by E. R. Torre
“Remember, any communications between us must be limited,” Inquisitor Cer said before screwing her helmet on. “B'taav will hear anything we say.”
Stephen Gray swore.
“Frasier should have invested in better quality suits. Suits capable of sending encrypted messages.”
“No use worrying about that now,” Francis Lane said.
Inquisitor Cer nodded. She placed the helmet over her head and stepped to the airlock door.
“Good hunting,” Saro Triste said.
Inquisitor Cer hooked her fusion gun to a holster on the suit's side. She keyed in the airlock entry code and the chamber beyond filled with air and was pressurized. When the environment mirrored that of the inside of the Xendos, the bulky security door slid open. Inquisitor Cer stepped into the airlock chamber. The door sealed after her, and the chamber's atmosphere was drawn and replaced with cold vacuum.
The moment the outer doors of the Xendos opened Inquisitor Cer felt little of the bitter cold filling the Argus' landing bay. With only minor hesitation, she took her first steps outside the Xendos and onto the landing bay of the super juggernaut. Though her mind was focused on her mission, it was hard not to stare at the wonders surrounding her.
The landing bay was massive. She looked up and past the dangling cables and long burnt out lights and saw a stygian darkness. It was impossible to guess how high the ceiling rose. To her right and left, the floor extended for what seemed like miles before it too disappeared into darkness.
Despite the Inquisitor's years of service and courage in the face of danger, it was difficult not to feel overwhelmed. She took a moment and allowed a chill to pass. Once gone, her jaw clenched. Whatever fears she felt were consigned to the back of her mind.
It was time to move forward.
The bay floor was covered in a thick layer of red dust and B’taav’s footprints were clearly visible. Provided the dust made its way inside the super juggernaut, his path would be an easy one to follow.
Inquisitor Cer focused her attention on the door B’taav entered moments before.
Time to get to work, she thought as she followed his footprints and entered the Argus itself.
B’taav knew whatever time he had was short. He switched his communicator on and stepped deeper into the wide corridor leading away from the landing bay. B'taav worked his way to another heavy door, a security hatch, and knew it hadn’t been opened since—
The thought made B’taav pause. He could imagine the fading screams of the Argus crew. The very last sounds as, one by one, the crew died. Without hope, they died in terror.
B’taav leaned against the wall. Thoughts of the bloody carnage from the DeCarlo assaulted his mind.
“Enough,” the Independent yelled. His voice quickly dropped to a hushed whisper. “Enough.”
He steadied his footing and shook the black thoughts from his mind as best he could before placing his black case on the floor. He opened it. Within were a collection of tools and batteries. B'taav grabbed a screwdriver and got to work on the large panel beside the heavy door. In normal conditions, forcing the panel open would take only a few seconds. Working in the cumbersome environmental suit proved far more difficult. Frustration added seconds to the task, but eventually B'taav removed the panel and revealed the ancient computer that operated the door.
B’taav unscrewed several plastic caps from beside the computer and pulled out two wires attached to a drained mini-cell battery. He removed the ancient battery and hurled it down the corridor, where it floated away until it was swallowed by darkness. B’taav then reached into his black case and grabbed a fresh new mini-cell battery. He fastened the wires to openings on the surface of the cell and pushed it into place.
Either this works or—
The Independent jumped when the computer came alive. Like the Xendos and the Phaecian asteroid base, the vacuum of space preserved this rugged instrument.
Hopefully, it preserved much more.
B’taav hurriedly closed his case and gripped it in his left hand. He pressed his computer pad against the numerical keypad in the middle of the massive door. A series of red lights flashed on the pad. One after another the lights settled until they displayed a sequence of numbers. 334466.
That was easy enough, B’taav thought. He entered the code and felt vibrations. The massive gears turn inside the walls and the door him slid open. B’taav recovered his computer pad and stepped into the darkness that lay beyond.
The drained mini-battery cell floated by Inquisitor Cer and headed straight toward the Argus' landing bay. Inquisitor Cer watched it bounce harmlessly against some debris before stopping.
Her target was very close.
CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT
Francis Lane scowled as Stephen Gray turned off the communicator.
“You look worried, Francis,” Saro Triste said. “Don't be. Inquisitor Cer will find, and kill the Independent.”
“Are you certain?” Francis Lane said.
“She will do as she’s commanded,” Saro Triste replied. “My orders are absolute and unquestionable.” He stared past Francis Lane and Nathaniel. “Unlike those you issue to your Mercs.”
A flicker of anger, a remnant of past arguments, appeared in Francis Lane’s eyes.
“We agreed to these actions,” she said. “Melchor had the honor of killing Frasier and Maddox. If there is blame, it will be shared.”
“Yes,” Triste replied. “But I suggested sending both Melchor and Balthazar together do the job, not Melchor alone.”
“Frasier would become suspicious if both Mercs showed up to just escort him topside.”
“My dear Francis, we are on the Argus. At this point, why bother with subtleties? By the way, where is Balthazar?”
“Searching for Melchor,” Francis Lane said. “He's probably getting rid of Maddox's body.”
“The bodies could wait,” Stephen Gray said. “The Mercs could have helped your Inquisitor get rid of B'taav.”
“You fear the Independent that much?”
“I don’t fear the Independent, but it’s a mistake to underestimate him,” Stephen Gray said.
“She can take care of him on her own.”
“Yeah, but why risk it? Besides, there were other alternatives, ways we could have handled this differently.”
“You think B'taav could have worked for us?”
“Why not?” Stephen Gray said. “People like B'taav do their job for money. Besides, he is our second... ”
The color in Stephen Gray’s face evaporated.
“What?” Saro Triste asked.
“The Independent…He’s our second pilot. Inquisitor Cer is our first.”
“By the Gods,” Francis Lane muttered. “They’re both out there. How could we be so stupid!”
“Inquisitor Cer needs to return,” Stephen Gray said. “Screw the B'taav. Let him wander all he wants. Let's get Inquisitor Cer back!”
“She will take care of him!” Saro Triste said.
“Look, Cardinal, accidents happen. B’taav might—”
“B’taav is nothing compared to an Inquisitor of the Phaecian Empire. She will do her job, she will kill the Independent, and we’ll have one less problem to deal with.”
“You need to get her back,” Stephen Gray demanded.
Saro Triste folded his arms. He made no move toward the communicator.
“What’s the matter? Won’t she follow your commands?”
“Issuing a death sentence is something we do not take lightly,” Saro Triste said. “Once this command, is made, it stands. Until the job is done.”
“Oh, for—”
“I would ask you not mock our beliefs.”
“Look,” Stephen Gray insisted. “We all may know, on a rudimentary level, how to fly this craft. But there's no way we could get through that asteroid field and back to Titus. Hell, I doubt we could even make it out of the Argus’ landing bay. And even if we did, what if we had a mechanical failure on our way back to Titus? Wh
at would we do then?”
Saro Triste was unmoved.
“The matter is closed. Inquisitor Cer will complete her job.”
“You noble types are so fucking stubborn,” Stephen Gray said. “Let's hope that doesn't send us to the grave.”
Francis Lane stepped between Stephen Gray and Saro Triste.
“All right,” she said. “You've made your points. If Inquisitor Cer eliminates B’taav and makes her way back, we’re fine. If things work out the other way, and B’taav somehow gets the better of her—”
“Such a thing will not happen,” Saro Triste said.
“If such an unthinkable thing should happen, we’re still fine,” Francis Lane concluded. “In the end, B’taav has to come back here for he has no other choice. If he’s shows up, we deal with him from a position of strength. We can tell him Inquisitor Cer acted alone, that she was out for revenge because of his involvement in the Tamarin campaign. In the end, he'll listen to what we say. He won't believe it, but we have the only means out of here.”
Both Saro Triste and Stephen Gray considered Francis Lane’s words.
“We’re almost at the end,” Stephen Gray said after a few seconds. “We’ve hit a couple of bumps on the way but you're right. In a few more hours, we’ll be done.”
“Exactly,” Francis Lane said. “But from here on in, we don’t let anything else slip.”
“Agreed,” Saro Triste said.
Stephen Gray eyed young Nathaniel. The boy stood near Francis Lane. His eyes were half-closed and he didn’t appear to have heard or understood a word of their conversation.
“What do we do now?” Francis Lane asked.
Stephen Gray’s gaze remained on Nathaniel.
“It’s time we got our money’s worth from this boy.”
CHAPTER FORTY NINE
B’taav stepped past cargo boxes the size of small buildings while pushing away packing material and other unidentifiable floating debris.
The lights coming from his environmental suit helmet illuminated the corridor before him. He swept the flashlight stitched into the suit’s right forearm from side to side. He moved along quickly, but paused now and again to get his bearings.
B'taav eventually stopped before an enormous decompression chamber, the largest he had ever seen. A small fleet of ships the size of the Xendos could certainly pass through it.
“Nothing about this place is small,” B'taav muttered.
The Independent adjusted the illumination of his helmet and ran the beam across the chamber's far walls. The opposite wall was crushed in, likely the result of a collision between the ship and an asteroid. The wall held despite the blow, but stress fractures as large as the Dakota were left in the thick metal paneling. At a few points the stress was severe enough to cause jagged cracks. B’taav spotted asteroids floating in space just beyond.
B’taav soon reached the other end of the chamber and paused before another enormous door. This one was at least ten stories high.
Really stretches the definition of a “door”.
B’taav shone his flashlight across the base of the metal structure, eventually finding the computer paneling that operated it. As with the much smaller entry to the landing bay, he pried the paneling off and removed the drained battery, replacing it with a fresh cell. He then waited, and hoped, for the computer system to boot up.
His wait proved long, and the Independent worried his luck had run out.
“Come on,” B'taav said. If he was to have any chance at all, he needed to get past this chamber.
More minutes passed, and B'taav grew increasingly concerned. He looked around, trying to see if there was some other way past this point. He saw nothing close by. A minute passed. Two. Worry filled the Independent's face. Just when he was about to look for an alternate route, the computer panel came alive.
“Took your time,” B'taav said. He punched in the “334466” code and hoped the code was reused on these levels. The door didn’t budge.
We’ll have to do this the hard way.
B’taav retrieved his computer pad from a side pocket on his environmental suit and placed it over the computer keys. The lock picking software was initiated and several red lights flickered on the device’s body. After a few moments, a display read “Alpha Alpha 345 Theta 1”.
The Independent keyed the code in and a series of intense vibrations shook the ground around him. The Independent feared the whole ship was falling apart. And then the doors slowly opened.
B'taav stepped inside and shone his light at the chamber beyond. It was as large as the one he just exited and packed from floor to ceiling with even more supply crates. The crates carried labels identifying the cargo as machine equipment, spare parts, tools, and various brands of coolant and engine oils.
Before moving deeper into this new chamber, B’taav looked back into the chamber he just exited. He noticed a flicker of light coming from the door leading into it from the landing bay. As he feared, someone from the ship was after him.
B’taav ordered the enormous door shut.
Inquisitor Cer stepped into the decompression chamber and felt the floor vibrate. At the far end of the room she spotted movement and realized the far wall was actually an enormous sliding door. It was moving down, back to the floor.
Cer took full advantage of the weightless conditions and leaped forward. Despite her best efforts, she could not reach the door before it closed. With one final, heavy vibration, the door sealed and locked into place.
Inquisitor Cer examined the computer paneling beside the door. B’taav didn’t have time to shut it down or, had he wanted to, destroy it.
Wouldn’t be a good idea anyway, Inquisitor Cer thought. This is your only way back out.
Inquisitor Cer keyed in the main numerical code Francis Lane gave her and, like the Independent before her, waited to see if it would work.
Balthazar opened the door leading into the small maintenance closet. Francis Lane, Stephen Gray, and Saro Triste crowded into the closet and stood over the remains of Melchor.
Francis Lane noted the bruises on his hands.
“He put up a struggle,” she said. “Frasier died in his chair, unaware he was poisoned. Maddox was incapable of fighting back.”
“Then who?” Saro began. His eyes grew dark. “B'taav. How the hell?”
“Maybe we'll get a chance to ask him. He somehow found out what Melchor was up to. Maybe he entered Maddox’s room while Melchor was in the process of disposing of Maddox’s—”
Francis Lane gasped.
“Maddox isn’t dead,” she said. “That’s why B’taav hid Melchor’s body. He was buying time. He wanted us to think Melchor was getting rid of Maddox.”
“Have Maddox and the Independent formed an alliance?” Stephen Gray said.
“If so, B’taav might not be looking for the Charybdis bomb after all,” Francis Lane said. “He means to destroy the Argus.”
“How?” Saro Triste asked.
“If he has converted a computer pad into a lock picking device, is it possible he's made it sophisticated enough to decode the Argus' self-destruct mechanism?”
“Picking the lock on common usage doors and accessing one of the most sensitive pieces of information on a military vessel are two very different things,” Francis Lane said.
“Then B’taav took a great gamble and lost,” Saro Triste said.
“Did he?” Stephen Gray said. “It is even more imperative than ever your Inquisitor take the Independent out. In the meantime, we have to find Maddox.”
“What possible harm could that cripple do to us?” Francis Lane countered.
“Plenty. If I were B’taav, I’d place Maddox in a sensitive part of the Xendos and give him the means to disable this ship. Maddox would die a very happy man if he could seal us in this tomb.”
“Then we need to find him,” Saro Triste said.
“No,” Francis Lane countered. “If B’taav did as you say, searching for Maddox would ensure we lose this s
hip.”
“What should we do? Nothing?!”
“Time is on our side, not Maddox’s,” Francis Lane said. “Assume our work takes several days. Perhaps even a week or two. To us, that's not so bad. We’ve got plenty of supplies and we're healthy. The same cannot be said of Maddox.”
“You're hoping Maddox's injuries eventually kill him?” Saro Triste mocked. “Or do you hope to starve him out? What if he realizes we’re waiting and decides to go ahead and sabotage the Xendos anyway?”
“He hasn’t done anything yet, which means for now he believes B’taav will succeed in what he’s doing,” Francis Lane said. “So for now we keep everything as it is. B’taav undoubtedly left Maddox with some food and water and whatever medicines he could find. He’ll last, but each minute that passes he'll grow weaker and his supplies dwindle. We just make sure Maddox doesn’t know how B’taav –or we– are progressing. Waiting for good news may prove Maddox’s downfall.”
Inquisitor Cer's fingers ran across the computer panel beside the massive decompression door and typed in the 334466 code. When nothing happened, she re-entered the code. The computer took the information, considered it, and again rejected it.
Inquisitor Cer considered her options and realized there were none. She needed to get the code for this door or her pursuit of B'taav was over. She clicked her communicator on and attempted to reach the Xendos for instructions.
All she got was static.
The Argus’ walls were thick and the communication equipment within her suit, already limited to a single channel that her target could hear, was also not powerful enough to breach such obstacles. Nevertheless, she tried again. And again. After her fourth attempt, she leaned back, frustrated. She would have to return, at least far enough to get her signal—
“—quisitor Cer... read me?”
The voice over her speaker was low and static-filled, but understandable. The message was repeated, even stronger than before.
