, before turning back to his console. “Thanks.”
~
Tirri looked up when Sarander came through the door to their quarters. “There you are... I was looking for you.”
The Kestral Voyages: My Life, After Berserker Page 7
