The Last Flight of the Argus

by E. R. Torre

  Inquisitor Cer removed a series of bolts that kept her helmet in place. She unscrewed it. A loud hiss was heard as the air from her suit rushed out. After removing her helmet, she stood still. Her yellow hair was flat and her stony brown eyes stared forward.

  Finally, she took a deep breath of the station’s air.

  B’taav watched her with equal parts fascination and dread. After a few seconds, the Inquisitor eyed the Independent and said:

  “What are you waiting for?”

  “The station is functional.”

  B’taav and Cer stood beside the escape sled. They no longer wore their helmets but remained in their environmental suits. The heat emitted from them was welcome. The passengers of the sled remained in their suits. But not for long.

  One by one, they rose and eagerly removed their gear. A couple, Maddox and Rasp, stepped onto the landing strip before doing so.

  B’taav watched them all, for it was the first time the Independent saw the faces of all the passengers aboard the Pilgrimage. When the decision was made to use the escape sled, B’taav and Cer were the last to suit up before putting the ship on autopilot. When they stepped into the control section of the escape sled, everyone else was already suited up and in place.

  B’taav knew and had already seen Rasp, Maddox, Inquisitor Cer, Nathaniel, and the gray haired lady. The remaining six passengers were all men. The largest of them were a trio seated together in the last section of the sled. They laid their helmets down and quickly unzipped their suits. Each was dressed in thin gray plastic body armor. B'taav recognized it as belonging to the Veils, a well-known for-hire mercenary outfit. They were likely here to protect one or all the passengers, and they each carried steel suitcases. No doubt their weapons were stored within.

  The remaining three men were seated immediately in front of the Mercs. They showed their inexperience with the environmental suits by the amount of time it took to remove them.

  The man closest to the escape sled’s ladder was in his late forties. He was dressed head to toe in an elegant, high quality white suit. There was an incredible sadness on this man’s face, as if he recently suffered a great loss.

  The man next to him took even longer to remove his gear. When it was off, B’taav immediately recognized him, but not by name. The man wore a regal dark green robe that identified him as one of the Phaecian Empire's Territorial Cardinals. In the centuries of history of the Phaecian Empire, none of the fifty six Cardinals had ever ventured outside that Empire’s borders. According to their religious dogma, to do so invited temptation and was therefore strictly prohibited. All diplomatic meetings between the Epsillon and Phaecians, at least on this side of the border, were conducted through intermediaries. Inquisitor Cer's presence among this group suddenly made perfect sense. She, like the three Veil Mercs at the back of the escape sled, was here to protect specific passengers.

  B’taav also recognized the third, and last, of this trio of men. He stood slightly less than six feet tall and carried a delicate, prematurely aging frame. His hair was thin, his cheeks sunken in. In spite of this, he projected considerable power. Even here, in the middle of nowhere.

  Stephen Gray.

  He was a high ranking Epsillon Empire Industrialist and owner of both the Bandilion and Seriana companies. Each company had a long reach within the Epsillon Empire, from sophisticated weapon manufacturing to heavy cargo hauling to entertainment productions.

  To say the least, it was an odd group.

  A hand fell on B’taav’s shoulder. Maddox stood beside him.

  “Well done,” Maddox said. For the first time since the trip began, his face carried something other than a scowl. “It isn’t often you successfully evade the Epsillon Empire’s finest headhunters.”

  “It's getting to be a habit,” B’taav replied.

  “And here I thought you were humble,” Inquisitor Cer said.

  A couple of the passengers chuckled at Inquisitor Cer’s statement. The tension they felt was replaced by levity. The passengers of the escape sled broke up into smaller groups. Their conversations were informal, mostly complaints about the station’s stale and very cold air. A couple admired the architecture of the place, while the three Mercs quietly checked their luggage. They did this away from any prying eyes.

  The only ones not engaged in conversation were B’taav, Inquisitor Cer, and the boy with the red ball. The boy didn’t seem aware of anything occurring around him.

  B’taav noisily cleared his throat. The conversations around him died out.

  “I don’t mean to ruin your good cheer, but I’m worried,” the Independent said.

  “About?” Maddox asked.

  “Daniels’ ships. We escaped, but only for the time being. If they haven't done so already, they will realize no one was on board the Pilgrimage when it exploded. Lieutenant Daniels’ considerable resources will be directed toward finding us once again.”

  “How will he do this?” Stephen Gray asked.

  “The life support systems in this base are old and noisy, both sonically and electronically. In time, his ships will pick us up. At the very least, his ship’s sensors will note the increase in temperature within this rock.”

  “This base has existed many years without detection,” Cer countered.

  “That was back when sensor equipment wasn’t quite as sophisticated as it is now. If we give them time, they will find us.”

  “That's true,” Maddox said. “But given the number of asteroids in this area, and unless we’re colossally unlucky, we should be fine. At least for a few days. Certainly long enough to get the Xendos operational.”

  “The Xendos?” B’taav said. “Why?”

  “This base was never intended to be our ultimate destination. We still have a ways to go. We only agreed to sacrifice the Pilgrimage because we knew about this ship.” A deep frown formed on the bartender’s face. “Had I known we might eventually need her, I would have spent more time making sure she was functional. As it is, it's up to us to get her moving before Daniels finds us.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  With each breath they took of the stagnant and frigid air, the more they grew used to it.

  B’taav, Inquisitor Cer, and Maddox took two hours examining the Xendos.

  On the first, cursory look, they found several personal items including photographs, diaries, jewel boxes, discarded magazines, and books the ship’s last crew left behind. In the corner of the main engine room, B'taav found a half-finished letter a crewman wrote to either his wife or lover. It was addressed to “Helen” and the author wished he could return to her side. Whether this happened would remain unknown.

  Inquisitor Cer treated the material with respect and swore she would return the more personal material to their families, if it was at all possible.

  The trio left the effects in a crew compartment and turned their attention to the ship’s engines. They were a relic of ancient times, but were well preserved. The trick, obviously, was to treat them with great care while fixing them up.

  “The engine design is simple enough,” Inquisitor Cer told both B’taav and Maddox. Given her familiarity with Phaecian designed ships, she took the lead in the engine's refurbishing. “Our first step is to fix any leaks and replace batteries, liquids, and fuels.”

  “There were some spare parts on the lower decks,” Maddox said. “There are also some fuel tanks.”

  “Let’s hope none of that material has degraded, and that there’s enough to take us where we need to go,” B’taav said. “Where do we need to go?”

  “We’ll worry about that when we get the ship moving,” Maddox replied.

  “Does the base have a machine shop?” B'taav asked.

  “I think so. It should be in the lower decks of the station, as well.”

  “Any parts we don’t have, we may be able to make.”

  “That will take time.”

  “How long do you think we have before Daniels finds us?” Maddox asked B’taav.


  “Four or five days at the very most. Sooner if we’ve angered him enough.”

  “And how long before the Xendos is up and running?”

  “If I gave any estimate it would be little more than a guess.”

  “Then guess.”

  “It’ll be very tight,” B’taav said after a few seconds. “Very.”

  By the end of the first day, the process of charging the ship’s fuel lines was initiated. Inquisitor Cer found several useful parts in a warehouse on the base’s lower level. Those they couldn’t find, Inquisitor Cer was able to replicate in the machine shop.

  The following day, when the ship’s batteries were charged, Inquisitor Cer accessed the ship’s computers and ran several diagnostic tests. The ship needed some major work, but at least it was something she and the Independent could accomplish with time.

  “Now how does it look?” Maddox asked them.

  “We need at least five days,” Inquisitor Cer said. “Maybe even a week.”

  B’taav rubbed his hands to keep warm. The previous day he, like Inquisitor Cer, wore a light gray work suit. Like the Inquisitor, that suit was smeared with a mix of oil and soot and almost completely black.

  “We’ll have to work non-stop,” B’taav offered. “Too bad I never found the Accelerant pushers in Titus. We could use some of their product right about now.”

  While Inquisitor Cer spent time in the machine shop, the mute Rasp shadowed B’taav’s movements in the Xendos’ engine room and made sure the Independent didn’t stray from his prescribed duties.

  B’taav was either in the main engine room or shuffling down to the machine shop to pick up new parts. Each time he emerged from the Xendos and walked the corridors of the base, he saw either Inquisitor Cer or Maddox, but rarely anyone else. The remaining passengers were still being kept away from him.

  In spite of this, later that day B’taav saw Stephen Gray and the Phaecian Cardinal walking together down one of the base’s corridors. Their discussion was low but animated, befitting the fact that each man had such a different philosophical background.

  At least they aren’t fighting, B’taav thought. Yet, anyway.

  Rasp noted B’taav’s gaze and gave the Independent a strong push. It caused him to stumble, and he nearly dropped the fuel cell he cradled.

  “I wouldn’t try that again,” the Independent said. “If this hits the ground hard enough, none of us will have to worry about Daniels anymore.”

  Rasp eyed the power cell.

  “Old tech,” B’taav explained. “It ruptures and the inside of this asteroid becomes considerably hotter.”

  Early in the third day of their work, B’taav spotted the gray haired lady and her mute boy walking just past the open door to the engine room of the Xendos. The boy looked directly through a small window in the rear of the ancient craft’s engine room and at B’taav, who in turn waved at them.

  The boy’s expression was sullen and distant and he clutched his ever-present red ball in both hands.

  The two walked around the deck and, after a few minutes, Maddox appeared from a side door and approached them. He said a few words to the gray haired lady and both she and the boy departed.

  Rasp noticed B’taav attention was focused elsewhere and, after making sure he wasn’t carrying anything that looked like it might explode, gave the Independent a strong push. B’taav fell to the floor.

  “You really shouldn’t do that,” the Independent said.

  Rasp’s body tightened. His hands balled up into fists. A sadistic smile crept onto his face. He welcomed B’taav’s reaction, whatever it would be.

  The Independent took a deep breath and rose.

  “If that’s the way it has to be,” he said.

  B’taav turned away, and Rasp took advantage. He ran at the Independent, his right fist in full swing. But B’taav was quicker. He dodged Rasp’s sucker punch and rammed his knee into the mute man’s midsection. The air exploded out of the silent man's lungs and he fell to his knees.

  For several seconds, he gasped for air and was at the mercy of the Independent. He looked up at B'taav with hateful red eyes.

  B’taav swung his fist and connected with the man’s jaw. The hit was solid, and Rasp fell to the ground, unconscious.

  “Don’t say you weren’t warned.”

  The Independent dragged Rasp’s body to the edge of the engine room and laid him down. B’taav took the man's fusion gun, cradled it in his hand, and then extended his arm fully away from his body. He held the gun that way for a second or two before sliding it into a tight space below the ship’s main engine. He then returned to his station. After a few seconds, he spotted Maddox hurriedly approaching the ship. The bartender held his own gun.

  The Independent sighed.

  “So much for getting any work done.”

  Maddox cautiously stepped into the main engine room. He held his fusion gun before him and his eyes locked on the unconscious Rasp.

  “He’ll live,” B’taav said. He wiped his greasy hands on a rag and continued his work.

  Maddox approached the Independent and pushed the barrel of his gun against the man's back. The Independent slowly raised his hands.

  “Who do you think you are?” Maddox said.

  B’taav didn’t answer. The pressure of the gun’s barrel increased. The Independent's muscles tightened. He didn’t want to act, but the bartender was giving him little choice.

  “Put the gun down.”

  The voice came from behind Maddox. It was the gray haired lady. She stood at the door leading into the Engine room. At her side was Inquisitor Cer.

  “He attacked Rasp,” Maddox said. “We’re done with him—”

  “B’taav’s been good so far,” the gray haired lady countered. “Much better than we would –and should– have expected. He hasn’t asked many questions or proven much of a bother.”

  “What do you call this?” Maddox yelled while pointing to Rasp's prone form.

  “He’s been our prisoner for a long time now. It was inevitable he’d need to burn off some steam. Rasp made it easy for him to do so.”

  The gray haired lady reached into the tight space under the engine and just below where Maddox stood. She retrieved Rasp’s fusion gun from the hiding place B’taav had wedged it into. She gave the weapon to Maddox.

  “Because you rushed out so quickly to confront our Independent, you didn’t see him so very deliberately put this gun away,” the gray haired lady continued. She lady turned to B’taav. “You knew we had you under surveillance, didn’t you?”

  “I suspected as much.”

  “But you couldn’t be certain?”

  “If you didn’t have me under surveillance, and Rasp woke up before you arrived, I wanted to make sure our next confrontation wasn’t…life-threatening.”

  “To Rasp?” the gray haired lady asked and laughed. “That’s perfectly understandable.” She laid her hand on Maddox’s arm, and forced him to lower his fusion gun. “As you see, Maddox, our Independent could easily have shot Rasp while he was down. Afterwards, he could have laid in wait, and ambushed whoever showed up next.”

  “That wouldn’t be necessary,” B’taav said. “I could have sealed myself up in the Xendos. You never would have been able to breach her hull. Not with the equipment you have here.”

  “And then, you could have waited until Lieutenant Daniels found us.”

  “Or I could have done something to get his attention.”

  “Your freedom in exchange for our hides.”

  Maddox's face turned red with anger. The gray haired lady leaned against a wall of machinery.

  “You’re a curious fellow, Independent,” she continued. “Why are you still with us? Do you fear Lieutenant Daniels that much, or do you have other reasons?”

  “At first I wanted to get away from Daniels,” B’taav admitted. “But things got out of hand so quickly, and you didn’t leave me much choice. When I realized you had an Inquisitor of the Phaecian Empire in your group,
the thought of turning you in to Daniels in exchange for clemency did cross my mind.”

  “But turning in an Inquisitor on the wrong side of the border wasn’t enough, was it?”

  “You were wise to keep the others away from me,” B’taav said. “No offence, Inquisitor, but the madam is right. Turning you in wouldn’t have been enough to get a break from Daniels.”

  “And now?”

  “He would certainly give me a deal, should I turn in your group.”

  “Still, you chose not to.”

  “Making a deal with Lieutenant Daniels and having him honor it are two very different things. Last I checked, we’re in the middle of nowhere. If I were to give you guys up to the Lieutenant, what incentive would he have to honor our deal?”

  “Point taken.”

  “That, more than anything else, makes me inclined to follow along. Whatever Daniels wants with you, it’s big. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.”

  “I’ve made a tidy living studying other cultures,” the gray haired lady said. “Every one of them has a saying about the dangers of being too curious.”

  “I’m familiar with these sayings as well. It's why I haven’t asked too many questions. My goal, as with any job, is to get back home alive rather than in a box. If, during the course of this particular journey, there’s the possibility of getting a cut of your action, even if it’s only a fraction of a percent, I would consider it a bonus.”

  The gray haired lady again laughed.

  “That’s what I like about Independents. Always looking out for the bottom line.”

  She motioned to the still unconscious Rasp.

  “What if our friend doesn’t like the idea of giving you a pass? What if he is even less pleased with the idea of making you a partner?”

  “He knows where I am. He’s welcome to file a complaint.”

  The gray haired lady nodded. She motioned to Maddox and said, “Get Rasp out of here.”