by Ashe Barker
The crewman was peering at a dial on the side of the satellite ship, and making notes on a hand-held tablet. Caria glanced around. All the activity was in the main bay, there was no one else on this side of the craft. She pulled the pen from her pocket and crept forward.
The man turned at the last moment. “Hey, I need you to—”
He got no further. Caria leapt forward and pressed the end of the pen against his temple. The man started to yell, but the anaesthetic took effect before his vocal cords could react. He slumped forward and Caria lowered him quietly to the floor. She had adjusted the dosage to account for his larger frame, and if his deep, regular breathing was any indication she had got it about right. She pulled him into an alcove, then shoved three portable kinogen tanks across the entrance to conceal the pair of them from view. It was then the work of just a few par-beats to peel his suit from him and pull it on over her uniform. The helmet was strapped to the huge belt that buckled around the waist and she pulled that down over her head and flicked the facemask closed to perfectly conceal her features. She tucked the medi-tablet beside the sleeping crewman. It had done its work for her and now would best serve by continuing to emit Morele’s DNA signature, creating the impression that the doctor was on the launch deck, not fast asleep in the commander’s quarters. Eventually her deception would be discovered, but it would buy her more time.
“Two hundred and forty par-beats to launch. Crew to stations.”
The announcement rang around the cargo bay as Caria emerged from the alcove. Her luck was holding. Now all she needed to do was follow Phahlen and the other crew member on board, and they’d be off.
She marched around the small craft and saw Phahlen ascend the gangplank. The other suited crewman followed and Caria fell in behind. When she arrived on the tiny flight deck, it was to find just one seat unoccupied, and mercifully it was at the rear of the capsule. Phahlen was in the pilot’s seat and already operating the controls. He glanced back as Caria took her seat, then hit the switch to close and lock the doors.
“All personnel on station? Reports please.”
“Affirmative, sir.” The other crewman replied calmly and Phahlen nodded. He cocked his head in her direction.
“Affirmative, sir.” The facemask muffled her voice, and Caria deliberately dropped it an octave or two. It seemed to work and Phahlen’s attention remained on the final preparations required to launch the craft.
“One hundred par-beats to launch.” The automated countdown continued. Caria fastened her seat restraint, just as the other crewman did, and sat back to study the control panel in front of her. Lights flashed, data flickered across screens. It was incomprehensible to Caria.
“Fifty par-beats to launch. Forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-seven.” The computer was now counting down the final par-beats, and Caria tried not to hold her breath. Neither Phahlen nor the other crewman took any notice of her, and it seemed her duties did not include anything connected to the launch.
“Ten, nine—”
“Engage thrust.” Phahlen’s command was curt, business-like. Caria expected the other crewman to take some sort of action. He didn’t.
“Lieutenant, engage thrust. Now.” Phahlen turned to look directly at her.
Caria tore her startled gaze from his and stared back at the control panel, desperate for inspiration. It came in the form of a red light, flashing rapidly in the centre. For want of something better, Caria hit the button next to it. A roar filled the cockpit and she was convinced she’d managed to blow up their ship.
“Thrusters engaged,” announced the other crewman. “Lift off in four, three, two…”
Caria gripped the arms of her seat as the small ship lurched forward. At some stage since they came on board the huge doors on the side of the cargo bay had opened and the ship hurtled out into the vast void of space.
She had done it. She had actually fucking done it. She had managed to get off the Empyrean.
Chapter Eleven
Phahlen maintained manual control until they were well away from the Empyrean, then he locked in their course coordinates and engaged the computer. He leaned back in his seat and gave the instruction to stand down from launch protocol. They were safely away from the mother ship, the internal life support systems were operative, and it was safe to remove helmets. Phahlen tugged his from his head and set it down beside him, glad of the brief respite even if it was just temporary. He needed to think.
Baren’s report on the enquiry into Caria’s alleged crimes had come as a surprise, though as he reflected on it now he knew it shouldn’t have. However damning the evidence against her, it had only ever been circumstantial. He had come to know Caria well over the last few weeks, very well in fact, and she was no more a violent criminal than he was. There had been a couple of occasions when she had hit out at him, but he was ready to acknowledge that each time she had been sorely provoked or was acting in self-defence. Baren had been right to suggest they investigate further, and based on the findings of the enquiry, the advice of their attorney-mediator was pretty clear.
There was a case to answer. Caria’s presence on board a ship indicted for piracy was not something that could be ignored. But there were no reports of her being present at any of the crime scenes, no witness statements or evidence to link her directly to any wrongdoing. She had no previous record and no assets were registered in her name, which would indicate she had not benefited from any of the known robberies committed by the crew of the Luminaire. The attorney-mediator estimated the likelihood of a conviction on a serious charge to be less than thirty percent, and that could be reduced further with good legal representation. A short custodial sentence could be expected, no more than that. Of course, the Earth authorities would need to be persuaded. They could be unpredictable and were known to be fond of making examples, but provided Caria committed no further offences, the chances were good that she would be freed within months if not weeks.
That was the likely outcome if he acted on this report, of course. He was under no obligation to do anything. As far as Earth was concerned, the matter was closed. And for Phahlen’s part, he rather liked having the little human under his control. So fuckable, so bloody responsive. And fertile.
Shit! Even as he entertained that thought he dismissed it. He couldn’t keep her a prisoner for the rest of her life on a trumped-up charge. She wanted to go home; she’d made that much clear. She was homesick, missing her family, she wanted to see her parents again, and he had no grounds to prevent it. He groaned and closed his eyes. He would have to tell her the good news, as soon as this mission was completed. First though, he had more immediate matters to address.
“Lieutenant, what was all that about?” His question was directed at the tardy crewman who had failed to engage the thrusters when commanded to do so. He wouldn’t tolerate officers on his flight deck who were sloppy in their duties and there would be a reckoning now.
No answer. Phahlen swivelled in his seat to look behind him. Corporal Renkl, the second pilot on this mission had removed his helmet as soon as the atmospherics stabilised. The man was at his station, checking their flight trajectory and velocity, as he should be. The seat where Lieutenant Alahn—a science officer, but selected for this mission for his expertise in interplanetary protocol—should be, was empty.
“Where’s Alahn?” he asked the remaining crewman.
Renkl looked up. “He’s… oh.” The corporal glanced over his shoulder at the vacant seat behind him. He shrugged. “Taking a leak?”
Phahlen narrowed his eyes, but nodded. There were few enough alternative possibilities on board a craft this size. He’d tackle the man when he returned to his station. Meanwhile, he had work to do.
Their destination was at least a cycle away, but the agreed course took them through hazardous terrain, including a meteor shower and an interstellar archipelago of planetoids. Most of the small worlds were tiny and uninhabitable though several were large enough to sustain mining colonies. No habitation was
registered on their databases, however, so Phahlen was not unduly concerned.
He negotiated the meteor shower and sustained only negligible damage to their outer hull. As the peripheral ring of small planets appeared on his scanners he set a course correction to avoid encountering any gravitational pull.
“Calculate magnetic thrust parameters for a mass of nine point eight million molecules per square gram.” He barked the instruction over his shoulder, making no attempt to conceal his irritation at the lieutenant whose task it was to provide the data required.
“He is not back yet, Commander.” Renkl met Phahlen’s puzzled gaze. “Maybe he is space-sick or something. I will do the calculations, then I will go look for him, sir.”
“Or something,” Phahlen muttered, but he nodded his agreement and returned his attention to the scanners.
The archipelago was complex, and the low density of the planetoids meant that their orbits varied over time so it was impossible to plot a reliable course ahead of the journey. This was a job for a good old-fashioned pilot, one of the reasons Phahlen was at the helm. He rarely got to do this work anymore, and he tended to forget how much he loved flying. Between them, he and Renkl steered, corrected, recalculated, and managed to negotiate a safe course through the sea of hurtling orbs. As they neared the centre of the belt the worlds were bigger, their orbits more settled so the task was less arduous. Even so, both pilots were fully engaged, intent on interpreting the data streaming back from their scanners and taking any evasive action needed.
The ship rocked violently, hurling Renkl from his seat. The corporal landed in a heap beside his commander as Phahlen grappled with the controls to regain mastery of the vessel.
“What was that? What the fu—” Renkl stopped himself. “Sorry, sir. Did we hit one?”
Phahlen scrutinised his monitors. The closest planetoid was at least twelve par-secs from their position. “Negative, Corporal. Are you injured?”
“No, sir,” confirmed the young officer as he scrambled back toward his station.
“What about you, Alahn?”
It was Renkl who answered. “Still not back, sir.”
“Shit! What the fuck is he doing back there?” There was no time to go and seek out the missing crewman right now but the man would have some serious questions to answer back on the Empyrean. If he wasn’t mission-fit, he should have said so and another officer would have been assigned. As it was, Alahn was a waste of space and a liability.
Phahlen scanned his monitor and initiated a diagnostic pulse. As the wave spread outwards from their position he watched the screen carefully for any disruption which would indicate the presence of another craft. There was nothing, then—
“Evasive manoeuvre, three degrees left.”
Phahlen barked out the command and Renkl performed the turn from his station. “Sir…?”
“We’re under attack. Some bastard out there is firing on us. And again, seven point three degrees left this time.”
Between them Phahlen and Renkl executed a series of precise course corrections, evading the missiles that hurtled at them from several directions. The missing lieutenant scrambled from the back of the ship to retake his seat. Phahlen noted the idiot man still had his helmet on, but was too preoccupied to say anything about that now.
“Scanners engage. Alahn, assist me in pinpointing incoming and plot evasive action. Renkl, you have the helm.”
“Aye, sir,” confirmed the corporal.
The lieutenant, too, seemed to be doing his bit. “About fucking time,” muttered Phahlen.
Another massive vibration shook the ship. It listed violently.
“We’re hit, sir. I am unable to re-establish equilibrium.” The corporal was starting to panic.
“Must have taken out the ballast on our right hull. Compensating.” Phahlen kept his tone deliberately calm as the craft righted. The results of his efforts were short-lived as another missile connected with their ship, this time sending it spinning from its course. It took the combined efforts of Phahlen and Renkl to regain control.
“Velocity down by seven percent, and dropping. Twenty percent, thirty, forty…” Renkl reported the damning stats.
“Emergency landing. Lieutenant, which is the closest planetoid with an atmosphere capable of supporting Vahlean life?”
Phahlen had half-expected to have to check the data himself, but Alahn replied quickly. “Number three zero seven nine, sir. Thirteen point six degrees right of us, approximately twenty par-secs from our current position.”
“Renkl, set a course and squeeze what remaining velocity you can out of the engines. Prepare for crash landing.” Phahlen pulled his helmet back on and glanced over his shoulder to check that Renkl had done the same. Alahn didn’t need to as he had never taken his off.
“Sir, I am reading life signs from the hostile craft.” This from Alahn.
“Go on, Lieutenant.”
“There are two ships out there, and… they are Galeian. It is Feelan, sir.”
Shit. What are the fucking Galeians doing all the way out here?
Phahlen didn’t even have chance to articulate that final thought before the ship took another hit. Their failing engines cut out completely and the flight deck filled with smoke.
I should have neutralised that fucking lizard when I had the chance.
It was Phahlen’s final conscious thought before his world went dark.
* * *
His head hurt. No… correction, he hurt everywhere.
Phahlen groaned and tried to shift position. Agony shot the length of his left leg. He let out a yell.
“Keep still. I’ll apply pain relief.” The voice was soft and familiar, proof he was delirious. Phahlen lay still, his breath rasping as the medipen was applied to his upper arm. Seconds later the searing pain in his leg dissolved to be replaced by a dull ache. It was manageable, just.
He tried to open his eyes, but failed. Cool hands wiped the perspiration from his brow. He was hot, sweltering, his throat dry.
“Water…?” he growled.
Again that soft, calming voice, those gentle hands. Cool water dribbled across his lips and he opened his mouth. The liquid trickled down his parched throat as he swallowed greedily.
“More?”
He managed a nod; his throat was too sore to speak. The water rippled across his tongue, cool, delicious, restorative. He swallowed several more mouthfuls before sinking back against his pillow.
Pillow? What the fuck was he doing lounging around on a pillow when his ship was under attack? Phahlen jerked back to full consciousness as the recollections crystallised. They had been hit by a Galeian missile, attempting a crash landing on some inhospitable lump of rock. Where was his crew, his ship?
He opened his eyes and tried to sit up. The first was simple enough to achieve, the second impossible. His large motor functions from his neck down were unresponsive. He couldn’t move. Neither could he see properly because the vision coming into focus before his eyes was frankly impossible. He must be hallucinating. There was no way Caria could be here.
“Don’t worry, the paralysis is temporary, drug induced to help you heal. Your left leg is fractured in three places and you have several cracked ribs. Your shoulder was dislocated but I’ve fixed that.”
The apparition looked like Caria, and it sounded like her too. But it couldn’t possibly be. The vision was speaking to him, though her words made no sense. He blinked, squinting at her. The image was steady now, in focus, and not going away.
“Caria…?” he ventured.
“Yes, it is me.” She stepped forward to stand closer to him and now he could see that she wore a spacesuit just like his own, though his was now gone and he was covered in nothing but a thin sheet. Even so, he was hot, much too hot.
“How did you get here? The Empyrean…?”
She shook her head quickly. “It’s just us, Commander. You and me.”
“What about Alahn? And Renkl? Are they—”
“Lieu
tenant Alahn is safe, still on board the Empyrean. I’m afraid Corporal Renkl didn’t survive the impact. He’s dead, Phahlen. I’m sorry.”
Phahlen took a moment to process her words. Then, “You are… sorry? Why? What does his death have to do with you? And how the fuck do you come to be here?”
She inhaled, then let the breath out slowly before meeting his gaze. “I… immobilised Lieutenant Alahn and stole his suit, then I came aboard in his place. I suppose you’d say I stowed away, Commander. And the corporal died because I couldn’t manage to save him. I did try, sir, I swear I did, but his injuries…” She tilted her chin up in a gesture he’d seen countless times as she blinked back tears. “His injuries were just too severe.”
Phahlen clenched his jaw. The corporal was young, his father’s sole offspring. He would send the report personally, make sure the older man knew his son died doing his duty and doing it well. But before he could do that…
“Sit down. I am straining my neck looking up at you. And I want to know exactly what happened from the moment I left you safe in my bedchamber on the Empyrean. I seem to recall you asked to see Morele…?”
Phahlen maintained a creditable silence as his little human related her account of her escape from his ship. He would never say as much, obviously, but he had to admire her initiative and ingenuity, not to mention her courage. Her medical training had come in useful, enabling her to use the analgepen to good effect. He had every reason to assume both Morele and the real Lieutenant Alahn would have no lasting ill effects.
“So you found yourself sitting at the science officer station. No wonder you failed to carry out my orders.”
She nodded. “I’m a life scientist, not an engineer. I could figure things out, probably, but not quickly enough to avoid suspicion. I’d intended to just hide somewhere on board, not impersonate a crew member. But when I saw how small the satellite craft was, I had to improvise.”
“And that’s why you never removed your helmet, so I wouldn’t recognise you.”
