by Joe Vasicek
“Stars of Earth,” Mara whispered. It’s a wonder there’s anything left at all.
“We see it, Mara,” Aaron’s voice came over the bridge loudspeaker. “It looks pretty bad.”
“That reactor could be highly unstable,” said Mathusael. “Can you run a scan to make sure there isn’t a leak?”
Mara nodded to Phoebe, who got to work on it right away. “It looks fine from here, Chief. We’re not picking up any unusual radiation signatures or other signs of reactor failure.”
“Is there anything else on the scanners?” Aaron asked. “Escape pods? Signs that anyone made it out of that thing alive?”
“Negative, sir.”
“We’ll keep an eye out for any pirates,” said Mara. “There’s a good chance that if they’re still in the area, they’re using this wreckage as a trap.”
“Sounds good, Commander. We’ll be in and out as quickly as we can. Let us know when we’re good to disembark.”
Mara glanced at Apollo, whose eyes were locked on his screen. “Just a few minutes,” he muttered. “Bringing her in nice and easy.”
As the Merope-7 crept closer to the derelict, the debris made little pinging noises as it struck the hull of the ship. The cloud shimmered and began to shift, as if a light wind had just blown through. It briefly lifted the stillness of the scene, but did little to diffuse the aura of death.
“We’re at one hundred meters now,” said Apollo as the Merope-7 stopped just short of docking range.
“Did you hear that, Captain?”
“We heard it, Commander. Disembarking now.”
Was that a hint of anxiety in his voice? Mara wondered. Whatever it was, he wasn’t his usual boyish self. He hadn’t seemed worried about investigating the ship before, so she didn’t think it was fear, but there was definitely something unusual.
“Thetana, put the captain’s HUD on the main display,” she ordered.
“Got it. Displaying now.”
The image on the main screen blanked, then changed to show the view from Aaron’s helmet as he walked into the airlock. He glanced over his shoulder, and Mara caught a glimpse of Mathusael—or what she assumed was Mathusael—behind him. The dark orange EVA suits made everyone look the same, and the gold faceplates were far too reflective to see through.
“Keep an eye on the captain’s vitals, Phoebe,” Mara said softly. “Mirror them to the screen at my chair and let me know if you see anything worrisome.”
“Of course.”
On the main display, Aaron keyed the access panel to the exterior airlock doors. The lights flashed red three times before the door hissed open, revealing the blackness of space and the shimmering debris field outside.
“Jacob, Penelope, Mathusael, let’s go out one at a time,” said Aaron. “I’ll go first. When I fire my rockets, count to two and follow me out. We’ll meet up on the derelict.”
“Understood, Captain.”
Aaron took a deep breath, which was amplified significantly by his EVA suit’s mic. With one hand gripping the nearest hand-hold, he leaned back and threw himself forward out of the ship. The camera went shaky for several moments, but the rockets fired almost immediately and the view soon stabilized. As soon as it did, the roar died down as Aaron coasted the rest of the way.
He flipped himself around just before he hit the derelict and landed his magnetic boots with a solid thud. Mara caught her breath and swore at his recklessness. The mic picked up a chuckle, suggesting he’d done it to get a rise out of her.
Dammit, Aaron, she thought to herself. When are you going to grow up and stop dicking around?
The others soon assembled on the hull around him. They turned on their helmet lights for illumination, though the high beams of the Merope-7 were more than enough to see by.
“Mara, are you getting our video feeds?”
“Crisp and clear,” said Mara. “We can hear every breath.”
“Good. Jacob, I want you to walk around the outside of the ship to get a visual record of it. Keep the channel open, though, and only tell us what you see if it looks immediately dangerous.”
“Got it, Captain.”
“Penelope, hang a tether on him and fly out a bit to spot for him. His magnetic boots should keep you both secure, and you’ve got plenty of rocket fuel left to get you back home.”
“Right.”
Aaron paused for a moment. On Mara’s screen, his heartbeat began to speed up.
“Mathusael, come with me. Let’s check the inside.”
“I’m right behind you,” said Mathusael. “Let’s go.”
They walked down the side of the derelict’s hull toward what was left of the airlock. The cargo hold had been blown open by plasma fire, with sharp, ragged edges of twisted metal wherever the hull had taken damage. They stepped carefully to avoid that, until they came to the airlock door itself.
To Mara’s surprise, it was already open.
“Looks like we weren’t the first to come in through here,” said Mathusael. “And these scoring marks look like they were made by asteroidal docking clamps.”
“Just like the Paladin-4,” Aaron muttered.
The drop-ship from Fourth Platoon.
“So you think they were boarded before they were destroyed?” Mara asked.
“Probably,” said Aaron. “Jacob, Penelope, what do you see?”
“The damage is consistent with ship-to-ship weapons fire, Captain,” said Penelope. “At the same time, there are signs that the hull was breached from a blast that originated within.”
“How can that be?” said Phoebe. “The reactor is still intact.”
“Only one way to find out,” said Mathusael. He pulled out a laser cutter from his suit’s belt and climbed down through the airlock.
Aaron followed, and for several moments, the camera view was too shaky or too dim to make out much of anything. His breathing started to sound louder, and his heartbeat continued to accelerate.
“Phoebe, what’s wrong with the captain?” Mara asked, quietly enough that only the officers of the bridge could hear her.
“I don’t know,” said Phoebe. “He’s—maybe he’s having a panic attack?”
Mara frowned. “Captain, are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” said Aaron, a little too quickly. From the medical readouts, though, it was clear that something was wrong.
The view stabilized, and the camera adjusted for the change in the light. The image on screen was of a short corridor, with lockers and wall compartments on either side. Black scorch marks scarred the walls, with gruesome bloodstains kept red by prolonged exposure to vacuum. With the artificial gravity gone, though, the whole thing looked as if it were underwater—or perhaps like something out of a dream.
“Looks like there was some heavy fighting here,” said Mathusael. “Whoever commanded this ship didn’t give up without a fight.”
“Or perhaps they were executed,” said Mara. She remembered all too well the feel of the gun in her hand as she shot her father’s killer.
“I doubt it,” said Mathusael. “Aaron, what’s wrong?”
Aaron said nothing, but his breath was coming short and fast now—much too fast to be mere nervousness. His heartbeat went erratic, and alarms began to sound on Mara’s console.
“Phoebe!” she shouted. “What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know, Commander! He’s having some sort of… seizure?”
“You’re the medic, dammit! What’s wrong?”
The view on the main screen went shaky again as Aaron began to spasm uncontrollably. His hand hit the wall, and he went spinning out of control in the microgravity. Mathusael tried to reach for him, but he was knocked aside.
“It’s not completely involuntary,” said Phoebe. “He still has motor control, but his frontal lobe is spiking like crazy.”
Sweat began to form on the back of Mara’s neck. She gripped the command chair with white-knuckled hands and leaned forward.
“Is there anyth
ing you can do? Any way we can help him?”
“Not while he’s off-ship.”
“Then get him back here, dammit! You hear me, Mathusael? We need to get him to medical on the double!”
“It’s possible to override his EVA suit manually,” said Mathusael. “If you lock him down, I can carry him out.”
Mara stared at the spinning view on the display screen. Aaron’s panicked breathing filled the channel, making her hands shake. If he’s gone, she realized, then all the responsibility for command falls to me. The thought made her head swim and her knees go weak.
“What’s the override? How do we lock him down?”
Phoebe cheeks paled. “I don’t know, Commander, I’ve never—”
“I have it, Mara,” said Jason. “Shall I?”
“Yes! Lock down that EVA suit and bring him home!”
Jason’s fingers raced over his control console. On the main display, Aaron’s flailing hands suddenly froze in place, though he continued to spin end over end. Mathusael pinned him against the wall, stopping him before he collided with anything dangerous. His breathing was still ragged, though, and his heart rate was still much too fast.
“Hang on, Aaron,” Mathusael said in a soothing voice. “You’re gonna be all right. I’m just going to tether us together and bring us back to the ship, nice and easy.”
Mara collapsed back into the command chair. What the hell is going on?
“His brain activity is returning to normal,” said Phoebe. “Heart rate slowing, normal functions resuming. It looks like he’s going to be okay.”
“Isaac?” Aaron muttered. “Isaac, is that you?”
“Isaac’s not here, Aaron. It’s me, Mathusael.”
“Mathusael? Why can’t I move? What’s going on?”
“We’re bringing you back to the Merope-7,” said Mara. “We’re sending you straight to medical to find out what the hell just happened to you.”
“What happened? What’s—what’s going on?”
“Never mind that,” said Mathusael as he guided Aaron’s frozen body gently out the airlock. “Everything’s going to be fine, Aaron. Just relax.”
“Commander,” said Phoebe. “Are you okay?”
Mara glanced around the bridge and realized that all the officers were staring at her. Her hands were shaking and she felt dizzy—she must have had a panic attack of her own without realizing it.
“I’m fine, Lieutenant,” she said, straightening her back. “Get down to medical to receive the captain. We’ll finish investigating the distress beacon later. Everyone else, abort and return to ship.”
“What?” said Aaron. “I’m feeling fine now—it’s not a big deal.”
“Like hell it isn’t,” Mara muttered, her relief giving way to anger. She clenched her fists and looked out at the cold, white stars.
Voices of the Lost
Mara stormed into the medical bay, her blood boiling. Aaron was just inside the door, fitting his uniform back on. She stepped inside and grabbed him by the arm.
“Going somewhere, Captain?”
“Mara, I—Ow! What are you doing?”
Phoebe looked up from her console and stood immediately. Her two medical assistants edged toward the walls, careful to keep their distance from the captain and commander.
“What’s the big idea, checking yourself out of medical before you’ve had a full brain-scan?” said Mara. “You’re not stepping back on the bridge until Phoebe has had a good look inside your head and can tell us what’s going on in there.”
“Mara, I’m fine. What happened on the derelict, that was just… an accident.”
“Like hell it was. You freaked out so hard we had to lock down your suit and pull you out like so much dead weight.”
“But I’m fine, now. Really, I am.”
“Take the brain-scan and prove it.”
Aaron glanced around the room. All eyes were fixed on him. Phoebe stood by the examining table, her hand on the large U-shaped brain-scanner that folded down from the wall. The medibots were already hovering next to her.
“All right,” he said, “but Phoebe, I need you to dismiss your assistants.”
“Why?” asked Mara.
“It’s okay,” Phoebe said quietly. She nodded to her assistants, who left the medical bay without a word.
Aaron sat down on the examining table and lay back against the cushions. He fiddled nervously with his hands as Phoebe pulled the scanner down and fit his head between the two prongs. He closed his eyes as the machine lit up and began to operate.
“Stay still,” said Phoebe. “This will take a few seconds.”
Mara glanced from Aaron to the holoscreen at Phoebe’s console. The image of his brain was fuzzy at first, but quickly resolved into a far more detailed picture. Lights lit up in various places, with labels as the computer identified the relevant parts. It was all too complicated for Mara to understand, so she looked at Phoebe to gauge her reaction.
“That’s not good,” said Phoebe, frowning at the picture. “Very not good.”
“What do you see, Lieutenant.”
“The neural pathways in his frontal lobe are skewed all out of proportion. I’m seeing connections where there shouldn’t be any, and nothing where there should. The damage is so severe, it’s a wonder his brain is still working at all.”
Mara frowned. “Damage?”
“That’s what it looks like. The signs are consistent with an advanced dream simulator addiction, but the effects are more severe than anything I’ve ever seen.”
The neural stimulator program.
“Am I going to be all right?” Aaron asked. He sounded scared.
“I honestly don’t know,” said Phoebe. “With therapy and medication, it might be reversible, but it’s going to take a long time.”
“You’ve been using that neural stimulator program, haven’t you?” Mara said.
Aaron cringed. “I thought I had it under control. Honest.”
Mara sighed and covered her face with her hand. Her legs went weak, and she suddenly felt powerless. It was as if she were drowning, and no matter how hard she flailed, she couldn’t get to safety.
“You told me you’d give it up.”
“I know, and I tried Mara—I honestly tried. But after using it for so long, I… I just couldn’t.”
“You’re addicted.”
He bit his lip and nodded.
Mara’s anger and frustration came back, renewing her strength. “Why didn’t you tell us?” she asked, throwing up her arms.
“Because I couldn’t let anyone know.”
“Why the hell not?”
“They’d take my command away from me,” he said, sitting up. “And if it were just a matter of that, then yeah, I would have told you, but my brother is out there. This is the only chance I’ve got to find him.”
“Captain,” said Phoebe, “you’re not completely lost. There’s a chance we can fix this, but I need you to be absolutely honest. Can you promise me that?”
Mara folded her arms and glared at him. He sighed and nodded.
“All right, Phoebe. What do you need to know?”
“First, how long have you been using this neural stimulator program?”
“About six months. I started using it to help me learn the language, but after my brother went missing…” He glanced at Mara and took a deep breath. “Well, that’s when I started using it like a drug.”
“How long and how often did you use it?”
“About six hours every dayshift, in two- and three-hour sessions.”
“Holy shit.” Mara’s jaw dropped. “That was practically all your free time.”
“It’s all right,” said Phoebe, putting a hand on Aaron’s arm. “We can still fix this. Are you still using it that frequently?”
Aaron looked up at Mara and shook his head. “No. When they made me captain, I tried to cut back. I got to the point where I could go for two or three days without it. But then the cravings would hit, and I
couldn’t help myself.”
“Describe the cravings.”
“It’s like… it’s like there’s an itch inside my brain,” he said. “I try to ignore it, but it keeps getting worse. The only way to make it go away is to plug in and use.”
He looked at them both, his cheeks reddening. “Look, I’d appreciate it if this doesn’t leave the room. This isn’t exactly something I’m proud of.”
You shouldn’t be.
“You do realize that if you have one of these episodes in combat, you could get us all killed,” Mara said, barely able to contain her fury. “Frankly, I doubt you’re fit to command this ship at all.”
Aaron’s face turned white. “I’m sorry, Mara. I thought—”
“You thought wrong, sir,” she said, clenching her fists. “I can’t allow you to endanger this crew any longer. That damn neural stimulator program has got to go.”
“I’ll delete it right away,” he said, staring at the floor.
“That’s not enough. I want you to give me root access to your personal dream monitor so that I can make absolutely sure it’s gone. If you won’t trust me to do that, then I can’t trust you with the command of this ship.”
Her words were harsh, but he closed his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, I can do that. I suppose I should.”
“We’ll synthesize the medications and put you on the therapy at once,” said Phoebe. “But Captain, you need to be careful. If you have another breakdown, I’m not sure we’ll be able to pull you out of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your last breakdown was caused by a high level of stress combined with a memory flashback. Was there something about the derelict that seemed familiar to you?”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “It looked just like the Medea.”
Phoebe nodded. “That’s what triggered your neural pathways to lock up. The stress was what broke them down. My guess is that it affected your language abilities hardest, so that you were no longer able to think in terms of anything but raw emotions.”
