by Al Macy
We spent the next two days exploring the ship, desperately trying to find a way to communicate or at least make our presence known. We speculated about how long it would take a ship to get to us from Earth but didn’t have enough information to make a good guess.
Would the universe collision occur while we were futzing around here? No point in worrying about it. It was out of our hands.
We slept on the wall of the passageway, with just enough centrifugal force to keep us in place. The air seemed okay, but the temperature was dropping. I got into a human-sized space suit from the workroom, but Guccio was too big to fit in his. He wrapped himself in some rescue blankets.
Announcements came over the ship’s PA now and then, but being in the celano language, they meant nothing to us. They might have said “Help is on the way” or “Self-destruct in thirty seconds.”
In the middle of the third night, an insistent buzzer echoed through the ship. I forced myself up from the depths of sleep and found myself floating near the center of the passageway. Good. Any change was good, right?
Guccio massaged his face. “What’s going on?”
“I think the ship has stopped spinning.” I squinted down the passageway. The light from the cargo deck fluctuated, and three space-suited figures popped out into view.
“Whoa. Good guys?” Guccio rubbed the back of his neck.
They apparently noticed us and jetted along in our direction. My heart hammered in my throat. Friend or foe? Maybe they came from the civilization that had attacked us. I fished out the knife I’d put in the space suit’s utility pack—not much use against a ray gun.
They drifted closer. They weren’t pointing weapons at us. Good sign. The helmets on their suits were transparent bubbles, like something from an old sci-fi movie. When they approached, I recognized the macaw-like heads. Ah, dinobirds. But they could still be bad guys.
The one in the lead jetted to a stop. “Jake Corby, I presume?”
* * *
Our rescuers nudged us to the cargo bay. Their space suits had arms just like NASA suits. They couldn’t use their wings, but when they made flapping motions, the suit took note and activated the appropriate jets.
The shuttle, nothing more than a large cube with five perches and escape pods, had the same invisi-wall technology as their other ships. It treated us to an awe-inspiring view as we drifted from the disabled Nasty to its twin. Had the five of us been on an untethered space walk, the view would have been the same. The brilliant red of the ships stood out against the black and white vastness of space.
We arrived at our rescue ship in under a minute, landing smoothly in the cargo bay. Marbecka greeted us. Beside her, I recognized my two drinking buddies, Drenast and Cree. I’d watched the video journal so many times, I could almost feel the hangovers.
Drenast slapped me on the shoulder hard enough to set me spinning. Marbecka nudged us over to a conference room adjoining the cargo bay. It was a cozy room, brown with full-wall screens and an oval table surrounded by perches instead of chairs.
Guccio and I held ourselves in place by gripping the edge of the table. Cree and Drenast made grinding noises with their beaks, a sign of pleasure.
Marbecka clawed onto the perch across the table from me. “We have happiness to see you again. I will bring you up to our speed now.”
Marbecka’s head feathers seemed out of place, as if she’d had a bad night. “When Nasty was disabled, the computer evacuated all of us in escape pods. We are sorry that we left you behind, but there was nothing we could do. The ship you’re on now, Raptor, was dispatched immediately from Earth to collect the pods—”
“Where are we?” Guccio asked.
Drenast squawked, “Hey, let her finish, dude.”
Guccio frowned.
I smiled and whispered to him, “That’s just how zealos are. He’s okay.”
The screen on one wall displayed Earth and Mars, with some dots and callouts near the display of the fourth planet. Marbecka zoomed in on the dots. “This is us, together with Nasty, and this”—she panned over a bit—“is the disabled enemy craft.”
Cree fluffed her feathers. “Be telling them of your adventure.”
Marbecka’s crest popped. “Thirty days ago, I was taken prisoner by the colonists.” She described the destruction of her research vessel and the conversation with the scrimshaw-beaked Brock. “Their ships near the asteroid belt have been disappearing, and they blame us. They’ve declared war.”
“But they released you,” Guccio said.
“Well, duh, Sherlock.” Drenast rocked a bit. “I thought you were some heavy-shit warrior.”
I smiled, but Guccio wasn’t amused.
Marbecka said, “They released me so I could convey their message. Their declaration of war.”
Guccio pulled his last cigar from his pocket. “Can you tell me more about the colony?”
“The colony was established millions of years ago to mine the generational spaceship you refer to as Phobos. They have never been hostile to us.”
I put up my hand. “Hold on. We’re talking about the moon of Mars, right?”
“Not a moon,” Marbecka said. “I thought you were knowing this shit. Hollow, it was a humongous, interstellar transport. Since the ship was a billion years old, the technology was unsalvageable, but we are mining the exotic materials inside.”
“Ancient history.” Drenast shook his head. “Boring.”
Guccio cleared his throat. “So, Marbecka, you think the colonists sent the ship that attacked us?”
“They declare war and then we’re attacked,” Drenast said. “You do the math.”
Guccio ignored him. “But wasn’t that ship’s technology far beyond anything the colonists have?”
Marbecka tilted her head back and forth. “That is true. And another enemy ship had cloaking technology. It is baffling. We will know soon.”
“Soon?” I asked.
“The ship that attacked us is drifting, and we will be boarding it.”
“What about the universe collision?” Guccio looked at her and raised his eyebrows.
“These attacks are preventing us from addressing the collision problem. Some of our scientists feel that the offensive is deliberately aimed at blocking our efforts to avoid the collision. If we don’t figure out what is going on, our universes cannot be saved.”
She pointed to the screen. “The answer may be in that ship. We request you, Sir Guccio, to come with us since you have knowledge of conflict and warships. We have modified one of the space suits to fit you. We had been unaware of the morphological diversity your species contained. Jake, your accompaniment is also requested.”
The meeting broke up, and Guccio asked for some “grub.” Fortunately, I clarified the food order.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The gruff cargo chief helped us into our space suits. They were much less bulky than those used by NASA—almost like a mechanic’s coveralls. The chief assured us that, like all celano equipment, the suits were much safer than we could imagine. I glanced at his missing wing tip.
My suit was identical to the one I’d worn when marooned on Resourceful. There was an “on” switch near the collar that I’d failed to notice. I lifted my arms and searched around for some jets or controls. “Is there a propulsion system?”
He said, “Just be flying,” and flew away.
It was indeed that simple. There were no buttons to press. I’d just flap my arms as if flying, and the suit would make it so. To slow down, I’d imitate the wing movements of a bird landing on a branch, scooping the air forward. It was like dreaming of flying, only better.
Soon the movements were second nature. After a while, I only needed subtle twitches to get myself moving in the right direction. Guccio and I had a great time flying around in the huge cargo hold.
Playtime over, we watched through the movie-screen-sized hatch as the captain brought us within one hundred yards of the disabled enemy ship.
Larger than a 747
and shaped like a brick, it tumbled slowly, end over end. About thirty percent of the brick had been broken away as if smashed with a pickax. A green energy pulse flew from our spaceship, hitting the enemy craft and slowing its tumbling to almost nothing. One more tweak and it stopped completely. Nice. I’d had my fill of dealing with centrifugal forces in derelict spaceships.
Drenast, Jobex, Guccio, and I assembled near the opening to space.
I asked Drenast, “What if that thing has a self-destruct mechanism?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Right. That made me feel much better. We flew out through the towering hatch and across the gulf between the two ships. Floating in deep space was nice, but flying through it was on a whole new level. It gave me a sense of oneness with the universe. I felt like a dog let out on the beach after being cooped up in a small house. I just wanted to fly around. Too bad there was work to do.
Guccio’s voice came over the radio. “Jobex, you still think this ship was created by your colonists?”
“Jobex speaking. My doubt is beginning. This resembles no ship I have seen.”
It wasn’t sealed. There was no hull wall, as if it hadn’t been completed. The whole thing looked like scaffolding erected around a huge office building. We drifted close, and floated along one side of the brick. I peered into a square opening. Stars shined through it—the passageway went through the whole ship, open to space on both ends. Other parts of the scaffolding were filled with equipment, as if the whole thing were an electronics rack.
“Shall we?” I pointed to an open passageway.
I went in first, feeling like Jacques Cousteau exploring the skeleton of a sunken ship. The passage was square in cross section and wide enough for two abreast. Hallways headed off the tunnel in all directions, all open to space. The design seemed random.
Something flashed across the tunnel ahead of us—like a shark.
“Whoa! What was that?” My heart battered my throat. Perspiration would have trickled down my sides if I hadn’t been weightless. I flipped my arms forward and stopped.
Guccio plowed into me. “What?”
“Drenast, where are you?” All the moisture had disappeared from my throat.
“I am behind Guccio, Jake.”
Guccio put his hand on my arm. “What did you see?”
“I’m not sure. It was just a flicker. Maybe I imagined it. It was as if something passed—there! Did you see it that time?”
“Yes. Something passed through our tunnel. Like a silvery box.”
My suit included a flashlight that extended along the top of my forearm. I switched it on and pointed its intense beam down the tunnel. We waited.
“Jobex to captain. Are you capturing that movement? Is it alive?”
Captain Falbex, back on the bridge of Raptor, replied, “Affirmative for the movement. Negative for life. There are no life-forms on that craft apart from yourselves.”
Impossible. Something was alive. There! It came back into our passageway, about thirty feet away, and stopped. If I hadn’t seen it move, I’d have thought it part of the spaceship.
Rectangular like a large briefcase, its many armlike appendages gripped the sides of the passageway.
“Jake to Jobex. Do you know what that is?”
“Negative, Jake. Let us get the hell out of Dodge.”
Drenast’s voice came out of the comm system. “We’re here to learn. Don’t be a chicken.”
I examined the sides of the passageway. Rails extended along them. That’s what the briefcase was gripping. It was as if the entire craft had been designed for those briefcase things.
It started toward us. Slowly.
“Let’s back up, guys.” Claustrophobia gripped my chest. “We have a weapon with us?”
Drenast replied, “Yeah. Duh.”
It kept coming, and just as I took a breath to yell for a hasty retreat, it stopped. I kept the light on it, and we arrayed ourselves so we could all watch. It released its grip on two of the rails and rotated around. It did some kind of manipulation then slid an object from the side of the corridor. Its prize was a cubical frame holding some device or electronics.
It reminded me of something … ah, a Mars rover. No wheels or antennas, just tightly packed high-tech modules.
Mr. Briefcase slid the module all the way out into the corridor. His many arms gave him the appearance of a long-legged spider. He hugged the rover-like module against his body and started off down the corridor, away from us. After a second, he stopped and made a right turn into an adjoining corridor.
Guccio spoke up. “Follow it.”
I led our parade up to the intersection and turned. There was no chance of getting lost since every tunnel opened to space at the ends. This tunnel was a little narrower, however. I took deep breaths. Was my suit providing enough air? The idiot lights projected onto my visor were all orange—the dinobird equivalent of green. I took more deep breaths.
“Falbex to Jake. Don’t be hyperventilating.”
Easier said than done. “Captain, are we heading toward the damaged section?”
“Affirmative.”
Got it. Mr. Briefcase was repairing the ship. Farther along the corridor, his buddies were hard at work, like worker ants in a rectilinear ant farm. They were transporting functional components to the damaged section of the craft and installing them.
“Guccio to Drenast. Zap it, and let’s take it home.”
Like tiles in a three-dimensional sliding-tile puzzle, Guccio and I backed into two adjoining passages. Drenast floated past us. We stuck our heads back out, watching him move toward the busy boxes.
He pointed his arm-slash-wing toward Mr. Briefcase, and an orange beam flashed out. Despite the vacuum of space, a hum resonated in my head.
“That’s just a low-level pulse, right?” Guccio asked.
Drenast turned back to us. “Shut up.”
Our briefcase friend stopped moving, but when we moved forward, he came back to life. Drenast shot him again, the beam yellow this time. That did the trick. The briefcase was dead and drifting, its mechanical arms floating lifelessly.
Drenast moved forward. I figured we’d have to back out, since the corridor ahead was jammed with other worker-briefcases, but when I looked again it was clear. Where did all the worker ants go?
“Falbex to boarding crew. Something is happening. You should be evacuating.”
Guccio whispered, “I hope he doesn’t mean we should be really scared.”
“What’s happening, Captain?” I asked.
“Be coming back to the ship at this time, please.”
“Jake to Drenast. Push it forward and out. We’re right behind you.”
We continued farther into the damaged section. A shimmering sphere popped into the passageway ahead of us, blocking our escape.
“I’m turning here.” Drenast made a right turn down a new corridor. I followed. This corridor was clear, but the exit to space was farther away. We floated along. Our parade extended from Drenast with the briefcase, to me, and to Guccio. I looked back. No Jobex.
I shined my flashlight behind us. “Captain, Jobex is—”
“Falbex to boarding party. Energy sources are converging on your location. Don’t be—”
Static blasted over my radio. I could hardly think. If there was a way to turn down the volume, no one had told me about it. I looked back at Guccio. He slapped his helmet with the palm of his hand, apparently having the same problem.
We kept moving. Guccio tapped me on the ankle and pointed back the way we’d come.
A shimmering sphere the size of a beach ball sat rock solid in the center of the corridor behind us. I directed my flashlight on it. The white noise made me want to scream.
Drenast pointed his laser doohickey back along the corridor. Before he could shoot, spinning disks started flashing out of the sphere. Toward us.
The disks reminded me of circular-saw blades. They didn’t slice through the air like Ninja throwing stars. They
floated toward us along the axis of their spin. That is, with a flat side facing us. Weird.
I counted five of them. They looked deadly but drifted along slowly. Not an effective weapon—we could just move out of the way. They weren’t even traveling parallel with the edges of the corridor.
But when the first one collided with the side of the corridor, the collision converted its rotational energy into something deadly: a tumbling, careening disk with sharp teeth along its circumference. The same thing happened to the others, and soon we were dodging a flock of fast-moving, tumbling blades.
One flashed toward my knee. I pulled my legs up into a fetal position, but not fast enough. The disk hit my boot. Another scored a direct hit on Drenast. A new sphere replaced the first and loosed a volley of five more disks.
The red color of Raptor filled the tunnel’s exit. Falbex had moved the ship into position. I had a few seconds before the next batch of disks would reach us, and I turned forward to Drenast. He had his laser device pointed my way. I pulled myself to the side of the tunnel. Guccio did the same.
A painfully bright beam flashed from Drenast’s device and hit the shimmering ball with a glancing blow. Still alive, the sphere started toward us, accelerating.
Drenast shot again and missed. Guccio flattened himself against a wall and sucked in his belly. But he’d chosen the wrong wall—the ball was headed right for him. He threw himself to the other side at the last second. The ball missed him, hit me on my elbow, and continued toward Drenast.
I grabbed my elbow and pulled it in to my stomach. My whole arm went numb as if I’d received an electroshock to my funny bone. The pain made it hard to breathe. Was the space suit’s seal broken?
More skilled at zero-g flying, Drenast dashed into a neighboring corridor. The ball kept going, bouncing here and there. It passed out of the tunnel, headed toward Raptor. A beam from the ship vaporized it.
Forty feet more, and we’d be out of this crazy house. Yet another device appeared between us and the exit. A dodeca-something-or-other. This wasn’t shimmering—it was flat black. Two darts flew out of its center, the size of pencils. One headed for my waist. I twisted to one side and it grazed my suit. I glanced down, watching the self-sealing material repair itself.
