by Nick Webb
You will hurt those closest to you. Shit, hadn’t he already? Hadn’t his mother already suggested as much?
A meta-needle pulsed against his arm and a rush of painkillers coursed through his body. He glanced up at Ypres. “That feels good.”
“It’s an anti-coagulant. Mixed with some hydrocephacortizol, for a little pick-me-up,” she said, winking at him.
Pick-me-up indeed. His head now clear, and his back pain-free, he pushed himself back to a sitting position.
“Thanks, Ensign,” he said, shrugging his shoulders to test out his back.
“Don’t push it, Commander. Don’t make me pull rank and order you to bed,” she said with another wink as she sheathed the meta-needle and stowed it in a sterile steel cabinet by the bed. “I want you back in your quarters for the next twenty-four hours. You’ve got to give this time to heal. Stay off your feet. Get some rest.” She lowered her chin and looked him in the eye again. “Seriously. I’ll order you if I have to,” she added in mock authority, standing up straight and putting her hands on her hips.
“I promise, Ensign, I’ll get some rest.”
“Good.” She gave a curt nod, finally smiled, and turned to attend to another patient who’d begun to moan in pain.
Taking that as his cue to leave, he slid off the table and aimed for his quarters.
Damn it. One more day cooped up in his room. One more day alone with his thoughts. Alone. Just like Rhys, the old, half-sane man now sealed up, by choice, in some quarters near his.
He decided to pay his former fellow captive a brief visit on the way to bed. Perhaps the key to understanding how the picobots would affect his own body and mind could be gleaned from watching and talking to Rhys. Eventually he’d have to tell Doc Nichols.
But not now. No need to alarm anyone quite yet.
***
Willow Ayala marched past all the doors to vacant quarters, marked with large painted ‘V’s on their doors, and rushed through the door to her quarters. It closed behind her and she turned to lean her back against the door, breathing out a puff of air.
Still no sign of Galba. After taking her leave of Captain Mercer and Commander Jemez, she’d searched the storage rooms near the galley, the recreation deck where the 51st brigade was confined, the makeshift bar that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere down on deck ten, even the ventilation shafts near engineering—looking for clues that the man might have left.
Clues that he might have dropped as he fled the scene of the crime. She was sure he’d been responsible for that blast in engineering. And now that she thought of it, he might have been behind the explosion that ripped through the Phoenix when the ship was under the ice, hiding from the Caligula.
How did she know? She wasn’t quite sure. But her four years of service with The Red had taught her to be suspicious. To look for clues. Signs. Connections. And they were all around her. The Senator had gone missing. She hadn’t seen him immediately following the first explosion that forced them to resurface from the water, and now three days later this new explosion and he’s missing again. Too coincidental.
She had to find him. Soon.
She heard a sound. A bump. From next door? Nearly the entire hallway was vacant. That didn’t sound like vacant quarters. She turned and opened the door, and walked slowly up the neighboring door, marked in heavy red paint with a ‘V’. It was the one he’d used—he’d begged her for, not wanting to stay cooped up in her own quarters. Tentatively, she reached for the controls and unlocked the door, peering through into the darkness as the door opened.
“Ensign? Can I help you?”
She startled. The voice had come from inside the supposedly vacant quarters. She took a step inside.
“Hello?”
Once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw the owner of the voice. Just a technician, bent over a half-disassembled computer station.
“Looking for something, ma’am?” said the wiry young man. Judging by his gray and black uniform he looked to be from the IT department.
“No,” she said, glancing at his handiwork. Computer components littered the desk. Where the hell was Galba? Had they caught him? She regarded the young tech, ruddy hair and bone-thin physique. Did the kid suspect anything? Surely a hacked-together workstation was cause for alarm. “Do you always work in the dark?”
The young man nodded. “The lights are actually on, they’re just on the low glow setting. I work better that way.”
It was true. Now that her eyes had adjusted to the lower light level, she saw that the room was bathed in a very dim, red light. “And, just what are you doing? These quarters are vacant.” It did seem a little suspicious.
“They’re going to be filling some of these quarters soon. I’m just making sure everything is ready when they are.” He stood up from the desk and wiped a hand off on his shirt. “Can I help you with something?”
Ayala shook her head, and backed up towards the door. “No. Sorry to interrupt you, yeoman. Please carry on.”
He saluted, and sat back down to his work as she strode back out the door and to her own neighboring quarters.
Galba, dear, where had you got yourself to?
Maybe it was time to look in the morgue.
***
Senator Galba was in the morgue.
He stood there, not quite sure why he had come down to the grim, sterile room—he tried to avoid the busier sections of the ship, and anything close to sickbay counted as busy these days, and the morgue was a close as it gets.
Regarding the burn on his arm, he broke his gaze off from the blue, sheet-draped bodies lying on the floor and continued on towards the storage cabinets lining the wall. His latest attempt at sabotage had not gone as planned, and as a result half his arm was as scorched as an over-done steak.
Just the thought of steak made his mind wander back to Corsica. To Sagittaria Beach with its rustic cabanas and warm pink sand and cool blue water, and, oh gods, the steak! How long since he’d been back there? Four months? Five? Great Jupiter’s hairy ass—he’d been so busy with the work of the Truth and Reconciliation Committee, and The Plan, that he hadn’t had the time to return to his favorite place in the galaxy.
And today was the day he had been scheduled to return. His usual cabana, his favorite girls, his favorite booze—all of it was probably waiting for him there, eighty lightyears away, waiting for him to check in and set his bag on the bed and take off his pants and forget his life for a week.
But instead, his arm stung, and he was sneaking around on a rebel battleship trying to expose it to Admiral Trajan for capture—without getting killed in the process—all for the Emperor’s and the Admiral’s Plan.
The Plan. Good gods, how the hell did he get roped into this? The Emperor had approached him, years ago, when Galba was just a junior Senator newly appointed by the Corsican Governor, to join him and his inner circle in ensuring the future of humanity. Of ensuring Pax Humana. But in the beginning he hadn’t realized the sheer scope of the Emperor’s ambitions. People would die. People would change. Hell, society would change.
But it was all necessary, if humanity wanted to survive.
He glanced down at the nearest blue sheet covering the stiff body underneath. He supposed that was Ling—the poor fool of a soldier that had been found dead in Galba’s own quarters. Was it Ayala? Impossible, but he couldn’t think of who else would have done it. The young man didn’t deserve it. But sometimes being in the wrong place at the wrong time was merit enough.
He reached up to a cabinet and searched it for medical supplies. Sterilization cream, burn salve, gauze, everything he’d need to sooth his forearm.
With a grunt he piled the supplies into his arms. He’d have to be smarter about this. No more aimless sabotage. Sure, if he could disable the Phoenix for a few days, that would surely give Trajan enough time to track them down and rescue him. But the trick would be disabling the ship without blowing himself up as well, and so far his track record was not good.
He poked his head out into the hallway and looked for passersby. The coast was clear. He slipped out into the corridor and made his way to the lower decks where he’d found an out-of-the-way storage room. For the moment he considered going back to Ayala’s quarters. At least there he’d get regular food. And sex—oh gods, the sex. He nearly turned around to make his way to her quarters before steeling his jaw and opening the door to the stairs—fewer people used those. He couldn’t go back to her now. It didn’t feel safe.
He chided himself. Did he really think he could hide from her on the Phoenix? It was a big ship, but not that big. She’d run into him sooner or later, and in the meantime she might blow the whistle and alert security to his presence. He couldn’t afford that.
Heavy bootsteps down the corridor made him jump into the stairwell and close the door quickly behind him. The sound grew louder, and subsided as whoever it was walked past. With a nudge at the door he peeked out and watched as three men walked away down the hall—two guards, and in between them a soldier, dressed in the same Imperial fatigues as Ling.
He let the door shut again and started off down the long, narrowly spiraling staircase.
There had to be a way to get off the ship.
***
Sergeant Tomaga nodded to his two escorts as they stood at either side of the entrance to the morgue, and stepped forward as the door slid open to receive him. Another two steps and the door slid shut again, and he was alone. Alone with a cold room full of cold bodies.
With the battles of the last few days, the crew of the Phoenix hadn’t had time to conduct a proper ceremony for their dead. He paced the room, pausing at each body to lift up the sheet and glance underneath.
At last he found him.
Sergeant Tomaga rested a hand on the body, feeling its cold forehead. Ling was young. Brash, ebullient—even cocky. And now he was dead. He glanced at his throat, which had been brutally crushed under repeated strikes from a boot.
He shivered. Environmental controls in the makeshift morgue across from sickbay had been set to near freezing, and he wondered why. To preserve the bodies, of course, but why not just jettison them directly to space? Why wait so long before a proper burial for an honored soldier?
Because. Ling’s killer had not been found, and that fact fueled a smoldering fire in his gut. Someone on the Phoenix had killed one of his men. Someone had viciously crushed the boy’s throat.
Boy. He really was just a boy. Glancing down at the young, smooth features on his face, he cursed the day he’d been conscripted into the Imperial Marine Corps. Just weeks ago he’d vowed to get all of his men home safe. They each had families looking for them, hoping for the day they’d unexpectedly open the door with a smile and greet their lost loved-ones.
But that was three days ago.
Now, his responsibility dictated that he fight back. Someone was out to kill them before they ever made it home, and if he didn’t want to die he had to strike first.
And hard.
He touched the stiff shoulder one last time, shivered again, stood up, bowed slightly to the deceased, and then turned to leave.
The 51st brigade would avenge him.
Private Ling will not have died in vain.
CHAPTER TWO
RHYS PEEKED OUT FROM THE blanket covering him. Almost like an animal, he’d nested in the corner of his quarters, in between the bed and the wall, as if he were doing his best to stay both confined and out of sight.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing,” said Ben, through the open door. “Just checking on you. Have you been out yet? Gotten any exercise?”
“No.”
“Would you like to?” Ben asked, knowing full well what Nurse Ypres would say at the idea of Ben exercising at the moment.
“No.”
Ben sighed silently. Could the man be saved? The master had truly broken him. And with the picobots running freely through Rhys’s body, rewiring his mind and molding him to the master’s will, Ben wondered if the man would ever be truly free of the master’s influence.
And was that the fate that awaited Ben? Was this his destiny?
No. He was made of stronger stuff. And the master never got the chance to mold Ben’s mind to his will. All he’d had to endure was a week of torture. Rhys? He’d lived through years of it, if “lived” was the right word. In the end, the time with the master had utterly transformed him into a new creature. A half-man. Something with no will or self of its own.
“Rhys, it’ll do you some good. There’s nothing to fear now. You’re safe. I promise. The sooner you get out and get some exercise and regular interaction with other people, the sooner you’ll start feeling better.” Ben waved a beckoning hand. He had to believe there was hope for the other man, for his own sake. If Rhys could be saved, then Ben had even less to worry about—whatever the master had done to him was probably reversible too.
“No. I said no. Unless,” Rhys paused, hesitated, and almost whispered, “unless you’re ordering me to….”
“Of course not. You’re free, Rhys. No one will ever order you again.” Unless he wanted to be a Resistance Fleet officer again, but Ben didn’t voice that out loud.
“Then no. Leave me alone.”
Ben backed out of the room. “Very well, Rhys. Get some sleep. I’ll check on you later.”
He walked down the hall to his own quarters and entered, sitting on the edge of his bed. And if Rhys couldn’t be saved? If they weren’t able to reverse whatever the master had done to him, what then? Did it mean he was destined to the same fate? To become a slobbering, will-less, terrified animal hiding in the corner of a darkened room?
Not if he had anything to do with it. He pulled his boots off and laid down.
You will hurt those closest to you!
Ben squeezed his eyes shut, and plugged his ears with his fingers. Maybe the voice would stop if he wasn’t able to hear.
***
“Captain!” Commander Po jumped to her feet and approached Jake as he walked through the door to the bridge. “Are you all right? How’s Jemez? What happened?”
Jake paced towards the Captain’s chair, and, worried that the sensor officers weren’t being as vigilant as they should, glanced at the sensor readout.
“I’m fine. So’s Ben. And Alessandro. Seems one of the auxiliary cap banks blew at just the right moment. Any closer and Ben and I might have bit the bullet. Luckily no one else was injured all that badly—except one ensign who has some pretty bad flash burns. But Doc Nichols should have him patched up in a few days.”
Satisfied that the sensor readout was clear, Jake turned back to face Po.
“What made the cap bank blow? Was Bernoulli working on it at the time?” Po’s forehead scrunched up, as it often did when she was worried.
“No, they’re putting all their efforts into the gravitic drive.”
More forehead scrunching.
“Really? They weren’t working on it, and it just blew?”
Jake turned to his chair and sat down, glancing again at the sensor display. “That’s what I’m saying. Alessandro thinks that there was some kind of feedback loop between the drive and the auxiliary banks that went unnoticed because of their non-stop work on the drive.” He looked back up at her. “Why?”
“It’s just…” she trailed off, approached his chair, stood close enough to whisper in his ear, and lowered her voice. “It’s just that this is now the third unexplained explosion in a week.”
It was true—it did sound a little suspicious. He matched his voice to hers. “Megan, the ship’s been through hell. I’m not surprised we haven’t had more explosions or hiccups in the system or failed auxiliaries.”
“It’s just … fishy.” She folded her arms, which, after three years as close friends, Jake interpreted to mean that her mind was made up about something.
“Are you suspecting sabotage? Is that what Valkyrie thinks?” he said, keeping his voice low. No sense in worrying the rest of the bridge crew
. The quiet buzz of activity all around reassured him that everyone was too busy to be eavesdropping.
“Maybe.” Her brow furrowed again. “We didn’t exactly have a lot of time to carry out that order of Captain Watson. You remember what he told us to do? How he asked us both to scout out the crew? Make sure there were no Imperial true believers here? Make sure that everyone was either Resistance, or leaned Resistance?”
He glanced back down at the sensors. “Could be. What do you want to do about it?”
“Give me a few more people for this investigation.” Jake held up a hand and started shaking his head, but she cut him off. “I know that we need everyone we can get for the repairs, but this is important, Jake.”
He knew it was important. But what kind of message would that send to the crew if suddenly he was running some sort of inquisition? Their shaky confidence in him would weaken further. And yet, if there was an enemy in their midst, his or her next strike might very well be their last.
“Fine. Take Avery. Tell him the situation, and let him pick one of his men to help. Someone who can keep this discrete. I don’t want to set off alarm bells—either the crew’s, or the saboteur’s, if there is one.”
“You trust him?” She looked him in the eye.
“Megan, after you go through an experience like Destiny with someone, you trust them. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. Or Bernoulli.” He grinned at her. “Or you, I might add. Your little showdown with Trajan—that was brilliant. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, you’re one capable, smart, and deadly S.O.B. and I’m just glad you’re on our side.”
A smile threatened to tug at her mouth, so she turned after a quick nod and began to walk towards the XO’s station. “Very well, Captain. Did Bernoulli give any indication as to whe—”
