by Colin Weldon
“A spatial distortion not unlike the gravimetric bubble created when the FTL ring brings the ship into hyperspace,” she said.
“I was not aware of that,” he said.
“Yeah, well, maybe if you got your shit together and got out of your cave of self-pity and joined the rest of us, you’d be up to speed, Captain,” she said. “This is no time to self-destruct, John, there are a few thousand people out there relying on you to save our lives and you locking your selfish ass in here to wallow is not helping. So with all due respect, Captain, get off your fat ass and get the fuck out of this room,” she said standing up and making her way over to the door.
“She may very well be alive,” she was beginning to sound angry and the insubordination was actually beginning to amuse Barrington.
He gave her a wry smile and a frown that told her not to overstep the mark.
“Meeting adjourned,” she said pressing the door buzzer and quickly exiting.
Barrington gave a final glance out of the window at the planet and rose from the chair. He gave a breath and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Fuck it,” he said, “You’re alive, Carrie. And I am going to find you,” he said at the clear grey skies.
He opened the door to the conference room and looked out at the corridors of The Agathon. The lights were in power saving mode, but they were still bright enough to make him squint.
“Good morning, Captain,” said a passing woman carrying a satchel.
He nodded in response, but kept walking. He remembered her last name only. It was Padrosa. She had been one of the transfers from the Jycorp Orbital space station before they had left Mars. He did not have the time to meet every single person on board the ship before they had departed, although he had gone through most of their files, so that he would at least know faces.
He made his way to the lift and stepped inside.
“Deck seven,” he said to the computer.
He waited while the lift began to move. Catching his reflection in the mirror he saw his face for the first time in days.
“Halt,” he said suddenly bringing the lift to a stop.
Taking a step towards the reflective surface of the door he looked at the makeshift patch covering his eye. He looked old. There were scratches and scrapes below both eyes and his greying hair was tangled into knots in several places. His only eye showed signs of sleep deprivation and its missing companion was beginning to hurt. He sighed looking at the weariness and the defeated look on his face.
“Medical bay,” he finally said out loud.
The Agathon
Medical Bay
“Captain,” said Brubaker as she approached Barrington at the entrance to the medical bay. It was almost like she was expecting him, as she was at the door when it slid open. He looked around the well-equipped facility and saw Jerome Young perched on one of the bio beds. He looked around at Barrington and gave a solemn nod to the captain.
“Have not seen you in a while, John, how have you been?” Brubaker said, giving him a warm squeeze on his arm.
He smiled at her welcome.
“Good, Doctor,” he said.
“Finally gonna let me take a look at that eye?” she said leading him over to the bio bed next to Young.
“Mr Young, I think you are good to go. I want you to report in at the end of the day to let me run some final tests,” she said.
Young nodded and stood up from the bio bed letting Barrington take his place.
“Captain, I…” said Young as he moved past him.
Barrington knew what he was going to say and figured he was feeling guilty about leading Carrie to Tyrell. He raised his hand dismissing it.
“Jerome, it wasn’t your fault,” he said placing a hand on his arm, “They could really use you on the bridge, they are trying to get a new fix on the signal. Nobody knows it better than you and that’s really where we need you right now.”
“Of course, Captain,” he said, “I should have stopped him, John.”
“Jerome, I don’t think anyone can stop that thing,” he said.
Young nodded and made his way out of the medical bay.
“We didn’t see it coming,” said Brubaker, “One minute we were awake, the next thing we weren’t. What the hell is he?”
Barrington had kept the details of Tyrell’s takeover by The Black a secret. It was a foolish decision to keep it from Brubaker, but there simply hadn’t been time.
“Tyrell was infected… or rather taken control of by the Black. It happened when we crashed on that mechanical planet.”
“What?” Brubaker said stunned, “Why didn’t you tell me about Tyrell, John?”
“I was going to, Michelle, but we didn’t exactly have time for a conference on the matter,” he said.
“Jesus, John, he was running loose in my sick bay,” she said.
Her anger was justified and he let it run its course by remaining silent.
“He saved Carrie’s life on that planet … and mine,” he said.
Brubaker’s mouth was wide open as the million questions she wanted to ask bottle necked in her throat. Barrington put his hand up to stop her.
“I’ll tell you everything, Doctor, but in the meantime, can you please do something about the hole in my head?” he said smiling.
She sighed in disbelief and walked back to one of the tables that held an array of medical equipment. She took a square diagnostic device from the tray and leaned over the captain with it. It flickered to life as she ran the device over his head.
“I am sorry about Carrie,” she said softly looking at the readings.
“She’s alive, Michelle,” he said looking at her, “I know it.”
She stopped for a moment and met his gaze. Turning her attention back to the device there remained a moment of silence between them. She stood back and sighed.
“I wanted to talk to you about the scans I did with Carrie before she left the ship,” she said.
Barrington frowned slightly, but waited for her to finish.
“John, I found mutations along the base coding of her DNA,” she said.
“What sort of mutations?” he replied.
“Hard to say and we nearly missed them. They are at the atomic level. I have never seen anything like it. It looked like her entire genome was being rewritten. I have no explanation for it. We have no record of any human being ever being able to channel electrical charge through their body like that. While her telepathic ability could be some sort of evolutionary shift in the human genome caused by an increase in electrical activity in her hippocampus, there is no rational explanation as to why she can shoot lightning bolts out of her hands,” she said, “There are many studies of individuals with clairvoyance, but not with telekinetic abilities like Carrie.”
“I see,” he said looking at the ground.
“Well, the good news is that I can replicate you a new eye,” she said smiling.
Barrington looked at her. The technology for limb replacement was not something he had ever wanted to try, but he was beginning to find it difficult to function with his depth perception compromised.
“Okay, Doc, talk me through it,” he said.
“Well, you have a few options. The replicated eye can have normal visual perception or we can go for a Jycorp special,” she said.
“Meaning?” Barrington responded.
“Well, the new Jycorp military implants give the user a heads up display on request giving all sorts of environmental data in a virtual backdrop. With a little practice you can bring up facial recognition, pulse and heart rate data on an individual you are looking at, including environment information like distance and even atmospheric readings,” she said, “There’s a whole load of other little technological additions that I can go through with you, once the eye is linked into your nervous system.”
Barrington thought about it for a moment. He had no particular wish to turn himself into a cyborg, but seeing as his instinct with Tyrell had been so off and the f
act that there was still someone on board who was not who he or she appeared to be, he gave it some serious thought. Would he have been able to read Tyrell’s intentions or been able to see something different about him before he had taken his daughter? What about the dangers of landing on alien planets? The ship had nearly been destroyed twice already. He needed help. An edge.
“I’ll take one of those please,” he said to her smiling.
“I thought you might,” she said, “Lie back and we’ll get started.”
The Agathon
Bridge
“It’s definitely a structure of some sort,” Chavel said sitting at the navigation station.
The doors of the lift slid open and Jerome Young stepped onto the bridge. Boyett looked behind her from the captain’s chair. She had been coordinating the repair teams for the last 48 hours and had rarely left the bridge since the captain had left her in charge.
“Mr Young, just the man we need. We’ve got a lock on those infrared signals we picked up and we detected some sort of structure under the ice,” she said.
“Yep,” Chavel said “There’s an ocean down there and about two miles to the West, there’s definitely a structure putting out some weird readings.”
Young made his way to the rear of the bridge where one of the science stations was unmanned.
“Send the data back to me, Lieutenant, and I’ll take a look,” he said.
“On its way,” Chavel replied tapping some commands into his console.
The data flowed to Young’s station. There was silence on the bridge as everyone waited for him to respond. After several minutes, he approached the rear of the captain’s chair.
“We have to go down there,” he said to Boyett.
“Are you nuts?” she replied, “not only are we in the middle of repairing this ship, but we’re sitting on an ice shelf. There is no way the captain will allow us to take the ship under water, Mr Young.”
Young looked at Chavel.
“Lieutenant, we still have another shuttle on board, do we not?” he asked.
Chavel nodded frowning.
“We do?” he asked.
“No, No, No,” Boyett said standing up from the centre seat, “No way, now just hold on a minute.”
“Sir, I have an incoming signal lock,” Kevin Ferrate said suddenly from the rear of the bridge.
“What?” Boyett said.
Everyone looked at the young man who seemed to have aged five years since he boarded the ship. His once neatly pressed jump suit had its top buttons unfastened and looked like it needed to be changed.
“It’s a signal lock, sir, I’m trying to ascertain its origin,” he said.
“David?” Boyett said looking at Chavel.
He turned back to his navigational console and started analysing the data and cross checking the star charts inputted into the computer.
“It’s our deep space locator beacon, Charly. It definitely locked onto …wait a second,” he said suddenly becoming silent.
“Somebody tell me something,” Boyett said looking around the bridge and raising her voice.
“It can’t be,” Ferrate suddenly said, “Chavel, you reading this?” he said looking at the lieutenant.
“It can’t be what?” Young said, moving over to Ferrate and looking at his readings.
Chavel looked around at Boyett.
“The beacon has locked onto what appears to be the homing signal from the Jycorp Orbital station,” he said.
“Can’t be,” Young said almost whispering.
“What?” Boyett said moving towards Chavel and peering over his shoulder.
The bridge fell silent as the senior staff gazed in bewilderment at the data on the computer screens.
“Where is the captain?” Boyett said to Young.
“In the medical bay,” he replied not taking his eyes off the sensor data.
“Bridge to Medical Bay,” Boyett said tapping the comm system on Chavel’s console.
“Medical Bay here,” came a female voice.
“I need the captain,” Boyett said.
“He is under sedation at the moment, Lieutenant Boyett. Doctor Brubaker is performing surgery on him. He won’t be out of it for at least six hours,” she said.
“Shit,” Boyett said terminating the link.
“I want confirmation of this by the time the captain wakes up,” she said to Chavel.
She looked at the data stream on his console.
“Young, what do you make of this?” she said turning to the Jycorp CEO.
“This is real, Lieutenant. It’s coming in via subspace. Whether it’s automated or not we can’t tell, but whatever has happened to them the space stations are still active,”
“They couldn’t still be alive after all this time, could they?” Boyett said to him.
Young raised his hands and shrugged.
“Only one way to find out, Charly,” he said tapping an open comm channel.
“I am establishing a link and the channel is open, Lieutenant,” he said.
Boyett froze as all eyes on the bridge turned and gazed at her. She looked up at the view screens showing the exterior of the ship.
“This is Lieutenant Charly Boyett on board The Agathon,” she said out loud, “do you read us?”
She stood in silence for a moment.
“I repeat; this is The Agathon calling the Jycorp Orbital. Do you read?”
12
Earth One
Florence Grimley sat behind Arturo’s desk and looked at the Colonial Guard standing at the entrance to the office. Arturo had ordered one to be placed by her side on a twenty-four-hour basis for her “protection” as he had put it. The faceless interchangeable guard had gone with her everywhere. They would stand by her side silently as she went about her daily tasks. She knew what they were there to do really. Cut her down if there was even a hint of dissent. She rose from the desk and walked quietly over to one of the rear windows. She saw the black helmet of the Guard turn slowly as the large man followed her movements. She looked out at the metallic criss crossing umbilicus that connected the two space stations and stood silently watching the stars. This morning’s dose of Morphine was slowly starting to wear off, so a stop off at her quarters was in order, before she went into the forbidden zone to check in on Vishal. The old woman’s days had been busy since the chancellor had departed. Several of the colonists in the Red Tribe had been complaining about the temperature control units in their sections being switched off, before they were due to be over the last several nights. It was part of the power conservation effort. It would drop the temperature in that section by at least ten degrees every night requiring the distribution of more blankets. It was Arturo’s last call of business before he had left leaving Florence to deal with the inevitable unrest in the zone.
She would, of course, never enter the zone herself. She listened to the reports over the comms channels and thanked them for their sacrifice in the name of the colony and of course did nothing. She wanted to help them, but was given strict instructions not to interfere. She wondered if anyone would notice if she increased the temperature by one degree. Vishal probably. She turned and walked slowly across the office floor towards the door.
“We will be stopping briefly at my quarters before our meeting with Vishal this morning,” she said to the Guard.
He nodded his helmet slowly in response and stood to one side while she activated the door mechanism. The Guard’s presence was ominous at the best of times, but the daily shivers that went up her spine knowing there was one by her side constantly was raising her normal anxiety levels to almost unbearable degrees. The Morphine would help.
They left the office and made their way through the corridors of Earth One en route to Florence’s quarters. There were passing glances as she passed the colonists who were going about their daily life. Her pressed black combination jacket and trousers were in stark contrast to the torn and makeshift jumpsuits of most of the colonists. She passed a repair tech
nician working on one of the power distribution conduits. A man in his fifties with large shoulders and darkened hands. Sparks flew out of a laser welder as he patched up what looked like a tear in one of the thick pipes that connected the power supply around the station. He paused for a moment, lifting his face guard and stared at her. His face was dirty and he had a thick beard. His eyes bore a hole straight into her heart as she walked past, flanked by her escort. She avoided eye contact, but saw the hatred in his striking blue eyes for a fleeting moment. She ignored the familiar look. It was something she had become used to over the years and now considered it a normality. They did not see her for what she was. A slave. They saw her as the angel of death. Beneath the wrinkled and hardened skin, she wondered if there really was a human being left inside her at all. He had taken all that away. Stripped her of her mind and body and left nothing but a broken shell. She hoped that maybe today would be the day that they would rise up and assassinate her. She would not even fight it, for she knew not what she would be fighting to preserve. A cowardly broken old puppet controlled by invisible strings.
They walked steadily through the depths of the space station and arrived at Florence’s quarters. She asked the guard politely if he would wait outside for a moment. He hesitated for a moment before nodding and let her enter alone. Once inside, she moved quickly to her medicine cabinet and injected herself with another dose. The warm calming opiate made its way through her worn veins and all the world dissolved into a pale complexion of what it once was. She inhaled deeply before gathering herself and making her way outside.
“Thank you, we will now be proceeding to the forbidden zone,” she said slightly slurring her words.
The guard nodded and she made her way through the softened haze of the space station, oblivious to the people and things that she passed. The route to the forbidden zone was so engrained in her mind that she guided herself by simple muscle memory.
A few minutes later the pair was standing outside a large metallic door with a large red stripe painted onto its exterior. The paint was old and flaking off, but it still very clearly read; FORBIDDEN ZONE, in large red letters across its front. She placed her hand on the scanner which was located halfway up on the right hand side. It flashed from red to green. She then placed her eye onto the retinal scanner just above it. It too flashed from red to green. The sound of a large locking mechanism giving way filled the hallway as the door slowly slid open. Florence’s ears popped at the change in air pressure as she moved past the open door and into the umbilicus connecting the Earth One space station to the lower levels of the main power reactor.
