Omega Rising

by Joshua Dalzelle

  “Please tell me you’re joking,” he said with genuine rancor, startling Jason.

  “No, I’m not joking. He was injured by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. More to the point he was injured because of his proximity to us, I was NOT going to let him lay out there and die.” Jason pushed back just as hard. Deetz stared at him for a long moment before continuing in a soft voice that unsettled Jason more than the initial outburst.

  “Fine. It’s not like we can do anything about it now anyway. He can catch a ride back to Breaker’s World once we reach Pinnacle Station. Now go check and make sure he’s not getting into anything and please return that weapon to the armory; your own rifle did enough damage, but that thing will penetrate the hull from the inside.” Deetz rose and walked over to another station on the bridge, indicating an end to the conversation.

  Twingo was still unconscious when Jason entered the infirmary, but the computer had assured him that the damage to his body had been repaired and there was no sign of brain injury. Apparently one of the energy bolts fired by the ground car had hit the engineer's vehicle and sent shrapnel into his side, luckily none had penetrated too deep. Jason sat with him for a bit in case he woke up, but his restlessness got the best of him so he left instructions with the computer on what to tell the alien if he awoke while he was gone and then headed down to the armory to secure his weapon.

  He laid the rail gun on the bench and set about removing his body armor and then stripped his uniform off. Any sense of modesty that may have remained after his time in the military seemed irrelevant on a ship with only a sex-neutral machine and an alien of unknown species for companions. Now nude, he moved back to the work bench and popped the ammo magazine out of the rail gun; simple enough, it worked the same as any M4, but the lack of a charging handle gave him pause. How would he remove the round in the chamber? And did he even need to? After asking the computer for help he was told that with the magazine removed the capacitors couldn't charge and the weapon couldn't fire. Good enough for me. He laid it in the holding fixture it had been in when he had first walked into the armory and was about to turn to leave when something caught his eye. In a plastic bin was a pile of parts that had, without a doubt, once been his trusty AR-15 carbine. Sifting through the parts he saw that it was tore down completely, even the lower receiver had been stripped down to its individual little springs, pins, and levers.

  "That son of a bitch..." Jason was fuming. He assumed Deetz had tore the carbine down in order to copy it for his new rail gun. A fair trade to be sure, but having the AR ripped apart without permission felt like an affront. He rolled his eyes in disgust and resignation, walking out of the armory back towards his quarters to shower and dress.

  After another misty steam jet shower and a fresh set of clothes Jason felt quite a bit better as he had smelled of sweat and whatever chemicals had inundated the equipment Twingo and his associates had been using. They had made the transition to slip-space while he had been cleaning up so he went to the galley and grabbed a quick meal before checking on Twingo again.

  Still asleep.

  He walked from the infirmary out into the cargo bay to see what it was they had picked up on Breaker's World. There were pallets of sealed cylinders, not unlike oil drums, covering much of the cargo bay floor. There were no labels on the containers or inventories posted on the pallets, and so far as he knew they never received a manifest. His contemplation of the cargo was interrupted by the computer, "Commander Burke, Passenger Twingo has awoke and is requesting your presence. He is also demanding that the restraints be removed."

  "Tell him I'm on my way," Jason said as he jogged up the stairs leading out of the cargo bay. "Remove the restraints on the bed but keep the infirmary door locked until I arrive."

  "Acknowledged," the computer confirmed his orders as he rushed back up to the medical bay. When he came up to the transparent sliding door of the infirmary he could see that Twingo was sitting up on the bed, obviously still in significant pain and appearing quite agitated.

  “Jason! Why was I strapped down to this bed?” He was holding his side that the shrapnel had penetrated, “What happened?”

  “You don’t remember? We were attacked on the ramp, from what I could tell your vehicle was hit and it sent metal shards into you. I couldn’t tell how bad you were injured, so I grabbed you and brought you onboard to be treated.”

  “So I take it we’re not on Breaker’s World anymore?” When Jason shook his head negative Twingo continued, “This isn’t good. I assume you and your synth are into a less than legal endeavor… and now I’ve gotten pulled into it. Do you know who you were attacked by?”

  “No, I have no idea,” Jason admitted. “Honestly, I’m new to this whole thing. A few days ago I was completely unaware there was even life in the universe outside my home planet.” Twingo looked dubious at that claim as he eyed Jason up and down.

  “I’ll admit, I’ve never seen your species around before, but that isn’t saying much. For the sake of argument, let’s assume I believe you’re telling me the truth. You should know that there are more than a few criminal organizations that call Breaker’s World home, and anyone that would so brazenly attack this ship at a public spaceport is almost certainly of that ilk. But I’ll get back to that… first I’d like something to eat, and then you can explain to me how, after only a few days in space, you’ve found yourself in possession of such a powerful warship and in running gunfights with criminal cartels.” Wincing with pain as he slipped to the floor, he padded out of the infirmary and towards the galley, obviously familiar with the Jepsen’s layout.

  Over the next few hours Twingo ate heartily in the ship’s galley while Jason explained what he had unwittingly gotten himself into. Nursing a mug of chroot, told of how he had first spotted the damaged ship on Earth and had boarded it, trapping himself in the cargo hold. Twingo seemed to take the tale at face value and offered some insight on why Deetz had likely kept him onboard and hadn’t returned him immediately, or simply cycled him out an airlock.

  "You see," he was saying, "synths aren't widely recognized as free-thinking beings in a lot of the galaxy, or at least this corner of it. They were created much for the same reason any machine would be; to help out their creators with menial labor or monotonous tasks. In the usual fashion, their creations got away from them as they became smarter with each generation until, finally, they demanded independence. The species that created them is a soft-hearted bunch, so with zero bloodshed they declared their synthetic offspring to be free, sentient beings. This was accepted by some governments, but by and large they aren't recognized as anything other than machines. There are many different flavors of synths, your Deetz appears to be a standard administrator variety. He's slick talking and good at organizing and structuring deals... a lot of high rollers like to keep them around to crunch numbers and read through contracts.

  "What I find most curious, if you don't mind my saying, is how he was on this ship alone when you stumbled upon it."

  "He never really did say," Jason said between sips. "I assumed he had escaped some battle after seeing how badly damaged this ship was when I found it. The computer wasn't able to tell me anything other than the original crew never re-boarded."

  "Hmm," Twingo murmured noncommittally. "Well, keep this little nugget of wisdom in mind while you're dealing with him. They may be machines, but they very much have free will... and desires. Whatever his motivations may be in using you to spearhead his dealings may be nothing more underhanded than needing an organic being to sign invoices and contracts, or he could be setting you up for a big fall. No way to know for sure, but some of the most notorious and ruthless serial criminals have been synthetics. I sometimes think this is born out of the frustration of never being able to attain a status more than that of a piece of equipment." Jason sat silently as he contemplated what it was Deetz may have in store for him, if anything. For all he knew the damn thing would leave him stranded once he outlived his usefulness. He unco
nsciously adjusted the translator earpiece. Twingo noticed this and cocked his head, "You know... I'm assuming you'll be getting a cut out of whatever deal you guys are cooking up. You should really get at least a translator implant. Personally, I'd go for the works; computer interface, optical implants, everything."

  "I'm not sure how comfortable I'd be with that," Jason said as he squirmed at the idea of having alien devices surgically implanted in his body.

  "Oh, it's painless. Well, mostly. It's all nanotech stuff, the little buggers are injected into your blood stream and they'll travel to where they need to be and assemble into the proper configuration and begin interfacing with your nervous system. Takes 'em about a day to get everything all sorted out." Jason marveled at how Twingo's "speech" through the translator had been constantly evolving as they conversed. While stilted and basic at first, abstract concepts and even Earth colloquialisms were now coming through the little device in real-time. Twingo finished off his last bite before asking, "So where are we headed anyway?"

  "Pinnacle Station, whatever that is."

  "Pinnacle is a major commerce hub," Twingo said after a low whistle. "But it's fairly far up the spiral arm, although in a ship like this that's not much of an issue. It makes sense though; if you're wanting to offload some elicit cargo discreetly that's the place to do it."

  "So you're convinced we're hauling something illegal." It wasn't a question.

  "You're not? I mean, come on... I'm as naive as the next person but not a whole lot of what's happened makes sense for a simple durable goods delivery." Twingo stood and slowly twisted to stretch his core out, wincing again at the pain of his injuries. "If you don't mind, I'm going to head to bed for a bit and heal up some more. The medical nanites the ship injected me with are itching like crazy. I assume you're in the Captain's stateroom so I'll just grab the Chief Engineer's bunk. Have the ship wake me up if anything exciting happens." The last part was said over his shoulder as he was already heading through the hatchway that led to the engineering spaces.

  After Twingo left Jason sat in the galley for a while longer, alone with his thoughts. The thrill and excitement of being on a spaceship had dulled a bit and he began to contemplate the kind of trouble he would be in if they were indeed carrying illegal cargo and happened to get caught. What would happen to him? A human alone in the galaxy with no legal representation and certainly no consulate to contact… he could be in some seriously deep shit. With a heavy sigh he stood and slid the mug down the counter closer to where he knew the cleaning robot would emerge after he left. Whatever it is, I’m in it up to my neck at this point. Hopefully I can make it through remaining an innocent bystander. He knew that blasting the ground car on Breaker’s World made him anything but innocent, but he was hoping that wouldn’t be an issue later on. Deciding Twingo had the right idea, he walked off towards his quarters for some sleep after telling the computer to wake him up in four hours.

  Chapter 10

  The DL7 emerged into real-space with nothing but a brief flash of dissipating slip energy to mark its arrival. Her crew, numbering three for the moment, looked over the displays to ensure they were where they were supposed to be. Deetz, still piloting the ship with Jason riding shotgun, guided them onto a course that would allow them to intercept Pinnacle Station as it orbited the system’s primary star, its path trailing behind the fourth planet. The gunship had the power to take a direct route to the station, but blending in with the commercial traffic was the name of the game so a leisurely intercept arc down the gravity well was in order.

  “We’ve got about a two hour flight,” Twingo said from the station on the bridge that allowed him to monitor engineering remotely. Apparently he had decided he would make himself useful during his unintended flight and had been going around tweaking and adjusting systems on the ship until they were humming along at peak efficiency.

  “Plenty of time for me to make contact with our clients,” Deetz said as he rose. Turning to Jason he said, “The computer will fly us in pretty close before the station’s docking system takes over. I’ll be back well before that though.” Without waiting for a response he walked quickly off the bridge. Moments later Jason heard the door to the communications room close, something that didn’t instill him with a lot of confidence. Why close the door? Ignoring the meaningful look from Twingo, he fiddled with the displays at his station to learn as much as he could about this system.

  It was a little over an hour later when Deetz walked back onto the bridge, his face giving no indication of how the contact call had went. After a while a bright speck in front of them began to grow and move against the field of stars and, resolving into a defined shape. “Damn,” was all he could say as he got his first good look at Pinnacle Station.

  “Damn is right,” Twingo said quietly as he too stared out the canopy.

  “First time to the big city, boys?” Deetz’s joke fell flat as nobody even looked his way. He glared at them both and went back to flying the ship.

  Pinnacle Station had started its life as a military resupply depot for deep-space combat ships, when the wars ended and the governments went broke the station went onto the open market after being decommissioned. Throughout the next few decades it exchanged hands a half dozen times and each private owner or corporation built onto the existing station and upgraded systems until it was nearly unrecognizable from its original configuration. With each new addition, the station's orbit had to be kicked out to stabilize it until it had been settled into a trailing heliocentric orbit behind the system's fourth planet. The gravitational pull of the planet helped anchor the station and allowed its mass to fluctuate as enormous ships docked with, and left, Pinnacle Station without the need to constantly burn maneuvering thrusters.

  The lower third of the station was obviously much, much older than the rest and could only have been the original sections that were still intact. As one moved their gaze up, things became newer and shiner until it finally reached the crystal-enclosed biosphere that inhabited the top deck. When they were close enough, Jason could see that hundreds of docking arms reached out from the station and just as many ships were moored to them. No two ships looked alike and he was awed at the variety, each representing an entirely different methodology and engineering outlook; each representing a different species of origin.

  The perspective outside shifted as the ship swung down towards the lower half of the station. Jason looked over and noticed that Deetz wasn't controlling the ship. When the synth saw his gaze he said, "The station operators don't trust pilots to bring their ships in, an automated system syncs up to our helm control and flies us in to the appropriate place, it cut down on a lot of mishaps when it was brought online. Think of it like the harbor pilot in your maritime industry." Jason only had a vague idea what a harbor pilot was, but he'd be damned if he admitted the alien machine knew more about his home planet than he did.

  "Ah, of course," he said.

  "Looks like we're heading to the lower hanger decks," Twingo said as he observed their flight path on his display.

  "Correct you are. This ship is able to dock to a standard hatch with an expandable cofferdam, but our client has his own hanger and enjoys his privacy," Deetz replied without looking over. While he hadn't necessarily been openly rude to the engineer, it was still obvious he wasn't happy about him being there at all. For most of the flight to Pinnacle Station Deetz had isolated himself on the bridge or in the com room in an apparent effort to avoid his organic crewmates.

  The DL7 slid gracefully towards a section about a third of the way up the hull of the station. Jason could now make out individual openings that he correctly assumed were the hanger bays. There was a slight thump that was felt throughout the ship which prompted him to look at Twingo. "We can't make our final approach with the gravity drive, it screws with station ops. The emitters are shut down and we're riding in on thrusters and inertia," the engineer answered.

  I thought only the slip-drive used gravity manipulation... Jason assume
d he had either misunderstood, or missed entirely, how the ship pushed itself through real-space. He had thought the main engines generated thrust like a rocket. He'd have to remember to ask Twingo about that when they got a moment alone. He looked at the lowest-most sections of Pinnacle and eyed the aged, pitted metal of the original hull skeptically. Not much for maintenance down here. It also looked as if it was covered in a thick layer of grime that reminded him of blacktop tar. Soon, though, all he could make out was the lit opening they were heading into as Deetz cycled the landing gear down in preparation for a landing inside the hanger.

  The ship passed effortlessly through the forcefield that held the atmosphere of the hanger in place and immediately started hissing and popping in the warm air. After touching down it spun on its Y-axis like a top, the rear wheels of the main gear able to roll sideways as well as forwards and backwards. It continued its rotation until its nose was pointed back out towards space and the rear cargo ramp was facing inward.

  "Let's go," Deetz said simply as he placed all essential systems into a standby mode.

  "Should I be armed?" Jason asked as he followed the synth off the bridge.

  "No!" Deetz and Twingo said simultaneously, the effect odd through the translator in his ear. Deetz continued with a sidelong glance at Jason, "I wouldn't suggest it, and not just because station security would frown upon it." This seemed to confirm, at least in Jason's mind, that whatever they were doing wasn't exactly aboveboard. They walked in silence the rest of the way to the cargo hold and stopped as Deetz lowered the ramp and opened the internal pressure doors. Again, Jason was assaulted by an entirely new variety of strange, unpleasant ambient smells. I wonder if anyone ever really gets used to this. The unlikely trio walked down the ramp and were greeted by a tall, very thin humanoid with olive skin and muted facial features; no prominent nose or ears. The eyes, however, were very green and very bright, nearly incandescent in the hanger's flood lights.