OF CRIMSON INDIGO: TALES OF THE MASTER-BUILDERS

by Grant Fausey

  Crusty and Maxie were very old living machines, and Travis couldn't help but laugh at them. Sure, they had powered up the ship, re-tuning the engines from top to bottom, but they were having real trouble reconciling their differences, especially with the ship it self.

  "Where did you get these guys?" chuckled Travis, laughing

  Kristic smiled. "They're leftovers from an old friend," said the ancient warrior, "... you."

  "Me!" snapped Travis. "Why me?"

  "It was a long time ago ... a longer story, before you were born, Travis."

  "Like I said ... it's a long story."

  "We've got time!"

  "The cargo is overrated," screamed Crusty, interrupting their conversation as his fist bounced off the top of Maxie's head. Kristic was stunned. He didn't remember living machines that fought with each other as much as these two did. He laughed at them and shook his head, deciding he'd better pull them apart.

  Crusty ran after Maxie, yelling at the top of his lungs. "No it's not..." he shouted, "... and it's not legal in most of the Empire either! Besides, who cares what the Industries think?"

  Tipon slapped his hand over Crusty's mouth.

  "The Industries?" he asked. Maxie grabbed a hold of his arm and yanked it down hard. "Have some respect! We're trying to have an argument here! And if you don't mind..."

  Crusty pushed Tipon out of the way. "If Jerolda Manchi and Tee where here..."

  "What?"

  "They'd never stand for you...."

  "Jerolda Manchi and Tee," screamed Tipon. "If Jerolda Manchi and Tee where here I'd kill myself. How can you compare yourselves to them?"

  "Well," snapped Crusty. "In our day and age, they where legends. Heroes! And if you don't mind your manners, you're going to wish you had never heard of them."

  Tipon huffed, putting his hands on his narrow hips. "And what is that suppose to mean?" he asked with fire in his eyes, ready for a good fist–fight!

  Maxie stood up, pulling up the shirtsleeves under his overalls. "I'll show you what it's suppose to mean––you."

  "Will you guys take it outside," screamed Kristic. "I'm trying to have a conversation over here. That's if you don't mind."

  "OUTSIDE," yelled Crusty, forgetting whom he was screaming at.

  "Do you have any idea of how stupid a comment that was?" He stopped and paused; his lower lip curled up over the edge of his upper one as he leaned his head in the direction of Kristic. His eyes widened as big as saucers; his mouth dropped opened wide enough to hit the floor. "Oops!" he said realizing the mistake he had made.

  Kristic sat up opposite Travis and said, "Oops! I think you've oops enough. Now shut up, before I have you both outside scrubbing down the hall."

  Crusty cringed, making an awful face at the others. His memories of scrubbing down the hall made him sick to his stomach. All that space dust and detergent. What a mess! Furthermore, where was he supposed to get water to rinse off the ship? It was a stupid statement, but one he couldn't rebuttal. He squabbled with himself for a moment then waddled off toward the front of the ship. Relix just grinned. It wasn’t him this time.

  "Damn counterparts!" he mumbled. "All they are is trouble. Don't know why I keep them around." Travis laughed, but he was feeling lost on the inside. There was a lot going on in his head, especially the loss of his family.

  "Are you okay, kid?" Kristic asked concerned about his student's mental health. He knew it had to be pretty shitty. It wasn't hard to see he was feeling pretty low.

  "Not really," answered Travis. "I guess I'm just feeling a little pain. There hasn't been much time to feel anything."

  Kristic nodded. Travis was helpless.

  "They're really gone, you know? I mean––" he paused. "I don't really understand; there deaths were so meaningless."

  "The sorrow's okay, Travis," Kristic maintained. "Just take it as you can. The death of a loved one is always tragic, but you have to feel the feelings inside of you, or it'll get the best of you."

  "Yeah," said Travis, pulling a blanket around his shoulders. "I know what you mean!"

  "Remember it was a long time ago, Kid: A lifetime ago.” Kristic patted him on the shoulder, and said, “It'll take a long time to get there, but you'll make it back to the beginning, sometime. You'll find out." Travis looked at Kristic with saddened eyes. "I know how you feel, Kid," continued Kristic swallowing hard. "I saw my father die too and it wasn't a pretty sight, either. Never is. But need is better than nothing. Just hold on to it and daydream for a while."

  A dim light radiated from the medallion. "Tender moments from his childhood," whispered Kristic. A feeling of serenity filled Travis, slipping its way into his life. There were reunions still to come.

  ––– 37 –––

  OF TIME SHIPS AND CHILDREN

  Tipon entered the forward lounge, leaving the others to work out their differences like a mother hen looking after her chicks; he just wanted to be noticed. The time he had spent in space was enough to fill a twenty-volume set of wordy stories, but like Travis, he too didn't feel needed. He was too old to do his job anymore, but he didn't want to worry Kristic with such trivial details. There was always the chance he'd make it through the journey, he just didn't want to be replaced.

  The future didn't look very bright in his eyes; his timing was off. It felt better to stare than to try and find some astronomical answer looking deeper into the heavens. There were no answers on this trip. Tipon could feel the danger; every star was filled with warnings. It was going to be a one-way trip. He wanted to cry, but knew there wouldn't be enough time for the tears to dry. He checked the instruments. The Beamrider was on course ... he had made sure of it. The station at OR-567-L was less than a days travel away at high speed and with the engines finely tuned, the trek seemed feasible. Streaking across the darkness toward the brilliant stars became a favorite pastime for the timid living machine, but this time his journey was coming to an end. The last little flicker of existence was about be drained from his eyes. He muttered his last words to himself in a simple poem.

  "I'm out of time," he said and closed his eyes and died.

  The starship Destiny emerged from hyperspace, decelerating along a long curve near the great barrier of Nexus. It's long, bulky shape resembled a bulldog on parade, complete with four large feet that arched away from the main frame, turning downward in a curved shape that resembled legs. The forward end was mounted upward, suspended above a circular landing pad that remained generously open on the front of the ship like a dog's mouth with landing lights for teeth. The starship's bridge was right above it, crew visible through the large windows, working diligently, preparing the ship for reconnaissance operations.

  "Reversion complete, Commander," announced the navigator. "All systems nominal. We're clear of the gate and should be ready for maneuvering in a couple of minutes."

  "Very good, Mr. Stacy. Give us a look around."

  "Long range scan already in progress, Commander. All scopes show us clear."

  "You're just to damn proficient, Mr. Stacy. Lay in a course to the station and launch when ready."

  "Bridge ... long range," announced another voice over the

  "Go ahead," commanded Stacy.

  "Single craft off the starboard beam––Beamrider class. Very old signature, Sir."

  "Launch a fighter escort, Mr. Stacy. Have the craft brought aboard," snapped Tiana Steppon.

  "Aye, Captain..."

  A pair of single seat fighters leaped away from the side of the Destiny, emerging from its forward launch slot. Tiana watched from the bridge window. As always, launch slot activities were a magnificent sight. She loved watching take off and recovery, it reminded her of her time as a fighter pilot. She was good at what she did, especially in space-to-space combat.

  Oh, the studies, she thought, More than a year at the academy.

  "Reconnaissance group ready, Commander," said Mr. Stacy.

  "Proceed."

  "Aye, Aye––" answered Mr. Stacy giving
Tiana a wink.

  Six fighters rocketed away from the Destiny, climbing high into the eternal night sky. Tiana watched as their exhaust disappeared beyond the horizon. She smiled, content with her days activities. She walked away from the windows of her bridge as Travis watched the approach of twin fighters from the forward windows of the Beamrider.

  The starship on approach was enormous, nearly a kilometer long with four powerful engines between its legs. The course circled the beast, allowing them to enter the starship through one of the rear docking bays. The Beamrider was nothing more than a mere speck in the sky next to the giant star carrier. Travis had heard of such vessels when he was a youngster on Trithen, but he never dreamed he would get the chance to see one, up close and personal. Yet, to his dismay, he was, and from the inside out. The Beamrider was about to be brought aboard a wondrous machine. He was excited. This was the chance of a lifetime. He smiled at Kristic, patting Shroom on the head, and leaned into the windows for a good view of the ship as they entered the docking bay.

  The sound of rushing air greeted him at the hatchway. Kristic had lowered the down ramp behind him. There wasn't a greeting party at the bottom. Kristic wondered if it was an afterthought. He wanted to just turn tail and run. However, caught in the spider's web like a fly, there was no turning back. "Something big must be going on for them to pluck us out of the stars like that, Kid."

  "Something big indeed," repeated Travis taking Shroom by the hand. "This place is enormous." His voice echoed in the hanger. "I wonder what they're up to?"

  "Something tells me we're going to find out."

  "Yeah, I think you're right."

  The loudspeaker sang out: "Attention all personnel. Recon group two stand by: Primary force now maneuvering along the edge of the Nexus barrier –– Station arrival imminent –– RED ALERT!"

  Travis sounded off, but couldn't say a word.

  • • •

  A wrinkly alien with high cheekbones and slotted, vertical lips adjusted his seat belt as the recon vehicle altered its configuration. "Switch to C-R-C," said Targ. "Locked in and standing by." Comru, a small, jittery robot with a disk–shaped head turned around, looking back across his shoulder while shaking his wobbly hands, complying with the order. "Rotate and simplify," continued Targ. "Tracking on line, Comru."

  The Communications Remote Unit, a COMRU 626, sat in front of Targ just below his field of view. His head spinning around like a radar dish, staying tucked nicely in between Targ's legs.

  "Transformation complete," said the robot, adjusting his hold on ship's controls. The cockpit locked into its new configuration. The sounds of machinery clicking into place echoed through the cockpit and Comru seemed more than a bit nervous. The thought of being stranded in space because of a failure really was doing a number on him.

  "CRC on line," repeated Targ.

  "Coming up now, Commander," said the machine. "Recon group reports ready. Secondary wave launched. I'm picking up several blips, Targ. Switching to identification mode."

  "Fighters," said Targ. "About thirty of them. Wait a minute…"

  "I've a whale coming on line," announced Comru. "I'm getting the signature codes ... it's the Omar! She's launching fighters!"

  "That's not according to the battle plan. Contact the Destiny and report the situation."

  "We have the image now, Targ," said Tiana addressing the holographic display as his picture appeared in the center of the bridge. Comru's transmission materialized over the projection, giving a tactical information display in electronic scans that covered the surface of the projection.

  Senator Creed stepped around the image.

  "Combat mode, Mr. Stacy," commanded Tiana Steppon. "Launch the ready alert and assault vehicles."

  "Aye, Captain," answered Mr. Stacy exercising the appropriate go codes to the fighters by depressing the appropriate buttons. Hundreds of individual war planes rocketed away, leaping into the heavens as they left the Destiny's launch slot. The sky churned with engine exhaust. Fighters, large delta-wing bombers, and smaller troop carrying assault vehicles hurtled away from the rear fighter bays.

  "Combat mode, Commander," confirmed Mr. Stacy. "All stations manned and ready."

  "All right, Mr. Stacy," acknowledged the acting captain. "Take us in."

  ––– 38 –––

  MARKING TIME

  Aboard the Station, Alexander hit the floor in the center of a turntable. He looked up, seeing the darkened shape of a man hovering over him. His pride was hurt more than he was willing to admit, but his head did ache nonetheless. The most his eyes could see was fuzz. A glare kept them from focusing on the locations his captors had delivered him to. But regardless of his condition, he knew from the blurry shape that it was Trithen Kellnar who walked before him, passing him on a course to the small time vehicle in front of him. Kellnar stepped off the ramp and onto the rotation platform, entering the shuttle parameter.

  "So," he said, "They called you a trader to both me and the human race. How blind they are..." Kellnar looked down his nose at Alexander. "To think I would allow such a feeling of resentment to be a force used against me is insane. Even you must have thought of that."

  "Yeah," answered Alexander, swinging his arms wildly. "Now, even you will remember."

  "Remember what?" Alexander coughed. "That I hate you, brother, or that I loved you enough to want to help you escape?"

  "Escape my destiny, you fool?" Kellnar cringed. "I too am a living machine, Alex. Manufactured and cast out from your precious, Trithen."

  "You're nothing more than a puppet––" snapped Alexander. "But you can't see that. You're the same as the rest ... just like they're the same as you."

  "Your mind is so feeble, Alex. I'm not threatening you––that wouldn't help any of you remember."

  Kellnar reached down and grabbed him by the shirt collar, lifting him up in order to see his face. "I want you to remember how she died. You see, brother, I've reversed her birth process. She's nearly dead already... now I'm going to do the same for you."

  Kellnar laughed hysterically and stepped away, letting go of Alexander. Alex screamed for mercy, but it didn't matter. He didn't care. His mind was made up––this was what he wanted more than anything: The power to rule the universe, unconditionally. His mind was corrupt, tainted with the greed for power that consumed him, but there was nothing Alexander could do about it. His legs wouldn't move; he was paralyzed from the waist down. The floor moved like a spindle journeying to the end of the recoding. Where would that get him, he wondered. Nowhere, he thought.

  Kellnar pressed on the time ship's hatch and disappeared through the entrance. Alexander tried to see Gem's face, knowing somehow that she was peering out of the ship's windows, helplessly. The door swished shut beside her and Alexander suddenly felt the terrifying low hum of the time core as it activated. Alarms began to sound and lights flashed warnings. The time machinery was activated. The complex was beginning to function, moving the craft into position for departure into the Nexusphere itself.

  The turntable lifted the craft, supporting it as it lifted off, hovering in the center of the chamber on a cushion of moving distortion waves. Beneath it, the time stream accelerator lowered into position, generating ripples within the large waves that surround the ship. Alexander felt like he was in a rising river. A flux of energy surrounded the ship. The accelerator locked into position; each wave shaping a ring around which could race the stream of energy being drained off of the Netherlands Nexus. The energy engulfed the ship at a quickening pace, being thrust away in a fury of excitement.

  Alexander was instantly pinned to the floor by the waves. He couldn't move so much as a finger. Trapped in time, he watched the image of the ship as it gradually became fainter and fainter, signifying the departure. The time machine was speeding off into oblivion and all Alexander could think of was his beloved Gem. Who would save her from regressing beyond her childhood until she reached the moment of her birth? Who would stop her from going beyond th
e threshold of life it self. It would mean her physical death and her relentless rebirth into the Source. She was helpless, and he was helpless to save her.

  Fear for his life became an entirely different matter. He could feel the rumble of engines on the floor. Something enormous was descending on the station from outside the dome. The entire place was shaking, as if it was the epicenter of an earthquake. But that was impossible; Alexander couldn't believe what was happening. The distortion waves that dredged deep into the infinite universe were not a part of his world, his universe. They were his universes.

  A wall above Alexander exploded inward without warning, sending hunks of the structure into the dome. The chamber hissed from escaping air, while intense beams of energy cut through the wall, collapsing a sizable portion of the roof onto the floor. Assault teams, dressed in armored spacesuits poured through the opening into the Time Step Core. The station was under assault. The Destiny was descending right into the time core itself, smashing through the dome into the interior of the matter stream drained off of the Netherlands Nexus.

  Alexander gasped for air, the wind sucking from his lungs what little air was left to breath! The atmosphere screamed until it was thinner, rushed from the structure in a way that pulled everything with it that wasn't fastened to the walls.

  On the other side of the dome, the Omar opened fire on the Destiny with a broadside of laser fire that severed the aft leg from the main frame of the ship's superstructure. A salvo of explosions bursts of wild energy struck out at the station, punching holes into the dome with a fevered force. Other blasts struck directly into the heart of the star carrier.