In the Presence of My Enemies

by Stephen A. Fender

  Tausan stood and stepped closer to Shawn. “It is a condition brought upon by toxins inherent to the Meltranian warriors. The victim’s DNA reacts destructively with the fluid injected into the host. Instead of healing the wounds, the body makes the condition worse. Once the Shadow Syndrome has worked to its completion, there is little of the original host left. The process is quite slow and agonizing.”

  Shawn licked his lips. “That’s how the Meltranians kill, is it?”

  Tausan cocked his head as the translation was read to him. “No, Commander Kestrel. That is how they feed.”

  A lump formed in the commander’s throat as he looked back to the body of Sergeant Wilcox. “Are there any more of them on board?”

  Tausan grunted, then looked to the open doorway of the Akturian salvage ship. “It is doubtful. They are usually found in groups of four. That we were not immediately attacked by others is a sign that creature was here alone.”

  “But if they operate in fours, then why—”

  “Very likely a scout. I have no doubt that, upon a closer visual examination of the hull of this derelict, we will locate its ship.”

  “You’ve seen this kind of behavior before?”

  Tausan nodded his large head. “Yes. We would do well to get back to your ship and leave this area immediately. It is unsafe to remain.”

  “Any more of a reason than the obvious of getting pummeled by random space debris?”

  “Meltranians can sense the presence of other biological life-forms and their power emanations at a great distance.” The colonel then looked once more to the horrid, decapitated alien on the ground. “That is their singular purpose, Commander. They conquer their foes by infecting the populations. Once they have achieved victory, the warriors all but die off, and the few females left repopulate the species on the new host world.”

  It was all too much for Shawn to take in at once, and even though he had a dozen questions pop into his mind, he knew now was not the time to ask them. “Then let’s get out of here before it’s too late for any of us to make a difference. If they can read those discharges, we should deactivate whatever is giving them off on the Akturian ship. We don’t want to attract any more of those … things.”

  “A sensible precaution, Commander.”

  Inside the Akturian ship, Shawn and Tausan had quickly located the energy reading—a computer terminal that been set to run in a continuous diagnostic cycle. Switching the unit off, the only thing still humming with power was Shawn’s environmental suit.

  “Why do you think they left this on?” Shawn asked Trent over the intercom.

  “Beats me. From your description of the panel, it sounds like all it was doing was constantly rechecking the memory banks.”

  “This is not an uncommon tactic of the Meltranians,” Tausan offered from behind Shawn. “They will sometimes leave a single power source functional in hopes of drawing in victims.”

  “Like a spider’s web,” Shawn said approvingly.

  “I do not understand the reference.”

  “It’s a Terran insect … a multi-legged species that draws its victims into a trap. It then devours them from the inside out.”

  Tausan seemed to grunt in approval. “I take it that you eradicated this species.”

  Shawn smiled, remembering a rather large spider Trent had discovered in Sylvia’s Delight only a few weeks prior. “No, much to the chagrin of many of my people.”

  Tausan shook his head in confusion. “I have much to learn about your people.”

  “I’ll tell you all about it when we get back to the ship,” he said, finding himself still smiling until his eyes fell on the body of Sergeant Wilcox. “We’ll need to get him back to the ship. Is this Shadow Syndrome contagious?”

  “No, Commander. The virus loses its potency after the victim has died. To be infected, one must be in direct contact with a pure source. At least, it is that way for my people. However, I cannot say for certain exactly how the Sergeant’s remains will react. Humans are … fragile things.”

  “I don’t want to leave him behind. He deserves better.”

  “To bring him back invites a dangerous unpredictability, Commander. This mission is too important to risk over the death of one man.”

  Despite his frustrations, Shawn knew that the colonel was correct. He only wished for a better alternative. Damn it. “Fine. Wilcox stays, but I want to take a sample of his tissues back with us. It may prove valuable.”

  “The risk of contamination will still remain.”

  Shawn nodded as he leaned down toward the body of the fallen Marine. “If there is any contamination to worry about, then I may already be infected. If this Meltranian poison is anything like venom, there may be a way to counteract it hidden in its own genetic makeup. A sample is worth the risk.”

  “As you wish,” Tausan nodded.

  Withdrawing a small vial from his suit pocket, Shawn captured a sample of serrated flesh and a fragment of Wilcox’s torn suit. “By the way, thanks for saving me back there.”

  “It was my duty, Commander. Think nothing more of it.”

  “Well, in my culture, saving a man’s life is a pretty big deal. It demands some form of gratitude on the part of the person whose ass you saved.”

  “Your role in this mission is critical, Commander. You are our pilot.”

  Placing the sealed vial back in his pocket, Shawn stood to face the Kafaran. “To be honest, Trent and Melissa could pilot the ship just as well as I could.”

  To this, Tausan grunted. “Then perhaps I should have let you die.”

  Shawn stopped in his tracks. “Whoa, now. That’s not what I’m saying at all, pasty-face.”

  Tausan let out a throaty growl, which Shawn took as laughter. “I am only joking with you, Commander. Did I not project that correctly?”

  “Let’s just say that your sense of humor is a work in progress and leave it at that.”

  “As you wish,” the colonel replied, then began walking toward the airlock hatch. “And what is the meaning of the term ‘pasty-face’? I do not understand its context.”

  Shawn suddenly found himself uncomfortable with the fact that, not only was the term a derogatory remark toward Kafarans, he’d likewise just insulted the man who saved his life. “It’s what we call Kafarans,” he said, his mouth reacting faster than his brain.

  “Why not simply call us Kafarans. It seems much easier.”

  “It’s not a technical reference,” Shawn attempted to explain, but knew that somehow he would fail on all fronts. “It’s more … critical.”

  “About our appearance,” the colonel said in understanding.

  “About how unsightly it can be. At times. To some.”

  “Then it is meant offensively.”

  Unable to find a way out of his situation, Shawn resigned himself to his fate. “It is. And it’s not appropriate. I’m … I’m sorry. You risked a lot back there to save my hide, and I shouldn’t just pop off like that.” When the Kafaran officer stared at him blankly, Shawn forced a chuckle. “I’m sure you have your own slang for humanity.”

  Tausan snorted, which seemed to be his way of indicating that he was pondering his next words. “We do have a similar term for humans. To be more precise, the word ‘human’ is analogous to our word hu’mock, and we often use that when describing Terran life in general.”

  “And what does it mean, this hu’mock? Short? Gangly? Pink-skinned?”

  “It is a single term applied to the expulsion of bodily waste products.”

  Shawn found himself laughing at the translation. “Well, maybe we won’t have to work on your sense of humor after all.”

  The colonel stopped as he neared the airlock door leading back into the derelict Sector Command carrier. “It was not meant in jest, Commander. It is a true statement.” Before Shawn could come up with a reply befitting the Kafaran’s declaration, Tausan reached for the hatch controls. “Please place your helmet on, Commander. Our conversation, for the time being, ha
s come to an end.”

  Ten minutes later, Shawn and Tausan were back inside the airlock on board Sylvia’s Delight. As soon as the inner door opened, Shawn and Tausan were greeted by Melissa, who was not shy about her eagerness to embrace the commander. Shawn dropped his helmet as the woman’s arms tightly encircled his neck.

  “Thank God you’re all right,” she whispered into his ear.

  “I told you I’d be back.” Her grip loosened, and he held her at arm’s length. “I only wish Wilcox was as fortunate.”

  “What happened?” she asked, turning from Shawn to Tausan.

  “An ambush,” the Kafaran replied. “Sergeant Wilcox’s death was instant.”

  “What he means,” Shawn quickly added, “was that the sergeant did his duty.” He then reached into his suit pocket and withdrew the sample vial. “I’d like you to hold onto this.”

  “What is it?”

  “A highly potent toxin, or so the Colonel says. It’s secreted by the Meltranians.”

  “Only the warriors are so equipped,” Tausan injected.

  Shawn’s eyes never left Melissa’s. “Lock this up in your cabin.” He then quickly stepped past her with Tausan close on his heels.

  “Where are you two going?”

  “There may be a Meltranian ship nearby,” Tausan said without turning around. “And we must destroy it.”

  Jogging through the passenger compartment, Shawn and Tausan leapt through the doors leading to the Mark-IV’s cockpit. Trent, surprised by their abrupt entrance, bolted from his chair.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, then noticed that Tausan was standing directly behind Shawn. “And what’s he doing up here?”

  Shawn paid his mechanic little mind as he jumped into the pilot’s seat.

  “Are your scanners capable of detecting negatively charged particles?” Tausan asked Trent.

  “Uh … well …” Trent stammered, looking to Shawn for an answer.

  “Just tell him everything he needs to know,” Shawn snapped, his hands working feverishly at the controls. It wasn’t until the magnetic locks were disengaged and Sylvia’s Delight was floating freely that Trent finally answered.

  “Uh, yeah. I mean, yes. We can.”

  “Scan the far side of the hull once we are clear of the derelict.”

  Shawn skillfully backed his ship out the open hangar door and into space. With all the movement in the debris field, there seemed to be less maneuvering room than before. He slowly guided the ship to the far side of the wrecked carrier, deftly moving around several chunks of twisted remains.

  “There,” Trent said. “I’ve got something on the short-range sensors. It’s very weak.”

  As D came around one final section of debris, Tausan pointed a clawed finger at the view port. “It is there.”

  Shawn had to look twice to see what Tausan was pointing at before he saw it: a small, irregular shape affixed to the hull, looking deceptively like the rest of the damaged carrier—save for the odd grayish color of its hull. It looked as if a mangled tree limb had embedded itself into the carrier at a near-forty-five-degree angle.

  “Destroy it, Commander.”

  Flipping a series of switches on the overhead, the vibrations in the deck plates under his feet told Shawn that the two laser cannons were extending from the Mark-IV’s undercarriage. A moment later, a sequence of lights to the left of his console flashed a brilliant green. “Firing.”

  Two beams of energy reached out from under the ship, impacting squarely with the Meltranian scout vessel. The first rounds blew the ship free of the carrier’s hull, and two subsequent bursts from the cannons completely obliterated it.

  “Are there any more of those things hanging around?” Trent asked.

  “We’re not lingering to find out.” Retracting the weapons, Shawn brought the normal sensors back online. “Where’s the gate?” he asked, watching Tausan as he exited the cockpit.

  “Bearing two-seven-six, boss. About ten minutes from here.”

  “Get us there. I’ve got something to take care of. ” Shawn stood, exiting the cockpit with the intent of making it to his berthing compartment. Entering the lounge, Shawn saw that Tausan and McDermott were in the midst of a conversation. The ambassador must have cornered him as soon as he left the cockpit. Attempting to step past them, Shawn was stopped by McDermott.

  “Commander Kestrel, I’d like your full report on what happened over on that ship.”

  “I don’t have time, Ambassador,” Shawn said as he continued to the rear hatch. “Talk to the colonel.” It wasn’t until he felt a firm hand grasp his forearm that he stopped. He looked back, surprised to see that the ambassador was equally shocked by his blatant clutching.

  “You will find the time, Commander,” McDermott rounded. “I require more than just the colonel’s statement.”

  “You’d do well to take your hand off me, Ambassador.”

  “I don’t react well to threats, Commander.”

  Shawn shrugged himself free of McDermott’s impressive grip. “There wasn’t anything over there except for death and more death. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but we’re a man down right now, thanks to you and this little diversion. There’s a Marine over there who’s never coming home, and all he died for was a computer terminal set on self-diagnostic. I told you this was a bad idea, and I told you we should never have attempted to board that derelict. I’m only sorry the point had to be proven by the loss of an innocent life. Maybe you’ll keep that in mind the next time you think you have the right to tell me how to run my ship.” Shawn’s eyes shifted to Tausan, who remained motionless. What did the colonel say that’s gotten McDermott all fired up?

  McDermott seemed unfazed by Shawn’s statement. His eyes, cold and emotionless, stared into Shawn’s. “In all honestly, Commander, I’m not entirely convinced you couldn’t have done something to save him.”

  Shawn stepped to within inches of the ambassador, not entirely sure of what he was about to do. “We should never have been there in the first place. So you and your mission report can say whatever it likes. Just remember that you won’t be the only one filing. If you recall, I believe Agent Graves also had misgivings about boarding that ship. I’m sure the Unified Council will want answers about that.” Shawn turned and resumed his walk toward the aft end of the lounge. As the doors parted, he turned back to the ambassador. “Next time you think it’s a wise idea to grab me, I’ll let you know in no uncertain terms how much of a mistake that could be.” As he pivoted toward the now-open door, he was surprised to see Melissa standing on the other side. As he walked past her, she quickly stepped up behind him.

  “You want to tell me what that was all about?” she asked almost playfully.

  “I’m not a very good story teller.” Nearing the first of the two small cabins, Shawn entered his personal code. With a groan from some unseen cam, the door creaked open and the two entered. Melissa, curious about why they were there, stayed near the doorway as Shawn stepped over to a small locker at the foot of his bed. There was a rustling of something like glass, and Melissa watched as Shawn withdrew a bottle and two glasses, then stepped over to her.

  “Seems like an odd time for a drink,” she said with a raised eyebrow.

  Shawn poured two small glasses, handing one to Melissa, then capped the half-empty bottle and placed it in the garbage chute. Stepping to the wall-mounted intercom, Shawn pressed the control linking him to the cockpit. “Trent, do me a favor, buddy. Open the garbage chute for me, will you?”

  “You’re going to dump your trash here?” she asked in confusion.

  “We’re empty, save for that bottle.”

  There was a distinct hiss in the room, then a popping sound before Trent came over the channel. “All done, Skipper.”

  Melissa looked to Shawn, who seemed to be staring into his glass of whiskey. “What’s all this about?”

  “An obolus for the dead,” Shawn said in a hushed tone. Looking to Melissa, he could see the idea was lost on her
. “In ancient Greek mythology, a fare had to be paid to Charon for those wishing to cross the river Styx.”

  Intrigued, she leaned back on his bed. “And the river represented what?”

  “The boundary between the world of the living and the one of the dead. If the dead fail to pay the fee, their souls were said to wander the shores for a hundred years.” He then hefted his glass for her inspection. “So it’s my job to make sure that Sergeant Wilcox’s fee is paid in full—and any other fee owed by anyone lost in the battle that took place here.”

  “That’s quite the romantic gesture,” she said with approval, and then slipped from the bed to stand beside him. “For Sergeant Wilcox,” she said, holding her glass to his. “He didn’t ask for what happened to him.”

  “To everyone who lost their lives out here. Thank you for answering the call, and for making the ultimate sacrifice.”

  After the two drank, a moment of silence fell between them, each wishing they could say something to one another, but unable to have the words emerge before Trent’s voice came out of the speaker mounted near Shawn’s bed.

  “We’re nearing the gate, Skipper.”

  “On our way,” Shawn called out, then turned to Melissa. Taking a deep breath, the words he wanted to say still hadn’t solidified, so all he could offer her was a light touch on her cheek. She reached up, taking his hand in her own, then kissed it softly.

  Once inside the cockpit, Shawn could see the jump gate clearly sitting just ahead of Sylvia’s Delight, itself flanked at a moderate distance by the hulks of two Kafaran warships and a plethora of ruined Sector Command interceptors.

  “I’ve got the navigation coordinates programmed into the gate, Skipper,” Trent said from the copilot’s chair. “We can make the jump at any time.”

  “Tap into the gate’s interspace transmitter and open a coded channel to the Rhea,” Shawn said as he slipped into the pilot’s chair. “It’s about time I let them know what’s going on.”

  “Sure thing.” Trent went to work establishing the link, one normally only used for emergency broadcasts or top priority military operations. Figuring it was both, Shawn took the chance of getting a reprimand for using the highly classified system. A moment later, the there was an audible beep in the overhead, telling Shawn the communications channel had been established.