by Colin Weldon
“Don’t worry, Dice. I got your back. We’ll figure this out,” he thought to her calmly.
She smiled and nodded back at him. He turned to the rear of the bridge and looked at Tyrell who was now standing firmly upright and looking at Carrie. The captain stood and faced him.
“Lieutenant Chavel,” he said.
“Yes, sir?” Chavel replied.
“I want you to escort Doctor Tyrell to the brig,” he said.
Chavel hesitated.
“Sir?” he said.
The captain kept his eye on Tyrell.
“Now, Lieutenant,” he said raising his voice enough to let Chavel know not to question his order again.
Chavel looked at Carrie before climbing out of his chair and moving towards the rear of the bridge.
“Father, you don’t have to do that,” said Carrie.
Her father did not respond. Tyrell looked at Carrie and smiled. Chavel moved to the rear of the bridge and extended his arm towards Tyrell pointing him in the direction of the lift. Carrie thought for a moment that The Black, which now inhabited Tyrell’s body, would react violently to the action.
“Doctor, if you please,” he said nervously.
Tyrell waited for a moment and faced Carrie.
“I wish to speak to you. Come find me,” he said in her mind.
He turned and allowed Chavel to escort him off the bridge. They left together quietly. Carrie suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. Jerome Young, the former CEO of Jycorp, was standing next to her. His eyes were as wide as they were penetrating.
“Okay, Carrie,” he said, “I think it’s time we all had a chat about what we just saw you do, don’t you think?” he finished addressing the captain. Carrie shrugged away from him and walked over to her father. For the first time in her life she was truly afraid. The captain put his hand on her arm and smiled.
“We will have a briefing to discuss what has happened shortly, Mr Young,” he said.
“In the meantime,” he paused, “I think we should find out where the hell we are, don’t you think?”
2
Earth One
Florence Grimley looked at her food. Her coffee had gone cold and she was having trouble mustering up the strength to eat. The small pull down table that was attached to her wall jutted out in the middle of the living area and she sat squarely at it on a hard metallic stool. Her bed was neatly made behind her and the almost clinical cleanliness of the room made it look like one of the medical bays. There were no photographs or art on the walls. She wanted no memories. If she could cut out the part of her brain that reminded her daily of what Arturo had done to her over the years, she would have. She looked at her long fingers and gently pulled the cuffs of her black jacket sleeve over the scars on her wrists.
“These are my gift,” he had said to her all those years ago.
The scars on her back and the torn muscle tissue that lay underneath were a daily reminder of his gift. The mornings were when the pain hit her the most. The morphine usually wore off in the mornings and she regularly awoke screaming. She arched her back and stretched out the torn muscles that plagued her on a daily basis. She looked at the empty syringe next to her breakfast and waited patiently for it to kick in. It felt like a warm bath when it did. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths before taking a bite of the synthetic rations that sat neatly on the plate. Its dry tastelessness slid down her throat. She had thought many times of killing him. But she simply wasn’t strong enough. What if her hand slipped? Or the poison did not work? Her death would not be as forgiving as being blown out an airlock. He would dissect her. While she was still awake. And feed her body parts to her. Age had caught up with her. How could someone, who had difficulty getting out of bed every day, kill the chancellor and get away with it? And she had to admit that her meek existence was still better than some in the tribes. She had her own quarters, which was unheard of. She had food. Medical care. And while she had to endure the odd beating, her life was still far better than most. At least her body wasn’t in the power plant. Not alive. Not dead. Dangling from wires.
She wondered what they dreamed of. If they even dreamed. Was it an unending nightmare or were they at peace? She didn’t want to find out either way. So she maintained her silence. She did what she was told. And most of all she stayed alive. She had no idea how long she had left. She had sensed a frustration in Arturo with her lately. She checked the execution diaries regularly to see if her name had been added. Not that it mattered. It certainly wouldn’t come directly from him. She would simply awake one day with two members of the Colonial Guard looking over her. They would drag her from her bed and into a holding cell. From there the last thing she would see would be the back of an airlock door. Then the coldness of space.
Her wrist band bleeped showing her the time and she tidied away her plate into a nearby sink. She carefully cleaned it and replaced it on the rack. It was the only one there. She glanced at her gaunt reflection in a wall mirror, fixed a loose strand of grey hair by tucking it behind her ear and left her quarters to begin her daily routine. First stop was always Arturo’s office.
Earth One
Signal Room
Peter Homan yawned. The communications technician lay back in his chair and stared at the ceiling of the small dark room. A single spotlight shone down on him. He looked directly at it until his eyes adjusted to the bright light. He examined its cracked casing and decided that he would replace it in the morning after he woke up. If anything it would be something to do. It might give him a chance to talk to the cute girl who was stationed in the supply vault. Susan was her name. He liked going down to see her for replacement parts.
“Anything today?” she would ask.
“Nope, maybe tomorrow,” he would respond with a smile.
He was a person of interest to the colonists as they asked him the same thing almost daily.
“Anything today?” they would say in the corridors.
He had volunteered for this, which he still couldn’t believe, out of a sense of duty. It was considered by most to be a largely ceremonial role, but it was respected amongst the colonists and gave him a certain amount of prestige. The signal detector was the man who waited for two very important transmissions. His parents had been overjoyed at his appointment and looked proudly on during the pomp and grandeur of the initiation ceremony. It had been a special day for them. Six months into staring at the control panels, he had realised that this was no place for a twenty-two-year-old. Solitary confinement would have been as equally exciting. For thirteen hours a day he would wait. He was allowed only one security cleared visitor a day. Most days it was his mother. She would bring him a warm drink and some rations and they would talk for twenty minutes before she was escorted out by a member of the Colonial Guard. He realised early on that he had volunteered for a prison sentence. He had thought about stepping quietly into an airlock many times, wondering if anyone would notice. He was still curious though. So he waited, listening to the cosmos. Filtering background radiation and the cosmic vibrations of exploding stars and nebula. Waiting for something he knew would never come.
He closed his eyes and let the noise of the nearby computer consoles align in his mind to help him sleep. He waited in the silence allowing his mind to slip. After several minutes he began hearing something unusual. A quiet bleeping noise cut through the ambient sounds of the computers. He opened his eyes and looked over at a single red blinking light at the bottom of one of the display consoles. He ignored it at first and moved his body over to reset the obviously frozen or crashed computer system. Then something caught his eye which made his heart skip a beat. A single line of text began flashing at the bottom of the screen.
AGATHON SIGNAL BEACON DETECTED
His mouth opened as he tapped the computer keypad.
“Computer, verify signal detection,” he said.
A light female voice answered.
“Signal verified as Agathon homing beacon,” she said.
> “Holy shit,” he said.
“Please repeat last command,” the female computer voice answered.
“Never mind, computer, can you give me a relative bearing?” he asked.
“Triangulating. Please wait,” she replied.
He waited for a moment when the door to the room opened and a large armoured member of the Colonial Guard entered. He approached the young man and grasped him firmly on the arm.
“Come with me, sir,” he said through a metallic faceplate making his voice sound raspy and inhuman.
“Wait!” replied Peter in a desperate voice, “I’ve found it! It’s The Agathon!” he cried.
The large guard ignored his request and pulled him forcefully out of the chair dragging him firmly out of the room. Peter looked back at the computer console. The single red light blinked quietly away as he felt something pierce the skin on his arm. As the world began to sink away he wondered if he would ever see his parents again. Secretly, he knew he probably wouldn’t.
Earth One
Office of the Chancellor
“That is impossible,” Arturo said to Hector Stanley. The huge man stood before him in a worn black suit. His black shirt barely contained the size of his bulging chest. His physicality was almost all he needed to intimidate most of the colonists.
“The signal was acquired this morning, sir,” he replied. Arturo stood from his desk and rounded it.
“You are sure it is from The Agathon?” he said.
“Positive, sir,” he replied, “What was left of the historical database computer had the exact frequency intact. It’s them.”
Arturo looked out of the large windows behind his desk.
“How can that be?” he asked rhetorically.
“There are several theories,” replied Stanley gruffly. His deep growling voice seemed to have only one tone. “One being that the ship drifted into a wormhole.”
Arturo looked back at him raising an eyebrow.
“You are telling me for over a thousand years the ship has been in a wormhole?” he said.
“I agree, sir, it seems unlikely,” responded Stanley. “It may have been drifting for that amount of time and the beacon may have just activated automatically. I don’t see how there can be anyone left alive on board the ship,” he finished.
Arturo looked over at the carving hanging on his wall. For generations the stories of the ill-fated ship had passed from father to son. Myths had come to pass as to what had happened to it. Following the great war that had nearly destroyed the space stations much of the information about the vessel had been lost. The historical libraries on board had been erased. Almost nothing was known of the events that had led to the human race being sentenced to an eternity drifting in the void. Arturo’s father had told him stories of a home world. That it had been destroyed by an alien signal. That the Signal Makers had grown angry with the human race, and that this was their punishment. There was no evidence of such a signal. Or if there was it had long been lost. If word that The Agathon signal had suddenly been discovered and was circulating among the people, he would have a problem.
“Who knows about this?” he asked Stanley.
“The technician alerted me immediately. He is currently under guard,” he replied.
“Eliminate him,” said Arturo blankly, “Quietly.”
“Yes, sir, I thought as much,” said Stanley.
The door to his office chimed. Arturo sighed.
“Enter,” he said.
Florence Grimley entered slowly through the hissing door and approached. She looked anxiously at Stanley who ignored her completely.
“What is it, Florence?” snapped Arturo.
Grimley bowed her head apologetically.
“My apologies, Chancellor, I did not mean to interrupt you. The execution will take place in thirty minutes,” she said looking at the ground. Stanley continued to ignore her presence.
“Very well,” he replied, “begin preparations for the broadcast. I will join you shortly. I have made a selection for Vishal, you will find it in my unsecured folder. Please notify the guard and make arrangements this evening.”
Florence nodded.
“Yes, sir, I will attend to it,” she said. She turned on her heel and left the two men. Arturo stood looking out at the nearby Kandinsky. Like a giant wall, it kept a close perimeter with the connected stations. Its running lights blinking in unison. Nothing like a one hundred-thousand-ton guard dog to help you sleep at night. The outfitted military transport had been kept in prime condition over the centuries. The leaders of the tribes had feared the same thing Arturo did. An uprising. Hard lessons learned from the war.
“I want to see Elstone as soon as he returns,” he said to Stanley.
“Yes, sir, I will alert the docking personnel as soon as the ships return this afternoon,” he replied.
“Where are we on the FTL tests on The Kandinsky?” Arturo asked.
Stanley sighed and looked out at the ship as it passed quietly by the window.
“Don’t ask me to explain it, sir. Vishal is really the man you need to talk to on this. He said something about the mass of the ship being too great for instalment of an effective Faster than Light ring as per The Agathon texts we have on file. He is working on the problem. Our best hope seems to still be the sub light drive installed on Elstone’s ship,” he said.
“Hmm,” replied Arturo, “We will leave for the airlock in ten minutes. Please wait outside while I attend to some matters here.”
“Yes, sir,” the big man replied as he bowed and turned for the exit. He left quietly leaving Arturo alone in his office. He turned and pressed the comm system on his desk. It bleeped and a moment later Vishal answered.
“Yes, Chancellor?” he asked.
“Vishal, I want you present at the execution,” Arturo said.
“Sir?” he asked inquisitively. He sounded suspicious, but most of the colonists did whenever Arturo asked for something out of the ordinary. Most expected never to return from sudden meetings with him.
“Is there a problem, Vishal?” Arturo said raising his voice slightly.
“Eh ... no, sir, I will of course attend immediately,” he said.
“See you shortly,” said Arturo disconnecting the channel and walking over to a small wall closet. He slid the glass doors apart and placed a hand on one of the dark suits that hung neatly on one of the rails. The jacket had a single line of embellishment around its shoulder indicating the chancellor’s ranks of military and tribal commander. He removed the overcoat he was wearing and placed the jacket on smoothly. He drew the double breasted front across his chest and fastened the three silver buttons attaching the two pieces together. He turned and looked at his reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall. The light from the ceiling reflected perfectly off his completely bald head. While his face was never particularly handsome, his low thick brow had given his eyes a distinctive and penetrating look. They were royal blue and quite striking to see up close. He had been small for his age, growing up alone in the colony, but had made up for it with a ferocious nature. A reputation that preceded the scrawny boy that had earned him the respect of the Colonial Guard early on. He looked at his thin face in the mirror and shuffled the coat over his thin frame. It was always too big for him, but he liked the way it made him look. He looked more tired than usual these last few days. The sunken dark areas beneath his eyes, which were a permanent feature, had grown sullener. He suddenly forgot the name of the man he was about to kill. Not that it mattered. They had to be taught a lesson. The human race was a delicate balance between order and chaos. He could not have chaos. Not when they were on the verge of their greatest achievement. He gently brushed a hair off one of his sleeves and fixed one of the lapels.
“Why don’t you just get on with it and kill them all?” his reflection suddenly said.
He hadn’t spoken to him in weeks and was beginning to wonder if he had finally gone.
Arturo looked around the empty room finally clos
ing his eyes and ignoring the old voice that had taken up residence in his mind.
“Hello?” it said, “I am talking to you, young man.”
Arturo clenched his fists.
“I am Arturo Verge. I am the chancellor of the human race and I do not acknowledge you,” he said with his eyes to the floor.
“Shut the fuck up! I am talking to you. How dare you. Look at me!” the voice said. Arturo looked up at the disdain on his reflection in the mirror.
“You will listen to me!” it said, so angry that saliva dribbled down his chin. The force of the reflection was so palpable that Arturo simply nodded.
“I will be at this execution. Not you. Do you understand? I want to see this fuck exploding in space. This piece of garbage who thought it would be funny to steal information from me. From us. You are becoming weak. You know that?” it said furiously.
Arturo closed his eyes. While he agreed with his other self wholeheartedly, the rage of it had to be contained. He could not let this persona out in public view. This insanity had to be kept locked firmly away for fear the Colonial Guard would replace him, but lately it was getting stronger. On more than one occasion he had to restrain himself from killing one of his captains, for no reason, with his bare hands. He had withdrawn himself to his office and had rarely been seen in public in months. Stanley had taken care of the menial matters of the running of the colony with ease, allowing Arturo to concentrate on the bigger problems. He looked at his reflection and gathered the strength needed to respond.
“You will not attend the execution,” he said clenching his fists, “It’s not your turn.”
The reflection grinned showing teeth that looked ready to bite down hard.
“Very well, my friend,” it said quietly, “I shall see you shortly.”
The presence of the other person began to fade as the peace of just one voice, his voice, was given the chance to control once again. Arturo knew it would not be long before they merged into one. He secretly welcomed that day. The strength of the other was something that would be eventually required. He took a deep breath, turned on his heels and headed out of his office. Waiting in the corridor were Florence and Stanley along with a handful of heavily armed members of the Colonial Guard.
