by C. R. Turner
“Is there enough power?” Bradley asks.
“Yup … plenty,” Sam replies with a thin smile.
I run over and kneel beside Pisano. Bradley helps me pull him up onto my back, the higher gravity tests my strength to its limit. Bradley leads the way and I follow, shuffling my feet through the corridors, grunting as I go. Bradley has his Ashra raised, cautiously scanning all the cross corridors. There’d better not be any prisoners left on board.
When we reach the room, Bradley commands the door to open, but it displays a red locked sign on the touchpad.
“Miller, we’re at the stasis room door. Can you unlock it?” Bradley calls over the Core-link.
“Give me a minute,” Sam’s voice crackles.
I grunt. Pisano’s weight is crushing. My feet feel as if they’re about to be pushed through the floor. The touchpad turns green, Bradley hits it and the door flies open. The room has what I presume are stasis pods lined up in two rows of six, all closed and covered with dust. I shuffle to the closest one, gasping for air, and lower Pisano onto the edge of the pod.
“How old are they?” I ask, my voice pitching up.
Bradley shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
“Will they even work?”
“I guess we’re about to find out.”
Bradley presses a button on the control panel and the curved lid opens. The heavy layer of accumulated dust slides off. Inside is white, spotless, unused.
“We need to get him into a suit,” Bradley says as he rushes off.
Seconds later, he returns with a white body suit. It takes us a good five minutes to get Pisano into it, and Bradley and I are both puffing. I rest for a moment, completely exhausted, with a splitting headache. We lay Pisano into the pod, and Bradley plugs a cord from the pod into the suit. Pisano is semi-conscious and looks inches from death. The white interior is now smeared in blood. Bradley presses another button and the lid closes. I wipe the remaining dust from the glass as Bradley types away at the control panel.
“Do you remember how to use it?” I ask.
“Kind of,” Bradley replies. “It’s been about twenty years since I was trained up on them.”
Finally, it powers up and the lid locks into place with a click. The pod fills with a gas that mists the glass lid. Pisano looks up at me as he takes a deep breath. A few more breaths and he slowly closes his eyes. The pod hums and the lights inside dim. I don’t know if he’s going to make it, but this has to be his best chance until help arrives.
SF Mustang, Emerson and Taylor are still rounding up all the prisoners and returning them to their cells when we make it back to the bridge. I unsaddle Max and Jade, while Sam frowns, riddling herself over the ship’s computer.
Bradley glares at me, his brow furrowed. “Stinson … you’re injured.”
“It’s nothing,” I reply, with barely the energy to stand.
“Take your shirt off,” he orders.
When I do, I find it’s covered in blood. I’m not sure how much of it’s mine and how much is Pisano’s. Sam gasps. Bradley rummages through my backpack and finds a needle and thread. I hate people making a fuss over me. I’ll live.
Once Bradley cleans and stitches me up, I grab a clean shirt and approach Sam. “How’s it going?”
She glances up. “Okay.”
Sam stops what she’s doing as Hawkins and Bradley join us. “It has plenty of power and all the systems seem to be functioning fine – from what I can tell.”
“Why did it crash then?” Bradley asks.
“The gravity compensation was set incorrectly. It was set to Infernum,” Sam says.
“Are there any signs of the crew?” Hawkins asks.
Sam types away at the computer. “A couple of the crew quarters have been locked from the inside down on level two.”
Bradley and Hawkins share a frown, then Bradley asks Sam, “Can you unlock it?”
She takes a deep breath. “I’ll try.”
“Hawkins, you stay here with Miller and keep the bridge, Stinson you’re with me,” Bradley orders.
We’re walking through the corridors with our Ashras raised and set to stun. There are signs with letter and number combinations everywhere. Signposts, I presume. I hope Bradley knows what they mean. The Equilibria is huge!
“Miller, what number crew quarter is locked?” Bradley whispers into his Core-link.
Sam’s voice crackles through. “Q32 and Q35.”
We tread quietly up the corridor to the first of the crew quarters. “Unlock thirty-two.”
Bradley and I stare at the control panel. When it turns green, Bradley pushes the panel and the door flies open. I shadow Bradley with my Ashra safely pointed at the ground. There’s a smear on the floor as though a bloody corpse has been dragged. We follow the blood trail around the corner to the beds. First, I see feet, then the owner’s body – a crew member sitting on the floor in a dried puddle of muck. He’s propped up against a bed but slouched over. By the look of him, he’s been dead for five or six weeks. His skin is torn open in places. There’s very little flesh and there’s hardly any smell left. His right hand is holding his abdomen, where I presume he sustained an injury.
Sam unlocks the second crew quarters and Bradley opens it. A wild Ashra blast flies out the doorway and slams into the wall behind us with a giant thud. When the smoke clears, the wall’s blackened and mangled. Lucky we were standing to the side.
“Identify yourself,” Bradley hollers.
Silence.
“This is SF Prime Bradley. Identify yourself.”
“How do I know you are who you say you are?” a frightened voice replies.
“What’s your crew number?” Bradley yells.
“M3781,” he recites.
Bradley storms in with his Ashra shouldered. I’m right on his heels. “Drop it,” he thunders.
The frightened man throws the Ashra on the ground.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Daniel … I’m a trade ambassador to the Terra Primus government.”
He’s a handsome guy who doesn’t look like he’s done a hard day’s labour in his life – well spoken, clean shaven – which is a surprise considering how long they’ve been stranded here. There’s no way he’s a prisoner.
“What happened?” I ask.
“When we emerged from the Bridgeport, a dozen prisoners stormed the bridge. We didn’t stand a chance. They were armed. They tried landing the ship but messed it up. When one of the flight crew tried to render assistance, they shot him. I ran for it.”
Bradley doesn’t sound convinced. “How did the prisoners get free?”
Daniel cowers. “I don’t know … I don’t know.”
We’re in the bridge hours later when the rest of the team enter, exhausted. They sigh with relief at the cool air-conditioning now flowing through the ship.
“Who’s this?” Stiles asks.
“I’m Daniel, I’m a trade ambassador to the Terra Primus government.”
Bradley orders Emerson, “Report.”
“Sir, we have all but one of the prisoners away,” Emerson replies. “We found two deceased in the ship, who came out on the wrong end of a knife fight, and we found two dead in the surrounding jungle – looks like the Ryuu had their way with them. The remaining prisoners are secure, all ambulant, and we’ve given them food and water. We also found three dead crew members locked up in one of the cells.”
“Dammit. That’s all four dead,” Bradley says.
“Sir?” Emerson asks.
“We found a crew member dead in one of the crew quarters. How did the prisoners get out?”
Emerson hands Bradley a small black device. “We found a decoder on one of them.”
“Who’s still free?”
Emerson glances over at me. “The striker scout, sir.”
My heart sinks, but knowing these guys, they won’t let him get away, not now.
Bradley addresses the group. “Emerson and SF Mustang, I want you to sw
eep through the ship, make sure there’s no one else on board. I don’t want any more surprises. Emerson, do a structural assessment on the Equilibria as you go.
“Taylor, you stay with Sam and help her check all the ship’s systems, and program the Bridgeport to dive to Infernum. Joel … saddle up, you’re with me.”
There’s a few raised eyebrows in the bridge, mine included. “Sir, what about Pisano? Shouldn’t we take him back to Terra Primus?”
Bradley places his hand on my shoulder. “He’ll be safe in stasis. We’ve got a job to finish.”
“Pos, sir.”
As Bradley and I traipse through the jungle, it’s eerily quiet again, no birds and no sign of the Ryuu. We’re a good mile or so from the Equilibria – outside the Pulsar’s range. After an hour or so, I’m really struggling to stay awake on Max. I have no idea how long it’s been since I’ve slept. It’s been just one giant jumble of events punctuated by moments of sheer terror.
We come to a fork in the trail. One branch heads up over the hill and the other continues on downhill and around the rocky terrain.
“Stinson, which way?” Bradley asks.
I shrug. “Sir, he always goes to the low ground when tracking someone but … he’s not tracking someone … we’re tracking him.”
“Follow your instinct,” Bradley says.
I nod and lead the way downhill. And there it is, a boot print in the dirt. Max lowers his head and sniffs at it, then quickly raises his head and pricks his ears. They twitch back and forth as the little hairs on the tips bend in the breeze. He sniffs at the air, then locks onto the source, staring into the jungle. I give him a gentle nudge and we head in that direction.
A branch sways up ahead. It’s at ground level. It must be the striker scout. I pause for a second, making sure we’re not walking into a trap. We must be close. I pull my Ashra off my back and clench it in both hands. Bradley’s quiet, letting me lead as we search the jungle. I spot feet and yellow overall legs up ahead at the base of a small cliff. I signal for Bradley to come to me. I reach out and help Bradley up. If it’s the striker scout, we’re going to need our strongest weapon – Max’s stealth.
I direct Max off the trail and up the hill. We approach from the top of the cliff face. Max stops at the edge. I can see the prisoner’s feet but that’s all. I don’t give it another second’s thought. I nudge Max and he leaps over the edge. We sail through air and Max cushions our landing with his strong legs and paws.
“Don’t move,” Bradley yells, leaping off the saddle before Max’s legs even recoil from the landing.
The striker scout is caught off guard and drops his Ashra as he clambers to his feet. I could have gone the rest of my life without seeing that face again. He looks different now, though. I presume it’s because he’s been stripped of his uniform. He glares at me, stunned. I take aim, my finger on the trigger. I see myself through his eyes: in full striker force camouflage, sitting high on Max’s back, aiming my Ashra at him.
With cat-like reflexes the striker scout reaches for his knife, sheathed behind his back and takes up a throwing stance. My heart feels like it’s trying to escape my chest as Bradley and I both fire. The striker scout does a big face plant in the dirt. Out cold. Two shots from an Ashra on stun – he won’t be conscious for a while.
I leap off Max’s back and run over … hesitate … then get down on one knee and roll the striker scout over. That face. Scarred, wrinkled, the face of a murderer. Bradley pulls out a pair of handcuffs and is about to cuff him when he pauses and holds them out to me. Bradley and I lock eyes, both understanding the significance of this moment. I sling my Ashra, take them and cuff the animal who murdered my father, the animal who hunted Max and me for so long. I feel guilty for taking so much pleasure in it. Maybe it’s satisfaction. Truth be told, I’m not sure how I feel.
Bradley seems proud as he slaps me on the shoulder, then leaves his hand there. I look at the shield on Bradley’s shoulder – the SF Raptor shield with the prime’s gold border – then down at the striker scout in the dirt. It’s now I realise my view of the Union uniform has been distorted by my experiences, and that there’s more to it – a side I’m starting to appreciate and respect.
Chapter 12
I wake on the floor of the bridge to the sound of the Equilibria powering up. Sam and Taylor are sitting together working. Their smiles infect me as it’s been a while since I’ve seen either of them smile.
I climb to my feet, still tired. “How long have I been out, sir?”
“Nearly an hour,” Bradley replies.
Emerson walks in and Bradley asks, “What’s the Equilibria’s structural condition?”
“Sir, it’s in pretty good shape. There are a couple of forward compartments that we won’t be able to pressurise due to damage, but we can just seal those bulkheads.”
I walk over to Sam as they prepare the Equilibria for flight. Sam’s so in her element.
Taylor’s flicking through the displays when Sam points. “Look at that.”
“What?” Taylor asks.
“The Makri catalogue is listed before the Talon catalogue,” Sam says.
Bradley and Emerson approach.
“So what?” Taylor asks.
Sam continues. “The BSP lists all the—”
“What’s a BSP?” I ask.
Sam looks up. “The Bridgeport solution processor … the BSP lists all planets by the date they were entered. Meaning, the Talon catalogue is listed before the Makri catalogue. But in the bridge computer, the planets in the Makri catalogue are listed before the Talon catalogue, in contradiction to the BSP’s list. That must be why the Equilibria went to the wrong planet.”
Bradley whips his head toward Taylor, questioning if Sam is right.
Deep in thought, Taylor replies, “Sir, I think Miller’s correct.”
“So how does that help us?” Bradley asks.
Getting quite excited, Sam replies, “We just roll the bridge’s computer back to the last restore-marker before the Makri catalogue was added.”
Taylor’s eyebrows drop like a boat anchor. “How do you know that? I didn’t even know you could do that.”
Embarrassed, Sam replies softly, “I read the manual.”
“You read that thing?” Taylor asks, her voice pitching up several octaves.
There are a few chuckles in the bridge, and Sam blushes.
Bradley asks Taylor, “Is that something we can do?”
Taylor thinks for a second. “Sir, yeah … I suppose … but it’s risky. If the bridge computer doesn’t reset properly, we could be stranded here. The ship won’t even get off the ground. We could even lose power to the stasis pods.”
Bradley shakes his head. “Sorry, Miller. We can’t afford to take that risk.”
Sam’s disappointed as everyone goes silent.
After a short moment, Hawkins asks, “Why hasn’t this been an issue before?”
Taylor answers. “The Equilibria was the first Talon starship to receive the Makri catalogue. When the Equilibria went missing, they stopped uploading the catalogue to the rest of the fleet until we could find out what went wrong. I’m guessing that when they first uploaded to the bridge computer, it was actually listed after the Talon catalogue. Their simulations would have been successful and the techs would have passed it for operations. But when the bridge computer was re-initialised, it must have re-ordered the catalogues.”
Sam asks Taylor, “How many planets are there in the Makri catalogue?”
“After they stripped out all the planets we already had, ten.”
“What position are Antarum and Hikaru in the Talon catalogue?” Sam asks.
Taylor reads through the ship’s computer. “Eight and eighteen, respectively.”
Sam’s face lights up. “That’s it. That’s why the Equilibria came here and not Antarum. With the addition of the Makri catalogue, the bridge computer told the BSP to use catalogue entry eighteen. But in the BSP, that’s Hikaru not Antarum.”
<
br /> Hawkins asks, “Now we know what we’ve got, how do we use it?”
Sam smiles. “That’s easy, we tell the ship to go to whatever planet is in position eight, in the Makri catalogue.”
“What does that mean?” Bradley asks.
Sam explains, “Planet eight in the Makri catalogue in the bridge computer would correspond to Antarum in the BSP’s list.”
Taylor chuckles.
“What? Can we do that?” Bradley asks.
Still smiling, Taylor replies, “Yeah … I’m pretty sure that will work, sir.”
“Miller, what are the chances you’re wrong?” Bradley asks.
Sam bites her lip, deep in thought, but when she looks up there’s a glint in her eye.
“Sir, I’d estimate that we have an eighty per cent chance I’m right, that we’ll execute the dive and arrive at Antarum. There’s a twelve per cent chance I’m wrong, and we’ll end up at some other planet in the BSP, and a seven per cent chance nothing will happen at all and there’s something else wrong with the ship.”
Bradley frowns. “That’s only ninety-nine per cent.”
Sam replies with a wafer-thin smile. “Well … the other one per cent is … I’m wrong again and the ship blows up, killing everybody on board.”
The team is silent for a moment, then a ripple of laughter breaks out.
“I like those odds, Miller,” Bradley replies, still laughing.
The team assembles in the bridge. Bradley, Emerson, Taylor and Sam are our designated flight crew. I had misgivings about the team’s ability to pilot a starship – they are, after all, soldiers – but hearing them communicate in similar lingo to the Makri starship crew puts my mind at ease.
The Equilibria makes a coarse humming sound. The depth of its vibration gives me the impression we’re in something of great power, despite the starship’s ragged appearance. Emerson slowly reverses the giant ship. The trees crack and shudder as they’re bent backwards, raining branches and leaves. As we lift into the sky, the debris on the foredeck blows away. Now that I can see it in full scope, I appreciate the enormity of the scar through the jungle. The Equilibria mightn’t be pretty, but it sure must be tough to have survived a landing like that. Max and Jade are standing next to one another in front of the forward windshields as clouds go flying by. I wonder if they comprehend what’s happening. I walk over to stand between them and Max lowers his head. I stroke his jet-black fur, then wrap my arm around his neck in a hug. Sam still hasn’t found the right time to ask if she’ll be able to keep Jade. I guess she’s also scared of what the answer might be.
