Stars & Empire: 10 Galactic Tales

by Jay Allan

  Frowning, he grabbed the charging handle of his rifle and cycled the action with the ejection port facing up. The cartridge flipped up and out of the rifle as it should, but seemed to take too long to hit the deck, and it flew further than he would have expected as well. What the hell is happening? He hopped lightly on the balls of his feet and he felt different, lighter. He again looked at the bizarre, alien language scrolling on the display to his right. His mind shied away from an obvious, yet absurd conclusion.

  He moved toward the second hatch, pausing to retrieve the ejected round and slip it into his pocket, and was relieved/horrified to find that the hatch automatically cycled to allow him further entry. An airlock? He gripped his rifle and moved forward with a determined scowl on his face. He desperately wanted off this ship (the word had automatically begun to replace “aircraft” in his mind) and get back to his cabin without being seen. He had the distinct feeling that no matter how noble his intentions were, his intrusion would likely be a punishable offense.

  As he traversed further into the ship’s interior, he noticed the unmistakable smell of burning avionics. He had been first on the scene at enough crashes to have the unique smell of burning wire, circuit boards, and composites permanently etched into his brain. The widening passageway he was in had a definite haze in the air that was visible in the low-level lighting that looked to be some type of emergency lighting rather than a primary light source. Jason pressed on, wondering when he would run into the first crew member of this ship. He was still clinging desperately to the belief that this was a heretofore unknown craft built in secret by a foreign nation that had happened to crash land in his backyard. But the evidence was mounting that this may not be the case; the technology evident here seemed far beyond anything he had ever heard of, and then there was the written language scattered throughout the interior. Maybe all that Area 51 bullshit was no joke.

  As the corridor ended, Jason could see the interior was laid out around a large, open center area that looked to have some common spaces and what appeared to be computer terminals along the left side. The right side was dominated by what had to be the galley, judging by the high-top metal table and sterile looking counters. There were additional hatches interspersed along the bulkheads, and the center aisle he was standing in continued all the way forward to a wide staircase that led up into another darkened corridor from which emanated a dim, red glow. After affirming that the large main area he was standing in was empty, Jason strode quickly for the stairs ahead of him. He was operating under the assumption that whoever built this thing also put the flight deck at the front. As he passed a lounge area, he noted that the furniture looked like standard, Earthling furniture. That was somewhat comforting, but did little to stave off Jason’s rising anxiety.

  Jason walked up the stairs with purpose, actually shouldering his weapon and making sure he was ready for anything, safety off. While he had no hostile intentions, he also had no desire to walk flat-footed and helpless into a bad situation. The corridor at the top of the stairs wasn’t especially long or wide, but at the end he could make out the telltale sign of indicator lights and heard a soft muttering that he couldn’t make out, punctuated by what he assumed were beeps from the instruments. He stalked forward on silent feet, ready for anything. He noted three rooms off the corridor, two to the left and one to the right, but they were unoccupied. That was as far as his investigation went; his goal was just in sight and he wouldn’t be deterred by poking around in empty rooms.

  Flattening himself against the bulkhead at the threshold of the flight deck, Jason took a quick, cleansing breath and let it back out silently. In one fluid motion he rolled around the edge and brought his weapon to bear. The flight deck was enormous and was dominated by an incredible wrap-around canopy that blended with the contours of the ship. He noticed it was divided into four main sections. The view outside, however, riveted Jason where he stood and sent his panic reflex into overdrive. Right outside, in all her glory, was the unmistakable sight of Saturn, up close and personal.

  “Oh shit!”

  That was all he got out before he noticed movement to his right. He whipped his head around and was face to face with … Is that a fucking robot!? The … thing … looked at him with an equally surprised expression. Its face looked like some sort of dull, burnished metal that flexed like skin and the eyes were surprisingly organic-looking. That was as far as he got. The “robot” assumed an exasperated expression (What the hell?!) and spoke to the ceiling in an unknown language: the disdain in its voice was unmistakable. There was a bright flash and a burst of pain that felt like a taser strike all over his body. Darkness once again washed over him. He wondered what the incredibly loud CRACK! was just before his face impacted the deck.

  CHAPTER 3

  Ah damn, what the hell happened? I feel like a truck ran me over.

  Jason pried one eye open against the pain he felt everywhere. More pain. A bright, intense white light pierced through the cracked eyelid and rode the optic nerve straight to the pain center in his brain. He quickly slammed the eye shut but now noticed the bright red glow as the overhead light shone through the skin of his lids. Still a trained warrior before anything else, he began to take stock of his injuries and situation before wasting time wondering where, exactly, he was. As best he could tell, the pain was generalized and intense, but not the result of a specific injury. He just hurt like hell everywhere. He could tell he was lying on his back on a fairly comfortable surface and that he was restrained. This last fact alarmed him greatly, although he did remember that he had stormed the flight deck, uninvited, brandishing a weapon. At this last thought his eyes popped open. Saturn. The robot. The written script throughout the ship.

  “I’m on an alien spaceship,” he said aloud to nobody, or so he thought.

  “Actually, you’re the alien in this case, and you’re on my ship.” Jason’s heart nearly stopped at the voice. He craned his head to the left and down and saw the robot standing at the foot of the platform he was strapped to. He was able to take in more detail of the strange machine than he had been able to when first confronted by it. The face, made of that exotic, flexible metal, was oddly human-like, but without ears or a nose.

  “What?!” It was the best he could do as his brain struggled to keep up. Of all the questions he could have asked a being from another world, there was only one thing that he could think of. “How are you speaking English?” The robot’s face morphed into an expression of incredulity, complete with a cocked brow. He was once again stunned at how familiar the gestures and expressions were.

  “You’re strapped to an infirmary bed on a ship from another world while, presumably, being the first of your kind to lay eyes on the planet we’re currently orbiting. That was the question that was most on your mind? Truly?” The sarcasm that laced the voice told Jason he was not dealing with a simple automaton. The pain in his head increased as he simply couldn’t keep his panic reflex under control. His heart rate began to climb quickly. Being restrained and, apparently, abducted was simply too much for his brain to process, so it didn’t bother trying and he promptly fainted. The robot walked over to peer down at Jason. Looking at one of the displays on the wall, it shrugged and walked back out of the infirmary.

  The second time Jason awoke strapped to the same infirmary bed he felt much better, albeit still quite confused. He had no recollection of time, but it seemed like it must have been at least twelve hours since he had first boarded the ship. The sensation distressed him greatly. Years of military training and experience had honed his internal chronometer to such a degree of accuracy that he never needed an alarm clock anymore; he simply decided when he should wake up and he would. Well, give or take a quarter of an hour. He concentrated on the passage of time. It distracted his mind from the reality of the situation, something he really didn’t want to deal with just yet. Instead, he once again began to take a mental inventory of his body by systematically flexing muscle groups. He frowned. Maybe he’d been out f
ar longer than he thought. He couldn’t detect so much as a strained muscle. In fact, he felt better than he had in years. When he finally moved it was to lift his head and look down at his body. As soon as he did he heard a beep beep and the restraints released and retracted into the base of the bed he was laying on. Interesting.

  He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Sitting there, he took in the room he found himself in. While intellectually he knew he must be aboard an alien spacecraft after seeing Saturn right outside and talking to what he assumed to be a robot, part of him still refused to deal with the enormity of it all. His trained operator’s mind still insisted on thinking tactically rather than existentially.

  There!

  On a counter to his right was the intimately familiar buttstock of his AR-15. Maybe they don’t know what it is? They. Even though he hadn’t seen another animated soul other than the tin man on the flight deck, he had to assume that there was something … else … on board this ship. He stood slowly, half expecting an alarm to sound or a restraint to latch onto him. As soon as he stood his heart dropped. The rifle had been field stripped and its guts lay neatly organized across the metallic surface. The AR’s parts were not alone. The rest of his possessions were also laid out in a similar fashion; his wallet, for example, had its contents in rows beside it.

  Displaying the same single-mindedness that had landed him in his current debacle, he strode over and began reassembling the weapon. Less than a minute later he was cycling the action to verify everything was back where it should be. When he grabbed the magazine he stopped; it weighed only a few ounces in his hand: empty. The aliens weren’t as ignorant as he’d hoped. Remembering something, he thrust his hand into the front pocket of his pants. No luck. They’d grabbed the loose round he had stuck in there as well. Even though it was now little more than a fancy-looking club, he just couldn’t leave the firearm behind. Sighing, he put the assembled weapon down and began collecting the rest of his stuff.

  The flashlight had been left unmolested and after a quick check to ensure it was functional, he stuffed it into his pocket. He started putting everything back into his wallet when he paused at a worn photograph. Picking it up reverently, he gazed at the beautiful blond woman smiling back at him. She was wearing cutoff jean shorts and a black t-shirt, and was leaning over the open door of an older red Camaro, her eyes sparkling. He flipped it over and read the name written on the back, complete with a little heart drawn after it. He turned it over again and looked at the photo for a moment longer. Setting his jaw, he slipped the photo into the back of his wallet and ignored the hollow ache in his chest.

  He walked towards the glass doors that looked much like the doors you would see leading into a supermarket on Earth. Like their Earthling counterpart, the doors slid apart with an electric whine and he stepped through to find himself in the large common area he had traversed earlier on his way to the flight deck. Is it a flight deck, or a bridge? Eh, who gives a shit. Looking left, he saw the stairs that led up to the flight deck and walked towards them without hesitation. He deduced that if whoever owned this ship wanted him dead, he’d have been dead well before now, so he strode up the stairs with no regard given to stealth and walked with what he hoped was a confident swagger onto the flight deck again.

  “Oh excellent. You’re up and about again. Any other brilliant questions you’d like to ask?” The robot’s voice came from the front of flight deck near an access panel close to the enormous canopy.

  “My name is Jason Burke. May I ask why I’m here?” Jason felt being polite yet direct was his best bet. The robot turned from the open panel and gave him an incredulous look.

  “You’re here because you took it upon yourself to board this ship and assault the bridge.” The machine’s voice mirrored the look on its face.

  Ah … so it is a bridge. And I guess this is actually my fault.

  “I apologize for boarding your ship, but I wouldn’t characterize it as an assault,” Jason continued in a strong yet conciliatory tone. The robot stood with incredible speed and pointed to the access panel he had been working in.

  “No? Then what the hell is that?! You ran onto the bridge and shot the nav sub-processor with that slug thrower of yours!” The level of emotion being displayed by the thing highly disturbed Jason for some reason. He lowered the rifle to the ground slowly and stood back up with his hands raised, palms down, in a placating gesture.

  “Maybe we should start over. Who are you, and where am I?” More than anything, Jason wanted this question answered. After that, he would see if he could convince the machine to take him home. As Jason spoke, the robot’s posture relaxed and it walked with a fluid gait toward him. It stopped a pace away and leaned into him. Jason noticed that it looked to be about six feet tall as it peered at him. Again, he was startled by how life-like the eyes were.

  “Now see? Isn’t that much more civilized than barging in and shooting up the bridge?” The being’s sarcastic manner still had Jason out of sorts so he simply nodded. Once he did, the thing broke into a huge, closed-mouth smile. Jason maintained his gaze, locked onto its eyes, despite the overwhelming urge to see just what the hell the thing had in its mouth. Was there a tongue? Teeth? If so, why? It continued, striding away from him with its hands clasped behind its back as it walked, “My name is Deetz. This ship is a Jepsen Aero DL7 heavy gunship. It’s something of a rarity now as Jepsen is no longer building ships. Or anything for that matter.” Deetz glanced Jason’s way at that last part. “It’s not important. Anyway, she’s small by most warship standards, but nearly indestructible. Gravimetric and thrust drives, plasma weapons and heavy particle beams as well as the normal complement of lasers, missiles, disruptors, and countermeasures one would expect.” Jason arched an eyebrow at the term “indestructible” as he looked around the bridge. In addition to the bullet hole he personally had added, the bridge appeared to have suffered some damage and perhaps a fire recently.

  “So you’re a robot?” Jason had to get this out of the way. For some reason he couldn’t get the scene from a popular sci-fi out of his head where a tiny alien was riding around in the head of a human-looking machine. At this question Deetz paused its pacing and cocked its head, considering the word.

  “Since we don’t really know each other, I’m going to assume you’re not trying to be insulting. The term robot refers to a non-intelligent, programmable machine, not unlike the sort that likely built the superstructure of this ship. I am a synthetic life form, or synth if you prefer slang.” Deetz turned from Jason and consulted a display of one of the terminals on the port side of the bridge.

  “No offense intended. We have nothing so advanced on my … world.” Jason was still struggling with the concept of being in a space ship in orbit around … “Where the hell are we? I remember seeing Saturn outside the canopy the first time I was up here.”

  “Ah, yes. Currently I’m trying to effect repairs and I needed raw materials to feed the fabricators to get some of the parts I’ll need. Unfortunately, Saturn’s rings are mostly water ice, not particularly helpful. So we’re currently en route back to the rocky planets of this system. There looked to be some ruins of an advanced civilization on the fourth planet.”

  “Mars?!” Jason was stunned. “We weren’t aware of anything there other than, well, dirt. Why not head to Earth? We have lots of raw material, I’d imagine.”

  Deetz rolled its eyes, “What do you think I was doing there in the first place? Your home is rife with refined metals, but your small attack aircraft pack quite a punch, which is why I took off prematurely. You must have snuck aboard when I lowered the cargo bay ramp to exchange the atmosphere.”

  That explained the smoke coming out of the vents in the cargo bay when he’d first boarded. “So how is it I was able to sneak aboard and make it all the way to the bridge without detection? There has to be some sort of sensor system on board. Right?”

  “Of course. This ship has an incredibly sophisticated anti-intrusion system
that can detect and neutralize any threat that makes it on board.” Deetz was again distractedly looking over displays. When he looked back Jason raised his arms, palms up, and shook his head in the universal ‘So what the hell?’ sign. “You may have noticed the decor,” Deetz gestured to the scorch marks on the bulkheads. “There was a bit of a … disagreement … over who, exactly, owned the airspace we were flying in. They settled the argument with a high-energy plasma bolt as I was transitioning to slip-space. Many sub-systems are still down ship-wide.” Jason ignored the flip between ‘we’ and ‘I’ during Deetz’s narration, for the moment.

  “What is slip-space? Is that like…”

  “While I would love to give a lecture on the miracles of modern star travel, I’m a bit pressed at the moment. With most of the automation knocked out, steering this thing safely by myself is a bit of a challenge.” Deetz gestured to a seat in front of a terminal with darkened monitors, “Now if you wouldn’t mind, have a seat, quietly, while I try to get a handle on this. I greatly appreciate it.” Jason couldn’t help but notice the strange flux in accents as it spoke English; most notable was the shift between American and UK inflections and dialect. It gave him an important clue as to how the … synth, was it? … had learned the Earth language. Being the most prevalent language in digital media, Jason assumed it must have assimilated it via broadcasts and probably the Internet.

  While some dismissed him intellectually because of the line of work he chose and the lifestyle he lived, Jason Burke was no idiot. He knew Deetz was not telling him everything, although that in and of itself didn’t concern him. After all, he was a stowaway from a comparatively primitive world. It was more a sense that the synth was hiding something. It had mentioned that the ship had been engaged in a battle recently. Was the crew killed, then? He had to assume a ship this large had a bigger complement than a single synthetic life form; the fact there was a galley that looked large enough to feed twenty people indicated that there were at least some biological beings on board at one time.