by E. R. Torre
Her eyes drifted to the monitor on the side of the Medi-Cart. The Independent’s vitals were dangerously low. B’taav felt it. Ever since confronting Jonah Merrick on the Orbital Platform, he felt his body was shutting down. At this point, he was burning with fever and could barely move.
“How… how am I doing?”
“Not well,” Inquisitor Cer said. “I have no medication that works against the machines inside you. The only reason you’re still alive is because your immune system is somehow sapping the nano-probes’ energy cores. It’s like your body, your genetic makeup, was made to fight them.”
“How… how is that possible?”
“I don’t know,” Inquisitor Cer said. “I just…”
She stopped talking.
“What?” B’taav said.
Inquisitor Cer folded her hands.
“A long time ago I had a prisoner in my charge. He was a brute of a man who and was wanted for all manner of crimes. He was captured on some distant rock and imprisoned. I was tasked to bring him before the Council for judgment. When I got to him, he was a ghost of his former self, skeletal, sickly. Any food or liquid he took was vomited out within seconds. He was… he was wasting away. He claimed he was infected with nano-probes that somehow developed self-awareness. He said they were getting revenge against him for a crime he committed years before. I couldn’t tell if he lost his mind or was actually suffering from their presence.”
“What… what happened… to him?”
“He died,” Inquisitor Cer said. “We never found any nano-probes in his body.”
Inquisitor Cer shook her head.
“Unlike him, I see the nano-probes in your body. I see their movement. They’re aggressive. Really aggressive. Given the time we’ve been close together since Pomos, I was surely exposed to them as well. I checked and they’re in my system too. At least a small amount of them.”
B’taav’s eyes opened wide. He tried to sit up.
“Easy,” Inquisitor Cer said. “The nano-probes in me are weak and barely moving. They’re half dead from fighting your system. Still, if I was like anyone else, even these weaker nano-probes could have done some damage. They haven’t. I don’t feel anything. Not even a mild headache.”
Inquisitor Cer drew a sharp breath.
“My body is fighting them as well as yours, B’taav,” she said. “It’s almost as if we share this genetic trait.”
“We’re… we’re related?”
“Only by this anomaly,” Inquisitor Cer said. “The odds of us both having this identical anomaly defies all odds.”
“What does it mean?”
“I wish I knew,” Inquisitor Cer said. “We’ve got nano-probes covering, modifying, and repairing the Xendos. They’re similar, yet very different from the ones attacking your system.”
Inquisitor Cer gripped B’taav’s hand.
“Some nano-probes help us while others try to kill us,” Inquisitor Cer said. “It’s like we’re in the middle of a… a war. A war fought with machines the size of cities and capable of destroying entire solar systems… and machines so small they can only be seen through a microscope.”
B’taav coughed. There was blood in his mouth.
“I’ve… I’ve thought about you a lot since… since Erebus,” B’taav said. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. If this is my last… last chance I’ll… I’ll…”
Inquisitor Cer gently laid a finger over B’taav’s mouth. His dark eyes stared deep into Cer’s. The Inquisitor moved her hand until it touched his cheek.
“I missed you too,” she said.
She kept her hand there. B’taav tried to speak some more. He wanted to so very badly. But he was so very exhausted.
In the moment before he drifted into darkness, he thought he felt Inquisitor Cer’s lips upon his.
He didn’t know if it was real or a very pleasant dream.
39
Tears fell down her face and her breath came in short, sharp bursts.
B’taav’s black eyes stared up at the ceiling, past her, his mouth open. She desperately pressed buttons on the medi-cart.
The machinery screamed warnings.
Its patient was dying.
The seemingly small opening grew larger as the Xendos approached. The vessel’s docking bay door could easily allow simultaneous entry for fifty ships the size of the Xendos.
Inquisitor Cer didn’t notice.
“Come on, B’taav!” she yelled. “Wake up!”
For a moment his eyes looked at her, then away. His mouth moved.
“This looks… looks familiar,” he whispered.
Inquisitor Cer followed B’taav’s stare.
A light came on at the docking bay opening and formed a path that stretched deep inside. It stopped before a berth. Next to it was an ancient shuttle.
B’taav’s eyes lost their focus.
“We go in, we may never come out,” Inquisitor Cer said.
“It’s your… choice,” he said. “I… I have faith in you.”
“Leave it to an atheist to have faith in an Inquisitor,” Cer said.
Another burst of thrust and the ancient Phaecian craft glided past the outer doors and into the Argus prototype.
Inquisitor Cer moved away from the autopilot and back to B’taav’s side.
Once inside the docking bay, the outer doors closed. They were trapped.
B’taav coughed. Droplets of blood were at the corners of his mouth.
“Easy,” Cer said.
“What’s… what’s it like…?” B’taav asked.
“Empty.”
The berth was free of repair trucks, cranes, refueling stations, and shuttles. Where hundreds, perhaps thousands of officers in space suits would normally be busily attending to all these missing items, there were none. Stranger still, the hanger was remarkably clean. There were no nicks, oil stains, or skid marks along the floor or walls.
The Xendos approached the rear of the hanger and the end of the light trail. A tinsel glass sphere surrounding that docking bay retracted as the Xendos approached. The ship initiated its landing protocol.
Inquisitor Cer barely paid attention. She pressed her fingers against B’taav’s neck to feel for his pulse.
B’taav could barely make out the look on her face.
“Radio on,” Inquisitor Cer said. Her voice was cold steel. “Unknown vessel, this is the Xendos. We are landing in your docking bay with all weaponry disabled. We come in peace.”
Inquisitor Cer paused, hoping for a quick response.
None came. She looked to her right, at the shuttle craft the Xendos parked beside. It was a Class II Shuttle easily twice the size of the Xendos. She was an antique, used by the Phaecian Empire at least a hundred years before the Galactic War.
“Unknown vessel, we have a medical emergency,” she continued. “If you have any emergency personnel or facilities, we are in urgent need of care.”
“…Cer…” B’taav muttered.
“Don’t talk,” Inquisitor Cer said.
The Xendos touched down on the landing pad. Gravity hooks locked her down.
“Please respond,” Inquisitor Cer begged.
The tinsel glass slid back into place. Dust particles flew up and around the Xendos, whipping past the view screen as the ship was sealed in its landing pad. Atmosphere was pumped into the area.
“I repeat, we have a medical emergency,” Inquisitor Cer said. “We are in urgent need of assistance.”
The cockpit’s monitor indicated the temperature outside the Xendos was rising to a comfortable level while the air was breathable.
“Please respond!” Inquisitor Cer yelled.
The Medi-Cart’s computer panel displayed a new series of warnings. The device beeped loudly.
B’taav’s black eyes were on Inquisitor Cer. He tried to reach up, to comfort her, but his energy was spent. He saw the worry on her face and tried to tell her not to. Her hands were on his chest, pushing down, forcefully.
He was no longer breathing on his own. Inquisitor Cer’s face was over his. He felt her warm breath enter his lungs.
Then she was up again, pressing hard against his chest.
He wanted to say something.
The world around her darkened. After a few seconds, all B’taav could see was Inquisitor Cer.
Please don’t worry.
He took in her features and felt a warmth he hadn’t in the company of anyone before. He tried so very hard to reach up and touch her.
He could not move.
The machines B’taav was plugged into let out warning wails. The heart monitor flat-lined. Brain activity slowed until it was almost imperceptible.
“No,” Inquisitor Cer whispered. “Please…”
She worked on B’taav while computer voices coldly, mechanically announced the cessation of bodily functions.
Inquisitor Cer slammed her fist against B’taav’s chest.
“I haven’t come this far to lose you,” she said.
Inquisitor Cer yelled to the Gods for help while continuing her desperate work. She massaged his chest. She breathed into his mouth, she…
There.
The alarms blaring from the Medi-Cart control panel quieted.
A heartbeat!
Inquisitor Cer froze, the next second passing as if it were a year. Tears rolled down her face.
Another heartbeat.
Another.
Inquisitor Cer’s hand came to her mouth. She let out a relieved laugh.
B’taav was alive.
Barely.
The Medi-Cart issued a revised reading. B’taav’s body was stabilizing.
She detected another sound intruding on the others.
It was coming from the Xendos’ central controls.
Reluctantly, Inquisitor Cer approached the controls. A single light indicated an incoming message.
Inquisitor Cer wiped the tears from her face and pressed the button below the light.
“This is the Xendos,” she said.
She looked up and past the ship’s front window. A large door at the end of the landing pad led into the vessel itself. A shadowy figure stood there. In his hand was a communicator.
“Welcome to my ship,” he said.
The shadowy figure lowered his communicator and raised his arm.
He waved.
40
There were flashes of light and nightmarish visions.
B’taav saw alien worlds surrounded by equally alien starships. The scene shifted and he witnessed fearsome machines with jagged serrated edges stripping and transporting the entire surface of a planet into the sky. He saw a moon devastated by fusion torpedoes. He marveled and feared the visions of geniuses… and madmen.
The visions were abruptly gone and he felt peace.
There will be sacrifice.
He knew it. He accepted it.
Lights flashed in a pinwheel and colors merged.
His eyes flickered open.
He didn’t know where he was nor what happened before his arrival.
My arrival… where?
His memories were like those lights. Mysterious, dizzying.
Slowly, too slowly, he remembered. Onia and the burial of Captain Nathaniel Torin. His return to Onia’s capital. Latitia and those who tried to do them harm. The trip to Pomos and the mysterious wonders found there. He remembered…
His breath caught in his throat.
Cer.
B’taav closed his eyes tight. The muscles in his body compressed. Painfully.
“Where are you?” he said aloud.
There was no answer.
B’taav tested his strength. He didn’t have enough to get up. That angered him.
He had another, belated thought.
You’re still alive.
Despite the exhaustion, he laughed.
A sharp pain in his chest and sides ended that. He coughed and gasped.
Easy. You’re still alive. How about keeping it that way?
B’taav relaxed.
All right. Open your eyes.
B’taav did so. A painfully bright white light came through. He closed his eyes.
After a while, he tried again.
Better.
He stared up at a gray, metallic ceiling, then around.
There wasn’t much to the room. It was an empty rectangular cubicle. The Independent was on a cushion. No, a mattress.
Normal people call these things a bed, dummy.
B’taav rolled to his side and grunted. He sat up. The room’s walls were painted a military gray. There were no marks on them. The floor and the ceiling were a darker gray. The bed was designed for one. At its foot and side were computer panels displaying medical information.
Medi-Scanner. Very old model.
On it was a complete read out of the Independent’s status. All indications suggested B’taav was healthy.
That’s an improvement.
B’taav allowed his feet to dangle over the edge of the bed. The Medi-Scanner sensed his departure and let out a final beep before shutting down. There were no alarms.
The machine knew I was ready to go.
B’taav thought about that.
Go where?
The Independent was no longer on the Xendos. Unless Inquisitor Cer found yet another ship to dock into, this room was likely somewhere inside the Argus prototype.
Where are you, Inquisitor? Why aren’t you here?
On a chair at the opposite end of the bed was a set of folded clothing. It was B’taav’s dark leather jumpsuit, cleaned and freshly pressed. He slid off the bed and dressed.
There was only one door in the room and B’taav stepped up to it. He did so carefully, checking to see if there were security monitors. For all he knew, Inquisitor Cer and he were prisoners.
B’taav ran his hand across the door’s edge. He found nothing.
Satisfied, B’taav stood before the door. It slid open automatically and revealed a very long corridor. B’taav looked both ways. A series of doorways spread out evenly on either side. Like his room, the corridor was gray and bereft of any identification markings or wear. The doors within the corridor, likewise, sported no numbers.
B’taav recognized the corridor’s general design. He saw something very similar —no, identical— on the Argus.
If this ship is the same on the inside as it was on the outside…
B’taav knew where the elevators were. He could take them to the ship’s central computer room or cockpit. He turned right and walked on.
After a half-dozen steps, he leaned against the wall. He grunted.
Come on, old man.
B’taav gathered his strength. This corridor would eventually lead to an elevator. Somewhere beyond it was the hydroponics level and beyond that the central computer system.
If he wanted to learn this ship’s secrets, he had to go there.
B’taav reached the closest of the elevators, stopping twice to rest along the way. Beside the elevator doors were a set of stairs. On the Argus, B’taav was forced to use them to get to the central computer systems.
Hope the elevators are working, he thought. I’m in no shape to climb stairs.
The elevator doors opened as he approached.
“Destination?” a computer voice inquired.
“Let’s start at the top,” he said. “Take me to the highest floor.”
The elevator doors silently closed and the device ascended.
Bright lights poured in from behind the Independent. He turned and was stunned by what he saw.
The elevator traveled along the outside of the spacecraft, giving B’taav a clear view of the ship’s side. It stretched out for miles, eventually disappearing into the distance. As enormous as it was, the ship was nothing compared to the gas giant it orbited. Swirls of red and orange clouds –hurricanes the size of planets– spun fast enough on the surface for his naked eyes to see.
Amazing.
Even more incredible was the fact that the planet l
ooked so familiar. B’taav tried to recall where he had seen it before. He couldn’t.
So entranced was the Independent by this view that he only belatedly realized the elevator reached its stop. He spun around, expecting the doors to open. They did not.
“Elevator, open doors,” he said.
The elevator doors remained closed.
A chill passed through him. The doors were designed to seal tight. It was impossible to pry them open with his hands. He searched for an emergency button. He found none.
B’taav reached for the doors.
You can’t open them.
He tried. His muscles screamed from the effort.
“Take it easy,” a male voice spoke over the elevator’s speakers.
B’taav stepped back and looked up. A security camera stared down at him.
“I’m glad to see you’re on your feet,” the voice continued. “Please join me.”
“Who are you?” B’taav asked. “Where are you?”
“Look straight down and to your left,” the voice said.
B’taav approached the rear of the elevator and did as told. He was almost directly over what on the Argus was the tinsel glass encased hydroponics level. On this ship, however, the tinsel glass surrounded a great body of water and, incredibly, what appeared to be a sandy shoreline.
“A beach?!” he said.
B’taav pressed his face against the elevator’s wall.
Someone was standing on the sandy shore and next to a chair. He stared up at the Independent.
The elevator descended, returning to the bowels of the starship. It made several course changes, at times moving vertically and horizontally before coming to a full stop. The elevator doors opened.
Before the Independent was a rustic wooden platform overlooking the artificial beach. There were old fashioned vending stands on either side advertising refreshments, foods, and towels. B’taav walked to the end of the platform. A large wooden stair led down two floors to the beach itself. The water sparkled dark blue and the sand was pure white.
Sitting on a beach chair was an elderly man. Next to him was another, empty, beach chair.
The elderly man waved to the Independent and said:
“Come join me, B’taav.”
