The day I leave this world for the last time is not far away, but before I make my journey to Narth Prime, I will complete my story as I promised.
Sometimes, you will notice I am telling this story out of the perspective of someone else. These interludes, I find, are necessary to give you, the reader, a complete picture of the events. I am using what my friends have told me, and a little artistic freedom, whenever I am switching the point of view.
So, if you like, follow me again. I will tell you the next part of my story and the events that followed after I apparently died during the final challenge to win the Reagan Trophy.
A Narth (Formerly known as E. Olafson, Admiral-Ret. USotG Navy) March 12th, 5379.
Chapter 1: Alone
The last thing I remembered was the stinging prick into my neck and then a nauseating spinning sensation that dragged me into nothingness.
I was supposed to perform an orbital assault jump as part of the final challenge to win the Reagan Trophy for the Devastator.
My friends and I, equipped with heavy battle suits, had boarded a drop ship. My suit malfunctioned after I was strapped into the drop rack, and nothing worked.
At first, I believed I was dead, but I felt still nauseous when I opened my eyes. I was not dead, but lying on a metal floor. My hands were tied behind my back, and I had bare feet. Someone had stripped me of most of my uniform, but to my surprise, I still wore the leather shoulder holster and in it was the antique Colt .45 Admiral Stahl had given me. If I could only free my hands somehow… I wiggled and strained my arms into a painfully awkward position and glanced at my wrists. It looked like memory material tape. Plastic fibers that stuck only to each other, but with an incredible tensile strength. No matter how much I strained, it didn’t budge. All it did was cut deep into my skin.
Still sick to my stomach, I sat up and looked around. I was in a holding cell, and I cursed, “Not again!”
My memory of the last time I was stuck in a holding cell was still fresh, even though it happened almost three years ago.
This prison cell had the shape of an inverted half pipe that was set like an alcove into a metal wall. I estimated it to be about four meters tall, three meters deep, and perhaps also three wide. There was no bed, no bunk, no hygiene unit, nothing. The front of the cell appeared unobstructed, no bars or barriers of any kind. Only at its edges, I could see a shimmering distortion, and it became clear to me there was a forcefield in place.
I tried to spit into the hallway beyond, but my spittle hit the invisible forcefield with a sharp hissing sound, and it was turned into a puff of molecular smoke. No Union holding cell would utilize an aggressive forcefield.
The room beyond the cell had two similar alcoves, but they were empty, and so was the hallway between them.
The loud vibrating hum of engines told me that I was aboard a spaceship that ran with its engines near the red line. The hum did not sound like a fine-tuned Union engine.
What had happened? How did I end up here from being aboard a Union drop ship and inside a Quasimodo?
Was I alone, or were my friends captured and in similar cells?
That something worse had happened to them, I didn’t even want to think. However, if my past experiences were any indication, it was most likely just me who ended up in a situation like this. I was certain Admiral Dent had something to do with it. Just how did he do it right under the nose of the Immortal Admiral of the Fleet?
I did not think of McElligott the same way as I felt about Admiral Stahl, but I trusted him and didn’t want to believe that he might be involved in this.
While I was still contemplating my situation, a humanoid man came into view. He appeared almost human except for the finely scaled skin. I recognized him immediately as the half-human, half-Shiss Lieutenant who shared a dinner with us right after we had arrived on Newport.
“Ah, my guest is already up. Splendid! I was already concerned I used too much energy on the Paralysator.”
I said nothing.
“What, no questions? I expected you to ask me all sorts of questions!”
“I doubt you would tell me anything I really want to know.”
“Oh, but I would. You see, you are dead as far as the world is concerned. I think they are holding a ceremonial service for you right now. No one is looking for you!”
However they did it, I believed him. Somehow, they managed to fake my death, and this was how they’d managed to fool my friends and the Immortal Admiral. I did not want to give him any satisfaction, so I kept silent.
It appeared he didn’t mind, and he confirmed what I just was thinking. “We did it right under the nose of the old admiral, too!”
I laughed at him. “If you think you and that goon Dent are smart enough to fool an Immortal who has seen every trick in the book, you are certainly on the wrong ship. He is going to figure it out.”
“They do not look for you. I told you. They think you are dead. You see, your suit malfunctioned, and most of you burned up in the atmosphere; the rest that slammed into the planet surface had a few traces of burned DNA left, your DNA.”
He was very proud of himself, and I could not figure out why they went through all this trouble just to get me.
“It was quite a challenge to get you off the marine ship, but we did it. Oh, I wish we could have taken the Quasimodo along, but something had to burn up and what they pay me for you is enough to buy me a new ship.”
“Why me?”
“I was not told why they want you!” He started thinking. “I bet I could get even more money for you if I knew what it is.”
He suddenly left.
I was in dire need to go relief myself. No telling how long I had been unconscious, but by the soreness of my body, it could have been several days. I was hungry and very thirsty. I was already contemplating the indignity and the discomfort of relieving myself when he came back holding a Kermac Line Blaster. He said, “We have arrived, sleepyhead. I am going to be very rich, and you are going to be dead or something.”
He deactivated the forcefield, aiming his blaster at me. “Get up and let’s go! If I have to deliver you with a leg or an arm less then so be it! They said alive, but I assure you there are many nuances between alive and dead and I don’t mind delivering a half-cooked cripple.”
I struggled to my feet, which wasn’t easy. “Can I use a toilet? I really need to go!”
He actually spat at me and said, “I don’t care what you need! As soon as we are outside, you may simply let it go! Just don’t soil my ship.” He kicked me hard in the groin and laughed. “This is just a taste of what I am going to do to you if you don’t shut up and walk!”
Through the excruciating waves of nauseating pain, I grunted, “I’ll get you. I promise I will get you for this!”
His answer was an elbow blow into my kidneys. “Move!”
There was no sense fighting him now; he had the upper hand while I was tied and he was armed, so I obeyed. We stepped on a platform, and it lowered itself to the ground.
From what I could see now, I was certain it was a Kartanian Jihhif type courier ship, slightly larger than the Sturgeon class of the Union; it was at last two hundred years old.
He kicked and drove onto the Duro-Crete surface of a spaceport.
The air reeked of rotting garbage and the stinging putrid stench of smoldering burning plastic.
The sky had a sickly greenish shade coming from a green sun that barely penetrated the thick smog, which lay like a blanket over everything.
It was very warm; I estimated the temperatures to hover in the upper thirties.
The landing field was made out of Duro-Crete or something similar, but it was heavily cracked, and big sections had already crumbled to big chunks; weeds abounded.
Piles of trash were everywhere I looked. Not far from us was the burnt-out wreck of what was once a Togar mini-freighter.
In the distance loomed the skyline of an immense city with tall skyscrapers and structures; none looked
alike. There was no distinctive or predominant architectural style. Even from here, I could see black smoke rising from many sources beyond that skyline.
At first, we were alone, and I wondered if whoever was to meet him had missed the appointment, but then a sleek-looking skimmer of an unknown type approached. It was armed with two energy cannons mounted on articulated arms sticking out from its roof.
My captor laughed. “My payday and your final fate are approaching!”
But before the skimmer reached us, a bright energy bolt suddenly hit the speeder and a second one hammered into the Courier ship’s drive section. Hit by the powerful blast, the approaching skimmer lost its Arti-Grav cushion and screeched over the Duro-Crete, engulfed in a cloud of dust and fire, and crashed into a large pile of debris.
The second blast had done considerable damage to the Karthanian equivalent of an ISAH pod, and I was certain it wasn’t space-worthy anymore.
My tormenting captor had forgotten about me, ducking behind a piece of scrap metal, and cursing at the top of his lungs in a language I did not understand.
That was my chance, and I bolted as fast as I could, ignoring the very likely possibility of another energy bolt across the uneven ground. I leaped with all the strength I could muster over a busted shipping crate and rolled over my shoulder to lessen the still painful impact. Just as I did, a blaster shot cracked directly over my head. It came from the half-Shiss who brought me here. Obviously, he had remembered me after all.
The crate had been ripped open, and there were jagged metal edges. As fast as I could, I turned and started to work on the plastic tape that tied my hands.
I worked frantically. I could hear him yell and scream obscenity-laden predictions my way, telling me what he would do to me as soon as he got me again. He came closer; I could hear his steps. Blood trickled into my palms, as I had missed the tape several times, but I didn’t care. The scaled face of my tormentor appeared over the edge of the crate. The tape finally ripped, releasing my hands. I rolled on my back, the good old Colt .45 in my fist, a fraction of a heartbeat later. He had spotted me and was about to aim his weapon. The antique gun made a satisfying deep roaring bang, and the heavy slug punched an ugly hole right between his eyes. Blood and brain sprayed from the back of his head as it was violently thrown back.
“That’s for not letting me piss, asshole!” I vented my anger, cursing at the now dead man, but I knew I was far from safe.
I hunkered as close to the ground as possible and risked a peek around the crate.
Three men emerged from the damaged and smoking speeder. They all wore battle suits that did not look like any I knew and certainly not Union Fleet issue. I was certain the suits were shielded and the reason they came out alive from their damaged and smoking vehicle.
All three were armed with blaster rifles; one of them was limping, and it appeared that his suit had been damaged.
They did not look into my direction, so I extended my arm and reached for the Line Blaster my captor had dropped as I ended his miserable existence.
Out from under the burned-out wreck emerged a powerful-looking assault tank, crushing debris and waste under its wide tracks. From the organic lines of its design, I assumed it was Nul hardware. The tank was armed with two cannons and one of them swiveled around, aiming at the men. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stand in the firing line of a Nul cannon that close, even in a Quasimodo.
All I could determine was that they were humanoid, but as I saw them from the back, I could not tell anything else.
A loudspeaker squealed from the tank. “You don’t do business on our spaceport without us getting a share! I suggest you drop your guns now and deactivate your forcefields. Then we will talk fees and decide if you are allowed to continue your business.”
I had no idea where I was. While they were busy with each other, I crawled to the next pile of dirt farther away and kept on creeping from cover to cover, putting as much distance between them and me as I could.
I was now a good distance away and chanced a peek to see what was going on. Two men and a Quadiped floated right above the tank, apparently against their will. The three men used telekinetics and had disabled the tank by snatching its crew with that cursed power.
One of the armor-wearing strangers yelled, “You mindless scum! Do you have any idea who you are dealing with?”
The Line Blaster I had taken was a decent weapon and fired long bolts of energy. It was for this fact that they were named Line Blasters; however, it was next to useless against men in shielded armor suits with telekinetic abilities.
Besides, even without armor and psionics, the numbers were against me, and the only sensible thing for me to do was get as far away as possible. However, I hoped to hear some clue as to where I actually was and perhaps get some idea who it was that wanted me so bad that they abducted me.
Who were they and what did they want of me?
The next possible cover was a pile of Duro-Crete pieces, but it was at least one hundred meters from my current position; I glanced back once more. No one looked in my direction, so I risked it and dashed as fast as I could, then dove behind the pile, skinning my knees in the process.
The still-floating tank crew started to scream in agony. One of them was ripped apart in mid-air by invisible forces in a gruesome display of what could be done with telekinetics.
At the same time, the tank fired again, and the powerful energy beam vaporized one of the armored men and tumbled the other two through the air. Only one of them got up right away; it seemed the one who had limped would not get up again.
Another speeder arrived at high-speed, firing at the tank, melting much of its front section. More armored men scrambled from that speeder, and I could hear one yell, “Where is the Narth friend?”
The Narth friend? All this had to do with my friendship with Narth?
However, reinforcements had arrived, and there was no reason for me to wait any longer and give them time to search for me. Maybe they had scanners or some psionic way to search.
The tank was burning now and if its energy source was antimatter or a reactor and containment failed, that possibility was another good reason for me to split. I ran again, toward the end of that trash-littered landing field and toward the alien city in the distance.
Chapter 2: Dent’s Last Stand
Interlude Part I
The inquest into Eric’s death had already lasted more than two hours and continued behind closed doors. So far, no one had called any of them to make a statement.
Har-Hi held a PDD; he wanted to write a eulogy. He was sure he would be asked to find the final words after the inquest was over and the memorial ceremony would start.
He had not written more than Eric’s name. “He became the best friend I ever had. He was like a real brother to me; even though he was not Dai, I am sure he would have been among the first warriors in my tribe.”
Wetmouth said with a dry voice, “You should simply write that then. I just realized how little I knew about him. We all talked about our origins and where we came from, but we never really asked Eric.”
Har-Hi said, “He has beautiful sisters and an uncle or grandfather who is the representative of his world.”
Mao wiped his eyes. “We should all go there, to his planet, I mean, and bring his remains to his family.”
Krabbel spread his upper arms. “Yes, we should go there, but I think he would want to be released into space.”
Wetmouth worked her PDD and said, “They gave me access to his personal file; maybe there are some things we can use.” She switched to field screen output, and Eric’s file was displayed on a larger forcefield screen they all could see.
Hans and Wetmouth started to cry again as Eric’s image came up, and Har-Hi said, after reading a few lines, “We don’t need a file to remember Eric. Turn it off, Wetty.”
The door opened, and Admiral Webb came out and motioned them to remain seated after Har-Hi got up and wanted to announce the presence of a
n officer. He approached the group and said, “Sorry, kids, but the inquest is still on. They are waiting on the Devastator to arrive. Admiral Stahl and General Lichfangh are on their way and should be here within the hour.”
Shaka finally spoke; he had not uttered a word since he learned that Eric was dead. “What will happen next, sir?”
Webb the Ult had spent most of his life among humans and non-Ult, and had adopted a few distinctive human mannerisms; he sighed and tried to put empathy into his voice. “I personally am not convinced that this was an accident, and it was me who insisted on PSI Corps presence. So, it might take a little while longer, but if we rule it was an accident, then there will be a memorial service and we all go back to where we came from. In your case, it will be the Devastator, of course.” Webb pointed to an empty seat and added, “There is a short recess now. Would you mind if I sit with you a little? I did know Midshipman Olafson personally.”
Har-Hi, who became the speaker of the group, said, “Of course, Sir, please join us. We are trying to phrase a eulogy for the memorial service.”
Webb looked at them. “You are indeed quite a diverse group, just as they say. Your friend, Eric, managed to stand out the first day he was at the academy, you know.” He told them about how Eric organized a chain to fetch water for his moisture suit.
That made Har-Hi smile. “Yes, that sounds like him, all right!”
Krabbel said, “He hated unfair situations, you know. That was the reason he got in the middle of things so often.”
Across their seating group was a bank of IST tubes and a tall Shiss appeared from one of them. He wore Captain’s black on his sleeves and was followed by a Klack Commander.
Webb got up and greeted the newly arrived officer, “Captain Zezzazzzzz, what a surprise to see you here.”
The muscular four-armed Shiss growled, “We were only seventy light years from here when my Takian Comm. Officer heard the news on Chit Chat channels. Is it true Eric Olafson is dead?”
Eric Olafson Series Boxed Set: Books 1 - 7 Page 53
